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CONTENTS 

PART  I 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION   -  -  -  -  -  -      ix 

SCENES  FROM  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE: 

(Spletideurs  et  tnishes  des  Courtisanes) 

ESTHER    HAPPY       ------  I 

WHAT   I.OVE   COSTS  AN   OLD   MAN               ...  159 

THE   END   OF   EVIt,  WAYS                 -                -                -                -  30I 

PART    11 
INTRODUCTION ix 

SCENES  FRO 31  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

{ Concluded)  : 

VAUTRIN'S   LAST   AVATAR  .  -  .  -  i 

THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  -  -  -    147 

( Les  Employes  ; ) 
Translator,  James  Waring. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PART  1 

"open*   the   gate — THE  PUBLIC  PROSECUTOR   SENT   ME — 

TO  SAVE  THE  DEAD  MAN  !  "       i  409)  -  -      Frontispiece 

PAGE 

LUCIEN"    BURNT   THE   NOTE  AT   ONCE   IN   THE   KEAME  OF  A 

CANDLE        -  -  -  -  -  _  -        g7 

EUROPE   LED   THE   WAY,    CARRYING   A    CANDLE        -  -      I40 


PART      II 

THE   CORSICAN   AT   ONCE   KNELT   DOWN    AND    PRETENDED 

TO    BE   ABOUT  TO   CONFESS  -  -  -  -         66 

'■don't   say   too    MUCH    ABOUT    HER,    MY   DEAR    FRIEND, 

OR   YOU   WILL  SPOIL   IT   ALL"     -  -  -  -      187 


SCENES  FROM  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 


INTRODUCTION 

Splendeurs  et  Miseres  des  Courtisanes  has  the  interest  (which 
it  shares  with  only  one  or  two  others  of  Balzac's  works),  if 
not  exactly  of  touching  the  two  extremities  of  his  prosperous 
career,  at  any  rate  of  stretching  over  a  great  part  of  it.  It 
also  exemplifies  the  very  uncertain  and  fortuitous  scheme  of 
the  Comiklie  and  its  component  scenes.  At  first  nothing 
of  it  appeared  but  the  first  j)art,  and  only  half  of  that, 
under  the  title  of  La  Torpille  (Esther  Gobseck's  nickname), 
which  was  published,  together  with  La  Femme  Superieure, 
the  first  form  of  Les  Employes,  and  La  Maison  Nucingen, 
in  1838.  Five  years  later  it  appeared  in  a  newspaper  as 
Esther,  ou  Les  Amours  d'un  vieux  Banquier,  the  first  part 
being  now  completed,  and  the  second  added.  It  was  not  till 
1846  that  Ou  menent  les  mauvais  Chemins  appeared,  and 
this  book  itself  had  difi'erent  titles.  Finally,  in  Balzac's  very 
last  period  of  writing  at  the  end  of  1846,  or  the  beginning 
of  1847 — for  he  and  his  bibliographer  are  at  issue  on  that 
point, — La  derniere  Incarnation  de  Vautrin  was  added  as  a 
fourth  part,  making  the  book,  already  one  of  the  longest,  now 
by  far  the  longest  of  all.  But  the  four  were  not  published  to- 
gether till  the  edition  definitive,  many  years  after  Balzac's 
death. 

It  would  in  any  case  have  been  necessary  to  devote  two 
of  these  volumes  to  so  great  a  mass  of  matter,  and  I  have 
taken  the  liberty  of  separating  Vautrin  from  the  rest  for 

(ix) 


X  INTRODUCTION 

the  purposes  of  introduction.  The  truth  is  that  the  book 
ends  much  more  artistically  with  Ou  menent  les  mauvais 
Chemins;  and  if  Balzac  really  intended  to  make  La  derniere 
Incarnation  de  Vautrin  a  continuation,  this,  as  well  as  the 
great  length  of  the  book,  would  lead  me  to  imagine  that  he 
had  in  mind  rather  a  sort  of  sub-division  of  the  Scenes  de  la 
Vie  Parisienne  than  a  single  work. 

For  it  must  be  at  once  evident  that  with  the  deaths  of 
Esther  and  of  Lucien,  art,  sense,  and  truth  require  that  the 
curtain  should  fall.  It  may  have  been  very  desirable  to  finish 
off  Vautrin ;  and,  as  I  shall  have  occasion  to  point  out,  he  is  a 
very  interesting  person.  But  his  mauvais  chemin  is  quite  a 
different  one  from  that  of  Esther;  and  he  is  only  indirectly 
concerned  with  the  particular  splendeurs  et  miseres. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  history  of  "La  Torpille"  and  of 
Lucien  de  Eubempre  is  by  itself  smoother  and  more  com- 
plete. It  affords  Balzac,  no  doubt,  opportunities  of  indulg- 
ing a  very  large  number  of  his  extensive  assortment  of  fancies, 
not  to  say  fads,  and  of  bringing  in  a  great  number  of  the 
personages  of  his  stock  company.  Vautrin,  the  terrible  and 
mysterious,  in  his  new  avatar,  is  only  one  of  these.  Corentin 
reappears  from  the  far  distance  of  Les  Chouans;  but  playing 
no  very  dissimilar  part,  though  his  machinations  are  directed 
against  less  innocent  persons.  We  receive  abundant  informa- 
tion as  to  the  way  in  which  Baron  Nucingen  got  rid  of  the 
money  which  he  obtained  by  means  already  detailed  with 
equal  care  elsewhere.  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse  and  Madame 
de  Serizy  play  important  parts ;  and  many  others  come  and  go. 

But  still  Esther  van  Gobseck  and  Lucien  Chardon  de 
Eubempre  are  as  much  the  hero  and  heroine  of  the  story, 
and  make  the  first  three  parts  as  much  a  story  to  themselves, 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

as  Le  Pere  Goriot  and  Eugenie  Grandet  are  the  hero  and  hero- 
ine of  the  books  to  which  they  very  justly  give  their  names. 
I  forget  whether  Lucien  de  Rubempre,  in  the  numerous  and 
rather  idle  Balzac  "keys"  which  MM.  Cerfberr  and  Christophe 
have  not  deigned  to  include  in  their  Repertoire,  is  identified 
with  any  actual  personage.  It  has  been,  and  will  be  observed, 
that  Balzac  was  too  great  an  artist  either  to  need,  or,  indeed, 
often  to  attempt,  this  commonplace  and  catchpenny  means  of 
interest.  But  in  the  world  of  fiction  in  general,  and  of  the 
Comedie  in  particular,  Lucien  is  half-complement,  half- 
counterpart  of  Eugene  de  Eastignac.  He  is  the  adventurer, 
not  entirely  without  good  blood  in  his  veins,  who  ventures 
into  the  intersecting  or  overlapping  worlds  of  fashion,  of 
journalism,  of  speculation,  and  of  politics,  but  who  has  not, 
like  Eastignac,  either  strength  or  coolness  of  head  to  swim 
through  the  whirlpool  and  reach  the  shore.  It  may  be  in- 
teresting to  the  reader  to  form  his  own  opinion  how  far 
Lucien' s  ruin — brought  about,  be  it  remembered,  by  charges 
of  which  he  is  actually  innocent — is  due  to  the  evil,  though 
not  in  his  case  intentionally  hostile,  influence  of  Vautrin, 
how  far  it  is  due  to  his  own  weakness.  Balzac  was  too  much 
of  an  artist  to  decide  very  definitely  either  way;  but  despite 
his  rather  mistaken  admiration  of  Vautrin,  I  think  he  had 
the  sense  to  give  most  weight  to  the  internal  causes.  The 
moral — for  there  is  always  a  moral  in  Balzac — is,  of  course, 
the  old  one  of  a  thousand  fables  and  a  thousand  forms,  the 
best  of  which  perhaps  is  the  Spenserian  apposition  of  "Be 
bold,  be  bold,  and  everywhere  be  bold,"  with  "Be  not  too  bold" 
— the  moral  that  on  the  "Brigg  of  Dread"  of  ambition  and 
covetousness  there  is  nothing  but  absolute  perdition  for  him 
who  cannot  keep  his  feet  and  his  head.     There  is  not  perhaps 


xll  INTRODUCTION 

so  much  irony  as  there  would  be  in  some  writers  about  the 
presentation  of  Lucien,  who  is  really  a  poor  creature  enough, 
as  the  very  darling  of  all  the  great  ladies  of  Paris  as  well  as 
of  persons  at  the  other  end  of  the  scale ;  but  it  is  there. 

With  Esther  it  is  even  plainer  sailing.  Her  history  is 
simply  that  of  a  courtesan,  embodying  "lights  and  shadows"' 
on  a  more  fantastic  and  gorgeous  scale,  with  the  final  fortune 
thrown  in  (this  applies  to  Lucien  as  well  as  to  her)  for  a 
climax  of  Kemesis.  Perhaps  there  is  another  moral  here — 
that  when  any  one  has  once  embarked  on  this  particular 
mauvais  chemin  it  is  not  merely  idle,  but  ruinous,  to  in- 
dulge in  sincere  affection  for  anybody — that  you  must  "play 
the  game,"  here  as  elsewhere,  and  that  you  cannot  be  per- 
mitted to  play  the  fair  game  and  the  foul  at  once. 

On  the  whole,  I  should  put  this  book  a  little  below  Balzac's 
very  best,  but  in  the  forefront  of  his  average  work.  Some  I 
know  have  rated  it  very  highly ;  but  such  a  slightly  glorified 
"Alphonse"  as  Eubempre  is  too  disgusting  a  hero  to  be  toler- 
ated without  even  greater  power  that  Balzac  has  here  put 
forth,  even  though  Esther  to  no  small  extent  redeems  him. 

A  good  deal  of  the  rather  complicated  bibliography  of 
Splendeurs  et  Miseres  has  necessarily  been  given  above. 
Some  additional  details  here  may  complete  the  information, 
in  regard  to  the  whole  of  it,  as  Balzac  finalty  arranged  it, 
that  is  to  say,  with  the  Derniere  Incarnation  included.  La 
Torpille  {vide  supra)  came  out  as  a  book  without  any  previous 
newspaper  publication,  but  with  La  Femme  Superieure  (now 
called  Les  Employes)  and  La  Maison  Nucingen  in  1838,  pub- 
lished in  two  volumes  by  Werdet.  It  was  divided  into  three 
chapters  with  a  view  to  feuilUton  publication  in  the  Presse. 
But  this  did  not  appear.  The  rest  of  the  present  Comment 
aiment  les  Filles,  with  most  of  A  Combien  I'Amour  revient 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

aux  Vieillards,  did  appear  in  this  form  in  Le  Parisien  dur- 
ing the  month  of  June  1843  and  a  few  day  in  May  and  July. 
The  first  part  was  included  as  well  in  this  publication.  Le 
Parisien  was  not  successful,  and  the  end  of  A  Combien 
V Amour  never  came  out,  but  is  included  in  a  three-volume 
book  publication  of  the  thing  next  year  by  de  Potter.  Then 
the  whole,  which  had  in  Le  Parisien  been  called  Esther,  ou 
Les  Amours  d'un  vieux  Banquier,  received  its  present  general 
heading  with  the  addition  "Esther.''  The  book  was  next 
entered  in  the  Gomedie,  the  first  part  being  called  Esther 
Heureuse.  Ou  menent  les  mauvais  Chemins  appeared  in  the 
newspaper  UEpoque  during  July  1846,  and  was  then  called 
Une  Instruction  criiaineUe;  but  it  was  forthwith  included  in 
the  Comedie  under  its  actual  title,  and  a  year  later  published 
separately  by  Souverain.  But  Splendeurs  et  Miseres  had  a 
bad  habit  of  killing  journals  under  it ;  and  L'Epoque  too, 
having  died,  La  derniere  Incarnation  appeared  in  the  Presse 
(strangely  enough,  seeing  that  this  was  the  journal  which 
ought  to  have  published  the  first  part  ten  years  earlier)  in 
April  and  May  ISIT.  Chlendowski  published  it  as  a  book 
the  same  year.  The  date  "December  1847"  appears  to  have 
been  a  mistake  or  a  whim  of  Balzac's. 

G.  S. 


SCENES  FROM  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

To  His  Highness 
Prince  Alfonso  Serafino  di  Porcia. 

Allow  me  to  place  your  name  at  the  beginning  of  an  essen- 
tially Parisian  work,  thought  out  in  your  house  during  these  latter 
days.  Is  it  not  natural  that  I  should  offer  you  the  flowers  of 
rhetoric  that  blossomed  in  your  garden,  watered  with  the  regrets 
I  suffered  from  home-sickness,  which  you  soothed,  as  I  wandered 
under  the  boschetti  whose  elms  reminded  me  of  the  Champs- 
;^lysees?  Thus,  perchance,  may  I  .expiate  the  crime  of  having 
dreamed  of  Paris  under  the  shadow  of  the  Duomo,  of  having 
longed  for  our  muddy  streets  on  the  clean  and  elegant  flagstones 
of  Porta-Renza.  When  I  have  some  book  to  publish  which  may 
be  dedicated  to  a  Milanese  lady,  I  shall  have  the  happiness  of 
finding  names  already  dear  to  your  old  Italian  romancers  among 
those  of  women  whom  we  love,  and  to  whose  memory  I  would 

beg  you  to  recall  your  sincerely  affectionate 

De  Balzac. 

July  1838. 

ESTHER  happy;  OR,  HOW  A  COURTESAN  CAN  LOVE 

In  ''^824^  at  the  last  opera  ball  of  the  season,  several  masks 
were  struck  by  the  beauty  of  a  youth  who  was  wandering 
about  the  passages  and  greenroom  with  the  air  of  a  man 
in  search  of  a  woman  kept  at  home  by  unexpected 
circumstances.  The  secret  of  this  behavior,  now  dilator}^ 
and  again  hurried,  is  known  only  to  old  women  and  to 
certain  experienced  loungers.  In  this  immense  assembly  the 
crowd  does  not  trouble  itself  much  to  watch  the  crowd;  each 

(1) 


2  A  COURTESANS   LIFE 

one's  interest  is  impassioned,  and  even  idlers  are  pre- 
occupied. 

The  young  dandy  was  so  much  absorbed  in  his  anxious 
quest  that  he  did  not  observe  his  own  success;  he  did  not 
hear,  he  did  not  see  the  ironical  exclamations  of  admiration, 
the  genuine  appreciation,  the  biting  gibes,  the  soft  invita- 
tions of  some  of  the  masks.  Though  he  was  so  handsome 
as  to  rank  among  those  exceptional  persons  who  come  to 
an  opera  ball  in  search  of  an  adventure,  and  who  expect  it 
as  confidently  as  men  looked  for  a  lucky  conp  at  roulette 
in  Frascati's  day,  he  seemed  quite  philosophically  sure  of  his 
evening;  he  must  be  the  hero  of  one  of  those  mysteries  with 
three  actors  which  constitute  an  opera  ball,  and  are  known 
only  to  those  who  play  a  part  in  them ;  for,  to  young  wives  who 
come  merely  to  say,  "I  have  seen  it,"  to  country  people, 
to  inexperienced  youths,  and  to  foreigners,  the  opera  house 
must  on  those  nights  be  the  palace  of  fatigue  and  dulness. 
To  these,  that  black  swarm,  slow  and  serried — coming,  going, 
winding,  turning,  returning,  mounting,  descending,  com- 
parable only  to  ants  on  a  pile  of  wood — is  no  more  intelligible 
than  the  Bourse  to  a  Breton  peasant  who  has  never  heard  of 
the  Grand  livre. 

With  a  few  rare  exceptions,  men  wear  no  masks  in  Paris; 
a  man  in  a  domino  is  thought  ridiculous.  In  this  the  spirit 
of  the  nation  betrays  itself.  Men  who  want  to  hide  their 
good  fortune  can  enjoy  the  opera  ball  witliout  going  there : 
and  masks  who  are  absolutely  compelled  to  go  in  come  out 
again  at  once.  One  of  the  most  amusing  scenes  is  the  crush 
at  the  doors  produced  as  soon  as  the  dancing  begins,  by  the 
rush  of  persons  getting  away  and  struggling  with  those  who 
are  pushing  in.  So  the  men  who  wear  masks  are  either  jeal- 
ous husbands  who  come  to  watch  their  wives,  or  husbands 
on  the  loose  who  do  not  wish  to  be  watched  by  them — two 
situations  equally  ridiculous. 

Now,  our  young  man  was  followed,  though  he  knew  it 
not,  by  a  man  in  a  mask,  dogging  his  steps,  short  and  stout, 
with  a  rolling  gait,  like  a  barrel.    To  every  one  familiar  with 


ESTHER  HAPPY  3 

the  opera  this  disguise  betrajed  a  stock-broker,  a  banker,  a 
lawyer,  some  citizen  sonl  suspicious  of  infidelity.  For  in 
fact,  in  really  high  society,  no  one  courts  such  humiliating 
proofs.  Several  masks  had  laughed  as  they  pointed  this  pre- 
posterous figure  out  to  each  other;  some  had  spoken  to  him, 
a  few  young  men  had  made  game  of  him,  but  his  stolid  man- 
ner showed  entire  contempt  for  these  aimless  shafts ;  he  went 
on  whither  the  young  man  led  him,  as  a  hunted  wild  boar 
goes  on  and  pays  no  heed  to  the  bullets  whistling  about  his 
ears,  or  the  dogs  barking  at  his  heels. 

Though  at  first  sight  pleasure  and  anxiety  wear  the  same 
livery — the  noble  black  robe  of  Venice — and  though  all  is 
confusion  at  an  opera  ball,  the  various  circles  composing 
Parisian  society  meet  there,  recognize,  and  watch  each  other. 
There  are  certain  ideas  so  clear  to  the  initiated  that  this 
scrawled  medley  of  interests  is  as  legible  to  them  as  any 
amusing  novel.  So,  to  these  old  hands,  this  man  could  not 
be  here  by  appointment ;  he  would  infallibly  have  worn  some 
token,  red.  white,  or  green,  such  as  notifies  a  happy  meeting 
previously  agreed  on.     Was  it  a  case  of  revenge? 

Seeing  the  domino  following  so  closely  in  the  wake  of  a 
man  apparently  happy  in  an  assignation,  some  of  the  gazers 
looked  again  at  the  handsome  face,  on  which  anticipation 
had  set  its  divine  halo.  The  youth  was  interesting;  the 
longer  he  wandered,  the  more  curiosity  he  excited.  Every- 
thing about  him  proclaimed  the  habits  of  refined  life.  ]n 
obedience  to  a  fatal  law  of  the  time  we  live  in,  there  is  not 
much  diiference,  physical  or  moral,  between  the  most  elegant 
and  best  bred  son  of  a  duke  and  peer  and  this  attractive  youth, 
whom  poverty  had  not  long  since  held  in  its  iron  grip  in  the 
heart  of  Paris.  Beauty  and  youth  might  cover  in  him  deep 
gulfs,  as  in  many  a  young  man  who  longs  to  play  a  part  in 
Paris  without  having  the  capital  to  support  his  pretensions, 
and  who,  day  after  day,  risks  all  to  win  all,  by  sacrificing  to 
the  god  who  has  most  votaries  in  this  royal  city,  namely. 
Chance.  At  the  same  time,  his  dress  and  manners  were 
above  reproach;  he  trod  the  classic  floor  of  the  opera  house 


(.0- 


4  A  COURTESAN'S  Llf^E 

as  one  accustomed  there.  Who  can  have  failed  to  observe 
that  there,  as  in  every  zone  in  Paris,  there  is  a  manner  of 
being  which  shows  who  you  are,  what  you  are  doing,  whence 
you  come,  and  what  you  want? 

"What  a  handsome  young  fellow;  and  here  we  may  turn 
round  to  look  at  him,"  said  a  mask7Mn  whom  accustomed 
eyes  recognized  a  lady  of  position. 

"Do  not  you  remember  him?"  replied  the  man  on  whose 
arm  she  was  leaning.  "Madame  du  Chatelet  introduced  him 
to  you " 

"What,  is  that  the  apothecary's  son  she  fancied  herself 
in  love  with,  who  became  a  journalist,  Mademoiselle  Coralie's 
lover?" 

"I  fancied  he  had  fallen  too  low  ever  to  pull  himself  up 
again,  and  I  cannot  understand  how  he  can  show  himself 
again  in  the  world  of  Paris,"  said  Comte  Sixte  du  Chatelet. 

"He  has  the  air  of  a  prince,"  the  mask  went  on,  "and  it  is 
not  the  actress  he  lived  with  who  could  give  it  him.  My 
cousin,  who  understood  him,  could  not  lick  him  into  shape. 
I  should  like  to  know  the  mistress  of  this  Sargine;  tell  me 
something  about  him  that  will  enable  me  to  mystify  him." 

This  couple,  whispering  as  they  watched  the  young  man, 
became  the  object  of  study  to  the  square-shouldered  domino. 

"Dear  Monsieur  Chardon,"  said  the  Prefet  of  the  Charente, 
taking  the  dandy's  hand,  "allow  me  to  introduce  you  to  some 
one  who  wishes  to  renew  acquaintance  with  you " 

"Dear  Comte  Chatelet,"  replied  the  j^oung  man,  "that  lady 
taught  me  how  ridiculous  was  the  name  by  which  you  address 
me.  A  patent  from  the  king  has  restored  to  me  that  of  my 
mother's  family — the  Rubempres.  Although  the  fact  has 
been  announced  in  the  papers,  it  relates  to  so  unimportant 
a  person  that  I  need  not  blush  to  recall  it  to  my  friends,  my 

enemies,   and  those   who   are  neither You  may   class 

yourself  where  you  will,  but  I  am  sure  you  will  not  disap- 
prove of  a  step  to  which  I  was  advised  by  your  wife  when 
she  was  still  only  Madame  de  Bargeton." 

This  neat  retort,  which  made  the  Marquise  smile,  gave 


ESTHER  HAPPY  5 

the  Prefet  of  la  Charente  a  nervous  chill.  "You  may  tell 
her,'"  Lucien  went  on,  "that  1  now  bear  gules,  a  bull  raging 
argent  on  a  meadow  vert." 

"Eaging  argent,"  echoed  Chatelet. 

"Madame  la  Marquise  will  explain  to  you,  if  you  do  not 
know,  why  that  old  coat  is  a  little  better  than  the  chamber- 
lain^s  key  and  Imperial  gold  bees  which  you  bear  on  yours, 
to  the  great  despair  of  Madame  Chatelet,  nee  Negrepelisse' 
d'Espard,"  said  Lucien  quickly. 

"Since  you  recognize  me,  I  cannot  puzzle  you ;  and  I  could 
never  tell  you  how  much  you  puzzle  me,"  said  the  Marquise 
d'Espard,  amazed  at  the  coolness  and  impertinence  to  which 
the  man  had  risen  whom  she  had  formerly  despised. 
.  "Then  allow  me,  madame,  to  preserve  my  only  chance  of 
occupying  your  thoughts  by  remaining  in  that  mysterious 
twilight,"  said  he,  with  the  smile  of  a  man  who  does  not 
wish  to  risk  assured  happiness. 

"I  congratulate  you  on  your  changed  fortunes,"  said  the 
Comte  du  Chatelet  to  Lucien. 

"I  take  it  as  you  offer  it,"  replied  Lucien,  bowing  with 
much  grace  to  the  Marquise. 

'^Vhat  a  coxcomb !"  said  the  Count  in  an  undertone  to 
Madame  d'Espard.  "He  has  succeeded  in  winning  an  an- 
cestry." 

"With  these  young  men  such  coxcombry,  when  it  is  ad- 
dressed to  us,  almost  always  implies  some  success  in  high 
places,"  said  the  lady ;  "for  with  you  older  men  it  means  ill- 
fortune.  And  I  should  very  much  like  to  know  which  of 
my  grand  lady  friends  has  taken  this  fine  bird  under  her 
patronage;  then  I  might  find  the  means  of  amusing  myself 
this  evening.  My  ticket,  anonymously  sent,  is  no  doubt  a  bit 
of  mischief  planned  by  a  rival  and  having  something  to  do 
with  this  young  man.  His  impertinence  is  to  order;  keep 
an  eye  on  him.  I  will  take  the  Due  de  Navarrein's 
arm.     You  will  be  able  to  find  me  again." 

Just  as  Madame  d'Espard  was  about  to  address  her  cousin, 
the  mysterious  mask  came  between  her  and  the  Duke  to 
whisper  in  her  ear : 


6  A  COUKTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Lucien  loves  you;  he  wrote  the  note.  Your  Prefet  is 
his  greatest  foe ;  how  can  he  speak  in  his  presence  T 

The  stranger  moved  off,  leaving  Madame  d'Espard  a  pi^ey 
to  a  double  surprise.  The  Marquise  knew  no  one  in  the 
world  who  was  capable  of  playing  the  part  assumed  by  this 
mask;  she  suspected  a  snare,  and  went  to  sit  down  out  of 
.sight.  The  Comte  Sixte  du  Chatelet — whom  Lucien  had 
abridged  of  his  ambitious  du  with  an  emphasis  that  betrayed 
long  meditated  revenge — followed  the  handsome  dandy,  and 
presently  met  a  young  man  to  whom  he  thought  he  could 
speak  without  reserve. 

"Well,  Kastignac.  have  you  seen  Lucien?  He  has  come 
out  in  a  new  skin." 

"If  I  were  half  as  good  looking  as  he  is,  I  should  be  twice 
as  rich,"  replied  the  fine  gentleman,  in  a  light  but  meaning 
tone,  expressive  of  keen  raillery. 

"No !"  said  the  fat  mask  in  his  ear,  repaying  a  thousand 
ironies  in  one  by  the  accent  he  lent  the  monosyllable. 

Rastignac,  who  was  not  the  man  to  swallow  an  affront, 
stood  as  if  struck  by  lightning,  and  allowed  himself  to  be 
led  into  a  recess  by  a  grasp  of  iron  which  he  could  not 
shake  off. 

"You  young  cockerel,  hatched  in  Mother  Vauquer's  coop 
— you,  whose  heart  failed  you  to  clutch  old  Taillefer's  mill- 
ions when  the  hardest  part  of  the  business  was  done — let 
me  tell  you,  for  your  personal  safety,  that  if  you  do  not  treat 
Lucien  like  the  brother  you  love,  you  are  in  our  power,  while 
we  are  not  in  yours.  Silence  and  submission !  or  I  shall 
join  your  game  and  upset  the  skittles.  Lucien  de  Rubempre 
is  under  the  protection  of  the  strongest  power  of  the  day 
— the  Church.     Choose  between  life  and  death. — Answer.^' 

Eastignac  felt  giddy,  like  a  man  who  has  slept  in  a  forest 
and  wakes  to  see  by  his  side  a  famishing  lioness.  He  was 
frightened,  and  there  was  no  one  to  see  him;  the  boldest 
men  yield  to  fear  under  such  circumstances. 

"No  one  but  /le  can  know — or  would  dare "  he  mur- 
mured to  himself. 


^  ESTHER  HAPPY  7 

The  mask  clutched  his  hand  tighter  to  prevent  his  finish- 
ing his  sentence. 

"Act  us  if  I  were  he"  he  said. 

Eastignac  then  acted  like  a  millionaire  on  the  highroad 
with  a  brigand's  pistol  at  his  head;  he  surrendered. 

"My  dear  Count,"  said  he  to  du  Chatelet,  to  whom  he 
presently  returned,  "if  you  care  for  your  position  in  life, 
treat  Lucien  de  Eubempre  as  a  man  whom  you  will  one  day 
see  holding  a  place  far  above  that  where  you  stand." 

The  mask  made  an  imperceptible  gesture  of  approbation, 
and  went  off  in  search  of  Lucien. 

"My  dear  fellow,  you  have  changed  your  opinion  of  him 
very  suddenly,"  replied  the  Prefet  with  justifiable  surprise. 

"As  suddenly  as  mpn  change  who  belong  to  the  centre  and 
vote  with  the  right,"  replied  Eastignac  to  the  Prefet-Depute, 
whose  vote  had  for  a  few  days  failed  to  support  the  Ministry. 

"Are  there  such  things  as  opinions  nowadays?  There  are 
only  interests,"  observed  des  Lupeaulx,  who  had  heard  them. 
"What  is  the  case  in  point?" 

"The  case  of  the  Sieur  de  Eubempre,  whom  Eastignac  is 
setting  up  as  a  person  of  consequence,"  said  du  Chatelet  to 
the  Secretary-General. 

"My  dear  Count,"  replied  des  Lupeaulx  very  seriously, 
"Monsieur  de  Eubempre  is  a  young  man  of  the  highest  merit, 
and  has  such  good  interest  at  his  back  tliat  I  should  be  de- 
lighted to  renew  my  acquaintance  with  him." 

"There  he  is,  rushing  into  the  wasps'  nest  of  the  rakes  of 
the  day,"  said  Eastignac. 

The  three  speakers  looked  towards  a  corner  where  a  group 
of  recognized  wits  had  gathered,  men  of  more  or  less  celebrity, 
and  several  men  of  fashion.  These  gentlemen  made  com- 
mon stock  of  their  jests,  their  remarks,  and  their  scandal,  try- 
ing to  amuse  themselves  till  something  should  amuse  them. 
Among  this  strangely  mingled  party  were  some  men  with 
whom  Lucien  had  had  transactions,  combining  ostensibly 
kind  offices  with  covert  false  dealing. 


8  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Hallo !  Lucien,  my  boy,  why  here  we  are  patched  up 
again — new  stuffing  and  a  new  cover.  Where  have  we  come 
from?  Have  we  mounted  the  high  horse  once  more  with 
little  offerings  from  Florine's  boudoir  ?  Bravo,  old  chap !" 
and  Blondet  released  Finot  to  put  his  arm  afEectionately 
round  Lucien  and  press  him  to  his  heart. 

Andoche  Finot  was  the  proprietor  of  a  review  on  which 
Lucien  had  worked  for  almost  nothing,  and  to  which  Blondet 
gave  the  benefit  of  his  collaboration,  of  the  wisdom  of  his 
suggestions  and  the  depth  of  his  views.  Finot  and  Blondet 
embodied  Bertrand  and  Raton,  with  this  difference — that 
la  Fontaine's  cat  at  last  showed  that  he  knew  himself  to  be 
duped,  while  Blondet,  though  he  knew  that  he  was  being 
fleeced,  still  did  all  he  could  for  Finot-  This  brilliant  con- 
dottiere  of  the  pen  was,  in  fact,  long  to  remain  a  slave.  Finot 
hid  a  brutal  strength  of  will  under  a  heavy  exterior,  under 
the  drowsiness  of  impertinent  stupidity,  with  a  superficial 
polish  of  wit,  as  a  laborer  rubs  his  bread  with  garlic.  He 
knew  how  to  garner  what  he  gleaned,  ideas  and  crown-pieces 
alike,  in  the  fields  of  the  dissolute  life  led  by  men  engaged 
in  letters  or  in  politics. 

Blondet,  for  his  sins,  had  placed  his  powers  at  the  service 
of  Finot's  vices  and  idleness.  Always  at  war  with  necessity, 
he  was  one  of  the  race  of  poverty-stricken  and  superior  men 
who  can  do  everything  for  the  fortune  of  others  and  nothing 
for  their  own,  Aladdins  who  let  other  men  borrow  their 
lamp.  These  excellent  advisers  have  a  clear  and  penetrating 
judgment  so  long  as  it  is  not  distracted  by  personal  interest. 
In  them  it  is  the  head  and  not  the  arm  that  acts.  Hence 
the  looseness  of  their  morality,  and  hence  the  reproach  heaped 
v«  upon  them  by  inferior  minds.  Blondet  would  share  his  purse 
'  with  a  comrade  he  had  affronted  the  day  before;  he  would 
dine,  drink,  and  sleep  with  one  whom  he  would  demolish 
on  the  morrow.  His  amusing  paradoxes  excused  everything. 
Accepting  the  whole  world  as  a  jest,  he  did  not  want  to  be 
taken  seriously;  young,  beloved,  almost  famous  and  con- 
tented, he  did  not  devote  himself,  like  Finot,  to  acquiring  the 
fortune  an .  old  man  needs. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  9 

The  most  difficult  form  of  courage,  perhaps,  is  that  which 
Lucien  needed  at  this  moment  to  get  rid  of  Blondet  as  he 
had  just  got  rid  of  Madame  d'Espard  and  Chatelet.  In  him, 
unfortunately,  the  joys  of  vanity  hindered  the  exercise  of 
pride — the  basis,  beyond  doubt,  of  many  great  things.  His 
vanity  had  triumphed  in  the  previous  encounter;  he  had 
shown  himself  as  a  rich  man,  happy  and  scornful,  to  two  per- 
sons who  had  scorned  him  when  he  was  poor  and  wretched. 
But  how  could  a  poet,  like  an  old  diplomate,  run  the  gauntlet 
with  two  self-styled  friends,  who  had  welcomed  him  in  misery, 
under  whose  roof  he  had  slept  in  the  worst  of  his  troubles? 
Finot,  Blondet,  and  he  had  groveled  together;  they  had 
wallowed  in  such  orgies  as  consume  something  more  than 
money.  Like  soldiers  who  find  no  market  ^or  their  courage, 
Lucien  had  just  done  what  many  men  do  in  Paris :  he  had 
still  further  compromised  his  character  by  shaking  Finot's 
hand,  and  not  rejecting  Blondet's  afl^ection. 

Every  man  who  has  dabbled,  or  still  dabbles,  in  journalism 
is  under  the  painful  necessity  of  bowing  to  men  he  despises,' 
of  smiling  at  his  dearest  foe,  of  compounding  the  foulest 
meanness,  of  soiling  his  fingers  to  pay  his  aggressors  in  their 
own  coin.  He  becomes  used  to  seeing  evil  done,  and  passing 
it  over;  he  begins  by  condoning  it,  and  ends  by  committing 
it.  In  the  long  run  the  soul,  constantly  stained  by  shame- 
ful and  perpetual  compromise,  sinks  lower,  the  spring  of 
noble  thoughts  grows  rusty,  the  hinges  of  familiarity  wear 
easy,  and  turn  of  their  own  accord.  Alceste  becomes  Philinte, 
natures  lose  their  firmness,  talents  are  perverted,  faith  in  great 
deeds  evaporates.  The  man  who  yearned  to  be  proud  of 
his  work  wastes  himself  in  rubbishy  articles  which  his 
conscience  regards,  sooner  or  later,  as  so  many  evil  actions. 
He  started,  like  Lousteau  or  Vernou,  to  be  a  great  writer; 
he  finds  himself  a  feeble  scrivener.  Hence  it  is  impossible 
to  honor  too  highly  men  whose  character  stands  as  high  as 
their  talent — men  like  d'Arthez,  who  know  how  to  walk  sure- 
footed across  the  reefs  of  literary  life. 

Lucien  could  make  no  reply  to  Blondet's  flattery;  his  wit 


10  A  GOUKTESAN  S  LIFE 

liad  an  irresistible  fliariii  for  him,  and  he  maintained  the 
hold  of  the  corrupter  over  his  j)npil ;  besides,  he  held  a  posi- 
tion in  the  world  through  his  connection  with  the  Comtesse 
de  Montcornet. 

"Has  an  uncle  left  you  a  fortune!'"*  said  Finot,  laughing 
at  him. 

"Like  you,  I  have  marked  some  fools  for  cutting  down." 
replied  Lucien  in  the  same  tone. 

"Then  Monsieur  has  a  review — a  newspaper  of  his  own?" 
Andoche  Finot  retorted,  with  the  impertinent  presumption 
of  a  chief  to  a  subordinate. 

"I  have  something  better,"  replied  Lucien,  whose  vanity, 
nettled  by  the  assumed  superiority  of  his  editor,  restored 
him  to  the  sense  of  his  new  position. 

"What  is  that,  my  dear  boy  ?" 

"I  have  a  party." 

"There  is  a  Lucien  party?"  said  Vernou.  smiling. 

"Finot,  the  boy  has  left  you  in  the  lurch;  I  told  you  he 
Avould.  Lucien  is  a  clever  fellow,  and  you  never  were  respect- 
ful to  him.  You  used  him  as  a  hack.  Repent,  blockhead  !" 
said  Blondet. 

Blondet,  as  sharp  as  a  needle,  could  detect  more  than  one 
secret  in  Lucien's  air  and  manner;  while  stroking  him  down, 
he  contrived  to  tighten  the  curb.  He  meant  to  know  the 
reasons  of  Lucien's  return  to  Paris,  his  projects,  and  his 
means  of  living. 

"On  your  knees  to  a  superiority  you  can  never  attain  to, 
albeit  you  are  Finot!"  he  went  on.  "Admit  this  gentleman 
forthwith  to  be  one  of  the  great  men  to  whom  the  future 
belongs ;  he  is  one  of  us !  So  w4tty  and  so  handsome,  can  he 
fail  to  succeed  by  j'our  quibuscumque  viisf  Here  he  stands, 
in  his  good  Milan  armor,  his  strong  sword  half  unsheathed, 
and  his  pennon  tlyingi — Bless  me,  Lucien,  where  did  you 
steal  that  smart  waistcoat?  Love  alone  can  tind  such  stuff 
as  that.  Have  you  an  address?  At  this  moment  I  am 
anxious  to  know  where  my  friends  are  domiciled ;  I  don't  know 
where  to  sleep.  Finot  has  turned  me  out  of  doors  for  the 
night,  under  the  vulgar  pretext  of  'a  lady  in  the  case."  " 


ESTHER  HAPPY  11 

"My  boy/'  said  Lueien,  "I  put  into  practice  a  motto  by 
which  you  may  secure  a  quiet  life :  Fuge,  late,  tace.  I  am 
off." 

"But  I  am  not  off  till  you  pay  me  a  sacred  debt — that 
little  supper,  you  know,  heh?"  said  Blondet,  who  was  rather 
too  much  given  to  good  cheer,  and  got  himself  treated  when 
he  was  out  of  funds. 

"What  supper?"  asked  Lucien,  with  a  little  stamp  of  im- 
patience. 

"You  don't  remember?  In  that  I  recognize  my  pros- 
perous friend;  he  has  lost  his  memory." 

"He  knows  what  he  owes  us;  I  will  go  bail  for  his  good 
heart,"  said  Finot,  taking  up  Blondet's  joke. 

"Eastignac,"  said  Blondet,  taking  the  young  dandy  by  the 
arm  as  he  came  up  the  room  to  the  column  where  the  so- 
called  friends  were  standing.  "There  is  a  supper  in  the  wind; 
you  will  join  us — unless,"  he  added  gravely,  turning  to 
Lucien,  "Monsieur  persists  in  ignoring  a  debt  of  honor.  He 
can." 

"Monsieur  de  Eubempre  is  incapable  of  such  a  thing;  I 
will  answer  for  him,"  said_^astignac,  who  never  dreamed 
of  a  practical  joke. 

"And  there  is  Bixiou,  he  will  come  too,"  cried  Blondet; 
"there  is  no  fun  without  him.  Without  him  champagne  cloys 
my  tongue,  and  I  find  everj-thing  insipid,  even  the  pepper 
of  satire." 

"My  friends,"  said  Bixiou,  "I  see  you  have  gathered  round 
the  wonder  of  the  day.  Our  dear  Lucien  has  revived  the 
Metamorphoses  of  Ovid.  Just  as  the  gods  used  to  turn  into 
strange  vegetables  and  other  things  to  seduce  the  ladies,  he 
has  turned  the  Chardon  (the  Thistle)  into  a  gentleman  to 
bewitch — whom?  Charles  X. ! — My  dear  boy,"  he  went  on, 
holding  Lucien  by  his  coat  button,  "a  journalist  who  apes 
the  fine  gentleman  deserves  rough  music.  In  their  place," 
said  the  merciless  jester,  as  he  pointed  to  Finot  and  Vernou, 
"I  should  take  you  up  in  my  society  paper;  you  would  bring 
in  a  hundred  francs  for  ten  columns  of  fun." 


12  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Bixiou,"  said  Blondet,  "an  Amphitryon  is  sacred  for 
twenty-four  hours  before  the  feast  and  twelve  hours  after. 
Our  illustrious  friend  is  giving  us  a  supper." 

"What  then !"  cried  Bixiou ;  "what  is  more  imperative 
than  the  duty  of  saving  a  great  name  from  oblivion,  of  en- 
dowing the  indigent  aristocracy  with  a  man  of  talent? 
Lucien,  you  enjoy  the  esteem  of  the  press  of  which  you  were 
a  distinguished  ornament,  and  we  will  give  you  our  support. 
— Finot,  a  paragraph  in  the  'latest  items' ! — Blondet,  a  little 
butter  on  the  fourth  page  of  your  paper ! — We  must  advertise 
the  appearance  of  the  finest  book  of  the  age,  VArcher  de 
Charles  IX. !  We  will  appeal  to  Dauriat  to  bring  out  as  soon 
as  possible  les  Marguerites,  those  divine  sonnets  by  the  French 
Petrarch!  We  must  carry  our  friend  through  on  the  shield 
of  stamped  paper  by  which  reputations  are  made  and  un- 
made." 

"If  you  want  a  supper,"  said  Lucien  to  Blondet,  hoping  to 
rid  himself  of  this  mob,  which  threatened  to  increase,  "it 
seems  to  me  that  you  need  not  work  up  hyperbole  and  parable 
to  attack  an  old  friend  as  if  he  were  a  booby.     To-morrow 

night  at  Lointier's "  he  cried,  seeing  a  woman  come  by, 

whom  he  rushed  to  meet. 

"Oh !  oh !  oh !"  said  Bisiou  on  three  notes,  with  a  mocking 
glance,  and  seeming  to  recognize  the  mask  to  whom  Lucien 
addressed  himself.     "This  needs  confirmation." 

He  followed  the  handsome  pair,  got  past  them,  examined 
them  keenly,  and  came  back,  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  all 
the  envious  crowd,  who  were  eager  to  learn  the  source  of 
Lucien's  change  of  fortune. 

"Friends,"  said  Bixiou,  "you  have  long  known  the  goddess 
of  the  ^tre  de  Eubempre's  fortune:  She  is  des  Lupeaulx's 
former  'rat.' " 

A  form  of  dissipation,  now  forgotten,  but  still  customary 
at  the  beginning  of  this  century,  was  the  keeping  of  "rats." 
The  "rat" — a  slang  word  that  has  become  old-fashioned — ^was 
a  girl  of  ten  or  twelve  in  the  chorus  of  some  theatre,  more 
particularly  at  the  opera,  who  was  trained  by  young  routes  to 


ESTHER  HAPPY  13 

vice  and  infamy.  A  "rat"  was  a  sort  of  demon  page,  a  tom- 
boy who  was  forgiven  a  trick  if  it  were  but  funny.  The  "rat" 
might  take  what  she  pleased;  she  was  to  be  watched  like 
a  dangerous  animal,  and  she  brought  an  element  of  liveliness 
into  life,  like  Scapin,  Sganarelle,  and  Frontin  in  old-fashioned 
comtdy.  But  a  "rat"  was  too  expensive;  it  made  no  return 
in  honor,  profit,  or  pleasure ;  the  fashion  of  rats  so  completely 
went  0U+,  that  in  these  days  few  people  knew  anything  of  this 
detail  of  fashionable  life  before  the  Restoration  till  certain 
writers  took  up  the  "rat"  as  a  new  subject. 

"What !  after  having  seen  Coralie  killed  under  him,  Lucien 
means  to  rob  us  of  La  Torpille?"  (the  torpedo  fish)  said 
Blondet. 

As  he  heard  the  name  the  brawny  mask  gave  a  signi- 
ficant start,  which,  though  repressed,  was  understood  by 
Kastignac. 

"It  is  out  of  the  question,"  replied  Finot ;  "La  Torpille  has 
not  a  sou  to  give  away;  Nathan  tells  me  she  borrowed  a 
thousand  francs  of  Fiorina." 

"Come,  gentlemen,  gentlemen !"  said  Rastignac,  anxious 
to  defend  Lucien  against  so  odious  an  imputation. 

"Well,"  cried  Vernou,  "is  Coralie's  kept  man  likel}^  to  be 
so  very  particular?" 

"Oh !"  replied  Bixiou,  "those  thousand  francs  prove  to  me 
that  our  friend  Lucien  lives  with  La  Torpille " 

"What  an  irreparable  loss  to  literature,  science,  art,  and 
politics !"  exclaimed  Blondet.  "La  Torpille  is  the  only  com- 
mon prostitute  in  whom  I  ever  found  the  stuff  for  a  superior 
courtesan;  she  has  not  been  spoiled  by  education — she  can 
neither  read  nor  write,  she  would  have  understood  us.  We 
might  have  given  to  our  era  one  of  those  magnificent  Aspasias 
without  which  there  can  be  no  golden  age.  See  how  admira- 
bly Madame  du  Barry  was  suited  to  the  eighteenth  century, 
Ninon  de  FEnclos  to  the  seventeenth,  Marion  Delorme  to  the 
sixteenth,  Imperia  to  the  fifteenth,  Flora  to  Republican  Rome, 
which  she  made  her  heir,  and  which  paid  off  the  public  debt 
with  her  fortune !     What  would  Horace  be  without  Lydia, 


14  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Tibullus  without  Delia,  Catullus  without  Lesbia,  Propertius 
without  Cyntliia,  Demetrius  without  Lamia,  who  is  his  glory 
at  this  day?" 

"Blondet  talking  of  Demetrius  in  the  opera  house  seems 
to  me  rathertoostrongof  the  Dehats,''  said  Bixiou  in  his  neigh- 
Itor's  ears. 

"And  where  would  the  empire  of  the  Caesars  have  been 
but  for  these  queens  ?"  Blondet  went  on ;  "Lai's  and  Ehodope 
are  Greece  and  Egypt.  They  all  indeed  are  the  poetry  of 
the  ages  in  which  they  lived.  This  poetry,  which  Napoleon 
lacked — for  the  Widow  of  his  Great  Army  is  a  barrack  jest, 
was  not  wanting  to  the  Revolution ;  it  had  Madame  Tallien ! 
In  these  days  there  is  certainly  a  throne  to  let  in  France 
Avhich  is  for  her  who  can  fill  it.  We  among  us  could  make 
a  queen.  I  should  have  given  La  Torpille  an  aunt,  for  her 
mother  is  too  decidedly  dead  on  the  field  of  dishonor;  du 
Tillet  would  have  given  her  a  mansion,  Loustean  a  carriage, 
Rastignac  her  footmen,  des  Lupeaulx  a  cook,  Finot  her  hats" 
— Finot  could  not  suppress  a  shrug  at  standing  the  point- 
blank  fire  of  this  epigram — "Vernou  would  have  composed 
her  advertisements,  and  Bixiou  her  repartees !  The  aristoc- 
racy would  have  come  to  enjoy  themselves  with  our  Ninon, 
where  we  would  have  got  artists  together,  under  pain  of  death 
by  newspaper  articles.  Ninon  the  second  would  have  been 
magnificently  impertinent,  overwhelming  in  luxury.  She 
would  have  set  up  opinions.  Some  prohibited  dramatic  mas- 
terpiece should  have  been  read  in  her  drawing-room ;  it  should 
have  been  written  on  purpose  if  necessary.  She  would  not 
have  been  liberal;  a^eourtesan  is  essentially  monarchical.  Oh, 
what  a  loss !  She  ought  to  have  embraced  her  whole  century, 
and  she  makes  love  with  a  little  young  man  !  Lucienwillmake 
a  sort  of  hunting-dog  of  her." 

"None  of  the  female  powers  of  whom  you  speak  ever 
trudged  the  streets,"  said  Finot,  "and  that  pretty  little  'rat' 
has  rolled  in  the  mire." 

"Like  a  lily-seed  in  the  soil,"  replied  Vernou,  "and  she 
has  improved  in  it  and  flowered.     Hence  her  superiority. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  15 

Must  we  not  have  known  everything  to  be  able  to  create  the 
laughter  and  joy  which  are  part  of  everytliing  ?" 

"He  is  right/'  said  Lousteau,  who  had  hitherto  listened 
without  speaking;  "La  Torpille  can  laugh  and  make  others 
laugh.  That  gift  of  all  great  writers  and  great  actors  is 
proper  to  those  who  have  investigated  every  social  deep.  At 
eighteen  that  girl  had  already  known  the  greatest  wealth, 
tlie  most  squalid  misery — men  of  every  degree.  She  bears 
about  her  a  sort  of  magic  wand  by  which  she  lets  loose  the 
brutal  appetites  so  vehemently  suppressed  in  men  who  still 
have  a  heart  while  occupied  with  politics  or  science,  literatiire 
or  art.  There  is  not  in  Paris  another  woman  who  can  say 
to  the  beast  as  she  does :  'Come  out !'  And  the  beast  leaves 
his  lair  and  wallows  in  excesses.  She  feeds  you  up  to  the 
chin,  she  helps  you  to  drink  and  smoke.  In  short,  this 
woman  is  the  salt  of  which  Eabelais  writes,  which,  thrown 
on  matter,  animates  it  and  elevates  it  to  the  marvelous 
realms  of  art;  her  robe  displays  unimagined  splendor,  her 
fingers  drop  gems  as  her  lips  shed  smiles ;  she  gives  the  spirit 
of  the  occasion  to  every  little  thing;  her  chatter  twinkles 
with  bright  sayings,  she  has  the  secret  of  the  quaintest 
onomatopoeia,  full  of  color,  and  giving  color;  she " 

"You  are  wasting  five  francs'  worth  of  copy,"  said  Bixiou, 
interrupting  Lousteau.  "La  Torpille  is  something  far  better 
than  all  that;  you  have  all  been_inJ[ove_  with  her  more  or 
less,  not  one  of  you  can  say  that  she  ever  was  his  mistress. 
She  can  always  command  you;  you  will  never  command  her. 
You  may  force  your  way  in  and  ask  her  to  do  you  a  ser- 
vice  '" 

"Oh,  she  is  more  generous  than  a  brigand  chief  who  knows 
his  business,  and  more  devoted  than  the  best  of  school-fellows," 
said  Blondet.  "You  may  trust  her  with  your  purse  or  your 
secrets.  But  what  made  me  choose  her  as  queen  is  her  Bour- 
bon-like indifference  for  a  fallen  favorite." 

"She,  like  her  mother,  is  much  too  dear,"  said  des  Lupeauk. 
"The  handsome  Dutch  woman  would  have  swallowed  up  the 
income  of  the  ArchbiBhop  of  Toledo ;  she  ate  two  notaries  out 
of  house  and  home " 


16  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"And  kept  Maxime  de  Trailles  when  he  was  a  court  page/' 
said  Bixiou. 

"La  Torpille  is  too  dear,  as  Eaphael  was,  or  Careme,  or 
Taglioni,  or  Lawrence,  or  Boule,  or  any  artist  of  genius  is 
too  dear/'"  said  Blondet. 

"Esther  never  looked  so  thoroughly  a  lady/' said  Eastignac, 
pointing  to  the  masked  figure  to  whom  Lucien  had  given 
his  arm.     "I  will  bet  on  its  being  Madame  de  Serizy." 

"Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  cried  du  Chatelet,  "and  Monsieur  du 
Eubempre's  fortune  is  accounted  for." 

"Ah,  the  Church  knows  how  to  choose  its  Levites;  what 
a  sweet  ambassador's  secretary  he  will  make !"  remarked  des 
Lupeaulx. 

"All  the  more  so,"  Eastignac  went  on,  "because  Lucien  is 
a  really  clever  fellow.  These  gentlemen  have  had  proof  of 
it  more  than  once,"  and  he  turned  to  Blondet,  Finot,  and 
Lousteau. 

"Yes,  the  boy  is  cut  out  of  the  right  stuff  to  get  on,"  said 
Lousteau,  who  was  dying  of  jealousy.  "And  particularly 
because  he  has  what  we  call  independent  ideas     .     .     ." 

"It  is  you  who  trained  him,"  said  Vernou. 

"Well,"  replied  Bixiou,  looking  at  des  Lupeaulx,  "1  trust 
to  the  memory  of  Monsieur  the  Secretary-General  and  Master 
of  Appeals — that  mask  is  La  Torpille,  and  I  will  stand  a  supper 
on  it." 

"I  will  hold  the  stakes,"  said  du  Chatelet,  curious  to  know 
the  truth, 

"Come,  des  Lupeaulx,"  said  Finot,  "try  to  identify  your 
rat's  ears." 

"There  is  no  need  for  committing  the  crime  of  treason 
against  a  mask,"  replied  Bixiou.  "La  Torpille  and  Lucien 
must  pass  us  as  they  go  up  the  room  again,  and  I  pledge  my- 
self to  prove  that  it  is  she." 

"So  our  friend  Lucien  has  come  above  water  once  more," 
said  Nathan,  joining  the  group.  "I  thought  he  had  gono 
back  to  Angoumois  for  the  rest  of  his  days.  Has  he  dis- 
covered some  secret  to  ruin  the  English  ?" 


ESTHER  HAPPY  17 

"He  has  done  what  you  will  not  do  in  a  hurry,"  retorted 
Eastignac;  "he  has  paid  up." 

The  burly  mask  nodded  in  confirmation. 

"A  man  who  has  sown  his  wild  oats  at  his  age  puts  him- 
self out  of  court.  He  has  no  pluck;  he  puts  money  in  the 
funds,"  replied  Nathan. 

"Oh,  that  youngster  will  always  be  a  fine  gentleman,  and 
will  always  have  such  lofty  notions  as  will  place  him  far 
above  many  men  who  think  themselves  his  betters,"  replied 
Eastignac. 

At  this  moment  journalists,  dandies,  and  idlers  were  all 
examining  the  charming  subject  of  their  bet  as  horse-dealers 
examine  a  horse  for  sale.  These  connoisseurs,  grown  old  in 
familiarity  with  every  form  of  Parisian  depravity,  all  men 
of  superior  talent  each  his  own  way,  equally  corrupt,  equally 
corrupting,  all  given  over  to  unbridled  ambition,  accustomed 
to  assume  and  to  guess  everything,  had  their  eyes  centered  on 
a  masked  woman,  a  woman  whom  no  one  else  could  identify. 
They,  and  certain  habitual  frequenters  of  the  opera  balls, 
could  alone  recognize  under  the  long  shroud  of  the  black 
domino,  the  hood  and  falling  ruff  which  make  the  wearer  un- 
recognizable, the  rounded  form,  the  individuality  of  figure 
and  gait,  the  sway  of  the  waist,  the  carriage  of  the  head — 
the  most  intangible  trifles  to  ordinary  eyes,  but  to  them  the 
easiest  to  discern. 

In  spite  of  this  shapeless  wrapper  they  could  watch  the 
most  appealing  of  dramas,  that  of  a  woman  inspired  by  a 
genuine  passion.  Were  she  La  Torpille,  the  Duchesse  de 
Maufrigneuse,  or  Madame  de  Serizy,  on  the  lowest  or  highest 
rung  of  the  social  ladder,  this  woman  was  an  exquisite  crea- 
ture, a  flash  from  happy  dreams.  These  old  young  men,  like 
these  young  old  men,  felt  so  keen  an  emotion,  that  they  envied 
Lucien  the  splendid  privilege  of  working  such  a  metamorpho- 
sisifif^a  woman  into  a  goddess.  The  mask  was  there  as 
though  she  Tiad  been  alone  with  Lucien ;  for  that  woman  the 
thousand  other  persons  did  not  exist,  nor  the  evil  and  dust- 
ladeu  atmosphere;  no,  she  moved  under  the  celestial  vault 


18  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

of  love,  as  Raphael's  Madonnas  under  their  slender  oval  glory. 
She  did  not  feel  herself  elbowed;  the  fire  of  her  glance  shot 
from  the  holes  in  her  mask  and  sank  into  Lucien's  e^'es;  the 
thrill  of  her  frame  seemed  to  answer  to  every  movement  of 
her  companion.  Whence  comes  this  flame  that  radiates  from 
a  woman  in  love  and  distinguishes  her  above  all  others? 
Whence  that  sylph-like  lightness  which  seems  to  negative  the 
laws  of  gravitation?  Is  the  soul  become  ambient?  Has 
happiness  a  physical  effluence? 

The  ingenuousness  of  a  girl,  the  graces  of  a  child  were 
discernible  under  the  domino.  Though  they  walked  apart, 
these  two  beings  suggested  the  figures  of  Flora  and  Zephyr 
as  we  see  them  grouped  by  the  cleverest  sculptors;  but  they 
were  beyond  sculpture,  the  gi"eatest  of  the  arts ;  Lucien  and  his 
pretty  domino  were  more  like  the  angels  busied  with  flowers 
or  birds,  which  Gian  Bellini  has  placed  beneath  the  effigies  of 
the  Virgin  ]\Iother.  Lucien  and  this  girl  belonged  to  the 
realm  of  fancy,  which  is  as  far  above  art  as  cause  is  above 
effect. 

When  the  domino,  forgetful  of  everything,  was  within  a 
A  ard  of  the  group,  Bixiou  exclaimed : 

"Esther!" 

The  unhappy  girl  turned  her  head  quickly  at  hearing  her- 
self called,  recognized  the  mischievous  speaker,  and  bowed 
her  head  like  a  dying  creature  that  has  drawn  its  last  breath. 

A  sharp  laugh  followed,  and  the  group  of  men  melted 
among  the  crowd  like  a  knot  of  frightened  field-rats  whisking 
into  their  holes  by  the  roadside.  Eastignac  alone  went  no 
further  than  was  necessary,  just  to  avoid  making  any  shoM^ 
of  shunning  Lucien's  flashing  eye.  He  could  thus  note  two 
phases  of  distress  equally  deep  though  unconfessed ;  first,  the 
liapless  Torpille,  stricken  as  by  a  lightning  stroke,  and  then 
the  inscrutable  mask,  the  only  one  of  the  group  who  had 
remained.  Esther  murmured  a  word  in  Lucien's  ear  just  as 
her  knees  gave  way,  and  Lucien,  supporting  her,  led  her 
away, 

Eastignac  watched  the  pretty  pair,  lost  in  meditation. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  Vb 

"How  did  she  get  her  name  of  La  Torpille?"  asked  a 
gloomy  voice  that  struck  to  his  vitals,  for  it  was  no  longer 
disguised. 

''He  again — he  has  made  his  escape !"  muttered  Eastignae 
to  himself. 

"Be  silent  or  I  murder  you,"  replied  the  mask,  changing 
his  voice.  "I  am  satisfied  with  you,  you  have  kept  your 
word,  and  there  is  more  than  one  arm  ready  to  serve  you. 
Henceforth  be  as  silent  as  the  grave ;  but,  before  that,  answer 
my  question." 

"Well,  the  girl  is  such  a  witch  that  she  could  have  mag- 
netized the  Emperor  Napoleon;  she  could  magnetize  a  man 
more  difficult  to  influence — you  yourself,"  replied  Eastignae, 
and  he  turned  to  go. 

"One  moment,"  said  the  mask;  "I  will  prove  to  you  that 
you  have  never  seen  me  anywhere." 

The  speaker  took  his  mask  ofl";  for  a  moment  Eastignae 
hesitated,  recognizing  nothing  of  the  hideous  being  he  had 
known  formerly  at  Madame  Vauqiier's. 

"The  devil  has  enabled  you  to  change  in  every  particular, 
excepting  your  eyes,  which  it  is  impossible  to  forget,"  said  he. 

The  iron  hand  gripped  his  arm  to  enjoin  eternal  secrecy. 

At  three  in  the  morning  des  Lupeaulx  and  Finot  found 
the  elegant  Eastignae  on  the  same  spot,  leaning  against  the 
column  where  the  terrible  mask  had  left  him.  Eastignae 
had  confessed  to  himself;  he  had  been  at  once  priest  and 
pentient,  culprit  and  judge.  He  allowed  himself  to  be  led 
away  to  breakfast,  and  reached  home  perfectly  tipsy,  but 
taciturn. 

The  Kue  de  Langlade  and  the  adjacent  streets  are  a  blot 
on  the  Palais  Eoyal  and  the  Eue  de  Eivoli.  This  portion 
of  one  of  the  handsomest  quarters  of  Paris  will  long  retain 
the  stain  of  foulness  left  by  the  hillocks  formed  of  the  mid- 
dens of  old  Paris,  on  which  mills  formerly  stood.  These 
narrow  streets,  dark  and  muddy,  where  such  industries  are 
carried  on  as  care  little  for  appearances,  wear  at  night  an 


20  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

aspect  of  mystery  full  of  contrasts.  On  coming  from  the 
well-lighted  regions  of  the  Eue  Saint-Honore,  the  Rue  Xeuve- 
des-Petits-Champs,  and  the  Eue  de  Eichelieu,  where  the 
crowd  is  constantly  pushing,  where  glitter  the  masterpieces 
of  industry,  fashion,  and  art,  ever}''  man  to  whom  Paris  by 
night  is  unknown  would  feel  a  sense  of  dread  and  melancholy, 
on  finding  himself  in  the  labyrinth  of  little  streets  which  lie 
round  that  blaze  of  light  reflected  even  from  the  sk3^  Dense 
blackness  is  here,  instead  of  floods  of  gaslight;  a  dim  oil- 
lamp  here  and  there  sheds  its  doubtful  and  smoky  gleam,  and 
many  blind  alleys  are  not  lighted  at  all.  Foot  passengers 
are  few,  and  walk  fast.  The  shops  are  shut,  the  few  that 
are  open  are  of  a  squalid  kind;  a  dirty,  unlighted  wineshop, 
or  a  seller  of  underclothing  and  eau-de-Cologne.  An  un- 
wholesome chill  lays  a  clammy  cloak  over  your  shoulders. 
Few  carriages  drive  past.  There  are  sinister  places  here, 
especially  the  Rue  de  Langlade,  the  entrance  to  the  Passage 
Saint-Guillaume,  and  the  turnings  of  some  streets. 

The  municipal  council  has  not  yet  been  able  to  purge  this 
vast  lazar-place,  for  prostitution  long  since  made  it  its  head- 
quarters. It  is,  perhaps,  a  good  thing  for  Paris  that  these 
alleys  should  be  allowed  to  preserve  their  filthy  aspect.  Pass- 
ing through  them  by  day,  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  what 
they  become  by  night ;  they  are  pervaded  by  strange  creatures 
of  no  known  world;  white,  half-naked  forms  cling  to  the 
walls — the  darkness  is  alive.  Between  the  passenger  and 
the  wall  a  dress  steals  by — a  dress  that  moves  and  speaks. 
Half-open  doors  suddenly  shout  with  laughter.  Words  fall 
on  the  ear  such  as  Rabelais  speaks  of  as  frozen  and  melting. 
Snatches  of  songs  come  up  from  the  pavement.  The  noise 
is  not  vague ;  it  means  something.  When  it  is  hoarse  it  is  a 
voice;  but  if  it  suggests  a  song,  there  is  nothing  human 
about  it,  it  is  more  like  a  croak.  Often  you  hear  a  sharp 
whistle,  and  then  the  tap  of  boot-heels  has  a  peculiarly  aggres- 
sive and  mocking  ring.  This  medley  of  things  makes  you 
giddy.  Atmospheric  conditions  are  reversed  there — it  is 
warm  in  winter  and  cool  in  summer. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  21 

Still,  whatever  the  weather,  this  strange  world  always 
wears  the  same  aspect;  it  is  the  fantastic  world  of  Hoffmann 
of  Berlin.  The  most  mathematical  of  clerks  never  thinks  of 
it  as  real,  after  returning  through  the  straits  that  lead  into 
decent  streets,  where  there  are  passengers,  shops,  and  taverns. 
Modern  administration,  or  modern  policy,  more  scornful  or 
more  shamefaced  than  the  queens  and  kings  of  past  ages, 
no  longer  dare  look  boldly  in  the  face  of  this  plague  of  our 
capitals.  Measures,  of  course,  must  change  with  the  times, 
and  such  as  bear  on  individuals  and  on  their  liberty  are  a 
ticklish  matter ;  still,  we  ought,  perhaps,  to  show  some  breadth 
and  boldness  as  to  merely  material  measures — air,  light,  and 
construction.  The  moralist,  the  artist,  and  the  sage  adminis- 
trator alike  must  regret  the  old  wooden  galleries  of  the 
Palais  Royal,  where  the  l^mbs  were  to  be  seen  who  will  always 
be  found  where  there  are  loungers ;  and  is  "it  not  best  that 
the  loungers  should  go  where  they  are  to  be  found?  What 
is  the  consequence  ?  The  gayest  parts  of  the  Boulevards,  that 
delightfulest  of  promenades,  are  impossible  in  the  evening 
for  a  family  party.  The  police  has  failed  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  outlet  afforded  by  some  small  streets  to  purge 
the  main  street. 

The  girl  whom  we  have  seen  crushed  by  a  word  at  the 
opera  ball  had  been  for  the  last  month  or  two  living  in 
the  Rue  de  Langlade,  in  a  very  poor-looking  house.  This 
structure,  stuck  on  to  the  wall  of  an  enormously  large  one, 
badly  stuccoed,  of  no  depth,  and  immensely  high,  has  all  its 
windows  on  the  street,  and  bears  some  resemblance  to  a 
parrot^s  perch.  On  each  floor  are  two  rooms,  let  as  separate 
flats.  There  is  a  narrow  staircase  clinging  to  the  wall, 
queerly  lighted  by  windows  which  mark  its  ascent  on  the 
outer  wall,  each  landing  being  indicated  by  a  sink,  one  of 
the  most  odious  peculiarities  of  Paris.  The  shop  and  entresol 
at  that  time  were  tenanted  by  a  tinman;  the  landlord  oc- 
cupied the  first  floor;  the  four  upper  stories  were  rented  by 
very  decent  working  girls,  who  were  treated  by  the  portress 
and  the  proprietor  with  some  consideration  and  an  obliging- 


y 


22  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

ness  called  forth  by  the  difficulty  of  letting  a  he  oddly 

constructed  and  situated.  The  occupants  of  the  quarier  are 
accounted  for  by  the  existence  there  of  many  houses  of  the 
same  character,  for  which  trade  has  no  use,  and  which  can 
only  be  rented  by  the  poorer  kinds  of  industry,  of  a  pre- 
carious or  ignominious  nature. 

At  three  in  the  afternoon  the  portress,  who  had  seen 
Mademoiselle  Esther  brought  home  half  dead  by  a  young 
man  at  two  in  the  morning,  had  just  held  council  with  the 
young  woman  of  the  floor  above,  who,  before  setting  out  in  a 
cab  to  join  some  party  of  pleasure,  had  expressed  her  uneasi- 
ness about  Esther ;  she  had  not  heard  her  move.  Esther  was, 
no  doubt,  still  asleep,  but  this  slumber  seemed  suspicious. 
The  portress,  alone  in  her  cell,  was  regretting  that  she  could 
not  go  to  see  what  was  happening  oq  the  fourth  floor,  where 
Mademoiselle  Esther  lodged. 

Just  as  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  leave  the  tinman's 
son  in  charge  of  her  room,  a  sort  of  den  in  a  recess  on  the 
entresol  floor,  a  cab  stopped  at  the  door.  A  man  stepped  out, 
wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  a  cloak  evidently  intended  to 
conceal  his  dress  or  his  rank  in  life,  and  asked  for  Made- 
moiselle Esther.  The  portress  at  one  felt  relieved;  this  ac- 
counted for  Esther's  silence  and  quietude.  As  the  stranger 
mounted  the  stairs  above  the  portress'  room,  she  noticed  silver 
buckles  in  his  shoes,  and  fancied  she  caught  sight  of  the  black 
fringe  of  a  priest's  sash;  she  went  downstairs  and  catechised 
the  driver,  who  answered  without  speech,  and  again  the  wo- 
man understood. 

The  priest  knocked,  received  no  answer,  heard  a  slight 
gasp,  and  forced  the  door  open  with  a  thrust  of  his  shoulder; 
charity,  no  doubt,  lent  him  strength,  but  in  any  one  else  it 
would  have  been  ascribed  to  practice.  He  rushed  to  the  inner 
room,  and  there  found  poor  Esther  in  front  of  an  image  of 
the  Virgin  in  painted  plaster,  kneeling,  or  rather  doubled  up, 
on  the  floor,  her  hands  folded.  The  girl  was  dying.  A 
brazier  of  burnt  charcoal  told  the  tale  of  that  dreadful  morn- 
ing.    The  domino  cloak  and  hood  were  lying  on  the  ground. 


ERTHER  HAPPY  23 

The  bed  was  undisturbed.  The  unhappy  creatu're,  stricken 
to  the  heart  by  a  mortal  thrust,  had,  no  doubt,  n.mde  all  her 
arrangements  on  her  return  from  the  opera.  A  ciindle-wick, 
collapsed  in  the  pool  of  grease  that  filled  the  can.dle-sconce, 
showed  how  completely  her  last  meditations  had  absorbed 
her.  A  handkerchief  soaked  with  tears  proved  the  ^sincerity 
of  the  Magdalen's  despair,  while  her  classic  attitude  wfis  that 
of  the  irreligious  courtesan.  This  abject  repentance  made 
the  priest  smile. 

Esther,  unskilled  in  dying,  had  left  the  door  open,  not 
thinking  that  the  air  of  two  rooms  would  need  a  lar^zer 
amount  of  charcoal  to  make  it  suffocating;  she  was  only 
stunned  by  the  fumes;  the  fresh  air  from  the  staircase 
gradually  restored  her  to  a  consciousness  of  her  woes. 

The  priest  remained  standing,  lost  in  gloomy  meditation, 
without  being  touched  by  the  girl's  divine  beauty,  watching 
her  first  movements  as  if  she  had  been  some  animal.  His 
eyes  went  from  the  crouching  figure  to  the  surrounding  ob- 
jects with  evident  indifference.  He  looked  at  the  furniture 
in  the  room;  the  paved  floor,  red,  polished,  and  cold,  was 
poorly  covered  with  a  shabby  carpet  worn  to  the  string.  A 
little  bedstead,  of  painted  wood  and  old-fashioned  shape,  was 
hung  with  yellow  cotton  printed  with  red  stars,  one  armchair 
and  two  small  chairs,  also  of  painted  wood,  and  covered  with 
the  same  cotton  print  of  which  the  window-curtains  were  also 
made ;  a  gray  wall-paper  sprigged  with  flowers  blackened  and 
greasy  with  age;  a  fireplace  full  of  kitchen  utensils  of  the 
vilest  kind,  two  bundles  of  fire-logs;  a  stone  shelf,  on  which 
lay  some  jewelry  false  and  real,  a  pair  of  scissors,  a  dirty 
pincushion,  and  some  white  scented  gloves;  an  exquisite  hat 
perched  on  the  water- jug,  a  Ternaux  shawl  stopping  a  hole  in 
the  window,  a  handsome  gown  hanging  from  a  nail;  a  little 
hard  sofa,  with  no  cushions ;  broken  clogs  and  dainty  slippers, 
boots  that  a  queen  might  have  coveted;  cheap  china  plates, 
cracked  or  chipped,  with  fragments  of  a  past  meal,  and  nickel 
forks — the  plate  of  the  Paris  poor;  a  basket  full  of  potatoes 
and  dirty  linen,  with  a  smart  gauze  cap  on  the  top ;  a  rickety 


24  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

wardrobe,  ,with  a  glass  door,  open  and  empt}^  and  on  the 
shelves  suridry  pawn-tickets, — this  was  the  medley  of  things, 
dismal  or  pleasing,  abject  and  handsome,  that  fell  on  his 
eye.  , 

These  relics  of  splendor  among  the  potsherds,  these  house- 
hold belongings — so  appropriate  to  the  bohemian  existence  of 
the  girl  who  knelt  stricken  in  her  unbuttoned  garments,  like 
a  horse  dying  in  harness  under  the  broken  shafts  entangled 
in  the  reins — did  the  whole  strange  scene  suggest  any  thoughts 
to  the  priest  ?  Did  he  say  to  himself  that  this  erring  creature 
m,ust  at  least  be  disinterested  to  live  in  such  poverty  when  her 
lover  was  young  and  rich?  Did  he  ascribe  the  disorder  of 
the  room  to  the  disorder  of  her  life?  Did  he  feel  pity  or 
terror?     Was  his  charity  moved? 

To  see  him,  his  arms  folded,  his  brow  dark,  his  lips  set, 

his  eye  harsh,  an}''  one  must  have  supposed  him  absorbed  in 

morose  feelings  of  hatred,  considerations  that  jostled  each 

^  other,  sinister  schemes.     He  was  certainly  insensible  to  the 

**soft  roundness  of  a  bosom  almost  crushed  under  the  weight 

.  I  of  the  bowed  shoulders,  and  to  the  beautiful  modeling  of 

I  the  crouching  Venus  that  was  visible  under  the  black  petti- 

3Li3oat,  so  closely  was  the  dying  girl  curled  up.     The  drooping 

head  which,  seen  from  behind,  showed  the  white,  slender, 

flexible  neck  and  the  fine  shoulders  of  a  well-developed  figure, 

did  not  appeal  to  him.     He  did  not  raise  Esther,  he  did  not 

seem  to  hear  the  agonizing  gasps  which  showed  that  she  was 

returning  to  life;  a  fearful  sob  and  a  terrifying  glance  from 

the  girl  were  needed  before  he  condescended  to  lift  her,  and 

he  carried  her  to  the  bed  with  an  ease  that  revealed  enormous 

strength. 

"Lucien!"  she  murmured. 

"Love  is  there,  the  woman  is  not  far  behind,"  said  the 
priest  with  some  bitterness. 

The  victim  of  Parisian  depravity  then  observed  the  dress 
worn  by  her  deliverer,  and  said,  with  a  smile  like  a  child's 
when  it  takes  possession  of  something  longed  for : 

"Then  I  shall  not  die  without  being  reconciled  to  Heaven  ?" 


ESTHER  HAPPY  25 

"You  may  yet  expiate  your  sins,"  said  the  priest,  moisten- 
ing her  forehead  with  water,  and  making  her  smell  at  a  cruet; 
of  vinegar  he  found  in  a  corner. 

■  "I  feel  that  life,  instead  of  departing,  is  rushing  in  on 
me,"  said  she,  after  accepting  the  Father's  care  and  express- 
ing her  gratitude  by  simple  gestures.  This  engaging  pan- 
tomime, such  as  the  Graces  might  have  used  to  charm,  per- 
fectly justified  the  nickname  given  to  this  strange  girl. 

"Do  you  feel  better?"  said  the  priest,  giving  her  a  glass 
of  sugar  and  water  to  drink. 

This  man  seemed  accustomed  to  such  queer  establishments ; 
he  knew  all  about  it.  He  was  quite  at  home  there.  This 
privilege  of  being  everywhere  at  home  is  the  prerogative  of 
kings,  courtesans,  and  thieves. 

"When  you  feel  quite  well,"  this  strange  priest  went  on 
after  a  pause,  "you  must  tell  me  the  reasons  which  prompted 
you  to  commit  this  last  crime,  this  attempted  suicide." 

"My  story  is  very  simple,  Father,"  replied  she.  "Three 
months  ago  I  was  living  the  evil  life  to  which  I  was  born. 
I  was  the  lowest  and  vilest  of  creatures ;  now  I  am  only  the 
most  unhappy.  Excuse  me  from  telling  you  the  history  of 
my  poor  mother,  who  was  murdered " 

"By  a  Captain,  in  a  house  of  ill-fame,"  said  the  priest,  in- 
terrupting the  penitent.  "I  know  your  origin,  and  I  know 
that  if  a  being  of  your  sex  can  ever  be  excused  for  leading 
a  life  of  shame,  it  is  you,  who  have  always  lacked  good 
examples." 

"Alas !  I  was  never  baptized,  and  have  no  religious  teach- 
ing." 

"All  may  yet  be  remedied  then,"  replied  the  priest,  "pro- 
vided that  your  faith,  your  repentance,  are  sincere  and  with- 
out ulterior  motive." 

"Lueien  and  God  fill  my  heart,"  said  she  with  ingenuous 
pathos. 

"You  might  have  said  God  and  Lueien,"  answered  the 
priest,  smiling.  "You  remind  me  of  the  purpose  of  my  visit. 
Omit  nothing  that  concerns  that  young  man." 


2e  A.  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"You  have  come  from  him?"  she  asked^,  with  a  tender  look 
that  would  have  touched  any  other  priest !  "Oh,  he  thought 
I  should  do  it !" 

"No/'  replied  the  priest ;  "it  is  not  your  death,  but  your  life 
that  we  are  interested  in.  Come,  explain  your  position 
toward  each  other." 

"In  one  word,"  said  she. 

The  poor  child  quaked  at  the  priest's  stern  tone,  but  as 
a  woman  quakes  who  has  long  ceased  to  be  surprised  at 
brutality. 

"Lucien  is  Lucien,"  said  she,  "the  handsomest  young  man, 
the  kindest  soul  alive:  if  you  know  him,  my  love  must  seem 
to  you  quite  natural.  I  met  him  by  chance,  three  months 
ago,  at  the  Porte-Saint-Martin  theatre,  where  I  went  one  day 
when  I  had  leave,  for  we  had  a  day  a  week  at  Madame  Mey- 
nardie's,  where  I  then  was.  Xext  day,  you  understand,  I 
went  out  without  leave.  Love  had  come  into  my  heart,  and 
had  so  completely  changed  me,  that  on  my  return  from  the 
theatre  I  did  not  know  myself:  I  had  a  horror  of  m3rself. 
Lucien  would  never  have  known.  Instead  of  telling  him 
what  I  was,  I  gave  him  my  address  at  these  rooms,  where  a 
friend  of  mine  was  then  living,  who  was  so  kind  as  to  give 
them  up  to  me.     I  swear  on  my  sacred  word " 

"You  must  not  swear." 

"Is  it  swearing  to  give  your  sacred  word? — Well,  from 
that  day  I  have  worked  in  this  room  like  a  lost  creature  at 
shirt-making  at  twenty-eight  sous  apiece,  so  as  to  live  by 
honest  labor.  For  a  month  I  have  had  nothing  to  eat  but 
potatoes,  that  I  might  keep  myself  a  good  girl  and  worthy 
of  Lucien,  who  loves  me  and  respects  me  as  a  pattern  of 
virtue.  I  have  made  my  declaration  before  the  police  to 
recover  my  rights,  and  submitted  to  two  years'  surveillance. 
They  are  ready  enough  to  enter  your  name  on  the  lists  of 
disgrace,  but  make  every  difficulty  about  scratching  it  out 
again.  All  I  asked  of  Heaven  was  to  enable  me  to  keep  my 
resolution. 

"I  shall  be  nineteen  in  the  month  of  April;  at  my  age 


ESTHER  HAPPY  27 

there  is  still  a  chance.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  was  never  born 
till  three  months  ago. — I  prayed  to  God  every  morning  that 
Lucien  might  never  know  what  my  former  life  had  been. 
I  bought  that  Virgin  you  see  there,  and  I  prayed  to  her  in 
my  own  way,  for  I  do  not  know  any  prayers;  I  cannot  read 
nor  write,  and  I  have  never  been  into  a  church ;  I  have  never 
seen  anything  of  God  excepting  in  processions,  out  of 
curiosity." 

"And  what  do  you  say  to  the  Virgin?" 

"I  talk  to  her  as  I  talk  to  Lucien,  with  all  my  soul,  till 
I  make  him  cry." 

"Oh,  so  he  cries  ?" 

"With  joy,"  said  she  eagerly,  "poor  dear  boy!  "We  un- 
derstand each  other  so  well  that  we  have  but  one  soul !  He 
is  so  nice,  so  fond,  so  sweet  in  heart  and  mind  and  man- 
ners !  He  says  he  is  a  poet ;  I  say  he  is  god. — Forgive  me ! 
You  priests,  you  see,  don't  know  what  love  is.  But,  in  fact, 
only  girls  like  me  know  enough  of  men  to  appreciate  such  as 
Lucien.  A  Lucien,  you  see,  is  as  rare  as  a  woman  without  . 
sin.  When  you  come  across  him  you  can  love  no  one  else;^ 
so  there !  But  such  a  being  must  have  his  fellow ;  so  I  want 
to  be  worthy  to  be  loved  by  my  Lucien.  That  is  where  my 
trouble  began.  Last  evening,  at  the  opera,  I  was  recognized 
by  some  young  men  who  have  no  more  feeling  than  a  tiger 
has  pity — for  that  matter,  I  could  come  round  the  tiger! 
The  veil  of  innocence  I  had  tried  to  Avear  was  torn  off;  their 
laughter  pierced  my  brain  and  my  heart.  Do  not  think  you 
have  saved  me;  I  shall  die  of  grief." 

"Your  veil  of  innocence?"  said  the  priest.  "Then  you 
have  treated  Lucien  with  the  sternest  severity?" 

"Oh,  Father,  how  can  you,  who  know  him,  ask  me  such 
a  question!"  she  replied  with  a  smile.  "Who  can  resist  a 
god?" 

"Do  not  be  blasphemous,"  said  the  priest  mildly.  "No 
one  can  be  like  God.  Exaggeration  is  out  of  place  with  true 
love;  you  had  not  a  pure  and  genuine  love  for  your  idol. 
If  you  had  undergone  the  conversion  you  boast  of  having 


28  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

felt,  you  would  have  acquired  the  virtues  which  are  a  part 
of  womanhood ;  you  would  have  known  the  charm  of  chastity, 
the  refinements  of  modesty,  the  two  virtues  that  are  the  glory 
of  a  maiden. — You  do  not  love." 

Esther's  gesture  of  horror  was  seen  by  the  priest,  but  it 
had  no  effect  on  the  impassibility  of  her  confessor. 

"Yes;  for  you  love  him  for  yourself  and  not  for  himself, 
for  the  temporal  enjoyments  that  delight  you,  and  not  for 
love  itself.  If  he  has  thus  taken  possession  of  you,  you 
cannot  have  felt  that  sacred  thrill  that  is  inspired  by  a  being 
on  whom  God  has  set  the  seal  of  the  most  adorable  perfec- 
tions. Has  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  you  would  degrade 
him  by  your  past  impurit}',  that  you  would  corrupt  a  child 
by  the  overpowering  seductions  which  earned  you  your  nick- 
name glorious  in  infamy?  You  have  been  illogical  with 
yourself,  and  your  passion  of  a  day " 

"Of  a  day  ?"  she  repeated,  raising  her  eyes. 

"By  what  other  name  can  you  call  a  love  that  is  not  eternal, 
that  does  not  unite  us  in  the  future  life  of  the  Christian,  to 
the  being  we  love?" 

"Ah,  I  will  be  a  Catholic !"  she  cried  in  a  hollow,  vehement 
tone,  that  would  have  earned  her  the  mercy  of  the  Lord. 

"Can  a  girl  who  has  received  neitlier  the  baptism  of  the 
Church  nor  that  of  knowledge;  who  can  neither  read,  nor 
write,  nor  pray;  who  cannot  take  a  step  without  the  stones 
in  the  street  rising  up  to  accuse  her;  noteworthy  only  for 
the  fugitive  gift  of  beauty  which  sickness  may  destroy  to- 
morrow; can  such  a  vile,  degraded  creature,  fully  aware  too 
of  her  degradation — for  if  you  had  been  ignorant  of  it  and 
less  devoted,  you  would  have  been  more  excusable — can  the 
intended  victim  to  suicide  and  hell  hope  to  be  the  wife  of 
Lucien  de  Eubempre?" 

Every  word  was  a  poniard  thrust  piercing  the  depths  of  her 
heart.  At  every  word  the  louder  sobs  and  abundant  tears  of 
the  desperate  girl  showed  the  power  with  which  light  had 
ilashed  upon  an  intelligence  as  pure  as  that  of  a  savage,  upon 
a  soul  at  length  aroused,  upon  a  nature  over  which  depravity 


ESTHER  HAPPY  29 

had  laid  a  sheet  of  foul  ice  now  thawed  in  the  sunshine  of 
faith. 

"Why  did  I  not  die !"  was  the  only  thought  that  found  ut- 
terance in  the  midst  of  a  torrent  of  ideas  that  racked  and 
ravaged  her  brain. 

"My  daughter/'  said  the  terrible  judge,  "there  is  a  love 
which  is  unconfessed  before  men,  but  of  which  the  secret 
is  received  by  the  angels  with  smiles  of  gladness." 

"What  is  that?" 

"Love  without  hope,  when  it  inspires  our  life,  when  it 
fills  us  with  the  spirit  of  sacrifice,  when  it  ennobles  every 
act  by  the  thought  of  reaching  some  ideal  perfection.  Yes, 
the  angels  approve  of  such  love;  it  leads  to  the  knowledge 
of  God.  To  aim  at  perfection  in  order  to  be  worthy  of  the 
one  you  love,  to  make  for  him  a  thousand  secret  sacrifices, 
adoring  him  from  afar,  giving  your  blood  drop  by  drop, 
abnegating  your  self-love,  never  feeling  any  pride  or  anger 
as  regards  him,  even  concealing  from  him  all  knowledge  of 
the  dreadful  jealousy  he  fires  in  your  heart,  giving  him  all 
he  wishes  were  it  to  your  own  loss,  loving  what  he  loves, 
always  turning  your  face  to  him  to  follow  him  without  his 
knowing  it — such  love  as  that  religion  would  have  forgiven; 
it  is  no  offence  to  laws  human  or  divine,  and  would  have 
led  you  into  another  road  than  that  of  your  foul  voluptuous- 
ness." 

As  she  heard  this  horrible  verdict,  uttered  in  a  word — 
and  such  a  word !  and  spoken  in  such  a  tone  ! — Esther's  spirit 
rose  up  in  fairly  legitimate  distrust.  This  word  was  like  a 
thunder-clap  giving  warning  of  a  storm  about  to  break.  She 
looked  at  the  priest,  and  felt  the  grip  on  her  vitals  which 
wrings  the  bravest  when  face  to  face  with  sudden  and  im- 
minent danger.  No  eye  could  have  read  what  was  passing 
in  this  man's  mind;  but  the  boldest  would  have  found  more 
to  quail  at  than  to  hope  for  in  the  expression  of  his  eyes, 
once  bright  and  yellow  like  those  of  a  tiger,  but  now  shrouded, 
from  austerities  and  privations,  with  a  haze  like  that  which 
overhangs  the  horizon  in  the  dog-days,  when,  though  the 


30  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

earth  is  hot  and  luminous,  the  mist  makes  it  indistinct  and 
dim — almost  invisible. 

The  gravity  of  a  Spaniard,  the  deep  furrows  wliich  the 
myriad  scars  of  virulent  smallpox  made  hideously  like  broken 
ruts,  were  ploughed  into  his  face,  which  was  sallow  and 
tanned  by  the  sun.  The  hardness  of  this  countenance  was 
all  the  more  conspicuous,  being  framed  in  the  meagre  dry 
wig  of  a  priest  who  takes  no  care  of  his  person,  a  black  wig 
looking  rusty  in  the  light.  His  athletic  frame,  his  hands 
like  an  old  soldier's,  his  broad,  strong  shoulders  were  those 
of  the  Caryatides  which  the  architects  of  the  Middle  Ages 
introduced  into  some  Italian  palaces,  remotely  imitated  in 
those  of  the  front  of  the  Porte-Saint-Martin  theatre.  The 
least  clear-sighted  observer  might  have  seen  that  fiery  pas- 
sions or  some  unwonted  accident  must  have  thrown  this  man 
into  the  bosom  of  the  Church;  certainly  none  but  the  most 
tremendous  shocks  of  lightning  could  have  changed  him,  if 
indeed  such  a  nature  were  susceptible  of  change. 

Women  who  have  lived  the  life  that  Esther  had  so  violently 
repudiated  come  to  feel  absolute  indifference  as  to  the  ex- 
ternal form  of  a  man.  They  are  like  the  literary  critics  of 
our  day,  who  may  be  compared  with  them  in  some  respects, 
and  who  feel  at  last  perfect  disregard  of  the  formulas  of 
art;  they  have  read  so  many  books,  they  see  so  many  pass 
away,  they  are  so  much  accustomed  to  written  pages,  they 
have  gone  through  so  many  plots,  they  have  seen  so  many 
dramas,  they  have  written  so  many  articles  without  saying 
what  they  meant,  and  have  so  often  been  treasonable  to  the 
cause  of  Art  in  favor  of  their  personal  likings  and  aversions, 
that  they  acquire  a  feeling  of  disgust  of  everything,  and  yet 
continue  to  pass  judgment.  It  needs  a  miracle  to  make 
such  a  writer  produce  sound  work,  just  as  it  needs  another 
miracle  to  give  birth  to  pure  and  noble  love  in  the  heart  of 
a  courtesan. 

The  tone  and  manner  of  this  priest,  who  seemed  to  have 
escaped  from  a  picture  by  Zurbaran,  struck  this  poor  girl 
as  so  hostile,  little  as  externals  affected  her,  that  she  per- 


ESTHER  HAPPY 

ceived  herself  to  be  less  the  object  ol  his  solicitude  than 
instrument  he  needed  for  some  scheme.     Being  unable 
distinguish  between  the  insinuating  tongue  of  personal  in 
terest  and  the  unction  of  true  charity,  for  we  must  be  acutely 
awake  to  recognize  false  coin  when  it  is  offered  by  a  friend, 
she  felt  herself,  as  it  were,  in  the  talons  of  some  fierce  and 
monstrous  bird  of  prey  who,  after  hovering  over  her  for  long, 
had  pounced  down  on  her;  and  in  her  terror  she  cried  in  a 
voice  of  alarm: 

"I  thought  it  was  a  priest's  duty  to  console  us,  and  you 
are  killing  me !'' 

At  this  innocent  outcry  the  priest  started  and  paused; 
he  meditated  a  moment  before  replying.  During  that  in- 
stant the  two  persons  so  strangely  brought  together  studied 
each  other  cautiously.  The  priest  understood  the  girl,  though 
the  girl  could  not  understand  the  priest. 

He,  no  doubt,  put  aside  some  plan  which  had  threatened 
the  unhappy  Esther,  and  came  back  to  his  first  ideas. 

"We  are  the  physicians  of  the  soul,"  said  he,  in  a  mild 
voice,  "and  we  know  what  remedies  suit  their  maladies." 

"Much  must  be  forgiven  to  the  wretched,"  said  Esther. 

She  fancied  she  had  been  wrong;  she  slipped  off  the  bed, 
threw  herself  at  the  man's  feet,  kissed  his  gown  with  deep 
humility,  and  looked  up  at  him  with  eyes  full  of  tears. 

"I  thought  I  had  done  so  much !"  she  said. 

"Listen,  my  child.  Your  terrible  reputation  has  cast 
Lueien's  family  into  grief.  They  are  afraid,  and  not  with- 
out reason,  that  you  may  lead  him  into  dissipation,  into 
endless  folly " 

"That  is  true ;  it  was  1  who  got  him  to  the  ball  to  mystify 
him." 

"You  are  handsome  enough  to  make  him  wish  to  triumph 
in  you  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  to  show  you  with  pride, 
and  make  you  an  object  for  display.  And  if  he  wasted  money 
only ! — but  he  will  waste  his  time,  his  powers ;  he  will  lose 
his  inclination  for  the  fine  future  his  friends  can  secure  ro 
him.     Instead  of  being  some  day  an  ambassador,  rich,  ad- 


A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

-•ed,  and  triumphant,  he,  like  so  many  debauchees  who 

oke  their  talents  in  the  mud  of  Paris,  will  have  been  the 
.  over  of  a  degraded  woman. 

"As  for  3'^ou,  after  rising  for  a  time  to  the  level  of  a 
sphere  of  elegance,  you  will  presently  sink  back  to  your 
former  life,  for  you  have  not  in  yon  the  strength  bestowed  by 
a  good  education  to  enable  you  to  resist  vice  and  think  of  the 
future.  You  would  no  more  be  able  to  break  with  the  women 
of  your  own  class  than  you  have  broken  with  the  men  who 
shamed  you  at  the  opera  this  morning.  Lucien's  true  friends, 
alarmed  by  his  passion  for  you,  have  dogged  his  steps  and 
know  all.  Filled  with  horror,  they  have  sent  me  to  you  to 
sound  your  views  and  decide  your  fate;  but  though  they  are 
powerful  enough  to  clear  a  stumbling-stone  out  of  the  young 
man's  way,  they  are  merciful.  Understand  this,  child:  a 
girl  whom  Lucien  loves  has  claims  on  their  regard,  as  a  true 
Christian  M'orships  the  slough  on  which,  by  chance,  the  divine 
light  falls.  1  came  to  be  the  instrument  of  a  beneficent  pur- 
pose ; — still,  if  I  had  found  you  utterly  reprobate,  armed  with 
effrontery  and  astuteness,  corrupt  to  the  marrow,  deaf  to 
the  voice  of  repentance,  1  should  have  abandoned  you  to  their 
wrath. 

"The  release,  civil  and  political,  which  it  is  so  hard  to 
win,  which  the  police  is  so  right  to  withhold  for  a  time  in 
the  interests  of  society,  and  which  I  heard  you  long  for 
with  all  the  ardor  of  true  repentance — is  here,"  said  the 
priest,  taking  an  othcial-lookiug  paper  out  of  his  belt.  "You 
\7ere  seen  yesterday,  this  letter  of  release  is  dated  to-day. 
You  see  how  powerful  the  people  are  who  take  an  interest  in 
Lucien." 

At  the  sight  of  this  document  Esther  was  so  ingenuously 
overcome  by  the  convulsive  agitation  produced  b}'  unlooked- 
for  joy,  that  a  fixed  smile  parted  her  lips,  like  that  of  a  crazy 
creature.  The  priest  paused,  looking  at  the  girl  to  see 
whether,  when  once  she  had  lost  the  horrible  strength  which 
corrupt  natures  find  in  corruption  itself,  and  was  thrown 
back  on  her  frail  and  delicate  primitive  nature,  she  could 


ESTHER  HAPPY  33 

endure  so  much  excitement.  If  she  had  been  a  deceitful 
courtesan,  Esther  would  have  acted  a  part;  but  now  that  she 
was  innocent  and  herself  once  more,  she  might  perhaps  die, 
as  a  blind  man  cured  may  lose  his  sight  again  if  he  is  ex- 
posed to  too  bright  a  light.  At  this  moment  this  man  looked 
into  the  very  depths  of  human  nature,  but  his  calmness  was 
terrible  in  its  rigidity;  a  cold  alp,  snow-bound  and  near  to 
heaven,  impenetrable  and  frowning,  with  flanks  of  granite, 
and  yet  beneficent. 

Such  women  are  essentially  impressionable  beings,  passing 
without  reason  from  the  most  idiotic  distrust  to  absolute  con- 
fidence. In  this  respect  they  are  lower  than  animals.  Ex- 
treme in  everything — in  their  joy  and  despair,  in  their 
religion  and  irreligion — they  would  almost  all  go  mad  if 
they  were  not  decimated  b}^  the  mortality  peculiar  to  their 
class,  and  if  happy  chances  did  not  lift  one  now  and  then 
from  the  slough  in  which  they  dwell.  To  understand  the 
very  depths  of  the  wretchedness  of  this  horrible  existence, 
one  must  know  how  far  in  madness  a  creature  can  go  without 
remaining  there,  by  studying  La  Torpille's  violent  ecstasy 
at  the  priest's  feet.  The  poor  girl  gazed  at  the  paper  of  re- 
lease with  an  expression  which  Dante  has  overlooked,  and 
which  surpassed  the  inventiveness  of  his  Inferno.  But  a 
reaction  came  with  tears.  Esther  rose,  threw  her  arms  round 
the  priest's  neck,  laid  her  head  on  his  breast,  which  she 
wetted  with  her  weeping,  kissing  the  coarse  stuff  that  covered 
that  heart  of  steel  as  if  she  fain  would  touch  it.  She  seized 
hold  of  him;  she  covered  his  hands  with  kisses;  she  poured 
out  in  a  sacred  efEusion  of  gratitude  her  most  coaxing  caresses, 
lavished  fond  names  on  him,  saying  again  and  again  in  the 
midst  of  her  honeyed  words,  "Let  me  have  it !"  in  a  thousand 
different  tones  of  voice;  she  wrapped  him  in  tenderness, 
covered  him  with  her  looks  with  a  .swiftness  that  found  him 
defenceless;  at  last  she  charmed  away  his  wrath. 

The  priest  perceived  how  well  the  girl  had  deserved  her 
nickname ;  he  understood  how  difficult  it  was  to  resist  this 
bewitching  creature ;  he  suddenly  comprehended  Lucien's  love, 


84  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

and  just  what  must  have  fascinated  the  poet.  Such  a  pas- 
sion hides  among  a  thousand  temptations  a  dart-like  hook 
which  is  most  apt  to  catch  the  lofty  soul  of  an  artist.  These 
passions,  inexplicable  to  the  vulgar,  are  perfectly  accounted 
for  by  the  thirst  for  ideal  beauty,  which  is  characteristic  of 
a  creative  mind.  For  are  we  not,  in  some  degree,  akin  to 
the  angels,  whose  task  it  is  to  bring  the  guilty  to  a  better 
mind?  are  we  not  creative  when  we  purify  such  a  creature? 
How  delightful  it  is  to  harmonize  moral  with  physical  beauty ! 
What  joy  and  pride  if  we  succeed !  How  noble  a  task  is  that 
which  has  no  instrument  but  love ! 

Such  alliances,  made  famous  by  the  example  of  Aristotle, 
Socrates,  Plato,  Alcibiades,  Cethegus,  and  Pompey,  and  yet 
so  monstrous  in  the  eyes  of  the  vulgar,  are  based  on  the  same 
feeling  that  prompted  Louis  XIY.  to  build  Versailles,  or 
that  makes  men  rush  into  any  ruinous  enterprise — into  con- 
verting the  miasma  of  a  marsh  into  a  mass  of  fragrance  sur- 
rounded by  living  waters;  placing  a  lake  at  the  top  of  a 
hill,  as  the  Prince  de  Conti  did  at  Xointel ;  or  producing 
Swiss  scenery  at  Cassan,  like  Bergeret,  the  farmer-general. 
In  short,  it  is  the  application  of  art  in  the  realm  of  morals. 

The  priest,  ashamed  of  having  jdelded  to  this  weakness, 
hastily  pushed  Esther  away,  and  she  sat  down  quite  abashed, 
for  he  said: 

"You  are  still  the  courtesan."  And  he  calmly  replaced  the 
paper  in  his  sash. 

Esther,  like  a  child  who  has  a  single  wish  in  its  head, 
kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  spot  where  the  document  lay 
hidden. 

"My  child,"  the  priest  went  on  after  a  pause,  "your  mother 
was  a  Jewess,  and  you  have  not  been  baptized ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  you  have  never  been  taken  to  the  synagogue. 
You  are  in  the  limbo  where  little  children  are '' 

"Little  children !"  she  echoed,  in  a  tenderly  pathetic  tone. 

"As  you  are  on  the  books  of  the  police,  a  cipher  outside 
the  pale  of  social  beings,"  the  priest  went  on,  unmoved.  "If 
love,  seen  as  it  swept  past,  led  you  to  believe  three  montlis 


ESTHER  HAPPY  35 

since  that  you  were  then  born,  you  must  feel  that  since  that 
day  you  have  been  really  an  infant.  You  must,  therefore,  be 
led  as  if  you  were  a  child;  you  must  be  completely  changed, 
and  I  will  undertake  to  make  you  unrecognizable.  To  begin 
with,  you  must  forget  Lucien." 

The  words  crushed  the  poor  girl's  heart;  she  raised  her 
eyes  to  the  priest  and  shook  her  head;  she  could  not  speak, 
finding  the  executioner  in  the  deliverer  again. 

"At  any  rate,  you  must  give  up^seeing  him,"  he  went  on. 
"I  will  take  you  to  a  religious  house  where  young  girls  of 
the  best  families  are  educated;  there  you  will  become  a 
Catholic,  you  will  be  trained  in  the  practice  of  Christian 
exercises,  you  will  be  taught  religion.  You  may  come  out 
an  accomplished  young  lady,  chaste,  pure,  well  brought  up, 
if "     The  man  lifted  up  a  finger  and  paused. 

"If,"  he  went  on,  "you  feel  brave  enough  to  leave  the 
'Torpille'  behind  you  here." 

"Ah!"  cried  the  poor  thing,  to  whom  each  word  had  been 
like  a  note  of  some  melody  to  which  the  gates  of  Paradise 
were  slowly  opening.  "Ah !  if  it  were  possible  to  shed  all 
my  blood  here  and  have  it  renewed !" 

"Listen  to  me." 

She  was  silent. 

"Your  future  fate  depends  on  your  power  of  forgetting. 
Think  of  the  extent  to  which  you  pledge  yourself.  A  word, 
a  gesture,  which  betrays" La  Torpille  will  kill  Lucien's  wife. 
A  word  murmured  in  a  dream,  an  involuntary  thought,  an 
immodest  glance,  a  gesture  of  impatience,  a  reminiscence  of 
dissipation,  an  omission,  a  shake  of  the  head  that  might  reveal 
what  you  know,  or  what  is  known  about  you  for  your 
woes " 

"Yes,  yes.  Father,"  said  the  girl,  with  the  exaltation  of 
a  saint.  "To  walk  in  shoes  of  red-hot  iron  and  smile,  to 
live  in  a  pair  of  stays  set  with  nails  and  maintain  the  grace 
of  a  dancer,  to  eat  bread  salted  with  ashes,  to  drink  worm- 
wood,— all  will  be  sweet  and  easy !" 

She  fell  again  on  her  knees,  she  kissed  the  priest's  shoes, 


36  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

she  melted  into  tears  that  wetted  them,  she  clasped  his  knees, 
and  clung  to  them,  murmuring  foolish  words  as  she  wept  for 
joy.  Her  long  and  beautiful  light  hair  waved  to  the  ground, 
a  sort  of  carpet  under  the  feet  of  the  celestial  messenger, 
whom  she  saw  as  gloomy  and  hard  as  ever  when  she  lifted 
herself  up  and  looked  at  him. 

"What  have  I  done  to  offend  j^ou?"  cried  she,  quite 
frightened.  "I  have  heard  of  a  woman,  such  as  I  am,  who 
washed  the  feet  of  Jesus  with  perfumes.  Alas !  virtue  has 
made  me  so  poor  that  I  have  nothing  but  tears  to  offer  you." 

"Have  you  not  understood  ?"  he  answered,  in  a  cruel  voice. 
"I  tell  you,  you  must  be  able  to  come  out  of  the  house  to 
which  I  shall  take  you  so  completely  changed,  physically  and 
morally,  that  no  man  or  woman  you  have  ever  known  will 
be  able  to  call  you  'Esther'  and  make  you  look  round.  Yes- 
terday your  love  could  not  give  you  strength  enough  so  com- 
pletely to  bury  the  prostitute  that  she  could  never  reappear; 
and  again  to-day  she  revives  in  adoration  which  is  due  to  none 
but  God." 

"Was  it  not  He  who  sent  you  to  me  ?"  said  she. 

"If  during  the  course  of  your  education  you  should  even 
see  Lucien.  all  would  be  lost,"  he  went  on ;  "remember  that." 

"Who  will  comfort  him  ?"  said  she. 

"What  was  it  that  you  comforted  him  for?"  asked  the 
priest,  in  a  tone  in  which,  for  the  first  time  during  this  scene, 
there  was  a  nervous  quaver. 

"I  do  not  know;  he  was  often  sad  when  he  came." 

"Sad!"  said  the  priest.     "Did  he  tell  you  why?" 

"Never,"  answered  she. 

"He  was  sad  at  loving  such  a  girl  as  you !"  exclaimed  he. 

"Alas !  and  well  he  might  be,"  said  she,  with  deep  humility. 
"I  am  the  most  despicable  creature  of  my  sex,  and  I  could 
find  favor  in  his  eyes  only  by  the  greatness  of  my  love." 

"That  love  must  give  you  the  courage  to  obey  me  blindly. 
If  I  were  to  take  you  straight  from  hence  to  the  house  where 
you  are  to  be  educated,  everybody  here  would  tell  Lucien  that 
you  had  gone  away  to-day,  Sunday,  with  a  priest;  he  might 


ESTHER  HAPPY  3T 

follow  in  3'our  tracks.  In  the  course  of  a  week,  the  portress, 
not  seeing  me  again,  might  suppose  me  to  be  what  I  am  not. 
So,  one  evening — this  day  week — at  seven  o'clock,  go  out 
quietly  and  get  into  a  cab  that  will  be  waiting  for  you  at  the 
bottom  of  the  Hue  des  Frondeurs.  During  this  week  avoid 
Lucien.  find  excuses,  have  him  sent  from  the  door,  and  if  he 
should  come  in,  go  up  to  some  friend's  room.  I  shall  know 
if  you  have  seen  him,  and  in  that  event  all  will  be  at  an  end. 
I  shall  not  even  come  back.  These  eight  days  you  will  need 
to  make  up  some  suitable  clothing  and  to  hide  your  look  of 
a  prostitute,"  said  he,  laying  a  purse  on  the  chimney-shelf. 
"There  is  something  in  your  manner,  in  your  clothes — some- 
thing indefinable  which  is  well  known  to  Parisians,  and  pro- 
claims you  what  you  are.  Have  you  never  met  in  the  streets 
or  on  the  Boulevards  a  modest  and  virtuous  girl  walking  with 
her  mother?" 

"Oh  yes,  to  my  sorrow !  The  sight  of  a  mother  and 
daughter  is  one  of  our  most  cruel  punishments;  it  arouses 
the  remorse  that  lurks  in  the  innermost  folds  of  our  hearts, 
and  that  is  consuming  us. — I  know  too  well  all  I  lack." 

"Well,  then,  you  know  how  you  should  look  next  Sun- 
day," said  the  priest,  rising. 

"Oh !"  said  she,  "teach  me  one  real  prayer  before  you  go, 
that  I  may  pray  to  God." 

It  was  a  touching  thing  to  see  the  priest  making  this  girl 
repeat  Ave  Maria  and  Paternoster  in  French. 

"That  is  very  fine !"  said  Esther,  when  she  had  repeated 
these  two  grand  and  universal  utterances  of  the  Catholic 
faith  vidthout  making  a  mistake. 

"What  is  your  name?"  she  asked  the  priest  when  he  took 
leave  of  her. 

"Carlos  Herrera;  I  am  a  Spaniard  banished  from  my 
country." 

Esther  took  his  hand  and  kissed  it.  She  was  no  longer 
the  courtesan;  she  was  an  angel  rising  after  a  fall. 

In  a  religious  institution,  famous  for  the  aristocratic  and 
3 


38  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

pious  teaching  imparted  there,  one  Monday  morning  in  the 
beginning  of  March  1824  the  pupils  found  their  pretty  flock 
increased  by  a  newcomer,  whose  beauty  triumphed  without 
dispute  not  only  over  that  of  her  companions,  but  over  the 
special  details  of  beauty  which  were  found  severally  in  per- 
fection in  each  one  of  them.  In  France  it  is  extremely  rare, 
71  ot  to  say  impossible,  to  meet  with  the  thirty  points  of  per- 
fection, described  in  Persian  verse,  and  engraved,  it  is  said, 
in  the  Seraglio,  which  are  needed  to  make  a  woman  abso- 
lutely beautiful.  Though  in  France  the  whole  is  seldom  seen, 
we  find  exquisite  parts.-  As  to  that  imposing  union  which 
sculpture  tries  to  produce,  and  has  produced  in  a  few  rare 
examples  like  the  Diana  and  the  Callipyge,  it  is  the  privileged 
possession  of  Greece  and  Asia  Minor. 

Esther  came  from  that  cradle  of  the  human  race;  her 
mother  was  a  Jewess.  The  Jews,  though  so  often  deteriorated 
by  their  contact  with  other  nations,  have,  among  their  many 
races,  families  in  which  this  sublime  type  of  Asiatic 
beauty  has  been  preserved.  When  they  are  not  repulsively 
hideous,  they  present  the  splendid  characteristics  of  Arme- 
nian beauty.  Esther  would  have  carried  off  the  prize  at  the 
Seraglio;  she  had  the  thirty  points  harmoniously  combined. 
Far  from  having  damaged  the  finish  of  her  modeling  and 
the  freshness  of  her  flesh,  her  strange  life  had  given  her  the 
mysterious  charm  of  womanhood;  it  is  no  longer  the  close, 
waxy  texture  of  green  fruit  and  not  yet  the  warm  glow  of 
maturity;  there  is  still  the  scent  of  the  flower.  A  few  days 
longer  spent  in  dissolute  living,  and  she  would  have  been 
too  fat.  This  abundant  health,  this  perfection  of  the  animal 
in  a  being  in  whom  voluptuousness  took  the  place  of  thought, 
must  be  a  remarkable  fact  in  the  eyes  of  physiologists.  A 
circumstance  so  rare,  that  it  may  be  called  impossible  in 
very  young  girls,  was  that  her  hands,  incomparably  fine 
in  shape,  were  as  soft,  transparent,  and  white  as  those  of  a 
woman  after  the  birth  of  her  second  child.  She  had  exactly 
the  hair  and  the  foot  for  which  the  Duchesse  de  Berri  was  so 
famous,  hair  so  thick  that  no  hairdresser  could  gather  it 


ESTHEK  HAPPY  39 

into  his  hand,  and  so  long  tliat  it  fell  to  the  ground  in  rings ; 
for  Esther  was  of  that  medium  height  which  makes  a  woman 
;i  sort  of  toy,  to  be  taken  up  and  set  down,  taken  up  again 
and  carried  without  fatigue.  Her  skin,  as  fine  as  rice-paper, 
of  a  warm  amber  hue  showing  the  purple  veins,  was  satiny 
without  dryness,  soft  without  being  clammy. 

Esther,  excessively  strong  though  apparently  fragile,  ar- 
rested attention  by  one  feature  that  is  conspicuous  in  the 
faces  in  which  Eaphael  has  shown  his  most  artistic  feeling, 
for  Raphael  is  the  painter  who  has  most  studied  and  best 
rendered  Jewish  beauty.  This  remarkable  effect  was  pro- 
duced by  the  depth  of  the  eye-socket,  under  which  the  eye 
moved  free  from  its  setting:  the  arch  of  the  brow  was  so 
accurate  as  to  resemble  the  groining  of  a  vault.  When  youth 
lends  this  beautiful  hollow  its  pure  and  diaphanous  coloring, 
and  edges  it  with  closely-set  eyebrows,  when  the  light  steal- 
ing into  the  circular  cavity  beneath  lingers  there  with  a  rosy 
hue,  there  are  tender  treasures  in  it  to  delight  a  lover,  beauties 
to  drive  a  painter  to  despair.  Those  luminous  curves,  where 
the  shadows  have  a  golden  tone,  that  tissue  as  firm  as  a  sinew 
and  as  mobile  as  the  most  delicate  membrane,  is  a  crowniug 
achievement  of  nature.  The  eye  at  rest  within  is  like  a 
miraculous  egg  in  a  nest  of  silken  wings.  But  as  time  goes 
on  this  marvel  acquires  a  dreadful  melancholy,  when  passions 
have  laid  dark  smears  on  those  fine  forms,  when  grief  has 
furrowed  that  network  of  delicate  veins.  Esther's  nationality 
proclaimed  itself  in  this  Oriental  modeling  of  her  eyes  with 
their  Turkish  lids;  their  color  was  a  slate-gray  which  by 
night  took  on  the  blue  sheen  of  a  raven's  wing.  It  was  only 
the  extreme  tenderness  of  her  expression  that  could  moderate 
their  fire. 

Only  those  races  that  are  native  to  deserts  have  in  the 
eye  the  power  of  fascinating  everybody,  for  any  woman  can 
fascinate  some  one  person.  Their  eyes  preserve,  no  doubt, 
something  of  the  infinitude  they  have  gazed  on.  Has  nature, 
in  her  foresight,  armed  their  retina  with  some  reflecting  back- 
ground to  enable  them  to  endure  the  mirage  of  the  sand. 


40  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

the  torrents  of  sunshine,  and  the  burning  cobalt  of  the  sky? 
or,  do  human  beings,  hke  other  creatures,  derive  something 
from  the  surroundings  among  which  they  grow  up,  and  pre- 
serve for  ages  the  qualities  they  have  imbibed  from  them? 
The  great  solution  of  this  problem  of  race  lies  perhaps  in 
the  question  itself.  Instincts  are  living  facts,  and  their 
cause  dwells  in  past  necessity.  Variety  in  animals  is  the 
result  of  the  exercise  of  these  instincts. 

To  convince  ourselves  of  this  long-sought-for  truth,  it  is 
enough  to  extend  to  the  herd  of  mankind  the  observation 
recently  made  on  flocks  of  Spanish  and  English  sheep  which, 
in  low  meadows  where  pasture  is  abundant,  feed  side  by  side 
in  close  array,  but  on  mountains,  where  grass  is  scarce,  scatter 
apart.  Take  these  two  kinds  of  sheep,  transfer  them  to 
Switzerland  or  France ;  the  mountain  breeds  will  feed  apart 
even  in  a  lowland  meadow  of  thick  grass,  the  lowland  sheep 
will  keep  together  even  on  an  alp.  Hardly  will  a  succession 
of  generations  eliminate  acquired  and  transmitted  instincts. 
After  a  century  the  highland  spirit  reappears  in  a  refractory 
lamb,  just  as,  after  eighteen  centuries  of  exile,  the  spirit  of 
the  East  shone  in  Esther's  eyes  and  features. 

Her  look  had  no  terrible  fascination;  it  shed  a  mild 
warmth,  it  was  pathetic  without  being  startling,  and  the 
sternest  wills  were  melted  in  its  flame.  Esther  had  con- 
quered hatred,  she  had  astonished  the  depraved  souls  of  Paris ; 
in  short,  that  look  and  the  softness  of  her  skin  had  earned  her 
the  terrible  nickname  which  had  just  led  her  to  the  verge  of 
the  grave.  Everything  about  her  was  in  harmony  with  these 
characteristics  of  the  Peri  of  the  burning  sands.  Her  forehead 
was  firmly  and  proudly  molded.  Her  nose,  like  that  of  the 
Arab  race,  was  delicate  and  narrow,  with  oval  nostrils  M^ell 
set  and  open  at  the  base.  Her  mouth,  fresh  and  red,  was  a 
rose  unblemished  by  a  flaw,  dissipation  had  left  no  trace 
there.  Her  chin,  rounded  as  though  some  amorous  sculptor 
had  polished  its  fulness,  was  as  white  as  milk.  One  thing 
onlv  that  she  had  not  been  able  to  remedy  betrayed  the 
courtesan  fallen  very  low:  her  broken  nails,  which  needed 


ESTHER  HAPFY  41 

time  to  recover  their  shape,  so  much  had  they  been  spoiled 
by  the  vulgarest  household  tasks. 

The  young  boarders  began  by  being  jealous  of  these  marvels 
of  beauty,  but  they  ended  by  admiring  them.  Before  the 
first  week  was  at  an  end  they  were  all  attached  to  the  artless 
Jewess,  for  they  were  interested  in  the  unknown  misfortunes 
of  a  girl  of  eighteen  who  could  neither  read  nor  write,  to 
whom  all  knowledge  and  instruction  were  new,  and  who  was 
to  earn  for  the  Archbishop  the  triumph  of  having  converted 
a  Jewess  to  Catholicism  and  giving  the  convent  a  festival  in 
her  baptism.  They  forgave  her  her  beauty,  finding  them- 
selves her  superiors  in  education. 

Esther  very  soon  caught  the  manners,  the  accent,  the  car- 
riage and  attitudes  of  these  highly-bred  girls;  in  short,  her 
first  nature  reasserted  itself.  The  change  was  so  complete  that 
on  his  first  visit  Herrera  was  astonished— Herrera,  whom 
nothing  in  the  world  could  astonish  as  it  would  seem — and 
the  Mother  Superior  congratulated  him  on  his  ward.  Never 
in  their  existence  as  teachers  had  these  sisters  met  with  a 
more  charming  nature,  more  Christian  meekness,  true 
modesty,  nor  a  greater  eagerness  to  learn.  When  a  girl  has 
suffered  such  misery  as  had  overwhelmed  this  poor  child,  and 
looks  forward  to  such  a  reward  as  the  Spaniard  held  out  to 
Esther,  it  is  hard  if  she  does  not  realize  the  miracles  of  the 
early  Church  which  the  Jesuits  revived  in  Paraguay. 

"She  is  edifying,"  said  the  Superior,  kissing  her  on  the 
brow. 

And  this  essentially  Catholic  word  tells  all. 

In  recreation  hours  Esther  would  question  her  companions, 
but  discreetly,  as  to  the  simplest  matters  in  fashionable  life, 
which  to  her  were  like  the  first  strange  ideas  of  life  to  a 
child.  When  she  heard  that  she  was  to  be  dressed  in  white 
on  the  day  of  her  baptism  and  first  Communion,  that  she 
would  wear  a  white  satin  fillet,  white  bows,  white  shoes,  white 
gloves,  and  white  rosettes  in  her  hair,  she  melted  into  tears, 
to  the  amazement  of  her  companions.  It  was  the  reverse  of 
the  scene  of  Jephtha  on  the  mountain-     The  courtesan  was 


42  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

afraid  of  being  understood;  she  ascribed  this  dreadful  de- 
jection to  the  joy  with  which  she  looked  forward  to  the 
function.  As  there  is  certainly  as  wide  a  gulf  between  the 
habits  she  had  given  up  and  the  habits  she  was  acquiring  as 
there  is  between  the  savage  state  and  civilization,  she  had  the 
grace  and  simplicity  and  depth  which  distinguished  the  won- 
derful heroine  of  the  American  Puritans.  She  had  too,  with- 
out knowing  it,  a  love  that  was  eating  out  her  heart — a 
strange  love,  a  desire  more  violent  in  her  who  knew  every- 
thing than  it  can  be  in  a  maiden  who  knows  notliing,  though 
the  two  forms  of  desire  have  the  same  cause,  and  the  same 
end  in  view. 

During  the  first  few  months  the  novelty  of  a  secluded  life, 
the  surprises  of  learning,  the  handiworks  she  was  taught,  the 
practices  of  religion,  the  fer^-ency  of  a  holy  resolve,  the  gentle 
affections  she  called  forth,  and  the  exercise  of  the  faculties 
of  her  awakened  intelligence,  all  helped  to  repress  her 
memory,  even  the  effort  she  made  to  acquire  a  new  one,  for 
she  had  as  much  to  unlearn  as  to  learn.  There  is  more  than 
one  form  of  memory :  the  body  and  mind  have  each  their 
own;  home-sickness,  for  instance,  is  a  malady  of  the  physical 
memory.  Thus,  during  the  third  month,  the  vehemence  of 
this  virgin  soul,  soaring  to  Paradise  on  outspread  wings,  was 
not  indeed  quelled,  but  fettered  by  a  dull  rebellion,  of  which 
Esther  herself  did  not  know  the  cause.  Like  the  Scottish 
sheep,  she  wanted  to  pasture  in  solitude,  she  could  not  con- 
quer the  instincts  begotten  of  debauchery. 

Was  it  that  the  foul  ways  of  the  Paris  she  had  abjured 
were  calling  her  back  to  them  ?  Did  the  chains  of  the  hideous 
habits  she  had  renounced  cling  to  her  by  forgotten  rivets, 
and  was  she  feeling  them,  as  old  soldiers  suffer  still,  the 
surgeons  tell  us,  in  the  limbs  they  have  lost?  Had  vice  and 
excess  so  soaked  into  her  marrow  that  holy  waters  had  not 
yet  exorcised  the  devil  lurking  there?  Was  the  sight  of  him 
for  whom  her  angelic  efforts  were  made,  necessary  to  the 
poor  soul,  whom  God  would  surely  forgive  for  mingling 
human  and  sacred  love?     One  had  led  to  the  other.     Was 


ESTHER  HAPPY  43 

there  some  transposition  of  the  vital  force  in  her  involving 
her  in  inevitable  suffering?  Everything  is  doubtful  and  ob- 
scure in  a  case  which  science  scorns  to  study,  regarding  the 
subject  as  too  immoral  and  too  compromising,  as  if  the 
physician  and  the  writer,  the  priest  and  the  political  student, 
were  not  above  all  suspicion.  However,  a  doctor  who  was 
stopped  by  death  had  the  courage  to  begin  an  investigation 
which  he  left  unfinished. 

Perhaps  the  dark  depression  to  which  Esther  fell  a  victim, 
and  which  cast  a  gloom  over  her  happy  life,  was  due  to  all 
these  causes ;  and  perhaps,  unable  as  she  v/as  to  suspect  them 
herself,  she  suffered  as  sick  creatures  suffer  who  know  noth- 
ing of  medicine  or  surgery. 

The  fact  is  strange.  Wholesome  and  abundant  food  in 
the  place  of  bad  and  inflammatory  nourishment  did  not  sus- 
tain Esther.  A  pure  and  regular  life,  divided  between  recre- 
ation and  studies  intentionally  abridged,  taking  the  place  of 
a  disorderly  existence  of  which  the  pleasures  and  the  pains 
were  equally  horrible,  exhausted  the  convent-boarder.  The 
coolest  rest,  the  calmest  nights,  taking  the  place  of  crushing 
fatigue  and  the  most  torturing  agitation,  gave  her  low  fever, 
in  which  the  common  symptoms  were  imperceptible  to  the 
nursing  Sister's  eye  or  finger.  In  fact,  virtue  and  happiness 
following  on  evil  and  misfortune,  security  in  the  stead  of 
anxiety,  were  as  fatal  to  Esther  as  her  past  wretchedness 
would  have  been  to  her  young  companions.  Planted  in  cor- 
ruption, she  had  grown  up  in  it.  That  infernal  home  still 
had  a  hold  on  her,  in  spite  of  the  commands  of  a  despotic 
will.  What  she  loathed  was  life  to  her,  what  she  loved  was 
killing  her. 

Her  faith  was  so  ardent  that  her  piety  was  a  delight  to 
those  about  her.  She  loved  to  pray.  She  had  opened  her 
spirit  to  the  lights  of  true  religion,  and  received  it  without 
an  effort  or  a  doubt.  The  priest  who  was  her  director  was 
delighted  with  her.  Still,  at  every  turn  her  body  resisted 
the  spirit. 

To  please  a  whim  of  Madame  de  Maintenon's,  who  fed 


44  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

them  with  scraps  from  the  royal  table,  some  carp  were  taken 
oiit  of  a  muddy  pool  and  placed  in  a  marble  basin  of  bright, 
clean  water.  The  carp  perished.  The  animals  might  be 
sacrificed,  but  man  could  never  infect  them  with  the  leprosy 
of  flattery.  A  courtier  remarked  at  Versailles  on  th's  mute 
resistance.  "They  are  like  me,"'  said  the  uncrowned  queen ; 
"they  pine  for  their  obscure  mud." 

This  speech  epitomizes  Esther's  story. 

At  times  the  poor  girl  was  driven  to  run  about  the  splen- 
did convent  gardens;  she  hurried  from  tree  to  tree,  she 
rushed  into  the  darkest  nooks — seeking?  What?  She  did 
not  know,  but  she  fell  a  prey  to  the  demon;  she  carried  on 
a  flirtation  with  the  trees,  she  appealed  to  them  in  unspoken 
words.  Sometimes,  in  the  evening,  she  stole  along  under  the 
walls,  like  a  snake,  without  any  shawl  over  her  bare 
shoulders.  Often  in  chapel,  during  the  service,  she  remained 
with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  Crucifix,  melted  to  tears ;  the  others 
admired  her;  but  she  was  crying  with  rage.  Instead  of  the 
sacred  images  she  hoped  to  see,  those  glaring  nights  when  she 
had  led  some  orgy  as  Habeneck  leads  a  Beethoven  symphony 
at  the  Conservatoire — nights  of  laughter  and  lasciviousness, 
with  vehement  gestures,  inextinguishable  laughter,  rose  be- 
fore her.  frenzied,  furious,  and  brutal.  She  was  as  mild  to 
look  upon  as  a  virgin  that  clings  to  earth  only  by  her  woman's 
shape;  within  raged  an  imperial  Messalina. 

She  alone  knew  the  secret  of  this  struggle  between  the 
devil  and  the  angel.  When  the  Superior  reproved  her  for 
having  done  her  hair  more  fashionably  than  the  rule  of  the 
House  allowed,  she  altered  it  with  prompt  and  beautiful  sub- 
mission; she  would  have  cut  her  hair  ofE  if  the  Mother  had 
required  it  of  her.  This  moral  home-sickness  was  truly 
pathetic  in  a  girl  who  would  rather  have  perished  than  have 
returned  to  the  depths  of  impurity.  She  grew  pale  and 
altered  and  thin.  The  Superior  gave  her  shorter  lessons, 
and  called  the  interesting  creature  to  her  room  to  question 
her.  But  Esther  was  happy;  she  enjoyed  the  society  of  her 
companions;  she  felt  no  pain  in  any  vital  part;  still,  it  was 


ESTHER  HAPPY  45 

vitality  itself  that  was  attacked.  She  regretted  nothing; 
she  wanted  nothing.  The  Superior,  puzzled  by  her  boarder's 
answers,  did  not  know  what  to  think  when  she  saw  her  pining 
under  consuming  debility. 

The  doctor  was  called  in  when  the  girl's  condition  seemed 
serious;  but  this  doctor  knew  nothing  of  Esther's  previous 
life,  and  could  not  guess  it;  he  found  every  organ  sound, 
the  pain  could  not  be  localized.  The  invalid's  replies  were 
such  as  to  upset  every  hypothesis.  There  remained  one  way 
of  clearing  up  the  learned  man's  doubts,  which  now  lighted 
on  a  frightful  suggestion;  but  Esther  obstinately  refused  to 
submit  to  a  medical  examination. 

In  this  difficulty  the  Superior  appealed  to  the  Abbe 
Herrera.  The  Spaniard  came,  saw  that  Esther's  condition 
was  desperate,  and  took  the  physician  aside  for  a  moment. 
After  this  confidential  interview,  the  man  of  science  told  the 
man  of  faith  that  the  only  cure  lay  in  a  journey  to  Italy. 
The  Abbe  would  not  hear  of  such  a  journey  before  Esther's 
baptism  and  first  Communion. 

"How  long  will  it  be  till  then  ?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"A  month,"  replied  the  Superior. 

"She  will  be  dead,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Yes,  but  in  a  state  of  grace  and  salvation,"  said  the 
Abbe. 

In  Spain  the  religious  question  is  supreme,  above  all 
political,  civil,  or  vital  considerations;  so  the  physician  did 
not  answer  the  Spaniard.  He  turned  to  the  Mother  Superior, 
but  the  terrible  Abbe  took  him  by  the  arm  and  stopped 
him. 

"Not  a  word,  monsieur !"  said  he. 

The  doctor,  though  a  religious  man  and  a  Monarchist, 
looked  at  Esther  with  an  expression  of  tender  pity.  The  girl 
was  as  lovely  as  a  lily  drooping  on  its  stem. 

"God  help  her,  then  !"  he  exclaimed  as  he  went  away. 

On  the  very  day  of  this  consultation,  Esther  was  taken  by 
her  protector  to  the  Rocher  de  Cancale,  a  famous  restaurant, 
for  his  wish  to  save  her  had  suggested  strange  expedients  to 


46  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

the  priest.  He  tried  the  effect  of  two  excesses — an  excellent 
dinner,  which  might  remind  the  poor  cliild  of  jjast  orgies; 
and  the  opera,  which  would  give  her  mind  some  images  of 
worldliness.  His  despotic  authority  was  needed  to  tempt  the 
young  saint  to  such  profanation.  Herrera  disguised  himself 
so  effectually  as  a  military  man,  that  Esther  hardly  recognized 
him:  he  took  care  to  make  his  companion  wear  a  veil,  and 
put  her  in  a  box  where  she  was  hidden  from  all  eyes. 

This  palliative,  which  had  no  risks  for  innocence  so  sin- 
cerely regained,  soon  lost  its  effect.  The  convent-boarder 
viewed  her  protector's  dinners  with  disgust,  had  a  religious 
aversion  for  the  theatre,  and  relapsed  into  melancholy, 

"She  is  dying  of  love  for  Lucien,'"  said  Herrera  to  him- 
self; he  had  wanted  to  sound  the  depths  of  this  soul,  and 
know  how  much  could  be  exacted  from  it. 

So  the  moment  came  when  the  poor  child  was  no  longer 
upheld  by  moral  force,  and  the  body  was  about  to  break 
down.  The  priest  calculated  the  time  with  the  hideous  prac- 
tical sagacity  formerly  shown  by  executioners  in  the  art  of 
torture.  He  found  his  protegee  in  the  garden,  sitting  on  a 
bench  under  a  trellis  on  which  the  April  sun  fell  gently;  she 
seemed  to  be  cold  and  trying  to  warm  herself :  her  companions 
looked  with  interest  at  her  pallor  as  of  a  faded  plant,  her 
e3^es  like  those  of  a  dying  gazelle,  her  drooping  attitude. 
Esther  rose  and  went  to  meet  the  Spaniard  with  a  lassitude 
that  showed  how  little  life  there  was  in  her,  and,  it  may 
be  added,  how  little  care  to  live.  This  hapless  outcast,  this 
wild  and  wounded  swallow,  moved  Carlos  Herrera  to  com- 
passion for  the  second  time.  The  gloomy  minister,  whom 
God  should  have  employed  only  to  carry  out  His  revenges, 
received  the  sick  girl  with  a  smile,  which  expressed.  Indeed, 
as  much  bitterness  as  sweetness,  as  much  vengeance  as 
charity.  Esther,  practised  in  meditation,  and  used  to  revul- 
sions of  feeling  since  she  had  led  this  almost  monastic  life, 
felt  on  her  part,  for  the  second  time,  distrust  of  her  pro- 
tector; but,  as  on  the  former  occasion,  his  speech  reassured 
her. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  47 

"Well,  my  dear  child,"  said  he,  "and  why  have  you  never 
spoken  to  me  of  Lucien?" 

"I  promised  you,"  she  said,  shuddering  convulsively  from 
head  to  foot;  "I  swore  to  you  that  I  would  never  breathe  his 
name." 

"And  yet  you  have  not  ceased  to  think  of  him." 

"That,  monsieur,  is  the  only  fault  I  have  committed.  I 
think  of  him  always;  and  just  as  you  came,  I  was  saying  his 
name  to  myself." 

"Absence  is  killing  you  ?" 

Esther's  only  answer  was  to  hang  her  head  as  the  sick  do 
who  already  scent  the  breath  of  the  grave. 

"If  you  could  see  him ?"  said  he. 

"It  would  be  life !"  she  cried. 

"And  do  you  think  of  him  only  spiritually?" 

"Ah,  monsieur,  love  cannot  be  dissected!" 

"Child  of  an  accursed  race !  I  have  done  everything  to 
save  you;  I  send  you  back  to  your  fate. — You  shall  see  him 
again." 

"Why  insult  my  happiness  ?  Can  I  not  love  Lucien  and  be 
virtuous  ?  Am  I  not  ready  to  die  here  for  virtue,  as  I  should 
be  ready  to  die  for  him?  Am  I  not  dying  for  these  two 
fanaticisms — for  virtue,  which  was  to  make  me  worthy  of 
him,  and  for  him  who  flung  me  into  the  embrace  of  virtue? 
Yes,  and  ready  to  die  without  seeing  him  or  to  live  by  seeing 
him.     God  is  my  Judge." 

The  color  had  mounted  to  her  face,  her  whiteness  had 
recovered  its  amber  warmth.     Esther  looked  beautiful  again. 

"The  day  after  that  on  which  you  are  washed  in  the  waters 
of  baptism  you  shall  see  Lucien  once  more ;  and  if  you  think 
you  can  live  in  virtue  by  living  for  him,  you  shall  part  no 
more." 

The  priest  was  obliged  to  lift  up  Esther,  whose  knees  failed 
her;  the  poor  child  dropped  as  if  the  ground  had  slipped 
from  under  her  feet.  The  Abbe  seated  her  on  a  bench;  and 
when  she  could  speak  again  she  asked  him : 

^'Why  not  to-day?" 

"Do  you  want  to  rob  Monseigneur  of  the  triumph  of  your 


48  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

baptism  and  conversion  ?     You  are  too  close  to  Lucien  not  to 
be  far  from  God." 

"Yes,  I  was  not  thinking " 

^       "You  will  never  be  of  any  religion,"  said  the  priest,  with 
'    a  touch  of  the  deepest  irony. 

"God  is  good,"  said  she ;  "He  can  read  my  heart." 
Conquered  by  the  exquisite  artlessness  that  shone  in  her 
look,  ]\v  her  tone  of  voice,  her  attitude  and  gestures,  Herrera 
kissed  her  on  the  forehead  for  the  first  time. 

"Your  libertine  friends  named  you  well;  you  would  be- 
witch God  the  Father. — A  few  days  more  must  pass,  and 
then  you  will  both  be  free." 

"Both !"  she  echoed  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy. 

This  scene,  observed  from  a  distance,  struck  pupils  and 

superiors  alike;  they  fancied  they  had  looked  on  at  a  miracle 

as  they  compared  Esther  with  herself.     She  was  completely 

j|   changed;  she  was  alive.     She  reappeared  her  natural  self, 

:   all  love,  sweet,  coquettish,  playful,  and  gay;  in  short,  it  was 

a  resurrection. 

Herrera  lived  in  the  Eue  Cassette,  near  Saint-Sulpice,  the 
church  to  which  he  was  attached.  This  building,  hard  and 
stern  in  style,  suited  this  Spaniard,  whose  discipline  was  that 
of  the  Dominicans.  A  lost  son  of  Ferdinand  VII.'s  astute 
policy,  he  devoted  himself  to  the  cause  of  the  constitution, 
knowing  that  this  devotion  could  never  be  rewarded  till  the 
restoration  of  the  Rey  netto.  Carlos  Herrera  had  thrown  him- 
self body  and  soul  into  the  Camarilla  at  the  moment  when 
the  Cortes  seemed  likely  to  stand  and  hold  their  own.  To  the 
world  this  conduct  seemed  to  proclaim  a  superior  soul.  The 
Due  d'Angouleme's  expedition  had  been  carried  out,  King 
Ferdinand  was  on  the  throne,  and  Carlos  Herrera  did  not 
go  to  claim  the  reward  of  his  services  at  Madrid.  Fortified 
against  curiosity  by  his  diplomatic  taciturnity,  he  assigned 
as  his  reason  for  remaining  in  Paris  his  strong  affection  for 
Lucien  de  Rubempre,  to  which  the  young  man  already  owed 
the  King's  patent  relating  to  his  change  of  name. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  49 

1  lerrera  lived  very  obscurely,  as  priests  employed  on  serret 
missions  traditionally  live.  He  fulfilled  his  religious  duties 
at  Saint-Sulpice,  never  went  out  but  on  business,  and  then 
after  dark,  and  in  a  hackney  cab.  His  day  was  filled  up 
with  a  siesta  in  the  Spanish  fashion,  which  arranges  for  sleep 
between  the  two  chief  meals,  and  so  occupies  the  hours  when 
Paris  is  in  a  busy  turmoil.  The  Spanish  cigar  also  played  its^ 
part,  and  consumed  time  as  well  as  tobacco.  Laziness  is : 
a  mask  as  gravity  is,  and  that  again  is  laziness. 

Herrera  lived  on  the  second  floor  in  one  wing  of  the  house, 
and  Lucien  occupied  the  other  wing.  The  two  apartments 
were  separated  and  joined  by  a  large  reception  room  of 
antique  magnificence,  suitable  equally  to  the  grave  priest 
and  to  the  young  poet.  The  courtyard  was  gloomy;  large, 
thick  trees  chaded  the  garden.  Silence  and  reserve  are  always 
found  in  the  dwellings  chosen  by  priests.  Herrera's  lodging 
may  be  described  in  one  word — a  cell.  Lucien's,  splendid 
with  luxury,  and  furnished  with  every  refinement  of  com- 
fort, combined  everything  that  the  elegant  life  of  a  dandy 
demands — a  poet,  a  writer,  ambitious  and  dissipated,  at  once 
vain  and  vainglorious,  utterly  heedless,  and  yet  wishing  for 
order,  one  of  those  incomplete  geniuses  who  have  some  power 
to  wish,  to  conceive — which  is  perhaps  the  same  thing — but 
no  power  at  all  to  execute. 

These  two,  Lucien  and  Herrera,  formed  a  body  politic. 
This,  no  doubt,  was  the  secret  of  their  union.  Old  men  in 
whom  the  activities  of  life  have  been  uprooted  and  trans- 
planted to  the  sphere  of  interest,  often  feel  the  need  of  a 
pleasing  instrument,  a  young  and  impassioned  actor,  to  carry 
out  their  schemes.  Richelieu,  too  late,  found  a  handsome 
pale  face  with  a  young  moustache  to  cast  in  the  v/ay  of  women 
whom  he  wanted  to  amuse.  Misunderstood  by  giddy-pated 
younger  men,  he  was  compelled  to  banish  his  master's  mother 
and  terrify  the  Queen,  after  having  tried  to  make  each 
fall  in  love  with  him,  though  he  was  not  cut  out  to  be  loved 
by  queens. 

Do  what  we  will,  always,  in  the  course  of  an  ambitious  life. 


50  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

we  find  a  woman  in  the  way  just  when  we  least  expect  such 
an  obstacle.  However  great  a  political  man  may  be,  he  al- 
ways needs  a  woman  to  set  against  a  woman,  Just  as  the 
Dutch  use  a  diamond  to  cut  a  diamond.  Eome  at  the  height 
of  its  power  yielded  to  this  necessity.  And  observe  how  im- 
measurably more  imposing  was  the  life  of  Mazarin,  the 
Italian  cardinal,  than  that  of  Richelieu,  the  French 
cardinal.  Richelieu  met  with  opposition  from  the  great 
nobles,  and  he  applied  the  axe;  he  died  in  the  flower 
of  his  success,  worn  out  by  this  duel,  for  which  he  had  only 
a  Capuchin  monk  as  his  second.  Mazarin  was  repulsed  by 
the  citizen  class  and  the  nobility,  armed  allies  who  sometimes 
victoriously  put  royalty  to  flight;  but  Anne  of  Austria's 
devoted  servant  took  off  no  heads,  he  succeeded  in  vanquish- 
ing the  whole  of  France,  and  trained  Louis  XIV.,  who  com- 
pleted Richelieu's  work  by  strangling  the  nobility  with  gilded 
cords  in  the  grand  Seraglio  of  Versailles.  Madame  de 
Pompadour  dead,  Choiseul  fell ! 

Had  Herrera  soaked  his  mind  in  these  high  doctrines? 
Had  he  judged  himself  at  an  earlier  age  than  Richelieu? 
Had  he  chosen  Lucien  to  be  his  Cinq-Mars,  but  a  faithful 
Cinq-Mars  ?  No  one  could  answer  these  questions  or  measure 
this  Spaniard's  ambition,  as  no  one  could  foresee  what  his  end 
might  be.  These  questions,  asked  by  those  who  were  able  to 
see  anything  of  this  coalition,  which  was  long  kept  a  secret, 
might  have  unveiled  a  horrible  mystery  which  Lucien  himself 
had  known  but  a  few  days.  Carlos  was  ambitious  for  two ; 
that  was  what  his  conduct  made  plain  to  those  persons  who 
knew  him,  and  who  all  imagined  that  Lucien  was  the  priest's 
illegitimate  son. 

Fifteen  months  after  Lucien's  reappearance  at  the  opera 
ball,  which  led  him  too  soon  into  a  world  where  the  priest 
had  not  wished  to  see  him  till  he  should  have  fully  armed 
him  against  it,  he  had  three  fine  horses  in  his  stable,  a  coupe 
for  evening  use,  a  cab  and  a  tilbury  to  drive  by  day.  He 
dined  out  every  day.  Herrera's  foresight  was  Justified;  his 
pupil  Avas  carried  away  by  dissipation;  he  thought  it  neees- 


ESTHER  HAPP^t  51 

sary  to  effect  some  diversion  in  the  frenzied  passion  for 
Esther  that  the  young  man  still  cherished  in  his  heart.  After 
spending  something  like  forty  thousand  francs,  every  folly 
had  brought  Lucien  back  with  increased  eagerness  to  La 
Torpille;  he  searched  for  her  persistently;  and  as  he  could 
not  find  her,  she  became  to  him  what  game  is  to  the  sports- 
man. 

Could  Herrera  understand  the  nature  of  a  poet's  love  ? 

When  once  this  feeling  has  mounted  to  the  brain  of  one 
of  these  great  little  men,  after  firing  his  heart  and  absorbing 
his  senses,  the  poet  becomes  as  far  superior  to  humanity 
through  love  as  he  already  is  through  the  power  of  his 
imagination.  A  freak  of  intellectual  heredity  has  given  him 
the  faculty  of  expressing  nature  by  imager}^  to  which  he 
gives  the  stamp  both  of  sentiment  and  of  thought,  and  he 
lends  his  love  the  wings  of  his  spirit ;  he  feels,  and  he  paints, 
he  acts  and  meditates,  he  multiplies  his  sensations  by  thought, 
present  felicity  becomes  threefold  through  aspiration  for 
the  future  and  memory  of  the  past;  and  with  it  he  mingles 
the  exquisite  delights  of  the  soul,  which  make  him  the  prince 
of  artists.  Then  the  poet's  passion  becomes  a  fine  poem  in 
which  human  proportion  is  often  set  at  nought.  Does  not 
the  poet  then  place  his  mistress  far  higher  than  Avomen  crave 
to  sit?  Like  the  sublime  Knight  of  la  Mancha,  he  trans- 
figures a  peasant  girl  to  be  a  princess.  He  uses  for  his  own 
behoof  the  wand  with  which  he  touches  everything,  turning 
it  into  a  wonder,  and  thus  enhances  the  pleasure  of 
loving  by  the  glorious  glamour  of  the  ideal. 

Such  a  love  is  the  very  essence  of  passion.  It  is  extreme 
in  all  things,  in  its  hopes,  in  its  despair,  in  its  rage,  in  its 
melancholy,  in  its  joy;  it  flies,  it  leaps,  it  crawls;  it  is  not 
like  any  of  the  emotions  known  to  ordinary  men;  it  is  to 
everyday  love  what  the  perennial  Alpine  torrent  is  to  the 
lowland  brook. 

These  splendid  geniuses  are  so  rarely  understood  that 
they  spend  themselves  in  hopes  deceived ;  they  are  exhausted 
by  the  search  for  their  ideal  mistress,  and  almost  always 


52  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

die  like  gorgeous  insects  splendidly  adorned  for  their  love- 
festival  by  the  most  poetical  of  nature's  inventions,  and 
crushed  under  the  foot  of  a  passer-by.  But  there  is  another 
danger !  When  they  meet  with  the  form  that  answers  to 
their  soul,  and  which  not  unfrequently  is  that  of  a  baker's 
wife,  they  do  as  Raphael  did,  as  the  beautiful  insect  does, 
they  die  in  the  Fornarina's  arms. 

Lucien  was  at  this  pass.  His  poetical  temperament,  ex- 
cessive in  all  things,  in  good  as  in  evil,  had  discerned  the 
angel  in  this  girl,  who  was  tainted  by  corruption  rather  than 
corrupt;  he  alwaj^s  saw  her  white,  winged,  pure,  and  mys- 
terious, as  she  had  made  herself  for  him,  understanding  that 
he  would  have  her  so. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  month  of  May  1825  Lucien  had 
lost  all  his  good  spirits;  he  never  went  out,  dined  with 
Herrera,  sat  pensive,  worked,  read  volumes  of  diplomatic 
treatises,  squatted  Turkish-fashion  on  a  divan,  and  smoked 
three  or  four  hookahs  a  day.  His  groom  had  more  to  do  in 
cleaning  and  perfuming  the  tubes  of  this  noble  pipe  than 
in  currying  and  brushing  down  the  horses'  coats,  and  dress- 
ing them  with  cockades  for  driving  in  the  Bois.  As  soon  as 
the  Spaniard  saw  Lucien  pale,  and  detected  a  malady  in  the 
frenzy  of  suppressed  passion,  he  determined  to  read  to  the 
bottom  of  this  man's  heart  on  which  he  founded  his  life. 

One  fine  evening,  when  Lucien,  lounging  in  an  armchair, 
was  mechanically  contemplating  the  hues  of  the  setting  sun 
through  the  trees  in  the  garden,  blowing  up  the  mist  of 
scented  smoke  in  slow,  regular  clouds,  as  pensive  smokers 
are  wont,  he  was  roused  from  his  reverie  by  hearing  a  deep 
sigh.  He  turned  and  saw  the  Abbe  standing  by  him  with 
folded  arms. 

"You  were  there !"  said  the  poet. 

"For  some  time,"  said  the  priest,  "my  thoughts  have  been 
following  the  wide  sweep  of  yours."  Lucien  understood  his 
meaning. 

"I  have  never  affected  to  have  an  iron  nature  such  as  yours 
is.  To  me  life  is  by  turns  paradise  and  hell ;  when  by  chance 
it  is  neither,  it  bores  me ;  and  I  am  bored " 


ESTHER  HAPPY  53 

"How  can  you  be  bored  when  you  huve  such  splendid  pros- 
pects before  you?" 

"If  I  have  no  faith  in  those  prospects,  or  if  they  are  too 
much  shrouded?" 

"Do  not  talk  nonsense/'  said  the  priest.  "It  would  be  far 
more  worthy  of  you  and  of  me  that  you  should  open  your 
heart  to  me.  There  is  now  that  between  us  which  ought  never 
to  have  come  between  us — a  secret.  This  secret  has  subsisted 
for  sixteen  months.     You  are  in  love." 

"And  what  then?" 

"A  foul  hussy  called  La  Torpille '^ 

"Well?"' 

"My  boy,  I  told  you  you  might  have  a  mistress,  but  a  wo- 
man of  rank,  pretty,  young,  influential,  a  Countess  at  least. 
I  had  chosen  Madame  d'Espard  for  you,  to  make  her  the 
instrument  of  your  fortune  without  scruple;  for  she  would 
never  have  perverted  your  heart,  she  would  have  left  you 
free. — To  love  a  prostitute  of  the  lowest  class  when  you  have 
not,  like  kings,  the  power  to  give  her  high  rank,  is  a  monstrous 
blunder." 

"And  am  I  the  first  man  who  has  renounced  ambition  to 
follow  the  lead  of  a  boundless  passion?" 

"Good!"  said  the  priest,  stooping  to  pick  up  the  mouth- 
piece of  the  hookah  which  Lucien  had  dropped  on  the  floor. 
"I  understand  the  retort.  Cannot  love  and  ambition  be 
reconciled?  Child,  you  have  a  mother  in  old  Herrera — a 
mother  who  is  wholly  devoted  to  you " 

"I  know  it,  old  friend,"  said  Lucien,  taking  his  hand  and 
shaking  it. 

"You  wished  for  the  toys  of  wealth;  you  have  them.  You 
want  to  shine;  I  am  guiding  you  into  the  paths  of  power,  I 
kiss  very  dirty  hands  to  secure  your  advancement,  and  you 
vvdll  get  on.  A  little  while  yet  and  you  will  lack  nothing 
of  what  can  charm  man  or  woman.  Though  effeminate  in 
your  caprices,  your  intellect  is  manly.  I  have  dreamed  all 
things  of  you ;  I  forgive  you  all.  You  have  only  to  speak  to 
have  your  ephemeral  passions  gratified.     I  have  aggrandized 


54  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

your  life  by  introducing  into  it  that  which  makes  it  de- 
lightful to  most  people — the  stamp  of  political  influence  and 
dominion.  You  will  be  as  great  as  you  now  are  small;  but 
we  must  not  break  the  machine  by  which  we  coin  money.  I 
grant  you  all  you  will  excepting  such  blunders  as  will  destroy 
your  future  prospects.  When  I  can  open  the  drawing-rooms 
of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  to  you,  I  forbid  your  wallow- 
ing in  the  gutter.  Lucien,  I  mean  to  be  an  iron  stanchion 
in  your  interest ;  I  will  endure  everything  from  you,  for  you. 
Thus  I  have  transformed  your  lack  of  tact  in  the  game  of 
life  into  the  shrewd  stroke  of  a  skilful  player " 

Lucien  looked  up  with  a  start  of  furious  impetuosity. 

"I  carried  off  La  Torpille !" 

"You?"  cried  Lucien. 

In  a  fit  of  animal  rage  the  poet  jumped  up,  flung  the 
jeweled  mouthpiece  in  the  priest's  face,  and  pushed  him  with 
such  violence  as  to  throw  down  that  strong  man. 

"1,"  said  the  Spaniard,  getting  up  and  preserving  his  ter- 
rible gravity. 

His  black  wig  had  fallen  oft'.  A  bald  skull,  as  shining  as 
a  death's-head,  showed  the  man's  real  countenance.  It  was 
appalling.  Lucien  sat  on  his  divan,  his  hands  hanging  limp, 
overpowered,  and  gazing  at  the  AJ)be  with  stupefaction, 

"I  carried  her  off,"  the  priest  repeated. 

"What  did  you  do  with  her?  You  took  her  away  the  day 
after  the  opera  ball." 

"Yes,  the  day  after  I  had  seen  a  woman  who  belonged  to 
you  insulted  by  wretches  whom  I  would  not  have  con- 
descended to  kick  downstairs." 

"Wretches !"  interrupted  Lucien,  "say  rather  monsters, 
compared  with  whom  those  who  are  guillotined  are  angels. 
Do  you  know  what  the  unhappy  Torpille  had  done  for  three 
of  them?  One  of  them  was  her  lover  for  two  months.  She 
was  poor,  and  picked  up  a  living  in  the  gutter;  he  had  not  a 
sou ;  like  me,  when  you  rescued  me,  he  was  very  near  the  river; 
this  fellow  would  get  up  at  night  and  go  to  the  cupboard  where 
the  girl  kept  the  remains  of  her  dinner  and  eat  it.     At  last 


ESTHER  HAPPY  55 

she  discovered  the  trick;  she  understood  the  shameful  thing, 
nnd  took  care  to  leave  a  great  deal;  then  she  was  happy.  She 
never  told  any  one  but  me,  that  night,  coming  home  from 
the  opera. 

"The  second  had  stolen  some  money;  but  before  the  theft 
was  found  out,  she  lent  him  the  sum,  which  he  was  enabled 
to  replace,  and  which  he  always  forgot  to  repay  to  the  poor 
child. 

"As  to  the  third,  she  made  his  fortune  by  playing  out  a 
farce  worthy  of  Figaro's  genius.  She  passed  as  his  wife  and 
became  the  mistress  of  a  man  in  power,  who  believed  her  to 
be  the  most  innocent  of  good  citizens.  To  one  she  gave  life, 
to  another  honor,  to  the  third  fortune — what  does  it  all  count 
for  to-day  ?     And  this  is  how  they  reward  her  !" 

"Would  you  like  to  see  them  dead  ?"  said  Herrera,  in  whose 
eyes  there  were  tears. 

"Come,  that  is  just  like  you !     I  know  you  by  that " 

"Nay,  hear  all,  raving  poet,"  said  the  priest.  "La  Torpille 
is  no  more." 

Lucien  flew  at  Herrera  to  seize  him  by  the  throat,  with 
such  violence  that  any  other  man  must  have  fallen  back- 
wards; but  the  Spaniard's  arm  held  off  his  assailant. 

"Come,  listen,"  said  he  coldly.  "I  have  made  another 
Avoman  of  her,  chaste,  pure,  well  bred,  religious,  a  perfect 
lady.  She  is  being  educated.  She  can,  if  she  may,  under 
the  influence  of  your  love,  become  a  Mnon,  a  Marion  Delorme, 
a  dii  Barry,  as  the  Journalist  at  the  opera  ball  remarked. 
You  may  proclaim  her  your  mistress,  or  you  may  retire  be- 
hind a  curtain  of  your  own  creating,  which  will  be  wiser. 
By  either  method  you  Mdll  gain  profit  and  pride,  pleasure 
and  advancement ;  but  if  you  are  as  great  a  politician  as  you 
are  a  poet,  Esther  will  be  no  more  to  you  than  any  other 
woman  of  the  town ;  for,  later,  perhaps  she  may  help  us  out 
of  difficulties;  she  is  worth  her  weight  in  gold.  Drink,  but 
do  not  get  tipsy. 

"If  I  had  not  held  the  reins  of  your  passion,  where  would 
you  be  now?     Eolling  with  La  Torpille   in  the   slough  of 


56  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

misery  from  which  I  dragged  5^ou.  Here,  read  this,"  said 
Herrera,  as  simply  as  Talma  in  Manlius,  which  he  had  never 
seen. 

A  sheet  of  paper  was  laid  on  the  poet's  knees,  and  startled 
him  from  the  ecstasy  and  surprise  with  which  he  had  listened 
to  this  astounding  speech :  he  took  it,  and  read  the  first  letter 
written  by  Mademoiselle  Esther: — 


To  Monsieur  VAhhe  Carlos  H  err  era. 

"My  dear  Protector, — Will  you  not  suppose  that  grati- 
tude is  stronger  in  me  than  love,  when  you  see  that  the  first 
use  I  make  of  the  power  of  expressing  my  thoughts  is  to  thank 
you,  instead  of  devoting  it  to  pouring  forth  a  passion  that 
Lucien  has  perhaps  forgotten.  But  to  you,  divine  man,  I 
can  say  what  I  should  not  dare  to  tell  him,  who,  to  my  joy, 
still  clings  to  earth. 

"Yesterday's  ceremony  has  filled  me  with  treasures  of 
grace,  and  I  place  my  fate  in  your  hands.  Even  if  I  must 
die  far  away  from  m}^  beloved,  I  shall  die  purified  like  the 
Magdalen,  and  my  soul  will  become  to  him  the  rival  of  his 
guardian  angel.  Can  I  ever  forget  yesterday's  festival? 
How  could  I  wish  to  abdicate  the  glorious  throne  to  which  I 
was  raised?  Yesterday  I  washed  away  every  stain  in  the 
waters  of  baptism,  and  received  the  Sacred  Body  of  my  Ke- 
deemer;  I  am  become  one  of  His  tabernacles.  At  that 
moment  I  heard  the  songs  of  angels,  I  was  more  than  a  wo- 
man, was  born  to  a  life  of  light  amid  the  acclamations  of 
the  whole  earth,  admired  by  the  world  in  a  cloud  of  incense 
and  prayers  that  were  intoxicating,  adorned  like  a  virgin  for 
the  lieavenly  Spouse. 

"Thus  finding  myself  worthy  of  Lucien,  which  I  had  never 
hoped  to  be,  I  abjured  impure  love  and  vowed  to  walk  only 
in  the  paths  of  virtue.  If  my  flesh  is  weaker  than  my  spirit, 
let  it  perish.  Be  the  arbiter  of  my  destiny;  and  if  I  die,  tell 
Lucien  that  I  died  to  him  when  I  was  born  to  God/' 


ESTHER  HAPPY  57 

Lucien  looked  up  at  the  Abbe  with  eyes  full  of  tears. 

"You  know  the  rooms  fat  Caroline  Bellefeuille  had,  in  the 
Rue  Taitbout,"  the  Spaniard  said.  "The  poor  creature,  cast 
off  by  her  magistrate,  was  in  the  greatest  poverty;  she  was 
about  to  be  sold  up.  I  bought  the  place  all  standing,  and  she 
turned  out  with  her  clothes.  Esther,  the  angel  who  aspired 
to  heaven,  has  alighted  there,  and  is  waiting  for  you." 

At  this  moment  Lucien  heard  his  horses  pawing  the  ground 
in  the  courtyard;  he  was  incapable  of  expressing  his  admira- 
tion for  a  devotion  which  he  alone  could  appreciate ;  he  threw 
himself  into  the  arms  of  the  man  he  had  insulted,  made 
amends  for  all  by  a  look  and  the  speechless  effusion  of  his 
feelings.  Then  he  flew  downstairs,  confided  Esther's  ad- 
dress to  his  tiger's  ear,  and  the  horses  went  off  as  if  their 
master's  passion  had  lived  in  their  legs. 

The  next  day  a  man,  who  by  his  dress  might  have  been 
mistaken  by  the  passers-by  for  a  gendarme  in  disguise,  was 
passing  the  Rue  Taitbout,  opposite  a  house,  as  if  he  were 
waiting  for  some  one  to  come  out ;  he  walked  with  an  agitated 
air.  You  will  often  see  in  Paris  such  vehement  promenaders, 
real  gendarmes  watching  a  recalcitrant  National  Guardsman, 
bailiff's  taking  steps  to  effect  an  arrest,  creditors  planning  a 
trick  on  the  debtor  who  has  shut  himself  in,  lovers,  or  jealous 
and  suspicious  husbands,  or  friends  doing  sentry  for  a  friend ; 
but  rarely  do  you  meet  a  face  portending  such  coarse  and 
fierce  thoughts  as  animated  that  of  .the  gloomy  and  powerful 
man  who  paced  to  and  fro  under  Mademoiselle  Esther's  win- 
dows with  the  brooding  haste  of  a  bear  in  its  cage. 

At  noon  a  window  was  opened,  and  a  maid-servant's  hand 
was  put  out  to  push  back  the  padded  shutters.  A  few  min- 
utes later,  Esther,  in  her  dressing-gown,  came  to  breathe  the 
air,  leaning  on  Lucien;  any  one  who  saw  them  might  have 
taken  them  for  the  originals  of  some  pretty  English  vignette. 
Esther  was  the  first  to  recognize  the  basilisk  eyes  of  the 
Spanish  priest ;  and  the  poor  creature,  stricken  as  if  she  had 
been  shot,  gave  a  cry  of  horror. 


58  A  COURTESAN'S  TJFE 

"There  is  that  terrible  priest,"  said  she,  pointing  him  out 
to  Lucien. 

"He!"  said  Lucien,  smiling,  "he  is  no  more  a  priest  than 
you  are." 

"What  then?"  she  said  in  alarm. 

"Why,  an  old  villain  who  believes  in  nothing  but  the 
devil,"  said  Lucien. 

This  light  thrown  on  the  sham  priest's  secrets,  if  revealed 
to  any  one  less  devoted  than  Esther,  might  have  ruined  Lucien 
for  ever. 

As  they  went  along  the  corridor  from  their  bedroom  to 
the  dining-room,  w^here  their  breakfast  was  served,  the  lovers 
met  Carlos  Herrera. 

"What  have  you  come  here  for?"  said  Lucien  roughly. 

"To  bless  you,"  replied  the  audacious  scoundrel,  stopping 
the  pair  and  detaining  them  in  the  little  drawing-room  of  the 
apartment.  "Listen  to  me,  my  pretty  dears.  Amuse  your- 
selves, be  happy — well  and  good !  Happiness  at^  any  price 
is  my  motto. — But  you,"  he  went  on  to  Esther,  "you  whom 
I  dragged  from  the  mud,  and  have  soaped  down  body  and 
soul,,  you  surely  do  not  dream  that  you  can  stand  in  Lucien's 
way? — As  for  you,  my  boy,"  he  went  on  after  a  pause,  look- 
ing at  Lucien,  "you  are  no  longer  poet  enough  to  allow  your- 
self another  Coralie.  This  is  sober  prose.  What  can  be 
done  with  Esther's  lover?  Nothing.  Can  Esther  become 
Madame  de  Kubempre?     No. 

"Well,  my  child,"  said  he,  laying  his  hand  on  Esther's,  and 
making  her  shiver  as  if  some  serpent  had  wound  itself  round 
her,  "the  world  must  never  know^  of  your  existence.  Above 
all,  the  world  must  never  know  that  a  certain  Mademoiselle 
Esther  loves  Lucien,  and  that  Lucien  is  in  love  with  her. — 
These  rooms  are  your  prison,  my  pigeon.  If  you  wish  to  go 
out — and  your  health  will  require  it — you  must  take  ex- 
ercise at  night,  at  hours  when  you  cannot  be  seen;  for  your 
youth  and  beauty,  and  the  style  you  have  acquired  at  the  Con- 
vent, would  at  once  be  observed  in  Paris.  The  day  when 
any  one  in  the  world,  whoever  it  be,"  he  added  in  an  awful 


ESTHER  HAPPY  59 

voice,  seconded  by  an  awful  look,  "learns  that  Lucien  is  your 
lover,  or  that  you  are  his  mistress,  that  day  will  be  your  last 
but  one  on  earth.  I  have  procured  that  boy  a  patent  per- 
mitting him  to  bear  the  name  and  arms  of  his  maternal  an- 
cestors. Still,  this  is  not  all;  we  have  not  yet  recovered  the 
title  of  Marquis;  and  to  get  it,  he  must  marry  a  girl  of 
good  family,  in  whose  favor  the  King  will  grant  this  distinc- 
tion. Such  an  alliance  will  get  Lucien  on  in  the  world  and 
at  Court.  This  boy,  of  whom  I  have  made  a  man,  will  be 
first  Secretary  to  an  Embassy;  later,  he  shall  be  Minister  at 
some  German  Court,  and  God,  or  I — better  still — helping 
him,  he  will  take  his  seat  some  day  on  the  bench  reserved  for 
peers " 

"Or  on  the  bench  reserved  for "  Lucien  began,  in- 
terrupting the  man. 

"Hold  your  tongue !"  cried  Carlos,  laying  his  broad  hand 
on  Lucien's  mouth.  "Would  you  tell  such  a  secret  to  a 
woman?"  he  muttered  in  his  ear. 

"Esther !     A  woman  !"  cried  the  poet  of  Les  Marguerites. 

"Still  inditing  sonnets !"  said  the  Spaniard.  "Nonsense ! 
Sooner  or  later  all  these  angels  relapse  into  being  women, 
and  every  woman  at  moments  is  a  mixture  of  a  monkey  and  a 
child,  two  creatures  who  can  kill  us  for  fun. — Esther,  my 
jewel,"  said  he  to  the  terrified  girl,  "I  have  secured  as  your 
waiting-maid  a  creature  who  is  as  much  mine  as  if  she  were 
my  daughter.  For  your  cook,  you  shall  have  a  mulatto  wo- 
man, which  gives  style  to  a  house.  With  Europe  and  Asie 
you  can  live  here  for  a  thousand-franc  note  a  month  like  a 
queen — a  stage  queen.  Europe  has  been  a  dressmaker,  a 
milliner,  and  a  stage  super;  Asie  has  cooked  for  an  epicure 
Milord.     These  two  women  will  serve  you  like  two  fairies." 

Seeing  Lucien  go  completely  to  the  wall  before  this  man, 
who  was  guilty  at  least  of  sacrilege  and  forgery,  this  woman, 
sanctified  by  her  love,  felt  an  awful  fear  in  the  depths  of  her 
heart.  She  made  no  reply,  but  dragged  Lucien  into  her 
room,  and  asked  him: 

"Ls  he  the  devil  ?" 


60  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"He  is  far  worse  to  me!"  he  vehemently  replied.  "But 
if  you  love  me,  try  to  imitate  that  man's  devotion  to  me,  and 
obey  him  on  pain  of  death ! " 

"Of  death !"  she  exclaimed,  more  frightened  than  ever. 

"Of  death,"  repeated  Lucien.  "Alas !  my  darling,  no 
death  could  be  compared  with  that  which  would  befall  me 
if " 

Esther  turned  pale  at  his  words,  and  felt  herself  fainting-. 

"Well,  well/'  cried  the  sacrilegious  forger,  'Tiave  you  not 
yet  spelt  out  your  daisy-petals  ?" 

Esther  and  Lucien  came  out,  and  the  poor  girl,  not  dar- 
ing to  look  at  the  mysterious  man,  said: 

"You  shall  be  obeyed  as  God  is  obeyed,  monsieur." 

"Good,"  said  he.  "You  may  be  very  happy  for  a  time, 
and  you  will  need  only  nightgowns  and  wrappers — that  will 
be  very  economical." 

The  two  lovers  went  on  towards  the  dining-room,  but 
Lucien's  patron  signed  to  the  pretty  pair  to  stop.  And  they 
stopped. 

"I  have  just  been  talking  of  your  servants,  my  child/'  said 
he  to  Esther.     "I  must  introduce  them  to  you." 

The  Spaniard  rang  twice.  The  women  he  had  called 
Europe  and  Asie  came  in,  and  it  was  at  once  easy  to  see  the 
reason  of  these  names. 

Asie,  who  looked  as  if  she  might  have  been  born  in  the 
Island  of  Java,  showed  a  face  to  scare  the  eye,  as  flat  as  a 
board,  with  the  copper  complexion  peculiar  to  Malays,  with 
a  nose  that  looked  as  if  it  had  been  driven  inwards  by  some 
violent  pressure.  The  strange  conformation  of  the  maxillary 
])ones  gave  the  lower  part  of  this  face  a  resemblance  to  that 
of  the  larger  species  of  apes.  The  brow,  though  sloping,  was 
not  deficient  in  intelligence  produced  by  habits  of  cunning. 
Two  fierce  little  eyes  had  the  calm  fixity  of  a  tiger's,  but  they 
never  looked  you  straight  in  the  face.  Asie  seemed  afraid 
lest  she  might  terrify  people.  Her  lips,  a  dull  blue,  were 
parted  over  prominent  teeth  of  dazzling  whiteness,  but  grown 
across.     The  leading  expression  of  this  animal  countenance 


-^       -Y^ 


'V 


ESTHER  HAPPY  61 


was  one  of  meanness.  Her  black  hair,  straight  and  greasy- 
looking  like  her  skin,  lay  in  two  shining  bands,  forming  an 
edge  to  a  very  handsome  silk  handkerchief.  Her  ears  were 
remarkably  pretty,  and  graced  with  two  large  dark  pearls. 
Small,  short,  and  squat,  Asie  bore  a  likeness  to  the  grotesque 
figures  the  Chinese  love  to  paint  on  screens,  or,  more  exactly, 
to  the  Hindoo  idols  which  seem  to  be  imitated  from  some 
non-existent  type,  found,  nevertheless,  now  and  again  by 
travelers.  Esther  shuddered  as  she  looked  at  this  mon- 
strosity, dressed  out  in  a  white  apron  over  a  stuff  gown. 

"Asie,"  said  the  Spaniard,  to  whom  the  woman  looked 
up  with  a  gesture  that  can  only  be  compared  to  that  of  a 
dog  to  its  master,  "this  is  your  mistress." 

And  he  pointed  to  Esther  in  her  wrapper. 

Asie  looked  at  the  young  fairy  with  an  almost  distressful 
expression;  but  at  the  same  moment  a  flash,  half  hidden  be- 
tween her  thick,  short  eyelashes,  shot  like  an  incendiary  spark 
at  Lucien,  who,  in  a  magnificent  dressing-gown  thrown  open 
over  a  fine  Holland  linen  shirt  and  red  trousers,  with  a 
fez  on  his  head,  beneath  which  his  fair  hair  fell  in  thick 
curls,  presented  a  godlike  appearance. 

Italian  genius  could  invent  the  tale  of  Othello;  English 
genius  could  put  it  on  the  stage;  but  Nature  alone  reserves 
the  power  of  throwing  into  a  single  glance  an  expression  of 
jealousy  grander  and  more  complete  than  England  and  Italy 
together  could  imagine.  This  look,  seen  by  Esther,  made 
her  clutch  the  Spaniard  by  the  arm,  setting  her  nails  in  it 
as  a  cat  sets  its  claws  to  save  itself  from  falling  into  a  gulf 
of  which  it  cannot  see  the  bottom. 

The  Spaniard  spoke  a  few  words,  in  some  unfamiliar 
tongue,  to  the  Asiatic  monster,  who  crept  on  her  knees  to 
Esther's  feet  and  kissed  them. 

"She  is  not  merely  a  good  cook,"  said  Herrera  to  Esther; 
"she  is  a  past-master,  and  might  make  Careme  mad  with 
jealousy.  Asie  can  do  everything  by  way  of  cooking.  She' 
will  turn  you  out  a  simple  dish  of  beans  that  will  make  you 
wonder  whether  the  angels  have  not  come  down  to  add  some 


62  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

herb  from  heaven.  She  will  go  to  market  herself  every  morn- 
ing, and  fight  like  the  devil  she  is  to  get  things  at  the  lowest 
prices ;  she  will  tire  out  curiosity  by  silence. 

"You  are  to  be  supposed  to  have  been  in  India,  and  Asie 
will  help  you  to  give  effect  to  this  fiction,  for  she  is  one  of 
those  Parisians  who  are  born  to  be  of  any  nationality  they 
please.  But  I  do  not  advise  that  you  should  give  yourself 
out  to  be  a  foreigner. — Europe,  what  do  you  say?" 

Europe  was  a  perfect  contrast  to  Asie,  for  she  was  the 
smartest  waiting-maid  that  Monrose  could  have  hoped  to  see 
as  her  rival  on  the  stage.  Slight,  with  a  scatter-brain  man- 
ner, a  face  like  a  ^yeasel,  and  a  sharp  nose,  Europe's  features 
offered  to  the  observer  a  countenance  worn  by  the  corruption 
of  Paris  life,  the  unhealthy  complexion  of  a  girl  fed  on  raw 
apples,  lymphatic  but  sinewy,  soft  but  tenacious.  One  little 
foot  was  set  forward,  her  hands  were  in  her  apron-pockets, 
and  she  fidgeted  incessantly  without  moving,  from  sheer  ex- 
cess of  liveliness.  Grisette  and  stage  super,  in  spite  of  her 
youth  she  must  have  tried  many  trades.  As  full  of  evil  as 
a  dozen  Madelonnettes  put  together,  she  might  have  robbed 
her  parents,  and  sat  on  the  bench  of  a  police-court. 

Asie  was  terrifying,  but  you  knew  her  thoroughly  from 
the  first ;  she  descended  in  a  straight  line  from  Locusta ;  while 
Europe  filled  you  with  uneasiness,  which  could  not  fail  to  in- 
crease the  more  j'^ou  had  to  do  with  her;  her  corruption 
seemed  boundless.  You  felt  that  she  could  set  the  devils 
by  the  ears. 

"Madame  might  say  she  had  come  from  Valenciennes," 
said  Europe  in  a  precise  little  voice.  "I  was  born  there — 
Perhaps  monsieur,"  she  added  to  Lucien  in  a  pedantic  tone, 
"will  be  good  enough  to  say  what  name  he  proposes  to  give  to 
madame?" 

"Madame  van  Bogseck,"  the  Spaniard  put  in,  reversing 
Esther's  name.  "Madame  is  a  Jewess,  a  native  of  Holland, 
the  widow  of  a  merchant,  and  suffering  from  a  liver-com- 
plaint contracted  in  Java.  No  great  fortune — not  to  excite 
curiosity." 


ESTHER  HAPPY  63 

"Enough  to  live  on — six  thousand  francs  a  year;  and  we 
shall  complain  of  her  stinginess?"  said  Europe. 

"That  is  the  thing,"  said  the  Spaniard,  with  a  bow. 
"You  limbs  of  Satan !"  he  went  on,  catching  Asie  and  Europe 
exchanging  a  glance  that  displeased  him,  "remember  what  I 
have  told  you.  You  are  serving  a  queen;  you  owe  her  as 
much  respect  as  to  a  queen;  you  are  to  cherish  her  as  you 
would  cherish  a  revenge,  and  be  as  devoted  to  her  as  to  me. 
Neither  the  door-porter,  nor  the  neighbors,  nor  the  other 
inhabitants  of  the  house — in  short,  not  a  soul  on  earth  is 
to  know  what  goes  on  here.  It  is  your  business  to  balk 
curiosity  if  any  should  be  roused. — And  madame,"  he  went 
on,  laying  his  broad  hairy  hand  on  Esther's  arm,  "madame 
must  not  commit  the  smallest  imprudence ;  you  must  prevent 
it  in  case  of  need,  but  always  with  perfect  respect. 

"Y"ou,  Europe,  are  to  go  out  for  madame  in  anything  that 
concerns  her  dress,  and  you  must  do  her  sewing  from  motives 
of  economy.  Finally,  nobody,  not  even  the  most  insignificant 
creature,  is  ever  to  set  foot  in  this  apartment.  You  two,  be- 
tween you,  must  do  all  there  is  to  be  done. 

"And  you,  my  beauty,"  he  went  on,  speaking  to  Esther, 
"when  you  want  to  go  out  in  your  carriage  by  night,  you  can 
tell  Europe;  she  will  know  where  to  find  your  men,  for 
you  will  have  a  servant  in  livery,  of  my  choosing,  like  these 
two  slaves." 

Esther  and  Lucien  had  not  a  word  ready.  They  listened 
to  the  Spaniard,  and  looked  at  the  two  precious  specimens  to 
whom  he  gave  his  orders.  What  was  the  secret  hold  to  which 
he  owed  the  submission  and  servitude  that  were  written  on 
these  two  faces — one  mischievously  recalcitrant,  the  other  so 
malignantly  cruel? 

He  read  the  thoughts  of  Lucien  and  Esther,  who  seemed 
paralyzed,  as  Paul  and  Virginia  might  have  been  at  the  sight 
of  two  dreadful  snakes,  and  he  said  in  a  good-natured  un- 
dertone : 

"You  can  trust  them  as  you  can  me;  keep  no  secrets  from 
them;  that  will  flatter  them. — Go  to  your  work,  my  little 


64  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Asie,"  he  added  to  the  cook. — "And  you,  my  girl,  lay  another 
place/'  he  said  to  Europe;  "the  children  cannot  do  less  than 
ask  papa  to  breakfast/' 

When  the  two  women  had  shut  the  door,  and  the  Spaniard 
could  hear  Europe  moving  to  and  fro,  he  turned  to  Lucien 
and  Esther,  and  opening  a  wide  palm,  he  said: 

"I  hold  them  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand." 

The  words  and  gesture  made  his  hearers  shudder. 

'^^here  did  you  pick  them  up?"  cried  Lucien. 

^^hat  the  devil !  I  did  not  look  for  them  at  the  foot  of 
the  throne !"  replied  the  man.  "Europe  has  risen  from  the 
mire,  and  is  afraid  of  sinking  into  it  again.  Threaten  them 
with  Monsieur  Abbe  when  they  do  not  please  you,  and  you 
will  see  them  quake  like  mice  when  the  cat  is  mentioned.  I 
am  used  to  taming  wild  beasts,"  he  added  with  a  smile. 

'T^ou  strike  me  as  being  a  demon,"  said  Esther,  clinging 
closer  to  Lucien. 

"My  child,  I  tried  to  win  you  to  heaven;  but  a  repentant 
Magdalen  is  always  a  practical  joke  on  the  Church.  If 
ever  there  were  one,  she  would  relapse  into  the  courtesan  in 
Paradise.  You  have  gained  this  much:  you  are  forgotten, 
and  have  acquired  the  manners  of  a  lady,  for  you  learned  in 
the  convent  what  you  never  could  have  learned  in  the  ranks 
of  infamy  in  which  you  were  living. — You  owe  me  nothing," 
said  he,  observing  a  beautiful  look  of  gratitude  on  Esther's 
face.  "I  did  it  all  for  him,"  and  he  pointed  to  Lucien. 
"You  are,  you  will  always  be,  you  will  die  a  prostitute;  for 
in  spite  of  the  delightful  theories  of  cattle-breeders,  you  can 
never,  here  below,  become  anything  but  what  you  are.  The 
man  who  feels  bumps  is  right.     You  have  the  bump  of  love." 

The  Spaniard,  it  will  be  seen,  was  a  fatalist,  like  Xapoleon, 
Mahomet,  and  many  other  great  politicians.  It  is  a  strange 
thing  that  most  men  of  action  have  a  tendency  to  fatalism, 
just  as  most  great  thinkers  have  a  tendency  to  believe  in 
Providence. 

*^hat  I  am,  I  do  not  know,"  said  Esther  with  angelic 


ESTHER   HAPPY  65 

sweetness;  'T)ut  I  love  Lucien,  and  shall  die  worshiping 
him." 

"Come  to  breakfast,"  said  the  Spaniard  sharpl3^  "And 
pray  to  God  that  Lucien  may  not  marry  too  soon,  for  then 
you  would  never  see  him  again." 

"His  marriage  would  be  my  death,"  said  she. 

She  allowed  the  sham  priest  to  lead  the  Avay,  that  she 
might  stand  on  tiptoe  and  whisper  to  Lucien  without  being 
seen. 

"Is  it  your  wish,"  said,  she,  "that  I  should  remain  in  the 
power  of  this  man  who  sets  two  hyaenas  to  guard  me  ?" 

Lucien  bowed  his  head. 

The  poor  child  swallowed  down  her  grief  and  affected  glad- 
ness, but  she  felt  cruelly  oppressed.  It  needed  more  than 
a  year  of  constant  and  devoted  care  before  she  was  accustomed 
to  these  two  dreadful  creatures  whom  Carlos  Herrera  called 
the  two  watch-dogs. 

Lucien's  conduct  since  his  return  to  Paris  had  borne  the 
stamp  of  such  profound  policy  that  it  excited — and  could  not 
fail  to  excite — the  jealousy  of  all  his  former  friends,  on  whom 
he  took  no  vengeance  but  by  making  them  furious  at  his 
success,  at  his  exquisite  "get  up,"  and  his  way  of  keeping 
every  one  at  a  distance.  The  poet,  once  so  communicative, 
so  genial,  had  turned  cold  and  reserved.  De  Marsa)^,  the 
model  adopted  by  all  the  youths  of  Paris,  did  "not  make  a 
greater  display  of  reticence  in  speech  and  deed  than  did 
Lucien.  As  to  brains,  the  journalist  had  ere  now  proved  his 
mettle.  De  Marsay,  against  whom  many  people  chose  to  pit 
Lucien,  giving  a  preference  to  the  poet,  was  small-minded 
enough  to  resent  this. 

Lucien,  now  in  high  favor  with  men  who  secretly  pulled 
the  wires  of  power,  was  so  completely  indifferent  to  literary 
fame,  that  he  did  not  care  about  the  success  of  his  romance, 
republished  under  its  real  title,  L'Archer  de  Charles  JX.,  or 
the  excitement  caused  by  his  volume  of  sonnets  called  Les 


66  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Marguerites,  of  which  Daiiriat  sold  out  the  edition  in  a 
week. 

"It  is  posthumous  fame,"  said  he,  with  a  laugh,  to  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches,  who  congratulated  him. 

The  terrible  Spaniard  held  his  creature  with  an  iron  hand, 
keeping  him  in  the  road  towards  the  goal  where  the  trumpets 
and  gifts  of  victory  await  patient  politicians.  Lucien  had 
taken  Beaudenord's  bachelor  quarters  on  the  Quai  Malaquais, 
to  be  near  the  Rue  Taitbout,  and  his  adviser  was  lodging 
under  the  same  roof  on  the  fourth  floor.  Lucien  kept  only 
oTie  horse  to  ride  and  drive,  a  man-servant,  and  a  groom. 
When  he  was  not  dining  out,  he  dined  "with  Esther. 

Carlos  Herrera  kept  such  a  keen  eye  on  the  service  in 
the  house  on  the  Quai  Malaquais,  that  Lucien  did  not  spend 
ten  thousand  francs  a  year,  all  told.  Ten  thousand  more 
were  enough  for  Esther,-  thanks  to  the  unfailing  and  in- 
explicable devotion  of  Asie  and  Europe.  Lucien  took  the 
utmost  precautions  in  going  in  and  out  at  the  Rue  Taitbout. 
He  never  came  but  in  a  cab,  with  the  blinds  down,  and  al- 
ways drove  into  the  courtyard.  Thus  his  passion  for  Esther 
and  the  very  existence  of  the  establishment  in  the  Rue  Tait- 
bout, being  unknown  to  the  world,  did  him  no  harm  in  his 
connections  or  undertakings..  Xo  rash  word  ever  escaped 
him  on  this  delicate  subject.  His  mistakes  of  this  sort  with 
regard  to  Coralie,  at  the  time  of  his  first  stay  in  Paris,  had 
given  him  experience. 

In  the  first  place,  his  life  was  marked  by  the  correct  reg- 
ularity under  which  many  mysteries  can  be  hidden;  he  re- 
mained in  society  every  night  till  one  in  the  morning;  he 
was  always  at  home  from  ten  till  one  in  the  afternoon;  then 
he  drove  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  and  paid  calls  till  five.  He 
was  rarely  to  be  seen  on  foot,  and  thus  avoided  old  acquaint- 
ances. When  some  journalist  or  one  of  his  former  associates 
waved  him  a  greeting,  he  responded  with  a  bow,  polite  enough 
to  avert  annoyance,  but  significant  of  such  deep  contempt 
as  killed  all  French  geniality.  He  thus  had  very  soon  got  rid 
of  persons  whom  he  would  rather  never  have  known. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  67 

An  old-established  aversion  kept  him  from  going  to  see 
Madame  d'Espard,  who  often  wished  to  get  him  to  her  house ; 
but  when  he  met  her  at  those  of  the  Duchesse  de  Maufri- 
gneuse,  of  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  of  the  Comtesse  de 
Montcornet  or  elsewhere,  he  was  always  exquisitely  polite  to 
her.  This  hatred,  fully  reciprocated  by  Madame  d'Espard, 
compelled  Lucien  to  act  with  prudence;  but  it  will  be  seen 
how  he  had  added  fuel  to  it  by  allowing  himself  a  stroke 
of  revenge,  Avhich  gained  him  indeed  a  severe  lecture  from 
Carlos. 

"You  are  not  yet  strong  enough  to  be  revenged  on  any 
one,  whoever  it  may  be,"  said  the  Spaniard.  "When  we  are 
walking  under  a  burning  sun  we  do  not  stop  to  gather  even 
the  finest  flowers." 

Lucien  was  so  genuinely  superior,  and  had  so  fine  a  future 
before  him,  that  the  young  men  who  chose  to  be  offended 
or  puzzled  by  his  return  to  Paris  and  his  unaccountable  good 
fortune  were  enchanted  whenever  they  could  do  him  an  ill 
turn.  He  knew  that  he  had  many  enemies,  and  was  well 
aware  of  these  hostile  feelings  among  his  friends.  The  Abbe, 
indeed,  took  admirable  care  of  his  adopted  son,  putting  him 
on  his  guard  against  the  treachery  of  the  world  and  the  fatal 
imprudence  of  youth.  Lucien  was  expected  to  tell,  and  did 
in  fact  tell  the  Abbe  each  evening,  every  trivial  incident  of 
the  day.  Thanks  to  his  Mentor's  advice,  he  put  the  keenest 
curiosity — ^the  curiosity  of  the  world — off  the  scent.  En- 
trenched in  the  gravity  of  an  Englishman,  and  fortified  by 
the  redoubts  cast  up  by  diplomatic  circumspection,  he  never 
gave  any  one  the  right  or  the  opportunity  of  seeing  a  corner 
even  of  his  concerns.  His  handsome  young  face  had,  by 
practice,  become  as  expressionless  in  society  as  that  of  a 
princess  at  a  ceremonial. 

Towards  the  middle  of  1829  his  marriage  began  to  be 
talked  of  to  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu, 
who  at  that  time  had  no  less  than  four  daughters  to  provide 
for.  No  one  doubted  that  in  honor  of  such  an  alliance  the 
King  would  revive  for  Lucien  the  title  of  Marquis.     This 


68  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

distinction  would  establish  Lucien's  fortune  as  a  diplomats, 
and  he  would  probably  be  accredited  as  Minister  to 
some  German  Court.  For  the  last  three  years  Lucien's  life 
had  been  regular  and  above  reproach ;  indeed,  de  Marsay  had 
made  this  remarkable  speech  about  him: 

"That  young  fellow  must  have  a  very  strong  hand  behind 
him." 

Thus  Lucien  was  almost  a  person  of  importance.  His 
passion  for  Esther  had,  in  fact,  helped  him  greatly  to  play 
his  part  of  a  serious  man.  A  habit  of  this  kind  guards  an 
ambitious  man  from  many  follies ;  having  no  connection  with 
any  woman  of  fashion,  he  cannot  be  caught  by  the  reactions 
of  mere  physical  nature  on  his  moral  sense. 

As  to  happiness,  Lucien's  was  the  realization  of  a  poet's 
dreams — a  penniless  poet's,  hungering  in  a  garret.  Esther, 
the  ideal  courtesan  in  love,  while  she  reminded  Lucien  of 
1  Coralie,  the  actress  with  whom  he  had  lived  for  a  year,  com- 
pletely eclipsed  her.  Every  loving  and  devoted  woman  in- 
vents seclusion,  incognito,  the  life  of  a  pearl  in  the  depths  of 
the  sea ;  but  to  most  of  them  this  is  no  more  than  one  of  the 
delightful  whims  which  supply  a  subject  for  conversation, 
a  proof  of  love  which  they  dream  of  giving,  but  do  not  give ; 
Avhereas  Esther,  to  whom  her  first  enchantment  was  ever  new, 
who  lived  perpetually  in  the  glow  of  Lucien's  first  incendiary 
glance,  never,  in  four  years,  had  an  impulse  of  curiosity. 
She  gave  her  whole  mind  to  the  task  of  adhering  to  the  terms 
of  the  programme  prescribed  by  the  sinister  Spaniard.  Nay, 
more  !  In  the  midst  of  intoxicating  happiness  she  never  took 
unfair  advantage  of  the  unlimited  power  that  the  constantly 
revived  desire  of  a  lover  gives  to  the  woman  he  loves  to  ask 
Lucien  a  single  question  regarding  Herrera,  of  whom  indeed 
she  lived  in  constant  awe ;  she  dared  not  even  think  of  him. 
The  elaborate  benefactions  of  that  extraordinary  man,  to 
whom  Esther  undoubtedly  owed  her  feminine  accomplish- 
ment and  her  well-bred  manner,  struck  the  poor  girl  as  ad- 
vances on  account  of  hell. 

"T  shall  have  to  pay  for  all  this  some  day,"  she  would  tell 
herself  with  dismay. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  69 

• 

Every  fine  night  she  went  out  in  a  hired  carriage.  She 
was  driven  with  a  rapidity  no  doubt  insisted  on  by  the  Abbe, 
in  one  or  another  of  the  beautiful  woods  round  Paris, 
Boulogne,  Vincennes,  Eomainville,  or  Ville-d'Avray,  often 
with  Lucien,  sometimes  alone  with  Europe.  There  she  could 
walk  about  without  fear;  for  when  Lucien  was  not  with  her, 
she  was  attended  by  a  servant  dressed  like  the  smartest  of 
outriders,  armed  with  a  real  knife,  whose  face  and  brawny 
build  alike  proclaimed  him  a  ruthless  athlete.  This  pro- 
tector was  also  provided,  in  the  fashion  of  English  footmen, 
with  a  stick,  but  such  as  single-stick  players  use,  with  which 
they  can  keep  off  more  than  one  assailant.  In  obedience  to 
an  order  of  the  Abbe's,  Esther  had  never  spoken  a  word  to 
this  escort.  When  madame  wished  to  go  home,  Europe  gave 
a  call;  the  man  in  waiting  whistled  to  the  driver,  who  was 
always  within  hearing. 

When  Lucien  was  walking  with  Esther,  Europe  and  this 
man  remained  about  a  hundred  paces  behind,  like  two  of 
the  infernal  minions  that  figure  in  the  Thousand  and  One 
Nights,  which  enchanters  place  at  the  service  of  their  devotees. 

The  men,  and  yet  more  the  women  of  Paris,  know  noth- 
ing of  the  charm  of  a  vvalk  in  the  woods  on  a  fine  night. 
The  stillness,  the  moonlight  effects,  the  solitude,  have  the 
soothing  effect  of  a  bath.  Esther  usually  went  out  at  ten, 
walked  about  from  midnight  till  one  o'clock,  and  came  in  at 
half-past  two.  It  was  never  daylight  in  her  rooms  till  eleven. 
She  then  bathed  and  went  through  the  elaborate  toilet  which 
is  unknown  to  most  women,  for  it  takes  up  too  much  time, 
and  is  rarely  carried  out  by  any  but  courtesans,  women  of 
the  town,  or  fine  ladies  who  have  the  day  before  them.  She 
was  only  just  ready  when  Lucien  came,  and  appeared  before 
him  as  a  newly  opened  flower.  Her  only  care  was  that  her 
poet  should  be  happy;  she  Avas  his  toy,  his  chattel;  she  gave 
him  entire  liberty.  She  never  cast  a  glance  beyond  the  circle 
where  she  shone.  On  this  the  Abbe  had  insisted,  for  it  was 
part  of  his  profound  policy  that  Lucien  should  have  gallant 
adventures. 


70  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

• 

Happiness  has  no  history,  and  the  story-tellers  of  all 
lands  have  understood  this  so  well  that  the  words,  "They 
were  happy/'  are  the  end  of  every  love  tale.  Hence  only 
the  ways  and  means  can  be  recorded  of  this  really  romantic 
happiness  in  the  heart  of  Paris.  It  was  happiness  in  its 
loveliest  form,  a  poem,  a  symphony,  of  four  years'  duration. 
Every  woman  will  exclaim,  "Tliat  was  much !"  Neither 
Esther  nor  Lucien  had  ever  said,  "This  is  too  much !"  And 
the  formula,  "They  were  happy,"  was  more  emphatically  true 
than  even  in  a  fairy  tale,  for  "they  had  no  children." 

So  Lucien  could  coquet  with  the  world,  give  way  to  his 
poet's  caprices,  and,  it  may  be  plainly  admitted,  to  the 
necessities  of  his  position.  All  this  time  he  was  slowly  making 
his  wa}',  and  was  able  to  render  secret  service  to  certain 
political  personages  by  helping  them  in  their  work.  In  such 
matters  he  was  eminently  discreet.  He  cultivated  Madame 
de  Serizy's  circle,  being,  it  was  rumored,  on  the  very  best 
terms  with  that  lady.  Madame  de  Serizy  had  carried  him 
off  from  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  who,  it  was  said,  had 
"thrown  him  over,"  one  of  the  phrases  by  which  women 
avenge  themselves  on  happiness  they  envy.  Lucien  was  in 
the  lap,  so  to  speak,  of  the  High  Almoner's  set.  and  intimate 
with  women  who  were  the  Archbishop's  personal  friends. 
He  was  modest  and  reserved ;  he  waited  patiently.  So  de 
Marsay's  speech — de  ]\Iarsay  was  now  married,  and  made  his 
wife  live  as  retired  a  life  as  Esther — was  significant  in  more 
ways  than  one. 

But  the  submarine  perils  of  such  a  course  as  Lucien's  will 
be  sufficiently  obvious  in  the  course  of  this  chronicle. 

Matters  were  in  this  position  when,  one  fine  night  in 
August,  the  Baron  de  Xucingen  was  driving  back  to  Paris 
from  the  country  residence  of  a  foreign  banker,  settled  in 
Prance,  Avith  whom  he  had  been  dining.  The  estate  lay  at 
eight  leagues  from  Paris  in  the  district  of  la  Brie.  Xow, 
the  Baron's  coachman  having  undertaken  to  drive  his  master 
there  and  back  with  his  own  horses,  at  nightfall  ventured 
to  moderate  the  pace. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  71 

As  they  entered  the  forest  of  Vincennes  the  position  of 
beast,  man,  and  master  was  as  follows: — The  coachman, 
liberally  soaked  in  the  kitchen  of  the  aristocrat  of  the  Bourse, 
was  perfectly  tipsy,  and  slept  soundly,  while  still  holding 
the  reins  to  deceive  other  wayfarers.  The  footman,  seated 
behind,  was  snoring  like  a  wooden  top  from  Germany — the 
land  of  little  carved  figures,  of  large  wine-vats,  and  of 
humming-tops.  The  Baron  had  tried  to  think;  but  after 
passing  the  bridge  at  Gournay,  the  soft  somnolence  of  diges- 
tion had  sealed  his  eyes.  The  horses  understood  the  coach- 
man's plight  from  the  slackness  of  the  reins;  they  heard  the 
footman's  hasso  continuo  from  his  perch  behind;  they  saw 
that  they  were  masters  of  the  situation,  and  took  advantage 
of  their  few  minutes'  freedom  to  make  their  own  pace.  Like 
intelligent  slaves,  they  gave  highway  robbers  the  chance  of 
plundering  one  of  the  richest  capitalists  in  France,  the  most 
deeply  cunning  of  the  race  which,  in  France,  have  been  en- 
ergetically styled  lynxes — loups-cerviers.  Finally,  being  in- 
dependent of  control,  and  tempted  by  the  curiosity  which 
every  one  must  have  remarked  in  domestic  animals,  they 
stopped  where  four  roads  met,  face  to  face  with  some  other 
horses,  whom  they,  no  doubt,  asked  in  horses'  language: 
"Who  may  you  be?  What  are  you  doing?  Are  you  com- 
fortable?" 

When  the  chaise  stopped,  the  Baron  awoke  from  his  nap. 
At  first  he  fancied  that  he  was  still  in  his  friend's  park; 
then  he  was  startled  by  a  celestial  vision,  which  found  him 
unarmed  with  his  usual  weapon— self-interest.  The  moon- 
light was  brilliant ;  he  could  have  read  by  it — even  an  evening 
paper.  In  the  silence  of  the  forest,  under  this  pure  light, 
the  Baron  saw  a  woman,  alone,  who,  as  she  got  into  a  hired 
chaise,  looked  at  the  strange  spectacle  of  this  sleep-stricken 
carriage.  At  the  sight  of  this  angel  the  Baron  felt  as  though 
a  light  had  flashed  into  glory  within  him.  The  young  lady, 
seeing  herself  admired,  pulled  down  her  veil  with  terrified 
haste.  The  man-servant  gave  a  signal  which  the  driver  per- 
fectly understood,  for  the  vehicle  went  off  like  an  arrow. 


-i  v 


72  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

The  old  banker  was  fearfully  agitated;  the  blood  left  his 
feet  cold  and  carried  fire  to  his  brain,  his  head  sent  the  flame 
back  to  his  heart;  he  was  choking.  The  unhappy  man  fore- 
saw a  fit  of  indigestion,  but  in  spite  of  that  supreme  terror 
he  stood  up. 

"Follow  qvick,  fery  qvick. — Tam  '  you,  you  are  ashleep  !" 
he  cried.     "A  hundert  franc  if  you  catch  up  dat  chaise." 

At  the  words  "A  hundred  francs,"  the  coachman  woke  up. 
The  servant  behind  heard  them,  no  doubt,  in  his  dreams. 
The  Baron  reiterated  his  orders,  the  coachman  urged  the 
horses  to  a  gallop,  and  at  the  Barriere  du  Trone  had  suc- 
ceeded in  overtaking  a  carriage  resembling  that  in  which 
Nucingen  had  seen  the  divine  fair  one,  but  which  contained 
a  swaggering  head-clerk  from  some  first-class  shop  and  a 
lady  of  the  Rue  Vivienne. 

This  blunder  filled  the  Baron  with  consternation. 

"If  only  I  had  prought  Chorge  inshtead  of  you,  shtupid 
fool,  he  shall  have  fount  dat  voman,"  said  he  to  the  servant, 
while  the  excise  officers  were  searching  the  carriage. 

"Indeed,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  the  devil  was  behind  the 
chaise,  I  believe,  disguised  as  an  armed  escort,  and  he  sent 
this  chaise  instead  of  hers." 

"Dere  is  no  such  ting  as  de  Teufel,"  said  the  Baron. 

The  Baron  de  ISTucingen  owned  to  sixty;  he  no  longer 
cared  for  women,  and  for  his  wife  least  of  all.  He  boasted 
that  he  had  never  known  such  love  as  makes  a  fool  of  a 
man.  He  declared  that  he  was  happy  to  have  done  with 
women;  the  most  angelic  of  them,  he  frankly  said,  was  not 
worth  w^hat  she  cost,  even  if  you  got  her  for  nothing.  He 
was  supposed  to  be  so  entirely  blase,  that  he  no  longer  paid 
two  thousand  francs  a  month  for  the  pleasure  of  being  de- 
ceived. His  eyes  looked  coldly  down  from  his  opera  box  on 
the  corps  de  ballet;  never  a  glance  was  shot  at  the  capitalist 
by  any  one  of  that  formidable  swarm  of  old  young  girls,  and 
young  old  women,  the  cream  of  Paris  pleasure. 

Natural  love,  artificial  and  love-of-show  love,  love  based 
on  self-esteem  and  vanity,  love  as  a  display  of  taste,  decent, 


ESTHER  HAPPY  73 

conjugal  love,  eccentric  love — the  Baron  had  paid  for  them 
all,  had  known  them  all  excepting  real  spontaneous  love. 
This  passion  had  now  pounced  down  on  him  like  an  eagle  on 
its  prey,  as  it  did  on  Gentz,  the  confidential  friend  of  His 
Highness  the  Prince  of  Metternich.  All  the  world  knows 
what  follies  the  old  diplomate  committed  for  Fanny  Elssler, 
whose  rehearsals  took  up  a  great  deal  more  of  his  time  than 
the  concerns  of  Europe. 

The  woman  who  had  just  overthrown  that  iron-bound 
money-box,  called  Nucingen,  had  appeared  to  him  as  one  of 
those  who  are  unique  in  their  generation.  It  is  not  certain 
that  Titian's  mistress,  or  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  Monna  Lisa, 
or  Raphael's  Fornarina  were  as  beautiful  as  this  exquisite 
Esther,  in  whom  not  the  most  practised  eye  of  the  most  ex- 
perienced Parisian  could  have  detected  the  faintest  trace  of 
the  ordinary  courtesan.  The  Baron  was  especially  startled 
by  the  noble  and  stately  air,  the  air  of  a  well-born  woman, 
which  Esther,  beloved,  and  lapped  in  luxury,  elegance,  and 
devotedness,  had  in  the  highest  degree.  Happy  love  is  the 
divine  unction  of  women;  it  makes  them  all  as  lofty  as 
empresses. 

For  eight  nights  in  succession  the  Baron  went  to  the  forest 
of  Vincennes,  then  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  to  the  woods 
of  Ville-d'Avray,  to  Meudon,  in  short,  everywhere  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Paris,  but  failed  to  meet  Esther.  Thai 
beautiful  Jewish  face,  which  he  called  "a  face  out  of  te 
Biple,"  was  always  before  his  eyes.  By  the  end  of  a  fort- 
night he  had  lost  his  appetite. 

Delphine  de  Nucingen,  and  her  daughter  Augusta,  whom 
the  Baroness  was  now  taking  out,  did  not  at  first  perceive 
the  change  that  had  come  over  the  Baron.  The  mother 
and  daughter  only  saw  him  at  breakfast  in  the  morning  and 
at  dinner  in  the  evening,  when  they  all  dined  at  home,  and 
this  was  only  on  the  evenings  when  Delphine  received  com- 
pany. But  by  the  end  of  two  m.onths,  tortured  by  a  fever 
of  impatience,  and  in  a  state  like  that  produced  by  acute 
home-sickness,  the  Baron,  amazed  to  find  his  millions  im>po- 


74  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

tent,  grew  so  thin,  and  seemed  so  seriously  ill,  that  Delphine 
had  secret  hopes  of  finding  herself  a  widow.  She  pitied 
her  husband,  somewhat  hypocritically,  and  kept  her  daughter 
in  seclusion.  She  bored  her  husband  with  questions;  he  an- 
swered as  Englishmen  answer  when  suffering  from  spleen, 
hardly  a  word. 

Delphine  de  Nucingen  gave  a  grand  dinner  every  Sunday. 
She  had  chosen  that  day  for  her  receptions,  after  observing 
that  no  people  of  fashion  went  to  the  play,  and  that  the 
day  was  pretty  generally  an  open  one.  The  emancipation  of 
the  shopkeeping  and  middle  classes  makes  Sunday  almost 
as  tiresome,  in  Paris  as  it  is  deadly  in  London.  So  the 
Baroness  invited  the  famous  Desplein  to  dinner,  to  consult 
him  in  spite  of  the  sick  man,  for  Nucingen  persisted  in  as- 
serting that  he  was  perfectly  well. 

Keller,  Eastignac,  de  Marsay,  du  Tillet,  all  their  friends 
had  made  the  Baroness  understand  that  a  man  like  Nucingen 
could  not  be  allowed  to  die  without  any  notice  being  taken 
of  it;  his  enormous  business  transactions  demanded  some 
care;  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  know  where  he  stood. 
These  gentlemen  also  were  asked  to  dinner,  and  the  Comte 
de  Gondreville,  Francois  Keller's  father-in-law,  the  Chevalier 
d'Espard,  des  Lupeaulx,  Doctor  Bianchon — Desplein's  best 
beloved  pupil — Beaudenord  and  his  wife,  the  Comte  and 
Comtesse  de  Montcornet,  Blondet,  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
and  Conti,  and  finally,  Lucien  de  Rubempre,  for  whom 
Eastignac  had  for  the  last  five  years  manifested  the  warmest 
regard — by  order,  as  the  advertisements  have  it. 

"We  shall  not  find  it  easy  to  get  rid  of  that  young  fellow,'* 
said  Blondet  to  Eastignac,  when  he  saw  Lucien  come  in 
handsomer  than  ever,  and  uncommonly  well  dressed. 

"It  is  wiser  to  make  friends  with  him,  for  he  is  formidable," 
said  Eastignac. 

"He?"  said  de  Marsay.  "No  one  is  formidable  to  my 
knowledge  but  men  whose  position  is  assured,  and  his  is 
unattacked  rather  than  unattackable !  Look  here,  what  does 
he  live  on?  Where  does  his  money  come  from?  He  has, 
I  am  certain,  sixty  thousand  francs  in  debts." 


ESTHER  HAPPY  75 

"He  has  found  a  friend  in  a  ver}^  rich  Spanish  priest  who 
has  taken  a  fancy  to  him/'  replied  Eastignac. 

"He  is  going  to  be  married  to  the  eldest  Mademoiselle 
de  Grandlieu,"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Chevalier  d'Espard,  "but  they  require  him 
to  buy  an  estate  worth  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year  as 
security  for  the  fortune  he  is  to  settle  on  the  young  lady, 
and  for  that  he  needs  a  million  francs,  which  are  not  to  be 
found  in  any  Spaniard's  shoes." 

"That  is  dear,  for  Clotilde  is  very  ugly,"  said  the  Baron- 
ess. 

Madame  de  Nueingen  affected  to  call  Mademoiselle  de 
Grandlieu  by  her  Christian  name,  as  though  she,  nee  Goriot, 
frequented  that  society. 

"Xo,"  replied  du  Tillet,  "the  daughter  of  a  duchess  is 
never  ugly  to  the  like  of  us,  especially  when  she  brings  with 
her  the  title  of  Marquis  and  a  diplomatic  appointment.  But 
the  great  obstacle  to  the  marriage  is  Madame  de  Serizy's 
insane  passion  for  Lucien.  She  must  give  him  a  great  deal 
of  money." 

"Then  I  am  not  surprised  at  seeing  Lucien  so  serious ;  for 
Madame  de  Serizy  will  certainly  not  give  him  a  million 
francs  to  help  him  to  marry  Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu.  He 
probably  sees  no  way  out  of  the  scrape,"  said  de  Marsay. 

"But  Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu  worships  him,"  said  the 
Comtesse  de  Montcornet;  "and  with  the  young  person's  as- 
sistance, he  may  perhaps  make  better  terms." 

"And  what  will  he  do  with  his  sister  and  brother-in-law  at 
Angouleme?"  asked  the  Chevalier  d'Espard. 

"Well,  his  sister  is  rich,"  replied  Rastignac,  "and  he  now 
speaks  of  her  as  Madame  Sechard  de  Marsae." 

"Whatever  difficulties  there  may  be,  he  is  a  very  good-look- 
ing fellow,"  said  Bianchon,  rising  to  greet  Lucien. 

"How  'do,  my  dear  fellow  ?"  said  Rastignac,  shaking  hands 
warmly  with  Lucien. 

De  Marsay  bowed  coldly  after  Lucien  had  first  bowed  to 
him. 


76  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Before  dinner  Desplein  and  Bianchon,  who  studied  the 
Baron  while  amusing  him,  convinced  themselves  that  his 
malady  was  entirely  nervous;  but  neither  could  guess  the 
cause,  so  impossible  did  it  seem  that  the  great  politician  of 
the  money  market  could  be  in  love.  When  Bianchon,  seeing 
nothing  but  love  to  account  for  the  banker's  condition,  hinted 
as  much  to  Delphine  de  jSTucingen,  she  smiled  as  a  woman  wlio 
has  long  known  all  her  husband's  weaknesses.  After  dinner, 
however,  when  thty  all  adjourned  to  the  garden,  the  more 
intimate  of  the  party  gathered  round  the  banker,  eager  to 
clear  up  this  extraordinary  ease  when  they  heard  Bianchon 
pronounce  that  Xucingen  must  be  in  love. 

"Do  5^ou  know.  Baron,"  said  de  Marsay,  "that  you  have 
grown  very  thin?  You  are  suspected  of  violating  the  laws 
of  financial  Xature." 

"Ach,  nefer!"  said  the  Baron. 

"Yes,  yes,"  replied  de  Marsay.  "They  dare  to  say  that 
you  are  in  love." 

"Dat  is  true,"  replied  iSTucingen  piteously ;  "I  am  in  lof  for 
somebod}^  I  do  not  know." 

"You,  in  love,  you?  You  are  a  coxcomb !"  said  the  Cheva- 
lier d'Espard. 

"In  lof,  at  my  aje !  I  know  dat  is  too  ridicilous.  But 
vat  can  I  help  it?     Dat  is  so." 

"A  woman  of  the  world?"  asked  Lucien. 

"Nay,"  said  de  Marsay.  "The  Baron  would  not  grow 
so  thin  but  for  a  hopeless  love,  and  he  has  money  enough  to  buy 
all  the  women  who  will  or  can  sell  themselves !" 

"I  do  not  know  who  she  it,"  said  the  Baron.  "And  as 
Motame  de  jSTucingen  is  inside  de  trawing-room,  I  may  say  so. 
dat  till  now  I  have  nefer  known  what  it  is  to  lof.  Lof !  I 
tink  it  is  to  grow  tin." 

"And  where  did  you  meet  this  innocent  daisy?"  asked 
Rastignac. 

"In  a  carriage,  at  mitnight,  in  de  forest  of  Fincennes." 

"Describe  her,"  said  de  Marsay. 

"A  vhite  gaze  hat,  a  rose  gown,  a  vhite  scharf ,  a  vhite  feil — 


ESTHER  HAPPY  77 

a  face  yust  out  of  de  Biple.  Eyes  like  feuer,  an  Eastern 
color " 

"You  were  dreaming,"  said  Lucien,  with  a  smile. 

"Dat  is  true;  I  vas  shleeping  like  a  pig — a  pig  mit  his 
shkin  full,"  he  added,  "for  I  vas  on  my  vay  home  from  tinner 
at  mine  friend's " 

"Was  she  alone?"  said  du  Tillet,  interrupting  him. 

"Ja,"  said  the  Baron  dolefully ;  "but  she  had  ein  heid/uque 
behind  dat  carriage  and  a  maid-shervant " 

"Lucien  looks  as  if  he  knew  her,"  exclaimed  Eastignac, 
seeing  Esther's  lover  smile. 

"Who  doesn't  know  the  woman  who  would  go  out  at  mid- 
night to  meet  Nucingen?"  said  Lucien,  turning  on  his  heel. 

"Well,  she  is  not  a  woman  who  is  seen  in  society,  or  the 
Baron  would  have  recognized  the  man,"  said  the  Chevalier 
d'Espard. 

"I  have  nefer  seen  him,"  replied  the  Baron.  "And  for 
forty  days  now  I  have  had  her  seeked  for  by  de  Police,  and 
dey  do  not  find  her." 

"It  is  better  that  she  should  cost  you  a  few  hundred  francs 
than  cost  3^ou  your  life,"  said  Desplein;  "and,  at  your  age,  a 
passion  without  hope  is  dangerous,  you  might  die  of  it." 

"Ja,  ja,"  replied  the  Baron,  addressing  Desplein.  "And 
vat  I  eat  does  me  no  goot,  de  air  I  breade  feels  to  choke  me. 
I  go  to  de  forest  of  Fincennes  to  see  de  place  vat  I  see  her — 
and  dat  is  all  my  life.  I  could  not  tink  of  de  last  loan — I 
trust  to  my  partners  vat  haf  pity  on  me.  I  could  pay  one 
million  franc  to  see  dat  voman — and  I  should  gain  by  dat, 
for  I  do  nothing  on  de  Bourse. — Ask  du  Tillet." 

"Very  true,"  replied  du  Tillet;  "he  hates  business;  he  is 
quite  unlike  himself;  it  is  a  sign  of  death." 

"A  sign  of  lof,"  replied  Nucingen ;  "and  for  me,  dat  is  all  de 
same  ting." 

The  simple  candor  of  the  old  man,  no  longer  the  stock- 
jobber, who,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  saw  that  something 
was  more  sacred  and  more  precious  than  gold,  really  moved 
these  world-hardened  men;  some  exchanged  smiles;  others 


78  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

looked  at  Xiicingen  with  an  expression  that  plainl}'^  said, 
"Such  a  man  to  have  come  to  this !" — And  then  they  all  re- 
turned to  the  drawing-room,  talking  over  the  event. 

For  it  was  indeed  an  event  calculated  to  produce  the  great- 
est sensation.  Madame  de  Nucingen  went  into  fits  of  laugh- 
ter when  Lucien  betrayed  her  husband's  secret;  but  the 
Baron,  when  he  heard  his  wife's  sarcasms,  took  her  by  the 
arm  and  led  her  into  the  recess  of  a  window. 

"Motame,"  said  he  in  an  undertone,  "have  I  ever  laughed 
at  all  at  your  passions,  that  you  should  laugh  at  mine?  A 
goot  frau  should  help  her  husband  out  of  his  difficulty  vidout 
making  game  of  him  like  vat  you  do.'' 

From  the  description  given  by  the  old  banker,  Lucien  had 
recognized  his  Esther.  Much  annoyed  that  his  smile  should 
have  been  observed,  he  took  advantage  of  a  moment  when 
coffee  was  served,  and  the  conversation  became  general,  to 
vanish  from  the  scene. 

'TVliat  has  become  of  Monsieur  de  Eubempre?"  said  the 
Baroness. 

"He  is  faithful  to  his  motto:  Quid  me  continehit?"  said 
Eastignac. 

"Which  means,  'Who  can  detain  me?'  or  'I  am  uncon- 
querable,' as  you  choose,"  added  de  Marsay, 

"Just  as  Monsieur  le  Baron  was  speaking  of  his  unknown 
lad}',  Lucien  smiled  in  a  way  that  makes  me  fancy  he  may 
know  her,"  said  Horace  Bianchon,  not  thinking  how  danger- 
ous such  a  natural  remark  might  be. 

"Goot !"  said  the  banker  to  himself. 

Like  all  incurables,  the  Baron  clutched  at  everything  that 
seemed  at  all  hopeful ;  he  promised  himself  that  he  would 
have  Lucien  watched  by  some  one  besides  Louchard  and  his 
men — Louchard,  the  sharpest  commercial  detective  in  Paris 
— to  whom  he  had  applied  about  a  fortnight  since. 

Before  going  home  to  Esther,  Lucien  was  due  at  the  Hotel 
Grandlieu,  to  spend  the  two  hours  which  made  Mademoiselle 
Clotilde  Frederique  de  Grandlieu  the  happiest  girl  in  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain.     But  the  prudence  characteristic 


ESTHER  HAPPY  79 

of  this  ambitious  youth  warned  him  to  inform  Carlos  Herrera 
forthwith  of  the  effect  resulting  from  the  smile  wrung  from 
him  b}^  the  Baron's  description  of  Esther.  The  banker's  pas- 
sion for  Esther,  and  the  idea  that  had  occurred  to  him  of 
setting  the  police  to  seek  the  unknown  beauty,  were  indeed 
events  of  sufficient  importance  to  be  at  once  communicated 
to  the  man  who  had  sought,  under  a  priest's  robe,  the  shelter 
which  criminals  of  old  could  find  in  a  church.  And  Lucien's 
road  from  the  Rue  Saint-Lazare,  where  ISTucingen  at  that  time 
lived,  to  the  Eue  Saint-Dominique,  where  was  the  Hotel 
Grandlieu,  led  him  past  his  lodgings  on  the  Quai  Malaquais. 

Lucien  found  his  formidable  friend  smoking  his  breviary 
— that  is  to  say,  coloring  a  short  pipe  before  retiring  to 
bed.  The  man,  strange  rather  than  foreign,  had  given  up 
Spanish  cigarettes,  finding  them  too  mild. 

"Matters  look  serious,"  said  the  Spaniard,  when  Lucien 
had  told  him  all.  "The  Baron,  who  employs  Louchard  to 
hunt  up  the  girl,  will  certainly  be  sharp  enough  to  set  a  spy 
at  your  heels,  and  everything  will  come  out.  To-night  and 
to-morrow  morning  will  not  give  me  more  than  enough  time 
to  pack  the  cards  for  the  game  I  must  play  against  the  Baron ; 
first  and  foremost,  I  must  prove  to  him  that  the  police  can- 
not help  him.  When  our  lynx  has  given  up  all  hope  of  find- 
ing his  ewe-lamb,  I  will  undertake  to  sell  her  for  all  she  is 
worth  to  him " 

"Sell  Esther !"  cried  Lucien,  whose  first  impulse  was  al- 
ways the  right  one. 

"Do  you  forget  where  we  stand?"  cried  Carlos  Herrera. 

"No  money  left,"  the  Spaniard  went  on,  "and  sixty 
thousand  francs  of  debts  to  be  paid !  If  you  want  to  marry 
Clotilde  de  Grandlieu,  you  must  invest  a  million  of  francs 
in  land  as  security  for  that  ugly  creature's  settlement.  Well, 
then,  Esther  is  the  quarry  I  mean  to  set  before  that  lynx  to 
help  us  to  ease  him  of  that  million.     That  is  my  concern." 

"Esther  will  never " 

"That  is  my  concern." 

"She  will  die  of  it." 


80  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"That  is  the  undertaker's  concern.  Besides,  what  then?" 
cried  the  savage,  cliecking  Lucien's  lamentations  merely  by 
his  attitude.  "How  many  generals  died  in  the  prime  of  life 
for  the  Emperor  Xapoleon?"  he  asked,  after  a  short  silence. 
"There  are  always  plenty  of  women.  In  1821  Coralie  was 
unique  in  5'our  eyes;  and  yet  you  found  Esther.  After  her 
will  come — do  you  know  who  ? — the  unknown  fair.  And  she 
of  all  women  is  the  fairest,  and  3'ou  will  find  her  in  the 
capital  where  the  Due  de  Grandlieu's  son-in-law  will  bt' 
Minister  and  representative  of  the  King  of  France. — And 
do  you  tell  me  now,  great  Baby,  that  Esther  will  die  of 
it  ?  Again,  can  Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu's  husband  keep 
Esther  ? 

"You  have  only  to  leave  everything  to  me;  3'OU  need  not 
take  the  trouble  to  think  at  all;  that  is  my  concern.  Only 
you  must  do  without  Esther  for  a  week  or  two;  but  go  to 
the  Eue  Taitbout,  all  the  same. — Come,  be  off  to  bill  and  coo 
on  your  plank  of  salvation,  and  play  your  part  well ;  slip  the 
flaming  note  j'ou  wrote  this  morning  into  Clotilde's  hand,  and 
bring  me  back  a  warm  response.  She  will  recompense  her- 
self for  many  woes  in  writing.     I  take  to  that  girl. 

"You  will  find  Esther  a  little  depressed,  but  tell  her  to 
obey.  We  must  display  our  livery  of  virtue,  our  doublet  of 
honesty,  the  screen  behind  which  all  great  men  hide  their 
infamy. — I  must  show  off  my  handsomer  self — you  must 
never  be  suspected.  Chance  has  served  us  better  than  my 
brain,  which  has  been  beating  about  in  a  void  for  these  two 
months  past." 

All  the  while  he  was  jerking  out  these  dreadful  sentences, 
one  by  one,  like  pistol  shots,  Carlos  Herrera  was  dressing 
himself  to  go  out. 

"You  are  evidently  delighted,"  cried  Lu'cien.  "You  never 
liked  poor  Esther,  and  you  look  forward  with  joy  to  the 
moment  when  you  will  be  rid  of  her." 

"You  have  never  tired  of  loving  her,  have  you?  Well, 
I  have  never  tired  of  detesting  her.  But  have  I  not  always 
behaved  as  though  I  were  sincerely  attached  to  the  hussy — i, 


ESTHER  HAPPY  81 

who,  through  Asie,  hold  her  life  in  my  hands?  A  few  bad 
mushrooms  in  a  stew — and  there  an  end.  But  Mademoiselle 
Esther  still  lives ! — and  is  happy  ! — And  do  you  know  why  ? 
Because  you  love  her.  Do  not  be  a  fool.  For  four  years  we 
have  been  waiting  for  a  chance  to  turn  up,  for  us  or  against 
us;  well,  it  will  take  something  more  than  mere  cleverness 
to  wash  the  cabbage  luck  has  flung  at  us  now.  There  are 
good  and  bad  together  in  this  turn  of  the  wheel — as  there 
are  in  everything.  Do  you  know  what  I  was  thinking  of 
when  vou  came  in  ?" 

"No." 
'     "Of  making  myself  heir  here,  as  I  did  at  Barcelona,  to 
an  old  bigot,  by  Asie's  help." 

"A  crime?" 

"I  saw  no  other  way  of  securing  your  fortune.  The 
creditors  are  making  a  stir.  If  once  the  bailiffs  were  at  your 
heels,  and  you  were  turned  out  of  the  Hotel  Grandlieu,  where 
would  you  be?     There  would  be  the  devil  to  pay  then." 

And  Carlos  Herrera,  by  a  pantomimic  gesture,  showed  the 
suicide  of  a  man  throwing  himself  into  the  water;  then  he 
fixed  on  Lucien  one  of  those  steady,  piercing  looks  by  which 
the  will  of  a  strong  man  is  injected,  so  to  speak,  into  a  weak 
one.  This  fascinating  glare,  which  relaxed  all  Lucien's  fibres 
of  resistance,  revealed  the  existence  not  merely  of  secrets  of 
life  and  death  between  him  and  his  adviser,  but  also  of  feel- 
ings as  far  above  ordinary  feeling  as  the  man  himself  was 
above  his  vile  position. 

Carlos  Herrera,  a  man  at  once  ignoble  and  magnanimous, 
obscure  and  famous,  compelled  to  live  out  of  the  world  from 
which  the  law  had  banned  him,  exhausted  by  vice  and  by 
frenzied  and  terrible  struggles,  though  endowed  with  powers 
of  mind  that  ate  into  his  soul,  consumed  especially  by  a  fever 
of  vitality,  now  lived  again  in  the  elegant  person  of  Lucien 
de  Rubempre,  whose  soul  had  become  his  own.  He  was  rep- 
resented in  social  life  by  the  poet,  to  whom  he  lent  his  tenacity 
and  iron  will.  To  him  Lucien  was  more  than  a  son,  more 
than  a  woman  beloved,  more  than  a  family,  more  than  his 


82  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

life;  he  was  his  revenge;  and  as  souls  cling  more  closely  to 
a  feeling  than  to  existence,  he  had  bound  the  young  man  to 
him  by  insoluble  ties. 

After  rescuing  Lucien's  life  at  the  moment  when  the  poet 
in  desperation  was  on  the  verge  of  suicide,  he  had  proposed 
to  him  one  of  those  infernal  bargains  which  are  heard  ot 
only  in  romances,  but  of  which  the  hideous  possibility  has 
often  been  proved  in  courts  of  justice  by  celebrated  criminal 
dramas.  While  lavishing  on  Lueien  all  the  delights  of  Paris 
life,  and  proving  to  him  that  he  yet  had  a  great  future  be- 
fore him,  he  had  made  him  his  chattel. 

But,  indeed,  no  sacrifice  was  too  great  for  this  strange  man 
when  it  was  to  gratify  his  second  self.  With  all  his  strength, 
he  was  so  weak  to  this  creature  of  his  making  that  he  had 
even  told  him  all  his  secrets.  Perhaps  this  abstract  com- 
plicity was  a  bond  the  more  between  them. 

Since  the  day  when  La  Torpille  had  been  snatched  away, 
Lueien  had  known  on  what  a  vile  foundation  his  good  fortune 
rested.  That  priest's  robe  covered  Jacques  Collin,  a  man 
famous  on  the  hulks,  who  ten  years  since  had  lived  under 
the  homely  name  of  Vautrih'in  the  Maison  Vauquer,  where 
Rastignac  and  Bianchon  were  at  that  time  boarders. 

Jacques  Collin,  known  as  Trompe-la-Mort,  had  escaped 
from  Rochefort  almost  as  soon  as  he  was  recaptured,  profit- 
ing by  the  example  of  the  famous  Comte  de  Sainte-Helene, 
while  modifying  all  that  was  ill  planned  in  Goignard's  daring 
scheme.  To  take  the  place  of  an  honest  man  and  carry  on 
the  convict's  career  is  a  proposition  of  which  the  two  terms 
are  too  contradictory  for  a  disastrous  outcome  not  to  be  in- 
evitable, especially  in  Paris ;  for,  by  establishing  himself  in  a 
family,  a  convict  multiplies  tenfold  the  perils  of  such  a  sub- 
stitution. And  to  be  safe  from  all  investigation,  must  not 
a  man  assume  a  position  far  above  the  ordinary  interests 
of  life.  A  man  of  the  world  is  subject  to  risks  such  as  rarely 
trouble  those  who  have  no  contact  with  the  world ;  hence  the 
priest's  gown  is  the  safest  disguise  when  it  can  be  authen- 
ticated by  an  exemplary  life  in  solitude  and  inactivity. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  83 

"So  a  priest  I  will  be,"  said  the  legally  dead  man,  who 
was  quite  determined  to  resuscitate  as  a  figure  in  the  world, 
and  to  satisfy  passions  as  strange  as  himself. 

The  civil  war  caused  by  the  Constitution  of  1812  in  Spain, 
whither  this  energetic  man  had  betaken  himself,  enabled 
him  to  murder  secretly  the  real  Carlos  Herrera  from  an 
ambush.  This  ecclesiastic,  the  bastard  son  of  a  grandee,  long 
since  deserted  by  his  father,  and  not  knowing  to  what  woman 
he  owed  his  birth,  was  intrusted  by  King  Ferdinand  VII., 
to  whom  a  bishop  had  recommended  him,  with  a  political 
mission  to  France.  The  bishop,  the  only  man  who  took 
any  interest  in  Carlos  Herrera,  died  while  this  foundling 
son  of  the  Church  was  on  his  journey  from  Cadiz  to  Madrid, 
and  from  Madrid  to  France.  Delighted  to  have  met  with 
this  longed-for  opportunity,  and  under  the  most  desirable 
conditions,  Jacques  Collin  scored  his  back  to  efface  the  fatal 
letters,  and  altered  his  complexion  by  the  use  of  chemicals. 
Thus  metamorphosing  himself  face  to  face  with  the  corpse, 
he  contrived  to  achieve  some  likeness  to  his  Sosia.  And  to 
complete  a  change  almost  as  marvelous  as  that  related  in 
the  Arabian  tale,  where  a  dervish  has  acquired  the  power,  old 
as  he  is,  of  entering  into  a  young  body,  by  a  magic  spell,  the 
convict,  who  spoke  Spanish,  learned  as  much  Latin  as  an 
Andalusian  priest  need  know. 

As  banker  to  three  hulks,  Collin  was  rich  in  the  cash  in- 
trusted to  his  known,  and  indeed  enforced,  honesty.  Among 
such  company  a  mistake  is  paid  for  by  a  dagger  thrust.  To 
this  capital  he  now  added  the  money  given  by  the  bishop  to 
Don  Carlos  Herrera.  Then,  before  leaving  Spain,  he  was 
able  to  possess  himself  of  the  treasure  of  an  old  bigot  at 
Barcelona,  to  whom  he  gave  absolution,  promising  that  he 
would  make  restitution  of  the  money  constituting  her  fortune, 
which  his  penitent  had  stolen  by  means  of  murder. 

Jacques  Collin,  now  a  priest,  and  charged  with  a  secret 
mission  which  would  secure  him  the  most  brilliant  introduc- 
tions in  Paris,  determined  to  do  nothing  that  might  com- 
promise the  character  he  had  assumed,  and  had  given  himself 


84  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

up  to  the  chances  of  his  new  life,  when  he  met  Lucien  on 
the  road  between  Angouleme  and  Paris.  In  this  youth  the 
sham  priest  saw  a  wonderful  instrument  for  power;  he  saved 
him  from  suicide,  saying: 

"Give  j^ourself  over  to  me  as  to  a  man  of  God,  as  men  give 
themselves  over  to  the  devil,  and  you  will  have  every  chance 
of  a  new  career.  You  will  live  as  in  a  dream,  and  the  worst 
awakening  that  can  come  to  you  will  be  death,  which  you 
now  wish  to  meet." 

The  alliance  between  these  two  beings,  who  were  to  be- 
come one,  as  it  were,  was  based  on  this  substantial  reason- 
ing, and  Carlos  Herrera  cemented  it  by  an  ingeniously  plotted 
complicity.  He  had  the  very  genius  of  corruption,  and  un- 
dermined Lucien's  honesty  by  plunging  him  into  cruel 
necessity,  and  extricating  him  by  obtaining  his  tacit  consent 
to  bad  or  disgraceful  actions,  which  nevertheless  left  him 
pure,  loyal,  and  noble  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  Lucien  was 
the  social  magnificence  under  whose  shadow  the  forger  meant 
to  live. 

"I  am  the  author,  you  are  the  play;  if  you  fail,  it  is  I 
who  shall  be  hissed,"  said  he  on  the  day  when  he  confessed 
his  sacrilegious  disguise. 

Carlos  prudently  confessed  only  a  little  at  a  time,  measur- 
ing the  horrors  of  his  revelations  by  Lucien's  progress  and 
needs.  Thus  Trompe-la-Mort  did  not  let  out  his  last  secret 
till  the  habit  of  Parisian  pleasures  and  success,  and  gratified 
vanity,  had  enslaved  the  weak-minded  poet  body  and  soul. 
Where  Eastignac,  when  tempted  by  this  demon,  had  stood 
firm,  Lucien,  better  managed,  and  more  ingeniously  com- 
promised, succumbed,  conquered  especially  by  his  satisfaction 
in  having  attained  an  eminent  position.  Incarnate  evil, 
whose  poetical  embodiment  is  called  the  Devil,  displayed 
every  delightful  seduction  before  this  youth,  who  was  half 
a  woman,  and  at  first  gave  much  and  asked  for  little.  The 
great  argument  used  by  Carlos  was  the  eternal  secret  prom- 
ised by  Tartufe  to  Elmire. 

The  repeated  proofs  of  absolute  devotion,  such  as  that  of 


ESTHER  HAPPY  85 

Said  to  Mahomet,  put  the  finishing  touch  to  the  horrible 
achievement  of  Lucien's  subjugation  by  a  Jacques  Collin. 

At  this  moment  not  only  had  Esther  and  Lucien  devoured 
all  the  funds  intrusted  to  the  honesty  of  the  banker  of  the 
hulks,  who,  for  their  sakes,  had  rendered  himself  liable  to  a 
dreadful  calling  to  account,  but  the  dandy,  the  forger,  and 
the  courtesan  were  also  in  debt.  Thus,  at  the  very  moment 
of  Lucien's  expected  success,  the  smallest  pebble  under  the 
foot  of  either  of  these  three  persons  might  involve  the  ruin 
of  the  fantastic  structure  of  fortune  so  audaciously  built  up. 

At  the  opera  ball  Eastignac  had  recognized  the  man  he 
had  known  as  Vautrin  at  Madame  Vauquer's;  but  he  knew 
that  if  he  did  not  hold  his  tongue,  he  was  a  dead  man.  So 
Madame  de  Nucingen's  lover  and  Lucien  had  exchanged 
glances  in  which  fear  lurked,  on  both  sides,  under  an  ex- 
pression of  amity.  In  the  moment  of  danger,  Eastignac,  it 
is  clear,  would  have  been  delighted  to  provide  the  vehicle  that 
should  convey  Jacques  Collin  to  the  scaffold.  From  all  this 
it  may  be  understood  that  Carlos  heard  of  the  Baron's  pas- 
sion with  a  glow  of  sombre  satisfaction,  while  he  perceived 
in  a  single  flash  all  the  advantage  a  man  of  his  temper  might 
derive  by  means  of  the  hapless  Esther. 

^'Go  on,"  said  he  to  Lucien.  "The  Devil  is  mindful  of  his 
chaplain." 

"You  are  smoking  on  a  powder  barrel." 

"Incedo  per  ignes,"  replied  Carlos  with  a  smile.  "That  is 
my  trade." 

The  House  of  Grandlieu  divided  into  two  branches  about 
the  middle  of  the  last  century :  first,  the  ducal  line  destined 
to  lapse,  since  the  present  duke  has  only  daughters ;  and  then 
the  Vicomtes  de  Grandlieu,  who  will  now  inherit  the  title 
and  armorial  bearings  of  the  elder  branch.  The  ducal  house 
bears  ^w/es^ three  broad  axes  or  in  fess,with  the  famous  motto : 
Caveo  non  timeo,  which  epitomizes  the  history  of  the  family. 

The  coat  of  the  Vicomtes  de  Grandlieu  is  the  same  quar- 
tered with  that  of  Navarreins :  gules,  a  fess  crenelated  or. 


86  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

surmounted  by  a  knight's  helmet,  with  the  motto:  Grands 
faits,  grand  lieu.  The  present  Viscountess,  widowed  in  1813, 
has  a  son  and  a  daughter.  Though  she  returned  from  the 
Emigration  almost  ruined,  she  recovered  a  considerable  for- 
tune by  the  zealous  aid  of  Derville  the  lawj-er. 

The  Due  and  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu,  on  coming  home 
in  1804,  were  the  object  of  the  Emperor's  advances;  indeed, 
jSTapoleon,  seeing  them  come  to  his  court,  restored  to  them  all 
of  the  Grandlieu  estates  that  had  been  confiscated  to  the 
nation,  to  the  amount  of  about  forty  thousand  francs  a  year. 
Of  all  the  great  nobles  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  who 
allowed  themselves  to  be  won  over  by  Xapoleon,  this  Duke 
and  Duchess — she  was  an  Ajuda  of  the  senior  branch,  and 
connected  with  the  Braganzas — were  the  only  family  who 
afterwards  never  disowned  him  and  his  liberality.  When 
the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  remembered  this  as  a  crime 
against  the  Grandlieus,  Louis  XVIII.  respected  them  for 
it;  but  perhaps  his  only  object  was  to  annoy  Moxsieur. 

A  marriage  was  considered  likely  between  the  young 
Vicomte  de  Grandlieu  and  Marie- Athenais,  the  Duke's  young- 
est daughter,  now  nine  years  old.  Sabine,  the  youngest  but 
one,  married  the  Baron  du  Guenic  after  the  revolution  of 
July  1830;  Josephine,  the  third,  became  Madame  d'Ajuda- 
Pinto  after  the  death  of  the  Marquis'  first  wife.  Made- 
moiselle de  Eochefide,  or  Eochegude.  The  eldest  had  taken 
the  veil  in  1822.  The  second.  Mademoiselle  Clotilde 
Frederique,  at  this  time  seven-and-twenty  years  of  age,  was 
deeply  in  love  with  Lucien  de  Eubempre.  It  need  not  be 
asked  whether  the  Due  de  Grandlieu's  mansion,  one  of  the 
finest  in  the  Eue  Saint-Dominique,  did  not  exert  a  thousand 
spells  over  Lucien's  imagination.  Every  time  the  heavy  gate 
turned  on  its  hinges  to  admit  his  cab,  he  experienced  the  grati- 
fied vanity  to  which  Mirabeau  confessed. 

"Though  my  father  was  a  mere  druggist  at  I'Houmeau,  I 
may  enter  here !"     This  was  his  thought. 

And,  indeed,  he  would  have  committed  far  worse  crimes 
than  allying  himself  with  a  forger  to  preserve  his  right  to 


ESTHER  HAPPY  87 

mount  the  steps  of  that  entrance,  to  hear  himself  announced, 
"Monsieur  de  Eubempre"  at  the  door  of  the  fine  Louis  XIV. 
drawing-room,  decorated  in  the  time  of  the  grand  monarque 
on  the  pattern  of  those  at  Versailles,  where  that  choicest  cir- 
cle met,  that  cream  of  Paris  society,  called  then  le  petit 
chateau. 

The  noble  Portuguese  lady,  one  of  those  who  never  care 
to  go  out  of  their  own  home,  was  usually  the  centre  of  her 
neighbors'  attentions — the  Chaulieus,  the  ISTavarreins,  the 
Lenoncourts.  The  pretty  Baronne  de  Macumer — nee  de 
Chaulieu — the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  Madame  d'Espard, 
Madame  de  Camps,  and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches — a  con- 
nection of  the  Grandlieus,  who  are  a  Breton  family — were 
frequent  visitors  on  their  way  to  a  ball  or  on  their  return 
from  the  opera.  The  Vicomte  de  Grandlieu,  the  Due  de 
Ehetore,  the  Marquis  de  Chaulieu — afterwards  Due  de  Len- 
oncourt-Chaulieu — his  wife,  Madeleine  de  Mortsauf,  the  Due 
de  Lenoncourt's  grand-daughter,  the  Marquis  d'Ajuda-Pinto, 
the  Prince  de  Blamont-Chauvry,  the  Marquis  de  Beauseant, 
the  Vidame  de  Pamiers,  the  Vandenesses,  the  old  Prince  de 
Cadignan,  and  his  son  the  Due  de  Maufrigneuse,  were  con- 
stantly to  be  seen  in  this  stately  drawing-room,  where  they 
breathed  the  atmosphere  of  a  Court,  where  manners,  tone, 
and  wit  were  in  harmony  with  the  dignity  of  the  Master  and 
Mistress  whose  aristocratic  mien  and  magnificence  had  ob- 
literated the  memory  of  their  servility  to  Napoleon. 

The  old  Duchesse  d'Uxelles,  mother  of  the  Duchesse  de 
Maufrigneuse,  was  the  oracle  of  this  circle,  to  which  Madame 
de  Serizy  had  never  gained  admittance,  though  nee  de 
Eonquerolles. 

Lucien  was  brought  thither  by  ]\'radame  de  Maufrigneuse, 
who  had  won  over  her  mother  to  speak  in  his  favor,  for  she 
had  doted  on  him  for  two  years;  and  the  engaging  young 
poet  had  kept  his  footing  there,  thanks  to  the  influence  of 
the  high  Almoner  of  France,  and  the  support  of  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Paris.  Still,  he  had  not  been  admitted  till  he  had 
obtained  the  patent  restoring  to  him  the  name  and  arms  of 


88  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

the  Rubempre  family.  The  Due  de  Ehetore,  the  Chevalier 
d'Espard,  and  some  others,  jealous  of  Lucien,  periodically 
stirred  up  the  Due  de  Grandlieu's  prejudices  against  him  by 
retailing  anecdotes  of  the  young  man's  previous  career;  biu 
the  Duchess,  a  devout  Catholic  surrounded  by  the  great  prel- 
ates of  the  Church,  and  her  daughter  Clotilde  would  not  give 
him  up. 

Lucien  accounted  for  these  hostilities  by  his  connection 
Avith  Madame  de  Bargeton,  Madame  d'Espard's  cousin,  and 
now  Comtesse  du  Chatelet.  Then,  feeling  the  importance 
of  allying  himself  with  so  powerful  a  family,  and  urged  by 
his  privy  adviser  to  win  Clotilde,  Lucien  found  the  courage  of 
the  parvenu;  he  came  to  the  house  five  days  in  the  week,  he 
swallowed  all  the  affronts  of  the  envious,  he  endured  im- 
jDcrtinent  looks,  and  answered  irony  with  wit.  His  per- 
sistency, the  charm  of  his  manners,  and  his  amiability,  at 
last  neutralized  opposition  and  reduced  obstacles.  He  was 
still  in  the  highest  favor  with  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse, 
whose  ardent  letters,  written  under  the  influence  of  her  pas- 
sion, were  preserved  by  Carlos  Herrera ;  he  was  idolized  by 
Madame  de  Seriz}-,  and  stood  well  in  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches'  good  graces;  and  v»-ell  content  with  being  received 
in  these  houses,  Lucien  was  instructed  by  the  Abbe  to  be  as 
reserved  as  possible  in  all  other  quarters. 

"You  cannot  devote  yourself  to  several  houses  at  once," 
said  his  Mentor.  "The  man  who  goes  everywhere  finds  no 
one  to  take  a  lively  interest  in  him.  Great  folks  only 
patronize  those  who  emulate  their  furniture,  whom  they  see 
every  day,  and  who  have  the  art  of  becoming  as  necessary 
to  them  as  the  seat  they  sit  on." 

Thus  Lucien,  accustomed  to  regard  the  Grandlieus'  draw- 
ing-room as  his  arena,  reserved  his  wit,  his  jests,  his  news, 
and  his  courtier's  graces  for  the  hours  he  spent  there  every 
evening.  Insinuating,  tactful,  and  warned  by  Clotilde  of 
the  shoals  he  should  avoid,  he  flattered  Monsieur  de  Grand- 
lieu's little  weaknesses.  Clotilde,  having  begun  by  envying 
Madame  de  Maufri.crncuse  her  happiness,  ended  by  falling 
desperately  in  tove  with  Lucien. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  89 

Perceiving  all  the  advantages  of  such  a  connection,  Lucien 
played  his  lover's  part  as  well  as  it  could  have  been  acted 
by  Armand,  the  latest  jeune  premier  at  the  Comedie  Frangaise. 

He  wrote  to  Clotilde,  letters  which  were  certainly  master- 
pieces of  literary  workmanship ;  and  Clotilde  replied,  vying 
with  him  in  genius  in  the  expression  of  perfervid  love  on 
paper,  for  she  had  no  other  outlet.  Lucien  went  to  church 
at  Saint-Thomas-d'Aquin  every  Sunday,  giving  himself  out 
as  a  devout  Catholic,  and  he  poured  forth  monarchical  and 
pious  harangues  which  were  a  marvel  to  all.  He  also  wrote 
some  exceedingly  remarkable  articles  in  papers  devoted  to  the 
"Congregation,"  refusing  to  be  paid  for  them,  and  signing 
them  only  with  an  "L."  He  produced  political  pamphlets 
when  required  by  King  Charles  X.  or  the  High  Almoner, 
and  for  these  he  would  take  no  payment. 

"The  King,"  he  would  say,  "has  done  so  much  for  me, 
that  I  owe  him  my  blood." 

For  some  days  past  there  had  been  an  idea  of  attaching 
Lucien  to  the  prime  ministers  cabinet  as  his  private  secre- 
tary ;  but  Madame  d'Espard  brought  so  many  persons  into  the 
field  in  opposition  to  Lucien,  that  Charles  X.'s  Maitre  Jacques 
hesitated  to  clinch  the  matter.  Nor  was  Lucien's  position 
by  any  means  clear;  not  only  did  the  question,  "What  does 
he  live  on?"  on  everybody's  lips  as  the  j^oung  man  rose  in 
life,  require  an  answer,  but  even  benevolent  curiosit}^ — as 
much  as  malevolent  curiosity — went  on  from  one  inquiry 
to  another,  and  found  more  than  one  joint  in  the  ambitious 
youth's  harness. 

Clotilde  de  Grandlieu  unconsciously  served  as  a  spy  for 
her  father  and  mother.  A  few  days  since  she  had  led  Lucien 
into  a  recess  and  told  him  of  the  difficulties  raised  by  her 
family. 

"Invest  a  million  francs  in  land,  and  my  hand  is  yours : 
that  is  my  mother's  ultimatum,"  Clotilde  had  explained. 

"And  presently  they  will  ask  you  where  you  got  the  money," 
said  Carlos,  when  Lucien  reported  this  last  word  in  the 
bargain. 


90  A  COrRTESAN'S  LIFE 

"My  brother-in-law  will  have  made  his  fortune/'  remarked 
Lucien;  "we  can  make  him  the  responsible  backer.'^ 

"Then  only  the  million  is  needed/'  said  Carlos.  "I  will 
think  it  over." 

To  be  exact  as  to  Lucien's  position  in  the  Hotel  Grand- 
lieu,  he  had  never  dined  there.  Neither  Clotilde,  nor  the 
Duchesse  d'Uxelles,  nor  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse,  who  was 
always  extremely  kind  to  Lucien,  could  ever  obtain  this  favor 
from  the  Duke,  so  persistently  suspicious  was  the  old  noble- 
man of  the  man  he  designated  as  "le  Sire  de  Eubempre." 
This  shade  of  distinction,  understood  by  every  one  who  visited 
at  the  house,  constantly  wounded  Lucien's  self-respect,  for  he 
felt  that  he  was  no  more  than  tolerated.  But  the  world  is 
justified  in  being  suspicious ;  it  is  so  often  taken  in  ! 

To  cut  a  figure  in  Paris  with  no  known  source  of  wealth 
and  no  recognized  employliient  is  a  position  which  can  by 
no  artifice  be  long  maintained.  So  Lucien,  as  he  crept  up 
in  the  world,  gave  more  and  more  weight  to  the  question. 
"What  does  he  live  on?"  He  had  been  obliged  indeed  to 
confess  to  Madame  de  Serizy,  to  whom  he  owed  the  patronage 
of  Monsieur  Granville,  the  Public  Prosecutor,  and  of  the 
Comte  Octave  de  Bauvan,  a  Minister  of  State,  and  President 
of  one  of  the  Supreme  Courts :  "I  am  dreadfully  in  debt." 

As  he  entered  the  courtyard  of  the  mansion  where  he  found 
an  excuse  for  all  his  vanities,  he  was  saying  to  himself  as  he 
reflected  on  Trompe-la-]\Iort's  scheming: 

"I  can  hear  the  ground  cracking  under  my  feet !" 

He  loved  Esther,  and  he  wanted  to  marry  Mademoiselle 
de  Grandlieu !  A  strange  dilemma !  One  must  be  sold  to 
buy  the  other. 

Only  one  person  could  effect  this  bargain  without  damage 
to  Lucien's  honor,  and  that  was  the  supposed  Spaniard.  Were 
they  not  bound  to  be  equally  secret,  each  for  the  other? 
Such  a  compact,  in  which  each  is  in  turn  master  and  slave, 
is  not  to  be  found  twice  in  any  one  life. 

Lucien  drove  away  the  clouds  that  darkened  his  brow,  and 
walked  into  the  Grandlieu  drawing-room  gay  and  beaming. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  91 

At  this  moment  the  windows  were  open,  the  fragrance  from 
the  garden  scented  the  room,  the  flower-basket  in  the  centre 
displayed  its  pyramid  of  flowers.  The  Duchess,  seated  on  a 
sofa  in  the  corner,  was  talking  to  the  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu. 
Several  women  together  formed  a  group  remarkable  for  their 
various  attitudes,  stamped  with  the  different  expression  which 
each  strove  to  give  to  an  affected  sorrow.  In  the  fashionable 
world  nobody  takes  any  interest  in  grief  or  suffering;  every- 
thing is  talk.  The  men  were  walking  up  and  doAvn  the  room 
or  in  the  garden.  Clotilde  and  Josephine  were  busy  at  the 
tea-table.  The  Vidame  de  Pamiers,  the  Due  de  Grandlieu, 
the  Marquis  d'Ajuda-Pinto,  and  the  Due  de  Maufrigneuse 
were  playing  Wisk,  as  they  called  it,  in  a  corner  of  the 
room. 

When  Lucien  was  announced  he  walked  across  the  room 
to  make  his  bow  to  the  Duchess,  asking  the  cause  of  the  grief 
he  could  read  in  her  face. 

"Madame  de  Chaulieu  has  just  had  dreadful  news;  her 
son-in-law,  the  Baron  de  Macumer,  ex-duke  of  Soria,  is  just 
dead.  The  young  Due  de  Soria  and  his  wife,  who  had  gone 
to  Chantepleurs  to  nurse  their  brother,  have  written  this  sad 
intelligence.     Louise  is  heart-broken." 

"A  woman  is  not  loved  twice  in  her  life  as  Louise  was 
loved  by  her  husband,"  said  Madeleine  de  Mortsauf. 

"She  will  be  a  rich  widow,"  observed  the  old  Duchesse 
d'L^xelles,  looking  at  Lucien,  whose  face  showed  no  change  of 
expression. 

"Poor  Louise !"  said  Madame  d'Espard.  "I  understand 
her  and  pity  her." 

The  Marquise  d'Espard  put  on  the  pensive  look  of  a  woman 
full  of  soul  and  feeling.  Sabine  de  Grandlieu,  who  was  but 
ten  years  old,  raised  knowing  eyes  to  her  mother's  face,  but 
the  satirical  glance  was  repressed  by  a  glance  from  the  Duch- 
ess.    This  is  bringing  children  up  properly. 

"If  my  daughter  lives  through  the  shock,"  said  Madame  de 
Chaulieu,  with  a  very  maternal  manner,  "I  shall  be  anxious 
about  her  future  life.     Louise  is  so  very  romantic." 


^'SS-'"  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"It  is  so  difficult  nowadays,"  said  a  venerable  Cardinal, 
"to  reconcile  feeling  with  the  proprieties.'"' 

Lucien,  who  had  not  a  word  to  say,  went  to  the  tea-table 
to  do  what  was  polite  to  the  demoiselles  de  Grandlieu.  When 
the  poet  had  gone  a  few  yards  away,  the  Marquise  d'Espard 
leaned  over  to  whisper  in  the  Duchess'  ear: 

"And  do  you  really  think  that  that  young  fellow  is  so  much 
in  love  with  your  Clotilde?" 

The  perfidy  of  this  question  cannot  be  fully  understood 
but  with  the  help  of  a  sketch  of  Clotilde.  That  young  lady 
was,  at  this  moment,  standing  up.  Her  attitude  allowed  the 
Marquise  d'Espard's  mocking  eye  to  take  in  Clotilde's  lean, 
narrow  figure,  exactly  like  an  asparagus  stalk ;  the  poor  girl's 
bust  was  so  flat  that  it  did  not  allow  of  the  artifice  known  to 
dressmakers  as  fichus  menteurs,  or  padded  habitshirts.  And 
Clotilde,  who  knew  that  her  name  was  a  sufficient  advantage 
in  life,  far  from  trying  to  conceal  this  defect,  heroically  made 
a  display  of  it.  By  wearing  plain,  tight  dresses  she  achieved 
the  effect  of  that  stiff  prim  shape  which  mediaeval  sculptors 
succeeded  in  giving  to  the  statuettes  whose  profiles  are  con- 
spicuous against  the  background  of  the  niches  in  which  they 
stand  in  cathedrals. 

Clotilde  was  more  than  five  feet  four  in  height ;  if  we  may 
be  allowed  to  use  a  familiar  phrase,  which  has  the  merit  at 
any  rate  of  being  perfectly  intelligible— she  was  all  legs. 
These  defective  proportions  gave  her  figure  an  almost  de- 
formed appearance.  With  a  dark  complexion,  harsh  black 
hair,  very  thick  eyebrows,  fiery  eyes,  set  in  sockets  that  were 
already  deeply  discolored,  a  side  face  shaped  like  the  moon 
in  its  first  quarter,  and  a  prominent  brow,  she  was  the  carica- 
ture of  her  mother,  one  of  the  handsomest  women  in  Portugal. 
Nature  amuses  herself  with  such  tricks.  Often  we  see  in 
one  family  a  sister  of  wonderful  beauty,  whose  features  in 
her  brother  are  absolutely  hideous,  though  the  two  are  amaz- 
ingly alike.  Clotilde's  lips,  excessively  thin  and  sunken,  wore 
a  permanent  expression  of  disdain.  And  yet  her  mouth, 
better  than  any  other  feature  of  her  face,  revealed  every  secret 


ESTHER  HAPPY  93 

impulse  of  her  heart,  for  affection  lent  it  a  sweet  expression, 
which  was  all  the  more  remarkable  because  her  cheeks  were 
too  sallow  for  blushes,  and  her  hard,  black  eyes  never  told 
anything.  Notwithstanding  these  defects,  notwithstanding 
her  board-like  carriage,  she  had  by  birth  and  education  a 
grand  air,  a  proud  demeanor,  in  short,  everything  that  has 
been  well  named  le  je  ne  sais  quoi,  due  partly,  perhaps,  to  her 
uncompromising  simplicity  of  dress,  which  stamped  her  as 
a  woman  of  noble  blood.  She  dressed  her  hair  to  advantage, 
and  it  might  be  accounted  to  her  for  a  beauty,  for  it  grew 
vigorously,  thick  and  long. 

She  had  cultivated  her  voice,  and  it  could  cast  a  spell;  she 
sang  exquisitely.  Clotilde  was  just  the  woman  of  whom  one 
says,  "She  has  fine  eyes,"  or,  "She  has  a  delightful  temper.'' 
If  any  one  addressed  her  in  the  English  fashion  as  "Your 
Grace,"  she  would  say,  "You  mean  'Your  leanness.'  " 

"Why  should  not  my  poor  Clotilde  have  a  lover?"  replied 
the  Duchess  to  the  Marquise.  "Do  you  know  what  she  said 
to  me  yesterday?  'If  I  am  loved  for  ambition's  sake,  I  un- 
dertake to  make  him  love  me  for  my  own  sake.' — She  is 
clever  and  ambitious,  and  there  are  men  who  like  those  two 
qualities.  As  for  him — my  dear,  he  is  as  handsome  as  a 
vision;  and  if  he  can  but  repurchase  the  Eubempre  estates, 
out  of  regard  for  us  the  King  will  reinstate  him  in  the  title 
of  Marquis. — After  all,  his  mother  was  the  last  of  the 
Rubempres." 

"Poor  fellow !  where  is  he  to  find  a  million  francs  ?"  said 
the  Marquise. 

"That  is  no  concern  of  ours,"  replied  the  Duchess.  "He 
is  certainly  incapable  of  stealing  the  money. — Besides,  we 
would  never  give  Clotilde  to  an  intriguing  or  dishonest  man 
even  if  he  were  handsome,  young,  and  a  poet,  like  Monsieur 
de  Eubempre." 

"You  are  late  this  evening,"  said  Clotilde,  smiling  at  Lucien 
with  infinite  graciousness. 

"Yes,  I  have  been  dining  out." 

"You  have  been  quite  gay  these  last  few  days,"  said  she, 
concealing  her  jealousy  and  anxiety  behind  a  smile. 


94  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"^Quite  gay?"  replied  Lucien.  "No — only  by  the  merest 
chance  1  have  been  dining  every  day  this  week  with  bankers; 
to-day  with  the  Nucingens,  yesterday  with  du  Tiilet,  the  day 
before  with  the  Kellers " 

Whence,  it  may  be  seen,  that  Lucien  had  succeeded  in 
assuming  the  tone  of  light  impertinence  of  great  people. 

"You  have  many  enemies,"  said  Clotilde,  offering  him — 
how  graciously ! — a  cup  of  tea.  "Some  one  told  my  father 
that  you  have  debts  to  the  amount  of  sixty  thousand  francs, 
and  that  before  long  Sainte-Pelagie  will  be  your  summer 
quarters. — If  you  could  know  what  all  these  calumnies  are 
to  me ! — It  all  recoils  on  me. — I  say  nothing  of  my  own 
suffering — my  father  has  a  way  of  looking  that  crucifies  me 
— but  of  what  you  must  be  suffering  if  any  least  part  of  it 
should  be  the  truth." 

"Do  not  let  such  nonsense  worry  you;  love  me  as  I  love 
you,  and  give  me  time — a  few  months "  said  Lucien,  re- 
placing his  empty  cup  on  the  silver  tray. 

"Do  not  let  my  father  see  you;  he  would  say  something 
disagreeable;  and  as  you  could  not  submit  to  that,  we  should 
be  done  for. — That  odious  Marquise  d'Espard  told  him  that 
your  mother  had  been  a  monthly  nurse  and  that  your  sister 
did  ironing " 

"We  were  in  the  most  abject  poverty,"  replied  Lucien,  the 
tears  rising  to  his  eyes.  "That  is  not  calumny,  but  it  is  most 
ill-natured  gossip  My  sister  now  is  a  more  than  millionaire, 
and  my  mother  has  been  dead  two  years. — This  information 
has  been  kept  in  stock  to  use  just  when  I  should  be  on  the 
verge  of  success  here " 

"But  what  have  you  done  to  Madame  d'Espard?" 

"I  was  so  rash,  at  Madame  de  Serizy's,  as  to  tell  the  story, 
with  some  added  pleasantries,  in  the  presence  of  j\IM.  d(» 
Bauvan  and  de  Granville,  of  her  attempt  to  get  a  commission 
of  lunacy  appointed  to  sit  on  her  husband,  the  Marquis 
d'Espard.  Bianchon  had  told  it  to  me.  Monsieur  de  Gran- 
ville's opinion,  siipported  by  those  of  Bauvan  and  Serizy,  in- 
fluenced the  decision  of  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals.     They  all 


ESTHER  HAPPY  95 

were  afraid  of  the  Gazette  des  Trihunaux,  and  dreaded  the 
scandal,  and  the  Marquise  got  her  knuckles  rapped  in  the 
summing  np  for  the  judgment  finally  recorded  in  that  miser- 
able business. 

"Though  M.  de  Serizy  by  his  tattle  has  made  the  Marquise 
my  mortal  foe,  I  gained  his  good  offices,  and  those  of  the 
Public  Prosecutor,  and  Comte  Octave  de  Bauvan ;  for  Madame 
de  Serizy  told  them  the  danger  in  which  I  stood  in  con- 
sequence of  their  allowing  the  source  of  their  information  to 
be  guessed  at.  The  Marquis  d'Espard  was  so  clumsy  as  to 
call  upon  me,  regarding  me  as  the  first  cause  of  his  winning 
the  day  in  that  atrocious  suit." 

'"I  will  rescue  you  from  Madame  d'Espard,"  said  Clotilde. 

"How  ?"  cried  Lucien. 

"My  mother  shall  ask  the  young  d'Espards  here;  they  are 
charming  boys,  and  growing  up  now.  The  father  and  sons 
will  sing  your  praises,  and  then  we  are  sure  never  to  see  their 
mother  again." 

"Oh,  Clotilde,  you  are  an  angel !  If  I  did  not  love  you 
for  yourself,  I  should  love  you  for  being  so  clever." 

"It  is  not  cleverness,"  said  she,  all  her  love  beaming  on 
her  lips.  "Good-night.  Do  not  come  again  for  some  few 
days.  When  you  see  me  in  church,  at  Saint-Thomas-d'Aquin, 
with  a  pink  scarf,  my  father  will  be  in  a  better  temper. — You 
will  find  an  answer  stuck  to  the  back  of  the  chair  you  are 
sitting  in;  it  will  comfort  you  perhaps  for  not  seeing  me. 
Put  the  note  you  have  brought  under  my  handkerchief " 

This  young  person  was  evidently  more  than  seven-and- 
twenty. 

Lucien  took  a  cab  in  the  Rue  de  la  Planche,  got  out  of  it 
on  the  Boulevards,  took  another  by  the  Madeleine,  and  desired 
the  driver  to  have  the  gates  opened  and  drive  in  at  the  house 
in  the  Eue  Taitbout. 

On  going  in  at  eleven  o'clock,  he  found  Esther  in  tears, 
but  dressed  as  she  was  wont  to  dress  to  do  him  honor.  She 
awaited  her  Lucien  reclining  on  a  sofa  covered  with  white 


96  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

satin  brocaded  with  yellow  flowers,  dressed  in  a  bewitching 
wrapper  of  India  muslin  with  cherry-colored  bows;  without 
her  stays,  her  hair  simply  twisted  into  a  knot,  her  feet  in 
little  velvet  slippers  lined  with  cherry-colored  satin;  all  the 
candles  were  burning,  the  hookah  was  prepared.  But  she  had 
not  smoked  her  own,  which  stood  beside  her  unlighted,  em- 
blematical of  her  loneliness.  On  hearing  the  doors  open, 
she  sprang  up  like  a  gazelle,  and  threw  her  arms  round 
Lucien,  wrapping  him  like  a  web  caught  by  the  wind  and 
flung  about  a  tree. 

"Parted.— Is  it  true?" 

"Oh,  just  for  a  few  days,"  replied  Lucien. 

Esther  released  him,  and  fell  back  on  her  divan  like  a  dead 
thing. 

In  these  circumstances,  most  women  babble  like  parrots. 
Oh !  how  they  love !  At  the  end  of  five  years  they  feel  as  if 
their  first  happiness  were  a  thing  of  yesterday,  they  cannot 
give  you  up,  they  are  magnificent  in  their  indignation,  de- 
spair, love,  grief,  dread,  dejection,  presentiments.  In  short, 
they  are  as  sublime  as  a  scene  from  Shakespeare.  But  make 
no  mistake !  These  women  do  not  love.  When  they  are 
really  all  that  these  profess,  when  they  love  truly,  they  do 
as  Esther  did,  as  children  do,  as  true  love  does;  Esther  did 
not  say  a  word,  she  lay  with  her  face  buried  in  the 
pillows,  shedding  bitter  tears. 

Lucien,  on  his  part,  tried  to  lift  her  up,  and  spoke  to  her. 

"But,  my  child,  we  are  not  to  part.  What,  after  four  years 
of  happiness,  is  this  the  way  you  take  a  short  absence. — 
What  on  earth  do  I  do  to  all  these  girls  ?"  he  added  to  himself, 
remembering  that  Coralie  had  loved  him  thus. 

"Ah,  monsieur,  you  are  so  handsome,"  said  Europe. 

The  senses  have  their  own  ideal.  When  added  to  this 
fascinating  beauty  we  find  the  sweetness  of  nature,  the  poetry, 
that  characterized  Lucien,  it  is  easy  to  conceive  of  the  mad 
passion  roused  in  such  women,  keenly  alive  as  they  are  to  ex- 
ternal gifts,  and  artless  in  their  admiration.  Esther  was 
sobbing  quietly,  and  lay  in  an  attitude  expressive  of  the 
deepest  distress. 


Lucieu  burnt  the  uote  at  once  iu  the  flame  of  a  candle. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  97 

"But,  little  goose,'^  said  Lucien,  "did  you  not  understand 
that  my  life  is  at  stake?" 

At  these  words,  which  he  chose  on  purpose,  Esther  started 
up  like  a  wild  animal,  her  hair  fell,  tumbling  about  her 
excited  face  like  wreaths  of  foliage.  She  looked  steadily  at 
Lucien. 

"Your  life?"  she  cried,  throwing  up  her  arms,  and  letting 
them  drop  with  a  gesture  known  only  to  a  courtesan  in  peril. 
"To  be  sure;  that  friend's  note  speaks  of  serious  risk." 

She  took  a  shabby  scrap  of  paper  out  of  her  sash ;  then  see- 
ing Europe,  she  said,  "Leave  us,  my  girl." 

When  Europe  had  shut  the  door  she  went  on — "Here,  this 
is  what  he  writes,"  and  she  handed  to  Lucien  a  note  she  had 
just  received  from  Carlos,  which  Lucien  read  aloud : — 

"You  must  leave  to-morrow  at  five  in  the  morning;  you 
will  be  taken  to  a  keeper's  lodge  in  the  heart  of  the  Forest 
of  Saint-Germain,  where  you  will  have  a  room  on  the  first 
floor.  Do  not  quit  that  room  till  I  give  you  leave ;  you  will  want 
for  nothing.  The  keeper  and  his  wife  are  to  be  trusted.  Do 
not  write  to  Lucien.  Do  not  go  to  the  window  during  day- 
light ;  but  you  may  walk  by  night  with  the  keeper  if  you  wish 
for  exercise.  Keep  the  carriage  blinds  down  on  the  way. 
Lucien's  life  is  at  stake.  ^ 

"Lucien  will  go  to-night  to  bid  you  good-bye;  burn  this 
in  his  presence." 

Lucien  burned  the  note  at  once  in  the  flame  of  a  candle. 

"Listen,  my  own  Lucien,"  said  Esther,  after  hearing  him 
read  this  letter  as  a  criminal  hears  the  sentence  of  death; 
"I  will  not  tell  you  that  I  love  you;  it  would  be  idiotic.  For 
nearly  five  years  it  has  been  as  natural  to  me  to  love  you  as 
to  breathe  and  live.  From  the  first  day  when  my  happiness 
began  under  the  protection  of  that  inscrutable  being,  who 
placed  me  here  as  you  place  some  little  curious  beast  in  a 
cage,  I  have  known  that  you  must  marry.     Marriage  is  a 


98  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

necessary  factor  in  your  career,  and  God  preserve  me  from 
hindering  the  development  of  your  fortunes. 

"That  marriage  will  be  my  death.  But  I  will  not  worry 
you;  I  will  not  do  as  the  common  girls  do  who  kill  themselves 
by  means  of  a  brazier  of  charcoal;  I  had  enough  of  that 
once;  twice  raises  your  gorge,  as  Mariette  says.  No,  I  will  go 
a  long  way  off,  out  of  France.  Asie  knows  the  secrets  of  her 
country;  she  will  help  me  to  die  quietly.  A  prick — whiff, 
it  is  all  over ! 

"I  ask  but  one  thing,  my  dearest,  and  that  is  that  you  will 
not  deceive  me.  I  have  had  my  share  of  living.  Since  the 
day  I  first  saw  you,  in  1824,  till  this  day,  I  have  known  more 
happiness  than  can  be  put  into  the  lives  of  ten  fortunate 
wives.  So  take  me  for  what  I  am — a  woman  as  strong  as 
I  am  weak.  Say  'I  am  going  to  be  married.'  I  will  ask  no 
more  of  you  than  a  fond  farewell,  and  you  shall  never  hear 
of  me  again." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  after  this  explanation  as 
sincere  as  her  action  and  tone  were  guileless. 

"Is  it  that  you  are  going  to  be  married?"  she  repeated, 
looking  into  Lucien's  blue  eyes  with  one  of  her  fascinating 
glances,  as  brilliant  as  a  steel  blade. 

"We  have  been  toiling  at  my  marriage  for  eighteen  months 
past,  and  it  is  not  yet  settled,"  replied  Lucien.  "I  do  not 
know  when  it  can  be  settled;  but  it  is  not  in  question  now. 
child  ! — It  is  the  Abbe,  I,  you. — We  are  in  real  peril.  Nucin- 
gen  saw  you " 

"Yes,  in  the  wood  at  Yincennes,"  said  she.  "Did  he  rec- 
ognize me?" 

"No,"  said  Lucien.  "But  he  has  fallen  so  desperately  in 
love  with  you,  that  he  would  sacrifice  his  coffers.  After 
dinner,  when  he  was  describing  how  he  had  met  you,  I  was 
so  foolish  as  to  smile  involuntarily,  and  most  imprudently, 
for  I  live  in  the  world  like  a  savage  surrounded  by  the  traps 
of  a  hostile  tribe.  Carlos,  who  spares  me  the  pains  of  think- 
ing, regards  the  position  as  dangerous,  and  he  has  undertaken 
to  pay  Nucingen  out  if  the  Baron  takes  it  into  his  head  to 


ESTHER  HAPPY  99 

spy  on  us;  and  he  is  quite  capable  of  it;  he  spoke  to  me  of 
the  incapacity  of  the  police.  You  have  lighted  a  flame  in 
an  old  chimne}^  choked  with  soot." 

"And  what  does  j^our  Spaniard  propose  to  do?"  asked 
Esther  very  softly. 

"I  do  not  know  in  the  least,"  said  Lucien;  "he  told  me  I 
might  sleep  soundly  and  leave  it  to  him ;" — but  he  dared  not 
look  at  Esther. 

"If  that  is  the  case,  I  will  obey  him  with  the  dog-like  sub- 
mission I  profess,"  said  Esther,  putting  her  hand  through 
Lucien's  arm  and  leading  him  into  her  bedroom,  saying,  "x\t 
any  rate,  I  hope  you  dined  well,  my  Lulu,  at  that  detestable 
Baron's  ?" 

"Asie's  cooking  prevents  my  ever  thinking  a  dinner  good, 
nowever  famous  the  chef  may  be,  where  I  happen  to  dine. 
However,  Carenie  did  the  dinner  to-night,  as  he  does  every 
Sunday." 

Lucien  involuntarily  compared  Esther  with  Clotilde.  The 
mistress  was  so  beautiful,  so  unfailingly  charming,  that  she 
had  as  yet  kept  at  arm's  length  the  monster  who  devours  the 
most  perennial  loves — Satiety. 

"What  a  pity,"  thought  he,  "to  find  one's  wife  in  two 
volumes.  In  one — poetry,  delight,  love,  devotion,  beauty, 
sweetness " 

Esther  was  fussing  about,  as  women  do,  before  going  to 
bed;  she  came  and  went  and  fluttered  round,  singing  all  the 
time;  you  might  have  thought  her  a  humming-bird. 

"In  the  other — a  noble  name,  family,  honors,  rank, 
knowledge  of  the  world ! — And  no  earthly  means  of  com- 
bining them !"  cried  Lucien  to  himself. 

Next  morning,  at  seven,  when  the  poet  awoke  in  the  pretty 
pink-and-white  room,  he  found  himself  alone.  He  rang, 
and  Europe  hurried  in. 

"What  are  monsieur's  orders?" 

"Esther?" 

"Madame  went  off  this  morning  at  a  quarter  to  five.  By 
Monsieur  1' Abbe's  order,  I  admitted  a  new  face — carriage 
paid." 


100  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"A  woman?" 

"No,  sir,  an  English  woman — one  of  those  people  who  do 
their  day's  work  by  night,  and  we  are  ordered  to  treat  her  as 
if  she  were  madame.  What  can  you  have  to  say  to  such  hack  ! 
— Poor  madame,  how  she  cried  when  she  got  into  the  carriage. 
'Well,  it  has  to  be  done !'  cried  she.  'I  left  that  poor  dear 
boy  asleep,'  said  she,  wiping  away  her  tears;  'Europe,  if  he 
had  looked  at  me  or  spoken  my  name,  I  should  have  stayed 
— I  could  but  have  died  with  him.' — I  tell  you,  sir,  I  am  so 
fond  of  madame,  that  I  did  not  sbow  her  the  person  who 
has  taken  her  place;  some  waiting-maids  would  have  broken 
her  heart  by  doing  so." 

"And  is  the  stranger  there?" 

"Well,  sir,  she  came  in  the  chaise  that  took  away  madame, 
and  I  hid  her  in  my  room  in  obedience  to  my  instruc- 
tions  " 

"Is  she  nice-looking?" 

"So  far  as  such  a  second-band  article  can  be.  But  she 
will  find  her  part  easy  enough  if  you  play  yours,  sir,"  said 
Europe,  going  to  fetch  the  false  Esther. 

The  night  before,  ere  going  to  bed,  the  all-powerful  banker 
had  given  his  orders  to  his  valet,  who,  at  seven  in  the  morn- 
ing, brought  in  to  him  the  notorious  Louchard,  the  most 
famous  of  the  commercial  police,  whom  he  left  in  a  little 
sitting-room;  there  the  Baron  joined  him,  in  a  dressing-gown 
and  slippers. 

"You  haf  mate  a  fool  of  me!"  he  said,  in  reply  to  this 
official's  greeting. 

"I  could  not  help  myself,  Monsieur  le  Baron.  I  do  not 
want  to  lose  my  place,  and  I  had  the  honor  of  explaining  to 
you  that  I  could  not  meddle  in  a  matter  that  had  nothing  to 
do  with  my  functions.  What  did  I  promise  you?  To  put 
you  into  communication  with  one  of  our  agents,  who,  as  it 
seemed  to  me.  would  be  best  able  to  serve  you.  But  you  know, 
Monsieur  le  Baron,  the  sharp  lines  that  divide  men  of  differ- 
ent trades:  if  vou  build  a  house,  you  do  not  set  a  carpenter 


ESTHER  HAPPY  101 

/ 

to  do  smith's  work.  Well,  there  are  two  branches  of  the 
police — the  political  police  and  the  -.judicial ,  police.  The 
political  police  never  interfere  with  tne'~-otlig^r  branch,  and 
vice  versa.  If  you  apply  to  the  chief  of  the  political  police, 
he  must  get  permission  from  the  Minister  to  take  up  your 
business,  and  you  would  not  dare  to  explain  it  to  the  head  of 
the  police  throughout  the  kingdom.  A  police-agent  who 
should  act  on  his  own  account  would  lose  his  place. 

''Well,  the  ordinary  police  are  quite  as  cautious  as  the 
political  police.  So  no  one,  whether  in  the  Home  Office  or 
at  the  Prefecture  of  Police,  ever  moves  excepting  in  the  in- 
terests of  the  State  or  for  the  ends  of  Justice. 

"If  there  is  a  plot  or  a  crime  to  be  followed  up,  then,  in- 
deed, the  heads  of  the  corps  are  at  your  service;  but  you 
must  understand,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  that  they  have  other 
fish  to  fry  than  looking  after  the  fifty  thousand  love  affairs 
in  Paris.  As  to  me  and  my  men,  our  only  business  is  to 
arrest  debtors;  and  as  soon  as  anything  else  is  to  be  done, 
we  run  enormous  risks  if  we  interfere  with  the  peace  and 
quiet  of  any  man  or  woman.  I  sent  you  one  of  my  men, 
but  I  told  you  I  could  not  answer  for  him ;  j'-ou  instructed  him 
to  find  a  particular  woman  in  Paris;  Contenson  bled  you  of 
a  thousand-franc  note,  and  did  not  even  move.  You  might 
as  well  look  for  a  needle  in  the  river  as  for  a  woman  in  Paris, 
•  who  is  supposed  to  haunt  Vincennes,  and  of  whom  the 
description  answers  to  every  pretty  woman  in  the  capital." 

"And  could  not  Contenson  haf  tolt  me  de  truf,  instead  of 
making  me  pleed  out  one  tousand  franc?" 

"Listen  to  me,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  Louchard.  '^ill 
you  give  me  a  thousand  crowns  ?  I  will  give  you — sell  you — 
a  piece  of  advice?" 

"Is  it  vort  one  tousand  crown — your  atvice?"  asked  Nucin- 
gen. 

"I  am  not  to  be  caught,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  answered 
Louchard.  "You  are  in  love,  you  want  to  discover  the  ob- 
ject of  your  passion;  you  are  getting  as  yellow  as  a  lettuce 
without  water.     Two  physicians  came  to  see  you  yesterday, 


102  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

your  man  tells  me,  who  think  your  life  is  in  danger;  now,  I 
alone  can  put  you  in  the  hands  of  a  clever  fellow. — But 
the  deuce  is  in  it!  If  your  life  is  not  worth  a  thousand 
crowns *' 

"Tell  me  de  name  of  dat  defer  fellow,  and  depent  on  my 
generosity ■  " 

Louchard  took  up  his  hat,  bowed,  and  left  the  room. 

"Wat  ein  teufel  I"  cried  Nucingen.  "Come  back — look 
here " 

"Take  notice,"  said  Louchard,  before  taking  the  money, 
"I  am  only  selling  a  piece  of  information,  pure  and  simple. 
I  can  give  you  the  name  and  address  of  the  only  man  who 
is  able  to  be  of  use  to  you — but  he  is  a  master " 

"Get  out  mit  you,"  cried  Xucingen.  "Dere  is  not  no  name 
dat  is  vort  one  tousant  crown  but  dat  von  A'arschild — and 
dat  only  ven  it  is  sign  at  the  bottom  of  a  bank-bill. — I  shall 
gif  you  one  tousant  franc." 

Louchard,  a  little  weasel,  who  had  never  been  able  to  pur- 
chase an  otBce  as  lawyer,  notary,  clerk,  or  attorney,  leered 
at  the  Baron  in  a  significant  fashion. 

"To  you — a  thousand  crowns,  or  let  it  alone.  You  will 
get  them  back  in  a  few  seconds  on  the  Bourse,"  said  he. 

"I  vill  gif  you  one  tousant  franc,"  repeated  the  Baron. 

"You  would  cheapen  a  gold  mine !"  said  Louchard,  bow- 
ing and  leaving. 

"I  shall  get  dat  address  for  five  hundert  franc !"  cried  the 
Baron,  who  desired  his  servant  to  send  his  secretary  to  him. 

Turcaret  is  no  more.  In  these  days  the  smallest  banker, 
like  the  greatest,  exercises  his  acumen  in  the  smallest  trans- 
actions ;  he  bargains  over  art,  beneficence,  and  love ;  he  would 
bargain  with  the  Pope  for  a  dispensation.  Thus,  as  he 
listened  to  Louchard,  Xucingen  had  hastily  concluded  tha^^ 
Contenson,  Louchard's  right-hand  man,  must  certainly  kno\<^ 
the  address  of  that  master  spy.  Contenson  would  tell  him  for 
five  hundred  francs  what  Louchard  wanted  to  see  a  thousand 
crowns  for.  The  rapid  calculation  plainly  proves  that  if 
the  man's  heart  was  in  possession  of  love,  his  head  was  still 
that  of  the  lynx  stock-jobber. 


ESTHER  HAPPf  103 

"Go  your  own  self,  mensieur,"  said  the  Baron  to  his  secre- 
tary, "to  Contenson,  dat  spy  of  Louchart's  de  bailiff  man — 
but  go  in  one  capriolette,  very  qvick,  and  pring  him  here 
qvick  to  me.  I  shall  vait. — Go  out  trough  de  garten. — Here 
is  dat  ke}',  for  no  man  shall  see  dat  man  in  here.  You  shall 
take  him  into  dat  little  garten-house.  Try  to  do  dat  little 
business  very  defer." 

Visitors  called  to  see  ISTucingen  on  business;  but  he  waited 
for  Contenson,  he  was  dreaming  of  Esther,  telling  himself 
that  before  long  he  would  see  again  the  woman  who  had 
aroused  in  him.  such  unhoped-for  emotions,  and  he  sent  every- 
body away  with  vague  replies  and  double-edged  promises. 
Contenson  was  to  him  the  most  important  person  in  Paris, 
and  he  looked  out  into  the  garden  every  minute.  Finally, 
after  giving  orders  that  no  one  else  was  to  be  admitted,  he 
had  his  breakfast  served  in  the  summer-house  at  one  corner 
of  the  garden.  In  the  banker's  office  the  conduct  and  hesi- 
tancy of  the  most  knowing,  the  most  clearsighted,  the  shrewd- 
est of  Paris  financiers  seemed  inexplicable. 

"What  ails  the  chief?"  said  a  stockbroker  to  one  of  the 
head-clerks. 

"No  one  knows;  they  are  anxious  about  his  health,  it 
would  seem.  Yesterday,  Madame  la  Baronne  got  Desplein 
and  Bianchon  to  meet." 

One  day,  when  Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  engaged  in  physick- 
ing one  of  his  dogs,  named  "Beauty'^  (who,  as  is  well  known, 
destroyed  a  vast  mass  of  work,  and  whom  he  reproved  only 
in  these  words,  "Ah!  Beauty,  you  little  know  the  mischief 
you  have  done !"),  some  strangers  called  to  see  him;  but  they 
at  once  retired,  respecting  the  great  man's  occupation.  In 
every  more  or  less  lofty  life,  there  is  a  little  dog  "Beauty." 
When  the  Mareehal  de  Eichelieu  came  to  pay  his  respects  to 
jouis  XV.  after  taking  Mahon,  one  of  the  greatest  feats  of 
trms  of  the  eighteenth  century,  the  King  said  to  him,  "Have 
you  heard  the  great  news?  Poor  Lansmatt  is  dead." — Lans- 
matt  was  a  gatekeeper  in  the  secret  of  the  King's  intrigues. 

The  bankers  of  Paris  never  knew  how  much  they  owed 


104  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

to  Contenson.  That  spy  was  the  cause  of  N'ucingen's  allow- 
ing an  immense  loan  to  be  issued  in  which  his  share  was 
allotted  to  him,  and  which  he  gave  over  to  them.  The  stock- 
jobber could  aim  at  a  fortune  any  day  with  the  artillery  of 
speculation,  but  the  man  was  a  slave  to  the  hope  of 
happiness. 

The  great  banker  drank  some  tea,  and  was  nibbling  at  a 
slice  of  bread  and  butter,  as  a  man  does  whose  teeth  have  for 
long  not  been  sharpened  by  appetite,  when  he  heard  a  carriage 
stop  at  the  little  garden  gate.  In  a  few  minutes  his  secretary 
brought  in  Contenson,  whom  he  had  run  to  earth  in  a  cafe 
not  far  from  Sainte-Pelagie,  where  the  man  was  breakfasting 
on  the  strength  of  a  bribe  given  to  him  by  an  imprisoned 
debtor  for  certain  allowances  that  must  be  paid  for. 

Contenson,  you  must  know,  was  a  whole  poem — a  Paris 
poem.  Merely  to  see  him  would  have  been  enough  to  tell 
you  that  Beaumarchais'  Figaro,  Moliere's  Mascarille,  Mari- 
vaux's  Frontin,  and  Dancourt's  Lafleur — those  great  repre- 
sentatives of  audacious  swindling,  of  cunning  driven  to  ba}", 
of  stratagem  rising  again  from  the  ends  of  its  broken  wires — 
were  all  quite  second-rate  by  comparison  with  this  giant  of 
cleverness  and  meanness.  When  in  Paris  you  find  a  real 
type,  he  is  no  longer  a  man,  he  is  a  spectacle :  no  longer  a 
factor  in  life,  but  a  whole  life,  many  lives. 

Bake  a  plaster  cast  four  times  in  a  furnace,  and  you  get 
a  sort  of  bastard  imitation  of  Florentine  bronze.  Well,  the 
thunderbolts  of  numberless  disasters,  the  pressure  of  terrible 
necessities,  had  bronzed  Contenson's  head,  as  though  sweating 
in  an  oven  had  three  times  over  stained  his  skin. 
Closely-set  wrinkles  that  could  no  longer  be  relaxed  made 
eternal  furrows,  whiter  in  their  cracks.  The  yellow  face  was 
all  wrinkles.  The  bald  skull,  resembling  Voltaire's,  was  as 
parched  as  a  death's-head,  and  but  for  a  few  hairs  at  the 
back  it  would  have  seemed  doubtful  whether  it  was  that  of 
a  living  man.  Under  a  rigid  brow,  a  pair  of  Chinese  eyes, 
like  those  of  an  image  under  a  glass  shade  in  a  tea-shop — 
artificial  eyes,  which  sham  life  but  never  vary — moved  but 


ESTHER  HAPPY  105 

expressed  nothing.  The  nose,  as  flat  as  that  of  a  skull, 
sniffed  at  fate ;  and  the  mouth,  as  thin-lipped  as  a  miser's, 
was  always  open,  but  as  expressionless  as  the  grin  of  a  letter- 
box. 

Contenson,  as  apathetic  as  a  savage,  with  sunburned  hands, 
affected  that  Diogenes-like  indifference  which  can  never  bend 
to  any  formality  of  respect. 

And  what  a  commentary  on  his  life  was  written  on  his 
dress  for  any  one  who  can  decipher  a  dress !  Above  all, 
what  trousers !  made,  by  long  wear,  as  black  and  shiny  as 
the  camlet  of  which  lawyers'  gowns  are  made !  A  waistcoat, 
bought  in  an  old  clothes  shop  in  the  Temple,  with  a  deep 
embroidered  collar !  A  rusty  black  coat ! — and  everything 
well  brushed,  clean  after  a  fashion,  and  graced  by  a  watch 
and  an  imitation  gold  chain.  Contenson  allowed  a  triangle 
of  shirt  to  show,  with  pleats  in  which  glittered  a  sham  dia- 
mond pin;  his  black  velvet  stock  set  stiff  like  a  gorget,  over 
which  lay  rolls  of  flesh  as  red  as  that  of  a  Caribbee.  His 
silk  hat  was  as  glossy  as  satin,  but  the  lining  would  have 
yielded  grease  enough  for  two  street  lamps  if  some  grocer 
had  bought  it  to  boil  down. 

But  to  enumerate  these  accessories  is  nothing;  if  only  I 
could  give  an  idea  of  the  air  of  immense  importance  that 
Contenson  contrived  to  impart  to  them !  There  was  some- 
thing indescribably  knowing  in  the  collar  of  his  coat,  and 
the  fresh  blacking  on  a  pair  of  boots  with  gaping  soles,  to 
which  no  language  can  do  justice.  However,  to  give  some 
notion  of  this  medley  of  effect,  it  may  be  added  that 
any  man  of  intelligence  would  have  felt,  only  on  seeing 
Contenson,  that  if  instead  of  being  a  sp}''  he  had  been  a 
thief,  all  these  odds  and  ends,  instead  of  raising  a  smile, 
would  have  made  one  shudder  with  horror.  Judging  only 
from  his  dress,  the  observer  would  have  said  to  himself,  "That 
is  a  scoundrel ;  he  gambles,  he  drinks,  he  is  full  of  vices ;  but 
he  does  not  get  drunk,  he  does  not  cheat,  he  is  neither  a 
thief  nor  a  murderer."  And  .Contenson  remained  inscrutable) 
till  the  word  spy  suggested  itself. 


106  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

This  man  had  followed  as  many  unrecognized  trades  as 
there  are  recognized  ones.  The  sly  smile  on  his  lips,  the 
twinkle  of  his  green  eyes,  the  queer  twitch  of  his  snub  nose, 
showed  that  he  was  not  deficient  in  humor.  He  had  a  face  of 
sheet-tin,  and  his  soul  must  probably  be  like  his  face.  Every 
movement  of  his  countenance  was  a  grimace  wrung  from 
him  by  politeness  rather  than  any  expression  of  an  inmost 
impulse.  He  would  have  been  alarming  if  he  had  not  seemed 
so  droll. 

Contenson,  one  of  the  most  curious  products  of  the  scum 
that  rises  to  the  top  of  the  seething  Paris  caldron,  where  every- 
thing ferments,  prided  himself  on  being,  above  all  things,  a 
philosopher.     He  would  say,  without  any  bitter  feeling: 

"I  have  grand  talents,  but  of  what  use  are  they  ?  I  might 
as  well  have  been  an  idiot." 

And  he  blamed  himself  instead  of  accusing  mankind. 
Find,  if  you  can,  many  spies  who  have  not  more  venom  about 
them  than  Contenson  had. 

"Circumstances  are  against  me,"  he  would  say  to  his  chiefs. 
"We  might  be  fine  crystal;  we  are  but  grains  of  sand,, that 
is  all." 

His  indifference  to  dress  had  some  sense.  He  cared  no 
more  about  his  everyday  clothes  than  an  actor  does;  he  ex- 
celled in  disguising  himself,  in  "make-up";  he  could  have 
given  Frederic  Lemaitre  a  lesson,  for  he  could  be  a  dandy 
when  necessary.  Formerly,  in  his  younger  days,  he  must 
have  mingled  in  the  out-at-elbows  society  of  people  living  on 
a  humble  scale.  He  expressed  excessive  disgust  for  the  crim- 
inal police  corps;  for,  under  the  Empire,  he  had  belonged 
to  Fouche's  police,  and  looked  upon  him  as  a  great  man.  Since 
the  suppression  of  this  Government  department,  he  had  de- 
voted his  energies  to  the  tracking  of  commercial  defaulters; 
but  his  well-known  talents  and  acumen  made  him  a  valuable 
auxiliar}',  and  the  unrecognized  chiefs  of  the  political  police 
had  kept  his  name  on  their  lists.  Contenson,  like  his  fellows, 
was  only  a  super  in  the  dramas  of  which  the  leading  parts 


ESTHER  HAPPY  107 

were  played  by  his  chief  when  a  political  investigation  was 
in  the  wind. 

"Go  'vay/'  said  Nucingen,  dismissing  his  secretary  with 
a  wave  of  the  hand. 

"Why  should  this  man  live  in  a  mansion  and  I  in  a  lodg- 
ing?" wondered  Contenson  to  himself.  "He  has  dodged  his 
creditors  three  times;  he  has  robbed  them;  I  never  stole  a 
farthing;  I  am  a  cleverer  fellow  than  he  is " 

"Contenson,  mein  freund/'  said  the  Baron,  "you  haf  vat 
you  call  pleed  me  of  one  tousand-franc  note." 


A" 


"My  girl  owed  God  and  the  devil " 

"Vat,  you  haf  a  girl,  a  mistress !"  cried  Nucingen,  look- 
ing at  Contenson  with  admiration  not  unmixed  with  envy. 

"I  am  but  sixty-six,"  replied  Contenson,  as  a  man  whom 
vice  has  kept  young  as  a  bad  example. 

"And  vat  do  she  do?" 

"She  helps  me,"  said  Contenson.  "When  a  man  is  a  thief, 
and  an  honest  woman  loves  him,  either  she  becomes  a  thief 
or  he  becomes  an  honest  man.     I  have  always  been  a  spy." 

"And  you  vant  money — alvays?"  asked  Nucingen. 

"Always,"  said  Contenson,  with  a  smile.  "It  is  part  of 
my  business  to  want  money,  as  it  is  yours  to  make  it ;  we 
shall  easily  come  to  an  understanding.  You  find  me  a  little, 
and  I  will  undertake  to  spend  it.  You  shall  be  the  well, 
and  I  the  bucket." 

"Vould  you  like  to  haf  one  note  for  fife  hundert  franc  ?" 

"What  a  question !  But  what  a  fool  I  am ! — You  do  not 
offer  it  out  of  a  disinterested  desire  to  repair  the  slights  of 
Fortune  ?" 

"Not  at  all.  I  gif  it  besides  the  one  tousand-franc  note 
vat  you  pleed  me  off.  Dat  makes  fifteen  hundert  franc  vat 
I  gif  you." 

"Very  good,  you  give  me  the  thousand  francs  I  have  had, 
and  you  will  add  five  hundred  francs." 

"Yust  so,"  said  Nucingen,  nodding. 

"But  that  still  leaves  only  five  hundred  francs,"  said  Con- 
tenson imperturbably. 


r 


108  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Dat  I  gif,"  added  the  Baron. 

"That  I  take.  Very  good;  and  what.  Monsieur  le  Baron, 
do  you  want  for  it?" 

''T  haf  been  told  dat  dere  vas  in  Paris  one  man  vat  could 
find  the  voman  vat  I  lof,  and  dat  you  know  his  address.  .  .  . 
A  real  master  to  spy.'' 

"Yery  true." 

"Yell  den,  gif  me  dat  address,  and  I  gif  you  fife  hundert 
franc." 

"Where  are  they?"  said  Contenson. 

"Here  dey  are,"  said  the  Baron,  drawing  a  note  out  of  his 
pocket. 

"All  right,  hand  them  over,"  said  Contenson,  holding  out 
his  hand. 

"Xoting  for  noting !  Let  us  see  de  man,  and  you  get  de 
money;  3'ou  might  sell  to  me  many  address  at  dat  price." 

Contenson  began  to  laugh. 

"To  be  sure,  you  have  a  right  to  think  that  of  me,"  said 
he,  with  an  air  of  blaming  himself.  "The  more  rascally 
our  business  is,  the  more  honesty  is  necessary.  But  look 
here,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  make  it  six  hundred,  and  I  will 
give  you  a  bit  of  advice." 

"Gif  it,  and  trust  to  my  generosity." 

"I  will  risk  it,"  Contenson  said,  'Tjut  it  is  playing  high. 
In  such  matters,  you  see,  we  have  to  work  underground.  You 
say,  'Quick  march !' — You  are  rich ;  you  think  that  money 
can  do  everything.  Well,  money  is  something,  no  doubt. 
Still,  money  can  only  buy  men,  as  the  two  or  three  best  heads 
in  our  force  so  often  say.  And  there  are  many  things  you 
.vould  never  think  of  which  money  cannot  buy. — You  cannot 
buy  good  luck.  So  good  police  work  is  not  done  in  this 
style.  Will  you  show  yourself  in  a  carriage  with  me?  We 
should  be  seen.  Chance  is  just  as  often  for  us  as  against 
us." 

'T?eally-truly  ?"  said  the  Baron. 

"Why,  of  course,  sir.  A  horseshoe  picked  up  in  the  street 
led  the  chief  of  the  police  to  the  discovery  of  the  infernal 


ESTHER  HAPPY  109 

machine.  Well,  if  we  were  to  go  to-night  in  a  hackney  coach 
to  Monsieur  de  Saint-Germain,  he  would  not  like  to  see  you 
walk  in  any  more  than  you  would  like  to  be  seen  going 
there." 

"Dat  is  true,"  said  the  Baron. 

"Ah,  he  is  the  greatest  of  the  great!  such  another  as  the 
famous  Corentin,  Fouche's  right  arm,  who  was,  some  say, 
his  natural  son,  born  while  he  was  still  a  priest;  but  that  is 
nonsense.  Fouche  knew  how  to  be  a  priest  as  he  knew  how 
to  be  a  Minister.  Well,  you  will  not  get  this  man  to  do  any- 
thing for  you,  you  see,  for  less  than  ten  thousand-franc 
notes — think  of  that. — But  he  will  do  the  job,  and  do  it  well. 
Neither  seen  nor  heard,  as  they  say.  I  ought  to  give  Mon- 
sieur de  Saint-Germain  notice,  and  he  Avill  fix  a  time  for 
your  meeting  in  some  place  where  no  one  can  see  or  hear, 
for  it  is  a  dangerous  game  to  play  policeman  for  private  in- 
terests. Still,  what  is  to  be  said?  He  is  a  good  fellow, 
the  king  of  good  fellows,  and  a  man  who  has  undergone 
much  persecution,  and  for  having  saved  his  country  too ! — 
like  me,  like  all  who  helped  to  save  it." 

"Veil  den,  write  and  name  de  happy  day,"  said  the  Baron, 
smiling  at  his  humble  jest. 

"And  Monsieur  le  Baron  will  allow  me  to  drink  his  health  ?" 
said  Contenson,  with  a  manner  at  once  cringing  and  threaten- 
ing. 

"Shean,"  cried  the  Baron  to  the  gardener,  "go  and  tell 
Chorge  to  sent  me  one  twenty  francs,  and  pring  dem  to 
me " 

"Still,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  if  you  have  no  more  informa- 
tion than  you  have  just  given  me,  I  doubt  whether  the  great 
man  can  be  of  any  use  to  you." 

"I  know  off  oders !"  replied  the  Baron  with  a  cunning 
look. 

"I  have  the  honor  to  bid  you  good-morning,  Monsieur  le 
Baron,"  said  Contenson,  taking  the  twenty-franc  piece.  "I 
shall  have  the  honor  of  calling  again  to  tell  Georges  where 
you  are  to  go  this  evening,  for  we  never  write  anything  in 
such  cases  when  they  are  well  managed." 


110  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"It  is  funny  how  sharp  dese  rascals  are  V  said  the  Baron 
to  himself ;  "it  is  de  same  mit  de  police  as  it  is  in  buss^niss." 

When  he  left  the  Baron,  Contenson  went  quietly  from 
the  Rue  Saint-Lazare  to  the  Eue  Saint-Honore,  as  far  as 
the  Cafe  David.  He  looked  in  through  the  windows,  and 
saw  an  old  man  who  was  known  there  by  the  name  of  le 
Pere  Canquoelle. 

The  Cafe  David,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  la  Monnaie 
and  the  Rue  Saint-Honore,  enjoyed  a  certain  celebrity  dur- 
ing the  first  thirty  years  of  the  century,  though  its  fame  was 
limited  to  the  quarter  known  as  that  of  the  Bourdonnais. 
Here  certain  old  retired  merchants,  and  large  shopkeepers 
still  in  trade,  were  wont  to  meet — the  Camusots,  the  Lebas, 
the  Pilleraults,  the  Popinots,  and  a  few  house-owners  like 
little  old  Molineux.  Now  and  again  old  Guillaume  might  be 
seen  there,  coming  from  the  Rue  du  Colombier.  Politics 
were  discussed  in  a  quiet  way,  but  cautiously,  for  the  opiu- 
ions  of  the  Cafe  David  were  liberal.  The  gossip  of  the  neigh- 
borhood was  repeated,  men  so  urgently  feel  the  need  of  laugh- 
ing at  each  other ! 

This  cafe,  like  all  cafes  for  that  matter,  had  its  eccentric 
character  in  the  person  of  the  said  Pere  Canquoelle,  who 
had  been  regular  in  his  attendance  there  since  1811,  and  who 
seemed  to  be  so  completely  in  harmony  with  the  good  folks 
who  assembled  there,  that  they  all  talked  politics  in  his  pres- 
ence without  reserve.  Sometimes  this  old  fellow,  whose  guile- 
lessness  was  the  subject  of  much  laughter  to  the  customers, 
would  disappear  for  a  month  or  two;  but  his  absence  never 
surprised  anybody,  and  was  always  attributed  to  his  in- 
firmities or  his  great  age,  for  he  looked  more  than  sixty  in 
1811. 

"What  has  become  of  old  Canquoelle?"  one  or  another 
would  ask  of  the  manageress  at  the  desk. 

"I  quite  expect  that  one  fine  day  we  shall  read  in  the  ad- 
vertisment-sheet  that  he  is  dead,"  she  would  reply. 
,  Old  Canquoelle  bore  a  perpetual  certificate  of  his  native 


ESTHEtl  HAPPY  111 

province  in  "his  accent.  He  spoke  of  une  estatue  (a  statue), 
le  peuble  (the  people),  and  said  tu7-e  for  turc.  His  name 
"was  that  of  a  tiny  estate  called  les  Canquoelles,  a  word  mean- 
ing cockchafer  in  some  districts,  situated  in  the  department  of 
Vaucluse,  whence  he  had  come.  At  last  every  one  had  fallen 
into  the  habit  of  calling  him  Canquoelle,  instead  of  des  Can- 
quoelles, and  the  old  man  took  no  offence,  for  in  his  opinion 
the  nobility  had  perished  in  1793;  and  besides,  the  land  of 
les  Canquoelles  did  not  belong  to  him;  he  was  a  younger 
son's  younger  son. 

Nowadays  old  Canquoelle's  costume  would  look  strange, 
but  between  1811  and  1820  it  astonished  no  one.  The  old 
man  wore  shoes  with  cut-steel  buckles,  silk  stockings  with 
stripes  round  the  leg,  alternately  blue  and  white,  corded  silk 
knee-breeches  with  oval  buckles  cut  to  match  those  on  his 
shoes.  A  white  embroidered  waistcoat,  an  old  coat  of  olive- 
brown  with  metal  buttons,  and  a  shirt  with  a  flat-pleated 
frill  completed  his  costume.  In  the  middle  of  the  shirt-frill 
twinkled  a  small  gold  locket,  in  which  might  be  seen,  under 
glass,  a  little  temple  worked  in  hair,  one  of  those  pathetic 
trifles  which  give  men  confidence,  just  as  a  scarecrow  frightens 
sparrows.  Most  men,  like  other  animals,  are  frightened  or 
reassured  by  trifles.  Old  Canquoelle's  breeches  were  kept 
in  place  by  a  buckle  which,  in  the  fashion  of  the  last  century, 
tightened  them  across  the  stomach ;  from  the  belt  hung  on 
each  side  a  short  steel  chain,  composed  of  several  finer  chains, 
and  ending  in  a  bunch  of  seals.  His  white  neckcloth  was 
fastened  behind  by  a  small  gold  buckle.  Finally,  on  his 
snowy  and  powdered  hair,  he  still,  in  1816,  wore  the  munici- 
pal cocked  hat  which  Monsieur  Try,  the  President  of  the  Law 
Courts,  also  used  to  wear.  But  Pere  Canquoelle  had  recently 
substituted  for  this  hat,  so  dear  to  old  men,  the  undignified 
top-hat,  which  no  one  dares  to  rebel  against.  The  good  man 
thought  he  owed  so  much  as  this  to  the  spirit  of  the  age.  A 
small  pigtail  tied  with  a  ribbon  had  traced  a  semicircle  on 
the  back  of  his  coat,  the  greasy  mark  being  hidden  by  powder. 

If  you  looked  no  further  than  the  most  conspicuous  feature 


112  A  COrRTESAN'S  LIFE 

of  his  face,  a  nose  covered  with  excrescences  red  and  swollen 
enough  to  figure  in  a  dish  of  truffles,  you  might  have  inferred 
that  the  worthy  man  had  an  easy  temper,  foolish  and  easy- 
going, that  of  a  perfect  gaby;  and  you  would  have  been  de- 
ceived, like  all  at  the  Cafe  David,  where  no  one  had  ever 
remarked  the  studious  brow,  the  sardonic  mouth,  and  the 
cold  eyes  of  this  old  man,  petted  by  his  vices,  and  as  calm  as 
Yitellius,  whose  imperial  and  portly  stomach  reappeared  in 
him  palingenetically,  so  to  speak. 

In  1816  a  3'oung  commercial  traveler  named  Gaudissart, 
who  frequented  the  Cafe  David,  sat  drinking  from  eleven 
o'clock  till  midnight  with  a  half-pay  officer.  He  was  so  rash 
as  to  discuss  a  conspiracy  against  the  Bourbons,  a  rather 
serious  plot  then  on  the  point  of  execution.  There  was  no 
one  to  be  seen  in  the  cafe  but  Pere  Canquoelle,  who  seemed 
to  be  asleep,  two  waiters  who  were  dozing,  and  the  account- 
ant at  the  desk.  Within  four-and-twenty  hours  Gaudissart 
was  arrested,  the  plot  was  discovered.  Two  men  perished 
on  the  scaffold.  Neither  Gaudissart  nor  any  one  else  ever 
suspected  that  worthy  old  Canquoelle  of  having  peached.  The 
waiters  were  dismissed;  for  a  year  they  were  all  on  their 
guard  and  afraid  of  the  police — as  Pere  Canquoelle  was  too : 
indeed,  he  talked  of  retiring  from  the  Cafe  David,  such  horror 
had  he  of  the  police. 

Contenson  went  into  the  cafe,  asked  for  a  glass  of  brandy, 
and  did  not  look  at  Canquoelle,  who  sat  reading  the  papers; 
but  when  he  had  gulped  down  the  brandy,  he  took  out  the 
Baron's  gold  piece,  and  called  the  waiter  by  rapping  three 
short  raps  on  the  table.  The  lady  at  the  desk  and  the  waiter 
examined  the  coin  with  a  minute  care  that  was  not  flattering 
to  Contenson;  but  their  suspicions  were  justified  by  the  as- 
tonishment produced  on  all  the  regular  customers  by  Con- 
tenson's  appearance. 

"Was  that  gold  got  by  theft  or  by  murder?" 

This  was  the  idea  that  rose  to  some  clear  and  shrewd 
minds  as  they  looked  at  Contenson  over  their  spectacles,  while 
affecting  to  read  the  news.     Contenson,  who  saw  everything, 


ESTHER  HAPPY  113 

and  never  was  surprised  at  anything,  scornfully  wiped  his 
lips  with  a  bandana,  in  which  there  were  but  three  darns, 
took  his  change,  slipped  all  the  coppers  into  his  side  pocket, 
of  which  the  lining,  once  white,  was  now  as  black  as  the 
cloth  of  the  trousers,  and  did  not  leave  one  for  the  waiter. 

"What  a  gallows-bird !"  said  Pere  Canquoelle  to  his  neigh- 
bor Monsieur  Pillerault. 

"Pshaw !"  said  Monsieur  Camusot  to  all  the  company,  for 
he  alone  had  expressed  no  astonishment,  "it  is  Contenson, 
Louchard's  right-hand  man,  the  police  agent  we  employ  in 
business.  The  rascals  want  to  nab  some  one  who  is  hanging 
about  perhaps." 

It  would  seem  necessary  to  explain  here  the  terrible  and 
profoundly  cunning  man  who  was  hidden  under  the  guise  of 
Pere  Canquoelle,  as  Vautrin  was  hidden  under  that  of  the 
Abbe  Carlos. 

Born  at  Canquoelles,  the  only  possession  of  his  family, 
which  was  highly  respectable,  this  Southerner's  name  was 
I'eyrade,'^  He  belonged,  in  fact,  to  the  younger  branch  of 
tlie"Peyrade  family,  an  old  but  impoverished  house  of  Franche 
Comte,  still  owning  the  little  estate  of  la  Peyrade.  The 
seventh  child  of  his  father,  he  had  come  on  foot  to  Paris  in 
1 773  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  with  two  crowns  of  six  francs  in 
his  pocket,  prompted  by  the  vices  of  an  ardent  spirit  and  the 
coarse  desire  to  "get  on,"  which  brings  so  many  men  to  Paris 
from  the  south  as  soon  as  they  understand  that  their  father's 
property  can  never  supply  them  with  means  to  gratify  their 
passions.  It  is  enough  to  say  of  Peyrade's  youth  that  in  1782 
he  was  in  the  confidence  of  chiefs  of  the  police  and  the  hero 
of  the  department,  highly  esteemed  by  MM.  Lenoir  and 
d' Albert,  the  last  Lieutenant-Generals  of  Police. 

The  Eevolution  had  no  police;  it  needed  none.  Espion-^ 
age,  though  common  enough,  was  called  public  spirit. 

The  Directorate,  a  rather  more  regular  government  than 
that  of  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety,  was  obliged  to  re- 
organize the  Police,  and  the  first  Consul  completed  the  work 


114  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

by  instituting  a  Prefect  of  Police  and  a  department  of  police 

,_     supervision. 

■^  —  Peyrade,  a  man  knowing  the  traditions,  collected  the  force 
with  the  assistance  of  a  man  named  Corentin,  a  far  cleverer 
man  than  Peyrade,  though  younger;  but  he  was  a  genius  only 
in  the  subterranean  ways  of  police  inquiries.  In  1808  the 
great  services  Peyrade  was  able  to  achieve  were  rewarded  by 
an  appointment  to  the  eminent  position  of  Chief  Commis- 
sioner of  Police  at  Antwerp.  In  Napoleon's  mind  this  sort 
of  Police  Governorship  was  equivalent  to  a  Minister's  post, 
.^    with  the  duty  of  superintending  Holland.     At  the  end  of 

J/     the  campaign  of  1809,  Peyrade  was  removed  from  Antwerp 

P  by  an  order  in  Council  from  the  Emperor,  carried  in  a  chaise 
to  Paris  between  two  gendarmes,  and  imprisoned  in  la  Force. 
Two  months  later  he  was  let  out  on  bail  furnished  by  his 
friend  Corentin,  after  having  been  subjected  to  three  ex- 
aminations, each  lasting  six  hours,  in  the  office  of  the  head 
of  the  Police. 

Did  Peyrade  owe  his  overthrow  to  the  miraculous  energy 
he  displayed  in  aiding  Fouche  in  the  defence  of  the  French 
coast  when  threatened  by  what  was  known  at  the  time  as 
the  Walcheren  expedition,  when  the  Duke  of  Otranto  mani- 
fested such  abilities  as  alarmed  the  Emperor?  Fouche 
thought  it  probable  even  then ;  and  now,  when  everybody 
knows  what  went  on  in  the  Cabinet  Council  called  together 
by  Cambaceres,  it  is  absolutely  certain.  The  Ministers,  thun- 
derstruck by  the  news  of  England's  attempt,  a  retaliation  on 
Napoleon  for  the  Boulogne  expedition,  and  taken  by  sur- 
prise when  the  Master  was  entrenched  in  the  island  of  Lobau, 
where  all  Europe  believed  him  to  be  lost,  had  not  an  idea 
which  way  to  turn.  The  general  opinion  was  in  favor  of 
sending  post  haste  to  the  Emperor;  Fouche  alone  was  bold 
enough  to  sketch  a  plan  of  campaign,  which,  in  fact,  he 
carried  into  execution. 

"Do  as  you  please,"  said  Cambaceres;  '^T)ut  I,  who  prefer 
to  keep  my  head  on  my  shoulders,  shall  send  a  report  to  the 
Emperor." 


ESTHER  HAPPY  115 

It  is  well  known  that  the  Emperor  on  his  return  found 
an  absurd  pretext,  at  a  full  meeting  of  the  Council  of  State, 
for  discarding  his  Minister  and  punishing  him  for  having 
saved  France  without  the  Sovereign's  help.  From  that  time 
forth,  Napoleon  had  doubled  the  hostility  of  Prince  de  Talley- 
rand and  the  Duke  of  Otranto,  the  only  two  great  politicians 
formed  by  the  Eevolution,  who  might  perhaps  have  been  able 
to  save  Napoleon  in  1813. 

To  get  rid  of  Peyrade,  he  was  simply  accused  of  connivance 
in  favoring  smuggling  and  sharing  certain  profits  with  the 
great  merchants.  Such  an  indignity  was  hard  on  a  man 
who  had  earned  the  Marshal's  baton  of  the  Police  Depart- 
ment by  the  great  services  he  had  done.  This  man,  who  had 
grown  old  in  active  business,  knew  all  the  secrets  of  every 
Government  since  1775,  when  he  had  entered  the  service. 
The  Emperor,  who  believed  himself  powerful  enough  to  create 
men  for  his  own  uses,  paid  no  heed  to  the  representations 
subsequently  laid  before  him  in  favor  of  a  man  who  was 
reckoned  as  one  of  the  most  trustworthy,  most  capable,  and 
most  acute  of  the  unknown  genii  whose  task  it  is  to  watch  over 
the  safety  of  a  State.  He  thought  he  could  put  Contenson 
in  Pe3Tade's  place;  but  Contenson  was  at  that  time  employed 
by  Corentin  for  his  own  benefit. 

Peyrade  felt  the  blow  all  the  more  keenly  because,  being 
greedy  and  a  libertine,  he  had  found  himself,  with  regard 
to  women,  in  the  position  of  a  pastry-cook  who  loves  sweet- 
meats. His  habits  of  vice  had  become  to  him  a  second  na- 
ture; he  could  not  live  without  a  good  dinner,  without 
gambling,  in  short,  without  the  life  of  an  unpretentious  fine 
gentleman,  in  which  men  of  powerful  faculties  so  generally 
indulge  when  they  have  allowed  excessive  dissipation  to  be- 
come a  necessity.  Hitherto,  he  had  lived  in  style  without 
ever  being  expected  to  entertain ;  and  living  well,  for  no  one 
ever  looked  for  a  return  from  him,  or  from  his  friend  Coren- 
tin. He  was  cynically  witty,  and  he  liked  his  profession; 
he  was  a  philosopher.  And  besides,  a  spy,  whatever  grade 
he  may  hold  in  the  machinery  of  the  police,  can  no  more 


116  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

return  to  a  profession  regarded  as  honorable  or  liberal,  than 
a  prisoner  from  the  hulks  can.  Once  branded,  once  matric- 
ulated, spies  and  convicts,  like  deacons,  have  assumed  an  in- 
delible character.  There  are  beings  on  whom  social  condi- 
tions impose  an  inevitable  fate. 

Peyrade,  for  his  further  woe,  was  very  fond  of  a  pretty 
little  girl  whom  he  knew  to  be  his  own  child  by  a  celebrated 
actress  to  whom  he  had  done  a  signal  service,  and  who,  for 
three  months,  had  been  grateful  to  him.  Peyrade,  who  had 
sent  for  his  child  from  Antwerp,  now  found  himself  without 
employment  in  Paris  and  with  no  means  beyond  a  pension  of 
twelve  hundred  francs  a  year  allowed  him  by  the  Police  De- 
partment as  Lenoir's  olS  disciple.  He  took  lodgings  in  the 
Eue  des  Moineaux  on  the  fourth  floor,  five  little  rooms,  at 
a  rent  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  francs. 

If  any  man  should  be  aware  of  the  uses  and  sweets  of 
friendship,  is  it  not  the  moral  leper  known  to  the  world  as 
a  spy,  to  the  mob  as  a  mouchard,  to  the  department  as  an 
"agent"  ?  Peyrade  and  Corentin  were  such  friends  as  Orestes 
and  Pylades.  Peyrade  had  trained  Corentin  as  Vien  trained 
David;  but  the  pupil  soon  surpassed  his  master.  They  had 
carried  out  more  than  one  undertaking  together.  Peyrade, 
happy  at  having  discerned  Corentin's  superior  abilities,  had 
started  him  in  his  career  by  preparing  a  success  for  him.  He 
obliged  his  disciple  to  make  use  of  a  mistress  who  had  scorned 
him  as  a  bait  to  catch  a  man  (see  The  Chouans).  And  Co- 
rentin at  that  time  was  hardly  five-and-twenty. 

Corentin,  who  had  been  retained  as  one  of  the  generals  of 
whom  the  Minister  of  Police  is  the  Pligh  Constable,  still  held 
under  the  Due  de  Rovigo  the  high  position  he  had  filled  under 
the  Duke  of  Otranto.  Xow  at  that  time  the  general  police 
and  the  criminal  police  were  managed  on  similar  principles. 
When  any  important  business  was  on  hand,  an  account  was 
opened,  as  it  were,  for  the  three,  four,  five,  really  capable 
agents.  The  Minister,  on  being  warned  of  some  plot,  by 
whatever  means,  would  say  to  one  of  his  colonels  of  the  police 
force : 


ESTHER  HAPPY  117 

"How  much  will  you  want  to  achieve  this  or  that  result  ?" 

Corentin  or  Contenson  would  go  into  the  matter  and 
reply : 

"Twenty,  thirty,  or  forty  thousand  francs." 

Then,  as  soon  as  the  order  was  given  to  go  ahead,  all 
the  means  and  the  men  were  left  to  the  judgment  of  Coren- 
tin or  the  agent  selected.  And  the  criminal  police  used  to 
act  in  the  same  way  to  discover  crimes  with  the  famous 
Vidocq. 

Both  branches  of  the  police  chose  their  men  chiefly  from 
among  the  ranks  of  well-known  agents,  who  have  matriculated 
in  the  business,  and  are,  as  it  were,  as  soldiers  of  the  secret 
army,  so  indispensable  to  a  government,  in  spite  of  the  public 
orations  of  philanthropists  or  narrow-minded  moralists.  But 
the  absolute  confidence  placed  in  two  men  of  the  temper  of 
Peyrade  and  Corentin  conveyed  to  them  the  right  of  employ- 
ing perfect  strangers,  under  the  risk,  moreover,  of  being  re- 
sponsible to  the  Minister  in  all  serious  cases.  Peyrade's  ex- 
perience and  acumen  were  too  valuable  to  Corentin,  who, 
after  the  storm  of  1820  had  blown  over,  employed  his  old 
friend,  constantly  consulted  him,  and  contributed  largely  to 
his  maintenance.  Corentin  managed  to  put  about  a  thousand 
francs  a  month  into  Peyrade's  hands. 

Peyrade,  on  his  part,  did  Corentin  good  service.  In  1816 
Corentin,  on  the  strength  of  the  discovery  of  the  conspiracy 
in  which  the  Bonapartist  Gaudissart  was  implicated,  tried 
to  get  Peyrade  reinstated  in  his  place  in  the  police  office ;  but 
-some  unknown  influence  was  working  against  Peyrade.  This 
was  the  reason  why. 

In  their  anxiety  to  make  themselves  necessary,  Peyrade, 
Corentin,  and  Contenson,  at  the  Duke  of  Otranto's  instiga- 
tion, had  organized  for  the  benefit  of  Louis  XVIII.  a  sort 
of  opposition  police  in  which  very  capable  agents  were  em- 
ployed. Louis  XVIII.  died  possessed  of  secrets  which  will 
remain  secrets  from  the  best  informed  historians.  The 
struggle  between  the  general  police  of  the  kingdom,  and  the 
Ejng's  opposition  police,  led  to  many  horrible  disasters,  of 


118  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

which  a  certain  number  of  executions  sealed  the  secrets. 
This  is  neither  the  place  nor  the  occasion  for  entering  into 
details  on  this  subject,  for  these  "Scenes  of  Paris  Life"  are 
not  "Scenes  of  Political  Life."  Enough  has  been  said  to 
show  what  were  the  means  of  living  of  the  man  who  at  the 
Cafe  David  was  known  as  good  old  Canquoelle,  and  by  what 
threads  he  was  tied  to  the  terrible  and  mysterious  powers  of 
the  police. 

Between  1817  and  1822,  Corentin,  Contenson,  Peyrade, 
and  their  myrmidons,  were  often  required  to  keep  watch  over 
the  Minister  of  Police  himself.  This  perhaps  explains  why 
the  Minister  declined  to  employ  Peyrade  and  Contenson,  on 
whom  Corentin  contrived  to  cast  the  Minister's  suspicions, 
in  order  to  be  able  to  make  use  of  his  friend  when  his  re- 
1  instatement  was  evidently  out  of  the  question.  The  ^linistry 
j  put  their  faith  in  Corentin;  they  enjoined  him  to  keep  an 
eye  on  Peyrade,  which  amused  Louis  XVIII.  Corentin  and 
Peyrade  were  then  masters  of  the  position.  Contenson,  long 
attached  to  Peyrade,  was  still  at  his  service.  He  had  joined 
the  force  of  the  commerical  police  (the  Gardes  du  Com- 
merce) by  his  friend's  orders.  And,  in  fact,  as  a  result  of 
the  sort  of  zeal  that  is  inspired  by  a  profession  we  love,  these 
two  chiefs  liked  to  place  their  best  men  in  those  posts  where 
information  was  most  likely  to  flow  in. 

And,  indeed,  Contenson's  vices  and  dissipated  habits,  which 
had  dragged  him  lower  than  his  two  friends,  consumed  so 
much  money,  that  he  needed  a  great  deal  of  business. 

Contenson,  without  committing  any  indiscretion,  had  told 
Louchard  that  he  knew  the  onh''  man  who  was  capable  of 
doing  what  the  Baron  de  Nucingen  required.  Peyrade  was, 
in  fact,  the  only  police-agent  who  could  act  on  behalf  of  a 
'  private  individual  with  impunity.  At  the  death  of  Louis 
XVIII.,  Peyrade  had  not  only  ceased  to  be  of  consequence, 
but  had  lost  the  profits  of  his  position  as  spy-in-ordinary  to 
His  Majesty.  Believing  himself  to  be  indispensable,  he  had 
lived  fast.  Women,  high  feeding,  and  the  club,  the  Cercle 
des  Etrangers,  had  prevented  this  man  from  saving,  and,  like 


ESTHER  HAPPY  119 

all  men  cut  out  for  debauchery,  he  enjoyed  an  iron  constitu- 
tion. But  between  1826  and  1829,  when  he  was  nearly 
seventy-four  years  of  age,  he  had  stuck  half-way,  to  use 
his  own  expression.  Year  by  year  he  saw  his  comforts 
dwindling.  He  followed  the  police  department  to  its  grave, 
and  saw  with  regret  that  Charles  X.'s  government  was  de- 
parting from  its  good  old  traditions.  Every  session  saw  the 
estimates  pared  down  which  were  necessary  to  keep  up  the 
police,  out  of  hatred  for  that  method  of  government  and  a 
firm  determination  to  reform  that  institution. 

"It  is  as  if  they  thought  they  could  cook  in  white  gloves," 
said  Peyrade  to  Corentin. 

In  1822  this  couple  foresaw  1830.  They  knew  how  bit- 
terly Louis  XVIII.  hated  his  successor,  which  accounts  for 
his  recklessness  with  regard  to  the  younger  branch,  and  Avith- 
out  which  his  reign  would  be  an  unanswerable  riddle. 

As  Peyrade  grew  older,  his  love  for  his  natural  daughter)  ^ 
had  increased.  For  her  sake  he  had  adopted  his  citizen  guise, 
for  he  intended  that  his  Lydie  should  marry  respectably.  So 
for  the  last  three  years  he  had  been  especially  anxious  to  find 
a  corner,  either  at  the  Prefecture  of  Police,  or  in  the  general 
Police  Office — some  ostensible  and  recognized  post.  He  had 
ended  by  inventing  a  place,  of  which  the  necessity,  as  he 
told  Corentin,  would  sooner  or  later  be  felt.  He  was  anxious 
to  create  an  inquiry  office  at  the  Prefecture  of  Police,  to  be 
intermediate  between  the  Paris  police  in  the  strictest  sense, 
the  criminal  police,  and  the  superior  general  police,  so  as  to 
enable  the  supreme  board  to  profit  by  the  various  scattered 
forces.  No  one  but  Peyrade,  at  his  age,  and  after  fifty-five 
years  of  confidential  work,  could  be  the  connecting  link  be- 
tween the  three  branches  of  the  police,  or  the  keeper  of  the 
records  to  whom  political  and  Judicial  authority  alike  could 
apply  for  the  elucidation  of  certain  cases.  By  this  means 
Peyrade  hoped,  with  Corentin's  assistance,  to  find  a  husband 
and  scrape  together  a  portion  for  his  little  Lydie.  Corentin 
had  already  mentioned  the  matter  to  the  Director-General 


120  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

of  the  police  forces  of  the  realm,  without  naming  Peyrade; 
and  the  Director-General,  a  man  from  the  south,  thought  it 
necessary  that  the  suggestion  should  come  from  the  chief  of 
the  city  police. 

At  the  moment  when  Contenson  struck  three  raps  on  the 
table  with  the  gold  piece,  a  signal  conveying,  "I  want  to 
speak  to  you,"  the  senior  was  reflecting  on  this  problem: 
"By  whom,  and  under  what  pressure  can  the  Prefet  of  Police 
be  made  to  move?" — And  he  looked  like  a  noodle  studying 
his  Courrier  Franqais. 

"Poor  Foucho!"  thought  he  to  himself,  as  he  made  his 
way  along  the  Eue  Saint-Honore,  "that  great  man  is  dead ! 
our  go-betweens  with  Louis  XYIII.  are  out  of  favor.  And 
besides,  as  Corentin  said  only  yesterday,  nobody  believes  in 
the  activity  or  the  intelligence  of  a  man  of  seventy.  Oh, 
Avliy  did  I  get  into  a  habit  of  dining  at  Very's,  of  drinking 
choice  wines,  of  singing  La  Mere  Godichon,  of  gambling  when 
I  am  in  funds?  To  get  a  place  and  keep  it,  as  Corentin 
says,  it  is  not  enough  to  be  clever,  you  must  have  the  gift  of 
management.  Poor  dear  M.  Lenoir  was  right  when  he  wrote 
to  me  in  the  matter  of  the  Queen's  necklace,  TTou  will  never 
do  any  good,'  when  he  heard  that  I  did  not  stay  under  that 
slut  Oliva's  bed." 

If  the  venerable  Pere  Canquoelle — he  was  called  so  in  the 
house — lived  on  in  the  Eue  des  Moineaux,  on  a  fourth  floor, 
you  may  depend  on  it  he  had  found  some  peculiarity  in  the 
arrangement  of  the  premises  which  favored  the  practice  of 
his  terrible  profession. 

The  house,  standing  at  the  corner  of  the  Eue  Saint-Eoch, 
had  no  neighbors  on  one  side;  and  as  the  staircase  up  the 
middle  divided  it  into  two,  there  were  on  each  floor  two  per- 
fectly isolated  rooms.  Those  two  rooms  looked  out  on  the 
Eue  Saint-Eoch.  There  were  garret  rooms  above  the  fourth 
floor,  one  of  them  a  kitchen,  and  the  other  a  bedroom  for 
Pere  Canquoelle's  only  servant,  a  Fleming  named  Katt.  for- 
merly Lydie's  wet-nurse.  Old  Canquoelle  had  taken  one  of 
the  outside  rooms  for  his  bedroom,  and  the  other  for  his 


ESTHER  HAPPY  121 

study.  The  study  ended  at  the  party-wall,  a  very  thick  one. 
The  window  opening  on  the  Rue  des  Moineaux  looked  on  a 
blank  wall  at  the  opposite  corner.  As  this  study  was  divided 
from  the  stairs  by  the  whole  width  of  Peyrade's  bedroom, 
the  friends  feared  no  eye,  no  ear,  as  they  talked  business  in 
this  study  made  on  purpose  for  his  detestable  trade. 

Peyrade,  as  a  further  precaution,  had  furnished  Katt's 
room  with  a  thick  straw  bed,  a  felt  carpet,  and  a  very  heavy 
rug,  under  the  pretext  of  making  his  child's  nurse  comfort- 
able. He  had  also  stopped  up  the  chimney,  warming  his  room 
by  a  stove,  with  a  pipe  through  the  wall  to  the  Rue  Saint- 
Roch.  Finally,  he  laid  several  rugs  on  his  floor  to  prevent 
the  slightest  sound  being  heard  by  the  neighbors  beneath.  An 
expert  himself  in  the  tricks  of  spies,  he  sounded  the  outer 
wall,  the  ceiling,  and  the  floor  once  a  week,  examining  them 
as  if  he  were  in  search  of  noxious  insects.  It  was  the  security 
of  this  room  from  all  witnesses  or  listeners  that  had  made 
Corentin  select  it  as  his  council-chamber  when  he  did  not 
hold  a  meeting  in  his  own  room. 

Where  Corentin  lived  was  known,  to  no  one  but  the  Chief -^^ 
of  the  Superior  Police  and  to  Peyrade ;  he  received  there  such 
personages  as  the  Ministry  or  the  King  selected  to  conduct 
very  serious  cases;  but  no  agent  or  subordinate  ever  went 
there,  and  he  plotted  everything  connected  with  their  busi- 
ness at  Peyrade's.  In  this  unpretentious  room  schemes  were 
matured,  and  resolutions  passed,  which  would  have  furnished 
strange  records  and  curious  dramas  if  only  walls  could  talk. 
Between  1816  and  1826  the  highest  interests  were  discussed 
there.  There  first  germinated  the  events  which  grew  to  weigh 
on  France.  There  Peyrade  and  Corentin,  with  all  the  fore- 
sight, and  more  than  all  the  information  of  Bellart,  the  At- 
torney-General, had  said  even  in  1819:  "If  Louis  XVIII. 
does  not  consent  to  strike  such  or  such  a  blow,  to  make  away 
with  such  or  such  a  prince,  is  it  because  he  hates  his  brother  ? 
He  must  wish  to  leave  him  heir  to  a  revolution." 

Peyrade's  door  was  graced  with  a  slate,  on  which  very 
strange  marks  might  sometimes  be  seen,  figures  scrawled  in 


122  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

chalk.  This  sort  of  devil's  algebra  bore  the  clearest  mean- 
ing to  the  initiated. 

Lydie's  rooms,  opposite  to  Peyrade's  shabby  lodging,  con- 
sisted of  an  ante-room,  a  little  drawing-room,  a  bedroom,  and 
a  small  dressing-room.  The  door,  like  that  of  Peyrade's 
room,  was  constructed  of  a  plate  of  sheet-iron  three  lines 
thick,  sandwiched  between  two  strong  oak  planks,  fitted  with 
locks  and  elaborate  hinges,  making  it  as  impossible  to  force 
it  as  if  it  were  a  prison  door.  Thus,  though  the  house  had 
a  public  passage  through  it,  with  a  shop  below  and  no  door- 
keeper, Lydie  lived  there  without  a  fear.  The  dining-room, 
the  little  drawing-room,  and  her  bedroom — every  window- 
balcony  a  hanging  garden — were  luxurious  in  their  Dutch 
cleanliness. 

The  Flemish  nurse  had  never  left  Lydie,  whom  she  called 
her  daughter.  The  two  went  to  church  with  a  regularity 
that  gave  the  roj^alist  grocer,  who  lived  below,  in  the  corner 
shop,  an  excellent  opinion  of  the  worthy  Canquoelle.  The 
grocer's  family,  kitchen,  and  counter-jumpers  occupied  the 
first  floor  and  the  entresol;  the  landlord  inhabited  the  second 
floor;  and  the  third  had  been  let  for  twenty  3'ears  past  to  a 
lapidary.  Each  resident  had  a  key  of  the  street  door.  The 
grocer's  wife  was  all  the  more  willing  to  receive  letters  and 
parcels  addressed  to  these  three  quiet  households,  because  the 
grocer's  shop  had  a  letter-box. 

Without  these  details,  strangers,  or  even  those  M'ho  know 
Paris  well,  could  not  have  understood  the  privacy  and 
quietude,  the  isolation  and  safety  which  made  this  house  ex- 
ceptional in  Paris.  After  midnight,  Pere  Canquoelle  could 
hatch  plots,  receive  spies  or  ministers,  wives  or  hussies,  with- 
out any  one  on  earth  knowing  anything  about  it. 

Peyrade,  of  whom  the  Flemish  woman  would  say  to  the 
grocer's  cook,  "He  would  not  hurt  a  fly !"  was  regarded  as 
the  best  of  men.  He  grudged  his  daughter  nothing.  Lydie, 
who  had  been  taught  music  by  Schmucke,  was  herself  a 
musician  capable  of  composing;  she  could  wash  in  a  sepia 
drawing,  and  paint  in  gouache  and  water-color.     Every  Sun- 


ESTHER  HAPPY  123 

day  Peyrade  dined  at  home  with.  her.  On  that  day  this 
worthy  was  wholly  paternal. 

Lydie,  religious  but  not  a  bigot,  took  the  Sacrament  at 
Easter,  and  confessed  every  month.  Still,  she  allowed  her- 
self from  time  to  time  to  be  treated  to  the  play.  She  walked 
in  the  Tuileries  when  it  was  fine.  These  were  all  her 
pleasures,  for  she  led  a  sedentary  life.  Lydie,  who  wor- 
shiped her  father,  knew  absolutely  nothing  of  his  sinister 
gifts  and  dark  employments.  Not  a  wish  had  ever  disturbed 
this  pure  child's  pure  life.  Slight  and  handsome  like  her 
mother,  gifted  with  an  exquisite  voice,  and  a  delicate  face 
framed  in  fine  tair  hair,  she  looked  like  one  of  those  angels, 
mystical  rather  than  real,  which  some  of  the  early  painters 
grouped  in  the  background  of  the  Holy  Family.  The  glance 
of  her  blue  eyes  seemed  to  bring  a  beam  from  the  sky  on  those 
she  favored  with  a  look.  Her  dress,  quite  simple,  with  no  ex- 
aggeration of  fashion,  had  a  delightful  middle-class  modesty. 
Picture  to  yourself  an  old  Satan  as  the  father  of  an  angel. 
and  purified  in  her  divine  presence,  and  you  will  have  an 
idea  of  Peyrade  and  his  daughter.  If  anybody  had  soiled 
this  jewel,  her  father  would  have  invented,  to  swallow  him 
p.live,  one  of  those  dreadful  plots  in  which,  under  the  Eestora- 
tion,  the  unhappy  wretches  were  trapped  who  were  designate 
to  die  on  the  scaffold.  A  thousand  crowns  were  ample  main- 
tenance for  Lydie  and  Katt,  whom  she  called  nurse. 

As  Peyrade  turned  into  the  Rue  des  Moineaux,  he  saw  Con- 
tenson ;  he  outstripped  him,  went  upstairs  before  him,  heard 
the  man's  steps  on  the  stairs,  and  admitted  him  before  the 
woman  had  put  her  nose  out  of  the  kitchen  door.  A  bell 
rung  by  the  opening  of  a  glass  door,  on  the  third  story  v,'hei'e 
the  lapidary  lived,  warned  the  residents  on  that  and  the  fourth 
floors  when  a  visitor  was  coming  to  them.  It  need  hardly 
be  said  that,  after  midnight,  Peyrade  muffled  this  bell. 

"^'^hat  is  up  in  such  a  hurry.  Philosopher?" 

Philosopher  was  the  nickname  bestowed  on  Contenson  bv 
Peyrade,  and  well  merited  by  this  Epictetus  among  police 
agents.  The  name  of  Contenson,  alas!  hid  one  of  the  most 
ancient  names  of  feudal  Normandy. 


124  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Well,  there  is  something  like  ten  thousand  francs  to  be 
netted." 

"What  is  it  ?     Political  ?" 

"No,  a  piece  of  idiotcy.  Baron  de  Xucingen,  you  know, 
the  old  certified  swindler,  is  neighing  after  a  woman  he  saw 
in  the  Bois  de  Vincennes,  and  she  has  got  to  be  found,  or  he 
will  die  of  love. — They  had  a  consultation  of  doctors  yester- 
day, by  what  his  man  tells  me. — I  have  already  eased  him  of 
a  thousand  francs  under  pretence  of  seeking  the  fair  one." 

And  Contenson  related  Xucingen's  meeting  with  Esther, 
adding  that  the  Baron  had  now  some  further  information. 

"All  right,"  said  Peyrade,  "we  will  find  his  Dulcinea;  tell 
the  Baron  to  come  to-night  in  a  carriage  to  the  Champs- 
Elysees — the  corner  of  the  Avenue  de  Gabriel  and  the  Allee 
de  Marigny." 

Peyrade  saw  Contenson  out,  and  knocked  at  his  daughter's 
rooms,  as  he  always  knocked  to  be  let  in.  He  was  full  of 
glee;  chance  had  just  offered  the  means,  at  last,  of  getting 
the  place  he  longed  for. 

He  flung  himself  into  a  deep  armchair,  after  kissing  Lydie 
on  the  forehead,  and  said: 

"Play  me  something." 

Lydie  played  him  a  composition  for  the  piano  by  Beethoven. 

"That  is  very  well  played,  my  pet,"  said  he,  taking  Lydie 
on  his  knees.  "Do  you  know  that  we  are  one-and-twenty  years 
old?  We  must  get  married  soon,  for  our  old  daddy  is  more 
than  seventy " 

"I  am  quite  happy  here,"  said  she. 

"You  love  no  one  but  your  ugly  old  father?"  asked  Pey- 
rade. 

"Why,  whom  should  I  love?" 

"I  am  dining  at  home,  my  darling;  go  and  tell  Katt.  I 
am  thinking  of  settling,  of  getting  an  appointment,  and  find- 
ing a  husband  worthy  of  you ;  some  good  young  man,  very 
clever,  whom  you  may  some  day  be  proud  of " 

"I  have  never  seen  but  one  yet  that  I  should  have  liked 
for  a  husband " 


\A  v*^ 


C-  ESTHER  HAPPY  125 

"You  have  seen  one  then  ?" 

"Yes,  in  the  Tuileries,"  replied  Lydie.  "He  walked  past 
me;  he  was  giving  his  arm  to  the  Comtesse  de  Serizy." 

"And  his  name  is?" 

"Lueien  de  Eubempre. — I  was  sitting  with  Katt  under  a 
lime-tree,  thinking  of  nothing.  There  were  two  ladies  sitting 
by  me,  and  one  said  to  the  other,  'There  are  Madame  de  Serizy 
and  that  handsome  Lueien  de  Eubempre.' — I  looked  at  the 
couple  the  two  ladies  were  watching.  'Oh,  my  dear !'  said  the 
other,  'some  women  are  very  lucky !  That  woman  is  allowed 
to  do  everything  she  pleases  just  because  she  was  a  de 
Eonquerolles,  and  her  husband  is  in  power.' — 'But,  my  dear,' 
said  the  other  lady,  'Lueien  costs  her  very  dear.' — What  did 
she  mean,  papa?" 

"Just  nonsense,  such  as  people  of  fashion  will  talk,"  replied 
Peyrade,  with  an  air  of  perfect  candor.  "Perhaps  they  were 
alluding  to  political  matters." 

"Well,  in  short,  you  asked  me  a  question,  so  I  answer  you. 
If  you  want  me  to  marry,  find  me  a  husband  just  like  that 
young  man." 

"Silly  child !"  replied  her  father.  "The  fact  that  a  man 
is  handsome  is  not  always  a  sign  of  goodness.  Young  men 
gifted  with  an  attractive  appearance  meet  with  no  obstacles 
at  the  beginning  of  life,  so  they  make  no  use  of  any  talent; 
they  are  corrupted  by  the  advances  made  to  them  by  society, 
and  they  have  to  pay  interest  later  for  their  attractiveness !  ^ 
— What  I  should  like  for  you  is  what  the  middle  classes,  the 
rich,  and  the  fools  loave  unholpen  and  unprotected " 

"What,  father?" 

"An  unrecognized  man  of  talent.  But,  there,  child;  I 
have  it  in  my  power  to  hunt  through  every  garret  in  Paris, 
and  carry  out  your  programme  by  offering  for  your  affection 
a  man  as  handsome  as  the  young  scamp  you  speak  of;  but 
a  man  of  promise,  with  a  future  before  him  destined  to  glory 
and  fortune. — By  the  way,  I  was  forgetting.  I  must  have  a 
whole  flock  of  nephews,  and  among  them  there  must  be  one 


126  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

worthy  of  you ! — I  will  write,  or  get  some  one  to  write  to 
Provence." 

A  strange  coincidence !  At  this  moment  a  young  man, 
half-dead  of  hunger  and  fatigue,  who  had  come  on  foot  from 
the  department  of  Vaucluse — a  nephew  of  Pere  Canquoelle's, 
in  search  of  his  uncle,  was  entering  Paris  through  the  Bar- 
riere  de  I'ltalie.  In  the  day-dreams  of  the  family,  ignorant 
of  this  uncle's  fate,  Peyrade  had  supplied  the  text  for  many 
hopes;  he  was  supposed  to  have  returned  from  India  with 
millions !  Stimulated  by  these  fireside  romances,  this  grand- 
nephew,  named  Theodore,  had  started  on  a  voyage  round  the 
world  in  quest  of  this  eccentric  uncle. 

After  enjoying  for  some  hours  the  joys  of  paternity,  Pey- 
rade, his  hair  washed  and  dyed — for  his  powder  was  a  disguise 
— dressed  in  a  stout,  coarse,  blue  frock-coat  buttoned  up  to 
the  chin,  and  a  black  cloak,  shod  in  strong,  thick-soled  boots, 
furnished  himself  with  a  private  card  and  walked  slowly 
along  the  Avenue  Gabriel,  where  Contenson,  dressed  as  an  old 
costermonger  woman,  met  him  in  front  of  the  gardens  of 
the  Elysee-Bourbon. 

"Monsieur  de  Saint-Germain,"  said  Contenson,  giving  his 
old  chief  the  name  he  was  officially  known  by,  "you  have  put 
me  in  the  way  of  making  five  hundred  pieces  (francs)  ;  but 
what  I  came  here  for  was  to  tell  you  that  that  damned  Baron, 
before  he  gave  me  the  shiners,  had  been  to  ask  questions 
at  the  house  (the  Prefecture  of  Police)." 

"I  shall  want  you,  no  doubt,"  replied  Peyrade.  "Look  up 
numbers  7,  10,  and  21;  we  can  employ  those  men  without 
any  one  finding  it  out,  either  at  the  Police  Ministry  or  at 
the  Prefecture." 

Contenson  went  back  to  a  post  near  the  carriage  in  which 
Monsieur  de  Nucingen  was  waiting  for  Peyrade. 

"I  am  Monsieur  de  Saint-Germain,"  said  Peyrade  to  the 
Baron,  raising  himself  to  look  over  the  carriage  door. 

"Ver'  goot;  get  in  mit  me,"  replied  the  Baron,  ordering 
the  coachman  to  go  on  slowly  to  the  Arc  de  I'fitoile. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  127 

'Ton  have  been  to  the  Prefecture  of  Police,  Monsieur  le 
Baron?  That  was  not  fair.  Might  I  ask  what  you  said  to 
M.  le  Pref et,  and  what  he  said  in  reply  ?"  asked  Peyrade. 

"Before  I  should  gif  fife  hundert  francs  to  a  filain  like 
Contenson,  I  vant  to  know  if  he  had  earned  dein.  I  simply 
said  to  the  Prefet  of  Police  dat  I  vant  to  employ  ein  agent 
name  Peyrate  to  go  abroat  in  a  delicate  matter,  an'  should  I 
trust  him — unlimited ! — The  Prefet  telt  me  you  vas  a  very 
defer  man  an'  ver'  honest  man.     An'  dat  vas  everyting." 

"And  now  that  you  have  learned  my  true  name,  IMonsieur 
le  Baron,  will  you  tell  me  what  it  is  you  want?" 

When  the  Baron  had  given  a  long  and  copious  explanation, 
in  his  hideous  Polish-Jew  dialect,  of  his  meeting  with  Esther 
and  the  cry  of  the  man  behind  the  carriage,  and  his  vain 
efforts,  he  ended  by  relating  what  had  occurred  at  his  house 
the  night  before,  Lucien's  involuntary  smile,  and  the  opinion 
expressed  by  Bianchon  and  some  other  young  dandies  that 
there  must  be  some  acquaintance  between  him  and  the  un- 
known fair. 

"Listen  to  me.  Monsieur  le  Baron;  you  must,  in  the  first 
instance,  place  ten  thousand  francs  in  my  hands,  on  account 
for  expenses:  for,  to  you,  this  is  a  matter  of  life  or  death; 
and  as  your  life  is  a  business-manufactory,  nothing  must  be 
left  undone  to  find  this  woman  for  you.  Oh,  you  are  ^ 
caught! "  v^^ 

"Ja,  I  am  caught !"  ^ 

"If  more  money  is  wanted.  Baron,  I  will  let  you  know; 
put  your  trust  in  me,"  said  Peyrade.  "I  am  not  a  spy,  as 
you  perhaps  imagine.  In  1807  I  was  Commissioner-General 
of  Police  at  Antwerp;  and  now  that  Louis  XVIII.  is  dead,  I 
may  tell  you  in  confidence  that  for  seven  years  I  was  the 
chief  of  his  counter-police.  So  there  is  no  beating  me  down. 
You  must  understand,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  that  it  is  impossible 
to  make  any  estimate  of  the  cost  of  each  man's  conscience 
before  going  into  the  details  of  such  an  affair.  Be  quite  easy; 
I  shall  succeed.  Do  not  fancy  that  you  can  satisfy  me  with 
a  sum  of  money :  I  want  something  else  for  my  reward " 

"So  long  as  dat  is  not  a  kiugtom  !"'  said  the  Baron. 


128  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"It  is  less  than  nothing  to  you." 

"Den  I  am  your  man." 
/   J     "You  know  the  Kellers  ?" 
y      "Oh !  ver'  well." 

L"  "Francois  Keller  is  the  Comte  de  Gondreville's  son-in-law, 
and  the  Comte  de  Gondreville  and  his  son-in-law  dined  with 
you  yesterday." 
-^  "Who  der  teufel  tolt  you  dat?"  cried  the  Baron.  "Dat 
*^  vill  be  Georche;  he  is  alvays  a  gossip."  Peyrade  smiled, 
and  the  banker  at  once  formed  strange  suspicions  of  his  man- 
servant. 

"The  Comte  de  Gondreville  is  quite  in  a  position  to  obtain 
me  a  place  I  covet  at  the  Prefecture  of  Police;  within  forty- 
eight  hours  the  prefet  will  have  notice  that  such  a  place  is  to 
be  created,"  said  Peyrade  in  continuation.  "Ask  for  it  for 
me;  get  the  Comte  de  Gondreville  to  interest  himself  in  the 
matter  with  some  degree  of  warmth — and  you  will  thus  repay 
me  for  the  service  I  am  about  to  do  you.  I  ask  your  word 
only;  for,  if  you  fail  me,  sooner  or  later  you  will  curse  the 
day  you  were  born — you  have  Peyrade's  word  for  that." 

"I  gif  you  mein  vort  of  honor  to  do  vat  is  possible."' 

"If  I  do  no  more  for  you  than  is  possible,  it  will  not  be 
enough." 

"Veil,  veil,  I  vill  act  qvite  frankly." 

"Frankly — that  is  all  I  ask,"  said  Peyrade,  "and  frankness 
is  the  only  thing  at  all  new  that  you  and  I  can  offer  to  each 
other." 

"Franklv,"  echoed  the  Baron.  "Vere  shall  I  put  you 
down." 

"At  the  corner  of  the  Pont  Louis  XVI." 

"To  the  Pont  de  la  Chambre,"  said  the  Baron  to  the  foot- 
man at  the  carriage  door. 

"Then  I  am  to  get  dat  unknown  person,"  said  the  Baron 
to  himself  as  he  drove  home. 

"What  a  queer  business !"  thought  Peyrade,  going  back  on 
foot  to  the  Palais-Eoyal,  where  he  intended  trying  to  multiply 
his  ten  thousand  francs  by  three,  to  make  a  little  fortune  for 


ESTHER  HAPPY  129 

Lydie.  "Here  am  I  required  to  look  into  the  private  con- 
cerns of  the  very  young  man  who  has  bewitched  my  little  girl 
by  a  glance.  He  is,  I  suppose,  one  of  those  men  who  have  an 
eye  for  a  woman,"  said  he  to  himself,  using  an  expression  of 
a  language  of  his  own,  in  which  his  observations,  or  Coren- 
tin's,  were  summed  up  in  words  that  were  anything  rather 
than  classical,  but,  for  that  very  reason,  energetic  and  pict- 
uresque. 

The  Baron  de  Nucingen,  when  he  went  in,  was  an  altered 
man;  he  astonished  his  household  and  his  wife  by  showing 
them  a  face  full  of  life  and  color,  so  cheerful  did  he  feel. 

''Our  shareholders  had  better  look  out  for  themselves,"  said 
du  Tillet  to  Eastignac. 

They  were  all  at  tea,  in  Delphine  de  Nucingen's  boudoir, 
having  come  in  from  the  opera. 

"Ja,"  said  the  Baron,  smiling;  "I  feel  ver'  much  dat  I 
shall  do  some  business." 

"Then  you  have  seen  the  fair  being?"  asked  Madame  de 
Nucingen. 

"No,''  said  he;  "I  have  only  hoped  to  see  her." 

"Do  men  ever  love  their  wives  so?"  cried  Madame  de 
Nucingen,  feeling,  or  affecting  to  feel,  a  little  jealous. 

"When  you  have  got  her,  you  must  ask  us  to  sup  with 
her,"  said  du  Tillet  to  the  Baron,  "for  I  am  very  curious 
to  study  the  creature  who  has  made  you  so  young  as  you 
are." 

"She  is  a  cheff-d'ceufre  of  creation !"  replied  the  old  banker. 

"He  will  be  swindled  like  a  boy,"  said  Eastignac  in  Del- 
phine's  ear. 

"Pooh !  he  makes  quite  enough  money  to " 

"To  give  a  little  back,  I  suppose,"  said  du  Tillet,  interrupt- 
ing the  Baroness. 

Nucingen  was  walking  up  and  down  the  room  as  if  his  legs 
had  the  fidgets. 

"Now  is  your  time  to  make  him  pay  your  fresh  debts,"  said 
Eastignac  in  the  Baroness'  ear. 

At  this  very  moment  Carlos  was  leaving  the  Eue  Taitbout 


130  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

full  of  hope;  he  had  been  there  to  give  some  last  advice  to 
Europe,  who  was  to  play  the  principal  part  in  the  farce  devised 
to  take  in  the  Baron  de  Xucingen.  He  was  acconpanied  as 
far  a5  the  Boulevard  by  Lucien,  who  was  not  at  all  easy  at 
finding  this  demon  so  perfectly  disguised  that  even  he  had 
only  recognized  him  by  his  voice. 

"Where  the  devil  did  you  find  a  handsomer  woman  than 
Esther?"  he  asked  his  evil  genius. 

"My  boy,  there  is  no  such  thing  to  be  found  in  Paris. 
Such  a  complexion  is  not  made  in  France.'" 

"I  assure  you,  I  am  still  quite  amazed.  Venus  Callipyge 
has  not  such  a  figure.  A  man  would  lose  his  soul  for  her. 
But  where  did  she  spring  from  ?" 

-  "She  was  the  handsomest  girl  in  London.  Drunk  with 
gin,  she  killed  her  lover  in  a  fit  of  jealousy.  The  lover  was 
a  wretch  of  whom  the  London  police  are  well  quit,  and  this 
woman  has  been  packed  off  to  Paris  for  a  time  to  let  the  matter 
blow  over.  The  hussy  was  well  brought  up — the  daughter  of 
a  clergATQan.  She  speaks  French  as  if  it  were  her  mother 
tongue.  She  does  not  know,  and  never  will  know,  why  she  is 
here.  She  was  told  that  if  you  took  a  fancy  to  her  she  might 
fleece  you  of  millions,  but  that  you  were  as  jealous  as  a  tiger, 
and  she  was  told  how  Esther  lived." 

'^But  supposing  Xucingen  should  prefer  her  to  Esther?" 

"Ah,  it  is  out  at  last !"  cried  Carlos.  "You  dread  now 
lest  what  dismayed  you  yesterday  should  not  take  place  after 
all !  Be  quite  easy.  That  fair  and  fair-haired  girl  has  blue 
eyes;  she  is  the  antipode.'^  of  the  beautiful  Jewe?s,  and  only 
such  eyes  as  Esther's  could  ever  stir  a  man  so  rotten  as  Xucin- 
gen.  What  the  devil !  you  could  not  hide  an  ugly  woman. 
When  this  puppet  has  played  her  part,  I  will  send  her  off  in 
safe  custody  to  Home  or  to  Madrid,  where  she  will  be  the 
rage." 

"If  we  have  her  only  for  a  short  time,"  said  Lucien,  "1 
will  go  back  to  her " 

"Go,  my  boy,  amuse  yourself.  You  will  be  a  day  older 
to-morrow.     For  my  part,  I  must  wait  for  some  one  whont  I 


ESTHER  HAPPY  131 

have  instructed  to  learn  what  is  going  on  at  the  Baron  de 
Nucingen's." 

"Who  n 

"His  valet's  mistress ;  for,  after  all,  we  must  keep  ourselves 
informed  at  every  moment  of  what  is  going  on  in  the  enemy's 
camp." 

At  midnight,  Paccard,  Esther's  tall  chasseur,  met  Carlos 
on  the  Pont  des  Arts,  the  most  favorable  spot  in  all  Paris 
for  saying  a  few  words  which  no  one  must  overhear.  All 
the  time  they  talked  the  servant  kept  an  eye  on  one  side,  while 
his  master  looked  out'  on  the  other. 

"The  Baron  went  to  the  Prefecture  of  Police  this  morn- 
ing between  four  and  five,"  said  the  man,  "and  he  boasted 
this  evening  that  he  should  find  the  woman  he  saw  in  the 
Bois  de  Vincennes — he  had  been  promised  it " 

"We  are  watched !"  said  Carlos.     "By  whom  ?" 

"They  have  already  emploj'-ed  Louchard  the  bailiff." 

"That  would  be  child's  play,"  replied  Carlos.  "We  need 
fear  nothing  but  the  guardians  of  public  safety,  the  criminal 
police ;  and  so  long  as  that  is  not  set  in  motion,  we  can 
go  on !" 

"That  is  not  all." 

"What  else?" 

"Our  chums  of  the  hulks. — I  saw  Lapouraille  yesterday 

He  has  choked  off  a  married  couple,  and  has  bagged  ten 
thousand  five-franc  pieces — in  gold." 

"He  will  be  nabbed,"  said  Jacques  Collin.  "That  is  the 
Rue  Boucher  crime." 

"What  is  the  order  of  the  day?"  said  Paccard,  with  the 
respectful  demeanor  a  marshal  must  have  assumed  when  tak- 
ing his  orders  from  Louis  XVIII. 

"You  must  get  out  every  evening  at  ten  o'clock,"  replied 
Herrera.  "Make  your  way  pretty  briskly  to  the  Bois  de 
Vincennes,  the  Bois  de  Meudon,  and  de  Ville-d'Avray.  If 
any  one  should  follow  you,  let  them  do  it ;  l)o  free  of  speech, 
chatty,  open  to  a  bribe.  Talk  about  Rubempre's  jealousy 
and  his  mad  passion  for  madame,  saying  that  he  would  not 


132  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

on  any  account  liave  it  known  that  he  had  a  mistress  of  that 
kind." 

"Enough. — Must  I  have  any  weapons?" 

"Never!''  exclaimed  Carlos  vehemently.  "A  weapon? 
Of  what  use  w^ould  that  be?  To  get  us  into  a  scrape.  Do 
not  under  any  circumstances  use  your  hunting-knife.  When 
you  know  that  you  can  break  the  strongest  man's  legs  by  the 
trick  I  showed  you — when  you  can  hold  your  own  against 
three  armed  warders,  feeling  quite  sure  that  you  can  account 
for  two  of  them  before  they  have  got  out  flint  and  steel,  what 
is  there  to  be  afraid  of?     Have  not  you  your  cane?" 

"To  be  sure,"  said  the  man. 

Paccard,  nicknamed  The  Old  Guard,  Old  Wide-Awake,  or 
The  Right  Man — a  man  with  legs  of  iron,  arms  of  steel, 
Italian  whiskers,  hair  like  an  artist's,  a  beard  like  a  sapper's, 
and  a  face  as  colorless  and  immovable  as  Contenson's,  kept 
his  spirit  to  himself,  and  rejoiced  in  a  sort  of  drum-major 
appearance  which  disarmed  suspicion.  A  fugitive  from 
Poissy  or  Melun  has  no  such  serious  self-consciousness  and 
belief  in  his  own  merit.  As  Giafar  to  the  Haroun  el  Rasheed 
of  the  hulks,  he  served  him  with  the  friendly  admiration 
which  Peyrade  felt  for  Corentin. 

This  huge  fellow,  with  a  small  body  in  proportion  to  his 
legs,  flat-chested,  and  lean  of  limb,  stalked  solemnly  about 
on  his  two  long  pins.  Whenever  liis  right  leg  moved,  his 
right  eye  took  in  everything  around  him  with  the  placid 
swiftness  peculiar  to  thieves  and  spies.  The  left  eye  followed 
the  right  eye's  example.  Wiry,  nimble,  ready  for  anything 
at  any  time,  but  for  a  weakness  for  Dutch  courage  Paccard 
would  have  been  perfect,  Jacques  Collin  used  to  say,  so  com- 
pletely was  he  endowed  with  the  talents  indispensable  to  a 
man  at  war  with  vsociety;  but  the  master  had  succeeded  in 
persuading  his  slave  to  drink  only  in  the  evening.  On  going 
home  at  night,  Paccard  tippled  the  liquid  gold  poured  into 
small  glasses  out  of  a  pot-bellied  stone  jar  from  Danzig. 

'^e  will  make  them  open  their  eyes,"  said  Paccard,  putting 
on  his  grand  hat  and  feathers  after  bowing  to  Carlos,  whom 
he  called  his  Confessor. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  133 

These  were  the  events  which  had  led  three  men,  so  clever, 
each  in  his  way,  as  Jacques  Collin,  Peyrade,  and  Corentin^  to 
a  hand-to-hand  fight  on  the  same  ground,  each  exerting  his 
talents  in  a  struggle  for  his  own  passions  or  interests.  It 
was  one  of  those  obscure  but  terrible  conflicts  on  which  are 
expended  in  marches  and  countermarches,  in  strategy,  skill, 
hatred,  and  vexation,  the  powers  that  might  make  a  fine  for- 
tune. Men  and  means  were  kept  absolutely  secret  by  Pey- 
rade, seconded  in  this  business  by  his  friend  Corentin — a 
business  they  thought  but  a  trifle.  And  so,  as  to  them, 
history  is  silent,  as  it  is  on  the  true  causes  of  many  revolu- 
tions. 

But  this  was  the  result. 

Five  days  after  Monsieur  de  Nucingen's  interview  with 
Peyrade  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  a  man  of  about  fifty  called 
in  the  morning,  stepping  out  of  a  handsome  cab,  and  flinging 
the  reins  to  his  servant.  He  had  the  dead-white  complexion 
which  a  life  in  the  "world"  gives  to  diplomates,  was  dressed 
in  blue  cloth,  and  had  a  general  air  of  fashion — almost  that 
of  a  Minister  of  State. 

He  inquired  of  the  servant  who  sat  on  a  bench  on  the  steps 
whether  the  Baron  de  Nucingen  were  at  home ;  and  the  man 
respectfully  threw  open  the  splendid  plate-glass  doors. 

'^our  name,  sir?"  said  the  footman. 

"Tell  the  Baron  that  I  have  come  from  the  Avenue  Gabriel," 
said  Corentin.  "If  anybody  is  with  him,  be  sure  not  to  say 
so  too  loud,  or  you  will  find  yourself  out  of  place !" 

A  minute  later  the  man  came  back  and  led  Corentin  by 
the  back  passages  to  the  Baron's  private  room. 

Corentin  and  the  banker  exchanged  impenetrable  glances, 
and  both  bowed  politely, 

"Monsieur  Ic  Baron,"  said  Corentin,  "I  come  in  the  name 
of  Peyrade " 

"Yer'  goot !"  said  the  Baron,  fastening  the  bolts  of  both 
doors. 

"Monsieur  de  Eubempre's  mistress  lives  in  the  Eue  Tait- 
bout,  in  the  apartment  formerly  occupied  by  Mademoiselle 


134  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

de  Bellefeuille,  M.  de  Granville's  ex-mistress — the  Attornev- 
General " 

"Vat,  so  near  to  me?"  exclaimed  the  Baron.  "Dat  is  ver* 
strange." 

"1  can  quite  understand  your  being  crazy  about  that 
splendid  creature ;  it  was  a  pleasure  to  me  to  look  at  her,'"  re- 
plied Corentin.  "Lucien  is  so  jealous  of  the  girl  that  he  never 
allows  her  to  be  seen;  and  she  loves  him  devotedly;  for  in 
four  years,  since  she  succeeded  la  Bellefeuille  in  those  rooms, 
inheriting  her  furniture  and  her  profession,  neither  the  neigh- 
bors, nor  the  porter,  nor  the  other  tenants  in  the  house  have 
ever  set  eyes  on  her.  My  lady  never  stirs  out  but  at  night. 
When  she  sets  out,  the  blinds  of  the  carriage  are  pulled 
down,  and  she  is  closely  veiled. 

"Lucien  has  other  reasons  besides  jealousy  for  concealing 
this  woman.  He  is  to  be  married  to  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu, 
and  he  is  at  this  moment  Madame  de  Serizy's  favorite  fancy. 
He  naturally  wishes  to  keep  a  hold  on  his  fashionable  mis- 
tress and  on  his  promised  bride.  So,  you  are  master  of  the 
position,  for  Lucien  will  sacrifice  his  pleasure  to  his  interests 
and  his  vanity.  You  are  rich;  this  is  probably  your  last 
chance  of  happiness;  be  liberal.  You  can  gain  your  end 
through  her  waiting-maid.  Give  the  slut  ten  thousand 
francs;  she  will  hide  you  in  her  mistress'  bedroom.  It  must 
be  quite  worth  that  to  you." 

No  figure  of  speech  could  describe  the  short,  precise  tone 
of  finality  in  which  Corentin  spoke ;  the  Baron  could  not  fail 
to  observe  it,  and  his  face  expressed  his  astonishment — an 
expression  he  had  long  since  expunged  from  his  impenetrable 
features. 

"I  have  also  to  ask  you  for  five  thousand  francs  for  my 
friend  Peyrade,  who  has  dropped  five  of  your  thousand-franc 
notes — a  tiresome  accident,"  Core'ntin  went  on,  in  a  lordly 
tone  of  command.  "Peyrade  knows  his  Paris  too  well  to 
spend  money  in  advertising,  and  he  trusts  entirely  to  you. 
But  this  is  not  the  most  important  point,"  added  Corentin, 
checking  himself  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  the  request  for 


ESTHER  HAPPY  135 

money  seem  quite  a  trifle.  "If  you  do  not  want  to  end  your 
days  miserably,  get  the  place  for  Peyrade  that  he  asked  you 
to  procure  for  him — and  it  is  a  thing  you  can  easily  do.  The 
Chief  of  the  General  Police  must  have  had  notice  of  the 
matter  yesterday.  All  that  is  needed  is  to  get  Gondreville 
to  speak  to  the  Prefet  of  Police. — Very  well,  just  say  to 
Malin,  Comte  de  Gondreville,  that  it  is  to  oblige  one  of  the 
men  who  relieved  him  of  MM.  de  Simeuse,  and  he  will  work 
it " 

"Here  den,  mensieur,"  said  the  Baron,  taking  out  five 
thousand-franc  notes  and  handing  them  to  Corentin. 

"The  waiting-maid  is  great  friends  with  a  tall  chasseur 
named  Paccard,  living  in  the  Eue  de  Provence,  over  a  car- 
riage-builder's;  he  goes  out  as  heyduque  to  persons  who  give 
themselves  princely  airs.  You  can  get  at  Madame  van  Bog- 
seck's  woman  through  Paccard,  a  brawny  Piemontese,  who 
has  a  liking  for  vermouth." 

This  information,  gracefully  thrown  in  as  a  postscript, 
was  evidently  the  return  for  the  five  thousand  francs.  The 
Baron  was  trying  to  guess  Corentin's  place  in  life,  for  he 
quite  understood  that  the  man  was  rather  a  master  of  spies 
than  a  spy  himself;  but  Corentin  remained  to  him  as  mys- 
terious as  an  inscription  is  to  an  archseologist  when  three- 
quarters  of  the  letters  are  missing. 

"Vat  is  dat  maid  called?"  he  asked. 

"Eugenie,"  replied  Corentin,  who  bowed  and  withdrew. 

The  Baron,  in  a  transport  of  joy,  left  his  business  for  the 
day,  shut  up  his  office,  and  went  up  to  his  rooms  in  the  happy 
frame  of  mind  of  a  young  man  of  twenty  looking  forward 
to  his  first  meeting  with  his  first  mistress. 

The  Baron  took  all  the  thousand-franc  notes  out  of  his 
private  cash-box — a  sum  sufficient  to  make  a  whole  villaare 
happy,  fifty-five  thousand  francs — and  stuffed  them  into  the 
pocket  of  his  coat.  But  a  millionaire's  lavishness  can  only 
be  compared  with  his  easrernpss  for  arain.  As  soon  as  a  whim 
or  a  passion  is  to  be  gratified,  money  is  dross  to  a  Croesus; 
in  fact,  he  finds  it  harder  to  have  whims  than  gold.     A 


136  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

keen  pleasure  is  the  rarest  thing  in  these  satiated  lives,  full 
of  the  excitement  that  comes  of  great  strokes  of  speculation, 
in  which  these  driecl-up  hearts  have  burned  themselves  out. 

For  instance,  one  of  the  richest  capitalists  in  Paris  one  day 
met  an  extremely  pretty  little  working-girl.  Her  mother 
was  with  her,  but  the  girl  had  taken  the  arm  of  a  young  fellow 
in  very  doubtful  finery,  with  a  very  smart  swagger.  The 
millionaire  fell  in  love  with  the  girl  at  first  sight;  he  fol- 
lowed her  home,  he  went  in;  he  heard  all  her  story,  a  record 
of  alternations  of  dancing  at  Mabille  and  days  of  starvation, 
of  play-going  and  hard  work;  he  took  an  interest  in  it,  and 
left  five  thousand-franc  notes  under  a  five-franc  piece — an 
act  of  generosity  abused.  Next  day  a  famous  upholsterer, 
Braschon,  came  to  take  the  damsel's  orders,  furnished  rooms 
that  she  had  chosen,  and  laid  out  twenty  thousand  francs. 
She  gave  herself  up  to  the  wildest  hopes,  dressed  her  mother 
to  match,  and  flattered  herself  she  would  find  a  place  for  her 
ex-lover  in  an  insurance  office.  She  waited — a  day,  two  days 
— then  a  week,  two  weeks.  She  thought  herself  bound  to  be 
faithful;  she  got  into  debt.  The  capitalist,  called  away  to 
Holland,  had  forgotten  the  girl;  he  never  went  once  to  the 
Paradise  where  he  had  placed  her,  and  from  which  she  fell 
as  low  as  it  is  possible  to  fall  even  in  Paris. 

Nucingen  did  not  gamble,  Nucingen  did  not  patronize  the 
Arts,  Nucingen  had  no  hobby ;  thus  he  flung  himself  into  his 
passion  for  Esther  with  a  headlong  blindness,  on  which  Carlos 
Herrera  had  confidently  counted. 

After  his  breakfast,  the  Baron  sent  for  Georges,  his  body- 
servant,  and  desired  him  to  go  to  the  Eue  Taitbout  and  ask 
Mademoiselle  Eugenie,  Madame  van  Bogseck's  maid,  to  come 
to  his  office  on  a  matter  of  importance. 

'TTou  shall  look  out  for  her,"  he  added,  "an'  make  her 
valk  up  to  my  room,  and  tell  her  I  shall  make  her  fortune." 

Georges  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  persuading  Europe- 
Eugenie  to  come. 

"Madame  never  lets  me  go  out,"  said  she;  'T^  might  lose 
my  place,"  and  so  forth ;  and  Georges  sang  her  praises  loudly 
to  the  Baron,  who  gave  him  ten  louis. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  137 

"If  madame  goes  out  without  her  this  evening,"  said 
Georges  to  his  master,  whose  eyes  glowed  like  carbuncles,  "she 
will  be  here  by  ten  o'clock." 

"Goot.  You  shall  come  to  dress  me  at  nine  o'clock — and 
do  my  hair.  I  shall  look  so  goot  as  possible.  I  belief  I  shall 
really  see  dat  mistress — or  money  is  not  money  any  more." 

The  Baron  spent  an  hour,  from  noon  till  one,  in  dyeing  his 
hair  and  whiskers.  At  nine  in  the  evening,  having  taken  a 
bath  before  dinner,  he  made  a  toilet  worthy  of  a  bridegroom 
and  scented  himself — a  perfect  Adonis.  Madame  de  Nucin- 
gen,  informed  of  this  metamorphosis,  gave  herself  the  treat 
of  inspecting  her  husband. 

"Good  heavens  !"  cried  she,  "what  a  ridiculous  figure !  Do, 
at  least,  put  on  a  black  satin  stock  instead  of  that  white  neck- 
cloth which  makes  your  whiskers  look  so  black;  besides,  it  is 
so  'Empire,'  quite  the  old  fogy.  You  look  like  some  super- 
annuated parliamentary  counsel.  And  take  off  these  dia- 
mond buttons;  they  are  worth  a  hundred  thousand  francs 
apiece — that  slut  will  ask  you  for  them,  and  you  will  not  be 
able  to  refuse  her;  and  if  a  baggage  is  to  have  them,  I  may 
as  well  wear  them  as  earrings." 

The  unhappy  banker,  struck  by  the  wisdom  of  his  wife's 
reflections,  obeyed  reluctantly. 

"Eidikilous,  ridikilous !  I  hafe  never  telt  you  dat  you 
shall  be  ridikilous  when  you  dressed  yourself  so  smart  to  see 
your  little  Mensieur  de  Eastignac !" 

"I  should  hope  that  you  never  saw  me  make  myself 
ridiculous.  Am  I  the  woman  to  make  such  blunders  in  the 
first  syllable  of  my  dress?  Come,  turn  about.  Button  your 
coat  up  to  the  neck,  all  but  the  two  top  buttons,  as  the  Due 
de  Maufrigneuse  does.     In  short,  try  to  look  young." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Georges,  "here  is  Mademoiselle  Eugenie." 

"Adie,  motame,"  said  the  banker,  and  he  escorted  his  wife 
as  far  as  her  own  rooms,  to  make  sure  that  she  should  not 
overhear  their  conference. 

On  his  return,  he  took  Europe  by  the  hand  and  led  her 
into  his  room  with  a  sort  of  ironical  respect. 


188  A    COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Veil,  my  chili,  you  are  a  happy  creature,  for  you  are  de 
maid  of  dat  mc  t  besutiful  voman  in  de  vorlt.  And  your 
fortune  shall  be  made  if  you  vill  talk  to  her  for  me  and  in 
mine  interests." 

"I  would  not  do  such  a  thing  for  ten  thousand  francs !" 
exclaimed  Europe.  "I  would  have  you  to  know,  Monsieur  le 
Baron,  that  I  am  an  honest  girl." 

"Oh  yes.  I  expect  to  pay  dear  for  your  honesty.  In 
business  dat  is  vat  ve  call  curiosity." 

"And  that  it  not  everything,"  Europe  went  on.  "If  you 
should  not  take  madame's  fancy — and  that  is  on  the  cards — 
she  would  be  angry,  and  I  am  done  for ! — and  my  place  is 
worth  a  thousand  francs  a  year." 

"De  capital  to  make  ein  tousant  franc  is  twenty  tousand 
franc ;  and  if  I  shall  gif  you  dat,  you  shall  not  lose  noting." 

"Well,  to  be  sure,  if  that  is  the  tone  you  take  about  it, 
my  worthy  old  fellow,"  said  Europe,  "that  is  quite  another 
story. — Where  is  the  money?" 

"Here,"  replied  the  Baron,  holding  up  the  banknotes,  one 
at  a  time. 

He  noted  the  flash  struck  by  each  in  turn  from  Europe's 
eyes,  betraying  the  greed  he  had  counted  on. 

"That  pays  for  my  place,  but  how  about  my  principles,  my 
conscience?"  said  Europe,  cocking  her  crafty  little  nose  and 
giving  the  Baron  a  serio-comic  leer. 

"Your  conscience  shall  not  be  pait  for  so  much  as  your 
place ;  but  I  shall  say  flfe  tousand  franc  more,"  said  he. 
adding  five  thousand-franc  notes. 

"j^o,  no.  Twenty  thousand  for  my  conscience,  and  five 
thousand  for  my  place  if  I  lose  it " 

"Yust  vat  you  please,"  said  he,  adding  the  five  notes.  "But 
to  earn  dem  you  shall  hite  me  in  your  lady's  room  by  night 
ven  she  shall  be  'lone." 

"If  you  swear  never  to  tell  who  let  you  in,  I  agree.  But 
I  warn  you  of  one  thing. — Madame  is  as  strong  as  a  Turk, 
she  is  madly  in  love  with  Monsieur  de  Eubempre,  and  if  you 
paid  a  million  francs  in  banknotes  she  would  never  be  un- 


ESTHER  HAPPY  139 

faithful  to  him.  It  is  very  silly,  but  that  is  her  way  when 
she  is  in  love;  she  is  worse  than  an  honest  woman,  I  tell 
you !  When  she  goes  out  for  a  drive  in  the  woods  at  night, 
monsieur  very  seldom  stays  at  home.  She  is  gone  out  this 
evening,  so  I  can  hide  you  in  my  room.  If  madame  comes 
in  alone,  I  will  fetch  you ;  you  can  wait  in  the  drawing-room. 
I  will  not  lock  the  door  into  her  room,  and  then — well,  the 
rest  is  your  concern — so  be  ready." 

"I  shall  pay  you  the  twenty-fife  tousand  francs  in  dat  draw- 
ing-room.— You  gife — I  gife  !" 

"Indeed !"  said  Europe,  "you  are  so  confiding  as  all  that  ? 
On  my  word !" 

"Oh,  you  will  hafe  your  chance  to  fleece  me  yet.  We  shall 
be  friends." 

"Well,  then,  be  in  the  Rue  Taitbout  at  midnight;  but 
bring  thirty  thousand  francs  about  you.  A  waiting-woman's 
honesty,  like  a  hackney  cab,  is  much  dearer  after  midnight." 

"It  shall  be  more  prudent  if  I  gif  you  a  cheque  on  my 
bank " 

"No,  no,"  said  Europe.     "Notes,  or  the  bargain  is  off." 

So  at  one  in  the  morning  the  Baron  de  Nucingen,  hidden 
in  the  garret  where  Europe  slept,  was  suffering  all  the 
anxieties  of  a  man  who  hopes  to  triumph.  His  blood  seemed 
to  him  to  be  tingling  in  his  toe-nails,  and  his  head  ready  to 
burst  like  an  overheated  steam  engine. 

"I  had  more  dan  one  hundert  tousand  crowns'  vort  of  en- 
joyment— in  my  mind,"  said  he  to  du  Tillet  when  telling  him 
the  story. 

He  listened  to  every  little  noise  in  the  street,  and  at  two 
in  the  morning  he  heard  his  mistress'  carriage  far  away  on 
the  boulevard.  His  heart  beat  vehemently  under  his  silk 
waistcoat  as  the  gate  turned  on  its  hinges.  He  was  about  to 
behold  the  heavenly,  the  glowing  face  of  his  Esther ! — the 
clatter  of  the  carriage-step  and  the  slam  of  the  door  struck 
upon  his  heart.  He  was  more  agitated  in  expectation  of 
this  supreme  moment  than  he  would  have  been  if  his  fortune 
had  been  at  stake. 


140  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Ah,  ha!"  cried  he,  "dis  is  vat  I  call  to  lif — it  is  too 
much  to  lif;  I  shall  be  incapable  of  everything." 

'"Madame  is  alone;  come  down,"  said  Europe,  looking  in. 
"Above  all,  make  no  noise,  great  elephant." 

"Great  Elephant !"  he  repeated,  laughing,  and  walking  as 
if  he  trod  on  red-hot  iron. 

Europe  led  the  way,  carrying  a  candle. 

"Here — count  dem!"  said  the  Baron  when  he  reached  the 
drawing-room,  holding  out  the  notes  to  Europe. 

Europe  took  the  thirty  notes  very  gravely  and  left  the 
room,  locking  the  banker  in. 

Nucingen  went  straight  to  the  bedroom,  where  he  found 
the  handsome  Englishwoman. 

"Is  that  you,  Lucien?"  said  she. 

"Nein,  my  peauty,"  said  Nucingen,  but  he  said  no  more. 

He  stood  speechless  on  seeing  a  woman  the  very  antipodes 
to  Esther;  fair  hair  where  he  had  seen  black,  slenderness 
where  he  had  admired  a  powerful  frame !  A  soft  English 
evening  where  he  had  looked  for  the  bright  sun  of  Arabia. 

"Heyday !  were  have  you  come  from  ? — who  are  you  ? — 
what  do  you  want?"  cried  the  Englishwoman,  pulling  the 
bell,  which  made  no  sound. 

"The  bells  dey  are  in  cotton-vool,  but  hafe  not  any  fear 
— I  shall  go  'vay,"  said  he.  "Dat  is  dirty  tousant  franc  T 
hafe  tron  in  de  vater.  Are  you  dat  mistress  of  Mensieur 
Lucien  de  Eubempre?" 

"Eather,  my  son,"  said  the  lady,  who  spoke  French  well. 
"But  vat  vas  you?"  she  went  on,  mimicking  Nucingen's  ac- 
cent. 

"Ein  man  vat  is  ver'  much  took  in,"  replied  he  lamentably. 

"Is  a  man  took  in  ven  he  finds  a  pretty  voman  ?"  asked  she, 
with  a  laugh. 

"Permit  me  to  sent  you  to-morrow  some  chewels  as  a 
soufenir  of  de  Baron  von  Nucingen." 

"Don't  know  him  !"  said  she,  laughing  like  a  crazy  creature. 
"But  the  chewels  will  be  welcome,  my  fat  burglar  friend." 

"You  shall   know  him.     Goot  night,  motame.     You  are 


Europe  led  the  way,  carryiug  a  caudle 


ESTHER  HAPPY  141 

a  tidbit  for  ein  king.;  but  I  am  only  a  poor  banker  more  dan 
sixty  year  olt,  and  you  hafe  make  me  feel  vat  power  the 
voman  I  lofe  hafe  ofer  me  since  your  difine  beauty  hafe  not 
make  me  forget  her." 

"Veil,  dat  is  ver'  pretty  vat  you  say,"  replied  the  English- 
woman. 

"It  is  not  so  pretty  vat  she  is  dat  I  say  it  to." 

"You  spoke  of  thirty  thousand  francs — to  whom  did  you 
give  them?" 

"To  dat  hussy,  your  maid " 

The  Englishwoman  called  Europe,  who  was  not  far  off. 

"Oh!"  shrieked  Europe,  "a  man  in  madame's  room,  and 
he  is  not  monsieur — how  shocking !" 

"Did  he  give  you  thirty  thousand  francs  to  let  him  in?" 

"JSTo,  madame,  for  we  are  not  worth  it,  the  pair  of  us." 

And  Europe  set  to  screaming  "Thief"  so  determinedly,  that 
the  banker  made  for  the  door  in  a  fright,  and  Europe, 
tripping  him  up,  rolled  him  down  the  stairs. 

"Old  wretch !"  cried  she,  "you  would  tell  tales  to  my  mis- 
tress !     Thief !  thief !  stop  thief  !" 

The  enamored  Baron,  in  despair,  succeeded  in  getting 
unhurt  to  his  carriage,  which  he  had  left  on  the  boulevard ; 
but  he  was  now  at  his  wits'  end  as  to  whom  to  apply  to. 

"And  pray,  madame,  did  you  think  to  get  my  earnings  out 
of  me?"  said  Europe,  coming  back  like  a  fury  to  the  lady's 
room. 

"I  know  nothing  of  French  customs,"  said  the  English- 
woman. 

"But  one  word  from  me  to-morrow  to  monsieur,  and  you, 
madame,  would  find  yourself  in  the  streets,"  retorted  Europe 
insolently. 

"Dat  dam'  maid  !"  said  the  Baron  to  Georges,  who  naturally 
asked  his  master  if  all  had  gone  well,  "hafe  do  me  out  of 
dirty  tousant  franc — but  it  vas  my  own  fault,  my  own  great 
fault " 

"And  so  monsieur's  dress  was  all  wasted.  The  deuce  is 
in  it,  I  should  advise  you.  Monsieur  le  Baron,  not  to  have 
taken  your  tonic  for  nothing " 


142  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Georches,  I  shall  be  dying  of  despair.  I  hafe  cold — I 
hafe  ice  on  mein  heart — no  more  of  Esther,  my  good  friend." 

Georges  was  always  the  Baron's  friend  when  matters  were 
serious. 

Two  days  after  this  scene,  which  Europe  related  far  more 
amusingly  than  it  can  be  written,  because  she  told  it  with 
much  mimicry,  Carlos  and  Lucien  were  breakfasting  tete- 
a-tete. 

"My  dear  boy,  neither  the  police  nor  anybody  else  must 
be  allowed  to  poke  a  nose  into  our  concerns,"  said  Herrera 
in  a  low  voice,  as  he  lighted  his  cigar  from  Lucien's.  "It 
would  not  agree  with  us.  I  have  hit  on  a  plan,  daring  but 
effectual,  to  keep  our  Baron  and  his  agents  quiet.  You  must 
go  to  see  Madame  de  Serizy,  and  make  yourself  very  agree- 
able to  her.  Tell  her,  in  the  course  of  conversation,  that  to 
oblige  Eastifrnac,  who  has  long  been  sick  of  Madame  de  Nucin- 
gen,  you  have  consented  to  play  fence  for  him  to  conceal  a 
mistress.  Monsieur  de  Nucingen,  desperately  in  love  with 
the  woman  Hastignac  keeps  hidden — that  will  make  her  laugh 
— has  taken  it  into  his  head  to  set  the  police  to  keep  an  eye 
on  you — on  you,  who  are  innocent  of  all  his  tricks,  and  whose 
interest  with  the  Grandlieus  may  be  seriously  compromised. 
Then  you  must  beg  the  Countess  to  secure  her  husband's 
support,  for  he  is  a  Minister  of  State,  to  carry  you  to  the 
Prefecture  of  Police. 

'•When  3'ou  have  got  there,  face  to  face  with  the  Prefet. 
make  your  complaint,  but  as  a  man  of  political  consequence, 
who  will  sooner  or  later  be  one  of  the  motor  powers  of  the 
huge  machine  of  government.  You  will  speak  of  the  police 
as  a  statesman  should,  admiring  everything,  the  Prefet  in- 
cluded. The  very  best  machines  make  oil-stains  or  splutter. 
Do  not  be  angr}^  till  the  right  moment.  You  have  no  sort  of 
grudge  against  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  but  persuade  Mm  to  kee]> 
a  sharp  lookout  on  his  people,  and  pity  him  for  having  to 
blow  ihem  up.  The  quieter  and  more  gentlemanly  you  are, 
the  more  terrible  will  the  Prefet  be  to  his  men.     Then  we 


ESTHER  HAPPY  143 

shall  be  left  in  peace,  and  we  may  send  for  Esther  back,  for 
she  must  be  belling  like  the  does  in  the  forest." 

The  Prefet  at  that  time  was  a  retired  magistrate.  Eetired 
magistrates  make  far  too  young  Prefets.  Partisans  of  the 
right,  riding  the  high  horse  on  points  of  law,  they  are  not 
light-handed  in  arbitary  action  such  as  critical  circumstances 
often  require ;  eases  in  which  the  Prefet  should  be  as  prompt 
as  a  fireman  called  to  a  conflagration.  So,  face  to  face  with 
the  Vice-President  of  the  Council  of  State,  the  Prefet  con- 
fessed to  more  faults  than  the  police  really  has,  deplored  its 
abuses,  and  presently  was  able  to  recollect  the  visit  paid  him 
by  the  Baron  de  Nucingen  and  his  inquiries  as  to  Peyrade. 
The  Prefet,  while  promising  to  check  the  rash  zeal  of  his 
agents,  thanked  Lucien  for  having  come  straight  to  him, 
promised  secrecy,  and  affected  to  understand  the  intrigue. 

A  few  fine  speeches  about  personal  liberty  and  the  sacred- 
ness  of  home  life  were  bandied  between  the  Prefet  and  the 
Minister;  Monsieur  de  Serizy  observing  in  conclusion  that 
though  the  high  interests  of  the  kingdom  sometimes  necessi- 
tated illegal  action  in  secret,  crime  began  when  these  State 
measures  were  applied  to  private  cases. 

Next  da}'',  just  as  Peyrade  was  going  to  his  beloved  Cafe 
David,  where  he  enjoyed  watching  the  bourgeois  eat,  as  an 
artist  watches  flowers  open,  a  gendarme  in  private  clothes 
spoke  to  him  in  the  street. 

"I  was  going  to  fetch  you,"  said  he  in  his  ear.  "I  have 
orders  to  take  you  to  the  Prefecture." 

Peyrade  called  a  hackney  cab,  and  got  in  without  saying 
a  single  word,  followed  by  the  gendarme. 

The  Prefet  treated  Peyrade  as  though  he  were  the  lowest 
warder  on  the  hulks,  walking  to  and  fro  in  a  side  path  of  the 
garden  of  the  Prefecture,  which  at  that  time  was  on  the  Quai 
des  Orfevres. 

'It  is  not  without  good  reason,  monsieur,  that  since  1830 
you  have  been  kept  out  of  office.  Do  not  you  know  to  what 
risk  you  expose  us,  not  to  mention  yourself?" 

The  lecture  ended  in  a  thunderstroke.     The  Prefet  sternly 


144  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

informed  poor  Pevrade  that  not  only  would  his  yearly  allow- 
ance be  cut  oft',  but  that  he  himself  would  be  narrowly 
watched.  The  old  man  took  the  shock  with  an  air  of  perfect 
calm.  Nothing  can  be  more  rigidly  expressionless  than  a 
man  struck  by  lightning.  Peyrade  had  lost  all  his  stake  in 
the  game.  He  had  counted  on  getting  an  appointment,  and 
he  found  himself  bereft  of  ever3i;hing  but  the  alms  bestowed 
by  his  friend  Corentin. 

"I  have  been  Prefet  of  Police  myself ;  I  think  you  perfectly 
right,"  said  the  old  man  quietly  to  the  functionary  who  stood 
before  him  in  his  judicial  majesty,  and  who  answered  with 
a  significant  shrug. 

"But  allow  me,  without  any  attempt  to  justify  myself,  to 
point  out  that  you  do  not  know  me  at  all,"  Peyrade  went 
on,  with  a  keen  glance  at  the  Prefet.  '^^our  language  is 
either  too  severe  to  a  man  who  has  been  the  head  of  the  police 
in  Holland,  or  not  severe  enough  for  a  mere  spy.  But,  Mon- 
sieur le  Prefet,"  Peyrade  added  after  a  pause,  while  the  other 
kept  silence,  'T^ear  in  mind  what  I  now  have  the  honor  of 
telling  you :  I  have  no  intention  of  interfering  with  3^our  police 
nor  of  attempting  to  justify  myself,  but  you  will  presently 
discover  that  there  is  some  one  in  this  business  who  is  being 
deceived;  at  this  moment  it  is  your  humble  servant;  by  and 
by  you  will  say,  ^t  was  I.' " 

And  he  bowed  to  the  chief,  who  sat  passive  to  conceal  his 
amazement. 

Peyrade  returned  home,  his  legs  and  anus  feeling  broken, 
and  full  of  cold  fury  with  the  Baron.  Nobody  but  that  burly 
banker  could  have  betrayed  a  secret  contained  in  the  minds 
of  Contenson,  Peyrade,  and  Corentin.  The  old  man  accused 
the  banker  of  wishing  to  avoid  paying  now  that  he  had  gained 
his  end.  A  single  interview  had  been  enough  to  enable  him 
to  read  the  astuteness  of  this  most  astute  of  bankers. 

"He  tries  to  compound  with  every  one,  even  with  us;  but 
I  will  be  revenged,"  thought  the  old  fellow.  "I  have  never 
asked  a  favor  of  Corentin ;  I  will  ask  him  now  to  help  me  to 
be  revenged  on  that  imbecile  money-box.     Curse  the  Baron! 


ESTHER  HAPPY  145 

— Well,  you  will  know  the  stufE  I  am  made  of  one  fine  morn- 
ing when  you  find  your  daughter  disgraced ! — But  does  he 
love  his  daughter,  I  wonder?'^ 

By  the  evening  of  the  day  when  this  catastrophe  had  upset 
the  old  man's  hopes  he  had  aged  by  ten  years.  As  he  talked 
to  his  friend  Corentin,  he  mingled  his  lamentations  with 
tears  wrung  from  him  by  the  thought  of  the  melancholy  pros- 
pects he  must  bequeath  to  his  daughter,  his  idol,  his  treasure, 
his  peace-ofi'ering  to  God. 

"We  will  follow  the  matter  up,"  said  Corentin.  "First  of 
all,  we  must  be  sure  that  it  was  the  Baron  who  peached. 
Were  we  wise  in  enlisting  Gondreville's  support?  That  old 
rascal  owes  us  too  much  not  to  be  anxious  to  swamp  us; 
indeed,  I  am  keeping  an  eye  on  his  son-in-law  Keller,  a 
simpleton  in  politics,  and  quite  capable  of  meddling  in  some 
conspiracy  to  overthrow  the  elder  Branch  to  the  advantage 
of  the  younger. — I  shall  know  to-morrow  what  is  going  on  at 
Nucingen's,  whether  he  has  seen  his  beloved,  and  to  whom  we 
owe  this  sharp  pull  up. — Do  not  be  out  of  heart.  In  the  first 
place,  the  Prefet  will  not  hold  his  appointment  much  longer ; 
the  times  are  big  with  revolution,  and  revolutions  make  good 
fishing  for  us." 

A  peculiar  whistle  was  just  then  heard  in  the  street. 

"That  is  Contenson,"  said  Peyrade,  who  put  a  light  in 
the  window,  "and  he  has  something  to  say  that  concerns 
me." 

A  minute  later  the  faithful  Contenson  appeared  in  the 
presence  of  the  two  gnomes  of  the  police,  whom  he  revered 
as  though  they  were  two  genii. 

"What  is  up?"  asked  Corentin. 

"A  new  thing!  I  was  coming  out  of  113,  where  I  lost 
everything,  when  whom  do  I  spy  under  the  gallery  ?  Georges ! 
The  man  has  been  dismissed  by  the  Baron,  who  suspects  him 
of  treachery." 

"That  is  the  effect  of  a  smile  I  gave  him,"  said  Peyrade. 

"Bah !  when  I  think  of  all  the  mischief  I  have  known  caused 
by  smiles !"  said  Corentin. 


146  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"To  say  nothing  of  that  caused  by  a  whip-lash,"  said  Pey- 
rade,  referring  to  the  Simeuse  case.  (In  Une  Tmebreuse 
affaire.)     "But  come,   Contenson,   what   is  going  on?" 

"This  is  what  is  going  on,"  said  Contenson.  "I  made 
Georges  blab  b}'  getting  him  to  treat  me  to  an  endless  series 
of  liqueurs  of  every  color — I  left  him  tipsy;  I  must  be  as 
full  as  a  still  myself ! — Our  Baron  has  been  to  the  Kue  Tait- 
bout,  crammed  with  Pastilles  du  Serail.  There  he  found  the 
fair  one  you  know  of ;  but — a  good  joke  !  The  English  beauty 
is  not  his  fair  unknown ! — And  he  has  spent  thirty  thousand 
francs  to  bribe  the  lady's-maid,  a  piece  of  folly  I 

"That  creature  thinks  itself  a  great  man  because  it  does 
mean  things  with  great  capital.  Reverse  the  proposition, 
and  you  have  the  problem  of  which  a  man  of  genius  is  the 
solution. — The  Baron  came  home  in  a  pitiable  condition. 
Xext  day  Georges,  to  get  his  finger  in  the  pie,  said  to  his 
master : 

"  'Why,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  do  you  employ  such  black- 
guards? If  you  would  only  trust  to  me,  I  would  find  the 
unkno-mi  lady,  for  your  description  of  her  is  enough.  I 
would  turn  Paris  upside  down.' — 'Go  ahead,'  says  the  Baron ; 
'T  shall  reward  you  handsomely !' — Georges  told  me  the  whole 
stor}'  with  the  most  absurd  details.  But — man  is  born  to  be 
rained  upon  I 

"Xext  day  the  Baron  received  an  anonymous  letter  some- 
thing to  this  eifect :  'Monsieur  de  Xucingen  is  dying  of  love 
for  an  unknown  lady ;  he  has  already  spent  a  great  deal 
utterly  in  vain  ;  if  he  will  repair  at  midnight  to  the  end  of 
the  Xeuilly  Bridge,  and  get  into  the  carriage  behind  which 
the  chasseur  he  saw  at  Vincennes  will  be  standing,  allowing 
himself  to  be  blindfolded,  he  will  see  the  woman  he  loves. 
As  his  wealth  may  lead  him  to  suspect  the  intentions  of  per- 
sons who  proceed  in  such  a  fasliion,  he  may  bring,  as  an 
escort,  his  faithful  Georges.  And  there  will  be  nobody  in 
the  carriage.' — Ofl^  the  Baron  goes,  taking  Georges  with  him. 
but  telling  him  nothing.  They  both  submit  to  have  their 
eyes  bound  up  and  their  heads  wrapped  in  veils;  the  Baron 
reeognis^es  the  man-servant. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  147 

'*Two  hours  later,  the  carriage,  going  at  the  pace  of  Louis 
XVIII. — God  rest  his  soul !  He  knew  what  was  meant  by 
the  police,  he  did ! — pulled  up  in  the  middle  of  a  wood.  The 
Baron  had  the  handkerchief  off,  and  saw,  in  a  carriage  stand- 
ing still,  his  adored  fair — when,  whifl: !  she  vanished.  And 
the  carriage,  at  the  same  lively  pace,  brought  him  back  to 
the  Neuilly  Bridge,  where  he  found  his  own. 

"Some  one  had  slipped  into  Georges'  hand  a  note  to  this 
effect :  'How  many  banknotes  will  the  Baron  part  with  to  be 
put  into  communication  with  his  unknown  fair?'  Georges 
handed  this  to  his  master ;  and  the  Baron,  never  doubting  that 
Georges  was  in  collusion  with  me  or  with  you,  Monsieur  Pey- 
rade,  to  drive  a  hard  bargain,  turned  him  out  of  the  house. 
What  a  fool  that  banker  is !  He  ought  not  to  have  sent  away 
Georges  before  he  had  known  the  unknown !" 

"Then  Georges  saw  the  woman?"  said  Corentin. 

"Yes,"  replied  Contenson. 

"Well,"  cried  Peyrade,  "and  what  is  she  like?" 

"Oh,"  said  Contenson,  "he  said  but  one  word — 'A  sun  of 
loveliness.' " 

"We  are  being  tricked  by  some  rascals  who  beat  us  at  the 
game,"  said  Peyrade.  "Those  villains  mean  to  sell  their 
woman  very  dear  to  the  Baron." 

"Ja,  mein  Herr/'  said  Contenson.  "And  so,  when  I  heard 
you  got  slapped  in  the  face  at  the  Prefecture,  I  made  Georges 
blab." 

"I  should  very  much  like  to  know  who  it  is  that  has 
stolen  a  march  on  me,"  said  Peyrade.  "We  would  measure 
our  spurs !" 

"We  must  play  eavesdropper,"  said  Contenson. 

"He  is  right,"  said  Peyrade.  "We  must  get  into  chinks 
to  listen,  and  wait " 

"We  will  study  that  side  of  the  subject,"  cried  Corentin. 
"For  the  present,  I  am  out  of  work.  You,  Peyrade,  be  a 
very  good  boy.     We  must  always  obey  Monsieur  le  Prefet !" 

"Monsieur  de  Nucingen  wants  bleeding,"  said  Contenson; 
"he  has  too  many  banknotes  in  his  veins." 


148  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"But  it  was  Lydie's  marriage-portion  I  looked  for  there !" 
said  Peyrade,  in  a  whisper  to  Corentin. 

"Xow,  come  along,  Contenson,  let  ns  be  off,  and  leave  our 
daddy  to  by-bye,  by-bye!" 

"Monsieur,"  said  Contenson  to  Corentin  on  the  doorstep, 
"what  a  queer  piece  of  brokerage  our  good  friend  was  plan- 
ning !     Hell ! — What,  marry  a  daughter  with  the  price  of 

Ah,  ha !  It  would  make  a  pretty  little  play,  and  very  moral 
too,  entitled  "^A  Girl's  Dower.' "' 

"You  are  highly  organized  animals,  indeed,"  replied  Coren- 
tin. "What  ears  you  have !  Certainly  Social  Nature  arms 
all  her  species  with  the  qualities  needed  for  the  duties  she  ex- 
pects of  them !     Society  is  second  nature." 

"Tliat  is  a  highly  philosophical  view  to  take,"  cried  Conten- 
son.   "A  professor  would  work  it  up  into  a  system." 

"Let  us  find  out  all  we  can,"  replied  Corentin  with  a  smile, 
as  he  made  his  way  down  the  street  ■wdth  the  spy,  "as  to 
what  goes  on  at  Monsieur  de  Xucingens  with  regard  to  this 
girl — the  main  facts;  never  mind  the  details " 

"Just  watch  to  see  if  his  cliimneys  are  smoking !"  said 
Contenson. 

"Such  a  man  as  the  Baron  de  Xucingen  cannot  be  happy 
incognito,"  replied  Corentin.  "And  besides,  we  for  whom 
men  are  but  cards,  ought  never  to  be  tricked  by  them." 

"By  Gad !  it  would  be  the  condemned  jail-bird  amusing 
himself  by  cutting  the  executioner's  throat." 

"You  always  have  something  droll  to  say,"  replied  Co- 
rentin, with  a  dim  smile,  that  faintly  wrinkled  his  set  white 
face. 

This  business  was  exceedingly  important  in  itself,  apart 
from  its  consequences.  If  it  were  not  the  Baron  who  had 
betrayed  Peyrade,  who  could  have  had  any  interest  in  seeing 
the  Prefet  of  Police?  From  Corentin's  point  of  Aaew  it 
seemed  suspicious.  Were  there  any  traitors  among  his  men? 
And  as  he  went  to  bed,  he  wondered  what  Peyrade,  too,  was 
considering. 

"Who  can  have  gone  to  complain  to  the  Prefet?  Whom 
does  the  woman  belong  to?" 


ESTHER  HAPPY  149 


And  thus,  without  knowing  each  other,  Jacques  ColHn, 
Peyrade,  and  Corentin  were  converging  to  a  common  point; 
while  the  unhappy  Esther,  Nucingen,  and  Lucien  were  in- 
evitably entangled  in  the  struggle  which  had  already  begun, 
and  of  which  the  point  of  pride,  peculiar  to  police  agents, 
was  making  a  war  to  the  death. 

Thanks  to  Europe's  cleverness,  the  more  pressing  half  of 
the  sixty  thousand  francs  of  debt  owed  by  Esther  and  Lucien 
was  paid  oif.  The  creditors  did  not  even  lose  confidence. 
Lucien  and  his  evil  genius  could  breathe  for  a  moment.  Like 
two  wild  animals,  drinking  for  an  instant  of  the  waters  of 
some  pool,  they  could  start  again  along  the  edge  of  the 
precipice  where  the  strong  man  was  guiding  the  weak  man  to 
the  gibbet  or  to  fortune. 

"We  are  staking  now,"  said  Carlos  to  his  puppet,  "to 
win  or  lose  all.  But,  happily,  the  cards  are  beveled,  and 
the  punters  young." 

For  some  little  time  Lucien,  by  his  terrible  Mentor's  orders, 
had  been  very  attentive  to  Madame  de  Serizy.  It  was,  in 
fact,  indispensable  that  Lucien  should  not  be  suspected  of 
having  a  kept  woman  for  his  mistress.  And  in  the  pleasure 
of  being  loved,  and  the  excitement  of  fashionable  lii'e,  he 
found  a  spurious  power  of  forgetting.  He  obeyed  Made- 
moiselle Clotilde  de  Grandlieu  by  never  seeing  her  excepting 
in  the  Bois  or  the  Champs-filysees. 

On  the  day  after  Esther  was  shut  up  in  the  park-keeper's 
house,  the  being  who  was  to  her  so  enigmatic  and  terrible, 
who  weighed  upon  her  soul,  came  to  desire  her  to  sign  three 
pieces  of  stamped  paper,  made  terrible  by  these  fateful  words  : 
on  the  first,  accepted  payable  for  sixty  thousand  francs;  on 
the  second,  accepted  payable  for  a  hundred  and  twenty  thou- 
sand francs ;  on  the  third,  accepted  payable  for  a  hundred  and 
twenty  thousand  francs — three  hundred  thousand  francs  in 
all.  By  writing  Bon  four,  you  simply  promise  to  pay.  The 
word  Accepted  constitutes  a  bill  of  exchange,  and  makes  you 
liable  to  imprisonment.     The  word  entails,  on  the  person 


150  A  COURTESAN'8   MFE 

who  is  so  imprudent  as  to  sign,  the  risk  of  five  years'  im- 
prisonment— a  punishment  which  the  police  magistrate  hardly 
ever  inflicts,  and  which  is  reserved  at  the  assizes  for  confirmed 
rogues.  The  law  of  imprisonment  for  debt  is  a  relic  of  the 
days  of  barbarism,  which  combines  with  its  stupidity  the 
rare  merit  of  being  useless,  inasmuch  as  it  never  catches 
swindlers. 

"The  point,"  said  the  Spaniard  to  Esther,  "is  to  get  Lucien 
out  of  his  difficulties.  We  have  debts  to  the  tune  of  sixty 
thousand  francs,  and  with  these  three  hundred  thousand 
francs  we  may  perhaps  pull  through." 

Having  antedated  the  bills  by  six  months,  Carlos  had  had 
them  drawn  on  Esther  by  a  man  whom  the  county  court 
had  "misunderstood,"  and  whose  adventures,  in  spite  of  the 
excitement  they  had  caused,  were  soon  forgotten,  hidden,  lost, 
in  the  uproar  of  the  great  symphony  of  July  1830. 

This  young  fellow,  a  most  audacious  adventurer,  the  son 
of  a  lawyer's  clerk  of  Boulogne,  near  Paris,  was  named 
Georges  Marie  Destourny.  His  father,  obliged  by  adverse 
circumstances  to  sell  his  connection,  died  in  1824,  leaving  his 
son  without  the  means  of  living,  after  giving  him  a  brilliant 
education,  the  folly  of  the  lower  middle  class.  At  twenty- 
three  the  clever  young  law-student  had  denied  his  paternity 
by  printing  on  his  cards 

Georges  d'Estourny. 

This  card  gave  him  an  odor  of  aristocracy;  and  now,  as 
a  man  of  fashion,  he  was  so  impudent  as  to  set  up  a  tilbury 
and  a  groom  and  haunt  the  clubs.  One  line  will  account 
for  this :  he  gambled  on  the  Bourse  with  the  money  intrusted 
to  him  by  the  kept  women  of  his  acquaintance.  Finally  he 
fell  into  the  hands  of  the  police,  and  was  charged  with  play- 
ing at  cards  with  too  much  luck. 

He  had  accomplices,  youths  whom  he  had  corrupted,  his 
compulsory  satellites,  accessory  to  his  fashion  and  his  credit. 
Compelled  to  fly,  he  forgot  to  pay  his  differences  on  the 


ESTHER  HAPPY  151 

Bourse.  All  Paris — the  Paris  of  the  Stock  Exchange  and 
Clubs — was  still  shaken  by  this  double  stroke  of  swindling. 

In  the  days  of  his  splendor  Georges  d'Estourny,  a  hand- 
some youth,  and,  above  all,  a  jolly  fellow,  as  generous  as  a 
brigand  chief,  had  for  a  few  months  "protected"  La  Torpille. 
The  false  Abbe  based  his  calculations  on  Esther's  former  in- 
timacy with  this  famous  scoundrel,  an  incident  peculiar  to 
women  of  her  class. 

Georges  d'Estourny,  whose  ambition  grew  bolder  with  suc- 
cess, had  taken  under  his  patronage  a  man  who  had  come  from 
the  depths  of  the  country  to  carry  on  a  business  in  Paris,  and 
whom  the  Liberal  party  were  anxious  to  indemnify  for  certain 
sentences  endured  with  much  courage  in  the  struggle  of  the 
press  with  Charles  X.'s  government,  the  persecution  being 
relaxed,  however,  during  the  j\Iartignac  administration.  The 
Sieur  Cerizet  had  then  been  pardoned,  and  he  was  thenceforth 
known  as  the  Brave  Cerizet. 

Cerizet  then,  being  patronized  for  form's  sake  by  the  big- 
wigs of  the  Left,  founded  a  house  which  combined  the  business 
of  a  general  agency  with  that  of  a  bank  and  a  commission 
agency.  It  was  one  of  those  concerns  which,  in  business, 
remind  one  of  the  servants  who  advertise  in  the  papers  as 
being  able  and  willing  to  do  everything.  Cerizet  was  very 
glad  to  ally  himself  with  Georges  d'Estourny,  who  gave  him 
hints. 

Esther,  in  virtue  of  the  anecdote  about  Ninon,  might  be 
regarded  as  the  faithful  guardian  of  part  of  Georges 
d'Estoumy's  fortune.  An  endorsement  in  the  name  of 
Georges  d'Estourny  made  Carlos  Herrera  master  of  the  money 
he  had  created.  This  forgery  was  perfectly  safe  so  long  as 
Mademoiselle  Esther,  or  some  one  for  her,  could,  or  was 
bound  to  pay. 

After  making  inquiries  as  to  the  house  of  Cerizet,  Carlos 
perceived  that  he  had  to  do  with  one  of  those  humble  men 
who  are  bent  on  making  a  fortune,  but — lawfully.  Cerizet, 
with  whom  d'Estourny  had  really  deposited  his  moneys,  had 
in  hand  a  considerable  sum  with  which  he  was  speculating 


152  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

for  a  rise  on  the  Bourse,  a  state  of  affairs  which  allowed  him 
to  style  himself  a  banker.  Such  things  are  done  in  Paris;  a 
man  may  be  despised, — but  money,  never. 

Carlos  went  ofP  to  Cerizet  intending  to  work  him  after 
his  manner;  for,  as  it  happened,  he  was  master  of  all  this 
worthy's  secrets — a  meet  partner  for  d'Estourny. 

Cerizet  the  Brave  lived  in  an  entresol  in  the  Eue  du  Gros- 
Chenet,  and  Carlos,  who  had  himself  mysteriously  announced 
as  coming  from  Georges  d'Estourny,  found  the  self-styled 
banker  quite  pale  at  the  name.  The  Abbe  saw  in  this  humble 
private  room  a  little  man  with  thin,  light  hair ;  and  recognized 
him  at  once,  from  Lucicn's  description,  as  the  Judas  who  had 
ruined  David  Sechard. 

"Can  we  talk  here  without  risk  of  being  overheard  ?"' 
said  the  Spaniard,  now  metamorphosed  into  a  red-haired  Eng- 
lishman with  blue  spectacles,  as  clean  and  prim  as  a  Puritan 
going  to  meeting. 

"Why,  monsieur?"  said  Cerizet.     '^^ho  are  you?" 

"Mr.  William  Barker,  a  creditor  of  M.  d'Estourny's ;  and 
I  can  prove  to  you  the  necessity  for  keeping  your  doors  closed 
if  you  wish  it.  We  know,  monsieur,  all  about  your  con- 
nections with  the  Petit-Clauds,  the  Cointets,  and  the  Sechards 
of  Angouleme " 

On  hearing  these  words,  Cerizet  rushed  to  the  door  and  shut 
it,  flew  to  another  leading  into  a  bedroom  and  bolted  it ;  then 
he  said  to  the  stranger: 

"Speak  lower,  monsieur,"  and  he  studied  the  sham  Eng- 
lishman as  he  asked  him,  "What  do  you  want  with  me  ?" 

"Dear  me,"  said  William  Barker,  "every  one  for  himself  in 
this  world.  You  had  the  money  of  that  rascal  d'Estourny. 
— Be  quite  easy,  I  have  not  come  to  ask  for  it;  but  that 
scoundrel,  who  deserves  hanging,  between  you  and  me,  gave 
me  tliese  bills,  saying  that  there  might  be  some  chance  of 
recovering  the  money;  and  as  1  do  not  choose  to  prosecute  in 
my  own  name,  he  told  me  you  would  not  refuse  to  back 
them." 

Cerizet  looked  at  the  bills. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  153 

''But  he  is  no  longer  at  Frankfort,"  said  he. 

''I  know  it/'  replied  Barker,  "but  he  may  still  have  been 
there  at  the  date  of  those  bills " 

"I  will  not  take  the  responsibility,"  said  Cerizet. 

''I  do  not  ask  such  a  sacrifice  of  you,"  replied  Barker;  "you 
may  be  instructed  to  receive  them.  Endorse  them,  and  I 
will  undertake  to  recover  the  money." 

"1  am  surprised  that  d'Estourny  should  show  so  little  con- 
fidence in  me,"  said  Cerizet. 

"In  his  position,"  replied  Barker,  "you  can  hardly  blame 
him  for  having  put  his  eggs  in  different  baskets." 

"Can  you  believe "  the  little  broker  began,  as  he  handed 

back  to  the  Englishman  the  bills  of  exchange  formally  ac- 
cepted. 

"1  believe  that  you  will  take  good  care  of  his  money,"  said 
Barker.  "1  am  sure  of  it !  It  is  already  on  the  green  table 
of  the  Bourse." 

"My  fortune  depends " 

"On  your  appearing  to  lose  it,"  said  Barker. 

"Sir !"  cried  Cerizet. 

"Look  here,  my  dear  Monsieur  Cerizet,"  said  Barker,  coolly 
interrupting  him,  "you  will  do  me  a  service  by  facilitating 
tiiis  payment.  Be  so  good  as  to  write  me  a  letter  in  which 
yoti  tell  me  that  you  are  sending  me  these  bills  receipted  on 
d'Es'tourny's  account,  and  that  the  collecting  officer  is  to 
regard  the  holder  of  the  letter  as  the  possessor  of  the  three 
bills." 

"Will  you  give  me  your  name?" 

"No  names,"  replied  the  English  capitalist.  "Put  "^The 
bearer  of  this  letter  and  these  bills.' — You  will  be  handsomely 
repaid  for  obliging  me." 

"How?"  said  Cerizet. 

"In  one  word — You  mean  to  stay  in  France,  do  not  you  ?" 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"Well,  Georges  d'Estourny  will  never  re-enter  the  country." 

"Pray  why  ?" 

"There  are  five  persons  at  least  to  my  knowledge  who 
would  murder  him,  and  he  knows  it." 


154  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"^Then  no  wonder  he  is  asking  me  for  money  enough  lo 
start  him  trading  to  the  Indies  ?"  cried  Cerizet.  "And  unfor- 
tunately he  has  compelled  me  to  risk  everything  in  State 
speculation.  We  already  owe  heavy  differences  to  the  house 
of  du  Tillet.    I  live  from  hand  to  mouth." 

"Withdraw  your  stakes." 

"Oh !  if  only  I  had  known  this  sooner !"  exclaimed  Cerizet. 
"I  have  missed  my  chance !" 

"One  last  word,"  said  Barker.  "Keep  your  own  counsel, 
you  are  capable  of  that ;  but  you  must  be  faithful  too,  which 
is  perhaps  less  certain.  We  shall  meet  again,  and  I  will  help 
you  to  make  a  fortune." 

Having  thus  tossed  this  sordid  soul  a  crumb  of  hope  that 
would  secure  silence  for  some  time  to  come,  Carlos,  still 
disguised  as  Barker,  betook  himself  to  a  bailiff  whom  he 
could  depend  on,  and  instructed  him  to  get  the  bills  brought 
home  to  Esther. 

"They  will  be  paid  all  right,"  said  he  to  the  officer.  "It 
is  an  affair  of  honor ;  only  we  want  to  do  the  thing  reg- 
ularly." 

Barker  got  a  solicitor  to  represent  Esther  in  court,  so  that 
judgment  might  be  given  in  presence  of  both  parties.  The 
collecting  officer,  who  was  begged  to  act  v/ith  civility,  took 
with  him  all  the  warrants  for  procedure,  and  came  in  person 
to  seize  the  furniture  in  the  Eue  Taitbout,  where  he  was  re- 
ceived by  Europe.  Her  personal  liability  once  proved,  Esther 
was  ostensibly  liable,  beyond  dispute,  for  three  hundred  and 
more  thousand  francs  of  debts. 

In  all  this  Carlos  displayed  no  great  powers  of  invention. 
The  farce  of  false  debts  is  often  played  in  Paris.  There  are 
many  sub-Gobsecks  and  sub-Gigonnets  who,  for  a  percentage, 
will  lend  themselves  to  this  subterfuge,  and  regard  the  in- 
famous trick  as  a  jest.  In  France  everything — even  a  crime 
— is  done  with  a  laugh.  By  this  means  refractory  parents 
are  made  to  pay,  or  rich  mistresses  who  might  drive  a  hard 
bargain,  but  who,  face  to  face  with  flagrant  necessity,  or 
some  impending  dishonor,  pay   up,  if  with  a  bad  grace. 


ESTHER  HAPPY  155 

Maxime  de  Trailles  had  often  used  such  means,  borrowed 
from  the  comedies  of  the  old  stage.  Carlos  Herrera,  who 
wanted  to  save  the  honor  of  his  gown,  as  well  as  Lucien's,  had 
worked  the  spell  by  a  forgery  not  dangerous  for  him,  but  now 
so  frequently  practised  that  Justice  is  beginning  to  object. 
There  is,  it  is  said,  a  Bourse  for  falsified  bills  near  the  Palais 
Eoyal,  where  you  may  get  a  forged  signature  for  three  francs. 

Before  entering  on  the  question  of  the  hundred  thousand 
crowns  that  were  to  keep  the  door  of  the  bedroom,  Carlos  de- 
termined first  to  extract  a  hundred  thousand  more  from  M. 
de  Nucingen. 

And  this  was  the  way:  By  his  orders  Asie  got  herself  up 
for  the  Baron's  benefit  as  an  old  woman  fully  informed  as 
to  the  unknown  beauty's  affairs. 

Hitherto,  novelists  of  manners  have  placed  on  the  stage 
a  great  many  usurers ;  but  the  female  money-lender  has  been 
overlooked,  the  Madame  la  Kessource  of  the  present  day — a 
very  singular  figure,  euphemistically  spoken  of  as  a  "ward- 
robe purchaser";  a  part  that  the  ferocious  Asie  could  play, 
for  she  had  two  old-clothes  shops  managed  by  women  she 
could  trust — one  in  the  Temple,  and  the  other  in  the  Rue 
Neuve- Saint-Marc. 

"You  must  get  into  the  skin  of  Madame  de  Saint-Esteve," 
said  he. 

Herrera  wished  to  see  Asie  dressed. 

The  go-between  arrived  in  a  dress  of  flowered  damask, 
made  of  the  curtains  of  some  dismantled  boudoir,  and  one 
of  those  shawls  of  Indian  design — out  of  date,  Avorn,  and 
valueless,  which  end  their  career  on  the  backs  of  these  women. 
She  had  a  collar  of  magnificent  lace,  though  torn,  and  a 
terrible  bonnet ;  but  her  shoes  were  of  fine  kid,  in  which  the 
flesh  of  her  fat  feet  made  a  roll  of  black-lace  stocking. 

"And  my  waist  buckle !"  she  exclaimed,  displaying  a  piece 
of  suspicious-looking  finery,  prominent  on  her  cook's  stomach. 
"There's  style  for  you  !  and  my  front ! — Oh,  Ma'me  Nourris- 
son  has  turned  me  out  quite  spiff !" 


156  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Be  as  sweet  as  honey  at  first,"  said  Carlos;  "be  almost 
timid,  as  suspicious  as  a  cat ;  and,  above  all,  make  the  Baron 
ashamed  of  having  employed  the  police,  without  betraying 
that  you  quake  before  the  constable.  Finally,  make  your 
customer  understand  in  more  or  less  plain  terms  that  you 
defy  all  tlie  police  in  the  world  to  discover  his  jewel.  Take 
care  to  destroy  your  traces. 

"When  the  Baron  gives  you  a  right  to  tap  him  on  the 
stomach,  and  call  him  a  pot-bellied  old  rip,  you  may  be  as 
insolent  as  you  please,  and  make  him  trot  like  a  footman." 

Nucingen — threatened  by  Asie  with  never  seeing  her  again 
if  he  attempted  the  smallest  espionage — met  the  woman  on 
his  way  to  the  Bourse,  in  secret,  in  a  wretched  entresol  in  the 
Rue  Neuve-Saint-Marc.  How  often,  and  with  what  rapture, 
have  amorous  millionaires  trodden  these  squalid  paths !  the 
pavements  of  Paris  know.  Madame  de  Saint-Esteve,  by 
tossing  the  Baron  from  hope  to  despair  by  turns,  brought  him 
to  the  point  when  he  insisted  on  being  informed  of  all  that 
related  to  the  unkno^Ti  beauty  at  any  cost.  Meanwhile,  the 
law  was  put  in  force,  and  with  such  effect  that  the  bailiffs, 
finding  no  resistance  from  Esther,  put  in  an  execution  on  her 
effects  without  losing  a  day. 

Lucien,  guided  by  his  adviser,  paid  the  recluse  at  Saint- 
Germain  five  or  six  visits.  The  merciless  author  of  all  these 
machinations  thought  this  necessary  to  save  Esther  from 
pining  to  death,  for  her  beauty  was  now  their  capital.  When 
the  time  came  for  them  to  quit  the  park-keeper's  lodge,  he 
took  Lucien  and  the  poor  girl  to  a  place  on  the  road  whence 
they  could  see  Paris,  where  no  one  could  overhear  them. 
They  all  three  sat  down  in  the  rising  sun,  on  the  trunk  of  a 
felled  poplar,  looking  over  one  of  the  finest  prospects  in  the 
world,  embracing  the  course  of  the  Seine,  with  Montmartre, 
Paris,  and  Saint-Denis. 

"My  children,"  said  Carlos,  "your  dream  is  over. — You, 
little  one,  will  never  see  Lucien  again ;  or  if  you  should, 
you  must  have  known  him  only  for  a  few  days,  five  years 
ago." 


ESTHER  HAPPY  157 

"Death  has  come  upon  me  then,"  said  she,  without 
shedding  a  tear. 

"Well,  you  have  been  ill  these  iive  years,"  said  Herrera. 
"Imagine  yourself  to  be  consumptive,  and  die  without  bor- 
ing us  with  your  lamentations.  But  you  will  see,  you  can 
still  live,  and  very  comfortably  too. — Leave  us,  Lucien — go 
and  gather  sonnets !"  said  he,  pointing  to  a  field  a  little  way 
off. 

Lucien  cast  a  look  of  humble  entreaty  at  Esther,  one  of 
the  looks  peculiar  to  such  men — weak  and  greedy,  with  ten- 
der hearts  and  cowardly  spirits.  Esther  answered  with  a 
bow  of  her  head,  which  said:  "I  will  hear  the  executioner, 
that  I  may  know  hoM'-  to  lay  my  head  under  the  axe,  and  I 
shall  have  courage  enough  to  die  decently." 

The  gesture  was  so  gracious,  but  so  full  of  dreadful  mean- 
ing, that  the  poet  wept;  Esther  flew  to  him,  clasped  him  in 
her  arms,  drank  away  the  tears,  and  said,  "Be  quite  easy!" 
one  of  those  speeches  that  are  spoken  with  the  manner,  the 
look,  the  tones  of  delirium. 

Carlos  then  explained  to  her  quite  clearly,  without  attenua- 
tion, often  with  horrible  plainness  of  speech,  the  critical  posi- 
tion in  which  Lucien  found  himself,  his  connection  with  the 
Hotel  Grandlieu,  his  splendid  prospects  if  he  should  succeed ; 
and  finally,  how  necessary  it  was  that  Esther  should  sacrifice 
herself  to  secure  him  this  triumphant  future. 

"What  must  I  do?"  cried  she,  with  the  eagerness  of  a 
fanatic. 

"Obey  me  blindly,"  said  Carlos.  "And  what  have  you  to 
complain  of  ?  It  rests  u-ith  you  to  achieve  a  happy  lot.  You 
may  be  what  Tullia  is,  what  your  old  friends  Florine, 
Mariette,  and  la  Val-Noble  are — the  mistress  of  a  rich  man 
whom  you  need  not  love.  When  once  our  business  is  settled, 
your  lover  is  rich  enough  to  make  you  happy." 

"Happy  !"  said  she,  raising  her  eyes  to  heaven. 

"You  have  lived  in  Paradise  for  four  years,"  said  he.  "Can 
you  not  live  on  such  memories?" 

"I  will  obey  you,"  said  she,  wiping  a  tear  from  the  corner 


158  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

of  her  eye.  "For  the  rest,  do  not  worry  yourself.  You  have 
said  it;  my  love  is  a  mortal  disease." 

"That  is  not  enough,"  said  Carlos ;  "you  must  preserve  your 
looks.  At  a  little  past  two-and-twenty  you  are  in  the  prime 
of  your  beauty,  thanks  to  your  past  happiness.  And,  above 
all,  be  the  'Torpille'  again.  Be  roguish,  extravagant, 
cunning,  merciless  to  the  millionaire  I  put  in  your  power. 
Listen  to  me !  That  man  is  a  robber  on  a  grand  scale ;  he 
has  been  ruthless  to  many  persons;  he  has  grown  fat  on  the 
fortunes  of  the  widow  and  the  orphan;  you  will  avenge 
them! 

"Asie  is  coming  to  fetch  you  in  a  hackney  coach,  and  you 
will  be  in  Paris  this  evening.  If  you  allow  any  one  to  sus- 
pect your  connection  with  Lucien,  you  may  as  well  blow  his 
brains  out  at  once.  You  will  be  asked  where  you  have  been 
for  so  long.  You  must  say  that  you  have  been  traveling  with 
a  desperately  jealous  Englishman. — You  used  to  have  wit 
enough  to  humbug  people.     Find  such  wit  again  now." 

Have  you  ever  seen  a  gorgeous  kite,  the  giant  butterfly  of 
childhood,  twinkling  with  gilding,  and  soaring  to  the  sky? 
The  children  forget  the  string  that  holds  it,  some  passer-by 
cuts  it,  the  gaudy  toy  turns  head  over  heels,  as  the  boys  say, 
and  falls  with  terrific  rapidity.  Such  was  Esther  as  she 
listened  to  Carlos. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  AN  OLD  MAN 

For  a  whole  week  Nucingen  went  almost  every  day  to 
the  shop  in  the  Rue  Neuve-Saint-Marc  to  bargain  for  the  wo- 
man he  was  in  love  with.  Here,  sometimes  under  the  name 
of  Saint-Esteve,  sometimes  under  that  of  her  tool,  Madame 
Nourrisson,  Asie  sat  enthroned  among  beautiful  clothes  in 
that  hideous  condition  when  they  have  ceased  to  be  dresses 
and  are  not  yet  rags. 

The  setting  was  in  harmony  with  the  appearance  assumed 
by  the  woman,  for  these  shops  are  among  the  most  hideous 
characteristics  of  Paris.  You  find  there  the  garments  tossed 
aside  by  the  skinny  hand  of  Death ;  you  hear,  as  it  were,  the 
gasping  of  consumption  under  a  shawl,  or  you  detect  the 
agonies  of  beggary  under  a  gown  spangled  with  gold.  The 
horrible  struggle  between  luxury  and  starvation  is  written 
on  filmy  laces;  you  may  picture  the  countenance  of  a  queen 
under  a  plumed  turban  placed  in  an  attitude  that  recalls 
and  almost  reproduces  the  absent  features.  It  is  all  hideous 
amid  prettiness !  Juvenal's  lash,  in  the  hands  of  the  ap- 
praiser, scatters  the  shabby  muffs,  the  ragged  furs  of  courte- 
sans at  bay. 

There  is  a  dunghill  of  flowers,  among  which  here  and  there 
we  find  a  bright  rose  plucked  but  yesterday  and  worn  for  a 
day;  and  on  this  an  old  hag  is  always  to  be  seen  crouching 
— first  cousin  to  Usury,  the  skinflint  bargainer,  bald  and 
toothless,  and  ever  ready  to  sell  the  contents,  so  well  is  she 
used  to  sell  the  covering — the  gown  without  the  woman,  or 
the  woman  vtithout  the  gown ! 

Here  Asie  was  in  her  element,  like  the  warder  among 
convicts,  like  a  vulture  red-beaked  amid  corpses;  more  ter- 
rible than  the  savage  horrors  that  made  the  passer-by  shud- 
der in  astonishment  sometimes,  at  seeing  one  of  their  yonng- 

(159) 


160  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

est  and  sweetest  reminiscences  hung  up  in  a  dirty  shop  win- 
dow, behind  which  a  Saint-Esteve  sits  and  grins. 

From  vexation  to  vexation,  a  thousand  francs  at  a  time, 
the  banker  had  gone  so  far  as  to  offer  sixty  thousand  francs 
to  Madame  de  Saint-Esteve,  who  still  refused  to  help  him, 
with  a  grimace  that  would  have  outdone  any  monkey.  xA.fter 
a  disturbed  night,  after  confessing  to  himself  that  Esther 
completely  upset  his  ideas,  after  realizing  some  unexpected 
turns  of  fortune  on  the  Bourse,  he  came  to  her  one  day, 
intending  to  give  the  hundred  thousand  francs  on  which  Asie 
insisted,  but  he  was  determined  to  have  plenty  of  informa- 
tion for  the  money. 

"Well,  have  you  made  up  your  mind,  old  higgler?"  said 
Asie,  clapping  him  on  the  shoulder. 

The  most  dishonoring  familiarit}^  is  the  tirst  tax  these  wo- 
men levy  on  the  frantic  passions  or  griefs  that  are  confided 
to  them;  they  never  rise  to  the  level  of  their  clients;  they 
make  them  squat  beside  them  on  their  mudheap.  Asie,  it 
will  be  seen,  obeyed  her  master  admirably. 

"Xeed  must !"  said  jSTucingen. 

"And  you  have  the  best  of  the  bargain,"  said  Asie.  ^'Wo- 
men  have  been  sold  much  dearer  than  this  one  to  3'ou — rela- 
tively speaking.  There  are  women  and  women  !  De  Marsay 
paid  sixty  thousand  francs  for  Coralie,  who  is  dead  now. 
The  woman  you  want  cost  a  hundred  thousand  francs  when 
new;  but  to  you,  you  old  goat,  it  is  a  matter  of  agreement." 

"But  vere  is  she?" 

"Ah  !  you  shall  see.  I  am  like  you — a  gift  for  a  gift !  Oh, 
my  good  man,  your  adored  one  has  been  extravagant.  These 
girls  know  no  moderation.  Your  j^rincess  is  at  this  moment 
what  we  call  a  fly  by  night " 

"A  fly ?" 

"Come,  come,  don't  play  the  simpleton. — Louchard  is  at 
her  heels,  and  I — I — have  lent  her  fifty  thousand 
francs " 

"Tventy-fife  say !"  cried  the  banker. 

"Well,  of  course,  twenty-five  for  fift}'-,  that  is  only  natural," 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  161 

replied  Asie.  "To  do  the  woman  justice,  she  is  honesty  it- 
self. She  had  nothing  left  but  herself,  and  says  she  to  me: 
'My  good  Madame  Saint-Esteve,  the  bailiffs  are  after  me ;  no 
one  can  help  me  but  you.  Give  me  twenty  thousand  francs. 
I  will  pledge  my  heart  to  you.'  Oh,  she  has  a  sweet  heart; 
no  one  but  me  knows  where  it  lies.  Any  folly  on  my  part, 
and  I  should  lose  my  twenty  thousand  francs. 

"Formerly  she  lived  in  the  Eue  Taitbout.  Before  leav- 
ing—  (her  furniture  was  seized  for  costs — those  rascally 
bailiffs — You  know  them,  you  who  are  one  of  the  great  men 
on  the  Bourse) — well,  before  leaving,  she  is  no  fool,  she  let 
her  rooms  for  two  months  to  an  Englishwoman,  a  splendid 
creature  who  had  little  thingummy — Eubempre — for  a  lover, 
and  he  was  so  jealous  that  he  only  let  her  go  out  at  night. 
But  as  the  furniture  is  to  be  seized,  the  Englishwoman  has 
e:;t  her  stick,  all  the  more  because  she  cost  too  much  for  a 
little  whipper-snapper  like  Lucien." 

"You  cry  up  de  goots,"  said  Nucingen. 

"Naturally,"  said  Asie.  "I  lend  to  the  beauties ;  and  it 
pays,  for  you  get  two  commissions  for  one  job." 

Asie  was  amusing  herself  by  caricaturing  the  manners  of 
a  class  of  women  who  are  even  greedier  but  more  wheedling 
and  mealy-mouthed  than  the  Malay  woman,  and  who  put  a 
gloss  of  the  best  motives  on  the  trade  they  ply.  Asie  af- 
fected to  have  lost  all  her  illusions,  five  lovers,  and  some 
children,  and  to  have  submitted  to  be  robbed  by  everybody 
in  spite  of  her  experience.  From  time  to  time  she  exhibited 
some  pawn-tickets,  to  prove  how  much  bad  luck  there  was  in 
her  line  of  business.  She  represented  herself  as  pinched 
and  in  debt,  and  to  crown  all,  she  was  so  undisguisedly 
hideous  that  the  Baron  at  last  believed  her  to  be  all  she  said 
she  was. 

"Veil  den,  I  shall  pay  de  hundert  tousant,  and  vere  shall 
I  see  her  ?"  said  he,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  made  up 
his  mind  to  any  sacrifice. 

"My  fat  friend,  you  shall  come  this  evening — in  your  car- 
riage, of  course — opposite  the  Gymnase.     It  is  on  the  way," 


162  A  COURTESAN'S   LIFE 

said  -Asie.  "Stop  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Saint-Barbe.  I 
will  be  on  the  lookout,  and  we  will  go  and  find  my  mortgaged 
beauty  with  the  black  hair. — Oh,  she  has  splendid  hair,  has 
my  mortgage.  If  she  pulls  out  her  comb,  Esther  is  covered 
as  if  it  were  a  pall.  But  though  you  are  knowing  in  arith- 
metic, you  strike  me  as  a  muff  in  other  matters ;  and  I  advise 
you  to  hide  the  girl  safely,  for  if  she  is  found  she  will  be 
clapped  into  Sainte-Pelagie  the  very  next  day. — And  they  are 
looking  for  her." 

"Shall  it  not  be  possible  to  get  holt  of  de  bills?"  said  the 
incorrigible  bill-broker. 

"The  bailiffs  have  got  them — but  it  is  impossible.  The 
girl  has  had  a  passion,  and  has  spent  some  money  left  in 
her  hands,  which  she  is  now  called  upon  to  pay.  By  the 
poker ! — A  queer  thing  is  a  heart  of  two-and-twenty." 

'^'er'  goot,  ver'  goot,  I  shall  arrange  all  dat,"  said  Nucin- 
gen,  assuming  a  cunning  look.  "It  is  qvite  settled  dat  I 
shall  protect  her." 

"Well,  old  noodle,  it  is  your  business  to  make  her  fall  in 
love  with  you,  and  you  certainly  have  ample  means  to  buy 
sham  love  as  good  as  the  real  article.  I  will  place  your 
princess  in  your  keeping;  she  is  bound  to  stick  to  you,  and 
after  that  I  don't  care. — But  she  is  accustomed  to  luxury  and 
the  greatest  consideration.  I  tell  you,  my  boy,  she  is  quite 
the  lady. — If  not,  should  I  have  given  her  twenty  thousand 
francs?"* 

"Yer  goot,  it  is  a  pargain.     Till  dis  efening."' 

The  Baron  repeated  the  bridal  toilet  he  had  already  once 
achieved;  but  this  time,  being  certain  of  success,  he  took  a 
double  dose  of  pillules. 

At  nine  o'clock  he  found  the  dreadful  woman  at  the  ap- 
pointed spot,  and  took  her  into  his  carriage. 

"Vere  to?"  said  the  Baron. 

"Where  ?"  echoed  Asie.  "Rue  de  la  Perle  in  the  Marais — 
an  address  for  the  nonce ;  for  your  pearl  is  in  the  mud,  but 
you  will  wash  her  clean." 

Having  reached  the  spot,  the  false  Madame  de  Saint-Esteve 
said  to  ISTucingen  with  a  hideous  smile: 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  163 

"We  must  go  a  short  way  on  foot;  I  am  not  such  a  fool 
as  to  have  given  you  the  right  address." 

"You  tink  of  eferytink  !"  said  the  Baron. 

"It  is  my  business/'  said  she. 

Asie  led  Nucingen  to  the  Eue  Barbette,  where,  in  furnished 
lodgings  kept  by  an  upholsterer,  he  was  led  up  to  the  fourth 
floor. 

On  finding  Esther  in  a  squalid  room,  dressed  as  a  work- 
woman, and  employed  on  some  embroidery,  the  millionaire 
turned  pale.  At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  while  Asie 
affected  to  talk  in  whispers  to  Esther,  the  young  old  man 
could  still  hardly  speak.  ♦ 

"Montemisselle,"  said  he  at  length  to  the  unhappy  girl, 
"vill  you  be  so  goot  as  to  let  me  be  your  protector?" 

"Why,  I  cannot  help  myself,  monsieur,"  replied  Esther, 
letting  fall  two  large  tears. 

"Do  not  veep.  I  shall  make  you  de  happiest  of  vomen. 
Only  permit  that  I  shall  lof  you — you  shall  see." 

"Well,  well,  child,  the  gentleman  is  reasonable,"  said  Asie. 
"He  knows  that  he  is  more  than  sixty,  and  he  will  be  very 
kind  to  you.  You  see,  my  beauty,  I  have  found  you  quite  a 
father — I  had  to  say  so,"  Asie  whispered  to  the  banker,  who 
was  not  best  pleased.  "You  cannot  catch  swallows  by  firing 
a  pistol  at  them. — Come  here,"  she  went  on,  leading  Nucin- 
gen into  the  adjoining  room.  "You  remember  our  bargain, 
my  angel  ?" 

Nucingen  took  out  his  j)ocketbook  and  counted  out  the 
hundred  thousand  francs,  which  Carlos,  hidden  in  a  cup- 
board, was  impatiently  Avaiting  for,  and  which  the  cook 
handed  over  to  him. 

"Here  are  the  hundred  thousand  francs  our  man  stakes 
on  Asie.  Now  we  must  make  him  lay  on  Europe,"  said  Car- 
los to  his  confidante  when  they  were  on  the  landing. 

And  he  vanished  after  giving  his  instruction  to  the  Malay, 
who  went  back  into  the  room.  She  found  Esther  weeping 
bitterly.  The  poor  girl,  like  a  criminal  condemned  to  death, 
had  woven  a  romance  of  hope,  and  the  fatal  hour  had 
tolled. 


164  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"My  dear  children/'  said  Asie,  "where  do  you  mean  to 
go? — For  the  Baron  de  Nucingen " 

Esther  looked  at  the  great  banker  with  a  start  of  surprise 
that  was  admirably  acted. 

"Ja,  mein  kind,  I  am  dat  Baron  von  Kucingen." 

"The  Baron  de  Kucingen  must  not,  cannot  remain  in  such 
a  room  as  this/'  Asie  went  on.  "Listen  to  me;  your  former 
maid  Eugenie.'' 

"Eugenie,  from  de  Eue  Taitbout  ?"  cried  the  Baron. 

"Just  so ;  the  w^oman  placed  in  possession  of  the  furniture," 
replied  Asie,  "and  who  let  the  apartment  to  that  handsome 
Englishwoman " 

"Hah  !  I  onderstant !"  said  the  Baron. 

"Madame's  former  waiting-maid,"  Asie  went  on,  respect- 
fully alluding  to  Esther,  "will  receive  you  very  comfortably 
this  evening;  and  the  commercial  police  will  never  think  of 
looking  for  her  in  her  old  rooms  which  she  left  three  months 
ago ^" 

"Feerst  rate,  feerst  rate !"  cried  the  Baron.  "An'  besides, 
I  know  dese  commercial  police,  an'  I  know  vat  sorts  shall 
make  dem  disappear." 

"You  will  find  Eugenie  a  sharp  customer,"  said  Asie.  "I 
found  her  for  madame." 

"Hah !  I  know  her  !"  cried  the  millionaire,  laughing.  "She 
haf  fleeced  me  of  dirty  tousant  franc." 

Esther  shuddered  with  horror  in  a  way  that  would  have  led 
a  man  of  any  feeling  to  trust  her  with  his  fortune. 

"Oh,  dat  vas  mein  own  fault,"  the  Baron  said.  "I  vas 
seeking  for  you." 

And  he  related  the  incident  that  had  arisen  out  of  the  letting 
of  Esther's  rooms  to  the  Englishwoman. 

"There,  now,  you  see,  madame,  Eugenie  never  told  you 
all  that,  the  sly  thing!"  said  Asie. — "Still,  madame  is  used 
to  the  hussy,"  she  added  to  the  Baron.  "Keep  her  on,  all 
the  same." 

She  drew  Nucingen  aside  and  said : 

"If  you  give  Eugenie  five  hundred  francs  a  month,  which 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  165 

will  fill  up  her  stocking  finely,  you  can  know  everything  that 
madame  does :  make  her  the  lady's-maid.  Eugenie  will  be  all 
the  more  devoted  to  you  since  she  has  already  done  you. — 
jSTothing  attaches  a  woman  to  a  man  more  than  the  fact  that 
she  has  once  fieeced  him.  But  keep  a  tight  rein  on  Eugenie ; 
she  will  do  any  earthly  thing  for  money;  she  is  a  dreadful 
creature !"' 

"An"  vat  of  you  ?" 

"I,"  said  Asie,  "I  make  both  ends  meet." 

Nucingen,  the  astute  financier,  had  a  bandage  over  his 
eyes;  he  allowed  himself  to  be  led  like  a  child.  The  sight 
of  that  spotless  and.  adorable  Esther  wiping  her  eyes  and 
pricking  in  the  stitches  of  her  embroidery  as  demurely  as 
an  innocent  girl,  revived  in  the  amorous  old  man  the  sensa- 
tions he  had  experienced  in  the  Forest  of  Vincennes;  he 
would  have  given  her  the  key  of  his  safe.  He  felt  so  young, 
his  heart  was  so  overflowing  with  adoration;  he  only  waited 
till  Asie  should  be  gone  to  throw  himself  at  the  feet  of  this 
Raphael's  Madonna. 

This  sudden  blossoming  of  youth  in  the  heart  of  a  stock- 
broker, of  an  old  man,  is  one  of  the  social  phenomena  which 
must  be  left  to  physiology  to  account  for.  Crushed  under 
the  burden  of  business,  stifled  under  endless  calculations 
and  the  incessant  anxieties  of  million-hunting,  young  emo- 
tions revive  with  their  sublime  illusions,  sprout  and  flower 
like  a  forgotten  cause  or  a  forgotten  seed,  whose  effects, 
whose  gorgeous  bloom,  are  the  sport  of  chance,  brought  out  by 
a  late  and  sudden  gleam  of  sunshine. 

The  Baron,  a  clerk  by  the  time  he  was  twelve  years  old  in 
the  ancient  house  of  Aldrigger  at  Strasbourg,  had  never  set 
foot  in  the  world  of  sentiment.  So  there  he  stood  in  front 
of  his  idol,  hearing  in  his  brain  a  thousand  modes  of  speech, 
while  none  came  to  his  lips,  till  at  length  he  acted  on  the 
brutal  promptings  of  desire  that  betrayed  a  man  of  sixty- 
six. 

"Vill  you  come  to  Eue  Taitbout  ?"  said  he. 

"Wherever  you  please,  monsieur,"  said  Esther,  rising. 


166  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Verever  I  please !"  he  echoed  in  rapture.  "'You  are  ein 
anchel  from  de  sky,  and  I  lofe  you  more  as  if  I  was  a  little 
young  man,  vile  I  hafe  gray  hairs " 

"You  had  better  say  white,  for  they  are  too  fine  a  biack 
to  be  only  gray,"'  said  Asie. 

"Get  out,  foul  dealer  in  human  flesh !  You  hafe  got  your 
moneys ;  do  not  slobber  no  more  on  dis  flower  of  lofe !"  cried 
the  banker,  indemnifying  himself  by  this  violent  abuse  for 
all  the  insolence  he  bad  submitted  to. 

"You  old  rip !  I  will  pay  you  out  for  that  speech !"  said 
Asie,  threatening  the  banker  with  a  gesture  worthy  of  the 
Halle,  at  which  the  Baron  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"Between  the  lip  of  the  pot  and  that  of  the  guzzler  there  is 
often  a  viper,  and  you  will  find  me  there !"  she  went  on, 
furious  at  Nucingen's  contempt. 

Millionaires,  whose  money  is  guarded  by  the  Bank  of 
France,  whose  mansions  are  guarded  by  a  squad  of  footmen, 
whose  person  in  the  streets  is  safe  behind  the  rampart  of  a 
coach  with  swift  English  horses,  fear  no  ill;  so  the  Baron 
looked  calmly  at  Asie,  as  a  man  who  had  just  given  her  a  hun- 
dred thousand  francs. 

This  dignity  had  its  effect.  Asie  beat  a  retreat,  growling 
down  the  stairs  in  highly  revolutionary  language;  she  spoke 
of  the  guillotine ! 

"What  have  you  said  to  her?"  asked  the  Madonna  a  la 
hroderie,  "for  she  is  a  good  soul." 

"She  hafe  solt  you,  she  hafe  robbed  you " 

"When  we  are  beggared,"  said  she,  in  a  tone  to  rend  the 
heart  of  a  diplomate,  "v/ho  has  ever  any  money  or  considera- 
tion for  us?" 

"Poor  leetle  ting !"  said  ISTucingen.  "Do  not  stop  here 
ein  moment  longer." 

The  Baron  offered  her  his  arm;  he  led  her  away  just  as 
she  was,  and  put  her  into  his  carriage  with  more  respect  per- 
liaps  than  he  would  have  shown  to  the  handsome  Duchesse 
de  Maufrigneuse. 

"You  shall  hafe  a  fine  carriage,  de  prettiest  carriage  in 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  167 

Paris,"  said  Nucingen,  as  they  drove  along.  "Everyting  dat 
luxury  shall  sopply  shall  be  for  you.  Not  any  qveen  shall 
be  more  rich  dan  vat  you  shall  be.  You  shall  be  respected 
like  ein  Cherman  Brant.  I  shall  hafe  you  to  be  free. — Do 
not  veep !  Listen  to  me — I  lof e  you  really,  truly,  mit  de 
purest  lofe.     Efery  tear  of  yours  breaks  my  heart." 

''Can  one  truly  love  a  woman  one  has  bought?"  said  the 
poor  girl  in  the  sweetest  tones. 

"Choseph  vas  solt  by  his  broders  for  dat  he  was  so  comely. 
Dat  is  so  in  de  Biple.  An'  in  de  Eastern  lants  men  buy  deir 
wifes." 

On  arriving  at  the  Eue  Taitbout,  Esther  could  not  return 
to  the  scene  of  her  happiness  without  some  pain.  She  re- 
mained sitting  on  a  couch,  motionless,  drying  away  her  tears 
one  by  one,  and  never  hearing  a  word  of  the  crazy  speeches 
poured  out  by  the  banker.  He  fell  at  her  feet,  and  she  let 
him  kneel  without  saying  a  word  to  him,  allowing  him  to  take 
her  hands  as  he  would,  and  never  thinking  of  the  sex  of  the 
creature  who  was  rubbing  her  feet  to  warm  them ;  for  Nucin- 
gen  found  that  they  were  cold. 

This  scene  of  scalding  tears  shed  on  the  Baron's  head,  and 
of  ice-cold  feet  that  he  tried  to  warm,  lasted  from  midnight 
till, two  in  the  morning. 

f^'Eugeme,"  cried  the  Baron  at  last  to  Europe,  ''persvade 
your^mis'ess  that  she  shall  go  to  bet." 

"No !"  cried  Esther,  starting  to  her  feet  like  a  scared 
horse.     "Never  in  this  house !" 

"Look  here,  monsieur,  I  know  madame;  she  is  as  gentle 
and  kind  as  a  lamb,"  said  Europe  to  the  Baron.  "Only  you 
must  not  rub  her  the  wrong  way,  you  must  get  at  her  sideways 
— she  had  been  so  miserable  here. — You  see  how  worn  the 
furniture  is. — Let  her  go  her  own  way. 

"Furnish  some  pretty  little  house  for  her,  very  nicely. 
Perhaps  when  she  sees  everything  new  about  her  she  will 
feel  a  stranger  there,  and  think  you  better  looking  than  you 
are,  and  be  angelically  sweet. — Oh !  madame  has  not  her 
match,  and  you  may  boast  of  having  done  a  very  good  stroke 


1(58  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

of  business:  a  good  heart,  genteel  manners,  a  fine  instep — 
and  a  skin,  a  complexion !     Ah  ! 

"And  witty  enough  to  make  a  condemned  wretch  laugh. 
And  madame  can  feel  an  attachment. — And  then  how  she 
can  dress ! — Well,  if  it  is  costly,  still,  as  they  say,  you  get 
your  money's  worth. — Here  all  the  gowns  were  seized,  every- 
thing she  has  is  three  months  old. — But  madame  is  so  kind, 
you  see,  that  I  love  her,  and  she  is  my  mistress ! — But  in  all 
justice — such  a  woman  as  she  is,  in  the  midst  of  furniture 
that  has  been  seized  ! — And  for  whom  ?  For  a  young  scamp 
who  has  ruined  her.  Poor  little  thing,  she  is  not  at  all 
herself." 

"Esther,  Esther ;  go  to  bet,  my  anchel !     If  it  is  me  vat 

frighten  you,  I  shall  stay  here  on  dis  sofa "  cried  the 

Baron,  fired  by  the  purest  devotion,  as  he  saw  that  Esther 
was  still  weeping. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Esther,  taking  the  "lynx's"  hand,  and 
kissing  it  with  an  impulse  of  gratitude  which  brought  some- 
thing very  like  a  tear  to  his  eye,  "I  shall  be  grateful  to 

you " 

~^    And  she  fled  into  her  room  and  locked  the  door. 

"Dere  is  someting  fery  strange  in  all  dat,"  thought  Nucin- 
gen,  excited  by  his  pillules.     "Vat  shall  dey  say  at  home?" 

He  got  up  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  "My  carriage 
still  is  dere.  It  shall  soon  be  daylight."  He  walked  up 
and  down  the  room. 

"Vat  Montame  de  Nucingen  should  laugh  at  me  ven  she 
should  know  how  I  hafe  spent  dis  night !" 

He  applied  his  ear  to  the  bedroom  door,  thinking  himself 
rather  too  much  of  a  simpleton. 

"Esther !" 

No  reply. 

"Mein  Gott!  an'  she  is  still  veeping!"  said  he  to  himself, 
as  he  stretched  himself  on  the  sofa. 

About  ten  minutes  after  sunrise,  the  Baron  de  Nucingen, 
who  was  sleeping  the  uneasy  slumbers  that  are  snatched  by 
compulsion  in  an  awkward  position  on  a  couch,  was  aroused 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  169 

with  a  start  by  Europe  from  one  of  those  dreams  that  visit 
us  in  such  moments,  and  of  which  the  swift  complications  are 
a  phenomenon  inexplicable  by  medical  physiology. 

"Oh,  God  help  us,  madame !"  she  shrieked.  "Madame ! 
— the  soldiers — gendarmes — bailiffs!  They  have  come  to 
take  us." 

At  the  moment  when  Esther  opened  her  door  and  appeared, 
hurriedly,  wrapped  in  her  dressing-gown,  her  bare  feet  in 
slippers,  her  hair  in  disorder,  lovely  enough  to  bring 
the  angel  Kaphael  to  perdition,  the  drawing-room  door 
vomited  into  the  room  a  gutter  of  liuman  mire  that  came 
on,  on  ten  feet,  towards  the  beautiful  girl,  who  stood  like 
an  angel  in  some  Flemish  church  picture.  One  man  came 
foremost.  Contenson,  the  horrible  Contenson,  laid  his  hand 
on  Esthers  dewy  shoulder. 

"You  are  Mademoiselle  van "  he  began.     Europe,  by  a 

back-handed  slap  on  Contenson' s  cheek,  sent  him  sprawling 
to  measure  his  length  on  the  carpet,  and  with  all  the  more 
effect  because  at  the  same  time  she  caught  his  leg  with  the 
sharp  kick  known  to  those  who  practise  the  art  as  a  coup  de 
savate. 

"Hands  off!"  cried  she.  "No  one  shall  touch  my  mis- 
tress.^' 

"She  has  broken  my  leg !"  yelled  Contenson,  picking  him- 
self up ;  "I  will  have  damages !" 

From  the  group  of  bumbailiffs,  looking  like  what  they 
were,  all  standing  with  their  horrible  hats  on  their  yet  more 
horrible  heads,  with  mahogany-colored  faces  and  bleared 
eyes,  damaged  noses,  and  hideous  mouths,  Louchard  now 
stepped  forth,  more  decently  dressed  than  his  men,  but  keep- 
ing his  hat  on,  his  expression  at  once  smooth-faced  and 
smiling. 

"Mademoiselle,  I  arrest  you !"  said  he  to  Esther.  "As  for 
you,  my  girl,"  he  added  to  Europe,  "any  resistance  will  be 
punished,  and  perfectly  useless." 

The  noise  of  muskets,  let  down,  with  a  thud  of  their  stocks 


170  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

on  the  floor  of  the  dining-room,  showing  that  the  invaders 
had  soldiers  to  back  them,  gave  emphasis  to  this  speech. 

"And  what  am  I  arrested  for?"  said  Esther. 

"What  about  our  little  debts?"  said  Louchard. 

"To  be  sure,"  cried  Esther;  "give  me  leave  to  dress." 

"But,  unfortunately,  mademoiselle,  I  am  obliged  to  make 
sure  that  you  have  no  way  of  getting  out  of  your  room,"  said 
Louchard. 

All  this  passed  so  quickly  that  the  Baron  had  not  yet  had 
time  to  intervene. 

"Well,  and  am  I  still  a  foul  dealer  in  human  flesh.  Baron 
de  Nucingen?"  cried  the  hideous  Asie,  forcing  her  way  past 
the  sheriff's  officers  to  the  couch,  where  she  pretended  to 
have  just  discovered  the  banker. 

"Contemptible  wretch  !"  exclaimed  Nucingen,  drawing  him- 
self up  in  financial  majesty. 

He  placed  himself  between  Esther  and  Louchard,  who  took 
off  his  hat  as  Contenson  cried  out,  "Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Nu- 
cingen." 

At  a  signal  from  Louchard  the  bailiffs  vanished  from  the 
room,  respectfully  taking  their  hats  off.  Contenson  alone 
was  left. 

"Do  you  propose  to  pay,  Monsieur  le  Baron?"  asked  he, 
hat  in  hand. 

"I  shall  pay,"  said  the  banker;  "but  I  must  know  vat  dis 
is  all  about." 

"Three  hundred  and  twelve  thousand  francs  and  some 
centimes,  costs  paid;  but  the  charges  for  the  arrest  not  in- 
cluded." 

"Three  hundred  thousand  francs,"  cried  the  Baron;  "dat 
is  a  fery  'xpensive  vaking  for  a  man  vat  has  passed  de  night 
on  a  sofa,"  he  added  in  Europe's  ear. 

"Is  that  man  really  the  Baron  de  Nucingen  ?"  said  Europe 
to  Louchard,  giving  weight  to  the  doubt  by  a  gesture  which 
Mademoiselle  Dupont,  the  low  comedy  servant  of  the 
Frangais,  might  have  envied. 

"Yes,  mademoiselle,"  said  Louchard. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  171 

"Yes/'  replied  Contenson. 

"I  shall  be  answerable/'  said  the  Baron,  piqued  in  his 
honor  by  Europe's  doubt.  "You  shall  'llow  me  to.  say  ein 
vort  to  her.'' 

Esther  and  her  elderly  lover  retired  to  the  bedroom, 
Louchard  finding  it  necessary  to  apply  his  ear  to  the  key- 
hole. 

"I  lofe  you  more  as  my  life,  Esther;  but  vy  gife  to  your 
creditors  moneys  vich  shall  be  so  much  better  in  your  pocket  ? 
Go  into  prison.  I  shall  undertake  to  buy  up  dose  hundert 
tousant  croAvns  for  ein  hundert  tousant  francs,  an'  so  you 
shall  hafe  two  hundert  tousant  francs  for  you " 

"That  scheme  is  perfectly  useless,"  cried  Louchard  through 
the  door.  "The  creditor  is  not  in  love  with  mademoiselle — 
not  he !  You  understand  ?  And  he  means  to  have  more 
than  all,  now  he  knows  that  you  are  in  love  with  her." 

"You  dam'  sneak !"  cried  Nucingen,  opening  the  door, 
and  dragging  Louchard  into  the  bedroom;  "you  know  not 
dat  vat  you  talk  about.  I  shall  gife  you,  you'self,  tventy  per 
cent  if  you  make  the  job." 

"Impossible,  M.  le  Baron." 

"What,  monsieur,  you  could  have  the  heart  to  let  my  mis- 
tress go  to  prison?"  said  Europe,  intervening.  "But  take 
my  wages,  my  savings;  take  them,  madame;  I  have  forty 
thousand  francs " 

"Ah,  my  good  girl,  I  did  not  really  know  you !"  cried 
Esther,  clasping  Europe  in  her  arms. 

Europe  proceeded  to  melt  into  tears. 

"I  shall  pay,"  said  the  Baron  piteously,  as  he  drew  out  a 
pocket-book,  from  which  he  took  one  of  the  little  printed 
forms  which  the  Bank  of  France  issues  to  bankers,  on  which 
they  have  only  to  write  a  sum  in  figures  and  in  words  to 
make  them  available  as  cheques  to  bearer. 

"It  is  not  worth  the  trouble.  Monsieur  le  Baron/'  said 
Louchard;  "I  have  instructions  not  to  accept  payment  in 
anything  but  coin  of  the  realm — gold  or  silver.  As  it  is  you, 
I  will  take  banknotes." 


172  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Der  Teufel !"  cried  the  Baron.  "Well,  show  me  your 
papers." 

Contenson  handed  him  three  packets  covered  with  blue 
paper,  which  the  Baron  took,  looking  at  the  man,  and  adding 
in  an  undertone: 

"It  should  hafe  been  a  better  day's  vork  for  you  ven  you 
had  gife  me  notice." 

"Wh}^  how  should  I  know  you  were  here,  Monsieur  le 
Baron?"  replied  the  spy,  heedless  whether  Louchard  heard 
him.  "You  lost  my  services  by  withdrawing  your  con- 
fidence. You  are  done,"  added  this  philosoplier,  shrugging 
his  shoulders. 

•"Qvite  true,"  said  the  Baron.  "Ah,  my  chilt,"  he  ex- 
claimed, seeing  the  bills  of  exchange,  and  turning  to  Esther, 
"you  are  de  fictim  of  a  torough  scoundrel,  ein  highway 
tief !" 

"Alas,  yes,"  said  poor  Esther;  "T)ut  he  loved  me  truly." 

"Ven  I  should  hafe  known — I  should  hafe  made  you  to 
protest " 

"You  are  off  your  head.  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said 
Louchard;  "there  is  a  third  endorsement." 

"Yes,  dere  is  a  tird  endorsement — Cerizet !  A  man  of 
de  opposition." 

"Will  you  write  an  order  on  your  cashier,  Monsieur  le 
Baron?"  said  Louchard.  "I  will  send  Contenson  to  him  and 
dismiss  my  men.  It  is  getting  late,  and  everybody  will  know 
that " 

"Go  den,  Contenson,"  said  Nucingen.  "My  cashier  lives 
at  de  corner  of  Rue  des  Mathi:^ins  and  Rue  de  I'Arcate. 
Here  is  ein  vort  for  dat  he  shall  go  to  du  Tillet  or  to  de 
Kellers,  in  case  ve  shall  not  hafe  a  hundert  tousant  franc — 
for  our  cash  shall  be  all  at  de  Bank. — Get  dress',  my  anchel," 
he  said  to  Esther.  "You  are  at  liberty. — An'  old  vomans," 
he  went  on,  looking  at  Asie,  "are  more  dangerous  as  young 
vomans." 

"I  will  go  and  give  the  creditor  a  good  laugh,"  said  Asie, 
"and  he  will  give  me  something  for  a  treat  to-day. — We  bear 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  173 

no  malice,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  added  Saint-Esteve  with  a 
horrible  courtesy. 

Louchard  took  the  bills  out  of  the  Baron's  hands,  and  re- 
mained alone  with  him  in  the  drawing-room,  whither,  half 
an  hour  later,  the  cashier  came,  followed  by  Contenson. 
Esther  then  reappeared  in  a  bewitching,  though  improvised, 
costume.  When  the  money  had  been  counted  by  Louchard, 
the  Baron  wished  to  examine  the  bills;  but  Esther  snatched 
them  with  a  cat-like  grab,  and  carried  them  away  to  her 
desk. 

"What  will  you  give  the  rabble?"  said  Contenson  to  Nu- 
cingen. 

"You  hafe  not  shown  much  consideration,"  said  the  Baron. 

"And  what  about  my  leg?"  cried  Contenson. 

"Louchart,  you  shall  gife  ein  hundert  francs  to  Contenson 
out  of  the  change  of  the  tousand-franc  note." 

"De  lady  is  a  beauty,"  said  the  cashier  to  the  Baron,  as 
they  left  the  Eue  Taitbout,  "but  she  is  costing  you  ver'  dear. 
Monsieur  le  Baron." 

"Keep  my  segret,"  said  the  Baron,  who  had  said  the  same 
to  Contenson  and  Louchard. 

Louchard  went  away  with  Contenson;  but  on  the  boule- 
vard Asie,  who  was  looking  out  for  him,  stopped  Louchard. 

"The  bailiff  and  the  creditor  are  there  in  a  cab,"  said  she. 
"They  are  thirsty,  and  there  is  money  going." 

While  Louchard  counted  out  the  cash,  Contenson  studied 
the  customers.  He  recognized  Carlos  by  his  eyes,  and  traced 
the  form  of  his  forehead  under  the  wig.  The  wig  he  shrewdly 
regarded  as  suspicious;  he  took  the  number  of  the  cab  while 
seeming  quite  indifferent  to  what  was  going  on ;  Asie  and 
Europe  puzzled  him  beyond  measure.  He  thought  that  the 
Baron  was  the  victim  of  excessively  clever  sharpers,  all  the 
more  so  because  Louchard,  when  securing  his  services,  had 
been  singularly  close.  And  besides,  the  twist  of  Europe's 
foot  had  not  struck  his  shin  only. 

"A  trick  like  that  is  learned  at  Saint-Lazare,"  he  had  re- 
flected as  he  got  up. 


174  A  COURTESANS  LIFE 

Carlos  dismissed  the  bailift',  paying  him  liberally,  and  as 
he  did  so,  said  to  the  driver  of  the  cab,  "To  the  Perron,  Palais 
Eoyal." 

"The  rascal !"  thought  Contenson  as  he  heard  the  order. 
"There  is  something  up !"  Carlos  drove  to  the  Palais  Eoyal 
at  a  pace  which  precluded  all  fear  of  pursuit.  He  made  his 
way  in  his  own  fashion  through  the  arcades,  took  another 
cab  on  the  Place  du  Chateau  d'Eau,  and  bid  the  man  go  "to 
the  Passage  de  I'Opera,  the  end  of  the  Eue  Pinon." 

A  quarter  of  a  hour  later  he  was  in  the  Eue  Taitbout. 
On  seeing  him,  Esther  said : 

"Here  are  the  fatal  papers." 

Carlos  took  the  bills,  examined  them,  and  then  burned  them 
in  the  kitchen  fire. 

"We  have  done  the  trick,"  he  said,  showing  her  three  hun- 
dred and  ten  thousand  francs  in  a  roll,  which  he  took  out  of 
the  pocket  of  his  coat.  "This,  and  the  hundred  thousand 
francs  squeezed  out  by  Asie,  set  us  free  to  act." 

"Oh  God,  oh  God !"  cried  poor  Esther. 

"But,  you  idiot,"  said  the  ferocious  swindler,  "you  have 
only  to  be  ostensibly  Nucingen's  mistress,  and  you  can  al- 
ways see  Lucien;  he  is  Nucingen's  friend;  I  do  not  forbid 
your  being  madly  in  love  with  him." 

Esther  saw  a  glimmer  of  light  in  her  darkened  life;  she 
breathed  once  more. 

"Europe,  my  girl,"  said  Carlos,  leading  the  creature  into 
a  corner  of  the  boudoir  where  no  one  could  overhear  a  word, 
"Europe,  I  am  pleased  with  you." 

Europe  held  up  her  head,  and  looked  at  this  man  with  an 
expression  which  so  completely  changed  her  faded  features, 
that  Asie,  witnessing  the  interview,  as  she  watched  her  from 
the  door,  wondered  whether  the  interest  by  which  Carlos  held 
Europe  might  not  perhaps  be  even  stronger  than  that  by 
which  she  herself  was  bound  to  him. 

"That  is  not  all,  my  child.  Four  hundred  thousand  francs 
are  a  mere  nothing  to  me.  Paccard  will  give  you  an  account 
for  some  plate,  amounting  to  thirty  thousand  francs,  on  which 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  175 

money  has  been  paid  on  account;  bnt  our  goldsmith,  Biddin, 
has  paid  money  for  us.  Our  furniture,  seized  by  him,  will 
no  doubt  be  advertised  to-morrow.  Go  and  see  Biddin;  he 
lives  in  the  Eue  de  I'Arbre  Sec;  he  will  give  you  Mont-de- 
Piete  tickets  for  ten  thousand  francs.  You  understand, 
Esther  ordered  the  plate ;  she  has  not  paid  for  it,  and  she  put 
it  up  the  spout.  She  will  be  in  danger  of  a  little  summons 
for  swindling.  So  we  must  pay  the  goldsmith  the  thirty 
thousand  francs,  and  pay  up  ten  thousand  francs  to  the  Mont- 
de-Piete  to  get  the  plate  back.  Forty-three  thousand  francs 
in  all,  including  the  costs.  The  silver  is  very  much  alloyed ; 
the  Baron  will  give  her  a  new  service,  and  we  shall  bone  a 
few  thousand  francs  out  of  that.  You  owe — what  ?  two  years' 
account  with  the  dressmaker?" 

"Put  it  at  six  thousand  francs,"  replied  Europe. 

"Well,  if  Madame  Auguste  wants  to  be  paid  and  keep  our 
custom,  tell  her  to  make  out  a  bill  for  thirty  thousand  francs 
over  four  years.  Make  a  similar  arrangement  with  the 
milliner.  The  jeweler,  Samuel  Frisch  the  Jew,  in  the  Rue 
Sainte-Avoie,  will  lend  you  some  pawn-tickets;  we  must  owe 
him  twenty-five  thousand  francs,  and  we  must  want  six  thou- 
sand for  jewels  pledged  at  the  Mont-de-Piete.  We  will  re- 
turn the  trinkets  to  the  jeweler,  half  tlie  stones  will  be  imita- 
tion, but  the  Baron  will  not  examine  them.  In  short,  you 
will  make  him  fork  out  another  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
francs  to  add  to  our  nest-eggs  within  a  week." 

"Madame  might  give  me  a  little  help,"  said  Europe.  "Tell 
her  so,  for  she  sits  there  mumchance,  and  obliges  me  to  find 
more  inventions  than  three  authors  for  one  piece." 

"If  Esther  turns  prudish,  just  let  me  know,"  said  Carlos. 
"Wucingen  must  give  her  a  carriage  and  horses ;  she  will  have 
to  choose  and  buy  everything  herself  Go  to  the  horse-dealer 
and  the  coachmaker  who  are  employed  by  the  job-master 
where  Paccard  finds  work.  We  shall  get  handsome  horses, 
very  dear,  which  will  go  lame  within  a  month,  and  we  shall 
have  to  change  them." 

"We  might  get  six  thousand  francs  out  of  a  perfumer's 
bill,"  said  Europe. 


176  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Oh  !"  said  he,  shaking  his  head,  "we  must  go  gently.  !N"u- 
cingen  has  only  got  his. arm  into  the  press;  we  must  have 
his  liead.  Besides  all  this,  I  must  get  five  hundred  thousand 
francs." 

"You  can  get  them,"  replied  Europe.  "Madame  will 
soften  towards  the  fat  fool  for  about  six  hundred  thousand, 
and  insist  on  four  hundred  thousand  more  to  love  him  truly !" 

"Listen  to  me,  my  child,"  said  Carlos.  "The  day  when  I 
get  the  last  hundred  thousand  francs,  there  shall  be  twenty 
thousand  for  you." 

"What  good  will  they  do  me?"  said  Europe,  letting  her 
arms  drop  like  a  woman  to  whom  life  seems  impossible. 

"You  could  go  back  to  Valenciennes,  buy  a  good  business, 
and  set  up  as  an  honest  woman  if  you  chose ;  there  are  many 
tastes  in  human  nature.  Paccard  thinks  of  settling  some- 
times; he  has  no  encumbrances  on  his  hands,  and  not  much 
on  his  conscience ;  you  might  suit  each  other,"  replied  Carlos. 

"Go  back  to  Valenciennes !  What  are  you  thinking  of, 
monsieur?"  cried  Europe  in  alarm. 

Europe,  who  was  born  at  Valenciennes,  the  child  of  very 
poor  parents,  had  been  sent  at  seven  years  of  age  to  a,  spin- 
ning factory,  where  the  demands  of  modern  industry  had  im- 
paired her  physical  strength,  just  as  vice  had  untimely  de- 
praved her.  Corrupted  at  the  age  of  twelve,  and  a  mother 
at  thirteen,  she  found  herself  bound  to  the  most  degraded 
of  human  creatures.  On  the  occasion  of  a  murder  case,  she 
had  been  called  as  a  witness  before  the  Court.  Haunted  at 
sixteen  by  a  remnant  of  rectitude,  and  the  terror  inspired  by 
the  law,  her  evidence  led  to  the  prisoner  being  sentenced  to 
twenty  years  of  hard  labor. 

The  convict,  one  of  those  men  who  have  been  in  the  hands 
of  justice  more  than  once,  and  whose  temper  is  apt  at  terrible 
revenge,  had  said  to  the  girl  in  open  court : 

"In  ten  years,  as  sure  as  you  live.  Prudence"  (Europe's 
name  was  Prudence  Servien),  "I  will  return  to  be  the  death 
of  you,  if  I  am  scragged  for  it." 

The  President  of  the  Court  tried  to  reassure  the  girl  by 
promising  her  the  protection  and  the  care  of  the  law;  but 
the  poor  child  was  so  terror-stricken  that  she  fell  ill,  and 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  177 

was  in  hospital  nearly  a  year.  Justice  is  an  abstract  being, 
represented  by  a  collection  of  individuals  who  are  incessantly 
changing,  whose  good  intentions  and  memories  are,  like  them- 
selves, liable  to  many  vicissitudes.  Courts  and  tribunals  can 
do  nothing  to  hinder  crimes;  their  business  is  to  deal  with 
them  when  done.  From  this  point  of  view,  a  preventive 
police  would  be  a  boon  to  a  country;  but  the  mere  word 
Police  is  in  these  days  a  bugbear  to  legislators,  who  no  longer 
can  distinguish  between  the  three  words — Government,  Ad- 
ministration, and  Law-making.  The  legislator  tends  to 
centralize  everything  in  the  State,  as  if  the  State  could  act. 

The  convict  would  be  sure  always  to  rem.ember  his  victim, 
and  to  avenge  himself  when  Justice  had  ceased  to  think  of 
either  of  them. 

Prudence,  who  instinctively  appreciated  the  danger — in 
a  general  sense,  so  to  speak — left  Valenciennes  and  came  to 
Paris  at  the  age  of  seventeen  to  hide  there.  She  tried  four 
trades,  of  which  the  most  successful  was  that  of  a  "super"  at 
a  minor  theatre.  She  was  picked  up  by  Paccard,  and  to  him 
she  told  her  woes.  Paccard,  Jacques  Collin's  disciple  and 
right-hand  man,  spoke  of  this  girl  to  his  master,  and  when 
the  master  needed  a  slave  he  said  to  Prudence: 

"If  you  will  serve  me  as  the  devil  must  be  served,  I  will 
rid  you  of  Durut." 

Durut  was  the  convict;  the  Damocles'  sword  hung  over 
Prudence  Servien's  head. 

But  for  these  details,  many  critics  would  have  thought 
Europe's  attachment  somewhat  grotesque.  And  no  one  could 
have  understood  the  startling  announcement  that  Carlos  had 
ready. 

"Yes,  my  girl,  you  can  go  back  to  Valenciennes.  Here, 
read  this." 

And  he  held  oiit  to  her  yesterday's  paper,  pointing  to  this 
paragraph : 

"  Toulon — Yesterday,  Jenn  Francois  Dunit  was  executed  here.    Early 
in  the  morning  the  garrison,"  etc. 


178  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Prudence  dropped  the  paper;  her  legs  gave  way  under  the 
weight  of  her  body;  she  lived  again;  for,  to  use  her  own 
words,  she  never  liked  the  taste  of  her  food  since  the  day 
when  Durut  had  threatened  her. 

"You  see,  I  have  kept  my  word.  It  has  taken  four  years 
to  bring  Durut  to  the  scaffold  by  leading  him  into  a  snare. 
— Well,  finish  my  job  here,  and  you  will  find  yourself  at  the 
head  of  a  little  country  business  in  your  native  towju  with 
twenty  thousand  francs  of  your  own  as  Paccard's  wife,  and  I 
will  allow  him  to  be  virtuous  as  a  form  of  pension.'^' 

Europe  picked  up  the  paper  and  read  with  greedy  eyes  all 
the  details,  of  which  for  twenty  years  the  papers  have  never 
been  tired,  as  to  the  death  of  convicted  criminals:  the  im- 
pressive scene,  the  chaplain — who  has  always  converted  the 
victim — the  hardened  criminal  preaching  to  his  fellow  con- 
victs, the  battery  of  guns,  the  convicts  on  their  knees ;  and  then 
the  twaddle  and  reflections  which  never  lead  to  any  change 
in  the  management  of  the  prisons  where  eighteen  hundred 
crimes  are  herded. 

"We  must  place  Asie  on  the  staff  once  more,"'  said  Carlos. 

Asie  came  forward,  not  understanding  Europe's  panto- 
mime. 

"In  bringing  her  back  here  as  cook,  you  must  begin  by 
giving  the  Baron  such  a  dinner  as  he  never  ate  in  his  life," 
lie  went  on.  "Tell  him  that  Asie  has  lost  all  her  money  at 
play,  and  has  taken  service  once  more.  We  shall  not  need 
;m  outdoor  servant.  Paccard  shall  be  coachman.  Coach- 
men do  not  leave  their  box,  where  they  are  safe  out  of  the 
way;  and  he  will  run  less  risk  from  spies.  Madame  must 
turn  him  out  in  a  powdered  wig  and  a  braided  felt  cocked 
hat;  that  will  alter  his  appearance.  Besides,  I  will  make 
him  up." 

"Are  we  going  to  have  men-servants  in  the  house?"  asked 
Asie  with  a  leer. 

"All  honest  folks,"  said  Carlos. 

"All  soft-heads,'"  retorted  the  mulatto. 

"If  the  Baron  takes  a  house,  Paccard  has  a  friend  who  will 


WHAT  r.OYE  COSTS  179 

suit  as  the  lodge  porter,"  said  Carlos.  "Then  we  shall  only 
need  a  footman  and  a  kitchen-maid,  and  you  can  surely  keep 
an  eye  on  the  two  strangers " 

As  Carlos  was  leaving,  Paccard  made  his  appearance. 

"Wait  a  little  while,  there  are  people  in  the  street,"  said 
the  man. 

This  simple  statement  was  alarming.  Carlos  went  up  to 
Europe's  room,  and  stayed  there  till  Paccard  came  to  fetch 
him,  having  called  a  hackney  cab  that  came  into  the  court- 
yard. Carlos  pulled  down  the  blinds,  and  was  driven  ofE  at 
a  pace  that  defied  pursuit. 

Having  reached  the  Faubourg  Saint- Antoine,  he  got  out 
at  a  short  distance  from  a  hackney  coach  stand,  to  which  he 
went  on  foot,  and  thence  returned  to  the  Quai  Malaquais, 
escaping  all  inquiry. 

"Here,  child,"  said  he  to  Lucien,  showing  him  four  hun- 
dred banknotes  for  a  thousand  francs,  "here  is  something 
on  account  for  the  purchase  of  the  estates  of  Eubempre.  We 
will  risk  a  hundred  thousand.  Omnibuses  have  just  been 
started;  the  Parisians  will  take  to  the  novelty;  in  three 
months  we  shall  have  trebled  our  capital.  I  know  the  con- 
cern; they  will  pay  splendid  dividends  taken  out  of  the 
capital,  to  put  a  head  on  the  shares — an  old  idea  of  Nucin- 
gen's  revived.  If  we  acquire  the  Eubempre  land,  we  shall 
not  have  to  pay  on  the  nail. 

"You  must  go  and  see  des  Lupeaulx,  and  beg  him  to  give 
you  a  personal  recommendation  to  a  lawyer  named  Desroches, 
a  cunning  dog,  whom  you  must  call  on  at  his  office.  Get 
him  to  go  to  Eubempre  and  see  how  the  land  lies;  promise 
him  a  premium  of  twenty  thousand  francs  if  he  manages  to 
secure  you  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year  by  investing  eight 
hundred  thousand  francs  in  land  round  about  the  ruins  of  the 
old  house." 

"How  you  go  on — on  !  on !" 

"I  am  always  going  on.  This  is  no  time  for  joking. — You 
must  then  invest  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  in  Treasury 
bonds,  so  as  to  lose  no  interest;  you  may  safely  leave  it  to 


180  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Desroches,  he  is  as  honest  as  he  is  knowing. — That  being 
done,  get  off  to  Angoulenie,  and  persuade  your  sister  and 
your  brother-in-law  to  pledge  themselves  to  a  little  fib"  in 
the  way  of  business.  Your  relations  are  to  have  given  you 
six  hundred  thousand  francs  to  promote  your  marriage  with 
Clotilde  de  Grandlieu ;  there  is  no  disgrace  in  that." 

"We  are  saved !"  cried  Lucien,  dazzled. 

"You  are,  yes !"  replied  Carlos.  "But  even  you  are  not 
safe  till  you  walk  out  of  Saint-Thomas  d'Aquin  with  Clotilde 
as  your  wife." 

"And  what  have  you  to  fear?"  said  Lucien,  apparently 
much  concerned  for  his  counselor. 

"Some  inquisitive  souls  are  on  my  track — I  must  assume 
the  manners  of  a  genuine  priest ;  it  is  most  annoying.  The 
Devil  wall  cease  to  protect  me  if  he  sees  me  with  a  breviary 
under  my  arm." 

At  this  moment  the  Baron  de  ISTueingen,  who  was  leaning 
on  his  cashier's  arm,  reached  the  door  of  his  mansion. 

"1  am  ver'  much  afrait,"  said  he,  as  he  went  in,  "dat  I 
hafe  done  a  bat  day's  vork.  Veil,  we  must  make  it  up  some 
oder  vays." 

"De  misfortune  is  dat  you  shall  hafe  been  caught,  mein 
Herr  Baron,"  said  the  worthy  German,  whose  whole  care  was 
for  appearances. 

"Ja,  my  miss'ess  en  titre  should  be  in  a  position  vordy  of 
me,"  said  this  Louis  XIV.  of  the  counting-house. 

Feeling  sure  that  sooner  or  later  Esther  would  be  his, 
the  Baron  was  now  himself  again,  a  masterly  financier.  He 
resumed  the  management  of  his  affairs,  and  with  such  effect 
that  his  cashier,  finding  him  in  his  office  room  at  six  o'clock 
next  morning,  verifying  his  securities,  rubbed  his  hands  with 
satisfaction. 

"Ah,  ha !  mein  Herr  Baron,  you  shall  hafe  saved  money 
last  night !"  said  he,  with  a  half-cunning,  half-loutish 
German  grin. 

Though  men  who  are  as  rich  as  the  Baron  de  Nucingen 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  181 

have  more  opportunities  than  others  for  losing  money,  they 
also  have  more  chances  of  making  it,  even  when  they  indulge 
their  follies.  Though  the  financial  policy  of  the  house  of 
Nucingen  has  been  explained  elsewhere,  it  may  be  as  well 
to  point  out  that  such  immense  fortunes  are  not  made,  are 
not  built  up,  are  not  increased,  and  are  not  retained  in  the 
midst  of  the  commercial,  political,  and  industrial  revolu- 
tions of  the  present  day  but  at  the  cost  of  immense  losses,  or, 
if  you  choose  to  view  it  so,  of  heavy  taxes  on  private  fortunes. 
Very  little  newly-created  wealth  is  thrown  into  the  common 
treasury  of  the  world.  Every  fresh  accumulation  represents 
some  new  inequality  in  the  general  distribution  of  wealth. 
What  the  State  exacts  it  makes  some  return  for;  but  what  a 
house  like  that  of  Nucingen  takes,  it  keeps. 

Such  covert  robbery  escapes  the  law  for  the  reason  which 
would  have  made  a  Jacques  Collin  of  Frederick  the  Great, 
if,  instead  of  dealing  with  provinces  by  means  of  battles,  he 
had  dealt  in  smuggled  goods  or  transferable  securities.  The 
high  politics  of  money-making  consist  in  forcing  the  States 
of  Europe  to  issue  loans  at  twenty  or  at  ten  per  cent,  in 
making  that  twenty  or  ten  per  cent  by  the  use  of  public 
funds,  in  squeezing  industry  on  a  vast  scale  by  buying  up  raw 
material,  in  throwing  a  rope  to  the  first  founder  of  a  business 
just  to  keep  him  above  water  till  his  drowned-out  enterprise 
is  safely  landed — in  short,  in  all  the  great  battles  for  money- 
getting. 

The  banker,  no  doubt,  like  the  conqueror,  runs  risks;  but 
there  are  so  few  men  in  a  position  to  wage  this  warfare,  that 
the  sheep  have  no  business  to  meddle.  Such  grand  struggles 
are  between  the  shepherds.  Thus,  as  the  defaulters  are  guilty 
of  having  wanted  to  win  too  much,  very  little  sympathy  is 
felt  as  a  rule  for  the  misfortunes  brought  about  by  the  coali- 
tion of  the  Nucingens.  If  a  speculator  blows  his  brains  out, 
if  a  stockbroker  bolts,  if  a  lawyer  makes  off  with  the  fortune 
of  a  hundred  families — which  is  far  worse  than  killing  a 
man — if  a  banker  is  insolvent,  all  these  catastrophes  are  for- 
gotten in  Paris  in  a  few  months,  and  buried  under  the  oceanic 
surges  of  the  great  city. 


182  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

The  colossal  fortunes  of  Jacques  Coeur,  of  the  Medici,  of 
the  Angos  of  Dieppe,  of  the  Auffredis  of  la  Kochelle,  of  the 
Fuggers,  of  the  Tiepolos,  of  the  Corners,  were  honestly  made 
long  ago  by  the  advantages  they  had  over  the  ignorance  of 
the  people  as  to  the  sources  of  precious  products;  but  nowa- 
days geographical  information  has  reached  the  masses,  and 
competition  has  so  effectually  limited  the  profits,  that  every 
rapidly  made  fortune  is  the  result  of  chance,  or  of  a  discover}^ 
or  of  some  legalized  robbery.  The  lower  grades  of  mercantile 
enterprise  have  retorted  on  the  perfidious  dealings  of  higher 
commerce,  especially  during  the  last  ten  years,  by  base  adul- 
teration of  the  raw  material.  "Wherever  chemistry  is  prac- 
tised, wine  is  no  longer  procurable ;  the  vine  industry  is  con- 
sequentl}'^  waning.  Manufactured  salt  is  sold  to  avoid  the 
excise.  The  tribunals  are  appalled  by  this  universal  dis- 
honest3^  In  short,  French  trade  is  regarded  with  suspicion 
by  the  whole  world,  and  England  too  is  fast  being  demoral- 
ized. 

With  us  the  mischief  has  its  origin  in  the  political  situa- 
tion. The  Charter  proclaimed  the  reign  of  Money,  and  suc- 
cess has  become  the  supreme  consideration  of  an  atheistic 
age.  And,  indeed,  the  corruption  of  the  higher  ranks  is  in- 
finitely more  hideous,  in  spite  of  the  dazzling  display  and 
specious  arguments  of  wealth,  than  that  ignoble  and  more 
personal  corruption  of  the  inferior  classes,  of  which  certain 
details  lend  a  comic  element — terrible,  if  you  will — to  this 
drama.  The  Government,  always  alarmed  by  a  new  idea, 
has  banished  these  materials  of  modern  comedy  from  the 
stage.  The  citizen  class,  less  liberal  than  Louis  XIV.,  dreads 
the  advent  of  its  Manage  de  Figaro,  forbids  the  appearance 
of  a  political  Tartuffe,  and  certainly  would  not  allow  Tur- 
caret  to  be  represented,  for  Turearet  is  king.  Consequently, 
comedy  has  to  be  narrated,  and  a  book  is  now  the  weapon — 
less  swift,  but  no  more  sure — that  writers  wield. 

In  the  course  of  this  morning,  amid  the  coming  and  going 
of  callers,  orders  to  be  given,  and  brief  interviews,  making 
Nucingen's  private  office  a  sort  of  financial  lobby,  one  of  his 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  183 

stockbrokers  announced  to  him  the  disappearance  of  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Company,  one  of  the  richest  and  cleverest  too — 
Jacques  Falleix,  brother  of  Martin  Palleix,  and  the  suc- 
cessor of  Jules  Desmarets.  Jacques  Falleix  was  stockbroker 
in  ordinary  to  the  house  of  ISTucingen.  In  concert  with  du 
Tillet  and  the  Kellers,  the  Baron  had  plotted  the  ruin  of  this 
man  in  cold  blood,  as  if  it  had  been  the  killing  of  a  Passover 
lamb. 

"He  could  not  hafe  belt  on,"  replied  the  Baron  quietly. 

Jacques  Falleix  had  done  them  immense  service  in  stock- 
jobbing. During  a  crisis  a  few  months  since  he  had  saved 
the  situation  by  acting  boldly.  But  to  look  for  gratitude 
from  a  money-dealer  is  as  vain  as  to  try  to  touch  the  heart 
of  the  wolves  of  the  Ukraine  in  winter. 

"Poor  fellow !"  said  the  stockbroker.  "He  so  little  an- 
ticipated such  a  catastrophe,  that  he  had  furnished  a  little 
house  for  his  mistress  in  the  Eue  Saint-Georges ;  he  has  spent 
a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  in  decorations  and  furni- 
ture. He  was  so  devoted  to  Madame  du  Yal-Noble !  The 
poor  woman  must  give  it  all  up.  And  nothing  is  paid 
for.'-' 

"Goot,  goot !"  thought  ISTucingen,  "dis  is  de  very  chance  to 
make  up  for  vat  I  hafe  lost  dis  night ! — He  hafe  paid  for 
noting?"  he  asked  his  informant. 

"Why,"  said  the  stockbroker,  "where  would  you  find  a 
tradesman  so  ill  informed  as  to  refuse  credit  to  Jacques 
Falleix?  There  is  a  splendid  cellar  of  wine,  it  would  seem. 
By  the  way,  the  house  is  for  sale;  he  meant  to  buy  it.  The 
lease  is  in  his  name. — What  a  piece  of  folly !  Plate,  furni- 
ture, wine,  carriage-horses,  everything  will  be  valued  in  a 
lump,  and  what  will  the  creditors  get  out  of  it  ?" 

"Come  again  to-morrow,"  said  Nucingen.  "I  shall  hafe 
seen  all  dat;  and  if  it  is  not  a  declared  bankruptcy,  if  tings 
can  be  arranged  and  compromised,  I  shall  tell  you  to  offer 
some  reasonaple  price  for  dat  furniture,  if  I  shall  buy  de 
lease " 

"That  can  be  managed,"  said  his  friend.     "If  you  go  there 


184  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

this  morning,  you  will  find  one  of  Falleix's  partners  there 
with  the  tradespeople,  who  want  to  establish  a  first  claim ;  but 
la  Val-ISToble  has  their  accounts  made  out  to  Falleix." 

The  Baron  sent  off  one  of  his  clerks  forthwith  to  his  lawyer. 
Jacques  Falleix  had  spoken  to  him  about  this  house,  which 
was  worth  sixty  thousand  francs  at  most,  and  he  wished  to  be 
put  in  possession  of  it  at  once,  so  as  to  avail  himself  of  the 
privileges  of  the  householder. 

The  cashier,  honest  man,  came  to  inquire  whether  his 
master  had  lost  anything  by  Falleix's  bankruptcy. 

"On  de  contrar',  mein  goot  Volfgang,  I  stant  to  vin  ein 
hundert  tousant  francs." 

"How  vas  dat  ?*' 

"Veil,  I  shall  hafe  de  little  house  vat  dat  poor  Teufel 
Falleix  should  furnish  for  his  mis'ess  this  year.  I  shall  hafe 
all  dat  for  fifty  tousant  franc  to  de  creditors ;  and  my  notary, 
Maitre  Cardot,  shall  hafe  my  orders  to  buy  de  house,  for  de 
lan'lord  vant  de  money — I  Imew  dat,  but  I  hat  lost  mein 
head.  Yer'  soon  my  difine  Esther  shall  life  in  a  little 
palace.  ...  I  hafe  been  dere  mit  Falleix — it  is  close  to 
liere. — It  shall  fit  me  like  a  glofe." 

Falleix's  failure  required  the  Baron's  presence  at  the 
Bourse;  but  he  could  not  bear  to  leave  his  house  in  the  Rue 
Saint-Lazare  without  going  to  the  Rue  Taitbout;  he  was  al- 
ready miserable  at  having  been  away  from  Esther  for 
so  many  hours.  He  would  have  liked  to  keep  her  at  his 
elbow.  The  profits  he  hoped  to  make  out  of  his  stockbrokers' 
plunder  made  the  former  loss  of  four  hundred  thousand 
francs  quite  easy  to  endure. 

Delighted  to  announce  to  his  "anchel"  that  she  was  to  move 
from  the  Rue  Taitbout  to  the  Rue  Saint-Georges,  where  she 
was  to  have  "ein  little  palace"  where  her  memories  would  no 
longer  rise  up  in  antagonism  to  their  happiness,  the  pavement 
felt  elastic  under  his  feet ;  he  walked  like  a  young  man  in  a 
vounc  man's  dream.  As  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  Rue  des 
Trois  Freres,  in  the  middle  of  his  dream,  and  of  the  road, 
the  Baron  beheld  Europe  coming  towards  him,  looking  very 
much  upset. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  185 

''Vere  shall  you  go?"  he  asked. 

"Weil,  monsieur,  I  was  on  my  way  to  you.  You  were 
quite  right  yesterday.  I  see  now  that  poor  madame  had 
better  have  gone  to  prison  for  a  few  days.  But  how  should  wo- 
men understand  money  matters?  When  madame's  creditors 
heard  that  she  had  come  home,  they  all  came  down  upon  us  like 
birds  of  prey. — Last  evening,  at  seven  o'clock,  monsieur,  men 
came  and  stuck  horrible  posters  up  to  announce  a  sale  of 
furniture  on  Saturday — but  that  is  nothing. — Madame,  who 
is  all  heart,  once  upon  a  time  to  oblige  that  wretch  of  a  man 
you  know " 

"Vat  wretch?" 

"Well,  the  man  she  was  in  love  with,  d'Estourny — well, 
he  was  charming !     He  was  only  a  gambler " 

"He  gambled  with  beveled  cards !" 

"Well — and  what  do  you  do  at  the  Bourse  ?"  said  Europe. 
"But  let  me  go  on.  One  day,  to  hinder  Georges,  as  he  said, 
from  blowing  out  his  brains,  she  pawned  all  her  plate  and 
her  jewels,  which  had  never  been  paid  for.  ISTow  on  hearing 
that  she  had  given  something  to  one  of  her  creditors,  they 
came  in  a  body  and  made  a  scene.  They  threaten  her  with 
the  police-court — ^your  angel  at  that  bar !  Is  it  not  enough 
to  make  a  wig  stand  on  end?  She  is  bathed  in  tears;  she 
talks  of  throwing  herself  into  the  river — and  she  will  do  it." 

"If  I  shall  go  to  see  her,  dat  is  goot-bye  to  de  Bourse;  an' 
it  is  impossible  but  I  shall  go,  for  I  shall  make  some  money 
for  her — ^you  shall  compose  her.  I  shall  pay  her  debts;  I 
shall  go  to  see  her  at  four  o'clock.  But  tell  me,  Eugenie, 
dat  she  shall  lofe  me  a  little " 

"A  little  ? — A  great  deal ! — I  tell  you  what,  monsieur,  noth- 
ing but  generosity  can  win  a  woman's  heart.  You  would, 
no  doubt,  have  saved  a  hundred  thousand  francs  or  so  by 
letting  her  go  to  prison.  Well,  you  would  never  have  won 
her  heart.  As  she  said  to  me — 'Eugenie,  he  has  been  noble, 
grand — he  has  a  great  soul.'  " 

"She  hafe  said  dat,  Eugenie  ?"  cried  the  Baron. 


186  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Yes,  monsieur,  to  me,  myself." 

"Here — take  dis  ten  louis." 

"■'Thank  you. — But  she  is  crying  at  this  moment;  she  has 
been  crying  ever  since  yesterday  as  much  as  a  weeping  Mag- 
dalen could  have  cried  in  six  months.  The  woman  you  love 
is  in  despair,  and  for  debts  that  are  not  even  hers  I  Oh ! 
men — thev  devour  women  as  women  devour  old  fogies — 
there !" 

"Dey  all  is  de  same  I — She  hafe  pledge'  herself. — Yy,  no 
one  shall  ever  pledge  herself. — Tell  her  dat  she  shall  sign 
noting  more. — I  shall  pay;  but  if  she  shall  sign  something 
more — I '' 

*^What  will  you  do?"  said  Europe  with  an  air. 

"Mein  Gott  I     I  hafe  no  power  over  her. — I  shall  take  de 

management  of  her  little  affairs Dere,  dere,  go  to  comfort 

her,  and  you  shall  say  that  in  ein  mont  she  shall  live  in  a 
little  palace." 

"You  have  invested  heavily.  Monsieur  le  Baron,  and  for 
large  interest,  in  a  woman's  heart.  I  tell  you — jou  look  to 
me  younger.  I  am  but  a  waiting-maid,  but  I  have  often  seen 
such  a  change.  It  is  happiness — happiness  gives  a  certain 
glow.  ...  If  you  have  spent  a  little  money,  do  not  let 
that  worr}-  you;  you  "will  see  what  a  good  return  it  will 
bring.  And  I  said  to  madame,  I  told  her  she  would  be  the 
lowest  of  the  low,  a  perfect  hussy,  if  she  did  not  love  you, 
for  you  have  picked  her  out  of  hell. — When  once  she  has  noth- 
ing on  her  mind,  you  will  see.  Between  you  and  me,  I  may 
tell  you,  that  night  when  she  cried  so  much — What  is  to  be 
said,  we  value  the  esteem  of  the  man  who  maintains  us — 
and  she  did  not  dare  tell  vou  ever^i:hing.  She  wanted  to 
fly." 

"To  fly  I"  cried  the  Baron,  in  dismay  at  the  notion.  "But 
the  Bourse,  the  Bourse  I — Go  'vay,  I  shall  not  come  in. — But 
tell  her  that  I  shall  see  her  at  her  vindow — dat  shall  gife  me 
courage !'' 

Esther  smiled  at  Monsieur  de  Xucingen  as  he  passed  the 
house,  and  he  went  ponderously  on  his  way,  saying: 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  187 

"She  is  ein  anchel !" 

This  was  how  Europe  had  succeeded  in  achieving  the  im- 
possible. At  about  half-past  two  Esther  had  finished  dress- 
ing, as  she  was  wont  to  dress  when  she  expected  Lucien;  she 
was  looking  charming.  Seeing  this.  Prudence,  looking  out 
of  the  window,  said,  "There  is  monsieur !" 

The  poor  creature  flew  to  the  window,  thinking  she  should 
see  Lucien;  she  saw  Nucingen. 

"Oh !  how  cruelly  3^ou  hurt  me !"  she  said. 

"There  was  no  other  way  of  getting  you  to  seem  to  be 
gracious  to  a  poor  old  man,  who,  after  all,  is  going  to  pay 
your  debts,"  said  Europe.    "For  they  are  all  to  be  paid." 

"What  debts  ?"  said  the  girl,  who  only  cared  to  preserve  her 
love,  which  dreadful  hands  were  scattering  to  the  winds. 

"Those  which  Monsieur  Carlos  made  in  your  name." 

"Why,  here  are  nearly  four  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
francs,"  cried  Esther. 

"And  you  owe  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  more.  But 
the  Baron  took  it  all  very  well. — He  is  going  to  remove  you 
from  hence,  and  place  you  in  a  little  palace. — On  my  honor, 
you  are  not  so  badly  off.  In  your  place,  as  you  have  got  on 
the  right  side  of  this  man,  as  soon  as  Carlos  is  satisfied,  I 
should  make  him  give  me  a  house  and  a  settled  income.  You 
are  certainly  the  handsomest  woman  I  ever  saw,  madame,  and 
the  most  attractive,  but  we  so  soon  grow  ugly !  I  was  fresh  and 
good-looking,  and  look  at  me !  I  am  twenty-three,  about  the 
same  age  as  madame,  and  I  look  ten  years  older.  An  illness  is 
enough. — Well,  but  when  you  have  a  house  in  Paris  and  in- 
vestments, you  need  never  be  afraid  of  ending  in  the  streets.''--T^ 

Esther  had  ceased  to  listen  to  Europe-Eugenie-Prudence  : 
Servien.     The  will  of  a  man  gifted  with  the  genius  of  cor- 
ruption had  thrown  Esther  back  into  the  mud  with  as  much 
force  as  he  had  used  to  drag  her  out  of  it. 

Those  who  know  love  in  its  infinitude  know  that  those  who 
do  not  accept  its  virtues  do  not  experience  its  pleasures. 
Since  the  scene  in  the  den  in  the  Eue  de  Langlade,  Esther 
had  utterly  forgotten  her  former  existence.     She  had  since 


1 
188  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

lived  very  virtuously,  cloistered  by  her  passion.  Hence,  to 
avoid  any  obstacle,  the  skilful  fiend  had  been  clever  enough 
to  lay  such  a  train  that  the  poor  girl,  prompted  by  her  devo- 
tion, had  raerely  to  utter  her  consent  to  swindling  actions 
already  done,  or  on  the  point  of  accomplishment.  This  sub- 
tlety, revealing  the  mastery  of  the  tempter,  also  characterized 
the  methods  by  which  he  had  subjugated  Lucien.  He  created 
a  terrible  situation,  dug  a  mine,  filled  it  with  powder,  and  at 
the  critical  moment  said  to  his  accomplice,  "You  have  only  to 
nod,  and  the  whole  will  explode !" 

Esther  of  old,  knowing  only  the  morality  peculiar  to 
courtesans,  thought  all  these  attentions  so  natural,  that  she 
measured  her  rivals  only  by  what  they  could  get  men  to  spend 
on  them.  Euined  fortunes  are  the  conduct-stripes  of  these 
creatures.  Carlos,  in  counting  on  Esther's  memor}^,  had  not 
^calculated  wrongly. 

These  tricks  of  warfare,  these  stratagems  employed  a  thou- 
sand times,  not  only  by  these  women,  but  by  spendthrifts  too, 
did  not  disturb  Esther's  mind.  She  felt  nothing  but  her  per- 
sonal degradation ;  she  loved  Lucien,  she  was  to  be  the  Baron 
de  Xucingen's  mistress  "by  appointment" ;  this  was  all  she 
thought  of.  The  supposed  Spaniard  might  absorb  the  earnest- 
mone}-,  Lucien  might  build  up  his  fortune  with  the  stones  of 
her  tomb,  a  single  night  of  pleasure  might  cost  the  old  banker 
so  many  thousand-franc  notes  more  or  less,  Europe  might 
extract  a  fevr  hundred  thousand  francs  by  more  or  less  in- 
genious tricker}^, — none  of  these  things  troubled  the  enam- 
ored girl ;  this  alone  was  the  canker  that  ate  into  her  heart. 
For  five  years  she  had  looked  upon  herself  as  being  as  white 
as  an  angel.  She  loved,  she  was  happy,  she  had  never  com- 
mitted the  smallest  infidelity.  This  beautiful  pure  love  was 
now  to  be  defiled. 

There  was,  in  her  mind,  no  conscious  contrasting  of  her 
happy  isolated  past  and  her  foul  future  life.  It  was  neither 
interest  nor  sentiment  that  moved  her,  only  an  indefinable 
and  all  powerful  feeling  that  she  had  been  white  and  was  now- 
black,  pure  and  was  now  impure,  noble  and  was  now  ignoble. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  ISO 

Desiring  to  be  the  ermine,  moral  taint  seemed  to  her  unen- 
durable. And  when  the  Baron's  passion  had  threatened  her, 
she  had  really  thought  of  throwing  herself  out  of  the  window. 
In  short,  she  loved  Lueien  wholly,  and  as  women  very  rarely^ 
love  a  man.  Women  who  say  they  love,  who  often  think  they 
love  best,  dance,  waltz,  and  flirt  with  other  men,  dress  for  the 
world,  and  look  for  a  harvest  of  concupiscent  glances;  but 
Esther,  without  any  sacrifice,  had  'achieved  miracles  of  true 
love.  She  had  loved  Lueien  for  six  years  as  actresses  love  and 
courtesans — women  who,  having  rolled  in  mire  and  impurity, 
thirst  for  something  noble,  for  the  self-devotion  of  true  love, 
and  who  practise  exclusiveness — the  only  word  for  an  idea  so 
little  known  in  real  life. 

Vanished  nations,  Greece,  Eome,  and  the  East,  have  at  all 
times  kept  women  shut  up ;  the  woman  who  loves  should  shut 
herself  up.  So  it  may  easily  be  imagined  that  on  quitting  the 
palace  of  her  fancy,  where  this  poem  had  been  enacted,  to  go 
to  this  old  man's  "little  palace,"  Esther  felt  heartsick.  Urged 
by  an  iron  hand,  she  had  found  herself  waist-deep  in  disgrace 
before  she  had  time  to  reflect;  but  for  the  past  two  days  she 
had  been  reflecting,  and  felt  a  mortal  chill  about  her  heart. 

At  the  words,  "End  in  the  street,"  she  started  to  her  feet 
and  said: 

"In  the  street ! — ISTo,  in  the  Seine  rather." 

"In  the  Seine?  And  what  about  Monsieur  Lueien?"  said 
Europe. 

This  single  word  brought  Esther  to  her  seat  again ;  she  re- 
mained in  her  armchair,  her  eyes  fixed  on  a  rosette  in  the 
carpet,  the  fire  in  her  brain  drying  up  her  tears. 

At  four  o'clock  Nucingen  found  his  angel  lost  in  that  sea 
of  meditations  and  resolutions  whereon  a  woman's  spirit 
floats,  and  whence  she  emerges  with  utterances  that  are  in- 
comprehensible to  those  who  have  not  sailed  it  in  her  convoy. 

"Clear  your  brow,  meine  Schone,"  said  the  Baron,  sitting 
down  by  her.  "You  shall  hafe  no  more  debts — I  shall  ar- 
range mit  Eugenie,  an'  in  ein  mont  you  shall  go  'vay  from 
dese  rooms  and  go  to  dat  little  palace. — Vas  a  pretty  hant. — 


190  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Gife  it  me  dat  I  shall  kiss  it."  Esther  gave  him  her  hand  as 
a  dog  gives  a  paw,  "Ach,  ja !  You  shall  gife  de  hant,  but 
not  de  heart,  and  it  is  dat  heart  I  lofe !" 

The  words  were  spoken  with  such  sincerity  of  accent,  that 
poor  Esther  looked  at  the  old  man  with  a  compassion  in  her 
eyes  that  almost  maddened  him.  Lovers,  like  martyrs,  feel  a 
brotherhood  in  their  sufferings !  Xothing  in  the  world  gives 
such  a  sense  of  kindred  as  community  of  sorrow. 

"Poor  man !"  said  she,  'Tie  really  loves." 

As  he  heard  the  words,  misunderstanding  their  meaning, 
the  Baron  turned  pale,  the  Dlood  tingled  in  his  veins,  he 
breathed  the  airs  of  heaven.  At  his  age  a  millionaire,  for  such 
a  sensation,  will  pay  as  much  gold  as  a  woman  can  ask. 

"I  lofe  you  like  vat  I  lofe  my  daughter,"  said  he.  "An'  I 
feel  dere" — and  he  laid  her  hand  over  his  heart — "dat  I  shall 
not  bear  to  see  you  anyting  but  happy." 

"If  you  would  only  be  a  father  to  me,  I  would  love  you  very 
much;  I  would  never  leave  you;  and  you  would  see  that  I  am 
not  a  bad  woman,  not  grasping  or  greedy,  as  I  must  seem  to 
you  now " 

"You  hafe  done  some  little  follies,"  said  the  Baron,  "like 
all  dose  pretty  vomen — dat  is  all.  Say  no  more  about  dat.  It 
is  our  pusiness  to  make  money  for  you.  Be  happy !  I  shall  be 
your  fater  for  some  days  yet,  for  I  know  I  must  make  you 
accustom'  to  my  old  carcase." 

"Really !"  she  exclaimed,  springing  on  to  Nucingen's  knees, 
and  clinging  to  him  with  her  arm  round  his  neck. 

"Eeally !"  repeated  he,  trying  to  force  a  smile. 

She  kissed  his  forehead ;  she  believed  in  an  impossible  com- 
bination— she  might  remain  untouched  and  see  Lucien. 

She  was  so  coaxing  to  the  banker  that  she  was  La  Torpille 
once  more.  She  fairly  bewitched  the  old  man,  who  promised 
to  be  a  father  to  her  for  forty  days.  Those  forty  days  were 
to  be  emp'loyed  in  acquiring  and  arranging  the  house  in  the 
Eue  Sain^t- Georges. 

When  he  was  in  the  street  again,  as  he  went  home,  the 
Baron  said  to  himself,  "I  am  an  old  flat." 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  191 

But  though  in  Esther's  presence  he  was  a  mere  child,  away 
from  her  he  resumed  his  lynx's  skin;  just  as  the  gambler  (in 
le  Joueur)  becomes  affectionate  to  Angelique  when  he  has  not 
a  Hard. 

"A  half  a  million  francs  I  hafe  paid,  and  I  hafe  not  yet  seen 
vat  her  leg  is  like. — Dat  is  too  silly !  but,  happily,  nobody 
shall  hafe  known  it !"  said  he  to  himself  three  weeks  after. 

And  he  made  great  resolutions  to  come  to  the  point  with 
the  woman  who  had  cost  him  so  dear ;  then,  in  Esther's  pres- 
ence once  more,  he  spent  all  the  time  he  could  spare  her  in 
making  up  for  the  roughness  of  his  first  words. 

"After  all,"  said  he,  at  the  end  of  a  month,  "I  cannot  be  de 
fater  eternal !" 

Towards  the  end  of  the  month  of  December  1829,  just  be- 
fore installing  Esther  in  the  house  in  the  Eue  Saint-Georges, 
the  Baron  begged  du  Tillet  to  take  Florine  there,  that  she 
might  see  whether  everything  was  suitable  to  Nucingen's 
fortune,  and  if  the  description  of  "a  little  palace"  were  duly 
realized  by  the  artists  commissioned  to  make  the  cage  worthy 
of  the  bird. 

Every  device  known  to  luxury  before  the  Eevolution  of 
1830  made  this  residence  a  masterpiece  of  taste.  Grindot 
the  architect  considered  it  his  greatest  achievement  as  a  deco- 
rator. The  staircase,  which  had  been  reconstructed  of  marble, 
the  judicious  use  of  stucco  ornament,  textiles,  and  gilding, 
the  smallest  details  as  much  as  the  general  effect,  outdid 
everything  of  the  kind  left  in  Paris  from  the  time  of 
iWs  XV. 

"This  is  my  dream  ! — This  and  virtue  !"  said  Florine  with 
a  smile.  "And  for  whom  are  you  spending  all  this  money  ?" 
she  asked  Nucingen.    "A  virgin  sent  down  from  heaven  ?" 

"For  a  voman  vat  is  going  up  there,"  replied  the  Baron. 

"A  way  of  playing  Jupiter?"  replied  the  actress.  "And 
when  is  she  on  show  ?" 

"On  the  day  of  the  house-warming,"  cried  du  Tillet. 

"Not  before  dat,"  said  the  Baron. 

"My  word,  how  we  must  lace  and  brush  and  fig  ourselves 


1U2  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

out/*'  Florine  went  on.  '^'TThat  a  dance  the  women  will  lead 
their  dressmakers  and  hairdressers  for  that  evening's  fun  I — 
And  when  is  it  to  he  ?'' 

"Dat  is  not  for  me  to  say.*' 

'^VThat  a  woman  she  must  be  !"  cried  Florine.  "How  much 
I  should  like  to  see  her !"' 

'■'An'  so  should  I,''  answered  the  Baron  artlessly. 

'^*hat  I  is  eventhiiig  new  together — the  house,  the  furni- 
ture, and  the  woman?"' 

"Even  the  banker,"  said  du  Tillet,  ''for  my  old  friend  seems 
to  me  quite  young  again." 

"Well,  he  must  go  back  to  his  twentieth  year,"  said  Florine ; 
"at  any  rate,  for  once." 

In  the  early  days  of  1830  ever}'body  in  Paris  was  talking  of 
Xucingen's  passion  and  the  outrageous  splendor  of  his  house. 
The  poor  Baron,  pointed  at,  laughed  at,  and  fuming  with 
rage,  as  may  easily  be  imagined,  took  it  into  his  head  that  on 
the  occasion  of  giving  the  house-warming  he  would  at  the  same 
time  get  rid  of  his  paternal  disguise,  and  get  the  price  of  so 
much  generosity.  Always  circumvented  by  "La  Torpille," 
he  determined  to  treat  of  their  union  by  correspondence,  so  as 
to  win  from  her  an  autograph  promise.  Bankers  have  no 
faith  in  anything  less  than  a  promissory  note. 

So  one  morning  early  in  the  year  he  rose  early,  locked  him- 
self into  his  room,  and  composed  the  following  letter  in  very 
good  French;  for  though  he  spoke  the  language  very  badly, 
he  could  write  it  very  well : — 

"Dear  Esther,  the  flower  of  my  thoughts  and  the  only  joy 
of  my  life,  when  I  told  you  that  I  loved  you  as  I  love  my 
daughter,  I  deceived  you,  I  deceived  myself.  I  only  wished 
to  express  the  holiness  of  my  sentiments,  which  are  unlike 
those  felt  by  other  men,  in  the  first  place,  because  I  am  an  old 
man,  and  also  because  I  have  never  loved  till  now.  I  love  you 
=0  much,  that  if  you  cost  me  my  fortune  I  should  not  love  you 
the  less. 

"Be  just !     Most  men  would  not.  like  me,  have  seen  the 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  193 

angel  in  you ;  I  have  never  even  glanced  at  your  past.  I  love 
you  both  as  I  love  iny  daughter  Augusta,  and  as  I  might  love 
my  wife,  if  my  wife  could  have  loved  me.  Since  the  only  ex- 
cuse for  an  old  man's  love  is  that  he  should  be  happy,  ask 
yourself  if  I  am  not  playing  a  too  ridiculous  part.  I  have 
taken  you  to  be  the  consolation  and  joy  of  my  declining  days. 
You  know  that  till  I  die  you  will  be  as  happy  as  a  woman 
can  be;  and  you  know,  too,  that  after  my  death  you  will  be 
rich  enough  to  be  the  envy  of  many  women.  In  every  stroke 
of  business  I  have  effected  since  I  have  had  the  happiness  of 
your  acquaintance,  your  share  is  set  apart,  and  you  have  a 
standing  account  with  ISTucingen's  bank.  In  a  few  days  you 
will  move  into  a  house  which,  sooner  or  later,  will  be  your 
own  if  you  like  it.  Now,  plainly,  will  you  still  receive  me 
then  as  a  father,  or  will  you  make  me  happy? 

"Forgive  me  for  writing  so  frankly,  but  when  I  am  with 
you  I  lose  all  courage;  I  feel  too  keenly  that  you  are  indeed 
my  mistress.  I  have  no  wish  to  hurt  you ;  I  only  want  to  tell 
you  how  much  I  suffer,  and  how  hard  it  is  to  wait  at  my  age, 
when  every  day  takes  with  it  some  hopes  and  some  pleasures. 
Besides,  the  delicacy  of  my  conduct  is  a  guarantee  of  the  sin- 
cerity of  my  intentions.  Have  I  ever  behaved  as  your  cred- 
itor? You  are  like  a  citadel,  and  I  am  not  a  young  man. 
In  answer  to  my  appeals,  you  say  your  life  is  at  stake,  and 
when  I  hear  you,  you  make  me  believe  it ;  but  here  I  sink  into 
dark  melancholy  and  doubts  dishonorable  to  us  both.  You 
seemed  to  me  as  sweet  and  innocent  as  you  are  lovely ;  but  you 
insist  on  destroying  my  convictions.  Ask  yourself ! — You  tell 
me  you  bear  a  passion  in  your  heart,  an  indomitable  passion, 
but  you  refuse  to  tell  me  the  name  of  the  man  you  love. — Is 
this  natural  ? 

"You  have  turned  a  fairly  strong  man  into  an  incredibly 
weak  one.  You  see  what  I  have  come  to ;  I  am  induced  to  ask 
you  at  the  end  of  five  months  what  future  hope  there  is  for 
my  passion.  Again,  I  must  know  what  part  I  am  to  play  at 
the  opening  of  your  house.    Money  is  nothing  to  me  when  it 


194  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

is  spent  for  you ;  I  will  not  be  so  absurd  as  to  make  a  merit 
to  you  of  this  contempt ;  but  though  my  love  knows  no  limits, 
my  fortune  is  limited,  and  I  care  for  it  only  for  your  sake. 
Well,  if  by  giving  you  everything  I  possess  I  might,  as  a  poor 
man,  win  your  affection,  I  would  rather  be  poor  and  loved 
than  rich  and  scorned  by  you. 

"You  have  altered  me  so  completely,  my  dear  Esther,  that 
no  one  knows  me ;  I  paid  ten  thousand  francs  for  a  picture  by 
Joseph  Bridau  because  you  told  me  that  he  was  clever  and 
unappreciated.  I  give  every  beggar  I  meet  five  francs  in  your 
name.  Well,  and  what  does  the  poor  old  man  ask,  who 
regards  himself  as  your  debtor  when  you  do  him  the  honor  of 
accepting  anything  he  can  give  you?  He  asks  only  for  a 
hope — and  what  a  hope,  good  God !  Is  it  not  rather  the  cer- 
tainty of  never  having  anything  from  you  but  what  my  pas- 
sion may  seize  ?  The  fire  in  my  heart  will  abet  your  cruel  de- 
ceptions. You  find  me  ready  to  submit  to  every  condition 
you  can  impose  on  my  happiness,  on  my  few  pleasures;  but 
promise  me  at  least  that  on  the  day  when  you  take  possession 
of  your  house  you  will  accept  the  heart  and  service  of  him 
who,  for, the  rest  of  his  days,  must  sign  himself  your  slave, 

"Fe^d^ric  de  ISTucingen." 

"Faugh  !  how  he  bores  me — this  money  bag !"  cried  Esther, 
a  courtesan  once  more.  She  took  a  small  sheet  of  notepaper 
and  wrote  all  over  it,  as  close  as  it  could  go,  Scribe's  famous 
phrase,  which  has  become  a  proverb,  "Prenez  mon  ours." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  Esther,  overcome  by  remorse, 
wrote  the  following  letter: — 

"Monsieur  le  Baron, — 

"Pay  no  heed  to  the  note  you  have  just  received  from  me ; 
I  had  relapsed  into  the  folly  of  my  youth.  Forgive,  monsieur, 
a  poor  girl  who  ought  to  be  your  slave.  I  never  more  keenly 
felt  the  degradation  of  my  position  than  on  the  day  when  I 
was  handed  over  to  you.  \"ou  have  paid ;  I  owe  myself  to  you. 
There  is  nothing  more  sacred  than  a  debt  of  dishonor.     I 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  195 

have  no  right  to  compound  it  by  throwing  myself  into  the 
Seine. 

"A  debt  can  always  be  discharged  in  that  dreadful  coin 
which  is  good  only  to  the  debtor;  you  will  find  me  yours  to 
command.  I  will  pay  off  in  one  night  all  the  sums  for  which 
that  fatal  hour  has  been  mortgaged ;  and  I  am  sure  that  such 
an  hour  with  me  is  worth  millions — all  the  more  because  it 
will  be  the  only  one,  the  last.  I  shall  then  have  paid  the  debt, 
and  may  get  away  from  life.  A  good  woman  has  a  chance  of 
restoration  after  a  fall ;  but  we,  the  like  of  us,  fall  too  low. 

"My  determination  is  so  fixed  that  I  beg  you  will  keep  this 
letter  in  evidence  of  the  cause  of  death  of  her  who  remains, 
for  one  day,  your  servant, 

"Esther." 

Having  sent  this  letter,  Esther  felt  a  pang  of  regret.  Ten 
minutes  after  she  wrote  a  third  note,  as  follows : — 

"Forgive  me,  dear  Baron — it  is  I  once  more.  I  did  not 
mean  either  to  make  game  of  you  or  to  wound  you;  I  only 
want  you  to  reflect  on  this  simple  argument:  If  we  were  to 
continue  in  the  position  towards  each  other  of  father  and 
daughter,  your  pleasure  would  be  small,  but  it  would  be  en- 
during. If  you  insist  on  the  terms  of  the  bargain,  you  will 
live  to  mourn  for  me. 

"I  will  trouble  you  no  more:  the  day  when  you  shall  choose 
pleasure  rather  than  happiness  will  have  no  morrow  for  me. — 
Your  daughter, 

"Esther." 

On  receiving  the  first  letter,  the  Baron  fell  into  a  cold  fury 
such  as  a  millionaire  may  die  of ;  he  looked  at  himself  in  the 
glass  and  rang  the  bell. 

"An  hot  bat  for  mein  feet,"  said  he  to  his  new  valet. 

While  he  was  sitting  with  his  feet  in  the  bath,  the  second 
letter  came ;  he  read  it,  and  fainted  away.  He  was  carried  to 
bed. 


196  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

When  the  banker  recovered  consciousness,  Madame  de  Nu- 
cingen  was  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"The  hussy  is  right !"  said  she.  "Wh}'-  do  you  try  to  buy 
love?  Is  it  to  be  bought  in  the  market? — Let  me  see  your 
letter  to  her." 

The  Baron  gave  her  sundry  rough  drafts  he  had  made; 
Madame  de  ISTucingen  read  them,  and  smiled.  Then  came 
Esther's  third  letter. 

"She  is  a  wonderful  girl !"  cried  the  Baroness,  when  she 
^^had  read  it. 

"Vat  shall  I  do,  montame  ?"  asked  the  Baron  of  his  wife. 

"Wait." 

"Wait  ?    But  nature  is  pitiless !"  he  cried. 

"Look  here,  my  dear,  you  have  been  admirably  kind  to  me," 
said  Delphine;  "I  will  give  you  some  good  advice." 

"You  are  a  ver'  goot  voman,"  said  he.  "Ven  you  hafe  any 
debts  I  shall  pay." 

"Your  state  on  receiving  these  letters  touches  a  woman  far 
more  than  the  spending  of  millions,  or  than  all  the  letters 
you  could  write,  however  fine  they  may  be.  Try  to  let  her 
know  it,  indirectly;  perhaps  she  will  be  yours!  And — have 
no  scruples,  she  will  not  die  of  that,"  added  she,  looking 
keenly  at  her  husband. 

But  Madame  de  Nucingen  knew  nothing  whatever  of  the 
nature  of  such  women. 

"Vat  a  defer  voman  is  Montame  de  Nueingen !"  said  the 
Baron  to  himself  when  his  wife  had  left  him. 

Still,  the  more  the  Baron  admired  the  subtlety  of  his 
wife's  counsel,  the  less  could  he  see  how  he  might  act  upon  it ; 
and  he  not  only  felt  that  he  was  stupid,  but  he  told  himself  so. 

The  stupidity  of  wealthy  men,  though  it  is  almost  pro- 
verbial, is  only  comparative.  The  faculties  of  the  mind,  like 
the  dexterity  of  the  limbs,  need  exercise.  The  dancer's 
strength  is  in  his  feet;  the  blacksmith's  in  his  arms;  the 
market  porter  is  trained  to  carry  loads ;  the  singer  works  his 
larynx ;  and  the  pianist  hardens  his  wrist.  A  banker  is  prac- 
tised in  business  matters;  he  studies  and  plans  them,  and 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  197 

pulls  the  wires  of  various  interests,  just  as  a  playwright  trains 
his  intelligence  in  combining  situations,  studying  his  actors, 
giving  life  to  his  dramatic  figures. 

We  should  no  more  look  for  powers  of  conversation  in  the 
Baron  de  Nucingen  than  for  the  imagery  of  a  poet  in  the 
brain  of  a  mathematician.  How  many  poets  occur  in  an  age, 
who  are  either  good  prose  writers,  or  as  witty  in  the  inter- 
course of  daily  life  as  Madame  Cornuel?  Buffon  was  dull 
company;  Newton  was  never  in  love;  Lord  Byron  loved  no- 
body but  himself;  Eousseau  was  gloomy  and  half  crazy;  La 
Fontaine  absent-minded.  Human  energy,  equally  distrib- 
uted, produces  dolts,  mediocrity  in  all ;  unequally  bestowed  it 
gives  rise  to  those  incongruities  to  whom  the  name  of  Genius 
is  given,  and  which,  if  we  only  could  see  them,  would  look  like 
deformities.  The  same  law  governs  the  body ;  perfect  beauty 
is  generally  allied  with  coldness  or  silliness.  Though  Pascal 
was  both  a  great  mathematician  and  a  great  writer,  though 
Beaumarchais  was  a  good  man  of  business,  and  Zamet  a  pro- 
found courtier,  these  rare  exceptions  prove  the  general  prin- 
ciple of  the  specialization  of  brain  faculties. 

Within  the  sphere  of  speculative  calculations  the  banker 
put  forth  as  much  intelligence  and  skill,  finesse  and  mental 
power,  as  a  practised  diplomatist  expends  on  national  affairs. 
If  he  were  equally  remarkabl}^  outside  his  office,  the  banker 
would  be  a  great  man.  Nucingen  made  one  with  the  Prince 
de  Ligne,  with  Mazarin  or  with  Diderot,  is  a  human  formula 
that  is  almost  inconceivable,  but  which  has  nevertheless  been 
known  as  Pericles,  Aristotle,  Voltaire,  and  JSTapoleon.  The 
splendor  of  the  Imperial  crown  must  not  blind  us  to  the  merits 
of  the  individual ;  the  Emperor  was  charming,  well  informed, 
and  witty. 

Monsieur  de  Nucingen,  a  banker  and  nothing  more,  having 
no  inventiveness  outside  his  business,  like  most  bankers,  had 
no  faith  in  anything  but  sound  security.  In  matters  of  art 
he  had  the  good  sense  to  go,  cash  in  hand,  to  experts  in  every 
branch,  and  had  recourse  to  the  best  architect,  the  best  sur- 
geon, the  greatest  connoisseur  in  pictures  or  statues,  the 
13 


198  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

cleverest  lawyer,  when  he  wished  to  build  a  house,  to  attend 
to  his  health,  to  purchase  a  work  of  art  or  an  estate.  But  as 
there  are  no  recognized  experts  in  intrigue,  no  connoisseurs  in 
love  affairs,  a  banker  finds  himself  in  difficulties  when  he  is 
in  love,  and  much  puzzled  as  to  the  management  of  a  woman. 
So  Nucingen  could  think  of  no  better  method  than  that  he 
had  hitherto  pursued — to  give  a  sum  of  money  to  some  Fron- 
•  tin,  male  or  female,  to  act  and  think  for  him. 

Madame  de  Saint-Esteve  alone  could  carry  out  the  plan 
imagined  by  the  Baroness,  Nucingen  bitterly  regretted  hav- 
ing quarreled  with  the  odious  old  clothes-seller.  However, 
feeling  confident  of  the  attractions  of  his  cash-box  and  the 
soothing  documents  signed  Garat,  he  rang  for  his  man  and 
told  him  to  inquire  for  the  repulsive  widow  in  the  Eue  Saint- 
Mare,  and  desire  her  to  come  to  see  him. 

In  Paris  extremes  are  made  to  meet  by  passion.  Vice  is 
constantly  binding  the  rich  to  the  poor,  the  great  to  the  mean. 
The  Empress  consults  Mademoiselle  Lenormand;  the  fine 
gentleman  in  every  age  can  always  find  a  Ramponneau. 

The  man  returned  within  two  hours. 

"Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  he,  "Madame  de  Saint-Esteve  is 
ruined."' 

"Ah !  so  much  de  better !"  cried  the  Baron  in  glee.  "I  shall 
hafe  her  safe  den.^' 

"The  good  woman  is  given  to  gambling,  it  would  seem," 
the  valet  went  on.  "And,  moreover,  she  is  under  the  thumb 
of  a  third-rate  actor  in  a  suburban  theatre,  whom,  for  de- 
cency's sake,  she  calls  her  godson.  She  is  a  first-rate  cook,  it 
would  seem,  and  wants  a  place." 

"Dose  teufel  of  geniuses  of  de  common  people  hafe  alvays 
ten  vays  of  making  money,  and  ein  dozen  vays  of  spending  it," 
said  the  Baron  to  himself,  quite  unconscious  that  Panurge 
had  thought  the  same  thing. 

He  sent  his  servant  off  in  quest  of  Madame  de  Saint- 
Esteve,  who  did  not  come  till  the  next  day.  Being  questioned 
by  Asie,  the  servant  revealed  to  this  female  spy  the  terrible 
effects  of  the  notes  written  to  Monsieur  le  Baron  by  his  mis- 
tress. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  199 

"Monsieur  must  be  desperately  in  love  with  the  woman," 
said  he  in  conclusion,  "for  he  was  very  near  dying.  For  my 
part,  I  advised  him  never  to  go  back  to  her,  for  he  will  be 
wheedled  over  at  once.  A  woman  who  has  already  cost  Mon- 
sieur le  Baron  five  hundred  thousand  francs,  they  say,  with- 
out counting  what  he  has  spent  on  the  house  in  the  Eue  Saint- 
Georges  !  But  the  woman  cares  for  money,  and  for  money 
only. — As  madame  came  out  of  monsieur's  room,  she  said 
with  a  laugh:  'If  this  goes  on,  that  slut  will  make  a  widow 
of  me !' " 

"The  devil !"  cried  Asie ;  "it  will  never  do  to  kill  the  goose 
that  lays  the  golden  eggs." 

"Monsieur  le  Baron  has  no  hope  now  but  in  you,"  said  the 
valet. 

"Ah !    The  fact  is,  I  do  know  how  to  make  a  woman  go." 

"Well,  walk  in,"  said  the  man,  bowing  to  such  occult 
powers. 

'^ell,"  said  the  false  Saint-Esteve,  going  into  the  suf- 
ferer's room  with  an  abject  air,  "Monsieur  le  Baron  has  met 
with  some  little  difficulties?  What  can  you  expect !  Every- 
body is  open  to  attack  on  his  weak  side.  Dear  me,  I  have  had 
my  troubles  too.  Within  two  months  the  wheel  of  Fortune 
has  turned  upside  down  for  me.  Here  I  am  looking  out  for 
a  place ! — We  have  neither  of  us  been  very  wise.  If  Monsieur 
le  Baron  would  take  me  as  cook  to  Madame  Esther,  I  would 
be  the  most  devoted  of  slaves.  I  should  be  useful  to  you, 
monsieur,  to  keep  an  eye  on  Eugenie  and  madame." 

"Dere  is  no  hope  of  dat,"  said  the  Baron.  "I  cannot  suc- 
ceet  in  being  de  master,  I  am  let  such  a  tanee  as " 

"As  a  top,"  Asie  put  in.  "Well,  you  have  made  others 
dance,  daddy,  and  the  little  slut  has  got  you,  and  is  making 
a  fool  of  you. — Heaven  is  just !" 

"Just  ?"  said  the  Baron.  "I  hafe  not  sent  for  you  to  preach 
to  me " 

"Pooh,  my  boy !  A  little  moralizing  breaks  no  bones.  It 
is  the  salt  of  life  to  the  like  of  us,  as  vice  is  to  your  bigots. — 
Come,  have  you  been  generous?    You  have  paid  her  debts?" 


200  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Ja,"  said  the  Baron  lamentably. 

"That  is  well ;  and  you  have  taken  her  things  out  of  pawn, 
and  that  is  better.  But  you  must  see  that  it  is  not  enough. 
All  this  gives  her  no  occupation,  and  these  creatures  love  to 
cut  a  dash " 

"I  shall  hafe  a  surprise  for  her,  Eue  Saint-Georches — she 
knows  dat/'  said  the  Baron.  "But  I  shall  not  be  made  a 
fool  of." 

"Very  well  then,  let  her  go." 

"I  am  only  af  rait  dat  she  shall  let  me  go  !"  cried  the  Baron. 

"And  we  want  our  money's  worth,  my  boy,"  replied  Asie. 
"Listen  to  me.  We  have  fleeced  the  public  of  some  millions, 
my  little  friend?  Twenty-five  millions  I  am  told  you 
possess." 

The  Baron  could  not  suppress  a  smile. 

"Well,  you  must  let  one  go." 

"I  shall  let  one  go,  but  as  soon  as  I  shall  let  one  go,  I  shall 
hafe  to  give  still  another." 

"Yes,  I  understand,"  replied  Asie.  "You  will  not  say  B 
for  fear  of  having  to  go  on  to  Z.  Still,  Esther  is  a  good 
girl " 

"A  ver'  honest  girl,"  cried  the  banker.  "An'  she  is  ready 
to  submit ;  but  only  as  in  payment  of  a  debt." 

"In  short,  she  does  not  want  to  be  your  mistress ;  she  feels 
an  aversion. — Well,  and  I  understand  it ;  the  child  has  always 
done  just  what  she  pleased.  When  a  girl  has  never  known 
any  but  charming  young  men,  she  cannot  take  to  an  old  one. 
You  are  not  handsome ;  you  are  as  big  as  Louis  XVIII.,  and 
rather  dull  company,  as  all  men  are  who  try  to  cajole  for- 
tune instead  of  devoting  themselves  to  women. — Well,  if  you 
don't  think  six  hundred  thovisand  francs  too  much,"  said  Asie, 
"I  pledge  myself  to  make  her  whatever  you  can  wish." 

"Six  huntert  tousant  franc !"  cried  the  Baron,  with  a  start. 
"Esther  is  to  cost  me  a  million  to  begin  with !" 

"Happiness  is  surely  worth  sixteen  hundred  thousand 
francs,  you  old  sinner.  You  must  know,  men  in  these  days 
have  certainly  spent  more  than  one  or  two  millions  on  a  mis- 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  201 

tress.  I  even  know  women  who  have  cost  men  their  lives,  for 
whom  heads  have  rolled  into  the  basket. — You  know  the 
doctor  who  poisoned  his  friend?  He  wanted  the  money  to 
gratify  a  woman." 

"Ja,  I  know  all  dat.  But  if  I  am  in  lofe,  I  am  not  ein 
idiot,  at  least  vile  I  am  here;  but  if  I  shall  see  her,  I  shall 
gife  her  my  pocket-book " 

"Well,  listen,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  Asie,  assuming  the 
attitude  of  a  Semiramis.  "You  have  been  squeezed  dry 
enough  already.  Now,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Saint-Esteve — 
in  the  way  of  business,  of  course — I  will  stand  by  you." 

"Goot,  I  shall  repay  you." 

"I  believe  you,  my  boy,  for  I  have  shown  you  that  I  know 
how  to  be  revenged.  Besides,  I  tell  you  this,  daddy,  I  know 
how  to  snuff  out  your  Madame  Esther  as  you  would  snuff  a 
candle.  And  I  know  my  lady !  When  the  little  huzzy  has 
once  made  you  happy,  she  will  be  even  more  necessary  to  you 
than  she  is  at  this  moment.  You  paid  me  well ;  you  have 
allowed  yourself  to  be  fooled,  but,  after  all,  you  have  forked 
out. — I  have  fulfilled  my  part  of  the  agreement,  haven't  I? 
Well,  look  here,  I  will  make  a  bargain  with  you." 

"Let  me  hear." 

"You  shall  get  me  the  place  as  cook  to  Madame,  engage 
me  for  ten  years,  and  pay  the  last  five  in  advance — what  is 
that?  Just  a  little  earnest-money.  When  once  I  am  about 
madame,  I  can  bring  her  to  these  terms.  Of  course,  you 
must  first  order  her  a  lovely  dress  from  Madame  Auguste, 
who  knows  her  style  and  taste;  and  order  the  new  carriage 
to  be  at  the  door  at  four  o'clock.  After  the  Bourse  closes, 
go  to  her  rooms  and  take  her  for  a  little  drive  in  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne.  Well,  by  that  act  the  woman  proclaims  herself 
your  mistress;  she  has  advertised  herself  to  the  eyes  and 
knowledge  of  all  Paris:  A  hundred  thousand  francs. — You 
must  dine  with  her — I  know  how  to  cook  such  a  dinner ! — 
You  must  take  her  to  the  play,  to  the  Varietes,  to  a  stage-box, 
and  then  all  Paris  will  say,  'There  is  that  old  rascal  Nucingen 
with  his  mistress.'     It  is  very  flattering  to  know  that  such 


202  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

things  are  said. — Well,  all  this,  for  I  am  not  grasping,  is  in- 
cluded for  the  first  hundred  thousand  francs. — In  a  week,  by 
such  conduct,  you  will  have  made  some  wa}^ " 

"But  I  shall  hafe  paid  ein  hundert  tousant  franc." 

"In  the  course  of  the  second  week,"  Asie  went  on,  as  though 
she  had  not  heard  this  lamentable  ejaculation,  "madame, 
tempted  by  these  preliminaries,  will  have  made  up  her  mind 
to  leave  her  little  apartment  and  move  to  the  house  you  are 
giving  her.  Your  Esther  will  have  seen  the  world  again,  have 
found  her  old  friends;  she  will  wish  to  shine  and  do  the 
honors  of  her  palace — it  is  in  the  nature  of  things :  Another 
hundred  thousand  francs ! — By  Heaven !  you  are  at  home 
there,  Esther  compromised — she  must  be  yours.  The  rest  is 
a  mere  trifle,  in  which  you  must  play  the  principal  part,  old 
elephant.  (How  wide  the  monster  opens  his  eyes!)  Well, 
I  will  undertake  that  too:  Four  hundred  thousand — and 
that,  my  fine  fellow,  you  need  not  pay  till  the  day  after.  What 
do  you  think  of  that  for  honesty?  I  have  more  confidence 
in  you  than  you  have  in  me.  If  I  persuade  madame  to  show 
herself  as  your  mistress,  to  compromise  herself,  to  take  every 
gift  you  offer  her, — perhaps  this  very  day,  you  will  believe 
that  I  am  capable  of  inducing  her  to  throw  open  the  pass  of 
the  Great  Saint  Bernard.  And  it  is  a  hard  job,  I  can  tell 
you ;  it  will  take  as  much  pulling  to  get  your  artillery  through 
as  it  took  the  -first  Consul  to  get  over  the  Alps." 

"But  vy?" 

"Her  heart  is  full  of  love,  old  shaver,  rasibus,  as  you  say 
who  know  Latin,"  replied  Asie.  "She  thinks  herself  the 
Queen  of  Sheba,  because  she  has  washed  herself  in  sacrifices 
made  for  her  lover — an  idea  that  that  sort  of  woman  gets 
into  her  head !  Well,  well,  old  fellow,  we  must  be  just. — It 
is  fine !  That  baggage  would  die  of  grief  at  being  your  mis- 
tress— I  really  should  not  wonder.  But  what  I  trust  to,  and 
I  tell  you  to  give  you  courage,  is  that  there  is  good  in  the  girl 
at  bottom." 

"You  hafe  a  genius  for  corruption,"  said  the  Baron,  who 
had  listened  to  Asie  in  admiring  silence,  "just  as  I  hafe  de 
knack  of  de  banking," 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  203 

"Then  it  is  settled,  my  pigeon  ?"  said  Asie. 

"Done  for  fifty  tousant  franc  insteat  of  ein  hundert  tou- 
sant ! — An'  I  shall  give  you  fife  hundert  tousant  de  day  after 
my  triumph." 

"Very  good,  I  will  set  to  work,"  said  Asie.  "And  you  may 
come,  monsieur,"  she  added  respectfully.  "You  will  find 
madame  as  soft  already  as  a  cat's  back,  and  perhaps  inclined 
to  make  herself  pleasant." 

"Go,  go,  my  goot  voman,"  said  the  banker,  rubbing  his 
hands. 

And  after  seeing  the  horrible  mulatto  out  of  the  house,  he 
said  to  himself: 

"How  vise  it  is  to  hafe  much  money." 

He  sprang  out  of  bed,  went  down  to  his  office,  and  resumed 
the  conduct  of  his  immense  business  with  a  light  heart. 

Nothing  could  be  more  fatal  to  Esther  than  the  steps  taken 
\  by  Nucingen.  The  hapless  girl,  in  defending  her  fidelity, 
""was  defending  her  life.  This  very  natural  instinct  was  what 
Carlos  called  prudery.  Now  Asie,  not  without  taking  such 
precautions  as  usual  in  such  cases,  went  off  to  report  to  Carlos 
the  conference  she  had  held  with  the  Baron,  and  all  the  profit 
she  had  made  by  it.  The  man's  rage,  like  himself,  was  terri- 
ble ;  he  came  forthwith  to  Esther,  in  a  carriage  with  the  blinds 
dra^M3,  driving  into  the  courtyard.  Still  almost  white  with 
fury,  the  double-dyed  forger  went  straight  into  the  poor  girl's 
room;  she  looked  at  him — she  was  standing  up — and  she 
dropped  on  to  a  chair  as  though  her  legs  had  snapped. 

"What  is  the  matter,  monsieur  ?"  said  she,  quaking  in  every 
limb. 

"Leave  us,  Europe,"  said  he  to  the  maid. 

Esther  looked  at  the  woman  as  a  child  might  look  at  its 
mother,  from  whom  some  assassin  had  snatched  it  to  mur- 
der it. 

"Do  you  know  where  you  will  send  Lucien?"  Carlos  went 
on  when  he  was  alone  with  Esther. 

"Where  ?"  asked  she  in  a  low  voice,  venturing  to  glance  at 
her  executioner. 


204  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Where  I  come  from,  my  beauty."  Esther,  as  she  looked  at 
the  man,  saw  red.    "To  the  hulks,"  he  added  in  an  undertone. 

Esther  shut  her  eyes  and  stretched  herself  out,  her  arms 
dropped,  and  she  turned  white.  The  man  rang,  and  Prudence 
appeared. 

"Bring  her  round,"  he  said  coldly ;  "I  have  not  done." 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  drawing-room  while  waiting. 
Prudence-Europe  was  obliged  to  come  and  beg  monsieur  to 
lift  Esther  on  to  the  bed;  he  carried  her  with  an  ease  that 
betrayed  athletic  strength. 

They  had  to  procure  all  the  chemist's  strongest  stimulants 
to  restore  Esther  to  a  sense  of  her  woes.  An  hour  later  the 
poor  girl  was  able  to  listen  to  this  living  nightmare,  seated  at 
the  foot  of  her  bed,  his  eyes  fixed  and  glowing  like  two  spots 
of  molten  lead. 

"My  little  sweetheart,"  said  he,  "Lucien  now  stands  be- 
tween a  splendid  life,  honored,  happy,  and  respected,  and  the 
hole  full  of  water,  mud,  and  gravel  into  which  he  was  going 
to  plunge  when  I  met  him.  The  house  of  Grandlieu  requires 
of  the  dear  boy  an  estate  worth  a  million  francs  before  secur- 
ing for  him  the  title  of  Marquis,  and  handing  over  to  him 
that  may-pole  named  Clotilde,  by  whose  help  he  will  rise  to 
power.  Thanks  to  you,  and  me,  Lucien  has  just  purchased 
his  maternal  manor,  the  old  Chateau  de  Rubempre,  which, 
indeed,  did  not  cost  much — thirty  thousand  francs:  but  his 
lawyer,  by  clever  negotiations,  has  succeeded  in  adding  to  it. 
estates  worth  a  million,  on  which  three  hundred  thousand 
francs  are  paid.  The  chateau,  the  expenses,  and  percentages 
to  the  men  who  were  put  forward  as  a  blind  to  conceal  the 
transaction  from  the  country  people,  have  swallowed  up  the 
remainder. 

"We  have,  to  be  sure,  a  hundred  thousand  francs  invested 
in  a  business  here,  which  a  few  months  hence  will  be  worth 
two  to  three  hundred  thousand  francs ;  but  there  will  still  be 
four  hundred  thousand  francs  to  be  paid. 

"In  three  days  Lucien  will  be  home  from  Angouleme, 
where  he  has  been,  because  he  must  not  be  suspected  of  having 
found  a  fortune  in  remaking  your  bed " 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  205 

"Oh  no !"  cried  she,  looking  up  with  a  noble  impulse. 

"I  ask  you,  then,  is  this  a  moment  to  scare  off  the  Baron  ?"" 
he  went  on  calmly.  "And  you  very  nearly  killed  him  the  day 
before  yesterday;  he  fainted  like  a  woman  on  reading  your 
second  letter.  You  have  a  fine  style — I  congratulate  you! 
If  the  Baron  had  died,  where  should  we  be  now? — When 
Lucien  walks  out  of  Saint-Thomas  d'Aquin  son-in-law  to  the 

Due  de  Grandlieu,  if  you  want  to  try  a  dip  in  the  Seine 

Well,  my  beauty,  I  offer  you  my  hand  for  a  dive  together.  It 
is  one  way  of  ending  matters. 

"But  consider  a  moment.  Would  it  not  be  better  to  live 
and  say  to  yourself  again  and  again,  'This  fijie  fortune,  this 
happy  family' — for  he  will  have  children — children! — Have 
you  ever  thought  of  the  joy  of  running  your  fingers  through 
the  hair  of  his  children  ?" 

Esther  closed  her  eyes  with  a  little  shiver. 

"Well,  as  you  gaze  on  that  structure  of  happiness,  you  may 
say  to  yourself,  'This  is  my  doing !'  " 

There  was  a  pause,  and  the  two  looked  at  each  other. 

"This  is  what  I  have  tried  to  make  out  of  such  despair 
as  saw  no  issue  but  the  river,"  said  Carlos.  "Am  I  selfish? 
That  is  the  way  to  love !  Men  show  such  devotion  to 
none  but  kings!  But  I  have  anointed  Lucien  king.  If  I 
were  riveted  for  the  rest  of  my  days  to  my  old  chain,  I  fancy 
I  could  stay  there  resigned  so  long  as  I  could  say,  'He  is  gay, 
he  is  at  Court.'  My  soul  and  mind  would  triumph,  while 
my  carcase  was  given  over  to  the  jailers !  You  are  a  mere 
female ;  you  love  like  a  female  !  But  in  a  courtesan,  as  in  all 
degraded  creatures,  love  should  be  a  means  to  motherhood, 
in  spite  of  Nature,  which  has  stricken  you  with  barrenness! 

"If  ever,  under  the  skin  of  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera,  any 
one  were  to  detect  the  convict  I  have  been,  do  you  know  what 
I  would  do  to  avoid  compromising  Lucien?" 

Esther  awaited  the  reply  with  some  anxiety. 

"Well,"  he  said  after  a  brief  pause,  "I  would  die  as  the 
negroes  do — without  a  word.  And  you,  with  all  your  airs, 
will  put  folks  on  my  traces.    What  did  I  require  of  you  ? — To 


.206  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

be  La  Torpille  again  for  six  months — for  six  weeks;  and  to 
do  it  to  clutch  a  million. 

"Lucien  will  never  forget  you.  Men  do  not  forget  the 
being  of  whom  they  are  reminded  day  after  day  by  the  joy 
of  awaking  rich  every  morning.  Lucien  is  a  better  fellow 
than  you  are.  He  began  by  loving  Coralie.  She  died — good ; 
but  he  had  not  money  enough  to  bury  her;  he  did  not  do  as 
you  did  just  now,  he  did  not  faint,  though  he  is  a  poet;  he 
wrote  six  rollicking  songs,  and  earned  three  hundred  francs, 
with  which  he  paid  for  Coralie's  funeral.  I  have  those  songs ; 
I  know  them  by  heart.  Well,  then,  do  you  too  compose  your 
songs :  be  cheerful,  be  wild,  be  irresistible  and — insatiable ! 
You  hear  me? — Do  not  let  me  have  to  speak  again. 

"Kiss  papa.    Good-bye." 

When,  half  an  hour  after,  Europe  went  into  her  mistress' 
room,  she  found  her  kneeling  in  front  of  a  crucifix,  in  the 
attitude  which  the  most  religious  of  painters  has  given  to 
Moses  before  the  burning  bush  on  Horeb,  to  depict  his  deep 
and  complete  adoration  of  Jehovah.  After  saying  her 
prayers,  Esther  had  renounced  her  better  life,  the  honor  she 
had  created  for  herself,  her  glory,  her  virtue,  and  her  love. 

She  rose. 

"Oh,  madame,  you  will  never  look  like  that  again !"  cried 
Prudence  Servien,  struck  by  her  mistress'  sublime  beauty. 

She  hastily  turned  the  long  mirror  so  that  the  poor  girl 
should  see  herself.  Her  eyes  still  had  a  light  as  of  the  soul 
flying  heavenward.  The  Jewess'  complexion  was  brilliant. 
Sparkling  with  tears  unshed  in  the  fervor  of  prayer,  her  eye- 
lashes were  like  leaves  after  a  summer  shower,  for  the  last 
time  they  shone  with  the  sunshine  of  pure  love.  Her  lips 
seemed  to  preserve  an  expression  as  of  her  last  appeal  to  the 
angels,  whose  palm  of  martyrdom  she  had  no  doubt  borrowed 
while  placing  in  their  hands  her  past  unspotted  life.  And  she 
had  the  majesty  which  Mary  Stuart  must  have  shown  at  the 
moment  when  she  bid  adieu  to  her  crown,  to  earth,  and  to 
love. 

"I  wish  Lucien  could  have  seen  me  thus !"  she  said  with  a 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  20T 

smothered  sigh.  "Now,"  she  added,  in  a  strident  tone,  "now 
for  a  fling !" 

Europe  stood  dumb  at  hearing  the  words,  as  though  she 
had  heard  an  angel  blaspheme. 

"Well,  why  need  you  stare  at  me  to  see  if  I  have  cloves  in 
my  mouth  instead  df  teeth  ?  I  am  nothing  henceforth  but  a 
vile,  foul  creature,  a  thief — and  I  expect  milord.  So  get  me 
a  hot  bath,  and  put  my  dress  out.  It  is  twelve  o'clock;  the 
Baron  will  look  in,  no  doubt,  when  the  Bourse  closes ;  I  shall 
tell  him  I  was  waiting  for  him,  and  Asie  is  to  prepare  us 
dinner,  first-chop,  mind  you ;  I  mean  to  turn  the  man's  brain. 
— Come,  hurry,  hurry,  my  girl;  we  are  going  to  have  some 
fun — that  is  to  say,  we  must  go  to  work." 

She  sat  down  at  the  table  and  wrote  the  following  note : — 

"My  Friend, — If  the  cook  you  have  sent  me  had  not 
already  been  in  my  service,  I  might  have  thought  that  your 
purpose  was  to  let  me  know  how  often  you  had  fainted  yes- 
terday on  receiving  my  three  notes.  (What  can  I  say?  I  was 
very  nervous  that  day;  I  was  thinking  over  the  memories  of 
my  miserable  existence.)  But  I  know  how  sincere  Asie  is. 
Still,  I  cannot  repent  of  having  caused  you  so  much  pain, 
since  it  has  availed  to  prove  to  me  how  much  you  love  me. 
This  is  how  we  are  made,  we  luckless  and  despised  creatures ; 
true  affection  touches  us  far  more  deeply  than  finding  our- 
selves the  objects  of  lavish  liberality.  For  my  part,  I  have  al- 
ways rather  dreaded  being  a  peg  on  which  you  would  hang 
your  vanities.  It  annoyed  me  to  be  nothing  else  to  you. 
Yes,  in  spite  of  all  your  protestations,  I  fancied  you  re- 
garded me  merely  as  a  woman  paid  for. 

"Well,  you  will  now  find  me  a  good  girl,  but  on  condition 
of  your  always  obeying  me  a  little. 

"If  this  letter  can  in  any  way  take  the  place  of  the  doctor's 
prescription,  prove  it  by  coming  to  see  me  after  the  Bourse 
closes.  You  will  find  me  in  full  fig,  dressed  in  your  gifts, 
for  I  am  for  life  your  pleasure-machine, 

"Esther." 


208  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

At  the  Bourse  the  Baron  de  Nucingen  was  so  gay,  so  cheer- 
ful, seemed  so  easy-going,  and  allowed  himself  so  many  jests, 
that  du  Tillet  and  the  Kellers,  who  were  on  'change,  could 
not  help  asking  him  the  reason  of  his  high  spirits. 

"I  am  belofed.  Ye  shall  soon  gife  dat  house-varming,'"  he 
told  du  Tillet. 

"And  how  much  does  it  cost  you?"  asked  Frangois  Keller 
rudely — it  was  said  that  he  had  spent  twenty-five  thousand 
francs  a  year  on  Madame  Colleville. 

"Dat  voman  is  an  anchel !  She  never  has  ask'  me  for  one 
sou." 

"They  never  do,"  replied  du  Tillet.  "And  it  is  to  avoid 
asking  that  they  have  always  aunts  or  mothers." 

Between  the  Bourse  and  the  Eue  Taitbout  seven  times  did 
the  Baron  say  to  his  servant : 

"You  go  so  slow — vip  de  horse !" 

He  ran  lightly  upstairs,  and  for  the  first  time  saw  his  mis- 
tress in  all  the  beauty  of  such  women,  who  have  no  other 
occupation  than  the  care  of  their  person  and  their  dress.  Just 
out  of  her  bath  the  flower  was  quite  fresh,  and  perfumed 
so  as  to  inspire  desire  in  Eobert  d'Arbrissel. 

Esther  was  in  a  charming  toilette.  A  dress  of  black  corded 
silk  trimmed  with  rose-colored  gimp  opened  over  a  petticoat 
of  gray  satin,  the  costume  subsequently  worn  by  Amigo,  the 
handsome  singer,  in  /  Puritani.  A  Honiton  lace  kerchief  fell 
or  floated  over  her  shoulders.  The  sleeves  of  her  gown  were 
strapped  round  with  cording  to  divide  the  puffs,  which  for 
some  little  time  fashion  has  substituted  for  the  large  sleeves 
which  had  grown  too  monstrous.  Esther  had  fastened  a 
Mechlin  lace  cap  on  her  magnificent  hair  with  a  pin,  a  la  folle, 
as  it  was  called,  ready  to  fall,  but  not  really  falling,  giving 
her  an  appearance  of  being  tumbled  and  in  disorder,  though 
the  white  parting  showed  plainly  on  her  little  head  between 
the  waves  of  her  hair. 

"Is  it  not  a  shame  to  see  niadame  so  lovely  in  a  shabby 
drawing-room  like  this?"  said  Europe  to  the  Baron,  as  she 
admitted  him. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  209 

''Vel,  den,  come  to  de  Rue  Saint-Georches,"  said  the  Baron, 
coming  to  a  full  stop  like  a  dog  marking  a  partridge.  "The 
veather  is  splendit,  ve  shall  drife  to  de  Champs  filysees,  and 
Montame  Saint-Estefe  and  Eugenie  shall  carry  dere  all  your 
clo'es  an'  your  linen,  an'  ve  shall  dine  in  de  Rue  Saint- 
Georches." 

"I  will  do  whatever  you  please,"  said  Esther,  "if  only  you 
will  be  so  kind  as  to  call  my  cook  Asie,  and  Eugenie  Europe. 
I  have  given  those  names  to  all  the  women  who  have  served 
me  ever  since  the  first  two.     I  do  not  love  change " 

"Asie,  Europe !"  echoed  the  Baron,  laughing.  "How  ver' 
droll  you  are. — You  hafe  infentions. — I  should  hafe  eaten 
many  dinners  before  I  should  hafe  call'  a  cook  Asie." 

"It  is  our  business  to  be  droll,"  said  Esther.  "Come,  now, 
may  not  a  poor  girl  be  fed  by  Asia  and  dressed  by  Europe 
when  you  live  on  the  whole  world  ?  It  is  a  myth,  I  say ;  some 
women  would  devour  the  earth,  I  only  ask  for  half. — You 
see?" 

"Vat  a  voman  is  Montame  Saint-Estefe !"  said  the  Baron 
to  himself  as  he  admired  Esther's  changed  demeanor. 

"Europe,  my  girl,  I  want  my  bonnet,"  said  Esther.  "I 
must  have  a  black  satin  bonnet  lined  with  pink  and  trimmed 
with  lace." 

"Madame  Thomas  has  not.  sent  it  home. — Come,  Monsieur 
le  Baron ;  quick,  off  you  go  !  Begin  your  functions  as  a  man- 
of-all-work — that  is  to  say,  of  all  pleasure !  Happiness  is 
burdensome.  You  have  your  carriage  here,  go  to  Madame 
Thomas,"  said  Europe  to  the  Baron.  "Make  your  servant 
ask  for  the  bonnet  for  Madame  van  Bogseck. — And,  above 
all,"  she  added  in  his  ear,  "bring  her  the  most  beautiful  bou- 
quet to  be  had  in  Paris.  It  is  winter,  so  try  to  get  tropical 
flowers." 

The  Baron  went  downstairs  and  told  his  servants  to  go  to 
"Montame  Thomas." 

The  coachman  drove  to  a  famous  pastrycook's. 

"She  is  a  milliner,  you  damn'  idiot,  and  not  a  cake-shop !" 
cried  the  Baron,  who  rushed  off  to  Madame  Prevot's  in  the 


210  A  COURTESAN'S  LWE 

Palais-Royal,  where  he  had  a  bouquet  made  up  for  the  price 

of  teu  louis,  while  his  man  went  to  the  great  modiste. 

A  superficial  observer,  walking  about  Paris,  wonders  who 
the  fools  can  be  that  buy  the  fabulous  flowers  that  grace  the 
illustrious  bouquetiere's  shop  window,  and  the  choice  products 
displayed  by  Chevet  of  European  fame — the  only  purveyor 
who  can  vie  Mdth  the  Eocher  de  Cancale  in  a  real  and  deli- 
cious Revue  des  deux  Mondes. 

Well,  every  day  in  Paris  a  hundred  or  more  passions  a  la 
Nucingen  come  into  being,  and  find  expression  in  offering 
such  rarities  as  queens  dare  not  purchase,  presented,  kneeling, 
to  baggages  who,  to  use  Asie's  word,  like  to  cut  a  dash.  But 
for  these  little  details,  a  decent  citizen  would  be  puzzled  to 
conceive  how  a  fortune  melts  in  the  hands  of  these  women, 
whose  social  function,  in  Fourier's  scheme,  is  perhaps  to 
rectify  the  disasters  caused  by  avarice  and  cupidity.  Such 
squandering  is,  no  doubt,  to  the  social  body  what  a  prick  of 
the  lancet  is  to  a  plethoric  subject.  In  two  months  Nucingen 
had  shed  broadcast  on  trade  more  than  two  hundred  thousand 
francs. 

By  the  time  the  old  lover  returned,  darkness  was  falling; 
the  bouquet  was  no  longer  of  any  use.  The  hour  for  driving 
in  the  Champs-filysees  in  winter  is  between  two  and  four. 
However,  the  carriage  was  of  use  to  convey  Esther  from  the 
Rue  Taitbout  to  the  Rue  Saint-Georges,  where  she  took  pos- 
session of  the  "little  palace."  Never  before  had  Esther  been 
the  object  of  such  worship  or  such  lavishness,  and  it  amazed 
her;  but,  like  all  royal  ingrates,  she  took  care  to  express  no 
surprise. 

When  you  go  into  St.  Peter's  at  Rome,  to  enable  you  to 
appreciate  the  extent  and  height  of  this  queen  of  cathedrals, 
you  are  shovni  the  little  finger  of  a  statue  which  looks  of  a 
natural  size,  and  which  measures  I  know  not  how  much.  De- 
scriptions have  been  so  severel}^  criticised,  necessary  as  they 
are  to  a  history  of  manners,  that  I  must  here  follow  the  ex- 
ample of  the  Roman  Cicerone.  As  they  entered  the  dining- 
room,  the  Baron  could  not  resist  asking  Esther  to  feel  the 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  211 

stuff  of  which  the  window  curtains  were  made,  draped  with 
magnificent  fulness,  lined  with  white  watered  silk,  and  bor- 
dered with  a  gimp  fit  to  trim  a  Portuguese  princess'  bodice. 
The  material  was  silk  brought  from  Canton,  on  which  Chi- 
nese patience  had  painted  Oriental  birds  with  a  perfection 
only  to  be  seen  in  mediaeval  illuminations,  or  in  the  Missal 
of  Charles  V.,  the  pride  of  the  Imperial  library  at  Vienna. 

"It  hafe  cost  two  tousand  franc'  an  ell  for  a  milord  who 
brought  it  from  Intia " 

"It  is  very  nice,  charming,"  said  Esther.  "How  I  shall 
enjoy  drinking  champagne  here;  the  froth  will  not  get  dirty 
here  on  a  bare  floor." 

"Oh !  madame !"  cried  Europe,  "only  look  at  the  carpet !" 

"Dis  carpet  hafe  been  made  for  de  Due  de  Torlonia,  a 
frient  of  mine,  who  fount  it  too  dear,  so  I  took  it  for  you  who 
are  my  qveen,"  said  Nucingen. 

By  chance  this  carpet,  by  one  of  our  cleverest  designers, 
matched  with  the  whimsicalities  of  the  Chinese  curtains. 
The  walls,  painted  by  Schinner  and  Leon  de  Lora,  represented 
voluptuous  scenes,  in  carved  ebony  frames,  purchased  for 
their  weight  in  gold  from  Dusommerard,  and  forming  panels 
with  a  narrow  line  of  gold  that  coyly  caught  the  light. 

From  this  you  may  judge  of  the  rest. 

"You  did  well  to  bring  me  here,"  said  Esther.  "It  will 
take  me  a  week  to  get  used  to  my  home  and  not  to  look  like  a 
parvenu  in  it " 

"My  home !  Den  you  shall  accept  it  ?"  cried  the  Baron  in 
glee. 

"Why,  of  course,  and  a  thousand  time  of  course,  stupid 
animal,"  said  she,  smiling. 

"Animal  vas  enough " 

"Stupid  is  a  term  of  endearment,"  said  she,  looking  at  him. 

The  poor  man  took  Esther's  hand  and  pressed  it  to  his 
heart.  He  was  animal  enough  to  feel,  but  too  stupid  to  find 
words. 

"Feel  how  it  beats — for  ein  little  tender  vort " 

And  he  conducted  his  goddess  to  her  room. 


212  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Oh,  madame,  I  cannot  stay  here!"  cried  Eugenie.  "It 
makes  me  long  to  go  to  bed." 

"Well,"  said  Esther,  "I  mean  to  please  the  magician  who 
has  worked  all  these  wonders. — Listen,  my  fat  elephant,  after 
dinner  we  will  go  to  the  play  together.  I  am  starving  to  see 
a  play." 

It  was  just  five  years  since  Esther  had  been  to  a  theatre. 
All  Paris  was  rushing  at  that  time  to  the  Porte-Saint-Martin, 
to  see  one  of  those  pieces  to  which  the  power  of  the  actors 
lends  a  terrible  expression  of  realitj,  Richard  Darlington.  Like 
all  ingenuous  natures,  Esther  loved  to  feel  the  thrills  of  fear 
as  much  as  to  yield  to  tears  of  pathos. 

"Let  us  go  to  see  Frederick  Lemaitre,"  said  she ;  "he  is  an 
actor  I  adore." 

"It  is  a  horrible  piece,"  said  Nucingen,  foreseeing  the  mo- 
ment when  he  must  show  himself  in  public. 

He  sent  his  servant  to  secure  one  of  the  two  stage-boxes  on 
the  grand  tier. — And  this  is  another  strange  feature  of  Paris. 
Whenever  success,  on  feet  of  clay,  fills  a  house,  there  is  always 
a  stage-box  to  be  had  ten  minutes  before  the  curtain  rises. 
The  managers  keep  it  for  themselves,  unless  it  happens  to  be 
taken  for  a  passion  d  la  Nucingen.  This  box,  like  Chevet's 
dainties,  is  a  tax  levied  on  the  whims  of  the  Parisian 
Olympus. 

It  would  be  superfluous  to  describe  the  plate  and  china. 
Nucingen  had  provided  three  services  of  plate — common, 
medium,  and  best ;  and  the  best — plates,  dishes,  and  all,  was 
of  chased  silver  gilt.  The  banker,  to  avoid  overloading  the 
table  with  gold  and  silver,  had  completed  the  array  of  each 
service  with  porcelain  of  exquisite  fragility  in  the  style  of 
Dresden  china,  which  had  cost  more  than  the  plate.  As  to  the 
linen — Saxony,  England,  Flanders,  and  France  vied  in  the 
perfection  of  flowered  damask. 

At  dinner  it  was  the  Baron's  turn  to  be  amazed  on  tasting 
Asie's  cookery. 

"I  understant,"  said  he,  "vy  you  call  her  Asie ;  dis  is  Asiatic 
cooking." 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  213 

"I  begin  to  thiuk  he  loves  me,"  said  Esther  to  Europe ;  "he 
has  said  something  almost  like  a  bon  mot." 

"I  said  many  vorts,"  said  he. 

"Well !  he  is  more  like  Turcaret  than  I  had  heard  he  was  !" 
cried  the  girl,  laughing  at  this  reply,  worthy  of  the  many 
artless  speeches  for  which  the  banker  was  famous. 

The  dishes  were  so  highly  spiced  as  to  give  the  Baron  an 
indigestion,  on  purpose  that  he  might  go  home  early;  so  this 
was  all  he  got  in  the  way  of  pleasure  out  of  his  first  evening 
with  Esther.  At  the  theatre  he  was  obliged  to  drink  an  im- 
mense number  of  glasses  of  eau  sucree,  leaving  Esther  alone 
between  the  acts. 

By  a  coincidence  so  probable  that  it  can  scarcely  be  called 
chance,  Tullia,  Mariette,  and  Madame  du  Val-Noble  were  at 
the  play  that  evening.  Richard  Darlington  enjoyed  a  wild 
success — and  a  deserved  success — such  as  is  seen  only  in  Paris. 
The  men  who  saw  this  play  all  came  to  the  conclusion  that  a 
lawful  wife  might  be  thrown  out  of  window,  and  the  wives 
loved  to  see  themselves  unjustly  persecuted. 

The  women  said  to  each  other :  "This  is  too  much !  we  are 
driven  to  it — but  it  often  happens !" 

jSTow  a  woman  as  beautiful  as  Esther,  and  dressed  as  Esther 
was,  could  not  show  off  with  impunity  in  a  stage-box  at  the 
Porte-Saint-Martin.  And  so,  during  the  second  act,  there 
was  quite  a  commotion  in  the  box  where  the  two  dancers  were 
sitting,  caused  by  the  undoubted  identity  of  the  unknown  fair 
one  with  La  Torpille. 

"Heyday !  where  has  she  dropped  from  ?"  said  Mariette 
to  Madame  du  Val-Noble.     "I  thought  she  was  drowned." 

"But  is  it  she  ?  She  looks  to  me  thirty-seven  times  younger 
and  handsomer  than  she  was  six  years  ago." 

"Perhaps  she  has  preserved  herself  in  ice  like  Madame 
d'Espard  and  Madame  Zayonchek,"  said  the  Comte  de  Bram- 
bourg,  who  had  brought  the  tlij-ee  women  to  the  play,  to  a  pit- 
tier  box.  "Isn't  she  the  'rat'  you  meant  to  send  me  to  hocus 
my  uncle  ?"  said  he,  addressing  Tullia. 

"The  very  same,"  said  the  singer.    "Du  Bruel,  go  down  to 
the  stalls  and  see  if  it  is  she." 
14 


214  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"What  brass  she  has  got !"  exclaimed  Madame  du  Val- 
Noble,  using  an  expressive  but  vulgar  phrase. 

''Oh !"  said  the  Comte  de  Brambourg,  "she  very  well  may. 
She  is  with  my  friend  the  Baron  de  Nucingen — I  will  go " 

"Is  that  the  immaculate  Joan  of  Arc  who  has  taken  Nu- 
cingen  by  storm,  and  who  has  been  talked  of  till  we  are  all 
sick  of  her,  these  three  months  past  ?"  asked  Mariette. 

"Good-evening,  my  dear  Baron,"  said  Philippe  Bridau,  as 
he  went  into  Nucingen's  box.  "So  here  you  are,  married  to 
Mademoiselle  Esther. — Mademoiselle,  I  am  an  old  officer 
whom  you  once  on  a  time  were  to  have  got  out  of  a  scrape — 
at  Issoudun — Philippe  Bridau " 

"I  know  nothing  of  it,"  said  Esther,  looking  round  the 
house  through  her  opera-glasses. 

"Dis  lady,"  said  the  Baron,  "is  no  longer  known  as  'Esther' 
so  short !  She  is  called  Montame  de  Champy — ein  little  es- 
tate vat  I  have  bought  for  her " 

"Though  you  do  things  in  such  style,"  said  the  Comte, 
"these  ladies  are  saying  that  Madame  de  Champy  gives  her- 
self too  great  airs. — If  you  do  not  choose  to  remember  me, 
will  you  condescend  to  recognize  Mariette,  Tullia,  Madame 
du  Val-Noble?"  the  parvenu  went  on — a  man  for  whom  the 
Due  de  Maufrigneuse  had  won  the  Dauphin's  favor. 

"If  those  ladies  are  kind  to  me,  I  am  willing  to  make 
myself  pleasant  to  them,"  replied  Madame  de  Champy  drily. 

"Kind !  Why,  they  are  excellent ;  they  have  named  you 
Joan  of  Arc,"  replied  Philippe. 

"Veil  den,  if  dese  ladies  vill  keep  you  company,"  said  Nu- 
cingen,  "I  shall  go  'vay,  for  I  hafe  eaten  too  much.  Your 
carriage  shall  come  for  you  and  your  people. — Dat  teufel 
Asie !" 

"The  first  time,  and  you  leave  me  alone !"  said  Esther. 
"Come,  come,  you  must  have  courage  enough  to  die  on  deck. 
I  must  have  my  man  with  me  as  I  go  out.  If  I  were  insulted, 
am  I  to  cry  out  for  nothing?" 

The  old  millionaire's  selfishness  had  to  give  way  to  his 
duties  as  a  lover.    The  Baron  suffered  but  stayed. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  215 

Esther  had  her  own  reasons  for  detaining  "her  man."  If 
she  admitted  her  acquaintance,  she  would  be  less  closely  ques- 
tioned in  his  presence  than  if  she  were  alone.  Philippe 
Bridau  hurried  back  to  the  box  where  the  dancers  were  sitting, 
and  informed  them  of  the  state  of  affairs. 

"Oh !  so  it  is  she  who  has  fallen  heir  to  my  house  in  the 
Eue  Saint-Georges,"  observed  Madame  du  Val-Noble  with 
some  bitterness ;  for  she,  as  she  phrased  it,  was  on  the  loose. 

"Most  likely,"  said  the  Colonel.  "Du  Tillet  told  me  that 
the  Baron  had  spent  three  times  as  much  there  as  your  poor 
Falleix."  j 

"Let  us  go  round  to  her  box,"  said  Tullia. 

"Not  if  I  know  it,"  said  Mariette ;  "she  is  much  too  hand- 
some.   I  will  call  on  her  at  home." 

"I  think  myself  good-looking  enough  to  risk  it,"  remarked 
Tullia. 

So  the  much-daring  leading  dancer  went  round  between  the 
acts  and  renewed  acquaintance  with  Esther,  who  would 
talk  only  on  general  subjects. 

"And  where  have  you  come  back  from,  my  dear  child?" 
asked  Tullia,  who  could  not  restrain  her  curiosity. 

"Oh,  I  was  for  five  years  in  a  castle  in  the  Alps  with  an 
Englishman,  as  jealous  as  a  tiger,  a  nabob ;  I  called  him  a 
nabot,  a  dwarf,  for  he  was  not  so  big  as  le  bailli  de  Ferrette. 

"And  then  I  came  across  a  banker — from  a  savage  to  salva- 
tion, as  Florine  might  say.  And  now  here  I  am  in  Paris 
again;  I  long  so  for  amusement  that  I  mean  to  have  a  rare 
time.  I  shall  keep  open  house.  I  have  five  years  of  solitary 
confinement  to  make  good,  and  I  am  beginning  to  do  it.  Five 
years  of  an  Englishman  is  rather  too  much ;  six  weeks  are  the 
allowance  according  to  the  advertisements." 

"Was  it  the  Baron  who  gave  you  that  lace?" 

"No,  it  is  a  relic  of  the  nabob. — What  ill-luck  I  have,  my 
dear!  He  was  as  yellow  as  a  friend's  smile  at  a  success;  I 
thought  he  would  be  dead  in  ten  months.  Pooh !  he  was  as 
strong  as  a  mountain.  Always  distrust  men  who  say  they 
have  a  liver  complaint.     I  will  never  listen  to  a  man  who  talks 


216  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

of  his  liver. — I  have  had  too  much  of  livers — who  cannot  die. 
My  nabob  robbed  me ;  he  died  without  making  a  will,  and  the 
family  turned  me  out  of  doors  like  a  leper. — So,  then,  I  said 
to  my  fat  friend  here,  'Pay  for  two !' — You  may  well  call  me 
Joan  of  Arc ;  I  have  ruined  England,  and  perhaps  I  shall  die 
at  the  stake " 

"Of  love  ?"  said  Tullia. 

"And  burnt  alive,"  answered  Esther,  and  the  question  made 
her  thoughtful. 

The  Baron  laughed  at  all  this  vulgar  nonsense,  but  he  did 
not  always  follow  it  readily,  so  that  his  laughter  sounded  like 
the  forgotten  crackers  that  go  off  after  fireworks. 

We  all  live  in  a  sphere  of  some  kind,  and  the  inhabitants 
of  every  sphere  are  endowed  with  an  equal  share  of  curiosity. 

Next  evening  at  the  opera,  Esther's  reappearance  was  the 
great  news  behind  the  scenes.  Between  two  and  four  in  the 
afternoon  all  Paris  in  the  Champs-Elysees  had  recognized 
La  Torpille,  and  knew  at  last  who  was  the  object  of  the  Baron 
de  Nucingen's  passion. 

"Do  you  know,"  Blondet  remarked  to  de  Marsay  in  the 
greenroom  at  the  opera-house,  "that  La  Torpille  vanished 
the  very  day  after  the  evening  when  we  saw  her  here  and  rec- 
ognized her  in  little  Rubempre's  mistress." 

In  Paris,  as  in  the  provinces,  everything  is  known.  The 
police  of  the  Rue  de  Jerusalem  are  not  so  efficient  as  the  world 
itself,  for  every  one  is  a  spy  on  every  one  else,  though  uncon- 
sciously. Carlos  had  fully  understood  the  danger  of  Lucien's 
position  during  and  after  the  episode  of  the  Rue  Taitbout. 

No  position  can  be  more  dreadful  than  that  in  which  Ma- 
dame du  Val-Noble  now  found  herself ;  and  the  phrase  to  be 
on  the  loose,  or,  as  the  French  say,  left  on  foot,  expresses  it 
perfectly.  The  recklessness  and  extravagance  of  these  women 
precludes  all  care  for  the  future.  In  that  strange  world,  far 
more  witty  and  amusing  than  might  be  supposed,  only  such 
women  as  are  not  gifted  with  that  perfect  beauty  which  time 
can  hardly  impair,  and  which  is  quite  unmistakable — only 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  217 

such  women,  in  short,  as  can  be  loved  merely  as  a  fancy,  ever 
think  of  old  age  and  save  a  fortune.  The  handsomer  they  are, 
the  more  improvident  they  are. 

"Are  you  afraid  of  growing  ugly  that  you  are  saving 
money?"  was  a  speech  of  Florine's  to  Mariette,  which  may 
give  a  clue  to  one  cause  of  this  thriftlessness. 

Thus,  if  a  speculator  kills  himself,  or  a  spendthrift  comes 
to  the  end  of  his  resources,  these  women  fall  with  hideous 
promptitude  from  audacious  wealth  to  the  utmost  misery. 
They  throw  themselves  into  the  clutches  of  the  old-clothes 
buyer,  and  sell  exquisite  jewels  for  a  mere  song ;  they  run  into 
debt,  expressly  to  keep  up  a  spurious  luxury,  in  the  hope  of 
recovering  what  they  have  lost — a  cash-box  to  draw  upon. 
These  ups  and  downs  of  their  career  account  for  the  costliness 
of  such  connections,  generally  brought  about  as  Asie  had 
hooked  (another  word  of  her  vocabulary)  Nucingen  for 
Esther. 

And  so  those  who  know  their  Paris  are  quite  aware  of  the 
state  of  affairs  when,  in  the  Champs-£)lysees — that  bustling 
and  mongrel  bazaar — they  meet  some  woman  in  a  hired  fly 
whom  six  months  or  a  year  before  they  had  seen  in  a  magnifi- 
cent and  dazzling  carriage,  turned  out  in  the  most  luxurious 
style. 

"If  you  fall  on  Sainte-Pelagie,  you  must  contrive  to  re- 
bound on  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,"  said  Florine,  laughing  with 
Blondet  over  the  little  Vicomte  de  Portenduere. 

Some  clever  women  never  run  the  risk  of  this  contrast. 
They  bury  themselves  in  horrible  furnished  lodgings,  where 
they  expiate  their  extravagance  by  such  privations  as  are  en- 
dured by  travelers  lost  in  a  Sahara;  but  they  never  take  the 
smallest  fancy  for  economy.  They  venture  forth  to  masked 
balls;  they  take  journeys  into  the  provinces;  they  turn  out 
well  dressed  on  the  boulevards  when  the  weather  is  fine.  And 
then  they  find  in  each  other  the  devoted  kindness  which  is 
known  only  among  proscribed  races.  It  costs  a  woman  in 
luck  no  effort  to  bestow  some  help,  for  she  says  to  herself,  "I 
may  be  in  the  same  plight  by  Sunday !" 


218  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

However,  the  most  efficient  protector  still  is  the  purchaser 
of  dress.  When  this  greedy  money-lender  finds  herself  the 
creditor,  she  stirs  and  works  on  the  hearts  of  all  the  old  men 
she  knows  in  favor  of  the  mortgaged  creature  in  thin  boots 
and  a  fine  bonnet. 

In  this  way  Madame  du  Val-Noble,  unable  to  foresee  the 
downfall  of  one  of  the  richest  and  cleverest  of  stockbrokers, 
was  left  quite  unprepared.  She  had  spent  Falleix's  money  on 
her  whims,  and  trusted  to  him  for  all  necessaries  and  to 
provide  for  the  future. 

"How  could  I  have  expected  such  a  thing  in  a  man  who 
seemed  such  a  good  fellow  ?" 

In  almost  every  class  of  society  the  good  fellow  is  an  open- 
handed  man,  who  will  lend  a  few  cro\^Tis  now  and  again  with- 
out expecting  them  back,  who  always  behaves  in  accordance 
with  a  certain  code  of  delicate  feeling  above  mere  vulgar, 
obligatory,  and  commonplace  morality.  Certain  men,  re- 
garded as  virtuous  and  honest,  have,  like  Nucingen,  ruined 
their  benefactors ;  and  certain  others,  who  have  been  through 
a  criminal  court,  have  an  ingenious  kind  of  honesty  towards 
women.  Perfect  virtue,  the  dream  of  Moliere,  an  Alceste,  is 
exceedingly  rare;  still,  it  is  to  be  found  everywhere,  even  in 
Paris.  The  "good  fellow"  is  the  product  of  a  certain  facility 
of  nature  which  proves  nothing.  A  man  is  a  good  fellow,  as 
a  cat  is  silky,  as  a  slipper  is  made  to  slip  on  to  the  foot.  And 
so,  in  the  meaning  given  to  the  word  by  a  kept  woman,  Falleix 
ought  to  have  warned  his  mistress  of  his  approaching  bank- 
ruptcy and  have  given  her  enough  to  live  upon. 

D'Estourny,  the  dashing  swindler,  was  a  good  fellow;  he 
cheated  at  cards,  but  he  had  set  aside  thirty  thousand  francs 
for  his  mistress.  And  at  carnival  suppers  women  would  re- 
tort on  his  accusers:  "No  matter.  You  may  say  what  you 
like,  Georges  was  a  good  fellow;  he  had  charming  manners, 
he  deserved  a  better  fate." 

These  girls  laugh  laws  to  scorn,  and  adore  a  certain  kind 
of  generosity ;  they  sell  themselves,  as  Esther  had  done,  for  a 
secret  ideal,  which  is  their  religion. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  219 

After  saving  a  few  jewels  from  the  wreck  with  great  diffi- 
culty, Madame  du  Val-Noble  was  crushed  under  the  burden 
of  the  horrible  report :  "She  ruined  Falleix."  She  was  almost 
thirty;  and  though  she  was  in  the  prime  of  her  beauty,  still 
she  might  be  called  an  old  woman,  and  all  the  more  so  be- 
cause in  such  a  crisis  all  a  woman's  rivals  are  against  her. 
Mariette,  Florine,  Tullia  would  ask  their  friend  to  dinner, 
and  gave  her  some  help ;  but  as  they  did  not  know  the  extent 
of  her  debts,  they  did  not  dare  to  sound  the  depths  of  that 
gulf.  An  interval  of  six  years  formed  rather  too  long  a  gap 
in  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  Paris  tide,  between  La  Torpille  and 
Madame  du  Val-Noble,  for  the  woman  "on  foot"  to  speak  to 
the  woman  in  her  carriage;  but  La  Val-Noble  knew  that 
Esther  was  too  generous  not  to  remember  sometimes  that  she 
had,  as  she  said,  fallen  heir  to  her  possessions,  and  not  to 
seek  her  out  by  some  meeting  which  might  seem  accidental 
though  arranged.  To  bring  about  such  an  accident,  Madame 
du  Val-Noble,  dressed  in  the  most  lady-like  way,  walked  out 
every  day  in  the  Champs-filysees  on  the  arm  of  Theodore 
Gaillard,  who  afterwards  married  her,  and  who,  in  these 
straits,  behaved  very  well  to  his  former  mistress,  giving  her 
boxes  at  the  play,  and  inviting  her  to  every  spree.  She  flat- 
tered herself  that  Esther,  driving  out  one  fine  day,  would  meet 
her  face  to  face. 

Esther's  coachman  was  Paccard — for  her  household  had 
been  made  up  in  five  days  by  Asie,  Europe,  and  Paccard  under 
Carlos'  instructions,  and  in  such  a  way  that  the  house  in  the 
Eue  Saint-Georges  was  an  impregnable  fortress. 

Peyrade,  on  his  part,  prompted  by  deep  hatred,  by  the 
thirst  for  vengeance,  and,  above  all,  by  his  wish  to  see  his 
darling  Lydie  married,  made  the  Champs-filysees  the  end  of 
his  walks  as  soon  as  he  heard  from  Contenson  that  Monsieur 
de  Nucingen's  mistress  might  be  seen  there.  Peyrade  could 
dress  so  exactly  like  an  Englishman,  and  spoke  French  so 
perfectly  with  the  mincing  accent  that  the  English  give  the 
language;  he  knew  England  itself  so  well,  and  was  so  familiar 
with  all  the  customs  of  the  country,  having  been  sent  to  Eng- 


220  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

land  by  the  police  authorities  three  times  between  1779  and 
1786,  that  he  could  play  his  part  in  London  and  at  ambas- 
sadors' residences  without  awaking  suspicion.  Peyrade, 
who  had  some  resemblance  to  Musson  the  famous  juggler, 
could  disguise  himself  so  effectually  that  once  Contenson  did 
not  recognize  him. 

Followed  by  Contenson  dressed  as  a  mulatto,  Peyrade  ex- 
amined Esther  and  her  servants  with  an  eye  which,  seeming 
heedless,  took  everything  in.  Hence  it  quite  naturally  hap- 
pened that  in  the  side  alley  where  the  carriage-company  walk 
in  fine  dry  weather,  he  was  on  the  spot  one  day  when  Esther 
met  Madame  du  Val-N^oble.  Peyrade,  his  mulatto  in  livery 
at  his  heels,  was  airing  himself  quite  naturally,  like  a  nabob 
who  is  thinking  of  no  one  but  himself,  in  a  line  with  the  two 
women,  so  as  to  catch  a  few  words  of  their  conversation. 

"Well,  my  dear  child,"  said  Esther  to  Madame  du  Val- 
Noble,  "come  and  see  me.  Nucingen  owes  it  to  himself  not 
to  leave  his  stockbroker's  mistress  without  a  sou " 

"All  the  more  so  because  it  is  said  that  he  ruined  Falleix," 
.remarked  Theodore  Gaillard,  "and  that  we  have  every  right  to 
squeeze  him." 

"He  dines  with  me  to-morrow,"  said  Esther;  "come  and 
meet  him."     Then  she  added  in  an  undertone: 

"I  can  do  what  I  like  with  him,  and  as  yet  he  has  not  that !" 
and  she  put  the  nail  of  a  gloved  finger  under  the  prettiest  of 
her  teeth  with  the  click  that  is  familiarly  known  to  express 
with  peculiar  energy:  "Just  nothing." 

"You  have  him  safe " 

"My  dear,  as  yet  he  has  only  paid  my  debts." 

"How  mean !"  cried  Suzanne  du  Val-JSToble. 

"Oh !"  said  Esther,  "I  had  debts  enough  to  frighten  a  min- 
ister of  finance.  Now,  I  mean  to  have  thirty  thousand  a  year 
before  the  first  stroke  of  midnight.  Oh !  he  is  excellent,  I 
have  nothitig  to  complain  of.  He  does  it  well. — In  a  week 
we  give  a  house-warming ;  you  must  come. — That  morning  he 
is  to  make  me  a  present  of  the  lease  of  the  house  in  the  Eue 
Saint-Georges.    In  decency,  it  is  impossible  to  live  in  such  a 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  221 

house  on  less  than  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year — of  my  own, 
so  as  to  have  them  safe  in  case  of  accident.  I  have  known 
poverty,  and  I  want  no  more  of  it.  There  are  certain  ac- 
quaintances one  has  had  enough  of  at  once." 

"And  you,  who  used  to  say,  'My  face  is  my  fortune  !' — How 
you  have  changed !"  exclaimed  Suzanne. 

"It  is  the  air  of  Switzerland;  you  grow  thrifty  there. — 
Look  here ;  go  there  yourself,  my  dear !  Catch  a  Swiss,  and 
you  may  perhaps  catch  a  husband,  for  they  have  not  yet 
learned  what  such  women  as  we  are  can  be.  And,  at  any  rate, 
you  may  come  back  with  a  passion  for  investments  in  the 
funds — a  most  respectable  and  elegant  passion  ! — Good-bye." 

Esther  got  into  her  carriage  again,  a  handsome  carriage 
drawn  by  the  finest  pair  of  dappled  gray  horses  at  that  time 
to  be  seen  in  Paris. 

"The  woman  who  is  getting  into  the  carriage  is  handsome," 
said  Peyrade  to  Contenson,  "but  I  like  the  one  who  is  walking 
best ;  follow  her,  and  find  out  who  she  is." 

"That  is  what  that  Englishman  has  just  remarked  in 
English,"  said  Theodore  Gaillard,  repeating  Peyrade's  re- 
mark to  Madame  du  Val-ISToble. 

Before  making  this  speech  in  English,  Peyrade  had  uttered 
a  word  or  two  in  that  language,  which  had  made  Theodore 
look  up  in  a  way  that  convinced  him  that  the  journalist  under- 
stood English. 

Madame  du  Val-lSToble  very  slowly  made  her  way  home  to 
very  decent  furnished  rooms  in  the  Eue  Louis-le-Grand, 
glancing  round  now  and  then  to  see  if  the  mulatto  were  fol- 
lowing her. 

This  establishment  was  kept  by  a  certain  Madame  Gerard, 
whom  Suzanne  had  obliged  in  the  days  of  her  splendor,  and 
who  showed  her  gratitude  by  giving  her  a  suitable  home.  This 
good  soul,  an  honest  and  virtuous  citizen,  even  pious,  looked 
on  the  courtesan  as  a  woman  of  a  superior  order;  she  had 
always  seen  her  in  the  midst  of  luxury,  and  thought  of  her 
as  a  fallen  queen ;  she  trusted  her  daughters  with  her ;  and — 
which  is  a  fact  more  natural  than  might  be  supposed — the 


222  .  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

courtesan  was  as  scrupulously  careful  in  taking  them  to  the 
play  as  their  mother  could  have  been,  and  the  two  Gerard 
girls  loved  her.  The  worthy,  kind  lodging-house  keeper  was 
like  those  sublime  priests  who  see  in  these  outlawed  women 
only  a  creature  to  be  saved  and  loved. 

Madame  du  Val-ISToble  respected  this  worth ;  and  often,  as 
she  chatted  with  the  good  woman,  she  envied  her  while  be- 
wailing her  own  ill-fortune. 

"You  are  still  handsome;  you  may  make  a  good  end  yet," 
Madame  Gerard  would  say. 

But,  indeed,  Madame  du  Yal-Noble  was  only  relatively 
impoverished.  This  woman's  wardrobe,  so  extravagant  and 
elegant,  was  still  sufficiently  well  furnished  to  allow  of  her 
appearing  on  occasion — as  on  that  evening  at  the  Porte-Saint- 
Martin  to  see  Richard  Darlington — in  much  splendor.  And 
Madame  Gerard  would  most  good-naturedly  pay  for  the  cabs 
needed  by  the  lady  "on  foot"  to  go  out  to  dine,  or  to  the  play, 
and  to  come  home  again. 
^  "Well,  dear  Madame  Gerard,"  said  she  to  this  worthy 
mother,  "my  luck  is  about  to  change,  I  believe." 

"Well,  well,  madame,  so  much  the  better.  But  be  prudent ; 
do  not  run  into  debt  any  more.  I  have  such  difficulty  in  get- 
ting rid  of  the  people  who  are  hunting  for  you." 

"Oh,  never  worry  yourself  about  those  hounds !  They  have 
all  made  no  end  of  money  out  of  me. — Here  are  some  tickets 
for  the  Varietes  for  your  girls — a  good  box  on  the  second  tier. 
If  any  one  should  ask  for  me  this  evening  before  I  come  in, 
show  them  up  all  the  same.  Adele,  my  old  maid,  will  be  here ; 
I  will  send  her  round." 

Madame  du  Val-Noble,  having  neither  mother  nor  aunt, 
was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  her  maid — equally  on  foot — 
to  play  the  part  of  a  Saint-Esteve  with  the  unknown  follower 
whose  conquest  was  to  enable  her  to  rise  again  in  the  world. 
She  went  to  dine  with  Theodore  Gaillard,  who,  as  it  hap- 
pened, had  a  spree  on  that  day,  that  is  to  say,  a  dinner  given 
by  ISTathan  in  payment  of  a  bet  he  had  lost,  one  of  those  orgies 
when  a  man  says  to  his  guests,  "You  can  bring  a  woman," 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  223 

It  was  not  without  strong  reasons  that  Peyrade  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  rush  in  person  on  to  the  field  of  this  intrigue. 
At  the  same  time,  his  curiosity,  like  Corentin's,  was  so  keenly 
excited,  that,  even  in  the  absence  of  reasons,  he  would  have 
tried  to  play  a  part  in  the  drama. 

At  this  moment  Charles  X.'s  policy  had  completed  its  last 
evolution.  After  confiding  the  helm  of  State  to  Ministers  of 
his  own  choosing,  the  King  was  preparing  to  conquer  Algiers, 
and  to  utilize  the  glory  that  should  accrue  as  a  passport  to 
what  has  been  called  his  Coup  d'Etat.  There  were  no  more 
conspiracies  at  home ;  Charles  X,  believed  he  had  no  domestic 
enemies.    But  in  politics,  as  at  sea,  a  calm  may  be  deceptive. 

Thus  Corentin  had  lapsed  into  total  idleness.  In  such  a 
case  a  true  sportsman,  to  keep  his  hand  in,  for  lack  of  larks 
kills  sparrows.  Domitian,  we  know,  for  lack  of  Christians, 
killed  flies.  Contenson,  having  witnessed  Esther's  arrest,  had, 
with  the  keen  instinct  of  a  spy,  fully  understood  the  upshot 
of  the  business.  The  rascal,  as  we  have  seen,  did  not  attempt 
to  conceal  his  opinion  of  the  Baron  de  Nucingen. 

"Who  is  benefiting  by  making  the  banker  pay  so  dear  for 
his  passion  ?"  was  the  first  question  the  allies  asked  each  other. 
Recognizing  Asie  as  a  leader  in  the  piece,  Contenson  hoped  to 
find  out  the  author  through  her ;  but  she  slipped  through  his 
fingers  again  and  again,  hiding  like  an  eel  in  the  mud  of 
Paris ;  and  when  he  found  her  again  as  the  cook  in  Esther's  es- 
tablishment, it  seemed  to  him  inexplicable  that  the  half-caste 
woman  should  have  had  a  finger  in  the  pie.  Thus,  for  the 
first  time,  these  two  artistic  spies  had  come  on  a  text  that 
they  could  not  decipher,  while  suspecting  a  dark  plot  to  the 
story. 

After  three  bold  attempts  on  the  house  in  the  Eue  Taitbout, 
Contenson  still  met  with  absolute  dumbness.  So  long  as  Es- 
ther dwelt  there  the  lodge  porter  seemed  to  live  in  mortal 
terror.  Asie  had,  perhaps,  promised  poisoned  meat-balls  to 
all  the  family  in  the  event  of  any  indiscretion. 

On  the  day  after  Esther's  removal,  Contenson  found  this 
man  rather  more  amenable ;  he  regretted  the  lady,  he  said, 


224  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

who  had  fed  him  with  the  broken  dishes  from  her  table.  Con- 
tenson,  disguised  as  a  broker,  tried  to  bargain  for  the  rooms, 
and  listened  to  the  porter's  lamentations  while  he  fooled  him, 
casting  a  doubt  on  all  the  man  said  by  a  questioning 
^'Eeally?" 

"Yes,  monsieur,  the  lady  lived  here  for  five  years  without 
ever  going  out,  and  more  by  token,  her  lover,  desperately 
jealous  though  she  was  beyond  reproach,  took  the  greatest 
precautions  when  he  came  in  or  went  out.  And  a  very  hand- 
some young  man  he  was  too  !" 
^  Lucien  was  at  this  time  still  staying  with  his  sister,  Ma- 
dame Sechard ;  but  as  soon  as  he  returned,  Contenson  sent  the 
porter  to  the  Quai  Malaquais  to  ask  ]\Ionsieur  de  Eubempre 
whether  he  were  willing  to  part  with  the  furniture  left  in  the 
rooms  lately  occupied  by  Madame  van  Bogseck.  The  porter 
\  then  recognized  Lucien  as  the  young  widow's  mysterious 
lover,  and  this  was  all  that  Contenson  wanted.  The  deep  but 
suppressed  astonishment  may  be  imagined  with  which  Lucien 
and  Carlos  received  the  porter,  whom  they  affected  to  regard 
as  a  madman ;  they  tried  to  upset  his  convictions. 

Within  twenty-four  hours  Carlos  had  organized  a  force 
which  detected  Contenson  red-handed  in  the  act  of  espionage. 
Contenson,  disguised  as  a  market-porter,  had  twice  already 
brought  home  the  provisions  purchased  in  the  morning  by 
Asie,  and  had  twice  got  into  the  little  mansion  in  the  Rue 
Saint-Georges.  Corentin,  on  his  part,  was  making  a  stir ;  but 
he  was  stopped  short  by  recognizing  the  certain  identity  of 
Carlos  Herrera ;  for  he  learned  at  once  that  this  Abbe,  the 
secret  envoy  of  Ferdinand  VIL,  had  come  to  Paris  towards 
the  end  of  1823.  Still,  Corentin  thought  it  worth  while  to 
study  the  reasons  which  had  led  the  Spaniard  to  take  an  in- 
terest in  Lucien  de  Eubempre.  It  was  soon  clear  to  him, 
beyond  doubt,  that  Esther  had  for  five  years  been  Lucien's 
mistress;  so  the  substitution  of  the  Englishwoman  had 
been  effected  for  the  advantage  of  that  young  dandy. 

Xow  Lucien  had  no  means;  he  was  rejected  as  a  suitor  for 
]\Iademoiselle  de  Grandlieu;  and  he  had  just  bought  tip  the 
lands  of  Rubempre  at  the  cost  of  a  million  francs. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  225 

Corentin  very  skilfully  made  the  head  of  the  General  Police 
take  the  first  steps ;  and  the  Prefet  de  Police  a  propos  to  Pey- 
rade,  informed  his  chief  that  the  appellants  in  that  affair  had 
been  in  fact  the  Comte  de  Serizy  and  Lucien  de  Kubempre. 

"We  have  it !"  cried  Peyrade  and  Corentin. 

The  two  friends  had  laid  plans  in  a  moment. 

"This  hussy,"  said  Corentin,  "has  had  intimacies ;  she  must 
have  some  women  friends.  Among  them  we  shall  certainly 
find  one  or  another  who  is  down  on  her  luck ;  one  of  us  must 
play  the  part  of  a  rich  foreigner  and  take  her  up.  We  will 
-throw  them  together.  They  always  want  something  of  each 
other  in  the  game  of  lovers,  and  we  shall  then  be  in  the 
citadel." 

Peyrade  naturally  proposed  to  assume  his  disguise  as  an 
Englishman.  The  wild  life  he  should  lead  during  the  time 
that  he  would  take  to  disentangle  the  plot  of  which  he  had 
been  the  victim,  smiled  on  his  fancy ;  while  Corentin,  grown 
old  in  his  functions,  and  weakly  too,  did  not  care  for  it.  .Dis- 
guised as  a  mulatto,  Contenson  at  once  evaded  Carlos'  force. 
Just  three  days  before  Peyrade's  meeting  with  Madame  du 
Val-Noble  in  the  Champs-filysees,  this  last  of  the  agents 
employed  by  MM.  de  Sartine  and  Lenoir  had  arrived,  pro- 
vided with  a  passport,  at  the  Hotel  Mirabeau,  Hue  de  la  Paix, 
having  come  from  the  Colonies  via  le  Havre,  in  a  traveling 
chaise,  as  mud-splashed  as  though  it  had  really  come  from  le 
Havre,  instead  of  no  further  than  by  the  road  from  Saint- 
Denis  to  Paris. 

Carlos  Herrera,  on  his  part,  had  his  passport  vise  at  the 
Spanish  Embassy,  and  arranged  everything  at  the  Quai  Mala- 
quais  to  start  for  Madrid.  And  this  is  why.  Within  a  few 
days  Esther  was  to  become  the  owner  of  the  house  in  the  Eue 
Saint-Georges  and  of  shares  yielding  thirty  thousand  francs 
a  year;  Europe  and  Asie  were  quite  cunning  enough  to  per- 
suade her  to  sell  these  shares  and  privately  transmit  the 
money  to  Lucien.  Thus  Lucien,  proclaiming  himself  rich 
through  his  sister's  liberality,  would  pay  the  remainder  of 
the  price  of  the  Kubempre  estates.     Of  this  transaction  no 


226  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

one  could  complain.    Esther  alone  could  betray  herself;  but 
she  would  die  rather  than  blink  an  eyelash. 

Clotilde  had  appeared  with  a  little  pink  kerchief  round  her 
crane's  neck,  so  she  had  won  her  game  at  the  Hotel  de  Grand- 
lieu.  The  shares  in  the  Omnibus  Company  were  already 
worth  thrice  their  initial  value.  Carlos,  by  disappearing  for 
a  few  days,  would  put  malice  off  the  scent.  Human  prudence 
had  foreseen  everything;  no  error  was  possible.  The  false 
Spaniard  was  to  start  on  the  morrow  of  the  day  when  Peyrade 
met  Madame  du  Val-Noble.  But  that  very  night,  at  two  in 
the  morning,  Asie  came  in  a  cab  to  the  Quai  Malaquais,  and 
found  the  stoker  of  the  machine  smoking  in  his  room,  and 
reconsidering  all  the  points  of  the  situation  here  stated  in  a 
few  words,  like  an  author  going  over  a  page  of  his  book  to  dis- 
cover any  faults  to  be  corrected.  Such  a  man  would  not  allow 
himself  a  second  time  such  an  oversight  as  that  of  the  porter 
in  the  Kue  Taitbout. 

"Paccard,"  whispered  Asie  in  her  master's  ear,  "recognized 
Contenson  yesterday,  at  half-past  two,  in  the  Champs-filysees, 
disguised  as  a  mulatto  servant  to  an  Englishman,  who  for  the 
last  three  days  has  been  seen  walking  in  the  Champs-filysees, 
watching  Esther.  Paccard  knew  the  hound  by  his  eyes,  as  I 
did  when  he  dressed  up  as  a  market-porter.  Paccard  drove 
the  girl  home,  taking  a  round  so  as  not  to  lose  sight  of  the 
wretch.  Contenson  is  at  the  Hotel  Mirabeau ;  but  he  ex- 
changed so  many  signs  of  intelligence  with  the  Englishman, 
that  Paccard  says  the  other  cannot  possibly  be  an  English- 
man." 
}  ^t'  "We  have  a  gadfly  behind  us,"  said  Carlos.  "I  will  not 
leave  till  the  day  after  to-morrow.  That  Contenson  is  cer- 
tainly the  man  who  sent  the  porter  after  us  from  the  Rue 
Taitbout;  we  must  ascertain  whether  this  sham  Englishman 
is  our  foe." 

At  noon  Mr.  Samuel  Johnson's  black  servant  was  solemnly 
waiting  on  his  master,  who  always  breakfasted  too  heartily, 
with  a  purpose.  Peyrade  wished  to  pass  for  a  tippling  Eng- 
lishman; he  never  went  out  till  he  was  half-seas  over.     He 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  227 

wore  black  cloth  gaiters  up  to  his  knees,  and  padded  to  make 
his  legs  look  stouter ;  his  trousers  were  lined  with  the  thickest 
fustian ;  his  waistcoat  was  buttoned  to  the  chin ;  a  blue  hand- 
kerchief wrapped  his  throat  up  to  his  cheeks;  a  red  scratch 
wig  hid  half  his  forehead,  and  he  had  added  nearly  three 
inches  to  his  height;  in  short,  the  oldest  frequenter  of  the 
Cafe  David  could  not  have  recognized  him.  From  his  square- 
cut  coat  of  black  cloth  with  full  skirts  he  might  have  been 
taken  for  an  English  millionaire. 

Contenson  made  a  show  of  the  cold  insolence  of  a  nabob's 
confidential  servant;  he  was  taciturn,  abrupt,  scornful,  and 
uncommunicative,  and  indulged  in  fierce  exclamations  and 
uncouth  gestures. 

Peyrade  was  finishing  his  second  bottle  when  one  of  the 
hotel  waiters  unceremoniously  showed  in  a  man  in  whom 
Peyrade  and  Contenson  both  at  once  discerned  a  gendarme 
in  mufti. 

"Monsieur   Peyrade,"   said  the  gendarme  to  the   nabob, 
speaking  in  his  ear,  "my  instructions  are  to  take  you  to  the 
Prefecture." 
(  Peyrade,  without  saying  a  word,  rose  and  took  down  his 

"You  will  find  a  hackney  coach  at  the  door,"  said  the  man 
as  they  went  downstairs.  "The  Prefet  thought  of  arresting 
you,  but  he  decided  on  sending  for  you  to  ask  some  explana- 
tion of  your  conduct  through  the  peace-officer  whom  you  will 
find  in  the  coach." 

"Shall  I  ride  with  you  ?"  asked  the  gendarme  of  the  peace- 
officer  when  Peyrade  had  got  in. 

"No,"  replied  the  other;  "tell  the  coachman  quietly  to 
drive  to  the  Prefecture." 

Peyrade  and  Carlos  were  now  face  to  face  in  the  coach. 
Carlos  had  a  stiletto  under  his  hand.  The  coach-driver  was 
a  man  he  could  trust,  quite  capable  of  allowing  Carlos  to  get 
out  without  seeing  him,  or  being  surprised,  on  arriving  at 
his  journey's  end,  to  find  a  dead  body  in  his  cab.  No  in- 
quiries are  ever  made  about  a  spy.     The  law  almost  always 


228  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

leaves  such  murders  unpunished,  it  is  so  difficult  to  know  the 
rights  of  the  case. 

Peyrade  looked  with  his  keenest  eye  at  the  magistrate  sent 
y  to  examine  him  by  the  Prefet  of  Police.  Carlos  struck  him 
as  satisfactory :  a  bald  head,  deeply  wrinkled  at  the  back,  and 
powdered  hair;  a  pair  of  very  light  gold  spectacles,  with 
double-green  glasses  over  weak  eyes,  with  red  rims,  evidently 
needing  care.  These  eyes  seemed  the  trace  of  some  squalid 
malady.  A  cotton  shirt  with  a  flat-pleated  frill,  a  shabby 
black  satin  waistcoat,  the  trousers  of  a  man  of  law,  black 
spun  silk  stockings,  and  shoes  tied  with  ribbon ;  a  long  black 
overcoat,  cheap  gloves,  black,  and  worn  for  ten  days,  and  a 
gold  watch-chain — in  every  point  the  lower  grade  of  magis- 
trate known  by  a  perversion  of  terms  as  a  peace-officer. 

"My  dear  Monsieur  Peyrade,  I  regret  to  find  such  a  man 
as  you  the  object  of  surveillance,  and  that  you  should  act 
so  as  to  justify  it.  Your  disguise  is  not  to  the  Prefet's  taste. 
If  you  fancy  that  you  can  thus  escape  our  vigilance,  you  are 
mistaken.  You  traveled  from  England  by  way  of  Beaumont- 
sur-Oise,  no  doubt." 

"Beaumont-sur-Oise  ?"  repeated  Peyr^4^.- — ^ 

"Or  by  Saint-Denis  ?"  said  the  sham  lawyer.  ^ 

Peyrade  lost  his  presence  of  mind.  The  question  must 
be  answered.  Now  any  reply  might  be  dangerous.  In  the 
affirmative  is  was  farcical ;  in  the  negative,  if  this  man  knew 
the  truth,  it  would  be  Peyrade's  ruin. 

"He  is  a  sharp  fellow,"  thought  he. 

He  tried  to  look  at  the  man  and  smile,  and  he  gave  him 
a  smile  for  an  answer;  the  smile  passed  muster  without 
protest. 

"For  what  purpose  have  you  disguised  yourself,  taken 
rooms  at  the  Mirabeau,  and  dressed  Contenson  as  a  black 
servant?"  asked  the  peace-officer. 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet  may  do  what  he  chooses  with  me,  but 
I  owe  no  account  of  my  actions  to  any  one  but  my  chief," 
said  Peyrade  with  dignity. 

"If  you  mean  me  to  infer  that  you  are  acting  by  the  orders 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  229 

of  the  General  Police,"  said  the  other  coldly,  "we  will  change 
our  route,  and  drive  to  the  Rue  de  Grenelle  instead  of  the 
Rue  de  Jerusalem.  I  have  clear  instructions  with  regard  to 
you.  But  be  careful !  You  are  not  in  any  deep  disgrace, 
and  you  may  spoil  your  own  game  in  a  moment.  As  for  me 
— I  owe  you  no  grudge. — Come;  tell  me  the  truth." 

"Well,  then,  this  is  the  truth,"  said  Peyrade,  with  a  glance 
at  his  Cerberus'  red  eyes. 

The  sham  lawyer's  face  remained  expressionless,  impassi- 
ble; he  was  doing  his  business,  all  truths  were  the  same  to 
him,  he  looked  as  though  he  suspected  the  Prefet  of  some 
caprice.     Prefets  have  their  little  tantrums. 

"I  have  fallen  desperately  in  love  with  a  woman — the  mis- 
tress of  that  stockbroker  who  is  gone  abroad  for  his  own 
pleasure  and  the  displeasure  of  his  creditors — Falleix." 

"Madame  du  Val-Noble?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Peyrade.  "To  keep  her  for  a  month,  which 
will  not  cost  me  more  than  a  thousand  crowns,  I  have  got  myself 
up  as  a  nabob  and  taken  Contenson  as  my  servant.  This  is 
so  absolutely  true,  monsieur,  that  if  you  like  to  leave  me  in 
the  coach,  where  I  will  wait  for  you,  on  my  honor  as  an  old 
Commissioner-General  of  Police,  you  can  go  to  the  hotel 
and  question  Contenson.  Not  only  will  Contenson  conjfirm 
what  I  have  the  honor  of  stating,  but  you  may  see  Madame 
du  Val-Noble's  waiting-maid,  who  is  to  come  this  morning 
to  signify  her  mistress'  acceptance  of  my  offers,  or  the  con- 
ditions she  makes. 

"An  old  monkey  knows  what  grimaces  mean:  I  have  of- 
fered her  a  thousand  francs  a  month  and  a  carriage — that 
comes  to  fifteen  hundred ;  five  hundred  francs'  worth  of  pres- 
ents, and  as  much  again  in  some  outings,  dinners  and  play- 
going;  you  see,  I  am  not  deceiving  you  by  a  centime  when  I 
say  a  thousand  crowns. — A  man  of  my  age  may  very  well 
spend  a  thousand  crowns  on  his  last  fancy." 
-  "Bless  me,  Papa  Peyrade !  and  you  still  care  enough  for 
women  to ?  But  you  are  deceiving  me.  I  am  sixty  my- 
self, and  I  can  do  without  'em. — However,  if  the  case  is  as 
15 


230  A  COU-^TESAN'S  LIFE 

you  state  it,  I  quite  understand  that  you  should  have  found 
it  necessary  to  get  yourself  up  as  a  foreigner  to  indulge  your 
fancy." 

"You  can  understand  that  Peyrade,  or  old  Canquoelle  of 
the  Eue  des  Moineaux " 

"Ay,  neither  of  them  would  have  suited  ]\Iadame  du  Val- 
Noble,"  Carlos  put  in,  delighted  to  have  picked  up  Can- 
quoelle's  address.  "Before  the  Revolution,"  he  went  on,  "I 
had  for  my  mistress  a  woman  who  had  previously  been  kept 
by  the  gentleman-in-waiting,  as  they  then  called  the  execu- 
tioner. One  evening  at  the  play  she  pricked  herself  with  a 
pin,  and  cried  out — a  customary  ejaculation  in  those  days — 
'Ah !  Bourreau  !'  on  which  her  neighbor  asked  her  if  this  were 
a  reminiscence  ? — Well,  my  dear  Peyrade,  she  cast  off  her  man 
for  that  speech. 

"I  suppose  you  have  no  wish  to  expose  yourself  to  such 
a  slap  in  the  face. — Madame  du  Val-ISToble  is  a  woman  for  gen- 
tlemen. I  saw  her  once  at  the  opera,  and  thought  her  very 
handsome. 

"Tell  the  driver  to  go  back  to  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  my  dear 
Peyrade.  I  will  go  upstairs  with  you  to  your  rooms  and  see 
for  myself.  A  verbal  report  will  no  doubt  be  enough  for 
Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

Carlos  took  a  snuff-box  from  his  side-pocket — a  black  snuff- 
box lined  with  silver-gilt — and  offered  it  to  Peyrade  with 
an  impulse  of  delightful  good-fellowship.  Peyrade  said  to 
himself : 

"And  these  are  their  agents !  Good  Heavens !  what  would 
Monsieur  Lenoir  say  if  he  could  come  back  to  life,  or  Mon- 
sieur de  Sartines  ?" 

"That  is  part  of  the  truth,  no  doubt,  but  it  is  not  all," 
said  the  sham  lawyer,  snitfing  up  his  pinch  of  snuff.  "You 
have  had  a  finger  in  the  Baron  de  ISTucingen's  love  affairs, 
and  you  wish,  no  doubt,  to  entangle  him  in  some  slip-knot. 
Y^ou  missed  fire  with  the  pistol,  and  you  are  aiming  at  him 
with  a  field-piece.  Madame  du  Val-Noble  is  a  friend  of 
Madame  de  Champy's " 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  231 

*T)evil  take  it.  I  must  take  care  not  to  founder/'  said  Pey- 
rade  to  himself.  "He  is  a  better  man  than  I  thought  him; 
He  is  playing  me ;  he  talks  of  letting  me  go,  and  he  goes  on 
making  me  blab." 

"Well?"  asked  Carlos  with  a  magisterial  air. 

"Monsieur,  it  is  true  that  I  have  been  so  foolish  as  to  seek 
a  woman  in  Monsieur  de  Nucingen's  behoof,  because  he  was 
half  mad  with  love.  That  is  the  cause  of  my  being  out  of 
favor,  for  it  would  seem  that  quite  unconsciously  I  touched 
some  important  interests." 

The  officer  of  the  law  remained  immovable. 

"But  after  fifty-two  years'  experience,"  Peyrade  went  on, 
"I  know  the  police  well  enough  to  have  held  my  hand  after 
the  blowing  up  I  had  from  Monsieur  le  Pref et,  who,  no  doubt, 
was  right " 

"Then  you  would  give  up  this  fancy  if  Monsieur  le  Prefet 
required  it  of  you?  That,  I  think,  would  be  the  best  proof 
you  could  give  of  the  sincerity  of  what  you  say." 

"He  is  going  it !  he  is  going  it !"  thought  Peyrade.  "Ah  ! 
by  all  that's  holy,  the  police  to-day  is  a  match  for  that  of 
Monsieur  Lenoir." 

"Give  it  up  ?"  said  he  aloud.  "I  will  wait  till  I  have  Mon- 
sieur le  Prefet's  orders. — But  here  we  are  at  the  hotel,  if  you 
wish  to  come  up." 

"Where  do  you  find  the  money?"  said  Carlos  point-blank, 
with  a  sagacious  glance. 

"Monsieur,  I  have  a  friend " 

"Get  along,"  said  Carlos ;  "go  and  tell  that  story  to  an  ex- 
amining magistrate !" 

This  audacious  stroke  on  Carlos'  part  was  the  outcome 
of  one  of  those  calculations,  so  simple  that  none  but  a  man 
of  his  temper  would  have  thought  it  out. 

At  a  very  early  hour  he  had  sent  Lucien  to  Madame  de 
Serizjr's.  Lucien  had  begged  the  Count's  private  secretary 
— as  from  the  Count — to  go  and  obtain  from  the  Prefet  of 
Police  full  particulars  concerning  the  agent  employed  by  the 
Baron  de  Nucingen.     The  secretary  came  back  provided  with 


232  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

a  note  concerning  Peyrade,  a  copy  of  the  summary  noted  on 
the  back  of  his  record: — 

"In  the  police  force  since  1778,  having  come  to  .Paris  from 
Avignon  two  years  previously. 

"Without  money  or  character;  possessed  of  certain  State 
secrets. 

"Lives  in  the  Bue  des  Moineaux  under  the  name  of  Can- 
quoelle,  the  name  of  a  little  estate  where  his  family  resides 
in  the  department  of  Vaucluse;  very  respectable  people. 

'^as  lately  inquired  for  by  a  grand-nepliew  named  Theo- 
dore de  la  Peyrade.  (See  the  report  of  an  agent,  Xo.  37  of 
the  Documents.)" 

"He  must  be  the  man  to  whom  Contenson  is  playing  the 
mulatto  servant !"  cried  Carlos,  when  Lueien  returned  with 
other  information  besides  this  note. 

Within  three  hours  this  man,  with  the  energ}^  of  a  Com- 
mander-in-Chief, had  found,  by  Paccard's  help,  an  innocent 
accomplice  capable  of  playing  the  part  of  a  gendarme  in  dis- 
guise, and  had  got  himself  up  as  a  peace-officer.  Three  times 
in  the  coach  he  had  thought  of  killing  Peyrade,  but  he  had 
made  it  a  rule  never  to  commit  a  murder  with  his  own  hand ; 
he  promised  himself  that  he  would  get  rid  of  Peyrade  all  in 
good  time  by  pointing  him  out  as  a  millionaire  to  some  re- 
leased convicts  about  the  town. 

Peyrade  and  his  Mentor,  as  they  went  in,  heard  Conten- 
son's  voice  arguing  with  Madame  du  Val-Noble's  maid.  Pey- 
rade signed  to  Carlos  to  remain  in  the  outer  room,  with  a 
look  meant  to  convey :  "Thus  you  can  assure  yourself  of  my 
sincerity." 

"Madame  agrees  to  everything,"  said  Adele.  "Madame  is 
at  this  moment  calling  on  a  friend,  Madame  de  Champy,  who 
has  some  rooms  in  the  Eue  Taitbout  on  her  hands  for  a  year, 
full  of  furniture,  which  she  will  let  her  have,  no  doubt. 
Madame  can  receive  Mr.  Johnson  more  suitably  there,  for  the 
furniture  is  still  very  decent,  and  monsieur  might  buy  it  for 
madame  by  coming  to  an  agreement  with  Madame  de 
Champy." 


WHAT   LOVE  COSTS  233 

"Very  good/  my  girl.  If  this  is  not  a  job  of  fleecing,  it  is 
a  bit  of  the  wool,"  said  the  mulatto  to  the  astonished  woman. 
"However,  we  will  go  shares " 

"That  is  your  darkey  all  over !"  cried  Mademoiselle  Adele. 
"If  your  nabob'  is  a  nabob,  he  can  very  well  afEord  to  give 
madame  the  furniture.  The  lease  ends  in  April  1830 ;  your 
nabob  may  renew  it  if  he  likes." 

"I  am  quite  willing,"  said  Peyrade,  speaking  French  with 
a  strong  English  accent,  as  he  came  in  and  tapped  the  woman 
on  the  shoulder. 

He  cast  a  knowing  look  back  at  Carlos,  who  replied  by 
an  assenting  nod,  understanding  that  the  nabob  was  to  keep 
up  his  part. 

But  the  scene  suddenly  changed  its  aspect  at  the  entrance 
of  a  person  over  whom  neither  Carlos  nor  Peyrade  had  the 
least  power.  Corentin  suddenly  came  in.  He  had  found 
the  door  open,  and  looked  in  as  he  went  by  to  see  how  his  old 
friend  played  his  part  as  nabob. 

"The  Prefet  is  still  bullying  me!"  said  Peyrade  in  a 
whisper  to  Corentin.     "He  has  found  me  out  as  a  nabob." 

"We  will  spill  the  Prefet,"  Corentin  muttered  in  reply. 

Then  after  a  cool  bow  he  stood  darkly  scrutinizing  the 
magistrate. 

"Stay  here  till  I  return,"  said  Carlos;  "I  will  go  to  the 
Prefecture.  If  you  do  not  see  me  again,  you  may  go  your  own 
way." 

Having  said  this  in  an  undertone  to  Peyrade,  so  as  not  to 
humiliate  him  in  the  presence  of  the  waiting-maid,  Carlos 
went  away,  not  caring  to  remain  under  the  eye  of  the  new- 
comer, in  whom  he  detected  one  of  those  fair-haired,  blue- 
eyed  men,  coldly  terrifying. 

"That  is  the  peace-officer  sent  after  me  by  the  Prefet," 
said  Peyrade. 

"That?"  said  Corentin.  "You  have  walked  into  a  trap. 
That  man  has  three  packs  of  cards  in  his  shoes ;  you  can  see 
that  by  the  place  of  his  foot  in  the  shoe;  besides,  a  peace- 
officer  need  wear  no  dis^ise." 


234         '^'  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Corentin  hurried  downstairs  to  verify  his  suspicions:  Car- 
los M'as  getting  into  the  fly. 

"Hallo  !  Monsieur  I'Abbe  !"  cried  Corentin. 

Carlos  looked  around,  saw  Corentin,  and  got  in  quickly. 
Still,  Corentin  had  time  to  say: 

"That  was  all  I  wanted  to  know. — Quai  Malaquais,"  he 
shouted  to  the  driver  with  diabolical  mockery  in  his  tone 
and  expression. 

"I  am  done !"  said  Jacques  Collin  to  himself.  "They  have 
got  me.  I  must  get  ahead  of  them  by  sheer  pace,  and,  above 
all,  find  out  what  they  want  of  us." 

Corentin  had  seen  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera  five  or  six 
times,  and  the  man's  eyes  were  unforgettable.  Corentin  had 
suspected  him  at  once  from  the  cut  of  his  shoulders,  then  by 
his  puffy  face,  and  the  trick  of  three  inches  of  added  height 
gained  by  a  heel  inside  the  shoe. 

"Ah  !  old  fellow,  they  have  drawn  you,"  said  Corentin,  find- 
ing no  one  in  the  room  but  Peyrade  and  Contenson. 

"Who?"  cried  Peyrade,  with  metallic  hardness;  "I  will 
spend  my  last  days  in  putting  him  on  a  gridiron  and  turning 
him  on  it." 

"It  is  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera,  the  Corentin  of  Spain,  as 
I  suppose.  This  explains  everything.  The  Spaniard  is  a 
demon  of  the  first  water,  who  has  tried  to  make  a  fortune  for 
that  little  young  man  by  coining  money  out  of  a  pretty 
baggage's  bolster. — It  is  your  lookout  if  you  think  you  can 
measure  your  skill  with  a  man  who  seems  to  me  the  very  devil 
to  deal  with." 

"Oh !"  exclaimed  Contenson,  "he  fingered  the  three  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  the  day  when  Esther  was  arrested; 
he  was  in  the  cab.  I  remember  those  eyes,  that  brow,  and 
those  marks  of  the  smallpox." 

"Oh !  what  a  fortune  my  Lydie  might  have  had !"  cried 
Peyrade. 

"You  m'^y  still  play  the  nabob,"  said  Corentin.  "To  keep 
an  eye  on  Esther  you  must  keep  up  her  intimacy  with  Val- 
Noble.     She  was  really  Lucien's  mistress." 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  235 

"They  have  got  more  than  five  hundred  thousand  francs 
out  of  Nucingen  already,"  said  Contenson. 

"And  they  want  as  much  again,"  Corentin  went  on.  "The 
Eubempre  estate  is  to  cost  a  million. — Daddy,"  added  he, 
slapping  Peyrade  on  the  shoulder,  "you  may  get  more  than 
a  hundred  thousand  francs  to  settle  on  Lydie." 

"Don't  tell  me  that,  Corentin.  If  your  scheme  should  fail, 
I  cannot  tell  what  I  might  not  do " 

"You  will  have  it  by  to-morrow  perhaps !  The  Abbe,  my 
dear  fellow,  is  most  astute;  we  shall  have  to  kiss  his  spurs; 
he  is  a  very  superior  devil.  But  I  have  him  sure  enough. 
He  is  not  a  fool,  and  he  will  knock  under.  Try  to  be  a 
gaby  as  well  as  a  nabob,  and  fear  nothing." 

In  the  evening  of  this  day,  when  the  opposing  forces  had 
met  face  to  face  on  level  ground,  Lucien  spent  the  evening 
at  the  Hotel  Grandlieu.  The  party  was  a  large  one.  In  the 
face  of  all  the  assembly,  the  Duchess  kept  Lucien  at  her  side 
for  some  time,  and  was  most  kind  to  him. 

"You  are  going  away  for  a  little  while?"  said  she. 

"Yes,  Madame  la  Duchesse.  My  sister,  in  her  anxiety 
to  promote  my  marriage,  has  made  great  sacrifices,  and  I 
have  been  enabled  to  repurchase  the  lands  of  the  Rubempres, 
to  reconstitute  the  whole  estate.  But  I  have  found  in  my 
Paris  lawyer  a  very  clever  man,  who  has  managed  to  save 
me  from  the  extortionate  terms  that  the  holders  would  have 
asked  if  they  had  known  the  name  of  the  purchaser." 

"Is  there  a  chateau?"  asked  Clotilde,  with  too  broad  a 
smile. 

"There  is  something  which  might  be  called  a  chateau ;  but 
the  wiser  plan  would  be  to  use  the  building  materials  in  the 
construction  of  a  modern  residence." 

Clotilde's  eyes  blazed  with  happiness  above  her  smile  of 
satisfaction. 

"You  must  play  a  rubber  with  my  father  this  evening," 
said  she.  "In  a  fortnight  I  hope  you  will  be  asked  to 
dinner." 


236  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Well,  my  dear  sir/'  said  the  Due  de  Grandlieu,  "I  am 
told  that  you  have  bought  the  estate  of  Eubempre.  I  con- 
gratulate you.  It  is  an  answer  to  those  who  say  you  are  in 
debt.  We  bigwigs,  like  France  or  England,  are  allowed  to 
have  a  public  debt;  but  men  of  no  fortune,  beginners,  you 
see,  may  not  assume  that  privilege " 

"Indeed,  Monsieur  le  Due,  I  still  owe  five  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  on  my  land." 

"Well,  well,  you  must  marry  a  wife  who  can  bring  you 
the  money;  but  you  will  have  some  difficulty  in  finding  a 
match  with  such  a  fortune  in  our  Faubourg,  where  daughters 
do  not  get  large  dowries." 

"Their  name  is  enough,"  said  Lucien. 

"We  are  only  three  wisk  players — Maufrigneuse,  d'Espard, 
and  I — will  you  make  the  fourth?"  said  the  Duke,  pointing 
to  the  card-table. 

Clotilde  came  to  the  table  to  watch  her  father's  game. 

"She  expects  me  to  believe  that  she  means  it  for  me,"  said 
the  Duke,  patting  his  daughter's  hands,  and  looking  round 
at  Lucien,  who  remained  quite  grave. 

Lucien,  Monsieur  d'Espard's  partner,  lost  twenty  louis. 

"My  dear  mother,"  said  Clotilde  to  the  Duchess,  "he  was 
so  judicious  as  to  lose." 

At  eleven  o'clock,  after  a  few  affectionate  words  with 
Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu,  Lucien  went  home  and  to  bed, 
thinking  of  the  complete  triumph  he  was  to  enjoy  a  month 
hence ;  for  he  had  not  a  doubt  of  being  accepted  as  Clotilde's 
lover,  and  married  before  Lent  in  1830. 

On  the  morrow,  when  Lucien  was  smoking  his  cigarettes 
after  breakfast,  sitting  with  Carlos,  who  had  become  much 
depressed,  M.  de  Saint-Esteve  was  announced — what  a  touch 
of  irony — who  begged  to  see  either  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera 
or  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Eubempre. 

"Was  he  told  downstairs  that  I  had  left  Paris?"  cried  the 
Abbe. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  groom. 

*^ell,  then,  you  must  see  the  man,"  said  he  to  Lucien. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  237 

"But  do  not  say  a  single  compromising  word,  do  not  let  a 
sign  of  surprise  escape  you.     It  is  the  enemy." 

"You  will  overhear  me/'  said  Lucien. 

Carlos  hid  in  the  adjoining  room,  and  through  the  crack 
of  the  door  he  saw  Corentin,  whom  he  recognized  only  by  his 
voice,  such  powers  of  transformation  did  the  great  man 
possess.  This  time  Corentin  looked  like  an  old  paymaster- 
general. 

"I  have  not  the  honor  of  being  known  to  you,  monsieur," 
Corentin  began,  %ut " 

"Excuse  my  interrupting  you,  monsieur,  but " 


"But  the  matter  in  point  is  your  marriage  to  Mademoiselle 
Clotilde  de  Grandli^a — which  will  never  take  place,"  Coren- 
tin added  eagerly. 

Lucien  sat  down  and  made  no  reply, 

"You  are  in  the  power  of  a  man  who  is  able  and  willing 
and  ready  to  prove  to  the  Due  de  Grandlieu  that  the  lands  of 
Rubempre  are  to  be  paid  for  with  the  money  that  a  fool  has 
given  your  mistress,  Mademoiselle  Esther,"  Corentin  went  on. 
"It  will  be  quite  easy  to  find  the  minutes  of  the  legal  opinions 
in  virtue  of  which  Mademoiselle  Esther  was  summoned ;  there 
are  ways  too  of  making  d'Estourny  speak.  The  very  clever 
manoeuvres  employed  against  the  Baron  de  Nucingen  will  be 
brought  to  light. 

"As  yet  all  can  be  arranged.  Pay  down  a  hundred  thou- 
sand francs,  and  you  will  have  peace. — All  this  is  no  concern 
of  mine.  I  am  only  the  agent  of  those  who  levy  this  black- 
mail ;  nothing  more." 

Corentin  might  have  talked  for  an  hour;  Lucien  smoked 
his  cigarette  with  an  air  of  perfect  indifference. 

"Monsieur,"  replied  he,  "I  do  not  want  to  know  who  you 
are,  for  men  who  undertake  such  jobs  as  these  have  no  name — 
at  any  rate,  in  my  vocabulary.  I  have  allowed  you  to  talk  at 
your  leisure;  I  am  at  home. — You  seem  to  me  not  bereft  of 
common  sense;  listen  to  my  dilemma." 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Lucien  met  Corentin's 
cat-like  eye  fixed  on  him  with  a  perfectly  icy  stare. 


238  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Either  you  are  building  on  facts  that  are  absolutely  false, 
and  I  need  pay  no  heed  to  them,"  said  Lucien ;  "or  you  are  in 
the  right;  and  in  that  case,  by  giving  you  a  hundred  thou- 
sand francs,  I  put  you  in  a  position  to  ask  me  for  as  many 
hundred  thousand  francs  as  your  employer  can  find  Saint- 
Esteves  to  ask  for. 

"However,  to  put  an  end,  once  for  all,  to  your  kind  inter- 
vention, I  would  have  you  know  that  I,  Lucien  de  Rubempre, 
fear  no  one.  I  have  no  part  in  the  jobbery  of  which  you 
speak.  If  the  Grandlieus  make  difficulties,  there  are  other 
young  ladies  of  very  good  family  ready  to  be  married.  After 
all,  it  is  no  loss  to  me  if  I  remain  single,  especially  if,  as  you 
imagine,  I  deal  in  blank  bills  to  such  advantage." 

"If  Monsieur  I'Abbe  Carlos  Herrera " 

"Monsieur,"  Lucien  put  in,  "the  Abbe  Herrera  is  at  this 
moment  on  the  way  to  Spain.  He  has  nothing  to  do  with  my 
marriage,  my  interests  are  no  concern  of  his.  That  remark- 
able statesman  was  good  enough  to  assist  me  at  one  time  with 
his  advice,  but  he  has  reports  to  present  to  His  Majesty  the 
King  of  Spain ;  if  you  have  anything  to  say  to  him,  I  recom- 
mend you  to  set  out  for  Madrid." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Corentin  plainly,  "you  will  never  be 
Mademoiselle  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu's  husband." 

"So  much  the  worse  for  her !"  replied  Lucien,  impatiently 
pushing  Corentin  towards  the  door. 

"You  have  fully  considered  the  matter?"  asked  Corentin 
coldly. 

"Monsieur,  I  do  not  recognize  that  you  have  any  right 
either  to  meddle  in  my  affairs,  or  to  make  me  waste  a  cigar- 
ette," said  Lucien,  throwing  away  his  cigarette  that  had  goiie 
out. 

"Good-day,  monsieur,"  said  Corentin.  "We  shall  not  meet 
again. — But  there  will  certainly  be  a  moment  in  your  life 
when  you  would  give  half  your  fortune  to  have  called  me 
back  from  these  stairs." 

In  answer  to  this  threat,  Carlos  made  as  though  he  were 
cutting  off  a  head. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  239 

"Now  to  business !"  cried  he,  looking  at  Lucien,  who  was 
as  white  as  ashes  after  this  dreadful  interview. 

If  among  the  small  number  of  my  readers  who  take  an  in- 
terest in  the  moral  and  philosophical  side  of  this  book  there 
should  be  only  one  capable  of  believing  that  the  Baron  de 
Nucingen  was  happy,  that  one  would  prove  how  difficult  it  is 
to  explain  the  heart  of  a  courtesan  by  any  kind  of  physiolog- 
ical formula.  Esther  was  resolved  to  make  the  poor  million- 
aire pay  dearly  for  what  he  called  his  day  of  triumph.  And 
at  the  beginning  of  February  1830  the  house-warming  party 
had  not  yet  been  given  in  the  "little  palace." 

"Well,"  said  Esther  in  confidence  to  her  friends,  who  re- 
peated it  to  the  Baron,  "I  shall  open  house  at  the  Carnival, 
and  I  mean  to  make  my  man  as  happy  as  a  cock  in  plaster." 

The  phrase  became  proverbial  among  women  of  her  kidney. 

The  Baron  gave  vent  to  much  lamentation;  like  married 
men,  he  made  himself  very  ridiculous,  he  began  to  complain 
to  his  intimate  friends,  and  his  dissatisfaction  was  generally 
known. 

Esther,  meanwhile,  took  quite  a  serious  view  of  her  position 
as  the  Pompadour  of  this  prince  of  speculators.  She  had 
given  two  or  three  small  evening  parties,  solely  to  get  Lucien 
into  the  house.  Lousteau,  Eastignac,  du  Tillet,  Bixiou, 
ISTathan,  the  Comte  de  Brambourg — all  the  cream  of  the 
dissipated  crew — frequented  her  drawing-room.  And,  as 
leading  ladies  in  the  piece  she  was  playing,  Esther  accepted 
Tullia,  Florentine,  Fanny  Beaupre,  and  Florine — two  dancers 
and  two  actresses — besides  Madame  du  Val-Noble.  ISTothing 
can  be  more  dreary  than  a  courtesan's  home  without  the  spice 
of  rivalry,  the  display  of  dress,  and  some  variety  of  type. 

In  six  weeks  Esther  had  become  the  wittiest,  the  most  amus- 
ing, the  loveliest,  and  the  most  elegant  of  those  female  pariahs 
who  form  the  class  of  kept  women.  Placed  on  the  pedestal 
that  became  her,  she  enjoyed  all  the  delights  of  vanity  which 
fascinate  women  in  general,  but  still  as  one  who  is  raised  above 
her  caste  by  a  secret  thought.    She  cherished  in  her  heart  an 


240  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

image  of  herself  which  she  gloried  in,  while  it  made  her 
blush;  the  hour  when  she  must  abdicate  was  ever  present  to 
her  consciousness ;  thus  she  lived  a  double  life,  really  scorning 
herself.  Her  sarcastic  remarks  were  tinged  by  the  temper 
which  was  roused  in  her  by  the  intense  contempt  felt  by  the 
Angel  of  Love,  hidden  in  the  courtesan,  for  the  disgraceful 
and  odious  part  played  by  the  body  in  the  presence,  as  it  were, 
of  the  soul.  At  once  actor  and  spectator,  victim  and  judge, 
she  was  a  living  realization  of  the  beautiful  Arabian  Tales, 
in  which  a  noble  creature  lies  hidden  under  a  degrading  form, 
and  of  which  the  type  is  the  story  of  Nebuchadnezzar  in  the 
book  of  books — the  Bible.  Having  granted  herself  a  lease  of 
life  till  the  day  after  her  infidelity,  the  victim  might  surely 
play  awhile  with  the  executioner. 

Moreover,  the  enlightenment  that  had  come  to  Esther  as  to 
the  secretly  disgraceful  means  by  which  the  Baron  had  made 
his  colossal  fortune  relieved  her  of  every  scruple.  She  could 
play  the  part  of  Ate,  the  goddess  of  vengeance,  as  Carlos  said. 
And  so  she  was  by  turns  enchanting  and  odious  to  the  banker, 
who  lived  only  for  her.  When  the  Baron  had  been  worked  up 
to  such  a  pitch  of  suffering  that  he  wanted  only  to  be  quit  of 
Esther,  she  brought  him  round  by  a  scene  of  tender  affection. 

Herrera,  making  a  great  show  of  starting  for  Spain,  had 
gone  as  far  as  Tours.  He  had  sent  the  chaise  on  as  far  as 
Bordeaux,  with  a  servant  inside,  engaged  to  play  the  part  of 
master,  and  to  wait  for  him  at  Bordeaux.  Then,  returning  by 
diligence,  dressed  as  a  commercial  traveler,  he  had  secretly 
taken  up  his  abode  under  Esther's  roof,  and  thence,  aided  by 
Asie  and  Europe,  carefully  directed  all  his  machinations, 
keeping  an  eye  on  every  one,  and  especially  on  Peyrade. 

About  a  fortnight  before  the  day  chosen  for  her  great  en- 
tertainment, which  was  to  be  given  in  the  evening  after  the 
first  opera  ball,  the  courtesan,  whose  witticisms  were  begin- 
ning to  make  her  feared,  happened  to  be  at  the  Italian  opera, 
at  the  back  of  a  box  which  the  Baron — forced  to  give  a  box — 
had  secured  in  the  lowest  tier,  in  order  to  conceal  his  mistress, 
and  not  to  flaunt  her  in  public  within  a  few  feet  of  Madame 


L.V-'" 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  241 


de  Nucingen.  Esther  had  taken  her  seat,  so  as  to  "rake"  that 
of  Madame  de  Serizy,  whom  Lucien  almost  invariably  accom- 
panied. The  poor  girl  made  her  whole  happiness  centre  in 
watching  Lucien  on  Tuesdays,  Thursdays,  and  Saturdays  by 
Madame  de  Serizy's  side. 

At  about  half-past  nine  in  the  evening  Esther  could  see 
Lucien  enter  the  Countess'  box,  with  a  care-laden  brow,  pale, 
and  with  almost  drawn  features.  These  symptoms  of  mental 
anguish  were  legible  only  to  Esther.  The  knowledge  of  a 
man's  countenance  is,  to  the  woman  who  loves  him,  like  that 
of  the  sea  to  a  sailor. 

.  "Good  God  !  what  can  be  the  matter  ?  What  has  happened  ? 
Does  he  want  to  speak  with  that  angel  of  hell,  who  is  to  him 
a  guardian  angel,  and  who  lives  hidden  in  an  attic  between 
those  of  Europe  and  Asie  ?" 

Tormented  by  such  reflections,  Esther  scarcely  listened  to 
the  music.  Still  less,  it  may  be  believed,  did  she  listen  to  the 
Baron,  who  held  one  of  his  "Anchel's"  hands  in  both  his, 
talking  to  her  in  his  horrible  Polish-Jewish  accent,  a  jargon 
which  must  be  as  unpleasant  to  read  as  it  is  to  hear  spoken. 

"Esther,"  said  he,  releasing  her  hand,  and  pushing  it  away' 
with  a  slight  touch  of  temper,  "you  do  not  listen  to  me." 

"I  tell  you  what.  Baron,  you  blunder  in  love  as  you  gibber 
in  French." 

"Der  teufel!" 

"I  am  not  in  my  boudoir  here,  I  am  at  the  opera.  If  you 
were  not  a  barrel  made  by  Huret  or  Fichet,  metamorphosed-' 
into  a  man  by  some  trick  of  nature,  you  would  not  make  so 
much  noise  in  a  box  with  a  woman  who  is  fond  of  music.  I 
don't  listen  to  you  ?  I  should  think  not !  There  you  sit  rus- 
tling my  dress  like  a  cockchafer  in  a  paper-bag,  and  making 
me  laugh  with  contempt.  You  say  to  me,  'You  are  so  pretty, 
I  should  like  to  eat  you  !'  Old  simpleton !  Supposing  I  were 
to  say  to  you,  'You  are  less  intolerable  this  evening  than  you 
were  yesterday — we  will  go  home  ?' — Well,  from  the  way  you 
puff  and  sigh — for  I  feel  you  if  I  don't  listen  to  you — I  per- 
ceive that  you  have  eaten  an  enormous  dinner,  and  your  diges- 


X 


242  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

tion  is  at  work.  Let  me  instruct  you — for  I  cost  you  enough 
to  give  some  advice  for  your  money  now  and  then — let  me  tell 
3^ou,  my  dear  fellow,  that  a  man  whose  digestion  is  so  trouble- 
some as  yours  is,  is  not  justified  in  telling  his  mistress  that 
she  is  pretty  at  unseemly  hours.  An  old  soldier  died  of  that 
very  folly  'in  the  arms  of  Eeligion,'  as  Blondet  has  it. 

"It  is  now  ten  o'clock.  You  finished  dinner  at  du  Tillet's 
at  nine  o'clock,  with  your  pigeon  the  Comte  de  Brambourg; 
you  have  millions  and  truffles  to  digest.  Come  to-morrow 
night  at  ten." 

"Vat  you  are  cruel !"  cried  the  Baron,  recognizing  the  pro- 
found truth  of  this  medical  argument. 

"Cruel !"  echoed  Esther,  still  looking  at  Lucien.  "Have 
you  not  consulted  Bianchon,  Desplein,  old  Haudry? — Since 
you  have  had  a  glimpse  of  future  happiness,  do  you  know 
what  vou  seem  like  to  me  ?" 

"No— vat?" 

"A  fat  old  fellow  wrapped  in  flannel,  who  walks  every  hour 
from  his  armchair  to  the  window  to  see  if  the  thermometer 
has  risen  to  the  degree  marked  'Silkworms/  the  temperature 
prescribed  by  his  physician." 

"You  are  really  an  ungrateful  slut !"  cried  the  Baron,  in 
despair  at  hearing  a  tune,  which,  however,  amorous  old  men 
not  uuf  requently  hear  at  the  opera. 

"Ungrateful !"  retorted  Esther.  "What  have  you  given  me 
till  now  ?  A  great  deal  of  annoyance.  Come,  papa  !  Can  I 
1)6  proud  of  you  ?  You  !  you  are  proud  of  me ;  I  wear  your 
livery  and  badge  with  an  air.  You  paid  my  debts?  So  you 
did.  But  you  have  grabbed  so  many  millions — come,  you 
need  not  sulk ;  you  admitted  that  to  me — ^that  you  need  not 
think  twice  of  that.  And  this  is  your  chief  title  to  fame.  A 
baggage  and  a  thief — a  well-assorted  couple ! 

"You  have  built  a  splendid  cage  for  a  parrot  that  amuses 
you.  Go  and  ask  a  Brazilian  cockatoo  what  gratitude  it  owes 
to  the  man  who  placed  it  in  a  gilded  cage. — Don't  look  at  me 
like  that ;  5^ou  are  just  like  a  Buddhist  Bonze. 

"Well,  you  show  your  red-and-white  cockatoo  to  all  Paris. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  243 

You  say,  'Does  anybody  else  in  Paris  own  such  a  parrot  ?  And 
how  well  it  talks,  how  cleverly  it  picks  its  words !'  If  du 
Tillet  comes  in,  it  says  at  once,  'How'do,  little  swindler?' — 
Why,  you  are  as  happy  as  a  Dutchman  who  has  grown  an 
unique  tulip,  as  an  old  nabob  pensioned  off  in  Asia  by  Eng- 
land, when  a  commercial  traveler  sells  him  the  first  Swiss 
snuff-box  that  opens  in  three  places. 

"You  want  to  win  my  heart?  "Well,  now,  I  will  tell  you 
how  to  do  it." 

"Speak,  speak,  dere  is  noting  I  shall  not  do  for  you.  I  lofe 
to  be  fooled  by  you." 

"Be  young,  be  handsome,  be  like  Lucien  de  Eubempre  over 
there  by  your  wife,  and  you  shall  have  gratis  what  you  can 
never  buy  with  all  your  millions !" 

"I  shall  go  'vay,  for  really  you  are  too  bat  dis  evening !" 
said  the  banker,  with  a  lengthened  face. 

"Very  well,  good-night  then,"  said  Esther.  "Tell  Georches 
to  make  your  pillows  very  high  and  place  your  feet  low,  for 
you  look  apoplectic  this  evening. — You  cannot  say,  my  dear, 
that  I  take  no  interest  in  your  health." 

The  Baron  was  standing  up,  and  held  the  door-knob  in  his 
hand. 

"Here,  Nucingen,"  said  Esther,  with  an  imperious  gesture. 

The  Baron  bent  over  her  with  dog-like  devotion. 

"Do  you  want  to  see  me  very  sweet,  and  giving  you  sugar- 
and-water,  and  petting  you  in  my  house,  this  very  evening, 
old  monster?" 

"You  shall  break  my  heart !" 

"Break  your  heart — ^you  mean  bore  you,"  she  went  on. 
"Well,  bring  me  Lucien  that  I  may  invite  him  to  our  Bel- 
shazzar's  feast,  and  you  may  be  sure  he  will  not  fail  to  come. 
If  you  succeed  in  that  little  transaction,  I  will  tell  you  that 
I  love  you,  my  fat  Frederic,  in  such  plain  terms  that  you 
cannot  but  believe  me." 

"You  are  ein  enchantress,"  said  the  Baron,  kissing  Esther's 
glove.  "I  should  be  villing  to  listen  to  abuse  for  ein  hour  if 
alvays  der  vas  a  kiss  at  de  ent  of  it." 


244  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"But  if  I  am  not  obeyed,  I "  and  she  threatened  the 

Baron  with  her  finger  as  we  threaten  children. 

The  Baron  raised  his  head  like  a  bird  caught  in  a  springe 
and  imploring  the  trapper's  pity. 

"Dear  Heaven!  What  ails  Lucien?"  said  she  to  herself 
when  she  was  alone,  making  no  attempt  to  check  her  falling 
tears;  "I  never  saw  him  so  sad." 

This  is  what  had  happened  to  Lucien  that  very  evening. 

At  nine  o'clock  he  had  gone  out,  as  he  did  every  evening, 
in  his  brougham  to  go  to  the  Hotel  de  Grandlieu.  Using  his 
saddle-horse  and  cab  in  the  morning  only,  like  all  young  men, 
he  had  hired  a  brougham  for  winter  evenings,  and  had  chosen 
a  first-class  carriage  and  splendid  horses  from  one  of  the  best 
job-masters.  For  the  last  month  all  had  gone  well  with  him ; 
he  had  dined  with  the  Grandlieus  three  times;  the  Duke  was 
delightful  to  him ;  his  shares  in  the  Omnibus  Company,  sold 
for  three  hundred  thousand  francs,  had  paid  off  a  third  more 
of  the  price  of  the  land ;  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu,  who  dressed 
beautifully  now,  reddened  inch  thick  when  he  went  into  the 
room,  and  loudly  proclaimed  her  attachment  to  him.  Some 
personages  of  high  estate  discussed  their  marriage  as  a  proba- 
])le  event.  The  Due  de  Chaulieu,  formerly  Ambassador  to 
Spain,  and  now  for  a  short  while  Minisier  for  Foreign  Affairs, 
had  promised  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu  that  he  would  ask 
for  the  title  of  Marquis  for  Lucien. 

So  that  evening,  after  dining  with  Madame  de  Serizy, 
Lucien  had  driven  to  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  to  pay  his 
daily  visit. 

He  arrives,  the  coachman  calls  for  the  gate  to  be  opened, 
he  drives  into  the  courtyard  and  stops  at  the  steps.  Lucien, 
on  getting  out,  remarks  four  other  carriages  in  waiting.  On 
seeing  Monsieur  de  Eubempre,  one  of  the  footmen  placed  to 
open  and  shut  the  hall-door  comes  forward  and  out  on  to  the 
steps,  in  front  of  the  door,  like  a  soldier  on  guard. 

"His  Grace  is  not  at  home,"  says  he. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  245 

"Madame  la  Duchesse  is  receiving  company,"  observes 
Lucien  to  the  servant. 

"Madame  la  Duchesse  is  gone  out/'  replies  the  man  sol- 
emnly. 

"Mademoiselle  Clotilde " 

"I  do  not  think  that  Mademoiselle  Clotilde  will  see  you, 
monsieur,  in  the  absence  of  Madame  la  Duchesse." 

"But  there  are  people  here,"  replies  Lucien  in  dismay. 

"I  do  not  know,  sir,"  says  the  man,  trying  to  seem  stupid 
and  to  be  respectful. 

There  is  nothing  more  fatal  than  etiquette  to  those  who 
regard  it  as  the  most  formidable  arm  of  social  law.  Lucien 
easily  interpreted  the  meaning  of  this  scene,  so  disastrous  to 
him.  The  Duke  and  Duchess  would  not  admit  him.  He 
felt  the  spinal  marrow  freezing  in  the  core  of  his  vertebral 
column,  and  a  sickly  cold  sweat  bedewed  his  brow.  The  con- 
versation had  taken  place  in  the  presence  of  his  own  body- 
servant,  who  held  the  door  of  the  brougham,  doubting 
whether  to  shut  it.  Lucien  signed  to  him  that  he  was  going 
away  again ;  but  as  he  stepped  into  the  carriage,  he  heard  the 
noise  of  people  coming  downstairs,  and  the  servant  called  out 
first,  "Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu's  people,"  then  "Ma- 
dame la  Vicomtesse  de  Grandlieu's  carriage  !" 

Lucien  merely  said,  "To  the  Italian  opera" ;  but  in  spite  of 
his  haste,  the  luckless  dandy  could  not  escape  the  Due  de 
Chaulieu  and  his  son,  the  Due  de  Ehetore,  to  whom  he  was 
obliged  to  bow,  for  they  did  not  speak  a  word  to  him.  A 
great  catastrophe  at  Court,  the  fall  of  a  formidable  favorite, 
has  ere  now  been  pronounced  on  the  threshold  of  a  royal 
study,  in  one  word  from  an  usher  with  a  face  like  a  plaster 
cast. 

"How  am  I  to  let  my  adviser  know  of  this  disaster — this 
instant ?"  thought  Lucien  as  he  drove  to  the  opera- 
house.     "What  is  going  on?" 

He  racked  his  brain  with  conjectures. 

This  was  what  had  taken  place.  That  morning,  at  eleven 
o'clock,  the  Due  de  Grandlieu,  as  he  went  into  the  little  room 


246  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

where  the  family  all  breakfasted  together,  said  lu  Clotiide 
after  kissing  her,  "Until  further  orders,  my  child,  think  no 
more  of  the  Sieur  de  Rubempre.'' 

Then  he  had  taken  the  Duchess  by  the  hand,  and  led  hei 
into  a  window  recess  to  say  a  few  words  in  an  undertone, 
which  made  poor  Clotiide  turn  pale;  for  she  watched  her 
mother  as  she  listened  to  the  Duke,  and  saw  her  expression  of 
extreme  surprise. 

"Jean,"  said  the  Duke  to  one  of  his  servants,  "take  this  note 
to  Monsieur  le  Due  de  Chaulieu,  and  beg  him  to  answer  by 
you.  Yes  or  No. — I  am  asking  him  to  dine  here  to-day,"  he 
added  to  his  wife. 

Breakfast  had  been  a  most  melancholy  meal.  The  Duchess 
was  meditative,  the  Duke  seemed  to  be  vexed  with  himself, 
and  Clotiide  could  with  difficulty  restrain  her  tears. 

"My  child,  your  father  is  right;  you  must  obey  him,"  the 
mother  had  said  to  the  daughter  with  much  emotion.  "I  do 
not  say  as  he  does,  'Think  no  more  of  Lucien."  No — for  I 
understand  your  suffering" — Clotiide  kissed  her  mother's 
hand — "but  I  do  say,  my  darling.  Wait,  take  no  step,  suffer  in 
silence  since  you  love  him,  and  put  your  trust  in  your  parents' 
care. — Great  ladies,  my  child,  are  great  just  because  they  can 
do  their  duty  on  every  occasion,  and  do  it  nobly." 

"But  what  is  it  about  ?"  asked  Clotiide  as  white  as  a  lily. 

"Matters  too  serious  to  be  discussed  with  you,  my  dearest," 
the  Duchess  replied.  "For  if  they  are  untrue,  your  mind 
would  be  unnecessarily  sullied ;  and  if  they  are  true,  you  must 
never  know  them." 

At  six  o'clock  the  Due  de  Chaulieu  had  come  to  join  the 
Due  de  Grandlieu,  who  awaited  him  in  his  study. 

"Tell  me,  Henri"' — for  the  Dukes  were  on  the  most  familiar 
terms,  and  addressed  each  other  by  their  Christian  names. 
This  is  one  of  the  shades  invented  to  mark  a  degree  of  inti- 
macy, to  repel  the  audacity  of  French  familiarity,  and  hu- 
miliate conceit — "tell  me,  Henri,  I  am  in  such  a  desperate 
difficulty  that  I  can  only  ask  advice  of  an  old  friend  who  un- 
derstands business,  and  you  have  practice  and  experience. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  247 

My  daughter  Clotilde,  as  3  ou  know,  is  in  love  with  that  little 
Rubempre,  whom  I  have  been  almost  compelled  to  accept  as 
her  promised  husband.  I  have  always  been  averse  to  the  mar- 
riage; however,  Madame  de  Grandlieu  could  not  bear  to 
thwart  Clotilde's  passion.  When  the  young  fellow  had  re- 
purchased the  family  estate  and  paid  three-quarters  of  the 
price,  I  could  make  no  further  objectiojas.  , 

"But  last  evening  I  received  aa.  anonymous  letter — -you 
know  how  much  that  is  worth — in  which Tani  informed  that 
the  young  fellow's  fortune  is  derived  from  some  disreputable 
source,  and  that  he  is  telling  lies  when  he  says  that  his  sister 
is  giving  him  the  necessary  funds  for  his  purchase.  For  my 
daughter's  happiness,  and  for  the  sake  of  our  family,  I  am 
adjured  to  make  inquiries,  and  the  means  of  doing  so  are  sug- 
gested to  me.     Here,  read  it." 

"I  am  entirely  of  your  opinion  as  to  the  value  of  anonymous 
letters,  my  dear  Ferdinand,"  said  the  Due  de  Chaulieu  after 
reading  the  letter.  "Still,  though  we  may  contemn  them, 
we  must  make  use  of  them.  We  must  treat  such  letters  as 
we  would  treat  a  spy.  Keep  the  young  man  out  of  the  house, 
and  let  us  make  inquiries 

"I  know  how  to  do  it.  Your  lawyer  is  Derville,  a  man  in 
whom  we  have  perfect  confidence;  he  knows  the  secrets  of 
many  families,  and  can  certainly  be  trusted  with  this.  He  is 
an  honest  man,  a  man  of  weight,  and  a  man  of  honor ;  he  is 
cunning  and  wily ;  but  his  wiliness  is  only  in  the  way  of  busi- 
ness, and  you  need  only  employ  him  to  obtain  evidence  you 
can  depend  upon. 

"We  have  in  the  Foreign  Office  an  agent  of  the  superior 
police  who  is  unique  in  his  power  of  discovering  State  secrets ; 
we  often  send  him  on  such  missions.  Inform  Derville  that 
he  will  have  a  lieutenant  in  the  case.  Our  spy  is  a  gentleman 
who  will  appear  wearing  the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor, 
and  looking  like  a  diplomate.  This  rascal  will  do  the  hunt- 
ing; Derville  will  only  look  on.  Your  lawyer  will  then  tell 
you  if  the  mountain  brings  forth  a  mouse,  or  if  you  must 
throw  over  this  little  Rubempre.  Within  a  week  you  will 
know  what  you  are  doing." 


248  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"The  3'oung  man  is  not  yet  so  far  a  Marquis  as  to  take 
offence  at  my  being  'ISTot  at  home'  for  a  week/'  said  the  Due 
de  Grandlieu. 

.  "Above  all,  if  you  end  by  giving  him  your  daughter,"  re- 
plied the  Minister.  "If  the  anonymous  letter  tells  the  truth, 
what  of  that?  You  can  send  Clotilde  to  travel  with  my 
daughter-in-law  Madeleine,  who  wants  to  go  to  Italy." 

"You  relieve  me  immensely.  I  don't  yet  know  whether  I 
ought  to  thank  vou." 

"Wait  till  the  end." 

"By  the  way,"  exclaimed  the  Due  de  Grandlieu,  "what  is 
your  man's  name  ?  I  must  mention  it  to  Derville.  Send  him 
to  me  to-morrow  by  five  o'clock ;  I  will  have  Derville  here  and 
put  them  in  communication." 

"His  real  name,"  said  M.  de  Chaulieu,  "is,  I  think,  Coren- 
tin — a  name  you  must  never  have  heard,  for  my  gentleman 
will  come  ticketed  with  his  official  name.  He  calls  himself 
Monsieur  de  Saint-Something — Saint  Yves — Saint- Valere  ? — 
Something  of  the  kind. — You  may  trust  him;  Louis  XVIII. 
had  perfect  confidence  in  him." 

After  this  confabulation  the  steward  had  orders  to  shut  the 
door  on  Monsieur  de  Kubempre — which  was  done. 

Lucien  paced  the  waiting-room  at  the  opera-house  like  a 
man  who  was  drunk.  He  fancied  himself  the  talk  of  all 
Paris.  He  had  in  the  Due  de  Rhetore  one  of  those  unrelenting 
enemies  on  whom  a  man  must  smile,  as  he  can  never  be 
revenged,  since  their  attacks  are  in  conformity  with  the  rules 
of  society.  The  Due  de  Ehetore  knew  the  scene  that  had  just 
taken  place  on  the  outside  steps  of  the  Grandlieus'  house. 
Lucien,  feeling  the  necessity  of  at  once  reporting  the  catas- 
trophe to  his  high  privy  councillor,  nevertheless  was  afraid 
of  compromising  himself  by  going  to  Esther's  house,  where  he 
might  find  company.  He  actually  forgot  that  Esther  was 
here,  so  confused  were  his  thoughts,  and  in  the  midst  of  so 
much  perplexity  he  was  obliged  to  make  small  talk  with  Ras- 
tignac,  who,  knowing  nothing  of  the  news,  congratulated  him 
on  his  approaching  marriage. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  249 

At  this  moment  Nucingen  appeared  smiling,  and  said  to 
Lucien : 

"Vill  you  do  me  de  pleasure  to  come  to  see  Montame  de 
Champy,  vat  vill  infite  you  herself  to  von  house-varming 
party " 

"With  pleasure,  Baron,"  replied  Lucien,  to  whom  the  Baron 
appeared  as  a  rescuing  angel. 

"Leave  us,"  said  Esther  to  Monsieur  de  Nucingen,  when  she 
saw  him  come  in  with  Lucien.  "Go  and  see  Madame  du  Val- 
Noble,  whom  I  discover  in  a  box  on  the  third  tier  with  her 
nabob. — A  great  many  nabobs  grow  in  the  Indies,"  she  added, 
with  a  knowing  glance  at  Lucien. 

"And  that  one,"  said  Lucien,  smiling,  "is  uncommonly  like 
yours." 

"And  then,"  said  Esther,  answering  Lucien  with  another 
look  of  intelligence,  while  still  speaking  to  the  Baron,  ^'T)ring 
her  here  with  her  nabob;  he  is  very  anxious  to  make  your 
acquaintance.  They  say  he  is  very  rich.  The  poor  woman 
has  already  poured  out  I  know  not  how  many  elegies;  she 
complains  that  her  nabob  is  no  good;  and  if  you  relieve  him 
of  his  ballast,  perhaps  he  will  sail  closer  to  the  wind." 

"You  tink  ve  are  all  tieves !"  said  the  Baron  as  he  went 
away. 

"What  ails  you,  my  Lucien?"  asked  Esther  in  her  friend's 
ear,  just  touching  it  with  her  lips  as  soon  as  the  box  door  was 
shut. 

"I  am  lost !  I  have  just  been  turned  from  the  door  of  the 
Hotel  de  Grandlieu  under  pretence  that  no  one  was  admitted. 
The  Duke  and  Duchess  were  at  home,  and  five  pairs  of  horses 
were  champing  in  the  courtyard." 

"What !  will  the  marriage  not  take  place  ?"  exclaimed 
Esther,  much  agitated,  for  she  saw  a  glimpse  of  Paradise. 

"I  do  not  yet  know  what  is  being  plotted  against  me " 

"My  I^ucien,"  said  she  in  a  deliciously  coaxing  voice,  "why 
be  worried  about  it?  You  can  make  a  better  match  by  and 
by — I  will  get  you  the  price  of  two  estates " 

"Give  us  supper  to-night  that  I  may  be  able  to  speak  in 


'4m  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

secret  to  Carlos,  and,  above  all.  invite  the  sham  Englishman 
and  Val-Noble.  That  nabob  is  my  ruin;  he  is  our  enemy; 
we  will  get  hold  of  him,  and  we " 

But  l^ucien  broke  off  with  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  asked  the  poor  girl. 

''Oh !  Madame  de  Serizy  sees  me !"'  cried  Lucien,  "and  to 
crown  our  woes,  the  Due  de  Ehetore,  who  witnessed  my 
dismissal,  is  with  her." 

In  fact,  at  that  very  minute,  the  Due  de  Ehetore  was  amus- 
ing himself  with  Madame  de  Serizy's  discomfiture. 

"Do  you  allow  Lucien  to  be  seen  in  Mademoiselle  Esther's 
box?"'  said  the  young  Duke,  pointing  to  the  box  and  to 
Lucien ;  ^'you,  who  take  an  interest  in  him,  should  really  tell 
liim  such  things  are  not  allowed.  He  may  sup  at  her  house, 
he  may  even —  But,  in  fact,  I  am  no  longer  surprised  at  the 
Grandlieus'  coolness  towards  the  young  man.  I  have  just 
seen  their  door  shut  in  his  face — on  the  front  steps '' 

"Women  of  tliat  sort  are  very  dangerous,"  said  Madame  de 
Serizy,  turning  her  opera-glass  on  Esther's  box. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Duke,  "as  much  by  what  they  can  do  as  by 
what  they  wish '" 

"They  will  ruin  him !"  cried  Madame  de  Serizy,  "for  T  am 
told  they  cost  as  much  whether  they  are  paid  or  no." 

"Not  to  him !''  said  the  young  Duke,  affecting  surprise. 
"They  are  far  from  costing  him  anything;  they  give  him 
money  at  need,  and  all  run  after  him." 

The  Countess'  lips  showed  a  little  nervous  twitching  which 
could  not  be  included  in  any  category  of  smiles. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Esther,  "come  to  supper  at  midnight. 
Bring  Blondet  and  Eastignac;  let  us  have  two  amusing  per- 
sons at  any  rate ;  and  we  won't  be  more  than  nine." 

"You  must  find  some  excuse  for  sending  the  Baron  to 
fetch  Eugenie  under  pretence  of  warning  Asie,  and  tell  her 
what  has  befallen  me,  so  that  Carlos  may  know  before  he  has 
the  nabob  under  his  claws." 

"That  shall  be  done,"  said  Esther. 

And  thus  Pe3rrade  was  probably  about  to  find  himself  un- 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  251 

wittingly  under  the  same  roof  with  his  adversary.  The  tiger 
was  coming  into  the  lion's  den,  and  a  lion  surrounded  by  his 
guards. 

When  Lucien  went  back  to  Madame  de  Serizy's  box,  in- 
stead of  turning  to  him,  smiling  and  arranging  her  skirts  for 
him  to  sit  by  her,  she  affected  to  pay  him  not  the  slightest 
attention,  but  looked  about  the  house  through  her  glass. 
Lucien  could  see,  however,  by  the  shaking  of  her  hand  that 
the  Countess  was  suffering  from  one  of  those  terrible  emo- 
tions by  which  illicit  joys  are  paid  for.  He  went  to  the  front 
of  the  box  all  the  same,  and  sat  down  by  her  at  the  opposite 
corner,  leaving  a  little  vacant  space  between  himself  and  the 
Countess.  He  leaned  on  the  ledge  of  the  box  with  his  elbow, 
resting  his  chin  on  his  gloved  hand ;  then  he  half  turned  away, 
waiting  for  a  word.  By  the  middle  of  the  act  the  Countess 
had  still  neither  spoken  to  him  nor  looked  at  him. 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  she  at  last,  "why  you  are  here ;  your 
place  is  in  Mademoiselle  Esther's  box " 

"I  will  go  there,"  said  Lucien,  leaving  the  box  without 
looking  at  the  Countess. 

"My  dear,"  said  Madame  du  Val-Noble,  going  into  Esther's 
box  with  Peyrade,  whom  the  Baron  de  ISTucingen  did  not 
recognize,  "I  am  delighted  to  introduce  Mr.  Samuel  Jolmson. 
He  is  a  great  admirer  of  M.  de  Nucingen's  talents." 

"Indeed,  monsieur,"  said  Esther,  smiling  at  Peyrade. 

"Oh  yes,  hocou,"  said  Peyrade. 

"Why,  Baron,  here  is  a  way  of  speaking  French  which  is 
as  much  like  yours  as  the  low  Breton  dialect  is  like  that  of 
Burgundy.  It  will  be  most  amusing  to  hear  you  discuss 
money  matters. — Do  you  know,  Monsieur  Nabob,  what  I  shall 
require  of  you  if  you  are  to  make  acquaintance  with  my 
Baron  ?"  said  Esther  with  a  smile. 

"Oh ! — Thank  you  so  much,  you  will  introduce  me  to  Sir 
Baronet  ?"  said  Peyrade  with  an  extravagant  English  accent. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  "you  must  give  me  the  pleasure  of  your 
company  at  supper.  There  is  no  pitch  stronger  than  cham- 
pagne for  sticking  men  together.    Tt  seals  every  kind  of  busi- 


252  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

ness,  above  all  such  as  3'ou  put  your  foot  in. — Come  this  even- 
ing; you  will  find  some  jolly  fellows. — As  for  you,  my  little 
Frederic,"  she  added  in  the  Baron's  ear,  "you  have  your  car- 
riage here — just  drive  to  the  Eue  Saint-Georges  and  bring 
Europe  to  me  here ;  I  have  two  words  to  say  to  her  about  the 
supper.  I  have  caught  Lucien;  he  will  bring  two  men  who 
will  be  fun. — We  will  draw  the  Englishman,"  she  whispered 
to  Madame  du  Val-!N"oble. 

Peyrade  and  the  Baron  left  the  women  together. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  if  you  ever  succeed  in  drawing  that  great 
brute,  you  will  be  clever  indeed,"  said  Suzanne. 

"If  it  proves  impossible,  you  must  lend  him  to  me  for  a 
week,"  replied  Esther,  laughing. 

"You  would  but  keep  him  half  a  day,"  replied  Madame  du 
Val-Xoble..  "The  bread  I  eat  is  too  hard;  it  breaks  my  teeth. 
Never  again,  to  my  dying  day,  will  I  try  to  make  an  English- 
man happy.  They  are  all  cold  and  selfish — pigs  on  their 
hind  legs." 

"What,  no  consideration?"  said  Esther  with  a  smile. 

"On  the  contrary,  my  dear,  the  monster  has  never  shown 
the  least  familiarity." 

"Under  no  circumstances  whatever?"  asked  Esther. 

"The  wretch  always  addresses  me  as  Madame,  and  pre- 
serves the  most  perfect  coolness  imaginable  at  moments  when 
every  man  is  more  or  less  amenable.  To  him  love-making  I — 
on  my  word,  it  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  shaving  himself. 
He  wipes  the  razor,  puts  it  back  in  its  case,  and  looks  in  the 
glass  as  if  he  were  saying,  '1  have  not  cut  myself !' 

"Then  he  treats  me  with  such  respect  as  is  enough  to  send 
a  woman  mad.  That  odious  Milord  Potboiler  amuses  himself 
])y  making  poor  Theodore  hide  in  my  dressing-room  and 
stand  there  half  the  day.  In  short,  he  tries  to  annoy  me  in 
every  way.  And  as  stingy ! — As  miserly  as  Gobseck  and 
Gigonnet  rolled  into  one.  He  takes  me  out  to  dinner,  but  he 
does  not  pay  the  cab  that  brings  me  home  if  I  happen  not  to 
have  ordered  my  carriage  to  fetch  me." 

"Well,"  said  Esther,  "but  what  does  he  pay  you  for  your 
services  ?" 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  253 

"Oh,  my  dear,  positively  nothing.  Five  hundred  francs  a 
month  and  not  a  penny  more,  and  the  hire  of  a  carriage. 
But  what  is  it  ?  A  machine  such  as  they  hire  out  for  a  third- 
rate  wedding  to  carry  an  epicier  to  the  Mairie,  to  Church, 
and  to  the  Cadran  bleu. — Oh,  he  nettles  me  with  his  respect. 

"If  I  try  hysterics  and  feel  ill,  he  is  never  vexed;  he  only 
says :  'I  wish  my  lady  to  have  her  own  way,  for  there  is  noth- 
ing more  detestable — no  gentleman — than  to  say  to  a  nice 
woman,  "You  are  a  cotton  bale,  a  bundle  of  merchandise." — 
Ha,  hah !  Are  you  a  member  of  the  Temperance  Society  and 
anti-slavery?"  And  my  horror  sits  pale,  and  cold,  and 
hard  while  he  gives  me  to  understand  that  he  has  as  much 
respect  for  me  as  he  might  have  for  a  negro,  and  that  it  has 
nothing  to  do  with  his  feelings,  but  with  his  opinions  as  an 
abolitionist." 

"A  man  cannot  be  a  worse  wretch,"  said  Esther.  "But  I 
will  smash  up  that  outlandish  Chinee." 

"Smash  him  up?"  replied  Madame  du  Val-Koble.  "Not 
if  he  does  not  love  me.  You,  yourself,  would  you  like  to  ask 
him  for  two  sous  ?  He  would  listen  to  you  solemnly,  and  tell 
you,  with  British  precision  that  would  make  a  slap  in  the 
face  seem  genial,  that  he  pays  dear  enough  for  the  trifle  that 
love  can  be  to  his  poor  life ;"  and,  as  before,  Madame  du  Val- 
Noble  mimicked  Peyrade's  bad  French. 

"To  think  that  in  our  line  of  life  we  are  thrown  in  the 
way  of  such  men !"  exclaimed  Esther. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  you  have  been  uncommonly  lucky.  Take 
good  care  of  your  Nucingen." 

"But  your  nabob  must  have  got  some  idea  in  his  head." 

"That  is  what  Adele  says." 

"Look  here,  my  dear;  that  man,  you  may  depend,  has  laid 
a  bet  that  he  will  make  a  woman  hate  him  and  pack  him  off 
in  a  certain  time." 

"Or  else  he  wants  to  do  business  with  Nucingen,  and  took 
me  up  knowing  that  you  and  I  were  friends ;  that  is  what 
Adele  thinks,"  answered  Madame  du  Val-Noble.  "That  is 
why  I  introduced  him  to  you  this  evening.     Oh,  if  only  I 


254  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

could  be  sure  what  he  is  at,  what  tricks  I  could  play  with 
you  and  Nucingen !" 

"And  you  don't  get  angry  ?"  asked  Esther ;  "you  don't  speak 
your  mind  now  and  then?" 

"Try  it — you  are  sharp  and  smooth. — Well,  in  spite  of 
your  sweetness,  he  would  kill  you  with  his  icy  smiles.  'I  am 
anti-slavery,'  he  would  say,  'and  you  are  free.' — If  you  said 
the  funniest  things,  he  would  only  look  at  you  and  say,  'Very 
good  !'  and  you  would  see  that  he  regards  you  merely  as  a  part 
of  the  show." 

"And  if  you  turned  furious?" 

"The  same  thing ;  it  would  still  be  a  show.  You  might  cut 
him  open  under  the  left  breast  without  hurting  him  in  the 
least ;  his  internals  are  of  tinned-iron,  I  am  sure.  I  told  him 
so.  He  replied,  'I  am  quite  satisfied  with  that  physical  con- 
stitution.' 

"And  always  polite.  My  dear,  he  wears  gloves  on  his 
soul  .  .  . 

"I  shall  endure  this  martyrdom  a  few  days  longer  to  satisfy 
my  curiosity.  But  for  that,  I  should  have  made  Philippe  slap 
my  lord's  cheek — and  he  has  not  his  match  as  a  swordsman. 
There  is  nothing  else  left  for  it " 

"I  was  just  going  to  say  so,"  cried  Esther.  "But  you  must 
ascertain  first  that  Philippe  is  a  boxer;  for  these  old  English 
fellows,  my  dear,  have  a  depth  of  malignity " 

"This  one  has  no  match  on  earth.  No,  if  you  could  but  see 
him  asking  my  commands,  to  know  at  what  hol^r  he  may  come 
— to  take  me  by  surprise,  of  course — and  pouring  out  respect- 
ful speeches  like  a  so-called  gentleman,  you  would  say,  'Why, 
he  adores  her !'  and  there  is  not  a  woman  in  the  world  who 
would  not  say  the  same." 

"And  they  envy  us,  my  dear !"  exclaimed  Esther. 

"Ah,  well !"  sighed  Madame  du  Val-Xoble ;  "in  the  course 
of  our  lives  we  learn  more  or  less  how  little  men  value  us. 
But,  my  dear,  I  have  never  been  so  cruelly,  so  deeply,  so 
utterly  scorned  by  brutality  as  I  am  by  this  great  skinful  of 
port  wine. 


WHAT  I.OYE  costs  255 

'^hen  he  is  tipsy  he  goes  away — 'not  to  be  unpleasant/  as 
he  tells  Adele,  and  not  to  be  'under  two  powers  at  once;  wine 
and  woman.  He  takes  advantage  of  nay  carriage ;  he  uses  it 
more  than  I  do. — Oh !  if  only  we  could  see  him  under  the 
table  to-night !  But  he  can  drink  ten  bottles  and  only  be 
fuddled;  when  his  eyes  are  full,  he  still  sees  clearly." 

"Like  people  whose  windows  are  dirty  outside,"'  said  Esther, 
"but  who  can  see  from  inside  what  is  going  on  in  the  street. — 
I  know  that  property  in  man.  Du  Tillet  has  it  in  the  highest 
degree." 

"Try  to  get  du  Tillet,  and  if  he  and  Kucingen  between 
them  could  only  catch  him  in  some  of  their  plots,'  I  should  at 
least  be  revenged.    They  would  bring  him  to  beggary ! 

"Oh !  my  dear,  to  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a  hypocrit- 
ical Protestant  after  that  poor  Falleix,  who  was  so  amusing, 
so  good-natured,  so  full  of  chaff !  How  we  used  to  laugh ! 
They  say  all  stockbrokers  are  stupid.  Well,  he,  for  one,  never 
lacked  wit  but  once " 

"When  he  left  you  without  a  sou?  That  is  what  made  you 
acquainted  with  the  unpleasant  side  of  pleasure." 

Europe,  brought  in  by  Monsieur  de  Nucingen,  put  her 
viperine  head  in  at  the  door,  and  after  listening  to  a  fev,- 
words  whispered  in  her  ear  by  his  mistress,  she  vanished. 

At  half -past  eleven  that  evening,  five  carriages  were  sta- 
tioned in  the  Eue  Saint-Georges  before  the  famous  courte- 
san's door.  There  was  Lucien's,  who  had  brought  Eastignac, 
Rixiou,  and  Blondet;  du  Tillet's,  the  Baron  de  Xucingen's, 
the  Nabob's,  and  Florine's — she  was  invited  by  du  Tillet. 
The  closed  and  doubly-shuttered  windows  were  screened  by 
the  splendid  Chinese  silk  curtains.  Supper  was  to  be  served 
at  one;  wax-lights  were  blazing,  the  dining-room  and  little 
drawing-room  displayed  all  their  magnificence.  The  party 
looked  forward  to  such  an  orgy  as  only  three  such  women  and 
such  men  as  these  could  survive.  They  began  by  playing 
cards,  as  they  had  to  wait  about  two  hours. 

"Do  yon  play,  milord?"  said  du  Tillet  to  Peyrade. 


256  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"I  have  played  with  O'Connell,  Pitt,  Fox,  Canning,  Lord 
Brougham,  Lord " 

"Say  at  once  no  end  of  lords,"  said  Bixiou. 

"Lord  Fitzwilliam,  Lord  Ellenborough,  Lord  Hertford, 
Lord " 

Bixiou  was  looking  at  Peyrade's  shoes,  and  stooped  down. 

"What  are  you  looking  for?"  asked  Blondet. 

"For  the  spring  one  must  touch  to  stop  this  machine,"  said 
Florine. 

"Do  you  play  for  twenty  francs  a  point?" 

"I  will  play  for  as  much  as  you  like  to  lose." 

"He  does  it  well !"  said  Esther  to  Lucien.  "They  all  take 
him  for  an  Englishman." 

Du  Tillet,  Kucingen,  Peyrade,  and  Eastignac  sat  down  to 
a  whist-table;  Florine,  Madame  du  Yal-Noble,  Esther,  Blon- 
det, and  Bixiou  sat  round  the  fire  chatting.  Lucien  spent  the 
time  in  looking  through  a  book  of  fine  engravings. 

"Supper  is  ready,"  Paccard  presently  announced,  in  mag- 
nificent livery. 

Peyrade  was  placed  at  Florine's  left  hand,  and  on  the  other 
side  of  him  Bixiou,  whom  Esther  had  enjoined  to  make  the 
Englishman  drink  freely,  and  challenge  him  to  beat  him. 
Bixiou  had  the  power  of  drinking  an  indefinite  quantity. 

Never  in  his  life  had  Peyrade  seen  such  splendor,  or  tasted 
of  such  cookery,  or  seen  such  fine  women. 

"I  am  getting  my  money's  worth  this  evening  for  the  thou- 
sand crowns  la  Val-Noble  has  cost  me  till  now,"  thought  he ; 
"and  besides,  I  have  just  won  a  thousand  francs." 

"This  is  an  example  for  men  to  follow !"  said  Suzanne,  who 
was  sitting  by  Lucien,  with  a  wave  of  her  hand  at  the  splen- 
dors of  the  dining-room. 

Esther  had  placed  Lucien  next  herself,  and  was  holding  his 
foot  between  her  own  under  the  table. 

"Do  you  hear?"  said  Madame  du  Val-Noble,  addressing 
Peyrade,  who  affected  blindness.  "This  is  how  you  ought  to 
furnish  a  house!  When  a  man  brings  millions  home  from 
India,  and  wants  to  do  business  with  the  Nucingens,  he  should 
place  himself  on  the  same  level." 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  257 

"I  belong  to  a  Temperance  Society !" 

"Then  you  will  drink  like  a  fish !"  said  Bixiou,  "for  the 
Indies  are  uncommon  hot,  uncle !" 

It  was  Bixiou's  jest  during  supper  to  treat  Peyrade  as  an 
uncle  of  his,  returned  from  India. 

"Montame  du  Fal-ISToble  tolt  me  you  shall  have  some  iteas," 
said  Nucingen,  scrutinizing  Peyrade. 

"Ah,  this  is  what  I  wanted  to  hear,"  said  du  Tillet  to  Eas- 
tignac;  "the  two  talking  gibberish  together." 

"You  will  see,  they  will  understand  each  other  at  last," 
said  Bixiou,  guessing  what  du  Tillet  had  said  to  Eastignac. 

"Sir  Baronet,  I  have  imagined  a  speculation — oh !  a  very 
comfortable  job — hocou  profitable  and  rich  in  profits " 

"Now  you  will  see,"  said  Blondet  to  du  Tillet,  "he  will  not 
talk  one  minute  without  dragging  in  the  Parliament  and  the 
English  Government." 

"It  is  in  China,  in  the  opium  trade " 

"Ja,  I  know,"  said  Nucingen  at  once,  as  a  man  who  is  well 
acquainted  with  commercial  geography.  "But  de  English 
Gover'ment  hafe  taken  up  de  opium  trate  as  a  means  dat  shall 
open  up  China,  and  she  shall  not  allow  dat  ve " 

"Nucingen  has  cut  him  out  with  the  Government,"  re- 
marked du  Tillet  to  Blondet. 

"Ah !  you  have  been  in  the  opium  trade !"  cried  Madame 
du  Val-Noble.  "Now  I  understand  why  you  are  so  narcotic ; 
some  has  stuck  in  your  soul." 

"Dere !  you  see !"  cried  the  Baron  to  the  self-styled  opium 
merchant,  and  pointing  to  Madame  du  Val-Noble.  "You  are 
like  me.  Never  shall  a  millionaire  be  able  to  make  a  voman 
lofe  him." 

"I  have  loved  much  and  often,  milady,"  replied  Peyrade. 

"As  a  result  of  temperance,"  said  Bixiou,  who  had  just  seen 
Peyrade  finish  his  third  bottle  of  claret,  and  now  had  a  bottle 
of  port  wine  uncorked. 

"Oh !"  cried  Peyrade,  "it  is  very  fine,  the  Portugal  of 
England." 

Blondet,  du  Tillet,  and  Bixiou  smiled  at  each  other.    Pey- 


258  A  COURTESANS  LIFE 

rade  had  the  power  of  travestying  everything,  even  his  wit. 
There  are  very  few  Englishmen  who  will  not  maintain  that 
gold  and  silver  are  better  in  England  than  elsewhere.  The 
fowls  and  eggs  exported  from  Normandy  to  the  London  mar- 
ket enable  the  English  to  maintain  that  the  poultry  and  eggs 
in  London  are  superior  {very  fine)  to  those  of  Paris,  which 
come  from  the  same  district. 

Esther  and  Lucien  were  dumfounded  by  this  perfection 
of  costume,  language,  and  audacity. 

They  all  ate  and  drank  so  well  and  so  heartily,  while  talk- 
ing and  laughing,  that  it  went  on  till  four  in  the  morning. 
Bixiou  flattered  himself  that  he  had  achieved  one  of  the  vic- 
tories so  pleasantly  related  by  Brillat-Savarin.  But  at  the 
moment  when  he  was  saying  to  himself,  as  he  offered  his 
"uncle"  some  more  wine,  "I  have  vanquished  England !'" 
Peyrade  replied  in  good  French  to  this  malicious  scoffer. 
''Tou jours,  mon  garqon"  (Go  it,  my  boy),  which  no  one  heard 
but  Bixiou. 

"Hallo,  good  men  all,  he  is  as  English  as  I  am ! — My  uncle 
is  a  Gascon  !    I  could  have  no  other  !" 

Bixiou  and  Peyrade  were  alone,  so  no  one  heard  this  an- 
nouncement. Peyrade  rolled  off  his  chair  on  to  the  floor. 
Paccard  forth^vith  picked  him  up  and  carried  him  to  an  attic, 
where  he  fell  sound  asleep. 

At  six  o'clock  next  evening,  the  Nabob  was  roused  by  the 
application  of  a  wet  cloth,  with  which  his  face  was  being 
washed,  and  awoke  to  find  himself  on  a  camp-bed,  face  to 
face  with  Asie,  wearing  a  mask  and  a  black  domino. 

"Well,  Papa  Peyrade,  you  and  I  have  to  settle  accounts," 
said  she. 

"Where  am  I P""  asked  he,  looking  about  him. 

"Listen  to  me,"  said  Asie,  "and  that  will  sober  you. — 
Though  you  do  not  love  Madame  du  Val-Noble,  you  love 
your  daughter,  I  suppose?" 

"My  daughter?"  Peyrade  echoed  with  a  roar. 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle  Lydie." 

"What  then?" 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  259 

*'What  then  ?  She  is  no  longer  in  the  Rue  des  Moineaux ; 
phe  has  been  carried  off." 

Peyrade  breathed  a  sigh  like  that  of  a  soldier  dying  of  a 
mortal  wound  on  the  battlefield. 

"While  you  were  pretending  to  be  an  Englishman,  some  one 
else  was  pretending  to  be  Peyrade.  Your  little  Lydie  thought 
she  was  with  her  father,  and  she  is  now  in  a  safe  place. — Oh ! 
you  will  never  find  her!  unless  you  undo  the  mischief  you 
have  done." 

"What  mischief?" 

"Yesterday  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempre  had  the  door 
shut  in  his  face  at  the  Due  de  Grandlieu's.  This  is  due  to 
your  intrigues,  and  to  the  man  you  let  loose  on  us.  Do  not 
speak,  listen !"  Asie  went  on,  seeing  Peyrade  open  his  mouth. 
"You  will  have  your  daughter  again,  pure  and  spotless,"  she 
added,  emphasizing  her  statement  by  the  accent  on  every 
word,  "only  on  the  day  after  that  on  which  Monsieur  Lucien  de 
Rubempre  walks  out  of  Saint-Thomas  d'Aquin  as  the  husband 
of  Mademoiselle  Clotilde.  If,  within  ten  days  Lucien  de 
Rubempre  is  not  admitted,  as  he  has  been,  to  the  Grandlieus" 
house,  you,  to  begin  with,  will  die  a  violent  death,  and  nothing 
can  save  you  from  the  fate  that  threatens  you. — Then,  when 
you  feel  yourself  dying,  you  will  have  time  before  breathing 
your  last  to  reflect,  *My  daughter  is  a  prostitute  for  the  rest 
of  her  life !' 

"Though  you  have  been  such  a  fool  as  give  us  this  hold  for 
onr  clutches,  you  still  have  sense  enough  to  meditate  on  this 
ultimatum  from  our  government.  Do  not  bark,  say  nothing 
to  any  one;  go  to  Contenson's,  and  change  your  dress,  and 
then  go  home.  Katt  will  tell  you  that  at  a  word  from  you 
your  little  Lydie  went  downstairs,  and  has  not  been  seen 
since.  If  you  make  any  fuss,  if  you  take  any  steps,  your 
daughter  will  begin  where  I  tell  you  she  will  end — she  is 
promised  to  de  Marsay. 

"With  old  Canquoelle  I  need  not  mince  matters,  I  should 

think,  or  wear  gloves,  heh  ? Go  on  downstairs,  and  take 

care  not  to  meddle  in  our  concerns  any  more." 


260  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Asie  left  Peyrade  in  a  pitiable  state ;  every  word  had  been  a 
blow  with  a  club.  The  spy  had  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  tears 
hanging  from  his  cheeks  at  the  end  of  a  wet  furrow. 

"They  are  waiting  dinner  for  Mr.  Johnson,"  said  Europe, 
putting  her  head  in  a  moment  after. 

Peyrade  made  no  reply;  he  went  down,  walked  till  he 
reached  a  cab-stand,  and  hurried  off  to  undress  at  Conten- 
son's,  not  saying  a  word  to  him;  he  resumed  the  costume  of 
Pere  Canquoelle,  and  got  home  by  eight  o'clock.  He  mounted 
the  stairs  with  a  beating  heart.  When  the  Flemish  woman 
heard  her  master,  she  asked  him : 

"Well,  and  where  is  mademoiselle?"  with  such  simplicity, 
that  the  old  spy  was  obliged  to  lean  against  the  wall.  The 
blow  was  more  than  he  could  bear.  He  went  into  his  daugh- 
ter's rooms,  and  ended  by  fainting  with  grief  when  he  found 
them  empt}^,  and  heard  Katt's  story,  which  was  that  of  an 
abduction  as  skilfully  planned  as  if  he  had  arranged  it  him- 
self. 

"Well,  well,"  though  he,  "I  must  knock  under.  I  will  be 
revenged  later;  now  I  must  go  to  Corentin. — This  is  the  first 
time  we  have  met  our  foes.  Corentin  will  leave  that  hand- 
some boy  free  to  marry  an  Empress  if  he  wishes ! — Yes,  I 
understand  that  my  little  girl  should  have  fallen  in  love  with 
him  at  first  sight. — Oh !  that  Spanish  priest  is  a  knowing  one. 
Courage,  friend  Peyrade !  disgorge  your  prey !" 

The  poor  father  never  dreamed  of  the  fearful  blow  that 
awaited  him. 

On  reaching  Corentin's  house,  Bruno,  the  confidential  ser- 
vant, who  knew  Peyrade,  said : 

"Monsieur  is  gone  away." 

"For  a  long  time?" 

"For  ten  days." 

"Where?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Good  God,  I  am  losing  my  wits !  I  ask  him  where — as  if 
we  ever  told  them "  thought  he. 

A  few  hours  before  the  moment  when  Peyrade  was  to  be 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  261 

roused  in  his  garret  in  the  Rue  Saint-Georges.  Corentin, 
coming  in  from  his  country  place  at  Passy,  had  made  his  way 
to  the  Due  de  Grandlieu's,  in  the  costume  of  a  retainer  of  a 
superior  class.  He  wore  the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor 
at  his  button-hole.  He  had  made  up  a  withered  old  face 
with  powdered  hair,  deep  wrinkles,  and  a  colorless  skin.  His 
eyes  were  hidden  by  tortoise-shell  spectacles.  He  looked  like 
a  retired  office-clerk.  On  giving  his  name  as  Monsieur  de 
Saint-Denis,  he  was  led  to  the  Duke's  private  room,  where  he 
found  Derville  reading  a  letter,  which  he  himself  had  dic- 
tated to  one  of  his  agents,  the  "number"  whose  business  it 
was  to  write  documents.  The  Duke  took  Corentin  aside  to 
tell  him  all  he  already  knew.  Monsieur  de  Saint-Denis  lis- 
tened coldly  and  respectfully,  amusing  himself  by  studying 
this  grand  gentleman,  by  penetrating  the  tufa  beneath  the 
velvet  cover,  by  scrutinizing  this  being,  now  and  always  ab- 
sorbed in  whist  and  in  regard  for  the  House  of  Grandlieu. 

Such  fine  gentlemen  are  so  guileless  with  their  inferiors 
that  Corentin  had  only  to  lay  few  questions  humbly  before 
Monsieur  de  Grandlieu  to  bring  out  his  impertinence. 

"If  you  will  take  my  advice,  monsieur,"  said  Corentin  to 
Derville,  after  being  duly  introduced  to  the  lawyer,  "we  shall 
set  out  this  very  afternoon  for  Angouleme  by  the  Bordeaux 
coach,  which  goes  quite  as  fast  as  the  mail;  and  we  shall  not 
need  to  stay  there  six  hours  to  obtain  the  information  Mon- 
sieur le  Due  requires.  It  will  be  enough — if  I  have  under- 
stood your  Grace — to  ascertain  whether  Monsieur  de  Rubem- 
pre's  sister  and  brother-in-law  are  in  a  position  to  give  him 
twelve  hundred  thousand  francs  ?"  and  he  turned  to  the  Duke. 

"You  have  understood  me  perfectly,"  said  the  Duke. 

"We  can  be  back  again  in  four  days,"  Corentin  went  on, 
addressing  Derville,  "and  neither  of  us  will  have  neglected  his 
business  long  enough  for  it  to  suffer." 

"That  was  the  only  difficulty  I  was  about  to  mention  to 
his  Grace,"  said  Derville.  "It  is  now  four  o'clock.  I  am 
going  home  to  say  a  word  to  my  head-clerk,  and  pack  my  trav- 
eling-bag, and  after  dinner,  at  eight  o'clock,  I  will  be 


262  ^■'^        '       A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

But  shall  we  get  places  ?"'  he  said  to  Monsieur  de  Saint-Denis, 
interrupting  himself. 

"I  will  answer  for  that,"  said  Corentin.  "Be  in  the  yard 
of  the  Chief  Office  of  the  Messageries  at  eight  o'clock.  If 
there  are  no  places,  they  shall  make  some,  for  that  is  the  way 
to  serve  Monseigneur  le  Due  de  Grandlieu." 

"Gentlemen,"'  said  the  Duke  most  graciously,  "I  postpone 
my  thanks " 

Corentin  and  the  lawyer,  taking  this  as  a  dismissal,  bowed, 
and  withdrew. 

At  the  hour  when  Peyrade  was  questioning  Corentin's  ser- 
vant, Monsieur  de  Saint-Denis  and  Derville,  seated  in  the 
Bordeaux  coach,  were  studying  each  other  in  silence  as  they 
drove  out  of  Paris. 

Xext  morning,  between  Orleans  and  Tours,  Derville,  being 
l)ored,  began  to  converse,  and  Corentin  condescended  to  amuse 
him,  but  keeping  his  distance ;  he  left  him  to  believe  that  he 
was  in  the  diplomatic  service,  and  was  hoping  to  become 
Consul-General  by  the  good  offices  of  the  Due  de  Grandlieu. 
Two  days  after  leaving  Paris,  Corentin  and  Derville  got  out 
at  Mansle,  to  the  great  surprise  of  the  lawyer,  who  thought 
he  was  going  to  Angouleme. 

"In  this  little  town,"  said  Corentin,  "we  can  get  the  most 
positive  information  as  regards  Madame  Sechard." 

"Do  you  know  her  then?"  asked  Derville,  astonished  to  find 
Corentin  so  well  informed. 

"I  made  the  conductor  talk,  finding  he  was  a  native  of  An- 
gouleme. He  tells  me  that  Madame  Sechard  lives  at  Marsac, 
and  Marsac  is  but  a  league  away  from  Mansle.  I  thought  we 
should  be  at  greater  advantage  here  than  at  Angouleme  for 
verifying  the  facts." 

"And  besides,"  thought  Derville,  "as  Monsieur  le  Due  said. 
I  act  merely  as  the  witness  to  the  inquiries  made  by  this  con- 
fidential agent " 

The  inn  at  Mansle,  la  Belle  Etoile,  had  for  its  landlord  one 
of  those  fat  and  burl}'  men  whom  we  fear  we  may  find  no  more 
on  our  return  ;  but  who  still,  ten  years  after,  are  seen  standing 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  263 

at  their  door  with  as  much  superfluous  flesh  as  ever,  in  the 
same  linen  cap,  the  same  apron,  with  the  same  knife,  the  same 
oiled  hair,  the  same  triple  chin, — all  stereotyped  by  novel- 
writers  from  the  immortal  Cervantes  to  the  immortal  Walter 
Scott.  Are  they  not  all  boastful  of  their  cookery  ?  have  they 
not  all  "whatever  you  please  to  order"  ?  and  do  not  all  end 
by  giving  you  the  same  hectic  chicken,  and  vegetables  cooked 
with  rank  butter  ?  They  all  boast  of  their  fine  wines,  and  all 
make  you  drink  the  wine  of  the  country. 

But  Corentin,  from  his  earliest  youth,  had  known  the  art 
of  getting  out  of  an  innkeeper  things  more  essential  to  him- 
self than  doubtful  dishes  and  apocryphal  wines.  So  he 
gave  himself  out  as  a  man  easy  to  please,  and  willing  to  leave 
himself  in  the  hands  of  the  best  cook  in  Mansle.  as  he  told  the 
fat  man. 

"There  is  no  difficulty  about  being  the  best — I  am  the  only 
one,"  said  the  host. 

"Serve  us  in  the  side  room,"  said  Corentin,  winking  at 
Derville.  "And  do  not  be  afraid  of  setting  the  chimney  on 
fire ;  we  want  to  thaw  out  the  frost  in  our  fingers." 

"It  was  not  warm  in  the  coach,"  said  Derville. 

"Is  it  far  to  Marsac?"  asked  Corentin  of  the  innkeeper's 
wife,  who  came  down  from  the  upper  regions  on  hearing 
that  the  diligence  had  dropped  two  travelers  to  sleep  there. 

"Are  you  going  to  Marsac,  monsieur  ?"  replied  the  woman. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  sharply.  "Is  it  far  from  hence  to 
Marsac  ?"  he  repeated,  after  giving  the  woman  time  to  notice 
his  red  ribbon. 

"In  a  chaise,  a  matter  of  half  an  hour,"  said  the  inn- 
keeper's wife. 

"Do  you  think  that  Monsieur  and  Madame  Sechard  are 
likely  to  be  there  in  winter?" 

"To  be  sure ;  they  live  there  all  the  year  round." 

"It  is  now  five  o'clock.    We  shall  still  find  them  up  at  nine." 

"Oh  yes,  till  ten.  They  have  company  every  evening — the 
cure,  Monsieur  Marron  the  doctor " 

"Good  folks  then?"  said  Derville. 


264  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Oh,  the  best  of  good  souls,"  replied  the  woman,  "straight- 
forward, honest — and  not  ambitious  neither.  Monsieur 
Sechard,  though  he  is  very  well  off — they  say  he  might  have 
made  millions  if  he  had  not  allowed  himself  to  be  robbed  of 
an  invention  in  the  paper-making  of  which  the  brothers  Coin- 
tet  are  getting  the  benefit " 

"Ah,  to  be  sure,  the  Brothers  Cointet !"  said  Corentin. 

"Hold  your  tongue,"  said  the  innkeeper.  "What  can  it 
matter  to  these  gentlemen  whether  Monsieur  Sechard 
has  a  right  or  no  to  a  patent  for  his  invention  in  paper- 
making? — If   you   mean   to   spend   the   night   here — at   the 

Belle  J^toile "  he  went  on,  addressing  the  travelers,  "here 

is  the  book,  and  please  to  put  your  names  down.  We  have  an 
officer  in  this  town  who  has  nothing  to  do,  and  spends  all  his 
time  in  nagging  at  us " 

"The  devil !"  said  Corentin,  while  Derville  entered  their 
names  and  his  profession  as  attorney  to  the  lower  Court  in 
the  department  of  the  Seine,  "I  fancied  the  Sechards  were 
very  rich." 

"Some  people  say  they  are  millionaires,"  replied  the  inn- 
keeper. "But  as  to  hindering  tongues  from  wagging,  you 
might  as  well  try  to  stop  the  river  from  flowing.  Old  Sechard 
left  two  hundred  thousand  francs'  worth  of  landed  property, 
it  is  said;  and  that  is  not  amiss  for  a  man  who  began  as  a 
workman.  Well,  and  he  may  have  had  as  much  again  in 
savings,  for  he  made  ten  or  twelve  thousand  francs  out  of  his 
land  at  last.  So,  supposing  he  were  fool  enough  not  to  invest 
his  money  for  ten  years,  that  would  be  all  told.  But  even  if 
he  lent  it  at  high  interest,  as  he  is  suspected  of  doing,  there 
would  be  three  hundred  thousand  francs  perhaps,  and  that  is 
all.  Five  hundred  thousand  francs  is  a  long  way  'short  of  a 
million.  I  should  be  quite  content  with  the  difference,  and 
no  more  of  the  Belle  ^toile  for  me !" 

"Really !"  said  Corentin.  "Then  Monsieur  David  Sechard 
and  his  wife  have  not  a  fortune  of  two  or  three  millions?" 

"Why,"  exclaimed  the  innkeeper's  wife,  "that  is  what  the 
Cointets  are  supposed  to  have,  who  robbed  him  of  his  inven- 


y^^ 


/. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  265 

tion,  and  he  does  not  get  more  than  twenty  thousand  francs 
out  of  them.  Where  do  you  suppose  such  honest  folks  would 
find  millions  ?  They  were  very  much  pinched  while  the  father 
was  alive.  But  for  Kolb,  their  manager,  and  Madame  Kolb, 
who  is  as  much  attached  to  them  as  her  husband,  they  could 
scarcely  have  lived.  Why,  how  much  had  they  with  La 
Verberie? — A  thousand  francs  a  year  perhaps." 

Corentin  drew  Derville  aside  and  said: 

"In  vino  Veritas!  Truth  lives  under  a  cork.  For  my 
part,  I  regard  an  inn  as  the  real  registry  office  of  the  country- 
side; the  notary  is  not  better  informed  than  the  innkeeper 
as  to  all  that  goes  on  in  a  small  neighborhood. — You  see !  we 
are  supposed  to  know  all  about  the  Cointets  and  Kolb  and 
the  rest. 

"Your  innkeeper  is  the  living  record  of  every  incident ;  he 
does  the  work  of  the  police  without  suspecting  it.  A  govern- 
ment should  maintain  two  hundred  spies  at  most,  for  in  a 
country  like  France  there  are  ten  millions  of  simple-minded 
informers. — However,  we  need  not  trust  to  this  report; 
though  even  in  this  little  town  something  would  be  known 
about  the  twelve  hundred  thousand  francs  sunk  in  paying 
for  the  Eubempre  estate.     We  will  not  stop  here  long " 

"I  hope  not !"  Derville  put  in. 

"And  this  is  why,"  added  Corentin ;  "I  have  hit  on  the  most 
natural  way  of  extracting  the  truth  from  the  mouth  of  the 
Sechard  couple.  I  rely  upon  you  to  support,  by  your  au- 
thority as  a  lawyer,  the  little  trick  I  shall  employ  to  enable 
you  to  hear  a  clear  and  complete  account  of  their  affairs. — 
After  dinner  we  shall  set  out  to  call  on  Monsieur  Sechard," 
said  Corentin  to  the  innkeeper's  wife.  "Have  beds  ready  for 
us;  we  want  separate  rooms.  There  can  be  no  difficulty 
'under  the  stars.' " 

"Oh,  monsieur,"  said  the  woman,  "we  invented  the  sign." 

"The  pun  is  to  be  found  in  every  department,"  said  Coren- 
tin ;  "it  is  no  monopoly  of  yours." 

"Dinner  is  served,  gentlemen,"  said  the  innkeeper. 

"But  where  the  devil  can  that  young  fellow  have  found 


26«  A  COURTESANS  I>1FE 

the  money  ?  Is  the  anonymous  writer  accurate.  Can  it  be  the 
earnings  of  some  handsome  baggage?"  said  Derville,  as  they 
sat  dovm  to  dinner. 

"Ah,  that  will  be  the  subject  of  another  inquiry,"  said 
Corentin.  "Lucien  de  Kubempre,  as  the  Due  de  Chaulieu 
tells  me,  lives  with  a  converted  Jewess,  who  passes  for  a  Dutch 
woman,  and  is  called  Esther  van  Bogseck." 

"What  a  strange  coincidence !"'  said  the  lawyer.  "I  am 
hunting  for  the  heiress  of  a  Dutchman  named  Gobseck — it  is 
the  same  name  with  a  transposition  of  consonants." 

"Well,"  said  Corentin,  "you  shall  have  information  as  to 
her  parentage  on  my  return  to  Paris." 

An  hour  after,  the  two  agents  for  the  Grandlieu  family  set 
out  for  La  Verberie,  where  Monsieur  and  Madame  Sechard 
were  living. 

Never  had  Lucien  felt  any  emotion  so  deep  as  that  which 
overcame  him  at  La  Verberie  when  comparing  his  own  fate 
with  that  of  his  brother-in-law.  The  two  Parisians  were 
about  to  witness  the  same  scene  that  had  so  much  struck 
Lucien  a  few  days  since.  Everything  spoke  of  peace  and 
abundance. 

At  the  hour  when  the  two  strangers  were  arriving,  a  })arty 
of  four  persons  were  being  entertained  in  the  drawing-room 
of  La  Verberie:  the  cure  of  Marsac,  a  young  priest  of  five- 
and  twenty,  who,  at  Madame  Sechard's  request,  had  become 
tutor  to  her  little  boy  Lucien;  the  country  doctor,  Monsieui- 
Marron;  the  Maire  of  the  commune;  and  an  old  colonel,  who 
grew  roses  on  a  plot  of  land  opposite  to  La  Verberie  on  the 
other  side  of  the  road.  Every  evening  during  the  winter 
these  persons  came  to  play  an  artless  game  of  boston  for 
centime  points,  to  borrow  the  papers,  or  return  those  they 
had  finished. 

When  Monsieur  and  Madame  Sechard  had  bought  La 
Verberie,  a  fine  house  built  of  stone,  and  roofed  with  slate, 
the  pleasure-grounds  consisted  of  a  garden  of  two  acres. 
Li  the  course  of  time,  by  devoting  her  savings  to  the  purpose, 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  267 

handsome  Madame  Sechard  had  extended  her  garden  as  far  as 
a  brook,  by  cutting  down  the  vines  on  some  ground  she  pur- 
chased, and  replacing  them  with  grass  plots  and  clumps  of 
shrubbery.  At  the  present  time  the  house,  surrounded  by  a 
park  of  about  twenty  acres,  and  enclosed  by  walls,  was  con- 
sidered the  most  imposing  place  in  the  neighborhood. 

Old  Sechard's  former  residence,  with  the  outhouses  at- 
tached, was  now  used  as  the  dwelling-house  for  the  manager 
of  about  twenty  acres  of  vineyard  left  by  him,  of  five  farm- 
steads, bringing  in  about  six  thousand  francs  a  year,  and 
ten  acres  of  meadow  land  lying  on  the  further  side  of  the 
stream,  exactly  opposite  the  little  park;  indeed,  Madame 
Sechard  hoped  to  include  them  in  it  the  next  year.  La 
Verberie  was  already  spoken  of  in  the  neighborhood  as  a 
chateau,  and  Eve  Sechard  was  known  as  the  Lady  of  Marsac. 
Lucien,  while  flattering  her  vanity,  had  only  followed  the 
example  of  the  peasants  and  vine-dressers.  Courtois,  the 
owner  of  the  mill,  very  picturesquely  situated  a  few  hundred 
yards  from  the  meadows  of  La  Verberie,  was  in  treaty,  it  was 
said,  with  Madame  Sechard  for  the  sale  of  his  property ;  and 
this  acquisition  would  give  the  finishing  touch  to  the  estate 
and  the  rank  of  a  "place"  in  the  department. 

Madame  Sechard,  who  did  a  great  deal  of  good,  with  as 
much  Judgment  as  generosity,  was  equally  esteemed  and  loved. 
Her  beauty,  now  really  splendid,  was  at  the  height  of  its 
bloom.  She  was  about  six-and-twenty,  but  had  preserved 
all  the  freshness  of  youth  from  living  in  the  tranquillity  and 
abundance  of  a  country  life.  Still  much  in  love  with  her  hus- 
band, she  respected  him  as  a  clever  man,  who  was  modest 
enough  to  renounce  the  display  of  fame;  in  short,  to  com- 
plete her  portrait,  it  is  enough  to  say  that  in  her  whole  ex- 
istence she  had  never  felt  a  throb  of  her  heart  that  was  not 
inspired  by  her  husband  or  her  children. 

The  tax  paid  to  grief  by  this  happy  household  was,  as  may 
be  supposed,  the  deep  anxiety  caused  by  Lucien's  career,  in 
which  Eve  Sechard  suspected  mysteries,  which  she  dreaded 
all  the  more  because,  during  his  last  visit,  Lucien  roughly 


268  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

cut  short  all  his  sister's  questions  b}'^  saying  that  an  ambitious 
man  owed  no  account  of  his  proceedings  to  any  one  but  him- 
self. 

In  six  years  Lucien  had  seen  his  sister  but  three  times,  and 
had  not  written  her  more  than  six  letters.  His  first  visit  to 
La  Yerberie  had  been  on  the  occasion  of  his  mother's  death; 
and  his  last  had  been  paid  with  a  view  to  asking  the  favor 
of  the  lie  which  was  so  necessary  to  his  advancement.  This 
gave  rise  to  a  very  serious  scene  between  Monsieur  and  Ma- 
dame Sechard  and  their  brother,  and  left  their  happy  and 
respected  life  troubled  by  the  most  terrible  suspicions. 

The  interior  of  the  house,  as  much  altered  as  the  surround- 
ings, was  comfortable  without  luxury,  as  will  be  understood 
by  a  glance  round  the  room  where  the  little  party  were  now 
assembled.  A  pretty  Aubusson  carpet,  hangings  of  gray 
cotton  twill  bound  mth  green  silk  braid,  the  woodwork 
painted  to  imitate  Spa  wood,  carved  mahogany  furniture 
covered  with  gray  woolen  stuff  and  green  gimp,  with  flower- 
stands,  gay  with  flowers  in  spite  of  the  time  of  year,  pre- 
sented a  very  pleasing  and  homelike  aspect.  The  window 
curtains,  of  green  brocade,  the  chimney  ornaments,  and  the 
mirror  frames  were  untainted  by  the  bad  taste  that  spoils 
everything  in  the  provinces;  and  the  smallest  details,  all 
elegant  and  appropriate,  gave  the  mind  and  eye  a  sense  of 
repose  and  of  the  poetry  which  a  clever  and  loving  woman 
can  and  ought  to  infuse  into  her  home. 

Madame  Sechard,  still  in  mourning  for  her  father,  sat 
by  the  fire  working  at  some  large  piece  of  tapestry  with  the 
help  of  Madame  Kolb,  the  housekeeper,  to  whom  she  intrusted 
all  the  minor  cares  of  the  household. 

Just  as  the  hackney  chaise  reached  the  first  houses  of 
Marsac,  the  usual  party  at  La  Verberie  received  the  addition 
of  Courtois  the  miller,  a  widower,  who  was  anxious  to  retire 
from  business,  and  who  hoped  to  sell  his  property  well,  since 
Madame  Eve  was  eager  to  have  it — Courtois  knew  why. 

"A  chaise  has  stopped  at  the  door !"  said  Courtois,  hear- 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  269 

ing  the  sound  of  wheels  outside;  "and  to  judge  by  the  clatter 
of  metal,  it  belongs  to  these  parts " 

"Postel  and  his  wife  have  come  to  see  us,  no  doubt,"  said 
the  doctor. 

"No,"  said  Courtois,  "the  chaise  has  come  from  Mansle." 

"Montame,"  said  Kolb,  the  burly  Alsatian  we  have  made 
acquaintance  with  in  a  former  volume  {IlliLsions  perdues), 
''here  is  a  lawyer  from  Paris  who  wants  to  speak  with  mon- 
sieur." 

"A  lawyer !"  cried  Sechard ;  "the  very  word  gives  me  the 
colic  !" 

"Thank  you !"  said  the  Maire  of  Marsac,  named  Cachan, 
who  for  twenty  years  had  been  an  attorney  at  Angouleme, 
and  who  had  once  been  required  to  prosecute  Sechard. 

"My  poor  David  will  never  improve;  he  will  always  be 
absent-minded !"  said  Eve,  smiling. 

"A  lawyer  from  Paris,"  said  Courtois.  "Have  you  any 
business  in  Paris  ?" 

"No,"  said  Eve. 

"But  you  have  a  brother  there,"  observed  Courtois. 

"Take  care  lest  he  should  have  anything  to  say  about  old 
Sechard's  estate,"  said  Cachan.  "He  had  his  finger  in  some 
very  queer  concerns,  worthy  man !" 

Corentin  and  Derville,  on  entering  the  room,  after  bowing 
to  the  company  and  giving  their  names,  begged  to  have  a 
private  interview  with  Monsieur  and  Madame  Sechard. 

"By  all  means,"  said  Sechard.  "But  is  it  a  matter  of 
business  ?" 

"Solely  a  matter  regarding  your  father's  property,"  said 
Corentin. 

"Then  I  beg  you  will  allow  monsieur — the  Maire,  a  lawyer 
formerly  at  Angouleme — to  be  present  also." 

"Are  you  Monsieur  Derville?"  said  Cachan,  addressing 
Corentin. 

"'No,  monsieur,  this  is  Monsieur  Derville,"  replied  Coren- 
tin, introducing  the  lawyer,  who  bowed. 

"But,"  said  Sechard,  "we  are,  so  to  speak,  a  family  party: 


270  A.  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

we  have  no  secrets  from  our  neighbors;  there  is  no  need  to 
retire  to  my  study,  where  there  is  no  fire — our  life  is  in  the 
sight  of  all  men " 

"But  your  father's/'  said  Corentin,  "was  involved  in  cer- 
tain mysteries  which  perhaps  you  would  rather  not  make 
public." 

"Is  it  anything  that  we  need  blush  for?"  said  Eve,  in 
alarm. 

"Oh,  no !  a  sin  of  his  youth,"  said  Corentin,  coldly  setting 
one  of  his  mouse-traps.  "Monsieur,  your  father  left  an  elder 
son " 

"Oh,  the  old  rascal !"  cried  Courtois.  "He  was  never  very 
fond  of  you,  Monsieur  Sechard,  and  he  kept  that  secret  from 
you,  the  deep  old  dog! — Now  I  understand  what  he  meant 
when  he  used  to  say  to  me,  'You  shall  see  wliat  you  shall  see 
when  I  am  under  the  turf.'  " 

"Do  not  be  dismayed,  monsieur,"  said  Corentin  to  Sechard, 
while  he  watched  Eve  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye. 

"A  brother !"  exclaimed  the  doctor.  "Then  your  in- 
heritance is  divided  into  two  I" 

Derville  was  affecting  to  examine  the  fine  engravings, 
proofs  before  letters,  which  hung  on  the  drawing-room  walls. 

"Do  not  be  dismayed,  madame,"  Corentin  went  on,  seeing 
amazement  written  on  Madame  Sechard's  handsome  features, 
"it  is  only  a  natural  son.  The  rights  of  a  natural  son  are  not 
the  same  as  those  of  a  legitimate  child.  This  man  is  in  the 
depths  of  poverty,  and  he  has  a  right  to  a  certain  sum  calcu- 
lated on  the  amount  of  the  estate.  The  millions  left  by  your 
father " 

At  the  word  millions  there  was  a  perfectly  unanimous  cry 
from  all  the  persons  present.  And  now  Derville  ceased  to 
study  the  prints. 

"Old  Sechard  ?— Millions  ?"  said  Courtois.  "Who  on  earth 
told  you  that?     Some  peasant " 

"Monsieur,"  said  Cachan,  "you  are  not  attached  to  the 
Treasury?     You  may  be  told  all  the  facts " 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  271 

"Be  quite  easy,"  said  Corentin,  "I  give  you  my  word  of 
honor  I  am  not  employed  by  the  Treasury." 

Cachan,  who  had  just  signed  to  everybody  to  say  nothing, 
gave  expression  to  his  satisfaction. 

"Monsieur,"  Corentin  went  on,  "if  the  whole  estate  were 
but  a  million,  a  natural  child's  share  would  still  be  something 
considerable.  But  we  have  not  come  to  threaten  a  lawsuit : 
on  the  contrary,  our  purpose  is  to  propose  that  you  should 
hand  over  one  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  we  will  de- 
part  " 

"One  hundred  thousand  francs !"  cried  Cachan,  interrupt- 
ing him.  "But,  monsieur,  old  Sechard  left  twenty  acres  of 
vineyard,  five  small  farms,  ten  acres  of  meadowland  here,  and 
not  a  sou  besides '' 

"Nothing  on  earth,"  cried  David  Sechard,  "would  induce 
me  to  tell  a  lie,  and  less  on  a  question  of  money  than  on 
any  other. — Monsieur,"  he  said,  turning  to  Corentin  and 
Derville,  "my  father  left  us,  besides  the  land " 

Courtois  and  Cachan  signaled  in  vain  to  Sechard ;  he 
went  on: 

"Three  liundred  thousand  francs,  which  raises  the  whole 
estate  to  about  five  hundred  thousand  francs." 

"Monsieur  Cachan,"  asked  Eve  Sechard,  "what  proportion 
does  the  law  allot  to  a  natural  child?" 

"Madame,"  said  Corentin,  "we  are  not  Turks;  we  only 
require  you  to  swear  before  these  gentlemen  that  you  did  not 
inherit  more  than  five  hundred  thousand  francs  from  your 
father-in-law,  and  we  can  come  to  an  understanding." 

"First  give  me  your  word  of  honor  that  you  really  are  a 
lawv'er,"  said  Cachan  to  Derville. 

"Here  is  my  passport,"  replied  Derville,  handing  him  a 
paper  folded  in  four;  "and  monsieur  is  not,  as  you  might 
suppose,  an  inspector  from  the  Treasury,  so  be  easy,"  he 
added.  "We  had  an  important  reason  for  wanting  to  know 
the  truth  as  to  the  Sechard  estate,  and  we  now  know  it." 

Derville  took  Madame  Sechard's  hand  and  led  her  very 
courteously  to  the  further  end  of  the  room. 


272  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Madame/'  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  "if  it  were  not  that 
the  honor  and  future  prospects  of  the  house  of  Grandlieu 
are  implicated  in  this  affair,  I  would  never  have  lent  myself 
to  the  stratagem  devised  by  this  gentleman  of  the  red  ribbon. 
But  you  must  forgive  him;  it  was  necessary  to  detect  the 
falsehood  by  means  of  which  your  brother  has  stolen  a  march 
on  the  beliefs  of  that  ancient  family.  Beware  now  of  allow- 
ing it  to  be  supposed  that  you  have  given  your  brother 
twelve  hundred  thousand  francs  to  repurchase  the  Eubempre 
estates " 

"Twelve  hundred  thousand  francs!"  cried  Madame 
Sechard,  turning  pale.  "Where  did  he  get  them,  wretched 
boy?" 

"Ah !  that  is  the  question,"  replied  Derville.  "I  fear  that 
the  source  of  his  wealth  is  far  from  pure." 

The  tears  rose  to  Eve's  eyes,  as  her  neighbors  could  see. 

"We  have,  perhaps,  done  you  a  great  service  by  saving  you 
from  abetting  a  falsehood  of  which  the  results  may  be  posi- 
tively dangerous,"  the  lawyer  went  on. 

Derville  left  Madame  Sechard  sitting  pale  and  dejected 
with  tears  on  her  cheeks,  and  bowed  to  the  company. 

"To  Mansle!"  said  Corentin  to  the  little  boy  who  drove 
the  chaise. 

There  was  but  one  vacant  place  in  the  diligence  from 
Bordeaux  to  Paris;  Derville  begged  Corentin  to  allow  him 
to  take  it,  urging  a  press  of  business ;  but  in  his  soul  he  was 
distrustful  of  his  traveling  companion,  whose  diplomatic 
dexterity  and  coolness  struck  him  as  being  the  result  of  prac- 
tice. Corentin  remained  three  days  longer  at  Mansle,  unable 
to  get  away;  he  was  obliged  to  secure  a  place  in  the  Paris 
coach  by  writing  to  Bordeaux,  and  did  not  get  back  till  nine 
days  after  leaving  home. 

Peyrade,  meanwhile,  had  called  every  morning,  either  at 
Passy  or  in  Paris,  to  inquire  whether  Corentin  had  returned. 
On  the  eighth  day  he  left  at  each  house  a  note,  written  in  their 
peculiar  cipher,  to  explain  to  his  friend  what  death  hung 
over  him,  and  to  tell  him  of  Lydie's  abduction  and  the  hor- 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  273 

rible  end  to  which  his  enemies  had  devoted  them.  Peyrade, 
bereft  of  Corentin,  but  seconded  by  Contenson,  still  kept  up 
his  disguise  as  a  nabob.  Even  though  his  invisible  foes  had 
discovered  him,  he  very  wisely  reflected  that  he  might  glean 
some  light  on  the  matter  by  remaining  on  the  field  of  the 
contest. 

Contenson  had  brought  all  his  experience  into  play  in  his 
search  for  Lydie,  and  hoped  to  discover  in  what  house  she  was 
hidden ;  but  as  the  days  went  by,  the  impossibility,  absolutely 
demonstrated,  of  tracing  the  slightest  clue,  added,  hour  by 
hour,  to  Peyrade's  despair.  The  old  spy  had  a  sort  of  guard 
about  him  of  twelve  or  fifteen  of  the  most  experienced  detec- 
tives. They  watched  the  neighborhood  of  the  Eue  des  Moi- 
neaux  and  the  Eue  Taitbout — where  he  lived,  as  a  nabob,  with 
Madame  du  Val-Noble.  During  the  last  three  days  of  the 
term  granted  by  Asie  to  reinstate  Lucien  on  his  old  footing 
in  the  Hotel  de  Grandlieu,  Contenson  never  left  the  veteran 
of  the  old  general  police  office.  And  the  poetic  terror  shed 
throughout  the  forests  of  America  by  the  arts  of  inimical 
and  warring  tribes,  of  which  Cooper  made  such  good  use  in 
his  novels,  was  here  associated  with  the  petty  details  of  Paris 
life.  The  foot-passengers,  the  shops,  the  hackney  cabs,  a 
figure  standing  at  a  window, — everything  had  to  the  human 
ciphers  to  whom  old  Peyrade  had  intrusted  his  safety  the 
thrilling  interest  which  attaches  in  Cooper's  romances  to  a 
beaver-village,  a  rock,  a  bison-robe,  a  floating  canoe,  a  weed 
straggling  over  the  water. 

"If  the  Spaniard  is  gone  away,  you  have  nothing  to  fear," 
said  Contenson  to  Peyrade,  remarking  on  the  perfect  peace 
they  lived  in. 

"But  if  he  is  not  gone?"  observed  Peyrade. 

"He  took  one  of  my  men  at  the  back  of  the  chaise ;  but  at 
Blois,  my  man  having  to  get  down,  could  not  catch  the  chaise 
up  again." 

Five  days  after  Derville's  return,  Lucien  one  morning  had 
a  call  from  Rastignac. 


274  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"I  am  in  despair,  my  dear  boy/'  said  his  visitor,  "at  finding 
myself  compelled  to  deliver  a  message  which  is  intrusted  to 
me  because  we  are  known  to  be  intimate.  Your  marriage  is 
broken  off  beyond  all  hope  of  reconciliation.  Xever  set  foot 
again  in  the  Hotel  de  Grandlieu.  To  marry  Clotilde  you 
must  wait  till  her  father  dies,  and  he  is  too  selfish  to  die  yet 
awhile.  Old  whist-players  sit  at  table — the  card-table — very 
late. 

"Clotilde  is  setting  out  for  Italy  with  Madeleine  de  Lenon- 
court-Chaulieu.  The  poor  girl  is  so  madly  in  love  with  you. 
my  dear  fellow,  that  they  have  to  keep  an  eye  on  her ;  she  was 
bent  on  coming  to  see  you,  and  had  plotted  an  escape.  That 
may  comfort  30U  in  misfortune  !"' 

Lucien  made  no  reply ;  he  sat  gazing  at  Kastignac. 

"And  is  it  a  misfortune,  after  all?"  his  friend  went  on. 
"You  will  easily  find  a  girl  as  well  born  and  better  looking 
than  Clotilde !  Madame  de  Serizy  will  find  you  a  wife  out  of 
spite;  she  cannot  endure  the  Grandlieus,  who  never  would 
have  anything  to  say  to  her.  She  has  a  niece,  little  Clemencc 
du  Rouvre "' 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  J^ucien  at  length,  "•since  that  si  'ler 
I  am  not  on  terms  with  Madame  de  Serizy — she  saw  lue  in 
Esther's  box  and  made  a  scene — and  I  left  her  to  herself." 

"A  woman  of  forty  does  not  long  keep  up  a  quarrel  with  so 
handsome  a  man  as  you  are,"'  said  Kastignac.  "I  know  some- 
thing of  these  sunsets. — It  lasts  ten  minutes  in  the  sky,  and 
ten  years  in  a  woman's  heart." 

"I  have  waited  a  week  to  hear  from  her." 

"Go  and  call." 

"Yes,  I  must  now." 

"Are  you  coming  at  any  rate  to  the  Val-Xoble's?  Her 
nabob  is  returning  the  supper  given  by  i^ucingen." 

"I  am  asked,  and  I  shall  go,"  said  Lucien  gravely. 

The  day  after  this  confirmation  of  his  disaster,  which 
Carlos  heard  of  at  once  from  Asie,  Lucien  went  to  the  Rue 
Taitbout  with  Rastignac  and  Nucingen. 

At  midnight  nearly  all  the  personages  of  this  drama  were 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  275 

assembled  in  the  dining-room  that  had  formerly  been  Es- 
ther's— a  drama  of  which  the  interest  lay  hidden  under  the 
very  bed  of  these  tumultuous  lives,  and  was  known  only  to 
Esther,  to  Lucien,  to  Peyrade,  to  Contenson,  the  mulatto,  and 
to  Paccard,  who  attended  his  mistress.  Asie,  without  its 
being  known  to  Contenson  and  Peyrade,  had  been  asked  by 
Madame  du  Val-Noble  to  come  and  help  her  cook. 

As  they  sat  down  to  table,  Peyrade,  who  had  given  Madame 
du  Val-Noble  five  hundred  francs  that  the  thing  might  be 
well  done,  found  under  his  napkin  a  scrap  of  paper  on  which 
these  words  were  written  in  pencil,  "The  ten  days  are  up  at 
the  moment  when  you  sit  down  to  supper.'' 

Peyrade  handed  the  paper  to  Contenson,  who  was  standing 
behind  him,  saying  in  English : 

"I>id  you  put  my  name  here  ?*' 

Contenson  read  by  the  light  of  the  wax-candles  this  "Mene, 
Tehel,  Upharsin"  and  slipped  the  scrap  into  his  pocket;  but 
he  knew  how  difficult  it  is  to  verify  a  handwriting  in  pencil, 
and,  above  all,  a  sentence  written  in  Eoman  capitals,  that  is 
to  say,  with  mathematical  lines,  since  capital  letters  are 
^rij-i|y  made  up  of  straight  lines  and  curves,  in  which  it  is 
uip  .ssible  to  detect  any  trick  of  the  hand,  as  in  what  is  called 
unning-hand. 

The  supper  was  absolutely  devoid  of  spirit.  Peyrade  was 
\-,isibiy  absent-minded.  Of  the  men  about  town  who  give  life 
to  a  supper,  only  Rastignac  and  Lucien  were  present.  Lucien 
was  gloomy  and  absorbed  in  thought;  Rastignac,  who  had 
lost  two  thousand  francs  before  supper,  ate  and  drank  with 
tlie  hope  of  recovering  them  later.  The  thre^  women,  stricken 
by  this  chill,  looked  at  each  other.  Dulness  deprived  the 
dishes  of  all  relish.  Suppers,  like  plays  and  books,  have  their 
good  and  bad  luck. 

At  the  end  of  the  meal  ices  were  served,  of  the  kind  called 
plombieres.  As  everybody  knows,  this  kind  of  dessert  has 
delicate  preserved  fruits  laid  on  the  top  of  the  ice,  which  is 
served  in  a  little  glass,  not  heaped  above  the  rim.  These  ices 
had  been  ordered  by  Madame  du  Val-Noble  of  Tortoni,  whose 


276  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

famous  shop  is  at  the  corner  of  the  Eue  Taitbout  and  the 
Boulevard. 

The  cook  called  Contenson  out  of  the  room  to  pay  the  bill. 

Contenson,  who  thought  this  demand  on  the  part  of  the 
shop-boy  rather  strange,  went  downstairs  and  startled  him  by 
saying: 

"Then  you  have  not  come  from  Tortoni's  ?"  and  then  went 
straight  upstairs  again. 

Paccard  had  meanwhile  handed  the  ices  to  the  comps^iy  in 
his  absence.  The  mulatto  had  hardly  reached  the  door  when 
one  of  the  police  constables  who  had  kept  watch  in  the  Rue 
des  Moineaux  called  up  the  stairs: 

"ISTumber  twenty-seven." 

''What's  up?"  replied  Contenson,  flying  down  again. 

"Tell  Papa  that  his  daughter  has  come  home;  but,  good 
God!  in  what  a  state.  Tell  him  to  come  at  once;  she  is 
dying." 

At  the  moment  when  Contenson  re-entered  the  dining- 
room,  old  Peyrade,  who  had  drunk  a  great  deal,  was  swal- 
lowing the  cherry  off  his  ice.  They  were  drinking  to  the 
health  of  Madame  du  Val-jSToble;  the  nabob  filled  his  glass 
with  Constantia  and  emptied  it. 

In  spite  of  his  distress  at  the  news  he  had  to  give  Peyrade, 
Contenson  was  struck  by  the  eager  attention  with  which  Pac-- 
card  was  looking  at  the  nabob.  His  eyes  sparkled  like  twt; 
fixed  flames.  Although  it  seemed  important,  still  this  could 
not  delay  the  mulatto,  who  leaned  over  his  master,  just  as 
Peyrade  set  his  glass  down. 

"Lydie  is  at  home,"  said  Contenson,  "in  a  very  sad  state." 

Peyrade  rattled  out  the  most  French  of  all  French  oaths 
with  such  a  strong  Southern  accent  that  all  the  guests  looked 
up  in  amazement.  Peyrade,  discovering  his  blunder,  ac- 
knowledged his  disguise  by  saying  to  Contenson  in  good 
French : 

"Find  me  a  coach — I'm  ofE/' 

Every  one  rose. 

"Why,  who  are  you  ?"  said  Lucien.       « 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  277 

"Ja — who  ?"  said  the  Baron. 

"Bixiou  told  me  you  shammed  Englishman  better  than  he 
could,  and  I  would  not  believe  him/'  said  Rastignac. 

"Some  bankrupt  caught  in  disguise,"  said  du  Tillet  loudly. 
"I  suspected  as  much !" 

"A  strange  place  is  Paris !"  said  Madame  du  Val-Noble. 
"After  being  bankrupt  in  his  own  part  of  the  town,  a  mer- 
chant turns  up  as  a  nabob  or  a  dandy  in  the  Champs-filysees 
with  impunity ! — Oh !  I  am  unlucky !  bankrupts  are  my 
bane." 

"Every  flower  has  its  peculiar  blight !"  said  Esther  quietly. 
"Mine  is  like  Cleopatra's — an  asp." 

"Who  am  I?"  echoed  Peyrade  from  the  door.  "You  will 
know  ere  long;  for  if  I  die,  I  will  rise  from  my  grave  to 
clutch  your  feet  every  night !" 

He  looked  at  Esther  and  Lucien  as  he  spoke,  then  he  took 
advantage  of  the  general  dismay  to  vanish  with  the  utmost 
rapidity,  meaning  to  run  home  without  waiting  for  the  coach. 
In  the  street  the  spy  was  gripped  by  the  arm  as  he  crossed  the 
threshold  of  the  outer  gate.  It  was  Asie,  wrapped  in  a  black 
hood  such  as  ladies  then  wore  on  leaving  a  ball. 

"Send  for  the  Sacraments,  Papa  Peyrade,"  said  she,  in  the 
voice  that  had  already  prophesied  ill. 

A  coach  was  waiting.  Asie  jumped  in,  and  the  carriage 
vanished  as  though  the  wind  had  swept  it  away.  There  were 
five  carriages  waiting ;  Peyrade's  men  could  find  out  nothing. 

On  reaching  his  house  in  the  Rue  des  Vignes,  one  of  the 
quietest  and  prettiest  nooks  of  the  little  town  of  Passy,  Coren- 
tin,  who  was  known  there  as  a  retired  merchant  passionately 
devoted  to  gardening,  found  his  friend  Peyrade's  note  in 
cipher.  Instead  of  resting,  he  got  into  the  hackney  coach 
that  had  brought  him  thither,  and  was  driven  to  the  Rue  des 
Moineaux,  where  he  found  only  Katt.  From  her  he  heard 
of  Lydie's  disappearance,  and  remained  astounded  at  Pey- 
rade's and  his  own  want  of  foresight. 

"But  they  do  not  know  me  yet,"  said  he  to  himself.    "This 


278  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

crew  is  capable  of  anything ;  I  must  find  out  if  they  are  kill- 
ing Peyrade ;  for  if  so,  I  must  not  be  seen  any  more " 

The  viler  a  man's  life  is,  the  more  he  clings  to  it ;  it  becomes 
at  every  moment  a  protest  and  a  revenge. 

Corentin  went  back  to  the  cab,  and  drove  to  his  rooms  to 
assume  the  disguise  of  a  feeble  old  man,  in  a  scanty  greenish 
overcoat  and  a  tow  wig.  Then  he  returned  on  foot,  prompted 
by  his  friendship  for  Peyrade.  He  intended  to  give  instruc- 
tions to  his  most  devoted  and  cleverest  underlings. 

As  he  went  along  the  Eue  Saint-Honore  to  reach  the  Eue 
Saint-Eoch  from  the  Place  Yendome,  he  came  up  behind  a 
girl  in  slippers,  and  dressed  as  a  woman  dresses  for  the  night. 
She  had  on  a  white  bed-jacket  and  a  nightcap,  and  from  time 
to  time  gave  vent  to  a  sob  and  an  involuntar}'  groan.  Coren- 
tin out-paced  her,  and  turning  round,  recognized  Lydie. 

"I  am  a  friend  of  your  father's,  of  Monsieur  Canquoelle's," 
said  he  in  his  natural  voice. 

"Ah  I  then  here  is  some  one  I  can  trust !"  said  she. 

"Do  not  seem  to  have  recognized  me,"  Corentin  went  on, 
"for  we  are  pursued  by  relentless  foes,  and  are  obliged  to  dis- 
guise ourselves.    But  tell  me  what  has  befallen  you?" 

"Oh,  monsieur,"  said  the  poor  child,  "the  facts  but  not  the 
story  can  be  told — I  am  ruined,  lost,  and  I  do  not  know 
how " 

'^"here  have  you  come  from  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  monsieur.  I  fled  with  such  precipitancy, 
I  have  come  through  so  many  streets,  round  so  many  turnings, 
fancying  I  was  being  followed.  And  when  I  met  any  one 
that  seeitied  decent,  I  asked  my  way  to  get  back  to  the  Boule- 
vards, so  as  to  find  the  Eue  de  la  Paix.  And  at  last,  after 
walking WTaat  o'clock  is  it,  monsieur  ?" 

"Half-past  eleven,"  said  Corentin. 

"I  escaped  at  nightfall,"  said  Lydie.  "I  have  been  walking 
for  five  hours." 

'^ell,  come  along;  you  can  rest  now;  you  will  find  your 
good  Katt." 

"Oh,  monsieur,  there  is  no  rest  for  me !     I  only  want  to 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  279 

rest  in  the  grave,  and  I  will  go  and  wait  for  death  in  a  con- 
vent if  I  am  worthy  to  be  admitted '' 

"Poor  little  girl ! — But  you  struggled  ?" 

"Oh  yes !  Oh !  if  you  could  only  imagine  the  abject  crea- 
tures they  placed  me  with !" 

"They  sent  you  to  sleep,  no  doubt  ?'" 

"Ah !  that  is  it"  cried  poor  Lydie.  "A  little  more  strength 
and  I  should  be  at  home.  I  feel  I  am  dropping,  and  my  brain 
is  not  quite  clear. — Just  now  I  fancied  I  was  in  a  garden " 

Corentin  took  Lydie  in  his  arms,  and  she  lost  consciousness ; 
he  carried  her  upstairs. 

"Katt  !'■  he  called. 

Katt  came  out  with  exclamations  of  joy. 

"Don't  be  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  be  glad  I"  said  Corentin 
gravely;  "the  girl  is  very  ill." 

When  Lydie  was  laid  on  her  bed  and  recognized  her  own 
room  by  the  light  of  two  candles  that  Katt  lighted,  she  be- 
came delirious.  She  sang  scraps  of  pretty  airs,  broken  by 
vociferations  of  horrible  sentences  she  had  heard.  Her  pretty 
face  was  mottled  with  purple  patches.  She  mixed  up  the 
reminiscences  of  her  pure  childhood  with  those  of  these  ten 
days  of  infamy.  Katt  sat  weeping ;  Corentin  paced  the  room, 
stopping  now  and  again  to  gaze  at  Lydie. 
■-.^  "She  is  paying  her  father's  debt,"  said  he.  "Is  there  a 
Providence  above  ?  Oh,  I  was  wise  not  to  have  a  family.  On 
my  word  of  honor,  a  child  is  indeed  a  hostage  given  to  mis- 
fortune, as  some  philosopher  has  said." 

"Oh !"  cried  the  poor  child,  sitting  up  in  bed  and  throwing 
back  her  fine  long  hair,  "instead  of  lying  here,  Katt,  I  ought 
to  be  stretched  in  the  sand  at  the  bottom  of  the  Seine !" 

"Katt,  instead  of  crying  and  looking  at  yo^^r  child,  which 
will  never  cure  her,  you  ought  to  go  for  a  doctor ;  the  medical 
officer  in  the  first  instance,  and  then  Monsieur  Desplein  and 
Monsieur  Bianchon We  must  save  this  innocent  crea- 
ture." 

And  Corentin  wrote  down  the  addresses  of  these  two  famous 
physicians. 


2S0  ""  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

At  tlii^  moment,  up  the  stairs  came  some  one  to  whom  they 
were  familiar,  and  the  door  was  opened.  Peyrade,  in  a  violent 
sweat,  his  face  purple,  his  eyes  almost  blood-stained,  and 
gasping  like  a  dolphin,  rushed  from  the  outer  door  to  Lydie's 
room,  exclaiming: 

"Where  is  my  child  ?" 

He  saw  a  melancholy  sign  from  Corentin,  and  his  eyes  fol- 
lowed his  friend's  hand.  Lydie's  condition  can  only  be  com- 
pared to  that  of  a  flower  tenderly  cherished  by  a  gardener, 
now  fallen  from  its  stem,  and  crushed  by  the  iron-clamped 
shoes  of  some  peasant.  Ascribe  this  simile  to  a  father's  heart, 
and  you  will  understand  the  blow  that  fell  on  Peyrade;  the 
tears  started  to  his  eyes. 

"You  are  crying  ! — It  is  my  father !"  said  the  girl. 

She  could  still  recognize  her  father ;  she  got  out  of  bed  and 
fell  on  her  knees  at  the  old  man's  side  as  he  sank  into  a  chair. 

"Forgive  me,  papa,"  said  she  in  a  tone  that  pierced  Pey- 
rade's  heart,  and  at  the  same  moment  he  was  conscious  of 
what  felt  like  a  tremendous  blow  on  his  head. 

"I  am  dying ! — the  villains !"  were  his  last  words. 

Corentin  tried  to  help  his  friend,  and  received  his  latest 
breath. 

"Dead  !  Poisoned  !"  said  he  to  himself.  "Ah  !  here  is  the 
doctor!"  he  exclaimed,  hearing  the  soimd  of  wheels. 

Contenson,  who  came  with  his  mulatto  disguise  removed, 
[^tood  like  a  bronze  statue  as  he  heard  Lydie  say: 

"Then  you  do  not  forgive  me,  father? — But  it  was  not  my 
fault !" 

She  did  not  understand  that  her  father  was  dead. 

"Oh,  how  he  stares  at  me  !"  cried  the  poor  crazy  girl. 

"We  must  close  his  eyes,"  said  Contenson,  lifting  Peyrade 
on  to  the  bed. 

"We  are  doing  a  stupid  thing,"  said  Corentin.  "Let  us 
{ arry  him  into  his  own  room.  His  daughter  is  half  demented, 
and  she  will  go  quite  mad  when  she  sees  that  he  is  dead ;  she 
will  fancy  that  she  has  killed  him." 

Tjydie,  seeing  them  carry  away  her  father,  looked  quite 
stupefied. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  281 

"There  lies  my  only  friend !"  said  Corentin,  seeming  much 
moved  when  Peyrade  was  laid  out  on  the  bed  in  his  own 
room.  "In  all  his  life  he  never  had  but  one  impulse  of  cu- 
pidity, and  that  was  for  his  daughter ! — Let  him  be  an  ex- 
ample to  you,  Contenson.  Every  line  of  life  has  its  code  of 
honor.  Peyrade  did  wrong  when  he  mixed  himself  up  with 
private  concerns ;  we  have  no  business  to  meddle  with  any  but 
public  cases. 

"But  come  what  may,  I  swear,"  said  he  with  a  voice,  an 
emphasis,  a  look  that  struck  horror  into  Contenson,  "to 
avenge  my  poor  Peyrade !  I  will  discover  the  men  who  are 
guilty  of  his  death  and  of  his  daughter's  ruin.  And  as  sure 
as  I  am  myself,  as  I  have  yet  a  few  days  to  live,  which  I  will 
risk  to  accomplish  that  vengeance,  every  man  of  them  shall 
die  at  four  o'clock,  in  good  health,  by  a  clean  shave  on  the 
Place  de  Greve." 

"And  I  will  help  you,"  said  Contenson  with  feeling. 

Nothing,  in  fact,  is  more  heart-stirring  than  the  spectacle 
of  passion  in  a  cold,  self-contained,  and  methodical  man,  in 
whom,  for  twenty  years,  no  one  has  ever  detected  the  smallest 
impulse  of  sentiment.  It  is  like  a  molten  bar  of  iron  which 
melts  everything  it  touches.  And  Contenson  was  moved  to 
his  depths. 

"Poor  old  Canquoelle !"  said  he,  looking  at  Corentin.  "He 
has  treated  me  many  a  time. — And,  I  tell  you,  only  your  bad 
sort  know  how  to  do  such  things — ^but  often  has  he  given  me 
ten  francs  to  go  and  gamble  with     .     .     ." 

After  this  funeral  oration,  Peyrade's  two  avengers  went 
back  to  Lydie's  room,  hearing  Katt  and  the  medical  officer 
from  the  Mairie  on  the  stairs. 

"Go  and  fetch  the  Chief  of  the  Police,"  said  Corentin.  "The 
public  prosecutor  will  not  find  grounds  for  a  prosecution  in 
the  case ;  still,  we  will  report  it  to  the  Prefecture ;  it  may, 
perhaps,  be  of  some  use. 

"Monsieur,"  he  went  on  to  the  medical  officer,  "in  this 
room  you  will  see  a  dead  man.  I  do  not  believe  that  he  died 
from  natural  causes  ;  you  will  be  good  enough  to  make  a  post- 


282  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

mortem  in  the  presence  of  the  Chief  of  the  Police,  who  will 
come  at  my  request.  Try  to  discover  some  traces  of  poison. 
You  will,  in  a  few  minutes,  have  the  opinion  of  Monsieur 
Desplein  and  Monsieur  Bianchon,  for  whom  I  have  sent  to 
examine  the  daughter  of  my  best  friend ;  she  is  in  a  worse 
plight  than  he,  though  he  is  dead." 

"1  have  no  need  of  those  gentlemen's  assistance  in  the  exer- 
cise of  my  duty,"  said  the  medical  officer. 

"Well,  well,"  thought  Corentin.  "Let  us  have  no  clashing, 
monsieur,"  he  said.  "In  two  words  I  give  you  my  opinion — 
Those  who  have  just  murdered  the  father  have  also  ruined  the 
daughter." 

By  daylight  Lydie  had  yielded  to  fatigue;  when  the  great 
surgeon  and  the  young  physician  arrived  she  was  asleep. 

The  doctor,  whose  duty  it  was  to  sign  the  death  certificate, 
had  now  opened  Peyrade's  body,  and  was  seeking  the  cause  of 
death. 

"While  waiting  for  your  patient  to  awake,"  said  Corentin 
to  the  two  famous  doctors,  "would  you  join  one  of  your  pro- 
fessional brethren  in  an  examination  which  cannot  fail  to  in- 
terest you,  and  your  opinion  will  be  valuable  in  case  of  an 
inquiry." 

"Your  relation  died  of  apoplexy^"  said  the  official.  "There 
are  all  the  symptoms  of  violent  congestion  of  the  brain." 

"Examine  him,  gentlemen,  and  see  if  there  is  no  poison 
capable  of  producing  similar  symptoms." 

"The  stomach  is,  in  fact,  full  of  food  substances ;  but  short 
of  chemical  analysis,  I  find  no  evidence  of  poison. 

"If  the  characters  of  cerebral  congestion  are  well  ascer- 
tained, we  have  here,  considering  the  patient's  age,  a  sufficient 
cause  of  death,"  observed  Desplein,  looking  at  the  enormous 
mass  of  material. 

"Did  he  sup  here  ?"  asked  Bianchon.        ^ 

"No,"  said  Corentin;  "he  came  here  in  great  haste  from 
the  Boulevard,  and  found  his  daughter  ruined " 

"That  was  the  poison  if  he  loved  his  daughter,"  said 
Bianchon. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  283 

''What  known  poison  could  produce  a  similar  effect  ?"  asked 
Corentin,  clinging  to  his  idea. 

"There  is  but  one/'  said  Desplein,  after  a  careful  examina- 
tion. "It  is  a  poison  found  in  the  Malayan  Archipelago,  and 
derived  from  trees,  as  yet  but  little  known,  of  the  strychnos 
family ;  it  is  used  to  poison  that  dangerous  weapon,  the  Malay 
kris. — At  least,  so  it  is  reported." 

The  Police  Commissioner  presently  arrived;  Corentin  told 
him  his  suspicions,  and  begged  him  to  draw  up  a  report,  tell- 
ing him  where  and  with  whom  Peyrade  had  supped,  and  the 
causes  of  the  state  in  which  he  found  Lydie. 

Corentin  then  went  to  Lydie's  rooms ;  Desplein  and  Bian- 
chon  had  been  examining  the  poor  child.  He  met  them  at  the 
door. 

"Well,  gentlemen?"  asked  Corentin. 

"Place  the  girl  under  medical  care ;  unless  she  recovers  her 
wits  when  her  child  is  born — if  indeed  she  should  have  a  child 
— she  will  end  her  days  melancholy-mad.  There  is  no  hope 
of  a  cure  but  in  the  maternal  instinct,  if  it  can  be  aroused." 

Corentin  paid  each  of  the  physicians  forty  francs  in  gold. 
and  then  turned  to  the  Police  Commissioner,  who  had  pulled 
him  by  the  sleeve. 

"The  medical  officer  insists  on  it  that  death  was  natural," 
said  this  functionary,  "and  I  can  hardly  report  the  case,  es- 
pecially as  the  dead  man  was  old  Canquoelle;  he  had  his 
finger  in  too  many  pies,  and  we  should  not  be  sure  whom  we 
might  run  foul  of.    Men  like  that  die  to  order  very  often " 

"And  my  name  is  Corentin,"  said  Corentin  in  the  man's 
ear. 

The  Commissioner  started  with  surprise. ' 

"So  just  make  a  note  of  all  this,"  Corentin  went  on  ;  "it  will 
be  very  useful  by  and  by ;  send  it  up  only  as  confidential  infor- 
mation. The  crime  cannot  be  proved,  and  I  know  that  any  in- 
quiry would  be  checked  at  the  very  outset. — But  I  will  catch 
the  criminals  some  day  yet.  I  will  watch  them  and  take  them 
red-handed." 

The  police  official  bowed  to  Corentin  and  left. 


284  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

""Nronsieur,"  said  Katt.  "!Ma demoiselle  does  nothing  but 
dance  and  sing.    What  can  I  do?" 

"Has  any  charge  occurred  then?" 

"She  has  understood  that  her  father  is  just  dead." 

"Put  her  into  a  hackney  coach,  and  simply  take  her  to  Cha- 
renton;  I  will  write  a  note  to  the  Commissioner-General  of 
Police  to  secure  her  being  suitably  provided  for. — The 
daughter  in  Charenton,  the  father  in  a  pauper's  grave !" 
said  Corentin — "Contenson,  go  and  fetch  the  parish  hearse. 
And  now,  Don  Carlos  Herrera,  you  and  I  will  fight  it  out !" 
_   "Carlos?"  said  Contenson,  "he  is  in  Spain." 

"He  is  in  Paris,"  said  Corentin  positively.  "There  is  a 
touch  of  Spanish  genius  of  the  Philip  II.  type  in  all  this;  but 
I  have  pitfalls  for  everybody,  even  for  kings." 

Five  days  after  the  nabob's  disappearance,  Madame  du  Val- 
Noble  was  sitting  by  Esther's  bedside  weeping,  for  she  felt  her- 
self on  one  of  the  slopes  down  to  poverty. 

"If  I  only  had  at  least  a  hundred  louis  a  year !  With  that 
sum,  my  dear,  a  woman  can  retire  to  some  little  town  and  find 
a  husband " 

"I  can  get  you  as  much  as  that;'  said  Esther. 

"How  ?"  cried  Madame  du  A^al-Xoble. 

"Oh,  in  a  very  simple  way.  Listen.  You  must  want  to 
kill  yourself;  play  your  part  well.  Send  for  Asie  and  offer 
her  ten  thousand  francs  for  two  black  beads  of  very  thin  glass 
containing  a  poison  which  kills  you  in  a  second.  Bring  them 
to  me,  and  I  will  give  you  fifty  thousand  francs  for  them." 

"^Yliy  do  you  not  ask  her  for  them  yourself?"  said  her 
friend. 

"Asie  would  not  sell  them  to  me." 

"They  are  not  for  yourself  ?"  said  Madame  du  Val- ■SToble. 

"Perhaps." 

"You  I  who  live  in  the  midst  of  pleasure  and  luxury,  in  a 
house  of  your  own?  And  on  the  eve  of  an  entertainment 
which  will  be  the  talk  of  Paris  for  ten  years — which  is  to  cost 
Nucingen  twenty  thousand  francs!     There  are  to  be  straw- 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  285 

berries  in  mid-February,  they  say,  asparagus,  grapes,  melons ! 
— and  a  thousand  crowns'  worth  of  flowers  in  the  rooms." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?  There  are  a  thousand 
crowns'  worth  of  roses  on  the  stairs  alone." 

"And  your  gown  is  said  to  have  cost  ten  thousand  francs  ?" 

"Yes,  it  is  of  Brussels  point,  and  Delphine,  his  wife,  is 
furious.     But  I  had  a  fancy  to  be  disguised  as  a  bride." 

"Where  are  the  ten  thousand  francs?"  asked  Madame  du 
Val-Noble. 

"It  is  all  the  ready  money  I  have,"  said  Esther,  smiling. 
"Open  my  table  drawer ;  it  is  under  the  curl-papers." 

"People  who  talk  of  dying  never  kill  themselves,"  said  Ma- 
dame du  Val-Noble.     "If  it  were  to  commit " 

"A  crime  ?  For  shame  !"  said  Esther,  finishing  her  friend's 
thought,  as  she  hesitated.  "Be  quite  easy,  I  have  no  inten- 
tion of  killing  anybody.  I  had  a  friend — a  very  happy  wo- 
man; she  is  dead,  I  must  follow  her — that  is  all." 

"How  foolish !" 

"How  can  I  help  it?     I  promised  her  I  would." 

"I  should  let  that  bill  go  dishonored,"  said  her  friend, 
smiling. 

"Do  as  I  tell  you,  and  go  at  once.  I  hear  a  carriage  com- 
ing. It  is  Nucingen,  a  man  who  will  go  mad  with  joy  !  Yes, 
he  loves  me ! — Why  do  we  not  love  those  who  love  us,  for  in- 
deed they  do  all  they  can  to  please  us  ?" 

"Ah,  that  is  the  question !"  said  Madame  du  Val-Noble. 
"It  is  the  old  story  of  the  herring,  which  is  the  most  puzzling 
fish  that  swims." 

"Why?" 

"Well,  no  one  could  ever  find  out." 

"Get  along,  my  dear ! — I  must  ask  for  your  fifty  thousand 
francs." 

"Good-bye  then." 

For  three  days  past,  Esther's  ways  with  the  Baron  de  Nu- 
cingen had  completely  changed.  The  monkey  had  become  a 
cat,  the  cat  had  become  a  woman.  Esther  poured  out  treasures 
of  affection  on  the  old  man;  she  was  quite  charming.     Her 


286  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

way  of  addressing  him,  with  a  total  absence  of  mischief  or 
bitterness,  and  all  sorts  of  tender  insinuation,  had  carried 
conviction  to  the  banker's  slow  wit ;  she  called  him  Fritz,  and 
he  believed  that  she  loved  him. 

"My  pooi;  Fritz,  I  have  tried  you  sorely,"  said  she.  "I 
have  teased  you  shamefully.  Your  patience  has  been  sublime. 
You  loved  me,  I  see,  and  I  will  reward  you.  I  like  you  now ; 
I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  but  I  should  prefer  you  to  a  young 
man.  It  is  the  result  of  experience  perhaps. — In  the  long 
run  we  discover  at  last  that  pleasure  is  the  coin  of  the  soul; 
and  it  is  not  more  flattering  to  be  loved  for  the  sake  of 
pleasure  than  it  is  to  be  loved  for  the  sake  of  money. 

"Besides,  3'oung  men  are  too  selfish;  they  think  more  of 
themselves  than  of  us ;  while  you,  now,  think  only  of  me.  I 
am  all  your  life  to  you.  And  I  will  take  nothing  more  from 
you.     I  want  to  prove  to  you  how  disinterested  I  am." 

"Vy,  I  hafe  gifen  you  notink,"  cried  the  Baron,  enchanted. 
"I  propose  to  gife  you  to-morrow  tirty  tousant  francs  a  year 
in  a  Government  bond.     Dat  is  mein  vedding  gift." 

Esther  kissed  the  Baron  so  sweetly  that  he  turned  pale 
without  any  pills. 

"Oh !"  cried  she,  "do  not  suppose  that  I  am  sweet  to  you 
only  for  your  thirty  thousand  francs  !  It  is  because — now — 
I  love  you,  my  good,  fat  Frederic." 

"Ach,  mein  Gott !  Vy  hafe  you  kept  me  vaiting  ?  I  might 
hafe  been  so  happy  all  dese  tree  monts." 

"In  three  or  in  five  per  cents,  my  pet  ?"  said  Esther,  pass- 
ing her  fingers  through  Nucingen's  hair,  and  arranging  it  in 
a  fashion  of  her  own. 

"In  trees — I  hat  a  quautit}'." 

So  next  morning  the  Baron  brought  the  certificate  of 
shares;  he  came  to  breakfast  with  his  dear  little  girl,  and  to 
take  her  orders  for  the  following  evenijig,  the  famous  Sat- 
urday, the  great  day ! 

"Here,  my  little  vife,  my  only  vife,"  said  the  banker  glee- 
fully, his  face  radiant  with  ■  happiness.  "Here  is  enough 
money  to  pay  for  your  keep  for  de  rest  of  your  days." 


0"  -v 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  287 


Esther  took  the  paper  without  the  slightest  excitement, 
folded  it  up,  and  put  it  in  her  dressing-table  drawer. 

"So  now  you  are  quite  happy,  you  monster  of  iniquity !" 
said  she,  giving  ISTucingen  a  little  slap  on  the  cheek,  "now 
that  I  have  at  last  accepted  a  present  from  you.  I  can  no 
longer  tell  you  home-truths,  for  I  share  the  fruit  of  what  you 
call  your  labors.  This  is  not  a  gift,  my  poor  old  boy,  it  is 
restitution. — Come,  do  not  put  on  your  Bourse  face.  You 
know  that  I  love  you." 

"My  lofely  Esther,  mein  anchel  of  lofe,"  said  the  banker, 
"do  not  speak  to  me  like  dat.  I  tell  you,  I  should  not  care 
ten  all  de  vorld  took  me  for  a  tief,  if  you  should  tink  me 
ein  honest  man. — I  lofe  you  every  day  more  and  more." 

"That  is  my  intention,"  said  Esther.  "And  I  will  never 
again  say  anything  to  distress  you,  my  pet  elephant,  for  yovi 
are  grown  as  artless  as  a  baby.  Bless  me,  you  old  rascal,  you 
have  nev6r  known  any  innocence ;  the  alloM^ance  bestowed  on 
YOU  when  you  came  into  the  world  was  bound  to  come  to  the 
top  some  day;  but  it  was  buried  so  deep  that  it  is  only  now 
reappearing  at  the  age  of  sixty-six.  Fished  up  by  love's 
barbed  hook. — This  phenomenon  is  seen  in  old  men. 

"And  this  is  why  I  have  learned  to  love  you,  you  are  young 
— so  young !  No  one  but  I  would  ever  have  known  this, 
Frederic — I  alone.  For  you  were  a  banker  at  fifteen;  even 
at  college  you  must  have  lent  your  school-fellows  one  marble 
on  condition  of  their  returning  two." 

Seeing  him  laugh,  she  sprang  on  to  his  knee. 

"Well,  you  must  do  as  you  please !  Bless  me !  plunder 
the  men — go  ahead,  and  I  will  help.  Men  are  not  worth  lov- 
ing; Napoleon  killed  them  off  like  flies.  Whether  they  pay 
taxes  to  you  or  to  the  Government,  what  difference  does  it 
make  to  them?  You  don't  make  love  over  the  budget,  and 
on  my  honor ! — go  ahead,  I  have  thought  it  over,  and  you 
are  right.  Shear  the  sheep !  you  will  find  it  in  the  gospel  ac- 
cording to  Beranger. 

"Now,  kiss  your  Esther. — I  say,  you  will  give  that  poor 
Val-Noble  all  the  furniture  in  the  Eue  Taitbout?     And  to- 


r 


288  A  COrRTESAN'S  LIFE 

morrow  I  wish  3^ou  would  give  her  fifty  thousand  francs — it 
would  look  handsome,  my  duck.  You  see,  you  killed  Falleix ; 
people  are  beginning  to  cry  out  upon  you,  and  this  liberality 
will  look  Babylonian — all  the  women  will  talk  about  it !  Oh  ! 
there  will  be  no  one  in  Paris  so  grand,  so  noble  as  you;  and 
as  the  world  is  constituted,  Falleix  will  be  forgotten.  So, 
after  all,  it  will  be  money  deposited  at  interest." 

"You  are  right,  mein  anchel ;  you  know  the  vorld,"  he  re- 
plied.    "You  shall  be  mein  adfiser."' 

"Well,  you  see,"  said  Esther,  "how  I  study  my  man's  in- 
terest, his  position  and  honor. — Go  at  once  and  bring  those 
fifty  thousand  francs." 

She  wanted  to  get  rid  of  Monsieur  de  Xucingen  so  as  to 
get  a  stockbroker  to  sell  the  bond  that  very  afternoon. 

"But  vy  dis  minute?"  asked  he. 

"Bless  me,  my  sweetheart,  you  must  give  it  to  her  in  a 
little  satin  box  wrapped  round  a  fan.  You  must  say,  'Here, 
madame,  is  a  fan  which  I  hope  may  be  to  your  taste.' — You 
are  supposed  to  be  a  Turearet,  and  you  will  become  a 
Beaujon." 

"Charming,  charming!"  cried  the  Baron.  "I  shall  be  so 
clever  henceforth. — Yes,  I  shall  repeat  your  vorts." 

Just  as  Esther  had  sat  do\vn,  tired  with  the  eifort  of  playing 
her  part,  Europe  came  in. 

"Madame,"  said  she,  "here  is  a  messenger  sent  from  the 
Quai  Malaquais  by  Celestin,  M.  Lucien's  servant " 

"Bring  him  in — no,  I  will  go  into  the  ante-room." 

"He  has  a  letter  for  you,  madame,  from  Celestin." 

Esther  rushed  into  the  ante-room,  looked  at  the  messenger, 
and  saw  that  he  looked  like  the  genuine  thing. 

"Tell  him  to  come  down,"  said  Esther,  in  a  feeble  voice, 
and  dropping  into  a  chair  after  reading  the  letter.  "Lucien 
means  to  kill  himself,"  she  added  in  a  whisper  to  Europe. 
"No,  take  the  letter  up  to  him." 

Carlos  Herrera,  still  in  bis  disguise  as  a  bagman,  came 
dovmstairs  at  once,  and  keenly  scrutinized  the  messenger  on 
seeing  a  stranger  in  the  ante-room. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  J>  28J> 

"You  said  there  was  no  one  here/"  said  he  in  a  whisper  to 
Europe. 

And  with  an  excess  of  prudence,  after  looking  at  the  mes- 
senger, he  went  straight  into  the  drawing-room.  Trompe-la- 
Mort  did  not  know  that  for  some  time  past  the  famous  con- 
stable of  the  detective  force  who  had  arrested  him  at  the 
Maison  Vauquer  had  a  rival,  who,  it  was  supposed,  would  re- 
place him.     This  rival  was  the  messenger. 

"They  are  right,"  said  the  sham  messenger  to  Contenson, 
who  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  street.  "The  man  you 
describe  is  in  the  house ;  but  he  is  not  a  Spaniard,  and  I  will 
burn  my  hand  off  if  there  is  not  a  bird  for  our  net  under  that 
priest's  gown." 

"He  is  no  more  a  priest  than  he  is  a  Spaniard,"  said  Con- 
tenson. 

"I  am  sure  of  that,"  said  the  detective. 

"Oh,  if  only  we  were  right !"  said  Contenson. 

Lucien  had  been  away  for  two  days,  and  advantage  had 
been  taken  of  his  absence  to  lay  this  snare,  but  he  returned 
this  evening,  and  the  courtesan's  anxieties  were  allayed.  Next 
morning,  at  the  hour  when  Esther,  having  taken  a  bath,  was 
getting  into  bed  again,  Madame  du  Val-Noble  arrived. 

"I  have  the  two  pills !"  said  her  friend. 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Esther,  raising  herself  with  her  pretty 
elbow  buried  in  a  pillow  trimmed  with  lace. 

Madame  du  Val-Noble  held  out  to  her  what  looked  like 
two  black  currants. 

The  Baron  had  given  Esther  a  pair  of  greyhounds  of 
famous  pedigree,  which  will  be  always  known  by  the  name 
of  the  great  contemporary  poet  who  made  them  fashionable; 
and  Esther,  proud  of  owning  them,  had  called  them  by  the 
names  of  their  parents,  Romeo  and  Juliet.  No  need  here  to 
describe  the  whiteness  and  grace  of  these  beasts,  trained  for 
the  drawing-room,  with  manners  suggestive  of  English  pro- 
priety. Esther  called  Eomeo ;  Eomeo  ran  up  on  legs  so 
supple  and  thin,  so  strong  and  sinewy,  that  they  seemed  like 


290  A  COURTESAN'S   LIFE 

steel  springs,  and  looked  up  at  his  mistress.  Esther,  to  at- 
tract his  attention,  pretended  to  throw  one  of  the  pills. 

"He  is  doomed  by  his  name  to  die  thus,"  said  she,  as  she 
threw  the  pill,  which  Komeo  crushed  between  his  teeth. 

The  dog  made  no  sound;  he  rolled  over,  and  was  stark 
dead.  It  was  all  over  while  Esther  spoke  these  words  of 
epitaph. 

"Good  God !"  shrieked  Madame  du  Val-Noble. 

"You  have  a  cab  waiting.  Carry  away  the  departed 
Romeo,"  said  Esther.  "His  death  would  make  a  commotion 
here.  I  have  given  him  to  you,  and  you  have  lost  him — 
advertise  for  him.  Make  haste;  you  will  have  your  fifty 
thousand  francs  this  evening." 

She  spoke  so  calmly,  so  entirely  with  the  cold  indifference 
of  a  courtesan,  that  Madame  du  Yal-Xoble  exclaimed: 

"You  are  the  Queen  of  us  all !" 

"Come  early,  and  look  very  well " 

At  five  o'clock  Esther  dressed  herself  as  a  bride.  She  put 
on  her  lace  dress  over  white  satin,  she  had  a  white  sash,  white 
satin  shoes,  and  a  scarf  of  English  point  lace  over  her  beau- 
tiful shoulders.  In  her  hair  she  placed  white  camellia  flow- 
ers, the  simple  ornament  of  an  innocent  girl.  On  her  bosom 
lay  a  pearl  necklace  worth  thirty  thousand  francs,  a  gift  from 
Nucingen. 

Though  she  was  dressed  by  six,  she  refused  to  see  anybody, 
even  the  banker.  Europe  knew  that  Lucien  was  to  be  ad- 
mitted to  her  room.  Lucien  came  at  about  seven,  and  Europe 
managed  to  get  him  up  to  her  mistress  without  anybody 
knowing  of  his  arrival. 

Lucien,  as  he  looked  at  her,  said  to  himself,  "Why  not 
go  and  live  with  her  at  Rnbempre,  far  from  the  world,  and 
never  see  Paris  again  ?  I  have  an  earnest  of  five  years  of  her 
life,  and  the  dear  creature  is  one  of  those  who  never  belie 
themselves !  Where  can  I  find  such  another  perfect  master- 
piece ?" 

"My  dear,,  you  whom  I  have  made  my  God,"  said  Esther, 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  291 

kneeling  down  on  a  cushion  in  front  of  Lucien,  "give  me 
your  blessing." 

Lucien  tried  to  raise  her  and  kiss  her,  saying,  "What  is  this 
jest,  my  dear  love  ?"  And  he  would  have  put  his  arm  round 
her,  but  she  freed  herself  with  a  gesture  as  much  of  respect  as 
of  horror. 

"I  am  no  longer  worthy  of  you,  Lucien,"  said  she,  letting 
the  tears  rise  to  her  eyes.  "I  implore  you,  give  me  your  bless- 
ing, and  swear  to  me  that  you  will  found  two  beds  at  the 
Hotel -Dieu — for,  as  to  prayers  in  church,  God  will  never  for- 
give me  unless  I  pray  myself. 

"I  have  loved  you  too  well,  my  dear.  Tell  me  that  I  made 
you  happy,  and  that  you  will  sometimes  think  of  me. — Tell 
me  that !" 

Lucien  saw  that  Esther  was  solemnly  in  earnest,  and  he 
sat  thinking. 

"You  mean  to  kill  yourself,"  said  he  at  last,  in  a  tone  of 
voice  that  revealed  deep  reflection. 

"No,"  said  she.  "But  to-day,  my  dear,  the  woman  dies, 
the  pure,  chaste,  and  loving  woman  who  once  was  yours. — 
And  I  am  very  much  afraid  that  I  shall  die  of  grief." 

"Poor  child,"  said  Lucien,  "wait !  I  have  worked  hard 
these  two  days.     I  have  succeeded  in  seeing  Clotilde " 

"Always  Clotilde !"  cried  Esther,  in  a  tone  of  concen- 
trated rage. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "we  have  written  to  each  other. — On  Tues- 
day morning  she  is  to  set  out  for  Italy,  but  I  shall  meet  her  on 
the  road  for  an  interview  at  Fontainebleau." 

"Bless  me !  what  is  it  that  you  men  want  for  wives  ? 
Wooden  laths  ?"  cried  poor  Esther.  "If  I  had  seven  or  eight 
millions,  would  you  not  marry  me — come  now?" 

"Child !  I  was  going  to  say  that  if  all  is  over  for  me,  I  Avill 
have  no  wife  but  you." 

Esther  bent  her  head  to  hide  her  sudden  pallor  and  the 
tears  she  wiped  away. 

"You  love  me?"  said  she.  looking  at  Lucien  with  the  deep- 
est melancholy.     "Well,  that  is  my  sufficient  blessing. — Do 


292  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

not  compromise  yourself.  Go  away  by  the  side  door,  and 
come  in  to  the  drawing-room  through  the  ante-room.  Kiss 
me  on  the  forehead." 

She  threw  her  arms  round  Lucien,  clasped  him  to  her  heart 
with  frenzy,  and  said  again: 

"Go,  only  go — or  I  must  live." 

When  the  doomed  woman  appeared  in  the  drawing-room, 
there  was  a  cry  of  admiration.  Esther's  eyes  expressed  in- 
finitude in  which  the  soul  sank  as  it  looked  into  them.  Her 
blue-black  and  beautiful  hair  set  off  the  camellias.  In  short, 
this  exquisite  creature  achieved  all  the  effects  she  had  in- 
tended. She  had  no  rival.  She  looked  like  the  supreme 
expression  of  that  unbridled  luxury  which  surrounded  her 
in  every  form.  Then  she  was  brilliantly  witty.  She  ruled 
the  orgy  with  the  cold,  calm  power  that  Habeneck  displays 
when  conducting  at  the  Conservatoire,  at  those  concerts  where 
the  first  musicians  in  Europe  rise  to  the  sublime  in  interpret- 
ing Mozart  and  Beethoven. 

But  she  observed  with  terror  that  Nucingen  ate  little,  drank 
nothing,  and  was  quite  the  master  of  the  house. 

By  midnight  everybody  was  crazy.  The  glasses  were 
broken  that  they  might  never  be  used  again;  two  of  the 
Chinese  curtains  were  torn ;  Bixiou  was  drunk,  for  the  second 
time  in  his  life.  ISTo  one  could  keep  his  feet,  the  women  were 
asleep  on  the  sofas,  and  the  guests  were  incapable  of  carrying 
out  the  practical  joke  they  had  planned  of  escorting  Esther 
and  Nucingen  to  the  bedroom,  standing  in  two  lines  with 
candles  in  their  hands,  and  singing  Buona  sera  from  the 
Barher  of  Seville. 

Nucingen  simply  gave  Esther  his  hand.  Bixiou,  who  saw 
them,  though  tipsy,  was  still  able  to  say,  like  Eivarol,  on  the 
occasion  of  the  Due  de  Richelieu's  last  marriage,  "The  police 
must  be  warned ;  there  is  mischief  brewing  here." 

The  jester  thought  he  was  jesting;  he  was  a  prophet. 

Monsieur  de  Xucingen  did  not  go  home  till  Monday  at 
about  noon.     But  at  one  o'clock  his  broker  informed  him 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  293 

that  Mademoiselle  Esther  van  Bogseck  had  sold  the  bond 
bearing  thirty  thousand  francs  interest  on  Friday  last,  and 
had  just  received  the  money. 

"But,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  Derville's  head-clerk  called  on 
me  just  as  I  was  settling  this  transfer ;  and  after  seeing  Made- 
moiselle Esther's  real  names,  he  told  me  she  had  come  into  a 
fortune  of  seven  millions." 

"Pooh !" 

"Yes;  she  is  the  only  heir  to  the  old  bill-discounter  Gob- 
seek. — Derville  will  verify  the  facts.  If  your  mistress' 
mother  was  the  handsome  Dutch  woman,  la  Bellei^Hollandaise, 
as  they  called  her,  she  comes  in  for "  ~ " 

"I  know  dat  she  is,"  cried  the  banker.  "She  tolt  me  all 
her  life.     I  shall  write  ein  vort  to  Derville." 

The  Baron  sat  down  at  his  desk,  wrote  a  line  to  Derville, 
and  sent  it  by  one  of  his  servants.  Then,  after  going  to 
the  Bourse,  he  went  back  to  Esther's  house  at  about  three 
o'clock. 

"Madame  forbade  our  waking  her  on  any  pretence  what- 
ever.    She  is  in  bed — asleep " 

"Ach  der  Teufel !"  said  the  Baron.  "But,  Europe,  she 
shall  not  be  angry  to  be  tolt  that  she  is  fery,  fery  rich.  She 
shall  inherit  seven  millions.  Old  Gobseck  is  deat,  and  your 
mis'ess  is  his  sole  heir,  for  her  moter  vas  Gobseck's  own  niece ; 
and  besides,  he  shall  hafe  left  a  vill.  I  could  never  hafe 
tought  that  a  millionaire  like  dat  man  should  hafe  left  Esther 
in  misery !" 

"Ah,  ha !  Then  your  reign  is  over,  old  pantaloon !"  said 
Europe,  looking  at  the  Baron  with  an  effrontery  worthy  of 
one  of  Moliere's  waiting-maids.  "Shooh !  you  old  Alsatian 
crow  !  She  loves  you  as  we  love  the  plague  !  Heavens  above 
us !  Millions ! — Why,  she  may  marry  her  lover ;  won't  she  be 
glad !" 

And  Prudence  Servien  left  the  Baron  simply  thunder- 
stricken,  to  be  the  first  to  announce  to  her  mistress  this  great 
stroke  of  luck.  The  old  man,  intoxicated  with  superhuman 
enjoyment,  and  believing  himself  happy,  had  just  received  a 


294  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

cold  shower-bath  on  his  passion  at  the  moment  when  it  had 
risen  to  the  intensest  white  heat. 

"She  vas  deceiving  me !"  cried  he,  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 
"Yes,  she  vas  cheating  me.  Oh,  Esther,  my  life !  Vas  a 
fool  hafe  I  been !  Can  such  flowers  ever  bloom  for  de  old 
men !  I  can  buy  all  vat  I  vill  except  only  yout ! — Ach  Gott, 
ach  Gott !  Vat  shall  I  do  ?  Vat  shall  become  of  me  ? — She 
is  right,  dat  cruel  Europe.  Esther,  if  she  is  rich,  shall  not 
be  for  me.  Shall  I  go  hank  myself?  Vat  is  life  midout  de 
divine  flame  of  joy  dat  I  have  known  ?  Mein  Gott,  mein 
Gott !" 

The  old  man  snatched  off  the  false  hair  he  had  combed 
in  with  his  gray  hairs  these  three  months  past. 

A  piercing  shriek  from  Europe  made  Nucingen  quail  to 
his  very  bowels.  The  poor  banker  rose  and  walked  upstairs 
on  legs  that  were  drunk  with  the  bowl  of  disenchantment  he 
had  just  swallowed  to  the  dregs,  for  nothing  is  more  intoxi- 
cating than  the  wine  of  disaster. 

At  the  door  of  her  room  he  could  see  Esther  stiff  on  her 
bed,  blue  with  poison — dead  1 

He  went  up  to  the  bed  and  dropped  on  his  knees. 

"You  are  right !  She  tolt  me  so ! — She  is  dead — of 
me '' 

Paccard,  Asie,  every  one  hurried  in.  It  was  a  spectacle,  a 
shock,  but  not  despair.  Every  one  had  their  doubts.  The 
Baron  was  a  banker  again.  A  suspicion  crossed  his  mind, 
and  he  was  so  imprudent  as  to  ask  what  had  become  of  the 
seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs,  the  price  of  the 
bond.  Paccard,  Asie,  and  Europe  looked  at  each  other  so 
strangely  that  Monsieur  de  jSTucingen  left  the  house  at  once, 
believing  that  robbery  and  murder  had  been  committed. 
Europe,  detecting  a  packet  of  a  soft  consistency,  betraying 
the  contents  to  be  banknotes,  under  her  mistress'  pillow,  pro- 
ceeded at  once  to  "lay  her  out,"  as  she  said. 

"Go  and  tell  monsieur,  Asie ! — Oh,  to  die  before  she  knew 
that  she  had  seven  millions !  Gobseck  was  poor  madame's 
uncle !"  said  she. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  295 

Europe's  stratagem  was  understood  by  Paccard.  As  soon 
as  Asie's  back  was  turned,  Europe  opened  the  packet,  on 
which  the  hapless  courtesan  had  written :  "To  be  delivered  to 
Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempre." 

Seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand-franc  notes  shone  in  the 
eyes  of  Prudence  Servien,  who  exclaimed: 

"Won't  we  be  happy  and  honest  for  the  rest  of  our 
lives !" 

Paccard  made  no  objection.  His  instincts  as  a  thief  were 
stronger  than  his  attachment  to  Trompe-la-Mort. 

"Durut  is  dead,"  he  said  at  length;  "my  shoulder  is  still 
a  proof  before  letters.  Let  us  be  off  together;  divide  the 
money,  so  as  not  to  have  all  our  eggs  in  one  basket,  and  then 
get  married." 

"But  where  can  we  hide?"  said  Prudence. 

"In  Paris,"  replied  Paccard. 

Prudence  and  Paccard  went  off  at  once,  with  the  prompti- 
tude of  two  honest  folks  transformed  into  robbers. 

"My  child,''  said  Carlos  to  Asie,  as  soon  as  she  had  said 
three  words,  "find  some  letter  of  Esther's  while  I  write  a 
formal  will,  and  then  take  the  copy  and  the  letter  to  Girard ; 
but  he  must  be  quick.  The  will  must  be  under  Esther's 
pillow  before  the  lawyers  affix  the  seals  here." 

And  he  wrote  out  the  following  will : — 

"Never  having  loved  any  one  on  earth  but  Monsieur  Lucien 
Chardon  de  Riibempre,  and  being  resolved  to  end  my  life 
rather  than  relapse  into  vice  and  the  life  of  infamy  from 
which  he  rescued  me,  I  give  and  bequeath  to  the  said  Lucien 
Chardon  de  Rubempre  all  I  may  possess  at  the  time  of  my 
decease,  on  condition  of  his  founding  a  mass  in  perpetuity 
in  the  parish  church  of  Saint-Roch  for  the  repose  of  her  who 
gave  him  her  all,  to  her  last  thought. 

"Esther  Gobseck." 

"That  is  quite  in  her  style,"  thought  Trompe-la-Mort. 


296  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

By  seven  in  the  evening  this  document,  written  and  sealed, 
was  placed  by  Asie  under  Esther's  bolster. 

"■Jacques,"  said  she,  flying  upstairs  again,  "just  as  I  came 
out  of  the  room  justice  marched  in '' 

"The  justice  of  the  peace  you  mean?" 

"Xo,  my  son.  The  justice  of  the  peace  was  there,  but 
he  had  gendarmes  with  him.  The  public  prosecutor  and 
the  examining  judge  are  there  too,  and  the  doors  are  guarded." 

"This  death  has  made  a  stir  very  quickly,"  remarked 
Jacques  Collin. 

"Ay,  and  Paccard  and  Europe  have  vanished ;  I  am  afraid 
they  may  have  scared  away  the  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand francs,"  said  Asie. 

"The  low  villains !"  said  Collin.  "They  have  done  for 
us  by  their  swindling  game." 

Human  justice,  and  Paris  justice,  that  is  to  say,  the  most 
suspicious,  keenest,  cleverest,  and  omniscient  type  of  justice 
— too  clever,  indeed,  for  it  insists  on  interpreting  the  law  at 
every  turn — was  at  last  on  the  point  of  laying  its  hand  on  the 
agents  of  this  horrible  intrigue. 

The  Baron  de  Nucingen,  on  recognizing  the  evidence  of 
poison,  and  failing  to  find  his  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand francs,  imagined  that  one  of  two  persons  whom  he 
greatly  disliked — either  Paccard  or  Europe — was  guilty  of 
the  crime.  In  his  first  impulse  of  rage  he  flew  to  the  prefec- 
ture of  police.  This  was  a  stroke  of  a  bell  that  called  up  all 
Corentin's  men.  The  otficials  of  the  prefecture,  the  legal 
profession,  the  chief  of  the  police,  the  justice  of  the  peace,  the 
examining  judge, — all  were  astir.  By  nine  in  the  evening 
tlu'ee  medical  men  were  called  in  to  perform  an  autopsy  on 
poor  Esther,  and  inquiries  were  set  on  foot. 

Trompe-la-Mort,  warned  by  Asie,  exclaimed: 

"No  one  knows  that  I  am  here ;  I  may  take  an  airing."  He 
pulled  himself  up  by  the  skylight  of  his  garret,  and  with 
marvelous  agility  was  standing  in  an  instant  on  the  roof, 
whence  he  surveyed  the  surroundings  with  the  coolness  of  a 
tiler. 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  297 

"Good !"  said  he,  discerning  a  garden  five  houses  off  in 
the  Eue  de  Provence,  "that  will  just  do  for  me." 

"You  are  paid  out,  Trompe-la-Mort,"  said  Contenson,  sud- 
denly emerging  from  behind  a  stack  of  chimneys.  "You  may 
explain  to  Monsieur  Camusot  what  mass  you  were  performing 
on  the  roof,  Monsieur  I'Abbe,  and,  above  all,  why  you  were 
escaping " 

"I  have  enemies  in  Spain,"  said  Carlos  Herrera. 

"We  can  go  there  by  way  of  your  attic,"  said  Conten- 
son. 

The  sham  Spaniard  pretended  to  yield;  but,  having  set 
his  back  and  feet  across  the  opening  of  the  skylight,  he 
gripped  Contenson  and  flung  him  off  with  such  violence  that 
the  spy  fell  in  the  gutter  of  the  Eue  Saint-Georges. 

Contenson  was  dead  on  his  field  of  honor;  Jacques  Collin 
quietly  dropped  into  the  room  again  and  went  to  bed. 

"Give  me  something  that  will  make  me  very  sick  without 
killing  me,"  said  he  to  Asie ;  "for  I  must  be  at  death's  door, 
to  avoid  answering  inquisitive  persons.  Do  not  be  alarmed 
— I  am  a  priest,  and  shall  still  be  a  priest.  I  have  just  got 
rid  of  a  man  in  the  most  natural  way,  who  might  have  un- 
masked me." 

At  seven  o'clock  on  the  previous  evening  Lucien  had  set 
out  in  his  own  chaise  to  post  to  Fontainebleau  with  a  pass- 
port he  had  procured  in  the  morning;  he  slept  in  the  nearest 
inn  on  the  Xemours  side.  At  six  in  the  morning  he  went 
alone,  and  on  foot,  through  the  forest  as  far  as  Bouron. 

"This,"  said  he  to  himself,  as  he  sat  down  on  one  of  the 
rocks  that  command  the  fine  landscape  of  Bouron,  "is  the 
fatal  spot  where  ISTapoleon  dreamed  of  making  a  final  tre- 
mendous effort  on  the  eve  of  his  abdication." 

At  daybreak  he  heard  the  approach  of  post-horses  and  saw 
a  britska  drive  past,  in  which  sat  the  servants  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Lenoncourt-Chaulieu,  and  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu's 
maid. 

"Here  they  are !"  thought  Lucien.     "Now,  to  play  the  farce 


298  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

well,  and  I  shall  be  saved ! — The  Due  de  G-randlieu's  son-in- 
law  in  spite  of  him !" 

It  was  an  hour  later  when  he  heard  the  peculiar  sound  made 
by  a  superior  traveling  carriage,  as  the  berline  came  near  in 
which  the  two  ladies  were  sitting.  They  had  given  orders  that 
the  drag  should  be  put  on  for  the  hill  down  to  Bouron,  and 
the  man-servant  behind  the  carriage  had  it  stopped. 

At  this  instant  Lucien  came  forward. 

"Clotilde !"  said  he,  tapping  on  the  window. 

"No,"  said  the  young  Duchess  to  her  friend,  "he  shall  not 
get  into  the  carriage,  and  we  will  not  be  alone  with  him,  my 
dear.  Speak  to  him  for  the  last  time — to  that  I  consent ;  but 
on  the  road,  where  we  will  walk  on,  and  where  Baptiste  can 
escort  us. — The  morning  is  fine,  we  are  well  wrapped  up,  and 
have  no  fear  of  the  cold.     The  carriage  can  follow." 

The  two  women  got  out. 

"Baptiste,"  said  the  Duchess,  "the  post-boy  can  follow 
slowly;  we  want  to  walk  a  little  way.  You  must  keep  near 
us." 

Madeleine  de  Mortsauf  took  Clotilde  by  the  arm  and  al- 
lowed Lucien  to  talk.  The}^  thus  walked  on  as  far  as  the 
village  of  Grez.  It  was  now  eight  o'clock,  and  there  Clotilde 
dismissed  Lucien. 

"Well,  mj''  friend,"  said  she,  closing  this  long  interview 
with  much  dignity,  "I  never  shall  mapry  any  one  but  you. 
I  would  rather  believe  in  you  than  in  other  men,  in  my  father 
and  mother — no  woman  ever  gave  greater  proof  of  attach- 
ment surely? — Now,  try  to  counteract  the  fatal  prejudices 
which  militate  against  you." 

Just  then  the  tramp  of  galloping  horses  was  heard,  and, 
to  the  great  amazement  of  the  ladies,  a  force  of  gendarmes 
surrounded  the  little  party. 

"What  do  you  want?"  said  Lucien,  with  the  arrogance 
of  a  dandy. 

"Are  you  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Eubempre  ?"  asked  the  public 
prosecutor  of  Fontainebleau. 

"Yes,  monsieur." 


WHAT  LOVE  COSTS  299      / 

'TTou  will  spend  to-night  in  La  Force,"  said  he.  "I  have 
a  warrant  for  the  detention  of  your  person." 

"Who  are  these  ladies?"  asked  the  sergeant. 

"To  be  sure. — Excuse  me,  ladies — ^your  passports?  For 
Monsieur  Lucien,  as  I  am  instructed,  had  acquaintances 
among  the  fair  sex,  who  for  him  would "  — -i 

"Do  you  take  the  Duchesse  de  Lenoncourt-Chaulieu  for  a  / 
prostitute?"  said  Madeleine,  with  a  magnificent  flash  at  the  / 
public  prosecutor.  ' 

"You  are  handsome  enough  to  excuse  the  error,"  the  magis- 
trate very  cleverly  retorted. 

"Baptiste,  produce  the  passports,"  said  the  young  Duchess 
with  a  smile. 

"And  with  what  crime  is  ]\Ionsieur  de  Rubempre  charged  ?" 
asked  Clotilde,  whom  the  Duchess  wished  to  see  safe  in  the 
carriage. 

"Of  being  accessory  to  a  robbery  and  murder,"  replied  the 
sergeant  of  gendarmes. 

Baptiste  lifted  Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu  into  the  chaise 
in  a  dead  faint. 

By  midnight  Lucien  was  entering  La  Force,  a  prison  sit- 
uated between  the  Rue  Payenne  and  the  Rue  des  Ballets, 
w^here  he  was  placed  in  solitary  confinement. 

The  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera  was  also  there,  having  been  ar- 
rested that  evening. 


THE  END  OF   EVIL  WAYS 

At  six  o'clock  next  morning  two  vehicles  with  postilions, 
prison  vans,  called  in  the  vigorous  language  of  the  populace 
pamers  a  saladc,  came  out  of  La  Force  to  drive  to  the  Con- 
ciergerie  by  the  Palais  de  Justice. 

Few  loafers  in  Paris  can  have  failed  to  meet  this  prison 
cell  on  wheels;  still,  though  most  stories  are  written  for 
Parisian  readers,  strangers  will  no  doubt  be  satisfied  to  have 
a  description  of  this  formidable  machine.  Who  knows? 
The  police  of  Eussia,  Germany,  or  Austria,  the  legal  body  of 
countries  to  whom  the  "Salad-basket"  is  an  unknown  machine, 
may  profit  by  it;  and  in  several  foreign  countries  there  can 
be  no  doubt  that  an  imitation  of  this  vehicle  would  be  a  boon 
to  prisoners. 

This  ignominious  conveyance,  yellow-bodied,  on  high 
wheels,  and  lined  with  sheet-iron,  is  divided  into  two  com- 
partments. In  front  is  a  box-seat,  with  leather  cushions 
and  an  apron.  This  is  the  free  seat  of  the  van,  and  accom- 
modates a  sheriff's  officer  and  a  gendarme.  A  strong  iron 
trellis,  reaching  to  the  top,  separates  this  sort  of  cab-front 
from  the  back  division,  in  which  there  are  two  wooden  seats 
placed  sideways,  as  in  an  omnibus,  on  which  the  prisoners  sit. 
They  get  in  by  a  step  behind  and  a  door,  with  no  window. 
The  nickname  of  Salad-basket  arose  from  the  fact  that  the 
vehicle  was  originally  made  entirely  of  lattice,  and  the 
prisoners  were  shaken  in  it  just  as  a  salad  is  shaken  to 
dry  it. 

For  further  security,  in  case  of  accident,  a  mounted  gen- 
darme follows  the  machine,  especially  when  it  conveys 
criminals  condemned  to  death  to  the  place  of  execution.  Thus 
escape  is  impossible.  The  vehicle,  lined  with  sheet-iron,  is 
impervious  to  any  tool.    The  prisoners,  carefully  searched 

(301) 


302  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

when  they  are  arrested  or  locked  up,  can  have  nothing  but 
watch-springs,  perhaps,  to  file  through  bars,  and  useless  on  a 
smooth  surface. 

So  the  panier  a  salade,  improved  by  the  genius  of  the  Paris 
police,  became  the  model  for  the  prison  omnibus  (known  in 
London  as  "Black  Maria")  in  which  convicts  are  transported 
to  the  hulks,  instead  of  the  horrible  tumbril  which  formerly 
disgraced  civilization,  though  Man  on  Lescaut  has  made  it 
famous. 

The  accused  are,  in  the  first  instance,  despatched  in  the 
prison  van  from  the  various  prisons  in  Paris  to  the  Palais 
de  Justice,  to  be  questioned  by  the  examining  judge.  This, 
in  prison  slang,  is  called  "going  up  for  examination."  Then 
the  accused  are  again  conveyed  from  prison  to  the  Court 
to  be  sentenced  when  their  case  is  only  a  misdemeanor;  or  if, 
in  legal  parlance,  the  case  is  one  for  the  Upper  Court,  they 
are  transferred  from  the  house  of  detention  to  the  Concierge- 
rie,  the  "Newgate"  of  the  Department  of  the  Seine. 

Finally,  the  prison  van  carries  the  criminal  condemned  to 
death  from  Bicetre  to  the  Barriere  Saint-Jacques,  where  ex- 
ecutions are  carried  out,  and  have  been  ever  since  the  Revolu- 
tion of  July.  Thanks  to  philanthropic  interference,  the  poor 
wretches  no  longer  have  to  face  the  horrors  of  the  drive  from 
the  Conciergerie  to  the  Place  de  G-reve  in  a  cart  exactly  like 
that  used  by  wood  merchants.  This  cart  is  no  longer  used  but 
to  bring  the  body  back  from  the  scaffold. 

Without  this  explanation  the  words  of  a  famous  convict 
to  his  accomplice,  "It  is  now  the  horse's  business !"  as  he  got 
into  the  van,  would  be  unintelligible.  It  is  impossible  to 
be  carried  to  execution  more  comfortably  than  in  Paris  now- 
adays. 

At  this  moment  the  two  vans,  setting  out  at  such  an  early 
hour,  were  employed  on  the  unwonted  service  o.*  conveying 
two  accused  prisoners  from  the  jail  of  La  Force  to  the 
Conciergerie,  and  each  man  had  a  "Salad-basket"  to  him- 
self. 

Mne-tenths  of  my  readers,  ay,  and  nine-tenths  of  the  re- 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  303 

maining  tenth,  are  certainly  ignorant  of  the  vast  difference 
of  meaning  in  the  words  incriminated,  suspected,  accused, 
and  committed  for  trial — jail,  house  of  detention,  and  pen- 
itentiary ;  and  they  may  be  surprised  to  learn  here  that  it  in- 
volves all  our  criminal  procedure,  of  which  a  clear  and  brief 
outline  will  presently  be  sketched,  as  much  for  their  informa- 
tion as  for  the  elucidation  of  this  history.  However,  when 
it  is  said  that  the  first  van  contained  Jacques  Collin  and  the 
second  Lucien,  who  in  a  few  hours  had  fallen  from  the  sum- 
mit of  social  splendor  to  the  depths  of  a  prison  cell,  curiosity 
will  for  the  moment  be  satisfied. 

The  conduct  of  the  two  accomplices  was  characteristic; 
Lucien  de  Eubempre  shrank  back  to  avoid  the  gaze  of  the 
passers-by,  who  looked  at  the  grated  window  of  the  gloomy 
and  fateful  vehicle  on  its  road  along  the  Rue  Saint-Antoine 
and  the  Rue  du  Martroi  to  reach  the  quay  and  the  Arch  of 
Saint-Jean,  the  way,  at  that  time,  across  the  Place  de  I'Hotel 
de  Ville.  This  archway  now  forms  the  entrance  gate  to  the 
residence  of  the  Prefet  de  la  Seine  in  the  huge  municipal 
palace.  The  daring  convict,  on  the  contrary,  stuck  his  face 
against  the  barred  grating,  between  the  officer  and  the  gen- 
darme, who,  sure  of  their  van,  were  chatting  together. 

The  great  days  of'  July  1830,  and  the  tremendous  storm 
that  then  burst,  have  so  completely  wiped  out  the  memory 
of  all  previous  events,  and  politics  so  entirely  absorbed  the 
French  during  the  last  six  months  of  that  year,  that  no  one 
remembers — or  a  few  scarcely  remember — the  various  private, 
judicial,  and  financial  catastrophes,  strange  as  they  were, 
which,  forming  the  annual  food  of  Parisian  curiosity,  were 
not  lacking  during  the  first  six  months  of  the  year.  It  is,' 
therefore,  needful  to  mention  how  Paris  was,  for  the  moment, 
excited  by  the  news  of  the  arrest  of  a  Spanish  priest,  dis- 
covered in  a  courtesan's  house,  and  that  of  the  elegant  Lucien 
de  Rubempr6,  who  had  been  engaged  to  Mademoiselle  Clotilde 
de  Grandlieu,  taken  on  the  highroad  to  Italy,  close  to  the 
little  village  of  Grez.  Both  were  charged  as  being  concerned 
in  a  murder,  of  which  the  profits  were  stated  at  seven  millions 


304  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

of  francs;  and  for  some  days  the  scandal  of  this  trial  pre- 
ponderated over  the  absorbing  importance  of  the  last  elections 
held  under  Charles  X. 

In  the  first  place,  the  charge  had  been  based  on  an  applica- 
tion by  the  Baron  de  Xucingen ;  then,  Lucien's  apprehension, 
just  as  he  was  about  to  be  appointed  private  secretary  to  the 
Prime  Minister,  made  a  stir  in  the  very  highest  circles  of 
society.  In  every  drawing-room  in  Paris  more  than  one 
young  man  could  recollect  having  envied  Lucien  when  he  was 
honored  by  the  notice  of  the  beautiful  Duchesse  de  Maufri- 
gneuse;  and  every  woman  knew  that  he  was  the  favored 
attache  of  Madame  de  Serizy,  the  wife  of  one  of  the  Govern- 
ment bigwigs.  And  finally,  his  handsome  person  gave  him 
a  singular  notoriety  in  the  various  worlds  that  make  up  Paris 
— the  world  of  fashion,  the  financial  world,  the  world  of 
courtesans,  the  young  men's  world,  the  literary  world.  So  for 
two  days  past  all  Paris  had  been  talking  of  these  two  arrests. 
The  examining  judge  in  whose  hands  the  case  was  put  re- 
garded it  as  a  chance  for  promotion;  and,  to  proceed  with 
the  utmost  possible  rapidity,  he  had  given  orders  that  both  the 
accused  should  be  transferred  from  La  Force  to  the  Con- 
ciergerie  as  soon  as  Lucien  de  Eubempre  could  be  brought 
from  Fontainebleau. 

As  the  Abbe  Carlos  had  spent  but  twelve  hours  in  La  Force, 
and  Lucien  only  half  a  night,  it  is  useless  to  describe  that 
prison,  which  has  since  been  entirely  remodeled ;  and  as  to  the 
details  of  their  consignment,  it  would  be  only  a  repetition  of 
the  same  story  at  the  Conciergerie. 

But  before  setting  forth  the  terrible  drama  of  a  criminal 
inquiry,  it  is  indispensable,  as  I  have  said,  that  an  account 
should  be  given  of  the  ordinary  proceedings  in  a  case  of  this 
kind.  To  begin  with,  its  various  phases  will  be  better  under- 
stood at  home  and  abroad,  and,  besides,  those  who  are  igno- 
rant of  the  action  of  the  criminal  law,  as  conceived  of  by  the 
lawgivers  under  Napoleon,  will  appreciate  it  better.  This  is 
all  the  more  important  as,  at  this  moment,  this  great  and 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  305 

noble  institution  is  in  danger  of  destruction  by  the  system 
known  as  penitentiary. 

A  crime  is  committed;  if  it  is  flagrant,  the  persons  in- 
criminated (inculpes)  are  taken  to  the  nearest  lock-up  and 
placed  in  the  cell  known  to  the  vulgar  as  the  Violon — perhaps 
because  they  make  a  noise  there,  shrieking  or  crying.  From 
thence  the  suspected  persons  {inculpes)  are  taken  before  the 
police  commissioner  or  magistrate,  who  holds  a  preliminary 
inquiry,  and  can  dismiss  the  case  if  there  is  any  mistake ; 
finally,  they  are  conveyed  to  the  Depot  of  the  Prefecture, 
where  the  police  detains  them  pending  the  convenience  'of  the 
public  prosecutor  and  the  examining  judge.  They,  being 
served  with  due  notice,  more  or  less  quickly,  accordiag  to  the 
gravity  of  the  case,  come  and  examine  the  prisoners  who  are 
still  provisionally  detained.  Having  due  regard  to  the  pre- 
sumptive evidence,  the  examining  judge  then  issues  a  warrant 
for  their  imprisonment,  and  sends  the  suspected  persons  to 
be  confined  in  a  jail.  There  are  three  such  jails  (Maisons 
d' Arret)  in  Paris — Sainte-Pelagie,  La  Force,  and  les  Made- 
lonnettes. 

Observe  the  word  inculpS,  incriminated,  or  suspected  of 
crime.  The  French  Code  has  created  three  essential  degrees 
of  criminality — inculpe,  first  degree  of  suspicion;  prevenu, 
under  examination;  accuse,  fully  committed  for  trial.  So 
long  as  the  warrant  for  committal  remains  unsigned,  the  sup- 
posed criminal  is  regarded  as  merely  under  suspicion,  inculpe 
of  the  crime  or  felony ;  when  the  warrant  has  been  issued,  he 
becomes  "the  accused"  (prevenu),  and  is  regarded  as  such 
so  long  as  the  inquiry  is  proceeding;  when  the  inquiry  is 
closed,  and  as  soon  as  the  Court  has  decided  that  the  accused 
is  to  be  committed  for  trial,  he  becomes  "the  prisoner  at  the 
bar"  (accuse)  as  soon  as  the  superior  Court,  at  the  instance 
of  the  public  prosecutor,  has  pronounced  that  the  charge  is  so 
far  proved  as  to  be  carried  to  the  Assizes. 

Thus,  persons  suspected  of  crime  go  through  three  differ- 
ent stages,  three  sif tings,  before  the  coming  up  for  trial  be- 
fore the  judges  of  the  upper  Court — the  High  Justice  of  the 
realm. 


306  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

At  the  first  stage,  innocent  persons  have  abundant  means 
of  exculpating  themselves — the  public,  the  town  watch,  the 
police.  At  the"  second  stage  they  appear  before  a  magistrate 
face  to  face  with  the  witnesses,  and  are  judged  by  a  tribunal 
in  Paris, or  by  the  Collective  Court  of  the  departments.  At  the 
third  stage  they  are  brought  before  a  bench  of  twelve  council- 
lors, and  in  case  of  any  error  or  informality  the  prisoner  com- 
mitted for  trial  at  the  Assizes  may  appeal  for  protection  to  the 
Supreme  Court.  The  jury  do  not  know  what  a  slap  in  the  face 
they  give  to  popular  authority,  to  administrative  and  judicial 
functionaries,  when  they  acquit  a  prisoner.  And  so,  in  my 
opinion,  it  is  hardly  possible  that  an  innocent  man  should 
ever  find  himself  at  the  bar  of  an  Assize  Court  in  Paris — I 
say  nothing  of  other  seats  of  justice. 

The  detenu  is  the  convict.  French  criminal  law  recognizes 
imprisonment  of  three  degrees,  corresponding  in  legal  distinc- 
tion to  these  three  degrees  of  suspicion,  inquiry,  and  con- 
viction. Mere  imprisonment  is  a  light  penalty  for  misde- 
meanor, but  detention  is  imprisonment  with  hard  labor,  a 
severe  and  sometimes  degrading  punishment.  Hence,  those 
persons  who  nowadays  are  in  favor  of  the  penitentiary  system 
would  upset  an  admirable  scheme  of  criminal  law  in  which  the 
lieimlties  are  judiciously  graduated,  and  they  will  end  by 
punishing  the  lightest  peccadilloes  as  severely  as  the  greatest 
crimes. 

The  reader  may  compare  in  the  Scenes  of  Political  Life 
(for  instance,  in  Une  Tmehreiise  affaire)  the  curious  differ- 
ences subsisting  between  the  criminal  law  of  Brumaire  in  the 
year  lY.,  and  that  of  the  Code  Napoleon  which  has  taken  its 
place. 

In  most  great  trials,  as  in  this  one,  the  suspected  persons 
are  at  once  examined  (and  from  inculpes  become  prevenus)  ; 
justice  immediately  issues  a  warrant  for  their  arrest  and  im- 
prisonment. In  point  of  fact,  in  most  of  such  cases  the 
criminals  have  either  fled,  or  have  been  instantly  apprehended. 
Indeed,  as  we  have  seen,  the  police,  which  is  but  an  instru- 
ment, and  the  officers  of  justice  had  descended  on  Esther's 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  307 

house  with  the  swiftness  of  a  thuuderbolt.  Even  if  there 
had  not  been  the  reasons  for  revenge  suggested  to  the  superior 
police  by  Corentin,  there  was  a  robbery  to  be  investigated 
of  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  from  the  Baron 
de  Nucingen. 

Just  as  the  first  prison  van,  conveying  Jacques  Collin, 
reached  the  archway  of  Saint-Jean — a  narrow,  dark  passage, 
some  block  ahead  compelled  the  postilion  to  stop  under  the 
vault.  The  prisoner's  eyes  shone  like  carbuncles  through 
the  grating,  in  spite  of  his  aspect  as  of  a  dying  man,  which,  the 
day  before,  had  led  the  governor  of  La  Force  to  believe  that 
the  doctor  must  be  called  in.  These  flaming  eyes,  free  to  rove 
at  this  moment,  for  neither  the  officer  nor  the  gendarme 
looked  round  at  their  "customer,"  spoke  so  plain  a  language 
that  a  clever'  examining  judge,  M.  Popinot,  for  instance, 
would  have  identified  the  man  convicted  for  sacrilege. 

In  fact,  ever  since  the  "salad-basket"  had  turned  out  of 
the  gate  of  La  Force,  Jacques  Collin  had  studied  everything 
on  his  way.  Notwithstanding  the  pace  they  had  made,  he 
took  in  the  houses  with  an  eager  and  comprehensive  glance, 
from  the  ground  floor  to  the  attics.  He  saw  and  noted  every 
passer-by.  God  Himself  is  not  more  clear-seeing  as  to  the 
means  and  ends  of  His  creatures  than  this  man  in  observing 
the  slightest  differences  in  the  medley  of  things  and  people. 
Armed  with  hope,  as  the  last  of  the  Horatii  was  armed  with 
his  sword,  he  expected  help.  To  anybody  but  this  Machiavelli 
of  the  hulks,  this  hope  would  have  seemed  so  absolutely  im- 
possible to  realize  that  he  would  have  gone  on  mechanically, 
as  all  guilty  men  do.  Not  one  of  them  ever  dreams  of  re- 
sistance when  he  finds  himself  in  the  position  to  which  justice 
and  the  Paris  police  bring  suspected  persons,  especially  those 
who,  like  Collin  and  Lucien,  are  in  solitaty  confinement. 

It  is  impossible  to  conceive  of  the  sudden  isolation  in  which 
a  suspected  criminal  is  placed.  The  gendarmes  who  appre- 
hend him,  the  commissioner  who  questions  him,  those  who 
take  him  to  prison,  the  warders  who  lead  him  to  his  cell — 


308  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

which  is  actually  called  a  cachot,  a  dungeon  or  hiding-place, 
those  again  who  take  him  by  the  arms  to  put  him  into  a 
prison-van — every  being  that  comes  near  him  from  the  mo- 
ment of  his  arrest  is  either  speechless,  or  takes  note  of  all 
he  says,  to  be  repeated  to  the  police  or  to  the  judge.  This 
total  severance,  so  simply  effected  between  the  prisoner  and 
the  world,  gives  rise  to  a  complete  overthrow  of  his  faculties 
and  a  terrible  prostration  of  mind,  especially  when  the  man 
has  not  been  familiarized  by  his  antecedents  with  the  pro- 
cesses of  justice.  The  duel  between  the  judge  and  the 
criminal  is  all  the  more  appalling  because  justice  has  on 
its  side  the  dumbness  of  blank  walls  and  the  incorruptible 
coldness  of  its  agents. 

But  Jacques  Collin,  or  Carlos  Herrera — it  will  be  necessarv 
to  speak  of  him  by  one  or  the  other  of  these  names  according 
to  the  circumstances  of  the  case — had  long  been  familiar  with 
the  methods  of  the  police,  of  the  jail,  and  of  justice.  This 
colossus  of  cunning  and  corruption  had  employed  all  his 
powers  of  mind,  and  all  the  resources  of  mimicry,  to  affect 
the  surprise  and  anility  of  an  innocent  man,  while  giving  the 
lawyers  the  spectacle  of  his  sufferings.  As  has  been  told,  Asia, 
that  skilled  Loeusta,  had  given  him  a  dose  of  poison  so  quali- 
fied as  to  produce  the  effects  of  a  dreadful  illness. 

Thus  Monsieur  Camusot,  the  police  commissioner,  and 
the  public  prosecutor  had  been  baffled  in  their  proceedings 
and  inquiries  by  the  effects  apparently  of  an  apoplectic 
attack. 

"He  has  taken  poison !"  cried  Monsieur  Camusot,  horrified 
by  the  sufferings  of  the  self-styled  priest  when  he  had  been 
carried  do'wn  from  the  attic  writhing  in  convulsions. 

Four  constables  had  with  great  difficulty  brought  the  Abbe 
Carlos  downstairs  to  Esther's  room,  where  the  lawyers  and 
the  gendarmes  were  assembled. 

"That  was  the  best  thing  he  could  do  if  he  should  be 
guilty,"  replied  the  public  prosecutor. 

"Do  you  believe  that  he  is  ill?"  the  police  commissioner 
asked. 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  309 

The  police  is  always  incredulous. 

The  three  lawyers  had  spoken,  as  may  be  imagined,  in  a 
whisper ;  but  Jacques  Collin  had  guessed  from  their  faces  the 
subject  under  discussion,  and  had  taken  advantage  of  it  to 
make  the  first  brief  examination  which  is  gone  through  on 
arrest  absolutely  impossible  and  useless;  he  had  stammered 
out  sentences  in  which  Spanish  and  French  were  so  mingled 
as  to  make  nonsense. 

At  La  Force  this  farce  had  been  all  the  more  successful  in 
the  first  instance  because  the  head  of  the  "safety"  force — an 
abbreviation  of  the  title  "Head  of  the  brigade  of  the  guardians 
of  public  safety" — Bibi-Lupin,  who  had  long  since  taken 
Jacques  Collin  into  custody  at  Madame  Vauquer's  boarding- 
house,  had  been  sent  on  special  business  into  the  country,  and 
his  deputy  was  a  man  who  hoped  to  succeed  him,  but  to  whom 
the  convict  was  unknown. 

Bibi-Lupin,  himself  formerly  a  convict,  and  a  comrade  of 
Jacques  Collin's  on  the  hulks,  was  his  personal  enemy.  This 
hostility  had  its  rise  in  quarrels  in  which  Jacques  Collin  had 
always  got  the  upper  hand,  and  in  the  supremacy  over  his 
fellow-prisoners  which  Trompe-la-Mort  had  always  assumed. 
And  then,  for  ten  years  now,  Jacques  Collin  had  been  the 
ruling  providence  of  released  convicts  in  Paris,  their  head, 
their  adviser,  and  their  banker,  and  consequently  Bibi-Lupin's 
antagonist. 

Thus,  though  placed  in  solitary  confinement,  he  trusted  to 
the  intelligent  and  unreserved  devotion  of  Asie,  his  right 
hand,  and  perhaps,  too,  to  Paccard,  his  left  hand,  who,  as  he 
flattered  himself,  might  return  to  his  allegiance  when  once 
that  thrifty  subaltern  had  safely  bestowed  the  seven  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs  that  he  had  stolen.  This  was  the 
reason  why  his  attention  had  been  so  superhumanly  alert  all 
along  the  road.  And,  strange  to  say !  his  hopes  were  about 
to  be  amply  fulfilled. 

The  two  solid  side-walls  of  the  archway  were  covered,  to 
a  height  of  six  feet,  with  a  permanent  dado  of  mud  formed 
of  the  splashes  from  the  gutter ;  for,  in  those  days,  the  foot 


310  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

passenger  had  no  protection  from  the  constant  tratiic  of 
vehicles  and  from  what  was  called  the  kicking  of  the  carts,  but 
curbstones  placed  upright  at  intervals,  and  much  ground 
away  by  the  naves  of  the  wheels.  More  than  once  a  heavy 
truck  had  crushed  a  heedless  foot-passenger  under  that  arch- 
way. Such  indeed  Paris  remained  in  many  districts  and  till 
long  after.  This  circumstance  may  give  some  idea  of  the 
narrowness  of  the  Saint-Jean  gate  and  the  ease  with  which  it 
could  be  blocked.  If  a  cab  should  be  coming  through  from 
the  Place  de  Greve  while  a  costermonger-woman  was  pushing 
her  little  truck  of  apples  in  from  the  Eue  du  Martroi,  a  third 
vehicle  of  any  kind  produced  difficulties.  The  foot-passen- 
gers fled  in  alarm,  seeking  a  corner-stone  to  protect  them  from 
the  old-fashioned  axles,  which  had  attained  such  prominence 
that  a  law  was  passed  at  last  to  reduce  their  length. 

When  the  prison  van  came  in,  this  passage  was  blocked  by 
a  market  woman  with  a  costermonger's  vegetable  cart — one  of 
a  type  which  is  all  the  more  strange  because  specimens  still 
exist  in  Paris  in  spite  of  the  increasing  number  of  green- 
grocers' shops.  She  was  so  thoroughly  a  street  hawker  that 
a  Sergeant  de  Ville,  if  that  particular  class  of  police  had  been 
then  in  existence,  would  have  allowed  her  to  ply  her  trade 
without  inspecting  her  permit,  in  spite  of  a  sinister  counte- 
nance that  reeked  of  crime.  Her  head,  wrapped  in  a  cheap 
and  ragged  checked  cotton  kerchief,  was  horrid  with  rebellious 
locks  of  hair,  like  the  bristles  of  a  wild  boar.  Her  red  and 
wrinkled  neck  was  disgusting,  and  her  little  shawl  failed  en- 
tirely to  conceal  a  chest  tanned  brown  by  the  sun,  dust,  and 
mud.  Her  gown  was  patchwork;  her  shoes  gaped  as  though 
they  were  grinning  at  a  face  as  full  of  holes  as  the  gov\Ti.  And 
what  an  apron !  a  plaster  would  have  been  less  filthy.  This 
moving  and  fetid  rag  must  have  stunk  in  the  nostrils  of 
dainty  folks  ten  yards  away.  Those  hands  had  gleaned  a 
hundred  harvest  fields.  Either  the  woman  had  returned  from 
a  German  witches'  Sabbath,  or  she  had  come  out  of  a  men- 
dicity asylum.  But  what  eyes !  what  audacious  intelligence, 
what  repressed  vitality  when  the  magnetic  flash  of  her  look 
and  of  Jacques  Collin's  met  to  exchange  a  thought ! 


END  OF  FiVIT.  WAYR  311 

"Get  out  of  the  wa}-,  you  old  vermin-trap !"  cried  the  pos- 
tilion in  harsh  tones. 

"Mind  you  don't  crush  me,  you  hangman's  apprentice!'' 
she  retorted.     "Your  cartful  is  not  worth  as  much  as  mine." 

And  by  trying  to  squeeze  in  between  two  corner-stones  to 
make  way,  the  hawker  managed  to  block  the  passage  long 
enough  to  achieve  her  purpose. 

"Oh !  Asie !"  said  Jacques  Collin  to  himself,  at  once  recog- 
nizing his  accomplice.     "Then  all  is  well." 

The  post-boy  was  still  exchanging  amenities  with  Asie, 
and  vehicles  were  collecting  in  the  Rue  du  Martroi. 

"Look  out,  there — Pecaire  fermati.  Souni  la — Vedrem" 
shrieked  old  Asie,  with  the  Eed-Indian  intonations  peculiar 
to  these  female  costermongers,  who  disfigure  their  words  in 
such  a  way  that  they  are  transformed  in  a  sort  onomatopoeia 
incomprehensible  to  any  but  Parisians. 

In  the  confusion  in  the  alle}'',  and  among  the  outcries  of  all 
the  waiting  drivers,  no  one  paid  any  heed  to  this  wild  yell, 
which  might  have  been  the  woman's  usual  cry.  But  this  gib- 
berish, intelligible  to  Jacques  Collin,  sent  to  his  ear  in  a  mon- 
grel language  of  their  own — a  mixture  of  bad  Italian  and 
Provencal — this  important  news: 

"Your  poor  boy  is  nabbed.  I  am  here  to  keep  an  eye  on 
you.    We  shall  meet  again."' 

In  the  midst  of  his  joy  at  having  thus  triumphed  over  the 
police,  for  he  hoped  to  be  able  to  keep  up  communications, 
Jacques  Collin  had  a  blow  which  might  have  killed  any  other 
man. 

"Lucien  in  custody !"  said  he  to  himself. 

He  almost  fainted.  This  news  was  to  him  more  terrible 
than  the  rejection  of  his  appeal  could  have  been  if  he  had 
been  condemned  to  death. 

jSTow  that  both  the  prison  vans  are  rolling  along  the  Quai, 
the  interest  of  this  story  requires  that  I  should  add  a  few 
words  about  the  Conciergerie,  while  they  are  making  their 
way  thither.  The  Conciergerie,  a  historical  name — a  terrible 
name — a  still  more  terrible  thing,  is  inseparable  ffom  the 


312  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Eevolutions  of  France,  and  especially  those  of  Paris.  It  has 
known  most  of  our  great  criminals.  But  if  it  is  the  most  in- 
teresting of  the  buildings  of  Paris,  it  is  also  the  least  known — 
least  known  to  persons  of  the  upper  classes;  still,  in  spite  of 
the  interest  of  this  historical  digression,  it  should  be  as  short 
as  the  journey  of  the  prison  vans. 

What  Parisian,  what  foreigner,  or  what  provincial  can 
have  failed  to  observe  the  gloomy  and  mysterious  features  of 
the  Quai  des  Lunettes — a  structure  of  black  walls  flanked  by 
three  round  towers  with  conical  roofs,  two  of  them  almost 
touching  each  other?  This  quay,  beginning  at  the  Pont  du 
Change,  ends  at  the  Pont  Xeuf .  A  square  tower — the  Clock 
Tower,  or  Tour  de  I'Horloge,  whence  the  signal  was  given 
for  the  massacre  of  Saint-Bartholomew — a  tower  almost  as 
tall  as  that  of  Saint-Jacques  de  la  Boucherie,  shows  where  the 
Palais  de  Justice  stands,  and  forms  the  corner  of  the  quay. 

These  four  towers  and  these  walls  are  shrouded  in  the  black 
winding  sheet  which,  in  Paris,  falls  on  every  facade  to  the 
north.  About  half-way  along  the  quay  at  a  gloomy  archway 
we  see  the  beginning  of  the  private  houses  which  were  built 
in  consequence  of  the  construction  of  the  Pont  Neuf  in  the 
reign  of  Henri  lY.  The  Place  Ro3'ale  was  a  replica  of  the 
Place  Dauphine.  The  style  of  architecture  is  the  same,  of 
brick  with  binding  courses  of  hewn  stone.  This  archway  and 
the  Eue  de  Harlay  are  the  limit  line  of  the  Palais  de  Justice 
on  the  west.  Formerly  the  Prefecture  de  Police,  once  the 
residence  of  the  Presidents  of  the  Parlement,  was  a  depend- 
ency of  the  Palace.  The  Court  of  Exchequer  and  Court  of 
Subsidies  completed  the  Supreme  Court  of  Justice,  the  Sov- 
ereign's Court.  It  will  be  seen  that  before  the  Eevolution  the 
Palace  enjoyed  that  isolation  which  now  again  is  aimed  at. 

This  block,  this  island  of  residences  and  official  buildings, 
in  their  midst  the  Sainte-Chapelle — that  priceless  jewel  of 
Saint-Louis'  chaplet — is  the  sanctuary  of  Paris,  its  holy  place, 
its  sacred  ark. 

For  one  thing,  this  island  was  at  first  the  whole  of  the  city, 
for  the  plot  now  forming  the  Place  Dauphine  was  a  meadow 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  313 

attached  to  the  Eoyal  demesne,  where  stood  a  stamping  mill 
for  coining  money.  Hence  the  name  of  Eue  de  la  Monnaie — 
the  street  leading  to  the  Pont  Neuf .  Hence,  too,  the  name  of 
one  of  the  round  towers — the  middle  one — called  the  Toiir 
d' Argent,  which  would  seem  to  show  that  money  was  origi- 
nally coined  there.  The  famous  mill,  to  be  seen  marked  in  old 
maps  of  Paris,  may  very  likely  be  more  recent  than  the  time 
when  money  was  coined  in  the  Palace  itself,  and  was  erected, 
no  doubt,  for  the  practice  of  improved  methods  in  the  art  of 
coining. 

The  first  tower,  hardly  detached  from  the  Tour  d' Argent, 
is  the  Tour  de  Montgomery ;  the  third,  and  smallest,  but  the 
best  preserved  of  the  three,  for  it  still  has  its  battlements,  is 
the  Tour  Bonbec. 

The  Sainte-Chapelle  and  its  four  towers — counting  the 
clock  tower  as  one — clearly  define  the  precincts ;  or,  as  a  sur- 
veyor would  say,  the  perimeter  of  the  Palace,  as  it  was  from 
the  time  of  the  Merovingians  till  the  accession  of  the  first 
race  of  Valois;  but  to  us,  as  a  result  of  certain  alterations, 
this  Palace  is  more  especially  representative  of  the  period  of 
Saint-Louis. 

Charles  V.  was  the  first  to  give  the  Palace  up  to  the  Parle- 
ment,  then  a  new  institution,  and  went  to  reside  in  the  famous 
Hotel  Saint-Pol,  under  the  protection  of  the  Bastille.  The 
Palais  des  Tournelles  was  subsequently  erected  backing  on 
to  the  Hotel  Saint-Pol.  Thus,  under  the  later  Valois,  the 
kings  came  back  from  the  Bastille  to  the  Louvre,  which  had 
been  their  first  stronghold. 

The  original  residence  of  the  French  kings,  the  Palace  of 
Saint-Louis,  which  has  preserved  the  designation  of  Le  Palais, 
to  indicate  the  Palace  of  palaces,  is  entirely  buried  under  the 
Palais  de  Justice;  it  forms  the  cellars,  for  it  was  built,  like 
the  Cathedral,  in  the  Seine,  and  with  such  care  that  the  high- 
est floods  in  the  river  scarcely  cover  the  lowest  steps.  The 
Quai  de  I'Horloge  covers,  twenty  feet  below  the  surface,  its 
foundations  of  a  thousand  years  old.  Carriages  run  on  the 
level  of  the  capitals  of  the  solid  columns  under  these  towers, 


314  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

and  formerly  their  appearance  must  have  harmonized  with 
the  elegajice  of  the  Palace,  and  have  had  a  picturesque  effect 
over  the  water,  since  to  this  day  those  towers  vie  in  height 
with  the  loftiest  buildings  in  Paris. 

As  we  look  down  on  this  vast  capital  from  the  lantern  of 
the  Pantheon,  the  Palace  with  the  Sainte-Chapelle  is  still  the 
most  monumental  of  many  monumental  buildings.  The  home 
of  our  kings,  over  which  you  tread  as  you  pace  the  immense 
hall  known  as  the  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus,  was  a  miracle  of 
architecture ;  and  it  is  so  still  to  the  intelligent  eye  of  the  poet 
who  happens  to  study  it  when  inspecting  the  Conciergerie. 
Alas !  for  the  Conciergerie  has  invaded  the  home  of  kings. 
One's  heart  bleeds  to  see  the  way  in  which  cells,  cupboards, 
corridors,  warders'  rooms,  and  halls  devoid  of  light  or  air, 
have  been  hewn  out  of  that  beautiful  structure  in  which  By- 
zantine, Gothic,  and  Romanesque — the  three  phases  of  ancient 
art — were  harmonized  in  one  building  by  the  architecture  of 
the  twelfth  century. 

This  palace  is  a  monumental  history  of  France  in  the 
earliest  times,  just  as  Blois  is  that  of  a  later  period.  As  at 
Blois  you  may  admire  in  a  single  courtyard  the  chateau  of 
the  Counts  of  Blois,  that  of  Louis  XII.,  that  of  Francis  L, 
that  of  Gaston ;  so  at  the  Conciergerie  you  will  find  within  the 
same  precincts  the  stamp  of  the  early  races,  and,  in  the  Sainte- 
Chapelle,  the  architecture  of  Saint-Louis. 

Municipal  Council  (to  you  I  speak),  if  you  bestow  millions, 
get  a  poet  or  two  to  assist  your  architects  if  you  wish  to  save 
the  cradle  of  Paris,  the  cradle  of  kings,  while  endeavoring 
to  endow  Paris  and  the  Supreme  Court  with  a  palace  worthy 
of  France.  It  is  a  matter  for  study  for  some  years  before 
beginning  the  work.  Another  new  prison  or  two  like  that  of 
La  Roquette,  and  the  palace  of  Saint-Louis  will  be  safe. 

In  these  days  many  grievances  afflict  this  vast  mass  of 
buildings,  buried  under  the  Palais  de  Justice  and  the  quay, 
like  some  antediluvian  creature  in  the  soil  of  Montmartre; 
but  the  worst  affliction  is  that  it  is  the  Conciergerie.  This 
epigram  is  intelligible.     In  the  early  days  of  the  monarchy, 


END  OP  EVIL  WAYS  315 

noble  criminals — for  the  villeins  (a  word  signifying  the  peas- 
antry in  French  and  English  alike)  and  the  citizens  came  un- 
der the  jurisdiction  of  the  municipality  or  of  their  liege  lord 
— the  lords  of  the  greater  or  the  lesser  fiefs,  were  brought 
before  the  king  and  guarded  in  the  Conciergerie.  And  as 
these  noble  criminals  were  few,  the  Conciergerie  was  large 
enough  for  the  king's  prisoners. 

It  is  difficult  now  to  be  quite  certain  of  the  exact  site  of  the 
original  Conciergerie.  However,  the  kitchens  built  by  Saint- 
Louis  still  exist,  forming  what  is  now  called  the  mousetrap; 
and  it  is  probable  that  the  original  Conciergerie  was  situated 
in  the  place  where,  till  1825,  the  Conciergerie  prisons  of  the 
Parlement  were  still  in  use,  under  the  archway  to  the  right 
of  the  wide  outside  steps  leading  to  the  supreme  Court.  From 
thence,  until  1825,  condeumed  criminals  were  taken  to  execu- 
tion. From  that  gate  came  forth  all  the  great  criminals,  all 
the  victims  of  political  feeling — the  Marechale  d'Ancre  and 
the  Queen  of  France,  Semblanc^ay  and  Malesherbes,  Damien 
and  Danton,  Desrues  and  Castaing.  Fouquier-Tinville's 
private  room,  like  that  of  the  public  prosecutor  now,  was  so 
placed  that  he  could  see  the  procession  of  carts  containing 
the  persons  whom  the  Revolutionary  tril)unal  had  sentenced 
to  death.  Thus  this  man,  who  had  become  a  sword,  could  give 
a  last  glance  at  each  batch. 

After  1825,  when  Monsieur  de  Peyronnet  was  Minister,  a 
great  change  was  made  in  the  Palais.  The  old  entrance  to 
the  Conciergerie,  where  the  ceremonies  of  registering  the 
criminal  and  of  the  last  toilet  were  performed,  was  closed  and 
removed  to  where  it  now  is,  between  the  Tour  de  I'Horloge 
and  the  Tour  de  Montgomery,  in  an  inner  court  entered 
through  an  arched  passage.  To  the  left  is  the  "mousetrap," 
to  the  right  the  prison  gates.  The  "salad-baskets"  can  drive 
into  this  irregularly  shaped  courtyard,  can  stand  there  and 
turn  with  ease,  and  in  case  of  a  riot  find  some  protection 
behind  the  strong  grating  of  the  gate  under  the  arch; 
whereas  they  formerly  had  no  room  to  move  in  the  narrow 
space  dividing  the  outside  steps  from  the  right  wing  of  the 
palace. 


316  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

In  our  day  the  Conciergerie,  hardly  large  enough  for  the 
prisoners  committed  for  trial — room  being  needed  for  about 
three  hundred,  men  and  women — no  longer  receives  either 
suspected  or  remanded  criminals  excepting  in  rare  cases,  as, 
for  instance,  in  these  of  Jacques  Collin  and  Lucien.  All  who 
are  imprisoned  there  are  committed  for  trial  before  the  Bench. 
As  an  exception  criminals  of  the  higher  ranks  are  allowed  to 
sojourn  there,  since,  being  already  disgraced  by  a  sentence 
in  open  court,  their  punishment  would  be  too  severe  if  they 
served  their  term  of  imprisonment  at  Melun  or  at  Poissy. 
Ouvrard  preferred  to  be  imprisoned  at  the  Conciergerie 
rather  than  at  Sainte-Pelagie.  At  this  moment  of  writing 
Lehon  the  notary  and  the  Prince  de  Bergues  are  serving  their 
time  there  by  an  exercise  of  leniency  which,  though  arbitrary, 
is  humane. 

As  a  rule,  suspected  criminals,  whether  they  are  to  be  sub- 
jected to  a  preliminary  examination — to  "go  up,"  in  the 
slang  of  the  Courts — or  to  appear  before  the  magistrate  of 
the  lower  Court,  are  transferred  in  prison  vans  direct  to  the 
"mousetraps." 

The  "mousetraps,"  opposite  the  gate,  consist  of  a  certain 
number  of  old  cells  constructed  in  the  old  kitchens  of  Saint- 
Louis'  building,  whither  prisoners  not  yet  fully  committed 
are  brought  to  await  the  hour  when  the  Court  sits,  or  the 
arrival  of  the  examining  judge.  The  "mousetraps"  end  on 
the  north  at  the  quay,  on  the  east  at  the  headquarters  of  the 
Municipal  Guard,  on  the  west  at  the  courtyard  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie, and  on  the  south  they  adjoin  a  large  vaulted  hall, 
formerly,  no  doubt,  the  banqueting-room,  but  at  present  dis- 
used. 

Above  the  "mousetraps"  is  an  inner  guardroom  with  a  win- 
dow commanding  the  court  of  the  Conciergerie;  this  is  used 
by  the  gendarmerie  of  the  department,  and  the  stairs  lead  up 
to  it.  When  the  hour  of  trial  strikes  the  sheriffs  call  the  roll 
of  the  prisoners,  the  gendarmes  go  down,  one  for  each  pris- 
oner, and  each  gendarme  takes  a  criminal  by  the  arm;  and 
thus,  in  couples,  they  mount  the  stairs,  cross  the  guardroom. 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  317 

and  are  led  along  the  passages  to  a  room  contiguous  to  the 
hall  where  sits  the  famous  sixth  chamber  of  the  law  (whose 
functions  are  those  of  an  English  county  court).  The  same 
road  is  trodden  by  the  prisoners  committed  for  trial  on  their 
way  to  and  from  the  Conciergerie  and  the  Assize  Court. 

In  the  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus,  between  the  door  into  the  first 
court  of  the  inferior  class  and  the  steps  leading  to  the  sixth, 
the  visitor  must  observe  the  first  time  he  goes  there  a  door- 
way without  a  door  or  any  architectural  adornment,  a  square 
hole  of  the  meanest  type.  Through  this  the  judges  and  bar- 
risters find  their  way  into  the  passages,  into  the  guardhouse, 
down  into  the  prison  cells,  and  to  the  entrance  to  the  Con- 
ciergerie. 

The  private  chambers  of  all  the  examining  judges  are  on 
different  floors  in  this  part  of  the  building.  They  are  reached 
by  squalid  staircases,  a  maze  in  which  those  to  whom  the  place 
is  unfamiliar  inevitably  lose  themselves.  The  windows  of 
some  look  out  on  the  quay,  others  on  the  yard  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie. In  1830  a  few  of  these  rooms  commanded  the  Eue 
de  la  Barillerie. 

Thus,  when  a  prison  van  turns  to  the  left  in  this  yard,  it 
has  brought  prisoners  to  be  examined  to  the  "mousetrap" ; 
when  it  turns  to  the  right,  it  conveys  prisoners  committed  for 
trial,  to  the  Conciergerie.  Now  it  was  to  the  right  that  the 
vehicle  turned  which  conveyed  Jacques  Collin  to  set  him  down 
at  the  prison  gate.  Nothing  can  be  more  sinister.  Prisoners 
and  visitors  see  two  barred  gates  of  wrought  iron,  with  a 
space  between  them  of  about  six  feet.  These  are  never  both 
opened  at  once,  and  through  them  everything  is  so  cautiously 
scrutinized  that  persons  who  have  a  visiting  ticket  pass  the 
permit  through  the  bars  before  the  key  grinds  in  the  lock. 
The  examining  judges,  or  even  the  supreme  judges,  are  not 
admitted  without  being  identified.  Imagine,  then,  the  chances 
of  communications  or  escape ! — The  governor  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie would  smile  with  an  expression  on  his  lips  that 
would  freeze  the  mere  suggestion  in  the  most  daring  of 
romancers  who  defy  probability. 


318  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

111  all  the  auualij  oi'  the  Coueiergerie  no  escape  has  been 
known  but  that  of  Lavalette;  but  the  certain  fact  of  august 
connivance,  now  amply  proven,  if  it  does  not  detract  from 
the  wife's  devotion,  certainly  diminished  the  risk  of  failure. 

The  most  ardent  lover  of  the  marvelous,  judging  on  the 
spot  of  the  nature  of  the  difficulties,  must  admit  that  at  all 
times  the  obstacles  must  have  been,  as  they  still  are,  insur- 
mountable. No  words  can  do  justice  to  the  strength  of  the 
walls  and  vaulting;  they  must  be  seen. 

Though  the  pavement  of  the  yard  is  on  a  lower  level  than 
that  of  the  quay,  in  crossing  this  Barbican  you  go  down  sev- 
eral steps  to  enter  an  immense  vaulted  hall,  with  solid  walls 
graced  with  magnificent  columns.  This  hall  abuts  on  the 
Tour  de  Montgomery — which  is  now  part  of  the  governor's 
residence — and  on  the  Tour  d' Argent,  serving  as  a  dormitory 
for  the  warders,  or  porters,  or  turnkeys,  as  you  may  prefer 
to  call  them.  The  number  of  the  officials  is  less  than  might  be 
supposed ;  there  are  but  twenty ;  their  sleeping  quarters,  like 
their  beds,  are  in  no  respect  different  from  those  of  the 
pistoles  or  private  cells.  The  name  pistole  originated,  no 
doubt,  in  the  fact  that  prisoners  formerly  paid  a  pistole 
(about  ten  francs)  a  week  for  this  accommodation,  its  bare- 
ness resembling  that  of  the  empty  garrets  in  which  great  men 
in  poverty  begin  their  career  in  Paris. 

To  the  left,  in  the  vast  entrance  hall,  sits  the  Governor  of 
the  Conciergerie,  in  a  sort  of  office  constructed  of  glass  panes, 
where  he  and  his  clerk  keep  the  prison-registers.  Here  the 
prisoners  for  examination,  or  committed  for  trial,  have  their 
names  entered  with  a  full  description,  and  are  then  searched. 
The  question  of  their  lodging  is  also  settled,  this  depending 
on  the  prisoner's  means. 

Opposite  the  entrance  to  this  hall  there  is  a  glass  door. 
This  opens  into  a  parlor  where  the  prisoner's  relations  and  his 
counsel  may  speak  with  him  across  a  double  grating  of  wood. 
The  parlor  window  opens  on  to  the  prison  yard,  the  inner 
court  where  prisoners  committed  for  trial  take  air  and  exer- 
cise at  certain  fixed  hours. 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  31P 

This  large  hall,  only  lighted  hy  the  doubtful  daylight  that 
comes  in  through  the  gates — for  the  single  window  to  the 
front  court  is  screened  by  the  glass  office  built  out  in  front  of 
it — has  an  atmosphere  and  a  gloom  that  strike  the  eye  in 
perfect  harmony  with  the  pictures  that  force  themselves  on 
the  imagination.  Its  aspect  is  all  the  more  sinister  because, 
parallel  with  the  Tours  d' Argent  and  de  Montgomery,  you 
discover  those  mysterious  vaulted  and  overwhelming  crypts 
which  lead  to  the  cells  occupied  by  the  Queen  and  Madame 
Elizabeth,  and  to  those  known  as  the  secret  cells.  This  maze 
of  masonry,  after  being  of  old  the  scene  of  royal  festivities, 
is  now  the  basement  of  the  Palais  de  Justice. 

Between  1825  and  1833  the  operation  of  the  last  toilet  was 
performed  in  this  enormous  hall,  between  a  large  stove  which 
heats  it  and  the  inner  gate.  It  is  impossible  even  now  to 
tread  without  a  shudder  on  the  paved  floor  that  has  received 
the  shock  and  the  confidences  of  so  many  last  glances. 

The  apparently  dying  victim  on  this  occasion  could  not 
get  out  of  the  horrible  vehicle  without  the  assistance  of  two 
gendarmes,  who  took  him  under  the  arms  to  support  hin\ 
and  led  him  half  unconscious  into  the  office.  Thus  dragged 
along,  the  dying  man  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven  in  such  a  way 
as  to  suggest  a  resemblance  to  the  Saviour  taken  down  from 
the  Cross.  And  certainly  in  no  picture  does  Jesus  present  a 
more  cadaverous  or  tortured  countenance  than  this  of  the 
sham  Spaniard ;  he  looked  ready  to  breathe  his  last  sigh.  As 
soon  as  he  was  seated  in  the  office,  he  repeated  in  a  weak  voice 
the  speech  he  had  made  to  everybody  since  he  was  arrested : 

"I  appeal  to  His  Excellency  the  Spanish  Ambassador." 

"You  can  say  that  to  the  examining  judge,"  replied  the 
Governor. 

"Oh  Lord !"  said  Jacques  Collin,  with  a  sigh.  "But  cannot 
I  have  a  breviary  ?  Shall  I  never  be  allowed  to  see  a  doctor  ? 
I  have  not  two  hours  to  live.'' 

As  Carlos  Herrera  was  to  be  placed  in  close  confinement 
in  the  secret  cells,  it  was  needless  to  ask  him  whether  he 


320  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

claimed  the  benefits  of  the  pistole  (as  above  described),  that 
is  to  say,  the  right  of  having  one  of  the  rooms  where  the  pris- 
oner enjoj^s  such  comfort  as  the  law  permits.  These  rooms 
are  on  the  other  side  of  the  prison-yard,  of  which  mention  will 
presently  be  made.  The  sheriff  and  the  clerk  calmly  carried 
out  the  formalities  of  the  consignment  to  prison. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Jacques  Collin  to  the  Governor  in  broken 
French,  "I  am,  as  you  see,  a  dying  man.  Pray,  if  you  can, 
tell  that  examining  judge  as  soon  as  possible  that  I  crave  as  a 
favor  what  a  criminal  must  most  dread,  namely,  to  be  brought 
before  him  as  soon  as  he  arrives ;  for  my  sufferings  are  really 
unbearable,  and  as  soon  as  I  see  him  the  mistake  will  be 
cleared  up " 

As  an  universal  rule  every  criminal  talks  of  a  mistake. 
Go  to  the  hulks  and  question  the  convicts ;  they  are  almost  all 
victims  of  a  miscarriage  of  justice.  So  this  speech  raises  a 
faint  smile  in  all  who  come  into  contact  with  the  suspected, 
accused,  or  condemned  criminal. 

"I  will  mention  your  request  to  the  examining  judge,"  re- 
plied the  Governor. 

"And  I  shall  bless  you,  monsieur !"  replied  the  false  Abbe, 
raising  his  eyes  to  heaven. 

As  soon  as  his  name  was  entered  on  the  calendar,  Carlos 
Herrera,  supported  under  each  arm  by  a  man  of  the  municipal 
guard,  and  followed  by  a  turnkey  instructed  by  the  Governor 
as  to  the  number  of  the  cell  in  which  the  prisoner  was  to  be 
placed,  was  led  through  the  subterranean  maze  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie  into  a  perfectly  wholesome  room,  whatever  certain 
philanthropists  may  say  to  the  contrary,  but  cut  off  from  all 
possible  communication  with  the  outer  world. 

As  soon  as  he  was  removed,  the  warders,  the  Governor,  and 
his  clerk  looked  at  each  other  as  though  asking  each  other's 
opinion,  and  suspicion  was  legible  on  every  face;  but  at  the 
appearance  of  the  second  man  in  custody  the  spectators  re- 
lapsed into  their  usual  doubting  frame  of  mind,  concealed 
under  an  air  of  indifference.  Only  in  very  extraordinary  cases 
do  the  functionaries  of  the  Conciergerie  feel  any  curiosity; 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  321 

the  prisoners  are  no  more  to  them  than  a  barber's  customers 
are  to  him.  Hence  all  the  formalities  which  appall  the  imagi- 
nation are  carried  out  with  less  fuss  than  a  money  transaction 
at  a  banker's,  and  often  with  greater  civility. 

Lucien's  expression  was  that  of  a  dejected  criminal.  He 
submitted  to  everything,  and  obeyed  like  a  machine.  All  the 
way  from  Fontainebleau  the  poet  had  been  facing  his  ruin, 
and  telling  himself  that  the  hour  of  expiation  had  tolled. 
Pale  and  exhausted,  knowing  nothing  of  what  had  happened 
at  Esther's  house  during  his  absence,  he  only  knew  that  he  was 
the  intimate  ally  of  an  escaped  convict,  a  situation  which  en- 
abled him  to  guess  at  disaster  worse  than  death.  When  his 
mind  could  command  a  thought,  it  was  that  of  suicide.  He 
must,  at  any  cost,  escape  the  ignominy  that  loomed  before  him 
like  the  phantasm  of  a  dreadful  dream. 

Jacques  Collin,  as  the  more  dangerous  of  the  two  culprits, 
was  placed  in  a  cell  of  solid  masonry,  deriving  its  light  from 
one  of  the  narrow  yards,  of  which  there  are  several  in  the 
interior  of  the  Palace,  in  the  wing  where  the  public  prose- 
cutor's chambers  are.  This  little  yard  is  the  airing-ground 
for  the  female  prisoners.  Lucien  was  taken  to  the  same  part 
of  the  building,  to  a  cell  adjoining  the  rooms  let  to  misde- 
meanants ;  for,  by  orders  from  the  examining  judge,  the  Gov- 
ernor treated  him  with  some  consideration. 

Persons  who  have  never  had  anything  to  do  with  the  action 
of  the  law  usually  have  the  darkest  notions  as  to  the  meaning 
of  solitary  or  secret  confinement.  Ideas  as  to  the  treatment  of 
criminals  have  not  yet  become  disentangled  from  the  old 
pictures  of  torture  chambers,  of  the  unhealthiness  of  a  prison, 
the  chill  of  stone  walls  sweating  tears,  the  coarseness  of  the 
jailers  and  of  the  food — inevitable  accessories  of  the  drama; 
but  it  is  not  unnecessary  to  explain  here  that  these  exaggera- 
tions exist  only  on  the  stage,  and  only  make  lawyers  and 
judges  smile,  as  well  as  those  who  visit  prisons  out  of  curi- 
osity, or  who  come  to  study  them. 

For  a  long  time,  no  doubt,  they  were  terrible.  In  the  days 
of  the  old  Parlement,  of  Louis  XIII.  and  Louis  XIV.,  the 


S22  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

accused  were,  no  doubt,  flung  peil-niell  into  a  low  room  under- 
neath the  old  gateway.  The  prisons  were  among  the  crimes 
of  1789,  and  it  is  enough  only  to  see  the  cells  where  the  Queen 
and  Madame  Elizabeth  were  incarcerated  to  conceive  a  horror 
of  old  judicial  proceedings. 

In  our  day,  though  philanthropy  has  brought  incalculable 
mischief  on  society,  it  has  produced  some  good  for  the  indi- 
vidual. It  is  to  Napoleon  that  we  owe  our  Criminal  Code ; 
and  this,  even  more  than  the  Civil  Code — which  still  urgently 
needs  reform  on  some  points — will  remain  one  of  the  greatest 
monuments  of  his  short  reign.  This  new  view  of  criminal 
law  put  an  end  to  a  perfect  abyss  of  misery.  Indeed,  it  may 
be  said  that,  apart  from  the  terrible  moral  torture  which  men 
of  the  better  classes  must  suffer  when  they  find  themselves  in 
the  power  of  the  law,  the  action  of  that  power  is  simple  and 
mild  to  a  degree  that  would  hardly  be  expected.  Suspected  or 
accused  criminals  are  certainly  not  lodged  as  if  they  were  at 
home ;  but  every  necessary  is  supplied  to  them  in  the  prisons 
of  Paris.  Besides,  the  burden  of  feelings  that  weighs  on  them 
deprives  the  details  of  daily  life  of  their  customary  value. 
It  is  never  the  body  that  suffers.  The  mind  is  in  such  a  phase 
of  violence  that  every  form  of  discomfort  or  of  brutal  treat- 
ment, if  such  there  were.  Mould  be  easily  endured  in  such  a 
frame  of  mind.  And  it  must  be  admitted  that  an  innocent 
man  is  quickly  released,  especially  in  Paris. 

So  Lucien,  on  entering  his  cell,  saw  an  exact  reproduction 
of  the  first  room  he  had  occupied  in  Paris  at  the  Hotel  Cluny. 
A  bed  to  compare  with  those  in  the  worst  furnished  apart- 
ments of  the  Quartier  Latin,  straw  chairs  with  the  bottoms 
out,  a  table  and  a  fcAV  utensils,  compose  the  furniture  of  such 
a  room,  in  which  two  accused  prisoners  are  not  unfrequently 
placed  together  when  they  are  quiet  in  their  ways,  and  their 
misdeeds  are  not  crimes  of  violence,  but  such  as  forgery  or 
bankruptcy. 

This  resemblance  between  his  starting-point,  in  the  days  of 
his  innocency,  and  his  goal,  the  lowest  depths  ot  degradation 
and  shame,  was  so  direct  an  appeal  to  his  last  chord  of  poetic 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  323 

feeling,  that  the  unhappy  fellow  melted  into  tears.  For  four 
hours  he  wept,  as  rigid  in  appearance  as  a  figure  of  stone, 
but  enduring  the  subversion  of  all  his  hopes,  the  crushing  of 
all  his  social  vanity,  and  the  utter  overthrow  of  his  pride, 
smarting  in  each  separate  /  that  exists  in  an  ambitious  man 
— a  lover,  a  success,  a  dandy,  a  Parisian,  a  poet,  a  libertine, 
and  a  favorite.  Everything  in  him  was  broken  by  this  fall 
as  of  Icarus. 

Carlos  Herrera,  on  the  other  hand,  as  soon  as  he  was  locked 
into  his  cell  and  found  himself  alone,  began  pacing  it  to  and 
fro  like  the  polar  bear  in  his  cage.  He  carefully  examined 
the  door  and  assured  himself  that,  with  the  exception  of  the 
peephole,  there  was  not  a  crack  in  it.  He  sounded  all  the 
walls,  he  looked  up  the  funnel  down  which  a  dim  light  came, 
and  he  said  to  himself,  "I  am  safe  enough !" 

He  sat  down  in  a  corner  where  the  eye  of  a  prying  warder 
at  the  grating  of  the  peephole  could  not  see  him.  Then  he 
took  off  his  wig,  and  hastily  ungumm.ed  a  piece  of  paper  that 
did  duty  as  lining.  The  side  of  the  paper  next  his  head  was 
so  greasy  that  it  looked  like  the  very  texture  of  the  wig.  If 
it  had  occurred  to  Bibi-Lupin  to  snatch  off  the  wig  to  es- 
tablish the  identity  of  the  Spaniard  with  Jacques  Collin,  ho 
would  never  have  though  twice  about  that  paper,  it  looked 
so  exactly  like  part  of  the  wigmaker's  work.  The  other  side 
was  still  fairly  white,  and  clean  enough  to  have  a  few  lines 
written  on  it.  The  delicate  and  tiresome  task  of  unsticking 
it  had  been  begun  in  La  Force ;  two  hours  would  not  have  been 
long  enough;  it  had  taken  him  half  of  the  day  before.  The 
prisoner  began  by  tearing  this  precious  scrap  of  paper  so  as 
to  have  a  strip  four  or  five  lines  wide,  which  he  divided  into 
several  bits;  he  then  replaced  his  store  of  paper  in  the  same 
strange  hiding-place,  after  damping  the  gummed  side  so  as 
to  make  it  stick  again.  He  felt  in  a  lock  of  his  hair  for  one 
of  those  pencil  leads  as  thin  as  a  stout  pin,  then  recently  in- 
vented by  Susse,  and  which  he  had  put  in  with  some  gum ; 
he  broke  off  a  scrap  long  enough  to  write  with  and  small 
enough  to  hide  in  his  ear.     Having  made  these  preparations 


324  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

with  the  rapidity  and  certainty  of  hand  peculiar  to  old  con- 
victs, who  are  as  light-fingered  as  monkeys,  Jacques  Collin 
sat  down  on  the  edge  of  his  bed  to  meditate  on  his  instruc- 
tions to  Asie,  in  perfect  confidence  that  he  should  come  across 
her,  so  entirely  did  he  rely  on  the  woman's  genius. 

"During  the  preliminary  examination,"  he  reflected,  "I 
pretended  to  be  a  Spaniard  and  spoke  broken  French,  ap- 
pealed to  my  Ambassador,  and  alleged  diplomatic  privilege, 
not  understanding  anything  I  was  asked,  the  whole  per- 
formance varied  by  fainting,  pauses,  sighs — in  short,  all  the 
vagaries  of  a  dying  nran.  I  must  stick  to  that.  My  papers 
are  all  regular.  Asie  and  I  can  eat  up  Monsieur  Camusot; 
he  is  no  great  shakes ! 

"Xow  I  must  think  of  Lucien;  he  must  be  made  to  pull 
himself  together.  I  must  get  at  the  boy  at  whatever  cost, 
and  show  him  some  plan  of  conduct,  otherwise  he  will  give 
himself  up,  give  me  up,  lose  all !  He  must  be  taught  his 
lesson  before  he  is  examined.  And  besides,  I  must  find  some 
witnesses  to  swear  to  my  being  a  priest !" 

Such  was  the  position,  moral  and  physical,  of  these  two 
prisoners,  whose  fate  at  the  moment  depended  on  Monsieur 
Camusot,  examining  judge  to  the  Inferior  Court  of  the  Seine, 
and  sovereign  master,  during  the  time  granted  to  him  by  the 
Code,  of  the  smallest  details  of  their  existence,  since  he  alone 
could  grant  leave  for  them  to  be  visited  by  the  chaplains,  the 
doctor,  or  any  one  else  in  the  world. 

ISTo  human  authority — neither  the  King,  nor  the  Keeper 
of  the  Seals,  nor  the  Prime  Minister,  can  encroach  on  the 
power  of  an  examining  judge ;  nothing  can  stop  him,  no  one 
can  control  him.  He  is  a  monarch,  subject  only  to  his 
conscience  and  the  Law.  At  the  present  time,  when  philoso- 
phers, philanthropists,  and  politicians  are  constantly  endeavor- 
ing to  reduce  every  social  power,  the  rights  conferred  on  the 
examining  judges  have  become  the  object  of  attacks  that  are 
all  the  more  serious  because  they  are  almost  justified  by  those 
rights,  which,  it  must  be  owned,  are  enormous.  And  yet,  as 
every  man  of  sense  will  own,  that  power  ought  to  remain  un- 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  325 

impaired ;  in  certain  cases,  its  exercise  can  be  mitigated  by  a 
strong  infusion  of  caution;  but  society  is  already  threatened 
by  the  ineptitude  and  weakness  of  the  jury — which  is,  in  fact, 
the  really  supreme  bench,  and  which  ought  to  be  composed 
only  of  choice  and  elected  men — and  it  would  be  in  danger 
of  ruin  if  this  pillar  were  broken  which  now  upholds  our 
criminal  procedure. 

Arrest  on  suspicion  is  one  of  the  terrible  but  necessary 
powers  of  which  the  risk  to  society  is  counterbalanced  by  its 
immense  importance.  And  besides,  distrust  of  the  magistracy 
in  general  is  a  beginning  of  social  dissolution.  Destroy  that 
institution,  and  reconstruct  it  on  another  basis;  insist — as 
was  the  case  before  the  Ee volution — that  judges  should  show 
a  large  guarantee  of  fortune ;  but,  at  any  cost,  believe  in  it ! 
Do  not  make  it  an  image  of  society  to  be  insulted ! 

In  these  days  a  judge,  paid  as  a  functionary,  and  generally 
a  poor  man,  has  in  the  place  of  his  dignity  of  old  a  haughti- 
ness of  demeanor  that  seems  odious  to  the  men  raised  to  be 
his  equals;  for  haughtiness  is  dignity  without  a  solid  basis. 
That  is  the  vicious  element  in  the  present  system.  If  France 
were  divided  into  ten  circuits,  the  magistracy  might  be  re- 
instated by  conferring  its  dignities  on  men  of  fortune;  but 
with  six-and-twenty  circuits  this  is  impossible. 

The  only  real  improvement  to  be  insisted  on  in  the  exercise 
of  the  power  intrusted  to  the  examining  judge,  is  an  alteration 
in  the  conditions  of  preliminary  imprisonment.  The  mere 
fact  of  suspicion  ought  to  make  no  difference  in  the  habits  of 
life  of  the  suspected  parties.  Houses  of  detention  for  them 
ought  to  be  constructed  in  Paris,  furnished  and  arranged  in 
such  a  way  as  greatly  to  modify  the  feeling  of  the  public 
with  regard  to  suspected  persons.  The  law  is  good,  and  is 
necessary;  its  application  is  ^  in  fault,  and  public  feeling 
judges  the  laws  from  the  way  in  which  they  are  carried  out. 
And  public  opinion  in  France  condemns  persons  under  sus- 
picion, while,  by  an  inexplicable  reaction,  it  justifies  those 
committed  for  trial.  This,  perhaps,  is  a  result  of  the  es- 
sentially refractory  nature  of  the  French. 


326  A  COURTESAxX'S  LIFE 

This  illogical  temper  of  the  Parisian  people  was  one  of  the 
factors  which  contributed  to  the  climax  of  this  drama;  nay, 
as  may  be  seen,  it  was  one  of  the  most  important. 

To  enter  into  the  secret  of  the  terrible  scenes  which  are 
acted  out  in  the  examining  judge"s  chambers;  to  understand 
the  respective  positions  of  the  two  belligerent  powers,  the  Law 
and  the  examinee,  the  object  of  whose  contest  is  a  certain 
secret  kept  by  the  prisoner  from  the  inquisition  of  the  magis- 
trate— well  named  in  prison  slang,  "the  curious  man" — it 
must  always  be  remembered  that  persons  imprisoned  under 
suspicion  know"  nothing  of  what  is  being  said  by  the  seven  or 
eight  publics  that  compose  tlie  Public,  nothing  of  how  much 
the  police  know,  or  the  authorities,  or  the  little  that  news- 
papers can  publish  as  to  the  circumstances  of  the  crime. 

Thus,  to  give  a  man  in  custody  such  information  as  Jacques 
Collin  had  just  received  from  Asie  as  to  Lucien's  arrest, 
is  throwing  a  rope  to  a  drowning  man.  As  will  be  seen,  in 
consequence  of  this  ignorance,  a  stratagem  which,  without  this 
warning,  must  certainly  have  been  equally  fatal  to  the  convict, 
was  doomed  to  failure. 

Monsieur  Camusot,  the  son-in-law  of' one  of  the  clerks  of 
the  cabinet,  too  well  known  for  any  account  of  his  position 
and  connection  to  be  necessary  here,  was  at  this  moment  al- 
most as  much  perplexed  as  Carlos  Herrera  in  view  of  the  ex- 
amination he  was  to  conduct.  He  had  formerly  been  Presi- 
dent of  a  Court  of  the  Paris  circuit ;  he  had  been  raised  from 
that  position  and  called  to  be  a  judge  in  Paris — one  of  the 
most  coveted  posts  in  the  magistracy — by  the  influence  of  the 
celebrated  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  whose  husband,  at- 
tached to  the  Dauphin's  person,  and  Colonel  of  a  cavalry 
regiment  of  the  Guards,  was  as  much  in  favor  with  the  King 
as  she  was  wMth  Madame.  In  return  for  a  very  small  service 
which  he  had  done  the  Duchess — an  important  matter  to  her 
— on  the  occasion  of  a  charge  of  forgery  brought  against  the 
young  Comte  d'Esgrignon  by  a  banker  of  Alengon  (see  Le 
Cabinet  des  Antiques;  Scenes  de  la  vie  de  Province),  he  was 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  327 

promoted  from  being  a  provincial  judge  to  be  president  of  bis 
Court,  and  from  being  president  to  be  an  examining  judge  in 
Paris. 

For  eighteen  months  now  he  had  sat  on  the  most  im- 
portant Bench  in  the  kingdom;  and  had  once,  at  the  desire 
of  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  had  an  opportunity  of  for- 
warding the  ends  of  a  lady  not  less  influential  than  the  Duch- 
ess, namely,  the  Marquise  d'Espard,  but  he  had  failed.  (See 
the  Commission  in  Lunacy.) 

Lucien,  as  was  told  at  the  beginning  of  this  Scene,  to  be 
revenged  on  Madame  d'Espard,  who  aimed  at  depriving  her 
husband  of  his  liberty  of  action,  was  able  to  put  the  true  facts 
before  the  Public  Prosecutor  and  the  Comte  de  Serizy.  These 
two  important  authorities  being  thus  won  over  to  the  Marquis 
d'Espard's  party,  his  wife  had  barely  escaped  the  censure  of 
the  Bench  by  her  husband's  generous  intervention. 

On  hearing,-  yesterday,  of  Lucien's  arrest,  the  Marquise 
d'Espard  had  sent  her  brother-in-law,  the  Chevalier  d'Espard, 
to  see  Madame  Camusot.  Madame  Camusot  had  set  off  forth- 
with to  call  on  the  notorious  Marquise.  Just  before  dinner, 
on  her  return  home,  she  had  called  her  husband  aside  in  the 
bedroom. 

"If  you  can  commit  that  little  fop  Lucien  de  Eubempre 
for  trial,  and  secure  his  condemnation,"  said  she  in  his  ear, 
"you  will  be  Councillor  to  the  Supreme  Court " 

"How  ?" 

"Madame  d'Espard  longs  to  see  that  poor  young  man 
guillotined.  I  shivered  as  I  heard  what  a  pretty  woman's 
hatred  can  be !" 

"Do  not  meddle  in  questions  of  law,"  said  Camusot. 

"I !  meddle  I''  said  she.  "If  a  third  person  could  have 
heard  us,  he  could  not  have  guessed  what  we  were  talking 
about.  The  Marquise  and  I  were  as  exquisitely  hypo- 
critical to  each  other  as  you  are  to  me  at  this  moment.  She 
began  by  thanking  me  for  your  good  offices  in  her  suit,  say- 
ing that  she  was  grateful  in  spite  of  its  having  failed.  She 
spoke  of  the  terrible  functions  devolved  on  you  by  the  law, 


328  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

'It  is  fearful  to  have  to  send  a  man  to  the  scaffold — but  as 
to  that  man,  it  would  be  no  more  than  justice/  and  so  forth. 
Then  she  lamented  that  such  a  handsome  young  fellow, 
brought  to  Paris  by  her  cousin,  Madame  du  Chatelet,  should 
have  turned  out  so  badly.  'That,'  said  she,  'is  what  bad 
women  like  Coralie  and  Esther  bring  young  men  to  whe:^  they 
are  corrupt  enough  to  share  their  disgraceful  profits !'  Next 
came  some  fine  speeches  about  charity  and  religion  !  Madame 
du  Chatelet  had  said  that  Lucien  deserved  a  thousand  deaths 
for  having  half  killed  his  mother  and  his  sister. 

"Then  she  spoke  of  a  vacancy  in  the  Supreme  Court — she 
knows  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals.  'Your  husband,  madame,  has 
a  fine  opportunity  of  distinguishing  himself,'  she  said  in 
conclusion — and  that  is  all." 

"We  distinguish  ourselves  every  day  when  we  do  our  duty," 
said  Camusot. 

"You  will  go  far  if  you  are  always  the  lawyer  even  to  your 
wife,"  cried  Madame  Camusot.  "Well,  I  used  to  think  you  a 
goose.     Now  I  admire  you." 

The  lawyer's  lips  wore  one  of  those  smiles  which  are  as 
peculiar  to  them  as  dancers'  smiles  are  to  dancers. 

"Madame,  can  I  come  in  ?"  said  the  maid. 

"What  is  it?"  said  her  mistress. 

"Madame,  the  head  lady's-maid  came  from  the  Duchesse 
de  Maufrigneuse  while  you  were  oi]t,  and  she  will  be  obliged 
if  you  would  go  at  once  to  the  Hotel  de  Cadignan." 

"Keep  dinner  back,"  said  the  lawyer's  wife,  remembering 
that  the  driver  of  the  hackney  coach  that  had  brought  her 
home  was  waiting  to  be  paid. 

She  put  her  bonnet  on  again,  got  into  the  coach,  and  in 
twenty  minutes  was  at  the  Hotel  de  Cadignan.  Madame 
Camusot  was  led  up  the  private  stairs,  and  sat  alone  for  ten 
minutes  in  a  boudoir  adjoining  the  Duchess'  bedroom.  The 
Duchess  presently  appeared,  splendidly  dressed,  for  she 
was  starting  for  Saint-Cloud  in  obedience  to  a  Eoyal  invita- 
tion. 

"Between  you  and  me,  my  dear,  two  words  are  enough." 


END  OP  EVIL  WAYS  329 

"Yes,  Madame  la  Duchesse." 

"Lucien  de  Eubempre  is  in  custody,  your  husband  is  con- 
aucting  the  inquiry;  I  will  answer  for  the  poor  boy's  inno- 
cence ;  see  that  he  is  released  within  twenty-four  hours. — This 
is  not  all.  Some  one  will  ask  to-morrow  to  see  Lucien  in 
private  in  his  cell ;  your  husband  may  be  present  if  he  chooses, 
so  long  as  he  is  not  discovered.  I  am,  as  you  know,  true  to 
those  who  do  me  a  service.  The  King  looks  for  high  courage 
in  his  magistrates  in  the  difficult  position  in  which  he  will 
presently  find  himself;  I  will  bring  your  husband  forward, 
and  recommend  him  as  a  man  devoted  to  the  King  even  at 
the  risk  of  his  head.  Our  friend  Camusot  will  be  made  first 
a  councillor,  and  then  the  President  of  Court  somewhere  or 
other. — Good-bye. — I  am  under  orders,  you  will  excuse  me, 
I  know? 

"You  will  not  only  oblige  the  public  prosecutor,  who  can- 
not give  an  opinion  in  this  affair;  you  will  save  the  life  of 
a  dying  woman,  Madame  de  Serizy.  So  you  will  not  lack 
support. 

"  In  short,  you  see,  I  put  my  trust  in  you,  I  need  not  say 
— you  know " 

She  laid  a  finger  to  her  lips  and  disappeared. 

"And  I  had  not  a  chance  of  telling  her  that  Madame 
d'Espard  wants  to  see  Lucien  on  the  scaffold !"  thought  the 
judge's  wife  as  she  returned  to  her  hackney  cab. 

She  got  home  in  such  a  state  of  anxiety  that  her  husband, 
on  seeing  her,  asked : 

"What  is  the  matter,  Amelie?" 

"We  stand  between  two  fires." 

She  told  her  husband  of  her  interview  with  the  Duchess, 
speaking  in  his  ear  for  fear  the  maid  should  be  listening  at 
the  door. 

"Now,  which  of  them  has  most  power?"  she  said  in  conclu- 
sion. "The  Marquise  was  very  near  getting  you  into  trouble 
in  the  silly  business  of  the  commission  on  her  husband,  and 
we  owe  everything  to  the  Duchess. 

"One  made  vague  promises,  while  the  other  one  tells  you 


330  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

you  shall  first  be  Councillor  and  then  President. — Heaven 
forbid  I  should  advise  you ;  I  -will  never  meddle  in  matters  of 
business;  still,  I  am  bound  to  repeat  exactly  what  is  said  at 
Court  and  what  goes  on '* 

"But,  Amelie,  you  do  not  know  what  the  Prefet  of  police 
sent  me  this  morning,  and  by  whom  ?  By  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant agents  of  the  superior  police,  the  Bibi-Lupin  of 
politics,  who  told  me  that  the  Government  had  a  secret  inter- 
est in  this  trial. — Now  let  us  dine  and  go  to  the  Varietes. 
We  will  talk  all  this  over  to-night  in  my  private  room,  for 
I  shall  need  your  intelligence ;  that  of  a  judge  may  not  per- 
haps be  enough " 

Nine  magistrates  out  of  ten  would  deny  the  influence  of 
the  wife  over  her  husband  in  such  cases ;  but  though  this  may 
be  a  remarkable  exception  in  society,  it  may  be  insisted  on  as 
true,  even  if  improbable.  The  magistrate  is  like  the  priest, 
especially  in  Paris,  where  the  best  of  the  profession  are  to 
be  found;  he  rarely  speaks  of  his  business  in  the  Courts,  ex- 
cepting of  settled  cases.  Not  only  do  magistrates'  wives 
affect  to  know  nothing ;  they  have  enough  sense  of  propriety 
to  understand  that  it  would  damage  their  husbands  if,  when 
they  are  told  some  secret,  they  allowed  their  knowledge  to  be 
suspected. 

Nevertheless,  on  some  great  occasions,  when  promotion  de- 
pends on  the  decision  taken,  many  a  wife,  like  Amelie.  has 
helped  the  lawyer  in  his  study  of  a  case.  And,  after  all.  these 
exceptions,  which,  of  course,  are  easily  denied,  since  they  re- 
main unknown,  depend  entirely  on  the  way  in  which  the 
struggle  between  two  natures  has  worked  out  in  home-life. 
Now,  Madame  Camusot  controlled  her  husband  completely. 

When  all  in  the  house  were  asleep,  the  lawyer  and  his  wife 
sat  down  to  the  desk,  where  the  magistrate  had  already  laid 
out  the  documents  in  the  case. 

"Here  are  the  notes,  forwarded  to  me,  at  my  request,  by 
the  Prefet  of  police,"  said  Camusot. 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  331 

"The  Ahhe  Carlos  Herrera. 

"This  individual  is  undoubtedly  the  man  named  Jacques 
Collin,  known  as  Trompe-la-Mort,  who  was  last  arrested  in 
1819,  in  the  dwelling-house  of  a  certain  Madame  Vauquer, 
who  kept  a  common  boardiog-house  in  the  Eue  Neuve-Sainte- 
Genevieve,  where  he  lived  in  concealment  under  the  alias  of 
Yautrin." 

A  marginal  note  in  the  Prefet's  handwriting  ran  thus: 
"Orders  have  been  sent  by  telegraph  to  Bibi-Lupin,  chief  of 
the  Safety  department,  to  return  forthwith,  to  be  confronted 
with  the  prisoner,  as  he  is  personally  acquainted  with  Jacques 
Collin,  whom  he,  in  fact,  arrested  in  1819  with  the  connivance 
of  a  Mademoiselle  Michonneau. 

"The  boarders  who  then  lived  in  the  Maison  Vauquer 
are  still  living,  and  may  be  called  to  establish  his  identity. 

"The  self-styled  Carlos  Herrera  is  Monsieur  Lucien  de 
Eubempre's  intimate  friend  and  adviser,  and  for  three  years 
past  has  furnished  him  with  considerable  sums,  evidently  ob- 
tained by  dishonest  means. 

"This  partnership,  if  the  identity  of  the  Spaniard  with 
Jacques  Collin  can  be  proved,  must  involve  the  condemnation 
of  Lucien  de  Eubempre. 

"The  sudden  death  of  Peyrade,  the  police  agent,  is  at- 
tributable to  poison  administered  at  the  instigation  of  Jacques 
Collin,  Eubempre,  or  their  accomplices.  The  reason  for 
this  murder  is  the  fact  that  justice  had  for  a  long  time  been 
on  the  traces  of  these  clever  criminals." 

And  again,  on  the  margin,  the  magistrate  pointed  to  this 
note  written  by  the  Pref et  himself : 

"This  is  the  fact  to  my  personal  knowledge ;  and  I  also 
know  that  the  Sieur  Lucien  de  Eubempre  has  disgracefully 
tricked  the  Comte  de  Serizy  and  the  Public  Prosecutor," 

"What  do  you  say  to  this,  Amelie?" 

"It  is  frightful !"  replied  his  wife.     "Go  on." 


I 


332  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"The  transformation  of  the  convict  Jacques  Collin  into 
a  Spanish  priest  is  the  result  of  some  crime  more  clever  than 
that  by  which  Coignard  made  himself  Comte  de  Sainte- 
Helene/'  » 

"Lucien  de  Ruhempre. 

"Lucien  Chardon,  son  of  an  apothecary  at  Angouleme — 
his  mother  a  Demoiselle  de  Rubempre — bears  the  name  of 
Eubempre  in  virtue  of  a  royal  patent.  This  was  granted  by 
the  request  of  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  and 
Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Serizy. 

"This  young  man  came  to  Paris  in  182  .  .  .  without  any 
means  of  subsistence,  following  Madame  la  Comtesse  Sixte 
du  Chatelet,  then  Madame  de  Bargeton,  a  cousin  of  Madame 
d'Espard's. 

"He  was  ungrateful  to  Madame  de  Bargeton,  and  cohabited 
with  a  girl  named  Coralie,  an  actress  at  the  Gymnase,  now 
dead,  who  left  Monsieur  Camusot,  a  silk  mercer  in  the  Rue 
des  Bourdonnais,  to  live  with  Rubempre. 

"Ere  long,  having  sunk  into  poverty  through  the  in- 
sufficienc}'  of  the  money  allowed  him  by  this  actress,  he  seri- 
ously compromised  his  brother-in-law,  a  highly-respected 
printer  of  Angouleme,  by  giving  forged  bills,  for  which  David 
Sechard  was  arrested,  during  a  short  visit  paid  to  Angouleme 
by  Lucien.  In  consequence  of  this  affair  Rubempre  fled,  but 
suddenly  reappeared  in  Paris  with  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera. 

"Though  having  no  visible  means  of  subsistence,  the  said 
Lucien  de  Rubempre  spent  on  an  average  three  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  during  the  three  years  of  his  second  residence 
in  Paris,  and  can  only  have  obtained  the  money  from  the 
self-styled  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera — but  how  did  he  come  by  it  ? 

"He  has  recently  laid  out  above  a  million  francs  in  re- 
purchasing the  Rubempre  estates  to  fulfil  the  conditions  on 
which  he  was  to  be  allowed  to  marrj^  Mademoiselle  Clotilde 
de  Grandlieu.  This  marriage  has  been  broken  off  in  con- 
sequence of  inquiries  made  by  the  Craudlieu  family,  the  said 
Lucien  having  told  them  that  he  had  obtained  the  money  from 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  333 

his  brother-in-law  and  his  sister;  but  the  information  ob- 
tained, more  especially  by  Monsieur  Derville,  attorney-at-law, 
proves  that  not  only  were  that  worthy  couple  ignorant  of  his 
having  made  this  purchase,  but  that  they  believed  the  said 
Lucien  to  be  deeply  in  debt. 

"Moreover,  the  property  inherited  by  the  Sechards  consists 
of  houses;  and  the  ready  money,  by  their  affidavit,  amounted 
to  about  two  hundred  thousand  francs. 

"Lucien  was  secretly  cohabiting  with  Esther  Gobseck ;  hence 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  all  the  lavish  gifts  of  the  Baron 
de  Nucingen,  the  girl's  protector,  were  handed  over  to  the  said 
Lucien. 

"Lucien  and  his  companion,  the  convict,  have  succeeded  in 
keeping  their  footing  in  the  face  of  the  world  longer  than 
Coignard  did,  deriving  their  income  from  the  prostitution  of 
the  said  Esther,  formerly  on  the  register  of  the  town." 

Though  these  notes  are  to  a  great  extent  a  repetition  of  the 
story  already  told,  it  was  necessary  to  reproduce  them  to  show 
the  part  played  by  the  police  in  Paris.  As  has  already  been 
seen  from  the  note  on  Peyrade,  the  police  has  summaries, 
almost  invariably  correct,  concerning  every  family  or  in- 
dividual whose  life  is  under  suspicion,  or  whose  actions  are  of 
a  doubtful  character.  It  knows  every  circumstance  of  their 
delinquencies.  This  universal  register  and  account  of 
consciences  is  as  accurately  kept  as  the  register  of  the  Bank 
of  France  and  its  account  of  fortunes.  Just  as  the  Bank  notes 
the  slightest  delaj^  in  payment,  gauges  every  credit,  takes 
stock  of  every  capitalist,  and  watches  their  proceedings,  so 
does  the  police  weigh  and  measure  the  honesty  of  each  citizen. 
With  it,  as  in  a  Court  of  Law,  innocence  has  nothing  to  fear ; 
it  has  no  hold  on  anything  but  crime. 

However  high  the  rank  of  a  family,  it  cannot  evade  this 
social  providence. 

And  its  discretion  is  equal  to  the  extent  of  its  power.  This 
vast  mass  of  written  evidence  compiled  by  the  police — reports, 
notes,  and  summaries — an  ocean  of  information,  sleeps  un- 


334  A  COURTESAN'S  1,1  FB 

disturbed,  as  deep  and  calm  as  the  sea.  Some  accident  oc- 
curs, some  crime  or  misdemeanor  becomes  aggressive, — then 
the  law  refers  to  the  police,  and  immediately,  if  any  docu- 
ments bear  on  the  suspected  criminal,  the  Judge  is  informed. 
These  records,  an  analysis  of  his  antecedents,  are  merely 
side-lights,  and  unknown  beyond  the  walls  of  the  Palais  de 
Justice.  Xo  legal  use  can  be  made  of  them ;  Justice  is  in- 
formed by  them,  and  takes  advantage  of  them;  but  that  is 
all.  These  documents  form,  as  it  were,  the  inner  lining 
of  the  tissue  of  crimes,  their  first  cause,  which  is  hardly  ever 
made  public.  Xo  jury  would  accept  it;  and  the  whole 
country  would  rise  up  in  wrath  if  excerpts  from  those  docu- 
ments came  out  in  the  trial  at  the  Assizes.  In  fact,  it  is  the 
truth  which  is  doomed  to  remain  in  the  well,  as  it  is  every- 
where and  at  all  times.  There  is  not  a  magistrate  who,  after 
twelve  years'  experience  in  Paris,  is  not  fully  aware  that  the 
Assize  Court  and  the  police  authorities  keep  the  secret  of  half 
these  squalid  atrocities,  or  who  does  not  admit  that  half 
the  crimes  that  are  committed  are  never  punished  by  the 
law. 

If  the  public  could  know  how  reserved  the  employes  of  the 
police  are — who  do  not  forget — they  would  reverence  these 
honest  men  as  much  as  they  do  Cheverus.  The  police  is 
supposed  to  be  astute.  Machiavellian;  it  is,  in  fact,  most 
benign.  But  it  hears  every  passion  in  its  paroxysms,  it 
listens  to  every  kind  of  treachery,  and  keeps  notes  of  all. 
The  police  is  terrible  on  one  side  only.  What  it  does  for 
justice  it  does  no  less  for  political  interests ;  but  in  these  it  is 
as  ruthless  and  as  one-sided  as  the  fires  of  the  Inquisition. 

"Put  this  aside,"  said  the  lawyer,  replacing  the  notes  in 
their  cover;  "this  is  a  secret  between  the  police  and  the  law. 
The  judge  will  estimate  its  value,  but  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Camusot  must  know  nothing  of  it." 

"As  if  I  needed  telling  that  I"  said  his  wife. 

"Lucien  is  guilty,"  he  went  on ;  "but  of  what  ?" 

"A  man  who  is  the  favorite  of  the  Duchesse  de  Mau- 
fi'igneuse,  of  the  Comtesse  de  Serizy,  and  loved  by  Clotilde 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  335 

de  Grandlieu,  is  not  guilty,"  said  Amelie.  "The  other  must 
be  answerable  for  everything." 

"But  Lucien  is  his  accomplice,"  cried  Camusot. 

"Take  my  advice,"  said  Amelie.  "Kestore  this  priest  to  the 
diplomatic  career  he  so  greatly  adorns,  exculpate  this  little 
wretch,  and  find  some  other  criminal " 

"How  you  run  on  !"  said  the  magistrate  with  a  smile.  "Wo- 
men go  to  the  point,  plunging  through  the  law  as  birds  fly 
through  the  air,  and  find  nothing  to  stop  them."' 

"But,"  said  Amelie,  "whether  he  is  a  diplomate  or  a  con- 
vict, the  Abbe  Carlos  will  find  some  one  to  get  him  out  of 
the  scrape." 

"I  am  only  a  considering  cap ;  you  are  the  brain,"  said 
Camusot. 

"Well,  the  sitting  is  closed;  give  your  Melie  a  kiss;  it  is 
one  o'clock." 

And  Madame  Camusot  went  to  bed,  leaving  her  husband 
to  arrange  his  papers  and  his  ideas  in  preparation  for  the  task 
of  examining  the  two  prisoners  next  morning. 

And  thus,  while  the  prison  vans  were  conveying  Jacques 
Collin  and  Lucien  to  the  Conciergerie,  the  examining  judge, 
having  breakfasted,  was  making  his  way  across  Paris  on  foot, 
after  the  unpretentious  fashion  of  Parisian  magistrates,  to  go 
to  his  chambers,  where  all  the  documents  in  the  case  were  laid 
ready  for  him. 

This  was  the  way  of  it:  Every  examining  judge  has  a 
head-clerk,  a  sort  of  sworn  legal  secretary — a  race  that  per- 
petuates itself  without  any  premiums  or  encouragement,  pro- 
ducing a  number  of  excellent  souls  in  whom  secrecy  is  natural 
and  incorruptible.  From  the  origin  of  the  Parlement  to  the 
present  day,  no  case  has  ever  been  known  at  the  Palais  de 
Justice  of  any  gossip  or  indiscretion  on  the  part  of  a  clerk 
bound  to  the  Courts  of  Inquiry.  Gentil  sold  the  release  given 
by  Louise  de  Savoie  to  Semblangay;  a  War  Office  clerk  sold 
the  plan  of  the  Eussian  campaign  to  Czernitchef ;  and  these 
traitors  were  more  or  less  rich.     The  prospect  of  a  post  in  the 


336  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Palais  and  professional  conscientiousness  are  enough  to  make 
a  judge's  clerk  a  successful  rival  of  the  tomb — for  the  tomb 
has  betrayed  many  secrets  since  chemistry  has  made  such 
progress. 

This  official  is,  in  fact,  the  magistrate's  pen.  It  will  be 
understood  by  many  readers  that  a  man  may  gladly  be  the 
shaft  of  a  machine,  while  they  wonder  why  he  is  content  to 
remain  a  bolt ;  still  the  bolt  is  content — perhaps  the  machin- 
ery terrifies  him. 

Camusot's  clerk,  a  young  man  of  two-and-twenty,  named 
Coquart,  had  come  in  the  morning  to  fetch  all  the  documents 
and  the  judge's  notes,  and  laid  everything  ready  in  his 
chambers,  while  the  lawyer  himself  was  wandering  along  the 
quays,  looking  at  the  curiosities  in  the  shops,  and  wondering 
within  himself : — 

"How  on  earth  am  I  to  set  to  work  with  such  a  clever 
rascal  as  this  Jacques  Collin,  supposing  it  is  he?  The  head 
of  the  Safety  will  know  him.  I  must  look  as  if  I  knew  what 
I  was  about,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  the  police !  I  see  so  many 
insuperable  difficulties,  that  the  best  plan  would  be  to  en- 
lighten the  Marquise  and  the  Duchess  by  showing  them  the 
notes  of  the  police,  and  I  should  avenge  my  father,  from 
whom  Lucien  stole  Coralie. — If  I  can  unveil  these  scoundrels, 
my  skill  will  be  loudly  proclaimed,  and  Lucien  will  soon  be 
thrown  over  by  his  friends. — Well,  well,  the  examination  will 
settle  all  that." 

He  turned  into  a  curiosity  shop,  tempted  by  a  Boule 
clock. 

"Not  to  be  false  to  my  conscience,  and  yet  to  oblige  two 
great  ladies — that  will  be  a  triumph  of  skill,"  thought  he. 
"What,  do  you  collect  coins  too,  monsieur?"  said  Camusot  to 
the  Public  Prosecutor,  whom  he  found  in  the  shop. 

"It  is  a  taste  dear  to  all  dispensers  of  justice,"  said  the 
Comte  de  Granville,  laughing.  "They  look  at  the  reverse 
said  of  every  medal." 

And  after  looking  about  the  shop  for  some  minutes,  as  if 
continuing  his  search,  he  accompanied  Camusot  on  his  way 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  337 

down  the  quay  without  its  ever  occurring  to  Camusot  that 
anything  but  chance  had  brought  them  together. 

"You  are  examining  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  this  morning," 
said  the  Public  Prosecutor.     "Poor  fellow — I  liked  him." 

"There  are  several  charges  against  him,"  said  Camusot. 

"Yes,  I  saw  the  police  papers;  but  some  of  the  informa- 
tion came  from  an  agent  who  is  independent  of  the  Prefet, 
the  notorious  Corentin,  who  has  caused  the  death  of  more 
innocent  men  than  you  will  ever  send  guilty  men  to  the 

scaffold,  and But  that  rascal  is  out  of  your  reach. — 

Without  trying  to  influence  the  conscience  of  such  a  magis- 
trate as  you  are,  I  may  point  out  to  you  that  if  you  could  be 
perfectly  sure  that  Lucien  was  ignorant  of  the  contents  of 
that  woman's  will,  it  would  be  self-evident  that  he  had  no  in- 
terest in  her  death,  for  she  gave  him  enormous  sums  of 
money." 

"We  can  prove  his  absence  at  the  time  when  this  Esther 
was  poisoned,"  said  Camusot.  "He  was  at  Fontainebleau,  on 
the  watch  for  Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu  and  the  Duchesse 
de  Lenoncourt." 

"And  he  still  cherished  such  hopes  of  marrying  Made- 
moiselle de  Grandlieu,"  said  the  Public  Prosecutor — "I  have 
it  from  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu  herself — that  it  is  in- 
conceivable that  such  a  clever  young  fellow  should  com- 
promise his  chances  by  a  perfectly  aimless  crime." 

"Yes,"  said  Camusot,  "especially  if  Esther  gave  him  all 
she  got." 

"Derville  and  Nucingen  both  say  that  she  died  in  ignorance 
of  the  inheritance  she  had  long  since  come  into,"  added  Gran- 
ville. 

"But  then  what  do  you  suppose  is  the  meaning  of  it 
all  ?"  asked  Camusot.  "For  there  is  something  at  the  bottom 
of  it." 

"A  crime  committed  by  some  servant,"  said  the  Public 
Prosecutor. 

"Unfortunately,"  remarked  Camusot,  "it  would  be  quite 
like  Jacques  Collin — for  the  Spanish  priest  is  certainly  none 


o.-^S  A  COURTESAN'?!  LIFE 

other  than  that  escaped  convict — to  iiave  taken  possession  of 
the  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  derived  from 
the  sale  of  the  certificate  of  shares  given  to  Esther  by  Nu- 
cingen.'' 

"Weigh  everything  with  care,  my  dear  Canuisot.  Be 
prudent.  The  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera  has  diplomatic  connec- 
tions; still,  an  envoy  who  had  committea  a  crime  would  not 
be  sheltered  by  his  position.  Is  he  or  is  he  not  the  Abbe 
Carlos  Herrera?     That  is  the  important  question." 

And  Monsieur  de  Granville  bowed,  and  turned  away,  as  re- 
quiring no  answer. 

"So  he  too  wants  to  save  Lucien !"'  thought  Camusot,  going 
on  by  the  Quai  des  Lunettes,  while  the  Public  Prosecutor 
entered  the  Palais  through  the  Cour  de  Harlay. 

On  reaching  the  courtyard  of  the  Conciergerie,  Camusot 
went  to  the  Governor's  room  and  led  him  into  the  middle  of 
the  pavement,  where  no  one  could  overhear  them. 

"My  dear  sir,  do  me  the  favor  of  going  to  La  Force,  and 
inquiring  of  your  colleague  there  whether  he  happens  at  this 
moment  to  have  there  any  convicts  who  were  on  the  hulks  at 
Toulon  between  1810  and  1815;  or  have  3'ou  any  imprisoned 
here?  We  will  transfer  those  of  La  Force  here  for  a  few 
days,  and  you  will  let  me  know  whether  this  so-called  Spanish 
priest  is  known  to  them  as  Jacques  Collin,  other^'ise  Trompe- 
la-Mort." 

'^ery  good,  Monsieur  Camusot. — But  Bibi-Lupin  is 
come     .     .     ." 

"What,  already?"  said  the  judge. 

"He  was  at  Melun.  He  was  told  that  Trompe-la-Mort 
had  to  be  identified,  and  he  smiled  with  joy.  He  awaits  your 
orders." 

"Send  him  to  me." 

The  Governor  was  then  able  to  lay  before  Monsieur  Camusot 
Jacques  Collin's  request,  and  he  described  the  man's  de- 
plorable condition. 

"I  intended  to  examine  him  first,"  replied  the  magistrate, 
"but  not  on  account  of  his  health.     I  received  a  note  this 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  339 

morning  from  the  Governor  of  La  Force.  Well,  this  rascal, 
who  described  himself  to  you  as  having  been  dying  for  twenty- 
four  hours  past,  slept  so  soundly  that  they  went  into  his 
cell  there,  with  the  doctor  for  whom  the  Governor  had  sent, 
without  his  hearing  them;  the  doctor  did  not  even  feel  his 
pulse,  he  left  him  to  sleep — which  proves  that  his  conscience 
is  as  tough  as  his  health.  I  shall  accept  this  feigned  illness 
only  so  far  as  it  may  enable  me  to  study  my  man,"  added  Mon- 
sieur Camusot,  smiling. 

"We  live  to  learn  every  day  with  these  various  grades  of 
prisoners,"  said  the  Governor  of  the  prison. 

The  Prefecture  of  police  adjoins  the  Conciergerie,  and 
the  magistrates,  like  the  Governor,  knowing  all  the  sub- 
terranean passages,  can  get  to  and  fro  with  the  greatest 
rapidity.  This  explains  the  miraculous  ease  with  which  in- 
formation can  be  conveyed,  during  the  sitting  of  the  Courts, 
to  the  officials  and  the  presidents  of  the  Assize  Courts.  And  by 
the  time  Monsieur  Camusot  had  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs 
leading  to  his  chambers,  Bibi-Lupin  was  there  too,  having 
come  by  the  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus. 

"What  zeal !"  said  Camusot,  with  a  smile. 

"Ah,  well,  you  see  if  it  is  he,''  replied  the  man,  "you  will 
see  great  fun  in  the  prison-yard  if  by  chance  there  are  any 
old  stagers  here." 

"Why?" 

"Trompe-la-Mort  sneaked  their  chips,  and  I  know  that 
they  have  vowed  to  be  the  death  of  him." 

They  were  the  convicts  whose  money,  intrusted  to  Trompe- 
la-Mort,  had  all  been  made  away  with  by  him  for  Lucien,  as 
has  been  told. 

"Could  you  lay  your  hand  on  the  witnesses  of  his  former 
arrest  ?" 

"Give  me  two  summonses  of  witnesses  and  I  will  find  you 
some  to-day." 

"Coquart,"  said  the  lawyer,  as  he  took  off  his  gloves,  and 
placed  his  hat  and  stick  in  a  corner,  "fill  up  two  summonses 
by  monsieur's  directions." 


340  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

He  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass  over  the  chimney  shelf, 
where  stood,  in  the  place  of  a  clock,  a  basin  and  jug.  On 
one  side  was  a  bottle  of  water  and  a  glass,  on  the  other  a 
lamp.  He  rang  the  bell;  his  usher  came  in  a  few  minutes 
after. 

"Is  anybody  here  for  me  yet?"  he  asked  the  man,  whose 
business  it  was  to  receive  the  witnesses,  to  verify  their  sum- 
mons, and  to  set  them  in  the  order  of  their  arrival. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Take  their  names,  and  bring  me  the  list." 

The  examining  judges,  to  save  time,  are  often  obliged  to 
carry  on  several  inquiries  at  once.  Hence  the  long  waiting 
inflicted  on  the  witnesses,  who  have  seats  in  the  ushers'  hall, 
where  the  judges'  bells  are  constantly  ringing. 

"And  then,"  Camusot  went  on,  'T)ring  up  the  Abbe  Carlos 
Herrera." 

"Ah,  ha  !  I  was  told  that  he  was  a  priest  in  Spanish.  Pooh  ! 
It  is  a  new  edition  of  Collet,  Monsieur  Camusot,"  said  the 
head  of  the  Safety  department. 

"There  is  nothing  new  !"  replied  Camusot. 

And  he  signed  the  two  formidable  documents  which  alarm 
everybody,  even  the  most  innocent  witnesses,  whom  the  law 
thus  requires  to  appear,  under  severe  penalties  in  case  of 
failure. 

By  this  time  Jacques  Collin  had,  about  half  an  hour  since, 
finished  his  deep  meditations,  and  was  armed  for  the  fray. 
Nothing  is  more  perfectly  characteristic  of  this  type  of  the 
mob  in  rebellion  against  the  law  than  the  few  words  he  had 
written  on  the  greasy  scraps  of  paper. 

The  sense  of  the  first — for  it  was  written  in  the  language, 
the  very  slang  of  slang,  agreed  upon  by  Asie  and  himself,  a 
cipher  of  words — was  as  follows : — 

"Go  to  theDuchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  or  Madame  de  Serizy : 
one  of  them  must  see  Lucien  before  he  is  examined,  and  give 
him  the  enclosed  paper  to  read.  Then  find  Europe  and 
Paccard ;  those  two  thieves  must  be  at  my  orders,  and  ready 
to  play  any  part  I  may  set  them. 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  341 

"Go  to  Rastignac;  tell  him,  from  the  man  he  met  at  the 
opera-ball,  to  come  and  swear  that  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera" 
has  no  resemblance  to  Jacques  Collin  who  was  apprehended 
at  Vauquer's.  Do  the  same  with  Dr.  Bianchon,  and  get 
Lucien's  two  women  to  work  to  the  same  end." 

On   the   enclosed    fragment    were   these   words   in   good    ^'^ 
French : 

"Lucien,  confess  nothing  about  me.  I  am  the  Abbe  Carlos 
Herrera.  Not  only  will  this  be  your  exculpation;  but,  if 
you  do  not  lose  your  head,  you  will  have  seven  millions  and 
your  honor  cleared." 

These  two  bits  of  paper,  gummed  on  the  side  of  the  writing 
so  as  to  look  like  one  piece,  were  then  rolled  tightly,  with  a 
dexterity  peculiar  to  men  who  have  dreamed  of  getting  free 
from  the  hulks.  The  whole  thing  assumed  the  shape  and  con- 
sistency of  a  ball  of  dirty  rubbish,  about  as  big  as  the  sealing- 
wax  heads  which  thrifty  women  stick  on  the  head  of  a  large 
needle  when  the  eye  is  broken. 

"If  I  am  examined  first,  we  are  saved ;  if  it  is  the  boy,  all 
is  lost,"  said  he  to  himself,  while  he  waited. 

His  plight  was  so  sore  that  the  strong  man's  face  was  wet 
with  white  sM^eat.  Indeed,  this  wonderful  man  saw  as  clearly 
in  his  sphere  of  crime  as  Moliere  did  in  his  sphere  of 
dramatic  poetry,  or  Cuvier  in  that  of  extinct  organisms. 
Genius  of  whatever  kind  is  intuition.  Below  this  highest 
manifestation  other  remarkable  achievements  may  be  due  to 
talent.  This  is  what  divides  men  of  the  first  rank  from  those 
of  the  second. 

Crime  has  its  men  of  genius.  Jacques  Collin,  driven  to 
bay,  had  hit  on  the  same  notion  as  Madame  Camusot's  am- 
bition and  Madame  de  Serizy's  passion,  suddenly  revived  by 
the  shock  of  the  dreadful  disaster  which  was  overwhelming 
Lucien.  This  was  the  supreme  effort  of  human  intellect 
directed  against  the  steel  armor  of  Justice. 

On  hearing  the  rasping  of  the  heavy  locks  and  bolts  of  his 
door,  Jacques  Collin  resumed  his  mask  of  a  dying  man;  he 
was  helped  in  this  by  the  intoxicating  joy  that  he  felt  at  the 


342  A  COURTESAN'S   LTFE 

sound  of  the  warder's  shoes  in  the  passage.  He  had  no  idea 
how  Asie  would  get  near  him  ;  but  he  relied  on  meeting  her 
on  the  way,  especially  after  her  promise  given  in  the  Saint- 
Jean  gateway. 

After  that  fortunate  achievement  she  had  gone  on  to  the 
Place  de  Greve. 

Till  1830  the  name  of  La  Greve  (the  Strand)  had  a  mean- 
ing that  is  now  lost.  Every  part  of  the  river-shore  from  the 
Pont  d'Arcole  to  the  Pont  Louis-Philippe  was  then  as  nature 
had  made  it,  excepting  the  paved  way  which  was  at  the  top 
of  the  bank.  When  the  river  was  in  flood  a  boat  could  pass 
close  under  the  houses  and  at  the  end  of  the  streets  running 
down  to  the  river.  On  the  quay  the  footpath  was  for  the 
most  part  raised  with  a  few  steps ;  and  when  the  river  was  up 
to  the  houses,  vehicles  had  to  pass  along  the  horrible  Eue  de 
la  Mortellerie,  which  has  now  been  completely  removed  to 
make  room  for  enlarging  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 

So  the  sham  costermonger  could  easily  and  quickly  run 
her  truck  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  quay,  and  hide  it  there 
till  the  real  owner — who  was,  in  fact,  drinking  the  price  of 
her  wares,  sold  bodily  to  Asie,  in  one  of  the  abominable 
taverns  in  the  Rue  de  la  Mortellerie — should  return  to  claim 
it.  At  that  time  the  Quai  Pelletier  was  being  extended,  the 
entrance  to  the  works  was  guarded  by  a  crippled  soldier,  and 
the  barrow  would  be  quite  safe  in  his  keeping. 

Asie  then  jumped  into  a  hackney  cab  on  the  Place  de 
I'Hotel  de  Ville,  and  said  to  the  driver,  "To  the  Temple, 
and  look  sharp,  I'll  tip  you  well." 

A  woman  dressed  like  Asie  could  disappear,  without  any 
questions  being  asked,  in  the  huge  market-place,  where  all  the 
rags  in  Paris  are  gathered  together,  where  a  thousand  coster- 
mongers  wander  round,  and  two  hundred  old-clothes  sellers 
are  chaffering. 

The  two  prisoners  had  hardly  been  locked  up  when  she 
was  dressing  herself  in  a  low,  damp  entresol  over  one  of  those 
foul  shops  where  remnants  are  sold,  pieces  stolen  by  tailors 
and   dressmakers — an  establishment   kept   by   an   old  maid 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  343 

known  as  La  Romette,  from  her  Christian  name  Jeromette. 
La  Romette  was  to  the  "purchasers  of  wardrobes"  what  these 
women  are  to  the  better  class  of  so-called  ladies  in  difficulties 
— Madame  la  Ressource,  that  is  to  say,  money-lenders  at  a 
hundred  per  cent. 

"Now,  child,"  said  Asie,  "I  have  got  to  be  figged  out.  I 
must  be  a  Baroness  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  at  the 
very  least.  And  sharp's  the  word,  for  my  feet  are  in 
hot  oil.  You  know  what  gowns  suit  me.  Hand  up  the 
rouge-pot,  find  me  some  first-class  bits  of  lace,  and  the 
swaggerest  jewelry  you  can  pick  out. — Send  the  girl  to  call  a 
coach,  and  have  it  brought  to  the  back  door." 

"Yes,  madame,"  the  woman  replied  very  humbly,  and  with 
the  eagerness  of  a  maid  waiting  on  her  mistress. 

If  there  had  been  any  one  to  witness  the  scene,  he  would 
have  understood  that  the  woman  known  as  Asie  was  at  home 
here. 

"I  have  had  some  diamonds  offered  me,"  said  la  Romette, 
as  she  dressed  Asie's  head. 

"Stolen?" 

"I  should  think  so." 

"Well,  then,  however  cheap  they  may  be,  we  must  do  with- 
out 'em.  We  must  fight  shy  of  the  beak  for  a  long  time  to 
come." 

It  will  now  be  understood  how  Asie  contrived  to  be  in  the 
Salle  des  Pas-Perdus  of  the  Palais  de  Justice  with  a  summons 
in  her  hand,  asking  her  way  along  the  passages  and  stairs 
leading  to  the  examining  judge's  chambers,  and  inquiring  for 
Monsieur  Camusot,  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  that 
gentleman's  arrival. 

Asie  was  not  recognizable.  After  washing  off  her  "make- 
up" as  an  old  woman,  like  an  actress,  she  applied  rouge  and 
pearl  powder,  and  covered  her  head  with  a  well-made  fair 
wig.  Dressed  exactly  as  a  lady  of  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain  might  be  if  in  search  of  a  dog  she  had  lost,  she  looked 
about  forty,  for  she  shrouded  her  features  under  a  splendid 
black  lace  veil.     A  pair  of  stays,  severely  laced,  disguised  her 


344  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

cook's  figure.  With  very  good  gloves  and  a  rather  large 
bustle,  she  exhaled  the  perfumes  of  powder  a  la  Marecliale, 
Playing  with  a  bag  mounted  in  gold,  she  divided  her  attention 
between  the  walls  of  the  building,  where  she  found  herself 
evidently  for  the  first  time,  and  the  string  by  which  she  led 
a  dainty  little  spaniel.  Such  a  dowager  could  not  fail  to 
attract  the  notice  of  the  black-robed  natives  of  the  Salle  des 
Pas-Perdus. 

Besides  the  briefless  law;\"ers  who  sweep  this  hall  with  their 
gowns,  and  speak  of  the  leading  advocates  by  their  Christian 
names,  as  fine  gentlemen  address  each  other,  to  produce  the 
impression  that  they  are  of  the  aristocracy  of  the  law,  patient 
youths  are  often  to  be  seen,  hangers-on  of  the  attorneys,  wait- 
ing, waiting,  in  hope  of  a  case  put  down  for  the  end  of  the 
da}^  which  they  may  be  so  luck}^  as  to  be  called  to  plead  if  the 
advocates  retained  for  the  earlier  cases  should  not  come  out 
in  time. 

A  very  curious  study  would  be  that  of  the  differences  be- 
tween these  various  black  gowns,  pacing  the  immense  hall 
in  threes,  or  sometimes  in  fours,  their  persistent  talk  filling 
the  place  with  a  loud,  echoing  hum — a  hall  well  named  in- 
deed, for  this  slow  walk  exhausts  the  lawj'ers  as  much  as 
the  waste  of  words.  But  such  a  study  has  its  place  in  the 
volumes  destined  to  reveal  the  life  of  Paris  pleaders. 

Asie  had  counted  on  the  presence  of  these  youths;  she 
laughed  in  her  sleeve  at  some  of  the  pleasantries  she  over- 
heard, and  finally  succeeded  in  attracting  the  attention  of 
Massol,  a  3'oung  lawyer  whose  time  was  more  taken  up  by 
the  Police  Gazette  than  b}^  clients,  and  who  came  up  with  a 
laugh  to  place  himself  at  the  service  of  a  woman  so  elegantly 
scented  and  so  handsomely  dressed. 

Asie  put  on  a  little,  thin  voice  to  explain  to  this  obliging 
gentleman  that  she  appeared  in  answer  to  a  summons  from 
a  judge  named  Camusot. 

"Oh  !  in  the  Eubempre  case  ?" 

So  the  affair  had  its  name  already. 

"Oh,  it  is  not  my  affair.     It  is  my  maid's,  a  girl  named 


END  OP  EVIL  WAYS  345 

Europe,  who  was  with  me  twenty-four  hours,  and  who 
fled  when  she  saw  my  servant  bring  in  a  piece  of  stamped 
paper." 

Then,  like  any  old  woman  who  spends  her  life  gossiping 
in  the  chimney-corner,  prompted  by  Massol,  she  poured  out 
the  story  of  her  woes  with  her  first  husband,  one  of  the  three 
Directors  of  the  land  revenue.  She  consulted  the  j^oung 
lawyer  as  to  whether  she  would  do  well  to  enter  on  a  lawsuit 
with  her  son-in-law,  the  Comte  de  Gross-ISTarp,  who  made  her 
daughter  very  miserable,  and  whether  the  law  allowed  her  to 
dispose  of  her  fortune. 

In  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  Massol  could  not  be  sure  whether 
the  summons  were  addressed  to  the  mistress  or  the  maid.  At 
the  first  moment  he  had  only  glanced  at  this  legal  document 
of  most  familiar  aspect ;  for,  to  save  time,  it  is  printed,  and 
the  magistrates'  clerks  have  only  to  fill  in  the  blanks  left  for 
the  names  and  addresses  of  the  witnesses,  the  hour  for  which 
they  are  called,  and  so  forth. 

Asie  made  him  tell  her  all  about  the  Palais,  which  she 
knew  more  intimately  that  the  lawyer  did.  Finally,  she  in- 
quired at  what  hour  Monsieur  Camusot  would  arrive. 

"Well,  the  examining  judges  generally  are  here  by  about 
ten  o'clock." 

"It  is  now  a  quarter  to  ten,"  said  she,  looking  at  a  pretty 
little  watch,  a  perfect  gem  of  goldsmith's  work,  which  made 
Massol  say  to  himself : 

"Where  the  devil  will  Fortune  make  herself  at  home  next !" 

At  this  moment  Asie  had  come  to  the  dark  hall  looking 
out  on  the  yard  of  the  Conciergerie,  where  the  ushers  wait. 
On  seeing  the  gate  through  the  window,  she  exclaimed: 

"What  are  those  high  walls?" 

"That  is  the  Conciergerie." 

"Oh !  so  that  is  the  Conciergerie  where  our  poor  queen 

Oh !  I  should  so  like  to  see  her  cell !" 

"Impossible,  Madame  la  Baronne,"  replied  the  young  law- 
yer, on  whose  arm  the  dowager  was  now  leaning.  "A  permit 
is  indispensable,  and  very  difficult  to  procure." 


346  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"I  have  been  told,"  she  went  on,  "that  Louis  XVIII.  him- 
self composed  the  inscription  that  is  to  be  seen  in  Marie- 
Antoinette's  cell." 

"Yes,  Madame  la  Baronne." 

"How  much  I  should  like  to  know  Latin  that  I  might  study 
the  words  of  that  inscription !''  said  she.  "Do  you  think 
that  Monsieur  Camusot  could  give  me  a  permit  ?" 

"That  is  not  in  his  power ;  but  he  could  take  you  there." 

"But  his  business "  objected  she. 

"Oh  !"  said  Massol,  "prisoners  under  suspicion  can  wait." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  she  artlessly,  "they  are  under  suspicion. 
— But  I  know  Monsieur  de  Granville,  your  public  prose- 
cutor  " 

This  hint  had  a  magical  effect  on  the  ushers  and  the  young 
lawyer. 

"Ah,  you  know  Monsieur  de  Granville?"  said  Massol,  who 
was  inclined  to  ask  the  client  thus  sent  him  by  chance  her 
name  and  address. 

"I  often  see  him  at  my  friend  Monsieur  de  Serizy's  house. 
Madame  de  Serizy  is  a  connection  of  mine  through  the 
Eonquerolles." 

"Well,  if  Madame  wishes  to  go  down  to  the  Conciergerie," 
said  an  usher,  "she " 

"Yes,"  said  Massol. 

So  the  Baroness  and  the  lawyer  were  allowed  to  pass,  and 
they  presently  found  themselves  in  the  little  guard-room  at 
the  top  of  the  stairs  leading  to  the  "mousetrap."  a  spot  well 
known  to  Asie,  forming,  as  has  been  said,  a  post  of  observa- 
tion between  those  cells  and  the  Court  of  the  Sixth  Chamber, 
through  which  everybody  is  obliged  to  pass. 

"Will  you  ask  if  Monsieur  Camusot  is  come  yet  ?"  said  she, 
seeing  some  gendarmes  playing  cards. 

"Yes,  madame,  he  has  just  come  up  from  the  'mouse- 
trap.' " 

"The  mousetrap !"  said  she.  "What  is  that  ? — Oh  !  how 
stupid  of  me  not  to  have  gone  straight  to  the  Comte  de  Gran- 
ville.— But  I  have  not  time  now.  Pray  take  me  to  speak  to 
Monsieur  Camusot  before  he  is  otherwise  engaged." 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  847 

"Oh,  you  have  plenty  of  time  for  seeing  Monsieur  Camu- 
sot/'  said  Massol.  ''If  you  send  him  in  your  card,  he  will 
spare  you  the  discomfort  of  waiting  in  the  ante-room  with 
the  witnesses. — We  can  be  civil  here  to  ladies  like  you. — 
You  have  a  card  about  you?" 

At  this  instant  Asie  and  her  lawyer  were  exactly  in  front 
of  the  window  of  the  guardroom  whence  the  gendarmes  could 
observe  the  gate  of  the  Conciergerie.  The  gendarmes,  brought 
up  to  respect  the  defenders  of  the  widow  and  the  orphan, 
were  aware  too  of  the  prerogative  of  the  gown,  and  for  a  few 
minutes  allowed  the  Baroness  to  remain  there  escorted  by 
a  pleader.  Asie  listened  to  the  terrible  tales  which  a  young 
lawyer  is  ready  to  tell  about  that  prison-gate.  She  would 
not  believe  that  those  who  were  condemned  to  death  were 
prepared  for  the  scaffold  behind  those  bars;  but  the  sergeant- 
at-arms  assured  her  it  was  so. 

"How  much  I  should  like  to  see  it  done !"  cried  she. 

And  there  she  remained,  prattling  to  the  lawyer  and  the 
sergeant,  till  she  saw  Jacques  Collin  come  out  supported 
by  two  gendarmes,  and  preceded  by  Monsieur  Camusot's 
clerk. 

"Ah,  there  is  a  chaplain  no  doubt  going  to  prepare  a  poor 
wretch " 

"Not  at  all,  Madame  la  Baronne,"  said  the  gendarme. 
"He  is  a  prisoner  coming  to  be  examined." 

"What  is  he  accused  of  ?" 

"He  is  concerned  in  this  poisoning  case." 

"Oh !  1  should  like  to  see  him." 

"You  cannot  stay  here,"  said  the  sergeant,  "for  he  is  under 
close  arrest,  and  he  must  pass  through  here.  You  see,  ma- 
dame,  that  door  leads  to  the  stairs " 

"Oh !  thank  you  !"  cried  the  Baroness,  making  for  the  door, 
to  rush  down  the  stairs,  where  she  at  once  shrieked  out,  "Oh ! 
where  am  I  ?" 

This  cry  reached  the  ear  of  Jacques  Collin,  who  was  thus 
prepared  to  see  her.  The  sergeant  flew  after  Madame  la 
Baronne,  seized  her  by  the  middle,  and  lifted  her  back  like 


348  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

a  feather  into  the  midst  of  a  group  of  five  gendarmes,  who 
started  up  as  one  man;  for  in  that  guardroom  everything  is 
regarded  as  suspicious.  The  proceeding  was  arbitrary,  but 
the  arbitrariness  was  necessary.  The  young  lawyer  himself 
had  cried  out  twice,  "Madame !  madame !"  in  his  horror,  so 
much  did  he  fear  finding  himself  in  the  wrong. 

The  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera,  half  fainting,  sank  on  a  chair 
in  the  guardroom. 

"Poor  man !"  said  the  Baroness.     "Can  he  be  a  criminal?" 

The  words,  though  spoken  low  to  the  young  advocate,  could 
be  heard  by  all,  for  the  silence  of  death  reigned  in  that  ter- 
rible guardroom.  Certain  privileged  persons  are  sometimes 
allowed  to  see  famous  criminals  on  their  way  through  this 
room  or  through  the  passages,  so  that  the  clerk  and  the  gen- 
darmes who  had  charge  of  the  Abbe  Carlos  made  no  remark. 
Also,  in  consequence  of  the  devoted  zeal  of  the  sergeant  who 
had  snatched  up  the  Baroness  to  hinder  any  communication 
between  the  prisoner  and  the  visitors,  there  was  a  considerable 
space  between  them. 

"Let  us  go  on,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  making  an  effort  to 
rise. 

At  the  same  moment  the  little  ball  rolled  out  of  his  sleeve, 
and  the  spot  where  it  fell  was  noted  by  the  Baroness,  who 
could  look  about  her  freely  from  under  her  veil.  The  little 
pellet,  being  damp  and  sticky,  did  not  roll ;  for  such  trivial 
details,  apparently  unimportant,  had  all  been  duly  considered 
by  Jacques  Collin  to  insure  success. 

When  the  prisoner  had  been  led  up  the  higher  part  of  the 
steps,  Asie  very  unaffectedly  dropped  her  bag  and  picked  it 
up  again;  but  in  stooping  she  seized  the  pellet  which  had 
escaped  notice,  its  color  being  exactly  like  that  of  the  dust 
and  mud  on  the  floor. 

"Oh  dear!"  cried  she,  "it  goes  to  my  heart. — He  is 
dying " 

"Or  seems  to  be,"  replied  the  sergeant. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Asie  to  the  lawyer,  "take  me  at  once  to 
Monsieur    Camusot;    I    have    come    about    this    case;    and 


END  OP  EVIL  WAYS  349 

he  might  be  very  glad  to  see  me  before  examining  that  poor 
priest." 

The  lawyer  and  the  Baroness  left  the  guardroom,  with  its 
greasy,  fuliginous  walls;  but  as  soon  as  they  reached  the  top 
of  the  stairs,  Asie  exclaimed: 

"Oh,  and  my  dog !  My  poor  little  dog !"  and  she  rushed 
off  like  a  mad  creature  down  the  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus,  asking 
every  one  where  her  dog  was.  She  got  to  the  corridor  beyond 
(la  Galerie  Marchande,  or  Merchant's  Hall,  as  it  is  called), 
and  flew  to  the  staircase,  saying,  "There  he  is !" 

These  stairs  lead  to  the  Cour  de  Harlay,  through  which 
Asie,  having  played  out  the  farce,  passed  out  and  took  a 
hackney  cab  on  the  Quai  des  Orf evres,  where  there  is  a  stand ; 
thus  she  vanished  with  the  summons  requiring  "Europe"  to 
appear,  her  real  name  being  unknown  to  the  police  and  the 
lawyers. 

"Eue  Neuve-Saint-Marc,"  cried  she  to  the  driver. 

Asie  could  depend  on  the  absolute  secrecy  of  an  old-clothes 
purchaser,  known  as  Madame  Nourrisson,  who  also  called  her- 
self Madame  de  Saint-Esteve ;  and  who  would  lend  Asie  not 
merely  her  personality,  but  her  shop  at  need,  for  it  was  there 
that  Nucingen  had  bargained  for  the  surrender  of  Esther. 
Asie  was  quite  at  home  there,  for  she  had  a  bedroom  in  Ma- 
dame Nourrisson's  establishment. 

She  paid  the  driver,  and  went  up  to  her  room,  nodding  to 
Madame  Nourrisson  in  a  way  to  make  her  understand  that 
she  had  not  time  to  say  two  words  to  her. 

As  soon  as  she  was  safe  from  observation,  Asie  unwrapped 
the  papers  with  the  care  of  a  savant  unrolling  a  palimpsest. 
After  reading  the  instructions,  she  thought  it  wise  to  copy 
the  lines  intended  for  Lucien  on  a  sheet  of  letter-paper ;  then 
she  went  down  to  Madame  Nourrisson,  to  whom  she  talked 
while  a  little  shop-girl  went  to  fetch  a  cab  from  the  Boulevard 
des  Italiens.  She  thus  extracted  the  addresses  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  and  of  Madame  de  Serizy,  which 
were  known  to  Madame  Nourrisson  by  her  dealings  with  their 
maids. 


350  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

All  this  running  about  and  elaborate  business  took  up  more 
than  two  hours.  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse, 
who  lived  at  the  top  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Honore,  kept  Ma- 
dame de  Saint-Esteve  waiting  an  hour,  although  the  lady's- 
maid,  after  knocking  at  the  boudoir  door,  had  handed  in  to 
her  mistress  a  card  with  Madame  de  Saint-Esteve's  name,  on 
which  Asie  had  written,  "Called  about  pressing  business  con- 
cerning Lucien." 

Her  first  glance  at  the  Duchess'  face  showed  her  how  ill- 
timed  her  visit  must  be;  she  apologized  for  disturbing  Ma- 
dame la  Duchesse  when  she  was  resting,  on  the  plea  of  the 
danger  in  which  Lucien  stood. 

"Who  are  you  ?"  asked  the  Duchess,  without  any  pretence 
at  politeness,  as  she  looked  at  Asie  from  head  to  foot ;  for 
Asie,  though  she  might  be  taken  for  a  Baroness  by  Maitre 
Massol  in  the  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus,  when  she  stood  on  the 
carpet  in  the  boudoir  of  the  Hotel  de  Cadignan,  looked  like 
a  splash  of  mud  on  a  white  satin  gown. 

"I  am  a  dealer  in  cast-oif  clothes,  Madame  la  Duchesse; 
for  in  such  matters  every  lady  applies  to  women  whose 
business  rests  on  a  basis  of  perfect  secrecy.  I  have  never  be- 
trayed anybody,  though  God  knows  how  many  great  ladies 
have  intrusted  their  diamonds  to  me  by  the  month  while 
wearing  false  jewels  made  to  imitate  them  exactly." 

"You  have  some  other  name?"  said  the  Duchess,  smiling 
at  a  reminiscence  recalled  to  her  by  this  reply. 

"Yes,  Madame  la  Duchesse,  I  am  j\Iadarae  de  Saint- 
Esteve  on  great  occasions,  but  in  the  trade  I  am  Madame 
Nourrisson." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  Duchess  in  an  altered  tone. 

"I  am  able  to  be  of  great  service,"  Asie  went  on,  "for  we 
hear  the  husbands'  secrets  as  well  as  the  wives'.  I  have  done 
many  little  jobs  for  Monsieur  de  Marsay,  whom  Madame  la 
Duchesse " 

"That  will  do,  that  will  do !"  cried  the  Duchess.  "What 
about  Lucien  ?" 

"If  you  wish  to  save  him,  madame,  you  must  have  courage 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  351 

enough  to  lose  no  time  in  dressing.  But,  indeed,  Madame 
la  Duchesse,  you  could  not  look  more  charming  than  you  do 
at  this  moment.  You  are  sweet  enough  to  charm  anybody, 
take  an  old  woman's  word  for  it !  In  short,  niadame,  do  not 
wait  for  your  carriage,  but  get  into  my  hackney  coach.  Come 
to  Madame  de  Serizy's  if  you  hope  to  avert  worse  misfortunes 
than  the  death  of  that  cherub " 

"Go  on,  I  will  follow  you,"  said  the  Duchess  after  a 
moment's  hesitation.  "Between  us  we  may  give  Leontine 
some  courage     .     . 

JSTotwithstanding  the  really  demoniacal  activity  of  this 
Dorine  of  the  hulks,  the  clock  was  striking  two  when  she 
and  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  went  into  the  Comtesse 
de  Serizy's  house  in  the  Eue  de  la  Chaussee-d'Antin.  Once 
there,  thanks  to  the  Duchess,  not  an  instant  was  lost.  The 
two  women  were  at  once  shown  up  to  the  Countess,  whom 
they  found  reclining  on  a  couch  in  a  miniature  chalet,  sur- 
rounded by  a  garden  fragrant  with  the  rarest  flowers. 

"That  is  well,"  said  Asie,  looking  about  her.  "No  one 
can  overhear  us.'" 

"Oh !  my  dear,  I  am  half  dead !  Tell  me,  Diane,  what 
have  you  done  ?"  cried  the  Countess,  starting  up  like  a  fawn, 
and,  seizing  the  Duchess  by  the  shoulders,  she  melted  into 
tears. 

"Come,  come,  Leontine;  there  are  occasions  when  women 
like  us  must  not  cry,  but  act,"  said  the  Duchess,  forcing  the 
Countess  to  sit  down  on  the  sofa  by  her  side. 

Asie  studied  the  Countess'  face  with  the  scrutiny  peculiar 
to  those  old  hands,  which  pierces  to  the  soul  of  a  woman  as 
certainly  as  a  surgeon's  instrument  probes  a  wound !  Jacques 
Collin's  ally  at  once  discerned  the  stamp  of  one  of  the  rarest 
feelings  in  a  woman  of  the  world :  real  sorrow ! — the  sorrow 
that  graves  ineradicable  lines  on  the  heart  and  on  the  fea- 
tures. She  was  dressed  without  the  least  touch  of  vanity. 
She  was  now  forty-five,  and  her  printed  muslin  wrapper, 
tumbled  and  untidy,  showed  her  bosom  without  any  art  or 
even  stays  !     Her  eyes  were  set  in  dark  circles,  and  her  mottled 


352  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

cheeks  showed  the  traces  of  bitter  tears.  She  wore  no  sash 
round  her  waist ;  the  embroidery  on  her  petticoat  and  shift 
was  all  crumpled.  Her  hair,  knotted  up  under  a  lace  cap, 
had  not  been  combed  for  four-and-twenty  hours,  and  showed 
as  a  thin,  short  plait  and  ragged  little  curls.  Leontine  had 
forgotten  to  put  on  her  false  hair. 

"You  are  in  love  for  the  first  time  in  your  life  ?"  said  Asie 
sententiously. 

Leontine  then  saw  the  woman,  and  started  with  horror. 

"Who  is  that,  my  dear  Diane?"  she  asked  of  the  Duchesse 
de  Maufrigneuse. 

"Whom  should  I  bring  with  me  but  a  woman  who  is  devoted 
to  Lucien  and  willing  to  help  us  ?" 

Asie  had  hit  the  truth.  Madame  de  Serizy,  who  was  re- 
garded as  one  of  the  most  fickle  of  fashionable  women,  had 
had  an  attachment  of  ten  years'  standing  for  the  Marquis 
d'Aiglemont.  Since  the  Marquis'  departure  for  the  colonies, 
she  had  gone  wild  about  Lucien,  and  had  won  him  from  the 
Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  kno^ving  nothing — like  the  Paris 
world  generally — of  Lucien's  passion  for  Esther.  In  the 
world  of  fashion  a  recognized  attachment  does  more  to  ruin 
a  woman's  reputation  than  ten  unconfessed  liaisons;  how 
much  more  then  two  such  attachments?  However,  as  no 
one  thought  of  Madame  de  Serizy  as  a  responsible  person, 
the  historian  cannot  undertake  to  speak  for  her  virtue  thus 
doubly  dog's-eared. 

She  was  fair,  of  medium  height,  and  well  preserved,  as  a 
fair  woman  can  be  who  is  well  preserved  at  all ;  that  is  to  say, 
she  did  not  look  more  than  thirty,  being  slender,  but  not  lean, 
with  a  white  skin  and  flaxen  hair ;  she  had  hands,  feet,  and  a 
shape  of  aristocratic  elegance,  and  was  as  witty  as  all  the 
Konquerolles,  spiteful,  therefore,  to  women,  and  good-natured 
to  men.  Her  large  fortune,  her  husband's  fine  position,  and 
that  of  her  brother,  the  Marquis  de  Konquerolles,  had  pro- 
tected her  from  the  mortifications  with  which  any  other  wo- 
man would  have  been  overwhelmed.  She  had  this  great 
merit — that  she  was  honest  in  her  depravity,  and  confessed 
her  worship  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  Eegency. 


END  OF'  EVIL  WAYS  353 

Now,  at  forty-two  this  woman — who  had  hitherto  regarded 
men  as  no  more  than  pleasing  playthings,  to  whom,  indeed, 
she  had,  strange  to  say,  granted  much,  regarding  love  as 
merely  a  matter  of  sacrifice  to  gain  the  upper  hand, — this 
woman,  on  first  seeing  Lucien,  had  been  seized  with  such  a 
passion  as  the  Baron  de  Nucingen's  for  Esther.  She  had 
loved,  as  Asie  had  just  told  her,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life. 

This  postponement  of  youth  is  more  common  with  Parisian 
women  than  might  be  supposed,  and  causes  the  ruin  of  some 
virtuous  souls  just  as  they  are  reaching  the  haven  of  forty. 
The  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  was  the  only  person  in  the 
secret  of  the  vehement  and  absorbing  passion,  of  which  the 
joys,  from  the  girlish  suspicion  of  first  love  to  the  preposter- 
ous follies  of  fulfilment,  had  made  Leontine  half  crazy  and 
insatiable. 

True  love,  as  we  know,  is  merciless.  The  discovery  of 
Esther's  existence  had  been  followed  by  one  of  those  outbursts 
of  rage  which  in  a  woman  rise  even  to  the  pitch  of  murder; 
then  came  the  phase  of  meanness,  to  which  a  sincere  affection 
humbles  itself  so  gladly.  Indeed,  for  the  last  month  the 
Countess  would  have  given  ten  years  of  her  life  to  have  Lucien 
again  for  one  week.  At  last  she  had  even  resigned  herself  to 
accept  Esther  as  her  rival,  just  when  the  news  of  her  lover's 
arrest  had  come  like  the  last  trump  on  this  paroxysm  of  devo- 
tion. 

The  Countess  had  nearly  died  of  it.  Her  husband  had 
him.self  nursed  her  in  bed,  fearing  the  betrayal  of  delirium, 
and  for  twenty-four  hours  she  had  been  living  with  a  knife  in 
her  heart.     She  said  to  her  husband  in  her  fever: 

"Save  Lucien,  and  I  will  live  henceforth  for  you  alone." 

"Indeed,  as  Madame  la  Duchesse  tells  you,  it  is  of  no  use 
to  make  your  eyes  like  boiled  gooseberries,"  cried  the 
dreadful  Asie,  shaking  the  Countess  by  the  arm.  "If  you 
want  to  save  him,  there  is  not  a  minute  to  lose.  He  is  inno- 
cent— I  swear  it  by  my  mother's  bones !" 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course  he  is !"  cried  the  Countess,  looking 
quite  kindly  at  the  dreadful  old  woman. 


;^54  A  COURTESAN'S   LIFE 

"But,"  Asie  went  on,  "if  Monsieur  Camusot  questions  him 
the  wrong  way,  he  can  make  a  guilty  man  of  him  with  two 
sentences;  so,  if  it  is  in  your  power  to  get  the  Conciergerie 
opened  to  you,  and  to  say  a  few  words  to  him,  go  at  once, 
and  give  him  this  paper. — He  will  be  released  to-morrow;  I 
will  answer  for  it.  Now,  get  him  out  of  the  scrape,  for  you 
got  him  into  it." 

"I  ?" 

"Yes,  you  I — You  fine  ladies  never  have  a  sou  even  when 
you  own  millions.  When  I  allowed  myself  the  luxury  of 
keeping  boys,  they  always  had  their  pockets  full  of  gold ! 
Their  amusements  amused  me.  It  is  delightful  to  be  mother 
and  mistress  in  one.  Now,  you — you  let  the  men  you  love 
die  of  hunger  without  asking  any  questions.  Esther,  now. 
made  no  speeches;  she  gave,  at  the  cost  of  perdition,  soul 
and  body,  the  million  your  Lucien  was  required  to  show,  and 
that  is  what  has  brought  him  to  this  pass " 

"Poor  girl  I     Did  she  do  that  ?     I  love  her !"  said  Leontine. 

"Yes — now  I"'  said  Asie,  with  freezing  irony. 

"She  was  a  real  beauty ;  but  now,  my  angel,  you  are  better 
looking  than  she  is. — And  Lucien's  marriage  is  so  effectually 
broken  off,  that  nothing  can  mend  it,"  said  the  Duchess  in  a 
whisper  to  Leontine. 

The  effect  of  this  revelation  and  forecast  was  so  great  on 
the  Countess  that  she  was  well  again.  She  passed  her  hand 
over  her  brow ;  she  was  young  once  more. 

"Now,  my  lady,  hot  foot,  and  make  haste  I''  said  Asie,  see- 
ing the  change,  and  guessing  what  had  caused  it. 

"But,"  said  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse,  "if  the  first  thing 
is  to  prevent  Lucien's  being  examined  by  Monsieur  Camusot, 
we  can  do  that  by  writing  two  words  to  the  judge  and  sending 
your  man  with  it  to  the  Palais,  Leontine." 

"Then  come  into  my  room,"  said  Madame  de  Serizy. 

This  is  what  was  taking  place  at  the  Palais  while  Lucien's 
protectresses  were  obeying  the  orders  issued  by  Jacques  Collin. 
The  gendarmes  placed  the  moribund  prisoner  on  c  chair  fac- 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  355 

ing  the  window  in  Monsieur  Camusot's  room;  lie  was  sitting 
in  his  place  in  front  of  his  table.  Coquart,  pen  in  hand,  had 
a  little  table  to  himself  a  few  yards  ofE. 

The  aspect  of  a  magistrate's  chambers  is  not  a  matter  of  in- 
difference ;  and  if  this  room  had  not  been  chosen  intentionally, 
it  must  be  owned  that  chance  had  favored  justice.  An  ex- 
amining judge,  like  a  painter,  requires  the  clear  equable  light 
of  a  north  window,  for  the  criminal" s  face  is  a  picture  which 
he  must  constantly  study.  Hence  most  magistrates  place 
their  table,  as  this  of  Camusot's  was  arranged,  so  as  to  sit 
with  their  back  to  the  window  and  leave  the  face  of  the  ex- 
aminee in  broad  daylight.  Xot  one  of  them  all  but,  by  the 
end  of  six  months,  has  assumed  an  absent-minded  and  in- 
different expression,  if  he  does  not  wear  spectacles,  and  main- 
tains it  throughout  the  examination. 

It  was  a  sudden  change  of  expression  in  the  prisoner's  face, 
detected  by  these  means,  and  caused  by  a  sudden  point-blank 
question,  that  led  to  the  discovery  of  the  crime  committed 
by  Castaing  at  the  very  moment  when,  after  a  long  consulta- 
tion with  the  public  prosecutor,  the  magistrate  was  about  to 
let  the  criminal  loose  on  society  for  lack  of  evidence.  This 
detail  will  show  the  least  intelligent  person  how  living,  in- 
teresting, curious,  and  dramatically  terrible  is  the  conflict 
of  an  examination — a  conflict  without  witnesses,  but  always 
recorded.  God  knows  what  remains  on  the  paper  of  the 
scenes  at  white  heat  in  which  a  look,  a  tone,  a  quiver  of  the 
features,  the  faintest  touch  of  color  lent  by  some  emotion, 
has  been  fraught  with  danger,  as  though  the  adversaries  were 
savages  watching  each  other  to  plant  a  fatal  stroke.  A  report 
is  no  more  than  the  ashes  of  the  fire. 

"What  is  your  real  name  ?"  Camusot  asked  Jacques  Collin. 

"Don  Carlos  Herrera,  canon  of  the  Royal  Chapter  of 
Toledo,  and  secret  envoy  of  His  Majesty  Ferdinand  VII." 

It  must  here  be  observed  that  Jacques  Collin  spoke  French 
like  a  Spanish  trollop,  blundering  over  it  in  such  a  way  as 
to  make  his  answers  almost  unintelligible,  and  to  require 
them  to  be  repeated.     But  Monsieur  de  Nucingen's  German 


356  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

barbarisms  have  already  weighted  this  Scene  too  much  to 
allow  of  the  introduction  of  other  sentences  no  less  difficult 
to  read,  and  hindering  the  rapid  progress  of  the  tale. 

"Then  you  have  papers  to  prove  your  right  to  the  dignities 
of  which  you  speak?''  asked  Camusot. 

"Yes,  monsieur — my  passport,  a  letter  from  his  Catholic 
Majesty  authorizing  my  mission. — In  short,  if  you  will  but 
send  at  once  to  the  Spanish  Embassy  two  lines,  which  I  will 
write  in  your  presence,  I  shall  be  identified.  Then,  if  you  wish 
for  further  evidence,  I  will  write  to  His  Eminence  the  High 
Almoner  of  France,  and  he  will  immediately  send  his  private 
secretary." 

"And  do  you  still  pretend  that  you  are  dying?"  asked  the 
magistrate.  "If  you  have  really  gone  through  all  the  suffer- 
ings you  have  complained  of  since  your  arrest,  you  ought  to 
be  dead  by  this  time,"  said  Camusot  ironically. 

"You  are  simply  trying  the  courage  of  an  innocent  man 
and  the  strength  of  his  constitution,"  said  the  prisoner 
mildly. 

"Coquart,ring.  Send  for  the  prison  doctor  and  an  infirmary 
attendant. — We  shall  be  obliged  to  remove  your  coat  and  pro- 
ceed to  verify  the  marks  on  your  shoulder,"  Camusot  went  on. 

"I  am  in  your  hands,  monsieur." 

The  prisoner  then  inquired  whether  the  magistrate  would 
be  kind  enough  to  explain  to  him  what  he  meant  by  "the 
marks,"  and  why  they  should  be  sought  on  his  shoulder.  The 
judge  was  prepared  for  this  question. 

"You  are  suspected  of  being  Jacques  Collin,  an  escaped  con- 
vict, whose  daring  shrinks  at  nothing,  not  even  at  sacrilege !" 
said  Camusot  promptly,  his  eyes  fixed  on  those  of  the  prisoner. 

Jacques  Collin  gave  no  sign,  and  did  not  color;  he  re- 
mained quite  calm,  and  assumed  an  air  of  guileless  curiosity 
as  he  gazed  at  Camusot. 

"I,  monsieur?  A  convict?  May  the  Order  I  belong  to 
and  God  above  forgive  you  for  such  an  error.  Tell  me  what 
I  can  do  to  prevent  your  continuing  to  offer  such  an  insult 
to  the  rights  of  free  men,  to  the  Church,  and  to  the  King 
my  master." 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  357 

The  judge  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  explained  to  the  Abbe 
that  if  he  had  been  branded,  a  penalty  at  that  time  inflicted 
by  law  on  all  convicts  sent  to  the  hulks,  the  letters  could  be 
made  to  show  by  giving  him  a  slap  on  the  shoulder. 

"Oh,  monsieur,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  "it  would  indeed  be 
unfortunate  if  my  devotion  to  the  Eoyal  cause  should  prove 
fatal  to  me." 

"Explain  yourself,"  said  the  judge,  "that  is  what  you  are 
here  for." 

"Well,  monsieur,  I  must  have  a  great  many  scars  on  my 
back,  for  I  was  shot  in  the  back  as  a  traitor  to  my  country 
while  I  was  faithful  to  my  King,  by  constitutionalists  who 
left  me  for  dead." 

"You  were  shot,  and  you  are  alive !"  said  Camusot. 

"I  had  made  friends  with  some  of  the  soldiers,  to  whom 
certain  pious  persons  had  sent  money,  so  they  placed  me  so  far 
off  that  only  spent  balls  reached  me,  and  the  men  aimed  at 
my  back.  This  is  a  fact  that  His  Excellency  the  Ambassador 
can  bear  witness  to " 

"This  devil  of  a  man  has  an  answer  for  everything !  How- 
ever, so  much  the  better,"  thought  Camusot,  who  assumed  so 
much  severity  only  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  justice  and  of 
the  police.  "How  is  it  that  a  man  of  your  character,"  he 
went  on,  addressing  the  convict,  "should  have  been  found  in 
the  house  of  the  Baron  de  Nucingen's  mistress — and  such  a 
mistress,  a  girl  who  had  been  a  common  prostitute !" 

"This  is  why  I  was  found  in  a.  courtesan's  house,  monsieur," 
replied  Jacques  Collin.  "But  before  telling  you  the  reasons 
for  my  being  there,  I  ought  to  mention  that  at  the  moment 
when  I  was  just  going  upstairs  I  was  seized  with  the  first  at- 
tack of  my  illness,  and  I  had  no  time  to  speak  to  the  girl.  I 
knew  of  Mademoiselle  Esther's  intention  of  killing  herself ; 
and  as  young  Lucien  de  Eubempre's  interests  were  involved, 
and  I  have  a  particular  affection  for  him  for  sacredly  secret 
reasons,  I  was  going  to  try  to  persuade  the  poor  creature  to 
give  up  the  idea,  suggested  to  her  by  despair.  I  meant  to  tell 
her  that  Lucien  must  certainly  fail  in  his  last  attempt  to  win 


358  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Mademoiselle  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu;  and  1  hoped  that  by 
telling  her  she  had  inherited  seven  millions  of  francs,  I  raight 
give  her  courage  to  live. 

"1  am  convinced.  Monsieur  le  Juge,  that  I  am  a  martyr 
to  the  secrets  confided  to  me.  By  the  suddenness  of  my  ill- 
ness I  believe  that  I  had  been  poisoned  that  very  morning, 
but  my  strong  constitution  has  saved  me.  I  know  that  a  cer- 
tain agent  of  the  political  police  is  dogging  me,  and  trying  to 
entangle  me  in  some  discreditable  business. 

"If,  at  my  request,  you  had  sent  for  a  doctor  on  my  arrival 
here,  you  would  have  had  ample  proof  of  what  I  am  telling 
you  as  to  the  state  of  my  health.  Believe  me,  monsieur,  some 
persons  far  above  our  heads  have  some  strong  interest  in  get- 
ting me  mistaken  for  some  villain,  so  as  to  have  a  right  to  get 
rid  of  me.  It  is  not  all  profit  to  serve  a  king ;  they  have  their 
meannesses.    The  Church  alone  is  faultless." 

It  is  impossible  to  do  justice  to  the  play  of  Jacques  Collin's 
countenance  as  he  carefully  spun  out  his  speech,  sentence  by 
sentence,  for  ten  minutes;  and  it  was  all  so  plausible,  espe- 
cially the  mention  of  Corentin,  that  the  lawyer  was  shaken. 

"Will  you  confide  to  me  the  reasons  of  your  affection  for 
Monsieur  Lucien  de  Eubempre?" 

"Can  you  not  guess  them  ?  I  am  sixty  years  of  age,  mon- 
sieur— I  implore  you  do  not  write  it. — It  is  because — must  I 
say  it  ?" 

"It  will  be  to  your  own  advantage,  and  more  particularly 
to  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Eubempre's,  if  you  tell  everything,'' 
replied  the  judge. 

"Because  he  is — Oh,  God !  he  is  my  son,"  he  gasped  out 
with  an  effort. 

And  he  fainted  away. 

"Do  not  write  that  down,  Coquart,"'  said  Camusot  in  an 
undertone. 

Coquart  rose  to  fetch  a  little  phial  of  "Four  thieves'  Vine- 
gar." 

"If  he  is  Jacques  Collin,  he  is  a  splendid  actor !"  thought 
Camusot. 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  359 

Coqiiart  held  the  phial  under  the  convict's  nose,  while  the 
judge  examined  him  with  the  keen  eye  of  a  lynx — and  a  mag- 
istrate. 

"Take  his  wig  off,"  said  Camusot,  after  waiting  till  the 
man  recovered  consciousness. 

Jacques  Collin  heard,  and  quaked  with  terror,  for  he  knew 
how  vile  an  expression  his  face  would  assume. 

"If  you  have  not  strength  enough  to  take  your  wig  off  your- 
self      Yes,  Coquart,  remove  it,"   said  Camusot  to  his 

clerk. 

Jacques  Collin  bent  his  head  to  the  clerk  with  admirable 
resignation ;  but  then  his  head,  bereft  of  that  adornment,  was 
hideous  to  behold  in  its  natural  aspect. 

The  sight  of  it  left  Camusot  in  the  greatest  uncertainty. 
While  waiting  for  the  doctor  and  the  man  from  the  infirmary, 
he  set  to  work  to  classify  and  examine  the  various  papers  and 
the  objects  seized  in  Lucien's  rooms.  After  carrying  out  their 
functions  in  the  Eue  Saint-Georges  at  Mademoiselle  Esther's 
house,  the  police  had  searched  the  rooms  at  the  Quai  Mala- 
quais. 

"You  have  your  hand  on  some  letters  from  the  Comtesse  de 
Serizy,"  said  Carlos  Herrera.  "But  I  cannot  imagine  why  you 
should  have  almost  all  Lucien's  papers,"  he  added,  with  a 
smile  of  overwhelming  irony  at  the  judge. 

Camusot,  as  he  saw  the  smile,  understood  the  bearing  of  the 
word  "almost." 

"Ijucien  de  Rubempre  is  in  custody  under  suspicion  of  being 
your  accomplice,"  said  he,  watching  to  see  the  effect  of  this 
news  on  his  examinee. 

"You  have  brought  about  a  great  misfortune,  for  he  is  as 
innocent  as  I  am,"  replied  the  sham  Spaniard,  without  be- 
traying the  smallest  agitation. 

"We  shall  see.  We  have  not  as  yet  established  your 
identity,"  Camusot  observed,  surprised  at  the  prisoner's  in- 
difference. "If  you  are  really  Don  Carlos  Herrera,  the  posi- 
tion of  Lucien  Chardou  will  at  once  be  completely  altered." 

"To  be  sure,  she  became  Madame  Chardon — Mademoiselle 


360  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

de  Eubempre  I"  murmured  Carlos.  "Ah  I  that  was  one  of  the 
greatest  sins  of  my  life." 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  by  the  movement  of  his 
lips  seemed  to  be  uttering  a  fervent  prayer. 

"But  if  you  are  Jacques  Collin,  and  if  he  was,  and  knew 
that  he  was,  the  companion  of  an  escaped  convict,  a  sacri- 
legious wretch,  all  the  crimes  of  which  he  is  suspected  by  the 
law  are  more  than  probably  true." 

Carlos  Herrera  sat  like  bronze  as  he  heard  this  speech,  very 
cleverly  delivered  by  the  judge,  and  his  only  reply  to  the 
words  "knew  that  he  was"  and  "escaped  convict"  was  to  lift 
his  hands  to  heaven  with  a  gesture  of  noble  and  dignified 
sorrow. 

"Monsieur  TAbbe,"  Camusot  went  on,  with  the  greatest 
politeness,  "if  you  are  Don  Carlos  Herrera,  you  will  forgive 
us  for  what  we  are  obliged  to  do  in  the  interests  of  justice  and 
truth." 

Jacques  Collin  detected  a  snare  in  the  lawyer's  very  voice 
as  he  spoke  the  words  "Monsieur  I'Abbe."  The  man's  face 
never  changed ;  Camusot  had  looked  for  a  gleam  of  joy,  which 
might  have  been  the  first  indication  of  his  being  a  convict, 
betraying  the  exquisite  satisfaction  of  a  criminal  deceiving 
his  judge ;  but  this  hero  of  the  hulks  was  strong  in  Machiavel- 
lian dissimulation. 

"I  am  accustomed  to  diplomacy,  and  I  belong  to  an  Order 
of  very  austere  discipline,"  replied  Jacques  Collin,  with  apos- 
tolic mildness.  "I  understand  everything,  and  am  inured  to 
suffering.  I  should  be  free  by  this  time  if  you  had  discovered 
in  my  room  the  hiding-place  where  I  keep  my  papers — for  I 
see  you  have  none  but  unimportant  documents." 

This  was  a  finishing  stroke  to  Camusot :  Jacques  Collin  by 
his  air  of  ease  and  simplicity  had  counteracted  all  the  sus- 
picions to  which  his  appearance,  unwigged,  had  given  rise. 

"Where  are  those  papers?" 

"I  will  tell  you  exactly  if  you  will  get  a  secretary  from  the 
Spanish  Embassy  to  accompany  your  messenger.  He  will  take 
them  and  be  answerable  to  you  for  the  documents,  for  it  is  to 


END  OF  EYIL  WAYS  361 

mc  a  matter  of  confidential  duty — diplomatic  secrets  which 
would  compromise  his  late  Majesty  Louis  XVIII. — Indeed, 
monsieur,  it  would  be  better However,  you  are  a  magis- 
trate— and,  after  all,  the  Ambassador,  to  whom  I  refer  the 
whole  question,  must  decide." 

At  this  juncture  the  usher  announced  the  arrival  of  the 
doctor  and  the  infirmary  attendant,  who  came  in. 

"Good-morning,  Monsieur  Lebrun,"  said  Camusot  to  the 
doctor.  "I  have  sent  for  you  to  examine  the  state  of  health 
of  this  prisoner  under  suspicion.  He  says  he  has  been 
poisoned  and  at  the  point  of  death  since  the  day  before  yester- 
day ;  see  if  there  is  any  risk  in  undressing  him  to  look  for  the 
brand." 

Doctor  Lebrun  took  Jacques  Collin's  hand,  felt  his  pulse, 
asked  to  look  at  his  tongue,  and  scrutinized  him  steadily. 
This  inspection  lasted  about  ten  minutes. 

"The  prisoner  has  been  suffering  severely,"  said  the  medical 
officer,  "but  at  this  moment  he  is  amazingly  strong " 

"That  spurious  energy,  monsieur,  is  due  to  nervous  excite- 
ment caused  by  my  strange  position,"  said  Jacques  Collin, 
with  the  dignity  of  a  bishop. 

"That  is  possible,"  said  Monsieur  Lebrun. 

At  a  sign  from  Camusot  the  prisoner  was  stripped  of  every- 
thing but  his  trousers,  even  of  his  shirt,  and  the  spectators 
might  admire  the  hairy  torso  of  a  Cyclops.  It  was  that  of 
the  Famese  Hercules  at  Naples  in  its  colossal  exaggeration. 

"For  what  does  nature  intend  a  man  of  this  build?"  said 
Lebrun  to  the  judge. 

The  usher  brought  in  the  ebony  staff,  which  from  time 
immemorial  has  been  the  insignia  of  his  office,  and  is  called 
his  rod;  he  struck  it  several  times  over  the  place  where  the 
executioner  had  branded  the  fatal  letters.  Seventeen  spots 
appeared,  irregularly  distributed,  but  the  most  careful 
scrutiny  could  not  recognize  the  shape  of  any  letters.  The 
usher  indeed  pointed  out  that  the  top  bar  of  the  letter  T  was 
shown  by  two  spots,  with  an  interval  between  of  the  length 
of  that  bar  between  the  two  points  at  each  end  of  it,  and  there 
was  another  spot  where  the  bottom  of  the  T  should  be. 


362  A  COURTESAN'S   LIFE 

"Still,  that  is  quite  uncertain,"  said  Camusot,  seeing  doubt 
in  the  expression  of  the  prison  doctor's  countenance. 

Carlos  begged  them  to  make  the  same  experiment  on  the 
other  shoulder  and  the  middle  of  his  back.  About  fifteen  more 
such  scars  appeared,  which,  at  the  Spaniard's  request,  the 
doctor  made  a  note  of ;  and  he  pronounced  that  the  man's  back 
had  been  so  extensively  seamed  by  wounds  that  the  brand 
would  not  show  even  if  it  had  been  made  by  the  executioner. 

An  office-clerk  now  came  in  from  the  Prefecture,  and 
handed  a  note  to  Monsieur  Camusot,  requesting  an  answer. 
After  reading  it  the  lawj'er  went  to  speak  to  Coquart,  but  in 
such  a  low  voice  that  no  one  could  catch  a  word.  Only,  by  a 
glance  from  Camusot,  Jacques  Collin  could  guess  that  some 
information  concerning  him  had  been  sent  by  the  Prefet  of 
Police. 

"That  friend  of  Peyrade's  is  still  at  my  heels,"  thought 
Jacques  Collin.  "If  only  I  knew  him,  I  would  get  rid  of  him 
as  I  did  of  Contenson.    If  only  I  could  see  Asie  once  more !" 

After  signing  a  paper  written  by  Coquart,  the  judge  put  it 
into  an  envelope  and  handed  it  to  the  clerk  of  the  Delegate's 
office. 

This  is  an  indispensable  auxiliary  to  Justice.  It  is  under 
the  direction  of  a  police  commissioner,  and  consists  of  peace- 
officers  who,  with  the  assistance  of  the  police  commissioners 
of  each  district,  carry  into  effect  orders  for  searching  the 
houses  or  apprehending  the  persons  of  those  who  are  suspected 
of  complicity  in  crimes  and  felonies.  These  functionaries 
in  authority  save  the  examining  magistrates  a  great  deal  of 
very  precious  time. 

At  a  sign  from  the  judge  the  prisoner  was  dressed  by  Mon- 
sieur Lebrun  and  the  attendant,  who  then  \\-ithdrew  with  the 
usher.  Camusot  sat  down  at  his  table  and  played  with  his 
pen. 

"You  have  an  aunt,"  he  suddenly  said  to  Jacques  Collin. 

"An  aunt?"  echoed  Don  Carlos  Herrera  with  amazement. 
"Vrhy,  monsieur,  I  have  no  relations.  I  am  the  unacknowl- 
edged son  of  the  late  Duke  of  Ossuua." 

But  to  himself  he  said,  "They  are  burning" — an  allusion 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  363 

to  the  game  of  hot  cockles,  which  is  indeed  a  childlike  symhol 
of  the  dreadful  struggle  between  justice  and  the  criminal. 

"Pooh !"  said  Camusot.  "You  still  have  an  aunt  living, 
Mademoiselle  Jacqueline  Collin,  whom  you  placed  in  Esthers 
service  under  the  eccentric  name  of  Asie." 

Jacques  Collin  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  an  indifference 
that  was  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  cool  curiosity  he  gave 
throughout  to  the  judge's  words,  while  Camusot  studied  him 
with  cunning  attention. 

"Take  care,"  said  Camusot ;  "listen  to  me." 

"I  am  listening,  sir." 

"Your  aunt  is  a  wardrobe  dealer  at  the  Temple ;  her  busi- 
ness is  managed  by  a  demoiselle  Paccard,  the  sister  of  a  con- 
vict— herself  a  very  good  girl,  known  as  la  Eomette.  Justice 
is  on  the  traces  of  your  aunt,  and  in  a  few  hours  we  shall  have 
decisive  evidence.    The  woman  is  wholly  devoted  to  you " 

"Pray  go  on.  Monsieur  le  Juge,"  said  Collin  coolly,  in  an- 
swer to  a  pause ;  "I  am  listening  to  you." 

"Your  aunt,  who  is  about  five  years  older  than  you  are,  was 
formerly  Marat's  mistress — of  odious  memory.  From  that 
blood-stained  source  she  derived  the  little  fortune  she  pos- 
sesses. 

"From  information  I  have  received  she  must  be  a  very 
clever  receiver  of  stolen  goods,  for  no  proofs  have  yet  been 
found  to  commit  her  on.  After  Marat's  death  she  seems,  from 
the  notes  I  have  here,  to  have  lived  with  a  chemist  who  was 
condemned  to  death  in  the  year  XII.  for  issuing  false  coin. 
She  was  called  as  witness  in  the  case.  It  was  from  this  inti- 
macy that  she  derived  her  knowledge  of  poisons. 

"In  1812  and  in  1816  she  spent  two  years  in  prison  for  plac- 
ing girls  under  age  upon  the  streets. 

"Y^ou  were  already  convicted  of  forgery;  you  had  left  the 
banking  house  where  your  aunt  had  been  able  to  place  you  as 
clerk,  thanks  to  the  education  you  had  had,  and  the  favor  en- 
joyed by  your  aunt  with  certain  persons  for  whose  debauch- 
eries she  supplied  victims. 

"All  this,  prisoner,  is  not  much  like  the  dignity  of  the 
Dukes  d'Ossuna. 


364  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Do  you  persist  in  your  denial?" 

Jacques  Collin  sat  listening  to  Monsieur  Camusot,  and 
thinking  of  his  happy  childhood  at  the  College  of  the  Ora- 
torians,  where  he  had  been  brought  up,  a  meditation  which 
lent  him  a  truly  amazed  look.  And  in  spite  of  his  skill  as  a 
practised  examiner,  Camusot  could  bring  no  sort  of  expression 
to  those  placid  features. 

"If  you  have  accurately  recorded  the  account  of  myself 
I  gave  you  at  first,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  "you  can  read  it 
through  again.  I  cannot  alter  the  facts.  I  never  went  to  the 
woman's  house;  how  should  I  know  who  her  cook  was?  The 
persons  of  whom  you  speak  are  utterly  unknown  to  me." 

"Notwithstanding  your  denial,  we  shall  proceed  to  confront 
you  with  persons  who  may  succeed  in  diminishing  your  assur- 
ance." 

"A  man  who  has  been  three  times  shot  is  used  to  anything," 
replied  Jacques  Collin  meekly. 

Camusot  proceeded  to  examine  the  seized  papers  while 
awaiting  the  return  of  the  famous  Bibi-Lupin,  whose  expedi- 
tion was  amazing;  for  at  half -past  eleven,  the  inquiry  having 
begun  at  ten  o'clock,  the  usher  came  in  to  inform  the  judge 
in  an  undertone  of  Bibi-Lupin's  arrival. 

"Show  him  in,"  replied  M.  Camusot. 

Bibi-Lupin,  who  had  been  expected  to  exclaim,  "It  is  he," 
as  he  came  in,  stood  puzzled.  He  did  not  recognize  his  man 
in  a  face  pitted  with  smallpox.  This  hesitancy  startled  the 
magistrate. 

"It  is  his  build,  his  height,"  said  the  agent.  "Oh !  yes,  it 
is  you,  Jacques  Collin !"  he  went  on,  as  he  examined  his  eyes, 
forehead,  and  ears.  "There  are  some  things  which  no  dis- 
guise can  alter.  .  .  .  Certainly  it  is  he,  Monsieur  Camu- 
sot. Jacques  has  the  scar  of  a  cut  on  his  left  arm.  Take  off 
his  coat,  and  you  will  see     .     .     ." 

Jacques  Collin  was  again  obliged  to  take  off  his  coat;  Bibi- 
Lupin  turned  up  his  sleeve  and  showed  the  scar  he  had 
spoken  of. 

"It  is  the  scar  of  a  bullet,"  replied  Don  Carlos  Herrera. 
"Here  are  several  more." 


END  OP  EVIL  WAYS  3G5 

"Ah !    It  is  certainly  his  voice,"  cried  Bibi-Lupin. 

"Your  certainty/'  said  Camusot,  "is  merely  an  opinion;  it 
is  not  proof." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Bibi-Lupin  with  deference.  "But  I 
will  bring  witnesses.  One  of  the  boarders  from  the  Maison 
Vauquer  is  here  already,"  said  he,  with  an  eye  on  Collin. 

But  the  prisoner's  set,  calm  face  did  not  move  a  muscle. 

"Show  the  person  in,"  said  Camusot  roughly,  his  dissatis- 
faction betraying  itself  in  spite  of  his  seeming  indifference. 

This  irritation  was  not  lost  on  Jacques  Collin,  who  had  not 
counted  on  the  judge's  sympathy,  and  sat  lost  in  apathy,  pro- 
duced by  his  deep  meditations  in  the  effort  to  guess  what  the 
cause  could  be. 

The  usher  now  showed  in  Madame  Poiret.  At  this  unex- 
pected appearance  the  prisoner  had  a  slight  shiver,  but  his 
trepidation  was  not  remarked  by  Camusot,  who  seemed  to 
have  made  up  his  mind. 

"What  is  your  name  ?"  asked  he,  proceeding  to  carry  out  the 
formalities  introductory  to  all  depositions  and  examinations. 

Madame  Poiret,  a  little  old  woman  as  white  and  wrinkled 
as  a  sweetbread,  dressed  in  a  dark-blue  silk  gown,  gave  her 
name  as  Christine  Michelle  Michonneau,  wife  of  one  Poiret. 
and  her  age  as  fifty-one  years,  said  that  she  was  born  in  Paris, 
lived  in  the  Eue  des  Poules  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  des 
Postes,  and  that  her  business  was  that  of  lodging-house 
keeper. 

"In  1818  and  1819,"  said  the  judge,  "you  lived,  madame, 
in  a  boarding-house  kept  by  a  Madame  Vauquer  ?" 

"Yes,  monsieur;  it  was  there  that  I  met  Monsieur  Poiret» 
a  retired  official,  who  became  my  husband,  and  whom  I  have 
nursed  in  his  bed  this  twelvemonth  past.  Poor  man !  he  is 
very  bad;  and  I  cannot  be  long  away  from  him." 

"There  was  a  certain  Vautrin  in  the  house  at  the  time?" 
asked  Camusot. 

"Oh,  monsieur,  that  is  quite  a  long  story;  he  was  a  horrible 
man,  from  the  galleys " 


366  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"You  helped  to  get  him  arrested?" 

"That  is  not  true,  sir." 

"You  are  in  the  presence  of  the  Law;  be  careful,"  said 
Monsieur  Camusot  severely. 

Madame  Poiret  was  silent. 

"Try  to  remember/'  Camusot  went  on.  "Do  you  recol- 
lect the  man?    Would  you  know  him  again?" 

"1  think  so." 

"Is  this  the  man  ?" 

Madame  Poiret  put  on  her  "eye-preservers/'  and  looked 
at  the  x\bbe  Carlos  Herrera. 

"It  is  his  build,  his  height ;  and  yet — no — if — Monsieur  le 
Juge,"  she  said,  "if  I  could  see  his  chest  I  should  recognize 
him  at  once." 

The  magistrate  and  his  clerk  could  not  help  laughing,  not- 
withstanding the  gravity  of  their  office;  Jacques  Collin  joined 
in  their  hilarity,  but  discreetly.  The  prisoner  had  not  put 
on  his  coat  after  Bibi-Lupin  had  removed  it,  and  at  a  sign 
from  the  judge  he  obligingly  opened  his  shirt. 

"Yes,  that  is  his  fur  trimming,  sure  enough  I — But  it  has 
worn  gray,  Monsieur  Vautrin,"  cried  Madame  Poiret. 

"What  have  you  to  say  to  that?"  asked  the  judge  of  the 
prisoner. 

"That  she  is  mad,"  replied  Jacques  Collin. 

"Bless  me !  If  I  had  a  doubt — for  his  face  is  altered — 
that  voice  would  be  enough.  He  is  the  man  who  threatened 
me.    Ah  !  and  those  are  his  eyes !" 

"The  police  agent  and  this  woman,"  said  Camusot,  speak- 
ing to  Jacques  Collin,  "cannot  possibly  have  conspired  to  say 
the  same  thing,  for  neither  of  them  had  seen  you  till  now. 
How  do  you  account  for  that?" 

"Justice  has  blundered  more  conspicuously  even  than  it 
does  now  in  accepting  the  evidence  of  a  woman  who  recognizes 
a  man  by  the  hair  on  his  chest  and  the  suspicions  of  a  police 
agent,"  replied  Jacques  Collin.  "I  am  said  to  resemble  a 
great  criminal  in  voice,  eyes,  and  build;  that  seems  a  little 
vague.    As  to  the  memory  which  would  prove  certain  relations 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  367 

between  Madame  and  my  Sosie — which  she  does  not  blush  to 
own — you  yourself  laughed  at.  Allow  me,  monsieur,  in  the 
interests  of  truth,  which  I  am  far  more  anxious  to  establish 
for  my  own  sake  than  you  can  be  for  the  sake  of  justice,  to 
ask  this  lady — Madame  Foiret " 

"Poiret." 

"Poret — excuse  me,  I  am  a  Spaniard — whether  she  remem- 
bers the  other  persons  who  lived  in  this — what  did  you  call 
the  house?" 

"A  boarding-house,"  said  Madame  Poiret. 

"I  do  not  know  what  that  is." 

"A  house  where  you  can  dine  and  breakfast  by  subscrip- 
tion." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Camusot,  with  a  favorable  nod  to 
Jacques  Collin,  whose  apparent  good  faith  in  suggesting 
means  to  arrive  at  some  conclusion  struck  him  greatly.  "Try 
to  remember  the  boarders  who  were  in  the  house  when  Jacques 
Collin  was  apprehended." 

"There  were  Monsieur  de  Rastignac,  Doctor  Bianchon,  Pere 
Goriot,  Mademoiselle  Taillefer " 

"That  will  do,"  said  Camusot,  steadily  watching  Jacques 
Collin,  whose  expression  did  not  change.  "Well,  about  this 
Pere  Goriot  ?" 

"He  is  dead,"  said  Madame  Poiret. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  "I  have  several  times  met 
Monsieur  de  Rastignac,  a  friend,  I  believe,  of  Madame  de 
Nucingen's ;  and  if  it  is  the  same,  he  certainly  never  supposed 
me  to  be  the  convict  with  whom  these  persons  trv  to  identify 
me." 

"Monsieur  de  Rastignac  and  Doctor  Bianchon,"  said  the 
magistrate,  "both  hold  such  a  social  position  that  their  evi- 
dence, if  it  is  in  your  favor,  will  be  enough  to  procure  your 
release. — Coquart,  fill  up  a  summons  for  each  of  them." 

The  formalities  attending  Madame  Poiret's  examination 
were  over  in  a  few  minutes ;  Coquart  read  aloud  to  her  the 
notes  he  had  made  of  the  little  scene,  and  she  signed  the 
paper ;  but  the  prisoner  refused  to  sign,  alleging  his  ignorance 
of  the  forms  of  French  law. 


368  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"That  is  enough  for  to-day,"  said  Monsieur  Camusot. 
"You  must  be  wanting  food.  I  will  have  you  taken  back  to 
the  Conciergerie." 

"Alas !  I  am  suffering  too  much  to  be  able  to  eat,"  said 
Jacques  Collin. 

Camusot  was  anxious  to  time  Jacques  Collin's  return  to 
coincide  with  the  prisoners'  hour  of  exercise  in  the  prison 
yard;  but  he  needed  a  reply  from  the  Governor  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie to  the  order  he  had  given  him  in  the  morning,  and 
he  rang  for  the  usher.  The  usher  appeared,  and  told  him  that 
the  porter's  wife,  from  the  house  on  the  Quai  Malaquais,  had 
an  important  document  to  communicate  with  reference  to 
Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempre.  This  was  so  serious  a  matter 
that  it  put  Camusot's  intentions  out  of  his  head. 

"Show  her  in,"  said  he. 

-"Beg  your  pardon;  pray  excuse  me,  gentlemen  all,"  said 
the  woman,  courtesying  to  the  judge  and  the  Abbe  Carlos  by 
turns.  "We  were  so  worried  by  the  Law — my  husband  and 
me — the  twice  when  it  has  marched  into  our  house,  that  we 
had  forgotten  a  letter  that  was  lying,  for  Monsieur  Lucien, 
in  our  chest  of  draAvers,  which  we  paid  ten  sous  for  it,  though 
it  was  posted  in  Paris,  for  it  is  very  heavy,  sir.  Would  you 
please  to  pay  me  back  the  postage  ?  For  God  knows  when  we 
shall  see  our  lodgers  again !" 

"Was  this  letter  handed  to  you  by  the  postman?"  asked 
Camusot,  after  carefully  examining  the  envelope. 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"Coquart,  write  full  notes  of  this  deposition. — Go  on,  my 
good  woman ;  tell  us  your  name  and  your  business."  Camusot 
made  the  woman  take  the  oath,  and  then  he  dictated  the  docu- 
ment. 

While  these  formalities  were  being  carried  out,  he  was 
scrutinizing  the  postmark,  which  showed  the  hours  of  posting 
and  delivery,  as  well  as  the  date  of  the  day.  And  this  letter, 
left  for  Lucien  the  day  after  Esther's  death,  had  beyond  a 
doubt  been  written  and  posted  on  the  day  of  the  catastrophe. 
Monsieur  Camusot's  amazement  may  therefore  be  imagined 


END  OF  EYIL  WATS  369 

when  he  read^this  letter  written  and  signed  by  her  whom  the 
law  believed  to  have  been  the  victim  of  a  crime : — 

"Esther  to  Lucien. 

"Monday,  May  ISth,  1830. 
"My  last  day;  ten  in  the  morning. 

"My  Lucien, — I  have  not  an  hour  to  live.  At  eleven 
o'clock  I  shall  be  dead,  and  I  shall  die  without  a  pang.  I  have 
paid  fifty  thousand  francs  for  a  neat  little  black  currant,  con- 
taining a  poison  that  will  kill  me  with  the  swiftness  of  light- 
ning. And  so,  my  darling,  you  may  tell  yourself,  'My  little 
Esther  had  no  suffering.' — And  yet  I  shall  suffer  in  writing 
these  pages. 

"The  monster  who  has  paid  so  dear  for  me,  knowing  that 
the  day  when  I  should  know  myself  to  be  his  would  have  no 
morrow — N"ucingen  has  just  left  me,  as  drunk  as  a  bear  with 
his  skin  full  of  wine.  For  the  first  and  last  time  in  my  life 
I  have  had  the  opportunity  of  comparing  my  old  trade  as  a 
street  hussy  with  the  life  of  true  love,  of  placing  the  tender- 
ness which  unfolds  in  the  infinite  above  the  horrors  of  a  duty 
which  longs  to  destroy  itself  and  leave  no  room  even  for  a 
kiss.    Only  such  loathing  could  make  death  delightful. 

"I  have  taken  a  bath;  I  should  have  liked  to  send  for  the 
father  confessor  of  the  convent  where  I  was  baptized,  to  have 
confessed  and  washed  my  soul.  But  I  have  had  enough  of 
prostitution ;  it  would  be  profaning  a  sacrament ;  and  besides, 
1  feel  myself  cleansed  in  the  waters  of  sincere  repentance. 
God  must  do  what  He  will  with  me. 

"But  enough  of  all  this  maudlin ;  for  you  I  want  to  be  your 
Esther  to  the  last  moment,  not  to  bore  you  with  my  death,  or 
the  future,  or  God,  who  is  good,  and  who  would  not  be  good 
if  He  were  to  torture  me  in  the  next  world  when  I  have  en- 
dured so  much  misery  in  this. 

"I  have  before  me  your  beautiful  portrait,  painted  by  Ma- 
dame de  Mirbel.  That  sheet  of  ivory  used  to  comfort  me  in 
your  absence,  I  look  at  it  with  rapture  as  I  write  you  my  last 


370  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

thoughts,  and  tell  you  of  the  last  throbbing  of  my  heart.  I 
shall  enclose  the  miniature  in  this  letter,  for  I  cannot  bear 
that  it  should  be  stolen  or  sold.  The  mere  thought  that  what 
has  been  my  great  joy  may  lie  behind  a  shop  window,  mixed 
up  with  the  ladies  and  officers  of  the  Empire,  or  a  parcel  of 
Chinese  absurdities,  is  a  small  death  to  me.  Destroy  that 
picture,  my  sweetheart,  wipe  it  out,  never  give  it  to  any  one — 
unless,  indeed,  the  gift  might  win  back  the  heart  of  that  walk- 
ing, well-dressed  maypole,  that  Clotilde  de  Grandiieu,  who 
will  make  you  black  and  blue  in  her  sleep,  her  bones  are  so 
sharp. — Yes,  to  that  I  consent,  and  then  I  shall  still  be  of 
some  use  to  you,  as  when  I  was  alive.  Oh!  to  give  you 
pleasure,  or  only  to  make  you  laugh,  I  would  have  stood  over 
a  brazier  with  an  apple  in  my  mouth  to  cook  it  for  you. — So 
my  death  even  will  be  of  service  to  you. — I  should  have  marred 
your  home. 

"Oh  I  that  Clotilde  I  I  cannot  understand  her. — She  might 
have  been  your  wife,  have  borne  your  name,  have  never  left 
you  day  or  night,  have  belonged  to  you — and  she  could  make 
difficulties  !  Only  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  can  do  that ! 
and  yet  she  has  not  ten  pounds  of  flesh  on  her  bones  ! 

"Poor  Lucien  !  Dear  ambitious  failure  !  I  am  thinking  of 
your  future  life.  Well,  well !  you  will  more  than  once  regret 
your  poor  faithful  dog,  the  good  girl  who  Avould  fly  to  serve 
you,  who  would  have  been  dragged  into  a  police  court  to 
secure  your  happiness,  whose  only  occupation  was  to  think  of 
your  pleasures  and  invent  new  ones,  who  was  so  full  of  love 
for  you — in  her  hair,  her  feet,  her  ears — ^your  hallerina,  in 
short,  whose  every  look  was  a  benediction;  who  for  six  years 
has  thought  of  nothing  but  you,  who  was  so  entirely  your 
chattel  that  I  have  never  been  anything  but  an  effluence  of 
your  soul,  as  light  is  that  of  the  sun.  However,  for  lack  of 
money  and  of  honor,  I  can  never  be  your  wife.  I  have  at  any 
rate  provided  for  your  future  by  giving  you  all  I  have. 

"Come  as  soon  as  you  get  this  letter  and  take  what  you 
find  under  my  pillow,  for  I  do  not  trust  the  people  about  me. 
Understand  that  I  mean  to  look  beautiful  when  I  am  dead. 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  371 

I  shall  go  to  bed,  and  lay  myself  flat  in  an  attitude — why  not  ? 
Then  1  shall  break  the  little  pill  against  the  roof  of  my 
mouth,  and  shall  not  be  disfigured  by  any  convulsion  or  by  a 
ridiculous  position. 

"Madame  de  Serizy  has  quarreled  with  you,  I  know,  because 
of  me ;  but  when  she  hears  that  I  am  dead,  you  see,  dear  pet, 
she  will  forgive.  Make  it  up  with  her,  and  she  will  find  you 
a  suitable  wife  if  the  Grandlieus  persist  in  their  refusal. 

"My  dear,  I  do  not  want  you  to  grieve  too  much  when  you 
hear  of  ray  death.  To  begin  with,  I  must  tell  you  that  the 
hour  of  eleven  on  Monday  morning,  the  thirteenth  of  May,  is 
only  the  end  of  a  long  illness,  which  began  on  the  day  when, 
on  the  Terrace  of  Saint-Germain,  you  threw  me  back  on  my 
former  line  of  life.  The  soul  may  be  sick,  as  the  body  is. 
But  the  soul  cannot  submit  stupidly  to  suffering  like  the 
body;  the  body  does  not  uphold  the  soul  as  the  soul  upholds 
the  body,  and  the  soul  sees  a  means  of  cure  in  the  reflection 
which  leads  to  the  needlewoman's  resource — the  bushel  of 
charcoal.  You  gave  me  a  whole  life  the  day  before  yesterday, 
when  you  said  that  if  Clotilde  still  refused  you,  you  would 
marry  me.  It  would  have  been  a  great  misfortune  for  us 
both;  I  should  have  been  still  more  dead,  so  to  speak — for 
there  are  more  and  less  bitter  deaths.  The  world  would  never 
have  recognized  us. 

"For  two  months  past  I  have  been  thinking  of  many  things, 
I  can  tell  you.  A  poor  girl  is  in  the  mire,  as  I  was  before  I 
went  into  the  convent ;  men  think  her  handsome,  they  make  her 
serve  their  pleasure  Avithout  thinking  any  consideration  neces- 
sary; they  pack  her  ofi'  on  foot  after  fetching  her  in  a  car- 
riage; if  they  do  not  spit  in  her  face,  it  is  only  because  her 
beauty  preserves  her  from  such  indignity ;  but,  morally  speak- 
ing, they  do  worse.  Well,  and  if  this  despised  creature  were 
to  inherit  five  or  six  millions  of  francs,  she  would  be  courted  by 
princes,  bowed  to  with  respect  as  she  went  past  in  her  car- 
riage, and  might  choose  among  the  oldest  names  in  France 
and  Navarre.  That  world  which  would  have  cried  Raca  to 
us,  on  seeing  two  handsome  creatures  united  and  happy, 


372  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

always  did  honor  to  Madame  de  Stael,  in  spite  of  her  'ro- 
mances in  real  life/  because  she  had  two  hundred  thousand 
francs  a  year.  The  world,  which  grovels  before  money  or 
glory,  will  not  bow  down  before  happiness  or  virtue — for  I 
could  have  done  good.  Oh !  how  many  tears  I  would  have 
dried — as  many  as  I  have  shed,  I  believe !  Yes,  I  would  have 
lived  only  for  you  and  for  charity. 

"These  are  the  thoughts  that  make  death  beautiful.  So  do 
not  lament,  my  dear.  Say  often  to  yourself,  'There  were  two 
good  creatures,  two  beautiful  creatures,  who  both  died  for 
me  ungrudgingly,  and  who  adored  me.'  Keep  a  memory 
in  your  heart  of  Coralie  and  Esther,  and  go  your  way  and 
prosper.  Do  you  recollect  the  day  when  you  pointed 
out  to  me  a  shriveled  old  woman,  in  a  melon-green  bonnet 
and  a  puce  wrapper,  all  over  black  grease-spots,  the 
mistress  of  a  poet  before  the  Revolution,  hardly  thawed 
by  the  sun  though  she  was  sitting  against  the  wall  of  the 
Tuileries  and  fussing  over  a  pug — the  vilest  of  pugs? 
She  had  had  footmen  and  carriages,  you  know,  and  a 
fine  house !  And  I  said  to  you  then,  'How  much  better  to  be 
dead  at  thirty !' — Well,  you  thought  I  was  melancholy,  and 
you  played  all  sorts  of  pranks  to  amuse  me,  and  between  two 
kisses  I  said,  'Every  day  some  pretty  woman  leaves  the  play 
before  it  is  over !' — And  I  do  not  want  to  see  the  last  piece ; 
that  is  all. 

"You  must  think  me  a  great  chatterbox ;  but  this  is  my  last 
effusion.  I  write  as  if  I  were  talking  to  you,  and  I  like  to 
talk  cheerfully.  I  have  always  had  a  horror  of  a  dressmaker 
pitying  herself.  You  know  I  knew  how  to  die  decently  once 
before,  on  my  return  from  that  fatal  opera-ball  where  the 
men  said  I  had  been  a  prostitute. 

"No,  no,  my  dear  love,  never  give  this  portrait  to  any  one ! 
If  you  could  know  with  what  a  gush  of  love  I  have  sat  losing 
myself  in  your  eyes,  looking  at  them  with  rapture  during  a 
pause  I  allowed  myself,  you  would  feel  as  you  gathered  up  the 
affection  with  which  I  have  tried  to  overlay  the  ivory,  that  the 
soul  of  your  little  pet  is  indeed  there. 


END  OP  EVIL  WAYS  373 

"A  dead  woman  craving  alms !  That  is  a  funny  idea. — 
Come,  I  must  learn  to  lie  quiet  in  my  grave. 

"You  have  no  idea  how  heroic  my  death  would  seem  to  some 
fools  if  they  could  know  Nucingen  last  night  offered  me  two 
millions  of  francs  if  I  would  love  him  as  I  love  you.  He  will 
be  handsomely  robbed  when  he  hears  that  I  have  kept  my 
word  and  died  of  him.  I  tried  all  I  could  still  to  breathe  the 
air  you  breathe.  I  said  to  the  fat  scoundrel,  'Do  you  want  me 
to  love  you  as  you  wish  ?  To  promise  even  that  I  will  never 
see  Lucien  again?' — 'What  must  I  do?'  he  asked. — 'Give  me 
the  two  millions  for  him.' — You  should  have  seen  his  face ! 
I  could  have  laughed,  if  it  had  not  been  so  tragical  for  me. 

"  'Spare  yourself  the  trouble  of  refusing,'  said  I ;  'I  see  you 
care  more  for  your  two  millions  than  for  me.  A  woman  is 
always  glad  to  know  at  what  she  is  valued !'  and  I  turned  my 
back  on  him. 

"In  a  few  hours  the  old  rascal  will  know  that  I  was  not  in 
jest. 

"Who  will  part  your  hair  as  nicely  as  I  do  ?  Pooh ! — I  will 
think  no  more  of  anything  in  life;  I  have  but  five  minutes, 
I  give  them  to  God.  Do  not  be  jealous  of  Him,  dear  heart; 
1  shall  speak  to  Him  of  you,  beseeching  Him  for  your  happi- 
ness as  the  price  of  my  death,  and  my  punishment  in  the  next 
world.  I  am  vexed  enough  at  having  to  go  to  hell.  I  should 
have  liked  to  see  the  angels,  to  know  if  they  are  like  you. 

"Good-bye,  my  darling,  good-bye !  I  give  you  all  the 
blessing  of  my  woes.    Even  in  the  grave  I  am  your  Esther. 

"It  is  striking  eleven.  I  have  said  my  last  prayers.  I  am 
going  to  bed  to  die.  Once  more,  farewell !  I  wish  that  the 
warmth  of  my  hand  could  leave  my  soul  there  where  I  press 
a  last  kiss — and  once  more  I  must  call  you  my  dearest  love, 
though  you  are  the  cause  of  the  death  of  your  Esther." 

A  vague  feeling  of  jealousy  tightened  on  the  magistrate's 
heart  as  he  read  this  letter,  the  only  letter  from  a  suicide  he 
had  ever  found  written  with  such  lightness,  though  it  was  a 
feverish  lightness,  and  the  last  effort  of  a  blind  affection. 
24 


374  A  rOTTRTESAN'S   LIP'E 

"What  is  there  in  the  man  that  he  should  be  loved  so  well  ?" 
thought  he,  saying  what  every  man  says  who  has  not  the  gift 
of  attracting  women. 

"If  you  can  prove  not  merely  that  you  are  not  Jacques 
Collin  and  an  escaped  convict,  but  that  you  are  in  fact  Don 
Carlos  Herrera,  canon  of  Toledo,  and  secret  envoy  of  his 
Majesty  Ferdinand  VII.,"  said  he,  addressing  the  prisoner, 
"you  will  be  released;  for  the  impartiality  demanded  by  my 
office  requires  me  to  tell  you  that  I  have  this  moment  received 
a  letter,  written  by  Mademoiselle  Esther  Gobseck,  in  which 
she  declares  her  intention  of  killing  herself,  and  expresses 
suspicions  as  to  her  servants,  which  would  seem  to  point  to 
them  as  the  thieves  who  have  made  off  with  the  seven  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs." 

As  he  spoke  Monsieur  Camusot  was  comparing  the  writing 
of  the  letter  with  that  of  the  will ;  and  it  seemed  to  him  self- 
evident  that  the  same  person  had  written  both. 

"Monsieur,  you  were  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  believe  in  a 
murder;  do  not  be  too  hasty  in  believing  in  a  theft." 

"Heh !"  said  Camusot,  scrutinizing  the  prisoner  with  a 
piercing  eye. 

"Do  not  suppose  that  I  am  compromising  myself  by  telling 
you  that  the  sum  may  possibly  be  recovered,"  said  Jacques 
Collin,  making  the  judge  understand  that  he  saw  his  sus- 
picions. "That  poor  girl  was  much  loved  by  those  about  her ; 
and  if  I  were  free,  I  would  undertake  to  search  for  this 
mone}^,  which  no  doubt  belongs  to  the  being  I  love  best  in  the 
world — to  Lucien ! — Will  you  allow  me  to  read  that  letter ;  it 
will  not  take  long?  It  is  evidence  of  my  dear  boy's  innocence 
— you  cannot  fear  that  I  shall  destroy  it — nor  that  I  shall 
talk  about  it;  I  am  in  solitary  confinement." 

"In  confinement !  You  will  be  so  no  longer,"  cried  the 
magistrate.  "It  is  I  who  must  beg  3'ou  to  get  well  as  soon  as 
possible.    Refer  to  your  ambassador  if  you  choose " 

And  he  handed  the  letter  to  Jacques  Collin.  Camusot  was 
glad  to  be  out  of  a  difficulty,  to  be  able  to  satisfy  the  public 
prosecutor,  Mesdames  de  Maufrigneuse  and  de  Serizy.    Nev- 


END  OP  EVIL  WAYS  375 

ertheless,  he  studied  his  prisoner's  face  with  cold  curiosity 
while  Collin  read  Esther's  letter;  in  spite  of  the  apparent 
genuineness  of  the  feelings  it  expressed,  he  said  to  himself : 

"But  it  is  a  face  worthy  of  the  hulks,  all  the  same !" 

"That  is  the  way  to  love !"  said  Jacques  Collin,  returning 
the  letter.    And  he  showed  Camusot  a  face  bathed  in  tears. 

"If  only  you  knew  him,"  he  went  on,  "so  youthful,  so  inno- 
cent a  soul,  so  splendidly  handsome,  a  child,  a  poet ! — The 
impulse  to  sacrifice  oneself  to  him  is  irresistible,  to  satisfy  his 
lightest  wish.  That  dear  boy  is  so  fascinating  when  he 
chooses " 

"And  so,"  said  the  magistrate,  making  a  final  effort  to  dis- 
cover the  truth,  "you  cannot  possibly  be  Jacques  Collin " 

"JSTo,  monsieur,"  replied  the  convict. 

And  Jacques  Collin  was  more  entirely  Don  Carlos  Herrera 
than  ever.  In  his  anxiety  to  complete  his  work  he  went  up  to 
the  judge,  led  him  to  the  window,  and  gave  himself  the  airs 
of  a  prince  of  the  Church,  assuming  a  confidential  tone : 

"I  am  so  fond  of  that  boy,  monsieur,  that  if  it  were  needful, 
to  spare  that  idol  of  my  heart  a  mere  discomfort  even,  that  I 
should  be  the  criminal  you  take  me  for,  I  would  surrender," 
said  he  in  an  undertone.  "I  would  follow  the  example  of  the 
poor  girl  who  has  killed  herself  for  his  benefit.  And  I  beg 
you,  monsieur,  to  grant  me  a  favor — namely,  to  set  Lucien  at 
liberty  forthwith." 

"My  duty  forbids  it,"  said  Camusot  very  good-naturedly; 
"but  if  a  sinner  may  make  a  compromise  with  heaven,  justice 
too  has  its  softer  side,  and  if  you  can  give  me  sufficient  reasons 
— speak ;  your  words  will  not  be  taken  down." 

"Well,  then,"  Jacques  Collin  went  on,  taken  in  by  Camu- 
sot's  apparent  goodwill,  "I  know  what  that  poor  boy  is  suffer- 
ing at  this  moment ;  he  is  capable  of  trying  to  kill  himself 
when  he  finds  himself  a  prisoner " 

"Oh !  as  to  that !"  said  Camusot  with  a  shrug. 

"You  do  not  know  whom  you  will  oblige  by  obliging  me," 
added  Jacques  Collin,  trying  to  harp  on  another  string.  "You 
will  be  doing  a  service  to  others  more  powerful  than  any 


376  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Comtesse  de  Serizy  or  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  who  will 
never  forgive  you  for  having  had  their  letters  in  your  cham- 
bers  "  and  he  pointed  to  two  packets  of  perfumed  papers. 

"My  Order  has  a  good  memory." 

''Monsieur/'  said  Camusot,  "that  is  enough.  You  must 
find  better  reasons  to  give  me.  I  am  as  much  interested  in  the 
prisoner  as  in  public  vengeance." 

"Believe  me,  then,  I  know  Lucien;  he  has  the  soul  of  a 
woman,  of  a  poet,  and  a  southerner,  without  persistency  or 
will,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  who  fancied  that  he  saw  that  he 
had  won  the  judge  over.  "You  are  convinced  of  the  young 
man's  innocence,  do  not  torture  him,  do  not  question  him. 
Give  him  that  letter,  tell  him  that  he  is  Esther's  heir,  and  re- 
store him  to  freedom.  If  you  act  otherwise,  you  will  bring 
despair  on  yourself;  whereas,  if  you  simply  release  him,  I 
will  explain  to  you — keep  me  still  in  solitary  confinement — 
to-morrow  or  this  evening,  everything  that  may  strike  you  as 
mysterious  in  the  case,  and  the  reasons  for  the  persecution 
of  which  I  am  the  object.  But  it  will  be  at  the  risk  of  my 
life;  a  price  has  been  set  on  my  head  these  six  years  past. 
.  .  .  Lucien  free,  rich,  and  married  to  Clotilde  de  Grand- 
lieu,  and  my  task  on  earth  will  be  done ;  I  shall  no  longer  try 
to  save  my  skin. — My  persecutor  was  a  spy  under  your  late 
King." 

"What,  Corentin?" 

"Ah !  Is  his  name  Corentin  ?  Thank  you,  monsieur.  Well, 
will  you  promise  to  do  as  I  ask  you  ?" 

"A  magistrate  can  make  no  promises. — Coquart,  tell  the 
usher  and  the  gendarmes  to  take  the  prisoner  back  to  the 
Conciergerie. — I  will  give  orders  that  you  are  to  have  a  private 
room,"  he  added  pleasantly,  with  a  slight  nod  to  the  convict. 

Struck  by  Jacques  Collin's  request,  and  remembering  how 
he  had  insisted  that  he  wished  to  be  examined  first  as  a  priv- 
ilege to  his  state  of  health,  Camusot's  suspicions  were  aroused 
once  more.  Allowing  his  vague  doubts  to  make  themselves 
hearfl,  he  noticed  that  the  self-styled  dying  man  was  walking 
off  with  the  strength  of  a  Hercules,  having  abandoned  all 


END  OP  EVIL  WAYS  377 

the  tricks  he  had  aped  so  well  on  appearing  before  the  magis- 
trate. 

"Monsieur  V 

Jacques  Collin  turned  round. 

"Notwithstanding  your  refusal  to  sign  the  document,  my 
clerk  will  read  you  the  minutes  of  your  examination." 

The  prisoner  was  evidently  in  excellent  health;  the  read- 
iness with  which  he  came  back,  and  sat  down  by  the  clerk, 
was  a  fresh  light  to  the  magistrate's  mind. 

"You  have  got  well  very  suddenly !"  said  Camusot. 

"Caught !"  thought  Jacques  Collin ;  and  he  replied : 

"Joy,  monsieur,  is  the  only  panacea. — That  letter,  the  proof 
of  innocence  of  which  I  had  no  doubt — these  are  the  grand 
remedy." 

The  judge  kept  a  meditative  eye  on  the  prisoner  when 
the  usher  and  the  gendarmes  again  took  him  in  charge. 
Then,  with  a  start  like  a  waking  man,  he  tossed  Esther's  letter 
across  to  the  table  where  his  clerk  sat,  saying : 

"Coquart,  copy  that  letter." 

If  it  is  natural  to  man  to  be  suspicious  as  to  some  favor 
required  of  him  when  it  is  antagonistic  to  his  interests  or 
his  duty,  and  sometimes  even  when  it  is  a  matter  of  in- 
difference, this  feeling  is  law  to  an  examining  magistrate. 
The  more  this  prisoner — whose  identity  was  not  yet  ascer- 
tained— pointed  to  clouds  on  the  horizon  in  the  event  of 
Lucien's  being  examined,  the  more  necessary  did  the  inter- 
rogatory seem  to  Camusot.  Even  if  this  formality  had  not 
been  required  by  the  Code  and  by  common  practice,  it  was  in- 
dispensable as  bearing  on  the  identification  of  the  Abbe 
Carlos.  There  is  in  every  walk  of  life  the  business  conscience. 
In  default  of  curiosity  Camusot  would  have  examined  Lucien 
as  he  had  examined  Jacques  Collin,  with  all  the  cunning 
which  the  most  honest  magistrate  allows  himself  to  use  in 
such  cases.  The  services  he  might  render  and  his  own  pro- 
motion were  secondary  in  Camusot's  mind  to  his  anxiety  to 
know  or  guess  the  truth,  even  if  he  should  never  tell  it. 

He  stood  drumming  on  the  window-pane  while  following 


378  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

the  river-like  current  of  his  conjectures,  for  in  these  moods 
thought  is  like  a  stream  flowing  through  many  countries. 
Magistrates,  in  love  with  truth,  are  like  jealous  women ;  they 
give  way  to  a  thousand  hypotheses,  and  probe  them  with 
the  dagger-point  of  suspicion,  as  the  sacrificing  priest  of 
old  eviscerated  his  victims;  thus  they  arrive,  not  perhaps  at 
truth,  but  at  probability,  and  at  last  see  the  truth  beyond. 
A  woman  cross-questions  the  man  she  loves  as  the  judge  cross- 
questions  a  criminal.  In  such  a  frame  of  mind,  a  glance,  a 
word,  a  tone  of  voice,  the  slightest  hesitation  is  enough  to 
certify  the  hidden  fact — treason  or  crime. 

"The  style  in  which  he  depicted  his  devotion  to  his  son — 
if  he  is  his  son — is  enough  to  make  me  think  that  he  was  in 
the  girl's  house  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  plunder;  and  never 
suspecting  that  the  dead  woman's  pillow  covered  a  will,  he  no 
doubt  annexed,  for  his  son,  the  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand francs  as  a  precaution.  That  is  why  he  can  promise  to 
recover  the  mone}'. 

"M.  de  Eubempre  owes  it  to  himself  and  to  justice  to  ac- 
count for  his  father's  position  in  the  world 

"And  he  offers  me  the  protection  of  his  Order — His  Order ! 
— if  I  do  not  examine  Lucien " 

This  thought  gave  him  pause. 

As  has  been  seen,  a  magistrate  conducts  an  examination 
exactly  as  he  thinks  proper.  He  is  at  liberty  to  display  his 
acumen  or  be  absolutely  blunt.  An  examination  may  be 
everything  or  nothing.     Therein  lies  the  favor. 

Camusot  rang.  The  usher  had  returned.  He  was  sent  to 
fetch  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Eubempre  with  an  injunction  to 
prohibit  his  speaking  to  anybody  on  his  way  up.  It  was  by 
this  time  two  in  the  afternoon. 

"There  is  some  secret,"  said  the  judge  to  himself,  "and  that 
secret  must  be  very  important.  My  amphibious  friend — 
since  he  is  neither  priest,  nor  secular,  nor  convict,  nor 
Spaniard,  though  he  wants  to  hinder  his  protege  from  letting 
out  something  dreadful — argues  thus:  'The  poet  is  weak  and 
effeminate;  he  is  not  like  me,  a  Hercules  in  diplomacy,  and 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  379 

you  will  easily  wring  our  secret  from  him.' — Well,  we  will 
get  everything  out  of  this  innocent." 

And  he  sat  tapping  the  edge  of  his  table  with  the  ivory 
paper-knife,  while  Coquart  copied  Esther's  letter. 

How  whimsical  is  the  action  of  our  faculties !  Camusot 
conceived  of  every  crime  as  possible,  and  overlooked  the  only 
one  that  the  prisoner  had  now  committed — ^the  forgery  of  the 
will  for  Lucien's  advantage.  Let  those  whose  envy  vents 
itself  on  magistrates  think  for  a  moment  of  their  life  spent 
in  perpetual  suspicion,  of  the  torments  these  men  must  inflict 
on  their  minds,  for  civil  cases  are  not  less  tortuous  than 
criminal  examinations,  and  it  will  occur  to  them  perhaps  that 
the  priest  and  the  lawyer  wear  an  equally  heavy  coat  of  mail, 
equally  furnished  with  spikes  in  the  lining.  However,  every 
profession  has  its  hair  shirt  and  its  Chinese  puzzles. 

It  was  about  two  o'clock  when  Monsieur  Camusot  saw 
jjucien  de  Rubempre  come  in,  pale,  worn,  his  eyes  red  and 
swollen,  in  short,  in  a  state  of  dejection  which  enabled  the 
magistrate  to  compare  nature  with  art,  the  really  dying  man 
with  the  stage  performance.  His  walk  from  the  Conciergerie 
to  the  Judge's  chambers,  between  two  gendarmes,  and  pre- 
ceded by  the  usher,  had  put  the  crowning  touch  to  Lucien's 
despair.  It  is  the  poet's  nature  to  prefer  execution  to  con-^^ 
demnation. 

As  he  saw  this  being,  so  completely  bereft  of  the  moral 
courage  which  is  the  essence  of  a  judge,  and  which  the  last 
prisoner  had  so  strongly  manifested,  Monsieur  Camusot  dis- 
dained the  easy  victory ;  and  this  scorn  enabled  him  to  strike 
a  decisive  blow,  since  it  left  him,  on  the  ground,  that  horrible 
clearness  of  mind  which  the  marksman  feels  when  he  is  firing 
at  a  puppet. 

"Collect  yourself,  Monsieur  de  Eubempre;  you  are  in  the 
presence  of  a  magistrate  who  is  eager  to  repair  the  mischief 
done  involuntarily  by  the  law  when  a  man  is  taken  into 
custody  on  suspicion  that  has  no  foundation.  I  believe  you 
to  be  innocent,  and  you  will  soon  be  at  liberty. — Here  is  the 


380  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

evidence  of  your  innocence ;  it  is  a  letter  kept  for  5^011  during 
your  absence  by  your  porter's  wife;  she  has  just  brought  it 
here.  In  the  commotion  caused  by  the  visitation  of  justice 
and  the  news  of  your  arrest  at  Fontainebleau,  the  woman  for- 
got the  letter  which  was  written  by  Mademoiselle  Esther  Gob- 
seek. — Eead  it !" 

Lucien  took  the  letter,  read  it,  and  melted  into  tears.  He 
sobbed,  and  could  not  say  a  single  word.  At  the  end  of  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  during  which  Lucien  with  great  difficulty 
recovered  his  self-command,  the  clerk  laid  before  him  the  copy 
of  the  letter,  and  begged  him  to  sign  a  footnote  certifying 
that  the  copy  was  faithful  to  the  orginal,  and  might  be  used 
in  its  stead  "on  all  occasions  in  the  course  of  this  preliminary 
inquiry,"  giving  him  the  option  of  comparing  the  two;  but 
Lucien,  of  course,  took  Coquart's  word  for  its  accuracy. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  lawyer,  with  friendly  good  nature,  "it 
is  nevertheless  impossible  that  I  should  release  you  without 
carrying  out  the  legal  formalities,  and  asking  you  some  ques- 
tions.— It  is  almost  as  a  witness  that  I  require  you  to  answer. 
To  such  a  man  as  you  I  think  it  is  almost  unnecessary  to 
point  out  that  the  oath  to  tell  the  whole  truth  is  not  in  this 
case  a  mere  appeal  to  your  conscience,  but  a  necessity  for 
your  own  sake,  your  position  having  been  for  a  time  some- 
what ambiguous.  The  truth  can  do  you  no  harm,  be  it  what 
it  may;  falsehood  will  send  you  to  trial,  and  compel  me  to 
send  you  back  to  the  Conciergerie ;  whereas  if  you  answer  fully 
to  my  questions,  you  will  sleep  to-night  in  your  own  house, 
and  be  rehabilitated  by  this  paragraph  in  the  papers:  'Mon- 
sieur de  Rubempre,  who  was  arrested  yesterday  at  Fontaine- 
bleau, was  set  at  liberty  after  a  very  brief  examination.'  " 

This  speech  made  a  deep  impression  on  Lucien;  and  the 
judge,  seeing  the  temper  of  his  prisoner,  added : 

"I  may  repeat  to  you  that  you  were  suspected  of  being 
accessory  to  the  murder  by  poison  of  this  Demoiselle  Esther. 
Her  suicide  is  clearly  proved,  and  there  is  an  end  of  that ;  but 
a  sum  of  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  has  been 
stolen,  which  she  had  disposed  of  by  will,  and  you  are  the 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  381 

legatee.  This  is  a  felony.  The  crime  was  perpetrated  before 
the  discovery  of  the  will. 

"Now  there  is  reason  to  suppose  that  a  person  who  loves 
you  as  much  as  you  loved  Mademoiselle  Esther  committed 
the  theft  for  your  benefit. — Do  not  interrupt  me/'  Camusot 
went  on,  seeing  that  Lucien  was  about  to  speak,  and  com- 
manding silence  by  a  gesture;  "I  am  asking  you  nothing  so 
far.  I  am  anxious  to  make  you  understand  how  deeply  your 
honor  is  concerned  in  this  question.  Give  up  the  false  and 
contemptible  notion  of  the  honor  binding  two  accomplices, 
and  tell  the  whole  truth." 

The  reader  must  already  have  observed  the  extreme  dis- 
proportion of  the  weapons  in  this  conflict  between  the  prisoner 
under  suspicion  and  the  examining  judge.  Absolute  denial 
when  skilfully  used  has  in  its  favor  its  positive  simplicity, 
and  sufficiently  defends  the  criminal;  but  it  is,  in  a  way,  a 
coat  of  mail  which  becomes  crushing  as  soon  as  the  stiletto 
of  cross-examination  finds  a  joint  to  it.  As  soon  as  mere 
denial  is  ineffectual  in  face  of  certain  proven  facts,  the  ex- 
aminee is  entirely  at  the  judge's  mercy. 

Now,  supposing  that  a  sort  of  half-criminal,  like  Lucien, 
might,  if  he  were  saved  from  the  first  shipwreck  of  his  hon- 
esty, amend  his  ways,  and  become  a  useful  member  of  society, 
he  will  be  lost  in  the  pitfalls  of  his  examination. 

The  judge  has  the  driest  possible  record  drawn  up  of  the 
proceedings,  a  faithful  analysis  of  the  questions  and  answers ; 
but  no  trace  remains  of  his  insidiously  paternal  addresses  or 
his  captious  remonstrances,  such  as  this  speech.  The  judges 
of  the  superior  courts  see  the  results,  but  see  nothing  of  the 
means.  Hence,  as  some  experienced  persons  have  thought, 
it  would  be  a  good  plan  that,  as  in  England,  a  jury  should 
hear  the  examination.  For  a  short  while  France  enjoyed  the 
benefit  of  this  system.  Under  the  Code  of  Brumaire  of  the 
year  IV.,  this  body  was  known  as  the  examining  jury,  as 
distinguished  from  the  trying  jury.  As  to  the  final  trial,  if 
we  should  restore  the  examining  jury,  it  would  have  to 
be  the  function  of  the  superior  courts  without  the  aid  of  a 
jury. 


382  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"And  now,"  said  Camusot,  after  a  pause,  "what  is  your 
name  ? — Attention,  Monsieur  Coquart !"  said  he  to  the  clerk. 

"Lucien  Chardon  de  Rubempre." 

"And  you  were  born ?'■ 

"At  Angouleme.-'  And  Lucien  named  the  day,  month, 
and  year. 

"You  inherited  no  fortune?" 

"None  whatever." 

"And  yet,  during  your  first  residence  in  Paris,  you  spent 
a  great  deal,  as  compared  with  your  small  income  ?" 

"Yes,  monsieur;  but  at  that  time  I  had  a  most  devoted 
friend  in  Mademoiselle  Coralie,  and  I  was  so  unhappy  as 
to  lose  her.  It  was  my  grief  at  her  death  that  made  me 
return  to  my  country  home." 

"That  is  right,  monsieur,"  said  Camusot ;  "I  commend 
your  frankness ;  it  will  be  thoroughly  appreciated." 

Lacien,  it  will  be  seen,  v.'as  prepared  to  make  a  clean  breast 
of  it. 

"On  your  return  to  Paris  you  lived  even  more  expensively 
than  before,"  Camusot  went  on.  "You  lived  like  a  man  who 
might  have  about  sixty  thousand  francs  a  year." 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"Who  supplied  you  with  the  money  ?" 

"My  protector,  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera." 

"Where  did  you  meet  him  ?"' 

"We  met  when  traveling,  just  as  I  was  about  to  be  quit  of 
life  by  committing  suicide." 

"You  never  heard  him  spoken  of  by  your  family — by  your 
mother  ?" 

"Never." 

"Can  you  remember  the  year  and  the  month  when  you 
first  became  connected  with  Mademoiselle  Esther?" 

"Towards  the  end  of  1823,  at  a  small  theatre  on  the 
Boulevard." 

"At  first  she  was  an  expense  to  yoii  ?" 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"Lately,  in  the  hope  of  marrying  Mademoiselle  de  Grand- 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  383 

lieu,  you  purchased  the  ruins  of  the  Chateau  de  Kubempre, 
you  added  land  to  the  value  of  a  million  francs,  and  you  told 
the  family  of  Grandlieu  that  your  sister  and  your  brother-in- 
law  had  just  come  into  a  considerable  fortune,  and  that  their 
liberality  had  supplied  you  with  the  money. — Did  you  tell  the 
Grandlieus  this,  monsieur?" 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"You  do  not  know  the  reason  whv  the  marriage  was  broken 
off?" 

"Not  in  the  least,  monsieur." 

"Well,  the  Grandlieus  sent  one  of  the  most  respectable 
attorneys  in  Paris  to  see  your  brother-in-law  and  inquire 
into  the  facts.  At  Angouleme  this  lawyer,  from  the  state- 
ments of  your  sister  and  brother-in-law,  learned  that  they  not 
only  had  hardly  lent  you  any  money,  but  also  that  their  in- 
heritance consisted  of  land,  of  some  extent  no  doubt,  but  that 
the  whole  amount  of  invested  capital  was  not  more  than  about 
two  hundred  thousand  francs. — Xow  you  cannot  wonder  that 
such  people  as  the  Grandlieus  should  reject  a  fortune  of 
M'hich  the  source  is  more  than  doubtful.  This,  monsieur,  iS; 
what  a  lie  has  led  to " 

Lucien  was  petrified  by  this  revelation,  and  the  little  pres- 
ence of  mind  he  had  preserved  deserted  him. 

"Eemember,"  said  Camusot,  "that  the  police  and  the  law 
know  all  they  want  to  know. — And  now,"  he  went  on,  recol- 
lecting Jacques  Collin's  assumed  paternity,  "do  you  know  who 
this  pretended  Carlos  Herrera  is?" 

"Yes,  monsieur;  but  I  knew  it  too  late." 

"Too  late!     How?     Explain  yourself." 

"He  is  not  a  priest,  not  a  Spaniard,  he  is " 

"An  escaped  convict?"  said  the  judge  eagerly. 

"Yes,"  replied  Lucien,  "when  he  told  me  the  fatal  secret, 
I  was  already  under  obligations  to  him ;  I  had  fancied  I  was 
befriended  by  a  respectable  priest." 

"Jacques  Collin "  said  Monsieur  Camusot,  beginning 

a  sentence. 

"Yes,"  said  Lucien,  "his  name  is  Jacques  Collin." 


384  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Very  good.  Jacques  Collin  has  just  now  been  identified 
by  another  person,  and  though  he  denies  it,  he  does  so,  I 
believe,  in  your  interest.  But  I  asked  whether  you  knew 
who  the  man  is  in  order  to  prove  another  of  Jacques  Collin's 
impostures." 

Lucien  felt  as  though  he  had  hot  iron  in  his  inside  as  he 
heard  this  alarming  statement. 

"Do  you  not  know,"  Camusot  went  on,  "that  in  order  to  give 
color  to  the  extraordinary  affection  he  has  for  you,  he  de- 
clares that  he  is  your  father?"' 

"He  !     My  father  ?— Oh,  monsieur,  did  he  tell  you  that  ?" 

"Have  you  any  suspicion  of  where  the  money  came  from 
that  he  used  to  give  you  ?  For,  if  I  am  to  believe  the  evidence 
of  the  letter  you  have  in  your  hand,  that  poor  girl,  ]\Iade- 
moiselle  Esther,  must  have  done  you  lately  the  same  services 
as  Coralie  formerly  rendered  you.  Still,  for  some  years,  as 
you  have  just  admitted,  5"ou  lived  very  handsomely  without 
receiving  anything  from  her." 

"It  is  I  who  should  ask  you,  monsieur,  v.'hence  convicts 
get  their  money !  Jacques  Collin  my  father ! — Oh,  my  poor 
mother !"  and  Lucien  burst  into  tears. 

"Coquart,  read  out  to  the  prisoner  that  part  of  Carlos 
Herrera's  examination  in  which  he  said  that  Lucien  de 
Rubempre  was  his  son." 

The  poet  listened  in  silence,  and  with  a  look  that  was  ter- 
rible to  behold. 

"I  am  done  for !"  he  cried. 

"A  man  is  not  done  for  who  is  faithful  to  the  path  of 
honor  and  truth,"  said  the  judge. 

"But  you  will  commit  Jacques  Collin  for  trial?"  said 
Lucien. 

"Undoubtedly,"  said  Camusot,  who  aimed  at  making 
Lucien  talk     "Speak  out." 

But  in  spite  of  all  his  persuasion  and  remonstrances, 
Lucien  would  say  no  more.  Reflection  had  come  too  late, 
as  it  does  to  all  men  who  are  the  slaves  of  impulse.  There 
lies  the  difference  between  the  poet  and  the  man  of  action; 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  385 

one  gives  way  to  feeling  to  reproduce  it  in  living  images,  his 
judgment  comes  in  after;  the  other  feels  and  judges  both  at 
once. 

Lucien  remained  pale  and  gloomy;  he  saw  himself  at  the 
bottom  of  the  precipice,  down  which  the  examining  judge  had 
rolled  him  by  the  apparent  candor  which  had  entrapped  his 
poet's  soul.  He  had  betrayed,  not  his  benefactor,  but  an  ac- 
complice who  had  defended  their  position  with  the  courage  of 
a  lion,  and  a  skill  that  showed  no  flaw.  Where  Jacques  Collin 
had  saved  everything  by  his  daring,  Lucien,  the  man  of  brains, 
had  lost  all  by  his  lack  of  intelligence  and  reflection.  This 
infamous  lie  against  which  he  revolted  had  screened  a  yet 
more  infamous  truth. 

Utterly  confounded  by  the  judge's  skill,  overpowered  by 
his  cruel  dexterity,  by  the  swiftness  of  the  blows  he  had  dealt 
him  while  making  use  of  the  errors  of  a  life  laid  bare  as 
probes  to  search  his  conscience,  Lucien  sat  like  an  animal 
which  the  butcher's  pole-axe  had  failed  to  kill.  Free  and 
innocent  when  he  came  before  the  judge,  in  a  moment  his 
own  avowal  had  made  him  feel  criminal. 

To  crown  all,  as  a  final  grave  irony,  Camusot,  cold  and 
calm,  pointed  out  to  Lucien  that  his  self-betrayal  was  the  re- 
sult of  a  misapprehension.  Camusot  was  thinking  of  Jacques 
Collin's  announcing  himself  as  Lucien's  father ;  while  Lucien, 
wholly  absorbed  by  his  fear  of  seeing  his  confederacy  with  an 
escaped  convict  made  public,  had  imitated  the  famous  in- 
advertency of  the  murderers  of  Ibycus. 

One  of  Eoyer-Collard's  most  famous  achievements  was 
proclaiming  the  constant  triumph  of  natural  feeling  over 
engrafted  sentiments,  and  defending  the  cause  of  anterior 
oaths  by  asserting  that  the  law  of  hospitality,  for  instance, 
ought  to  be  regarded  as  binding  to  the  point  of  negativing 
the  obligation  of  a  judicial  oath.  He  promulgated  this 
theory,  in  the  face  of  the  world,  from  the  French  tribune ;  he 
boldly  upheld  conspirators,  showing  that  it  was  human  to 
be  true  to  friendship  rather  than  to  the  tyrannical  laws 
brought  out  of  the  social  arsenal  to  be  adjusted  to  circum- 


386  A  COURTESANS  LIFE 

stances.  And,  indeed,  natural  rights  have  laws  which  have 
never  been  codified,  but  which  are  more  effectual  and  better 
known  than  those  laid  down  by  society.  Lucien  had  mis- 
apprehended, to  his  cost,  the  law  of  cohesion,  which  required 
him  to  be  silent  and  leave  Jacques  Collin  to  protect  himself ; 
nay,  more,  he  had  accused  him.  In  his  own  interests  the  man 
ought  always  to  be,  to  him,  Carlos  Herrera. 

Monsieur  Camusot  was  rejoicing  in  his  triumph ;  he  had 
secured  two  criminals.  He  had  crushed  with  the  hand  of 
justice  one  of  the  favorites  of  fashion,  and  he  had  found  the 
undiscoverable  Jacques  Collin.  He  would  be  regarded  as  one 
of  the  cleverest  of  examining  judges.  So  he  left  his  prisoner 
in  peace;  but  he  was  studying  this  speechless  consternation, 
and  he  saw  drops  of  sweat  collect  on  the  miserable  face,  swell 
and  fall,  mingled  with  two  streams  of  tears. 

"Why  should  you  weep.  Monsieur  de  Eubempre?  You 
are,  as  I  have  told  j-ou.  Mademoiselle  Esther's  legatee,  she  hav- 
ing no  heirs  nor  near  relations,  and  her  property  amounts  to 
nearly  eight  millions  of  francs  if  the  lost  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs  are  recovered." 

This  was  the  last  blow  to  the  poor  wretch.  "If  you  do 
not  lose  your  head  for  ten  minutes,"  Jacques  Collin  had  said 
in  his  note,  and  Lucien  by  keeping  cool  would  have  gained  all 
his  desire.  He  might  have  paid  his  debt  to  Jacques  Collin 
and  have  cut  him  adrift,  have  been  rich,  and  have  married 
Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu.  Xothing  could  more  eloquently 
demonstrate  the  powder  with  which  the  examining  judge  is 
armed,  as  a  consequence  of  the  isolation  or  separation  of 
persons  under  suspicion,  or  the  value  of  such  a  communica- 
tion as  Asie  had  conveyed  to  Jacques  Collin. 

"Ah,  monsieur !"  replied  Lucien,  with  the  satirical  bitter- 
ness of  a  man  who  makes  a  pedestal  of  his  utter  overthrow, 
"how  appropriate  is  the  phrase  in  legal  slang  'to  undergo  ex- 
amination.' For  my  part,  if  I  had  to  choose  between  the 
physical  torture  of  past  ages  and  the  moral  torture  of  our 
day,  I  would  not  hesitate  to  prefer  the  sufferings  inflicted  of 
old  by  the  executioner. — What  more  do  you  want  of  me?" 
he  added  haughtily. 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  387 

"In  this  place,  monsieur,"  said  the  magistrate,  answering 
the  poet's  pride  with  mocking  arrogance,  "I  alone  have  a  right 
to  ask  questions." 

"I  had  the  right  to  refuse  to  answer  them,"  muttered  the 
hapless  Lucien,  whose  wits  had  come  back  to  him  with  perfect 
lucidity. 

"Coquart,  read  the  minutes  to  the  prisoner." 

"I  am  the  prisoner  once  more,"  said  Lucien  to  himself. 

While  the  clerk  was  reading,  Lucien  came  to  a  determina- 
tion which  compelled  him  to  smooth  down  Monsieur  Camu- 
sot.  When  Coquart's  drone  ceased,  the  poet  started  like  a 
man  who  has  slept  through  a  noise  to  Avhich  he  ears  are  ac- 
customed, and  who  is  roused  by  its  cessation. 

"You  have  to  sign  the  report  of  your  examination,"  said 
the  judg*^ 

"And  am  I  at  liberty  ?"  asked  Lucien,  ironical  in  his  turn. 

"Not  yet,"  said  Camusot ;  "but  to-morrow,  after  being  con- 
fronted with  Jacques  Collin,  you  will  no  doubt  be  free.  Jus- 
tice must  now  ascertain  whether  or  no  you  are  accessory  to 
the  crimes  this  man  may  have  committed  since  his  escape  so 
long  ago  as  1820.  However,  you  are  no  longer  in  the  secret 
cells.     I  will  write  to  the  Governor  to  give  you  a  better  room." 

"Shall  I  find  writing  materials?" 

"You  can  have  anything  supplied  to  you  that  you  ask  for ; 
I  will  give  orders  -to  that  effect  by  the  usher  who  will  take 
you  back." 

Lucien  mechanically  signed  the  minutes  and  initialed  the 
notes  in  obedience  to  Coquart's  indications  with  the  meekness 
of  a  resigned  victim.  A  single  fact  will  show  what  a  state 
he  was  in  better  than  the  minutest  description.  The  an- 
nouncement that  he  would  be  confronted  with  Jacques  Collin 
had  at  once  dried  the  drops  of  sweat  from  his  brow,  and  his 
dry  eyes  glittered  with  a  terrible  light.  In  short,  he  became, 
in  an  instant  as  brief  as  a  lightning  flash,  what  Jacques 
Collin  was — a  man  of  iron. 

In  men  whose  nature  is  like  Lucien's,  a  nature  which 
Jacques  Collin  had  so  thoroughly  fathomed,  these  sudden 


388  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

transitions  from  a  state  of  absolute  demoralization  to  one  that 
is,  so  to  speak,  metallic, — so  extreme  is  the  tension  of  every 
vital  force, — are  the  most  startling  phenomena  of  mental 
vitality.  The  will  surges  up  like  the  lost  waters  of  a  spring ; 
it  diffuses  itself  throughout  the  machinery  that  lies  ready 
for  the  action  of  the  unknown  matter  that  constitutes  it ;  and 
then  the  corpse  is  a  man  again,  and  the  man  rushes  on  full 
of  energy  for  a  supreme  struggle. 

Lucien  laid  Esther's  letter  next  his  heart,  with  the  minia- 
ture she  had  returned  to  him.  Then  he  haughtily  bowed  to 
Monsieur  Camusot,  and  went  off  with  a  firm  step  down  the 
corridors,  between  two  gendarmes. 

"That  is  a  deep  scoundrel !"  said  the  judge  to  his  clerk,  to 
avenge  himself  for  the  crushing  scorn  the  poet  had  dis- 
played. "He  thought  he  might  save  himself  by  betraying 
his  accomplice." 

"Of  the  two,"  said  Coquart  timidly,  "the  convict  is  the 
most  thorough-paced." 

"You  are  free  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  Coquart,"  said  the 
lawyer.  "We  have  done  enough.  Send  away  any  case  that 
is  waiting,  to  be  called  to-morrow. — Ah !  and  you  must  go  at 
once  to  the  public  prosecutor's  chambers  and  ask  if  he  is  still 
there ;  if  so,  ask  him  if  he  can  give  me  a  few  minutes.  Yes ; 
he  will  not  be  gone,"  he  added,  looking  at  a  common  clock 
in  a  wooden  case  painted  green  with  gilt  lines.  "It  is  but  a 
quarter-past  three." 

These  examinations,  which  are  so  quickly  read,  being 
written  do^\Ti  at  full  length,  questions  and  answers  alike,  take 
up  an  enormous  amount  of  time.  This  is  one  of  the  reasons 
of  the  slowness  of  these  preliminaries  to  a  trial  and  of  these 
imprisonments  "on  suspicion."  To  the  poor  this  is  ruin,  to 
the  rich  it  is  disgrace;  to  them  only  immediate  release  can 
in  any  degree  repair,  so  far  as  possible,  the  disaster  of  an 
arrest. 

This  is  why  the  two  scenes  here  related  had  taken  up  the 
whole  of  the  time  spent  by  Asie  in  deciphering  her  master's 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  389 

orders,  in  getting  a  Duchess  out  of  her  boudoir,  and  putting 
some  energy  into  Madame  de  Serizy. 

At  this  moment  Camusot,  who  was  anxious  to  get  the  full 
benefit  of  his  cleverness,  took  the  two  documents,  read  them 
through,  and  promised  himself  that  he  would  show  them  to 
the  public  prosecutor  and  take  his  opinion  on  them.  During 
this  meditation,  his  usher  came  back  to  tell  him  that  Madame 
la  Comtesse  de  Serizy's  man-servant  insisted  on  speaking  with 
him.  At  a  nod  from  Camusot,  a  servant  out  of  livery  came 
in,  looked  first  at  the  usher,  and  then  at  the  magistrate,  and 
said,  "I  have  the  honor  of  speaking  to  Monsieur  Camu- 
sot ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  lawyer  and  his  clerk. 

Camusot  took  a  note  which  the  servant  offered  him,  and 
read  as  follows: — 

"For  the  sake  of  many  interests  which  will  be  obvious  to 
you,  my  dear  Camusot,  do  not  examine  Monsieur  de 
Eubempre.  We  have  brought  ample  proofs  of  his  innocence 
that  he  may  be  released  forthwith. 

"D.  DE  Maufrigneuse. 
"L.  DE  S:d!RiZY. 
"P.  ^.— Burn  this  note." 

Camusot  understood  at  once  that  he  had  blundered  pre- 
posterously in  laying  snares  for  Lucien,  and  he  began  by  obey- 
ing the  two  fine  ladies — he  lighted  a  taper,  and  burned  the 
letter  written  by  the  Duchess.     The  man  bowed  respectfully. 

"Then  Madame  de  Serizy  is  coming  here?"  asked  Camu- 
sot. 

"The  carriage  was  being  brought  round." 

At  this  moment  Coquart  came  in  to  tell  Monsieur  Camusot 
that  the  public  prosecutor  expected  him. 

Oppressed  by  the  blunder  he  had  committed,  in  view  of 

his  ambition,  though  to  the  better  ends  of  justice,  the  lawyer, 

in  whom  seven  years'  experience  had  perfected  the  sharpness 

that  comes  to  a  man  who  in  his  practice  has  had  to  measure 

25 


390  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

his  wits  against  the  grisettes  of  Paris,  was  anxious  to  have 
some  shield  against  the  resentment  of  two  women  of  fashion. 
The  taper  in  which  he  had  burned  the  note  was  still  alight, 
and  he  used  it  to  seal  up  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse's 
notes  to  Lucien — about  thirt}^  in  all — and  Madame  de  Serizy's 
somewhat  voluminous  correspondence. 

Then  he  waited  on  the  public  prosecutor. 

The  Palais  de  Justice  is  a  perplexing  maze  of  buildings 
piled  one  above  another,  some  fine  and  dignified,  others  very 
mean,  the  whole  disfigured  by  its  lack  of  unity.  The  Salle 
des  Pas-Perdus  is  the  largest  known  hall,  but  its  nakedness 
is  hideous,  and  distresses  the  eye.  This  vast  Cathedral  of  the 
Law  crushes  the  Supreme  Court.  The  Galerie  Marchande 
ends  in  two  drain-like  passages.  From  this  corrider  there 
is  a  double  staircase,  a  little  larger  than  that  of  the  Criminal 
Courts,  and  under  it  a  large  double  door.  The  stairs  lead 
down  to  one  of  the  Assize  Courts,  and  the  doors  open  into 
another.  In  some  years  the  number  of  crimes  committed  in 
the  circuit  of  the  Seine  is  great  enough  to  necessitate  the 
sitting  of  two  Benches. 

Close  by  are  the  public  prosecutors  offices,  the  attorney's 
room  and  library,  the  chambers  of  the  attorney-general,  and 
those  of  the  public  prosecutor's  deputies.  All  these  purlieus, 
to  use  a  generic  term,  communicate  by  narrow  spiral  stairs 
and  the  dark  passages,  which  are  a  disgrace  to  the  architecture 
not  of  Paris  only,  but  of  all  France.  The  interior  arrange- 
ment of  the  sovereign  court  of  Justice  outdoes  our  prisons 
in  all  that  is  most  hideous.  The  writer  describing  our  man- 
ners and  customs  would  shrink  from  the  necessity  of  depict- 
ing the  squalid  corridor  of  about  a  metre  in  width,  in  which 
the  witnesses  wait  in  the  Superior  Criminal  Court.  As  to  the 
stove  which  warms  the  court  itself,  it  would  disgrace  a  cafe 
on  the  Boulevard  Mont-Parnasse. 

The  public  prosecutor's  private  room  forms  part  of  an 
octagon  wing  flanking  the  Galerie  Marchande,  built  out  re- 
cently in  regard  to  the  age  of  the  structure,  over  the  prison 
yard,  outside  the  women's  quarters.     All  this  part  of  the 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  391 

Palais  is  overshadowed  by  the  lofty  and  noble  edifice  of  the 
Sainte-Chapelle.     And  all  is  solemn  and  silent. 

Monsieur  de  Granville,  a  worthy  successor  of  the  great 
magistrates  of  the  ancient  Parlement,  would  not  leave  Paris 
without  coming  to  some  conclusion  in  the  matter  of  Lucien. 
He  expected  to  hear  from  Camusot,  and  the  judge's  message 
had  plunged  him  into  the  involuntary  suspense  which  wait- 
ing produces  on  even  the  strongest  minds.  He  had  been 
sitting  in  the  window-bay  of  his  private  room;  he  rose,  and 
walked  up  and  down,  for  having  lingered  in  the  morning  to 
intercept  Camusot,  he  had  found  him  dull  of  apprehension; 
he  was  vaguely  uneasy  and  worried. 

And  this  was  why. 

The  dignity  of  his  high  functions  forbade  his  attempting 
to  fetter  the  perfect  independence  of  the  inferior  judge,  and 
yet  this  trial  nearly  touched  the  honor  and  good  name  of  his 
best  friend  and  warmest  supporter,  the  Comte  de  Serizy, 
Minister  of  State,  member  of  the  Privy  Council,  Vice-Presi- 
dent of  the  State  Council,  and  prospective  Chancellor  of  the 
Realm,  in  the  event  of  the  death  of  the  noble  old  man  who 
held  that  august  office.  It  was  Monsieur  de  Seriz/s  mis- 
fortune to  adore  his  wife  "through  fire  and  water,"  and  he 
always  shielded  her  with  his  protection.  ISTow  the  public 
prosecutor  fully  understood  the  terrible  fuss  that  would  be 
made  in  the  world  and  at  court  if  a  crime  should  be  proved 
against  a  man  whose  name  had  been  so  often  and  so  malig- 
nantly linked  with  that  of  the  Countess. 

"i\.h !"  he  sighed,  folding  his  arms,  "formerly  the  supreme 
authority  could  take  refuge  in  an  appeal.  Nowadays  our 
mania  for  equality" — he  dared  not  say  for  Legality,  as  a 
poetic  orator  in  the  Chamber  courageously  admitted  a  short 
while  since — "is  the  death  of  us." 

This  noble  magistrate  knew  all  the  fascination  and  the  mis- 
eries of  an  illicit  attachment.  Esther  and  Lucien,  as  we 
have  seen,  had  taken  the  rooms  where  the  Comte  de  Gran- 
ville had  lived  secretly  on  connubial  terms  with  Mademoiselle 
de  Bellefeuille,  and  whence  she  had  fled  one  day,  lured  away 
by  a  villain.      (See  A  Double  Marriage.) 


392  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

At  tKe  very  moment  when  the  public  prosecutor  was  saying 
to  himself,  "Camusot  is  sure  to  have  done  something  silly," 
the  examining  magistrate  knocked  twice  at  the  door  of  his 
room. 

''Well,  my  dear  Camusot,  how  is  that  case  going  on  that 
I  spoke  of  this  morning?" 

"Badly,  Monsieur  le  Comte;  read  and  judge  for  your- 
self." 

He  held  out  the  minutes  of  the  two  examinations  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Granville,  who  took  up  his  eyeglass  and  went  to  the 
window  to  read  them.     He  had  soon  run  through  them. 

"You  have  done  your  dutv,"  said  the  Count  in  an  agitated 
voice.  "It  is  all  over.  The  law  must  take  its  course.  You 
have  shown  so  much  skill,  that  you  need  never  fear  being  de- 
prived of  your  appointment  as  examining  judge " 

If  Monsieur  de  Granville  had  said  to  Camusot,  "You  will 
remain  an  examining  judge  to  your  dying  day,"  he  could  not 
have  been  more  explicit  than  in  making  this  polite  speech. 
Camusot  was  cold  in  the  very  marrow. 

"^Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  to  whom  I  owe 
much,  had  desired  me     .     .     ." 

"Oh  yes,  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  is  Madame  de 
Serizy's  friend,"  said  Granville,  interrupting  him.  "To  be 
sure. — You  have  allowed  nothing  to  influence  you,  I  perceive. 
And  you  did  well,  sir;  you  will  be  a  great  magistrate." 

At  this  instant  the  Comte  Octave  de  Bauvan  opened  the 
door  without  knocking,  and  said  to  the  Comte  de  Granville : 

"I  have  brought  you  a  fair  lady,  my  dear  fellow,  who  did 
not  know  which  way  to  turn ;  she  was  on  the  point  of  losing 
herself  in  our  labyrinth " 

And  Comte  Octave  led  in  by  the  hand  the  Comtesse  de 
Serizy,  who  had  been  wandering  about  the  place  for  the  last 
quarter  of  an  hour. 

"What,  you  here,  madame !"  exclaimed  the  public  prose- 
cutor, pushing  forward  his  own  armchair,  "and  at  this 
moment !  This,  madame,  is  Monsieur  Camusot,"  he  added, 
introducing    the    judge. — "Bauvan,"    said    he    to    the    dis- 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  393 

tinguished  ministerial  orator  of  the  Eestoration,  'Vait  for 
me  in  the  president's  chambers;  he  is  still  there,  and  I  will 
join  you." 

Comte  Octave  de  Bauvan  understood  that  not  merely  was 
he  in  the  way,  hut  that  Monsieur  de  Granville  wanted  an 
excuse  for  leaving  his  room. 

Madame  de  Serizy  had  not  made  the  mistake  of  coming  to 
the  Palais  de  Justice  in  her  handsome  carriage  with  a  blue 
hammer-cloth  and  coats-of-arms,  her  coachman  in  gold  lace, 
and  two  footmen  in  breeches  and  silk  stockings.  Just  as 
they  were  starting  Asie  impressed  on  the  two  great  ladies  the 
need  for  taking  the  hackney  coach  in  which  she  and  the  Duch- 
ess had  arrived,  and  she  had  likewise  insisted  on  Lucien's 
mistress  adopting  the  costume  which  is  to  women  what  a  gray 
cloak  was  of  yore  to  men.  The  Countess  wore  a  plain  brown 
dress,  an  old  black  shawl,  and  a  velvet  bonnet  from  which 
the  flowers  had  been  removed,  and  the  whole  covered  up  under 
a  thick  lace  veil. 

"You  received  our  note?"  said  she  to  Camusot,  whose  dis- 
may she  mistook  for  respectful  admiration. 

"Alas  !  but  too  late,  Madame  la  Comtesse,"  replied  the  law- 
yer, whose  tact  and  wit  failed  him  excepting  in  his  chambers 
and  in  presence  of  a  prisoner, 

"Too  late!     How?" 

She  looked  at  Monsieur  de  Granville,  and  saw  consterna- 
tion written  in  his  face.  "It  cannot  be,  it  must  not  be  too 
late !"  she  added,  in  the  tone  of  a  despot. 

Women,  pretty  women,  in  the  position  of  Madame  de" 
Serizy,  are  the  spoiled  children  of  French  civilization.  If  the 
women  of  other  countries  knew  what  a  woman  of  fashion  is  in 
Paris,  a  woman  of  wealth  and  rank,  they  would  all  want  to 
come  and  enjoy  that  splendid  royalty.  The  women  who 
recognize  no  bonds  but  those  of  propriety,  no  law  but  the  petty 
charter  which  has  been  more  than  one  alluded  to  in  this 
Comedie  Humaine  as  the  ladies'  Code,  laugh  at  the  statutes 
framed  by  men.  They  say  everything,  they  do  not  shrink 
from  any  blunder  or  hesitate  at  any  folly,  for  they  all  accept 


394  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

the  fact  that  they  are  irresponsible  beiugs,  answerable  for 
nothing  on  earth  but  their  good  repute  and  their  children. 
They  say  the  most  preposterous  things  with  a  laugh,  and  are 
ready  on  every  occasion  to  repeat  the  speech  made  in  the  early 
days  of  her  married  life  by  pretty  Madame  de  Bauvan  to  her 
husband,  whom  she  came  to  fetch  away  from  the  Palais: 
"Make  haste  and  pass  sentence,  and  come  away." 

"Madame,"  said  the  public  prosecutor,  "Monsieur  Lucien 
de  Eubempre  is  not  guilty  either  of  robbery  or  of  pqisoning; 
but  Monsieur  Camusot  has  led  him  to  confess  a  still  greater 
crime."' 

"What  is  that  ?"  she  asked. 

"He  acknowledged,"  said  Monsieur  Camusot  in  her  ear, 
"that  he  is  the  friend  and  pupil  of  an  escaped  convict.  The 
Abbe  Carlos  Herrera,  the-  Spaniard  with  whom  he  has  been 
living  for  the  last  seven  vears,  is  the  notorious  Jacques 
Collin." 

Madame  de  Serizy  felt  as  if  it  were  a  blow  from  an  iron 
rod  at  each  word  spoken  by  the  judge,  but  this  name  was  the 
finishing  stroke. 

"And  the  upshot  of  all  this  ?"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  was 
no  more  than  a  breath. 

"Is,"  Monsieur  de  Granville  went  on,  finishing  the  Count- 
ess' sentence  in  an  undertone,  "that  the  convict  will  be  com- 
mitted for  trial,  and  that  if  Lucien  is  not  committed  with  him 
as  having  profited  as  an  accessory  to  the  man's  crimes,  he 
must  appear  as  a  witness  very  seriously  compromised." 

"Oh !  never,  never  I"  she  cried  aloiid,  with  amazing  firm- 
ness. "For  my  part,  I  should  not  hesitate  between  death  and 
the  disaster  of  seeing  a  man  whom  the  world  has  knowni  to  be 
my  dearest  friend  declared  by  the  bench  to  be  the  accomplice 
of  a  convict. — The  King  has  a  great  regard  for  my  hus- 
band  " 

"Madame,"  said  the  public  prosecutor,  also  aloud,  and  with 
a  smile,  "the  King  has  not  the  smallest  power  over  the 
humblest  examining  Judge  in  his  kingdom,  nor  over  the  pro- 
ceedings in  any  court  of  justice.     That  is  the  grand  feature 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  395 

of  our  new  code  of  laws.  I  myself  have  just  congratulated 
M.  Camusot  on  his  skill " 

"On  his  clumsiness,"  said  the  Countess  sharply,  though 
Lucien's  intimacy  with  a  scoundrel  really  disturbed  her  far 
less  than  his  attachment  to  Esther. 

"If  you  will  read  the  minutes  of  the  examination  of  the 
two  prisoners  by  Monsieur  Camusot,  you  will  see  that  every- 
thing is  in  his  hands " 

After  this  speech,  the  only  thing  the  public  prosecutor 
could  venture  to  say,  and  a  flash  of  feminine — or,  if  you  will, 
lawyer-like — cunning,  he  went  to  the  door;  then,  turning 
round  on  the  threshold,  he  added: 

"Excuse  me,  madame;  I  have  two  words  to  say  to  Bauvan." 
Which,  translated  by  the  worldly  wise,  conveyed  to  the 
Countess:  "I  do  not  want  to  witness  the  scene  between  you 
and  Camusot." 

"What  is  this  examination  business?"  said  Le'ontine  very 
blandly  to  Camusot,  who  stood  downcast  in  the  presence  of 
the  wife  of  one  of  the  most  important  personages  in  the 
realm. 

"Madame,"  said  Camusot,  "a  clerk  writes  down  all  the 
magistrate's  questions  and  the  prisoner's  replies.  This  docu- 
ment is  signed  by  the  clerk,  by  the  judge,  and  by  the  prisoner. 
This  evidence  is  the  raw  material  of  the  subsequent  proceed- 
ings ;  on  it  the  accused  are  committed  for  trial,  and  remanded 
to  appear  before  the  Criminal  Court." 

"Well,  then,"  said  she,  "if  the  evidence  were  sup- 
pressed  ?" 

"Oh,  madame,  that  is  a  crime  which  no  magistrate  could 
possibly  commit — a  crime  against  society." 

"It  is  a  far  worse  crime  against  me  to  have  ever  allowed 
it  to  be  recorded ;  still,  at  this  moment  it  is  the  only  evidence 
against  Lucien.  Come,  read  me  the  minutes  of  his  examina- 
tion that  I  may  see  if  there  is  still  any  way  of  salvation  for  us 
all,  monsieur.  I  do  not  speak  for  myself  alone — I  should 
quite  calmly  kill  myself — but  Monsieur  de  Serizy's  happiness 
is  also  at  stake." 


396  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

*'Pray,  madame,  do  not  suppose  that  I  have  forgotten  the 
respect  due  you,"  said  Camusot.  "If  Monsieur  Popinot,  for 
instance,  had  undertaken  this  case,  you  would  have  had  worse 
luck  than  you  have  found  with  me;  for  he  would  not  have 
come  to  consult  Monsieur  de  Granville;  no  one  would  have 
heard  anything  about  it.  I  tell  you,  madame,  everything 
has  been  seized  in  Monsieur  Lucien's  lodging,  even  your 
letters " 

"What !  my  letters !" 

"Here  they  are,  madame,  in  a  sealed  packet." 

The  Countess  in  her  agitation  rang  as  if  she  had  been  at 
home,  and  the  office-boy  came  in. 

"A  light,"  said  she. 

The  boy  lighted  a  taper  and  placed  it  on  the  chimney-piece, 
while  the  Countess  looked  through  the  letters,  counted  them, 
crushed  them  in  her  hand,  and  flung  them  on  the  hearth.  In 
a  few  minutes  she  set  the  whole  mass  in  a  blaze,  twisting  up 
the  last  note  to  serve  as  a  torch. 

Camusot  stood,  looking  rather  foolish  as  he  watched  the 
papers  burn,  holding  the  legal  documents  in  his  hand. 
The  Countess,  who  seemed  absorbed  in  the  work  of  destroy- 
ing the  proofs  of  her  passion,  studied  him  out  of  the  corner 
of  her  eye.  She  took  her  time,  she  calculated  her  distance ; 
with  the  spring  of  a  cat  she  seized  the  two  documents  and 
threw  them  on  the  flames.  But  Camusot  saved  them;  the 
Countess  rushed  on  him  and  snatched  back  the  burning 
papers.  A  struggle  ensued,  Camusot  calling  out:  "Madame, 
but  madame  !     This  is  contempt — madame  !" 

A  man  hurried  into  the  room,  and  the  Countess  could 
not  repress  a  scream  as  she  beheld  the  Comte  de  Serizy,  fol- 
lowed by  Monsieur  de  Granville  and  the  Comte  de  Bauvan. 
Leontine,  however,  determined  to  save  Lucien  at  any  cost, 
would  not  let  go  of  the  terrible  stamped  documents,  which 
she  clutched  with  the  tenacity  of  a  vise,  though  the  flame  had 
already  burnt  her  delicate  skin  like  a  moxa. 

At  last  Camusot,  whose  fingers  also  were  smarting  from 
the  fire,  seemed  to  be  ashamed  of  the  position;  he  let  the 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  397 

papers  go;  there  was  nothing  left  of  them  but  the  portions 
so  tightly  held  by  the  antagonists  that  the  flame  could  not 
touch  them.  The  whole  scene  had  taken  less  time  than  is 
needed  to  read  this  account  of  it. 

"What  discussion  can  have  arisen  between  you  and  Madame 
dc  Serizy  ?"  the  husband  asked  of  Camusot. 

Before  the  lawyer  could  reply,  the  Countess  held  the 
fragments  in  the  candle  and  threw  them  on  the  remains  of 
lier  letters,  which  were  not  entirely  consumed. 

"I  shall  be  compelled,"  said  Camusot,  "to  lay  a  complaint 
against  Madame  la  Comtesse " 

"Ileh !  What  has  she  done  ?"  asked  the  public  prosecutor, 
looking  alternately  at  the  lady  and  the  magistrate. 

"I  have  burned  the  record  of  the  examinations,"  said  the 
lady  of  fashion  with  a  laugh,  so  pleased  at  her  high-handed 
conduct  that  she  did  not  yet  feel  the  pain  of  the  burns.  "If 
that  is  a  crime — well,  monsieur  must  get  his  odious  scrawl 
written  out  again." 

"Very  true,"  said  Camusot,  trying  to  recover  his  dignity. 

"Well,  well,  'All's  well  that  ends  well,' "  said  Monsieur  de 
Granville.  "But,  my  dear  Countess,  you  must  not  often  take 
such  liberties  with  the  Law ;  it  might  fail  to  discern  who  and 
what  you  are." 

"Monsieur  Camusot  valiantly  resisted  a  woman  whom  none 
can  resist ;  the  Honor  of  the  Eobe  is  safe !"  said  the  Comte 
de  Bauvan,  laughing. 

"Indeed !  Monsieur  Camusot  was  resisting  ?"  said  the 
public  prosecutor,  laughing  too.  "He  is  a  brave  man  in- 
deed;  I  should  not  dare  resist  the  Countess." 

And  thus  for  the  moment  this  serious  affair  was  no  more 
than  a  pretty  woman's  jest,  at  which  Camusot  himself  must 
laugh. 

But  Monsieur  de  Granville  saw  one  man  who  was  not 
amused.  N"ot  a  little  alarmed  by  the  Comte  de  Serizy's  at- 
titude and  expression,  his  friend  led  him  aside. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  he  in  a  whisper,  "your  distress  per- 


398  A  COURTESAN'S  tIFB 

suades  me  for  the  first  and  only  time  in  my  life  to  compromise 
with  my  duty." 

The  public  prosecutor  rang,  and  the  office  boy  appeared. 

"Desire  Monsieur  de  Chargeboeuf  to  come  here." 

Monsieur  de  Chargebceuf,  a  sucking  barrister,  was  his 
private  secretary. 

"My  good  friend,"  said  the  Comte  de  Granville  to  Camu- 
sot,  whom  he  took  to  the  window,  "go  back  to  your  chambers, 
get  your  clerk  to  reconstruct  the  report  of  the  Abbe  Carlos 
Herrera's  depositions;  as  he  had  not  signed  the  first  copy, 
there  will  be  no  difficulty  about  that.  To-morrow  you  must 
confront  your  Spanish  diplomate  with  Rastignae  and 
Blanche n,  who  will  not  recognize  him  as  Jacques  Collin. 
Then,  being  sure  of  his  release,  the  man  will  sign  the  docu- 
ment. 

"As  to  Lucien  de  Eubempre,  set  him  free  this  evening; 
he  is  not  likely  to  talk  about  an  examination  of  which  the 
evidence  is  destroyed,  especially  after  such  a  lecture  as  I  shall 
give  him. 

"Xow  you  will  see  how  little  justice  suffers  by  these  pro- 
ceedings. If  the  Spaniard  really  is  the  convict,  we  have  fifty 
ways  of  recapturing  him  and  committing  him  for  trial — for 
we  will  have  his  conduct  in  Spain  thoroughly  investigated. 
Corentin,  the  police  agent,  will  take  care  of  him  for  us,  and 
we  ourselves  will  keep  an  eye  on  him.  So  treat  him  decently ; 
do  not  send  him  down  to  the  cells  again. 

"Can  we  be  the  death  of  the  Comte  and  Comtesse  de  Serizy, 
as  well  as  of  Lucien,  for  the  theft  of  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  francs  as  yet  unproven,  and  to  Luciens  personal 
loss?  Will  it  not  be  better  for  him  to  lose  the  money  than 
to  lose  his  character  ?  Above  all,  if  he  is  to  drag  with  him  in 
his  fall  a  Minister  of  State,  and  his  wife,  and  the  Duchesse 
de  Maufrigneuse. 

"This  young  man  is  a  speckled  orange;  do  not  leave  it 
to  rot. 

"All  this  will  take  you  about  half  an  hour;  go  and  get 
it  done ;  we  will  wait  for  you.     It  is  half-past  three ;  you  will 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  399 

still  find  some  judges  about.  Let  me  know  if  you  can  get  a 
rule  of  insufficient  evidence — or  Lucien  must  wait  till  to- 
morrow morning." 

Camusot  bowed  to  the  company  and  went;  but  Madame 
de  Serizy,  who  was  suffering  a  good  deal  from  her  burns,  did 
not  return  his  bow. 

Monsieur  de  Serizy,  who  had  suddenly  rushed  away  while 
the  public  prosecutor  and  the  magistrate  were  talking  to- 
gether, presently  returned,  having  fetched  a  small  jar  of 
virgin  wax.  With  this  he  dressed  his  wife's  fingers,  saying 
in  an  undertone: 

"Leontine,  why  did  you  come  here  without  letting  me 
know  ?" 

"My  dear,"  replied  she  in  a  whisper,  "forgive  me.  I  seem 
mad,  but  indeed  your  interests  were  as  much  involved  as 
mine." 

"Love  this  young  fellow  if  fatality  requires  it,  but  do 
not  display  your  passion  to  all  the  world,"  said  the  luckless 
husband. 

"Well,  my  dear  Countess,"  said  Monsieur  de  Granville,  who 
had  been  engaged  in  conversation  with  Comte  Octave,  "I 
hope  you  may  take  Monsieur  de  Eubempre  home  to  dine  with 
you  this  evening." 

This  half  promise  produced  a  reaction ;  Madame  de  Serizy 
melted  into  tears. 

"I  thought  I  had  no  tears  left,"  said  she  with  a  smile. 
"But  could  vou  not  bring  Monsieur  de  Eubempre  to  wait 
here?" 

"I  will  try  if  I  can  find  ushers  to  fetch  him,  so  that  he  may 
not  be  seen  under  the  escort  of  the  gendarmes,"  said  Mon- 
sieur de  Granville. 

"You  are  as  good  as  God !"  cried  she,  with  a  gush  of  feel- 
ing that  made  her  voice  sound  like  heavenly  music. 

"These  are  the  women,"  said  Comte  Octave,  "who  are 
fascinating,  irresistible !" 

And  he  became  melancholy  as  he  thought  of  his  own  wife. 
(See  Honorine.) 


400  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

As  he  left  the  room,  Monsieur  de  Granville  was  stopped 
by  young  Chargeboeuf,  to  whom  he  spoke  to  give  him  instruc- 
tions as  to  what  he  was  to  say  to  Massol,  one  of  the  editors 
of  the  Gazette  des  Tribunaux. 

While  beauties,  ministers,  and  magistrates  were  conspiring 
to  save  Lucien,  this  was  what  he  was  doing  at  the  Concierge- 
rie.  As  he  passed  the  gate  the  poet  told  the  keeper  that 
Monsieur  Camusot  had  granted  him  leave  to  write,  and  he 
begged  to  have  pens,  ink,  and  paper.  At  a  whispered  word  to 
the  Governor  from  Camusot's  usher  a  warder  was  instructed 
to  take  them  to  him  at  once.  During  the  short  time  that  it 
took  for  the  warder  to  fetch  these  things  and  carry  them  up 
to  Lucien,  the  hapless  young  man,  to  whom  the  idea  of  facing 
Jacques  Collin  had  become  intolerable,  sank  into  one  of  those 
fatal  moods  in  which  the  idea  of  suicide — to  which  he  had 
yielded  before  now,  but  without  succeeding  in  carrying  it 
out — rises  to  the  pitch  of  mania.  According  to  certain  mad- 
doctors,  suicide  is  in  some  temperaments  the  closing  phase 
of  mental  aberration;  and  since  his  arrest  Lucien  had  been 
possessed  by  that  single  idea.  Esther's  letter,  read  and  re- 
read many  times,  increased  the  vehemence  of  his  desire  to  die 
by  reminding  him  of  the  catastrophe  of  Eomeo  dying  to  be 
with  Juliet. 

This  is  what  he  wrote: — 

"This  is  my  Last  Will  and  Testament. 

"At  the  Conciergerie,  May  15th,  1830. 

"I,  the  undersigned,  give  and  bequeath  to  the  children  of 
my  sister,  Madame  Eve  Chardon,  wife  of  David  Sechard, 
formerly  a  printer  at  Angouleme,  and  of  Monsieur  David 
Sechard,  all  the  property,  real  and  personal,  of  which  I  may  be 
possessed  at  the  time  of  my  decease,  due  deduction  being 
made  for  the  pa^nnents  and  legacies,  which  I  desire  my  ex- 
ecutor to  provide  for. 

"And  I  earnestly  beg  Monsieur  de  Serizy  to  undertake  the 
charge  of  being  the  executor  of  this  my  will. 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  401 

"First,  to  Monsieur  I'Abbe  Carlos  Herrera  I  direct  the 
payment  of  the  sum  of  three  hundred  thousand  francs.  Sec- 
ondly, to  Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Nucingen  the  sum  of  fourteen 
hundred  thousand  francs,  less  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand francs  if  the  sum  stolen  from  Mademoiselle  Esther 
should  be  recovered. 

"As  universal  legatee  to  Mademoiselle  Esther  Gobseck,  I 
give  and  bequeath  the  sum  of  seven  hundred  and  sixty  thou- 
sand francs  to  the  Board  of  Asylums  of  Paris  for  the  founda- 
tion of  a  refuge  especially  dedicated  to  the  use  of  public  pros- 
titutes who  may  wish  to  forsake  their  life  of  vice  and  ruin. 

"I  also  bequeath  to  the  Asylums  of  Paris  the  sum  of  money 
necessary  for  the  purchase  of  a  certificate  for  dividends  to  the 
amount  of  thirty  thousand  francs  per  annum  in  five  per  cents, 
the  annual  income  to  be  devoted  every  six  months  to  the  re- 
lease of  prisoners  for  debts  not  exceeding  two  thousand  francs. 
The  Board  of  Asylums  to  select  the  most  respectable  of  such 
persons  imprisoned  for  debt. 

"I  beg  Monsieur  de  Serizy  to  devote  the  sum  of  forty 
thousand  francs  to  erecting  a  monument  to  Mademoiselle 
Esther  in  the  Eastern  cemetery,  and  I  desire  to  be  buried  by 
her  side.  The  tomb  is  to  be  like  an  antique  tomb — square, 
our  two  effigies  lying  thereon,  in  white  marble,  the  heads  on 
pillows,  the  hands  folded  and  raised  to  heaven.  There  is  to 
be  no  inscription  whatever. 

"I  beg  Monsieur  de  Serizy  to  give  to  Monsieur  de  Eastignac 
a  gold  toilet-set  that  is  in  my  room  as  a  remembrance. 

"And  as  a  remembrance,  I  beg  my  executor  to  accept  my 
library  of  books  as  a  gift  from  me. 

"LuciEN  Chardon  de  Rubempr:^." 

This  Will  was  inclosed  in  a  letter  addressed  to  Monsieur 
le  Comte  de  Granville,  Public  Prosecutor  in  the  Supreme 
Court  at  Paris,  as  follows: — 

"Monsieur  le  Comte, — 

"I  place  my  Will  in  your  hands.  When  you  open  this 
letter  I  shall  be  no  more.     In  my  desire  to  be  free,  I  made 


402  A   COl  RTESANS  JJFE 

such  cow aidly  replies  to  Monsieur  Camusots  insidious  ques- 
tions, that,  in  spite  of  my  innocence,  I  may  find  myself  en- 
tangled in  a  disgraceful  trial.  Even  if  I  were  acquitted,  a 
blameless  life  would  henceforth  be  impossible  to  me  in  view 
of  the  opinions  of  the  world. 

"I  beg  you  to  transmit  the  enclosed  letter  to  the  Abbe 
Carlos  Herrera  without  opening  it,  and  deliver  to  Monsieur 
Camusot  the  formal  retraction  I  also  enclose. 

"I  suppose  no  one  will  dare  to  break  the  seal  of  a  packet 
addressed  to  you.  In  this  belief  I  bid  you  adieu,  offering  you 
my  best  respects  for  the  last  time,  and  begging  you  to  believe 
that  in  writing  to  you  I  am  giving  you  a  token  of  my  gratitude 
for  all  the  kindness  you  have  shown  to  your  deceased  humble 
servant, 

"LUCIEN  DE  R." 

"To  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera. 

"My  dear  Abbe, — I  have  had  only  benefits  from  you,  and 
I  have  betrayed  you.  This  involuntary  ingratitude  is  killing 
me,  and  when  you  read  these  lines  I  shall  have  ceased  to  exist. 
You  are  not  here  now  to  save  me. 

'"You  had  given  me  full  liberty,  if  I  should  find  it  ad- 
vantageous, to  destroy  you  by  flinging  you  on  the  ground  like 
a  cigar-end ;  but  I  have  ruined  you  by  a  blunder.  To  escape 
from  a  difficulty,  deluded  by  a  clever  question  from  the  examin- 
ing judge,  your  son  by  adoption  and  grace  went  over  to  the 
side  of  those  who  aim  at  killing  3^ou  at  any  cost,  and  insist  or 
proving  an  identity,  which  I  know  to  be  impossible,  betv.'een 
you  and  a  French  villain.     All  is  said. 

"Between  a  man  of  your  calibre  and  me — me  of  whom  you 
tried  to  make  a  greater  man  that  I  am  capable  of  being — no 
foolish  sentiment  can  come  at  the  moment  of  final  parting. 
You  hoped  to  make  me  powerful  and  famous,  and  3^ou  have 
thrown  me  into  the  gulf  of  suicide,  that  is  all.  I  have 
long  heard  the  broad  pinions  of  that  vertigo  beating  over 
mv  head. 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  403 

"As  you  have  sometimes  said,  there  is  the  posterity  of  Cain 
and  the  posterity  of  Abel.  In  the  great  human  drama  Cain 
is  in  opposition.  You  are  descended  from  Adam  through 
that  line,  in  which  the  devil  still  fans  the  fire  of  which  the 
first  spark  was  flung  on  Eve.  Among  the  demons  of  that 
pedigree,  from  time  to  time  we  see  one  of  stupendous  power, 
summing  up  every  form  of  human  energy,  and  resembling 
the  fevered  beasts  of  the  desert,  whose  vitality  demands  the 
vast  spaces  they  find  there.  Such  men  are  as  dangerous  as 
lions  would  be  in  the  heart  of  Normandy;  they  must  have 
their  prey,  and  they  devour  common  men  and  crop  the  money 
of  fools.  Their  sport  is  so  dangerous  that  at  last  they  kill 
the  humble  dog  whom  they  have  taken  for  a  companion  and 
made  an  idol  of. 

"When  it  is  God's  will,  these  mysterious  beings  may  be  a 
Moses,  an  Attila,  Charlemagne,  Mahomet,  or  Napoleon;  but 
v,'hen  He  leaves  a  generation  of  these  stupendous  tools  to  rust 
at  the  bottom  of  the  ocean,  they  are  no  more  than  a 
Pugatschef,  a  Fouche,  a  Louvel,  or  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera. 
Gifted  with  immense  power  over  tenderer  souls,  they  entrap 
them  and  mangle  them.  It  is  grand,  it  is  fine — in  its  way. 
It  is  the  poisonous  plant  with  gorgeous  coloring  that 
fascinates  children  in  the  woods.  It  is  the  poetry  of  evil. 
Men  like  you  ought  to  dwell  in  caves  and  never  come  out  of 
them.  You  have  made  me  live  that  vast  life,  and  I  have  had 
all  my  share  of  existence;  so  I  may  very  well  take  my  head 
out  of  the  Gordian  knot  of  your  policy  and  slip  it  into  the 
running  knot  of  my  cravat. 

"To  repair  the  mischief  I  have  done,  I  am  forwarding  to 
the  public  prosecutor  a  retraction  of  my  deposition.  You 
will  know  how  to  take  advantage  of  this  document. 

"In  virtue  of  a  will  formally  drawn  up,  restitution  will 
be  made,  Monsieur  I'Abbe,  of  the  moneys  belonging  to  your 
Order  which  you  so  imprudently  devoted  to  my  use,  as  a 
result  of  your  paternal  affection  for  me. 

"And  so,  farewell.  Farewell,  colossal  image  of  Evil  and 
Corruption;  farewell — to  you  who,  if  started  on  the  right 


404  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

road,  might  have  been  greater  than  Ximenes,  greater  than 
Eichelieu !  You  have  kept  your  promises.  I  find  myself 
once  more  just  as  I  was  on  the  banks  of  the  Charente,  after 
enjoying,  by  your  help,  the  enchantments  of  a  dream.  But, 
unfortunately,  it  is  not  now  in  the  waters  of  my  native  place 
that  I  shall  drown  the  errors  of  a  boy ;  but  in  the  Seine,  and 
my  hole  is  a  cell  in  the  Conciergerie. 

"Do  not  regret  me:  my  contempt  for  you  is  as  great  as 
my  admiration. 

"LuciEN.'^ 
"Recantation. 

"I,  the  undersigned,  hereby  declare  that  I  retract,  without 
reservation,  all  that  I  deposed  at  my  examination  to-day  be- 
fore Monsieur  Camusot. 

"The  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera  always  called  himself  my  spirit- 
ual father,  and  I  was  misled  by  the  word  father  used  in 
another  sense  by  the  judge,  no  doubt  under  a  misapprehen- 
sion. 

"I  am  aware  that,  for  political  ends,  and  to  quash  certain 
secrets  concerning  the  Cabinets  of  Spain  and  of  the  Tuileries, 
some  obscure  diplomatic  agents  tried  to  show  that  the  Abbe 
Carlos  Herrera  was  a  forger  named  Jacques  Collin ;  but  the  Abbe 
Carlos  Herrera  never  told  me  anything  about  the  matter  ex- 
cepting that  he  was  doing  his  best  to  obtain  evidence  of  the 
death  or  of  the  continued  existence  of  Jacques  Collin. 

"LUCIEN  DE  RUBEMPRE. 

"At  the  Conciergerie,  May  Ibth,  1830." 

The  fever  for  suicide  had  given  Lucien  immense  clearness 
of  mind,  and  the  swiftness  of  hand  familiar  to  authors  in  the 
fever  of  composition.  The  impetus  was  so  strong  within  him 
that  these  four  documents  were  all  written  within  half  an 
hour ;  he  folded  them  in  a  vrrapper,  fastened  with  wafers,  on 
which  he  impressed  with  the  strength  of  delirium  the  coat- 
of-arms  engraved  on  a  seal-ring  he  wore,  and  he  then  laid  the 
packet  very  conspicuously  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 


END  OP  EVIL  WAYS  405 

Certainly  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  conduct  himself 
with  greater  dignity,  in  the  false  position  to  which  all  this 
infamy  had  led  him;  he  was  rescuing  his  memory  from  op- 
probrium, and  repairing  the  injury  done  to  his  accomplice,  so 
far  as  the  wit  of  a  man  of  the  world  could  nullify  the  result  of 
the  poet's  trustfulness. 

If  Lucien  had  been  taken  back  to  one  of  the  lower  cells, 
he  would  have  been  wrecked  on  the  impossibility  of  carrying 
out  his  intentions,  for  those  boxes  of  masonry  have  no  furni- 
ture but  a  sort  of  camp-bed  and  a  pail  for  necessary  uses. 
There  is  not  a  nail,  not  a  chair,  not  even  a  stool.  The  camp- 
bed  is  so  firmly  fixed  that  it  is  impossible  to  move  it  without 
an  amount  of  labor  that  the  warder  would  not  fail  to  detect, 
for  the  iron-barred  peephole  is  always  open.  Indeed,  if  a 
prisoner  under  suspicion  give  reason  for  uneasiness,  he  is 
watched  by  a  gendarme  or  a  constable. 

In  the  private  rooms  for  which  prisoners  pay,  and  in  that 
whither  Lucien  had  been  conveyed  by  the  judge's  courtesy  to 
a  young  man  belonging  to  the  upper  ranks  of  society,  the 
movable  bed,  table,  and  chair  might  serve  to  carry  out  his  pur- 
pose of  suicide,  though  they  hardly  made  it  easy.  Lucien  wore 
a  long  blue  silk  necktie,  and  on  his  way  back  from  examina- 
tion he  was  already  meditating  on  the  means  by  which 
Pichegru,  more  or  less  voluntarily,  ended  his  days.  Still,  to 
hang  himself,  a  man  must  find  a  purchase,  and  have  a 
sufficient  space  between  it  and  the  ground  for  his  feet  to  find 
no  support.  Now  the  window  of  his  room,  looking  out  on  the 
prison-yard,  had  no  handle  to  the  fastening;  and  the  bars, 
being  fixed  outside,  were  divided  from  his  reach  by  the  thick- 
ness of  the  wall,  and  could  not  be  used  for  a  support. 

This,  then,  was  the  plan  hit  upon  by  Lucien  to  put  him- 
self out  of  the  world.  The  boarding  of  the  lower  part  of  the 
opening,  which  prevented  his  seeing  out  into  the  yard,  also 
hindered  the  warders  outside  from  seeing  what  was  done  in 
the  room ;  but  while  the  lower  portion  of  the  window  was  re- 
placed by  two  thick  planks,  the  upper  part  of  both  halves  still 
was  filled  with  small  panes,  held  in  place  by  the  cross  pieces 
26 


406  A  COURTESANS  LIFE 

iu  which  they  were  set.  By  standing  on  his  table  Lucien 
could  reach  the  glazed  part  of  the  window,  and  take  or  break 
out  two  panes,  so  as  to  have  a  firm  point  of  attachment  in 
the  angle  of  the  lower  bar.  Eound  this  he  would  tie  his 
cravat,  turn  round  once  to  tighten  it  round  his  neck 
after  securing  it  firmly,  and  kick  the  table  from  under  his 
feet. 

He  drew  the  table  up  under  the  window  without  making 
any  noise,  took  off  his  coat  and  waistcoat,  and  got  on  the  table 
unhesitatingly  to  break,  a  pane  above  and  one  below  the  iron 
cross-bar.  Standing  on  the  table,  he  could  look  out  across 
the  yard  on  a  magical  view,  which  he  then  beheld  for  the 
first  time.  The  Governor  of  the  prison,  in  deference  to  Mon- 
sieur Camusot's  request  that  he  should  deal  as  leniently  as  pos- 
sible with  Lucien,  had  led  him,  as  we  have  seen,  through  the 
dark  passages  of  the  Conciergerie,  entered  from  the  dark 
vault  opposite  the  Tour  d' Argent,  thus  avoiding  the  ex- 
hibition of  a  young  man  of  fashion  to  the  crowd  of  prisoners 
airing  themselves  in  the  yard.  It  will  be  for  the  reader  to 
judge  whether  the  aspect  of  this  promenade  was  not  such  as 
to  appeal  deeply  to  a  poet's  soul. 

The  yard  of  the  Conciergerie  ends  at  the  quai  between  the 
Tour  d' Argent  and  the  Tour  Bonbec;  thus  the  distance  be- 
tween them  exactly  shows  from  the  outside  the  width  of  the 
plot  of  ground.  The  corridor  called  the  Galerie  de  Saint- 
Louis,  which  extends  from  the  Galerie  Marchande  to  the 
Court  of  Appeals  and  the  Tour  Bonbec — in  which,  it  is  said, 
Saint-Louis'  room  still  exists — may  enable  the  curious  to 
estimate  the  depth  of  the  yard,  as  it  is  of  the  same  length. 
Thus  the  dark  cells  and  the  private  rooms  are  under  the 
Galerie  Marchande.  And  Queen  Marie  Antoinette,  whose 
dungeon  was  under  the  present  cells,  was  conducted  to  the 
presence  of  the  Eevolutionary  Tribunal,  which  held  its  sit- 
tings in  the  place  where  the  Court  of  Appeals  now  performs 
its  solemn  functions,  up  a  horrible  flight  of  steps,  now  never 
used,  in  the  very  thickness  of  the  wall  on  which  the  Galerie 
Marchande  is  built. 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  407 

One  side  of  the  prison-yard — that  on  which  the  Hall  of 
Saint-Louis  forms  the  first  floor — displays  a  long  row  of 
Gothic  columns,  between  which  the  architects  of  I  know  not 
what  period  have  built  up  two  floors  of  cells  to  accommodate 
as  many  prisoners  as  possible,  by  choking  the  capitals,  the 
arches,  and  the  vaults  of  this  magnificent  cloister  with  plaster, 
barred  loopholes,  and  partitions.  Under  the  room  known  as 
the  Cabinet  de  Saint-Louis,  in  the  Tour  Bonbec,  there  is  a 
spiral  stair  leading  to  these  dens.  This  degradation  of  one 
of  the  immemorial  buildings  of  France  is  hideous  to  behold. 

From  the  height  at  v/hich  Lucien  was  standing  he  saw 
this  cloister,  and  the  details  of  the  building  that  joins  the 
two  towers,  in  sharp  perspective ;  before  him  were  the  pointed 
caps  of  the  towers.  He  stood  amazed;  his  suicide  was  post- 
poned to  his  admiration.  The  phenomena  of  hallucination 
are  in  these  days  so  fully  recognized  by  the  medical  faculty 
that  this  mirage  of  the  senses,  this  strange  illusion  of  the 
mind  is  beyond  dispute.  A  man  under  the  stress  of  a  feeling 
which  by  its  intensity  has  become  a  monomania,  often  finds 
himself  in  the  frame  of  mind  to  which  opium,  hasheesh,  or 
the  protoxyde  of  '^ote  might  have  brought  him.  Spectres 
appear,  phantoms  and  dreams  take  shape,  things  of  the  past 
live  again  as  once  they  were.  What  was  but  an  image  of 
the  brain  becomes  a  moving  or  a  living  object.  Science  is 
now  beginning  to  believe  that  under  the  action  of  a  paroxysm 
of  passion  the  blood  rushes  to  the  brain,  and  that  such  con- 
gestion has  the  terrible  effects  of  a  dream  in  a  waking  state, 
so  averse  are  we  to  regard  thought  as  a  physical  and  genera- 
tive force.     (See  Louis  Lambert.) 

Lucien  saw  the  building  in  all  its  pristine  beauty;  the 
columns  were  new,  slender  and  bright;  Saint-Louis'  Palace 
rose  before  him  as  it  had  once  appeared;  he  admired  its 
Babjdonian  proportions  and  Oriental  fancy.  He  took  this 
exquisite  vision  as  a  poetic  farewell  from  civilized  creation. 
While  making  his  arrangements  to  die,  he  wondered  how  this 
marvel  of  architecture  could  exist  in  Paris  so  utterly  un- 
known.    He  was  two  Luciens — one  Lucien  the  poet,  wander- 


408  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

ing  through  the  Middle  Ages  under  the  vaults  and  the  turrets 
of  Saint-Louis,  the  other  Lucien  ready  for  suicide. 

Just  as  Monsieur  de  Granville  had  ended  giving  his  in- 
structions to  the  young  secretary,  the  Governor  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie  came  in,  and  the  expression  of  his  face  was  such  as 
to  give  the  public  prosecutor  a  presentiment  of  disaster. 

"'Have  you  met  Monsieur  Camusot  ?"  he  asked. 

"Xo,  monsieur,"  said  the  Governor;  "his  clerk  Coquart  in- 
structed me  to  give  the  Abbe  Carlos  a  private  room  and  to 
liberate  Monsieur  de  Eubempre — but  it  is  too  late." 

"Good  God !  what  has  happened  ?" 

"Here,  monsieur,  is  a  letter  for  you  which  will  explain  the 
catastrophe.  The  warder  on  duty  in  the  prison-yard  heard  a 
noise  of  breaking  glass  in  the  upper  room,  and  Monsieur 
Lucien's  next  neighbor  shrieking  wildly,  for  he  heard  the 
young  man's  dying  struggles.  The  warder  came  to  me  pale 
from  the  sight  that  met  his  eyes.  He  found  the  prisoner 
hanged  from  the  window  bar  by  his  necktie." 

Though  the  Governor  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  a  fearful  scream 
from  Madame  de  Serizy  showed  that  under  stress  of  feeling 
our  faculties  are  incalculably  keen.  The  Countess  heard, 
or  guessed.  Before  Monsieur  de  Granville  could  turn  round, 
or  Monsieur  de  Bauvan  or  her  husband  could  stop  her,  she 
fled  like  a  flash  out  of  the  door,  and  reached  the  Galerie 
Marchande,  where  she  ran  on  to  the  stairs  leading  out  to  the 
Eue  de  la  Barillerie. 

A  pleader  was  taking  off  his  gown  at  the  door  of  one  of  the 
shops  which  from  time  immemorial  have  choked  up  this 
arcade,  where  shoes  are  sold,  and  gowns  and  caps  kept  for 
hire. 

The  Countess  asked  the  way  to  the  Conciergerie. 

"Go  down  the  steps  and  turn  to  the  left.  The  entrance 
is  from  the  Quai  de  I'Horloge,  the  first  archway." 

"That  woman  is  crazy,"  said  the  shop-woman ;  "some  one 
ought  to  follow  her." 

But  no  one  could  have  kept  up  with  Leontine;  she  flew. 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  409 

A  physician  may  explain  how  it  is  that  these  ladies  of 
fashion,  whose  strength  never  finds  employment,  reveal  such 
powers  in  the  critical  moments  of  life. 

The  Countess  rushed  so  swiftly  through  the  archway  to 
the  wicket-gate  that  the  gendarme  on  sentry  did  not  see  her 
pass.  She  flew  at  the  barred  gate  like  a  feather  driven  by 
the  wind,  and  shook  the  iron  bars  with  such  fury  that  she 
broke  the  one  she  grasped.  The  bent  ends  were  thrust  into 
her  breast,  making  the  blood  flow,  and  she  dropped  on  the 
ground,  shrieking,  "Open  it,  open  it !"  in  a  tone  that  struck 
terror  into  the  warders. 

The  gatekeepers  hurried  out. 

"Open  the  gate — the  public  prosecutor  sent  me — to  save 
the  dead  man ! " 

While  the  Countess  was  going  round  by  the  Eue  de  la 
Barillerie  and  the  Quai  de  I'Horloge,  Monsieur  de  Granville 
and  Monsieur  de  Serizy  went  down  to  the  Conciergerie 
through  the  inner  passages,  suspecting  Leontine's  purpose; 
but  notwithstanding  their  haste,  they  only  arrived  in  time  to 
see  her  fall  fainting  at  the  outer  gate,  where  she  was  picked 
up  6y  two  gendarmes  who  had  come  down  from  the  guard- 
room. 

On  seeing  the  Governor  of  the  prison,  the  gate  was  opened, 
and  the  Countess  was  carried  into  the  office,  but  she  stood  up 
and  fell  on  her  knees,  clasping  her  hands. 

"Only  to  see  him — to  see  him !  Oh !  I  will  do  no  wrong ! 
But  if  you  do  not  want  to  see  me  die  on  the  spot,  let  me  look 
at  Lucien  dead  or  living. — Ah,  my  dear,  are  you  here? 
Choose  between  my  death  and " 

She  sank  in  a  heap. 

"You  are  kind,"  she  said ;  "I  will  always  love  you " 

"Carry  her  away,"  said  Monsieur  de  Bauvan. 

"No,  we  will  go  to  Lucien's  cell,"  said  Monsieur  de  Gran- 
ville, reading  a  purpose  in  Monsieur  de  Serizy's  wild  looks. 

And  he  lifted  up  the  Countess,  and  took  her  under  one 
arm,  while  Monsieur  de  Bauvan  supported  her  on  the  other 
side. 


410  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  Comte  de  Serizy  to  the  Governor, 
"silence  as  of  the  grave  about  all  this.'" 

"Be  easy,"  replied  the  Governor;  "j^ou  have  done  the 
wisest  thing. — If  this  lady " 

"She  is  my  viite/' 

"Oh!  I  beg  your  pardon.  Well,  she  will  certainly  faint 
away  when  she  sees  the  poor  man,  and  while  she  is  un- 
conscious she  can  be  taken  home  in  a  carriage." 

"That  is  what  I  thought,"  replied  the  Count.  "Pray  send 
one  of  your  men  to  tell  my  servants  in  the  Cour  de  Harlay 
to  come  round  to  the  gate.  Mine  is  the  only  carriage 
there." 

"We  can  save  him  yet,"  said  the  Countess,  walking  on  with 
a  degree  of  strength  and  spirit  that  surprised  her  friends. 
"There  are  ways  of  restoring  life " 

And  she  dragged  the  gentlemen  along,  crying  to  the 
warder : 

"Come  on,  come  faster — one  second  may  cost  three 
lives !" 

When  the  cell  door  was  opened,  and  the  Countess  saw 
Lucien  hanging  as  though  his  clothes  had  been  hung  on  a  peg, 
she  made  a  spring  towards  him  as  if  to  embrace  him  and  cling 
to  him;  but  she  fell  on  her  face  on  the  floor  with  smothered 
shrieks  and  a  sort  of  rattle  in  her  throat. 

Five  minutes  later  she  was  being  taken  home  stretched  on 
the  seat  in  the  Count's  carriage,  her  husband  kneeling  by  her 
side.  Monsieur  de  Bauvan  went  ofl'  to  fetch  a  doctor  to  give 
her  the  care  she  needed. 

The  Governor  of  the  Conciergerie  meanwhile  was  examin- 
ing the  outer  gate,  and  saying  to  his  clerk: 

"!No  expense  was  spared;  the  bars  are  of  wrought  iron, 
the}^  were  properly  tested,  and  cost  a  large  sum ;  and  yet  there 
was  a  flaw  in  that  bar." 

Monsieur  de  Granville  on  returning  to  his  room  had  other 
instructions  to  give  to  his  private  secretary.  Massol,  happily, 
had  not  yet  arrived. 

Soon  after  Monsieur  de  Granville  ha,d  left,  anxious  to  go 


END  OF  EVIL  WAYS  411 

to  see  Monsieur  de  Serizy,  Massol  came  and  found  his  ally 
Chargeboeuf  in  the  public  prosecutor's  Court. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  the  young  secretary,  "if  you  will  do 
me  a  great  favor,  you  will  put  what  I  dictate  to  you  in  your 
Gazette  to-morrow  under  the  heading  of  Law  Eeports;  you 
can  compose  the  heading.     Write  now.'' 

And  he  dictated  as  follows : — 

"It  has  been  ascertained  that  the  Demoiselle  Esther  Gob- 
seek  killed  herself  of  her  own  free  will. 

"Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempre  satisfactorily  proved  an 
alibi,  and  his  innocence  leaves  his  arrest  to  be  regretted,  all 
the  more  because  just  as  the  examining  Judge  had  given  the 
order  for  his  release  the  young  gentleman  died  suddenly." 

"I  need  not  point  out  to  you,"  said  the  young  lawyer  to 
Massol,  "how  necessary  it  is  to  preserve  absolute  silence  as 
to  the  little  service  requested  of  you." 

"Since  it  is  you  who  do  me  the  honor  of  so  much  con- 
fidence,"' replied  Massol,  "allow  me  to  make  one  observation. 
This  paragraph  will  give  rise  to  odious  comments  on  the 
course  of  justice " 

"Justice  is  strong  enough  to  bear  them,"  said  the  young 
attache  to  the  Courts,  with  the  pride  of  a  coming  magistrate 
trained  by  Monsieur  de  Granville. 

"Allow  me,  my  dear  sir ;  with  two  sentences  this  difficulty 
may  be  avoided." 

And  the  journalist-lawyer  wrote  as  follows: — 

"The  forms  of  the  law  have  nothing  to  do  with  this  sad 
event.  The  post-mortem  examination,  which  was  at  once 
made,  proved  that  sudden  death  was  due  to  the  rupture  of  an 
aneurism  in  its  last  stage.  If  Monsieur  Lucien  de  Rubempre 
had  been  upset  by  his  arrest,  death  must  have  ensued  sooner. 
But  we  are  in  a  position  to  state  that,  far  from  being  dis- 
tressed at  being  taken  into  custody,  the  young  man,  whom  all 
must  lament,  only  laughed  at  it,  and  told  those  who  escorted 
him  from  Fontainebleau  to  Paris  that  as  soon  as  he  was 
brought  before  a  magistrate  his  innocence  would  be  acknowl- 
edged." 


412  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"That  saves  it,  I  think?"  said  Massol. 

"You  are  perfectly  right." 

"The  public  prosecutor  will  thank  you  for  it  to-morrow," 
said  Massol  slyly. 

Now  to  the  great  majority,  as  to  the  more  choice  reader, 
it  will  perhaps  seem  that  this  Study  is  not  completed  by  the 
death  of  Esther  and  of  Lucien;  Jacques  Collin  and  Asie, 
Europe  and  Paccard,  in  spite  of  their  villainous  lives,  may 
have  been  interesting  enough  to  make  their  fate  a  matter  of 
curiosity. 

The  last  act  of  the  drama  will  also  complete  the  picture 
of  life  which  this  Study  is  intended  to  present,  and  give  the 
issue  of  various  interests  which  Lucien's  career  had  strangely 
tangled  by  bringing  some  ignoble  personages  from  the  hulks 
into  contact  with  those  of  the  highest  rank. 

Thus,  as  may  be  seen,  the  greatest  events  of  life  find  their 
expression  in  the  more  or  less  veracious  gossip  of  the  Paris 
papers.  And  this  is  the  case  with  many  things  of  greater 
importance  than  are  here  recorded. 


END  OF  PART  I. 


SCENES   FROM  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

(CONCLUDED) 
AND 

THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 


INTRODUCTION 

As  has  been  noted  in  the  Introduction  to  the  first  volume 
of  the  Splendeurs  et  Miseres  des  Courtisanes,  La  deniiere 
Incarnation  de  Vautrin,  though  forming,  according  to  the 
author's  conception,  an  integral  part  of  that  work,  stands  in 
more  ways  than  one  aloof  from  it.  It  was  much  later  written 
than  the  earlier  parts,  except  Ou  menent  les  mauvais  Chemins, 
and  it  was  later  written  even  than  that.  Moreover,  it  marks 
in  two  different  ways  a  much  maturer  stage  of  the  author's 
ideas  as  to  heroic  convicts — a  stage  in  which,  I  think,  it  is 
not  fanciful  to  detect  a  considerable  reduction  of  the 
gigantesque  element  and  a  substitution  of  something  else 
for  it. 

We  may  note  this  in  two  ways.  In  the  earlier  conception 
of  the  matter,  as  exemplified  chiefly  in  Ferragus  and  Le  Pere 
Goriot,  the  heroic  element  considerably  dominates  the  prac- 
tical. In  the  one  Balzac  had  shown  an  ex-convict  defying 
society  and  executing  a  sort  of  private  justice  or  injustice, 
just  as  he  pleased.  In  the  other  he  had  adopted  (and  had 
maintained  still  later  in  an  apologetic  epistle  to  a  newspaper 
editor,  which  will  be  found  in  his  works)  a  notion  of  the 
criminal  as  of  a  sort  of  puissance  du  mal  pervading  and 
dominating  society  itself.  In  the  present  book,  or  section  of 
a  book,  which,  it  must  never  be  forgotten,  was  one  of  his 
very  latest,  things  are  adjusted  to  a  much  more  actual  level. 
The  thieves'-latin  which  it  contains  is  only  an  indirect  symp- 
tom of  this.     Ainsworth  in  England  and  others  in  France  had 

(ix) 


X  INTRODUCTION 

anticipated  him  notably  in  this.  But  indirectly  it  shows  us 
that  he  had  come  down  many  stages  from  his  earlier  heights. 
Bourignard  and  the  early  Vautrin  worked  in  clouds,  afar 
and  apart;  they  had  little  to  do  with  actual  life:  in  La 
derniere  Incarnation  de  Vautrin  we  find  ourselves  face  to 
face  with  the  actual,  or  only  slightly  "disrealized"  realities 
of  convict  life.  Some  of  these  details  may  be  disgusting, 
but  most  of  them,  as  we  know  from  unromantic  authorities, 
are  tolerably  true;  and  where  truth  is,  there,  with  an  artist 
like  Balzac,  art  never  fails.  It  is  the  drawback  of  the  youth- 
ful poet  or  novelist  that  he  is  insufficiently  provided  with 
veracity,  of  the  aging  novelist  or  poet  that  inspiration  and 
the  faculty  of  turning  fact  into  great  fiction  fail  him.  But 
there  was  no  danger  of  this  latter  with  the  author,  at  nearly 
twenty  years'  interval,  of  Le  dernier  Chouan  and  La  Cousine 
Bette.  He  could  only  gain  by  the  dispelling  of  illusion,  and 
he  could  not  lose  by  the  practice  of  his  craft. 

Another  and  still  more  interesting  mark  of  resipiscence  is 
conveyed  in  the  practical  defeat  of  Vautrin  and  in  his  deser- 
tion to  the  side  of  society  itself,  which,  we  are  given  to  un- 
derstand, he  never  afterwards  left,  nor  less  perhaps  in  the 
virtual  rebuff  which  Corentin  (another  hcros  du  mal  of  the 
older  time)  receives  at  the  end.  The  old  betrayer  of  Mile, 
de  Verneuil  is  told  in  so  many  words  that  he  can  be  dispensed 
Avith ;  the  old  enemy  of  society  has  to  take  its  wages ;  the  funds 
of  la  haute  pegre  are  squandered  on  Lucien  de  Eubempre, 
just  as  any  foolish  heir  might  squander  them,  and  the  whole 
scheme  of  a  conspiracy  against  order  breaks  down.  True, 
Madame  de  Maufrigneuse  and  Madame  de  Serizy  get  their 
letters;  but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there. 

The  most  interesting  scene  in  the  book,  I  suppose,  is  that 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

in  which  the  scheme  of  the  prison  authorities  for  trapping 
Vautrin  fails  by  dint  of  his  adroitness,  and  the  command 
of  a  strong  mind  over  a  weak  one,  as  between  him  and  the 
other  convicts,  to  whom  he  had  been  a  fraudulent  trustee. 
It  is  not  free  from  unsavory  details,  but  the  mastery  of  it 
quite  exceeds  its  repulsiveness.  It  is  worth  noting,  too,  that 
Balzac  shows  how  thoroughly  he  has  mastered  the  principles 
of  his  art  by  intermixing  this  very  success  with  evidences  of 
Vautrin's  humanity  after  all.  And  of  minor  details  there  is 
not,  I  think,  one  more  interesting  in  the  book,  while  there 
are  few  more  interesting  in  all  Balzac,  than  the  fact  that  in 
the  opening  interview  between  Camusot  and  his  wife  the 
author  borrows  from  Guy  Mannering  the  incident  of  Pleydell's 
discovering  the  importance  of  Dirk  Hatteraick's  pocketbook 
by  the  play  of  his  countenance  as  his  examiner  passes  from 
that  to  other  things,  and  vice  versa.  The  fact  is  that  Balzac 
was  to  the  very  last  an  ardent  devotee  of  Sir  Walter,  and  that 
— like  all  great  novelists,  I  think,  without  exception,  but  not 
like  M.  Zola  and  some  other  persons  both  abroad  and  at  home 
— he  was  perfectly  alive  to  the  fact  that  Scott's  workmanship, 
his  analysis,  his  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  his  use 
of  it,  are  about  as  far  from  superficiality  as  the  equator  is 
from  the  pole.  In  construction  and  in  style  Scott  was  careless, 
and  as  it  happens,  Balzac  was  in  neither  respect  impeccable. 
But  in  other  ways  the  pupil  had,  and  knew  that  he  had,  little 
advantage  over  the  master  except  in  a  certain  parade  of 
motives  and  details,  as  well  as  (though  not  to  a  very  great 
extent)  in  a  greater  comprehension  of  passion,  and,  of  course, 
to  a  much  greater  extent  in  liberty  of  exhibiting  that  com- 
prehension. Let  us  read  Balzac  and  admire  Balzac  as  much 
as  possible ;  but  when  any  one  talks  of  Scott  as  shallow  in 


xil  INTRODUCTION 

comparison  with  Balzac,  let  us  leave  the  answer  to  Balzac 
himself. 

(For    bibliography,    see    Introduction    to    Splendeurs    et 
Miseres  des  Courtisanes.) 


The  long  piece  entitled  Les  Employes,  which  fills  nearly 
two-thirds  of  the  volume,  has  rather  dubious  claims  to  be 
called  a  novel  or  a  story  at  all.  Balzac,  either  from  the  fact 
of  his  father  having  been  employed  in  the  civil  department  of 
the  array,  or  because  he  had  been  destined  himself  by  kind 
family  friends  to  the  rond-de-cuir  (the  office-stool),  or  be- 
cause he  was  a  typical  Frenchman — for  while  half  the  French 
nation  sits  on  these  stools,  the  other  half  divides  its  time  be- 
tween laughing  at  them  and  envying  them — was  always  ex- 
ceedingly intent  on  the  ways  and  manners  of  government 
offices.  One  of  the  least  immature  scenes  of  his  CEuvres  de 
Jeimesse,  the  opening  passage  of  Argow  le  Pirate,  concerns 
the  subject.  The  collection  of  his  CEuvres  Diverses,  only  of 
late  years  opened  to  the  explorer  who  has  less  than  libraries 
at  his  command,  contains  repeated  returns  to  it,  of  which  the 
Physiologie  de  UEmploye  was  the  l)est  known  and  most 
popular;  and  the  novels  proper  are  full  of  dealings  with  it. 
Tn  this  particular  piece,  indeed,  Balzac  has  actually  in- 
corporated something  from  his  earlier  Physiologie,  and  has 
thus  made  it  even  less  of  a  story  than  it  was  when  it  first  ap- 
peared under  the  title  of  La  Femme  Superieure.  In  that 
condition  it  Avas  divided  into  three  parts — Entre  deux 
Femmes,  Les  Bureaux,  and  A  qui  la  place.  The  later  shape, 
with  the  additions  just  referred  to,  tended  to  overweight  the 
middle  part  still  more  at  the  expense  of  the  two  ends;  and 


INTRODUCTION  xlll 

as  it  stands,  it  is  little  more  than  a  criticism,  partly  in  argu- 
ment, partly  in  dialogue,  of  administration  and  adminis- 
trative methods,  with  a  certain  slight  personal  interest  at 
both  ends. 

Les  Employes  was  originally  dated  July  1836.  It  ap- 
peared in  the  Presse  just  a  year  after  its  composition,  but 
was  then  called  La  Femme  Superieure,  which  name  it  kept 
on  its  publication  by  Werdet  as  a  book  in  1838.  It  was  here 
enlarged,  and  had  La  Torpille  (the  first  title  of  Esther  or 
Comment  aiment  les  Filles)  and  La  Maison  Nucingen  for 
companions.  There  were,  as  usual,  chapter  divisions  and 
titles.  At  its  first  appearance  in  the  Comedie,  the  actual 
title  and  La  Femme  Superieure  were  given  as  alternatives, 
but  later  Les  Employes  displaced  the  other. 

G.  S. 


SCENES  FROM  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR 

"What  is  it,  Madeleine?"  asked  Madame  Camusot,  seeing 
her  maid  come  into  the  room  with  the  particular  air  that  ser- 
vants assume  in  critical  moments. 

"Madame,"  said  Madeleine,  "monsieur  has  just  come  in 
from  Court ;  but  he  looks  so  upset,  and  is  in  such  a  state,  that 
I  think  perhaps  it  would  be  well  for  you  to  go  to  his  room." 

"Did  he  say  anything?"  asked  Madame  Camusot. 

"No,  madame;  but  we  never  have  seen  monsieur  look  like 
that ;  he  looks  as  if  he  were  going  to  be  ill,  his  face  is  yellow — 
he  seems  all  to  pieces " 

Madame  Camusot  waited  for  no  more;  she  rushed  out  of 
her  room  and  flew  to  her  husband's  study.  She  found  the 
lawyer  sitting  in  an  armchair,  pale  and  dazed,  his  legs 
stretched  out,  his  head  against  the  back  of  it,  his  hands  hang- 
ing limp,  exactly  as  if  he  were  sinking  into  idiotcy. 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  dear?"  said  the  young  woman  in 
alarm. 

"Oh !  my  poor  Amelie,  the  most  dreadful  thing  has  hap- 
pened— I  am  still  trembling.  Imagine,  the  public  prosecutor 
— no,  Madame  de  Serizy — that  is — I  do  not  know  where  to 
begin." 

"Begin  at  the  end,"  said  Madame  Camusot. 

"Well,  just  as  Monsieur  Popinot,  in  the  council  room  of 
the  first  Court,  had  put  the  last  signature  to  the  ruling  of 
'insufficient  cause'  for  the  apprehension  of  Lucien  de  Ru- 
bempre  on  the  ground  of  my  report,  setting  him  at  liberty — 
in  fact,  the  whole  thing  was  done,  the  clerk  was  going  off  with 
the  minute  book,  and  I  was  quit  of  the  whole  business — the 

(1) 


2  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE    » 

President  of  the  Court  came  in  and  took  up  the  papers.  'You 
are  releasing  a  dead  man,'  said  he,  with  chilly  irony;  'the 
young  man  is  gone,  as  Monsieur  de  Bonald  says,  to  appear 
before  his  natural  Judge.     He  died  of  apoplexy ' 

"I  breathed  again,  thinking  it  was  sudden  illness. 

"  'As  I  understand  you,  Monsieur  le  President,'  said  Mon- 
sieur Popinot,  'it  is  a  case  of  apoplexy  like  Pichegru's.' 

"  'Gentlemen,'  said  the  President  then*,  very  gravely,  'you 
must  please  to  understand  that  for  the  outside  world  Lucien 
de  Rubempre  died  of  an  aneurism.' 

"We  all  looked  at  each  other.  'Very  great  people  arc  con- 
cerned in  this  deplorable  business,'  said  the  President.  'God 
grant  for  your  sake.  Monsieur  Camusot,  though  you  did  no 
less  than  your  duty,  that  ]\radame  de  Serizy  may  not  go  mad 
from  the  shock  she  has  had.  She  was  carried  away  almost 
dead.  I  have  just  met  our  public  prosecutor  in  a  painful  state 
of  despair.' — 'You  have  made  a  mess  of  it,  my  dear  Camusot,' 
he  added  in  my  ear. — I  assure  you,  my  dear,  as  I  came  away 
I  could  hardly  stand.  My  legs  shook  so  that  I  dared  not 
venture  into  the  street.  I  went  back  to  my  room  to  rest. 
Then  Coquart,  who  was  putting  away  the  papers  of  this 
wretched  case,  told  me  that  a  very  handsome  woman  had  taken 
the  Conciergerie  by  storm,  wanting  to  save  Lucien,  whom  she 
was  quite  crazy  about,  and  that  she  fainted  away  on  seeing 
him  hanging  by  his  necktie  to  the  window-bar  of  his  room. 
The  idea  that  the  way  in  which  I  questioned  that  unhappy 
young  fellow — who,  between  ourselves,  was  guilty  in  many 
ways — can  have  led  to  his  committing  suicide  has  haunted 
me  ever  since  I  left  the  Palais,  and  I  feel  constantly  on  the 
point  of  fainting " 

"What  next  ?  Are  you  going  to  think  yourself  a  murderer 
because  a  suspected  criminal  hangs  himself  in  prison  just  as 
you  were  about  to  release  him?"  cried  Madame  Camusot. 
"Why,  an  examining  judge  in  such  a  case  is  like  a  general 
whose  horse  is  killed  under  him  ! — That  is  all." 

"Such  a  comparison,  my  dear,  is  at  best  but  a  jest,  and 
jesting  is  out  of  place  now.     In  this  case  the  dead  man 


VAin^RIN'S  r.AST  AVATAR  3 

chitchpp  the  living.  All  our  hopes  are  buried  in  Lucien's 
cotfiu." 

"Indeed?"  said  Madame  Camusot,  with  deep  irony. 

"Yes,  my  career  is  closed.  I  shall  be  no  more  than  an 
examining  judge  all  my  life.  Before  this  fatal  termination 
Monsieur  de  Granville  was  annoyed  at  the  turn  the  prelimi- 
naries had  taken;  his  speech  to  our  President  makes  me  quite 
certain  that  so  long  as  Monsieur  de  Granville  is  public  prose- 
cutor I  shall  get  no  promotion." 

Promotion  !  The  terrible  thought,  which  in  these  days 
makes  a  judge  a  mere  functionary. 

Formerly  a  magistrate  was  made  at  once  what  he  was  to 
remain.  The  three  or  four  presidents'  caps  satisfied  the  am- 
bitions of  lawyers  in  each  Parlement.  An  appointment  as 
councillor  was  enough  for  a  de  Brosses  or  a  Mole,  at  Dijon 
as  much  as  in  Paris.  This  office,  in  itself  a  fortune,  required 
a  fortune  brought  to  it  to  keep  it  up. 

In  Paris,  outside  the  Parlement,  men  of  the  long  robe  could 
hope  only  for  three  supreme  appointments:  those  of  Con- 
troller-General, Keeper  of  the  Seals,  or  Chancellor.  Below 
the  Parlement,  in  the  lower  grades,  the  president  of  a  lower 
Court  thought  himself  quite  of  sufficient  importance  to  be 
content  to  fill  his  chair  to  the  end  of  his  days. 

Compare  the  position  of  a  councillor  in  the  High  Court  of 
Justice  in  Paris,  in  1829,  who  has  nothing  but  his  salary, 
with  that  of  a  councillor  to  the  Parlement  in  1729.  How 
great  is  the  difference !  In  these  days,  when  money  is  the 
universal  social  guarantee,  magistrates  are  not  required  to 
have — as  they  used  to  have — fine  private  fortunes:  hence  we 
see  deputies  and  peers  of  France  heaping  office  on  office,  at 
once  magistrates  and  legislators,  borrowing  dignity  from 
other  positions  than  those  which  ought  to  give  them  all  their 
importance. 

In  short,  a  magistrate  tries  to  distinguish  himself  for  pro- 
motion as  men  do  in  the  army,  or  in  a  Government  office. 

This  prevailing  thought,  even  if  it  does  not  affect  his  inde- 
pendence, is  so  well  known  and  so  natural,  and  its  effects  are 


4  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

SO  evident,  that  the  law  inevitably  loses  some  of  its  majesty 
in  the  eyes  of  the  public.  And,  in  fact,  the  salaries  paid  by 
the  State  makes  priests  and  magistrates  mere  employes.  Steps 
to  be  gained  foster  ambition,  ambition  engenders  subservience 
to  power,  and  modern  equality  places  the  judge  and  the  per- 
son to  be  judged  in  the  same  category  at  the  bar  of  society. 
And  so  the  two  pillars  of  social  order.  Religion  and  Justice, 
are  lowered  in  this  nineteenth  century,  which  asserts  itself 
as  progressive  in  all  things. 

"And  why  should  you  never  be  promoted?"  said  Amelie 
Camusot. 

She  looked  half-jestingly  at  her  husband,  feeling  the  ne- 
cessity of  reviving  the  energies  of  the  man  who  embodied  her 
ambitions,  and  on  whom  she  could  play  as  on  an  instrument. 

"Why  despair?"  she  went  on,  with  a  shrug  that  suffi- 
ciently expressed  her  indifference  as  to  the  prisoner's  end. 
"This  suicide  will  delight  Lucien's  two  enemies,  Madame 
d'Espard  and  her  cousin,  the  Comtesse  du  Chatelet.  Madame 
d'Espard  is  on  the  best  terms  with  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals ; 
through  her  you  can  get  an  audience  of  His  Excellency  and 
tell  him  all  the  secrets  of  this  business.  Then,  if  the  head  of 
the  law  is  on  your  side,  what  have  you  to  fear  from  the  presi- 
dent of  your  Court  or  the  public  prosecutor?" 

"But,  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Serizy?"  cried  the  poor 
man.  "Madame  de  Serizy  is  gone  mad,  I  tell  you,  and  her 
madness  is  my  doing,  they  say." 

"Well,  if  she  is  out  of  her  mind,  0  judge  devoid  of  judg- 
ment," said  Madame  Camusot,  laughing,  "she  can  do  you  no 
harm. — Come,  tell  me  all  the  incidents  of  the  day." 

"Bless  me !"  said  Camusot,  "just  as  I  had  cross-questioned 
the  unhappy  youth,  and  he  had  deposed  that  the  self-styled 
Spanish  priest  is  really  Jacques  Collin,  the  Duchesse  de 
Maufrigneuse  and  Madame  de  Serizy  sent  me  a  note  by  a  ser- 
vant begging  me  not  to  examine  him.     It  was  all  over ! " 

"But  you  must  have  lost  your  head !"  said  Amelie.  "What 
was  to  prevent  you,  being  so  sure  as  you  are  of  your  clerk's 
fidelity,  from  calling  Lueien  back,  reassuring  him  cleverly, 
and  revisinff  the  examination?" 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  5 

"Why,  you  are  as  bad  as  Madame  de  Serizy;  you  laugh 
justice  to  scorn,"  said  Camusot,  who  was  incapable  of  flouting 
his  profession.  "Madame  de  Serizy  seized  the  minutes  and 
threw  them  into  the  fire." 

"That  is  the  right  sort  of  woman !  Bravo !"  cried  Madame 
Camusot. 

"Madame  de  Serizy  declared  she  would  sooner  see  the 
Palais  blown  up  than  leave  a  young  man  who  had  enjoyed  the 
favors  of  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  and  her  own  to  stand 
at  the  bar  of  a  Criminal  Court  by  the  side  of  a  convict !" 

"But,  Camusot,"  said  Amelie,  unable  to  suppress  a  superior 
smile,  "your  position  is  splendid " 

"Ah  !  yes,  splendid  !" 

"You  did  your   duty." 

"But  all  wrong ;  and  in  spite  of  the  Jesuitical  advice  of 
Monsieur  de  Granville,  who  met  me  on  the  Quai  Malaquais." 

"This  morning !" 

"This  morning." 

"At  what  hour  ?" 

"At  nine  o'clock." 

"Oh,  Camusot !"  cried  Amelie,  clasping  and  wringing  her 
hands,  "and  I  am  always  imploring  you  to  be  constantly  on 
the  alert. — Good  heavens !  it  is  not  a  man,  but  a  barrow-load 
of  stones  that  I  have  to  drag  on  ! — Why,  Camusot,  your  public 
prosecutor  was  waiting  for  you. — He  must  have  given  you 
some  warning." 

"Yes  indeed " 

"And  you  failed  to  understand  him !     If  you  are  so  deaf,     ^ 
you  will  indeed  be  an  examining  judge  all  your  life  without  ^ 
any  knowledge  whatever  of  the  question. — At  any  rate,  have 
sense  enough  to  listen  to  me,"  she  went  on,  silencing  her  hus- 
band, who  was  about  to  speak.    "You  think  the  matter  is  done 
for?"  she  asked. 

Camusot  looked  at  his  wife  as  a  country  bumpkin  looks  at 
a  conjurer. 

"If  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  and  Madame  de  Serizy 
are  compromised,  you  will  find  them  both  ready  to  patronize 


6  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

you,"  said  Amelie.  "'Madame  de  Serizy  will  get  you  admis- 
sion to  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals,  and  you  will  tell  him  the 
secret  history  of  the  affair ;  then  he  will  amuse  the  King  with 
the  story,  for  sovereigns  always  wish  to  see  the  wrong  side  of 
the  tapestry  and  to  know  the  real  meaning  of  the  events  the 
public  stare  at  open-mouthed.  Henceforth  there  will  be  no 
cause  to  fear  either  the  public  prosecutor  or  Monsieur  de 
Serizy." 

"What  a  treasure  such  a  wife  is !"  cried  the  lawyer,  pluck- 
ing up  courage.  "After  all,  I  have  unearthed  Jacques  Collin ; 
I  shall  send  him  to  his  account  at  the  Assize  Court  and  un- 
mask his  crimes.  Such  a  trial  is  a  triumph  in  the  career  of  an 
examining  judge !" 

"Camusot,"  Amelie  began,  pleased  to  see  her  husband  rally 
from  the  moral  and  physical  prostration  into  which  he  had 
been  thrown  by  Lucien's  suicide,  "the  President  told  you  that 
you  had  blundered  to  the  wrong  side.  Xow  you  are  blunder- 
ing as  much  to  the  other — you  are  losing  your  way  again,  my 
dear." 

The  magistrate  stood  up,  looking  at  his  wife  with  a  stupid 
stare. 

"The  King  and  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals  will  be  glad,  no 
doubt,  to  know  the  truth  of  this  business,  and  at  the  same 
time  much  annoyed  at  seeing  the  lawyers  on  the  Liberal  side 
dragging  important  persons  to  the  bar  of  opinion  and  of  the 
Assize  Court  by  their  special  pleading — such  people  as  the 
Maufrigneuses,  the  Serizys,  and  the  Grandlieus,  in  short,  all 
who  are  directly  or  indirectly  mixed  up  with  this  case." 

"They  are  all  in  it ;  I  have  them  all !"  cried  Camusot. 

And  Camusot  walked  up  and  down  the  room  like  Sganarelle 
on  the  stage  when  he  is  trying  to  get  out  of  a  scrape. 

"Listen,  Amelie,"  said  he,  standing  in  front  of  his  wife. 
"An  incident  recurs  to  my  mind,  a  trifle  in  itself,  but,  in  my 
position,  of  vital  importance. 

"Realize,  my  dear,  that  this  Jacques  Collin  is  a  giant  of 
cunning,  of  dissimulation,  of  deceit. — He  is — what  shall  I 
sav  ? — the  Cromwell  of  the  hulks  I — I  never  met  such  a  scoun- 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  7 

drel ;  he  almost  took  me  in. — But  in  examining  a  criminal, 
a  little  end  of  thread  leads  you  to  find  a  ball,  is  a  clue  to  the 
investigation  of  the  darkest  consciences  and  obscurest  facts. — 
When  Jacques  Collin  saw  me  turning  over  the  letters  seized  in 
Lucien  de  Eubempre's  lodgings,  the  villain  glanced  at  them 
with  the  evident  intention  of  seeing  whether  some  particular 
packet  were  among  them,  and  he  allowed  himself  to  give  a 
visible  expression  of  satisfaction.  This  look,  as  of  a  thief 
valuing  his  booty,  this  movement,  as  of  a  man  in  danger 
saying  to  himself,  'My  weapons  are  safe,'  betrayed  a  world  of 
things. 

"Only  you  women,  besides  us  and  our  examinees,  can  in  a 
single  flash  epitomize  a  whole  scene,  revealing  trickery  as 
complicated  as  safety-locks.  Volumes  of  suspicion  may  thus 
be  communicated  in  a  second.  It  is  terrifying — life  or  death 
lies  in  a  wink. 

"Said  I  to  myself,  'The  rascal  has  more  letters  in  his  hands 
than  these !' — Then  the  other  details  of  the  case  filled  my 
mind ;  I  overlooked  the  incident,  for  I  thought  I  should  have 
my  men  face  to  face,  and  clear  up  this  point  afterwards. 
But  it  may  be  considered  as  quite  certain  that  Jacques  Collin, 
after  the  fashion  of  such  wretches,  has  hidden  in  some  safe 
place  the  most  compromising  of  the  young  fellow's  letters, 
adored  as  he  was  by " 

"And  yet  you  are  afraid,  Camusot?  Wh}^  you  will  be 
President  of  the  Supreme  Court  much  sooner  than  I  ex- 
pected !"  cried  Madame  Camusot,  her  face  beaming.  "Now, 
then,  you  must  proceed  so  as  to  give  satisfaction  to  everybod}', 
for  the  matter  is  looking  so  serious  that  it  might  quite  possi- 
bly be  snatched  from  us. — Did  they  not  take  the  proceedings 
out  of  Popinot's  hands  to  place  them  in  ^^ours  when  Madame 
d'Espard  tried  to  get  a  Commission  in  Lunacy  to  incapacitate 
her  husband  ?"  she  added,  in  reply  to  her  husband's  gesture  of 
astonishment.  "Well,  then,  might  not  the  public  prosecutor, 
who  takes  such  keen  interest  in  the  honor  of  Monsieur  and 
Madame  de  Serizy,  carry  the  case  to  the  Upper  Court  and  get 
a  councillor  in  his  interest  to  open  a  fresh  inquiry?" 


8  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Bless  me,  my  dear,  where  did  j'ou  study  criminal  law?" 
cried  Camusot.  "You  know  everything;  you  can  give  me 
points." 

"Why,  do  yoii  believe  that,  by  to-morrow  morning,  Mon- 
sieur de  Granville  will  not  have  taken  fright  at  the  possible 
line  of  defence  that  might  be  adopted  by  some  liberal  advo- 
cate whom  Jacques  Collin  would  manage  to  secure;  for  law- 
yers will  be  ready  to  pay  him  to  place  the  case  in  their  hands ! 
— And  those  ladies  know  their  danger  quite  as  well  as  you  do 
— not  to  say  better;  they  will  put  themselves  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  public  prosecutor,  who  already  sees  their  fam- 
ilies unpleasantly  close  to  the  prisoner's  bench,  as  a  conse- 
quence of  the  coalition  between  this  convict  and  Lucien  de 
Rubempre,  betrothed  to  Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu — Lucien, 
Esther's  lover,  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse's  former  lover,  Ma- 
dame de  Serizy's  darling.  So  you  must  conduct  the  affair  in 
such  a  way  as  to  conciliate  the  favor  of  your  public  prosecutor, 
the  gratitude  of  Monsieur  de  Serizy,  and  that  of  the  Marquise 
d'Espard  and  the  Comtesse  du  Chatelet,  to  reinforce  j\Iadame 
de  Maufrigneuse's  influence  by  that  of  the  Grandlieus,  and  to 
gain  the  complimentary  approval  of  your  President. 

"I  will  undertake  to  deal  with  the  ladies — d'Espard,  de 
Maufrigneuse,  and  de  Grandlieu. 

"You  must  go  to-morrow  morning  to  see  the  public  prose- 
cutor. Monsieur  de  Granville  is  a  man  who  does  not  live  with 
his  wife ;  for  ten  years  he  had  for  his  mistress  a  Mademoiselle 
de  Bellefeuille,  who  bore  him  illegitimate  children — didn't 
she  ?  Well,  such  a  magistrate  is  no  saint ;  he  is  a  man  like  any 
other ;  he  can  be  won  over ;  he  must  give  a  hold  somewhere ; 
you  must  discover  the  weak  spot  and  flatter  him ;  ask  his  ad- 
vice, point  out  the  dangers  attending  the  case;  in  short,  try 
to  get  him  into  the  same  boat,  and  you  will  be " 

"I  ought  to  kiss  your  footprints !"  exclaimed  Camusot,  in- 
terrupting his  wife,  putting  his  arm  round  her,  and  pressing 
her  to  his  heart.    "Amelie,  you  have  saved  me !" 

"I  brought  you  in  tow  from  Aleneon  to  Mantes,  and  from 
Mantes  to  the  Metropolitan  Court,"  replied  Amelie.     "Well, 


t^  VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  9 

well,  be  quite  easy ! — I  intend  to  be  called  Madame  la  Presi- 
dente  within  five  years'  time.  But,  my  dear,  pray  always 
think  over  everything  a  long  time  before  you  come  to  any 
determination.  A  judge's  business  is  not  that  of  a  fireman; 
your  papers  are  never  in  a  blaze,  you  have  plenty  of  time  to 
think ;  so  in  your  place  blunders  are  inexcusable." 

"The  whole  strength  of  my  position  lies  in  identifying  the 
sham  Spanish  priest  with  Jacques  Collin,"  the  judge  said, 
after  a  long  pause.  "When  once  that  identity  is  established, 
even  if  the  Bench  should  take  .the  credit  of  the  whole  affair, 
that  will  still  be  an  ascertained  fact  which  no  magistrate, 
judge,  or  councillor  can  get  rid  of.  I  shall  do  like  the  boys 
who  tie  a  tin  kettle  to  a  cat's  tail;  the  inquiry,  whoever  car- 
ries it  on,  will  make  Jacques  Collin's  tin  kettle  clank." 

"Bravo !"  said  Amelie. 

"And  the  public  prosecutor  would  rather  come  to  an  under- 
standing with  me  than  with  any  one  else,  since  I  am  the  only 
man  who  can  remove  the  Damocles'  sword  that  hangs  over  the 
heart  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain. 

"Only  you  have  no  idea  how  hard  it  will  be  to  achieve  that 
magnificent  result.  Just  now,  when  I  was  with  Monsieur  de 
Granville  in  his  private  office,  we  agreed,  he  and  I,  to  take 
Jacques  Collin  at  his  own  valuation — a  canon  of  the  Chapter 
of  Toledo,  Carlos  Herrera.  We  consented  to  recognize  his 
position  as  a  diplomatic  envoy,  and  allow  him  to  be  claimed 
by  the  Spanish  Embassy.  It  was  in  consequence  of  this  plan 
that  I  made  out  the  papers  by  which  Lucien  de  Eubempre 
was  released,  and  revised  the  minutes  of  the  examinations, 
washing  the  prisoners  as  white  as  snow. 

"To-morrow,  Eastignac,  Bianchon,  and  some  others  are 
to  be  confronted  with  the  self-styled  Canon  of  Toledo;  they 
will  not  recognize  him  as  Jacques  Collin  who  was  arrested  in 
their  presence  ten  years  since  in  a  cheap  boarding-house, 
where  they  knew  him  under  the  name  of  Vautrin." 

There  was  a  short  silence,  while  Madame  Camusot  sat 
thinking. 

"Are  you  sure  your  man  is  Jacques  Collin  ?"  she  asked. 


10  A  COURTESAN'S  I>IFE 

"Positive,"  said  the  lawyer,  "and  so  is  the  public  prose- 
cutor/' 

*^Vell,  then,  try  to  make  some  exposure  at  the  Palais  de 
Justice  without  showing  your  claws  too  much  under  your 
furred  cat's  paws.  If  your  man  is  still  in  the  secret  cells, 
go  straight  to  the  Governor  of  the  Conciergerie  and  contrive 
to  have  the  convict  publicly  identified.  Instead  of  behaving 
like  a  child,  act  like  the  ministers  of  police  under  despotic 
governments,  who  invent  conspiracies  against  the  monarch  to 
have  the  credit  of  discovering  them  and  making  themselves 
indispensable.  Put  three  families  in  danger  to  have  the  glory 
of  rescuing  them." 

"That  luckiW  reminds  me  I"  cried  Camusot.  "My  brain  is 
so  bewildered  that  I  had  quite  forgotten  an  important  point. 
The  instructions  to  place  Jacques  Collin  in  a  private  room 
were  taken  by  Coquart  to  Monsieur  Gault,  the  Governor  of 
the  prison.  Now,  Bibi-Lupin,  Jacques  Collin's  great  enemy, 
has  taken  steps  to  have  three  criminals,  who  know  the  man, 
transferred  from  La  Force  to  the  Conciergerie ;  if  he  appears 
in  the  prison-yard  to-morrow,  a  terrific  scene  is  expected " 

"Why?" 

"Jacques  Collin,  my  dear,  was  treasurer  of  the  money 
owned  by  the  prisoners  in  the  hulks,  amounting  to  consider- 
able sums ;  now,  he  is  supposed  to  have  spent  it  all  to  maintain 
the  deceased  Lucien  in  luxury,  and  he  will  be  called  to  account. 
There  will  be  such  a  battle,  Bibi-Lupin  tells  me,  as  will  re- 
quire the  intervention  of  the  warders,  and  the  secret  will  be 
-out.    Jacques  Collin's  life  is  in  danger. 

"Now,  if  I  get  to  the  Palais  early  enough  I  may  record  the 
evidence  of  identity." 

"Oh,  if  only  his  creditors  should  take  him  off  your  hands ! 
You  would  be  thought  such  a  clever  fellow ! — Do  not  go  to 
Monsieur  de  Granville's  room ;  wait  for  him  in  his  Court  with 
that  formidable  great  gun.  It  is  a  loaded  cannon  turned  on 
the  three  most  important  families  of  the  Court  and  Peerage. 
Be  bold:  propose  to  Monsieur  de  Granville  that  he  should 
relieve  you  of  Jacques  Collin  by  transferring  him  to  La  Force, 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  11 

where  the  convicts  know  how  to  deal  with  those  who  betray 
them. 

"I  will  go  to  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  who  will  take 
me  to  the  Grandlieus.  Possibly  I  may  see  Monsieur  de 
Serizy.  Trust  me  to  sound  the  alarm  everywhere.  Above  all, 
send  me  a  word  we  will  agree  upon  to  let  me  know  if  the 
Spanish  priest  is  officially  recognized  as  Jacques  Collin.  Get 
your  business  at  the  Palais  over  by  two  o'clock,  and  I  will  have 
arranged  for  you  to  have  an  interview  with  the  Keeper  of  the 
Seals ;  perhaps  I  may  find  him  with  the  Marquise  d'Espard." 

Camusot  stood  squarely  with  a  look  of  admiration  that 
made  his  knowing  wife  smile. 

"Now,  come  to  dinner  and  be  cheerful,"  said  she  in  conclu- 
sion. "Why,  you  see  !  We  have  been  only  two  years  in  Paris, 
and  here  you  are  on  the  highroad  to  be  made  Councillor  be- 
fore the  end  of  the  year.  From  that  to  the  Presidency  of  a 
Court,  my  dear,  there  is  no  gulf  but  what  some  political  ser- 
vice may  bridge." 

This  conjugal  sitting  shows  how  greatly  the  deeds  and 
the  lightest  words  of  Jacques  Collin,  the  lowest  personage  in 
this  drama,  involved  the  honor  of  the  families  among  whom 
he  had  planted  his  now  dead  protege. 

At  the  Conciergerie  Lucien's  death  and  Madame  de  Serizy's 
incursion  had  produced  such  a  block  in  the  wheels  of  the 
machinery  that  the  Governor  had  forgotten  to  remove  the 
sham  priest  from  his  dungeon-cell. 

Though  more  than  one  instance  is  on  record  of  the  death 
of  a  prisoner  during  his  preliminary  examination,  it  was  a 
sufficiently  rare  event  to  disturb  the  warders,  the  clerk,  and 
the  Governor,  and  hinder  their  working  with  their  usual 
serenity.  At  the  same  time,  to  them  the  important  fact  was 
not  the  handsome  young  fellow  so  suddenly  become  a  corpse, 
but  the  breakage  of  the  wrought-iron  bar  of  the  outer  prison 
gate  by  the  frail  hands  of  a  fine  lady.  And  indeed,  as  soon  as 
the  public  prosecutor  and  Comte  Octave  de  Bauvan  had  gone 
off  with  Monsieur  de  Serizy  and  his  unconscious  wife,  the 


12  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Governor,  clerk,  and  turnkeys  gathered  round  the  gate,  after 
letting  out  Monsieur  Lebrun,  the  prison  doctor,  who  had  been 
called  in  to  certify  to  Lucien's  death,  in  concert  with  the 
"death  doctor"  of  the  district  in  which  the  unfortunate  youth 
had  been  lodging. 

In  Paris,  the  "death  doctor"'  is  the  medical  officer  whose 
duty  it  is  in  each  district  to  register  deaths  and  certify  to  their 
causes. 

With  the  rapid  insight  for  which  he  was  known,  Monsieur 
de  Granville  had  judged  it  necessary,  for  the  honor  of  the 
families  concerned,  to  have  the  certificate  of  Lucien's  death 
deposited  at  the  Mairie  of  the  district  in  which  the  Quai  Mala- 
quais  lies,  as  the  deceased  had  resided  there,  and  to  have  the 
body  carried  from  his  lodgings  to  the  Church  of  Saint-Ger- 
main des  Pres,  where  the  service  was  to  be  held.  Monsieur  de 
Chargebcfiuf,  Monsieur  de  Granville's  private  secretary,  had 
orders  to  this  effect.  The  body  was  to  be  transferred  from 
the  prison  during  the  night.  The  secretary  was  desired  to  go 
at  once  and  settle  matters  at  the  Mairie  with  the  parish  au- 
thorities and  with  the  official  undertakers.  Thus,  to  the 
world  in  general,  Lucien  would  have  died  at  liberty  in  his 
own  lodgings,  the  funeral  would  start  from  thence,  and  his 
friends  would  be  invited  there  for  the  ceremony. 

So,  when  Camusot,  his  mind  at  ease,  was  sitting  down  to 
dinner  with  his  ambitious  better-half,  the  Governor  of  the 
Conciergerie  and  Monsieur  Lebrun,  the  prison  doctor,  were 
standing  outside  the  gate  bewailing  the  fragility  of  iron  bars 
and  the  strength  of  ladies  in  love. 

"aSTo  one  knows,"  said  the  doctor  to  Monsieur  Gault,  "what 
an  amount  of  nervous  force  there  is  in  a  man  wound  up  to 
the  highest  pitch  of  passion.  Dynamics  and  mathematics 
have  no  formulas  or  symbols  to  express  that  power.  Why, 
only  yesterday,  I  witnessed  an  experiment  which  gave  me  a 
shudder,  and  which  accounts  for  the  terrible  physical  strength 
put  forth  just  now  by  that  little  woman." 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  said  Monsieur  Gault,  "for  I  am  so  fool- 
ish as  to  take  an  interest  in  magnetism ;  I  do  not  believe  in  it, 
but  it  mystifies  me." 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  13 

"A  physician  who  magnetizes — for  there  are  men  among 
ns  who  believe  in  magnetism,"  Lebrun  went  on,  "offered  to 
experiment  on  me  in  proof  of  a  phenomenon  that  he  described 
and  I  doubted.  Curious  to  see  with  my  own  eyes  one  of  the 
strange  states  of  nervous  tension  by  which  the  existence  of 
magnetism  is  demonstrated,  I  consented. 

"These  are  the  facts. — I  should  very  much  like  to  know 
what  our  College  of  Medicine  would  say  if  each  of  its  mem- 
bers in  turn  were  subjected  to  this  influence,  which  leaves  no 
loophole  for  incredulity. 

"My  old  friend — this  doctor,"  said  Doctor  Lebrun  paren- 
thetically, "is  an  old  man  persecuted  for  his  opinions  since 
Mesmers  time  by  all  the  faculty ;  he  is  seventy  or  seventy-two 
years  of  age,  and  his  name  is^ouyard.-^^  At  the  present  day 
he  is  the  patriarchal  representative  of  the  theory  of  animal 
magnetism.  This  good  man  regards  me  as  a  son;  I  owe  my 
training  to  him. — Well,  this  worthy  old  Bouvard  it  was  who 
proposed  to  prove  to  me  that  nerve-force  put  in  motion  by  the 
magnetizer  was,  not  indeed  infinite,  for  man  is  under  immuta- 
ble laws,  but  a  power  acting  like  other  powers  of  nature  whose 
elemental  essence  escapes  our  observation. 

"  'For  instance,'  said  he,  'if  you  place  your  hand  in  that  of 
a  somnambulist  who,  when  awake,  can  press  it  only  up  to  a 
certain  average  of  tightness,  you  will  see  that  in  the  somnam- 
bulistic state — as  it  is  stupidly  termed — his  fingers  can  clutch 
like  a  vise  screwed  up  by  a  blacksmith.' — Well,  monsieur,  I 
placed  my  hand  in  that  of  a  woman,  not  asleep,  for  Bouvard 
rejects  the  word,  but  isolated,  and  when  the  old  man  bid  her 
squeeze  my  wrist  as  long  and  as  tightly  as  she  could,  I  begged 
him  to  stop  when  the  blood  was  almost  bursting  from  my 
finger  tips.  Look,  you  can  see  the  mark  of  her  clutch,  which 
I  shall  not  lose  for  these  three  months." 

"The  deuce !"  exclaimed  Monsieur  Gault,  as  he  saw  a  band 
of  bruised  flesh,  looking  like  the  sear  of  a  burn. 

"My  dear  Gault,"  the  doctor  went  on,  "if  my  wrist  had 
been  gripped  in  an  iron  manacle  screwed  tight  by  a  locksmith, 
I  should  not  have  felt  the  bracelet  of  metal  so  hard  as  that 


14  A  COURTESANS  LIFE 

woman's  fingers ;  her  hand  was  of  unyielding  steel,  and  I  am 
convinced  that  she  could  have  crushed  my  bones  and  broken 
my  hand  from  the  wrist.  The  pressure,  beginning  almost  in- 
sensibly, increased  without  relaxing,  fresh  force  being  con- 
stantly added  to  the  former  grip ;  a  tourniquet  could  not  have 
been  more  effectual  than  that  hand  used  as  an  instrument  of 
torture. — To  me,  therefore,  it  seems  proven  that  under  the 
influence  of  passion,  which  is  the  will  concentrated  on  one 
point  and  raised  to  an  incalculable  power  of  animal  force, 
as  the  different  varieties  of  electric  force  are  also,  man  may 
direct  his  whole  vitalit}^,  whether  for  attack  or  resistance,  to 
one  of  his  organs. — N^ow,  this  little  lady,  under  the  stress  of 
her  despair,  had  concentrated  her  vital  force  in  her  hands."' 

"She  must  have  a  good  deal  too,  to  break  a  wrought-iron 
bar,"  said  the  chief  warder,  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 

"There  was  a  flaw  in  it,*'  Monsieur  Gault  observed. 

"For  my  part,"  said  the  doctor,  "I  dare  assign  no  limits 
to  nervous  force.  And  indeed  it  is  by  this  that  mothers,  to 
save  their  children,  can  magnetize  lions,  climb,  in  a  fire,  along 
a  parapet  where  a  cat  would  not  venture,  and  endure  the  tor- 
ments that  sometimes  attend  childbirth.  In  this  lies  the 
secret  of  the  attempts  made  by  convicts  and  prisoners  to  re- 
gain their  liberty.  The  extent  of  our  vital  energies  is  as  yet 
unknown;  they  are  part  of  the  energy  of  nature  itself,  and 
we  draw  them  from  unknown  reservoirs." 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  warder  in  an  undertone  to  the  Gov- 
ernor, coming  close  to  him  as  he  was  escorting  Doctor  Ijcbrun 
as  far  as  the  outer  gates  of  the  Conciergerie,  "jSTiynber  2  in 
the  secret  cells  says  he  is  ill,  and  needs  the  doctor ;  he  declares 
he  is  dying,"  added  the  turnkey. 

"Indeed,"  said  the  Governor. 

"His  breath  rattles  in  his  throat,"  replied  the  man. 

"It  is  five  o'clock,"  said  the  doctor ;  "I  have  l)ad  no  dinner. 
But,  after  all,  here  I  am  at  hand.     Come,  let  us  see." 

"Number  2,  as  it  happens,  is  the  Spanish  priest  suspected 
of  being  Jacques  Collin,"  said  Monsieur  Gault  to  the  doctor, 
"and  one  of  the  persons  suspected  of  the  crime  in  which  that 
poor  young  man  was  implicated." 


VAUTRIN'S  TvAST  AVATAR  15 

"I  saw  him.  this  morning,"  replied  the  doctor.  "Monsieur 
Camusot  sent  for  me  to  give  evidence  as  to  the  state  of  the 
rascal's  health,  and  I  may  assure  you  that  he  is  perfectly  well, 
and  could  make  a  fortune  by  playing  the  part  of  Hercules  in 
a  troupe  of  athletes." 

"Perhaps  he  wants  to  kill  himself  too,"  said  Monsieur 
Gault.  "Let  us  both  go  down  to  the  cells  together,  for  I 
ought  to  go  there  if  only  to  transfer  him  to  an  upper  room. 
Monsieur  Camusot  has  given  orders  to  mitigate  this  anony- 
mous gentleman's  confinement." 

Jacques  Collin,  known  as  Trompe-la-Mort  in  the  world  of 
the  hulks,  who  must  henceforth  be  called  only  by  his  real 
name,  had  gone  through  terrible  distress  of  mind  since,  after 
hearing  Camusot's  order,  he  had  been  taken  back  to  the  under- 
ground cell — an  anguish  such  as  he  had  never  before  known 
in  the  course  of  a  life  diversified  by  many  crimes,  by  three 
escapes,  and  two  sentences  at  the  Assizes.  And  is  there  not 
something  monstrously  fine  in  the  dog-like  attachment  shown 
to  the  man  he  had  made  his  friend  by  this  wretch  in  whom 
were  concentrated  all  the  life,  the  powers,  the  spirit,  and  the 
passions  of  the  hulks,  who  Was,  so  to  speak,  their  highest  ex- 
pression ? 

Wicked,  infamous,  and  in  so  many  ways  horrible,  this  abso- 
lute worship  of  his  idol  makes  him  so  truly  interesting  that 
this  Study,  long  as  it  is  already,  would  seem  incomplete  and 
cut  short  if  the  close  of  this  criminal  career  did  not  come  as  a 
sequel  to  Lucien  de  Rubempre's  end.  The  little  spaniel  being 
dead,  we  want  to  know  whether  his  terrible  playfellow  the 
lion  will  live  on. 

In  real  life,  in  society,  every  event  is  so  inevitably  linked 
to  other  events,  that  one  cannot  occur  without  the  rest.  The 
water  of  the  great  river  forms  a  sort  of  fluid  floor;  not  a 
wave,  however  rebellious,  however  high  it  may  toss  itself,  but 
its  powerful  crest  must  sink  to  the  level  of  the  mass  of  waters, 
stronger  by  the  momentum  of  its  course  than  the  revolt  of  the 
surges  it  bears  with  it. 

And  just  as  you  watch  the  current  flow,  seeing  in  it  a  con- 


16  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

fused  sheet  of  images,  so  perhaps  you  would  like  to  measure 
the  pressure  exerted  by  social  energy  on  the  vortex  called 
Vautrin ;  to  see  how  far  away  the  rebellious  eddy  will  be  car- 
ried ere  it  is  lost,  and  what  the  end  will  be  of  this  really  dia- 
bolical man,  human  still  by  the  power  of  loving — so  hardly 
can  that  heavenly  grace  perish,  even  in  the  most  cankered 
heart. 

This  wretched  convict,  embodying  the  poem  that  has  smiled 
on  many  a  poet's  fancy — on  Moore,  on  Lord  Byron,  on  Ma- 
thurin,  on  Canalis — the  demon  who  has  drawn  an  angel  down 
to  hell  to  refresh  him  with  dews  stolen  from  heaven, — this 
Jacques  Collin  will  be  seen,  by  the  reader  who  has  understood 
that  iron  soul,  to  have  sacrificed  his  own  life  for  seven  years 
past.  His  vast  powers,  absorbed  in  Lucien,  acted  solely  for 
Lucien ;  he  lived  in  his  progress,  his  loves,  his  ambitions.  To 
him  Lucien  was  his  own  soul  made  visible. 

It  was  Trompe-la-Mort  who  dined  with  the  Grandlieus, 
stole  into  ladies"  boudoirs,  and  loved  Esther  by  proxy.  In 
fact,  in  Lucien  he  saw  Jacques  Collin,  young,  handsome, 
noble,  and  rising  to  the  dignity  of  an  ambassador. 

Trompe-la-]\Iort  had  realized  the  German  superstition  of  a 
doppelganger  -hj  means  of  a  spiritual  paternity,  a  phenome- 
non which  will  be  quite  intelligible  to  those  women  who  have 
ever  truly  loved,  who  have  felt  their  soul  merge  in  that  of  the 
man  they  adore,  who  have  lived  his  life,  whether  noble  or 
infamous,  happy  or  unhappy,  obscure  or  brilliant ;  who,  in 
defiance  of  distance,  have  felt  a  pain  in  their  leg  if  he  were 
wounded  in  his ;  who  if  he  fought  a  duel  have  been  aware  of 
it ;  and  who,  to  put  the  matter  in  a  nutshell,  did  not  need  to 
be  told  he  was  unfaithful  to  know  it. 

As  he  went  back  to  his  cell,  Jacques  Collin  said  to  himself, 
"The  boy  is  being  examined." 

And  he  shivered — he  who  thought  no  more  of  killing  a 
man  than  a  laborer  does  of  drinking. 

"Has  he  been  able  to  see  his  mistresses?"  he  wondered. 
"Has  my  aunt  succeeded  in  catching  those  damned  females? 
Have  these  Duchesses  and  Countesses  bestirred  themselves 


VATTTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  17 

and  prevented  his  being  examined  ?  Has  Lncien  had  my  in- 
structions? And  if  ill-luck  will  have  it  that  he  is  cross- 
questioned,  how  will  he  carry  it  ofE?  Poor  boy,  and  I  have 
brought  him  to  this !  It  is  that  rascal  Paccard  and  that 
sneak  Europe  who  have  caused  all  this  rumpus  by  collaring 
the  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  for  the  certificate 
Nucingen  gave  Esther.  That  precious  pair  tripped  us  up  at 
the  last  step ;  but  I  will  make  them  pay  dear  for  their  pranks.      q- 

"One  day  more  and  Lucien  would  have  been  a  rich  man;  ^  . 
he  might  have  married  his  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu. — Then  tlie  (^ ' 
boy  would  have  been  all  my  own ! — And  to  think  that  our  iate--^  o 
depends  on  a  look,  on  a  blush  of  Lucien's  under  Camusot's 
eye,  who  sees  everything,  and  has  all  a  judge's  wits  about  him  ! 
For  when  he  showed  me  the  letters  we  tipped  each  other  a 
wink  in  which  we  took  each  other's  measure,  and  he  guessed 
that  I  can  make  Lucien's  lady-loves  fork  out." 

This  soliloquy  lasted  for  three  hours.  His  torments  were 
so  great  that  they  were  too  much  for  that  frame  of  iron  and 
vitriol ;  Jacques  Collin,  whose  brain  felt  on  fire  with  insanity, 
suffered  such  fearful  thirst  that  he  unconsciously  drank  up 
all  the  water  contained  in  one  of  the  pails  with  which  the 
cell  was  supplied,  forming,  with  the  bed,  all  its  furniture. 

"If  he  loses  his  head,  what  will  become  of  him? — for  the 
poor  child  has  not  Theodore's  tenacity,"  said  he  to  himself,  as 
he  lay  down  on  the  camp-bed — like  a  bed  in  a  guard-room. 

A  word  must  here  be  said  about  this  Theodore,  remembered 
by  Jacques  Collin  at  such  a  critical  moment.  Theodore  Calvi, 
a  young  Corsican,  imprisoned  for  life  at  the  age  of  eighteen 
for  eleven  murders,  thanks  to  influential  interference  paid  for 
with  vast  sums,  had  been  made  the  fellow  convict  of  Jacques 
Collin,  to  whom  he  was  chained,  in  1819  and  1820.  Jacques 
Collin's  last  escape,  one  of  his  finest  inventions — for  he  had 
got  out  disguised  as  a  gendarme  leading  Theodore  Calvi  as  he 
was,  a  convict  called  before  the  commissary  of  police — had 
been  effected  in  the  seaport  of  Rochefort,  where  the  convicts 
die  by  dozens,  and  where,  it  was  hoped,  these  two  danger- 


IS  A  COFRTESAX'S  lAFK 


>' 


>^' 


ous  rascals  would  have  ended  their  days.  Though  they  es- 
caped together,  the  difficulties  of  their  flight  had  forced  them 
to  separate.     Theodore  was  caught  and  restored  to  the  hulks. 

After  getting  to  Spain  and  metamorphosing  himself  into 
Don  Carlos  Herrera,  Jacques  Collin  was  on  his  way  to  look 
for  his  Corsican  at  Eochefort,  when  he  met  Lucien  on  the 
banks  of  the  Charente.  The  hero  of  the  banditti  of  the  Cor- 
sican scrub,  to  whom  Trompe-la-Mort  owed  his  knowledge  of 
Italian,  was  of  course  sacrificed  to  the  new  idol. 

Indeed,  a  life  with  Lucien,  a  youth  innocent  of  all  crime, 
who  had  only  minor  sins  on  his  conscience,  dawned  on  him 
as  bright  and  glorious  as  a  summer  sun  ;  while  with  Theodore, 
Jacques  Collin  could  look  forward  to  no  end  but  the  scaffold 
after  a  career  of  indispensable  crimes. 

The  thought  of  disaster  as  a  result  of  Lucien's  weakness — 
for  his  experience  of  an  underground  cell  would  certainly 
have  turned  his  brain — took  vast  proportions  in  Jacques  Col- 
lin's mind;  and,  contemplating  the  probabilities  of  such  a 
misfortune,  the  unhappy  man  felt  his  eyes  fill  with  tears,  a 
phenomenon  that  had  been  utterly  unknown  to  him  since  his 
earliest  childhood. 

"I  must  be  in  a  furious  fever,''  said  he  to  himself;  "and 
perhaps  if  I  send  for  the  doctor  and  offer  him  a  handsome 
sum,  he  will  put  me  in  communication  with  Lucien." 

At  this  moment  the  turnkey  brought  in  his  dinner. 

"It  is  quite  useless,  my  boy;  I  cannot  eat.  Tell  the  gov- 
ernor of  this  prison  to  send  the  doctor  to  see  me.  I  am  very 
bad,  and  I  believe  my  last  hour  has  come." 

Hearing  the  guttural  rattle  that  accompanied  these  words, 
the  warder  bowed  and  went.  Jacques  Collin  clung  wildly  to 
this  hope ;  but  when  he  saw  the  doctor  and  the  governor  come 
in  together,  he  perceived  that  the  attempt  was  abortive,  and 
coolly  awaited,  the  upshot  of  the  visit,  holding  out  his  wrist 
for  the  doctor  to  feel  his  pulse. 

"The  Abbe  is  feverish,"  said  the  doctor  to  Monsieur  Gault, 
"but  it  is  the  type  of  fever  we  always  find  in  inculpated  pris- 


VAUTRINS  LAST  AYATAR  19 

oners — and  to  me,"  he  added,  in  the  governor's  ear,  "it  is 
always  a  sign  of  some  degree  of  guilt." 

Just  then  the  governor,  to  whom  the  public  prosecutor  had 
intrusted  Lucien's  letter  to  be  given  to  Jacques  Collin,  left 
the  doctor  and  the  prisoner  together  under  the  guard  of  the 
warder,  and  went  to  fetch  the  letter. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  seeing  the  warder  outside 
the  door,  and  not  understanding  why  the  governor  had  left 
them,  "I  should  think  nothing  of  thirty  thousand  francs  if  I 
might  send  five  lines  to  Lucien  de  Rubempre." 

"I  will  not  rob  you  of  your  money,"  said  Doctor  Lebrun ; 
"no  one  in  this  world  can  ever  communicate  with  him 
again- 


'No  one?"  said  the  prisoner  in  amazement.    "Why?" 

"He  has  hanged  himself " 

No  tigress  robbed  of  her  whelps  ever  startled  an  Indian 
jungle  with  a  yell  so  fearful  as  that  of  Jacques  Collin,  who 
rose  to  his  feet  as  a  tiger  rears  to  spring,  and  fired  a  glance  at 
the  doctor  as  scorching  as  the  flash  of  a  falling  thunderbolt. 
Then  he  fell  back  on  the  bed,  exclaiming :  > 

"Oh,  my  son  J"  ^;^ 

"Poor  maiiT'  said  the  doctor,  moved  by  this  terrific  convul- 
sion of  nature. 

In  fact,  the  first  explosion  gave  way  to  such  utter  collapse, 
that  the  words,  "Oh,  my  son,"  were  but  a  murmur. 

"Is  this  one  going  to  die  in  our  hands  too  ?"  said  the  turn- 
key. 

"No ;  it  is  impossible !"  Jacques  Collin  went  on,  raising 
himself  and  looking  at  the  two  witnesses  of  the  scene  with  a 
dead,  cold  eye.  "You  are  mistaken ;  it  is  not  Lucien ;  you  did 
not  see.  A  man  cannot  hang  himself  in  one  of  these  cells. 
Look — ^how  could  I  hang  myself  here  ?  All  Paris  shall  answer 
to  me  for  that  boy's  life !   God  owes  it  to  me." 

The  warder  and  the  doctor  were  amazed  in  their  turn — 
they,  whom  nothing  had  astonished  for  many  a  long  day. 

On  seeing  the  governor,  Jacques  Collin,  crushed  by  the  very 
violence  of  this  outburst  of  grief,  seemed  somewhat  calmer. 


20  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Here  is  a  letter  which  the  public  prosecutor  placed  in  my 
hands  for  you,  with  permission  to  give  it  you  sealed,"  said 
Monsieur  Gault. 

"From  Lucien?"  said  Jacques  Collin. 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"Is  not  that  young  man " 

"He  is  dead,"  said  the  governor.  "Even  if  the  doctor  had 
been  on  the  spot,  he  would,  unfortunately,  have  been  too  late. 
iThe  young  man  died — there — in  one  of  the  rooms " 

"May  I  see  him  with  my  own  eyes  ?"  asked  Jacques  Collin 
timidly.  "Will  you  allow  a  father  to  weep  over  the  body  of 
his  son?" 

"You  can,  if  you  like,  take  his  room,  for  I  have  orders  to 
remove  you  from  these  cells ;  you  are  no  longer  in  such  close 
confinement,  monsieur." 

The  prisoner's  eyes,  from  which  all  light  and  warmth  had 
fled,  turned  slowly  from  the  governor  to  the  doctor;  Jacques 
Collin  was  examining  them,  fearing  some  trap,  and  he  was 
afraid  to  go  out  of  the  cell. 

"If  you  wish  to  see  the  body,"  said  Lebrun,  "you  have  no 
time  to  lose ;  it  is  to  be  carried  away  to-night." 

"If  you  have  children,  gentlemen,"  said  Jacques  Collin, 
"you  will  understand  my  state  of  mind;  I  hardly  know  what 
I  am  doing.  This  blow  is  worse  to  me  than  death ;  but  you 
cannot  know  what  I  am  saying.  Even  if  you  are  fathers,  it 
is  only  after  a  fashion — I  am  a  mother  too — I — I  am  going 
mad— I  feel  it !" 

By  going  through  certain  passages  which  open  only  to  the 
governor,  it  is  possible  to  get  very  quickly  from  the  cells  to  the 
private  rooms.  The  two  sets  of  rooms  are  divided  by  an  un- 
derground corridor  formed  of  two  massive  walls  supporting 
the  vault  over  which  the  Galerie  Marchande,  as  it  is  called,  is 
built.  So  Jacques  Collin,  escorted  by  the  warder,  who  took 
his  arm,  preceded  by  the  governor,  and  followed  by  the  doctor, 
in  a  few  minutes  reached  the  cell  where  Lucien  was  lying 
stretched  on  the  bed. 

On  seeing  the  body,  he  threw  himself  upon  it,  seizing  it  in 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  21 

a  desperate  embrace  with  a  passion  and  impulse  that  made 
these  spectators  shudder. 

"There,"  said  the  doctor  to  Monsieur  Gault,  "that  is  an  in- 
stance of  what  I  was  telling  you.  You  see  that  man  clutching 
the  body,  and  you  do  not  know  what  a  corpse  is;  it  is 
stone " 

"Leave  me  alone !"  said  Jacques  Collin  in  a  smothered- 
voice;  "I  have  not  long  to  look  at  him.  They  will  take  him 
away  to " 

He  paused  at  the  word  "bury  him." 

"You  will  allow  me  to  have  some  relic  of  my  dear  boy ! 
Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  cut  off  a  lock  of  his  hair  for  me, 
monsieur,"  he  said  to  the  doctor,  "for  I  cannot " 

"He  was  certainly  his  son,"  said  Lebrun. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  replied  the  governor  in  a  meaning 
tone,  which  made  the  doctor  thoughtful  for  a  few  minutes. 

The  governor  gave  orders  that  the  prisoner  was  to  be  left 
in  this  cell,  and  that  some  locks  of  hair  should  be  cut  for  the 
self-styled  father  before  the  body  should  be  removed. 

At  half-past  five  in  the  month  of  May  it  is  easy  to  read  a 
letter  in  the  Conciergerie  in  spite  of  the  iron  bars  and  the 
close  wire  trellis  that  guard  the  windows.  So  Jacques  Col- 
lin read  the  dreadful  letter  while  he  still  held  Lueien's  hand. 

The  man  is  not  known  who  can  hold  a  lump  of  ice  for  ten 
minutes  tightly  clutched  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand.  The  cold 
penetrates  to  the  very  life-springs  with  mortal  rapidity.  But 
the  effect  of  that  cruel  chill,  acting  like  a  poison,  is  as  nothing 
to  that  which  strikes  to  the  soul  from  the  cold,  rigid  hand  of 
the  dead  thus  held.  Thus  Death  speaks  to  Life ;  it  tells  many 
dark  secrets  which  kill  many  feelings ;  for  in  matters  of  feel- 
ing is  not  change  death  ? 

As  we  read  through  once  more,  with  Jacques  Collin, 
Lueien's  last  letter,  it  will  strike  us  as  being  what  it  was  to 
this  man — a  cup  of  poison: — 


22        ...  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"To  the  Ahhe  Carlos  H  err  era. 

"My  dear  Abbe, — I  have  had  only  benefits  from  you,  and 
I  have  betrayed  you.  This  involuntary  ingratitude  is  killing 
me,  and  when  you  read  these  lines  I  shall  have  ceased  to  exist. 
You  are  not  here  now  to  save  me. 

"You  had  given  me  full  liberty,  if  I  should  find  it  advan- 
tageous, to  destroy  you  by  flinging  you  on  the  ground  like  a 
cigar-end;  but  I  have  ruined  you  by  a  blunder.  To  escape 
from  a  difficulty,  deluded  by  a  clever  question  from  the  ex- 
amining judge,  your  son  by  adoption  and  grace  went  over  to 
the  side  of  those  who  aim  at  killing  you  at  any  cost,  and  in- 
sist on  proving  an  identity  which  I  know  to  be  impossible, 
between  you  and  a  French  villain.    All  is  said. 

"Between  a  man  of  your  calibre  and  me — me  of  whom  you 
tried  to  make  a  greater  man  than  I  am  capable  of  being — no 
foolish  sentiment  can  come  at  the  moment  of  final  parting. 
You  hoped  to  make  me  powerful  and  famous,  and  you  have 
thrown  me  into  the  gulf  of  suicide — that  is  all.  I  have  long 
heard  the  broad  pinions  of  that  vertigo  beating  over  my  head. 

"As  you  have  sometimes  said,  there  is  the  posterity  of  Cain 
and  the  posterity  of  Abel.  In  the  great  human  drama  Cain 
is  in  opposition.  You  are  descended  from  Adam  through  that 
line,  in  which  the  devil  still  fans  the  fire  of  which  the  first 
spark  was  flung  on  Eve.  Among  the  demons  of  that  pedigree, 
from  time  to  time  we  see  one  of  stupendous  power,  summing 
up  every  form  of  human  energy,  and  resembling  the  fevered 
beasts  of  the  desert,  whose  vitality  demands  the  vast  spaces 
they  find  there.  Such  men  are  as  dangerous  as  lions  would 
be  in  the  heart  of  Normandy ;  they  must  have  their  prey,  and 
they  devour  common  men  and  crop  the  money  of  fools.  Their 
sport  is  so  dangerous,  that  at  last  they  kill  the  humble  dog 
whom  they  have  taken  for  a  companion  and  made  an  idol  of. 

"When  it  is  God's  will,  these  mysterious  beings  may  be  a 
Moses,  an  Attila,  Charlemagne,  Mahomet,  or  Napoleon;  but 
when  He  leaves  a  generation  of  these  stupendous  tools  to  rust 
at  the  bottom  of  the  ocean,  they  are  no  more  than  a  Pugat- 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  23 

scheff,  a  Fouche,  a  Louvel,  or  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera. 
Gifted  with  immense  power  over  tenderer  souls,  they  entrap 
them  and  mangle  them.  It  is  grand,  it  is  fine — in  its  way. 
It  is  the  poisonous  plant  with  gorgeous  coloring  that  fasci- 
nates children  in  the  woods.  It  is  the  poetry  of  evil.  Men 
like  you  ought  to  dwell  in  caves  and  never  come  out  of  them. 
You  have  made  me  live  that  vast  life,  and  I  have  had  all  my 
share  of  existence ;  so  I  may  very  well  take  my  head  out  of  the 
Gordian  knot  of  your  policy,  and  slip  it  into  the  running  knot 
of  my  cravat. 

"To  repair  the  mischief  I  have  done  you,  I  am  forwarding 
to  the  public  prosecutor  a  retraction  of  my  deposition.  You 
will  know  how  to  take  advantage  of  this  document. 

"In  virtue  of  a  Will  formally  drawn  up,  restitution  will  be 
made,  Monsieur  I'Abbe,  of  the  moneys  belonging  to  your 
Order  which  you  so  imprudently  devoted  to  my  use  as  a  re- 
sult of  your  paternal  affection  for  me. 

"And  so  farewell.  Farewell,  colossal  image  of  Evil  and 
Corruption ;  farewell  to  you,  who,  if  started  on  the  right  road, 
might  have  been  greater  than  Ximenes,  greater  than  Eiche- 
lieu !  You  have  kept  your  promises.  I  find  myself  once  more 
just  as  I  was  on  the  banks  of  the  Charente,  after  enjoying,  by 
your  help,  the  enchantments  of  a  dream.  But,  unfortunately, 
it  is  not  now  in  the  waters  of  my  native  place  that  I  shall 
drown  the  errors  of  a  boy,  but  in  the  Seine,  and  my  hole  is  a 
cell  in  the  Conciergerie. 

"Do  not  regret  me :  my  contempt  for  you  is  as  great  as  my  J 
admiration. 

"LuciEN." 

A  little  before  one  in  the  morning,  when  the  men  came  to 
fetch  away  the  body,  they  found  Jacques  Collin  kneeling  by 
the  bed,  the  letter  on  the  floor,  dropped,  no  doubt,  as  a  suicide 
drops  the  pistol  that  has  shot  him ;  but  the  unhappy  man  still 
held  Lucien's  hand  between  his  own,  and  was  praying  to  God. 

On  seeing  this  man^  the  porters  paused  for  a  moment,  for 
he  looked  like  one  of  those  stone  images,  kneeling  to  all  eter- 


24  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

nity  on  a  mediaeval  tomb,  the  work  of  some  stone-carver's 
genius.  The  sham  priest,  with  eyes  as  bright  as  a  tiger's,  but 
stiffened  into  supernatural  rigidit)^,  so  impressed  the  men 
that  they  gently  bid  him  rise. 

"Why?"  he  asked  mildly.  The  audacious  Trompe-la-Mort 
was  as  meek  as  a  child. 

The  governor  pointed  him  out  to  Monsieur  de  Chargebceuf ; 
and  he,  respecting  such  grief,  and  believing  that  Jacques  Col- 
lin was  indeed  the  priest  he  called  himself,  explained  the 
orders  given  by  Monsieur  de  Grranville  with  regard  to  the 
funeral  service  and  arrangements,  showing  that  it  was  abso- 
lutely necessary  that  the  body  should  be  transferred  to 
Lucien's  lodgings,  Quai  Malaquais,  where  the  priests  were 
waiting  to  watch  by  it  for  the  rest  of  the  night. 

"It  is  worthy  of  that  gentleman's  well-known  magnan- 
imity," said  Jacques  Collin  sadly.  "Tell  him,  monsieur, 
that  he  may  rely  on  my  gratitude.  Yes,  I  am  in  a  position 
to  do  him  great  service.  Do  not  forget  these  words ;  they  are 
of  the  utmost  importance  to  him. 

"Oh,  monsieur!  strange  changes  come  over  a  man's  spirit 

when  for  seven  hours  he  has  wept  over  such  a  son  as  he 

And  I  shall  see  him  no  more !" 

After  gazing  once  more  at  Lucien  with  an  expression  of  a 
mother  bereft  of  her  child's  remains,  Jacques  Collin  sank  in 
a  heap.  As  he  saw  Lucien's  body  carried  away,  he  uttered  a 
groan  that  made  the  men  hurry  off.  The  public  prosecutor's 
private  secretary  and  the  governor  of  the  prison  had  already 
made  their  escape  from  the  scene. 

What  had  become  of  that  iron  spirit ;  of  the  decision  which 
was  a  match  in  swiftness  for  the  eye ;  of  the  nature  in  which 
thought  and  action  flashed  forth  together  like  one  flame ;  of 
the  sinews  hardened  by  three  spells  of  labor  on  the  hulks,  and 
bv  three  escapes,  the  muscles  which  had  acquired  the  metallic 
temper  of  a  savage's  limbs?  Iron  will  yield  to  a  certain 
amount  of  hammering  or  persistent  pressure ;  its  impenetrable 
molecules,  purified  and  made  homogeneous  by  man.  may  be- 
come disintegrated,  and  without  being  in  a  state  of  fusion  the 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  25 

metal  has  lost  its  power  of  resistance.  Blacksmiths,  lock- 
smiths, tool-makers  sometimes  express  this  state  by  saying  the 
iron  is  retting,  appropriating  a  word  applied  exclusively  to 
hemp,  which  is  reduced  to  pulp  and  fibre  by  maceration. 
Well,  the  human  soul,  or,  if  you  will,  the  threefold  powers  of 
body,  heart,  and  intellect,  under  certain  repeated  shocks,  get 
into  such  a  condition  as  fibrous  iron.  They  too  are  disinte- 
grated. Science  and  law  and  the  public  seek  a  thousand 
causes  for  the  terrible  catastrophes  on  railways  caused  by  the 
rupture  of  an  iron  rail,  that  of  Bellevue  being  a  famous  in- 
stance; but  no  one  has  asked  the  evidence  of  the  real  experts 
in  such  matters,  the  blacksmiths,  who  all  say  the  same  thing, 
"The  iron  was  stringy !"  The  danger  cannot  be  foreseen. 
Metal  that  has  gone  soft,  and  metal  that  has  preserved  its, 
tenacity,  both  look  exactly  alike. 

Priests  and  examining  judges  often  find  great  criminals  in 
this  state.  The  awful  experiences  of  the  Assize  Court  and  the 
"last  toilet"  commonly  produce  this  dissolution  of  the  nervous 
system,  even  in  the  strongest  natures.  Then  confessions  are 
blurted  by  the  most  firmly  set  lips;  then  the  toughest  hearts 
break;  and,  strange  to  say,  always  at  the  moment  when  these 
confessions  are  useless,  when  this  weakness  as  of  death 
snatches  from  the  man  the  mask  of  innocence  which  made 
Justice  uneasy — for  it  always  is  uneasy  when  the  criminal 
dies  without  confessing  his  crime. 

Napoleon  went  through  this  collapse  of  every  human  power, 
on  the  field  of  Waterloo. 

At  eight  in  the  morning,  when  the  warder  of  the  better 
cells  entered  the  room  where  Jacques  Collin  was  confined, 
he  found  him  pale  and  calm,  like  a  man  who  has  collected 
all  his  strength  by  sheer  determination. 

"It  is  the  hour  for  airing  in  the  prison-yard,"  said  the  turn- 
key; "you  have  not  been  out  for  three  days;  if  you  choose  to 
take  air  and  exercise,  you  may." 

Jacques  Collin,  lost  in  his  absorbing  thoughts,  and  taking 
no  interest  in  himself,  regarding  himself  as  a  garment  with 
no  body  in  it,  a  perfect  rag,  never  suspected  the  trap  laid  for 


2(>  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

him  by  Bibi-Lupin,  nor  the  importance  attaching  to  his  walk 
in  the  prison-yard. 

The  unhappy  man  went  out  mechanically,  along  the  cor- 
ridor, by  the  cells  built  into  the  magnificent  cloisters  of  the 
Palace  of  the  Kings,  over  which  is  the  corridor  Saint-Louis, 
as  it  is  called,  leading  to  the  various  purlieus  of  the  Court  of 
Appeals.  This  passage  joins  that  of  the  better  cells;  and  it 
is  worth  noting  that  the  cell  in  which  Louvel  was  im- 
prisoned, one  of  the  most  famous  of  the  regicides,  is  the  room 
at  the  right  angle  formed  by  the  junction  of  the  two  corridors. 
Under  the  pretty  room  in  the  Tour  Bonbec  there  is  a  spiral 
staircase  leading  from  the  dark  passage,  and  serving  the 
prisoners  who  are  lodged  in  these  cells  to  go  up  and  down 
on  their  way  from  or  to  the  yard. 

Every  prisoner,  whether  committed  for  trial  or  already 
sentenced,  and  the  prisoners  under  suspicion  who  have  been 
reprieved  from  the  closest  cells — in  short,  every  one  in  con- 
finement in  the  Conciergerie  takes  exercise  in  this  narrow 
paved  courtyard  for  some  hours  every  day,  especially  the  early 
hours  of  summer  mornings.  This  recreation  ground,  the 
ante-room  to  the  scaffold  or  the  hulks  on  one  side,  on  the  other 
still  clings  to  the  world  through  the  gendarme,  the  examining 
judge,  and  the  Assize  Court.  It  strikes  a  greater  chill  per- 
haps than  even  the  scaffold.  The  scaffold  may  be  a  pedestal 
to  soar  to  heaven  from ;  but  the  prison-yard  is  every  infamy 
on  earth  concentrated  and  unavoidable. 

Whether  at  La  Force  or  at  Poissy,  at  Melun  or  at  Sainte- 
Pelagie,  a  prison-yard  is  a  prison-yard.  The  same  details 
are  exactly  repeated,  all  but  the  color  of  the  walls,  their 
height,  and  the  space  enclosed.  So  this  Study  of  Manners 
would  be  false  to  its  name  if  it  did  not  include  an  exact 
description  of  this  Pandemonium  of  Paris. 

Under  the  mighty  vaulting  which  supports  the  lower  courts 
arud  the  Court  of  Appeals  there  is,  close  to  the  fourth  arch, 
a  stone  slab,  used  by  Saint-Louis,  it  is  said,  for  the  distribu- 
tion of  alms,  and  doing  duty  in  our  day  as  a  counter  for  the 
sale  of  eatables  to  the  prisoners.     So  as  soon  as  the  prison- 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  27 

yard  is  open  to  the  prisoners,  they  gather  round  this  stone 
table,  which  displays  such  dainties  as  jail-birds  desire — 
brandy,  rum,  and  the  like. 

The  first  two  archways  on  that  side  of  the  yard,  facing  the 
fine  Byzantine  corridor — the  only  vestige  now  of  Saint-Louis' 
elegant  palace — form  a  parlor,  where  the  prisoners  and 
their  counsel  may  meet,  to  which  the  prisoners  have  access 
through  a  formidable  gateway — a  double  passage,  railed  off 
by  enormous  bars,  within  the  width  of  the  third  archway. 
This  double  way  is  like  the  temporary  passages  arranged  at 
the  door  of  a  theatre  to  keep  the  line  on  occasions  when  a 
great  success  brings  a  crowd.  This  parlor,  at  the  very  end 
of  the  vast  entrance-hall  of  the  Conciergerie,  and  lighted  by 
loop-holes  on  the  yard  side,  has  lately  been  opened  out  towards 
the  back,  and  the  opening  filled  with  glass,  so  that  the  inter- 
views of  the  lawyers  with  their  clients  are  under  supervision. 
This  innovation  was  made  necessary  by  the  too  great  fascina- 
tions brought  to  bear  by  pretty  women  on  their  counsel. 
Where  will  morality  stop  short?  Such  precautions  are  like 
the  ready-made  sets  of  questions  for  self-examination,  where 
pure  imaginations  are  defiled  by  meditating  on  unknown  and 
monstrous  depravity.  In  this  parlor,  too,  parents  and  friends 
may  be  allowed  by  the  authorities  to  meet  the  prisoners, 
whether  on  remand  or  awaiting  their  sentence. 

The  reader  may  now  understand  what  the  prison-yard  is 
to  the  two  hundred  prisoners  in  the  Conciergerie :  their  gar- 
den— a  garden  without  trees,  beds,  or  flowers — in  short,  a 
prison-yard.  The  parlor,  and  the  stone  of  Saint-Louis,  where 
such  food  and  liquor  as  are  allowed  are  dispensed,  are  the  only 
possible  means  of  communication  with  the  outer  world. 

The  hour  spent  in  the  yard  is  the  only  time  when  the 
prisoner  is  in  the  open  air  or  the  society  of  his  kind ;  in  other 
prisons  those  who  are  sentenced  for  a  term  are  brought  to- 
gether in  workshops;  but  in  the  Conciergerie  no  occupation 
is  allowed,  excepting  in  the  privileged  cells.  There  the 
absorbing  idea  in  every  mind  is  the  drama  of  the  Assize 


28  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Court,  since  the  culprit  comes  only  to  be  examined  or  to  be 
sentenced. 

This  yard  is  indeed  terrible  to  behold;  it  cannot  be 
imagined,  it  must  be  seen. 

In  the  first  place,  the  assemblage,  in  a  space  forty  metres 
long  by  thirty  wide,  of  a  hundred  condemned  or  suspected 
criminals,  does  not  constitute  the  cream  of  society.  These 
creatures,  belonging  for  the  most  part  to  the  lowest  ranks, 
are  poorly  clad;  their  countenances  are  base  or  horrible,  for 
a  criminal  from  the  upper  sphere  of  society  is,  happily,  a  rare 
exception.  Peculation,  forgery,  or  fradulent  bankruptcy,  the 
only  crimes  that  can  bring  decent  folks  so  low,  enjoy  the 
privilege  of  the  better  cells,  and  then  the  prisoner  scarcely 
ever  quits  it. 

This  promenade,  bounded  by  fine  but  formidable  blackened 
walls,  by  a  cloister  divided  up  into  cells,  by  fortifications  on 
the  side  towards  the  quay,  by  the  barred  cells  of  the  better 
class  on  the  north,  watched  by  vigilant  warders,  and  filled 
with  a  herd  of  criminals,  all  meanly  suspicious  of  each  other, 
is  depressing  enough  in  itself ;  and  it  becomes  terrifying  when 
you  find  yourself  the  centre  of  all  those  eyes  full  of  hatred, 
curiosity,  and  despair,  face  to  face  with  that  degraded  crew. 
Not  a  gleam  of  gladness !  all  is  gloom — the  place  and  the  men. 
All  is  speechless — the  walls  and  men's  consciences.  To  these 
hapless  creatures  danger  lies  everywhere;  excepting  in  the 
case  of  an  alliance  as  ominous  as  the  prison  where  it  was 
formed,  they  dare  not  trust  each  other. 

The  police,  all-pervading,  poisons  the  atmosphere  and 
taints  everything,  even  the  hand-grasp  of  two  criminals  who 
have  been  intimate.  A  convict  who  meets  his  most  familiar 
comrade  does  not  know  that  he  may  not  have  repented  and 
have  made  a  confession  to  save  his  life.  This  absence  of  con- 
fidence, this  dread  of  the  narlc,  mars  the  liberty,  already  so 
illusory,  of  the  prison-yard.  The  "nark"  (in  French,  U 
Mouton  or  le  coqueur)  is  a  spy  who  affects  to  be  sentenced 
for  some  serious  offence,  and  whose  skill  consists  in  pretend- 
ing to  be  a  chum.     The  "chum,"  in  thieves'  slang,  is  a  skilled 


VATJTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  29 

thief,  a  professional  who  has  cut  himself  adrift  from  society, 
and  means  to  remain  a  thief  all  his  days,  and  continues  faith- 
ful through  thick  and  thin  to  the  laws  of  the  swell-mob. 

Crime  and  madness  have  a  certain  resemblance.  To  see 
the  prisoners  of  the  Conciergerie  in  the  yard,  or  the  madmen 
in  the  garden  of  an  asylum,  is  much  the  same  thing.  Pris- 
oners and  lunatics  walk  to  and  fro,  avoiding  each  other,  look- 
ing up  with  more  or  less  strange  or  vicious  glances,  accord- 
ing to  the  mood  of  the  moment,  but  never  cheerful,  never 
grave;  they  know  each  other,  or  they  dread  each  other.  The 
anticipation  of  their  sentence,  remorse,  and  apprehension 
give  all  these  men  exercising,  the  anxious,  furtive  look  of  the 
insane.  Only  the  most  consummate  criminals  have  the  au- 
dacity that  apes  the  quietude  of  respectability,  the  sincerity 
of  a  clear  conscience. 

As  men  of  the  better  class  are  few,  and  shame  keeps  the 
few  whose  crimes  have  brought  them  within  doors,  the  fre- 
quenters of  the  prison-yard  are  for  the  most  part  dressed  as 
workmen.  Blouses,  long  and  short,  and  velveteen  jackets  pre- 
ponderate. These  coarse  or  dirty  garments,  harmonizing 
with  the  coarse  and  sinister  faces  and  brutal  manner — some- 
what subdued,  indeed,  by  the  gloomy  reflections  that  weigh 
on  men  in  prison — everything,  to  the  silence  that  reigns,  con- 
tributes to  strike  terror  or  disgust  into  the  rare  visitor  who,  by 
high  influence,  has  obtained  the  privilege,  seldom  granted, 
of  going  over  the  Conciergerie. 

Just  as  the  sight  of  an  anatomical  museum,  where  foul 
diseases  are  represented  by  wax  models,  makes  the  youth  who 
may  be  taken  there  more  chaste  and  apt  for  nobler  and  purer 
love,  so  the  sight  of  the  Conciergerie  and  of  the  prison-yard, 
filled  with  men  marked  for  the  hulks  or  the  scaffold  or  some 
disgraceful  punishment,  inspires  many,  who  might  not  fear 
that  Divine  Justice  whose  voice  speaks  so  loudly  to  the 
conscience,  with  a  fear  of  human  justice ;  and  they  come  out 
honest  men  for  a  long  time  after. 

As  the  men  M^ho  were  exercising  in  the  prison-yard,  when 


30  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Trompe-la-Mort  appeared  there,  were  to  be  the  actors  in  a 
scene  of  crowning  importance  in  the  life  of  Jacques  Collin, 
it  will  be  well  to  depict  a  few  of  the  principal  personages  of 
this  sinister  crowd. 

Here,  as  everywhere  when  men  are  thrown  together,  here, 
as  at  school  even,  force,  physical  and  moral,  wins  the  day. 
Here,  then,  as  on  the  hulks,  crime  stamps  the  man's  rank. 
Those  whose  head  is  doomed  are  the  aristocracy.  The  prison- 
yard,  as  may  be  supposed,  is  a  school  of  criminal  law,  which 
is  far  better  learned  there  than  at  the  Hall  on  the  Place  du 
Pantheon. 

A  never-failing  pleasantry  is  to  rehearse  the  drama  of  the 
Assize  Court;  to  elect  a  president,  a  jury,  a  public  prosecutor, 
a  counsel,  and  to  go  through  the  whole  trial.  This  hideous 
farce  is  played  before  almost  every  great  trial.  At  this  time 
a  famous  case  was  proceeding  in  the  Criminal  Court,  that  of 
the  dreadful  murder  committed  on  the  persons  of  Monsieur 
and  Madame  Crottat,  the  notary's  father  and  mother,  retired 
farmers  who,  as  this  horrible  business  showed,  kept  eight  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  in  gold  in  their  house. 

One  of  the  men  concerned  in  this  double  murder  was  the 
notorious  Dannepont,  known  as  la  Pouraille,  a  released  con- 
vict, who  for  five  years  had  eluded  the  most  active  search  on 
the  part  of  the  police,  under  the  protection  of  seven  or  eight 
different  names.  This  villain's  disguises  were  so  perfect,  that 
he  had  served  two  years  of  imprisonment  under  the  name  of 
Delsouq,  who  was  one  of  his  own  disciples,  and  a  famous  thief, 
though  he  never,  in  any  of  his  achievements,  went  beyond 
the  jurisdiction  of  the  lower  Courts.  La  Pouraille  had  com- 
mitted no  less  than  three  murders  since  his  dismissal  from 
the  hulks.  The  certainty  that  he  would  be  executed,  not  less 
than  the  large  fortune  he  was  supposed  to  have,  made  this 
man  an  object  of  terror  and  admiration  to  his  fellow-pris- 
oners; for  not  a  farthing  of  the  stolen  money  had  ever  been 
recovered.  Even  after  the  events  of  July  1830,  some  persons 
may  remember  the  terror  caused  in  Paris  by  this  daring  crime, 
worthy  to  compare  in  importance  with  the  robbery  of  medals 


VAUTRIN'S  IvAST  AVATAR  31 

from  the  Public  Library;  for  the  unhappy  tendency  of  our 
age  is  to  make  a  murder  the  more  interesting  in  proportion  ^ 
to  the  greater  sum  of  money  secured  by  it. 

La  Pouraille,  a  small,  lean,  dry  man,  with  a  face  like  a 
ferret,  forty-five  years  old,  and  one  of  the  celebrities  of  the 
prisons  he  had  successively  lived  in  since  the  age  of  nineteen, 
knew  Jacques  Collin  well ;  how  and  why  will  be  seen. 

Two  other  convicts,  brought  with  la  Pouraille  from  La 
Force  within  these  twenty-four  hours,  had  at  once  acknowl- 
edged and  made  the  whole  prison-yard  acknowledge  the 
supremacy  of  this  past-master  sealed  to  the  scaffold.  One  of 
these  convicts,  a  ticket-of-leave  man,  named  Selerier,  alias 
I'Auvergnat,  Pere  Ralleau,  and  le  Rouleur,  who  in  the  sphere 
known  to  the  hulks  as  the  swell-mob  was  called  Fil-de-Soie 
(or  silken  thread) — a  nickname  he  owed  to  the  skill  with 
which  he  slipped  through  the  various  perils  of  the  business 
— was  an  old  ally  of  Jacques  Collin's. 

Trompe-la-Mort  so  keenly  suspected  Fil-de-Soie  of  playing 
a  double  part,  of  being  at  once  in  the^ecfets  of  the  swell- 
mob  and  a  spy  paid  by  the  police,  that  he  had  supposed  him 
to  be  the  prime  mover  of  his  arrest  in  the  Maison  Vauquer  in 
1819  {Le  Pere  Goriot).  Selerier,  whom  we  must  call  Fil-de- 
Soie,  as  we  shall  also  call  Dannepont  la  Pouraille,  already; 
guilty  of  evading  surveillance,  was  concerned  in  certain  well- 
known  robberies  without  bloodshed,  which  would  certainly 
take  him  back  to  the  hulks  for  at  least  twenty  years. 

The  other  convict,  named  Riganson,  and  his  kept  woman, 
known  as  la  Biffe,  were  a  most  formidable  couple,  members 
of  the  swell-mob.  Riganson,  on  very  distant  terms  with  the 
police  from  his  earliest  years,  was  nicknamed  le  Biffon. 
Biffon  was  the  male  of  la  Biffe — for  nothing  is  sacred  to  the 
swell-mob.  These  fiends  respect  nothing,  neither  the  law  nor 
religion,  not  even  natural  history,  whose  solemn  nomencla- 
ture, it  is  seen,  is  parodied  by  them. 

Here  a  digression  is  necessary;  for  Jacques  Collin's  ap- 
pearance in  the  prison-yard  in  the  midst  of  his  foes,  as  had 
been  so  cleverly  contrived  by  Bibi-Lupin  and  the  examining 


32  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

judge,  and  the  strange  scenes  to  ensue,  would  be  incompre- 
hensible and  impossible  without  some  explanation  as  to  the 
world  of  thieves  and  of  the  hulks,  its  laws,  its  manners,  and, 
above  all,  its  language,  its  hideous  figures  of  speech  being  in- 
dispensable in  this  portion  of  my  tale. 

So,  first  of  all,  a  few  words  must  be  said  as  to  the  vocabulary 
of  sharpers,  pickpockets,  thieves,  and  murderers,  known  as 
Argot,  or  thieves'  cant,  which  has  of  late  been  introduced  into 
literature  with  so  much  success  that  more  than  one  word  of 
that  strange  lingo  is  familiar  on  the  rosy  lips  of  ladies,  has 
been  heard  in  gilded  boudoirs,  and  become  the  delight  of 
princes,  who  have  often  proclaimed  themselves  "done  brown" 
(floue)  !  And  it  must  be  owned,  to  the  surprise  no  doubt 
of  many  persons,  that  no  language  is  more  vigorous  or  more 
vivid  than  that  of  this  underground  world  which,  from  the 
beginnings  of  countries  with  capitals,  has  dwelt  in  cellars  and 
slums,  in  the  third  limbo  of  society  everywhere  {le  troisieme 
dessous,  as  the  expressive  and  vivid  slang  of  the  theatres  has 
it).  For  is  not  the  world  a  stage?  Le  troisieme  dessous  is 
the  lowest  cellar  under  the  stage  at  the  Opera  where  the 
machinery  is  kept  and  the  men  stay  who  work  it,  whence  the 
footlights  are  raised,  the  ghosts,  the  blue-devils  shot  up  from 
hell,  and  so  forth.  

Every  word  of  this  language  is  a  bold ''metaphorjj  ingenious 
or  horrible.  A  man's  breeches  are  his  kicks  or  trucks 
{montante,  a  word  that  need  not  be  explained).  In  this 
language  you  do  not  sleep,  you  snooze,  or  doss  {pioneer — and 
note  how  vigorously  expressive  the  word  is  of  the  sleep  of  the 
hunted,  weary,  distrustful  animal  called  a  thief,  which  as 
soon  as  it  is  in  safety  drops — rolls — into  the  gulf  of  deep 
slumber  so  necessary  under  the  mighty  wings  of  suspicion 
always  hovering  over  it;  a  fearful  sleep,  like  that  of  a  wild 
beast  that  can  sleep,  nay,  and  snore,  and  yet  its  ears  are  alert 
with  caution). 

In  this  idiom  everything  is  savage.  The  syllables  which 
begin  or  end  the  words  are  harsh  and  curiously  startling.  A 
woman  is  a  trip  or  a  moll  {une  largue).     And  it  is  poetical 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  33 

too:  straw  is  la  plume  de  Beauce,  a  farmyard  feather  bed. 
The  word  midnight  is  paraphrased  by  twelve  leads  striking — 
it  makes  one  shiver !  Rincer  une  camhriole  is  to  "screw  the 
shop,"  to  rifle  a  room.  What  a  feeble  expression  is  to  go  to 
bed  in  comparison  with  "to  doss"  {piausser,  make  a  new 
skin).  What  picturesque  imagery!  Work  your  dominoes 
(jouer  des  dominos)  is  to  eat ;  how  can  men  eat  with  the  police 
at  their  heels? 

And  this  language  is  always  growing;  it  keeps  pace  with 
civilization,  and  is  enriched  with  some  new  expression  by 
every  fresh  invention.  The  potato,  discovered  and  introduced 
by  Louis  XVI.  and  Parmentier,  was  at  once  dubbed  in  French 
slang  as  the  pig's  orange  {Orange  a  Cochons)  [the  Irish  have 
called  them  bog  oranges].  Banknotes  are  invented;  the 
"mob"  at  once  call  them  Flimsies  (fafiots  garoUs,  from 
"Garot,"  the  name  of  the  cashier  whose  signature  they  bear) . 
Flimsy!  (fafiot.)  Cannot  you  hear  the  rustle  of  the  thin 
paper?  The  thousand  franc-note  is  male  flimsy  (in 
French),  the  five  hundred  franc-note  is  the  female;  and  con- 
victs will,  you  may  be  sure,  find  some  whimsical  name  for  the 
hundred  and  two  hundred  franc-notes. 

In  1790  Guillotin  i'nvented,  with  humane  intent,  the  ex- 
peditious machine  which  solved  all  the  difficulties  involved 
in  the  problem  of  capital  punishment.  Convicts  and  pris- 
oners from  the  hulks  forthwith  investigated  this  contrivance, 
standing  as  it  did  on  the  monarchical  borderland  of  the  old 
system  and  the  frontier  of  modern  legislation ;  they  instantly  0- ^ 
gave  it  the  name  of  VAbbaye  de  Monte-d-R egret.  They 
looked  at  the  angle  formed  by  the  steel  blade,  and  described 
its  action  as  reaping  (faucher)  ;  and  when  it  is  remembered 
that  the  hulks  are  called  the  meadow  (le  pre),  philologists 
must  admire  the  inventiveness  of  these  horrible  vocables,  as 
Charles  Nodier  would  have  said. 

The  high  antiquity  of  this  kind  of  slang  is  also  note- 
worthy. A  tenth  of  the  words  are  of  old  Romanesque 
origin,  another  tenth  are  the  old  Gaulish  French  of  Rabelais. 
Effondrer,  to  thrash  a  man,  to  give  him  what  for ;  otolondrer. 


34  A  COURTESANS  I.IFB 

to  annoy  or  to  ''spur"  him;  camhrioler,  doing  anything  in  a 
room;  auhert,  money;  Gironde,  a  beauty  (the  name  of  a  river 
of  Languedoc)  ;  fouillousse,  a  pocket — a  "cly" — are  all  French 
of  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries.  The  word  affe, 
meaning  life,  is  of  the  highest  antiquity.  From  affe  any- 
thing that  disturbs  life  is  called  affres  (a  rowing  or  scolding), 
hence  affreux,  anything  that  troubles  life. 

About  a  hundred  words  are  derived  from  the  language  of 
Panurge,  a  name  symbolizing  the  people,  for  it  is  derived 
from  two  Greek  words  signifying  All-working. 

Science  is  changing  the  face  of  the  world  by  constructing 
railroads.     In  Argot  the  train  is  le  roulant  Yif,  the  Eattler. 

The  name  given  to  the  head  while  still  on  the  shoulders 
— la  Sorhonnc — shows  the  antiquity  of  this  dialect  which  is 
mentioned  by  very  early  romance-writers,  as  Cervantes,  the 
Italian  story-tellers,  and  Aretino.  In  all  ages  the  moll,  the 
prostitute,  the  heroine  of  so  many  old-world  romances,  has 
been  the  protectress,  companion,  and  comfort  of  the  sharper, 
the  thief,  the  pickpocket,  the  area-sneak,  and  the  burglar. 

Prostitution  and  robbery  are  the  male  and  female  forms 
of  protest  made  by  the  natural  state  against  the  social  state. 
Even  philosophers,  the  innovators  of  to-day,  the  human- 
itarians "u^ith  the  communists  and  Fourierists  in  their  train, 
come  at  last,  without  knowing  it,  to  the  same  conclusion — 
prostitution  and  theft.  The  thief  does  not  argue  out  ques- 
tions of  property,  of  inheritance,  and  social  responsibility,  in 
sophistical  books ;  he  absolutely  ignores  them.  To  him  theft 
is  appropriating  his  own.  He  does  not  discuss  marriage ;  he 
does  not  complain  of  it ;  he  does  not  insist,  in  printed  Utopian 
dreams,  on  the  mutual  consent  and  bond  of  souls  which  can 
never  become  general ;  he  pairs  with  a  vehemence  of  which  the 
bonds  are  constantly  riveted  by  the  hammer  of  necessity. 
Modem  innovators  write  unctuous  theories,  long  drawn,  and 
nebulous  or  philanthropical  romances ;  but  the  thief  acts.  He 
is  as  clear  as  a  fact,  as  logical  as  a  blow ;  and  then  his  style ! 

Another  thing  worth  noting:  the  world  of  prostitutes, 
thieves,  and  murderers  of  the  galleys  and  the  prisons  forms 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  35 

•i 

a  population  of  about  sixty  to  eighty  thousand  souls,  men  and 
women.  Such  a  world  is  not  to  be  disdained  in  a  picture 
of  modern  manners  and  a  literary  reproduction  of  the  social 
body.  The  law,  the  gendarmerie,  and  the  police  constitute 
a  body  almost  equal  in  number;  is  not  that  strange?  This 
antagonism  of  persons  perpetually  seeking  and  avoiding  each 
other,  and  fighting  a  vast  and  highly  dramatic  duel,  are  what 
are  sketched  in  this  Study.  It  has  been  the  same  thing  withy^"^ 
thieving  and  public  harlotry  as  with  the  stage,  the  police, 
the  priesthood,  and  the  gendarmerie^  In  these  six  walks 
of  life  the  individual  contracts  an  indelible  character.  He 
can  no  longer  be  himself.  The  stigmata  of  ordination  are  as 
immutable  as  those  of  the  soldier  are.  And  it  is  the  same 
in  other  callings  which  are  strongly  in  opposition,  strong  con- 
trasts with  civilization.  These  violent,  eccentric,  singular 
signs — sui  generis — are  what  make  the  harlot,  the  robber, 
the  murderer,  the  ticket-of -leave  man,  so  easily  recognizable 
by  their  foes,  the  spy  and  the  police,  to  whom  they  are  as 
game  to  the  sportsman:  they  have  a  gait,  a  manner,  a  com- 
plexion, a  look,  a  color,  a  smell — in  short,  infallible  marks  \ 
about  them.  Hence  the  highly-developed  art  of  disguise^  .^ 
which  the  heroes  of  the  hulks  acquire. 

One  word  yet  as  to  the  constitution  of  this  world  apart, 
which  the  abolition  of  branding,  the  mitigation  of  penalties, 
and  the  silly  leniency  of  juries  are  making  a  threatening  evil. 
In  about  twenty  years  Paris  will  be  beleaguered  by  an  army 
of  forty  thousand  reprieved  criminals ;  the  department  of  the 
Seine  and  its  fifteen  hundred  thousand  inhabitants  being  the 
only  place  in  France  where  these  poor  wretches  can  be  hid-  yo^ 
den.  To  them  Paris  is  what  the  virgin  forest  is  to  beasts  of 
prey. 

The  swell-mob,  or  more  exactly,  thi^  upper  class  of  thieves, 
which  is  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  tlie  aristocracy , of  the 
tribe,  had,  in  1816,  after  the  peace  which  made  life  hard  for 
so  many  men,  formed  an  association  called  les^  c/rands—^ 
fanandels — the  Great  Pals — consisting  of  the  most  noted 
master-thieves  and  certain  bold  spirits  at  that  time  bereft  of 


\y 


36  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

any  means  of  living.  This  word  pal  means  brother,  friend, 
and  comrade  all  in  one.  And  these  "Great  Pals,"  the  cream 
of  the  thieving  fraternity,  for  more  than  twenty  years  were 
the  Court  of  Appeal,  the  Institute  of  Learning,  and  the 
Chamber  of  Peers  of  this  community.  These  men  all  had 
their  private  means,  with  funds  in  common,  and  a  code  of 
their  own.  They  knew  each  other,  and  were  pledged  to  help 
and  succor  each  other  in  difficulties.  And  they  were  all  su- 
perior to  the  tricks  or  snares  of  the  police,  had  a  charter  of 
their  own,  passwords  and  signs  of  recognition. 

From  1815  to  1819  these  dukes  and  peers  of  the  prison 
world  had  formed  the  famous  association  of  the  Ten-thousand 
(see  le  Pere  Goriot),  so  styled  by  reason  of  an  agreement  in 
virtue  of  which  no  job  was  to  be  undertaken  by  which  less 
than  ten  thousand  francs  could  be  got. 

At  that  very  time,  in  1829-30,  some  memoirs  were  brought 
out  in  which  the  collective  force  of  this  association  and  the 
names  of  the  leaders  were  published  by  a  famous  member  of 
the  police-force.  It  was  terrifying  to  find  there  an  army 
of  skilled  rogues,  male  and  female;  so  numerous,  so  clever, 
so  constantly  lucky,  that  such  thieves  as  Pastourel,  Collonge, 
or  Chimaux,  men  of  fifty  and  sixty,  were  described  as  outlaws 
from  society  from  their  earliest  years !  What  a  confession 
of  the  ineptitude  of  justice  that  rogues  so  old  should  be  at 
large! 

Jacques  Collin  had  been  the  cashier,  not  only  of  the  "Ten- 
thousand,"  but  also  of  the  "Great  Pals,"  the  heroes  of  the 
hulks.  Competent  authorities  admit  that  the  hulks  have  al- 
ways owned  large  sums.  This  curious  fact  is  quite  conceivable. 
Stolen  goods  are  never  recovered  but  in  very  singular  cases. 
The  condemned  criminal,  who  can  take  nothing  with  him,  is 
obliged  to  trust  somebody's  honesty  and  capacity,  and  to  de- 
posit his  money  as,  in  the  world  of  honest  folks,  money  is 
placed  in  a  bank. 

Long  ago  Bibi-Lupin,  now  for  ten  years  a  chief  of  the 
department  of  PubHc  Safety,  had  been  a  member  of  the 
aristocracy  of  "Pals."     His  treason  had  resulted  from  of- 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  37 

fended  pride;  he  had  been  constantly  set  aside  in  favor 
of  Trompe-la-Mort's  superior  intelligence  and  prodigious 
strength.  Hence  his  persistent  vindictiveness  against  Jacques 
Collin.  Hence,  also,  certain  compromises  between  Bibi- 
Lupin  and  his  old  companions,  which  the  magistrates  were 
beginning  to  take  seriously. 

So  in  his  desire  for  vengeance,  to  which  the  examining 
judge  had  given  play  under  the  necessity  of  idenj;ifying 
Jacques  Collin,  the  chief  of  the  "Safety"  had  very  skilfully 
chosen  his  allies  by  setting  la  Pouraille,  Fil-de-Soie,  and  le 
Biffon  on  the  sham  Spaniard — for  la  Pouraille  and  Fil-de- 
Soie  both  belonged  to  the  "Ten-thousand,"  and  le  Biffon  was 
a  "Great  Pal." 

La  Biffe,  le  Biffon's  formidable  trip,  who  to  this  day  evades 
all  the  pursuit  of  the  police  by  her  skill  in  disguising  herself 
as  a  lady,  was  at  liberty.  This  woman,  who  successfully  apes 
a  marquise,  a  countess,  a  baroness,  keeps  a  carriage  and  men- 
servants.  This  Jacques  Collin  in  petticoats  is  the  only  woman 
who  can  compare  with  Asie,  Jacques  Collin's  right  hand. 
And,  in  fact,  every  hero  of  the  hulks  is  backed  up  by  a  devoted 
woman.  Prison  records  and  the  secret  papers  of  the  law 
courts  will  tell  you  this;  no  honest  woman's  love,  not  even 
that  of  a  bigot  for  her  spiritual  director,  has  ever  been  greater 
than  the  attachment  of  a  mistress  who  shares  the  dangers  of 
a  great  criminal. 

With  these  men  a  passion  is  almost  always  the  first  cause 
of  their  daring  enterprises  and  murders.  The  excessive  love 
which — constitutionally,  as  the  doctors  say — makes  woman 
irresistible  to  them,  calls  every  moral  and  physical  force  of 
these  powerful  natures  into  action.  Hence  the  idleness 
which  consumes  their  days,  for  excesses  of  passion  necessitate 
sleep  and  restorative  food.  Hence  their  loathing  of  all  work, 
driving  these  creatures  to  have  recourse  to  rapid  ways  of 
getting  money.  And  yet,  the  need  of  a  living,  and  of  high 
living,  violent  as  it  is,  is  but  a  trifle  in  comparison  with  the 
extravagance  to  which  these  generous  Medors  are  prompted 
by  the  mistress  to  whom  they  want  to  give  jewels  and  dress, 
3 


38  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

and  who — always  greedy — love  rich  food.  The  baggage 
wants  a  shawl,  the  lover  steals  it,  and  the  woman  sees  in  this 
a  proof  of  love. 

This  is  how  robbery  begins;  and  robbery,  if  we  examine 
the  human  soul  through  a  lens,  will  be  seen  to  be  an  almost 
natural  instinct  in  man. 

Eobbery  leads  to  murder,  and  murder  leads  the  lover  step 
by  step  to  the  scaffold. 

Ill-regulated  physical  desire  is  therefore,  in  these  men,  if 
we  may  believe  the  medical  faculty,  at  the  root  of  seven-tenths 
of  the  crimes  committed.  And,  indeed,  the  proof  is  always 
found,  evident,  palpable  at  the  post-mortem  examination  of 
the  criminal  after  his  execution.  And  these  monstrous 
lovers,  the  scarecrows  of  society,  are  adored  by  their  mis- 
tresses. It  is  this  female  devotion,  squatting  faithfully  at 
the  prison  gate,  always  eagerly  balking  the  cunning  of  the 
examiner,  and  incorruptibly  keeping  the  darkest  secrets 
which  make  so  many  trials  impenetrable  mysteries. 

In  this,  again,  lies  the  strength  as  well  as  the  weakness 
of  the  accused.  In  the  vocabulary  of  a  prostitute,  to  h>' 
honest  means  to  break  none  of  the  laws  of  this  attachment, 
to  give  all  her  money  to  the  man  who  is  nabhed,  to  look  after 
his  comforts,  to  be  faithftil  to  him  in  every  way,  to  undertake 
anything  for  his  sake.  The  bitterest  insult  one  of  these  wo- 
men can  fling  in  the  teeth  of  another  wretched  creature  is 
to  accuse  her  of  infidelity  to  a  lover  in  quod  (in  prison).  In 
that  case  such  a  woman  is  considered  to  have  no  heart. 

La  Pouraille  was  passionately  in  love  with  a  woman,  as 
will  be  seen. 

Fil-de-Soie,  an  egotistical  philosopher,  who  thieved  to  pro- 
vide for  the  future,  was  a  good  deal  like  Paccard,  Jacques 
Collin's  satellite,  who  had  fled  with  Prudence  Servien  and  the 
seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  between  them.  He 
had  no  attachment,  he  contemned  women,  and  loved  no  one 
but  Fil-de-Soie. 

As  to  le  Biffon,  he  derived  his  nickname  from  his  connec- 
tion with  la  Biffe.     (La  Biffe  is  scavenging,  rag-picking.) 


VAUTRIN'S  DAST  AVATAR  39 

And  these  three  distinguished  members  of  la  haute  pegre,  the 
aristocracy  of  roguery,  had  a  reckoning  to  demand  of 
Jacques  Collin,  accounts  that  were  somewhat  hard  to  bring 
to  book. 

No  one  but  the  cashier  could  know  how  many  of  his  clients 
were  still  alive,  and  what  each  man's  share  would  be.  The 
mortality  to  which  the  depositors  were  peculiarly  liable  had 
formed  a  basis  for  Trompe-la-Mort's  calculations  when  he 
resolved  to  embezzle  the  funds  for  Lucien's  benefit.  By  keep- 
ing himself  out  of  the  way  of  the  police  and  of  his  pals  for 
nine  years,  Jacques  Collin  was  almost  certain  to  have  fallen 
heir,  by  the  terms  of  agreement  among  the  associates, 
to  two-thirds  of  the  depositors.  Besides,  could  he  not 
plead  that  he  had  repaid  the  pals  who  had  been  scragged? 
In  fact,  no  one  had  any  hold  over  these  Great  Pals.  His 
comrades  trusted  him  by  compulsion,  for  the  hunted  life  led 
by  convicts  necessitates  the  most  delicate  confidence  between 
the  gentry  of  this  crew  of  savages.  So  Jacques  Collin,  a  de- 
faulter for  a  hundred  thousand  crowns,  might  now  possibly 
be  quit  for  a  hundred  thousand  francs.  At  this  moment,  as 
we  see,  la  Pouraille,  one  of  Jacques  Collin's  creditors,  had 
but  ninety  days  to  live.  And  la  Pouraille,  the  possessor  of 
a  sum  vastly  greater,  no  doubt,  than  that  placed  in  his  pal's 
keeping,  would  probably  prove  easy  to  deal  with. 

One  of  the  infallible  signs  by  which  prison  governors  and 
their  agents,  the  police  and  warders,  recognize  old  stagers 
\chevaux  de  retour),  that  is  to  say,  men  who  have  already 
eaten  'beans  (les  gourganes,  a  kind  of  haricots  provided  for 
prison  fare),  is  their  familiarity  with  prison  ways;  those  who 
have  been  in  before,  of  course,  know  the  manners  and  cus- 
toms ;  they  are  at  home,  and  nothing  surprises  them. 

And  Jacques  Collin,  thoroughly  on  his  guard,  had,  until 
now,  played  his  part  to  admiration  as  an  innocent  man  and 
stranger,  both  at  La  Force  and  at  the  Conciergerie.  But 
now,  broken  by  grief,  and  by  two  deaths — for  he  had  died 
twice  over  during  that  dreadful  night — he  was  Jacques  Collin 


40  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

once  more.  The  warder  was  astounded  to  find  that  the 
Spanish  priest  needed  no  telling  as  to  the  way  to  the  prison- 
yard.  The  perfect  actor  forgot  his  part;  he  went  down  the 
corkscrew  stairs  in  the  Tour  Bonbec  as  one  who  knew  the 
Conciergerie. 

"Bibi-Lupin  is  right/'  said  the  turnkey  to  himself;  "he  is 
an  old  stager ;  he  is  Jacques  Collin." 

At  the  moment  when  Trompe-la-Mort  appeared  in  the 
sort  of  frame  to  his  figure  made  by  the  door  into  the  tower, 
the  prisoners,  having  made  their  purchases  at  the  stone  table 
called  after  Saint-Louis,  were  scattered  about  the  yard,  al- 
ways too  small  for  their  number.  So  the  newcomer  was  seen 
by  all  of  them  at  once,  and  all  the  more  promptly,  because 
nothing  can  compare  for  keenness  with  the  eye  of  a  prisoner, 
who  in  a  prison-yard  feels  like  a  spider  watching  in  its  web. 
And  this  comparison  is  mathematically  exact;  for  the  range 
of  vision  being  limited  on  all  sides  by  high  dark  walls,  the 
prisoners  can  always  see,  even  without  looking  at  them,  the 
doors  through  which  the  warders  come  and  go,  the  windows 
of  the  parlor,  and  the  stairs  of  the  Tour  Bonbec — the  only 
exits  from  the  yard.  In  this  utter  isolation  every  trivial 
incident  is  an  event,  everything  is  interesting;  the  tedium — 
a  tedium  like  that  of  a  tiger  in  a  cage — increases  their  alert- 
ness tenfold. 

It  is  necessary  to  note  that  Jacques  Collin,  dressed  like  a 
priest  who  is  not  strict  as  to  costume,  wore  black  knee 
breeches,  black  stockings,  shoes  with  silver  buckles,  a  black 
waistcoat,  and  a  long  coat  of  dark-brown  cloth  of  a  certain 
cut  that  betrays  the  priest  whatever  he  may  do,  especially  when 
these  details  are  completed  by  a  characteristic  style  of  hair- 
cutting.  Jacques  Collin's  wig  was  eminently  ecclesiastical, 
and  wonderfully  natural. 

"Hallo !"  said  la  Pouraille  to  le  Biffon,  "that's  a  bad  sign ! 
A  rook!  {sanglier,  a  priest).     How  did  he  come  here?" 

"He  is  one  of  their  ^narks' "  {trues,  spies)  "of  a  new 
make,"  replied  Fil-de-Soie,  "some  runner  with  the  bracelets" 
(march and  de  lacets — equivalent  to  a  Bow  Street  runner) 
"looking  out  for  his  man." 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  41 

The  gendarme  boasts  of  many  names  in  French  slang; 
when  he  is  after  a  thief,  he  is  "the  man  with  the  bracelets" 
(marchand  de  lacets)  ;  when  he  has  him  in  charge,  he  is  a 
bird  of  ill-omen  (hirondelle  de  la  Greve)  ;  when  he  escorts 
him  to  the  scaffold, he  is  "groom  to  the  guillotine"  {hussard  de 
la  guillotine) . 

To  complete  onr  study  of  the  prison-yard,  two  more  of  ,  "^X" 
the  prisoners  must  be  hastily  sketched  in.  -Selerier,  alias  .(>  // 
TAuvergnat,  alias  le  Pere  Ealleau,  called  le  Rouleur,  alias 
Fil-de-Soie — he  had  thirty  names,  and  as  many  passports — 
will  henceforth  be  spoken  of  by  this  name  only,  as  he  was 
called  by  no  other  among  the  swell-mob.  This  profound 
philosopher,  who  saw  a  spy  in  the  sham  priest,  was  a  brawny 
fellow  of  about  five  feet  eight,  whose  muscles  were  all  marked 
by  strange  bosses.  He  had  an  enormous  head  in  which  a  pair 
of  half-closed  eyes  sparkled  like  fire — the  eyes  of  a  bird  of 
prey,  with  gray,  dull,  skinny  eyelids.  At  a  first  glance  his 
face  resembled  that  of  a  wolf,  his  jaws  were  so  broad,  power- 
ful, and  prominent;  but  the  cruelty  and  even  ferocity  sug- 
gested by  this  likeness  were  counterbalanced  by  the  cunning 
and  eagerness  of  his  face,  though  it  was  scarred  by  the  small- 
pox. The  margin  of  each  scar  being  sharply  cut,  gave  a  sort 
of  wit  to  his  expression;  it  was  seamed  with  ironies.  The 
life  of  a  criminal — a  life  of  hunger  and  thirst,  of  nights  spent 
bivouacking  on  the  quays  and  river  banks,  on  bridges  and 
streets,  and  the  orgies  of  strong  drink  by  which  successes  are 
celebrated — had  laid,  as  it  were,  a  varnish  over  these  features. 
Fil-de-Soie,  if  seen  in  his  undisguised  person,  would  have  been 
marked  by  any  constable  or  gendarme  as  his  prey ;  but  he  was 
a  match  for  Jacques  Collin  in  the  arts  of  make-up  and  dress. 
Just  now  Fil-de-Soie,  in  undress,  like  a  great  actor  who  is 
well  got  up  only  on  the  stage,  wore  a  sort  of  shooting  jacket 
bereft  of  buttons,  and  whose  ripped  button-holes  showed 
the  white  lining,  squalid  green  slippers,  nankin  trousers  now 
a  dingy  gray,  and  on  his  head  a  cap  without  a  peak,  under 
which  an  old  bandana  was  tied,  streaky  with  rents,  and 
washed  out. 


42  A  COURTESANS  I.IFE 

Le  Biffon  was  a  complete  contrast  to  Fil-de-Soie.  This 
famous  robber,  short,  burly,  and  fat,  but  active,  with  a  livid 
complexion,  and  deep-set  black  eyes,  dressed  like  a  cook, 
standing  squarely  on  very  bandy  legs,  was  alarming  to  behold, 
for  in  his  countenance  all  the  features  predominated  that  are 
most  typical  of  the  carnivorous  beast. 

Fil-de-Soie  and  le  Biffon  were  always  wheedling  la 
Pouraille,  who  had  lost  all  hope.  The  murderer  knew  that 
he  would  be  tried,  sentenced,  and  executed  within  four 
months.  Indeed,  Fil-de-Soie  and  le  Biffon,  la  Pouraille's 
chums,  never  called  him  anything  but  le  Chanoine  de  I'Ahhaye 
de  Monte-a-Regret  (a  grim  paraphrase  for  a  man  condemned 
to  the  guillotine).  It  is  easy  to  understand  why  Fil-de-Soie 
and  le  Biffon  should  fawn  on  la  Pouraille.  The  man  had 
somewhere  hidden  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  in 
gold,  his  share  of  the  spoil  fund  in  the  house  of  the  Crottats, 
the  "victims,"  in  newspaper  phrase.  What  a  splendid  fortune 
to  leave  to  two  pals,  though  the  two  old  stagers  would  be  sent 
back  to  the  galleys  within  a  few  days!  Le  Biffon  and  Fil- 
de-Soie  would  be  sentenced  for  a  term  of  fifteen  years  for 
robbery  with  violence,  without  prejudice  to  the  ten  years' 
penal  servitude  on  a  former  sentence,  which  they  had  taken 
the  liberty  of  cutting  short.  So,  though  one  had  twenty-two 
and  the  other  twenty-six  years  of  imprisonment  to  look  for- 
ward to,  they  both  hoped  to  escape,  and  come  back  to  find  la 
Pouraille's  mine  of  gold. 

But  the  "Ten-thousand  man"  kept  his  secret;  he  did  not 
see  the  use  of  telling  it  before  he  was  sentenced.  He  be- 
longed to  the  "upper  ten"  of  the  hulks,  and  had  never  be- 
trayed his  accomplices.  His  temper  was  well  known;  Mon- 
sieur ^  Popinot,  who  had  examined  him,  had  not  been  able  to 
get  anything  out  of  him. 

This  terrible  trio  were  at  the  further  end  of  the  prison- 
yard,  that  is  to  say,  near  the  better  class  of  cells.  Fil-de-Soie 
was  giving  a  lecture  to  a  young  man  who  was  in  for  his  first 
offence,  and  who,  being  certain  of  ten  years'  penal  servitude, 
was  gaining  information  as  to  the  various  convict  establish- 
ments. 


VAUTRIN'S  LA.ST  AVATAR  43 

"Well,  my  boy,"  Fil-de-Soie  was  saying  sententiously  as 
Jacques  Collin  appeared  on  the  scene,  "the  difference  between 
Brest,  Toulon,  and  Rochefort  is ' ' 

"Well,  old  cock?"  said  the  lad,  with  the  curiosity  of  a 
novice. 

This  prisoner,  a  man  of  good  family,  accused  of  forgery, 
had  come  down  from  the  cell  next  to  that  where  Lucien  had 
been. 

"My  son,"  Fil-de-Soie  went  on,  "at  Brest  you  are  sure  to 
get  some  beans  at  the  third  turn  if  you  dip  your  spoon  in  the 
bowl;  at  Toulon  you  never  get  any  till  the  fifth;  and  at 
Eoehefort  you  get  none  at  all,  unless  you  are  an  old  hand." 

Having  spoken,  the  philosopher  joined  le  Biff  on  and  la 
Pouraille,  and  all  three,  greatly  puzzled  by  the  priest,  walked 
down  the  yard,  while  Jacques  Collin,  lost  in  grief,  came  up 
it.  Trompe-la-Mort,  absorbed  in  terrible  meditations,  the 
meditations  of  a  fallen  emperor,  did  not  think  of  himself  as 
the  centre  of  observation,  the  object  of  general  attention,  and 
he  walked  slowly,  gazing  at  the  fatal  window  where  Lucien 
had  hanged  himself.  None  of  the  prisoners  knew  of  this 
catastrophe,  since,  for  reasons  to  be  presently  explained,  the 
young  forger  had  not  mentioned  the  subject.  The  three  pals 
agreed  to  cross  the  priest's  path. 

"He  is  no  priest,"  said  Fil-de-Soie;  "he  is  an  old  stager. 
Look  how  he  drags  his  right  foot." 

It  is  needful  to  explain  here — for  not  every  reader  has 
had  a  fancy  to  visit  the  galleys — that  each  convict  is  chained 
to  another,  an  old  one  and  a  young  one  always  as  a  couple; 
the  weight  of  this  chain  riveted  to  a  ring  above  the  ankle  is 
so  great  as  to  induce  a  limp,  which  the  convict  never  loses. 
Being  obliged  to  exert  one  leg  much  more  than  the  other  to 
drag  this  fetter  (manicle  is  the  slang  name  for  such  irons), 
the  prisoner  inevitably  gets  into  the  habit  of  making  the 
effort.  Afterwards,  though  he  no  longer  wears  the  chain,  it 
acts  upon  him  still;  as  a  man  still  feels  an  amputated  leg, 
the  convict  is  always  conscious  of  the  anklet,  and  can  never 
get  over  that  trick  of  walking.     In  police  slang,  he  "drags  his 


44  A  COURTESAN'S  JAVE 

right."  And  this  sign,  as  well  known  to  convicts  among 
themselves  as  it  is  to  the  police,  even  if  it  does  not  help  to 
identify  a  comrade,  at  any  rate  confirms  recognition. 

In  Trompe-la-Mort,  who  had  escaped  eight  years  since,  this 
trick  had  to  a  great  extent  worn  off;  but  just  now,  lost  in  re- 
flections, he  walked  at  such  a  slow  and  solemn  pace  that, 
slight  as  the  limp  was,  it  was  strikingly  evident  to  so  prac- 
tised an  eye  as  la  Pouraille's.  And  it  is  quite  intelligible 
that  convicts,  always  thrown  together,  as  they  must  be,  and 
never  having  any  one  else  to  study,  will  so  thoroughly  have 
watched  each  other  s  faces  and  appearance,  that  certain  tricks 
will  have  impressed  them  which  may  escape  their  systematic 
foes — spies,  gendarmes,  and  police-inspectors. 

Thus  it  was  a  peculiar  twitch  of  the  maxillary  muscles 
of  the  left  cheek,  recognized  by  a  convict  who  was  sent  to 
a  review  of  the  Legion  of  the  Seine,  which  led  to  the  arrest 
of  the  lieutenant-colonel  of  that  corps,  the  famous  Coignard ; 
for,  in  spite  of  Bibi-Lupin's  confidence,  the  police  could  not 
dare  believe  that  the  Comte  Pontis  de  Sainte-Helene  and 
Coignard  were  one  and  the  same  man. 

"He  is  our  boss!"  {dab  or  master,)  said  Fil-de-Soie,  see- 
ing in  Jacques  Collin's  eye  the  vague  glance  a  man  sunk  in 
despair  casts  on  all  his  surroundings. 

"By  Jingo !  Yes,  it  is  Trompe-la-Mort,"  said  le  Biffon, 
rubbing  his  hands.  "Yes,  it  is  his  cut,  his  build;  but  what 
has  he  done  to  himself?     He  looks  quite  different." 

"I  know  what  he  is  up  to !"  cried  Fil-de-Soie ;  "he  has  some 
plan  in  his  head.  He  wants  to  see  the  boy"  (sa  tante) 
"who  is  to  be  executed  before  long." 

The  persons  known  in  prison  slang  as  tantes  or  aunts  may 
be  best  described  in  the  ingenious  words  of  the  governor  of 
one  of  the  great  prisons  to  the  late  Lord  Durham,  who,  dur- 
ing his  stay  in  Paris,  visited  every  prison.  So  curious  was 
he  to  see  every  detail  of  French  justice,  that  he  even  per- 
suaded Sanson,  at  that  time  the  executioner,  to  erect  the 
scaffold  and  decapitate  a  living  calf,  that  he  might  thoroughly 
understand  the  working  of  the  machine  made  famous  by  the 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  45 

Revolution.  The  governor  having  shown  him  everything — 
the  yards,  the  workshops,  and  the  underground  cells — pointed 
to  a  part  of  the  building,  and  said,  "I  need  not  take  your 
Lordship  there;  it  is  the  quartier  des  tantes." — "Oh,"  said 
Lord  Durham,  "what  are  they !" — "The  third  sex,  my  Lord." 

"And  they  are  going  to  scrag  Theodore !"  said  la  Pouraille, 
"such  a  pretty  boy !  And  such  a  light  hand !  such  cheek ! 
What  a  loss  to  society !" 

"Yes,  Theodore  Calvi  is  yamming  his  last  meal,"  said  le 
Biffon.  "His  trips  will  pipe  their  eyes,  for  the  little  beggar 
was  a  great  pet." 

"So  you're  here,  old  chap?"  said  la  Pouraille  to  Jacques 
Collin.  And,  arm-in-arm  with  his  two  acolytes,  he  barred 
the  way  to  the  new  arrival.  "Why,  Boss,  have  you  got  your- 
self japanned?"  he  went  on. 

"I  hear  you  have  nobbled  our  pile"  (stolen  our  money), 
ie  Biffon  added,  in  a  threatening  tone. 

"You  have  just  got  to  stump  up  the  tin!"  said  Fil-de- 
Soie. 

The  three  questions  were  fired  at  him  like  three  pistol- 
shots. 

"Do  not  make  game  of  an  unhappy  priest  sent  here  by 
mistake,"  Jacques  Collin  replied  mechanically,  recognizing 
his  three  comrades. 

"That  is  the  sound  of  his  pipe,  if  it  is  not  quite  the  cut 
of  his  mug,"  said  la  Pouraille,  laying  his  hand  on  Jacques 
Collin's  shoulder. 

This  action,  and  the  sight  of  his  three  chums,  startled  the 
"Boss"  out  of  his  dejection,  and  brought  him  back  to  a 
consciousness  of  reality;  for  during  that  dreadful  night  he 
had  lost  himself  in  the  infinite  spiritual  world  of  feeling, 
seeking  some  new  road. 

"Do  not  blow  the  gaff  on  your  Boss!"  said  Jacques  Collin 
in  a  hollow  threatening  tone,  not  unlike  the  low  growl  of  a 
lion.  "The  reelers  are  here;  let  them  make  fools  of  them- 
selves. I  am  faking  to  help  a  pal  who  is  awfully  down  on 
his  luck." 


46  A  rOTTRTBSANS  LIFE 

He  spoke  with  the  unction  of  a  priest  trxdng  to  convert 
the  wretched,  and  a  look  which  flashed  round  the  yard,  took 
in  the  warders  under  the  archways,  and  pointed  them  out 
with  a  wink  to  his  three  companions. 

"Are  there  not  narks  about?  Keep  your  peepers  open 
and  a  sharp  outlook.  Don't  know  me,  Xanty  parnarly,  and 
soap  me  down  for  a  priest,  or  I  will  do  for  you  all,  you  and 
your  molls  and  your  blunt." 

"What,  do  you  funk  our  blabbing?"  said  Fil-de-Soie. 
"Have  you  come  to  help  your  boy  to  guy  ?" 

"Madeleine  is  getting  ready  to  be  turned  off  in  the  Square" 
(the  Place  de  Greve),  said  la  Pouraille. 

"Theodore !"'  said  Jacques  Collin,  repressing  a  start  and 
aery. 

"They  will  have  his  nut  off,"  la  Pouraille  went  on;  "he 
was  booked  for  the  scaffold  two  months  ago." 

Jacques  Collin  felt  sick,  his  knees  almost  failed  him;  but 
his  three  comrades  held  him  up,  and  he  had  the  presence  of 
mind  to  clasp  his  hands  with  an  expression  of  contrition.  La 
Pouraille  and  le  Biffon  respectfully  supported  the  sacrilegious 
Trompe-la-Mort,  while  Fil-de-Soie  ran  to  a  warder  on  guard 
at  the  gate  leading  to  the  parlor. 

"That  venerable  priest  wants  to  sit  down ;  send  out  a  chair 
for  him,"  said  he. 

And  so  Bibi-Lupin's  plot  had  failed. 

Trompe-la-Mort,  like  a  Xapoleon  recognized  by  his 
soldiers,  had  won  the  submission  and  respect  of  the  three 
felons.  Two  words  had  done  it.  Your  molls  and  your  blunt 
— ^your  women  and  your  money — epitomizing  every  true  af- 
fection of  man.  This  threat  was  to  the  three  convicts  an 
indication  of  supreme  power.  The  Boss  still  had  their  for- 
tune in  his  hands.  Still  omnipotent  outside  the  prison, 
their  Boss  had  not  betrayed  them,  as  the  false  pals  said. 

Their  chief's  immense  reputation  for  skill  and  inventive- 
ness stimulated  their  curiosity ;  for,  in  prison,  curiosity  is  the 
only  goad  of  these  blighted  spirits.  And  Jacques  Collin's 
daring  disguise,  kept  up  even  under  the  bolts  and  locks  of 
the  Conciergerie,  dazzled  the  three  felons. 


VAUTKIXS  LAST  AVATAR  47 

"I  have  been  in  close  confinement  for  four  days  and  did 
not  know  that  Theodore  was  so  near  the  Abhaye,"  said  Jacques 
Collin.  "I  came  in  to  save  a  poor  little  chap  who  scragged 
himself  here  yesterday  at  four  o'clock,  and  now  here  is  an- 
other misfortune.     I  have  not  an  ace  in  my  hand " 

"Poor  old  boy !"  said  Fil-de-Soie. 

"Old  Scratch  has  cut  me!"  cried  Jacques  Collin,  tearing 
himself  free  from  his  supporters,  and  drawing  himself  up 
with  a  fierce  look.  "There  comes  a  time  when  the  world  is 
too  many  for  us !     The  beaks  gobble  us  up  at  last." 

The  governor  of  the  Conciergerie,  informed  of  the  Spanish 
priest's  weak  state,  came  himself  to  the  prison-yard  to  observe 
him;  he  made  him  sit  down  on  a  chair  in  the  sun,  studying 
him  with  the  keen  acumen  which  increases  day  by  day  in  the 
practise  of  such  functions,  though  hidden  under  an  appear- 
ance of  indift'erence. 

"Oh !  Heaven !"  cried  Jacques  Collin.  "To  be  mixed  up 
with  such  creatures,  the  dregs  of  society — felons  and  murder- 
ers ! — But  God  will  not  desert  His  servant !  My  dear  sir, 
my  stay  here  shall  be  marked  by  deeds  of  charity  which  shall 
live  in  men's  memories.  I  will  convert  these  unhappy  crea- 
tures, they  shall  learn  they  have  souls,  that  life  eternal  awaits 
them,  and  that  though  they  have  lost  all  on  earth,  they 
still  may  win  heaven — Heaven  which  they  may  purchase  by 
true  and  genuine  repentance." 

Twenty  or  thirty  prisoners  had  gathered  in  a  group  behind 
the  three  terrible  convicts,  whose  ferocious  looks  had  kept  a 
space  of  three  feet  between  them  and  their  inquisitive  com- 
panions, and  they  heard  this  address,  spoken  with  evangelical 
unction. 

"Ay,  Monsieur  Gault,"  said  the  formidable  la  Pouraille, 
"we  will  listen  to  what  this  one  may  say " 

"I  have  been  told,"  Jacques  Coflin  went  on,  "that  there 
is  in  this  prison  a  man  condemned  to  death." 

"The  rejection  of  his  appeal  is  at  this  moment  being  read 
to  him,"  said  Monsieur  Gault. 

"I  do  not  know  what  that  means,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  art- 
lessly looking  about  him. 


48  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Golly,  what  a  flat !"  said  the  young  fellow,  who,  a  few 
minutes  since,  had  asked  Fil-de-Soie  about  the  beans  on  the 
hulks. 

''Why,  it  means  that  he  is  to  be  scragged  to-day  or  to- 
morrow." 

"Scragged  ?"  asked  Jacques  Collin,  whose  air  of  innocence 
and  ignorance  filled  his  three  pals  with  admiration. 

"In  their  slang,"  said  the  governor,  "that  means  that  he 
will  suffer  the  penalty  of  death.  If  the  clerk  is  reading  the 
appeal,  the  executioner  will  no  doubt  have  orders  for  the  ex- 
cution.  The  unhappy  man  has  persistently  refused  the  offices 
of  the  chaplain." 

"Ah !  Monsieur  le  Directeur,  this  is  a  soul  to  save !"  cried 
Jacques  Collin,  and  the  sacrilegious  wretch  clasped  his  hands 
with  the  expression  of  a  despairing  lover,  which  to  the  watch- 
ful governor  seemed  nothing  less  than  divine  fervor.  "Ah, 
monsieur,"  Trompe-la-Mort  went  on,  "let  me  prove  to  you 
what  I  am,  and  how  much  I  can  do,  by  allowing  me  to  incite 
that  hardened  heart  to  repentance.  God  has  given  me  a 
power  of  speech  which  produces  great  changes.  I  crush  men's 
hearts;  I  open  them. — What  are  you  afraid  of?  Send  me 
with  an  escort  of  gendarmes,  of  turnkeys — whom  you  will." 

"I  will  inquire  whether  the  prison  chaplain  will  allow  you 
to  take  his  place,"  said  Monsieur  Gault. 

And  the  governor  withdrew,  struck  by  the  expression,  per- 
fectly indifferent,  though  inquisitive,  with  which  the  convicts 
and  the  prisoners  on  remand  stared  at  this  priest,  whose 
unctuous  tones  lent  a  charm  to  his  half-French,  half-Spanish 
lingo. 

"How  did  you  come  in  here.  Monsieur  I'Abbe?"  asked  the 
youth  who  had  questioned  Fil-de-Soie. 

"Oh,  by  a  mistake !"  replied  Jacques  Collin,  eyeing  the 
young  gentleman  from  head  to  foot.  "I  was  found  in  the 
house  of  a  courtesan  who  had  died,  and  was  immediately 
robbed.  It  was  proved  that  she  had  killed  herself,  and  the 
thieves — probably  the  servants — have  not  yet  been  caught." 

"And  it  was  for  that  theft  that  your  young  man  hanged 
himself?" 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  49 

"The  poor  boy,  no  doubt,  could  not  endure  the  thought 
of  being  blighted  by  his  unjust  imprisonment,"  said  Trompe- 
la-Mort,  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven. 

"Ay,'"  said  the  young  man;  "they  were  coming  to  set  him 
free  just  when  he  had  killed  himself.     What  bad  luck !" 

"Only  innocent  souls  can  be  thus  worked  on  by  their  im- 
agination," said  Jacques  Collin.  "For,  observe,  he  was  the 
loser  by  the  theft." 

"How  much  money  was  it?"  asked  Fil-de-Soie,  the  deep 
and  cunning. 

"Seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs,"  said  Jacques 
Collin  blandly. 

The  three  convicts  looked  at  each  other  and  withdrew  from 
the  group  that  had  gathered  round  the  sham  priest. 

"He  screwed  the  molFs  place  himself !"  said  Fil-de-Soie 
in  a  whisper  to  le  Biffon,  "and  they  want  to  put  us  in  a 
blue  funk  for  our  cartwheels"  (thunes  de  holies,  five-franc 
pieces). 

"He  will  always  be  the  boss  of  the  swells,"  replied  la  Pou- 
raille.     "Our  pieces  are  safe  enough." 

La  Pouraille,  wishing  to  find  some  man  he  could  trust, 
had  an  interest  in  considering  Jacques  Collin  an  honest  man. 
And  in  prison,  of  all  places,  a  man  believes  what  he  hopes. 

"I  lay  you  anything,  he  will  come  round  the  big  Boss 
and  save  his  chum !"  said  Fil-de-Soie. 

"It  he  does  that,"  said  le  Biffon,  "though  I  don't  believe 
he  is  really  God,  he  must  certainly  have  smoked  a  pipe  with/    > 
old  Scratch,  as  they  say."  \r 

"Didn't  you  hear  him  say,  'Old  Scratch  has  cut  me'?" 
said  Fil-de-Soie. 

"Oh !"  cried  la  Pouraille,  "if  only  he  would  save  my  nut, 
what  a  time  I  would  have  with  my  whack  of  the  shiners  and 
the  yellow  boys  I  have  stowed." 

"Do  what  he  bids  you !"  said  Fil-de-Soie. 

"You  don't  say  so?"  retorted  la  Pouraille,  looking  at  his 
pal. 

"What   a   flat   you   are!      You   will   be   booked   for   the 


50  A  COUKTESA.N'S  Lih'H 

Abbaye  V  said  le  Biffon.     "You  have  no  other  door  to  budge, 

if  you  want  to  keep  on  your  pins,  to  yam,  wet  your  whistle, 
and  fake  to  the  end ;  you  must  take  his  orders." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  la  Pouraille.  "There  is  not  one 
of  us  that  will  blow  the  gaff,  or  if  he  does,  I  will  take  him 
where  I  am  going " 

"And  he'll  do  it  too,"  cried  Fil-de-Soie. 

The  least  sympathetic  reader,  who  has  no  pity  for  this 
strange  race,  may  conceive  of  the  state  of  mind  of  Jacques 
Collin,  finding  himself  between  the  dead  body  of  the  idol 
whom  he  had  been  bewailing  during  five  hours  that  night, 
and  the  imminent  end  of  his  former  comrade — the  dead 
body  of  Theodore,  the  young  Corsican.  Only  to  see  the  boy 
would  demand  extraordinary  cleverness;  to  save  him  would 
need  a  miracle ;  but  he  was  thinking  of  it. 

For  the  better  comprehension  of  what  Jacques  Collin  pro- 
posed to  attempt,  it  must  here  be  remarked  that  murderers 
and  thieves,  all  the  men  who  people  the  galleys,  are  not  so 
formidable  as  is  generally  supposed.  With  a  few  rare  ex- 
ceptions these  creatures  are  all  cowards,  in  consequence,  no 
doubt,  of  the  constant  alarms  which  weigh  on  their  spirit. 
The  faculties  being  perpetually  on  the  stretch  in  thieving, 
and  the  success  of  a  stroke  of  business  depending  on  the  ex- 
ertion of  every  vital  force,  with  a  readiness  of  wit  to  match 
their  dexterity  of  hand,  and  an  alertness  which  exhausts  the 
nervous  system ;  these  violent  exertions  of  will  once  over,  they 
become  stupid,  just  as  a  singer  or  a  dancer  drops  quite  ex- 
hausted after  a  fatiguing  pas  seul,  or  one  of  those  tremendous 
duets  which  modern  composers  inflict  on  the  public. 

Malefactors  are,  in  fact,  so  entirely  bereft  of  common  sense, 
or  so  much  oppressed  by  fear,  that  they  become  absolutely 
childish.  Credulous  to  the  last  degree,  they  are  caught  by 
the  bird-lime  of  the  simplest  snare.  When  they  have  done  a 
successful  joh^  they  are  in  such  a  state  of  prostration  that 
they  immediately  rush  into  the  debaucheries  they  crave  for; 
they  get  drunk  on  wine  and  spirits,  and  throw  themselves 


VATTTRIN'S  I/AST  AVATAR  51 

madly  into  the  arms  of  their  women  to  recover  composure  by 
dint  of  exhausting  their  strength,  and  to  forget  their  crime 
by  forgetting  their  reason. 

Then  they  are  at  the  mercy  of  the  police.  When  once 
they  are  in  custody  they  lose  their  head,  and  long  for  hope 
so  blindly  that  they  believe  anything;  indeed,  there  is  noth- 
ing too  absurd  for  them  to  accept  it.  An  instance  will  suffice 
to  show  how  far  the  simplicity  of  a  criminal  who  has  been 
nabhed  will  carry  him.  Bibi-Lupin,  not  long  before,  had 
extracted  a  confession  from  a  murderer  of  nineteen  by  mak- 
ing him  believe  that  no  one  under  age  was  ever  executed. 
When  this  lad  was  transferred  to  the  Conciergerie  to  be  sen- 
tenced after  the  rejection  of  his  appeal,  this  terrible  man 
came  to  see  him. 

"Are  you  sure  you  are  not  yet  twenty?"  said  he. 

"Yes,  I  am  only  nineteen  and  a  half." 

"Well,  then,"  replied  Bibi-Lupin,  "you  may  be  quite  sure 
of  one  thing — you  will  never  see  twenty." 

"Why  ?" 

"Because  you  will  be  scragged  within  three  days,"  replied 
the  police  agent. 

The  murderer,  who  had  believed,  even  after  sentence  was 
passed,  that  a  minor  would  never  be  executed,  collapsed  like 
an  omelette  soufftee. 

Such  men,  cruel  only  from  the  necessity  for  suppressive 
evidence,  for  they  murder  only  to  get  rid  of  witnesses  (and 
this  is  one  of  the  arguments  adduced  by  those  who  desire 
the  abrogation  of  capital  punishment), — these  giants  of  dex- 
terity and  skill,  whose  sleight  of  hand,  whose  rapid  sight, 
whose  every  sense  is  as  alert  as  that  of  a  savage,  are  heroes  of 
evil  only  on  the  stage  of  their  exploits.  Not  only  do  their 
difficulties  begin  as  soon  as  the  crime  is  committed,  for  they 
are  as  much  bewildered  by  the  need  for  concealing  the  stolen 
goods  as  they  were  depressed  by  necessity — but  they  are  as 
weak  as  a  woman  in  childbed.  The  vehemence  of  their 
schemes  is  terrific ;  in  success  they  become  like  children.  In 
a  word,  their  nature  is  that  of  the  wild  beast — easy  to  kill 


552  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Avhen  it  is  full  fed.  In  prison  these  strange  beings  are  men 
in  dissimulation  and  in  secretiveness,  which  never  yields  till 
the  last  moment,  when  they  are  crushed  and  broken  by  the 
tedium  of  imprisonment. 

It  may  hence  be  understood  how  it  was  that  the  three  con- 
victs, instead  of  betraying  their  chief,  were  eager  to  serve 
him;  and  as  they  suspected  he  was  now  the  owner  of  the 
stolen  seven  himdred  and  fifty  thousand  francs,  tjiey  admired 
him  for  his  calm  resignation,  under  bolt  and  bar  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie,  believing  him  capable  of  protecting  them  all. 

When  Monsieur  Gault  left  the  sham  priest,  he  returned 
through  the  parlor  to  his  office,  and  went  in  search  of  Bibi- 
Lupin,  who  for  twenty  minutes,  since  Jacques  Collin  had 
gone  downstairs,  had  been  on  the  watch  with  his  eye  at  a  peep- 
hole in  a  window  looking  out  on  the  prison-yard. 

"Xot  one  of  them  recognized  him,"  said  Monsieur  Gault, 
"and  Xapolitas,  who  is  on  duty,  did  not  hear  a  word.  The 
jioor  priest  all  through  the  night,  in  his  deep  distress,  did 
not  say  a  word  which  could  imply  that  his  gown  covers 
Jacques  Collin." 

"That  shows  that  he  is  used  to  prison  life,"  said  the  police 
.     agent. 

\         Xapolitas,  Bibi-Lupin"s  secretary,  being  unknown  to  the 
i^  criminals  then  in  the  Conciergerie,  was  playing  the  part  of 
the  young  gentleman  imprisoned  for  forgery. 

"Well,  but  he  wishes  to  be  allowed  to  hear  the  confession 
of  the  young  fellow  who  is  sentenced  to  death,"  said  the 
governor. 

"To  be  sure !  That  is  our  last  chance,"  cried  Bibi-Lupin. 
"I  had  forgotten  that.  Theodore  Calvi,  the  young  Corsican, 
was  the  man  chained  to  Jacques  Collin;  they  say  that  on  the 
hulks  <Tacques  Collin  made  him  famous  pads " 

The  convicts  on  the  galleys  contrive  a  kind  of  pad  to  slip 
between  their  skin  and  the  fetters  to  deaden  the  pressure  of 
the  iron  ring  on  their  ankles  and  instep ;  these  pads,  made  of 
tow  and  rags,  are  known  as  patarasses^ 

%\ 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  ^]       53 

"Who  is  warder  over  the  man?"  asked  Bibi-Lupin. 

"Coeur  la  Virole." 

"Very  well;  I  will  go  and  make  up  as  a  gendarme,  and 
be  on  the  watch ;  I  shall  hear  what  they  say.  I  will  be  even 
with  them." 

"But  if  it  should  be  Jacques  Collin  are  you  not  afraid,  of 
his  recognizing  you  and  throttling  you?"  said  the  governor 
to  Bibi-Lupin. 

"As  a  gendarme  I  shall  have  my  sword,"  replied  the  other ; 
"and,  besides,  if  he  is  Jacques  Collin,  he  will  never  do  any- 
thing that  will  risk  his  neck;  and  if  he  is  a  priest,  I  shall 
be  safe." 

"Then  you  have  no  time  to  lose,"  said  Monsieur  Gault; 
"it  is  half-past  eight.  Father  Sauteloup  has  just  read  the 
reply  to  his  appeal,  and  Monsieur  Sanson  is  waiting  in  the 
order  room." 

"Yes,  it  is  to-day's  job,  the  Vidow's  huzzars'  "  (les  hussards 
de  la  veuve,  another  horrible  name  for  the  functionaries  of 
the  guillotine)  "are  ordered  out,"  replied  Bibi-Lupin.  "Still, 
I  cannot  wonder  that  the  prosecutor-general  should  hesitate; 
the  boy  has  always  declared  that  he  is  innocent,  and  there  is, 
in  my  opinion,  no  conclusive  evidence  against  him." 

"He  is  a  thorough  Coriscan,"  said  Monsieur  Gault;  "he 
has  not  said  a  word,  and  has  held  firm  all  through." 

The  last  words  of  the  governor  of  the  prison  summed  up 
the  dismal  tale  of  a  man  condemned  to  die.  A  man  cut  off 
from  among  the  living  by  law  belongs  to  the  Bench.  The 
Bench  is  paramount;  it  is  answerable  to  nobody,  it  obeys  its 
own  conscience.  The  prison  belongs  to  the  Bench,  which  con- 
trols it  absolutely.  Poetry  has  taken  possession  of  this  social 
theme,  "the  man  condemned  to  death" — a  subject  truly  apt 
to  strike  the  imagination !  And  poetry  has  been  sublime  on 
it.  Prose  has  no  resource  but  fact ;  still,  the  fact  is  appalling 
enough  to  hold  its  own  against  verse.  The  existence  of  a 
condemned  man  who  has  not  confessed  his  crime,  or  betrayed 
his  accomplices,  is  one  of  fearful  torment.  This  is  no  case 
of  iron  boots,  of  water  poured  into  the  stomach,  or  of  limbs 
4 


54  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

racked  by  hideous  machinery;  it  is  hidden  and,  so  to  speak, 
negative  torture.  The  condemned  wretch  is  given  over  to 
himself  with  a  companion  whom  he  cannot  but  distrust. 

The  amiabilit}'  of  modern  philanthropy  fancies  it  has  un- 
derstood the  dreadful  torment  of  isolation,  but  this  is  a  mis- 
take. Since  the  abolition  of  torture,  the  Bench,  in  a  natural 
anxiety  to  reassure  the  too  sensitive  consciences  of  the  jury, 
had  guessed  what  a  terrible  auxiliary  isolation  would  prove 
to  justice  in  seconding  remorse. 

Solitude  is  void;  and  nature  has  as  great  a  horror  of  a 
moral  void  as  she  has  of  a  physical  vacuum.  Solitude  is 
habitable  only  to  a  man  of  genius  who  can  peoj)le  it  with 
ideas,  the  children  of  the  spiritual  world ;  or  to  one  who  con- 
templates the  works  of  the  Creator,  to  whom  it  is  bright  with 
the  light  of  heaven,  alive  with  the  breath  and  voice  of  God. 
Excepting  for  these  two  beings — so  near  to  Paradise — solitude 
is  to  the  mind  what  torture  is  to  the  body.  Between  solitude 
and  the  torture-chamber  there  is  all  the  difference  that  there 
is  between  a  nervous  malady  and  a  surgical  disease.  It  is 
suffering  multiplied  by  infinitude.  The  body  borders  on 
the  infinite  through  its  nerves,  as  the  spirit  does  through 
thought.  And,  in  fact,  in  tlie  annals  of  the  Paris  law 
courts  the  criminals  who  do  not  confess  can  be  easily  counted. 

This  terrible  situation,  which  in  some  cases  assumes  ap- 
palling importance — in  politics,  for  instance,  when  a  dynasty 
or  a  state  is  involved — will  find  a  place  in  the  Human 
Comedy.  But  here  a  description  of  the  stone  box  in  which, 
after  the  Eestoration,  the  law  shut  up  a  man  condemned  to 
death  in  Paris,  may  serve  to  give  an  idea  of  the  terrors  of  a 
felon's  last  day  on  earth. 

Before  the  Kevolution  of  Jul}^  there  was  in  the  Con- 
ciergerie,  and  indeed  there  still  is,  a  condemned  cell.  This 
room,  backing  on  the  governor's  otfice,  is  divided  from  it  by 
a  thick  wall  in  strong  masonry,  and  the  other  side  of  it  is 
formed  by  a  wall  seven  or  eight  feet  thick,  which  supports  one 
end  of  the  immense  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus.  It  is  entered 
through  the  first  door  in  the  long  dark  passage  in  which  the 


VATTTTRTN'S  LAST  AVATAR  55 

eye  loses  itself  when  looking  from  the  middle  of  the  vaulted 
gateway.  This  ill-omened  room  is  lighted  by  a  funnel,  barred 
by  a  formidable  grating,  and  hardly  perceptible  on  going  into 
the  Conciergerie  yard,  for  it  has  been  pierced  in  the  narrow 
space  between  the  office  window  close  to  the  railing  of  the 
gateway,  and  the  place  where  the  office  clerk  sits — a  den  like 
a  cupboard  contrived  by  the  architect  at  the  end  of  the  en- 
trance court. 

This  position  accounts  for  the  fact  that  the  room  thus  en- 
closed between  four  immensely  thick  walls  should  have  been 
devoted,  when  the  Conciergerie  was  reconstituted,  to  this 
terrible  and  funereal  service.  Escape  is  impossible.  The  pas- 
sage, leading  to  the  cells  for  solitary  confinement  and  to  the 
women's  quarters,  faces  the  stove  where  gendarmes  and 
warders  are  always  collected  together.  The  air-hole,  the  only 
outlet  to  the  open  air,  is  nine  feet  above  the  floor,  and  looks 
out  on  the  first  court,  which  is  guarded  by  sentries  at  the 
outer  gate.  No  human  power  can  make  any  impression  on 
the  walls.  Besides,  a  man  sentenced  to  death  is  at  once 
secured  in  a  straitwaistcoat,  a  garment  which  precludes  all 
use  of  the  hands;  he  is  chained  by  one  foot  to  his  camp  bed, 
and  he  has  a  fellow  prisoner  to  watch  and  attend  on  him. 
The  room  is  paved  with  thick  flags,  and  the  light  is  so  dim 
that  it  is  hard  to  see  anything. 

It  is  impossible  not  to  feel  chilled  to  the  marrow  on  going 
in,  even  now,  though  for  sixteen  years  the  cell  has  never  been 
used,  in  consequence  of  the  changes  effected  in  Paris  in  the 
treatment  of  criminals  under  sentence.  Imagine  the  guilty 
man  there  with  his  remorse  for  company,  in  silence  and  dark- 
ness, two  elements  of  horror,  and  you  will  wonder  how  he  ever 
failed  to  go  mad.  What  a  nature  must  that  be  whose  temper 
can  resist  such  treatment,  with  the  added  misery  of  enforced 
idleness  and  inaction. 

And  yet  Theodore  Calvi,  a  Corsican,  now  twenty-seven 
years  of  age,  mufiled,  as  it  were,  in  a  shroud  of  absolute  re- 
serve, had  for  two  months  held  out  against  the  effects  of  this 
dungeon  and  the  insidious  chatter  of  the  prisoner  placed  to 
entrap  him. 


56  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

These  were  the  strange  circumstances  under  which  the 
Corsican  had  been  condemned  to  death.  Though  the  case  is 
a  very  curious  one,  our  account  of  it  must  be  brief.  It  is 
impossible  to  introduce  a  long  digression  at  the  climax  of  a 
narrative  already  so  much  prolonged,  since  its  only  interest 
is  in  so  far  as  it  concerns  Jacques  Collin,  the  vertebral  col- 
imm,  so  to  speak,  which,  by  its  sinister  persistency,  connects 
Le  Pcre  Goriot  with  lUiisions  perdues,  and  Illusions  per- 
dues  with  this  Study.  And,  indeed,  the  reader's  imagina- 
tion will  be  able  to  work  out  the  obscure  case  which  at 
this  moment  was  causing  great  uneasiness  to  the  jury  of 
the  sessions,  before  whom  Theodore  Calvi  had  been  tried. 
For  a  whole  week,  since  the  criminaFs  appeal  had  been 
rejected  by  the  Supreme  Court,  Monsieur  de  Granville 
had  been  worrying  himself  over  the  case,  and  postponing 
from  day  to  day  the  order  for  carrying  out  the  sentence,  so 
anxious  was  he  to  reassure  the  jury  by  ^announcing  that  on 
the  threshold  of  death  the  accused  hadvconfessed  the  crime. 

A  poor  widow  of  Xanterre,  whose  dwelling  stood  apart 
from  the  township,  which  is  situated  in  the  midst  of  the 
infertile  plain  lying  between  Mount- Valerien,  Saint-Germain, 
the  hills  of  Sartrouville,  and  Argenteuil,  had  been  murdered 
and  robbed  a  few  days  after  coming  into  her  share  of  an  un- 
expected inheritance.  This  windfall  amounted  to  three  thou- 
sand francs,  a  dozen  silver  spoons  and  forks,  a  gold  watch  and 
chain,  and  some  linen.  Instead  of  depositing  the  three  thou- 
sand francs  in  Paris,  as  she  was  advised  by  the  notary  of  the 
wine-merchant  who  had  left  it  her,  the  old  woman  insisted 
on  keeping  it  by  her.  In  the  first  place,  she  had  never  seen 
so  much  money  of  her  own,  and  then  she  distrusted  everybody 
in  every  kind  of  affairs,  as  most  common  and  country  folk  do. 
After  long  discussion  with  a  wine-merchant  of  Nanterre,  a, 
relation  of  her  own  and  of  the  wine-merchant  who  had  left  her 
the  money,  the  widow  decided  on  buying  an  annuity,  on 
selling  her  house  at  Nanterre,  and  living  in  the  town  of 
Saint-Germain. 

The  house  she  was  living  in,  with  a  good-sized  garden  en- 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  57 

closed  by  a  slight  wooden  fence,  was  the  poor  sort  of  dwelling 
usually  built  by  small  landowners  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Paris.  It  had  been  hastily  constructed,  with  no  architectural 
design,  of  cement  and  rubble,  the  materials  commonly  used 
near  Paris,  where,  as  at  Nanterre,  they  are  extremely  abun- 
dant, the  ground  being  everywhere  broken  by  quarries  open 
to  the  sky.  This  is  the  ordinary  hut  of  the  civilized  savage. 
The  house  consisted  of  a  ground  floor  and  one  floor  above, 
with  garrets  in  the  roof. 

The  quarryman,  her  deceased  husband,  and  the  builder  of 
this  dwelling,  had  put  strong  iron  bars  to  all  the  windows; 
the  front  door  was  remarkably  thick.  The  man  knew  that 
he  was  alone  there  in  the  open  country — and  what  a  country ! 
His  customers  were  the  principal  master-masons  in  Paris,  so 
the  more  important  materials  for  his  house,  which  stood 
within  five  hundred  yards  of  his  quarry,  had  been  brought  out 
in  his  own  carts  returning  empty.  He  could  choose  such  as 
suited  him  where  houses  were  pulled  down,  and  got  them  very 
cheap.  Thus  the  window-frames,  the  iron-work,  the  doors, 
shutters,  and  wooden  fittings  were  all  derived  from  sanctioned 
pilfering,  presents  from  his  customers,  and  good  ones,  care- 
fully chosen.  Of  two  window-frames,  he  could  take  the  better. 

The  house,  entered  from  a  large  stable-yard,  was  screened 
from  the  road  by  a  wall ;  the  gate  was  of  strong  iron-railing. 
Watch-dogs  were  kept  in  the  stables,  and  a  little  dog  indoors 
at  night.    There  was  a  garden  of  more  than  two  acres  behind. 

His  widow,  without  children,  lived  here  with  only  a  woman 
servant.  The  sale  of  the  quarry  had  paid  off  the  owner's 
debts ;  he  had  been  dead  about  two  years.  This  isolated  house 
was  the  widow's  sole  possession,  and  she  kept  fowls  and  cows, 
selling  the  eggs  and  milk  at  Nanterre.  Having  no  stable- 
boy  or  carter  or  quarryman — her  husband  had  made  them  do 
every  kind  of  work — she  no  longer  kept  up  the  garden ;  she 
only  gathered  the  few  greens  and  roots  that  the  stony  ground 
allowed  to  grow  self-sown. 

The  price  of  the  house,  with  the  money  she  had  inherited, 
would  amount  to  seven  or  eight  thousand  francs,  and  she 


58  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

could  fancy  herself  living  very  happily  at  Saint-Germain 
on  seven  or  eight  hundred  francs  a  year,  which  she  thought 
she  could  buy  with  her  eight  thousand  francs.  She  had  had 
many  discussions  over  this  with  the  notary  at  Saint-Germain, 
for  she  refused  to  hand  her  money  over  for  an  annuity  to  the 
wine-merchant  at  Xanterre,  who  was  anxious  to  have  it. 

Under  these  circumstances,  then,  after  a  certain  day  the 
widow  Pigeau  and  her  servant  were  seen  no  more.  The  front 
gate,  the  house  door,  the  shutters,  all  were  closed.  At  the 
end  of  three  days,  the  police,  being  informed,  made  inquisi- 
tion. Monsieur  Popinot,  the  examining  judge,  and  the  public 
prosecutor  arrived  from  Paris,  and  this  was  what  they  re- 
ported : — 

Neither  the  outer  gate  nor  the  front  door  showed  any  marks 
of  violence.  The  key  was  in  the  lock  of  the  door,  inside.  Xot 
a  single  bar  had  been  wrenched ;  the  locks,  shutters,  and  bolts 
were  all  untampered  with.  The  walls  showed  no  traces  that 
could  betray  the  passage  of  the  criminals.  The  chimney- 
pots, of  red  clay,  afforded  no  opportunity  for  ingress  or 
escape,  and  the  roofing  was  sound  and  unbroken,  showing  no 
damage  by  violence. 

On  entering  the  first-floor  rooms,  the  magistrates,  the 
gendarmes,  and  Bibi-Lupin  found  the  widow  Pigeau  strangled 
in  her  bed  and  the  woman  strangled  in  hers,  each  by  means 
of  the  bandana  she  wore  as  a  nightcap.  The  three  thousand 
francs  were  gone,  with  the  silver-plate  and  the  trinkets.  The 
two  bodies  were  decomposing,  as  were  those  of  the  little  dog 
and  of  a  large  yard-dog. 

The  wooden  palings  of  the  garden  were  examined ;  none  were 
broken.  The  garden  paths  showed  no  trace  of  footsteps.  The 
magistrate  thought  it  probable  that  the  robber  had  walked  on 
the  grass  to  leave  no  foot-prints  if  he  had  come  that  way;  bur 
how  could  he  have  got  into  the  house  ?  The  back  door  to  th^' 
garden  had  an  outer  guard  of  three  iron  bars,  uninjured ;  and 
there,  too,  the  key  was  in  the  lock  inside,  as  in  the  front  door. 

All  these  impossibilities  having  been  duly  noted  by  Mon- 
sieur Popinot,  by  Bibi-Lupin,  who  stayed  there  a  day  to  ex- 


/ 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  59 

amine  every  detail,  by  the  public  prosecutor  himself,  and  by 
the  sergeant  of  the  gendarmerie  at  Nanterre,  this  murder  be- 
came an  agitating  mystery,  in  which  the  Law  and  the  Police 
were  nonplussed. 

This  drama,  published  in  the  Gazette  des  Tribunaux,  took 
place  in  the  winter  of  1828-29.  God  alone  knows  what  excite- 
ment this  puzzling  crime  occasioned  in  Paris  !  But  Paris  has 
a  new  drama  to  watch  very  morning,  and  forgets  everything. 
The  police,  on  the  contrary,  forgets  nothing. 

Three  months  after  this  fruitless  inquiry,  a  girl  of  the 
town,  whose  extravagance  had  invited  the  attention  of  Bibi- 
liUpin's  agents,  who  watched  her  as  being  the  ally  of  several 
thieves,  tried  to  persuade  a  woman  she  knew  to  pledge  twelve 
silver  spoons  and  forks  and  a  gold  watch  and  chain.  The 
friend  refused.  This  came  to  Bibi-Lupin's  ears,  and  he  re- 
membered the  plate  and  the  watch  and  chain  stolen  at  Nan- 
terre.  The  commissioners  of  the  Mont-de-Piete,  and  all  the 
receivers  of  stolen  goods,  were  warned,  while  Manon  la  Blonde 
was  subjected  to  unremitting  scrutiny. 

It  was  very  soon  discovered  that  Manon  la  Blonde  was 
madly  in  love  with  a  young  man  who  was  never  to  be  seen, 
and  was  supposed  to  be  deaf  to  all  the  fair  Manon's  proofs 
of  devotion.  Mystery  on  mystery.  However,  this  youth,  un- 
der the  diligent  attentions  of  police  spies,  was  soon  seen  and 
identified  as  an  escaped  convict,  the  famous  hero  of  the 
Corsican  vendetta,  the  handsome  Theodore  Calvi,  known  as 
Madeleine. 

A  man  was  turned  on  to  entrap  Calvi,  one  of  those  double- 
dealing  buyers  of  stolen  goods  who  serve  the  thieves  and  the 
police  both  at  once;  he  promised  to  purchase  the  silver  and 
the  watch  and  chain.  At  the  moment  when  the  dealer  of  the 
Cour  Saint-Guillaume  was  counting  out  the  cash  to  Theodore, 
dressed  as  a  woman,  at  half-past  six  in  the  evening,  the  police 
came  in  and  seized  Theodore  and  the  property. 

The  inquiry  was  at  once  begun.  On  such  thin  evidence  it 
was  impossible  to  pass  a  sentence  of  death.  Calvi  never 
swerved,   he   never   contradicted   himself.      He   said   that   a 


60  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

country  woman  had  sold  him  these  objects  at  Argenteuil ;  that 
after  buying  them,  the  excitement  over  the  murder  com- 
mitted at  Nanterre  had  shown  him  thp  danger  of  keeping 
this  plate  and  watch  and  chain  in  his  possession,  since,  in  fact, 
they  were  proved  by  the  inventory  made  after  the  death  of  the 
wine  merchant,  the  widow  Pigeau's  uncle,  to  be  those  that 
were  stolen  from  her.  Compelled  at  last  by  poverty  to  sell 
them,  he  said  he  wished  to  dispose  of  them  by  the  intervention 
of  a  person  to  whom  no  suspicion  could  attach. 

And  nothing  else  could  be  extracted  from  the  convict,  who, 
by  his  taciturnity  and  firmness,  contrived  to  insinuate  that 
the  wine-merchant  at  jSTanterre  had  committed  the  crime,  and 
that  the  woman  of  whom  he,  Theodore,  had  bought  them  was 
the  wine-merchant's  wife.  The  unhappy  man  and  his  wife 
were  both  taken  into  custody;  but,  after  a  week's  imprison- 
ment, it  was  amply  proved  that  neither  the  husband  nor  the 
wife  had  been  out  of  their  house  at  the  time.  Also,  Calvi 
failed  to  recognize  in  the  wife  the  woman  who,  as  he  declared, 
had  sold  him  the  things. 

As  it  was  shown  that  Calvi's  mistress,  implicated  in  the  case, 
had  spent  about  a  thousand  francs  since  the  date  of  the 
crime  and  the  day  when  Calvi  tried  to  pledge  the  plate  and 
trinkets,  the  evidence  seemed  strong  enough  to  commit  Calvi 
and  the  girl  for  trial.  This  murder  being  the  eighteenth 
which  Theodore  had  committed,  he  was  condemned  to  death, 
for  he  seemed  certainly  to  be  guilty  of  this  skilfully  contrived 
crime.  Though  he  did  not  recognize  the  wine-merchant's  wife, 
both  she  and  her  husband  recognized  him.  The  inquiry  had 
proved,  by  the  evidence  of  several  witnesses,  that  Theodore 
had  been  living  at  Nanterre  for  about  a  month ;  he  had  worked 
at  a  mason's,  his  face  whitened  with  plaster,  and  his  clothes 
very  shabby.  At  ISTanterre  the  lad  was  supposed  to  be  about 
eighteen  years  old,  and  for  the  whole  month  he  must  have 
been  nursing  that  brat  (nourri  ce  poupon,  i.  e.  hatching  the 
crime). 

The  lawyers  thought  he  must  have  had  accomplices.  The 
chimney-pots  were  measured  and  compared  with  the  size  of 


VATTTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  61 

Manon  la  Blonde's  body  to  see  if  she  could  have  got  in  that 
way;  but  a  child  of  six  could  not  have  passed  up  or  down 
those  red-clay  pipes,  which,  in  modern  buildings,  take  the 
place  of  the  vast  chimneys  of  old-fashioned  houses.  But  for 
this  singular  and  annoying  difficulty,  Theodore  would  have 
been  executed  within  a  week.  The  prison  chaplain,  it  has 
been  seen,  could  make  nothing  of  him. 

All  this  business,  and  the  name  of  Calvi,  must  have  escaped 
the  notice  of  Jacques  Collin,  who,  at  the  time,  was  absorbed 
in  his  single-handed  struggle  with  Contenson,  Corentin,  and 
Peyrade.  It  had  indeed  been  a  point  with  Trompe-la-Mort 
to  forget  as  far  as  possible  his  chums  and  all  that  had  to  do 
with  the  law  courts ;  he  dreaded  a  meeting  which  should  bring 
him  face  to  face  with  a  pal  who  might  demand  an  account  of 
his  boss  which  Collin  could  not  possibly  render. 

The  governor  of  the  prison  went  forthwith  to  the  public 
prosecutor's  court,  where  he  found  the  Attorney-General  in 
conversation  with  Monsieur  de  Granville,  an  order  for  the 
execution  in  his  hand.  Monsieur  de  Granville,  who  had  spent 
the  whole  night  at  the  Hotel  de  Serizy,  was,  in  consequence 
of  this  important  case,  obliged  to  give  a  few  hours  to  his 
duties,  though  overwhelmed  with  fatigue  and  grief;  for  the 
physicians  could  not  yet  promise  that  the  Countess  would 
recover  her  sanity. 

After  speaking  a  few  words  to  the  governor.  Monsieur  de 
Granville  took  the  warrant  from  the  attorney  and  placed  it 
in  Gault's  hands. 

"Let  the  matter  proceed,"  said  he,  "unless  some  extraordi- 
nary circumstances  should  arise.  Of  this  you  must  judge. 
I  trust  to  your  judgment.  The  scaffold  need  not  be  erected 
till  half-past  ten,  so  you  still  have  an  hour.  On  such  an  occa- 
sion hours  are  centuries,  and  many  things  may  happen  in  a 
century.  Do  not  allow  him  to  think  he  is  reprieved ;  prepare 
the  man  for  execution  if  necessary;  and  if  nothing  comes  of 
that,  give  Sanson  the  warrant  at  half -past  nine.  Let  him 
wait !" 


t>2  A  COURTESANS  LIFE 

As  the  governor  of  the  prison  left  the  public  prosecutor's 
room,  under  the  archway  of  the  passage  into  the  hall  he  met 
Monsieur  Camusot,  who  was  going  there.  He  exchanged  a 
few  hurried  words  with  the  examining  judge;  and  after  tell- 
ing him  what  had  been  done  at  the  Conciergerie  with  regard 
to  Jacques  Collin,  he  went  on  to  witness  the  meeting  of 
Trompe-la-Mort  and  Madeleine;  and  he  did  not  allow  the 
so-called  priest  to  see  the  condemned  criminal  till  Bibi-Lupin, 
admirably  disguised  as  a  gendarme,  had  taken  the  place  of 
the  prisoner  left  in  charge  of  the  young  Corsican. 

Xo  words  can  describe  the  amazement  of  the  three  convicts 
when  a  warder  came  to  fetch  Jacques  Collin  and  led  him  to 
the  condemned  cell !  With  one  consent  they  rushed  up  to 
the  chair  on  which  Jacques  Collin  was  sitting. 

"To-day,  isn't  it,  monsieur?*'  asked  Fil-de-Soie  of  the 
warder. 

"Yes,  Jack  Ketch  is  waiting,"  said  the  man  with  perfect 
indilfereace. 

Chariot  is  the  name  by  which  the  executioner  is  known  to 
the  populace  and  the  prison  world  in  Paris.  The  nickname 
dates  from  the  Kevolution  of  1789. 

The  words  produced  a  great  sensation.  The  prisoners 
looked  at  each  other. 

"It  is  all  over  with  him,"  the  warder  went  on ;  "the  warrant 
lias  been  delivered  to  Monsieur  Gault,  and  the  sentence  has 
just  been  read  to  him.'' 

"And  so  the  fair  Madeleine  has  received  the  last  sacra- 
ments ?"  said  la  Pouraille,  and  he  swallowed  a  deep  mouthful 
of  air. 

"Poor  little  Theodore !"  cried  le  Biffon ;  "he  is  a  pretty 
chap  too.  What  a  pity  to  drop  your  nut"  (eternuer  dans  le 
son)  "so  young." 

The  warder  went  towards  the  gate,  thinking  that  Jacques 
Collin  was  at  his  heels.  But  the  Spaniard  walked  very  slowly, 
and  when  he  was  getting  near  to  Julien  he  tottered  and  signed 
to  la  Pouraille  to  give  him  his  arm. 

"He  is  a  murderer,"  said  Xapolitas  to  the  priest,  pointing 
to  la  Pouraille,  and  offering  his  own  arm. 


VAUTRIN'S  t>AST  AVATAR  (^^ 

"No,  to  me  he  is  an  unhappy  wretch!"  replied.  Jaeqaes 
Collin,  with  the  presence  of  mind  and  the  unction  of  the 
Archbishop  of  Cambrai.  And  he  drew  away  from  ISTapolitas, 
of  whom  he  had  been  very  suspicious  from  the  first.  Then 
he  said  to  his  pals  in  an  undertone : 

"He  is  on  the  bottom  step  of  the  Abbaye  de  Monte-a-Regret, 
but  I  am  the  Prior !  I  will  show  you  how  well  I  know  how 
to  come  round  the  beaks.  I  mean  to  snatch  this  boy's  nut 
from  their  jaws." 

"For  the  sake  of  his  breeches!"  said  Fil-de-Soie  with  a 
smile. 

"I  mean  to  win  his  soul  to  heaven !''  replied  Jacques  Collin 
fervently,  seeing  some  other  prisoners  about  him.  And  he 
joined  the  warder  at  the  gate. 

"He  got  in  to  save  Madeleine,"  said  Fil-de-Soie.  "We 
guessed  rightly.    What  a  boss  he  is !" 

"But  how  can  he  ?  Jack  Ketch's  men  are  waiting.  He  will 
not  even  see  the  kid,"  objected  le  BifiPon. 

"The  devil  is  on  his  side !"  cried  la  Pouraille.    "He  claim 
our  blunt !     Never !     He  is  too  fond  of  his  old  chums !     We 
are  too  useful  to  him !    They  wanted  to  make  us  blow  the  gaff, 
but  we  are  not  such  flats !     If  he  saves  his  Madeleine,^'!  will  ^^ 
tell  him  all  my  secrets."  "'  \P^       ^ 

The  effect  of  this  speech  was  to  increase  the  devotion  of  the 
three  convicts  to  their  boss;  for  at  this  moment  he  was  all 
their  hope. 

Jacques  Collin,  in  spite  of  Madeleine's  peril,  did  not  forget 
to  play  his  part.  Though  he  knew  the  Conciergerie  as  well 
as  he  knew  the  hulks  in  the  three  ports,  he  blundered  so 
naturally  that  the  warder  had  to  tell  him,  "This  way,  that 
way,"  till  they  reached  the  office.  There,  at  a  glance,  Jacques 
Collin  recognized  a  tall,  stout  man  leaning  on  the  stove,  with 
a  long,  red  face  not  without  distinction :  it  was  Sanson. 

"Monsieur  is  the  chaplain?''  said  he,  going  towards  him 
with  simple  cordiality. 

The  mistake  was  so  shocking  that  it  froze  the  bystanders. 

"No,  monsieur,"  said  Sanson;  "I  have  other  functions." 


64  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Sanson,  the  father  of  the  last  executioner  of  that  name — 
for  he  has  recently  been  dismissed — was  the  son  of  the  man 
who  beheaded  Louis  XVI.  After  four  centuries  of  hereditary 
office,  this  descendant  of  so  many  executioners  had  tried  to 
repudiate  the  traditional  burden.  The  Sansons  were  for  two 
hundred  years  executioners  at  Rouen  before  being  promoted 
to  the  first  rank  in  the  kingdom,  and  had  carried  out  the 
decrees  of  justice  from  father  to  son  since  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury. Few  families  can  boast  of  an  office  or  of  nobility  handed 
down  in  a  direct  line  during  six  centuries. 

This  young  man  had  been  captain  in  a  cavalry  regiment, 
and  was  looking  forward  to  a  brilliant  military  career,  when 
his  father  insisted  on  his  help  in  decapitating  the  king.  Then 
he  made  his  son  his  deputy  when,  in  1793,  two  guillotines 
were  in  constant  work — one  at  the  Barriere  du  Trone,  and  the 
other  in  the  Place  de  Greve.  This  terrible  functionary,  now 
a  man  of  about  sixty,  was  remarkable  for  his  dignified  air,  his 
gentle  and  deliberate  manners,  and  his  entire  contempt  for 
Bibi-Lupin  and  his  acolytes  who  fed  the  machine.  The  only 
detail  which  betrayed  the  blood  of  the  medijpval  executioner 
was  the  formidable  breadth  and  thickness  of  his  hands.  Well 
informed  too,  earing  greatly  for  his  position  as  a  citizen  and 
an  elector,  and  an  enthusiastic  florist,  this  tall,  brawTiy  man 
with  his  low  voice,  his  calm  reserve,  his  few  words,  and  a  high 
bald  forehead,  was  like  an  English  nobleman  rather  than  an 
executioner.  And  a  Spanish  priest  would  certainly  have  fallen 
into  the  mistake  which  Jacques  Collin  had  intentionally 
made. 

"He  is  no  convict !"'  said  the  head  warder  to  the  governor. 

"I  begin  to  think  so  too,"  replied  Monsieur  Gault,  with  a 
nod  to  that  official. 

Jacques  Collin  was  led  to  the  cellar-like  room  where  Theo- 
dore Calvi,  in  a  straitwaistcoat,  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of 
the  wretched  camp  bed.  Trompe-la-Mort,  under  a  transient 
gleam  of  light  from  the  passage,  at  once  recognized  Bibi- 
Lupin  in  the  gendarme  who  stood  leaning  on  his  sword. 

"lo  sono  Gaba-Morto.  Pari  a  nostro  Italiano,"  said  Jacques 
Collin  very  rapidly.    "Vengo  ti  salvar." 


^W' 


VAUTRINS  LAST  AVATAR  65 

"I  am  Trompe-la-Mort.  Talk  our  Italian.  I  have  come  to 
save  you." 

All  the  two  chums  wanted  to  say  had,  of  course,  to  be  in- 
comprehensible to  the  pretended  gendarme;  and  as  Bibi- 
Lupin  was  left  in  charge  of  the  prisoner,  he  could  not  leave 
his  post.  The  man's  fury  was  quite  indescribable. 

Theodore  Calvi,  a  young  man  with  a  pale  olive  complexion, 
light  hair,  and  hollow,  dull,  blue  eyes,  well  built,  hiding 
prodigious  strength  under  the  lymphatic  appearance  that  is 
not  uncommon  in  Southerners,  would  have  had  a  charming 
face  but  for  the  strongly-arched  eyebrows  and  low  forehead 
that  gave  him  a  sinister  expression,  scarlet  lips  of  savage 
cruelty,  and  a  twitching  of  the  muscles  peculiar  to  Corsicans, 
denoting  that  excessive  irritability  which  makes  them  so 
prompt  to  kill  in  any  sudden  squabble. 

Theodore,  startled  at  the  sound  of  that  voice,  raised  his 
head,  and  at  first  thought  himself  the  victim  of  a  delusion; 
but  as  the  experience  of  two  months  had  accustomed  him  to 
the  darkness  of  this  stone  box,  he  looked  at  the  sham  priest, 
and  sighed  deeply.  He  .did  not  recognize  Jacques  Collin, 
whose  face,  scarred  by  the  application  of  sulphuric  acid,  was 
not  that  of  his  old  boss. 

"It  is  really  your  Jacques;  I  am  your  confessor,  and  have 
come  to  get  you  off.  Do  not  be  such  a  ninny  as  to  know  me ; 
and  speak  as  if  you  were  making  a  confession."  He  spoke 
with  the  utmost  rapidity.  "This  young  fellow  is  very  much 
depressed;  he  is  afraid  to  die,  he  will  confess  everything," 
said  Jacques  Collin,  addressing  the  gendarme. 

Bibi-Lupin  dared  not  say  a  word  for  fear  of  being  recog- 
nized. 

"Say  something  to  show  me  that  you  are  he ;  you  have  noth- 
ing but  his  voice,"  said  Theodore. 

"You  see,  poor  boy,  he  assures  me  that  he  is  innocent,"  said 
Jacques  Collin  to  Bibi-Lupin,  who  dared  not  speak  for  fear 
of  being  recognized. 

"S  em  pre  mi"  said  Jacques,  returning  close  to  Theodore, 
and  speaking  the  word  in  his  ear. 


66  A  COURTESANS  LIFE 

"Sempre  ti,"  replied  Theodore,  giving  the  countersign. 
*'Yes,  you  are  the  boss " 

"Did  vou  do  the  trick  ?" 

"Yes.'" 

"Tell  me  the  whole  story,  that  I  may  see  what  can  be  done 
to  save  you;  make  haste,  Jack  Ketch  is  waiting." 

The  Corsican  at  once  knelt  down  and  pretended  to  be  about 
to  confess. 

Bibi-Lupin  did  not  know  what  to  do,  for  the  conversation 
was  so  rapid  that  it  hardly  took  as  much  time  as  it  does  to 
read  it.  Theodore  hastily  told  all  the  details  of  the  crime, 
of  which  Jacques  Collin  knew  nothing. 

"The  jury  gave  their  verdict  without  proof,"  he  said 
finally. 

"Child  \  you  want  to  argue  when  they  are  waiting  to  cut  oflE 
your  hair " 

"But  I  might  have  been  sent  to  spout  the  wedge. — And 
that  is  the  way  they  judge  you  ! — and  in  Paris  too  I" 

"But  how  did  you  do  the  job?"  asked  Trompe-la-Mort. 

"Ah !  there  you  are. — Since  I  saw  you  I  made  acquaintance 
with  a  girl,  a  Corsican,  I  met  when  I  came  to  Paris." 

"Men  who  are  such  fools  as  to  love  a  woman,"  cried  Jacques 
Collin,  "always  come  to  grief  that  way.  They  are  tigers 
on  the  loose,  tigers  who  blab  and  look  at  themselves  in  the 
glass. — You  were  a  gaby." 

"But " 

"Well,  what  good  did  she  do  you — that  curse  of  a  moll  ?" 

"That  duck  of  a  girl — no  taller  than  a  bundle  of  firewood, 
as  slippery  as  an  eel,  and  as  nimble  as  a  monkey — got  in  at 
the  top  of  the  oven,  and  opened  the  front  door.  The  dogs 
were  well  crammed  with  balls,  and  as  dead  as  herrings.  I 
settled  the  two  women.  Then  when  I  got  the  swag,  Ginetta 
locked  the  door  and  got  out  again  by  the  oven." 

"Such  a  clever  dodge  deserves  life,"'  said  Jacques  Collin, 
admiring  the  execution  of  the  crime  as  a  sculptor  admires  the 
modeling  of  a  figure. 

"And  I  was  fool  enough  to  waste  all  that  cleverness  for  a 
thousand  crowns !" 


TheCorsicau  at  omu  kiieltdowiiaiid  preteuded  to  be  about  to  confess 


VAITTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  6? 

"No,  for  a  woman,"  replied  Jacques  Collin.  "I  tell  you, 
they  deprive  us  of  all  our  wits,"  and  Jacques  Collin  eyed 
Theodore  with  a  flashing  glance  of  contempt. 

"But  you  were  not  there !"  said  the  Corsican ;  "I  was  all 
alone " 

"And  do  you  love  the  slut?"  asked  Jacques  Collin,  feeling 
that  the  reproach  was  a  just  one. 

"Oh!  I  want  to  live,  but  it  is  for  you  now  rather  than  for 
her." 

"Be  quite  easy,  I  am  not  called  Trompe-la-Mort  for  noth- 
ing.    I  undertake  the  case." 

"What !  life  ?"  cried  the  lad,  lifting  his  swaddled  hands 
towards  the  damp  vault  of  the  cell. 

"My  little  Madeleine,  prepare  to  be  lagged  for  life  (penal 
servitude),"  replied  Jacques  Collin.  "You  can  expect  no 
less ;  they  won't  crown  you  with  roses  like  a  fatted  ox.  When 
they  first  set  us  down  for  Eochefort,  it  was  because  they 
wanted  to  be  rid  of  us !  But  if  I  can  get  you  ticketed  for 
Toulon,  you  can  get  out  and  come  back  to  Pantin  (Paris), 
where  I  will  find  you  a  tidy  way  of  living." 

A  sigh  such  as  had  rarely  been  heard  under  that  inexorable 
roof  struck  the  stones,  which  sent  back  the  sound  that  has  no 
fellow  in  music,  to  the  ear  of  the  astounded  Bibi-Lupin. 

"It  is  the  effect  of  the  absolution  I  promised  him  in  return 
for  his  revelations,"  said  Jacques  Collin  to  the  gendarme. 
"These  Corsicans,  monsieur,  are  full  of  faith !  But  he  is  as 
innocent  as  the  Immaculate  Babe,  and  I  mean  to  try  to  save 
him." 

"God  bless  you,  Monsieur  I'Abbe !"  said  Theodore  in 
French. 

Trompe-la-Mort,  more  Carlos  Herrera,  more  the  canon 
than  ever,  left  the  condemned  cell,  rushed  back  to  the  hall, 
and  appeared  before  Monsieur  Gault  in  affected  horror. 

"Indeed,  sir,  the  young  man  is  innocent;  he  has  told  me 
who  the  guilty  person  is !  He  was  ready  to  die  for  a  false 
point  of  honor — he  is  a  Corsican!     Go  and  beg  the  public 


(58  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

prosecutor  to  grant  me  five  minutes'  interview.  Monsieur 
de  Granville  cannot  refuse  to  listen  at  once  to  a  Spanish 
priest  who  is  suffering  so  cruelly  from  the  blunders  of  the 
French  police." 

"I  will  go,"  said  Monsieur  Gault,  to  the  extreme  astonish- 
ment of  all  the  witnesses  of  this  extraordinary  scene. 

"And  meanwhile,"  said  Jacques,  "send  me  back  to  the 
prison-yard  where  I  may  finish  the  conversion  of  a  criminal 
whose  heart  I  have  touched  already — they  have  hearts,  these 
people !" 

This  speech  produced  a  sensation  in  all  who  heard  it.  The 
gendarmes,  the  registry  clerk,  Sanson,  the  warders,  the  execu- 
tioner's assistant — all  awaiting  orders  to  go  and  get  the 
scaffold  ready — to  rig  up  the  machine,  in  prison  slang — all 
these  people,  usually  so  indifferent,  were  agitated  by  very 
natural  curiosity. 

Just  then  the  rattle  of  a  carriage  with  high-stepping  horses 
was  heard;  it  stopped  very  suggestively  at  the  gate  of  the 
Conciergerie  on  the  quay.  The  door  was  opened,  and  the  step 
let  down  in  such  haste,  that  every  one  supposed  that  some 
great  personage  had  arrived.  Presently  a  lady  waving  a 
sheet  of  blue  paper  came  forward  to  the  outer  gate  of  the 
prison,  followed  by  a  footman  and  a  chasseur.  Dressed  very 
handsomely,  and  all  in  black,  with  a  veil  over  her  bonnet,  she 
was  wiping  her  eyes  with  a  floridly  embroidered  handkerchief. 

Jacques  Collin  at  once  recognized  Asie,  or,  to  give  the 
woman  her  true  name,  Jacqueline  Collin,  his  aunt.  This 
horrible  old  woman — worthy  of  her  nephew — whose  thoughts 
were  all  centered  in  the  prisoner,  and  who  was  defending  him 
with  intelligence  and  mother-wit  that  were  a  match  for  the 
powers  of  the  law,  had  a  permit  made  out  the  evening  before 
in  the  name  of  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse's  waiting-maid 
by  the  request  of  Monsieur  de  Serizy,  allowing  her  to  see 
Lucien  de  Rubempre,  and  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera  so  soon  as 
he  should  be  brought  out  of  the  secret  cells.  On  this  the 
Colonel,  who  was  the  Governor-in-Chief  of  all  the  prisons, 
had  written  a  few  words,  and  the  mere  color  of  the  paper  re- 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  69 

vealed  powerful  influences;  for  these  permits,  like  theatre- 
tickets,  difl'er  in  shape  and  appearance. 

So  the  turnkey  hastened  to  open  the  gate,  especially  when 
he  saw  the  chasseur  with  his  plumes  and  an  uniform  of  green 
and  gold  as  dazzling  as  a  Eussian  General's,  proclaiming  a 
lady  of  aristocratic  rank  and  almost  royal  birth. 

"Oh,  my  dear  Abbe !"  exclaimed  this  fine  lad}^  shedding 
a  torrent  of  tears  at  the  sight  of  the  priest,  "how  could  any 
one  ever  think  of  putting  such  a  saintly  man  in  here,  even  by 
mistake  ?" 

The  Governor  took  the  permit  and  read,  "Introduced  by 
His  Excellency  the  Comte  de  Serizy." 

"Ah !  Madame  de  San-Esteban,  Madame  la  Marquise,"' 
cried'  Carlos  Herrera,  "what  admirable  devotion !" 

"But,  madame,  such  interviews  are  against  the  rules,"  said 
the  good  old  Governor.  And  he  intercepted  the  advance  of 
this  bale  of  black  watered-silk  and  lace. 

"But  at  such  a  distance !"  said  Jacques  Collin,  "and  in  your 
presence— "  and  he  looked  round  at  the  group. 

His  aunt,  whose  dress  might  well  dazzle  the  clerk,  the 
Governor,  the  warders,  and  the  gendarmes,  stank  of  musk. 
She  had  on,  besides  a  thousand  crowns  worth  of  lace,  a  black 
India  cashmere  shawl,  worth  six  thousand  francs.  And  her 
chasseur  was  marching  up  and  down  outside  with  the  inso- 
lence of  a  lackey  who  knows  that  he  is  essential  to  an  exacting 
princess.  He  spoke  never  a  word  to  the  footman,  who  stood 
by  the  gate  on  the  quay,  which  is  always  open  by  day. 

"What  do  you  wish?  What  can  I  do?"  said  Madame  de 
San-Esteban  in  the  lingo  agreed  upon  by  this  aunt  and 
nephew. 

This  dialect  consisted  in  adding  terminations  in  ar  or  in 
or,  or  in  al  or  in  i  to  every  word,  whether  French  or  slang,  so 
as  to  disguise  it  by  lengthening  it.  It  was  a  diplomatic  cipher 
adapted  to  speech. 

"Put  all  the  letters  in  some  safe  place;  take  out  those  that 

are  most  likely  to  compromise  the  ladies ;  come  back,  dressed 

very  poorly,  to  the  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus,  and  wait  for  my 

orders." 
5 


70  A  COURTESAN" S  TJFE 

Asie,  otherwise  Jacqueline,  knelt  as  if  to  receive  his  bless- 
ing, and  the  sham  priest  blessed  his  aunt  with  evangelical 
unction. 

"Addio,  Marchesa"  said  he  aloud,  "And,"  he  added  in 
their  private  language,  "find  Europe  and  Paccard  with  the 
seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  they  bagged.  We 
must  have  them."' 

"Paccard  is  out  there,"'  said  the  pious  Marquise,  pointing 
to  the  chasseur,  her  eyes  full  of  tears. 

This  intuitive  comprehension  brought  not  merely  a  smile 
to  the  man's  lips,  but  a  gesture  of  surprise;  no  one  could 
astonish  him  but  his  aunt.  The  sham  Marquise  turned  to  the 
bystanders  with  the  air  of  a  woman  accustomed  to  give  her- 
self airs. 

"He  is  in  despair  at  being  unable  to  attend  his  son's 
funeral,"  said  she  in  broken  French,  "for  this  monstrous 
miscarriage  of  justice  has  betrayed  the  saintly  man's  secret. — 
I  am  going  to  the  funeral  mass. — Here,  monsieur,"  she  added 
to  the  Governor,  handing  him  a  purse  of  gold,  "this  is  to  give 
your  poor  prisoners  some  comforts." 

"What  slap-up  style !"  her  nephew  whispered  in  approval. 

Jacques  Collin  then  followed  the  warder,  who  led  him  back 
to  the  yard. 

Bibi-Lupin,  quite  desperate,  had  at  last  caught  the  eye  of 
a  real  gendarme,  to  whom,  since  Jacques  Collin  had  gone,  he 
had  been  addressing  significant  "Aliems"  and  who  took 
his  place  on  guard  in  the  condemned  cell.  But  Trompe-la- 
Mort"s  sworn  foe  was  released  too  late  to  see  the  great  lady, 
who  drove  off  in  her  dashing  turn-out,  and '  whose  voice, 
though  disguised,  fell  on  his  ear  with  a  vicious  twang. 

"Three  hundred  shiners  for  the  boarders,"  said  the  head 
warder,  showing  Bibi-Lupin  the  purse,  which  Monsieur  Gault 
had  handed  over  to  his  clerk. 

"Let's  see.  Monsieur  Jacomety,"'  said  Bibi-Lupin. 

The  police  agent  took  the  purse,  poured  out  the  money 
into  his  hand,  and  examined  it  curiously. 

"Yes,  it  is  gold,  sure  enough  I""  said  he,  "and  a  coat-of- 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  71 

arms  on  the  purse  !    The  scoundrel !    How  clever  he  is  !  What 

an  ail-round  villain !     He  does  us  all  brown and  all  the 

time !    He  ought  to  be  shot  down  like  a  dog !" 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  ?"  asked  the  clerk,  taking  back  the 
money.  ^;.  ^ 

"The  matter !    Why,  the  hussy  stole  it !"  cried  Bibi-Lupin,   H^ 
stamping  with  rage  on  the  flags  of  the  gateway. 

The  words  produced  a  great  sensation  among  the  spectators, 
who  were  standing  at  a  little  distance  from  Monsieur  Sanson. 
He,  too,  was  still  standing,  his  back  against  the  large  stove  in 
the  middle  of  the  vaulted  hall,  awaiting  the  order  to  crop 
the  felon's  hair  and  erect  the  scaffold  on  the  Place  de  Greve. 

On  re-entering  the  yard,  Jacques  Collin  went  towards  his 
chums  at  a  pace  suited  to  a  frequenter  of  the  galleys. 

"What  have  you  on  your  mind  ?"  said  he  to  la  Pouraille. 

"My  game  is  up,"  said  the  man,  whom  Jacques  Collin  led 
into  a  corner.    "What  I  want  now  is  a  pal  I  can  trust." 

"What  for?" 

La  Pouraille,  after  telling  the  tale  of  all  his  crimes,  but  in 
thieves'  slang,  gave  an  account  of  the  murder  and  robbery  of 
the  two  Crottats. 

"You  have  my  respect,"  said  Jacques  Collin.  "The  job 
was  well  done;  but  you  seem  to  me  to  have  blundered  after- 
wards." 

"In  what  way?" 

"Well,  having  done  the  trick,  you  ought  to  have  had  a 
Eussian  passport,  have  made  up  as  a  Russian  prince,  bought 
a  fine  coach  with  a  coat-of-arms  on  it,  have  boldly  deposited 
your  money  in  a  bank,  have  got  a  letter  of  credit  on  Hamburg, 
and  then  have  set  out  posting  to  Hamburg  with  a  valet,  a 
ladies'  maid,  and  your  mistress  disguised  as  a  Eussian  prin- 
cess. At  Hamburg  you  should  have  sailed  for  Mexico.  A 
chap  of  spirit,  with  two  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  francs 
in  gold,  ought  to  be  able  to  do  what  he  pleases  and  go  where 
he  pleases,  flathead!" 

"Oh  yes,  you  have  such  notions  because  you  are  the  boss 
Your  nut  is  always  square  on  your  shoulders — but  I " 


72  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"In  short,  a  word  of  good  advice  in  your  position  is  like 
broth  to  a  dead  man,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  with  a  serpent- 
like gaze  at  his  old  pal. 

"True  enough !"  said  la  Pouraille,  looking  dubious.  "But 
give  me  the  broth,  all  the  same.  If  it  does  not  suit  my  stom- 
ach, I  can  warm  my  feet  in  it " 

"Here  you  are  nabbed  by  the  Justice,  with  five  robberies 
and  three  murders,  the  latest  of  them  those  of  two  rich  and 
respectable  folks.  .  .  .  Xow,  juries  do  not  like  to  see 
respectable  folks  killed.  You  will  be  put  through  the  ma- 
chine, and  there  is  not  a  chance  for  you." 

"I  have  heard  all  that,"  said  la  Pouraille  lamentably. 

"My  aunt  Jacqueline,  with  whom  I  have  just  exchanged 
a  few  words  in  the  office,  and  who  is,  as  you  know,  a  mother 
10  the  pals,  told  me  that  the  authorities  mean  to  be  quit  of 
you;  they  are  so  much  afraid  of  you.'' 

"But  I  am  rich  now,"  said  la  Pouraille,  with  a  simplicity 
which  showed  how  convinced  a  thief  is  of  his  natural  right 
to  steal.     "What  are  they  afraid  of?" 

"We  have  no  time  for  philosophizing,"'  said  Jacques  Col- 
lin.   "To  come  back  to  you " 

"What  do  you  want  with  me?"  said  la  Pouraille,  inter- 
rupting his  boss. 

"You  shall  see.    A  dead  dog  is  still  worth  something." 

"To  other  people,"  said  la  Pouraille. 

"I  take  you  into  my  game !"  said  Jacques  Collin. 

"Well,  that  is  something,"  said  the  murderer.  "What 
next  ?" 

"I  do  not  ask  you  where  your  money  is,  but  what  you  mean 
to  do  with  it  ?" 

La  Pouraille  looked  into  the  convict's  impenetrable  e3''e, 
and  Jacques  coldly  went  on :  "Have  you  a  trip  you  are  sweet 
upon,  or  a  child,  or  a  pal  to  be  helped?  I  shall  be  outside 
within  an  hour,  and  I  can  do  much  for  any  one  you  want  to 
be  good-natured  to." 

La  Pouraille  still  hesitated :  he  was  delaying  wnth  indeci- 
sion.   Jacques  Collin  produced  a  clinching  argument. 


',=  V?  ^■ 


".^-. 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  73 


"Your  whack  of  our  money  would  be  thirty  thousand 
francs.  Do  you  leave  it  to  the  pals  ?  Do  you  bequeath  it  to 
anybody?  Your  share  is  safe;  I  can  give  it  this  evening  to 
any  one  you  leave  it  to." 

The  murderer  gave  a  little  start  of  satisfaction. 

"I  have  him  !*"  said  Jacques  Collin  to  himself.  "But  we 
have  no  time  to  play.  Consider,"  he  went  on  in  la  Pouraille's 
car,  "we  have  not  ten  minutes  to  spare,  old  chap;  the  public 
prosecutor  is  to  send  for  me,  and  I  am  to  have  a  talk  with 
him.  I  have  him  safe,  and  can  ring  the  old  boss'  neck.  I  am 
certain  I  shall  save  Madeleine." 

"If  you  save  Madeleine,  my  good  boss,  you  can  just  as 
easily " 

"Don't  waste  your  spittle,"  said  Jacques  Collin  shortly. 
"Make  your  will." 

"Well,  then — I  want  to  leave  the  money  to  la  Gonore,"  re- 
plied la  Pouraille  piteously. 

"What !  Are  you  living  with  j\Ioses'  widow — the  Jew  who 
led  the  swindling  gang  in  the  South?"  asked  Jacques  Collin. 

For  Trompe-la-Mort,  like  a  great  general,  knew  the  person 
of  every  one  in  his  army. 

"That's  the  woman,"  said  la  Pouraille,  much  flattered. 

"A  pretty  woman,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  who  knew  exactly 
how  to  manage  his  dreadful  tools.  "The  moll  is  a  beauty; 
she  is  well  informed,  and  stands  by  her  mates,  and  a  first-rate 
hand.  Yes,  la  Gonore  has  made  a  new  man  of  you !  What 
a  flat  you  must  be  to  risk  your  nut  when  you  have  a  trip  like 
her  at  home !  You  noodle ;  you  should  have  set  up  some  re- 
spectable little  shop  and  lived  quietly. — And  what  does 
she  do?" 

"She  is  settled  in  the  Eue  Sainte-Barbe,  managing  a 
house " 

"And  she  is  to  be  your  legatee?  Ah,  my  dear  boy,  this  is 
what  such  sluts  bring  us  to  when  we  are  such  fools  as  to  love 
them." 

"Yes,  but  don't  you  give  her  anything  till  T  am  done  for." 

"It  is  a  sacred  trust,"  said  Jacques  Collin  very  seriously. 


74  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"And  nothing  to  the  pals  ?"' 

"i^othing !  They  blowed  the  gaff  for  me,"  answered  la 
Pouraille  vindictively. 

"Who  did?  Shall  I  serve  *em  out?"  asked  Jacques  Collin 
eagerly,  trying  to  rouse  the  last  sentiment  that  survives  in 
these  souls  till  the  last  hour.  "Who  knows,  old  pal,  but  1 
might  at  the  same  time  do  them  a  bad  turn  and  serve  you  with 
the  public  prosecutor?"' 

The  murderer  looked  at  his  boss  with  amazed  satisfaction. 

"At  this  moment,"'  the  boss  replied  to  this  expressive  look, 
"I  am  playing  the  game  only  for  Theodore.  When  this  farce 
is  played  out,  old  boy,  I  might  do  wonders  for  a  chum — for 
you  are  a  chum  of  mine."" 

"If  I  see  that  you  really  can  put  off  the  engagement  for 
that  poor  little  Theodore,  I  will  do  anything  vou  choose — 
there !" 

"But  the  trick  is  done.  I  am  sure  to  save  his  head.  If  you 
want  to  get  out  of  the  scrape,  you  see,  la  Pouraille,  you  must 
be  ready  to  do  a  good  turn — we  can  do  nothing  single- 
handed '' 

"That"s  true,""  said  the  felon. 

His  confidence  was  so  strong,  and  his  faith  in  the  boss  so 
fanatical,  that  he  no  longer  hesitated.  La  Pouraille  re- 
vealed the  names  of  his  accomplices,  a  secret  hitherto  well 
kept.     This  was  all  Jacques  needed  to  know. 

"That  is  the  whole  story.  Euffard  was  the  third  in  the  job 
with  me  and  Godet "' 

"Arrache-Laine  ?"  cried  Jacques  Collin,  giving  Euffard  his 
nickname  among  the  gang. 

"That"s  the  man. — x\nd  the  blackguards  peached  because 
I  knew  where  they  had  hidden  their  whack,  and  they  did  not 
know  where  mine  was." 

"You  are  making  it  all  easy,  my  cherub !"  said  Jacques 
Collin. 

"What?" 

"Well,"  replied  the  master,  "you  see  how  wise  it  is  to  trust 
me  entirely.     Your  revenge  is  now  part  of  the  hand  I  am 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  75 

playing. — I  do  not  ask  you  to  tell  me  where  the  dibs  are,  you 
can  tell  me  at  the  last  moment ;  but  tell  me  all  about  Eufl'ard 
and  Godet." 

''You  are,  and  you  always  will  be,  our  boss;  I  have  no 
secrets  from  you,"  replied  la  Pouraille.  *'My  money  is  in  the 
cellar  at  la  Gonore's." 

"And  you  are  not  afraid  of  her  telling?" 

"Why,  get  along !  She  knows  nothing  about  my  little 
game  !"  replied  la  Pouraille.  "I  make  her  drunk,  though  she 
is  of  the  sort  that  would  never  blab  even  with  her  head  under 
the  knife. — But  such  a  lot  of  gold !" 

"Yes,  that  turns  the  milk  of  the  purest  conscience,"  replied 
Jacques  Collin. 

■  "So  I  could  do  the  job  with  no  peepers  to  spy  me.  All  the 
chickens  were  gone  to  roost.  The  shiners  are  three  feet  un- 
derground behind  some  wine-bottles.  And  I  spread  some 
stones  and  mortar  over  them." 

"Good,"  said  Jacques  Collin.    "And  the  others?" 

"Ruffard's  pieces  are  with  la  Gonore  in  the  poor  woman's 
bedroom,  and  he  has  her  tight  by  that,  for  she  might  be 
nabbed  as  accessory  after  the  fact,  and  end  her  days  in  Saint- 
Lazare." 

"The  villain !  The  reelers  teach  a  thief  what's  what,"  said 
Jacques. 

"Godet  left  his  pieces  at  his  sister's,  a  washerwoman; 
honest  girl,  she  may  be  caught  for  five  years  in  La  Force  with- 
out dreaming  of  it.  The  pal  raised  the  tiles  of  the  floor,  put 
them  back  again,  and  guyed." 

"Now  do  you  know  what  I  want  you  to  do  ?"  said  Jacques 
Collin,  with  a  magnetizing  gaze  at  la  Pouraille. 

"What?" 

"I  want  you  to  take  Madeleine's  job  on  your  shoulders." 

La  Pouraille  started  queerly;  but  he  at  once  recovered 
himself  and  stood  at  attention  under  the  boss'  eye. 

"So  you  shy  at  that  ?  You  dare  to  spoil  my  game  ?  Come, 
now !  Four  murders  or  three.  Does  it  not  come  to  the  same 
thing?" 


76  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Perhaps." 

•^^y  the  God  of  good-fellowship,  there  is  no  blood  in  your 
veins !     And  I  was  thinking  of  saving  you !"' 

"How?" 

"Idiot,  if  we  promise  to  give  the  money  back  to  the  family, 
you  will  only  be  lagged  for  life.  I  would  not  give  a  piece  for 
your  nut  if  we  keep  the  blunt,  but  at  this  moment  you  are 
worth  seven  hundred  thousand  francs,  you  flat."' 

"Good  for  you,  boss  I"  cried  la  Pouraille  in  great  glee. 

"And  then,'"'  said  Jacques  Collin,  "Taesides  casting  all  the 
murders  on  EufPard — Bibi-Lupin  will  be  finely  sold.  I  have 
him  this  time." 

La  Pouraille  was  speechless  at  this  suggestion;  his  eyes 
grew  round,  and  he  stood  like  an  image. 

He  had  been  three  months  in  custody,  and  was  committed 
for  trial,  and  his  chums  at  La  Force,  to  whom  he  had  never 
mentioned  his  accomplices,  had  given  him  such  small  comfort, 
that  he  was  entirely  hopeless  after  his  examination,  and  this 
simple  expedient  had  been  quite  overlooked  by  these  prison- 
ridden  minds.  This  semblance  of  a  hope  almost  stupefied 
his  brain. 

"Have  Euffard  and  Godet  had  their  spree  yet  ?  Have  they 
forked  out  any  of  the  yellow  boys?"  asked  Jacques  Collin. 

"They  dare  not,"  replied  la  Pouraille.  "The  wretches  are 
waiting  till  I  am  turned  off.  That  is  what  my  moll  sent  me 
word  by  la  Biffe  when  she  came  to  see  le  Biffon." 

''Very  well ;  we  will  have  their  whack  of  money  in  twenty- 
four  hours,"  said  Jacques  Collin.  "Then  the  blackguards 
cannot  pay  up,  as  you  will ;  you  will  come  out  as  white  as 
snow,  and  they  will  be  red  with  all  that  blood !  By  my  kind 
offices  you  will  seem  a  good  sort  of  fellow  led  away  by  them. 
I  shall  have  money  enough  of  yours  to  prove  alibis  on  the 
other  counts,  and  when  you  are  back  on  the  hulks — for  you 
are  bound  to  go  there — you  must  see  about  escaping.  It  is  a 
dog's  life,  still  it  is  life!" 

La  Pouraille's  eyes  glittered  with  suppressed  delirium. 

"With  seven  hundred  thousand  francs  you  can  get  a  good 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  77 

many  drinks,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  making  his  pal  quite 
drunk  with  hope. 

"Ay,  ay,  boss!" 

"I  can  bamboozle  the  Minister  of  Justice. — Ah,  ha!  Kuf- 
fard  will  shell  out  to  do  for  a  reeler.  Bibi-Lupin  is  fairly 
gulled !" 

"Very  good,  it  is  a  bargain,"  said  la  Pouraille  with  savage 
glee.    "You  order,  and  1  obey." 

And  he  hugged  Jacques  Collin  in  his  arms,  while  tears  of 
joy  stood  in  his  eyes,  so  hopeful  did  he  feel  of  saving  his  head. 

"That  is  not  all,"  said  Jacques  Collin;  "the  public  prose- 
cutor does  not  swallow  everything,  you  know,  especially  when 
a  new  count  is  entered  against  you.  The  next  thing  is  to 
bring  a  moll  into  the  case  by  blowing  the  gaff." 

"But  how,  and  what  for  ?" 

"Do  as  I  bid  you;  you  will  see."  And  Trompe-la-Mort 
briefly  told  the  secret  of  the  Nanterre  murders,  showing  him 
how  necessary  it  was  to  find  a  woman  who  would  pretend  to 
be  Ginetta.  Then  he  and  la. Pouraille,  now  in  good  spirits, 
went  across  to  le  Biffon. 

"I  know  how  sweet  you  are  on  la  Biffe,"  said  Jacques  Col- 
lin to  this  man. 

The  expression  in  le  Biffon's  eyes  was  a  horrible  poem. 

"What  will  she  do  while  you  are  on  the  hulks?" 

A  tear  sparkled  in  le  Biffon's  fierce  eyes. 

"Well,  suppose  I  were  to  get  her  lodgings  in  the  Lorcefe  des 
Largnes"  (the  women's  La  Force,  i.  e.  les  Madelonnettes  or 
Saint-Lazare)  "for  a  stretch,  allowing  that  time  for  you  to 
be  sentenced  and  sent  there,  to  arrive  and  to  escape?" 

"Even  you  cannot  work  such  a  miracle.  She  took  no  part 
in  the  job,"  replied  la  Biffe's  partner. 

"Oh,  my  good  Biffon,"  said  la  Pouraille,  "our  boss  is  more 
powerful  than  God  Almighty." 

"What  is  your  password  for  her?"  asked  Jacques  Collin, 
with  the  assurance  of  a  master  to  whom  nothing  can  be  re 
fused. 

"Sorgue  a  Pantin"  (night  in  Paris).    "If  you  say  that  she 


78  A  rOURTBSAN'S  T.TFE 

knows  you  have  come  from  me,  and  if  you  want  her  to  do  as 
you  bid  her,  show  her  a  five-franc  piece  and  say  Tondif." 

"She  will  be  involved  in  the  sentence  on  la  Pouraille,  and 
let  off  with  a  year  in  quod  for  snitching,''  said  Jacques  Collin, 
looking  at  la  Pouraille. 

La  Pouraille  understood  his  boss'  scheme,  and  by  a  single 
look  promised  to  persuade  le  Biffon  to  promote  it  by  induc- 
ing la  Biffe  to  take  upon  herself  this  complicity  in  the  crime 
la  Pouraille  was  prepared  to  confess. 

"Farewell,  my  children.  You  will  presently  hear  that  I 
have  saved  my  boy  from  Jack  Ketch,"  said  Trompe-la-Mort. 
"Yes,  Jack  Ketch  and  his  hairdresser  were  waiting  in  the 
office  to  get  Madeleine  ready. — There,"  he  added,  "they  have 
come  to  fetch  me  to  go  to  the  public  prosecutor." 

And,  in  fact,  a  warder  came  out  of  the  gate  and  beckoned 
to  this  extraordinary  man,  who,  in  face  of  the  young  Corsi- 
can's  danger,  had  recovered  the  savage  power  which  enabled 
him  to  hold  his  own  against  his  own  society. 

[t  is  worthy  of  note  that  at  the  moment  when  Lucien's 
body  was  taken  away  from  him,  Jacques  Collin  had,  with  a 
ta'owniug  effort,  made  up  his  mind  to  attempt  a  last  incarna- 
tion, not  as  a  human  being,  but  as  a  thing.  He  had  at  last 
1  aken  the  fateful  step  that  Napoleon  took  on*  board  the  boat 
which  conveyed  him  to  the  Bellerophon.  And  a  strange  con- 
currence of  events  aided  this  genius  of  evil  and  corruption  in 
liis  undertaking. 

But  though  the  unlooked-for  conclusion  of  this  life  of 
crime  may  perhaps  be  deprived  of  some  of  the  marvelous 
effect  which,  in  our  day,  can  be  given  to  a  narrative  only  by 
incredible  improbabilities,  it  is  necessary,  before  we  accom- 
pany Jacques  Collin  to  the  public  prosecutor's  room,  that 
we  should  follow  Madame  Camusot  in  her  visits  during  the 
time  we  have  spent  in  the  Conciergerie. 

One  of  the  obligations  which  the  historian  of  manners 
must  unfailingly  observe  is  that  of  never  marring  the  truth 
for  the  sake  of  dramatic  arrangement^  especially  when  the 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  79 

truth  is  so  kind  as  to  be  in  itself  romantic.  Social  nature, 
particularly  in  Paris,  allows  of  such  freaks  of  chance,  such 
complications  of  whimsical  entanglements,  that  it  constantly 
outdoes  the  most  inventive  imagination.  The  audacity  of 
facts,  by  sheer  improbability  or  indecorum,  rises  to  heights 
of  "situation"  forbidden  to  art,  unless  they  are  softened, 
cleansed,  and  purified  by  the  writer. 

Madame  Camusot  did  her  utmost  to  dress  herself  for  the 
morning  almost  in  good  taste — a  difficult  task  for  the  wife 
of  a  judge  who  for  six  years  has  lived  in  a  provincial  town. 
Her  object  was  to  give  no  hold  for  criticism  to  the  Marquise 
d'Espard  or  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  in  a  call  so 
early  as  between  eight  and  nine  in  the  morning.  Amelie 
Cecile  Camusot,  nee  Thirion,  it  must  be  said,  only  half  suc- 
ceeded ;  and  in  a  matter  of  dress  is  this  not  a  twofold  blunder  ? 

Few  people  can  imagine  how  useful  the  women  of  Paris  are 
to  ambitious  men  of  every  class ;  they  are  equally  necessary  in 
the  world  of  fashion  and  the  world  of  thieves,  where,  as  we 
have  seen,  they  fill  a  most  important  part.  For  instance,  sup- 
pose that  a  man,  not  to  find  himself  left  in  the  lurch,  must 
absolutely  get  speech  within  a  given  time  with  the  high 
functionary  who  was  of  such  immense  importance  under  the 
Eestoration,  and  who  is  to  this  day  called  the  Keeper  of  the 
Seals — a  man,  let  us  say,  in  the  most  favorable  position,  a 
judge,  that  is  to  say,  a  man  familiar  with  the  way  of  things. 
He  is  compelled  to  seek  out  the  presiding  judge  of  a  circuit, 
or  some  private  or  official  secretary,  and  prove  to  him  his  need 
of  an  immediate  interview.  But  is  a  Keeper  of  the  Seals 
ever  visible  "that  very  minute"  ?  In  the  middle  of  the  day, 
if  he  is  not  at  the  Chamber,  he  is  at  the  Privy  Council,  or 
signing  papers,  or  hearing  a  case.  In  the  early  morning  he 
is  out,  no  one  knows  where.  In  the  evening  he  has  public 
and  private  engagements.  If  every  magistrate  could  claim  a 
moment's  interview  under  any  pretext  that  might  occur  to 
him,  the  Supreme  Judge  would  be  besieged. 

The  purpose  of  a  private  and  immediate  interview  is  there- 
fore submitted  to  the  judgment  of  one  of  those  mediatory 


80  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

potentates  who  are  but  an  obstacle  to  be  removed,  a  door  that 
can  be  unlocked,  so  long  as  it  is  not  held  by  a  rival.  A  wo- 
man at  once  goes  to  another  woman ;  she  can  get  straight  into 
her  bedroom  if  she  can  arouse  the  curiosity  of  mistress  or 
maid,  especially  if  the  mistress  is  under  the  stress  of  a 
strong  interest  or  pressing  necessity. 

Call  this  female  potentate  Madame  la  Marquise  d'Espard, 
Math  whom  a  Minister  has  to  come  to  terms;  this  woman 
writes  a  little  scented  note,  which  her  man-servant  carries 
to  the  Minister's  man-servant.  The  note  greets  the  Minister 
on  his  waking,  and  he  reads  it  at  once.  Though  the  Minister 
has  business  to  attend  to,  the  man  is  enchanted  to  have  a 
reason  for  calling  on  one  of  the  Queens  of  Paris,  one  of  the 
Powers  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  one  of  the  favorites 
01  the  Dauphiness,  of  Madame^  or  of  the  King.  Casimir 
Perier,  the  only  real  statesman  of  the  Eevolution  of  July, 
would  leave  anything  to  call  on  a  retired  Gentleman  of  the 
Bed-chamber  to  King  Charles  X. 

This  theory  accounts  for  the  magical  effect  of  the  words : 

"Madame, — Madame  Camusot,  on  very  important  business, 
which  she  says  you  know  of,"  spoken  in  Madame  d'Espard's 
ear  by  her  maid,  who  thought  she  Avas  awake. 

And  the  Marquise  desired  that  Amelie  should  be  shown  in 
at  once. 

The  magistrate's  wife  was  attentively  heard  when  she  be- 
gan with  these  words : 

"Madame  la  Marquise,  we  have  ruined  ourselves  by  trying 
to  avenge  you " 

"How  is  that,  my  dear?"  replied  the  Marquise,  looking  at 
Madame  Camusot  in  the  dim  light  that  fell  through  the 
half-open  door.  "You  are  vastly  sweet  this  morning  in  that 
little  bonnet.    Where  do  you  get  that  shape?" 

"You  are  very  kind,  madame. — Well,  you  know  that  Camu- 
sot's  way  of  examining  Lucien  de  Rubempre  drove  the  young 
man  to  despair,  and  he  hanged  himself  in  prison." 

"Oh,  what  will  become  of  ]\[adame  de  Serizy?"  cried  the 
Marquise,  affecting  ignorance,  that  she  might  hear  the  whole 
story  once  more. 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  81 

"Alas !  they  say  she  is  quite  mad,"  said  Amelie.  'T!f  you 
could  persuade  the  Lord  Keeper  to  send  for  my  husband  this 
minute,  by  special  messenger,  to  meet  him  at  the  Palais,  the 
Minister  M^ould  hear  some  strange  mysteries,  and  report  them, 
no  doubt,  to  the  King.  .  .  .  Then  Camusot's  enemies 
would  be  reduced  to  silence." 

"But  who  are  Camusot's  enemies?"  asked  Madame  d'Es- 
pard.  "^^^ " 

"The  public  prosecutor,  and  now  Monsieur  de  Serizy." 

"Very  good,  my  dear,"  replied  Madame  d'Espard,  who  owed 
to  Monsieur  de  Granville  and  the  Comte  de  Serizy  her  defeat 
in  the  disgraceful  proceedings  by  which  she  had  tried  to  have 
her  husband  treated  as  a  lunatic,  "I  will  protect  you ;  I  never 
forget  either  my  foes  or  my  friends." 

She  rang;  the  maid  drew  open  the  curtains,  and  daylight 
flooded  the  room;  she  asked  for  her  desk,  and  the  maid 
brought  it  in.    The  Marquise  hastily  scrawled  a  few  lines. 

"Tell  Godard  to  go  on  horseback,  and  carry  this  note  to 
the  Chancellor's  office. — There  is  no  reply,"  said  she  to  the 
maid. 

The  woman  went  out  of  the  room  quickh^,  but,  in  spite  of 
the  order,  remained  at  the  door  for  some  minutes. 

"There  are  great  mysteries  going  forward  then?"  asked 
Madame  d'Espard.  "Tell  me  all  about  it,  dear  child.  Has 
Clotilde  de  Grandlieu  put  a  finger  in  the  pie?" 

"You  will  know  everything  from  the  Lord  Keeper,  for  my 
husband  has  told  me  nothing.  He  only  told  me  he  was  in 
danger.  It  would  be  better  for  us  that  Madame  de  Serizy 
should  die  than  that  she  should  remain  mad." 

"Poor  woman !"  said  the  Marquise.  "But  was  she  not  mad 
already  ?" 

Women  of  the  world,  by  a  hundred  ways  of  pronouncing 
the  same  phrase,  illustrate  to  attentive  hearers  the  infinite 
variety  of  musical  modes.  The  soul  goes  out  into  the  voice  as 
it  does  into  the  eyes ;  it  vibrates  in  light  and  in  air — the  ele- 
ments acted  on  by  the  eyes  and  voice.  By  the  tone  she  gave 
to  the  two  words,  "Poor  woman !"  the  Marquise  betrayed  the 


82  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

joy  of  satisfied  hatred,  the  pleasure  of  triumph.  Oh !  what 
woes  did  she  not  wish  to  befall  Lucien's  protectress.  Eevenge, 
which  nothing  can  assuage,  which  can  survive  the  person 
hated,  fills  us  with  dark  tenors.  And  Madame  Camusot, 
though  harsh  herself,  vindictive,  and  quarrelsome,  was  over- 
whelmed.   She  could  find  nothing  to  say,  and  was  silent. 

"Diane  told  me  that  Leontine  went  to  the  prison,"  Madame 
d'Espard  went  on.  "The  dear  Duchess  is  in  despair  at  such  a 
scandal,  for  she  is  so  foolish  as  to  be  very  fond  of  Madame 
de  Serizy;  however,  it  is  comprehensible:  they  both  adored 
that  little  fool  Lucien  at  about  the  same  time,  and  nothing 
so  effectually  binds  or  severs  two  women  as  worshiping  at  the 
same  altar.  And  our  dear  friend  spent  two  hours  yesterday 
in  Leontine's  room.  The  poor  Countess,  it  seems,  says  dread- 
ful things!  I  heard  that  it  was  disgusting!  A  woman  of 
rank  ought  not  to  give  way  to  such  attacks. — Bah !  A  purely 
physical  passion. — The  Duchess  came  to  see  me  as  pale  as 
death ;  she  really  was  very  brave.  There  are  monstrous  things 
connected  with  this  business." 

"My  husband  will  tell  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals  all  he  knows 
for  his  own  justification,  for  they  wanted  to  save  Lucien,  and 
he,  Madame  la  Marquise,  did  his  duty.  An  examining  judge 
always  has  to  question  people  in  private  at  the  time  fixed  by 
law !  He  had  to  ask  the  poor  little  wretch  something,  if  only 
for  form's  sake,  and  the  young  fellow  did  not  understand, 
and  confessed  things " 

"He  was  an  impertinent  fool !"  said  Madame  d'Espard  in  a 
hard  tone. 

The  judge's  wife  kept  silence  on  hearing  this  sentence. 

"Though  we  failed  in  the  matter  of  the  Commission  in 
Lunacy,  it  was  not  Camusot's  fault,  I  shall  never  forget 
that,"  said  the  Marquise  after  a  pause.  "It  was  Lucien, 
Monsieur  de  Serizy,  Monsieur  de  Bauvan,  and  Monsieur  de 
Granville  who  overthrew  us.  With  time  God  will  be  on  my 
side;  all  those  people  will  come  to  grief. — Be  quite  easy,  I 
will  send  the  Chevalier  d'Espard  to  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals 
that  he  may  desire  your  husband's  presence  immediately,  if 
that  is  of  any  use." 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  83 


"Oh !  madame- 


"Listen,"  said  the  Marquise.  "I  promise  you  the  ribbon 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor  at  once — to-morrow.  It  will  be  a 
conspicuous  testimonial  of  satisfaction  with  your  conduct  in 
this  affair.  Yes,  it  implies  further  blame  on  Lucien;  it  will 
prove  him  guilty.  Men  do  not  commonly  hang  them- 
selves for  the  pleasure  of  it. — Now,  good-bye,  my  pretty 
dear " 

Ten  minutes  later  IMadame  Camusot  was  in  the  bedroom 
of  the  beautiful  Diane  de  Maufrigneuse,  who  had  not  gone  to 
bed  till  one,  and  at  nine  o'clock  had  not  yet  slept. 

However  insensible  duchesses  may  be,  even  these  women, 
whose  hearts  are  of  stone,  cannot  see  a  friend  a  victim  to 
madness  without  being  painfully  impressed  by  it. 

And  besides,  the  connection  between  Diane  and  Lucien, 
though  at  an  end  now  eighteen  months  since,  had  left  such 
memories  with  the  Duchess  that  the  poor  boy's  disastrous 
end  had  been  to  her  also  a  fearful  blow.  All  night  Diane 
had  seen  visions  of  the  beautiful  youth,  so  charming,  so 
poetical,  who  had  been  so  delightful  a  lover — painted  as 
Leontine  depicted  him,  with  the  vividness  of  wild  delirium. 
She  had  letters  from  Lucien  that  she  had  kept,  intoxicating  let- 
ters worthy  to  compare  with  Mirabeau's  to  Sophie,  but  more 
literary,  more  elaborate,  for  Lucien's  letters  had  been  dictated 
by  the  most  powerful  of  passions — Vanity.  Having  the  most 
bewitching  of  duchesses  for  his  mistress,  and  seeing  her  com- 
mit any  folly  for  him — secret  follies,  of  course — had  turned 
Lucien's  head  with  happiness.  The  lovers  pride  had  in- 
spired the  poet.  And  the  Duchess  had  treasured  these  touch- 
ing letters,  as  some  old  men  keep  indecent  prints,  for  the  sake 
of  their  extravagant  praise  of  all  that  was  least  duchess-like 
in  her  nature. 

"And  he  died  in  i  squalid  prison !"  cried  she  to  herself, 
putting  the  letters  away  in  a  panic  when  she  heard  her  maid 
knocking  gently  at  her  door. 

"Madame  Camusot,"  said  the  woman,  "on  business  of  the 
greatest  importance  to  you,  Madame  la  Duchesse." 


84  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Diane  sprang  to  her  feet  in  terror. 

"Oh!"'  cried  she,  looking  at  Amelie,  who  had  assumed  a 
duly  condoling  air,  "I  guess  it  all — my  letters !  It  is  about 
my  letters.     Oh  !  my  letters,  my  letters  !" 

She  sank  on  to  a  couch.  She  remembered  now  how,  in 
the  extravagance  of  her  passion,  she  had  answered  Lucien  in 
the  same  vein,  had  lauded  the  man's  poetry  as  he  had  sung 
the  charms  of  the  woman,  and  in  what  a  strain ! 

"Alas,  yes,  madame,  I  have  come  to  save  what  is  dearer  to 
you  than  life — your  honor.  Compose  yourself  and  get 
dressed,  we  must  go  to  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu ;  happily 
for  you,  you  are  not  the  only  person  compromised." 

"But  at  the  Palais,  yesterday,  Leontine  burned,  I  am  told, 
all  the  letters  found  at  poor  Lucien' s." 

"But,  madame,  behind  Lucien  there  was  Jacques  Collin!" 
cried  the  magistrate's  wife.  "You  always  forget  that  hor- 
rible companionship  which  beyond  question  led  to  that  charm- 
ing and  lamented  young  man's  end.  That  Machiavelli  of 
the  galleys  never  loses  his  head !  Monsieur  Camusot  is  con- 
vinced that  the  wretch  has  in  some  safe  hiding-place  all  the 
most  compromising  letters  written  by  you  ladies  to  his " 

"His  friend,"  the  Duchess  hastily  put  in.  "You  are  right, 
my  child.  We  must  hold  council  at  the  Grandlieus'.  We 
are  all  concerned  in  this  matter,  and  Serizy  happily  will  lend 
us  his  aid." 

Extreme  peril — as  we  have  observed  in  the  scenes  in  the 
Conciergerie — has  a  hold  over  the  soul  not  less  terrible  than 
that  of  powerful  reagents  over  the  body.  It  is  a  mental 
Voltaic  battery.  The  day,  perhaps,  is  not  far  off  when  the 
process  shall  be  discovered  by  which  feeling  is  chemically  con- 
verted into  a  fluid  not  unlike  the  electric  fluid. 

The  phenomena  were  the  same  in  the  convict  and  the  Duch- 
ess. This  crushed,  half-dying  woman,  who  had  not  slept, 
who  was  so  particular  over  her  dressing,  had  recovered  the 
strength  of  a  lioness  at  bay,  and  the  presence  of  mind  of  a 
general  under  fire.  Diane  chose  her  gown  and  got  through  her 
dressing  with  the  alacrity  of  a  grisette  who  is  her  own  wait- 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  85 

ing-woman.  It  was  so  astounding,  that  the  lady's-maid 
stood  for  a  moment  stock-still,  so  greatly  was  she  surprised 
to  see  her  mistress  in  her  shift,  not  ill  pleased  perhaps  to  let 
the  judge's  wife  discern  through  the  thin  cloud  of  lawn  a 
form  as  white  and  as  perfect  as  that  of  Canova's  Venus.  It 
was  like  a  gem  in  a  fold  of  tissue  paper.  Diane  suddenly  re- 
membered where  a  pair  of  stays  had  been  put  that  fastened 
in  front,  sparing  a  woman  in  a  hurry  the  ill-spent  time  and 
fatigue  of  being  laced.  She  had  arranged  the  lace  trimming 
of  her  shift  and  the  fulness  of  the  bosom  by  the  time  the  maid 
had  fetched  her  petticoat,  and  crowned  the  work  by  putting 
on  her  gown.  While  Amelie,  at  a  sign  from  the  maid,  hooked 
the  bodice  behind,  the  woman  brought  out  a  pair  of  thread 
stockings,  velvet  boots,  a  shawl,  and  a  bonnet.  Amelie  and 
the  maid  each  drew  on  a  stocking. 

"You  are  the  loveliest  creature  I  ever  saw!"  said  Amelie, 
insidiously  kissing  Diane's  elegant  and  polished  knee  with  an 
eager  impulse. 

"Madame  has  not  her  match !"  cried  the  maid. 

"There,  there,  Josette,  hold  your  tongue,"  replied  the 
Duchess. — "Have  you  a  carriage?"  she  went  on,  to  Madame 
Camusot.  "Then  come  along,  my  dear,  we  can  talk  on  the 
road." 

And  the  Duchess  ran  down  the  great  stairs  of  the  Hotel  de 
Cadignan,  putting  on  her  gloves  as  she  went — a  thing  she 
had  never  been  known  to  do. 

"To  the  Hotel  de  Grandlieu,  and  drive  fast,"  said  she  to 
one  of  her  men,  signing  to  him  to  get  up  behind. 

The  footman  hesitated — it  was  a"  hackney  coach. 

"Ah !  Madame  la  Duchesse,  you  never  told  me  that  the 
young  man  had  letters  of  yours.  Otherwise  Camusot  would 
have  proceeded  differently     .     .     ." 

"Leontine's  state  so  occupied  my  thoughts  that  I  forgot 
myself  entirely.  The  poor  woman  was  almost  crazy  the  day 
before  yesterday ;  imagine  the  effect  on  her  of  this  tragical 
termination.  If  you  could  only  know,  child,  what  a  morning 
we  went  through  yesterday !  It  is  enough  to  make  one  f or- 
6 


86  A  COURTESAN" S  LIFE 

swear  love ! — Yesterday  Leontine  and  I  were  dragged  across 
Paris  by  a  horrible  old  woman,  an  old-clothes  buyer,  a  dom- 
ineering creature,  to  that  stinking  and  blood-stained  sty  they 
call  the  Palace  of  Justice,  and  I  said  to  her  as  I  took  her 
there:  'Is  not  this  enough  to  make  us  fall  on  our  knees  and 
cry  out  like  Madame  de  Xucingen,  when  she  went  through 
one  of  those  awful  Mediterranean  storms  on  her  way  to 
Naples,  "Dear  God,  save  me  this  time,  and  never  again !"  * 

"These  two  days  will  certainly  have  shortened  my  life. — 
What  fools  we  are  ever  to  write ! — But  love  prompts  us ;  we 
receive  pages  that  fire  the  heart  through  the  eyes,  and  every- 
thing is  in  a  blaze  !     Prudence  deserts  us — we  reply " 

"But  why  reply  when  you  can  act?"  said  Madame  Camu- 
sot. 

"It  is  grand  to  lose  oneself  utterly  !''  cried  the  Duchess  with 
pride.     "It  is  the  luxury  of  the  soul." 

"Beautiful  women  are  excusable,"  said  Madame  Camu- 
sot  modestly.  "They  have  more  opportunities  of  falling  than 
we  have." 

The  Duchess  smiled. 

"We  are  always  too  generous,"  said  Diane  de  Maufrigneuse. 
"I  shall  do  just  like  that  odious  Madame  d'Espard." 

"And  what  does  she  do?"  asked  the  judge's  wife,  very 
curious. 

"She  has  written  a  thousand  love-notes " 

"So  many !"  exclaimed  Amelie,  interrupting  the  Duchess. 

"Well,  my  dear,  and  not  a  word  that  could  compromise 
her  is  to  be  found  in  any  one  of  them." 

"You  would  be  incapable  of  maintaining  such  coldness, 
such  caution,"  said  Madame  Camusot.  "You  are  a  woman ; 
vou  are  one  of  those  angels  who  cannot  stand  out  against  the 
devil " 

"I  have  made  a  vow  to  write  no  more  letters.  I  never  in 
my  life  wrote  to  anybody  but  that  unhappy  Lucien. — I  will 
keep  his  letters  to  my  dying  day !  My  dear  child,  they  are 
fire,  and  sometimes  we  want " 

"But  if  they  were  found  !"  said  Amelie,  with  a  little  shocked 
expression. 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  87 

"Oh !  I  should  say  they  were  part  of  a  romance  I  was  writ- 
ing; for  I  have  copied  them  all;,  my  dear,  and  burned  the 
originals." 

"Oh,  madame,  as  a  reward  allow  me  to  read  them." 

"Perhaps,  child,"  said  the  Duchess.  "And  then  you 
will  see  that  he  did  not  write  such  letters  as  those  to 
Leontine." 

This  speech  was  woman  all  the  world  over,  of  every  age 
and  every  land. 

Madame  Camusot,  like  the  frog  in  la  Fontaine's  fable,  was 
ready  to  burst  her  skin  with  the  joy  of  going  to  the  Grand- 
lieus'  in  the  society  of  the  beautiful  Diane  de  Mauf rigneuse. 
This  morning  she  would  forge  one  of  the  links  that  are  so 
needful  to  ambition.  She  could  already  hear  herself  ad- 
dressed as  Madame  la  Presidente.  She  felt  the  ineffable  glad- 
ness of  triumphing  over  stupendous  obstacles,  of  which  the 
greatest  was  her  husband's  ineptitude,  as  yet  unrevealed,  but 
to  her  well  kno-woi.  To  win  success  for  a  second-rate  man  !- 
This  is  to  a  woman — as  to  a  king — the  delight  which  tempts 
great  actors  when  they  act  a  bad  play  a  hundred  times  over. 
It  is  the  very  drunkenness  of  egoism.  It  is  in  a  way  the 
Saturnalia  of  power. 

Power  can  prove  itself  to  itself  only  by  the  strange  mis- 
application which  leads  it  to  crown  some  absurd  person  with 
the  laurels  of  success  while  insulting  genius — the  only  strong- 
hold which  power  cannot  touch.  The  knighting  of  Caligula's 
horse,  an  imperial  farce,  has  been,  and  always  will  be,  a 
favorite  performance. 

In  a  few  minutes  Diane  and  Amelie  had  exchanged  the 
elegant  disorder  of  the  fair  Diane's  bedroom  for  the  severe 
but  dignified  and  splendid  austerity  of  the  Duchesse  de  Grand- 
lieu's  rooms. 

She,  a  Portuguese,  and  very  pious,  always  rose  at  eight  to 
attend  mass  at  the  little  church  of  Sainte-Valere,  a  chapelry 
to  Saint-Thomas  d'Aquin,  standing  at  that  time  on  the  es- 
planade of  the  Invalides.     This  chapel,  now  destroyed,  was 


88  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

rebuilt  in  the  Rue  de  Bourgogne,  pending  the  building  of  a 
Gothic  church  to  be  dedicated  to  Sainte-Clotilde. 

On  hearing  the  first  words  spoken  in  her  ear  by  Diane 
de  IMaufrigneuse,  this  saintly  lady  went  to  find  Monsieur  de 
Grandlieu,  and  brought  him  back  at  once.  The  Duke  threw 
a  flashing  look  at  Madame  Camusot,  one  of  those  rapid 
glances  with  which  a  man  of  the  world  can  guess  at  a  whole 
existence,  or  often  read  a  soul.  Amelie's  dress  greatly  helped 
the  Duke  to  decipher  the  story  of  a  middle-class  life,  from 
Alencon  to  ]\Iantes,  and  from  Mantes  to  Paris. 

Oh !  if  only  the  lawyer's  wife  could  have  understood  this 
gift  in  dukes,  she  could  never  have  endured  that  politely 
ironical  look;  she  saw  the  politeness  only.  Ignorance  shares 
the  privileges  of  fine  breeding. 

■^'This  is  Madame  Camusot,  a  daughter  of  Thirion's — one 
of  the  Cabinet  ushers,"  said  the  Duchess  to  her  husband. 

The  Duke  bowed  with  extreme  politeness  to  the  wife  of  a 
legal  official,  and  his  face  became  a  little  less  grave. 

The  Duke  had  rung  for  his  valet,  who  now  came  in. 

"Go  to  the  Eue  Saint-Honore :  take  a  coach.  Ring  at  a 
side  door,  'No.  10.  Tell  the  man  who  opens  the  door  that  I 
beg  his  master  will  come  here,  and  if  the  gentleman  is  at 
home,  bring  him  back  with  you. — Mention  my  name,  that  will 
remove  all  difficulties. 

"And  do  not  be  gone  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in 
all." 

Another  footman,  the  Duchess'  servant,  came  in  as  soon 
as  the  other  was  gone. 

"Go  from  me  to  the  Due  de  Chaulieu,  and  send  up  this 
card." 

The  Duke  gave  him  a  card  folded  down  in  a  particular  way. 
"When  the  two  friends  wanted  to  meet  at  once,  on  any  urgent 
or  confidential  business  which  would  not  allow  of  note-writ- 
ing, they  used  this  means  of  communication. 

Thus  we  see  that  similar  customs  prevail  in  every  rank  of 
society,  and  differ  only  in  manner,  civility,  and  small  details. 
The  world  of  fashion,  too,  has  its  argot,  its  slang;  but  that 
slang  is  called  style. 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  89 

"Are  you  quite  sure,  madame,  of  the  existence  of  the  letters 
you  say  were  .written  by  Mademoiselle  Clotilde  de  Grandlieu 
to  this  young  man  ?"  said  the  Due  de  Grandlieu. 

And  he  cast  a  look  at  Madame  Camusot  as  a  sailor  casts 
a  sounding  line. 

"I  have  not  seen  them,  but  there  is  reason  to  fear  it," 
replied  Madame  Camusot,  quaking. 

"My  daughter  can  have  written  nothing  we  would  not  own 
to !"  said  the  Duchess. 

"Poor  Duchess  !"  thought  Diane,  with  a  glance  at  the  Duke 
that  terrified  him. 

"What  do  you  think,  my  dear  little  Diane  ?"  said  the  Duke 
in  a  whisper,  as  he  led  her  away  into  a  recess. 

"Clotilde  is  so  crazy  about  Lucien,  my  dear  friend,  that  she 
had  made  an  assignation  with  him  before  leaving.  If  it  had 
not  been  for  little  Lenoncourt,  she  would  perhaps  have  gone 
off  with  him  into  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau.  I  know  that 
Lucien  used  to  write  letters  to  her  which  were  enough  to  turn 
the  brain  of  a  saint. — We  are  three  daughters  of  Eve  in  the 
coils  of  the  serpent  of  letter-writing." 

The  Duke  and  Diane  came  back  to  the  Duchess  and  Ma- 
dame Camusot,  who  were  talking  in  undertones.  Amelie, 
following  the  advice  of  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  af- 
fected piety  to  win  the  proud  lady's  favor. 

"We  are  at  the  mercy  of  a  dreadful  escaped  convict !"  said 
the  Duke,  with  a  peculiar  shrug.  "This  is  what  comes  of 
opening  one's  house  to  people  one  is  not  absolutely  sure  of. 
Before  admitting  an  acquaintance,  one  ought  to  know  all 
about  his  fortune,  his  relations,  all  his  previous  history " 

This  speech  is  the  moral  of  my  story — from  the  aristocratic 
point  of  view. 

"That  is  past  and  over,"  said  the  Duchesse  de  Mau- 
frigneuse. "Now  we  must  think  of  saving  that  poor  Madame 
de  Serizy,  Clotilde,  and  me " 

"We  can  but  wait  for  Henri;  I  have  sent  to  him.  But 
everything  really  depends  on  the  man  Gentil  is  gone  to  fetch. 
God  grant  that  man  may  be  in  Paris ! — Madame,"  he  added 


90  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

to  Madame  Camusot,  "thank  you  so  much  for  having  thought 
of  us " 

This  was  Madame  Camusot's  dismissal.  The  daughter  of 
the  Court  usher  had  wit  enougli  to  understand  the  Duke ;  she 
rose.  But  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  with  the  enchant- 
ing grace  which  won  her  so  much  friendship  and  discretion, 
took  Amelie  by  the  hand  as  if  to  show  her,  in  a  way,  to  the 
Duke  and  Duchess. 

"On  my  own  account,"  said  she,  "to  say  nothing  of  her 
having  been  up  before  daybreak  to  save  us  all,  I  may  ask 
for  more  than  a  remembrance  for  my  little  Madame  Camusot. 
In  the  first  place,  she  has  already  done  me  such  service  as  1 
cannot  forget ;  and  then  she  is  wholly  devoted  to  our  side, 
she  and  her  husband.  I  have  promised  that  her  Camusot 
shall  have  advancement,  and  I  beg  you  above  everything  to 
help  him  on,  for  my  sake." 

"You  need  no  such  recommendation,"  said  the  Duke  to  .Ma- 
dame Camusot.  "The  Grandlieus  always  remember  a  ser- 
vice done  them.  The  King's  adherents  will  ere  long  have  a 
chance  of  distinguishing  themselves;  they  will  be  called  upon 
to  prove  their  devotion;  your  husband  will  be  placed  in  the 
front " 

Madame  Camusot  withdrew,  proud,  happy,  puffed  up  to 
suffocation.  She  reached  home  triumphant ;  she  admired 
herself,  she  made  light  of  the  public  prosecutor's  hostility. 
She  said  to  herself : 

"Supposing  we  were  to  send  Monsieur  de  Granville  fly- 
ing  " 

It  was  high  time  for  ]\Iadame  Camusot  to  vanish.  The 
Due  de  Chaulieu,  one  of  the  King's  prime  favorites,  met  the 
hourgeoise  on  the  outer  steps. 

"Henri,"  said  the  Due  de  Grandlieu  when  he  heard  his 
friend  announced,  "make  haste,  I  beg  of  you,  to  get  to  the 
Chateau,  try  to  see  the  King — the  business  is  this;"  and  he 
led  the  Duke  into  the  window-recess,  where  he  had  been  talk- 
ing to  the  airy  and  charming  Diane. 

Now  and  then  the  Due  de  Chaulieu  glanced  in  the  direction 


VAUTRINS  LAST  AVATAR  91 

of  the  flighty  Duchess,  who,  while  talking  to  the  pious  Duch- 
ess and  submitting  to  be  lectured,  answered  the  Due  de  Chau- 
lieu's  expressive  looks. 

"My  dear  child,"  said  the  Due  de  Grandlieu  to  her  at  last, 
the  aside  being  ended,  "do  be  good !  Come,  now,"'  and  he 
took  Diane's  hands,  "observe  the  proprieties  of  life,  do  not 
compromise  yourself  any  more,  write  no  letters.  Letters,  my 
dear,  have  caused  as  much  private  woe  as  public  mischief. 
What  might  be  excusable  in  a  girl  like  Clotilde,  in  love  for  the 
first  time,  had  no  excuse  in " 

"An  old  soldier  who  has  been  under  fire,"  said  Diane  with 
a  pout. 

This  grimace  and  the  Duchess'  jest  brought  a  smile  to  tlio 
face  of  the  two  much-troubled  Dukes,  and  of  the  pious  Duch- 
ess herself. 

"But  for  four  years  I  have  never  written  a  hillet-doux. — 
Are  we  saved  ?"  asked  Diane,  who  hid  her  curiosity  under  this 
childishness. 

"Not  yet,"  said  the  Due  de  Chaulieu.  "You  have  no 
notion  how  difficult  it  is  to  do  an  arbitrary  thing.  In  a 
constitutional  king  it  is  what  infidelity  is  in  a  wife:  it  is 
adultery." 

"The  fascinating  sin,"  said  the  Due  de  Grandlieu. 

"Forbidden  fruit !"  said  Diane,  smiling.  "Oh !  how  I 
wish  I  were  the  Government,  for  I  have  none  of  that  fruit 
left — I  have  eaten  it  all." 

"Oh !  •  my  dear,  my  dear !"  said  the  elder  Duchess,  "you 
really  go  too  far." 

The  two  Dukes,  hearing  a  coach  stop  at  the  door  with  the 
clatter  of  horses  checked  in  full  gallop,  bowed  to  the  ladies 
and  left  them,  going  into  the  Due  de  Grandlieu's  study, 
whither  came  the  gentleman  from  the  Eue  Honore-Chevalier 
— no  less  a  man  than  the  chief  of  the  King's  private  police, 
the  obscure  but  puissant  Corentin. 

"Go  on,"  said  the  Due  de  Grandlieu;  "go  first.  Monsieur 
de  Saint-Denis." 

Corentin,   surprised  that  the  Duke   should  have   remem- 


92  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

bered  him,  went  forward  after  bowing  low  to  the  two  noble- 
men. 

"Always  about  the  same  individual,  or  about  his  concerns, 
my  dear  sir,"  said  the  Due  de  Grandlieu. 

"But  he  is  dead,"  said  Corentin. 

"He  has  left  a  partner,"  said  the  Due  de  Chaulieu,  "a  very 
tough  customer." 

"The  convict  Jacques  Collin,"  replied  Corentin. 

"Will  you  speak,  Ferdinand  ?"  said  the  Due  de  Chaulieu  to 
his  friend. 

"That  wretch  is  an  object  of  fear,"  said  the  Due  de  Grand- 
lieu,  "for  he  has  possessed  himself,  so  as  to  be  able  to  levy 
blackmail,  of  the  letters  written  by  Madame  de  Serizy  and 
Madame  de  Maufrigneuse  to  Lucien  Chardon,  that  man's  tool. 
It  would  seem  that  it  was  a  matter  of  system  in  the  young 
man  to  extract  passionate  letters  in  return  for  his  own,  for  I 
am  told  that  Mademoiselle  de  Grandlieu  had  written  some — 
at  least,  so  we  fear — and  we  cannot  find  out  from  her — she 
is  gone  abroad." 

"That  little  young  man,"  replied  Corentin,  "was  incapable 
of  so  much  foresight.  That  was  a  precaution  due  to  the 
Abbe  Carlos  Herrera." 

Corentin  rested  his  elbow  on  the  arm  of  the  chair  on  which 
he  was  sitting,  and  his  head  on  his  hand,  meditating. 

"Money ! — The  man  has  more  than  we  have,"  said  he. 
"Esther  Gobseck  served  him  as  a  bait  to  extract  nearly  two 
million  francs  from  that  well  of  gold  called  Nucingen. — Gen- 
tlemen, get  me  full  legal  powers,  and  I  will  rid  you  of  the 
fellow." 

"And — the  letters  ?"  asked  the  Due  de  Grandlieu. 

"Listen  to  me,  gentlemen,"  said  Corentin,  standing  up,  his 
weasel-face  betraying  his  excitement. 

He  thrust  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his  black  doeskin 
trousers,  shaped  over  the  shoes.  This  great  actor  in  the  his- 
torical drama  of  the  day  had  only  stopped  to  put  on  a  waist- 
coat and  frock-coat,  and  had  not  changed  his  morning 
trousers,  so  well  he  knew  how  grateful  great  men  can  be 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  93 

for  immediate  action  in  certain  cases.  He  walked  up  and 
down  the  room  quite  at  his  ease,  haranguing  loudly,  as  if 
he  had  been  alone. 

"He  is  a  convict.  He  could  be  sent  off  to  Bicetre  without 
trial,  and  put  in  solitary  confinement,  without  a  soul  to  speak 
to,  and  left  there  to  die. — But  he  may  have  given  instructions 
to  his  adherents,  foreseeing  this  possibility." 

"But  he  was  put  into  the  secret  cells,"  said  the  Due  de 
Grandlieu,  "the  moment  he  was  taken  into  custody  at  that 
woman's  house." 

"Is  there  such  a  thing  as  a  secret  cell  for  such  a  fellow  as 
he  is  ?"  said  Corentin.     "He  is  a  match  for — for  me  !" 

"What  is  to  be  done?"  said  the  Dukes  to  each  other  by  a 
glance. 

"We  can  send  the  scoundrel  back  to  the  hulks  at  once — to 
Eochef  ort ;  he  will  be  dead  in  six  months !  Oh !  without  com- 
mitting any  crime,"  he  added,  in  reply  to  a  gesture  on  the 
part  of  the  Due  de  Grandlieu.  "What  do  you  expect?  A 
convict  cannot  hold'  out  more  than  six  months  of  a  hot  sum- 
mer if  he  is  made  to  work  really  hard  among  the  marshes  of 
the  Charente.  But  this  is  of  no  use  if  our  man  has  taken  pre- 
cautions with  regard  to  the  letters.  If  the  villain  has  been 
suspicious  of  his  foes,  and  that  is  probable,  we  must  find  out 
what  steps  he  has  taken.  Then,  if  the  present  holder  of  the 
letters  is  poor,  he  is  open  to  bribery.  So,  now,  we  must  make 
Jacques  Collin  speak.  What  a  duel !  He  will  beat  me. 
The  better  plan  would  be  to  purchase  these  letters  by  ex- 
change for  another  document — a  letter  of  reprieve — and  to 
place  the  man  in  my  gang.  Jacques  Collin  is  the  only  man 
alive  who  is  clever  enough  to  come  after  me,  poor  Contenson 
and  dear  old  Peyrade  both  being  dead  !  Jacques  Collin  killed 
those  two  unrivaled  spies  on  purpose,  as  it  were,  to  make  a 
place  for  himself.  So,  you  see,  gentlemen,  you  must  give  me 
a  free  hand.  Jacques  Collin  is  in  the  Conciergerie.  I  will 
go  to  see  Monsieur  de  Granville  in  his  Court.  Send  some 
one  you  can  trust  to  meet  me  there,  for  I  must  have  a  letter 
to  show  to  Monsieur  de  Granville,  who  knows  nothinfir  of  me. 


94  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

I  will  hand  the  letter  to  the  President  of  the  Council,  a  very 
impressive  sponsor.  You  have  half  an  hour  before  you,  for 
1  need  half  an  hour  to  dress,  that  is  to  say,  to  make  myself 
presentable  to  the  eyes  of  the  public  prosecutor." 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  Due  de  Chaulieu,  "I  know  your  won- 
derful skill,  I  only  ask  you  to  say  Yes  or  No.  Will  you  be 
bound  to  succeed?" 

"Yes,  if  I  have  full  powers,  and  your  word  that  I  shall 
never  be  questioned  about  the  matter. — My  plan  is  laid." 

This  sinister  reply  made  the  two  fine  gentlemen  shiver. 
"Go  on,  then,  monsieur,"  said  the  Due  de  Chaulieu.  "You 
can  set  down  the  charges  of  the  case  p.mong  those  you  are  in 
the  habit  of  undertaking." 

Corentin  bowed  and  went  away. 

Henri  de  Lenoncourt,  for  whom  Ferdinand  de  Grandlieu 
had  a  carriage  brought  out,  went  off  forthwith  to  the  King, 
whom  he  was  privileged  to  see  at  all  times  in  right  of  his 
office. 

Thus  all  the  various  interests  that  had  got  entangled  from 
the  highest  to  the  lowest  ranks  of  society  were  to  meet  pres- 
ently in  Monsieur  de  Granville's  room  at  the  Palais,  all 
brought  together  by  necessity  embodied  in  three  men — Justice 
in  Monsieur  de  Granville,  and  the  family  in  Corentin,  face 
to  face  with  Jacques  Collin,  the  terrible  foe  who  represented 
social  crime  in  its  fiercest  energy. 

What  a  duel  is  that  between  justice  and  arbitrary  wills 
on  one  side  and  the  hulks  and  cunning  on  the  other !  The 
hulks — symbolical  of  that  daring  which  throws  off  calcula- 
tion and  reflection,  which  avails  itself  of  any  means,  which 
has  none  of  the  hyprocrisy  of  high-handed  justice,  but  is  the 
hideous  outcome  of  the  starving  stomach — the  swift  and 
bloodthirsty  pretext  of  hunger.  Is  it  not  attack  as  against 
self-protection,  theft  as  against  property?  The  terrible 
quarrel  between  the  social  state  and  the  natural  man,  fought 
out  on  the  narrowest  possible  ground !  In  short,  it  is  a  ter- 
rible and  vivid  image  of  those  compromises,  hostile  to  social 
interests,  which  the  representatives  of  authority,  when  they 
lack  power,  submit  to  with  the  fiercest  rebels. 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  95 

When  Monsieur  Camusot  was  announced,  the  public  pros- 
ecutor signed  that  he  should  be  admitted.  Monsieur  de 
Granville  had  foreseen  this  visit,  and  wished  to  come  to  an 
understanding  with  the  examining  judge  as  to  how  to  wind 
up  this  business  of  Lucien's  death.  The  end  could  no  longer 
be  that  on  which  he  had  decided  the  day  before  in  agreement 
with  Camusot,  before  the  suicide  of  the  hapless  poet. 

"Sit  down.  Monsieur  Camusot,"  said  Monsieur  de  Gran- 
ville, dropping  into  his  armchair.  The  public  prosecutor,* 
alone  with  the  inferior  judge,  made  no  secret  of  his  depressed 
state.  Camusot  looked  at  Monsieur  de  Granville  and  observed 
his  almost  livid  pallor,  and  such  utter  fatigue,  such  com- 
plete prostration,  as  betrayed  greater  suffering  perhaps  than 
that  of  the  condemned  man  to  whom  the  clerk  had  announced 
the  rejection  of  his  appeal.  And  yet  that  announcement,  in 
the  forms  of  justice,  is  as  much  as  to  say,  "Prepare  to  die; 
your  last  hour  has  come." 

"I  will  .return  later.  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said  Camusot. 
"Though  the  business  is  pressing " 

"No,  stav^,"  replied  the  public  prosecutor  with  dignity.  "A 
magistrate,  monsieur,  must  accept  his  anxieties  and  know  how 
to  hide  them.  I  was  in  fault  if  you  saw  any  traces  of  agita- 
tion in  me " 

Camusot  bowed  apologetically. 

"God  grant  you  may  never  know  these  crucial  perplexities 
of  our  life.  A  man  might  sink  under  less !  I  have  just 
spent  the  night  with  one  of  my  most  intimate  friends. — I 
have  but  two  friends,  the  Comte  Octave  de  Bauvan  and  the 
Comte  de  Serizy. — We  sat  together,  Monsieur  de  Serizy,  the 
Count,  and  I,  from  six  in  the  evening  till  six  this  morning, 
taking  it  in  turns  to  go  from  the  drawing-room  to  Madame  de 
Serizy's  bedside,  fearing  each  time  that  we  might  find  her 
dead  or  irremediably  insane.  Desplein,  Bianchon,  and 
Sinard  never  left  the  room,  and  she  has  two  nurses.  The 
Count  worships  his  wife.  Imagine  the  night  I  have  spent, 
between  a  woman  crazy  with  love  and  a  man  crazy  with 
despair.     And  a  statesman's  despair  is  not  like  that  of  an 


96  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

idiot.  Serizy,  as  calm  as  if  he  were  sitting  in  his  place  in 
council,  clutched  his  chair  to  force  himself  to  show  us  an  un- 
moved countenance,  while  sweat  stood  over  the  brows  bent  by 
so  much  hard  thought. — Worn  out  by  want  of  sleep,  I  dozed 
from  five  till  half-past  seven,  and  I  had  to  be  here  by  half- 
past  eight  to  warrant  an  execution.  Take  my  word  for  it, 
Monsieur  Camusot,  when  a  judge  has  been  toiling  all  night 
in  such  gulfs  of  sorrow,  feeling  the  heavy  hand  of  God  on  all 
human  concerns,  and  heaviest  on  noble  souls,  it  is  hard  to  sit 
down  here,  in  front  of  a  desk,  and  say  in  cold  blood,  'Cut  off 
a  head  at  four  o'clock !  Destroy  one  of  God's  creatures  full 
of  life,  health,  and  strength !' — And  yet  this  is  my  duty ! 
Sunk  in  grief  myself,  I  must  order  the  scaffold 

"The  condemned  wretch  cannot  know  that  his  judge  suffers 
anguish  equal  to  his  own.  At  this  moment  he  and  I,  linked 
by  a  sheet  of  paper — I,  society  avenging  itself ;  he,  the  crime 
to  be  avenged — embody  the  same  duty  seen  from  two  sides; 
we  are  two  lives  joined  for  the  moment  by  the  sword  of  the 
law. 

"Who  pities  the  judge's  deep  sorrow?  Who  can  soothe 
it  ?  Our  glory  is  to  bury  it  in  the  depth  of  our  heart.  The 
priest  with  his  life  given  to  God,  the  soldier  with  a  thousand 
deaths  for  his  country's  sake,  seem  to  me  far  happier  than 
the  magistrate  with  his  doubts  and  fears  and  appalling  re- 
sponsibility. 

"You  know  who  the  condemned  man  is?"  Monsieur  de 
Granville  went  on.  "A  young  man  of  seven-and-twenty — 
as  handsome  as  he  who  killed  himself  yesterday,  and  as  fair ; 
condemned  against  all  our  anticipations,  for  the  only  proof 
against  him  was  his  concealment  of  the  stolen  goods.  Though 
sentenced,  the  lad  will  confess  nothing !  For  seventy  days 
he  has  held  out  against  every  test,  constantly  declaring  that 
he  is  innocent.  For  two  months  I  have  felt  two  heads  on  my 
shoulders !  I  would  give  a  year  of  my  life  if  he  would  con- 
fess, for  juries  need  encouragement;  and  imagine  what  a 
blow  it  would  be  to  justice  if  some  day  it  should  be  discovered 
that  the  crime  for  which  he  is  punished  .was  committed  by 
another. 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  97 

*^n  Paris  everything  is  so  terribly  important;  the  most 
trivial  incidents  in  the  law  courts  have  political  consequences. 

"The  jury,  an  institution  regarded  by  the  legislators  of  ^i^ 
the  Eevolution  as  a  source  of  strength,  is,  in  fact,  an  in-  ^X, 
strument  of  social  rmhj,:,f or  it  fails  in  action ;  it  does  not  ^ 
sufficiently    protect"  society.       The    jury    trifles    with    its  "■ 
functions.      The    class    of    jurymen    is    divided    into    two 
parties,  one  averse  to  capital  punishment;  the  result  is  a 
total  upheaval   of  true   equality   in   administration   of  the 
law.     Parricide,  a  most  horrible  crime,  is  in  some  depart- 
ments treated  with  leniency,  while  in  others  a  common  mur- 
der, so  to  speak,  is  punished  with  death.*     And  what  would 
happen  if  here  in  Paris,  in  our  home  district,  an  innocent 
man  should  be  executed !" 

"He  is  an  escaped  convict,"  said  Monsieur  Camusot, 
diffidently. 

"The  Opposition  and  the  Press  would  make  him  a  paschal 
lamb !"  cried  Monsieur  de  Granville ;  "and  the  Opposition 
would  enjoy  white-washing  him,  for  he  is  a  fanatical  Cor- 
sican,  full  of  his  native  notions,  and  his  murders  were  a 
Vendetta.  In  that  island  you  may  kill  your  enemy,  and  think 
yourself,  and  be  thought,  a  very  good  man. 

"A  thorough-paced  magistrate,  I  tell  you,  is  an  unhappy 
man.  They  ought  to  live  apart  from  all  society,  like  the 
pontiffs  of  old.  The  world  should  never  see  them  but  at 
fixed  hours,  leaving  their  cells,  grave,  and  old,  and  venerable, 
passing  sentence  like  the  high  priests  of  antiquity,  who  com- 
bined in  their  person  the  functions  of  judicial  and  sacerdotal 
authority.  We  should  be  accessible  only  in  our  high  seat. — 
As  it  is,  we  are  to  be  seen  every  day,  amused  or  unhappy, 
like  other  men.  We  are  to  be  found  in  drawing-rooms  and 
at  home,  as  ordinary  citizens,  moved  by  our  passions ;  and  we 
seem,  perhaps,  more  grotesque  than  terrible." 

This  bitter  cry,  broken  by  pauses  and  interjections,  and 
emphasized   by   gestures   which   gave   it   an   eloquence   im- 

*  There  are  in  penal  servitude  twenty-three  parricides  who  have  heen  allowed  the 
benefit  of  extenuating  circumstances. 


98  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

possible  to  reduce  to  writing,  made  Camusot's  blood  run 
chill. 

"And  I,  monsieur,''  said  he,  "began  yesterday  my  ap- 
prenticeship to  the  sufferings  of  our  calling. — I  could  have 
died  of  that  young  fellow's  death.  He  misunderstood  my 
wish  to  be  lenient,  and  the  poor  wretch  committed  him- 
self." 

"x\h,  you  ought  never  to  have  examined  him !"  cried 
Monsieur  de  Granville;  "it  is  so  easy  to  oblige  by  doing 
nothing." 

"And  the  law,  monsieur?"'  replied  Camusot.  "He  had 
been  in  custody  two  days." 

"The  mischief  is  done,"  said  the  public  prosecutor.  "I 
have  done  my  best  to  remed}'  what  is  indeed  irremediable. 
My  carriage  and  servants  are  following  the  poor  weak  poet 
to  the  grave.  Serizy  has  sent  his  too;  nay,  more,  he  accepts 
the  duty  imposed  on  him  by  the  unforrtunate  boy,  and  will 
act  as  his  executor.  By  promising  this  to  his  wife  he  won 
from  her  a  gleam  of  returning  sanity.  And  Count  Octave 
is  attending  the  funeral  in  person." 

"Well,  then.  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said  Camusot,  "let  us 
complete  our  work.  We  have  a  very  dangerous  man  on  our 
hands.  He  is  Jacques  Collin — and  you  know  it  as  well  as  I 
do.     The  ruffian  will  be  recognized " 

"Then  we  are  lost !"  cried  Monsieur  de  Granville. 

"He  is  at  this  moment  shut  up  with  your  condemned  mur- 
derer, who,  on  the  hulks,  was  to  him  what  Lucien  has  been 
in  Paris — a  favorite  protege.  Bibi-Lupin,  disguised  as  a 
gendarme,  is  watching  the  interview." 

"What  business  has  the  superior  police  to  interfere?"  said 
the  public  prosecutor.  "He  has  no  business  to  act  without 
my  orders !" 

"All  the  Conciergerie  must  know  that  we  have  caught 
Jacques  Collin. — Well,  I  have  come  on  purpose  to  tell  you 
that  this  daring  felon  has  in  his  possession  the  most  com- 
promising letters  of  Lucien's  correspondence  with  Madame 
de  Serizy,  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  and  Mademoiselle 
Clotilde  de  Grandlieu." 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  99 

"Are  you  sure  of  that?"  asked  Monsieur  de  Granville,  his 
face  full  of  pained  surprise. 

"You  shall  hear,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  what  reason  I  have  to 
fear  such  a  misfortune.  When  I  untied  the  papers  found  <_,)> 
in  the  young  man's  rooms,  Jacques  Collin  gave  a  keen  look  '  .^ 
at  the  parcel,  and  smiled  with  satisfaction  in  a  way  that  no 
examining  judge  could  misunderstand.  So  deep  a  villain 
as  Jacques  Collin  takes  good  care  not  to  let  such  a  weapon 
slip  through  his  fingers.  What  is  to  be  said  if  these  docu- 
ments should  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  counsel  chosen  by 
that  rascal  from  among  the  foes  of  the  government  and  the 
aristocracy ! — My  wife,  to  whom  the  Duchesse  de  Mau- 
frigneuse  has  shown  much  kindness,  is  gone  to  warn  her,  and 
by  this  time  they  nmst  be  with  the  Grandlieus  holding 
council." 

"But  we  cannot  possibly  try  the  man !"  cried  the  public 
prosecutor,  rising  and  striding  up  and  down  the  room.  "He 
must  have  put  the  papers  in  some  safe  place " 

"I  know  where,"  said  Camusot. 

These  words  finally  effaced  every  prejudice  the  public  pros- 
ecutor had  'felt  against  him. 

"Well,  then -"  said  Monsieur  de  Granville,  sitting  down 

again. 

"On  my  way  here  this  morning  I  reflected  deeply  on  this 
miserable  business.  Jacques  Collin  has  an  aunt — an  aunt 
by  nature,  not  putative — a  woman  concerning  whom  the 
superior  police  have  communicated  a  report  to  the  Prefecture. 
He  is  this  woman's  pupil  and  idol ;  she  is  his  father's  sister,  ' 
her  name  Jacqueline  Collin.  This  wretched  woman  carries 
on  a  trade  as  wardrobe  purchaser,  and  by  the  connection 
this  business  has  secured  her  she  gets  hold  of  many  family 
secrets.  If  Jacques  Collin  has  intrusted  those  papers,  which 
would  be  his  salvation,  to  any  one's  keeping,  it  is  to  that  of 
this  creature.     Have  her  arrested." 

The  public  prosecutor  gave  Camusot  a  keen  look,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "This  man  is  not  such  a  fool  as  I  thought  him; 
he  is  still  young,  and  does  not  yet  know  how  to  handle  the 
reins  of  iustice." 


100  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"But,"  Camusot  went  on,  "in  order  to  succeed,  we  must 
give  up  all  the  plans  we  laid  yesterday,  and  I  came  to  take 
your  advice — ^your  orders " 

The  public  prosecutor  took  up  his  paper-knife  and  tapped 
it  against  the  edge  of  the  table  with  one  of  the  tricky  move- 
ments familiar  to  thoughtful  men  when  they  give  themselves 
up  to  meditation. 

"Three  noble  families  involved !"  he  exclaimed.  "We  must 
not  make  the  smallest  blunder ! — You  are  right :  as  a  first 
step  let  us  act  on  Fouche's  principle,  'Arrest !' — and  Jacques 
Collin  must  at  once  be  sent  back  to  the  secret  cells." 

"That  is  to  proclaim  him  a  convict  and  to  ruin  Lucien's 
memory !" 

"What  a  desperate  business !"  said  Monsieur  de  Granville. 
"There  is  danger  on  every  side." 

At  this  instant  the  governor  of  the  Conciergerie  came  in, 
not  without  knocking ;  and  the  private  room  of  a  public  pros- 
ecutor is  so  well  guarded,  that  only  those  concerned  about 
the  courts  may  even  knock  at  the  door. 

"Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said  Monsieur  Gault,  "the  prisoner 
calling  himself  Carlos  Herrera  wishes  to  speak  with  you." 

"Has  he  had  communication  with  anybody?"  asked  Mon- 
sieur de  Granville. 

"With  all  the  prisoners,  for  he  has  been  out  in  the  yard 
since  about  half -past  seven.  And  he  has  seen  the  condemned 
man,  who  would  seem  to  have  talked  to  him." 

A  speech  of  Camusot's,  which  recurred  to  his  mind  like  a 
flash  of  light,  showed  Monsieur  de  Granville  all  the  ad- 
vantage that  might  be  taken  of  a  confession  of  intimacy  be- 
tween Jacques  Collin  and  Theodore  Calvi  to  obtain  the  letters. 
The  public  prosecutor,  glad  to  have  an  excuse  for  postponing 
the  execution,  beckoned  Monsieur  Gault  to  his  side. 

"I  intend,"  said  he,  "to  put  off  the  execution  till  to- 
morrow; but  let  no  one  in  the  prison  suspect  it.  Absolute 
silence !  Let  the  executioner  seem  to  be  superintending  the 
preparations. 

"Send  the  Spanish  priest  here  under  a  strong  guard;  the 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  101 

Spanish  Embassy  claims  his  person !  Gendarmes  can  bring 
up  the  self-styled  Carlos  by  your  back  stairs  so  that  he  may 
see  no  one.  Instruct  the  men  each  to  hold  him  by  one  arm, 
and  never  let  him  go  till  they  reach  this  door. 

"Are  you  quite  sure,  Monsieur  Gault,  that  this  dangerous 
foreigner  has  spoken  to  no  one  but  the  prisoners !" 

"Ah !  just  as  he  came  out  of  the  condemned  cell  a  lady 
came  to  see  him " 

The  two  magistrates  exchanged  looks,  and  such  looks ! 

"What  lady  was  that?"  asked  Camusot. 

"One  of  his  penitents — a  Marquise,"  replied  Gault. 

"Worse  and  worse !"  said  Monsieur  de  Granville,  looking 
at  Camusot. 

"She  gave  all  the  gendarmes  and  warders  a  sick  head- 
ache," said  Monsieur  Gault,  much  puzzled. 

"Nothing  can  be  a  matter  of  indilference  in  your  business," 
said  the  public  prosecutor.  "The  Conciergerie  has  not  such 
tremendous  walls  for  nothing.    How  did  this  lady  get  in  ?" 

"With  a  regular  permit,  monsieur,"  replied  the  governor. 
"The  lady,  beautifully  dressed,  in  a  tine  carriage  with  a 
footman  and  a  chasseur,  came  to  see  her  confessor  before 
going  to  the  funeral  of  the  poor  young  man  whose  body  you 
had  had  removed." 

"Bring  me  the  order  for  admission,"  said  Monsieur  de 
Granville. 

"It  was  given  on  the  recommendation  of  the  Comte  de 
Serizy." 

"What  was  the  woman  like  ?"  asked  the  public  prosecutor. 

"She  seemed  to  be  a  lady." 

"Did  you  see  her  face?" 

"She  wore  a  black  veil." 

"What  did  they  say  to  each  other?" 

"Well — a  pious  person,  with  a  prayer-book  in  her  hand — 
what  could  she  say  ?  She  asked  the  Abbe's  blessing  and  went 
on  her  knees." 

"Did  they  talk  together  a  long  time  ?" 

"Not  five  minutes ;  but  we  none  of  us  understood  what  they 
said;  they  spoke  Spanish  no  doubt." 
7 


102  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Tell  us  everything,  monsieur,"  the  public  prosecutor  in- 
sisted. "I  repeat,  the  very  smallest  detail  is  to  us  of  the  first 
importance.    Let  this  be  a  caution  to  you." 

"She  was  crying,  monsieur," 

"Eeally  weeping?" 

"That  we  could  not  see,  she  hid  her  face  in  her  handker- 
chief. She  left  three  hundred  francs  in  gold  for  the  pris- 
oners." 

"That  was  not  she  !"  said  Camusot. 

"Bibi-Lupin  at  once  said,  'She  is  a  thief !' "  said  Monsieur 
Gault. 

"He  knows  the  tribe,"  said  Monsieur  de  Granville. — "Get 
out  your  warrant,"  he  added,  turning  to  Camusot,  "and  have 
seals  placed  on  everything  in  her  house — at  once !  But  how 
can  she  have  got  hold  of  Monsieur  de  Serizy's  recommenda- 
tion ? — Bring  me  the  order — and  go,  Monsieur  Gault ;  send  me 
that  Abbe  immediately.  So  long  as  we  have  him  safe,  the 
danger  cannot  be  greater.  And  in  the  course  of  two  hours' 
talk  you  get  a  long  way  into  a  man's  mind." 

"Especially  such  a  public  prosecutor  as  you  are,"  said 
Camusot  insidiously. 

"There  will  be  two  of  us,"  replied  Monsieur  de  Granville 
politely. 

And  he  became  discursive  once  more. 

"There  ought  to  be  created  for  every  prison  parlor,  a  post 
of  superintendent,  to  be  given  with  a  good  salary  to  the  clev- 
erest and  most  energetic  police  officers,"  said  he,  after  a  long 
pause.  "Bibi-Lupin  ought  to  end  his  days  in  such  a  place. 
Then  we  should  have  an  eye  and  an  ear  on  the  watch  in  a  de- 
partment that  needs  closer  supervision  than  it  gets. — Mon- 
sieur Gault  could  tell  us  nothing  positive." 

"He  has  so  much  to  do,"  said  Camusot.  "Still,  between 
these  secret  cells  and  us  there  lies  a  gap  which  ought  not  to 
exist.  On  the  way  from  the  Conciergerie  to  the  judges'  rooms 
there  are  passages,  courtyards,  and  stairs.  The  attention  of 
the  agents  cannot  be  unflagging,  whereas  the  prisoner  is  al- 
ways alive  to  his  own  affairs. 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  103 

"I  was  told  that  a  lady  had  already  placed  herself  in  the 
way  of  Jacques  Collin  when  he  was  brought  up  from  the  cells 
to  be  examined.  That  woman  got  into  the  guardroom  at  the 
top  of  the  narrow  stairs  from  the  mousetrap ;  the  ushers  told 
me,  and  I  blamed  the  gendarmes." 

"Oh  !  the  Palais  needs  entire  reconstruction,"  said  Monsieur 
de  Granville.  "But  it  is  an  outlay  of  twenty  to  thirty  million 
francs !  Just  try  asking  the  Chambers  for  thirty  millions 
for  the  more  decent  accommodation  of  Justice." 

The  sound  of  many  footsteps  and  a  clatter  of  arms  fell  on 
their  ear.    It  would  be  Jacques  Collin. 

The  public  prosecutor  assumed  a  mask  of  gravity  that  hid 
the  man.    Camusot  imitated  his  chief. 

The  office-boy  opened  the  door,  and  Jacqiies  Collin  came 
in,  quite  calm  and  unmoved. 

"You  wished  to  speak  to  me,"  said  Monsieur  de  Granville. 
"I  am  ready  to  listen." 

"Monsieur  le  Comte,  I  am  Jacques  Collin.    I  surrender !" 

Camusot  started;  the  public  prosecutor  was  immovable. 

"As  you  may  suppose,  I  have  my  reasons  for  doing  this," 
said  Jacques  Collin,  with  an  ironical  glance  at  the  two  magis- 
trates. "I  must  inconvenience  you  greatly;  for  if  I  had  re- 
mained a  Spanish  priest,  you  would  simply  have  packed  me 
off  with  an  escort  of  gendarmes  as  far  as  the  frontier  by 
Bayonne,  and  there  Spanish  bayonets  would  have  relieved 
you  of  me." 

The  lawyers  sat  silent  and  imperturbable. 

"Monsieur  le  Comte,"  the  convict  went  on,  "the  reasons 
which  have  led  me  to  this  step  are  yet  more  pressing  than  this, 
but  devilish  personal  to  myself.  I  can  tell  them  to  no  one 
but  you. — If  you  are  afraid " 

"Afraid  of  whom?  Of  what?"  said  the  Comte  de  Gran- 
ville. 

In  attitude  and  expression,  in  the  turn  of  his  head,  his 
demeanor  and  his  look,  this  distinguished  judge  was  at  this 
moment  a  living  embodiment  of  the  law  which  ought  to  supply 
us  with  the  noblest  examples  of  civic  courage.     In  this  brief 


104  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

instant  he  was  on  a  level  with  the  magistrates  of  the  old 
French  Parlement  in  the  time  of  the  civil  wars,  when  the 
presidents  found  themselves  face  to  face  with  death,  and 
stood,  made  of  marble,  like  the  statues  that  commemorate 
them. 

"Afraid  to  be  alone  with  an  escaped  convict !" 

"Leave  us.  Monsieur  Camusot,"  said  the  public  prosecutor 
at  once. 

"I  was  about  to  suggest  that  you  should  bind  me  hand 
and  foot,"  Jacques  Collin  coolly  added,  with  an  ominous 
glare  at  the  two  gentlemen.  He  paused,  and  then  said  with 
great  gravity: 

"Monsieur  le  Comte,  you  had  my  esteem,  but  you  now 
command  my  admiration." 

"Then  you  think  you  are  formidable  ?"  said  the  magistrate, 
with  a  look  of  supreme  contempt. 

"ThinJc  myself  formidable?"  retorted  the  convict.  "Why 
think  about  it?    I  am,  and  I  know  it." 

Jacques  Collin  took  a  chair  and  sat  down,  with  all  the  ease 
of  a  man  who  feels  himself  a  match  for  his  adversary  in  an 
interview  where  they  would  treat  on  equal  terms. 

At  this  instant  Monsieur  Camusot,  who  was  on  the  point  of 
closing  the  door  behind  him,  turned  back,  came  up  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Granville,  and  handed  him  two  folded  papers. 

"Look !"  said  he  to  Monsieur  de  Granville,  pointing  to  one 
of  them. 

"Call  back  Monsieur  Gault !"  cried  the  Comte  de  Granville, 
as  he  read  the  name  of  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse's  maid — a 
woman  he  knew. 

The  governor  of  the  prison  came  in. 

"Describe  the  woman  who  came  to  see  the  prisoner,"  said 
the  public  prosecutor  in  his  ear. 

"Short,  thick-set,  fat,  and  square,"  replied  Monsieur  Gault. 

"The  woman  to  whom  this  permit  was  given  is  tall  and 
thin,"  said  Monsieur  de  Granville.    "How  old  was  she?" 

"About  sixty." 

"This    concerns   me,    gentlemen  ?"    said   Jacques    Collin. 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  105 

"Come,  do  not  puzzle  your  heads.  That  person  is  my  aunt,  a 
very  plausible  aunt,  a  woman,  and  an  old  Avoman.  I  can  save 
you  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  You  will  never  find  my  aunt 
unless  I  choose.  If  we  beat  about  the  bush,  we  shall  never 
get  forwarder." 

"Monsieur  I'Abbe  has  lost  his  Spanish  accent,"  observed 
Monsieur  Gault ;  "he  does  not  speak  broken  French." 

"Because  things  are  in  a  desperate  mess,  my  dear  Monsieur 
Gault,"  replied  Jacques  Collin  with  a  bitter  smile,  as  he  ad- 
dressed the  Governor  by  name. 

Monsieur  Gault  went  quickly  up  to  his  chief,  and  said  in  a 
whisper,  "Beware  of  that  man.  Monsieur  le  Comte ;  he  is  mad 
with  rage." 

Monsieur  de  Granville  gazed  slowly  at  Jacques  Collin,  and 
saw  that  he  was  controlling  himself;  but  he  saw,  too,  that  what 
the  governor  said  was  true.  This  treacherous  demeanor  cov- 
ered the  cold  but  terrible  nervous  irritation  of  a  savage.  In 
Jacques  Collin's  eyes  were  the  lurid  fires  of  a  volcanic  erup- 
tion, his  fists  were  clenched.  He  was  a  tiger  gathering  him- 
self up  to  spring. 

"Leave  us,"  said  the  Count  gravely  to  the  prison  governor 
and  the  Judge. 

"You  did  wisely  to  send  away  Lucien's  murderer !"  said 
Jacques  Collin,  without  caring  whether  Camusot  heard  him 
or  no;  "I  could  not  contain  myself,  I  should  have  strangled 
him." 

Monsieur  de  Granville  felt  a  chill;  never  had  he  seen  a 
man's  eyes  so  full  of  blood,  or  cheeks  so  colorless,  or  muscles 
so  set. 

"And  what  good  would  that  murder  have  done  you?"  he 
quietly  asked. 

"You  avenge  society,  or  fancy  you  avenge  it,  every  day, 
monsieur,  and  you  ask  ma  to  give  a  reason  for  revenge  ?  Have 
you  never  felt  vengeance  throbbing  in  surges  in  your  veins? 
Don't  you  know  that  it  was  that  idiot  of  a  judge  who  killed 
him? — For  you  were  fond  of  mv  Lucien,  and  he  loved 
you  !    I  know  you  by  heart,  sir.    The  dear  boy  would  tell  me 


106  •  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

everything  at  night  when  he  came  in;  I  used  to  put  him  to 
bed  as  a  nurse  tucks  up  a  child,  and  I  made  him  tell  me  every- 
thing. He  confided  everything  to  me,  even  his  least  sensa- 
tions ! 

"The  best  of  mothers  never  loved  an  only  son  so  tenderly 
as  I  loved  that  angel !  If  only  you  knew !  All  that  is  good 
sprang  up  in  his  heart  as  flowers  grow  in  the  fields.  He  was 
weak ;  it  was  his  only  fault,  weak  as  the  string  of  a  lyre,  which 
is  so  strong  when  it  is  taut.  These  are  the  most  beautiful 
natures;  their  weakness  is  simply  tenderness,  admiration, 
the  power  of  expanding  in  the  sunshine  of  art,  of  love,  of  the 
beauty  God  has  made  for  man  in  a  thousand  shapes ! — In 
short,  Lucien  was  a  woman  spoiled.  Oh !  what  could  I  not 
say  to  that  brute  beast  who  has  just  gone  out  of  the  room ! 

"I  tell  you,  monsieur,  in  my  degree,  as  a  prisoner  before 
his  judge,  I  did  what  God  A'mighty  would  have  done  for  His 
Son  if,  hoping  to  save  Him,  He  had  gone  with  Him  before 
Pilate !" 

A  flood  of  tears  fell  from  the  convict's  light  tawny  eyes, 
which  just  now  had  glared  like  those  of  a  wolf  starved  by  six 
months'  snow  in  the  plains  of  the  Ukraine.    He  went  on : 

"That  dolt  would  listen  to  nothing,  and  he  killed  the  boy ! — 
I  tell  you,  sir,  I  bathed  the  child's  corpse  in  my  tears,  crying 
out  to  the  Power  I  do  not  know,  and  which  is  above  us  all ! 
I,  who  do  not  believe  in  God  ! — (For  if  I  were  not  a  material- 
ist, I  should  not  be  myself.) 

"I  have  told  everything  when  I  say  that.  You  don't  know 
— no  man  knows  what  suffering  is.  I  alone  know  it.  The  fire 
of  anguish  so  dried  up  my  tears,  that  all  last  night  I  could 
not  weep.  Now  I  can,  because  I  feel  that  you  can  understand 
me.  I  saw  you,  sitting  there  just  now,  an  Image  of  Justice. 
Oh !  monsieur,  may  God — for  I  am  beginning  to  believe  in 
Him — preserve  you  from  ever  being  as  bereft  as  I  am !  That 
cursed  judge  has  robbed  me  of  my  soul,  Monsieur  le  Comte ! 
At  this  moment  they  are  burying  my  life,  my  beauty,  my 
virtue,  my  conscience,  all  my  powers !  Imagine  a  dog  from 
which  a  chemist  had  extracted  the  blood. — That's  me  !  I  am 
that  dog 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  107 

"And  that  is  why  1  have  come  to  teii  you  that  I  am 
Jacques  Collin,  and  to  give  myself  up.  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  it  this  morning  when  they  came  and  carried  away  the  body 
I  was  kissing  like  a  madman — like  a  mother — as  the  Virgin 
must  have  kissed  Jesus  in  the  tomb. 

"I  meant  then  to  give  myself  up  to  justice  without  driving 
any  bargain;  but  now  I  must  make  one,  and  you  shall  know 
why." 

"Are  you  speaking  to  the  judge  or  to  Monsieur  de  Gran- 
ville?" asked  the  magistrate. 

The  two  men,i,  Crime  and  Law,  looked  at  each  other.  The 
magistrate  had  been  strongly  moved  by  the  convict ;  he  felt  a 
sort  of  divine  pity  for  the  unhappy  wretch;  he  understood 
what  his  life  and  feelings  were.  And  besides,  the  magistrate 
— for  a  magistrate  is  always  a  magistrate — knowing  nothing 
of  Jacques  Collin's  career  since  his  escape  from  prison, 
fancied  that  he  could  impress  the  criminal  who,  after  all,  had 
only  been  sentenced  for  forgery.  He  would  try  the  effect  of 
generosity  on  this  nature,  a  compound,  like  bronze,  of  various 
elements,  of  good  and  evil. 

Again,  Monsieur  de  Granville,  who  had  reached  the  age_ 
of  fifty-three  without  ever  having  been  loved,  admired  a  ten- 
der soul,  as  all  men  do  who  have  not  been  beloved.  This  de- 
spair, the  lot  of  many  men  to  whom  women  can  only  give 
esteem  and  friendship,  was  perhaps  the  unknown  bond  on 
which  the  strong  intimacy  was  based  that  united  the  Comtes 
de  Bauvan,  de  Granville,  and  de  Serizy;  for  a  common  mis- 
fortune brings  souls  into  unison  quite  as  much  as  a  common 

joy- 

"You  have  the  future  before  you,"  said  the  public  prose- 
cutor, with  an  inquisitorial  glance  at  the  dejected  villain. 

The  man  only  expressed  by  a  shrug  the  utmost  indifference 
to  his  fate. 

"Lucien  made  a  will  by  wliicli  he  leaves  you  three  hundred 
thousand  francs." 

"Poor,  poor  chap !  poor  boy !"  cried  Jacques  Collin.  "Al- 
ways too  honest !    I  was  all  wickedness,  while  he  was  good- 


108  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

ness — noble,  beautiful,  sublime  !    Such  lovely  souls  cannot  be 
spoiled.    He  had  taken  nothing  from  me  but  my  money,  sir." 

This  utter  and  complete  surrender  of  his  individuality, 
which  the  magistrate  vainly  strove  to  rally,  so  thoroughly 
proved  his  dreadful  words,  that  Monsieur  de  Granville  was 
won  over  to  the  criminal.    The  public  prosecutor  remained  ! 

"If  you  really  care  for  nothing,"  said  Monsieur  de  Gran- 
ville, "what  did  you  want  to  say  to  me  ?" 

"Well,  is  it  not  something  that  I  have  given  myself  up? 
You  were  getting  warm,  but  you  had  not  got  me  ;  besides,  you 

would  not  have  known  what  to  do  with  me " 

-..,    "What  an  antagonist !"  said  the  magistrate  to  himself. 

"Monsieur  le  Comte,  you  are  about  to  cut  off  the  head  of 
an  innocent  man,  and  I  have  discovered  the  culprit,"  said 
Jacques  Collin,  wiping  away  his  tears.  "I  have  come  here  not 
for  their  sakes,  but  for  yours.  I  have  come  to  spare  you  re- 
morse, for  I  love  all  who  took  an  interest  in  Lucien,  Just  as  I 
will  give  my  hatred  full  play  against  all  who  helped  to  cut  off 
his  life — men  or  women  ! 

"What  can  a  convict  more  or  less  matter  to  me?"  he  went 
pn,  after  a  short  pause.  "A  convict  is  no  more  in  my  eyes 
than  an  emmet  is  in  yours.  I  am  like  the  Italian  brigands — 
fine  men  they  are !  If  a  traveler  is  worth  ever  so  little  more 
than  the  charge  of  their  musket,  they  shoot  him  dead. 

"I  thought  only  of  you. — I  got  the  young  man  to  make  a 
clean  breast  of  it;  he  was  bound  to  trust  me,  we  had  been 
chained  together.  Theodore  is  very  good  stuff;  he  thought 
he  was  doing  his  mistress  a  good  turn  by  undertaking  to  sell 
or  pawn  the  stolen  goods;  but  he  is  no  more  guilty  of  the 
ISTanterre  job  than  you  are.  He  is  a  Corsican ;  it  is  their  way 
to  revenge  themselves  and  kill  each  other  like  flies.  In  Italy 
and  Spain  a  man's  life  is  not  respected,  and  the  reason  is 
plain.  There  we  are  believed  to  have  a  soul  in  our  own  image, 
which  survives  us  and  lives  for  ever.  Tell  that  to  your  an- 
alyst !  It  is  only  among  atheistical  or  philosophical  nations 
that  those  who  mar  human  life  are  made  to  pay  so  dearly; 
and  with  reason  from  their  point  of  view — a  belief  only  in 
matter  and  in  the  present. 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  109 

"If  Calvi  had  told  you  who  the  woman  was  from  whom  he 
obtained  the  stolen  goods,  you  would  not  have  found  the  real 
murderer;  he  is  already  in  your  hands;  but  his  accomplice, 
whom  poor  Theodore  will  not  betray  because  she  is  a  wo- 
man   Well,  every  calling  has  its  point  of  honor;  con- 
victs and  thieves  have  theirs ! 

"Now,  I  know  the  murderer  of  those  two  women  and  the 
inventors  of  that  bold,  strange  plot;  I  have  been  told  every 
detail.  Postpone  Calvi's  execution,  and  you  shall  know  all ; 
but  you  must  give  me  your  word  that  he  shall  be  sent  safe 
back  to  the  hulks  and  his  punishment  commuted.  A  man  so 
miserable  as  I  am  does  not  take  the  trouble  to  lie — ^you  know 
that.    What  I  have  told  you  is  the  truth." 

"To  you,  Jacques  Collin,  though  it  is  degrading  Justice, 
which  ought  never  to  condescend  to  such  a  compromise,  I  be- 
lieve I  may  relax  the  rigidity  of  my  office  and  refer  the  case 
to  my  superiors." 

"Will  vou  grant  me  this  life?" 

"Possibly." 

"Monsieur,  I  implore  you  to  give  me  your  word ;  it  will  be 
enough." 

Monsieur  Granville  drew  himself  up  with  offended  pride. 

"I  hold  in  my  hand  the  honor  of  three  families,  and  you 
only  the  lives  of  three  convicts  in  yours,"  said  Jacques  Collin. 
''I  have  the  stronger  hand." 

"But  you  may  be  sent  back  to  the  dark  cells:  then,  what 
will  you  do?"  said  the  public  prosecutor. 

"Oh !  we  are  to  play  the  game  out  then !"  said  Jacques 
Collin.  "I  was  speaking  as  man  to  man — I  was  talking  to 
Monsieur  de  Granville.  But  if  the  public  prosecutor  is  my 
adversary,  I  take  up  the  cards  and  hold  them  close. — And  if 
only  you  had  given  me  your  word,  I  was  ready  to  give  you 
back  the  letters  that  Mademoiselle  Clotilde  de  Grand- 
lieu '' 

This  was  said  with  a  tone,  an  audacity,  and  a  look  which 
showed  Monsieur  de  Granville  that  against  such  an  adversary 
the  least  blunder  was  dangerous. 


110  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"And  is  that  all  you  ask  ?"  said  the  magistrate. 

"I  will  speak  for  myself  now,"  said  Jacques.  "The  honor 
of  the  Grandlieu  family  is  to  pay  for  the  commutation  of 
Theodore's  sentence.  It  is  giving  much  to  get  very  little.  For 
what  is  a  convict  in  penal  servitude  for  life  ?  If  he  escapes, 
you  can  so  easily  settle  the  score.  It  is  drawing  a  bill  on  the 
guillotine !  Only,  as  he  was  consigned  to  Eochefort  with  no 
amiable  intentions,  you  must  promise  me  that  he  shall  be 
quartered  at  Toulon,  and  well  treated  there. 

"Now,  for  myself,  I  want  something  more.  I  have  the 
packets  of  letters  from  Madame  de  Serizy  and  Madame  de 
Mauf  rigneuse. — And  what  letters  ! — I  tell  you,  Monsieur  le 
Comte,  prostitutes,  when  they  write  letters,  assume  a  style  of 
sentiment;  well,  sir,  fine  ladies,  who  are  accustomed  to  style 
and  sentiment  all  day  long,  write  as  prostitutes  behave. 
Philosophers  may  know  the  reasons  for  this  contrariness.  I 
do  not  care  to  seek  them.  "Woman  is  an  inferior  animal ;  she 
is  ruled  by  her  instincts.  To  my  mind,  a  woman  has  no 
beauty  who  is  not  like  a  man. 

"So  your  smart  duchesses,  who  are  men  in  brains  only, 
write  masterpieces.  Oh  !  they  are  splendid  from  beginning 
to  end,  like  Piron's  famous  ode ! " 

"Indeed !" 

"Would  you  like  to  see  them?"  said  Jacques  Collin,  with 
a  laugh. 

The  magistrate  felt  ashamed. 

"I  cannot  give  them  to  you  to  read.  But,  there;  no  non- 
sense; this  is  business  and  all  above  board,  I  suppose? — You 
must  give  me  back  the  letters,  and  allow  no  one  to  play  the 
spy  or  to  follow  or  to  watch  the  person  who  will  bring  them 
to  me." 

"That  will  take  time,"  said  Monsieur  de  Granville. 

"No.  It  is  half-past  nine,"  replied  Jacques  Collin,  looking 
at  the  clock;  "well,  in  four  minutes  you  will  have  a  letter 
from  each  of  these  ladies,  and  after  reading  them  you  will 
countermand  the  guillotine.  If  matters  were  not  as  they  are, 
you  would  not  see  me  taking  things  so  easy. — The  ladies 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  111 

indeed  have  had  warning." — Monsieur  de  Granville  was 
startled. — "They  must  be  making  a  stir  by  now;  they  are 
going  to  bring  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals  into  the  fray — they 
may  even  appeal  to  the  King,  who  knows? — Come,  now,  will 
you  give  me  your  word  that  you  will  forget  all  that  has 
passed,  and  neither  follow,  nor  send  any. one  to  follow,  that 
person  for  a  whole  hour?" 

"I  promise  it." 

"Very  well;  you  are  not  the  man  to  deceive  an  escaped 
convict.  You  are  a  chip  of  the  block  of  which  Turennes  and 
Condes  are  made,  and  would  keep  your  word  to  a  thief. — In 
the  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus  there  is  at  this  moment  a  beggar 
woman  in  rags,  an  old  woman,  in  the  very  middle  of  the  hall. 
She  is  probably  gossiping  with  one  of  the  public  writers,  about 
some  lawsuit  over  a  party-wall  perhaps;  send  your  office 
messenger  to  fetch  her,  saying  these  words,  'Dahor  ti  Man- 
dana'  (the  Boss  wants  you).     She  will  come. 

"But  do  not  be  unnecessarily  cruel.  Either  you  accept  my 
terms  or  you  do  not  choose  to  be  mixed  up  in  a  business  with 
a  convict. — I  am  only  a  forger,  you  will  remember ! — Well, 
do  not  leave  Calvi  to  go  through  the  terrors  of  preparation 
for  the  scalfold." 

"I  have  already  countermanded  the  execution,"  said  Mon- 
sieur de  Granville  to  Jacques  Collin.  "I  would  not  have  Jus- 
tice beneath  you  in  dignity." 

Jacques  Collin  looked  at  the  public  prosecutor  with  a  sort 
of  amazement,  and  saw  him  ring  his  bell. 

"Will  you  promise  not  to  escape  ?  Give  me  your  word,  and 
I  shall  be  satisfied.    Go  and  fetch  the  woman." 

The  office  boy  came  in. 

"Felix,  send  away  the  gendarmes,"  said  Monsieur  de  Gran- 
ville. 

Jacques  Collin  was  conquered. 

In  this  duel  with  the  magistrate  he  had  tried  to  be  the 
superior,  the  stronger,  the  more  magnanimous,  and  the  mag- 
istrate had  crushed  him.  At  the  same  time,  the  convict  felt 
himself  the  superior,  inasmuch  as  he  had  tricked  the  Law ;  he 


112  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

had  convinced  it  that  the  guilty  man  was  innocent,  and  had 
fought  for  a  man's  head  and  won  it ;  but  this  advantage  must 
be  unconfessed,  secret  and  hidden,  while  the  magistrate  tow- 
ered above  him  majestically  in  the  eye  of  day. 

As  Jacques  Collin  left  Monsieur  de  Granville's  room,  the 
Comte  des  Lupeaulx,  Secretary-in-Chief  of  the  President  of 
the  Council,  and  a  deputy,  made  his  appearance,  and  with  him 
a  feeble-looking,  little  old  man.  This  individual,  wrapped 
in  a  puce-colored  overcoat,  as  though  it  were  still  winter,  with 
powdered  hair,  and  a  cold,  pale  face,  had  a  gouty  gait,  un- 
steady on  feet  that  were  shod  with  loose  calfskin  boots ;  lean- 
ing on  a  gold-headed  cane,  he  carried  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and 
wore  a  row  of  seven  orders  in  his  button-hole. 

"What  is  it,  my  dear  des  Lupeaulx  ?"  asked  the  public  pros- 
ecutor. 

"I  come  from  the  Prince,"  replied  the  Count,  in  a  low  voice. 
"You  have  carte  blanche  if  you  can  only  get  the  letters — 
Madame  de  Serizy's,  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse's  and  Made- 
moiselle Clotilde  de  Grandlieu's.  You  may  come  to  some 
arrangement  with  this  gentleman " 

"Who  is  he  ?"  asked  Monsieur  de  Granville,  in  a  whisper. 

"There  are  no  secrets  between  you  and  me,  my  dear  sir," 
said  des  Lupeaulx.  "This  is  the  famous  Corentin.  His 
Majesty  desires  that  you  will  yourself  tell  him  all  the  details 
of  this  affair  and  the  conditions  of  success." 

"Do  me  the  kindness,"  replied  the  public  prosecutor,  "of 
going  to  tell  the  Prince  that  the  matter  is  settled,  that  I  have 
not  needed  this  gentleman's  assistance,"  and  he  turned  to 
Corentin.  "I  will  wait  on  His  Majesty  for  his  commands 
with  regard  to  the  last  steps  in  the  matter,  which  will  lie 
with  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals,  as  two  reprieves  will  need 
signing." 

"You  have  been  wise  to  take  the  initiative,"  said  des  Lu- 
peaulx, shaking  hands  with  the  Comte  de  Granville.  "On 
the  very  eve  of  a  great  undertaking  the  King  is  most  anxious 
that  the  peers  and  the  great  families  should  not  be  shown  up. 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  113 

blown  upon.  It  ceases  to  be  a  low  criminal  case;  it  becomes 
an  affair  of  State." 

"But  tell  the  Prince  that  by  the  time  you  came  it  was  all 
settled." 

"Eeally !" 

"I  believe  so." 

"Then  you,  my  dear  fellow,  will  be  Keeper  of  the  Seals  as 
soon  as  the  present  Keeper  is  made  Chancellor " 

"I  have  no  ambition,"  replied  the  magistrate. 

Des  Lupeaulx  laughed,  and  went  away. 

"Beg  of  the  Prince  to  request  the  King  to  grant  me  ten 
minutes'  audience  at  about  half-past  two,"  added  Monsieur 
de  Granville,  as  he  accompanied  the  Comte  des  Lupeaulx  to 
the  door. 

"So  you  are  not  ambitious  !"  said  des  Lupeaulx,  with  a  keen 
look  at  Monsieur  de  Granville.  "Come,  you  have  two  chil- 
dren, you  would  like  at  least  to  be  made  peer  of  France." 

"If  you  have  the  letters.  Monsieur  le  Procureur  General, 
my  intervention  is  unnecessary,"  said  Corentin,  finding  him- 
self alone  with  Monsieur  de  Granville,  who  looked  at  him  with 
very  natural  curiosity. 

"Such  a  man  as  you  can  never  be  superfluous  in  so  delicate 
a  case,"  replied  the  magistrate,  seeing  that  Corentin  had 
heard  or  guessed  everything. 

Corentin  bowed  with  a  patronizing  air. 

"Do  you  know  the  man  in  question,  monsieur?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  it  is  Jacques  Collin,  the  head  of 
the  'Ten  Thousand  Francs  Association,'  the  banker  for.  three 
penal  settlements,  a  convict  who,  for  the  last  five  years,  has 
succeeded  in  concealing  himself  under  the  robe  of  the  Abbe 
Carlos  Herrera.  How  he  ever  came  to  be  intrusted  with  a 
mission  to  the  late  King  from  the  King  of  Spain  is  a  question 
which  we  have  all  puzzled  ourselves  with  trying  to  answer. 
I  am  now  expecting  information  from  Madrid,  whither  I  have 
sent  notes  and  a  man.  That  convict  holds  the  secrets  of  two 
kings." 

"He  is  a  man  of  mettle  and  temper.     We  have  only  two 


114  A  COURTESAN'S  l.IFE 

courses  open  to  us,"  said  the  public  prosecutor.  "We  must 
secure  his  fidelity,  or  get  him  out  of  the  way." 

"The  same  idea  has  struck  us  both,  and  that  is  a  great  honor 
for  me,"  said  Corentin.  "I  am  obliged  to  have  so  many  ideas, 
and  for  so  many  people,  that  out  of  them  all  I  ought  occasion- 
ally to  meet  a  clever  man." 

He  spoke  so  drily,  and  in  so  icy  a  tone,  that  Monsieur  de 
Granville  made  no  reply,  and  proceeded  to  attend  to  some 
pressing  matters. 

Mademoiselle  Jacqueline  Collin's  amazement  on  seeing 
Jacques  Collin  in  the  Salle  des  Pas-Perdus  is  beyond  imagin- 
ing. She  stood  square  on  her  feet,  her  hands  on  her  hips,  for 
she  was  dressed  as  a  costermonger.  Accustomed  as  she  was 
to  her  nephew's  conjuring  tricks,  this  beat  everything. 

"Well,  if  you  are  going  to  stare  at  me  as  if  I  were  a  natural 
history  show,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  taking  his  aunt  by  the  arm 
and  leading  her  out  of  the  hall,  "we  shall  be  taken  for  a  pair 
of  curious  specimens;  they  may  take  us  into  custody,  and 
then  we  should  lose  time." 

And  he  went  down  the  stairs  of  the  Calorie  Marchande 
leading  to  the  Rue  de  la  Barillerie.    "Where  is  Paccard  ?" 

"He  is  waiting  for  me  at  la  Rousse's,  walking  up  and 
down  the  flower  market." 

"And  Prudence?" 

"Also  at  her  house,  as  my  god-daughter." 

"Let  us  go  there." 

"Look  round  and  see  if  we  are  watched." 

La  Rousse,  a  hardware  dealer  living  on  the  Quai  aux  Fleurs, 
was  the  widow  of  a  famous  murderer,  one  of  the  "Ten  Thou- 
sand." In  1819,  Jacques  Collin  had  faithfully  handed  over 
twenty  thousand  francs  and  odd  to  this  woman  from  her 
lover,  after  he  had  been  executed.  Trompe-la-Mort  was  the 
only  person  who  knew  of  his  pal's  connection  with  the  girl,  at 
that  time  a  milliner. 

"I  am  your  young  man's  boss,"  the  boarder  at  Madame 
Vauquer's  had  told  her,  having  sent  for  her  to  meet  him  at 
the  Jardin  des  Plantes.    "He  may  have  mentioned  me  to  you. 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  115 

my  dear. — Any  one  who  plays  me  false  dies  within  a  year; 
on  the  other  hand,  those  who  are  true  to  me  have  nothing  to 
fear  from  me.  I  ain  staunch  through  thick  and  thin,  and 
would  die  without  saying  a  word  that  would  compromise  any- 
body I  wish  well  to.  Stick  to  me  as  a  soul  sticks  to  the  Devil, 
and  you  will  find  the  benefit  of  it.  I  promised  your  poor 
Auguste  that  you  should  be  happy ;  he  wanted  to  make  you  a 
rich  woman,  and  he  got  scragged  for  your  sake. 

"Don't  cry ;  listen  to  me.  No  one  in  the  world  knows  that 
you  were  mistress  to  a  convict,  to  the  murderer  they  choked 
off  last  Saturday;  and  I  shall  never  tell.  You  are  two-and- 
twenty,  and  pretty,  and  you  have  twenty-six  thousand  francs 
of  your  own ;  forget  Auguste  and  get  married ;  be  an  honest 
woman  if  you  can.  In  return  for  peace  and  quiet,  I  only  ask 
you  to  serve  me  now  and  then,  me,  and  any  one  I  may  send 
you,  but  without  stopping  to  think.  I  will  never  ask  you  to 
do  anything  that  can  get  you  into  trouble,  you  or  your  chil- 
dren, or  your  husband,  if  you  get  one,  or  your- family. 

"In  my  line  of  life  I  often  want  a  safe  place  to  talk  in  or 
to  hide  in.  Or  I  may  want  a  trusty  woman  to  carry  a  letter 
or  do  an  errand.  You  will  be  one  of  my  letter-boxes,  one  of 
my  porters'  lodges,  one  of  my  messengers,  neither  more  nor 
less. 

"You  are  too  red-haired ;  Auguste  and  I  used  to  call  you  la 
Rousse;  you  can  keep  that  name.  My  aunt,  an  old-clothes 
dealer  at  the  Temple,  who  will  come  and  see  you,  is  the  only 
person  in  the  world  you  are  to  obey ;  tell  her  everything  that 
happens  to  you ;  she  will  find  you  a  husband,  and  be  very  use- 
ful to  you." 

And  thus  the  bargain  was  struck,  a  diabolical  compact 
like  that  which  had  for  so  long  bound  Prudence  Servien  to 
Jacques  Collin,  and  which  the  man  never  failed  to  tighten ; 
for,  like  the  Devil,  he  had  a  passion  for  recruiting. 

In  about  1821  Jacques  Collin  found  la  Rousse  a  husband 
in  the  person  of  the  chief  shopman  under  a  rich  wholesale  tin 
merchant.  This  head-clerk,  having  purchased  his  master's 
house  of  business,  was  now  a  prosperous  man,  the  father  of 


116  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

two  children,  and  one  of  the  district  Maire's  deputies.  La 
Eousse,  now  Madame  Prelard,  had  never  had  the  smallest 
ground  for  complaint,  either  of  Jacques  Collin  or  of  his  aunt ; 
still,  each  time  she  was  required  to  help  them,  Madame  Pre- 
lard quaked  in  every  limb.  So,  as  she  saw  the  terrible  couple 
come  into  her  shop,  she  turned  as  pale  as  death. 

*^e  want  to  speak  to  you  on  business,  madame,"  said 
Jacques  Collin. 

"My  husband  is  in  there,"  said  she. 

"Very  well;  we  have  no  immediate  need  of  you.  I  never 
put  people  out  of  their  way  for  nothing." 

"Send  for  a  hackney  coach,  my  dear,"  said  Jacqueline 
Collin,  "and  tell  my  god-daughter  to  come  down.  I  hope  to 
place  her  as  maid  to  a  very. great  lady,  and  the  steward  of  the 
house  will  take  us  there." 

A  shop-boy  fetched  the  coach,  and  a  few  minutes  later 
Europe,  or,  to  be  rid  of  the  name  under  which  she  had  served 
Esther,  Prudence  Servien,  Paccard,  Jacques  Collin,  and  his 
aunt,  were,  to  la  Pousse's  great  joy,  packed  into  a  coach,  or- 
dered by  Trompe-la-Mort  to  drive  to  the  Barriere  d'lvry. 

Prudence  and  Paccard,  quaking  in  presence  of  the  boss,  felt 
like  guilty  souls  in  the  presence  of  God. 

"^yhere  are  the  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  ?" 
asked  the  boss,  looking  at  them  with  the  clear,  penetrating 
gaze  which  so  effectually  curdled  the  blood  of  these  tools  of 
his,  these  dmes  damnees,  when  they  were  caught  tripping, 
that  they  felt  as  though  their  scalp  were  set  with  as  many 
pins  as  hairs. 

"The  seven  hundred  and  thirty  thousand  francs,"  said 
Jacqueline  Collin  to  her  nephew,  "are  quite  safe ;  I  gave  them 
to  la  Romette  this  morning  in  a  sealed  packet." 

"If  you  had  not  handed  them  over  to  Jacqueline,"  said 
Trompe-la-Mort,  "you  would  have  gone  straight  there,"  and 
he  pointed  to  the  Place  de  Greve,  which  they  were  just 
passing. 

Prudence  Servien,  in  her  country  fashion,  made  the  sign  of 
the  Cross,  as  if  she  had  seen  a  thunderbolt  fall. 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  117 

'^I  forgive  yoii,"  said  the  boss,  "on  condition  of  your  com- 
mitting no  more  mistakes  of  this  kind,  and  of  your  being 
henceforth  to  me  what  these  two  fingers  are  of  my  right 
hand."  and  he  pointed  to  the  first  and  middle  fingers,  "for 
this  good  woman  is  the  thumb,"  and  he  slapped  his  aunt  on 
the  shoulder. 

"Listen  to  me,"  he  went  on.  "You,  Paccard,  have  nothing 
more  to  fear;  you  may  follow  your  nose  about  Pantin  (Paris) 
as  you  please.    I  give  you  leave  to  marry  Prudence  Servien." 

Paccard  took  Jacques  Collin's  hand  and  kissed  it  respect- 
fully. 

"And  what  must  I  do  ?"  said  he. 

"Nothing ;  and  you  will  have  dividends  and  women,  to  say 
nothing  of  your  wife — for  you  have  a  touch  of  the  Regency 
about  you,  old  boy ! — That  comes  of  being  such  a  fine  man !" 

Paccard  colored  under  his  sultan's  ironical  praises. 

"You,  Prudence,"  Jacques  went  on,  "will  want  a  career, 
a  position,  a  future ;  you  must  remain  in  my  service.  Listen 
to  me.  There  is  a  very  good  house  in  the  Rue  Sainte-Barbe 
l)elonging  to  that  Madame  de  Saint-Esteve,  whose  name  my 
aunt  occasionally  borrows.  It  is  a  very  good  business,  with 
plenty  of  custom,  bringing  in  fifteen  to  twenty  thousand 
francs  a  year.  Saint-Esteve  puts  a  woman  in  to  keep  the 
shop " 


"La  Gonore,"  said  Jacqueline. 

"Poor  la  Pouraille's  moll,"  said  Paccard.  "That  is  wB^e 
I  bolted  to  with  Europe  the  day  that  poor  Madame  van  Bog- 
seek  died,  our  mis'ess." 

"Who  jabbers  when  I  am  speaking?"  said  Jacques  Collin. 

Perfect  silence  fell  in  the  coach.  Paccard  and  Prudence 
did  not  dare  look  at  each  other. 

"The  shop  is  kept  by  la  Gonore,"  Jacques  Collin  went  on. 
"If  that  is  where  you  went  to  hide  with  Prudence,  I  see, 
Paccard,  that  you  have  wit  enough  to  dodge  the  reelers  (mis- 
lead the  police),  but  not  enough  to  puzzle  the  old  lady,"  and 
he  stroked  his  aunt's  chin.  "ISTow  I  see  how  she  managed  to 
find  you. — It  all  fits  beautifully.     You  may  go  back  to  la 


118  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

Gonore. — To  go  on:  Jacqueline  will  arrange  with  Madame 
Nourrisson  to  purchase  her  business  in  the  line  Sainte-Barbe ; 
and  if  you  manage  well,  child,  you  may  make  a  fortune  out 
of  it/'  he  said  to  Prudence.  ''An  Abbess  at  your  age !  It  is 
worthy  of  a  Daughter  of  France,"  he  added  in  a  hard  tone. 

Prudence  flung  her  arms  round  Trompe-la-Mort's  neck  and 
hugged  him;  but  the  boss  flung  her  off  with  a  sharp  blow, 
showing  his  extraordinary  strength,  and  but  for  Paccard,  the 
girl's  head  would  have  struck  and  broken  the  coach  window. 

"Paws  off!  I  don't  like  such  ways,"  said  the  boss  stiffly. 
"It  is  disrespectful  to  me." 

"He  is  right,  child,"  said  Paccard.  "Why,  you  see,  it  is  as 
though  the  boss  had  made  you  a  present  of  a  hundred  thou- 
sand francs.  The  shop  is  worth  that.  It  is  on  the  Boulevard, 
opposite  the  Gymnase.  The  people  come  out  of  the  the- 
atre  " 

"I  will  do  more,"  said  Trompe-la-Mort ;  "I  will  buy  the 
house." 

"And  in  six  years  we  shall  be  millionaires,"  cried  Paccard. 

Tired  of  being  interrupted,  Trompe-la-Mort  gave  Paccard's 
shin  a  kick  hard  enough  to  break  it;  but  the  man's  tendons 
were  of  india-rubber,  and  his  bones  of  wrought  iron. 

"All  right,  boss,  mum  it  is,"  said  he. 

"Do  you  think  I  am  cramming  you  with  lies  ?"  said  Jacques 
Collin,  perceiving  that  Paccard  had  had  a  few  drops  too  much. 
"Well,  listen.  In  the  cellar  of  that  house  there  are  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  francs  in  gold " 

Again  silence  reigned  in  the  coach. 

"The  coin  is  in  a  very  hard  bed  of  masonry.  It  must  be 
got  out,  and  you  have  only  three  nights  to  do  it  in.  Jacqueline 
will  help  you. — A  hundred  thousand  francs  will  buy  up  the 
business,  fifty  thousand  will  pay  for  the  house;  leave  tlie  re- 
mainder." 

"Where?"  said  Paccard. 

"In  the  cellar?"  asked  Prudence. 

"Silence !"  cried  Jacqueline. 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  liy 

"Yes,  but  to  get  the  business  transferred,  we  must  have  the 
consent  of  the  police  authorities,"  Paccard  objected. 

"We  shall  have  it,"  said  Trompe-la-Mort.  "Don't  med- 
dle in  what  does  not  concern  you." 

Jacqueline  looked  at  her  nephew,  and  was  struck  by  the 
alteration  in  his  face,  visible  through  the  stern  mask  under 
which  the  strong  man  generally  hid  his  feelings. 

"You,  child,"  said  he  to  Prudence  Servien,  "will  receive 
from  my  aunt  the  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
francs " 

"Seven  hundred  and  thirty,"  said  Paccard. 

"Very  good,  seven  hundred  and  thirty  then,"  said  Jacques 
Collin.  "You  must  return  this  evening  under  some  pretext 
to  Madame  Lucien's  house.  Get  out  on  the  roof  through  the 
skylight ;  get  down  the  chimney  into  your  mis'ess'  room,  and 
liide  the  packet  she  had  made  of  the  money  in  the  mat- 
tress  " 

"And  why  not  by  the  door?"  asked  Prudence  Servien. 

"Idiot !  there  are  seals  on  everything,"  replied  Jacques 
Collin.  "In  a  few  days  the  inventory  will  be  taken,  and  you 
will  be  innocent  of  the  theft." 

"Good  for  the  boss !"  cried  Paccard.    "That  is  really  kind  !" 

"Stop,  coachman !"  said  Jacques  Collin's  powerful  voice. 

The  coach  was  close  to  the  stand  by  the  Jardin  des 
Plantes. 

"Be  off,  young  'uns,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  "and  do  nothing 
silly!  Be  on  the  Pont  des  Arts  this  afternoon  at  five,  and 
my  aunt  will  let  you  know  if  there  are  any  orders  to  the  con- 
trary.— We  must  be  prepared  for  evei'ything,"  he  whispered 
to  his  aunt.  "To-morrow,"  he  went  on,  "Jacqueline  will  tell 
you  how  to  dig  up  the  gold  without  any  risk.  It  is  a  ticklish 
job " 

Paccard  and  Prudence  jumped  out  on  to  the  King's  high- 
way, as  happy  as  reprieved  thieves. 

"What  a  good  fellow  the  boss  is !"  said  Paccard. 

"He  would  be  the  king  of  men  if  he  were  not  so  roT*gh  on 
women." 


120  A  COURTESANS  LIFE 

"Oh,  yes !  He  is  a  sweet  creatvire,"  said  Paccard.  "Did 
you  see  how  he  kicked  me?  Well,  we  deserved  to  be  sent  to 
old  Nick;  for,  after  all,  we  got  him  into  this  scrape." 

"If  only  he  does  not  drag  us  into  some  dirty  job,  and  get  us 
packed  off  to  the  hulks  yet,"  said  the  wily  Prudence. 

"•Not  he !  If  he  had  that  in  his  head,  he  would  tell  us ;  you 
don't  know  him. — He  has  provided  handsomely  for  you. 
Here  we  are,  citizens  at  large !  Oh,  when  that  man  takes  a 
fancy  to  you,  he  has  not  his  match  for  good-nature." 

"Now,  my  jewel,"  said  Jacques  Collin  to  his  aunt,  "you 
must  take  la  Gonore  in  hand ;  she  must  be  humbugged.  Five 
days  hence  she  will  be  taken  into  custody,  and  a  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs  will  be  found  in  her  rooms,  the  remains 
of  a  share  from  the  robbery  and  murder  of  the  old  Crottat 
couple,  the  notary's  father  and  mother." 

"She  will  get  five  years  in  the  Madelonnettes,"  said  Jacque- 
line. 

"That's  about  it,"  said  the  nephew.  "This  will  be  a  reason 
for  old  Nourrisson  to  get  rid  of  her  house ;  she  cannot  man- 
age it  herself,  and  a  manager  to  suit  is  not  to  be  found  every 
day.  You  can  arrange  all  that.  "We  shall  have  a  sharp  eye 
there. — But  all  these  tliree  things  are  secondary  to  the  busi- 
ness I  have  undertaken  with  regard  to  our  letters.  So  unrip 
your  gown  and  give  me  the  samples  of  the  goods.  Where  are 
the  three  packets?" 

"At  la  Eousse's,  of  course." 

"Coachman,"  cried  Jacques  Collin,  "go  back  to  the  Palais 
de  Justice,  and  look  sharp 

"I  promised  to  be  quick,  and  I  have  been  gone  half  an  hour ; 
that  is  too  much. — Stay  at  la  Eousse's,  and  give  the  sealed 
parcels  to  the  office  clerk,  who  will  come  and  ask  for  Madame 
de  Saint-Esteve ;  the  de  will  be  the  password.  He  will  say 
to  you,  'Madame,  I  have  come  from  the  public  prosecutor 
for  the  things  you  know  of.'  Stand  waiting  outside  the  door, 
staring  about  at  what  is  going  on  in  the  Flower-Market,  so 
as  not  to  arouse  Prelard's  suspicions.  As  soon  as  you  have 
given  up  the  letters,  you  can  start  Paccard  and  Prudence." 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  121 

"I  see  what  you  are  at/"'  said  Jacqueline ;  "you  mean  to  step 
into  Bibi-Lupin's  shoes.  That  boy's  death  has  turned  your 
brain." 

"And  there  is  Theodore,  who  was  just  going  to  have  his 
hair  cropped  to  be  scragged  at  four  this  afternoon !"  cried 
Jacques  Collin. 

"Well,  it  is  a  notion !  We  shall  end  our  days  as  honest  folks 
in  a  fine  property  and  a  delightful  climate — in  Touraine." 

"What  was  to  become  of  me?  Lucien  has  taken  my  soul 
with  him,  and  all  my  joy  in  life.  I  have  thirty  years  before 
me  to  be  sick  of  life  in,  and  I  have  no  heart  left.  Instead 
of  being  the  boss  of  the  hulks,  I  shall  be  a  Figaro  of  the  law, 
and  avenge  Lucien.  I  can  never  be  sure  of  demolishing  '-^3 
Corentin  excepting  in  the  skin  of  a  police  agent.  And  so  long 
as  I  have  a  man  to  devour,  I  shall  still  feel  alive. — The  pro- 
fession a  man  follows  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  is  a  mere  sham ; 
the  reality  is  in  the  idea !"  he  added,  striking  his  forehead. — 
"How  much  have  we  left  in  the  cash-box  ?"  he  asked. 

"Nothing,"  said  his  aunt,  dismayed  by  the  man's  tone  and 
manner.  "I  gave  you  all  I  had  for  the  boy.  La  Eomette  has 
not  more  than  twenty  thousand  francs  left  in  the  business. 
I  took  everything  from  Madame  ISTourrisson ;  she  had  about 
sixty  thousand  francs  of  her  own.  Oh  !  we  are  lying  in  sheets 
that  have  not  been  washed  this  twelve  months  past.  That 
boy  had  all  the  pals'  blunt,  our  savings,  and  all  old  Nourris- 
son's." 

"Making ?" 

"Five  hundred  and  sixty  thousand." 

"We  have  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  which  Paccard 
and  Prudence  will  pay  us.  I  will  tell  you  where  to  find  two 
hundred  thousand  more.  The  remainder  will  come  to  me 
out  of  Esther's  money.  We  must  repay  old  Nourrisson.  With 
Theodore,  Paccard,  Prudence,  ISTourrisson,  and  you,  I  shall 
soon  have  the  holy  alliance  I  require. — Listen,  now,  we  are 
nearly  there " 

"Here  are  the  three  letters,"  said  Jacqueline,  who  had 
finished  unsewing  the  lining  of  her  gown. 


122  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Quite  right/'  said  Jacques  Collin,  taking  the  three 
precious  documents — autograph  letters  on  vellum  paper,  and 
still  strongly  scented.    "Theodore  did  the  Nanterre  job." 

"Oh !  it  was  he." 

"Don't  talk.  Time  is  precious.  He  wanted  to  give  the 
proceeds  to  a  little  Corsican  sparrow  named  Ginetta.  You 
must  set  old  Nourrisson  to  find  her ;  I  will  give  you  the  nec- 
essary information  in  a  letter  which  Gault  will  give  you. 
Come  for  it  to  the  gate  of  the  Conciergerie  in  two  hours'  time. 
You  must  place  the  girl  with  a  washerwoman,  Godet's  sister ; 
she  must  seem  at  home  there.  Godet  and  Ruffard  were  con- 
cerned with  la  Pouraille  in  robbing  and  murdering  the 
Crottats. 

"The  four  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  are  all  safe, 
one-third  in  la  Gonore's  cellar — la  Pouraille's  share;  the 
second  third  in  la  Gonore's  bedroom,  which  is  Euffard's ;  and 
the  rest  is  hidden  in  Godet's  sister's  house.  We  will  begin 
by  taking  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  out  of  la  Pou- 
raille's whack,  a  hundred  thousand  of  Godet's,  and  a  hun- 
dred thousand  of  Ruffard's.  As  soon  as  Godet  and  Ruf- 
fard are  nabbed,  they  will  be  supposed  to  have  got  rid  of 
what  is  missing  from  their  shares.  And  I  will  make  Godet 
believe  that  I  have  saved  a  hundred  thousand  francs  for  him, 
and  that  la  Gonore  has  done  the  same  for  la  Pouraille  and 
Ruffard. 

"Prudence  and  Paccard  will  do  the  job  at  la  Gonore's ;  you 
and  Ginetta — who  seems  to  be  a  smart  huss}^ — must  manage 
the  job  at  Godet's  sister's  place. 

"And  so,  as  the  first  act  in  the  farce,  I  can  enable  the  public 
prosecutor  to  lay  his  hand  on  four  hundred  thousand  francs 
stolen  from  the  Crottats,  and  on  the  guilty  parties.  Then  I 
shall  seem  to  have  shown  up  the  Nanterre  murderer.  We 
shall  get  back  our  shiners,  and  are  behind  the  scenes  with  the 
police.  We  were  the  game,  now  we  are  the  hunters — that  is 
all. 

"Give  the  driver  three  francs." 

The  coach  was  at  the  Palais.     Jacqueline,  speechless  with 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  123 

astonishment,  paid.     Trompe-la-Mort  went  up  the  steps  to 
the  public  prosecutor's  room. 

A  complete  change  of  life  is  so  violent  a  crisis,  that  Jacques 
Collin,  in  spite  of  his  resolution,  mounted  the  steps  but 
slowly,  going  up  from  the  Eue  de  la  Barillerie  to  the  Galerie 
Marchande,  where,  under  the  gloomy  peristyle  of  the  court- 
house, is  the  entrance  to  the  Court  itself. 

Some  civil  case  was  going  on  which  had  brought  a  little 
crowd  together  at  the  foot  of  the  double  stairs  leading  to  the 
Assize  Court,  so  that  the  convict,  lost  in  thought,  stood  for 
some  minutes,  checked  by  the  throng. 

To  the  left  of  this  double  flight  is  one  of  the  mainstays  of 
the  building,  like  an  enormous  pillar,  and  in  this  tower  is  a 
little  door.  This  door  opens  on  a  spiral  staircase  down  to  the 
Conciergerie,  to  which  the  public  prosecutor,  the  governor  of 
the  prison,  the  presiding  judges,  King's  council,  and  the  chief 
of  the  Safety  department  have  access  by  this  back  way. 

It  was  up  a  side  staircase  from  this,  now  walled  up,  that 
Marie  Antoinette,  the  Queen  of  France,  was  led  before  the 
Eevolutionary  tribunal  which  sat,  as  we  all  know,  in  the  great 
hall  where  appeals  are  now  heard  before  the  Supreme  Court. 
The  heart  sinks  within  us  at  the  sight  of  these  dreadful  steps, 
when  we  think  that  Marie  Therese's  daughter,  whose  suite, 
and  head-dress,  and  hoops  filled  the  great  staircase  at  Ver- 
sailles, once  passed  that  way !  Perhaps  it  was  in  expiation 
of  her  mother's  crime — the  atrocious  division  of  Poland. 
The  sovereigns  who  commit  such  crimes  evidently  never  think 
of  the  retribution  to  be  exacted  by  Providence. 

When  Jacques  Collin  went  up  the  vaulted  stairs  to  the 
public  prosecutor's  room,  Bibi-Lupin  was  just  coming  out  of 
the  little  door  in  the  wall. 

The  chief  of  the  "Safety"  had  come  from  the  Conciergerie, 
and  was  also  going  up  to  Monsieur  de  Granville.  It  was  easy 
to  imagine  Bibi-Lupin's  surprise  when  he  recognized,  in  front 
of  him,  the  gown  of  Carlos  Herrera,  which  he  had  so  thoroughly 
studied  that  morning ;  he  ran  on  to  pass  him.    Jacques  Collin 


124  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

turned  round,  and  the  enemies  were  face  to  face.  Each  stood 
still,  and  the  self-same  look  flashed  in  both  pairs  of  eyes,  so 
different  in  themselves,  as  in  a  duel  two  pistols  go  off  at  the 
same  instant. 

"This  time  I  have  got  you,  rascal !''  said  the  chief  of  the 
Safety  Department. 

"Ah,  ha !"  replied  Jacques  Collin  ironically. 

It  flashed  through  his  mind  that  Monsieur  de  Granville 
had  sent  some  one  to  watch  him,  and,  strange  to  say,  it  pained 
him  to  think  the  magistrate  less  magnanimous  than  he  had 
supposed. 

Bibi-Lupin  bravely  flew  at  Jacques  Collin's  throat ;  but  he, 
keeping  his  e3'e  on  the  foe,  gave  him  a  straight  blow,  and  sent 
him  sprawling  on  his  back  three  yards  off;  then  Trompe-la- 
Mort  went  calmly  up  to  Bibi-Lupin,  and  held  out  a  hand  to 
help  him  to  rise,  exactly  like  an  English  boxer  who,  sure  of 
his  superiority,  is  ready  for  more.  Bibi-Lupin  knew  better 
than  to  call  out ;  but  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  ran  to  the  entrance 
to  the  passage,  and  signed  to  a  gendarme  to  stand  on  guard. 
Then,  swift  as  lightning,  he  came  back  to  the  foe,  who  quietly 
looked  on.    Jacques  Collin  had  decided  what  to  do. 

"Either  the  public  prosecutor  has  broken  his  word,  or  he 
has  not  taken  Bibi-Lupin  into  his  confidence,  and  in  that  case 
I  must  get  the  matter  explained,"  thought  he. — "Do  you  mean 
to  arrest  me?"  he  asked  his  enemy.  "Say  so  without  more 
ado.  Don't  I  know  that  in  the  heart  of  this  place  you  are 
stronger  than  I  am  ?  I  could  kill  ^^ou  with  a  well-placed  kick, 
but  I  could  not  tackle  the  gendarmes  and  the  soldiers.  Now, 
make  no  noise.    Where  do  you  want  to  take  me  ?" 

"To  Monsieur  Camusot." 

"Come  along  to  Monsieur  Camusot,"  replied  Jacques  Col- 
lin. '^Vhy  should  we  not  go  to  the  public  prosecutor's  court  ? 
It  is  nearer,"  he  added. 

Bibi-Lupin,  who  knew  that  he  was  out  of  favor  with  the 
upper  ranks  of  judicial  authorities,  and  suspected  of  having 
made  a  fortune  at  the  expense  of  criminals  and  their  victims. 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  125 

was  not  unwilling  to  show  himself  in  Court  with  so  notable 
a  capture. 

"All  right,  we  will  go  there,"  said  he.  "But  as  you  sur- 
render, allow  me  to  fit  you  with  bracelets.  I  am  afraid  of 
your  claws." 

And  he  took  the  handcuffs  out  of  his  pocket. 

Jacques  Collin  held  out  his  hands,  and  Bibi-Lupin  snapped 
on  the  manacles. 

"Well,  now,  since  you  are  feeling  so  good,"  said  he,  "tell 
me  how  you  got  out  of  the  Conciergerie  ?" 

"By  the  way  you  came;  down  the  turret  stairs." 

"Then  have  you  taught  the  gendarmes  some  new  trick  ?" 

"No,  Monsieur  de  Granville  let  me  out  on  parole." 

"You  are  gammoning  me  ?" 

"You  will  see.  Perhaps  it  will  be  your  turn  to  wear  the 
bracelets." 

Just  then  Corentin  was  saying  to  Monsieur  de  Grranville : 

"Well,  monsieur,  it  is  just  an  hour  since  our  man  set  out ; 
are  you  not  afraid  that  he  may  have  fooled  you?  He  is  on 
the  road  to  Spain  perhaps  by  this  time,  and  we  shall  not  find 
him  there,  for  Spain  is  a  whimsical  kind  of  country." 

"Either  I  know  nothing  of  men,  or  he  will  come  back ;  he  is 
bound  by  every  interest ;  he  has  more  to  look  for  at  my  hands 
than  he  has  to  give." 

Bibi-Lupin  walked  in. 

"Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said  he,  "I  have  good  news  for  you. 
Jacques  Collin,  who  had  escaped,  has  been  recaptured." 

"And  this,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  addressing  Monsieur  de 
Granville,  "is  the  way  you  keep  your  word ! — Ask  your  double- 
faced  agent  where  he  took  me." 

"Where  ?"  said  the  public  prosecutor. 

"Close  to  the  Court,  in  the  vaulted  passage,"  said  Bibi- 
Lupin. 

"Take  your  irons  off  the  man,"  said  Monsieur  de  Granville 
sternly.  "And  remember  that  you  are  to  leave  him  free  till 
further  orders. — Go ! — You  have  a  way  of  moving  and  acting 
as  if  you  alone  were  law  and  police  in  one." 


126  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

The  public  prosecutor  turned  his  back  on  Bibi-Lupin,  who 
became  deadly  pale,  especially  at  a  look  from  Jacques  Collin, 
in  which  he  read  disaster. 

"I  have  not  been  out  of  this  room.  1  expected  you  back, 
and  you  cannot  doubt  that  I  have  kept  my  word,  as  you  kept 
yours,"  said  Monsieur  de  Granville  to  the  convict. 

"For  a  moment  I  did  doubt  you,  sir,  and  in  my  place  per- 
haps you  would  have  thought  as  I  did,  but  on  reflection  I  saw 
that  I  was  unjust.  I  bring  you  more  than  you  can  give  me ; 
you  had  no  interest  in  betraying  me.'' 

The  magistrate  flashed  a  look  at  Corentin.  This  glance, 
which  could  not  escape  Trompe-la-Mort,  who  was  watching 
Monsieur  de  Granville,  directed  his  attention  to  the  strange 
little  old  man  sitting  in  an  armchair  in  a  corner.  Warned 
at  once  by  the  swift  and  anxious  instinct  that  scents  the 
presence  of  an  enemy,  Collin  examined  this  figure ;  he  saw  at 
a  glance  that  the  eyes  were  not  so  old  as  the  costume  would 
suggest,  and  he  detected  a  disguise.  In  one  second  Jacques 
Collin  was  revenged  on  Corentin  for  the  rapid  insight  with 
which  Corentin  had  unmasked  him  at  Peyrade's. 

'TVe  are  not  alone !''  said  Jacques  Collin  to  Monsieur  de 
Granville. 

"Xo,"  said  the  magistrate  drily. 

"And  this  gentleman  is  one  of  my  oldest  acquaintances,  I 
believe,"  replied  the  convict. 

He  went  forward,  recognizing  Corentin,  the  real  and  con- 
fessed originator  of  Lucien's  overthrow. 

Jacques  Collin,  whose  face  was  of  a  brick-red  hue,  for  a 
scarcely  perceptible  moment  turned  white,  almost  ashy ;  all  his 
blood  rushed  to  his  heart,  so  furious  and  maddening  was  his 
longing  to  spring  on  this  dangerous  reptile  and  crush  it ;  but 
he  controlled  the  brutal  impulse,  suppressing  it  with  the  force 
that  made  him  so  formidable.  He  put  on  a  polite  manner 
and  the  tone  of  obsequious  civility  which  he  had  practised 
since  assuming  the  garb  of  a  priest  of  a  superior  Order,  and 
he  bowed  to  the  little  old  man. 

"Monsieur  Corentin,"  said  he^  "do  I  owe  the  pleasure  of 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  127 

this  meeting  to  chance,  or  am  I  so  happy  as  to  be  the  cause  of 
your  visit  here  ?" 

Monsieur  de  Granville's  astonishment  was  at  its  height,  and 
he  could  not  help  staring  at  the  two  men  who  had  thus  come 
face  to  face.  Jacques  Collin's  behavior  and  the  tone  in  which 
he  spoke  denoted  a  crisis,  and  he  Avas  curious  to  know  the 
meaning  of  it.  On  being  thus  suddenly  and  miraculously 
recognized,  Corentin  drew  himself  up  like  a  snake  when  you 
tread  on  its  tail. 

"Yes,  it  is  I,  my  dear  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera." 

"And  are  you  here,"  said  Trompe-la-Mort,  "to  interfere 
between  monsieur  the  public  prosecutor  and  me?  Am  I  so 
happy  as  to  be  the  object  of  one  of  those  negotiations  in  which 
your  talents  shine  so  brightly? — Here,  Monsieur  le  Comte," 
the  convict  went  on,  "not  to  waste  time  so  precious  as  yours  is, 
read  these — they  are  samples  of  my  wares." 

And  he  held  out  to  Monsieur  de  Granville  three  letters, 
which  he  took  out  of  his  breast-pocket. 

"And  while  you  are  studying  them,  I  will,  with  your  per- 
mission, have  a  little  talk  with  this  gentleman." 

"You  do  me  great  honor,"  said  Corentin,  who  could  not 
help  giving  a  little  shiver. 

"You  achieved  a  perfect  success  in  our  business,"  said 
Jacques  Collin.  "I  was  beaten,"  he  added  lightly,  in  the  tone 
of  a  gambler  who  has  lost  his  money,  "but  you  left  some  men 
on  the  field — your  victory  cost  you  dear." 

"Yes,"  said  Corentin,  taking  up  the  jest,  "you  lost  your 
queen,  and  I  lost  my  two  castles." 

"Oh !  Contenson  was  a  mere  pawn,"  said  Jacques  Collin 
scornfully;  "you  may  easily  replace  him.  You  really  are — 
allow  me  to  praise  you  to  your  face — you  are,  on  my  word  of 
honor,  a  magnificent  man." 

"No,  no,  I  bow  to  your  superiority,"  replied  Corentin,  as- 
suming the  air  of  a  professional  joker,  as  if  he  said,  "If  you 
mean  humbug,  by  all  means  humbug !  I  have  everything  at 
my  command,  while  you  are  single-handed,  so  to  speak," 

"Oh !  Oh  !"  said  Jacques  Collin. 


128  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"And  you  were  very  near  winning  the  day !"  said  Corentin, 
noticing  the  exclamation.  "You  are  quite  the  most  extraordi- 
nary man  I  ever  met  in  my  life,  and  I  have  seen  many  very 
extraordinary  men,  for  those  I  have  to  work  with  me  are  all 
remarkable  for  daring  and  bold  scheming. 

"I  was,  for  my  sins,  very  intimate  with  the  late  Due 
dOtranto;  I  have  worked  for  Louis  XVIII.  when  he  was  on 
the  throne ;  and,  when  he  was  exiled,  for  the  Emperor  and  for 
the  Directory.  You  have  the  tenacity  of  Louvel,  the  best 
political  instrument  I  ever  met  with ;  but  you  are  as  supple 
as  the  prince  of  diplomates.  And  what  auxiliaries  you  have ! 
I  would  give  many  a  head  to  the  guillotine  if  I  could  have  in 
my  service  the  cook  who  lived  with  poor  little  Esther. — And 
where  do  you  find  such  beautiful  creatures  as  the  woman  who 
took  the  Jewess'  place  for  Monsieur  de  Xucingen?  I  don't 
know  where  to  get  them  when  I  want  them." 

"Monsieur,  monsieur,  you  overpower  me,"  said  Jacques 
Collin.    "Such  praise  from  you  will  turn  my  head " 

"It  is  deserved.  Why,  j^ou  took  in  Peyrade;  he  believed 
you  to  be  a  police  officer — he ! — I  tell  you  what,  if  you  had 
not  had  that  fool  of  a  boy  to  take  care  of,  you  would  have 
thrashed  us." 

"Oh  !  monsieur,  but  you  are  forgetting  Contenson  disguised 
as  a  mulatto,  and  Peyrade  as  an  Englishman.  Actors  have 
the  stage  to  help  them,  but  to  be  so  perfect  by  daylight,  and  at 
all  hours,  no  one  but  you  and  your  men " 

"Come,  now,"  said  Corentin,  "we  are  fully  convinced  of  our 
worth  and  merits.  And  here  we  stand  each  of  us  quite  alone. 
I  have  lost  my  old  friend,  you  your  young  companion.  I,  for 
the  moment,  am  in  the  stronger  position,  why  should  we  not 
do  like  the  men  in  VAuherge  des  Adrets?  I  offer  you  my 
hand,  and  say,  'Let  us  embrace,  and  let  bygones  be  bygones.' 
Here,  in  the  presence  of  Monsieur  le  Comte,  I  propose  to  give 
you  full  and  plenary  absolution,  and  you  shall  be  one  of  my 
men,  the  chief  next  to  me,  and  perhaps  my  successor." 

"You  really  offer  me  a  situation?"  said  Jacques  Collin. 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  129 

'■'A  nice  situation  indeed ! — out  of  the  fire  into  the  frying- 
pan!" 

"You  will  be  in  a  sphere  where  your  talents  will  be  highly 
appreciated  and  well  paid  for,  and  you  will  act  at  your  ease. 
The  Government  police  are  not  free  from  perils.  I,  as  you 
see  me,  have  already  been  imprisoned  twice,  but  I  am  none 
the  worse  for  that.  And  we  travel,  we  are  what  we  choose  to 
appear.  We  pull  the  wires  of  political  dramas,  and  are 
treated  with  politeness  by  very  great  people. — Come,  my  dear 
Jacques  Collin,  do  you  say  yes?" 

"Have  you  orders  to  act  in  this  matter?''  said  the  con- 
vict. 

"I  have  a  free  hand,"  replied  Corentin,  delighted  at  his 
own  happy  idea. 

"You  are  trifling  with  me;  you  are  very  shrewd,  and  you 
must  allow  that  a  man  may  be  suspicious  of  you. — You  have 
sold  more  than  one  man  by  tying  him  up  in  a  sack  after  mak- 
ing him  go  into  it  of  his  own  accord.  I  know  all  your  great 
victories — the  Montauran  case,  the  Simeuse  business — the 
battles  of  Marengo  of  espionage." 

"Well,"  said  Corentin,  "you  have  some  esteem  for  the  public 
prosecutor  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  bowing  respectfully,  "I  admire 
his  noble  character,  his  firmness,  his  dignity.  I  would  give 
my  life  to  make  him  happy.  Indeed,  to  begin  with,  I  will 
put  an  end  to  the  dangerous  condition  in  which  Madame 
de  Serizy  now  is." 

Monsieur  de  Granville  turned  to  him  with  a  look  of  satis- 
faction. 

"Then  ask  him,"  Corentin  went  on,  "if  I  have  not  full 
power  to  snatch  you  from  the  degrading  position  in  which  you 
stand,  and  to  attach  you  to  me." 

"It  is  quite  true,"  said  Monsieur  de  Granville,  watching 
the  convict. 

"Really  and  truly!  I  may  have  absolution  for  the  past 
and  a  promise  of  succeeding  to  you  if  I  give  sufficient  evidence 
of  my  intelligence  ?" 


/■ 


130  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Between  two  such  men  as  we  are  there  can  be  no  mis- 
understanding," said  Corentin,  with  a  lordly  air  that  might 
have  taken  anybody  in. 

"And  the  price  of  the  bargain  is,  I  suppose,  the  surrender 
of  those  three  packets  of  letters  ?"  said  Jacques  Collin. 

"I  did  not  think  it  would  be  necessary  to  say  so  to  you " 

"My  dear  Monsieur  Corentin,''  said  Trompe-la-Mort,  with 
irony  worthy  of  that  which  made  the  fame  of  Talma  in  the 
part  of  Nicomede,  "I  beg  to  decline.  I  am  indebted  to  you 
for  the  knowledge  of  what  I  am  worth,  and  of  the  importance 
you  attach  to  seeing  me  deprived  of  my  weapons — I  will  never 
forget  it. 

"At  all  times  and  for  ever  I  shall  be  at  your  service,  but 
instead  of  saying  with  Eobert  Macaire,  'Let  us  embrace !'  I 
embrace  you." 

He  seized  Corentin  round  the  middle  so  suddenly  that  the 
other  could  not  avoid  the  hug;  he  clutched  him  to  his  heart 
like  a  doll,  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks,  carried  him  like  a 
feather  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he  opened  the 
door,  and  then  set  him  down  outside,  quite  battered  by  this 
rough  treatment. 

"Good-bye,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Jacques  Collin  in  a  low 
voice,  and  in  Corentin's  ear:  "the  length  of  three  corpses 
parts  you  from  me ;  we  have  measured  swords,  they  are  of  the 
same  temper  and  the  same  length.  Let  us  treat  each  other 
with  due  respect;  but  I  mean  to  be  your  equal,  not  your 
subordinate.  Armed  as  you  would  be,  it  strikes  me  you  would 
be  too  dangerous  a  general  for  your  lieutenant.  We  will 
place  a  grave  between  us.  Woe  to  you  if  you  come  over  on  to 
my  territory ! 

"You  call  yourself  the  State,  as  footmen  call  themselves 
by  their  master's  names.  For  my  part,  I  will  call  myself 
Justice.  We  shall  often  meet ;  let  us  treat  each  other  with 
dignity  and  propriety — all  the  more  because  we  shall  always 
remain — atrocious  blackguards,"  he  added  in  a  whisper.  "I 
set  you  the  example  by  embracing  you " 

Corentin  stood  nonplussed  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  and 
allowed  his  terrible  antagonist  to  wring  his  hand. 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  131 

"If  SO,"  said  he,  "I  think  it  will  be  to  our  interest  on  both 
sides  to  remain  chums." 

"We  shall  be  stronger  each  on  our  own  side,  but  at  the 
same  time  more  dangerous,"  added  Jacques  Collin  in  an  un- 
dertone. "And  you  will  allow  me  to  call  on  you  to-morrow 
to  ask  for  some  pledge  of  our  agreement." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Corentin  amiably,  "you  are  taking  the 
case  out  of  my  hands  to  place  it  in  those  of  the  public  pros- 
ecutor. You  will  help  him  to  promotion ;  but'  I  cannot  but 
own  to  you  that  you  are  acting  wisely. — Bibi-Lupin  is  too  well 
known ;  he  has  served  his  turn ;  if  you  get  his  place,  you  will 
have  the  only  situation  that  suits  you.  I  am  delighted  to  see 
you  in  it — on  my  honor " 

"Till  our  next  meeting,  very  soon,"  said  Jacques  Collin. 

On  turning  round,  Trompe-la-Mort  saw  the  public  pros- 
ecutor sitting  at  his  table,  his  head  resting  on  his  hands. 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  can  save  the  Comtesse  de  Serizy 
from  going  mad?"  asked  Monsieur  de  Granville. 

"In  five  minutes,"  said  Jacques  Collin. 

"And  you  can  give  me  all  those  ladies'  letters  ?" 

"Have  you  read  the  three  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  magistrate  vehemently,  "and  I  blush  for 
the  women  who  wrote  them." 

"Well,  we  are  now  alone;  admit  no  one,  and  let  us  come 
to  terms,"  said  Jacques  Collin. 

"Excuse  me.  Justice  must  first  take  its  course.  Monsieur 
Camusot  has  instructions  to  seize  your  aun,t." 

"He  will  never  find  her,"  said  Jacques  Collin. 

"Search  is  to  be  made  at  the  Temple,  in  the  house  of  a 
demoiselle  Paccard  who  superintends  her  shop." 

"Nothing  will  be  found  there  but  rags,  costumes,  diamonds, 

uniforms However,  it  will  be  as  well  to  check  Monsieur 

Camusot's  zeal." 

Monsieur  de  Granville  rang,  and  sent  an  office  messenger 
to  desire  Monsieur  Camusot  to  come  and  speak  with  him. 

"Now,"  said  he  to  Jacques  Collin,  "an  end  to  all  this !  I 
want  to  know  your  recipe  for  curing  the  Countess." 


132  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said  the  convict  very  gravely,  "T  was, 
as  you  know,  sentenced  to  five  years'  penal  servitude  for 
forgery.  But  I  love  my  liberty. — This  passion,  like  every 
other,  had  defeated  its  own  end,  for  lovers  who  insist  on  ador- 
ing each  other  too  fondly  end  by  quarreling.  By  dint  of  es- 
caping and  being  recaptured  alternately,  I  have  served  seven 
years  on  the  hulks.  So  you  have  nothing  to  remit  but  the 
added  terms  I  earned  in  quod — I  beg  pardon,  in  prison.  I 
have,  in  fact,  served  my  time,  and  till  some  ugly  job  can  be 
proved  against  me — which  I  defy  Justice  to  do,  or  even 
Corentin — I  ought  to  be  reinstated  in  my  rights  as  a  French 
citizen. 

"What  is  life  if  I  am  banned  from  Paris  and  subject  to  the 
eye  of  the  police?  Where  can  I  go,  what  can  I  do?  You 
know  my  capabilities.  You  have  seen  Corentin,  that  store- 
house of  treachery  and  wile,  turn  ghastly  pale  before  me, 
and  doing  justice  to  my  powers. — That  man  has  bereft  me  of 
everything;  for  it  was  he,  and  he  alone,  who  overthrew  the 
edifice  of  Lucien's  fortunes,  by  what  means  and  in  whose  in- 
terest I  know  not. — Corentin  and  Camusot  did  it  all " 

"No  recriminations,"  said  Monsieur  de  Granville;  "give 
me  the  facts." 

"Well,  then,  these  are  the  facts.  Last  night,  as  I  held 
in  my  hand  the  icy  hand  of  that  dead  youth,  I  vowed  to 
myself  that  I  would  give  up  the  mad  contest  I  have  kept  up 
for  twenty  years  past  against  society  at  large. 

"You  will  not  believe  me  capable  of  religious  sentimentality 
after  what  I  have  said  of  my  religious  opinions.  Still,  in 
these  twenty  years  I  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  the  seamy  side 
of  the  world.  I  have  known  its  back-stairs,  and  I  have  dis- 
cerned, in  the  march  of  events,  a  Power  which  you  call  Provi- 
dence and  I  call  Chance,  and  which  my  companions  call  Luck. 
Every  evil  deed,  however  quickly  it  may  hide  its  traces,  is 
overtaken  by  some  retribution.  In  this  struggle  for  existence, 
when  the  game  is  going  well — when  you  have  quint  and 
quatorze  in  your  hand  and  the  lead — the  candle  tumbles 
over  and  the  cards  are  burned,  or  the  player  has  a  fit  of 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  133 

apoplex}^ ! — That  is  Lucien's  story.  That  boy,  that  angel, 
had  not  committed  the  shadow  of  a  crime;  he  let  himself  be 
led,  he  let  things  go !  He  was  to  marry  Mademoiselle  de 
Grandlieu,  to  be  made  marquis;  he  had  a  fine  fortune; — 
well,  a  prostitute  poisons  herself,  she  hides  the  price  of  a 
certificate  of  stock,  and  the  whole  structure  so  laboriously 
built  up  crumbles  in  an  instant. 

"And  who  is  the  first  man  to  deal  a  blow?  A  man  loaded 
with  secret  infamy,  a  monster  who,  in  the  world  of  finance, 
has  committed  such  crimes  that  every  coin  of  his  vast  for- 
tune has  been  dipped  in  the  tears  of  a  whole  family  [see  la 
Maison  Nucingen] — by  Nucingen,  who  has  been  a  legalized 
Jacques  Collin  in  the  world  of  money.  However,  you  know 
as  well  as  I  do  all  the  bankruptcies  and  tricks  for  which  that 
man  deserves  hanging.  My  fetters  will  leave  a  mark  on  all 
my  actions,  however  virtuous.  To  be  a  shuttlecock  between 
two  racquets — one  called  the  hulks,  and  the  other  the  police 
— is  a  life  in  which  success  means  never-ending  toil,  and 
peace  and  quiet  seem  quite  impossible. 

"At  this  moment,  Monsieur  de  Granville,  Jacques  Collin 
is  buried  with  Lucien,  who  is  being  now  sprinkled  with  holy 
water  and  carried  away  to  Pere-Lachaise.  What  I  want 
is  a  place  not  to  live  in,  but  to  die  in.  As  things  are,  you, 
representing  Justice,  have  never  cared  to  make  the  released 
convict's  social  status  a  concern  of  any  interest.  Though 
the  law  may  be  satisfied,  society  is  not;  society  is  still  sus- 
picious, and  does  all  it  can  to  justify  its  suspicions; 
it  regards  a  released  convict  as  an  impossible  creature; 
it  ought  to  restore  him  to  his  full  rights,  but,  in  fact, 
it  prohibits  his  living  in  certain  circles.  Society  says  to  the 
poor  wretch,  'Paris,  which  is  the  only  place  you  can  be  hidden 
in ;  Paris  and  its  suburbs  for  so  many  miles  round  is  the  for- 
bidden land,  you  shall  not  live  there !'  and  it  subjects  the 
convict  to  the  watchfulness  of  the  police.  Do  you  think  that 
life  is  possible  under  such  conditions?  To  live,  the  convict 
must  work,  for  he  does  not  come  out  of  prison  with  a 
fortune. 


134  A  COUETESAN'S  LIFE 

"You  arrange  matters  so  that  he  is  plainly  ticketed,  rec- 
ognized, hedged  round,  and  then  you  fancy  that  his  fellow- 
citizens  will  trust  him,  when  society  and  justice  and  the 
world  around  him  do  not.  You  condemn  him  to  starvation 
or  crime.  He  cannot  get  work,  and  is  inevitably  dragged  into 
his  old  ways,  which  lead  to  the  scaffold. 

"Thus,  while  earnestly  wishing  to  give  up  this  struggle 
with  the  law,  I  could  find  no  place  for  myself  under  the  sun. 
One  course  alone  is  open  to  me,  that  is  to  become  the  servant 
of  the  power  that  crushes  us ;  and  as  soon  as  this  idea  dawned 
on  me,  the  Power  of  which  I  spoke  was  shown  in  the  clearest 
light.  Three  great  families  are  at  my  mercy.  Do  not  sup- 
pose I  am  thinking  of  blackmail — blackmail  is  the  meanest 
form  of  murder.  In  my  eyes  it  is  baser  villainy  than  mur- 
der. The  murderer  needs,  at  any  rate,  atrocious  courage. 
And  I  practise  what  I  preach;  for  the  letters  which  are  my 
safe-conduct,  which  allow  me  to  address  you  thus,  and  for 
the  moment  place  me  on  an  equality  with  you — I,  Crime, 
and  you.  Justice — those  letters  are  in  your  power.  Your 
messenger  may  fetch  them,  and  they  will  be  given  up  to 
him. 

"I  ask  no  price  for  them ;  I  do  not  sell  them.  Alas !  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte,  I  was  not  thinking  of  myself  when  I  preserved 
them ;  I  thought  that  Lucien  might  some  day  be  in  danger ! 
If  you  cannot  agree  to  my  request,  my  courage  is  out;  I 
hate  life  more  than  enough  to  make  me  blow  out  my  own 
brains  and  rid  you  of  me ! — Or,  with  a  passport,  I  can  go  to 
America  and  live  in  the  wilderness.  I  have  all  the  character- 
istics of  a  savage. 

"These  are  the  thoughts  that  came  to  me  in  the  night. — 
Your  clerk,  no  doubt,  carried  you  a  message  I  sent  by 
him.  When  I  saw  what  precautions  you  took  to  save  Lucien's 
memory  from  any  stain,  I  dedicated  my  life  to  you — a  poor 
offering,  for  I  no  longer  cared  for  it;  it  seemed  to  me  im- 
possible without  the  star  that  gave  it  light,  the  happiness 
that  glorified  it,  the  thought  that  gave  it  meaning,  the  pros- 
perity of  the  young  poet  who  was  its  sun — and  I  determined 
to  give  you  the  three  packets  of  letters " 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAK  135 

Monsieur  de  Granville  bowed  his  head. 

"I  went  down  into  the  prison-yard,  and  there  I  found  the 
persons  guilty  of  the  ISTanterre  crime,  as  well  as  my  little 
chain  companion  within  an  inch  of  the  chopper  as  an  in- 
voluntary accessory  after  the  fact/'  Jacques  Collin  went  on. 
"I  discovered  that  Bibi-Lupin  is  cheating  the  authorities, 
that  one  of  his  men  murdered  the  Crottats.  Was  not  this 
providential,  as  you  say  ? — So  I  perceived  a  remote  possibility 
of  doing  good,  of  turning  my  gifts  and  the  dismal  experience 
I  have  gained  to  account  for  the  benefit  of  society,  of  being 
useful  instead  of  mischievous,  and  I  ventured  to  confide  in. 
your  judgment,  your  generosity." 

The  man's  air  of  candor,  of  artlessness,  of  childlike  sim- 
plicity, as  he  made  his  confession,  without  bitterness,  or  that 
philosophy  of  vice  which  had  hitherto  made  him  so  terrible 
to  hear,  was  like  an  absolute  transformation.  He  was  no 
longer  himself. 

"I  have  such  implicit  trust  in  you,"  he  went  on,  with  the 
humility  of  a  penitent,  "that  I  am  wholly  at  your  mercy. 
You  see  me  with  three  roads  open  to  me — suicide,  America, 
and  the  Eue  de  Jerusalem.  Bibi-Lupin  is  rich;  he  has 
served  his  turn;  he  is  a  double-faced  rascal.  And  if  you 
set  me  to  work  against  him,  I  would  catch  him  red-handed 
in  some  trick  within  a  week.  If  ^ou  will  put  me  in.  that 
sneak's  shoes,  you  will  do  society  a  real  service.  I  will  be  hon- 
est. I  have  every  quality  that  is  needed  in  the  profession.  I 
am  better  educated  than  Bibi-Lupin ;  I  went  through  my 
schooling  up  to  rhetoric;  I  shall  not  blunder  as  he  does;  I  i^ 
have  very  good  manners  when  I  choose.  My  sole  ambition  is"^ 
to  become  an  instrument  of  order  and  repression  instead  of 
being  the  incarnation  of  corruption.  I  will  enlist  no  more 
recruits  to  the  army  of  vice. 

"In  war,  monsieur,  when  a  hostile  general  is  captured,  he 
is  not  shot,  you  know;  his  sword  is  returned  to  him,  and  his 
prison  is  a  large  town;  well,  I  am  the  general  of  the  hulks, 
and  I  have  surrendered. — I  am  beaten,  not  by  the  law,  but 
by  death.     The  sphere  in  which  1  crave  to  live  and  act  is 


136  A  COURTESAN'S  T>IFE 

the  onl}'  one  that  is  suited  to  me,  and  there  I  can  develop  the 
powers  I  feel  within  me. 

"Decide." 

And  Jacques  Collin  stood  in  an  attitude  of  diffident  sub- 
mission. 

"You  place  the  letters  in  my  hands,  then  ?"  said  the  public 
prosecutor. 

"You  have  only  to  send  for  them;  they  will  be  delivered 
to  your  messenger." 

"But  how?" 
.    Jacques  Collin  read  the  magistrate's  mind,  and  kept  up  the 
game. 

"You  promised  me  to  commute  the  capital  sentence  on 
Calvi  for  twenty  years'  penal  servitude.  Oh,  I  am  not  re- 
minding 5'ou  of  that  to  drive  a  bargain,"  he  added  eagerly, 
seeing  j\Ionsieur  de  Granville's  expression;  "that  life  should 
be  safe  for  other  reasons,  the  lad  is  innocent " 

"How  am  I  to  get  the  letters?"  asked  the  public  pros- 
ecutor. "It  is  my  right  and  my  business  to  convince  myself 
that  you  are  the  man  you  say  you  are.  I  must  have  you 
without  conditions." 

"Send  a  man  you  can  trust  to  the  Flower  Market  on  the 
quay.  At  the  door  of  a  tinman's  shop,  under  the  sign  of 
Achilles'  shield '' 

"That  house?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  smiling  bitterly,  "my  shield 
is  there. — Your  man  will  see  an  old  woman  dressed,  as  I 
told  you  before,  like  a  fish-woman  who  has  saved  money — 
earrings  in  her  ears,  and  clothes  like  a  rich  market-woman's. 
He  must  ask  for  Madame  de  Saint-Esteve.  Do  not  omit 
the  de.  And  he  must  say,  '1  have  come  from  the  public 
prosecutor  to  fetch  you  know  what.' — You  will  immediately 
receive  three  sealed  packets." 

"All  the  letters  are  there?"  said  Monsieur  de  Granville. 

"There  is  no  tricking  you ;  you  did  not  get  your  place 
for  nothing!"  said  Jacques  Collin,  wath  a  smile.  "I  see 
you  still  think  me  capable  of  testing  you  and  giving  you  so 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  137 

much  blank  paper. — No;  you  do  not  know  me,"  said  he.  "I 
trust  you  as  a  son  trusts  his  father." 

"You  will  be  taken  back  to  the  Conciergerie,"  said  the  mag- 
istrate, "and  there  await  a  decision  as  to  your  fate." 

Monsieur  de  Granville  rang,  and  said  to  the  office-boy  who 
answered : 

"Beg  Monsieur  Garnery  to  come  here,  if  he  is  in  his 
room." 

Besides  the  forty-eight  police  commissioners  who  watch 
over  Paris  like  forty-eight  petty  Providences,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  guardians  of  Public  Safety — and  who  have  earned  the 
nickname  of  quart  d'oeil,  in  thieves'  slang,  a  quarter  of  an 
eye,  because  there  are  four  of  them  to  each  district, — besides 
these,  there  are  two  commissioners  attached  equally  to  the  police 
and  to  the  legal  authorities,  whose  duty  it  is  to  undertake 
delicate  negotiation,  and  not  frequently  to  serve  as  deputies 
to  the  examining  judges.  The  office  of  these  two  magistrates, 
for  police  commissioners  are  also  magistrates,  is  known  as 
the  Delegates'  office;  for  they  are,  in  fact,  delegated  on  each 
occasion,  and  formally  empowered  to  carry  out  inquiries  or 
arrests. 

These  functions  demand  men  of  ripe  age,  proved  in- 
telligence, great  rectitude,  and  perfect  discretion;  and  it  is 
one  of  the  miracles  wrought  by  Heaven  in  favor  of  Paris, 
that  some  men  of  that  stamp  are  always  forthcoming.  Any 
description  of  the  Palais  de  Justice  would  be  incomplete 
without  due  mention  of  these  preventive  officials,  as  they 
may  be  called,  the  most  powerful  adjuncts  of  the  law;  for 
though  it  must  be  owned  that  the  force  of  circumstances 
has  abrogated  the  ancient  pomp  and  wealth  of  justice,  it 
has  materially  gained  in  many  ways.  In  Paris  especially 
its  machinery  is  admirably  perfect. 

Monsieur  de  Granville  had  sent  his  secretary.  Monsieur  de 
Chargebceuf,  to  attend  Lucien's  funeral;  he  needed  a  substi- 
tute for  this  business,  a  man  he  could  trust,  and  Mon- 
sieur Garnery  was  one  of  the  commissioners  in  the  Delegates' 
office. 


138  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Monsieur,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  "I  have  already  proved 
to  you  that  I  have  a  sense  of  honor.  You  let  me  go  free, 
and  I  came  back. — By  this  time  the  funeral  mass  for  Lucien 
is  ended;  they  will  be  carrying  him  to  the  grave.  Instead 
of  remanding  me  to  the  Conciergerie,  give  me  leave  to  fol- 
low the  boy's  body  to  Pere-Lachaise.  I  will  come  back  and 
surrender  myself  prisoner." 

"Go,"  said  Monsieur  de  Gran\ille,  in  the  kindest  tone. 

"One  word  more,  monsieur.  The  money  belonging  to 
that  girl — Lucien's  mistress — was  not  stolen.  During  the 
short  time  of  liberty  you  allowed  me,  I  questioned  her  ser- 
vants. I  am  sure  of  them  as  you  are  of  your  two  commis- 
sioners of  the  Delegates'  oflice.  The  money  paid  for  the 
certificate  sold  by  ]*dadenioiselle  Esther  Gobseck  will  cer- 
tainly be  found  in  her  room  when  the  seals  are  removed. 
Her  maid  remarked  to  me  that  the  deceased  was  given  to 
mystery-making,  and  very  distrustful ;  she  no  doubt  hid  the 
banknotes  in  her  bed.  Let  the  bedstead  be  carefully  ex- 
amined and  taken  to  pieces,  the  mattresses  unsewn — the 
money  will  be  found." 

"You  are  sure  of  that?" 

"I  am  quite  sure  of  the  relative  honesty  of  my  rascals; 
they  never  play  any  tricks  on  me.  I  hold  the  power  of  life 
and  death;  I  try  and  condemn  them  and  carry  out  my 
sentence  without  all  your  formalities.  You  can  see  for  your- 
self the  results  of  my  authority.  I  will  recover  the  money 
stolen  from  Monsieur  and  Madame  Crottat;  I  will  hand  you 
over  one  of  Bibi-Lupin's  men,  his  right  hand,  caught  in  the 
act;  and  I  will  tell  you  the  secret  of  the  Xanterre  murders. 
This  is  not  a  bad  beginning.  And  if  you  only  employ  me 
in  the  service  of  the  law  and  the  police,  by  the  end  of  a  year 
you  will  be  satisfied  with  all  I  can  tell  you.  I  will  be  thor- 
oughly all  that  I  ought  to  be,  and  shall  manage  to  succeed 
in  all  the  business  that  is  placed  in  my  hands." 

"I  can  promise  you  nothing  but  my  goodwill.  What  you 
ask  is  not  in  my  power.  The  privilege  of  granting  pardons 
is  the  King's  alone,  on  the  recommendation  of  the  Keeper 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  139 

of  the  Seals;  and  the  place  you  wish  to  hold  is  in  the  gift 
of  the  Prefet  of  Police." 

"Monsieur  Garnery,"  the  office-boy  announced. 

At  a  nod  from  Monsieur  de  Granville  the  Delegate  com- 
missioner came  in,  glanced  at  Jacques  Collin  as  one  who 
knows,  and  gulped  down  his  astonishment  on  hearing  the 
word  "Go !"  spoken  to  Jacques  Collin  by  Monsieur  de  Gran- 
ville. 

"Allow  me,"  said  Jacques  Collin,  "to  remain  here  till 
Monsieur  Garnery  has  returned  with  the  documents  in 
which  all  my  strength  lies,  that  I  may  take  away  with  me 
some  expression  of  your  satisfaction." 

This  absolute  humility  and  sincerity  touched  the  public 
prosecutor. 

"Go,"  said  he;  "1  can  depend  on  you." 

Jacques  Collin  bowed  humbly,  with  the  submissiveness 
of  an  inferior  to  his  master.  Ten  minutes  later.  Monsieur 
de  Granville  was  in  possession  of  the  letters  in  three  sealed 
packets  that  had  not  been  opened !  But  the  importance 
of  this  point,  and  Jacques  Collin's  avowal,  had  made  him  for- 
get the  convict's  promise  to  cure  Madame  de  Serizy. 

When  once  he  was  outside,  Jacques  Collin  had  an  in- 
describable sense  of  satisfaction.  He  felt  he  was  free,  and 
born  to  a  new  phase  of  life.  He  walked  quickly  from  the 
Palais  to  the  Church  of  Saint-Germain-des-Pres,  where  mass 
was  over.  The  coffin  was  being  sprinkled  with  holy  water, 
and  he  arrived  in  time  thus  to  bid  farewell,  in  a  Christian 
fashion,  to  the  mortal  remains  of  the  youth  he  had  loved  so 
well.  Then  he  got  into  a  carriage  and  drove  after  the  body 
to  the  cemetery. 

In  Paris,  unless  on  very  exceptional  occasions,  or  when 
some  famous  man  has  died  a  natural  death,  the  crowd  that 
gathers  about  a  funeral  diminishes  by  degrees  as  the  pro- 
cession approaches  Pere-Lachaise.  People  make  time  to 
show  themselves  in  church;  but  every  one  has  his  business 
to  attend  to,  and  returns  to  it  as  soon  as  possible.     Thus  of 


140  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

ten  mourning  carriages,  onl}'  four  were  occupied.  By  the 
time  they  reached  Pere-Lachaise  there  were  not  more  than 
a  dozen  followers,  among  whom  was  Kastignac. 

"That  is  right;  it  is  well  that  you  are  faithful  to  him," 
said  Jacques  Collin  to  his  old  acquaintance. 

Eastignac  started  with  surprise  at  seeing  Vautrin. 

"Be  calm,"  said  his  old  fellow-boarder  at  Madame 
Vauquer's.  "I  am  your  slave,  if  only  because  I  find  you  here. 
My  help  is  not  to  be  despised ;  I  am,  or  shall  be,  more  power- 
ful than  ever.  You  slipped  your  cable,  and  you  did  it  very 
cleverly;  but  you  may  need  me  yet,  and  I  will  always  be  at 
your  service." 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"To  supply  the  hulks  with  lodgers  instead  of  lodging 
there,"  replied  Jacques  Collin. 

Eastignac  gave  a  shrug  of  disgust. 

"But  if  you  were  robbed " 

Eastignac  hurried  on  to  get  away  from  Jacques  Collin. 

"You  do  not  know  what  circumstances  you  may  find  your- 
self in." 

They  stood  by  the  grave  dug  by  the  side  of  Esther's. 

"Two  beings  who  loved  each  other,  and  who  were  happy !" 
said  Jacques  Collin.  "They  are  united. — It  is  some  comfort 
to  rot  together.     I  will  be  buried  here." 

When  Lucien's  body  was  lowered  into  the  grave,  Jacques 
Collin  fell  in  a  dead  faint.  This  strong  man  could  not  en- 
dure the  light  rattle  of  the  spadefuls  of  earth  thrown  by  the 
gravediggers  on  the  coffin  as  a  hint  for  their  payment. 

Just  then  two  men  of  the  corps  of  Public  Safety  came  up; 
they  recognized  Jacques  Collin,  lifted  him  up,  and  carried  him 
to  a  hackney  coach. 

"What  is  up  now?"  asked  Jacques  Collin  when  he  re- 
covered consciousness  and  had  looked  about  him. 

He  saw  himself  between  two  constables,  one  of  whom  was 
EufF ard ;  and  he  gave  him  a  look  which  pierced  the  murderer's 
soul  to  the  very  depths  of  la  Gonore's  secret. 

"Why,  the  public  prosecutor  wants  you,"  replied  Euffard, 


Vi-UTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR  141 

"and  we  have  been  hunting  for  you  everywhere,  and  found 
you  in  the  cemetery,  where  you  had  nearly  taken  a  header 
into  that  boy's  grave." 

Jacques  Collin  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"Is  it  Bibi-Lupin  that  is  after  me?"  he  asked  the  other 
man. 

"No.     Monsieur  Garnery  sent  us  to  find  you." 

"And  he  told  you  nothing?'' 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other,  holding  council  in  ex- 
pressive pantomime. 

"Come,  what  did  he  say  when  he  gave  you  your  orders?" 

"He  bid  us  fetch  you  at  once,"  said  Euffard,  "and  said  we 
should  find  you  at  the  Church  of  Saint-Germain-des-Pres ; 
or,  if  the  funeral  had  left  the  church,  at  the  cemetery." 

"The  public  prosecutor  wants  me  ?" 

"Perhaps." 

"That  is  it,"  said  Jacques  Collin;  "he  wants  my  assist- 
ance." 

And  he  relapsed  into  silence,  which  greatly  puzzled  the 
two  constables. 

At  about  half-past  two  Jacques  Collin  once  more  went  up 
to  Monsieur  de  Granville's  room,  and  found  there  a  fresh 
arrival  in  the  person  of  Monsieur  de  Granville's  predecessor, 
the  Comte  Octave  de  Bauvan,  one  of  the  Presidents  of  the 
Court  of  Appeals. 

"You  forgot  Madame  de  Serizy's  dangerous  condition,  and 
that  you  had  promised  to  save  her." 

"Ask  these  rascals  in  what  state  they  found  me,  mon- 
sieur," said  Jacques  Collin,  signing  to  the  two  constables  to 
come  in. 

"Unconscious,  monsieur,  lying  on  the  edge  of  the  grave 
of  the  young  man  they  were  burying." 

"Save  Madame  de  Serizy,"  said  the  Comte  de  Bauvan, 
"and  you  shall  have  what  you  will." 

"I  ask  for  nothing,"  said  Jacques  Collin.  "I  surrendered 
at  discretion,  and  Monsieur  de  Granville  must  have  re- 
ceived  " 


142  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"All  the  letters,  yes/'  said  the  magistrate.  "But  you  prom- 
ised to  save  Madame  de  Serizy's  reason.  Can  you?  Was 
it  not  a  vain  boast?" 

"I  hope  I  can,''  replied  Jacques  Collin  modestly. 

"Well,  then,  come  with  me,"  said  Comte  Octave. 

"No,  monsieur;  I  will  not  be  seen  in  the  same  carriage 
by  your  side — I  am  still  a  convict.  It  is  my  wish  to  serve  the 
Law;  I  will  not  begin  by  discrediting  it.  Go  back  to  the 
Countess;  I  will  be  there  soon  after  you.  Tell  her  Lucien's 
best  friend  is  coming  to  see  her,  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera; 
the  anticipation  of  my  visit  will  make  an  impression  on  her 
and  favor  the  cure.  You  will  forgive  me  for  assuming  once 
more  the  false  part  of  a  Spanish  priest;  it  is  to  do  so  much 
good !" 

"I  shall  find  you  there  at  about  four  o'clock,"  said  Mon- 
sieur de  Granville,  "for  I  have  to  wait  on  the  King  with  the 
Keeper  of  the  Seals." 

Jacques  Collin  went  off  to  find  his  aunt,  who  was  waiting 
for  him  on  the  Quai  aux  Fleurs. 

"So  you  have  given  yourself  up  to  the  authorities?"  said 
she. 

"Yes." 

"It  is  a  risky  game." 

"N"o;  I  owed  that  poor  Theodore  his  life,  and  he  is  re- 
prieved." 

"And  you?" 

"I — I  shall  be  what  I  ought  to  be.  I  shall  always  make 
our  set  shake  in  their  shoes. — But  we  must  get  to  work.  Go 
and  tell  Paccard  to  be  off  as  fast  as  he  can  go,  and  see  that 
Europe  does  as  I  told  her." 

"That  is  a  trifle;  I  know  how  to  deal  with  la  Gonore," 
said  the  terrible  Jacqueline.  "I  have  not  been  wasting  my 
time  here  among  the  gilliflowers." 

"Let  Ginetta,  the  Corsican  girl,  be  found  by  to-morrow," 
Jacques  Collin  went  on,  smiling  at  his  aunt. 

"I  shall  want  some  clue." 

"You  can  get  it  through  Manon  la  Blonde,"  said  Jacques, 


VAUTRIN'S  LAST  AVATAR         .  143 

"Then  we  meet  this  evening,"  replied  the  aunt,  "you  are  in 
such  a  deuce  of  a  hurry.     Is  there  a  fat  job  on?" 

"I  want  to  begin  with  a  stroke  that  will  beat  everything 
that  Bibi-Lupin  has  ever  done.  I  have  spoken  a  few  words 
to  the  brute  who  killed  Lucien,  and  I  live  only  for  revenge ! 
Thanks  to  our  positions,  he  and  I  shall  be  equally  strong, 
equally  protected.  It  will  take  years  to  strike  the  blow,  but 
the  wretch  shall  have  it  straight  in  the  heart." 

"He  must  have  vowed  a  Eoland  for  your  Oliver,"  said  the 
aunt,  "for  he  has  taken  charge  of  Peyrade's  daughter,  the  girl 
who  was  sold  to  Madame  ISTourrisson,  you  know." 

"Our  first  point  must  be  to  find  him  a  servant." 

"That  will  be  difficult;  he  must  be  tolerably  wide-awake," 
observed  Jacqueline. 

"Well,  hatred  keeps  one  alive !     We  must  work  hard." 

Jacques  Collin  took  a  cab  and  drove  at  once  to  the  Quai 
Malaquais,  to  the  little  room  he  lodged  in,  quite  separate 
from  Lucien's  apartment.  The  porter,  greatly  astonished 
at  seeing  him,  wanted  to  tell  him  all  that  had  happened. 

"I  know  everything,"  said  the  Abbe.  "I  have  been  in- 
volved in  it,  in  spite  of  my  saintly  reputation;  but,  thanks 
to  the  intervention  of  the  Spanish  Ambassador,  I  have  been 
released." 

He  hurried  up  to  his  room,  where,  from  under  the  cover  of 
a  breviary,  he  took  out  a  letter  that  Lucien  had  written  to 
Madame  de  Serizy  after  that  lady  had  discarded  him  on 
seeing  him  at  the  opera  with  Esther. 

Lucien,  in  his  despair,  had  decided  on  not  sending  this 
letter,  believing  himself  cast  off  for  ever ;  but  Jacques  Collin 
had  read  the  little  masterpiece ;  and  as  all  that  Lucien  wrote 
was  to  him  sacred,  he  had  treasured  the  letter  in  his  prayer- 
book  for  its  poetical  expression  of  a  passion  that  was  chiefly 
vanity.  When  Monsieur  de  Granville  told  him  of  Madame 
de  Serizy's  condition,  the  keen-witted  man  had  very  wisely 
concluded  that  this  fine  lady's  despair  and  frenzy  must  be 
the  result  of  the  quarrel  she  had  allowed  to  subsist  between 


144  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

herself  and  Lucien.  He  knew  women  as  magistrates  know 
criminals ;  he  guessed  the  most  secret  impulses  of  their  hearts ; 
and  he  at  once  understood  that  the  Countess  probably 
ascribed  Lucien's  death  partly  to  her  own  severity,  and  re- 
proached herself  bitterly.  Obviously  a  man  on  whom  she 
had  shed  her  love  would  never  have  thrown  away  his  life ! — 
To  know  that  he  had  loved  her  still,  in  spite  of  her  cruelty, 
might  restore  her  reason. 

If  Jacques  Collin  was  a  grand  general  of  convicts,  he  was, 
it  must  be  owned,  a  not  less  skilful  physician  of  souls. 

This  man's  arrival  at  the  mansion  of  the  Serizys  was  at 
once  a  disgrace  and  a  promise.  Several  persons,  the  Count, 
and  the  doctors  were  assembled  in  the  little  drawing-room 
adjoining  the  Countess'  bedroom ;  but  to  spare  him  this  stain 
on  his  soul's  honor,  the  Comte  de  Bauvan  dismissed  every- 
body, and  remained  alone  with  his  friend.  It  was  bad  enough 
even  then  for  the  Vice-President  of  the  Privy  Council  to  see 
this  gloomy  and  sinister  visitor  come  in. 

Jacques  Collin  had  changed  his  dress.  He  was  in  black 
with  trousers,  and  a  plain  frock-coat,  and  his  gait,  his  look, 
and  his  manner  were  all  that  could  be  wished.  He  bowed  to 
the  two  statesmen,  and  asked  if  he  might  be  admitted  to  see 
the  Countess. 

"She  awaits  you  with  impatience,"  said  Monsieur  de 
Bauvan. 

"With  impatience !  Then  she  is  saved,"  said  the  dreadful 
magician. 

And,  in  fact,  after  an  interview  of  half  an  hour,  Jacques 
Collin  opened  the  door  and  said : 

"Come  in.  Monsieur  le  Comte;  there  is  nothing  further 
to  fear." 

The  Countess  had  the  letter  clasped  to  her  heart ;  she  was 
calm,  and  seemed  to  have  forgiven  herself.  The  Count  gave 
expression  to  his  joy  at  the  sight. 

"And  these  are  the  men  who  settle  our  fate  and  the  fate 
of  nations,"  thought  Jacques  Collin,  shrugging  his  shoulders 
behind  the  two  men.     "A  female  has  but  to  sigh  in  the  wrong 


VAFTRTN'S  LAST  AYATAR  145 

way  to  turn  their  brain  as  if  it  were  a  glove !  A  wink,  and 
they  lose  their  head!  A  petticoat  raised  a  little  higher, 
dropped  a  little  lower,  and  they  rush  round  Paris  in  despair ! 
The  whims  of  a  woman  react  on  the  whole  country.  Ah, 
how  much  stronger  is  a  man  when,  like  me,  he  keeps  far  away 
from  this  childish  tyranny,  from  honor  ruined  by  passion, 
from  this  frank  malignity,  and  wiles  worthy  of  savages! 
Woman,  with  her  genius  for  ruthlessness,  her  talent  for  tor- 
ture, is,  and  always  will  be,  the  marring  of  man.  The  public 
prosecutor,  the  minister — here  they  are,  all  hoodwinked,  all 
moving  the  spheres  for  some  letters  written  by  a  duchess  and 
a  chit,  or  to  save  the  reason  of  a  woman  who  is  more  crazy  in 
her  right  mind  than  she  was  in  her  delirium." 

And  he  smiled  haughtily. 

"Ay,"  said  he  to  himself,  "and  they  believe  in  me !  They 
act  on  my  information,  and  will  leave  me  in  power.  I  shall 
still  rule  the  world  which  has  obeyed  me  these  five-and-twenty 
years." 

Jacques  Collin  had  brought  into  play  the  overpowering 
influence  he  had  exerted  of  yore  over  poor  Esther;  for  he 
had,  as  has  often  been  shown,  the  mode  of  speech,  the  look, 
the  action  which  quell  madmen,  and  he  had  depicted  Lucien 
as  having  died  with  the  Countess'  image  in  his  heart. 

jSTo  woman  can  resist  the  idea  of  having  been  the  one  be- 
loved. 

"You  now  have  no  rival,"  had  been  this  bitter  jester's  last 
words. 

He  remained  a  whole  hour  alone  and  forgotten  in  that 
little  room.  Monsieur  de  Granville  arrived  and  found  him 
gloomy,  standing  up,  and  lost  in  a  brown  study,  as  a  man 
may  well  be  who  makes  an  18th  Brumaire  in  his  life. 

The  public  prosecutor  went  to  the  door  of  the  Countess' 
room,  and  remained  there  a  few  minutes ;  then  he  turned  to 
Jacques  Collin  and  said : 

"You  have  not  changed  your  mind?" 

"No,  monsieur." 


146  A  COURTESAN'S  LIFE 

"Well,  then,  you  will  take  Bibi-Lupin's  place,  and  Calvi's 
sentence  will  be  commuted." 

"And  he  is  not  to  be  sent  to  Rochef ort  ?" 

"Not  even  to  Toulon ;  you  may  employ  him  in  your  service. 
But  these  reprieves  and  your  appointment  depend  on  your 
conduct  for  the  next  six  months  as  subordinate  to  Bibi- 
Lupin." 

Within  a  week  Bibi-Lupin's  new  deputy  had  helped  the 
Crottat  family  to  recover  four  hundred  thousand  francs,  and 
had  brought  Ruffard  and  Godet  to  justice. 

The  price  of  the  certificates  sold  by  Esther  Gobseck  was 
found  in  the  courtesan's  mattress,  and  Monsieur  de  Serizy 
handed  over  to  Jacques  Collin  the  three  hundred  thousand 
francs  left  to  him  by  Lucien  de  Ruberapre. 

The  monument  erected  by  Lucien's  orders  for  Esther  and 
himself  is  considered  one  of  the  finest  in  Pere-Lachaise,  and 
the  earth  beneath  it  belongs  to  Jacques  Collin. 

After  exercising  his  functions  for  about  fifteen  years 
Jacques  Collin  retired  in  1845. 

December  1847. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

To   the   Contessa  Serafina  San  Severino, 
nee  Porcia. 

Being  obliged  to  read  everything,  in  the  endeavor  to  repeat  nothing, 

I  chanced,  the  other  day,  to  turn  over  the  pages  of  a  collection  of  three 
hundred  more  or  less  broadly  humorous  tales  written  by  II  Bandello, 
a  sixteenth  century  writer,  but  little  known  in  France,  whose  works 
have  only  lately  been  republished  in  extenso  in  the  compact  Floren- 
tine edition  entitled  ' '  Raccolta  di  Novellieri  Italian!.  "  As  I  glanced 
for  the  first  time  through  II  Bandello's  original  text,  your  name, 
Madame,  and  the  name  of  the  Count,  suddenly  caught  my  eyes,  and 
made~so  vivid  an  impression  upon  my  mind,  that  it  seemed  that  I 
had  actually  seen  you.  Then  I  discovered,  not  without  surprise, 
that  every  story,  were  it  but  five  pages  long,  was  prefaced  by  a 
familiar  letter  of  dedication  to  a  king  or  queen,  or  to  one  of  the 
most  illustrious  personages  of  the  time.  I  saw  the  names  of  noble 
houses  of  Genoa,  Florence,  Milan,  and  II  Bandello's  native  Pied- 
mont. Sforze,  Dorie,  Fregosi,  and  Frascatori ;  the  Dolcini  of  Man- 
tua, the  San  Severini  of  Crema,  the  Visconti  of  Milan,  and  the 
Guidoboni  of  Tortona,  all  appear  in  his  pages ;  there  is  a  Dante 
Alighieri  (some  one  of  that  name  was  then,  it  seems,  in  existence), 
stories  are  inscribed  to  Queen  Margaret  of  France,  to  the  Emperor 
of  Germany,  the  King  of  Bohemia,  the  Archduke  Maximilian. 
There  are  Sauli,  Medici,  Soderini,  Pallavicini,  and  a  Bentivoglio  of 
Bologna ;  there  are  Scaligeri  and  Colonne ;  there  is  a  Spanish  Car- 
dona  ;  and  as  for  France,  Anne  de  Polignac,  Princesse  de  Marcillac, 
and  Comtesse  de  la  Rochefoucauld,  the  Marignys,  Cardinal  d'Ar- 
magnac,  and  the  Bishop  of  Cahors — all  the  great  company  of  the  time 
in  short — are  delighted  and  flattered  by  a  correspondence  with  Boc- 
caccio's successor.     I  saw,  likewise,  how  much  nobility  there  was  in 

II  Bandello's  own  character;    for  while  he  adorns  his  pages  with 

(147) 


148  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

such  illustrious  names  as  these,  he  is  true  to  his  personal  friend- 
ships. After  the  Signora  Gallerana,  Countess  of  Bergamo,  comes  the 
name  of  a  doctor  to  whom  he  inscribes  his  tale  of  "  Romeo  e  Giu- 
lietta;"  after  the  "  signora,  molto  magnifica,  "  Hipolita  Visconti  ed 
Attellana  follows  the  name  of  Livio  Liviana,  a  simple  captain  of 
light  cavalry;  a  preacher  succeeds  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  and  next  in 
order  after  one  Riario  you  find  "  Messer  magnifico,  Girolamo  Un- 
garo,  mercante  Lucchese, "  a  virtuous  person  for  whose  benefit  it  is 
narrated  how  ' '  un  gentiluomo  navarese  sposa  una  che  era  sua  sorella 
e  figliuola,  non  lo  sapendo;"  the  subject  being  furnished  by  the 
Queen  of  Navarre. 

Then  I  thought  that  I,  like  L  Bandello,  might  put  one  of  my  stories 
under  the  protection  of  ' '  una  virtuosa,  gentilissima  illustrissima  ' ' 
Contessa  Serafina  San  Severino,  telling  her  truths  that  might  be  taken 
for  flatteries.  Why  should  I  not  confess  that  I  am  proud  to  bear  my 
testimony  here  and  elsewhere  to  the  fact  that  fair  and  noble  friend- 
ships, now,  as  in  the  sixteenth  century,  are  and  have  been  the 
solace  of  men  of  letters  wherever  the  fashion  of  the  day  may  rank 
them  ?  that  in  those  friendships  they  have  ever  found  consolation 
for  slander,  insult,  and  harsh  criticism,  w'hile  the  approval  of  such 
an  audience  enables  them  to  rise  above  the  cares  and  vexations  of 
the  literary  life  ?  And  because  you  found  such  pleasure  in  the 
mental  activity  of  Paris,  that  brain  of  the  world ;  because,  with 
your  Venetian  subtlety  of  intellect,  you  understand  it  so  well ; 
because  you  loved  Gerard's  sumptuous  salon  (now  closed  to  us),  in 
which  all  the  European  celebrities  of  our  quarter  of  the  century 
might  be  seen,  as  we  see  them  in  II  Bandello's  pages;  because  the 
great  and  dangerous  Siren's  fetes  and  magical  ceremonies  struck  you 
with  wonder,  and  you  gave  me  your  impressions  of  Paris  so  simply — 
for  all  these  reasons,  surcJy,  you  will  extend  your  protection  to  this 
picture  of  a  sphere  of  life  which  you  cannot  have  know'n,  albeit 
it  is  not  lacking  in  character. 

1  could  wish  that  I  had  some  great  poem  to  ofl'er  instead  to  you 
whose  outward  form  is  the  visible  expression  of  all  the   poetry  in 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  149 

your  heart  and  soul ;  but  since  a  poor  writer  of  prose  can  only  give 
what  he  has,  the  inadequacy  of  the  oflering  may  perhaps  be 
redeemed,  in  your  eyes,  by  the  respectful  homage  paid  by  a  deep 
and  sincere  admiration,  such  as  you  can  inspire. 

De  Balzac. 

In  Paris,  where  there  is  a  certain  family  likeness  among 
students  and  thinkers  who  live  under  similar  conditions,  you 
must  have  seen  many  faces  not  unlike  M.  Eabourdin's  at  the 
point  at  which  this  history  takes  up  his  career.  M.  Rabour- 
din  at  that  time  was  a  chief  clerk  in  a  most  important  Gov- 
ernment department.  He  was  a  man  of  forty,  with  hair  of 
so  pretty  a  shade  of  gray,  that  women  really  might  love  to 
have  it  so;  it  was  just  the  tint  that  softens  the  expression 
of  a  melancholy  face.  There  was  plenty  of  light  in  the  blue 
eyes;  his  complexion,  though  still  fair,  was  sanguine,  and 
there  were  little  patches  of  bright  red  in  it;  his  mouth  was 
grave;  his  nose  and  forehead  resembled  those  features  in 
portraits  of  Louis  XV.  In  person  he  was  tall  and  spare,  as 
thin,  indeed,  as  if  he  had  but  recently  recovered  from  an  ill- 
ness; his  gait  suggested  something  of  a  lounger's  indolence, 
something  too  of  the  meditative  mood  of  a  busy  man. 

If  this  portrait  gives  the  man's  character  by  anticipation, 
his  costume  may  contribute  to  set  it  further  in  relief ;  Eabour- 
din  invariably  wore  a  long  blue  overcoat,  a  black  stock,  a 
double-breasted  waistcoat  a  la  Robespierre,  black  trousers 
without  straps,  gray  silk  stockings,  and  low  shoes.  At  eight 
every  morning,  punctual  as  the  clock,  he  sallied  forth  duly 
shaven  and  ballasted  with  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  went,  always 
along  the  same  streets,  to  the  office,  looking  so  prim  and  tidy 
that  you  might  have  taken  him  for  an  Englishman  on  the 
way  to  his  embassy.  By  these  tokens  you  discern  the  father 
of  a  family,  a  man  that  has  little  of  his  own  way  in  his  own 
house,  and  plenty  of  business  cares  to  worry  him  at  the  office ; 
and  yet  withal  sufficient  of  a  philosopher  to  take  life  as  it  is ; 
an  honest  man,  loving  and  serving  his  country  without  blink- 
ing the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  getting  the  right  thing  done ; 


150  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

a  prudent  man,  since  he  knows  something  of  human  nature; 
a  man  whose  manner  to  women  is  exquisitely  polite  because 
he  expects  nothing  of  them.  Lasth',  he  was  a  man  of  very 
considerable  attainments,  kindly  to  his  inferiors,  apt  to  keep 
his  equals  at  a  distance,  and  to  stand  on  his  dignity  with  his 
chiefs. 

At  this  period  of  his  life  you  would  have  noticed  that  he 
wore  a  certain  resigned,  indifferent  air;  he  seemed  to  have 
buried  his  youthful  illusions,  and  renounced  personal  am- 
bitions; certain  signs  indicated  that  though  discouraged  he 
had  not  yet  given  up  his  early  projects  in  disgust,  but  he 
persisted  in  his  work  rather  for  the  sake  of  employing  his 
faculties  than  from  any  hope  of  a  doubtful  triumph.  He 
wore  no  "decorations,"  and  occasionally  blamed  himself  for 
the  weakness  of  wearing  the  Order  of  the  Lily  in  the  early 
days  of  the  Eestoration. 

There  were  certain  mysterious  elements  in  Rabourdin's 
life.  His  father  he  had  never  known.  His  mother  had  lived 
in  luxury  and  splendor;  she  had  a  fine  carriage,  she  was  al- 
ways beautifully  dressed,  her  life  was  a  round  of  gaiety ;  her 
son  remembered  her  as  a  marveloush^  beautiful  and  seldom- 
seen  vision.  She  left  him  scarcely  anything  when  she  died ; 
but  she  had  given  him  the  ordinary  imperfect  school  educa- 
tion which  develops  great  ambitions  and  little  capacity  for 
realizing  them.  Then  he  left  the  Lycee  Kapoleon  only  a  few 
days  before  her  death  to  enter  a  Government  office  as  a  super- 
numerary at  the  age  of  sixteen.  Some  unknown  influence 
promptly  obtained  the  position  for  him.  At  twenty-two, 
Eabourdin  became  senior  clerk ;  he  was  chief  clerk  at  twenty- 
five.  After  this,  the  patronage  which  had  brought  the  young 
fellow  thus  far  on  in  life  showed  itself  in  but  one  more  in- 
stance. It  procured  him  an  entrance  to  the  house  of  one  M. 
Leprince,  a  retired  auctioneer,  reputed  to  be  wealthy.  M. 
Leprince  was  a  widower  with  an  only  daughter.  Xavier 
Eabourdin  fell  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  Mile.  Celestine 
Leprince,  then  aged  seventeen,  and  endowed  (so  it  was  said) 
with  two  hundred  thousand  francs  for  her  portion.     Men  in 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  151 

the  highest  position  might  well  turn  their  eyes  in  the  direction 
of  this  young  lady.  A  tall,  handsome  girl  with  an  admirable 
figure,  she  had  inherited  the  gifts  of  an  artist  mother,  who 
brought  her  up  carefully.  Mile.  Leprince  spoke  several  lan- 
guages, and  had  acquired  some  smatterings  of  learning — a 
dangerous  advantage,  which  compels  a  woman  to  be  very 
careful  if  she  would  avoid  any  appearance  of  pedantry.  And 
Celestine's  mother,  blinded  by  unwise  tenderness,  had  held 
out  hopes  that  could  not  be  realized ;  to  hear  her  talk,  nobody 
short  of  a  duke,  an  ambassador,  a  marshal  of  France,  or  a 
cabinet  minister  could  give  her  Celestine  her  rightful  social 
position.  And,  indeed.  Mile.  Leprince's  manners,  language, 
and  ways  were  fitted  for  the  best  society.  Her  dress  was  too 
handsome  and  elegant  for  a  girl  of  her  age ;  a  husband  could 
give  Celestine  nothing  but  happiness.  And,  what  was  more, 
the  mother  (who  died  a  year  after  her  marriage)  had  spoiled 
her  with  such  continual  indulgence,  that  a  lover  had  a  toler- 
ably difficult  part  to  play. 

A  man  had  need  have  plenty  of  courage  to  undertake  such 
a  wife !  Middle-class  suitors  took  fright  and  retired. 
Xavier,  an  orphan  with  nothing  but  his  salary  as  chief  clerk 
in  a  Government  office,  was  brought  forward  by  M.  Leprince, 
but  for  a  long  time  Celestine  would  not  hear  of  him.  Not 
that  Mile.  Leprince  had  any  objection  to  her  suitor  himself; 
he  was  young,  handsome,  and  very  much  in  love,  but  she  had 
no  mind  to  be  called  Mme.  Eabourdin. 

In  vain  M.  Leprince  told  his  daughter  that  Rabourdin 
was  of  the  stuff  of  which  cabinet  ministers  are  made. 
Celestine  retorted  that  a  man  of  the  name  of  Rabourdin 
would  never  rise  to  be  anything  under  the  Bourbons,  with 
much  more  to  the  same  purpose.  Driven  thus  from  his  in- 
trenchments,  her  parent  was  guilty  of  a  grave  indiscretion; 
he  hinted  to  Celestine  that  her  suitor  would  be  Rabourdin  de 
somewhere  or  other  before  he  could  reach  the  age  that  qualifies 
for  the  Chamber.  Xavier  was  sure  to  be  a  Master  of  Re- 
quests before  very  long,  and  Secretary-General  of  his  de- 
partment.    After  those  two  steps,  the  young  fellow  would  be 


152  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

launched  into  the  upper  regions  of  the  administration  some 
day;  besides,  Eabourdin  would  inherit  a  fortune  and  a  name 
by  a  certain  will,  as  he  (Leprince)  knew  of  his  own  knowl- 
edge.    The  marriage  took  place. 

Eabourdin  and  his  Avife  believed  in  the  mysterious  power 
discovered  to  them  by  the  old  auctioneer.  Hope  and  the 
improvidence  counseled  by  love  in  the  early  days  of  married 
life  led  the  young  couple  into  expense;  and  in  five  years  M. 
and  Mme.  Eabourdin  had  spent  nearly  a  hundred  thousand 
francs  of  their  principal.  Celestine  not  unreasonably  took 
alarm  when  promotion  did  not  come,  and  it  was  by  her  wish 
that  the  remaining  hundred  thousand  francs  of  her  portion 
were  put  into  land.  The  investment  only  paid  a  very  low  in- 
terest ;  but  then  some  day  or  other  old  M.  Leprince  would  leave 
his  money  to  them,  and  their  prudent  self-denial  would  re- 
ceive the  reward  of  a  pleasant  competence. 

But  old  M.  Leprince  saw  that  his  son-in-law  had  lost  his 
interest,  and  tried,  for  his  daughter's  sake,  to  repair  the  secret 
check.  He  risked  a  part  of  his  capital  in  a  very  promising 
speculation ;  but  the  poor  man  became  involved  in  one  of  the 
liquidations  of  the  firm  of  Nucingen,  and  worried  over  his 
losses  until  he  died,  leaving  nothing  behind  him  but  some  ten 
fine  pictures  which  adorned  his  daughter's  drawing-room, 
and  a  little  old-fashioned  furniture  which  she  consigned  to 
the  attics. 

After  eight  years  of  vain  expectation,  Mme.  Eabourdin  at 
last  grasped  the  idea  that  her  husband's  fatherly  providence 
must  have  died  suddenly,  and  that  the  will  had  been  mislaid 
or  suppressed.  Two  years  before  Leprince's  death,  when  the 
place  of  the  head  of  the  division  fell  vacant,  it  was  given  to 
one  M.  de  la  Billardiere,  a  relative  of  a  deputy  on  the  Eight- 
hand  benches,  who  became  a  member  of  the  Government  in 
1823.  It  was  enough  to  drive  a  man  to  resign.  But  how 
could  Eabourdin  give  up  a  salary  of  eight  thousand  francs 
(to  say  nothing  of  an  occasional  bonus)  when  he  was  living 
up  to  his  income,  and  three-fourths  of  it  came  from  this 
source?     Besides,  would  he  not  have  a  right  to  a  pension 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  153 

after  a  few  years  of  patience  ?  But  what  a  fall  was  this  for  a 
woman  whose  high  pretensions  at  the  outset  were  almost 
justifiable,  a  woman  who  was  supposed  to  be  destined  for 
great  things ! 

Mme.  Eabourdin  fulfilled  the  promise  of  Mile.  Leprince. 
She  possessed  the  elements  of  an  apparent  superiority  which 
pleases  in  society;  her  great  acquirements  enabled  her  to 
speak  to  every  one  in  his  own  language.  And  her  ability  was 
genuine ;  she  had  an  independent  mind  of  no  common  order ; 
her  conversation  was  as  charming  for  its  variety  as  for  the 
originality  of  her  ideas.  Such  qualities  would  have  shone  to 
advantage  and  profit  in  a  queen  or  an  ambassadress;  they 
were  worth  little  in  the  inevitably  humdrum  routine  of 
domestic  life.  If  people  talk  well,  they  are  apt  to  want  an 
audience;  they  like  to  talk  at  length,  and  sometimes  they 
grow  wearisome.  To  satisfy  her  intellectual  cravings,  Mme. 
Eabourdin  received  her  friends  one  day  in  the  week,  and 
went  a  good  deal  into  society,  for  the  sake  of  the  admiration 
to  which  she  was  accustomed. 

Those  who  know  life  in  Paris  will  understand  what  a  wo- 
man of  this  stamp  must  suffer  when  she  continually  feels  the 
pinch  of  straitened  means  at  home.  In  spite  of  all  the  sense- 
less rhetorical  abuse  of  money,  you  must  take  your  stand,  if 
you  live  in  Paris,  at  the  foot  of  a  column  of  figures ;  you  must 
bow  down  before  arithmetic,  and  kiss  the  cloven  foot  of  the 
Golden  Calf. 

Given  an  income  of  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year,  to 
meet  all  the  expenses  of  a  household  consisting  of  father, 
mother,  and  two  children,  with  a  housemaid  and  a  cook,  and 
to  live  on  a  second-floor  flat  in  the  Rue  Duphot  at  a  rent  of  a 
hundred  louis — what  a  problem  was  this !  Before  you  begin 
to  estimate  the  gross  expenditure  of  the  house,  you  must  de- 
duct the  wife's  expenses  for  dress  and  hired  carriages  (for 
dress  is  the  first  thing  to  consider)  ;  then  see  how  much  re- 
mains to  pay  for  the  education  of  two  children  (a  girl  of 
seven  and  a  boy  of  nine,  who  already  cost  two  thousand 
francs,  in  spite  of  a  free  scholarship),  and  you  will  find  that 


154  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

Mme.  Eabourdin  could  barely  allow  her  husband  thirty  franco* 
a  month.  Most  married  men  in  Paris  are,  in  fact,  in  the 
same  predicament  if  they  do  not  wish  to  be  thought  monsters 
of  cruelty. 

And  so  it  had  come  to  pass  that  the  woman  who  believed 
that  she  was  born  to  shine  as  one  of  the  queens  of  society 
was  obliged  to  exert  her  intellect  and  all  her  powers  in  a 
sordid  struggle  for  which  she  was  quite  unprepared — a  daily 
wrestling-match  with  account  books.  And  even  so  there  had 
been  bitter  mortifications  to  suffer.  She  had  dismissed  her 
man-servant  after  her  father's  death.  Most  women  grow 
weary  of  the  daily  strain.  They  grumble  for  a  while,  and 
then  yield  to  their  fate ;  but  Celestine's  ambition,  so  far  from 
declining,  was  only  increased  by  the  difficulties.  If  she  could 
not  overcome  obstacles,  she  would  clear  them  from  her  path. 
Such  complications  in  the  machinery  of  existence  ought  to 
be  abolished;  and  if  the  Gordian  knot  could  not  be  untied, 
genius  should  cut  it.  So  far  from  accepting  the  shabby  lot 
of  the  lower  middle-class  housewife,  Celestine  grew  impatient 
because  her  great  future  career  was  delayed.  Fate  had  not 
done  fairly  by  her,  she  thought. 

For  Celestine  honestly  believed  that  she  was  meant  for 
great  things.  And  perhaps  she  was  right.  Perhaps  in  great 
circumstances  she  might  have  shown  herself  great.  Perhaps 
she  was  not  in  her  place.  Let  us  admit  that  among  women, 
as  among  men,  there  are  certain  types  that  can  mould  society 
to  their  own  wish.  But  as,  in  the  natural  world,  not  every 
young  sapling  shoots  up  into  a  tree,  and  small  fry  are  more 
numerous  than  full-grown  fish,  so,  in  the  artificial  world 
called  society,  many  a  human  creature  who  might  have  done 
great  things,  many  an  Athanase  Granson,*  is  doomed  to 
perish  undeveloped  like  the  seeds  that  fall  on  stony  ground. 
Of  course  there  are  domesticated  women,  agreeable  women, 
and  costly  feminine  works  of  art ;  there  are  women  born  to  be 
mothers,  wives,  or  mistresses;  there  are  wholly  intellectual 
and  wholly  material  women ;  even  as  •  among  men  there  are 

*  See  La  VieiUe  Pille. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  155 

soldiers,  artists,  craftsmen,  mathematicians,  merchants,  poets, 
and  men  who  understand  nothing  beyond  money-making, 
agriculture,  or  public  business.  And  then  the  irony  of  fate 
comes  in  and  works  strange  contradictions;  many  are  called, 
but  few  chosen,  and  the  law  of  spiritual  election  holds 
equally  good  in  worldly  concerns. 

Mme.  Eabourdin,  in  her  own  opinion,  was  eminently  fitted 
to  counsel  a  statesman,  to  kindle  an  artist's  soul,  to  further 
the  interests  of  an  inventor,  and  to  help  him  in  his  struggles, 
or  to  devote  herself  to  the  half-political,  half-financial 
schemes  of  a  Nucingen,  and  to  make  a  brilliant  figure  with  a 
large  fortune.  Perhaps  this  was  how  she  tried  to  account 
to  herself  for  the  disgust  that  she  felt  for  laundress'  bills, 
for  the  daily  schemes  of  kitchen  expenditure  and  the  small 
economies  and  cares  of  a  small  establishment.  In  the  life 
that  she  liked  she  took  a  high  place.  And  since  she  was 
keenly  sensitive  to  the  prickings  of  the  thorns  in  a  lot  which  ~^. 
might  be  compared  with  the  position  of  St.  Lawrence  upon  a  .  • , 
gridiron,  some  outcry  surely  was  only  to  be  expected  of  her. 
And  so  it  befell  that  in  paroxysms  of  thwarted  ambition,  dur- 
ing sharp  throbs  of  pain,  given  by  wounded  vanity,  Celestine 
threw  the  blame  upon  Xavier  Eabourdin.  Was  it  not  in- 
cumbent upon  her  husband  to  give  her  a  suitable  position? 
If  she  had  been  a  man,  she  certainly  would  have  had 
energy  enough  to  realize  a  fortune  quickly  and  make  a  much 
loved  wife  happy.  He  was  "too  honest,"  she  said;  and  this 
reproach  in  the  mouths  of  some  women  is  as  good  as  a 
certificate  of  idiocy. 

Celestine  would  sketch  out  magnificent  plans  for  him, 
ignoring  all  the  practical  difficulties  put  in  the  way  by  men 
and  circumstances;  and,  after  the  manner  of  women  when 
under  the  influence  of  intense  feeling,  she  became,  in  theory, 
more  machiavellian  than  a  Gondreville,  and  Maxime  de 
Trailles  himself  was  hardly  such  a  scoundrel.  At  such  times 
Celestine's  imagination  conceived  all  possibilities ;  she  saw 
herself  in  the  whole  extent  of  her  ideas.  Eabourdin,  mean- 
while, with  his  practical  experience,  was  unmoved  from  the 


156  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

outset  by  these  glorious  dreams.  And  Celestine,  somewhat 
dashed,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  her  husband  was  a  nar- 
row-minded man,  whose  views  were  neither  bold  enough  nor 
comprehensive  enough.  Unconsciously  she  began  to  form  an 
utterl}'-  false  idea  of  her  companion  in  life.  She  snuffed  him 
out  continually,  to  begin  with,  by  her  brilliant  arguments; 
and  when  he  began  to  explain  matters  to  her,  she  was  apt  to 
cut  him  short.  Her  own  ideas  were  wont  to  occur  to  her  in 
flashes,  and  she  was  afraid  to  lose  the  spark  of  wit. 

She  had  known  from  the  very  first  days  of  their  married 
life  that  Eabourdin  admired  and  loved  her;  and  therefore 
she  treated  him  with  careless  security.  She  set  herself  above 
all  the  laws  of  married  life,  and  the  courtesies  of  familiarity, 
leaving  all  her  little  shortcomings  to  be  pardoned  in  the 
name  of  Love;  and  as  she  never  corrected  herself,  she  always 
had  her  way.  A  man  in  this  position  is,  as  it  were,  confront- 
ing a  schoolmaster  who  cannot  or  will  not  believe  that  the  boy 
whom  he  used  to  keep  in  order  has  grown  up.  As  Mme.  de 
Stael  once  received  a  remark  made  by  a  "greater  man"  than 
herself,  by  exclaiming  before  a  whole  roomful  of  people,  "Do 
you  know  that  you  have  just  said  something  very  profound  ?" 
so  Mme.  Eabourdin  would  say  of  her  husband,  "There  is  some- 
times sense  in  what  he  says !"  Gradually  her  opinion  of 
Xavier  began  to  show  itself  in  little  ways.  There  was  a  lack 
of  respect  in  her  manner  and  attitude  towards  him.  And  all 
unconsciously  she  lowered  him  in  the  eyes  of  others,  for  every- 
body all  the  world  over  takes  a  wife's  estimate  into  account 
in  forming  an  opinion  of  a  man;  it  is  the  universal  rule  in 
taking  a  precognition  of  character ;  un  preavis,  as  the  Genevese 
say,  or,  to  be  more  accurate,  un  preavisse. 

When  Eabourdin  saw  the  mistake  that  he  had  made  through 
love,  it  was  too  late.  The  bent  had  been  taken;  he  suffered 
in  silence.  In  some  rare  natures  the  power  to  feel  is  as  great 
as  the  power  of  thought,  a  great  soul  supplements  a  highly 
organized  brain ;  and,  after  the  manner  of  these,  Eabourdin 
was  his  wife's  advocate  at  the  bar  of  his  judgment.  Nature 
(he  told  himself)  had  given  her  a  role  to  play;  it  was  entirely 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  157 

by  his  fault  that  she  had  been  cheated  of  her  part.  She  was 
like  a  thoroughbred  racer  harnessed  to  a  cart  full  of  flints — 
she  was  not  happy.  He  took  the  blame  upon  himself,  in 
short.  His  wife  had  inoculated  him  with  her  belief  in  herself 
by  dint  of  repeating  the  same  things  over  and  over  again. 
Ideas  are  infectious  in  family  life.  The  9th  Thermidor,  like 
many  other  portentous  events,  was  brought  about  by  feminine 
influence. 

Urged  on  in  this  way  by  Celestine's  ambition,  Rabour- 
din  had  long  been  meditating  how  to  satisfy  it;  but  he  hid 
his  hopes  from  her  to  save  her  the  torment  of  suspense.  He 
had  made  up  his  mind,  good  man  that  he  was,  to  make  his 
way  upwards  in  the  administration  by  knocking  a  very  con- 
siderable hole  in  it.  He  wanted,  in  the  first  place,  to  bring 
about  a  revolutiop.  in  the  civil  service,  a  radical  reform  of  a 
kind  that  puts  a  man  at  the  head  of  some  section  of  society ; 
but  as  he  was  incapable  of  scheming  a  general  overturn  for 
his  particular  benefit,  he  was  revolving  projects  of  reform  in 
his  own  mind  and  dreaming  of  a  triumph  to  be  nobly  won. 
The  idea  was  both  generous  and  ambitious.  Perhaps  few 
employes  have  not  thought  of  such  plans ;  but  among  officials, 
as  among  artists,  there  are  many  abortive  designs  for  one 
that  sees  the  light.  Which  saying  brings  us  back  to  Buffon's 
apophthegm,  "Genius  is  patience."      „- 

Rabourdin's  position  enabled  him  to  study  the  French  ad- 
ministrative system  and  to  watch  its  working.  Chance  set 
his  speculative  faculties  moving  in  the  sphere  of  his  practical 
experience  (this,  by  the  way,  is  the  seciat  of  many  a  man's 
achievements),  and  Rabourdin  invented  a  new  system  of  ad- 
ministration. Knowing  the  men  with  whom  he  had  to  do, 
he  respected  the  machinery  then  in  existence,  still  in  exist- 
ence, and  likely  to  remain  in  existence  for  a  long  while  to 
come,  every  generation  being  scared  by  the  thought  of  re- 
construction;  but  while  Rabourdin  respected  the  mechanism 
as  a  whole,  nobody,  he  thought,  could  refuse  to  simplify  it. 

How  to  employ  the  same  energy  to  better  purpose — here, 
to  his  thinking,  lay  the  problem.     Reduced  to  its  simplest 


158  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

expression,  his  plan  consisted  in  redistributing  the  burden  of 
taxation  in  such  a  way  that  it  should  fall  less  heavily  on  the 
nation,  while  there  should  be  no  falling  off  in  the  revenues 
of  the  State ;  and,  furthermore,  in  those  days  when  the  budget 
provoked  such  frantic  discussion,  he  meant  to  make  the  un- 
diminished national  income  go  twice  as  far  as  before. 

Long  practical  experience  had  made  it  clear  to  Rabourdin 
that  perfection  is  gradually  attained  by  a  succession  of 
simple  modifications.  Economy  is  simplification.  If  you 
simplify,  you  dispense  with  a  superfluous  wheel ;  and,  conse- 
quently, something  must  go.  His  system,  therefore,  involved 
changes  which  found  expression  in  a  new  administrative 
nomenclature.  Herein,  probably,  you  may  find  the  reason 
of  the  unpopularity  of  the  innovator,  j^ecessary  suppres- 
sions are  taken  amiss  from  the  outset;  they  threaten  a  class 
which  does  not  readily  adapt  itself  to  a  change  of  environ- 
ment. Rabourdin's  real  greatness  lay  in  this — he  restrained 
the  inventor's  enthusiasm,  while  he  sought  patiently  to  gear 
one  measure  into  another  so  as  to  avoid  unnecessary  friction, 
and  left  time  and  experience  to  demonstrate  the  excellence 
of  each  successive  modification.  This  idea  of  the  gradual 
nature  of  the  change  must  not  be  lost  sight  of  in  a  rapid 
survey  of  the  system,  or  it  will  seem  impossible  to  bring  about 
so  great  a  result.  It  is  worth  while,  therefore,  incomplete 
as  Rabourdin's  disclosures  were,  to  indicate  the  starting-point 
from  which  he  meant  to  embrace  the  whole  administrative 
horizon.  The  account  of  his  scheme,  moreover,  brings  us  to 
the  very  core  of  the  intrigues  of  which  it  was  the  cause,  and 
may  throw  a  light  besides  upon  some  present  day  evils. 

Rabourdin  had  been  deeply  impressed  by  the  hardships 
of  the  lives  of  subordinate  officials.  He  asked  himself  why 
they  were  falling  into  discredit.  He  searched  into  the  causes 
of  their  decline,  and  found  them  in  the  little  semi-revolutions, 
the  back  eddies,  as  it  were,  of  the  great  storm  of  1789.  His- 
torians of  great  social  movements  have  never  examined  into 
these,  though,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  made  our  manners 
and  customs  what  they  are. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  159 

In  former  times,  under  the  monarchy,  armies  of  officials 
did  not  exist.  They  were  then  few  in  number  and  under  the 
direct  control  of  a  prime  minister,  who  was  always  in  com- 
munication with  the  crown.  In  this  way  the  official  staff 
might  be  said  to  serve  the  King  almost  directly.  The  chiefs 
of  these  zealous  servitors  were  simply  plain  'premiers  commis 
— first  clerks.  In  all  departments  not  under  His  Majesty's 
direct  control — such  as  the  taxes,  for  instance — the  staff  were 
to  their  chiefs  pretty  much  as  the  clerks  in  a  counting- 
house  are  to  their  employer;  they  were  receiving  a  training 
which  was  to  put  them  in  the  way  of  getting  on  in  life.  In 
this  way  every  point  in  the  official  circumference  was  in  close 
connection  with  the  centre,  and  received  its  impetus  there- 
from. Consequently,  there  was  devotion  on  one  side  and 
trust  on  the  other  in  those  days. 

Since  1789  the  State,  or  if  you  like  to  have  it  so,  La  Patrie 
has  taken  the  place  of  the  sovereign.  The  clerks  no  longer 
take  their  instructions  directly  from  one  of  the  first  magis- 
trates in  the  realm.  In  our  day,  in  spite  of  our  fine  ideas 
of  La  Patrie,  they  are  government  employes,  while  their 
chiefs  are  drifted  hither  and  thither  by  every  wind  that  blows 
from  a  quarter  known  as  the  ministry,  and  the  ministry  can- 
not tell  to-day  whether  to-morrow  will  find  it  in  existence. 
As  routine  business  must  always  be  dispatched,  there  is  al- 
ways a  fluctuating  number  of  supernumeraries  who  cannot  be 
dispensed  with,  and  yet  are  liable  to  dismissal  at  a  moment's 
notice.  All  of  these  naturally  are  anxious  to  be  "established 
clerks."  And  thus  Bureaucracy,  the  giant  power  wielded- 
by  pigmies,  came  into  the  world.  Possibly  Napoleon  re- 
tarded its  influence  for  a  time,  for  all  things  and  all  men 
were  forced  to  bend  to  his  will;  but  none  the  less  the  heavy 
curtain  of  Bureaucracy  was  drawn  between  the  right  thing 
to  be  done  and  the  right  man  to  do  it.  Bureaucracy  was 
definitely  organized,  however,  under  a  constitutional  govern- 
ment with  a  natural  kindness  for  mediocrity,  a  predilection 
for  categorical  statements  and  reports,  a  government  as  fussy 
and   meddlesome,   in    short,   as   a   small   shopkeeper's   wife. 


160  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

Cabinet  ministers'  lives  became  a  continual  struggle  with 
some  four  hundred  petty  minds  led  by  a  dozen  or  so  of  rest- 
less and  intriguing  spirits.  It  was  a  delightful  spectacle  for 
the  rank  and  file  of  the  service.  They  hastened  to  make 
themselves  indispensable,  hampering  energy  with  documents, 
thereby  creating  a  vis  inertice,  styled  the  Eeport.  Let  us 
explain  the  Eeport. 

When  kings  had  ministers,  and  they  only  began  this  prac- 
tice under  Louis  XV.,  they  were  wont  to  have  a  report  drawn 
up  on  all  important  questions,  instead  of  taking  counsel  as 
before  with  the  great  men  of  the  realm.  Imperceptibly,  min- 
isters were  compelled  by  their  understrappers  to  follow  the 
royal  example.  They  were  so  busy  holding  their  own  in  the 
two  Chambers  or  at  Court,  that  they  allowed  themselves  to 
be  guided  by  the  leading-string  of  the  Eeport.  If  anything 
of  consequence  came  up  in  the  administration,  the  minister 
had  but  one  answer  to  the  most  pressing  question — "I  have 
asked  for  a  report."  In  this  way  the  Eeport  became  for  men 
in  oflice,  and  in  public  business  generally,  pretty  much  what 
it  is  for  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  and  the  Legislature,  a  sort 
of  consultation  in  the  course  of  which  the  reasons  for  and 
against  a  measure  are  set  forth  with  more  or  less  impartial- 
ity. The  minister,  like  the  Chamber,  after  reading  it,  is 
very  much  where  he  was  before. 

Any  kind  of  decision  must  be  made  instantaneously. 
Whatever  the  preliminary  process,  the  moment  comes  when 
you  must  make  up  your  mind,  and  the  bigger  the  array  of 
arguments,  the  harder  it  is  to  come  by  a  wise  decision.  The 
greatest  deeds  were  done  in  France  before  reports  were  in- 
vented and  decisions  were  made  out  of  hand.  The  supreme 
rule  for  statesman,  lawyer,  or  physician  is  the  same — he  must 
adopt  a  definite  formula  to  suit  each  individual  case. 
Eabourdin,  who  thought  within  himself  that  "a  minister  is 
there  to  give  decisions,  to  understand  public  business,  and  to 
dispatch  it,"  beheld  the  report  carrying  all  before  it,  from  the 
colonel  to  the  marshal,  from  the  commissary  of  police  to  the 
king,  from  the  prefect  to  the  cabinet  minister,  from  the  Cham- 
ber to  the  police-courts. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  161 

Since  1808  everything  had  been  on  its  trial ;  everything 
was  weighed  and  pondered  in  conversation,  books,  and  news- 
papers, and  every  discussion  took  literary  shape.  France  was 
making  dissertations  instead  of  acting,  and  came  to  the  brink 
of  ruin  in  spite  of  these  fine  reports.  A  million  of  them 
would  be  drawn  up  in  a  year  in  those  days !  Wherefore 
Bureaucracy  got  the  upper  hand.  Portfolios,  letter-files, 
wastepaper,  documents,  and  vouchers,  without  which  France 
would  be  lost,  and  circulars  which  she  could  not  do  without, 
increased  and  multiplied  and  waxed  imposing.  Bureaucracy 
for  its  own  ends  fomented  the  ill-feeling  between  the  receipts 
and  expenditure,  and  calumniated  the  administration  for  the 
benefit  of  the  administrator.  Bureaucracy  devised  the 
Lilliputian  threads  which  chain  France  to  Parisian  central- 
ization; as  if  from  1500  to  1800  France  had  managed  to  do 
nothing  without  thirty  thousand  government  clerks !  And 
no  sooner  had  the  official  fastened  on  the  government  as 
mistletoe  takes  root  on  a  pear-tree,  than  he  ceased  to  take  any 
interest  in  his  work,  and  for  the  following  reasons: —  ' 

The  Princes  and  the  Chambers  compelled  the  ministers  to 
take  their  share  of  responsibility  in  the  budget,  by  insisting 
that  their  names  and  the  amounts  of  salaries  paid  by  and 
to  them  should  appear  in  detail  therein.  They  were  like- 
wise obliged  to  keep  a  staff  of  clerks.  Therefore  they  de- 
creased the  salaries,  while  they  increased  the  number  of 
clerks,  in  the  belief  that  a  government  is  so  much  the  stronger 
for  the  number  of  people  in  its  employ.  The  exact  converse 
of  this  is  an  axiom  written  large  for  all  eyes  to  see.  The 
amount  of  energy  secured  varies  inversely  with  the  number 
of  agents.  The  Ministerialism  of  the  Restoration  made  a 
mistake,  as  the  event  proved,  in  July  1830.  If  a  govern- 
ment is  to  be  firmly  rooted  in  the  heart  of  the  nation,  it  must 
be,  not  by  attaching  individuals,  but  by  identifying  itself  with 
the  interests  of  the  country. 

The  official  class  was  led  to  despise  the  government  which-- 
curtailed  their  salaries  and  lowered  their  social  position ;  in 
retaliation  they  behaved  as  a  courtesan  behaves  with  an  elderly 


162  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

adorer.  Thej  gave  the  crown  an  adequate  return  for  their 
salaries.  If  the  government  and  those  in  its  employ  had 
dared  to  feel  each  other's  pulses;  if  the  big  salaries  had  not 
stifled  the  voices  of  the  little  ones,  the  situation  would  have 
been  recognized  as  equally  intolerable  on  either  side.  An 
official  gave  his  whole  mind  to  making  a  living;  to  draw  a 
salary  till  he  could  reach  a  pension  was  his  one  object ;  and 
to  attain  that  great  result,  anything  (in  his  opinion)  was 
permissible.  Such  a  state  of  things  made  a  serf  of  a  clerk; 
it  was  a  source  of  never-ending  intrigues  in  the  departments ; 
and  to  make  matters  worse,  a  degenerate  aristocracy  tried  to 
find  pasture  on  the  bourgeois  common  lands,  using  all  its 
influence  to  get  the  best  places  for  spendthrift  sons ;  and  with 
these  the  poor  civil  servant  was  obliged  to  compete.  A  really 
able  man  is  hardly  likely  to  try  to  make  his  way  in  these 
tortuous  mazes;  he  will  not  cringe  and  wriggle  and  crawl 
through  muddy  by-paths  where  the  appearance  of  a  man  of 
brains  creates  a  general  scare.  An  ambitious  man  of  genius 
may  grow  old  in  the  effort  to  reach  the  triple  tiara,  but  he 
will  not  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  a  Sixtus  V.,  to  be  a  chief 
clerk  for  his  pains.  If  a  man  came  into  the  department  and 
stopped  there,  he  was  either  indolent  or  incompetent,  or  ex- 
cessively simple. 

And  so,  by  degrees,  the  administration  was  reduced  to  a 
dead  level  of  mediocrity,^  and  an  official  hierarchy  of  petty 
minds  became  a  standing  obstruction  in  the  way  of  national 
prosperity.  A  project  for  a  canal,  which  would  have  de- 
veloped the  industries  of  a  province,  might  lie  in  a  pigeon- 
hole for  seven  years.  Bureaucracy  shirked  every  question, 
protracted  delays,  and  perpetuated  abuses  the  better  to  pro- 
tract and  perpetuate  its  own  existence.  Every  one,  even  to 
the  minister  in  office,  was  kept  in  leading-strings ;  and  if  any 
man  of  ability  was  rash  enough  to  try  to  do  without  bureau- 
cracy, or  to  turn  the  light  upon  its  blunders,  he  was  incon- 
tinently snuffed  out.  The  list  of  pensions  had  just 
been  published.  Eabourdin  discovered  that  a  retired 
office  messenger  was  drawing  a  larger  sum  from  the  Govern- 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  163 

ment  than  many  a  disabled  colonel.    The  history  of  bureau- 
cracy might  be  read  at  large  in  the  pension  list. 

Eabourdin  attributed  the  lurking  demoralization  in  part 
to  another  evil,  which  has  its  roots  in  our  modern  manners ; 
there  is  no  real  subordination  in  the  service.  A  complete 
equality  prevails  from  the  head  of  the  division  to  the  lowest 
copying  clerk ;  and  one  man  is  as  good  as  another  in  the  arena, 
though  when  he  leaves  it,  he  takes  a  high  place  outside.  A  poet, 
an  artist,  and  an  ordinary  clerk  are  all  alike  employes;  they 
make  no  distinctions  among  themselves.  Education  dis- 
pensed indiscriminately  brings  about  the  natural  results. 
Does  not  the  son  of  a  minister's  hall-porter  decide  the  fate  of 
a  great  man  or  some  landed  proprietor  for  whom  his  father 
used  to  open  the  door?  The  latest  comer  therefore  can  com- 
pete with  the  oldest.  A  wealthy  supernumerary  driving  to 
Longchamp  in  his  tilbury  with  a  pretty  woman  by  his  side, 
points  out  the  head  of  his  office  to  his  companion  with  his 
whip.  "There  goes  my  chief !"  he  says,  and  his  wheels  splash 
the  poor  father  of  a  poor  family  who  must  go  on  foot  through 
the  streets.  The  Liberals  call  this  sort  of  thing  Progress^ 
Eabourdin  looked  upon  it  as  Anarchy  in  the  core  of  the  ad- 
ministration. Did  he  not  see  the  results  of  it? — ^the  restless 
intriguing  as  of  women  and  eunuchs  in  the  harem  of  an  effete 
sultan,  the  pettiness  of  bigots,  the  underhand  spite,  the  school- 
boy tyrann}^  the  feats  on  a  level  with  the  tricks  of  perform- 
ing fleas,  the  slave's  petty  revenges  taken  on  the  minister 
himself,  the  toil  and  diplomacy  from  which  an  ambassador 
would  shrink  dismayed — and  all  undertaken  to  gain  a  bonus 
or  an  increase  of  salary  ?  And  meanwhile  the  men  who  really 
did  the  work,  the  few  whose  devotion  to  their  country  stood 
out  in  strong  contrast  against  the  background  of  incom- 
petence,— these  were  the  victims  of  parasites,  these  were 
forced  out  of  the  field  by  sordid  trickery.  As  all  high  places 
were  no  longer  in  the  gift  of  the  crown,  but  went  by  interest 
in  parliament,  officials  were  certain,  sooner  or  later,  to  be- 
come wheels  in  the  machinery  of  government ;  they  would  be 
kept  more  or  less  abundantly  greased,  and  that  was  all  they 


164  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

cared  about.  This  fatal  conviction  had  already  been  brought 
home  to  many  a  good  worker ;  it  had  suppressed  many  a 
memorial  conscientiously  undertaken  from  a  sense  of  deep- 
seated  evils;  it  was  disheartening  many  a  brave  man,  and 
corroding  the  most  vigorous  honesty;  the  better  sort  were 
growing  weary  of  injustice;  drudgery  left  them  listless,  and 
they  ceased  to  care. 

A  single  one  of  Rothschild's  clerks  manages  the  whole  of 
the  English  correspondence  of  the  firm;  a  single  man  in  a 
government  office  could  undertake  the  whole  of  the  corre- 
spondence with  the  prefectures.  But  whereas  the  first  man 
is  learning  the  rudiments  of  the  art  of  getting  on  in  the 
world,  the  latter  is  wasting  his  time,  health,  and  life.  Here, 
again,  the  ground  rang  hollow. 

Of  course,  a  nation  is  not  threatened  with  extinction  be- 
cause a  capable  clerk  retires  and  a  third-rate  man  takes  his 
place.  Unluckily  for  nations,  it  would  seem  that  no  man 
is  indispensable  to  their  existence;  but  when  all  men  have 
come  down  to  a  low  level,  the  nation  disappears.  If  any 
one  wants  an  instructive  example,  he  can  go  to  Venice, 
Madrid,  Amsterdam,  Stockholm,  and  Rome:  the  places 
where  men  of  immense  power  used  to  shine  conspicuous  are 
crumbling  ruins,  destroyed  by  pettiness  which  corroded  its 
way  till  it  reached  high  places  that  it  could  not  fill.  When 
the  day  of  struggle  came,  everything  collapsed  at  the  first 
threat  of  attack. 

But  what  a  difficult  problem  was  this !  To  rehabilitate 
the  official  at  a  time  when  the  Liberal  press  was  clamoring 
through  every  workshop  that  the  nation  was  being  robbed 
year  by  year  to  pay  official  salaries,  and  every  heading  in  the 
budget  was  represented  as  a  horse-leech.  "What  was  the 
good  of  paying  a  milliard  of  taxes  every  year?"  cried  the 
Liberals. 

To  M.  Rabourdin's  thinking,  the  government  employe 
was  to  the  national  expenditure  what  the  gambler  is  to  the 
gambling  saloon — whatever  he  takes  away  in  his  pocket  he 
brings  back  again.     A  good  salary,  in  his  opinion,  was  a 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  165 

good  investment.  If  you  only  pay  a  man  a  thousand  francs 
a  year,  and  ask  for  his  whole  time,  do  you  not  as  good  as 
organize  theft  and  misery?  A  convict  costs  you  very  nearly 
as  much,  and  does  rather  less  work.  But  if  the  Government 
pays  a  man  a  salary  of  twelve  thousand  francs,  and  expects 
him  to  devote  himself  in  return  to  the  service,  the  contract 
would  pay  both  sides,  and  the  prospect  ought  to  attract  really 
capable  men. 

These  reflections  thereupon  led  Eabourdin  to  reconstitute 
the  stafl';  to  have  fewer  clerks,  salaries  trebled  or  doubled, 
and  pensions  suppressed.  The  Government  should  follow 
the  example  set  by  Napoleon,  Louis  XIV.,  Richelieu,  and 
Ximenes,  and  employ  young  men ;  but  the  young  men  should 
grow  old  in  the  service.  The  higher  posts  and  distinctions 
should  be  the  rewards  of  their  career.  These  were  the  capi- 
tal points  of  a  reform  by  which  the  government  and  the 
official  staff  would  alike  be  benefited. 

It  is  not  easy  to  enter  into  details,  to  take  heading  by 
heading,  and  go  through  a  scheme  of  reform  which  em- 
braced the  whole  of  the  budget  and  descended  into  all  the 
smallest  ramifications  of  the  administration,  so  that  the 
whole  might  be  brought  into  harmony.  Perhaps,  too,  an 
indication  of  the  principal  reforms  will  be  enough  for  those 
who  know  the  administrative  system — and  for  those  who  do 
not.  But  though  the  historian  ventures  upon  dangerous 
ground  when  he  gives  an  account  of  a  scheme  that  has  very 
much  the  look  of  armchair  policy,  he  is  none  the  less  bound 
to  give  a  rough  idea  of  Rabourdin's  projects  for  the  sake  of 
the  light  which  a  man's  work  throws  on  his  character.  If 
all  account  of  Rabourdin's  labors  were  omitted,  if  this  his- 
torian contented  himself  with  the  simple  statement  that  the 
chief  clerk  in  a  government  office  possessed  talent  or  au- 
dacity, you  would  scarcely  feel  prepared  to  take  his  word 
for  it. 

Rabourdin  divided  up  the  administration  into  three  prin- 
cipal departments.  He  thought  that  if  in  former  times 
there  were  heads  capable  of  controlling  the  whole  policy  of 


166  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

the  government  at  home  and  abroad,  the  France  of  to-day 
surely  would  not  lack  a  Mazarin,  a  Suger,  a  Sully,  a  Choi- 
seul,  a  Colbert,  to  direct  far  larger  departments  than  those 
of  the  actual  system.  From  a  constitutional  point  of  view, 
moreover,  three  ministers  would  work  better  together  than 
seven,  and  the  chances  of  going  wrong  in  the  choice  are  re- 
duced ;  while,  as  a  last  consideration,  the  crown  would  be 
spared  the  jolts  of  those  perpetual  changes  of  ministry  which 
make  it  impossible  to  adhere  to  any  consistent  course  of  for- 
eign policy,  or  to  carry  through  reforms  at  home.  In  Aus- 
tria, where  different  nationalities  present  a  problem  of  differ- 
ent interests  to  be  reconciled  and  furthered  by  the  crown,  two 
statesmen  carry  the  weight  of  public  business  without  being 
overburdened.  Was  France  poorer  in  political  capacity  than 
Germany?  The  sufficiently  silly  farce,  entitled  "Constitu- 
tional Institutions,"  has  since  been  carried  to  an  unreason- 
able extent ;  and  the  end  of  it,  as  everybody  knows,  has  been 
a  multiplication  of  ministerial  portfolios  to  satisfy  the  wide- 
spread ambition  of  the  bourgeoisie. 

In  the  first  place,  it  seemed  natural  to  Eabourdin  to  re- 
unite the  Admiralty  and  the  War  Office.  The  navy,  like  the 
artillery,  cavalry,  infantry,  and  ordnance,  was  a  spending 
department  of  the  War  Office.  It  was  surely  an  anomaly  to 
keep  admirals  and  marshals  on  a  separate  footing,  when  all 
worked  together  for  a  common  end — to  wit,  the  defence  of 
the  country,  the  protection  of  national  property,  and  wars  of 
aggression.  The  Minister  of  the  Interior  was  to  preside  over 
the  Board  of  Trade,  the  Police,  and  the  Exchequer,  the  bet- 
ter to  deserve  his  name;  while  the  Minister  of  Foreign  Af- 
fairs controlled  the  administration  of  justice,  the  royal 
household,  and  everything  in  the  interior  which  concerned 
arts,  letters,  or  the  graces.  All  patronage  was  to  flow  directly 
from  the  crown.  The  last-named  minister,  by  virtue  of  his 
office,  was  also  President  of  the  Council  of  State.  The  work  of 
each  of  these  departments  would  require  a  staff  of  two  hun- 
dred clerks  at  most  at  headquarters;  and  Eabourdin  pro- 
posed to  house  them  all  in  one  building,  as  in  former  days 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  167 

under  the  monarchy.  Keckoning  the  salaries  at  an  average 
of  twelve  thousand  francs,  the  expense  of  this  item  in  the 
budget  would  a  little  exceed  seven  millions,  as  against  twenty 
millions  on  the  actual  system. 

By  reducing  the  number  of  the  departments  to  three,  Ra- 
bourdin  suppressed  whole  divisions,  and  saved  the  enormous 
expense  of  their  maintenance  in  Paris.  He  proved  that  an 
arrondissement  ought  to  be  worked  by  ten  men,  and  a  pre- 
fecture by  a  dozen  at  most;  on  v,"hieh  computation  the  total 
number  of  government  officials  employed  all  over  France 
(the  army  and  courts  of  law  excepted)  would  only  amount 
to  about  five  thousand — a  number  then  exceeded  by  the  staff 
in  Paris  alone.  On  this  plan,  however,  mortgages  became 
the  province  of  the  clerks  of  the  various  courts;  the  staff  of 
counsel  for  the  crown  {minister e  public)  in  each  court  would 
undertake  the  registration  of  titles  and  the  superintendence 
of  the  crown  lands. 

In  this  way  Eabourdin  concentrated  similar  functions. 
Mortgages,  death-dues,  and  registration  of  titles  remained 
within  judicial  spheres,  while  three  supernumeraries  in  each 
court,  and  three  in  the  Court-Royal,  sufficed  for  the  extra 
work. 

By  the  consistent  application  of  the  same  principle,  Ea- 
bourdin proceeded  to  financial  reform.  He  had  amalga- 
mated all  Imperial  taxes  in  one  single  tax,  levied,  not  upon 
property,  but  upon  commodities  consumed.  An  assessed  tax 
upon  consumption,  in  his  opinion,  was  the  only  way  of  rais- 
ing the  national  revenue  in  times  of  peace,  the  land-tax  being 
reserved  for  times  of  war.  Then,  and  then  alone,  the  State 
might  demand  sacrifices  of  the  owners  of  the  soil  for  the  de- 
fence of  the  soil;  at  other  times  it  was  a  gross  political 
blunder  to  vex  the  land  with  burdens  beyond  a  certain  limit; 
something  should  be  left  to  fall  back  upon  in  great  crises.  On 
the  same  principle,  loans  were  to  be  negotiated  in  time  of 
peace,  because  they  can  then  be  issued  at  par,  and  not  (as  in 
hard  times)  at  fifty  per  cent,  discount.  If  war  broke  out, 
the  land-tax  remained  as  a  resource. 


168  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

"The  invasion  of  1814  and  1815  did  what  neither  Law  nor 
Napoleon  could  do,"  Eabourdin  used  to  say  to  his  friends; 
"it  proved  the  necessity  of  a  National  Debt,  and  created  it." 

Eabourdin  held  that  the  true  principles  of  this  wonderful 
mechanism  were,  unfortunately,  not  sufficiently  understood 
at  the  time  when  he  began  his  work,  which  is  to  say,  in  1820. 
He  proposed  to  lay  a  direct  tax  upon  commodities  consumed 
by  the  nation,  and  in  this  way  to  make  a  clean  sweep  of  the 
whole  apparatus  for  the  collection  of  indirect  taxes.  He 
would  do  away  with  the  vexatious  barricades  at  town  gates, 
securing  at  the  same  time  a  far  larger  return  by  simplifying 
the  extremely  costly  system  of  collection  in  actual  use. 
The  receipts  from  the  one  Imperial  tax  should  be  regulated 
by  a  tariff  comprising  various  articles  of  consumption,  and 
the  amount  fixed  in  each  case  by  assessment.  To  diminish 
the  burdensomeness  of  a  tax  does  not  necessarily  mean  in 
matters  financial  that  you  diminish  the  tax  itself;  it  is  only 
more  conveniently  assessed.  If  you  lighten  the  burden,  busi- 
ness is  transacted  more  freely,  and  while  the  individual  pays 
less,  the  State  gets  more. 

Tremendous  as  this  reform  may  seem,  it  was  carried  out 
in  a  very  simple  fashion.  Eabourdin  took  for  a  basis  the  as- 
sessments made  by  the  Inland  Eevenue  Department  and  the 
licenses,  as  the  fairest  way  of  computing  consumption. 
House  rent  in  France  is  a  remarkably  accurate  guide  in  the 
matter  of  the  incomes  of  private  individuals;  and  servants, 
horses,  and  carriages  lend  themselves  to  estimates  for  the 
Exchequer.  Houses  and  their  contents  vary  very  little  in 
yearly  value,  and  do  not  easily  disappear.  Eabourdin  pointed 
out  a  method  of  obtaining  more  veracious  returns  than  those 
given  by  the  system  in  use;  then  he  took  the  total  revenue 
derived  by  the  Exchequer  from  (so-called)  indirect  taxation, 
divided  it  up,  and  assessed  his  single  tax  at  so  much  per  cent 
on  each  individual  taxpayer. 

An  Imperial  tax  is  a  preliminary  charge  paid  on  things 
or  persons,  and  paid  under  more  or  less  specious  disguises. 
Such  disguises  were  well  enough  for  purposes  of  extortion; 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  169 

but  surely  they  arc  absurd  in  these  days  when  the  classes 
which  bear  the  burden  of  taxation  know  perfectly  well  why 
the  money  is  wanted  and  how  it  is  raised.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  the  budget  is  not  a  strong-box,  rather  it  is  a  watering- 
pot;  as  it  is  filled  and  the  water  distributed,  the  country 
prospers.  Suppose,  for  instance,  that  there  were  six  millions 
of  taxpayers  in  easy  circumstances — and  Eabourdin  was  pre- 
pared to  show  that  so  many  existed,  if  the  rich  taxpayers  were 
included  in  the  number — would  it  not  be  better,  instead  of 
putting  a  vexatious  tax  on  wine  by  the  gallon,  to  ask  the 
consumer  to  pay  a  fixed  sum  per  annum  to  the  Government  ? 
Such  "wine-dues"  would  not  be  more  odious  than  the  door 
and  window  tax,  while  they  would  bring  in  a  hundred  mill- 
ions to  the  Exchequer.  If  other  taxes  on  consumption  were 
likewise  assessed  in  proportion  to  the  house  rent,  each  in- 
dividual would  actually  pay  less;  the  Government  would 
save  in  the  costs  of  collection ;  and  the  consumer  would  bene- 
fit by  an  immense  reduction  in  the  prices  of  commodities 
which  no  longer  would  be  subjected  to  endless  vexatious  regu- 
lations. 

Eabourdin  reserved  a  tax  on  vineyard^,  by  way  of  a  safe- 
guard against  over-production.  And,  the  better  to  reach  the 
poor  consumer,  the  charge  for  retailers'  licenses  was  made  in 
proportion  to  the  population  of  the  district.  In  these  three 
ways  the  Exchequer  would  raise  an  enormous  sum  without 
heavy  expense,  and  do  away  with  a  tax  which  was  not  only 
vexatious  and  burdensome,  but  also  very  expensive  to  collect. 
The  burden  would  fall  on  the  rich  instead  of  tormenting  the 
poor. 

Take  another  instance.  Suppose  that  the  duty  on  salt 
took  the  form  of  one  or  two  francs  levied  on  each  taxpayer; 
the  modern  gabelle  would  be  abolished,  the  poor  population 
and  agriculture  generally  would  feel  the  relief,  the  revenue 
would  not  be  diminished,  and  no  taxpayer  would  complain. 
Every  taxpayer  indeed,  whether  farmer  or  manufacturer, 
would  be  quick  to  recognize  the  improvement  if  the  condi- 
tions of  living  grew  easier  in  country  places,  and  trade  in- 


170  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

creased.  And,  in  fact,  the  State  would  see  an  increase  in  the 
number  of  taxpayers  in  easy  circumstances.  The  Exchequer 
would  save  enormously  by  sweeping  away  the  extremely 
costly  apparatus  for  the  collection  of  indirect  taxation  (a 
government  within  a  government)  ;  and  both  the  Treasury 
and  private  individuals  would  benefit  by  the  economy.  To- 
bacco and  gunpowder  were  to  be  put  under  a  regie,  beneath 
State  superintendence.  The  regie  system,  developed  not  by 
Eabourdin,  but  by  others,  after  the  renewal  of  the  legislation 
on  tobacco,  was  so  convincing  that  that  law  would  have  had 
no  chance  of  passing  the  Chamber  if  the  Government  of  the 
day  had  not  driven  them  to  it.  But,  then,  it  was  a  question 
of  finance  rather  than  of  government. 

The  State  should  own  no  property;  there  should  be  no 
Crown  domains,  no  woods  and  forests,  no  State  mines,  no 
State  enterprise.  The  State  as  a  landowner  was  an  admin- 
istrative anomaly,  in  Eabourdin's  opinion.  The  State  farms 
at  a  disadvantage,  and  receives  no  taxes;  there  is  a  double 
loss.  The  same  anomaly  reappeared  in  the  commercial 
world  in  the  shajDC  of  State  manufactures.  ISTo  government 
could  work  as  economically  as  private  enterprise;  the  pro- 
cesses were  slower;  and,  besides,  the  State  took  a  certain 
proportion  of  raw  materials  off  the  market,  and  left  so  much 
the  less  for  other  manufacturers  who  pay  taxes.  Is  it  the 
duty  of  a  government  to  manufacture  or  to  encourage  manu- 
factures? to  accumulate  wealth,  or  to  see  instead  that  as 
many  different  kinds  of  wealth  as  possible  are  created? 

On  Eabourdin's  system,  officials  were  no  longer  to  pay 
caution-money  in  cash;  they  should  give  security  instead. 
And  for  this  reason:  the  State  either  keeps  the  money  in 
specie  (withdrawing  it  needlessly  from  circulation),  or  puts 
it  out  to  interest  at  a  rate  either  higher  or  lower  than  the 
rate  of  interest  paid  to  the  official ;  making  an  ignoble  profit 
out  of  its  servants  in  the  former  case,  or  paying  more  than 
the  market  price  for  a  loan  in  the  latter,  which  is  folly. 
Lastly,  if  at  any  time  the  State  disposes  of  the  mass  of  cau- 
tion-money, it  prepares  the  wa}',  in  certain  contingencies,  for 
a  terrible  bankruptcy. 


THE  GOVEENMENT  CLERKS  171 

The  land-tax  was  not  to  be  done  away  with  a,ltogether. 
Raboufdm  allowed  a  very  small  amount  to  remain  for  the 
sake  of  keeping  the  machinery  in  working  order  in  case  of 
a  war.  But  clearly  produce  would  be  free,  and  manufac- 
turers, finding  cheap  raw  materials,  could  compete  with  the 
foreigner  without  the  insidious  aid  of  protection. 

The  administration  of  the  departments  would  be  under- 
taken gratuitously  by  the  well-to-do,  a  possible  peerage  be- 
ing held  out  as  an  inducement.  Magistrates,  and  their  sub- 
altern, and  the  learned  professions,  should  receive  honors  as 
a  recompense.  The  consideration  in  which  government 
officials  were  held  would  be  immensely  increased  by  the  im- 
portance of  their  posts  and  considerable  salaries.  Each 
would  be  thinking,  of  liis  career  and  France  would  no  longer 
suffer  from  the  pension  cancer. 

As  the  outcome  of  all  this,  Rabourdin  estimated  that  the 
expenditure  would  be  reduced  to  seven  hundred  millions, 
while  the  receipts  would  amount,  as  before,  to  twelve  hun- 
dred millions  of  francs.  An  annual  surplus  of  five  millions 
could  be  made  to  tell  more  effectually  on  the  Debt  than  the 
paltry  Sinking  Fund,  of  which-^-il^e  fallacy  had  been  clearly 
shown.  By  establishing  a  Sinking^  Fund,  the  State  became 
a  fundholder,  as  well  as  a  landowner  and  manufacturer. 
Lastly,  to  carry  out  his  project  without  undue  friction, 
and  to  avoid  a  St.  Bartholomew  of  employes,  Eabourdin 
asked  for  twenty  years. 

These  were  the  matured  ideas  of  the  man  whose  place  had 
been  given  to  the  incompetent  M.  de  la  Billardiere.  A 
scheme  so  vast  in  appearance,  yet  so  simple  in  the  working, 
a  project  which  swept  away  more  than  one  great  official  staff, 
and  suppressed  many  an  equally  useless  little  place,  required 
continual  calculation,  accurate  statistics,  and  the  clearest 
proofs  to  substantiate  it.  For  a  long  while  Eabourdin  had 
studied  the  budget  in  its  double  aspect,  that  of  ways  and 
means  on  the  one  side,  and  expenditure  on  the  other.  His 
wife  did  not  know  how  many  nights  he  gave  to  these 
thoughts. 


172,  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

And  yet  to  have  conceived  the  project  and  superimposed 
it  on  the  dead  body  of  the  administration  was  as  nothing; 
Rabourdin  had  still  to  find  a  minister  capable  of  appreciating 
his  reforms.  His  success  clearly  depended  upon  a  quiet  po- 
litical outlook,  and  the  times  were  still  unsettled.  He  only 
considered  that  the  Government  was  finally  secure  when 
three  hundred  deputies  had  the  courage  to  form  themselves 
into  a  solid  systematic  ministerialist  majority.  An  admin- 
istration established  on  that  basis  had  been  inaugurated 
since  Rabourdin  completed  his  scheme.  The  splendor  of  the 
time  of  peace  due  to  the  Bourbons  eclipsed  the  military 
splendors  of  the  brilliant  da3^s  when  France  was  one  vast 
camp  and  victories  abroad  were  followed  by  expenditure  and 
display  at  home.  After  the  Spanish  campaign,  the  Govern- 
ment seemed  as  if  it  were  surely  entering  upon  a  peaceful 
era  in  which  good  might  be  done;  and,  indeed,  but  three 
months  before,  a  new  reign  had  begun  unhampered  by  any 
obstacles,  and  the  Liberals  of  the  Left  hailed  Charles  X.  with 
as  much  enthusiasm  as  the  party  of  the  Right.  It  was 
enough  to  deceive  the  most  clearsighted.  Consequently,  the 
moment  seemed  propitious  to  Rabourdin;  for  if  an  ad- 
ministration took  up  so  great  a  scheme  of  reform,  and  under- 
took to  carry  it  through,  it  must  of  necessity  ensure  its  own 
continuance  in  office. 

Never  before  had  Rabourdin  seemed  more  thoughtful  and 
preoccupied  as  he  walked  to  his  office  of  a  morning,  and 
came  back  again  at  half-past  four  in  the  afternoon.  And 
Mme.  Rabourdin,  on  her  side,  despairing  over  her  spoilt  life, 
and  weary  of  working  in  private  for  some  few  luxuries  of 
dress,  had  never  seemed  so  sourly  discontent.  Still  she  was 
attached  to  her  husband;  and  the  shameful  intrigues  by 
which  the  wives  of  other  officials  supplemented  an  inadequate 
salary,  were,  in  her  opinion,  unworthy  of  a  woman  so  much 
above  the  ordinary  level.  For  this  reason  she  refused  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  Mme.  Colleville,  who  was  intimate 
with  Francois  Keller,  and  gave  entertainments  which 
eclipsed  the  parties  in  the  Rue  Duphot.     Celestine  took  the 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  173 

impassive  manner  of  the  political  thinker,  the  mental  preoc- 
cupation of  a  hard  worker  for  the  listless  apathy  of  an  official 
drudge  whose  spirit  has  been  broken  by  routine ;  she  thought 
her  husband  was  submitting  to  the  yoke  of  the  most  hateful 
poverty  of  all — the  poverty  of  straitened  means  that  Just  en- 
ables a  man  to  live.  She  sighed  to  think  that  she  should 
have  married  a  man  of  so  little  energy.  x\nd  so,  about  this 
time,  she  determined  that  she  would  make  her  husband's  for- 
tune for  him ;  at  all  costs,  she  would  launch  him  into  a  higher 
sphere,  and  she  would  hide  all  the  springs  of  action  from 
him.  She  set  about  this  task  with  the  originality  of  concep- 
tion which  distinguished  her  from  other  women ;  she  prided 
herself  on  rising  above  their  level,  on  totally  disregarding 
their  little  prejudices;  the  barriers  that  society  raises  about 
her  sex  should  not  impede  her.  She  would  fight  fools  with 
their  own  weapon,  so  she  vowed  in  her  frenzy;  she  would 
stake  herself  upon  the  issue  if  there  was  no  other  way.  In 
short,  she  saw  things  from  a  heigh^. 

The  moment  was  favorable. .  M.  de  la  Billardiere  was 
hopelessly  ill,  and  must  die  in  a  few  days.  If  Eabourdin 
succeeded  to  the  place,  his  talents  (Celestine  admitted  his 
administrative  ability)  would  be  so  well  appreciated  that  the 
post  of  Master  of  Eequests  (promised  before)  would  be 
given  to  him.  Then  he  would  be  Eoyal  Commissary,  and 
bring  forward  the  measures  of  the  government  in  the 
Chamber.  How  she  would  help  him  then!  She  would  be 
his  secretary;  if  necessary,  she  would  work  all  night.  All 
this  that  she  might  drive  a  charming  caleche  in  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne,  and  stand  on  a  footing  of  equality  with  Mme. 
Delphine  de  Nucingen,  and  raise  her  salon  to  a  level  with 
Mme.  Colleville's,  and  be  invited  to  high  Ministerial  solemni- 
ties, and  gain  an  appreciative  audience.  People  should  call 
her  "Mme.  Eabourdin  de  Something-or-other"  (she  did 
not  know  yet  where  her  estate  should  be),  just  as  they  said 
Mme.  d'Espard,  Mme.  d'Aiglemont,  or  Mme.  de  Carigliano. 
In  short,  of  all  things  she  would  put  the  odious-sounding 
name  of  Eabourdin  out  of  sight. 


/ 


174  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

These  secret  aspirations  produced  certain  corresponding 
changes  in  the  hou^e.  Mme.  Eabourdin  began  by  walking 
resolutely  into  debt.  She  engaged  a  man-servant  and  put 
him  into  an  inconspicuous  livery,  brown  with  red  pipings. 
She  renewed  some  of  the  furniture;  papered  her  rooms 
afresh,  decorated  them  with  a  constant  succession  of  flowers, 
and  strewed  them  with  nicknacks  then  in  fashion;  while 
she  herself,  who  used  to  feel  occasional  conscientious  qualms 
as  to  her  expenses,  no  longer  hesitated  to  dress  in  a  manner 
worthy  of  her  ambitions.  The  various  tradesmen  who  sup- 
plied her  with  the  munitions  of  war  discounted  her  expecta- 
tions. She  gave  a  dinner-party  regularly  every  Friday,  the 
guests  being  expected  to  call  to  take  a  cup  of  tea  on  the  fol- 
lowing Wednesday.  And  her  dinner  guests  were  carefully 
chosen  from  among  influential  deputies  and  personages  who 
might  directly  or  indirectly  promote  her  interests.  People 
enjoyed  those  evenings  very  much ;  or  they  professed  to  do  so 
at  any  rate,  and  that  is  enough  to  attract  guests  in  Paris. 
As  for  Eabourdin,  he  was  so  intently  occupied  with  the  con- 
clusion of  his  great  labors  that  he  never  noticed  the  outbreak 
of  luxury  in  his  house. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  the  husband  and  wife,  all  un- 
known to  each  other,  were  laying  siege  to  the  same  place  and 
working  on  parallel  lines. 

I^ow  there  flourished  in  those  days  a  certain  secretary-gen- 
eral, by  name  Clement  Chardin  de^  Lupeaulx,  a  personage 
of  a  kind  that  is  sometimes  brought  much  into  evidence  for  a 
few  years  at  a  time  by  the  tide  of  political  events.  Subse- 
quently, if  a  storm  arises,  he  and  his  like  are  swept  away 
again;  you  may  find  them  stranded  on  the  shore  heaven 
knows  how  far  away.  But  even  so  the  hulk  has  a  certain  air 
of  importance.  The  traveler  wonders  whether  the  wrecked 
vessel  contained  valuable  merchandise,  whether  it  played  a 
part  on  some  great  occasion,  took  a  share  in  a  great  sea- 
fight,  or  carried  the  velvet  canopy  of  a  throne,  or  the  dead 
body  of  a  king.     At  this  precise  juncture  Clement  des  Lu- 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  175 

peaulx  (the  Lupeaulx  had  absorbed  the  Chardin)  had 
reached  his  apogee.  In  every  life,  however  illustrious  or 
obscure,  in  the' careers  of  dumb  animals  as  of  secretaries-gen- 
eral, is  there  not  a  zenith  and  a  nadir  ? — a  period  when  gloss- 
iness and  sleekness  reach  a  climar,'and  prosperity  reaches  its 
utmost  radiance  of  glory?  In  the  nomenclature  of  the  fab- 
ulist, des  Lupeaulx  belonged  to  the  Bertrand  genus,  and  his 
whole  occupation  consisted  in  discovering  Eatons.  As  he 
happens  to  be  one  of  the  principal. characters  in  this  drama, 
he  deserves  to  be  described  therein,  and  so"^  mtich  the  more 
fully  because  the  Kevolution  of  July  abolished  his  place ;  and 
a  secretary-general  was  an  eminently  useful  institution  for  a 
constitutional  minister. 

It  is  the  wont  of  the  moralist  to  pour  forth  his  indigna- 
tion upon  transcendent  abominations.  Crimes  for  him  are 
deeds  that  bring  a  man  into  the  police-courts,  social  subtleties 
escape  his  analysis;  the  ingenuity  which  gains  its  ends  with 
the  Code  for  a  weapon  is  either  too  high  or  too  low,  he  has 
neither  magnifying  glass  nor  telescope;  he  must  have  good, 
strong-colored  horrors,  abundantly  visible  to  the  naked  eye. 
And  as  he  is  always  occupied,  as  one  may  say,  with  the  car- 
nivora,  he  had  no  attention  to  spare  for  reptiles;  so,  luckily 
for  the  satirists,  the  fine  shades  of  a  Chardin  des  Lupeaulx 
are  left  to  them. 

Selfish  and  vain;  supple  and  proud;  sensual  and  glutton- 
ous; rapacious  (for  he  had  debts)  ;  discreet  as  a  tomb  which 
keeps  its  own  secrets  and  allows  nothing  to  issue  forth  to 
give  the  lie  to  the  inscription  meant  to  edify  the  passing 
traveler;  undaunted  and  fearless  in  asking  favors;  amiable 
and  witty  in  every  sense  of  the  latter  word ;  tactful  and  ironi- 
cal at  need; — the  secretary-general  was  one  among  the  crowd 
of  mediocrities  which  form  the  kernel  of  the  political  world. 
As  a  politician,  he  was  ready  to  leap  gracefully  over  any 
stream,  however  broad;  he  was  the  kind  of  man  that  can  do 
you  more  harm  with  a  kiss  than  by  a  thrust  with  the  elbow; 
he  was  a  brazen-fronted  sceptic  that  would  go  to  mass  at 
Saint  Thomas  d'Aquin's  if  there  was  a  fashionable  congrega- 


176  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

tion  there.  Des  Liipeaulx's  knowledge  consisted  in  knowing 
what  other  people  knew;  he  had  chosen  the  profession  of 
^eavesdropper,  and  never  did  any  of  the  confraternity  pay  a 
more  strict  attention  to  business.  In  his  care  not  to  arouse 
suspicion  he  was  nauseatingly  fulsome;  subtle  as  a  perfume, 
caressing  as  a  woman  in  his  manners. 

Chardin  des  Lupeaulx  had  just  completed  his  fortieth 
year.  His  youth  had  long  been  a  source  of  affliction  to  him, 
for  he  felt  instinctively  that  only  as  a  deputy  could  he  lay  a 
sure  foundation  for  his  fortune.  Does  any  one  ask  how  he 
had  made  his  way?  In  a  very  simple  manner.  Des  Lu- 
peaulx was  a  political  Bonneau.  He  undertook  commissions 
of  the  delicate  kind  which  can  neither  be  given  to  a  man  that 
respects  himself,  nor  yet  to  a  man  that  has  lost  his  self-re- 
spect. Errands  of  that  sort  are  usually  undertaken  by  seri- 
ous persons  of  somewhat  doubtful  authority,  whom  it  is  easy 
to  disavow  should  occasion  require  it.  He  was  continually 
compromised,  that  was  his  calling;  and  whether  he  failed  or 
succeeded,  he  got  on  equally  fast. 

The  Eestoration  was  a  time  of  compromise;  compromise 

between  man  and  man,  and  between  accomplished  facts  and 

coming  events.     In  all  public  business,  in  short,  there  was  a 

perpetual  process  of  give  and  take.     Des  Lupeaulx  grasped 

~~'the  idea  that  authority  stood  in  need  of  a  charwoman. 

Let  an  old  woman  once  get  a  footing  in  a  house;  let  her 
learn  how  to  make  the  beds  and  turn  them  down  to  satisfac- 
tion ;  let  her  know  where  the  spoons  are  kept,  where  to  sweep 
refuse,  where  to  put  the  soiled  linen,  and  where  to  find  it ;  let 
her  acquire  the  arts  of  pacifying  duns  and  distinguishing 
the  right  kind  of  person  to  admit ;  let  her  once  gain  her  foot- 
ing, I  repeat,  and  such  a  woman  may  have  her  faults,  yet 
were  she  toothless,  crooked,  uncleanly  in  her  person  and 
habits — nay,  were  she  addicted  to  the  lottery  and  in  the  habit 
of  appropriating  thirty  sous  daily  for  her  stakes  therein, — her 
emplovers  are  used  to  her  ways,  and  do  not  care  to  part  vrith 
her.  They  will  hold  counsel  on  the  most  delicate  family 
affairs  in  her  presence ;  she  is  on  hand  to  remind  them  of  re- 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  177 

sources  and  to  scent  out  secrets ;  she  brings  the  rouge-pot  and 
the  shawl  at  the  psychological  moment ;  she  allows  them  to 
scold  her,  to  bundle  her  downstairs ;  but,  lo !  next  morning, 
at  their  awakening,  she  enters  gaily  with  an  excellent  cup  of 
broth.  However  great  a  statesman  may  be,  he  too  needs  a 
charwoman,  a  factotum  with  whom  he  can  show  himself 
weak  and  irresolute;  somebody  in  whose  presence  he  can 
carp  at  his  destiny,  put  questions  to  himself,  and  answer 
them,  and  screw  his  courage  up  to  the  sticking-point.  Does 
not  the  savage  get  sparks  by  rubbing  a  bit  of  hard  wood 
against  a  softer  piece?  Many  a  bright  genius  is  kindled  on 
the  same  principle.  Napoleon  found  such  a  partner  of  his 
joys  and  cares  in  Berthier,  Richelieu  in  Pere  Joseph;  des 
Lupeaulx  took  up  with  anybody  and  everybody.  Did  a  min- 
ister fall  from  power?  Des  Lupeaulx  kept  on  good  terms 
with  him,  acting  as  intermediary  between  the  outgoing  and 
incoming  member  of  the  government,  soothing  the  former 
with  a  parting  piece  of  flattery,  and  perfuming  a  first  com- 
pliment for  the  latter.  Des  Lupeaulx,  moreover,  understood 
to  admiration  those  little  trifles  of  which  a  statesman  has 
no  leisure  to  think.  He  could  recognize  a  necessity;  he  was 
apt  in  obedience.  He  enhanced  the  value  of  his  knavery  by 
being  the  first  to  laugh  at  it,  the  better  to  gain  its  full  price ; 
and  he  was  always  particularly  careful  to  perform  services 
of  a  kind  which  were  not  likely  to  be  forgotten.  When,  for 
instance,  people  were  obliged  to  cross  the  gulf  fixed  between 
the  Empire  and  the  Restoration;  when  everybody  was  look- 
ing about  for  a  plank ;  while  all  the  curs  in  the  Imperial  ser- 
vice were  rushing  over  to  the  other  side  with  voluble  profes- 
sions of  devotion,  des  Lupeaulx  had  raised  large  sums  of  the 
money-lenders,  and  was  crossing  the  frontier.  He  staked  all 
to  win  all.  He  bought  up  the  most  pressing  minor  debts 
contracted  in  exile  by  His  Majesty  Louis  XVIII. ;  and  being 
the  first  in  the  field,  he  contrived  to  discharge  nearly  three 
millions  at  twenty  per  cent,  for  he  had  the  good  luck  to 
operate  in  the  thick  of  the  events  of  1814  and  1815.  The 
profits  were  swallowed  down  by  Messieurs  Gobseck,  Werbrust, 


178  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

and  Gigonnet,  the  croupiers  of  the  enterprise;  but  des  Lu- 
peaulx  had  promised  as  much  to  them.  He  was  not  playing 
a  stake,  he  was  venturing  the  whole  bank,  knowing  well  that 
Louis  XVIII.  was  not  the  man  to  forget  such  a  white-washing. 

Des  Lupeaulx  received  the  appointment  of  Master  of  Re- 
quests ;  he  was  made  a  chevalier  of  St.  Louis  and  an  officer  of 
the  Legion  of  Honor.  Having  once  gained  a  footing,  the 
adroit  climber  cast  about  for  a  way  of  maintaining  himself 
on  the  ladder.  He  had  gained  an  entrance  into  the  strong- 
hold, but  generals  are  not  wont  to  keep  any  useless  mouths 
for  long.  And  then  it  was  that  to  his  professions  of  useful 
help  and  go-between  he  added  a  third — he  gave  gratuitous 
advice  on  the  internal  diseases  of  power. 

He  discovered  that  the  so-called  great  men  of  the  Eestora- 
tion  were  profoundly  unequal  to  the  occasion.  Events  were 
ruling  them.  He  overawed  mediocre  politicians  by  going  to 
them  in  the  height  of  a  crisis  and  selling  them  those  watch- 
words which  men  of  talent  hear  as  they  listen  to  the  future. 
You  are  by  no  means  to  suppose  that  such  watchwords  origi- 
nated with  des  Lupeaulx  himself;  if  they  had,  he  would  have 
been  a  genius,  whereas  he  was  simply  a  clever  man.  Ber- 
trand  Clement  des  Lupeaulx  went  everywhere,  collecting 
opinions,  fathoming  men's  inner  consciousness,  and  catching 
the  sounds  they  gave  forth.  Like  a  genuine  and  indefati- 
gable political  bee,  he  gathered  knowledge  from  all  sources. 
He  was  a  Bayles  Dictionary  in  flesh  and  blood,  but  he  im- 
proved upon  his  famous  prototype;  he  gathered  all  opinions, 
but  he  did  not  leave  others  to  draw  their  own  conclusions, 
and  he  had  the  instinct  of  the  blue-fly;  he  dropped  down 
straightway  upon  the  most  succulent  morsels  of  meat  in  the 
kitchen. 

For  which  reasons  des  Lupeaulx  was  supposed  to  be  in- 
dispensable to  statesmen.  Indeed,  the  idea  took  so  deep  a 
root  in  people's  minds,  that  ambitious  and  successful  men 
judged  it  expedient  to  compromise  des  Lupeaulx,  lest  he 
should  rise  too  high,  and  indemnified  him  for  his  lack  of  im- 
portance in  public  by  using  tlieir  interest  for  him  in  private. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  179 

Nevertheless,  as  soon  as  this  fisher  of  ideas  felt  that  he 
was  geiierallj^  supported,  he  had  insisted  upon  earnest-money. 
He  drew  his  pay  as  a  staff  officer  of  the  National  Guard,  in 
which  he  held  a  sinecure  at  the  expense  of  the  city  of  Paris; 
he  was  a  government  commissioner  for  the  superintendence 
of  a  joint-stock  company,  and  an  inspector  in  the  Royal 
Household.  His  name  appeared  twice  besides  in  the  civil 
list  as  a  Secretary-General  and  Master  of  Eequests.  At  this 
moment  it  was  his  ambition  to  be  a  commander  of  the  Legion 
of  Honor,  a  gentleman  of  the  bedchamber,  a  count,  and  a 
deputy;  but  for  this  last  position  he  had  not  the  necessary 
qualifications.  A  deputy  in  those  days  was  boimd  to  pay  a 
thousand  francs  in  taxes,  and  des  Lupeaulx's  miserable  place 
in  the  country  was  scarcely  worth  five  hundred  francs  a  year. 
Where  was  he  to  find  the  money  to  build  a  country-house; 
to  surround  it  with  respectable  estates,  and  throw  dust  in  the 
eyes  of  his  constituents  ? 

At  the  opening  of  this_^Scene  he  had  scarce  anything  to  call 
his  own  save  a  round  thirty  thousand  francs  worth  of  debts, 
to  which  nobody  disputed  his  title.  Des  Lupeaulx  dined  out 
every  day.  For  nine  years  he  had  been  housed  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  State,  and  the  ministers'  carriages  were  at  his 
disposal.  Marriage  might  set  him  afloat  again,  if  he  could 
bail  out  the  waters  that  threatened  to  submerge  him;  but  a 
good  match  deiaended  upon  advancement,  and  advancement 
depended  upon  a  seat  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies.  Casting 
about  for  some  way  of  breaking  through  the  vicious  circle,  he 
saw  but  one  expedient — ^to  wit,  some  great  service  to  be  ren- 
dered to  the  government,  or  some  profitable  bit  of  jobbery. 
But  conspiracies  (alas!)  were  played  out.  The  Bourbons, 
to  all  appearance,  had  triumphed  over  faction.  And  as  for 
jobbery ! — the  Left  benches,  unluckily,  were  doing  all  that 
in  them  lay  to  make  any  government  impossible  in  France; 
for  several  years  past  their  absurd  discussions  had  thrown 
such  a  searching  light  upon  the  doings  of  the  government 
that  good  bits  of  business  were  out  of  the  question.  The  last 
had  been  done  in  Spain,  and  what  a  fuss  they  had  made  about 


180  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

it  I  To  crown  all,  des  Liipeaulx  had  multiplied  difficulties 
for  himself.  Believing  in  the  ministers'  friendship  for  him 
he  imprudently  expressed  his  desire  to  be  seated  on  the  min- 
isterial benches.  The  Ministry  was  not  slow  to  perceive  the 
origin  of  this  desire.  Des  Lupeaulx  meant  to  strengthen  a 
precarious  position,  and  to  be  no  longer  dependent  upon 
them.  It  was  the  revolt  of  the  hound  against  the  hunter. 
Wherefore,  the  Ministry  gave  him  now  a  cut  or  two  with  the 
whip,  and  now  a  caress.  They  raised  up  rivals  unto  him. 
But  des  Lupeaulx  behaved  towards  these  as  a  clever  courte- 
san treats  newcomers  in  her  profession :  he  spread  snares, 
they  fell  into  them,  and  he  made  them  feel  the  consequences 
pretty  promptly..  The  more  he  felt  that  his  position  was  un- 
safe, the  more  he  coveted  a  permanent  berth;  but  clearly  he 
must  not  show  his  hand.  In  one  moment  he  might  lose 
everything.  A  single  stroke  of  the  pen  would  clip  away  his 
colonel's  epaulettes,  his  controller's  place,  his  sinecure  with 
the  joint-stock  company,  and  his  two  posts  besides,  with  their 
advantages — six  salaries  in  all,  cunningly  preserved  in  the 
teeth  of  the  law  against  cumulative  holdings ! 

Not  unfrequently  des  Lupeaulx  would  hold  out  a  threat 
over  his  minister,  as  a  mistress  frightens  her  lover;  he  was 
"'about  to  marry  a  rich  widow,"  and  then  the  minister  would 
coax  the  dear  des  Lupeaulx.  It  was  during  one  of  these  re- 
newals of  love  that  the  secretary-general  received  a  promise 
of  the  first  vacancy  at  the  Academic  des  Inscriptions  et 
Belles  Lettres.  It  was  enough  to  keep  a  horse  upon,  he  said. 
Clement  Chardin  des  Lupeaulx  flourished  like  a  tree  set  in 
congenial  soil.  He  found  satisfaction  for  his  vices  and  vir- 
tues, his  fancies  and  defects. 

Now  for  the  burdens  of  his  day.  First  of  all,  out  of  half 
a  dozen  invitations  to  select  the  best  dinner.  This  being  de- 
cided, he  went  the  first  thing  in  the  morning  to  amuse  the 
minister  and  his  wife,  and  fondle  and  play  with  the  children. 
Then  he  usually  worked  for  an  hour  or  two ;  which  is  to  say, 
he  spread  himself  out  in  a  comfortable  armchair  to  read  the 
papers,  dictate  the  gist  of  a  letter,  receive  all  comers  in  the 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  181 

minister's  absence,  lay  down  the  rough  outline  of  the  day's 
routine,  receive  and  give  promises  that  meant  nothing,  and 
run  over  petitions  with  his  eyeglass.  To  these  he  sometimes 
affixed  his  signature,  which,  being  interpreted,  meant,  "Do 
as  you  like  about  this;  I  don't  care."  Everybody  knew  that 
if  des  Lupeaulx  were  really  interested  in  a  matter,  he  would 
interfere  in  person.  Some  confidential  chat  on  delicate 
topics  was  vouchsafed  to  the  upper  clerks,  and  he  listened  to 
their  gossip  in  return.  Every  now  and  again  he  went  to  the 
Tuileries  to  take  orders;  then  he  waited  till  the  minister 
came  back  from  the  Chamber  to  see  if  there  was  any  new 
manoeuvre  to  invent  and  superintend.  Then  this  ministerial 
sybarite  dressed  and  dined,  and  made  the  round  of  twelve  or 
fifteen  salons  between  eight  in  the  evening  and  three  in  the 
morning.  He  talked  with  journalists  at  the  Opera,  for  with 
them  he  was  on  the  best  of"  terms.  There  had  been  a  con- 
tinual exchange  of  small  services.  He  gave  out  his  false 
news  and  swallowed  down  theirs;  he  prevented  them  from 
attacking  such  and  such  a  minister  on  such  and  such  a  point 
— it  would  give  real  pain,  he  said,  to  their  wives  or  mis- 
tresses. 

"Say  that  the  proposed  measure  is  no  good,  and  prove  it 
if  you  can ;  but  you  must  not  say  that  Mariette  danced  badly. 
Put  the  worst  construction,  if  you  like,  upon  our  love  of  our 
neighbor  in  petticoats,  but  do  not  expose  the  pranks  we  played 
in  oitr  salad  days.  Hang  it  all !  we  have  all  cut  our  capers, 
and  we  never  know  what  we  may  come  to  as  times  go.  You 
that  are  spicing  your  paragraphs  in  the  Constitutionnel  may 
be  a  minister  yourself  some  of  these  days " 

And  des  Lupeaulx  did  the  journalists  a  good  turn  at  a 
pinch;  he  withdrew  obstacles  put  in  the  way  of  producing 
a  piece;  presents  or  a  good  dinner  were  forthcoming  at  the 
right  moment,  and  he  would  promise  to  facilitate  the  con- 
elusion  of  a  piece  of  business.  He  had  a  liking  for  litera- 
ture and  patronized  the  arts.  He  had  autographs  and 
splendid  albums  and  sketches  and  pictures,  gratis.  And  he 
did  artists  much  service  by  refraining  from  doing  harm,  and 


182  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

supporting  them  on  occasions  when  their  vanity  demanded 
a  satisfaction  which  cost  him  little  or  nothing.  Wherefore 
he  was  popular  in  the  world  of  journalists,  artists,  and  actors. 
Both  he  and  they,  to  begin  with,  were  infected  by  the  same 
vices  and  the  same  indolence;  and  they  cut  jokes  so  merrily 
at  other  people's  expense  over  their  cups  or  between  two  opera 
dancers — how  they  should  not  have  been  friends?  If  des 
Lupeaulx  had  not  been  a  secretary-general,  he  would  have 
been  a  journalist ;  for  which  reason  des  Lupeaulx  never  re- 
ceived so  much  as  a  scratch  through  those  fifteen  years,  while 
epigram  was  battering  the  breach  through  which  insurrec- 
tion would  enter  in. 

The  small  fry  of  the  department  used  to  see  him  playing 
at  ball  in  the  garden  with  his  lordship's  cliildren,  and  would 
rack  their  brains  to  discover  what  he  did  and  the  secret  of 
his  influence;  while  the  talons  rouges,  the  courtiers  of  men 
in  office,  looked  upon  des  Lupeaulx  as  the  most  dangerous 
kind  of  Mephistoplieles,  and  bowed  the  knee  to  him,  and  paid 
him  back  with  usury  the  flatteries  that  he  himself  was  wont 
to  lavish  on  his  betters.  Indecipherable  as  a  hieroglyph 
though  he  might  be  for  small  men,  the  secretary-general's 
uses  were  as  plain  as  a  proportion  sum  to  those  who  had  any 
interest  in  discovering  them.  A  Prince  of  Wagram  on  a 
small  scale  to  a  ministerial  Napoleon,  he  knew  all  the  secrets 
of  party  politics ;  it  was  his  business  to  sift  advice  and  ideas, 
and  make  preliminary  reports;  he  also  confirmed  weak- 
kneed  supporters;  he  brought  in  propositions  and  carried 
them  out  and  buried  them;  he  uttered  the  "Yes"  or  "ISTo" 
which  the  minister  was  afraid  to  pronounce.  He  bore  the 
brunt  of  the  first  explosion  of  despair  or  anger;  he  laughed 
and  mourned  with  his  chief.  A  mysterious  link  in  a  chain 
that  connected  many  people's  interests  with  the  Tuileries, 
he  was  discreet  as  the  confessional;  sometimes  he  knew 
everything,  sometimes  he  knew  nothing;  sometimes  he  said 
for  the  minister  what  the  minister  could  not  say  for  himself. 

With  this  Hephaestion,  in  short,  the  minister  might  dare 
to  show  himself  as  he  was;  he  could  lay  aside  his  wig  and 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  183 

false  teeth,  state  his  scruples,  put  on  dressing-gown  and  slip- 
pers, unbosom  himself  of  his  sins,  and  lay  bare  the  minis- 
terial conscience. 

jSTot  that  des  Lupeaulx  lay  exactly  on  a  bed  of  roses.  It 
v.'as  his  duty  tp  flatter  and  advise,  to  give  advice  in  the  guise 
of  flattery,  and"flattery  in  the  form  of  advice.  Politicians 
in  his  profession  were  apt  to  look  yellow  enough;  and  the 
constant  habit  of  nodding  to  signify  approval,  or  to  apjjcar 
to  do  so,  gives  a  peculiar  air  to  the  head.  Such  men  would 
approve  indifferently  all  that  was  said  before  them.  Their 
language  bristled  with  "buts,"  "howevers,"  and  "neverthe- 
less,"' and  formulas  such  as  "for  my  own  part,"  and  "in  your 
place,"  which  pave  the  way  to  a  contrary  opinion;  they  were 
particularly  fond,  be  it  noted,  of  the  expression  "in  your 
place." 

In  person,  Clement  des  Lupeaulx  might  be  described  as 
the  remains  of  a  fine  man :  five  feet  four  inches  in  height,  not 
unconscionably  fat,  with  a  comjslexion  warmed  by  good  liv- 
ing, a  jaded  air,  a  powdered  Titus,  and  small  eyeglasses  set 
in  a  slender  frame.  He  was  pre-eminently  a  blond,  as  his 
hand  indicated;  it  was  a  plump  hand  like  an  old  woman's,  a 
little  too  blunt  perhaps,  and  short  in  the  nails — a  satrap's 
hand.     His  feet  were  not  wanting  in  distinction. 

After  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  des  Lupeaulx  always 
wore  black  silk  open-work  stockings,  low  shoes,  black  trou- 
sers, a  kerseymere  waistcoat,  an  unscented  cambric  hand- 
kerchief, a  coat  of  royal  blue,  with  engraved  buttons,  and  a 
bunch  of  orders  at  his  buttonhole.  In  the  morning  he  ap- 
peared in  a  short  closely-buttoned  jacket  (not  inappropriate 
to  an  intriguer),  and  a  pair  of  creaking  boots  hidden  by  gray 
trousers.  In  this  costume  his  bearing  suggested  a  crafty  at- 
torney rather  than  the  demeanor  of  a  minister.  His  eyes 
had  grown  glassy  with  the  use  of  spectacles,  till  he  looked 
uglier  than  he  really  was,  if  by  accident  he  removed  those 
aids  to  weak  sight.  Shrewd  judges  of  human  nature  and 
straightforward  men  who  only  feel  at  ease  when  truth  is 
spoken,  found  des  Lupeaulx  intolerable.     His  gracioms  man- 


184  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

ners  skimmed  the  surface  of  falsehood ;  his  friendly  protesta- 
tions, and  the  stale  pretty  speeches  which  always  seemed 
fresh  for  imbeciles,  were  growing  threadbare.  Any  clear- 
sighted man  could  see  that  this  was  a  rotten  plank  on  which 
it  was  most  desirable  not  to  set  foot.  And  when  the  fair 
j't'elestiiie  Kabourdin  deigned  to  turn  her  thxjughts  to  making 
her  husband's  fortune,  she  gauged  Clement  des  Lupeaulx 
pretty  accurately,  and  fell  to  studying  him.  Was  there  still 
a  little  sound  fibre  left  ?  Would  the  thin  lath  bear  if  one 
crossed  ever  so  lightly  over  it,  from  the  office  to  the  division, 
ifrom  eight  thousand  to  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year?  She 
was  no  ordinary  woman.  She  fancied  that  she  could  hold  a 
blackguard  politician  in  play.  And  so  it  came  to  pass  that 
M.  des  Lupeaulx  was  to  some  extent  a  cause  of  the  extrava- 
gant expenditure  of  the  Eabourdin  household. 

The  Eue  Duphot,  built  in  the  time  of  the  Empire,  is  re- 
markable for  a  good  many  houses  of  elegant  appearance,  and 
as  a  rule  their  interiors  are  convenient.  Mme.  Rabourdin's 
flat  was  excellently  arranged,  an  advantage  which  does  much 
to  raise  the  dignity  of  household  life.  From  a  pretty  and 
sufficiently  spacious  ante-chamber,  lighted  from  the  court- 
yard, you  entered  the  large  drawing-room  which  looked  upon 
the  street.  Rabourdin's  room  and  his  study  lay  at  the  fur- 
ther end  of  this  room  to  the  right,  and  beyond  at  a  right 
angle  was  the  dining-room  which  lay  to  your  left  as  you 
entered  the  ante-chamber.  A  door  to  the  left  of  the  great 
drawing-room  gave  admittance  to  ]\Ime.  Eabourdin's  bed- 
room and  dressing-room,  and  behind,  at  a  right  angle,  was  a 
little  room  in  which  her  daughter  slept.  When  Mme.  Ea- 
bourdin was  At  Home,  her  bedroom  and  Eabourdin's  cabi- 
net were  thrown  open.  The  space  enabled  her  to  receive  vis- 
itors without  drawing  down  ridicule  upon  herself:  her  re- 
ceptions were  not  like  certain  unfortunate  attempts  at  even- 
ing parties,  when  the  luxury  is  too  evidently  assumed  for 
the  occasion,  and  involves  a  sacrifice  of  daily  habits. 

The  drawing-room  had  been  newly  hung  with  yellow  silk 
and  brown  ornaments.     Mme.  Eabourdin's  room  was  deco- 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  185 

rated  with  real  Eastern  chintz,  and  the  furniture  was  in  the 
rococo  style.  Rabourdin's  study  inherited  the  discarded 
drawing-room  hangings,  which  had  been  cleaned,  and  Le- 
prince's  fine  pictures  adorned  the  walls.  The  late  auctioneer 
had  picked  up  some  enchanting  Eastern  carpets  for  trifling 
sums;  his  daughter  now  turned  them  to  account  in  the  din- 
ing-room, framing  them  in  priceless  old  ebony.  Wonder- 
ful Boule  sideboards,  also  purchased  by  the  late  auctioneer, 
surrounded  the  walls,  and  in  the  midst  stood  a  tortoise-shell 
clock-case  inlaid  with  gleaming  brass  scroll-work;  the  first 
example  of  a  square-shaped  clock  which  reappeared  to  do 
honor  to  the  seventeenth  century.  The  air  was  fragrant 
with  the  scent  of  flowers;  the  rooms  were  tasteful  and  full 
of  beautiful  things;  every  little  thing  in  them  was  a  work  of 
art  in  itself;  everything  was  placed  to  advantage,  and  in  ap- 
propriate surroundings.  And  Mme.  Rabourdin  herself, 
dressed  with  the  simplicity  and  originality  which  artists  can 
devise,  looked  as  though  all  these  pleasant  things  were  a 
part  of  her  life ;  she  never  spoke  of  them,  she  left  the  charm 
of  her  conversation  to  complete  the  effect,  produced  by  the 
whole.  Thanks  to  her  father,  since  rococo  came  into 
fashion,  Celestine  had  acquired  celebrity. 

Des  Lupeaulx  was  accustomed  to  all  sorts  of  splendor, 
sham  and  real,  but  Mme.  Eabourdin's  house  was  a,  surprise 
to  him.  An  illustration  may  explain  the  nature  of  the 
charm  that  worked  upon  this  Parisian  Asmodeus.  Suppose 
that  a  traveler  had  seen  all  the  best  beauty  of  Italy,  Brazil, 
and  India,  till  he  was  weary;  suppose  that  on  his  return  to 
France  his  way  brought  him  past  some  lovely  little  lake,  the 
Lake  of  Orta,  under  Monte  Rosa,  for  instance,  with  its  island 
set  in  the  midst  of  quiet  waters — a  spot  coyly  hidden  and  left 
to  nature,  a  wild  garden,  a  lonely  but  not  solitary  island  with 
its  shapely  groves  of  trees  and  picturesquely  placed  statues. 
The  shores  all  round  about  it  are  half -wild,  half -cultivated ; 
grandeur  and  unrest  encircle  it;  but  within  everything  takes 
human  proportions.  Here  in  miniature  is  the  world  that 
our  traveler  has  seen  already;  but  that  world  has  grown 


186  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

modest  and  pure;  its  influences  soothe  his  soul;  the  delicate 
charm  of  the  place  affects  him  as  music  might;  it  awakens 
all  kinds  of  associations  and  harmonious  echoes.  It  is  a 
hermitage,  and  yet  it  is  life. 

It  had  happened  a  few  days  previously  that  Mme.  Firmiani 
had  spoken  to  des  Lupeaulx  of  Mme.  Rabourdin.  Mme. 
Firmiani,  one  of  the  most  charming  women  of  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Germain,  liked  Mme.  Eabourdin,  and  used  to  receive 
her  at  her  house,  and  on  this  occasion  she  had  asked  des  Lu- 
peaulx simply  for  the  purpose  of  saying,  "Why  do  you  not 
call  on  Mme.  Eabourdin?"  (indicating  Celestine).  "Her 
evening  parties  are  delightful;  and,  what  is  more,  her  din- 
ners are — better  than  mine."  Des  Lupeaulx  accordingly 
allowed  a  promise  to  be  extracted  from  him  by  the  fair  Mme. 
Eabourdin  (who  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face  for  the  first  time 
as  she  spoke),  and  went  to  the  Rue  Duphot.  Is  there  any 
need  to  say  more?  Women  have  but  one  stratagem,  as 
Figaro  cries;  but  it  never  fails. 

Des  Lupeaulx  dined  with  this  mere  chief  clerk,  and  regis- 
tered a  vow  to  go  again.  Thanks  to  the  decorous  and  lady- 
like strategy  of  the  charming  woman  whom  Mme.  Colleville 
dubbed  "the  Celimene  of  the  Eue  Duphot,"  he  had  dined 
there  regularly  every  Friday  for  a  month  past,  and  went  of 
his  own  accord  for  a  cup  of  tea  on  Wednesdays.  Only  during 
the  last  few  days,  after  much  delicate  and  skilful  trying  of 
the  ground,  Mme.  Eabourdin  had  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  she  had  found  the  safe  and  solid  spot  in  the  plank.  She 
was  sure  now  of  success.  The  joy  she  felt  in  the  depths  of 
her  soul  can  only  be  understood  in  households  that  know 
what  it  is  to  wait  three  or  four  years  for  promotion,  and  to 
plan  out  an  increase  of  comfort  when  the  fondly-cherished 
hope  shall  be  realized.  What  hardships  that  hope  makes 
bearable !  What  prayers  are  put  up  to  the  powers  that  be ! 
What  visits  paid  to  gain  the  desired  end !  At  last,  thanks 
to  her  spirited  policy,  Mme.  Rabourdin  was  to  have  an  in- 
come of  twenty  thousand  francs  instead  of  eight.  The  hour 
had  struck. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  187 

''And  I  shall  have  managed  it  very  well,"  she  told  herself. 
"I  have  gone  to  some  little  expense,  but  people  are  not  on 
the  lookout  for  hidden  merits  in  these  days;  on  the  con- 
trary, if  a  man  puts  himself  in  evidence  by  going  into  so- 
ciety, keeping  up  his  connections  and  making  new  ones,  he  is 
sure  to  get  on.  After  all,  the  ministers  and  their  friends 
only  take  an  interest  in  people  whom  they  see,  and  Eabour- 
din  knows  nothing  of  the  world.  If  I  had  not  got  hold  of 
these  three  deputies,  they  might  very  likely  have  wanted  la 
Billardiere's  place ;  but  now  that  they  come  here,  they  would 
feel  ashamed  to  try  to  take  it.  They  will  be  our  supporters, 
not  our  rivals.  I  have  had  to  flirt  a  little ;  it  is  lucky  for  me 
that  there  was  no  need  to  go  further  than  the  first  stage  with 
the  sort  of  folly  that  amuses  men." 

But  a  contest,  as  yet  unforeseen,  was  about  to  begin  for  the 
place;  and  its  actual  commencement  may  be  dated  from  a 
ministerial  dinner,  followed  by  an  evening  party  of  a  kind 
which  ministers  regard  as  public.  The  Minister's  wife  was 
standing  by  the  fire,  and  des  Lupeaulx  was  at  her  side.  As 
he  took  his  cup  of  coffee,  it  occurred  to  him  to  include  Mme. 
Eabourdin  among  the  seven  or  eight  really  remarkable 
women  in  Paris.  He  had  done  this  before;  Mme.  Eabour- 
din, like  Corporal  Trim's  Montero  cap,  was  always  coming 
up  in  conversation. 

"Don't  say  too  much  about  her,  my  dear  friend,  or  you 
will  spoil  it  all,"  the  Ministers  wife  returned,  half  laugh- 
ingly. 

No  woman  likes  to  listen  to  another  woman's  praises ;  they 
one  and  all  keep  a  word  in  reserve,  so  as  to  put  a  little  vine- 
gar to  the  panegyric. 

"Poor  la  Billardiere  won't  last  long,"  remarked  His  Ex- 
cellency; "Eabourdin  is  the  next  in  succession,  he  is  one  of 
our  cleverest  men.  Our  predecessors  did  not  behave  well  to 
him,  although  one  of  them  owed  his  prefecture  of  police 
under  the  Empire  to  a  certain  personage  who  was  paid  to 
use  his  influence  for  Eabourdin.     Frankly,  my  dear  fellow. 


188  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

vou  are  still  voting  enough  yet  to  be  loved  for  vour  own 
sake " 

"If  la  Billardiere's  place  is  Eabourdin's  for  a  certainty,  I 
may  be  believed  if  I  hold  np  his  wife  as  a  remarkable 
woman,"  returned  des  Lupeaiilx,  the  irony  in  His  Excel- 
lency's tones  had  not  escaped  him ;  "still,  if  Mme.  la  Com- 
tesse  cares  to  judge  for  herself " 

"I  can  ask  her  to  my  next  ball,  that  is  it,  is  it  not?  Your 
remarkable  woman  would  come  when  certain  ladies  will  be 
here  to  quiz  us;  they  will  hear  'Mme.  Eabourdin'  an- 
nounced." 

"But  do  ngt  they  announce  Mme.  Firmiani  at  the  house 
of  the  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs?" 

"A  born  Cadignan  ! "  the  newly-made  Count  broke  in 

quickly,  with  a  withering  glance  at  his  secretary-general. 
Neither  His  Excellency  nor  his  wife  was  noble.  A  good 
many  persons  thought  that  something  important  was  going 
forward.  Those  who  had  come  to  ask  favors  kept  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room.  When  des  Lupeaulx  came  out,  the 
new-made  Countess  turned  to  her  husband  with,  "Des  Lu- 
peaulx must  be  in  love,  I  think." 

"Then  it  will  be  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,"  returned  the 
Minister,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  as  who  should  say  that  des 
Lupeaulx  was  not  taken  up  with  such  trifles. 

Then  the  Minister  beheld  a  deputy  of  the  Eight  Centre 
entering  the  room,  and  left  his  wife  to  coax  over  a  faltering 
vote.  But  it  so  happened  that  the  deputy  was  overwhelmed 
by  an  unforeseen  disaster,  and  wanted  to  secure  the  Minis- 
ter's influence  by  coming  to  announce  in  strict  confidence 
that  he  would  be  forced  to  send  in  his  resignation  in  a  few 
days'  time.  And  His  Excellency,  warned  in  time,  could  get 
his  batteries  into  play  before  the  Opposition  had  a  chance. 

The  Minister  (which  is  to  say,  des  Lupeaulx)  had  in- 
cluded among  the  dinner  guests  a  personage  who  is  practi- 
cally apnointed  for  life  in  every  government  department. 
This  individual,  being  not  a  little  puzzled  to  know  what  to 
do  with  himself,  and  anxious  to  give  himself  a  countenance, 


"  Don't  say  too  much  about  iier,  my  dear  frieud,  or  you  will  spoil 
it  all" 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  189 

happened  to  stand  planted  on  both  feet  with  his  legs  close  to- 
gether, very  much  after  the  manner  of  an  Egyptian  terminal. 
He  was  waiting,  near  the  hearth,  for  an  opportunity  of  ex- 
pressing his  thanks  to  the  secretary -general ;  indeed,  the 
abrupt  retreat  made  by  that  worthy  took  him  by  surprise 
just  as  he  was  about  to  formulate  his  little  compliment. 
The  functionary  in  question^  was,  in  fact,  none  other  than 
the  cashier  of  the  department,  the  one  employe  who  never 
shook  in  his  shoes  over  a  change  of  government.  In  those 
days  the  Chamber  did  not  higgle  over  the  budget  as  it  is  wont 
to  do  in  the  present  degenerate  times;  it  did  not  cut  down 
the  emoluments  of  office  to  effect  what  may  be  called  "cheese- 
paring economies"  in  kitchen  phraseology.  Every  minister 
on  coming  into  office  received  a  fixed  sum  for  "expenses  of 
removal."  It  costs  as  much,  alas !  to  come  in  as  to  go  out 
of  office;  and  the  installation  entails  expenses  of  every  sort 
and  description  which  need  not  be  recorded  here.  The  al- 
lowance for  expenses  used  to  consist  of  twenty-five  pretty 
little  thousand-franc  notes. 

When  the  ordinance  appeared  in  the  Moniteur,  while  all 
officials,  great  and  small,  were  grouped  about  their  stoves  or 
open  hearths,  as  the  case  might  be,  revolving  the  questions — 
"What  is  this  one  going  to  do  ?     Will  he  increase  the  number 

of  clerks?     Or  will  he  dismiss  two  and  take  on  three? " 

while  all  this  was  going  forward,  I  say,  the  placid  cashier 
used  to  bring  out  twenty-five  notes  and  pin  them  together, 
engraving  a  joyful  expression  meanwhile  upon  his  beadle's 
countenance.  This  done,  he  skipped  up  the  staircase  to  the 
residence,  and  was  admitted  to  His  Excellency's  presence  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning;  for  servants  are  wont  to  confuse 
the  notions  of  the  power  of  money  with  the  custodian  thereof, 
the  cash-box  with  its  contents,  the  idea  and  its  outward  and 
visible  manifestation.  The  cashier,  therefore,  always  came 
upon  the  ministerial  couple  in  that  first  blush  of  rapture 
when  a  statesman  is  in  a  benign  humor,  and  a  good  fellow 
for  the  nonce.  In  reply  to  the  Minister's  inquiry,  "What 
do  you  want  ?"  the  cashier  produced  his  bits  of  paper,  with  a 


190  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

speech  to  the  effect  that  he  had  hastened  to  bring  His  Ex- 
cellency the  customary  indemnity;  he  then  explained  the 
why  and  wherefore  of  the  allowance  to  the  astonished  and 
delighted  lady,  who  never  failed  to  take  some  portion,  and 
not  unfrequently  took  the  whole.  An  indemnity  for  ex- 
penses of  removal  comes  within  the  province  of  housekeep- 
ing. The  cashier  turned  his  compliment,  slipping  in  a  few 
phrases  for  the  Minister's  benefit.  "If  His  Excellency 
vouchsafed  to  confirm  him  in  his  appointment,  if  he  was 
satisfied  with  the  purely  mechanical  service  which,"  etc.,  etc. 
And  as  the  man  who  brings  twenty-five  thousand  francs  is 
always  a  good  public  servant,  the  cashier  never  failed  to  re- 
ceive the  desired  confirmation  in  a  post  whence  he  watched 
ministers  come  and  go  and  come  again  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century.  Then  he  would  put  himself  at  madame's  disposal; 
he  would  bring  the  thirteen  thousand  francs  every  month  at 
the  convenient  time,  a  little  earlier  or  later  as  required,  and 
thus,  to  use  the  ancient  monastic  expression,  "he  kept  a  vote 
in  the  chapter." 

The  Sieur  Saillard  had  been  a  book-keeper  at  the  Treasury 
while  the  Treasury  kept  books  on  a  system  of  double-entry; 
but  the  plan  was  afterwards  given  up,  and  they  gave  him  a 
cashier's  place  by  way  of  compensation.  Book-keeping  was 
his  one  strong  point;  he  was  little  good  at  anything  else. 
He  was  a  burly,  fat  old  gentleman,  round  as  a  figure  0,  and 
simple  in  the  extreme ;  he  walked  like  an  elephant  at  a  meas- 
ured pace  to  and  from  the  Place  Eoyale,  where  he  lived  in  a 
house  of  his  own.  He  had  a  companion  on  his  daily  way, 
in  the  shape  of  his  son-in-law,  M.  Isidore  Baudoyer,  the  chief 
clerk  in.  M.  de  la  Billardiere's  division,  and  in  consequence  Ea- 
bourdin's  colleague.  Baudoyer  had  married  Saillard's  only 
daughter  Elizabeth,  and,  naturally,  took  up  his  abode  on  a 
floor  above  his  father-in-law.  Nobody  in  the  whole  depart- 
ment doubted  Saillard's  stupidity,  but  nobody  at  the  same 
time  knew  how  far  his  stupidity  would  go;  it  was  so  dense 
that  no  one  could  insinuate  a  question  into  it ;  it  had  no  hol- 
low sounding  spots ;  it  absorbed  everything,  and  gave  nothing 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  191 

out.  Bixiou  (a  clerk  of  whom  mention  will  presently  be 
made)  had  drawn  a  caricature  of  the  cashier,  a  bewigged 
head  surmounting  an  egg,  with  two  tiny  legs  beneath,  and 
the  inscription — "Born  to  pay  and  receive  money  without 
making  a  mistake.  A  little  less  luck,  and  he  would  have 
been  a  porter  at  the  Bank  of  France;  a  little  more  ambition, 
and  the  Government  would  have  thanked  him  for  his 
services." 

To  return  to  the  Minister,  At  this  present  moment  he 
was  looking  fixedly  at  his  cashier,  much  as  he  might  have 
gazed  at  a  hat-peg  or  at  the  ceiling,  without  imagining,  that 
is  to  say,  that  the  peg  could  hear  what  he  said,  or  understand 
a  single  word. 

"I  am  so  much  the  more  anxious  that  everything  should 
be  arranged  with  the  prefect  with  the  utmost  secrecy,"  His 
Excellency  was  saying  to  the  retiring  deputy,  'Haecause  des 
Lupeaulx  has  some  idea  of  the  kind.  His  bit  of  a  place  is 
somewhere  in  your  part  of  the  country,  and  we  don't  want 
him  in  the  House." 

"He  has  not  the  electoral  qualifications,  and  he  is  not  old 
enough,"   said  the  deputy. 

"That  is  so,  but  you  know  how  Casimir  Perier  decided 
with  regard  to  the  age  limit.  As  to  annual  income,  des  Lu- 
peaulx has  something,  though  it  doesn't  amount  to  much; 
but  the  law  made  no  provision  for  increase  of  landed  prop- 
erty, and  he  might  buy  more. — Committees  give  a  good  foot- 
hold to  a  deputy  of  the  Centre,  and  we  could  not  openly 
oppose  the  goodwill  that  people  would  show  to  serve  our  dear 
friend." 

"But  where  would  he  find  the  money  to  buy  land  ?" 

"How  did  Manuel  become  the  possessor  of  a  house  in 
Paris?"  retorted  the  Minister. 

The  hat-peg  meanwhile  was  listening,  and  listening  very 
reluctantly.  The  two  men  had  lowered  their  voices  and 
spoke  rapidly;  but  every  sound,  by  some  as  yet  unexplained 
law  of  acoustics,  reached  Saillard's  ears.  And  what  were  the 
feelings  of  that  worthy,  do  you  suppose,  while  he  listened  to 


192  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

these  political  confidences?  He  experienced  the  most 
poignant  alarm.  There  are  guileless  people  who  are  reduced 
to  despair  if  they  appear  to  be  listening  to  remarks  that  they 
are  not  intended  to  hear,  if  they  intrude  where  they  are  not 
wanted,  or  seem  to  be  inquisitive  when  they  are  really  dis- 
creet; and  Saillard  was  one  of  them.  He  glided  over  the 
carpet  in  such  a  sort  that  when  the  Minister  became  aware 
of  his  existence,  he  was  half-way  across  the  room.  Saillard 
was  a  fanatical  official.  He  was  incapable  of  the  slightest 
indiscretion.  If  His  Excellency  had  but  known  that  the 
cashier  was  in  his  counsel,  he  would  have  had  no  need  to  do 
more  than  say  "Mum."  Saillard  saw  that  the  rooms  were 
beginning  to  fill  with  courtiers  of  office,  went  down  to  a  cab 
liired  by  the  hour  for  such  costly  occasions  as  this,  and  re- 
turned to  the  Place  Eoyale. 

While  old  Saillard  was  making  his  way  across  Paris,  his 
beloved  Elizabeth  and  his  son-in-law  were  engaged  in  play- 
ing a  virtuous  game  of  boston  with  the  Abbe  Gaudron,  their 
director,  and  a  neighbor  or  two.  Another  visitor  was  also 
present.  This  was  a  certain  Martin  Falleix,  a  brass-founder 
of  the  Faubourg  Saint- Antoine,  whom  Saillard  had  set  up  in 
business.  Falleix,  an  honest  Auvergnat,  had  come  to  Paris 
with  his  caldron  on  his  back,  and  promptly  found  work  with 
the  Brezacs,  a  firm  that  bought  old  chateaux  to  pull  down. 
At  the  age  of  twenty-seven,  Martin  Falleix,  being  eager,  like 
every  one  else,  to  get  on  in  life,  had  the  good  fortune  to  be 
taken  into  partnership  by  M.  Saillard.  He  was  to  be  the  ac- 
tive partner,  he  was  to  exploit  a  patent  invention  in  brass- 
founding  (gold  medal  awarded  at  the  Exhibition  in  1835). 

Mme.  Baudoyer,  whose  only  daughter  was  just  at  the  tail- 
end  of  her  twelfth  year  (to  quote  old  Saillard),  had  views 
of  her  own  upon  Falleix,  a  thick-set,  swarthy  young  fellow, 
active,  sharp-witted,  and  honest.  She  was  forming  him.  Ac- 
cording to  her  ideas,  the  education  consisted  in  teaching  the 
good  Auvergnat  to  play  boston,  to  hold  his  cards  properly, 
to  allow  no  one  to  see  his  hand ;  to  shave  and  wash  his  hands 
with  coarse  common  soap  before  he  came  to  them;  to  refrain 


THE    GOVEKNMENT    CLERKS  193 

from  swearing,  to  speak  French  as  they  spoke  it,  to  brush  his 
hair  erect  instead  of  flattening  it  down,  and  to  discard  shoes 
for  boots,  and  sackcloth  shirts  for  calico.  Only  a  week  since, 
Elizabeth  Baudoyer  succeeded  in  persuading  Falleix  to  give 
up  two  huge  flat  earrings  like  cask-hoops. 

"You  are  going  too  far,  Mme.  Baudoyer,"  said  he,  as  she 
rejoiced  over  this  sacrifice;  "you  are  getting  too  much  as- 
cendency over  me.  You  make  me  brush  my  teeth  (which 
loosens  them)  ;  before  long  you  will  make  me  brush  my  nails 
and  curl  my  hair,  and  that  will  never  do.  They  don't  like 
foppery  in  our  line  of  business." 

Elizabeth  Baudoyer,  nee  Saillard,  was  a  type  that  always 
escapes  the  artist  by  the  very  fact  that  it  is  so  commonplace. 
Yet,  nevertheless,  such  figures  ought  to  be  sketched,  for  they 
represent  the  lower  middle  class  in  Paris,  the  rank  just  above 
the  well-to-do  artisan.  Their  merits  are  almost  defects,  and 
there  is  nothing  lovable  about  their  faults;  but  their  way  of 
life,  humdrum  and  uninteresting  though  it  is,  does  not  lack 
a  certain  character  of  its  own. 

Elizabeth  had  a  certain  puny  unwholesome  look,  which 
was  not  good  to  see.  She  was  barely  four  feet  high,  and  so 
thin  that  her  waist  measured  scarcely  half  an  ell.  Her 
thin  features  were  crowded  into  the  middle  of  her  face ;  a 
certain  vague  resemblance  to  a  weasel  was  the  result.  She 
was  thirty  years  old  and  more,  but  she  looked  more  like  a 
girl  of  sixteen  or  seventeen.  There  was  little  brightness  in 
the  china-blue  eyes  under  heavy  eyelids  and  lashes  that  met 
the  arch  of  eyebrows.  Everything  about  Elizabeth  was  in- 
significant ;  she  had  pale  flax-colored  hair ;  the  flat  shiny  sur- 
faces of  her  forehead  seemed  to  catch  the  light;  her  com- 
plexion was  gray,  almost  livid  in  hue.  The  lower  part  of 
her  face  was  triangular  rather  than  oval  in  shape,  but  her 
features,  generally  speaking,  were  crooked,  and  the  outlines 
irregular.  Lastly,  she  had  a  sub-acid  voice,  with  a  pretty 
enough  range  of  intonations.  Elizabeth  Baudoyer  was  the 
very  type  of  the  lower  middle-class  housewife  who  counsels 
her  husband  at  night  from  her  pillow;  there  is  no  merit  in 


294  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

her  virtues,  no  motive  in  her  ambition,  it  is  simply  a  develop- 
ment of  domestic  egoism.  If  Elizabeth  had  lived  in  the 
provinces,  she  would  have  tried  to  round  out  the  property; 
as  her  husband  happened  to  be  in  a  Government  office,  she 
wanted  advancement.  The  story  of  Elizabeth's  childhood 
and  girlhood  will  bring  the  whole  woman  before  you;  it  is 
the  history  of  the  Saillard  couple. 

M.  Saillard  had  married  the  daughter  of  a  second-hand 
furniture  dealer,  one  Bidault,  who  set  up  business  under  the 
arcades  of  the  Great  Market.  M.  and  Mme.  Saillard  had  a 
hard  struggle  in  those  early  days;  but  now,  after  thirty-three 
years  of  married  life  and  twenty-nine  of  work  at  the  office, 
the  fortune  of  "^'the  Saillards"'  (as  they  were  called  by  their 
acquaintances)  consisted  of  sixty  thousand  francs  in  Falleix's 
business;  the  big  house  in  the  Place  Royale,  purchased  for 
forty  thousand  francs  in  180-i;  and  thirt3'-six  thousand  livres 
paid  down  as  their  daughter's  marriage  portion.  About  fifty 
thousand  francs  of  their  capital  had  come  to  them  on  the 
death  of  Widow  Bidault,  Mme.  Saillard's  mother.  Saillard's 
post  had  brought  in  a  steady  income  of  four  thousand  five 
hundred  francs;  no  ori,e  coveted  his  place  for  a  long  while, 
because  there  were  no  prospects  of  promotion.  This  money 
had  been  saved  up,  sou  by  sou,  by  sordid  frugality,  and  very 
carefully  put  out  to  interest.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Sail- 
lards knew  of  but  one  way  of  investing  money ;  they  used  to 
take  their  savings,  five  thousand  francs  at  a  time,  to  their 
notar}',  M.  Sorbier,  Cardot's  predecessor,  and  he  arranged 
to  lend  it  on  mortgages.  They  were  always  careful  to  take 
the  first  mortgage,  with  a  further  guarantee  secured  on  the 
wife's  property  if  the  borrower  were  a  married  man. 

At  this  point  of  their  history  their  big  house  was  worth 
a  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  brought  them  in  eight  thou- 
sand. Falleix  paid  seven  per  cent  on  his  capital  before 
reckoning  up  the  profits,  which  were  equally  divided.  Al- 
together, the  Saillards  possessed  an  income  of  seventeen  thou- 
sand francs  at  the  least.  To  have  the  Cross  and  retire  on  a 
pension  was  old  Saillard's  one  ambition. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  195 

Elizabeth's  youth  had  been  spent  in  continual  drudgery 
in  a  family  with  such  laborious  habits  and  such  narrow  ideas. 
Great  was  the  discussion  before  the  purchase  of  a  new  hat  for 
Saillard;  the  career  of  a  coat  was  reckoned  by  years;  um- 
brellas were  carefully  hung  up  from  a  brass  ring. 

No  repairs  had  been  made  in  the  house  since  1804.  The 
Saillard's  ground-floor  flat  was  precisely  in  the  condition  in 
which  the  previous  owners  left  it;  but  the  gilding  had  de- 
parted from  the  frames  of  the  pier-glasses,  and  the  painted 
friezes  over  the  doors  were  almost  invisible  beneath  the  ac- 
cumulated grime  of  years.  The  great  spacious  rooms,  with 
carved  marble  chimney-pieces  and  ceilings  worthy  of  Ver- 
sailles, were  filled  with  the  furniture  left  by  the  Widow 
Bidault.  This  consisted  of  easy-chairs  of  walnut  wood,  cov- 
ered with  tapestry,  rosewood  chests  of  drawers,  old-fashioned 
stands  with  brass  rims  and  cracked  white  marble-tops;  and 
a  chaos  of  bargains,  in  short,  picked  up  by  the  furniture- 
dealer  in  the  Great  Market.  Among  these  was  a  superb  Boule 
bureau,  to  which  fashion  had  not  yet  restored  its  proper  value. 
The  pictures  had  been  selected  entirely  for  their  handsome 
frames;  the  chinaware  was  distinctly  heterogeneous;  a  set  of 
splendid  Oriental  china  dessert  plates,  for  instance,  was  eked 
out  with  porcelain  from  ever}^  possible  factory ;  the  silver  was 
a  collection  of  odd  lots;  the  cut  glass  was  old-fashioned;  the 
table  linen  fine  damask.  They  slept  in  a  tomb-shaped  bed- 
stead with  chintz  curtains  hung  from  a  coronal. 

Amid  all  these  relics  of  the  past,  Mme.  Saillard  used  to 
live  in  her  low,  modern  mahogany  armchair  with  her  feet  on 
a  foot-warmer,  every  hole  in  the  latter  article  of  furniture 
charred  and  blackened.  Her  chair  was  drawn  up  to  the  grate, 
where  a  heap  of  dead  ashes  took  the  place  of  a  fire.  On  the 
chimney-piece  there  stood  a  clock-case,  one  or  two  old- 
fashioned  bronze  ornaments,  and  some  flowered  candle- 
sconces.  These  last  were  empty,  however.  Mme.  Saillard 
nad  a  martinet  for  her  own  use,  a  small,  flat  brass  candlestick 
with  a  long  handle ;  and  the  candles  she  used  were  long  tallow 
dips   that   guttered    as   they   burned.      In    Mme.    Saillard's 


196  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

countenance,  iii  spite  of  wrinkles,  yon  conld  read  wilfulness, 
severity,  and  narrow-mindedness;  together  with  a  fair  and 
square  honesty,  a  pitiless  creed,  an  undisguised  stinginess, 
and  the  quiet  of  a  clear  conscience.  You  may  see  faces  thus 
composed  by  nature  among  portraits  of  the  wives  of  Flemish 
burgomasters ;  but  these  latter  are  clad  in  splendid  velvets  and 
precious  stuffs.  Mme.  Saillard  wore  no  such  robes.  She  ad- 
hered to  the  old-fashioned  garments  known  as  cottes  in 
Picardy  and  Touraine,  and  as  cofdllo7is  over  the  rest  of 
France — a  petticoat  gathered  in  thick  overlying  pleats  at 
the  back  and  sides.  The  upper  part  of  her  person  was  but- 
"^.oned  into  a  short  jacket,  another  bit  of  old-world  costume, 
like  the  butterfly  caps  and  high-heeled  shoes  which  she  still 
continued  to  wear.  She  knitted  stockings  for  herself  and  her 
husband  and  for  an  uncle  as  well.  And  although  she  was 
fifty-seven  years  old,  and  fairly  entitled  to  live  at  ease  after 
her  laborious  struggles  with  domestic  economy,  she  used  to 
knit,  after  the  manner  of  countrywomen,  as  she  talked  or 
went  about  the  house,  or  strolled  round  the  garden,  or  took  a 
peep  into  the  kitchen  to  see  how  things  were  going  there. 
~"  ■  Niggardliness,  at  first  compelled  by  painful  necessity,  had 
become  a  habit  with  the  Saillards.  When  old  Saillard  came 
home  from  the  office  he  took  off  his  coat  and  worked  in  his 
garden.  It  was  a  p"'^tty  garden  divided  off  from  the  yard 
by  an  iron  railing;  ne  had  reserved  it  ana  kept  it  in  order 
himself.  Elizabeth  had  gone  marketing  with  her  mother  in 
the  morning ;  and,  indeed,  the  two  women  did  all  the  work  of 
the  house.  The  mother  could  cook  a  duck  with  turnips  to 
admiration;  but  old  Saillard  maintained  that  for  serving  up 
the  remains  of  a  leg  of  mutton  with  onions,  Elizabeth  had 
not  her  equal.  ''You  could  eat  your  uncle  that  way  and 
never  find  it  out." 

As  soon  as  Elizabeth  could  hold  a  needle,  her  mother  made 
her  mend  her  father's  clothes  and  the  house  linen.  The  girl 
was  always  busy  as  a  servant  over  a  servant's  work ;  she  never 
went  out  alone.  They  lived  but  a  few  paces  awa}'  from  the 
Boulevard  de  Temple;  consequently,  the  Gaite,  the  Ambigu- 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  197 

Comique,  and  Franconi's  were  close  at  hand,  and  the  Porte 
8aint-Martin  not  very  far  away,  yet  Elizabeth  had  never  been 
"to  the  play."'  When  the  fancy  took  her  "to  see  what  it  was 
like,"  M.  Baudoyer,  by  way  of  doing  things  handsomely, 
took  her  to  the  Opera  so  that  she  might  see  the  finest  play  of 
all  (M.  Gaudron  having,  of  course,  given  permission).  They 
were  giving  Le  Laboureur  Chdnois  at  that  time.  Elizabeth 
thought  "the  play"  as  dull  as  ditchwater.  She  did  not  want 
to  go  again.  On  Sundays,  after  she  hgd  gone  four  times  to 
and  fro  between  the  Place  Eoyale  and  the  Church  of  St.  Paul 
(for  her  mother  saw  that  she  was  punctual  in  the  practice  of 
religious  duties  and  precepts),  her  father  and  mother  took 
her  to  the  Cafe  Turc,  where  they  seated  themselves  on  chairs 
placed  between  a  barrier  and  the  wall.  The  Cafe  Turc  at 
that  time  was  the  resort  of  all  the  beauty  and  fashion  of  the 
Marais,  the  Faubourg  Saint- Antoine,  and  adjacent  neighbor- 
hoods; the  Saillards  always  went  early  to  secure  their  favorite 
place,  and  then  amused  themselves  by  watching  the  passers- 

by. 

Elizabeth  had  never  worn  anything  but  print  gowns  in 
summer,  and  merino  in  winter.  She  made  her  own  dresses. 
Her  mother  only  allowed  her  twenty  francs  a  month;  but 
her  father  was  very  fond  of  her,  and  tempered  this  rigor 
with  occasional  presents.  Of  "profane  literature,"  as  the 
Abbe  Gaudron  (curate  of  Saint  Paul's  and  the  family  oracle) 
Avas  pleased  to  qualify  it,  Elizabeth  knew  nothing  whatsoever. 
The  system  had  borne  its  fruits.  Compelled  to  find  an  out- 
let for  her  feelings  in  some  passion,  Elizabeth  grew  greedy^ 
of  gain ;  not  that  she  was  lacking  in  intelligence  or  per- 
spicacity, but  ignorance  and  her  creed  had  shut  her  in  with 
a  circle  of  brass.  She  had  nothing  on  which  to  exercise  her 
faculties,  save  the  most  trivial  affairs  of  daily  life ;  and  as  she 
had  few  things  to  think  about,  the  whole  force  of  her  nature 
was  brought  to  bear  on  the  matter  in  hand.  Her  natural  in- 
telligence, being  shackled  by  her  religious  opinions,  could  only 
exert  itself  Avithin  the  limits  imposed  by  casuistry,  and 
casuistry  becomes  a  very  storehouse  of  subtleties  from  which 
13 


198  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

self-interest  selects  shifts  and  evasions.  Elizabeth  was  quite 
capable  of  asking  her  neighbor  to  do  evil  that  she  herself  might 
reap  the  full  benefit  thereof ;  resembling  in  this  respect  various 
saintly  personages  in  whom  religion  has  not  altogether  ex- 
tinguished ambition — with  these,  indeed,  she  had  other  points 
in  common;  she  was  relentless  in  pursuit  of  her  end,  under- 
hand in  her  measures.  When  offended,  she  watched  her  an- 
tagonists with  feline  patience  till  she  had  accomplished  a  com- 
plete and  cold-blooded  revenge  to  be  put  down  to  the  account 
of  Providence. 

Until  the  time  of  Elizabeth's  marriage,  the  Saillards  saw 
no  visitors  except  the  Abbe  Gaudron,  the  Auvergnat  priest, 
nominated  to  the  curacy  of  St.  Paul's  since  the  re-establish- 
ment of  religious  worship.  This  churchman  had  been 
friendly  with  the  late  Mme.  Bidault.  Mme.  Saillard's 
paternal  uncle  was  also  an  occasional  visitor.  He  had  been 
a  paper  merchant,  but  he  had  retired  in  the  year  II.  of  the 
Eepublic,  at  the  age  of  sixty-nine.  He  never  came  except  on 
Sundays,  because  no  business  could  be  done  on  that  day. 

As  for  Bidault's  personal  appearance,  there  was  not  much 
room  in  the  little  old  man's  olive-hued  visage  for  anything 
but  a  red  bibulous  nose  and  two  little  vulture-like  slits  of 
eyes.  His  grizzled  locks  were  allowed  to  hang  loose  under 
the  brim  of  his  cocked  hat.  The  tabs  of  his  knee-breeches 
projected  grotesquely  beyond  the  buckles.  He  wore  cotton 
stockings  knitted  by  his  niece  {la  petite  Saillard  he  used  to 
call  her),  thick  shoes  with  silver  buckles,  and  a  greatcoat  of 
many  colors.  Altogether  he  looked  very  much  like  the  sex- 
ton-beadle-bellringer-gravedigger-chanter  of  some  village 
church ;  a  sort  of  person  whom  you  might  take  for  some  freak 
of  the  caricaturist,  until  you  met  him  in  real  life.  Even  at 
this  day  he  used  to  come  on  foot  to  dine  with  them,  and  walk 
back  afterwards  to  the  Rue  Grenetat,  where  he  lived  on  a 
third  floor.  Bidault  was  a  bill-discounter.  The  Quartier 
Saint-Martin,  the  scene  of  his  professional  activity,  had  nick- 
named him  Gigonnet,  from  his  peculiar  jerky,  feverish  man- 
ner of  picking  his  way  in  the  streets.     M.  Bidault  went  into 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  199 

the  bill-discounting  line  in  the  year  II.  of  the  Eepublic  with 
a  Dutchman,  the  Sieur  Werbrust,  a  crony  of  Gobseck's,  for 
his  partner. 

These,  it  has  been  said,  were  at  one  time  the  Saillards'  only 
visitors;  but  afterwards,  old  Saillard  struck  up  an  acquaint- 
ance with  M.  and  Mme.  Transon  in  the  church- war  den's  pew 
at  St.  Paul's.  The  Transons,  wholesale  earthenware  dealers 
in  the  Eue  de  Lesdiguieres,  took  an  interest  in  Elizabeth, 
and  it  was  with  a  view  to  finding  a  husband  for  her  that  they 
introduced  young  Isidore  Baudoyer  to  the  Saillards.  The 
good  understanding  between  M.  and  Mme.  Baudoyer  and  the 
Saillard  family  was  confirmed  by  Gigonnet's  approbation. 
He  had  employed  Mme.  Baudoyer's  brother,  the  Sieur  Mitral, 
as  his  bailiff  for  many  years ;  and  about  this  time  Mitral  was 
thinking  of  retiring  to  a  pretty  house  at  He-Adam.  M.  and 
Mme.  Baudoyer,  Isidore's  father  and  mother,  respectable 
leather-dressers  in  the  Eue  Censier,  had  put  by  a  little  money 
year  by  year  in  a  jog-trot  business.  When  they  had  married 
their  only  son  and  made  over  fifty  thousand  francs  to  him, 
they  also  thought  of  going  to  live  in  the  country ;  it  was  they, 
•  indeed,  who  had  fixed  upon  He- Adam,  and  attracted  Mitral 
to  that  spot;  but  they  still  came  frequently  to  Paris,  where 
they  had  kept  a  pied-d-terre  in  the  house  in  the  Eue  Censier 
which  Isidore  received  on  his  marriage.  The  Baudoyers  had 
an  income  of  a  thousand  crowns  still  left  after  providing  for 
their  son. 

M.  Mitral,  owner  of  a  sinister-looking  wig,  and  a  visage 
the  color  of  Seine  water,  illuminated  by  eyes  of  the  hue  of 
Spanish  snuff,  was  as  cool  as  a  well-rope;  he  was  a  secretive, 
mouse-like  creature;  no  one  knew  about  his  money;  but  he 
probably  did  in  his  corner  as  Gigonnet  did  in  the  Quartier 
Saint-Martin. 

But  if  the  family  circle  grew  wider,  their  ideas  and  habits 
underwent  no  corresponding  change.  They  kept  all  the 
family  festivals;  birthdays  and  wedding-days;  all  the  saints' 
days  of  father  and  mother,  son-in-law,  daughter  and  grand- 
daughter; Easter,  Christmas^  New  Year's  Day,  and  Twelfth 


200  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

Night.  And  as  these  occasions  always  demanded  a  great 
sweeping  and  general  cleaning  of  the  house,  they  might  be 
said  to  combine  practical  utility  with  the  joys  of  domestic 
life.  Then  out  came  the  presents ;  useful  gifts  produced  with 
much  pomp  and  circumstance  and  accompaniment  of  bou- 
quets ;  a  pair  of  silk  stocking  or  a  velvet  skull-cap  for  Saillard ; 
gold  earrings,  or  silver  plate  for  Elizabeth  or  her  husband 
(for  whom  they  were  making  up  a  complete  service  by  de- 
grees), or  a  new  silk  petticoat  for  Mme.  Saillard,  who  kept 
-the  stuff  laid  by  in  the  piece.  And  before  the  presents  were 
given,  the  recipient  was  always  made  to  sit  in  an  armchair, 
while  the  rest  bade  him: 

"Guess  what  we  are  going  to  give  you !" 

Finally,  they  sat  down  to  a  grand  dinner,  which  lasted  for 
five  hours.  M.  Gaudron  was  invited,  and  Falleix  and  Rabour- 
din  and  M.  Gothard  (formerly  M.  Baudoyer's  deputy),  and 
M.  Bataille,  captain  of  the  company  in  which  Baudoyer  and 
his  father-in-law  were  enrolled.  M.  Cardot  had  a  standing 
invitation,  but,  like  Rabourdin,  he  only  appeared  one  time 
in  six.  They  used  to  sing  over  the  dessert,  and  embrace  each 
other  with  enthusiasm  amid  wishes  for  all  possible  good  luck ; 
and  then  the  presents  were  on  view,  and  all  the  guests  must 
give  their  opinion  of  them.  On  the  day  of  the  velvet  skull- 
cap, Saillard  wore  the  article  in  question  on  his  head  during 
the  dessert,  to  the  general  satisfaction.  In  the  evening  more 
acquaintances  came  in,  and  a  dance  followed.  A  single  violin 
did  duty  for  a  band  for  a  long  while ;  but  for  the  last  six 
years,  M.  Godard,  a  great  amateur  of  the  flute,  had  contributed 
the  shrill  sounds  of  a  flageolet  to  the  festivity.  The  cook, 
Mme.  Baudoyer's  general  servant,  and  old  Catherine,  Mme. 
Saillard's  maid,  stood  looking  on  in  the  doorway  with  the 
porter  and  his  wife ;  and  a  cro^Ti  of  three  livres  was  given 
to  them  to  buy  wine  and  coffee. 

The  whole  family  circle  regarded  Baudoyer  and  Saillard 
as  men  of  transcendent  ability ;  they  were  in  the  employ  of 
the  Government;  they  had  made  their  way  by  sheer  merit; 
they  worked  in  concert  with  the  Minister,  so  it  was  said; 


THK  GOVFJRNMENT  CJLEKKS  201 

they  owed  their  success  entirely  to  their  talents.  Baudoyer 
was  generally  considered  to  be  the  more  capable  man  of  the 
two,  because  his  work  as  chief  clerk  was  allowed  to  be  more 
arduous  and  complex  than  book-keeping.  And  besides, 
Isidore  had  had  the  genius  to  study,  although  he  was  the 
son  of  a  leather  dresser  in  the  Rue  Censier;  he  had  had  the 
audacity  also  to  give  up  his  father's  business  to  enter  a  Gov- 
ernment office,  and  had  reached  a  high  position.  As  he  was 
a  man  of  few  words,  he  was  supposed  to  be  a  deep  thinker; 
"he  would  perhaps  represent  the  eighth  arrondissement  some 
day,"  said  the  Transons.  And  as  often  as  Gigonnet  heard 
this  kind  of  talk,  he  would  purse  up  lips  that  were 
sufficiently  pinched  already,  and  glance  at  his  grand-niece 
Elizabeth. 

As  to  physique,  Isidore  was  a  big  heavy  man  of  seven-and- 
thirty ;  he  perspired  easily ;  his  head  suggested  hydrocephalus. 
It  was  an  enormous  head  covered  with  closely  cropped  chest- 
nut hair,  and  joined  to  the  neck  by  a  thick  fleshy  roll  that 
filled  up  his  coat  collar.  He  had  the  arms  of  a  Hercules, 
the  hands  of  a  Domitian,  and  a  waist  girth  which  sober  living 
kept  "within  the  limits  of  the  majestic,"  to  quote  Brillat- 
Savarin.  In  face  he  was  very  much  like  the  Emperor  Alex- 
ander. You  recognized  the  Tartar  type  in  the  little  eyes, 
in  a  nose  depressed  in  the  middle  and  raised  at  the  tip,  in 
the  chilly  lips  and  short  chin.  His  forehead  was  narrow 
and  low.  Isidore  was  of  lymphatic  temperament,  but  time 
had  no  whit  abated  an  excessive  conjugal  attachment.  In 
spite  of  his  likeness  to  the  handsome  Eussian  Emperor  and 
the  terrific  Domitian,  Isidore  Baudoyer  was  nothing  but  a 
slave  of  red-tape;  he  was  not  very  fit  for  the  post  of  chief 
clerk,  but  he  was  thoroughly  accustomed  to  the  routine  work, 
and  his  vacuity  lay  beneath  such  a  thick  covering  that 
no  scalpel  as  yet  had  probed  it.  He  had  displayed  the  patience 
and  sagacity  of  the  ox  during  those  days  of  hard  study;  and 
this  fact,  together  with  his  square  head,  had  deceived  his  rela- 
tives.    They  took  him  for  a  man  of  extraordinary  abilities. 

At  the  office  he  was  punctilious,  pedantic,  pompous,  and 


202  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

fussy ;  a  perfect  terror  to  his  clerks.  He  was  always  making 
observatious  for  their  benefit,  always  insisting  upon  commas 
and  full  stops,  always  a  stickler  for  rules  and  regulations, 
and  so  terribly  punctual  that  not  one  of  the  clerks  failed  to  be 
in  his  place  before  he  came  in. 

Baudoyer  "^used  to  wear  a  coat  of  cornflower  blue  with 
yellow  buttons,  a  buff  waistcoat,  gray  trousers,  and  a  colored 
stock.  He  had  big  feet,  and  his  boots  fitted  him  badly.  His 
watch  chain  was  adorned  with  a  huge  bunch  of  seals  and 
trinkets,  among  which  he  still  retained  the  "American  seeds" 
which  used  to  be  the  fashion  in  the  year  VII. ;  and  this  in 
1824 ! 

The  restraints  of  reli^ion^and  rigid  habits  of  life  were 
forces  that  bound  this  family  together;  they  had,  moreover, 
one  common  aim  to  unite  them — the  thought  of  making 
money  was  the  compass  which  guided  their  course.  Elizabeth 
Baudoyer  was  obliged  to  commune  with  herself  for  lack  of 
any  one  to  comprehend  her  ideas;  for  she  felt  that  she  was 
not  among  equals  who  could  understand  them.  Facts  had 
compelled  her  to  form  her  ov^m  conclusions  of  her  husband, 
but  as  a  woman  of  rigid  principle  she  did  her  best  to  keep  up 
M.  Baudoyer's  reputation;  she  showed  profoimd  respect  for 
him,  honoring  in  him  the  father  of  her  child  and  her  hus- 
band; the  "temporal  power,"  in  short,  as  the  Abbe  Gaudron 
put  it.  For  which  reason  she  would  have  thought  it  a  deadly  sin 
to  allow  a  stranger  to  read  her  real  opinion  of  her  vapid  mate 
in  any  glance,  or  gesture,  or  word.  She  even  professed  a 
passive  obedience  to  his  will  in  all  things.  Eumors  of  the 
outer  world  reached  her  ears,  she  noted  them  and  made  her 
own  comparisons;  and  so  sound  was  her  judgment  of  men 
and  affairs,  that  she  became  an  oracle  in  private  for  the  two 
functionaries.  Indeed,  at  the  time  when  this  history  begins, 
they  had  unconsciously  reached  the  point  of  doing  nothing 
without  consulting  her. 

"She  is  a  sharp  one,  is  Elizabeth !"  old  Saillard  used  to 
say  ingenuously.  But  Baudoyer  was  too  much  of  a  fool  not 
to  be  puffed  up  by  his  ill-founded  reputation  in  the  Quartier 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  203 

Saint-Antoine.  He  would  not  allow  that  his  wife  was  clever, 
while  he  turned  her  cleverness  to  account.  Elizabeth  felt 
convinced  that  her  uncle  Bidault,  alias  Gigonnet,  must  be 
a  rich  man,  a  capitalist  with  an  enormous  turnover.  By  the 
light  of  self-interest,  she  read  des  Lupeaulx  better  than  the 
Minister  read  him.  She  saw  that  she  was  mated  with  a  fool; 
she  shrewdly  suspected  that  life  might  have  been  something 
very  different  for  her;  but  she  preferred  to  leave  that  might- 
have-been  unexplored.  All  the  gentle  affections  of  Elizabeth's 
nature  found  satisfaction  in  her  daughter;  she  spared  her 
little  girl  the  drudgery  that  she  had  known ;  she  loved  her 
child,  and  thought  that  this  was  all  that  could  be  expected  of 
her.  It  was  for  that  daughter's  sake  that  she  had  persuaded 
her  father  to  take  the  ordinary  step  of  going  into  partnership 
with  Falleix.  Falleix  had  been  introduced  to  the  family  by 
old  Bidault,  who  lent  him  money  on  pledges.  But  Falleix 
found  his  old  fellow  countryman  too  dear;  he  complained 
with  much  candor  before  the  Saillards  that  Gigonnet  was 
asking  eighteen  per  cent  of  an  Auvergnat.  Old  Mme.  Sail- 
lard  went  so  far  as  to  reproach  her  relative. 

"It  is  just  because  he  is  an  Auvergnat  that  I  only  ask 
eighteen  per  cent!"  retorted  Gigonnet.  It  was  about  that 
time  that  Falleix,  aged  twenty-eight,  had  hit  upon  a  new  in- 
vention. It  seemed  to  Saillard,  to  whom  he  explained  it, 
that  the  young  man  "talked  straight"  (to  use  an  expression 
from  Saillard's  dictionary),  and  that  there  was  a  fortune  to 
be  made  out  of  his  idea.  Elizabeth  at  once  conceived  the 
notion  of  keeping  Falleix  to  "simmer"  for  her  daughter,  and 
forming  her  son-in-law  herself.  She  was  looking  seven  years 
ahead.  Martin  Falleix's  respect  for  Mme.  Baudoyer  knew  no 
bounds;  he  recognized  her  intellectual  superiority.  If  he 
had  made  millions,  he  would  still  have  been  devoted  to  the 
house,  where  he  was  made  one  of  the  family  circle.  Eliza- 
beth's little  girl  had  been  taught  already  to  fill  his  glass 
prettily  and  to  take  his  hat  when  he  came. 

When  M.  Saillard  came  home  after  the  Minister's  dinner 


204  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

party,  the  game  of  boston  was  in  full  swing.  Elizabeth  was 
advising  Falleix ;  old  Mme.  Saillard,  knitting  in  the  fireside 
corner,  was  looking  over  the  curate's  hand ;  and  M.  Baudoyer, 
impassive  as  a  mile-stone,  was  exerting  his  intelligence  to 
discover  where  the  cards  were.  Mitral  sat  opposite.  He  had 
come  up  from  Ile-Adam  for  Christmas.  Nobody  moved 
when  Saillard  came  in.  For  several  minutes  he  walked  up 
and  down  the  room,  his  broad  countenance  puckered  by  un- 
wonted mental  exercise. 

"It  is  always  the  way  when  he  dines  with  the  Minister; 
luckily,  it  only  happens  twice  a  year,  or  they  would  just  kill 
him  outright,"  remarked  Mme.  Saillard.  "Saillard  was  not 
made  to  be  in  the  government "  Aloud  she  added,  "Sail- 
lard, I  say,  I  hope  j^ou  are  not  going  to  keep  your  best  clothes 
on,  your  silk  breeches,  and  Elbeuf  cloth  coat  ?  Just  go  and 
take  your  things  off;  don"t  wear  them  out  here  for  nothing; 
■ma  mere." 

"There  is  something  the  matter  with  your  father,"  Baudoyer 
remarked  to  his  wife,  when  the  cashier  had  gone  to  change 
his  clothes  in  his  tireless  room. 

"Perhaps  M.  de  la  Billardiere  is  dead,"  Elizabeth  re- 
turned simply ;  "he  is  anxious  that  you  should  have  the  place, 
and  that  worries  him." 

"If  I  can  be  of  service  to  you  in  any  way,  command  me," 
said  the  curate  of  Saint  Paul's,  with  a  bow ;  "I  have  the  honor 
to  be  known  to  Mme.  la  Dauphine.  In  our  times  all  offices 
should  be  filled  by  devoted  subjects  and  men  of  staunch  re- 
ligious principle." 

"Oh  come!"  said  Falleix;  "do  men  of  merit  want  patron- 
age if  they  are  to  get  on  in  your  line?  I  did  the  right  thing 
when  I  turned  brass-founder;  custom  comes  to  find  you  out 
if  you  make  a  good  article." 

"The  Government,  sir,  is  the  Government,"  interrupted 
Baudoyer ;  "never  attack  it  here." 

"You  are  talking  like  the  Constitutionnel,  in  fact,"  said 
the  curate. 

"Just  the  sort  of  thing  the  Constitiifionvel  always  says," 
assented  Baudoyer,  who  never  sav/  the  paper. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  205 

The  cashier  fully  believed  that  his  son-in-law  was  as  much 
Eabourdin's  superior  in  intellect  "as  God  was  above  St, 
Crispin"  (to  use  his  own  expression)  ;  still,  the  good  soul's 
desire  for  the  step  was  a  guileless  wish.  He  wanted  success ; 
he  wanted  it  as  all  employes  want  their  step,  with  a  vehement, 
intense,  unreflecting,  brutal  desire  to  get  on;  but,  at  the 
same  time,  he  must  have  it,  as  he  wished  to  have  the  Cross 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  to  wit,  entirely  through  his  own 
merits,  and  with  a  clear  conscience.  To  his  way  of  thinking, 
if  a  man  had  sat  for  twenty-five  years  behind  a  grating  in  a 
public  office,  he  might  be  said  to  have  given  his  life  for  his 
country,  and  had  fairly  earned  the  Cross.  He  could  think 
of  no  way  of  serving  the  interests  of  his  son-in-law,  save  by 
putting  in  a  word  for  him  with  the  Minister's  wife  when  he 
took  her  the  monthly  stipend. 

"Well,  Saillard,  you  look  as  if  you  had  lost  all  your  rela- 
tives! Speak  out,  my  boy,  pray  tell  us  something,"  cried 
Mme.  Saillard  when  he  came  in  again. 

Saillard  turned  on  his  heel,  with  a  sign  to  his  daughter, 
intimating  that  politics  were  forbidden  while  visitors  were 
present. 

When  M.  Mitral  and  the  curate  had  taken,  their  departure, 
Saillard  pushed  back  the  table,  and  sat  down  in  his  armchair. 
He  had  a  way  of  seating  himself  which  meant  that  a  piece  of 
office  gossip  was  about  to  be  communicated;  a  sequence  of 
movements  as  unmistakable  as  the  three  raps  on  the  stage  at 
the  Comedie-Frangaise.  First  of  all,  he  pledged  his  wife 
and  daughter  and  son-in-law  to  the  most  profound  secrecy 
(for  however  mild  the  gossip  might  be,  their  places,  so  he 
was  wont  to  say,  depended  upon  their  discretion)  ;  then  he 
brought  out  his  incomprehensible  riddle.  How  a  deputy  was 
about  to  resign;  how  the  secretary-general,  very  reasonably, 
wanted  to  be  nominated  to  succeed  him ;  how  the  Minister  was 
privately  thwarting  the  wish  of  one  of  his  firmest  supporters 
and  most  zealous  servants ;  and  lastly,  how  the  age  limit  and 
pecuniary  qualifications  had  been  discussed.  Then  came  an 
avalanche  of  conjectures,  washed  away  by  a  torrent  of  argu- 


206  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

ments  on  the  part  of  the  two  officials,  who  kept  up  an  exchange 
of  ponderous  banalities.  As  for  Elizabeth,  she  asked  but 
three  questions. 

"If  M.  des  Lupeaulx  is  for  us,  can  he  carry  Baudoyer's 
nomination  ?" 

"Quien!     Begad,  he  could!"  cried  the  cashier. 

Elizabeth  pondered  this.  "In  1814,  Uncle  Bidault  and  his 
friend  Gobseck  obliged  him,"  she  thought.  Aloud  she  asked, 
"Is  he  still  in  debt  ?" 

"Yes-s-s,"  said  the  cashier,  with  a  doleful  prolongation  of 
the  final  sibilant.  "They  tried  to  attach  his  salary,  but  they 
were  stopped  by  an  order  from  headquarters,  an  injunction 
at  sight." 

"Then,  where  is  his  estate  of  the  Lupeaulx?" 

"Quien!  begad!  Your  grandfather  and  great-uncle 
Bidault  came  from  the  place,  so  did  Falleix;  it  is  not  far 
from  the  arrondissement  of  this  deputy  that  is  coming  off 
guard " 

When  her  colossus  of  a  husband  was  in  bed,  Elizabeth  bent 
over  him,  and  though  he  had  sneered  at  her  questions  for 
"crotchets,"  she  said: 

"Dear,  perhaps  you  are  going  to  have  M.  de  la  Billardiere's 
place." 

"There  you  are  again  with  your  fancies !"  cried  Baudoyer. 
"Just  leave  M.  Gaudron  to  speak  to  the  Dauphiness,  and  don't 
meddle  with  the  office." 

At  eleven  o'clock,  just  as  all  was  quiet  in  the  Place  Royale, 
M.  des  Lupeaulx  left  the  Opera  to  go  to  the  Eue  Duphot. 
It  chanced  to  be  one  of  Mme.  Rabourdin's  most  brilliant 
Wednesdays.  A  good  many  frequenters  of  her  house  had  come 
in  after  the  theatre  to  swell  the  groups  already  assembled  in 
her  rooms,  and  many  celebrities  were  there :  Canalis  the  poet, 
the  painter  Schinner,  Dr.  Bianchon,  Lucien  de  Rubempre, 
Octave  de  Camps,  the  Comte  de  Granville,  the  Vicomte  de 
Fontaine,  du  Bruel,  writer  of  vaudevilles,  Andoche  Finot  the 
journalist,  Derville,  one  of  the  longest-headed  lawyers  of  the 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  207 

day ;  the  Comte  du  Chatelet,  and  du  Tillet  the  banker,  were  all 
present,  with  several  young  men  of  fashion  like  Paul  de 
Manerville  and  the  young  Vicomte  de  Portenduere. 

Celestine  was  dispensing  tea  when  the  secretary-general 
came  in.  Her  dress  suited  her  well  that  evening.  She  wore 
a  perfectly  plain  black  velvet  gown  and  a  black  gauze  scarf ; 
her  hair  was  carefully  smoothed  beneath  a  high  coronet  of 
plaits,  ringlets  in  the  English  fashion  fell  on  each  side  of  her 
face.  Her  chief  distinction  was  an  artist's  Italian  negligence, 
the  ease  with  which  she  understood  everything,  and  her 
gracious  way  of  welcoming  her  friends'  least  wishes.  Nature 
had  given  her  a  slender  figure,  so  that  she  could  turn  swiftly 
at  the  first  questioning  word ;  her  eyes  were  Oriental  in  shape, 
and  obliquely  set  in  Chinese  fashion,  so  that  they  could  glance 
sidewards.  Her  soft,  insinuating  voice  was  so  well  under 
control,  that  she  could  throw  a  caressing  charm  into  every 
word,  even  her  most  spontaneous  utterances;  her  feet  were 
such  as  you  only  see  in  portraits,  for  in  this  one  respect 
painters  may  flatter  their  sitters  without  sinning  against  the 
laws  of  anatomy.  Like  most  brunettes,  she  looked  a  little 
sallow  by  daylight,  but  at  night  her  complexion  was  dazzling, 
setting  off  her  dark  eyes  and  hair.  Lastly,  the  firm,  slender 
outlines  of  her  form  put  an  artist  in  mind  of  the  Venus  v>f 
the  Middle  Ages  discovered  by  Jean  Goujon,  the  great  sculptor 
favored  by  Diane  de  Poitiers. 

Des  Lupeaulx  stopped  in  the  doorway,  and  leaned  his 
shoulder  against  the  frame.  He  was  accustomed  to  spy  out 
men's  ideas ;  he  could  not  refuse  himself  the  pleasure  of  spy- 
ing a  woman's  feelings ;  for  Celestine  interested  him  far  more 
than  any  woman  had  done  before.  And  des  Lupeaulx  had 
reached  an  age  when  men  claim  much  from  women.  The  first 
white  hairs  are  the  signal  for  the  last  passions;  and  these 
are  the  most  tumultuous  of  all,  for  they  are  stimulated  by  the 
last  heat  of  youth  and  the  sense  of  exhaustion.  The  fortieth 
year  is  the  age  for  follies,  the  age  when  a  man  desires  to  be 
loved  for  his  own  sake.  To  love  at  forty  is  no  longer  sufficient 
in  itself,  as  it  used  to  be  when  he  was  young,  and  could  be 


208  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

happy  in  falling  in  love  at  random  in  Cherubino's  fashion. 
At  forty  nothing  less  than  all  will  satisfy  a  man,  and  he  is 
afraid  lest  he  should  obtain  nothing;  whereas  at  five-and- 
twenty,  he  has  so  much,  that  it  is  not  worth  while  to  exert 
his  will.  There  is  so  much  strength  to  spare  at  five-and- 
twenty,  that  it  may  be  squandered  with  impunity;  but  at 
forty  a  man  takes  abuse  of  strength  for  vigor.  The  thoughts 
that  filled  des  Lupeaulx's  mind  at  this  moment  were  surely 
melanchol}^  ones,  for  the  elderly  beau's  countenance  had 
visibly  lengthened;  the  agreeable  smile  which  lent  expression 
to  his  face,  and  did  duty  as  a  mask,  had  ceased  to  contract 
his  features;  the  real  man  was  visible;  it  was  not  a  pleasant 
sight.     Eabourdin  noticed  it. 

"What  has  come  to  him?"'  he  wondered.  "Is  he  in  dis- 
grace ?"  But  the  secretary-general  was  merely  reflecting  that  he 
had  been  dropped  once  before  somewhat  too  promptly  by  pretty 
Mme.  Colleville,  whose  intentions  had  been  precisely  the  same 
as  Celestine's  own.  Eabourdin  also  saw  that  the  would-be 
statesman's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  his  wife;  and  he  made  a 
note  of  their  expression  in  his  memory.  Eabourdin  was  too 
clearsighted  an  observer  not  to  see  through  des  Lupeaulx; 
indeed,  he  felt  the  most  thorough  contempt  for  the  secretary- 
general  ;  but  if  a  man  is  much  engrossed  by  some  pursuit,  his 
feelings  are  less  apt  to  rise  to  the  surface,  and  mental  ab- 
sorption in  the  work  that  he  loves  is  equivalent  to  the  clever- 
est dissimulation  of  his  attitude  of  mind.  For  this  reason, 
Eabourdin's  opinions  were  like  a  sealed  book  to  des  Lupeaulx. 
The  chief  clerk  was  displeased  by  the  iipstart  politician's  pres- 
ence in  his  house;  but  he  had  not  cared  to  cross  Celestine's 
will.  He  happened  to  be  chatting  confidentially  at  the 
moment  with  a  supernumerary,  a  young  clerk  destined  to 
play  a  part  in  the  intrigue  set  on  foot  by  la  Billardiere's  ap- 
proaching death,  so  that  it  was  but  a  wandering  attention  that 
he  gave  to  Celestine  and  des  Lupeaulx. 

Some  account  of  the  supernumerary  ought  perhaps  to  be 
given  here  for  the  benefit  of  our  nephews,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  for  the  edification  of  foreign  readers. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  209 


The  supernumerary  is  to  the  administration  what  the 
chorister  boy  is  to  the  church ;  what  the  child  of  the  company 
is  to  the  regiment,  or  the  "rat"  to  the  theatre — an  ingenuous, 
innocent  being,  a  creature  blinded  by  illusions.  How  far 
should  we  go  without  illusions  ?  On  the  strength  of  illusions 
we  struggle  with  the  difficulties  of  art  while  we  scarce  keep 
the  wolf  from  the  door,  we  digest  the  rudiments  of  the  sciences 
with  faith  drawn  from  the  same  source.  Illusions  mean  un- 
bounded faith,  and  the  supernumerary  has  faith  in  the  ad- 
ministration. He  does  not  take  it  for  the  unfeeling,  cold- 
blooded, hard-hearted  system  that  it  is. 

Of  supernumeraries,  there  are  but  two  kinds — the  well-to- 
do  and  the  poor.  The  poor  supernumerary  is  rich  in  hope, 
and  needs  a  berth;  the  well-to-do  supernumerary  is  poor  in 
spirit,  and  has  need  of  nothing.  No  well-to-do  family  is  so 
simple  as  to  put  a  man  of  brains  into  the  administration.  The 
well-to-do  supernumerary  is  usually  committed  to  the  care  of 
a  senior  clerk,  or  placed  under  the  eye  of  a  director-general, 
to  undergo  his  initiation  into  the  "pure  comedy"  of  the  civil 
service,  as  it  would  be  styled  by  that  profound  philosopher 
Bilboquet.  The  horrors  of  probation  are  mitigated  for  him 
until  he  receives  a  definite  appointment.  Government  offices 
are  never  afraid  of  the  well-to-do  supernumerary.  The  clerks 
all  know  that  he  is  not  at  all  dangerous ;  he  aims  at  nothing 
short  of  the  highest  places  in  the  service. 

At  this  time  many  families  were  asking,  "What  shall  we 
do  with  our  boys?"  There  were  no  chances  of  getting  on  in 
the  army.  Special  careers,  such  as  the  navy,  the  mines,  civil 
and  military  engineering,  and  professorships,  are  either 
hedged  about  with  regulations,  or  closed  by  competition; 
whereas  the  rotatory  movement  which  metamorphoses  clerks 
in  a  government  office  into  prefects,  sub-prefects,  or  receivers 
and  controllers  of  taxes,  and  the  like  (in  much  the  same  way 
as  the  little  figures  revolve  in  a  magic-lantern), — this  move- 
ment, to  repeat,  is  subject  to  no  rules,  and  there  are  no  terms 
to  keep.  Through  this  hole  in  the  administrative  system, 
therefore,   behold   the   well-to-do    supernumeraries   emerge; 


210  THE  OOVERXMENT  CLERKS 

these  are  youug  men  who  drive  cabs  about  town,  and  wear 
good  clothes  and  moustaches,  and  behave,  one  and  all  of  them, 
as  insolently  as  any  self-made  upstart.  The  well-to-do  super- 
numerary was  almost  invariably  a  nephew  or  a  cousin  or  a 
relative  of  some  minister,  or  civil  servant,  or  of  a  very  in- 
fluential peer.  Journalists  used  to  be  pretty  hard  upon  him ; 
not  so  the  established  clerks ;  they  aided  and  abetted  the  young 
gentleman,  and  made  interest  with  him. 

But  the  poor  supernumerary  (the  only  genuine  kind)  is, 
in  nearly  every  case,  a  widow's  son.  His  father  before  him 
probably  was  a  clerk  in  a  government  office ;  his  mother  lives 
on  a  meagre  pension,  and  starves  herself  to  support  her  boy 
till  he  can  get  a  permanent  post  as  copying  clerk;  she  dies 
while  he  is  within  sight  of  that  marshal's  baton  of  the  pro- 
fession— the  post  of  draughting  clerk,  with  a  prospect  of 
drawing  up  reports  and  formulating  orders  for  the  term  of 
his  natural  life,  or  even  a  problematical  chance  of  becoming 
a  senior  clerk.  This  kind  of  supernumerary  always  lives  in 
some  neighborhood  where  rents  are  low,  and  leaves  it  at  an 
early  hour.  For  him  the  state  of  the  weather  is  the  real 
Eastern  Question.  He  must  walk  the  whole  way  to  the  office, 
and  keep  his  boots  clean,  and  take  care  of  his  clothes ;  he  must 
make  allowance  for  the  time  that  he  is  like  to  lose  if  a  heavy 
shower  forces  him  to  take  shelter.  The  supernumerary  has 
plenty  to  think  about !  Pavements  in  the  streets  and  flag- 
stones along  the  quays  and  boulevards  were  boons  indeed  for 
him.  If  any  strange  chance  should  bring  you  out  into  the 
streets  of  Paris  between  half-past  seven  and  eight  o'clock  of  a 
winter  morning,  when  there  is  a  sharp  frost,  or  the  weather 
is  generally  unpleasant;  and  if,  furthermore,  you  happen  to 
see  a  pallid,  timorous  youth  walking  along  without  a  cigar 
in  his  mouth — look  at  his  pocket ;  you  are  pretty  sure  to  dis- 
cover the  outlines  of  the  roll  which  his  mother  gave  him  when 
lie  left  home,  so  that  he  might  hold  out,  without  damage  to 
his  internal  economy,  through  the  nine  long  hours  that  sepa- 
rate breakfast  from  dinner.  The  period  of  unsophisticated 
innocence  is,  however,  but  short.     By  the  light  of  a  very  little 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLEUKS  211 

knowledge  of  life  in  Paris,  a  lad  soon  acquires  a  notion  of  the 
awful  distance  between  a  supernumerary  and  a  copying  clerk ; 
a  dist-ance  which  neither  Archimedes,  nor  Newton,  nor  Pascal, 
nor  Leibnitz,  nor  Kepler,  nor  Laplace,  nor  any  other  mathe- 
matician can  compute.  It  is  the  difference  between  zero  and 
the  unit,  between  a  problematical  bonus  and  a  regularly  paid 
salary.  The  supernumerary  accordingly  is  pretty  quick  to 
see  the  impossibilities  of  the  career;  he  hears  the  talk  of  the 
clerks ;  they  explain  to  him  how  So-and-so  was  promoted  over 
their  heads.  By  and  by  he  discovers  the  intrigues  of  govern- 
ment offices;  he  finds  out  how  his  superiors  were  promoted, 
and  the  extraordinary  circumstances  that  led  to  their  suc- 
cess. One,  for  instance,  married  a  young  lady  with  a  past ; 
another  took  to  wife  the  natural  daughter  of  a  minister;  yet 
another  took  a  heavy  responsibility  upon  his  shoulders ;  while 
a  fourth,  an  extremely  able  man,  imperiled  his  health  with 
working  like  a  galley-slave;  but  this  last  employe  had  the 
perseverance  of  a  mole,  and  not  every  man  feels  himself 
capable  of  performing  such  feats.  Everything  is  known 
in  the  office.  Sometimes  an  incompetent  man  has  a  wife  with 
plenty  of  brains;  she  brought  him  thus  far;  it  was  she  who 
secured  his  nomination  as  a  deputy;  and  though  he  has  no 
capacity  for  work,  he  can  intrigue  in  a  small  way  in  the 
Chamber.  So-and-so  has  an  intimate  friend  in  a  states- 
man's wife.  Such-an-one  is  in  league  with  a  formidable 
journalist. 

Then  the  supernumerary  is  disgusted  and  hands  in  his 
resignation.  Three-fourths  of  the  supernumeraries  leave  be- 
fore they  secure  permanent  berths.  Those  that  remain  are 
either  dogged  young  men  or  simpletons  that  say  to  them- 
selves, "I  have  been  here  for  three  years,  I  shall  get  a  berth  if 
I  stay  on  long  enough !"  or  those  that  feel  conscious  of  a 
vocation.  Clearly  the  supernumerary  is,  in  the  administra- 
tion, pretty  much  what  the  novice  is  in  religious  orders.  He 
is  passing  through  his  probation,  and  the  trial  is  severe.  In 
the  course  of  it  the  State  discovers  the  men  that  can  bear 
hunger  and  thirst  and  want  without  giving  way  under  the 


212  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

strain;  men  whom  drudger}^  does  not  disgust;  the  tempera- 
ment that  will  accept  the  horrible  life,  the  disease,  if  you 
prefer  it,  of  a  Government  office.  The  supernumerary  system 
from  this  point  of  view,  so  far  from  being  a  scandalous  at- 
tempt on  the  part  of  the  Government  to  get  work  done 
for  noUiing,  might  fairly  be  regarded  as  a  beneficent  institu- 
tion. 

The  joung  fellow  with  whom  Rabourdin  was  speaking  was 
a  poor  supernumerary,  by  name  Sebastien  de  la  Roche.  He 
had  walked  on  tiptoe  from  the  Rue  du  Roi  Dore,  in  the  Marais, 
but  there  was  not  the  slightest  speck  of  mud  on  his  clothes, 
lie  spoke  of  his  "mamma,"  and  dared  not  lift  his  eyes  to  look 
at  Mme.  Rabourdin.  Her  house  seemed  to  him  to  be  a  second 
Louvre.  His  poor  mother  had  given  him  a  five-franc  piece  in 
case  it  should  be  absolutely  necessary  to  play;  admonishing 
him,  at  the  same  time,  to  take  nothing,  to  stand  the  whole  time, 
and  to  be  very  careful  not  to  upset  a  lamp  or  any  of  the  pretty 
trifles  on  the  whatnots.  He  was  dressed  entirely  in  black ; 
his  gloves  had  been  cleaned  with  india.-rubber,  and  he  exhibited 
them  as  little  as  possible.  His  fair  complexion  and  bright 
hazel  eyes,  with  gleams  of  gold  in  them,  suited  well  with  his 
thick  red-brown  hair.  Now  and  again  the  poor  boy  would 
steal  a  glance  at  Mme.  Rabourdin.  "What  a  beautiful  wo- 
man !"  he  said  to  himself ;  and  when  he  went  home  that  night, 
he  thought  of  the  fairy  till  sleep  closed  his  eyes. 

Rabourdin  saw  that  Sebastien  had  the  making  of  a  good 
clerk  in  him;  and  as  he  took  his  position  of  supernumerary 
seriously,  the  chief  clerk  was  very  much  interested  in  the 
poor  boy.  And  not  only  so,  he  had  made  a  pretty  correct 
guess  at  the  poverty  in  the  home  of  a  poor  widow  with  a 
pension  of  seven  hundred  francs ;  Sebastien  had  not  long  left 
school,  his  education  must  necessarily  have  eaten  into  her 
savings.  So  Rabourdin  had  been  quite  like  a  father  to  the 
supernumerary ;  he  had  often  gone  out  of  his  way  at  the  board 
to  get  a  bonus  for  him;  sometimes,  indeed,  he  had  paid  the 
money  out  of  his  own  pocket  when  the  argument  had  grown 
too  warm  with  the  distributers  of  favor. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  213 

Then  he  heaped  work  upon  Sebastien ;  he  was  training  him ; 
he  made  him  fill  du  Bruel's  place;  and  du  Bruel,  a  play- 
wright known  to  the  dramatic  world  and  the  public  by  the 
pseudonym  of  de  Cursy,  paid  Sebastien  a  hundred  crowns 
out  of  his  salary.  Mnie.  de  la  Eoche  and  her  son  regarded 
Rabourdin  as  a  great  man,  a  guardian  angel  and  a  tyrant 
blended  in  one;  all  their  hopes  depended  on  him.  Sebastien 
always  looked  forward  to  the  time  when  he  should  be  an  es- 
tablished clerk.  Ah !  it  is  a  great  day  for  the  supernumerary 
when  he  signs  his  receipt  for  his  salary  for  the  first  time. 
Many  a  time  he  has  fingered  the  money  for  the  first  month, 
and  the  whole  of  it  is  not  paid  over  to  the  mother.  Venus 
smiles  upon  these  first  payments  from  the  ministerial  cash- 
box.  This  hope  could  only  be  realized  for  Sebastien  by  M. 
Rabourdin,  his  only  protector;  and  accordingly,  the  lad's 
devotion  to  his  chief  was  unbounded.  Twice  a  month  he 
dined  in  the  Rue  Duphot;  but  only  with  the  family,  and 
Rabourdin  always  brought  him  home.  Madame  never  gave 
him  an  invitation  except  to  balls,  when  dancing  young  men 
were  wanted.  At _the_si^lit.  of  the  awful  des  Lupeaulx  his 
heart  beat  fast.  One  of  the  Minister's  carriages  used  to 
come  for  des  Lupeaulx  at  half-past  four,  just  as  he  himself 
was  opening  his  umbrella  under  the  archway  before  setting 
off  for  the  Marais.  His  fate  depended  upon  the  secretary- 
general;  one  word  from  the  man  in  the  doorway  could  give 
him  a  berth  and  a  salary  of  twelve  hundred  francs.  (Twelve 
hundred  francs !  It  was  the  height  of  his  ambition ;  he  and 
his  mother  could  live  in  comfort  on  such  a  stipend.)  And 
yet,  the  secretary-general  did  not  know  him.  Des  Lupeaulx 
was  scarcely  aware  there  was  such  a  person  as  Sebastien  de  la 
Roche.  If  la  Billardiere's  son,  a  well-to-do  supernumerary 
in  Baudoyer's  office,  chanced  to  be  under  the  archway  at  the 
same  time,  des  Lupeaulx  never  failed  to  give  him  a  friendly 
nod;  but  then  M.  Benjamin  de  la  Billardiere  was  the  son  of 
a  minister's  cousin. 

At  this  particular  moment  Rabourdin  was  giving  poor  little 

Sebastien  a  scolding.     Sebastien  was  the  only  person  wholly 
14 


214  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

in  the  secret  of  Kabourdin's  vast  labors ;  Sebastien  had  copied 
and  recopied  the  famous  memorial  on  a  hundred  and  fifty 
sheets  of  foolscap,  to  say  nothing  of  tabulated  statistics  in 
support  of  the  argument,  abstracts  on  loose  leaves,  whole 
columns  of  bracketed  calculations,  headings  in  capital  letters, 
and  sub-headings  in  round  hand.  The  mechanical  part  that 
he  played  in  a  great  design  had  kindled  enthusiasm  in  the  lad 
of  twenty,  he  would  copy  out  a  whole  table  again  after  a 
single  erasure;  he  took  a  pride  in  the  handwriting  that 
counted  for  something  in  so  great  an  enterprise. 

Sebastien  had  been  so  thoughtless  as  to  take  the  most  dan- 
gerous rough  draft  of  all  to  the  office  in  order  to  finish  the  fair 
copy.  This  was  a  list  of  all  the  men  in  the  head  offices  in 
Paris,  with  notes  of  their  prospects,  their  present  circum- 
stances, and  private  occupations  after  hours. 

Most  civil  servants  in  Paris  eke  out  their  salaries  by  some 
supplementary  method  of  gaining  a  livelihood;  unless,  like 
Eabourdin,  they  possess  patriotic  ambition  or  mental  superi- 
ority. Like  M.  Saillard,  they  become  sleeping  partners  in  a 
business,  and  go  through  the  books  at  night.  A  good  many 
clerks,  again,  marry  seamstresses,  or  manageresses  of  lottery 
offices,  or  their  wives  keep  tobacconists'  shops  or  reading- 
rooms.  Some,  like  Mme.  Colleville's  husband  (Mme.  Colle- 
ville,  it  may  be  remembered,  was  Celestine's  rival),  have  a 
place  in  a  theatre  orchestra.  Yet  others,  like  du  Bruel,  for 
instance,  write  plays,  comic  operas,  and  melodramas,  or  take 
to  stage-management.  Witness  Messrs.  Sewrin,  Pixerecourt, 
Planard,  and  others  as  instances  in  point.  Pigault-Lebrun, 
Piis,  and  Duvicquet  held  posts  in  the  civil  service  in  their 
time ;  and  M.  Scribe's  first  publisher  was  a  Treasury  clerk. 

Eabourdin's  inventory  contained  other  details.  It  was  an 
inquiry  into  the  personal  characteristics  of  individuals.  Some 
statement  of  their  mental  and  physical  capacities  must  of 
necessity  be  included  in  the  survey  if  the  Government  was  to 
recognize  those  who  combined  intelligence  and  aptitude  for 
work  with  good  health,  for  these  are  three  indispensable 
qualifications  in  men  who  must  bear  the  burden  of  public 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  215 

business  and  do  everything  well  and  quickly.  The  inventory 
was  a  great  piece  of  work;  it  was  the  outcome  of  ten  years 
of  labor,  and  a  long  experience  of  men  and  affairs  acquired 
in  the  course  of  intimacies  with  the  heads  of  other  depart- 
ments ;  but  still  it  would  savor  somewhat  of  espionage,  if  it  fell 
into  the  hands  of  those  who  did  not  understand  the  drift  of 
it.  If  other  eyes  saw  a  single  sheet,  M.  Eabourdin  was  ruined. 
Sebastien's  admiration  for  his  chief  was  unbounded,  and  he 
knew  nothing  as  yet  of  the  petty  spite  of  bureaucracy.  He 
had  had  the  disadvantages  of  simplicity  as  well  as  its  charm. 
So,  although  he  had  just  been  scolded  for  taking  the  sheet 
to-  his  office,  he  had  the  courage  to  make  a  full  confession. 
The  rough  draft  and  the  fair  copy  were  at  the  office  at  that 
moment ;  he  had  put  them  away  in  a  case  where  no  one  could 
possibly  find  them.  But  as  he  saw  the  gravity  of  his  mistake, 
the'  tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

"Goihe,  come,  sir,"  Eabourdin  added  good-naturedly,  "let 
us  have  no  more  imprudence;  but  do  not  distress  yourself. 
Go  down  to  the  office  very  early  to-morrow  morning.  Here  is 
the  key  of  a  box  in  my  cylinder  desk;  it  has  a  letter  lock; 
open  it  with  the  word  del,  and  put  the  rough  draft  and  the 
copy  safely  away." 

This  piece  of  confidence  dried  the  lad's  tears.  His  chief 
tried  to  induce  him  to  take  tea  and  cake. 

"Mamma  told  me  not  to  take  tea  because  of  my  digestion," 
said  Sebastien. 

"Very  well,  my  dear  boy,  here  are  some  sandwiches  and 
cream ;  come  and  sit  beside  me,"  said  the  awe-inspiring  Mme. 
Eabourdin,  ostentatiously  gracious.  She  made  Sebastien  sit 
by  her  side  at  the  table;  and  the  light  touch  of  the  goddess' 
dress  as  it  brushed  his  coat  brought  the  poor  boy's  heart  into 
his  mouth.  But  at  this  moment  the  fair  lady  saw  des  Lu- 
peaulx,  and  instead  of  waiting  till  he  came  to  her,  she  went 
smiling  towards  him. 

"Why  do  you  stay  there  as  if  you  were  sulking  with  us?" 
she  asked. 

"I  was  not  sulking,"  he  replied.      "But  when  I  came  to 


216  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLEUKS 

bring  you  a  bit  of  good  news,  I  could  not  help  thinking  to 
m3'self  that  you  would  be  more  cruel  now  than  ever.  I  fore- 
saw that  six  months  hence  I  should  be  almost  a  stranger  to 
you.  No ;  we  cannot  dupe  each  other — you  have  too  much  in- 
telligence, and  I  on  my  side  have  had  too  much  experience 
— I  have  been  taken  in  too  often,  if  you  like  it  better.  Your 
end  is  attained ;  it  has  cost  you  nothing  but  smiles  and  a  few 
gracious  words " 

"Dupe  each  other !"  she  repeated,  apparently  half  offended ; 
"what  do  you  mean  ?"' 

"Yes.  M.  de  la  Billardiere  is  worse  again  to-day;  and 
from  what  the  Minister  said  to  me,  your  husband  is  certain 
to  be  head  of  the  division." 

He  gave  her  the  history  of  his  "scene"  with  the  Minister 
(for  so  he  was  pleased  to  call  it),  of  the  Countess'  jealousy, 
and  what  she  had  said  with  regard  to  the  invitation. 

"Monsieur  des  Lupeaulx,"  the  lady  returned  with  dignity, 
"permit  me  to  point  out  to  you  that  my  husband  is  the  most 
capable  chief  clerk ;  that  he  stands  first  in  seniority ;  that  old 
la  Billardiere's  appointment  over  his  head  made  a  sensation 
all  through  the  service ;  that  he  has  done  the  work  of  the  head 
of  the  division  for  the  past  twelve  months ;  and  that  we  have 
neither  competitor  nor  rival." 
,  "That  is  true." 
y  "Well,"  she  continued,  with  a  smile  that  displayed  the 
prettiest  teeth  in  the  world,  "can  my  friendship  for  you  be 
spotted  with  any  thought  of  self-interest  ?  Can  you  think  me 
capable  of  it?" 

Des  Lupeaulx  signified  his  admiring  incredulity. 

"Ah !"  cried  she,  "a  woman's  heart  will  always  be  a  secret 
for  the  cleverest  of  you  men.  Yes,  I  have  seen  your  visits 
here  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  and  there  was  a  thought  of 
self-interest  at  the  back  of  the  pleasure." 

"Oh !" 

"You  have  an  unbounded  future  before  you,"  she  con- 
tinued, lowering  her  voice  for  his  ear;  "you  will  be  a  deputy 
and  a  minister  some  day!"     (How  pleasant  it  is  to  an  am- 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  217 

bitious  man  to  have  such  words  as  these  murmured  in  his  ear 
by  a  pretty  woman  with  a  charming  voice ! )  "Ah !  I  know 
you  better  than  you  know  yourself !  Eabourdin  will  be  im- 
mensely useful  to  you  in  your  career;  he  will  do  the  work 
while  you  are  at  the  Chamber.  And  while  you  are  dreaming 
of  taking  office,  I  want  Eabourdin  to  be  a  state-councillor  and 
a  director-general.  Here  were  two  men  who  might  be  very 
useful  to  one  another,  while  their  interests  could  never  clash, 
so  I  took  it  into  my  head  to  bring  them  together.  That  is  a 
woman's  part,  is  it  not?  You  will  both  get  on  faster  as 
friends,  and  it  is  time  that  you  both  should  sail  ahead.  I  have 
burned  my  boats,"  she  added,  smiling  at  him.  "You  are  not 
as  frank  with  me  as  I  am  with  you." 

"You  will  not  listen  to  me,"  he  returned  in  a. melancholy 
tone,  in  spite  of  the  satisfaction  that  her  words  gave  him  in 
the  depths  of  his  heart.  "What  good  will  your  promises  of 
promotion  do  me  if  you  dismiss  me  here  ?" 

She  turned  on  him  with  a  Parisienne's  quickness. 

"Before  I  listen  to  you,  we  must  be  in  a  position  to  under- 
stand each  other,"  she  said.  And  she  left  the  elderly  cox- 
comb and  went  to  talk  to  Mme.  de  Chessel,  a  provincial  count- 
ess, who  made  as  though  she  meant  to  go. 

"She  is  no  ordinary  woman !"  thought  des  Lupeaulx.  "I 
am  not  myself  when  I  am  with  her." 

And  it  is  a  fact  that  this  reprobate  who  had  kept  an  opera- 
dancer  six  years  ago,  and  since  then,  thanks  to  his  position, 
had  made  a  seraglio  of  pretty  women  for  himself  among  the 
wives  of  the  employes,  and  lived  in  the  world  of  actresses  and 
journalists, — this  jaded  man  of  forty,  I  repeat,  was  charming 
with  Celestine  all  that  evening,  and  the  very  last  to  leave  her 
salon. 

"At  last !"  thought  Mme.  Eabourdin,  as  she  went  to  bed. 
"At  last  we  shall  have  the  place.  Twelve  thousand  francs  a 
year,  besides  extras  and  the  rent  of  the  farm  at  Grajeux; 
twenty-five  thousand  francs  altogether.  It  is  not  comfort; 
but  still  it  is  not  poverty." 

Celestine  thought  of  her  debts  till  she  fell  asleep.     They 


218  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

could  be  paid  oii  in  tiiree  years  by  putting  aside  six  thousand 
francs  a  year.  She  was  far  from  imagining,  as  she  took 
Eabourdin's  promotion  for  granted,  that  somewhere  in  the 
Marais  a  little  shrewish,  self-seeking,  bigoted  bourgeoise  that 
had  never  set  foot  in  a  salon,  a  woman  without  influence  or 
connections,  was  thinking  of  carrying  the  place  by  storm. 
And  if  Mme.  Eabourdin  could  have  seen  Mme.  Baudoyer,  she 
would  have  despised  her  antagonist;  she  did  not  know  the 
power  of  pettiness,  the  penetrating  force  of  the  grub  that 
brings  down  the  elm-tree  by  tracing  a  ring  under  the  barkl' 

If  it  were  possible  in  literature  to  make  use  of  the  micro- 
scope of  a  Leuwenhoek,  a  Malpighi,  or  a  Raspail,  as  Hoffmann 
(.,  of  Berlin  attempted  to  do ;  if,  furthermore,  you  could  magnify  J) 
^  ^'  and  draw  the  teredo  that  brought  Holland  within  a  finger^s' 
breadth  of  extinction  by  gnawing  through  the  dykes,  perhaps 
you  might  see  something  within  a  little  resembling  the  coun- 
tenances of  Messieurs  Gigonnet,  Mitral,  Baudo3^er,  Saillard, 
Gaudron,  Falleix,  Transon,  Godard  and  Company.  These 
human  teredos,  at  any  rate,  showed  what  they  could  do  in  the 
thirtieth  year  of  this  nineteenth  century.  And  now  is  the 
time  for  displaying  the  official  teredo,  as  he  burrows  in  the 
public  offices  where  most  of  the  scenes  in  this  history  will  take 
place. 

At  Paris  all  public  offices  are  alike.  Xo  matter  to  what 
department  you  may  betake  yourself  to  ask  for  the  redress  of 
a  grievance,  or  for  the  smallest  favor,  you  will  find  the  same 
gloomy  corridors,  the  same  dimly-lighted  backways,  the  same 
rows  of  doors  each  with  an  enigmatical  inscription,  and  an 
oval,  glazed  aperture  like  an  eye;  and  if  you  look  through 
those  windows,  you  may  see  fantastic  scenes  worthy  of  Callot. 
When  you  discover  the  object  of  your  search,  you  pass  first  of 
all  through  an  outer  room,  where  the  office  messenger  sits, 
into  a  second,  the  general  office;  the  senior  clerk's  sanctum 
lies  to  the  right  or  left  at  the  f urtlier  end  of  it,  and  either 
beyond,  or  up  above,  you  find  the  room  appropriated  to  the 
use  of  the  chief  clerk  himself.    As  for  the  immense  personage 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  219 

styled  the  head  of  the  division  under  the  Empire,  the  director 
under  the  Restoration,  and  the  head  of  the  division  once  more 
in  our  day,  he  is  housed  either  up  above  or  down  below  his  two 
or  three  suites  of  offices ;  but  occasionally  his  room  lies  beyond 
that  of  one  of  the  chief  clerks.  As  a  rule  it  is  remarkable  for 
its  spaciousness,  an  advantage  not  a  little  prized  in  these 
curious  honeycomb  cells  of  the  big  hive  known  as  a  govern- 
ment department,  or  a  director-general's  department,  if  there 
can  be  said  to  be  such  a  thing  as  a  director-general. 

At  the  present  day  almost  every  department  has  absorbed 
all  the  lesser  administrations  which  used  to  be  separate.  By 
this  concentration  the  directors-general  have  been  shorn  of 
all  their  splendor  in  the  shape  of  hotels,  servants,  spacious 
rooms,  and  little  courtyards.  Who  would  recognize  the  Com- 
missioner of  Woods  and  Forests,  or  the  Comptroller  of  Ex- 
cise, in  a  man  that  comes  to  the  Treasury  on  foot  and  climbs 
the  stairs  to  a  second  floor  ?  Once  these  dignitaries  were  coun- 
cillors, or  ministers,  or  peers  of  France,  the}'  were  housed  in  a 
splendid  hotel  in  the  Rue  Sainte-Avoye  or  the  Rue-Saint- 
Augustin.  Messieurs  Pasquier  and  Mole,  among  others,  were 
content  with  a  comptroller-general's  post  after  they  had  been 
in  office,  thus  illustrating  the  remark  made  bj^  the  Due  d'An- 
tin  to  Louis  XIV.,  "Sire,  when  Jesus  Christ  died  on  a  Friday, 
He  was  sure  that  on  Sunday  He  should  rise  from  the  dead." 
If  the  comptroller-general's  sphere  of  activities  had  increased 
in  extent  when  his  splendor  was  curtailed,  perhaps  no  great 
harm  would  have  been  done;  but  nowadays  it  is  with  great 
difficulty  that  this  personage  becomes  a  Master  of  Requests 
with  a  paltry  twenty  thousand  francs  a  year.  He  is  suffered 
to  retain  a  symbol  of  his  vanished  power  in  the  shape  of  an 
usher  in  small  clothes,  silk  stockings,  and  a  cut-away  coat,  if, 
indeed,  the  usher  has  not  latterly  been  reformed  out  of  exist- 
ence. 

The  staff  of  an  office  consists,  in  administrative  style,  of  a 
messenger,  a  number  of  supernumeraries  who  work  for  noth- 
ing for  so  many  years,  and  the  established  clerks ;  to  wit,  the 
writers  or  copying-clerks,  the  draughting-clerks,  and  first  or 


220  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

senior  clerks,  under  a  chief  and  his  assistant  the  sous-chef. 
A  division  usually  comprises  two  or  three  such  offices,  and 
sometimes  more.  The  names  of  the  functionaries  vary  with 
the  different  departments ;  in  some  the  senior  clerk  may  be  re- 
placed by  a  head  book-keeper  or  an  auditor. 

The  floor  of  the  outer  room,  inhabited  by  the  office  mes- 
senger, is  tiled  like  the  passage,  the  walls  are  covered  with  a 
cheap  paper;  the  furniture  consists  of  a  stove,  a  big  black 
table,  an  inkstand  and  pens,  with  sundry  bare  benches  for  the 
accommodation  of  the  public  that  dances  attendance  there 
(the  office  messenger  sits  in  a  comfortable  armchair,  and  rests 
his  feet  on  a  hassock).  Sometimes,  in  addition,  there  is  a 
water-cistern  and  a  tap.  The  general  office  is  a  large  and 
more  or  less  well-lighted  apartment.  Wooden  floors  are  very 
rare;  parquetry  and  open  fireplaces,  like  mahogany  cupboards, 
tables,  and  desks,  red  and  green  leather-covered  chairs,  silken 
curtains,  and  other  departmental  luxuries  are  appropriated 
to  the  use  of  chief  clerks  and  heads  of  divisions.  The  general 
office  is  supplied  with  a  stove,  the  pipe  enters  the  chimney- 
opening,  if  there  happens  to  be  a  flue.  The  wall-paper  is 
usually  plain  green  or  brown.    The  tables  are  of  black  wood. 

A  clerk's  industry  may  be  pretty  accurately  gauged  by  his 
manner  of  installing  himself.  A  chilly  subject  will  have  a 
kind  of  wooden  foot-rest;  the  man  of  bilious-sanguine  tem- 
perament is  content  with  a  straw  mat;  the  lymphatic  man 
that  lives  in  fear  of  draughts,  open  doors,  or  other  causes  of  a 
fall  in  the  temperature,  will  intrench  himself  behind  a  little 
screen  of  pasteboard  cases.  There  is  a  cupboard  somewhere 
in  which  office-coats,  over-sleeves,  eye-shades,  caps,  fezs,  and 
other  gear  of  the  craft  are  kept.  The  chimney-piece  is  almost 
always  loaded  with  water-bottles  and  glasses  and  the  re- 
mains of  luncheons;  a  lamp  may  be  found  in  some  dark  cor- 
ners. The  door  of  the  assistant's  sanctum  usually  stands  ajar, 
so  that  that  gentleman  may  keep  an  eye  on  the  general  office, 
prevent  too  much  talk,  and  come  out  to  confer  with  the  clerks 
in  great  emergencies. 

You  can  tell  the  quality  of  the  official  at  a  pinch  from 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  221 

the  furniture  of  the  room.  The  curtains  vary,  some  are  of 
white  or  colored  stuff,  some  are  cotton,  some  silk;  the  chairs 
are  of  cherry-wood  or  mahogany,  and  straw-seated,  or  uphol- 
stered or  cushioned  w4th  leather;  the  wall-papers  are  more 
or  less  clean.  But  to  whatever  department  this  kind  of  public 
property  may  chance  to  belong,  nothing  can  look  more 
strange,  when  removed  from  its  surroundings,  than  a  collec- 
tion of  furniture  that  has  seen  so  many  changes  of  govern- 
ment and  come  through  so  much  rough  treatment.  Of  all 
removals  in  Paris,  the  migration  of  a  public  office  is  the  most 
grotesque  to  witness.  The  genius  of  Hoffmann,  that  high 
priest  of  the  impossible,  could  not  invent  anything  more 
whimsical.  Some  unaccountable  change  is  wrought  in  the 
hand-carts.  The  yawning  pasteboard  cases  leave  a  track  of 
dust  along  the  street;  the  tables  appear  with  their  castors  in 
the  air.  There  is  something  dismaying  in  the  aspect  of  the 
ramshackle  armchairs  and  inconceivably  odd  gear  with  which 
the  administration  of  France  is  carried  on.  In  some  ways  it 
reminds  you  of  a  turnout  of  the  properties  of  a  theatre,  in 
others  of  the  stock-in-trade  of  an  acrobat.  Even  so,  upon 
some  obelisk  you  may  behold  traces  of  intelligent  purpose  in 
the  shadowy  lettering  which  troubles  your  imagination,  after 
the  wont  of  most  things  of  which  you  cannot  discern  the  end. 
And  lastly,  these  utensils  from  the  administrative  kitchen  are 
all  so  old,  so  battered,  so  faded,  that  the  dirtiest  array  of  pots 
and  pans  wx)uld  be  an  infinitely  more  pleasing  spectacle. 

If  foreign  and  provincial  readers  would  form  an  accurate 
idea  of  the  inner  life  of  a  public  office  at  Paris,  it  may,  per- 
haps, suffice  to  describe  M.  de  la  Billardiere's  division,  for  its 
chief  characteristics  are  common,  no  doubt,  to  all  European 
administrations. 

First  and  foremost,  picture,  to  suit  your  fancy,  the  person- 
age thus  set  forth  in  large  type  in  the  Annuaire: — 

"Head  of  the  Division:  M.  le  Baron  Flamet  de  la  Bil- 
LARDiiiRE  (Athanase  Jean  Frangois  Michel),  formerly  Grand 
Provost  of  the  Departniunt  of  the  Correze ;  Gentleman  in  Or- 


222  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

dinary  of  the  Chamber;  Master  of  Kequests  Extraordinary, 
President  of  the  Electoral  College  of  the  Department  of  the 
Dordogne,  officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honor;  Chevalier  of  St. 
Louis,  and  of  the  foreign  orders  of  Christ,  of  Isabella,  of  St. 
Vladimir,  etc.,  etc. ;  Member  of  the  Academic  of  Gers  and  of 
many  other  learned  Societies,  Vice-President  of  the  Societe 
des  Bonnes-Lettres ;  Member  of  the  Association  of  St.  Joseph, 
and  of  the  Prisoners'  Aid  Society ;  one  of  the  Mayors  of  Paris, 
and  so  forth,  and  so  forth." 

The  man  that  took  up  so  much  space  in  print  was  occupy- 
ing at  that  moment  some  five  feet  and  a  half  by  two  feet  six 
inches  on  the  bed  whereon  he  lay,  his  head  adorned  with  a 
cotton  nightcap  tied  with  flame-colored  ribbons;  with  Des- 
plein,  the  King's  surgeon,  and  young  Dr.  Bianchon  to  visit 
him,  and  two  elderly  kinswomen  to  mount  guard  over  him 
on  either  side ;  a  host  of  phials,  bandages,  syringes,  and  other 
instruments  of  death  encompassing  him  about,  and  the  cure 
of  Saint-Eoch  ever  on  the  watch  to  insinuate  a  word  or  two 
as  to  the  salvation  of  his  soul. 

Every  morning  his  son  Benjamin  de  la  Billardiere  would 
meet  the  two  doctors  with  the  formula,  "Do  you  think  that  I 
shall  be  so  fortunate  as  to  keep  my  father  ?"  It  was  only  that 
very  day  that,  by  a  slip  of  the  tongue,  ho  had  brought  out  the 
word  "unfortunate"  instead. 

La  Billardiere's  division  was  situated  below  the  latitude 
of  the  attics  by  seventy-one  degrees  of  longitude,  measured 
by  the  steps  of  the  staircase,  in  the  departmental  ocean  of  a 
great  and  imposing  pile  of  buildings.  It  lay  on  the  north- 
east side  of  a  courtyard,  a  space  formerly  taken  up  by  the 
stables,  and  now  occupied  by  Clergeot's  division.  The  two 
distinct  sets  of  offices  were  divided  by  the  breadth  of  the  stair- 
head. All  the  doors  were  labeled  along  a  spacious  corridor 
illuminated  by  borrowed  lights.  The  offices  and  ante-cham- 
bers belonging  to  the  two  chief  clerks,  Messrs.  Eabourdin 
and  Baudoyer,  were  below  on  the  second  floor;  and  M.  de  la 
Billardiere's  ante-chamber,  sitting-room,  and  two  private 
offices  lay  immediately  beyond  M.  Eabourdin's  rooms. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  223 

The  first  floor  was  divided  in  two  by  an  entresol,  and  here 
M.  Ernest  de  la  Briere  was  established.  M.  Ernest  de  la 
Briere  was  an  occult  power  which  shall  be  described  in  a  few 
words,  for  he  certainly  deserves  a  parenthetic  mention.  So 
long  as  the  Minister  was  in  office,  this  young  man  was  his 
private  secretary.  For  which  reason  his  room  communicated 
by  a  secret  door  with  His  Excellency's  sanctum.  His  Excel- 
lency, be  it  said,  had  two  private  cabinets;  one  of  these  was 
in  keeping  with  the  state  apartments  in  which  he  received 
visitors,  and  here  he  conferred  with  great  personages  in  the 
absence  of  his  secretary ;  the  other  was  the  study  in  which  he 
retired  to  work  with  his  private  secretary  and  without  wit-  , 
nesses.  Now  a  private  secretary  is  to  a  single  minister  what  /  ^ 
des  Lupeaulx  was  to  a  whole  government.  Between  young 
la  Briere  and  des  Lupeaulx  there  was  just  the  difference  that 
separates  the  aide  de  camp  from  the  chief  of  the  staff.  The 
private  secretary  is  a  minister's  apprentice;  he  takes  himself 
off  and  reappears  with  his  patron.  If  the  minister  is  still  in 
favor,  or  if  he  has  hopes  when  he  goes  out  of  office,  he  takes 
his  secretary  with  him,  only  to  bring  him  back  again.  If  it  is 
otherwise,  he  puts  his  protege  out  to  grass  in  some  adminis- 
trative pasture — in  the  Audit  Department,  for  example,  that 
hostelry  where  secretaries  wait  till  the  storm  passes  over.  A 
young  gentleman  in  this  position  is  not  precisely  a  statesman ; 
he  is  a  man  of  politics;  sometimes,  too,  he  represents  the 
politics  of  a  man.  When  you  come  to  think  of  the  quantity  of 
letters  which  he  must  open  and  read,  to  say  nothing  of  his 
other  occupations,  is  it  not  evident  that  such  a  commodity 
would  be  extremely  expensive  under  an  absolute  monarchy? 
At  Paris  a  victim  of  this  sort  can  be  had  for  an  annual  sum 
varying  from  ten  to  twenty  thousand  francs;  but  the  young 
man  has  the  benefit  of  the  minister's  carriages,  boxes  at  the 
theatre,  and  invitations.  The  Emperor  of  Eussia  would  be 
very  glad  to  give  fifty  thousand  francs  a  year  for  such  a  mar- 
velously  groomed  and  carefully  curled  Constitutional  poodle ; 
it  is  such  a  good  guard;  such  an  amiable,  sweet-tempered, 
docile  animal ;  so  fond  and — faithful !    But,  alas !  the  private 


224  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

secretary  is  not  to  be  grown,  found,  discovered,  or  developed 
anywhere  save  in  the  hotbeds  of  a  representative  government. 
Under  an  absolute  monarch  you  can  only  have  courtiers  and 
servitors;  whereas  with  a  Charter,  free  men  will  serve  you, 
and  flatter  you,  and  fawn  upon  you.  Wherefore  ministers  in 
France  are  more  fortunate  than  women  or  crowned  kings; 
they  have  somebody  to  understand  them.  Perhaps,  at  the 
same  time,  private  secretaries  are  as  much  to  be  pitied  as 
women  or  white  paper — they  must  take  all  that  is  put  upon 
them.  Like  a  virtuous  wife,  a  private  secretary  is  bound  to 
display  his  talents  in  private  only,  and  for  his  minister.  If 
he  exhibits  his  abilities  in  public,  he  is  ruined.  Therefore  a 
private  secretary  is  a  friend  given  by  the  Government.  But  to 
return  to  our  Government  offices. 

Three  office-messengers  lived  in  harmony  in  la  Billar- 
diere's  division,  to  wit,  one  messenger  for  the  two  offices; 
another  shared  by  the  two  chief  clerks;  and  a  third  for  the 
head  of  the  division  exclusively.  All  three  were  clothed  and 
warmed  at  the  public  expense;  all  three  wore  the  same  well- 
known  livery — royal  blue  with  a  scarlet  piping  for  an  undress 
uniform,  and  a  wide  red-white-and-blue  galoon  for  state  occa- 
sions. La  Billardiere's  man  had  been  put  into  an  usher's  uni- 
form. The  secretary-general,  willing  to  flatter  the  self-love 
of  a  ministers  cousin,  permitted  an  encroachment  which  re- 
flected glory  upon  the  administration.  These  three  messen- 
gers were  veritable  pillars  of  the  department,  and  experts  in 
bureaucratic  customs.  They  wanted  for  nothing;  they  were 
well  warmed  and  clothed  at  the  expense  of  the  State ;  and 
well-to-do,  because  they  were  frugal.  They  probed  every  man 
in  the  department  to  the  quick ;  for  the  one  interest  in  their 
lives  consisted  in  watching  the  clerks  and  studying  their  hob- 
bies. Wherefore  they  knew  exactly  how  far  it  was  safe  to 
go  in  the  matter  of  loans,  performing  their  commissions  with 
the  utmost  discretion,  undertaking  errands  to  the  pawnbroker, 
buying  pawn-tickets,  lending  money  without  interest.  jSTo 
one,  however,  borrowed  any  sum  however  trifling  without  giv- 
ing a  gratuity;  and  as  the  loans  were  usually  very  small,  the 
practice  was  equivalent  to  the  pa}Tnent  of  a  usurious  interest. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  225 

The  three  masterless  servants  had  a  salary  of  nine  hundred 
francs;  New  Year's  tips  and  perquisites  raised  the  income 
to  twelve  hundred ;  and  they  were  in  a  position  to  make  almost 
as  much  again  out  of  the  clerks;  for  all  the  breakfasts  of 
those  who  breakfasted  passed  through  their  hands.  In  some 
Government  offices  the  doorkeeper  actually  provides  the 
breakfasts.  The  doorkeepers  place  in  the  finance  department 
had  been  worth  something  like  four  thousand  francs  to  fat 
old  Thuillier  senior,  whose  son  was  now  a  clerk  in  la  Bil- 
lardiere's  division.  Sometimes  attendants  feel  a  five-franc 
piece  slipped  into  the  palm  of  their  right  hands  if  a  petitioner 
is  in  a  hurry,  an  occurrence  which  they  take  with  rare  im- 
passibility. The  seniors  only  wear  their  uniform  when  on 
duty,  and  go  out  in  plain  clothes. 

The  messenger  of  the  general  office  was  the  best  off,  for  he 
exploited  the  staff  of  clerks.  He  was  a  thick-set  corpulent 
man  of  sixty,  with  bristling  white  hair,  an  apoplectic  neck, 
a  common  pimpled  countenance,  gray  eyes,  and  a  mouth  like 
a  stove-door;  here  you  have  a  sketch  of  Antoine,  the  oldest 
messenger  in  the  department.  Antoine  had  sent  for  his 
nephews  from  fichelles  in  Savoy,  and  found  places  for  them ; 
Laurent  with  the  chief  clerks,  Gabriel  with  the  head  of  the 
division.  The  two  Savoyards  were  dressed  like  their  uncle, 
in  broadcloth.  As  to  appearance,  they  were  simply  ordinary 
servants  in  uniform.  At  night  they  took  checks  at  a  subsi- 
dized theatre  (la  Billardiere  had  obtained  the  places  for 
them).  Both  had  married  skilled  lace-cleaners,  who  also  un- 
dertook fine  darning  and  repairs  of  cashmere  shawls.  As  the 
uncle  was  a  bachelor,  the  whole  family  lived  together,  and 
lived  very  much  more  comfortably  than  most  chief  clerks. 
Gabriel  and  Laurent,  having  only  been  a  matter  of  ten  years 
in  the  service,  had  not  yet  learned  to  look  down  upon  the 
government  costume ;  they  went  abroad  in  uniform,  proud  as 
dramatic  authors  after  a  success  from  a  pecuniary  point  of 
view.  The  uncle,  whom  they  took  for  a  very  acute  person, 
and  served  with  blind  devotion,  gradually  initiated  them  into 
the  mysteries  of  the  craft. 


226  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

The  three  had  just  opened  the  offices.  Between  seven  and 
eight  they  used  to  sweep  out  the  offices,  read  the  newspapers, 
or  discuss  the  politics  of  the  division  with  other  porters,  after 
the  manner  of  their  kind,  with  due  exchange  of  information. 
Modern  domestic  servants  are  perfectly  acquainted  with  the 
affairs  of  the  family ;  and  the  servants  of  the  department,  like 
spiders  in  the  middle  of  a  web,  could  feel  the  slightest  dis- 
turbance in  any  part  of  it. 

It  was  a  Thursday  morning,  the  day  after  the  Minister's  re- 
ception and  Mme.  Eabourdin"s  At  Home.  Uncle  Antoine, 
with  the  assistance  of  his  nephews,  was  shaving  in  the  ante- 
chamber on  the  second  floor,  when  the  arrival  of  one  of  the 
clerks  took  them  all  by  surprise. 

"That  is  M.  Dutocq,"  remarked  Antoine ;  "I  know  him  by 
the  way  he  comes  sneaking  in.  He  always  goes  about  as  if  he 
were  skating,  he  does.  He  drops  down  upon  you  before  you 
can  tell  which  way  he  came.  Yesterday,  he  was  the  last  to 
leave  the  office,  a  thing  that  hasn't  happened  three  times  since 
he  has  been  here.'' 

A  man  of  thirty-eight,  with  a  long  visage  of  a  bilious  hue, 
and  close-cropped  woolly  gray  hair;  a  low  forehead,  thick 
eyebrows  that  met  in  the  middle,  a  crooked  nose,  compressed 
lips,  light  green  eyes  that  never  looked  you  in  the  face ;  a  tall 
figure,  one  shoulder  slightly  larger  than  the  other;  a  brown 
coat,  black  waistcoat,  a  silk  handkerchief  round  the  throat, 
buff  trousers,  black  woolen  stockings,  and  shoes  with  mud- 
bedraggled  laces, — here  you  have  M.  Dutocq,  senior  clerk  in 
Rabourdin's  office.  Dutocq  was  incompetent  and  indolent. 
He  detested  his  chief.  jSTothing  could  be  more  natural.  Ea- 
bourdin  had  no  weakness  to  flatter,  no  vice  to  which  Dutocq 
could  pander.  The  chief  was  far  too  high-minded  to  injure 
a  subordinate ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  he  was  too  clear-sighted 
to  be  duped  by  appearances.  Dutocq  only  remained  on  suf- 
ferance, through  Rabourdin's  generosity;  there  was  no  pros- 
pect of  advancement  unless  there  was  a  change  of  chief. 
Dutocq  was  well  aware  that  he  himself  was  not  fit  to  fill  a 
higher  post,  but  he  knew  enough  of  Government  offices  to 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  227 

understaud  that  incompetence  does  not  prevent  a  man  from 
affixing  his  signature  to  the  work  of  others.  He  would  get 
out  of  the  difficulty  by  finding  a  Rabourdin  among  the 
draughting  clerks,  for  la  Billardiere's  promotion  had  been 
a  striking  and  disastrous  object  lesson  to  the  department. 
Spite  when  combined  with  self-interest  is  a  very  fair  substi- 
tute for  intelligence ;  and  Dutocq  was  very  spiteful,  and  very 
much  bent  on  his  own  interests.  Wherefore  he  had  set  him- 
self to  consolidate  his  position  by  taking  the  office  of  spy  upon 
himself.  After  1816  he  became  a  bigot  of  the  deepest  dye; 
he  foresaw  that  persons  then  indiscriminately  labeled 
"Jesuits,"  by  fools  that  knew  no  better,  would  shortly  be  in 
favor.  He  belonged  to  the  Congregation,  though  he  was  not 
admitted  to  its  inner  circles.  He  went  from  office  to  office, 
sounded  consciences  with  coarse  jokes,  and  returned  to  para- 
phrase his  "reports"  for  des  Lupeaulx's  benefit.  Des  Lu- 
peaulx  was  kept  informed  in  this  way  of  everything  that  went 
on;  and,  indeed,  the  secretary-general's  profound  knowledge 
of  the  ins  and  outs  of  affairs  often  astonished  the  Minister. 
Dutocq  in  good  earnest  was  the  Bonneau  of  a  political  Bon- 
neau;  he  was  intriguing  for  the  honor  of  taking  des  Lu- 
peaulx's secret  messages,  and  des  Lupeaulx  tolerated  the  un- 
clean creature,  thinking  that  he  might  sometime  make  him 
useful,  were  it  only  to  get  himself  or  some  great  person  out 
of  a  scrape  by  some  shameful  marriage.  On  some  such  good 
fortune  indeed  Dutocq  was  reckoning,  for  he  remained  a 
bachelor.  The  pair  understood  one  another.  Dutocq  had  suc- 
ceeded M.  Poiret  senior,  who  retired  to  a  boarding-house,  and 
was  put  on  a  pension  in  1814,  at  which  time  there  had  been 
a  grand  general  reform  of  the  staff.  Dutocq  lived  on  a  fifth 
floor,  in  a  house  with  a  passage  entry  in  the  Rue  Saint  Louis 
Saint  Honore.  As  an  enthusiastic  amateur  of  old  prints,  it 
was  his  ambition  to  possess  complete  collections  of  the  works 
of  Rembrandt,  Charlet,  Sylvestre,  Audran,  Callot,  Albrecht 
Diirer,  and  others;  and,  like  most  collectors  who  live  by 
themselves,  he  aspired  to  pick  these  things  up  cheaply.  Du- 
tocq took  his  meals  in  a  boarding-house  in  the  Rue  de  Beaune, 


228  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

and  spent  his  evenings  at  the  Palais  Royal.  Sometimes  he 
went  to  the  play,  thanks  to  du  Bruel,  who  would  give  him  an 
author's  ticket  every  week.    A  word  as  to  du  Bruel. 

Du  Bruel  came  to  the  office  simply  for  the  sake  of  drawing 
his  salary  and  believing  and  saying  that  he  was  the  chief 
clerk's  assistant;  but  Sebastien  did  his  work,  as  has  been 
seen,  and  received  a  very  inadequate  return  for  it.  Du  Bruel 
did  the  minor  theatres  for  a  ministerial  paper,  for  which  he 
also  wrote  articles  to  order.  His  position  was  known,  de- 
fined, and  unassailable.  Xor  did  he  fail  in  any  of  the  little 
diplomatic  shifts  that  gain  a  man  the  goodwill  of  his  fellow 
creatures.  He  always  offered  Mme.  Rabourdin  a  box  on  a 
first  night,  for  instance,  and  called  for  her  and  took  her 
back  in  a  carriage,  an  attention  of  which  she  was  very  sensible. 
Rabourdin  was  very  easy  with  his  subordinates,  very  little 
given  to  tormenting  them;  so  he  allowed  du  Bruel  to  attend 
rehearsals  and  to  come  and  go  and  work  at  his  vaudevilles 
pretty  much  as  he  pleased.  M.  le  Due  de  Chaulieu  was  aware 
that  du.  Bruel  was  writing  a  novel,  and  meant  to  dedicate  the 
book  to  him.  Du  Bruel  accordingly  dressed  as  carelessly 
as  a  vaudevilliste ;  in  the  morning  he  appeared  in  footed 
trousers  and  thin-soled  shoes,  a  superannuated  waistcoat,  a 
greenish  black  greatcoat  and  a  black  cravat,  but  at  night  he 
was  fashionably  arrayed,  for  he  aimed  at  being  a  gentleman. 

Du  Bruel  lived,  for  sufficient  reasons,  ^vith  Florine,,the 
actress  for  whom  he  wrote  parts ;  and  Florine  at  that  time 
lodged  with  Tullia,  a  dancer  more  remarkable  for  beauty  than 
for  talent.  This  arrangement  permitted  him  to  see  a  good 
deal  of  the  Due  de  Rhetore,  oldest  son  of  the  Due  de  Chau- 
lieu, a  favorite  with  the  King.  The  Due  de  Chaulieu  had 
obtained  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  for  du  Bruel  after 
his  eleventh  play  on  a  topic  of  the  hour.  Du  Bruel — or  de 
Cursy,  if  you  prefer  it — was  at  work  at  the  moment  on  a 
drama  in  five  acts  for  the  Frangais.  Sebastien  had  a  strong 
liking  for  the  assistant,  who  sometimes  gave  him  an  order 
for  the  pit.  Du  Bruel  used  to  point  out  any  doubtful  passages 
beforehand,  and  Sebastien,  with  the  sincerity  of  youth,  would 


3'.  V 

THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  229 

applaud  with  all  his  might;  he  regarded  du  Bruel  as  a  great 
man  of  letters.  Once  it  happened  that  a  vaudeville  written, 
as  usual,  with  two  collaborators  had  been  hissed  in  several 
places. 

''The  public  find  out  the  parts  written  in  collaboration," 
du  Bruel  remarked  next  day  to  Sebastien. 

"Why  don't  you  write  it  all  yourself?"  Sebastien  answered 
in  the  simplicity  of  his  heart. 

There  were  excellent  reasons  why  du  Bruel  should  not  write 
the  whole  himself.  He  was  the  third  part  of  a  dramatic 
author.  Few  people  are  aware  that  a  dramatic  author  is  a 
,composite  being.  First,  there  is  the  Man  of  Ideas;  it  is  his 
duty  to  find  the  subject  and  construct  the  framework  or 
scenario  of  the  vaudeville;  the  Plodder  works  out  the  dia- 
logue; while  the  Man  of  Details  sets  the  couplets  to  music, 
arranges  the  choruses  and  the  accompaniments,  and  grafts 
the  songs  into  the  plot.  The  same  personage  also  looks  after 
the  practical  aspects  of  the  play;  he  sees  after  the  drawing 
up  of  the  placards,  and  never  leaves  the  manager  until  he 
has  definitely  secured  the  representation  of  a  piece  written 
by  the  three  partners  for  the  following  day. 

Du  Bruel,  a  born  plodder,  was  in  the  habit  of  reading  new 
books  at  the  office,  and  picking  out  the  clever  bits;  he  made 
a  note  of  these,  and  embroidered  his  dialogues  with  them. 
Cursy  (that  was  his  nom  de  guerre)  was  held  in  esteem  by  his 
collaborators  on  account  of  his  impeccable  accuracy ;  the  Man 
of  Ideas  could  feel  sure  that  Cursy  would  comprehend  him, 
and  might  fold  his  arms.  His  popularity  among  the  clerks 
was  sufficient  to  bring  them  out  in  a  body  to  applaud  his 
pieces,  for  he  had  the  reputation  of  a  "good  fellow,"  and  he 
deserved  it.  He  was  free-handed;  it  was  never  very  difficult 
to  screw  a  bowl  of  punch  or  ices  out  of  him,  and  he  would  lend 
fifty  francs  and  never  ask  for  the  money.  Du  Bruel  was  a 
man  of  regular  habits;  he  had  a  house  in  the  country  at 
Aulna3%  and  found  investments  for  his  money.  Besides  his 
salary  of  four  thousand  five  hundred  francs,  he  had  a  pension 
of  twelve  hundred  from  the  civil  list,  and  eight  hundred 
15 


230  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS    \k   ' 

francs  out  of  the  hundred  thousand  crowns  voted  by  the 
Chamber  for  the  encouragement  of  the  arts.  Add  to  these 
various  sources  of  income  some  nine  thousand  francs  brought 
in  by  the  "thirds/'  "fourths,"  and  "halves"  of  vaudevilles  at 
three  different  theatres,  and  you  will  understand  at  once  that 
du  Bruel  was  broad,  rotund,  and  fatj  and  looked  like  a  man 
of  substance.  As  to  his  morals,  he  was  Tullia's  lover ;  and,  as 
usual,  believed  that  he  was  preferred  to'Tier  protector,  the 
brilliant  Due  de  Ehetore. 

Dutocq  beheld,  not  without  dismay,  the  liaison  (as  he  called 
it)  between  des  Lupeaulx  and  Mme.  Eabourdin.  His  smoth- 
ered fury  was  increased.  What  was  more,  his  prying  eyes 
could  not  fail  to  detect  that  Eabourdin  was  throwing  himself 
into  some  great  work  outside  his  official  duties,  and  he  de- 
spaired of  finding  out  anything  about  it,  whereas  little  Sebas- 
tien  was  either  wholly  or  partly  in  the  secret.  Dutocq  had 
tried  successfully  to  make  an  ally  of  M.  Godard,  Baudoyer's 
assistant,  du  BrueFs  colleague ;  the  high  esteem  in  which  Du- 
tocq held  Baudoyer  had  led  to  an  acquaintance.  Not  that 
Dutocq  was  sincere ;  but  by  crying  up  Baudoyer  and  saying 
nothing  of  Eabourdin,  he  satisfied  his  spleen,  after  the  fashion 
of  petty  minds. 

Joseph  Godard  was  Mitral's  cousin  by  the  mothers  side. 
His  relationship  to  Baudo5'^er,  therefore,  was  distant  enough, 
but  he  had  founded  hopes  upon  it ;  he  meant  to  mafrr  Mile. 
Baudoyer,  and  consequently  Isidore  was  a  brilliant  genius  in 
his  eyes.  He  professed  a  high  respect  for  Elizabeth  and  Mme. 
Saillard,  failing  to  perceive  that  Mme.  Baudoyer  was  "sim- 
mering" Falleix  for  her  daughter ;  and  he  used  to  bring  little 
presents  for  MWe.  Baudoyer — artificial  flowers,  sugar-plums 
on  New  Year's  Day,  and  pretty  boxes  on  her  birthday. 
Godard  was  a  man  of  six-and-twenty,  a  dull  plodder,  well- 
conducted  as  a  young  lady,  humdrum  and  apathetic.  Cafes, 
cigars,  and  horse  exercise  he  held  in  abhorrence;  he  went  to 
bed  regularly  at  ten,  and  rose  at  seven.  His  various  social 
talents  brought  him  into  high  favor  with  the  Saillards  and 
Baudoyers ;  he  could  play  dance  music  on  the  flageolet ;  and  in 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  231 

the  National  Guard  he  took  a  life  in  the  band  to  avoid  night- 
duty.  iSTatural  history  was  Godard's  special  hobby.  He  col- 
lected minerals  and  shells;  he  could  stuff  birds;  his  rooms 
were  warehouses  of  curiosities  picked  up  for  small  sums;  he 
had  landscape-stones,  models  of  palaces  in  cork,  various  petri- 
fied objects  from  the  springs  of  Saint  Allyre  at  Clermont 
(Auvergne),  and  the  like.  Godard  used  to  buy  up  scent- 
bottles  to  hold  his  specimens  of  baryta,  his  sulphates,  salts, 
magnesia,  coral,  and  the  like.  He  kept  collections  of  butter- 
flies in  frames ;  he  covered  the  walls  with  dried  fish-skins  and 
Chinese  umbrellas. 

Godard  lived  with  his  sister,  a  flower-maker  in  the  Eue  de 
Kichelieu.  But  though-  this  model  young  man  was  much  ad- 
mired by  mothers  of  daughters,  it  is  a  fact  that  he  was  held 
in  much  contempt  by  his  sister's  work-girls,  and  more  particu- 
larly by  the  young  lady  at  the  desk,  who  had  long  hoped  to 
entangle  him.  He  was  thin  and  slim,  and  of  average  height ; 
there  were  dark  circles  about  his  eyes;  his  beard  was  scanty; 
his  breath  was  bad  (according  to  Bixiou).  Joseph  Godard 
took  little  pains  with  himself ;  his  clothes  did  not  fit  him,  his 
trousers  were  large  and  baggy;  he  wore  white  stockings  all 
the  year  round,  a  narrow-rimmed  hat,  and  laced  shoes.  At 
the  office  he  sat  in  a  cane  chair  with  the  seat  broken  through, 
and  a  round  leather  cushion  on  the  top  of  it.  He  complained 
a  good  deal  of  indigestion.  His  principal  failing  was  a  ten- 
dency to  propose  picnics  and  Sunday  excursions  in  the  sum- 
mer to  Montmorency,  or  a  walk  to  a  dairy  on  the  Boulevard 
Mont  Parnasse. 

After  the  acquaintance  between  Dutocq  and  Godard  had 
lasted  for  some  six  months,  Dutocq  began  to  go  now  and  again 
to  Mile.  Godard^ s,-  hoping  to  do  a  piece  of  business  in  the 
house,  or  to  discover  some  feminine  treasure. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  in  Dutocq  and  Godard  Bau- 
doyer  had  two  men  to  sing  his  praises  in  the  office.  M.  Sail- 
lard  was  incapable  of  discovering  Dutocq's  real  character; 
sometimes  he  would  drop  in  to  speak  to  him  at  his  desk. 
Young  la  Billardiere,  one  of  Baudoyer's  supernumeraries,  be- 


232  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

longed  to  this  set.  Cleverer  men  laughed  not  a  liLtle  at  the 
alliance  of  Godard,  Dutocq,  and  Baudoyer.  Bixiou  dubbed 
it  la  Trinite  sans  Esprit,  and  christened  little  la  Billardiere 
"the  Paschal  Lamb." 

"You  are  up  early,"  said  Antoine,  with  a  laugh,  as  Dutocq 
came  in. 

"And  as  for  you,  Antoine,"  returned  Dutocq,  "it  is  plain 
that  the  newspapers  sometimes  come  before  you  give  them  out 
to  us." 

"It  happens  so  to-day,"  said  Antoine,  not  a  whit  discon- 
certed; "they  never  come  in  at  the  same  time  for  two  days 
together." 

The  nephews  looked  furtively  at  one  another,  as  if  to  say 
admiringly,  "What  a  cool  hand !" 

"He  brings  me  in  two  sous  on  his  breakfasts,"  muttered 
Antoine  as  Dutocq  shut  the  door,  "but  I  would  as  soon  be 
without  it  to  have  him  out  of  the  department." 

"Ah !  you  are  not  the  first  to-day,  M.  Sebastien,"  he  re- 
marked, a  quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards. 

"Who  ever  can  have  come?"  the  poor  boy  asked,  and  his 
face  turned  white. 

"M.  Dutocq,"  said  Laurent. 

Virgin  natures  possess  an  unusual  degree  of  that  inex- 
plicable power  of  second  sight  which  perhaps  depends  upon 
an  un jaded  nervous  system,  upon  the  sensibility  of  an  or- 
ganization that  may  be  called  new.  Sebastien  had  guessed 
that  Dutocq  hated  the  venerated  Eabourdin.  So  Laurent 
had  scarcely  pronounced  the  name  before  an  ugly  presenti- 
ment flashed  upon  the  supernumerary. 

"I  suspected  as  much,"  he  exclaimed,  and  he  was  off  like 
an  arrow  down  the  corridor. 

"There  will  be  a  row  in  the  offices,"  remarked  Antoine, 
shaking  his  white  head  as  he  put  on  his  uniform.  "It  is  easy 
to  see  that  M.  le  Baron  is  going  to  his  last  account.  Yes, 
Mme.  Gruget,  his  nurse,  told  me  that  he  would  not  live  the 
day  out.     What  a  stir  there  will  be  here,  to  be  sure.     Go  and 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  233 

see  if  the  stoves  are  burning  up,  some  of  you.  Sahre  de  hois! 
all  of  them  will  come  tumbling  in  upon  us  in  a  minute." 

"The  poor  little  youngster  was  in  a  fine  taking  when  he 
heard  that  that  Jesuit  of  a  M.  Dutocq  was  in  before  him, 
and  that's  a  fact,"  commented  Laurent. 

"Well,  I  for  one  have  told  him  (for,  after  all,  one  can't  do 
less  than  tell  a  good  clerk  the  truth,  and  what  I  call  a  good 
clerk  is  a  clerk  like  this  youngster,  that  pays  up  his  ten  francs 
sharp  on  New  Year's  Day),  I  have  told  him,  I  say,  'The  more 
you  do,  the  more  they  will  want  you  to  do,  and  they  will  leave 
you  where  you  are !'  But  it  is  no  good.  He  will  not  listen  to 
me.  He  kills  himself  with  stopping  till  five  o'clock,  an  hour 
after  everybody  else"  (Antoine  shrugged  his  shoulders). 
"All  nonsense;  that's  not  the  way  to  get  on!  And  here's 
proof  of  it — nothing  has  been  said  yet  of  taking  on  the  poor 
boy  as  an  established  clerk,  and  an  excellent  one  he  would 
make.  After  two  years  too !  It  sets  your  back  up,  upon  my 
word !" 

"M.  Eabourdin  has  a  liking  for  M.  Sebastien,"  said  Lau- 
rent. 

"But  M.  Eabourdin  is  not  a  minister,"  retorted  Antoine. 
"It  will  be  a  hot  day  when  he  is  a  minister ;  the  fowls  will 
cut  their  teeth.  He  is  much  too — never  mind  what !  When 
I  think  that  I  take  round  the  muster-roll  of  salaries,  to  be  re- 
ceipted by  humbugs  that  stop  away  and  do  what  they  please, 
while  little  la  Eoche  is  working  himself  to  death,  I  wonder 
whether  God  gives  a  thought  to  Government  offices.  And  as 
for  these  pets  of  M.  le  Marechal  and  M.  le  Due ;  what  do  they 
give  you? — They  thank  you"  (Antoine  made  a  patronizing 
nod) .  "  'Thanks,  my  dear  Antoine.' — A  pack  of  do-nothings ; 
let  them  work,  or  they  will  bring  on  another  Eevolution ! 
You  should  have  seen  whether  they  came  it  over  us  like  this 
in  M.  Eobert  Lindet's  time ;  for,  such  as  you  see  me,  I  came 
to  this  shop  under  M.  Eobert  Lindet.  The  clerks  used  to  work 
when  he  was  here !  You  ought  to  have  seen  those  quill-drivers 
scratching  away  till  midnight,  all  the  stoves  gone  out,  and 
nobody  so  much  as  noticing  it;  but  for  one  thing,  the  guillo- 


234  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

tine  was  there  too ;  and  no  need  to  say,  it  was  a  very  different 
thing  from  simply  taking  down  their  names  as  we  do  now 
when  they  come  late." 

"Daddy  Antoine/'  began  Gabriel,  "since  you  are  in  a  talk- 
ing humor  this  morning,  what  do  you  make  out  that  a 
clerk  is?" 

"A  clerk !"  Antoine  returned  gravely.  "A  clerk  is  a  man 
that  sits  in  an  office  and  writes. — What  am  I  saying  ?  Where 
should  we  be  without  clerks?  Just  go  and  look  after  your 
stoves  and  never  say  a  word  against  the  clerks.  The  stove  in 
the  large  room  draws  like  fury,  Gabriel;  you  must  shut  off 
some  of  the  draught." 

Antoine  took  up  his  position  at  the  stairhead,  so  that  he 
could  see  all  the  clerks  as  they  came  in  under  the  arched 
gateway.  He  knew  everybody  in  every  office  in  the  depart- 
ment, and  used  to  watch  their  ways  and  notice  the  differences 
^  in  their  dress.  And  here,  before  entering  upon  the  drama,  it 
*y  is  necessary  to  give  portraits  in  outline  of  the  principal  actors 
'^  in  la  Billardiere's  division;  for  not  merely  will  the  reader 
make  the  acquaintance  of  the  various  types  of  the  genus  clerk, 
but  he  will  find  in  them  the  justification  of  Eabourdin's  ob- 
,  servations,  and  likewise  the  title  of  this  essentially  Parisian 
y<^  Study. 

And  on  this  head,  let  there  be  no  misapprehensions:  from 
the  point  of  view  of  poverty  and  eccentricity  there  are  clerks 
and  clerks,  just  as  there  are  faggots  and  faggots.  In  the 
first  place,  you  must  distinguish  between  the  clerk  in  Paris 
and  his  provincial  brother.  The  provincial  clerk  is  well  off. 
He  is  spaciously  housed ;  he  has  a  garden ;  he  is  comfortable 
as  a  rule  in  his  office.  Sound  wine  is  not  dear;  he  does  not 
dine  off  horse-steaks;  he  is  acquainted  with  the  luxury  of 
dessert.  People  may  not  know  precisely  what  he  eats,  but 
every  one  will  tell  you  that  he  does  not  "eat  up  his  salary."' 
So  far  from  running  into  debt,  he  positively  saves  on  his 
income.  If  he  is  a  bachelor,  mothers  of  daughters  greet 
liim  as  he  passes ;  if  he  is  married,  he  and  his  wife  go  to  balls 
at  the  receiver-general's,  at  the  prefecture,  at  the  sub-prefec- 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  235 

ture.  People  take  an  iuterest  in  his  character;  he  makes 
conquests ;  he  has  a  reputation  for  intelligence ;  his  loss  would 
probably  be  felt;  the  whole  town  knows  him,  and  takes  an 
interest  in  his  wife  and  family.  He  gives  evening  parties; 
he  may  become  a  deputy  if  he  has  private  means,  and  his 
father-in-law  is  in  easy  circumstances.  His  wife  is  always 
under  the  minute  and  inquisitive  spy  system  of  a  small  town ; 
if  he  is  unfortunate  in  his  married  life,  he  knows  it,  whereas 
a  clerk  at  Paris  is  not  bound  to  hear  of  his  misfortune. 
Lastly,  the  provincial  clerk  is  "somebody,"  while  the  Parisian 
is  almost  "nobody." 

The  next  comer  was  a  draughting-clerk,  Phellion  by  name, 
a  respectable  father  of  a  family.  He  was  in  Eabourdin's  office. 
His  chiefs  influence  had  obtained  education  for  each  of  his 
two  boys  at  half-cost  at  the  College  Henri  IV.,  a  well-timed 
favor;  for  Phellion  had  a  third  child,  a  girl,  who  was  being 
educated  free  of  expense  in  a  boarding-school  where  her 
mother  gave  music  lessons,  and  her  father  taught  history  and 
geography  of  an  evening.  Phellion  was  a  man  of  forty-five, 
and  a  sergeant-major  in  the  National  Guard.  He  was  very 
ready  to  give  sympathy ;  but  he  never  had  a  farthing  to  spare. 
He  lived,  not  very  far  from  the  Sourds-Muets,  in  the  Eue  du 
Faubourg  Saint-Jacques,  on  a  floor  of  a  house,  with  a  garden 
attached.  "His  place,"  to  use  his  own  expression,  only  cost 
four  hundred  francs.  The  draughting-clerk  was  proud  of  his 
position,  and  rejoiced  in  his  lot ;  he  worked  industriously  for 
the  Government,  believed  that  he  was  serving  his  country, 
and  boasted  of  his  indifference  to  party  politics;  he  looked 
at  nothing  but  Authority.  Sometimes,  to  his  delight,  M. 
Rabourdin  would  ask  him  to  stay  for  half  an  hour  to  finish 
some  piece  of  work.  Then  Phellion  would  go  to  the  boarding- 
school  in  the  Rue  iSTotre  Dame  des  Champs,  where  his  wife 
taught  music,  and  say  to  the  Demoiselles  la  Grave  with  whom 
he  dined : 

"Affairs  compelled  me  to  stay  late  at  the  office,  mesdemoi- 
selles.  When  a  man  is  in  the  service  of  the  Government,  he  is 
not  his  own  master." 


286  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

.  Phellion  had  compiled  various  school-books  in  the  form  of 
question  and  answer  for  the  use  of  ladies'  schools.  These 
"small  but  condensed  treatises,"  as  he  called  them,  were  on 
sale  at  the  University  bookseller's  under  the  name  of  "His- 
torical and  Geographical  Catechisms."  He  felt  it  incumbent 
upon  him  to  present  Mme.  Kabourdin  with  each  of  these  works 
as  they  came  out,  taking  a  copy  printed  on  hand-made  paper 
and  bound  in  crimson  morocco.  On  these  occasions  he  ap- 
peared in  the  Rue  Duphot  in  full  dress:  silk  small  clothes, 
silk  stockings,  shoes  with  gold  buckles,  and  so  forth.  M. 
Phellion  gave  beer  and  patty  soirees  on  Thursday  evenings 
after  the  boarders  had  gone  to  bed.  They  played  bouillotte, 
with  five  sous  in  the  pool;  and  in  spite  of  the  slenderness  of 
the  stakes,  it  once  fell  out  that  M.  Laudigeois,  a  registrar's 
clerk,  lost  ten  francs  in  an  evening  by  reckless  gambling. 

The  walls  of  the  sitting-room  were  covered  with  a  green 
American  paper  with  a  red  border,  and  adorned  with  portraits 
of  the  Royal  family.  The  visitor  might  behold  His  Majesty 
the  King,  the  Dauphiness,  and  Madame;  with  a  pair  of 
framed  engravings,  to  wit,  Mazeppa,  after  Horace  Vernet, 
and  The  Pauper's  Funeral,  after  Vigneron.  This  last-named 
work  of  art,  according  to  Phellion,  was  "sublime  in  its  con- 
ception. It  ought  to  console  the  lower  classes  by  reminding 
them  that  they  had  more  devoted  friends  than  men,  friends 
whose  affections  go  beyond  the  grave."  From  those  words 
you  can  guess  that  Phellion  was  the  sort  of  man  to  take  his 
children  to  the  Cimetiere  de  I'Ouest  on  All  Souls'  Day,  and 
point  out  the  twenty  square  yards  of  earth  (purchased  "in 
perpetuity")  where  his  father  and  his  mother-in-law  lay 
buried.  "We  shall  come  here  some  day,"  he  used  to  say,  to 
familiarize  his  offspring  with  the  idea  of  death. 

It  was  one  of  Phellion's  great  amusements  to  explore  Paris. 
He  had  treated  himself  to  a  map.  Antony,  Arcueil,  Bievre. 
Fontenay-aux-Roses,  and  Aulnav,  all  of  them  famous  as  the 
abode  of  more  than  one  great  writer,  he  knew  already  by 
heart,  and  he  hoped  in  time  to  know  all  the  suburbs  on  the 
west  side.     His  eldest  son  he  destined  for  the  service  of  the 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  237 

Government ;  the  second  was  to  go  to  the  Bicole  polytechnique. 
He  often  used  to  say  to  his  eldest,  "When  you  have  the  honor 
to  be  employed  by  the  Government !"  but,  at  the  same  time, 
he  suspected  the  boy  of  a  turn  for  the  exact  sciences,  and 
strove  to  repress  the  tendency,  holding  in  reserve  the  extreme 
course  of  leaving  him  to  shift  for  himself  if  he  persisted  in 
his  ways. 

Phellion  had  never  ventured  to  ask  M.  Eabourdin  to  dine 
with  him,  though  he  v/ould  have  regarded  such  a  day  as  one 
of  the  greatest  in  his  life.  He  used  to  say  that  if  he  could 
leave  one  of  his  sons  to  walk  in  the  footsteps  of  M.  Eabourdin, 
he  should  die  the  happiest  father  in  the  world.  He  dinned 
the  praises  of  the  worthy  and  much-respected  chief  into  the 
ears  of  the  Demoiselles  la  Grave,  till  those  ladies  longed  to 
see  M.  Eabourdin,  as  a  lad  might  crave  a  glimpse  of  M.  de 
Chateaubriand.  They  would  have  been  very  glad,  they  said, 
to  be  intrusted  with  the  education  of  his  "young  lady."  If 
the  Minister's  carriage  chanced  to  come  in  or  out,  Phellion 
took  off  his  hat  very  respectfully  whether  there  was  anybody 
in  it  or  not,  and  said  that  it  would  be  well  for  France  if  every- 
body held  authority  in  sufficient  honor  to  revere  it  even  in  its 
insignia.  When  Eabourdin  sent  for  him  "downstairs"  to  ex- 
plain his  work,  Phellion  summoned  up  all  his  intelligence, 
and  listened  to  his  chief's  lightest  word  as  a  dilettante  listens 
to  an  air  at  the  Italiens.  He  sat  silent  in  the  office,  his  feet 
perched  aloft  on  his  wooden  foot-rest ;  he  never  stirred  from 
his  place;  he  conscientiously  gave  his  mind  to  his  work.  In 
administrative  correspondence  he  expressed  himself  with 
solemnity;  he  took  everything  seriously;  he  emphasized  the 
Minister's  orders  by  translating  them  into  pompous  phrase- 
ology. Yet,  great  as  he  was  upon  propriety,  a  disastrous  thing 
had  happened  once  in  his  career — a  disaster  indeed.  In  spite 
of  the  minute  care  with  which  he  drafted  his  letters,  he  once 
alloM^ed  a  phrase  thus  conceived  to  escape  him,  "You  will 
therefore  repair  to  the  closet  with  the  necessary  papers." 
The  copying-clerks,  delighted  at  a  chance  of  a  laugh  at  the 
expense  of  the  harmless  creature,  went  to  consult  Eabourdin 


238  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

behind  Fiiellion's  back.  Rabourdin,  knowing  his  draughting- 
c'lerk's  character,  could  not  help  smiling  as  he  endorsed  the 
margin  with  a  note,  "You  will  appear  at  the  private  office 
with  the  documents  indicated.'"  The  alteration  was  shown  to 
Phellion;  he  studied  it,  pondered,  and  weighed  the  difference 
between  the  expressions,  and  candidly  admitted  that  it  would 
have  taken  him  a  couple  of  hours  to  find  the  equivalents.  "M. 
Rabourdin  is  a  man  of  genius !"  he  cried.  He  always  thought 
that  his  colleagues  had  shown  a  want  of  consideration  for 
him  by  referring  the  matter  so  promptly  to  the  chief ;  but  he 
had  too  much  respect  for  the  established  order  of  things  not 
to  admit  that  they  had  acted  within  their  right,  and  so  much 
the  more  so  since  he,  Phellion,  was  absent  at  the  time.  Still, 
in  their  place,  he  himself  would  have  waited — there  was  no 
pressing  need  for  the  circular.  This  affair  cost  him  several 
nights'  rest.  If  an}'  one  wished  to  make  him  angry,  they  had 
only  to  remind  him  of  the  accursed  phrase  by  asking  as  he 
went  out,  "Have  you  the  necessary  papers  ?"  At  which  ques- 
tion the  worthy  draughting-clerk  would  turn  and  give  the 
clerks  a  withering  glance.  "It  seems  to  me,  gentlemen,  that 
your  remark  is  extremely  unbecoming."  One  day,  however, 
lie  waxed  so  wroth  that  Rabourdin  was  obliged  to  interfere, 
and  the  clerks  were  forbidden  to  allude  to  the  affair. 

M.  Phellion  looked  rather  like  a  meditative  ram.  His  face 
was  somewhat  colorless,  and  marked  with  smallpox;  his  lips 
were  thick  and  underhiing,  his  eyes  were  pale  blue,  and  in 
figure  he  was  rather  above  average  height.  Neat  in  his  person 
he  was  bound  to  be,  as  a  master  of  history  and  geography  in 
a  ladies'  school ;  he  wore  good  linen,  a  pleated  shirt-front,  an 
open  black  kerseymere  waistcoat  that  afforded  glimpses  of 
the  braces  which  his  daughter  embroidered  for  him,  a  dia- 
mond pin,  a  black  coat,  and  blue  trousers.  In  winter  he 
adopted  a  nut-brown  box-coat  with  three  capes,  and  it  was  his 
wont  to  carry  a  loaded  cane — "a  precaution  rendered  neces- 
sary by  the  extreme  loneliness  of  some  parts  of  the  neighbor- 
hood." He  had  given  up  the  habit  of  taking  snuff,  a  reform 
which  he  was  wont  to  cite  as  a  striking  instance  of  the  com- 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  239 

mand  that  a  man  may  gain  over  himself.  Having  what  he 
called  a  "fat  chest,"  it  was  his  wont  to  ascend  staircases  slowly 
for  fear  of  contractirg  an  asthma. 

He  saluted  Antoine  with  dignity. 

A  copying-clerk,  an  odd  contrast  to  this  exemplary  worthy, 
immediately  followed.  Vimeux  was  a  young  fellow  of  five- 
and-twtnty,  with  a  salary  of  fifteen  hundred  francs.  He  was 
well  made  and  slim-waisted ;  his  eyes,  eyebrows,  and  beard 
were  as  black  as  jet;  he  had  good  teeth  and  sweetly  pretty 
hands,  while  his  moustache  was  so  luxuriant  and  well  cared 
for  that  its  cultivation  might  have  been  his  principal  occupa- 
tion in  life.  Yimeux's  aptitude  for  his  work  was  so  great  that 
he  had  always  finished  it  long  before  anybody  else. 

"He  is  a  gifted  young  man !"  Phellion  would  exclaim,  as 
he  saw  Vimeux  cross  his  legs,  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do 
with  the  rest  of  his  time.  "And  look !"  he  would  say  to  du 
Bruel,  "how  exquisitely  neat  it  is !" 

Vimeux  breakfasted  off  a  roll  of  bread  and  a  glass  of  water, 
dined  at  Katcomb's  for  twenty  sous,  and  lived  in  furnished 
lodgings  at  twelve  francs  a  month.  Dress  was  his  one  joy  and 
pleasure  in  life.  He  ruined  himself  with  wonderful  waist- 
coats, tight-fitting  or  semi-fitting  trousers,  thin  boots,  care- 
fully-cut coats  that  outlined  his  figure,  bewitching  collars, 
fresh  gloves,  and  hats.  His  hand  was  adorned  by  a  signet- 
ring,  which  he  wore  outside  his  glove;  he  carried  an  elegant 
walking-cane,  and  did  his  best  to  look  and  behave  like  a 
wealthy  young  man.  Toothpick  in  hand,  he  would  repair  to 
the  main  alley  in  the  Tuileries  Gardens,  and  stroll  about, 
looking  for  all  the  world  like  a  millionaire  just  arisen  from 
table.  He  had  studied  the  art  of  twirling  a  cane  and  ogling 
with  an  eye  to  business,  a  I'amh-icaine,  as  Bixiou  said;  for 
Vimeux  lived  in  the  hope  that  some  widow,  Englishwoman 
or  foreign  lady  might  be  smitten  with  his  charms ;  he  used  to 
laugh  to  show  his  fine  set  of  teeth;  he  went  without  socks  to 
have  his  hair  curled  every  day,  Vimeux  laid  it  down  as  a  fixed 
principle  that  an  eligible  hunch-backed  girl  must  have  six 
thousand  livres  a  year;  he  would  take  a  woman  of  five-and- 


240  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

forty  with  an  income  of  eight  thousand,  or  an  English  woman 
with  a  thousand  crowns.  Phellion  took  compassion  on  the 
young  man.  He  was  so  much  pleased  with  Vimeux's  pen- 
manship that  he  lectured  him,  and  tried  to  persuade  him  to 
turn  writing-master;  it  was,  he  said,  a  respectable  profession 
which  might  ameliorate  his  existence  and  even  render  it 
agreeable.  He  promised  him  the  school  kept  by  the  Demoi- 
selles la  Grave.  But  Vimeux's  belief  in  his  star  was  not  to 
be  shaken — it  was  too  firmly  fixed  in  his  head.  He  continued, 
therefore,  to  exhibit  himself  like  one  of  Chevet's  sturgeons; 
albeit  his  luxuriant  moustache  had  been  displayed  in  vain  for 
three  years.  Vimeux  lowered  his  eyes  every  time  that  he 
passed  Antoine;  he  owed  the  porter  thirty  francs  for  his 
breakfasts,  and  yet  towards  noon  he  always  asked  him  to  bring 
him  a  roll. 

Eabourdin  had  tried  several  times  to  put  a  little  sound 
sense  into  the  young  fellow's  foolish  head,  but  he  gave  up  at 
last.  Vimeux's  father  was  a  clerk  to  a  justice  of  the  peace 
in  the  department  of  the  Nord.  Adolphe  Vimeux  had  given 
up  dinners  at  Katcomb's  lately,  and  lived  entirely  on  bread. 
He  was  saving  up  to  buy  a  pair  of  spurs  and  a  riding-switch. 
In  the  office  they  jeered  at  his  matrimonial  calculations,  call- 
ing him  the  Villiaume  pigeon;  but  any  scoff  at  this  vacuous 
Amadis  could  only  be  attributed  to  the  mocking  spirit  that 
creates  the  vaudeville,  for  Vimeux  was  a  friendly  creature, 
and  nobody's  enemy  but  his  own.  The  great  joke  in  both 
offices  was  to  bet  that  he  wore  stays. 

Vimeux  began  his  career  under  Baudoyer,  and  intrigued 
to  be  transferred  to  Eabourdin,  because  Baudoyer  was  inex- 
orable on  the  matter  of  "Englishmen,"  for  so  the  clerks  called 
duns.  The  "Englishmen's,"  day  is  the  day  on  which  the  pub- 
lic is  admitted;  the  creditors,  being  sure  of  finding  their 
debtors,  flock  thither  to  worry  them,  asking  when  they  will  be 
paid,  threatening  to  attach  their  salaries.  Baudoyer  the  in- 
exorable compelled  his  clerks  to  face  it  out.  "It  was  their 
affair,"  he  said,  "not  to  get  into  debt"' ;  and  he  regarded  his 
severity  as  a  thing  necessary  for  the  public  welfare.    Rabour- 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  241 

din,  on  the  other  hand,  stood  between  his  clerks  and  their 
creditors;  duns  were  put  out  at  the  door.  "Government 
offices/'  he  said,  "were  not  meant  for  the  transaction  of  pri- 
vate business."  Loud  was  the  scoffing  when  Vimeux  clanked 
up  the  stairs  and  along  the  corridors  with  spurs  on  his  boots. 
Bixiou,  practical  joker  to  the  department,  drew  a  caricature 
of  Vimeux  mounted  on  a  pasteboard  hobby  horse,  and  sent 
the  drawing  circulating  through  Clergeot's  and  la  Billar- 
diere's  divisions.  A  subscription  list  was  attached.  M.  Bau- 
doyer's  name  was  put  down  for  a  hundredweight  of  hay  from 
the  stock  supplied  for  his  own  private  consumption,  and  all 
the  clerks  cut  gibes  at  their  neighbor's  expense.  Vimeux 
himself,  like  the  good-natured  fellow  that  he  was,  subscribed 
under  the  name  of  "Miss  Fairfax." 

The  handsome  clerk  of  Vimeux's  stamp  has  his  post  for  a 
living  and  his  face  for  his  fortune.  He  is  a  faithful  supporter 
of  masked  balls  at.  carnival-tide,  though  sometimes  even  there 
he  fails  in  his  quest.  A  good  many  of  his  kind  give  up  the 
search,  and  end  by  marrying  milliners  or  old  women ;  some- 
times some  young  lady  is  charmed  with  his  fine  person,  and 
with  her  he  spins  out  a  clandestine  romance  that  ends  in  mar- 
riage, a  love  story  diversified  by  tedious  letters,  which,  how- 
ever, produce  their  effect.  Occasionally  one  here  and  there 
waxes  bolder.  He  sees  a  woman  drive  past  in  the  Champs- 
Elysees,  procures  her  address,  hurls  impassioned  letters  at 
her,  finds  a  bargain  which,  unfortunately,  encourages  ignoble 
speculation  of  this  kind. 

The  Bixiou  (pronounced  Bisiou)  mentioned  above  was  a 
caricaturist;  Dutocq  and  Rabourdin,  whom  he  dubbed  La 
vertueuse  Rabourdin,  were  alike  fair  game  to  him;  Baudoyer 
he  called  La  Place-Baudoyer,  by  way  of  summing  up  his 
chief's  commonplace  character;  du  Bruel  was  christened 
Flonflon.  Bixiou  was  beyond  question  the  wittiest  and  clev- 
erest man  in  the  division,  or,  indeed,  in  the  department;  but 
his  was  a  monkey's  cleverness,  desultory  and  aimless.  Bau- 
doyer and  Godard  protected  him  in  spite  of  his  malicious 

ways,  because  he  was  extremely  useful  to  them;  he  did  their 
vol..  12—43 


?42  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

work  for  them  out  of  hand.  He  wanted  du  Bruel's  or 
Godard's  place,  but  he  stood  in  his  own  light.  Sometimes — 
this  was  when  he  had  done  some  good  stroke  of  business,  such 
as  the  portraits  in  the  Fualdes  case  (which  he  drew  out  of 
his  own  head),  or  pictures  of  the  Castaing  trial — he  turned 
the  service  to  ridicule.  Sometimes  he  would  be  very  indus- 
trious in  a  sudden  fit  of  desire  to  get  on;  and  then  again  he 
would  neglect  the  work  for  a  vaudeville,  which  he  never  by 
any  chance  finished.  He  was,  moreover,  .gelfish,  close-fisted, 
and  yet  extravagant;  or,  in  other  words,  he  lavished  money 
only  upon  himself;  he  was  fractious,  aggressive,  and  indis- 
creet, making  mischief  for  pure  love  of  mischief. 

Bixioii  was  especially  given  to  attacking  the  weak;  he 
respected  nothing  and  no  one ;  he  believed  neither  in  France, 
nor  God,  nor  Art,  in  neither  Greek  nor  Turk,  nor  Champ- 
d'Asile,  nor  in  the  Monarchy ;  and  he  made  a  point  of  jeering 
at  everything  which  he  did  not  understand.  He  was  the  ver}'' 
first  to  put  a  black  priest's  cap  on  Charles  X.'s  head  on  five- 
franc  pieces.  He  took  off  Dr.  Gall  at  his  lectures  till  the 
most  closely-buttoned  diploraate  must  have  choked  with 
laughter.  It  was  a  standing  joke  with  this  formidable  wag 
to  heat  the  office  stoves  so  hot  that  if  any  one  imprudently 
ventured  out  of  the  sudatorium  he  was  prett}^  certain  to  catch 
cold;  while  Bixiou  enjoyed  the  further  satisfaction  of  wast- 
ing the  fuel  supplied  by  the  Government.  Bixiou  M^as  not 
an  ordinary  man  in  his  hoaxes ;  he  varied  them  with  so  much 
ingenuity  that  somebody  was  invariably  taken  in.  He  guessed 
every  one's  wishes;  this  was  the  secret  of  his  success  in  this 
line ;  he  knew  the  way  to  every  castle  in  Spain ;  and  a  man  is 
easy  to  hoax  through  his  day-dreams,  because  he  is  a  willing 
accomplice.  Bixiou  would  draw  you  out  for  hours  together. 
And  yet,  though  Bixiou  was  a  profound  observer,  though  he 
displayed  extraordinary  tact  for  purposes  of  quizzing,  he  could 
not  apply  his  aptitude  to  the  purpose  of  making  other  men 
useful  to  him,  nor  to  the  art  of  getting  on  in  life.  He  liked 
best  of  all  to  torment  la  Billardiere  junior,  his  pet  aversion 
and  nightmare;  but  nevertheless  he  coaxed  and  flattered  the 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  243 

young  fellow  the  better  to  quiz  him.     He  used  to  send  him 

love-letters  signed  "Comtesse  de  M "  or  "Marquise  de 

B ",  making  an  appointment  under  the  clock  in  the  foyer 

of  the  Opera  at  Shrovetide,  and  then  after  making  a  public 
exhibition  of  the  young  man  he  would  let  loose  a  grisette 
upon  him.  He  made  common  cause  with  Dutocq  (whom  he 
regarded  as  a  serious  hoaxer)  ;  he  made  it  a  labor  of  love  to 
support  him  in  his  detestation  of  Rabourdin  and  his  praises 
of  Baudoyer. 

Jean  Jacques  Bixiou  was  the  grandson  of  a  Paris  grocer. 
His  father  died  as  a  colonel  in  the  army,  leaving  the  boy 
to  the  care  of  his  grandmother,  who  had  lost  her  husband  and 
married  one  Descoings,  her  shopman.  Descoings  died  in 
1832.  When  Bixiou  left  school  and  looked  about  for  some 
means  of  earning  a  livelihood,  he  tried  Art  for  a  while ;  but 
in  spite  of  his  friendship  for  Joseph  Bridau,  a  friend  of 
childhood,  he  gave  up  painting  for  caricatures,  and  vignettes, 
and  the  kind  of  work  known  twenty  years  afterwards  as  book 
illustration.  The  influence  of  the  Dues  de  Maufrigneuse  and 
de  Rhetore  (whose  acquaintance  he  made  through  opera- 
dancers)  procured  him  his  place  in  1819.  He  was  on  the 
best  of  terms  with  des  Lupeaulx,  whom  he  met  in  society  as 
an  equal;  he  talked  familiarly  to  du  Bruel;  he  was  a  living 
proof  of  Rabourdin's  observations  on  the  continual  process 
of  destruction  at  work  in  the  administrative  hierarchy  of 
Paris,  when  a  man  acquired  personal  importance  outside  the 
office.  Short  but  well  made,  small  of  feature,  remarkable  for 
a  vague  resemblance  to  Napoleon;  a  young  man  of  twenty- 
seven,  with  thin  lips,  a  flat,  perpendicular  chin,  fair  hair, 
auburn  whiskers,  sparkling  eyes,  and  a  caustic  voice — here 
you  have  Bixiou.  All  senses  and  intellect,  he  spoiled  his 
career  by  an  unbridled  love  of  pleasure,  which  plunged  him 
into  continual  dissipation.  He  was  an  intrepid  man  of  pleas- 
ure; he  ran  about  after  grisettes,  smoked,  dined,  and  supped, 
and  told  good  stories,  everywhere  adapting  himself  to  his 
company,  and  shining  behind  the  scenes,  at  a  grisettes'  ball, 
or  the  Allee  des  Veuves.     At  table  or  as  one  of  a  pleasure 


244  THE  CxOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

party  Bixiou  was  equally  astonishing;  he  was  equally  alert 
and  in  spirits  at  midnight  in  the  street,  or  at  his  first  waking 
in  the  morning;  but,  like  most  great  comic  actors,  he  was 
gloomy  and  depressed  when  by  himself.  Launched  forth  into  a 
world  of  actors,  actresses,  writers,  artists,  and  a  certain  kind  of 
women  whose  riches  are  apt  to  take  wings,  he  lived  well,  he  went 
to  the  theatre  without  payment,  he  played  at  Frascati's,  and 
often  won.  He  was,  in  truth,  profoundly  an  artist,  but  only 
by  flashes;  life  for  him  was  a  sort  of  swing  on  which  he 
swayed  to  and  fro  without  troubling  himself  about  the  moment 
when  the  cord  would  break.  Among  people  accustomed  to  a 
brilliant  display  of  intellect,  Bixiou  was  in  great  request  for 
the  sake  of  his  liveliness  and  prodigality  of  ideas;  but  none 
of  his  friends  liked  him.  He  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
of  an  epigram;  he  sacrificed  his  neighbor  on  either  hand  at 
dinner  before  the  first  course  was  over.  In  spite  of  his  super- 
ficial gaiety,  a  certain  secret  discontent  with  his  social  position 
crept  into  his  conversation ;  he  aspired  to  something  better, 
and  the  fatal  lurking  imp  in  his  character  would  not  permit 
him  to  assume  the  gravity  which  makes  so  much  impression 
on  fools.  He  lived  in  chambers  in  the  Eue  de  Ponthieu;  it 
was  a  regular  bivouac ;  the  three  rooms  were  given  up  to  the 
disorder  of  a  bachelor  establishment.  Often  he  would  talk 
of  leaving  France  to  try  a  violent  assault  on  fortune  in 
America.  Xo  fortune-teller  could  have  predicted  his  future, 
for  all  his  talents  were  incomplete ;  he  could  not  work  hard 
and  steadily ;  he  was  always  intoxicated  with  pleasure,  always 
behaving  as  if  the  world  were  to  come  to  an  end  on  the  mor- 
row. 

As  to  dress,  his  claim  was  that  he  was  not  ridiculous  on 
that  score;  and,  perhaps,  he  was  the  one  man  in  the  depart- 
ment of  whom  it  would  not  be  said,  "There  goes  a  Govern- 
ment clerk !"  He  wore  elegant  boots,  black  trousers  witli 
straps  to  them,  a  fancy  waistcoat,  a  cravat  (the  eternal  gift 
of  the  grisette),  a  hat  from  Bandoni's,  and  dark  kid  gloves. 
His  bearing  was  not  ungraceful,  being  both  easy  and  un- 
affected.    So  it  came  to  pass  that  when  summoned  to  hear  a 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  245 

leprimand  from  des  Lupeaulx,  after  carrying  his  insolence 
towards  the  Baron  de  la  Billardiere  a  little  too  far,  he  was 
content  to  rejoin,  "You  would  take  me  on  again  for  the  sake 
of  my  clothes."  And  des  Lupeaulx  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing. 

The  most  pleasing  hoax  ever  perpetrated  by  Bixiou  in  the 
offices  was  devised  for  Godard's  benefit.  To  him  Bixiou  pre-  ..-ff'J 
sented  a  Chinese  butterfly,  which  tlie  senior  clerk  put  in  his 
collection,  and  exhibits  to  this  day;  he  has  not  yet  found 
out  that  it  is  a  piece  of  painted  paper.  Bixiou  had  the 
patience  to  elaborate  a  masterpiece  for  the  sake  of  playing  a 
trick  upon  the  chief  clerk's  assistant. 

The  devil  always  provides  a  Bixiou  with  a  victim.  Baudoyer  s 
office  accordingly  contained  a  butt,  a  poor  copying-clerk, 
aged  two-and-twenty.  Auguste-Jean-Fran^ois  Minard,  for 
that  was  his  name,  was  in  receipt  of  a  salary  of  fifteen  hundred 
francs.  He  had  married  for  love.  His  wife  was  a  door- 
keeper's daughter,  an  artificial-flower  maker,  who  worked  at 
home  for  Mile.  Godard.  Minard  had  seen  the  girl  in  the* 
shop  in  the  Rue  de  Richelieu.  Zelie  Lorain,  in  the  days 
before  her  marriage,  had  many  dreams  of  changing  her  sta- 
tion in  life.  She  had  been  trained  at  the  Conservatoire  as 
dancer,  singer,  and  actress  by  turns ;  and  often  she  had  thought 
of  doing  as  many  other  girls  did,  but  the  fear  that  things 
might  turn  out  badly  for  her,  and  she  might  sink  to  un- 
speakable depths,  had  kept  Zelie  in  the  paths  of  virtue.  She 
was  revolving  all  kinds  of  hazy  projects  in  her  mind  when 
Minard  came  forward  with  his  offer  of  marriage  and  gave 
them  a  definite  shape.  Zelie  was  earning  five  hundred  francs 
a  year;  Minard  had  fifteen  hundred.  In  the  belief  that  two 
persons  can  live  on  two  thousand  francs,  they  were 
married  without  settlements  and  in  the  most  economical  fash- 
ion. The  pair  of  turtle-doves  found  a  nest  on  a  third  floor 
near  the  Barriere  de  Courcelles,  at  a  rent  of  a  hundred  crowns. 
There  was  a  very  neat  little  kitchen,  with  a  cheap  plaid  paper 
at  fifteen  sous  the  piece  upon  the  walls,  a  brick  floor  as- 
siduously beeswaxed   and  polished,   walnut-wood   furniture, 


246  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

and  white  cotton  curtains  in  the  windows;  there  was  a  room 
in  which  Zelie  made  her  flowers;  a  parlor  beyond,  with  a 
round  table  in  the  middle,  a  looking-glass  on  the  w^all,  a 
clock  representing  a  revolving  crystal  fountain,  dark  haircloth 
chairs,  and  gilt  candlesticks  in  gauze  covers ;  and  a  blue-and- 
white  bedroom,  with  a  mahogany  bedstead,  a  bureau,  a  bit 
of  striped  carpet  at  the  bed-foot,  half  a  dozen  easy-chairs 
and  four  chairs,  and  a  little  cherry-wood  cot  in  the  corner 
where  the  little  ones,  a  boy  and  girl,  used  to  sleep.  Zelie 
nursed  her  children  herself,  did  the  cooking  and  the  work  of 
the  house,  and  made  her  flowers.  There  was  something  touch- 
ing in  their  happ}*,  hardworking,  unpretending  comfort.  As 
soon  as  Zelie  felt  that  Minard  loved  her,  she  loved  him  with 
all  her  heart.  Love  draws  love;  it  is  the  "deep  calling  unto 
deep"  of  the  Bible. 

Minard,  poor  fellow,  used  to  leave  his  wife  asleep  in  bed 
in  the  morning  and  do  her  marketing  for  her.  He  took  the 
finished  flowers  to  the  shop  on  his  way  to  the  office  of  a  morn- 
ing, and  bought  the  materials  as  he  came  home  in  the  after- 
noon. Then,  as  he  waited  for  dinner,  he  cut  or  stamped  out 
the  petals,  made  the  stalks,  and  mixed  the  colors  for  her. 
The  little,  thin,  slight,  nervous  man,  with  the  curled  chestnut 
hair,  clear  hazel  eyes,  and  dazzlingly  fair  but  freckled  com- 
plexion, possessed  a  quiet  and  unboasting  courage  below  the 
surface.  He  could  write  as  well  as  Vimeux.  At  the  office 
he  kept  himself  to  himself,  did  his  work,  and  maintained  the 
reserve  of  a  thoughtful  man  whose  life  is  hard.  Bixiou,  the 
pitiless,  nicknamed  him  "the  white  rabbit,"  on  account  of 
his  white  eyelashes  and  scanty  e3'ebrows.  Minard  was  a 
Eabourdin  on  a  lower  level.  He  was  burning  with  a  desire 
to  put  his  Zelie  in  a  good  position ;  he  wanted  to  make  a  for- 
tune quickly,  and  to  this  end  he  was  trvdng  to  hit  upon  an 
idea,  a  discovery,  or  an  improvement  in  the  ocean  of  Parisian 
industries  and  cravings  for  new  luxur3\  Minard's  seeming 
stupidity  was  the  result  of  mental  tension ;  he  went  from  the 
Double  Pate  des  Sultanes  to  Cephalic  Oil;  from  phosphorus 
boxes  to  portable  gas ;  from  hinged  clogs  to  hydrostatic  lamps. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  247 

making  the  entire  round  of  the  infinitesimally  small  details 
of  material  civilization.  He  bore  Bixiou's  jests  as  a  busy  man 
bears  with  the  buzzing  of  a  ily ;  he  never  even  lost  his  temper. 
And  Bixiou,  quick-witted  though  he  was,  never  suspected  the 
depth  of  contempt  that  Minard  felt  for  him.  Minard  re- 
garded a  quarrel  with  Bixiou  as  a  waste  of  time,  and  so  at 
length  he  had  tired  out  his  persecutor. 

Minard  was  very  plainly  dressed  at  the  office;  he  wore 
trousers  of  drill  till  October,  shoes  and  gaiters,  a  mohair 
waistcoat,  a  beaver-cloth  coat  in  winter  and  twill  in  summer, 
and  a  straw  or  silk  hat  according  to  the  season,  for  Zelie  was 
his  pride.  He  would  have  gone  without  food  to  buy  a  new 
dress  for  her.  He  breakfasted  at  home  with  his  wife,  and 
ate  nothing  till  he  returned.  Once  a  month  he  took  Zelie 
to  the  theatre  with  a  ticket  given  by  du  Bruel  or  Bixiou ;  for 
Bixiou  did  all  sorts  of  things,  even  a  kindness  now  and  again. 
On  these  occasions  Zelie's  mother  left  her  porter's  robm  to 
look  after  the  baby.  Minard  had  succeeded  to  Vimeux's 
place  in  Baudoyer's  office. 

Mme.  and  M.  Minard  paid  their  calls  in  person  on  New 
Year's  Day.  People  used  to  wonder  how  the  wife  of  a  pox)r 
clerk  on  fifteen  hundred  francs  a  year  could  manage  to  keep 
her  husband  in  a  suit  of  hlack,  and  afford  to  drive  in  a  cab, 
and  to  wear  embroidered  muslin  dresses  and  silk  petticoats, 
a  Tuscan  straw  bonnet  with  flowers  in  it,  prunella  shoes, 
magnificent  fichus,  and  a  Chinese  parasol,  and  3^et  be  virtuous ; 
Avhile  Mme.  Colleville  or  such  and  such  a  "lady"  could  scarcely 
make  both  ends  meet  on  two  thousand  four  hundred  francs. 

Two  of  the  clerks  were  friends  to  a  ridiculous  degree,  for 
anything  is  matter  for  a  joke  in  a  Government  office.  One  of 
these  was  a  senior  draughting-clerk  in  Baudoyer's  office;  he 
had  been  chief  clerk's  assistant,  and  even  chief  clerk,  for 
some  considerable  time  during  the  Restoration.  Colleville, 
for  that  was  his  name,  had  in  Mme.  Colleville  a  wife  as  much 
above  the  ordinary  level  in  her  way  as  Mme.  Eabourdin  in 
another.  Colleville,  the  son  of  a  first  violin  at  the  Opera, 
had  been  smitten  with  the  daughter  of  a  well-laioAATi  opera- 


248  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

dancer.  Some  clever  and  charming  Parisiennes  can  make 
their  husbands  happy  without  losing  their  liberty;  Mnie. 
Colleville  was  one  of  these.  She  made  Colleville's  house  a 
meeting-place  for  orators  of  the  Chamber  and  the  best  artists 
of  the  day.  People  were  apt  to  forget  how  humble  a  place 
Colleville  occupied  in  his  own  house.  Flavie  was  a  little  too 
prolific ;  her  conduct  offered  such  a  handle  to  gossip  that  Mme. 
Eabourdin  had  refused  all  her  invitations. 

Colleville's  friend,  one  Thuillier,  was  senior  draughting- 
clerk  in  Rabourdin's  office;  and  while  he  occupied  precisely 
the  same  position,  his  career  in  the  service  had  been  cut  short 
for  the  same  reasons.  If  any  one  knew  Colleville,  he  knew 
Thuillier,  and  vice  versa.  It  had  so  fallen  out  that  tl:ey 
both  entered  the  office  at  the  same  time,  and  their  friendship 
arose  out  of  this  coincidence.  Pretty  Mme.  Colleville  (so  it 
was  said  among  the  clerks)  had  not  repulsed  Thuillier's  as- 
siduities. Thuillier's  wife  had  brought  him  no  children. 
Thuillier,  otherwise  "Beau  Thuillier,"  had  been  a  lady-killer 
in  his  youth,  and  now  was  as  idle  as  Colleville  was  industrious. 
Colleville  not  only  played  the  first  clarionet  at  the  Opera- 
Comique — he  kept  tradesmen's  books  in  the  morning  before  he 
went  to  the  office,  and  worked  very  hard  to  bring  up  his  family 
although  he  did  not  lack  influence.  Others  regarded  him  as 
a  very  shrewd  individual,  and  so  much  the  more  so  because  he 
hid  his  ambitions  under  a  semblance  of  indifference.  To  all 
appearance  he  was  satisfied  with  his  lot;  he  liked  work;  he 
found  everybody,  even  to  the  chiefs  themselves,  inclined  to  aid 
so  brave  a  struggle  for  a  livelihood.  Only  recently,  ^\ithin 
the  last  few  days  in  fact,  Mme.  Colleville  had  reformed  her 
ways,  and  seemed  to  be  tending  towards  religion ;  whereupon 
a  rumor  went  abroad  through  the  offices  that  the  lady  meant  to 
betake  herself  to  the  Congregation  in  search  of  some  more 
certain  support  than  the  famous  orator  Francois  Keller,  for 
his  influence  hitherto  had  failed  to  procure  a  good  place  for 
Colleville.  Flavie  had  previously  addressed  herself  (it  was 
one  of  the  mistakes  of  her  life)  to  des  Lupeaulx. 

Colleville  had  a  mania  for  reading  the  fortunes  of  famous 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  243 

men  in  anagrams  made  by  their  names.  He  would  spend 
whole  months  in  arranging  and  rearranging  the  letters  to  dis- 
cover some  significance  in  them.  In  Revolution  frangaise, 
he  discovered  Un  Corse  la  finira; — Vierge  de  son  marl  in 
Marie  de  Vigneros,  Cardinal  de  Richelieu's  niece; — Henrici 
mei  casta  dea  in  Catharina  de  Medicis; — Eh!  cest  large  nez 
in  Charles  Genest,  the  Abbe  whose  big  nose  amused  the  Due 
de  Bourgogne  so  much  at  the  Court  of  Louis  XIV.  All  ana- 
grams known  to  history  had  set  Colleville  wondering.  He 
raised  the  play  on  v/ords  into  a  science;  a  man's  fate  (accord- 
ing to  him)  was  written  in  a  phrase  composed  of  the  letters 
of  his  name,  style,  and  titles.  Ever  since  Charles  X.  came  to 
the  throne  he  had  been  busy  with  that  monarch's  anagram. 
Thuillier  maintained  that  an  anagram  was  a  pun  in  letters; 
but  Thuillier  was  rather  given  to  puns.  Colleville,  a  man  of 
generous  nature,  was  bound  by  a  well-nigh  indissoluble  friend- 
ship to  Thuillier,  a  pattern  of  an  egoist !  It  was  an  insoluble 
problem,  though  many  of  the  clerks  explained  it  by  the  ob- 
servation that  "Thuillier  is  well  to  do,  and  Colleville's  family 
is  a  heavy  burden !"  And,  truth  to  say,  Thuillier  was  sup- 
posed to  supplement  his  salary  by  lending  money  out  at  in- 
terest. Men  in  business  often  sent  to  ask  to  speak  with  him, 
and  Thuillier  would  go  down  for  a  few  minutes'  talk  with 
them  in  the  courtyard;  but  these  interviews  were  undertaken 
on  account  of  his  sister.  Mile.  Thuillier.  The  friendship 
thus  consolidated  by  time  was  based  upon  events  and  attach- 
ments that  came  about  naturally  enough ;  but  the  story  has 
been  given  elsewhere,*  and  critics  might  complain  of  the 
tedious  length  of  it  if  it  were  repeated.  Still,  it  is  perhaps 
worth  while  to  point  out  that  while  a  great  deal  was  known  in 
the  offices  as  to  Mme.  Colleville,  the  clerks  scarcely  knew 
that  there  was  a  Mme.  Thuillier.  Colleville,  the  active  man 
with  a  burdensome  family  of  children,  was  fat,  flourishing, 
and  Jolly ;  while  Thuillier,  the  "buck  of  the  Empire,"  with  his 
idle  ways  and  no  apparent  cares,  was  slender  in  figure, 
haggard,  and  almost  melancholy  to  behold. 

'  In  Les  Petits  Bourgeois. 


250  THE  GOA^ERNMENT  CLERKS 

"We  do  not  know  whether  our  friendships  spring  from  our 
unlikeness  or  likeness  to  each  other/'  Rabourdin  would  say, 
in  allusion  to  the  pair. 

Chazelle  and  Paulmier,  in  direct  contrast  to  the  Siamese 
twins,  were  always  at  war  with  each  other.  One  of  them 
smoked,  the  other  took  snuff,  and  the  pair  quarreled  in- 
cessantly as  to  the  best  way  of  using  tobacco.  One  failing 
common  to  both  made  them  equally  tiresome  to  their  fellow- 
clerks — they  were  perpetually  squabbling  over  the  cost  of 
commodities,  the  price  of  green  peas  or  mackerel,  the  amounts 
paid  by  their  colleagues  for  hats,  boots,  coats,  umbrellas,  ties, 
and  gloves.  Each  bragged  of  his  new  discoveries,  and  always 
kept  them  to  himself.  Chazelle  collected  bookseller's  pros- 
pectuses and  pictorial  placards  and  designs;  but  he  never 
subscribed  to  anything.  Paulmier,  Chazelle's  fellow-chatter- 
box, went  once  to  the  great  Dauriat  to  congratulate  him  on 
bringing  out  books  printed  on  hot-pressed  paper  with  printed 
covers,  and  bade  him  persevere  in  the  path  of  improvements 
— and  Paulmier  had  not  a  book  in  his  possession !  Chazelle, 
being  henpecked  at  home,  tried  to  give  himself  independent 
airs  abroad,  and  supplied  Paulmier  with  endless  gibes;  while 
Paulmier,  a  bachelor,  fasted  as  frequently  as  Vimeux  him- 
self, and  his  threadbare  clothes  and  thinly  disguised  poverty 
furnished  Chazelle  with  an  inexhaustible  text.  Chazelle  and 
Paulmier  were  both  visibly  increasing  in  waist  girth ; 
Chazelle's  small,  rotund,  pointed  stomach  had  the  impudence, 
according  to  Bixiou,  to  be  always  first,  Paulmier's  fluctuated 
from  right  to  left ;  Bixiou  had  them  measured  once  or  so  in  a 
c[uarter.  Both  were  between  thirty  and  fort}^,  and  both  were 
sufficiently  vapid;  they  did  nothing  after  hours.  They  were 
specimens  of  your  thoroughbred  Government  clerk — their 
brains  had  been  addled  with  scribbling  and  long  continuance 
in  the  service.  Chazelle  used  to  doze  over  his  work,  while  the 
pen  which  he  still  held  in  his  hand  marked  his  breathings 
with  little  dots  on  the  paper.  Then  Paulmier  would  say  that 
Chazell's  wife  gave  him  no  rest  at  night.  And  Chazello 
would  retort  that  Paulmier  had  taken  drua:s  for  four  months 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  251 

out  of  the  twelve,  and  prophesy  that  a  grizette  would  be  the 
death  of  him.  Whereupon  Paulmier  would  demonstrate  that 
Chazelle  was  in  the  habit  of  marking  the  almanac  when  Mme. 
Chazelle  showed  herself  complaisant.  By  dint  of  washing 
their  dirty  linen  in  public,  and  flinging  particulars  of  their 
domestic  life  at  one  another,  the  pair  had  won  a  fairly-merited 
and  general  contempt.  "Do  you  take  me  for  a  Chazelle?" 
was  a  remark  that  put  an  end  to  a  wearisome  discussion. 

M.  Poiret  Junior  was  so  called  to  distinguish  him  from  an 
elder  brother  who  had  left  the  service.  Poiret  senior  had 
retired  to  the  Maison  Vauquer,  at  which  boarding-house  Poiret 
junior  occasionally  dined,  meaning  likewise  to  retire  thither 
some  day  for  good.  Poiret  junior  had  been  thirty  years  in  the 
department.  Every  action  in  the  poor  creature's  life  was  part 
of  a  routine;  Nature  herself  is  more  variable  in  her  revolu- 
tions. He  always  put  his  things  in  the  same  place,  laid  his 
pen  on  the  same  mark  in  the  grain  of  the  wood,  sat  down  in  his 
place  at  the  same  hour,  and  went  to  warm  himself  at  the 
stove  at  the  same  minute;  for  his  one  vanity  consisted  in 
wearing  an  infallible  watch,  though  he  always  set  it  daily  by 
the  clock  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  which  he  passed  on  his  way 
from  the  Eue  du  Martroi. 

Between  six  and  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  Poiret  made 
up  the  books  of  a  large  draper's  shop  in  the  Eue  Saint- 
Antoine ;  from  six  to  eight  in  the  evening  he  again  acted  as 
book-keeper  to  the  firm  of  Camusot  in  the  Rue  des  Bourdon- 
nais.  In  this  way  he  made  an  income  of  a  thousand  crowns 
a  year,  including  his  salary.  By  this  time  he  was  within  a 
few  months  of  his  retirement  upon  a  pension,  and  therefore 
treated  office  intrigues  with  much  indifference.  Eetirement 
had  already  dealt  Poiret  senior  his  deathblow;  and  probably 
when  Poiret  junior  should  no  longer  be  obliged  to  walk  daily 
from  the  Eue  du  Martroi  to  the  office,  to  sit  on  his  chair  at  a 
table  and  copy  out  documents  daily,  he  too  would  age  very 
quickly.  Poiret  junior  collected  back  numbers  of  the 
Moniteur  and  of  the  newspaper  to  which  the  clerks  subscribed. 
He  achieved  this  with  a  collector's  enthusiasm.     If  a  number 


252  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

was  mislaid,  or  if  one  of  the  clerks  took  away  a  copy  anil 
forgot  to  bring  it  back  again,  Poiret  junior  went  forthwitli 
to  the  newspaper  office  to  ask  for  another  copy,  and  returned 
delighted  with  the  cashier's  politeness.  He  always  came  in 
contact  with  a  charming  young  fellow;  journalists,  according 
to  him,  were  pleasant  and  little  known  people.  Poiret  junior 
was  a  man  of  average  height,  with  dull  eyes,  a  feeble,  color- 
less expression,  a  tanned  skin  puckered  into  gray  wrinkles 
with  small  bluish  spots  scattered  over  them,  a  snub  nose,  and 
a  sunken  mouth,  in  which  one  or  two  bad  teeth  still  lingered 
on.  Thuillier  used  to  say  that  it  was  useless  for  Poiret  to 
look  in  the  mirror,  because  he  had  lost  his  eye-teeth.*  His 
long,  thin  arms  terminated  in  big  hands  without  any  pre- 
tension to  whiteness ;  his  gray  hair,  flattened  down  on  his  head 
by  the  pressure  of  his  hat,  gave  him  something  of  a  clerical 
appearance;  a  resemblance  the  less  welcome  to  him,  because 
though  he  was  not  able  to  give  an  account  of  his  religious 
opinions,  he  hated  priests  and  ecclesiastics  of  every  sort  and 
description.  This  antipathy,  however,  did  not  prevent  him 
from  feeling  an  extreme  attachment  for  the  Government, 
whatever  it  might  happen  to  be.  Even  in  the  very  coldest 
weather,  Poiret  never  buttoned  his  old-fashioned  greatcoat, 
or  wore  any  but  laced  shoes  or  black  trousers.  He  had  gone 
to  the  same  shops  for  thirty  years.  When  his  tailor  died,  he 
asked  for  leave  to  go  to  the  funeral,  shook  hands  at  the 
graveside  with  the  man's  son,  and  assured  him  of  his  custom. 
Poiret  was  on  friendly  terms  with  all  his  tradesmen ;  he  took 
an  interest  in  their  atfairs,  chatted  with  them,  listened  to 
the  tale  of  their  grievances,  and  paid  promptly.  If  he  had 
occasion  to  write  to  make  a  change  in  an  order,  he  observed 
the  utmost  ceremony,  dating  the  letter,  and  beginning  with 
"Monsieur"  on  a  separate  line;  then  he  took  a  rough  copy, 
and  kept  it  in  a  pasteboard  case,  labeled  "My  Correspondence." 
No   life   could   be   more   methodical.     Poiret   kept   every 

*  Parce  qu'il  ne  se  voyait  pas  dedans  {de  dents).  Here,  as  in  many  other  instances, 
it  is  only  possible  to  suggest  in  the  English  version  that  a  pun  has  been  made  in  the 
French.— 5fV. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  253 

receipted  bill,  however  small  the  amount;  and  all  his  private 
account  books,  3^ear  by  year,  since  he  came  into  the  office, 
were  put  away  in  paper  covers.  He  dined  for  a  fixed  sum  per 
month  at  the  same  eating-house  (the  sign  of  the  Sucking 
Calf,  in  the  Place  du  Chatelet),  and  at  the  same  table  (the 
waiters  used  to  keep  his  place  for  him)  ;  and  as  he  never  gave 
The  Golden  Cocoon^  the  famous  silk-mercer's  establishment, 
so  much  as  five  minutes  more  than  the  due  time,  he  always 
reached  the  Cafe  David,  the  most  famous  cafe  in  the  Quarter, 
at  half-past  eight,  and  stayed  there  till  eleven  o'clock.  He 
had  frequented  that  cafe  likewise  for  thirty  years,  and 
punctually  took  his  havaroise  at  half-past  ten;  listening  to 
the  political  discussions  with  his  arms  crossed  on  his  walking- 
stick,  and  his  chin  on  his  right  hand,  but  he  never  took  part 
in  them.  The  lady  at  the  desk  was  the  one  woman  with 
whom  he  liked  to  converse;  to  her  ears  he  confided  all  the 
little  events  of  his  daily  existence,  for  he  sat  at  a  table  close 
beside  her.  Sometimes  he  would  play  at  dominoes,  the  one 
game  that  he  had  managed  to  learn ;  but  if  his  partners  failed 
to  appear,  Poiret  was  occasionally  seen  to  dose,  with  his  back 
against  the  panels,  while  the  newspaper  frame  in  his  hand 
sank  down  on  the  slab  before  him. 

Poiret  took  an  interest  in  all  that  went  on  in  Paris.  He 
spent  Sunday  in  looking  round  at  buildings  in  course  of 
construction ;  he  would  talk  to  the  pensioner  who  sees  that  no 
one  goes  inside  the  hoardings,  and  fret  over  the  delays,  the 
lack  of  money  or  of  building  materials,  and  other  obstacles 
in  the  way  of  the  architect.  He  was  heard  to  say,  "I  have  seen 
the  Louvre  rise  from  its  ruins;  I  saw  the  first  beginnings  of 
the  Place  du  Chatelet,  the  Quai  aux  Fleurs,  and  the  Markets." 
He  and  his  brother  were  born  at  Troyes ;  their  father,  a  clerk 
of  a  farmer  of  taxes,  had  sent  them  both  to  Paris  to  learn 
their  business  in  a  Government  office.  Their  mother  brought 
a  notorious  life  to  a  disastrous  close ;  for  the  brothers  learned 
to  their  sorrow  that  she  died  in  the  hospital  at  Troyes,  in  spite 
of  frequent  remittances.  And  not  merely  did  they  vow  them 
and  there  never  to  marry,  but  held  children  in  abhorrence; 


254  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

they  could  not  feel  at  ease  with  them ;  they  feared  them  much 
as  others  might  fear  lunatics,  and  scrutinized  them  with 
haggard  eyes.  Drudgery  had  crushed  all  the  life  out  of  them 
both  in  Eobert  Lindet's  time.  The  Government  had  not 
treated  them  justly,  but  they  thought  themselves  lucky  to  keep 
their  heads  on  their  shoulders,  and  only  grumbled  between 
themselves  at  the  ingratitude  of  the  administration — for  they 
had  "organized"  the  "Maximum" !  When  the  before-men- 
tioned trick  was  pla3^ed  upon  Phellion,  and  his  famous 
sentence  was  taken  to  Rabourdin  for  correction,  Poiret  took 
the  draughting-clerk  aside  into  the  corridor  to  say,  "You 
may  be  sure,  sir,  that  I  opposed  it  with  all  my  might." 

Poiret  had  never  been  outside  Paris  since  he  came  into 
the  city.  He  began  from  the  first  to  keep  a  diary,  in  which 
he  set  out  the  principal  events  of  the  day.  Du  Bruel  told 
him  that  Byron  had  done  the  same;  the  comparison  over- 
whelmed Poiret  with  joy,  and  induced  him  to  buy  a  copy  of 
Chastopalli's  translation  of  Byron's  works,  of  which  he  un- 
derstood not  a  word.  At  the  office  he  was  often  seen  in  a 
melancholy  attitude;  he  looked  as  if  he  were  meditating 
deeply,  but  his  mind  was  a  blank.  He  did  not  know  a  single 
one  of  his  fellow-lodgers;  he  went  about  with  the  key  of  his 
room  in  his  pockets.  On  New  Year's  Day  he  left  a  card 
himself  on  every  clerk  in  the  division,  and  paid  no  visits. 

Once,  it  was  in  the  dog-days,  Bixiou  took  it  into  his 
head  to  grease  the  inside  of  Poiret's  hat  with  lard.  Poiret 
junior  (he  was  then  fifty-two  years  of  age)  had  worn  the 
hat  for  nine  whole  years;  Bixiou  had  never  seen  him  in  any 
other.  Bixiou  had  dreamed  of  the  hat  of  nights ;  it  w^as  before 
his  eyes  while  he  ate;  and  in  the  interests  of  his  digestion, 
he  made  up  his  mind  to  rid  the  office  of  the  unclean  thing. 
Poiret  junior  went  out  towards  four  o'clock.  He  went  his 
way  through  the  streets  of  Paris,  in  a  tropical  heat,  for  the 
sun's  rays  were  reflected  back  again  from  the  walls  and  the 
pavement.  Suddenly  he  felt  that  his  head  was  streaming 
with  perspiration ;  and  he  seldom  perspired.  Deeming  that 
he  was  ill,  or  on  the  verge  of  an  illness,  he  went  home  instead 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  255 

of  repairing  to  the  Sucking  Calf,  took  out  his  diary,  and  made 

the  following  entry: 

"This  day,  July  3rd,  1823,  surprised  by  an  unaccountable 
perspiration,  possibly  a  symptom  of  the  sweating  sickness, 
a  malady  peculiar  to  Champagne.  Incline  to  consult  Dr. 
Haudry.     First  felt  the  attack  by  the  Quai  d'Ecole.'' 

Suddenly,  as  he  wrote  bareheaded,  it  struck  him  that  the 
supposed  sweat  arose  from  some  external  cause.  He  wiped 
his  countenance  and  examined  his  hat ;  but  he  did  not  venture 
to  undo  the  lining,  and  could  make  nothing  of  it.  Subse- 
quently he  made  another  entry  in  the  diary : 

"Took  the  hat  to  the  Sieur  Tournan,  hatter  in  the  Eue 
Saint-Martin ;  seeing  that  I  suspect  that  something  else  caused 
the  sweat,  which  in  that  case  would  not  be  a  sweat  at  all,  but 
simply  the  effect  of  an  addition  of  some  kind,  more  or  less 
recently  made." 

M.  Tournan  immediately  detected  the  presence  of  a  fatty 
substance  obtained  by  distillation  from  a  hog  or  sow,  and 
pointed  it  out  to  his  customer.  Poiret  departed  in  a  hat 
lent  my  M.  Tournan  till  the  new  one  should  be  ready  for 
him ;  but  before  he  went  to  bed  he  added  another  sentence  to 
his  diary: 

"It  has  been  ascertained  that  my  hat  contained  lard,  other- 
wise hog's  fat." 

The  inexplicable  fact  occupied  Poiret's  mind  for  a  fort- 
night; he  never  could  understand  how  the  phenomenon  had 
been  brought  about.  There  was  talk  at  the  office  of  showers  of 
frogs  and  other  canicular  portents;  a  portrait  of  Napoleon 
had  been  found  in  a  elm-tree  root;  all  kinds  of  grotesque 
freaks  of  natural  history  cropped  up.  Vimeux  told  him  one 
day  that  he,  Vimeux,  had  had  his  face  dyed  black  by  his  hat. 


256  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

and  added  that  hatters  sold  terrible  trash.  Poiret  went  sev- 
eral times  after  that  to  Sieur  Tournan's  to  reassure  his  mind 
as  to  the  processes  of  manufacture. 

There  was  yet  another  clerk  in  Rabourdin's  ofhce.  This 
personage  avowedhv  had  the  courage  of  his  opinions,  professed 
the  politics  of  the  Left  Centre,  and  worked  himself  into  in- 
dignation over  the  unlucky  white  slaves  in  Baudoyers  office, 
and  against  that  gentleman's  tyranny.  Fleufy  openly  took 
in  an  Opposition  sheet,  wore  a  wide-brimmed  gray  felt  hat, 
blue  trousers  with  red  stripes,  a  blue  waistcoat  adorned  with 
gilt  buttons,  and  a  double-breasted  overcoat  that  made  him 
look  like  a  quartermaster  in  the  gendarmerie.  His  principles 
remained  unshaken,  and  the  administration  nevertheless  con- 
tinued to  employ  him.  Yet  he  prophesied  evil  of  the  Govern- 
ment if  it  persisted  in  mixing  politics  and  religion.  He 
made  no  secret  of  his  predilection  for  iSTapoleon,  especially 
since  the  great  man's  death  made  a  dead  letter  of  the  law 
against  all  partisans  of  the  "usurper.''  Fleury,  ex-captain  of 
a  regiment  of  the  line  under  the  Emperor,  a  tall,  fine,  dark- 
haired  fellow,  was  a  money-taker  at  the  Cirque-Olympique. 
Bixiou  had  never  indulged  in  a  caricature  of  him;  for  the 
rough  trooper  was  not  only  a  very  good  shot  and  a  first-rate 
swordsman,  but  he  appeared  capable  of  going  to  brutal  ex- 
tremities upon  occasion.  Fleury  was  a  zealous  subscriber  to 
Victoires  et  ConquUes;  but  he  declined  to  pay,  and  kept  the 
issues  as  they  appeared,  basing  his  refusal  upon  the  fact  that 
the  number  stated  in  the  prospectus  had  been  exceeded. 

He  worshiped  M,  Rabourdin,  for  M.  Rabourdin  had  in- 
terfered to  save  him  from  dismissal.  A  remark  once  escaped 
the  ex-warrior,  to  the  effect  that  if  anything  should  come  to 
M.  Rabourdin  through  anybody  else,  he,  Fleury,  would  kill 
that  some  one  else;  and  Dutocq  ever  since  went  m  such  fear 
of  Fleury,  that  he  fawned  upon  him. 

Fleury  was  overburdened  with  debts.  He  played  his  creditors 
all  kinds  of  tricks.  Being  expert  in  the  lav/,  he  never  by  any 
chance  put  his  name  to  a  bill ;  and  as  he  himself  had  attached 
his  salars'  in  the  names  of  fictitious  creditors,  he  drew  pretty 
nearly  the  whole  of  it.     He  had  formed  a  very  intimate  eon- 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  257 

nection  with  a  super  at  the  Porte-Saint-Martin,  and  his  furni- 
ture was  removed  to  her  house.  So  he  played  ecarte  joyously, 
and  charmed  social  gatherings  with  his  talents;  he  could 
drink  off  a  glass  of  champagne  at  a  draught  without  moisten- 
ing his  lips,  and  he  knew  all  Beranger's  songs  by  heart.  His 
voice  was  still  fine  and  sonorous ;  he  allowed  it  to  be  seen  that 
he  was  proud  of  it.  His  three  great  men  were  Napoleon, 
Bolivar,  and  Beranger.  Foy,  Laffitte,  and  Casimir  Delavigne 
only  enjoyed  his  esteem.  Fleury,  as  you  guess,  was  a  man  of 
the  South ;  he  was  pretty  sure  to  end  as  the  responsible  editor 
of  some  Liberal  paper. 

Desroys  was  the  mysterious  man  of  the  division.  He  rubbed 
shoulders  with  no  one,  talked  little,  and  hid  his  life  so  suc- 
cessfully that  no  one  knew  v.^here  he  lived,  nor  how  he  lived,  nor 
who  his  protectors  were.  Seeking  a  reason  for  this  silence,  some 
held  that  Desroys  was  one  of  the  Carbonari,  and  some  that  he 
was  an  Orleanist ;  some  said  that'he  was  a  spy,  others  that  he 
was  a  deep  individual.  But  Desroys  was  simply  the  son  of  a 
member  of  the  Convention  who  had  not  voted  for  the  king's 
death.  Eeserved  and  cold  by  temperament,  he  had  formed  his 
own  conclusions  of  the  world,  and  looked  to  no  one  but  himself. 
As  a  Republican  in  secret,  an  admirer  of  Paul  Louis  Courier, 
and  a  friend  of  Michel  Chrestien's,  he  was  waiting  till  time 
and  the  common-sense  of  the  majority  should  bring  about  the 
triumph  of  his  political  opinions  in  Europe.  Wherefore 
his  dreams  were  of  Young  Germany  and  Young  Italy.  His 
heart  swelled  high  with  that  unintelligent  collective  affection 
for  the  species,  which  must  be  called  "humanitarianism,"  eld- 
est child  of  a  defunct  philosophy,  an  affection  which  is  to 
the  divine  charity  of  the  Catholic  religion  as  system  is  to  art. 
as  reasoning  is  to  effort.  This  conscientious  political  Puri- 
tan, this  apostle  of  an  impossible  Equality,  regretted  that 
penury  forced  him  into  the  service  of  the  Government:  he 
was  trying  to  get  employment  in  some  coach  ofifice.  Lean  and 
lank,  prosy  and  serious,  as  a  man  may  be  expected  to  be  if 
he  feels  that  he  may  be  called  upon  some  day  to  give  his  head 
for  the  great  object  of  his  life,  Desroys  lived  on  a  page  of 

Vol.    13—44 


258  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

Volney,  studied  St.  Just,  and  was  engaged  upon  a  rehabilita- 
tion of  Eobespierre,  considered  as  a  continuer  of  the  work  of 
Jesus  Christ. 

One  more  among  these  personages  deserves  a  stroke  or 
two  of  the  pencil.  This  is  little  la  Billardiere.  For  his 
misfortune  he  had  lost  his  mother.  He  had  interest  with 
the  minister ;  he  was  exempt  from  the  rough  and  ready  treat- 
ment that  he  should  have  received  from  "la  Place-Baudoyer" ; 
and  all  the  ministerial  salons  were  open  to  him.  Everybody 
1^  detested  the  youth  for  his  insolence  and  conceit.  Heads  of 
departments  were  civil  to  him,  but  the  clerks  had  put  him 
beyond  the  pale  of  good  fellowship  with  a  grotesque  politeness 
invented  for  his  benefit.  Little  la  Billardiere  was  a  tall, 
slim,  wizened  youth  of  two-and-twenty,  with  the  manners  of 
an  Englishman ;  his  dandy's  airs  were  an  affront  to  the  office ; 
he  came  to  it  scented  and  curled,  with  impeccable  collars  and 
primrose-colored  gloves,  and  a  constantly  renewed  hat  lining ; 
he  carried  an  eyeglass;  he  breakfasted  at  the  Palais  Eoyal. 
A  veneer  of  manner  which  did  not  seem  altogether  to  belong 
to  him  covered  his  natural  stupidity.  Benjamin  de  la 
Billardiere  had  an  excellent  opinion  of  himself ;  he  had  every 
aristocratic  defect,  and  no  corresponding  graces.  He  felt 
quite  sure  of  being  "somebody,''  and  had  thoughts  of  writing 
a  book ;  he  would  gain  the  Cross  as  an  author  and  set  it  down 
to  his  administrative  talents.  So  he  cajoled  Bixiou  with  a 
view  to  exploiting  him,  but  as  yet  he  had  not  ventured  to 
broach  the  subject.  This  noble  heart  was  waiting  impatiently 
for  the  death  of  the  father  who  had  but  lately  been  made  a 
baron.  "The  Chevalier  de  la  Billardiere"  (so  his  name  ap- 
peared on  his  cards)  had  his  armorial  bearings  framed  and 
hung  up  at  the  office,  to  wit,  sable,  two  swords  saltire-wise, 
on  a  chief  azure,  three  stars,  and  the  motto:  a  toujours 
FiDELE.  He  had  a  craze  for  talking  of  heraldry.  Once  he 
asked  the  young  Vicomte  de  Portenduere  why  his  arms  were 
blazoned  thus,  and  drew  down  upon  himself  the  neat  reply, 
"It  was  none  of  my  doing."  Little  la  Billardiere  talked 
much  of  his  devotion  to  the  Monarchy,  and  of  the  Dauphiness' 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  259 

graciousness  to  him.  He  was  on  very  good  terms  with  des 
Lupeaulx,  often  breakfasted  with  him,  and  believed  that  des 
Lupeaulx  was  his  friend.  Bixiou,  posing  as  his  mentor,  had 
hopes  of  ridding  the  division,  and  France  likewise,  of  the 
young  coxcomb  by  plunging  him  into  dissipation  >  and  he  made 
no  secret  of  his  intentions. 

Such  were  the  principal  figures  in  la  Billardiere's  division. 
Some  others  there  were  besides  which  more  or  less  approached 
these  types  in  habits  of  life  or  appearance.  Baudoyer's  office 
boasted  various  examples  of  the  genus  clerk  in  divers  bald- 
fronted,  chilly  mortals,  with  frames  well  wadded  round  with 
flannel.  These  individuals  carried  thorn-sticks,  wore  thread- 
bare clothes,  and  never  were  seen  without  an  umbrella.  They 
perched,  as  a  rule,  on  fifth  floors,  and  cultivated  flowers  at 
that  height.  Clerks  of  this  type  rank  half-way  between  the 
prosperous  porter  .and  the  needy  artisan;  they  are  too  far 
from  the  administrative  centre  to  hope  for  any  promotion 
whatsoever ;  they  are  pawns  upon  the  bureaucratic  chessboard. 
When  their  turn  comes  to  go  on  guard,  they  rejoice  to  get  a 
day  away  from  the  office.  There  is  nothing  that  they  will 
not  do  for  extras.  How  they  exist  at  all  their  very  employers 
would  be  puzzled  to  say ;  their  lives  are  an  indictment  against 
the  State  that  assuredly  causes  the  misery  by  accepting  such 
a  condition  of  things. 

At  sight  of  their  strange  faces  it  is  hard  to  decide  whether 
these  quill-bearing  mammals  become  cretinous  at  their  task, 
or  whether,  on  the  other  hand,  they  would  never  have  under- 
taken it  if  they  had  not  been,  to  some  extent,  cretins  from 
birth.  Perhaps  Nature  and  the  Government  may  divide  the 
responsibility  between  them.  "Villagers,"  according  to  an 
unknown  writer,  "are  submitted  to  the  influences  of  at- 
mospheric conditions  and  surrounding  circumstances.  They 
do  not  seek  to  explain  the  fact  to  themselves.  They  are  in 
a  manner  identified  with  their  natural  surroundings.  Slowly 
and  imperceptibly  the  ideas  and  ways  of  feeling  awakened  by 
those  surroundings  will  permeate  their  being,  and  come  to 
the  surface  of  their  lives,  in  their  personal  appearance  and  in 


260  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

their  actions,  with  variations  for  each  individual  organization 
and  temperament.  And  thus,  if  any  student  feels  attracted 
to  the  little  known  and  fruitful  field  of  physiological  inquiry, 
which  includes  the  effects  produced  by  external  natural  agents 
upon  human  character,  for  him  the  villager  becomes  a  most 
interesting  and  trustworthy  book."  But  for  the  employe, 
^STature  is  replaced  by  the  office ;  his  horizon  is  bounded  upon 
all  sides  by  green  pasteboard  cases.  For  him  atmospheric  in- 
fluences mean  the  air  of  the  corridors,  the  stuffy  atmosphere 
of  unventilated  rooms  where  men  are  crowded  together;  and 
the  odor  of  paper  and  quills.  A  floor  of  bare  bricks  or 
parquetry,  bestrewn  with  strange  litter,  and  besprinkled  from 
the  messenger's  watering-can,  is  the  scene  of  his  labors;  his 
sky  is  the  ceiling,  to  which  his  yawns  are  addressed :  his  ele- 
ment is  dust.  The  above  remarks  on  the  villager  might  have 
been  meant  for  the  clerk;  he  too  is  ^'identified"  with  his  sur- 
roundings. The  sun  scarcely  shines  into  the  horrid  dens 
known  as  public  offices ;  the  thinking  powers  of  their  occupants 
are  strictly  confined  to  a  monotonous  round.  Their  prototype, 
the  mill-horse,  j^awns  hideously  over  such  work,  and  cannot 
stand  it  for  long.  And  since  several  learned  doctors  see  rea- 
son to  dread  the  effects  of  such  half-barbarous,  half-civilized 
surroundings  upon  the  mental  constitution  of  human  beings 
pent  up  among  them,  Eabourdin  sureh^  was  profoundly  right 
.when  he  proposed  to  cut  down  the  number  of  the  staff,  and 
asked  for  heavy  salaries  and  hard  work  for  them.  Men  are 
not  bored  when  they  have  great  things  to  do. 

As  government  offices  are  at  present  constituted,  four  hours 
out  of  the  nine  which  the  clerks  are  supposed  to  give  to  the 
State  are  wasted,  as  will  presently  be  seen,  over  talks, 
anecdotes,  and  squabbles,  and,  more  than  all,  over  office  in- 
trigues. You  do  not  know,  unless  you  frequent  government 
offices,  how  much  the  clerks'  little  world  resembles  the  world 
of  school ;  the  similarity  strikes  you  wherever  men  live  to- 
gether ;  and  in  the  army  or  the  laws-courts  you  find  the  school 
again  on  a  rnther  larger  scale.  The  body  of  clerks,  thus  pent 
up  for  eight  hours  at  a  stretch,  looked  upon  the  offices  as 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  26l 

(Qlasgcooms  in  which  a  certain  amount  of  lessons  must  be 
done.  The  master  on  duty  was  called  the  head  of  the 
division;  extra  pay  took  the  place  of  good  conduct  prizes, 
and  always  fell  to  favorites.  They  teased  and  disliked  each 
other,  and  yet  there  was  a  sort  of  good-fellowship  among  them 
— though,  even  so,  it  was  cooler  than  the  same  feeling  in  a 
regiment;  and  in  the  regiment,  again,  it  is  not  so  strong  as 
it  is  am.ong  schoolboys.  As  a  man  advances  in  life,  egoism 
develops  with  his  growth  and  slackens  the  secondary  ties  of 
affection.  What  is  an  office,  in  short,  but  a  world  in  minia- 
ture?— a  world  with  its  unaccountable  freaks,  its  friendships 
and  hatreds,  its  envy  and  greed,  its  continual  movement  to 
the  front?  There,  too,  is  the  light  talk  that  makes  many  a 
wound,  and  espionage  that  never  ceases. 

At  this  particular  moment  the  whole  division  headed  by 
M.  le  Baron  de  la  Billardiere  was  shaken  by  an  extraordinary 
commotion;  and,  indeed,  coming  events  fully  justified  the 
excitement,  for  heads  of  divisions  do  not  die  every  day;  and 
no  tontine  insurance  association  can  calculate  the  probabili- 
ties of  life  and  death  with  more  sagacity  than  a  government 
office.  In  government  clerks,  as  in  children,  self-interest 
leaves  no  room  for  pity;  but  the  clerk  has  hypocrisy  in  ad- 
dition. 

Towards  eight  o'clock  Baudoyer's  staff  were  taking  their 
places,  whereas  Rabourdin's  clerks  had  scarcely  begun  to  put 
in  an  appearance  at  nine ;  and  yet  the  work  was  done  much 
more  quickly  in  the  latter  office.  Dutocq  had  weighty  rea- 
sons of  his  own  for  arriving  early.  "He  had  stolen  into  the 
private  office  the  night  before,  and  detected  Sebastien  in  the 
act  of  copying  out  papers  for  Rabourdin.  He  had  hidden 
himself,  and  watched  Sebastien  go  out  without  the  papers ;  \ 
and  then,  feeling  sure  of  finding  a  tolerably  bulky  rough  draft 
and  the  fair  copy,  he  had  hunted  through  one  pasteboard  case 
after  another,  till  at  last  he  found  the  terrible  list.  Hurrying 
away  to  a  lithographer's  establishment,  he  had  tv,^o  impressions 
of  the  sheet  taken  off  with  a  copying-press,  and  in  this  way 
became  possessed  of  Rabourdin's  own  handwriting.     Then. 


^•A^J    ^' 


262  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 


? 


c 


to  prevent  suspicion,  he  went  to  the  office  the  first  thing  m 
the  morning  and  put  the  rough  draft  back  in  the  case. 
Sebastien  had  stayed  till  midnight  in  the  Rue  Duphot.  In 
spite  of  his  diligence,  hatred  was  beforehand  with  him. 
Hatred  dwelt  in  the  Hue  Saint  Louis  Saint-Honore,  whereas 
devotion  lived  in  the  Rue  du  Roi  Dore  in  the  Marais.  Rabour- 
din  was  to  feel  the  effect  of  that  trivial  delay  through  the 
rest  of  his  life.  Sebastien  hurried  to  open  the  case,  found  all 
in  order,  and  locked  up  the  rough  draft  and  unfinished  copy 
in  his  chief's  desk. 

On  a  morning  towards  the  end  of  December  the  light  is 
usually  dim;  in  our  offices,  indeed,  they  often  work  by  lamp- 
light until  ten  o'clock.  So  Sebastien  did  not  notice  the  mark 
of  the  stone  on  the  paper ;  but  at  half-past  nine,  when  Rabour- 
din  looked  closely  at  his  draft,  he  saw  that  it  had  been  sub- 
mitted to  some  copying  process ;  he  was  the  more  likely  to  see 
the  traces  of  the  slab,  because  of  late  he  had  been  much  in- 
terested in  experiments  in  lithography,  for  he  thought  that  a 
press  might  do  the  work  of  a  copying-clerk. 

Rabourdin  seated  himself  in  his  chair.  So  deeply  was  he 
absorbed  in  his  reflections,  that  he  took  the  tongs  and  began 
to  build  up  the  fire.  Then,  curious  to  know  into  what  hands 
his  secret  had  fallen,  he  sent  for  Sebastien. 

"Did  any  one  come  to  the  office  before  you?" 

"Yes;  M.  Dutocq." 

"Good.     He  is  punctual.     Send  Antoine  to  me." 

Rabourdin  was  too  magnanimous  to  cause  Sebastien  need- 
less distress  by  reproaching  him  now  that  the  mischief  was 
done.  He  said  no  more  about  it.  Antoine  came.  Rabourdin 
asked  if  any  of  the  clerks  had  stayed  after  four  o'clock  on  the 
previous  day.  Antoine  said  that  M.  Dutocq  had  stayed  even 
later  than  M.  de  la  Roche.  Rabourdin  nodded,  and  resumed 
the  course  of  his  reflections. 

"Twice  I  have  prevented  his  dismissal,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"and  this  is  my  reward!" 

For  Rabourdin  that  morning  was  to  be  the  solemn  crisis 
when  great  captains  decide  upon  a  battle  after  weighing  all 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  263 

possible  consequences.  No  one  better  knew  the  temper  of  the 
offices ;  he  was  perfectly  aware  that  anything  resembling 
espionage  or  tale-telling  is  no  more  pardoned  by  clerks  than  by 
schoolboys.  The  man  that  can  tell  tales  of  his  comrades  is 
disgraced,  ruined,  and  traduced ;  ministers  in  such  a  case  will 
drop  their  instrument.  Any  man  in  the  service,  under  these 
circumstances,  sends  in  his  resignation — no  other  course  is 
open  to  him ;  upon  his  honor  there  lies  a  stain  that  can  never 
be  wiped  out.  Explanations  are  useless — nobody  wants  them, 
nobody  will  listen  to  them.  A  cabinet  minister  in  the  like 
case  is  a  great  man;  it  is  his  business  to  choose  men;  but  a 
mere  subordinate  is  taken  for  a  spy,  no  matter  what  his 
motives  may  be.  Even  while  Eabourdin  measured  the  empti- 
ness of  this  folly,  he  saw  the  depths  of  it — saw,  too,  that  he 
must  sink.  He  was  not  so  much  overwhelmed  as  taken  by 
surprise;  so  he  sat  pondering  his  best  course  of  action  in  the 
matter,  and  knew  nothing  of  the  commotion  caused  in  the 
offices  by  the  news  of  the  death  of  M.  de  la  Billardiere  till 
he  heard  of  it  through  young  de  la  Briere,  who  could  ap- 
preciate the  immense  value  of  the  chief  clerk. 

Meanwhile  in  the  Baudoyer's  office  (for  the  clerks  were 
respectively  known  as  the  Baudoyers  and  the  Rabourdins) 
Bixiou  was  giving  the  details  of  la  Billardiere's  last  moments 
for  the  benefit  of  Minard,  Desroys,  M.  Godard  (whom,  he  had 
fetched  out  of  his  sanctum),  and  Dutocq.  A  double  motive 
had  sent  the  last-named  individual  hurrying  over  to  the  Bau- 
doyers, 

Bixiou  {standing  before  the  stove,  holding  first  one  boot  and 
then  the  other  to  the  fire  to  dry  the  soles).  "This  morning  at 
half-past  seven  I  went  to  inquire  after  our  worthy  and  revered 
director.  Chevalier  of  Christ,  et  csetera.  Et  cgetera?  My 
goodness,  I  should  think  so,  gentlemen;  only  yesterday  the 
Baron  was  a  score  of  e^  cceteras,  and  now  to-day  he  is  nothing, 
not  even  a  government  clerk.  I  asked  what  sort  of  a  night 
he  had  had.  His  nurse,  who  does  not  die,  but  surrenders, 
told  me  that  towards  five  o'clock  this  morning  he  had  felt  un- 
easy about  the  Royal  Family.     He  got  somebody  to  read  over 


264  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLEEKS 

the  names  of  those  tliat  had  sent  to  make  inquiries.  Then  he 
said,  'Fill  my  snuff-box,  give  me  the  newspaper,  bring  me  my 
glasses,  and  change  my  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  for 
it  is  getting  very  dirty.'  (He  wears  his  orders  in  bed,  you 
know.)  So  he  was  fully  conscious,  you  see,  quite  in  the  posses- 
sion of  all  his  faculties  and  habitual  ideas.  But,  pooh !  ten 
minutes  afterwards  the  water  had  gone  up,  up,  up;  up  to  his 
heart  and  into  his  lungs.  He  knew  he  was  dying  when  he 
felt  the  cysts  break.  At  that  supreme  moment  he  showed 
what  he  was — how  strong  his  character,  his  intellect  how  vast ! 
Ah !  some  of  us  did  not  appreciate  him.  We  used  to  laugh 
at  him;  we  took  him  for  a  dunce;  for  the  veriest  dunce,  did 
we  not,  M.  Godard?" 

GoDARD.  "For  my  own  part,  nobody  could  have  a  higher 
opinion  of  M.  de  la  Billardiere's  talents  than  I." 

Bixiou.     "You  understood  each  other." 

Godard.  "After  all,  'twas  not  a  spiteful  man.  He  never 
did  anybody  harm." 

Bixiou.  "A  man  must  do  something  if  he  is  to  do  harm, 
and  he  never  did  anything.  Then  if  it  was  not  you  that 
thought  him  hopelessly  inept,  it  must  have  been  Minard." 

MiXARD  {shrug gijig  his  shoulders).     "I?" 

Bixiou.  "Well,  then,  it  was  you,  Dutocq.  {As  Dutocq 
makes  signs  of  vehement  protest.)  What?  you  none  of  you 
thought  so  ?  Good  I  Everybody  here,  it  seems,  took  him  for 
an  intellectual  Hercules?  Very  well,  you  were  right;  he 
made  an  end  like  a  man  of  talent,  an  intelligent  man,  a  great 
man,  as  he  was,  in  fact." 

Desroys  {growing  impatient).  "Gracious  me  !  what  has  he 
done  that  is  so  extraordinary?     Did  he  make  confession?" 

Bixiou.  "Yes,  sir,  and  expressed  a  wish  to  receive  the 
sacraments.  But  do  you  know  how  he  received  them  ?  He 
had  himself  put  into  a  court  suit  as  Gentleman  in  Ordinary, 
he  had  all  his  orders,  he  even  had  his  hair  powdered ;  they  tied 
up  his  queue  (poor  queue!)  with  a  new  ribbon  (and  it  is  only 
a  man  of  some  cbaracter,  I  can  tell  you,  that  can  mind  his 
p's  and  queues  when  he  lies  a-dying;  there  are  eight  of  us 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  265 

here,  and  not  a  single  one  of  us  could  do  it).  And  that  is 
not  all;  you  know  that  celebrated  men  always  make  a  last 
'speech' — that  is  the  English  word  for  a  parliamentary  gag- 
well,  he  said — what  did  he  say  now  ? — ah !  yes ;  he  said,  'I 
ought  surely  to  put  on  my  best  to  receive  the  King  of  Heaven, 
when  I  have  so  many  times  dressed  within  an  inch  of  my  life 
to  pay  my  respects  to  an  earthly  sovereign !'  Thus  ended  M. 
de  la  Billardiere ;  he  might  have  done  it  on  purpose  to  justify 
the  saying  of  Pythagoras  that  Sve  never  know  men  until  they 
are  dead/  " 

CoLLEViLLE  (coming  in).  "At  last,  gentlemen,  I  have  a 
famous  piece  of  news  for  you " 

Omnes.     "We  know  it." 

CoLLEViLLE.  "I  defy  you  to  guess  it !  I  have  been  at  this 
ever  since  His  Majesty's  accession  to  the  thrones  of  France 
and  Xavarre ;  and  I  finished  it  last  night.  It  bothered  me  so 
much  that  Mme.  Colleville  wanted  to  know  what  it  was  that 
worried  me  so  much." 

DuTOCQ.  "Do  you  suppose  that  anybody  has  time  to  think 
of  your  anagrams  when  the  highly-respected  M.  de  la  Billar- 
diere has  just  died  ?" 

Colleville.  "I  recognize  Bixiou's  hand.  I  have  only 
just  been  to  M.  de  la  Billardiere's ;  he  was  still  alive,  but  he 
is  not  expected  to  last  long."  ( Godard  discovers  that  he  has 
been  hoaxed,  and  goes  hacTc  in  disgust  to  his  sanctum.)  "But, 
gentlemen,  you  would  never  guess  the  events  that  lie  in  that 
sacramental  phrase"  (holds  out  a  paper),  "Charles  Dix,  par 
la  grace  de  Dieu,  roi  de  France  et  de  Navarre." 

Godard  {coming  hack).  "Out  with  it  at  once,  and  do  not 
waste  their  time." 

Colleville  (triumphantly,  displaying  the  folded  end  of 
the  sheet). 

A.  H.  V.  il  cedera 
De  S.  C.  I.  d.  partira 
En  nauf  errera 
Decede  a  Gorix. 


266  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

"All  the  letters  are  there:  'To  H.  Y.'  (Henri  V.)  'he  will 
yield'  (his  crown,  that  is)  ;  'From  S.  C.  1.  d.'  (Saint  Cloud) 
'he  will  set  forth;  On  a  bark'  (that  means  a  boat,  skiff,  vessel, 
whatever  you  like,  it  is  an  old  French  word),  'on  a  bark  he 
will  wander  abroad '  " 

DuTOCQ.  "What  a  tissue  of  absurdities !  How  do  you 
make  it  out  that  the  King  vrill  resign  his  crown  to  Henri  V., 
who,  on  your  showing,  would  be  his  grandson,  when  there  is 
His  Highness  the  Dauphin  in  between?  You  are  prophesy- 
ing the  Dauphin's  death  anj'how." 

Bixiou.    "What  is  Gorix  ?    A  cat's  name  ?" 

CoLLEviLLE  {nettled).  "It  is  a  lapidar3^'s  abbre%'iation 
of  the  name  of  a  town,  ni}'  dear  friend;  I  looked  it  up  in 
Malte-Brun.  Gorix,  the  Latin  Gorixia,  is  situated  somewhere 
in  Bohemia  or  Hungary ;  it  is  in  Austria  any  way " 

Bixiou  {interrupting).  "Tyrol,  Basque  provinces,  or 
South  America.  You  ought  to  have  looked  out  an  air  at  the 
same  time  so  as  to  play  it  on  the  clarionet." 

GoDARD  {shrugging  his  shoulders  as  he  goes).  "What 
rubbish !" 

CoLLEViLLE.  "Eubbish  !  rubbish !  I  should  be  very  glad 
if  you  Avould  take  the  trouble  to  study  fatalism,  the  religion 
of  the  Emperor  jSTapoleon." 

GoDARD  {nettled  by  Colleville's  tone).  "M.  Colleville, 
Bonaparte  may  be  styled  'Emperor*  by  historians,  but  in  a 
Government  office  he  ought  not  to  be  recognized  in  that  char- 
acter." 

Bixiou  {smiling).  "Find  an  anagram  in  that,  my  good 
friend.  There !  as  for  anagrams,  I  like  your  wife  better. 
{sotto  voce).  She  is  easier  to  turn  round. — Flavie  really 
ought  to  make  you  chief  clerk  at  some  odd  moment  when  she 
has  time  to  spare,  if  it  were  only  to  put  you  out  of  reach  of  a 
Godard's  stupidity " 

DuTOCQ  {coming  to  Godard's  support).  "If  it  wasn't  all 
rubbish,  you  might  lose  your  place,  for  the  things  you  pro- 
phesy are  not  exactly  pleasant  for  the  King;  every  good 
Royalist  is  bound  to  assume  that  when  he  has  been  twice  in 
exile  he  has  seen  enough  of  foreign  parts." 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  267 

CoLLEViLLE.  "If  they  took  away  my  post,  Francois  Keller 
would  walk  into  your  Minister"  {deep  silence).  "Know, 
Master  Dutocq,  that  every  known  anagram  has  been  fulfilled. 
Look  here  !  don't  you  marry,  there  is  coqu  in  your  name  !" 

Bixiou.    "And  D  T  left  over  for  'detestable.' '" 

DuTOCQ  {not  apparently  put  out).  "I  would  rather  it 
went  no  further  than  my  name." 

Paulmier  {aside  to  Desroys).  "Had  you  there,  Master 
Colleville !" 

DuTOCQ  {to  Colleville).  "Have  you  done,  Xavier  Ra- 
hourdin,  chef  de  bureau " 

Colleville.    "Egad,  I  have." 

Bixiou  {cutting  a  pen).    "And  what  did  you  make  out?" 

Colleville.  "It  makes  this:  D'abord  reva  bureaux,  E.  U. 
— Do  you  take  it? — Et  il  eut  fin  riche.  "Which  means  that 
after  beginning  in  the  civil  service  he  chucked  it  over  to  make 
his  fortune  somewhere  else." 

DuTOCQ.    "It  is  funny,  anyhow." 

Bixiou.     "And  Isidore  Baudoyer?" 

Colleville  {mysteriously).  "I  would  rather  not  tell 
anybody  but  Thullier." 

Bixiou.    "Bet  you  a  breakfast  I  will  tell  you  what  it  is !" 

Colleville.    "I  will  pay  if  you  find  out." 

Bixiou.  "Then  you  are  going  to  stand  treat ;  but  don't  be 
vexed,  two  artists  such  as  you  and  I  will  die  of  laughing. 
Isidore  Baudoyer  gives  Ris  d'aboyeur  d'oie,  he  laughs  at  the 
fellow  that  barks  at  a  goose." 

Colleville  {thunderstruck).    "You  stole  it !" 

Bixiou  {stiffly).  "M.  Colleville,  do  me  the  honor  to  be- 
lieve that  I  am  so  rich  in  folly  that  I  have  no  need  to  steal 
from  my  neighbors." 

Baudoyer  {a  letter-file  in  his  hand).  "Talk  just  a  little 
louder,  gentlemen,  I  beg;  you  will  bring  the  office  into  good 
odor.  The  estimable  M.  Clergeot,  who  did  me  the  honor  to 
come  to  ask  for  some  information,  has  had  the  benefit  of 
5''our  conversation"  {goes  to  Godard's  office). 

DuTOCQ  {aside  to  Bixiou).  "I  have  something  to  saj  to 
you." 


268  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

Bixiou  {fingering  Dutocq's  waistcoat).  "You  are  wearing 
a  neat  waistcoat  which  cost  you  next  to  nothing,  no  doubt. 
Is  that  the  secret  ?" 

DuTOCQ.  "What?  iSText  to  nothing?  I  never  gave  so 
much  for  a  waistcoat  before.  The  stuff  costs  six  francs  a 
yard  at  the  big  shop  in  the  Eue  de  la  Paix;  it  is  a  fine  dull 
silk,  just  the  thing  for  deep  mourning." 

Bixiou.  "You  understand  prints,  but  you  do  not  know  the 
rules  of  etiquette.  One  cannot  know  everything.  Silk  is  not 
the  proper  thing  to  wear  in  deep  mourning.  That  is  why  I 
only  wear  wool  myself.  M.  Eabourdin,  M.  Clergeot,  and  the 
Minister  are  all-wool;  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  is  all- 
wool.  Every  one  goes  about  in  wool  except  Minard;  he  is 
afraid  that  people  will  take  him  for  a  sheep,  styled  laniger  in 
"rustical  Latin ;  and  on  that  pretext  he  dispensed  with  mourn- 
ing for  King  Louis  XVIIL,  a  great  legislator,  a  witty  man, 
the  author  of  the  Charter,  a  king  that  will  hold  his  own  in 
history,  as  he  held  it  everywhere  else;  for — do  j^ou  know  the 
finest  touch  of  character  in  his  life  ?  No  ? — Well,  then,  when 
he  received  all  the  allied  sovereigns  at  his  second  entry,  he 
walked  out  first  to  table." 

Paulmier  {loohing  at  Dutocq).     "I  do  not  see " 

DuTOCQ  {looking  at  Paulmier) .    "No  more  do  I." 

Bixiou.  "You  do  not  understand?  Well,  then;  he  did 
not  regard  himself  as  at  home  in  his  own  house.  It  was  in- 
genious, great,  epigrammatic !  The  allied  sovereigns  under- 
stood it  no  more  than  you  do,  even  when  they  put  their  heads 
together  to  make  it  out.  It  is  true  that  they  were  pretty 
nearly  all  of  them  strangers " 

Baudoyer  {in  his  assistant  clerTi's  sanctum,  where  he  has 
been  conversing  in  an  undertone  beside  the  fire,  while  the  tall' 
went  on  outside).  "Yes,  our  worthy  chief  is  breathing  his 
■  last.  Both  Ministers  are  there  to  receive  his  latest  sigh ;  my 
father-in-law  has  just  been  informed  of  the  event.  If  you 
wish  to  do  me  a  signal  service,  take  a  cabriolet  and  go  to 
Mme.  Baudoyer  with  the  news;  M.  Saillard  cannot  leave  his 
desk,  and  T  dare  not  leave  the  office  to  look  after  itself.    Put 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  269 

yourself  at  Mme.  Baudoyer's  disposal ;  she  has  her  own  views, 
I  believe,  and  might  possibly  wish  to  take  several  steps 
simultaneously"  {they  go  out  together). 

GoDAED,  "M.  Bixiou,  I  am  leaving  the  office  for  the  day, 
so  will  you  take  my  place  ?" 

Baudoyer  {looking  benignly  at  Bixiou).  "You  might 
consult  me  should  occasion  require  it." 

Bixiou.     "This  time,  la  Billardiere  is  really  dead!" 

DuTOCQ  {whispers  to  Bixiou) .  "Look  here !  Now  is  the 
time  for  coming  to  an  understanding  about  getting  on. 
Suppose  that  you  are  chief  clerk  and  I  assistant;  what  dc 
you  say?" 

Bixiou  {shrugging  his  shoulders).    "Come,  no  nonsense!" 

DuTOCQ.  "If  Baudoyer  gets  the  appointment,  Eabourdin 
will  not  stay  "on;  he  will  send"  in  his  resignation.  Between 
ourselYgs^'TBaudoyer  is  so  incompetent  that  if  you-  and  du 
Bruel  will  not  help  him  he  will  be  cashiered  in  two  months' 
time.  If  I  can  put  two  and  two  together,  we  will  have  three 
vacant  places  ahead  of  us." 

Bixiou.  "Three  places  that  will  be  given  away  under  our 
noses;  they  v/ill  go  to  swag-bellied  toadies,  flunkeys,  spies, 
and  men  of  the  'Congregation' ;  to  Colleville  here,  whose 
wife  has  gone  the  way  of  all  pretty  women,  to — a  devout  end- 
ing." 

DuTOCQ.  "It  will  go  to  you,  my  dear  fellow,  if  for  once  in 
your  life  you  care  to  employ  your  wits  consistently"  {stop- 
ping short  to  note  the  effect  of  the  adverb  upon  his  listener). 
"Let  us  be  open  and  above-board." 

Bixiou  (imperturbably) .     "What  is  your  game?" 

DuTOCQ.  "For  my  own  part,  I  want  to  be  chief  clerk's 
assistant  and  nothing  else.  I  know  myself;  I  know  that  I 
have  not  the  ability  to  be  chief,  and  that  you  have.  Du 
Bruel  may  get  la  Billardiere's  place,  and  then  you  would  be 
chief  clerk  under  him.  He  will  leave  you  his  berth  when  he 
has  feathered  his  nest ;  and  as  for  me,  with  yon  to  protect  me, 
I  shall  potter  along  till  I  get  m)'^  pension." 

Bixiou.     "Sly  dog.     But  how  do  you  mean  to  bring  this 


270  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

through?  It  is  a  matter  of  forcing  a  Minister's  hand  and 
spitting  out  a  man  of  talent.  Between  ourselves^  Rabourdin 
is  the  only  man  that  is  fit  to  take  the  division — the  depart- 
ment, who  knows  ?  And  you  propose  to  put  that  square  block 
of  stupidity,  that  cube  of  incompetence.  La  Place-Baudoyer, 
in  his  stead?" 

DuTOCQ  {bridling  np).  "My  dear  fellow,  I  can.  set  the 
whole  place  against  Eabourdin  ?  You  know  how  Fleury  loves 
him?    Well  and  good,  Fleury  shall  look  down  upon  him." 

Bixiou.     "To  be  despised  by  Fleury !" 

DuTOCQ.  "Xobody  will  stand  by  him.  The  clerks  will  go 
in  a  body  to  the  Minister  to  complain  of  him;  and  not  our 
division  only,  but  Clergeot's  division  and  the  Bois-Levants, 
all  the  departments  in  a  mass." 

Bixiou.  "Just  so;  cavalry,  infantry,  artillery,  and  horse 
marines,  all  to  the  front !  You  are  off  your  head,  my  dear 
fellow !    And  what  have  I,  for  one,  to  do  in  this  ?" 

DuTOCQ.  "Draw  a  cutting  caricature,  a  thing  that  a  man 
cannot  get  over." 

Bixiou.    "Are  you  going  to  pay  for  it  ?" 

DuTOCQ.     "A  hundred  francs." 

Bixiou  (to  himself).    "There  is  something  in  it,  then." 

DuTOCQ.  "Eabourdin  might  be  dressed  as  a  butcher;  but 
the  likeness  must  be  unmistakable.  Find  out  points  of  re- 
.-emblance  between  an  office  and  a  kitchen;  put  a  larding- 
knife  in  Rabourdin's  hand;  draw  a  lot  of  poultry,  give  them 
the  heads  of  the  principal  clerks  in  the  department,  and  put 
[hem  in  a  huge  coop  with  'Dispatch  Department'  written 
over  it,  and  Rabourdin  must  be  supposed  to  be  cutting  their 
liiroats  one  after  another.  There  should  be  geese,  you  know, 
and  ducks  with  faces  like  ours;  just  a  sort  of  a  likeness,  you 
understand !  Rabourdin  ought  to  have  a  fowl  in  his  hand — 
Baudoyer,  for  example,  got  up  as  a  turkey." 

Bixiou.  "  'Laughs  at  those  that  bark  at  a  goose' "  (stares 
a  long  while  at  Dutocq).    "Did  you  think  of  this  yourself?" 

DuTOCQ.    "Yes." 

Bixiou  (to  himself).    "Violent  hatred  and  talent,  it  seems. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  271 

reach  the  same  end!"  {To  Dutocq)  "My  dear  fellow,  I  will 
do  it''  {Dutocq  starts  with  joy  in  spite  of  himself)  "if — 
{pause) — "if  1  know  whom  I  can  look  to  to  back  me  up;  for 
if  you  do  not  succeed,  I  shall  lose  my  berth,  and  I  must  live. 
And  what  is  more,  your  good-nature  is  somewhat  singular, 
my  dear  colleague." 

Dutocq.  "Well,  do  not  make  the  drawing  until  success  is 
plain  to  you " 

Bixiou.    "Why  not  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  at  once  ?" 

Dutocq.  "I  must  scent  out  how  things  are  in  the  offices 
first.    We  will  talk  of  this  again  afterwards"  {goes). 

Bixiou  {left  standing  hy  himself  in  the  corridor).  "That 
stock-fish  (for  he  is  more  like  a  fish  than  a  man),  that  Du- 
tocq has  got  hold  of  a  good  idea,  I  do  not  know  where  he 
found  it.  It  would  be  funny  if  La  Place-Baudoyer  got  la 
Billardiere's  place ;  it  would  be  better  than  funny ;  we  should 
get  something  by  it."  {Goes  hacTc  to  the  office).  "Gentle- 
men, some  famous  changes  v/ill  be  seen  here  directly;  Daddy 
la  Billardiere  is  really  dead  this  time.  No  humbug !  Word 
of  honor !  There  goes  Godard  post-haste  on  an  errand  for 
our  revered  chief  Baudoyer,  heir-presumptive  to  the  late  la- 
mented !"  {Mi?iard,  Desroys,  and  Colleville  raise  their  heads 
and  drop  their  pens  in  astonishment;  Colleville  blows  his 
nose.)  "Some  of  us  will  get  a  step!  Colleville  is  going  to 
be  assistant  clerk  at  least;  Minard,  perhaps,  will  be  first 
draughting-clerk;  why  not?  He  is  every  bit  as  great  a  fool 
as  I  am.  If  you  were  raised  to  two  thousand  five  hundred 
francs — hey,  Minard ! — your  little  wife  would  be  finely 
pleased,  and  you  might  buy  yourself  a  pair  of  boots." 

Colleville.  "But  you  have  not  two  thousand  five  hun- 
dred francs  yet." 

Bixiou.  "M.  Dutocq  gets  as  much  as  that  in  the  Ealjour- 
dins'.  Why  should  not  I  within  the  A^ear?  So  had  M.  Bau- 
doyer  " 

Colleville.  "That  was  through  M.  Saillard's  influence. 
Not  a  single  draughting-clerk  gets  so  much  in  Clergeot's 
division." 


272  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

Paulmiee.  "By  the  way !  M.  Cochin,  may  be,  has  not 
three  thousand  ?  He  succeeded  M.  Vavasseur,  and  M.  Vavas- 
seur  was  here  for  ten  years  under  the  Empire  on  four  thou- 
sand, he  was  cut  down  to  three  thousand  on  the  first  return 
of  the  Bourbons,  and  died  on  two  thousand  five  hundred. 
But  M.  Cochin's  brother's  influence  raised  it,  and  so  he  gets 
three." 

CoLLEviLLE.  "M.  Cochin  signs  himself  E.  L.  L.  E.  Cochin ; 
his  name  is  Emile  Louis  Lucien  Emmanuel,  and  his  anagram 
gives  Cochenille.  Well,  and  he  became  a  partner  in  a  drug 
business  in  the  Rue  des  Lombards,  and  the  firm  of  Matifat 
made  money  by  speculating  in  that  particular  colonial 
product." 

Bixiou.    "Matifat,  poor  man,  he  had  a  year  of  Florine." 

CoLLEviLLE.  "Cochin  sometimes  comes  to  our  parties,  for 
he  is  a  first-rate  performer  on  the  violin."  {To  Bixiou,  who 
has  not  begun  to  work).  "You  ought  to  come  to  our  concert 
next  Tuesday.    They  will  play  a  quartette  by  Eeicha." 

Bixiou.    "Thanks,  I  would  rather  look  at  the  score." 

COLLEVILLE.  "Do  you  say  that  for  a  joke?  For  an  artist 
of  your  attainments  ought  surely  to  be  fond  of  music." 

Bixiou.    "I  am  going,  but  it  is  for  madame's  sake." 

B a.TJDOY'EB.  {returning) .  "M.  Chazelle  not  here  yet ?  Give 
him  my  compliments,  gentlemen." 

Bixiou  {who  had  put  a  hat  on  Chazelle's  place  as  soon  as 
he  heard  Baudoyer's  footsteps).  "Begging  your  pardon,  sir, 
he  has  gone  to  make  an  inquiry  of  the  Rabourdin's  for  3''ou." 

Chazelle  {coming  in  with  his  hat  on  his  head,  misses 
Baudoyer) .  "Old  la  Billardiere  has  gone  out,  gentlemen ! 
Rabourdin  is  head  of  the  division,  and  Master  of  Requests ! 
He  has  fairly  earned  his  step,  he  has ! " 

Baudoyer  {to  Chazelle).  "You  found  the  appointment 
in  your  second  hat,  sir,  did  you  not?"  {pointing  to  the  hat 
on  Chazelle' s  desk).  "This  is  the  third  time  this  month  that 
you  have  come  in  after  nine  o'clock;  if  you  keep  it  up,  you 
will  get  on,  but  in  what  sense  remains  to  be  seen."  {To 
Bixiou,  ivlio  is  reading  the  newspaper.)    "My  dear  M.  Bixiou, 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  273 

for  pity's  sake,  leave  the  paper  to  these  gentlemen  (they  are 
just  going  to  take  their  breakfasts),  and  come  and  set  about 
to-day's  business.  I  do  not  know  what  M.  Eabourdin  does 
with  Gabriel ;  he  keeps  him  for  his  own  private  use,  I  suppose, 
for  I  have  rung  three  times"  {disappears  with  Bixiou  into 
Godard's  office). 

Chazelle.     "Cursed  luck !" 

Paulmier  (delighted  to  tease  Chazelle).  "So  they  did  not 
tell  you  downstairs  that  he  had  gone  up?  Anyhow,  could 
you  not  use  your  eyes  when  you  came  in,  and  see  the  hat  on 
your  desk,  and  that  elephant " 

Colleville  (laughing).     " — In  the  menagerie." 

Paulmier.  "You  ought  to  have  seen  him — he  is  big 
enough." 

Chazelle  (desperately).  "Egad!  even  if  the  Government 
pays  us  four  francs  seventy-five  centimes  per  day,  I  do  not  see 
that  we  are  slaves  in  consequence." 

Fleury  (coming  in  at  the  door).  "Down  with  Baudoyer! 
Long  live  Eabourdin !  That  is  the  cry  all  through  the  divi- 
sion." 

Chazelle  (lashing  himself  into  fury).  "Baudoyer  is 
welcome  to  cashier  me  if  he  has  a  mind;  I  shall  be  no  worse 
off  than  before.  There  are  a  thousand  ways  of  earning  five 
francs  a  day  in  Paris;  you  can  make  that  at  the  Palais  by 
copying  for  the  lawyers " 

Paulmier.  "So  you  say,  but  a  berth  is  a  berth ;  and  Colle- 
ville, that  courageous  fellow  who  works  like  a  galley-slave 
after  hours,  and  might  make  more  than  his  salary  if  he  lost 
his  post  by  giving  music  lessons — he  will  keep  his  berth. 
Hang  it  all,  a  man  does  not  throw  up  his  chances." 

Chazelle  (continuing  his  philippic).  "He  may,  not  I. 
We  haven't  any  chance  to  lose.  Confound  it !  There  was  a 
time  when  nothing  was  more  tempting  than  a  career  in  the 
civil  service ;  there  were  so  many  men  in  the  army  that  they 
were  wanted  in  the  administration.  The  maimed  and  the 
halt,  toothless  old  men,  unhealthy  fellows  like  Paulmier,  and 
ehort-sighted  people  got  on  rapidly.     The  lycees  swarmed 


274  THE  GOVERXMFA'T  CT.ERKR 

with  boys,  and  families  were  dazzled  with  the  brilliant  pros- 
pect. A  3^ouiig  fellow  in  spectacles  wore  a  blue  coat,  and  a 
red  ribbon  blazing  at  his  button-hole,  and  drew  a  thousand 
or  so  of  francs  every  month  for  spending  a  few  hours  every 
day  at  some  office  looking  after  something  or  other.  He  went 
late  and  came  away  early;  he  had  hours  of  leisure  like  Lord 
Byron,  and  wrote  novels;  he  strolled  in  the  Tuileries  Gar- 
dens with  a  bit  of  a  swagger;  he  was  on  exhibition  at  balls 
and  theatres  and  everywhere  else;  he  was  admitted  into  the 
best  society ;  he  spent  his  salary,  returning  to  France  all  that 
France  gave  him,  and  even  doing  something  in  return.  In 
those  days,  in  fact,  employes  (like  Thullier)  were  petted  by 
pretty  women;  they  were  supposed  to  be  intelligent,  and  by 
no  means  overworked  themselves  at  the  office.  Empresses, 
queens,  and  princesses  had  their  fancies  in  those  happy  days. 
All  those  noble  ladies  had  the  passion  of  noble  natures — they 
loved  to  play  the  protector.  So  there  was  a  chance  of  filling 
a  high  position  in  twenty-five  years  or  so ;  you  might  be  au- 
ditor to  the  Council  of  State;  or  a  Master  of  Eequests,  and 
draw  up  reports  for  the  Emperor,  while  you  amused  yourself 
with  his  august  family.  People  used  to  work  and  play  at  the 
same  time.  Everything  was  done  quickly.  But  nowadays, 
since  the  Chamber  bethought  itself  of  entering  the  expediture 
under  separate  items,  and  the  heading  '^Staff,'  we  are  not 
even  like  private  soldiers.  It  is  a  thousand  to  one  if  you  get 
the  smallest  appointment,  for  there  are  a  thousand  sov- 
ereigns  " 

Bixiou  (returning).  "Chazelle  must  be  crazy.  "Where 
does  he  discover  a  thousand  sovereigns?  Are  they  by  any 
chance  in  his  pocket  ? " 

Chazelle.  "Let  us  reckon  them  up !  Four  hundred  at 
the  further  end  of  the  Pont  de  la  Concorde  (so  called  be- 
cause it  leads  to  perpetual  discord  between  the  Right  and 
the  Left  in  the  Chamber)  ;  three  hundred  more  at  the  top  of 
the  Rue  de  Tournon.  So  the  Court,  which  ought  to  count 
for  three  hundred,  is  obliged  to  have  seven  hundred  times 
the  Emperor's  strength  of  will,  if  it  means  to  give  any  place 
whatsoever  by  patronage " 


THE  GOVEiiMME^T  CLERKS  275 

Fleury,  ''Which  all  means  that,  if  a  clerk  has  no  interest 
and  no  one  to  help  him  but  himself  in  a  country  where  there 
are  three  centres  of  power,  the  betting  is  a  thousand  to  one 
that  he  will  never  get  any  further." 

Bixiou  (loohing  front  Fleury  to  Chazelle).  "Aha!  my 
children,  you  have  yet  to  learn  that  to  be  in  the  service  of  the 

State  is  to  be  in  the  worst  state  of  all " 

Fleuey.  "Because  there  is  a  Constitutional  Government." 
CoLLEViLLE.  "Gentlemen,  let  us  not  talk  politics." 
Bixiou.  "Fleury  is  right.  If  you  serve  the  State  in  these 
days,  gentlemen,  you  do  not  serve  a  prince  who  rewards  and 
punishes.  The  State  _is  Anybody  and  Everybody.  Now, 
Everybody  cares  for  Nobody.  If  you  serve  Everybody,  you 
serve  NobodyJ^^i^d  "iJTobody  cares  about  Anybody.  A  civil 
servant  lives  between  these  two  negatives.  The  world  is  piti- 
less, heartless,  brainless,  and  thoughtless;  Everybody  is  self- 
ish. Everybody  forgets  the  services  of  yesterday.  You  are 
(like  M.  Baudoyer)  an  administrative  genius  from  a  most 
tender  age;  you  are  the  Chateaubriand  of  reports,  the  Bos- 
suet  of  circulars,  the  Canalis  of  memorials,  the  'sublime 
child'  of  the  dispatch — in  vain !  There  is  a  disheartening  \^ 
law  against  administrative  genius;  the  law  of  advancement 
on  the  average. 

"That  fatal  average  is  worked  out  from  the  tables  of  the 
law  of  promotion  and  the  tables  of  mortality.  It  is  certain 
that  if  you  enter  any  department  whatsoever  at  the  age  of 
eighteen,  you  will  not  have  a  salary  of  eighteen  hundred 
francs  till  you  are  thirty  years  old ;  if  you  are  to  get  six  thou- 
sand by  the  time  you  are  fifty,  Colleville's  career  proves  that 
though  you  have  a  genius  for  a  wife,  and  the  support  of  vari- 
ous peers  of  France,  and  of  divers  influential  deputies  to 
boot,  it  profiteth  you  nothing.  Let  a  young  man  have 
studied  the  humanities,  let  him  be  vaccinated,  exempt  from 
military  service,  and  in  full  possession  of  his  wits;  well, 
there  is  no  free  and  independent  career  in  which,  without  a 
transcendent  intellect,  such  a  man  could  not  put  by  a  capital 
of  forty-five  thousand  francs  of  centimes  in  the  time.     That 


27G  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

sum  would  bring  in  a  yearly  interest  equal  to  our  salary,  and 
it  would  be  a  perpetual  income;  whereas  our  salaries  are  by 
their  nature  transitory,  we  have  not  even  our  berths,  such  as 
they  are,  for  life.  In  the  same  time,  a  tradesman  would  have 
money  put  out  to  interest,  and  an  independent  income  of  ten 
thousand  francs;  he  would  have  filed  his  schedule,  or  he 
would  be  a  president  of  the  commercial  court.  A  painter 
would  have  covered  a  square  mile  of  canvas  with  paint;  he 
would  either  wear  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  or  set 
up  for  a  neglected  genius.  A  man  of  letters  would  be  a  pro- 
fessor of  something  or  other;  or  a  journalist,  paid  at  the  rate 
of  a  hundred  francs  for  a  thousand  lines;  or  he  is  a  feuille- 
tonniste,  or  some  fine  day  he  is  landed  in  Sainte-Pelagie  for 
writing  a  humorous  pamphlet  which  displeased  the  Jesuits; 
his  value  incontinently  goes  up  tremendously,  and  the 
pamphlet  makes  a  political  personage  of  him.  Indeed,  your 
idler  that  never  did  anything  in  his  life  (for  there  are  idlers 
that  do  something,  and  idlers  that  do  nothing),  your  idler  has 
made  debts  and  found  a  widow  to  pay  them.  A  priest  has 
had  time  to  become  a  bishop  in  partihus.  A  vaudevilliste  is 
a  landed  proprietor,  even  if,  like  du  Bruel,  he  never  wrote 
a  whole  vaudeville  by  himself.  If  a  steady,  intelligent  young 
fellow  starts  in  the  money-lending  line  with  a  very  small  cap- 
ital (like  Mile.  Thullier,  for  instance),  he  can  buy  a  fourth 
of  a  stockbroker's  connection  in  twelve  years.  Let  us  go 
lower  down  I  A  petty  clerk  becomes  a  notary ;  the  ragpicker 
has  a  thousand  crowns  of  independent  income;  the  working 
man  at  worst  has  managed  to  set  up  for  himself;  whereas, 
in  the  midst  of  the  rotatory  movement  of  that  civilization 
which  takes  infinite  subdivision  for  progress,  a  Chazelle  has 
been  existing  on  twenty-two  sous  per  head.  He  argues  with 
his  tailor  and  shoemaker,  he  is  in  debt ;  that's  nothing — he  is 
cretinized! — Come,  gentlemen,  one  glorious  movement;  let 
us  send  in  our  resignations  in  a  body,  hey  ?  Fleury  and  Cha- 
zelle, make  a  plunge  into  a  new  line,  and  become  great  men 

in  it ! " 

Chazelle     {calming    down    under    Bixious    discourse). 
"Thanks"  {general  laiighter). 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  277 

Bixiou.  "Yon  are  wrong.  In  your  position  I  would  be 
beforehand  with  the  Secretary-General." 

Chazelle  (uneasily).    "Why,  what  has  he  to  say  to  me?" 

Bixiou.  "Odry  would  tell  you,  Chazelle,  with  more  charm 
in  the  manner  of  the  telling  than  des  Lupeaulx  will  put  into 
the  observation,  that  the  one  place  open  to  you  is  the  Place 
de  la  Concorde." 

Paulmier  (clasping  the  stove-pipe).  "Egad!  Baudoyer 
will  not  have  pity  on  you,  that  is  certain  !" 

Fleury.  "Another  thing  to  put  up  with  from  Baudoyer. 
Now,  there's  a  queer  fish  for  you !  Talk  of  M.  Eabourdin — 
there  is  a  man !  The  work  he  put  on  my  table  to-day  would 
take  three  days  in  this  office,  but  he  will  have  it  by  four 
o'clock  this  afternoon.  But  he  is  not  always  at  my  heels  to 
stop  my  chat  with  friends." 

Baudoyer  (returning).  "Gentlemen,  if  anybody  has  a 
right  to  find  fault  with  the  parliamentary  system  or  the 
proceedings  of  the  administration,  you  must  admit  that  this 
is  not  the  proper  place  for  such  talk."  (To  Fleunj)  "Why 
are  you  here,  sir?" 

Fleury  (insolently).  "To  advise  these  gentlemen  of  a 
general  move  !  The  Secretary-General  has  sent  for  du  Bruel ; 
Dutocq  has  gone  too.  Everybody  is  wondering  about  the 
appointment." 

Baudoyer  (returning) .  "That,  sir,  is  no  business  of  yours. 
Go  back  to  your  office,  and  do  not  upset  mine." 

Fleury  (from  the  doorway).  "It  would  be  tremendously 
unfair  if  Rabourdin  were  to  be  done  out  of  it.  My  word !  I 
would  leave  the  service."  (Comes  hacTc.)  "Did  you  make 
out  your  anagram,  Daddy  Colleville?" 

Colleville.    "Yes,  here  it  is." 

Fleury     (leaning    over    Colleville' s    deslc).      "Famous! 

famous !    It  will  be  sure  to  happen  if  the  Government  keeps 

to  its  hypocritical  line."     (Gives  warning  to  the  others  that 

Baudoyer  is  listening.)     "If  the  Government  openly  stated 

its  intentions   without   an   afterthought,   then    the   Liberals 

would  see  what  they  would  have  to  do.     But  when  a  Govern- 
i8 


278  THE  GOVERNMENT  rT>ERKS 

ment  sets  its  best  friends  against  ii,  and  sends  such  men  as 
Chateaubriand  and  Koyer-Collard  and  the  Dehats  into  oppo- 
sition, it  makes  you  sorry  to  see  it.'" 

CoLLEViLLE  (after  a  look  round  at  his  fellow-clerks). 
'TLook  here,  Fleury,  you  are  a  good  fellow,  but  you  must  not 
talk  politics  here.     You  do  us  more  harm  than  you  know." 

Fleury  (drily).  "Good-day,  gentlemen.  I  will  go  to  my 
copying.'"  (Comes  hack  and  speaks  to  Bixiou  in  an  under- 
tone.) "They  say  that  Mme.  Colleville  is  making  allies 
among  the  Congregation.'" 

Bixiou.    "In  what  way? " 

Fleury  (ireakijig  into  a  laugh).  "You  are  never  to  be 
caught  napping !" 

Colleville  (uneasily),    '^hat  are  you  saying?" 

Fleury.  "Our  theatre  took  a  thousand  crowns  yesterday 
with  the  new  piece,  though  this  is  the  fortieth  representation. 
You  ought  to  come  and  see  it.  The  scenery  is  something 
superb." 

Meanwhile,  des  Lupeaulx  was  giving  du  Bruel  audience 
in  the  secretary's  rooms;  and  Dutocq  had  followed  du  Bruel. 
Des  Lupeaulx's  man  brought  the  news  of  M.  de  la  Billar- 
diere's  death,  and  the  Secretary-General  intended  to  please 
both  Ministers  by  inserting  an  obituary  notice  in  that  even- 
ing's paper. 

"Good-day,  my  dear  du  Bruel."  was  the  semi-minister's 
greeting,  as  he  saw  the  clerk  enter,  and  left  him  to  stand. 
"You  know  the  news  ?  La  Billardiere  is  dead ;  the  two  Min- 
isters were  present  when  he  took  the  sacrament.  The  old 
man  strongly  recommended  Eabourdin;  said  that  he  could 
not  die  easy  unless  he  knew  that  his  successor  was  to  be  the 
man  who  had  filled  his  place  all  along.  It  would  seem  that 
the  death-agony  is  like  the  'question,'  and  everything  comes 
out.  .  .  .  The  Minister  is  so  much  the  more  pledged 
to  this  course  because  it  is  his  intention,  and  the  intention 
of  the  Board  likewise,  to  reward  M.  Rabourdin's  numerous 
services"  (wagging  his  head) — "the  Council  of  State  desires 
the  benefit  of  his  lights.    They  say  that  M.  de  la  Billardiere  is 


THiil  GOVEHISMEJST  CLERKS  279 

to  be  transferred  to  the  Seals,  which  is  as  good  as  if  the  King 
had  made  him  a  present  of  a  hundred  thousand  francs — the 
place  is  like  a  notary's  connection,  and  may  be  sold.  That 
piece  of  news  will  be  received  with  joy  in  your  division,  for 
they  might  imagine  that  Benjamin  would  be  put  in  there. — 
Du  Bruel,  some  one  ought  to  knock  off  ten  or  a  dozen  lines 
about  the  old  boy,  by  way  of  a  news  item.  It  will  come  under 
the  notice  of  their  Excellencies.  Do  you  know  all  about  old 
la  Billardiere  ?"  he  added,  taking  up  the  papers. 

Du  Bruel  made  a  gesture  to  signify  that  he  knew  nothing. 

"No?"  returned  des  Lupeaulx.  "Oh,  well,  he  was  mixed 
up  in  the  la  Vendee  business ;  he  was  in  the  late  King's  confi- 
dence. Like  M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fontaine,  he  never  would 
come  to  terms  with  the  First  Consul.  He  did  a  little  in 
Chouannerie.  He  was  born  in  Brittany  of  a  parliamentary 
family;  but  their  dignities  were  so  recent  that  he  was  en- 
nobled by  Louis  XVIII.  See — how  old  was  he  now?  Never 
mind.  Just  put  it  properly  something  this  way:  'A  loyalty 
that  never  swerved,  an  enlightened  piety' — (the  poor  old 
boy  had  a  craze  for  never  setting  foot  in  a  church) .  Give  him 
out  for  a  pious  servant  of  the  Crown.  Lead  up  nicely  to  the 
remark  that  he  might  have  sung  the  Song  of  Simeon  over 
the  accession  of  Charles  X. — The  Comte  d'Artois  had  a  great 
esteem  for  him,  for  la  Billardiere  unfortunately  co-operated 
with  him  in  the  Quiberon  affair,  and  took  all  the  blame  upon 
himself;  you  know,  of  course.  ...  La  Billardiere  justi- 
fied the  King  in  a  pamphlet  which  he  wrote  to  refute  an  im- 
pertinent History  of  the  Eevolution  got  up  by  some  journal- 
ist. So  you  can  lay  stress  on  the  devotion.  Finally,  weigh 
yovLT  words  well,  so  that  the  other  papers  may  not  laugh  at  us, 
and  bring  me  the  article.  Were  you  at  Eabourdin's  yester- 
day?" 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  said  du  Bruel,  "that  is — I  beg  pardon " 

"There  is  no  harm  done,"  des  Lupeaulx  answered,  laugh- 
ing. 

"His  wife  is  delightfully  pretty,"  continued  du  Bruel. 
"There  are  not  two  such  women  in  Paris.     There  are  women 


280  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

as  clever,  but  they  are  not  so  charming  in  their  cleverness; 
and  there  may  be  a  woman  as  handsome  as  Celestine,  but 
scaroely  one  so  various  in  her  beauty.  Mme.  Rabourdin  is  far 
superior  to  Mme.  Colleville !"  added  du  Bruel,  for  he  remem- 
bered an  old  story  about  des  Lupeaulx.  "Flavie  is  what  she 
is,  thanks  to  her  intercourse  with  men,  while  Mme.  Rabour- 
din owes  everything  to  herself;  she  knows  everything;  you 
could  not  tell  a  secret  in  Latin  before  her.  I  should  think 
"that  nothing  was  beyond  my  reach  if  I  had  such  a  wife." 

"You  have  more  brains  than  an  author's  allowance,"  re- 
turned des  Lupeaulx  in  a  thrill  of  gratified  vanity.  And 
turning  his  head,  he  saw  Dutocq. 

"Oh !  good-day,  Dutocq.  I  sent  to  ask  if  you  would  lend 
me  your  Charlet,  if  it  is  complete.  The  Countess  knows 
nothing  of  Charlet." 

Du  Bruel  withdrew. 

"AVhy  do  you  come  when  you  are  not  called?"  des  Lu- 
peaulx asked  in  a  hard  voice,  when  they  were  alone.  "^Vhy 
do  you  come  to  me  at  ten  o'clock,  just  as  I  am  about  to 
breakfast  with  His  Excellency?  Is  the  Government  in 
danger  ?" 

"Perhaps,  sir.  If  I  had  had  the  honor  of  an  interview 
with  you  this  morning,  you  certainly  would  not  have  pro- 
nounced the  Sieur  Rabourdin's  panegyric  after  you  had  read 
what  he  has  written  of  you." 

Dutocq  unbuttoned  his  greatcoat,  and  took  out  a  quire  of 
paper,  with  an  impression  on  the  side  of  the  sheets.  He  laid 
them  down  on  des^Lupeaulx's  desk  and  pointed  to  a  para- 
graph. Then  he  bolted  the  door,  as  though  he  feared  an 
explosion.  This  was  what  the  Secretary-General  read  against 
his  name: — 

"M.  DES  Lupeaulx. — A  Government  lowers  itself  by  em- 
ploying such  a  man  openly.  His  proper  place  is  in  the  diplo- 
matic police.  Such  a  person  may  be  pitted  with  success 
against  the  political  buccaneers  of  other  cabinets.  It  would 
be  a  pity  to  put  him  into  the  ordinary  police.  .  .  .  He 
stands  above  the  level  of  the  common  spy;  he  can  grasp  a 


^. 


.D" 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  281 


scheme,  he  could  carry  out  a  necessary  bit  of  dirty  work  suc- 
cessfully, and  cover  his  retreat  with  skill,"  and  so  forth  and 
so  forth.  Des  Lupeaulx's  character  was  succinctly  analyzed 
in  five  or  six  sentences.  Eahourdin  gave  the  gist  of  the  bio- 
graphical sketch  at  the  beginning  of  this  history. 

At  the  first  words  the  Secretary- General  knew  that  he  had 
been  weighed  and  found  wanting  by  an  abler  man;  but  he 
determined  to  reserve  himself  for  a  further  examination  into 
a  piece  of  work  which  went  both  high  and  far,  without  ad- 
mitting such  a  man  as  Dutocq  into  his  confidence.  The 
Secretary-General,  like  barristers,  magistrates,  diplomates, 
and  others,  was  obliged  to  explore  the  human  heart;  like 
them  too,  he  was  astonished  at  nothing.  He  was  accustomed 
to  treachery,  to  the  snares  set  by  hate,  to  traps  of  all  kinds. 
He  could  receive  a  stab  in  the  back  without  a  change  of 
countenance.  So  it  was  a  calm  and  grave  countenance  that 
des  Lupeaulx  turned  upon  the  office  spy. 

"How  did  you  get  hold  of  this  document  ?"  he  asked. 

Dutocq  gave  the  history  of  his  good  luck;  but  des  Lu- 
peaulx's face  showed  no  sign  of  approval  while  he  listened. 
Consequently  the  story  begun  in  high  triumph  was  ended  in 
fear  and  trembling. 

"You  have  put  your  finger  between  the  tree  and  the  bark, 
Dutocq,"  was  the  Secretary-General's  dry  comment.  "Ob- 
serve the  utmost  secrecy  as  to  this  affair,  unless  you  want  to 
make  very  powerful  enemies ;  it  is  a  work  of  the  greatest  im- 
portance, and  I  have  cognizance  of  it." 

And  des  Lupeaulx  dismissed  Dutocq  with  a  glance  of  a 
kind  which  speaks  more  than  words. 

Dutocq  was  dismayed  to  find  a  rival  in  his  chief.  "Aha !" 
he  said  to  himself,  "so  that  scoundrel  of  a  Rabourdin  is  in  it 
too.  He  is  a  staff-officer,  while  I  am  a  private  soldier,  I 
would  not  have  believed  it." 

So  to  all  his  previous  motives  for  detesting  Eabourdin, 
was  added  another  and  most  cogent  reason  for  hate — the 
jealousy  that  one  workman  feels  of  another  in  the  same  trade. 

When  des  Lupeaulx  was  left  alone  his  meditations  took  a 


282  THE  COVER XMENT  CLERKS 

singular  turn.  Rabourdiii  was  an  instrument  in  the  hands 
of  some  power ;  wliat  power  was  it  ?  Should  he  profit  by  this 
surprising  document  to  ruin  the  man?  Or  should  he  use  it 
the  better  to  succeed  with  the  man's  wife?  The  mystery  was 
perfectly  obscure.  Des  Lupeaulx  turned  the  pages  in  dis- 
may. The  men  whom  he  knew  were  summed  up  with  unheard- 
of  sagacity.  He  admired  Rabourdin,  while  he  felt  the  stab 
to  the  heart.  He  was  still  reading  when  breakfast  was  an- 
nounced. 

"You  will  keep  His  Excellency  waiting  if  you  do  not  go 
down  at  once,"  the  j\Iinister's  footman  came  to  say. 

The  Minister  breakfasted  with  his  wife  and  children  and 
des  Lupeaulx.  There  w^ere  no  servants  in  the  room.  The 
morning  meal  is  the  one  moment  of  home  life  that  a  states- 
man can  snatch  from  the  all-absorbing  demands  of  public 
business;  but  in  spite  of  the  barriers  raised  with  ingenious 
care,  so  that  one  hour  may  be  given  up  entirely  to  the  family 
and  the  affections,  many  intruders,  great  and  small,  find  ways 
of  breaking  in  upon  it.  Public  business,  as  at  this  moment, 
often  comes  athwart  their  enjoyment. 

"I  thought  -Eabourdin  was  above  the  ordinary  level  of 
clerks ;  and  lo  and  behold !  ten  minutes  after  la  Billardiere's 
death,  he  takes  it  into  his  head  to  send  me  a  regular  stage 
billet  through  la  Briere,"  said  the  Minister,  and  he  held  out 
the  sheet  of  paper  which  he  was  twisting  in  his  fingers. 

Rabourdin  had  written  the  note  before  he  heard  of  M.  de 
la  Billardiere's  death  through  la  Briere;  he  was  too  noble- 
minded  to  think  of  the  base  construction  that  might  be  put 
upon  it,  and  allowed  la  Briere  to  retain  and  deliver  the  mis- 
sive.   Des  Lupeaulx  read  as  follows: — 

"MoNSEiGNEUR, — If  twenty-three  years  of  irreproachable 
service  may  merit  a  favor,  I  entreat  Your  Excellency  to  grant 
me  an  audience  this  very  day.  It  is  a  matter  in  which  my 
honor  is  involved,"  and  the  note  ended  with  the  usual  respect- 
ful formulas. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  283 

'Toor  man !"  said  des  Lupeaulx,  in  a  pitying  tone,  which 
left  the  Minister  still  under  a  misapprehension;  "we  are  by 
ourselves,  let  him  come.  You  go  to  the  Council  after  the 
House  rises,  and  Your  Excellency  is  boimd  to  give  an  answer 
to  the  Opposition  to-day;  this  is  the  only  time  that  you  can 
give  him " 

Des  Lupeaulx  rose,  sent  for  the  usher,  said  a  word  to  him, 
and  came  back  to  the  table. 

"I  am  adjourning  him  to  the  dessert,"  said  he. 

His  Excellency,  like  most  other  ministers  under  the  Ees- 
toration,  was  past  his  youth.  The  Charter  granted  by  Louis 
XVIII. ,  unluckily,  tied  the  King's  hands ;  he  was  forced  to 
give  the  destinies  of  the  country  over  to  quadragenarians  of 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies  and  peers  of  seventy.  A  king  had 
not  power  to  look  wheresoever  he  would  for  an  able  political 
leader,  and  to  put  him  forward  in  spite  of  his  youth  or  pov- 
erty. Napoleon,  and  Napoleon  alone,  might  employ  young 
men  if  he  chose ;  no  considerations  led  him  to  pause.  And  so 
it  fell  out  that  since  the  fall  of  that  mighty  Will,  energy 
had  deserted  authority.  And  in  France,  of  all  countries  in 
the  world,  the  contrast  between  slackness  and  vigor  is  a  dan- 
gerous one.  As  a  rule,  the  minister  who  comes  into  power 
late  in  life,  is  a  mediocrity ;  while  young  ministers  have  been 
the  glory  of  European  kingdoms  and  Eepublics.  The  world 
is  ringing  yet  with  the  contest  between  Pitt  and  Kapoleon; 
and  they,  like  Henri  IV.,  like  Eichelieu,  Mazarin,  Colbert, 
Louvois,  the  Prince  of  Orange,  the  Due  de  Guise,  Francesco 
della  Eovere,  and  Machiavelli,  like  all  great  statesmen,  in 
short,  whether  they  come  of  low  origin  or  are  born  to  a 
throne,  began  to  govern  at  an  early  age.  The  Convention, 
that  model  of  energy,  was  in  great  part  composed  of  young 
heads;  and  no  sovereign  can  afford  to  forget  that  the  Con- 
vention brought  fourteen  armies  into  the  field  against  Europe ; 
the  policy  that  brought  about  such  disastrous  results  for 
absolute  power  (as  it  is  called)  was  none  the  less  dictated  by 
true  monarchical  principles,  and  the  Convention  bore  itself 
as  a  great  king. 


2S4  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

After  ten  or  twelve  years  of  parliamentary  strife,  after 
going  again  and  again  over  the  same  ground  till  he  grew 
jaded,  this  particular  minister  had  been,  in  truth,  put  in  office 
by  a  party  which  regarded  him  as  its  man  of  business. 
Fortunately  for  him,  he  was  nearer  sixty  than  fifty  years 
old ;  if  he  had  shown  any  signs  of  youthful  energy,  he  would 
have  come  promptly  to  grief.  But  being  accustomed  to  give 
way,  to  beat  a  retreat,  and  return  to  the  charge,  he  could 
stand  against  the  blows  dealt  him  by  all  and  sundry,  by  the 
Opposition  or  by  his  own  side,  by  the  Court  or  the  clergy; 
opposing  to  it  all  the  vis  inertice  of  a  soft  but  unyielding 
substance.  In  short,  he  enjoyed  the  advantages  of  his  mis- 
fortune. Like  some  old  barrister  that  has  pleaded  every 
conceivable  cause,  he  had  passed  through  the  fire  on  countless 
questions  of  Government,  till  his  mind  no  longer  retained 
the  keen  edge  preserved  by  the  solitary  thinker ;  and  he  lacked 
that  faculty  of  making  prompt  decisions,  which  is  acquired 
early  in  a  life  of  action,  and  more  especially  in  a  military 
career.  How  should  he  have  been  other  than  he  was?  All 
his  life  long  he  had  juggled  with  questions  instead  of  using 
his  own  judgment  upon  them ;  he  had  criticised  effects  with- 
out going  into  the  causes ;  and  besides,  and  above  all  this,  his 
head  was  full  of  the  endless  reforms  which  a  party  thrusts 
upon  its  leader;  he  was  burdened  with  programmes  designed 
to  gain  the  private  ends  of  various  personages;  for  if  an 
orator  has  a  future  before  him,  he  is  sure  to  be  embarrassed 
with  all  kinds  of  impracticable  schemes  and  unpractical  ad- 
vice. So  far  from  starting  fresh,  the  minister  was  jaded  and 
tired  with  marches  and  counter-marches.  And  when  at  last 
he  reached  the  long-desired  heights,  he  found  his  paths  beset 
with  thorns  on  every  side,  and  a  thousand  contrary  dis- 
positions to  be  reconciled.  If  the  statesmen  of  the  Eestora- 
tion  could  but  have  followed  out  their  own  ideas,  their 
capacities  would  no  doubt  be  less  exposed  to  criticism;  but 
while  their  wills  were  overruled,  their  age  was  the  salvation 
of  them;  they  were  physically  incapable  of  contending,  as 
younger  men  would  have  done,  with  low  Intrigue  in  high 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  285 

places,  intrigues  which  sometimes  proved  too  much  even  for 
the  strength  of  a  Eichelieu.  To  such  knavery  in  a. lawer 
sphere  Eabourdin  was  about  to  fall  a  victim.  To  the  throes 
of  early  struggles  succeeded  the  throes  of  office,  for  men  not 
so  much  old  as  aged  before  the  time.  And  so,  just  as  they 
needed  the  keen  sight  of  the  eagle,  their  eyes  were  growing 
dim;  and  their  faculties  were  exhausted  when  their  work 
called  for  redoubled  vigor. 

The  Minister  to  whom  Eabourdin  meant  to  confide  his 
scheme  was  accustomed  to  hear  the  most  ingenious  theories 
propounded  to  him  daily  by  men  of  unquestioned  ability; 
schemes  more  or  less  applicable,  or  inapplicable,  to  public 
business  in  France  were  brought  continually  before  his  eyes. 
Their  promoters  had  not  the  remotest  conception  of  the 
difficulties  of  general  policy ;  they  used  to  waylay  the  Minister 
on  his  return  from  a  pitched  battle  in  the  House,  or  a  struggle 
with  folly  behind  the  scenes  at  Court;  they  assailed  him  on 
the  eve  of  a  wrestling-bout  with  public  opinion,  or  on  the 
morrow  of  some  diplomatic  question  on  which  the  Cabinet  had 
split  in  three.  A  statesman  thus  situated  naturally  has  a 
gag  ready  to  apply  at  the  first  hint  of  an  improvement  in 
the  established  order  of  things.  Daring  speculators  and  men 
from  behind  the  scenes  in  politics  or  finance  were  not  wont  to 
meet  round  a  dinner-table  in  those  days  to  sum  up  the  opin- 
ions of  the  Stock  Exchange  and  the  Money  Market,  together 
with  some  utterance  let  fall  by  Diplomacy,  in  one  profound 
saying.  The  Minister  had,  however,  a  sort  of  privy  council 
in  his  private  secretary  and  secretary-general;  they  chewed 
the  cud  of  reflection,  and  controlled  and  analyzed  the  inter- 
ests that  spoke  through  so  many  insinuating  voices. 

It  was  the  Minister's  unfortunate  habit  (the  invariable 
habit  of  sexagenarian  ministers)  to  shuffle  out  of  difficulties. 
No  question  was  fairly  faced;  the  Government  was  quietly 
trying  to  gag  journalism  instead  of  striking  openly;  it  was 
evading  the  financial  question;  temporizing  with  the  clergy 
as  with  the  National  Property  difficulty,  with  Liberalism  as 
with  the  control  of  the  Chamber.     Now  as  the  Minister  in 


286  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

seven  years  had  outflanked  the  powers  tiiat  be,  he  considered 
that  he  could  come  round  every  question  in  the  same  way. 
Tt  was  natural  that  a  man  should  try  to  keep  his  position  by 
continuing  to  use  the  methods  by  which  he  rose;  so  natural, 
that  nobody  ventured  to  criticise  a  system  devised  by 
mediocrity  to  please  mediocrity.  The  Kestoration  (like  the 
Eevolution  in  Poland)  clearly  showed  how  much  a  great  man 
is  worth  to  a  nation,  and  what  happens  if  he  is  not  forth- 
coming. The  last  and  greatest  defect  of  the  Kestoration 
statesmen  was  their  honesty,  for  their  opponents  availed  them- 
selves of  slander  and  lies  and  all  the  resources  of  political 
rascality,  until,  by  the  most  subversive  methods,  they  let 
loose  the  unintelligent  masses ;  and  the  large  body  of  the  peo- 
ple are  quick  to  grasp  but  one  idea — the  idea  of  riot. 

All  this  Rabourdin  had  told  himself.  Still,  he  had  decided 
to  hazard  all  to  win  all,  much  as  a  jaded  gamester  agrees  with 
himself  to  try  but  one  more  throw;  and  fate,  meanwhile, 
sent  him  a  trickster  for  his  opponent  in  the  shape  of  des  Lu- 
peaulx.  And  yet,  however  sagacious  Rabourdin  might  be, 
he  was  better  skilled  in  administrative  work  than  in  parlia- 
mentary perspective.  He  did  not  imagine  the  whole  truth ; 
it  had  not  occurred  to  him  that  the  great  practical  work  of 
his  life  was  about  to  become  a  theory  for  the  Minister,  or  that 
a  statesman  would  inevitably  class  him  with  after-dinner  in- 
novators and  armchair  reformers. 

His  Excellency  had  just  risen  from  table.  He  was 
thinking  not  of  Rabourdin,  but  of  Frangois  Keller.  His 
wife  detained  him  by  offering  him  a  bunch  of  grapes,  when 
the  chief  clerk  was  announced.  Des  Lupeaulx  had  reckoned 
upon  this  preoccupied  mood;  he  knew  that  His  Excellency's 
mind  would  be  taken  up  by  his  "extempore"  speeches;  so, 
seeing  that  the  Minister  was  engaged  in  a  discussion  with 
his  wife,  the  Secretary-General  came  forward.  Rabourdin 
was  thunderstruck  by  the  first  words. 

"We,  His  Excellency  and  I,  have  been  informed  of  the 
work  in  which  you  are  engaged,"'  said  des  I^upeaulx,  lower- 
ing his  voice;  "you  have  nothing  to  fear  from  Dutocq,  or 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  287 

from  any  one  whatever,"  he  added,  speaking  the  last  few 
words  aloud. 

"Do  not  worry  yourself  in  any  way,  Rabourdin,"  His  Ex- 
cellency said  kindly,  but  he  made  as  though  he  would  re- 
treat. 

Rabourdin  came  forward  respectfully,  and  the  Minister 
could  not  choose  but  remain. 

"Will  Your  Excellency  condescend  to  permit  me  to  say 
a  few  words  in  private?"  said  Rabourdin,  with  a  significant 
glance. 

The  Minister  looked  at  the  clock,  then  he  went  towards  a 
window,  and  Rabourdin  followed  him. 

"When  may  I  have  the  honor  of  submitting  the  affair  to 
Your  Excellency,  so  that  I  may  explain  the  scheme  of  ad- 
ministration to  which  that  paper  relates?  It  is  sure  to  be 
used  to  sully " 

"A  scheme  of  administration,"  the  Minister  broke  in, 
knitting  his  brows  as  he  spoke.  "If  you  have  anything  of  the 
kind  to  lay  before  me,  wait  till  the  day  when  we  work  to- 
gether. I  have  to  attend  the  Council  to-day,  and  I  must 
make  a  reply  to  a  question  raised  by  the  Opposition  yester- 
day just  before  the  House  rose.  'Next  Friday  is  your  day; 
we  did  no  work  yesterday,  for  I  had  no  time  to  attend  to  the 
business  of  the  department.  Political  affairs  stood  in  the 
way  of  purely  administrative  business." 

"I  leave  my  honor  with  confidence  in  Your  Excellency's 
hands,"  Rabourdin  answered  gravely,  "and  I  beg  of  you  to 
remember  that  I  was  not  permitted  to  offer  an  explanation 
of  the  missing  document  at  once " 

"Why,  you  need  fear  nothing,"  broke  in  des  Lupeaulx,  as 
he  came  between  them ;  "you  are  sure  of  your  nomination  in 
a  week's  time " 

The  Minister  began  to  laugh;  he  remembered  des  Lu- 
peaulx's  enthusiasm  over  Mme.  Rabourdin,  and  looked  slyly 
at  his  wife.  The  Countess  smiled.  This  by-play  surprised 
Rabourdin ;  he  wondered  what  it  meant ;  for  a  moment  he 
ceased  to  hold  the  Minister  with  his  eye,  and  His  Excellency 
took  the  opportunity  of  escape. 


288  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

'^e  will  have  a  chat  together  over  all  this."'  said  des 
Lupeaulx,  when  Eabourdin,  not  without  bewilderment,  found 
himself  alone  with  the  Secretary-General.  "But  do  not  bear 
malice  against  Dutocq;  I  will  answer  for  him." 

"Mme.  Eabourdin  is  a  charming  woman,"  put  in  the  Count- 
ess, for  the  sake  of  saying  something. 

The  children  gazed  curiously  at  the  visitor.  Eabourdin 
had  been  prepared  for  a  great  ordeal;  now  he  felt  as  if  he 
were  a  big  fish  taken  in  the  toils  of  a  fine  net.  He  struggled 
with  himself. 

"Mme.  la  Comtesse  is  very  kind,"  he  said. 

"May  I  not  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  on  one  of  my 
Fridays?"  continued  the  lady;  "bring  your  wife  to  us,  you 
will  do  me  a  favor "' 

"That  is  Mme.  Eabourdin's  night,"  put  in  des  Lupeaulx, 
knowing  what  official  Fridays  were  like;  "but  since  you  are 
so  good,  you  are  giving  a  small  evening  party  soon,  I  be- 
lieve  " 

The  Minister's  wife  seemed  annoyed. 

"You  are  the  master  of  the  ceremonies,"  she  said,  address- 
ing des  Lupeaulx  as  she  rose. 

In  those  ambiguous  words  she  expressed  her  vexation ;  des 
Lupeaulx  was  intruding  guests  upon  one  of  her  small  parties, 
to  which  none  but  a  select  few  were  admitted.  Then,  with 
a  bow  to  Eabourdin,  she  went,  and  des  Lupleaux  and  the 
chief  clerk  were  left  alone  in  the  little  breakfast-room.  Des 
Lupeaulx  was  crumpling  a  bit  of  paper  between  his  fingers; 
Eabourdin  recognized  his  own  confidential  note. 

"You  do  not  really  know  me,"  the  Secretary-General  began 
with  a  smile.  "On  Friday  evening  we  will  come  to  a  thor- 
ough understanding.  I  am  bound  to  give  audience  now; 
the  Minister  is  putting  everything  on  my  shoulders  to-day, 
for  he  is  preparing  for  the  Chamber.  But,  Eabourdin,  you 
have  nothing  to  fear,  I  repeat." 

Slowl}!-  Eabourdin  made  his  way  downstairs.  He  was  be- 
wildered by  the  unexpected  turn  that  things  were  taking. 
He  believed  that  Dutocq  had  denounced  him ;  he  was  not  mis- 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  289 

taken ;  the  list  in  which  des  Lupeaulx  was  so  severely  criticised 
Avas  now  in  the  hands  of  that  worthy,  and  yet  des  Lupeaulx 
was  flattering  his  judge.  It  was  hopelessly  bewildering. 
Straightforward  people  find  it  hard  to  see  their  way  through 
a  maze  of  intrigue,  and  Eabourdin  lost  himself  in  a  labyrinth 
of  conjecture,  but  failed  to  understand  the  Secretary- Gen- 
eral's game. 

"Either  he  has  not  read  the  article  upon  himself,  or  he 
is  in  love  with  my  wife." 

These  words  were  the  thoughts  that  brought  him  to  a  stand 
as  he  crossed  the  courtyard ;  and  the  glance  exchanged  between 
Celestine  and  des  Lupeaulx,  and  intercepted  last  night, 
flashed  like  lightning  upon  his  memory. 

During  Rabourdin's  absence  his  office  had,  of  course, 
suffered  from  a  sudden  accession  of  vehement  excitement; 
the  relations  between  the  upper  powers  and  subordinates 
are  very  much  laid  down  by  rule;  and  great,  therefore,  was 
the  comment  when  an  usher  appeared  from  His  Excellency 
to  ask  for  the  chief  clerk,  especially  as  he  came  at  an  hour 
when  ministers  are  invisible.  As  this  extraordinary  com- 
munication coincided,  moreover,  with  the  death  of  M.  de  la 
Billardiere,  it  seemed  peculiarly  significant  to  M.  Saillard 
when  he  heard  of  it  through  M.  Clergeot.  He  went  to  confer 
with  his  son-in-law.  Bixiou  happened  to  be  working  with 
his  chief  at  the  time;  he  left  Baudoyer  with  his  relative  and 
betook  himself  to  the  Rabourdins.     Work  was  suspended. 

Bixiou  (coming  in).  "You  are  taking  things  coolly  here, 
gentlemen !  You  don't  know  what  is  going  on  downstairs. 
La  Vertueuse  Rahourdin  is  in  for  it ;  yes,  cashiered  !  A  pain- 
ful scene  with  the  Minister." 

DuTOCQ  (looJcing  at  Bixiou).     "Is  that  a  fact?" 

Bixiou.  "Who  will  be  any  the  worse  ?  Not  you  for  one ; 
du  Bruel  will  be  chief  clerk,  and  you  his  assistant.  M.  Bau- 
doyer will  be  head  of  the  division." 

Fleury.  "I'll  bet  a  hundred  francs  that  Baudoyer  will 
never  be  head  of  the  division." 

ViMEUX.     "Will  you  join  us,  M,  Poiret,  and  take  the  bet  ?" 


290  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

PoiEET.     "I  get  my  pension  on  the  1st  of  January." 

Bixiou.  "What,  shall  we  never  more  behold  your  shoe- 
laces !  What  will  the  department  do  without  you  ?  Who 
will  take  my  bet? " 

DuTOCQ.  "Not  I ;  I  should  be  betting  on  a  certainty.  M. 
Eabourdin  is  nominated.  M.  de  la  Billardiere,  on  his  death- 
bed, recommended  him  to  the  two  ministers,  and  said  that  he 
had  drawn  the  pay  while  Eabourdin  did  all  the  work.  He 
had  scruples  of  conscience;  so,  subject  to  orders  from  above, 
they  promised  to  nominate  Eabourdin  to  ease  his  mind." 

Bixiou.  "Gentleman,  all  of  you  take  my  wager;  there 
are  seven  of  you,  for  you  will  be  one,  M.  Phellion.  I  bet 
you  a  dinner  of  five  hundred  francs  at  the  Rocher  de  Cancale 
that  Eabourdin  will  not  get  la  Billardiere's  place.  It  won't 
cost  you  a  hundred  francs  apiece,  whereas  I  risk  five  hundred. 
I'll  take  you  single-handed,  in  short.  Does  that  suit  ?  Will 
you  go  in,  du  Bruel  ?" 

Phellion  {laying  down  his  pen).  "On  what,  mosieur, 
does  your  contingent  proposition  depend?  for  contingent  it 
is !  but  I  err  in  using  the  word  "^proposition,'  I  mean  to  say 
'contract.'     A  wager  constitutes  a  contract." 

Fleury.  "No,  you  can't  call  it  a  contract,  the  Code 
does  not  recognize  a  wager;  you  can't  take  action  to  enforce 
it." 

DuTOCQ.  "The  Code  recognizes  it  if  it  makes  provision 
against  it." 

Bixiou.     "Well  put,  Dutocq,  my  boy." 

PoiRET.     "Indeed !" 

Fleury.  "That  is  right.  It  is  as  if  you  refuse  to  pay 
your  debts,  you  admit  them." 

Thuillier.     "Famous  jurisconsults  you  would  make !" 

PoiRET.  "I  am  as  curious  as  M.  Phellion  to  know  what 
M.  Bixiou's  bet  is  about " 

Bixiou  (shouts  across  the  office).  "Du  Bruel  I  are  you 
going  in?" 

Du  Bruel  {showing  himself).  "Fiddle-de-dee!  gentle- 
men, I  have  something  difficult  to  do :  I  have  to  draw  up  the 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  291 

auuouuceineut  of  M.  de  la  Billarciiere's  death.  For  mercy's 
sake,  a  little  quiet;  you  had  better  laugh  and  bet  after- 
wards." 

Thuillier.     "Better  bet !  you  are  infringing  on  my  puns." 

BixiOD  {going  into  du  BrueVs  office).  "The  old  boy's 
panegyric  is  a  very  hard  thing  to  write,  du  Bruel,  and  that  is 
a  fact;  I  would  sooner  have  made  a  caricature  of  him." 

Du  Bruel.     "Do  help  me,  Bixiou." 

Bixiou. — "I  am  quite  willing,  though  this  sort  of  thing 
is  easier  to  do  after  dinner." 

Du  Bruel.  "We  will  dine  together."  {Reads.)  "'Every 
day  Religion  and  the  Monarchy  lose  some  one  of  those  who 
fought  for  them  in  the  time  of  the  Revolution — ■_ — ' " 

Bixiou.  "Bad.  I  should  put — 'Death  is  particularly 
busy  among  the  oldest  champions  of  the  Monarchy  and  the 
most  faithful  servants  of  a  King,  whose  heart  bleeds  at  each 
fresh  blow.'"  {Du  Bruel  writes  hastily.)  " 'M.  le  Baron 
Flamet  de  la  Billardiere  died  this  morning  of  dropsy  on  the 
chest,  brought  on  by  heart  complaint  .  .  .'  You  see,  it 
is  of  some  consequence  to  prove  that  a  man  in  a  government 
office  has  a  heart;  you  might  slip  in  a  little  padding  about 
the  emotions  of  Royalists  during  the  Terror,  eh?  It  would 
not  be  amiss.  Yet — no.  The  minor  newspapers  would  be 
saying  that  the  emotions  struck  not  the  heart,  but  regions 
lower  down.     We  won't  mention  it. — What  have  you  put  ?" 

Du  Bruel  {reads).  "'A  scion  of  an  old  parliamentary 
stock ' " 

Bixiou.  "Very  good !  That  is  poetical,  and  stock  is  pro- 
foundly true." 

Du  Bruel  {continues).  "' — in  whom  devotion  to  the 
throne,  no  less  than  attachment  to  the  faith  of  our  fathers, 
M^as  handed  down  from  generation  to  generation;  M.  de  la 
Billardiere ' " 

Bixiou.     "I  should  put  'M.  le  Baron.' " 

Du  Bruel.    "But  he  wasn't  a  baron  in  1793." 

Bixiou.  "It  is  all  one.  Don't  you  know  that  Fouch6,  in 
the  time  of  the  Empire,  was  once  telling  an  anecdote  of  the 


292  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

Convention  and  Eobespierre;  and  in  the  course  of  it  he  said, 
'Eobespierre  said  to  me,  "Due  d'Otrante,  go  to  the  Hotel  de 
Ville !"  ' — so  there  is  a  precedent." 

Du  Bruel.  "Just  let  me  jot  that  down !  But  we  must 
not  put  'the  Baron'  here;  I  am  keeping  all  the  favors  the 
King  showered  upon  him  for  the  end." 

Bixiou.  "Ah !  right — it  is  the  dramatic  effect,  the  curtain 
picture  of  the  article." 

Du  Bruel.  "It  comes  here,  do  you  see? — 'By  raising  M. 
de  la  Billardiere  to  the  rank  of  Baron,  by  appointing  him 
Gentleman  in  Ordinary '  " 

Bixiou  {aside).     "Very  ordinary." 

Du  Bruel.  " ' — of  the  Bedchamber,  etc.,  His  Majesty 
rewarded  the  services  of  the  provost  who  tempered  a  rigorous 
performance  of  his  duty  with  the  habitual  mildness  of  the 
Bourbons,  and  the  courage  of  a  Vendean  who  did  not  bow 
the  knee  to  the  Imperial  idol.  M.  de  la  Billardiere  leaves 
a  son  who  inherits  his  devotion  and  his  talents,'  and  so  on 
and  so  on." 

Bixiou.  "Aren't  you  coming  it  rather  too  strong?  Isn't 
the  coloring  too  rich?  There  is  that  poetical  flight  'the 
Imperial  idol'  and  'bowing  the  knee';  I  should  tone  it  down 
a  bit.  Hang  it  all !  Vaudevilles  spoil  your  hand,  till  you 
cannot  write  pedestrian  prose.  /  should  put — 'He  belonged 
to  the  small  number  of  those  who,'  etc.  Simplify ;  you  have 
a  simpleton  to  deal  with." 

Du  Bruel.  "There  is  another  joke  for  a  vaudeville  !  You 
would  make  your  fortune  at  writing  for  the  stage,  Bixiou !" 

Bixiou.  "What  have  you  put  about  Quiberon?"  (Reads.) 
"That  is  not  the  thing !  This  is  how  I  should  draft 
it — 'In  a  work  recently  published,  he  took  all  the  re- 
sponsibility of  the  misfortunes  of  the  Quiberon  expedition 
upon  himself,  thus  giving  the  measure  of  a  devotion  which 
shrank  from  no  sacrifice.' — That  is  neat  and  ingenious,  and 
you  save  la  Billardicre's  character." 

Du  Bruel.    "But  at  the  expense  of  whom?" 

Bixiou  (serious  as  a  priest  in  a  pulpit).  "Of  Hoche  and 
Tallien,  of  course.     Why,  don't  you  know  your  history  ?" 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  293 

Du  Bruel.  "No.  I  have  subscribed  to  the  Baudoins'  col- 
lection, but  I  have  not  had  time  to  look  into  it :  there  are  no 
subjects  for  vaudevilles." 

Phellion  {in  the  doorway).  "M.  Bixiou,  we  should  all 
like  to  know  what  it  is  that  can  induce  you  to  believe  that  M. 
Kabourdin  will  not  be  nominated  as  head  of  the  division, 
when  the  virtuous  and  worthy  M.  Rabourdin  has  taken  the 
responsibility  of  the  division  for  nine  months,  and  stands 
first  in  order  of  seniority  in  the  departments;  and  the  Min- 
ister no  sooner  comes  back  from  M.  de  la  Billardiere's  than  he 
sends  the  usher  to  fetch  him." 

Bixiou.     "Daddy  Phellion,  do  you  know  geography?" 

Phellion  (swelling  visibly).     "So  I  flatter  myself,  sir." 

Bixiou.     "History  ?" 

Phellion"  (modestly).     "Perhaps." 

Bixiou  (looking  at  him).  "Your  diamond  is  not  prop- 
erly set;  it  will  drop  out  directly. — Well,  you  know  nothing 
of  human  nature ;  you  have  gone  no  further  in  that  study  than 
in  your  explorations  of  the  suburbs  of  Paris." 

PoiRET  (in  a  low  voice  to  Vimeux).  "Suburbs  of  Paris! 
I  thought  that  we  were  talking  about  M.  Rabourdin." 

Bixiou.    "Does  Eabourdin's  office  in  a  body  take  my  bet  ?" 

Omnes.     "Yes." 

Bixiou.    "Du  Bruel,  are  you  going  in?" 

Du  Bruel.  "I  should  think  so !  It  is  to  our  interest  that 
our  chief  clerk  should  be  head  of  the  division,  for  all  the 
rest  of  us  go  up  a  step." 

Thuillier.  "We  all  go  a-head!"  (Aside  to  Phellion). 
"That  was  neat." 

Bixiou.  "I  bet  he  won't;  and  for  this  reason.  You  will 
hardly  understand  it;  but  I  will  tell  you  why,  all  the  same. 
It  is  right  and  fair  that  M.  Rabourdin  should  get  the  appoint- 
ment (looks  at  Dutocq)  ;  for  seniority,  ability,  and  probity 
are  recognized,  appreciated,  and  rewarded  in  his  person.  Be- 
sides, it  is,  of  course,  to  the  interest  of  the  administration  to 
appoint  him."  (Phellion,  Poiret,  and  Thuillier,  listening 
without  comprehenditig  a  word,  look  as  though  they  were  try- 
19 


294  THE  GOVEIl^'MENT  CLERKS 

ing  to  see  through  darkness.)  "Well,  because  the  appoint- 
ment is  deserved  and  so  suitable  in  all  these  ways,  I  (know- 
ing all  the  while  how  wise  and  just  the  measure  is)  will  bet 
that  it  will  not  be  taken.  Xo ;  it  will  end  in  failure,  like  the 
Boulogne  and  Eussian  expeditions,  though  genius  had  left 
nothing  undone  to  ensure  success.  I  am  playing  the  devil's 
game." 

Du  Bruel.     "But  whom  else  can  they  appoint?" 

BixiOD.  "The  more  I  think  of  Baudoyer,  the  more  plainly 
it  appears  that  in  the  matter  of  qualifications  for  the  post 
he  is  the  exact  opposite  of  Kabourdin.  Consequently,  he 
will  be  head  of  the  division." 

DuTOCQ  (driven  to  extremities).  "But  M.  des  Lupeaulx 
sent  for  me  this  morning  to  ask  for  my  Charlet ;  and  he  told 
me  that  M.  Eabourdin  had  just  been  nominated,  and  young 
la  Billardiere  was  to  be  transferred  to  the  Audit  Office." 

Bixiou.  "Appointed!  appointed!  The  nomination  will 
not  be  so  much  as  signed  for  ten  days  to  come.  They  will 
make  the  appointment  for  N"ew  Year's  Day.  There,  look 
at  your  chief  down  there  in  the  courtyard,  and  tell  me  if  La 
Vertueuse  Rabourdin  looks  like  a  man  in  favor !  Any  one 
would  think  he  had  been  cashiered."  [Fleury  rushes  to  the 
window.)  "Good-day,  gentlemen.  I  am  just  going  to  an- 
nounce the  nomination  to  M.  Baudoyer;  it  will  infuriate 
him,  at  any  rate,  the  holy  man !  And  then  I  will  tell  him 
about  our  bet,  to  hearten  him  up  again.  That  is  what  Ave 
call  a  peripateia  on  the  stage,  is  it  not,  du  Bruel  ? — What  does 
it  matter  to  me?  If  I  win,  he  will  take  me  for  assistant 
clerk?"  (goes  out.) 

PoiRET.  "Everybody  says  that  that  gentleman  is  clever; 
well,  for  my  own  part,  I  never  can  make  anything  out  of  his 
talk"  (writing  as  he  speaks).  "I  listen  and  listen,  I  hear 
words,  and  cannot  grasp  any  sense  in  them.  He  brings  in 
the  suburbs  of  Paris  when  he  is  talking  about  human  nature ; 
then  he  begins  with  the  Boulogne  and  Eussian  expeditions, 
and  says  that  he  is  playing  the  Devil's  game."  (Lays  down 
his  pen  and  goes  to  the  stove.)     "First  of  all,  you  must 


THE  G0VP:RNMENT  Cr.ERKS  295 

assume  that  the  JJevil  gambles,  then  lind  out  what  game  he 

plays !     First  of  all,  there  is  the  game  of  dominoes " 

{blows  his  nose.) 

Fleury  {interrupting  him),  "Old  Poiret  is  blowing  his 
nose;  it  is  eleven  o'clock." 

Du  Bruel.  "So  it  is ! — Already !  I  am  off  to  the  secre- 
tary's office." 

Poiret.     "Where  am  I?" 

Thuillier.  "Domino,  which  is  'to  the  lord';  for  you 
were  talking  of  the  Devil,  and  the  Devil  is  a  suzerain  without 
a  charter.  But  this  is  not  so  much  a  pun  as  a  play  on  words. 
Anyhow,  I  see  no  difference  between  a  play  on  words  and " 

{Sebastien  comes  in  to  collect  circulars  to  be  checked  and 
signed.) 

Vimeux.  "Here  you  are,  my  fine  fellow!  Your  time  of 
trial  is  over ;  you  will  be  established !  M.  Rabourdin  will 
get  the  appointment.  You  were  at  Mme.  Rabourdin's 
party  yesterday.  How  lucky  you  are  to  go  to  that  house ! 
They  say  that  very  handsome  women  go  there." 

Si^BASTiEN.     "I  do  not  know." 

Fleury.     "Are  you  blind?" 

SEBASTIEN".  "I  am  not  at  all  fond  of  looking  at  things 
when  T  cannot  have  them !" 

Phellion  {delighted).     "Well  said,  young  man." 

Vtmeux.  "You  surely  look  at  Mme.  Rabourdin.  Why, 
hang  it  all !  a  charming  woman." 

Fleury.  "Pooh !  a  thin  figure.  I  have  seen  her  at  the 
Tuileries  Gardens.  Percilliee,  Ballet's  mistress  and  Cas- 
taing's  victim,  is  much  more  to  my  taste." 

Ppielligjst.  "But  what  has  an  actress  to  do  with  a  chief 
clerk's  wife?" 

DuTOCQ.     "Both  are  playing  a  comedy." 

Fleury  {looking  askance  at  Dutocq).  "The  physical  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  moral;  and  if  by  that  you  under- 
stand  " 

Dutocq.     "For  my  own  part,  I  understand  nothing." 

Fleury.  "Which  of  us  will  be  chief  clerk?  who  wants 
to  know?" 


296  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

Omnes.     "Tell  us!" 

Fleuey.     "It  will  be  Colleville." 

Thuillier.     "Why  ?" 

Fleury.  "Mme.  Colleville  has  finally  taken  the  shortest 
way — through  the  sacristy." 

Thuillier  (drily) .  "I  am  too  much  M.  Colleville's  friend, 
M.  Fleury,  not  to  beg  of  you  to  refrain  from  speaking  lightly 
of  his  wife." 

Phellion.  "Women,  who  have  no  way  of  defending 
themselves,  should  never  be  the  subject  of  our  conversa- 
tions  " 

Vimeux.  "And  so  much  the  less,  since  pretty  Mme.  Colle- 
ville would  not  ask  Fleur}^  to  her  house;  so  he  blackens  her 
character  by  way  of  revenge." 

Fleury.  "She  would  not  receive  me  on  the  same  footing 
as  Thuillier,  but  I  went " 

Thuillier.     "When?     Where?     Under  her  windows?" 

Fleury's  swagger  made  him  so  formidable  a  person  in  the 
office,  that  every  one  was  surprised  when  he  took  Thuillier's 
last  word.  His  resignation  had  its  source  in  a  bill  for  two 
hundred  francs  with  a  tolerably  doubtful  signature,  which 
document  Thuillier  was  to  present  to  his  sister.  A  deep 
silence  succeeded  to  the  skirmish.  Everybody  worked  from 
one  o'clock  till  three.     Du  Bruel  did  not  come  back. 

Towards  half-past  three  preparations  for  departure  were 
made — brushing  of  hats  and  changing  of  coats  went  on 
simultaneously  all  through  the  department.  The  cherished 
half-hour  thus  spent  on  small  domestic  cares  shortened  the 
working  day  by  precisely  thirty  minutes.  The  temperature 
of  overheated  rooms  fell  several  degrees;  the  odor  peculiar 
to  offices  evaporated ;  silence  settled  do^Ti  once  more ;  and  by 
four  o'clock  none  were  left  but  the  real  workers,  the  clerks 
who  took  their  duties  in  earnest.  A  Minister  may  know  the 
men  that  do  the  work  of  the  department  by  making  a  round 
thereof  punctually  at  four  o'clock :  but  such  great  and  serious 
persons  never  by  any  chance  indulge  in  espionage  of  this 
kind. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  297 

At  that  hour  divers  chief  clerks  met  each  other  in  the 
courtyard  and  exchanged  their  ideas  on  the  day's  events. 
Generally  speaking,  as  they  walked  off  by  twos  and  threes, 
the  opinion  was  in  favor  of  Rabourdin ;  but  a  few  old  stagers, 
such  as  M.  Clergeot,  would  shake  their  heads  with  a  "Habent 
sua  sidera  lites/'  Saillard  and  Baudoyer  were  courteously 
avoided.  Nobody  knew  quite  what  to  say  to  them  about 
Billardiere's  death,  and  everybody  felt  that  Baudoyer  might 
■want  the  berth  though  he  had  no  right  to  it. 

When  the  last-named  pair  had  left  the  buildings  some 
distance  behind,  Saillard  broke  silence  with,  "This  is  not 
going  well  for  you,  my  poor  Baudoyer." 

"I  fail  to  understand  what  Elizabeth  is  thinking  about," 
returned  his  son-in-law.  "She  sent  Godard  post-haste  for 
a  passport  for  Falleix.  Godard  said  that,  acting  on  Uncle 
Mitral's  advice,  she  hired  a  post-chaise,  and  Falleix  is  on  the 
way  back  to  his  own  country  at  this  moment." 

"Something  connected  with  the  business,  no  doubt,"  said 
Saillard. 

"The  most  urgent  business  for  us  just  now  is  to  find  a 
way  of  getting  M.  de  la  Billardiere's  place." 

They  had  come  along  the  Eue  Saint-Honore,  till  by  this 
time  they  had  reached  the  Palais  Eoj^al.  Dutocq  came  up 
and  raised  his  hat. 

"If  I  can  be  of  any  use  to  you,  sir,  under  the  circumstances, 
pray  command  me,"  he  said,  addressing  Baudoyer.  "I  am 
not  less  devoted  than  M.  Godard  to  your  interests." 

"Such  an  overture  is,  at  any  rate,  a  consolation,"  returned 
Baudoyer ;  "one  has  the  esteem  of  honest  people." 

"If  you  will  condescend  to  use  your  influence  to  procure 
the  place  of  assistant-clerk  under  you,  and  the  chief  clerk's 
place  for  M.  Bixiou,  you  will  make  the  fortunes  of  two  men, 
and  both  of  them  are  capable  of  doing  anything  to  secure  your 
elevation." 

"Are  you  laughing  at  us,  sir?"  asked  Saillard,  opening  wide 
foolish  eyes. 

"Par  be   the  thought  from  me,"   said   Dutocq.     "I  have 


298  THE  GOYEKNilENT  CLERKS 

just  been  to  take  the  obituary  notice  of  M.  de  la  Billardiere 
to  the  newspaper  oflfice ;  M.  des  Lupeaulx  sent  me.  I  have 
the  highest  respect  for  your  talents  after  reading  the  article 
in  the  paper.  When  the  time  comes  for  making  an  end  of 
Eabourdin,  it  is  in  my  power  to  strike  the  final  blow^;  con- 
descend to  recollect  that." 

Dutocq  disappeared. 

"I'll  be  hanged  if  I  understand  a  word  of  this,"  said  Sail- 
lard,  as  he  stared  at  Baudoyer,  whose  little  eyes  expressed  no 
common  degree  of  bewilderment.  "We  must  send  out  for 
the  paper  this  evening." 

When  the  pair  entered  the  sitting-room  on  the  ground 
floor,  they  found  Mme.  Saillard,  Elizabeth,  M.  Gaudron,  and 
the  vicar  of  St.  Paul's  all  seated  by  a  large  fire.  The  vicar 
turned  as  they  came  in;  and  Elizabeth,  looking  at  her  hus- 
band, made  a  sign  of  intelligence,  but  to  little  purpose. 

"Sir,"  the  cure  was  saying,  "I  was  unwilling  to  delay  my 
thanks  for  the  magnificent  gift  with  which  you  have  adorned 
my  poor  church;  I  could  not  venture  into  debt  to  buy  that 
splendid  monstrance.  It  is  fit  for  a  cathedral.  As  one  of 
the  most  regular  and  pious  of  our  parishioners,  you  must  have 
been  particularly  impressed  by  the  bareness  of  the  high  altar. 
I  am  just  going  to  see  M.  le  Coadjuteur;  he  will  shortly 
express  his  satisfaction." 

"I  have  done  nothing  as  yet "  began  Baudoyer,  but 

his  wife  broke  in  upon  him. 

"M.  le  CurCj,"  said  she,  "I  may  betray  the  whole  of  his 
secret  now.  (M.  Baudoyer  counts  upon  completing  what  he 
has  begun  by  giving  you  a  canopy  against  Corpus  Domini. 
But  the  purchase  depends,  to  some  extent,  upon  the  state 
of  our  finances,  and  our  finances  depend  upon  our  advance- 
ment." 

"God  rewards  those  who  honor  Him,"  said  M.  Gaudron, 
as  he  followed  the  cure. 

"Why  do  you  not  do  us  the  honor  to  take  pot-luck  with  us  ?" 
asked  Saillard. 

"Don't  go,  my  dear  Gaudron,"  said  the  cure.     "I  have  an 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  299 

invitation  to  dine  with  the  cure  of  Saint-liocli,  you  know ; 
he  will  take  M.  de  la  Billardiere's  funeral  service  to-mor- 
row." 

"M.  le  Cure  de  Saint-Roch  might  say  a  word  for  us,  per- 
haps ?"  began  Baudoyer,  but  his  wife  gave  a  sharp  tug  at  his 
coat-tails. 

"Do  be  quiet,  Baudoyer !"  she  whispered,  as  she  drew  him 
into  a  corner.  "You  have  given  a  monstrance  worth  five 
thousand  francs  to  our  parish  church.  I  will  explain  it  all 
by  and  by." 

Baudoyer,  the  close-fisted,  made  a  hideous  grimace,  and 
appeared  pensive  throughout  dinner. 

"What  ever  made  you  take  so  much  trouble  to  get  a  pass- 
port for  Falleix?  What  is  this  that  you  are  meddling  in?" 
he  asked  at  length. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  Falleix's  business  is,  to  some  extent, 
ours,"  Elizabeth  answered  drily,  warning  her  husband  with 
a  glance  not  to  speak  before  M.  Gaudron. 

"Certainly  it  is,"  said  old  Saillard,  thinking  of  the  partner- 
ship. 

"You  reached  the  newspaper  office  in  time,  I  hope,"  con- 
tinued Elizabeth,  addressing  M.  Gaudron,  as  she  handed  him 
a  plate  of  soup. 

"Yes,  my  dear  madam,"  the  cure  replied.  "The  editor 
made  not  the  slightest  difficulty  when  he  read  the  few  words 
from  the  Grand  Almoner's  secretary.  Through  his  good 
offices  the  little  paragraph  was  put  in  the  most  suitable  posi- 
tion. I  should  never  have  thought  of  that,  but  the  young 
man  at  the  newspaper  office  was  very  wide  awake.  The 
champions  of  religion  may  now  combat  infidelity  with  equal 
forces,  for  there  is  much  talent  shown  in  the  Royalist  news- 
papers. I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  success  will  crown 
your  hopes.  But  you  must  remember,  my  dear  Baudoyer, 
to  use  your  influence  for  M.  Colleville.  It  is  in  him  that 
His  Eminence  is  interested,  and  I  received  an  injunction  to 
mention  M.  Colleville  to  you." 

"If  I  am  head  of  the  division,  he  shall  be  one  of  my  chief 
clerks  if  they  like,"  said  Baudoyer 


300  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

The  clue  to  the  riddle  was  discovered  after  dinner  when 
the  porter  came  in  with  the  ministerial  paper.  The  two  fol- 
lowing paragraphs  (called  entre-filets  in  journalistic  lan- 
guage) appeared  therein  among  the  items  of  news: — 

'*'M.  LE  Babon  de  la  Billardiere  died  this  morning  after 
a  long  and  painful  illness.  In  him  the  King  loses  a  devoted 
servant,  and  the  Church  one  of  the  most  pious  among  her  chil- 
dren. M.  de  la  Billardiere's  end  was  a  worthy  crown  of  a 
great  career,  a  fitting  termination  of  a  life  that  was  wholly 
devoted  .to  perilous  missions  in  perilous  times,  and  sub- 
sequently to  the  fulfilment  of  very  difficult  duties.  As  grand 
provost  of  a  department,  M.  de  la  Billardiere's  force  of  char- 
acter triumphed  over  all  obstacles  raised  by  rebellion ;  and 
later,  when  he  accepted  an  arduous  post  as  the  head  of  a  de- 
partment, his  insight  was  not  less  useful  than  his  Frenchman's 
urbanity  in  the  conduct  of  the  weighty  affairs  transacted 
in  his  province.  No  rewards  were  ever  better  deserved  than 
those  by  which  His  Majesty  was  pleased  to  crown  a  loyalty 
that  never  wavered  under  the  usurper. — The  ancient  family 
will  live  again  in  a  younger  scion,  who  inherits  the  talent 
and  devotion  of  the  excellent  man  whose  loss  is  mourned  by 
so  many  friends.  His  Majesty,  with  a  gracious  word,  has 
already  given  out  that  M.  Benjamin  de  la  Billardiere  is  to  be 
one  of  the  Gentleman  in  Ordinary  of  the  Bedchamber. 

"Any  of  the  late  M.  de  la  Billardiere's  numerous  friends 
who  have  not  yet  received  cards,  and  may  not  receive  them  in 
time,  are  informed  that  the  funeral  will  take  place  to-morrow 
at  Saint-Roch  at  four  o'clock.  The  funeral  sermon  will  be 
preached  by  M.  I'Abbe  Fontanon." 

"M.  Isidore  Baudoter,  representative  of  one  of  the  oldest 
burgher  families  in  Paris,  and  chief  clerk  in  the  la  Billardiere 
division,  has  just  revived  memories  of  the  old  traditions  of 
piety  which  distinguished  the  great  burgher  houses  of  olden 
times,  when  citizens  were  so  jealous  of  the  pomp  of  Religion, 
and  such  lovers  of  her  monuments.     The  Church  of  St.  Paul, 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  301 

a  basilica  which  we  owe  to  the  Society  of  Jesus,  lacked  a 
monstrance  in  keeping  with  its  architectural  splendors. 
jSTeither  the  vestry  nor  the  incumbent  could  afford  to  give 
such  an  adornment  to  the  altar.  M.  Baudoyer  has  just  pre- 
sented the  parish  with  the  monstrance  that  many  persons  have 
admired  at  the  establishment  of  M.  Gohier,  the  King's  gold- 
smith ;  and,  thanks  to  piety  that  did  not  shrink  from  so  large 
a  sum,  the  Church  of  St.  Paul  now  possesses  a  masterpiece 
of  the  goldsmith's  craft,  executed  from  M.  de  Sommervieux's 
designs.  We  are  glad  to  give  publicity  to  a  fact  which  shows 
the  absurdity  of  Liberal  bombast  as  to  the  state  of  feel- 
ing among  the  Parisian  bourgeoisie.  The  upper  middle 
classes  have  been  Royalist  through  all  time,  and  always  will 
prove  themselves  Eoyalists  at  need." 

"The  price  was  five  thousand  francs,"  said  the  Abbe 
Gaudron,  "but  for  ready  money  the  Court  goldsmith  lowered 
his  demands." 

"Eepresentative  of  one  of  the  oldest  burgher  families  in 
Paris !"  repeated  Saillard.  "There  it  is  in  print,  and  in  the 
official  paper  too !" 

"Dear  M.  Gaudron,  do  help  my  father  to  think  of  some- 
thing to  slip  into  the  Countess'  ear  when  he  takes  her  the 
monthly  allowance — just  a  few  words  that  say  everything.  I 
will  leave  you  now.  I  must  go  out  with  Uncle  Mitral. 
Would  you  believe  it? — I  could  not  find  Uncle  Bidault. 
What  dog-hole  can  he  be  living  in !  M.  Mitral,  knowing  his 
ways,  said  that  all  his  business  is  done  between  eight  o'clock 
and  noon;  after  that  hour  he  is  only  to  be  found  at  a  place 
called  the  Cafe  Themis — a  queer-sounding  name " 

"Do  they  do  justice  there  ?"  the  Abbe  asked,  laughing. 

"How  does  he  get  to  a  cafe  at  the  corner  of  the  Quai  des 
Augustins  and  the  Rue  Dauphine?  He  plays  a  game  of 
dominoes  there  with  his  friend  M.  Gobseck  every  night,  they 
say.  I  don't  want  to  go  all  by  myself,  but  uncle  will  take 
me  and  bring  me  back  again." 

As  she  spoke.  Mitral  shoved  his  yellow  countenance  beneath 


302  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

a  wig  that  might  have  been  made  of  twitch-grass  and 
plastered  down  on  the  top  of  his  head.  This  worthy  made 
a  sign,  which,  being  interpreted,  meant  that  his  niece  had 
better  come  at  once,  without  further  waste  of  time  which 
was  paid  at  the  rate  of  two  francs  an  hour;  and  Mme.  Bau- 
doyer  went  accordingly,  without  a  word  of  explanation  to 
her  father  or  husband. 

When  Elizabeth  had  gone,  M.  Gaudron  turned  to  Bau- 
doyer. 

"Heaven,"  observed  he,  "^'has  bestowed  on  you  a  treasure  of 
prudence  and  virtue  in  your  wife ;  she  is  a  pattern  of  wisdom, 
a  Christian  woman  with  a  divine  gift  of  understanding. 
Religion  alone  can  form  a  character  so  complete.  To-mor- 
row 1  will  say  the  mass  for  the  success  of  the  good  cause.  In 
the  interests  of  the  Monarchy  and  Religion  you  must  be  ap- 
pointed. .M.  Rabourdin  is  a  Liberal;  he  subscribes  to  the 
■Journal  des~Debats,  a  disastrous  publication  that  levies  war 
on  M.  le  Comte  de  Villele  to  serve  the  interests  of  M.  de 
Chateaubriand.  His  Eminence  is  sure  to  see  the  paper  this 
evening,  if  it  is  only  on  account  of  his  poor  friend  M.  de  la 
Billardiere;  and  Monseigneur  le  Coadjuteur  will  be  sure  to 
mention  you  and  Rabourdin.  I  know  M.  le  Cure;  if  any 
one  thinks  of  his  dear  Church,  he  does  not  forget  them  in  his 
sermon;  and  now,  at  this  moment,  he  has  the  honor  to  dine 
with  the  Coadjuteur  at  the  house  of  M.  le  Cure  de  Saint- 
Roch." 

At  these  words  it  began  to  dawn  upon  Saillard  and  Bau- 
doyer  that  Elizabeth  had  not  been  idle  since  Godard  brought 
her  the  news. 

"She  is  a  sharp  one,  is  Elizabeth !"  cried  Saillard.  He 
could  appreciate  his  daughter's  quick,  mole-like  progress  more 
fully  than' the  Abbe  could. 

"She  sent  Godard  to  M.  Rabourdin's  to  find  out  what  news- 
papers he  takes,"  continued  Gaudron,  "and  I  gave  His 
Eminence's  secretary  a  hint ;  for  as  things  are  at  this  moment, 
the  Church  and  the  Crown  are  bound  to  know  their  friends 
and  their  enemies." 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  303 

"These  five  d&yts  i  have  been  trying  to  think  of  something 
to  sa}'  to  His  Excellency's  wife,"  said  Saillard. 

Baudoyer  could  not  take  his  eyes  oif  the  paper.  "All  Paris 
is  reading  that,"  he  said. 

"Your  praise  costs  us  four  thousand  eight  hundred  francs, 
sonny !"  said  Mme.  Saillard. 

"You  have  adorned  the  house  of  God,"  put  in  the  Abhe. 

"We  might  have  saved  our  souls  without  that  though,"  re- 
turned she.  "But  the  place,  if  Baudoyer  gets  it,  is  worth  an 
extra  eight  thousand  francs,  so  the  sacrifice  will  not  be  great. 
i\.nd  if  he  doesn't?  Eh!  ma  meref  she  continued,  as  she 
looked  at  her  husband.  "If  he  doesn't — what  a  drain  on 
us !" 

"Oh !  well,"  cried  Saillard,  in  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
moment,  "then  we  should  make  it  up  out  of  the  business. 
Falleix  is  going  to  expand  his  business.  He  made  his  brother 
a  stock-jobber  on  purpose  to  make  him  useful.  Elizabeth 
might  as  well  have  told  us  why  Falleix  had  flown  off. — But 
let  us  think  of  something  to  say.  This  is  what  I  thought 
of:  'Madame,  if  you  would  only  say  a  word  to  His  Excel- 
lency  ' " 

"  'Would  only  V "  broke  in  Gaudron.  "  'If  you  would 
condescend'  is  more  respectful.  Besides,  you  must  first  make 
sure  that  Madame  la  Dauphine  will  use  her  influence  for  you, 
for  in  that  case  you  might  insinuate  the  notion  of  falling  in 
with  Her  Eoyal  Highness'  wishes." 

"The  vacant  post  ought  to  be  expressly  named,"  said  Bau- 
doyer. 

"  'Madame  la  Comtesse,' "  began  Saillard,  as  he  rose  to 
his  feet,  with  an  ingratiating  smile  directed  at  his  wife. 

"Good  gracious,  Saillard,  how  funny  you  look !  Do  take 
care,  my  boy,  or  you  will  make  her  laugh." 

" 'Madame  la  Comtesse !'  .  .  .  (Is  that  better?)"  he 
asked  of  his  wife. 

"Yes,  ducky." 

"  'The  late  M.  de  la  Billardiere's  place  is  vacant ;  my  son- 
in-law,  M.  Baudover " 


304  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

"  'A  man  of  talent  and  lofty  piety/  "  prompted  Gaudron. 

"Put  it  dovn,  Baudoyer/'  cried  old  Saillard;  "put  it 
down !" 

Baudoyer,  in  all  simplicity,  took  up  a  pen  and  wrote  his 
own  paneg}'ric  without  a  blush,  precisely  as  Xathan  or  Canalis 
might  review  one  of  his  own  books. 

"  'Madame  la  Comtesse,'  "  repeated  Saillard  for  the  third 
time,  then  he  broke  off;  "you  see,  mother,  I  am  making  be- 
lieve that  you  are  the  Minister's  wife." 

"Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool?"  retorted  she.  "I  see  that 
quite  well." 

"  'The  late  worthy  M.  de  la  Billardiere's  place  is  vacant ; 
my  son-in-law,  M.  Baudoyer,  a  man  of  consummate  talent 
and  lofty  piety '' 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  looked  at  M.  Gaudron,  who  seemed 
to  be  pondering  something,  and  then  added: 

"  'Would  be  very  glad  to  get  it.'  Ha !  not  bad ;  it  is 
short,  and  says  all  we  want  to  say." 

"But  just  wait  a  bit,  Saillard!  You  surely  can  see  that 
M.  I'Abbe  is  turning  things  over  in  his  mind,"  exclaimed  his 
wife,  "so  don't  disturb  him." 

" 'Would  be  very  happy  if  you  would  deign  to  in- 
terest yourself  on  his  behalf,'  "  resumed  Gaudron ;  "  'and  by 
saying  a  few  words  to  His  Excellency  you  would  be  doing 
Mme.  la  Dauphine  a  particular  pleasure,  for  it  has  been  his 
good  fortune  to  find  a  protectress  in  her.'  " 

"Ah !  M.  Gaudron,  that  last  remark  was  well  worth  the 
monstrance;  I  am  not  so  sorry  now  about  the  four  thousand 
eight  hundred  francs. — Besides,  Baudoyer,  I  say,  you  are 
going  to  pay  for  it,  my  boy.     Have  you  put  that  down  ?" 

"I  will  hear  you  say  that  over,  night  and  morning,  ma 
mere,"  said  Mme.  Saillard.  "Yes,  it  is  very  well  hit  off,  is 
that  speech.  How  fortunate  you  are  to  be  so  learned,  M. 
Gaudron !  That  is  what  comes  of  studying  in  these 
seminaries;  you  are  taught  how  to  speak  to  God  and  the 
saints." 

"He  is  as  kind  as  he  is  learned."  said  Baudoyer,  grasping 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  S05 

the  Abbe's  hands  as  he  spoke.  "Did  you  write  that  article?" 
he  continued,  pointing  to  the  paper. 

"No,"  returned  Gaudron,  "It  was  written  by  His 
Eminence's  secretary,  a  young  fellow  who  lies  under  great 
obligations  to  me,  and  takes  an  interest  in  M.  Colleville.  I 
paid  for  his  education  at  the  Seminary." 

"A  good  deed  never  loses  its  reward,"  commented  Bau- 
doyer. 

When  these  four  personages  sat  themselves  down  to  their 
game  of  boston,  Elizabeth  and  Uncle  Mitral  had  reached  the 
Cafe  Themis,  talking  by  the  way  of  the  business  on  hand. 
Elizabeth's  tact  had  discovered  the  most  powerful  lever  to 
force  the  Minister's  hand.  Uncle  Mitral,  a  retired  bailiff, 
was  an  expert  on  chicanery,  in  legal  expedients,  and  precau- 
tions. He  considered  that  the  honor  of  the  family  was  in- 
volved in  his  nephew's  success.  Avarice  had  led  him  to  cast 
an  eye  into  Gigonnet's  strong  box ;  he  knew  that  all  the  money 
would  go  to  his  nephew  Baudoyer ;  and  therefore  he  wished  to 
see  Baudoyer  in  a  position  that  befitted  the  fortunes  of  the 
Saillards  and  Gigonnet,  for  all  would  come  some  day  to  Eliza- 
beth's little  daughter.  What  may  not  a  girl  look  for  when  she 
has  more  than  a  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year?  Mitral 
had  taken  up  his  niece's  ideas  and  grasped  them  thoroughly. 
So  he  had  hastened  Falleix's  journey  by  explaining  that  you 
can  travel  quicker  by  post.  Since  then  he  had  reflected,  over 
his  dinner,  upon  the  proper  curve  to  be  given  to  a  spring  of 
Elizabeth's  designing. 

Arrived  at  the  Cafe  Themis,  he  told  his  niece  that  he  had 
better  go  in  alone  to  arrange  with  Gigonnet,  and  left  her  out- 
side in  the  cab  till  the  time  should  come  for  her  intervention. 
Elizabeth  could  see  Gobseck  and  Bidault  through  the  window- 
panes;  their  heads  were  thrown  into  relief  by  the  bright  yel- 
low-painted panels  of  the  old-fashioned  coffee-house ;  they 
looked  like  two  cameos ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  cold,  unchanging 
expression  on  their  countenances  had  been  caught  and  fixed 
there  by  the  carver's  art.  The  misers  were  surrounded  by 
aged  faces,  each  one  furrowed  with  curving  wrinkles  that 


306  THE  GOVERNMENT  CT^BRKS 

Started  from  the  nose  and  brought  the  glazed  cheek-bones 
into  prominence — wrinkles  in  which  thirty  per  cent  discount 
seemed  to-  be  written.  All  the  faces  brightened  up  at  sight 
of  Mitral;  a  tigerish  curiosity  glittered  in  all  eyes. 

"Hey !  hey !  it  is  Daddy  Mitral !"  cried  Chaboisseau,  a 
little  old  bill-discounter,  who  did  his  business  among  pub- 
lishers and  booksellers. 

"My  word!  so  it  is,"  replied  a  paper  merchant,  by  name 
Metivier.  "Ah !  'tis  an  old  monkey,  you  can't  teach  him 
any  tricks !" 

"And  you  are  an  old  raven,  a  good  judge  of  corpses." 

"Precisely  so,"  said  the  stern  Gobseck. 

"Why  have  you  come  here,  my  boy?  To  nab  our  friend 
Metivier?"  asked  Gigonnet,  pointing  out  a  man  who  looked 
like  a  retired  porter. 

"Your  grandniece  Elizabeth  is  outside.  Daddy  Gigonnet," 
whispered  Mitral. 

"What?  Anything  wrong?"  queried  Bidault.  The  old 
man  scowled  as  he  spoke,  and  his  air  was  about  as  tender  as 
the  expression  of  a  headsman  on  a  scaffold;  but,  in  spite  of 
his  Roman  manhood,  he  must  have  felt  perturbed,  for  his  deep 
carmine  countenance  lost  a  trifle  of  its  color. 

"Well,  and  if  something  had  gone  wrong,  wouldn't  you 
help.  .Saillard's  child,  a  little  thing  that  has  knitted  stockings 
for  you  these  thirty  3^ears?"  cried  Mitral. 

"If  security  is  forthcoming,  I  do  not  say  no,"  returned 
Gigonnet.  "Falleix  is  in  this.  Your  Falleix  has  set  up  his 
brother  as  a  stockbroker;  he  does  as  much  business  as  the 
Brezacs ;  with  what  ?  His  brains,  no  doubt.  After  all.  Sail- 
lard  is  not  a  baby." 

"He  knows  the  value  of  money,"  remarked  Chaboisseau. 
And  one  and  all  the  old  men  wagged  their  heads.  A  man 
of  imagination  would  have  shuddered  if  he  had  heard  those 
words  as  they  were  uttered. 

"Besides,  if  anything  happens  to  my  kith  or  kin,  it  is  no 
affair  of  mine,"  began  Bidault-Gigonnet.  "I  make  it  a 
principle,"  continued  he,  "never  to  be  let  in  with  my  friends 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  307 

or  relatives ;  for  you  only  get  your  death  through  your  weak- 
est spot.     Ask  Gobseck;  he  is  soft." 

All  the  bill-discounters  applauded  this  doctrine,  nodding 
their  metallic  heads,  till  you  might  have  listened  for  the 
creaking  of  ill-greased  machinery. 

"Oh,  come  now,  Gigonnet,"  put  in  Chaboisseau,  "a  little 
tenderness,  when  your  stockings  have  been  knitted  for  you  for 
thirty  years." 

"Ah !  that  counts  for  something,"  commented  Gobseck. 

"There  are  no  outsiders  here,"  pursued  Mitral,  who  had  been 
taking  a  look  round,  "so  we  can  speak  freely.  I  have  come 
here  with  a  good  bit  of  business " 

"If  it  is  good,  what  makes  ^ou  come  to  us?"  Gigonnet 
interrupted  sourly. 

"A  chap  that  was  a  Gentleman  of  the  Bedchamber,  an 
old  Chouan,  what's  his  name — la  Billardiere — is  dead." 

"Eeally?"  asked  Gobseck. 

"And  here  is  my  nephew  giving  monstrances  to  churches !" 
said  Gigonnet. 

"He  is  not  such  a  fool  as  to  give,  he  is  selling  them, 
daddy,"  Mitral  retorted  proudly.  "It  is  a  question  of 
getting  M.  de  la  Billardiere's  place ;  and  to  reach  it,  one  must 


"Seize !  Always  a  bailiff !"  cried  Metivier,  clapping 
Mitral  on  the  shoulder.     "I  like  that,  I  do!" 

"Seizing  the  Sieur  Chardin  des  Lupeaulx  between  our 

claws,"  continued  Mitral.  "Now,  Elizabeth  has  found  out 
how  to  do  it,  and  it  is " 

"Elizabeth !"  Gigonnet  broke  in  again.  "Dear  little 
creature !  She  takes  after  her  grandfather,  my  poor  brother. 
Bidault  had  not  his  like.  Ah !  if  you  had  only  seen  him  at 
old  furniture  sales.  Such  an  instinct !  Up  to  everything ! 
— What  does  she  want?" 

"Oh,  come  now !  Daddy  Gigonnet,  you  find  your  family 
affections  very  quickly.  There  must  be  some  cause  for  this 
phenomenon." 

"You  child !"  said  Gobseck,  addressing  Gigonnet,  "always 
too  impetuous." 


308  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

"Come,  my  masters,  Gobseck  and  Gigonnet  both,  you  need 
des  Lupeaulx;  you  recollect  how  you  plucked  him,  and  you 
are  afraid  that  he  may  ask  for  a  little  of  his  down  again," 
said  Mitral. 

"Can  we  talk  of  this  business  with  him?"  Gobseck  asked, 
indicating   Mitral. 

"Mitral  is  one  of  us ;  he  would  not  play  a  trick  on  old  cus- 
tomers," returned  Gigonnet.  "Very  well.  Mitral.  Between 
ourselves,"  he  continued,  lowering  his  voice  for  the  retired 
bailiff's  ear,  "we  three  have  just  been  buying  up  certain 
debts,  and  the  admission  of  them  lies  with  the  Committee 
of  Liquidation." 

"What   can  3^ou   concede?"   asked   Mitral. 

"Nothing,"    said    Gobseck. 

"Our  names  don't  appear  in  it,"  added  Gigonnet.  "Sa- 
manon  is  acting  as  our  fence." 

"Look  here,  Gigonnet,"  began  Mitral.  "It  is  cold,  and 
your  grandniece  is  waiting.  I'll  put  the  whole  thing  in  a 
word  or  two,  and  you  will  understand.  You  two  between 
you  must  lend  Falleix  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
francs,  without  interest.  At  this  present  moment  he  is  tear- 
ing along  the  road  thirty  leagues  away  from  Paris,  with  a 
courier   riding   ahead." 

"Is  it  possible?"  asked  Gobseck. 

"Where  is  he  going?"  cried  Gigonnet. 

"Why,  he  is  going  down  to  des  Lupeaulx's  fine  estate  in  the 
country.  He  knows  the  neighl)orhood ;  and  with  the  afore- 
said two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  he  is  going  to 
buy  up  some  of  the  excellent  land  round  about  the  Secre- 
tary-General's hovel.  The  land  will  always  fetch  what  was 
given  for  it.  And  a  deed  signed  in  the  presence  of  a  notary 
need  not  be  registered  for  nine  days — bear  that  in  mind ! 
With  these  trifling  additions,  des  Lupeaulx's  'estate'  will  pay 
a  thousand  francs  per  annum  in  taxes.  Ergo,  des  Lupeaulx 
will  be  an  elector  of  the  'grand  college'  qualified  for  elec- 
tion, a  Count  and  anything  that  he  likes.  Do  you  know  the 
deputy  that  backed  out  of  it?" 


THE  GOVEENMENT  CLERKS  309 

The  two  usurers  nodded. 

"Des  L^^peaulx  would  cut  off  a  leg  to  be  a  deputy,"  con- 
tinued Mitral.  "But  when  we  show  him  the  contracts,  he 
will  be  for  having  them  made  out  in  his  name;  our  loan  to 
be  charged,  of  course,  as  a  mortgage  on  the  land,  reserving 
the  right  to  sell.  (Aha!  do  you  take  me?)  First  of  all, 
we  want  the  place  for  Baudoyer;  afterwards  we  hand  over 
des  Lupeaulx  to  you.  Falleix  is  stopping  down  there,  get- 
ting ready  for  the  election,  so  through  Falleix  you  will  have  a 
pjstol Jtield  to  jies  Lupeaulx's  head  all  through  the  election, 
for  Falleix's  friends  are  in  the  majority.  Do  you  see  Falleix's 
hand  in  this.  Daddy  Gigonnet  ?" 

"I  see  Mitral's  too,"  remarked  Metivier.  "The  trick  is 
neatly  done." 

"It  is  a  bargain,"  said  Gigonnet.  "That  is  so,  isn't  it, 
Gobseck?  Falleix  must  sign  counter-deeds  for  us,  and  have 
the  mortgage  m^e  out  in  his  own  name;  and  we  will  pay 
des  Lupeaulx  a  vi^it  in  the  nick  of  time." 

"And  we  are  being  robbed,"  put  in  Gobseck. 

"Ah !  I  should  very  much  like  to  know  the  man  that  robs 
you,  daddy,"  retorted  Mitral. 

"Why,  no  one  can  rob  us  but  ourselves,"  returned  Gi- 
gonnet. "We  thought  we  were  doing  a  good  thing  when  we 
bought  up  all  des  Lupeaulx's  debts  at  a  discount  of  sixty 
per  cent." 

"You  can  add  them  to  the  mortgage  on  his  place,  and 
have  yet  another  hold  on  him  through  the  interest,"  re- 
turned Mitral. 

"That  is  possible,"  said  Gobseck. 

Bidault,  alias  Gigonnet,  exchanged  a  quick  glance  with 
Gobseck,  and  went  to  the  door. 

"Go  ahead,  Elizabeth !"  he  said,  addressing  his  niece. 
"We  have  your  man  fast,  but  look  after  details.  You  have 
made  a  good  beginning,  sly  girl !  Go  through  with  it,  you 
have  your  uncle's  esteem "  and  he  struck  his  hand  play- 
fully in  hers. 

"But  Metivier  and  Chaboisseau  may  try  a  sudden  stroke," 
20 


310  THE  OOVERNMENT  f'LERKS 

said  Mitral ;  "'tliey  might  go  to-niglit  to  some  Opposition 
paper,  catch  the  ball  at  a  rebound,  and  pay  ns  back  for  the 
Ministerialist  article.  Go  back  by  yourself,  child;  I  will 
not  let  those  two  cormorants  go  out  of  sight." 

And  he  returned  to  the  Cafe. 

"To-morrow  the  money  shall  go  to  its  destination  through 
a  word  to  the  receiver-general.  We  will  raise  a  hundred 
thousand  crowns'  worth  of  his  paper  among  friends,'^  said 
Gigonnet,  when  Mitral  came  to  speak  to  him. 

Next  day  the  readers  of  a  Liberal  paper  in  wide  circu- 
lation beheld  the  following  paragraph  among  the  items  of 
news.  It  had  been  inserted  by  command  of  MM.  Chabois- 
seau  and  Metivier,  to  whom  no  editor  could  refuse  anything; 
for  were  they  not  shareholders  in  two  newspapers,  and  did 
they  not  also  discount  the  bills  of  publishers,  printers,  and 
paper-merchants  ? 

"Yesterday,"  so  ran  the  paragraph,  "a  Ministerialist 
paper  evidently  pointed  out  ]\r.  le  Baron  de  la  Billardiere's 
successor.  M.  Baudoyer  is  one  of  the  most  eligible  citizens 
of  a  thickly  populated  district,  where  his  beneficence  is  not 
less  known  than  the  piety  upon  which  the  Ministerialist 
sheet  lays  so  much  stress.  But  mention  might  have  been 
made  of  M.  Baudoyer's  abilities.  Did  our  contemporary 
remember  that  even  in  vaunting  the  antiquity  of  M.  Bau- 
doyer's  burgher  descent  (and  an  ancient  burgher  ancestry  is 
as  much  a  noblesse  as  any  other),  in  the  matter  of  that  very 
burgher  descent  she  touched  upon  the  reason  of  the  probable 
exclusion  of  her  candidate  ?  Gratuitous  treachery !  The 
good  lady,  according  to  her  wont,  flatters  those  whom  she 
destroys.  M.  Baudoyer's  appointment  would  be  a  tribute 
to  the  virtue  and  capacity  of  the  middle  classes,  and  of  the 
middle  class  we  shall  always  be  the  advocates,  though  we 
may  see  that  often  we  are  only  defending  a  lost  cause.  It 
would  be  a  piece  of  good  policy  and  an  act  of  justice  to  nom- 
inate M.  Baudoyer  to  the  vacant  post ;  so  the  Ministry  will 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  311 

not  permit  it.     The  Religious  sheet  for  once  showed  more 
sense  than  its  masters;  it  will  get  into  trouble." 

The  next  day  was  Friday,  the  day  of  Mme.  Eabourdin's 
dinner-party.  At  midnight  on  Thursday  des  Lupeaulx  had 
left  her  on  the  staircase  at  the  Bouffons,  where  she  stood,  in 
her  radiant  beauty,  her  hand  on  Mme.  de  Camps'  arm  (for 
Mme.  Firmiani  had  recently  married)  ;  and  when  the  old 
libertine  came  to  himself  again,  his  ideas  of  revenge  had 
calmed  down,  or  rather  they  had  grown  cooler — he  could 
think  of  nothing  but  that  last  glance  exchanged  with  Mme. 
Rabourdin. 

"I  will  make  sure  of  Rabourdin,"  he  thought,  "by  for- 
giving him  in  the  first  instance ;  I  will  be  even  with  him  later 
on.  At  present,  if  he  does  not  get  his  step,  I  must  give  up  a 
woman  who  might  be  an  invaluable  aid  to  a  great  political 
success,  for  she  understands  everything;  she  shrinks  back 
from  no  idea.  What  is  more,  in  that  case  I  should  not  find 
out  this  administrative  scheme  of  Rabourdin's  until  it  was 
laid  before  the  Minister.  Come,  dear  des  Lupeaulx;  it  is  a 
question  of  overcoming  all  obstacles  for  your  Celestine. 
You  may  grimace,  Mme.  la  Comtesse,  but  you  are  going  to 
invite  Mme.  Rabourdin  to  your  next  small  select  party." 

Some  men  can  put  revenge  into  a  corner  of  their  hearts 
till  they  gratify  their  passions;  des  Lupeaulx  was  one  of 
them.  His  mind  was  fully  made  up ;  he  determined  to  carry 
Rabourdin^g  -,  nomination. 

"1  am  going  to  prove  to  you,  dear  chief  clerk,  that  I  de- 
serve a  high  place  in  your  diplomatic  galleys,"  he  said  to 
himself,  as  he  took  his  seat  in  his  private  office  and  opened 
his  newspapers. 

He  had  known  the  contents  of  the  Ministerial  sheet  only 
too  well  at  five  o'clock  on  the  previous  day,  so  he  did  not 
care  to  amuse  himself  by  reading  it  through ;  but  he  opened 
it  to  glance  at  the  obituary  notice  of  la  Billardiere,  think- 
ing as  he  did  so  of  the  predicament  in  which  du  Bruel  had 
put  him,  when  he  brought  in  the  satirical  performance  com- 


312  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

posed  under  Bixiou's  editorship.  He  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing as  he  perused  the  biography  of  the  late  Comte  de  la 
Fontaine,  adapted  and  reprinted,  after  a  few  months'  inter- 
val, for  M.  de  la  Billardiere.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  his 
eyes  were  dazzled  by  the  name  of  Baudoyer !  With  fury 
he  read  the  specious  article  which  compromised  the  depart- 
ment. He  rang  the  bell  vigorously  and  sent  for  Dutocq, 
meaning  to  send  him  to  the  newspaper  office.  But  what  was 
his  astonishment  when  he  read  the  reply  in  the  Opposition 
paper,  for  it  so  happened  that  the  Liberal  sheet  was  the  first 
to  come  to  hand.  The  thing  was  getting  serious.  He  knew 
the  dodge;  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  master  hand  was  mak- 
ing a  mess  of  his  cards,  and  he  took  his  opponent  for  a 
Greek  of  the  first  order.  To  dispose  so  adroitly  of  two 
papers  of  opposite  politics,  and  that  at  once,  and  on  the 
same  evening;  to  begin  the  game,  moreover,  by  guessing  at 
the  Minister's  intentions !  He  fancied  that  he  recognized 
the  hand  of  an  acquaintance,  a  Liberal  editorx^  and  vowed 
to  question  him  that  night  at  the  Opera.     Dutocq  appeared. 

"Read  that,"  said  des  Lupeaulx,  holding  out  the  two 
papers  while  he  ran  his  eyes  over  the  rest  of  the  batch  to  see 
whether  Baudoyer  had  pulled  other  wires.  "Just  go  and 
find  out  who  it  was  that  took  it  into  his  head  to  compromise 
the  department  in  this  way." 

"It  was  not  M.  Baudoyer,  anyhow,"  replied  Dutocq.  "He 
did  not  leave  the  office  yesterday.  There  is  no  need  to  go  to 
the  office.  When  I  took  your  article  yesterda}^  I  saw  the 
Abbe  there.  He  came  provided  with  a  letter  from  the  Grand 
Almoner;  you  yourself  would  have  given  way  if  you  had 
seen  it." 

"Dutocq,  you  have  some  grudge  against  M.  Eabourdin, 
and  it  is  not  right  of  you,  for  he  prevented  jovlt  dismissal 
twice.  Still  we  cannot  help  our  feelings;  and  one  may 
happen  to  dislike  a  man  who  does  one  a  kindness.  Only, 
bear  in  mind  that  if  you  permit  yourself  the  smallest  at- 
tempt at  treachery  against  him  until  I  give  the  word,  it  will 
be  your  ruin ;  you  can  count  me  as  your  enemy.     As  for  my 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  313 

friend  and  his  newspaper,  let  the  Grand  Almonry  subscribe 
for  our  number  of  copies,  if  its  columns  are  to  be  devoted 
to  their  exclusive  use.  The  year  is  almost  at  an  end,  the 
question  of  subscriptions  will  be  raised  directly,  and  then 
we  shall  see.  As  for  la  Billardiere's  post,  there  is  one  way 
of  putting  a  stop  to  this  sort  of  thing,  and  that  is,  to  make 
the  appointment  this  very  day." 

Dutocq  went  back  to  the  office. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  remarked,  "I  do  not  know  whether 
Bixiou  has  the  gift  of  reading  the  future;  but  if  you  have 
not  seen  the  Ministerial  paper,  I  recommend  the  paragraph 
on  Baudoyer  to  your  careful  attention;  and  then  as  M. 
Fleury  takes  the  opposition  paper,  you  may  see  the  double 
of  it.  Certainly,  M.  Eabourdin  is  a  clever  man ;  but  a  man 
who  gives  a  monstrance  worth  six  thousand  francs  to  a 
church,  is  deucedly  clever  too,  as  times  go." 

Bixiou  {coming  in).  "What  do  you  say  to  the  first 
chapter  of  an  epistle  to  the  Corinthians  in  our  religious 
paper,  and  the  epistle  to  the  ministers  in  the  Liberal  sheet? 
— How  is  M.  Eabourdin,  du  Bruel  ?" 

Du  Bruel  (coming  in).  "I  do  not  know."  (Draws 
Bixou  into  his  sanctum  and  lower's  his  voice.)  "My  dear 
fellow,  your  way  of  helping  a  man  is  uncommonly  like  the 
hangman's  way,  when  he  hoists  you  on  his  shoulders  the  bet- 
ter to  break  your  neck.  You  let  me  in  for  a  whipping  from 
des  Lupeaulx,  and  I  deserved  it  for  my  stupidity.  A  nice 
thing  that  article  on  la  Billardiere !  It  is  a  trick  that  I 
shall  not  forget !  The  very  first  sentence  as  good  as  told  the 
King  that  it  was  time  to  die.     And  the  account  of  the  Qui- 

beron    affair    clearly    meant    that    His    Majesty    was    a 

The  whole  thing  was  ironical,  in  fact." 

Bixiou  (bursting  into  a  laugh).  "Oh,  come!  are  you 
getting  cross?     Cannot  one  have  a  joke?" 

Du  Bruel.  "A  joke !  a  joke !  When  you  want  to  be 
chief  clerk's  assistant  they  will  put  you  off  with  jokes,  my 
dear  fellow. 

Bixiou  (with  a  threat  in  his  tones).  "Are  we  getting 
cross  ?" 


314  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

Du  Bruel.     "Yes." 

Bixiou  (drily).     "Ver}'  well,  so  much  the  worse  for  you." 

Du  Bruel  (reflecting  uneasily).  "Could  you  get  over  it 
yourself  ?" 

Bixiou  (insinuatingly).  "From  a  friend?  I  should 
think  I  could."  (Fleury's  voice  is  heard  in  the  office.) 
"There  is  Fleury  cursing  Baudoyer.  It  was  a  neat  trick, 
hey?  Baudoyer  will  get  the  step."  (Confidentially.) 
"After  all,  so  much  the  better.  Follow  up  the  consequences 
carefully,  du  Bruel.  Rabourdin  would  show  a  poor  spirit 
if  he  stopped  on  under  Baudoyer;  he  will  resign,  and  that 
will  leave  two  vacant  places.  You  will  be  chief  clerk,  and 
you  will  take  me  with  you  as  assistant.  We  will  write  vaude- 
villes in  collaboration,  and  I  will  fag  for  you  at  the  office." 

Du  Bruel  (brightening) .  "I  say,  I  did  not  think  of  that. 
Poor  Eabourdin !     Still,  I  should  be  sorry." 

Bixiou.  "Ah !  so  that  is  how  you  love  him!"  (Changing 
his  tone.)  "Oh,  well,  I  do  not  pity  him  either.  After  all, 
he  is  well  to  do ;  his  wife  gives  parties,  and  does  not  ask  me, 
when  I  go  everywhere !  Come,  good-bye,  no  malice,  du 
Bruel;  there  is  a  good  fellow."  (Goes  out  into  the  general 
office.)  "Good-da}',  gentlemen!  Did  I  not  tell  you  yester- 
day that  if  a  man  has  nothing  but  principles  and  ability,  he 
will  always  be  very  badly  off,  even  with  a  pretty  wife?" 

Fleury.     "You   are   rich   j^ourself!" 

Bixiou.  "Not  bad,  dear  Cincinnatus !  But  you  are  go- 
ing to  give  me  a  dinner  at  the  Rocher  de  Cancale." 

Poiret.     "I  never  know  what  to  make  of  M.  Bixiou !" 

Phellion  (ruefully).  "M.  Eabourdin  so  seldom  reads 
the  papers,  that  it  may  be  worth  while  to  take  them  in  for 
him,  and  to  do  without  them  ourselves  for  a  bit."  (Fleury 
hands  over  his  sheet;  Yimeux  passes  the  newspaper  taken 
hy  the  office;  and  Phellion  goes  out  with  them). 

At  that  moment  des  Lupeaulx  was  going  downstairs  to 
breakfast  with  the  Minister.  As  he  went,  he  was  wonder- 
ing within  himself  whether  prudence  did  not  dictate  that 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  315 

he  should  fathom  the  wife's  heart  before  displaying  the  fine 
flower  of  scoundrelism  for  the  husband,  and  make  sure,  first 
of  all,  that  his  devotion  would  be  rewarded.  He  was  feel- 
ing the  little  pulse  that  still  throbbed  in  his  heart,  when  he 
met  his  attorney  on  the  staircase,  and  was  greeted  with,  "A 
word  or  two  with  you,  my  lord !"  uttered  with  the  smiling 
familiarity  of  a  man  who  knows  that  he  is  indispensable. 

"What,  my  dear  Desroches !"  exclaimed  the  politician. 
"What  has  happened?  These  people  lose  their  tempers; 
they  cannot  do  as  I  do,  and  wait." 

"I  came  at  once  to  give  you  warning  that  your  bills  are 
in  the  hands  of  Messrs.  Gobseck  and  Gigonnet,  under  the 
name  of  one  Samanon." 

"Men  that  I  put  in  the  way  of  making  enormous  amounts 
of  money !" 

"Look  here !"  continued  Desroches  in  lowered  tones ; 
"Gigonnet's  name  is  Bidault;  Saillard  your  cashier  is  his 
nephew;  and  Saillard  is  besides  the  father-in-law  of  a  cer- 
tain Baudoyer  who  thinks  he  has  a  right  to  the  vacant  post 
in  your  department.  I  had  cause  to  give  you  warning,  had 
I  not?" 

"Thanks,"  said  des  Lupeaulx,  with  a  nod  of  good-bye  and 
a  knowing  glance. 

"One  stroke  of  the  pen  and  you  get  a  receipt  in  full,"  said 
Desroches,   as  he  went. 

"That  is  the  way  with  these  immense  sacrifices,  you  can't 
speak  of  them  to  a  woman,"  thought  des  Lupeaulx.  "Is 
Celestine  worth  the  riddance  of  all  my  debts  ?  I  will  go  and 
see  her  this  morning." 

And  so,  in  a  few  hours'  time,  the  fair  Mme.  Eabourdin 
was  to  be  the  arbiter  of  her^Jhusband's  destinies;  and  no 
power  on  earth  could  warn  her  of  the  importance  of  her  re- 
plies, no  danger  signal  bid  her  compose  her  voice  and  man- 
ner. And,  unluckily,  she  was  confident  of  success;  she  did 
not  know  that  the  ground  beneath  Eabourdin  was  under- 
mined in  all  directions  with  the  burrowings  of  teredos. 

"Well,  my  lord,"  said  des  Lupeaulx,  as  he  entered  the 


316  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

breakfast-room,  "have  you  seen  the  paragraphs  on  Bau- 
doyer  ?" 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  my  dear  fellow,  let  nominations  alone 
for  a  minute,"  returned  the  Minister.  "I  had  that  mon- 
strance flung  at  my  head  yesterday.  To  secure  Eabourdin, 
the  nomination  must  go  before  the  board  at  once;  I  will  not 
have  my  hand  forced.  It  is  enough  to  make  one  sick  of 
public  life.  If  we  .are  to  keep  Eabourdin,  we  must  promote 
one  Colleville " 

"Will  you  leave  me  to  manage  this  farce  and  think  no 
more  about  it?  I  will  amuse  you  every  morning  with  an 
account  of  the  moves  in  a  game  of  chess  with  the  Grand 
Almonry,"  said  des  Lupeaulx. 

"Very  well,"  replied  the  Minister,  "work  with  the  chief 
of  the  staff.  Don't  you  know  that  an  argument  in  an  Op- 
position paper  is  the  most  likely  thing  of  all  to  strike  the 
King's  mind?  A  Minister  overruled  by  a  Baudoyer;  just 
think  of  it !" 

"A  bigot  and  a  driveler,"  said  des  Lupeaulx;  "he  is  as  in- 
competent as " 

"La  Billardiere,"  put  in  His  Excellency. 

"La  Billardiere  at  least  behaved  like  a  Gentleman  in 
Ordinary  of  the  Bedchamber,"  said  des  Lupeaulx. — "Ma- 
dame,'' he  continued,  turning  to  the  Countess,  "it  will  be  ab- 
solutely necessary  now  to  invite  Mme.  Eabourdin  to  your  next 
small  party.  I  must  point  out  that  Mme.  de  Camps  is  a 
friend  of  hers;  they  were  at  the  Italiens  together  yesterday, 
and  she  has  been  to  my  knowledge  at  the  Hotel  Firmiani; 
so  you  can  see  whether  she  is  likely  to  commit  any  solecism 
in  a  salon." 

"Send  an  invitation  to  Mme.  Eabourdin,  dear,  and  let  us 
change  the  subject,"  said  the  Minister. 

"So  Celestine  is  in  my  clutches !"  des  Lupeaulx  said  to 
himself,  as  he  went  up  to  his  rooms  for  a  morning  toilette. 

Parisian  households  are  eaten  up  with  a  desire  to  be  in 
harmony  with  tbe  luxury  which  surrounds  them  on  all  sides; 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  317 

those  wlio  are  wise  enough  to  live  as  their  income  prescribes 
are  in  a  small  minority.  Perhaps  this  failing  is  akin  to  a 
very  French  patriotism,  an  effort  to  preserve  supremacy  in 
matters  of  costume  for  France.  France  lays  down  the  law 
to  all  Europe  in  fashions,  and  everybody  in  the  country  re- 
gards it  as_a  duty  to  preserve  her  commercial  sceptre,  for 
Fraiice^rules  the  fashions  if  Britain  rules  the  waves.  The 
patriotic  fervor  which  leads  the  Frenchman  to  sacrifice 
everything  to  "seemliness"  (as  d'Aubigne  said  of  Henry 
III.)  causes  an  immense  amount  of  hard  work  behind  the 
scenes;  work  that  absorbs  a  Parisienne's  whole  morning, 
especially  if,  like  Mme.  Eabourdin,  she  tries  to  live  on  an  in- 
come of  twelve  thousand  livres  in  a  style  which  many 
wealthier  people  would  not  attempt  on  thirty  thousand. 

So,  every  Friday,  the  day  of  the  weekly  dinner-party) 
Mme.  Eabourdin  used  to  assist  the  housemaid  who  swept 
and  dusted  the  rooms,  for  the  cook  was  dispatched  to  the 
market  at  an  early  hour,  and  the  man-servant  was  busy 
cleaning  the  silver,  poli.shing  the  glasses,  and  arranging  the 
table  napkins.  If  any  ill-advised  caller  had  escaped  the  por- 
ter's vigilance  and  climbed  the  stairs  to  Mme.  Rabourdin's 
abode,  he  would  have  found  her  in  a  most  unpicturesque  dis- 
order. Arrayed  in  a  loose  morning-gown,  with  her  feet 
thrust  into  an  old  pair  of  slippers,  and  her  hair  in  a  care- 
less knot,  she  was  engaged  in  trimming  lamps  or  arranging 
flowers,  or  hastily  preparing  an  unromantic  breakfast.  If 
the  visitor  had  not  been  previously  initiated  into  the  mys- 
teries of  Paris  life,  he  would  certainly  learn  there  and  then 
that  it  is  inexpedient  to  set  foot  behind  the  scenes  thereof ; 
before  very  long  he  would  be  held  up  as  an  example,  he 
would  be  capable  of  the  blackest  deeds.  A  woman  surprised 
in  her  morning  mysteries  will  talk  of  his  stupidity  and  in- 
discretion, till  she  ruins  the  intruder.  Indulgent  as  the 
Parisenne  may  be  to  curiosity  that  turns  to  her  profit,  she  is 
implacable  to  indiscretion  which  finds  her  at  a  disadvantage. 
Such  a  domiciliary  visit  is  not  so  nmeli  an  indecent  assault, 
to  use  the  language  of  the  police-courts,  as  flat  burglary. 


318  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

and  theft  of  the  dearest  treasurt'  of  all,  to  wit.  Credit.  A 
woman  may  have  no  objection  to  be  discovered  half  dressed 
with  her  hair  about  her  shoulders;  if  all  her  hair  is  her  own, 
she  is  a  gainer  by  the  incident;  but  no  woman  cares  to  be 
seen  sweeping  out  her  rooms,  there  is  a  loss  of  "seemliness" 
in  it. 

Mme.  Eabourdin  was  in  the  thick  of  her  Friday  prepara- 
tions, and  surrounded  b}'  provisions  fished  up  from  that 
ocean,  the  Great  Market,  when  M.  des  Lupeaulx  made  his 
surreptitious  call.  Truly,  the  Secretary-General  was  the 
last  person  whom  the  fair  Eabourdin  expected  to  see;  so 
hearing  his  boots  creak  on  the  stairs,  she  cried,  "The  hair- 
dresser already !"  If  the  sound  of  the  words  struck  un- 
pleasantly in  des  Lupeaulx's  ears,  the  sight  of  des  Lupeaulx  i 
\vas  not  a  whit  more  agreeable  to  the  lady.  She  took  refuge" 
in  her  bedroom  amid  a  terrible  muddle,  a  perfect  Shrove- 
tide assemblage  of  motley  furniture  and  heterogeneous  ele- 
gance, which  had  been  pent  thither  to  be  out  of  sight;  but 
the  negligent  morning-dress  proved  so  alluring,  that  the 
bold  des  Lupeaulx  followed  the  frightened  fair  one.  A 
vague,  indescribable  something  tantalized  him;  glimpses 
cauglit  through  a  half-fastened  slip  seemed  a  thousand  times 
more  enticing  than  a  full  display  of  every  graceful  curve, 
from  the  line  traced  round  the  shoulders  by  a  low  velvet 
bodice  to  the  vanishing  point  of  the  prettiest  rounded  swan- 
like throat  that  ever  lover  kissed  before  a  ball.  If  your  eyes 
rest  on  a  splendidly  developed  bust  set  off  by  full  dress,  it 
suggests  a  comparison  with  the  elaborate  dessert  of  a  great 
dinner;  but  the  glance  that  steals  under  cambrics  crumpled 
by  slumber  will  find  dainties  there  on  which  to  feast,  sweets 
to  be  relished  like  the  stolen  fruit  that  reddens  among  the 
leaves  upon  the  trellis. 

"Wait !  wait !"  cried  the  fair  lady,  bolting  herself  in  with 
her  disorder. 

She  rang  fbr  Therese,  for  the  cook,  for  the  man-servant, 
for  her  daughter,  imploring  a  shawl.  She  longed  for  stage 
machinery  to  shift  the  scene  at  the  manager's  whistle.     And 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  319 

the  whistle  was  given  and  the  transformation  worked  in  a 
hand's  turn  after  all.  And  behold  a  new  phenomenon ! 
The  room  took  on  a  piqnant  air  of  morning  which  harmon- 
ized with  an  impromptu  toilette,  all  devised  for  the  greater 
glory  of  a  woman  who,  in  this  instance,  clearly  rose  superior 
to  her  sex. 

"You  !"  she  exclaimed,  "and  at  this  hour !  What  ever  can 
it  be?" 

"The  most  serious  thing  in  the  world,"  returned  des  Lu- 
peaulx.  "To-day  we  must  arrive  at  a  clear  understanding 
of  each  other." 

Celestine  looked  straight  through  the  eyeglasses  into  the 
man's  thoughts,  and  understood. 

"It  is  my  chief  weakness,"  said  she,  "to  be  prodigiously 
fanciful ;  I  do  not  mingle  politics  and  affection,  for  instance ; 
let  us  talk  of  politics  and  business,  and  afterwards  we  shall 
see.  And  besides,  this  is  not  a  mere  whim;  it  is  one  conse- 
quence of  my  artistic  taste;  I  cannot  put  discordant  colors 
or  incongruous  things  together;  I  shun  jarring  contrasts. 
We  women  have  a  policy  of  our  owti." 

Even  as  she  spoke,  her  pretty  ways  and  the  tones  of  her 
voice  produced  their  effect ;  the  Secretary-General's  brutality 
was  giving  place  to  sentimental  courtesy.  She  had  recalled 
him  to  a  sense  of  what  was  due  from  him  as  a  lover. 
A  clever,  pretty  woman  creates  her  own  atmosphere,  as  it 
were;  nerves  are  relaxed  and  sentiments  softened  in  her 
presence. 

"You  do  not  know  what  is  going  on,"  des  Lupeaulx  re- 
turned abruptly,  for  he  tried  to  persevere  in  his  brutality. 
"Read  that !" 

Des  Lupeaulx  had  previously  marked  the  paragraphs  in 
red  ink;  he  now  held  out  the  newspapers  to  the  graceful 
woman  before  him.  As  Celestine  read,  her  shawl  slipped 
open ;  but  she  was  either  unconscious  of  this,  or  successfully 
feigned  unconsciousness.  Des  Lupeaulx  had  reached  the  age 
when  fancies  are  the  more  potent  because  they  pass  so 
swiftly;  but  if  he  found  it  difficult  to  keep  self-control, 
Celestine  was  equally  hard  put  to  it. 


/ 


320  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

"What !"  said  she.  "Why,  this  is  dreadful !  Who  is  this 
Baudoyer  ?" 

"A  jackass,"  returned  des  Lupeaulx;  'T)ut,  as  you  see,  he 
carries  the  relics,  and  with  a  clever  hand  on  the  bridle  he 
will  reach  his  goal."' 

Mine.  Eabourdin's  debts  rose  up  before  her  eyes  and 
dazzled  her;  she  seemed  to  see  one  lightning  flash  after 
another:  the  blood  surged  through  her  veins  till  her  ears 
rang  with  the  heavy  pulse  beats;  she  sat  in  a  stupor,  staring 
with  unseeing  eyes  at  a  bracket  on  the  Avail.  Then  she 
turned  to  des  Lupeaulx. 

"But  you  are  true  to  us?''  she  said,  with  a  glance  like  a 
caress,  a  glance  that  was  meant  to  bind  him  to  herself. 

"That  depends,"  he  answered,  returning  her  look  with  an 
inquisitive  glance  that  brought  the  red  into  the  poor  woman's 
face. 

"If  you  insist  upon  earnest-money,  you  will  lose  the  full 
payment/'  she  said  with  a  laugh.  "I  imagined  that  you 
were  greater  than  you  are.  And  as  for  you,  you  think  I  am 
very  small,  a  mere  schoolgirl." 

"You  did  not  understand,"  he  said  meaningly.  "I  meant 
that  I  cannot  serve  a  man  who  is  going  against  me,  as 
TEtourdi  thwarts  Mascarille." 

"What  does  this  mean?" 

"This  will  show  you  that  I  am  great,"  he  said.  And  he 
gave  her  Dutocq's  stolen  list,  pointing  as  he  did  so  to  her 
husband's  shrewd  analysis  of  his  character. 

"Eead  that!'' 

Celestine  recognized  the  handwriting,  read,  and  turned 
pale  at  this  bludgeon  blow. 

"All  the  departments  are  in  it,"  added  des  Lupeaulx. 

"But,  fortunately,  no  one  but  you  possesses  a  copy.  I  can- 
not explain  it." 

"The  thief  that  stole  it  is  not  so  simple  that  he  M'ould  not 
take  a  duplicate ;  he  is  too  great  a  liar  to  confess  to  the  copy, 
and  too  intelligent  in  his  trade  to  give  it  up.  I  have  not 
even  asked  him  about  it." 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  321 

'^ho  is  he  ?" 

"Your  first   draughting-clerk." 

"Dutocq.  You  are  never  punished  except  for  doing  a 
kindness. — But  he  is  a  dog  that  wants  a  bone,"  she  added. 

"Do  you  know  what  a  tentative  offer  has  been  held  out  to 
me,  poor  devil  of  a  Secretary-General  that  I  am?"  4 

"What?" 

"I  owe  a  miserable  thirty  thousand  odd  francs.  You  will 
at  once  form  a  very  poor  opinion  of  me  when  you  know  that 
I  am  not  more  in  debt;  but,  indeed,  in  this  respect  I  am 
small !  Well  and  good.  Baudoyer's  uncle  has  just  bought 
up  my  debts,  and  is  ready,  no  doubt,  to  give  up  my  bills  to 
me." 

"But  all  this  is  infernal." 

"N"ot  a  bit  of  it;  it  is  monarchical  and  religious,  for  the 
Grand  Almonry  is  mixed  up  in  it " 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"What  are  your  orders?"  he  asked,  holding  out  a  hand 
with  an  adorable  charm  of  manner. 

To  Celestine  he  was  no  longer  plain,  nor  old,  nor  frosted 
with  powder,  nor  a  secretary-general,  nor  anything  unclean ; 
but  she  did  not  give  him  her  hand.  In  her  drawing-room 
she  would  have  allowed  him  to  take  it  a  hundred  times  in  the 
course  of  an  evening;  but  such  a  proceeding  in  the  morning, 
when  they  were  alone,  was  as  good  as  a  promise;  it  was 
rather  too  decisive — it  might  lead  her  further  than  she 
meant  to  go. 

"And  people  say  that  statesmen  have  no  hearts !"  she 
cried,  trying  to  soften  the  refusal  with  a  gracious  speech. 
"That  frightened  me,"  she  added,  with  the  most  innocent 
air  in  the  world. 

"What  a  slander !"  returned  des  Lupeaulx.  "One  of  the 
most  impassive  of  diplomatists,  a  man  that  has  kept  power 
ever  since  he  was  born,  has  just  married  an  actress'  daugh- 
ter, and  imposed  her  upon  the  most  rigorous  of  all  Courts  in 
the  matter  of  quarterings." 

"And  you  will  support  us?" 


A 


322  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

"I  work  the  nominations.     But  no  trickery." 

She  held  out  her  hand  for  him  to  kiss,  and  gave  him  a 
light  tap  on  the  cheek. 

"You  are  mine,"  she  said. 

Des  Lupeaulx  admired  that  speech.  (Indeed,  the  cox- 
comb told  the  story  that  evening  at  the  Opera,  after  his  own 
fashion,  as  follows:  "A  woman  did  not  wish  to  tell  a  man 
that  she  was  his,  an  admission  that  a  well-bred  woman  never 
makes,  so  she  said,  'You  are  mine !'  What  do  you  think  of 
the  evasion?") 

"But  you  must  be  my  ally,^'  he  began.  "Your  husband 
said  something  to  the  Minister  about  a  scheme  of  adminis- 
tration, and  this  list,  in  which  I  am  handled  so  gently,  is 
connected  with  it.     Find  out,  and  let  me  know  this  evening." 

"It  shall  be  done,'"  said  she.  She  saw  no  great  importance 
in  the  matter  that  had  brought  des  Lupeaulx  to  her  house  at 
such  an  early  hour. 

"The  hairdresser,  madame,"  announced  the  housemaid. 

"He  has  kept  me  waiting  a  very  long  time  !' '  she  said.  "I 
do  not  know  how  I  should  have  come  through  if  he  had  been 
any  later,"  she  thought  within  herself. 

"You  do  not  know  how  far  my  devotion  goes,"  said  des 
Lupeaulx,  rising  to  his  feet.  "You  are  going  to  be  invited 
to  the  Countess'  next  special  and  intimate  partv " 

"Oh !  you  are  an  angel,"  she  said ;  "and  I  see  how  much 
you  love  me.     You  love  me  intelligently." 

"This  evening,  dear  child,  I  am  going  to  the  Opera  to  find 
out  who  these  journalists  are  that  are  conspiring  for  Bau- 
doyer;  and  we  will  measure  weapons." 

"Yes,  but  you  will  dine  here,  will  you  not?  I  have  or- 
dered the  things  you  like." 

"All  this  is  so  much  like  love,"  des  Lupeaulx  said  to  him- 
self as  he  went  downstairs,  "so  much  like  love,  that  it  would 
be  pleasant  to  be  deceived  in  such  a  Avay  for  a  long  while. 
But  if  she  is  laughing  at  me,  I  shall  find  it  out.  I  have  the 
most  ingenious  of  snares  ready  for  lier,  so  that  I  may  read 
her  very  heart  before  I   sign.     Ah !  you  kittens,  we  know 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  323 

you;  for,  after  all,  women  are  just  as  we  are.  Twenty-eight 
years  old  and  virtuous,  and  here  in  the  Eue  Duphot !  It  is 
a  rare  piece  of  luck  which  is  well  worth  the  trouble  of  culti- 
vation." 

And  this  eligible  butterfly  fluttered  away  down  the  stair- 
case. 

"Oh,  dear !  that  man  yonder  without  his  spectacles  must 
look  very  funny  in  his  dressing-gown  when  his  hair  is  pow- 
dered!" Celestine  was  sa3dng  to  herself  meanwhile.  "He 
has  the  harpoon  in  his  back ;  he  is  going  to  tow  me  at  last  to 
my  goal — the  Minister's  house.  He  has  played  his  pai:t_iB_ 
my  comedy."  ~.  '\  " 

When  Rabourdin  came  home  at  five  o'clock  to  dress,  his 
wife  came  into  the  room  and  brought  him  the  list.  It 
seemed  like  the  slipper  in  the  Arabian  Nights — the  unlucky 
man  was  fated  to  meet  it  everywhere. 

"Who  put  that  in  your  hands?"  Rabourdin  asked  in 
amazement. 

"M.  des  Lupeaulx." 

"Has  he  been  here?"  asked  Rabourdin.  A  guilty  woman 
would  surely  have  turned  pale  beneath  the  look  that  he  gave 
her,  but  his  wife  met  it  with  marble  brows  and  laughing  eyes. 

"Yes,  and  he  is  coming  here  again  to  dinner,"  said  she. 
"Why  do  you  look  so  horrified?" 

"Dear,"  said  Rabourdin,  "I  have  given  des  Lupeaulx 
mortal  offence.  Men  of  that  sort  never  forgive;  and  he  is 
caressing  me !     Do  you  think  that  I  cannot  see  why  ?" 

"It  seems  to  me  that  he  has  a  very  discriminating  taste," 
she  said.  "I  cannot  blame  him  for  it.  After  all,  I  know 
of  nothing  more  flattering  to  a  woman's  vanity  than  the 
knowledge  that  she  stimulates  a  jaded  palate." 

"A  truce  to  jesting,  Celestine !  Spare  an  overburdened 
man.  I  cannot  speak  with  the  Minister,  and  my  honor  is  at 
stake." 

"Oh  dear,  no !  Dutocq  shall  have  the  promise  of  a  place, 
and  you  will  be  head  of  the  division." 


324  THE  GOVERNMENT   CLERKS 

"I  jjee  what  you  mean,  darling,"  said  Rabourdin;  'Tjut 
you  are  plaj'ing  a  game  that  is  quite  as  dishonoring  as  if  you 
meant  it  in  earnest.  A  lie  is  a  lie,  and  an  honest 
woman " 

"Pray  let  me  make  use  of  the  weapons  that  they  turn 
against  us." 

"Celestine,  when  that  man  sees  how  foolishly  he  has  fallen 
into  the  snare,  he  will  be  all  the  more  furious  against  me." 
.  "And  how  if  I  upset  him  ?" 

Rabourdin  stared  at  his  wife  in  amazement. 

"I  am  only  thinking  of  your  advancement,"  continued 
Celestine,  "and  it  is  time  I  did  so,  my  poor  love. — But  you 
are  taking  the  sporting-dog  for  the  game,"  she  added  after  a 
pause.  "In  a  few  days'  time  des  Lupeaulx  will  have  ful- 
filled his  mission  very  sufficiently.  While  you  are  trying  to 
say  a  word  to  the  Minister,  and  before  you  can  so  much  as 
see  him,  I  shall  have  had  a  talk  with  him.  You  have 
strained  every  nerve  to  bring  out  this  scheme  that  you  have 
kept  from  me ;  and  in  three  months  your  wife  will  have  done 
more  than  you  have  done  in  six  years.  Tell^jtne  about  this 
great  project  of  yours." 

So  Rabourdin,  as  he  shaved  himself,  began  to  explain  his 
scheme,  first  obtaining  a  promise  that  his  wife  would  not 
say  a  single  word  of  his  work;  warning  her,  at  the  same  time, 
that  to  give  des  Lupeaulx  any  idea  of  it  would  be  to  give  the 
cream  jug  to  the  cat.  But  at  the  fifth  sentence  Celestine  m- 
terrupted  him. 

"Rabourdin,  why  did  you  not  speak  to  me  about  it?"  she 
said.  "Why,  you  would  have  saved  yourself  useless  trouble. 
I  can  imagine  that  one  may  be  blinded  by  an  idea  for  a  min- 
ute ;  but  for  six  or  seven  years ! — that  I  cannot  conceive. 
You  want  to  reduce  the  estimates?  It  is  a  commonplace, 
penny-wise  economy !  Rather  we  should  aim  at  raising  the 
income  to  two  milliards.  France  would  be  twice  as  great. 
A  new  system  would  be  this  plan  cried  up  by  M.  de  Nucin- 
gen,  a  loan  that  would  send  an  impulse  through  trade 
through  the  whole  country.     The  poorest  exchequer  is  the 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  325 

one  that  has  most  francs  lying  idle.  It  is  the  Finance  Min- 
ister's mission  to  fling  money  out  of  the  windows,  and  it 
comes  in  at  his  cellars.  And  you  would  have  him  accumu- 
late specie !  Why,  instead  of  reducing  the  number  of  posts 
under  Government,  you  ought  to  increase  them !  Instead 
of  paying  off  the  national  debt,  you  should  increase  the 
number  of  fund-holders.  If  the  Bourbons  mean  to  reign  in 
peace,  they  ought  to  have  fund-holders  in  every  township; 
and,  of  all  things,  they  should  beware  of  raising  foreign 
loans,  for  foreigners  will  be  sure  some  day  to  require  the  re- 
payment of  the  capital,  whereas  if  none  but  Frenchmen  have 
money  invested  in  the  funds,  neither  France  nor  national 
credit  will  perish.  That  saved  England.  This  plan  oi 
yours  is  a  little  shopkeeper's  scheme.  An  ambitious  man 
should  only  present  himself  in  the  character  of  a  second 
Law,  without  Law's  ill-luck;  he  should  explain  the  resources 
of  credit;  he  should  show  that  we  ought  not  to  sink  money 
in  extinguishing  principal,  but  in  payment  of  interest,  as 
the  English  do " 

"Come,  Celestine,"  said  Eabourdin,  "jumble  up  ideas  to- 
gether, make  playthings  of  them,  and  contradict  yourself ! 
I  am  used  to  it.  But  do  not  criticise  a  piece  of  work  before 
you  know  what  it  is." 

"Is  there  any  need  to  know  what  it  is,  when  the  gist  of 
the  matter  is  to  carry  on  the  administration  in  France  with 
six  thousand  officials  instead  of  twenty  thousand?  Why,  my 
dear,  even  if  the  scheme  were  invented  by  a  man  of  genius, 
a  King  of  France  would  lose  his  crown  if  he  attempted  to 
carry  it  into  effect.  You  may  subjugate  an  aristocracy  b}^ 
striking  off  a  few  heads,  but  you  cannot  quell  a  hydra  with 
a  thousand  claws.  No,  no;  insignificant  folk  cannot  be 
crushed,  they  lie  too  flat  beneath  the  foot. — And  do  you  mean 
to  move  all  these  men  through  the  ministers?  Between  our- 
selves, they  are  very  poor  creatures.  You  may  shift  men's 
interests,  you  cannot  shift  men;  they  make  too  much  outcry, 
whereas  the  francs  are  dumb." 

"But,  Celestine,  if  you  talk  all  the  time,  and  if  you  aim 

21 


326  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

your  wit  wide  of  the  mark,  we  shall  never  arrive  at  an  un- 
derstanding  " 

"Ah !  I  see  the  drift  of  that  analysis  of  men's  administra- 
tive ability,"  she  went  on,  without  listening  to  her  husband. 
"Goodness,  you  have  been  sharpening  the  axe  for  yourself. 
Sainte  Viergel  why  did  3'ou  not  consult  me?  I  would  at 
any  rate  have  prevented  you  from  putting  a  single  line  on 
paper;  or  at  the  worst,  if  you  wished  to  have  the  memo- 
randum, I  would  have  copied  it  myself,  and  it  should  never 
have  left  this  house.  Oh !  dear,  why  did  you  say  nothing 
to  me  about  it  ?  Just  like  a  man  !  A  man  can  sleep  beside 
his  wife  and  keep  a  secret  for  seven  years !  He  can  hide  him- 
self from  her,  poor  thing,  for  seven  years  and  doubt  her  devo- 
tion."" 

"But,''  protested  Rabourdin,  "whenever  I  have  tried  to 
discuss  anything  with  you,  for  these  eleven  years,  you  have 
cut  me  short,  and  immediately  brought  out  your  own  ideas 
instead.     You  know  nothing  of  my  work." 

"Xothing?     I  know  all  about  it!"'" 

"Then,  pray,  tell  me  about  it,'""  cried  Eabourdin,  losing 
his  temper  for  the  first  time  since  his  marriage. 

"There !  it  is  half-past  six ;  shave  yourself  and  dress,"  she 
retorted,  answering  him  after  the  wont  of  women  when  pressed 
upon  a  point  on  which  they  are  bound  to  be  silent ;  "I  will 
finish  dressing,  and  we  will  postj)one  the  argument,  for  I 
do  not  want  to  be  worried  on  my  reception  day. — Oh,  dear 
me,  poor  man,"  she  said  to  herself  as  she  went,  "to  think 
that  he  should  toil  for  seven  years  to  bring  about  his  own 
ruin  I     And  put  no  trust  in  his  wife." 

She  turned  back. 

"If  you  had  listened  to  me  in  time,"  she  said,  "you  would 
not  have  interfered  on  behalf  of  your  first  clerk;  he,  no 
doubt,  took  the  copies  of  that  unlucky  list.  Good-bye,  clever 
man !" 

But  seeing  her  husband's  pain  in  his  tragic  attitude,  she 
felt  that  she  had  gone  too  far;  she  sprang  to  him,  and  put 
her  arms  about  him  lovingly,  all  covered  with  soap  as  he 
was. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  327 

"Dear  Xavier,  do  not  be  vexed,"  she  said,  "this  evening  we 
will  go  through  your  scheme;  you  shall  talk  at  your  ease, 
and  I  am  going  to  listen  as  long  and  as  attentively  as  you 
please  ! — Is  that  nice  of  me  ?  There,  I  do  not  ask  better  than 
to  be  Mahomet's  wife." 

She  began  to  laugh,  and  Eabourdin  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing too,  for  Celestine's  mouth  was  white  with  soap,  while 
there  was  a  wealth  of  the  truest  and  most  perdurable  affection 
in  the  tones  of  her  voice. 

"Go  and  dress,  little  one;  and  of  all  things,  not  a  word  of 
this  to  des  Lupeaulx !  Give  me  your  promise.  That  is  the 
only  penance  I  require " 

"Require?     Then  1  won't  make  any  promise  at  all." 

"Come,  Celestine,  I  spoke  seriously  though  I  was  joking.'' 

"To-night  your  secretary-general  will  know  the  foes  with 
whom  we  must  fight;  and  I  know  whom  to  attack." 

"Whom?"  asked  Eabourdin. 

"The  Minister,"  she  said,  growing  two  feet  taller  for  her 
words. 

But  in  spite  of  Celestine's  winning  charm,  a  few  painful 
thoughts  occurred  to  Eabourdin  in  spite  of  himself,  and 
darkened  his  forehead. 

"When  will  she  learn  to  appreciate  me  ?''  he  thought.  "She 
did  not  even  understand  that  all  this  work  vras  done  for  her 
sake.  What  waywardness !  and  how  intelligent  she  is ! — If 
I  were  not  married,  I  should  be  very  well  off  and  in  a  high 
position  by  this  time.  I  should  have  put  by  five  thousand 
francs  a  year  out  of  my  salary ;  and  b}^  investing  the  money 
carefully,  I  should  have  an  independent  income  of  ten 
thousand  francs  at  this  day.  I  should  be  a  bachelor;  I 
should    stand    a    chance    to    become    somebody ;    through    a 

marriage Yes"   (he  interrupted  himself),  "but  I  have 

Celestine  and  the  two  children." 

He  fell  back  upon  his  happiness.  Even  in  the  happiest 
married  life,  there  must  always  be  some  moments  of  regret. 

He  went  to  the  drawing-room  and  looked  round. 

"There  are  not  two  women  in  Paris  who  can  manage  as 


328  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

she  does.  All  this  on  twelve  thousand  livres  a  5'ear !"  he 
thought,  as  he  glanced  at  the  jars  full  of  flowers,  and  thought 
of  the  coming  pleasure  of  gratified  vanity.  "She  was  meant 
to  be  a  Minister's  wife.  And  when  I  think  that  my  Minister's 
wife  is  of  no  use  to  him — she  looks  like  a  stout  homely  house- 
wife— and  when  she  goes  to  the  Tuileries,  to  other  people's 
houses,  she '' 

He  compressed  his  lips.  A  very  busy  man's  ideas  of  house- 
keeping are  so  vague,  that  it  is  easy  to  persuade  him  to  be- 
lieve that  a  hundred  thousand  francs  will  do  everything  or 
nothing. 

But  though  des  Lupeaulx  was  impatiently  expected,  though 
the  dinner  had  been  designed  to  tickle  the  palate  of  a  pro- 
fessed epicure,  he  only  came  in  at  midnight,  at  which  hour 
conversation  is  wont  to  grow  more  personal  and  confidential. 
Andoche  Finot,  journalist,  was  there  likewise. 

"I  know  all  about  it,"  began  des  Lupeaulx,  when  he  was 
comfortable  settled  on  the  settee  by  the  fireside,  with  a  cup 
of  tea  in  his  hand;  and  Mme.  Rabourdin  stood  before  him 
holding  out  a  plate  full  of  sandwiches  and  slices  of  the 
weighty  substance  not  inappropriately  known  as  pound-cake. 
— "Finot,  my  dear  and  intelligent  friend,  you  may  do  our 
gracious  queen  a  service  by  letting  loose  some  of  your  pack 
on  some  men  whom  I  am  going  to  mention." — Then  turning 
to  M.  Rabourdin,  and  lowering  his  voice  so  that  the  words 
should  not  travel  beyond  the  three  persons  to  whom  they  were 
addressed,  he  continued — "You  have  the  money-lenders  and 
the  clergy,  capital  and  the  Church,  against  you.  The  para- 
graph in  the  Liberal  paper  was  inserted  at  the  instance  of  an 
old  bill-discounter ;  the  proprietors  lay  under  some  obligation 
to  him,  and  the  little  fellow  that  actually  did  it  did  not  think 
that  it  mattered  very  much.  The  whole  staff  of  the  paper  is  to 
be  reconstituted  in  three  days;  we  shall  get  over  that.  The 
Royalist  Opposition  (for,  thanks  to  M.  de  Chateaubriand,  we 
now  have  a  Royalist  Opposition,  which  is  to  say,  that  there  are 
Royalists  half-way  over  to  the  Liberals ;  but  do  not  let  us 
talk  of  mighty  matters  in  politics), — the  Royal  Opposition, 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  32S 

I  sa}^,  hating  Charles  X.  with  a  deadly  hate,  have  promised 
their  support  to  you,  if  we  will  pass  one  of  their  amendments. 
All  my  batteries  are  in  the  field.  If  they  try  to  force  Bau- 
doyer  upon  us,  we  will  say  to  the  Grand  Almonry,  'Such  and 
such  newsj^apers  and  Messrs.  So-and-so  will  attack  this  law 
that  you  want  to  pass,  and  you  will  have  the  whole  press 
against  you'  (for  the  Ministerial  papers  under  my  control 
shall  be  deaf  and  dumb ;  and  as  they  are  pretty  much  deaf 
and  dumb  alread}' — eh,  Finot? — that  will  give  them  no  diffi- 
culty). 'jSTominate  Eabourdin,  and  you  will  have  public 
opinion  with  you.'  To  think  of  the  poor  simple  provincials 
that  intrench  themselves  in  their  armchairs  by  the  fireside 
and  rejoice  over  the  independence  of  the  organs  of  opinion ! 
Ha !  ha !" 

"He  !  he  !  he  !"  chuckled  Finot. 

"So  be  quite  easy,"  continued  des  Lupeaulx.  "I  arranged 
it  all  this  evening.     The  Grand  Almonry  will  give  way." 

"I  would  rather  have  given  up  all  hope  and  have  had  you 
here  at  dinner,"  Celestine  whispered,  and  the  look  of  reproach 
in  her  eyes  might  easily  have  been  taken  for  a  love-distraught 
glance. 

"Here  is  something  that  will  obtain  my  pardon,"  returned 
he,  and  he  gave  her  the  invitation  for  the  party  on  Tuesday. 
Celestine  face  lighted  up  with  the  reddest  glow  of  pleasure, 
as  she  opened  the  envelope.  No  delight  can  be  compared 
with  the  joy  of  vanity  triumphant. 

"Do  you  know  what  a  Tuesday  is?"  continued  des  Lu- 
peaulx, with  an  air  of  mystery;  "it  is  an  inner  circle;  it  is 
to  our  department  as  the  Petit-Chateau  is  to  the  Court.  You 
will  be  in  the  very  centre.  The  Comtesse  Feraud  will  be 
there  (she  is  still  in  favor  in  spite  of  the  death  of  Louis 
XVIII.)  ;  Delphine  de  Xucingen,  Mme.  de  Listomere,  and 
the  Marquise  d'Espard  are  invited,  so  is  your  dear  de  Camps ; 
I  sent  the  invitation  myself,  so  that  you  might  find  a  sup- 
porter in  her  in  case  the  other  women  should  'black  ball'  you. 
I  should  like  to  see  you  among  them." 

Celestine  tossed  her  head;  she  looked  like  a  thoroughbred 


330  THE  GOVERNMENT  CI.ERKS 

before  the  race.  Again  she  read  the  card,  as  Baudoyer  and 
Saillard  had  read  their  paragraphs  in  the  paper;  and,  like 
them,  she  could  not  grasp  the  meaning  of  the  words. 

"This  first,  and  some  day  the  Tuileries !''  she  said,  turn- 
ing to  des  Lupeaulx  with  such  ambition  and  confidence  in  her 
tone  and  manner  that  she  struck  dismay  into  him  as  he  looked 
at  her. 

"How  if  I  should  onl}^  be  a  stepping-stone  for  her?"  he 
asked  himself. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  went  to  her  bedroom ;  she  followed, 
for  she  understood  by  his  sign  that  he  wished  to  speak  with 
her  in  private. 

"Well,  and  the  scheme?"  he  began. 

"Pooh !  an  honest  man's  folly !  He  wants  to  put  down 
fifteen  thousand  employes  and  keep  a  staff'  of  five  or  six  thou- 
sand. You  could  not  imagine  a  more  monstrous  absurdity; 
I  will  give  you  his  memoranda  to  read  when  they  are  copied 
out.  He  is  quite  in  earnest.  He  made  his  analytical 
catalogue  with  the  best  of  motives.     The  poor,  dear  man !" 

Des  Lupeaulx  felt  the  more  reassured  because  genuine 
laughter  accompanied  the  light  contemptuous  words ;  a  lie 
would  not  have  deceived  him,  he  was  too  old  a  hand,  but 
Celestine  was  sincere  while  she  thus  spoke. 

"But,  after  all,  there  is  something  at  the  bottom  of  it  all/' 
he  rejoined. 

"Oh,  well,  he  wants  to  do  away  with  the  land-tax  and 
replace  it  by  a  tax  upon  articles  of  consumption." 

"Why,  Francois  Keller  and  N^ucingen  brought  forward  an 
almost  identical  plan  a  year  ago;  and  the  Minister  is  think- 
ing of  removing  the  burden  from  the  land." 

"There !  I  told  him  that  there  was  nothing  new  in  the 
idea,"  laughed  Celestine. 

"Yes;  but  if  he  and  the  great  financier  of  the  age,  the 
Kapoleon  of  finance  (I  can  say  so  between  ourselves),  if  he 
and  Nucingen  have  hit  upon  the  same  idea,  he  must  at  any 
rate  have  some  notion  of  the  way  of  carrying  it  out." 

"The  whole  thing  is  commonplace,"  she  said,  pursing  up 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  331 

her  lips  disdaiufully.  '^He  wants  to  govern  France' (just 
think  of  it!)  with  five  or  six  thousand  employes;  when,  on 
the  contrary,  it  ought  to  be  to  the  interest  of  every  person  in 
the  country  to  maintain  the  present  government." 

Des  Lupeaulx  seemed  relieved  to  find  that  the  chief  clerk, 
whom  he  took  for  a  man  of  extraordinary  ability,  was  a 
mediocrity  after  all. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  of  the  appointment?  Do  you  care 
to  take  a  piece  of  woman's  advice  ?"  asked  she. 

"You  women  understand  the  art  of  polite  treachery  better 
than  we  do,"  said  des  Lupeaulx,  shaking  his  head. 

"Very  well;  say  'Baudoyer'  at  Court  and  at  the  Grand 
Almonry,  so  as  to  lull  suspicion;  but  at  the  last  moment 
write  'Eabourdin.'  " 

"Some  women  say  'Yes'  so  long  as  they  need  a  man,  and 
'No'  when  he  has  served  their  turn,"  remarked  des  Lupeaulx. 

"I  know  them,"  Celestine  answered,  laughing.  "But  they 
are  very  silly,  for  in  politics  you  must  come  across  the  same 
people  again  and  again.  It  is  all  very  well  with  fools,  but 
you  are  a  clever  man.  In  my  opinion,  it  is  the  great- 
est possible  mistake  in  life  to  quarrel  with  a  really  clever 
man." 

"jSTo,"  said  des  Lupeaulx,  "for  he  will  forgive.  There  is 
no  danger  except  with  petty  rancorous  minds  that  have  noth- 
ing to  do  but  plan  revenge,  and  I  spend  my  life  on  that." 

When  every  one  had  gone,  Rabourdin  stayed  in  his  wife's 
room,  begged  her  to  listen  to  him  for  once,  and  took  the 
opportunity  of  explaining  his  scheme.  He  made  her  under- 
stand that  he  had  no  intention  of  diminishing  the  estimates ; 
on  the  contrary,  he  gave  a  list  of  public  enterprises  to  be 
carried  out  with  the  public  money ;  private  enterprise  or  local 
improvements  should  be  subsidized  by  a  government  grant  of 
one-third  or  one-fourth  of  the  total  outlay,  and  these  grants 
would  set  money  in  circulation.  In  short,  he  made  it  plain 
to  his  wife  that  his  scheme  was  not  so  much  a  theory  on  paper 
as  a  practicable  plan  to  be  worked  out  in  hundreds  of  ways. 


332  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

Celestine's  entlmsiasm  grew;  she  sprang  to  her  husband  and 
put  her  arms  about  him,  and  sat  on  his  knee  beside  the  fire. 

"And  so,  after  all,"  she  said,  "I  have  found  the  husband 
of  whom  I  dreamed.  My  ignorance  of  your  worth  saved  you 
from  des  Lupeaulx's  clutches.  I  slandered  you  to  him 
amazingh',  and  in  good  earnest  too." 

There  were  happy  tears  in  Rabourdin's  eyes.  And  so  at 
last  he  had  his  day  of  triumph.  He  had  undertaken  it  all 
to  please  his  wife;  he  was  a  great  man  in  the  eyes  of  his 
public. 

"And  for  any  one  who  knows  how  good  and  kind  and  loving 
and  equable  you  are,  you  are  ten  times  greater !  But  a  man  of 
genius  is  always  more  or  less  of  a  child,  and  you  are  a  child," 
she  said,  "a  dearly-loved  child." 

She  drew  out  her  invitation  card  from  its  hiding-place  and 
showed  it  to  him: 

"This  is  what  I  wanted,"  Siie  continued.  "Des  Lupeaulx 
has  brought  me  in  contact  with  His  Excellency,  and  His 
Excellency  shall  be  my  servant  for  a  while,,  even  if  he  is  made 
of  bronzQ." 

Next  day  Celestine  was  absorbed  in  preparations  for  her 
introduction  into  the  inner  circle.  It  was  to  be  her  great 
day.  her  success.  Never  did  courtesan  take  more  pains  with 
herself  than  this  matron  took.  Never  was  dressmaker  more 
tormented,  more  sensible  how  much  depended  upon  her  art. 
Mme.  Rabourdin  overlooked  nothing,  in  short.  She  went 
herself  to  choose  a  brougham  for  the  occasion,  so  that  her 
carriage  should  be  neither  old-fashioned,  nor  insolent,  nor 
suggestive  of  the  city  madam.  Her  servant,  as  became  the 
servant  of  a  good  house,  was  to  look  like  a  gentleman. 

Then,  about  ten  o'clock  on  the  great  Tuesday  evening, 
Mme.  Rabourdin  emerged  in  an  exquisite  mourning  toilet. 
In  her  hair  she  wore  bunches  of  Jet  grapes,  of  the  finest  work- 
manship, part  of  a  complete  set  of  ornaments  ordered  at 
Fossin's  by  an  Englishwoman  who  went  away  without  taking 
them.  The  leaves  were  thin  flakos  of  stamped  iron,  light  as 
real  vine-leaves,  and  the  artist  had  not  forgotten  the  little 
graceful  tendrils  that  clung  among  her  curls,  as  the  vine- 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  333 

tendrils  cling  to  every  branch.  The  bracelets  and  earrings 
were  of  "Berlin  iron,"  as  it  is  called;  but  the  delicate 
arabesques  from  Vienna  might  have  been  made  by  the  hands 
of  fairies  for  some  task-mistress,  some  Carabosse  with  a  passion 
for  collecting  ants'  eyes,  or  for  spinning  pieces  of  stuff  to 
pack  into  a  hazel-nut.  Celestine's  dress  had  been  carefully 
cut  to  bring  out  all  the  grace  of  a  slender  figure,  which  looked 
slenderer  still  in  black.  The  curves  all  stopped  short  at  the 
line  round  the  neck,  for  she  wore  no  shoulder-straps;  at  every 
moment  she  seemed  about  to  emerge  like  a  butterfly  from  the 
sheath ;  yet,  through  the  dressmaker's  skill,  the  gown  clung 
to  the  lines  of  her  figure.  The  material  was  not  yet  known 
in  Paris;  it  was  a  inousseUiie  de  laine,  an  "adorable"  stuff 
that  afterwards  became  the  rage.  Indeed,  the  success  out- 
lasted the  fashion  in  France ;  for  the  practical  advantages  of 
a  thin  woolen  material,  which  saves  the  expense  of  washing, 
injured  the  cotton-spinning  industry  and  revolutionized  the 
Eouen  trade.  Celestine's  feet  were  daintily  shod  in  Turkey 
satin  slippers  (for  bright  satin  could  not  be  worn  in  mourn- 
ing) and  fine  thin  stockings. 

Celestine  looked  very  lovely  thus  dressed.  Her  complexion 
was  brilliant  and  softly  colored,  thanks  to  the  reviving  in- 
fluence of  a  bran  bath.  Hope  had  flooded  her  eyes,  her  quick 
intelligence  sparlded  in  them;  she  looked  like  the  woman 
of  a  superior  order,  of  whom  des  Lupeaulx  spoke  with  such 
pride  and  pleasure.  She  knew  how  to  enter  a  room;  all 
Avomen  will  appreciate  the  meaning  of  that  phrase.  She 
bowed  gracefully  to  the  Minister's  wife,  deference  and  dignity 
blended  in  the  right  proportion  in  her  manner;  and  wore  her 
air  of  majest}^  without  giving  offence,  for  every  fair  woman 
is  a  queen.  With  the  Minister  she  used  the  pretty  insolence 
that  women  are  wont  to  assume  with  any  male  creature,  were 
he  a  grand-duke.  And  as  she  took  her  seat,  she  reconnoitered 
the  ground.  She  found  herself  in  a  small,  carefully  chosen 
circle  in  which  women  can  measure  each  other  and  form  ac- 
curate judgments;  the  lightest  word  reverberates  in  all  ears, 
every  glance  makes  an  impression,  and  conversation  becomes 


334  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

a  duel  before  witnesses.  Any  remark  pitched  in  the  ordinary 
key  sounds  flat;  and  good  talk  is  quietly  accepted  as  a  matter 
of  course  at  that  intellectual  level.  Rabourdin  betook  him- 
self to  an  adjoining  card-room,  and  there  remained,  planted 
on  both  feet,  to  watch  the  play,  which  proves  that  he  was  not 
wanting  in  sense. 

"My  dear,"  said  the  Marquise  d'Espard,  turning  to  the 
Comtesse  Feraud,  Louis  XVIII. 's  last  mistress,  "Paris  is 
unique.  Such  women  as  this  start  up  in  it  quite  unexpect- 
edly from  no  one  knows  where,  and  seemingly  they  have  the 
will  and  the  power  to  do  anything " 

"And  she  has  the  will  and  the  power  to  do  anything,"  said 
des  Lupeaulx,  bridling  as  he  spoke. 

The  crafty  Celestine,  meanwhile,  was  paying  court  to  the 
Minister's  wife.  Drilled  by  des  Lupeaulx  on  the  previous 
day,  she  knew  all  the  Countess'  weaknesses  and  flattered 
them,  without  seeming  to  touch  upon  them.  And  she  was 
silent  too  at  the  right  moment;  for  des  Lupeaulx,  in  spite 
of  his  infatuation,  had  noticed  Celestine's  shortcomings, 
and  warned  her  against  them.  "Of  all  things,  do  not  talk 
too  much!"  he  had  said  the  evening  before.  'Twas  an  ex- 
traordinary proof  of  attachment.  Bertrand  Barrere  left  be- 
liind  him  the  sublime  maxim,  "Xever  interrupt  a  woman  with 
advice  while  she  is  dancing ;"  which,  with  the  supplementary 
apophthegm  here  subjoined,  "Do  not  find  fault  with  a  wo- 
man for  scattering  her  pearls,"  may  be  said  to  complete  this 
article  of  the  code  feminine.  The  conversation  became  gen- 
eral. From  time  to  time  Mmc.  Eabourdin  put  in  a  word, 
much  as  a  well-trained  cat  touclies  her  mistress'  lace,  Avitli 
sheathed  claws.  The  Minister's  heart  was  not  very  suscepti- 
ble; in  the  matter  of  gallantry,  no  statesman  of  the  Restora- 
tion was  more  accomplished ;  the  Opposition  Miroir,  the 
Pandore,  and  the  Figaro  could  not  reproach  him  with  the 
faintest  acceleration  of  the  pulse.  His  mistress  was  L'Etoilo : 
strange  to  say,  she  had  been  faithful  in  adversity,  and 
}irobably  was  reaping  the  benefit  even  at  this  moment.  This 
Mme.  Rabourdin  knew,  but  she  knew  also  that  people  change 


THE  GOVERNMENT  (U^KItKS  335 

their  minds  in  old  chateaux,  so  she  set  herself  to  make  the 
Minister  jealous  of  such  good  fortune  as  des  Lupeaulx  ap- 
peared to  enjoy.  At  that  moment  des  Lupeaulx  was  expatiat- 
ing upon  Celestine,  for  the  benefit  of  the  Marquise  d'Espard, 
Mme.  de  Nucingen,  and  the  Countess ;  he  was  trying  to  make 
them  understand  that  Mme.  Rabourdin  must  be  admitted  into 
their  coalition ;  and  Mme.  de  Camps,  the  fourth  in  the  quar- 
tette of  listeners,  was  supporting  him.  At  the  end  of  an 
hour  the  Minster  had  been  well  stroked  down ;  he  was  pleased 
with  Mme.  Rabourdin s  wit,  and  she  had  charmed  his  wife; 
indeed,  the  Countess  was  so  enchanted  with  this  siren,  that 
she  asked  her  to  come  whenever  she  pleased. 

"For  your  husband  will  very  soon  be  head  of  the  division, 
my  dear,"  she  had  said,  "and  the  Minister  intends  to  bring 
both  the  divisions  under  one  head,  and  then  you  will  be  one 
of  us." 

His  Excellency  took  Mme.  Rabourdin  to  see  one  of  the 
rooms.  His  suite  of  apartments  was  famous  in  those  days, 
for  Opposition  journalism  had  made  itself  ridiculous  by  de- 
nouncing the  lavish  display  therein.  He  gave  his  arm  to  the 
lady. 

"Indeed,  madame,  you  really  ought  to  favor  us,  the  Count- 
ess and  myself,  by  coming  frequently "  and  His  Excel- 
lency brought  out  his  Ministerial  pretty  speeches. 

"But,  monseigneur,"  demurred  Celestine,  with  one  of  the 
glances  that  women  keep  for  emergencies ;  "but,  monseigneur. 
that  depends  upon  you,  it  seems  to  me." 

"How?" 

"Why,  you  can  give  me  the  right  to  do  so." 

"Explain  yourself." 

"No.  When  I  came  here,  I  said  to  myself  that  I  would 
not  have  the  bad  taste  to  solicit  your  interest." 

"Pray,  speak !  Placets  of  this  sort  are  never  out  of  place," 
the  Minister  answered,  laughing.  And  nothing  amuses  your 
seriously-minded  men  so  much  as  this  kind  of  nonsense. 

"Very  well;  it  is  rather  absurd  of  a  chief  clerk's  wife  to 
come  here  often,  but  a  director's  wife  would  not  be  'out  of 
place.' " 


336  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

"Never  mind  that,"'  said  the  Minister,  "we  cannot  do  with- 
out your  husband;  he  has  been  nominated." 

"Eeally  and  truly?" 

"Will  you  come  to  my  study  and  see  his  name  for  your- 
self ?     The  thing  is  done." 

It  seemed  to  her  that  there  was  something  suspicious  in  the 
Minister's  eagerness  and  alacrity. 

"Well,"  she  said,  as  they  stood  apart  in  a  corner,  "let  me 
tell  you  that  I  can  repay  you " 

She  was  on  the  point  of  unfolding  her  husband's  scheme, 
when  des  Lupeaulx  came  forward  on  tiptoe  with  an  angry 
little  cough,  which,  being  interpreted,  meant  that  he  had 
been  listening  to  their  conversation,  and  did  not  wish  to  be 
found  out.  The  Minister  looked  in  no  pleasant  humor  at 
the  elderly  coxcomb  thus  caught  in  a  trap.  Des  Lupeaulx 
had  hurried  on  the  work  of  the  staff  beyond  all  reason,  in 
his  impatience  for  his  conquest;  he  had  put  it  in  the  Min- 
isters hands,  and  next  day  he  intended  to  bring  the  nomina- 
tion to  her  who  passed  for  his  mistress. 

Just  at  that  moment  the  Minister's  footman  came,  and 
with  a  mysterious  air  informed  des  Lupeaulx  that  his  own 
man  had  brought  a  letter  to  be  delivered  to  him  immediately, 
adding  that  it  was  of  great  importance. 

The  Secretary-General  went  to  a  lamp  and  read  a  missive 
thus  conceived: 

"Contrary  to  my  habit,  I  am  waiting  in  an  ante-chamber; 
there  is  not  a  moment  to  lose  if  you  mean  to  arrange  with 
your  servant 


Gdsec)^ 


The  Secretary-General  shuddered  at  the  sight  of  that 
signature.  It  would  be  a  pity  not  to  give  a  facsimile  of  it, 
for  it  is  rare  on  the  market,  and  should  be  valuable  to  those 
persons   who    discover    character    in    handwriting.     If    ever 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  337 

hierogl3'ph  represented  an  animal,  surely  this  name,  with  its 
initial  and  final  letter,  suggests  the  voracious  insatiable  jaws 
of  a  shark,  jaws  that  are  always  agape,  always  catching  hold 
of  the  strong  and  the  weak  alike,  and  gobbling  them  down. 
It  has  been  found  impossible  to  reproduce  the  whole  note  in 
facsimile,  for  the  handwriting,  though  clear,  is  to  small  and 
close  and  fine ;  the  whole  sentence,  indeed,  only  fills  one  line. 
The  spirit  of  bill-discounting  alone  could  inspire  so  insolently 
imperative,  so  cruelly  irreproachable  a  sentence;  an  explicit 
yet  non-committal  statement,  which  told  all  yet  revealed 
nothing.  If  you  had  never  heard  of  Gobseck  before,  you 
might  have  guessed  what  manner  of  man  it  was  that  wrote 
that  line;  and  seen  the  implacable  money-lender  of  the  Rue 
des  Gres,  who  could  summons  you  into  his  presence  without 
sending  an  order.  Accordingly,  des  Lupeaulx  straightway 
disappeared,  like  a  dog  when  the  sportsman  calls  him  off 
the  scent ;  and  went  to  his  own  abode,  pondering  by  the  way. 
His  whole  position  seemed  to  be  compromised.  Picture  to 
yourself  the  sensations  of  a  general-in-chief  when  his  aide-de- 
camp announces  that  "the  enemy  with  thirty  thousand  men, 
all  fresh  troops,  is  taking  us  in  flank" !  A  word  will  explain 
the  arrival  of  Messieurs  Gigonnet  and  Gobseck  upon  the  field ; 
for  both  those  worthies  were  waiting  upon  des  Lupeaulx. 

At  eight  o'clock  that  evening,  Martin  Falleix  had  arrived 
on  the  wings  of  the  wind  (thanks  to  three  francs  per  stage 
and  a  postilion  sent  on  ahead).  He  had  brought  the  con- 
tracts, which  all  bore  yesterday's  date.  Mitral  took  the  docu- 
ments at  once  to  the  Cafe  Themis;  they  were  duly  handed 
over,  and  the  two  money-lenders  hurried  off  to  des  Lupeaulx. 
They  went  on  foot,  however.     The  clock  struck  eleven. 

Des  Lupeaulx  shuddered  as  he  watched  the  two  sinister- 
looking  faces  light  up  with  a  gleeful  expression,  and  saw  a 
look  that  shot  out  straight  as  a  bullet,  and  blazed  like  the  flash 
of  powder. 

"Well,  my  masters,  what  is  the  matter?" 

The   two   money-lenders    sat   motionless    and   impassive. 


338  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

Gigonnet  glanced  from  his  bundle  of  papers  to  the  man- 
servant. 

"Let  us  go  into  my  study,"  said  des  Lupeaulx,  dismissing 
the  man  with  a  sign. 

"You  understand  French  admirably,"  remarked  Gigonnet. 

"Have  you  come  to  torment  a  man  that  put  you  in  the  way 
of  making  two  hundred  thousand  francs  apiece?"  asked 
des  Lupeaulx,  and  in  spite  of  himself  his  gesture  was  dis- 
dainful. 

"And  will  put  us  in  the  way  of  making  more,  I  hope,"  said 
Gigonnet. 

"Is  it  a  bit  of  business?  If  you  want  me,  I  have  a 
memory." 

"And  we  have  memoranda  of  yours,"  riposted  Gigonnet. 

"My  debts  will  be  paid,"  des  Lupeaulx  returned  loftily. 
He  did  not  wish  to  be  led  into  a  discussion  on  the  sub- 
ject. 

"Truly?"  asked  Gobseck. 

"Let  us  go  to  the  point,  my  son,"  said  Gigonnet.  "Don't 
you  draw  yourself  up  in  your  stock  like  that ;  it  won't  do  with 
us.     Take  these  contracts  and  read  them  through." 

Des  Lupeaulx  read  with  surprise  and  amazement ;  angels 
might  have  flung  those  contracts  down  from  the  clouds  for 
him;  and  meanwhile  the  pair  took  stock  of  his  room. 

"You  have  a  couple  of  intelligent  men  of  business  in  us, 
haven't  you?"  asked  Gigonnet. 

"But  to  what  do  I  owe  such  ingenious  co-operation?"  des 
Lupeaulx  inquired  uneasily. 

"We  knew,  a  week  ago,  what  you  will  not  know  till  to- 
morrow unless  we  tell  you :  the  President  of  the  Commercial 
Court  finds  that  he  is  obliged  to  resign  his  seat  in  the 
Chamber." 

Des  Lupeaulx's  eyes  dilated  till  they  grew  as  large  as 
meadow  daisies. 

"Your  Minister  was  playing  this  trick  upon  you,"  added 
Gobseck,  the  curt-spoken. 

"You  are  my  masters,"  said  des  Lupeaulx,  saluting  the 


THE  OOVRRNMENT  CT.ERKS  339 

pair  with  a  profound  respect  in  whicli  there  was  a  certain 
tinge  of  irony. 

"Precisely/'  said  Gobseck. 

"But  are  you  about  to  strangle  me?" 

"That  is  possible." 

"Very  well,  then ;  set  about  it,  you  executioners !"  re- 
turned the  Secretary-General  with  a  smile. 

"Your  debts,"  began  Gigonnet,  "are  inscribed  along  with 
the  loan  of  the  purchase-money,  you  see." 

"Here  are  the  deeds,"  added  Gobseck,  as  he  drew  a  bundle 
of  documents  from  the  pocket  of  his  faded  greatcoat. 

"And  you  have  three  years  to  pay  the  lot,"  said  Gigonnet. 

"But  what  do  you  want?"  asked  des  Lupeaulx,  much 
alarmed  by  so  much  readiness  to  oblige,  and  such  a  fancy 
settlement. 

"La  Billardiere's  place  for  Baudoyer,";  Gigonnet  answered 
quickly. 

"It  is  a  very  small  thing,"  returned  des  Lupeaulx,  "though 
I  should  have  to  do  the  impossible.  I  myself  have  tied  my 
hands." 

"You  are  going  to  gnaw  the  cords  with  your  teeth,"  said 
Gigonnet. 

"They  are  sharp  enough !"  added  Gobseck. 

"Is  that  all  ?" 

"We  shall  keep  the  contracts  until  these  claims  are  ad- 
mitted," said  Gigonnet,  laying  a  statement  under  the  Secre- 
tary-General's eyes  as  he  spoke;  "if  these  are  not  recognized 
within  six  days  by  the  committee,  my  name  will  be  filled  in 
instead  of  yours  on  the  deeds." 

"You  are  clever,"  exclaimed  des  Lupeaulx. 

"Precisely,"  said  Gobseck. 

"And  that  is  all  ?" 

"True,"  replied  Gobseck. 

"Is  it  a  bargain?"  demanded  Gigonnet. 

Des  Lupeaulx  nodded. 

"Very  well,  then,  sign  this  power  of  attorney,"  said 
Gigonnet.  "Baudoyer's  nomination  in  two  days;  the  admis- 
sion of  the  claims  in  six,  and " 


340  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

"And  what?" 
'We  guarantee  you- 


"What  ?"  cried  des  Lupeaulx,  more  and  more  astonished. 

"Your  nomination,"  replied  Gigonnet,  swelling  with  pride. 
"We  are  secure  of  a  majority;  fifty-two  tenant-farmers  and 
tradesmen  are  ready  to  vote  at  the  election  as  the  lender  of 
the  money  may  direct." 

Des  Lupeaulx  grasped  Gobseck's  hand. 

"We  are  the  only  people  among  whom  misapprehensions 
are  impossible.  This  is  what  you  may  call  business.  So  I 
will  throw  in  a  make-weight." 

"Precisely"  (from  Gobseck). 

"What  is  it  to  be?"  asked  Gigonnet. 

"The  cross  for  your  oaf  of  a  nephew." 

"Good !"  said  Gigonnet.     "You  know  him." 

With  that  the  pair  took  their  leave.  Des  Lupeaulx  went 
with  them  to  the  stairs. 

"Those  are  secret  envoys  from  some  foreign  power!"  said 
the  footmen  among  themselves. 

Out  in  the  street  the  money-lenders  looked  in  each  other's 
face  by  the  light  of  a  lamp  and  laughed. 

"He  will  have  to  pay  us  nine  thousand  francs  per  annum 
in  the  shape  of  interest,  and  the  land  scarcely  brings  in  five 
thousand  nett,"  cried  Gigonnet. 

*'He  will  be  in  our  hands  for  a  long  while  to  come,"  said 
Gobseck. 

"He  will  begin  to  build ;  he  will  do  foolish  things,"  re- 
turned Gigonnet.     "Falleix  will  buy  the  laud." 

"He  wants  to  be  a  deputy;  the  wolf"  {le  lowp)  "laughs  at 
the  rest." 

"Eh !  eh !" 

"Eh!  eh!" 

The  dry  chirping  exclamations  did  duty  for  laughter.  The 
usurers  returned  on  foot  to  the  Cafe  Themis. 

Des  Lupeaulx  went  back  to  the  drawing-room  and  found 
Mme.  Rabourdin  in  all  her  glory.  She  was  charming.  The 
Minister's  countenance,  usually  so  melancholy,  had  relaxed 
and  grown  gracious. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  341 

"She  is  working  miracles,"  des  Lupeaulx  said  to  himself. 
"What  an  invaluable  woman !  One  must  probe  to  the  bottom 
of  her  heart." 

"Your  little  lady  will  decidedly  do  very  well  indeed,"  said 
the  Marquise ;  "she  wants  nothing  but  your  name." 

"Yes,  she  is  an  auctioneer's  daughter;  it  is  the  one  thing 
against  her ;  her  want  of  birth  will  be  the  ruin  of  her."  Des 
Lupeaulx's  air  of  cool  indifference  contrasted  strangely  with 
his  warmth  of  a  few  minutes  ago. 

The  Marquise  d'Espard  looked  steadily  back  at  him. 

"The  glance  you  gave  them  just  now  was  not  lost  upon 
me,"  she  said,  indicating  the  Minister  and  Mme.  Eabourdin; 
"it  pierced  through  the  mist  of  your  eyeglasses.  You  are 
amusing,  you  two,  to  quarrel  over  that  bone." 

As  the  Marquise  made  her  way  past  the  door,  the  Minister 
hurried  across  the  room  to  her. 

"Well,"  said  des  Lupeaulx,  addressing  Mme.  Eabourdin, 
"what  do  you  think  of  our  Minister?" 

"He  is  charming.  Eeally,"  she  added,  raising  her  voice 
for  the  benefit  of  His  Excellency's  wife,  "really,  the  poor 
ministers  must  be  known  to  be  appreciated.  The  minor  news- 
papers and  the  slanders  of  the  Opposition  give  one  such 
distorted  ideas  of  politicians,  and  in  the  end  one  is  in- 
fluenced. But  the  prejudice  turns  in  their  favor  when  you 
meet  them." 

"He  is  very  pleasant." 

"Well,  I  can  assure  you  that  one  could  be  very  fond  of 
him,"  she  returned  good-humoredly. 

"Dear  child,"  said  des  Lupeaulx,  assuming  a  good-natured 
and  ingratiating  air,  "you  have  achieved  the  impossible." 

"What  ?"  asked  she. 

"You  have  raised  the  dead  to  life,  I  did  not  think  that  he 
had  a  heart ;  ask  his  wife !  He  has  just  enough  to  defray 
a  passing  fancy,  but  take  advantage  of  it.  Come  this  way; 
do  not  be  surprised." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  boudoir  and  sat  down  beside  her 
on  a  sofa. 


342  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

"You  are  crafty,"  he  said,  "and  I  like  you  the  better  for 
it.  Between  ourselves,  you  are  no  ordinary  woman.  Des 
Lupeaulx  introduced  you  here,  and  there  is  an  end  of  him; 
is  it  not  so?  And  besides,  when  we  decide  to  love  for  in- 
terest, a  minister  of  seventy  is  to  be  preferred  to  a  secretary- 
general  of  forty;  it  pays  better,  and  is  less  irksome.  I  wear 
eyeglasses,  and  my  hair  is  powdered,  and  I  am  the  worse  for 
a  life  of  pleasure ;  a  romantic  love  affair  it  would  be  !  Oh ! 
I  have  told  myself  all  this.  If  one  absolutely  must,  one 
makes  some  concession  to  the  useful,  but  I  shall  never  be 
the  agreeable,  shall  I  ?  A  man  in  my  position  would  be  mad 
if  he  did  not  look  at  it  from  all  sides.  You  can  confess  the 
truth,  and  show  me  the  bottom  of  3'our  heart.  We  are  two 
partners,  not  two  lovers ;  are  we  not  ?  If  there  is  some  fancy 
on  my  side,  you  rise  superior  to  such  trifles ;  you  will  pass  it 
over  in  me;  you  are  not  a  little  boarding-school  miss,  nor  a 
tradesman's  wife  from  the  Kue  Saint-Denis.  Pooh !  we  are 
above  that,  you  and  I.  There  is  the  Marquise  d'Espard,  now 
leaving  the  room,  do  you  suppose  that  she  thinks  otherwise? 
We  came  to  an  understanding  two  years  ago"  (the  coxcomb  !), 
"and  now  she  has  only  to  write  me  a  line,  and  not  a  very  long 
one — 'My  dear  des  Lupeaulx,  you  will  oblige  me  by  doing 
so-and-so' — and  the  thing  is  done  forthwith.  We  are  think- 
ing of  bringing  a  petition  for  a  commission  in  lunacy  on  her 
husband.  You  women  can  have  anything  that  you  will  at  the 
cost  of  pleasure.  Well,  then,  dear  child,  take  His  Excellency 
with  your  wiles;  I  will  help  you,  it  is  to  my  interest  to  do  so. 
Yes,  I  should  like  to  have  him  under  a  woman's  influence ;  he 
would  never  slip  through  my  fingers  then,  as  he  sometimes 
does,  and  naturally,  for  I  only  keep  a  hold  on  his  common- 
sense,  but  with  a  pretty  woman  to  help  me,  I  should  have  him 
on  his  weak  side,  and  that  is  the  surest.  So  let  us  be  good 
friends  as  before,  and  divide  the  credit  that  you  will  gain." 
Mme.  Eabourdin  heard  this  singular  profession  of  rascality 
with  the  utmost  astonishment.  The  barefaced  simplicity 
of  the  political  business  transaction  put  any  idea  of  express- 
ing surprise  quite  out  of  the  question.  She  fell  into  the 
snare. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  343 

"Do  you  think  that  I  have  made  any  impression  upon 
him?"  she  asked. 

"I  know  you  have,  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"Is  it  true  that  Eabourdin's  appointment  is  signed?" 

"I  put  the  report  before  him  this  morning.  But  it  is 
nothing  to  be  the  head  of  the  division;  he  must  be  Master 
of  Requests." 

"Yes." 

"Very  well,  go  in  again  and  flirt  with  His  Excellency." 

"Indeed,"  she  said,  "I  never  really  knew  you  till  to-night. 
There  is  nothing  commonplace  about  you." 

"And  so,  we  are  two  old  friends,  and  there  is  an  end  of 
tender  airs  and  tiresome  love-making;  we  understand  things 
as  they  used  to  do  under  the  Eegency;  they  had  plenty  of 
sense  in  those  days." 

"You  are  in  truth  a  great  man,  I  admire  you,"  she  said, 
smiling  at  him  as  she  held  out  her  hand.  "You  shall  know 
that  a  woman  does  more  for  her  friend  than  for  her " 

She  left  the  sentence  unfinished  and  went. 

"Dear  little  thing !  Des  Lupeaulx  need  feel  no  remorse 
over  turning  against  you,"  said  her  companion,  as  he  watched 
her  cross  the  room  to  the  Minister.  "To-morrow  evening 
when  you  hand  me  a  cup  of  tea,  you  will  offer  me  something 
else  which  I  shall  not  care  to  take. — There  is  no  more  to  be 
said.  Ah !  when  you  come  to  your  fortieth  year,  women  take 
you  in;  it  is  too  late  to  be  loved." 

Des  Lupeaulx  also  went  back  to  the  drawing-room,  scanned 
himself  in  a  mirror,  and  knew  that  he  was  a  very  fine  fellow 
for  political  purposes,  but  unmistakably  superannuated  for 
the  Court  of  Cytherea.  Mme.  Rabourdin  meanwhile  was 
working  up  her  climax;  she  meditated  taking  her  departure, 
and  did  her  best  to  leave  a  last  pleasing  impression  upon 
every  one  present.  She  succeeded.  An  unwonted  exclama- 
tion of  "Charming  woman !"  broke  from  every  one  as  soon 
as  she  had  gone,  and  the  Minister  went  with  her  to  the 
farthest  door. 

"I  am  quite  sure  that  you  will  think  of  me  to-morrow," 


^ 


344  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

he  said,  alluding  to  the  nomination. — "I  am  quite  satisfied 
with  our  acquisition,  not  many  high  officials  have  such  charm- 
ing wives,"  he  added,  as  he  came  back  to  the  room. 

"Do  you  not  think  that  she  is  inclined  to  encroach  a  little  ?"' 
des  Lupeaulx  began.     He  seemed  rather  put  out. 

The  women  exchanged  meaning  glances;  the  rivalry  be- 
tween the  Secretary-General  and  the  Minister  amused  them. 
And  forthwith  they  began  one  of  those  charming  mystifica- 
tions in  which  the  Parisienne  excels.  They  all  began  to  talk 
bout  Mme.  Rabourdin ;  they  stirred  up  the  Minister  and  des 
Lupeaulx.  One  lady  thought  Mme.  Rabourdin  too  studied, 
she  aimed  too  much  at  wit;  another  began  to  compare  the 
graces  of  the  bourgeoisie  with  the  manners  of  persons  of 
fashion,  criticising  Celestine  by  implication;  and  des  Lu- 
peaulx defended  the  mistress  attributed  to  him,  but  his  de- 
fence was  of  a  kind  reserved  exclusively  in  polite  society  for 
absent  enemies. 

"Pray  be  fair  to  her,  mesdames !  Is  it  not  an  extraordinary 
thing  that  an  auctioneer's  daughter  should  be  so  charming? 
You  see  where  she  comes  from,  and  where  she  is ;  and  she  will 
go  to  the  Tuileries,  she  is  aiming  at  that,  she  told  me  so." 

"And  if  she  is  an  auctioneer's  daughter,"  said  Mme.  d'Es- 
pard,  smiling  over  her  words,  "how  should  that  injure  her 
husband's  prospects?" 

"As  times  are,  you  mean  ?"  asked  the  Minister's  wife,  purs- 
ing up  her  lips. 

"Madame,"  the  Minister  said  sternly,  turning  on  the  Mar- 
quise, "such  language  brings  on  revolutions,  and,  unfortu- 
nately, the  Court  spares  no  one.  You  would  not  believe  how 
much  the  heedlessness  of  the  upper  classes  displeases  certain 
clear-sighted  persons  at  the  Chateau.  If  I  were  a  great  lord, 
instead  of  a  little  provincial  of  good  family,  set  here,  as  it 
would  seem,  to  do  your  business  for  you,  the  Monarchy 
should  rest  on  a  firmer  basis  than  it  does  at  present.  What 
will  be  the  end  if  the  throne  cannot  shed  its  lustre  upon  its 
representatives  ?  We  are  far  indeed  from  the  times  when  the 
King's  will  ennobled  a  Louvois,  a  Colbert,  a  Richelieu,  a 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  345 

Jeannin,  a  Villeroy,  or  a  Sully.  Yes,  Sully  in  the  beginning 
was  nothing  more  than  I.  I  speak  in  this  way  because  we  are 
among  ourselves,  and  I  should  be  small  indeed  if  I  took  of- 
fence at  such  trifles.  It  rests  with  us,  and  not  with  others, 
to  make  a  great  name  for  ourselves." 

"You  have  the  appointment,  dear,"  said  Celestine,  squeezing 
her  husband's  hand.  "If  it  had  not  been  for  des  Lupeaulx, 
I  would  have  explained  your  project  to  the  Minister ;  but  that 
must  be  left  till  next  Tuesday  now,  and  you  will  be  Master 
of  Requests  all  the  sooner." 

There  is  one  day  in  every  woman's  life  in  which  she  shines 
in  all  her  glory — a  day  that  she  remembers,  and  loves  to  re- 
member, as  long  as  she  lives.  As  Mme.  Rabourdin  undid 
her  artfully  adjusted  ornaments  one  by  one,  she  went  over 
that  evening  again,  and  reckoned  it  among  the  glorious  days 
of  her  life.  All  her  beauty  had  been  jealously  noted;  the 
Minister's  wife  had  paid  her  compliments  (she  was  not  ill- 
pleased  to  praise  the  newcomer  at  the  expense  of  her  friends)  ; 
and  more  than  all,  satisfied  vanity  had  redounded  to  her  hus- 
band's advantage.     Xavier's  appointment  had  been  made ! 

"Did  I  not  look  well  to-night?"  she  asked  her  husband, 
as  though  there  were  any  need  to  kindle  his  admiration. 

At  that  very  moment  Mitral  at  the  Cafe  Themis  saw  the 
two  usurers  come  in.    Their  impassive  faces  gave  no  sign. 

"How  are  we  getting  on  ?"  he  asked,  when  they  sat  down  to 
the  table. 

"Oh,  well,  as  usual,"  said  Gigonnet,  rubbing  his  hands; 
"victory  is  on  the  side  of  the  francs." 

"That  is  so,"  remarked  Gobseck. 

Mitral  lost  no  time.  He  took  a  cab  and  drove  away  with 
the  news.  The  game  of  boston  had  been  long  drawn  out  that 
night  at  the  Saillards',  but  every  one  had  left  except  the  Abbe 
Gaudron.    Falleix  had  gone  to  bed ;  he  was  tired  out. 

"You  will  get  the  appointment,  nephew,  and  there  is  a 
surprise  in  store  for  you." 


346  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

"What?"  asked  Saillard. 

"The  Cross !"  cried  Mitral. 

"God  is  with  those  that  care  for  His  altars !"  commented 
Gaudron. 

And  thus  was  the  Te  Deuni  chanted  with  equal  joy  in 
either  camp. 

Next  day  was  Friday.  M.  Eabourdin  was  to  go  to  the 
Minister,  for  he  had  done  the  work  of  the  head  of  the  division 
ever  since  the  late  la  Billardiere  fell  ill.  On  these  occasions 
the  clerks  were  remarkably  punctual,  the  office-messengers 
zealous  and  attentive,  for  on  signature  days  the  offices  are  all 
in  a  flurry.  Why  and  Avherefore?  Xobody  knows.  The 
three  messengers  accordingly  were  all  at  their  posts;  they 
flattered  themselves  that  fees  of  some  sort  would  come  their 
way,  for  rumors  of  M.  Rabourdin's  appointment  had  been 
spread  abroad  on  the  previous  day  by  des  Lupeaulx.  So 
Uncle  Antoine  and  Laurent  were  in  full  dress  at  a  quarter 
to  eight  when  the  Secretary's  messenger  came  over  with  a 
note,  asking  Antoine  to  give  it,  in  private,  to  M.  Dutocq. 
The  Secretary-General  had  bidden  him  take  it  round  to  the 
first  clerk's  house  at  seven  o'clock.  "And  I  don't  know  how 
it  happened,  old  man,  but  I  slept  on  and  on,  and  I  am  onlj^ 
just  awake  now.  He  would  give  me  an  infernal  blowing  up 
if  he  knew  that  the  note  had  not  gone  to  the  private  address ; 
'stead  of  which  I  shall  tell  him  as  how  I  took  it  to  M.  Du- 
tocq's.  It  is  a  great  secret.  Daddy  Antoine.  Don't  say  any- 
thing to  the  clerks;  or,  my  word,  he  would  turn  me  away. 
I  should  lose  my  place  if  I  said  a  word  about  it,  he  said." 

"Why,  what  is  there  inside  it?" 

"Nothing ;  for  I  looked  into  it,  like  this — there  !" 

He  pressed  open  the  folded  sheet,  but  they  could  only  see 
white  paper  inside. 

"To-day  is  a  great  day  for  you,  Laurent,"  continued  the 
Secretary's  messenger.  "You  are  going  to  have  a  new  direc- 
tor. They  will  retrench  beyond  a  doubt,  and  put  both  divi- 
sions under  one  director ;  messengers  may  look  out !" 

"Yes !  nine  clerks  pensioned  off,"  said  Dutocq,  coming  up 
at  the  moment.    "How  came  you  fellows  to  know  that  ?" 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  347 

Antoine  handed  over  the  letter,  Dutocq  opened  it,  and 
rushed  headlong  down  the  staircase  to  the  Secretary's  rooms. 

Since  the  day  of  M.  de  la  Billardiere's  death,  the  Kabour- 
dins  and  Baudoyers  had  settled  down  by  degrees  into  their 
wonted  ways  and  the  dolce-far-niente  habits  of  administra- 
tive routine.  There  had  been  plenty  of  gossip  at  first;  but 
an  access  of  industry  usually  sets  in  among  the  clerks  to- 
wards the  end  of  the  year,  and  the  doorkeepers  and  messen- 
gers become  more  unctuously  obsequious  about  the  same  time. 
Everybody  was  punctual  of  a  morning,  and  more  faces  might 
be  seen  in  the  office  after  four  o'clock;  for  the  bonus  at  the 
N^ew  Year  is  apt  to  depend  upon  the  final  impression  left  on 
the  mind  of  your  chief.  Then  rumor  said  that  the  la  Bil- 
lardiere  and  Clergeot  divisions  were  to  be  brought  under  one 
head.  The  news  had  caused  a  flutter  in  the  department  on 
the  previous  day.  The  number  of  clerks  to  be  dismissed  was 
known,  but  no  one  knew  their  names  as  yet.  It  was  pretty 
certain  that  Poiret  would  not  be  replaced — they  would  effect 
an  economy  over  his  salary.  Young  la  Billardiere  had  gone. 
Two  new  supernumeraries  were  coming,  and  both  were  sons 
of  deputies — an  appalling  circumstance.  This  tidings  had 
arrived  just  as  they  were  going  away.  It  struck  terror  into 
every  conscience.  And  so  for  the  first  half-hour,  as  the 
clerks  were  dropping  in,  there  was  talk  round  about  the 
stoves. 

Des  Lupeaulx  was  shaving  when  Dutocq  appeared;  he  did 
not  put  down  his  razor  as  he  gave  the  clerk  a  glance  with  the 
air  of  a  general  that  issues  an  order. 

"Are  we  by  ourselves  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Very  well.  Go  for  Rabourdin ;  walk  ahead,  and  hold  on. 
You  must  have  kept  a  copy  of  that  list." 

"Yes." 

"Inde  irce — you  understand.  We  must  have  a  general  hue 
and  cry.     Try  to  invent  something  to  raise  a  clamor." 

"^■■I  can  have  a  caricature  drawn,  but  I  have  not  five  hundred 
francs  to  pay  for  it." 


348  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

''Who  will  draw  it  ?" 

"Bixiou." 

"He  shall  have  a  thousand  francs  and  the  assistant's  place 
under  Colleville.     Colleville  will  come  to  an  understanding 
with  him." 
■>       "But  he  will  not  believe  me." 

"You  want  to  mix  me  up  in  it  perhaps?  It  is  that  or 
nothing — do  3'ou  understand?" 

"If  M.  Baudoyer  is  director,  he  might  possibly  lend  the 
money " 

"Yes,  he  is  going  to  be  director.  Leave  me,  and  be  quick 
about  it.  Don't  seem  as  if  you  had  been  to  see  me.  Go  down 
by  the  back  stairs." 

Dutocq  went  back  to  the  office,  his  heart  throbbing  with 
joy.  He  was  wondering  how  to  raise  an  outcry  against  his 
chief  without  committing  himself,  when  Bixiou  looked  in 
just  to  wish  his  friends  the  Eabourdins  good-day.  Having 
given  up  his  wager  for  lost,  it  pleased  that  practical  joker 
to  pose  as  though  he  had  won. 

Bixiou  {mimicl-ing  Phellions  voice).  "Gentlemen,  I  pre- 
sent my  compliments  to  you,  and  wish  you  collectively  a  good- 
day.  I  appoint  the  coming  Sunday  for  the  dinner  at  the 
Rocher  de  Cancale.  But  a  serious  dilemma  presents  itself: 
are  the  retiring  clerks  to  come  or  not  ?" 

PoiRET.    "Yes;  even  those  that  are  pensioned  off." 

Bixiou.  "It  is  all  one  to  me ;  I  shall  not  have  to  pay  for 
\i^^  {general  amazement).  "Baudoyer  has  been  appointed.  I 
should  love  to  hear  him  calling  Laurent  at  this  moment." 
{Mimics  Baudoyer.)  "  'Laurent,  lock  up  my  hair-shirt,  and 
my  scourge  along  mth  it!'"  {peals  of  laughter  from  the 
clerks.)  "Ris  d'ahoyeur  d'oie!  There  is  sense  in  Colleville's 
anagrams,  for  Xavier  Eabourdin's  name  makes  D'ahord  reva 
bureaux  e  u  fin  riche,  you  know.  If  my  name  happened  to 
be  'Charles  X.,  by  the  grace  of  God  King  of  France  and 
Navarre,'  I  should  quake  for  fear  lest  my  anagram  might 
come  true  likewise." 

Thuillier.    "Oh,  come  now,  you  want  to  make  fun  of  it !" 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  349 

Bixiou  {laughing  in  his  face).  " Ris-au-laid !  {riz-au- 
lait).  That  is  neat.  Daddy  Thuillier,  for  you  are  not  good- 
looking.  Eabourdin  is  sending  in  his  resignation  in  a  fury 
because  Baudoyer  is  director." 

ViMEUx  {coming  in).  "What  stuff!  I  have  just  been  re- 
paying Antoine  thirty  or  forty  francs,  and  he  tells  me  that 
M.  and  Mme.  Eabourdin  were  at  the  Minister's  private  party 
last  night,  and  stopped  till  a  quarter  to  twelve.  His  Excel- 
lency came  as  far  as  the  stairs  with  Mme.  Eabourdin.  She 
was  divinely  dressed,  it  seems.  He  is  director  in  fact,  and  no 
mistake.  Eiffe,  the  confidential  copying-clerk,  stopped  late 
to  finish  the  report  sooner.  There  is  no  mystery  about  it  now. 
M.  Clergeot  is  retiring.  After  thirty  years  of  service,  it  is  no 
disgrace.    M.  Cochin,  who  is  well-to-do " 

Bixiou.  "He  makes  cochineal  {cochenille) ,  according  to 
Colleville." 

ViMEUX.  "Why,  he  is  in  the  cochineal  trade;  he  is  a 
partner  in  Matifat's  business  in  the  Eue  des  Lombards. 
Well,  he  is  to  go,  and  Poiret  is  to  go.  Nobody  else  is  coming 
on  instead.  That  much  is  positive.  No  more  is  known.  M. 
Eabourdin's  appointment  came  this  morning.  They  are 
afraid  of  intrigues." 

Bixiou.     "What  sort  of  intrigues?" 

Fleury.  "Baudoyer,  begad !  The  clericals  are  backing 
him  up.  There  is  something  new  here  in  the  Liberal  paper; 
it  is  only  a  couple  of  lines,  but  it  is  funny" — {reads) — "  'In 
the  foyer  of  the  Italians  yesterday  there  was  some  talk  of  M. 
de  Chateaubriand's  return  to  office.  This  belief  was  founded 
upon  the  appointment  of  M.  Eabourdin  to  fill  the  post  orig- 
inally intended  for  M.  Baudoyer — M.  Eabourdin  being  a  pro- 
tege of  the  Vicomte's  friends.  The  clerical  party  would 
never  have  withdrawn  except  to  make  a  compromise  with  the 
great  man  of  letters.'     Scum  of  the  earth !" 

DuTOcq  {comes  i7i  after  listening  outside) .  "Scum!  Who? 
Eabourdin.     Then  you  have  heard  the  news?" 

Fleury  {rolling  his  eyes  fiercely).     "Eabourdin! — scum! 


350  THE  (iOVRRNMENT  CI.ERKS 

Have  you  taken  leave  of  your  wits,  Dutocq?  And  do  you 
want  a  bullet  for  ballast  in  your  brains  ?" 

Dutocq.  "I  did  not  say  a  word  against  M.  Rabourdin; 
only  just  now,  out  in  the  courtyard,  it  was  told  me  as  a  secret 
that  he  had  been  informing  against  a  good  many  of  the  staff, 
and  had  given  notes;  in  short,  I  was  told  that  he  had  sent  in 
a  report  of  the  departments,  and  we  are  all  done  for;  that  is 
why  he  is  in  favor " 

Phellion  (shouts).     "M.  Eabourdin  is  incapable- 


Bixiou.  "Here  is  a  nice  state  of  things !  I  say,  Dutocq  ?" 
(They  exchange  a  word  or  two,  and  go  out  into  the  corridor,) 

Bixiou,    "What  ever  can  have  happened  ?" 

Dutocq.    "Do  you  remember  the  caricature  ?" 

Bixiou.    "Yes;  what  about  it?" 

Dutocq,  "Draw  it,  and  you  will  be  chief  clerk's  assistant, 
and  you  will  get  something  handsome  besides.  You  see,  my 
dear  fellow,  dissension  has  been  sown  in  the  upper  regions. 
The  Minister  is  pledged  to  Eabourdin;  but  if  he  does  not 
appoint  Baudoyer,  he  will  get  into  trouble  with  the  clergy. 
Don't  you  know?  The  King,  the  Dauphin,  the  Dauphiness, 
the  Grand  Almonry,  the  whole  Court,  in  fact,  are  for  Bau- 
doyer; the  Minister  wants  Rabourdin." 

Bixiou.    "Good! " 

Dutocq.  "The  Minister  has  begun  to  see  that  he  must 
give  way,  but  he  must  get  quit  of  the  difficulty  before  he  can 
\\  go  over.  He  wants  a  reason  for  ridding  himself  of  Rabour- 
din. So  somebody  has  unearthed  an  old  report  that  he  made 
with  a  view  to  reforming  the  service,  and  some  of  it  is  getting 
about.  That  is  how  I  try  to  explain  the  thing  to  myself,  at 
least.  Do  the  drawing;  you  come  on  in  a  match  played 
among  great  folk;  you  will  do  a  service  to  the  Minister,  the 
Court,  and  all  concerned,  and  you  get  your  step.  Do  you 
understand  ?" 

Bixiou.  "I  do  not  understand  how  you  can  know  all  this, 
or  whether  you  are  just  making  it  up." 

Dutocq.  "Would  you  like  me  to  show  you  your  para- 
graph ?" 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  351 

Bixiou.    "Yes." 

DuTOCQ.  "Very  well,  come  round  to  my  place,  for  I  want 
to  put  the  report  in  sure  hands." 

Bixiou.  "Go  by  yourself"  {goes  lack  to  the  Uabourdins) . 
"People  are  talking  of  nothing  but  this  news  that  Dutocq  has 
brought;  upon  my  honor.  M.  Eabourdin's  notes  on  the  men 
that  he  meant  to  reform  out  of  the  service  can't  have  been 
very  complimentary.  That  is  the  secret  of  his  promotion. 
Nothing  astonishes  us  in  these  days"  {strikes  an  attitude, 
after  Talma). 

"  Illustrious  heads  have  fallen  before  your  eyes, 
And  yet,  oh  senseless  men !  ye  show  surprise 

— if  somebody  points  out  a  reason  of  this  sort  when  a  man 
gets  into  favor !  Our  Baudoyer  is  too  stupid  to  make  his  way 
by  such  methods.  Accept  my  congratulations,  gentlemen, 
you  are  under  an  illustrious  chief"  {goes). 

PoiRET.  "I  shall  retire  from  the  service  without  under- 
standing a  single  thing  that  that  gentleman  has  said  since 
he  came  here.     What  does  he  mean  with  his  falling  heads?" 

Fleury.  "The  four  sergeants  of  La  Eochelle,  egad !  Ber- 
ton,  Ney,  Caron,  the  brothers  Faucher,  and  all  the  massacres." 

Phellion".     "He  says  risky  things  in  a  flippant  manner." 

Fleury.  "Why  don't  you  say  at  once  that  he  lies ;  that  he 
humbugs  you ;  that  truth  turns  to  verdegris  in  his  throat  ?" 

Phellion.  "Your  remarks  transgress  the  limits  of  polite- 
ness and  the  considerations  due  to  a  colleague." 

ViMEUX.  "It  seems  to  me  that  if  what  he  says  is  false, 
such  remarks  are  called  slander  and  defamation  of  character, 
and  the  man  who  utters  them  deserves  a  horsewhipping." 

Fleury  {waxing  wrathful).  "And  if  a  government  office 
were  a  public  place,  it  would  be  an  indictable  offence,  and  go 
straight  to  a  court  of  law." 

Phelliojst  {anxious  to  avoid  a  quarrel,  endeavors  to  change 
the  subject).  "Calm  yourselves,  gentlemen.  I  am  at  work 
upon  a  little  treatise  on  morality,  and  have  just  come  to  the 
soul " 


352  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

Fleuey  (interrupting).  "What  do  you  say  to  it,  M.  Phel- 
lion?" 

Phellion  (reading  aloud).  "'Question. — What  is  the 
soul  of  man? 

"  'Answer. — A  spiritual  substance  which  thinks  and  rea- 
sons.' " 

Thuillier.  "A  spiritual  substance !  You  might  as  well 
say  an  ethereal  block  of  stone." 

Poiret.    "Just  let  him  go  on " 

Phellion  (contijiues).     " 'Q. — "Whence  comes  the  soul? 

"'A. — It  comes  from  God,  by  whom  it  was  created;  God 
made  it  simple  and  indivisible,  consequently  its  destructi- 
bility  is  inconceivable,  and  He  has  said ' " 

Poiret  (bewildered).    "God?" 

Phellion.    "Yes,  mosieur,  tradition  says  so." 

Fleury  (to  Poiret).    "Don't  you  interrupt !" 

Phellion  (resumes).  "  ' — has  said  that  He  created  it  im- 
mortal, which  means  that  it  will  never  die. 

"  'Q. — To  what  end  does  the  soul  exist  ? 

"'A. — To  comprehend,  to  will,  and  to  remember;  it  com- 
prises the  understanding,  the  will,  and  the  memory. 

"  'Q. — To  what  end  have  we  understanding  ? 

"'A. — That  we  may  know.  The  understanding  is  the  eye 
of  the  soul.' " 

Fleury.    "And  the  soul  is  the  eye  of  what  ?" 

Phellion  (continuing).  " 'Q. — What  is  the  understand- 
ing bound  to  know  ? 

"  'A.— The  truth. 

"  'Q. — Why  has  man  a  will  ? 

"  'A. — In  order  that  he  may  love  good  and  eschew  evil. 

"  '^.— What  is  good  ? 

"  'A. — The  source  of  man's  happiness.'  " 

ViMEUX.    "And  are  you  writing  this  for  young  ladies?" 

Phellion.  "Yes"  (continues).  " 'Q. — How  many  kinds 
of  good  are  there  ?'  " 

Fleury.    "This  is  prodigiously  improper !" 

Phellion  (indignantly).    "Oh!  mosieur"  (cooling  down). 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  353 

"Here  is  the  answer,  anyhow.  I  have  come  to  it" — (reads) — 
''  'A. — There  are  two  kinds  of  good — temporal  good  and  eter- 
nal good.' " 

PoiEET  (with  a  contemptuous  countenance).  "And  will 
there  be  a  great  sale  for  thatf 

Phellion.  "I  venture  to  hope  so.  It  takes  a  lot  of  mental 
exercise  to  keep  up  a  system  of  questions  and  answers;  that 
was  why  I  asked  you  to  allow  me  to  think,  for  the  an- 
swers  

Thdillier.  "The  answers  might  be  sold  separately 
though." 

PoiRET.    "Is  it  a  pun?" 

Thuillier.  "Yes.  They  will  sell  the  gammon  without 
spinach." 

Phellion.  "It  was  very  wrong,  indeed,  of  me  to  inter- 
rupt you."  {Dives  in  among  Ms  pasteboard  cases. — To  him- 
self.)    "But  they  have  forgotten  M.  Rabourdin." 

Meanwhile  a  scene  that  took  place  between  the  Minister 
and  des  Lupeaulx  decided  Rabourdin's  fate.  The  Secretary- 
General  went  to  find  his  chief  in  his  study  before  breakfast. 

"Your  Excellency  is  not  playing  aboveboard  with  me,"  he 
began,  when  he  had  made  sure  that  la  Briere  could  hear 
nothing. 

"Here,  he  is  going  to  quarrel  with  me,"  thought  the  Min- 
ister, "because  his  mistress  flirted  with  me  yesterday."  Aloud 
he  said,  "I  did  not  think  that  you  were  such  a  boy,  my  dear 
friend." 

"Friend,"  repeated  the  Secretary-General;  "I  shall  soon 
know  about  that." 

The  Minister  looked  haughtily  at  des  Lupeaulx. 

"We  are  by  ourselves,  so  we  can  have  an  explanation.  The 
deputy  for  the  district  in  which  my  estate  of  des  Lupeaulx 
is  situated " 

"Then  it  really  is  an  estate  ?"  laughed  the  Minister,  to  hide 
his  surprise. 

"Enlarged  by  purchases  to  the  extent  of  two  hundred  thon- 


354  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

sand  fraucs,"  des  Lupeaulx  added  carelessly.  "You  knew  ten 
days  ago  that  the  deputy  was  going  to  resign  his  seat,  and  you 
said  nothing  to  me — you  were  not  bound  to  do  so;  stiil,  you 
knew  very  well  that  it  is  my  wish  to  sit  on  the  Centre  benches. 
Did  you  not  think  that  I  might  throw  in  my  lot  with  the 
doctrinaires,  the  party  that  will  eat  you  up.  Monarchy  and 
all,  if  they  are  allowed  to  recruit  all  the  able  men  that  you 
slight  ?  Do  you  not  know  that  there  are  not  more  than  fifty  or 
sixty  dangerous  heads  at  a  time  in  a  nation,  and  that  in  those 
fifty  or  sixty  the  intellect  is  on  a  level  with  the  ambition? 
The  whole  art  of  government  consists  in  finding  out  those 
heads,  so  that  you  may  buy  them  or  cut  them  off.  I  do  not 
know  whether  I  have  talent,  but  I  have  ambition;  and  you 
make  a  blunder  when  you  do  not  come  to  an  understanding 
with  a  man  who  means  nothing  but  good  to  you.  The  coro- 
nation dazzled  you  for  a  minute,  but  what  follows  ?  The  war 
of  words  and  arguments  will  begin  again  and  grow  more 
acrimonious.  Well,  so  far  as  you  are  concerned,  you  don't 
find  me  in  the  Left  Centre,  believe  me !  Your  prefect  has 
had  confidential  instructions  no  doubt,  but,  in  spite  of  his 
manoeuvres,  I  am  sure  of  a  majority.  It  is  time  that  we 
came  to  a  thorough  understanding.  Sometimes  people  are 
better  friends  after  a  little  coup  de  Jarnac.  I  shall  be  a 
Count,  and  the  Grand  Cross  of  the  Legion  will  not  be  refused 
after  my  services;  but  I  insist  not  so  much  on  these  two 
points  as  upon  a  third  which  your  influence  can  decide.  Y"ou 
have  not  yet  appointed  Rabourdin ;  I  have  had  news  this 
morning;  you  will  give  general  satisfaction  by  nominating 
Baudoyer " 

"Baudoyer!"  exclaimed  the  Minister;  "you  know  him!" 

"Y"es,"  said  des  Lupeaulx ;  "but  when  he  gives  proof  of  his 
incompetence,  you  can  get  rid  of  him  by  asking  his  patrons 
to  take  him  into  their  employ.  Then  you  will  have  an  im- 
portant post  in  your  gift,  and  that  may  facilitate  a  compro- 
mise with  some  ambitious  man." 

"I  have  given  my  w^ord  to  Rabourdin !" 

"Y"es,  but  I  do  not  ask  you  to  change  your  mind  at  once. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  355 

1  know  that  it  is  dangerous  to  say  'Yes'  and  'No'  on  tiie  same 
day.  Wait,  and  you  can  sign  tlie  day  after  to-morrow.  Well, 
in  two  days'  time  you  will  see  that  it  is  impossible  to  keep 
Rabourdin;  and  besides,  he  will  have  sent  in  his  resignation, 
plump  and  plain." 

"Resignation  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Why  ?" 

"He  has  been  at  work  for  some  power  unknown,  playing 
the  spy  on  a  large  scale  all  through  the  departments.  This 
was  found  out  by  accident;  it  has  got  about,  and  the  clerks 
are  furious.  For  mercy's  sake,  do  not  work  with  him  to-day ; 
let  me  find  an  excuse.  Go  to  the  King,  I  am  sure  you  will 
find  that  certain  persons  will  be  pleased  by  your  concession 
as  to  Baudoyer,  and  you  will  get  something  in  exchange. 
Then  you  will  strengthen  your  position  later  on  by  getting 
rid  of  the  fool,  seeing  that  he  has  been  forced  upon  you,  as 
one  may  say." 

"What  made  you  change  your  mind  about  Rabourdin  in 
this  way  ?" 

'^ould  you  assist  M.  de  Chateaubriand  to  write  an  article 
against  the  Government  ?  Well,  this  is  how  Rabourdin  treats 
me  in  his  report,"  said  des  Lupeaulx,  handing  his  note  to  the 
Minister.  "He  is  reorganizing  the  whole  system,  no  doubt, 
for  the  benefit  of  a  confederation  which  we  do  not  know.  I 
shall  keep  on  friendly  terms  with  him,  so  as  to  watch  over 
him.  I  think  I  will  do  some  great  service  to  the  Government, 
so  as  to  reach  the  peerage;  a  peerage  is  the  one  thing  that  I 
care  about.  I  do  not  want  office,  nor  anything  else  that  can 
cross  your  path.  I  am  aiming  at  the  peerage ;  then  I  shall  be 
in  a  position  to  marry  some  banker's  daughter  with  two 
hundred  thousand  livres  a  year.  So  let  me  do  you  some 
great  service,  so  that  the  King  can  say  that  I  have  saved  the 
throne.  This  long  time  past  I  have  said,  'Liberalism  no 
longer  meets  us  in  the  field;  Liberalism,  has  given  up  con- 
spiracy, the  Carbonari,  and  violent  methods;'  it  is  undermin- 
ing us  and  preparing  to  say  once  for  all,  'Get  thee  hence  that 


356  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

I  may  take  thy  place !'  Do  you  think  that  I  pay  court  to  a 
Rabourdin's  wife  for  my  pleasure  ?  iSTo ;  I  had  information  ! 
So  for  to-day  there  are  two  things — the  adjournment  of  the 
nominations  and  your  sincere  support  at  my  election.  At 
the  end  of  the  session  you  shall  see  whether  I  have  not  paid 
my  debt  with  interest." 

For  all  answer  the  Minister  handed  over  the  report. 

"And  I  will  tell  Eabourdin  that  you  postpone  him  till 
Saturday." 

The  ^linister  nodded.  In  a  few  minutes  the  messenger 
had  crossed  the  building  and  informed  Eabourdin  that  he 
must  go  to  the  Minister  on  Saturday;  for  that  then  the 
Chamber  would  be  engaged  with  petitions,  and  the  Minister 
would  have  the  whole  day  at  liberty. 

Meanwhile  Saillard  went  on  his  errand  to  the  Minister's 
wife  and  slipped  in  his  speech,  to  which  the  lady  replied, 
with  dignity,  that  she  never  meddled  in  State  affairs,  and 
besides,  she  had  heard  that  Eabourdin  was  appointed.  Sail- 
lard in  alarm  went  up  to  Baudoyer's  office,  and  there  found 
Dutocq,  Godard,  and  Bixiou  in  a  state  of  exasperation  which 
words  fail  to  describe ;  for  they  were  reading  the  rough  draft 
of  Eabourdin's  terrible  report. 

Bixiou  (pointing  to  a  passage).  "Here  you  are,  Saillard: 
'Saillard. — Cashiers  to  be  suppressed  throughout.  The  de- 
partments should  keep  accounts  current  with  the  Treas- 
ury. Saillard  is  well-to-do,  and  does  not  need  a  pen- 
sion.' Would  3'ou  like  to  see  your  son-in-law?"  (turns  over 
the  leaf.)  "Here  he  is:  'Baudoter. — Utterly  incompetent. 
Dismiss  without  pension;  he  is  well-to-do.'  And  our  friend 
Godard"  (turns  over  another  leaf).  "'Godard. — Dismiss. 
Pension  one-third  of  present  salary.'  In  short,  we  are  all 
here.  Here  am  I — 'An  artist  to  be  employed  at  the  Opera, 
the  Menus-Plaisirs,  or  the  Museum,  with  a  salary  from  the 
Civil  List.  Plenty  of  ability,  not  very  steady,  incapable  of 
application,  a  restless  disposition.'  Oh!  I  will  give  you 
enough  of  the  artist." 

Saillard.  "Cashiers  to  be  suppressed?  .  .  .  Why^ 
the  man  is  a  monster !" 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  357 

Bixiou.  "What  has  he  to  say  about  our  mysterious  Des- 
roys?"  {Turns  the  leaf  and  reads.)  " 'Deseots. — A  dan- 
gerous man,  in  that  he  holds  subversive  principles  that  cannot 
be  shaken.  As  a  son  of  a  member  of  the  Convention  he  ad- 
mires that  institution;  he  may  become  a  pernicious  pub- 
licist.' " 

Baudoyer.    "A  detective  is  not  so  clever." 

GoDARD.  "I  shall  go  at  once  to  the  Secretary-General  and 
lodge  a  complaint  in  form.  If  that  man  is  nominated,  we 
ought  all  to  resign  in  a  body." 

DuTOCQ.  "Listen,  gentlemen;  let  us  be  prudent.  If  you 
revolt  at  once,  we  should  be  accused  of  personal  motives  and 
a  desire  for  revenge.  ISTo,  let  the  rumor  spread;  and  when 
the  whole  service  rises  in  protest,  your  proceedings  will  meet 
with  general  support." 

Bixiou.  "Dutocq  works  on  the  principles  of  the  sublime 
Eossini's  great  aria  in  Basilio,  which  proves  that  the  mighty 
composer  is  a  politic  man.  This  seems  to  me  to  be  fair  and 
reasonable.  I  think  of  leaving  my  card  on  M.  Kabourdin  to- 
morrow morning;  I  shall  have  the  name  engraved  upon  it, 
and  the  titles  underneath:  'Bixiou. — Kot  very  steady,  in- 
capable of  application,  restless  disposition.'  " 

GoDAED.  "A  good  idea,  gentlemen.  Let  us  all  have  our 
cards  printed,  and  Kabourdin  shall  have  them  to-morrow 
morning." 

Baudoyer.  "M.  Bixiou,  will  you  undertake  these  little 
details,  and  see  that  the  plates  are  destroyed  after  a  single 
card  has  been  printed  from  each?" 

DuTOCQ  {taking  Bixiou  aside).  "Well,  will  you  draw  that 
caricature  now?" 

Bixiou.  "I  see,  my  dear  fellow,  that  you  have  been  in  the 
secret  for  ten  days."  {Looks  him  full  in  the  face.)  "Am 
I  going  to  be  chief  clerk's  assistant  ?" 

Dutocq.  "Yes,  upon  my  word  of  honor,  and  a  thousand 
francs  besides,  as  I  told  you.  You  do  not  know  what  a  ser- 
vice you  are  doing  to  powerful  personages." 

Bixiou.    "Do  you  know  them?" 

23 


358  THE  GOVERXMEISiT  CLERKS 

DUTOCQ.     *Tes." 

Bixiou.     "Very  well,  then,  I  want  to  speak  with  them.'' 
DuTOCQ  (drily).     "Do  the  caricature  or  let  it  alone;  you 
will  be  chief  clerk's  assistant,  or  you  will  not." 

Bixiou.  "Well,  then,  let  us  see  those  thousand  francs." 
DuTOCQ.  "You  shall  have  them  against  the  drawing." 
Bixiou.  "Go  ahead  I  The  caricature  shall  go  the  round 
of  the  offices  to-morrow.  So  let  us  make  fools  of  the  Rabour- 
dins!"  (To  Saillard,  Godard,  and  Baudoyer,  who  are  con- 
ferring in  whispers.)  "We  are  going  to  set  our  neighbors 
in  a  ferment."  (Goes  out  with  Dutocq,  and  crosses  over  to 
Rahourdin's  office.  At  sight  of  him,  Fleury  and  Thuillier 
show  signs  of  excitement.)  "Well,  gentlemen,  what  is  the 
matter?  All  that  I  told  you  just  now  is  so  true  that  you  may 
have  ocular  demonstration  at  this  moment  of  the  most  shame- 
ful delation.  Go  to  the  office  of  the  virtuous,  honest,  esti- 
mable, upright,  and  pious  Baudoyer;  he  is  'incompetent,' 
at  any  rate,  in  such  a  business  as  this !  Your  chief  has  in- 
vented a  sort  of  guillotine  for  clerks,  that  is  certain.  Go  and 
look  at  it,  follow  the  crowd,  there  is  nothing  to  pay  if  you  are 
not  satisfied,  you  shall  have  the  full  benefit  of  your  misfor- 
tune gratis.  What  is  more,  the  appointments  have  been  post- 
poned. The  offices  are  in  an  uproar;  and  Eabourdin  has 
just  heard  that  he  is  not  to  work  with  the  Minister  to-day. — 
Just  go !" 

Phellion  and  Poiret  stayed  behind.  Phellion  was  too  much 
attached  to  Eabourdin  to  go  in  search  of  proof  that  might 
injure  a  man  whom  he  had  no  wish  to  judge,  and  Poiret  was 
to  retire  in  five  days'  time.  Just  at  that  moment  Sebastien 
came  down  stairs  to  collect  some  papers  to  be  included  with 
the  documents  for  signature.  He  was  sufficiently  astonished 
to  find  the  office  empt}',  but  he  showed  no  sign  of  surprise. 

Phelliox  (rising  to  his  feet,  a  rare  event).  "My  young 
friend,  do  you  know  what  is  going  on  ?  what  rumors  are  cur- 
rent with  respect  to  Mosieur  Eabourdin,  to  whom  you  are  at- 
tached;  for  whom"  (loivering  his  voice  for  Sebastien's  ear), 
"for  whom  my  affection  is  as  great  as  my  esteem?  It  is  said 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  359 

that  he  has  been  so  imprudent  as  to  leave  a  report  of  the 

cleik*^  lying  about  somewhere "  (stops  suddenly  short,  for 

SehastieriHurns  as  pale  as  a  white  rose,  and  sinks  into  a  chair. 
■PheUion  is  obliged  to  hold  him  in  his  muscular  arms.)  "Pat 
a  key  down  his  back ;  Mosieur  Poiret !  have  you  a  key  ?" 

PoiRET.  "I  always  carry  my  door  key."  (Old  Poiret, 
junior,  pushes  his  hey  down  Sehastiens  collar;  PheUion 
brings  a  glass  of  cold  water.  The  poor  boy  opens  his  eyes, 
only  to  shed  a  torrent  of  tears;  he  lays  his  head  on  PheUion  s 
desk,  flings  himself  down  in  a  heap  as  if  stricken  by  light- 
ning, and  sobs  in  such  a  heartrending  fashion,  with  such  a 
genuine  outpouring  of  grief,  that  Poiret,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  is  touched  with  the  sorrow  of  a  fellow -creature.) 

Phellion  (raising  his  voice).  "Come,  come,  my  young 
friend !  bear  up  !  One  must  have  courage  in  a  great  crisis ! 
You  are  a  man.  What  is  the  matter?  What  is  there  to  up- 
set you  so  in  this  affair?  it  is  out  of  all  reason." 

Sebastiex  (through  his  sobs).  "I  have  ruined  M.  Ka- 
bourdin !  I  left  the  paper  about ;  I  had  been  copying  it ;  I 
have  ruined  my  benefactor.  This  will  kill  me !  Such  a  great 
man !    A  man  that  might  have  been  a  Minister !" 

Poiret  (blowing  his  nose).  "Then  he  really  made  the 
report  ?" 

S:^bastien"    (through    his   sobs).      "But   it   was   for 

There  !  I  am  telling  his  secrets  now  !  .  .  .  Oh  !  that  mis- 
erable Dutocq,  he  took  it " 

At  that  the  tears  and  sobs  began  afresh,  and  grew  so  vio- 
lent, that  Eabourdin  came  out  of  his  office,  recognized  the 
voice,  and  went  upstairs.  He  found  Sebastien,  half  swooning, 
like  a  figure  of  Christ,  in  the  arms  of  Phellion  and  Poiret; 
and  the  two  clerks,  with  countenances  distorted  by  compas- 
sion, grotesquely  playing  the  parts  of  the  Maries  in  the  com- 
position. 

Eabourdin.     "What  is  the  matter,  gentlemen?" 

Sebastien  (starting  up,  falls  on  his  knees  before  Eabour- 
din). "Oh,  sir,  I  have  ruined  you!  That  list!  Dutocq  is 
showing  it  about.     He  found  it  out,  no  doubt !" 


360  •  THE  GOTERNMENT  CLERKS 

Eabouedin  (composedly).  "I  knew  it."  {Raises  Sebas- 
tien  and  dratvs  him  aivay.)  "My  friend,  you  are  a  child!" 
( To  Phellion.)     "Where  are  they  all ?"' 

Phelliox.  "They  have  gone  to  M.  Baudoyer's  study,  sir, 
to  look  at  a  list  which  is  said " 

Eabourdix.  "That  will  do"  (goes  out  with  Sehastien. 
Poiret  and  PheUion,  overcome  with  astonishment,  looTc  at  one 
another,  completely  at  a  loss). 

FoiRET  {to  Phellioii).    "M.  Eabourdin!     .     .     ." 

Phelliox  {to  Poiret).     "M.  Eabourdin!     .     .     ." 

PoiEET.    "Well,  if  ever !    M.  Eabourdin !     .     .     ." 

Phellion.  "Did  you  see  how  he  looked — quite  calm  and 
dignified  in  spite  of  everything? " 

Poiret  {with  a  grimace  intended  for  a  knowing  air).  "I 
should  not  be  at  all  surprised  if  there  were  something  at  the 
bottom  of  all  this.'* 

Phellion.  "A  man  of  honor,  blameless  and  stainless " 

Poiret.    "And  how  about  Dutocq?" 

Phelliox.  "Mosieur  Poiret,  you  think  as  I  think  about 
Dutocq;  do  you  not  understand  me?"' 

Poiret  {with  two  or  three  little  knowing  nods).    "Yes." 

The  others  come  hack. 

Fleury.  "This  is  coming  it  strong !  I  have  seen  it  with 
my  own  eyes,  and  yet  I  can't  believe  it !  M.  Eabourdin,  the 
best  of  men !  Upon  my  word,  if  such  as  he  can  play  the 
sneak,  it  is  enough  to  sicken  you  with  virtue.  I  used  to  put 
Eabourdin  among  Plutarch's  heroes." 

Vimeux.    "Oh !  it  is  true." 

Poiret  {bethinking  himself  that  he  has  but  five  days  to 
stay).  "But,  gentlemen,  what  do  you  say  about  the  man 
that  lay  in  wait  for  M.  Eabourdin  and  stole  the  papers?" 

Dutocq  slips  out  of  the  room. 

Fleury.    "A  Judas  Iscariot !    Who  is  he  ?" 

Phellion  {adroitly).  "He  is  not  among  us,  that  is  cer- 
tain." 

Vimeux  {an  idea  beginning  to  dawn  upon  him).  "It  is 
Dutocq !" 


THE  GOVERNMENf  CLERKS  361 

Phellion.  "I  have  seen  no  proof  whatever,  mosieur. 
While  you  were  out  of  the  room,  that  young  fellow,  M.  de  la 
Roche,  came  in  and  was  nearly  heartbroken  over  it.  Look, 
you  see  his  tears  on  my  desk." 

PoiRET.    "He  swooned  in  our  arms Oh  !  my  door-key ; 

dear,  dear!  it  is  still  down  his  back!"  {goes  out.) 

ViMEux.  "The  Minister  would  not  work  to-day  with  M. 
Eabourdin ;  the  head  of  the  staff  came  to  say  a  word  or  two 
to  M.  Saillard ;  M.  Baudoyer  was  advised  to  make  application 
for  the  Cross  of  the'Legion  of  Honor ;  one  will  be  granted  to 
the  division  at  New  Year,  and  it  is  to  go  to  M.  Baudoyer. 
Is  that  clear  ?  M.  Eabourdin  is  sacrificed  by  the  very  people 
for  whom  he  worked.  That  is  what  Bixiou  says.  We  were  all 
dismissed  except  Phellion  and  Sebastien." 

Du  Bruel  (comes  in).    "Well,  gentlemen,  is  it  true?" 

Thuillier.    "Strictly  true." 

Du  Bruel.  "Good-day,  gentlemen"  (puts  on  his  hat  and 
goes  out). 

Thuillier.  "That  vaudevilliste  does  not  waste  time  on 
file-firing;  he  is  off  to  the  Due  de  Ehetore  and  the  Due  de 
Mauf rigneuse,  but  he  may  run !  Colleville  is  to  be  our  chief, 
they  say." 

Phellion.  "Yet  he  seemed  to  be  attached  to  M.  Ea- 
bourdin." 

Poiret  (returns).  "I  had  all  the  trouble  in  the  world  to 
get  back  my  door-key.  The  youngster  is  crying,  and  M.  Ea- 
bourdin has  completely  disappeared.  (Dutocq  and  Bixiou 
come  in  together.) 

Bixiou.  "Well,  gentlemen,  queer  things  are  happening 
in  your  office !  Du  Bruel !" — (looks  into  du  BrueVs  cabinet.) 
"Gone?" 

Thuillier.    "Out." 

Bixiou.     "And  Eabourdin?" 

Fleury.  "Melted  away,  evaporated,  vanished  in  smoke! 
To  think  that  such  a  man,  the  best  of  men ! " 

Poiret  (to  Dutocq).  "That  youngster  Sebastien,  in  his 
grief,  accused  you  of  taking  the  work,  M.  Dutocq,  ten  days 
ago—" 


362  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

Bixiou  {looking  at  Dutocq).  "My  dear  fellow,  you  must 
clear  yourself"  {all  the  clerks  stare  at  Dutocq). 

Dutocq,    "Where  is  the  little  viper  that  was  copying  it?'' 

Bixiou.  "How  do  you  know  that  he  was  copying  it? 
Nothing  but  a  diamond  can  cut  a  diamond,  my  dear  fellow !'' 
{Dutocq  goes  out.) 

PoiRET.  "Look  here,  M.  Bixiou ;  I  have  only  five  days  and 
a  half  to  stay  in  the  office,  and  I  should  like  for  once — just 
for  once — ^to  have  the  pleasure  of  understanding  you.  Do 
me  the  honor  to  explain  where  the  diamond  comes  in  under 
the  circumstances."' 

Bixiou.  "It  means,  old  man  (for  I  am  quite  willing  to 
descend  to  your  level  for  once),  it  means  that  as  the  diamond 
alone  can  polish  the  diamond,  so  none  but  a  pry  is  a  match 
for  his  like." 

Fleury.    "  Try'  in  this  case  being  put  for  'spy.'  " 

PoiRET.    "I  do  not  understand " 

Bixiou.    "Oh,  well,  another  time  you  will." 

M.  Rabourdin  had  hurried  away  to  the  Minister.  His  Ex- 
cellency was  at  the  Chamber.  Thither,  accordingly,  Eabour- 
din  went  and  wrote  a  few  lines,  but  the  Minister  was  on  his 
legs  in  the  midst  of  a  hot  discussion.  Eabourdin  waited,  not 
in  the  Salle  des  Conferences,  but  outside  in  the  courtyard; 
he  decided  in  spite  of  the  cold  to  take  up  his  post  by  His 
Excellency's  carriage,  and  to  speak  with  him  as  he  came  out. 
The  sergeant-at-arms  told  him  that  a  storm  had  been  brewed 
by  the  nineteen  members  of  the  Extreme  Left,  and  there  had 
been  a  scene  in  the  House.  Eabourdin  meanwhile,  in  fever- 
ish excitement,  paced  up  and  down  in  the  courtyard.  He 
waited  for  five  mortal  hours.  At  half-past  six  the  House  rose, 
and  the  Minister's  chasseur  came  out  with  a  message  for  the 
coachman. 

"Hey,  Jean !  His  Excellency  has  gone  to  the  Palace  with 
the  Minister  of  War;  they  will  dine  together  afterwards. 
We  are  to  fetch  them  at  ten  o'clock.  There  is  to  be  a  meeting 
of  the  council." 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  363 

Slowly  Eabourdin  walked  home  again  in  a  state  of  exhaus- 
tion easy  to  imagine.  It  was  seven  o'clock.  He  had  barely 
time  to  dress. 

"Well !"  his  wife  cried  joyously,  as  he  came  into  the  draw- 
ing-room.    "You  have  the  appointment  now." 

Rabourdin  raised  his  head  in  melancholy  anguish.  "I  am 
very  much  afraid  that  I  shall  never  set  foot  in  the  office 
again." 

"What !"  cried  his  wife,  trembling  with  cruel  anxiety. 

"That  memorandum  of  mine  on  the  staff  has  been  the 
round  of  the  department ;  I  tried  to  speak  with  the  Minister, 
and  could  not." 

A  vision  flashed  before  Celestine's  eyes;  some  demon  flung 
a  sudden  lurid  light  upon  her  last  conversation  with  des 
Lupeaulx. 

"If  I  had  behaved  like  a  vulgar  woman,"  she  thought,  "we 
should  have  had  the  place." 

She  gazed  at  Rabourdin  with  something  like  anguish. 
There  was  a  dreary  silence,  and  at  dinner  both  were  absorbed 
in  musings. 

"And  it  is  our  Wednesday !"  she  exclaimed. 

"All  is  not  lost,  dear  Celestine,"  he  answered,  putting  a 
kiss  upon  her  forehead;  "I  may  perhaps  see  the  Minister  to- 
morrow morning,,  and  all  will  be  cleared  up.  Sebastien  sat 
up  late  last  night,  all  the  fair  copies  are  made  and  in  order. 
I  will  put  the  whole  thing  on  the  Minister's  desk,  and  beg  him 
to  go  through  it  with  me.  La  Briere  will  help  me.  A  man 
is  never  condemned  without  a  hearing." 

"I  am  curious  to  see  whether  M.  des  Lupeaulx  will  come  to 
us  to-day." 

"He ! — Of  course  he  will  come,  he  will  not  fail.  There  is 
something  of  the  tiger  in  him — he  loves  to  lick  the  blood 
after  he  has  given  the  wound." 

"My  poor  love,  I  do  not  know  how  a  man  that  could  think 
of  so  grand  a  reform  should  not  see,  at  the  same  time,  that 
no  one  must  hear  of  it.  Some  ideas  a  man  must  keep  within 
himself,  because  he,  and  he  alone,  can  carry  them  out.    You, 


364  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

in  your  sphere,  should  have  done  as  Napoleon  did  in  his;  he 
bent  and  twisted  and  crawled — yes,  crawled  ! — for  Bonaparte 
married  Barras'  mistress  to  gain  a  command.  You  should 
have  waited;  you  should  have  been  elected  as  a  deputy;  you 
should  have  watched  the  political  changes,  now  in  the  trough 
of  the  sea,  now  on  the  crest  of  a  wave;  you  should  have 
adopted  M.  de  Villele's  Italian  motto  Col  tempo,  otherwise 
rendered,  'All  things  come  round  to  him  that  will  but  wait.' 
For  seven  years  it  has  been  M.  de  Villele's  aim  to  be  in  office ; 
he  took  the  first  step  in  1814,  when  he  was  just  your  present 
age,  with  a  protest  against  the  Charter.  That  is  your  mis- 
take; you  have  been  ready  to  act  under  orders;  you  were 
made  to  issue  them." 

The  arrival  of  Schinner  the  painter  put  an  end  to  this  talk, 
but  Rabourdin  grew  thoughtful  over  his  wife's  words. 

Schinner  grasped  his  hand.  "An  artist's  devotion  is  of  very 
little  use,  ray  dear  fellow;  but  at  such  times  as  these  we  are 
staunch,  we  artists.  I  got  an  evening  paper.  Baudoyer  is 
to  be  director,  I  see,  and  he  is  to  have  the  Cross  of  the  Legion 
of  Honor.'' 

"I  am  first  in  order  of  seniority,  and  I  have  been  twenty- 
four  years  in  the  service,"  smiled  Eabourdin. 

"I  know  M.  le  Comte  de  Serizy,  the  Minister  of  State, 
pretty  well ;  if  you  like  to  make  use  of  bin],  I  can  see  him," 
said  Schinner. 

The  rooms  were  filled  with  persons  who  knew  nothing  of 
the  movements  of  the  administration.  Du  Bruel  did  not  ap- 
pear. Mme.  Rabourdin  was  more  charming,  and  in  higher 
spirits  than  usual ;  the  horse,  wounded  on  the  battlefield,  will 
summon  up  all  its  strength  to  carry  its  master. 

The  women  behaved  charmingly  to  her,  now  that  she  was 
defeated. 

"She  is  very  brave,"  said  some. 

"And  yet  she  was  very  attentive  to  des  Lupeaulx,"  the 
Baronne  du  Chatelet  remarked  to  the  Vicomtesse  de  Fon- 
taine. 

"Then  do  you  think " 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  365 

"If  SO,  M.  Rabourdin  would  at  least  have  had  the  Cross," 
said  Mme.  de  Camps,  defending  her  friend. 

Towards  ten  o'clock  des  Lupeaulx  appeared.  To  give  an 
idea  of  his  appearance,  it  can  only  be  said  that  his  spectacles 
looked  melancholy,  while  there  was  laughter  in  his  eyes;  the 
glass  veiled  their  expression  so  completely,  that  no  one  but 
a  physiognomist  could  have  seen  the  diabolical  gleam  in 
them.  He  grasped  Rabourdin's  hand,  and  Rabourdin  could 
only  submit  to  the  pressure. 

"We  must  have  some  talk  together  by  and  by,"  he  said, 
as  he  seated  himself  beside  the  fair  Rabourdin,  who  behaved 
to  admiration. — "Ah !  you  are  great,"  he  said,  with  a  side 
glance  at  her;  "I  find  you  as  I  imagined  you — sublime  in 
defeat.  Do  you  know  how  very  seldom  people  respond  to  our 
expectations  of  them !  And  so  you  are  not  overwhelmed  by 
defeat.  You  are  right,  we  shall  triumph,"  he  continued, 
lowering  his  voice.  "Your  fate  will  always  be  in  your  own 
hands  so  long  as  you  have  an  ally  in  a  man  who  worships 
you.     We  will  hold  a  council." 

"But  Baudoyer  is  appointed,  is  he  not?" 

"Yes." 

"And  the  Cross?" 

"Not  yet,  but  he  is  going  to  have  it." 

"Well?" 

"You  do  not  understand  policy." 

To  Mme.  Rabourdin  it  seemed  as  if  that  evening  would 
never  come  to  an  end.  Meanwhile,  in  the  Place  Royale  a 
comedy  was  being  played,  a  comedy  that  is  always  repeated 
in  seven  different  salons  after  every  change  of  government. 
The  Saillards'  sitting-room  was  full.  M.  and  Mme.  Transon 
came  at  eight  o'clock.  Mme.  Transon  kissed  Mme.  Baudoyer 
nee  Saillard.  M.  Bataille,  the  captain  in  the  ISTational  Guard, 
came  with  his  wife  and  the  cure  of  Saint-Paul's. 

"M.  Baudoyer,  I  want  to  be  the  first  to  congratulate  you," 
said  Mme.  Transon;  "your  talents  have  met  with  their 
deserts.     Well,  you  have  fairly  earned  your  advancement." 

"So  now  you  are  a  director,"  added  M.  Transon,  rubbing 
his  hands ;  "it  is  a  great  honor  for  the  Quarter." 


36C^  THE  GOVERNMENT  (M.ERKS 

"And  without  scheming  for  it,  oue  may  say  iudeed,"  cried 
old  Saillard.  "We  are  not  intriguers;  we  do  not  go  to  the 
Minister's  parties.'' 

Uncle  Mitral  rubbed  his  nose,  and  smiled  and  looked  at 
his  niece;  Elizabeth  was  talking  with  Gigonnet.  Falleix 
did  not  know  what  to  think  of  the  blindness  of  Saillard  and 
Baudoyer.  Dutocq,  Bixiou,  du  Bruel,  and  Godard  came  in, 
followed  by  Colleville,  now  chief  clerk. 

"What  chumps !"  said  Bixiou,  in  an  undertone  for  du 
Bruel's  benefit.  "What  a  fine  caricature  one  might  make 
of  them — a  lot  of  flat  fish,  stock-fish,  and  winkles  all  dancing 
a  saraband." 

"M.  le  Directeur,"  began  Colleville,  "I  have  come  to  con- 
gratulate you,  or  rather  we  all  congratulate  ourselves  upon 
your  appointment,  and  we  have  come  to  assure  you  of  our 
zealous  co-operation." 

M.  and  Mme.  Baudoyer,  Isidore's  father  and  mother,  were 
there,  to  enjoy  the  triumph  of  their  son  and  his  wife.  Uncle 
Bidault  had  dined  at  home ;  his  little  twinkling  eyes  dismayed 
Bixiou. 

"There  is  a  character  that  would  do  for  a  vaudeville,"  he 
said,  pointing  him  out  to  du  Bruel.  "What  does  that  fellow 
sell?  Such  an  odd  fish  ought  to  be  hung  out  for  a  sign  at 
the  door  of  an  old  curiosity  shop.  What  a  greatcoat !  I 
thought  that  no  one  but  Poiret  could  keep  such  a  thing  on 
exhibition  after  ten  j^ears  of  exposure  to  the  inclemencies  of 
the  seasons." 

."Baudoyer  is  magnificent,"  said  du  Bruel. 

"Stunning!"  returned  Bixiou. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Baudoyer,  "this  is  my  own  uncle,  M. 
Mitral ;  and  this  is  my  wife's  great-uncle,  M.  Bidault !'' 

Gigonnet  and  Mitral  looked  keenly  at  the  clerks;  the 
metallic  gleam  of  gold  seemed  to  glitter  in  the  old  men's 
eyes ;  it  impressed  the  two  scoffers. 

"Did  you  take  a  good  look  at  that  pair  of  uncles,  eh?" 
asked  Bixiou,  as  they  walked  under  the  arcades  of  the  Palais 
Royal.     "Two  specimens  of  the  genus  Shyloek.     They  go  the 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  367 

Market,  I  will  be  bound,  and  lend  money  at  a  hundred  per 
cent  per  week.  They  lend  on  pledges,  traffic  in  clothes,  gold 
lace,  cheese,  women  and  children;*  they  be  Arabs,  they  be 
Greeks,  they  be  Genoese-Genevese-Lombard  Jews;  brought 
forth  by  a  Tartar  and  suckled  by  a  she-wolf." 

"Uncle  Mitral  was  a  bailiff  once,  I  am  certain,"  said 
Godard. 

"There,  you  see !"  said  du  Bruel. 

"I  must  just  go  and  see  the  sheets  pulled  off,"  continued 
Bixiou;  "but  I  should  dearly  like  to  make  a  careful  study  of 
M.  Eabourdin's  salon ;  you  are  very  lucky,  du  Bruel,  you  can 
go  there." 

"I  ?"  said  du  Bruel ;  "what  should  I  do  there  ?  My  face 
does  not  lend  itself  to  the  expression  of  condolence.  And  be- 
sides, it  is  very  vulgar  nowadays  to  dance  attendance  on  per- 
sons out  of  office." 

At  midnight  Mme.  Eabourdin's  drawing-room  was  empty; 
three  persons  only  remained — des  Lupeaulx  and  the  master 
and  mistress  of  the  house.  When  Schinner  went,  and  M. 
and  Mme.  Octave  de  Camps  had  taken  their  leave,  des 
Lupealx  rose  with  a  mysterious  air,  stood  with  his  back  to  the 
clock,  and  looked  at  the  husband  and  wife  in  turn. 

"Nothing  is  lost,  my  friends,"  he  said,  "for  we  remain  to 
you — the  Minister  and  I.  Dutoeq,  put  between  two  powers, 
chose  the  stronger,  as  it  seemed  to  him.  He  served  the  Grand 
Almonry  and  the  Court  and  played  me  false;  it  is  all  in  the 
day's  work,  a  man  in  politics  never  complains  of  treachery. 
Still,  Baudoyer  is  sure  to  be  cashiered  in  a  few  months'  time 
and  transferred  to  the  Prefecture  of  Police,  for  the  Grand 
Almonry  will  not  desert  him." 

With  that,  des  Lupeaulx  broke  out  into  a  long  tirade  over 
the  Grand  Almonry,  and  expatiated  on  the  risks  run  by  a 
Government  that  looked  to  the  Church  and  the  Jesuits  for 
support.  Still,  it  is  worth  while  to  point  out  that,  though 
the  Liberal  papers  laid  such  stress  upon  the  influence  of  Court 
patronage  and  the  Grand  Almonry,  neither  of  these  counted 
for  much  in  Baudoyer's  promotion.     Petty  intrigue  died  away 


368  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

in  the  higher  spheres  because  greater  questions  were  at  stake. 
Perhaps  M.  Gaudron's  importunities  extorted  a  few  words 
in  Baudoyer's  favor,  but  at  the  Minister's  first  remark  the 
matter  was  allowed  to  drop.  Passion  in  itself  did  the  work 
of  a  very  efficient  spy  among  the  members  of  the  Congrega- 
tion; they  used  to  denounce  each  other.  And  surely  it  was 
permissible  to  oppose  that  society  to  the  brazen-fronted  fra- 
ternity of  the  doctrine  summed  up  by  the  formula,  "Heaven 
helps  him  who  helps  himself."  As  for  the  occult  power  ex- 
ercised by  the  Congregation,  it  was  for  the  most  part  wielded 
by  subordinates  who  used  the  name  of  that  body  to  conjure 
with  for  their  private  ends.  Liberal  rancor,  in  fact,  delighted 
to  represent  the  Grand  Almonry  as  a  giant;  in  politics,  in  the 
administration,  in  the  army  or  the  civil  service.  Fear  always 
makes  idols  for  itself.  At  this  moment  Baudoyer  believed  in 
the  Grand  Almonry,  and  all  the  while  the  only  almonry  that 
befriended  him  held  its  sessions  at  the  Cafe  Themis.  There 
are  times  in  the  history  of  the  world  when  everything  that 
happens  amiss  is  set  down  to  the  account  of  some  one  in- 
stitution, or  man  in  power;  nobody  will  give  them  credit 
for  their  abilities,  they  serve  as  synonyms  and  equivalent 
terms  for  crass  stupidity.  As  M.  de  Talleyrand  was  sup- 
posed to  hail  every  political  event  with  an  epigram,  so  in  the 
same  manner  the  Grand  Almonry  did  and  undid  everything  at 
this  period.  Unluckily,  it  did  and  undid  nothing  whatever. 
Its  influence  was  not  in  the  hands  of  a  Cardinal  Eichelieu 
or  a  Cardinal  Mazarin ;  it  fell,  on  the  contrary,  to  a  sort  of 
Cardinal  Fleury,  the  kind  of  man  that  is  timid  for  five  years 
and  rash  for  a  day.  At  Saint-Merri,  at  a  later  day,  the 
doctrine  above-mentioned  did  with  impunity  what  Charles  X. 
only  attempted  to  do  in  July  1830.  If  the  proviso  as  to  the 
censorship  had  not  been  so  stupidly  inserted  in  the  new 
Charter,  journalism  also  would  have  seen  its  Saint-Merri. 
The  Orleans  Branch  would  have  carried  out  the  scheme  of 
Charles  X.,  with  the  law  at  its  back. 

"Stop  on  under  Baudoyer,  summon  up  courage  for  that," 
continued  des  Ijupeaulx,  "be  a  true  politician,  put  generous 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  369 

thoughts  and  impulses  aside,  confine  yourself  to  your  duty. 
say  not  a  word  to  your  director,  never  give  him  advice,  and  act 
only  upon  his  orders.  In  three  months'  time  Baudoyer  will 
leave  the  department ;  they  will  either  dismiss  him  or  transfer 
him  to  some  other  sphere  of  activity.  Perhaps  he  may  go  to 
the  Household,  Twice  in  my  life  I  have  been  buried  under  an 
avalanche  of  folly  in  this  way;  I  let  it  go  by." 

"Yes,"  said  Eabourdin,  "Tjut  you  were  not  slandered, 
your  honor  was  not  involved,  you  were  not  compromised " 

Des  Lupeaulx  interrupted  him  with  a  peal  of  Homeric 
laughter.  "Why,  that  is  the  daily  bread  of  every  man  of 
mark  in  the  whole  fair  realm  of  France  !  There  are  two  ways 
of  taking  it ;  you  can  go  under,  which  means  you  pack  your- 
self off  and  plant  cabbages  somewhere  or  other;  or  you  rise 
above  it,  and  walk  fearlessly  on  without  so  much  as  turning 
your  head." 

"In  my  omti  case,"  said  Eabourdin,  "there  is  but  one  way 
of  untying  the  slip-knot  which  espionage  and  treachery  have 
tightened  about  my  neck ;  it  is  this — I  must  have  an  explana- 
tion with  the  Minister  at  once;  and  if  you  are  as  sincerely 
attached  to  me  as  you  say,  it  is  in  your  power  to  bring  me  face 
to  face  with  him  to-morrow." 

"Do  you  wish  to  lay  your  plan  of  administrative  reform 
before  him?" 

Eabourdin  bowed. 

"Very  well  then,  intrust  your  projects  and  memoranda 
to  me,  and  he  shall  spend  the  night  over  them,  I  will  en- 
gage." 

"Then  let  us  go  together,"  Eabourdin  answered  quickly; 
"for  after  six  years  of  work,  at  least  I  may  expect  the  gratifica- 
tion of  explaining  it  for  an  hour  or  two  to  a  member  of  His 
Majesty's  Government,  for  the  Minister  cannot  choose  but 
commend  my  perseverance." 

Des  Lupeaulx  hesitated  for  a  moment ;  Eabourdin's  tenacity 
of  purpose  had  put  him  on  a  road  in  which  there  was  no  cover 
for  duplicity,  so  he  looked  at  Mme.   Eabourdin.     "Which 


370  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

shall  turn  the  scale?"  he  asked  himself — "my  hatred  of 
him,  my  liking  for  her?" 

"If  you  cannot  trust  me,"  he  returned  after  a  pause,  "I 
can  see  that,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  you  will  always  be  the 
writer  of  that  'secret  note." — Good-bye,  madame." 

Mme.  Eabourdin  bowed  coldly.  Celestine  and  Xavier  went 
to  their  own  rooms  without  a  word,  so  heavily  their  mis- 
fortune lay  upon  them.  The  wife  thought  of  her  own  un- 
pleasant position.  The  chief  clerk  was  making  up  his  mind 
never  to  set  foot  in  the  office  again ;  he  was  lost  in  far-reach- 
ing thoughts.  This  step  was  to  change  the  course  of  his 
life ;  he  must  strike  out  a  new  path.  He  sat  all  night  before 
his  fire;  Celestine,  in  her  night-dress,  stole  in  on  tiptoe  now 
and  again,  but  he  did  not  see  her. 

"Since  I  must  go  back  for  the  last  time  to  take  away  my 
papers  and  to  put  Baudoyer  in  possession,  let  us  try  the  effect 
of  my  resignation." 

He  drafted  his  resignation,  meditated  over  his  expressions, 
and  wrote  the  following  letter: 

"MoNSEiGNEUR, — I  have  the  honor  to  enclose  my  resigna- 
tion in  the  same  cover;  but  I  venture  to  believe  that  your 
Excellency  will  recollect  that  I  said  that  I  had  placed  my 
honor  in  your  hands,  and  that  an  immediate  explanation  was 
necessary.  The  explanation  which  I  implored  in  vain  would 
probably  now  be  useless,  for  a  fragment  of  my  work  has  been 
surreptitiously  taken  and  distorted  and  misinterpreted  by 
malevolence,  and  I  am  compelled  to  withdraw  before  the  tacit 
censure  of  those  in  authority.  Your  Excellency  may  have 
thought,  when  I  tried  to  obtain  an  interview  that  morning, 
that  I  wished  to  speak  of  my  own  advancement,  whereas  I 
was  thinking  only  of  the  honor  of  your  Excellency's  depart- 
ment and  the  public  good;  it  is  of  some  consequence  to  me 
that  your  Excellency  should  lie  under  no  misapprehen- 
sion on  this  head,"  and  the  letter  ended  with  the  usual 
formulas. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  371 

By  half-past  seven  o'clock  the  sacrifice  had  been  made, 
the  whole  manuscript  had  been  burned.  Tired  out  with 
thought  and  overcome  by  moral  suffering,  Eabourdin  fell 
into  a  doze,  with  his  head  resting  on  the  back  of  the  armchair. 
A  strange  sensation  awakened  him;  he  felt  hot  tears  falling 
on  his  hands,  and  saw  his  wife  kneeling  beside  him.  Celestine 
had  come  in  and  read  the  letter.  She  understood  the  full 
extent  of  their  ruin.  They  were  reduced  to  live  upon  four 
thousand  livres;  and  reckoning  up  her  debts,  she  found  that 
they  amounted  to  thirty-two  thousand  francs.  It  was  the 
most  sordid  poverty  of  all.  And  the  noble  man  that  had 
put  such  trust  in  her  had  no  suspicion  of  the  way  in  which 
she  had  abused  his  confidence.  Celestine,  fair  as  the 
Magdalen,  was  sobbing  at  his  feet. 

"The  misfortune  is  complete,"  Xavier  exclaimed  in  his 
disma}^;  "dishonored  in  the  department,  dishonored " 

A  gleam  of  stainless  honor  fiashed  from  Celestine's  eyes; 
she  sprang  up  like  a  frightened  horse,  her  eyes  flashed  light- 
nings. 

"I,  If"  she  cried  in  sublime  tones.  "Am  I  too  an  or- 
dinary wife?  If  I  had  faltered,  would  you  not  have  had 
your  appointment?  But  it  is  easier  to  believe  that  than  to 
believe  the  truth." 

"What  is  it  ?"  asked  Eabourdin. 

"You  shall  have  it  all  in  a  few  words,"  said  she ;  "we  owe 
thirty  thousand  francs." 

Eabourdin  caught  her  to  him  in  a  frenzy  of  joy,  and  made 
her  sit  on  his  knee. 

"Never  mind,  darling,"  he  said,  and  a  great  kindness  that 
slid  into  the  tones  of  his  voice  changed  the  bitterness  of  her 
tears  into  something  vaguely  and  strangely  sweet.  "I  too 
have  made  mistakes.  I  worked  for  my  country  to  very  little 
purpose;  when  I  thought,  at  any  rate,  I  might  have  done 
something  worth  the  doing.  .  .  .  Now  I  will  start  out 
on  a  new  path.  If  I  had  sold  spices  all  this  while,  we  should 
be  millionaires  by  now.  Very  well,  let  us  sell  spices.  You 
are  only  twenty-eight  years  old,  my  darling.     In  ten  years' 


372  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

time,  hard  work  will  give  you  back  the  luxury  that  you  love, 
though  we  must  give  it  up  now  for  a  little  while.  I  too, 
darling,  am  not  an  ordinary  husband.  We  will  sell  the  farm ; 
the  value  of  the  land  has  been  going  up  for  seven  years ;  the 
surplus  and  the  furniture  will  pay  my  debts.'"' 

In  Celestine's  kiss  there  was  love  given  back  a  thousand- 
fold for  that  generous  word. 

"And  then  we  shall  have  a  hundred  thousand  francs  to 
put  into  some  business  or  other.  In  a  month's  time  I  shall 
find  an  investment.  If  Saillard  happened  upon  a  Martin 
Falleix,  chance  cannot  fail  us.  Wait  breakfast  for  me.  I 
will  come  back  from  the  Minister  with  my  neck  free  of  that 
miserable  yoke." 

Celestine  held  her  husband  in  a  tight  clasp,  with  super- 
human force ;  for  the  might  of  love  gives  a  woman  more  than 
a  man's  strength,  more  power  than  the  utmost  transports  of 
rage  give  to  the  strong.  She  was  laughing  and  crying,  talk- 
ing and  sobbing  all  at  once. 

When  Eabourdin  went  out  at  eight  o'clock,  the  porter 
handed  him  the  burlesque  visiting-cards  sent  in  by  Baudoyer, 
Bixiou,  Godard,  and  the  rest.  Nevertheless,  he  went  to  the 
office,  and  found  Sebastien  waiting  for  him  at  the  door;  the 
lad  begged  him  not  to  attempt  to  enter  the  place,  a  scurrilous 
caricature  was  being  handed  about. 

"If  you  wish  to  alleviate  the  bitterness  of  my  fall,  bring 
me  that  drawing ;  for  I  am  just  taking  my  resignation  myself 
to  Ernest  de  la  Briere,  so  that  it  may  not  be  twisted  out  of  all 
knowledge  on  its  way  to  headquarters.  I  have  my  reasons 
for  asking  to  see  the  caricature." 

Eabourdin  waited  till  he  was  sure  that  his  letter  was  in 
the  Minister's  hands;  then  he  went  down  to  the  courtyard. 
Sebastien  gave  him  the  lithographed  drawing  (of  which  a 
sketch  is  given  here).     There  were  tears  in  the  boy's  eyes. 

"It  is  very  clever,"  said  Eabourdin,  and  the  face  that  he 
turned  upon  the  supernumerary  was  as  serene  as  the  Saviour's 
brow  beneath  the  crown  of  thorns. 

He  walked  in  quietly  as  usual,  and  went  straight  to  Bau- 


(373) 


374  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

doyer's  general  office  to  give  the  necessary  explanations  be- 
fore that  slave  of  red-tape  entered  upon  his  new  duties  as 
director. 

"Tell  M.  Baudoyer  there  is  no  time  to  lose,"  he  added 
before  Godard  and  the  clerks.  "My  resignation  is  now  in 
the  Ministers  hands,  and  I  do  not  choose  to  stay  in  the  office 
five  minutes  longer  than  I  can  help." 

Then  catching  sight  of  Bixiou,  Eabourdin  walked  up  to 
him,  held  out  the  drawing,  and  said,  to  the  astonishment  of 
the  clerks: 

"Was  I  not  right  when  I  said  that  you  were  an  artist? 
Only  it  is  a  pity  that  you  used  your  pencil  against  a  man 
whom  it  was  impossible  to  judge  in  such  a  manner,  or  in  the 
offices.  But  people  ridicule  everything  in  France — even  God 
Himself." 

With  that  he  drew  Baudo3^er  into  the  late  la  Billardiere's 
rooms.  At  the  door  he  met  Phellion  and  Sebastien.  They 
alone  dared  to  show  that  they  were  faithful  to  the  accused, 
even  in  this  great  shipwreck.  Eabourdin  saw  the  tears  in 
Phellion's  eyes,  and  in  spite  of  himself  he  wrung  the  clerk's 
hand. 

"Mosieur,"  the  good  fellow  said,  "if  we  can  be  of  any  use 
whatever,  command  us " 

"Come  in,  my  friends,"  Eabourdin  said  with  a  gracious 
dignity. — "Sebastien,  my  boy,  send  in  your  resignation  by 
Laurent;  you  are  sure  to  be  implicated  in  the  slander  that 
has  driven  me  from  my  place,  but  I  will  take  care  of  your 
future.     We  will  go  together." 

Sebastien  burst  into  tears. 

M.  Eabourdin  closeted  himself  with  M.  Baudoyer  in  the 
late  la  Billardiere's  room,  and  Phellion  assisted  him  to  ex- 
plain the  difficulties  of  the  position  to  the  new  head  of  the 
division.  With  each  new  file  of  papers  displayed  by  Eabour- 
din, with  the  opening  of  every  pasteboard  case,  Baudoyer's 
little  eyes  grew  large  as  saucers. 

"Good-day,  monsieur,"  concluded  Eabourdin,  with  ironical 
gravity. 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  375 

Sebastien  meantime  made  up  a  packet  of  papers  belonging 
to  the  chief  clerk,  and  took  them  away  in  a  cab.  Eabourdin 
crossed  the  great  courtyard  to  wait  on  the  Minister.  All  the 
clerks  in  the  building  were  at  the  windows.  Eabourdin 
waited  for  a  few  minutes,  but  the  Minister  made  no  sign. 
Then,  accompanied  by  Phellion  and  Sebastien,  he  went  out. 
Phellion  bravely  went  as  far  as  the  Eue  Duphot  with  the 
fallen  official,  by  way  of  expressing  his  admiration  and 
respect;  then  he  returned  to  his  desk,  quite  satisfied  with 
himself.  He  had  paid  funeral  honors  to  a  great  unappreci- 
ated talent  for  administration. 

Bixiou  (as  Phellion  comes  in).  "Victrix  causa  diis 
placuit,  sed  victa  Catoni." 

Phellion.     "Yes,  monsieur." 

PoiRET.     "What  does  that  mean  ?" 

Fleury.  "It  means  that  the  clericals  rejoice,  and  that 
M.  Eabourdin  goes  out  with  the  esteem  of  all  men  of 
honor." 

DuTOCQ  {nettled).  "You  talked  very  differently  yester- 
day." 

Fleuet,  "Say  another  word  to  me,  and  you  shall  feel  my 
fist  in  your  face.  You  sneaked  M.  Eabourdin's  work,  that 
is  certain!"  (Dutocq  goes  out.)  "Now,  go  and  complain 
to  your  M.  des  Lupeaulx,  you  spy !" 

Bixiou  {grinning  and  grimacing  like  a  monJcey).  "I  am 
curious  to  see  how  the  division  will  get  on.  M.  Eabourdin 
was  such  a  remarkable  man,  that  he  must  have  had  some- 
thing in  view  when  he  made  that  list.  The  department  is 
losing  an  uncommonly  clever  head"   {rubbing  his  hands). 

Laurent.     "M.  Fleury  is  wanted  in  the  secretary's  office." 

Omnes.     "Sacked !" 

Fleury  {from  the  door).  "It  is  all  one  to  me;  I  have  got 
a  berth  as  a  responsible  editor.  I  can  lounge  about  all  day, 
or  find  something  amusing  to  do  in  the  newspaper  office." 

Bixiou.  "Dutocq  has  had  poor  old  Desroys  dismissed 
already;  he  was  accused  of  wanting  to  cut  off  people's 
heads " 


376  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

Thuillier.     "Les  tetes  des  roisf  (Desroys.) 
Bixiou.     "Accept  my  congratulations.     That  is  neat." 
Enter  Colleville    {exultant).     "Gentlemen,   I   am  your 
chief  clerk !" 

Thuillier  {embracing  him).     "Oh,  my  friend,  if  I  were 
chief  myself,  I  should  not  be  so  pleased !" 

Bixiou.     "His  wife  did  that  stroke  of  business,  but  it  is 
not  a  master-stroke." 

PoiRET.  "I  should  like  to  know  the  meaning  of  all  this." 
Bixiou.  "You  want  to  know? — There  it  is.  The  Cham- 
ber is,  and  always  will  be,  the  ante-chamber  of  the  Adminis- 
tration, the  Court  is  the  boudoir,  the  ordinary  way  is  the 
cellar,  the  bed  is  made  now  more  than  ever  in  the  little  by- 
ways thereof." 

PoiRET.  "M.  Bixiou,  explain  yourself,  I  beg." 
Bixiou.  "I  will  give  you  a  paraphrase  of  my  opinion.  If 
you  mean  to  be  anything  at  last,  you  must  be  everything  at 
first.  Obviously,  administrative  reforms  must  be  made;  for, 
upon  my  word  and  honor,  if  the  employes  rob  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  time  they  ought  to  give  to  it,  the  Government 
robs  them  in  return  to  make  matters  even.  We  do  little  be- 
cause we  get  next  to  nothing;  there  are  far  too  many  of  us 
for  the  work  to  be  done,  and  La  Vertueuse  Rob  our  din  saw  all 
that !  That  great  man  among  the  scribes  foresaw  the  in- 
evitable result,  gentlemen,  the  Vorking'  (as  simpletons  are 
pleased  to  call  it)  of  our  admirable  Liberal  institutions.  The 
Chamber  will  soon  want  to  meddle  with  the  Administration, 
and  officials  will  want  to  be  legislators.  The  Government 
will  try  to  administer  the  laws,  and  the  Administration  will 
try  to  govern  the  country.  Laws,  accordingly,  will  be  trans- 
formed into  rules  and  regulations,  and  regulations  will  be 
treated  as  laws.  God  made  this  epoch  for  those  that  can  enjoy 
a  joke.  I  am  looking  on  in  admiration  at  the  spectacle  set 
forth  for  us  by  Louis  XVIII. ,  the  greatest  wag  of  modern 
times  {general  amazement).  And  if  France,  gentlemen,  the 
best  administered  country  in  Europe,  is  in  such  a  way,  think 
what  a  state  the  others  must  be  in.     Poor  countries !     I  won- 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  377 

der  how  they  get  on  at  all  without  the  two  Chambers,  the 
Liberty  of  the  Press,  the  Eeport,  the  Memorial,  and  the 
Circular,  and  a  whole  army  of  clerks ! — Think,  now,  how  do 
they  contrive  to  have  an  army  or  a  navy?  How  can  they 
exist  when  there  is  no  one  to  weigh  the  pros  and  eons  of  every 
breath  they  draw  and  every  mouthful  that  they  eat? — Can 
that  sort  of  thing  be  called  a  government  or  a  country? 
These  funny  fellows  that  travel  about  have  stood  me  out 
that  foreigners  pretend  to  have  a  policy  of  their  own,  and 
that  they  enjoy  a  certain  influence ;  but,  there — I  pity  them  ! 
They  know  nothing  of  'the  spread  of  enlightenment' ;  they 
cannot  'set  ideas  in  circulation' ;  they  have  no  free  and  in- 
dependent tribunes;  they  are  sunk  in  barbarism.  There  is  no 
nation  like  the  French  for  intelligence !  Do  you  grasp  that, 
M.  Poiret?  {Poiret  looJcs  as  if  he  had  received  a  sudden 
shock.)  Can  you  understand  how  a  country  can  do  without 
heads  of  divisions,  directors-general,  and  dispense  with  a 
great  staff  of  officials  that  is,  and  has  been,  the  pride  of 
France  and  of  the  Emperor  Napoleon,  who  had  his  very 
sufficient  reasons  for  creating  places  to  fill?  But,  there — 
since  these  countries  have  the  impudence  to  exist;  since  the 
War  Office  at  Vienna  employs  scarcely  a  hundred  clerks  all 
told  (whereas  with  us,  little  as  they  expected  it  before  the 
Eevolution,  salaries  and  pensions  now  eat  up  one-third  of  the 
revenue),  I  will  sum  up  by  suggesting  that  as  the  Academic 
des  Inscriptions  et  Belles  Lettres  has  very  little  to  do,  it 
might  as  well  offer  a  prize  for  the  solution  of  the  following 
problem:  'Which  is  the  better  constituted — the  State  that 
does  a  great  deal  with  a  few  officials,  or  the  State  that  does 
little  and  keeps  plenty  of  officials  to  do  it  ?'  " 

Poiret.     "Is  that  your  last  word  ?" 

Bixiou.  "J a,  mein  Herr! — Out,  monsieur! — Si,  signor! 
— Da!    I  spare  you  the  other  languages." 

Poiret  {raising  his  hands  to  heaven).  "Good  Lord! 
and  they  tell  me  that  you  are  clever !" 

Bixiou.     "Then  did  you  not  understand  after  all?" 

Phellion.  "Anyhow,  there  is  plenty  of  sense  in  that 
last  remark -" 


378  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

BixiOD  "It  is  like  the  budget,  as  complicated  as  it  seems 
to  be  simple;  and  thus  I  set  it  for  you,  like  an  illumination 
lamp  upon  the  edge  of  that  break-neck  precipice,  that  hole, 
that  abyss,  volcano,  or  what  not,  which  the  Constitutionnel 
calls  'the  political  horizon.'  " 

PoiEET.  "I  would  rather  have  an  explanation  that  I  can 
understand." 

Bixiou.  "Long  live  Eabourdin ! — that  is  my  opinion. 
Are  you  satisfied  ?" 

CoLLEviLLE  (gravely).  "There  is  only  one  thing  to  be 
said  against  M.  Eabourdin." 

PoiRET.     "What  is  it  ?" 

CoLLEViLLE.  "He  was  not  a  chief  clerk;  he  was  a  states- 
man." 

PHELLiOiSr  (planting  himself  in  front  of  Bixiou).  "M6- 
sieur,  if  you  appreciated  M.  Eabourdin  so  well,  what  made  you 
draw  that  disgus — that  inf — that  shocking  caricature?" 

Bixiou.  "How  about  that  wager?  Do  you  forget  that 
I  was  playing  the  devil's  game,  and  that  your  office  owes  me 
a  dinner  at  the  Roclier  de  Cancale?" 

PoiKET  (much  ruffled).  "It  seems  to  be  written  that  I 
am  to  leave  this  place  without  comprehending  a  single  idea  in 
anything  that  M.  Bixiou  says." 

Bixiou.  "It  is  your  own  fault.  Ask  these  gentlemen ! 
Gentlemen,  did  you  understand  the  gist  of  my  observations? 
Were  they  just?     Were  they  luminous?" 

Omnes.     "Yes,  alas!" 

MiXARD.  "Here  is  proof  of  it:  I  have  just  sent  in  my 
resignation.  Good-da}^,  gentlemen;  I  am  going  into  busi- 
ness  " 

Bixiou.  "Have  you  invented  a  mechanical  corset  or  a 
feeding-bottle,  a  fire-pump  or  pattens,  a  stove  that  gives 
heat  without  fuel,  or  cooks  a  cutlet  with  three  sheets  of 
paper  ?" 

MiXARD  (going).     "I  shall  keep  my  secret  to  m3'self." 

Bixiou.  "Ah,  well,  young  Poiret,  junior,  these  gentle- 
men all  understand  me,  you  see !" 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  379 

PoiRET  {mortified).  "M.  Bixiou,  will  you  do  me  the 
honor  to  descend  to  my  level  just  for  once '' 

Bixiou  {winking  at  the  others).  "By  all  means.  Be- 
fore you  go,  you  may  perhaps  be  glad  to  know  what  you 
are " 

PoiRET  {quickly).     "An  honest  man,  sir." 

Bixiou  {shrugging  his  shoulders).  "To  define,  explain, 
explore,  and  analyze  the  employe.     Do  you  know  how?" 

PoiRET.     "I  think  so." 

Bixiou  {twisting  one  of  Poiret's  buttons).     "I  doubt  it." 

PoiRET.  "An  employe  is  a  man  paid  to  work  for  the  Gov- 
ernment." 

Bixiou.     "Obviously.     Then  a  soldier  is  an  employe  ?" 

PoiRET  {perplexed).     "Why,  no." 

Bixiou.  "At  any  rate,  he  is  paid  by  the  Government  to 
go  on  guard  and  to  be  passed  in  review.  You  will  tell  me  that 
he  is  too  anxious  to  leave  his  post,  that  he  is  not  long  enough 
at  his  post,  that  he  works  too  hard,  and  touches  metal  too 
seldom  (the  barrel  of  his  gun  always  excepted)." 

PoiRET  {opening  wide  eyes).  "Well,  then,  sir,  an  employe, 
more  strictly  speaking,  is  a  man  who  must  draw  his  salary 
if  he  is  to  live;  he  is  not  free  to  leave  his  post,  and  he  can 
do  nothing  but  copy  and  dispatch  documents." 

Bixiou.  "Ah,  now  we  are  arriving  at  a  solution !  So 
the  government  office  is  the  employe's  shell?  You  cannot 
have  the  one  without  the  other.  Now,  what  are  we  to  say 
about  the  tide-waiter?  {Poiret  tries  to  stamp  in  vexation, 
and  escapes;  but  Bixiou,  having  pulled  off  one  button,  holds 
him  by  another.)  "Bah  !  in  the  bureaucratic  world  he  proba- 
bly is  a  neuter.  The  customs-house  official  is  a  semi-em- 
ploye; he  is  on  the  frontier  just  as  he  is  on  the  borderland 
between  the  civil  service  and  the  army;  he  is  not  exactly  a 
soldier,  and  not  precisely  an  employe  either.  But  look  here, 
daddy,  where  are  we  going?"  {twists  the  button).  "Where 
does  the  employe  end?  It  is  an  important  question.  Is  a 
prefect  an  employe?" 

PoiRET  {nervously).     "He  is  a  functionary." 


380  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

Bixiou.  "Oh  !  you  are  coming  to  a  contradiction  in  terms ! 
So  a  functionary  is  not  an  employe !" 

PoiRET  (looks  round  exhausted).  "M.  Godard  looks  as 
though  he  had  something  to  say." 

Godard.  "The  employe  represents  the  order,  the  function- 
ary the  genus." 

Bixiou.  "Clever  SM&-ordinate !  I  should  not  have 
thought  you  capable  of  so  ingenious  a  distinction." 

PoiRET.     "Where  are  we  going?" 

Bixiou.  "There,  daddy,  let  us  not  trip  ourselves  up  with 
words.  Listen,  and  we  shall  come  to  an  understanding  in 
the  end.  Look  here,  we  will  establish  an  axiom,  which  I 
bequeath  to  the  office — The  functionary  begins  where  the  em- 
ploye ends,  and  the  functionary  leaves  off  where  the  states- 
man begins.  There  are  very  few  statesmen,  however,  among 
prefects.  So  the  prefect  would  seem  to  be  a  kind  of  neuter 
among  superior  orders  of  being;  he  is  half-way  between  the 
statesman  and  the  employe,  much  as  the  tide-waiter  is  not 
exactly  a  soldier  or  a  civilian,  but  something  of  both.  Let  us 
continue  to  unravel  these  lofty  questions."  (Poiret  grows 
red  in  the  face.)  "Can  we  not  state  the  matter  in  a  theorem 
worthy  of  la  Rochefoucauld?  When  salaries  reach  the  limit 
line  of  twenty  thousand  francs,  the  employe  ceases.  Hence 
we  may  logically  deduce  the  first  corollary — The  statesman 
reveals  himself  in  the  sphere  of  high  salaries.  Likewise 
this  second  and  no  less  important  corollary — It  is  possible 
for  a  director-general  to  be  a  statesman.  Perhaps  deputies 
mean  something  of  this  kind  when  they  think  within  them- 
selves that  'it  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  a  director-general.' 
Still,  in  the  interests  of  the  French  language  and  the  Aca- 
demy  " 

Poiret  {completely  fascinated  hy  Bixiou s  fixity  of  gaze). 
"The  French  language ! — the  Academy ! " 

Bixiou  {twisting  off  a  second  button,  and  seizing  upon 
the  one  above  it).  "Yes,  in  the  interests  of  our  noble  lan- 
guage, your  attention  must  be  called  to  the  fact  that  if  a 
qhief  clerk,  strictly  speaking,  may  still  be  an  employe,  a  head 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  381 

of  the  division  is  of  necessity  a  bureaucrat.  These  gentle- 
men"—  {turning  to  the  clerks,  and  holding  up  Poiret's  third 
button  for  their  inspection) — "these  gentlemen  will  ap- 
preciate all  the  delicacy  of  that  subtle  shade  of  distinction. 
— And  so,  Papa  Poiret,  the  employe  ends  absolutely  at  the 
head  of  a  division.  So  here  is  the  question  settled  once  for 
all — there  is  no  more  doubt  about  it ;  the  employe,  vrho  might 
seem  to  be  indefinable,  is  defined." 

PoiRET.     "Beyond  a  doubt,  as  it  seems  to  me." 

Bixiou.  "And  yet,  be  so  far  my  friend  as  to  solve  me  this 
problem:  A  judge  is  permanently  appointed,  consequently, 
according  to  your  subtle  distinction,  he  cannot  be  a  function- 
ary ;  and  as  his  salary  and  the  amount  of  work  do  not  corre- 
spond, ought  he  to  be  included  among  employes?" 

PoiRET  (gazing  at  the  ceiling).  "Monsieur,  I  cannot  fol- 
low you  now " 

Bixiou  (nipping  off  a  fourth  button).  "I  wanted  to  show 
you,  monsieur,  in  the  first  place,  that  nothing  is  simple;  but 
more  particularly — and  what  I  am  about  to  remark  is  meant 
for  the  benefit  of  philosophists  (if  you  will  permit  me  to 
twist  a  saying  attributed  to  Louis  XVIII.) — I  wish  to  point 
out  that,  side  by  side  with  the  need  of  a  definition,  lies  the 
peril  of  getting  mixed." 

PoiRET  (wiping  Ms  forehead).  "I  beg  your  pardon,  mon- 
sieur, I  feel  queasy"  (tries  to  button  his  overcoat).  "Oh! 
you  have  cut  off  all  my  buttons !" 

Bixiou.     "Well,  now  do  you  understand?" 

PoiRET  (vea^ecZ).  "Yes,  sir.  Yes.  I  understand  that  you 
meant  to  play  me  a  very  nasty  trick  by  cutting  off  my 
buttons  while  I  was  not  looking." 

Bixiou  (solemnly).  "Old  man,  you  err.  I  was  trying  to 
engrave  upon  your  mind  as  lively  an  image  of  the  Govern- 
ment as  is  possible"  (all  eyes  are  turned  on  Bixiou.  Poiret, 
in  his  amazement,  loolcs  round  at  the  others  with  vague  un- 
easiness). "That  is  how  I  kept  my  word.  I  took  the 
parabolic  method  known  to  savages.  (Now  listen!)  While 
the  Ministers  are  at  the  Chambers,  starting  discussions  just 


382  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

about  as  profitable  and  conclusive  as  ours,  the  Administration 
is  cutting  off  the  taxpayers'  buttons." 

Omnes.     "Bravo,  Bixiou !" 

PoiRET  {as  he  begins  to  comprehend).  "I  do  not  grudge 
my  buttons  now." 

Bixiou.  "And  I  shall  do  as  Minard  does.  I  do  not  care 
to  sign  receipts  for  such  trifling  sums  any  longer;  I  deprive 
the  department  of  my  co-operation"  (goes  out  amid  general 
laughter) . 

Meanwhile  another  and  more  instructive  scene  was  taking 
place  in  the  Minister's  reception-room ;  more  instructive,  be  it 
said,  because  it  may  give  some  idea  of  the  way  in  which  great 
ideas  come  to  nothing  in  lofty  regions,  and  how  the  in- 
habitants thereof  find  consolation  in  misfortune.  At  this 
particular  moment  des  Lupeaulx  was  introducing  M.  Bau- 
doyer,  the  new  director.  Two  or  three  Ministerialist  deputies 
were  present  besides  M.  Clergeot,  to  whom  His  Excellency 
gave  assurance  of  an  honorable  retiring  pension.  After 
various  commonplace  remarks,  the  event  of  the  day  came  up 
in  conversation. 

A  Deputy.     "So  Rabourdin  has  gone  for  good." 
Des  Lupeaulx.     "He  has  sent  in  his  resignation." 
Clergeot.     "He  wanted  to  reform  the  service,  they  said." 
The  Minister  {looking  at  the  deputies).     "Perhaps  the 
salaries  are  not  proportionate  to  the  services  required." 

De  la  Briere.     "According  to  M.  Eabourdin,  a  hundred 
men,  with  salaries  of  twelve  thousand  francs  apiece,  will  do 
the  same  work  better  and  more  expeditiously  than  a  thou- 
sand at  twelve  hundred  francs." 
Clergeot.     "Perhaps  he  is  right." 

The  Minister.  "There  is  no  help  for  it !  The  machine 
is  made  that  way;  the  whole  thing  would  have  to  be  taken' 
to  pieces  and  reconstructed ;  and  who  would  have  the  courage 
to  do  that  in  front  of  the  tribune  and  under  the  fire  of  stupid 
declamation  from  the  Opposition  or  terrific  articles  in  the 
press?     Still,  some  day  or  other  there  will  be  a  disastrous 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  383 

hitch  somewhere  between  the  Government  and  the  Adminis- 
tration." 

The  Deputy.     "What  will  happen?" 

The  Minister.  "Some  Minister  will  see  a  good  thing  to 
be  done,  and  will  be  unable  to  do  it.  You  will  have  created 
interminable  delays  between  legislation  and  carrying  the  law 
into  effect.  You  may  make  it  impossible  to  steal  a  five-franc 
piece,  but  you  cannot  prevent  collusion  to  gain  private  ends. 
Some  things  will  never  be  done  until  clandestine  stipulations 
have  been  made;  and  it  is  very  difficult  to  detect  such  things. 
And,  then,  every  man  on  the  staff,  from  the  chief  down  to  the 
lowest  clerk,  will  soon  have  his  own  opinion  on  this  matter  and 
that;  they  will  no  longer  be  hands  directed  by  a  brain,  they 
will  not  carry  out  the  intentions  of  the  Government.  The 
Opposition  is  gradually  giving  them  a  right  to  speak  and  vote 
against  the  Government,  and  to  condemn  it." 

Baudoyer  {in  a  low  voice,  hut  not  so  low  as  to  he  in- 
audihle).     "His  Excellency  is  sublime  !" 

Des  Lupeaulx.  "Bureaucracy  certainly  has  its  bad  side; 
it  is  slow  and  insolent,  I  think ;  it  hampers  the  action  of  the 
department  overmuch ;  it  snuffs  out  many  a  project ;  it  stops 
progress ;  but,  still,  the  French  administration  is  wonderfully 
useful " 

Baudoyer.     "Certainly." 

Des  Lupeaulx.     " if  only  as  a  support  to  the  trade  in 

stationery  and  stamps.  And  if,  like  many  excellent  housewives, 
the  civil  service  is  apt  to  be  a  little  bit  fussy,  she  can  give  an 
account  of  her  expenditure  at  any  moment.  Where  is  the 
clever  man  in  business  that  would  not  be  only  too  glad  to  drop 
five  per  cent  on  his  turnover  if  some  insurance  agent  would 
undertake  to  guarantee  him  against  'leakage.' " 

The  Deputy  (a  manufacturer) .  "Manufacturers  on  both 
sides  of  the  Atlantic  would  be  delighted  to  make  a  bargain 
with  the  imp  known  as  'leakage'  on  such  terms  as  those." 

Des  Lupeaulx.  "Well,  statistics  may  be  the  weakness  of 
the  modern  statesman ;  he  is  apt  to  take  figures  for  calcula- 
tion, but  we  must  use  figures  to  make  calculations ;  therefore, 


384  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

let  us  calculate.  If  a  society  is  based  on  money  and  self- 
interest,  it  takes  its  stand  on  figures,  and  society  has  been 
thus  based  since  the  Charter  was  dra^vn  up;  so  I  think,  at 
least.  And,  then,  there  is  nothing  like  a  column  of  figures 
for  carrying  conviction  to  the  'intelligent  masses.'  Every- 
thing, in  fact,  so  say  our  statesmen  of  the  Left,  can  be  re- 
solved into  figures.  So  to  figures  let  us  betake  ourselves" 
(the  Minister  takes  one  of  the  deputies  aside  and  begins  to 
talk  in  a  low  voice.)  "Here,  in  France,  there  are  about  forty 
thousand  men  in  the  employ  of  the  Government;  not  count- 
ing road-menders,  crossing-sweepers,  and  cigarette-makers. 
Fifteen  hundred  francs  is  the  average  amount  of  a  salary. 
Multiply  fifteen  hundred  francs  by  forty  thousand,  and  you 
get  sixty  millions. — And  before  we  go  any  farther,  a  publicist 
might  call  the  attention  of  China,  Austria,  Eussia  (where 
civil  servants  rob  the  Government),  and  divers  American 
republics  to  the  fact  that  for  this  sum  France  obtains  the 
fussiest,  most  fidget}',  interfering,  inquisitive,  meddlesome, 
pains-taking,  categorical  set  of  scribblers  and  hoarders  of 
wastepaper,  the  veriest  old  wife  among  all  known  administra- 
tions. Not  one  farthing  can  be  paid  or  received  in  France 
but  a  written  order  must  be  made  out,  checked  off  by  a 
counterfoil,  produced  again  and  again  at  every  stage  of  the 
business,  and  duly  receipted  at  the  end.  And  afterwards 
the  demand  and  the  receipt  must  be  filed,  entered,  posted,  and 
checked  by  a  set  of  men  in  spectacles.  The  official  under- 
strapper takes  fright  at  the  least  sign  of  an  informality,  for 
he  lives  by  such  minutice.  "Well,  plenty  of  countries  would 
be  satisfied  with  that ;  but  Napoleon  went  further.  He,  great 
organizer  as  he  was,  re-established  supreme  magistrates  in 
one  court,  a  unique  court  in  the  world.  These  functionaries 
spent  their  days  in  checking  off  all  the  bills,  pay-sheets,  muster- 
rolls,  deposit  certificates,  receipts,  and  statements  of  expendi- 
ture, and  all  the  files  and  bundles  of  wastepaper  which  the 
staff  first  covered  with  writing.  Those  austere  judges  pos- 
sessed a  talent  for  minutice,  a  genius  for  investigation,  and  a 
lynx-eyed  perspicacity  in  book-keeping,  which  reached  such  an 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  385. 

extreme,  that  they  went  through  every  column  of  additions 
in  their  quest  of  frauds.  They  were  sublime  martyrs  of 
arithmetic;  they  would  send  back  a  statement  of  accounts 
to  a  superintendent  of  army  stores  because  they  had  detected 
an  error  of  two  farthings  made  two  years  previously.  So  the 
French  administration  is  the  most  incorruptible  service  that 
ever  accumulated  wastepaper  on  the  surface  of  the  globe; 
theft,  as  His  Excellency  observed  just  now,  it  all  but  im- 
possible in  France,  and  malversation  a  figment  of  the  imag- 
ination. 

"Well,  where  is  the  objection?  France  draws  an  annual 
revenue  of  twelve  hundred  millions,  and  she  spends  it;  that 
is  all.  Twelve  hundred  millions  come  into  her  cash-box,  and 
twelve  hundred  millions  go  out.  She  actually  handles  two 
milliards  four  hundred  millions,  and  only  pays  two  and  a 
half  per  cent  to  guarantee  herself  against  leakage.  Our 
political  kitchen  account  only  amounts  to  sixty  millions;  the 
gendarmerie,  the  law-courts,  the  prisons,  and  detectives  cost 
us  more  and  do  nothing  in  return.  And  we  find  employment 
for  a  class  of  men  who  are  fit  for  nothing  else,  you  may  be 
very  sure.  The  waste,  if  waste  there  is,  could  not  be  better 
regulated;  the  Chambers  are  art  and  part  in  it;  the  public 
money  is  squandered  in  strictly  legal  fashion.  The  real 
leakage  consists  in  ordering  public  works  that  are  not  needed, 
or  not  immediately  needed ;  in  altering  soldiers'  uniforms ; 
in  ordering  men-of-war  without  ascertaining  whether  timber 
is  dear  or  no  at  the  time;  in  unnecessary  preparations  for 
M^ar;  in  paying  the  debts  of  a  state  without  demanding 
repayment  or  security,  and  so  forth,  and  so  forth." 

Baudoyer.  "But  the  employe  has  nothing  to  do  with 
leakage  in  high  quarters.  Mismanagement  of  national 
affairs  concerns  the  statesman  at  the  helm." 

The  Minister  (his  conversation  being  concluded). 
"There  is  truth  in  what  des  Lupeaulx  was  saying  just  now; 
but"  {turning  to  Baudoyer)  "you  must  bear  in  mind  that  no 
one  is  looking  at  the  matter  from  a  statesman's  point  of  view. 
It  does  not  follow  that  because  such  and  such  a  piece  of  ex- 


386  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

penditure  was  unwise  or  even  useless  that  it  was  a  case  of 
maladministration.  In  any  ease,  it  sets  money  circulating; 
and  in  France,  of  all  countries,  stagnation  in  trade  is  fatal, 
because  the  profoundly  illogical  habit  of  hoarding  coin  is 
so  prevalent  in  the  provinces,  and  so  much  gold  is  kept  out  of 
circulation  as  it  is " 

The  Deputy  (who  has  been  listening  to  des  Lupeaulx). 
"But  it  seems  to  me  that  if  Your  Excellency  is  right,  and 
if  our  witty  friend  here"  {taking  des  Lupeaulx  hy  the  arm), 
"if  our  friend  is  not  wrong,  what  are  we  to  think?" 

Des  Lupeaulx  {after  exchanging  a  glance  with  the  Min- 
ister).    "Something  must  be  done,  no  doubt." 

De  la  Briere  {diffidently).  "Then  M.  Eabourdin  is 
right?" 

The  Minister.     "I  am  going  to  see  Eabourdin." 

Des  Lupeaulx.  "The  poor  man  was  so  misguided  as  to 
constitute  himself  supreme  judge  of  the  administration 
and  the  staff;  he  wants  to  have  no  more  than  three  depart- 
ments." 

The  Minister  {interrupting).     "Why,  the  man  is  mad!" 

The  Deputy.  "How  is  he  going  to  represent  the  different 
parties  in  the  Chamber?" 

Baudoyer  {with  an  air  that  is  meant  to  he  hnowing). 
"Perhaps,  at  the  same  time,  M.  Eabourdin  is  changing  the 
Constitution  which  we  owe  to  the  King-Legislator." 

The  Minister  {growing  thoughtful,  takes  de  la  Briere 
hy  the  arm  and  steps  aside).  "I  should  like  to  look  at  Ea- 
bourdin's  scheme ;  and  since  you  know  about  it " 

De  la  BriJire  {in  the  cahinet).  "He  has  burned  it  all. 
You  allowed  him  to  be  dishonored;  he  has  resigned.  You 
must  not  suppose,  my  lord,  that  he  entertained  the  preposter- 
ous idea,  attributed  to  him  by  des  Lupeaulx,  of  making  any 
change  in  the  admirable  centralization  of  authority." 

The  Minister  {to  himself).  "I  have  made  a  mistake." 
{A  moment's  pause).  "Bah !  there  will  never  be  any  scarcity 
of  schemes  of  reform " 

De  la  BriI:re.  "We  have  ideas  in  plenty;  we  lack  the 
men  that  can  carry  them  out." 


THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS  387 

Just  then  des  LupeauLx,  insinuating  advocate  of  abuses, 
entered  the  cabinet. 

"1  am  going  down  to  my  constituents.  Your  Excellency." 

"Wait !"  returned  His  Excellency,  and  turning  from  his 
private  secretary,  he  drew  des  Lupeaulx  to  a  window.  "Give 
up  that  arrondissement  to  me,  my  dear  fellow;  you  shall 
have  the  title  of  Count,  and  I  will  pay  your  debts.  .  .  . 
And — and  if  I  am  still  in  office  after  next  election,  I  will  find 
a  way  of  putting  you  in  with  a  batch  to  be  made  a  peer  of 
France." 

"You  are  a  man  of  honor;  I  accept." 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  Clement  Chardin  des  Lupeaulx, 
whose  father  was  ennobled  by  Louis  XV.,  and  bore  quarterly; 
of  the  first,  argent,  a  wolf  sahle,  ravissant,  carrying  a  lamb, 
gules;  of  the  second,  purpur,  three  hucMes  argent,  two  and 
one;  of  the  third,  harry  of  six,  gules  and  argent;  of  the 
fourth,  gules,  a  caduceus  winged  and  wreathed  with  serpents, 
vert;  with  four  griffins'  claws  for  supporters;  and  en  lupus 
IN  HISTORIA  for  a  motto,  managed  to  surmount  his  half- 
burlesque  escutcheon  with  a  Count's  coronet. 

Towards  the  end  of  December  1830,  business  brought  Ea- 
bourdin  back  to  his  old  office.  The  whole  department  had 
been  shaken  by  changes  from  top  to  bottom ;  and  the  revolu- 
tion affected  the  messengers  more  than  anybody  else — they 
are  never  very  fond  of  new  faces.  Knowing  all  the  people  in 
the  place,  Eabourdin  had  come  early  in  the  morning,  and  so 
chanced  to  overhear  a  conversation  between  Laurent's 
nephews,  for  Antoine  had  been  pensioned. 

"Well,  how  is  your  chief?" 

"Don't  speak  of  him;  I  can  make  nothing  of  him.  He 
rings  to  ask  whether  I  have  seen  his  pocket-handkerchief  or 
his  snuff-box.  He  does  not  keep  people  waiting,  but  has  them 
shown  in  at  once ;  he  has  not  the  least  dignity,  in  fact.  I  my- 
self am  obliged  to  say,  'Why,  sir,  the  Count,  your  predecessor, 
in  the  interests  of  authority,  used  to  whittle  his  armchair  with 
a  penknife  to  make  people  believe  that  he  worked.'  In  short, 
he  makes  a  regular  muddle  of  it;  the  place  does  not  know 


388        V  THE  GOVERNMENT  CLERKS 

itself,  to  my  thinking;  he  is  a  very  poor  creature.  How  is 
yours  ?" 

"Mine?  Oh,  I  have  trained  him  at  last;  he  knows  where 
his  paper  and  envelopes  are  kept,  and  where  the  firewood  is, 
and  all  his  things.  My  other  used  to  swear ;  this  one  is  good- 
tempered.  But  he  is  not  the  big  style  of  thing;  he  has  no 
order  at  his  buttonhole.  I  like  a  chief  to  have  an  order; 
if  he  hasn't,  they  may  take  him  for  one  of  us,  and  that  is  so 
mortifying.  He  takes  home  office  stationery,  and  asked  me  if 
I  could  go  to  his  house  to  wait  at  evening  parties." 

"Ah !  what  a  Government,  my  dear  fellow !" 

'TTes,  a  set  of  swindlers." 

"I  wish  they  may  not  nibble  at  our  poor  salaries." 

"I  am  afraid  they  will.  The  Chambers  keep  a  sharp  look- 
out on  you.     They  haggle  over  the  firewood." 

"Oh  well,  if  that  is  the  style  of  them,  it  will  not  last 
long." 

"We  are  in  for  it !     Somebody  is  listening." 

"Oh !  it  is  M.  Eabourdin  that  used  to  be.  .  .  .  Ah ! 
sir,  I  knew  you  by  your  way  of  coming  in.  .  .  .  If  you 
want  anything  here,  there  is  nobody  that  will  know  the 
respect  that  is  owing  to  you;  there  is  nobody  of  your  time 
left  now  but  us.  M.  Colleville  and  M.  Baudoj^er  did  not 
wear  out  the  leather  on  their  chairs  after  you  went.  Lord ! 
six  months  afterwards  they  got  appointments  as  receivers  of 
taxes  at  Paris." 

Paris,  July  1836. 


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