The Tales of Hoffmann, page 7
‘ “Dark thoughts arose within me when I saw this contrivance. It seemed to me a preparation for such deeds as even to me still remained a secret. I had just delivered to a gentleman of the court some rich jewellery, which I knew was intended for a dancer at the Opéra. The mortal torments did not fail to appear – the spirit dogged my footsteps – the whispering Satan was at my ear! – I moved into my new house. Bathed in a cold sweat, sleeplessly I tossed and turned on the bed! In my mind’s eye I saw the man gliding off to the dancer with my jewels. Filled with rage, I jumped up – threw on my cloak – descended the secret stairway – out through the wall, into the Rue Nicaise. He came. I fell upon him, he cried out, yet firmly seizing him from behind I stabbed him through the heart with my dagger – the jewels were mine! This done, I felt a peace, a happiness in my soul as never before. The ghost had disappeared, the voice of Satan was silent. Now I knew what my evil star desired: I had to give in to it or be destroyed!
‘ “Now, Olivier, you can understand all my actions! Do not believe that, because I must do what I cannot help doing, I have renounced all feeling of pity, of compassion, which adheres to the nature of man. You know how difficult it has become for me to deliver up jewellery, how for many whose death I do not desire I will not work, indeed how, even though I know that only bloodshed will banish my apparition tomorrow, I still settle tonight for a hard punch, which stretches the owner of my gems out on the ground and delivers them into my hands.”
‘Having said all this, Cardillac led me into his secret vault and granted me the sight of his jewel cabinet. The King possesses nothing finer. On every piece of jewellery was hung a ticket marked with the name of the person for whom it was made and when it had been taken by theft, robbery or murder. “On your wedding day, Olivier,” said Cardillac, gloomy and solemn, “you shall swear to me a sacred oath, with your hand on the image of Christ on the Cross, that as soon as I am dead you will reduce all these riches to dust by a means which I shall make known to you. I do not want any human being, least of all Madelon and you, to come into possession of a hoard which has been purchased with blood.”
‘Caught in this labyrinth of crime, torn between love and loathing, between delight and horror, I was like a man in Hell whom a lovely angel calls up on high with a gentle smile but Satan keeps firmly grasped with burning claws, so that the angel’s loving smile, in which is all the blessedness of high Heaven, becomes for him the grimmest of his torments. I thought of running away – indeed, of suicide – but Madelon! Rebuke me, blame me, my dear Mademoiselle, for being too weak to conquer a passion which fettered me to the crime – but am I not making amends for it by a shameful death?
‘One day, Cardillac came home in an unusually happy mood. He hugged Madelon, threw me the friendliest of glances, drank a bottle of fine wine at table – which he was wont to do only on high days and holidays – sang and rejoiced. Madelon had left us alone; I was about to go into the workshop. “Sit down, my boy!” cried Cardillac. “No more work today. Let us have another drink to the health of the worthiest, the most admirable lady in Paris.” After I had drunk a toast with him, and he had emptied a full glass, he said: “Tell me Olivier! How do you like this verse?
Un amant qui craint les voleurs
n’est point digne d’amour!”
‘He then told me what had transpired in the apartments of Madame de Maintenon between you and the King, and added that he had always respected you more than any other human being, and that, gifted as you were with such virtue that his evil star faded and was powerless before it, even if you were wearing the most beautiful jewellery ever made by him it would never raise any evil spirit or murderous thought within him. “Listen, Olivier,” he said, “to what I have decided. Some long time ago I had to make a necklace and bracelets for Henrietta of England, and I even had to supply the stones for them. The work succeeded like none other, but it tore me apart when I thought of having to part with those jewels, which had become my heart’s treasure. You know of the princess’s unfortunate assassination. I kept the jewels, and now I want to send them to Mademoiselle de Scudery as a token of my respect and gratitude. I shall do so in the name of the supposed band of murderers; thus I shall mock Desgrais and his companions as they deserve. You shall bear the jewels to her.”
‘As soon as Cardillac spoke your name, Mademoiselle, it was as if a veil had been drawn away and the picture of my happy childhood emerged in bright, shining colours. A wonderful comfort crept into my soul, a ray of hope dispelling the dark spirits. Cardillac must have noticed the impression his words had made on me and interpreted them in his own way. “My plan,” he said, “seems to suit you. I can confess that a deep inward voice – quite different from the one which demands bloody acts like a ravenous beast of prey – has commanded me to do this. Sometimes I get a strange feeling: an inner anxiety, the fear of something dreadful, the terror of which drifts in from the beyond and catches me in its grasp. It then seems to me as if what my evil star has done through me can be put right by my immortal soul, which has no part in it. It was in such a mood that I resolved to make a diamond crown for the Holy Virgin in the Church of St Eustace. But then that incomprehensible fear overcame me whenever I wanted to start the work, so that I left it altogether. Now it seems to me as if I am making a humble sacrifice to virtue and piety itself, and begging for its intercession, by sending to Mademoiselle Scudery the most beautiful jewellery I have ever made.”
‘Cardillac, who was aware of your mode of life, Mademoiselle, down to the last detail, now told me how and when I was to deliver the jewels, which he enclosed in a little box. My whole being was ecstatic, for Heaven itself was showing me through the sinful Cardillac how to save myself from the Hell in which I languished. So I thought. In quite another sense than Cardillac I wanted to get in to you. As Anne Brusson’s son, as your foster-child, I thought to throw myself at your feet and reveal all to you. Moved by the unutterable distress which the poor, innocent Madelon was threatened with by its revelation, you would have kept the secret, but you would have found a sure means of restraining Cardillac’s vile wickedness without its being revealed. Do not ask me what you would have done – I do not know; but that you would save Madelon and me, of this I was as firmly convinced in my soul as I was of the comfort and aid of the Holy Virgin.
‘You know, Mademoiselle, that my intentions that night miscarried. I did not lose hope of being more fortunate some other time. Then Cardillac suddenly lost all his gaiety. He crept about miserably, stared in front of him, muttered incomprehensibly, fought with his hands as if parrying some enemy; his spirit seemed tormented by evil thoughts. He behaved in this way for a whole morning. Finally he sat down at the work-bench, leaped up again in an ill humour, gazed out of the window, and said in a serious and gloomy voice: “How I wish Henrietta of England could have worn my jewels!” – His words filled me with terror. Now I knew that his errant spirit was again in the grip of the dreadful murderous spectre, that Satan’s voice was again loudly at his ears. I saw your life threatened by the murderous devil. If only Cardillac had his jewels back in his hands again, you would be saved.
‘The danger grew with every moment. Then I met you on the Pont Neuf, managed to get through to your carriage, and threw you that note which begged you to take the jewellery you had received to Cardillac immediately. You failed to come. My anxiety turned to despair as the next day Cardillac spoke of nothing other than the jewels which had passed before his eyes in the night. I could only interpret that as meaning your jewels and I grew certain that he was brooding on some murderous plot which he was proposing to carry out that very night. I had to save you, even if it cost Cardillac his life.
‘As soon as Cardillac had, as usual, shut himself away after evening prayers, I climbed through a window into the yard, slipped through the opening in the wall, and stationed myself in the shadows not far away. It was not long before Cardillac came out and slipped quietly down the street. I was behind him. He went towards the Rue St Honoré; my heart trembled. Suddenly he disappeared from my view. I decided to stand by your door. Then an officer came along, singing and whistling – just as on previous occasions when fate had made me a witness of Cardillac’s murderous deeds – who passed by without being aware of me. In the same instant a black figure leaped out and fell upon him. It was Cardillac. I tried to prevent the murder: with a loud cry I reached the spot in two or three bounds. It was Cardillac – not the officer – who, stabbed to death, fell to the ground with a gasp. The officer let the dagger fall, drew his sword from its sheath and positioned himself, believing I was the assassin’s accomplice, ready to fight me off; but he hurried quickly away when he realized that, unconcerned with him, I was only examining the body.
‘Cardillac was still alive. After I had picked up the dagger the officer had dropped, I loaded him on to my shoulders and dragged him back home, through the secret passage, and up into the workshop. – You know the rest. You see, Mademoiselle, that my only crime is not turning Madelon’s father over to the court and so making an end of his crimes. I am untouched by any blood-guilt.
‘No torture will ever force from me the secret of Cardillac’s crimes. I will not have, in defiance of the eternal power which has concealed from the virtuous daughter her father’s gruesome guilt, the whole terrible past now break in upon her, earthly revenge disinter the body from the earth which covers it, the hangman brand the rotting bones with disgrace. No! – my beloved will mourn for me as for a fallen innocent; time will ease her pain; but she could never recover from grief at the hellish deeds of her beloved father!’
Olivier fell silent: then suddenly a stream of tears erupted from his eyes. He threw himself at Mademoiselle Scudery’s feet and implored: ‘You are convinced of my innocence! Have pity on me! Tell me how Madelon is!’
Mademoiselle Scudery called Martinière, and in a few moments Madelon flung herself about Olivier’s neck. ‘Now everything is all right, since you are here” I knew it, I knew that the noblest of women would save you.’ So Madelon cried again and again, and Olivier forgot his destiny, everything which threatened him; he was free and happy. Tenderly they rehearsed to one another what they had suffered, and embraced again and wept for joy that they had again found one another.
Had not Mademoiselle Scudery already been convinced of Olivier’s innocence, she must now have been compelled to believe in it as she saw the pair, in the bliss of their love, forgetting the world, and their misery, and their nameless suffering. ‘No,’ she cried, ‘only a pure heart is capable of such blissful oblivion!’
The rays of morning broke through the window. Desgrais tapped on the door of the apartment, and told them it was time to take Brusson back to prison. The lovers had to part.
The forebodings which had filled Mademoiselle Scudery since Brusson’s entry into her house had now become reality. She saw the son of her beloved Anne innocently ensnared in such a fashion it seemed impossible he could be saved from a humiliating death. She admired the youth’s heroic spirit, which would rather die laden with guilt than betray a secret which would bring death to his Madelon. Within the whole world of possibilities she could see no way of rescuing the poor young man from the cruel court. And yet it was firmly fixed in her soul that she must shun no sacrifice to prevent the appalling injustice which was being done. She worried herself with plans and designs, some of which she discarded as quickly as she formed them. Every glimmer of hope began to disappear, until she was on the point of despair. But Madelon’s childlike, innocent trust, the radiance with which she spoke of how her beloved, acquitted of all guilt, would soon make her his wife, deeply moved Mademoiselle Scudery.
Finally, to do something, Mademoiselle Scudery wrote a long letter to La Regnie, in which she told him that Olivier Brusson had proved to her his innocence of Cardillac’s death; only his heroic decision to take with him to the grave a secret the revelation of which would destroy innocence and virtue itself prevented him from making a confession to the court which would free him from suspicion. All that burning zeal, that eloquence, could do, Mademoiselle Scudery summoned up to prevail over La Regnie’s hard heart. In a few hours, La Regnie replied that he would be heartily glad if Brusson had justified himself to his most worthy benefactress; as regards his heroic decision to take with him to the grave a secret which had some bearing on the deed, he was sorry but the Chambre ardente could not respect such heroism, but would, rather, have to endeavour to break the same by the most forcible means. In three days’ time he hoped to be in possession of the secret, which would no doubt bring to light many marvels.
Mademoiselle Scudery knew only too well what La Regnie meant. Now it was certain that torture was to be inflicted. In her mortal fear, it at length occurred to Mademoiselle Scudery that, merely to obtain a postponement, the advice of a legal expert would be of service. Pierre Arnaud d’ Andilly was at that time the most famous advocate in Paris: his knowledge and understanding were equal to his integrity and virtue. Mademoiselle Scudery betook herself to him and told him everything, so far as that was possible without betraying Brusson’s secret. She believed that d’Andilly would eagerly adopt the cause of the innocent, but her hopes were bitterly disappointed. He listened calmly to everything and then replied, smiling, with Boileau’s words: La vrai peut quelque fois n’être pas vraisemblable. He demonstrated that the most obvious grounds for suspicion told against Brusson, that La Regnie’s proceedings could in no way be called cruel or precipitate but were quite in accordance with the law – he could not, indeed, act otherwise without violating the duties of a judge. He, d’Andilly, did not believe he could save Brusson from torture even by the most skilful defence. Only Brusson himself could do that, either by a straightforward confession, or by a detailed account of the circumstances surrounding Cardillac’s death, which would then perhaps offer some reason for fresh investigations.
‘Then I shall throw myself at the King’s feet and beg for mercy,’ said Mademoiselle Scudery, quite beside herself and in a voice half choked with tears.
‘No,’ cried d’Andilly, ‘in Heaven’s name do not do that, Mademoiselle! Save that as a last resort: for if it should fail, it is lost to you for ever. The King will never pardon a criminal of this sort: the reproaches of the public would be levelled against him. It is possible that, by disclosing his secret, or in some other way, Brusson will find the means of dispelling the suspicion against him. Then will be the time to beg for the King’s mercy: for then he will not ask what has or has not been proved before the court but will consult his own inner convictions.’
Mademoiselle Scudery had perforce to concur. Lost in the depths of grief, brooding and reflecting on what she should now attempt in order to save the unhappy Brusson, she was sitting in her apartment late in the evening when Martinière entered and announced Count Miossens, Colonel of the King’s Guard, who urgently wished to speak to her.
‘Forgive me, Mademoiselle,’ said Miossens, bowing in a soldierly way, ‘for disturbing you so late, at such an inconvenient time. We soldiers know no better, and besides, a few words shall be my excuse: Olivier Brusson brings me to you.’
Mademoiselle Scudery, tense as to what she should now learn, cried: ‘Olivier Brusson? That most unfortunate of men? What have you to do with him?’
‘I thought,’ said Miossens, smiling, ‘that your protégé’s name would succeed in procuring me a hearing. The whole world is convinced of Brusson’s guilt. I know that you are of another opinion, though, as I have heard it said, your opinion is founded only on the protestations of the accused. With me it is different. No one could be more convinced than I of Brusson’s innocence of Cardillac’s death.’
‘Go on! Oh, go on!’ cried Mademoiselle Scudery, her eyes shining with joy.
‘It was I’, said Miossens with emphasis, ‘who stabbed the old goldsmith in the Rue St Honoré, not far from your house.’
‘By all the saints, you!’ cried Mademoiselle Scudery.
‘And,’ Miossens continued, ‘I swear to you, Mademoiselle, I am proud of my deed. Cardillac was the wickedest, most hypocritical scoundrel that ever existed, who murdered and robbed by night and for so long eluded all attempts at capture. I do not know how it happened that some suspicion arose within me against the villain when, visibly agitated, he brought the jewellery I had ordered, inquired precisely for whom I intended it, and then questioned my valet as to when I was accustomed to visit a certain lady. At length it occurred to me that the victims of the assassin all carried the same death wound. I felt certain that the murderer was practised in delivering a blow that would kill instantly, that he depended on it. If the blow failed, then the fight was even. This led me to adopt a precaution so simple I cannot understand how others did not think of it long ago. I wore a light breastplate under my waistcoat. Cardillac fell upon me from behind. He gripped me with great strength, but his dagger-stroke was deflected by the iron. In the same instant I wrested myself from him, and stabbed him in the chest with the dagger I held in readiness.’
‘And you have kept quiet,’ asked Mademoiselle Scudery, ‘you did not tell the court of what happened?’
‘Permit me, Mademoiselle,’ Miossens continued, ‘to point out that such a deposition could involve me in the most hideous proceedings, if not in immediate ruin. Would La Regnie, who scents criminals everywhere, have believed me if I had accused the honest Cardillac, the model of all piety and virtue, of being the sought-for murderer? What if the sword of justice had turned its point against me?’
