The Tales of Hoffmann, page 8
‘That would be impossible,’ said Mademoiselle Scudery. ‘Your birth, your rank…’
‘Oh!’ Miossens went on, ‘think of the Duke of Luxembourg, who found himself under suspicion of poisoning, and was taken to the Bastille, because he had once had his horoscope cast by Le Sage. No, by Saint Denis, not one single hour of freedom, not the lobe of my ear, would I surrender to that lunatic La Regnie, who would like to put his knife to all our throats.’
‘But you are thus bringing the innocent Brusson to the scaffold,’ Mademoiselle Scudery interrupted him.
‘Innocent?’ Miossens replied. ‘Innocent, Mademoiselle? Do you call the wicked Cardillac’s accomplice innocent? Who stood by him in his deeds? Who has served death a hundred times? No: his blood will be justly spilled. I have disclosed to you, my esteemed Mademoiselle, the true state of affairs on the assumption that, without handing me over to the Chambre ardente, you would know how to make use of my secret in some way or another for your protégé.’
Mademoiselle Scudery, inwardly delighted at seeing her conviction of Brusson’s innocence so decisively confirmed, did not hesitate to reveal all to the count, who already knew of Cardillac’s crimes, and to invite him to go with her to visit d’Andilly. Everything would be disclosed to him, under the seal of secrecy, and he would then advise as to what should be done.
After Mademoiselle Scudery had related everything to him down to the last detail, d’Andilly again queried the most trifling circumstances. In particular, he asked Count Miossens whether he was convinced it was Cardillac who had attacked him, and whether he could again recognize Brusson as the man who had dragged away Cardillac’s body.
‘Besides recognizing the goldsmith easily in the bright moonlight,’ Miossens replied, ‘I have even seen at La Regnie’s the dagger with which Cardillac was killed. It is mine, recognizable by the decorative work on the hilt. As I was standing only a pace away from him, I perceived all the features of the youth, whose hat had fallen off, and I would certainly be able to recognize him again.’
D’Andilly sat silently for a few moments, gazing before him; then he said: ‘Brusson cannot in any way now be saved from the hands of justice by the usual paths. He will not name Cardillac as the assassin for Madelon’s sake. This makes no difference, for even if he were to succeed in proving it by revealing the secret exit and the stolen hoard, he would still face death as an accomplice. The same applies if Count Miossens discloses to the judges the incident with the goldsmith as it actually occurred. Postponement is the only thing we can consider. Count Miossens must go to the Conciergerie, have Brusson brought before him and identify him as the person who made off with Cardillac’s body. He must then hurry to La Regnie and say: “I saw a man killed in the Rue St Honoré. I was standing close beside the body when another man sprang out, bent over the body, lifted him, as he seemed still to be alive, on to his shoulders, and carried him off. I recognized that man as Olivier Brusson.” This statement will allow Brusson’s hearing to be reopened and bring about a confrontation with Count Miossens. The torture will not be applied, and further investigations can be made. Then is the time to turn to the King himself. It must be left to your acumen, Mademoiselle, to find the best way of doing so. To my way of thinking, it would be a good thing to reveal the whole secret to the King. Brusson’s confession is supported by this statement of Count Miossens. Secret investigations in Cardillac’s house might do the same. No legal proceeding, but the King’s decision, founded on the feeling that where the judge must punish mercy may pardon, must govern our actions.’
Count Miossens did exactly as d’Andilly had advised, and everything transpired as the latter had predicted.
Now came the time to go to the King, and this was the most difficult part, since, holding him alone to be the robber and assassin who had for so long kept all Paris in fear, he harboured such a horror of Brusson that, if reminded of the proceedings against him, he flew into a rage. Madame de Maintenon, true to her principle of never talking to the King of anything unpleasant, refused mediation, so Brusson’s fate was laid squarely in the hands of Mademoiselle Scudery. After lengthy meditation she came to a decision and put it quickly into execution. She clad herself in a black dress of heavy silk, adorned herself with Cardillac’s jewels, draped a long black veil over her shoulders, and appeared in this fashion in the apartments of Madame Maintenon at the hour when the King was present there. The noble figure of the worthy lady in this solemn garb possessed a majesty calculated to awaken awe even in those idle people used to drifting aimlessly in ante-rooms. Everyone stepped aside, and as she entered even the King stood up amazed and came towards her. The diamonds of the necklace and bracelets flashed before his eyes, and he cried: ‘By Heaven, that is Cardillac’s jewellery!’ Then, turning to Madame Maintenon with a smile, he added: ‘Look, Madame Marquise, how our beautiful bride grieves for her bridegroom.’
‘Nay, gracious Lord,’ Mademoiselle Scudery said, as if continuing the joke, ‘how would it become a grief-stricken bride to bejewel herself so magnificently? No, I have severed all connection with that goldsmith and would think no more of him, did not the horrible sight of his body borne past me appear from time to time before my eyes.’
‘What?’ asked the King. ‘You saw him?’
Mademoiselle Scudery now related how fate had brought her to Cardillac’s house, just as his murder had been discovered. She described Madelon’s wild grief, the deep impression which the angelic child had made on her, the way in which she had saved the poor girl from Desgrais’s hands amid the cheers of the people. With ever growing fervour, she now began her scenes with La Regnie, Desgrais and Brusson himself. The King, carried away by the power of Mademoiselle Scudery’s account, failed to notice that she was now speaking of the hateful proceedings against the evil Brusson; he could not utter a word, but occasionally gave vent to his emotions with an exclamation. He was quite beside himself at the scandal he was hearing of and incapable of putting everything in order; before he knew it, Mademoiselle Scudery was at his feet, begging for mercy for Olivier Brusson.
‘What are you doing?’ the King exclaimed, grasping her with both hands and compelling her to sit in the armchair. ‘What are you doing, Mademoiselle? You amaze me! This is indeed a terrible story! Who can vouch for the truth of Brusson’s remarkable tale?’
To which Mademoiselle Scudery replied: ‘Miossens’s statement, the investigation in Cardillac’s house, inner conviction – oh, Madelon’s virtuous heart, which recognizes the same virtue in the unfortunate Brusson!’
On the point of replying, the King turned at a sound from the direction of the door. Louvois, who was working in another apartment, looked in with a worried expression. The King rose and left the room, Louvois following. Both Mademoiselle Scudery and Madame Maintenon regarded this interruption with misgiving, for, having been surprised once, the King might be more wary a second time. But a few minutes later the King returned, paced the room quickly, then stood, his hands behind his back, before Mademoiselle Scudery, and, without looking at her, said, half aloud: ‘I should like to see your Madelon!’
To which Mademoiselle Scudery rejoined: ‘Oh, my gracious Sire, what great, great happiness you vouchsafe the poor, unhappy child! Ah, it needs only a sign from you to see the little one at your feet!’
And then she tripped to the door as quickly as she could in the heavy dress and called that the King wished to have Madelon Cardillac brought before him; then she returned and cried and sobbed for joy and emotion. She had anticipated such a favour and had therefore taken Madelon along with her, who had remained with one of the Marquise’s chambermaids, holding a short petition which d’Andilly had drafted. In a few moments she lay speechless at the King’s feet. Fear, bewilderment, awe, love and pain drove the blood through the poor girl’s veins. Her cheeks glowed crimson, her eyes sparkled with tears, which now and then fell through the silky lashes on to the lily-white bosom. The King appeared touched by the beauty of the angelic child. He raised her gently, then made a movement as if he were going to kiss the hand he was holding. He let it go and regarded the child with moist eyes.
Madame Maintenon whispered quietly to Mademoiselle Scudery: ‘Doesn’t she look like Vallière, down to the last hair, the little dear? The King is wallowing in the sweetest of memories. Your gamble has paid off.’
Softly though Madame Maintenon said this, it seemed that the King had heard it. His face flushed, he glanced past Madame Maintenon, read the petition which Madelon tendered to him and then said gently: ‘I can well believe that you, my dear child, are convinced of your loved one’s innocence, but we shall hear what the Chambre ardente has to say about it.’
A gentle movement of his hand dismissed the girl, who was about to dissolve into tears. Mademoiselle Scudery was aware, to her dismay, that the memory of Vallière, salutary though it had seemed at the outset, had altered the King’s humour as soon as Madame Maintenon had mentioned her name. It might be that the King felt he was being reminded that he was on the verge of sacrificing justice to beauty; or perhaps he felt like a dreamer who, sharply awoken, sees the enchanted images disappear at the moment he thought to grasp them. Perhaps he now no longer saw his Vallière before him, but thought only on Soeur Louise de la Miséricorde (Vallière’s name among the cloistered Carmelite nuns), who tormented him with her piety and penance. What else was there to do now but calmly await the King’s decision?
Count Miossens’s statement to the Chambre ardente had in the meantime become public knowledge, and, as the people are easily driven from one extreme to the other, it came about that he who had at first been execrated as the wickedest of murderers and threatened with lynching before he even reached the scaffold was now lamented as the innocent victim of barbaric justice. Only now did the neighbourhood remember his virtuous behaviour, his love for Madelon, the loyalty and devotion of body and soul he showed the old goldsmith. Processions, often in a hostile mood, appeared before La Regnie’s palace, crying: ‘Give us Olivier Brusson! He is innocent!’ They even threw stones at the windows, so that La Regnie was forced to seek protection.
Several days passed without Mademoiselle Scudery’s hearing anything about Olivier Brusson’s case. Disconsolate, she betook herself to Madame Maintenon, who assured her that the King was silent on the matter, and that it did not seem advisable to remind him of it. She then asked, with a strange smile, what the little Vallière was doing, which convinced Mademoiselle Scudery that, deep down, the proud woman was annoyed at an event which could entice the susceptible King into a sphere whose charm she did not comprehend. From Madame Maintenon, therefore, she could hope for nothing.
Finally, with d’Andilly’s help, Mademoiselle Scudery discovered that the King had had a long private conversation with Count Miossens, that Bontems, the King’s trusted servant and chargé d’affaires, had been to the Conciergerie and spoken to Brusson; that, finally, one night the same Bontems had been to Cardillac’s house with several others and had stayed there a long time. Claude Patru, the occupant of the ground floor, confirmed that there had been noises overhead all night long, and that Olivier had definitely been there with them, for he had clearly recognized his voice. It was thus certain that the King himself was having the case investigated, though the long delay in his decision remained incomprehensible. But La Regnie was doing everything he could to keep his teeth firmly on the sacrifice they were trying to wrest from him and that fact seemed to blight every hope.
Almost a month had passed before Madame Maintenon sent word to Mademoiselle Scudery that the King wished to see her that evening in her, Madame Maintenon’s, apartments. Mademoiselle Scudery’s heart leapt: she knew that Brusson’s case would now be decided. Yet it seemed as if the King had forgotten the whole affair; for lingering as usual in pleasant conversation with Madame Maintenon and Mademoiselle Scudery, he said not a single syllable about poor Brusson. At last, Bontems appeared, approached the King, and spoke a few words so softly that the two women were unable to hear them. – Mademoiselle Scudery quaked inwardly. Then the King rose, stepped over to her, and said with eyes beaming: ‘I wish you joy, Mademoiselle! Your protégé, Olivier Brusson, is free!’
Mademoiselle Scudery, her eyes welling over with tears and incapable of uttering a sound, was about to throw herself at the King’s feet; but he prevented her, saying: ‘Now, now, Mademoiselle, you ought to be a lawyer and fight my suits for me, for, by Saint Denis, no one on earth could withstand your eloquence. Yet’, he continued more seriously, ‘may he whom virtue itself takes under its protection be no less secure in the face of any evil accusation, before the Chambre ardente or any court in the world!’
Mademoiselle Scudery now found words, and she poured them forth in glowing gratitude. The King interrupted her, and told her that in her own house she could expect to receive far more ardent thanks than ever he could require from her, for probably at that very moment the happy Olivier was already embracing his Madelon.
‘Bontems’, the King concluded, ‘shall pay you a thousand Louis, to be given to the girl in my name as her dowry. May she wed her Brusson, who certainly does not deserve such good fortune, but then both are to leave Paris. That is my will.’
Martinière hurried to meet Mademoiselle Scudery, Baptiste behind her, both with faces shining with joy, both jubilantly crying: ‘He’s here! He’s free! Oh, the lovely young things!’
The happy pair threw themselves at Mademoiselle Scudery’s feet. ‘Oh, I knew that you, and you alone, would be able to save my husband,’ cried Madelon.
‘Ah, my faith in you, my mother, is firmly fixed in my soul!’ cried Olivier, and both kissed the worthy lady’s hands and wept a thousand burning tears. And then they embraced one another again, swore that the heavenly joy of that moment outweighed all the nameless sufferings of the past, and promised not to leave one another till death.
A few days later they were united by the blessing of the priest. Even if it had not been the King’s will, Brusson would not have been able to stay in Paris, where everything reminded him of the dreadful era of Cardillac’s crimes, and where any chance occurrence could reveal his secret, now known to many, and end for ever his life of happiness. Immediately after the wedding, he moved with his young wife, accompanied by Mademoiselle Scudery’s blessings, to Geneva. There, equipped by Madelon’s dowry, gifted with rare skill at his craft and with every civic virtue, he led a happy, carefree life. In him the hopes were fulfilled which had deluded his father.
A year had passed since Brusson’s departure when a public proclamation appeared, signed by Harloy de Chauvalon, Archbishop of Paris, and by the lawyer Pierre Arnaud d’Andilly, which stated that a repentant sinner had, under the seal of the confessional, handed over to the church a rich hoard of stolen gems and jewellery. Anyone who had had jewellery stolen from him before the end of the year 1680, particularly by murderous attack in the open street, should apply to d’Andilly and, if his description of the jewellery stolen from him coincided with any of the gems found, and providing no doubt was otherwise found in respect of the rightfulness of the claim, the jewellery would be returned. Many who appeared on Cardillac’s list presented themselves to the advocate and, to their no small surprise, received back the jewels that had been stolen from them. What was left fell to the treasury of the church of St Eustace.
THE SANDMAN
Nathaniel to Lothario
You must all be very worried that I have not written for such a long time. I expect mother is angry, and Clara may think I am living here in a state of debauchery and altogether forgetting the dear angel whose image is imprinted so deeply into my heart and mind. But that is not the case. You are all in my thoughts every day and every hour, and in happy dreams my darling Clara’s figure appears before me and smiles at me with her bright eyes as sweetly as she used to do whenever I came into the room. But, ah, how could I have written to you in the utter melancholy which has been disrupting all my mind? Something terrible has entered my life! Dark presentiments of a dreadful fate hover over me like black clouds impenetrable to any friendly ray of sunlight. I shall tell you what has happened to me – I shall have to do so, I can see that, even though only to think of it brings on a fit of insane laughter. Ah, my dear Lothario, how can I begin to make you feel in any way how what took place a few days ago might actually destroy my life? If only you were here, you could judge for yourself; as things are, you will certainly consider me a crazy spirit-seer.
In short, the terrible thing that has happened, and the deadly impression of which I strive in vain to eradicate, consists in nothing other than that a few days ago, namely on 30 October at mid-day, a dealer in barometers entered my room and offered me his wares. I bought nothing and threatened to throw him down the stairs. Whereupon he departed of his own accord.
You will understand that only some quite private association rooted deep in my life could bestow such significance upon this event that the mere person of that unfortunate tradesman should produce an inimical effect. And this is indeed the case. With all my strength I collect myself together to tell you quietly and patiently as much of my early youth as will suffice to make everything clear, distinct and vivid to your lively senses. As I begin I hear you laughing and Clara say: ‘This is mere childishness!’ Laugh, I beg you, laugh at me as much as you like! I beg it of you! But, God in Heaven! my hair is standing on end, and it is as if, when I plead with you to laugh at me, I do so in the madness of despair, as Schiller’s Franz Moor pleaded with Daniel. But now to the business in hand!
