Works of Honore De Balzac, page 663
“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 I crave to live and act is the only 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 submission.
“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 reminding you of that to drive a bargain,” he added eagerly, seeing Monsieur 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 prosecutor. “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, ‘I 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, with a smile. “I see you still think me capable of testing you and giving you so 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 magistrate, “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 intelligence, 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 Chargeboeuf, to attend Lucien’s funeral; he needed a substitute for this business, a man he could trust, and Monsieur Garnery was one of the commissioners in the Delegates’ office.
“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 follow the boy’s body to Pere-Lachaise. I will come back and surrender myself prisoner.”
“Go,” said Monsieur de Granville, 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 servants. I am sure of them as you are of your two commissioners of the Delegates’ office. The money paid for the certificate sold by Mademoiselle Esther Gobseck will certainly 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 examined and taken to pieces, the mattresses unsewn — the money will be found.”
“You are sure of that?”
“I am 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 yourself 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 Nanterre 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 thoroughly 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 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 commissioner 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 Granville.
“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; “I 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 forget the convict’s promise to cure Madame de Serizy.
When once he was outside, Jacques Collin had an indescribable 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 procession 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 ten mourning carriages, only four were occupied. By the time they reached Pere-Lachaise there were not more than a dozen followers, among whom was Rastignac.
“That is right; it is well that you are faithful to him,” said Jacques Collin to his old acquaintance.
Rastignac 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 powerful 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.
Rastignac gave a shrug of disgust.
“But if you were robbed — — ”
Rastignac hurried on to get away from Jacques Collin.
“You do not know what circumstances you may find yourself 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 endure 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 recovered consciousness and had looked about him.
He saw himself between two constables, one of whom was Ruffard; 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 Ruffard, “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 expressive pantomime.
“Come, what did he say when he gave you your orders?”
“He bid us fetch you at once,” said Ruffard, “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 assistance.”
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, monsieur,” 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 received — — ”
“All the letters, yes,” said the magistrate. “But you promised 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 Monsieur 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.”
“No; I owed that poor Theodore his life, and he is reprieved.”
“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.
“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 Roland for your Oliver,” said the aunt, “for he has taken charge of Peyrade’s daughter, the girl who was sold to Madame Nourrisson, 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 involved 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 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 reproached 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 everybody, 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 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 torture, 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.
