Honore de Balzac (4 page)

"You must have a deal of business at Bellache to be here again," said
Michu.

"Again! is that meant as a reproach, Monsieur Michu?—Hey! I did not
know you had that gun. You are not going to whistle for the sparrows on
that pipe, I suppose—"

"It grew in a field of mine which bears guns," replied Michu. "Look!
this is how I sow them."

The bailiff took aim at a viper thirty feet away and cut it in two.

"Have you got that bandit's weapon to protect your master?" said
Violette. "Perhaps he gave it to you."

"He came from Paris expressly to bring it to me," replied Michu.

"People are talking all round the neighborhood of this journey of his;
some say he is in disgrace and has to retire from office; others that he
wants to see things for himself down here. But anyway, why does he
come, like the First Consul, without giving warning? Did you know he was
coming?"

"I am not on such terms with him as to be in his confidence."

"Then you have not seen him?"

"I did not know he was here till I got back from my rounds in the
forest," said Michu, reloading his gun.

"He has sent to Arcis for Monsieur Grevin," said Violette; "they are
scheming something."

"If you are going round by Cinq-Cygne, take me up behind you," said the
bailiff. "I'm going there."

Violette was too timid to have a man of Michu's strength on his crupper,
and he spurred his beast. Judas slung his gun over his shoulder and
walked rapidly up the avenue.

"Who can it be that Michu is angry with?" said Marthe to her mother.

"Ever since he heard of Monsieur Malin's arrival he has been gloomy,"
replied the old woman. "But it is getting damp here, let us go in."

After the two women had settled themselves in the chimney corner they
heard Couraut's bark.

"There's my husband returning!" cried Marthe.

Michu passed up the stairs; his wife, uneasy, followed him to their
bedroom.

"See if any one is about," he said to her, in a voice of some emotion.

"No one," she replied. "Marianne is in the field with the cow, and
Gaucher—"

"Where is Gaucher?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"I distrust that little scamp. Go up in the garret, look in the
hay-loft, look everywhere for him."

Marthe left the room to obey the order. When she returned she found
Michu on his knees, praying.

"What is the matter?" she said, frightened.

The bailiff took his wife round the waist and drew her to him, saying in
a voice of deep feeling: "If we never see each other again remember, my
poor wife, that I loved you well. Follow minutely the instructions which
you will find in a letter buried at the foot of the larch in that copse.
It is enclosed in a tin tube. Do not touch it until after my death.
And remember, Marthe, whatever happens to me, that in spite of man's
injustice, my arm has been the instrument of the justice of God."

Marthe, who turned pale by degrees, became white as her own linen; she
looked at her husband with fixed eyes widened by fear; she tried to
speak, but her throat was dry. Michu disappeared like a shadow, having
tied Couraut to the foot of his bed where the dog, after the manner of
all dogs, howled in despair.

Michu's anger against Monsieur Marion had serious grounds, but it was
now concentrated on another man, far more criminal in his eyes,—on
Malin, whose secrets were known to the bailiff, he being in a better
position than others to understand the conduct of the State Councillor.
Michu's father-in-law had had, politically speaking, the confidence of
the former representative to the Convention, through Grevin.

Perhaps it would be well here to relate the circumstances which
brought the Simeuse and the Cinq-Cygne families into connection with
Malin,—circumstances which weighed heavily on the fate of Mademoiselle
de Cinq-Cygne's twin cousins, but still more heavily on that of Marthe
and Michu.

The Cinq-Cygne mansion at Troyes stands opposite to that of Simeuse.
When the populace, incited by minds that were as shrewd as they were
cautious, pillaged the hotel Simeuse, discovered the marquis and
marchioness, who were accused of corresponding with the nation's
enemies, and delivered them to the national guards who took them to
prison, the crowd shouted, "Now for the Cinq-Cygnes!" To their minds the
Cinq-Cygnes were as guilty as other aristocrats. The brave and worthy
Monsieur de Simeuse in the endeavor to save his two sons, then eighteen
years of age, whose courage was likely to compromise them, had confided
them, a few hours before the storm broke, to their aunt, the Comtesse de
Cinq-Cygne. Two servants attached to the Simeuse family accompanied the
young men to her house. The old marquis, who was anxious that his name
should not die out, requested that what was happening might be concealed
from his sons, even in the event of dire disaster. Laurence, the only
daughter of the Comtesse de Cinq-Cygne, was then twelve years of age;
her cousins both loved her and she loved them equally. Like other twins
the Simeuse brothers were so alike that for a long while their mother
dressed them in different colors to know them apart. The first comer,
the eldest, was named Paul-Marie, the other Marie-Paul. Laurence de
Cinq-Cygne, to whom their danger was revealed, played her woman's part
well though still a mere child. She coaxed and petted her cousins and
kept them occupied until the very moment when the populace surrounded
the Cinq-Cygne mansion. The two brothers then knew their danger for the
first time, and looked at each other. Their resolution was instantly
taken; they armed their own servants and those of the Comtesse de
Cinq-Cygne, barricaded the doors, and stood guard at the windows, after
closing the wooden blinds, with the five men-servants and the Abbe
d'Hauteserre, a relative of the Cinq-Cygnes. These eight courageous
champions poured a deadly fire into the crowd. Every shot killed or
wounded an assailant. Laurence, instead of wringing her hands, loaded
the guns with extraordinary coolness, and passed the balls and powder to
those who needed them. The Comtesse de Cinq-Cygne was on her knees.

"What are you doing, mother?" said Laurence.

"I am praying," she answered, "for them and for you."

Sublime words,—said also by the mother of Godoy, prince of the Peace,
in Spain, under similar circumstances.

In a moment eleven persons were killed and lying on the ground among a
number of wounded. Such results either cool or excite a populace; either
it grows savage at the work or discontinues it. On the present occasion
those in advance recoiled; but the crowd behind them were there to kill
and rob, and when they saw their own dead, they cried out: "Murder!
Murder! Revenge!" The wiser heads went in search of the representative
to the Convention, Malin. The twins, by this time aware of the
disastrous events of the day, suspected Malin of desiring the ruin
of their family, and of causing the arrest of their parents, and the
suspicion soon became a certainty. They posted themselves beneath the
porte-cochere, gun in hand, intending to kill Malin as soon as he made
his appearance; but the countess lost her head; she imagined her house
in ashes and her daughter assassinated, and she blamed the young men for
their heroic defence and compelled them to desist. It was Laurence who
opened the door slightly when Malin summoned the household to admit
him. Seeing her, the representative relied upon the awe he expected to
inspire in a mere child, and he entered the house. To his first words
of inquiry as to why the family were making such a resistance, the girl
replied: "If you really desire to give liberty to France how is it that
you do not protect us in our homes? They are trying to tear down this
house, monsieur, to murder us, and you say we have no right to oppose
force to force!"

Malin stood rooted to the ground.

"You, the son of a mason employed by the Grand Marquis to build his
castle!" exclaimed Marie-Paul, "you have let them drag our father to
prison—you have believed calumnies!"

"He shall be released at once," said Malin, who thought himself lost
when he saw each youth clutch his weapon convulsively.

"You owe your life to that promise," said Marie-Paul, solemnly. "If it
is not fulfilled to-night we shall find you again."

"As to that howling populace," said Laurence, "If you do not send them
away, the next blood will be yours. Now, Monsieur Malin, leave this
house!"

The Conventionalist did leave it, and he harangued the crowd, dwelling
on the sacred rights of the domestic hearth, the habeas corpus and
the English "home." He told them that the law and the people were
sovereigns, that the law
was
the people, and that the people could
only act through the law, and that power was vested in the law. The
particular law of personal necessity made him eloquent, and he managed
to disperse the crowd. But he never forgot the contemptuous expression
of the two brothers, nor the "Leave this house!" of Mademoiselle de
Cinq-Cygne. Therefore, when it was a question of selling the estates of
the Comte de Cinq-Cygne, Laurence's brother, as national property, the
sale was rigorously made. The agents left nothing for Laurence but the
chateau, the park and gardens, and one farm called that of Cinq-Cygne.
Malin instructed the appraisers that Laurence had no rights beyond her
legal share,—the nation taking possession of all that belonged to her
brother, who had emigrated and, above all, had borne arms against the
Republic.

The evening after this terrible tumult, Laurence so entreated her
cousins to leave the country, fearing treachery on the part of Malin,
or some trap into which they might fall, that they took horse that night
and gained the Prussian outposts. They had scarcely reached the forest
of Gondreville before the hotel Cinq-Cygne was surrounded; Malin came
himself to arrest the heirs of the house of Simeuse. He dared not lay
hands on the Comtesse de Cinq-Cygne, who was in bed with a nervous
fever, nor on Laurence, a child of twelve. The servants, fearing the
severity of the Republic, had disappeared. The next day the news of the
resistance of the brothers and their flight to Prussia was known to the
neighborhood. A crowd of three thousand persons assembled before the
hotel de Cinq-Cygne, which was demolished with incredible rapidity.
Madame de Cinq-Cygne, carried to the hotel Simeuse, died there from the
effects of the fever aggravated by terror.

Michu did not appear in the political arena until after these events,
for the marquis and his wife remained in prison over five months. During
this time Malin was away on a mission. But when Monsieur Marion sold
Gondreville to the Councillor of State, Michu understood the latter's
game,—or rather, he thought he did; for Malin was, like Fouche, one of
those personages who are of such depth in all their different aspects
that they are impenetrable when they play a part, and are never
understood until long after their drama is ended.

In all the chief circumstances of Malin's life he had never failed to
consult his faithful friend Grevin, the notary of Arcis, whose judgment
on men and things was, at a distance, clear-cut and precise. This
faculty is the wisdom and makes the strength of second-rate men. Now, in
November, 1803, a combination of events (already related in the "Depute
d'Arcis") made matters so serious for the Councillor of State that a
letter might have compromised the two friends. Malin, who hoped to be
appointed senator, was afraid to offer his explanations in Paris. He
came to Gondreville, giving the First Consul only one of the reasons
that made him wish to be there; that reason gave him an appearance of
zeal in the eyes of Bonaparte; whereas his journey, far from concerning
the interests of the State, related to his own interests only. On this
particular day, as Michu was watching the park and expecting, after
the manner of a red Indian, a propitious moment for his vengeance,
the astute Malin, accustomed to turn all events to his own profit, was
leading his friend Grevin to a little field in the English garden,
a lonely spot in the park, favorable for a secret conference. There,
standing in the centre of the grass plot and speaking low, the friends
were at too great a distance to be overheard if any one were lurking
near enough to listen to them; they were also sure of time to change the
conversation if others unwarily approached.

"Why couldn't we have stayed in a room in the chateau?" asked Grevin.

"Didn't you take notice of those two men whom the prefect of police has
sent here to me?"

Though Fouche made himself in the matter of the Pichegru, Georges,
Moreau, and Polignac conspiracy the soul of the Consular cabinet, he
did not at this time control the ministry of police, but was merely a
councillor of State like Malin.

"Those men," continued Malin, "are Fouche's two arms. One, that dandy
Corentin, whose face is like a glass of lemonade, vinegar on his lips
and verjuice in his eyes, put an end to the insurrection at the West
in the year VII. in less than fifteen days. The other is a disciple of
Lenoir; he is the only one who preserves the great traditions of the
police. I had asked for an agent of no great account, backed by some
official personage, and they send me those past-masters of the business!
Ah, Grevin, Fouche wants to pry into my game. That's why I left those
fellows dining at the chateau; they may look into everything for all I
care; they won't find Louis XVIII. nor any sign of him."

"But see here, my dear fellow, what game are you playing?" cried Grevin.

"Ha, my friend, a double game is a dangerous one, but this, taking
Fouche into account, is a triple one. He may have nosed the fact that I
am in the secrets of the house of Bourbon."

"You?"

"I," replied Malin.

"Have you forgotten Favras?"

The words made an impression on the councillor.