Part 48

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.

“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 undertone. “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 prosecutor. 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 prosecutor 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 aunt.”

“He will never find her,” said Jacques Collin.

“Search is to be made at the Temple, in the shop 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.”

“Monsieur le Comte,” said the convict very gravely, “I 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 adoring each other too fondly end by quarreling. By dint of escaping 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 storehouse 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 interest 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 discerned, in the march of events, a Power which you call Providence 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 quartorze in your hand and the lead--the candle tumbles over and the cards are burned, or the player has a fit of apoplexy!--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 fortune 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 suspicious, 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 forbidden 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.

“You arrange matters so that he is plainly ticketed, recognized, 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 suppose I am thinking of blackmail--blackmail is the meanest form of murder. In my eyes it is baser villainy than murder. 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! Monsieur 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 characteristics 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 impossible without the star that gave it light, the happiness that glorified it, the thought that gave it meaning, the prosperity of the young poet who was its sun--and I determined to give you the three packets of letters----”

Monsieur de Granville bowed his head.

“I went down into the prison-yard, and there I found the persons guilty of the Nanterre crime, as well as my little chain companion within an inch of the chopper as an involuntary 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 simplicity, 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 Rue 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 you will put me in that sneak’s shoes, you will do society a real service. I will be honest. 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 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 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.