And the Procurator turned his back on the head of the security brigade, who turned pale, especially when he caught a glance from Jacques Collin, in which he read his downfall.
‘I didn’t leave my office, I was waiting for you, and you’re in no real doubt that I kept my word as you kept yours,’ said Monsieur de Granville to Jacques Collin.
‘I doubted you for a moment, sir, and perhaps in my place you’d have thought as I did; but reflection showed me that I was being unjust. I bring you more than you are giving me; it wasn’t in your interest to deceive me…’
The magistrate exchanged a quick glance with Corentin.
This glance, which could hardly escape Dodgedeath, whose attention was fixed on Monsieur de Granville, made him take notice of the curious little old man, sitting on a chair, in a corner. Immediately, warned by that quick, vivid instinct which betokens the presence of an enemy, Jacques Collin examined this individual; he saw at first glance that the eyes were not of an age to match the costume, and he recognized that this was a disguise. A second glance was enough to give Jacques Collin his revenge on Corentin for the rapidity of observation with which Corentin had seen through him at Peyrade’s.
‘We are not alone!…’ said Jacques Collin to Monsieur de Granville.
‘No,’ the Attorney General answered briefly.
‘And the gentleman,’ said the convict, ‘is one of my closest acquaintances,… I believe?’
He took one step that way and recognized Corentin, the real and avowed author of Lucien’s fall. Jacques Collin, whose complexion was brick-red, turned, for a rapid and imperceptible instant, pale and almost white; all the blood rushed to his heart, so frenetically ardent was his desire to leap upon this dangerous animal and destroy it; but he drove back the brutal impulse and held it in check with the strength which made him so terrible. He adopted a friendly air, a tone of obsequious politeness, of which he had formed the habit while playing the part of a highly placed churchman, and he greeted the little old man.
‘Monsieur Corentin,’ he said, ‘is it to chance that I owe the pleasure of meeting you here, or is it my good fortune to be the object of your visit to the Parquet?’
The Procurator’s astonishment was extreme, and he could not fail to examine the two men confronting each other.
Jacques Collin’s evident feelings and the way he enunciated his words betokened a moment of crisis, and he was curious to penetrate its causes. At this sudden and miraculous recognition of his identity, Corentin rose up like a snake on whose tail someone has stepped.
‘Yes, it is I, my dear Abbé Carlos Herrera.’
‘Did you come here,’ Dodgedeath inquired, ‘to interpose between Monsieur le Procureur-Général and myself?… Have I the happiness of forming the subject of one of those bargains in which your talents so brilliantly shine? Look, sir,’ said the convict turning to the Procurator again, ‘in order not to waste your precious time, read this sample of my merchandise…’ And he tendered to Monsieur Granville the three letters, which he drew from the side pocket of his frock coat. ‘While you are taking cognizance of them, I shall, if I may, talk a little with this gentleman.’
A position in prospect
‘IT is a great honour for me,’ replied Corentin, who could not repress a shudder.
‘Sir, you were wholly successful in the matter between us,’ said Jacques Collin. ‘I was beaten…,’ he added lightly in the tone of a gambler who has lost his money; ‘but you left certain of your men on the field… It was a victory gained at some cost…’
‘Yes,’ replied Corentin, accepting the pleasantry; ‘if you lost your queen, I lost both my castles…’
‘Oh, Contenson was only a pawn!’ Jacques Collin answered in the same tone of raillery. ‘They’re soon replaced. You are, allow me to praise you in this way to your face, you are, upon my word, a prodigious fellow.’
‘No, no, I bow to your superiority,’ replied Corentin, who had adopted the air of a professional wit (seeming to say, ‘All right, you want to crack jokes, well, let’s crack them!’). ‘Why, everything was on my side, while you, so to speak, you were all on your own…’
‘Oh! oh!’ said Jacques Collin.
‘And you almost brought it off,’ said Corentin noticing the exclamation. ‘You are the most extraordinary man I have encountered in my life, and I have seen many who were extraordinary, for those with whom I do battle are all remarkable for their daring, the boldness of their designs. I was, unfortunately, very intimate with the late Monsignor the Duke of Otranto; I worked for Louis XVIII, while he reigned, and during his term of exile for the Emperor and the Directory… You have the temper of Louvel, the finest political instrument I have seen; but you are as supple as the prince of diplomats. And what auxiliaries!… I’d give many of the heads to be cut off to have in my service poor little Esther’s cook… Where do you find creatures as beautiful as the wench who understudied that Jewess for a while on Monsieur de Nucingen’s account?… I never know where to find them when I need them…’
‘Oh, sir, my dear sir,’ said Jacques Collin, ‘you overwhelm me… Coming from you, such compliments turn a man’s head…’
‘They are deserved! What, you deceived Peyrade, he took you for a peace officer, him!… Look, if you hadn’t had that little idiot to protect, you’d have taken us all in…’
‘Oh, but, sir, you’re forgetting Contenson disguised as a mulatto… and Peyrade as an Englishman. Actors have all the resources of the theatre at their disposal; but perfect performance in the full light of day, no matter what time it is, only you and people trained by you…’
‘Ah, well, there we are,’ said Corentin, ‘the two of us, both convinced of each other’s worth, of our mutual merits. There we are, the two of us, each of us now somewhat on his own; I’ve lost my old friend, you’ve lost your young protégé. I’m the better placed of the two for the moment, why shouldn’t we do what they do in the play of the Auberge des Adrets? I give you my hand, and I say: Let us embrace and make an end. I offer you, in the presence of Monsieur le Procureur-Général, full and entire letters of pardon, and you will be one of my men, the next after me, my successor perhaps.’
‘So, it’s a position you’re offering me?…’ said Jacques Collin. ‘A nice position! I leave the brunette for the blonde…’
‘You will operate in a sphere in which your talents will be appreciated, well paid for, and you take action only in your own time. The political and governmental police has its dangers. I myself, the man before you, have been twice imprisoned,… I don’t feel any the worse for it. But one gets about! one is what one makes oneself… One stage-manages political dramas, one is treated with consideration by great lords… Well, now, my dear Jacques Collin, would that suit you?’
‘Have you received orders in the matter?’ the convict asked him.
‘I am fully empowered,…’ replied Corentin, pleased with his sudden happy thought.
‘You’re trifling, you’re a powerful man, you know very well that people might distrust you… You’ve sold more than one man tied up in a sack you’d got him to enter of his own accord… I know your fine battles, the Montauran affair, the Simeuse affair… Ah, those were the battles of Marengo in police work!’
‘Well,’ said Corentin, ‘you regard Monsieur le Procureur-Général with esteem?’
‘Yes,’ said Jacques Collin bowing respectfully; ‘his fine character, his firmness of purpose and his nobility fill me with admiration, and I would give my life to make him happy. For that reason, I shall begin by putting an end to the dangerous condition in which Madame de Sérisy lies.’
A feeling of gladness betrayed itself in the Procurator’s eyes.
‘Why, then, ask him,’ Corentin went on, ‘whether I am not fully empowered to remove you from your present shameful state, and to attach you to my person.’
‘It is quite true,’ Monsieur de Granville said watching the convict.
‘Really true! I should have a pardon for my past and the
promise of succeeding you if I proved my capacity?’
‘Between two men like ourselves, there can be no misunderstanding,’ Corentin continued with a greatness of mind which must have attracted anybody.
‘The price of this transaction no doubt is my return of the three files of letters?…’ said Jacques Collin.
‘I had not thought it necessary to say so…’
Disappointment
‘MY dear Monsieur Corentin,’ said Dodgedeath with an irony worthy of that which made Talma’s triumph in the part of Nicomedes, ‘I thank you, I am obliged to you for teaching me what I am worth and what importance is attached to depriving me of my weapons… I shall never forget it… I shall be forever and at all times at your service, and instead of saying, like Robert Macaire: “Let us embrace!…’ I shall simply embrace you.’
He so quickly took hold of Corentin by the middle, that the latter could not defend himself from the embrace; he pressed him like a doll to his heart, kissed him on both cheeks, lifted him like a feather, opened the door of the office, and put him down outside, bruised by so rough an enfoldment.
‘Good-bye, my dear,’ he said in a low voice, not meant to be overheard. ‘Three corpse lengths separate us from each other; we have measured swords, they are of the same temper, the same fashion… Let us respect each other; but I mean to be your equal, not your subordinate… Armed as you would be, you seem to me too dangerous a general for your lieutenant. Let a ditch lie between us. Woe to you if you cross on to my ground!… You call yourself the State, just as lackeys call themselves by the same name as their masters; I wish to be called Justice; we shall often see each other; let us always treat each other with the dignity, the decorum, appropriate to… the frightful riff-raff we shall always be,’ he added in a whisper. ‘I am setting you an example by kissing you…’
Corentin remained stupefied for the first time in his life, and allowed his terrible adversary to shake him by the hand.
‘If that’s the way it’s to be,’ said he, ‘I fancy it is in both our interests to remain friends…’
‘We shall be stronger each on his own side, also more dangerous,’ added Jacques Collin in a low tone. ‘So tomorrow perhaps I shall ask you for a deposit on the deal…’
‘Well, then,’ said Corentin affably, ‘you are taking your affairs out of my hands and turning them over to the A.G.; it will help in his career; but I can’t resist telling you this, you’re on the right lines… Bibi-Lupin’s limits have become clear, he’s on his way out; if you replace him, you will be in the one place that suits you; and I shall be delighted to see you in it… upon my word…’
‘So long, then, see you soon,’ said Jacques Collin.
Turning, Dodgedeath found the Procurator at his desk, head in hands.
‘Really, you can stop Countess Sérisy going mad?…’ asked Monsieur de Granville.
‘In no time at all,’ replied Jacques Collin.
‘And you can let me have all the letters from these ladies?’
‘Did you read those three?…’
‘Yes,’ said the Procurator quickly; ‘I am ashamed for the ladies who wrote them…’
‘Well, we’re alone: secure the door, and let us negotiate,’ said Jacques Collin.
‘Allow me… The Law must in the first place follow its course, and Monsieur Camusot has orders to arrest your aunt…’
‘He’ll never find her,’ said Jacques Collin.
‘A search is to be made in the Temple, at a Demoiselle Paccard’s who runs her establishment…’
‘They won’t find anything but old rags, costumes, diamonds, uniforms. Still, Monsieur Camusot’s zeal ought to be checked.’
Monsieur de Granville rang for an attendant, and told him to bring Monsieur Camusot along.
‘Look,’ he said to Jacques Collin, ‘let’s make an end! I can’t wait to hear your prescription for curing the countess…’
In which Jacques Collin abdicates as Dab
‘MONSIEUR le Procureur-Général,’ said Jacques Collin turning grave, ‘I was, as you know, sentenced to five years’ penal servitude for the crime of forgery. I love my freedom!… This love, like all loves, has defeated its own purpose; for lovers, too much adoring each other, quarrel. Alternately escaping and being recaptured, I have done seven years in the penitentiary. Thus you only have to pardon me for penalties I further incurred in the country… (sorry!) at convict stations. In reality, I have served my sentence, and until some other crime has been laid at my door, which I defy the Law and even Corentin to do, my rights as a French citizen should be restored to me. Excluded from Paris, and under police supervision, is that a life? where can I go? what can I do? You know my abilities… You’ve seen Corentin, that magazine of ruses and betrayals, pale with fear before me, pay justice to my talents… That man took everything from me! for it was he, he alone, by what means I do not know or in whose interest, who overturned the edifice of Lucien’s fortunes… Corentin and Camusot brought all this about…’
‘Let’s avoid recrimination,’ said Monsieur de Granville, ‘and come to the point.’
‘Well, then, this is the point. Last night, holding in my hand the cold hand of that dead young man, I promised myself to give up the senseless struggle I have waged for twenty years against the whole of society. You won’t expect a dull monkish sermon from me, after what I’ve told you of my religious views… Well, then, for twenty years, I’ve seen the world from below, from its cellars, and I recognize in the march of events a force which you call Providence, which I have always called chance, which my companions call luck. Every bad action meets retribution somewhere, however quickly it hides. In this battler’s trade, when your luck’s in, when you hold both a quint and a quatorze, the taper falls over, the cards burn, or the player is struck with apoplexy!… That was Lucien’s story. That boy, that angel, hadn’t committed the shadow of a crime; he did what he did, he let things take their course! He was going to marry Mademoiselle de Grandlieu, be made a marquis, he had a fortune; well, then, a tart poisons herself, she hides the proceeds of a registered income, and the so-painfully erected edifice of this fortune crumbles all at once. Then who takes the first cut at us? a man covered with secret infamies, a monster who in the world of tangled interests has committed such crimes that every penny of his fortune is bathed in some family’s tears, a Nucingen who was a legalized Jacques Collin in the world of money. But you know as well as I do the liquidations, the tricks for which he deserved hanging. My chains will forever mark all my actions, even the most praiseworthy. To be a shuttlecock between two battledores, one called the penitentiary, one the police, is a life in which victory means endless labour and tranquillity seems to me impossible. Jacques Collin now lies buried, Monsieur de Granville, with Lucien, upon whom holy water is being sprinkled at this moment prior to his departure for the cemetery of Père Lachaise. I, too, must have somewhere to go, not to live there, but to die… As things are now, you don’t want, you, the representatives of justice, to concern yourselves with the conditions of life for an ex-convict. The law may be satisfied, but society isn’t, it keeps up its mistrust, and it does all it can to justify that mistrust to itself; it makes life impossible for a freed convict; it should give him back all his rights, but it forbids him to live where he chooses. Society says to the wretch: Paris, the only place where you can hide, and the surrounding district for so many miles around, you shan’t inhabit!… Then it submits the ex-convict to police supervision. Do you think one can live under those conditions? In order to live, you must work, for you don’t leave prison with a private income. You so arrange things that the convict shall be clearly marked, recognized, hemmed in, then you imagine that people are going to treat him with confidence, when society, the law, the world about him show none. You condemn him either to hunger or to crime. He can’t find work, he is inescapably driven back to his old trade which brings him to the scaffold. Thus, while I wanted to abandon my struggle against the law, I have failed to find a place in the sun for
myself. There is only one for me, that is to serve the power which weighs on us all, and when the thought came to me, those other forces I was speaking to you of rose up around me.
‘Three great families are in my hands. Don’t think I want to blackmail them… Blackmail is one of the most cowardly forms of murder. Indeed, murder itself seems mild by comparison. The murderer has need of a frightful courage. I append my signature to these views, for the letters which are my only security, which make it possible for me to speak to you as I do, which at this moment put me on an equal footing with yourself, me who am crime and you who are justice, those letters are yours when you want them…
‘A messenger from your office can go out for them on your behalf, they will be given to him,… I ask no ransom, I’m not selling them! Alas! Monsieur le Procureur Général, when I put them on one side, I wasn’t thinking of myself, I was thinking of the danger in which Lucien might find himself one day! If you do not fall in with my request, I have more than enough courage, and more than enough distaste for life, to blow my own brains out and rid you of me… I could, with a passport, go to America and live in solitude; I have all the capacities that a savage needs… Such are the thoughts which passed through my mind last night. Your secretary should have repeated to you a message I gave him… When I saw the precautions you were taking to save Lucien’s memory from all reproach, I gave you my life, a poor gift! I no longer cared for it, life seemed to me impossible without the light shining on it, the happiness in it, the purpose which gave it meaning, the prospects of that young poet who was its sun, and I wanted you to receive those three packets of letters…’
Monsieur de Granville inclined his head.
Consequences of this abdication
‘WHEN I went down into the prison yard, I discovered the authors of the crime committed at Nanterre and my youthful chain-mate’s neck under the knife for involuntary complicity in the crime,’ Jacques Collin went on. ‘I learned that Bibi-Lupin is deceiving the Law, that the murderer of the Crottats was one of his agents; it was, you might say, providential… This gave me the idea I might do some good, using the qualities with which I am endowed, the unfortunate acquaintances I have formed, in the service of society; I could be useful instead of doing harm, and I ventured to count on your intelligence, as well as your kindness.’