MEMOIRS OF AN OFFICE PORTER THE LAST LEAVES
I put down in haste and with an agitated pen the terrible events ofwhich I have been the plaything for the last few days. This time itis all up with the Territorial and with my ambitious dreams. Disputedbills, men in possession, visits of the police, all our books in thehands of the courts, the governor fled, Bois l'Hery, the director, inprison, another--Monpavon--disappeared. My brain reels in the midst ofthese catastrophes. And if I had obeyed the warnings of reason, I shouldhave been quietly six months ago at Montbars cultivating my vineyard,with no other care than that of seeing the clusters grow round andgolden in the good Burgundian sun, and to gather from the leaves, afterthe dew, the little gray snails, so excellent when they are fried.I should have built for myself with my savings, at the end of thevineyard, on the height--I can see the place at this moment--a tower inrough stone, like M. Chalmette's, so convenient for an afternoon nap,while the quails are chirping round the place. But always misled bydeceiving illusions, I wished to enrich myself, speculate, meddle infinance, chain my fortune to the car of the conquerors of the day; andnow here I am back again in the saddest pages of my history, clerk ina bankrupt establishment, my duty to answer a horde of creditors, ofshareholders drunk with fury, who load my white hairs with the worstoutrages, and would like to make me responsible for the ruin of theNabob and the flight of the governor; as if I myself was not as cruellystruck by the loss of my four years of arrears, and my seven thousandfrancs which I had confided to that scoundrel of Paganetti dePorto-Vecchio.
But it is my fate to empty the cup of humiliation and degradation to thedregs. Have I not been made to appear before a Juge d'Instruction--I,Passajon, former apparitor of the faculty, with thirty years of faithfulservice, and the ribbon of Officer of the Academy? Oh! when I sawmyself going up that staircase of the Palace of Justice, so big, soconspicuous, without a rail to hold by, I felt my head turning and mylegs sinking under me. I was forced to reflect there, crossing thesehalls, black with lawyers and judges, studded with great green doorsbehind which one heard the imposing noise of the hearings; and uphigher, in the corridor of the Juges d'Instruction, during my hour'swaiting on a bench, where the prison vermin crawled on my legs, while Ilistened to a lot of thieves, pickpockets, and loose women talking andlaughing with the gendarmes, and the butts of the rifles echo in thepassages, and the dull roll of prison vans. I understood then the dangerof "combinations," and that it was not always good to ridicule M. Gogo.
What reassured me, however, was that never having taken any part in thedeliberations of the Territorial, I had no share in their dealings andintrigues. But explain this to me: Once in the judge's office, beforethat man in a velvet cap looking at me across his table with his littleeyes like hooks, I felt so pierced through, searched, turned over tothe very depth of my being, that, in spite of my innocence, I wanted toconfess. Confess what? I don't know. But that is the effect which thelaw had. This devil of a man spent five minutes looking at me withoutspeaking, all the while turning over a book filled with writing notunknown to me, and suddenly he said, in a mocking and severe tone:
"Well, M. Passajon, how long is it since the affair of the drayman?"
The memory of a certain little misdeed, in which I had taken part in mydays of distress, was already so distant that I did not understand atonce; but some words of the judge showed me how completely he knew thehistory of our bank. This terrible man knew everything, down to theleast details, the most secret things. Who could have informed him sothoroughly?
It was all very short, very dry, and, when I wished to enlighten justicewith some wise observations, a certain insolent fashion of saying,"Don't make phrases," so much the more wounding at my age and with myreputation of a good talker; also we were not alone in his office. Aclerk seated near me was writing down my deposition, and behind I heardthe noise of great leaves turning. The judge asked me all sorts ofquestions about the Nabob--the time when he had made his payments, theplace where we kept our books; and all at once, addressing himself tothe person whom I could not see: "Show us the cash-book, _M. l'Expert_."
A little man in a white tie brought the great register to the table. Itwas M. Joyeuse, the former cashier of Hemerlingue & Sons. But I had nottime to offer him my respects.
"Who has done that?" asked the judge, opening the book where a page wastorn out. "Don't lie, now."
I did not lie; I knew nothing of it, never having had to do with thebooks. However, I thought it my duty to mention M. de Gery, the Nabob'ssecretary, who often came at night into the office and shut himself upfor hours casting balances. Then little Father Joyeuse turned red withanger.
"That is an absurdity, M. le Juge d'Instruction. M. de Gery is theyoung man of whom I have spoken to you. He came to the Territorial as asuperintendent, and thought too much of this poor M. Jansoulet toremove the receipts for his payments; that is the proof of his blind butthorough honesty. Besides, M. de Gery, who has been detained in Tunis,is on his way back, and will furnish before long all the explanationnecessary."
I felt that my zeal was about to compromise me.
"Take care, Passajon," said the judge. "You are only here as a witness;but if you attempt to mislead justice, you may return a prisoner"(he, the monster, had, indeed, the manner of desiring it). "Come now,consider; who tore out this page?"
Then I very fortunately remembered that some days before he left Paristhe governor had me made bring the books to his house, where they wereall night. The clerk took a note of my declaration, after which thejudge dismissed me with a sign, warning me to be ready when I waswanted. Then, on the threshold, he called me back: "Stay, M. Passajon,take this away. I don't want it any more."
He held out the papers he had been consulting while he was questioningme; and judge of my confusion when I saw on the cover the word"Memoirs," written in my best round-hand. I, myself, had providedmaterial to Justice--important details which the suddenness of ourcatastrophe had prevented me from saving from the police search of ouroffice.
My first idea on returning home was to tear up these indiscreet papers;but on reflection, and after having assured myself that the Memoirscontained nothing that would compromise me, I have decided to go on withthem, with the certainty of getting some profit out of them one day oranother. There are plenty of novelists at Paris who have no imaginationand can only put true stories in their books, who would be glad to buya little book of incidents. That is how I shall avenge myself on thissociety of well-to-do swindlers, with which I have been mixed up to myshame and misfortune.
Besides, I must occupy my leisure time. There is nothing to do at thebank, which is completely deserted since the judicial inquiry began,except to arrange the bills of all colours. I have again undertaken thewriting for the cook on the second floor, Mlle. Seraphine, from whomI accept in return some little refreshment, which I keep in thestrong-box, once more become a provision safe. The wife of the governoris also very good to me, and stuffs my pockets each time I go to see herin her great rooms on the Chaussee d'Antin. There nothing has changed;the same luxury, the same comfort, also a three-months'-old baby--theseventh--and a superb nurse, whose Norman cap is the admiration of theBois de Boulogne. It seems that once started on the rails of fortune,people need a certain time to slacken their speed or stop. Besides, thisthief of a Paganetti had, in case of accident, settled everything on hiswife. Perhaps that is why this rag-bag of an Italian woman has such anunshakable admiration for him. He has fled, he is in hiding; but sheremains convinced that her husband is a little Saint-John of innocence,the victim of his goodness and credulity. One ought to hear her. "Youknow him, you Moussiou Passajon. You know if he is scrupulous. But astrue as there is a God, if my husband had committed such crimes as he isaccused of, I myself--you hear me--I myself would put a blunderbuss inhis hands, and would say to him, 'Here, Tchecco, blow out your brains!'"and by the way in which she opens the nostrils of her little turned-upnose, her round eyes, black as jet, one feels that this little Corsicanwould have acted
as she spoke. He must be very clever, this infernalgovernor, to deceive even his wife, to act a part even at home, wherethe cleverest let themselves be seen as they really are.
In the meantime all these rogues have good dinners; even Bois l'Heryhas his meals sent in to the prison from the Cafe Anglais, and poor oldPassajon is reduced to live on scraps picked up in the kitchen. Stillwe must not grumble too much. There are others more wretched than weare--witness M. Francis, who came in this morning to the Territorial,thin, pale, with dirty linen and frayed cuffs, which he still pulleddown by force of habit.
I was at the moment grilling some bacon before the fire in theboard-room, my plate laid on the corner of a marqueterie table, with anewspaper underneath to preserve it. I invited Monpavon's valet to sharemy frugal meal; but since he has waited on a marquis he had come tothink that he formed part of the nobility, and he declined with adignified air, perfectly ridiculous with his hollow cheeks. He began bytelling me that he still had no news of his master; that they hadsent him away from the club, all the papers under seal, and a horde ofcreditors like locusts on the marquis's small wardrobe. "So that I ama little short," added M. Francis. That is to say, that he had not theworth of a radish in his pockets, that he had been sleeping for two dayson the benches in the streets, awakened at each instant by the police,obliged to rise, to pretend to be drunk so as to seek another shelter.As to eating, I believe he had not done so for a long time, for helooked at the food with such hungry eyes as to wring one's heart, andwhen I insisted on putting before him a slice of bacon and a glass ofwine, he fell on it like a wolf. All at once the blood came back to hischeeks and, still eating, he began to chatter.
"You know, _pere_ Passajon," said he to me between two mouthfuls, "Iknow where he is. I have seen him."
He winked his eye knowingly. I looked at him in wonder. "Who is it youhave seen, M. Francis?"
"The marquis, my master--over there in the little white house behindNotre-Dame." (He did not use the word morgue, it is too low.) "I wassure I should find him there. I went there first thing next morning.There he was. Oh, well disguised, I tell you. Only his valet couldrecognise him. The hair gray, the teeth gone, the wrinkles showing hissixty-five years, which he used to hide so well. On the marble slab,with the tap running above, I seemed to see him at his dressing-table."
"And you said nothing?"
"No. I knew his intentions on the subject for long. I let him go awaydiscreetly, without awakening attention, as he wished. But, all thesame, he might have given me a crust of bread before he went, after aservice of twenty years."
And on a sudden, striking the table with his fist with rage:
"When I think that if I had liked I might have been with Mora, insteadof going to Monpavon, that I might have had Louis's place. What luck hehas had! How many bags of gold he laid his hands on when his duke died!And the wardrobe--hundreds of shirts, a dressing-gown of blue fox furworth more than twenty thousand francs. Like Noel, too, he must havemade his pile! He had to hurry, too, for he knew that it would stopsoon. Now there is nothing to be got in the Place Vendome. An oldpoliceman of a mother who manages everything. Saint-Romans is to besold, the pictures are to be sold, half the house to be let. It is areal break-up."
I must confess that I could not help showing my satisfaction, forthis wretched Jansoulet is the cause of all our misfortunes. A man whoboasted of being so rich, who said so everywhere. The public bit atit like a fish who sees the scales shine through the net. He has lostmillions, I admit, but why did he make us believe he had more? They havearrested Bois l'Hery; they should have arrested _him_. Ah! if we had hadanother expert, I am sure it would have been done. Besides, as I said toFrancis, you had only to look at this upstart of a Jansoulet to see whathe was worth. What a head--like a bandit!
"And so common," said the ex-valet.
"No principles."
"An absolute want of form. Well, there he is on his beam-ends, and thenJenkins, too, and plenty of others with them."
"What! the doctor too? Ah! so much the worse. Such a polite and amiableman."
"Yes, still another breaking-up of his establishment. Horses, carriages,furniture. The yard of the house is full of bills, and it sounds asempty as if some one were dead. The place at Nanterre is on sale. Therewere half a dozen of the 'little Bethlehems' left whom they packed up ina cab. It is a break-up, I tell you, _pere_ Passajon, a ruin whichwe, old as we are, may not see the end of, but it will be complete.Everything is rotten, it must all come down!"
He was a sinister figure, this old steward of the Empire, thin, stubbly,covered with mud, and shouting like a Jeremiah, "It is the downfall!"with a toothless mouth, black and wide open. I felt afraid and ashamedof him, with a great desire to see him outside, and I thought: "Oh, M.Chalmette! Oh, my little vineyard of Montbars!"
_Same date_.--Great news. Mme. Gaganetti came this afternoon to bring memysteriously a letter from the governor. He is in London, going to begina magnificent thing. Fine offices in the best part of the town, a superblist of shareholders. He offers me the chance of joining him, "happy torepair thus the damage he has caused me," says he. I shall have twice mywages at the Territorial, be lodged comfortably, five shares in the newbank, and all my arrears paid. All I need is a little money to gothere and to pay a few small debts round here. Good luck! My fortuneis assured. I shall write to the notary of Montbars to mortgage myvineyard.