Honore de Balzac (24 page)

Five days after the arrests, just as she was in the act of going to bed
about ten o'clock at night, she was called from the courtyard by her
mother, who had come from the farm on foot.

"A laboring man from Troyes wants to speak to you; he is sent by Michu,
and is waiting in the covered way," she said to Marthe.

They passed through the breach so as to take the shortest path. In the
darkness it was impossible for Marthe to distinguish anything more than
the form of a person which loomed through the shadows.

"Speak, madame; so that I may be certain you are really Madame Michu,"
said the person, in a rather anxious voice.

"I am Madame Michu," said Marthe; "what do you want of me?"

"Very good," said the unknown, "give me your hand; do not fear me. I
come," he added, leaning towards her and speaking low, "from Michu
with a note for you. I am employed at the prison, and if my superiors
discover my absence we shall all be lost. Trust me; your good father
placed me where I am. For that reason Michu counted on my helping him."

He put the letter into Marthe's hand and disappeared toward the forest
without waiting for an answer. Marthe trembled at the thought that she
was now to hear the secret of the mystery. She ran to the farm with her
mother and shut herself up to read the following letter:—

My dear Marthe,—You can rely on the discretion of the man who
will give you this letter; he does not know how to read or to
write. He is a stanch Republican, and shared in Baboeuf's
conspiracy; your father often made use of him, and he regards the
senator as a traitor. Now, my dear wife, attend to my directions.
The senator has been shut up by us in the cave where our masters
were hidden. The poor creature had provisions for only five days,
and as it is our interest that he should live, I wish you, as soon
as you receive this letter, to take him food for at least five
days more. The forest is of course watched; therefore take as many
precautions as we formerly did for our young masters. Don't say a
word to Malin; don't speak to him; and put on one of our masks
which you will find on the steps which lead down to the cave.
Unless you wish to compromise our heads you must be absolutely
silent about this letter and the secret I have now confided to
you. Don't say a word to Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne, who might
tell of it. Don't fear for me. We are certain that the matter will
turn out well; when the time comes Malin himself will save us. I
don't need to tell you to burn this letter as soon as you have
read it, for it would cost me my head if a line of it were seen. I
kiss you for now and always,

Michu.

The existence of the cave was known only to Marthe, her son, Michu, the
four gentlemen, and Laurence; or rather, Marthe, to whom her husband
had not related the incident of his meeting with Peyrade and Corentin,
believed it was known only to them. Had she consulted her mistress and
the two lawyers, who knew the innocence of the prisoners, the shrewd
Bordin would have gained some light upon the perfidious trap which was
evidently laid for his clients. But Marthe, acting like most women under
a first impulse, was convinced by this proof which came to her own eyes,
and flung the letter into the fire as directed. Nevertheless, moved by
a singular gleam of caution, she caught a portion of it from the flames,
tore off the five first lines, which compromised no one, and sewed them
into the hem of her dress. Terrified at the thought that the prisoner
had been without food for twenty-four hours, she resolved to carry
bread, meat, and wine to him at once; curiosity was well as humanity
permitting no delay. Accordingly, she heated her oven and made, with
her mother's help, a
pate
of hare and ducks, a rice cake, roasted two
fowls, selected three bottles of wine, and baked two loaves of bread.
About two in the morning she started for the forest, carrying the load
on her back, accompanied by Couraut, who in all such expeditions
showed wonderful sagacity as a guide. He scented strangers at immense
distances, and as soon as he was certain of their presence he returned
to his mistress with a low growl, looking at her fixedly and turning his
muzzle in the direction of the danger.

Marthe reached the pond about three in the morning, and left the dog
as sentinel on the bank. After half an hour's labor in clearing the
entrance she came with a dark lantern to the door of the cave, her face
covered with a mask, which she had found, as directed, on the steps.
The imprisonment of the senator seemed to have been long premeditated.
A hole about a foot square, which Marthe had never seen before, was
roughly cut in the upper part of the iron door which closed the cave;
but in order to prevent Malin from using the time and patience all
prisoners have at their command in loosening the iron bar which held the
door, it was securely fastened with a padlock.

The senator, who had risen from his bed of moss, sighed when he saw the
masked face and felt that there was no chance then of his deliverance.
He examined Marthe, as much as he could by the unsteady light of her
dark lantern, and he recognized her by her clothes, her stoutness, and
her motions. When she passed the
pate
through the door he dropped it
to seize her hand and then, with great swiftness, he tried to pull the
rings from her fingers,—one her wedding-ring, the other a gift from
Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne.

"You cannot deny that it is you, my dear Madame Michu," he said.

Marthe closed her fist the moment she felt his fingers, and gave him a
vigorous blow in the chest. Then, without a word, she turned away and
cut a stick, at the end of which she held out to the senator the rest of
the provisions.

"What do they want of me?" he asked.

Marthe departed giving him no answer. By five o'clock she had reached
the edge of the forest and was warned by Couraut of the presence of
strangers. She retraced her steps and made for the pavilion where she
had lived so long; but just as she entered the avenue she was seen from
afar by the forester of Gondreville, and she quickly reflected that her
best plan was to go straight up to him.

"You are out early, Madame Michu," he said, accosting her.

"We are so unfortunate," she replied, "that I am obliged to do a
servant's work myself. I am going to Bellache for some grain."

"Haven't you any at Cinq-Cygne?" said the forester.

Marthe made no answer. She continued on her way and reached the farm at
Bellache, where she asked Beauvisage to give her some seed-grain, saying
that Monsieur d'Hauteserre advised her to get it from him to renew her
crop. As soon as Marthe had left the farm, the forester went there to
find out what she asked for.

Six days later, Marthe, determined to be prudent, went at midnight with
her provisions so as to avoid the keepers who were evidently patrolling
the forest. After carrying a third supply to the senator she suddenly
became terrified on hearing the abbe read aloud the public examination
of the prisoners,—for the trial was by that time begun. She took the
abbe aside, and after obliging him to swear that he would keep the
secret she was about to reveal as though it was said to him in the
confessional, she showed him the fragments of Michu's letter, told him
the contents of it, and also the secret of the hiding-place where the
senator then was.

The abbe at once inquired if she had other letters from her husband that
he might compare the writing. Marthe went to her home to fetch them and
there found a summons to appear in court. By the time she returned to
the chateau the abbe and his sister had received a similar summons on
behalf of the defence. They were obliged therefore to start for Troyes
immediately. Thus all the personages of our drama, even those who were
only, as it were, supernumeraries, were collected on the spot where the
fate of the two families was about to be decided.

There are but few localities in France where Law derives from outward
appearance the dignity which ought always to accompany it. Yet it
surely is, after religion and royalty, the greatest engine of society.
Everywhere, even in Paris, the meanness of its surroundings, the
wretched arrangement of the courtrooms, their barrenness and want of
decoration in the most ornate and showy nation upon earth in the matter
of its public monuments, lessens the action of the law's mighty power.
At the farther end of some oblong room may be seen a desk with a green
baize covering raised on a platform; behind it sit the judges on
the commonest of arm-chairs. To the left, is the seat of the public
prosecutor, and beside him, close to the wall, is a long pen filled with
chairs for the jury. Opposite to the jury is another pen with a bench
for the prisoners and the gendarmes who guard them. The clerk of the
court sits below the platform at a table covered with the papers of the
case. Before the imperial changes in the administration of justice were
instituted, a commissary of the government and the director of the jury
each had a seat and a table, one to the right, the other to the left of
the baize-covered desk. Two sheriffs hovered about in the space left in
front of the desk for the station of witnesses. Facing the judges and
against the wall above the entrance, there is always a shabby gallery
reserved for officials and for women, to which admittance is granted
only by the president of the court, to whom the proper management of the
courtroom belongs. The non-privileged public are compelled to stand in
the empty space between the door of the hall and the bar. This normal
appearance of all French law courts and assize-rooms was that of the
Criminal court of Troyes.

In April, 1806, neither the four judges nor the president (or
chief-justice) who made up the court, nor the public prosecutor, the
director of the jury, the commissary of the government, nor the sheriffs
or lawyers, in fact no one except the gendarmes, wore any robes or
other distinctive sign which might have relieved the nakedness of the
surroundings and the somewhat meagre aspect of the figures. The crucifix
was suppressed; its example was no longer held up before the eyes of
justice and of guilt. All was dull and vulgar. The paraphernalia
so necessary to excite social interest is perhaps a consolation to
criminals. On this occasion the eagerness of the public was what it has
ever been and ever will be in trials of this kind, so long as France
refuses to recognize that the admission of the public to the courts
involves publicity, and that the publicity given to trials is a terrible
penalty which would never have been inflicted had legislators reflected
on it. Customs are often more cruel than laws. Customs are the deeds of
men, but laws are the judgment of a nation. Customs in which there is
often no judgment are stronger than laws.

Crowds surrounded the courtroom; the president was obliged to station
squads of soldiers to guard the doors. The audience, standing below the
bar, was so crowded that persons suffocated. Monsieur de Grandville,
defending Michu, Bordin, defending the Simeuse brothers, and a lawyer
of Troyes who appeared for the d'Hauteserres, were in their seats before
the opening of the court; their faces wore a look of confidence. When
the prisoners were brought in, sympathetic murmurs were heard at the
appearance of the young men, whose faces, in twenty days' imprisonment
and anxiety, had somewhat paled. The perfect likeness of the twins
excited the deepest interest. Perhaps the spectators thought that Nature
would exercise some special protection in the case of her own anomalies,
and felt ready to join in repairing the harm done to them by destiny.
Their noble, simple faces, showing no signs of shame, still less of
bravado, touched the women's hearts. The four gentlemen and Gothard wore
the clothes in which they had been arrested; but Michu, whose coat and
trousers were among the "articles of testimony," so-called, had put
on his best clothes,—a blue surtout, a brown velvet waistcoat
a la
Robespierre, and a white cravat. The poor man paid the penalty of his
dangerous-looking face. When he cast a glance of his yellow eye, so
clear and so profound upon the audience, a murmur of repulsion answered
it. The assembly chose to see the finger of God bringing him to the dock
where his father-in-law had sacrificed so many victims. This man, truly
great, looked at his masters, repressing a smile of scorn. He seemed to
say to them, "I am injuring your cause." Five of the prisoners exchanged
greetings with their counsel. Gothard still played the part of an idiot.

After several challenges, made with much sagacity by the defence under
advice of the Marquis de Chargeboeuf, who boldly took a seat beside
Bordin and de Grandville, the jury were empanelled, the indictment was
read, and the prisoners were brought up separately to be examined. They
answered every question with remarkable unanimity. After riding about
the forest all the morning they had returned to Cinq-Cygne for breakfast
at one o'clock. After that meal, from three to half-past five in the
afternoon, they had returned to the forest. That was the basis of each
testimony; any variations were merely individual circumstances. When
the president asked the Messieurs de Simeuse why they had ridden out so
early, they both declared that wishing, since their return, to buy back
Gondreville and intending to make an offer to Malin who had arrived the
night before, they had gone out early with their cousin and Michu to
make certain examinations of the property on which to base their offer.
During that time the Messieurs d'Hauteserre, their cousin, and Gothard
had chased a wolf which was reported in the forest by the peasantry. If
the director of the jury had sought for the prints of their horses' feet
in the forest as carefully as in the park of Gondreville, he would have
found proof of their presence at long distances from the house.