Conversation.
M. DE SARTINES took a moment or two to recover from his rather severe alarm. He had seen the threatening muzzle of the pistol presented before his very eye; he had even felt the cold metal of the barrel upon his forehead. At last he recovered.
“Sir,” said he; “you have an advantage over me. Knowing what sort of a man I had to deal with, I did not take the precautions usually adopted against common malefactors.”
“Oh! sir,” replied Balsamo, “now you are getting angry and use injurious expressions. Do you not see how unjust you are? I come to do you a service.”
M. de Sartines moved uneasily.
“Yes, sir, to serve you,” resumed Balsamo, “and therefore you misunderstand my intentions; you speak to me of conspirators at the very time when I come to denounce a conspiracy to you.”
But Balsamo talked in vain. M. de Sartines did not at that moment pay any great attention to the words of his dangerous visitor, and the word conspiracy, which on other occasions would have been sufficient to make him bound from his seat, scarcely caused him to prick up his ears.
“Since you know so well who I am, sir, you are aware of my mission in France. Sent by his majesty the great Frederick, I am more or less secretly the ambassador of his Prussian Majesty. Now, by ambassador is understood an inquirer; in my quality of inquirer I am ignorant of nothing that happens, and a subject upon which I am particularly well informed is the monopoly of grain.”
However unpretendingly Balsamo uttered these last words, they nevertheless produced more effect upon the lieutenant of police than all the others, for they made him attentive. He slowly raised his head.
“What is this affair about corn?” said he, affecting as much assurance as Balsamo himself had displayed at the commencement of the interview. “Be good enough, in your turn, to instruct me, sir.”
“Willingly, sir,” said Balsamo. “This is the whole matter—”
“I am all attention.”
“Oh! you do not need to tell me that. Some very clever speculators have persuaded his majesty the king of France that he ought to construct granaries for his people in case of scarcity. These granaries therefore have been constructed. While they were doing it, they thought it as well to make them large. Nothing was spared, neither stone nor brick, and they were made very large.”
“Well?”
“Well, they had then to be filled. Empty granaries were useless, therefore they were filled.”
“Well! sir,” said M. de Sartines, not seeing very clearly as yet what Balsamo was driving at.
“Well! you may readily conceive that to fill these very large granaries, a great quantity of grain was required. Is that not evident?”
“Yes.”
“To continue, then. A large quantity of grain withdrawn from circulation is one way of starving the people; for, mark this; any amount taken from the circulation is equivalent to a failure in the production. A thousand sacks of corn more in the granary are a thousand sacks of corn less in the market-place. If you only multiply these thousand sacks by ten, the corn will rise considerably.”
M. de Sartines was seized with an irritating cough. Balsamo paused, and waited quietly till the cough was gone.
“You see, then,” continued he, as soon as the lieutenant of police would permit him, “you see that the speculator in these granaries is enriched by the amount of the rise in value. Is that clear to you?”
“Perfectly clear, sir,” said M. de Sartines; “but, as far as I can understand, it seems that you have the presumption to denounce to me a conspiracy or a crime of which his majesty is the author?”
“Exactly,” said Balsamo; “you understand me perfectly.”
“That is a bold step, sir; and I confess that I am rather curious to see how his majesty will take your accusation; I fear much the result will be precisely the same that I proposed to myself on looking over the papers in this box before your arrival. Take care, sir; your destination in either case will be the Bastille.”
“Ah! now you do not understand me at all.”
“How so?”
“God heavens! how incorrect an opinion you form of me, and how deeply you wrong me, sir, in taking me for a fool! What! you imagine I intend to attack the king — I, an ambassador, an inquirer! Why, that would be the work of a simpleton! Listen to the end, pray.”
M. de Sartines bowed.
“The persons who have discovered this conspiracy against the French people — (forgive me for taking up your valuable time, sir, but you will see directly that it is not lost) — they who have discovered this conspiracy against the French people are economists — laborious and minute men, who by their careful investigation of this underhand game have discovered that the king does not play alone. They know well that his majesty keeps an exact register of the rate of corn in the different markets; they know that his majesty rubs his hands with glee when the rise has produced him eight or ten thousand crowns; but they know also that beside his majesty there stands a man whose position facilitates the sales, a man who naturally, thanks to certain functions (he is a functionary, you must know), superintends the purchases, the arrivals, the packing — a man, in short, who manages for the king. Now these economists — these microscopic observers, as I call them — will not attack the king, for of course they are not mad, but they will attack, my dear sir, the man, the functionary, the agent, who thus haggles for his majesty.”
M. de Sartines endeavored in vain to restore the equilibrium of his wig.
“Now,” continued Balsamo, “I am coming to the point. Just as you, who have a police, knew that I was the Count de Fenix, so I know that you are M. de Sartines.”
“Well, what then?” said the embarrassed magistrate. “Yes, I am M. de Sartines. What a discovery!”
“Ah! but cannot you understand that this M. de Sartines is precisely the man of the price list, of the underhand dealings, of the stowing away — he who, either with or without the king’s cognizance, traffics with the food of twenty-seven millions of French people, whom his office requires him to feed on the best possible terms. Now just imagine the effect of such a discovery. You are not much beloved by the people; the king is not a very considerate man; as soon as the cries of the famishing millions demand your head, the king — to avert all suspicion of connivance with you, if there is connivance, or if there is no connivance, to do justice — will cause you to be hanged upon a gibbet, like Enguerrand de Marigny. Do you recollect Enguerrand?”
“Imperfectly,” said M. de Sartines, turning very pale; “and it is a proof of very bad taste, I think, sir, to talk of gibbets to a man of my rank.”
“Oh! if I alluded to it,” replied Balsamo, “it was because I think I see poor Enguerrand still before me. I assure you he was a perfect gentleman, from Normandy, of a very ancient family and a noble descent. He was chamberlain of France, captain of the Louvre, comptroller of finance and of buildings; he was Count of Longueville, which county is more considerable than yours of Alby! Well, sir, I saw him hanged upon the gallows of Montfaucon, which he had himself constructed! Thank God, it was not a crime to have said to him before the catastrophe, ‘Enguerrand, my dear Enguerrand! take care — you are dipping into the finances to an extent that Charles of Valois will never pardon.’ He would not listen to me, sir, and unfortunately he perished. Alas! if you knew how many prefects of police I have seen, from Pontius Pilate down to M. Berlin de Belille, Count de Bourdeilhes, Lord of Brantome, your predecessor, who first introduced the lantern and prohibited the scales.”
M. de Sartines rose, and endeavored in vain to conceal the agitation which preyed upon him.
“Well,” said he, “you can accuse me if you like. Of what importance is the testimony of a man such as you, who has no influence or connections?”
“Take care, sir,” said Balsamo; “frequently those who seem to have no connections are connected far and wide; and when I shall write the history of these corn speculations to my correspondent Frederick, who you know is a philosopher — when Frederick shall hasten to communicate the affair, with his comments upon it, to M. Arouet de Voltaire — when the latter, with his pen, whose reputation at least I hope you know, shall have metamorphosed it into a little comic tale in the style of ‘L’homme aux quarante Ecus’ — when M. d’Alembert, that excellent geometrician, shall have calculated that the corn withdrawn from the public consumption by you might have fed a hundred millions of men for two or three years — when Helvetius shall have shown that the price of this corn, converted into crowns of six livres and piled up, would touch the moon, or, into bank-notes fastened together, would reach to Saint Petersburg — when this calculation shall have inspired M. de la Harpe to write a bad drama, Diderot a family conversation, and M. Jean Jacques Rousseau, of Geneva, who has a tolerably sharp bite when he chooses, a terrible paraphrase of this conversation, with his own commentaries — when M. Caron de Beaumarchais — may Heaven preserve you from treading on his toes! — shall have written a memoir, M. Grimm a little letter, M. de Holbach a thundering attack, M. de Marmontel an amiable moral tale in which he will kill you by defending you badly — when you shall be spoken of in the Cafe de la Regence, the Palais Royal, at Audinet’s, at the king’s dancers (kept up, as you know, by M. Nicolet) — ah! Count d’Alby, you will be in a much worse case than poor Enguerrand de Marigny (whom you would not hear me mention) when he stood under the gallows, for he asserted his innocence, and that with so much earnestness that, on my word of honor, I believed him when he told me so.”
At these words, M. de Sartines, no longer paying any heed to decorum, took off his wig and wiped his bald pate, which was bathed in perspiration.
“Well,” said he, “so be it! But all that will not prevent me in the least. Ruin me if you can; you have your proofs, I have mine. Keep your secret. I shall keep the coffer.”
“Oh! sir,” said Balsamo, “that is another error into which I am surprised that a man of your talents should fall; this coffer —
“Well! what of it?”
“You will not keep.”
“Oh!” exclaimed M. de Sartines, with a sarcastic smile, “true; I had forgotten that the Count de Fenix is a gentleman of the highway, who rifles travelers with the strong hand. I forgot your pistol, because you have replaced it in your pocket. Excuse me, my lord ambassador.”
“But, good heavens! why speak of pistols, M. de Sartines? You surely do not believe that I mean to carry off the coffer by main force; that when on the stairs I may hear your bell ring and your voice cry, ‘Stop thief!’ Oh, no! When I say that you will not keep this coffer, I mean that you will restore it to me willingly and without restraint.”
“What! I!” exclaimed the magistrate, placing his clenched hand upon the disputed object with so much weight that he nearly broke it.
“Yes, you.”
“Oh! very well, sir, mock away; but as to taking this coffer, I tell you you shall only have it with my life. And have I not risked my life a thousand times? Do I not owe it, to the last drop, to the service of his majesty? Kill me — you can do so! but the noise will summon my avengers, and I shall have voice enough left to convict you of all your crimes. Ah! give you back this coffer!” added he, with a bitter smile, “all hell should not wrest it from me!”
“And, therefore, I shall not employ the intervention of the subterranean powers. I shall be satisfied with that of the person who is just now knocking at the gate of your courtyard.”
And in fact, just at that moment, three blows struck with an air of command were heard outside.
“And whose carriage,” continued Balsamo, “is just now entering the court.”
“It seems, then, that it is some friend of yours who is coming to honor me with a visit!”
“As you say — a friend of mine.”
“And I shall hand this coffer to him.”
“Yes, my dear M. de Sartines, you will give it to him.”
The lieutenant of police had not finished his gesture of lofty disdain, when a valet opened the door hastily, and announced that Madame Dubarry wished for an interview.
M. de Sartines started, and looked in stupefied amazement at Balsamo, who required all his self-command to avoid laughing in the face of the honorable magistrate.
Close behind the valet appeared a lady who seemed to have no need of permission to enter. It was the beautiful countess, whose flowing and perfumed skirts gently rustled as they brushed past the doorway of the cabinet.
“You, madame! you!” exclaimed M. de Sartines, who, in the instinct of terror, had seized the open coffer in both hands, and clasped it to his breast.
“Good-day, Sartines,” said the countess, with her gayest smile; then, turning to Balsamo, “Good-day, dear count,” added she, and she gave her hand to the latter, who familiarly bent over the white fingers, and pressed his lips where the royal lips had so often rested.
In this movement Balsamo managed to whisper a few words aside to the countess, which Sartines could not hear.
“Ah! precisely,” exclaimed the countess, “there is my coffer.”
“Your coffer!” stammered M. de Sartines.
“Of course, my coffer — oh! you have opened it; I see — you do not observe much ceremony!”
“But, madame—”
“Oh! it is delightful! The idea occurred to me at once that some one had stolen this coffer, and then I said to myself. ‘I must go to Sartines, he will find it for me.’ You did not wait till I asked you; you found it beforehand — a thousand thanks!”
“And as you see,” said Balsamo, “monsieur has even opened it.”
“Yes, really! who could have thought it? It is odious conduct of you, Sartines!”
“Madame, notwithstanding all the respect I have for you,” said the lieutenant of police, “I fear that you are imposed upon.”
“Imposed, sir!” said Balsamo; “do you perchance mean that word for me?”
“I know what I know,” replied M. de Sartines.
“And I know nothing,” whispered Madame Dubarry in a low voice to Balsamo. “Come, tell me what is the matter, my dear count! You have claimed the fulfillment of the promise I made you, to grant the first favor you should ask. I keep my word like a woman of honor, and here I am. Tell me what must I do for you?”
“Madame,” replied Balsamo aloud, “you confided the care of this coffer and everything it contains to me, a few days ago.”
“Of course,” answered Madame Dubarry, replying by a look to the count’s appealing glance.
“Of course!” exclaimed M. de Sartines; “you say of course, madame?”
“Yes; madame pronounced the words loud enough for you to hear them, I should think.”
“A box which contains perhaps ten conspiracies!”
“Ah! M. de Sartines, you are aware that that word is rather an unfortunate one for you; do not repeat it. Madame asks for her box again; give it her — that is all.”
“Do you ask me for it, madame?” said M. de Sartines, trembling with anger.—”Yes, my dear magistrate.”
“But learn, at least—”
Balsamo looked at the countess.
“You can tell me nothing I do not know,” said Madame Dubarry; “give me the coffer; you may believe I did not come for nothing!”
“But in the name of Heaven, madame! — in the name of his majesty’s safety!—”
Balsamo made an impatient gesture.
“The coffer, sir!” said the countess abruptly; “the coffer — yes or no! Reflect well before you refuse.”
“As you please, madame!” said M. de Sartines humbly.
And he handed the coffer, in which Balsamo had already replaced all the papers scattered over the desk, to the countess.
Madame Dubarry turned toward the latter with a charming smile.
“Count,” said she, “will you carry this coffer to my carriage for me, and give me your hand through all these antechambers, thronged with villainous-looking faces which I do not like to confront alone. Thanks, Sartines.”
And Balsamo was already advancing toward the door with his protectress, when he saw M. de Sartines moving toward the bell.
“Countess,” said Balsamo, stopping his enemy with a look, “be good enough to tell M. de Sartines, who is quite enraged with me for having claimed this box — be good enough to tell him how much grieved you would be if any misfortune were to happen to me through the agency of the lieutenant of police, and how displeased you would be with him.” The countess smiled on Balsamo.
“You hear what the count says, my dear Sartines? — well! it is the simple truth. The count is an excellent friend of mine, and I should be dreadfully angry with you if you displeased him in any way whatsoever. Adieu, Sartines!” And placing her hand in Balsamo’s, who carried the coffer, Madame Dubarry left the study of the lieutenant of police.
M. de Sartines saw them depart without displaying that fury which Balsamo expected him to manifest.
“Go!” said the conquered magistrate; “go — you have the box, but I have the woman!”
And to compensate himself for his disappointment, he rang loud enough to break all the bells in the house.