The Mysteries of Paris. Volume 6

CHAPTER I. PUNISHMENT.-3

In truth, as he concluded the reading, the voice of Jacques Ferrand had faltered, his patience and courage were at an end; but, watched by Polidori, he dared not infringe Rodolph’s slightest order.

“M. l’Abbé, is not Jacques’s idea excellent?” asked Polidori.

“Ah, sir, I, who know all the wretchedness of the city, can more easily comprehend of what importance

“Jacques values your praises, Monsieur l’Abbé,” replied Polidori. “And you will have still more to say to him when you hear of his institution of a gratuitous Mont-de-Piété (pawnbroking establishment), for Jacques has not forgotten this, but made it an adjunct to his Bank for the Poor.”

“Can it be true?” exclaimed the priest, clasping his hands in admiration.

The notary contrived to read with a rapid voice the other details, which referred to loans to workmen whose labour was suspended by fatigue or illness, and his intention to establish a Bank for the Poor producing twenty-five thousand francs a year for advances on pledges, which were never to go beyond ten francs for each pledge, without any charges for interest. The management and office of the loans in the Bank for the Poor was to be in the Rue du Temple, Number 17, in a house bought for the purpose. An income of ten thousand francs a year was to be devoted to the costs and management of the Bank for the Poor, whose manager was to be—

Polidori here interrupted the notary, and said to the priest:

“You will see, sir, by the choice of the manager, that Jacques knows how to repair an involuntary error. You know that by a mistake, which he deeply deplores, he had falsely accused his cashier of embezzling a sum which he afterwards found. Well, it is this honest fellow, François Germain by name, that Jacques has

“Nothing now can astonish me, or rather nothing ever astonished me so much before,” the priest replied; “the fervent piety, the virtues of our worthy friend, could only have such a result sooner or later. To devote his whole fortune to so admirable an institution is most excellent!”

“More than a million of francs (40,000l.), M. l’Abbé,” said Polidori; “more than a million, amassed by order, economy, and probity! And there were so many wretches who accused Jacques of avarice! By what they said, his business brings him in fifty or sixty thousand francs a year, and yet he leads a life of privations!”

“To that I would reply,” said the abbé, with enthusiasm, “that during fifteen years he lived like a beggar, in order one day to console those in distress most gloriously.”

“But be at least proud and joyful at the good you do,” cried Polidori, addressing Jacques Ferrand, who, gloomy, beaten, and with his eye fixed, seemed absorbed in painful meditation.

“Alas!” said the abbé, in a tone of sorrow, “it is not in this world that one receives the recompense of so many virtues! There is a higher ambition.”

“Jacques,” said Polidori, lightly touching the notary’s shoulder, “finish reading your prospectus.”

The notary started, passed his hand across his forehead, and addressing himself to the priest, “Your pardon, M. l’Abbé,” said he, “but I was lost in thought; I felt myself involuntarily carried away by the idea of how immensely the funds of this ‘Bank for the Poor’ might be augmented if the sums lent out were, when repaid, allowed to accumulate only for a year. At the end of four years, the institution would be in a condition to afford loans, either wholly gratuitously, or upon security,

“The opening of ‘the bank’ will be duly announced by every channel calculated to give publicity.”

“In conclusion, the founder has only to disclaim any desire to attract notoriety or draw down applause, his sole motive being an earnest wish to reëcho the divine precept of ‘Love ye one another!’”

The notary had now concluded; and without making any reply to the congratulations of the abbé, he proceeded to furnish him with the cash and notes requisite for the very considerable outlay required in carrying out the institution just described, and purchasing the annuity for Morel; after which he said, “Let me hope, M. l’Abbé, that you will not refuse the fresh mission confided to your charity. There is, indeed, a stranger, one Sir Walter Murphy, who has given me the benefit of his advice in drawing up the plan I have lately read to you, who will in some degree relieve you of the entire burden of this affair; and this very day he purposes conversing

“You may rely on me. But you are surely ill! Tell me, my excellent friend, is it bodily or mental pain that thus blanches your cheek? Are you ill?”

“Somewhat indisposed, M. l’Abbé; the fatigue of reading that long paper, added to the emotions called up by your gratifying praises, have combined to overcome me; and, indeed, I have been a great sufferer during the last few days. Pray excuse me,” said Jacques Ferrand, as he threw himself back languidly in his chair; “I do not apprehend any serious consequences from my present weakness, but must own I do feel quite exhausted.”

“Perhaps,” said the priest, kindly, “your best plan would be to retire to bed, and allow your physician to see you.”

“I am a physician, M. l’Abbé,” said Polidori; “the condition of my friend Jacques requires the greatest care, and I shall immediately do my best to relieve his present symptoms.”

The notary shuddered.

“Well, well,” said the curé, “let us hope that a little rest is all you require to set you to rights! I will now take my leave; but first let me give you an acknowledgment for the money I have received.”

While the priest was writing the receipt, a look wholly impossible to describe passed between Jacques Ferrand and Polidori.

“Come, come,” said the priest, as he handed the paper he had written to Jacques Ferrand, “be of good cheer! Depend upon it, it will be long ere so faithful and devout a servant is suffered to quit a life so usefully

And with these words the priest quitted the apartment, leaving Jacques Ferrand and Polidori alone there. No sooner was the door closed than a fearful imprecation burst from the lips of Jacques Ferrand, whose rage and despair, so long and forcibly repressed, now broke forth with redoubled fury. Breathless and excited, he continued, with wild and haggard looks, to pace to and fro like a furious tiger going the length of his chain, and then again retracing his infuriated march; while Polidori, preserving the most imperturbable look and manner, gazed on him with insulting calmness.

“Damnation!” exclaimed Jacques Ferrand, at last, in a voice of concentrated wrath and violence; “the idea of my fortune being thus swallowed up in founding these humbugging philanthropic institutions, and to be obliged to give away my riches in such absurdities as building banks for other people! Your master must be the fiend himself to torture a man as he is doing me!”

“I have no master,” replied Polidori, coldly; “only, like yourself, I have a judge whose decrees there is no escaping!”

“But thus blindly and idiotically to follow the most trifling order of this man!” continued Jacques Ferrand, with redoubled rage. “To compel me, constrain me, to the very actions most galling and hateful to me!”

“Nay, you have your chance between obedience and the scaffold!”

“And to think that there should be no way to escape this accursed domination! To be obliged to part with such a sum as that I lately handed over to that old proser,—a million sterling! The very extent of all my earthly possessions are now this house and about one hundred thousand francs. What more can he want with me?”

“Oh, but you have not done yet! The prince has learned, through Badinot, that your man of straw, ‘Petit Jean,’ was only your own assumed title, under which you made so many usurious loans to the Count de Remy, whom you so roughly took to task for his forgeries. The sums repaid by Saint-Remy were supplied him by a lady of high rank; and you may, very probably, be called upon to make a second restitution in that case, as well as the former; however, you may escape that in consequence of the fear entertained of wounding the delicacy of the noble lender, were the facts brought before the public.”

“And fixed, chained here!”

“As firmly as though bound by an iron cable!”

“With such a wretch as you for my gaoler!”

“Why, it is the prince’s system to punish crime by crime,—the guilty by the hand of his accomplice. So how can you object to me?”

“Oh, rage!”

“But, unhappily, powerless rage; for until he sends me his orders to permit you to leave this house, I shall follow you like your shadow! I, like yourself, have placed my head in danger of falling on the scaffold; and should I fail to perform my prescribed task of gaoler, there it would quickly fall. So that, you perceive, my integrity as your keeper is necessarily incorruptible. And as for our both attempting to free ourselves by flight, that is wholly impossible. Not a step could we take without immediately falling into the hands of those who, day and night, keep vigilant watch around and at each door of this house.”

“Death and fury! I know it.”

“Then resign yourself to what is inevitable; for if even flight were practicable, what would it do for our ultimate safety? We should be hunted down by the officers of justice, and speedily overtaken, with certain death before us; while, on the contrary, by your submitting

“Do not exasperate me by this cool irony, or—”

“Well, go on—or what? Oh, bless you, I am not afraid of you or your anger; but I know you too well not to adopt every precaution. I am well armed, I can tell you; and though you may have possessed yourself of the celebrated poisoned stiletto carried by Cecily, it would not be worth your while to try its power on me. You are aware that I am obliged, every two hours, to send to him who has a right to demand it a bulletin of your precious health! Should I not present myself with the required document, murder would be suspected, and you be taken into custody. But I wrong you in supposing you capable of such a crime. Is it likely that, after sacrificing more than a million of money to save your life, you would place it in danger for the poor satisfaction of avenging yourself on me by taking my life? No, no! You are not quite such a fool as that, at any rate!”

“Oh, misery, misery! Endless and inextricable! Whichever way I turn, I see nothing but death or disgrace! My curse be on you—on all mankind!”

“Your misanthropy, then, exceeds your philanthropy; for while the former embraces the whole world, the latter merely relates to a small part of Paris.”

“Go on, go on, monster! Mock as you will!”

“Would you rather I should overwhelm you with reproaches? Whose fault is it but yours that we are placed in our present position? Why would you persist in hanging to that letter of mine relative to the murder I assisted you in, which gained you one hundred thousand crowns, although you contrived to make it appear the man had fallen by his own hand? Why, I say, did you keep that letter of mine suspended around your neck, as though it had been a holy relic, instead of the confession of a crime?”

“Why, you contemptible being! Why, because having handed over to you fifty thousand francs for your share and assistance in the deed, I exacted from you that letter containing an admission of your participation in the affair, in order that I might have that security for your playing me fair; for with that document in existence, to betray me would have been to denounce yourself. That letter was the security, both for my life and fortune. Now are you answered as to my reasons for keeping it so carefully about me?”