by Eugène Sue
“Such spyings seem to me ominous; I shall notify my aunt as soon as she returns.”
“I think this is she,” answered the servant. “I heard the shop door open and close; that must be madam.”
Indeed Marguerite Marcel soon entered the room. She threw far from her a cowled cloak that she had on, and said to Agnes: “Leave us.”
The provost’s wife threw herself into a chair; she was exhausted with fatigue and emotion. Her dejection, the pallor of her visage and the visible palpitation of her bosom redoubled the fears of Denise who was about to interrogate her aunt, when the latter, making an effort over herself suppressed her agitation and said to Denise collectively:
“Courage, my child; courage!”
“Oh, heaven!... Aunt ... have we any new misfortune to deplore? What has happened now?”
“No ... not at present; but to-morrow; perhaps this very evening.” Marguerite stopped short for a moment, and then proceeded with still greater calmness and decision: “I paid a tribute to weakness; I now feel strong again; I am now prepared for the worst.... I shall at least know by resignation how to rise to the height of the man whose name I bear! Oh, never was an honorable man more unworthily misunderstood, or attacked in more cowardly fashion!”
“Then Master Marcel is exposed to new perils?”
“My presentiments did not deceive me. What I have just learned by myself confirms them. A plot is hatching against Marcel and his partisans. Perhaps his own life and the lives of his friends are at stake. Let the worst come! At the hour of danger Marcel will do his duty and I mine.... I shall stand by my husband unto death.”
Marguerite pronounced these last words in an accent of such mournful determination that a cry of astonishment and fright escaped from Denise.
“My resolution astonishes you, poor child!” resumed Marcel’s wife. “To-day you see me full of courage! And yet last year ... even as late as yesterday ... I admitted to you my agony and the fears that every day beset me at the mere thought of the dangers that my husband ran. I then minded only his fatigue, I then only objected to the overwhelming labors that barely left him two hours of rest a night, I then looked back regretfully to the days when, a stranger to political affairs, he busied himself only with the affairs of our own cloth business. Our then obscurity at least saved us the sad spectacle of the hatreds and the envy that have since been unchained against Marcel’s glory and popularity.”
“Oh, aunt, you speak truly! Do you remember that wicked and envious Petronille Maillart? Thank God she never came back since the day of the funeral of Perrin Macé! We have been spared her presence!”
“I now have no doubt that her husband is one of the leaders in the plot that is hatching against Marcel.”
“Master Maillart!... Uncle’s childhood friend! He who only the other day was so loudly protesting his affection for him!”
“Maillart is a weak man; he yields to his wife’s influence over him, and she is consumed with envy. She envied in me the wife of the man whom the idolizing people called the King of Paris. In those days I would have sacrificed Marcel’s glory to his repose ... his genius to his safety! The slightest popular commotion made me fear for him.... I was then weak and cowardly.... But to-day, when he is pursued by hatred, ingratitude and iniquity, I feel strong, brave and withal proud of being the wife of that great citizen. I feel capable of proving to him my devotion unto death.”
“Oh, may heaven prevent that your devotion be put to so terrible a test! But how did you learn about the plot?”
“I determined this evening to put an end to my suspense, and to ascertain the actual facts regarding the popular sentiment towards Marcel. I wrapped myself in that mantle to prevent being discovered, and moved among numerous groups that gathered in our quarter.”
“I now understand it all. And you learned directly....”
“Things that cause me to foresee an imminent and fearful crisis. The life of Marcel is in great danger.”
“Good God! May you not be mistaken?”
“No! The privations, the sufferings and the ills that follow in the wake of the painful conquest of freedom are laid to Marcel’s door. My husband is at once attacked by the emissaries of the court party and by those of the party of Maillart. These emissaries circulate among the poor people, who, credulous of evil as well as of good, are fickle in their affections, and whimsical in their hatred. It is harped upon to them that all the evils of these days would have been avoided if Councilman Maillart, ‘the true friend of the people,’ had been listened to; others preach prompt submission to the Regent as the only means to a speedy end of our public disasters. ‘What does the Regent, after all, demand,’ ask his backers, ‘What does he exact in return for his pardon? Only eight hundred thousand gold pieces for the ransom of King John and the heads of the leaders of the revolt and of its principal partisans! Would it be paying too dearly with a little shame, a little gold and a little blood for the peace of the city?’”
“Great God!” cried Denise, pale and trembling, “who are the leaders of the revolt whose heads the Regent demands?”
“They are Marcel ... my son ... our best friends ... all honorable people, devoted to the public weal, adversaries of oppression and iniquity ... uncompromising enemies of the English, who are ravaging our unhappy land, and who would have put Paris to fire and sword were not Paris protected by the fortifications that it owes to Marcel’s foresight and zeal! The people to-day seem to have forgotten the services that my husband has rendered the city; they seem to have forgotten that they owe to Marcel the reforms that have been imposed upon the Regent and which guarantee them against rapine and violence from the side of the court.”
“Can it be possible that the people are guilty of such ingratitude against Master Marcel?”
“My husband’s soul is too large, his spirit too just to have been swayed in his public acts by expectations of gratitude. How often has he not said to me: ‘Let us do what is right and just, such acts are their own reward.’ Marcel is prepared for any emergency. Nevertheless, thinking that my observations might be of benefit to him, I stepped into the house of our friend Simon the Feather-dealer who lives not far from the town-hall, and I wrote to my husband what I had seen and heard. My letter was carried to him by a trusty man — —” but observing that the tears that Denise had long been suppressing now inundated her face, Marguerite interrupted her report, inquiring tenderly: “Why do you weep, dear Denise?”
“Oh, aunt! I have neither your strength nor your courage.... The thought of the dangers that threaten Master Marcel ... and our friends ... overwhelm me with fear!”
“Poor child! You are thinking of Jocelyn, your lover? He is a true friend of ours.”
“Should there be a riot or a fight, he will rush into the thickest ... to save Marcel.”
“I regret, for the sake of your happiness, dear child, that I ever called you to Paris. Had you not come, you would now be living peacefully at Vaucouleurs, away from this center of trouble and strife.”
At this instant Agnes the Bigot re-entered, preceding a person whom she announced, saying: “Dame Maillart has come, she assures me, in order to render you a great service. She wishes to speak to you without delay.”
“I do not wish to see her!” cried Marguerite, impatiently. “I detest the sight of that woman. I refuse to receive her!”
“Madam, she says she came to render you a great service,” answered the servant, sorry for having involuntarily crossed her mistress’ wishes. “I thought I was doing right to allow her to come up; it is now unfortunately too late — —”
Indeed, Petronille Maillart appeared at that moment at the door of the room. Triumphant and barely controlled hatred betrayed itself in the looks that the councilman’s wife cast upon Marguerite. But assuming a mild and kind voice she approached the object of her envy.
“Good evening, Dame Marcel; good evening, poor Dame Marcel.”
“This affectation of sympathy conceals some odious perfidy,” thou
ght Denise, whose face was still wet with tears. “I do not like to afford this wicked woman the spectacle of my sorrow.”
The young maid left the room, together with the servant. Alone with the councilman’s wife, Marguerite addressed her dryly:
“I am greatly astonished to see you here, madam; our friendly relations must cease.”
“I understand your astonishment, poor Dame Marguerite, seeing we have not met since the day of the funeral of Perrin Macé. Oh, Master Marcel’s popularity was then immense; people called him then the King of Paris ... they swore by him ... he was looked upon as the saviour of the city — —”
“Madam, I beg you to speak less of the past and more of the present.... Make your visit short. What do you want of me?”
“First of all to beg you to forget the little quarrel we two had on the day of the funeral of Perrin Macé. Next I come to render a great service to poor Master Marcel.”
“My husband excites nobody’s pity ... he does not need your services.”
“Alack! I wish I could leave you in that error, Dame Marguerite. But I must tell you the truth, and inform you, seeing you are not aware of it, that you no longer are the ‘Queen of Paris’ as you were in the days when Master Marcel was the King. Even at the risk of wounding your legitimate pride, I must add against my will that your husband’s position has become desperate.... I feel distressed at the sorrow that overwhelms you — —”
“Your excellent heart is unnecessarily alarmed, Dame Petronille. Do not mind my sorrow.”
“Unfortunately, however, I am certain of what I say.”
“Madame, I greatly mistrust both your protestations and your confidences.”
“You do not seem to be informed on what is transpiring in Paris.”
“I know that there are wicked and envious people in Paris.”
“I know you too well, Dame Marguerite, to imagine that a wise and discreet person like yourself would reproach me with being envious — —”
“Indeed, I would not venture, madam.... I would indeed not venture — —”
“And you would be right. What is there in your present fate to be envied. A storm is beating down upon you.”
“Envious people do not need much to be envious about. They envy even the calmness and courage derived from a clean conscience, when misfortune is on!”
“You admit it?... Misfortune has come upon you and your husband?” cried the councilman’s wife triumphantly, and for a moment forgetting her rôle of hypocrite. But recalling herself, she added cajolingly: “The avowal at least makes me hope that you will accept the services of my husband.”
Realizing the gravity of the last words of the councilman’s wife, Marguerite fixed a penetrating look upon her and answered:
“Did Master Maillart send you to offer his services to my husband? Whence such solicitude?”
“Have the two not been friends since their childhood? Is the friendship of youth ever forgotten? You have earned our affection.”
“It is so at least with generous hearts. But if Master Maillart wishes to render a service to my husband, why should he send you, madam? Does he not meet Marcel daily at the town-hall?”
“Since last evening, neither Maillart nor any of his friends have set foot at the town-hall ... and for good reasons. And for another reason he would not set foot here. That is why he has commissioned me to come and offer you his advice and services.”
“What does he advise ... what are his services?”
“Maillart advises your husband to secretly leave Paris this very night.”
“We now know the advice; it implies a great resolution.... As to the service ... what is it?”
“My husband offers to favor Marcel’s flight if you adopt his advice.”
“And how?”
“Maillart will send a trusty man to your house towards midnight. He shall accompany your husband. He is to wrap himself up well so as not to be recognized, and confidently follow our emissary, who is charged to see him safely off.... But your husband must be absolutely alone, otherwise our emissary will refuse to conduct him.”
“It seems to me that in his eagerness to advise and serve, Master Maillart forgets that Marcel and the town council — the governors, as they are called — are still masters of Paris. The captains of tens and the guards at the gates still obey them. If it should happen — a thing that I consider impossible — that my husband should contemplate quitting his post at the moment of danger, he would take horse with some of his friends, and would order whatever gate of Paris he chose to be opened.... He has the right and the power to do so.”
“You would be right if Master Marcel’s orders would be obeyed, if these were still the days when, lording it over all Paris, he had the first place at all ceremonies.... But the times have changed, good Dame Marguerite. At this very hour in which I am speaking to you, your husband’s authority is about to be ignored. If he tried to order one of the gates of Paris to be opened, his action would confirm the rumors concerning his treason. People would cry: ‘Hold the traitor! Death to the traitor!’ A hundred avenging arms would rise, and Master Marcel would fall under their blows dead, disfigured, bleeding, butchered!... His body would be torn to pieces.... That would then be his fate!”
“Enough! Enough!” stammered Marguerite, shivering and hiding her face in her hands. “This is horrible. Hold your tongue!”
“Would not such a death be awful, dear Dame Marguerite? Therefore, in order to save his friends from such a fate, my husband charged me to come and offer you his services.”
Despite the poor opinion in which she held Maillart and his wife, whose envy she was aware of, Marguerite did not imagine that the proposition of the councilman, one of Marcel’s oldest friends and, like himself, of the popular party, could conceal a trap or a snare. Marguerite even took it for a token of sincere pity, easily supposable from the part of envious people at the moment of their triumph over a rival. Moreover, did not the state of public opinion in Paris, on which Marguerite had that very evening sought to assure herself, but too well confirm the words of the councilman’s wife on the subject of Marcel’s increasing unpopularity? On the other hand, Marguerite was too well acquainted with her husband’s force of character and his energy not to feel assured that, unless he was reduced to utter extremities, he never would decide to leave Paris as a fugitive. Nevertheless, the hour of that terrible extremity might arrive. In that case Maillart’s offer was not to be despised. These thoughts rapidly flashed through Marguerite’s mind. She remained pensive and silent for a moment, while the councilman’s wife observed her closely and anxiously awaited her answer.
“Dame Maillart,” finally answered Marguerite, “I wish to believe, I believe in the generous impulses that dictated the tender of services that you have just made me in the name of your husband.”
“Then, it is understood?” said the councilman’s wife, with an eagerness that should have excited Marguerite’s suspicion. “The emissary will be here at midnight. Let your husband follow him without taking any companion.... He must have no escort.... That is understood.”
“Allow me, Dame Petronille. I can not go so far as to accept your offer in my husband’s name. He alone is the judge of his conduct. He gave me reasons to believe that he would be here this evening to take a few hours’ rest. If my expectations prove true, I shall soon see him.... I shall notify him of Master Maillart’s proposition. Ask your husband to send his emissary here at midnight. My husband will decide.”
“He should not hesitate a moment. Believe me, poor Dame Marguerite, you must exert your whole influence upon your husband, and decide him to avail himself of the one opportunity of escape left to him. He is in great danger.”
At this juncture Denise entered the room affecting great hurry and said: “Aunt, Dame Alison wishes to see you privately; she has no time to wait.” To these words Denise added a significant gesture conveying to Marguerite the hint to seize the opportunity for putting an end to the visit of the detested Da
me Petronille.
Marguerite understood the thoughts of her niece, and said to the councilman’s wife: “Please excuse me, there is a visitor I must receive.”
“Adieu, good Dame Marcel,” said the councilman’s wife, taking a step towards the door. “Fail not to remember my advice.... We must know how to resign ourselves to what can not be prevented.... The days follow, but do not resemble each other.... For the rest you understand me. Good evening, dear Dame Marguerite, I wish you happier days. May God preserve you and yours!”
As always, not envy here followed hatred, but hatred envy. Born of the rankling enviousness that the unworthy entertain for the worthy, Petronille Maillart was consumed with malevolent hatred for the man and woman whose ruin she was plotting. Casting upon Marguerite the furtive look of a viper, Dame Petronille took her leave.
CHAPTER II.
LAST DAY AT HOME.
THE HANDSOME TAVERN-KEEPER, who now entered in response to the summons of Denise, looked neat and prim as ever. Her beautiful black eyes, her white teeth, her comely shape, above all her golden heart — all justified the partiality of the student Rufin for this amiable and honorable woman to the total eclipse of Margot. Finally, thanks to Jocelyn, Alison had not only saved her honor from the clutches of Captain Griffith, but also quite a round sum of gold, sewed in her skirt, from the rapacity of the English. Jocelyn the Champion, once Alison’s defender against Simon the Hirsute and later her liberator, when exposed to the libertinage of the bastard of Norfolk, had inspired her with sentiments more tender than merely those of gratitude. Nevertheless, apprized of the engagement of Denise and Jocelyn, the young woman struggled bravely against the promptings of her heart, and seeking to free her mind from the affectionate thoughts that crowded upon her, had found pleasure in observing that, despite his turbulence, Rufin the Tankard-smasher lacked neither devotion, nor heart, nor brightness, nor yet external attractions. Thus, since the day when, fleeing from the horrors of the war that desolated Beauvoisis, she had taken refuge in Paris near the family of the provost to whom she had been recommended by Jocelyn, Alison often met the student in her little lodgings at the inn where she housed, and it often occurred to her that, despite his name, which sounded particularly unpleasant in a tavern-keeper’s ear, Rufin the Tankard-smasher might after all not make a bad husband. Moreover, her vanity was not a little flattered by the hope of herself opening a tavern, whose principal customers would be the students of the University of Paris. Received with kindness by Marguerite and Denise, Alison entertained for both a deep sense of gratitude. On this evening she had hastened to Marcel’s house in the hope of being of service to them. Observing the signs of uneasiness depicted on the tavern-keeper’s face, Marguerite said to her affectionately, taking her hands: