But the accuser pulled himself together and pounced. “How dare you give proof of such impudence when I have here a terrible document...”
“That document, I repeat, if it exists, is a fake!”
“Wretch! It’s a letter from the Chancellor of the Reich, the conclusion of an ignoble bargain between you.”
“Show it!” was cried from all directions. “Read it!”
Barsac had folded his arms, and, standing up, waited anxiously. Meanwhile, beneath the icy or feverish stares of the députés, Vauclin was rummaging in his briefcase.
He was seen to go white, agitate feverishly, shifting papers, and then suddenly cried: “Someone has stolen the letter!”
Volleys of whistles replied to him; it was a triumph for Claude Barsac. The assembly acclaimed his ironic and mordant reply, and a vote of confidence was carried by an enormous majority. All those who had moved away from him moved back, with little Barthou in the lead, vulpine and graying, watchful behind his lorgnon.
XI. The Vultures’ Stupor
In the meantime, the delegates of the banks leapt into taxis and raced to the Bourse. With the Ministry having emerged from the contest victorious, there was a rally in prices. Walesport, who was watching the session from the public benches, was devastated. He could not diminish the catastrophe, since he did not have the receipts and did not know whether the brokers had the deposits. Prudently, he had charged Baruyer with making the disbursements, and that wisdom had turned against him.
He leapt into his car and was driven to the Bourse. The closure had seen a considerable rise in the index, which was for him and his associates irreversable ruination.
From the Bourse he was then taken to Georges Baruyer’s house, where there was utter chaos. Journalists, curiosity-seekers and policemen were all trying to collect further information.
Finally, Walesport got his hands on Carnaud, Baruyer’s secretary.
“You believe it was a murder, then? And that Albert is the murderer?”
“He was caught in the act.”
“That story is absurd. That’s all you know, then?”
“Inevitably. Oh—I forgot to tell you that I paid a check for Monsieur Georges Baruyer to the Banque Orientale.”
“What’s that you’re telling me?”
“It must have been an old debt.”
“What! What makes you think that?”
“The fact that I paid out three million to the Banque Orientale to the account of Monsieur le Baron Hans de Rodock.”
That was another hammer-blow for Walesport. Bewildered, searching for some saving straw at which to clutch in the catastrophe, he was absolutely at a loss. Three million paid to the son of their former victim, preceding the drama. Perhaps that was an enlightenment; he sensed a connection between the two events.
In distress he left Carnaud and was taken to Vauclin’s political address. He assumed that the latter, after the scene in the Chambre, was more likely to be there than the Avenue Henri-Martin. He did indeed find the député there, in the company of Crémiot, the Minister of Public Works.
On seeing Walesport come in, the two men ran toward him.
“Well,” screeched Vauclin, “we’re in a fine mess!”
“You’ve got a nerve!” cried Walesport. “Do you think I can’t see through your game? You’re in it with Barsac. Oh, you’ve done well—and you, too, Crémiot, you’re in league with this blackguard!”
“Calm down, William—we haven’t betrayed you. Isn’t it you to whom we’ve given our money? One doesn’t lose millions for a sham.”
Walesport understood the justice of the reasoning. “What, then?”
“There’s something inexplicable about this,” said Vauclin. “I was sure, absolutely certain, that I had the letters in my briefcase. In any case, I showed them to you. I remember, now, that I felt drowsy in the cab that took me to Parliament, but I never usually fall asleep, and I was wide awake when I left you, in full readiness for the interpellation. I think I’ve got the thread: it was cooked up between Barsac and that cuckold Grandjean of the Malin. They must have found some means of putting me to sleep in that accursed taxi and taking back the letters.”
“In that case, the fellow’s damnable clever.”
“I’ll kill him.”
“Violence is all very well,” said Vauclin, “but it ought to be a last resort. What’s important for the moment is figuring out whether there’s a means of saving some of our cash, and we don’t know anything about that, so long as we can’t talk to Baruyer.”
“I’ve been to his house,” William snorted, “and I’m no further forward.”
“I’ve got an idea,” said Vauclin. “What if I were to send Sophie? She’s clever—she’ll be able to get to Georges.”
Madame Vauclin did, in fact, succeed in getting to see Baruyer, whom she found in a state of utter depression. He recounted the tragic scene, and how his brother had murdered their mother.
“But that’s crazy—completely crazy! Why would you think that Albert killed his mother, given that she was useful to both of you? There’s something underlying this that’s escaping us. What have you done since Albert’s arrest?”
“Nothing. I’ve been brutalized, helpless, for hours.”
“And the money for the affair—where is it?”
Baruyer stated. “Damn! The receipts are still in my desk.”
“That’s incorrect—they’re circulating at the Bourse. Who has sold the shares, then?”
Baruyer got up and dragged Sophie to his desk—but he ran into an unexpected obstacle. The law had put it under seal because of the murder.
“After all,” said Madame Vauclin, “it doesn’t get us any further forward to acquire proof that you’ve been robbed. What we need is to find out who’s attacking us. Walesport and my husband are accusing Barsac, but I don’t think he’s as cunning or as ferocious as that. There’s someone very clever behind this. Try to get Albert released—I’m sure he’s not guilty of his mother’s murder.”
“But we were alone with Maman. It must have been him or me.”
“Remember that your mother could see someone—an invisible enemy.”
“Shut up! Leave me alone! Shit! I think I’m losing my mind!”
With that, Madame Vauclin left him and went back to report the result of her visit to the two men. She made them party to her suspicions.
Walesport shrugged his shoulders, but Vauclin, with better reasons to believe her, shared his wife’s opinion.
“In any case,” Walesport concluded, “it’s necessary to wait. For my part, I’ll try to pick up the trail of the mysterious seller, and, above all, keep an eye on Grandjean.”
With that, they separated. The faces of those great bandits, those superior blackguards, however, were anxiously marked by mistrust for one another.
All of that would finish with life becoming more expensive every day in victorious France by virtue of new taxes, which would be increased by twenty, forty or fifty per cent, by the revolution and the new war. At all times, the sheep are led to the abattoir while the vultures fly overhead. And when people change politicians, as when a man changes his trousers, there is always a backside—with gold, or something resembling it.
BOOK FOUR: THE INVISIBLE ADMINISTRATOR
OF JUSTICE
I. Claude Barsac, Statesman
On the day after the vote of confidence, when Vauclin read the account rendered of the previous day’s session, he was astonished by the disdainful moderation with which Barsac had interpreted his conduct. He saw in that indulgence of tempered terminology the possibility of returning to Parliament without exciting too much mockery from his colleagues.
But why was Barsac sparing him? Was there something to fear? In any case, he would send his excuses and thanks to the President of the Council, blaming the error he had made on those who had procured the letters for him.
That, of course, was the nub of the matter. Barsac had gone easy on him because he wanted to know fr
om whom he had acquired the famous letters.
That’s all right, he thought. It was diabolically clever to have them spirited away from me at the very podium of the Chambre. If it were only I, I might think I was going crazy, but it’s Grandjean who gave them to Crémiot, who gave them to me, so they really existed. Thunder! It’s damnably clever!
Vauclin had more admiration than anger for the man who had rolled him over.
That was not all. The hardest part of the hard blow was that he was ruined. He had put the two million of the pseudo-inheritance into the conspirators’ game, and all that was lost. That was the most serious thing because, already counting on the receipts, he had started negotiations to buy a house on the Avenue Kléber. He was gripped by rage against Crémiot and his acolytes. Barsac was a skillful wrestler; he and the others were imbeciles. For a practical man, the victor is always right.
Anyway, it was decided: he would write to Barsac. Since the other had spared him, he must need him. Vauclin therefore dashed off a letter in which he made it clear that the fault was less his own than those who had pushed him forward with fake documents.
Having done that, he waited.
The following day he received a note written by the general secretary of the President of the Council summoning him for the following day at seven a.m. They light the fires early in the Barsac household! Vauclin thought. That’s so I don’t run into anyone; all well and good.
At the appointed hour, he was introduced into the prime minister’s study. The latter, sitting at his desk, was already working. He saluted Vauclin with a gesture and indicated a seat to him; then, having finished what he was doing, he turned toward him and said, abruptly: “Do you know, Monsieur Vaucin, how much I made financially from your attack the day before yesterday?”
“Judging by what I lost,” Vauclin riposted, “you can’t have done badly.”
“I was in the process of drawing up my accounts when you came in. I realized exactly seventeen million eight hundred and forty thousand francs.” He rubbed his hands together and looked at Vauclin with a mocking expression.
“I’ve rendered you a great service then.”
“Add to that the influence regained over my colleagues; I’ve reinforced my majority.”
“I don’t suppose that it’s solely to make me party to your triumph that you’ve summoned me. I thought you were too wily to take pleasure in mocking a defeated adversary.”
“You’re not mistaken. It’s because I have confidence in your worth, my dear Vauclin. While you had me by the collar and were strangling me a little, I admired you. Mirabeau must have had those authoritative gestures. In truth, you looked very good.”
Vauclin nodded silently, waiting.
“How much did you put into the enterprise?” Barsac asked, bluntly.
“Two million—the fruit of an inheritance by my wife.”
“Ah! Madame Vauclin receives legacies like that?”
“Yes,” he replied, dryly. “Her mother was a creole, and my wife has rich relatives in America.”
“Then it won’t astonish anyone if she comes into another. There are lugubrious weeks when there are successive deaths in a family. The thing is, my dear Vauclin, that I have a scruple. It seems to me that the enormous sum that I owe to your…eloquence…would weigh upon me less heavily if I were to make restitution of a part of it to the most deserving and most necessitous of our colleagues. The Ancients, you know, made sacrifices to the gods on days of success, in order to ward off evil destiny. The system has merit, and one should often follow their example...
“Let’s see, I suppose that in your group there are a certain number of needy individuals. With your help, given that you know them intimately, might we not render them a few services? I hope that they might be grateful to me. I like round numbers; sixteen million will be amply sufficient for me, for I have simple tastes, and it would be a pleasure for me to offer relief to a few unfortunates.
“I have confidence in you. The indignation that you testified the day before yesterday against the vampires who, etc., etc…convinced me that I’m dealing with a deeply honest man. So I’m ready, if you consent, to give you the eighteen hundred and forty thousand francs that embarrass me, in order that you might be obliging enough to divide them between those of our colleagues who, having been deceived…like you…were able to launch themselves into bad speculations.”
“I accept,” Vauclin replied, although confused. “But were there not some among the members of the cabinet who were deceived, like me?”
“Crémiot is treacherous enough to bear the loss—but perhaps you know an intimate adviser who is not in the same situation?”
“In truth, no. Georges Baruyer? But he can support a loss.”
“You got the famous letters from him?”
“No, from Crémiot, who got them from Grandjean.”
“That explains everything. Grandjean, who ought to be grateful to me, fabricated the fakes. But let’s leave these nasty stories aside and talk business. I believe you to be very capable, Monsieur Vauclin, and I like to surround myself with men of great value and the highest probity. I assume that had I been brought down, you would have had a portfolio in the new cabinet. You’ve compromised your situation in the Chambre somewhat as the leader of a group, but if you succeed in resuming your place on the extreme left, it might be that in a future cabinet—I mean a socialist ministry, and I’m presently orienting my politics in that direction—I’ll reserve you a place there. Once this annoying question of Germany has been concluded, I intend to resign. I need rest, and I’ve been offered a lecture tour of the United States. A Ministry with socialist tendencies seems the most appropriate to replace me.”
Vauclin looked at the prime minister incredulously.
“You think I’m making fun of you? Not at all, and I’ll take the trouble to explain my plans to you—it is, in any case, necessary that you understand them in order that you can help me to accomplish them when the time comes. I believe I have a little experience of men; politics is based on the knowledge of men, and is the science, the clairvoyance, of possibilities. One fights for principles, but they’re masks to disguise appetites. My dear Vauclin, I appreciate your worth; you’re the man I need, and that’s why I’m fishing you out and putting you back on your feet.”
“I…?”
“No, no thanks, not even tacit ones. If I weren’t sure of your collaboration, I wouldn’t confide in you; it’s not your devotion I’m counting on, but your self-interest. I’ll go on. You can’t believe that a man of my age and experience can retire from business when he’s tasted power and had some success. Of all métiers, that of leader of men is the one that causes the greatest ennuis and has the least stability, but it’s also the most desirable, and it is, I believe, the universal desire for a perilously high position that makes it attractive. I possess what multitudes believe to be desirable; now, of all human passions, vanity is the most overwhelming. Just think: those millions of men are my playthings, and with a little skill, I lead a country as I wish; nothing is more captivating, and, when one has stuck a little finger in the gears of power, the entire body passes through—until it reaches the summit, directing the struggle and the intrigue...
“But let’s get back to my plan. The cartel of the leftists has contrived to have a few major reforms accepted, to prepare for the study a few questions that, in the present state of the world, are virtually insoluble. A man like me can’t waste his time. So, as I said, I’m preparing the way for a socialist Ministry, in order that it can founder and condemn itself to impotence. In France, we don’t like people who can’t get anything done. The socialist Ministry will last for three to six months; then it will collapse, along with the questions that it has raised, without resolving them. Then, I come back on stage, I become the providential man, I keep one or two of the socialist ministers with me, and I reign again for some years. After which, by way of retirement, the Presidency of the Republic....
“What do you think
, Vauclin? Isn’t that a well-rounded career? You’re young—you can model yourself on me. A beautiful career is open to all intelligences liberated from scruples.”
Like Machiavelli, Barsac thought that those who govern ought to strive to appear great in all their actions and to avoid in their sentiments anything that has the character of indecision or weakness.
Vauclin bowed. “If I’d appreciated you sooner, I wouldn’t have tried to struggle against you. You are, Master, a veritable political genius.”
“Perhaps. But I’ve only found, thus far, envious individuals to betray me or incompetents to serve me. You, I believe I understand; you can second me, to begin with, and succeed me thereafter. I’m not asking you for any oath of fidelity; your self-interest is my surest guarantee.”
“Secret alliance concluded,” said Vauclin. “What need I do to be useful to you? Barasc is great, and henceforth, I am his prophet.”
“Thanks to that money, first of all, you’re going to recover your preponderance at the head of your group, making them understand that I’m with them—that, disgusted with the continual procrastinations of my colleagues, I’m preparing a socialist Ministry. When the moment comes, I’ll withdraw, while conserving, thanks to you, an occult influence over the new cabinet. After that, we’ll see. In the meantime, my dear friend, I’m going to sign checks for you drawn on various banks in order not to attract attention to you.”
He signed a dozen cheques, for the sum of eighteen hundred thousand francs. He gave them to Vauclin, who, taking a step back from his chief, extended his right arm straight in front of him by way of a salute and said: “Ave Caesar.”
Then the two separated after a warm handshake.
Once he was alone, Barsac rubbed his palms together. That’s money well employed, he thought. Now, there remains my mysterious savior. That one will probably be more demanding. I won’t haggle.
He lifted up the famous blotter, expecting to find another message. There was nothing there. Barsac remained pensive for a moment; then, picking up his checkbook again, he signed ten for a hundred thousand francs each, drawn on five different banks, and placed them under the blotter. Then he rang.
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