Delighted at having her conviction of Olivier’s innocence confirmed in such a decided manner, Mademoiselle de Scudéri had no hesitation in telling the Count the whole affair, since he already knew all about Cardillac’s crimes, and in begging him to go with her to d’Andilly, to whom everything should be communicated under the seal of secrecy and who should advise what was next to be done.
When Mademoiselle de Scudéri had told him at full length all the circumstances, D’Andilly inquired again into the very minutest particulars. He asked Count Miossens if he was quite positive as to its having been Cardillac who attacked him, and if he would recognise Olivier as the person who carried away the body.
“Not only,” said Miossens, “was the moon shining brightly, so that I recognised the old goldsmith perfectly well, but this morning, at La Regnie’s, I saw the dagger with which he was stabbed. It is mine; I know it by the ornamentation of the handle. And as I was within a pace of the young man, I saw his face quite distinctly, all the more because his hat had fallen off. As a matter of course I should know him in a moment.”
D’Andilly looked before him meditatively for a few moments, and said: “There is no way of getting Brusson out of the hands of justice by any ordinary means. On Madelon’s account, nothing will induce him to admit that Cardillac was a robber and a murderer. And even were he to do so, and succeed in proving the truth of it by pointing out the secret entrance and the collection of stolen jewels, death would be his own lot, as an accomplice. The same consequence would follow if Count Miossens related to the judges the adventure with Cardillac. Delay is what we must aim at. Let Count Miossens go to the Conciergerie, be confronted with Olivier, and recognise him as the person who carried off Cardillac’s body; let him then go to La Regnie and say, ‘I saw a man stabbed in the Rue St. Honoré, and was close to the body when another man darted up, bent down over it, and finding life still in it, took it on his shoulders and carried it away. I recognised Olivier Brusson as that man.’
“This will lead to a further examination of Brusson, to his being confronted with Count Miossens; the torture will be postponed, and further investigations made. Then will be the time to have recourse to the King. Your brilliant intellect, Mademoiselle, will point out the most fitting way to do this. I think it would be best to tell His Majesty the whole story. Count Miossens’ statement will support Olivier’s. Perhaps, too, an examination of Cardillac’s house would help matters. The King might then follow the bent of his own judgment—of his kind heart, which might pardon where justice could only punish.” Count Miossens closely followed D’Andilly’s advice, and everything fell out just as he had said it would.
It was now time to repair to the King; and this was the chief difficulty of all, as he had such an intense horror of Brusson—whom he believed to be the man who had for so long kept Paris in a state of terror—that the least allusion to him threw him at once into the most violent anger. Madame de Maintenon, faithful to her system of never mentioning unpleasant subjects to him, declined all intermediation; so that Brusson’s fate was entirely in Mademoiselle de Scudéri’s hands. After long reflection, she hit upon a scheme which she put into execution at once. She put on a heavy black silk dress, with Cardillac’s jewels, and a long black veil, and appeared at Madame de Maintenon’s at the time when she knew the King would be there. Her noble figure in this mourning garb excited the reverential respect even of those frivolous persons who pass their days in Court antechambers. They all made way for her and, when she came into the presence, the King himself rose, astonished, and came forward to meet her.
The splendid diamonds of the necklace and bracelets flashed in his eyes, and he cried: “By Heavens! Cardillac’s work!” Then, turning to Madame de Maintenon, he said, with a pleasant smile, “See, Madame la Marquise, how our fair lady mourns for her affianced husband.”
“Ah, Sire!” said Mademoiselle de Scudéri, as if keeping up the jest, “it would ill become a mourning bride to wear such bravery. No; I have done with the goldsmith; nor would I remember him, but that the gruesome spectacle of his corpse carried off before my eyes keeps coming back to my memory.”
“What!” said the King, “did you actually see him, poor fellow?”
She then told him in few words (not introducing Brusson into the business at all) how chance had brought her to Cardillac’s door just when the murder had been discovered. She described Madelon’s wild terror and sorrow; the impression made upon her by the beautiful girl; how she had taken her out of Desgrais’s hands and borne her away amid the applause of the crowd. The scenes with La Regnie, with Desgrais, with Olivier Brusson himself, now followed, the interest constantly increasing. The King, carried away by the vividness with which Mademoiselle de Scudéri told the tale, did not notice that the Brusson case, which he so abominated, was in question, listened breathlessly, occasionally expressing his interest by an ejaculation. And ere he was well aware, still amazed by the marvels which he was hearing, not yet able to arrange them all in his mind, behold! Mademoiselle de Scudéri was at his feet, imploring mercy for Olivier Brusson.
“What are you doing?” broke out the King, seizing both her hands and making her sit down. “This is a strange way of taking us by storm. It is a most terrible story! Who is to answer for the truth of Brusson’s extraordinary tale?”
“Miossens’ deposition proves it,” she cried; “the searching of Cardillac’s house; my own firm conviction, and, ah! Madelon’s pure heart, which recognises equal purity in poor Brusson.”
The King, about to say something, was interrupted by a noise in the direction of the door. Louvois, who was at work in the next room, put his head in with an anxious expression. The King rose, and followed him out. Both Madame de Maintenon and Mademoiselle de Scudéri thought this interruption of evil augury; for, though once surprised into interest, the King might take care not to fall into the snare a second time. But he came back in a few minuses, walked quickly up and down the room two or three times; and then, pausing with his hands behind his back before Mademoiselle de Scudéri, he said, in a half-whisper, without looking at her: “I should like to see this Madelon of yours.”
On this Mademoiselle de Scudéri said: “Oh! gracious Sire! what a marvellous honour you vouchsafe to the poor unfortunate child. She will be at your feet in an instant.”
She tripped to the door as quickly as her heavy dress allowed, and called to those in the anteroom that the King wished to see Madelon Cardillac. She came back weeping and sobbing with delight and emotion. Having expected this, she had brought Madelon with her, leaving her to wait with the Marquise’s maid, with a short petition in her hand drawn up by D’Andilly. In a few moments she had prostrated herself, speechless, at the King’s feet. Awe, confusion, shyness, love and sorrow sent the blood coursing faster and faster through her veins; her cheeks glowed, her eyes sparkled with the bright tear-drops, which now and again fell from her silken lashes down upon her beautiful lily-white breast. The King was moved by the wonderful beauty of the girl. He raised her gently, and stooped down as if about to kiss her hand, which he had taken in his; but he let the hand go, and gazed at her with tears in his eyes, evincing deep emotion.
Madame de Maintenon whispered to Mademoiselle de Scudéri, “Is she not exactly like La Vallière, the little thing? The King is indulging in the sweetest memories: you have gained the day.”
Though she spoke softly, the King seemed to hear.
A blush came to his cheek; he scanned Madame de Maintenon with a glance, and then said, gently and kindly: “I am quite sure that you, my dear child, think your lover is innocent; but we must hear what the Chambre Ardente has to say.”
A gentle wave of his hand dismissed Madelon, bathed in tears. Mademoiselle de Scudéri saw, to her alarm, that the resemblance to La Vallière, advantageous as it had seemed to be at first, had nevertheless changed the King’s intention as soon as Madame de Maintenon had spoken of it. Pe
rhaps he felt himself somewhat ungently reminded that he was going to sacrifice strict justice to beauty; or he may have been like a dreamer who, when loudly addressed by his name, finds that the beautiful, magic visions by which he thought he was surrounded vanish away. Perhaps he no longer saw his La Vallière before him, but thought only of Soeur Louise de la Miséricorde—La Vallière’s cloister name among the Carmelite nuns—paining him with her piety and repentance. There was nothing for it now but to wait patiently for the King’s decision.
Meanwhile Count Miossens’ statement before the Chambre Ardente had become known; and, as often happens, popular opinion soon flew from one extreme to the other, so that the person whom it had stigmatized as the most atrocious of murderers, and would fain have torn in pieces before he reached the scaffold, was now bewailed as the innocent victim of a barbarous sacrifice. His old neighbours now only remembered his admirable character and behaviour, his love for Madelon, and the faithfulness and devotion of body and soul with which he had served his master. Crowds of people, in threatening temper, often collected before La Regnie’s Palais, crying, “Give us out Olivier Brusson!—he is innocent!”, even throwing stones at the windows, so that La Regnie had to seek the protection of the Marechaussée.
Many days elapsed without Mademoiselle de Scudéri’s hearing anything on the subject of Olivier Brusson. In her anxiety she went to Madame de Maintenon, who said the King was keeping silence on the subject, and it was not advisable to remind him of it. When she then, with a peculiar smile, asked after the “little La Vallière,” Mademoiselle de Scudéri saw that this proud lady felt, in the depths of her heart, some slight annoyance at a matter which had the power of drawing the fickle King into a province whose charm was beyond her own sphere. Consequently nothing was to be hoped from Madame de Maintenon.
At length Mademoiselle de Scudéri managed to find out, with D’Andilly’s help, that the King had had a long interview with Count Miossens; further, that Bontems, the King’s confidential groom of the chamber and secret agent, had been to the Conciergerie, and spoken with Brusson; that, finally, the said Bontems, with several other persons, had paid a long visit to Cardillac’s house. Claude Patru, who lived in the lower story, said he had heard banging noises above his head in the night, and that he had recognised Olivier’s voice amongst others. So far it was certain that the King was, himself, causing the matter to be investigated; but what was puzzling was the long delay in coming to a decision. La Regnie was most probably trying all in his power to prevent his prey from slipping through his fingers; and this nipped all hope in the bud.
Nearly a month had elapsed, when Madame de Maintenon sent to tell Mademoiselle de Scudéri that the King wished to see her that evening in her salon. Her heart beat fast. She knew that Olivier’s fate would be decided that night. She told Madelon so, and the latter prayed to the Virgin and all the Saints that Mademoiselle de Scudéri might succeed in convincing the King of her lover’s innocence.
And yet it appeared as if he had forgotten the whole affair, for he passed the time in chatting pleasantly with Madame de Maintenon and Mademoiselle de Scudéri, without a single word of poor Olivier Brusson.
At length Bontems appeared, approached the King, and spoke a few words so softly that the ladies could not hear them.
Mademoiselle de Scudéri trembled; but the King rose, went up to her, and said, with beaming eyes: “I congratulate you, Mademoiselle. Your protégé, Olivier Brusson, is free.”
Mademoiselle de Scudéri, with tears streaming down her cheeks, unable to utter a word, would have cast herself at the King’s feet; but he prevented her, saying: “Come, Come! Mademoiselle, you ought to be my Attorney-General and plead my causes, for nobody on earth can resist your eloquence and powers of persuasion. He who is shielded by virtue,” he added more gravely, “may snap his fingers at every accusation, by the Chambre Ardente, or any other tribunal on earth.”
Mademoiselle de Scudéri, now finding words, poured forth a most glowing tribute of gratitude. But the King interrupted her, saying there were warmer thanks awaiting her at home than any he could expect from her, as at that moment doubtless Olivier was embracing his Madelon. “Bontems,” added His Majesty, “will hand you a thousand Louis, which you will give the little one from me as a wedding portion. Let her marry her Brusson, who does not deserve such a treasure, and then they must both leave Paris. That is my will.”
La Martinière came to meet her mistress with eager steps, followed by Baptiste, their faces beaming with joy, and both crying out: “He is here! he is free! Oh, the dear young couple!”
The happy pair fell at Mademoiselle de Scudéri’s feet, and Madelon cried: “Ah! I knew that you, and you only, would save my husband.”
“You have been my mother,” cried Olivier, “my belief in you never wavered.” They kissed her hands, and shed many tears; and then they embraced again, and vowed that the heavenly bliss of that moment was worth all the nameless sufferings of the days that were past.
In a few days the priest pronounced his blessing upon them. Even had it not been the King’s command that they were to leave Paris, Brusson could not have remained there, where everything reminded him of the dreadful epoch of Cardillac’s atrocities, and where any accident might have disclosed the evil secret, already known to several persons, and destroyed the peace of his life for ever. Immediately after the wedding he started with his young wife for Geneva, sped on his way by Mademoiselle de Scudéri’s blessings. Handsomely provided with Madelon’s portion, his own skill at his calling, and every civic virtue, he there led a happy life, without a care. The hopes, whose frustration had sent the father to his grave, were fulfilled in the son.
A year after Brusson left Paris, a public proclamation, signed by Harloy de Chauvalon, Archbishop of Paris, and by Pierre Arnaud D’Andilly, Advocate of the Parliament, appeared, stating that a repentant sinner had, under seal of confession, made over to the Church a valuable stolen treasure of gold and jewels. All those who, up to about the end of the year 1680, had been robbed of property of this description, particularly if by murderous attack in the street, were directed to apply to D’Andilly, when they would receive it back, provided that anything in the said collection agreed with the description to be by them given, and provided that there was no doubt of the genuineness of the application. Many whose names occurred in Cardillac’s list as having been merely stunned, not murdered, came from time to time to D’Andilly to reclaim their property, and received it back, to their no small surprise. The remainder became the property of the Church of St. Eustache.
MY FAMOUS RELATIVE, by Janice Law
As long as I can remember, my famous relative, Professor Jonken, was an important person in my life. When I was a child, his portrait, placed above the buffet in the dining room, literally loomed overhead, and all the romance archeology has ever held for me was summed up in that image. The great man stood in front of a massive stone work deep in jungle. Feathery sepia colored boughs closed off the sky; the walls, perfect, yet barbaric, stretched high overhead. A serape clad worker stood to one side, leaning on a pickax, his face in shadow, while the professor, himself, wearing a slouch hat, a shirt with lots of pockets, and pants tucked into high boots, held center stage. The camera caught him as he looked up from his notebook. Tall and commanding, with strong features and light eyes, he was a prince in the wilderness, and everything around him breathed mystery and adventure.
How I longed to step into that clearing. To touch the stonework and discover what lay hidden behind the exotic foliage was an almost irresistible desire. Especially after illness damaged my right leg, I cherished the picture as my imaginative escape route. I spent hours dreaming of jungle expeditions and devouring maps and geographies and tales of exploration.
Later, I grew interested in the personality, as well as the adventures, of this intriguing figure, and what I discovered only enhanced his appeal. Intelligent and fearless
, Petrus Jonken was further distinguished by the great sorrow of his life, which completed his romantic image in my eyes and won my impressionable heart. As befitted my age, his tragedy was conveyed obliquely at first.
“Poor Uncle Petrus,” my mother would say. “He didn’t have a very happy life, for all his great discovery.” And later, “It was his wife’s death. He never got over losing her.” And finally, when I was maybe twelve: “She was lost on his third expedition. A great mystery—she disappeared and was never seen again. You can imagine,” Mother said. “Not even a grave to visit, unless you consider that whole place a tomb with all its altars and bones and whatnot.”
“It must have been dreadful for him!” I was on the verge of tears, so closely had I identified with my gallant relative, whose strength and skill had carried him places that I, with one severely crippled leg, could only dream of.
“Hard? It broke his heart, your great-grandmother said. He was never the same. He worked on, of course. But he was never the same. It’s difficult to get over things when there’s so many questions.”
“What questions?” I asked.
“What had happened to Alice, of course.”
I somehow knew better than to point out that was only one question and contented myself with the romance and tragedy of my illustrious great uncle. The magic of his image led me to my profession, and though extensive field work was out of the question, I gained a modest reputation for my skill at interpreting artifacts and for mining neglected museum warehouses for new patterns and insights.
At first, I was scrupulously careful to avoid treading in Uncle Petrus’s footsteps, though I must admit that bearing the famous Jonken name didn’t hurt my career. I started out in Caribbean archeology then moved over to Mesoamerican pottery. Having achieved a degree of eminence, I was hired by my famous relative’s alma mater and found myself, junior but tenured, with access to all his papers and collections.
The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK ™: 20 Modern and Classic Tales of Female Detectives Page 191