The princess stood up.
‘Why judge?’ she cried. ‘What is the good of a verdict? You’ve just heard the verdict: the people of Bordeaux delivered it.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Madame de Tourville. ‘Nothing could be simpler than this situation: an eye for an eye, that’s what it is. This kind of thing should be done on the spur of the moment, strictly between one provost and another.’
Lenet could not bear to hear any more. Leaping from his place, he went to the centre of the circle.
‘Not another word, I beg you, Madame,’ he exclaimed. ‘Such a view would be fatal, were it to prevail. You are forgetting that even the monarchy, by punishing Richon in its own way, that is to say in an infamous manner, did at least show some respect for judicial formalities, and had the punishment, whether fair or not, confirmed by judges. Do you think you have the right to do what the king himself did not?’
‘Huh!’ said Madame de Tourville. ‘I only have to give an opinion for Monsieur Lenet to be of the opposite one. Unfortunately, on this occasion my opinion is shared by Her Highness…’
‘Yes, unfortunately,’ said Lenet.
‘Monsieur!’ said the princess.
‘Madame,’ said Lenet, ‘do at least keep up appearances. You’ll still be free to condemn, won’t you?’
‘Monsieur Lenet is right,’ said the Duke de La Rochefoucauld, composing himself. ‘The death of a man is too serious a matter, especially in these circumstances, for us to leave the responsibility for it on a single head, even a princely one…’ And leaning over to whisper in the princess’s ear, so that only the group closest to her could hear, he added: ‘Ask everyone for their opinion and only retain that of the people whom you trust most to take part in the trial. In that way, we shall not have to fear that our revenge will escape us.’
‘One moment, please,’ Monsieur de Bouillon interrupted, leaning on his cane and raising his gouty leg. ‘You have spoken of taking the responsibility away from the princess, and I do not myself shirk it, but I should like others to share it. I ask nothing better than to continue to be a rebel, but in company with the princess on one side of me and the people on the other. Damn it, I don’t want to be isolated! I lost my command of Sedan to that kind of farce. At that time, I had a town and a head. Cardinal Richelieu took my town, and now I have only a head, so I don’t want Cardinal Mazarin to take that from me. So I am asking for the leading citizens of Bordeaux as the panel of judges.’
‘Their signatures beside ours,’ muttered the princess. ‘Pooh!’
‘The mortice supports the beam, Madame,’ the Duke de Bouillon replied. The Cinq-Mars conspiracy14 had left him cautious for the rest of his life.
‘Is that your opinion, gentlemen?’
‘Yes,’ said the Duke de La Rochefoucauld.
‘And you, Lenet?’
‘Fortunately, Madame,’ said Lenet, ‘I am not a prince, nor a duke, nor an officer, nor a judge, so I have the right to abstain, and I do so.’
At this, the princess got up, inviting the meeting that she had called to respond forcefully to the provocation of the royalist side. She had barely finished her speech, when the window opened once more, and for the second time those in the courtroom heard the thousand voices of the people crying as one: ‘Long live the princess! Revenge for Richon! Death to the Epernonists and Mazarins!’
Madame de Cambes grasped Lenet’s arm.
‘Monsieur Lenet,’ she said. ‘I’m dying!’
‘The Viscountess de Cambes asks Her Highness’s permission to withdraw,’ he said.
‘No, no! I don’t!’ said Claire. ‘I want…’
‘This is not the place for you, Madame,’ Lenet interrupted. ‘You can do nothing for him. I shall keep you informed of everything, and we will try to save him.’
‘The viscountess can retire,’ said the princess. ‘Any ladies here who do not wish to take part in this session are free to follow her. We only want men here.’
Not one of the ladies made a move. It is one of the eternal ambitions of that half of the human race which is destined to seduce, that it aspires to exercise the rights of the half that is destined to command. As the princess said, these ladies saw this as an opportunity to become men for a while. It was too fortunate an occasion for them not to take advantage of it.
Madame de Cambes went out, supported by Lenet. On the stairs, she found Pompée, whom she had sent for news.
‘Well?’ she asked.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘He has been arrested.’
‘Monsieur Lenet,’ Claire said. ‘I no longer have confidence except in you or hope except in God.’ And she retired to her room, in a state of desperation.
‘What questions shall I ask of the man who is to appear before us?’ the princess was asking, as Lenet resumed his place near the clerk. ‘And which is the fated one?’
‘Nothing could be simpler, Madame,’ the duke answered. ‘We have perhaps three hundred prisoners, among whom there are ten or twelve officers. Let us just ask them their names and ranks in the royal army. The first who is acknowledged to be a governor like Richon, well, that’s the one designated by fate.’
‘There’s no sense in wasting time interrogating ten or twelve different officers, gentlemen,’ said the princess. ‘You have the register, Clerk, so look at it and tell me the names of those prisoners who were of equal rank to Richon.’
‘Only two, Madame,’ the clerk replied. ‘The Governor of the Ile Saint-Georges and the Governor of Braune.’
‘That’s right! We’ve got two!’ said the princess. ‘Fate, as you can see, is kind to us. Have they been arrested, Labussière?’
‘Indeed, they have, Madame,’ said the captain of the guard. ‘Both of them are waiting in the fortress for your order to appear.’
‘Well, let them be brought before the tribunal.’
‘Which shall we bring?’ asked Labussière.’
‘Bring them both,’ the princess replied. ‘But we shall start with the last to arrive, namely the Governor of the Ile Saint-Georges.’
XX
This order was followed by horrified silence, broken only by the sound of footsteps as the captain of the guards marched away and by the constantly renewed murmur of the crowd, which was about to push the princes’ rebellion down a dreadful road, and one still more dangerous than the one along which they had proceeded up to now. A single action would, in a sense, cast the princess and her counsellors, the army and the city outside the law; it would implicate a whole population in the interests and above all in the passions of a few; it would do on a small scale what the Paris Commune did on 2 September15(but the Paris Commune, as we know, acted on a grand scale).
Not a breath could be heard in the room. All eyes were fixed on the door through which the prisoner would come. The princess, to suit her role as presiding judge, pretended to be looking through some registers. Monsieur de La Rochefoucauld had adopted a pensive look, and Monsieur de Bouillon was chatting with Madame de Tourville about his gout, which gave him a lot of pain.
Lenet went over to the princess to make one final attempt, not because he had any hope of dissuading her, but because he was one of those conscientious people who feel under an obligation to carry out their duty.
‘Think, Madame,’ he said. ‘You are risking the future of your family on a single throw of the dice.’
‘There is no merit in it,’ the princess replied drily. ‘I’m bound to win.’
Lenet turned to La Rochefoucauld. ‘Duke,’ he said, ‘with your superior intelligence, you are above human passions: you advise moderation, surely?’
‘I am just now debating the matter with my reason,’16 the duke replied, hypocritically.
‘Debate it rather with your conscience,’ Lenet retorted. ‘That would be better!’
At that moment, there was a dull noise: it was the iron gate shutting. The sound echoed in every heart, because it heralded the arrival of one of the two prisoners. Very soon, footsteps reverberated up the stai
rway, halberds clashed on the stone floor, the door opened, and Canolles appeared.
Never had he been so elegant, never had he been so handsome. His face, full of serenity, still had the bright flush of joy and ignorance. He walked forward easily and without affectation, as though he were in the house of the lawyer Lavie or President Lalasne, and bowed respectfully to the princess and the dukes.
The princess herself seemed amazed by this perfect composure and spent a moment looking at the young man.
At last, she broke the silence.
‘Come here, Monsieur,’ she said. Canolles obeyed and bowed again. ‘Who are you?’
‘I am Baron Louis de Canolles, Madame.’
‘And what rank do you hold in the royal army?’
‘I am a lieutenant-colonel.’
‘Were you not Governor of the Ile Saint-Georges?’
‘I had that honour.’
‘Have you told us the truth?’
‘In every respect, Madame.’
‘Clerk, have you written down the questions and answers?’
The clerk bowed and nodded.
‘Then sign, Monsieur,’ said the princess.
Canolles took the pen like a man who does not understand why he is being asked to do something, but obeys out of deference for the rank of the person making the request; then he signed, smiling.
‘Very well, Monsieur,’ said the princess. ‘You may go now.’
Canolles bowed once more to his noble judges and left with the same ease and grace, without the slightest sign of curiosity or surprise.
Hardly had he gone through the door and the door been closed behind him, than the princess got up.
‘Well, gentlemen,’ she said.
‘Well, Madame, let’s vote on it,’ said the Duke de La Rochefoucauld.
‘Let’s vote,’ the Duke de Bouillon repeated. Then, turning to the town councillors, he went on: ‘Would these gentlemen like to give their opinion?’
‘After you, my lord,’ one of the townsfolk replied.
‘No, before you!’ cried a thundering voice, so forcefully that it astonished everyone.
‘What does that mean?’ the princess asked, trying to recognize the face of the man who had spoken.
‘What it means,’ said a man, rising to his feet, so that there should be no further doubt about his identity, ‘is that I, André Lavie, advocate of the king and parliamentary counsellor, demand in the name of the king, and above all in the name of humanity, privilege and safety for the prisoners who are being kept in Bordeaux on parole. Consequently, I conclude…’
‘Ah, now, Lawyer,’ said the princess superciliously, ‘don’t let’s have any flowery lawyers’ language in front of me, I beg you, because I don’t understand it. What we have here is a matter of feeling, not a mean and pettifogging trial, and I suppose that all the members of this tribunal will accept that.’
‘Yes, yes!’ cried the townsfolk and the officers in chorus. ‘Let’s vote, let’s vote!’
‘I said, and I repeat that I am demanding privilege and safety for the prisoners who are held on parole,’ Lavie continued, not at all put out by the princess’s intervention. ‘This is not flowery lawyers’ language, but the language of people’s rights.’
‘And I would add,’ said Lenet, ‘that Richon was heard before being so cruelly treated, so it is only fair that we should also hear the accused.’
‘And I…’ said d’Espagnet, the leading townsman who had attacked Saint-Georges with the Duke de La Rochefoucauld. ‘I declare that if we show clemency, the town will be up in arms.’
A murmur from outside seemed to be replying in confirmation of this assertion.
‘Hurry up,’ said the princess. ‘What is our sentence on the accused man?’
‘The accused men, Madame,’ said some voices. ‘There are two of them.’
‘Is one not enough for you?’ Lenet asked, smiling with contempt at the savagery of these obsequious brutes.
‘Which one then? Which?’ the same voices repeated.
‘The fattest, you cannibals!’ Lavie cried. ‘Why! You complain of injustice and sacrilege, yet you want to respond to one killing by two murders! It’s a fine meeting of soldiers and philosophers, this, when they both turn out to be cut-throats.’
The blazing eyes of most of the judges seemed ready to strike down the brave advocate. Madame de Condé had got up, and leaning forward with her hands on the table, looked round the room, as though trying to convince herself that the words she had heard had really been spoken and that there was a man in the world bold enough to say such things to her face.
Lavie realized that his presence was not helpful and that his method of defending the accused would not save them, but have the opposite result; so he decided to leave, not like a retreating soldier, but as a judge who declines to participate in the proceedings.
‘In the name of God,’ he said, ‘I protest at what you are trying to do, and in the name of the king, I forbid it.’
Knocking over his chair in a gesture of imperious rage, he left the room, with resolute steps and head held high, like a man firm in the accomplishment of a duty and careless of what might result from it.
‘Insolent fellow,’ the princess muttered.
‘Fine, fine, leave him,’ said a few voices. ‘His turn will come.’
‘Let’s put it to a vote,’ said almost all the judges.
‘But why vote,’ said Lenet, ‘until you have heard both the accused? One might seem more guilty than the other. You may exact a revenge on one that you would rather share with both.’
At that moment, they heard the gate open for the second time.
‘Very well, then,’ said the princess. ‘We’ll vote on both at once.’
The court, which had already risen noisily to its feet, sat down again. Onceagain, the sound of footsteps was heard and the crash of halberds, the door opened, and Cauvignac appeared.
The new arrival presented a marked contrast with Canolles. His clothing, only partly restored after the attacks of the crowd, still showed the evidence of their attentions, despite his efforts to cover it. His eyes looked sharply around the sheriffs, the officers, the dukes and the princess, taking in the whole court with one turning glance. Then, like a wily fox, he moved forward, as it were feeling his way at each step, ears pricked, pale and clearly anxious.
‘Your Highness has done me the honour of having me brought before her?’ he said, without waiting to be questioned.
‘Yes, Monsieur,’ the princess replied. ‘I wished you to clarify for us certain points about which we are concerned and that relate to you.’
‘In that case,’ Cauvignac replied, bowing, ‘I am here, Madame, ready to respond to the favour that Your Highness has done me.’ And he bowed in the most gracious manner he could, though this was evidently neither natural or easy.
‘It will not take long,’ said the princess, ‘particularly if you answer our questions in as straightforward a way as we shall put them.’
‘I should point out to Your Highness that since questions are always prepared in advance and the answers never,’ said Cauvignac, ‘it is harder to answer than to ask.’
‘Ah, but our questions shall be so clear and precise,’ said the princess, ‘that you will have no need to ponder your answers. What is your name?’
‘Just as I said, Madame! There is a difficult question right at the start.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because it often happens that a person has two names, the one he received from his parents and the one that he gave himself. In my case, I felt the need to give up my first name and take another, less well-known one. So which of these names are you demanding from me?’
‘The one under which you presented yourself in Chantilly, the one under which you agreed to raise a company for me, the one under which you did raise such a company and finally the one under which you sold yourself to Monsieur Mazarin.’
‘Excuse me, Your Highness,’ Cauvignac said, ‘but I th
ink I already had the honour of answering all these questions quite satisfactorily in the audience that Your Highness was kind enough to grant me this morning.’
‘And now I am only asking you one question,’ said the princess, starting to lose patience. ‘Just your name.’
‘And that is precisely the difficulty for me.’
‘Write down: Baron de Cauvignac,’ said the princess.
The accused did not demur, so the clerk wrote it down.
‘Now,’ said the princess, ‘what is your rank? I hope you won’t have any trouble answering that one.’
‘On the contrary, Madame, that happens to be a question that I consider one of the hardest. If you mean my rank in society, I am a bachelor of letters, with a degree in law and a doctorate in theology – and I am answering, as you see, without hesitation.’
‘No, Monsieur, we are speaking of your military rank.’
‘Now that’s a question that I am quite unable to answer to Your Highness.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I have never been sure myself exactly what I was.’
‘Try to make up your mind, would you, Monsieur, because I should like to know.’
‘Well, first of all I made myself a lieutenant, on my own private authority, but since I had no power to sign a commission for myself, and since I have never had more than six men under my command for the whole time that I have had this title, I rather think that I do not have the right to avail myself of it.’
‘But I,’ said the princess, ‘I myself made you a captain, so that is what you are.’
‘Ah, now, that’s just what makes me doubly perplexed and causes my conscience to rebel. I have since become convinced that any military rank in the state must emanate from the king’s authority if it is to have any value. And while, undeniably, Your Highness did have the desire to make a captain of me, I believe that you did not have the right to do so. And in that case I am no more a captain than I was a lieutenant.’