Towards the end of September, after three sessions of the Court
of Appeals in which the lawyers for the defence pleaded, and the
attorney-general Merlin himself spoke for the prosecution, the appeal
was rejected. The Imperial Court of Paris was by this time instituted.
Monsieur de Grandville was appointed assistant attorney-general, and the
department of the Aube coming under the jurisdiction of this court, it
became possible for him to take certain steps in favor of the convicted
prisoners, among them that of importuning Cambaceres, his protector.
Bordin and Monsieur de Chargeboeuf came to his house in the Marais the
day after the appeal was rejected, where they found him in the midst of
his honeymoon, for he had married in the interval. In spite of all these
changes in his condition, Monsieur de Chargeboeuf saw very plainly that
the young lawyer was faithful to his late clients. Certain lawyers, the
artists of their profession, treat their causes like mistresses. This is
rare, however, and must not be depended on.
As soon as they were alone in his study, Monsieur de Grandville said to
the marquis: “I have not waited for your visit; I have already employed
all my influence. Don’t attempt to save Michu; if you do, you cannot
obtain the pardon of the Messieurs de Simeuse. The law will insist on
one victim.”
“Good God!” cried Bordin, showing the young magistrate the three
petitions for mercy; “how can I take upon myself to withdraw the
application for that man. If I suppress the paper I cut off his head.”
He held out the petition; de Grandville took it, looked it over, and
said:--
“We can’t suppress it; but be sure of one thing, if you ask all you will
obtain nothing.”
“Have we time to consult Michu?” asked Bordin.
“Yes. The order for execution comes from the office of the
attorney-general; I will see that you have some days. We kill men,” he
said with some bitterness, “but at least we do it formally, especially
in Paris.”
Monsieur de Chargeboeuf had already received from the chief justice
certain information which added weight to these sad words of Monsieur de
Grandville.
“Michu is innocent, I know,” continued the young lawyer, “but what can
we do against so many? Remember, too, that my present influence depends
on my keeping silent. I must order the scaffold to be prepared, or my
late client is certain to be beheaded.”
Monsieur de Chargeboeuf knew Laurence well enough to be certain she
would never consent to save her cousins at the expense of Michu; he
therefore resolved on making one more effort. He asked an audience of
the minister of foreign affairs to learn if salvation could be looked
for through the influence of the great diplomat. He took Bordin with
him, for the latter knew the minister and had done him some service.
The two old men found Talleyrand sitting with his feet stretched out,
absorbed in contemplation of his fire, his head resting on his hand, his
elbow on the table, a newspaper lying at his feet. The minister had just
read the decision of the Court of Appeals.
“Pray sit down, Monsieur le marquis,” said Talleyrand, “and you,
Bordin,” he added, pointing to a place at the table, “write as
follows:--”
Sire,--Four innocent gentlemen, declared guilty by a jury have
just had their condemnation confirmed by your Court of Appeals.
Your Imperial Majesty can now only pardon them. These gentlemen
ask this pardon of your august clemency, in the hope that they may
enter your army and meet their death in battle before your eyes;
and thus praying, they are, of your Imperial and Royal Majesty,
with reverence, etc.
“None but princes can do such prompt and graceful kindness,” said the
Marquis de Chargeboeuf, taking the precious draft of the petition from
the hands of Bordin that he might have it signed by the four gentlemen;
resolving in his own mind that he would also obtain the signatures of
several august names.
“The life of your young relatives, Monsieur le marquis,” said the
minister, “now depends on the turn of a battle. Endeavor to reach the
Emperor on the morning after a victory and they are saved.”
He took a pen and himself wrote a private and confidential letter to the
Emperor, and another of ten lines to Marechal Duroc. Then he rang the
bell, asked his secretary for a diplomatic passport, and said tranquilly
to the old lawyer, “What is your honest opinion of that trial?”
“Do you know, monseigneur, who was at the bottom of this cruel wrong?”
“I presume I do; but I have reasons to wish for certainty,” replied
Talleyrand. “Return to Troyes; bring me the Comtesse de Cinq-Cygne,
here, to-morrow at the same hour, but secretly; ask to be ushered
into Madame de Talleyrand’s salon; I will tell her you are coming. If
Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne, who shall be placed where she can see a man
who will be standing before me, recognizes that man as an individual who
came to her house during the conspiracy of de Polignac and Riviere, tell
her to remember that, no matter what I say or what he answers me, she
must not utter a word nor make a gesture. One thing more, think only
of saving the de Simeuse brothers; don’t embarrass yourself with that
scoundrel of a bailiff--”
“A sublime man, monseigneur!” exclaimed Bordin.
“Enthusiasm! in you, Bordin! The man must be remarkable. Our sovereign
has an immense self-love, Monsieur le marquis,” he said, changing the
conversation. “He is about to dismiss me that he may commit follies
without warning. The Emperor is a great soldier who can change the
laws of time and distance, but he cannot change men; yet he persists in
trying to run them in his own mould! Now, remember this; the young men’s
pardon can be obtained by one person only--Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne.”
The marquis went alone to Troyes and told the whole matter to Laurence.
She obtained permission from the authorities to see Michu, and the
marquis accompanied her to the gates of the prison, where he waited for
her. When she came out her face was bathed in tears.
“Poor man!” she said; “he tried to kneel to me, praying that I would
not think of him, and forgetting the shackles that were on his feet!
Ah, marquis, I _will_ plead his cause. Yes, I’ll kiss the boot of their
Emperor. If I fail--well, the memory of that man shall live eternally
honored in our family. Present his petition for mercy so as to gain
time; meantime I am resolved to have his portrait. Come, let us go.”
The next day, when Talleyrand was informed by a sign agreed upon that
Laurence was at her post, he rang the bell; his orderly came to him, and
received orders to admit Monsieur Corentin.
“My friend, you are a very clever fellow,” said Talleyrand, “and I wish
to employ you.”
“Monsiegneur--”
“Listen. In serving Fouche you will get money, but never honor nor any
position you can acknowledge. But in serving me, as you have lately done
at Berlin, you can win credit and repute.”
“Monseigneur is very good.”
“You displayed genius in that late affair at Gondreville.”
“To what does Monseigneur allude?” said Corentin, with a manner that was
neither too reserved nor too surprised.
“Ah, Monsieur!” observed the minister, dryly, “you will never make a
successful man; you fear--”
“What, monseigneur?”
“Death!” replied Talleyrand, in his fine, deep voice. “Adieu, my good
friend.”
“That is the man,” said the Marquis de Chargeboeuf entering the room
after Corentin was dismissed; “but we have nearly killed the countess.”
“He is the only man I know capable of playing such a trick,” replied the
minister. “Monsieur le marquis, you are in danger of not succeeding
in your mission. Start ostensibly for Strasburg; I’ll send you double
passports in blank to be filled out. Provide yourself with substitutes;
change your route and above all your carriage; let your substitutes
go on to Strasburg, and do you reach Prussia through Switzerland and
Bavaria. Not a word--prudence! The police are against you; and you do
not know what the police are--”
Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne offered the then celebrated Robert Lefebvre a
sufficient sum to induce him to go to Troyes and take Michu’s portrait.
Monsieur de Grandville promised to afford the painter every possible
facility. Monsieur de Chargeboeuf then started in the old _berlingot_,
with Laurence and a servant who spoke German. Not far from Nancy they
overtook Mademoiselle Goujet and Gothard, who had preceded them in an
excellent carriage, which the marquis took, giving them in exchange the
_berlingot_.
Talleyrand was right. At Strasburg the commissary-general of police
refused to countersign the passport of the travellers, and gave them
positive orders to return. By that time the marquis and Laurence were
leaving France by way of Besancon with the diplomatic passport.
Laurence crossed Switzerland in the first days of October, without
paying the slightest attention to that glorious land. She lay back in
the carriage in the torpor which overtakes a criminal on the eve of his
execution. To her eyes all nature was shrouded in a seething vapor; even
common things assumed fantastic shapes. The one thought, “If I do not
succeed they will kill themselves,” fell upon her soul with reiterated
blows, as the bar of the executioner fell upon the victim’s members when
tortured on the wheel. She felt herself breaking; she lost her energy in
this terrible waiting for the cruel moment, short and decisive, when she
should find herself face to face with that man on whom the fate of the
condemned depended. She chose to yield to her depression rather
than waste her strength uselessly. The marquis, who was incapable of
understanding this resolve of firm minds, which often assumes quite
diverse aspects (for in such moments of tension certain superior minds
give way to surprising gaiety), began to fear that he might never bring
Laurence alive to the momentous interview, solemn to them only, and yet
beyond the ordinary limits of private life. To Laurence, the necessity
of humiliating herself before that man, the object of her hatred and
contempt, meant the sacrifice of all her noblest feelings.
“After this,” she said, “the Laurence who survives will bear no likeness
to her who is now to perish.”
The travellers could not fail to be aware of the vast movement of men
and material which surrounded them the moment they entered Prussia. The
campaign of Jena had just begun. Laurence and the marquis beheld the
magnificent divisions of the French army deploying and parading as if
at the Tuileries. In this display of military power, which can be
adequately described only with the words and images of the Bible, the
proportions of the Man whose spirit moved these masses grew gigantic to
Laurence’s imagination. Soon, the cry of victory resounded in her ears.
The Imperial arms had just obtained two signal advantages. The Prince
of Prussia had been killed the evening before the day on which the
travellers arrived at Saalfeld on their endeavor to overtake Napoleon,
who was marching with the rapidity of lightning.
At last, on the 13th of October (date of ill-omen) Mademoiselle de
Cinq-Cygne was skirting a river in the midst of the Grand Army, seeing
nought but confusion, sent hither and thither from one village to
another, from division to division, frightened at finding herself
alone with one old man tossed about in an ocean of a hundred and fifty
thousand armed men facing a hundred and fifty thousand more. Weary of
watching the river through the hedges of the muddy road which she was
following along a hillside, she asked its name of a passing soldier.
“That’s the Saale,” he said, showing her the Prussian army, grouped in
great masses on the other side of the stream.
Night came on. Laurence beheld the camp-fires lighted and the glitter
of stacked arms. The old marquis, whose courage was chivalric, drove
the horses himself (two strong beasts bought the evening before), his
servant sitting beside him. He knew very well he should find neither
horses nor postilions within the lines of the army. Suddenly the bold
equipage, an object of great astonishment to the soldiers, was stopped
by a gendarme of the military gendarmerie, who galloped up to the
carriage, calling out to the marquis: “Who are you? where are you going?
what do you want?”
“The Emperor,” replied the Marquis de Chargeboeuf; “I have an important
dispatch for the Grand-marechal Duroc.”
“Well, you can’t stay here,” said the gendarme.
Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne and the marquis were, however, compelled to
remain where they were on account of the darkness.
“Where are we?” she asked, stopping two officers whom she saw passing,
whose uniforms were concealed by cloth overcoats.
“You are among the advanced guard of the French army,” answered one of
the officers. “You cannot stay here, for if the enemy makes a movement
and the artillery opens you will be between two fires.”
“Ah!” she said, with an indifferent air.
Hearing that “Ah!” the other officer turned and said: “How did that
woman come here?”
“We are waiting,” said Laurence, “for a gendarme who has gone to find
General Duroc, a protector who will enable us to speak to the Emperor.”
“Speak to the Emperor!” exclaimed the first officer; “how can you think
of such a thing--on the eve of a decisive battle?”
“True,” she said; “I ought to speak to him on the morrow--victory would
make him kind.”
The two officers stationed themselves at a little distance and sat
motionless on their horses. The carriage was now surrounded by a mass
of generals, marshals, and other officers, all extremely brilliant in
appearance, who appeared to pay deference to the carriage merely because
it was there.
“Good God!” said the marquis to Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne; “I am afraid
you spoke to the Emperor.”
“The Emperor?” said a colonel, beside them, “why there he is!” pointing
to the officer who had said, “How did that woman get here?” He was
mounted on a white horse, richly caparisoned, and wore the celebrated
gray top-coat over his green uniform. He was scanning with a field-glass
the Prussian army massed beyond the Saale. Laurence understood then why
the carriage remained there, and why the Emperor’s escort respected it.
She was seized with a convulsive tremor--the hour had come! She heard
the heavy sound of the tramp of men and the clang of their arms as they
arrived at a quick step on the plateau. The batteries had a language,
the caissons thundered, the brass glittered.
“Marechal Lannes will take position with his whole corps in the advance;
Marechal Lefebvre and the Guard will occupy this hill,” said the other
officer, who was Major-general Berthier.
The Emperor dismounted. At his first motion Roustan, his famous
mameluke, hastened to hold his horse. Laurence was stupefied with
amazement; she had never dreamed of such simplicity.
“I shall pass the night on the plateau,” said the Emperor.
Just then the Grand-marechal Duroc, whom the gendarme had finally
found, came up to the Marquis de Chargeboeuf and asked the reason of his
coming. The marquis replied that a letter from the Prince de Talleyrand,
of which he was the bearer, would explain to the marshal how urgent
it was that Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne and himself should obtain an
audience of the Emperor.
“His Majesty will no doubt dine at his bivouac,” said Duroc, taking the
letter, “and when I find out what your object is, I will let you know
if you can see him. Corporal,” he said to the gendarme, “accompany this
carriage, and take it close to that hut at the rear.”
Monsieur de Chargeboeuf followed the gendarme and stopped his horses
behind a miserable cabin, built of mud and branches, surrounded by a few
fruit-trees, and guarded by pickets of infantry and cavalry.
It may be said that the majesty of war appeared here in all its
grandeur. From this height the lines of the two armies were visible in
the moonlight. After an hour’s waiting, the time being occupied by the
incessant coming and going of the aides-de-camp, Duroc himself came for
Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne and the marquis, and made them enter the hut,
the floor of which was of battened earth like that of a stable.
Before a table with the remains of dinner, and before a fire made of
green wood which smoked, Napoleon was seated in a clumsy chair. His
muddy boots gave evidence of a long tramp across country. He had taken
off the famous top-coat; and his equally famous green uniform, crossed
by the red cordon of the Legion of honor and heightened by the white of
his kerseymere breeches and of his waistcoat, brought out vividly
his pale and terrible Caesarian face. One hand was on a map which lay
unfolded on his knees. Berthier stood near him in the brilliant uniform
of the vice-constable of the Empire. Constant, the valet, was offering
the Emperor his coffee from a tray.
“What do you want?” said Napoleon, with a show of roughness, darting his
eye like a flash through Laurence’s head. “You are no longer afraid to
speak to me before the battle? What is it about?”
“Sire,” she said, looking at him with as firm an eye, “I am Mademoiselle
de Cinq-Cygne.”
“Well?” he replied, in an angry voice, thinking her look braved him.
“Do you not understand? I am the Comtesse de Cinq-Cygne, come to ask
mercy,” she said, falling on her knees and holding out to him the
petition drawn up by Talleyrand, endorsed by the Empress, by Cambaceres
and by Malin.
The Emperor raised her graciously, and said with a keen look: “Have you
come to your senses? Do you now understand what the French Empire is and
must be?”
“Ah! at this moment I understand only the Emperor,” she said, vanquished
by the kindly manner with which the man of destiny had said the words
that foretold to her ears success.
“Are they innocent?” asked the Emperor.
“Yes, all of them,” she said with enthusiasm.
“All? No, that bailiff is a dangerous man, who would have killed my
senator without taking your advice.”
“Ah, Sire,” she said, “if you had a friend devoted to you, would you
abandon him? Would you not rather--”
“You are a woman,” he said, interrupting her in a faint tone of
ridicule.
“And you, a man of iron!” she replied with a passionate sternness which
pleased him.
“That man has been condemned to death by the laws of his country,” he
continued.
“But he is innocent!”
“Child!” he said.
He took Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne by the hand and led her from the hut
to the plateau.
“See,” he continued, with that eloquence of his which changed even
cowards to brave men, “see those three hundred thousand men--all
innocent. And yet to-morrow thirty thousand of them will be lying dead,
dead for their country! Among those Prussians there is, perhaps, some
great mathematician, a man of genius, an idealist, who will be mown
down. On our side we shall assuredly lose many a great man never known
to fame. Perhaps even I shall see my best friend die. Shall I blame God?
No. I shall bear it silently. Learn from this, mademoiselle, that a
man must die for the laws of his country just as men die here for her
glory.” So saying, he led her back into the hut. “Return to France,” he
said, looking at the marquis; “my orders shall follow you.”
Laurence believed in a commutation of Michu’s punishment, and in her
gratitude she knelt again before the Emperor and kissed his hand.
“You are the Marquis de Chargeboeuf?” said Napoleon, addressing the
marquis.
“Yes, Sire.”
“You have children?”
“Many children.”
“Why not give me one of your grandsons? he shall be my page.”
“Ah!” thought Laurence, “there’s the sub-lieutenant after all; he wants
to be paid for his mercy.”
The marquis bowed without replying. Happily at this moment General Rapp
rushed into the hut.
“Sire, the cavalry of the Guard, and that of the Grand-duc de Berg
cannot be set up before midday to-morrow.”
“Never mind,” said Napoleon, turning to Berthier, “we, too, get our
reprieves; let us profit by them.”
At a sign of his hand the marquis and Laurence retired and again entered
their carriage; the corporal showed them their road and accompanied them
to a village where they passed the night. The next day they left
the field of battle behind them, followed by the thunder of the
cannon,--eight hundred pieces,--which pursued them for ten hours. While
still on their way they learned of the amazing victory of Jena.
Eight days later, they were driving through the faubourg of Troyes,
where they learned that an order of the chief justice, transmitted
through the _procureur imperial_ of Troyes, commanded the release of
the four gentlemen on bail during the Emperor’s pleasure. But Michu’s
sentence was confirmed, and the warrant for his execution had been
forwarded from the ministry of police. These orders had reached Troyes
that very morning. Laurence went at once to the prison, though it was
two in the morning, and obtained permission to stay with Michu, who was
about to undergo the melancholy ceremony called “the toilet.” The good
abbe, who had asked permission to accompany him to the scaffold, had
just given absolution to the man, whose only distress in dying was his
uncertainty as to the fate of his young masters. When Laurence entered
his cell he uttered a cry of joy.
“I can die now,” he said.
“They are pardoned,” she said; “I do not know on what conditions, but
they are pardoned. I did all I could for you, dear friend--against the
advice of others. I thought I had saved you; but the Emperor deceived me
with his graciousness.”
“It was written above,” said Michu, “that the watch-dog should be killed
on the spot where his old masters died.”
The last hour passed rapidly. Michu, at the moment of parting, asked
to kiss her hand, but Laurence held her cheek to the lips of the noble
victim that he might sacredly kiss it. Michu refused to mount the cart.
“Innocent men should go afoot,” he said.
He would not let the abbe give him his arm; resolutely and with dignity
he walked alone to the scaffold. As he laid his head on the plank he
said to the executioner, after asking him to turn down the collar of his
coat, “My clothes belong to you; try not to spot them.”
* * * * *
The four gentlemen had hardly time to even see Mademoiselle de
Cinq-Cygne. An orderly of the general commanding the division to which
they were assigned, brought them their commissions as sub-lieutenants in
the same regiment of cavalry, with orders to proceed at once to Bayonne,
the base of supplies for its particular army-corps. After a scene of
heart-rending farewells, for they all foreboded what the future should
bring forth, Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne returned to her desolate home.
The two brothers were killed together under the eyes of the Emperor at
Sommo-Sierra, the one defending the other, both being already in command
of their troop. The last words of each were, “Laurence, _cy meurs_!”
The elder d’Hauteserre died a colonel at the attack on the redoubt at
Moscow, where his brother took his place.
Adrien d’Hauteserre, appointed brigadier-general at the battle of
Dresden, was dangerously wounded there and was sent to Cinq-Cygne
for proper nursing. While endeavoring to save this relic of the four
gentlemen who for a few brief months had been so happy around her,
Laurence, then thirty-two years of age, married him. She offered him a
withered heart, but he accepted it; those who truly love doubt nothing
or doubt all.
The Restoration found Laurence without enthusiasm. The Bourbons returned
too late for her. Nevertheless, she had no cause for complaint. Her
husband, made peer of France with the title of Marquis de Cinq-Cygne,
became lieutenant-general in 1816, and was rewarded with the blue ribbon
for the eminent services which he then performed.
Michu’s son, of whom Laurence took care as though he were her own child,
was admitted to the bar in 1817. After practising two years he was
made assistant-judge at the court of Alencon, and from there he became
_procureur-du-roi_ at Arcis in 1827. Laurence, who had also taken
charge of Michu’s property, made over to the young man on the day of his
majority an investment in the public Funds which yielded him an income
of twelve thousand francs a year. Later, she arranged a marriage for him
with Mademoiselle Girel, an heiress at Troyes.
The Marquis de Cinq-Cygne died in 1829, in the arms of his wife,
surrounded by his father and mother, and his children who adored him.
At the time of his death no one had ever fathomed the mystery of the
senator’s abduction. Louis XVIII. did not neglect to repair, as far as
possible, the wrongs done by that affair; but he was silent as to the
causes of the disaster. From that time forth the Marquise de Cinq-Cygne
believed him to have been an accomplice in the catastrophe.