Angelique - Part 4. The Doomed Man of Notre Dame Chapter 3 - Read online

THE RUE DU TEMPLE opened before Angelique and Dcsgrez, with its stretches of muddy slush here and there, over which planks had been thrown. A few years earlier, this district had contained nothing but kitchen-gardens, called the ‘Temple allotments*, and in between the newly-built houses one still caught a glimpse of cabbage-patches and small herds of goats. The fortified wall, over which towered the sombre keep of the former Templars, came in sight.
Desgrez asked Angelique to wait for a moment and went into a haber-dashery. A few seconds later he emerged from it adorned with an im¬maculate collar-band, with no lace trimmings, but tied with a violet cord. White cuffs shone on his wrists. His vest-pocket bulged peculiarly. He pulled a handkerchief from it and almost dropped a big rosary. His threadbare jacket and hose seemed to have taken on an extremely respect¬able air. The pious expression on his face contributed to this trans¬formation, and Angelique felt a certain hesitation about talking to him in the same familiar way.
“You look like a devout magistrate,** she said, a little put out.
“Isn’t that just what a lawyer who is accompanying a young lady to visit her Jesuit brother should look like?** asked Desgrez, raising his hat with humble respect.
As they approached the high battlements of the Temple, from which rose a welter of Gothic towers dominated by the Templars* sinister dungeon, Angelique little guessed that she was penetrating into the one place in Paris where one could be most sure of living in freedom.
This fortified area, which in former times had been the stronghold of the warrior monks called Templars, and later that of the Knights of Malta, enjoyed in fact traditional privileges before which the King himself bowed: no taxes were exacted here, one could live unharassed by police or administrative measures, and insolvent debtors found here a refuge from sentences of imprisonment for debts. For several generations, the Temple had been the prerogative of the great bastards of France. The present "Grand Prior, the Due de Vendome, was descended in direct line from Henry IV and his most famous mistress, Gabrielle d’Estrees.
Angelique, who was unfamiliar with the special jurisdiction that governed this isolated little town in the heart of the great city, experienced an uneasy feeling as she crossed the drawbridge. But she found on the
other side of the vaulted gate a surprising calm. The Temple had lost its military traditions a long time ago. Nowadays it was merely a kind of peaceful retreat which offered its happy inmates all the advantages of a life that was both retired and fashionable. Over towards the aristocratic district, Angdlique noticed several carriages stationed before the hand¬some mansions of the Guise, Boufflers and Boisboudran families.
In the shadow of the massive Tower of Caesar, the Jesuits owned a comfortable residence. In it lived and came to meditate those members of the congregation, in particular, who were attached as almoners to the great persons of the Court.
Desgrez asked the seminarist who had let them in to inform the Reverend Father de Sance that a lawyer wished to talk to him about the Comte de Peyrac.
“If your brother doesn’t know all about this case, then the Jesuits might just as well close up shop,” declared Desgrez to Angelique while they were waiting in the small parlour. “I have often thought that if, by any chance, I had the task of reorganising the police, I would let myself be guided by their methods.”
A moment later, Father de Sance strode briskly into the room. He recognised Angelique at a glance.
“My dear sister!” he said.
And, going up to her, he gave her a brotherly kiss.
“Oh, Raymond!” she murmured, comforted by his welcome.
He was already motioning them to sit down.
“How far have you got in this painful affair?”
Desgrez chose to answer for Angelique. He summed up the situation in a pontifical tone of voice. The Comte de Peyrac was in the Bastille on the—secret—charge of witchcraft. This was aggravated by the fact that he had displeased the King and attracted the suspicions of influential persons.
“I know! I know!” murmured the Jesuit.
He did not say how he happened to be so well informed, but after casting a searching glance at Desgrez he asked point-blank:
“What is your opinion, Maitre, of the course we should follow to save my unfortunate brother-in-law?”
“I consider that, in this case, we’d hurt our chances if we tried to obtain too much. The Comte de Peyrac is most certainly the victim of a Court intrigue of which the King himself has no inkling, but which is fostered by a powerful personage. I shall mention no names.”
“You do well,” Father de Sance slipped in quickly, while Ang&que had a fleeting vision of the redoubtable squirrel’s crafty profile., >
“However, we’d be clumsy to try and foil the stratagems of people who
have both money and influence in their favour. Three times, Madame de Peyrac has almost succumbed to attempts on her life. That experience should suffice. Let us bow and confine ourselves to talking of what we are allowed to discuss in broad daylight. Monsieur de Peyrac is accused of witchcraft. Well then, let him be handed over to an ecclesiastical court. That’s where your help, Father, will become extremely valuable, for I won’t conceal from you that my influence as a little-known lawyer would be quite unavailing. To get my remonstrances accepted as Mon¬sieur de Peyrac’s advocate would require that a trial be decided upon and legal assistance granted. Originally, I doubt that anybody even dreamed of it. But the various moves that Madame de Peyrac has instigated at Court have stirred the sovereign’s conscience. I no longer doubt that the trial will take place. It is for you, Father, to see that it takes place in the only acceptable form, and thus avoid the malpractices and falsifications of those gentlemen of the civil law.”
“I see, Maitre, that you harbour no illusions about your corporation.”
“I harbour no illusions about anybody, Father.”
“You do well,” approved Raymond de Sance.
He then promised to see certain persons whose names he did not mention and to keep the lawyer and his sister informed of the outcome. “You are staying at Hortense’s, I believe?”
“Yes,” said Angelique with a sigh.
“Incidentally,” Desgrez broke in, “an idea has struck me. Could you not use your connections, Father, to obtain a modest lodging in these precincts for my client, your sister? You are not unaware that her life is still threatened, but in the Temple nobody would dare run the risk of committing a crime. It is well known that his lordship the Due de Vendome, Grand Prior of France, does not admit rogues to this enclosure, and that he welcomes all those who ask for refuge here. A crime attempted under his jurisdiction would arouse publicity that no one desires. And, lastly, Madame de Peyrac could register under an assumed name, which would obscure the trail. I might add that she would thus enjoy some rest, of which her health stands in great need.”
“It seems to me a very wise plan,” approved Raymond and, after pondering for a moment, he went out and returned with a small piece of paper on which he had jotted down an address: “Madame Cordeau, widow, lodging-house keeper in Temple Square.”
“It’s a modest, even rather a poor, habitation. But you will have a large room and can have your meals with Madame Cordeau, whose duty it is to keep house and to let three or four rooms. I know that you are used to greater luxury, but I believe that this accommodation
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corresponds to the need of obscurity that Maitre Desgrez advises for you.” “Very well, Raymond,” Angflique agreed obediently, and with a little more warmth she added: “Thank you for believing in my husband’s innocence and for helping us fight the injustice of which he’s a victim.” The Jesuit’s face grew stem.
“Angelique, I did not wish to burden you with reproaches, for your wan appearance fills me with pity. But don’t think I have the least in¬dulgence for your husband’s scandalous life, into which he dragged you with him and which you are so harshly expiating today. It is natural, though, that I should offer help to a member of my family.”
The young woman opened her mouth to answer. Then she thought better of it. There was no fight left in her.
Nevertheless, she was unable to curb her tongue to the end. As Ray¬mond was leading them back through the vestibule, he informed Angelique that their youngest sister, Marie-Agnes, thanks to his intervention, had obtained one of the much sought-after posts of maid-of- honour to the Queen.
“That’s splendid!” exclaimed the young woman. “Marie-Agnes at the Louvre! I am sure that she will blossom out quickly and fully there.” “Madame de Navailles is specially looking after the maids-of-honour. She is a most amiable woman, but a wise and prudent one. I was talking a moment ago with the Queen’s confessor, who told me how much Her Majesty insists on the excellent conduct of her maids-of-honour.”
“Can it be that you are so naive?”
“That’s a failing which our superiors don’t countenance.”
“Then don’t be a hypocrite,” concluded Angelique.
Raymond continued to smile affably.
“I am delighted to see that you are still the same, my dear sister. I hope you will find tranquillity in the place I indicated to you. Go now, I shall pray for you.”
“These Jesuits really are remarkable people,” declared Desgrez a little later. “Why didn’t I become a Jesuit?”
He remained plunged in thought over this question until they reached the rue Saint-Landry.
Hortense received her sister and the lawyer with a frankly hostile expression.
“Splendid! Splendid!” she said. “I notice that from each one of your escapades you return in a more lamentable state. And always accom¬panied, of course.” .*
“Hortense, this is Maitre Desgrez.”
Hortense turned her back on the lawyer.
“Gaston!” she called, “do come and have a look at your sister-in-law. I hope that will cure you for good.”
Maitre Fallot de Sance appeared, rather vexed at his wife’s manner of summoning him, but at the sight of Angelique his mouth dropped open with amazement.
“My poor child, in what a state! . . .”
There was a ring at the door, and Barbe let in Gontran.
The sight of him put the final spark to Hortense’s anger, and she broke out into imprecations:
“What have I done to Our Lord to be burdened with such a brother and sister? Who could now believe that my family is really of ancient lineage? A sister who comes back dressed like a rag-picker! And a brother who, falling lower and lower, is reduced to becoming a rough labourer whom noblemen and burghers can treat with contempt and trounce with their sticks! . . . They should have locked the whole lot of you up in the Bastille with that awful lame sorcerer!”
Ignoring this shouting, Angelique called her little nursemaid to help her pack.
Hortense broke off and caught her breath.
“You can keep calling her! She’s gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“Well, like mistress, like servant. She left yesterday with a big lout with an atrocious accent, who came for her.”
Angelique was aghast. She felt responsible for this adolescent girl whom she had tom away from her native province, and she turned towards Barbe.
“You shouldn’t have let her go, Barbe.”
“How was I to know, Madame?” wailed the big girl. “That girl was full of the devil. She swore to me on the crucifix that the man was her brother.”
“Pooh! a Gascon sort of brother. They have an expression down there, ‘my country brother', which people from the same province use among themselves. Well, can’t be helped. I won’t have to spend any more money on her keep. . . .”
That very night, Angelique and her little boy moved into the modest lodgings of Widow Cordeau, in Temple Square,
Temple Square was the name given to the market-place where all those who sold fowl, fish, fresh meat, garlic, honey and water-cress foregathered, for everyone was entitled to set up shop here, against payment of a small fee to the bailiff, and to sell his wares at whatever price he chose, free of taxes or inspection. The place was bustling and popular. The Widow Cordeau herself was just an old woman, more of a peasant than a city- dweller, who spun wool before her meagre fire. She looked rather like a witch.
Angflique found her room dean and smelling pleasantly; the bed was comfortable, and a big bundle of straw had been strewn on the floor to warm the cold, stone tiles in these early winter days. Madame Cordeau had a small cradle brought up for Florimond in addition to a stock of wood and a pot of broth.
After Desgrez and Gontran had left her, Angelique busied herself with the baby, feeding him and putting him to bed. Florimond grumbled, calling for Barbe and his little cousins. To distract him, she hummed a little song, ‘The Green Mill’, which he loved. She barely noticed her wound any more, and looking after her child amused her. Although accustomed to being surrounded by numerous servants, her rugged child¬hood now stood her in good stead so that the loss of her last servant was not a shattering blow to her. And besides, hadn’t the nuns who had brought her up accustomed her to hard work “in anticipation of the reverses which Heaven might decree”?
So when the child had fallen asleep and she herself lay down between the coarse but clean sheets, and the night-watchman passed under her windows crying: “Ten o’clock. The Gate’s closed. Good people of the Temple, sleep in peace . . she experienced a moment’s feeling of well¬being and relaxation.
The gate was closed. While the great city all around was awakening to the horrors of the night, with its growling taverns, prowling bandits, its murderers and burglars, the small Temple population peacefully went to sleep in the shelter of their high batdements. The imitation-jewel manufacturers, the insolvent debtors and clandestine printers closed their eyes, in the certainty of a peaceful morrow. From the Grand Prior’s house, hidden in its park, came the sound of a harpsichord, and from the chapel and cloister rang out prayers in Latin, while some Knights of Malta, in black robes with white crosses, repaired to their cells.
Rain was falling. Angelique peacefully fell asleep.
SHE HAD REGISTERED AT THE BAILIFF’S COURT under the name of Madame Martin. Nobody asked any questions. In the days that followed she had the novel but pleasant impression of being a young mother of the people, who mingled with her neighbours and had no cares other than those of looking after her child. She took her meals at home in the company of Madame Cordeau, her son, a boy of fifteen apprenticed in town, and a ruined old merchant who was hiding from his creditors in the Temple.
“The misfortune of my life,” he was apt to say, “is that my father and mother brought me up very badly. Yes, Madame, they taught me to be honest. It’s the worst defect one can have when engaged in business.”
Little Florimond attracted no end of compliments, and Angelique was very proud of him. At the slightest ray of sunshine, she would go and take him for a walk through the market, and all the market-women would compare him with the Child Jesus in his crib. One of the gold¬smiths, whose booth was just outside the house in which Angelique lived, presented him with a little cross in imitation rubies. Angelique was quite touched as she tied the poor trinket around the little boy’s neck. Where was the six-carat diamond that Florimond had almost swallowed on the day of the King’s wedding at Saint-Jcan-de-Luz?
During her walks Angelique kept away from the vicinity of the beautiful town houses, where rich and high-ranking people had chosen to take up residence within the Temple, for reasons of economy or personal taste. She was a little apprehensive of being recognised by the visitors whose carriages rumbled past the postem-gate, and above all she preferred to spare herself any regrets. A complete break with her past life was preferable from every point of view, and, anyhow, wasn’t she the wife of a poor prisoner abandoned by all?
One day, however, as she was going down the stairs with Florimond in her arms, she had the impression, on passing the woman who lived in the adjoining room, that the latter's face was not unfamiliar to her. Madame Cordeau had told her that she was also housing a very poor and, rather reserved young widow, who preferred to add a few deniers to the modest boarding fee she was paying to have her meals brought up to her room. Angelique had a fleeting glimpse of a brunette’s charming face with
languorous eyes, but she was unable to put a name to it although she was convinced that she had met her before.
As she was returning from her walk, the young widow seemed to be waiting for her.
“Aren’t you Madame de Peyrac?” she asked.
Vexed, and a little alarmed, Angelique motioned to her to come into her room.
“You were sharing the carriage of my friend, Athenais de Tonnay- Charente, on the day of the King’s entry into Paris. I am Madame Scarron.”
Angelique at last recognised the lovely, self-effacing person who had accompanied them in her shabby dress and had made them all feel a little embarrassed for her. Madame ‘Legless Scarron’, as Athenais’s brother used to say maliciously. She had hardly changed, except for her dress, which was even more worn and patched. But she wore collars of im¬maculate whiteness and preserved an air of rather pathetic respectability.
Angelique was delighted, despite everything, to be able to chat with a fellow-countrywoman from Poitou, and she asked her to come and sit before the fire-place and, together with Florimond, they shared a bag of biscuits. Franfoise d’Aubigne told her that she had come to live in the Temple because you could stay there for three months without paying for your lodging. She was literally down to her last sou and on the verge of being thrown out into the street by her creditors. She was hoping that before the three months were out she would obtain from the King or the Queen Mother the renewal of the pension of 2,000 livres which His Majesty had granted her husband during his lifetime.
“Almost every week I go to the Louvre and take up my stand on the path leading to the chapel. You know that His Majesty, when leaving his apartments on his way to attend Mass, passes through a gallery where he allows himself to be approached by petitioners. There are lots of monks, war-orphans and pensionless old soldiers. We sometimes have to wait a very long time. At last the King appears. I confess that every time I place my petition in the Royal hand, my heart beats so loud that I am afraid the King may hear it.”
“But so far he hasn’t even heard your petition!”
“No, that’s true. But I don’t give up hope that he will glance at it som^ day.”
They were interrupted by a strange noise, a sort of animal growl, cuming from the staircase. Madame Scarron went to open the door, then recoiled, slamming it hurriedly. *
“Good God, there’s a demon on the landing!”
“What do you mean?”
“At any rate, a perfectly black man.”
Angelique uttered a cry and rushed out.
“Kouassi-Ba!” she called.
“Yes, it’s me, Medeme,” replied Kouassi-Ba.
He loomed, like a sombre spectre, on the dark little staircase. He was dressed in shapeless rags held up by string. His skin was grey and flabby. But on seeing Florimond, he burst into wild laughter and, rushing towards the delighted child, he started to perform a frenzied dance. Francoise Scarron rushed out of the room with a horrified gesture and took refuge in her own room.
Angelique put her head between her hands and thought hard. When was it . . . when exactly had Kouassi-Ba disappeared? She couldn’t remember. Everything was muddled. At last she recalled that he had accompanied her to the Louvre on the morning of that terrible day when she had seen the King and almost died at the hands of the Due d’Orleans. From that moment onward, she had to admit, she had completely for¬gotten Kouassi’-Ba’s existence!
She threw a bundle of wood on to the fire so that he might dry his ram- soaked rags and offered him all the food she could find. He told her his odyssey.
In the big castle in which the King of France lived Kouassi-Ba had waited for ‘Medeme* for a long time. Such a long time! Passing servant- girls made fun of him. After that, night had come. After that, he had received many blows from sticks. After that, he woke up in the water, yes in the water that flows before the big castle. . . . He had swum; then he had found a beach. When he woke again, he was very happy, for he thought he was back in his own country. Three Moors were bending over him. Men like himself, not little blackamoors like ladies have as pages.
“You’re sure it wasn’t a dream?” Angelique asked him, much surprised. “Moors in Paris! There are very few adult Moors here.”
By dint of questioning, she finally gathered that he had been sheltered by negroes who were being presented as freaks at the fair of Saint- Germain or else who acted as keepers for trained bears. But Kouassi-Ba had not felt at all inclined to stay with them. He was afraid of bears.
After finishing his story, he pulled a basket from under his rags and, squatting on his knees before Florimond, he presented him with two soft bread-rolls, called ‘sheep bread’, whose crust was golden with egg-yolk and sprinkled with grains of wheat. They gave off a delicious aroma.
“How were you able to buy this?”
“Oh! I didn’t buy. I walked into a baker’s shop and did this’’—he pulled a terrifying grimace—“the lady and the young lady hid under the counter and I took the pastries to bring them to my young master.”
“My God!” sighed Angelique, aghast.
“If I had my big curved sabre . . .”
“I sold it to a ragman,” the young woman hastened to reply.
She was wondering whether the archers of the watch weren’t after Kouassi-Ba. It seemed that even now there was much noise outside. Going over to the window, she saw a group of people massed before the house. A respectable-looking, dark-dressed man was arguing with Widow Cordcau. Angelique half-opened the window to try and hear what it was all about.
Old Widow Cordeau shouted up to her:
“It seems there’s a perfectly black man up there with you?”
Angelique quickly went downstairs.
“That’s true, Madame Cordeau. He’s a Moor, a . . . a former servant. He’s a very good fellow.”
The respectable person then introduced himself as the bailiff of the Temple, in charge of high, middle and low justice on behalf of the Grand Prior within the precincts of the Temple. He said that it was impossible for a Moor to remain there, all the more so since this particular one was dressed like a beggar. After a prolonged argument, Angelique promised that Kouassi-Ba would leave the enclosure again before nightfall. She went upstairs, aggrieved.
“What am I going to do with you, my poor Kouassi-Ba? Your presence here stirs up a real fuss. And I myself have not enough money left to pay your keep. You’re used to luxury, alas! . . .”
“Sell me, Med6me.”
And as she stared at him in surprise, he added:
“The Comte paid a high price for me, and yet I was quite small at the time. Now I am worth at least a thousand livres. That’ll give you a lot of money to get my master out of prison.”
Angelique told herself that the negro was right. Actually, Kouassi-Ba was all that was left to her of her former wealth. The thing was repugnant to her, but wasn’t it the best way of finding a shelter for this poor savage, lost amid the confusion of the civilised world?
“Come back tomorrow,” she told him, “I’ll have thought of a solution. And be careful not to get caught by the archers of the watch.”
“Oh! I know how to hide myself. I have many friends in this city. I do like this and then the friends say: ‘You are one of ours.’ And they take me home with them.”
He showed her how he crossed his fingers in a certain way so as to be recognised by the friends in question. She gave him a blanket and watched the tall, roving hulk disappear in the rain. As soon as he had gone, she decided to ask her brother for advice. But the Reverend Father de Sance was not to be found.
Angelique was returning, absorbed in her worries, when a young boy carrying a violin-case under his arm, passed her skipping from puddle to puddle.
“Giovanni!”
She pulled the little musician into the shelter of the cloister of the old church and asked him how he was getting on.
“I am not yet in Monsieur Lulli’s orchestra,” he said, “but when Mademoiselle de Montpensier left for Saint-Fargcau, she passed me on to Madame de Soissons, who has been appointed Mistress of the Queen’s household. I thus have excellent connections,” he concluded self¬importantly, “and thanks to them I can make a lot of extras by giving music and dancing lessons to young girls of good family. I am just on my way back from Mademoiselle de Sevigne, who’s staying at the Hotel de Boufflers.”
He shyly added, after an embarrassed glance at the modest attire of his former mistress:
“And may I ask, Madame, how your affairs are progressing? When shall we see his lordship the Comte again?”
“Soon. It’s a matter of days,” answered Angelique, her mind else¬where. “Giovanni,” she went on, seizing the boy by the shoulders. “I have decided to sell Kouassi-Ba. I remember that Madame de Soissons wished to acquire him, but I cannot leave the Temple, let alone go to the Tuileries. Will you act as my intermediary in this business?”
“I am always at your service, Madame,” the little musician replied devotedly.
He must have hurried, for less than two hours afterwards, as Angelique was cooking Florimond’s meal, there was a knock at her door. She went to open it and found herself facing a big, red-haired woman of arrogant mien, and a lackey in the cherry-red livery of the Due de Soissons’s household.
“We are sent by Giovanni,” said the woman, under whose cloak could be glimpsed a very smart chambermaid’s uniform.
She had the crafty, insolent manners of a great lady’s favourite servant.
“We’re ready to come to an arrangement,” she continued, after eyeing Angelique from head to foot and casting a quick appraising
glance round the room. “The question is, how much is there in it for us?”
“Not so fast, young woman,” Angelique cut her short in a tone of voice that promptly put the maid in her place.
She sat down and left the visitors standing before her.
“What’s your name?” she asked the lackey.
“La Jacinthe, Your Ladyship.”
“Very well. You at least have sharp eyes and a good memory. Why am I supposed to pay two people?”
“Well, we always work together in this sort of business.”
“A partnership, I see. A good tiling that his lordship the Due’s entire household isn’t in on it! Now this is what you are to do: you’ll tell the Duchesse that I am prepared to sell my Moor, Kouassi-Ba. But I cannot go to the Tuilerics myself. Your mistress must therefore arrange to meet me in the Temple at a house of her choice. But I insist on absolute dis¬cretion and on the fact that my name must not even be mentioned.”
“That doesn’t seem very difficult to arrange,” said the maid after exchanging a glance with her companion.
“There’ll be two tivres in every ten for you in it. This means that the higher the price the better you’ll be paid. It’s up to you, moreover, to see that Madame de Soissons is so eager to acquire the Moor that she won’t shrink from any figure.”
“I’ll see to that,” promised the maid. “Anyway, only the other day, while I was dressing her hair, her ladyship was still regretting not having that horrid demon in her suite! A lot of good it will do her!” she added, raising her eyes to heaven.
Angelique and Kouassi-Ba were waiting in a small room adjoining the pantry of the Hotel de Boufflers. Laughing voices and mannered ex¬clamations rang out from the rooms where Madame de Sevigne was at home to her friends that day. Little lackeys passed, their arms laden with trays of pastries.
Though unwilling to admit it to herself, Angeliquc’s heart ached, for the women of her circle were leading their frivolous lives but a few steps away. She had dreamed so much of knowing Paris and its fashionable alcoves, the rendezvous of the brilliant wits of her time! . . .
By her side, Kouassi-Ba was rolling his eyes with apprehension. Fron i a clothes-merchant in the Temple she had hired for him an old livery with faded gold braid in which he did not look very smart.
At last the door opened, to let in Madame de Soissons’s maid, followed by the Duchesse herself, who, closing her fan with a snap, appeared bustling amid a rustle of silk.
it was on your account that Lauzun fought a duel with Monsieur?” Angflique shuddered at the memory of the dreadful scene. She begged Madame de Soissons once again to exercise the utmost discretion concern¬ing her, and not to reveal her place of refuge. Madame de Soissons, who had been taught by long experience to handle with care people who had fallen into disfavour until their fate had been finally settled by the master, promised all that was asked and kissed Angelique as she left.