Angelique - Part 4. The Doomed Man of Notre Dame Chapter 7 - Read online

DAY WAS JUST BREAKING AS ANGELIQUE, accompanied by the nun, passed over the Pont-au-Change and found herself in the Cite.
The cold was biting. The Seine was jammed with big blocks of icc that produced sinister cracking sounds in the piles under the old wooden bridges. Snow decked the roofs, edged the cornices of the houses, and transformed the spire of the Sainte-Chapelle into a blossoming branch planted in the heart of the serried mass of the law-courts.
Had it not been for her pious disguise, Angelique would gladly have stopped the brandy-merchant. The red-nosed vendor was hurrying past to rouse the unskilled workers, the poor clerks and apprentices, all those who had to rise first to open workshop, stall or study. Six o’clock sounded from the big clock on the corner tower. The clock-face on a background of azure and golden fleurs-de-lis had been a rare novelty in King Henri Ilfs time. The clock was the jewel of the Palace of Justice. Its coloured clay figures, its dove representing the Holy Ghost, sheltering under its wings Justice and Piety, were gleaming with their red, white and blue enamels in the grey morning.
After passing through the big courtyard and mounting a flight of steps, Angelique and her companion were at last approached by a lawyer whom Angelique recognised with surprise as Desgrez. He intimidated her in liis ample black robe, his immaculate neck-band, his wig with its white rolls carefully topping one another under his square doctor’s cap. He was holding in his hand a brand-new brief-bag bulging with docu¬ments. Very gravely, he told them that he had just seen the prisoner in the cells of the Palace of the Conciergerie.
“Docs he know that I shall be in the court-room?” inquired Angelique.
“No! It might unsettle him. What about you? You promise to re¬main cool and collected?”
<<T * ’’
I promise.
“He is ... he is in a bad way,” said Desgrez hoarsely. “He’s been horribly tortured. But the obviously flagrant abuses of those who rigged this trial may impress the judges. Whatever happens, you’ll be strong?”
With a constricted throat, she nodded.
At the entrance to the court-room, the King’s guards asked^for signed tickets of admission. It hardly surprised Angelique when the nun handed them one, murmuring almost inaudibly as she did so:
“In the service of His Excellency the Cardinal Mazarin.”
A court-usher then guided them to the centre of an already packed room, where the black robes of the legal practitioners mingled with the frocks and cassocks of priests and monks. A somewhat sparse gathering of noblemen filled the second row of the semicircle. Angelique recog¬nised none of them. She could only presume that the Court gentry weren’t admitted or knew nothing of this trial, which was being held virtually in camera, or else that they did not wish to compromise them¬selves.
The Comtesse dc Peyrac and her neighbour sat a little apart, but in seats from which they could see and hear everything. Angelique was surprised to find herself sitting next to a string of nuns of various orders, whom a high-ranking chaplain seemed to be watching over discreetly. Angelique wondered what these nuns could be doing at a trial for alchemy and witchcraft.
The court-room, which was situated in one of the oldest parts of the Palace of Justice, had a vaulted, arched dome, from which carved pendants held masses of acanthus leaves suspended over the heads of the public. It was dark on account of the stained-glass windows, and a few candles added to the lugubrious atmosphere. Two or three big German stoves, with gleaming glazed earthenware, spread a little warmth.
Vainly she searched the crowd for familiar faces. Neither the judges, nor the prisoner, nor the jury, had yet arrived. The court-room, how¬ever, was full by now, and many people were crammed in the passages despite the early hour. It was obvious that some of them had come here as if to a spectacle, or rather as if to a public class in law, for a great part of the audience was composed of young law clerks. In front of Angelique was a group that seemed particularly noisy. In an undertone, they were making comments that were doubtless intended for some inexperienced listeners near-by.
“What arc they waiting for?” a young lawyer, with profusely powdered hair, was clamouring impatiently.
His neighbour, whose pimply face was wedged in a tight fur collar, answered with a yawn:
“They are waiting for the doors of the court to be closed, whereupon the accused will be brought in and put on the stool of repentance,”
“The stool is that isolated bench down there?”
A grinning clerk, as dirty as they come, turned round towards the group and protested:
“You surely wouldn’t want them to prepare an arm-chair for a devil’s henchman!”
“Apparently a wizard can stand upright on a pin-point or a flame,” said the powdered lawyer.
His plump companion answered gravely:
“They won’t ask him to do that, but he will have to remain kneeling on that stool, under a crucifix placed at the foot of the president of the jury’s desk.”
“That’s still too much luxury for such monsters!” cried the clerk with the dirty hair.
Angeliquc shivered. If the general feeling of a crowd, carefully chosen and composed of the cream of the judicature, was already so biased and hostile, what was to be expected of the judges, who had been hand¬picked by the King and his servitors? But the deep voice of the lawyer in the fur tippet spoke up:
“As far as I am concerned, all this is a trumped-up charge. This man is no more a wizard than you or I, but he must have got in the way of some vast intrigue of those in power, who’d like to have a legal pretext for suppressing him.”
Angelique bent forward to get a better look at the face of this man who dared to give such frank expression to a dangerous opinion. She was dying to ask his name. Her companion lightly touched her hand to remind her to be more discreet. The neighbour of the man in the fur collar whispered, after glancing all around:
“If they really want to suppress him, the nobles don’t usually, I believe, trouble to obtain a judgment.”
“One’s got to satisfy the people and prove to them now and again that the King occasionally punishes some mighty ones.”
“If your theory that they want to throw a bone to the public, as Nero used to do, were correct, they would have ordered a vast public hearing, Maitre Gallemand, and not an almost secret trial,” opined the impatient young man.
“One can see that you are still a greenhorn in this confounded pro¬fession,” said the famous advocate, of whom Desgrcz had said that his sallies made the Palace tremble. “At a public hearing you run the risk of real popular riots, for the people are sentimental and not as stupid as they look. Now the King is already an old hand at legal procedure, and he fears more than anything that matters might take the same turn as in England, where the people knew full well how to place a King’s head on the block. So, over here, people with ideas of their own or who are considered a nuisance are suppressed quietly and without fuss. Afterwards, their still twitching carcasses are offered as food to the basest instincts of the rabble. The latter are prompdy accused of bestiality. The priests perorate on the need to control our vilest passions, and Mass is said, of course, before and after.”
“The Church has nothing to do with such excesses,” protested the chaplain, leaning forward. “I would even point out, gentlemen, that too often nowadays laymen who arc completely ignorant of canon law presume to substitute themselves for divine law. And I think I can assure you that most of the clerics whom you see here are perturbed by this encroachment on religious law by the secular power. Thus I, who have come from Rome, have seen our embassy at the Vatican gradually being transformed into a refuge for all the riff-raff of the worst type. The Holy Father himself is no longer master in his own home, for our King, to settle this argument, did not hesitate to send troops of reinforcement, French military forces, to his embassy with orders to shoot at the Pope’s regiments if the latter laid hands on the Italian and Swiss thieves and bandits who have taken refuge at the embassy of France.”
“But any embassy in foreign territory must remain inviolable,” suggested a prudent-looking old burgher.
“No doubt. But it mustn't give shelter to all the rabble of Rome and help to undermine the unity of the Church.”
“But the Church, in turn, mustn’t undermine the unity of the French State, whose defender is the King,” replied the old burgher, with a dogged look on his face.
People stared at him and seemed to wonder what he was doing there. Most of them assumed a suspicious air and turned away, visibly regretting that they had pronounced such daring words before a stranger, who might be a spy of His Majesty’s State Council.
Only Maitre Gallemand retorted, glaring at him:
“Well, watch this trial attentively, Monsieur. You will no doubt be seeing a minor aspect of the great and very real conflict which already exists between the King and the Church of Rome.”
Angeliquc was following this exchange of words with a feeling of terror. She now had a better understanding of the Jesuits’ reluctance and the failure of the Pope’s letter in which she had put all her hope for so long. So the King no longer recognised any master. There was, then, but one chance left for Joffrey de Pcyrac: that the judges’ conscience would be stronger than their servility.
A vast silence spread across the amphitheatre and brought the young woman back to reality. Her heart missed a beat.
She had just caught sight ofJoffrev.
He was coming in, walking with difficulty and supporting himself on two sticks; his limp was more marked, and at every step she had the impression that he was going to lose his balance. He seemed to her at once very tall, very bent and horribly thin. She had a dreadful shock. After those long months of separation which had blurred her memory the outline of the dear figure, she saw him now through the eyes of the public and was terrified to discover his unusual, even disquieting, appearance. Joffrey’s abundant black hair framing a ravaged face of ghostly pallor, on which the scars drew red furrows, his shabby clothes, his gauntness—they all contributed to impress the crowd.
When he raised his head and his glowing black eyes slowly glanced around the semicircular court-room with a sort of mocking self-assurance, the pity which some of them had felt disappeared and a hostile murmur ran through the audience. The sight before them exceeded even their wildest hopes. This really was a sorcerer!
Flanked by guards, the Comte de Peyrac remained standing before the stool of repentance, on which he was unable to kneel.
At this moment, a score of armed Royal guards entered through two doors and took up positions at various points in the vast room.
The trial was about to begin. A voice announced:
“Gentlemen, the Court!”
The entire audience rose, and through the platform door came the hal- bcrdicr-ushers in sixteenth-century costume, with frilled ruffs and plumed caps. They preceded a procession of eight judges in gown and ermine collar, wearing the square doctors cap. In front of Angcliquc, Maitrc Gallemand was commenting in an undertone:
“The old man in black at the head is the Principal President of the Court, Scguicr. The man in red is Denis Talon, Attorney-General of the King’s Council and chief prosecutor. The red cape belongs to Masscnau, a parliamentarian from Toulouse, who has been named president of the jury for this trial. The youngest among the judges of the jury is the solicitor Fallot, who calls himself Baron de Sance, and who doesn’t hesitate to curry the Court’s favour by consenting to try the accused, who is said to be a close relative of his by marriage.”
“A drama out of Corneille, in short: heroic devotion to duty,” sug¬gested the greenhorn with the powered hair.
“I see, my friend, that like most flighty young men of your generation you go to those theatrical performances, which no self-respecting man of law can attend without finding frivolous. But believe me, you’ll never hear in a theatre a finer comedy than the one you’ll be attending to¬day. ...” '
Amid the hubbub, Angelique could not hear the rest. She would have liked to know who the other judges were. Desgrez had not mentioned that there would be so many. Not that it mattered, anyhow, since she did not know any of them, except Massenau and Fallot.
Where was her lawyer?
She saw him come in through the same door as the jurors. He was followed by several unknown monks, most of whom sat down in the first row of official spectators, where seats had evidently been reserved for them. Angelique was perturbed not to recognise Father Kircher among them. But Friar Becher wasn’t there either, and the young woman sighed with relief.
The silence was now complete. One of the priests recited a blessing, then tendered the crucifix to the accused, who kissed it and crossed him¬self. At this gesture of submission and piety, a wave of disappointment passed through the court-room. Were they going to be deprived of a spectacle of wizardry and offered only the plain judgment of a quarrel among gentlemen?
A shrill voice cried:
“Show us Lucifer’s exploits!”
This produced a commotion in the ranks: the guards pounced on the irreverent spectator. The young man was rudely seized and immediately dragged outside.
“Accused, take the oath!” said President Seguicr, unfolding a sheet of paper which a clerk on his knees had handed him.
Angelique closed her eyes. Joffrcy was going to speak. She expected his voice to be broken, feeble, as did all the spectators apparently, for when the deep, clear voice rang out, there was a stir of surprise. Shaken to the core, Angelique recognised the alluring voice which had murmured so many words of love to her on hot nights in Toulouse.
“I swear to speak the whole truth. I know, however, gendemen, that the law authorises me to challenge the competence of this court, for, in my capacity as a maitre des requites and a member of Parliament, I maintain that I must be tried by the Grand Court of Parliament ”
The Grand Master of Justice seemed to hesitate, then said with some haste:
“The law docs not permit of restrictive oaths: just swear, and the court will then be empowered to try you. If you do not take the oath, you will be tried as standing mute of malice, that is to say as if you were absent.”
“I see, Monsieur le President, that the dice are loaded. That is why, to facilitate your task, I relinquish the advantage of resorting to legal technicalities. Instead, I shall put my trust in this court’s spirit of justice and I confirm my oath.”
Crafty old Seguier did not conceal his satisfaction.
“The court will value at its merit the limited honour you apparently do it by accepting its competence. Before you, the King himself decided to trust in its sound justice, and that’s all that matters. As for you, gentlemen of the court, do not for a moment lose sight of the confidence which His Majesty has placed in you. Remember, gendemen of the jury, that you have the great honour of representing here the sword which our monarch holds in his august hands. Now, there are two kinds of justice: one which applies to the deeds of ordinary mortals, the other which applies to the decisions of a King who rules by divine right. Do not let the gravity of this relationship escape you, gendemen. By judging in the name of the King, you bear the responsibility of his greatness. But by honouring the King, you will also honour the foremost defender of religion in this kingdom.”
After this somewhat confusing speech, Seguicr withdrew majestically with an effort to conceal his haste. When he had left, everybody sat down. The candles that were still burning on the desks were snuffed. A crypt¬like light now invested the court-room, and when the pale winter sun seeped through the stained glass, the blue and red gleams suddenly gave some faces a rather eerie appearance.
Maitre Gallemand, his hand cupped before his mouth, was whispering to his neighbours:
“The old fox doesn’t even want to shoulder the responsibility for presenting the bill of indictment himself. He acts just like Pontius Pilate and, in case of a condemnation, he won’t hesitate to throw the blame on the Inquisition or the Jesuits.”
“But he can’t, since it is a secular trial.”
“Pooh! Courtly justice must be at its master’s orders but it must also send the people to sleep as regards its motives.”
Angelique heard these seditious conversations about the King in a state of semi-consciousness. It did not seem to her for a single moment that any of this could be real. It was a waking dream, or perhaps, yes, a stage-play.
. . . She had eyes for her husband only, who was standing, stooping and heavily leaning on his sticks. A still vague idea was beginning to form in her mind. ‘I shall avenge him. All that his tormentors have made him suffer I shall make them suffer, and if the devil exists, as religion teaches, I would like to see Satan carry off their pseudo-Christian souls.’
After the not very dignified departure of Seguier, the Attorney-General, Denis Talon, tall, lean and solemn, climbed into the rostrum and broke the seals of a large envelope. In an acid voice, he set about reading the “charges, or bill of indictment”:
“Sieur Joffrey Peyrac, who has already forfeited his rights to afll his titles and possessions by judgment in the King’s Privy Council, has been handed over to this court of justice to be tried for acts of witchcraft and magic and other acts offending both religion and the security of State and Church by practising the alchemistic manufacture of precious metals. For all these deeds and other kindred ones which the case for the prosecution holds against him, I demand that he and any possible accomplices be burned at the stake on the Place de Greve, and their ashes scattered, as is fit for magicians convicted of dealing with the devil. I demand further that he be previously subjected to the ordinary and extraordinary question so that he will reveal his other accomplices. . .
The blood throbbed so loudly in Angelique’s ears that she could not hear the end of the reading. She recovered her senses when the ringing voice of the accused sounded for the second time:
“I swear that all this is false and biased, and that I am in a position to prove it here and now to all men of good faith.”
The royal prosecutor compressed his narrow lips and folded his paper, as if the rest of the ceremony did not concern him. He, in turn, made as if to withdraw, when defending counsel Desgrez sprang up and cried: “Gentlemen of the court, the King and you yourselves have done me the great honour of appointing me to defend the accused. I therefore take the liberty of putting a question to you before the departure of the Attorney-General: how is it that the bill of indictment was drawn up beforehand and thus presented ready and even sealed, when nothing of the sort is provided for by lawful procedure?”
Stem Denis Talon stared down at the young lawyer from his full height and said with lofty contempt:
“I see, young Maitre, that, with your lack of experience, you did not trouble to be informed of the vicissitudes of this prosecution. Learn, then, that it was President de Mesmon first, and not Monsieur de Massenau, who was charged by the King to make the preliminary investigations and preside over this trial. . . .”
“According to the rules, President de Mesmon ought to be here to present the indictment himself!”
“You seem to be unaware that President de Mesmon died suddenly yesterday. He had time, however, to draw up this bill of indictment which, in a way, is his last will and testament. You may see in this, gentlemen, a very fine example of the spirit of duty of a great magistrate of the kingdom!” '
The entire court-room rose to honour the memory of Mesmon. But some shouts could be heard coming from the public:
“Stinks of devilry, this sudden death!”
“Murder by poison!”
“It starts well!”
The guards intervened again.
President Massenau rose to speak and reminded the audience that this was not a public hearing. At the slightest demonstration the hall would be cleared of all those who had no part to play in the trial.
Order returned to the court-room. On his part, Maitre Desgrez contented himself with adding that he accepted the terms of the indict¬ment on the understanding that his client be tried strictly on that basis. After a few words exchanged in an undertone, agreement was reached. Denis Talon introduced Massenau as President of the Court of Justice and solemnly left the hall.
President Massenau promptly proceeded to question the prisoner.
“Do you admit the acts of witchcraft and magic that you are charged with?”
“I deny them one and all!”
“You have no right to. You will have to answer each question con¬tained in the case for the prosecution. Besides, this is in your own interest since there are points which cannot be denied and which you had better admit, since you have sworn to speak the whole truth. Thus: do you admit having manufactured poisons?”
“I admit that I occasionally manufactured chemical products, some of which would be harmful if consumed. But in fact I never meant them to be consumed, or sold, nor did I use them to poison anyone.”
“So you admit that you utilised and manufactured poisons such as green and Roman vitriol?”
“I do. But for this to be a crime, it would have to be proved that I actually poisoned someone.”
“For the time being, it is enough to establish the fact that you do not deny having manufactured venomous products by engaging in alchemy. We shall establish the purpose later.”
Massenau pored over the thick file before him and began to turn the sheets. Angeliquc trembled lest a charge of poisoning be put forward. She remembered that Desgrez had spoken of a certain Bourie who had been appointed as sworn judge in this trial because he was renowned as a skilful forger. Angelique leaned forward to try to recognise him among the magistrates.
Massenau kept on leafing through the file. At last he coughed and seemed to be taking his courage in both hands. He began by mumbling, then his voice cleared and became quite audible as he finished: , *
“. . . With a view to showing, if it were necessary, the high degree of equity of the King’s justice and the safeguards that it adopts to ensure the utmost impartiality; and before going on to enumerate the various charges which each judge commissioned by the King has before his eyes, I wish to state and inform the court how difficult our preliminary in¬vestigation has been and how beset with pitfalls.”
“And with activities on behalf of a rich and noble defendant!” said a mocking voice in the audience.
Angelique expected the ushers to seize the trouble-maker. To her great surprise, she saw a sergeant, posted near-by, give a sound kick to a police constable.
‘The police must have men in the court-room who are paid to provoke hostile incidents against JofFrey,’ she thought.
The President’s voice went on as if he had not heard the interruption:
. . To show, therefore, to all that the King’s justice is not only un¬biased but generous, I think I may reveal that, out of the very numerous documents in the case for the prosecution, presented and compiled from various sources and after prolonged investigations, I had to set aside a great many after mature thought and much inner debate.”
He stopped, seemed to take a breath and resumed in a somewhat muffled voice:
”... Exactly thirty-four documents were set aside by me as doubtful and apparently forged, probably to satisfy some personal vengeance against the accused.”
This statement produced a commotion, not only among the public, but also among the judges, who doubtless had not expected such a sign of courage and leniency on die part of the President of the Court. Among them, a little man with a crafty face and a hooked nose could not restrain himself and cried:
“The dignity of die court, and even more its independent judgment, is set at nought, if the President considers himself free to keep evidence for the prosecution, which may include principal charges, from the scrutiny of all the commissioners. . . .”
“Monsieur Bourie, in my capacity as President, I call you to order and leave you to choose whether you will disqualify yourself as a member of the jury.”
A considerable hubbub ensued.
“The President is bribed by the accused! We know all about the gold of Toulouse!” yelled a spectator.
The greasy-haired clerk in front of Angelique added his voice:
“When for once a rich notable is brought to justice for his mis¬deeds . . .”
“Gentlemen, the hearing is adjourned, and if this disorder continues I shall have the court-room cleared!” President Massenau managed to cry.
Indignantly, he put his cap on his wig and left, followed by the Bench. Angelique thought that all these solemn judges looked like puppets that walked in, did their little turn and walked out again. If only they’d never come back! . . .