The Dedalus Book of French Horror: The 19th Century (20 page)

‘Here it is, sir,’ said Annette bursting into tears again, ‘that fatal letter. My brother urges us to be on our guard, that we may be herded off to Rouen at any moment to be confronted with our father who, although innocent, is beyond all help. The identity of the dead man is still not known, a house-to-house search is underway, but everyone is quite sure that he must be some local gentleman whom my father robbed and murdered, and that he threw the money into the woods when he realised he was about to be arrested. The evidence for this is that they did not find so much as a sou in the dead man’s pockets … I ask you though, sir, does it not seem more likely that this man, who might have been dead for as long as a day before my father found him, was robbed by whoever killed him or by somebody who stumbled across him in the forest? You must believe me, sir! My poor father could never have done such a thing! He would rather die himself than kill another man … Now you know everything that ails us, sir. Forgive my tears and help us as best you are able. We shall spend the rest of our lives praying for the safe return of our loved ones! God is sometimes moved by the tears of the poor and, if he listens to our prayers, we shall beg him to watch over you too and never let you want for anything.’

The Count was not unmoved by this tale of woes. Wanting to do his best for them, he began by asking them under the jurisdiction of which lord they lived and persuading them that it was necessary to seek his protection.

‘Alas, sir!’ Annette replied, ‘we are under the jurisdiction of the monks, and we have already asked their help. They told us that they could not assist in any way. If we lived only two leagues away on the other side of the hill, we would be on the lands of the Count de Dorci and he would surely assist us. There is not a more charitable lord for miles around …’

‘And you can think of no-one to turn to except him?’

‘No, sir. No-one at all.’

‘Well, I shall intercede with him on your behalf. I can go further, and promise you his protection. I give you my word that he will do everything in his power to help you.’

‘Sir, you are kindness itself. How can we possibly repay you,’ cried the two women.

‘By forgetting all about it as soon as I have been successful.’

‘Forget all about it, sir? Never! Only death will extinguish the memory of your charity!’

‘Very well, my children,’ said the Count, ‘I see that I must reveal who I am. You see before you the Count de Dorci himself.’

‘You, sir? The Count de Dorci?’

‘In person, my friend, your staff and your protector.’

‘Mother, mother! We are saved!’ exclaimed young Annette.

‘My children,’ said the Count, ‘it is getting late and I have a long journey home ahead of me. Although I must leave you now, I promise to be in Rouen tomorrow evening and from there I shall send word within a couple of days of the steps I have taken. I shall say no more for the moment, but rest assured of my undivided attention. In the meanwhile, Annette, you must be in need of some financial assistance; here is fifteen louis. Make use of them for your domestic wants; I will take care of your father and brother.’

‘My lord, your generosity knows no bounds! This is more than unexpected. God Almighty! Has ever such charity shone forth from a mortal soul! But my lord,’ continued Annette, throwing herself at the feet of the Count, ‘you cannot be made of human clay, you must be the very godhead come down from on high to bring succour to the needy. How can we possibly repay you? Tell us how we may be of service to you. You have only to say the word.’

‘There is one little service you could render me straight away, my dear Annette,’ said the Count. ‘I am utterly lost and have no idea of my way home. If you would be so good as to accompany me a couple of miles, you shall entirely acquit yourself of any debt you may have towards me – a debt, moreover, on which your sweet and sensitive soul places a higher value than its true worth.’

The haste with which Annette fell in with the Count’s wishes may easily be imagined: she hurried before him, pointing out the way and singing his praises. If she paused for a moment, it was to bathe her benefactor’s hand in tears, and the Count, suffused with the pleasant sensation of being loved, enjoyed a brief foretaste of celestial happiness and felt like a god on earth.

Humanity in all your glory! If you are truly the daughter of the sky and the queen of men, how can you allow a source of pain and remorse to be the recompense of your worshippers while those who continually offend you triumph as they insult you on the debris of your altars?

Some two leagues or so from Christophe’s house, the Count regained his bearings.

‘It is late, my child,’ he said to Annette. ‘I know where I am now; you should go home, your mother will be worried about you. Assure her of my support and tell her that I shall not come back from Rouen without her husband.’

Annette burst into tears now she had to leave the Count; she would have followed him to the end of the earth … She asked his permission to embrace his knees.

‘No, Annette, it is I who shall embrace you,’ he replied, as he held her chastely in his arms. ‘Now, return home and continue to serve God, your parents, and your neighbours. If you remain honest, the benediction of heaven shall never forsake you.’

Annette clutched the Count’s hands, her tears and sobs preventing her from saying what her sensitive soul would have wished. Dorci, likewise overwhelmed with emotion, embraced her a second time before gently pushing her away and making off.

Citizens of this century! Whoever reads this, take good note of the empire virtue has over an uncorrupted soul and, if you are incapable of imitating such a model, then at least allow yourself to be touched by it. The Count was hardly more than thirty-two-years-old, master of all around him, in the middle of a forest, he had a beautiful girl in his arms who was totally beholden to him … He wept over the misfortunes which had befallen her and his only thought was how best to help her.

The Count arrived home and prepared for his departure. But a fatal premonition, the interior voice of nature which we ignore at our peril, resulted in him taking into his confidence one of his friends who was in his service; he admitted that he could not hide even from himself that some impenetrable emotion advised him not to become involved in this affair … But his kindness got the better of him, nothing could compare with the pleasure Dorci felt at doing good, and he set out for Rouen.

When he arrived there, the Count called on all the judges, informing them that he would act as guarantor for the unfortunate Christophe, should that be necessary, and that he was convinced of the man’s innocence, so much so that he would stake his own life, if required to do so, on that of the accused. He asked to see Christophe, permission was granted, and the Count was so pleased with the replies he received to his questions that he became more than ever convinced that the man was incapable of the crime of which he had been accused; Dorci then declared that he would openly assume the peasant’s defence and that if, by any mischance, the man was convicted, he would apply to the Court of Appeal and write a memoir on the case which would be distributed throughout France, bringing shame on any magistrate so unjust as to condemn a man so self-evidently innocent.

The Count de Dorci was well-known and highly-regarded in Rouen, his birth and rank opened people’s eyes; it was felt that the case against Christophe had been conceived a bit hastily; the investigation was re-opened, the Count paying all the attendant costs; amazingly, there was not the slightest piece of evidence to be found against the accused. It was at that moment that the Count de Dorci sent Annette’s brother home to his mother and sister with the instruction to set their minds at rest, assuring them that Christophe would soon be set free.

Everything was going extremely well when one day the Count received the following anonymous note:

‘Abandon the case you are following immediately. Stop at once all investigations into the death of the man in the forest. You are digging your own grave. Your virtues will finish by costing you dearly! Cruel man, how I pity you … But it is perhaps already too late. Farewell.’

A dreadful shiver ran through the Count as he read this and he nearly fainted; taken in conjunction with his earlier premonition, this fearful message proved to him that he was threatened by some sinister and inevitable force. He remained where he was, but he became totally inactive. By the Grace of God, the warning was a just one. But it was already too late, he had already made too much progress, the fatal steps he had taken had succeeded only too well.

At eight o’clock in the morning, exactly two weeks after his arrival in Rouen, a councillor in the city administration whom he knew, rushed in to see him:

‘You must go at once, my dear Count! You must leave this very instant!’ he exclaimed, breathlessly. ‘You are the most unfortunate of beings; may the memory of your unfortunate adventures never become known! It could only convince people of the dangers of virtue and so cause them to abandon such a cult altogether. If it were possible to believe in an evil providence, then today would surely be the day on which to do so!’

‘You terrify me, sir! What has happened, I beg you?’

‘Your protégé is innocent, he will be set free any moment, your investigations have led to the discovery of the murderer … Even as I speak to you, he is already under lock and key. What more information do you need?’

‘Speak, sir, speak! Drive the dagger into my heart … Who is it?’

‘Your brother!’

‘My God! Not him!’

And Dorci fell to the floor; it was more than two hours before he showed signs of life. When he came round, he was in the arms of the same friend who, fearing to lack impartiality, had not been included among the panel of judges and was able, when the Count opened his eyes, to tell him what followed.

The murdered man was the Marquis’s rival; they had been returning together from Aigle; during the course of the journey a dispute had broken out between them; the Marquis, furious that his enemy would not agree to fight a duel with him, and realising that he was not only cowardly but treacherous, had knocked him from his horse and trampled him to death. After this, the Marquis, seeing his adversary lifeless on the ground, had totally lost his head and, rather than running away, had contented himself with killing his horse and hiding it in a pond. Then, although he had told everybody that he was going away for a month, he had brazenly returned to the small town where his mistress lived. On seeing him, everyone had asked for news of his rival; but he replied that they had only travelled together for an hour or so and that they had then separated.

When news of his rival’s death and the story of the woodcutter accused of having killed him reached the town, the Marquis listened on without the least sign of agitation and even recounted what he had heard just like everyone else; but the Count’s secret enquiries produced more accurate information and suspicion fell squarely on the Marquis. It being impossible now to defend himself, the Marquis no longer tried to do so; capable of acting in the heat of the moment, he was entirely ill-equipped for crime and avowed everything to the officer who came to question him. Allowing himself to be arrested, he said that they could do whatever they liked with him. Unaware of his brother’s role in this affair, and believing him tranquilly installed at home in his château where he himself had hoped to be rejoining him any day now, the only favour he asked for was that his disgrace should be kept, if possible, from the brother who adored him and who would be precipitated into an early grave by this news! With regard to the money which had been stolen from the corpse, this no doubt was the work of some poacher or other who, for obvious reasons, had not come forward. The Marquis was then taken to Rouen, and it was at that moment that the Count was informed of what had happened.

Dorci, once he had slightly recovered from his initial despondency, did everything in his power, whether on his own account or through his friends, to save his wretched brother. Everyone sympathised with him, but their ears were closed. He was even refused the satisfaction of visiting him and, in a state difficult to describe, he left Rouen the day of the execution of the mortal who was not only the most precious and sacred person to him in the entire universe but whom he himself had been responsible for sending to the scaffold. He returned briefly to his country estate but with the intention of leaving it shortly for ever.

Annette knew only too well the identity of the victim who would be immolated in the place of the one to whom she owed her existence. She and her father courageously called at Dorci’s château; they both fell at the feet of their benefactor, banging their foreheads on the ground and demanding the Count to take their lives in exchange for the one he had sacrificed in their favour; if he would not do this, then they begged him at least to allow them to act as his unpaid servants for the rest of their existence.

The Count, as prudent in the midst of misfortunes as charitable in prosperity, but whose heart had become hardened by his excessive suffering, was no longer capable of responding to such extravagant sentiments and ordered the woodcutter and his daughter to leave, recommending that they made the most of the charitable action which had cost him his honour and his peace of mind. The wretched father and daughter dared make no reply and disappeared.

The Count gave all his property to his closest relatives, retaining only an allowance of a thousand écus for his personal use, and spent the remaining fifteen years of his melancholy existence, which were marked by continual acts of despair and misanthropy, in a retreat far from public view.

As I approached the furthest edge of the suburbs, under the gas lamps, I felt an arm gently insinuate itself next to mine and heard a voice whisper in my ear:

‘Aren’t you a doctor, sir?’

I scrutinised my unknown companion – a tall, well-built woman with wide eyes, discreet make-up, her hair floating in the breeze with the ribbons of her bonnet.