There is yet another difference between the Parisian and the country attorney. An attorney in Paris very seldom appears in court, though he is sometimes called upon to act as arbitrator (refere). Barristers, at the present day, swarm in the provinces; but in 1822 the country attorney very often united the functions of solicitor and counsel. As a result of this double life, the attorney acquired the peculiar intellectual defects of the barrister, and retained the heavy responsibilities of the attorney. He grew talkative and fluent, and lost his lucidity of judgment, the first necessity for the conduct of affairs. If a man of more than ordinary ability tries to do the work of two men, he is apt to find that the two men are mediocrities. The Paris attorney never spends himself in forensic eloquence; and as he seldom attempts to argue for and against, he has some hope of preserving his mental rectitude. It is true that he brings the balista of the law to work, and looks for the weapons in the armory of judicial contradictions, but he keeps his own convictions as to the case, while he does his best to gain the day. In a word, a man loses his head not so much by thinking as by uttering thoughts. The spoken word convinces the utterer; but a man can act against his own bad judgment without warping it, and contrive to win in a bad cause without maintaining that it is a good one, like the barrister. Perhaps for this very reason an old attorney is the more likely of the two to make a good judge.
A country attorney, as we have seen, has plenty of excuses for his mediocrity; he takes up the cause of petty passions, he undertakes pettifogging business, he lives by charging expenses, he strains the Code of procedure and pleads in court. In a word, his weak points are legion; and if by chance you come across a remarkable man practising as a country attorney, he is indeed above the average level.
“I thought, sir, that you sent for me on your own affairs,” said Petit-Claud, and a glance that put an edge on his words fell upon tall Cointet’s impenetrable blue spectacles.
“Let us have no beating about the bush,” returned Boniface Cointet. “Listen to me.”
After that beginning, big with mysterious import, Cointet set himself down upon a bench, and beckoned Petit-Claud to do likewise.
“When M. du Hautoy came to Angouleme in 1804, on his way to his consulship at Valence, he made the acquaintance of Mme. de Senonches, then Mlle. Zephirine, and had a daughter by her,” added Cointet for the attorney’s ear – “Yes,” he continued, as Petit-Claud gave a start; “yes, and Mlle. Zephirine’s marriage with M. de Senoches soon followed the birth of the child. The girl was brought up in my mother’s house; she is the Mlle. Francoise de la Haye in whom Mme. de Senoches takes an interest; she is her godmother in the usual style. Now, my mother farmed land belonging to old Mme. de Cardanet, Mlle. Zephirine’s grandmother; and as she knew the secret of the sole heiress of the Cardanets and the Senonches of the older branch, they made me trustee for the little sum which M. Francois du Hautoy meant for the girl’s fortune. I made my own fortune with those ten thousand francs, which amount to thirty thousand at the present day. Mme. de Senonches is sure to give the wedding clothes, and some plate and furniture to her goddaughter. Now, I can put you in the way of marrying the girl, my lad,” said Cointet, slapping Petit-Claud on the knee; “and when you marry Francoise de la Haye, you will have a large number of the aristocracy of Angouleme as your clients. This understanding between us (under the rose) will open up magnificent prospects for you. Your position will be as much as any one could want; in fact, they don’t ask better, I know.”
“What is to be done?” Petit-Claud asked eagerly. “You have an attorney, Maitre Cachan – ”
“And, moreover, I shall not leave Cachan at once for you; I shall only be your client later on,” said Cointet significantly. “What is to be done, do you ask, my friend? Eh! why, David Sechard’s business. The poor devil has three thousand francs’ worth of bills to meet; he will not meet them; you will stave off legal proceedings in such a way as to increase the expenses enormously. Don’t trouble yourself; go on, pile on items. Doublon, my process-server, will act under Cachan’s directions, and he will lay on like a blacksmith. A word to the wise is sufficient. Now, young man? – ”
An eloquent pause followed, and the two men looked at each other.
“We have never seen each other,” Cointet resumed; “I have not said a syllable to you; you know nothing about M. du Hautoy, nor Mme. de Senonches, nor Mlle. de la Haye; only, when the time comes, two months hence, you will propose for the young lady. If we should want to see each other, you will come here after dark. Let us have nothing in writing.”
“Then you mean to ruin Sechard?” asked Petit-Claud.
“Not exactly; but he must be in jail for some time – ”
“And what is the object?”
“Do you think that I am noodle enough to tell you that? If you have wit enough to find out, you will have sense enough to hold your tongue.”
“Old Sechard has plenty of money,” said Petit-Claud. He was beginning already to enter into Boniface Cointet’s notions, and foresaw a possible cause of failure.
“So long as the father lives, he will not give his son a farthing; and the old printer has no mind as yet to send in an order for his funeral cards.”
“Agreed!” said Petit-Claud, promptly making up his mind. “I don’t ask you for guarantees; I am an attorney. If any one plays me a trick, there will be an account to settle between us.”
“The rogue will go far,” thought Cointet; he bade Petit-Claud good-morning.
The day after this conference was the 30th of April, and the Cointets presented the first of the three bills forged by Lucien. Unluckily, the bill was brought to poor Mme. Sechard; and she, seeing at once that the signature was not in her husband’s handwriting, sent for David and asked him point-blank:
“You did not put your name to that bill, did you?”
“No,” said he; “your brother was so pressed for time that he signed for me.”
Eve returned the bill to the bank messenger sent by the Cointets.
“We cannot meet it,” she said; then, feeling that her strength was failing, she went up to her room. David followed her.
“Go quickly to the Cointets, dear,” Eve said faintly; “they will have some consideration for you; beg them to wait; and call their attention besides to the fact that when Cerizet’s lease is renewed, they will owe you a thousand francs.”
David went forthwith to his enemies. Now, any foreman may become a master printer, but there are not always the makings of a good man of business in a skilled typographer; David knew very little of business; when, therefore, with a heavily-beating heart and a sensation of throttling, David had put his excuses badly enough and formulated his request, the answer – “This is nothing to do with us; the bill has been passed on to us by Metivier; Metivier will pay us. Apply to M. Metivier” – cut him short at once.
“Oh!” cried Eve when she heard the result, “as soon as the bill is returned to M. Metivier, we may be easy.”
At two o’clock the next day, Victor-Ange-Hermenegilde Doublon, bailiff, made protest for non-payment at two o’clock, a time when the Place du Murier is full of people; so that though Doublon was careful to stand and chat at the back door with Marion and Kolb, the news of the protest was known all over the business world of Angouleme that evening. Tall Cointet had enjoined it upon Master Doublon to show the Sechards the greatest consideration; but when all was said and done, could the bailiff’s hypocritical regard for appearances save Eve and David from the disgrace of a suspension of payment? Let each judge for himself. A tolerably long digression of this kind will seem all too short; and ninety out of every hundred readers shall seize with avidity upon details that possess all the piquancy of novelty, thus establishing yet once again the trust of the well-known axiom, that there is nothing so little known as that which everybody is supposed to know – the Law of the Land, to wit.
And of a truth, for the immense majority of Frenchmen, a minute description of some part of the machinery of banking will be as interesting as any chapter of foreign travel. When a tradesman living in one town gives a bill to another tradesman elsewhere (as David was supposed to have done for Lucien’s benefit), the transaction ceases to be a simple promissory note, given in the way of business by one tradesman to another in the same place, and becomes in some sort a letter of exchange. When, therefore, Metivier accepted Lucien’s three bills, he was obliged to send them for collection to his correspondents in Angouleme – to Cointet Brothers, that is to say. Hence, likewise, a certain initial loss for Lucien in exchange on Angouleme, taking the practical shape of an abatement of so much per cent over and above the discount. In this way Sechard’s bills had passed into circulation in the bank. You would not believe how greatly the quality of banker, united with the august title of creditor, changes the debtor’s position. For instance, when a bill has been passed through the bank (please note that expression), and transferred from the money market in Paris to the financial world of Angouleme, if that bill is protested, then the bankers in Angouleme must draw up a detailed account of the expenses of protest and return; ‘tis a duty which they owe to themselves. Joking apart, no account of the most romantic adventure could be more mildly improbable than this of the journey made by a bill. Behold a certain article in the Code of commerce authorizing the most ingenious pleasantries after Mascarille’s manner, and the interpretation thereof shall make apparent manifold atrocities lurking beneath the formidable word “legal.”
Master Doublon registered the protest and went himself with it to MM. Cointet Brothers. The firm had a standing account with their bailiff; he gave them six months’ credit; and the lynxes of Angouleme practically took a twelvemonth, though tall Cointet would say month by month to the lynxes’ jackal, “Do you want any money, Doublon?” Nor was this all. Doublon gave the influential house a rebate upon every transaction; it was the merest trifle, one franc fifty centimes on a protest, for instance.
Tall Cointet quietly sat himself down at his desk and took out a small sheet of paper with a thirty-five centime stamp upon it, chatting as he did so with Doublon as to the standing of some of the local tradesmen.
“Well, are you satisfied with young Gannerac?”
“He is not doing badly. Lord, a carrier drives a trade – ”
“Drives a trade, yes; but, as a matter of fact, his expenses are a heavy pull on him; his wife spends a good deal, so they tell me – ”
“Of his money?” asked Doublon, with a knowing look.
The lynx meanwhile had finished ruling his sheet of paper, and now proceeded to trace the ominous words at the head of the following account in bold characters: —
ACCOUNT OF EXPENSES OF PROTEST AND RETURN
To one bill for one thousand francs, bearing date of February the tenth, eighteen hundred and twenty-two, drawn by Sechard junior of Angouleme, to order of Lucien Chardon, otherwise de Rubempre, endorsed to order of Metivier, and finally to our order, matured the thirtieth of April last, protested by Doublon, process-server, on the first of May, eighteen hundred and twenty-two. fr. c.
One thousand and thirty-seven francs forty-five centimes, for which we repay ourselves by our draft at sight upon M. Metivier, Rue Serpente, Paris, payable to order of M. Gannerac of L’Houmeau.
ANGOULEME, May 2, 1822 COINTET BROTHERS.
At the foot of this little memorandum, drafted with the ease that comes of long practice (for the writer chatted with Doublon as he wrote), there appeared the subjoined form of declaration: —
“We, the undersigned, Postel of L’Houmeau, pharmaceutical chemist, and Gannerac, forwarding agent, merchant of this town, hereby certify that the present rate of exchange on Paris is one and a quarter per cent.
“ANGOULEME, May 2, 1822.”
“Here, Doublon, be so good as to step round and ask Postel and Gannerac to put their names to this declaration, and bring it back with you to-morrow morning.”
And Doublon, quite accustomed as he was to these instruments of torture, forthwith went, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Evidently the protest might have been sent in an envelope, as in Paris, and even so all Angouleme was sure to hear of the poor Sechards’ unlucky predicament. How they all blamed his want of business energy! His excessive fondness for his wife had been the ruin of him, according to some; others maintained that it was his affection for his brother-in-law; and what shocking conclusions did they not draw from these premises! A man ought never to embrace the interests of his kith and kin. Old Sechard’s hard-hearted conduct met with approval, and people admired him for his treatment of his son!
And now, all you who for any reason whatsoever should forget to “honor your engagements,” look well into the methods of the banking business, by which one thousand francs may be made to pay interest at the rate of twenty-eight francs in ten minutes, without breaking the law of the land.
The thousand francs, the one incontestable item in the account, comes first.
The second item is shared between the bailiff and the Inland Revenue Department. The six francs due to the State for providing a piece of stamped paper, and putting the debtor’s mortification on record, will probably ensure a long life to this abuse; and as you already know, one franc fifty centimes from this item found its way into the banker’s pockets in the shape of Doublon’s rebate.
“Bank charges one-half per cent,” runs the third item, which appears upon the ingenious plea that if a banker has not received payment, he has for all practical purposes discounted a bill. And although the contrary may be the case, if you fail to receive a thousand francs, it seems to be very much the same thing as if you had paid them away. Everybody who has discounted a bill knows that he has to pay more than the six per cent fixed by law; for a small percentage appears under the humble title of “charges,” representing a premium on the financial genius and skill with which the capitalist puts his money out to interest. The more money he makes out of you, the more he asks. Wherefore it would be undoubtedly cheaper to discount a bill with a fool, if fools there be in the profession of bill-discounting.
The law requires the banker to obtain a stock-broker’s certificate for the rate of exchange. When a place is so unlucky as to boast no stock exchange, two merchants act instead. This is the significance of the item “brokerage”; it is a fixed charge of a quarter per cent on the amount of the protested bill. The custom is to consider the amount as paid to the merchants who act for the stock-broker, and the banker quietly puts the money into his cash-box. So much for the third item in this delightful account.
The fourth includes the cost of the piece of stamped paper on which the account itself appears, as well as the cost of the stamp for re-draft, as it is ingeniously named, viz., the banker’s draft upon his colleague in Paris.
The fifth is a charge for postage and the legal interest due upon the amount for the time that it may happen to be absent from the banker’s strong box.
The final item, the exchange, is the object for which the bank exists, which is to say, for the transmission of sums of money from one place to another.
Now, sift this account thoroughly, and what do you find? The method of calculation closely resembles Polichinelle’s arithmetic in Lablache’s Neapolitan song, “fifteen and five make twenty-two.” The signatures of Messieurs Postel and Gannerac were obviously given to oblige in the way of business; the Cointets would act at need for Gannerac as Gannerac acted for the Cointets. It was a practical application of the well-known proverb, “Reach me the rhubarb and I will pass you the senna.” Cointet Brothers, moreover, kept a standing account with Metivier; there was no need of a re-draft, and no re-draft was made. A returned bill between the two firms simply meant a debit or credit entry and another line in a ledger.
This highly-colored account, therefore, is reduced to the one thousand francs, with an additional thirteen francs for expenses of protest, and half per cent for a month’s delay, one thousand and eighteen francs it may be in all.
Suppose that in a large banking-house a bill for a thousand francs is daily protested on an average, then the banker receives twenty-eight francs a day by the grace of God and the constitution of the banking system, that all powerful invention due to the Jewish intellect of the Middle Ages, which after six centuries still controls monarchs and peoples. In other words, a thousand francs would bring such a house twenty-eight francs per day, or ten thousand two hundred and twenty francs per annum. Triple the average of protests, and consequently of expenses, and you shall derive an income of thirty thousand francs per annum, interest upon purely fictitious capital. For which reason, nothing is more lovingly cultivated than these little “accounts of expenses.”
If David Sechard had come to pay his bill on the 3rd of May, that is, the day after it was protested, MM. Cointet Brothers would have met him at once with, “We have returned your bill to M. Metivier,” although, as a matter of fact, the document would have been lying upon the desk. A banker has a right to make out the account of expenses on the evening of the day when the bill is protested, and he uses the right to “sweat the silver crowns,” in the country banker’s phrase.
The Kellers, with correspondents all over the world, make twenty thousand francs per annum by charges for postage alone; accounts of expenses of protest pay for Mme. la Baronne de Nucingen’s dresses, opera box, and carriage. The charge for postage is a more shocking swindle, because a house will settle ten matters of business in as many lines of a single letter. And of the tithe wrung from misfortune, the Government, strange to say! takes its share, and the national revenue is swelled by a tax on commercial failure. And the Bank? from the august height of a counting-house she flings an observation, full of commonsense, at the debtor, “How is it?” asks she, “that you cannot meet your bill?” and, unluckily, there is no reply to the question. Wherefore, the “account of expenses” is an account bristling with dreadful fictions, fit to cause any debtor, who henceforth shall reflect upon this instructive page, a salutary shudder.
On the 4th of May, Metivier received the account from Cointet Brothers, with instructions to proceed against M. Lucien Chardon, otherwise de Rubempre, with the utmost rigor of the law.
Eve also wrote to M. Metivier, and a few days later received an answer which reassured her completely: —
To M. Sechard, Junior, Printer, Angouleme
“I have duly received your esteemed favor of the 5th instant. From your explanation of the bill due on April 30th, I understand that you have obliged your brother-in-law, M. de Rubempre, who is spending so much that it will be doing you a service to summons him. His present position is such that he is likely to delay payment for long. If your brother-in-law should refuse payment, I shall rely upon the credit of your old-established house. – I sign myself now, as ever, your obedient servant,
“Metivier.”
“Well,” said Eve, commenting upon the letter to David, “Lucien will know when they summons him that we could not pay.”
What a change wrought in Eve those few words meant! The love that grew deeper as she came to know her husband’s character better and better, was taking the place of love for her brother in her heart. But to how many illusions had she not bade farewell?
And now let us trace out the whole history of the bill and the account of expenses in the business world of Paris. The law enacts that the third holder, the technical expression for the third party into whose hands the bill passes, is at liberty to proceed for the whole amount against any one of the various endorsers who appears to him to be most likely to make prompt payment. M. Metivier, using this discretion, served a summons upon Lucien. Behold the successive stages of the proceedings, all of them perfectly futile. Metivier, with the Cointets behind him, knew that Lucien was not in a position to pay, but insolvency in fact is not insolvency in law until it has been formally proved.
Formal proof of Lucien’s inability to pay was obtained in the following manner:
On the 5th of May, Metivier’s process-server gave Lucien notice of the protest and an account of the expense thereof, and summoned him to appear before the Tribunal of Commerce, or County Court, of Paris, to hear a vast number of things: this, among others, that he was liable to imprisonment as a merchant. By the time that Lucien, hard pressed and hunted down on all sides, read this jargon, he received notice of judgment against him by default. Coralie, his mistress, ignorant of the whole matter, imagined that Lucien had obliged his brother-in-law, and handed him all the documents together – too late. An actress sees so much of bailiffs, duns, and writs, upon the stage, that she looks on all stamped paper as a farce.
Tears filled Lucien’s eyes; he was unhappy on Sechard’s account, he was ashamed of the forgery, he wished to pay, he desired to gain time. Naturally he took counsel of his friends. But by the time Lousteau, Blondet, Bixiou, and Nathan had told the poet to snap his fingers at a court only established for tradesmen, Lucien was already in the clutches of the law. He beheld upon his door the little yellow placard which leaves its reflection on the porter’s countenance, and exercises a most astringent influence upon credit; striking terror into the heart of the smallest tradesman, and freezing the blood in the veins of a poet susceptible enough to care about the bits of wood, silken rags, dyed woolen stuffs, and multifarious gimcracks entitled furniture.
When the broker’s men came for Coralie’s furniture, the author of the Marguerites fled to a friend of Bixiou’s, one Desroches, a barrister, who burst out laughing at the sight of Lucien in such a state about nothing at all.
“That is nothing, my dear fellow. Do you want to gain time?”
“Yes, as much possible.”
“Very well, apply for stay of execution. Go and look up Masson, he is a solicitor in the Commercial Court, and a friend of mine. Take your documents to him. He will make a second application for you, and give notice of objection to the jurisdiction of the court. There is not the least difficulty; you are a journalist, your name is well known enough. If they summons you before a civil court, come to me about it, that will be my affair; I engage to send anybody who offers to annoy the fair Coralie about his business.”
On the 28th of May, Lucien’s case came on in the civil court, and judgment was given before Desroches expected it. Lucien’s creditor was pushing on the proceedings against him. A second execution was put in, and again Coralie’s pilasters were gilded with placards. Desroches felt rather foolish; a colleague had “caught him napping,” to use his own expression. He demurred, not without reason, that the furniture belonged to Mlle. Coralie, with whom Lucien was living, and demanded an order for inquiry. Thereupon the judge referred the matter to the registrar for inquiry, the furniture was proved to belong to the actress, and judgment was entered accordingly. Metivier appealed, and judgment was confirmed on appeal on the 30th of June.
On the 7th of August, Maitre Cachan received by the coach a bulky package endorsed, “Metivier versus Sechard and Lucien Chardon.”
The first document was a neat little bill, of which a copy (accuracy guaranteed) is here given for the reader’s benefit: —
This document was accompanied by a letter from Metivier, instructing Maitre Cachan, notary of Angouleme, to prosecute David Sechard with the utmost rigor of the law. Wherefore Maitre Victor-Ange-Hermenegilde Doublon summoned David Sechard before the Tribunal of Commerce in Angouleme for the sum-total of four thousand and eighteen francs eighty-five centimes, the amount of the three bills and expenses already incurred. On the morning of the very day when Doublon served the writ upon Eve, requiring her to pay a sum so enormous in her eyes, there came a letter like a thunderbolt from Metivier: —
To Monsieur Sechard, Junior, Printer, Angouleme
“SIR, – Your brother-in-law, M. Chardon, is so shamelessly dishonest, that he declares his furniture to be the property of an actress with whom he is living. You ought to have informed me candidly of these circumstances, and not have allowed me to go to useless expense over law proceedings. I have received no answer to my letter of the 10th of May last. You must not, therefore, take it amiss if I ask for immediate repayment of the three bills and the expenses to which I have been put. – Yours, etc.,
“METIVIER.”
Eve had heard nothing during these months, and supposed, in her ignorance of commercial law, that her brother had made reparation for his sins by meeting the forged bills.
“Be quick, and go at once to Petit-Claud, dear,” she said; “tell him about it, and ask his advice.”
David hurried to his schoolfellow’s office.
“When you came to tell me of your appointment and offered me your services, I did not think that I should need them so soon,” he said.
Petit-Claud studied the fine face of this man who sat opposite him in the office chair, and scarcely listened to the details of the case, for he knew more of them already than the speaker. As soon as he saw Sechard’s anxiety, he said to himself, “The trick has succeeded.”
This kind of comedy is often played in an attorney’s office. “Why are the Cointets persecuting him?” Petit-Claud wondered within himself, for the attorney can use his wit to read his clients’ thoughts as clearly as the ideas of their opponents, and it is his business to see both sides of the judicial web.
“You want to gain time,” he said at last, when Sechard had come to an end. “How long do you want? Something like three or four months?”
“Oh! four months! that would be my salvation,” exclaimed David. Petit-Claud appeared to him as an angel.
“Very well. No one shall lay hands on any of your furniture, and no one shall arrest you for four months – But it will cost you a great deal,” said Petit-Claud.
“Eh! what does that matter to me?” cried Sechard.
“You are expecting some money to come in; but are you sure of it?” asked Petit-Claud, astonished at the way in which his client walked into the toils.
“In three months’ time I shall have plenty of money,” said the inventor, with an inventor’s hopeful confidence.
“Your father is still above ground,” suggested Petit-Claud; “he is in no hurry to leave his vines.”
“Do you think that I am counting on my father’s death?” returned David. “I am on the track of a trade secret, the secret of making a sheet of paper as strong as Dutch paper, without a thread of cotton in it, and at a cost of fifty per cent less than cotton pulp.”
“There is a fortune in that!” exclaimed Petit-Claud. He knew now what the tall Cointet meant.
“A large fortune, my friend, for in ten years’ time the demand for paper will be ten times larger than it is to-day. Journalism will be the craze of our day.”
“Nobody knows your secret?”
“Nobody except my wife.”
“You have not told any one what you mean to do – the Cointets, for example?”
“I did say something about it, but in general terms, I think.”
A sudden spark of generosity flashed through Petit-Claud’s rancorous soul; he tried to reconcile Sechard’s interests with the Cointet’s projects and his own.
“Listen, David, we are old schoolfellows, you and I; I will fight your case; but understand this clearly – the defence, in the teeth of the law, will cost you five or six thousand francs! Do not compromise your prospects. I think you will be compelled to share the profits of your invention with some one of our paper manufacturers. Let us see now. You will think twice before you buy or build a paper mill; and there is the cost of the patent besides. All this means time, and money too. The servers of writs will be down upon you too soon, perhaps, although we are going to give them the slip – ”
“I have my secret,” said David, with the simplicity of the man of books.
“Well and good, your secret will be your plank of safety,” said Petit-Claud; his first loyal intention of avoiding a lawsuit by a compromise was frustrated. “I do not wish to know it; but mind this that I tell you. Work in the bowels of the earth if you can, so that no one may watch you and gain a hint from your ways of working, or your plank will be stolen from under your feet. An inventor and a simpleton often live in the same skin. Your mind runs so much on your secrets that you cannot think of everything. People will begin to have their suspicions at last, and the place is full of paper manufacturers. So many manufacturers, so many enemies for you! You are like a beaver with the hunters about you; do not give them your skin – ”
“Thank you, dear fellow, I have told myself all this,” exclaimed Sechard, “but I am obliged to you for showing so much concern for me and for your forethought. It does not really matter to me myself. An income of twelve hundred francs would be enough for me, and my father ought by rights to leave me three times as much some day. Love and thought make up my life – a divine life. I am working for Lucien’s sake and for my wife’s.”
“Come, give me this power of attorney, and think of nothing but your discovery. If there should be any danger of arrest, I will let you know in time, for we must think of all possibilities. And let me tell you again to allow no one of whom you are not so sure as you are of yourself to come into your place.”