The Master of Light

by Maurice Renard

  Bertrand remembered a very old gentleman he had known, who kept repeating: “Louis-Flip, Louis Flip; I once saw Louis-Flip pass by!” Like that gentleman, Henriette and César must have been saying “Louis-Flip.” Bertrand assured Colomba of that and, as everything is a pretext for lovers to caress one another, the immediately embraced, laughing, in honor of Louis-Flip.

  Charles came back, carrying some notes tightly bound in a cardboard cover and a small card-index. He coughed twice.

  “At your disposal!” said Bertrand, who set his fiancée aside, not without laughter.

  The historian sat down at a table and began to inspect his papers. “Here,” he said. “On July 28, 1835, at 4 p.m., a young woman, declaring herself to be Henriette Delille, presented herself as the Château d’Eau police station, accompanied by a Monsieur Tripe. Before Commissaire de Police Dyonnet—the same man who had locked Fieschi in his cells four hours earlier—Henriette Delille explained herself. ‘On going back into the house a little while ago,” she said—or very nearly—‘I found the cadaver of my guardian, Monsieur César Christiani, covered in his blood. I immediately went out on to the landing, to call for help. This Monsieur, who is named Tripe, heard me. He came running and assured me that my guardian was indeed dead, and that the only thing to do was to inform the police. I asked him to come with me.’

  “Immediately, Commissaire Dyonnet went to the scene with a sergent de ville and Monsieur Joly, the municipal police chief, who was at his post in order to supervise certain consequences of Fieschi’s assassination attempt and arrest. These functionaries, having reached the first floor of number 53, Boulevard du Temple, had no doubt that César Christiani had been struck by a bullet from the machine. The temperature of the body, which was already cold, and its rigidity, indicated that death had occurred about mid-day. The open window supported the hypothesis that seemed persuasive to begin with: that César was an additional victim of the infernal machine. It’s true, though, that the cadaver was lying with its head toward the window and his feet toward the entrance door, and was lying on its back—a presentation that seemed to contradict the conjecture that a bullet or a piece of shrapnel had struck César Christiani, either directly or having richocheted of the pavement of the boulevard.

  “The projectile had struck the old man from the front, full in the chest, and if César, thunderstruck, had fallen backwards, it therefore seemed evident that the shot had been fired from a point opposite the window. Monsieur Dyonnet and his superior, Monsieur Joly, did not take that into consideration immediately, and we would have reasoned as they did. In fact, nothing was simpler than to suppose that César had been standing in the center of the little room facing the window, doubtless approaching to see King Louis-Philippe and his magnificent general staff pass by, when Fieschi, on the upper floor of the red house opposite, committed his crime, and that a stray bullet had struck him down. Why should he not have turned as he fell? He might also have fallen face forward, in the direction of his motion, but, once on the ground, might then have turned on to his back in a convulsion of agony or in making a supreme effort.”

  “Perfectly correct!” Bertrand approved.

  “In César’s study,” Charles continued, “in the presence of the body, Monsieur Dyonnet and Monsieur Joly completed the interrogation of Henriette Delille and Tripe—who only played a very minor role in the entire procedure. Tripe had been going past the door of number 53, examining the ravages of the infernal machine and the frightful debris, the red stains with which the boulevard was still soiled. He had heard cries for help. That was all he knew. For the rest, he could only confirm what Henriette Delille said.

  “The latter testified that, after having breakfasted with her guardian that morning—I remind you that in those days the bourgeoisie ate breakfast at 10 a.m. and dinner no later than 6 p.m.—she had gone with friends to watch the review of the National Guard in the Champs-Élysées, near the Carré Marigny. In fact, that review was a very impressive event. To celebrate the fifth anniversary of the Three Glorious Days and the advent of the July Monarchy, Louis-Philippe had ordered a vast deployment of troops. They extended to the right and left of the road from the Carré Marigny to the Bastille, passing via the Concorde, the Rue Royale and the boulevards—but the cavalry and the artillery were massed along the Champs Elysées, where the trees, moreover, formed a nicer background than the old houses in the Boulevard du Temple; and that’s why Henriette Delille, yielding to a love of spurs and nature, had gone to the Carré Marigny.

  “She said that her guardian had given her leave until that evening—which is to say, until 5 p.m. Even so, she had come back sooner because of the assassination attempt. She would have come back immediately after hearing about it if she had known the actual location of the catastrophe, but in astounded Paris the rumors agreed in situating Fieschi’s house much closer to the Château d’Eau than it really was; it was said to be in the vicinity of the Ambigu-Comique. And, certain at the time that César had not been in any danger and that he could not be anxious about her safety, Henriette and her friends had continued walking along the Champs-Elysées after the dispersal of the troops. However, the general consternation having gradually taken hold of her, she had not taken advantage of the full extent of her liberty and had returned at about 4 p.m. Perhaps, too, ‘a vague presentiment had slipped into her bosom’, as the touching witness-statement that informs us of all this expresses it.

  “Questioned at a later date on the state of the apartment when she went back in, Henriette Delille affirmed that the door to the landing was closed, as was the door between the antechamber and the study. The drawing-room door was open—the door to the study, at least, she specified, for all the other exits from the drawing-room were closed. She said nothing about the birds or the monkeys, which leads one to believe that order reigned in the bizarre menagerie, but we may assume that the thunderous noise of the infernal machine and the gunshot simultaneously fired in the apartment itself must have violently agitated Pitt, Coburg and their peers.

  “All the evidence suggests that the pistol shot was covered by the general racket, since no one heard it through the open window on the boulevard, which was full of soldiers and spectators at the moment when, unarguably, we are forced to admit that the pistol did its work. It is, therefore, absolutely understandable that Messieurs Joly and Dyonnet had no suspicion whatsoever that a forearm had been discharged independently of the explosion of the machine—an explosion which, moreover, was as prolonged as the firing of a platoon, decomposed into an uneven series of ongoing detonations that lasted longer than a second.

  “The next day, they had to change their opinion, the medical examiners having delivered their verdict after the autopsy.”

  “Excuse me for interrupting,” said Colomba, who had been following her brother’s little lecture attentively, “but why couldn’t the window have been closed at the time of the murder, then opened by the murderer?”

  “It’s doubtful, firstly because César would have opened it, given the fine weather of that magnificent July day, in order to get a better view of the parade. The proof is that, having a very poor view, he had installed a telescope by the sill in order to reveal the King, the Princes, the Marshals and the famous little Monsieur Thiers—a telescope that was found in the place I’ve just indicated, between the battens of the window, according to the testimony of Lami’s water-color. Secondly, why would the murderer have opened the window? Why would he then have placed the telescope between the battens? That set-up could only have had one purpose, in my opinion: to create the belief that César had been killed by the infernal machine—for, if that had happened while the window was closed the latter would have been pierced by the projectile. But in that case…”

  “In that case,” Bertrand concluded, “the murderer would surely have completed his scene-setting…”

  “Exactly!” said Charles. “That’s what I was about to say.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Colomba.

 
“Of course!” Bertrand went on. “He would have completed it by placing the corpse in a position that left no shadow of doubt as to the provenance of the bullet—I mean that he would have placed the body facing the window.”

  “You should also bear in mind,” Charles said to his sister, “that in 1835, the detonation of a pistol was very loud, and that, in consequence, had it not been masked by the machine, it would have been heard on the boulevard even though a closed window, especially if that window was on the first floor.

  “Given that, I’ll come back to the first opinion of Messieurs Joly and Dyonnet, and cannot absolve them of having made a mistake. At any rate, confronted with the report of the medical examiners, they hastened to yield to its evidence and recognize their error.”

  “It’s lucky,” Bertrand said, “that an autopsy was carried out. In the conditions you’ve just described, the affair might perfectly well have been shelved, the murder being purely and simply attributed to Fieschi and the autopsy judged unnecessary.”

  “No—for a superficial examination of the cadaver was obligatory in any case, and the medical reports say that the external appearance of the wound was sufficient to convince an expert of the truth. It was a matter of a bullet fired at close range and which, nevertheless, had remained within the victim’s thorax. Indeed, the lead was found in a vertebra, which it had split after going through the heart.

  “From July 29 on it was evident that César had been killed by a pistol-shot fired inside his study at close range—too close, undoubtedly, to admit that the assassin might have been in the antechamber. Death had been instantaneous; César had collapsed on the spot, unable to make the slightest movement on the floor, having been already dead before falling.

  “It was at this point that the accusation was brought against Fabius Ortofieri by my family, represented by young Napoléon Christiani, the dead man’s grandson, Lucile Leboulard, his daughter, and her husband the magistrate, César’s son-in-law—and even their son Anselme, the future Councilor and future father of our cousin Drouet, who, it seems, was no less furious in spite of his 20 years at Fabius’ escape. It is necessary to say, as well, that Napoléon Christiani himself had only just attained his majority.

  “If anyone had had a reason to kill César, it was, let us admit, Fabius Ortofieri, his hereditary enemy, with whom he, personally, had had a few quarrels—petty quarrels, it’s true, but which had been envenomed by the temperament and mutual rancor of the two men.

  “The Christianis were immediately convinced that Fabius had fired the shot, that it was him who had got rid of César. Was the concomitance of the murder and Fieschi’s assassination attempt solely due to chance? That seemed scarcely probable to our ancestors. Between Fieschi, a Corsican, and Fabius Ortofieri, a Corsican, there must be some mysterious connection that might perhaps be subsequently revealed. For the moment, the most important thing was Fabius’s culpability.

  “Lebouvard spoke to the court and to the Investigating Magistrate commissioned to examine both the murder and the matter of the infernal machine, Monsieur d’Archiac—but he did so with all the discretion of a magistrate well-versed in the customs of the Palais and who, knowing how delicate a matter it is to bring a accusation without evidence, only pointed the law in the right direction.

  “Unfortunately for Fabius, a terrible witness stood up against him in the person of police officer Cartoux. Fabius, invited by the Investigating Magistrate to come forward voluntarily, as an enemy of César, to explain the relationship between the two, was recognized by this Jean Cartoux, who was present at his appearance. Cartoux, while on duty in the Boulevard du Temple on July 28, had seen…but I have a copy of his report here, written immediately after César’s murder was separated from Fieschi’s assassination attempt. The report is dated July 30:

  “I have the honor of exposing the following facts. Although entitled to 48 hours leave that was granted to me at my request on the evening of the 28 last, in view of the great fatigue occasioned by work done on the night preceding the review, during which night we had carried out searches in the houses on the Boulevards Saint-Martin and du Crime…”

  “He’s rather long-winded,” said Colomba. “But what’s the Boulevard du Crime?”

  “That was the Boulevard du Temple,” Charles explained. “It was given that nickname because of the numerous theaters that were found here, in which dramas and melodramas were performed in which the characters were always killing one another at will.”

  “But to what searches is this Jean Cartoux alluding?” asked Bertrand Valois.

  “There had been vague suspicions since the eve of the 28 that an assassination might be attempted as the King passed by. A man named Boireau, employed by Fieschi and his accomplices in certain preparations, having become belatedly and confusedly aware of their true purpose, boasted about it on July 27. One of his workmates, without being able to figure out whether or not Boireau was joking, was told by him that an infernal machine was going to explode in a cellar between the Ambigu and the Bastille. The comrade’s father reported this conversation to the Commissaire de Police. The latter passed it on to Prefect Gisquet, who was probably incredulous, but who transmitted it through the hierarchy to Thiers. The latter, belatedly informed, could not warn the princes until they mounted up. The report that the minister had received with such regrettable slowness said that a cellar would blow up, level with the Ambigu. It was too late then to check the information, whose origin seemed, in any case, to be idle gossip, and whose romantic allure was suggestive of a fantastic character.

  “The police, however, had not remained inactive, and at three o’clock in the morning they had visited all the houses in the vicinity of the Ambigu. The unfortunate thing is that, although the information was correct, they got the wrong Ambigu, for there were two of them: the Ambigu-Comique, at 1828 Boulevard Saint-Martin, and the former Ambigu at 76 Boulevard du Temple, not far from Fieschi’s house. They only thought about the Ambigu-Comique, because the former Ambigu had been replaced by the Délassements-Comique, and it was only out of habit that the people of the quarter still said ‘Ambigu’ to describe the theater at number 76. One might suppose that, without that error, The Fieschi house would have been searched from cellar to attic like the others, and that the attempt would have been averted. The Prefect of Police had, moreover, failed to have Boireau arrested—he was not apprehended until the evening of the 28, when the calamity had taken place.

  “I shall continue, with your permission, to read the Cartoux report. Let’s see: Although entitled, etc. etc…on learning that a man had been found murdered in the house bearing the number 53 Boulevard du Temple, I thought it best to male known to my superior officer without delay that I believe I can offer certain indications on that subject.

  “While on duty at mid-day on Tuesday July 28 on the Boulevard du Temple, on the side of the odd numbers, between the Rue Charlot and the Rue du Temple, which is the side on the His Majesty was due to pass as he went toward the Bastille before coming back along the other side, I observed a well-dressed individual who stood for some time in front of the door of number 53, and then decided abruptly to go into the house.

  “I was a hundred paces away, behind the crowd, watching the façades of the houses, as I had been instructed to do. Even so, the actions of the gentleman attracted my attention. He seemed preoccupied. Instead of watching the roadway like everyone else, which was bordered on that side by the National Guard and on the other by the infantry of the line, he was moving back and forth, darting covert glances at the windows. I must, however, admit that he did not inspire any anxiety in me. He seemed to be on the lookout for someone at one of the windows, the majority of which were garnished with spectators.

  “When he disappeared into the vestibule of number 53, the drums were beating in the fields toward the Château d’Eau, announcing the approach of His Majesty and his escort. At the moment when the procession came level with me, I redoubled my vigilance, observing, in accordance with my ord
ers, the houses and their vicinity. I was no longer thinking about the man when the infernal machine suddenly inflicted the ravages that are well-known. I immediately ran toward the red house from which the smoke of the explosion was coming and in order to do that, I had to pass through the butchery and confusion of the boulevard.

  “Until the evening, I was occupied with the consequences of the assassination attempt. Then I went off duty, harassed by fatigue. Yesterday, July 29, I enjoyed a well-earned rest. It was only this morning that the thought of the man returned to my memory when I learned the time and the circumstances of Monsieur César Christiani’s murder. I have every reason to presume that his murderer is none other than the agitated individual that I saw hurrying into number 53 and who, at the time, had not made any extraordinary impression on my imagination—from which it results that his appearance is not precisely graven in my memory. I would, however, certainly recognize him if he were presented to me.

  “This report made a deep impression on Monsieur Duret d’Archiac. Before having Fabius Ortofieri introduced into his office, he installed the policeman Jean Cartoux close at hand, in the place of his secretary, in order that he might examine the witness at his leisure. When the latter had withdrawn, Cartoux affirmed that he was definitely the man from the boulevard. He recognized his bronzed complexion, his black side-whiskers, his July medal, his stature and his gait.

  “The next day, Fabius was taken into custody. He denied it vehemently, claiming that he had never wanted César dead, and, furthermore, that he had been watching the review in the Place de la Bastille. No one, however, had seen him there. He could not produce an alibi. The declarations of a member of the police force accused him formally. The circumstances were such as to convince our ancestor and our great-aunt that Fabius Ortofieri had assassinated heir grandfather and father. They therefore added a civil suit to the legal case, and you can be certain that the accused would have been convicted by the assize court if his death had not spared him that shame.”