The Baker's Blood

by Jean-FranCois Parot

  It was nearly midnight when Rabouine reappeared, his mission to divert the Austrian spies complete. With a consummate skill born of long experience, he had led them a merry dance, at last bringing them back full circle to the Golden Bull. He seemed eager now to rest from his labours with some comely chambermaid from the top floor. He had reckoned without Nicolas, who asked him to stay with them to wait for Semacgus and draw the first lessons from this eventful night. He gave an account of it to an astonished Rabouine.

  As time went by, and Semacgus had still not returned, Nicolas began to worry, already blaming himself for having dragged his friend into this affair. The night slowly passed. At about half past three, the door burst open and an unsteady and beaming Semacgus made his entrance and collapsed into an armchair, making the wood creak alarmingly. Nicolas’s immediate fear was that his friend had fallen into his old ways: when he had first met him, fourteen years earlier, Semacgus had been leading, if not a dissolute life, at least a very licentious one, which age and the beneficial influence of Awa, his black cook, had somehow brought under control. But nothing that Nicolas surmised was turning out to be correct tonight.

  ‘Come now,’ said Semacgus, looking at them sardonically, ‘don’t hide your joy at seeing me again. Good Lord, you look like a flock of blue penitents.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Nicolas, stiffly. ‘What have penitents got to do with anything, let alone blue ones?’

  ‘Oh, I see my first impression is confirmed. Nobody is in the mood for humour. We are forbidden any extravagance. Nevertheless, at the risk of breaking the mood, I’m going to tell you who these penitents are …’

  Nicolas knew that, in this state, nothing would stop Semacgus and he would have to be patient.

  ‘A long time ago, putting in at Marseilles, I felt the desire to give my surgical knife a little practice, and so I went in search of some corpse or other to cut up. It was then that I stumbled upon a confraternity of charitable persons whose mission consisted of giving the tortured the consolations of a Christian end and a plot for burial. The common people call them the monks of death. No need to tell you how they greeted my approaches! You remind me of them. Don’t look at me like that. Yes, I did drink a lot of brandy, but it was all in a good cause!’

  ‘There we have it!’ said Nicolas, relieved. ‘Before we go any further, let me tell you what happened tonight—’

  ‘But now I come to think of it,’ Semacgus cut in, ‘I think there are four of us.’ He rose and made an unsteady bow in Lastire’s direction. ‘A thousand pardons, Monsieur. The fumes of alcohol made all the faces blur into one, so to speak, and—’

  ‘Precisely,’ interrupted Nicolas, ‘you are entitled to an explanation.’

  ‘Before that, Rabouine, go and fetch me a tankard of cold beer. There is nothing more effective in clearing the head.’

  Without waiting, Nicolas launched for the second time into an account of that evening’s adventures.

  ‘Pah!’ said Semacgus. ‘Failure all down the line! Well, it leaves me cold, because I had the real Georgel in my sights!’

  ‘How do you know it was the real one?’

  ‘The same way you know you followed the false one!’ roared Semacgus, before knocking back the contents of the emblazoned tankard that Rabouine had just handed him.

  What a remarkable fellow Rabouine was, thought Nicolas. Where on earth had he found beer at three in the morning?

  ‘Go on, laugh! Yes, I did have the right one, and he led me a merry dance all over Vienna for hours – in the dark, to boot.’

  He rose to his feet.

  ‘Flee, star of the day, let the shadows prevail

  Night, it is time to spread your sombre veil!

  Now that all is still, let the games begin.’2

  ‘Well?’ said Nicolas, laughing despite himself at that remarkably accurate bass voice. ‘Whom did Georgel meet? Huascar, Zaire, Ali or Adario?’3

  ‘Pah! A much commoner character. Gross features, broad back, big feet and a hemp wig which even our friend Gabriel the sailor wouldn’t want. They conversed for a long time in the shadow of a church portal. Papers were exchanged, and gold too. Then Georgel left, and I abandoned him.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Lastire, who had been silent thus far.

  ‘What would I have gained in trailing him? The beast was returning to the fold.’

  ‘You didn’t know that. What if he had had another appointment?’

  ‘Commissioner Le Floch will teach you, Chevalier, that one sometimes has to choose the lesser of two evils. It seemed to me more useful to discover the nature of the individual in question.’

  ‘I have no doubt, Monsieur, that you succeeded in that task.’

  ‘Of course, Monsieur, beyond anything I could have imagined! He, too, took a carriage, and I followed in mine. Snow is such a godsend, it both deafens and blinds … He got out at Graben and walked down an alley until he came to a low tavern. I walked just behind him. Unlike Georgel, of course, he didn’t know me. He met a man in a black coat. I drank a lot.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘Actually, I pretended to drink a lot while drinking a little … A drunkard doesn’t arouse suspicion. I could teach you a thing or two about that … There were wooden booths. I was back to back with these fellows, half lying on the bench. You know how well wood transmits sounds. I could hear their conversation as if I was among them. Now let me tell you what I heard and the conclusions I drew from it.’

  They all moved closer to Semacgus, who had noticeably lowered his voice.

  ‘What were they saying to each other? They were lamenting the fact that the little abbé was leaving, because he’d been so useful to them, and so innocent. The truth was that these two had been providing him with material, for money of course. They had managed to persuade him, with their regular deliveries, on the one hand that all the secrets of the French had long been known, and on the other hand that, thanks to them, he was obtaining authentic Austrian documents.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Nicolas. ‘We have seen the result.’

  ‘Yes, the result is that the late King’s secret network has been rendered useless. It should already have been completely reorganised, but that would have taken months, and only the King was in a position to decide that. But he died and his successor does not seem eager to remedy the situation. Thus, in return for a few small revelations of their own secrets, the Austrians have persuaded us to abandon a system that was useful to our diplomatic service.’

  ‘And what is Georgel’s role in all this?’

  ‘The abbé, who is anything but innocent, may be playing at appearing so. He smells a rat, which might explain his reluctance to unmask his informer. It is never an honourable thing to be the foolish object of a deception. Another hypothesis, which does not contradict the first, is that these documents are for him a means to ingratiate himself with those who are manipulating him – as we now know – from Paris. In short, what we have is a man who has been deceived, consciously or not, and who has contributed to the destruction of a whole system. I doubt we’ll ever know the full story of this imbroglio … I will add, to close my account, that abandoning my intermediary – a thousand regrets, Chevalier – I followed the man in black all the way to his destination.’

  ‘Which was …?’ asked Lastire.

  ‘The offices of the Statthalter bei der Regierung für Niederösterreich, which he entered with a key.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘The offices of His Excellency the Governor of Lower Austria, who controls the police in Vienna, their lieutenant general, as it were. So Georgel, who claimed to be thwarting the actions of the cabinet in Vienna, was merely serving as a screen for an offensive by the Austrians. They read our secrets and hand over their most hackneyed ones to us, all the better to paralyse us. A master stroke, I think you’ll agree! And with that, gentlemen, I’m going to bed.’

  He got heavily to his feet and walked out of the room, leaving his audience dismayed a
t these revelations.

  Nicolas sighed. ‘I shall soon have to go and inform the ambassador of this sad conclusion to our investigation. I doubt he will be best pleased.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ said Lastire, ‘it does help to remove a thorn from his flesh. Now that everything has become clear, he knows what he’s dealing with. At least he’ll be rid of Georgel. It’s up to him now to wipe out the memory of Prince Louis, if he can!’

  Lastire having pronounced the moral of the story, they went their separate ways.

  Monday 6 March 1775

  Apart from the tensing of his facial muscles, Monsieur de Breteuil’s first reaction did him great honour as the King’s representative. He had listened unflinchingly to Nicolas’s report, which was presented without flourishes. He immediately deplored the offence done to France and took full stock of the consequences. Then, as if to convince himself of what he had just learnt, he went through all the elements again. That an attempt had been made on the life of an envoy of the Court was of no account: it was one of the risks of the game.

  ‘So, if I understand correctly, the Austrians know all our secrets. Through the intermediary of a supposed renegade, they have used this rascal of a priest to bring about our misfortune. What’s more, they have included as bait, and to make the thing more convincing, a few genuine papers of no great political consequence, or long out of date, combined with a lot of others that are forged and full of lies. Is that it?’

  He began laughing nervously and twisting his cambric cravat.

  ‘The worst thing about this whole affair is that Georgel thought he could put a spoke in my wheel by keeping me out of his little commerce. The fact is that he has done me a service. I am indebted to you, Marquis, for having enlightened me so effectively. My debt will be all the greater if, when you make your report to Versailles, you insist on the singular disloyalty and unfathomable stupidity of that wretched priest.’

  His anger next led Monsieur de Breteuil to express his hatred for Prince Louis, whom he accused of having unthinkingly fallen into the trap laid by the Austrians. Nicolas rode out the storm, although it grew all the more violent when he revealed to the ambassador the gist of the half-burnt paper found in the abbé’s room. There followed a bitter diatribe which ended in a sarcastic laugh. This would all be laid at Rohan’s door. The Empress had never supported him and the Queen had espoused her mother’s antipathy towards a debauched prelate who, to make matters worse, had been an accredited courtier to Madame du Barry. One of these days, he, Breteuil, would be in a position to make him regret his past actions.

  ‘The case seems to be settled,’ said Nicolas, ‘which means, Ambassador, that there is no reason for us to stay in Vienna any longer. On the contrary, this crucial information, and the fact that your dispatches need to be conveyed, require us to return to the kingdom as soon as possible.’

  ‘Your companions can leave, but not you. And how are we to convey my dispatches? What are you suggesting? You assured me—’

  ‘It was merely a form of words. What is to be conveyed is the gist.’

  ‘Could you convey that gist to me now?’

  ‘If it’s of any reassurance to you …’

  Nicolas closed his eyes. He thought for a moment, then began speaking in a monotone, as if he were reading something.

  ‘There is unrest in Bohemia. A number of villages, discontented with the statute labour they owe to their lords, banded together and proceeded to the town of Königgrätz, hoping to seize it. The raising of the bridges put paid to their plans. The Hussites, a sect who are widespread in Bohemia, seem to be the most roused … Do you want the beginning of the second dispatch?’

  Stunned, Breteuil nodded without a word.

  ‘The unrest among the peasants is more general and its ill effects greater than I indicated in my first dispatch. As there is an attempt here to conceal most of the disorder, I did not see fit to appear more informed on the matter than the minister desires, let alone to hold forth on the causes of this misfortune which threatens Bohemia and its landed gentry with irreparable losses …’

  Alarmed, Breteuil put his finger on his lips. ‘Marquis, this is beyond me. What marvel is this? I demand that you satisfy my curiosity at once.’

  ‘It’s quite simple. As a child, I learnt a lot by heart. My Jesuit teachers completed my education in that domain. It is enough for me to know the beginnings of paragraphs. I number them by a method known only to me. After that, everything flows easily.’

  ‘Monsieur, you must teach this! You’ve solved the problem of secrecy!’

  ‘Provided one isn’t subjected to torture,’ said Nicolas with a smile.

  ‘The fact remains, alas, that I cannot authorise you to leave Vienna. The Empress wishes to entrust you with a package and a letter for the Queen. We depend upon her satisfaction, which can take time to acquire. I understand there’s a medallion that needs to be finished. So you are obliged to remain here until we receive the package. I advise you to take advantage of the city.’

  Back at the Golden Bull, Nicolas gathered his companions together and explained the unfortunate situation. Each of them had his opinion as to how best to respond. Semacgus was pleased that he would have a chance to pursue his botanical studies, although he took care not to insist on the fact. Monsieur de Jussieu’s recommendations had opened many doors for him and, in a few days, he had enriched his knowledge with a view to his great treatise on tropical plants. Rabouine was happy to place himself at Nicolas’s disposal. As for the Chevalier de Lastire, it was his opinion that, now that the Georgel affair had been clarified, there would be no further attacks on the commissioner. The presence of a false abbé proved that the various events of the previous evening were intimately linked. Therefore he proposed, unless Nicolas objected, to leave Vienna. He would entrust his luggage to them and would get back to France as quickly as he could and inform Vergennes and Sartine of their discoveries. He would take with him only personal mail: any other missive would put him at risk if he was intercepted within the hereditary States or the empire. Nobody objected to this proposal. The chevalier planned to leave that very day. Nicolas shut himself in his room to write a few letters: one to his son, one to Aimée, and a short, friendly message to Inspector Bourdeau, who he guessed, despite Sartine’s shrewd handling of the situation, was vexed at not having been part of the adventure. At two in the afternoon, Lastire took his leave of them, an opportunity for Nicolas to express once again his gratitude for the man’s crucial assistance. They all felt a little sad to see him go: he was a good companion, who had enlivened the monotony of a long journey with his imagination and his shafts of wit. They had also been made aware of the various facets of his personality, how decisive, yet at the same time touchy, this man handpicked by Sartine to combat foreign intrigues against the kingdom could be. Dinner was a gloomy affair. After the action and violence of the previous few days, there was a distinct drop in tension and each man soon took refuge in his room.

  From Tuesday 7 March to Monday 10 April 1775

  The period that now ensued was pleasant in some ways, but time soon began to weigh heavily on them. Nicolas occupied the first days with a more complete tour of the imperial capital, although the city was not large enough for this pastime to fill all his waking hours. He did not forget those closest to him. He discovered a fine damascened ceremonial sword which he was sure Louis would love. For Aimée, he was attracted by a Corfu coral necklace. He was thoughtful enough also to remember Monsieur de Sartine’s hobby. Recalling that, at the minister’s urging, Abbé Georgel had sent him a superb curly wig the previous year, he enquired after the best local manufacturer. A unique model ordered by the Magistrato Camerale of the city of Padua,4 recently deceased, proved to be exactly what he was looking for. He was assured that not even the doge of Venice possessed a longer or thicker one, with such lustrous silver tints. It would undoubtedly be the centrepiece of Sartine’s musical wig library.

  For Monsieur de Noblecourt, he finally, after co
nstant searching, unearthed an edition of Suetonius’s Lives of the Twelve Caesars in a text edited by the poet Franciscus Van Gudendorp, bound in full vellum with thick gilded thread as a frame. This superb volume would delight the bibliophile former magistrate and peerless Latinist. Nicolas recalled that he had not long ago parted with a copy of Ovid that was dear to his heart and given it to Louis Le Floch as a present before he left for school at Juilly. A bottle of slivovitz and a snuffbox for Bourdeau, lace handkerchiefs for Marion and Catherine and, last but not least, a fur hat for good old Poitevin, whose head tended to feel the cold, completed his purchases. He had found something for everyone.

  The weeks went by, punctuated by a number of unexpected events. The Archduke Maximilian, whom Nicolas had escorted from the border of Flanders to Paris, having learnt of his presence in Vienna and remembering the delight the commissioner’s company had given him, invited him to an intimate dinner. He detained him until a late hour, asking him a thousand questions about the Court, those in power, and the use of torture in criminal procedures. It was a practice Maria Theresa was thinking of banning in the hereditary States. In the archduke’s opinion, it was not a reliable path to the truth but, rather, a blind method which forced both the guilty and the innocent to accuse themselves. He had an interesting face and a brisk manner that some might have thought abrupt. In that, he resembled the Emperor, although he was less affable and communicative. Coadjutor of the Teutonic Order, he also held the office of Governor of the Low Countries.