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Authors: Terry Hale
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prosecutor. The other was more than a pig: he was a chief commissioner of police.
The police commissioner had just been appointed to a city in the provinces and was leaving the next day.
The prosecutor had held his office for many years at the Court of Assizes in Paris and was hosting a farewell dinner to celebrate his friend’s promotion.
Both were dressed in black, like doctors in mourning for the murders they had committed.
As they both talked in low voices, and often with full mouths, the negro who tended on them from the doorway – for young prosecutor de l’Argentière treated his staff like coolies and liked to play the indignant aristocrat – could only catch the odd word here and there of their conversation.
‘My dear Bertholin, I enjoyed a truly succulent repast yesterday at our friend Arnauld de Royaumont’s! From his apartments, which give on to the Place de la Grève, I could observe the execution of the seven conspirators that he tried a few days ago. It was absolutely exquisite! Every time I raised my fork to my mouth, a head fell!’
‘Silly fools! How can they go on believing in their country! They all see themselves as reincarnations of Brutus or Hampden!’ 4
‘Do you know, they had the effrontery to try and harangue the crowd from the top of the scaffold! They were soon cut off – just like their heads! But not before they could shout out at the top of their lungs: “Long live France! Death to the tyrant! Death to the tyrant!” Stupid oafs! There can be no half-measures with curs like that. Off to the scaffold with them! We mustn’t allow such vermin to deprive the Emperor of his beauty sleep.’
Judging by these scraps of conversation, it was an extremely edifying discussion, and it was greatly to the detriment of the legal profession that the wretched negro could not benefit more fully from it.
By the time dessert was served, the Corsican wine had raised the decibels a fraction and the talk became noisy and ribald such that it would have been easy to note down the following:
‘By the way, my dear de l’Argentière, given that you are so experienced in subterfuge and chicanery, perhaps you could give me some advice. It is absolutely essential that I depart tomorrow morning, yet I have arranged an extremely appetising rendezvous for tomorrow evening.’
‘Very simple. Either I shall leave town in your place so that you are free to go to your rendezvous, or you shall depart tomorrow and I will go in your place.’
‘But seriously?’
‘You will have to provide me with more details if you want me to give you a considered opinion. Is your rendezvous with a man or a woman? Is it business or pleasure?’
‘A woman … and pleasure is not out of the question.’
‘In the name of Père Duchêne! 5 If you forget for a moment the Aristotelian rule concerning unity of place, the solution to your problem is easy. Tell the princess that you have changed the rendezvous point to Auxerre and have her follow you there.’
‘And if the little vixen turns out to be another Lucretia?’ 6
‘By the gods, I’d play the little Jupiter: one way or another I’d force the beautiful Europa to pack her bags and come after me.’
‘And the next day?’
‘What next day? I’d leave her stranded at Auxerre still thinking of me!’
‘And what do you think the poor creature would do next?’
‘Poor creature? She’d have me to thank for turning her into a one-woman cottage industry! The only thing left for her to do would be to hop on a coach home and start looking for a good wet-nurse!’
‘What an unmitigated rake you are, de l’Argentière! No, no, she does not merit such harsh treatment, she’s no more than a child!’
‘What a sentimental ass you can be! Quick, handkerchiefs!’
‘No, she is the girl of my dreams, a little wood-nymph whose beauty enchants me …’
‘Lures you to the edge of the precipice, more likely.’
‘I would run after her … Even you could not help
The police commissioner had just been appointed to a city in the provinces and was leaving the next day.
The prosecutor had held his office for many years at the Court of Assizes in Paris and was hosting a farewell dinner to celebrate his friend’s promotion.
Both were dressed in black, like doctors in mourning for the murders they had committed.
As they both talked in low voices, and often with full mouths, the negro who tended on them from the doorway – for young prosecutor de l’Argentière treated his staff like coolies and liked to play the indignant aristocrat – could only catch the odd word here and there of their conversation.
‘My dear Bertholin, I enjoyed a truly succulent repast yesterday at our friend Arnauld de Royaumont’s! From his apartments, which give on to the Place de la Grève, I could observe the execution of the seven conspirators that he tried a few days ago. It was absolutely exquisite! Every time I raised my fork to my mouth, a head fell!’
‘Silly fools! How can they go on believing in their country! They all see themselves as reincarnations of Brutus or Hampden!’ 4
‘Do you know, they had the effrontery to try and harangue the crowd from the top of the scaffold! They were soon cut off – just like their heads! But not before they could shout out at the top of their lungs: “Long live France! Death to the tyrant! Death to the tyrant!” Stupid oafs! There can be no half-measures with curs like that. Off to the scaffold with them! We mustn’t allow such vermin to deprive the Emperor of his beauty sleep.’
Judging by these scraps of conversation, it was an extremely edifying discussion, and it was greatly to the detriment of the legal profession that the wretched negro could not benefit more fully from it.
By the time dessert was served, the Corsican wine had raised the decibels a fraction and the talk became noisy and ribald such that it would have been easy to note down the following:
‘By the way, my dear de l’Argentière, given that you are so experienced in subterfuge and chicanery, perhaps you could give me some advice. It is absolutely essential that I depart tomorrow morning, yet I have arranged an extremely appetising rendezvous for tomorrow evening.’
‘Very simple. Either I shall leave town in your place so that you are free to go to your rendezvous, or you shall depart tomorrow and I will go in your place.’
‘But seriously?’
‘You will have to provide me with more details if you want me to give you a considered opinion. Is your rendezvous with a man or a woman? Is it business or pleasure?’
‘A woman … and pleasure is not out of the question.’
‘In the name of Père Duchêne! 5 If you forget for a moment the Aristotelian rule concerning unity of place, the solution to your problem is easy. Tell the princess that you have changed the rendezvous point to Auxerre and have her follow you there.’
‘And if the little vixen turns out to be another Lucretia?’ 6
‘By the gods, I’d play the little Jupiter: one way or another I’d force the beautiful Europa to pack her bags and come after me.’
‘And the next day?’
‘What next day? I’d leave her stranded at Auxerre still thinking of me!’
‘And what do you think the poor creature would do next?’
‘Poor creature? She’d have me to thank for turning her into a one-woman cottage industry! The only thing left for her to do would be to hop on a coach home and start looking for a good wet-nurse!’
‘What an unmitigated rake you are, de l’Argentière! No, no, she does not merit such harsh treatment, she’s no more than a child!’
‘What a sentimental ass you can be! Quick, handkerchiefs!’
‘No, she is the girl of my dreams, a little wood-nymph whose beauty enchants me …’
‘Lures you to the edge of the precipice, more likely.’
‘I would run after her … Even you could not help
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