The History of a Crime is a Webnovel created by Victor Hugo.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
I watched the sleeping baby. I waited for dawn. It came. M. de la R—- had explained at my request in what manner I could go out without disturbing any one. I kissed the child’s forehead, and left the room. I went downstairs, closing the doors behind me as gently as I could, so not to wake Madame de la R—-. I opened the iron door and went out into the street. It was deserted, the shops were still shut, and a milkwoman, with her donkey by her side, was quietly arranging her cans on the pavement.
I have not seen M. de la R—- again. I learned since that he wrote to me in my exile, and that his letter was intercepted. He has, I believe, quitted France. May this touching page convey to him my kind remembrances.
The Rue Caumartin leads into the Rue St. Lazare. I went towards it. It was broad daylight. At every moment I was overtaken and pa.s.sed by _fiacres_ laden with trunks and packages, which were hastening towards the Havre railway station. Pa.s.sers-by began to appear. Some baggage trains were mounting the Rue St. Lazare at the same time as myself.
Opposite No. 42, formerly inhabited by Mdlle. Mars, I saw a new bill posted on the wall. I went up to it, I recognized the type of the National Printing Office, and I read,
“COMPOSITION OF THE NEW MINISTRY.
“_Interior_ –M. de Morny.
“_War_ –The General of Division St. Arnaud.
“_Foreign Affairs_ –M. de Turgot.
“_Justice_ –M. Rouher.
“_Finance_ –M. Fould.
“_Marine_ –M. Ducos.
“_Public Works_ –M. Magne.
“_Public Instruction_ –M.H. Fortuol.
“_Commerce_ –M. Lefebre-Durufle.”
I tore down the bill, and threw it into the gutter! The soldiers of the party who were leading the wagons watched me do it, and went their way.
In the Rue St. Georges, near a side-door, there was another bill. It was the “Appeal to the People.” Some persons were reading it. I tore it down, notwithstanding the resistance of the porter, who appeared to me to be entrusted with the duty of protecting it.
As I pa.s.sed by the Place Breda some _fiacres_ had already arrived there.
I took one. I was near home, the temptation was too great, I went there.
On seeing me cross the courtyard the porter looked at me with a stupefied air. I rang the bell. My servant, Isidore, opened the door, and exclaimed with a great cry, “Ah! it is you, sir! They came during the night to arrest you.” I went into my wife’s room. She was in bed, but not asleep, and she told me what had happened.
She had gone to bed at eleven o’clock. Towards half-past twelve, during that species of drowsiness which resembles sleeplessness, she heard men’s voices. It seemed to her that Isidore was speaking to some one in the antechamber. At first she did not take any notice, and tried to go to sleep again, but the noise of voices continued. She sat up, and rang the bell.
Isidore came in. She asked him,
“Is any one there?”
“Yes, madame.”
“Who is it?”
“A man who wishes to speak to master.”
“Your master is out.”
“That is what I have told him, madame.”
“Well, is not the gentleman going?”
“No, madame, he says that he urgently needs to speak to Monsieur Victor Hugo, and that he will wait for him.”
Isidore had stopped on the threshold of the bedroom. While he spoke a fat, fresh-looking man in an overcoat, under which could be seen a black coat, appeared at the door behind him.
Madame Victor Hugo noticed this man, who was silently listening.
“Is it you, sir, who wish to speak to Monsieur Victor Hugo?”
“Yes, madame.”
“But what is it about? Is it regarding politics?”
The man did not answer.
“As to politics,” continued my wife, “what is happening?”
“I believe, madame, that all is at an end.”
“In what sense?”
“In the sense of the President.”
My wife looked fixedly at the man, and said to him,–
“You have come to arrest my husband, sir.”
“It is true, madame,” answered the man, opening his overcoat, which revealed the sash of a Commissary of Police.
He added after a pause, “I am a Commissary of Police, and I am the bearer of a warrant to arrest M. Victor Hugo. I must inst.i.tute a search and look through the house.”
“What is your name, sir?” asked Madame Victor Hugo.
“My name is Hivert.”
“You know the terms of the Const.i.tution?”
“Yes, madam.”
“You know that the Representatives of the People are inviolable!”
“Yes, madame.”
“Very well, sir,” she said coldly, “you know that you are committing a crime. Days like this have a to-morrow; proceed.”
The Sieur Hivert attempted a few words of explanation, or we should rather say justification; he muttered the word “conscience,” he stammered the word “honor.” Madame Victor Hugo, who had been calm until then, could not help interrupting him with some abruptness.
“Do your business, sir, and do not argue; you know that every official who lays a hand on a Representative of the People commits an act of treason. You know that in presence of the Representatives the President is only an official like the others, the chief charged with carrying out their orders. You dare to come to arrest a Representative in his own home like a criminal! There is in truth a criminal here who ought to be arrested–yourself!”
The Sieur Hivert looked sheepish and left the room, and through the half-open door my wife could see, behind the well-fed, well-clothed, and bald Commissary, seven or eight poor raw-boned devils, wearing dirty coats which reached to their feet, and shocking old hats jammed down over their eyes–wolves led by a dog. They examined the room, opened here and there a few cupboards, and went away–with a sorrowful air–as Isidore said to me.
The Commissary Hivert, above all, hung his head; he raised it, however, for one moment. Isidore, indignant at seeing these men thus hunt for his master in every corner, ventured to defy them. He opened a drawer and said, “Look and see if he is not in here!” The Commissary of Police darted a furious glance at him: “Lackey, take care!” The lackey was himself.
These men having gone, it was noticed that several of my papers were missing. Fragments of ma.n.u.scripts had been stolen, amongst others one dated July, 1848, and directed against the military dictatorship of Cavaignac, and in which there were verses written respecting the Censorship, the councils of war, and the suppression of the newspapers, and in particular respecting the imprisonment of a great journalist–Emile de Girardin:–