Chapter 39

MONEY AND POLICE—THE EMPEROR JAMES ROTHSCHILD AND THE BANKER NICHOLAS ROMANOV—POLICE AND MONEY

In the December of 1849 I learnt that the authorisation for the mortgage of my estate sent from Paris and witnessed at the Embassy had been destroyed, and that after that an injunction had been laid on my mother’s fortune. There was no time to be lost, and, as I have mentioned in a previous chapter, I at once left Geneva and went to my mother’s.

It would be hypocritical to affect to despise property in our time of financial disorganisation. Money is independence, power, a weapon.

And no one flings away a weapon in time of war, though it may have come from the enemy or be ever so rusty. The slavery of poverty is awful; I have studied it in all its aspects, living for years with men who have escaped from political shipwrecks in the clothes they stood up in. And so I thought it right and necessary to take every measure to snatch what I could from the bear’s claws of the Russian Government.

Even so, I was not far from losing everything. When I left Russia I had no definite plan; I only wanted to remain abroad as long as possible. The Revolution of 1848 arrived and drew me into its whirlpool before I had done anything to secure my property. Worthy persons have blamed me for throwing myself headlong into political movements and leaving the future of my family to the will of the gods. Perhaps it was not altogether prudent; but if, living in Rome in 1848, I had sat at home considering ways and means of saving my property while revolting Italy was surging before my windows, then I should probably not have remained in foreign countries, but have returned to Petersburg, have entered the service again, might have become a vice-governor, have sat at the head prosecutor’s table, and should have addressed my secretary with insulting familiarity and my minister as ‘Your High Excellency.’

I had no such self-restraint and good sense, and I am infinitely thankful for it now. My heart and my memory would be the poorer if I had missed those bright moments of faith and enthusiasm! What could have made up to me for the loss of them? Indeed, why speak of me? What would have made up for it to her whose broken life was nothing afterwards but suffering that ended in the grave? How bitterly would my conscience have reproached me if, from prudent caution, I had robbed her of almost the last minutes of untroubled happiness! And after all I did succeed in saving almost all our property except the Kostroma estate.

After the June days my position was becoming dangerous. I made the acquaintance of Rothschild, and asked him to change for me two Moscow Bank bonds. Business then was not flourishing, of course; the exchange was in a very bad way; his terms were not good, but I at once accepted them, and had the satisfaction of seeing a faint smile of compassion on Rothschild’s lips—he took me for a reckless _prince russe_ who had run into debt in Paris, and so fell to calling me _Monsieur le Comte_.

On the first bonds the money was promptly paid; but on the later ones for a much larger sum, though the payment was made, Rothschild’s representative informed him that an injunction had been laid on my capital—luckily I had withdrawn it all.

And so I found myself in Paris with a large sum of money in the midst of general upheaval, without experience or knowledge what to do with it. Yet everything was fairly well arranged. As a rule, the less excitement, uneasiness, and anxiety there is in financial matters, the better they succeed. Greedy money-grubbers and financial cowards are as often ruined as spendthrifts.

By the advice of Rothschild, I bought myself some American shares, a few French ones, and a small house in the Rue Amsterdam, tenanted by the Havre Hôtel.

One of my first revolutionary steps, which cut me off from Russia, plunged me into the respectable class of conservative idlers, brought me acquainted with bankers and notaries, taught me to look at the Stock Exchange news—in fact, turned me into a West European _rentier_. The disharmony between the modern man and the environment in which he lives brings a dreadful confusion into private behaviour. We are in the very middle of two currents in conflict with each other; we are flung and shall continue to be flung first in one and then in the other direction, until one or the other finally overpowers us, and the stream, still restless and turbulent but flowing in one direction only, makes things easier for the swimmer by carrying him along with it.

Happy the man who knows how to steer so that, yielding to the waves and swaying with them, he still swims his own course!

On the purchase of the house I had the opportunity of looking more closely into the business and bourgeois world of France. The bureaucratic pedantry over completing a purchase is not inferior to ours in Russia. The old notary read me several documents, the statute concerning the reading of them _main levée_, then the actual statute itself—all of this making up a complete folio volume. In our final negotiation concerning the price and the legal expenses, the owner of the house said that he would make a concession and take upon himself the very considerable expenses of the legal conveyance, if I would immediately pay the whole sum to him personally. I did not understand him, since from the very first I had openly stated that I was buying it for ready money. The notary explained to me that the money must remain in his hands for at least three months, during which its sale would be advertised and all creditors who had any claims on the house would be called upon to state their case. The house was mortgaged for seventy thousand, but there might be further mortgages in other hands. In three months’ time, after inquiries had been made, the _purge hypothécaire_ would be handed to the purchaser and the former owner would receive the purchase money.

The owner declared that he had no other debts. The notary confirmed this. ‘Your honour and your hand on it,’ I said to him—‘you have no other debts which could be secured by the house?’

‘I will readily give you my word of honour.’

‘In that case, I agree, and will come here to-morrow with Rothschild’s cheque.’

When I went next day to Rothschild’s, his secretary flung up his hands in horror: ‘They are cheating you! This is impossible; we will stop the sale if you like. It’s something unheard of, to buy from a stranger on such terms.’

‘Would you like me to send some one with you to look into the business?’ Baron James himself suggested.

I did not care to play the part of an ignorant boy, so said that I had given my word, and took the cheque for the whole sum. When I reached the notary’s I found there, besides the witnesses, the creditor who had come to receive the seventy thousand francs. The deed of purchase was read over, we signed it, the notary congratulated me on being a Parisian house-owner—there was nothing left to do but to hand over the cheque....

‘How vexing!’ said the house-owner, taking it from my hands; ‘I forgot to ask you to draw it in two cheques. How can I pay out the seventy thousand now?’

‘Nothing is easier: go to Rothschild’s, they’ll give it you in two cheques; or, simpler still, go to the bank.’

‘I’ll go if you like,’ said the creditor; the house-owner frowned and answered that that was his business, that he would go.

The creditor frowned. The notary good-naturedly suggested that they should go together.

Hardly able to refrain from laughter, I said to them: ‘Here’s your receipt; give me back the cheque, I will go and change it.’

‘You will infinitely oblige us,’ they said with a sigh of relief; and I went.

Four months later the _purge hypothécaire_ was sent me, and I gained ten thousand francs by my rash trustfulness.

After the 13th of June 1849, the Prefect of Police, Rébillaud, made some report against me; probably in consequence of his report, strange steps were taken by the Petersburg Government in regard to my estate. It was these steps, as I have said, that compelled me to go with my mother to Paris.

We travelled through Neufchâtel and Besançon. Our journey began with my forgetting my greatcoat in the posting-station yard at Berne; as I had a warm overcoat and warm overshoes with me, I did not go back for it. All went well till we reached the mountains, but in the mountains we were met by knee-deep snow, eight degrees of frost, and the cursed Swiss _bise_. The diligence could not go on, the passengers were transferred by twos and threes into small sledges. I do not remember having ever suffered so much from cold as on that night. My legs were simply in agony. I stuffed them into the straw; then the post driver gave me a collar of some sort, but that was not much help. At the third station I bought from a peasant woman her shawl for fifteen francs, and wrapped myself in it; but by that time we were already on the descent, and with every mile it grew warmer.

This road is magnificently fine on the French side; the vast amphitheatre of immense mountains, so varied in outline, accompanies one up to Besançon itself; here and there on the crags stand the ruins of fortified feudal castles. In this landscape there is something mighty and austere, resolute and morose; gazing at it, a peasant boy grew up and was formed, the descendant of old country stock, Pierre Joseph Proudhon. And indeed one may say of him, though in a different sense, what was said by the poet of the Florentines:

‘E tiene ancor del monte e del macigno.’

Rothschild agreed to take my mother’s bond, but would not cash it in advance, on account of Gasser’s letter. The Board of Trustees did in fact refuse the payment. Then Rothschild instructed Gasser to demand an interview with Nesselrode and to inquire of him what was wrong. Nesselrode replied that though there was no doubt about the bonds and Rothschild’s claim was valid, the Tsar had commanded that the money should be retained on secret political grounds.

I remember the amazement in Rothschild’s office on the reception of this reply. The eye involuntarily glanced to the bottom of the statement for the sign of Alaric or the seal of Genghis Khan. Rothschild had not expected such a trick even from so celebrated a master of despotic action as Nicholas. ‘It is little matter for wonder to me,’ I said to him, ‘that Nicholas should try to carry off my mother’s money to punish me, or to catch me with it as a bait; but I could not have imagined that your name would have so little weight in Russia. The bonds are yours and not my mother’s; when she signed them she gave them to bearer (_au porteur_), but since you endorsed them that _porteur_[68] is you; and you are insolently answered, “The money is yours, but the master has told me not to pay it.”’

My words produced their effect. Rothschild began to lose his temper, and walking about the room said: ‘No, I won’t allow myself to be treated like that; I will bring an action against the bank; I will insist upon a definite answer from the Minister of Finance!’

‘Well,’ thought I, ‘Vrontchenko won’t understand this gentleman. A “confidential” reply would have been a favour, but a “definite” one is too much!’

‘Here you have a sample of how familiarly and _sans gêne_ the autocracy, upon which the reaction is building such hopes, disposes of property. The communism of the Cossack is almost more dangerous than that of Louis Blanc.’

‘I will think what to do,’ said Rothschild; ‘we can’t put up with this.’

Three days after this conversation, I met Rothschild on the boulevard.

‘By the way,’ he said, stopping me, ‘I was speaking of your business yesterday to Kisselyov.[69] You must excuse me, but I ought to tell you that he expressed a very unfavourable opinion of you, and does not seem willing to do anything for you.’

‘Do you often see him?’

‘Sometimes at evening parties.’

‘Be so good as to tell him that you have seen me to-day, and that I have the worst possible opinion of him, but that at the same time I don’t think it would be fair to rob his mother on that account.’

Rothschild laughed; I think that from that time he began to surmise that I was not a _prince russe_, and he took to addressing me as Baron; he elevated me to this rank, I imagine, to make me worthy of conversing with him.

Next day he sent for me; I went at once. He handed me an unsigned letter to Gasser, and added: ‘Here is our proposed letter; sit down and read it attentively, then tell me whether you are satisfied with it. If you want to add or change anything, we will do so at once. Meanwhile, allow me to go on with my work.’

First I looked about me. Every minute a small door opened and one Bourse agent after another came in, uttering a number in a loud voice; Rothschild, still reading, muttered without raising his eyes: ‘Yes,—no,—good,—perhaps,—enough,—’ and the number walked out. There were various persons in the room, capitalists of the common sort, members of the National Assembly, two or three exhausted tourists with youthful moustaches and elderly cheeks, those everlasting figures that are seen drinking wine at watering-places and presenting themselves at courts, the feeble and lymphatic scions of effete aristocratic families, who yet presume to pass from the gaming table to the Bourse. They were all talking together in undertones. The Jewish autocrat sat calmly at his table, looking through papers and noting something down on them, probably millions, or at least hundreds of thousands.

‘Well,’ he said, turning to me, ‘are you satisfied?’

‘Perfectly,’ I answered.

The letter was excellent, curt and emphatic as it should be when one power is addressing another. He wrote to Gasser that the latter must at once demand an audience with Nesselrode and the Minister of Finance; that he must tell them that Rothschild is not interested to know to whom the bonds did belong; that he has bought them and insists on payment, or a clear legal statement of the reason why payment is deferred; that, in case of refusal, he would put the matter before the legal authorities, and he advised them to weigh carefully the consequences of a refusal, which seemed particularly strange to him when the Russian Government was negotiating through him for the conclusion of a new loan. Rothschild wound up by saying that in case of further delay he would be impelled to give the matter publicity through the newspapers to warn other capitalists. He recommended Gasser to show this to Nesselrode.

* * * * *

We were interrupted.... Schomburg asked me to look in half an hour later.

When half an hour later I was mounting the staircase of the Winter Palace of Finance in the Rue Laffitte, the rival of Nicholas was coming down it.

‘Schomburg has told me,’ said His Majesty, smiling graciously, and holding out his own august hand, ‘the letter has been signed and sent off. You will see how they will come round. I’ll teach them to play tricks with me.’

I felt inclined to drop on my knees and to offer an oath of allegiance together with my gratitude, but I confined myself to saying: ‘If you feel perfectly certain of it, allow me to open an account, if only for half of the sum.’

‘With pleasure,’ answered the gracious autocrat, and went his way into the Rue Lafitte.

I made my obeisance to His Majesty, and, being so near, went into the _Maison d’Or_.

Within a month or six weeks Nicholas Romanov, that Petersburg merchant of the first guild, who had been so reluctant to pay up, terrified by the prospect of a meeting of creditors and the publication in the newspapers, did at the Imperial command of Rothschild pay up the illegally detained money, together with the interest and the interest on the interest, apologising for his ignorance of the law, which he certainly could not be expected to know in his social position.

From that time forth I was on the best of terms with Rothschild. He liked in me the field of battle on which he had beaten Nicholas; I was for him something like Marengo or Austerlitz, and he several times described the details of the business in my presence, smiling faintly, but magnanimously sparing his vanquished opponent.

While this business was going on—and it occupied about six months—I was staying at the Hôtel Mirabeau, Rue de la Paix. One morning in April I was told that a gentleman was waiting for me in the hall and particularly wished to see me. I went out. An abject old individual who looked like a government clerk was standing in the hall.

‘The Commissaire of Police of the Tuileries Arrondissement So-and-so.’

‘Pleased to see you.’

‘Allow me to read you the decree of the Ministry of Home Affairs, communicated to me by the Prefect of Police, and relating to you.’

‘Pray do so; here is a chair.’

‘We, the Prefect of Police:[70]—In accordance with paragraph seven of the law of the 13th and 21st of November and 3rd of December of 1849, giving the Ministry of Home Affairs the power to expel (_expulser_) from France any foreigner whose presence in France may be subversive of order and dangerous to public tranquillity, and in view of the ministerial circular of the 3rd of January 1850,

‘Do command as follows:

‘The here-mentioned’ (_le N——é_, that is, _nommé_, but this does not mean ‘aforesaid’ because nothing has been said about me before; it is merely an ungrammatical attempt to designate a man as rudely as possible) ‘Herzen, Alexandre, age 40’ (they put me on two years), ‘a Russian subject, living in such a place, is to leave Paris at once on receiving this announcement, and to depart from the frontiers of France within the shortest possible time.

‘It is forbidden for him to return in future under pain of the penalties laid down by the eighth paragraph of the same law (imprisonment from one to six months and a money fine).

‘All necessary measures will be taken to secure the execution of these orders.

‘_Fait_ in Paris, April 16, 1850.

‘Prefect of Police,
‘A. CARLIER.

‘Confirmed by the general secretary of the Prefecture.

‘CLÉMENT REYRE.’

On the margin:

‘Read and approved April 19, 1850,

Minister of Home Affairs,
G. BAROCHE.

‘In the year eighteen hundred and fifty, April the twenty-fourth.

‘We, Émile Boulay, Commissaire of Police of the City of Paris and in particular of the Tuileries Arrondissement, in execution of the orders of M. le Prefect of Police of April 23rd:

‘Have notified the Sieur Alexandre Herzen, telling him in words as written herewith.’ Here follows the whole text over again. It is just as children tell the story of the White Bull, prefacing every fresh incident with the same phrase: ‘Shall I tell you the tale of the white bull?’

Then: ‘We have summoned _le dit Herzen_ to present himself in the course of the next twenty-four hours at the Prefecture for the reception of a passport and the assignment of a frontier through which he will leave France.

‘And that _le dit Sieur Herzen n’en prétende cause d’ignorance_ (what a jargon!) _nous lui avons laissé cette copie tant du dit arrêté en tête de cette présente de notre procès-verbal de notification_.’

Oh, my Vyatka colleagues in the secretariat of Tyufyaev; oh, Ardashov, who would write a dozen sheets at one sitting; Veprev, Shtin, and my drunken head clerk! Would not their hearts rejoice to know that after the days of Voltaire, of Beaumarchais, of George Sand, and of Hugo, documents are written like this in Paris?

And, indeed, not only they would be delighted, but also my father’s village foreman, Vassily Epifanov, who from the deepest sentiments of politeness would write to his master: ‘Your commandment by this present preceding post received, and by the same I have the honour to announce....’ This stupid and vulgar temple _des us et coutumes_, only fitting for a blind and doting old goddess like Themis, ought surely to be razed to the ground.

The reading of this document did not produce the result expected; a Parisian imagines that exile from Paris is as bad as the expulsion of Adam from Paradise, and without Eve into the bargain. To me, on the contrary, it was a matter of indifference, since I had already begun to be sick of Parisian life.

‘When am I to present myself before the Prefecture?’ I asked, assuming a polite air in spite of the wrath which was filling me.

‘I advise ten o’clock to-morrow morning.’

‘With pleasure.’

‘How early the spring is beginning this year!’ observed the _commissaire_ of the city of Paris and in particular of the Tuileries arrondissement.

‘Exceedingly.’

‘This is an old-fashioned hotel. Mirabeau used to dine here; that is why it bears his name. You have no doubt been well satisfied with it?’

‘Very well satisfied. Only fancy what it must be to leave it so abruptly!’

‘It’s certainly unpleasant.... The hostess is an intelligent and excellent woman—Mlle. Cousin; she was a great friend of the celebrated Le Normand.’[71]

‘Imagine that! What a pity I did not know it! Perhaps she has inherited her art of fortune-telling and might have predicted my _billet doux_ from Carlier.’

‘Ha, ha!... It is my duty, you know. Allow me to wish you good-day.’

‘To be sure, anything may happen. I have the honour to wish you good-bye.’

Next day I presented myself in the Rue Jérusalem, more celebrated than Le Normand herself. First, I was received by some sort of a youthful spy, with a little beard, a little moustache, and all the manners of an abortive journalist and an unsuccessful democrat. His face, the look in his eyes, all wore the stamp of that refined corruption of soul, that envious hunger for enjoyment, power, acquisition, which I have learned to read so well on Western European faces, though it is completely absent from that of the English. He had probably only recently received his post; he still took pleasure in it, and therefore spoke a little condescendingly. He informed me that I must leave within three days, and except for particularly important reasons it was impossible to defer the date. His impudent face, his accent and his gestures, were such that without entering into further discussion with him I bowed and then asked, first putting on my hat, when I could see the Prefect.

‘The Prefect only receives persons who have asked him for an audience in writing.’

‘Allow me to write to him at once.’

He rang the bell; an old _huissier_ with a chain on his breast walked in; saying to him with a dignified air, ‘Pen and paper for this gentleman,’ the youth nodded to me.

The _huissier_ led me into another room. There I wrote to Carlier that I wished to see him in order to explain to him why I had to defer my departure.

On the evening of the same day I received from the Prefecture the laconic answer: ‘M. le Préfet is ready to receive So-and-so to-morrow at two o’clock.’

The same disgusting youth met me next day: he had his own room, from which I concluded that he was something in the nature of a head clerk. Beginning his career so early and with such success, he will go far, if God grants him long life.

On this occasion he led me into a big office. There a stout, tall, rosy-cheeked gentleman was sitting in a big easy-chair at an immense table. He was one of those persons who are always hot, with sleek, white, but flabby flesh, with fat but carefully groomed hands, with a necktie reduced to a minimum, with colourless eyes, with that jovial expression which is usually found in men who are completely drowned in love for their comfort, and who can rise coldly and without great effort to the utmost infamies.

‘You wish to see the Prefect,’ he said to me; ‘but he asks you to excuse him; he has been obliged to go out on very important business. If I can do anything for your benefit I ask nothing better. Here is an easy-chair: will you sit down?’

All this he brought out smoothly, very politely, screwing up his eyes a little and smiling with the little cushions of flesh which adorned his cheek-bones. ‘Well, this fellow has been for years in the service,’ I thought.

‘You probably know what I’ve come about.’ He made that gentle movement of the head which every one makes on beginning to swim, and did not answer.

‘I have received an order to leave within three days. As I know that your minister has the right of expulsion without giving reasons or making investigations, I am not going to inquire why I am being expelled, nor to defend myself; but I have, besides my own house....’

‘Where is your house?’

‘Fourteen, Rue Amsterdam ... very important business in Paris, and it is difficult for me to leave at once.’

‘Allow me to ask, what is your business? Is it to do with the house or...?’

‘My business is with Rothschild. I have to receive four hundred thousand francs.’

‘What?’

‘A little over a hundred thousand silver roubles.’

‘That’s a very large sum!’

‘_C’est une somme ronde._’

‘How much time do you need for completing your business?’ he asked, looking at me more tenderly, as people look at pheasants stuffed with truffles in the shop windows.

‘From a month to six weeks.’

‘That is a terribly long time.’

‘My business is being settled in Russia. I should not wonder if it is on that account I am leaving France, indeed.’

‘How so?’

‘A week ago Rothschild told me that Kisselyov spoke ill of me. Probably the Petersburg Government wishes to hush up the business; I dare say the ambassador has asked for my expulsion as a favour.’

‘_D’abord_,’ observed the offended patriot of the Prefecture, assuming an air of dignity and profound conviction, ‘France permits no other Government to interfere in her domestic affairs. I am surprised that such an idea could enter your head. Moreover, what can be more natural than that the Government, which is doing its utmost to restore order to the suffering people, should exercise its right to expel from the country in which there is so much inflammatory material, foreigners who abuse the hospitality she has shown them?’

I determined to get at him by money. This was as sure a method of attack as the use of texts from the Gospel in discussion with a Catholic, and so I answered with a smile: ‘I have paid a hundred thousand francs for the hospitality of Paris, and so consider I have almost settled my account.’

This was even more successful than my _somme ronde_. He was embarrassed, and saying after a brief pause, ‘We cannot help it, we are obliged to do our duty,’ he took from the table my _dossier_. This was the second volume of the novel, the first part of which I had once seen in the hands of Dubbelt. Stroking the pages, as though they were good horses, with his plump hand: ‘You see,’ he observed, ‘your connections, your association with seditious journals’ (almost word for word what Sahtynsky had said to me in 1840), ‘and the considerable subventions which you have given to the most pernicious enterprises, have compelled us to resort to a very unpleasant but necessary step. That step can be no surprise to you. Even in your own country you brought political punishment upon yourself. Like causes lead to like results.’

‘I am certain,’ I said, ‘that the Emperor Nicholas himself does not suspect this solidarity; you cannot really approve of his Government.’

‘_Un bon citoyen_ respects the laws of his country, whatever they may be....’[72]

‘Probably on the celebrated principle that it is in any case better there should be bad weather than no weather at all.’

‘To prove to you that the Russian Government has absolutely nothing to do with it, I promise to obtain from the Prefect a postponement for one month. You will certainly not think it strange if we make inquiries of Rothschild concerning your business; it is not so much a question of doubting....’

‘Do by all means make inquiries. We are at war, and if it had been of any use for me to have resorted to stratagem in order to remain, do you suppose I should not have employed it?’

But the worldly and amiable _alter ego_ of the Prefect would not be outdone.

‘People who talk like that never say what is untrue,’ he replied.

A month later my business was still unfinished. We were visited by an old doctor, Palmier, whose agreeable duty it is to make a weekly examination of an interesting class of Parisian women at the Prefecture. Since he gave such a number of certificates of health to the fair sex, I imagined he would not refuse to give me a certificate of illness. Palmier was acquainted, of course, with every one in the Prefecture: he promised me to give X. personally the history of my indisposition. To my great surprise Palmier came back without a satisfactory answer. This incident is worth noting because it shows a brotherly resemblance between the Russian and the French bureaucracies. X. had given no answer, but had replied evasively, offended at my not having come in person to inform him that I was ill, in bed, and could not get up. There was no help for it: I went next day to the Prefecture, glowing with health.

X. asked me with the greatest sympathy about my illness. As I had not had the curiosity to read what the doctor had written, I had to invent an illness. Luckily I remembered Sazonov, who, with his bulky figure and inexhaustible appetite, complained of aneurism—I told X. I had heart disease and that travelling might be very bad for me.

X. was sorry for me, and advised me to be very careful; then he went into the next room, and returned a minute later, saying: ‘You may remain another month. The Prefect has commissioned me at the same time to tell you that he hopes and desires that your health may be restored during that period; if this were not the case, he would greatly regret it, for he will not be able to postpone your departure a third time.’

I understood that, and made ready to leave Paris about the 20th of June.

I came across the name of X. once more a year later. This patriot and _bon citoyen_ quietly withdrew from France, forgetting to account for some thousands of francs belonging to people of the poor or lower-middle class who had taken tickets in a Californian lottery run under the patronage of the Prefecture!

When the worthy citizen saw that in spite of all his respect for the laws of his country he might get into the galleys for swindling, then he preferred to take a steamer to Genoa. He was a consistent person, who did not lose his head with failure. He took advantage of the notoriety he gained by the scandal of the Californian lottery to proffer his services to a society of speculators which had been formed at that time at Turin for building railways; the society hastened to accept the services of so reliable a gentleman.

The last two months I spent in Paris were insufferable. I was literally _gardé à vue_; my letters arrived a day late and insolently unsealed; wherever I went I was followed in the distance by a loathsome individual, who at the corners passed me on with a wink to another.

It must not be forgotten that this was the time of the most feverish activity of the police. The stupid conservatives and revolutionists of the Algiers-Lamartine persuasion helped the rogues and knaves surrounding Napoleon himself to prepare a network of espionage and supervision, so that, stretching them over the whole of France, they might at any given minute catch by telegraph, by the Ministry of Home Affairs and the Élysée, all the active forces of the country and strangle them. Napoleon III. cleverly turned the weapon entrusted to him against these men themselves. The 2nd of December meant the promotion of the police to the position of the executive power.

There has never anywhere, even in Austria or in Russia, been such a political police as existed in France from the time of the Convention. There are many causes for this, apart from the peculiar _national_ propensity for police activity. Except in England, where the police have nothing in common with Continental espionage, the police are everywhere surrounded by hostile elements and consequently thrown on their own resources. In France, on the contrary, the police is the most popular institution. Whatever government seizes power, its police is _ready_; a part of the people will help it with a zest and a fanaticism which have to be restrained and not intensified, and will help, too, with all those terrible means at the disposal of private persons which are impossible for the police. Where can a man hide from his shopkeeper, his house-porter, his tailor, his washerwoman, his butcher, his sister’s husband, his brother’s wife, especially in Paris, where people do not live in separate houses as they do in London, but in something like coral reefs or hives with a common staircase, a common courtyard, and a common porter.

Condorcet escapes from the Jacobin police and successfully makes his way to some village near the frontier; tired and harassed, he goes into a little inn, sits down before the fire, warms his hands, and asks for a piece of chicken. The good-natured old woman who keeps the inn, and who is a great patriot, reasons like this: ‘He is covered with dust, so he must have come a _long way_; he asks for chicken, so he must have _money_; his hands are white, so he must be an _aristocrat_.’ Leaving the chicken on the stove, she goes to the next inn; there patriots are sitting—a Mucius Scaevola, the innkeeper—some _citoyen_, a Brutus—a Timoleon, the tailor. They ask for nothing better, and ten minutes later one of the wisest leaders of the French Revolution is in prison and handed over to one of the police of Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality!

Napoleon, who had the police talent highly developed, turned his generals into spies and informers. The butcher of Lyons, Fouché, founded a complete theory, system, science of espionage—through the prefects, behind the prefects, through prostitutes and virtuous shopkeepers, through servants and coachmen, through doctors and barbers. Napoleon fell, but his tool remained, and not only his tool but the man who wielded it. Fouché passed over to the Bourbons; the strength of the spies lost nothing—on the contrary, they were reinforced by monks and priests. Under Louis-Philippe, in whose reign bribery and corruption became one of the moral forces of government, half the petty-bourgeois became his spies, his police chorus, a result to which service in the National Guard—in itself a police duty—greatly contributed.

During the February republic three or four branches of genuinely secret police and several of professedly secret ones were formed. There was the police of Ledru-Rollin and the police of Caussidière, there was the police of Marrast and the police of the provisional government, there was the police of order and the police of disorder, the police of Napoleon and the police of the Duc d’Orléans. All were on the look-out, all were watching each other and reporting on each other; assuming that these secret reports were made with conviction, with the best of motives, for no money gain, yet they were still secret reports.... This fatal habit, meeting on the one hand with mournful failures, and on the other morbid, unbridled lust of gold or pleasure, corrupted a whole generation.

We must not forget, too, the moral indifference, the instability of opinion, which was left like a sediment by successive revolutions and restorations. Men had grown used to regarding as heroism and virtue on one day what would on the morrow be a crime punished with penal servitude; the laurel wreath and the brand of the convict alternated several times on the same head. By the time they had become accustomed to this a nation of spies was created.

All the latest discoveries of secret societies and plots, all the latest denunciations of refugees were made by false members of societies, bribed friends, men who had won confidence with the object of treachery.

There were examples on all hands of cowards who, through fear of prison and exile, revealed secrets and ruined their friends—as a faint-hearted comrade ruined Konarski. But neither among us nor in Austria was there a legion of young men, cultured, speaking _our_ language, making inspired speeches in clubs, writing revolutionary articles and serving as spies.

Moreover, the government of Napoleon was excellently placed for making use of informers of all parties. It represents the revolution and the reaction, war and peace, the year 1789 and Catholicism, the fall of the Bourbons and the 4½ per cents. It is served both by Falloux the Jesuit, and Billault the socialist, and La Rochejacquelein the legitimist, and the mass of the people to whom Louis-Philippe had been a benefactor. The refuse of all parties and shades of opinion naturally flows together and ferments in the Palace of the Tuileries.