“Incensed, torn up by pain and fury, I left the house and finally found a kindhearted acquaintance at the outer edge of the Faubourg Saint Martin who let me stay in his garret room. Ever restless, I found no peace of mind. Come nightfall, I prowled around Cardillac’s house, imagining that Madelon might hear my sobbing, my desperate laments, and that she might manage to whisper to me from her window without being overheard. All manner of reckless plans crossed my mind, plans in the fulfillmet of which I hoped to ask her to cooperate. A high wall with hollowed-out pedestals, and old, half-disintegrated sculpted statuettes abuts Cardillac’s house on the rue Nicaise. One night I was standing close to one of these sculptures, peering up at the windows which open onto the courtyard closed in by the wall. Suddenly I noticed a light go on in Cardillac’s workshop. It was midnight, and Cardillac was never normally awake at that ungodly hour; he always made it a habit of going to bed at nine o’clock sharp. My heart started beating with uneasy apprehension as I imagined an incident that might block my access. But then the light went out again almost immediately thereafter. I pressed up against the statue, into the space behind it, but bounced back, feeling something press up behind me, as if the statue had come alive. In the faint shimmer of moonlight, I noticed the statue slowly turning, and a dark figure slipping out from behind it, descending the street with silent steps. I leapt back against the statue, which now stood, as before, hard against the wall. Instinctively, as if driven by some inner force, I slunk after the dark figure. Directly in front of a statue of the Madonna, the figure turned around, revealing its face in the shimmer of a burning streetlight set atop the statue. It was Cardillac! I was overcome with an unfathomable burst of fear and an uncanny sense of dread. As if in the grip of a magic spell, I felt compelled to follow close on the heels of that ghostly sleepwalker. Although it was not the time of the full moon, I took the master to be in the grip of sleepwalking. Finally, Cardillac disappeared sideways into darkness. With the sound of a short, all too familiar, throat-clearing cough, I realized, meanwhile, that he had stepped into the gateway to a house. ‘What does it mean, what is he up to?’ I asked myself, pressing myself hard against the wall of the house. Not long after that, a man came singing and trilling a tune, with a luminous tuft of feathers and his feet bedecked in jingling spurs. Like a tiger pouncing on its prey, Cardillac slipped from his hiding place and lunged at him, bringing him down with a gasp. With a cry of horror, I leapt forward. Cardillac was on top of the man he knocked to the ground. ‘Master Cardillac, what are you doing!’ I cried out loud.

  “ ‘Damn you!’ Cardillac screamed, running past me at lightning speed and disappearing.

  “Altogether beside myself, hardly able to budge, I approached the man flung down. I knelt down beside him; perhaps, I thought, he could still be saved. But there was not a trace of life left in him. In my deathly fear, I failed to see that the gendarmes had closed in around me. ‘Another one of those devils laid low— hey hey, young man, what are you doing here, are you a member of the band? Off with you!’ they cried out as one and took me into custody. I was barely able to stammer that I could not possibly have committed such a grisly deed, and that they had best leave me in peace.

  “Then somebody flashed the light of a torch in my face and cried out, laughing, ‘Why, it’s Olivier Brusson, the goldsmith journeyman who works for the good Master René Cardillac! Yes, indeed, he‘s one of those street thugs who murder people on the street! Looks just the sort! He’s just the kind of cutthroat to cower over his corpse and let himself be caught. What’d you do, boy? Fess up!’

  “ ‘Right in front of me,’ I replied, ‘somebody jumped that guy, knocked him down, and ran off as I cried out. I wanted to see if the guy knocked down was still alive.’

  “ ‘Not so, my boy,’ one of the cops picking up the corpse cried out, ‘that one’s done for, pierced through the heart with a dagger thrust, as usual.’

  “ ‘Hell’s bells!’ said another, ‘again we got here too late, like yesterday!’ At this, they cleared off with the corpse.

  “I can’t even describe the state I was in; it was as if a bad dream were taunting me, as if I would wake at any minute and be stunned by the mad delusion— Cardillac— the father of my beloved Madelon, a nefarious murderer!— Legs gone limp, I collapsed on the stone steps of a house. The morning sun shone ever more brightly overhead; an officer’s hat, richly bedecked with feathers, lay there before me on the pavement. Then the hard reality dawned on me: Cardillac’s bloody deed was perpetrated on the very spot where I sat. Horrified, I ran away.

  “Completely bewildered, practically insensate, I was seated there in my garret room when the door flew open, and in stormed René Cardillac. ‘For Christ’s sake, what do you want?’ I cried out to him.

  “Oblivious to my state of mind, he approached me and smiled with quiet calm and an affability that further enhanced my sense of horror. He dragged over an old, shaky footstool and sat himself down beside me where I lay, struck dumb, in a bed of straw.

  “ ‘Now then, Olivier,’ he began, ‘how are you doing, my poor boy? It really was villainously shabby of me to hasten to kick you out of my house. I miss you every which way I turn. I just now happen to have a commission which I cannot possibly complete without your assistance. What do you say you come back to work with me in my atelier? Cat got your tongue? Yes, I know I offended you. I won’t deny that I was mad at you for fooling around with my Madelon. But upon reflection and closer consideration, I have come to the conclusion that, given your skill, your diligence, your devotion, I could not wish for a better son-in-law than you. Come along with me then, and let’s see how you can go about making Madelon your wife.’

  “Cardillac’s words cut me to the quick; shuddering at his malice, I found myself at a loss for words. ‘You hesitate,’ he continued with a sharp tone of voice, his sparkling eyes piercing my heart, ‘you hesitate – perhaps you have other things to do today and can’t make it to my place. Maybe you intend to visit Desgrais, or to introduce yourself to d’Argenson or la Regnie. Beware, my boy, that the claws you hope to draw out to destroy others don’t grab you and tear you to shreds.’

  “At this, I gave vent to all the deep indignation stewing in me. ‘Let them,’ I cried out, ‘let them with terrible deeds on their mind bandy about the names you just cited – I have no business with them.’

  “ ‘As a matter of fact,’ Cardillac continued, ‘as a matter of fact, Olivier, it will bring you honor if you work with me! I am the most famous master goldsmith of my time, so highly esteemed for my loyalty and integrity that any malicious slander would fall back on the head of the slanderer. And as far as Madelon is concerned, I must confess that you owe my indulgence to her persistence. She loves you with an intensity of which I would not have thought the delicate child capable. As soon as you were gone, she fell to the floor before me, hugged my knees, and swore with a thousand tears that she could not live without you. I thought, she’s just imagining, as is often the case with such young things in love, that she’s smitten when the first milksop makes eyes at her. But in truth, my Madelon grew sickly and weak, and when I tried to talk her out of such nonsense, she called out your name a hundred times. What else could I finally do if I didn’t want to see her driven to distraction! Yesterday evening I told her I had given in and would go fetch you today. Overnight she blossomed like a rose and awaits you now beside herself with a lover’s longing.’

  “May God in Heaven forgive me, but I myself don’t know how I suddenly came to be standing the next day in Cardillac’s house, with Madelon shouting out for joy, ‘Olivier, my Olivier, my beloved, my husband!’ She wrapped her arms around me, pressed me tightly to her breast, so that, enraptured with delight, I swore by the Virgin and all that is holy, never, never to leave her again.”

  Shaken by the memory of this decisive moment, Olivier fell silent. “How ghastly!” de Scudéry cried out, horrified at the crime of a man whom she had taken to be the very epitome of virtue and rectitude, “René Cardillac is a member of the murderous band that has for such a long time turned our city into a den of thieves?”

  “Did you say ‘a band,’ Mademoiselle?” Olivier interrupted. “Such a band never existed. It was Cardillac and Cardillac alone who, with reprehensible resourcefulness, sought out and found his murder victims throughout the city. The fact that he was the sole perpetrator, accounts for both the secret of his precise planning of these crimes and the unresolved difficulty to date in tracking him down. But do let me go on, the continuation of my story will help elucidate the secrets of the most despicable and at the same time unhappiest of people. Anyone can well imagine the impossible situation in which I now found myself in the household of the master goldsmith. The step was taken, there was no going back. At times it seemed to me as if I myself had become Cardillac’s murderous henchman – only in Madelon’s loving arms did I forget the agony of guilt that tormented me, only by her side did I manage to blot out any external sign of the nameless grief I felt. When busy with the old man in his workshop, I could not look him in the eye, nor was I able to exchange words, given the horror that made me tremble through and through in the presence of this unspeakable monster who in the daylight hours fulfilled all the virtues of the faithful, tenderhearted father, the upright burgher, and come nightfall concealed his awful acts. Madelon, the pious, angelic child, doted on him with a daughter’s love. My heart was pierced with pain at the thought that, if ever that concealed miscreant got his due, having pulled the wool over his daughter’s eyes with the hellish guile of Satan, she would fall prey to the direst despair. That in and of itself kept my lips sealed, and for that very reason I would have gladly accepted a criminal’s death. Even though I was privy to considerable insights, having overheard the talk of the constabulary, Cardillac’s misdeeds, motives, and manner of execution remained a mystery to me. But I did not have long to wait for their elucidation.

  “One day, Cardillac, who ordinarily aroused my revulsion, was working away in high spirits, joking and laughing, lost in his thoughts. Suddenly, he thrust aside the piece of jewelry on which he had been working so that precious stones and pearls rolled around, impetuously rose to his feet, and said, ‘Olivier, things can’t remain this way between us – our present rapport with each other is intolerable to me! What Desgrais and his henchmen in all their painstaking investigations failed to discover, chance thrust into your hands. You caught me in the act of my nightly endeavors, to which my unlucky star drives me, there’s no denying it. It was also your misfortune that made you follow me in the shadow of night, your muffled footsteps enabling you to go unnoticed, like a tiny forest creature, so that I who can ordinarily pierce the darkness with the attentiveness of a tiger, pacing the streets, attuned to the buzz of a fly and the slightest other sound, failed to notice your presence. Your unlucky star, my fine fellow, led you to me. Hoodwinking you, under the present circumstances, is no longer an option. Therefore, you shall know everything.’

  “Never again will I be your fine friend, you two-faced scoundrel!— This I wanted to cry out, but the utter horror with which Cardillac’s words filled my heart gagged my mouth. Instead of words, all I managed to emit was an incomprehensible gurgle.

  “Cardillac sat himself back down in his work chair. He wiped the sweat from his brow. Profoundly taken aback by the memory of what I’d witnessed, he seemed hard-pressed to get ahold of himself. At last he began: ‘Wise men like to speak of the extraordinary impressions pregnant women are apt to have, of the wondrous influence such lively, unconscious impressions can have on the child they carry within. I was told a fantastic story about my mother. When she was one month pregnant with me, she and some other women witnessed a sparkling court festivity held at the Trianon. Her glance fell on a gentleman in Spanish costume with a glittering diamond necklace around his neck, which she could not take her eyes off. Her entire being was filled with the desire to possess that string of sparkling stones which seemed to give its wearer an otherworldly aura. Many years ago, before my mother married, the same gentleman stalked her virtue, but found himself rebuffed with repugnance. My mother recognized him again, but now it seemed to her as if the shimmer of those glittering stones transformed him into a higher being, the very epitome of splendor. The gentleman noticed my mother’s yearning, fiery looks. He thought he might now have more success with her than before. He managed to draw near, and even to separate her from her friends and lure her to a lonely spot. There he clasped her in his arms with lusty intent – my mother reached for the lovely necklace, but at that same moment he sank down and dragged my mother with him to the ground. I do not know whether he suffered a sudden stroke, or whether it was for some other reason, but suffice it to say he dropped dead. My mother’s best efforts were in vain; she could not manage to release herself from the arms of the corpse locked in rigor mortis. With his cavernous, unseeing gaze locked upon her, the dead man dragged her to the ground. Her shrieking call for help finally reached the ears of distant passersby, who rushed over and tore her free of the arms of her frightful would-be lover. The terrible shock sent my mother to a sickbed. It was thought that she would lose me, the child growing in her, but she recovered and the delivery proved more successful than anyone could have hoped.

  “ ‘But the lingering shock of that terrible experience made its mark on me. My unlucky star hovered above me and showered me with sparks that ignited the strangest inherited trait. Already in earliest childhood I was bedazzled above all else by glittering diamonds and golden jewelry. It was taken to be a perfectly common childish inclination, but it proved to be something else, for even as a boy I stole gold and jewels wherever I could lay my hands on them. Like a practiced connoisseur, I soon developed an instinct for distinguishing between fake costume and real jewelry. Only the real deal caught my eye – the fake stuff, like gold-plating, left me cold. The father’s crass inclinations bequeathed avidity to the son. Just to be able to handle gold and precious stones, I gravitated to the goldsmith’s trade. I took pains to master the craft and soon became the foremost practitioner.

  “ ‘Then began a period in my life when my impulse, so long kept in check, erupted and grew into an indomitable drive to grab anything I laid my eyes on. As soon as I completed and delivered a commissioned piece of jewelry I fell into a state of inner turmoil, into a desolation that robbed me of sleep, vigor, and the will to live. Like a ghost, the person for whom I labored haunted me day and night, decked out with my jewelry, and a voice whispered in my ear: It belongs to you, after all— it belongs to you, after all— take it back— what good do diamonds do the dead? Until, finally, I resorted to the art of thievery.

  “ ‘Having access to the homes of the rich and powerful, I quickly seized every opportunity. No lock withstood my ability to crack it, and so, soon enough, the jewelry I’d fashioned was back in my hands. But that was not enough to quell my disquiet. That uncanny voice vented, scoffed at me, and cried out in my ear: Ho ho, a dead man dons your jewels! I myself can’t say how it happened that I developed an unfathomable loathing for those for whom I crafted jewelry. Yes indeed, a lust to kill them stirred in my heart of hearts, an urge that made me shudder. Around that time, I bought this house. I came to an agreement with the owner – here in this room we sat celebrating the signing of the contract over a bottle of wine. Night fell, and he was about to leave when the erstwhile owner said to me, “Listen, Master René, before you go, I must reveal to you a secret about this house.” He unlocked that hidden recess in the wall, shoved aside the rear partition, bent over, and opened a trapdoor. We descended a steep, narrow stairway, came to a small portal which he unlocked, and stepped out into the rear courtyard. Then the old gentleman who sold me the house approached the outer wall, pushed on a slightly protruding iron handle, and a piece of the wall pivoted such that a man could easily slip through the opening and reach the street. You must once see the escape hatch for yourself, Olivier, probably designed by sly monks from the cloister formerly located here to secretly slip in and out without being noticed. It’s made of a piece of wood cemented over and painted on the outside that lets out onto a hollow recess containing the statue of a saint, likewise carved of wood, but made to look like stone. The entire structure, including the statue, is designed to turn on invisible hinges. Dark thoughts came to mind as I considered this contrivance; it seemed to me as if deeds still undreamed of were foreordained and preconceived. I knew that I had just recently delivered to a gentleman at court a piece of lavish jewelry destined to adorn a dancer at the opera. The threat of a tortuous death did not dissuade me— the thought of a ghastly deed held to me like a shadow— Satan kept whispering in my ear!— I moved into the house.

  “ ‘Bathed in a cold sweat of fear I staggered, sleepless, around in my room! In my mind’s eye, I saw the man sneaking along to a rendezvous with the dancer carrying my jewelry. In a fit of rage, I jumped up, flung on my coat, descended the secret stairway, and slipped through the trapdoor in the wall out into the rue Nicaise. He came walking along, I assaulted him, he cried out— but grabbing hold of him from the rear, I thrust a dagger in his heart— the jewelry was mine! Having done so, I felt a calmness, a profound sense of satisfaction seeped into my soul the like of which I had never felt before. The ghostly urge evaporated, Satan’s whispering voice went silent. I knew then what my unlucky star demanded of me. Henceforth, I had to yield to that urge or else perish in my restraint.