Chapter 19

My voyage to paris. My uncle’s trial. My care to ensure its success.

Either the stress of my journey or my convalescence resulted in a swelling of my legs, and it was impossible to greet my uncle before my second day in this immense capital city.  He gave me the most flattering welcome and showered me with friendship on my introduction, and his wife greeted me with kindness. [1]  Both asked me to dine with them the next day, and after accepting their invitation, I retired to my hotel. I met them promptly at the appointed hour, and my uncle gave me the details of his trial, and the preposterous claims his family brought against him. Soon I was completely on his side, and told him of my own experiences with this kind of scandalous attack. I offered my advice and assistance, and he quickly grew to understand my sincerity. 

He asked where my hotel was, and I pointed it out to him, though it was too far away for a friendly visit. He mentioned that he was friends with Mr. Rigal, proprietor of the Hotel Mazarine at  rue Mazarine #54, [2] who was visiting that evening, a man who he wanted me to become acquainted with. Rigal turned up as predicted, and after some conversation, my uncle asked if there might be accommodations for me at the Mazarin. Mr. Rigal happily granted his wishes, and asked me to come see the hotel with him when we left. We said our farewells to my uncle and his wife, and soon agreed that I would stay at the Mazarin the next day. 

Though my uncle was pleased by this arrangement, he seemed dreamy and melancholic, to such a point that I was worried for his health. I tried to distract him from his devious family and the unjust trial, all those torments that were wrecking his life. He began to relax, and asked if I would write to his family who hadn’t taken part in the attack. Two answered, but their responses were outrageous, designed to drive an angry wedge between my uncle and myself. This I would relay to the government in a letter in 1813, informing them of the slander his greedy family had brought against him. 

Happily, this letter produced the effect I’d planned, and a judgment was rendered in my uncle’s favor. There had been much attention to the case in the public, and the people were impatient to know the result. They were soon satisfied. The Imperial Prosecutor, as he was then called, ruled in favor of my uncle, and the President, elegantly proclaimed the virtues and of this respectable, moral old man of 85, a man his family attempted to be declared insane and stripped of property, his estate divided among his survivors, sharing the spoils even before his death. True family should show respect, not criminal impatience. The speech was lively and stirring, touching the hearts of the entire audience, and everyone suddenly wanted to know this respectable old man and offer their congratulations. [3]

I immediately went to my uncle to tell him of the verdict, how I’d helped him in his success, the only member of his family to aid him against his adversaries. I fear he would be overcome by his joy, but he had been confident in the judicial system, that it would render a fair verdict. That said, he was grateful for my help. And in the presence of his wife, his niece, and a company of other people, said that since their revolting family had caused him so much grief, that his estate would come to me at his death, a person worthy of the name, Berbiguier. I would make the best use of the estate, and stay true to his good name. 

I begged him to change his mind, to share his wealth with his family, but his pain was too fresh. He invited me to come the next day when he would make his wishes official. And so things remained for six months. The night before he died, I left his company at eight o’clock, wondering how I could convince him to step back from this harsh judgment against his family, but still that night, I was his sole heir, and from the day of the trial he did not waiver from that choice until the moment of his surprising illness. 

[1] According to Marie Mauron (p117), M.B.’s uncle was Xavier Berbiguier, who died in 1813 “Madame Berbiguier” dies in 1820. 

[2] Balzac describes the Mazarine district as “one of the most horrible corners of Paris.” (Mauron, 113). One website describes it as “the old Jewish quarter.” It’s been somewhat gentrified over the years, but there’s some noteworthy residents: Jean-Francois Champollion who deciphered the Rosetta stone, a few different theatres, anarchist Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, Eduard Manet. Today, No. 54 is an apartment block with 28 units, with an art gallery on the ground level.

[3] Berbs notes that he will include this speech in his documents, if he is able.These do not seem to be included, though there are a number of letters in Vol.3 related to M.B.’s uncle’s estate. If it somehow turns up in a later volume I’ll include it here.