Tip:
Highlight text to annotate it
X
Chapter 1b The Prisoner Aramis almost imperceptibly smiled.
"'You know, Dame Perronnette, they are both so suspicious in all that concerns Philippe.'
"Philippe was the name they gave me," said the prisoner.
"'Well, 'tis no use hesitating,' said Dame Perronnette, 'somebody must go down the well.'
"'Of course; so that the person who goes down may read the paper as he is coming up.'
"'But let us choose some villager who cannot read, and then you will be at ease.'
"'Granted; but will not any one who descends guess that a paper must be important for which
we risk a man's life? However, you have given me an idea, Dame Perronnette; somebody shall
go down the well, but that somebody shall be myself.'
"But at this notion Dame Perronnette lamented and cried in such a manner, and so implored
the old nobleman, with tears in her eyes, that he promised her to obtain a ladder long
enough to reach down, while she went in search of some stout-hearted youth, whom she was
to persuade that a jewel had fallen into the well, and that this jewel was wrapped in a
paper. 'And as paper,' remarked my preceptor, 'naturally unfolds in water, the young man
would not be surprised at finding nothing, after all, but the letter wide open.'
"'But perhaps the writing will be already effaced by that time,' said Dame Perronnette.
"'No consequence, provided we secure the letter. On returning it to the queen, she will see
at once that we have not betrayed her; and consequently, as we shall not rouse the distrust
of Mazarin, we shall have nothing to fear from him.'
"Having come to this resolution, they parted. I pushed back the shutter, and, seeing that
my tutor was about to re-enter, I threw myself on my couch, in a confusion of brain caused
by all I had just heard. My governor opened the door a few moments after, and thinking
I was asleep gently closed it again. As soon as ever it was shut, I rose, and, listening,
heard the sound of retiring footsteps. Then I returned to the shutters, and saw my tutor
and Dame Perronnette go out together. I was alone in the house. They had hardly closed
the gate before I sprang from the window and ran to the well. Then, just as my governor
had leaned over, so leaned I. Something white and luminous glistened in the green and quivering
silence of the water. The brilliant disk fascinated and allured me; my eyes became fixed, and
I could hardly breathe. The well seemed to draw me downwards with its slimy mouth and
icy breath; and I thought I read, at the bottom of the water, characters of fire traced upon
the letter the queen had touched. Then, scarcely knowing what I was about, and urged on by
one of those instinctive impulses which drive men to destruction, I lowered the cord from
the windlass of the well to within about three feet of the water, leaving the bucket dangling,
at the same time taking infinite pains not to disturb that coveted letter, which was
beginning to change its white tint for the hue of chrysoprase,—proof enough that it
was sinking,—and then, with the rope weltering in my hands, slid down into the abyss. When
I saw myself hanging over the dark pool, when I saw the sky lessening above my head, a cold
shudder came over me, a chill fear got the better of me, I was seized with giddiness,
and the hair rose on my head; but my strong will still reigned supreme over all the terror
and disquietude. I gained the water, and at once plunged into it, holding on by one hand,
while I immersed the other and seized the dear letter, which, alas! came in two in my
grasp. I concealed the two fragments in my body-coat, and, helping myself with my feet
against the sides of the pit, and clinging on with my hands, agile and vigorous as I
was, and, above all, pressed for time, I regained the brink, drenching it as I touched it with
the water that streamed off me. I was no sooner out of the well with my prize, than I rushed
into the sunlight, and took refuge in a kind of shrubbery at the bottom of the garden.
As I entered my hiding-place, the bell which resounded when the great gate was opened,
rang. It was my preceptor come back again. I had but just time. I calculated that it
would take ten minutes before he would gain my place of concealment, even if, guessing
where I was, he came straight to it; and twenty if he were obliged to look for me. But this
was time enough to allow me to read the cherished letter, whose fragments I hastened to unite
again. The writing was already fading, but I managed to decipher it all.
"And will you tell me what you read therein, monseigneur?" asked Aramis, deeply interested.
"Quite enough, monsieur, to see that my tutor was a man of noble rank, and that Perronnette,
without being a lady of quality, was far better than a servant; and also to perceived that
I must myself be high-born, since the queen, Anne of Austria, and Mazarin, the prime minister,
commended me so earnestly to their care." Here the young man paused, quite overcome.
"And what happened?" asked Aramis. "It happened, monsieur," answered he, "that
the workmen they had summoned found nothing in the well, after the closest search; that
my governor perceived that the brink was all watery; that I was not so dried by the sun
as to prevent Dame Perronnette spying that my garments were moist; and, lastly, that
I was seized with a violent fever, owing to the chill and the excitement of my discovery,
an attack of delirium supervening, during which I related the whole adventure; so that,
guided by my avowal, my governor found the pieces of the queen's letter inside the bolster
where I had concealed them." "Ah!" said Aramis, "now I understand."
"Beyond this, all is conjecture. Doubtless the unfortunate lady and gentleman, not daring
to keep the occurrence secret, wrote of all this to the queen and sent back the torn letter."
"After which," said Aramis, "you were arrested and removed to the Bastile."
"As you see." "Your two attendants disappeared?"
"Alas!" "Let us not take up our time with the dead,
but see what can be done with the living. You told me you were resigned."
"I repeat it." "Without any desire for freedom?"
"As I told you." "Without ambition, sorrow, or thought?"
The young man made no answer. "Well," asked Aramis, "why are you silent?"
"I think I have spoken enough," answered the prisoner, "and that now it is your turn. I
am weary." Aramis gathered himself up, and a shade of
deep solemnity spread itself over his countenance. It was evident that he had reached the crisis
in the part he had come to the prison to play. "One question," said Aramis.
"What is it? speak." "In the house you inhabited there were neither
looking-glasses nor mirrors?" "What are those two words, and what is their
meaning?" asked the young man; "I have no sort of knowledge of them."
"They designate two pieces of furniture which reflect objects; so that, for instance, you
may see in them your own lineaments, as you see mine now, with the naked eye."
"No; there was neither a glass nor a mirror in the house," answered the young man.
Aramis looked round him. "Nor is there anything of the kind here, either," he said; "they
have again taken the same precaution." "To what end?"
"You will know directly. Now, you have told me that you were instructed in mathematics,
astronomy, fencing, and riding; but you have not said a word about history."
"My tutor sometimes related to me the principal deeds of the king, St. Louis, King Francis
I., and King Henry IV." "Is that all?"
"Very nearly." "This also was done by design, then; just
as they deprived you of mirrors, which reflect the present, so they left you in ignorance
of history, which reflects the past. Since your imprisonment, books have been forbidden
you; so that you are unacquainted with a number of facts, by means of which you would be able
to reconstruct the shattered mansion of your recollections and your hopes."
"It is true," said the young man. "Listen, then; I will in a few words tell
you what has passed in France during the last twenty-three or twenty-four years; that is,
from the probable date of your birth; in a word, from the time that interests you."
"Say on." And the young man resumed his serious and attentive attitude.
"Do you know who was the son of Henry IV.?" "At least I know who his successor was."
"How?" "By means of a coin dated 1610, which bears
the effigy of Henry IV.; and another of 1612, bearing that of Louis XIII. So I presumed
that, there being only two years between the two dates, Louis was Henry's successor."
"Then," said Aramis, "you know that the last reigning monarch was Louis XIII.?"
"I do," answered the youth, slightly reddening. "Well, he was a prince full of noble ideas
and great projects, always, alas! deferred by the trouble of the times and the dread
struggle that his minister Richelieu had to maintain against the great nobles of France.
The king himself was of a feeble character, and died young and unhappy."
"I know it." "He had been long anxious about having a heir;
a care which weighs heavily on princes, who desire to leave behind them more than one
pledge that their best thoughts and works will be continued."
"Did the king, then, die childless?" asked the prisoner, smiling.
"No, but he was long without one, and for a long while thought he should be the last
of his race. This idea had reduced him to the depths of despair, when suddenly, his
wife, Anne of Austria—" The prisoner trembled.
"Did you know," said Aramis, "that Louis XIII.'s wife was called Anne of Austria?"
"Continue," said the young man, without replying to the question.
"When suddenly," resumed Aramis, "the queen announced an interesting event. There was
great joy at the intelligence, and all prayed for her happy delivery. On the 5th of September,
1638, she gave birth to a son." Here Aramis looked at his companion, and thought
he observed him turning pale. "You are about to hear," said Aramis, "an account which few
indeed could now avouch; for it refers to a secret which they imagined buried with the
dead, entombed in the abyss of the confessional." "And you will tell me this secret?" broke
in the youth. "Oh!" said Aramis, with unmistakable emphasis,
"I do not know that I ought to risk this secret by intrusting it to one who has no desire
to quit the Bastile." "I hear you, monsieur."
"The queen, then, gave birth to a son. But while the court was rejoicing over the event,
when the king had show the new-born child to the nobility and people, and was sitting
gayly down to table, to celebrate the event, the queen, who was alone in her room, was
again taken ill and gave birth to a second son."
"Oh!" said the prisoner, betraying a bitter acquaintance with affairs than he had owned
to, "I thought that Monsieur was only born in—"
Aramis raised his finger; "Permit me to continue," he said.
The prisoner sighed impatiently, and paused. "Yes," said Aramis, "the queen had a second
son, whom Dame Perronnette, the midwife, received in her arms."
"Dame Perronnette!" murmured the young man. "They ran at once to the banqueting-room,
and whispered to the king what had happened; he rose and quitted the table. But this time
it was no longer happiness that his face expressed, but something akin to terror. The birth of
twins changed into bitterness the joy to which that of an only son had given rise, seeing
that in France (a fact you are assuredly ignorant of) it is the oldest of the king's sons who
succeeds his father." "I know it."
"And that the doctors and jurists assert that there is ground for doubting whether the son
that first makes his appearance is the elder by the law of heaven and of nature."
The prisoner uttered a smothered cry, and became whiter than the coverlet under which
he hid himself. "Now you understand," pursued Aramis, "that
the king, who with so much pleasure saw himself repeated in one, was in despair about two;
fearing that the second might dispute the first's claim to seniority, which had been
recognized only two hours before; and so this second son, relying on party interests and
caprices, might one day sow discord and engender civil war throughout the kingdom; by these
means destroying the very dynasty he should have strengthened."
"Oh, I understand!—I understand!" murmured the young man.
"Well," continued Aramis; "this is what they relate, what they declare; this is why one
of the queen's two sons, shamefully parted from his brother, shamefully sequestered,
is buried in profound obscurity; this is why that second son has disappeared, and so completely,
that not a soul in France, save his mother, is aware of his existence."
"Yes! his mother, who has cast him off," cried the prisoner in a tone of despair.
"Except, also," Aramis went on, "the lady in the black dress; and, finally, excepting—"
"Excepting yourself—is it not? You who come and relate all this; you, who rouse in my
soul curiosity, hatred, ambition, and, perhaps, even the thirst of vengeance; except you,
monsieur, who, if you are the man to whom I expect, whom the note I have received applies
to, whom, in short, Heaven ought to send me, must possess about you—"
"What?" asked Aramis. "A portrait of the king, Louis XIV., who at
this moment reigns upon the throne of France." "Here is the portrait," replied the bishop,
handing the prisoner a miniature in enamel, on which Louis was depicted life-like, with
a handsome, lofty mien. The prisoner eagerly seized the portrait, and gazed at it with
devouring eyes. "And now, monseigneur," said Aramis, "here
is a mirror." Aramis left the prisoner time to recover his ideas.
"So high!—so high!" murmured the young man, eagerly comparing the likeness of Louis with
his own countenance reflected in the glass. "What do you think of it?" at length said
Aramis. "I think that I am lost," replied the captive;
"the king will never set me free." "And I—I demand to know," added the bishop,
fixing his piercing eyes significantly upon the prisoner, "I demand to know which of these
two is king; the one this miniature portrays, or whom the glass reflects?"
"The king, monsieur," sadly replied the young man, "is he who is on the throne, who is not
in prison; and who, on the other hand, can cause others to be entombed there. Royalty
means power; and you behold how powerless I am."
"Monseigneur," answered Aramis, with a respect he had not yet manifested, "the king, mark
me, will, if you desire it, be the one that, quitting his dungeon, shall maintain himself
upon the throne, on which his friends will place him."
"Tempt me not, monsieur," broke in the prisoner bitterly.
"Be not weak, monseigneur," persisted Aramis; "I have brought you all the proofs of your
birth; consult them; satisfy yourself that you are a king's son; it is for us to act."
"No, no; it is impossible." "Unless, indeed," resumed the bishop ironically,
"it be the destiny of your race, that the brothers excluded from the throne should be
always princes void of courage and honesty, as was your uncle, M. Gaston d'Orleans, who
ten times conspired against his brother Louis XIII."
"What!" cried the prince, astonished; "my uncle Gaston 'conspired against his brother';
conspired to dethrone him?" "Exactly, monseigneur; for no other reason.
I tell you the truth." "And he had friends—devoted friends?"
"As much so as I am to you." "And, after all, what did he do?—Failed!"
"He failed, I admit; but always through his own fault; and, for the sake of purchasing—not
his life—for the life of the king's brother is sacred and inviolable—but his liberty,
he sacrificed the lives of all his friends, one after another. And so, at this day, he
is a very blot on history, the detestation of a hundred noble families in this kingdom."
"I understand, monsieur; either by weakness or treachery, my uncle slew his friends."
"By weakness; which, in princes, is always treachery."
"And cannot a man fail, then, from incapacity and ignorance? Do you really believe it possible
that a poor captive such as I, brought up, not only at a distance from the court, but
even from the world—do you believe it possible that such a one could assist those of his
friends who should attempt to serve him?" And as Aramis was about to reply, the young
man suddenly cried out, with a violence which betrayed the temper of his blood, "We are
speaking of friends; but how can I have any friends—I, whom no one knows; and have neither
liberty, money, nor influence, to gain any?" "I fancy I had the honor to offer myself to
your royal highness." "Oh, do not style me so, monsieur; 'tis either
treachery or cruelty. Bid me not think of aught beyond these prison-walls, which so
grimly confine me; let me again love, or, at least, submit to my slavery and my obscurity."
"Monseigneur, monseigneur; if you again utter these desperate words—if, after having received
proof of your high birth, you still remain poor-spirited in body and soul, I will comply
with your desire, I will depart, and renounce forever the service of a master, to whom so
eagerly I came to devote my assistance and my life!"
"Monsieur," cried the prince, "would it not have been better for you to have reflected,
before telling me all that you have done, that you have broken my heart forever?"
"And so I desire to do, monseigneur." "To talk to me about power, grandeur, eye,
and to prate of thrones! Is a prison the fit place? You wish to make me believe in splendor,
and we are lying lost in night; you boast of glory, and we are smothering our words
in the curtains of this miserable bed; you give me glimpses of power absolute whilst
I hear the footsteps of the every-watchful jailer in the corridor—that step which,
after all, makes you tremble more than it does me. To render me somewhat less incredulous,
free me from the Bastile; let me breathe the fresh air; give me my spurs and trusty sword,
then we shall begin to understand each other." "It is precisely my intention to give you
all this, monseigneur, and more; only, do you desire it?"
"A word more," said the prince. "I know there are guards in every gallery, bolts to every
door, cannon and soldiery at every barrier. How will you overcome the sentries—spike
the guns? How will you break through the bolts and bars?"
"Monseigneur,—how did you get the note which announced my arrival to you?"
"You can bribe a jailer for such a thing as a note."
"If we can corrupt one turnkey, we can corrupt ten."
"Well; I admit that it may be possible to release a poor captive from the Bastile; possible
so to conceal him that the king's people shall not again ensnare him; possible, in some unknown
retreat, to sustain the unhappy wretch in some suitable manner."
"Monseigneur!" said Aramis, smiling. "I admit that, whoever would do this much
for me, would seem more than mortal in my eyes; but as you tell me I am a prince, brother
of the king, how can you restore me the rank and power which my mother and my brother have
deprived me of? And as, to effect this, I must pass a life of war and hatred, how can
you cause me to prevail in those combats—render me invulnerable by my enemies? Ah! monsieur,
reflect on all this; place me, to-morrow, in some dark cavern at a mountain's base;
yield me the delight of hearing in freedom sounds of the river, plain and valley, of
beholding in freedom the sun of the blue heavens, or the stormy sky, and it is enough. Promise
me no more than this, for, indeed, more you cannot give, and it would be a crime to deceive
me, since you call yourself my friend." Aramis waited in silence. "Monseigneur," he
resumed, after a moment's reflection, "I admire the firm, sound sense which dictates your
words; I am happy to have discovered my monarch's mind."
"Again, again! oh, God! for mercy's sake," cried the prince, pressing his icy hands upon
his clammy brow, "do not play with me! I have no need to be a king to be the happiest of
men." "But I, monseigneur, wish you to be a king
for the good of humanity." "Ah!" said the prince, with fresh distrust
inspired by the word; "ah! with what, then, has humanity to reproach my brother?"
"I forgot to say, monseigneur, that if you would allow me to guide you, and if you consent
to become the most powerful monarch in Christendom, you will have promoted the interests of all
the friends whom I devote to the success of your cause, and these friends are numerous."
"Numerous?" "Less numerous than powerful, monseigneur."
"Explain yourself." "It is impossible; I will explain, I swear
before Heaven, on that day that I see you sitting on the throne of France."
"But my brother?" "You shall decree his fate. Do you pity him?"
"Him, who leaves me to perish in a dungeon? No, no. For him I have no pity!"
"So much the better." "He might have himself come to this prison,
have taken me by the hand, and have said, 'My brother, Heaven created us to love, not
to contend with one another. I come to you. A barbarous prejudice has condemned you to
pass your days in obscurity, far from mankind, deprived of every joy. I will make you sit
down beside me; I will buckle round your waist our father's sword. Will you take advantage
of this reconciliation to put down or restrain me? Will you employ that sword to spill my
blood?' 'Oh! never,' I would have replied to him, 'I look on you as my preserver, I
will respect you as my master. You give me far more than Heaven bestowed; for through
you I possess liberty and the privilege of loving and being loved in this world.'"
"And you would have kept your word, monseigneur?" "On my life! While now—now that I have guilty
ones to punish—" "In what manner, monseigneur?"
"What do you say as to the resemblance that Heaven has given me to my brother?"
"I say that there was in that likeness a providential instruction which the king ought to have heeded;
I say that your mother committed a crime in rendering those different in happiness and
fortune whom nature created so startlingly alike, of her own flesh, and I conclude that
the object of punishment should be only to restore the equilibrium."
"By which you mean—" "That if I restore you to your place on your
brother's throne, he shall take yours in prison." "Alas! there's such infinity of suffering
in prison, especially it would be so for one who has drunk so deeply of the cup of enjoyment."
"Your royal highness will always be free to act as you may desire; and if it seems good
to you, after punishment, you will have it in your power to pardon."
"Good. And now, are you aware of one thing, monsieur?"
"Tell me, my prince." "It is that I will hear nothing further from
you till I am clear of the Bastile." "I was going to say to your highness that
I should only have the pleasure of seeing you once again."
"And when?" "The day when my prince leaves these gloomy
walls." "Heavens! how will you give me notice of it?"
"By myself coming to fetch you." "Yourself?"
"My prince, do not leave this chamber save with me, or if in my absence you are compelled
to do so, remember that I am not concerned in it."
"And so I am not to speak a word of this to any one whatever, save to you?"
"Save only to me." Aramis bowed very low. The prince offered his hand.
"Monsieur," he said, in a tone that issued from his heart, "one word more, my last. If
you have sought me for my destruction; if you are only a tool in the hands of my enemies;
if from our conference, in which you have sounded the depths of my mind, anything worse
than captivity result, that is to say, if death befall me, still receive my blessing,
for you will have ended my troubles and given me repose from the tormenting fever that has
preyed on me for eight long, weary years." "Monseigneur, wait the results ere you judge
me," said Aramis. "I say that, in such a case, I bless and forgive
you. If, on the other hand, you are come to restore me to that position in the sunshine
of fortune and glory to which I was destined by Heaven; if by your means I am enabled to
live in the memory of man, and confer luster on my race by deeds of valor, or by solid
benefits bestowed upon my people; if, from my present depths of sorrow, aided by your
generous hand, I raise myself to the very height of honor, then to you, whom I thank
with blessings, to you will I offer half my power and my glory: though you would still
be but partly recompensed, and your share must always remain incomplete, since I could
not divide with you the happiness received at your hands."
"Monseigneur," replied Aramis, moved by the pallor and excitement of the young man, "the
nobleness of your heart fills me with joy and admiration. It is not you who will have
to thank me, but rather the nation whom you will render happy, the posterity whose name
you will make glorious. Yes; I shall indeed have bestowed upon you more than life, I shall
have given you immortality." The prince offered his hand to Aramis, who
sank upon his knee and kissed it. "It is the first act of homage paid to our
future king," said he. "When I see you again, I shall say, 'Good day, sire.'"
"Till then," said the young man, pressing his wan and wasted fingers over his heart,—"till
then, no more dreams, no more strain on my life—my heart would break! Oh, monsieur,
how small is my prison—how low the window—how narrow are the doors! To think that so much
pride, splendor, and happiness, should be able to enter in and to remain here!"
"Your royal highness makes me proud," said Aramis, "since you infer it is I who brought
all this." And he rapped immediately on the door. The jailer came to open it with Baisemeaux,
who, devoured by fear and uneasiness, was beginning, in spite of himself, to listen
at the door. Happily, neither of the speakers had forgotten to smother his voice, even in
the most passionate outbreaks. "What a confessor!" said the governor, forcing
a laugh; "who would believe that a compulsory recluse, a man as though in the very jaws
of death, could have committed crimes so numerous, and so long to tell of?"
Aramis made no reply. He was eager to leave the Bastile, where the secret which overwhelmed
him seemed to double the weight of the walls. As soon as they reached Baisemeaux's quarters,
"Let us proceed to business, my dear governor," said Aramis.
"Alas!" replied Baisemeaux. "You have to ask me for my receipt for one
hundred and fifty thousand livres," said the bishop.
"And to pay over the first third of the sum," added the poor governor, with a sigh, taking
three steps towards his iron strong-box. "Here is the receipt," said Aramis.
"And here is the money," returned Baisemeaux, with a threefold sigh.
"The order instructed me only to give a receipt; it said nothing about receiving the money,"
rejoined Aramis. "Adieu, monsieur le governeur!" And he departed, leaving Baisemeaux almost
more than stifled with joy and surprise at this regal present so liberally bestowed by
the confessor extraordinary to the Bastile.