Tip:
Highlight text to annotate it
X
CHAPTER I. The Prisoner.
Part 2
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
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.