CHAPTER LXXV.
THE PRISONER.
Since Aramis' singular transformation into a confessor of the order,Baisemeaux was no longer the same man. Up to that period, the placewhich Aramis had held in the worthy governor's estimation was that of aprelate whom he respected and a friend to whom he owed a debt ofgratitude; but now he felt himself an inferior, and that Aramis was hismaster. He himself lighted a lantern, summoned a turnkey, and said,returning to Aramis, "I am at your orders, monseigneur." Aramis merelynodded his head, as much as to say, "Very good;" and signed to him withhis hand to lead the way. Baisemeaux advanced, and Aramis followed him.It was a beautiful starry night; the steps of the three men resounded onthe flags of the terraces, and the clinking of the keys hanging from thejailer's girdle made itself heard up to the stories of the towers, as ifto remind the prisoners that liberty was out of their reach. It mighthave been said that the alteration effected in Baisemeaux had extendeditself even to the prisoners. The turnkey, the same who on Aramis' firstarrival had shown himself so inquisitive and curious, had now become notonly silent, but even impassible. He held his head down, and seemedafraid to keep his ears open. In this wise they reached the basement ofthe Bertaudiere, the two first stories of which were mounted silentlyand somewhat slowly; for Baisemeaux, though far from disobeying, was farfrom exhibiting any eagerness to obey. On arriving at the door,Baisemeaux showed a disposition to enter the prisoner's chamber; butAramis, stopping him on the threshold, said, "The rules do not allow thegovernor to hear the prisoner's confession."
Baisemeaux bowed, and made way for Aramis, who took the lantern andentered; and then signed to them to close the door behind him. For aninstant he remained standing, listening whether Baisemeaux and theturnkey had retired; but as soon as he was assured by the sound of theirdying footsteps that they had left the tower, he put the lantern on thetable and gazed around. On a bed of green serge, similar in all respectsto the other beds in the Bastille, save that it was newer, and undercurtains half-drawn, reposed a young man, to whom we have already oncebefore introduced Aramis. According to custom, the prisoner was withouta light. At the hour of curfew, he was bound to extinguish his lamp, andwe perceive how much he was favored, in being allowed to keep it burningeven till then. Near the bed a large leathern armchair, with twistedlegs, sustained his clothes. A little table--without pens, books, paper,or ink--stood neglected in sadness near the window; while severalplates, still unemptied, showed that the prisoner had scarcely touchedhis recent repast. Aramis saw that the young man was stretched upon hisbed, his face half-concealed by his arms. The arrival of a visitor didnot cause any change of position, either he was waiting in expectation,or was asleep. Aramis lighted the candle from the lantern, pushed backthe armchair, and approached the bed with an evident mixture of interestand respect. The young man raised his head. "What is it?" said he.
"Have you not desired a confessor?" replied Aramis.
"Yes."
"Because you are ill?"
"Yes."
"Very ill?"
The young man gave Aramis a piercing glance, and answered "I thank you."After a moment's silence, "I have seen you before," he continued.
Aramis bowed.
Doubtless, the scrutiny the prisoner had just made of the cold, crafty,and imperious character stamped upon the features of the bishop ofVannes was little reassuring to one in his situation, for he added, "Iam better."
"And then?" said Aramis.
"Why then--being better, I have no longer the same need of a confessor,I think."
"Not even of the haircloth, which the note you found in your breadinformed you of?"
The young man started; but before he had either assented or denied,Aramis continued, "Not, even, of the ecclesiastic from whom you were tohear an important revelation?"
"If it be so," said the young man, sinking again on his pillow, "it isdifferent; I listen."
Aramis then looked at him more closely, and was struck with the easymajesty of his mien, one which can never be acquired unless Heaven hasimplanted it in the blood or heart. "Sit down, monsieur," said theprisoner.
Aramis bowed and obeyed. "How does the Bastille agree with you?" askedthe bishop.
"Very well."
"You do not suffer?"
"No."
"You have nothing to regret?"
"Nothing."
"Not even your liberty?"
"What do you call liberty, monsieur?" asked the prisoner, with the toneof a man who is preparing for a struggle.
"I call liberty, the flowers, the air, light, the stars, the happinessof going whithersoever the nervous limbs of twenty years of age may wishto carry you." The young man smiled, whether in resignation or contempt,it was difficult to tell. "Look," said he, "I have in that Japanese vasetwo roses gathered yesterday evening in the bud from the governor'sgarden; this morning they have blown and spread their vermilion chalicesbeneath my gaze; with every opening petal they unfold the treasures oftheir perfume, filling my chamber with a fragrance that embalms it. Looknow on these two roses; even among roses these are beautiful, and therose is the most beautiful of flowers. Why, then, do you bid me desireother flowers when I possess the loveliest of all?"
Aramis gazed at the young man in surprise. "If _flowers_ constituteliberty," sadly resumed the captive, "I am free, for I possess them."
"But the air!" cried Aramis; "air so necessary to life!"
"Well, monsieur," returned the prisoner; "draw near to the window; it isopen. Between heaven and earth the wind whirls on its storms of hailand lightning, wafts its warm mists or breathes in gentle breezes. Itcaresses my face. When mounted on the back of this armchair, with my armaround the bars of the window to sustain myself, I fancy I am swimmingin the wide expanse before me." The countenance of Aramis darkened asthe young man continued: "Light I have! what is better than light! Ihave the sun, a friend who comes to visit me every day without thepermission of the governor or the jailer's company. He comes in at thewindow and traces in my room a square the shape of the window, and whichlights up the hangings of my bed down to the border. This luminoussquare increases from ten o'clock till mid-day, and decreases from onetill three slowly, as if, having hastened to come, it sorrowed atleaving me. When its last ray disappears, I have enjoyed its presencefor four hours. Is not that sufficient? I have been told that there areunhappy beings who dig in quarries, and laborers who toil in mines, andwho never behold it at all." Aramis wiped the drops from his brow. "Asto the stars which are so delightful to view," continued the young man,"they all resemble each other save in size and brilliancy. I am afavored mortal, for if you had not lighted that candle, you would havebeen able to see the beautiful stars which I was gazing at from my couchbefore your arrival, and whose rays were playing over my eyes." Aramislowered his head; he felt himself overwhelmed with the bitter flow ofthat sinister philosophy which is the religion of the captive. "So much,then, for the flowers, the air, the daylight, and the stars," tranquillycontinued the young man; "there remains but my exercise. Do I not walkall day in the governor's garden if it is fine--here if it rains; in thefresh air if it is warm; in the warm, thanks to my winter stove, if itbe cold? Ah! monsieur, do you fancy," continued the prisoner, notwithout bitterness, "that men have not done everything for me that a mancan hope for or desire!"
"Men!" said Aramis; "be it so; but it seems to me you forget Heaven."
"Indeed I have forgotten Heaven," murmured the prisoner, with emotion;"but why do you mention it? Of what use is it to talk to a prisoner ofHeaven?"
Aramis looked steadily at this singular youth, who possessed theresignation of a martyr with the smile of an atheist. "Is not Heaven ineverything?" he murmured in a reproachful tone.
"Say rather, at the end of everything," answered the prisoner, firmly.
"Be it so," said Aramis; "but let us return to our starting-point."
"I desire nothing better," returned the young man.
"I am your confessor."
"Yes."
"Well, then, you ought, as a penitent, to tell me the truth."
"All that I wish is to tell it you."
"Every prisoner has committed some crime for which he has beenimprisoned. What crime then have _you_ committed?"
"You asked me the same question the first time you saw me," returned theprisoner.
"And then, as now, you evaded giving me an answer."
"And what reason have you for thinking that I shall now reply to you?"
"Because this time I am your confessor."
"Then, if you wish me to tell what crime I have committed, explain to mein what a crime consists. For as my conscience does not accuse me, Iaver that I am not a criminal."
"We are often criminals in the sight of the great of the earth, notalone for having ourselves committed crimes, but because we know thatcrimes have been committed."
The prisoner manifested the deepest attention. "Yes, I understand you,"he said, after a pause; "yes, you are right, monsieur; it is verypossible that, in that light, I am a criminal in the eyes of the greatof the earth."
"Ah! then you know something," said Aramis, who thought he had piercednot merely through a defect in, but through the joints of the harness.
"No, I am not aware of anything," replied the young man; "but sometimesI think--and I say to myself--"
"What do you say to yourself?"
"That if I were to think any further I should either go mad or I shoulddivine a great deal."
"And then--and then?" said Aramis, impatiently.
"Then I leave off."
"You leave off?"
"Yes; my head becomes confused and my ideas melancholy; I feel ennuiovertaking me; I wish--"
"What?"
"I don't know; but I do not like to give myself up to longing for thingswhich I do not possess, when I am so happy with what I have."
"You are afraid of death?" said Aramis, with a slight uneasiness.
"Yes," said the young man, smiling.
Aramis felt the chill of that smile, and shuddered. "Oh, as you feardeath, you know more about matters than you say," he cried.
"And you," returned the prisoner, "who bade me to ask to see you--you,who, when I did ask for you, came here promising a world ofconfidence--how is it that, nevertheless, it is you who are silent, and'tis I who speak? Since, then, we both wear masks, either let us bothretain them or put them aside together."
Aramis felt the force and justice of the remark, saying to himself,"This is no ordinary man; I must be cautious. Are you ambitious?" saidhe suddenly to the prisoner aloud, without preparing him for thealteration.
"What do you mean by ambition?" replied the youth.
"It is," replied Aramis, "a feeling which prompts a man to desire morethan he has."
"I said that I was contented, monsieur; but perhaps I deceive myself. Iam ignorant of the nature of ambition; but it is not impossible I mayhave some. Tell me your mind; 'tis all I wish."
"An ambitious man," said Aramis, "is one who covets what is beyond hisstation."
"I covet nothing beyond my station," said the young man, with anassurance of manner which for the second time made the bishop of Vannestremble.
He was silent. But to look at the kindling eye, the knitted brow, andthe reflective attitude of the captive, it was evident that he expectedsomething more than silence--a silence which Aramis now broke. "You liedthe first time I saw you," said he.
"Lied!" cried the young man, starting up on his couch, with such a tonein his voice, and such a lightning in his eyes, that Aramis recoiled inspite of himself.
"I _should_ say," returned Aramis, bowing, "you concealed from me whatyou knew of your infancy."
"A man's secrets are his own, monsieur," retorted the prisoner, "and notat the mercy of the first chance-comer."
"True," said Aramis, bowing still lower than before, "'tis true; pardonme, but to-day do I still occupy the place of a chance-comer? I beseechyou to reply, monseigneur."
This title slightly disturbed the prisoner; but nevertheless he did notappear astonished that it was given him. "I do not know you, monsieur,"said he.
"Oh, if I but dared, I would take your hand and would kiss it."
The young man seemed as if he were going to give Aramis his hand; butthe light which beamed in his eyes faded away, and he coldly anddistrustfully withdrew his hand again. "Kiss the hand of a prisoner," hesaid, shaking his head; "to what purpose?"
"Why did you tell me," said Aramis, "that you were happy here? Why, thatyou aspired to nothing? Why, in a word, by thus speaking, do you preventme from being frank in my turn?"
The same light shone a third time in the young man's eyes, but diedineffectually away as before.
"You distrust me," said Aramis.
"And why say you so, monsieur?"
"Oh, for a very simple reason; if you know what you ought to know, youought to mistrust everybody."
"Then be not astonished that I am mistrustful, since you suspect me ofknowing what I know not."
Aramis was struck with admiration at this energetic resistance. "Oh,monseigneur! you drive me to despair," said he, striking the armchairwith his fist.
"And on my part I do not comprehend you, monsieur."
"Well, then, try to understand me." The prisoner looked fixedly atAramis. "Sometimes it seems to me," said the latter, "that I have beforeme the man whom I seek, and then--"
"And then your man disappears--is it not so?" said the prisoner,smiling. "So much the better."
Aramis rose. "Certainly," said he; "I have nothing further to say to aman who mistrusts me as you do."
"And I, monsieur," said the prisoner, in the same tone, "have nothing tosay to a man who will not understand that a prisoner ought to bemistrustful of everybody."
"Even of his old friends?" said Aramis. "Oh, monseigneur, you are _too_prudent!"
"Of my old friends?--you one of my old friends--you?"
"Do you no longer remember," said Aramis, "that you once saw in thevillage where your early years were spent--"
"Do you know the name of the village?" asked the prisoner.
"Noisy-le-Sec, monseigneur," answered Aramis, firmly.
"Go on," said the young man, with an immovable aspect.
"Stay, monseigneur," said Aramis; "if you are positively resolved tocarry on this game, let us break off. I am here to tell you many things,'tis true; but you must allow me to see that, on your side, you have adesire to know them. Before revealing the important matters I conceal,be assured I am in need of some encouragement, if not candor; a littlesympathy, if no confidence. But you keep yourself intrenched in apretended ignorance which paralyzes me. Oh, not for the reason youthink; for, ignorant as you may be, or indifferent as you feign to be,you are none the less what you are, monseigneur, and there isnothing--nothing, mark me! which can cause you not to be so."
"I promise you," replied the prisoner, "to hear you without impatience.Only it appears to me that I have a right to repeat the question I havealready asked--'Who _are_ you?'"
"Do you remember, fifteen or eighteen years ago, seeing at Noisy-le-Seca cavalier, accompanied by a lady in black silk, with flame-coloredribbons in her hair?"
"Yes," said the young man; "I once asked the name of this cavalier, andthey told me he called himself the Abbe d'Herblay. I was astonished thatthe abbe had so warlike an air, and they replied that there was nothingsingular in that, seeing that he was one of Louis XIII.'s musketeers."
"Well," said Aramis, "that musketeer and abbe, afterward bishop ofVannes, is your confessor now."
"I know it; I recognized you."
"Then, monseigneur, if you know that, I must further add a fact of whichyou are ignorant--that if the king were to know this evening of thepresence of this musketeer, this abbe, this bishop, this confessor,_here_--he, who has risked everything to visit you, would to-morrow seeglitter the executioner's ax at the bottom of a dungeon more gloomy andmore obscure than yours."
While hearing these words, delivered with emphasis, the
young man hadraised himself on his couch and gazed more and more eagerly at Aramis.
The result of this scrutiny was that he appeared to derive someconfidence from, it. "Yes," he murmured, "I remember perfectly. Thewoman of whom you speak came once with you, and twice afterward withanother." He hesitated.
"With another woman, who came to see you every month--is it not so,monseigneur?"--"Yes."
"Do you know who this lady was?"
The light seemed ready to flash from the prisoner's eyes. "I am awarethat she was one of the ladies of the court," he said.
"You remember that lady well, do you not?"
"Oh, my recollection can hardly be very confused on this head," said theyoung prisoner. "I saw that lady once with a gentleman about forty-fiveyears old. I saw her once with you, and with the lady dressed in black.I have seen her twice since with the same person. These four people,with my master, and old Perronnette, my jailer, and the governor of theprison, are the only persons with whom I have ever spoken, and, indeed,almost the only persons I have ever seen."
"Then, you were in prison?"
"If I am a prisoner here, there I was comparatively free, although in avery narrow sense--a house which I never quitted, a garden surroundedwith walls I could not clear, these constituted my residence; but youknow it, as you have been there. In a word, being accustomed to livewithin these bounds, I never cared to leave them. And so you willunderstand, monsieur, that not having seen any thing of the world, Ihave nothing left to care for; and, therefore, if you relate anything,you will be obliged to explain everything to me."
"And I will do so," said Aramis, bowing, "for it is my duty,monseigneur."
"Well, then, begin by telling me who was my tutor."
"A worthy, and, above all, an honorable gentleman, monseigneur; fitguide both for body and soul. Had you ever any reason to complain ofhim?"
"Oh, no; quite the contrary. But this gentleman of yours often used totell me that my father and mother were dead. Did he deceive me, or didhe speak the truth?"
"He was compelled to comply with the orders given him."
"Then he lied?"
"In one respect. Your father is dead."
"And my mother?"
"She is dead for you."
"But then she lives for others, does she not?"
"Yes."
"And I--and I, then" (the young man looked sharply at Aramis), "amcompelled to live in the obscurity of a prison?"
"Alas! I fear so."
"And that, because my presence in the world would lead to the revelationof a great secret?"
"Certainly, a very great secret."
"My enemy must indeed be powerful, to be able to shut up in the Bastillea child such as I then was."
"He is."
"More powerful than my mother, then?"
"And why do you ask that?"
"Because my mother would have taken my part."
Aramis hesitated. "Yes, monseigneur; more powerful than your mother."
"Seeing, then, that my nurse and preceptor were carried off, and that I,also, was separated from them--either they were, or I am, very dangerousto my enemy?"
"Yes; a peril from which he freed himself, by causing the nurse andpreceptor to disappear," answered Aramis quietly.
"Disappear!" cried the prisoner--"but how did they disappear?"
"In the surest possible way," answered Aramis;--"they are dead."
The young man turned visibly pale, and passed his hand tremblingly overhis face. "From poison?" he asked.
"From poison."
The prisoner reflected a moment. "My enemy must indeed have been verycruel, or hard beset by necessity, to assassinate those two innocentpeople, my sole support; for the worthy gentleman and the poor nurse hadnever harmed a living being."
"In your family, monseigneur, necessity is stern. And so it is necessitywhich compels me, to my great regret, to tell you that this gentlemanand the unhappy lady have been assassinated."
"Oh, you tell me nothing I am not aware of," said the prisoner, knittinghis brows.
"How?"
"I suspected it."
"Why?"
"I will tell you."
At this moment the young man, supporting himself on his two elbows,drew close to Aramis' face, with such an expression of dignity, ofself-command, and of defiance even, that the bishop felt the electricityof enthusiasm strike in devouring flashes from that seared heart of his,into his brain of adamant.
"Speak, monseigneur. I have already told you that, by conversing withyou, I endanger my life. Little value as it has, I implore you to acceptit as the ransom of your own."
"Well," resumed the young man, "this is why I suspected that they hadkilled my nurse and my preceptor."
"Whom you used to call your father."
"Yes; whom I called my father, but whose son I well knew I was not."
"Who caused you to suppose so?"
"For the same reason that you, monsieur, are too respectful for afriend, he was also too respectful for a father."
"I, however," said Aramis, "have no intention to disguise myself."
The young man nodded assent, and continued:--"Undoubtedly, I was notdestined to perpetual seclusion," said the prisoner; "and that whichmakes me believe so, above all, now, is the care that was taken torender me as accomplished a cavalier as possible. The gentleman attachedto my person taught me everything he knew himself--mathematics, a littlegeometry, astronomy, fencing, and riding. Every morning I went throughmilitary exercises, and practiced on horseback. Well, one morning duringsummer, it being very hot, I went to sleep in the hall. Nothing up tothat period, except the respect paid me, had enlightened me, or evenroused my suspicions. I lived as children, as birds, as plants, as theair and the sun do. I had just turned my fifteenth year--"
"This, then, is eight years ago?"
"Yes, nearly; but I have ceased to reckon time."
"Excuse me; but what did your tutor tell you to encourage you to work?"
"He used to say that a man was bound to make for himself in the world,that fortune which Heaven had refused him at his birth. He added, that,being a poor obscure orphan, I had no one but myself to look to; andthat nobody either did, or ever would, take any interest in me. I wasthen in the hall I have spoken of, asleep from fatigue in fencing. Mypreceptor was in his room on the first floor, just over me. Suddenly Iheard him exclaim: and then he called, 'Perronnette! Perronnette!' Itwas my nurse whom he called."
"Yes; I know it," said Aramis. "Continue, monseigneur."
"Very likely she was in the garden; for my preceptor came hastilydownstairs. I rose, anxious at seeing him anxious. He opened thegarden-door, still crying out, 'Perronnette! Perronnette!' The windowsof the hall looked into the court; the shutters were closed; but througha chink in them I saw my tutor draw near a large well, which was almostdirectly under the windows of his study. He stooped over the brim,looked into the well, again cried out, and made wild and affrightedgestures. Where I was, I could not only see, but hear--and see and hearI did."
"Go on, I pray you," said Aramis.
"Dame Perronnette came running up, hearing the governor's cries. He wentto meet her, took her by the arm, and drew her quickly toward the edge;after which, as they both bent over it together, 'Look, look,' cried he,'what a misfortune!'
"'Calm yourself, calm yourself,' said Perronnette; 'what is the matter?'
"'The letter!' he exclaimed; 'do you see that letter?' pointing to thebottom of the well.
"'What letter?' she cried.
"'The letter you see down there; the last letter from the queen.'
"At this word I trembled. My tutor--he who passed for my father, he whowas continually I recommending me modesty and humility--incorrespondence with the queen!
"'The queen's last letter!' cried Perronnette, without showing moreastonishment than at seeing this letter at the bottom of the well; 'buthow came it there?'
"'A chance, Dame Perronnette--a singular chance. I was entering myroom, and on
opening the door, the window, too, being open, a puff ofair came suddenly and carried off this paper--this letter of hermajesty's; I darted after it, and gained the window just in time to seeit flutter a moment in the breeze and disappear down the well.'
"'Well,' said Dame Perronnette; 'and if the letter has fallen into thewell, 'tis all the same as if it was burned; and as the queen burns allher letters every time she comes--'
"And so you see this lady who came every month was the queen," said theprisoner.
"'Doubtless, doubtless,' continued the old gentleman; 'but this lettercontained instructions--how can I follow them?'
"'Write immediately to her; give her a plain account of the accident,and the queen will no doubt write you another letter in place of this.'
"'Oh! the queen would never believe the story,' said the good gentleman,shaking his head; 'she will imagine that I want to keep this letterinstead of giving it up like the rest, so as to have a hold over her.She is so distrustful, and M. de Mazarin so--. This devil of an Italianis capable of having us poisoned at the first breath of suspicion.'"
Aramis almost imperceptibly smiled.
"'You know, Dame Perronnette, they are both so suspicious in all thatconcerns Philippe.'
"'Philippe' was the name they gave me," said the prisoner.
"'Well, 'tis no use hesitating,' said Dame Perronnette, 'somebody mustgo down the well.'
"'Of course; so that the person who goes down may read the paper as heis coming up.'
"'But let us choose some villager who cannot read, and then you will beat ease.'
"'Granted; but will not any one who descends guess that a paper must beimportant for which we risk a man's life? However, you have given me anidea, Dame Perronnette; somebody shall go down the well, but thatsomebody shall be myself.'
"But at this notion Dame Perronnette lamented and cried in such amanner, and so implored the old nobleman, with tears in her eyes, thathe promised her to obtain a ladder long enough to reach down, while shewent in search of some stout-hearted youth, whom she was to persuadethat a jewel had fallen into the well, and that this jewel was wrappedin a paper. 'And as paper,' remarked my preceptor, 'naturally unfolds inwater, the young man would not be surprised at finding nothing afterall, but the letter wide open.'
"'But perhaps the writing will be already effaced by that time,' saidDame Perronnette.
"'No consequence, provided we secure the letter. On returning it to thequeen, she will see at once that we have not betrayed her; andconsequently, as we shall not rouse the distrust of Mazarin, we shallhave 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 mycouch, in a confusion of brain caused by all I had just heard. Mygovernor 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 theshutter, and saw my tutor and Dame Perronnette go out together. I wasalone in the house. They had hardly closed the gate before I sprang fromthe window and ran to the well. Then, just as my governor had leanedover, so leaned I. Something white and luminous glistened in the greenand quivering ripples of the water. The brilliant disk fascinated andallured me; my eyes became fixed, and I could hardly breathe. The wellseemed to draw me in with its large mouth and icy breath; and I thoughtI read, at the bottom of the water, characters of fire traced upon theletter the queen had touched. Then, scarcely knowing what I was about,and urged on by one of those instinctive impulses which drive men upontheir destruction, I lowered the cord from the windlass of the well towithin about three feet of the water, leaving the bucket dangling, andat the same time taking infinite pains not to disturb that covetedletter, which was beginning to change its white tint for a greenishhue--proof enough that it was sinking--and then, with the rope welteringin my hands, slid down into the abyss.
"When I saw myself hanging over the dark pool, when I saw the skylessening above my head, a cold shudder came over me, a chill fear gotthe better of me, I was seized with giddiness, and the hair rose on myhead; but my strong will still reigned supreme over all the terror anddisquietude. I gained the water, and at once plunged into it, holding onby 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 inmy body-coat, and helping myself with my feet against the side of thepit, 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 Itouched it with the water that streamed off me. I was no sooner out ofthe well with my prize, than I rushed into the sunlight, and took refugein a kind of shrubbery at the bottom of the garden. As I entered myhiding-place, the bell which resounded when the great gate was opened,rang. It was my preceptor come back again. I had but just time. Icalculated that it would take ten minutes before he would gain my placeof 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 enoughto allow me to read the cherished letter, whose fragments I hastened tounite again. The writing was already fading, but I managed to decipherit all."
"And what read you there, 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 betterthan a servant; and also to perceive 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 hadsummoned found nothing in the well, after the closest search; that mygovernor perceived that the brink was all watery; that I was not so welldried by the sun as to escape Dame Perronnette's observing that mygarments were moist; and, lastly, that I was seized with a violentfever, owing to the chill and the excitement of my discovery, an attackof delirium supervening, during which I related the whole adventure; sothat, guided by my avowal, my governor found, under the bolster, the twopieces of the queen's letter."
"Ah!" said Aramis, "now I understand."
"Beyond this all is conjecture. Doubtless the unfortunate lady andgentleman, not daring to keep the occurrence secret, wrote all to thequeen, and sent back to her the torn letter."
"After which," said Aramis, "you were arrested and removed to theBastille."
"As you see."
"Then your two attendants disappeared?"
"Alas!"
"Let us not take up our time with the dead, but see what can be donewith the living. You told me you were resigned."
"I repeat it."
"Without any desire for freedom?"
"As I told you."
"Without ambition, sorrow, or even 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 itis your turn. I am weary."
Aramis gathered himself up, and a shade of deep solemnity spread itselfover his countenance. It was evident that he had reached the crisis inthe 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 normirrors?"
"What are those two words, and what is their meaning?" asked the youngman; "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 minenow, with the naked eye."
"No; then there was neither a glass nor a mirror in the house," answeredthe young man.
Aramis looked round him. "Nor is there here either," he said; "they haveagain taken the same precaution."
"To what end?"
"You will know directly. Now, you ha
ve told me that you were instructedin mathematics, astronomy, fencing, and riding; but you have not said aword 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 ofmirrors, which reflect the present, so they left you in ignorance ofhistory, which reflects the past. Since your imprisonment books havebeen forbidden you; so that you are unacquainted with a number of facts,by means of which you would be able to reconstruct the shattered edificeof 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 Franceduring the last twenty-three or twenty-four years; that is, from theprobable date of your birth; in a word, from the time that interestsyou."
"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.; andanother of 1612, bearing that of Louis XIII. So I presumed that, therebeing only two years between the two dates, Louis was Henry'ssuccessor."
"Then," said Aramis, "you know that the last reigning monarch was LouisXIII.?"
"I do," answered the youth, slightly reddening.
"Well, he was a prince full of noble ideas and great projects, always,alas! deferred by the troubles of the times and the struggle that hisminister 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 an heir; a care which weighsheavily on princes, who desire to leave behind them more than one pledgethat their thoughts and their 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 shouldbe the last of his race. This idea had reduced him to the depths ofdespair, when suddenly, his wife, Anne of Austria--"
The prisoner trembled.
"Did you know," said Aramis, "that Louis XIII.'s wife was called Anne ofAustria?"
"Continue," said the young man, without replying to the question.
"When suddenly," resumed Aramis, "the queen announced an interestingevent. There was great joy at the intelligence, and all prayed for herhappy delivery. On the 5th of September, 1638, she gave birth to a son."
Here Aramis looked at his companion, and thought he observed him turningpale. "You are about to hear," said Aramis, "an account which few couldnow give; for it refers to a secret which they think buried with thedead or 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 Iought to risk this secret by intrusting it to one who has no desire toquit the Bastille."
"I hear you, monsieur."
"The queen, then, gave birth to a son. But while the court was rejoicingover the event, when the king had shown the new-born child to thenobility and people, and was sitting gayly down to table to celebratethe 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 better acquaintance with affairsthan he had owned to, "I thought that Monsieur was only born a--"
Aramis raised his finger. "Let me 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 whathad happened: he rose and quitted the table. But this time it was nolonger happiness that his face expressed, but something akin to terror.The birth of twins changed into bitterness the joy to which that of anonly son had given rise, seeing that in France (a fact you are assuredlyignorant of) it is the oldest of the king's sons who succeeds hisfather."
"I know it."
"And that the doctors and jurists assert that there is ground fordoubting whether he who first makes his appearance is the elder by thelaw of Heaven and of nature."
The prisoner uttered a smothered cry, and became whiter than thecoverlet under which he hid himself.
"Now you understand," pursued Aramis, "that the king, who, with so muchpleasure, saw himself repeated in one, was in despair about two; fearingthat the second might dispute the first's claim to seniority, which hadbeen recognized only two hours before; and so this second son, relyingon party interests and caprices, might one day sow discord and engendercivil war in the kingdom; by these means destroying the very dynasty heshould 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 hisbrother, shamefully sequestered, is buried in the profoundest obscurity;this is why that second son has disappeared, and so completely, that nota soul in France, save his mother, is aware of his existence."
"Yes! his mother, who has cast him off!" cried the prisoner, in a toneof 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 thethirst of vengeance; except you, monsieur, who, if you are the man whomI 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 thethrone of France."
"Here is the portrait," replied the bishop, handing the prisoner aminiature in enamel, on which Louis was depicted life-like, with ahandsome, lofty mien. The prisoner eagerly seized the portrait, andgazed at it with devouring eyes.
"And now, monseigneur," said Aramis, "here is a mirror." Aramis left theprisoner time to recover his ideas.
"So high--so high!" murmured the young man, eagerly comparing thelikeness 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 setme free."
"And I--I demand," added the bishop, fixing his piercing eyessignificantly upon the prisoner, "I demand which of the two is theking--the one whom this miniature portrays, or whom the glass reflects?"
"The king, monsieur," sadly replied the young man, "is he who is on thethrone, who is not in prison; and who, on the other hand, can causeothers to be entombed there. Royalty is power; and you see well howpowerless I am."
"Monseigneur," answered Aramis, with a respect he had not yetmanifested, "the king, mark me, will, if you desire it, be he who,quitting his dungeon, shall maintain himself upon the throne, on whichhis friends will place him."
"Tempt me not, monsieur," broke in the prisoner, bitterly.
"Be not weak, monseigneur," persisted Aramis; "I have brought all theproofs of your birth; consult them; satisfy yourself that you are aking's son; and then let us act."
"No, no; it is impossible."
"Unless, indeed," resumed the bishop, ironically, "it be the destiny ofyour race that the brothers excluded from the throne should be alwaysprinces void of courage and honesty, as was your uncle, M. Gastond'Orleans, who ten times conspired against his brother, Louis XIII."
"What!" cried the prince, astonished, "my uncle Gaston 'conspiredagainst his brother;' conspired to dethrone him?"
"Exactly, monseigneur; for no other reason. I tell you the truth."
"And he ha
d friends--devoted ones?"
"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 sakeof purchasing--not his life--for the life of the king's brother issacred and inviolable--but his liberty, he sacrificed the lives of allhis friends one after another. And so, at this day, he is the very shameof history, and the detestation of a hundred noble families in thiskingdom."
"I understand, monsieur; either by weakness or treachery, my uncle slewhis friends."
"By weakness; which, in princes, is always treachery."
"And cannot a man fail, then, from incapacity and ignorance? Do youreally 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 youbelieve it possible that such a one could assist those of his friendswho should attempt to serve him?" And as Aramis was about to reply, theyoung man suddenly cried out, with a violence which betrayed the temperof his blood, "We are speaking of friends; but how can _I_ have anyfriends--I, whom no one knows; and have neither liberty, money, norinfluence 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! Bidme not think of aught else than these prison-walls, which 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 remainpoor-spirited in body and soul, I will comply with your desire, I willdepart, and renounce forever the service of a master, to whom so eagerlyI came to devote my assistance and my life!"
"Monsieur," cried the prince, "would it not have been better for you tohave reflected, before telling me all that you have done, that you havebroken my heart forever!"
"And so I desired to do, monseigneur."
"To talk to me about power, grandeur, and even royalty. Is a prison thefitting place? You wish to make me believe in splendor, and we are lyinghidden in night; you boast of glory, and we are smothering our words inthe curtains of this miserable bed; you give me glimpses of absolutepower, and I hear the step of the jailer in the corridor--that stepwhich, after all, makes you tremble more than it does me. To render mesomewhat less incredulous, free me from the Bastille; let me breathe thefresh air; give me my spurs and trusty sword, then we shall begin tounderstand each other."
"It is precisely my intention to give you all this, monseigneur, andmore; only, do you desire it?"
"A word more," said the prince. "I know there are guards in everygallery, bolts to every door, cannon and soldiery at every barrier. Howwill you overcome the sentries--spike the guns? How will you breakthrough the bolts and bars?"
"Monseigneur--how did you get the note which announced my arrival toyou?"
"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 fromthe Bastille; possible so to conceal him that the king's people shallnot again ensnare him; possible, in some unknown retreat, to sustain theunhappy wretch in some suitable manner."
"Monseigneur!" said Aramis, smiling.
"I admit that, whoever would do thus much for me, would seem more thanmortal in my eyes; but as you tell me I am a prince, brother of a king,how can you restore me the rank and power which my mother and my brotherhave deprived me of? And as, to effect this, I must pass a life of warand hatred, how will you make me prevail in those combats--render meinvulnerable to my enemies? Ah! monsieur, reflect upon this; place me,to-morrow, in some dark cavern in a mountain's base; yield me thedelight of hearing in freedom the sounds of river and plain, ofbeholding in freedom the sun of the blue heavens, or the stormy sky, andit is enough. Promise me no more than this, for, indeed, more you cannotgive, and it would be a crime to deceive me, since you call yourself myfriend."
Aramis waited in silence. "Monseigneur," he resumed, after a moment'sreflection, "I admire the firm, sound sense which dictates your words;I am happy to have discovered my monarch's mind."
"Again, again! oh! for mercy's sake," cried the prince, pressing his icyhands upon his clammy brow, "do not play with me! I have no need to be aking 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 on earth, youwill have promoted the interests of all the friends whom I devote to thesuccess 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 daythat 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, I pity him not."
"So much the better."
"He might have himself come to this prison, have taken me by the handand have said, 'My brother, Heaven created us to love, not to contendwith one another. I come to you. A barbarous prejudice has condemned youto pass your days in obscurity, far from all men, and deprived of everyjoy. I will make you sit down beside me; I will buckle round your waistour father's sword. Will you take advantage of this reconciliation toput down or to restrain me? Will you employ that sword to spill myblood?' 'Oh! never,' I would have replied to him, 'I look on you as mypreserver, and will respect you as my master. You give me far more thanHeaven bestowed; for through you I possess liberty and the privilege ofloving 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 mybrother?"
"I say that there was in that likeness a providential instruction whichthe king ought to have heeded; I say that your mother committed a crimein rendering those different in happiness and fortune whom naturecreated so similar in her womb; and I conclude that the object ofpunishment 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 shalltake yours in prison."
"Alas! there is so much suffering in prison, especially to a man who hasdrunk so deeply of the cup of enjoyment."
"Your royal highness will always be free to act as you may desire; andif it seems good to you, after punishment, may 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 theBastille."
"I was going to say to your highness that I should only have thepleasure 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 absenceyou 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 toyou?"
"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 wordmore, my last. If you have sought me for my destruction; if you are onlya tool in the hands of my enemies; if from our conference, in which youhave sounded the depths of my mind, anything worse than captivityresult, t
hat is to say, if death befall me, still receive my blessing,for you will have ended my troubles and given me repose from thetormenting fever that has preyed upon me these eight years."
"Monseigneur, wait the result ere you judge me," said Aramis.
"I say that, in such a case, I bless and forgive you. If, on the otherhand, you are come to restore me to that position in the sunshine offortune and glory to which I was destined by Heaven; if by your means Iam enabled to live in the memory of man, and confer luster on my race bydeeds of valor, or by solid benefits bestowed upon my people; if, frommy present depths of sorrow, aided by your generous hand, I raise myselfto 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 stillbe 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 theyoung man, "the nobleness of your heart fills me with joy andadmiration. It is not you who will have to thank me, but rather thenation whom you will render happy, the posterity whose name you willmake glorious. Yes; I shall have bestowed upon you more than life, as Ishall have given you immortality." The prince offered his hand toAramis, who sank upon his knee and kissed it.
"It is the first act of homage paid to our future king," said he. "WhenI see you again, I shall say, 'Good day, sire.'"
"Till then," said the young man, pressing his wan and wasted fingersover his heart--"till then, no more dreams, no more strain upon mylife--it would break! Oh, monsieur, how small is my prison--how low thewindow--how narrow are the doors! To think that so much pride, splendor,and happiness should be able to enter in and remain here!"
"Your royal highness makes me proud," said Aramis, "since you infer itis I who brought all this." And he rapped immediately on the door. Thejailer came to open it with Baisemeaux, who, devoured by fear anduneasiness, 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 wouldbelieve that a mere recluse, a man almost dead, could have committedcrimes so numerous, and so long to tell of?"
Aramis made no reply. He was eager to leave the Bastille, where thesecret which overwhelmed him seemed to double the weight of the walls.
As soon as they reached Baisemeaux's quarters, "Let us proceed tobusiness, my dear governor," said Aramis.
"Alas!" replied Baisemeaux.
"You have to ask me for my receipt for one hundred and fifty thousandlivres," said the bishop.
"And to pay over the first third of the sum," added the poor governor,with a sigh, taking three steps toward 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 aboutreceiving the money," rejoined Aramis. "Adieu, Monsieur le Gouverneur!"
And he departed, leaving Baisemeaux almost more than stifled with joyand surprise at this regal present so liberally bestowed by theconfessor extraordinary to the Bastille.
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