CHAPTER XCII.
A NIGHT AT THE BASTILLE.
Pain, anguish, and suffering in human life, are always in proportion tothe strength with which a man is endowed. We will not pretend to saythat Heaven always apportions to a man's capability of endurance theanguish with which He afflicts him; such, indeed, would not be exact,since Heaven permits the existence of death, which is, sometimes, theonly refuge open to those who are too closely pressed--too bitterlyafflicted, as far as the body is concerned. Suffering is in proportionto the strength which has been accorded to a person; in other words, theweak suffer more, where the trial is the same, than the strong. And whatare the elementary principles, we may ask, which compose human strength?Is it not--more than anything else--exercise, habit, experience? Weshall not even take the trouble to demonstrate that, for it is an axiomin morals, as in physics. When the young king, stupefied and crushed inevery sense and feeling, found himself led to a cell in the Bastille, hefancied that death itself is but a sleep; that it too, has its dreams aswell; that the bed had broken through the flooring of his room at Vaux;that death had resulted from the occurrence; and that, still carryingout his dream, as the king, Louis XIV., now no longer living, wasdreaming one of those horrors, impossible to realize in life, which istermed dethronement, imprisonment and insult toward a sovereign whoformerly wielded unlimited power. To be present at--an actual witness,too--of this bitterness of death; to float, undecisively, in anincomprehensible mystery, between resemblance and reality; to heareverything, to see everything, without interfering with a single detailof agonizing suffering, was--so the king thought within himself--atorture far more terrible, since it might last forever. "Is this what istermed eternity--hell?" he murmured, at the moment the door closed uponhim, which Baisemeaux had himself shut.
He did not even look round him; and in the room, leaning with his backagainst the wall, he allowed himself to be carried away by the terriblesupposition that he was already dead, as he closed his eyes, in order toavoid looking upon something even worse still. "How can I have died?" hesaid to himself, sick with terror. "The bed might have been let down bysome artificial means? But no! I do not remember to have received anycontusion, nor any shock either. Would they not rather have poisoned meat one of my meals, or with the fumes of wax, as they did my ancestress,Jeanne d'Albret?" Suddenly the chill of the dungeon seemed to fall likea cloak upon Louis's shoulders. "I have seen," he said, "my father lyingdead upon his funeral couch, in his regal robes. That pale face, so calmand worn; those hands, once so skillful, lying nerveless by his side;those limbs stiffened by the icy grasp of death; nothing there betokeneda sleep peopled with dreams. And yet how numerous were the dreams whichHeaven might have sent that royal corpse--him, whom so many others hadpreceded, hurried away by him into eternal death! No, that king wasstill the king; he was enthroned still upon that funeral couch, as upona velvet armchair; he had not abdicated aught of his majesty. God, whohad not punished him, cannot, will not punish me, who have donenothing."
A strange sound attracted the young man's attention. He looked roundhim, and saw on the mantel-shelf, just below an enormous crucifix,coarsely painted in fresco on the wall, a rat of enormous size engagedin nibbling a piece of dry bread, but fixing, all the time, anintelligent and inquiring look upon the new occupant of the cell. Theking could not resist a sudden impulse of fear and disgust; he movedback toward the door uttering a loud cry; and, as if he but needed thiscry, which escaped from his breast almost unconsciously, to recognizehimself, Louis knew that he was alive and in full possession of hisnatural senses. "A prisoner!" he cried. "I--I, a prisoner!" He lookedround him for a bell to summon some one to him. "There are no bells atthe Bastille," he said, "and it is in the Bastille I am imprisoned. Inwhat way can I have been made a prisoner? It must have been owing to aconspiracy of M. Fouquet. I have been drawn to Vaux as into a snare. M.Fouquet cannot be acting alone in this affair. His agent--. That voice Ibut just now heard was M. d'Herblay's; I recognized it. Colbert wasright, then. But what is Fouquet's object? To reign in my place andstead?--Impossible! Yet, who knows!" thought the king, relapsing intogloom again. "Perhaps, my brother, the Duc d'Orleans, is doing thatwhich my uncle wished to do during the whole of his life against myfather. But the queen?--My mother, too? And La Valliere? Oh! LaValliere, she will have been abandoned to Madame. Dear, dear girl! Yes,it is--it must be so. They must have shut her up, as they have me. Weare separated forever!" And at this idea of separation, the poor loverburst into a flood of tears, and sobs and groans.
"There is a governor in this place," the king continued, in a fury ofpassion; "I will speak to him, I will summon him to me."
He called, but no voice replied to his. He seized hold of his chair, andhurled it against the massive oaken door. The wood resounded against thedoor, and awakened many a mournful echo in the profound depths of thestaircase; but from a human creature, not one.
This was a fresh proof for the king of the slight regard in which he washeld at the Bastille. Therefore, when his first fit of anger had passedaway, having remarked a barred window, through which there passed astream of light, lozenge-shaped, which must be, he knew, the bright orbof approaching day, Louis began to call out, at first gently enough,then louder and louder still; but no one replied to him. Twenty otherattempts which he made, one after another, obtained no other or bettersuccess. His blood began to boil within him, and mount to his head. Hisnature was such, that, accustomed to command, he trembled at the idea ofdisobedience. By degrees, his anger increased more and more. Theprisoner broke the chair, which was too heavy for him to lift, and madeuse of it as a battering-ram to strike against the door. He struck soloudly, and so repeatedly, that the perspiration soon began to pour downhis face. The sound became tremendous and continuous; some stifled,smothered cries replied in different directions. This sound produced astrange effect upon the king. He paused to listen to it; it was thevoices of the prisoners, formerly his victims, now his companions. Thevoices ascended like vapors through the thick ceilings and the massivewalls, and rose in accusation against the author of this noise, asdoubtless their sighs and tears accused, in whispered tones, the authorof their captivity. After having deprived so many people of theirliberty, the king came among them to rob them of their rest. This ideaalmost drove him mad; it redoubled his strength, or rather his will,bent upon obtaining some information, or a conclusion to the affair.With a portion of the broken chair he recommenced the noise. At the endof an hour, Louis heard something in the corridor, behind the door ofhis cell, and a violent blow, which was returned upon the door itself,made him cease his own.
"Are you mad?" said a rude brutal voice. "What is the matter with youthis morning?"
"This morning!" thought the king; but he said aloud, politely,"Monsieur, are you the governor of the Bastille?"
"My good fellow, your head is out of sorts," replied the voice; "butthat is no reason why you should make such a terrible disturbance. Bequiet, mordioux!"
"Are you the governor?" the king inquired again.
He heard a door on the corridor close; the jailer had just left, noteven condescending to reply a single word. When the king had assuredhimself of his departure, his fury knew no longer any bounds. As agileas a tiger, he leaped from the table to the window, and struck the ironbars with all his might. He broke a pane of glass, the pieces of whichfell clanking into the courtyard below. He shouted with increasinghoarseness, "The governor, the governor!" This access lasted fully anhour, during which time he was in a burning fever. With his hair indisorder and matted on his forehead, his dress torn and whitened, hislinen in shreds, the king never rested until his strength was utterlyexhausted, and it was not until then that he clearly understood thepitiless thickness of the walls, the impenetrable nature of the cement,invincible to all other influence but that of time, and possessed of noother weapon but despair. He leaned his forehead against the door, andlet the feverish throbbings of his heart calm by degrees; it had seemedas if one single additional pulsation would hav
e made it burst.
"A moment will come when the food which is given to the prisoners willbe brought to me. I shall then see some one, I shall speak to him, andget an answer."
And the king tried to remember at what hour the first repast of theprisoners was served at the Bastille; he was ignorant even of thisdetail. The feeling of remorse at this remembrance smote him like thekeen thrust of a dagger, that he should have lived for five-and-twentyyears a king, and in the enjoyment of every happiness, without havingbestowed a moment's thought on the misery of those who had been unjustlydeprived of their liberty. The king blushed from very shame. He feltthat Heaven, in permitting this fearful humiliation, did no more thanrender to the man the same torture as was inflicted by that man upon somany others. Nothing could be more efficacious for re-awakening hismind to religious influences, than the prostration of his heart, andmind, and soul beneath the feeling of such acute wretchedness. But Louisdared not even kneel in prayer to God to entreat him to terminate hisbitter trial.
"Heaven is right," he said; "Heaven acts wisely. It would be cowardly topray to Heaven for that which I have so often refused to my ownfellow-creatures."
He had reached this stage of his reflections, that is, of his agony ofmind, when a similar noise was again heard behind his door, followedthis time by the sound of the key in the lock, and of the bolts beingwithdrawn from their staples. The king bounded forward to be nearer tothe person who was about to enter, but, suddenly reflecting that it wasa movement unworthy of a sovereign, he paused, assumed a noble and calmexpression, which for him was easy enough, and waited with his backturned toward the window, in order, to some extent, to conceal hisagitation from the eyes of the person who was about entering. It wasonly a jailer with a basket of provisions. The king looked at the manwith restless anxiety, and waited until he spoke.
"Ah!" said the latter, "you have broken your chair. I said you had doneso! Why, you must have become quite mad."
"Monsieur," said the king, "be careful what you say; it will be a veryserious affair for you."
The jailer placed the basket on the table, and looked at his prisonersteadily.
"What do you say?" he said.
"Desire the governor to come to me," added the king, in accents full ofcalm dignity.
"Come, my boy," said the turnkey, "you have always been very quiet andreasonable, but you are getting vicious, it seems, and I wish you toknow it in time. You have broken your chair, and made a greatdisturbance; that is an offense punishable by imprisonment in one of thelower dungeons. Promise me not to begin over again, and I will not say aword about it to the governor."
"I wish to see the governor," replied the king, still controlling hispassion.
"He will send you off to one of the dungeons, I tell you: so take care."
"I insist upon it, do you hear?"
"Ah! ah! your eyes are becoming wild again. Very good! I shall take awayyour knife."
And the jailer did what he said, quitted the prisoner, and closed thedoor, leaving the king more astounded, more wretched, and more isolatedthan ever. It was useless, though he tried it, to make the same noiseagain on his door, and equally useless that he threw the plates anddishes out of the window; not a single sound was heard in answer. Twohours afterward he could not be recognized as a king, a gentleman, aman, a human being; he might rather be called a madman, tearing the doorwith his nails, trying to tear up the flooring of his cell, and utteringsuch wild and fearful cries that the old Bastille seemed to tremble toits very foundations for having revolted against its master.
As for the governor, the jailer did not even think of disturbing him;the turnkeys and the sentinels had reported the occurrence to him, butwhat was the good of it? were not these madmen common enough in thefortress? and were not the walls still stronger than they? M. deBaisemeaux, thoroughly impressed with what Aramis had told him, and inperfect conformity with the king's order, hoped only that one thingmight happen; namely, that the madman Marchiali might be mad enough tohang himself to the canopy of his bed, or to one of the bars of thewindow. In fact, the prisoner was anything but a profitable investmentfor M. Baisemeaux, and became more annoying than agreeable to him. Thesecomplications of Seldon and Marchiali--the complications, first, ofsetting at liberty and then imprisoning again, the complications arisingfrom the strong likeness in question--had at last found a very proper_denouement_. Baisemeaux even thought he had remarked that D'Herblayhimself was not altogether dissatisfied at it.
"And then, really," said Baisemeaux to his next in command, "anordinary prisoner is already unhappy enough in being a prisoner; hesuffers quite enough indeed to induce one to hope charitably enough thathis death may not be far distant. With still greater reason, then, whenthe prisoner has gone mad, and might bite and make a terribledisturbance in the Bastille; why, in that case, it is not simply an actof mere charity to wish him dead; it would be almost a good and evencommendable action, quietly to put him out of his misery."
And the good-natured governor thereupon sat down to his late breakfast.
The Vicomte de Bragelonne Page 93
