THE MORNING.
In opposition to the sad and terrible destiny of the king imprisoned in
the Bastille, and tearing, in sheer despair, the bolts and bars of his
dungeon, the rhetoric of the chroniclers of old would not fail to
present, as a complete antithesis, the picture of Philippe lying asleep
beneath the royal canopy. We do not pretend to say that such rhetoric is
always bad, and always scatters, in places it should not, the flowers
with which it embellishes and enlivens history. But we shall, on the
present occasion, carefully avoid polishing the antithesis in question,
but shall proceed to draw another picture as carefully as possible, to
serve as a companion to the one we have drawn in the last chapter. The
young prince descended from Aramis' room, in the same way the king had
descended from the apartment dedicated to Morpheus. The dome gradually
and slowly sank down under Aramis' pressure, and Philippe stood beside
the royal-bed, which had ascended again after having deposited its
prisoner in the secret depths of the subterranean passage. Alone, in the
presence of all the luxury which surrounded him; alone, in the presence
of his power; alone, with the part he was about to be forced to act,
Philippe for the first time felt his heart, and mind, and soul expand
beneath the influence of a thousand varied emotions, which are the vital
throbs of a king's heart. But he could not help changing color when he
looked upon the empty bed, still tumbled by his brother's body. This
mute accomplice had returned, after having completed the work it had
been destined to perform; it returned with the traces of the crime; it
spoke to the guilty author of that crime, with the frank and unreserved
language which an accomplice never fears using toward his companion in
guilt; for it spoke the truth. Philippe bent over the bed, and
perceived a pocket-handkerchief lying on it, which was still damp from
the cold sweat which had poured from Louis XIV.'s face. This
sweat-bestained handkerchief terrified Philippe, as the blood of Abel
had terrified Cain.
"I am now face to face with my destiny," said Philippe, with his eyes on
fire, and his face lividly white. "Is it likely to be more terrifying
than my captivity has been sad and gloomy? When I am compelled to follow
out, at every moment, the sovereign power and authority I have usurped,
shall I never cease to listen to the scruples of my heart? Yes! the king
has lain on this bed: it is, indeed, his head that has left its
impression on this pillow; his bitter tears which have stained this
handkerchief; and yet, I hesitate to throw myself on the bed, or to
press in my hand the handkerchief which is embroidered with my brother's
arms. Away with this weakness; let me imitate M. d'Herblay, who asserts
that a man's action should be always one degree above his thought; let
me imitate M. d'Herblay, whose thoughts are of and for himself alone,
who regards himself as a man of honor, so long as he injures or betrays
his enemies only. I, I alone, should have occupied this bed, if Louis
XIV. had not, owing to my mother's criminal abandonment of me, stood in
my way; and this handkerchief, embroidered with the arms of France,
would, in right and justice, belong to me alone, if, as M. d'Herblay
observes, I had been left in my place in the royal cradle. Philippe, son
of France, take your place on that bed; Philippe, sole king of France,
resume the blazonry which is yours! Philippe, sole heir presumptive to
Louis XIII., your father, show yourself without pity or mercy for the
usurper who, at this moment, has not even to suffer the agony of the
remorse of all that you have had to submit to."
With these words, Philippe, notwithstanding an instinctive repugnance of
feeling, and in spite of the shudder of terror which mastered his will,
threw himself on the royal bed, and forced his muscles to press the
still warm place where Louis XIV. had lain, while he buried his burning
face in the handkerchief still moistened by his brother's tears. With
his head thrown back and buried in the soft down of his pillow, Philippe
perceived above him the crown of France, suspended, as we have stated,
by angels with outspread golden wings.
A man may be ambitious of lying in a lion's den, but can hardly hope to
sleep there quietly. Philippe listened attentively to every sound; his
heart panted and throbbed at the very suspicion of approaching terror
and misfortune; but confident in his own strength, which was confirmed
by the force of an overpowering resolute determination, he waited until
some decisive circumstance should permit him to judge for himself. He
hoped that some imminent danger would be revealed for him, like those
phosphoric lights of the tempest which show the sailors the altitude of
the waves against which they have to struggle. But nothing approached.
Silence, the mortal enemy of restless hearts, the mortal enemy of
ambitious minds, shrouded in the thickness of its gloom during the
remainder of the night the future king of France, who lay there
sheltered beneath his stolen crown. Toward the morning a shadow, rather
than a body, glided into the royal chamber; Philippe expected his
approach, and neither expressed nor exhibited any surprise.
"Well, M. d'Herblay?" he said.
"Well, sire, all is done."
"How?"
"Exactly as we expected."
"Did he resist?"
"Terribly! tears and entreaties."
"And then?"
"A perfect stupor."
"But, at last?"
"Oh! at last, a complete victory, and absolute silence."
"Did the governor of the Bastille suspect anything?"
"Nothing."
"The resemblance, however--"
"That was the cause of the success."
"But the prisoner cannot fail to explain himself. Think well of that. I
have myself been able to do that, on a former occasion."
"I have already provided for everything. In a few days, sooner if
necessary, we will take the captive out of his prison, and will send him
out of the country, to a place of exile so remote--"
"People can return from their exile, Monsieur d'Herblay."
"To a place of exile so distant, I was going to say, that human strength
and the duration of human life would not be enough for his return."
And once more a cold look of intelligence passed between Aramis and the
young king.
"And M. de Valon?" asked Philippe, in order to change the conversation.
"He will be presented to you to-day, and confidentially will
congratulate you on the danger which that conspirator has made you run."
"What is to be done with him?"
"With M. de Valon?"
"Yes; confer a dukedom on him, I suppose."
"A dukedom," replied Aramis, smiling in a significant manner.
"Why do you laugh, Monsieur d'Herblay?"
"I laugh at the extreme caution of your idea."
"Cautious, why so?"
"Your majesty is doubtless afraid that that poor Porthos may probably
become a troublesome witness, and you wish to get rid of him."
"What! in making him a duke?"
"Certainly; you would assuredly kill him, for he would die from joy, and
the secret would die with him."
"Good heavens!"
"Yes," said Aramis phlegmatically; "I should lose a very good friend."
At this moment, and in the middle of this idle conversation, under the
light tone of which the two conspirators concealed their joy and pride
at their mutual success, Aramis heard something which made him prick up
his ears.
"What is that?" said Philippe.
"The dawn, sire."
"Well?"
[Illustration: THE KING ENTERED INTO THE CELL WITHOUT PRONOUNCING A
SINGLE WORD: HE WAS PALE AND HAGGARD.--_Page 370._]
"Well, before you retired to bed last night, you probably decided to do
something this morning at the break of day."
"Yes; I told my captain of the musketeers," replied the young man
hurriedly, "that I should expect him."
"If you told him that, he will certainly be here, for he is a most
punctual man."
"I hear a step in the vestibule."
"It must be he."
"Come, let us begin the attack," said the young king resolutely.
"Be cautious, for Heaven's sake; to begin the attack, and with
D'Artagnan, would be madness. D'Artagnan knows nothing, he has seen
nothing; he is a hundred miles from suspecting our mystery in the
slightest degree; but if he comes into this room the first this morning,
he will be sure to detect something which has taken place, and which he
would think his business to occupy himself about. Before we allow
D'Artagnan to penetrate into this room, we must air the room thoroughly,
or introduce so many people into it, that the keenest scent in the whole
kingdom may be deceived by the traces of twenty different persons."
"But how can I send him away, since I have given him a rendezvous?"
observed the prince, impatient to measure swords with so redoubtable an
antagonist.
"I will take care of that," replied the bishop, "and in order to begin,
I am going to strike a blow which will completely stupefy our man."
"He too is striking a blow, for I hear him at the door," added the
prince hurriedly.
And, in fact, a knock at the door was heard at that moment. Aramis was
not mistaken; for it was indeed D'Artagnan who adopted that mode of
announcing himself.
We have seen how he passed the night in philosophizing with M. Fouquet,
but the musketeer was very wearied even of feigning to fall asleep, and
as soon as the dawn illumined with its pale blue light the sumptuous
cornices of the surintendant's room, D'Artagnan rose from his armchair,
arranged his sword, brushed his coat and hat with his sleeve like a
private soldier getting ready for inspection.
"Are you going out?" said Fouquet.
"Yes, monseigneur. And you?"
"No; I shall remain."
"You give me your word?"
"Certainly."
"Very good. Besides, my only reason for going out, is to try and get
that reply--you know what I mean?"
"That sentence, you mean--"
"Stay, I have something of the old Roman in me. This morning, when I got
up, I remarked that my sword had not caught in one of the
_aiguillettes_, and that my shoulder-belt had slipped quite off. That is
an infallible sign."
"Of prosperity?"
"Yes; be sure of it; for every time that that confounded belt of mine
sticks fast to my back, it always signified a punishment from M. de
Treville, or a refusal of money by M. de Mazarin. Every time my sword
hung fast to my shoulder-belt, it always predicted some disagreeable
commission or another for me to execute, and I have had showers of them
all my life through. Every time, too, my sword danced about in its
sheath, a duel, fortunate in its result, was sure to follow; whenever it
dangled about the calves of my legs, it was a slight wound; every time
it fell completely out of the scabbard I was booked, and made up my mind
that I should have to remain on the field of battle, with two or three
months under the surgeon's care into the bargain."
"I never knew your sword kept you so well informed," said Fouquet, with
a faint smile, which showed how he was struggling against his own
weaknesses. "Is your sword bewitched, or under the influence of some
charm?"
"Why, you must know that my sword may almost be regarded as part of my
own body. I have heard that certain men seem to have warnings given them
by feeling something the matter with their legs, or by a throbbing of
their temples. With me, it is my sword that warns me. Well, it told me
of nothing this morning. But, stay a moment--look here, it has just
fallen, of its own accord, into the last hole of the belt. Do you know
what that is a warning of?"
"No."
"Well, that tells me of an arrest that will have to be made this very
day."
"Well," said the surintendant, more astonished than annoyed by this
frankness, "if there is nothing disagreeable predicted to you by your
sword, I am to conclude that it is not disagreeable for you to arrest
me."
"You! arrest you!"
"Of course. The warning--"
"Does not concern you, since you have been arrested ever since
yesterday. It is not you I shall have to arrest, be assured of that.
That is the reason why I am delighted, and also the reason why I said
that my day will be a happy one."
And with these words, pronounced with the most affectionate graciousness
of manner, the captain took leave of Fouquet in order to wait upon the
king. He was on the point of leaving the room, when Fouquet said to him,
"One last mark of your kindness."
"What is it, monseigneur?"
"M. d'Herblay; let me see Monsieur d'Herblay."
"I am going to try and get him to come to you."
D'Artagnan did not think himself so good a prophet. It was written that
the day would pass away and realize all the predictions that had been
made in the morning. He had accordingly knocked, as we have seen, at the
king's door. The door opened. The captain thought that it was the king
who had just opened it himself: and this supposition was not altogether
inadmissible, considering the state of agitation in which he had left
Louis XIV. the previous evening; but instead of his royal master, whom
he was on the point of saluting with the greatest respect, he perceived
the long, calm features of Aramis. So extreme was his surprise, that he
could hardly refrain from uttering a loud exclamation. "Aramis!" he
said.
"Good-morning, dear D'Artagnan," replied the prelate, coldly.
"You here!" stammered out the musketeer.
"His majesty desires you to report that he is still sleeping, after
having been greatly fatigued during the whole night."
"Ah!" said D'Artagnan, who could not understand how the bishop of
Vannes, who had been so indifferent a favorite the previous evening, had
become in half a dozen hours the largest mushroom of fortune which had
ever sprung up in a sovereign's bedroom. In fact, to transmit the orders
of the king even to the mere threshold of that monarch's room, to serve
as an intermediary of Louis XIV., so as to be able to give a single
order in his name at a couple of paces from him, he must be greater than
Richelieu had ever been to Louis XIII. D'Artagnan's expressive eye, his
half-opened lips, his curling mustache, said as much indeed in the
plainest language to the chief favorite, who remained calm and perfectly
unmoved.
"Moreover," continued the bishop, "you will be good enough, Monsieur le
Capitaine des Mousquetaires, to allow those only to pass into the king's
room this morning who have special permission. His majesty does not wish
to be disturbed just yet."
"But," objected D'Artagnan, almost on the point of refusing to obey this
order, and particularly of giving unrestrained passage to the suspicions
which the king's silence had aroused--"but, Monsieur l'Eveque, his
majesty gave me a rendezvous for this morning."
"Later, later," said the king's voice, from the bottom of the alcove; a
voice which made a cold shudder pass through the musketeer's veins. He
bowed, amazed, confused, and stupefied by the smile with which Aramis
seemed to overwhelm him, as soon as those words had been pronounced.
"And then," continued the bishop, "as an answer to what you were coming
to ask the king, my dear D'Artagnan, here is an order of his majesty,
which you will be good enough to attend to forthwith, for it concerns M.
Fouquet."
D'Artagnan took the order which was held out to him. "To be set at
liberty!" he murmured. "Ah!" and he uttered a second "ah!" still more
full of intelligence than the former; for this order explained Aramis'
presence with the king, and that Aramis, in order to have obtained
Fouquet's pardon, must have made considerable progress in the royal
favor, and that this favor explained, in its tenor, the hardly
conceivable assurance with which M. d'Herblay issued the orders in the
king's name. For D'Artagnan it was quite sufficient to have understood
something in order to understand everything. He bowed and withdrew a
couple of steps, as if he were about to leave.
"I am going with you," said the bishop.
"Whereto?"
"To M. Fouquet; I wish to be a witness of his delight."
"Ah! Aramis, how you puzzled me just now!" said D'Artagnan again.
"But you understand now, I suppose?"
"Of course, I understand," he said, aloud; but then he added in a low
tone to himself, almost hissing the words through his teeth, "No, no, I
do not understand yet. But it is all the same, for here is the order for
it." And then he added, "I will lead the way, monseigneur," and he
conducted Aramis to Fouquet's apartments.