In which De Blenau finds that he has got the rod in his own hand,
and how he uses it; together with a curious account of a tremendous
combat and glorious victory.
I can easily imagine myself, and I dare say the reader will not find
much difficulty in fancying, that the Count de Blenau suffered not a
little inquietude while he remained in uncertainty respecting Pauline's
free exit from the Bastille.
Take and draw him, as Sterne did his captive. See him walking up and
down the chamber with the anxiety of doubt upon his brow and in his
heart, listening for every sound in the court-yard, catching the
footstep of the sentinel at his door, and fancying it the return of the
Governor,--hope struggling against fear, and fear remaining
victor,--conjuring up a thousand wild, improbable events, and missing
the true one; and, in short, making his bosom a _hell_ wherein to
torment his own heart.
Thus did Claude de Blenau, during that lapse of time which the Governor
might reasonably be supposed to be occupied in the duties of his office.
But when a longer time passed, and still no news arrived of Pauline's
escape, the uncertainty became too great for mortal endurance; and he
was about to risk all, by descending into the court through the turret,
when the challenge of the sentinel announced the approach of some one,
and in the next moment the Governor entered the room, his pale features
flushed with anger, and his lip quivering with ill-subdued rage.
"Monsieur de Blenau!" said he, in a tone that he had never before
presumed to use towards his wealthy prisoner, "here is something wrong.
There has been a woman in the prison to-night, passing for that rascal
Woodman's daughter: and I am given to understand, that she has brought
either letter or message to you. But I will ascertain the truth--By
Heaven! I will ascertain the truth!"
"Have you detained her, then?" exclaimed De Blenau, losing all caution
in his fears for Pauline.
"Oh, ho! Monsieur le Comte," said the Governor, fixing on him his keen
and angry eye; "then you do know that she has been here? But do you
know, Sir, that it may cost me my head?"
"Very possibly, if you tell any body," replied De Blenau; who by this
time had recovered his self-possession, and had, upon reconsideration,
drawn from the Governor's speech a different conclusion from that which
he had formed at first; feeling sure, that if Pauline had not escaped,
his anger would have taken a calmer form. "Listen to me, Sir Governor,"
continued he firmly, after having determined in his own mind the line of
conduct which he ought to pursue: "let us deal straightforwardly towards
each other, and like friends as we have hitherto done. We are both in
some degree in each other's power. On your part, do not attempt to
entrap me into any acknowledgment, and I will show you that I will not
make use of any advantage you may have given me----"
"I do not understand your meaning, Sir," cried the Governor, still
angrily: "I have given you no advantage. By Heaven! I will have the
apartment searched;--ay, Sir, and your person too."
"Will you so?" replied De Blenau, coolly drawing from his bosom the
Queen's billet, and approaching the edge to the lamp so that it caught
fire. The Governor started forward to seize it; but the strong arm of
the Count held him at a distance, till the few lines the Queen had
written were irretrievably destroyed; and then freeing him from his
grasp, he pointed to a chair, saying, "Now, Monsieur le Gouverneur, sit
down and listen to a few words of common sense." The Governor placed
himself in the chair with a look of bitter malignity; but this softened
down gradually into an expression of thoughtful cunning, as De Blenau
proceeded--"Thus stands the case," said the Count; "I was committed to
your charge, I think, with positive orders not to allow me communication
with any person whatsoever--was it not so?" The Governor assented: "It
so happened, however," continued the Count with a smile, "that at our
very first interview, you conceived a friendship for me of the most
liberal and disinterested nature," (the Governor bit his lip,) "a sort
of love at first sight; and, for the sake of my accommodation, you not
only broke through the positive commands of the Cardinal Prime Minister,
in suffering me once to have communication with another person, but
allowed such to take place at all times, according to my pleasure; and
also took especial pains to procure the attendance of the person I
wished, paying him with my money, for which, and other excellent
purposes, you have, within the space of six days, received from me
upwards of one thousand crowns."
The Governor winced most desperately; and fully convinced, that a tale
so told, would readily convey his head under the axe of the executioner,
if it reached the ears of Richelieu, he cursed himself for a fool, De
Blenau for a knave, and Philip the woodman for something between the
two; most devoutly wishing both the others at the Devil, so he could
slip his own neck out of the halter.
De Blenau, without much skill in reading the mind's construction by the
face, easily divined what was passing in his companion's bosom; and
perceiving him to be much in the situation of a lame dog, he resolved
still to apply the lash a little, before he helped him over the stile.
"Well, Sir Governor," continued he; "now we will suppose, as a mere
hypothesis to reason upon, that, through this very liberty which your
disinterested kindness has allowed me, I have received those
communications from without, which it was the Cardinal's great object to
prevent. How ought you to act under such circumstances? Ought you to go
to the stern, unrelenting Richelieu, and say to him,--'May it please
your Eminence, I have intentionally and wilfully broken through every
order you gave me--I have taken the utmost pains that they should not be
observed; and I have so far succeeded in thwarting your designs, that
Monsieur de Blenau, from whom I have received one thousand crowns, and
from whom I expect a thousand more the moment he is liberated--I say,
that this good friend of mine, and your enemy, has gained all the
information which you wished to prevent,'--This would be a pretty
confession of faith!"
De Blenau paused, and the Governor bit his lip; but after a moment, he
looked the Count full in the face, and replied, "Perhaps it might be the
best way."
De Blenau, however, was not to be deceived; he saw terror in the deadly
hue of the Governor's pale cheek, and the anxious rolling of his sunken
eye, and he went on--"Perhaps it might be the best way--to have your
head struck off without delay; for what would your confession avail the
Cardinal now, after the mischief is done?--Would it not be better to say
to yourself,--'Here is a young nobleman, whom I believe to be
innocent--for whom I have a regard--whom I have served already, and who
is both willing and able to reward any one who does serve him; and who,
lastly, will never betray me, let happen what will. Under these
circumstances, should I not be a fool of the first water, to inquire
into a matter, the truth of which I am very unlikely to discover, and
which, if I do, it will be my duty to disclose: whereas, standing as the
affair does now, without my knowledge in the least, my ignorance makes
my innocence, and I betray no one. Even supposing that the whole be
found out, I am no worse than I was before, for the story can but be
told at last; while, if the Count be liberated, which most likely he
will, instead of losing my office, or my head, I shall gain a thousand
crowns to indemnify me for all the trouble I have had, and shall ensure
his friendship for life.' Now, Monsieur le Gouverneur, this is what you
ought to say to yourself. In my opinion, the strength of argument is all
on one side. Even if there were any thing to know, you would be a fool
to investigate it, where you must of necessity be your own accuser;
where all is to be lost, and nothing can be gained."
"You argue well, Monsieur de Blenau," answered the Governor,
thoughtfully; "and your reasoning would be convincing, if it extended to
all the circumstances of the case. But you do not know one half;--you do
not know, that Chavigni, from whose eyes nothing seems hidden, knew of
this girl's coming, and sent me an order to detain her, which that
sottish fool the Porter never gave me till she had escaped--How am I to
get over that, pray?"
"Then, positively, she has escaped?" demanded De Blenau.
"Yes, yes, she has escaped!" replied the Governor pettishly: "you seem
to consider nothing but her; but, let me tell you, Monsieur de Blenau,
that you are fully as much concerned as I am, for if they discover that
she has got in, you will have a touch of the _peine forte et dure_, to
make you confess who she is, and what she came for."
"Truly, I know not what can be done," answered the Count. "Chavigni
seems to know all about it."
"No, no! he does not know all," replied the Governor; "for he says here,
in his note, that if a young lady dressed in a _jupe_ of red serge, with
a black bodice, comes to the gate of the prison, asking any thing
concerning the Count de Blenau, we are to detain her: now she never
mentioned your name, and, God knows, I heeded not what she was dressed
in."
"Then the matter is very simple," replied the Count; "no such person as
he bade you detain, has been here. This is no matter of honour between
man and man, where you are bound to speak your suspicions as well as
your knowledge. No person has come to the gate of the prison asking any
thing concerning me; and so answer Chavigni."
"But the Porter, Monsieur de Blenau," said the officer, anxiously,--"he
may peach. All the other dependents on the prison are my own, placed by
me, and would turn out were I to lose my office; but this porter was
named by the Cardinal himself.--What is to be done with him?"
"Oh! fear not him," answered De Blenau; "as his negligence was the cause
of your not receiving the order in time to render it effectual, your
silence will be a favour to him."
"True! true!" cried the Governor, rubbing his hands with all the rapture
of a man suddenly relieved from a mortal embarrassment: "True! true!
I'll go and bully him directly--I'll threaten to inform the Cardinal,
and Chavigni, and the whole Council; and then--when he begins to fancy
that he feels the very rope round his neck--I'll relent, and be
charitable, and agree to conceal his mistake, and to swear that the lady
never came.--How will Chavigni know? She will never confess it herself,
and at that hour it was too dark for any one to watch her up to the
gates.--_Morbleu!_ that will do precisely."
"I see little or no danger attending upon it," said the prisoner; "and,
at all events, it is a great deal better than conveying your neck into
the noose, which you would certainly do by confessing to Richelieu the
circumstances as they have occurred."
"Well, well, we will risk it, at all events," replied the Governor, who,
though not quite free from apprehension respecting the result, had now
regained his usual sweet complacency of manner. "But one thing, Monsieur
de Blenau, I am sure you will promise me; namely, that this attempt
shall never be repeated, even if occasion should occur: and for the
rest--with regard to your never betraying me, and other promises which
your words imply, I will trust to your honour."
De Blenau readily agreed to what the Governor required, and repeated his
promises never to disclose any thing that had occurred, and to reward
his assistance with a thousand crowns, upon being liberated. Mindful of
all who served him, he did not forget Philip the woodman; and deeply
thankful for the escape of Pauline, was the more anxious to ascertain
the fate of one who had so greatly contributed to the success of her
enterprise.
"Speak not of him! speak not of him!" exclaimed the Governor, breaking
forth into passion at De Blenau's inquiries. "This same skilful plotter
attends upon you no longer. You will suffer some inconvenience for your
scheme; but it is your fault, not mine, and you must put up with it as
best you may."
"That I care not about," replied De Blenau. "But I insist upon it that
he be treated with no severity. Mark me, Monsieur le Gouverneur: if I
find that he is ill used, Chavigni shall hear of the whole business. I
will risk any thing sooner than see a man suffer from his kindness for
me."
"You paid him well, of course," said the Governor, drawing up his lip,
"and he must take his chance. However, do not alarm yourself for him: he
shall be taken care of--only, with your good leave, Seigneur Comte, you
and he do not meet again within the walls of the Bastille.--But in the
name of Heaven! what clatter is this at the door?" he exclaimed,
starting from his chair, at a most unusual noise which proceeded from
the staircase.
The Governor, indeed, had good reason to be astonished; for never was
there a more strange and inconsistent sound heard within the walls of a
prison, than that which saluted their ears. First came the "_Qui vive?_"
of the sentinel; to which a voice roared out, "_Le Diable!_" "_Qui
vive?_" cried the sentinel again, in a still sharper key. The answer to
this was nothing but a clatter, as the Governor had expressed it, such
as we might suppose produced by the blowing up of a steam-kitchen: then
followed the discharge of the sentinel's firelock; and then sundry blows
given and received upon some hard and sonorous substance, mingled with
various oaths, execrations, and expletives then in use amongst the lower
classes of his Christian Majesty's lieges, making altogether a most
deafening din.
At this sound the Governor, as little able to conceive whence it
originated as De Blenau himself, drew his sword, and throwing open the
door, discovered the redoubtable Jacques Chatpilleur, _Cuisinier
Aubergiste_, striding in triumph over the prostrate body of the
sentinel, and waving over his head an immense stew-pan, being the
weapon with which he had achieved the victory, and through which
appeared a small round hole, caused by the ball of the soldier's
firelock. In the mean while was to be seen the sentinel on the ground,
his iron morion actually dented by the blows of his adversary, and his
face and garments bedabbled, not with blood, indeed, but with the
_Poulet en blanquette_ and its white sauce, which had erst been tenant
of the stew-pan.
"Victoria! Victoria! Victoria!" shouted the _aubergiste_, waving his
stew-pan; "Twice have I conquered in one night! Can Mieleraye or
Bouillon say that? Victoria! Victoria!" But here his triumph received a
check; for looking into the unhappy utensil, he suddenly perceived the
loss of its contents, which had flown all over the place, the
treacherous lid having detached itself during his conflict with the
sentinel, and sought safety in flight down the stairs. "_Mon Poulet! mon
Poulet!_" exclaimed he, in a tone of bitter despair, "_le nid y est,
mais l'oiseau est parti_,--the nest is there, but the bird is flown.
_Helas, mon Poulet! mon pauvre Poulet!_" and quitting the body of his
prostrate foe, he advanced into the apartment with that sort of zig-zag
motion which showed that the thin sinewy shanks which supported his
woodcock-shaped upper man, were somewhat affected by a more than usual
quantity of the generous grape.
The whole scene was so inexpressibly ludicrous, that De Blenau burst
into an immoderate fit of laughter, in which the Governor could not help
joining, notwithstanding his indignation at the treatment the sentinel
had experienced. Recovering himself, however, he poured forth his wrath
upon the _aubergiste_ in no measured terms, demanding how he dared to
conduct himself so in the Royal Chateau of the Bastille, and what had
become of the Count de Blenau's supper, adding a few qualificatory
epithets, which may as well be omitted.
"_Eh bien, Monsieur! Eh bien!_" cried the _aubergiste_, with very little
respect for the Governor: "as for the gentleman there, lying on his
belly, he ought to have let me in, and not fired his piece at me. He
knew me well enough. He might have cried _Qui vive?_ once,--that was
well, as it is the etiquette."
"But why did you not answer him, _sacré maraud_?" cried the Governor.
"I did answer him," replied the other, stoutly. "He cried _Qui vive?_
and I answered _Le Diable, car le Diable vive toujours_. And as for the
supper, I have lost it all. _Je l'ai perdu entre deux mâtins._ The first
was a greedy Norman vagabond, who feeds at my auberge; and while I was
out for a minute, he whips me up my _matelot d'anguille_ from out of the
_casserole_, and my _dinde piquée_ from the spit, and when I came back
five minutes after, there was nothing left but bare bones and empty
bottles. Pardie! And now I have bestowed on the head of that varlet a
_poulet en blanquette_ that might have comforted the stomach of a King.
_Oh Dieu! Dieu! mes malheurs ne finiront jamais._ Oh! but I forgot," he
continued, "there is still a _fricandeau à l'oseille_ with a cold
_paté_, that will do for want of a better.--_Monseigneur, votre
serviteur_," and he bowed five or six times to De Blenau; "_Monsieur le
Gouverneur, votre très humble_," and bowing round and round to every
one, even to the sentinel, who by this time was beginning to recover his
feet, the tipsy _aubergiste_ staggered off, escaping the wrath of the
Governor by the promise of the _fricandeau_, but not, however, without
being threatened with punishment on the morrow.