A COMPANION IN THE BASTILLE.
Thus occupied, Gaston was more uneasy than ennuye; besides, he found
another source of amusement. Mademoiselle de Launay, who obtained
whatever she liked from the lieutenant, Maison-Rouge, provided her
request were only accompanied by a sweet smile, obtained paper and pens;
she had sent some to Dumesnil, who had shared them with Gaston, with
whom he still communicated, and with Richelieu, with whom also he
managed to correspond. Then Gaston formed the idea of making some verses
to Helene.
On his part, the Chevalier Dumesnil made some for Mademoiselle de
Launay, who made them in return for him, so that the Bastille was a true
Parnassus. There was only Richelieu who dishonored the society by
writing prose.
Time passed, as it will pass, even in the Bastille.
Gaston was asked if he would like to attend mass, and as he was deeply
religious, he had assented most gladly. The next day they came to fetch
him.
The mass was celebrated in a little church, having, instead of chapels,
separate closets, with bulls-eye windows into the choir, so that they
could only see the officiating priest at the moment of elevation, and he
could not see the prisoners at all.
Gaston saw M. de Laval and the Duc de Richelieu, who had apparently come
to mass for the purpose of talking, for they knelt side by side, and
kept up an incessant whispering. Monsieur de Laval appeared to have some
important news to communicate, and kept looking at Gaston as though he
were interested in it. As neither spoke to him, however, except in the
way of mere salutation, he asked no questions.
When the mass was over, the prisoners were taken back. As they crossed a
dark corridor, Gaston passed a man who seemed to be an employe of the
house. This man sought Gaston's hand, and slipped a paper into it, which
he put quietly into his waistcoat pocket.
When he was alone in his own room he eagerly took it out. It was written
on sugar paper, with the point of a sharpened coal, and contained this
line--"Feign illness from ennui."
It seemed to Gaston that the writing was not unknown to him, but it was
so roughly traced that it was difficult to recognize. He waited for the
evening impatiently, that he might consult with the Chevalier Dumesnil.
At night Gaston told him what had passed, asking him, as he had a longer
acquaintance with the Bastille, what he thought of the advice of his
unknown correspondent.
"Ma foi, though I do not understand the advice, I should follow it, for
it cannot hurt you; the worse that can happen is, that they may give you
less to eat."
"But," said Gaston, "suppose they discover the illness to be feigned."
"Oh! as to that," replied Dumesnil, "the doctor is entirely ignorant,
and will give you whatever you may ask for; perhaps they will let you
walk in the garden, and that would be a great amusement."
Gaston consulted Mademoiselle de Launay, whose advice, by logic or
sympathy, was the same as that of the chevalier; but she added,
"If they diet you, let me know, and I will send you chicken, sweets, and
Bordeaux."
Pompadour did not reply; the hole was not yet pierced.
Gaston then played the sick man, did not eat what they sent him, relying
on his neighbor's liberality. At the end of the second day M. de Launay
appeared--he had been told that Gaston was eating nothing, and he found
the prisoner in bed.
"Monsieur," he said, "I fear you are suffering, and have come to see
you."
"You are too good, monsieur," said Gaston; "it is true that I am
suffering."
"What is the matter?"
"Ma foi, monsieur, I do not know that there is any amour propre here; I
am ennuye in this place."
"What, in four or five days?"
"From the first hour."
"What kind of ennui do you feel?"
"Are there several?"
"Certainly--one pines for his family."
"I have none."
"For his mistress."
Gaston sighed.
"For one's country."
"Yes," said Gaston, "it is that," seeing that he must say something.
The governor appeared to reflect.
"Monsieur," said he, "since I have been governor of the Bastille, my
only agreeable moments have been those in which I have been of service
to the gentlemen confided to my care by the king. I am ready to do
anything for you if you will promise to be reasonable."
"I promise you, monsieur."
"I can put you in communication with one of your compatriots, or at
least with a man who seems to know Bretagne perfectly."
"Is he a prisoner?"
"Like yourself."
A vague sentiment passed through Gaston's mind that it must be this man
who had slipped the note into his hand. "I should be very grateful if
you would do this," said he.
"Well, to-morrow you shall see him; but as I am recommended to be strict
with him, you can only remain with him an hour, and as he may not quit
his chamber, you must go to him."
"As you please, monsieur," said Gaston.
"Then it is decided; at five o'clock expect me or the major; but it is
on one condition."
"What is it?"
"That in consideration of this distraction you will eat a little
to-day."
"I will try."
Gaston eat a little chicken and drank a little wine to keep his promise.
In the evening he told Dumesnil what had passed.
"Ma foi," said he, "you are lucky; the Count de Laval had the same idea,
and all he got was to be put into a room in the tower Du Tresor, where
he said he was dreadfully dull, and had no amusement but speaking to the
prison apothecary."
"Diable!" said Gaston, "why did you not tell me that before?"
"I had forgotten it."
This tardy recollection troubled Gaston somewhat; placed as he was
between Pompadour, Dumesnil, and Mademoiselle de Launay, his position
was tolerable; if he were to be removed, he would be really attacked by
the malady he had feigned.
At the appointed time the major of the Bastille came, and led Gaston
across several courts, and they stopped at the tower Du Tresor. Every
tower had its separate name.
In the room number one was a prisoner asleep on a folding bed, with his
back turned to the light; the remains of his dinner were by him on a
worn-out wooden table, and his costume, torn in many places, indicated a
man of low station.
"Ouais," said Gaston, "did they think that I was so fond of Bretagne,
that any fellows who happened to have been born at Nismes or at Penmarch
may be raised to the rank of my Pylades? No, this fellow is too ragged,
and seems to eat too much; but as one must not be too capricious in
prison, let us make use of the hour--I will recount my adventure to
Mademoiselle de Launay, and she will put it into verse for the Chevalier
Dumesnil."
Gaston was now alone with the prisoner, who yawned and turned in his
bed.
"Ugh! how cold it is in this cursed Bastille," said he, rubbing his
nose.
"That voice, that gesture--it is he!" said Gaston, and he approached the
bed.
"What," cried the prisoner, sitting up in bed, and looking at Gaston,
"you here, M. de Chanlay?"
"Captain la Jonquiere," cried Gaston.
"Myself--that is to say, I am the person you name; but my name is
changed."
"To what?"----"First Tresor."
"What?"
"First Tresor. It is a custom in the Bastille for the prisoner to take
the name of his room--that saves the turnkey the trouble of remembering
names; however, if the Bastille be full, and two or three prisoners in
the same room, they take two numbers; for example: I am first Tresor, if
you were put here you would be first Tresor number two; another would be
first Tresor number three--the jailers have a kind of Latin literature
for this."
"Yes, I understand," said Gaston, watching La Jonquiere intently; "then
you are a prisoner?"
"Parbleu, you see for yourself; I presume we are neither of us here for
pleasure."
"Then we are discovered."
"I am afraid so."
"Thanks to you."
"How to me?" cried La Jonquiere, feigning surprise. "No jokes, I beg."
"You have made revelations, traitor!"
"I! come, come, young man, you are mad; you ought not to be in the
Bastille, but in the Petites Maisons."
"Do not deny it, M. d'Argenson told me!"
"D'Argenson; pardieu, the authority is good; and do you know what he
told me?"
"No."
"That you had denounced me."
"Monsieur!"
"Well; what then? Are we to cut each other's throats because the police
has followed out its trade and lied?"
"But how could he discover?"
"I ask the same of you. But one thing is certain; if I had told
anything, I should not be here. You have not seen much of me, but you
ought to know that I should not be fool enough to give information
gratis; revelations are bought and sold, monsieur, and I know that
Dubois pays high for them."
"Perhaps you are right," said Gaston; "but at least let us bless the
chance which brings us together."
"Certainly."
"You do not appear enchanted, nevertheless."
"I am only moderately so, I confess."
"Captain!"
"Ah, monsieur, how bad-tempered you are."
"I?"
"Yes; you are always getting angry. I like my solitude; that does not
speak."
"Monsieur!"
"Again. Now listen. Do you believe, as you say, that chance has brought
us together?"
"What should it be?"
"Some combination of our jailers--of D'Argenson's, or perhaps Dubois's."
"Did you not write to me?"
"I?"
"Telling me to feign illness from ennui."
"And how should I have written?--on what?--by whom?"
Gaston reflected; and this time it was La Jonquiere who watched him.
"Then," said the captain presently, "I think, on the contrary, that it
is to you we owe the pleasure of meeting in the Bastille."
"To me, monsieur?"
"Yes, chevalier; you are too confiding. I give you that information in
case you leave here; but more particularly in case you remain here."
"Thank you."
"Have you noticed if you were followed?"
"No."
"A conspirator should never look before, but always behind him."
Gaston confessed that he had not taken this precaution.
"And the duke," asked La Jonquiere, "is he arrested?"
"I know not; I was going to ask you."
"Peste! that is disagreeable. You took a young woman to him?"
"You know that."
"Ah! my dear fellow, everything becomes known. Did not she give the
information? Ah! woman, woman!"
"This was a brave girl, monsieur; I would answer for her discretion,
courage, and devotion."
"Yes, I understand. We love her--so she is honey and gold. What an idea
of a conspiracy you must have to take a woman to the chief of the plot!"
"But I told her nothing; and she could know no secrets of mine but such
as she may have surprised."
"She has a keen eye."
"And if she knew my projects, I am convinced she would never have
spoken."
"Oh, monsieur, without counting her natural disposition to that
exercise, can we not always make a woman speak? Some one might have
said, without any preparation 'Your love for M. de Chanlay will lose
your head'--I will wager that she will speak."
"There is no danger--she loves me too much."
"That is the very reason, pardieu! that she would chatter like a magpie,
and that we are both caged up. However, let us drop this. What do you do
here?"
"Amuse myself."
"Amuse yourself--how?"
"With making verses, eating sweets, and making holes in the floor."
"Holes in the king's boards?" said La Jonquiere. "Oh, oh! that is good
to know. Does not M. de Launay scold?"
"He does not know it; besides, I am not singular--everybody makes a hole
in something; one his floor, the other his chimney, the next his wall.
Do you not make holes in something?"
La Jonquiere looked to see if Gaston were not laughing at him.
"But now, monsieur," said La Jonquiere, "let us speak seriously. Are you
condemned to death?"
"I?"
"Yes, you."
"You say that coolly."
"It is a habit in the Bastille. There are twenty here condemned to
death, and not a bit the worse for it."
"I have been interrogated."
"Ah! you see."
"But I do not believe I am condemned."
"That will come."
"My dear captain, do you know that, although you do not look so, you are
marvelously merry?"
"You think so?"
"Yes."
"Does it astonish you?"
"I did not know you were so brave."
"Then you would regret life?"
"I confess it; I only want one thing to make me happy, and that is to
live."
"And you became a conspirator with a chance of happiness before you? I
do not understand you; I thought people conspired from despair, as they
marry when they have no other resource."
"When I joined the conspiracy I did not love."
"And afterward?"
"I would not draw back."
"Bravo! that is what I call character. Have you been tortured?"
"No; but I had a narrow escape."
"Then you will be."
"Why so?"
"Because I have been; and it would be unfair to treat us differently.
Look at the state of my clothes."
"Which did they give you?" asked Gaston, shuddering at the recollection
of what had passed between D'Argenson and himself.
"The water. They made me drink a barrel and a half; my stomach was like
a bladder; I did not think I could have held so much."
"And did you suffer much?" asked Gaston, with interest.
"Yes; but my temperament is robust--the next day I thought no more of
it. It is true that since then I have drunk a great deal of wine. If you
have to choose, select the water--it cleans. All the mixtures doctors
give us are only a means of making us swallow water. Fangon says the
best doctor he ever heard of was Doctor Sangrado; he only existed in Le
Sage's brain, or he would have done miracles."
"You know Fangon?" asked Gaston, surprised.
"By reputation; besides, I have read his works. But do you intend to
persist in saying nothing?"
"Doubtless."
"You are right. I should tell you, if you regret life so much as you
say, to whisper a few words to M. d'Argenson, but he is a talker who
would reveal your confession."
"I will not speak, be assured; these are points on which I do not need
strengthening."
"I believe it; pardieu! you seem to me like Sardanapalus in your tower.
Here I have only M. de Laval, who takes medicine three times a day--it
is an amusement he has invented. Well, tastes differ; and perhaps he
wants to get accustomed to the water."
"But did you not say I should certainly be condemned?"
"Do you wish to know the whole truth?"
"Yes."
"Well, D'Argenson told me that you were."
Gaston turned pale, in spite of his courage. La Jonquiere remarked it.
"However," said he, "I believe you might save yourself by certain
revelations."
"Why, do you think I should do what you refused?"
"Our characters and our positions are different--I am no longer young--I
am not in love--I do not leave a mistress in tears." Gaston sighed.
"You see there is a great difference between us; when did you ever hear
me sigh like that?"
"Ah! if I die, his excellency will take care of Helene."
"And if he be arrested?"
"You are right."
"Then--"
"God will protect her."
"Decidedly you are young," said La Jonquiere.
"Explain."
"Suppose his excellency be not arrested?"
"Well."
"What age is he?"
"Forty-five or six, I suppose."
"And if he fell in love with Helene; is not that her name?"
"The duke fall in love with her! he to whose protection I confided her!
it would be infamous!"
"The world is full of infamy; that is how it gets on."
"Oh, I will not dwell on such a thought."
"I do not tell you to dwell on it; I only suggested it for you to make
what use you liked of."
"Hush," said Gaston, "some one is coming."
"Have you asked for anything?"
"No."
"Then the time allowed for your visit is out," and La Jonquiere threw
himself quickly on his bed.
The bolts creaked, the door opened, and the governor appeared.
"Well, monsieur," said he to Gaston; "does your companion suit you?"
"Yes, particularly as I know Captain la Jonquiere."
"That makes my task more delicate; but, however, I made you an offer,
and I will not draw back. I will permit one visit daily, at any hour you
please: shall it be morning or evening?"
Gaston looked at La Jonquiere.
"Say five in the evening," said La Jonquiere, quickly.
"In the evening at five o'clock, if you please."
"The same as to-day, then?"
"Yes."
"It shall be as you desire, monsieur."
Gaston and La Jonquiere exchanged a glance, and the chevalier was taken
back to his chamber.