A DESPERATE VENTURE
The troop of guards continued onward at a rapid pace, separating me
from Richelieu, so that I had no opportunity of exchanging a word with
him. In a few moments the threatening and gloomy walls of the Bastille
loomed ahead, towering over the Porte St. Antoine, and we drew up at
the outer gate. The lieutenant exchanged a word with the sentry there,
and after a moment the gates creaked back and we entered. I looked
about me curiously, for this was the first time I had ever seen the
interior of the most famous prison in France, though I had spent an
entire afternoon looking at it from the other side of the ditch.
We were in a long court, closed in by lofty walls, the prison itself
forming one side. We turned to the right, past some houses built
against the outer wall, which I decided were stables, and then the word
was given to dismount. Half a dozen guards surrounded us, a bell rang
somewhere, and in a moment a man in uniform hurried towards us,--a
little, dry man, with tight-shut lips, and eyes whose glance was like a
poniard-thrust.
“M. de Maison-Rouge,” said the lieutenant, saluting with great respect,
“I have here two prisoners, whom the regent confides to your keeping
with instructions to guard them well.”
“The instructions were unnecessary, monsieur,” replied the new-comer,
shortly. “No one who enters here ever leaves until it is permitted. Who
are the prisoners?”
“Ah, M. de Maison-Rouge,” cried Richelieu, gayly, “I trust you have not
forgotten me so speedily?”
The lieutenant-governor of the great prison glanced at the speaker
quickly, but his face remained impenetrable, and if he experienced any
surprise, he certainly did not show it.
“No, I have not forgotten you, M. le Duc,” he said, quietly. “And the
other?”
“Is my friend, Jean de Brancas,” answered Richelieu; and added,
smilingly, “It is, I believe, the first time he has had the pleasure of
meeting you.”
Maison-Rouge glanced at me coldly. I bowed, but I fear my face betrayed
the fact that I considered the meeting anything but a pleasure.
“Very well,” he said. “Wait a moment, lieutenant, and I will send you
a receipt for the prisoners. Follow me, messieurs,” he added to us,
and led the way to one of the buildings against the outer wall, which
proved to be his office. A sentry at the door saluted as we passed. A
receipt was written and given to him.
“Now, gentlemen,” said Maison-Rouge, as the door closed, “I must be
assured that you carry no weapons or means of escape into the Bastille
with you. Give me your word of honor to that effect and I will omit the
formality of search.”
“That is most courteous, monsieur,” cried Richelieu. “I give you my
word of honor gladly.”
“And I also,” I said. “My sword was my only weapon.”
“That is well,” and Maison-Rouge opened the door. “Follow me, then.”
Midway of the court a drawbridge grated down to let us pass and
creakingly rose behind us. Turning again to the right, we were
conducted along a still narrower court to a second gate, and passing
through this, paused before a second drawbridge, which was also lowered
to permit our passage. Still another gate was opened and clanged shut
after us, and we were in the great interior court. The afternoon sun
illumined it as brightly as it was ever illumined, and I perceived
two or three melancholy personages walking slowly up and down, each
in charge of a sentry, who followed closely with loaded musket and
permitted no word to be exchanged. Three lofty towers flanked the court
on either side. They were fully a hundred feet in height, as were the
walls between them, and the court itself was near a hundred feet long,
by perhaps seventy in width. We were led straight on across another
drawbridge into a second court, much smaller than the first, and which
resembled nothing so much as a gigantic well. As I afterwards found
out, it was, indeed, called the well court.
“I trust I may have my old room, monsieur,” observed Richelieu, as we
entered this forbidding place, which made my heart sink within me.
“I see nothing against it,” answered Maison-Rouge. “The Tower du Puits
is certainly strong enough to hold even the Duc de Richelieu.”
“That has been proved,” laughed the duke, “since it has already held me
for more than a year. I had no reason to complain of your hospitality,
monsieur.”
The governor smiled grimly, but said nothing. I wondered how my
companion could laugh so lightly in this horrible place.
“And you are not even curious to know what brought me here again?” he
continued, in the same tone.
“Some act of folly, I do not doubt,” said Maison-Rouge, his face
clearing a little. “You will never learn discretion.”
“Ah, but this is far less serious,” cried Richelieu. “Before, I
offended the prudery of Madame de Maintenon, who was trying to turn
Louis into a monk and the court into a priory. This time I have merely
killed one of the regent’s friends. The regent is a man, and will soon
forgive.”
“I trust so,” and Maison-Rouge glanced at him with the shadow of a
smile. “I have no reason to wish you ill, M. le Duc.” Evidently, the
winning good humor of my companion had touched even this enfortressed
heart.
There was a tower at either corner of the inner court, and it was
towards the one at the right that we were led. A door with double
bolts barred the bottom of the staircase. The governor threw them
back, opened the door, and motioned us before him. I heard the regular
step of a sentry in the corridor above, and we passed him at the first
landing. He paused to glance at us inquiringly, and then continued his
round. At the third landing, Maison-Rouge stopped before a heavy iron
door, threw back the bolts and pulled it open. Another inner door was
revealed, similarly bolted. This he also opened and held back.
“Ah, I am familiar with this room,” said Richelieu, smiling as he
passed into it. I started to follow him, but Maison-Rouge motioned me
back.
“What! you would separate me from my friend?” cried Richelieu.
“I regret that it is necessary, monsieur,” said the governor; “but it
is the rule, as you should know. He shall lodge in the calotte above
you.”
As he spoke I fancied I caught a flash of triumph in Richelieu’s eye,
but he made no sign.
“Good-by, then, my friend,” he said, and turned away towards the
double-barred window. The doors were clanged shut, the bolts thrown,
and I was motioned to mount to the floor above. I did so with a heavy
heart. With Richelieu I had some hope, but without him I felt hope to
be fruitless. Presently we paused before another door, double-bolted
like that on the floor below. Behind it, also, there was an inner door.
It was opened, I entered, and heard the bolts shot into place. As I
looked back at it I saw that in both doors, near the top there was a
narrow orifice through which the sentry in the hall could inspect the
cells as he passed and hear what was going on in them.
The calotte was well named, for it was a skullcap indeed. In the centre
there was room to stand upright, but the roof sloped on either hand
until at the walls it was scarce two feet from the floor. A bench, a
chair, and a rickety stove clamped to the wall comprised the furniture.
I threw myself upon the bench, when a sudden thought brought me to my
feet as by a spring. For this was the night upon which Richelieu was to
meet Mlle. de Valois. That he should fail to do so would be monstrous.
Escape, then, was necessary,--escape, not to-morrow or next week, but
at once, to-day, within six or eight hours at the uttermost. I groaned
aloud. How to escape from this infernal hole? I sprang to the window
and tried the bars. They were cemented fast into the masonry. The
strength of the door I already knew, and I ran over in my mind the
barred gates and raised drawbridges we must pass before we should be
without the walls. I gazed out through the bars at the broad country,
bright under the rays of the sun, and cursed the chance that had thrown
us here, upon this day of all days. I heard the regular step of the
sentry in the corridor, as much a prisoner as ourselves until the watch
was changed. It came nearer, paused before my door, and then retreated.
All was still.
Suddenly I heard a faint tapping as of some one endeavoring to signal
me. I looked around trying to locate the sound. I approached the corner
from which it seemed to come. It grew louder. I dropped to my knees and
crawled yet nearer the wall.
“De Brancas,” I heard a voice call, seemingly a great way off. “De
Brancas, are you there?”
“Yes, yes,” I panted. “But where are you, monsieur?” for I could not
believe that a human voice could penetrate these walls of stone.
“In the cell below yours, as you know,” replied the voice. “Do you
know we must escape to-night?”
“Yes, yes,” I answered again, still more astonished that I could hear
his voice so clearly. “The tryst at the dryad fountain.”
“You are a jewel, de Brancas!” cried the duke. “Yes, we must escape and
at once. There is no time to lose.”
“But to escape,” I said, “it is necessary to pass through seven barred
gates and across three raised drawbridges. That is no easy thing. Have
you a plan, monsieur?”
“A plan? No. But let me come to you and we will find a plan.”
“Let you come to me?” I cried, in amazement. “Gladly, but how?”
I could hear him laughing to himself.
“Did you think that I spent a year of my life here for nothing?” he
asked. “The slab at the corner of your cell is loose and can easily be
raised.”
I was panting with excitement. So this was how his voice could reach me!
“A moment!” I cried, and my fingers groped for the loosened slab. It
was soon found, but how to raise it was a question, for I could get
no hold of it. In an instant I had torn the buckle from my shoe and
inserted its edge into the crack. I pried the stone up, but a dozen
times it slipped back before I could arrest it. Finally I raised it
half an inch, grasped the edge with desperate fingers, and with an
effort which made my muscles crack tilted it up. I looked into the
hole, but could see nothing.
“The slab is out, monsieur,” I called.
“Good,” said Richelieu, and then there was an instant’s pause. “Now,”
he went on, at last, “as I raise this other stone do you slide it back
out of the way.”
In a moment it was done, and I found myself looking down into his eyes,
so near they almost startled me, for he had placed his chair upon his
bench and was standing on it.
“The guard will be back,” he said. “Bring your bench to the corner and
lie down upon it.”
I did as he directed, and saw that he had jumped down from his chair
and was walking carelessly about his cell. Again the sentry reached the
door, paused an instant to glance within, and then went on his round.
Richelieu was back upon his chair in an instant.
“Now,” he said, “I can pay you a ten minutes’ visit. I know the routine
of this place,” and he held out his hands to me. I reached down,
grasped them, and he scrambled lightly up beside me.
I began to think that, after all, escape might not be such a difficult
thing. What other secrets of the prison might he not possess?
“’Tis not the first time I have made that trip,” and he laughed as he
brushed the dust from his sleeve. “When the king sent me here to repent
of that affair at Marly he permitted my tutor to accompany me. But in
the evening we were separated, and he was locked up in this cell to
spend the night. We were both dying of ennui, and determined to spend
the nights together. So with infinite patience he picked away the
cement around this slab and the one under it. As you see, they rest on
the girders and so remain in place. The guard cannot see into the cells
after night falls, so we were not disturbed. It is fortunate the corner
is dark,” he added, “and that the cracks of the floor are filled with
dirt, else the ruse might have been discovered since I was last here.”
“And now what?” I asked, trembling with impatience.
“Now to escape,” said the duke, and sat down on the bench to consider.
But to escape, and with only our bare hands for tools! What a problem!
Yet I was determined that it should be solved. Others had escaped from
the Bastille. Why not we?
“Clearly,” I said, after a moment, “we cannot hope to break down the
door nor penetrate these walls.”
My companion nodded in gloomy acquiescence.
“There remains, then, only one possible way,” I went on. “That is by
the window.”
“But the bars?”
“We must remove one. Luckily they are single, so that one will be
enough.”
“It is ninety feet from the ground.”
“We must get a rope.”
“A rope? Yes. But where?”
“I do not know,” I said, but I arose and went to the window. Yes, it
was not less than ninety feet from the ground.
“Well,” said Richelieu, at my elbow, “suppose we had a rope. Suppose
we had the bar out. What then? Do you not see the court is full of
soldiers? We could not hope to escape them. But even if we did, there
is the outer wall still to pass,--forty feet high and with a sentry at
every twenty paces.”
I saw that what he said was true. To descend into the court would be to
enter a nest of hornets. But of a sudden a new thought came to me.
“Well,” I asked, “if one way is impossible, why not try the other?”
“The other?” exclaimed Richelieu. “What other, de Brancas?”
“The roof,” I cried, and I knew I had found the key to the problem. “It
is battlemented, is it not?”
“Yes,” and Richelieu looked more and more astonished. “But I do not yet
understand, my friend.”
“Wait,” I said. “Let me think a moment,” and I sat down upon the bench,
my head between my hands. Richelieu paced feverishly up and down the
cell. At last I had it.
“M. le Duc,” I said, as calmly as I could, for my heart was beating
madly, “I have a plan. It is not promising, perhaps, but I believe it
is the best that offers. I will remove one of the bars of the window.
We will secure a rope. I will stand upon the sill without and throw the
rope over a merlon of the battlement. We will mount to the roof and
after that trust to Providence. There must be some way down, and if
there is, we will find it.”
Richelieu’s eyes were blazing.
“But can we do all this?” he asked.
“We must,” I said. “The most difficult thing is the rope. It must be
twenty or thirty feet long, and strong enough to bear us. If we had our
cloaks----”
“I will get our cloaks,” cried Richelieu. “I will make the rope. Come,
I must return. The guard will soon be here. Slip the stones into place
after me,” and he dropped lightly into his cell.
I dropped the stones back into place, and heard him pounding at his
door. The sentry answered him.
“There is no bedding in this place,” called Richelieu, “and it will be
cold to-night. At least I and my friend should have our cloaks. Ask M.
de Maison-Rouge if he will not send to my hotel and secure us two good,
heavy ones.”
The guard went away, but soon came back again.
“Your request is granted, monsieur,” he said. “You shall have your
cloak,” and then he mounted to my door and repeated the message to me.
I had the slabs out again in a moment.
“That provides the rope,” I said, looking down into the duke’s excited
face. “Now it is for me to remove the bar. It will make some noise. Do
you listen for the sentry and warn me when he approaches.”
Richelieu nodded, and turned away to listen at his door.
I went to the window and examined it bar by bar. None of them showed
any sign of weakness, but at one end of the second bar from the bottom
there was a little crack in the cement. I must have something to use
as a chisel. But what? My eyes fell upon the stove. It was falling to
pieces, and I wrenched loose a portion of the side, which would do
admirably for a maul. But for a chisel I must have something with a
point,--why not one of the clamps which held it to the wall? They had
been driven into the cement, how far I could not guess. I chose the one
which seemed a little loose, and using the piece of iron for a lever,
managed to start it. A second wrench, a third--and I had it out. It was
a sorry chisel, but must do, in want of something better. I muffled my
handkerchief about the piece of iron in order to deaden the noise as
much as possible and attacked the cement about the bar. I saw that I
could chip it away a little at a time.
So I toiled on through the afternoon, Richelieu warning me when the
sentry approached along the corridor. It was weary work, yet my heart
was light, for I had soon made a considerable impression, and knew
I should succeed. My arms were aching and my hands were torn and
blistered, but as evening came one end of the bar was loose, and I felt
that I could pull it out. I stopped work then, told Richelieu of my
success, and carefully gathering up the cement which I had loosened,
threw it under the floor, and slipped the stones back into place. I
drove the clamp back into the wall, replaced the piece of stove, and
threw myself upon my bench to rest.
Scarcely had I done so when I heard footsteps approaching. The door
opened and a man appeared upon the threshold carrying my supper, and
I caught a glimpse of the guard standing in the dark corridor behind
him. He placed the food upon the floor, went out again, and returned
in a moment with a cloak, which he threw upon the chair, and withdrew
without a word, bolting the doors behind him. I caught up the cloak,
and saw with satisfaction that it was a strong and heavy one. But
before I set to work upon it I turned to the food. A square of bread,
a piece of meat, another of cheese, and a bottle of vile wine was all;
but I was in no mood to quarrel with it, for I had eaten nothing since
morning, and soon devoured it to the last morsel. Then I tore the cloak
into broad strips and twisted and knotted them together. At the end of
half an hour I had a strong rope, not less than twenty feet in length.
A tap on the floor told me that Richelieu had also completed his task,
and I sat down to wait for darkness.
It was not long in coming, and so soon as I saw from my window that
night had fallen in earnest, I raised the slabs and pulled Richelieu
up beside me. Then I dropped the stones back into place, so that, when
our escape was discovered, our means of communication might not be too
readily disclosed. Richelieu had brought with him the rope which he had
made, and I knotted both ends of it to mine, making a great loop. Then
I sprang to the window and wrenched out the bar.
“We are ready,” I said, and I felt my arms trembling with excitement.
Richelieu reached out and wrung my hand.
“I will go first,” he said.
“No, no!” I cried, and before he could prevent me I had pushed my body
between the bars and was clinging to the sill without.