A DAY OF FRUITLESS EFFORT
I arose in the morning weary and unrefreshed. My forebodings had
increased rather than diminished, and I determined to lose no time
in doing all I could in Richelieu’s behalf. Jacques’s gloomy face
reflected my own, and I ate my breakfast in silence, for I had not the
heart to tell him how little hope I really had and how helpless I felt.
I left the house and went first to the Tuileries. Although the hour was
still early Madame du Maine was already at work, as I had no doubt she
would be, and I was shown into her presence. As usual, Mlle. de Launay
was with her.
“Have you heard of the arrest of M. de Richelieu, madame?” I inquired,
as soon as we had exchanged greetings.
“Is the duke, then, arrested again, and for what?” she asked, quickly
and with visible uneasiness.
“For nothing connected with your plan, madame, but merely for being in
Paris against the orders of the regent.”
I saw that she breathed again.
“And when was he in Paris?” she asked. “I thought him at Bayonne.”
“He was in Paris last night, madame.”
“And what was he doing in Paris?” she questioned, sharply.
“He came upon some private business, madame. He was surprised by a
company of guards and taken to the Bastille.”
“Some love-affair, I do not doubt,” she said, bitterly. “Richelieu
should learn to allow his private affairs to wait when they interfere
with matters of greater moment, as he must have known they would do in
this case.”
I glanced at the duchess in surprise, for this was the first indication
of selfishness I had detected in her.
“He expressly charged me to tell you, madame,” I said, a little
stiffly, “that his arrest would make no difference to your plans so far
as Bayonne is concerned. The regiment and the town council are ready
and understand perfectly what is expected of them.”
“Then all is well,” cried the duchess.
“Pardon me, madame,” I objected, “but all is not well. M. de Richelieu
is in the Bastille.”
“Well, he will not remain there long. In a week we shall have control
of Paris, and the doors will be opened for him.”
“But if the conspiracy fails, madame?”
“In that case, monsieur,” said the duchess, haughtily, “we shall none
of us be in better case than is M. de Richelieu at this moment. But who
talks of failure? We shall not fail. We cannot fail,” and I thought as
I looked at her that with a few more leaders such as she failure would
indeed be impossible. But one woman against all France was heavy odds.
“Believe me, M. de Brancas,” she continued, in a gentler tone, “I can
at this time do nothing for our friend. I have no influence with the
regent, and a word from me would do Richelieu more harm than good.”
I recognized the justness of her words, and said as much.
“Anything I can do shall be done, rest assured of that,” she added. “By
the way, monsieur, I shall look for you at my salon to-night. We have
need that all our friends should gather to us.”
I promised to be there, and withdrew with a heavy heart. I paused to
consider what next to do. If I were to go to the Bastille, I reflected,
I might have opportunity to see the prisoner and exchange a word of
comfort with him. Anything was better than doing nothing, so I set
off towards the dismal old prison. I reached it in the course of half
an hour and asked the sentry at the outer gate if I might see M. de
Maison-Rouge.
“What name, monsieur?” he inquired.
I gave him my name, and he summoned a messenger, who returned in a few
moments saying I was to enter. The gate opened and I was again in the
outer court-yard.
“I know the way,” I said to the messenger, who started to accompany me.
“Nevertheless I must go with you, monsieur,” he replied. “It is the
rule.”
I made no further objection, and he led me to the presence of the
governor.
“Ah, M. de Brancas,” and he smiled as I entered, “you are early, but I
was expecting you.”
“Doubtless,” I answered, dryly. “But tell me, may I see Richelieu?”
“I regret to say that you may not, monsieur. The regent has sent me a
special order to allow the duke to see no one and to hold communication
with no one.”
A chill ran through me at this new evidence of the regent’s purpose.
“And what inference do you draw from this order, monsieur?” I inquired,
after a moment’s gloomy thought.
Maison-Rouge shrugged his shoulders.
“It is not for me to draw inferences,” he said. “I obey orders without
questioning.”
“And how does he take his imprisonment?”
“He seems to be in good spirits,” and Maison-Rouge smiled. “In fact, I
have never seen him otherwise, and he was here for over a year when he
was younger. I use him as kindly as the regulations permit. He has his
old room, which he seems to prefer, and I have allowed him to send to
his hotel for some additional clothing and furniture. I can do nothing
more, monsieur, even were I so inclined. There are many in the Bastille
who are not so fortunate.”
There was nothing more to be said, and I left the place, the messenger,
who was waiting outside the door, accompanying me to the gate. As I
passed through it, I reflected that I might perhaps be able to catch
a glimpse of Richelieu at his cell window, and I turned to the right
along the lofty outer wall and the deep ditch which rendered approach
to it more difficult. The great prison had an indescribably threatening
and gloomy air even under the rays of the noonday sun, and my heart
trembled within me at the thought of the scores of helpless men behind
those massive walls; of the miserable wretches lying in the oubliettes,
thrown there, perhaps, by a royal caprice which had forgotten the
prisoner before it had forgotten its wrath, and for whom death was the
only release. Truly, there are worse things than death, and it were
better for Richelieu to lose his head than to go mad in one of those
reeking torture chambers.
A narrow path ran along the top of the embankment, and I followed
this until I reached the end of the outer wall. Within was the dreary
Tower du Puits in which we had been confined, and my eyes sought out
the window of Richelieu’s cell and of my own just above it. At this
distance they seemed mere port-holes in the great wall, and owing to
the darkness within, I found that I could not see the prisoner, even if
he were standing at his window. But he might be able to recognize me,
and I took my handkerchief from my pocket and waved it in the air. In
a moment I was rejoiced to see an answering gleam of white between the
bars of the window, and I knew that he had seen me. I waved again and
yet again, and as I did so heard hurrying feet behind me, and a hand
was laid roughly on my shoulder.
“You will accompany us, monsieur,” said a voice.
I turned sharply and saw three men in the uniform of the Bastille
guards. Each carried a musket.
“What is it now?” I asked in amazement.
“Monsieur knows or should know,” answered the man, “that all signalling
to the prisoners is prohibited under pain of imprisonment. Put up your
handkerchief and follow me, monsieur.”
I followed without a word, but inwardly cursing my ill fortune, and for
the second time that morning the outer gate opened to admit me, this
time without question. I was led straight to the governor’s office, a
sentry on either side. Maison-Rouge looked at me with astonishment as I
entered, and heard with evident impatience the statement of the guard
who had arrested me.
“That will do,” he said, as he concluded his story, and as the door
closed behind them he turned to me. “M. de Brancas, I need not tell you
that your offence is a serious one, and that many persons have been
imprisoned for much less.”
“I had desired only to let Richelieu know that his friends had not
forgot him,” I protested.
“The regent has ordered that no communication be held with him,”
said Maison-Rouge, sternly, “and I tell you plainly, monsieur, that
at another attempt of this kind he will be placed in a cell where he
will not only not see his friends, but where he will also never see
the light of day. I intend taking no chance of offending the regent a
second time.”
“Very well, monsieur,” I said, reflecting that anything was better
than that Richelieu should be plunged into an oubliette; “as for me,
I promise to hold no further communication with him until the regent
permits it. Am I, also, a prisoner?”
“No, M. de Brancas,” he answered, not unkindly, “I do not intend to
imprison you. I wish merely to warn you. You may go.”
The messenger was waiting, and I left the Bastille for the second
time, to the obvious astonishment of the sentries at the outer gate.
As it clanged shut behind me I decided that there was only one thing
more I could do, to see the regent and endeavor to mitigate his anger
against Richelieu. I had deferred this to the last, for I had little
hope of success, and indeed thought it not unlikely that I should
leave his presence escorted by a squad of soldiers; but everything
else had failed me, and I turned towards the Palais Royal. Two o’clock
was striking as I reached the Rue St. Honoré, which was crowded with
the usual throng of carriages and pedestrians. I pushed my way through
these, meeting no one whom I knew, and soon reached the palace.
I was shown into a large antechamber where a score of people were
awaiting an audience, and among them I perceived Hérault. He was
walking up and down with a gentleman whom I did not know, but who wore
the uniform of a captain of the guards. In a moment Hérault perceived
me, and came towards me, holding out his hand.
“Good-day, M. de Brancas,” he cried. “I am glad to see you. I trust you
suffered no ill effects from your bath of yesterday evening?”
“None whatever, monsieur,” I answered, smiling, for I liked the hearty
good humor of the man, and perceived that my liking was returned.
“M. de Brancas,” he continued, “allow me to present my friend the
Marquis d’Ancenis, captain of the guards. I was just relating to him
the details of your leap into the Seine.”
“In faith, ’twas worth relating,” declared d’Ancenis, warmly. “I know
no other man who could have done it so neatly, monsieur.”
I bowed my thanks.
“It was really nothing,” I protested, “and after all accomplished
nothing, since the friend whom I wished to rescue is at this moment in
the Bastille.”
“Ah, well, one cannot accomplish miracles, monsieur,” said d’Ancenis,
and I looked with pleasure at his smiling face, which reminded me
of Richelieu. “Do you know, you have become famous during your
brief residence in Paris. Only last night I heard a handsome woman
discoursing on your many feats.”
My heart leaped within me.
“And may I ask the lady’s name, monsieur?” I stammered.
“’Twas Madame du Maine,” said d’Ancenis, and my heart sank again, for
I had hoped to hear another name. “We had a little dinner together
with half a dozen others, and the duchess was the life of it. She is
a wonderful woman, only I fancied last night that she was looking
careworn.”
I thought to myself that if he knew what I knew he would not wonder
that she looked careworn.
“Well,” he continued, “she told us a story concerning you which seemed
to me well-nigh impossible. What do you think it was, Hérault?” he
asked, turning to the latter. “It was that this devil of a fellow,
together with Richelieu, not only managed to escape from the Bastille
the other night, but after keeping an appointment killed two or three
of the regent’s attendants, and then actually forced their way back
into their cells, leaving no trace of their passage, before the regent
could get to the Bastille. When he reached there they were asleep in
their cells, all the gates were barred, and not a sentry had seen them
pass. What think you of that?”
“It sounds like a story from the ‘Thousand and One Nights,’” and
Hérault looked at me questioningly. “But is it true, monsieur?”
“The facts were very much as M. d’Ancenis says, though I have never
told the story,” and I smiled at the astonishment of the two men.
“But how was this miracle accomplished?” asked Hérault.
“Ah, do not ask him that, Hérault,” cried d’Ancenis, gayly. “He may,
perchance, have need to work it again some time, and as for me, I hope
it will again succeed.”
“If I had known you were a magician of that sort, monsieur,” laughed
Hérault, “I should have placed twenty guards in your room instead of
six. There might then have been three or four whom you could not have
interested in that game of yours.”
He would have said more, but an usher interrupted him.
“The regent awaits the Marquis d’Ancenis and M. Hérault,” he said.
The two hurried after him and disappeared through a door at the farther
end of the room. I walked up and down impatiently, for I knew no one
else in the antechamber, and as the moments passed I wondered what
business of importance it was which kept them so long with the regent.
It was fully half an hour before they reappeared, and a glance at their
faces told me that something of moment had occurred. They merely nodded
to me as they passed, and hurried from the room. As I was reflecting on
their singular behavior, a page brought me a message.
“The regent regrets that he cannot see you to-day, monsieur,” he said.
“He is very busy with affairs of state.”
Well, perhaps he was busy, but I felt my apprehension deepen as I
left the palace and returned slowly to the Hotel de Richelieu. There
was nothing more to be done, at least for that day, but perhaps the
morrow would bring some hope with it. One glance at my face told
Jacques of the ill success of my efforts, but he bravely concealed his
disappointment. He told me that Richelieu had sent for certain articles
of clothing and furniture, from which he argued that his imprisonment
could not be very rigorous. I had not the heart to tell him of my grave
fears and the reasons for them, and ate my dinner in silence.
I spent the half-hour following before the fire reviewing the
situation, but look at it how I might, I could find little of comfort
in it. If the conspiracy succeeded, everything would be well, but a
haunting fear possessed me, a belief that the regent knew of it, and
that, to use Hérault’s words of the day before, he was playing with us
as a cat plays with a mouse, only to crush us more completely in the
end.
Eight o’clock sounded as I sat there musing, and I remembered with a
start that I had promised Madame du Maine to be present at her salon
that evening. I had little desire to mix in that gay company, but a
promise was a promise, and I sprang from my chair, added a few touches
to my toilet, and, leaving the house, was soon at the Tuileries.