"A KIND OF CHANGE CAME IN MY FATE."
It was in the early part of May, 1747, that Fordingbridge had been led
out to his doom, and month after month had passed, another May had
come and gone, and, at last, another December--the December of
1748--had come round. Then even the hopeless state into which Bertie
had been so long plunged was quickened back to life by the behaviour
of two people with whom he held some intercourse.
Although Falmy and he had almost ceased now, from very weariness
during the passage of time--perhaps from heartbrokenness--to
communicate much, they did occasionally do so when either considered
that he had anything to tell the other that might cause him some faint
stir of interest; and one morning the former, appearing at his window,
made signs to Bertie that he was about to signal. Then when the other
nodded to show that he was attending to him, the Genevese traced on
his board the sentence, "Have you heard anything unusual?" To this
Bertie, with a bound of his heart--for, in spite of his long
incarceration and his growing hopelessness, he still had, although he
knew it not, a ray of courage, of presentiment, left in him--shook his
head, and by eager facial signs asked Falmy to explain his meaning.
But he, whether it might be that he was afraid of communicating too
swiftly anything he had gathered, only signalled back, "Say nothing to
De Chevagny as yet. It is rumoured that they have remembered him."
"Remembered him," thought Bertie, "at last!" and as he so reflected he
looked round upon the poor old man sitting with his white head bent
over his knees, and wondered if, should this be true, it would be for
his good to go forth.
"'Tis now forty-five years," he said to himself, "since he came here.
A lifetime! Of what use for him to regain his liberty? He said once to
me, when first I was brought to this room, that this awful place was
his only home. Heaven grant, if they release him, that he may not find
it to be so!"
He watched Bluet's manner when he removed the remains of their next
meal--which meals had gradually, as month followed month, become more
sparse and meagre, possibly because De Launey had now come to suppose
that neither of them would ever be able to publish to anyone outside
those gloomy walls the story of his neglect and parsimony, to call it
by no other name--and as he did so he noticed that this good-natured
fellow seemed even kinder to the old man than ever.
"_Mon Dieu!_" he began now, with his usual exclamation, varied only
occasionally with his _ma foi_--"_mon Dieu_, 'tis cold, Monsieur le
Marquis. Yet, I'll warrant me, there are blazing fires in many a happy
home in France. _Par exemple_, now, in the Château de Chevagny I will
dare to say they keep good fires for monsieur."
The old man looked up at him with a startled, hurt look; then he said
softly:
"Bluet, you have always been good and kind to me. In the ten years you
have been here I have come to look on you as a friend. Yet, when you
recall needlessly to me my--my long-vanished home--that I shall never
see more--you hurt, you wound me."
"Ah! _avec ça!_" said Bluet, "I'll wager you see that home again yet.
Or, perhaps--_mon Dieu!_ why not?--the Hôtel de Chevagny in Paris
itself. Monsieur le Marquis is not to suppose we shall entertain him
for ever; no, no! Neither is he to imagine that because he has dwelt
with us so long--it is a little long, I concede--he shall never leave
us."
The old man regarded him fixedly for a moment, then he sighed and gave
a true French shrug to his shoulders. "If," he exclaimed, in his
gentle, well-bred voice, the aristocratic tones of which he had never
lost--"if it pleases you to wound me, Bluet, you must do so. Yet I
know not why. We have always been such good friends."
"Cease," said Bertie to the turnkey in a whisper. "Why play with an
old man thus?"
"It is no play," Bluet replied in the same whisper, only that his was
a husky, vinous one. "He is remembered. D'Argenson comes to-morrow
night. He will go before him. It may be that on the next day he will
be free. Break it to him if you can."
"You are certain of this?" Bertie asked, intensely startled and
interested now. "Certain? I thought you told me long ago that no one
knew who the judges would call before them."
"_Ordinairement_," replied Bluet, while he glanced at the marquis, who
was again warming himself at the fire, "no one does. But this is
different. The minister sent a day or so ago asking if there was one
incarcerated here of his name. They say the primate, Tencin, stirred
him to it. Then--then--_voyez-vous_--D'Argenson's secretary came
and--poof!--we hear many things, we jailors! D'Argenson will come
himself to-morrow night, and, _mort de ma vie!_ we shall lose the
prison flower! Where--where will he go to? May the good God protect
him!"
The name of Tencin roused many bitter reflections in Bertie's
heart, many recollections of how it was this cardinal and archbishop
who had been the mainspring, the prime mover, in the Scots' invasion
of--of--was it a year ago, or two years ago? He had to pause and count
over to himself the time ere he could recollect, for he seemed to have
lost all power now of reckoning the period that he had been in the
Bastille. Then, when he had arrived at the remembrance that he had
absolutely been here for two winters and was in the third December of
his detention, his mind went back to the name of Tencin again. Tencin,
he repeated--Tencin, the minister who brought about the invasion of
England, who was the friend, almost, indeed, the patron, of his own
master, Charles Edward. Yet he, a devoted follower and adherent of
that Prince, a man who had followed him until the last, had had to
suffer so cruel an imprisonment as this which he had undergone!
Tencin! Would he allow that if he knew of it? Would he let one who had
served the Prince so well be incarcerated there? It might be not, if
he but knew that such was the case. Only, how could the fact be
brought to the powerful cardinal's knowledge? That was the question.
He glanced at the marquis, who was still sitting gazing into the
embers, and he remembered that Bluet had said again, before he left
the _calotte_ with the remains of the supper, "Break it to him if you
can." Well, he would try and break it to him; only, he prayed Heaven
that in the breaking he might not kill the old man with the shock.
And, if that did not happen, then--why, then, perhaps, through him the
cardinal might be apprised of how a faithful adherent of the cause he
had championed was wrongfully immured in the Bastille--immured,
neglected, and forgotten.
"Monsieur de Chevagny," he said, drawing up another chair by the side
of the old man, "are you fatigued to-night? You seem so--seem more
weary than usual. You are not ill?" In truth, the old marquis had been
presenting signs of late that his strength was failing rapidly, and
that he was fast nearing the only escape from the Bastille that had
for forty-five years seemed likely to come to him; and to-night he
appeared even more feeble, as well as more absent-minded and
lethargic, than ever; also he was more dazed than was his wont. But he
replied:
"No, no, not ill--or only so from having lived for seventy years; and
also from having passed forty-five of those years in prison. A long
while! A long while! A lifetime! My father's whole life was not so
long."
"Yet," said Bertie soothingly, "it may still be prolonged; it may----"
"Would you desire for me that it should be prolonged?" the other
asked, lifting his eyes to Bertie's. "Is that to be wished, think
you?"
For a moment the younger man hesitated, then he said, speaking very
gently:
"Yes, if--if you could find happiness thereby. For suppose--only
suppose--that some great chance should come to you; some undreamed of,
unsuspected chance, by which you might be enabled to see once more the
wife you so tenderly loved, the little child you left sleeping on her
bosom----"
"Stop! For God's sake, stop!" De Chevagny exclaimed. "You torture me;
you wring my heart worse, far worse, than ever Bluet did. You conjure
up hopes that my senses tell me can never be realized; you bring
before me thoughts and ideas that I have been trying to bury and put
away for many, many years now."
And, as he spoke, Bertie saw his old eyes fill with tears; again saw
those tears drop from his eyelids to his snowy beard.
"Oh, my friend, my fellow-prisoner," he said, "believe me, I would not
torture you unnecessarily. Think you that I, before whom this living
tomb yawns as it yawned before you years ago--that I, who, Great
Powers! may be here, in this very room, forty years hence--would say
one word to distress you? No, no. Never, never! But, listen to me, I
beseech you; and, above all, listen to me calmly. I have something to
tell you, something that I pray earnestly may make you very, very
happy."
As he spoke he dropped on one knee by the old man's side, while,
taking one of his hands in his, he passed his arm round the other's
waist, and, drawing him to him, supported his now trembling form as a
son might have done. And as he did so he felt how worn and thin his
poor old body was.
"What is it?" whispered the marquis. "What is it? You--you frighten
me! I--I cannot bear a shock."
"Pray, pray," continued Bertie, "do not be frightened nor alarmed.
Indeed, you have no cause. But, oh, my dear and honoured friend and
companion, there has come strange news into this place, strange news
for you--nay, start not! Strange news! It is said--strive to be calm,
I beseech you--that, that--be brave! as you have been so long--your
release is at hand. It may come soon, at any moment now."
He felt the old man's feeble frame quiver in his grasp; he felt him
draw a long breath, and saw him close his eyes. Then for a long while
he was silent, sitting enfolded in the other's arms as though he were
asleep or dead. But at last he spoke:
"If it should be so, if this is true, what will become of me? Can I
hope to find my wife alive? And for my little child that was--she is
almost old now, if she still lives. She will not know me; will not,
perhaps, believe I am her father."
"Oh, how can she doubt it? And for your wife--she need not be dead;
how many women live far beyond your own age--why, my mother is near
it. Look hopefully forward, therefore, I beg of you, to your release;
think of what happiness may be yours still."
But, although Bertie used every argument to prove to De Chevagny that
there must be still some period of such happiness before him, however
short that period might be, he could not bring him to so regard his
forthcoming release. Above all, he could not make him believe for one
instant that he would ever meet his wife or child upon earth; and he
reiterated again and again that, if he could not have them with him,
he would almost prefer to remain a prisoner.
"I have grown used to the filth and squalor of this place," he said,
"to my wretched rags. My hotel across the river, even if it has not
been long since confiscated, would be no fit abode for me. Better
remain here without hope, better forget that I was ever a free man,
loving others and beloved myself, than go forth into the world where I
am unknown. And," he said tenderly, "I have at least one friend
here--I have you."
On the next day, however, when Bluet had told him that beyond all
doubt he was to be taken before D'Argenson that night, he began to
show a little more interest in what was occurring, and, at last, to
look forward eagerly to the hour when the Examiner should arrive.
"For," he said, "I shall have a piteous tale to tell him; perhaps when
he hears it he may be disposed to look into the cases of some others
who are here. There is that poor man Falmy, over the way; he, too,
should be released."
At six o'clock the King's Lieutenant paid a visit to the _calotte_--De
Launey had never been known to visit a "guest" from the time he was
first received by him--and asked the marquis whether he would choose
to have a change of linen and some fresher clothes in which to appear
before the judges; but this offer he firmly refused.
"As I am," he said, "as I have been for so many years," and he held up
his arm, from which his sleeve hung in a hundred tatters; "so I will
go before him, and, if he releases me, so I will go forth into the
world again."
"That," said the King's Lieutenant, politely and with a slight smile,
"Monsieur le Marquis must know will not be permitted. No guest leaves
us who does not sign a paper in which he undertakes most solemnly to
divulge nothing of what has occurred within. He would scarcely,
therefore, be allowed to depart in such a garb as that in which
Monsieur le Marquis is now unhappily clad. Besides, the illustrious
family of De Chevagny is rich; the head of the house will scarcely
adorn himself with such raiment when he goes back to his proper
position."
"Rich!" the old man echoed with bitter scorn--"rich! What have I to do
with riches now? If I find not my wife or child, I shall not live a
week in my unaccustomed lot. A garret such as this will do well enough
for me."
The Lieutenant departed after this, saying that the marquis--as he was
scrupulous now to call him on every occasion--might expect to be sent
for early in the evening; and those two, who had grown to be such
friends, sat down to pass what, with the exception of the night, would
probably be their last hours together. All was arranged between them
as to what was to be done on Elphinston's behalf when once De Chevagny
was free--he was first to seek out his mother and Kate, being careful
to say nothing to the latter about her husband and his end until he
discovered what she knew about him, and in any circumstances to be
very discreet in what he revealed. Then he was to strive in every way
to bring Elphinston's case before Tencin, so that something might be
done as soon as possible.
"For," said Bertie, "never will I believe that when once his Eminence
knows that I have been thrust in here under what must be, cannot help
but be, a false charge, a mistake, he will allow me to remain. Oh, my
friend, my friend, lose no time, I beseech you, in releasing me from
this death in life!"
"Have no fear," replied De Chevagny, "I shall remember. First your
mother, Madame Elphinston, at Passy; then to her who was that
creature's wife; then--then to the King or to--what is his
name?--Tencin! Tencin! I shall not forget. Yet, oh, my friend, how
shall I leave you here--alone! And you so young--so young! Not yet in
your prime."
"Fear not for me," replied Elphinston, assuming a hopefulness he by no
means felt; for he doubted if, even with the Marquis de Chevagny at
liberty and free to plead his cause, his release was likely to be
obtained. If there was, indeed, as the King's Lieutenant had hinted,
some terrible and powerful enemy in the background whom he had injured
without knowing it, it was possible that even Tencin's exertions and
influence might be of no avail. Yet still he sought to cheer the
other.
"Fear not for me. Once you are free to bring my case before the King I
have no fear myself"--then he started, for he heard the clanging of
the doors. "Hark!" he said, "hark! They are coming for you. Oh, I pray
God that when you return from your examination you may do so with your
liberty assured--as it must be! As it must be! Otherwise they would
not send for you at all," and he kissed the old man's hand as he
spoke, and whispered to him to be calm.
"God bless you!" the marquis replied--"God bless you! I will be
brave."
As he did so the door was unlocked, and once more the King's
Lieutenant came in, accompanied by four turnkeys, one of whom was
Bluet, who behind the officer's back kept gesticulating and nodding
his head and winking at Bertie--who stood a little behind De
Chevagny--in an extraordinary manner.
"The fellow had indeed a good heart," he thought to himself, "which
even the miseries he is witness of in this living hell are unable to
suppress. One would think that De Chevagny was his dearest friend, so
overjoyed is he." And still, as he reflected thus, Bluet's grimaces
and becks and nods continued.
"Réné Xavier Ru de Chevagny, Marquis de Chevagny," read out the King's
Lieutenant from a paper in his hand, "the Viscomte d'Argenson, Judge
and Examiner of his Majesty's fortresses, desires your presence."
"I--I have waited the summons long," the marquis said, with quiet
dignity; "I am ready to obey it."
And he turned round to touch Bertie's hand in a temporary farewell,
when again the voice of the King's Lieutenant was heard reading from
the paper:
"Elphinston--baptismal name uncertain--captain of the Regiment of
Picardy, formerly of the Regiment of Scots Dutch----"
"What!" exclaimed Elphinston, dazed by being summoned at last so
unexpectedly, and also at the last description--"what!"
--"the Vicomte d'Argenson, Judge and Examiner of his Majesty's
fortresses, desires your presence."
"I, too, am ready," he replied in a low voice.
"_Avancez!_" said the Lieutenant, and at the word the party left the
_calotte_ and descended the massive stairs, the officer with two
turnkeys leading the way, while Bluet and another followed.
And as they went to the Hall of Judgment, Bertie whispered to the
marquis:
"I begin to understand. I know now why I have been here so long. It
was another Elphinston, not I, who served in the Scots Dutch--the
Elphinston who eloped with the daughter of the Duc de Baufremont!"