The Huguenot Part 37

"Ay, Jerome Riquet," said the officer. "Inquire for his valet, Jerome Riquet: tell him that the King has judged it right that his master should pa.s.s a short time in the Bastille, and that, therefore, he must send up thither to-night, addressed to the care of the governor, what clothes he judges the Count may require. The house is next door but one to that of Monsieur de Meaux. Run quick, and take the little alley at the end of the street, so that you may join us at the corner of the road."

The young officer then entered the carriage, and the coachman drove on; but before they proceeded along the high road they were obliged to pause for a moment or two, in order to give time for the arrival of the lackey, who, when he came, spoke a few words through the window to Monsieur de Cantal, in the course of which the word "Exempt" was frequently audible.

"That is unpleasant," said the young officer, turning to the Count: "I find that an Exempt has been sent to your house already,--to seal up your papers, I suppose; and, on hearing the man give the message to one of your servants, he was very angry, it seems, sending word to wait for him here; but, as I am not under his orders or authority, I think I shall even tell the coachman to go on."

He said this in a hesitating tone, however, evidently afraid that he had done wrong; and before he could execute his purpose of bidding the carriage proceed, the lackey said, "Here comes the Exempt, Sir. Here he is!"

In a moment after, a tall, meager, gaunt-looking man, dressed in the peculiar robes of an Exempt of the court, with a nose extraordinarily red, scarcely any eyebrows, and a mouth which seemed capable of swallowing the vehicle that he approached and all that it contained, came up to the side of the carriage, and spoke to the young officer through the window. The words that pa.s.sed between them seemed to be sharp; and, at length, the Exempt exclaimed, in a louder tone, so as to be completely audible to the Count--although his articulation was of that round spluttering kind which rendered it very difficult to make out what he said--"I shall do so, however, Sir; I shall do so, however. I have authority for what I do. I will suffer no such communications as these, and I will not quit the carriage till I have seen the prisoner safely lodged in the hands of the governor of the Bastille."

"Well, Sir," replied the officer, a little heated; "if you choose to overstep your duty I cannot help it, and certainly shall not attempt to prevent your going with the coachman if you think fit. In the inside of the carriage you shall not come, for there I will guard my prisoner myself."

"That you may do, Sir, if you like," cried the Exempt, shaking the awful ma.s.s of wig in which his head was plunged: "but I will take care that there shall be no more communications.--Linen! What the devil does a prisoner in the Bastille want with linen? Why, in the very first packet sent to him there might be all sorts of treasonable things written upon the linen. Have we not heard of ink of sympathy and all manner of things?"

"Well, well, Sir," exclaimed the young officer: "I saw no harm in what I was doing, or else I should not have done it. But get up, if you are going to get up, for I shall order the coachman to go on."

The Exempt sprang up the high and difficult ascent which led to a coachbox of those days, with a degree of activity which could hardly have been expected from a person of his pompous dignity, and the coach then drove on upon its weary way to Paris.

"A very violent and self-conceited person, indeed, that seems to be,"

said the Count. "Do you know him?"

"Not I," replied the young officer, "though he threatens to make me know him pretty sufficiently, by complaining to Louvois about sending for these cursed clothes of yours."

The officer was evidently out of temper; and the Count, therefore, left him to himself, and fell into a fit of musing over his own situation. That fit of musing, dark and painful as it was, lasted, without cessation, till the vehicle entered one of the suburbs of the great city of Paris. There, however, it met with an interruption of a very unexpected kind; for, in trying to pa.s.s between two heavy carts, which were going along in opposite directions, the coachman contrived to get the wheels of the carriage locked with those of both the other vehicles; and with such force was this done that the lackey behind was thrown down and hurt, the Exempt himself nearly pitched off the coachbox, and obliged to cling with both his hands, while the coachman lost his hat and the reins.

The idea of making his escape crossed the mind of the Count de Morseiul; but he evidently saw that even if he were out of the carriage, surrounded as he was by a great number of people, without any large sum of money upon his person, and with the eyes of the officer, the musketeers, and the Exempt upon him, it would be vain to make the attempt.

To render the situation of the vehicle as bad as possible, one of the horses, either irritated by the uncouth and not very gentle terms with which the coachman attempted to back out of the difficulty, or galled by part of the cart pressing upon it, began to kick most vehemently; and Monsieur de Cantal, the officer, having previously sent the two musketeers to aid the coachman and the Exempt in disentangling the carriage, now showed a strong inclination to go himself. After looking anxiously at the Count de Morseiul for a moment, he at length said, "I must either go and set those men right, or suffer the carriage to be kicked to pieces. If I go, Monsieur de Morseiul, will you give me your word not to try to escape?"

The Count paused for an instant; but then the same consideration returned upon him, and he replied, "Go, Sir, go: I do give you my word."

The officer then sprang out; but scarcely had he been away a moment, when the head of the Exempt appeared looking in at the window. "Hist, hist, Monsieur de Morseiul!" he said, in a voice totally different from that which he had used before, and which was wonderfully familiar to the ears of the Count; "hist, hist! On the very first linen you receive, there will be information written for you. It will be invisible to all eyes till it is held to the fire. But the flame of a strong lamp will do, if you cannot sham an ague and get some wood to warm you."

"I can scarcely believe my eyes," said the Count, in the same low voice.

"Do not doubt them, do not doubt them," said the Exempt. "I knew of your arrest before you knew of it yourself, but could not warn you, and was making all ready when the man came to the hotel. I have sacrificed much for you, Count; as goodly a pair of eyebrows as ever valet had in this world; and I dare not blow my nose for fear of wiping off the paint: Louvois outwitted me this morning, and now I'll outwit him if I have but time. Heavens, how that beast is plunging and kicking! The pin I ran into its stomach is sticking there yet I suppose; ay, she's quieter now; here they come, and I must splutter.--Monsieur," he said, as the officer now returned to the side of the carriage, "Monsieur, this is guarding your prisoner securely, is it not? Here I come to the window and find not a single soul to prevent his escaping, when he might have got out in a moment, and run up the Rue de Bievre, and pa.s.sed through the Rue de l'Ecole, and across the Place de l'Universite, and then down to the river----"

"Psha!" said the officer impatiently; "let me have no more of this impertinence, Sir. The Count gave me his word that he would not escape. If I deliver my prisoner safely at the Bastille, that is sufficient, and I will not have my conduct questioned. If you have any complaint to make, make it to Monsieur de Louvois. Come, get up, Sir, don't answer; the carriage is now clear, and enough of it left together to carry us to the Bastille. Go on, coachman."

The coachman, however, pertinaciously remained in a state of tranquillity, till the Exempt was once more comfortably seated by his side; and then the carriage rolling on through the back streets of the capital, made a little turn by the Rue de Jean Beausire, into the Rue St. Antoine, and approached the gates of that redoubted prison, in which so many of the best and n.o.blest in France have lingered out, at different times, a part of their existence. To few, to very few, have the tall gloomy towers of that awful fortress appeared without creating feelings of pain and apprehension; and however confident he might be of his own innocence, however great might be his trust in the good providence and protection of G.o.d, however strong he might be in a good cause and a firm spirit, it cannot be denied that Albert of Morseiul felt deeply and painfully, and with an anxious and a sickening heart, his entrance into that dark solitary abode of crime, and sorrow, and suffering.

The carriage drew up just opposite the drawbridge, and the officer getting out, left his prisoner in charge of the two musketeers, and went forward to speak to the officer on guard at the gates. To him he notified, in due form, that he had brought a prisoner, with orders from the King for his incarceration; and the carriage, was kept for some time standing there, while the officer on guard proceeded to the dwelling of the governor, to demand the keys of the great gates. When he had obtained them and returned, the doors were opened; the guard was turned out under arms; the great drawbridge let down; the bell which communicated with the interior of the building rung; and the vehicle containing the Count, slowly rolled on into the outer court, called the Cour du Gouvernement.

There the carriage paused, the governor of the prison having expressed his intention of coming down to receive the prisoner from the hands of the officer who brought him: otherwise, the carriage would have gone on into the inner court. A short pause ensued, and at length the well-known Besmaux was seen approaching, presenting exactly that appearance which might be expected from his character; for the traits of debauchery, levity, and ferocity, which distinguished his actual life, had stamped themselves upon his countenance in ineffacable characters.

"Ah, good day, Monsieur de Morseiul," he said, as the door of the carriage opened, and the Count descended. "Monsieur de Cantal, your very humble servant. Gentlemen, both, you had better step into the Corps de Garde, where I will receive your prisoner, Monsieur de Cantal, and read the letters for his detention."

Thus saying, with a slow and important step he walked into the building, seated himself, called for pen and ink, and a light, and then read the King's letter for the arrest and imprisonment of the Count de Morseiul.

"Monsieur de Louvois is varying these letters every day," he said; "one never knows what one is doing. However, there stands the King's name, and that is quite enough; so, Monsieur de Morseiul, you are welcome to the Bastille. You are to have our great liberties, I suppose. I must beg you to give me your sword, however, and also every thing you have about your person, if you please; letters, papers, money, jewels, and every thing else, in short, except your seal, or your signet ring, which you keep for the purposes about to be explained to you."

With very painful feelings the Count unbuckled his sword, and laid it down upon the table. He then gave up all the money that he possessed, one or two ordinary papers of no import, and the other usual articles of the same kind, which are borne about the person. The note which he had received from Clemence in the morning, he had luckily destroyed.

While this was doing, the governor continued to write, examining the different things that he put down before him, and he then said, "Is this all, Sir?"

"It is," replied the Count, "upon my word."

"One of the men must put his hands in your pocket, Count," said the governor; "that is a ceremony everyone has to undergo here." The prisoner shut his teeth hard, but made no remark, and offered no resistance, though, if he had given way to his feelings, he would certainly have dashed the man to the ground at once, who, with unceremonious hands, now searched his person. When that also was over, Besmaux wrote down a few more words at the end of the list of things he had made out, and handed it to the Count to read. The only observation that the young n.o.bleman made, was, that the governor had put down his sword as having a silver hilt, when the hilt was of gold.

"Ah, it is of gold, is it?" said de Besmaux, taking it up and looking at it, while several of the attendants who stood round grinned from ear to ear. "Well, we will alter it, and put it down gold. Now, Monsieur de Morseiul, will you have the goodness to sign that paper, which, with these letters, we fold up thus? and now with the seal which you retain, you will have the goodness to seal them, and write your name round the seal."

With all these forms the Count complied, and the governor then intimated to him, that he was ready to conduct him into the interior of the Bastille, the spot where they then were, though within the walls and drawbridge, being actually considered as without the chateau.

"Here, then, I take leave of you, Monsieur de Morseiul," said the officer who had brought him thither, "and I will do my best, on my return to Versailles, to insure that the clothes you want shall be sent, notwithstanding the interference of that impertinent Exempt, who took himself off on the outside of the drawbridge, and has doubtless gone back to lay his complaint against me before Louvois. I know the King, however; and knowing that he wishes no one to be treated with harshness or severity, have therefore no fear of the consequences."

The Count held out his hand to him frankly. "I am very much obliged to you, Monsieur de Cantal," he said, "for the kindness and politeness you have shown me. It is at such moments as these, that kindness and politeness become real benefits."

The officer took his hand respectfully, and then, without more words, retired; the carriage pa.s.sed out; the gates creaked upon their hinges; and the heavy drawbridge swung slowly up, with a jarring sound of chains, and heavy iron work, sadly harmonious with the uses of the building, which they shut out from the world.

The governor then led the way towards the large and heavy ma.s.s of gloomy masonry, with its eight tall gaunt towers, which formed the real prison of the Bastille, and approached the gate in the centre, that looked towards the gardens and buildings of the a.r.s.enal. The drawbridge there was by this time down, and the gates were open for the admission of the prisoner; while what was called the staff of the Bastille stood ready to receive him, and the guard of the grand court was drawn up in line on either side.

"You see we have an extensive court here," said the governor, leading the way. "It is somewhat dark to be sure, on account of the buildings being so high; but, however, some of our people, when they have been accustomed to it for a year or two, find it cheerful enough. We will put you, I think, Monsieur de Morseiul, into what is called the Tower of Liberty, both because the name is a pleasant name--though it is but a name after all, either here or elsewhere--and also because it is close to the library, and as long as you have the great liberties, as they are called, you may go in there, and amuse yourself. Most of you Huguenots, I believe, are somewhat of bookworms, and when a man cannot find many of the living to talk to, he likes just as well to talk to the dead. I do not suppose, that, like some of our inmates here on their first arrival, you are going to mope and pine like a half-starved cat, or a sick hen. It is hard to bear at first I acknowledge; but there's nothing like bearing a thing gaily after all.

This way, Monsieur de Morseiul, this way, and I will show you your apartment."

He accordingly led him to the extreme angle of the grand court on the left hand, where a large transverse ma.s.s of architecture, containing the library, the hall of the council, and various other apartments, separated that part from the lesser court, called the Court of the well. A small stone doorway opened the way to a narrow spiral staircase, which made the head dizzy with its manifold turning; and about halfway up the steps the governor paused, and opened a door which communicated by a narrow but crooked pa.s.sage, with a single tolerable sized chamber, handsomely furnished.

"You see we treat you well, Monsieur de Morseiul," said Besmaux; "and if any thing can be done to make your residence here pleasant, we shall not fail to do it. There is but little use, if any, of causing doors to be locked or sentries to be placed. Some of the guards, or some of the officers of the staff, will be very willing to show you as much as is right of the rest of the building: and, in the mean time, can I serve you?"

"In nothing, I am afraid," replied the Count. "I have neither clothes, nor baggage, nor any thing else with me, which will put me to some inconvenience till they send it to me; but I understand that orders have been given to that effect already; and I should only be glad to have any clothes and linen that may arrive as soon as possible."

"I will see to it, I will see to it," replied Besmaux. "You have dined of course, Count; but to-night you will sup with me."

"If my stay here is to be long," said the Count, after thanking the governor for his invitation, "I should, of course, be very glad to have the attendance of a domestic. I care not much, indeed, whether it be one of my own, or whether it be one with which you can supply me for the time, but I am not used to be without some sort of attendance."

The governor smiled. "You must not be nice in the Bastille, Monsieur de Morseiul," he said; "we all do with few attendants here, but we will see what can be done for you. At present we know nothing, but that here you are. The order for your reception is of that kind which leaves every thing doubtful but the fact that, for the time, you are not to be confined very strictly; and, indeed, as the letter is somewhat informal, as every thing is that comes from the hands of Monsieur de Louvois, I must write to him again for farther information. As soon as I receive it, the whole shall be arranged as far as I can to your satisfaction. In the mean time we will give you every indulgence, as far as our own general rules will allow, though, perhaps, you will think that share of indulgence very small."

The Count expressed his thanks in commonplace terms, well knowing the character of Besmaux, and that his fair speeches only promised a degree of courtesy which his actions generally failed to fulfil.

After lingering for a moment or two, the governor left his prisoner in the abode a.s.signed to him, and returned to his own dwelling, without locking the door of the apartment.

There are states of mind in which the necessity of calm contemplation is so strong and overpowering, that none of the ordinary motives which affect our nature have any influence upon us for the time,--states in which even vanity the most irritable, and curiosity the most active of our moral prompters in this world, slumber inactive, and leave thought and judgment paramount. Such was the case with the Count de Morseiul.

Although he had certainly been interested with every thing concerning the prison, which was to be his abode for an undefined length of time; although all that took place indicative of his future destiny was, of course, not without attraction and excitement, he had grown weary of the formalities of his entrance into the Bastille, less because they were wearisome in themselves than because he longed to be alone, and to have a few minutes for calm and silent reflection.

When he did come to reflect, however, the prospect presented was dark, gloomy, and sad. He was cut off from the escape he had meditated. The only thing that could have saved him from the most imminent dangers and difficulties, the only scheme which he had been able to fall upon to secure even the probability of peace and safety upon earth, had been now frustrated. The charges likely to be brought against him, if once averred by the decision of a court of justice, were such as, he well knew, could not and would not be followed by pardon; and when he looked at the chances that existed of those charges being sanctioned, confirmed, and declared just, by any commission that might sit to try him, he found that the probabilities were altogether against him; and that if party feeling bia.s.sed the opinion of one single magistrate, his cause was utterly lost. In cases where circ.u.mstantial evidence is every thing--and therein lies the horror and danger of judging by circ.u.mstantial evidence--so light a word, so small a turn will give a completely different view to the whole circ.u.mstances of any case, will so completely prejudice the question, and bias the minds of hearers, that he was quite aware if any zealous Catholics should be engaged in the task of persecuting him to the last, he could scarcely hope to escape from such serious imputations, as would justify perhaps his permanent detention, if not his death. He had been at the meeting of the Protestants on the moor, which though not illegal at the time, had been declared to be so since. He had then addressed the people, and had exhorted them to tranquillity and to peace; but where were the witnesses to come from in order to prove that such was the case. He had gone unarmed to that meeting; but others had been there in arms and with arms concealed. He, himself, with his own hand, had struck the first blow, from which such awful consequences had sprung; but how was he to prove the provocation which he had, in the first instance, received; or the protection which he had afterwards given to the base and unworthy young man, who had escaped from death by his means, only to become a murderer the moment after. The only witnesses that he could call were persons of the party inimical to the court, who might now be found with difficulty--when emigration was taking place from every part of France,--who would only be partially believed if they could be heard, and who would place themselves in danger by bearing testimony on his behalf.

The witnesses against him would be the hired miscreants who had fired into a body of unoffending people, but who were of the religion of the judges, the unscrupulous adherents of the cause to which those judges were bound by every tie of interest and of prejudice, and who were serving under a monarch that, on one terrible occasion, had stepped in to overrule the decision of a court of justice, and to inflict severer punishment than even his own creatures had dared to a.s.sign. Death, therefore, seemed to be the only probable end of his imprisonment, death, or eternal loss of liberty! and the Count knew the court, and the character of those with whom he had to deal, too well, to derive any degree of consolation from the lenity with which he was treated at first.

Had he been now in heart and mind, as he was not very long before, when quitting the army on the signature of the truce he had returned to the home of his ancestors, the prospect would have been far less terrible to him, far less painful. His heart was then in some degree solitary, his mind was comparatively alone in the world. He had spent the whole of his active life in scenes of danger and of strife. He had confronted death so often, that the lean and horrid monster had lost his terrors and become familiar with one, who had seemed to seek his acquaintance as if in sport. His ties to the world had been few; for the existence of bright days, and happy careless moments, and splendid fortune, and the means of luxury and enjoyment at command, are not the things that bind and attach us to life. The tie, the strong, the mighty tie of deep and powerful affection to some being, or beings, like himself, had been wanting. There were many that he liked; there were many that he esteemed; there were many he protected and supported even at that time; but he knew and felt that if he were gone the next moment, they would be liked, and esteemed, and supported, and protected by others, and would feel the same, or nearly the same, towards those who succeeded as towards him, when he had pa.s.sed away from the green and sunny earth and left them to the care of newer friends.

But now other ties had arisen around him--ties, the strength, the durability, the firm pressure of which he had never known before.