The Vicomte de Bragelonne

  CHAPTER XCIV.

  THE MORNING.

  In opposition to the sad and terrible destiny of the king imprisoned inthe Bastille, and tearing, in sheer despair, the bolts and bars of hisdungeon, the rhetoric of the chroniclers of old would not fail topresent, as a complete antithesis, the picture of Philippe lying asleepbeneath the royal canopy. We do not pretend to say that such rhetoric isalways bad, and always scatters, in places it should not, the flowerswith which it embellishes and enlivens history. But we shall, on thepresent occasion, carefully avoid polishing the antithesis in question,but shall proceed to draw another picture as carefully as possible, toserve as a companion to the one we have drawn in the last chapter. Theyoung prince descended from Aramis' room, in the same way the king haddescended from the apartment dedicated to Morpheus. The dome graduallyand slowly sank down under Aramis' pressure, and Philippe stood besidethe royal-bed, which had ascended again after having deposited itsprisoner in the secret depths of the subterranean passage. Alone, in thepresence of all the luxury which surrounded him; alone, in the presenceof his power; alone, with the part he was about to be forced to act,Philippe for the first time felt his heart, and mind, and soul expandbeneath the influence of a thousand varied emotions, which are the vitalthrobs of a king's heart. But he could not help changing color when helooked upon the empty bed, still tumbled by his brother's body. Thismute accomplice had returned, after having completed the work it hadbeen destined to perform; it returned with the traces of the crime; itspoke to the guilty author of that crime, with the frank and unreservedlanguage which an accomplice never fears using toward his companion inguilt; for it spoke the truth. Philippe bent over the bed, andperceived a pocket-handkerchief lying on it, which was still damp fromthe cold sweat which had poured from Louis XIV.'s face. Thissweat-bestained handkerchief terrified Philippe, as the blood of Abelhad terrified Cain.

  "I am now face to face with my destiny," said Philippe, with his eyes onfire, and his face lividly white. "Is it likely to be more terrifyingthan my captivity has been sad and gloomy? When I am compelled to followout, at every moment, the sovereign power and authority I have usurped,shall I never cease to listen to the scruples of my heart? Yes! the kinghas lain on this bed: it is, indeed, his head that has left itsimpression on this pillow; his bitter tears which have stained thishandkerchief; and yet, I hesitate to throw myself on the bed, or topress in my hand the handkerchief which is embroidered with my brother'sarms. Away with this weakness; let me imitate M. d'Herblay, who assertsthat a man's action should be always one degree above his thought; letme imitate M. d'Herblay, whose thoughts are of and for himself alone,who regards himself as a man of honor, so long as he injures or betrayshis enemies only. I, I alone, should have occupied this bed, if LouisXIV. had not, owing to my mother's criminal abandonment of me, stood inmy way; and this handkerchief, embroidered with the arms of France,would, in right and justice, belong to me alone, if, as M. d'Herblayobserves, I had been left in my place in the royal cradle. Philippe, sonof France, take your place on that bed; Philippe, sole king of France,resume the blazonry which is yours! Philippe, sole heir presumptive toLouis XIII., your father, show yourself without pity or mercy for theusurper who, at this moment, has not even to suffer the agony of theremorse of all that you have had to submit to."

  With these words, Philippe, notwithstanding an instinctive repugnance offeeling, and in spite of the shudder of terror which mastered his will,threw himself on the royal bed, and forced his muscles to press thestill warm place where Louis XIV. had lain, while he buried his burningface in the handkerchief still moistened by his brother's tears. Withhis head thrown back and buried in the soft down of his pillow, Philippeperceived above him the crown of France, suspended, as we have stated,by angels with outspread golden wings.

  A man may be ambitious of lying in a lion's den, but can hardly hope tosleep there quietly. Philippe listened attentively to every sound; hisheart panted and throbbed at the very suspicion of approaching terrorand misfortune; but confident in his own strength, which was confirmedby the force of an overpowering resolute determination, he waited untilsome decisive circumstance should permit him to judge for himself. Hehoped that some imminent danger would be revealed for him, like thosephosphoric lights of the tempest which show the sailors the altitude ofthe waves against which they have to struggle. But nothing approached.Silence, the mortal enemy of restless hearts, the mortal enemy ofambitious minds, shrouded in the thickness of its gloom during theremainder of the night the future king of France, who lay theresheltered beneath his stolen crown. Toward the morning a shadow, ratherthan a body, glided into the royal chamber; Philippe expected hisapproach, and neither expressed nor exhibited any surprise.

  "Well, M. d'Herblay?" he said.

  "Well, sire, all is done."

  "How?"

  "Exactly as we expected."

  "Did he resist?"

  "Terribly! tears and entreaties."

  "And then?"

  "A perfect stupor."

  "But, at last?"

  "Oh! at last, a complete victory, and absolute silence."

  "Did the governor of the Bastille suspect anything?"

  "Nothing."

  "The resemblance, however--"

  "That was the cause of the success."

  "But the prisoner cannot fail to explain himself. Think well of that. Ihave myself been able to do that, on a former occasion."

  "I have already provided for everything. In a few days, sooner ifnecessary, we will take the captive out of his prison, and will send himout of the country, to a place of exile so remote--"

  "People can return from their exile, Monsieur d'Herblay."

  "To a place of exile so distant, I was going to say, that human strengthand the duration of human life would not be enough for his return."

  And once more a cold look of intelligence passed between Aramis and theyoung king.

  "And M. de Valon?" asked Philippe, in order to change the conversation.

  "He will be presented to you to-day, and confidentially willcongratulate you on the danger which that conspirator has made you run."

  "What is to be done with him?"

  "With M. de Valon?"

  "Yes; confer a dukedom on him, I suppose."

  "A dukedom," replied Aramis, smiling in a significant manner.

  "Why do you laugh, Monsieur d'Herblay?"

  "I laugh at the extreme caution of your idea."

  "Cautious, why so?"

  "Your majesty is doubtless afraid that that poor Porthos may probablybecome a troublesome witness, and you wish to get rid of him."

  "What! in making him a duke?"

  "Certainly; you would assuredly kill him, for he would die from joy, andthe secret would die with him."

  "Good heavens!"

  "Yes," said Aramis phlegmatically; "I should lose a very good friend."

  At this moment, and in the middle of this idle conversation, under thelight tone of which the two conspirators concealed their joy and prideat their mutual success, Aramis heard something which made him prick uphis ears.

  "What is that?" said Philippe.

  "The dawn, sire."

  "Well?"

  THE KING ENTERED INTO THE CELL WITHOUT PRONOUNCING ASINGLE WORD: HE WAS PALE AND HAGGARD.--_Page 370._]

  "Well, before you retired to bed last night, you probably decided to dosomething this morning at the break of day."

  "Yes; I told my captain of the musketeers," replied the young manhurriedly, "that I should expect him."

  "If you told him that, he will certainly be here, for he is a mostpunctual man."

  "I hear a step in the vestibule."

  "It must be he."

  "Come, let us begin the attack," said the young king resolutely.

  "Be cautious, for Heaven's sake; to begin the attack, and withD'Artagnan, would be madness. D'Artagnan knows nothing, he has seennothing; he is a hundred miles from suspecting our mystery in theslightest degree; but if he comes into this room the first t
his morning,he will be sure to detect something which has taken place, and which hewould think his business to occupy himself about. Before we allowD'Artagnan to penetrate into this room, we must air the room thoroughly,or introduce so many people into it, that the keenest scent in the wholekingdom may be deceived by the traces of twenty different persons."

  "But how can I send him away, since I have given him a rendezvous?"observed the prince, impatient to measure swords with so redoubtable anantagonist.

  "I will take care of that," replied the bishop, "and in order to begin,I am going to strike a blow which will completely stupefy our man."

  "He too is striking a blow, for I hear him at the door," added theprince hurriedly.

  And, in fact, a knock at the door was heard at that moment. Aramis wasnot mistaken; for it was indeed D'Artagnan who adopted that mode ofannouncing himself.

  We have seen how he passed the night in philosophizing with M. Fouquet,but the musketeer was very wearied even of feigning to fall asleep, andas soon as the dawn illumined with its pale blue light the sumptuouscornices of the surintendant's room, D'Artagnan rose from his armchair,arranged his sword, brushed his coat and hat with his sleeve like aprivate soldier getting ready for inspection.

  "Are you going out?" said Fouquet.

  "Yes, monseigneur. And you?"

  "No; I shall remain."

  "You give me your word?"

  "Certainly."

  "Very good. Besides, my only reason for going out, is to try and getthat reply--you know what I mean?"

  "That sentence, you mean--"

  "Stay, I have something of the old Roman in me. This morning, when I gotup, I remarked that my sword had not caught in one of the_aiguillettes_, and that my shoulder-belt had slipped quite off. That isan infallible sign."

  "Of prosperity?"

  "Yes; be sure of it; for every time that that confounded belt of minesticks fast to my back, it always signified a punishment from M. deTreville, or a refusal of money by M. de Mazarin. Every time my swordhung fast to my shoulder-belt, it always predicted some disagreeablecommission or another for me to execute, and I have had showers of themall my life through. Every time, too, my sword danced about in itssheath, a duel, fortunate in its result, was sure to follow; whenever itdangled about the calves of my legs, it was a slight wound; every timeit fell completely out of the scabbard I was booked, and made up my mindthat I should have to remain on the field of battle, with two or threemonths under the surgeon's care into the bargain."

  "I never knew your sword kept you so well informed," said Fouquet, witha faint smile, which showed how he was struggling against his ownweaknesses. "Is your sword bewitched, or under the influence of somecharm?"

  "Why, you must know that my sword may almost be regarded as part of myown body. I have heard that certain men seem to have warnings given themby feeling something the matter with their legs, or by a throbbing oftheir temples. With me, it is my sword that warns me. Well, it told meof nothing this morning. But, stay a moment--look here, it has justfallen, of its own accord, into the last hole of the belt. Do you knowwhat that is a warning of?"

  "No."

  "Well, that tells me of an arrest that will have to be made this veryday."

  "Well," said the surintendant, more astonished than annoyed by thisfrankness, "if there is nothing disagreeable predicted to you by yoursword, I am to conclude that it is not disagreeable for you to arrestme."

  "You! arrest you!"

  "Of course. The warning--"

  "Does not concern you, since you have been arrested ever sinceyesterday. It is not you I shall have to arrest, be assured of that.That is the reason why I am delighted, and also the reason why I saidthat my day will be a happy one."

  And with these words, pronounced with the most affectionate graciousnessof manner, the captain took leave of Fouquet in order to wait upon theking. He was on the point of leaving the room, when Fouquet said to him,"One last mark of your kindness."

  "What is it, monseigneur?"

  "M. d'Herblay; let me see Monsieur d'Herblay."

  "I am going to try and get him to come to you."

  D'Artagnan did not think himself so good a prophet. It was written thatthe day would pass away and realize all the predictions that had beenmade in the morning. He had accordingly knocked, as we have seen, at theking's door. The door opened. The captain thought that it was the kingwho had just opened it himself: and this supposition was not altogetherinadmissible, considering the state of agitation in which he had leftLouis XIV. the previous evening; but instead of his royal master, whomhe was on the point of saluting with the greatest respect, he perceivedthe long, calm features of Aramis. So extreme was his surprise, that hecould hardly refrain from uttering a loud exclamation. "Aramis!" hesaid.

  "Good-morning, dear D'Artagnan," replied the prelate, coldly.

  "You here!" stammered out the musketeer.

  "His majesty desires you to report that he is still sleeping, afterhaving been greatly fatigued during the whole night."

  "Ah!" said D'Artagnan, who could not understand how the bishop ofVannes, who had been so indifferent a favorite the previous evening, hadbecome in half a dozen hours the largest mushroom of fortune which hadever sprung up in a sovereign's bedroom. In fact, to transmit the ordersof the king even to the mere threshold of that monarch's room, to serveas an intermediary of Louis XIV., so as to be able to give a singleorder in his name at a couple of paces from him, he must be greater thanRichelieu had ever been to Louis XIII. D'Artagnan's expressive eye, hishalf-opened lips, his curling mustache, said as much indeed in theplainest language to the chief favorite, who remained calm and perfectlyunmoved.

  "Moreover," continued the bishop, "you will be good enough, Monsieur leCapitaine des Mousquetaires, to allow those only to pass into the king'sroom this morning who have special permission. His majesty does not wishto be disturbed just yet."

  "But," objected D'Artagnan, almost on the point of refusing to obey thisorder, and particularly of giving unrestrained passage to the suspicionswhich the king's silence had aroused--"but, Monsieur l'Eveque, hismajesty gave me a rendezvous for this morning."

  "Later, later," said the king's voice, from the bottom of the alcove; avoice which made a cold shudder pass through the musketeer's veins. Hebowed, amazed, confused, and stupefied by the smile with which Aramisseemed to overwhelm him, as soon as those words had been pronounced.

  "And then," continued the bishop, "as an answer to what you were comingto ask the king, my dear D'Artagnan, here is an order of his majesty,which you will be good enough to attend to forthwith, for it concerns M.Fouquet."

  D'Artagnan took the order which was held out to him. "To be set atliberty!" he murmured. "Ah!" and he uttered a second "ah!" still morefull of intelligence than the former; for this order explained Aramis'presence with the king, and that Aramis, in order to have obtainedFouquet's pardon, must have made considerable progress in the royalfavor, and that this favor explained, in its tenor, the hardlyconceivable assurance with which M. d'Herblay issued the orders in theking's name. For D'Artagnan it was quite sufficient to have understoodsomething in order to understand everything. He bowed and withdrew acouple of steps, as if he were about to leave.

  "I am going with you," said the bishop.

  "Whereto?"

  "To M. Fouquet; I wish to be a witness of his delight."

  "Ah! Aramis, how you puzzled me just now!" said D'Artagnan again.

  "But you understand now, I suppose?"

  "Of course, I understand," he said, aloud; but then he added in a lowtone to himself, almost hissing the words through his teeth, "No, no, Ido not understand yet. But it is all the same, for here is the order forit." And then he added, "I will lead the way, monseigneur," and heconducted Aramis to Fouquet's apartments.