Chapter XVIII. A Night at the Bastile.
Pain, anguish, and suffering in human life are always in proportion tothe strength with which a man is endowed. We will not pretend to saythat Heaven always apportions to a man's capability of endurance theanguish with which he afflicts him; for that, indeed, would not be true,since Heaven permits the existence of death, which is, sometimes, theonly refuge open to those who are too closely pressed--too bitterlyafflicted, as far as the body is concerned. Suffering is in proportionto the strength which has been accorded; in other words, the weak suffermore, where the trial is the same, than the strong. And what are theelementary principles, we may ask, that compose human strength? Is itnot--more than anything else--exercise, habit, experience? We shall noteven take the trouble to demonstrate this, for it is an axiom in morals,as in physics. When the young king, stupefied and crushed in every senseand feeling, found himself led to a cell in the Bastile, he fancieddeath itself is but a sleep; that it, too, has its dreams as well; thatthe bed had broken through the flooring of his room at Vaux; that deathhad resulted from the occurrence; and that, still carrying out hisdream, the king, Louis XIV., now no longer living, was dreaming oneof those horrors, impossible to realize in life, which is termeddethronement, imprisonment, and insult towards a sovereign who formerlywielded unlimited power. To be present at--an actual witness, too--ofthis bitterness of death; to float, indecisively, in an incomprehensiblemystery, between resemblance and reality; to hear everything, tosee everything, without interfering in a single detail of agonizingsuffering, was--so the king thought within himself--a torture farmore terrible, since it might last forever. "Is this what is termedeternity--hell?" he murmured, at the moment the door was closed uponhim, which we remember Baisemeaux had shut with his own hands. He didnot even look round him; and in the room, leaning with his backagainst the wall, he allowed himself to be carried away by the terriblesupposition that he was already dead, as he closed his eyes, in order toavoid looking upon something even worse still. "How can I have died?" hesaid to himself, sick with terror. "The bed might have been let down bysome artificial means? But no! I do not remember to have felt a bruise,nor any shock either. Would they not rather have poisoned me at mymeals, or with the fumes of wax, as they did my ancestress, Jeanned'Albret?" Suddenly, the chill of the dungeons seemed to fall like a wetcloak upon Louis's shoulders. "I have seen," he said, "my father lyingdead upon his funeral couch, in his regal robes. That pale face, so calmand worn; those hands, once so skillful, lying nerveless by his side;those limbs stiffened by the icy grasp of death; nothing there betokeneda sleep that was disturbed by dreams. And yet, how numerous were thedreams which Heaven might have sent that royal corpse--him whom so manyothers had preceded, hurried away by him into eternal death! No, thatking was still the king: he was enthroned still upon that funeralcouch, as upon a velvet armchair; he had not abdicated one title of hismajesty. God, who had not punished him, cannot, will not punish me, whohave done nothing." A strange sound attracted the young man's attention.He looked round him, and saw on the mantel-shelf, just below an enormouscrucifix, coarsely painted in fresco on the wall, a rat of enormous sizeengaged in nibbling a piece of dry bread, but fixing all the time, anintelligent and inquiring look upon the new occupant of the cell. Theking could not resist a sudden impulse of fear and disgust: he movedback towards the door, uttering a loud cry; and as if he but needed thiscry, which escaped from his breast almost unconsciously, to recognizehimself, Louis knew that he was alive and in full possession of hisnatural senses. "A prisoner!" he cried. "I--I, a prisoner!" He lookedround him for a bell to summon some one to him. "There are no bells inthe Bastile," he said, "and it is in the Bastile I am imprisoned. Inwhat way can I have been made a prisoner? It must have been owing to aconspiracy of M. Fouquet. I have been drawn to Vaux, as to a snare. M.Fouquet cannot be acting alone in this affair. His agent--That voicethat I but just now heard was M. d'Herblay's; I recognized it. Colbertwas right, then. But what is Fouquet's object? To reign in my place andstead?--Impossible. Yet who knows!" thought the king, relapsing intogloom again. "Perhaps my brother, the Duc d'Orleans, is doing that whichmy uncle wished to do during the whole of his life against my father.But the queen?--My mother, too? And La Valliere? Oh! La Valliere, shewill have been abandoned to Madame. Dear, dear girl! Yes, it is--it mustbe so. They have shut her up as they have me. We are separated forever!"And at this idea of separation the poor lover burst into a flood oftears and sobs and groans.
"There is a governor in this place," the king continued, in a fury ofpassion; "I will speak to him, I will summon him to me."
He called--no voice replied to his. He seized hold of his chair, andhurled it against the massive oaken door. The wood resounded against thedoor, and awakened many a mournful echo in the profound depths of thestaircase; but from a human creature, none.
This was a fresh proof for the king of the slight regard in which he washeld at the Bastile. Therefore, when his first fit of anger had passedaway, having remarked a barred window through which there passed astream of light, lozenge-shaped, which must be, he knew, the bright orbof approaching day, Louis began to call out, at first gently enough,then louder and louder still; but no one replied. Twenty other attemptswhich he made, one after another, obtained no other or better success.His blood began to boil within him, and mount to his head. His naturewas such, that, accustomed to command, he trembled at the idea ofdisobedience. The prisoner broke the chair, which was too heavy for himto lift, and made use of it as a battering ram to strike against thedoor. He struck so loudly, and so repeatedly, that the perspiration soonbegan to pour down his face. The sound became tremendous and continuous;certain stifled, smothered cries replied in different directions. Thissound produced a strange effect upon the king. He paused to listen;it was the voice of the prisoners, formerly his victims, now hiscompanions. The voices ascended like vapors through the thick ceilingsand the massive walls, and rose in accusations against the author ofthis noise, as doubtless their sighs and tears accused, in whisperedtones, the author of their captivity. After having deprived so manypeople of their liberty, the king came among them to rob them of theirrest. This idea almost drove him mad; it redoubled his strength, orrather his will, bent upon obtaining some information, or a conclusionto the affair. With a portion of the broken chair he recommenced thenoise. At the end of an hour, Louis heard something in the corridor,behind the door of his cell, and a violent blow, which was returned uponthe door itself, made him cease his own.
"Are you mad?" said a rude, brutal voice. "What is the matter with youthis morning?"
"This morning!" thought the king; but he said aloud, politely,"Monsieur, are you the governor of the Bastile?"
"My good fellow, your head is out of sorts," replied the voice; "butthat is no reason why you should make such a terrible disturbance. Bequiet; _mordioux!_"
"Are you the governor?" the king inquired again.
He heard a door on the corridor close; the jailer had just left, notcondescending to reply a single word. When the king had assured himselfof his departure, his fury knew no longer any bounds. As agile as atiger, he leaped from the table to the window, and struck the iron barswith all his might. He broke a pane of glass, the pieces of whichfell clanking into the courtyard below. He shouted with increasinghoarseness, "The governor, the governor!" This excess lasted fully anhour, during which time he was in a burning fever. With his hair indisorder and matted on his forehead, his dress torn and covered withdust and plaster, his linen in shreds, the king never rested untilhis strength was utterly exhausted, and it was not until then that heclearly understood the pitiless thickness of the walls, the impenetrablenature of the cement, invincible to every influence but that of time,and that he possessed no other weapon but despair. He leaned hisforehead against the door, and let the feverish throbbings of his heartcalm by degrees; it had seemed as if one single additional pulsationwould have made it burst.
"A moment will come when the food which is given to the prisoners wi
llbe brought to me. I shall then see some one, I shall speak to him, andget an answer."
And the king tried to remember at what hour the first repast of theprisoners was served at the Bastile; he was ignorant even of thisdetail. The feeling of remorse at this remembrance smote him like thethrust of a dagger, that he should have lived for five and twenty yearsa king, and in the enjoyment of every happiness, without having bestoweda moment's thought on the misery of those who had been unjustly deprivedof their liberty. The king blushed for very shame. He felt that Heaven,in permitting this fearful humiliation, did no more than render to theman the same torture as had been inflicted by that man upon so manyothers. Nothing could be more efficacious for reawakening his mind toreligious influences than the prostration of his heart and mind and soulbeneath the feeling of such acute wretchedness. But Louis dared not evenkneel in prayer to God to entreat him to terminate his bitter trial.
"Heaven is right," he said; "Heaven acts wisely. It would be cowardlyto pray to Heaven for that which I have so often refused my ownfellow-creatures."
He had reached this stage of his reflections, that is, of his agony ofmind, when a similar noise was again heard behind his door, followedthis time by the sound of the key in the lock, and of the bolts beingwithdrawn from their staples. The king bounded forward to be nearer tothe person who was about to enter, but, suddenly reflecting that it wasa movement unworthy of a sovereign, he paused, assumed a noble and calmexpression, which for him was easy enough, and waited with his backturned towards the window, in order, to some extent, to conceal hisagitation from the eyes of the person who was about to enter. It wasonly a jailer with a basket of provisions. The king looked at the manwith restless anxiety, and waited until he spoke.
"Ah!" said the latter, "you have broken your chair. I said you had doneso! Why, you have gone quite mad."
"Monsieur," said the king, "be careful what you say; it will be a veryserious affair for you."
The jailer placed the basket on the table, and looked at his prisonersteadily. "What do you say?" he said.
"Desire the governor to come to me," added the king, in accents full ofcalm and dignity.
"Come, my boy," said the turnkey, "you have always been very quiet andreasonable, but you are getting vicious, it seems, and I wish youto know it in time. You have broken your chair, and made a greatdisturbance; that is an offense punishable by imprisonment in one of thelower dungeons. Promise me not to begin over again, and I will not say aword about it to the governor."
"I wish to see the governor," replied the king, still governing hispassions.
"He will send you off to one of the dungeons, I tell you; so take care."
"I insist upon it, do you hear?"
"Ah! ah! your eyes are becoming wild again. Very good! I shall take awayyour knife."
And the jailer did what he said, quitted the prisoner, and closed thedoor, leaving the king more astounded, more wretched, more isolated thanever. It was useless, though he tried it, to make the same noise againon his door, and equally useless that he threw the plates and dishes outof the window; not a single sound was heard in recognition. Two hoursafterwards he could not be recognized as a king, a gentleman, a man, ahuman being; he might rather be called a madman, tearing the door withhis nails, trying to tear up the flooring of his cell, and uttering suchwild and fearful cries that the old Bastile seemed to tremble to itsvery foundations for having revolted against its master. As for thegovernor, the jailer did not even think of disturbing him; the turnkeysand the sentinels had reported the occurrence to him, but what was thegood of it? Were not these madmen common enough in such a prison?and were not the walls still stronger? M. de Baisemeaux, thoroughlyimpressed with what Aramis had told him, and in perfect conformity withthe king's order, hoped only that one thing might happen; namely, thatthe madman Marchiali might be mad enough to hang himself to the canopyof his bed, or to one of the bars of the window. In fact, the prisonerwas anything but a profitable investment for M. Baisemeaux, and becamemore annoying than agreeable to him. These complications of Seldonand Marchiali--the complications first of setting at liberty and thenimprisoning again, the complications arising from the strong likeness inquestion--had at last found a very proper _denouement_. Baisemeauxeven thought he had remarked that D'Herblay himself was not altogetherdissatisfied with the result.
"And then, really," said Baisemeaux to his next in command, "an ordinaryprisoner is already unhappy enough in being a prisoner; he suffers quiteenough, indeed, to induce one to hope, charitably enough, that his deathmay not be far distant. With still greater reason, accordingly, when theprisoner has gone mad, and might bite and make a terrible disturbancein the Bastile; why, in such a case, it is not simply an act of merecharity to wish him dead; it would be almost a good and even commendableaction, quietly to have him put out of his misery."
And the good-natured governor thereupon sat down to his late breakfast.