El Dorado: An Adventure of the Scarlet Pimpernel
CHAPTER VII. THE MOST PRECIOUS LIFE IN EUROPE
Once more he was being led through the interminable corridors of thegigantic building. Once more from the narrow, barred windows close byhim he heard the heart-breaking sighs, the moans, the curses which spokeof tragedies that he could only guess.
Heron was walking on ahead of him, preceding him by some fifty metres orso, his long legs covering the distances more rapidly than de Batz couldfollow them. The latter knew his way well about the old prison. Few menin Paris possessed that accurate knowledge of its intricate passages andits network of cells and halls which de Batz had acquired after closeand persevering study.
He himself could have led Heron to the doors of the tower where thelittle Dauphin was being kept imprisoned, but unfortunately he did notpossess the keys that would open all the doors which led to it. Therewere sentinels at every gate, groups of soldiers at each end of everycorridor, the great--now empty--courtyards, thronged with prisoners inthe daytime, were alive with soldiery even now. Some walked up anddown with fixed bayonet on shoulder, others sat in groups on the stonecopings or squatted on the ground, smoking or playing cards, but all ofthem were alert and watchful.
Heron was recognised everywhere the moment he appeared, and though inthese days of equality no one presented arms, nevertheless every guardstood aside to let him pass, or when necessary opened a gate for thepowerful chief agent of the Committee of General Security.
Indeed, de Batz had no keys such as these to open the way for him to thepresence of the martyred little King.
Thus the two men wended their way on in silence, one preceding theother. De Batz walked leisurely, thought-fully, taking stock ofeverything he saw--the gates, the barriers, the positions of sentinelsand warders, of everything in fact that might prove a help or ahindrance presently, when the great enterprise would be hazarded. Atlast--still in the wake of Heron--he found himself once more behind themain entrance gate, underneath the archway on which gave the guichet ofthe concierge.
Here, too, there seemed to be an unnecessary number of soldiers: twowere doing sentinel outside the guichet, but there were others in a fileagainst the wall.
Heron rapped with his keys against the door of the concierge's lodge,then, as it was not immediately opened from within, he pushed it openwith his foot.
"The concierge?" he queried peremptorily.
From a corner of the small panelled room there came a grunt and a reply:
"Gone to bed, quoi!"
The man who previously had guided de Batz to Heron's door slowlystruggled to his feet. He had been squatting somewhere in the gloom, andhad been roused by Heron's rough command. He slouched forward now stillcarrying a boot in one hand and a blacking brush in the other.
"Take this lanthorn, then," said the chief agent with a snarl directedat the sleeping concierge, "and come along. Why are you still here?" headded, as if in after-thought.
"The citizen concierge was not satisfied with the way I had done hisboots," muttered the man, with an evil leer as he spat contemptuously onthe floor; "an aristo, quoi? A hell of a place this... twenty cellsto sweep out every day... and boots to clean for every aristo of aconcierge or warder who demands it.... Is that work for a free bornpatriot, I ask?"
"Well, if you are not satisfied, citoyen Dupont," retorted Heron dryly,"you may go when you like, you know there are plenty of others ready todo your work..."
"Nineteen hours a day, and nineteen sous by way of payment.... I havehad fourteen days of this convict work..."
He continued to mutter under his breath, whilst Heron, paying no furtherheed to him, turned abruptly towards a group of soldiers stationedoutside.
"En avant, corporal!" he said; "bring four men with you... we go up tothe tower."
The small procession was formed. On ahead the lanthorn-bearer, witharched spine and shaking knees, dragging shuffling footsteps along thecorridor, then the corporal with two of his soldiers, then Heron closelyfollowed by de Batz, and finally two more soldiers bringing up the rear.
Heron had given the bunch of keys to the man Dupont. The latter, onahead, holding the lanthorn aloft, opened one gate after another. Ateach gate he waited for the little procession to file through, then here-locked the gate and passed on.
Up two or three flights of winding stairs set in the solid stone, andthe final heavy door was reached.
De Batz was meditating. Heron's precautions for the safe-guarding of themost precious life in Europe were more complete than he had anticipated.What lavish liberality would be required! what superhuman ingenuity andboundless courage in order to break down all the barriers that had beenset up round that young life that flickered inside this grim tower!
Of these three requisites the corpulent, complacent intriguer possessedonly the first in a considerable degree. He could be exceedingly liberalwith the foreign money which he had at his disposal. As for courage andingenuity, he believed that he possessed both, but these qualities hadnot served him in very good stead in the attempts which he had made atdifferent times to rescue the unfortunate members of the Royal Familyfrom prison. His overwhelming egotism would not admit for a moment thatin ingenuity and pluck the Scarlet Pimpernel and his English followerscould outdo him, but he did wish to make quite sure that they wouldnot interfere with him in the highly remunerative work of saving theDauphin.
Heron's impatient call roused him from these meditations. The littleparty had come to a halt outside a massive iron-studded door.
At a sign from the chief agent the soldiers stood at attention. He thencalled de Batz and the lanthorn-bearer to him.
He took a key from his breeches pocket, and with his own hand unlockedthe massive door. He curtly ordered the lanthorn-bearer and de Batz togo through, then he himself went in, and finally once more re-locked thedoor behind him, the soldiers remaining on guard on the landing outside.
Now the three men were standing in a square antechamber, dank and dark,devoid of furniture save for a large cupboard that filled the whole ofone wall; the others, mildewed and stained, were covered with a greyishpaper, which here and there hung away in strips.
Heron crossed this ante-chamber, and with his knuckles rapped against asmall door opposite.
"Hola!" he shouted, "Simon, mon vieux, tu es la?"
From the inner room came the sound of voices, a man's and a woman's,and now, as if in response to Heron's call, the shrill tones of a child.There was some shuffling, too, of footsteps, and some pushing aboutof furniture, then the door was opened, and a gruff voice invited thebelated visitors to enter.
The atmosphere in this further room was so thick that at first de Batzwas only conscious of the evil smells that pervaded it; smells whichwere made up of the fumes of tobacco, of burning coke, of a smoky lamp,and of stale food, and mingling through it all the pungent odour of rawspirits.
Heron had stepped briskly in, closely followed by de Batz. The manDupont with a mutter of satisfaction put down his lanthorn and curledhimself up in a corner of the antechamber. His interest in the spectacleso favoured by citizen Heron had apparently been exhausted by constantrepetition.
De Batz looked round him with keen curiosity with which disgust wasready enough to mingle.
The room itself might have been a large one; it was almost impossible tojudge of its size, so crammed was it with heavy and light furniture ofevery conceivable shape and type. There was a monumental wooden bedsteadin one corner, a huge sofa covered in black horsehair in another. Alarge table stood in the centre of the room, and there were at leastfour capacious armchairs round it. There were wardrobes and cabinets, adiminutive washstand and a huge pier-glass, there were innumerable boxesand packing-cases, cane-bottomed chairs and what-nots every-where. Theplace looked like a depot for second-hand furniture.
In the midst of all the litter de Batz at last became conscious of twopeople who stood staring at him and at Heron. He saw a man before him,somewhat fleshy of build, with smooth, mouse-coloured hair brushed awayfrom a central parting, and end
ing in a heavy curl above each ear; theeyes were wide open and pale in colour, the lips unusually thick andwith a marked downward droop. Close beside him stood a youngish-lookingwoman, whose unwieldy bulk, however, and pallid skin revealed thesedentary life and the ravages of ill-health.
Both appeared to regard Heron with a certain amount of awe, and de Batzwith a vast measure of curiosity.
Suddenly the woman stood aside, and in the far corner of the roomthere was displayed to the Gascon Royalist's cold, calculating gaze thepathetic figure of the uncrowned King of France.
"How is it Capet is not yet in bed?" queried Heron as soon as he caughtsight of the child.
"He wouldn't say his prayers this evening," replied Simon with a coarselaugh, "and wouldn't drink his medicine. Bah!" he added with a snarl,"this is a place for dogs and not for human folk."
"If you are not satisfied, mon vieux," retorted Heron curtly, "you cansend in your resignation when you like. There are plenty who will beglad of the place."
The ex-cobbler gave another surly growl and expectorated on the floor inthe direction where stood the child.
"Little vermin," he said, "he is more trouble than man or woman canbear."
The boy in the meanwhile seemed to take but little notice of the vulgarinsults put upon him by his guardian. He stood, a quaint, impassivelittle figure, more interested apparently in de Batz, who was a strangerto him, than in the three others whom he knew. De Batz noted that thechild looked well nourished, and that he was warmly clad in a roughwoollen shirt and cloth breeches, with coarse grey stockings and thickshoes; but he also saw that the clothes were indescribably filthy, aswere the child's hands and face. The golden curls, among which a youngand queenly mother had once loved to pass her slender perfumed fingers,now hung bedraggled, greasy, and lank round the little face, from thelines of which every trace of dignity and of simplicity had long sincebeen erased.
There was no look of the martyr about this child now, even though,mayhap, his small back had often smarted under his vulgar tutor'srough blows; rather did the pale young face wear the air of sullenindifference, and an abject desire to please, which would have appearedheart-breaking to any spectator less self-seeking and egotistic than wasthis Gascon conspirator.
Madame Simon had called him to her while her man and the citizen Heronwere talking, and the child went readily enough, without any sign offear. She took the corner of her coarse dirty apron in her hand, andwiped the boy's mouth and face with it.
"I can't keep him clean," she said with an apologetic shrug of theshoulders and a look at de Batz. "There now," she added, speaking oncemore to the child, "drink like a good boy, and say your lesson to pleasemaman, and then you shall go to bed."
She took a glass from the table, which was filled with a clear liquidthat de Batz at first took to be water, and held it to the boy's lips.He turned his head away and began to whimper.
"Is the medicine very nasty?" queried de Batz.
"Mon Dieu! but no, citizen," exclaimed the woman, "it is good strong eaude vie, the best that can be procured. Capet likes it really--don't you,Capet? It makes you happy and cheerful, and sleep well of nights. Why,you had a glassful yesterday and enjoyed it. Take it now," she added ina quick whisper, seeing that Simon and Heron were in close conversationtogether; "you know it makes papa angry if you don't have at least halfa glass now and then."
The child wavered for a moment longer, making a quaint little grimace ofdistaste. But at last he seemed to make up his mind that it was wisestto yield over so small a matter, and he took the glass from MadameSimon.
And thus did de Batz see the descendant of St. Louis quaffing a glass ofraw spirit at the bidding of a rough cobbler's wife, whom he called bythe fond and foolish name sacred to childhood, maman!
Selfish egoist though he was, de Batz turned away in loathing.
Simon had watched the little scene with obvious satisfaction. Hechuckled audibly when the child drank the spirit, and called Heron'sattention to him, whilst a look of triumph lit up his wide, pale eyes.
"And now, mon petit," he said jovially, "let the citizen hear you sayyour prayers!"
He winked toward de Batz, evidently anticipating a good deal ofenjoyment for the visitor from what was coming. From a heap of litter ina corner of the room he fetched out a greasy red bonnet adorned with atricolour cockade, and a soiled and tattered flag, which had once beenwhite, and had golden fleur-de-lys embroidered upon it.
The cap he set on the child's head, and the flag he threw upon thefloor.
"Now, Capet--your prayers!" he said with another chuckle of amusement.
All his movements were rough, and his speech almost ostentatiouslycoarse. He banged against the furniture as he moved about the room,kicking a footstool out of the way or knocking over a chair. DeBatz instinctively thought of the perfumed stillness of the rooms atVersailles, of the army of elegant high-born ladies who had ministeredto the wants of this child, who stood there now before him, a cap on hisyellow hair, and his shoulder held up to his ear with that gestureof careless indifference peculiar to children when they are sullen oruncared for.
Obediently, quite mechanically it seemed, the boy trod on the flag whichHenri IV had borne before him at Ivry, and le Roi Soleil had flaunted inthe face of the armies of Europe. The son of the Bourbons was spittingon their flag, and wiping his shoes upon its tattered folds. With shrillcracked voice he sang the Carmagnole, "Ca ira! ca ira! les aristos a lalanterne!" until de Batz himself felt inclined to stop his ears and torush from the place in horror.
Louis XVII, whom the hearts of many had proclaimed King of France by thegrace of God, the child of the Bourbons, the eldest son of the Church,was stepping a vulgar dance over the flag of St. Louis, which he hadbeen taught to defile. His pale cheeks glowed as he danced, his eyesshone with the unnatural light kindled in them by the intoxicatingliquor; with one slender hand he waved the red cap with the tricolourcockade, and shouted "Vive la Republique!"
Madame Simon was clapping her hands, looking on the child with obviouspride, and a kind of rough maternal affection. Simon was gazing onHeron for approval, and the latter nodded his head, murmuring words ofencouragement and of praise.
"Thy catechism now, Capet--thy catechism," shouted Simon in a hoarsevoice.
The boy stood at attention, cap on head, hands on his hips, legs wideapart, and feet firmly planted on the fleur-de-lys, the glory of hisforefathers.
"Thy name?" queried Simon.
"Louis Capet," replied the child in a clear, high-pitched voice.
"What art thou?"
"A citizen of the Republic of France."
"What was thy father?"
"Louis Capet, ci-devant king, a tyrant who perished by the will of thepeople!"
"What was thy mother?"
"A ----"
De Batz involuntarily uttered a cry of horror. Whatever the man'sprivate character was, he had been born a gentleman, and his everyinstinct revolted against what he saw and heard. The scene hadpositively sickened him. He turned precipitately towards the door.
"How now, citizen?" queried the Committee's agent with a sneer. "Are younot satisfied with what you see?"
"Mayhap the citizen would like to see Capet sitting in a golden chair,"interposed Simon the cobbler with a sneer, "and me and my wife kneelingand kissing his hand--what?"
"'Tis the heat of the room," stammered de Batz, who was fumbling withthe lock of the door; "my head began to swim."
"Spit on their accursed flag, then, like a good patriot, like Capet,"retorted Simon gruffly. "Here, Capet, my son," he added, pulling the boyby the arm with a rough gesture, "get thee to bed; thou art quite drunkenough to satisfy any good Republican."
By way of a caress he tweaked the boy's ear and gave him a prod in theback with his bent knee. He was not wilfully unkind, for just now hewas not angry with the lad; rather was he vastly amused with the effectCapet's prayer and Capet's recital of his catechism had had on thevisitor.
As to the lad, the intensity
of excitement in him was immediatelyfollowed by an overwhelming desire for sleep. Without any preliminaryof undressing or of washing, he tumbled, just as he was, on to the sofa.Madame Simon, with quite pleasing solicitude, arranged a pillow underhis head, and the very next moment the child was fast asleep.
"'Tis well, citoyen Simon," said Heron in his turn, going towardsthe door. "I'll report favourably on you to the Committee of PublicSecurity. As for the citoyenne, she had best be more careful," he added,turning to the woman Simon with a snarl on his evil face. "There was nocause to arrange a pillow under the head of that vermin's spawn. Manygood patriots have no pillows to put under their heads. Take that pillowaway; and I don't like the shoes on the brat's feet; sabots are quitegood enough."
Citoyenne Simon made no reply. Some sort of retort had apparentlyhovered on her lips, but had been checked, even before it was uttered,by a peremptory look from her husband. Simon the cobbler, snarling inspeech but obsequious in manner, prepared to accompany the citizen agentto the door.
De Batz was taking a last look at the sleeping child; the uncrowned Kingof France was wrapped in a drunken sleep, with the last spoken insultupon his dead mother still hovering on his childish lips.