Author: Alexandre Dumas
Category: Adventure
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Chapter XX. The Morning.
In vivid contrast to the sad and terrible destiny of the king imprisonedin the Bastile, and tearing, in sheer despair, the bolts and bars ofhis dungeon, 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 where they have no right togrow, the flowers with which it embellishes and enlivens history. But weshall, on the present occasion, carefully avoid polishing the antithesisin question, but shall proceed to draw another picture as minutely aspossible, to serve as foil and counterfoil to the one in the precedingchapter. The young prince alighted from Aramis's room, in the same waythe king had descended from the apartment dedicated to Morpheus.The dome gradually and slowly sank down under Aramis's pressure, andPhilippe stood beside the royal bed, which had ascended again afterhaving deposited its prisoner in the secret depths of the subterraneanpassage. Alone, in the presence of all the luxury which surrounded him;alone, in the presence of his power; alone, with the part he was aboutto be forced to act, Philippe for the first time felt his heart, andmind, and soul expand beneath the influence of a thousand mutableemotions, which are the vital throbs of a king's heart. He could nothelp changing color when he looked upon the empty bed, still tumbledby his brother's body. This mute accomplice had returned, after havingcompleted the work it had been destined to perform; it returned with thetraces of the crime; it spoke to the guilty author of that crime, withthe frank and unreserved language which an accomplice never fears touse in the company of his companion in guilt; for it spoke the truth.Philippe bent over the bed, and perceived a pocket-handkerchief lying onit, which was still damp from the cold sweat which had poured from LouisXIV.'s face. This sweat-bestained handkerchief terrified Philippe, asthe gore of Abel frightened Cain.
"I am face to face with my destiny," said Philippe, his eyes on fire,and his face a livid white. "Is it likely to be more terrifying than mycaptivity has been sad and gloomy? Though I am compelled to follow out,at every moment, the sovereign power and authority I have usurped, shallI cease to listen to the scruples of my heart? Yes! the king has lainon this bed; it is indeed his head that has left its impression on thispillow; his bitter tears that have stained this handkerchief: and yet,I hesitate to throw myself on the bed, or to press in my hand thehandkerchief which is embroidered with my brother's arms. Away with suchweakness; let me imitate M. d'Herblay, who asserts that a man's actionshould be always one degree above his thoughts; let me imitate M.d'Herblay, whose thoughts are of and for himself alone, who regardshimself as a man of honor, so long as he injures or betrays his enemiesonly. I, I alone, should have occupied this bed, if Louis XIV. had not,owing to my mother's criminal abandonment, stood in my way; and thishandkerchief, embroidered with the arms of France, would in right andjustice belong to me alone, if, as M. d'Herblay observes, I had beenleft my royal cradle. Philippe, son of France, take your place on thatbed; Philippe, sole king of France, resume the blazonry that is yours!Philippe, sole heir presumptive to Louis XIII., your father, showyourself without pity or mercy for the usurper who, at this moment, hasnot even to suffer the agony of the remorse of all that you have had tosubmit 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 overpoweringly resolute determination, he waiteduntil some decisive circumstance should permit him to judge for himself.He hoped that imminent danger might be revealed to 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, that mortal enemy of restless hearts, and of ambitious minds,shrouded in the thickness of its gloom during the remainder of the nightthe future king of France, who lay there sheltered beneath his stolencrown. Towards the morning a shadow, rather than a body, glided into theroyal chamber; Philippe expected his approach and neither expressed norexhibited any surprise.
"Well, M. d'Herblay?"
"Well, sire, all is accomplished."
"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 Bastile suspect anything?"
"Nothing."
"The resemblance, however--"
"Was the cause of the success."
"But the prisoner cannot fail to explain himself. Think well of that. Ihave myself been able to do as much as that, on former occasion."
"I have already provided for every chance. 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."
Once more a cold look of intelligence passed between Aramis and theyoung king.
"And M. du Vallon?" 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. du Vallon?"
"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 poor Porthos may possible becomea 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?"
"Well, before you retired to bed last night, you probably decided to dosomething this morning at 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 this morning,he will be sure to detect something of what has taken place, and whichhe would imagine it his business to occupy himself about. Before weallow D'Artagnan to penetrate into
this room, we must air the roomthoroughly, or introduce so many people into it, that the keenest scentin the whole kingdom may be deceived by the traces of twenty differentpersons."
"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 weary even of feigning to fall asleep, andas soon as earliest dawn illumined with its gloomy gleams of light thesumptuous cornices of the superintendent's room, D'Artagnan rose fromhis armchair, arranged his sword, brushed his coat and hat with hissleeve, like a private soldier getting ready for inspection.
"Are you going out?" said Fouquet.
"Yes, monseigneur. And you?"
"I shall remain."
"You pledge your word?"
"Certainly."
"Very good. Besides, my only reason for going out is to try and get thatreply,--you know what I mean?"
"That sentence, you mean--"
"Stay, I have something of the old Roman in me. This morning, when Igot up, I remarked that my sword had got 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 minestuck 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 ofthem all 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 signified a slight wound; everytime it fell completely out of the scabbard, I was booked, and made upmy mind that I should have to remain on the field of battle, with two orthree months under surgical bandages into the bargain."
"I did not know your sword kept you so well informed," said Fouquet,with a faint smile, which showed how he was struggling against hisown weakness. "Is your sword bewitched, or under the influence of someimperial charm?"
"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 a throbbing of theirtemples. With me, it is my sword that warns me. Well, it told me ofnothing this morning. But, stay a moment--look here, it has just fallenof its own accord into the last hole of the belt. Do you know what thatis 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 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 thathe could 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 most magnificent mushroom of fortunethat had ever sprung up in a sovereign's bedroom. In fact, to transmitthe orders of the king even to the mere threshold of that monarch'sroom, to serve as an intermediary of Louis XIV. so as to be able togive a single order in his name at a couple paces from him, he must havebecome more than Richelieu had ever been to Louis XIII. D'Artagnan'sexpressive eye, half-opened lips, his curling mustache, said as muchindeed in the plainest language to the chief favorite, who remained calmand perfectly unmoved.
"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 these 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'spresence 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 order in theking's name. For D'Artagnan it was quite sufficient to have understoodsomething of the matter in hand to order to understand the rest. Hebowed and withdrew a couple of paces, as though he were about to leave.
"I am going with you," said the bishop.
"Where to?"
"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 added in a low tone tohimself, almost hissing the words between his teeth, "No, no, I do notunderstand yet. But it is all the same, for here is the order for it."And then he added, "I will lead the way, monseigneur," and he conductedAramis to Fouquet's apartments.