In such dark anticipations and gloomy reflections, as we have mentioned in the end of the last chapter, the Count de Morseiul passed the solitary hours, till a servant appeared to conduct him to the supper table of the governor. Had he not wished to think, indeed, he might have easily found amusement, either in the court below, where a number of the other prisoners were walking, or in the small library of the château; but he did wish to think, and however sad and sombre the stream of thought might be at that moment, its course only seemed too soon interrupted.
The governor was civil, and even intended to be very affable; but Albert of Morseiul was not of a character to be amused with the anecdotes of a debauched soldier's life; and the only variety which the conversation of Besmaux afforded were tales of the regency of Anne of Austria, which, though they might at any other moment have served to entertain an idle hour, were too light and insignificant to take hold of a mind agitated and writhing like that of the Count.
The governor thought his guest very dull, and, after having made various essays to enliven him, he proposed that they should sit down to play for sums, written upon pieces of paper, which were to be accounted for after the Count's liberation. The young nobleman would have certainly lost the good opinion of Besmaux for ever by declining this proposal, had it not so occurred that two incidents intervened which prevented him from pressing it. The first was the arrival of a large packet of linen and other clothes for the use of the Count; and the governor, who found a real pleasure in the execution of the task of a gaoler, proceeded to examine with his own eyes and hands every separate article which had been sent. It may be supposed that, after the intimation which he had received on the road, the young Count's heart felt no slight agitation and interest during the scrutiny; but if any thing was written in the manner which Riquet had stated, no discovery thereof was made; and, having completely satisfied himself, Besmaux ordered the packet to be carried to the chamber of the Count.
The little excitement thus produced had scarcely worn away, when the great bell was heard to ring, and the officer upon guard appeared to demand the keys. According to the usual form the governor demanded--"For whose admission?"
"For the admission," said the officer, reading from a scrap of paper, "for the admission of Louis de Rohan, called the Chevalier de Rohan."
The governor started up in some surprise--"On what charge?" he demanded.
"For high treason," replied the officer; and Besmaux immediately gave orders for the Chevalier to be brought to his apartments. "Monsieur de Morseiul," he said, "you will be good enough to follow that porte-clef, who will conduct you back to your chamber. Do you feel it cold?--for the King allows firing."
"I have felt it slightly cold," the Count replied, "and of course the state of a prisoner does not tend to warm the heart."
"Give wood to the Count in his chamber," said Besmaux, to one of the turnkeys, who had entered at the same time with the officer on guard; "and now, good night, Count. No word to the prisoner, if you pass him on the stairs!"
The Count rose and departed; and, as the governor had anticipated, met the Chevalier de Rohan at the foot of the stairs. That unfortunate gentleman was guarded by a musketeer on either side, and a man holding a torch preceding him. The moment that his eye fell upon the Count de Morseuil, he stopped, and appeared as if he were about to speak: but an officer who was behind, and, in whom the Count de Morseiul instantly recognised the Marquis of Brissac, major of the King's guard, exclaimed aloud, "Pass on, Monsieur de Rohan!"
The Count, who certainly had no desire to hold any communications with him, merely bowed his head, and followed by the turnkey, passed out into the court. Though Brissac knew him well, he took not the slightest notice of him as he passed, and the Count was conducted to his chamber in the tower of liberty, as it was called, where firing and lights were almost immediately afterwards brought him. On leaving him, however, the turnkey showed, by locking the heavy door without, that the name of the tower had but little real meaning, and the harsh sound of the grating iron fell heavy and painfully upon the Count's ear.
There was, however, the hope before him of receiving some intelligence from his friends without, and as soon as he had made sure that the turnkey was gone for the night, he eagerly opened the packet of clothes that had been sent, and endeavoured, by the means which had been pointed out, to discover any thing which might be written on them. At first he was disappointed, and was beginning to fear that Riquet had been prevented from executing the purpose which he had entertained. At length, however, as he held one of the handkerchiefs before the fire, some slight yellow lines began to appear, grew gradually darker and darker, and assumed the form of letters, words, lines, and sentences. The first thing that was written at the top was in the hand of the valet himself, and contained words of hope and encouragement. It was to the following effect:--
"Fear not; you shall soon be free. The lady has been told of all. The priest has gone safely back to Poitou. No suspicion attaches to any one, and means are taking to do away the evil."
The next sentences were in a different handwriting; and perhaps the young Count might not have been able to recognise whose it was--so different did it seem upon the linen, and in that ink, from the usual writing of Clémence,--had not the words been sufficient to show him from whom it proceeded.
"Fear not, dear Albert," the writing went; "I have heard all and grieve, but do not despond. I have been sent for to see one to-morrow morning early, who is all-powerful. She loved me in my childhood; she promised me many things in my youth, which I was too proud to accept; but I will now cast all pride away for the sake of him I love."
A few lines more were written still further down, but as the Count was turning eagerly to read them, numerous sounds were heard from the court below, the clang of soldiers grounding their arms, and voices speaking, and the moment after, various footsteps might be distinguished ascending the staircase which came towards the room. Fearful that he should be discovered, the Count concealed the handkerchief in his bosom; but the steps passed by the door of his apartment, and, immediately after, heavy footfalls were heard in the room above, with voices speaking in sharp and angry tones. Those sounds soon ceased above, however; four or five persons were heard to descend the stairs, and then all became quiet, except that a quick footstep was still heard pacing backwards and forwards in the apartment over head.
"That is the Chevalier de Rohan," thought the Count. "What crime I wonder can that weak libertine have committed, to deserve the rigorous imprisonment to which it seems he is to be subjected?"
With such brief thought, however, he dismissed the subject from his mind, and turned once more to the writing. By this time it had nearly vanished; but being again exposed to the fire it re-appeared, though more faintly than before. Fearful of interruption, the Count turned to the last lines which he had not read. They seemed to him, as far as he could judge, to be written in the hand of the Chevalier d'Evran, whom, to say sooth, in the joys and fears and agitations of the few preceding days, he had nearly forgotten.
"I have just returned to Paris, dear Albert," it said, "having gone down to Poitou to secure evidence, which they would never have suffered to transpire, if some friend of yours had not been upon the spot. I have secured it. Fear not, therefore, for I and your belle Clémence are labouring together to set you free."
Oh, human nature, strange and extraordinary state of existence, how many contradictions dost thou contain! Although filled with such good hopes, although containing such proofs of friendship, although conveying such important intelligence, the lines written by the Chevalier d'Evran were not altogether pleasing to the Count de Morseiul, and he felt sensations that he was angry with himself for feeling, but which all his schooling of his own heart could scarcely banish.
"I shall hate myself," he continued, "if I feel thus. Must there ever be some counterbalancing thing in life and in feeling, to poize the bad against the good, and to make us less happy, less wise, less generous than we otherwise might be? Here new sensations have sprung up in my bosom, of a deeper and a finer kind than I ever knew before; and must there come some petty jealousy, some small, low, mean want of confidence, even in those I esteem and love to debase me as much as those other feelings might elevate me? I will think of such things no more; and will only think of Louis with gratitude and affection."
Thus saying, or rather thus thinking, he re-read the lines that had been written by Clémence, and found therein a balm and a consolation which healed all the evil of the other. Having done so, his next care was to efface the writing; but that he found by no means difficult, damping the handkerchief in the cruise of water which had been left for him, and which, in a few minutes, left not a vestige of the lines which had been traced for his eye alone. He sat up for some time after this examination, soothed and calmed by the tidings he had received, and certainly far more tranquil in every respect than during the first few hours of his confinement.
The waning of the lights, however, which had been given to him, warned him, at length, that it was time to retire to rest, and after some brief prayers to the Almighty for guidance, protection, and deliverance, he undressed himself, extinguished the lights, and lay down to seek repose; but it was in vain that he did so, for as he lay on the small prison bed which was allotted to him, and gazed round upon the massy walls of the chamber in which he was confined, with the flickering light of the half-extinguished fire flashing from time to time on all the various objects round about, the sensation of imprisonment, of the utter loss of liberty, of being cut off from all correspondence or communication with his fellow-men, of being in the power and at the mercy of others, without any appeal against their will, or any means of deliverance from their hands, came upon him more strongly, more forcibly than ever, and made a heart, not easily bent or affected by any apprehensions, sink with a cold feeling of deep and utter despondency.
Thus passed several hours till, at length, weariness overcame thought, and he obtained sleep towards the morning. He was awakened by the entrance of one of the turnkeys, accompanied by the major of the Bastille; but the tidings which the latter officer brought to the Count de Morseiul were by no means pleasant, or calculated to confirm the hopes that the words of Clémence and the Chevalier d'Evran had held out to him.
"I am sorry to tell you, Monsieur de Morseiul," he said, "that the governor last night received orders from Monsieur de Louvois to place you in stricter confinement, and he is, therefore, obliged to say that you can no longer be permitted to quit your chamber. Any thing that can be done, consistent with his duty, to render your confinement less painful to you, shall be done, depend upon it."
The officer was then bowing, as if to retire; but the Count stopped him by asking, "Is there any objection to my inquiring, Sir, whether there is a cause assigned for this new order?"
"In regard to that I am as ignorant as yourself," replied the major. "All I can tell is, that the order was brought by Monsieur de Brissac at the same time that he conveyed hither the Chevalier de Rohan," and, without waiting for any further questions, he quitted the room in haste; and the turnkey, having brought the Count his breakfast, and, as far as possible, arranged the room with some degree of neatness, followed the major and locked the door.
The full horrors of imprisonment now fell upon the Count de Morseiul, and the day wore away without his holding any further intercourse with any human being, except when his dinner and his supper were brought to him by one of the turnkeys. We need not pause upon his sensations, nor describe minutely all the dark and horrible anticipations which rose, like phantoms, to people his solitary chamber. Night came at length, and this night, at least, he slept; for the exhaustion of his corporeal frame, by the intense emotions of his mind, was far greater than that which could have been produced by a day of the most unusual exercise. Day had scarcely dawned on the following morning, however, when he was roused by two of the officers of the prison entering his chamber, and desiring him to rise, as an officer from the King was waiting to convey him to the royal chamber, at the arsenal, where a commission was sitting for the purpose of interrogating him and his accomplices. The Count made no observation, but hastened to do as he was directed; and, as soon as he was dressed, he descended the narrow and tortuous staircase into the great court of the Bastille, where he found the soldiers of the garrison drawn up in arms on either side, together with a number of officers belonging to the staff of the garrison, various turnkeys and other gaolers, and in their hands, evidently as prisoners, the unfortunate Chevalier de Rohan, and an old white-headed man, apparently of seventy years of age, with a shrewd and cunning countenance, more strongly expressive of acuteness than vigour of mind.
Without suffering him to speak with any one, the officers of the prison placed him in file immediately after the Chevalier de Rohan--a gaoler, however, interposing between each of the prisoners and the one that followed;--and thus, between a double row of soldiery, they marched on into theCour du Gouvernement, as if they were about to be conducted to the house of the governor. When they reached that court, however, they turned at once to the left, mounted a flight of steps leading to a raised terrace which overlooked the water, and then passing onward, approached the grating which separated that court from the gardens of the arsenal.
At the grating appeared a large body of musketeers, commanded by an officer of the name of Jouvelle, who had served under the Count de Morseiul himself, and into his hands the officers of the Bastille delivered their prisoners, who were then marched, under a strong escort, to the arsenal, where the commission was sitting. All the gates of the gardens and of the building itself, the Count remarked, were in the hands of the musketeers of the King, and not another individual was to be seen besides the soldiery, in the gardens usually so thronged with the good citizens of Paris.
Passing through several of the narrow and intricate passages of the building, the three prisoners were placed in a room which seemed to have been destined for a military mess-room; and, while they were kept separate by their guards, an inferior officer was sent out to see whether the commission was ready to proceed. In a few minutes he returned with two officers of the court, who demanded the presence of Louis Chevalier de Rohan.
The interrogation of this prisoner lasted for a great length of time; but, at the end of about an hour and a half, the same officers re-appeared, demanding the presence of Affinius Vandenenden, upon which the old man, whom we have mentioned, rose and followed them out of the room. The Chevalier, however, had not returned with the officers, and during the space of half an hour longer the Count de Morseiul remained in suspense, in regard to what was proceeding. At length the officers once more appeared, and with them the captain of the musketeers, de Jouvelle, who, while the ushers pronounced the name of "Albert Count of Morseiul," passed by the prisoner, as if to speak to one of the soldiers, saying, in a low voice, as he did so, "Be of good cheer, Count; they have said nothing to criminate you."
The Count passed on without reply, and followed the ushers into another chamber at the farther end of the passage, where he found a number of lawyers and counsellors of state assembled as a royal commission, and presided by the well-known La Reynie. The aspect of the room was not that of a court of justice, and it was evident that the commissioners met simply for the purpose of carrying on the preliminary interrogatories. The Count was furnished with a seat, and after a whispering consultation, for a moment, between La Reynie and one of his brethren, the former commenced the interrogation of the Count by assuring him of the clemency and mercy of the King's disposition, and adjuring him to tell, frankly and straight-forwardly, the whole truth, as the only means of clearing his reputation, and re-establishing himself in the royal favour. To this exordium the Count de Morseiul merely replied by an inclination of the head, very well knowing that with some of the gentlemen whom he saw before him it was advisable to be as niggardly of speech as possible. La Reynie then proceeded to ask how long he had been acquainted with the Chevalier de Rohan, and the Count replied that he had known him for many years.
"When did you see him last?" demanded the judge, "and where?"
"In the gardens of Versailles," answered the Count, calmly, "not five minutes before I was myself arrested."
"And upon what occasion," demanded the judge, "did you see him previously?"
"I saw him," replied the Count, "when I visited the Duc de Rouvré, at Poitiers, and once also upon the road between Paris and Versailles, about three or four days ago."
"Are you sure that these are the only days that you have seen him?" demanded the judge. "Recollect yourself, Monsieur le Comte. I think you must have forgotten."
"No, I have not," replied the Count. "I have only seen him on these two occasions since I arrived in Paris, and two or three times during my stay at Poitiers."
"Ay, there is the fact," said La Reynie. "You saw him frequently at Poitiers."
"I also saw various blacksmiths, and lackeys, and horse-boys," said the Count, unable to conceive what connection there could exist between any charges against himself and those against the Chevalier de Rohan, who was known to be a zealous Catholic, "and with them, the blacksmiths, lackeys, and horse-boys, I had as much to do as I had with the Chevalier de Rohan, and no more."
"And pray," continued La Reynie, in the same tone, "what private conversations took place between you and the Chevalier at Poitiers? To the best of your recollection repeat the substance thereof."
The Count smiled. "To the best of my recollection, then," he said, "the substance was as follows: 'Good day, Count de Morseiul. Good morning, Monsieur de Rohan. What a beautiful day it is, Monsieur de Morseiul. It is the most charming weather I remember. There is a sad want of rain, Monsieur le Chevalier, and I fear the poor peasantry will suffer. Do you go out with the duke to hunt to-day? I think not, for my horses are tired.' Such, Sir, is the substance of the only private conversations that took place between myself and the Chevalier at Poitiers."
"Was that all, Monsieur de Morseiul?" demanded La Reynie, with tolerable good humour. "Are you sure you have forgot nothing of equal importance?"
"I believe I have not forgot one word," replied the Count, "except that, on one occasion, Monsieur de Rohan said to me, 'Your hat is unlooped, Count:' when, I am afraid, I looped it without thanking him."
"Well, then, now to somewhat longer and more important conversations, my good young gentleman," said La Reynie. "What has passed between you and the Chevalier de Rohan when you have met him since your arrival at the court?"
"Why, Sir," replied the Count, with a grave and somewhat grieved air, "I give you my word that nothing passed between the Chevalier de Rohan and myself which at all affected his Majesty's service, and I would fain, if it were possible, avoid entering into particulars which, if told to every body, might be painful to a gentleman of my acquaintance, who, I trust, may yet clear himself of any serious charge."
"Monsieur le Comte de Morseiul," said the Counsellor Ormesson, "we respect your motives, and have regard to the manner in which you have expressed them; but the Chevalier de Rohan, I am sorry to inform you, stands charged with high treason upon very strong presumptive evidence. There are particular circumstances which induce a belief that you may have had something to do with his schemes. We trust that such is not the case: but it is absolutely necessary that you should clearly and explicitly state the nature of any transactions which may have taken place between you and him, both for your own safety, for his, and out of respect and duty to the King."
"Then, Sir, I have no other choice," replied the Count, "but to yield to your reasons, and to beg that you would put your questions in such a shape that I may answer them distinctly and easily."
"Very well, Monsieur de Morseiul," said La Reynie; "we have always heard that you are a gentleman of honour, who would not prevaricate even to save his own life. Pray inform us what was the nature of the conversation between you and the Chevalier de Rohan, on the morning of the 23d of this month."
"It was a very short one," replied the Count, somewhat surprised to see what accurate information of his proceedings had been obtained. "The Chevalier overtook me as I was going to Versailles, and on that occasion Monsieur de Rohan informed me that he had lost a large sum at the gaming table on the night before, and begged me to lend him a hundred louis, in the hopes of recovering it by the same means. I advised him strongly to abstain from such proceedings, but of course did not refuse to lend him what he asked."
"Then did you lend him the hundred louis on the spot?" demanded La Reynie.
"No," replied the Count; "I told him that I had not such a sum with me, but promised to send it to him at his lodgings in the course of the afternoon, which I did as soon as ever I arrived at Versailles."
"Pray how happened it, Monsieur de Morseiul," demanded Ormesson, "that as you were going to Versailles, and the Chevalier overtook you going thither also; you did not ride on together, as would seem natural for two gentlemen like yourselves?"
"Nay," replied the Count, smiling, "that I think is pressing the matter rather too far, Monsieur. My society might not be pleasant to the Chevalier, or the reverse might be the case; or we might have other business by the way. A thousand circumstances of the same kind might occur."
"Well, then, I will put the question straightforwardly and at once," said Ormesson. "Had you, or had you not, any reason to believe that the Chevalier de Rohan was at that time engaged in schemes dangerous to the state?"
"None in the world," replied the Count, "and no such feelings or ideas whatsoever had any share in preventing my riding on with the Chevalier de Rohan."
The Commissioners looked at each other for a moment with an inquiring glance, and then La Reynie placed before the Count a note which was to the following effect:--
"My Dear Count,
"I have received what you sent me, for which I return you many thanks, and I have not the slightest doubt, by your assistance, to be able to accomplish the purpose I have in view.
"Your devoted,
"The Chevalier De Rohan."
"Pray, Monsieur de Morseiul," said the Counsellor, "do you recognise that note?"
"Most assuredly," replied the Count. "I received that note from the Chevalier de Rohan, on the very evening of the day we have just mentioned."
"And pray, what is the interpretation you put upon it?" demanded La Reynie.
"Simply," replied the Count, "that he had received the hundred louis which I sent him, and hoped by employing them at the gaming-table to be enabled to win back the sum that he had lost."
"It seems to me," said the judge, "that the note will very well bear two interpretations, Count, and that supposing a gentleman unfortunate enough to have laid schemes for introducing a foreign enemy into the country, or for causing any of the provinces of the kingdom to revolt, and supposing him, at the same time, to be greatly straightened for money and assistance--it seems to me, I say, that the note before us is just such a one as he would write to a friend who had come to his aid at the moment of need, either by giving him aid of a pecuniary or of any other kind."
"All I can say, Sir," replied the Count, "is that the note before you I received from the Chevalier de Rohan, and that no other interpretation than the one I have given was, or could be, put upon it by me. I knew of no schemes whatsoever against the state, and the Chevalier himself had certainly no other meaning than the one I have assigned. It will be very easy for you, however, gentlemen, to place the note before the Chevalier, and make him explain it himself. Though an unfortunate gentleman, he is still a gentleman of honour, and will tell you the truth. We have had no conversation together upon the subject. We have not even interchanged a word as we came hither, and you can compare his statement with mine."
"Perhaps that may have been done already, Monsieur de Morseiul," said Ormesson, "but at all events we think we may close your examination for to-day. The interrogation may be resumed at a future period, when other things have become manifest; and we have only, at present, to exhort you, on all occasions, to deal frankly and openly with the court."
"Such is always my custom to do, Sir," replied the Count. "I stand before you conscious of my innocence of any crime whatsoever, and, having nothing to conceal, am always ready to state frankly and truly what I know, except when by so doing I may wound or injure others."
Thus saying, he bowed to the Commissioners and retired. At the door of the chamber he found two musketeers waiting for his coming out, and, being placed between them, he was once more conducted back to the Bastille by the same way he had come. He was then led by the turnkeys, who were in waiting to receive him, to the same apartment which he had previously occupied; but before nightfall, it was notified to him that the liberties of the Bastille were restored to him, and he received some slight solace by knowing that he should not, for some time at least, be confined to the solitary discomfort of his own apartment, with no occupation but to stride from one side to the other, or gazing out of the narrow window, endeavour to gain a sight of what was passing in the rue St. Antoine.
Within the walls of the Bastille, some weeks passed over almost without incident, but not without pain to the Count de Morseiul; but it would be tedious to detail all the feelings and the thoughts that crossed each other in his bosom during that period. He was still allowed a great degree of liberty, was permitted to take exercise in the great court, to converse with many of the other prisoners, and to hear whispers of what was taking place in the world without. But none of those whispers gave him any tidings of those he loved, any indication of his own probable fate, or any news of the church to which he belonged; and he remarked with pain, that while many of the other prisoners received visits from their friends and acquaintances, either no one sought to see him, or else those who did so were excluded by some express order.
He grieved over this, and perhaps felt, with some degree of bitterness of spirit, that the iron of captivity might not only enter into the soul, but might wear and corrode the mind on which it pressed. Such feelings made him at once apply himself eagerly to every thing that could occupy his thoughts, and turn them from contemplations which he knew to be not only painful, but hurtful also; and he soon created for himself a number of those occupations which many an unhappy man besides himself has devised at different times for the solace of captivity.
The library, however, was his greatest enjoyment. Though so fond of all manly exercises, and famous for his skill therein, he had from his youth loved the communing with other minds, in the pages which the hand of genius has traced, and which have been given forth as the deliberate effort of the writer's spirit. He loved, I say, that communing with other men's hearts and minds which is undisturbed by discussion, or wordy dispute, or any of the petty vanities that creep into the living conversation even of the great, the learned, and the good; and now, though the library was small, and perhaps not very well selected, yet there was many a book therein which afforded him sweet occupation during some, at least, of the melancholy hours of imprisonment.
At other times he walked the length of the court yard, gaining where he could a gleam of sunshine; and rather than suffer his thoughts, as he did so walk, to dwell upon the painful theme of his own fate, he would count the very stones of the pavement, and moralise upon their shapes and colours. Almost every day, during the period we have mentioned, the guard was turned out, the prisoners having their liberties were ordered to keep back, and a train of others in the stricter state of imprisonment were marched out to the arsenal. Amongst these was usually the unhappy Chevalier de Rohan; and the wistful, longing gaze with which one day he looked round the court as he passed through, seeming to envy the other prisoners the sort of liberty they enjoyed, caused the Count de Morseiul to task severely his own heart for the repinings which he felt at his own situation.
Various little occurrences of the same kind took place from time to time, affording a momentary matter of interest in the midst of the dark sameness of the prison life. At one period, during the whole of several nights, the Count de Morseiul heard at intervals voices which seemed to be shouting through speaking trumpets. The place from which the sound proceeded varied constantly; and the young prisoner could only conclude that some friends of one of the sad inhabitants of the Bastille were prowling round it, endeavouring to communicate intelligence. He listened eagerly, in the supposition that those sounds might be addressed to him; but though from time to time he could catch a single word, such as "dead," "told," &c., he could make no continuous sense of what was said.
The first time this occurred was shortly after his examination before the commission, and it continued, for three or four nights, to be repeated at different hours; but still the sounds were too distant for him to ascertain the meaning of the speakers, and he was obliged to content himself with believing that this intelligence was not intended for himself, and hoping that it had been more distinct to the unfortunate person for whose ears it was designed.[2]After having listened during the whole of one night, and the words not being repeated, he determined to ask one of his fellow-prisoners, who had the liberty like himself of walking in the court, whether he had heard it, and had been able to make out what was said.
The personage whom he fixed upon in his own mind for that purpose was a tall, upright, elderly man, with a soldier-like air, and a good deal of frankness of manner, approaching, perhaps, to what is called bluffness, without being in the slightest degree rude or uncivil. He seemed to seek nobody, but to converse willingly with any one when he was sought--gave his opinion in few words, but distinctly, accurately, and positively--bore his imprisonment with perfect lightness and indifference--never referred in the slightest degree to the cause thereof or to his own history, though without appearing to avoid the subject at all--and, in short, impressed strongly on the minds of those who saw him, and were accustomed to judge of the world, that he was a frank, upright, straight-forward soldier, accustomed to various kinds of endurance, and bearing all with manly firmness and resolution.
He spoke French with great fluency and accuracy; but at times, in conversing with him, the Count de Morseiul had fancied he could remark a foreign accent, though very slight, and he was inclined to believe that the old officer was one of the Weimerians who had served so long in the pay of France. His countenance, indeed, was not like that of a German; there was more quickness and brightness of the eye, and the features were more elongated, and somewhat sharper than is common amongst the Teutonic races. But still a great part of the Weimerian troops had been levied on the borders of the Rhine, where the mixture of French and other blood often makes itself strongly to be remarked amongst the German population. His ordinary walk was from one corner of the court-yard to the opposite angle, which gave the utmost extent of space that could be had; and there the young Count, on descending the staircase, found him walking up and down with his usual quick pace and erect carriage. Though the old man neither paused nor noticed him further than by a passing "Good morning, Sir," the Count joined him, and at once spoke of the matter in question.
"Have you heard," he said, "during this last night or two, some people shouting, apparently through speaking trumpets, as if they wished to convey intelligence to one of us prisoners?"
"Once or twice very faintly," replied the other. "But I am on the opposite side of the prison to you, you know, and the sounds I heard seemed to come from your side, or, at all events, not further round than the Well Tower. Do you think they were addressed to you?"
"I think not," replied the Count; "and if they were, I certainly could make nothing of them. I looked out of my window to get a sight as far as possible of the speakers by the moonlight the other night, but I was not successful; for I can see, as I am placed, into the little Place St. Antoine, but no further. However, I tried to distinguish the voices, and certainly they were not those of any one I know."
"A speaking trumpet makes a great difference," replied his companion. "I should have liked to have heard them more distinctly."
"Do you think they were intended for you?" said the Count.
"Oh dear no," replied the other; "nobody can have any thing to tell me. If ever my liberty comes, it will come at once; and as to either trying me or punishing me in any other way than by imprisonment, that they dare not do."
"That is in some degree a happy situation," said the Count. "But I scarcely know how that can be, for judging by my own case, and that of many others, I have no slight reason to believe that they dare try or punish any man in France, whether guilty or not."
"Any Frenchman you mean, Count," replied the stranger; "but that does not happen to be my case; and though my own King may be rascal and fool enough to let me stay here wearing out the last days of a life, the greater part of which has been devoted to the service of himself and his ungrateful ancestors, yet I do not believe that he dare for his life suffer me to be publicly injured. A trial would, as a matter of course, be known sooner or later. They may poison me, perhaps," he continued, "to keep me quiet, though I do not think it either. Your King is not so bad as that, though he is a great tyrant; but he is not bloody by his nature. However, Monsieur de Morseiul, as I am not in here for any crime, as I never had any thing to do with a conspiracy of any kind, as I am not a native of this country, or a subject of your King, as I have not a secret in the world, and little more money than will serve to feed and clothe me, I do not see that any one can have either object or interest in hallooing at me through a speaking trumpet."
"You have excited my curiosity," said the Count, "and a Frenchman's curiosity, you know, is always somewhat intrusive; but as you have just said that you have not a secret in the world, it will seem less impertinent than it otherwise would be if I ask what, in the name of fortune, you can be here for?"
"Not in the least impertinent," replied the other. "I am in here for something of the same kind that they tell me you are in here for: namely, for differing from the King of France in regard to transubstantiation; for thinking that he'll go to the devil at once when he dies, without stopping half-way at a posthouse, called Purgatory, which a set of scoundrels have established for their own particular convenience; and for judging it a great deal better that people should sing psalms, and say their prayers, in a language that they understand, than in a tongue they know not a word of. I mean, in short, for being a Protestant; for if it had not been for that, I should not have been in here. The fact was, I served long in this country in former times, and having taken it into my head to see it again, and to visit some old friends, I undertook a commission to bring back a couple of brats of a poor cousin of mine, who had been left here for their education. Louis found out what I was about, declared that I came to make Protestant converts, and shut me up in the Bastille, where I have been now nearly nine months. I sent a message over to the King of England by a fellow-prisoner who was set at liberty some time ago. But every one knows that Charles would have sold his own soul by the pound, and thrown his father and mother, and all his family, into the scale, for the sake of a few crowns, at any time. This Popish rascal, too, who is now on the throne, doubtless thinks that I am just as well where I am, so I calculate upon whistling away my days within the four walls of this court.--I don't care, it can't last very long. I was sixty-five on the third of last month, and though there feels some life in these old limbs, the days of Mathuselah, thank God, are gone by, and we've no more kicking about now for a thousand years. I shouldn't wonder," he continued, "if the people you heard were hallooing to that unfortunate Chevalier de Rohan, whom they dragged through this morning to be interrogated again. They say he'll have his head chopped off to a certainty. If we could have found out what the people said we might have told him, for prisoners will get at each other let them do what they like."
"I listened for one whole night," said the Count, "but found it quite in vain. The judges I suppose are satisfied that I had nothing to do with this business of the Chevalier de Rohan's, otherwise they would have had me up again for examination."
"God knows," replied his companion. "Tyranny is like an actor at a country fair, and one never knows which way he will kick next."
Thus passed the conversation between the Count and the old English officer, whose name, somewhat disfigured indeed, may be found written in the registers of the Bastille as arrested on suspicion; for which crime he, like many others, was subjected to imprisonment for a lengthened period. He and the Count de Morseiul now usually took their walk together, and in his society the young nobleman found no small delight, for there was a sort of quaint indifference which gave salt and flavour to considerable good sense and originality of thought. The old man himself seemed to take a pleasure in conversing with the young Count; which was evidently not the case with the generality of his fellow-prisoners. One morning, however, towards the end of the period we have mentioned, the sound of the falling drawbridge was heard, the soldiers drew up in double line, the order for all the other prisoners to fall back was given, and the Chevalier de Rohan, followed by two or three other prisoners, amongst whom were Vandenenden and a lady, were brought in as if from examination.
The countenances of almost all were very pale, with the exception of that of the Chevalier de Rohan, which was inflamed, with a fiery spot on either cheek, while his eyes flashed fire, and his lips were absolutely covered with foam. Four times between the great gate of the court and the tower in which he was confined, he halted abruptly, and turning round with furious gestures to the guards and gaolers who surrounded him, poured forth a torrent of fierce and angry words, exclaiming that he had been deceived, cheated, that the King's name had been used to assure him of safety, and that now the King had retracted the promises and was going to murder him.
It was in vain that the guards tried to stop him, and endeavoured to force him onward. Still he turned round as soon as ever he had an opportunity, and shouted forth the same accusation with horrible imprecations and even blasphemies. The second prisoner, who seemed to be a military man, paused and regarded the Chevalier with a stern and somewhat scornful air, but the lady and the old man, Vandenenden, were drowned in tears, and from all the Count saw he concluded that the trial of the Chevalier and his accomplices had either terminated in their condemnation, or else had taken such a turn as showed that result to be inevitable.
From that time none of the prisoners who had the liberties of the Bastille were allowed to remain in the court when the Chevalier and his accomplices passed through it, an order being given before the gates were opened, for every one to retire to his own apartments. Three days after this new regulation, such an order having been given, the Count obeyed it willingly, for the weather had become cold and damp, and the court of the Bastille felt like a well. He had obtained permission to take some books out of the library, in which there was no fire allowed, and sitting by the embers in his own apartment, he was endeavouring to amuse himself by reading, when the sounds of what seemed to him carts, in greater numbers than usual, mingled with the tongues of many persons speaking, called him to the little window of his chamber.
He saw that the small Place St. Antoine was filled with a crowd of people surrounding two or three large carts as they seemed, but he could not make out what the persons present were about, and, after looking on for a few minutes, he returned to his book.
Every thing within the walls of the Bastille seemed to be unusually still and quiet, and for rather more than an hour and a half he read on, till some sound of a peculiar character, or some sudden impression on his own mind which he could not account for, made him again rise and hasten to the window. When he did so, a sight was presented to his eyes which would have required long years to efface its recollection. The carts which he had seen, and the materials they contained, had been by this time erected into a scaffold; and in the front thereof, turned towards the Rue St. Antoine, which, as well as the square itself, was filled with an immense multitude of people, was a block with the axe leaning against the side.
At one corner of the scaffold was erected a gibbet, and in the front, within a foot or two of the block, stood the unfortunate Chevalier de Rohan, with a priest, on one side of him, pouring consolation or instruction into his ear, while the executioner, on the other side, was busily cutting off his hair to prepare his neck for the stroke. Two or three other prisoners were behind with several priests and the assistants of the executioner, and amongst them again was seen the form of the old man, Vandenenden, and of the lady whom the Count had beheld pass through the court of the castle.
The old man seemed scarcely able to support himself, and was upheld near the foot of the gallows by two of the guards; but the lady, with her head uncovered and her fine hair gathered together in a knot near the top of her head, stood alone, calm, and, to all appearance, perfectly self-possessed; and as she turned, for a moment, to look at the weak old man, whose writhing agitation at parting with a life that he could not expect to prolong for many years even if pardoned was truly lamentable, she showed the Count de Morseiul a fine though somewhat faded countenance, with every line expressive of perfect resolution and tranquillity.
The Count de Morseiul was a brave man, who had confronted death a thousand times, who had seen it in many an awful shape and accompanied by many a terrible accessory; but when he looked at the upturned faces of the multitude, the block, the axe, the gibbet, the executioners, the cold grey sky above that spoke of hopelessness, the thronged windows all around teeming with gaping faces, and all the horrible parade of public execution, he could not but wonder at the self-possession and the calmness of that lady's look and demeanour, as one about to suffer in that awful scene.
His, however, was no heart that could delight in such spectacles, and withdrawing almost immediately from the window, he waited in deep thought. In about a minute after there was a sort of low murmur, followed by a heavy stroke; and then the murmur sounded like the rushing of a distant wind. In a few moments after that, again came another blow, and the Count thought that there was a suppressed scream, mingled with the wave-like sound of the multitude. Again came that harsh blow, accompanied by a similar noise, and, lastly, a loud shout, in which there were mingled tones of ferocity and derision, very different from any which had been heard before. Not aware of what could have produced the change, the Count was once more irresistibly led to the window, where he beheld swinging and writhing on the gibbet, the form of the old man Vandenenden, whose pusillanimity seemed to have excited the contempt and indignation of the populace. On the other parts of the scaffold the executioner and his assistants were seen gathering up the bloody ruins of the human temples they had overthrown. Sickened and pained, the Count turned away, and covered his eyes with his hands, asking himself in the low voice of thought, "When will this be my fate also?"