Part 7

The young man grew slightly pale and passed a trembling hand over his face.

“By poison?” he asked.

“By poison.”

The prisoner reflected for a moment.

“That these two innocent creatures,” he resumed, “my only supports, should have been assassinated on the same day, it must be that my enemy is either very cruel, or constrained by necessity; for that worthy gentleman and that poor woman had never done harm to anyone.”

“Necessity is harsh in your house, my lord. It is likewise a necessity that forces me, to my great regret, to tell you that that gentleman and that nurse were assassinated.”

“Oh! you tell me nothing new,” said the prisoner, frowning.

“How so?”

“I suspected as much.”

“Why?”

“I will tell you.”

At that moment, the young man, leaning on his two elbows, drew near to Aramis’s face with such an expression of dignity, of self-abnegation, of defiance even, that the bishop felt the electricity of enthusiasm rise in devouring sparks from his withered heart to his steel-hard skull.

“Speak, my lord. I have already told you that I risk my life in speaking to you. Little as my life may be, I beseech you to accept it as ransom for yours.”

“Well!” resumed the young man, “this is why I suspected that my nurse and my governor had been killed.”

“Whom you called your father.”

“Yes, whom I called my father, but of whom I well knew I was not the son.”

“What made you suppose?...”

“Just as you are too respectful for a friend, he was too respectful for a father.”

“I,” said Aramis, “have no design to disguise myself.”

The young man made a sign with his head and continued:

“Doubtless, I was not destined to remain eternally shut up,” said the prisoner, “and what makes me believe so, now especially, is the care that was taken to make me as accomplished a horseman as possible. The gentleman who was near me had taught me all that he himself knew: mathematics, a little geometry, astronomy, fencing, horsemanship. Every morning, I practiced arms in a low room, and rode in the garden. Well! one morning—it was during the summer, for it was very hot—I had fallen asleep in that low room. Nothing, up to then, except the respect of my governor, had instructed me or given me suspicions. I lived like the birds, like the plants, on air and sunlight; I had just turned fifteen.”

“Then it is eight years ago?”

“Yes, about; I have lost count of time.”

“Pardon, but what did your governor say to encourage you to work?”

“He told me that a man must seek to make for himself on earth a fortune that God refused him at birth; he added that, poor, orphaned, obscure, I could count on no one but myself, and that no one was interested or ever would be interested in my person. I was therefore in that low room, and, tired by my fencing lesson, I had fallen asleep. My governor was in his chamber, on the first floor, just above me. Suddenly I heard something like a little cry uttered by my governor. Then he called: ‘Perronnette! Perronnette!’ It was my nurse he was calling.”

“Yes, I know,” said Aramis; “continue, my lord, continue.”

“Doubtless she was in the garden, for my governor came down the stairs in haste. I rose, uneasy to see him uneasy himself. He opened the door which, from the vestibule, led to the garden, still crying: ‘Perronnette! Perronnette!’ The windows of the low room gave onto the courtyard; the shutters of those windows were closed; but, through a crack in the shutter, I saw my governor approach a wide well situated almost below the windows of his study. He leaned over the rim, looked into the well, and uttered a new cry, making wild gestures. From where I was, I could not only see, but also hear. I saw then, I heard then.”

“Continue, my lord, I pray you,” said Aramis.

“Dame Perronnette came running at my governor’s cries. He went to meet her, took her by the arm and briskly drew her toward the rim; after which, leaning with her over the well, he said to her:

“‘Look, look, what a misfortune!’

“‘Let us see, let us see, calm yourself,’ said dame Perronnette; ‘what is it?’

“‘This letter,’ cried my governor, ‘do you see this letter?’

“And he stretched his hand toward the bottom of the well.

“‘What letter?’ asked the nurse.

“‘That letter you see down there, it is the last letter from the queen.’

“At this word I started. My governor, he who passed for my father, he who constantly recommended modesty and humility to me, in correspondence with the queen!

“‘The last letter from the queen?’ cried dame Perronnette, seeming no more astonished than at seeing this letter at the bottom of the well. ‘And how is it there?’

“‘A chance, dame Perronnette, a strange chance! I was coming home; on entering, I open the door; the window on its side was open; a draft arose; I see a paper fly off, I recognize that this paper is the queen’s letter; I run to the window with a cry; the paper floats a moment in the air and falls into the well.’

“‘Well!’ said dame Perronnette, ‘if the letter has fallen into the well, it is as if it were burned, and, since the queen burns all her letters herself, each time she comes...’

“Each time she comes! So this woman who came every month, it was the queen? interrupted the prisoner.

“Yes,” Aramis nodded.

“Doubtless, doubtless,” continued the old gentleman, “but this letter contained instructions. How shall I manage to follow them?

“‘Write quickly to the queen, tell her the thing as it happened, and the queen will write you a second letter in place of this one.’

“‘Oh! the queen will not want to believe in this accident,’ said the goodman, shaking his head; ‘she will think that I wished to keep this letter, instead of returning it to her like the others, in order to make a weapon of it. She is so distrustful, and M. de Mazarin so... That Italian demon is capable of having us poisoned at the first suspicion!’

“Aramis smiled with an imperceptible movement of the head.

“‘You know, dame Perronnette, both are so suspicious where Philippe is concerned!’

“Philippe is the name they gave me,” interrupted the prisoner.

“Well! then, there is no hesitating,” said dame Perronnette; “someone must be made to go down into the well.”

“‘Yes, so that he who brings back the paper may read it on the way up.’

“‘Let us take, from the village, someone who cannot read; thus you will be easy.’

“‘So be it; but will not he who goes down into the well guess the importance of a paper for which a man’s life is risked? However, you have just given me an idea, dame Perronnette; yes, someone shall go down into the well, and that someone shall be me.’

“But, at this proposal, dame Perronnette began to wail and cry out in such a way, she so earnestly begged the old gentleman with tears, that he promised her to go in search of a ladder large enough to go down into the well, while she would go to the farm to find a resolute lad, to whom they would give out that a jewel had fallen into the well, that this jewel was wrapped in paper, and, as the paper, remarked my governor, spreads in water, it will not be surprising if only the letter quite open is found.

“‘It will perhaps already have had time to fade,’ said dame Perronnette.

“‘No matter, provided we have the letter. On returning the letter to the queen, she will see well that we have not betrayed her, and, consequently, not exciting the distrust of M. de Mazarin, we shall have nothing to fear from him.’

“This resolution taken, they parted. I pushed back the shutter, and, seeing that my governor was preparing to come in, I threw myself on my cushions with a buzzing in my head, caused by all I had just heard.

“My governor half-opened the door a few seconds after I had thrown myself back on my cushions, and, believing me asleep, closed it gently again.

“Scarcely was it closed, than I rose and, lending ear, heard the sound of steps retreating. Then I came back to my shutter, and saw my governor and dame Perronnette go out.

“I was alone in the house.

“They had no sooner closed the door, than, without taking the trouble to cross the vestibule, I jumped through the window and ran to the well.

“Then, as my governor had leaned over, I leaned over in my turn.

“Something whitish and luminous trembled in the quivering rings of the greenish water. This shining disk fascinated and drew me. My eyes were fixed, my breath short. The well inhaled me with its wide mouth and its icy breath: it seemed to me I read at the bottom of the water characters of fire traced on the paper the queen had touched.

“Then, without knowing what I did, and animated by one of those instinctive movements that push you down fatal slopes, I rolled one end of the rope around the foot of the well’s gallows, I let the bucket hang down into the water, about three feet deep, all this with much trouble so as not to disturb the precious paper, which was beginning to change its whitish color for a greenish tint, proof that it was sinking; then, a piece of wet linen in my hands, I let myself slide into the abyss.

“When I saw myself suspended above that dark pool of water, when I saw the sky diminish above my head, cold seized me, vertigo took me and made my hair stand; but my will dominated all, terror and unease. I reached the water, and plunged into it at one stroke, holding myself with one hand, while I stretched out the other, and seized the precious paper, which tore in two between my fingers.

“I hid the two pieces in my doublet, and, aiding myself with my feet against the walls of the well, suspending myself with my hands, vigorous, agile, and pressed above all, I regained the rim, which I flooded on touching it with the water that streamed from the whole lower part of my body.

“Once out of the well with my prey, I set to running in the sun, and reached the bottom of the garden, where there was a sort of little wood. It was there I wished to take refuge.

“As I set foot in my hiding-place, the bell that rang when the great gate opened sounded. It was my governor returning. It was time!

“I calculated that I had ten minutes before he reached me, if, guessing where I was, he came straight to me; twenty minutes, if he took the trouble to look for me.

“It was enough to read this precious letter, of which I hastened to bring the two fragments together. The characters were beginning to fade. However, despite all, I managed to decipher the letter.

“‘And what did you read there, my lord?’ asked Aramis, keenly interested.

“‘Enough to believe, sir, that the valet was a gentleman, and that Perronnette, without being a great lady, was nevertheless more than a servant; finally that I myself had some birth, since Queen Anne of Austria and the prime minister Mazarin recommended me so carefully.’

“The young man stopped, quite moved.

“‘And what happened?’ asked Aramis.

“‘It happened, sir,’ answered the young man, ‘that the workman called by my governor found nothing in the well, after having searched it in every direction; it happened that my governor noticed that the rim was all dripping; it happened that I had not dried myself so well in the sun that dame Perronnette did not recognize that my clothes were quite damp; it happened finally that I was seized with a high fever caused by the coolness of the water and the emotion of my discovery, and that this fever was followed by a delirium during which I told everything; so that, guided by my own admissions, my governor found under my pillow the two fragments of the letter written by the queen.’

“‘Ah!’ said Aramis, ‘I understand at this hour.’

“‘From that point, all is conjecture. Doubtless, the poor gentleman and the poor woman, not daring to keep the secret of what had just passed, wrote all to the queen and returned her the torn letter.’

“‘After which,’ said Aramis, ‘you were arrested and taken to the Bastille?’

“‘As you see.’

“‘Then your servants disappeared?’

“‘Alas!’

“‘Let us not occupy ourselves with the dead,’ resumed Aramis, ‘and see what can be done with the living. You told me you were resigned?’

“‘And I repeat it to you.’

“‘Without care for liberty?’

“‘I told you so.’

“‘Without ambition, without regret, without thought?’

“The young man answered nothing.

“‘Well!’ said Aramis, ‘you are silent?’

“‘I think I have spoken enough,’ replied the prisoner, ‘and that it is your turn. I am tired.’

“‘I will obey you,’ said Aramis.

“Aramis collected himself, and a tint of deep solemnity spread over all his physiognomy. One felt that he had arrived at the important part of the role he had come to play in the prison.

“‘A first question,’ made Aramis.

“‘Which? Speak.’

“‘In the house you lived in, there was neither glass nor mirror, was there?’

“‘What are those two words, and what do they signify?’ asked the young man. ‘I do not even know them.’

“‘By mirror or glass is meant a piece of furniture that reflects objects, that permits, for example, that one see the features of one’s own face in a prepared glass, as you see mine with the naked eye.’

“‘No, there was in the house neither glass nor mirror,’ answered the young man.

“Aramis looked around him.

“‘There is none here either,’ said he; ‘the same precautions have been taken here as there.’

“‘To what end?’

“‘You will know in a moment. Now, pardon me; you told me that you had been taught mathematics, astronomy, fencing, horsemanship; you did not speak to me of history.’

“‘Sometimes, my governor told me the great deeds of King Saint Louis, of François I and of King Henri IV.’

“‘That is all?’

“‘That is about all.’

“‘Well! I see it, it is still a calculation: as one had taken from you the mirrors that reflect the present, one left you ignorant of history that reflects the past. Since your imprisonment, books have been forbidden you, so that many facts are unknown to you, by aid of which you might reconstruct the fallen edifice of your memories or your interests.’

“‘It is true,’ said the young man.

“‘Listen, I am going then, in a few words, to tell you what has passed in France for twenty-three or twenty-four years, that is to say since the probable date of your birth, that is to say, finally, since the moment that interests you.’

“‘Say it.’

“And the young man resumed his serious and collected attitude.

“‘Do you know who was the son of King Henri IV?’

“‘I know at least who was his successor.’

“‘How do you know that?’

“‘By a coin, dated 1610, which represented King Henri IV; by a coin dated 1612, which represented King Louis XIII. I presumed, since there were only two years between the two coins, that Louis XIII must be the successor of Henri IV.’

“‘Then,’ said Aramis, ‘you know that the last reigning king was Louis XIII?’

“‘I know it,’ said the young man, reddening slightly.

“‘Well! he was a prince full of good ideas, full of great projects, projects always postponed by the misfortune of the times and by the struggles his minister Richelieu had to sustain against the lordship of France. He, personally—I speak of King Louis XIII—was weak of character. He died still young and sadly.’

“‘I know that.’

“‘He had long been preoccupied with the care of his posterity. It is a painful care for princes, who need to leave on earth more than a memory, so that their thought may pursue itself, so that their work may continue.’

“‘Did King Louis XIII die without children?’ asked the prisoner, smiling.

“‘No, but he was long deprived of the happiness of having any; no, but long he believed he would die wholly. And this thought had reduced him to a deep despair, when suddenly his wife, Anne of Austria...’

“The prisoner started.

“‘Did you know,’ continued Aramis, ‘that the wife of Louis XIII was called Anne of Austria?’

“‘Continue,’ said the young man without answering.

“‘When suddenly,’ resumed Aramis, ‘Queen Anne of Austria announced that she was with child. Joy was great at this news, and all wishes tended to a happy delivery. Finally, on 5 September 1638, she gave birth to a son.’

“Here Aramis looked at his interlocutor, and thought he perceived that he was growing pale.

“‘You are about to hear,’ said Aramis, ‘a tale that few people are in a state to make at this hour; for this tale is a secret that one believes dead with the dead, or buried in the abyss of confession.’

“‘And you are going to tell me this secret?’ made the young man.

“‘Oh!’ said Aramis with an accent that was not to be mistaken, ‘this secret, I do not believe I risk it in confiding it to a prisoner who has no desire to leave the Bastille.’

“‘I listen, sir.’

“‘The queen then gave birth to a son. But when all the Court had uttered cries of joy at this news, when the king had shown the newborn to his people, and to his nobility, when he had gaily sat down to table to celebrate this happy birth, then the queen, left alone in her chamber, was taken, for the second time, with the pains of childbirth, and gave birth to a second son.’

“‘Oh!’ said the prisoner, betraying a greater instruction than he avowed, ‘I thought Monsieur was not born until...’

“Aramis raised his finger.

“‘Wait until I continue,’ said he.

“The prisoner uttered an impatient sigh, and waited.

“‘Yes,’ said Aramis, ‘the queen had a second son, a second son whom dame Perronnette, the midwife, received in her arms.’

“‘Dame Perronnette!’ murmured the young man.

“‘They ran at once to the room where the king dined; they warned him softly of what was happening; he rose from table and hurried there. But, this time, it was no longer gaiety that his face expressed, it was a sentiment that resembled terror. Two twin sons changed into bitterness the joy that the birth of a single one had caused him, seeing that what I am going to tell you, you certainly ignore, seeing that in France it is the eldest of the sons who reigns after the father.’

“‘I know that.’

“‘And that the physicians and the jurisconsults pretend that there is reason to doubt if the son who comes first from his mother’s womb is the elder by the law of God and of nature.’

“The prisoner uttered a stifled cry, and became whiter than the sheet under which he hid.

“‘You comprehend now,’ pursued Aramis, ‘that the king, who had seen himself with so much joy continued in an heir, must have been in despair on thinking that now he had two, and that, perhaps, he who had just been born and who was unknown, would contest the right of primogeniture with the other who was born two hours before, and who, two hours before, had been recognized. Thus, this second son, arming himself with the interests or the caprices of a party, could, one day, sow discord and war in the kingdom, destroying, by that very fact, the dynasty he ought to have consolidated.’

“‘Oh! I comprehend, I comprehend!...’ murmured the young man.

“‘Well!’ continued Aramis, ‘that is what is reported, that is what is asserted, that is why one of the two sons of Anne of Austria, indignantly separated from his brother, indignantly sequestered, reduced to the deepest obscurity, that is why this second son has disappeared, and so well disappeared, that no one in France knows today that he exists, except his mother.’

“‘Yes, his mother, who abandoned him!’ cried the prisoner with the expression of despair.

“‘Except,’ continued Aramis, ‘that lady in the black robe and fire-colored ribbons, and finally except...’

“‘Except you, is it not? You who come to tell me all this, you who come to awaken in my soul curiosity, hatred, ambition, and, who knows? perhaps, the thirst for vengeance; except you, sir, who, if you are the man I await, the man the note promises me, the man finally that God must send me, must have on you...’

“‘What?’ asked Aramis.

“‘A portrait of King Louis XIV, who reigns at this moment on the throne of France.’

“‘Here is the portrait,’ replied the bishop, giving the prisoner an enamel of the most exquisite, on which Louis XIV appeared proud, handsome, and living, so to speak.

“The prisoner seized the portrait avidly, and fixed his eyes on it as if he would devour it.

“‘And now, my lord,’ said Aramis, ‘here is a mirror.’

“Aramis left the prisoner time to reconnect his ideas.

“‘So high! so high!’ murmured the young man, devouring with his gaze the portrait of Louis XIV and his own image reflected in the mirror.

“‘What do you think of it?’ said Aramis then.

“‘I think that I am lost,’ answered the captive, ‘that the king will never forgive me.’

“‘And I, I ask myself,’ added the bishop, fixing on the prisoner a glance brilliant with meaning, ‘I ask myself which of the two is the king, of him that this portrait represents, or of him that this glass reflects.’

“‘The king, sir, is he who is on the throne,’ replied the young man sadly, ‘it is he who is not in prison, and who, on the contrary, has others put there. Royalty is power, and you see well that I am powerless.’

“‘My lord,’ answered Aramis with a respect he had not yet testified, ‘the king, take good heed, will be, if you will it, he who, leaving prison, knows how to hold himself on the throne where friends shall place him.’

“‘Sir, do not tempt me,’ made the prisoner with bitterness.

“‘My lord, do not weaken,’ persisted Aramis with vigor. ‘I have brought all the proofs of your birth: consult them, prove to yourself that you are a son of a king, and, after, let us act.’

“‘No, no, it is impossible.’

“‘Unless,’ resumed the bishop ironically, ‘it is in the destiny of your race that the brothers excluded from the throne are all princes without worth and without honor, like M. Gaston d’Orléans, your uncle, who, ten times, conspired against King Louis XIII, his brother.’

“‘My uncle Gaston d’Orléans conspired against his brother?’ cried the prince, terrified; ‘he conspired to dethrone him?’

“‘But yes, my lord, for nothing else.’

“‘What are you telling me there, sir?’

“‘The truth.’

“‘And he had friends... devoted?’

“‘Like me for you.’

“‘Well! what did he do? he failed?’

“Stories of the world, in your language.”