Part 12

— Well, as for me, it is strange, said the governor, I prefer M. d’Artagnan to him. There is a man who drinks well and long! Those fellows at least let you see what they are thinking.

— Baisemeaux, make me drunk tonight, let us revel as in the old days; and, if I have a grief deep in my heart, I promise you that you shall see it as clearly as you would see a diamond at the bottom of your glass.

— Bravo! said Baisemeaux.

And he poured himself a great draught of wine, and swallowed it, trembling with joy at having some part in an archbishop’s mortal sin.

While he drank, he did not see with what attention Aramis was observing the sounds from the great courtyard.

A courier entered toward eight o’clock, at the fifth bottle brought by François onto the table, and, though this courier made a great noise, Baisemeaux heard nothing.

— The devil take him! said Aramis.

— What is it? Who? asked Baisemeaux. I hope it is neither the wine you are drinking, nor he who makes you drink it?

— No; it is a horse who, alone, makes as much noise in the courtyard as a whole squadron might make.

— Pooh! Some courier, replied the governor, redoubling his draughts. Yes, the devil take him! and so quickly that we hear no more of him! Huzza! huzza!

— You forget me, Baisemeaux! My glass is empty, said Aramis, showing a dazzling crystal.

— Upon my honor, you delight me... François, wine!

François entered.

— Wine, you knave, and the best!

— Yes, sir; but... it is a courier.

— To the devil with him! did I not say so.

— Sir, however...

— Let him leave it at the registry; we will see tomorrow. Tomorrow, there will be time; tomorrow, it will be daylight, said Baisemeaux, humming these last two phrases.

— Ah! sir, grumbled the soldier François, much against his will, sir...

— Take care, said Aramis, take care.

— Of what, dear M. d’Herblay? said Baisemeaux, half drunk.

— A letter by courier, arriving for governors of a citadel, is sometimes an order.

— Almost always.

— Do not the orders come from the ministers?

— Yes, no doubt; but...

— And do not those ministers do anything but countersign the king’s signature?

— You are perhaps right. However, it is very annoying when one is face to face with a good table, tête-à-tête with a friend! Ah! pardon, sir, I forget that it is I who am giving you supper, and that I am speaking to a future cardinal.

— Let us leave all that, dear Baisemeaux, and return to your soldier, to François.

— Well, what has he done, François?

— He murmured.

— He was wrong.

— Yet he murmured, you understand; it is that something extraordinary is happening. It might well not be François who is wrong to murmur, but you who are wrong not to hear him.

— Wrong? I, wrong before François? That seems hard to me.

— A wrong of irregularity. Pardon! but I thought I ought to make an observation which I judge important.

— Oh! you are right, perhaps, stammered Baisemeaux. An order of the king is sacred! But orders that come when one is supping, I repeat, the devil...

— If you had done that to the great cardinal, eh! my dear Baisemeaux, and that order had been of some importance...

— I do it so as not to disturb a bishop; am I not excusable, zounds?

— Do not forget, Baisemeaux, that I have worn the soldier’s coat, and I am accustomed to seeing orders everywhere.

— You wish then?...

— I wish you to do your duty, my friend. Yes, I beg you, at least before this soldier.

— It is mathematical, said Baisemeaux.

François was still waiting.

— Let this order of the king be brought up to me, said Baisemeaux, straightening up. And he added in a low voice: Do you know what it is? I am going to tell you something as interesting as this: “Beware of fire near the powder magazine”; or else: “Keep watch on such a one, who is a cunning runaway.” Ah! if you knew, Monseigneur, how many times I have been startled awake at the sweetest, deepest part of my sleep, by ordinances arriving at a gallop to tell me, or rather to bring me a note containing these words: “M. Baisemeaux, what is new?” One sees plainly that those who waste their time writing such orders have never slept in the Bastille. They would know better the thickness of my walls, the vigilance of my officers, the multiplicity of my rounds. In short, what would you have, Monseigneur! their trade is to write in order to torment me when I am quiet; to trouble me when I am happy—added Baisemeaux, bowing before Aramis. Let them then do their trade.

— And do yours, added the bishop with a smile, whose sustained gaze commanded despite this caress.

François came back in. Baisemeaux took from his hands the order sent from the ministry. He unsealed it slowly and read it in like manner. Aramis pretended to drink so as to observe his host through the crystal. Then, Baisemeaux having read:

— What was I saying just now? said he.

— What do you mean? asked the bishop.

— An order of release. I ask you, a fine piece of news to disturb us!

— Fine news for him whom it concerns, you will at least agree, my dear governor.

— And at eight o’clock in the evening!

— That is charity.

— Charity, so be it; but it is for that rogue who is bored, and not for me who am enjoying myself! said Baisemeaux, exasperated.

— Is it a loss you are suffering, and was the prisoner taken from you among the high registers?

— Ah, indeed! A wretch, a rat, at five francs!

— Let me see, asked M. d’Herblay. Is it indiscreet?

— Not at all; read.

— There is “urgent” on the sheet. You saw it, did you not.

— It is admirable! “Urgent!”... a man who has been here for ten years! They are in a hurry to put him out, today, this very evening, at eight o’clock!

And Baisemeaux, shrugging his shoulders with an air of superb disdain, threw the order on the table and resumed eating.

— They have these fits, said he, his mouth full, they take a man one fine day, they feed him for ten years and write you: “Keep good watch on the rogue!” or else: “Hold him strictly!” And then, when one has grown accustomed to regarding the detainee as a dangerous man, suddenly, without cause, without precedent, they write you: “Set at liberty.” And they add to their letter: “Urgent!” You will admit, Monseigneur, that it is enough to make one shrug one’s shoulders.

— What would you have! one cries out thus, said Aramis, and one executes the order.

— Pooh! pooh! one executes!... Oh! patience!... You must not imagine I am a slave.

— My God, very dear M. Baisemeaux, who says that to you? Your independence is known.

— Thank God for it!

— But your good heart is also known.

— Ah! let us speak of that!

— And your obedience to your superiors. When one has been a soldier, you see, Baisemeaux, it is for life.

— Also, I shall obey strictly, and tomorrow morning, at daybreak, the designated detainee shall be released.

— Tomorrow?

— At daylight.

— Why not this evening, since the lettre de cachet bears on the address and inside: “Urgent”?

— Because this evening we are supping and we are busy, we too.

— Dear Baisemeaux, booted as I am, I feel myself a priest, and charity is a duty more imperious to me than hunger and thirst. This poor man has suffered long enough, since you just told me that, for ten years, he has been your boarder. Shorten his suffering. A good minute awaits him; give it to him quickly. God will return it to you in his paradise in years of felicity.

— You wish it?

— I beg you to.

— Like that, right in the middle of the meal.

— I entreat you; this action will be worth ten Benedicites.

— Let it be as you desire. Only, we shall eat cold.

— Oh! never mind that!

Baisemeaux leaned back to ring for François, and, by a perfectly natural movement, he turned toward the door.

The order had remained on the table. Aramis profited from the moment when Baisemeaux was not looking to exchange that paper for another, folded in the same way, which he drew from his pocket.

— François, said the governor, have M. the major come up here with the turnkeys of the Bertaudière.

François went out bowing, and the two guests found themselves alone again.

Chapter CCXIV — The General of the Order

There fell, between the two guests, a moment of silence during which Aramis did not lose sight of the governor. The latter seemed but half resolved to disturb himself thus in the middle of his supper, and it was evident that he was seeking some reason or other, good or bad, to delay at least until after dessert. This reason, he suddenly appeared to have found.

— Eh! but, he cried, it is impossible!

— How, impossible? said Aramis. Let us see, dear friend, what is impossible.

— It is impossible to set the prisoner at liberty at such an hour. Where will he go, he who does not know Paris?

— He will go where he can.

— You see plainly, it would be as well to release a blind man.

— I have a carriage, I will conduct him wherever he wishes me to take him.

— You have an answer for everything... François, tell M. the major to go open the prison of M. Seldon, No. 3, Bertaudière.

— Seldon? said Aramis very simply. You said Seldon, I believe?

— I said Seldon. It is the name of him who is being released.

— Oh! you mean Marchiali, said Aramis.

— Marchiali? Ah, indeed! No, no, Seldon.

— I think you are in error, M. Baisemeaux.

— I read the order.

— So did I.

— And I saw Seldon in letters as big as that.

And M. de Baisemeaux showed his finger.

— I, I read Marchiali in characters as big as this.

And Aramis showed two fingers.

— Come, let us clear up the matter, said Baisemeaux, sure of himself. The paper is there, and it will suffice to read it.

— I read: Marchiali, repeated Aramis, unfolding the paper. See!

Baisemeaux looked and his arms went limp.

— Yes, yes, said he, confounded, yes, Marchiali. It does indeed say Marchiali! it is quite true!

— Ah!

— What! the man we have spoken of so much? The man whom every day they so often recommend to me?

— There is Marchiali, repeated the inflexible Aramis.

— It must be owned, monseigneur, but I understand absolutely nothing of it.

— One believes one’s eyes, however.

— Lord, to say that it does say Marchiali!

— And in a good hand, too.

— It is phenomenal! I still see that order and the name of Seldon, Irishman. I see it. Ah! and even, I recall, under that name there was a blot of ink.

— No, there is no ink, no, there is no blot.

— Oh! upon my word, there is! So much so that I rubbed the powder that was on the blot.

— In short, whatever the case, dear M. de Baisemeaux, said Aramis, and whatever you saw, the order is signed to deliver Marchiali, with or without a blot.

— The order is signed to deliver Marchiali, repeated Baisemeaux mechanically, who was trying to recover his wits.

— And you are going to release this prisoner. If your heart tells you to release Seldon as well, I declare I shall not oppose it in the least.

Aramis punctuated this sentence with a smile whose irony finished sobering Baisemeaux and gave him courage.

— Monseigneur, said he, this Marchiali is indeed the same prisoner whom, the other day, a priest, confessor of our order, came to visit so imperiously and so secretly.

— I do not know that, sir, replied the bishop.

— It is not, however, so long ago, dear M. d’Herblay.

— That is true, but with us, sir, it is well that the man of today no longer know what the man of yesterday did.

— In any case, said Baisemeaux, the visit of the Jesuit confessor will have brought luck to that man.

Aramis did not reply and began again to eat and drink.

Baisemeaux, he, touching nothing more that was on the table, took up the order again and examined it on all sides.

This inquisition, in ordinary circumstances, would have brought the purple to the ears of the impatient Aramis; but the bishop of Vannes did not grow angry for so little, especially since he had said to himself under his breath that it would be dangerous to grow angry.

— Are you going to release Marchiali? said he. Oh! what a melted and perfumed sherry, my dear governor!

— Monseigneur, answered Baisemeaux, I shall release the prisoner Marchiali when I have recalled the courier who brought the order, and above all when, by questioning him, I shall have assured myself...

— The orders are sealed, and the contents are unknown to the courier. Of what will you assure yourself, I pray you?

— Be it so, monseigneur; but I shall send to the ministry, and there M. de Lyonne will withdraw the order or approve it.

— What is the use of all that? said Aramis coldly.

— What is the use?

— Yes, I ask what good it serves.

— It serves to never be mistaken, monseigneur, to never fail in the respect that every subordinate owes his superiors, to never infringe the duties of the service one has consented to take up.

— Very well, you have just spoken so eloquently that I admired you. It is true, a subordinate owes respect to his superiors, he is guilty when he is mistaken, and he would be punished if he infringed the duties or laws of his service.

Baisemeaux looked at the bishop with astonishment.

— It follows, pursued Aramis, that you are going to consult in order to put your conscience at ease?

— Yes, monseigneur.

— And that, if a superior orders you, you will obey?

— You do not doubt it, monseigneur.

— You know the king’s signature well, M. de Baisemeaux?

— Yes, monseigneur.

— Is it not on this order of release?

— That is true, but it may...

— Be false, is it not?

— That has been seen, monseigneur.

— You are right. And that of M. de Lyonne?

— I do indeed see it on the order; but, just as one may counterfeit the king’s sign, one may, a fortiori, counterfeit that of M. de Lyonne.

— You march in logic with giant steps, M. de Baisemeaux, said Aramis, and your argumentation is invincible. But you base yourself, to believe these signatures false, particularly on what causes?

— On this one: the absence of the signatories. Nothing controls His Majesty’s signature, and M. de Lyonne is not here to tell me he signed.

— Well! M. de Baisemeaux, said Aramis, fixing his eagle’s gaze on the governor, I adopt your doubts and your way of clearing them up so frankly, that I am going to take a pen if you give me one.

Baisemeaux gave a pen.

— Any blank sheet, added Aramis.

Baisemeaux gave the paper.

— And I am going to write, I too, I present, I incontestable, am I not? an order which, I am certain, you will give credit to, however incredulous you may be.

Baisemeaux grew pale before this icy assurance. It seemed to him that this voice of Aramis, so smiling and so gay but a moment before, had become funereal and sinister, that the wax of the torches was changing into tapers of a sepulchral chapel, and that the wine in the glasses was transforming into a chalice of blood.

Aramis took the pen and wrote. Baisemeaux, terrified, read over his shoulder:

“A. M. D. G.” wrote the bishop, and he subscribed a cross below these four letters, which signify ad majorem Dei gloriam. Then he continued:

“It pleases us that the order brought to M. de Baisemeaux de Montlezun, governor for the king of the castle of the Bastille, be reputed by him good and valid, and put immediately into execution.

Signed: d’Herblay, general of the order by the grace of God.”

Baisemeaux was so deeply struck that his features remained contracted, his lips agape, his eyes fixed. He did not move, he uttered not a sound.

There was heard in the vast hall only the buzzing of a little fly hovering around the torches.

Aramis, without even deigning to look at the man he reduced to so miserable a state, drew from his pocket a small case containing black wax; he sealed his letter, affixed a seal suspended at his breast behind his doublet, and, when the operation was finished, he presented, still silently, the missive to M. de Baisemeaux.

The latter, whose hands trembled pitiably, cast a dull and wild eye over the seal. A last gleam of emotion showed on his features, and he fell as if thunderstruck onto a chair.

— Come, come, said Aramis after a long silence during which the governor of the Bastille had little by little recovered his senses, do not make me believe, dear Baisemeaux, that the presence of the general of the order is terrible as that of God, and that one dies of having seen him. Courage! rise, give me your hand, and obey.

Baisemeaux, reassured if not satisfied, obeyed, kissed Aramis’s hand and rose.

— At once? he murmured.

— Oh! no exaggeration, my host; resume your place, and let us do honor to this fine dessert.

— Monseigneur, I shall not recover from such a blow; I who laughed, jested with you! I who dared treat you on a footing of equality!

— Be silent, my old comrade, replied the bishop, who felt how taut the string was and how dangerous it would be to break it, be silent. Let each of us live his own life: to you, my protection and my friendship; to me, your obedience. These two tributes exactly paid, let us remain merry.

Baisemeaux reflected; he caught at a glance the consequences of this extortion of a prisoner by means of a false order, and, placing in parallel the guarantee offered him by the official order of the general, he did not feel it weighty.

Aramis guessed it.

— My dear Baisemeaux, said he, you are a fool. Lose then the habit of reflecting, when I take the trouble to think for you.

And at a fresh gesture he made, Baisemeaux bowed again.

— How shall I go about it? said he.

— How do you do to release a prisoner?

— I have the regulations.

— Well! follow the regulations, my dear.

— I go with my major to the prisoner’s chamber, and I take him away when it is a person of importance.

— But this Marchiali is not a person of importance? said Aramis negligently.

— I do not know, replied the governor.

As if he had said: “It is for you to tell me.”

— Then, if you do not know it, it is that I am right: act then toward this Marchiali as you act toward the small ones.

— Very well. The regulation indicates it.

— Ah!

— The regulation provides that the turnkey or one of the subordinate officers shall bring the prisoner to the governor, in the registry.

— Well! but that is very sensible. And then?

— Then, one returns to this prisoner the valuables he carried on him at the time of his incarceration, the clothes, the papers, if the minister’s order has not disposed otherwise.

— What does the minister’s order say regarding this Marchiali?

— Nothing; for the poor wretch arrived here without jewels, without papers, almost without clothes.

— See how simple all that is! Truly, Baisemeaux, you make monsters of everything. Remain here then, and have the prisoner brought to the Government house.

Baisemeaux obeyed. He called his lieutenant, and gave him a charge, which the latter transmitted, without emotion, to those concerned.

Half an hour later, a door was heard close in the courtyard: it was the door of the donjon which had just returned its prey to the open air.

Aramis blew out all the candles that lit the room. He left only one burning, behind the door. This flickering light did not permit the eye to fix upon objects. It increased tenfold their aspects and shades by its uncertainty and mobility.

The steps drew near.

— Go meet your men, said Aramis to Baisemeaux.

The governor obeyed.

The sergeant and the turnkeys disappeared.

Baisemeaux came back in, followed by a prisoner.

Aramis had placed himself in the shadow; he saw without being seen.

Baisemeaux, in an moved voice, made known to this young man the order which restored him to liberty.

The prisoner listened without making a gesture or uttering a word.

— You will swear, it is the regulation that requires it, added the governor, never to reveal anything of what you have seen or heard in the Bastille?

The prisoner caught sight of a Christ; he extended his hand and swore with his lips.

— Presently, sir, you are free; where do you count on going?

The prisoner turned his head, as if to seek behind him a protection on which he must have counted.

It is then that Aramis came out of the shadow.

— Here I am, said he, to render to Monsieur the service it shall please him to ask of me.

The prisoner blushed slightly, and, without hesitation, came to pass his arm under that of Aramis.

— God keep you in his holy guard! said he, in a voice whose firmness made the governor start as much as the formula had astonished him.

Aramis, pressing Baisemeaux’s hands, said to him:

— Does my order embarrass you? Do you fear it might be found at your house, if they came to search it?

— I desire to keep it, monseigneur, said Baisemeaux. If it were found at my house, it would be a certain sign that I were lost, and, in that case, you would be for me a powerful and last auxiliary.

— Being your accomplice, would you say? replied Aramis, shrugging his shoulders. Adieu, Baisemeaux! said he.

The horses were waiting, shaking the carriage in their impatience.

Baisemeaux conducted the bishop to the bottom of the perron.

Aramis had his companion mount into the carriage before him, mounted in after, and, without giving any other order to the coachman:

— Go! said he.

The vehicle rolled noisily over the paving of the courtyards. An officer, carrying a torch, went ahead of the horses, and gave to each guardroom the order to let them pass.

During the time it took to open all the barriers, Aramis did not breathe, and one might have heard his heart beat against the walls of his chest.

The prisoner, sunk in a corner of the carriage, likewise gave no sign of existence.

At length, a jolt, stronger than the others, announced that the last ditch was crossed. Behind the carriage the last door closed, that of the Rue Saint-Antoine. No more walls to right or left; sky everywhere, liberty everywhere, life everywhere. The horses, held in by a vigorous hand, went slowly until the middle of the faubourg. There, they took up the trot.

Little by little, whether they warmed up or were urged, they gained in speed, and, once at Bercy, the carriage seemed to fly, so great was the ardor of the coursers. These horses ran thus as far as Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, where the relay was prepared. Then, four horses, instead of two, drew the coach in the direction of Melun, and stopped a moment in the middle of the forest of Sénart. The order, no doubt, had been given in advance to the postilion, for Aramis had not even need to make a sign.

— What is it? asked the prisoner, as if coming out of a long dream.

— It is, monseigneur, said Aramis, that before going further, we have need to talk, Your Royal Highness and I.

— I shall await the occasion, sir, replied the young prince.

— It could not be better, monseigneur; here we are in the middle of the wood, none can hear us.

— And the postilion?

— The postilion of this relay is deaf and dumb, monseigneur.

— I am at your service, M. d’Herblay.

— Does it please you to remain in this carriage?

— Yes, we are seated well, and I love this carriage; it is the one that restored me to liberty.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”