Part 18

The sentinel of the outer guardhouse stopped Aramis, and asked him in a rather brusque tone what the reason was that brought him there.

Aramis explained with his habitual politeness that the reason bringing him was the desire to speak with M. Baisemeaux de Montlezun.

The first sentry called a second sentry posted in an inner cage.

The latter put his head to his wicket and looked very attentively at the newcomer.

Aramis reiterated the expression of his desire.

The sentry at once called a junior officer who was walking in a fairly spacious courtyard, who, learning what it was about, ran to fetch an officer of the governor's staff.

The latter, after having listened to Aramis's request, begged him to wait a moment, took a few steps, and came back to ask him his name.

— I cannot tell you that, sir, said Aramis; only know that I have matters of such importance to communicate to the governor, that I can answer in advance for one thing, which is that M. de Baisemeaux will be delighted to see me. More than that, when you have told him that it is the person he expects on the 1st of June, I am convinced he will come running himself.

The officer could not conceive that a man as important as the governor should bestir himself for a man apparently as unimportant as this little bourgeois on horseback.

— Just so, sir, it falls out marvelously. The governor was preparing to go out, and you see his carriage harnessed in the Government courtyard; he will therefore not need to come to meet you, but he will see you as he passes.

Aramis made a sign of assent with his head: he did not wish to give too high an idea of himself; he therefore waited patiently and in silence, leaning on the pommel of his saddle.

Ten minutes had not elapsed when the governor's carriage was seen to stir. It approached the gate. The governor appeared, got into the carriage, which made ready to leave.

But then the same ceremony took place for the master of the house as for a suspect stranger; the sentinel of the cage advanced at the moment the carriage was about to pass under the vault, and the governor opened his door to obey the order first himself.

In this way, the sentinel could satisfy himself that no one was leaving the Bastille by fraud.

The carriage rolled under the vault.

But, at the moment the grate was being opened, the officer approached the carriage, stopped a second time, and spoke a few words to the governor.

At once the governor thrust his head out of the door and caught sight of Aramis on horseback at the end of the drawbridge.

He immediately uttered a great cry of joy, and got out, or rather sprang from his carriage, and came running to seize Aramis's hands, making a thousand apologies. He all but kissed them.

— What trouble to enter the Bastille, M. le Gouverneur! Is it the same for those sent there against their will as for those who come voluntarily?

— Pardon, pardon. Ah! my lord, what joy I feel at seeing Your Grace!

— Hush! Do you think of it, my dear M. de Baisemeaux! What would people think to see a bishop in the get-up I am in?

— Ah! pardon, excuse, I was not thinking of it… Monsieur's horse to the stable! cried Baisemeaux.

— No, no, said Aramis, plague take it!

— Why so?

— Because there are five thousand pistoles in the portmanteau.

The governor's face became so radiant that the prisoners, had they seen him, might have thought some prince of the blood had arrived.

— Yes, yes, you are right, the horse to the Government. Will you, my dear M. d'Herblay, that we get back into the carriage to go as far as my rooms?

— Get into a carriage to cross a courtyard, M. le Gouverneur! Do you take me for such an invalid? No, on foot, M. le Gouverneur, on foot.

Baisemeaux then offered his arm as support, but the prelate made no use of it. They thus arrived at the Government, Baisemeaux rubbing his hands and eyeing the horse out of the corner of his eye, Aramis looking at the black and bare walls.

A rather grandiose vestibule, a straight staircase of white stone, led to Baisemeaux's apartments.

The latter crossed the antechamber, the dining room, where breakfast was being prepared, opened a small concealed door, and shut himself up with his guest in a large cabinet whose windows opened obliquely onto the courtyards and stables.

Baisemeaux installed the prelate with that obsequious politeness of which only a good fellow or a grateful man knows the secret.

Armchair with arms, cushion under the feet, rolling table to rest the hand upon, the governor prepared everything himself.

He himself also placed upon this table with religious care the bag of gold which one of his soldiers had carried up with no less respect than a priest brings the holy sacrament.

The soldier went out. Baisemeaux went to shut the door behind him, drew a window curtain, and looked into Aramis's eyes to see if the prelate lacked for anything.

— Well! my lord, said he, without sitting down, do you continue to be the most faithful of men of your word?

— In business, dear M. de Baisemeaux, punctuality is not a virtue, it is a simple duty.

— Yes, in business, I understand; but it is not a business you are doing with me, my lord, it is a service you are rendering me.

— Come, come, dear M. Baisemeaux, admit that, despite this punctuality, you were not without some uneasiness.

— For your health, yes, certainly, stammered Baisemeaux.

— I meant to come yesterday, but could not, being too tired, continued Aramis.

Baisemeaux hastened to slip another cushion under his guest's loins.

— But, resumed Aramis, I promised myself to come visit you this morning at an early hour.

— You are excellent, my lord.

— And it seems to me it was well I was diligent.

— How so?

— Yes, you were about to go out.

Baisemeaux blushed.

— Indeed, said he, I was going out.

— Then I am disturbing you?

Baisemeaux's embarrassment became visible.

— Then I am in your way, continued Aramis, fixing his incisive gaze upon the poor governor. Had I known that, I should not have come.

— Ah! my lord, how can you believe that you ever inconvenience me, you!

— Admit that you were going in search of money.

— No! stammered Baisemeaux; no, I swear to you.

— Does the governor still go to M. Fouquet's? cried from below the voice of the major.

Baisemeaux ran like a madman to the window.

— No, no, cried he in despair. Who the devil speaks of M. Fouquet? Is someone drunk down there? Why disturb me when I am in business?

— You were going to M. Fouquet's, said Aramis, pinching his lips; to the abbé's or to the surintendant's?

Baisemeaux was very much inclined to lie, but had not the courage.

— To the surintendant, said he.

— Then you see plainly you were in need of money, since you were going to him who gives it.

— But no, my lord.

— Come, you distrust me.

— My dear lord, the mere uncertainty, the mere ignorance in which I was of the place you dwell…

— Oh! you would have had money at M. Fouquet's, dear M. Baisemeaux, he is a man with an open hand.

— I swear to you I should never have dared ask money of M. Fouquet. I meant to ask him your address, that is all.

— My address at M. Fouquet's? cried Aramis, opening his eyes in spite of himself.

— But, said Baisemeaux, troubled by the prelate's gaze, yes, doubtless, at M. Fouquet's.

— There is no harm in that, dear M. Baisemeaux; only, I ask myself why seek my address at M. Fouquet's.

— To write to you.

— I understand, said Aramis smiling; also, that was not what I meant; I do not ask you for what purpose you sought my address, I ask you on what grounds you were going to seek it at M. Fouquet's?

— Ah! said Baisemeaux, because M. Fouquet having Belle-Île…

— Well?

— Belle-Île, which is in the diocese of Vannes, and as you are bishop of Vannes…

— Dear M. de Baisemeaux, since you knew I was bishop of Vannes, you had no need to ask my address of M. Fouquet.

— Finally, sir, said Baisemeaux at bay, have I committed an inconsistency? In that case, I beg your pardon most humbly.

— Nonsense! And in what could you have committed an inconsistency? asked Aramis tranquilly.

And while clearing his countenance and smiling at the governor, Aramis asked himself how Baisemeaux, who did not know his address, nevertheless knew that Vannes was his residence.

"I will clear that up," said he to himself.

Then aloud:

— Let us see, my dear governor, said he, will you that we do our little accounts?

— At your orders, my lord. But beforehand, tell me, my lord…

— What?

— Will you not do me the honor of breakfasting with me as usual?

— Yes, very willingly.

— That's right!

Baisemeaux struck three times upon a bell.

— What does that mean? asked Aramis.

— That I have someone to breakfast and that they act accordingly.

— Ah! the devil! And you strike three times! You have the air, do you know, my dear governor, of putting on airs with me?

— Oh! for example! Besides, it is the least I can do to receive you as best I may.

— On what grounds?

— It is that there is no prince who has done for me what you have done, you!

— Come, again!

— No, no…

— Let us speak of something else. Or rather, tell me, do you do your business at the Bastille?

— But yes.

— Then the prisoner pays, does he?

— Not too much.

— The devil!

— M. de Mazarin was not harsh enough.

— Ah! yes, you would need a suspicious government, our former cardinal…

— Yes, under him things went well. His Eminence the Gray's brother made his fortune there.

— Believe me, my dear governor, said Aramis, drawing near to Baisemeaux, a young king is worth an old cardinal. Youth has its distrusts, its angers, its passions, if old age has its hatreds, its precautions, its fears. Have you paid your three years of benefices to Louvière and to Tremblay?

— Oh! my God, yes.

— So that there remains for you to give them only the fifty thousand livres I bring you?

— Yes.

— Thus, no savings?

— Ah! my lord, in giving fifty thousand livres on my side to those gentlemen, I swear to you I give them all I earn. It is what I was still saying yesterday evening to M. d'Artagnan.

— Ah! said Aramis, whose eyes shone but were extinguished at once, ah! yesterday you saw d'Artagnan!… And how is he, that dear friend?

— Marvelously.

— And what were you saying to him, M. de Baisemeaux?

— I was saying, continued the governor, without noticing his thoughtlessness, I was saying that I fed my prisoners too well.

— How many have you? asked Aramis negligently.

— Sixty.

— Eh! eh! that is a round enough number.

— Ah! my lord, formerly there were years of two hundred.

— But finally a minimum of sixty, come, there is not yet too much to complain of.

— No, doubtless, for to anyone but me each should bring in a hundred and fifty pistoles.

— A hundred and fifty pistoles!

— Why! reckon: for a prince of the blood, for example, I have fifty livres a day.

— Only, you have no prince of the blood, as I suppose at least, said Aramis with a slight trembling in his voice.

— No, thank God! that is to say no, unfortunately.

— How, unfortunately?

— Doubtless, my post would be the better for it.

— That is true.

— I have therefore, per prince of the blood, fifty livres.

— Yes.

— Per marshal of France, thirty-six livres.

— But no more marshal of France at this moment than prince of the blood, is that not so?

— Alas! no; it is true that lieutenant generals and brigadiers are at twenty-four livres, and I have two of them.

— Ah! ah!

— After that there are the councillors at the Parliament, who bring me fifteen livres.

— And how many have you?

— I have four.

— I did not know councillors were of such good yield.

— Yes, but from fifteen livres I fall straight to ten.

— To ten?

— Yes, for an ordinary judge, for a defending counsel, for an ecclesiastic, ten livres.

— And you have seven? Good business!

— No, bad!

— In what?

— How do you expect me not to treat these poor people, who are something, after all, as I treat a councillor at the Parliament?

— Indeed, you are right, I see no five livres difference between them.

— You understand, if I have a fine fish, I always pay four or five livres for it; if I have a fine chicken, it costs me a livre and a half. I fatten many a lowly yard-bred fowl; but I must buy the grain, and you cannot imagine the army of rats we have here.

— Well! why not oppose half a dozen cats to them?

— Ah! a fine idea, cats, they eat them; I was forced to give it up; judge how they treat my grain. I am forced to have terriers brought from England to strangle the rats. The dogs have a ferocious appetite; they eat as much as a fifth-order prisoner, not counting that they sometimes strangle my rabbits and my hens.

Did Aramis listen, or did he not listen? No one could have said: his lowered eyes announced the attentive man, his restless hand announced the absorbed man.

Aramis meditated.

— I was saying to you then, continued Baisemeaux, that a passable fowl cost me a livre and a half, and that a good fish cost me four or five livres. Three meals are served at the Bastille; the prisoners, having nothing to do, always eat; a man at ten livres costs me seven livres and ten sous.

— But you were telling me that those at ten livres, you treated them like those at fifteen livres?

— Yes, certainly.

— Very well! then you gain seven livres ten sous on those at fifteen livres?

— One must compensate, said Baisemeaux, who saw he had been caught.

— You are right, dear governor; but do you not have prisoners below ten livres?

— Oh! indeed we do; we have the bourgeois and the lawyer.

— Good. Taxed at how much?

— At five livres.

— Do those eat, then?

— By Jove! only, you understand one does not give them every day a sole or a fattened chicken, nor Spanish wines at every meal; but finally they still see a good dish at dinner three times a week.

— But that is philanthropy, that, my dear governor, and you must be ruining yourself.

— No. Understand well: when the fifteen livres has not finished his fowl, or the ten livres has left a good remainder, I send it to the five livres; it is a feast for the poor devil. What would you! one must be charitable.

— And what do you clear on the five livres?

— Thirty sous.

— Come, you are an honest man, Baisemeaux!

— Thank you!

— No, in truth, I declare it.

— Thank you, thank you, my lord. But I think you are right, now. Do you know why I suffer?

— No.

— Well! it is for the small bourgeois and the bailiffs' clerks taxed at three livres. Those rarely see Rhine carp or Channel sturgeon.

— Pooh! might not the five livres happen to leave remainders?

— Oh! my lord, do not think me so stingy, and I fill the small bourgeois or the bailiff's clerk with happiness by giving him a wing of red partridge, a fillet of roebuck, a slice of truffle pie, dishes he has never seen but in dreams; in short these are the leavings of the twenty-four livres; he eats, he drinks, at dessert he cries: "Long live the king!" and blesses the Bastille, with two bottles of a pretty Champagne wine that costs me five sous, I make him drunk every Sunday. Oh! those bless me, those regret the prison when they leave it. Do you know what I have remarked?

— No, in truth.

— Well! I have remarked… Do you know it is a happiness for my house? Well! I have remarked that certain liberated prisoners have had themselves reimprisoned almost at once. Why would that be, if not to taste my cooking? Oh! but it is to the letter!

Aramis smiled with an air of doubt.

— You smile?

— Yes.

— I tell you we have names entered three times in the space of two years.

— I should have to see it to believe it.

— Oh! one can show you that, though it is forbidden to communicate the registers to strangers.

— I believe it.

— But you, my lord, if you care to see the thing with your own eyes…

— I should be delighted, I confess.

— Well! so be it!

Baisemeaux went to a cabinet and drew from it a large register.

Aramis followed him with ardent eyes.

Baisemeaux came back, set the register on the table, turned the pages a moment, and stopped at the letter M.

— See, said he, for example, you see plainly.

— What?

— "Martinier, January 1659. Martinier, June 1660. Martinier, March 1661, pamphlets, mazarinades, etc." You understand that is but a pretext: one was not put in the Bastille for mazarinades; the fellow went and denounced himself so as to be put in the Bastille. And to what end, sir? To the end of coming back to eat my three-livres cooking.

— At three livres! the wretch!

— Yes, my lord; the poet is at the lowest degree, cooking of the small bourgeois and the bailiff's clerk; but, as I was telling you, it is precisely those I surprise with treats.

And Aramis, mechanically, turned the leaves of the register, continuing to read without seeming even to interest himself in the names he read.

— In 1661, you see, said Baisemeaux, eighty commitments; in 1659, eighty.

— Ah! Seldon, said Aramis; I know that name, it seems to me. Is it not you who spoke to me of a young man?

— Yes! yes! a poor devil of a student who made… What do you call that, two Latin verses that touch?

— A distich.

— Yes, that is it.

— The wretch! for a distich!

— Peste! how you go on! Do you know he made it against the Jesuits, that distich?

— All the same, the punishment seems very severe to me.

— Do not pity him: last year, you seemed interested in him.

— Doubtless.

— Well! as your interest is all-powerful here, my lord, since that day I treat him as a fifteen-livres man.

— Then, like this one, said Aramis, who had continued turning pages, and who had stopped at one of the names following that of Martinier.

— Exactly, like this one.

— Is this Marchiali an Italian? asked Aramis, showing with the tip of his finger the name that had attracted his attention.

— Hush! said Baisemeaux.

— How, hush? said Aramis, involuntarily clenching his white hand.

— I thought I had already spoken to you of this Marchiali.

— No, this is the first time I hear his name pronounced.

— It may be, I shall have spoken to you of him without naming him.

— And is that an old fisherman, that one? asked Aramis, trying to smile.

— No, he is quite young, on the contrary.

— Ah! ah! his crime is then very great?

— Unpardonable!

— Did he assassinate?

— Bah!

— Burn?

— Bah!

— Slander?

— Eh! no. It is the one who…

And Baisemeaux drew near to Aramis's ear, making a speaking-trumpet of his two hands.

— It is the one who permits himself to resemble the…

— Ah! yes, yes, said Aramis. I do indeed know, you had already spoken to me of him last year; but the crime had seemed to me so slight…

— Slight!

— Or rather so involuntary…

— My lord, it is not involuntarily that one surprises such a resemblance.

— Finally, I had forgotten it, there is the fact. But, look here, my dear host, said Aramis, closing the register, look, I believe they are calling us.

Baisemeaux took the register, carried it quickly back to the cabinet, which he shut, and put the key in his pocket.

— Will it please you that we breakfast, my lord? said he. For you are not mistaken, they are calling us for breakfast.

— As you wish, my dear governor.

And they passed into the dining room.

Chapter XCVIII — M. de Baisemeaux's Breakfast

Aramis was temperate as a rule; but, this time, while being very sparing with the wine, he did honor to Baisemeaux's breakfast, which besides was excellent.

The latter, for his part, warmed to a frolicsome gaiety; the sight of the five thousand pistoles, on which he from time to time turned his eyes, expanded his heart.

From time to time also he looked at Aramis with a sweet tenderness.

The latter leaned back in his chair and took with the tip of his lips a few drops of wine from his glass, which he savored like a connoisseur.

— Let no one come tell me ill of the Bastille's ordinary, said he, blinking his eyes; happy the prisoners who have per day only half a bottle of this Burgundy!

— All the fifteen-franc ones drink it, said Baisemeaux. It is a very old Volnay.

— Thus our poor scholar, our poor Seldon, has of this excellent Volnay?

— No! no!

— I thought I heard you say he was at fifteen livres.

— Him! never! a man who makes districts… How do you say that?

— Distichs.

— At fifteen livres! come now! It is his neighbor who is at fifteen livres.

— His neighbor?

— Yes.

— Which?

— The other; the second Bertaudière.

— My dear governor, excuse me, but you speak a language for which a certain apprenticeship is needed.

— That is true, pardon; second Bertaudière, you see, means he who occupies the second floor of the Bertaudière tower.

— Thus Bertaudière is the name of one of the Bastille's towers? I have indeed heard that each tower had its name. And where is this tower?

— Look, come, said Baisemeaux, going to the window. It is that tower to the left, the second.

— Very well. Ah! it is there the fifteen-livres prisoner is?

— Yes.

— And for how long has he been there?

— Ah! well! for seven or eight years, about.

— How, about? You do not know your dates more surely?

— It was not in my time, dear M. d'Herblay.

— But Louvière, but Tremblay, it seems to me they should have instructed you.

— Oh! my dear sir… Pardon, pardon, my lord.

— Pay no heed. You were saying?

— I was saying that the secrets of the Bastille are not transmitted with the keys of the government.

— Come now? then this prisoner is a mystery, a state secret?

— Oh! a state secret, no, I do not think so; it is a secret like all that is done at the Bastille.

— Very well, said Aramis; but then why do you speak more freely of Seldon than of…

— Than the second Bertaudière?

— Yes.

— But because in my view the crime of a man who made a distich is less great than that of one who resembles the…

— Yes, yes, I understand you, but the turnkeys…

— Well! the turnkeys?

— They chat with your prisoners.

— Doubtless.

— Then your prisoners must tell them they are not guilty.

— They tell them only that, it is the general formula, it is the universal antiphon.

— Yes, but now this resemblance of which you spoke just now?

— After?

“Stories of the world, in your language.”