CHAPTER XVI.
I become a Prisoner of the Bastille.
I ran across the room and then stopped suddenly: it was a cowardlyaction to leave the man to face my enemies alone!
"Fly, monsieur, fly!" he implored.
"Not I, Pillot, until we can go together. You have stood by me, I willstand by you. The bars are up? Good! That will delay them a moment.Can we move this chest? Take one end and we will try. _Ma foi!_'twill be quite a war of the barricades! Now this table. 'Tis heavy!So much the better. Here they come!"
With a roar the mob swept along the landing. Our door, which wasstrong and massive, withstood for a time their heaviest blows.
"Now, monsieur, the window!" cried Pillot; "the barricade will soon bedown. This way. _Peste!_" and he uttered a groan.
In the excitement he had forgotten, and I had not noticed, that thewindow was barred.
"We have trapped ourselves, M. de Lalande!" he exclaimed bitterly."There is no way out!"
"Chut! The bars will break," said I, clambering to the ledge, andgrasping the middle one; but it was very thick and firmly fixed.
The roar of the mob outside doubled my energy; I pulled and tugged withall my might, skinning my hands in the effort. Hammer, bang, crash!behind me. How long would our defences stand? Would the soldiersarrive in time? Would the bar never loosen? Surely it was giving!Yes! I could have shouted aloud in triumph--it was yielding! Anotherwrench would be sufficient! Oh, for the strength of twenty men! Now!
A yell of joy and a groan of despair announced that I was too late.The door was down, the table overturned, the room was filled with thehowling mob. They were headed by two men, one dressed as acharcoal-burner, the other as a mason. Each, however, carried a goodsword, and in spite of their disguises I recognised them as Maubranneand Peleton.
"There he is!" cried the baron pointing to me, and again the appallingshouts of "Kill the assassin!" were raised.
For these poor deluded people, led away by such scoundrels, I felt onlya deep pity, but my anger rose hot against Maubranne and Peleton. Whydid they call me assassin? Why endeavour to take my life and toblacken my good name at the same time?
At the last pinch Peleton hung behind, but the baron, who did not lackcourage, advanced, and the mob followed with a hideous roar. Do notimagine that I wish to set myself up for a hero. At that terriblemoment I had no thought of anything, and what I did was done almostunconsciously.
Maubranne came first, while behind him waved a forest of clubs andstaves. I saw in his eyes that he intended to kill me, and, rendereddesperate by fear, I leaped at him, plunging my sword into his breast.He dropped heavily, and for the moment an intense hush fell on thestartled crowd. As if by inspiration I saw my one chance and seized iteagerly.
"Citizens!" I cried, gazing boldly on the sea of angry faces, "that manlied to you. He is no charcoal-burner, but the Baron Maubranne,Conde's bitterest enemy. I am ignorant of what has happened in Paris.Two nights ago this Maubranne set a trap for me and shut me up here."
"That is true," exclaimed Pillot. "Maubranne was the plotter, this ladis innocent; he does not even guess why you wish to kill him!"
Would they believe? Was it possible? My heart almost ceased beatingas I gazed at the fierce faces. The weapons were lowered. Staring ateach other dubiously, the men hesitated, and I breathed more freely. Ihad forgotten Peleton, who, safe behind the human screen, criedsavagely, "Kill the murderer! Down with the assassin!"
That served his purpose better than the finest argument. Heated bypassion the people thought no more of the dead charcoal-burner but onlyof his slayer, and made a movement to surround me. My last hope hadfailed, but I stood on guard, my one regret being that the cowardlyPeleton would not trust himself within reach of my sword.
Now, however, another sound mingled with the shouts of the populace,and a swift glance showed that the soldiers were forcing a passage intothe crowded room.
"Make way there!" exclaimed the leader in a tone of authority. "In theKing's name! Drop that pike, you rascal, or I'll run you through.Where is this M. de Lalande?"
At first it appeared certain that there would be a terrible conflictbetween the mob and the soldiers, but the officer, by a lucky hit, notonly saved my life--at least for the time--but cajoled the crowd intogood humour.
"Is this the fellow who slew Conde?" he asked, to which came ananswering chorus of "Yes, yes! Down with the murderer!"
Until that moment I had no idea what my supposed crime was, and theofficer's question filled me with horror. Conde dead! and I chargedwith murder! It seemed monstrous, impossible. But the officer wasspeaking, and I must try to understand.
"Do you want all who were in the plot punished?" and again there brokeout an assenting yell.
"Then let me remove this lad, you imbeciles! If you knock him on thehead now, it will be all over: while, if he is imprisoned, theauthorities will soon discover his accomplices."
This suggestion met with a torrent of applause, and the ruffiansoffered no further resistance to the soldiers, who, forming in a body,marched me downstairs into the court where they had left their horses.I was immediately placed on one and firmly bound; the troopers mounted,the officer issued his orders, and we set off accompanied by the mob.
The city was in a state of seething excitement, which increasedwherever our procession came in view. The people, pouring from thehouses in thousands, blocked the roads until they became almostimpassable, and the leader of the horsemen was in despair. Every onewished to see the wretch who had murdered Conde, and numbers shooktheir fists at me and cried, "Kill the assassin!"
Some, however, regarded me as a martyr, and angry cries against thesoldiers, mingled with shouts of "Down with Conde!" began to be heard.At one spot in particular a determined rush was made by a number ofburly ruffians directed by a little man from the window of a cornerhouse. I recognised my late gaoler, Pillot, and was glad that he hadescaped, though much afraid that his attempted rescue would only makethe authorities more certain of my guilt.
Two or three soldiers were knocked over, but the rush was stayed, andafter this the friends of De Retz, for such I concluded them to be,confined their attention chiefly to threats. Still the danger of anoutbreak was considerable, and the officer in charge, fearful of theconsequences, decided to convey me to the Bastille.
By riding through the less frequented streets, and breaking into a trotwherever such a course was possible, we gradually drew ahead of ourundesirable escort, and at length turned into the famous avenue.Throughout the journey I had anxiously scanned the faces of themultitude, hoping to see Raoul, or D'Arcy, or my English friend, JohnHumphreys. But I had not recognised a single acquaintance, and now myheart sank as we halted before the first massive gate, guarded bysentries.
As soon as the drawbridge was lowered, we crossed to the court wherethe Governor's house was situated, and the officer, dismounting,entered, reappearing in a few minutes with the order for my admissioninto the fortress. Escorted by two prison officials, I walked up thenarrow avenue to the second drawbridge, passed the guard-house, andstood in the wide court, while the ponderous gates clanged behind me,as if shutting out all hope.
"La Calotte de la Baziniere," said one, and the other, bidding mefollow, ascended to the highest storey of the nearest tower, andunlocked the door of a room into which I entered--a prisoner of theBastille!
The turnkey swung his lantern around, hoped--rather sarcastically to mythinking--that I should be comfortable, relocked the door, then theouter door, and I was left, not simply alone and in darkness, butbeyond the reach of human hearing. Stumbling across the room, I laydown on a mattress and endeavoured to account for the events of thelast two days.
From a few words let fall by the officer, it appeared that some one hadkilled, or attempted to kill, the prince, and I had been arrested asthe assassin. That the plot was hatched by the Abbe's party I hadlearned from Pillot, though, as it afterwards appeared, no one int
endedanything more serious than kidnapping Conde and shutting him up in asafe place.
Now, in an enterprise of this daring nature, the actual leader waslikely to be my cousin Henri, and working from this I began to piecetogether a very tolerable story, which after events proved not to havebeen far wrong. My previous adventures had proved how easy it was tomistake me for my cousin, and on this point the conspiracy hinged. Ifthe plot succeeded, well and good; if not, it was necessary to showthat the Abbe's party had nothing to do with the affair.
I was well known as a devoted _Masarin_, and it was no secret that theCardinal, though banished, still communicated with his friends in thecapital. What more likely then, than that the attempt on Conde's lifewas made by _Masarins_? And if so, who more likely to lead it than thepenniless youth who had refused point-blank to join any of the otherparties? Mazarin, it would be asserted, must have left me in Paris forthis very purpose.
Then again the crafty plotters had so arranged that everything wouldfit neatly into place. It could easily be proved that I had suddenlydisappeared and remained in hiding till the appointed night, when,having failed in my object, I had hurriedly and secretly left the city.This, I concluded, was the outline of the plot, but De Retz and mycousin had not made allowance for the cowardly treachery of Maubranneand Peleton.
These worthies, by both of whom I had the honour of being much hated,had worked out a different, and to them, a much more satisfactoryending. If Conde's assassin could be caught, red-handed as it were,and slain by the angry people, there would be an end to the business.For this purpose they had conducted the mob to my prison, but thespeedy arrival of the soldiers had upset their plans; Maubranne wasdead, and I lay on a mattress in La Calotte de la Baziniere.
"_Peste!_" I exclaimed irritably, "I have intrigued myself into an uglymess. This comes of being too clever. What will they do with me, Iwonder?"
The situation was indeed serious. With the exception of Raoul, D'Arcy,and John Humphreys, I had no friends, and these three could do little.De Retz would naturally use all his powerful influence to prove myguilt, and as likely as not I should be condemned without a trial. Asfar as I could judge the future did not look particularly bright.
As soon as dawn came straggling through the window I rose and peeredabout me. The room arched to support the roof, and only in the middlewas it possible to stand upright. It contained but one window, having,both outside and inside, double iron gratings. The furniture consistedof a worm-eaten chair, a table with a leg broken, an empty jug, amattress, and two flagstones on which in cold weather a fire could bebuilt.
Raoul once told me of a man who had escaped from the Bastille, but Ifancy he could not have been lodged in my cell. I could tell by thewindow that the walls were tremendously thick, while the door was ofiron, and fastened on the outside by massive bolts. Still I was notaltogether discouraged, and, dragging the table beneath the aperture, Iclimbed to the top. Crash! I had forgotten the broken leg, and fell tothe ground, wrecking the table and giving myself a considerable shock.
After that I lay down again on the mattress till about nine o'clock, asnear as I could judge, when there was a noise outside as of bolts beingwithdrawn, and the turnkey entered the room with my breakfast. He wasa short, sturdy man, somewhat after the build of Pierre, but with amore intelligent face.
"Monsieur has met with an accident?" he said, gazing with a grin at theruined table.
"I knocked the wretched thing over."
"Ah, it was not meant for monsieur's weight," he laughed, and puttingthe breakfast on the ground, contrived to prop the table up.
"There," he exclaimed triumphantly, "now it will serve, but I wouldadvise monsieur not to place it in a draught, it may catch cold."
Guessing that he understood what had happened, I said, "I wished to geta view of the scenery; there is little to look at inside. TheBastille, or at least the prisoner's part of it, is not pretty."
"It is strong, monsieur, and one cannot have everything. Has monsieurlearned that the prince was not hurt."
"No," I cried briskly, "tell me all about it."
"There is not much to tell beyond the fact that monsieur missed hisaim."
"What! Do you really believe it was I who shot at Conde?"
"Monsieur is certainly very young for such a deed," he replied, shakinghis head solemnly, and with this evasive answer he took his departure,bolting and barring the door behind him.
In the evening he returned, but this time I had no word with him, as hewas accompanied by the officer of the rounds and several soldiers. Theofficer gave me a casual glance, searched the cell carefully--thoughwhat he expected to find I cannot imagine--shrugged his shoulders,ordered the turnkey to fasten the door, and presently I heard the trampof their feet along the corridor.
Several weary days dragged by in this manner. The turnkey regularlybrought my meals, and sometimes in the morning stayed for a fewminutes' gossip, but with this exception I was left alone.
One morning, contrary to the usual custom, he was attended by foursoldiers, who stood at attention while I ate my breakfast. As soon asthe meal was finished, the gaoler directed me to follow him, and,escorted by the soldiers, I descended the massive staircase shut in oneach storey by ponderous double doors, crossed the wide court, ascendedanother staircase, and so into a large room known as the CouncilChamber.
Here four men sat at a table, and one--an ugly, weazened fellow dressedas a councillor--ordered me to stand before them. Then the soldiersretired well out of earshot, and the examination began. First of allthe councillor asked a number of questions concerning my age, name,family, and estate, one of his colleagues writing down the answers as Igave them. Then followed a long harangue on the infamy of my crime,after which the speaker implored me to make a full confession, and tothrow myself on Conde's mercy.
"Not," he exclaimed, "that we require your confession; these proofs aretoo clear," and, noticing my start of surprise, added coolly, "listen,and then say if I am not right."
Turning the papers slowly over one by one he read the heads of a massof evidence which his agents had collected, evidence so clear andconvincing that, on hearing it, I almost believed myself guilty. Itbegan by describing me as a penniless lad, who, having come to Paris toseek my fortune, had taken service with Mazarin as a secret agent; andall my doings with the Cardinal were carefully noted down.
For this I was prepared, but the next paragraph brought the blood to myface with a rush. It stated that, having discovered Madame Coutancewas a friend of Conde, I had struck up an acquaintanceship with her forthe purpose of worming out the secrets of his party.
"That is false!" I cried hotly.
"Softly, my friend, softly!" exclaimed the weazened little councillor,"we will hear your remarks at another time and in another place," andhe continued calmly with his reading.
The third stage showed how cleverly the conspirators had laid theirplans. Numerous witnesses had met me going towards that part of thetown where I was afterwards discovered in hiding, and they all affirmedthat I acted as if not wishing to be recognised. This, of course, Icould not deny, as many people must have noticed me when chasing thecrafty Francois.
"We are ready to prove these things against you, monsieur, and morealso," said the councillor. "For instance, there are the names of twomen who saw you take a prominent part in the attack on the carriage andafterwards run away. Now, will you confess?"
"I am innocent, monsieur."
"What an absurdity! Must we then put you to the question?"
"It is needless, monsieur; I am speaking the truth."
"You are obstinate," he exclaimed, screwing up his little eyes, "but aturn or two on the rack will alter that. Come now, will you deny thatyou are a spy of Mazarin's?"
"Certainly, monsieur. It is true that I am in the Cardinal's service,but I have heard no word from him since he left Paris."
"Are you acquainted with Madame Coutance?"
"Yes, she is a friend of mine.
"
"Good! I thought we should arrive at the truth. Now, will you explainhow you came to be in the house where the soldiers found you?"
"It is a strange story, monsieur, and says little for my sense, but youshall hear it," and I related how cunningly Francois had lured me intothe arms of his fellow-plotters.
"Pah!" exclaimed the councillor, wrinkling up his forehead, "that is achild's invention. You cannot expect us to believe such a tale."
"Still it is true, monsieur."
For nearly an hour longer the councillor continued putting all sorts ofquestions concerning Mazarin's plans, none of which I could answer. Mysilence made him very angry, and at last he exclaimed in a passion,"Take him away. I warrant we shall soon find a means of loosing histongue."
The soldiers formed up and I was marched across the courtyard, whereseveral prisoners who were not confined to their cells assembled towatch me pass. I gazed at them eagerly, but they were all strangerswho only regarded me as a prisoner in a far worse plight thanthemselves.
"Courage, monsieur," whispered the gaoler, as the soldiers turned backfrom my cell, "we all have our misfortunes."
He spoke in a kindly manner and I looked at him gratefully, for aprisoner has but few friends. Then the door clanged, the bolts werepushed home, and I was left alone to reflect on the councillor's lastwords. I had heard too much not to understand what he meant by findinga way to loose my tongue, and I instantly began to conjure up all kindsof horrible pictures. However, it was useless going to meet trouble,so I endeavoured to banish the subject from my mind, and to think of myfriends, Raoul, Marie, and the Englishman, who were doubtless wonderingwhat had become of me.