Chapter XVIII. A Night at the Bastile.

by Alexandre Dumas

　　Pain, anguish, and suffering in human life are always in proportion tothe strength with which a man is endowed. We will not pretend to saythat Heaven always apportions to a man's capability of endurance theanguish with which he afflicts him; for that, indeed, would not be true,since Heaven permits the existence of death, which is, sometimes, theonly refuge open to those who are too closely pressed - too bitterlyafflicted, as far as the body is concerned. Suffering is in proportionto the strength which has been accorded; in other words, the weak suffermore, where the trial is the same, than the strong. And what are theelementary principles, we may ask, that compose human strength? Is itnot - more than anything else - exercise, habit, experience? We shallnot even take the trouble to demonstrate this, for it is an axiom inmorals, as in physics. When the young king, stupefied and crushed inevery sense and feeling, found himself led to a cell in the Bastile, hefancied death itself is but a sleep; that it, too, has its dreams aswell; that the bed had broken through the flooring of his room at Vaux;that death had resulted from the occurrence; and that, still carrying outhis dream, the king, Louis XIV., now no longer living, was dreaming oneof those horrors, impossible to realize in life, which is termeddethronement, imprisonment, and insult towards a sovereign who formerlywielded unlimited power. To be present at - an actual witness, too - ofthis bitterness of death; to float, indecisively, in an incomprehensiblemystery, between resemblance and reality; to hear everything, to seeeverything, without interfering in a single detail of agonizingsuffering, was - so the king thought within himself - a torture far moreterrible, since it might last forever. "Is this what is termed eternity- hell?" he murmured, at the moment the door was closed upon him, whichwe remember Baisemeaux had shut with his own hands. He did not even lookround him; and in the room, leaning with his back against the wall, heallowed himself to be carried away by the terrible supposition that hewas already dead, as he closed his eyes, in order to avoid looking uponsomething even worse still. "How can I have died?" he said to himself,sick with terror. "The bed might have been let down by some artificialmeans? But no! I do not remember to have felt a bruise, nor any shockeither. Would they not rather have poisoned me at my meals, or with thefumes of wax, as they did my ancestress, Jeanne d'Albret?" Suddenly, thechill of the dungeons seemed to fall like a wet cloak upon Louis'sshoulders. "I have seen," he said, "my father lying dead upon hisfuneral couch, in his regal robes. That pale face, so calm and worn;those hands, once so skillful, lying nerveless by his side; those limbsstiffened by the icy grasp of death; nothing there betokened a sleep thatwas disturbed by dreams. And yet, how numerous were the dreams whichHeaven might have sent that royal corpse - him whom so many others hadpreceded, hurried away by him into eternal death! No, that king wasstill the king: he was enthroned still upon that funeral couch, as upon avelvet armchair; he had not abdicated one title of his majesty. God, whohad not punished him, cannot, will not punish me, who have donenothing." A strange sound attracted the young man's attention. Helooked round him, and saw on the mantel-shelf, just below an enormouscrucifix, coarsely painted in fresco on the wall, a rat of enormous sizeengaged in nibbling a piece of dry bread, but fixing all the time, anintelligent and inquiring look upon the new occupant of the cell. Theking could not resist a sudden impulse of fear and disgust: he moved backtowards the door, uttering a loud cry; and as if he but needed this cry,which escaped from his breast almost unconsciously, to recognize himself,Louis knew that he was alive and in full possession of his naturalsenses. "A prisoner!" he cried. "I - I, a prisoner!" He looked roundhim for a bell to summon some one to him. "There are no bells in theBastile," he said, "and it is in the Bastile I am imprisoned. In whatway can I have been made a prisoner? It must have been owing to aconspiracy of M. Fouquet. I have been drawn to Vaux, as to a snare. M.Fouquet cannot be acting alone in this affair. His agent - That voicethat I but just now heard was M. d'Herblay's; I recognized it. Colbertwas right, then. But what is Fouquet's object? To reign in my place andstead? - Impossible. Yet who knows!" thought the king, relapsing intogloom again. "Perhaps my brother, the Duc d'Orleans, is doing that whichmy uncle wished to do during the whole of his life against my father.But the queen? - My mother, too? And La Valliere? Oh! La Valliere, shewill have been abandoned to Madame. Dear, dear girl! Yes, it is - itmust be so. They have shut her up as they have me. We are separatedforever!" And at this idea of separation the poor lover burst into aflood of tears and sobs and groans."There is a governor in this place," the king continued, in a fury ofpassion; "I will speak to him, I will summon him to me."He called - no voice replied to his. He seized hold of his chair, andhurled it against the massive oaken door. The wood resounded against thedoor, and awakened many a mournful echo in the profound depths of thestaircase; but from a human creature, none.This was a fresh proof for the king of the slight regard in which he washeld at the Bastile. Therefore, when his first fit of anger had passedaway, having remarked a barred window through which there passed a streamof light, lozenge-shaped, which must be, he knew, the bright orb ofapproaching day, Louis began to call out, at first gently enough, thenlouder and louder still; but no one replied. Twenty other attempts whichhe made, one after another, obtained no other or better success. Hisblood began to boil within him, and mount to his head. His nature wassuch, that, accustomed to command, he trembled at the idea ofdisobedience. The prisoner broke the chair, which was too heavy for himto lift, and made use of it as a battering ram to strike against thedoor. He struck so loudly, and so repeatedly, that the perspiration soonbegan to pour down his face. The sound became tremendous and continuous;certain stifled, smothered cries replied in different directions. Thissound produced a strange effect upon the king. He paused to listen; itwas the voice of the prisoners, formerly his victims, now hiscompanions. The voices ascended like vapors through the thick ceilingsand the massive walls, and rose in accusations against the author of thisnoise, as doubtless their sighs and tears accused, in whispered tones,the author of their captivity. After having deprived so many people oftheir liberty, the king came among them to rob them of their rest. Thisidea almost drove him mad; it redoubled his strength, or rather his well,bent upon obtaining some information, or a conclusion to the affair.With a portion of the broken chair he recommenced the noise. At the endof an hour, Louis heard something in the corridor, behind the door of hiscell, and a violent blow, which was returned upon the door itself, madehim cease his own."Are you mad?" said a rude, brutal voice. "What is the matter with youthis morning?""This morning!" thought the king; but he said aloud, politely, "Monsieur,are you the governor of the Bastile?""My good fellow, your head is out of sorts," replied the voice; "but thatis no reason why you should make such a terrible disturbance. Be quiet;mordioux!""Are you the governor?" the king inquired again.He heard a door on the corridor close; the jailer had just left, notcondescending to reply a single word. When the king had assured himselfof his departure, his fury knew no longer any bounds. As agile as atiger, he leaped from the table to the window, and struck the iron barswith all his might. He broke a pane of glass, the pieces of which fellclanking into the courtyard below. He shouted with increasinghoarseness, "The governor, the governor!" This excess lasted fully anhour, during which time he was in a burning fever. With his hair indisorder and matted on his forehead, his dress torn and covered with dustand plaster, his linen in shreds, the king never rested until hisstrength was utterly exhausted, and it was not until then that he clearlyunderstood the pitiless thickness of the walls, the impenetrable natureof the cement, invincible to every influence but that of time, and thathe possessed no other weapon but despair. He leaned his forehead againstthe door, and let the feverish throbbings of his heart calm by degrees;it had seemed as if one single additional pulsation would have made itburst."A moment will come when the food which is given to the prisoners will bebrought to me. I shall then see some one, I shall speak to him, and getan answer."And the king tried to remember at what hour the first repast of theprisoners was served at the Bastile; he was ignorant even of thisdetail. The feeling of remorse at this remembrance smote him like thethrust of a dagger, that he should have lived for five and twenty years aking, and in the enjoyment of every happiness, without having bestowed amoment's thought on the misery of those who had been unjustly deprived oftheir liberty. The king blushed for very shame. He felt that Heaven, inpermitting this fearful humiliation, did no more than render to the manthe same torture as had been inflicted by that man upon so many others.Nothing could be more efficacious for reawakening his mind to religiousinfluences than the prostration of his heart and mind and soul beneaththe feeling of such acute wretchedness. But Louis dared not even kneelin prayer to God to entreat him to terminate his bitter trial."Heaven is right," he said; "Heaven acts wisely. It would be cowardly topray to Heaven for that which I have so often refused my own fellow-creatures."He had reached this stage of his reflections, that is, of his agony ofmind, when a similar noise was again heard behind his door, followed thistime by the sound of the key in the lock, and of the bolts beingwithdrawn from their staples. The king bounded forward to be nearer tothe person who was about to enter, but, suddenly reflecting that it was amovement unworthy of a sovereign, he paused, assumed a noble and calmexpression, which for him was easy enough, and waited with his backturned towards the window, in order, to some extent, to conceal hisagitation from the eyes of the person who was about to enter. It wasonly a jailer with a basket of provisions. The king looked at the manwith restless anxiety, and waited until he spoke."Ah!" said the latter, "you have broken your chair. I said you had doneso! Why, you have gone quite mad.""Monsieur," said the king, "be careful what you say; it will be a veryserious affair for you."The jailer placed the basket on the table, and looked at his prisonersteadily. "What do you say?" he said."Desire the governor to come to me," added the king, in accents full ofcalm and dignity."Come, my boy," said the turnkey, "you have always been very quiet andreasonable, but you are getting vicious, it seems, and I wish you to knowit in time. You have broken your chair, and made a great disturbance;that is an offense punishable by imprisonment in one of the lowerdungeons. Promise me not to begin over again, and I will not say a wordabout it to the governor.""I wish to see the governor," replied the king, still governing hispassions."He will send you off to one of the dungeons, I tell you; so take care.""I insist upon it, do you hear?""Ah! ah! your eyes are becoming wild again. Very good! I shall takeaway your knife."And the jailer did what he said, quitted the prisoner, and closed thedoor, leaving the king more astounded, more wretched, more isolated thanever. It was useless, though he tried it, to make the same noise againon his door, and equally useless that he threw the plates and dishes outof the window; not a single sound was heard in recognition. Two hoursafterwards he could not be recognized as a king, a gentleman, a man, ahuman being; he might rather be called a madman, tearing the door withhis nails, trying to tear up the flooring of his cell, and uttering suchwild and fearful cries that the old Bastile seemed to tremble to its veryfoundations for having revolted against its master. As for the governor,the jailer did not even think of disturbing him; the turnkeys and thesentinels had reported the occurrence to him, but what was the good ofit? Were not these madmen common enough in such a prison? and were notthe walls still stronger? M. de Baisemeaux, thoroughly impressed withwhat Aramis had told him, and in perfect conformity with the king'sorder, hoped only that one thing might happen; namely, that the madmanMarchiali might be mad enough to hang himself to the canopy of his bed,or to one of the bars of the window. In fact, the prisoner was anythingbut a profitable investment for M. Baisemeaux, and became more annoyingthan agreeable to him. These complications of Seldon and Marchiali - thecomplications first of setting at liberty and then imprisoning again, thecomplications arising from the strong likeness in question - had at lastfound a very proper denouement. Baisemeaux even thought he hadremarked that D'Herblay himself was not altogether dissatisfied with theresult."And then, really," said Baisemeaux to his next in command, "an ordinaryprisoner is already unhappy enough in being a prisoner; he suffers quiteenough, indeed, to induce one to hope, charitably enough, that his deathmay not be far distant. With still greater reason, accordingly, when theprisoner has gone mad, and might bite and make a terrible disturbance inthe Bastile; why, in such a case, it is not simply an act of mere charityto wish him dead; it would be almost a good and even commendable action,quietly to have him put out of his misery."And the good-natured governor thereupon sat down to his late breakfast.