Denounced

At seven o'clock the exempt came to him and told him that it was time to set out.

"A coach is ready, monsieur," he said, "all is now prepared. Would you desire to make any toilette before your departure?"

Bertie said he would, and when he had done this, laving his face and washing his hands in a basin brought him by two of Carvel's attendants, he announced that he was prepared to accompany him.

"Perhaps when I have seen the Governor of the Bastille," he said, "I shall better understand why I am confided to his keeping."

To which once more the other replied, "Sans doute."

Everything being therefore ready, Carvel and Elphinston entered the coach, while, of four men who had appeared on the scene that morning, two went inside with them, and the others, mounting horses, rode on either side of the vehicle. In this way they progressed through the small portion of the city necessary to be traversed, arriving at the fortress exactly as the great clock over the doorway-decorated with a bas relief representing two slaves manacled together-struck eight. That their destination was apparent to those members of the populace by whom they passed it was easy to perceive. Women and men, hurrying to their shops and places of business, regarded the party with glances which plainly showed that they knew whither they were going, the former doing so with terrified and uneasy looks, the latter according to their disposition. Of these, some laughed and made jeering allusions to the morning ride which the gentleman was taking; some frowned with disapproval; and some there were who muttered to one another, "How long? How long shall we groan under the tyranny of our masters?" while others answered, "Not for ever! It cannot be for ever, though the good God alone knows when the end will come. Perhaps not even in our day!"

"Descend, monsieur," said the exempt, as the coach drew up; then, turning to some sentinels within the gate which opened to receive them, he remarked, "Couvrez-vous, messieurs."

Surprised at this order, which Bertie did not understand, he glanced at the soldiers standing about and observed that, as he approached them, they removed their hats from their heads and placed them before their faces until he had passed by, so that they could by no means have seen what his appearance was like. And to the inquiring look which he directed to his captain, the exempt replied, with a slight laugh:

"Madame la Bastille endeavours ever to be a polite hostess. She thinks it not well that these fellows, who are not always in her service, should be able afterwards to recognise her guests when they have quitted her hospitable roof. Vraiment! her manners are of the most finished. Come, Monsieur Elphinston, Jourdan de Launey attends us.6 He rises ever at seven, so as to welcome those who arrive early. Come, I beg."

Following, therefore, his guide, and followed by the men who had escorted them, Bertie crossed a drawbridge and a courtyard, and then arrived at a flight of stone stairs let into the wall, at which was stationed an officer handsomely dressed, who, on seeing Elphinston, bowed politely to him and requested that he would do him the honour to accompany him to the Governor. Then, turning round on the exempt's followers who came behind them, he said in a very different tone:

"Stay where you are. Do you suppose we require your services to welcome the arrivals? And for you, Monsieur l'Exempt, we will rejoin you later." Whereon he opened a small door off the staircase and led Bertie into a room.

A room which astonished the young man as he stepped into it; for, although he had often talked with people in Paris who had been imprisoned in the Bastille, and had heard that some parts of it were sumptuously furnished, he had not imagined that even the Governor possessed such an apartment as this. It was, indeed, so large as to be almost a hall, though the gorgeous hangings of yellow damask fringed with silver and with lace made it look smaller, while at the same time they imparted a brilliancy to the vastness of the room; and some cabinets, bureaux, and couches distributed about also served to give it a comfortable appearance. In front of a blazing fire-so great, indeed, that the wonder was that any mortal could approach near it-there stood, warming his hands, the Governor, De Launey himself, while seated close by at a table covered with papers was a miserable-looking person who was engaged in writing.

No man, possibly, ever presented a greater contrast between his own appearance and the dreaded position which he occupied than did Jourdan de Launey, then an old man approaching his end. He was very thin and very bald, with beady black eyes and a rosy face which gave him the appearance of extreme good humour, while that which rivetted the attention of everyone who saw him for the first time was the extraordinary shaking, or palsy, that possessed him always. Even now, as he stood before the huge, roaring fire, holding out the palms of his hands to it and lifting first one foot and then another to its warmth, he shook and shivered so that he seemed as though dying of cold.

To him the handsomely apparelled officer-whom Bertie soon learned bore the rank of the "King's Lieutenant of his Majesty's fortress of the Bastille" – addressed himself, saying that the Captain Elphinston had arrived; whereon De Launey turned his back to the fire, regarded Bertie for a moment, and then held out a long, white, shivering hand, which the other, as he took it, thought might well have belonged to a corpse.

"Sir," he said, in a voice of extreme sweetness, though somewhat shaken by his tremblings, "you are very welcome, though I fear this abode may scarcely be so to you. Yet I beg of you to believe that what can be done to put you at your ease and make you comfortable shall be done. Moreover, permit me to tell you that which I tell all my visitors who are not of the lower classes, nor murderers and ruffians, who need not to be considered, that your visit here by no means brings with it a loss of self-respect or of social position. The Bastille is not a prison, as the canaille think; is not Bicêtre nor even Vincennes; it is a place where gentlemen are simply detained at the pleasure of his Majesty, and when they go forth they go unstained. If you will remember that, Monsieur le Capitaine," he continued with increased sweetness of voice, "you will, I think, repine less at our hospitality."

Bertie bowed, as, indeed, he could not but do to such extreme politeness, no matter how much he resented his incarceration, then he said:

"Sir, I am obliged to you for your civility. Yet, monsieur, if you would add to it by telling me with what I am charged and why I am brought here at all, you would greatly increase my obligation."

"Monsieur le Capitaine," replied the Governor, "I regret to refuse-but it is impossible. That you cannot know until you appear before the Lieutenant of the Civil Government, or Examiner, who comes here at periods to examine our visitors. Then, by the questions he will ask, you will undoubtedly be able to surmise with what you are charged."

"And when will he come, monsieur?"

"I know," he replied, with a shrug of his shoulders which so blended into one of his shivers that it was almost imperceptible, "no more than you do. He comes when it pleases him, or, perhaps, I might more truthfully say, when he has time, and then he interrogates those whom, also, it pleases him. Sometimes it is our latest guest" – De Launey never by any chance used the word "prisoner" – "sometimes those who have been here for years. And some there are who have been here for many-but no matter!" Then, turning to the King's Lieutenant, he bade that officer give him Captain Elphinston's mittimus, or the stamped letter containing the order for his reception and security.

This letter he read carefully, during which time it shook so in his palsied hands that Bertie could not but wonder how he could distinguish the characters in it; after which he looked up with his good-humoured smile and said:

"Sir, I felicitate you. You are of the first class of guests; beyond restriction you will have little to complain of. The King" – and he raised his tottering white hand to his forehead as though saluting that monarch in person-"is, you know, your host; your pension will be of the best. Secretary," he said, turning round sharply to the man at the table, "read to the captain the bill of fare for the principal guests."

This man, who seemed, at least, to derive no great good from his position, seeing that he was miserably clad in an old suit of ragged Nismes serge, a pair of old blue breeches loose at the knees, and a wig which had scarcely any hair left on it, began to read from a paper, when, to Bertie's astonishment, a very different voice from the soft tones he had recently been listening to issued from the Governor's lips; and in a harsh, commanding way De Launey exclaimed:

"Fellow, stand up before gentlemen! Mort de ma vie! do you dare to sit and read before us?" Whereon the wretched creature sprang up as though under the lash, and began hastily to gabble out:

"Dejeuner à lafourchette. Potage. A quarter of a fowl or a slice of ox beef. A pie, a sheep's tongue or a ragout, biscuits, and rennets. A quarter septier of wine, to suffice also for dinner and supper. Dinner: A loaf, soup, petite pâté's, roast veal or mutton, pigeon or pullet, or beef and toasted bread. Supper: A fish of the season, or a bird and a chipped loaf. By order of the King, to the extent of 150 sols a day."

As he read from his paper-to which the visitor paid but little attention, since he cared nothing about the meals he might receive-De Launey nodded and wagged his head with approbation, and, when he finished, exclaimed:

"A noble King! Fellow," to the secretary, "begone! Go seek the turnkey, Bluet, and bid him prepare for Monsieur le Capitaine the second chamber of the chapel."

"The second chamber of the chapel! The best apartment!"

"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed De Launey, while he shook terribly, "do my infirmities render me unintelligible? Ay, the second chamber; and for you, if ever you misunderstand me again, the vault under the ditch where the malefactors lie!" Then, putting out his long, white, trembling hand-while all the time he smiled blandly-he nipped the man's arm between two fingers and repeated, "Where the malefactors lie! Where the man was eaten alive by rats! Tu comprends, cher ami? Go. The second chamber in the chapel for Monsieur le Capitaine. Va!"

The man left the room quickly, casting a glance, half of terror and half of hate, on De Launey, who, after regarding him till he was gone, turned round to Elphinston with his pleasant smile, and said, "A vile wretch that. Yet a useful one, and bound to me by the deepest ties of gratitude. Sent here by the Jesuits some years ago. Ha! ha! The holy fathers know how to obtain the lettres de cachet! for an unspeakable crime-the corruption of a nun to Protestantism, saved his life by telling them that he was the man who had been eaten by the rats, though 'twas another. Thus I bound him to me for ever. He writes a most beautiful hand, knows the history of every man in the Bastille, and-ha! ha! – draws no recompense. The Inquisition injured my family once-they burnt an aunt of mine in Seville-therefore I love to thwart them."

Bertie inclined his head to show that he heard the Governor's words; then the latter continued in his mellifluous strains:

"Now, Captain Elphinston, I must tell you that you should try and make yourself as comfortable as possible here. Above all, do not dream of an escape. Many have done so; few have succeeded-the Abbé du Bacquoy alone of late years.7 For the walls are thick-oh, so thick! – between each room there is a space of many feet-the windows are barred; so, too, are the fireplaces; the ceilings cannot be reached by two men standing one on the other's shoulders. Moreover, a visitor seen outside his window, or on the roofs or walls, could not escape the eyes of the sentries, and would be shot-poof! – like a sparrow. Monsieur, let me beg you, therefore, to content yourself with our hospitality. Later on-if you are not recalled-we will perhaps give you some companions; we wish our guests to have the enjoyment of society. Monsieur le Capitaine, here is Bluet, who will conduct you to your apartment. Au revoir. I trust sincerely you will be at your ease."

Again the ice-cold, shivering hand clasped that of Elphinston, De Launey bowed to him with as much grace as though he were taking part in a minuet, and, following the turnkey, who had come in with the secretary, the prisoner went forth to his chamber.

Descending the stairs and out by the small door in the wall, he passed again through the Corps de Garde, all the members of which once more instantly took off their hats and held them before their faces. Then he was led across a great court and in at a square door painted green, and so up three small steps on to a great staircase, at the bottom of which were two huge iron doors that clanged with an ominous sound behind him. At the head of this staircase were three more gates, one after the other-wooden gates covered with iron plates-and when these were locked behind Elphinston also, another iron-bound door was opened, and he stood within a great vaulted room, some sixty feet long and about fifteen in breadth, and the same in height.

"Voilà!" exclaimed the secretary, "behold the second room of the chapel. Mon Dieu! a fine apartment for an untitled guest! But the old animal will have his way. Yet, why this room of princes? 'Twas here the man with the iron mask died, they say; here that the Duke of Luxembourg and the Marshals de Biron and Bassompiere once reposed."

"At least," said Bertie, casting his eyes round the vault-for such it was-"I trust there was more accommodation for those illustrious personages than there appears for me. Am I to sleep on the floor, and lie on it also in the day? There is neither bed nor chair here."

"All in good time, brave captain," replied Bluet, the turnkey, who even at this early period of the morning appeared to be half drunk-"all in good time, noble captain. I shall make your room a fitting boudoir for a duchess ere night. Have no fear."

"Now," said the secretary, "give up all you have about you."

"What!"

"All, everything," replied the other. "Oh, be under no apprehension; we do not rob the King's guests; oh, no! Every visitor to this delectable castle has to do the same, even though he be a prince of the blood. I shall give you a note for what you hand me, and on your sortie you will see all is as you handed to me. Yet the old cochon, De Launey, loveth trinkets for his wife-young enough to be his daughter; if you have a ring or a jewel, you can part with it; it will be to your advantage."

"Friend," said Elphinston, "I am a soldier who has fought in hard wars, sometimes without even receiving a sol of any pay-as in the last campaign in Scotland-what should I have? See, I have no rings on my fingers, no watch to my pocket, no solitaire to my cravat. Yet, here is my purse with a few Louis d'ors and one gold quadruple pistole; count those, if you will," and he pitched it into the secretary's ragged hat as he spoke.

The man told over the coins, muttering that the large piece was bien forte et trébuchante, then made an accurate note of them and gave the list to Bertie. "All," he said again, "will be returned you on your exit, unless you choose to give them to Bluet and me. We get little enough, though God knows we have also little enough-at least, I have-of opportunities for spending. Yet even here one may have his little pleasures," and he winked at Bertie, who turned from him in disgust.

"No trinkets on the bosom," he went on questioningly, "no lockets, nor crosses, nor reliquaries of saints? Humph!"

"There is," replied Elphinston, "on my breast a bag of satin, in which is a lock of hair-the hair of the woman whom I love. Fellow, do you think I will let you take that, or even fasten your foul eyes on it! Ask me no more; otherwise I will speak to the Governor."

"It is against the rules," said the other, "quite against the rules, yet-"

"Curse the rules!"

"Yet," he said, "so that when you leave us you will give me one, only one of those pieces, I will not insist."

"Leave me," said Bertie, and his voice was so stern that, followed by the turnkey, the man slunk out of the room, and a moment afterwards the heavy door was locked and barred on him.

CHAPTER XXII

DESPAIR!

Left alone at last, he walked up and down the huge chamber, or vault, his mind full of melancholy, heartbroken reflections.

"My God, my God!" he muttered, "what have I done that thus Thou lettest Thy hand fall so heavily on me? What fresh sin committed, that this fresh punishment should be mine! I have lost the one thing I cared for in this life, lost her; now I am incarcerated here in this place of horror, this place where men's existences, even their very names, are forgotten as much as though they had lain for years in their graves; this place which may be my grave." Then, a few moments later, his heart and courage returned to him, and he murmured to himself again:

"Yet, I will not repine. That abject creature spoke of others who had been here and yet escaped, obtained their liberty, all but him, the hapless Masque de Fer, who drew his last breath in this gloomy dungeon. Bassompiere, Luxembourg, De Biron, all went forth to the world again. How many men have I not known myself who have been here? There was one, the old Comte de Tilly, who told me he had been incarcerated thirteen times, and that, whenever he saw the exempts in the street, he took off his hat to them, and asked if by any chance they happened to be seeking for him. And these walls," he exclaimed, looking up at the blackened sides of the room, "seem to bear testimony to many who have inhabited the place."

They did, indeed; for, written all over the grimy and smoky sides of the vault, were records left by those who had been incarcerated. In one part of the room near the barred fireplace, through which a child could not have crept, were the words: "The widow Lailly and her daughter were brought into this hell on the 27th September, 1701"; in another place was the name of a Neapolitan prince, one De Riccia, with his remarkable motto beneath it, "Empoisona ove Strangola." And there were scores of other names, of all countries: one, that of the Chevalier Lynch, gentleman, of Sligo in Ireland; another, Jean Cronier, redacteur, "Du Burlesk Gazette," Holland; a third, Magdalen de St. Michel, while in a different hand underneath was written, "who slew her husband, a King's sailor;" yet another, "the Curé de Méry, falsely accused of rioting and drunkenness"; and many more. And, still continuing his sad patrol of the room, he saw that at each corner of it were statues of the four Evangelists, so that he understood now why it should be called the "Room of the Chapel," though why the "second room" he never learned.

"So," he said, as he mused in his misery, "so this place has been holy ground, consecrated. Heavens! was ever a place of prayer turned to such vile use since the Temple became a den of thieves?"

As thus he pondered he heard the doors outside clanging, and a moment afterwards, the unbarring of the chapel door and the harsh grating of the key in the lock, a sound which was followed by the entrance of the turnkey, Bluet-who appeared now more drunk than before-and another man, also a turnkey.

"Ha!" said the former with a hiccough, "now to arrange the boudoir. Georges, disgorge thy burden and be gone. I have alone to do with Monsieur le Capitaine," and, as he spoke, he reeled across the room with a small folding table he had brought with him and placed it under the barred and latticed window, where the light streamed on it. Meanwhile, the other turnkey, Georges, had thrown down a huge bundle of what was evidently bedding, and departed, to return again a few moments later, with a tray, on which were several dishes.

"Voilà!" Bluet muttered as he arranged the table, "behold your first meal as guest of Madame la Bastille. A soup-of lentils-bon! bon! some cockscombs in vinegar-pas mal ça! some chip bread, beef full of gravy, with a garniture of parsley. Also the quarter septier of wine-and good, too, you see, of Bourgogne. Now for more furniture to accommodate our new guest." Whereon he reeled off to the passage and brought back a sound wooden chair, which he placed by the table, exclaiming, "Voilà! monsieur est server."

Seeing that the fellow, in spite of his drunkenness, was doing his best to treat him well, and reflecting also that much of any comfort he was likely to obtain might depend on him, Bertie resolved to make a friend of Bluet if possible; so, sitting down to the meal, he made a semblance of eating it; and as he did so he said:

"If I did not perceive that already you have been making free enough with the drink, I would ask you to join me. This great jar," touching the quarter septier, which contained half a gallon at least, "is more than I can consume in a week, yet you, I judge, could drink it all at a sitting."

"Facilement. I often do. And the wine is of the best. When St. Mars was governor here, he robbed the visitors, they say; took the King's money for the best and gave the worst. De Launey, now, is different."

"He is more generous, then?"

"Nay, more timorous. For, observe, he fears the King should find out he is being hoodwinked. Yet, all do not drink nor eat alike here. Some get only a chopine of the thinnest, one plat to each meal, coarse bread, and no fruit. It depends on the degree of the personage, also the probability of the length of his visit. Because, you see, Monsieur le Capitaine, some seem never likely to depart-and there are many such, I assure you, who become forgotten; there is no hope they will ever go forth; they have no money to give away in fees-for if a visitor wishes to reward us for our little cares, he may make an order on De Launey to distribute some of the money he holds; they become the guest who has outstayed his welcome. You understand, monsieur?"

He spoke with an air of drunken gravity, and, although in drink, showed so much intelligence that Bertie guessed this was the man's normal condition. Also, the latter observed that the state he was in by no means prevented him from being able to fulfil any duty he had to perform. Indeed, during the time he had been enlightening Bertie as to the customs of the Bastille, he had been arranging in a corner of the room some furniture the other man had come back with, as well as that which he had originally brought. Thus he had fitted up a little truckle bedstead in one of the corners near the fireplace and under the statue of St. Matthew which stood in the wall above, a bedstead which had some curtains of dirty flowered stuff, with a bag of straw for a mattress, and also a blanket as dirty as the curtains, and full of holes, and a quilt of flock. Likewise he had brought in a great pitcher of water, a ewer and mug, all of which were of pewter.

"Avec ça," he said, regarding these things with a look of satisfaction, "monsieur is well provided. Oh, well provided! Now for this you must pay six livres a month-none of which comes to me, alas! – and if you wish more it can be hired. Yet, faith! it is a chamber for a King. Shall I send for a fagot and make a fire to purge the air of the room?"

"Nay," said poor Bertie, "it is very well. Yet I would that the chamber was not so vast; it is large, and draughty, and dark. Can I not be removed into a better one-at least, a smaller one?"

"That will come if you remain with us. Lengthened sojourns are not made in this one. So you may content yourself with this, namely, while you are here-in this apartment-you may go out at any moment. Now, I have other guests to see to; I will return later with the dinner. Adieu, monsieur," and he went away, banging, and locking, and barring the heavy door behind him.

Through the glazed window above, which had two great shutters to it that were always closed, but had an iron gate or smaller window within them, while outside was a green wooden lattice, Bertie could see that the sun was shining; nay, a ray or so even forced its way through the iron gate and illuminated a foot's breadth all along the dungeon, or room. In one way it was, perhaps, not very welcome, for it showed plainly the filthy condition of the floor, all incrusted with dirt as it was, and with other refuse, such as small meat-bones, fish-bones, egg-shells, and pieces of bread-crust trodden into it. Yet, also, to his sad heart it brought some comfort; it spoke to him of the world without, of the gay streets and gardens of Paris; of her, his love. What was she doing now, he pondered; would she soon be wondering what had become of him, and why, as once before-so long, so long ago, as now it seemed-he had again disappeared from her and made no sign? Or would he be free before Thursday came again?