"Oh! when I leave him, I place in my stead a bold fellow who aspires to
be his majesty’s special guard. I promise you he keeps a good watch over
the prisoner. During the three weeks that he has been with me, I have
only had to reproach him with one thing--being too severe with the
prisoners."
"And who is this Cerberus?"
"A certain Monsieur Grimaud, my lord."
"And what was he before he went to Vincennes?"
"He was in the country, as I was told by the person who recommended him
to me."
"And who recommended this man to you?"
"The steward of the Duc de Grammont."
"He is not a gossip, I hope?"
"Lord a mercy, my lord! I thought for a long time that he was dumb; he
answers only by signs. It seems his former master accustomed him to
that."
"Well, dear Monsieur la Ramee," replied the cardinal "let him prove a
true and thankful keeper and we will shut our eyes upon his rural
misdeeds and put on his back a uniform to make him respectable, and in
the pockets of that uniform some pistoles to drink to the king’s
health."
Mazarin was large in promises,--quite unlike the virtuous Monsieur
Grimaud so bepraised by La Ramee; for he said nothing and did much.
It was now nine o’clock. The cardinal, therefore, got up, perfumed
himself, dressed, and went to the queen to tell her what had detained
him. The queen, who was scarcely less afraid of Monsieur de Beaufort
than the cardinal himself, and who was almost as superstitious as he
was, made him repeat word for word all La Ramee’s praises of his deputy.
Then, when the cardinal had ended:
"Alas, sir! why have we not a Grimaud near every prince?"
"Patience!" replied Mazarin, with his Italian smile; "that may happen
one day; but in the meantime----"
"Well, in the meantime?"
"I shall still take precautions."
And he wrote to D’Artagnan to hasten his return.
17. Duc de Beaufort amused his Leisure Hours in the Donjon of Vincennes.
The captive who was the source of so much alarm to the cardinal and
whose means of escape disturbed the repose of the whole court, was
wholly unconscious of the terror he caused at the Palais Royal.
He had found himself so strictly guarded that he soon perceived the
fruitlessness of any attempt at escape. His vengeance, therefore,
consisted in coining curses on the head of Mazarin; he even tried to
make some verses on him, but soon gave up the attempt, for Monsieur de
Beaufort had not only not received from Heaven the gift of versifying,
he had the greatest difficulty in expressing himself in prose.
The duke was the grandson of Henry VI. and Gabrielle d’Estrees--as
good-natured, as brave, as proud, and above all, as Gascon as his
ancestor, but less elaborately educated. After having been for some time
after the death of Louis XIII. the favorite, the confidant, the first
man, in short, at the court, he had been obliged to yield his place to
Mazarin and so became the second in influence and favor; and eventually,
as he was stupid enough to be vexed at this change of position, the
queen had had him arrested and sent to Vincennes in charge of Guitant,
who made his appearance in these pages in the beginning of this history
and whom we shall see again. It is understood, of course, that when we
say "the queen," Mazarin is meant.
During the five years of this seclusion, which would have improved and
matured the intellect of any other man, M. de Beaufort, had he not
affected to brave the cardinal, despise princes, and walk alone without
adherents or disciples, would either have regained his liberty or made
partisans. But these considerations never occurred to the duke and every
day the cardinal received fresh accounts of him which were as unpleasant
as possible to the minister.
After having failed in poetry, Monsieur de Beaufort tried drawing. He
drew portraits, with a piece of coal, of the cardinal; and as his
talents did not enable him to produce a very good likeness, he wrote
under the picture that there might be little doubt regarding the
original: "Portrait of the Illustrious Coxcomb, Mazarin." Monsieur de
Chavigny, the governor of Vincennes, waited upon the duke to request
that he would amuse himself in some other way, or that at all events, if
he drew likenesses, he would not put mottoes underneath them. The next
day the prisoner’s room was full of pictures and mottoes. Monsieur de
Beaufort, in common with many other prisoners, was bent upon doing
things that were prohibited; and the only resource the governor had was,
one day when the duke was playing at tennis, to efface all these
drawings, consisting chiefly of profiles. M. de Beaufort did not venture
to draw the cardinal’s fat face.
The duke thanked Monsieur de Chavigny for having, as he said, cleaned
his drawing-paper for him; he then divided the walls of his room into
compartments and dedicated each of these compartments to some incident
in Mazarin’s life. In one was depicted the "Illustrious Coxcomb"
receiving a shower of blows from Cardinal Bentivoglio, whose servant he
had been; another, the "Illustrious Mazarin" acting the part of Ignatius
Loyola in a tragedy of that name; a third, the "Illustrious Mazarin"
stealing the portfolio of prime minister from Monsieur de Chavigny, who
had expected to have it; a fourth, the "Illustrious Coxcomb Mazarin"
refusing to give Laporte, the young king’s valet, clean sheets, and
saving that "it was quite enough for the king of France to have clean
sheets every three months."
The governor, of course, thought proper to threaten his prisoner that if
he did not give up drawing such pictures he should be obliged to deprive
him of all the means of amusing himself in that manner. To this Monsieur
de Beaufort replied that since every opportunity of distinguishing
himself in arms was taken from him, he wished to make himself celebrated
in the arts; since he could not be a Bayard, he would become a Raphael
or a Michael Angelo. Nevertheless, one day when Monsieur de Beaufort was
walking in the meadow his fire was put out, his charcoal all removed,
taken away; and thus his means of drawing utterly destroyed.
The poor duke swore, fell into a rage, yelled, and declared that they
wished to starve him to death as they had starved the Marechal Ornano
and the Grand Prior of Vendome; but he refused to promise that he would
not make any more drawings and remained without any fire in the room all
the winter.
His next act was to purchase a dog from one of his keepers. With this
animal, which he called Pistache, he was often shut up for hours alone,
superintending, as every one supposed, its education. At last, when
Pistache was sufficiently well trained, Monsieur de Beaufort invited the
governor and officers of Vincennes to attend a representation which he
was going to have in his apartment.
The party assembled, the room was lighted with waxlights, and the
prisoner, with a bit of plaster he had taken out of the wall of his
room, had traced a long white line, representing a cord, on the floor.
Pistache, on a signal from his master, placed himself on this line,
raised himself on his hind paws, and holding in his front paws a wand
with which clothes used to be beaten, he began to dance upon the line
with as many contortions as a rope-dancer. Having been several times up
and down it, he gave the wand back to his master and began without
hesitation to perform the same evolutions over again.
The intelligent creature was received with loud applause.
The first part of the entertainment being concluded Pistache was desired
to say what o’clock it was; he was shown Monsieur de Chavigny’s watch;
it was then half-past six; the dog raised and dropped his paw six times;
the seventh he let it remain upraised. Nothing could be better done; a
sun-dial could not have shown the hour with greater precision.
Then the question was put to him who was the best jailer in all the
prisons in France.
The dog performed three evolutions around the circle and laid himself,
with the deepest respect, at the feet of Monsieur de Chavigny, who at
first seemed inclined to like the joke and laughed long and loud, but a
frown succeeded, and he bit his lips with vexation.
Then the duke put to Pistache this difficult question, who was the
greatest thief in the world?
Pistache went again around the circle, but stopped at no one, and at
last went to the door and began to scratch and bark.
"See, gentlemen," said M. de Beaufort, "this wonderful animal, not
finding here what I ask for, seeks it out of doors; you shall, however,
have his answer. Pistache, my friend, come here. Is not the greatest
thief in the world, Monsieur (the king’s secretary) Le Camus, who came
to Paris with twenty francs in his pocket and who now possesses ten
millions?"
The dog shook his head.
"Then is it not," resumed the duke, "the Superintendent Emery, who gave
his son, when he was married, three hundred thousand francs and a house,
compared to which the Tuileries are a heap of ruins and the Louvre a
paltry building?"
The dog again shook his head as if to say "no."
"Then," said the prisoner, "let’s think who it can be. Can it be, can it
possibly be, the ’Illustrious Coxcomb, Mazarin de Piscina,’ hey?"
Pistache made violent signs that it was, by raising and lowering his
head eight or ten times successively.
"Gentlemen, you see," said the duke to those present, who dared not even
smile, "that it is the ’Illustrious Coxcomb’ who is the greatest thief
in the world; at least, according to Pistache."
"Let us go on to another of his exercises."
"Gentlemen!"--there was a profound silence in the room when the duke
again addressed them--"do you not remember that the Duc de Guise taught
all the dogs in Paris to jump for Mademoiselle de Pons, whom he styled
’the fairest of the fair?’ Pistache is going to show you how superior he
is to all other dogs. Monsieur de Chavigny, be so good as to lend me
your cane."
Monsieur de Chavigny handed his cane to Monsieur de Beaufort. Monsieur
de Beaufort placed it horizontally at the height of one foot.
"Now, Pistache, my good dog, jump the height of this cane for Madame de
Montbazon."
"But," interposed Monsieur de Chavigny, "it seems to me that Pistache is
only doing what other dogs have done when they jumped for Mademoiselle
de Pons."
"Stop," said the duke, "Pistache, jump for the queen." And he raised his
cane six inches higher.
The dog sprang, and in spite of the height jumped lightly over it.
"And now," said the duke, raising it still six inches higher, "jump for
the king."
The dog obeyed and jumped quickly over the cane.
"Now, then," said the duke, and as he spoke, lowered the cane almost
level with the ground; "Pistache, my friend, jump for the ’Illustrious
Coxcomb, Mazarin de Piscina.’"
The dog turned his back to the cane.
"What," asked the duke, "what do you mean?" and he gave him the cane
again, first making a semicircle from the head to the tail of Pistache.
"Jump then, Monsieur Pistache."
But Pistache, as at first, turned round on his legs and stood with his
back to the cane.
Monsieur de Beaufort made the experiment a third time, but by this time
Pistache’s patience was exhausted; he threw himself furiously upon the
cane, wrested it from the hands of the prince and broke it with his
teeth.
Monsieur de Beaufort took the pieces out of his mouth and presented them
with great formality to Monsieur de Chavigny, saying that for that
evening the entertainment was ended, but in three months it should be
repeated, when Pistache would have learned a few new tricks.
Three days afterward Pistache was found dead--poisoned.
Then the duke said openly that his dog had been killed by a drug with
which they meant to poison him; and one day after dinner he went to bed,
calling out that he had pains in his stomach and that Mazarin had
poisoned him.
This fresh impertinence reached the ears of the cardinal and alarmed him
greatly. The donjon of Vincennes was considered very unhealthy and
Madame de Rambouillet had said that the room in which the Marechal
Ornano and the Grand Prior de Vendome had died was worth its weight in
arsenic--a bon mot which had great success. So it was ordered the
prisoner was henceforth to eat nothing that had not previously been
tasted, and La Ramee was in consequence placed near him as taster.
Every kind of revenge was practiced upon the duke by the governor in
return for the insults of the innocent Pistache. De Chavigny, who,
according to report, was a son of Richelieu’s, and had been a creature
of the late cardinal’s, understood tyranny. He took from the duke all
the steel knives and silver forks and replaced them with silver knives
and wooden forks, pretending that as he had been informed that the duke
was to pass all his life at Vincennes, he was afraid of his prisoner
attempting suicide. A fortnight afterward the duke, going to the tennis
court, found two rows of trees about the size of his little finger
planted by the roadside; he asked what they were for and was told that
they were to shade him from the sun on some future day. One morning the
gardener went to him and told him, as if to please him, that he was
going to plant a bed of asparagus for his especial use. Now, since, as
every one knows, asparagus takes four years in coming to perfection,
this civility infuriated Monsieur de Beaufort.
At last his patience was exhausted. He assembled his keepers, and
notwithstanding his well-known difficulty of utterance, addressed them
as follows:
"Gentlemen! will you permit a grandson of Henry IV. to be overwhelmed
with insults and ignominy?
"Odds fish! as my grandfather used to say, I once reigned in Paris! do
you know that? I had the king and Monsieur the whole of one day in my
care. The queen at that time liked me and called me the most honest man
in the kingdom. Gentlemen and citizens, set me free; I shall go to the
Louvre and strangle Mazarin. You shall be my body-guard. I will make you
all captains, with good pensions! Odds fish! On! march forward!"
But eloquent as he might be, the eloquence of the grandson of Henry IV.
did not touch those hearts of stone; not one man stirred, so Monsieur de
Beaufort was obliged to be satisfied with calling them all kinds of
rascals underneath the sun.
Sometimes, when Monsieur de Chavigny paid him a visit, the duke used to
ask him what he should think if he saw an army of Parisians, all fully
armed, appear at Vincennes to deliver him from prison.
"My lord," answered De Chavigny, with a low bow, "I have on the ramparts
twenty pieces of artillery and in my casemates thirty thousand guns. I
should bombard the troops till not one grain of gunpowder was
unexploded."
"Yes, but after you had fired off your thirty thousand guns they would
take the donjon; the donjon being taken, I should be obliged to let them
hang you--at which I should be most unhappy, certainly."
And in his turn the duke bowed low to Monsieur de Chavigny.
"For myself, on the other hand, my lord," returned the governor, "when
the first rebel should pass the threshold of my postern doors I should
be obliged to kill you with my own hand, since you were confided
peculiarly to my care and as I am obliged to give you up, dead or
alive."
And once more he bowed low before his highness.
These bitter-sweet pleasantries lasted ten minutes, sometimes longer,
but always finished thus:
Monsieur de Chavigny, turning toward the door, used to call out:
"Halloo! La Ramee!"
La Ramee came into the room.
"La Ramee, I recommend Monsieur le Duc to you, particularly; treat him
as a man of his rank and family ought to be treated; that is, never
leave him alone an instant."
La Ramee became, therefore, the duke’s dinner guest by compulsion--an
eternal keeper, the shadow of his person; but La Ramee--gay, frank,
convivial, fond of play, a great hand at tennis, had one defect in the
duke’s eyes--his incorruptibility.
Now, although La Ramee appreciated, as of a certain value, the honor of
being shut up with a prisoner of so great importance, still the pleasure
of living in intimacy with the grandson of Henry IV. hardly compensated
for the loss of that which he had experienced in going from time to time
to visit his family.
One may be a jailer or a keeper and at the same time a good father and
husband. La Ramee adored his wife and children, whom now he could only
catch a glimpse of from the top of the wall, when in order to please him
they used to walk on the opposite side of the moat. ’Twas too brief an
enjoyment, and La Ramee felt that the gayety of heart he had regarded as
the cause of health (of which it was perhaps rather the result) would
not long survive such a mode of life.
He accepted, therefore, with delight, an offer made to him by his friend
the steward of the Duc de Grammont, to give him a substitute; he also
spoke of it to Monsieur de Chavigny, who promised that he would not
oppose it in any way--that is, if he approved of the person proposed.
We consider it useless to draw a physical or moral portrait of Grimaud;
if, as we hope, our readers have not wholly forgotten the first part of
this work, they must have preserved a clear idea of that estimable
individual, who is wholly unchanged, except that he is twenty years
older, an advance in life that has made him only more silent; although,
since the change that had been working in himself, Athos had given
Grimaud permission to speak.
But Grimaud had for twelve or fifteen years preserved habitual silence,
and a habit of fifteen or twenty years’ duration becomes second nature.
18. Grimaud begins his Functions.
Grimaud thereupon presented himself with his smooth exterior at the
donjon of Vincennes. Now Monsieur de Chavigny piqued himself on his
infallible penetration; for that which almost proved that he was the son
of Richelieu was his everlasting pretension; he examined attentively the
countenance of the applicant for place and fancied that the contracted
eyebrows, thin lips, hooked nose, and prominent cheek-bones of Grimaud
were favorable signs. He addressed about twelve words to him; Grimaud
answered in four.
"Here’s a promising fellow and it is I who have found out his merits,"
said Monsieur de Chavigny. "Go," he added, "and make yourself agreeable
to Monsieur la Ramee, and tell him that you suit me in all respects."
Grimaud had every quality that could attract a man on duty who wishes to
have a deputy. So, after a thousand questions which met with only a word
in reply, La Ramee, fascinated by this sobriety in speech, rubbed his
hands and engaged Grimaud.
"My orders?" asked Grimaud.
"They are these; never to leave the prisoner alone; to keep away from
him every pointed or cutting instrument, and to prevent his conversing
any length of time with the keepers."
"Those are all?" asked Grimaud.
"All now," replied La Ramee.
"Good," answered Grimaud; and he went right to the prisoner.
The duke was in the act of combing his beard, which he had allowed to
grow, as well as his hair, in order to reproach Mazarin with his
wretched appearance and condition. But having some days previously seen
from the top of the donjon Madame de Montbazon pass in her carriage, and
still cherishing an affection for that beautiful woman, he did not wish
to be to her what he wished to be to Mazarin, and in the hope of seeing
her again, had asked for a leaden comb, which was allowed him. The comb
was to be a leaden one, because his beard, like that of most fair
people, was rather red; he therefore dyed it thus whilst combing it.
As Grimaud entered he saw this comb on the tea-table; he took it up, and
as he took it he made a low bow.
The duke looked at this strange figure with surprise. The figure put the
comb in its pocket.
"Ho! hey! what’s that?" cried the duke. "Who is this creature?"
Grimaud did not answer, but bowed a second time.
"Art thou dumb?" cried the duke.
Grimaud made a sign that he was not.
"What art thou, then? Answer! I command thee!" said the duke.
"A keeper," replied Grimaud.
"A keeper!" reiterated the duke; "there was nothing wanting in my
collection, except this gallows-bird. Halloo! La Ramee! some one!"
La Ramee ran in haste to obey the call.
"Who is this wretch who takes my comb and puts it in his pocket?" asked
the duke.
"One of your guards, my prince; a man of talent and merit, whom you will
like, as I and Monsieur de Chavigny do, I am sure."
"Why does he take my comb?"
"Why do you take my lord’s comb?" asked La Ramee.
Grimaud drew the comb from his pocket and passing his fingers over the
largest teeth, pronounced this one word, "Pointed."
"True," said La Ramee.
"What does the animal say?" asked the duke.
"That the king has forbidden your lordship to have any pointed
instrument."
"Are you mad, La Ramee? You yourself gave me this comb."
"I was very wrong, my lord, for in giving it to you I acted in
opposition to my orders."
The duke looked furiously at Grimaud.
"I perceive that this creature will be my particular aversion," he
muttered.
Grimaud, nevertheless, was resolved for certain reasons not at once to
come to a full rupture with the prisoner; he wanted to inspire, not a
sudden repugnance, but a good, sound, steady hatred; he retired,
therefore, and gave place to four guards, who, having breakfasted, could
attend on the prisoner.
A fresh practical joke now occurred to the duke. He had asked for
crawfish for his breakfast on the following morning; he intended to pass
the day in making a small gallows and hang one of the finest of these
fish in the middle of his room--the red color evidently conveying an
allusion to the cardinal--so that he might have the pleasure of hanging
Mazarin in effigy without being accused of having hung anything more
significant than a crawfish.
The day was employed in preparations for the execution. Every one grows
childish in prison, but the character of Monsieur de Beaufort was
particularly disposed to become so. In the course of his morning’s walk
he collected two or three small branches from a tree and found a small
piece of broken glass, a discovery that quite delighted him. When he
came home he formed his handkerchief into a loop.
Nothing of all this escaped Grimaud, but La Ramee looked on with the
curiosity of a father who thinks that he may perhaps get a cheap idea
concerning a new toy for his children. The guards looked on it with
indifference. When everything was ready, the gallows hung in the middle
of the room, the loop made, and when the duke had cast a glance upon the
plate of crawfish, in order to select the finest specimen among them, he
looked around for his piece of glass; it had disappeared.
"Who has taken my piece of glass?" asked the duke, frowning. Grimaud
made a sign to denote that he had done so.
"What! thou again! Why didst thou take it?"
"Yes--why?" asked La Ramee.
Grimaud, who held the piece of glass in his hand, said: "Sharp."
"True, my lord!" exclaimed La Ramee. "Ah! deuce take it! we have a
precious fellow here!"
"Monsieur Grimaud!" said the duke, "for your sake I beg of you, never
come within the reach of my fist!"
"Hush! hush!" cried La Ramee, "give me your gibbet, my lord. I will
shape it out for you with my knife."
And he took the gibbet and shaped it out as neatly as possible.
"That’s it," said the duke, "now make me a little hole in the floor
whilst I go and fetch the culprit."
La Ramee knelt down and made a hole in the floor; meanwhile the duke
hung the crawfish up by a thread. Then he placed the gibbet in the
middle of the room, bursting with laughter.
La Ramee laughed also and the guards laughed in chorus; Grimaud,
however, did not even smile. He approached La Ramee and showing him the
crawfish hung up by the thread:
"Cardinal," he said.
"Hung by order of his Highness the Duc de Beaufort!" cried the prisoner,
laughing violently, "and by Master Jacques Chrysostom La Ramee, the
king’s commissioner."
La Ramee uttered a cry of horror and rushed toward the gibbet, which he
broke at once and threw the pieces out of the window. He was going to
throw the crawfish out also, when Grimaud snatched it from his hands.
"Good to eat!" he said, and put it in his pocket.
This scene so enchanted the duke that at the moment he forgave Grimaud
for his part in it; but on reflection he hated him more and more, being
convinced he had some evil motive for his conduct.
But the story of the crab made a great noise through the interior of the
donjon and even outside. Monsieur de Chavigny, who at heart detested the
cardinal, took pains to tell the story to two or three friends, who put
it into immediate circulation.
The prisoner happened to remark among the guards one man with a very
good countenance; and he favored this man the more as Grimaud became the
more and more odious to him. One morning he took this man on one side
and had succeeded in speaking to him, when Grimaud entered and seeing
what was going on approached the duke respectfully, but took the guard
by the arm.
"Go away," he said.
The guard obeyed.
"You are insupportable!" cried the duke; "I shall beat you."
Grimaud bowed.
"I will break every bone in your body!" cried the duke.
Grimaud bowed, but stepped back.
"Mr. Spy," cried the duke, more and more enraged, "I will strangle you
with my own hands."
And he extended his hands toward Grimaud, who merely thrust the guard
out and shut the door behind him. At the same time he felt the duke’s
arms on his shoulders like two iron claws; but instead either of calling
out or defending himself, he placed his forefinger on his lips and said
in a low tone:
"Hush!" smiling as he uttered the word.
A gesture, a smile and a word from Grimaud, all at once, were so unusual
that his highness stopped short, astounded.
Grimaud took advantage of that instant to draw from his vest a charming
little note with an aristocratic seal, and presented it to the duke
without a word.
The duke, more and more bewildered, let Grimaud loose and took the note.
"From Madame de Montbazon?" he cried.
Grimaud nodded assent.
The duke tore open the note, passed his hands over his eyes, for he was
dazzled and confused, and read:
"My Dear Duke,--You may entirely confide in the brave lad who will give
you this note; he has consented to enter the service of your keeper and
to shut himself up at Vincennes with you, in order to prepare and assist
your escape, which we are contriving. The moment of your deliverance is
at hand; have patience and courage and remember that in spite of time
and absence all your friends continue to cherish for you the sentiments
they have so long professed and truly entertained.
"Yours wholly and most affectionately
"Marie de Montbazon.
"P.S.--I sign my full name, for I should be vain if I could suppose that
after five years of absence you would remember my initials."
The poor duke became perfectly giddy. What for five years he had been
wanting--a faithful servant, a friend, a helping hand--seemed to have
fallen from Heaven just when he expected it the least.
"Oh, dearest Marie! she thinks of me, then, after five years of
separation! Heavens! there is constancy!" Then turning to Grimaud, he
said:
"And thou, my brave fellow, thou consentest thus to aid me?"
Grimaud signified his assent.
"And you have come here with that purpose?"
Grimaud repeated the sign.
"And I was ready to strangle you!" cried the duke.
Grimaud smiled.
"Wait, then," said the duke, fumbling in his pocket. "Wait," he
continued, renewing his fruitless search; "it shall not be said that
such devotion to a grandson of Henry IV. went without recompense."
The duke’s endeavors evinced the best intention in the world, but one of
the precautions taken at Vincennes was that of allowing prisoners to
keep no money. Whereupon Grimaud, observing the duke’s disappointment,
drew from his pocket a purse filled with gold and handed it to him.
"Here is what you are looking for," he said.
The duke opened the purse and wanted to empty it into Grimaud’s hands,
but Grimaud shook his head.
"Thank you, monseigneur," he said, drawing back; "I am paid."
The duke went from one surprise to another. He held out his hand.
Grimaud drew near and kissed it respectfully. The grand manner of Athos
had left its mark on Grimaud.
"What shall we do? and when? and how proceed?"
"It is now eleven," answered Grimaud. "Let my lord at two o’clock ask
leave to make up a game at tennis with La Ramee and let him send two or
three balls over the ramparts."
"And then?"
"Your highness will approach the walls and call out to a man who works
in the moat to send them back again."
"I understand," said the duke.
Grimaud made a sign that he was going away.
"Ah!" cried the duke, "will you not accept any money from me?"
"I wish my lord would make me one promise."
"What! speak!"
"’Tis this: when we escape together, that I shall go everywhere and be
always first; for if my lord should be overtaken and caught, there’s
every chance of his being brought back to prison, whereas if I am caught
the least that can befall me is to be--hung."
"True, on my honor as a gentleman it shall be as thou dost suggest."
"Now," resumed Grimaud, "I’ve only one thing more to ask--that your
highness will continue to detest me."
"I’ll try," said the duke.
At this moment La Ramee, after the interview we have described with the
cardinal, entered the room. The duke had thrown himself, as he was wont
to do in moments of dullness and vexation, on his bed. La Ramee cast an
inquiring look around him and observing the same signs of antipathy
between the prisoner and his guardian he smiled in token of his inward
satisfaction. Then turning to Grimaud:
"Very good, my friend, very good. You have been spoken of in a promising
quarter and you will soon, I hope, have news that will be agreeable to
you."
Grimaud saluted in his politest manner and withdrew, as was his custom
on the entrance of his superior.
"Well, my lord," said La Ramee, with his rude laugh, "you still set
yourself against this poor fellow?"
"So! ’tis you, La Ramee; in faith, ’tis time you came back again. I
threw myself on the bed and turned my nose to the wall, that I mightn’t
break my promise and strangle Grimaud."
"I doubt, however," said La Ramee, in sprightly allusion to the silence
of his subordinate, "if he has said anything disagreeable to your
highness."
"Pardieu! you are right--a mute from the East! I swear it was time for
you to come back, La Ramee, and I was eager to see you again."
"Monseigneur is too good," said La Ramee, flattered by the compliment.
"Yes," continued the duke, "really, I feel bored today beyond the power
of description."
"Then let us have a match in the tennis court," exclaimed La Ramee.
"If you wish it."
"I am at your service, my lord."
"I protest, my dear La Ramee," said the duke, "that you are a charming
fellow and that I would stay forever at Vincennes to have the pleasure
of your society."
"My lord," replied La Ramee, "I think if it depended on the cardinal
your wishes would be fulfilled."
"What do you mean? Have you seen him lately?"
"He sent for me to-day."
"Really! to speak to you about me?"
"Of what else do you imagine he would speak to me? Really, my lord, you
are his nightmare."
The duke smiled with bitterness.
"Ah, La Ramee! if you would but accept my offers! I would make your
fortune."
"How? you would no sooner have left prison than your goods would be
confiscated."
"I shall no sooner be out of prison than I shall be master of Paris."
"Pshaw! pshaw! I cannot hear such things said as that; this is a fine
conversation with an officer of the king! I see, my lord, I shall be
obliged to fetch a second Grimaud!"
"Very well, let us say no more about it. So you and the cardinal have
been talking about me? La Ramee, some day when he sends for you, you
must let me put on your clothes; I will go in your stead; I will
strangle him, and upon my honor, if that is made a condition I will
return to prison."
"Monseigneur, I see well that I must call Grimaud."
"Well, I am wrong. And what did the cuistre [pettifogger] say about me?"
"I admit the word, monseigneur, because it rhymes with ministre
[minister]. What did he say to me? He told me to watch you."
"And why so? why watch me?" asked the duke uneasily.
"Because an astrologer had predicted that you would escape."
"Ah! an astrologer predicted that?" said the duke, starting in spite of
himself.
"Oh, mon Dieu! yes! those imbeciles of magicians can only imagine things
to torment honest people."
"And what did you reply to his most illustrious eminence?"
"That if the astrologer in question made almanacs I would advise him not
to buy one."
"Why not?"
"Because before you could escape you would have to be turned into a
bird."
"Unfortunately, that is true. Let us go and have a game at tennis, La
Ramee."
"My lord--I beg your highness’s pardon--but I must beg for half an
hour’s leave of absence."
"Why?"
"Because Monseigneur Mazarin is a prouder man than his highness, though
not of such high birth: he forgot to ask me to breakfast."
"Well, shall I send for some breakfast here?"
"No, my lord; I must tell you that the confectioner who lived opposite
the castle--Daddy Marteau, as they called him----"
"Well?"
"Well, he sold his business a week ago to a confectioner from Paris, an
invalid, ordered country air for his health."
"Well, what have I to do with that?"
"Why, good Lord! this man, your highness, when he saw me stop before his
shop, where he has a display of things which would make your mouth
water, my lord, asked me to get him the custom of the prisoners in the
donjon. ’I bought,’ said he, ’the business of my predecessor on the
strength of his assurance that he supplied the castle; whereas, on my
honor, Monsieur de Chavigny, though I’ve been here a week, has not
ordered so much as a tartlet.’ ’But,’ I then replied, ’probably Monsieur
de Chavigny is afraid your pastry is not good.’ ’My pastry not good!
Well, Monsieur La Ramee, you shall judge of it yourself and at once.’ ’I
cannot,’ I replied; ’it is absolutely necessary for me to return to the
chateau.’ ’Very well,’ said he, ’go and attend to your affairs, since
you seem to be in a hurry, but come back in half an hour.’ ’In half an
hour?’ ’Yes, have you breakfasted?’ ’Faith, no.’ ’Well, here is a pate
that will be ready for you, with a bottle of old Burgundy.’ So, you see,
my lord, since I am hungry, I would, with your highness’s leave----" And
La Ramee bent low.
"Go, then, animal," said the duke; "but remember, I only allow you half
an hour."
"May I promise your custom to the successor of Father Marteau, my lord?"
"Yes, if he does not put mushrooms in his pies; thou knowest that
mushrooms from the wood of Vincennes are fatal to my family."
La Ramee went out, but in five minutes one of the officers of the guard
entered in compliance with the strict orders of the cardinal that the
prisoner should never be left alone a moment.
But during these five minutes the duke had had time to read again the
note from Madame de Montbazon, which proved to the prisoner that his
friends were concerting plans for his deliverance, but in what way he knew not. |
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