Taking the Bastile (30 page)

‘But answer me, then, madame,’ said the king, who began to grow impatient.

‘It is true,’ said she, trembling, ‘it is true. I wrote the letter, and her majesty the queen countersigned it.’

‘Then,’ asked Louis, ‘tell me the crime which had been committed by the person against whom such a document was required.’

‘Sire,’ said Andre, ‘I cannot tell you what crime he had committed; but what I can tell you is, that the crime was great.’

‘Oh 1 can you not confide that even to me?’

‘No. I hope your majesty will forgive me; but I cannot.’

‘Then you shall tell it to him in person, madame,’ said the king; ‘for what you have refused to King Louis XVI . you cannot refuse to Doctor Gilbert.’

ig6 TAKING THE BASTILLE

‘To Doctor Gilbert !’ exclaimed Andre. ‘Great God I where is he, then ? ‘

The king stepped aside to allow Gilbert to advance; the curtains were thrown apart, and the doctor appeared, almost as pale as Andre. At the sight of Gilbert, the countess staggered. Her limbs shook beneath her. She fell backwards, as does a person who is about to faint, and only maintained a standing position with the assistance of an armchair.

‘Madame,’ said Gilbert, bowing to her with mock politeness, ‘allow me to repeat the question which has just been put to you by his majesty.’

The lips of Andre could be seen to move, but no sound issued from them.

‘What offence had I committed, madame, that an order from you should have caused me to be thrown into a loathsome dungeon?’

On hearing this voice, Andre bounded as if she had felt the tearing asunder of the fibres of her heart. Then, casting upon Gilbert an icy look, like that of a serpent, ‘Me, sir?’ said she; ‘I do not know you.’

But while she pronounced these words, Gilbert, on his side, had looked at her with such intentness, he had loaded the brightness of his gaze with so much invincible audacity that the countess cast down her eyes, completely overpowered.

‘Countess,’ said the king, in a mild tone of reproach, ‘see where the abuse of a signature may lead you. Here is a gentleman whom you do not know, and you yourself confess it : a man who is a. great practitioner, a profound physician, a man who can be reproached for nothing.’

Andre raised her head, and almost petrified Gilbert by her contemptuous look. He, however, remained calm and proud.

‘I say, then,’ continued the king, ‘that having no cause for complaint against Monsieur Gilbert, by thus persecuting him instead of another, it is on the head of an innocent man that punishment has fallen. Countess, this is wrong. I know that you are kind-hearted, and that if you have punished some one through hatred, that person must have deserved it; but you see that it will be necessary, in future, to avoid the recurrence of such mistakes.’

Then, turning towards Gilbert,

‘You see, doctor, it is the fault of the times rather than

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that of men. We are born in corruption, and we die in it; but we will endeavour at least to ameliorate the condition of posterity, and you will, I trust, assist me in this work, Doctor Gilbert.’

And Louis ceased speaking, thinking he had said enough to satisfy both parties.

‘With your majesty’s permission,’ said Gilbert, ‘I will request the countess to repeat what she has already stated, namely, that she does not know me.’

‘Countess,’ said the king, ‘will you do what the doctor requests of you?’

‘I do not know Doctor Gilbert,’ repeated Andre.

‘But you know another Gilbert, my namesake; the Gilbert whose crime has been visited on me.’

‘Oh !’ said Andre, ‘I know that person, and I considei him an infamous wretch.’

‘Sire, it would not become me to interrogate the countess,’ said Gilbert; ‘but deign to ask her of what that infamous man has been guilty.’

‘Countess, you cannot refuse acceding to so just a request.’

‘What he has done?’ said Andrde. ‘Doubtless the queen knew of what crime he had been guilty, since with her own hand she authorised the letter by means of which I applied for his arrest.’

‘But,’ said the king, ‘it is not quite sufficient that the queen should be convinced; it is necessary that I too should be convinced. The queen is the queen, but I am the king.’

‘Well, then, sire, the Gilbert mentioned in the warrant is a man who, sixteen years ago, committed a most fearful crime.’

‘Will your majesty ask the countess how old that man is at the present day?’

The king repeated, the question.

‘From thirty to thirty-two,’ said Andre.

‘Sire,’ rejoined Gilbert, ‘if the crime was committed sixteen years ago, it was not committed by a man, but by a child; and if, during these sixteen years, the man has deplored the crime committed by th child, does not that man deserve some little leniency?’

‘But, sir,’ asked the king, ‘yon then know the Gilbert in question?’

‘I know him, sire,’ said Gilbert.

198 TAKING THE BASTILLE

‘And has he committed no other fault except this one of his early youth?’

‘I do not know that since the day on which he committed I will not say that fault, sire, tor I am less indulgent than you but that crime, I do not know that any one in this world has aught to reproach him with.’

No, unless it is having dipped his pen in poison, and having composed the most odious libels,’ erica Andre.

‘Sire, please to ask the countess,’ said Gilbert, ‘if the real object of the arrest of this Gilbert was not to afford every facility to his enemies, or rather to his enemy, to obtain possession of a certain casket, containing certain papers, which might have compromised a great lady, a lady of the court.

Andre trembled from head to foot.

‘Countess, what is this casket?’ asked the king, who had perceived the trembling and the pallor of the countess.

‘Ah I madame,’ cried Gilbert, feeling that he was gaining the mastery, ‘no tergiversation no subterfuge. There have been mis-statements enough on both sides. I am the Gilbert who committed the crime I am the Gilbert of the casket. You you are the great lady the lady of the court. I call upon the king to be our judge; accept him, and we will tell to this judge to the king to God we will tell all that has occurred between us; and the king shall decide while we await the judgment of God.’

‘Say what you will, sir,’ rejoined the countess, ‘but I can say nothing; I do not know you.’

‘And you know nothing of this casket either?’

The countess convulsively closed her hands, and bit her pale lips till they bled.

‘No,’ said she, ‘1 know no more of it than I do of you.’

But the effort she made to pronounce these words was such that her body trembled as does a statue on its pedestal during an earthquake.

‘Madame, beware,’ said Gilbert. ‘I am, as you can hardly have forgotten, the pupil of a man called Joseph Balsamo. The power which he possessed over you, he has transmitted to me. For the last time, will you answer the question I put to you : My casket ? ‘

‘No,’ cvied the countess, a prey to the most indescribable agitation, and making a movement to rush out of the room.

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‘Well, then,’ said Gilbert, in his turn becoming pale, and raising his threatening arm; ‘well, then 1 them iron nature, thou heart of adamant, bend, burst, and break beneath the irresistible pressure of my will. Wilt thou not speak, Andre?’

‘No, no,’ cried the countess, ‘help me, sire, help me 1*

‘Thou shalt speak,’ cried Gilbert; ‘and no one, were he the king, or even God Himself, can withdraw thee from my power. Thou shalt speak, then; thou shalt reveal thy whole soul to the witness of this solemn scene; and all that is contained in the recesses of thy conscience all that which God alone can read in the depths of the deepest souls, you shall know, sire, from the lips of her who refuses to reveal them. Sleep, madame the countess, sleep and speak. I will it I’

Hardly were the words pronounced when the countess stopped short in the midst of a suppressed cry, stretched forth her arms, and seeking support for her trembling limbs, fell, as if imploring a refuge, into the arms of the king, who, trembling himself, seated her upon an armchair.

‘Oh I’ said Louis XVI., ‘I have heard of things of this nature, but I never before witnessed anything to equal it. Is it not to a magnetic sleep that she has just succumbed, sir?’

‘Yes, sire; take the hand of the countess, and ask her why she caused me to be arrested,’ said Gilbert, as if the right to command belonged to him alone.

Louis XVI. approached nearer to the countess, whose hand he took in his.

‘Let us see, countess,’ said he; ‘it was then you who caused the arrest of Doctor Gilbert?’

Still, although asleep, the countess made one last effort, snatched her hand from that of the king, and gathering up all her strength ; ‘No cried she, ‘I will not speak.’

Gilbert smiled. ‘You will not speak?’ said he.

And, his eyes fixed upon the sleeping Andre, he advanced a step towards the armchair. Andre shuddered.

‘Will you not speak?’ added he, taking a second step, which diminished the distance that separated him from the countess.

Every muscle of Andre’s frame became rigid in a supreme effort of reaction.

‘Ah 1 you will not speak, then?’ said he, taking a third

200 TAKING THE BASTILLE

stride, which placed him at the side of Andre, over whose head he placed his outstretched hand; ‘ah ! you will not speak?’

Andre was writhing in the most fearful convulsions.

‘But take care I take care I’ cried Louis XVI., ‘you will kill her !’

‘Fear nothing, sire; it is with the soul alone that I have to contend; the soul is struggling, but it will yield.’

Then, lowering his hand,

‘Speak P said he.

Andre extended her arms, and made an effort to breathe, as if she had been under the pressure of a pneumatic machine.

‘Speak !’ repeated Gilbert, lowering his hand still more.

All the muscles of the young woman’s body seemed about to burst. A fringe of froth appeared upon her lips, and a commencement of epilepsy convulsed her from head to foot.

‘Doctor! doctor!’ said the king, ‘take care I’

But he, without noticing the king, lowered his hand a third time, and touching the top of the countess’s head with the palm of that hand,

‘Speak !’ said he; ‘it is my will.’

Andre, on feeling the touch of that hand, heaved a sigh her arms fell motionless to her side her head, which had been thrown backwards, fell forward upon her breast and a copious flood of tears oozed through her closed eyelids. Gilbert then made a sign to the king that he might interrogate her.

‘So that, countess,’ said the king, again taking her hand, ‘he whom you wished to arrest, and whom you caused to be arrested, was really the doctor himself?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the casket?’ said the king.

‘I had it taken from him.’

‘Oh 1 oh 1 tell me how that was managed, countess,’ said the king, forgetful of all ceremony, and kneeling down before Andre.

‘I ascertained that this Gilbert, who during sixteen years has already made two voyages to France, was about to make a third one, and this last time with the intention of remaining here.’

‘But the casket?’ asked the king.

‘I ascertained by means of the lieutenant of police,

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Monsieur de Crosne, that during one of his journeys he had bought some lands in the neighbourhood of Villers-Cotterets that the farmer who tenanted his lands enjoyed his whole confidence; I suspected that the casket might be left at his residence.’

‘What made you think so?’

‘I went to see Mesmer. I made him put me to sleep, and I saw the casket while in that state. It was in a large clothes-press on the ground floor, hidden under some linen. I returned to the house of Monsieur de Crosne, who having been recommended to do so by the queen, gave me one of his most skilful agents.’

‘What was the name of this agent?’ asked Gilbert.

Andre shuddered as if a hot iron had touched her. ‘Wolfsfoot,’ she replied.

‘After that?’ asked the king.

‘Well, then, yesterday morning this man got possession of the casket. That is all.’

‘No,’ it is not all,’ said Gilbert. ‘You must now tell the king where the casket is at this moment.’

‘Oh P said Louis XVI., ‘you ask too much of her.’

‘No, sire.’

‘But by this Wolfsfoot, by means of Monsieur de Crosne, one might ascertain ‘

‘Oh 1 we shall know everything quicker, and much better, through the countess.’

Andre by a convulsive movement, the object of which was doubtless to prevent the words from escaping her lips, clenched her teeth with such violence as almost to break them. Gilbert touched with his thumb and fore-finger the lower part of the face of Andre, and the muscles were relaxed.

‘In the first place, countess, tell the king clearly that this casket belonged to Doctor Gilbert.’

‘Yes, yes, it belongs to him,’ said the sleeping woman angrily.

‘ And where is it at this moment ? ‘ asked Gilbert. ‘ Make haste ! the king has not time to wait.’

Andre hesitated for a moment. ‘At Wolfsfoot’s house,” said she.

Gilbert observed the hesitation, although it was scarcely perceptible. ‘You are telling a falsehood P said he, ‘or rather, you are endeavouring to tell one. Where is the casket? I insist on knowing.’

03 TAKING THE BASTILLE

‘At my house at Versailles,’ said Andre, bursting into tears, with a nervous trembling which shook her whole frame, ‘at my house, where Wolfsfoot is waiting for me, as we had previously agreed to meet at eleven o’clock to-night.’

Midnight was heard to strike.

‘Is he still waiting there?’

‘Yes.’

‘In which room is he?’

‘They have just shown him into the drawing-room.’

‘And the casket?’

‘It is on the table before him. Oh I’

‘What is the matter?’

‘Let us hasten to get him out of the house. Monsieur de Charny, who was not to return till to-morrow, will come back to-night, on account of the events that have taken place. I see him; he is at Sevres. Make him go away, so that the count may not find him in the house.’