Chapter IX. The Tempter.

“My prince,” said Aramis, turning in the carriage towards his companion,

“weak creature as I am, so unpretending in genius, so low in the scale

of intelligent beings, it has never yet happened to me to converse with

a man without penetrating his thoughts through that living mask which

has been thrown over our mind, in order to retain its expression. But

to-night, in this darkness, in the reserve which you maintain, I can

read nothing on your features, and something tells me that I shall have

great difficulty in wresting from you a sincere declaration. I beseech

you, then, not for love of me, for subjects should never weigh as

anything in the balance which princes hold, but for love of yourself,

to retain every syllable, every inflexion which, under the present most

grave circumstances, will all have a sense and value as important as any

every uttered in the world.”

“I listen,” replied the young prince, “decidedly, without either eagerly

seeking or fearing anything you are about to say to me.” And he buried

himself still deeper in the thick cushions of the carriage, trying to

deprive his companion not only of the sight of him, but even of the very

idea of his presence.

Black was the darkness which fell wide and dense from the summits of the

intertwining trees. The carriage, covered in by this prodigious roof,

would not have received a particle of light, not even if a ray could

have struggled through the wreaths of mist that were already rising in

the avenue.

“Monseigneur,” resumed Aramis, “you know the history of the government

which to-day controls France. The king issued from an infancy imprisoned

like yours, obscure as yours, and confined as yours; only, instead

of ending, like yourself, this slavery in a prison, this obscurity in

solitude, these straightened circumstances in concealment, he was

fain to bear all these miseries, humiliations, and distresses, in full

daylight, under the pitiless sun of royalty; on an elevation flooded

with light, where every stain appears a blemish, every glory a stain.

The king has suffered; it rankles in his mind; and he will avenge

himself. He will be a bad king. I say not that he will pour out his

people’s blood, like Louis XI., or Charles IX.; for he has no mortal

injuries to avenge; but he will devour the means and substance of his

people; for he has himself undergone wrongs in his own interest and

money. In the first place, then, I acquit my conscience, when I consider

openly the merits and the faults of this great prince; and if I condemn

him, my conscience absolves me.”

Aramis paused. It was not to listen if the silence of the forest

remained undisturbed, but it was to gather up his thoughts from the very

bottom of his soul--to leave the thoughts he had uttered sufficient time

to eat deeply into the mind of his companion.

“All that Heaven does, Heaven does well,” continued the bishop of

Vannes; “and I am so persuaded of it that I have long been thankful

to have been chosen depositary of the secret which I have aided you

to discover. To a just Providence was necessary an instrument, at once

penetrating, persevering, and convinced, to accomplish a great work. I

am this instrument. I possess penetration, perseverance, conviction; I

govern a mysterious people, who has taken for its motto, the motto

of God, ‘_Patiens quia oeternus_.’” The prince moved. “I divine,

monseigneur, why you are raising your head, and are surprised at the

people I have under my command. You did not know you were dealing with a

king--oh! monseigneur, king of a people very humble, much disinherited;

humble because they have no force save when creeping; disinherited,

because never, almost never in this world, do my people reap the harvest

they sow, nor eat the fruit they cultivate. They labor for an abstract

idea; they heap together all the atoms of their power, so from a single

man; and round this man, with the sweat of their labor, they create a

misty halo, which his genius shall, in turn, render a glory gilded with

the rays of all the crowns in Christendom. Such is the man you have

beside you, monseigneur. It is to tell you that he has drawn you from

the abyss for a great purpose, to raise you above the powers of the

earth--above himself.” [1]

The prince lightly touched Aramis’s arm. “You speak to me,” he said,

“of that religious order whose chief you are. For me, the result of your

words is, that the day you desire to hurl down the man you shall have

raised, the event will be accomplished; and that you will keep under

your hand your creation of yesterday.”

“Undeceive yourself, monseigneur,” replied the bishop. “I should not

take the trouble to play this terrible game with your royal highness, if

I had not a double interest in gaining it. The day you are elevated, you

are elevated forever; you will overturn the footstool, as you rise, and

will send it rolling so far, that not even the sight of it will ever

again recall to you its right to simple gratitude.”

“Oh, monsieur!”

“Your movement, monseigneur, arises from an excellent disposition.

I thank you. Be well assured, I aspire to more than gratitude! I am

convinced that, when arrived at the summit, you will judge me still more

worthy to be your friend; and then, monseigneur, we two will do such

great deeds, that ages hereafter shall long speak of them.”

“Tell me plainly, monsieur--tell me without disguise--what I am to-day,

and what you aim at my being to-morrow.”

“You are the son of King Louis XIII., brother of Louis XIV., natural

and legitimate heir to the throne of France. In keeping you near him,

as Monsieur has been kept--Monsieur, your younger brother--the king

reserved to himself the right of being legitimate sovereign. The doctors

only could dispute his legitimacy. But the doctors always prefer the

king who is to the king who is not. Providence has willed that you

should be persecuted; this persecution to-day consecrates you king of

France. You had, then, a right to reign, seeing that it is disputed; you

had a right to be proclaimed seeing that you have been concealed; and

you possess royal blood, since no one has dared to shed yours, as that

of your servants has been shed. Now see, then, what this Providence,

which you have so often accused of having in every way thwarted you, has

done for you. It has given you the features, figure, age, and voice

of your brother; and the very causes of your persecution are about

to become those of your triumphant restoration. To-morrow, after

to-morrow--from the very first, regal phantom, living shade of Louis

XIV., you will sit upon his throne, whence the will of Heaven, confided

in execution to the arm of man, will have hurled him, without hope of

return.”

“I understand,” said the prince, “my brother’s blood will not be shed,

then.”

“You will be sole arbiter of his fate.”

“The secret of which they made an evil use against me?”

“You will employ it against him. What did he do to conceal it? He

concealed you. Living image of himself, you will defeat the conspiracy

of Mazarin and Anne of Austria. You, my prince, will have the same

interest in concealing him, who will, as a prisoner, resemble you, as

you will resemble him as a king.”

“I fall back on what I was saying to you. Who will guard him?”

“Who guarded _you?_”

“You know this secret--you have made use of it with regard to myself.

Who else knows it?”

“The queen-mother and Madame de Chevreuse.”

“What will they do?”

“Nothing, if you choose.”

“How is that?”

“How can they recognize you, if you act in such a manner that no one can

recognize you?”

“‘Tis true; but there are grave difficulties.”

“State them, prince.”

“My brother is married; I cannot take my brother’s wife.”

“I will cause Spain to consent to a divorce; it is in the interest of

your new policy; it is human morality. All that is really noble and

really useful in this world will find its account therein.”

“The imprisoned king will speak.”

“To whom do you think he will speak--to the walls?”

“You mean, by walls, the men in whom you put confidence.”

“If need be, yes. And besides, your royal highness--”

“Besides?”

“I was going to say, that the designs of Providence do not stop on such

a fair road. Every scheme of this caliber is completed by its results,

like a geometrical calculation. The king, in prison, will not be for you

the cause of embarrassment that you have been for the king enthroned.

His soul is naturally proud and impatient; it is, moreover, disarmed and

enfeebled, by being accustomed to honors, and by the license of supreme

power. The same Providence which has willed that the concluding step in

the geometrical calculation I have had the honor of describing to

your royal highness should be your ascension to the throne, and the

destruction of him who is hurtful to you, has also determined that

the conquered one shall soon end both his own and your sufferings.

Therefore, his soul and body have been adapted for but a brief agony.

Put into prison as a private individual, left alone with your doubts,

deprived of everything, you have exhibited the most sublime, enduring

principle of life in withstanding all this. But your brother, a captive,

forgotten, and in bonds, will not long endure the calamity; and Heaven

will resume his soul at the appointed time--that is to say, soon.”

At this point in Aramis’s gloomy analysis, a bird of night uttered from

the depths of the forest that prolonged and plaintive cry which makes

every creature tremble.

“I will exile the deposed king,” said Philippe, shuddering; “‘twill be

more human.”

“The king’s good pleasure will decide the point,” said Aramis. “But has

the problem been well put? Have I brought out of the solution according

to the wishes or the foresight of your royal highness?”

“Yes, monsieur, yes; you have forgotten nothing--except, indeed, two

things.”

“The first?”

“Let us speak of it at once, with the same frankness we have already

conversed in. Let us speak of the causes which may bring about the ruin

of all the hopes we have conceived. Let us speak of the risks we are

running.”

“They would be immense, infinite, terrific, insurmountable, if, as I

have said, all things did not concur to render them of absolutely no

account. There is no danger either for you or for me, if the constancy

and intrepidity of your royal highness are equal to that perfection of

resemblance to your brother which nature has bestowed upon you. I repeat

it, there are no dangers, only obstacles; a word, indeed, which I find

in all languages, but have always ill-understood, and, were I king,

would have obliterated as useless and absurd.”

“Yes, indeed, monsieur; there is a very serious obstacle, an

insurmountable danger, which you are forgetting.”

“Ah!” said Aramis.

“There is conscience, which cries aloud; remorse, that never dies.”

“True, true,” said the bishop; “there is a weakness of heart of which

you remind me. You are right, too, for that, indeed, is an immense

obstacle. The horse afraid of the ditch, leaps into the middle of it,

and is killed! The man who trembling crosses his sword with that of

another leaves loopholes whereby his enemy has him in his power.”

“Have you a brother?” said the young man to Aramis.

“I am alone in the world,” said the latter, with a hard, dry voice.

“But, surely, there is some one in the world whom you love?” added

Philippe.

“No one!--Yes, I love you.”

The young man sank into so profound a silence, that the mere sound of

his respiration seemed like a roaring tumult for Aramis. “Monseigneur,”

he resumed, “I have not said all I had to say to your royal highness;

I have not offered you all the salutary counsels and useful resources

which I have at my disposal. It is useless to flash bright visions

before the eyes of one who seeks and loves darkness: useless, too, is

it to let the magnificence of the cannon’s roar make itself heard in the

ears of one who loves repose and the quiet of the country. Monseigneur,

I have your happiness spread out before me in my thoughts; listen to my

words; precious they indeed are, in their import and their sense,

for you who look with such tender regard upon the bright heavens, the

verdant meadows, the pure air. I know a country instinct with

delights of every kind, an unknown paradise, a secluded corner of the

world--where alone, unfettered and unknown, in the thick covert of the

woods, amidst flowers, and streams of rippling water, you will forget

all the misery that human folly has so recently allotted you. Oh! listen

to me, my prince. I do not jest. I have a heart, and mind, and soul, and

can read your own,--aye, even to its depths. I will not take you unready

for your task, in order to cast you into the crucible of my own desires,

of my caprice, or my ambition. Let it be all or nothing. You are chilled

and galled, sick at heart, overcome by excess of the emotions which but

one hour’s liberty has produced in you. For me, that is a certain and

unmistakable sign that you do not wish to continue at liberty. Would you

prefer a more humble life, a life more suited to your strength? Heaven

is my witness, that I wish your happiness to be the result of the trial

to which I have exposed you.”

“Speak, speak,” said the prince, with a vivacity which did not escape

Aramis.

“I know,” resumed the prelate, “in the Bas-Poitou, a canton, of which

no one in France suspects the existence. Twenty leagues of country is

immense, is it not? Twenty leagues, monseigneur, all covered with water

and herbage, and reeds of the most luxuriant nature; the whole studded

with islands covered with woods of the densest foliage. These large

marshes, covered with reeds as with a thick mantle, sleep silently and

calmly beneath the sun’s soft and genial rays. A few fishermen with

their families indolently pass their lives away there, with their great

living-rafts of poplar and alder, the flooring formed of reeds, and the

roof woven out of thick rushes. These barks, these floating-houses, are

wafted to and fro by the changing winds. Whenever they touch a bank, it

is but by chance; and so gently, too, that the sleeping fisherman is not

awakened by the shock. Should he wish to land, it is merely because he

has seen a large flight of landrails or plovers, of wild ducks, teal,

widgeon, or woodchucks, which fall an easy pray to net or gun. Silver

shad, eels, greedy pike, red and gray mullet, swim in shoals into his

nets; he has but to choose the finest and largest, and return the others

to the waters. Never yet has the food of the stranger, be he soldier

or simple citizen, never has any one, indeed, penetrated into that

district. The sun’s rays there are soft and tempered: in plots of solid

earth, whose soil is swart and fertile, grows the vine, nourishing with

generous juice its purple, white, and golden grapes. Once a week, a boat

is sent to deliver the bread which has been baked at an oven--the common

property of all. There--like the seigneurs of early days--powerful in

virtue of your dogs, your fishing-lines, your guns, and your beautiful

reed-built house, would you live, rich in the produce of the chase,

in plentitude of absolute secrecy. There would years of your life roll

away, at the end of which, no longer recognizable, for you would have

been perfectly transformed, you would have succeeded in acquiring a

destiny accorded to you by Heaven. There are a thousand pistoles in this

bag, monseigneur--more, far more, than sufficient to purchase the whole

marsh of which I have spoken; more than enough to live there as many

years as you have days to live; more than enough to constitute you the

richest, the freest, and the happiest man in the country. Accept it,

as I offer it you--sincerely, cheerfully. Forthwith, without a moment’s

pause, I will unharness two of my horses, which are attached to the

carriage yonder, and they, accompanied by my servant--my deaf and dumb

attendant--shall conduct you--traveling throughout the night, sleeping

during the day--to the locality I have described; and I shall, at least,

have the satisfaction of knowing that I have rendered to my prince the

major service he himself preferred. I shall have made one human being

happy; and Heaven for that will hold me in better account than if I had

made one man powerful; the former task is far more difficult. And now,

monseigneur, your answer to this proposition? Here is the money. Nay,

do not hesitate. At Poitou, you can risk nothing, except the chance of

catching the fevers prevalent there; and even of them, the so-called

wizards of the country will cure you, for the sake of your pistoles. If

you play the other game, you run the chance of being assassinated on a

throne, strangled in a prison-cell. Upon my soul, I assure you, now I

begin to compare them together, I myself should hesitate which lot I

should accept.”

“Monsieur,” replied the young prince, “before I determine, let me alight

from this carriage, walk on the ground, and consult that still voice

within me, which Heaven bids us all to hearken to. Ten minutes is all I

ask, and then you shall have your answer.”

“As you please, monseigneur,” said Aramis, bending before him with

respect, so solemn and august in tone and address had sounded these

strange words.