CHAPTER XXXIX.
A VISITOR AFTER DARK.
The governor of the Bastille had retired to his own apartments within that grim old fortress. All the duties of the day had been performed. The allowance of black bread and impure water had been doled out to the prisoners, and the doors closed, leaving them in utter darkness. All these horrible duties being settled to his satisfaction, the governor was ready for his own luxurious supper, and sat waiting for it with some impatience. Originally this man was neither hard-hearted or cruel; but holding a position where these qualities were exacted from him, they had gradually become a part of his nature. Unlimited power of the worst kind had made him a tyrant, and hardened his heart to iron.
As this man sat, calm and indifferent, in an atmosphere of misery, which rose around him like a miasma, a grim, stalwart man, in the dress of a keeper, knocked at the door and stood upon the threshold, removing the cap from his head in token of respect for the presence he was in.
The governor turned in his chair and recognized the man.
“Well, Christopher, what news from the city? A little more quiet, I hope.”
“Not a bit,” answered the keeper, promptly. “I have been among the clubs, as you bade me, and have made my observations. The feeling of discontent grows stronger and stronger.”
“Well, what do they expect to accomplish by grumbling, the varlets? I wish we had them here, Christopher; a week or two of such lodgings and fare as we could give them, would bring down their courage. We have that whole lower range of cells unoccupied now, for our Louis is chicken-hearted about sending his subjects here, merely to oblige his friends; and he has no favorites, Marie Antoinette looks well to that.”
“Yes; and she it is who prevents the prison being full, as it was in the good old time, when we registered a _lettre-de-cachet_ every day. It is this clemency that emboldens the people, and sets them clamoring for the thing they call ‘liberty!’ Liberty, indeed, we would give them enough to quarrel about if we had them all here but for a single month.”
“Ah!” said the governor, who seemed on excellent terms with his man. “But how are we to get them here, when we never see the king’s signature, except it be to empty our cells of their prisoners? He seems to forgive all men before they are sentenced, especially his own enemies. I tell you, Christopher, this king, in his leniency, has brought this fortress of the Bastille down to the level of a common jail; and his conduct fills me with such disgust, that I am at times half resolved to throw up my commission.”
The keeper looked through one of the narrow windows, and took a survey of the ponderous walls; then, turning with a grim smile, he said,
“If the walls were less thick, a resignation might be prudent just now; but I think they will defy all the clubs in Paris.”
“Or in all France,” answered the governor, laughing. “My draw-bridge once up, and no monarch in Europe sits as firmly on his throne as I do. Would to heaven his majesty was half as safe in Versailles!”
“Nay, I think the people hate the man they call their tyrant of the Bastille worse than they do the monarch at Versailles,” said the keeper, a little maliciously—“for cruel men are very seldom kind to each other.”
“Let them hate,” laughed the governor. “It will be a long time before their malice can reach him.”
“Yes, as I said, the walls are thick.”
“And here comes my supper, Christopher, which your news from the city shall not spoil,” cried the governor, interrupting his subordinate, as a door was opened, and a daintily-arranged table revealed in the next room. “Step in, though, and let me hear all the news you have gathered.”
The man entered the supper-room, and stood leaning against the door-frame, while his superior placed himself at the table.
“It is the Bastille against which the people hurl hatred, and launch their curses most bitterly,” he said. “Thinking me one of them—for I wore this—they spoke freely enough.”
Here Christopher took a red cap from his pocket, and shook it viciously, as if he hated the very color.
The governor looked up and laughed again.
“So they thought you one of their order, my poor Christopher, and took you into their confidence on the strength of that red abomination. Well, when do they intend to tear down the Bastille?”
“Tear down the Bastille! Have we not decided that the walls may defy them?” replied the keeper, uneasily. “If I thought otherwise——”
“Well, what then, my good Christopher?”
“Why, then I should be glad to exchange places with any prisoner in the cells.”
“A hard alternative, Christopher,” said the governor, smiling over his well-filled plate, “and one not likely to happen. But we must be careful. If the rabble hate us, as you say, we must do nothing to arouse them.”
That moment the loud clangor of a bell sounded down the passages of the building.
“What is that, Christopher?” inquired the governor, laying down his knife and fork with something like consternation.
“Some one claiming admittance, who rings boldly, either an enemy, or an officer under authority of the law, I should say,” answered the keeper.
“Go and see, Christopher.”
The keeper went out, passed from the prison to the draw-bridge, and looked across. Beyond the huge timbers and drooping chains, he saw a single, slight figure claiming a passage over, both by voice and gesture.
“Why was the bell rung?” asked Christopher of the guard.
“Because it is some one with an order for the governor. He held up a paper.”
“Is he quite alone?”
“Yes, I saw him dismount from a tired horse, which you may yourself discover standing within the shadow of yonder building.”
“Let down the draw-bridge; but see that but one man enters—it may be a messenger from the court.”
Directly the great chains of the draw-bridge began to shake and rattle, the mighty hinges turned with ponderous heaviness, and the great mass of wood fell slowly downward.
A slight figure crossed the bridge with a quick, nervous step, which soon brought him to the keeper, who keenly regarded him during his progress.
“A letter for the governor,” said the stranger, promptly taking a folded paper from his girdle.
“Where from?” questioned Christopher.
“Directly from Versailles. Besides this, I am entrusted with a message which can only be given in person; oblige me by saying so much in my behalf.”
Christopher took the letter and held it between his teeth, while the ponderous machinery of the bridge was put in motion again, and the whole fabric loomed up.
The stranger started as he saw the huge timbers uplifted like some massive gate rising between him and the world he had left; but he made no protest, and only grew a little paler than before, as the awful blackness of its shadow fell upon him.
“There is no danger from any one on this side,” muttered the keeper, moving slowly away, leaving the stranger standing by the guard; “but in these times it is hardly safe to admit even a stripling like that after dark.”