# The Story of Manon Lescaut and of the Chevalier des Grieux/Chapter 9

Chapter IX.
Monsieur de G——— M——— was not long in discovering that he had been duped. I do not know whether he took any steps to find us that very evening; but his influence was great enough to prevent his efforts to trace us from remaining long without result; while we were imprudent enough on our side to trust too much to the vast extent of Paris and the distance of our quarter of it from that in which he resided. Not only did he obtain full information as to our whereabouts and our affairs for the time being, but he found out also who I was, the life I had been leading in Paris, Manon's former intrigue with B———, and the way in which she had deceived him—in a word, all the scandalous portions of our history.
He thereupon decided to have us arrested and treated less as criminals than as arrant libertines. We were still in bed when an Agent of Police entered our room, with half a dozen Guards. They first seized our, or rather, M. de G——— M———'s, money, and, having roughly compelled us to rise, led us to the door, where we found two coaches, into one of which poor Manon was forced without any explanation, and driven away, while I was taken in the other to St. Lazare. The despair which such a reverse of for​tune as this can cause is to be fully appreciated only by those who have undergone a similar experience.
Our guards were so heartless as to deny me the privilege of embracing Manon, or even of saying a word of farewell to her. For a long while I remained in ignorance of what had become of her. It was perhaps fortunate for me that I did not know it at first; for so terrible a catastrophe would have cost me my reason, probably my life.
My hapless mistress was thus torn from me, and incarcerated in a place too horrible for me to name. What a fate was this for a being whose incomparable loveliness would have placed her on the proudest throne on earth, if all men had seen her as I saw her and loved her as I loved! She was not inhumanly treated there, but was imprisoned in a narrow cell, and condemned to perform an allotted task of work each day, as the requisite condition of obtaining an allowance of nauseous food. I did not learn these sad details until long afterwards, when I had myself undergone several months of severe and irksome penance. As my captors likewise refused to tell me where they were ordered to take me, I discovered what my fate was to be only when we reached the gates of St. Lazare. I would have welcomed death, at that moment, in preference to what I believed to be in store for me. I had terrible conceptions of the nature of this establishment. My ​dismay was increased when, on our entrance, the guards again searched my pockets, to satisfy themselves that no arms or other means of defence had been left about me.
The Superior made his appearance before many minutes had elapsed, having been notified of my arrival. He greeted me very kindly.
"Father," I said to him, "spare me any indignities. Rather than submit to a single one, I would die a hundred deaths."
"Be under no apprehension, sir," he replied. "You have only to conduct yourself well, and we shall neither of us have any occasion to find fault with the other."
He requested me to follow him to an upper room, and I acquiesced without any attempt at resistance. The officers of police accompanied us as far as the door, where the Superior gave them the signal to withdraw and then entered with me.
"I am your prisoner, it seems," said I. "Well, good Father, what do you intend to do with me?"
He told me that he was very glad to hear me adopt a reasonable tone; and went on to say that his duty would be to endeavor to inspire me with a taste for virtue and religion, and mine to profit by his exhortations and advice; and that if I would but respond—however little—to his ​efforts on my behalf, I should find nothing but pleasure in my seclusion.
"Pleasure!" I exclaimed: "Ah, Father, you little know what alone, in all this world, can give me pleasure!"
"I do know," he replied, "but I hope that your inclinations will change."
I saw by this answer that he was acquainted with my adventures, and, perhaps, with my name. I begged him to enlighten me on this point; and he then told me frankly that he had been informed of everything.
This discovery was the cruellest punishment of all. I burst into a torrent of tears, and exhibited every sign of utter despair. Nothing could console me for the humiliation of thus becoming a by-word to all my acquaintances and the disgrace of my family. For eight whole days I remained in a state of the deepest dejection, unable to understand anything or think of anything but the stigma which now rested upon me. Not even the memory of Manon could add anything to the intensity of my grief: at least, it mingled with it only as a feeling which lay back of this new anguish; and the dominant emotions in my breast were shame and mortification. The full force of these sentiments is not known to every one. The ordinary ​run of men are susceptible to the influence of only five or six passions, in the round of which they pass their lives, and to which all their mental agitations may be reduced. Deprive them of love and hate, pleasure and pain, hope and fear, and they virtually cease to feel at all. But persons of finer temperament can be affected in a thousand varying ways; they would seem to be possessed of more than five senses, and to be capable of receiving the impression of ideas and sensations that transcend the limitations of average human nature. And, conscious as they are of this superiority, which lifts them above the vulgar level, there is nothing of which they are so jealously tenacious. Hence it is that they are so impatient of submitting to contempt and ridicule, and that shame is one of their most violent emotions.
This sad advantage was mine at St. Lazare. So excessive did my grief appear to the Superior, that his fear of its possible consequences led him to treat me with the utmost kindness and leniency. He came to see me two or three times a day, often taking me out with him for a walk in the garden; and he poured forth his exhortations and pious admonitions with inexhaustible zeal. I listened to them meekly and even manifested some gratitude towards him; which made him hopeful of my ultimate conversion.
​"You have such a gentle and amiable disposition," he said to me one day, "that I cannot understand your having been guilty of the wickedness of which you are accused. Two things fill me with astonishment: one, how, with all your good qualities, you could have abandoned yourself to licentious excesses; and the other, which strikes me as even more amazing, how you can give such willing attention to my advice and teaching after having lived for several years in habitual immorality. If it be the result of repentance, you are a signal example of the mercy of Heaven; if it be from natural goodness of heart, you are at any rate possessed of an excellent basis of character, which leads me to hope that we shall not be under the necessity of keeping you here very long in order to reclaim you to a virtuous and exemplary life."
I was delighted beyond measure to find that he entertained such a good opinion of me, and resolved to enhance it by giving him every reason to be satisfied with my conduct; for I felt convinced that this was the surest method of shortening the term of my imprisonment. I asked him for some books. He was surprised, on allowing me to choose for myself what I would read, to see me select some authors of a serious character. I pretended to apply myself to study with the utmost ardor, and lost no opportunity of giving him the impression that the change he desired to see in me was actually taking place.
It was only an outward one, however. Let me confess with shame that at St. Lazare I played the part of a hypocrite. When alone, instead of studying, I spent mv time in bewailing my hard fate. I cursed my prison, and the tyranny which kept me there. No sooner had I gained some respite from the dejection into which my disgrace had thrown me than I once more fell a victim to the torments of Love.
​Manon's absence, my uncertainty as to her fate and fear that I should never see her again—such were the sole subjects of my melancholy meditations. I pictured her in the arms of G——— M———; for that had been my first thought; and, so far from imagining that he had subjected her to the same treatment as myself, I was fully persuaded that he had had me put out of the way only to gain undisturbed possession of her.
Thus did I pass day after day and night after night, every one of which seemed to me of interminable length. My only hope lay in the success of my hypocrisy. With anxious care did I scan the Superior's face and note his every word, to satisfy myself as to what opinion he was forming of me; while I made it my constant study to please him, for was he not the arbiter of my fate?
I soon perceived that I was firmly established in his good graces, and that I might safely count upon his willingness to serve me. Summoning up all my boldness one day, I asked him whether my release depended upon his decision. He replied that he had not absolute control of the matter, but that he had reason to hope that, upon his representations, Monsieur de G——— M——— (at whose solicitation the Lieutenant-General of Police had ordered my confinement) would consent to my restoration to liberty.
​"May I flatter myself," I meekly inquired, "that the two months' imprisonment which I have already undergone will appear to him a sufficient expiation of my offences?"
He promised to speak to Monsieur de G——— M——— on the subject, if I so desired. I begged him earnestly to do me this service. Two days afterwards he informed me that G——— M——— had been so much impressed by the good accounts he had heard of me that he not only seemed inclined to set me free, but had even evinced a strong desire to know me better, and proposed paying me a visit in my prison. Although I could not anticipate his presence with any pleasure, I regarded it as a step on the road to my liberty.
He carried out his intention and came to St. Lazare. He seemed to me more dignified in manner, and less of a silly old dotard than when I had seen him in Manon's house. After making some sensible observations on the subject of my misconduct, he went on to say, in justification, apparently, of his own immorality, that while it is permissible for weak mortals to indulge in certain pleasures which nature imperiously demands, it is only right that knavery and dishonest trickery should meet with severe pun​ishment. I listened to him with an air of submission which seemed greatly to gratify him. Nor did I exhibit any signs of resentment even when he proceeded to rally me on my brotherly relationship to Lescaut and Manon, and on the little chapels of which he said I had doubtless made a great many at St. Lazare, since I took so much pleasure in that pious amusement. But, unhappily for him and for myself, he let slip the remark that Manon, too, had probably built some very pretty ones at the Hôpital.
Despite the shudder which the name of that place sent through my frame, I retained sufficient self-control to ask him quietly to explain his meaning.
"'Tis as I say," he replied. "For two months past she has been learning lessons in virtue at the Hôpital Général, and I trust that she has profited by them as much as you have at St. Lazare."
The prospect of an eternity of imprisonment, or of death itself, could not have forced me to restrain my rage at this hideous intelligence. I threw myself upon him with such fury that half my strength was consumed by its very vio​lence. I had enough remaining, however, to hurl him to the ground and clutch him by the throat. I had nearly strangled him when the noise of his fall and the few piercing shrieks he was able to utter before I stifled his voice, brought the Superior and several of the Brotherhood to my room, and he was rescued from my grasp. I was myself almost exhausted, and panting for breath.
"Just Heaven!" I cried, with sobs of agony, "how can I live another moment after hearing of infamy like this?"
I strove to throw myself once more upon the barbarian who had dealt me this cruel blow, but they held me fast. My despair, my groans, my tears, transcended all conception. I raved so wildly that all present, ignorant as they were of the cause, looked at one another with as much alarm as surprise. Monsieur de G——— M——— was meanwhile rearranging his peruke and cravat; and, in his indignation at having been subjected to such maltreatment, he ordered the Superior to see that I was more closely confined than ever, and to punish me by the infliction of all the pains and penalties which are well known to be resorted to at St. Lazare.
"No, sir," said the Superior. "We do not treat persons of the Chevalier's rank in that manner. He is, besides, so gentle and courteous that I find it difficult to believe that he could so completely have lost control of himself without strong provocation."
This reply incensed M. de G——— M——— to the last degree. He took his departure, vowing that the Superior and I, and every one else who dared to oppose him, should yet learn that he was not to be thwarted. Ordering his priests to conduct M. de G——— M——— to the door, the Superior remained alone with me, and begged me to tell him at once what had caused this disturbance.
​"Oh, Father!" said I, still sobbing like a child, "try to conceive the most horrible act of cruelty, imagine the most atrocious of barbarities, and you will know the deed which that vile wretch G——— M——— has had the baseness to commit! Alas! He has crushed my very heart within me; never shall I recover from this blow! Let me tell you all," I added, my voice choking with tears. "You are kind and good—you will pity me!"
I told him briefly the story of my long and unconquerable passion for Manon; of the flourishing condition of our fortunes before we had been fleeced by our own servants; of the offers which G——— M——— had made to my mistress; of the bargain they had concluded together, and of the way in which it had been broken. I represented things to him, I must own, in the light most favorable to ourselves.
"Now you perceive," I went on, "the source of M. de G——— M———'s zeal for my reformation. He commanded influence enough to have me confined here purely from motives of revenge. I could forgive him were this all, but, Father, it is not all. He has had my dearer half ruthlessly torn from me and thrown into ignominious imprisonment in the Hôpital. Had he not the audacity to tell me so this very day with his own lips? In the Hôpital, my Father—think of it! Merciful Heaven! My ​sweet mistress, the beloved queen of my heart, in the Hôpitals—as though she were the vilest of creatures! How can I find fortitude enough to survive this grief and shame?"
The good Father, distressed at seeing me in such deep affliction, did his best to console me. He told me that he had never understood my adventure as I related it. He had been aware, indeed, that I had been leading an immoral life, but had hitherto been under the impression that M. de G——— M——— had interfered simply because he felt bound to do so out of friendship and esteem for my family. This, he said, was the only ground which M. de G——— M——— had taken when explaining the matter to him". What I had just told him, he assured me, would quite change the aspect of affairs for me; and he had no doubt that the faithful report of my story, which he intended to make to the Lieutenant-General of Police, would go far towards obtaining me my liberty.
He then asked me how it was that it had never occurred to me to let my family know of what had taken place, since they had had no share in consigning me to prison. I parried this suggestion by pleading that I dreaded the pain such a confession would cause my father, and the ​shame I should feel in making it. Finally, he promised to go at once to the Lieutenant-General of Police, "were it only," he added, "to prevent some worse proceeding on the part of M. de G——— M———, who left here in great displeasure, and who is a man of sufficient influence to be a formidable enemy."
I awaited the Superior's return with all the anxiety of a poor wretch whose sentence is about to be pronounced. It was inexpressible torture for me to think of Manon at the Hôpital. Besides the infamy with which the place was associated in my mind, I was in utter ignorance as to what treatment she was being subjected to there; and the recollection of some details which I had heard concerning that house of horrors threw me every moment into fresh paroxysms of rage. So fully was I resolved to go to her aid, at whatever cost and by whatever means—that I would have set fire to St. Lazare, had it been impossible for me to escape in any other way.
I began to consider, therefore, what course there remained for me to adopt, in case the Lieutenant-General should continue to keep me a prisoner there in spite of myself. I taxed my ingenuity to the utmost, and ran over every imaginable possibility in my mind. I could hit upon nothing that held out a certain prospect of escape; and I was afraid that an unsuccessful attempt would only result in my being put under stricter surveillance than ever. I thought of several friends from whom I might hope for aid; but how was I to let them know of my situation?
At last I worked out a plan which seemed to me ingenious enough to have a fair chance of success. Its still further elaboration I postponed until after the return of the Father Superior, in case his errand should have failed and the necessity for it should consequently still exist.
​He soon came back. I failed to detect in his face any of the signs of pleasure which accompany good news.
"I have seen the Lieutenant-General of Police," said he; "but I was too late. M. de G——— M——— went straight to him on leaving here; and prejudiced him so strongly against you that he was on the point of sending me fresh orders to put you under still closer restraint. However, when I acquainted him with the true version of your affairs, he seemed to relent considerably; and, after laughing a little over the incontinence of old M. de G——— M———, he told me that, in order to satisfy him, you must be kept here for six months; especially, he added, as your stay could not but be beneficial to you. He enjoined me to treat you well; and I promise you that you shall have no reason to complain of my behavior toward you."
The worthy Superior was long enough in narrating all this to give me time to make a prudent reflection. I saw that I should run the risk of defeating my plans if I betrayed too much impatience for my release. I therefore assured him on the contrary, that, as I must remain, it was a great comfort for me to know that I held some small place in his esteem. I then begged him unaffectedly to grant me a favor which, while it was of no consequence to ​any one else, would add much to my own peace of mind; and this was to send word to one of my friends, a pious priest who lived at St. Sulpice, that I was at St. Lazare; and to permit me occasionally to receive his visits. This indulgence was accorded me without hesitation.
My friend Tiberge was the one whom I had in mind; not that I hoped to obtain from him the assistance I needed in order to regain my liberty; but I wished to make use of him as an indirect and unconscious instrument for the attainment of my purpose. In a word, my project was to write to Lescaut, entrusting to him and our mutual friends the task of setting me free. The first difficulty was to get my letter into his hands. That office Tiberge must perform. Knowing as he did, however, that Lescaut was my mistress's brother, I feared that he would have some scruples about undertaking this commission. My plan was to enclose my letter to Lescaut in another, to be directed to a respectable acquaintance of mine, with a request that he would immediately deliver the first letter at its address. It was necessary for me to see Lescaut, in order that we might concert measures together; and my object in writing was to tell him to call upon me at St. Lazare, under pretence of being my eldest brother ​and of having come to Paris expressly to acquaint himself with the position of my affairs. I postponed until our meeting the consideration of such steps as we might agree upon as the safest and most expeditious.
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