Chicot the Jester

CHAPTER XLV.
CHICOT MORE THAN EVER KING OF FRANCE

The gates of the Louvre were generally closed at twelve, but the king gave orders that they should be left open on this night till one. At a quarter to one Quelus came up.

“Sire,” said he, “the duke has come in.”

“What is Maugiron doing?”

“Watching that he does not go out again.”

“There is no danger.”

“Then – ”

“Let him go to bed quietly. Whom has he with him?”

“M. de Monsoreau and his ordinary gentlemen.”

“And M. de Bussy?”

“No; he is not there.”

“So much the better.”

“What are your orders, sire?”

“Tell Schomberg and D’Epernon to be quick, and let M. de Monsoreau know that I wish to speak to him.”

Five minutes after, Schomberg and D’Epernon entered; the former with only a slight blue tint left, which it would take several baths to eradicate, and the latter newly clothed. After them, M. de Monsoreau appeared. “The captain of the guards has just announced to me that your majesty did me the honor to send for me,” said he.

“Yes, monsieur; when I was out this evening, I saw the stars so brilliant, and the moon so clear, that I thought it would be splendid weather for the chase to-morrow; so, M. le Comte, set off at once for Vincennes, and get a stag turned out ready for me.”

“But, sire, I thought that to-morrow your majesty had given a rendezvous to Monsieur le Duc d’Anjou and M. de Guise, in order to name a chief for the League.”

“Well, monsieur?” said the king haughtily.

“Sire, there might not be time.”

“There is always time, monsieur, for those who know how to employ it; that is why I tell you to set off at once, so that you may have all ready for to-morrow morning at ten. Quelus, Schomberg, have the door of the Louvre opened for M. de Monsoreau, and have it closed behind him.”

The chief huntsman retired in astonishment. “It is a whim of the king’s,” said he to the young men.

“Yes.”

They watched him out, and then returned to the king.

“Now,” said Henri, “silence, and all four of you follow me.”

“Where are we going, sire?” said D’Epernon.

“Those who follow will see.”

The king took a lantern in his hand, and led the young men along the secret corridor, which led to his brother’s rooms. A valet-de-chambre watched here; but before he had time to warn his master, Henri ordered him to be silent, and the young men pushed him into a room and locked the door.

Henri opened his brother’s door. François had gone to bed full of dreams of ambition, which the events of the evening had nourished; he had heard his name exalted, and the king’s abused. Conducted by the Duc de Guise, he had seen the Parisians open everywhere for him and his gentlemen, while those of the king were insulted and hooted. Never since the commencement of his career had he been so popular, and consequently so hopeful. He had placed on the table a letter from M. de Guise, which had been brought to him by M. de Monsoreau. His surprise and terror were great when he saw the secret door open, and still more when he recognized the king. Henri signed to his companions to remain on the threshold, and advanced to the bed, frowning, but silent.

“Sire,” stammered the duke, “the honor that your majesty does me is so unlooked for – ”

“That it frightens you, does it not? But stay where you are, my brother; do not rise.”

“But, sire, only – permit me – ” and he drew towards him the letter of M. de Guise.

“You are reading?” asked the king.

“Yes, sire.”

“Something interesting to keep you awake at this time of night?”

“Oh, sire, nothing very important; the evening courier – ”

“Oh, yes, I understand – Courier of Venus; but no, I see I am wrong – they do not seal billet-doux with seals of that size.”

The duke hid the letter altogether.

“How discreet this dear François is!” said the king, with a smile which frightened his brother. However, making an effort to recover himself, he said:

“Did your majesty wish to say anything particular to me?”

“What I have to say to you, monsieur, I wish to say before witnesses. Here, gentlemen,” continued he, turning to the four young men, “listen to us; I order you.”

“Sire,” said the duke, with a glance full of rage and hatred, “before insulting a man of my rank, you should have refused me the hospitality of the Louvre; in the Hotel d’Anjou, at least, I should have been free to reply to you.”

“Really, you forget, then, that wherever you are, you are my subject; that I am the king, and that every house is mine.”

“Sire, I am at the Louvre, at my mother’s.”

“And your mother is in my house. But to the point – give me that paper.”

“Which?”

“That which you were reading, which was on your table, and which you hid when I came in.”

“Sire, reflect.”

“On what?”

“On this, that you are making a request unworthy of a gentleman, and fit only for a police-officer.”

The king grew livid. “That letter, monsieur!”

“A woman’s letter, sire.”

“There are some women’s letters very good to see, and dangerous not to see – such as those our mother writes.”

“Brother!”

“This letter, monsieur!” cried the king, stamping his foot, “or I will have it torn from you by my Swiss!”

The duke jumped out of bed, with the letter crumpled in his hand, evidently with the intention of approaching the fire. But Henri, divining his intention, placed himself between him and the fire.

“You would not treat your brother thus?” cried the duke.

“Not my brother, but my mortal enemy. Not my brother, but the Duc D’Anjou, who went all through Paris with M. de Guise, who tries to hide from me a letter from one of his accomplices, the Lorraine princes.”

“This time,” said the duke, “your police are wrong.”

“I tell you I saw on the seal the three merlets of Lorraine. Give it to me, mordieu! or – ”

Henri advanced towards his brother and laid his hand on his shoulder. François had no sooner felt the touch of his hand than, falling on his knees, he cried out, “Help! help! my brother is going to kill me.”

These words, uttered in an accent of profound terror, startled the king and mitigated his rage. The idea passed quickly through his mind that in their family, as by a curse, brother had always assassinated brother.

“No, my brother,” said he, “you are wrong; I do not wish to hurt you, but you cannot contend with me. I am the master, and if you did not know it before, you know it now.”

“Yes, my brother, I acknowledge it.”

“Very well, then give me that letter; the king orders it.”

The duke let it fall, and the king picked it up, but without reading it put it in his pocket-book.

“Is that all?” said the duke, with his sinister glance.

“No, monsieur, you must keep your room until my suspicions with respect to you are completely dissipated. The room is commodious, and not much like a prison; stay here. You will have good company – at least, outside the door, for this night these four gentlemen will guard you; to-morrow they will be relieved by a guard of Swiss.”

“But, my friends – cannot I see them?”

“Who do you call your friends?”

“M. de Monsoreau, M. de Ribeirac, M. Antragues, and M. de Bussy.”

“Oh, yes, he, of course.”

“Has he had the misfortune to displease your majesty?”

“Yes.”

“When, sire?”

“Always, but particularly to-night.”

“To-night! what did he do?”

“Insulted me in the streets of Paris.”

“You?”

“My followers, which is the same thing.”

“Bussy! you have been deceived, sire.”

“I know what I say.”

“Sire, M. de Bussy has not been out of his hotel for two days. He is at home, ill in bed, burning with fever.”

The king turned to Schomberg, who said, “If he had fever, at all events he had it in the Rue Coquillière.”

“Who told you he was there?” said the duke.

“I saw him.”

“You saw Bussy out of doors?”

“Yes, looking well and happy, and accompanied by his ordinary follower, that Rémy.”

“Then I do not understand it; I saw him in bed myself; he must have deceived me.”

“It is well; he will be punished with the rest,” said the king.

“If M. de Bussy went out alone after refusing to go out with me – ”

“You hear, gentlemen, what my brother says. But we will talk of him another time; now I recommend my brother to your care; you will have the honor of serving as guard to a prince of the blood.”

“Oh! sire,” said Quelus, “be satisfied; we know what we owe to M. le Duc.”

“It is well; adieu, gentlemen.”

“Sire,” cried the duke, “am I really a prisoner, are my friends not to visit me, and am I not to go out?” And the idea of the next day presented itself to his mind, when his presence would be so necessary to M. de Guise. “Sire,” cried he again, “let me at least remain near your majesty; it is my place, and I can be as well guarded there as elsewhere. Sire, grant me this favor.”

The king was about to yield to this request and say, “Yes,” when his attention was attracted to the door, where a long body, with its arms, its head, and everything that it could move, was making signs to him to say “No.” It was Chicot.

“No,” said Henri to his brother; “you are very well here, and here you must stay.”

“Sire – ”

“It is my pleasure, and that is enough,” said the king, haughtily.

“I said I was the real King of France,” murmured Chicot.

CHAPTER XLVI.
HOW CHICOT PAID A VISIT TO BUSSY, AND WHAT FOLLOWED

The next morning, about nine, Bussy was eating his breakfast, and talking with Rémy over the events of the previous day.

“Rémy,” said he, “did you not think you had seen somewhere that gentleman whom they were dipping in a vat in the Rue Coquillière?”

“Yes, M. le Comte, but I cannot think of his name.”

“I ought to have helped him,” said Bussy, “it is a duty one gentleman owes to another; but, really, Rémy, I was too much occupied with my own affairs.”

“But he must have recognized us, for we were our natural color, and it seemed to me that he rolled his eyes frightfully, and shook his fist at us.”

“Are you sure of that, Rémy? We must find out who it was; I cannot let such an insult pass.”

“Oh!” cried Rémy, “I know now who he was.”

“How so?”

“I heard him swear.”

“I should think so; any one would have sworn in such a situation.”

“Yes, but he swore in German.”

“Bah!”

“Yes, he said, ‘Gott verdomme.’”

“Then it was Schomberg?”

“Himself, M. le Comte.”

“Then, my dear Rémy, get your salves ready.”

“Why so, monsieur?”

“Because, before long, you will have to apply them either to his skin or to mine.”

“You would not be so foolish as to get killed, now you are so well and so happy; St. Marie l’Egyptienne has cured you once, but she will get tired of working miracles for you.”

“On the contrary, Rémy, you cannot tell how pleasant it feels to risk your life when you are happy. I assure you I never fought with a good heart when I had lost large sums at play, when things had gone wrong, or when I had anything to reproach myself with; but when my purse is full, my heart light, and my conscience clear, I go boldly to the field, for I am sure of my hand; it is then I am brilliant. I should fight well to-day, Rémy, for, thanks to you,” said he, extending his hand to the young man, “I am very happy.”

“Stay a moment, however; you will, I hope, deprive yourself of this pleasure. A beautiful lady of my acquaintance made me swear to keep you safe and sound, under pretext that your life belongs to her.”

“Good Rémy!”

“You call me good Rémy, because I brought you to see Madame de Monsoreau, but shall you call me so when you are separated from her? and unluckily the day approaches, if it be not come.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you not know that she is going to Anjou, and that I myself have the grief of being separated from Gertrude. Ah – ”

Bussy could not help smiling at the pretended grief of the young man.

“You love her, then?” he said.

“I should think so; you should see how she beats me.”

“And you let her do it?”

“Oh! yes.”

“But to return to Diana, Rémy; when shall we set off?”

“Ah! I expected that. On the latest possible day I should say.”

“Why so?”

“Firstly, because it seems to me that M. le Duc d’Anjou will want you here.”

“After?”

“Because M. de Monsoreau, by a special blessing, does not suspect you in the least, and would suspect something immediately if he saw you disappear from Paris at the same time as his wife.”

“What do I care for that?”

“No; but I care. I charge myself with curing the sword strokes received in duels, for, as you manage your sword well, you never receive very serious ones; but not the blows given secretly by jealous husbands; they are animals, who, in such cases, strike hard.”

“Well! my dear friend, if it is my destiny to be killed by M. de Monsoreau.”

“Well!”

“Well! he will kill me.”

“And then, a week after, Madame de Monsoreau will be reconciled to her husband, which will dreadfully enrage your poor soul, which will see it from above or below, without being able to prevent it.”

“You are right, Rémy; I will live.”

“Quite right; but that is not all, you must be charmingly polite to him; he is frightfully jealous of the Duc d’Anjou, who, while you were ill in bed, promenaded before the house with his Aurilly. Make advances, then, to this charming husband, and do not even ask him what has become of his wife, since you know quite well.”

“You are right, Rémy, I believe. Now I am no longer jealous of the bear, I will be civil to him.”

At this moment some one knocked at the door.

“Who is there?” cried Bussy.

“Monsieur,” replied a page, “there is a gentleman below who wishes to speak to you.”

“To speak to me so early; who is it?”

“A tall gentleman, dressed in green velvet.”

“Can it be Schomberg?”

“He said a tall man.”

“True, then Monsoreau, perhaps; well, let him enter.” After a minute the visitor entered.

“M. Chicot!” cried Bussy.

“Himself, M. le Comte.”

Rémy retired into another room, and then Chicot said, “Monsieur, I come to propose to you a little bargain.”

“Speak, monsieur,” said Bussy, in great surprise.

“What will you promise me if I render you a great service?”

“That depends on the service, monsieur,” replied Bussy, disdainfully.

Chicot feigned not to remark this air of disdain. “Monsieur,” said he, sitting down and crossing his long legs, “I remark that you do not ask me to sit down.”

The color mounted to Bussy’s face.

“Monsieur,” continued Chicot, “have you heard of the League?”

“I have heard much of it,” said Bussy.

“Well, monsieur, you ought to know that it is an association of honest Christians, united for the purpose of religiously massacring their neighbors, the Huguenots. Are you of the League, monsieur? I am.”

“But – monsieur – ”

“Say only yes, or no.”

“Allow me to express my astonishment – ”

“I did myself the honor of asking you if you belonged to the League.”

“M. Chicot, as I do not like questions whose import I do not understand, I beg you to change the conversation before I am forced to tell you that I do not like questioners. Come, M. Chicot, we have but a few minutes left.”

“Well! in a few minutes one can say a great deal; however, I might have dispensed with asking you the question, as if you do not belong to the League now, you soon will, as M. d’Anjou does.”

“M. d’Anjou! Who told you that?”

“Himself, speaking to me in person, as the gentlemen of the law say, or rather write; for example, that dear M. Nicolas David, that star of the Forum Parisiense. Now you understand that as M. d’Anjou belongs to the League, you cannot help belonging to it also; you, who are his right arm. The League knows better than to accept a maimed chief.”

“Well, M. Chicot, what then?”

“Why, if you do belong to it, or they think you are likely to do so, what has happened to his royal highness will certainly happen to you.”

“And what has happened to him?”

“Monsieur,” said Chicot, rising and imitating M. de Bussy’s manner of a little before, “I do not love questions, nor questioners, therefore I have a great mind to let them do to you what they have done to-night to the duke.”

“M. Chicot,” said Bussy, with a smile, “speak, I beg of you; where is the duke?”

“He is in prison?”

“Where?”

“In his own room. Four of my good friends guard him. M. de Schomberg, who was dyed blue yesterday, as you know, since you passed during the operation; M. d’Epernon, who is yellow from the fright he had; M. de Quelus, who is red with anger; and M. de Maugiron, who is white with ennui; it is beautiful to see; not to speak of the duke, who is going green with terror, so that we shall have a perfect rainbow to delight our eyes.”

“Then, monsieur, you think my liberty in danger?”

“Danger! monsieur; suppose that they are already on the way to arrest you.”

Bussy shuddered.

“Do you like the Bastile, M. de Bussy? it is a good place for meditation, and M. Laurent Testu, the governor, keeps a good cook.”

“They would send me to the Bastile?”

“Ma foi! I ought to have in my pocket something like an order to conduct you there. Would you like to see it?” and Chicot drew from his pocket an order from the king in due form, to apprehend, wherever he might be, M. Louis de Clermont, Seigneur de Bussy. “Written very nicely by M. Quelus,” continued Chicot.

“Then, monsieur,” cried Bussy, “you are really rendering me a service?”

“I think so; do you agree with me?”

“Monsieur, I beg you to tell me why you do it; for you love the king, and he hates me.”

“M. le Comte, I save you; think what you please of my action. But do you forget that I asked for a recompense?”

“Ah, true.”

“Well?”

“Most willingly, monsieur.”

“Then some day you will do what I ask you?”

“On my honor, if possible.”

“That is enough. Now mount your horse and disappear; I go to carry this order to those who are to use it.”

“Then you were not to arrest me yourself?”

“I! for what do you take me?”

“But I should abandon my master.”

“Have no scruples; he abandons you.”

“You are a gentleman, M. Chicot.”

Bussy called Rémy. To do him justice, he was listening at the door.

“Rémy, our horses!”

“They are saddled, monsieur.”

“Ah!” said Chicot, “this young man knows what he is about.”

Bussy thanked Chicot once more, and went down.

“Where are we going?” said Rémy.

“Well – ” said Bussy, hesitating.

“What do you say to Normandy?” said Chicot.

“It is too near.”

“Flanders, then?”

“Too far.”

“Anjou is a reasonable distance, monsieur,” said Rémy.

“Well, then, Anjou,” said Bussy, coloring.

“Adieu, monsieur!” said Chicot.

“It is destiny,” said Rémy, when he was gone.

“Let us be quick, and perhaps we may overtake her,” said Bussy.

CHAPTER XLVII.
THE CHESS OF M. CHICOT, AND THE CUP AND BALL OF M. QUELUS

Chicot returned joyfully to the Louvre. It was a great satisfaction to him to have saved a brave gentleman like Bussy.

M. de Guise, after having received in the morning the principal Leaguers, who came to bring him the registers filled with signatures, and after having made them all swear to recognize the chief that the king should appoint, went out to visit M. d’Anjou, whom he had lost sight of about ten the evening before. The duke found the prince’s valet rather unquiet at his master’s absence, but he imagined that he had slept at the Louvre.

The Due de Guise asked to speak to Aurilly, who was most likely to know where his master was. Aurilly came, but stated he had been separated from the prince the evening before by a pressure of the crowd, and had come to the Hôtel d’Anjou to wait for him, not knowing that his highness had intended to sleep at the Louvre. He added that he had just sent to the Louvre to inquire, and that a message had been returned that the duke was still asleep.

“Asleep at eleven o’clock! not likely. You ought to go to the Louvre, Aurilly.”

“I did think of it, monseigneur, but I feared that this was only a tale invented to satisfy my messenger, and that the prince was seeking pleasure elsewhere, and might be annoyed at my seeking him.”

“Oh, no; the duke has too much sense to be pleasure-seeking on a day like this. Go to the Louvre; you will be sure to find him there.”

“I will if you wish it; but what shall I say to him?”

“Say that the convocation at the Louvre is fixed for two o’clock, and that it is necessary that we should have a conference first. It is not at the time when the king is about to choose a chief for the League that he should be sleeping.”

“Very well, monseigneur, I will beg his highness to come here.”

“And say that I am waiting impatiently for him. Meanwhile I will go and seek M. de Bussy.”

“But if I do not find his highness, what am I to do?”

“Then make no further search for him. In any event I shall be at the Louvre at a quarter before two.”

Aurilly passed through the courtiers who crowded the Louvre, and made his way to the duke’s apartments. At the door he found Chicot playing chess. Aurilly tried to pass, but Chicot, with his long legs blocked up the doorway. He was forced to touch him on the shoulder.

“Ah, it is you, M. Aurilly.”

“What are you doing, M. Chicot?”

“Playing chess, as you see.”

“All alone?”

“Yes, I am studying; do you play?”

“Very little.”

“Yes, I know you are a musician, and music is so difficult an art, that those who give themselves to it must sacrifice all their time.”

“You seem very serious over your game.”

“Yes, it is my king who disquiets me; you must know, M. Aurilly, that at chess the king is a very insignificant person, who has no will, who can only go one step forward or back, or one to the right or left, while he is surrounded by active enemies, by knights who jump three squares at a time, by a crowd of pawns who surround him, so that if he be badly counseled he is a ruined king in no time, ma foi.”

“But, M. Chicot, how does it happen that you are studying this at the door of his royal highness’ room?”

“Because I am waiting for M. Quelus, who is in there.”

“Where?”

“With his highness.”

“With his highness! What is he doing there? I did not think they were such friends.”

“Hush!” then he whispered in Aurilly’s ear “he is come to ask pardon of the duke for a little quarrel they had yesterday.”

“Really!”

“It was the king who insisted on it; you know on what excellent terms the brothers are just now. The king would not suffer an impertinence of Quelus’s to pass, and ordered him to apologize.”

“Really!”

“Ah! M. Aurilly, I think that we are entering the golden age; the Louvre is about to become Arcadia, and the two brothers Arcades ambo.”

Aurilly smiled, and passed into the ante-chamber, where he was courteously saluted by Quelus, between whose hands a superb cup and ball of ebony inlaid with ivory was making rapid evolutions.

“Bravo! M. Quelus,” said Aurilly.

“Ah! my dear M. Aurilly, when shall I play cup and ball as well as you play the lute?”

“When you have studied your plaything as long as I have my instrument. But where is monseigneur? I thought you were with him.”

“I have an audience with him, but Schomberg comes first.”

“What! M. de Schomberg, also!”

“Oh! mon Dieu; yes. The king settled all that. He is in the next room. Enter, M. Aurilly, and remind the prince that we are waiting for him.”

Aurilly opened the second door and saw Schomberg reclining on a kind of couch, from which he amused himself by sending from a tube little balls of earth through a gold ring, suspended from the ceiling by a silk thread, while a favorite dog brought him back the balls as they fell.

“Ah! guten morgen, M. Aurilly, you see I am amusing myself while I wait for my audience.”

“But where is monseigneur?”

“Oh! he is occupied in pardoning D’Epernon and Maugiron. But will you not enter, you who are privileged?”

“Perhaps it would be indiscreet.”

“Not at all; enter, M. Aurilly, enter.” And he pushed him into the next room, where the astonished musician perceived D’Epernon before a mirror, occupied in stiffening his mustachios, while Maugiron, seated near the window, was cutting out engravings, by the side of which the bas-reliefs on the temple of Venus Aphrodite would have looked holy.

The duke, without his sword, was in his armchair between these two men, who only looked at him to watch his movements, and only spoke to him to say something disagreeable: seeing Aurilly, he got up to meet him.

“Take care monseigneur,” said Maugiron, “you are stepping on my figures.”

“Mon Dieu!” cried the musician, “he insults my master!”

“Dear M. Aurilly,” said D’Epernon, still arranging his mustachois, “how are you?”

“Be so kind as to bring me here your little dagger,” said Maugiron.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, do you not remember where you are?”

“Yes, yes, my dear Orpheus, that is why I ask for your dagger; you see M. le Duc has none.”

“Aurilly!” cried the duke, in a tone full of grief and rage, “do you not see that I am a prisoner?”

“A prisoner! to whom?”

“To my brother; you might know that by my jailers.”

“Oh! if I had but guessed it.”

“You would have brought your lute to amuse his highness,” said a mocking voice behind them, “but I thought of it, and sent for it; here it is.”

“How does your chess go on, Chicot?” said D’Epernon.

“I believe I shall save the king, but it is not without trouble. Come, M. Aurilly, give me your poniard in return for the lute; a fair exchange.”

The astonished musician obeyed.

“There is one rat in the trap,” said Quelus, who returned to his post in the antechamber, only exchanging his cup and ball for Schomberg’s shooting tube.

“It is amusing to vary one’s pleasures,” said Chicot; “so for a change I will go and sign the League.”