Chicot the Jester

CHAPTER IV.
HOW MADAME DE ST. LUC HAD PASSED THE NIGHT

Louis de Clermont, commonly called Bussy d’Amboise, was a perfect gentleman, and a very handsome man. Kings and princes had sought for his friendship; queens and princesses had lavished on him their sweetest smiles. He had succeeded La Mole in the affections of Queen Marguerite, who had committed for him so many follies, that even her husband, insensible so long, was moved at them; and the Duke François would never have pardoned him, had it not gained over Bussy to his interests, and once again he sacrificed all to his ambition. But in the midst of all his successes of war, ambition, and intrigue, he had remained insensible; and he who had never known fear, had never either known love.

When the servants of M. de St. Luc saw Bussy enter, they ran to tell M. de Brissac.

“Is M. de St. Luc at home?” asked Bussy.

“No, monsieur.”

“Where shall I find him?”

“I do not know, monsieur. We are all very anxious about him, for he has not returned since yesterday.”

“Nonsense.”

“It is true, monsieur.”

“But Madame de St. Luc?”

“Oh, she is here.”

“Tell her I shall be charmed if she will allow me to pay my respects to her.”

Five minutes after, the messenger returned, saying Madame de St. Luc would be glad to see M. de Bussy.

When Bussy entered the room, Jeanne ran to meet him. She was very pale, and her jet black hair made her look more so; her eyes were red from her sleepless night, and there were traces of tears on her cheeks.

“You are welcome, M. de Bussy,” said she, “in spite of the fears your presence awakens.”

“What do you mean, madame? how can I cause you fear?”

“Ah! there was a meeting last night between you and M. de St. Luc? confess it.”

“Between me and St. Luc!”

“Yes, he sent me away to speak to you; you belong to the Duc d’Anjou, he to the king. You have quarrelled – do not hide it from me. You must understand my anxiety. He went with the king, it is true – but afterwards?”

“Madame, this is marvelous. I expected you to ask after my wound – ”

“He wounded you; he did fight, then?”

“No, madame; not with me at least; it was not he who wounded me. Indeed, he did all he could to save me. Did he not tell you so?”

“How could he tell me? I have not seen him.”

“You have not seen him? Then your porter spoke the truth.”

“I have not seen him since eleven last night.”

“But where can he be?”

“I should rather ask you.”

“Oh, pardieu, tell me about it, it is very droll.”

The poor woman looked at him with astonishment.

“No, it is very sad, I mean. I have lost much blood, and scarcely know what I am saying. Tell me this lamentable story, madame.”

Jeanne told all she knew; how the king had carried him off, the shutting of the doors of the Louvre, and the message of the guards.

“Ah! very well, I understand,” said Bussy.

“How! you understand.”

“Yes; his majesty took him to the Louvre and once there he could not come out again.”

“And why not?”

“Ah! that is a state secret.”

“But my father went to the Louvre, and I also, and the guards said they did not know what we meant.”

“All the more reason that he should be there.”

“You think so?”

“I am sure of it, and if you wish to be so also – ”

“How?”

“By seeing.”

“Can I?”

“Certainly.”

“But if I go there, they win send me away, as they did before.”

“Would you like to go in?”

“But if he is not there?”

“I tell you he is there. Come; but they will not let in the wife of St. Luc.”

“You laugh at me, and it is very cruel in my distress.”

“No, dear lady, listen. You are young, you are tall, and have black eyes; you are like my youngest page, who looked so well in the cloth of gold yesterday.”

“Ah I what folly, M. Bussy,” cried Jeanne, blushing.

“I have no other method but this. If you wish to see St. Luc – ”

“Oh! I would give all the world to see him.”

“Well, I promise that you shall without giving anything.”

“Oh, but – ”

“I told you how.”

“Well, I will do it; shall I send for the dress?”

“No, I will send you a new one I have at home; then you must join me this evening at the Rue St. Honoré. and we will go together to the Louvre.” Jeanne began to laugh, and gave her hand to Bussy.

“Pardon my suspicions,” said she.

“Willingly,” and taking leave he went home to prepare.

Bussy and Madame de St. Luc met at the appointed time; Jeanne looked beautiful in her disguise. At the end of the Rue St. Germain-l’Auxerrois they met a large party in which Bussy recognized the Duc d’Anjou and his train.

“Ah,” said he, “we will make a triumphal entry into the Louvre.”

“Eh! monseigneur,” cried he to the duke.

The prince turned. “You, Bussy!” cried he joyfully, “I heard you were badly wounded, and I was going to your hotel.”

“Ma foi, monseigneur, if I am not dead, it is thanks to no one but myself. You get me into nice situations; that ball at St. Luc’s was a regular snare, and they have nearly drained all the blood out of my body.”

“They shall pay for it, Bussy; they shall pay dearly.”

“Yes, you say so,” said Bussy, with his usual liberty, “and you will smile on the first you meet.”

“Well! accompany me to the Louvre, and you shall see.”

“What shall I see, monseigneur?”

“How I will speak to my brother.”

“You promise me reparation?”

“I promise you shall be content. You hesitate still, I believe.”

“Monseigneur, I know you so well.”

“Come, I tell you.”

“This is good for you,” whispered Bussy to Jeanne. “There will be a quarrel between the brothers, and meanwhile you can find St. Luc.”

“Well,” said he to the prince, “I follow you; if I am insulted, at least I can always revenge myself.”

And he took his place near the duke, while his page kept close to him.

“Revenge yourself; no, Bussy,” said the prince, “I charge myself with it. I know your assassins,” added he, in a low tone.

“What! your highness has taken the trouble to inquire?”

“I saw them.”

“How so?” cried Bussy, astonished.

“Oh! I had business myself at the Porte St. Antoine. They barely missed killing me in your place. Ah! I did not know it was you they were waiting for, or else – ”

“Well?”

“Had you this new page with you?” asked the prince, without finishing his sentence.

“No, I was alone, and you?”

“I had Aurilly with me; and why were you alone?”

“Because I wish to preserve my name of the brave Bussy.”

“And they wounded you?”

“I do not wish to give them the pleasure of knowing it, but I had a severe wound in the side.”

“Ah! the wretches; Aurilly said he was sure they were bent on mischief.”

“How! you saw the ambush, you were with Aurilly, who uses his sword as well as his lute, you thought they had bad intentions, and you did not watch to give aid?”

“I did not know who they were waiting for.”

“Mort diable! when you saw the king’s friends, you might have known it was against some friends of yours. Now, as there is hardly any one but myself who has courage to be your friend, you might have guessed that it was I.”

“Oh! perhaps you are right, my dear Bussy, but I did not think of all that.”

When they entered, “Remember your promise,” said Bussy, “I have some one to speak to.”

“You leave me, Bussy?”

“Yes, I must, but if I hear a great noise I will come to you, so speak loud.”

Then Bussy, followed by Jeanne, took a secret staircase, traversed two or three corridors, and arrived at an antechamber.

“Wait here for me,” said he to Jeanne.

“Ah, mon Dieu! you leave me alone.”

“I must, to provide for your entrance.”

CHAPTER V.
HOW MADAME DE ST. LUC PASSED THE SECOND NIGHT OF HER MARRIAGE

Bussy went straight to the sleeping-room of the king. There were in it two beds of velvet and satin, pictures, relics, perfumed sachets from the East, and a collection of beautiful swords. Bussy knew the king was not there, as his brother had asked to see him, but he knew that there was next to it a little room which was occupied in turn by all the king’s favorites, and which he now expected to find occupied by St. Luc, whom the king in his great affection had carried off from his wife. Bussy knocked at the antechamber common to the two rooms. The captain of the guards opened.

“M. de Bussy!” cried he.

“Yes, myself, dear M. de Nancey; the king wishes to speak to M. de St. Luc.”

“Very well, tell M. de St. Luc the king wants him.”

“What is he doing?”

“He is with Chicot, waiting for the king’s return from his brother.”

“Will you permit my page to wait here?”

“Willingly, monsieur.”

“Enter, Jean,” said Bussy, and he pointed to the embrasure of a window, where she went to hide herself. St. Luc entered, and M. de Nancey retired.

“What does the king want now?” cried St. Luc, angrily; “ah! it is you, M. de Bussy.”

“I, and before everything, let me thank you for the service you rendered me.”

“Ah! it was quite natural; I could not bear to see a brave gentleman assassinated: I thought you killed.”

“It did not want much to do it, but I got off with a wound, which I think I repaid with interest to Schomberg and D’Epernon. As for Quelus, he may thank the bones of his head: they are the hardest I ever knew.”

“Ah! tell me about it, it will amuse me a little.”

“I have no time now, I come for something else. You are ennuyé – ”

“To death.”

“And a prisoner?”

“Completely. The king pretends no one can amuse him but me. He is very good, for since yesterday I have made more grimaces than his ape, and been more rude than his jester.”

“Well, it is my turn to render you a service: can I do it?”

“Yes, go to the Marshal de Brissac’s, and reassure my poor little wife, who must be very uneasy, and must think my conduct very strange.”

“What shall I say to her?”

“Morbleu! tell her what you see; that I am a prisoner, and that the king talks to me of friendship like Cicero, who wrote on it; and of virtue like Socrates, who practised it. It is in vain I tell him I am ungrateful for the first, and incredulous as to the last: he only repeats it over again.”

“Is that all I can do for you?”

“Ah, mon Dieu! I fear so.”

“Then it is done.”

“How so?”

“I guessed all this, and told your wife so.”

“And what did she say?”

“At first she would not believe; but I trust now,” continued he, glancing towards the window, “she will yield to evidence. Ask me something more difficult.”

“Then, bring here the griffin of Signor Astolfo, and let me mount en croupe, and go to my wife.”

“A more simple thing would be to take the griffin to your wife and bring her here.”

“Here!”

“Yes, here.”

“To the Louvre, that would be droll.”

“I should think so. Then you would be ennuyé no longer?”

“Ma foi! no, but if this goes on much longer, I believe I shall kill myself.”

“Well! shall I give you my page?”

“To me?”

“Yes, he is a wonderful lad.”

“Thank you, but I detest pages.”

“Bah! try him.”

“Bussy, you mock me.”

“Let me leave him.”

“No.”

“I tell you, you will like him.”

“No, no, a hundred times, no.”

“Hola, page, come here.”

Jeanne came forward, blushing.

“Oh!” cried St. Luc, recognizing her, in astonishment.

“Well! shall I send him away?”

“No, no. Ah Bussy, I owe you an eternal friendship.”

“Take care, you cannot be heard, but you can be seen.”

“It is true,” said St. Luc, retreating from his wife. Indeed, M. de Nancey was beginning to wonder what was going on, when a great noise was heard from the gallery.

“Ah! mon Dieu!” cried M. de Nancey, “there is the king quarreling with some one.”

“I really think so,” replied Bussy, affecting inquietude; “can it be with the Duc d’Anjou, who came with me?”

The captain of the guard went off in the direction of the gallery.

“Have I not managed well?” said Bussy to St. Luc.

“What is it?”

“M. d’Anjou and the king are quarrelling; I must go to them. You profit by the time to place in safety the page I have brought you; is it possible?”

“Oh, yes; luckily I declared I was ill and must keep my room.”

“In that case, adieu, madame, and remember me in your prayers.” And Bussy went off to the gallery, where the king, red with fury, swore to the duke, who was pale with anger, that in the scene of the preceding night Bussy was the aggressor.

“I affirm to you, sire,” cried the duke, “that D’Epernon, Schomberg and Quelus were waiting for him at the Hôtel des Tournelles.”

“Who told you so?”

“I saw them with my own eyes.”

“In that darkness! The night was pitch dark.”

“I knew their voices.”

“They spoke to you?”

“They did more, they took me for Bussy, and attacked me.”

“You?”

“Yes, I.”

“And what were you doing there?”

“What does that matter to you?”

“I wish to know; I am curious to-day.”

“I was going to Manasses.”

“A Jew?”

“You go to Ruggieri, a poisoner.”

“I go where I like: I am the king. Besides, as I said, Bussy was the aggressor.”

“Where?”

“At St. Luc’s ball.”

“Bussy provoked five men? No, no, he is brave, but he is not mad.”

“Par la mordieu! I tell you I heard him. Besides, he has wounded Schomberg in the thigh, D’Epernon in the arm, and half killed Quelus.”

“Ah! really I did not know; I compliment him on it.”

“I will make example of this brawler.”

“And I, whom your friends attack, in his person and in my own, will know if I am your brother, and if – ”

At this moment Bussy, dressed in pale-green satin, entered the room.

“Sire!” said he, “receive my humble respects.”

“Pardieu! here he is,” cried Henri.

“Your majesty, it seems, was doing me the honor of speaking of me.”

“Yes, and I am glad to see that, in spite of what they told me, your look shows good health.”

“Sire, blood drawn improves the complexion, so mine ought to be good this morning.”

“Well, since they have wounded you, complain, and I will do you justice.”

“I complain of nothing, sire.”

Henri looked astonished. “What did you say?” said he to the duke.

“I said that Bussy had received a wound in his side.”

“Is it true, Bussy?”

“The first prince of the blood would not lie, sire.”

“And yet you do not complain?”

“I shall never complain, sire, until they cut off my right-hand, and prevent my revenging myself, and then I will try to do it with the left.”

“Insolent,” murmured Henri.

“Sire,” said the duke, “do justice; we ask no better. Order an inquiry, name judges, and let it be proved who prepared the ambush and the intended murder.”

Henri reddened. “No,” said he, “I prefer this time to be ignorant where the wrong lies, and to pardon everyone. I wish these enemies to make peace, and I am sorry that Schomberg and D’Epernon are kept at home by their wounds. Say, M. d’Anjou, which do you call the most forward to fight of all my friends, as you say you saw them?”

“Sire, it was Quelus.”

“Ma foi! yes,” said Quelus, “his highness is right.”

“Then,” said Henri, “let MM. Bussy and Quelus make peace in the name of all.”

“Oh! Oh!” said Quelus, “what does that mean, sire?”

“It means that you are to embrace here, before me.” Quelus frowned.

“Ah, signor,” cried Bussy, imitating a pantaloon, “will you not do me this favor?”

Even the king laughed. Then, approaching Quelus, Bussy threw his arms round his neck, saying, “The king wishes it.”

“I hope it engages us to nothing,” whispered Quelus.

“Be easy,” answered Bussy, “we will meet soon.”

Quelus drew back in a rage, and Bussy, making a pirouette, went out of the gallery.

CHAPTER VI.
LE PETIT COUCHER OF HENRI III

After this scene, beginning in tragedy and ending in comedy, the king, still angry, went to his room, followed by Chicot, who asked for his supper.

“I am not hungry,” said the king.

“It is possible, but I am.”

The king did not seem to hear. He unclasped his cloak, took off his cap, and, advancing to the passage which led to St. Luc’s room, said to Chicot, “Wait here for me till I return.”

“Oh! do not be in a hurry,” said Chicot. No sooner was the king gone, than Chicot opened the door and called “Hola!”

A valet came. “The king has changed his mind,” said Chicot, “he wishes a good supper here for himself and St. Luc, above all, plenty of wine, and despatch.”

The valet went to execute the orders, which he believed to be the king’s. Henri meanwhile had passed into St. Luc’s room. He found him in bed, having prayers read to him by an old servant who had followed him to the Louvre, and shared his captivity. In a corner, on an armchair, his head buried in his hands, slept the page.

“Who is that young man?” asked the king.

“Did not your majesty authorize me to send for a page.”

“Yes, doubtless.”

“Well, I have profited by it.”

“Oh!”

“Does your majesty repent of having allowed me this little indulgence?”

“No, no, on the contrary, amuse yourself, my son. How are you?”

“Sire, I have a fever.”

“Really, your face is red; let me feel your pulse, I am half a doctor.”

St. Luc held out his hand with visible ill-humor.

“Oh!” said the king, “intermittent – agitated.”

“Yes, sire, I am very ill.”

“I will send you my doctor.”

“Thank you, sire, but I hate Miron.”

“I will watch you myself. You shall have a bed in my room, and we will talk all night.”

“Oh!” cried St Luc, “you see me ill, and you want to keep me from sleeping. That is a singular way to treat your patient, doctor.”

“But you cannot be left alone, suffering as you are.”

“Sire, I have my page, Jean.”

“But he sleeps.”

“That is what I like best, then he will not disturb me.”

“Well, come and assist at my going to bed.”

“Then I shall be free to come back to bed?”

“Perfectly.”

“Well, so be it. But I shall make a bad courtier, I assure you; I am dying with sleep.”

“You shall yawn at your ease.”

“Sire, if your majesty will leave me, I will be with you in five minutes.”

“Well, then, five minutes, but no longer.”

As soon as the door was shut, the page jumped up. “Ah! St. Luc,” cried she, “you are going to leave me again. Mon Dieu! I shall die of fright here, if they discover me.”

“My dear Jeanne, Gaspard here will protect you.”

“Had I not better go back?”

“If you really wish it, Jeanne,” said St. Luc, sadly, “you shall. But if you are as good as you are beautiful, if you have any feeling in your heart for me, you will wait here a little. I shall suffer so much from my head and nerves that the king will not long keep so sad a companion.”

“Go, then,” said Jeanne, “and I will wait.”

“My dear Jeanne, you are adorable. Trust me to returns as soon as possible, Besides, I have an idea, which I will tell you when I return.”

“An idea which will restore your liberty?”

“I hope so.”

“Then go,”

“Gaspard,” said St. Luc, “prevent any one from entering here, and in a quarter of an hour lock the door, and bring me the key to the king’s room. Then go home, and tell them not to be uneasy about Madame la Comtesse, and come back to-morrow.”

Then St. Luc kissed his wife’s hand, and went to the king, who was already growing impatient. Jeanne, alone and trembling, hid behind the curtains of the bed. When St. Luc entered he found the king amidst a perfect carpet of flowers, of which the stalks had been cut off-roses, jasmine, violets, and wall-flowers, in spite of the severe weather, formed an odorous carpet for Henry III. The chamber, of which the roof was painted, had in it two beds, one of which was so large as to occupy a third of the room. It was hung with gold and silk tapestry, representing mythological figures and the windows had curtains to match. From the center of the ceiling hung, suspended by a golden chain, a silver gilt lamp, in which burned a perfumed oil. At the side of the bed was a golden satyr, holding in his hand a candelabrum, containing four rose-color wax candles, also perfumed.

The king, with his naked feet resting on the flowers, was seated on a chair of ebony inlaid with gold; he had on his knees seven or eight young spaniels, who were licking his bands. Two servants were curling his hair, his mustachios, and beard, a third was covering his face with a kind of cream, which had a most delightful scent.

“Here,” cried Chicot, “the grease and the combs, I will try them too.”

“Chicot,” said Henri, “your skin is too dry, and will use too much cream, and your beard is so hard, it will break my combs. Well, my son,” said he, turning to St. Luc, “how is your head?”

St. Luc put his hand to his head and groaned.

“Imagine!” continued Henri, “I have seen Bussy d’Amboise.”

“Bussy!” cried St. Luc, trembling.

“Yes, those fools! five of them attacked him, and let him escape. If you had been there, St. Luc – ”

“I should probably have been like the others.”

“Oh! no, I wager you are as good as Bussy. We will try to-morrow.”

“Sire, I am too ill for anything.”

Henri, hearing a singular noise, turned round, and saw Chicot eating up all the supper that had been brought for two.

“What the devil are you doing, M. Chicot?” cried Henri.

“Taking my cream internally, since you will not allow me to do it outwardly.”

“Go and fetch my captain of the guards,” said Henri.

“What for?” asked Chicot, emptying a porcelain cup of chocolate.

“To pass his sword through your body.”

“Ah! let him come, we shall see!” cried Chicot, putting himself in such a comical attitude of defense that every one laughed.

“But I am hungry,” cried the king; “and the wretch has eaten up all the supper.”

“You are capricious, Henri; I offered you supper and you refused. However, your bouillon is left; I am no longer hungry, and I am going to bed.”

“And I also,” said St. Luc, “for I can stand no longer.”

“Stay, St. Luc,” said the king, “take these,” and he offered him a handful of little dogs.

“What for?”

“To sleep with you; they will take your illness from you.”

“Thanks, sire,” said St. Luc, putting them back in their basket, “but I have no confidence in your receipt.”

“I will come and visit you in the night, St. Luc.”

“Pray do not, sire, you will only disturb me,” and saluting the king, he went away. Chicot had already disappeared, and there only remained with the king the valets, who covered his face with a mask of fine cloth, plastered with the perfumed cream, in which were holes for the eyes, nose, and mouth; a cap of silk and silver fixed it on the forehead and ears. They next covered his arms with sleeves made of wadded silk, and then presented him with kid gloves, also greased inside.

These mysteries of the royal toilet finished, they presented to him his soup in a golden cup. Then Henri said a prayer, a short one that night, and went to bed.

When settled there, he ordered them to carry away the flowers, which were beginning to make the air sickly, and to open the window for a moment. Then the valet closed the doors and curtains, and called in Narcissus, the king’s favorite dog, who, jumping on the bed, settled himself at once on the king’s feet. The valet next put out the wax-lights, lowered the lamp, and went out softly.

Already, more tranquil and nonchalant than the lazy monks of his kingdom in their fat abbeys, the King of France no longer remembered that there was a France. – He slept.

Every noise was hushed, and one might have heard a bat fly in the somber corridors of the Louvre.