Chicot the Jester

The mysterious personage now lowered his hood, and Chicot saw the head of the Duc d’Anjou appear, so pale that, by the light of the lamp, it looked like that of a marble statue.

“Oh, oh!” thought Chicot, “the duke is not yet tired of playing for the crown with the heads of others!”

“Long live Monseigneur le Duc d’Anjou!” cried the assembly.

The duke grew paler than ever.

“Fear nothing, monseigneur,” said Henri de Guise; “our chapel is deaf, and its doors are well closed.”

“My brothers,” said the Comte de Monsoreau, “his highness wishes to address a few words to the assembly.”

“Yes, yes!” cried they.

“Gentlemen,” began he, in a voice so trembling that at first they could hardly distinguish his words, “I believe that God, who often seems insensible and deaf to the things of this world, keeps, on the contrary, His piercing eyes constantly on us, and only remains thus careless in appearance in order to remedy, by some great blow, the disorders caused by the foolish ambitions of men. I also have kept my eyes, if not on the world, at least on France. What have I seen there? The holy religion of Christ shaken to its foundation by those who sap all belief, under the pretext of drawing nearer to God, and my soul has been full of grief. In the midst of this grief, I heard that several noble and pious gentlemen, friends of our old faith, were trying to strengthen the tottering altar. I threw my eyes around me, and saw on one side the heretics, from whom I recoiled with horror; on the other side the elect, and I am come to throw myself into their arms. My brothers, here I am.”

The applause and bravos resounded through the chapel. Then the cardinal, turning to the duke, said:

“You are amongst us of your own free will?”

“Of my free will, monsieur.”

“Who instructed you in the holy mystery?”

“My friend, the Comte de Monsoreau, a man zealous for religion.”

“Then,” said the Duc de Guise, “as your highness has joined us, have the goodness to tell us what you intend to do for the league.”

“I intend to serve the Catholic religion in all its extent.”

“Ventre de biche!” thought Chicot, “why not propose this right out to the king? It would suit him excellently – processions, macerations, extirpation of heresy, fagots, and auto-da-fés! Go on, worthy brother of his majesty, noble imbecile, go on!”

And the duke, as if sensible of the encouragement, proceeded: “But the interests of religion are not the sole aim which you gentlemen propose. As for me, I see another; for when a gentleman has thought of what he owes to God, he then thinks of his country, and he asks himself if it really enjoys all the honor and prosperity which it ought to enjoy. I ask this about our France, and I see with grief that it does not. Indeed, the state is torn to pieces by different wills and tastes, one as powerful as the other. It is, I fear, to the feebleness of the head, which forgets that it ought to govern all for the good of its subjects, or only remembers this royal principle at capricious intervals, when the rare acts of energy are generally not for the good, but the ill of France, that we must attribute these evils. Whatever be the cause, the ill is a real one, although I accuse certain false friends of the king rather than the king himself. Therefore I join myself to those who by all means seek the extinction of heresy and the ruin of perfidious counselors.”

This discourse appeared profoundly to interest the audience, who, throwing back their hoods, drew near to the duke.

“Monseigneur,” said the Duc de Guise, “in thanking your royal highness for the words you have just uttered, I will add that you are surrounded by people devoted not only to the principles which you profess, but to the person of your highness; and if you have any doubt, the conclusion of this sitting will convince you.”

“Monseigneur,” said the cardinal, “if your highness still experiences any fear, the names of those who now surround you will, I hope, reassure you. Here is M. le Gouverneur d’Aunis, M. d’Antragues, M. de Ribeirac, and M. de Livarot, and gentlemen whom your highness doubtless knows to be as brave as loyal. Here are, besides, M. de Castillon, M. le Baron de Lusignan, MM. Cruce and Leclerc, all ready to march under the guidance of your highness, to the emancipation of religion and the throne. We shall, then, receive with gratitude the orders that you will give us.”

Then M. de Mayenne said: “You are by your birth, and by your wisdom, monseigneur, the natural chief of the Holy Union, and we ought to learn from you what our conduct should be with regard to the false friends of his majesty of whom you just now spoke.”

“Nothing more simple,” replied the prince, with that feverish excitement which in weak natures supplies the place of courage to weak minds; “when venomous plants grow in a field, we root them up. The king is surrounded, not with friends, but with courtiers, who ruin him, and cause a perpetual scandal in France and all Christendom.”

“It is true,” said the Duc de Guise, in a gloomy tone.

“And,” said the cardinal, “these courtiers prevent us, who are his majesty’s true friends, from approaching him as we have the right to do by our birth and position.”

“Let us, then,” said M. de Mayenne, “leave the heretics to the vulgar leaguers; let us think of those who annoy and insult us, and who often fail in respect to the prince whom we honor, and who is our chief.”

The Duc d’Anjou grew red.

“Let us destroy,” continued Mayenne, “to the last man, that cursed race whom the king enriches, and let each of us charge ourselves with the life of one. We are thirty here; let us count.”

“I,” said D’Antragues, “charge myself with Quelus.”

“I with Maugiron,” said Livarot.

“And I with Schomberg,” said Ribeirac.

“Good!” said the duke; “and there is Bussy, my brave Bussy, who will undertake some of them.”

“And us!” cried the rest.

M. de Monsoreau now advanced. “Gentlemen,” said he, “I claim an instant’s silence. We are resolute men, and yet we fear to speak freely to each other; we are intelligent men, and yet we are deterred by foolish scruples. Come, gentlemen, a little courage, a little hardihood, a little frankness. It is not of the king’s minions that we think; there does not lie our difficulty. What we really complain of is the royalty which we are under, and which is not acceptable to a French nobility; prayers and despotism, weakness and orgies, prodigality for fêtes which make all Europe laugh, and parsimony for everything that regards the state and the arts. Such conduct is not weakness or ignorance – it is madness.”

A dead silence followed this speech. Everyone trembled at the words which echoed his own thoughts. M. de Monsoreau went on.

“Must we live under a king, foolish, inert, and lazy, at a time when all other nations are active, and work gloriously, while we sleep? Gentlemen, pardon me for saying before a prince, who will perhaps blame my temerity (for he has the prejudices of family), that for four years we have been governed, not by a king, but by a monk.”

At these words the explosion so skilfully prepared and as skilfully kept in check, burst out with violence.

“Down with the Valois!” they cried, “down with Brother Henri! Let us have for chief a gentleman, a knight, rather a tyrant than a monk.”

“Gentlemen!” cried the Duc d’Anjou, hypocritically, “let me plead for my brother, who is led away. Let me hope that our wise remonstrances, that the efficacious intervention of the power of the League, will bring him back into the right path.”

“Hiss, serpent, hiss,” said Chicot to himself.

“Monseigneur,” replied the Duc de Guise, “your highness has heard, perhaps rather too soon, but still you have heard, the true meaning of the association. No! we are not really thinking of a league against the Béarnais, nor of a league to support the Church, which will support itself: no, we think of raising the nobility of France from its abject condition. Too long we have been kept back by the respect we feel for your highness, by the love which we know you to have for your family. Now, all is revealed, monseigneur, and your highness will assist at the true sitting of the League. All that has passed is but preamble.”

“What do you mean, M. le Duc?” asked the prince, his heart beating at once with alarm and ambition.

“Monseigneur, we are united here, not only to talk, but to act. To-day we choose a chief capable of honoring and enriching the nobility of France; and as it was the custom of the ancient Franks when they chose a chief to give him a present worthy of him, we offer a present to the chief whom we have chosen.”

All hearts beat, and that of the prince most of any; yet he remained mute and motionless, betraying his emotion only by his paleness.

“Gentlemen,” continued the duke, taking something from behind him, “here is the present that in your name I place at the feet of the prince.”

“A crown!” cried the prince, scarcely able to stand, “a crown to me, gentlemen?”

“Long live François III.!” cried all the gentlemen, drawing their swords.

“I! I!” cried the Duke, trembling with joy and terror. “It is impossible! My brother still lives; he is the anointed of the Lord.”

“We depose him,” said the duke, “waiting for the time when God shall sanction, by his death, the election which we are about to make, or rather, till one of his subjects, tired of this inglorious reign, forestalls by poison or the dagger the justice of God.”

“Gentlemen!” said the duke, feebly.

“Monseigneur,” then said the cardinal, “to the scruple which you so nobly expressed just now, this is our answer. Henri III. was the anointed of the Lord, but we have deposed him; it is you who are going to be so. Here is a temple as venerable as that of Rheims; for here have reposed the relics of St Geneviève, patroness of Paris; here has been embalmed the body of Clovis, our first Christian king; well, monseigneur, in this holy temple, I, one of the princes of the Church, and who may reasonably hope to become one day its head, I tell you, monseigneur, that here, to replace the holy oil, is an oil sent by Pope Gregory XIII. Monseigneur, name your future archbishop of Rheims, name your constable, and in an instant, it is you who will be king, and your brother Henri, if he do not give you up the crown, will be the usurper. Child, light the altar.”

Immediately, the lad, who was evidently waiting, came out, and presently fifty lights shone round the altar and choir.

Then was seen on the altar a miter glittering with precious stones, and a large sword ornamented with fleur-de-lis. It was the archbishop’s miter and the constable’s sword. At the same moment the organ began to play the Veni Creator. This sudden stroke, managed by the three Lorraine princes, and which the Duc d’Anjou himself did not expect, made a profound impression on the spectators. The courageous grew bolder than ever, and the weak grew strong. The Duc d’Anjou raised his head, and with a firmer step than might have been expected, walked to the altar, took the miter in the left hand and the sword in the right, presented one to the cardinal and the other to the duke. Unanimous applause followed this action.

“Now, gentlemen,” said the prince to the others, “give your names to M. de Mayenne, grand Master of France, and the day when I ascend the throne, you shall have the cordon bleu.”

“Mordieu!” thought Chicot, “what a pity I cannot give mine; I shall never have such another opportunity.”

“Now to the altar, sire,” said the cardinal.

“Monsieur de Monsoreau my colonel, MM. de Ribeirac and d’Antragues my captains, and M. Livarot, my lieutenant of the guards, take your places.”

Each of those named took the posts which, at a real coronation, etiquette would have assigned to them. Meanwhile, the cardinal had passed behind the altar to put on his pontifical robes; soon he reappeared with the holy vial. Then the lad brought to him a Bible and a cross. The cardinal put the cross on the book and extended them towards the Duc d’Anjou, who put his hand on them, and said, —

“In the presence of God, I promise to my people to maintain and honor our holy religion as a Christian king should. And may God and His saints aid me!”

Then the Duc de Guise laid the sword before the altar, and the cardinal blessed it and gave it to the prince.

“Sire,” said he, “take this sword, which is given to you with the blessing of God, that you may resist your enemies, and protect and defend the holy Church, which is confided to you. Take this sword that, with it, you may exercise justice, protect the widow and the orphan, repair disorders, so that, covering yourself with glory by all the virtues, you will be a blessing to your people.”

Then the prince returned the sword to the Duc de Guise, and knelt down. The cardinal opened the gold box, and, with the point of a golden needle, drew out some holy oil; he then said two prayers, and taking the oil on his finger, traced with it a cross on the head of the prince, saying, “Ungo dein regem de oleo sanctificato, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.”

The lad wiped off the oil with an embroidered handkerchief. Then the cardinal took the crown, and, holding it over the head of the prince, said, “God crown thee with the crown of glory and justice.” Then, placing it, “Receive this crown, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”

All brandished their swords and cried, “Long live François III.”

“Sire,” said the cardinal, “you reign henceforth over France.”

“Gentlemen,” said the prince, “I shall never forget the names of the thirty gentlemen who first judged me worthy to reign over them; and now adieu, and may God have you in His holy keeping.”

The Duc de Mayenne led away the new king, while the other two brothers exchanged an ironical smile.

CHAPTER XXI.

HOW CHICOT LEARNED GENEALOGY

When the Duc d’Anjou was gone, and had been followed by all the others, the three Guises entered the vestry. Chicot, thinking of course this was the end, got up to stretch his limbs, and then, as it was nearly two o’clock, once more disposed himself to sleep.

But to his great astonishment, the three brothers almost immediately came back again, only this time without their frocks. On seeing them appear, the lad burst into so hearty a fit of laughing, that Chicot could hardly help laughing also.

“Do not laugh so loud, sister,” said the Duc de Mayenne, “they are hardly gone out, and might hear you.”

As he spoke, the seeming lad threw back his hood, and displayed a head as charming and intelligent as was ever painted by Leonardo da Vinci. Black eyes, full of fun, but which could assume an expression almost terrible in its seriousness, a little rosy month, and a round chin terminating the perfect oval of a rather pale face. It was Madame de Montpensier, a dangerous syren, who had the soul of a demon with the face of an angel.

“Ah, brother cardinal,” cried she, “how well you acted the holy man! I was really afraid for a minute that you were serious; and he letting himself be greased and crowned. Oh, how horrid he looked with his crown on!”

“Never mind,” said the duke, “we have got what we wanted, and François cannot now deny his share. Monsoreau, who doubtless had his own reasons for it, led the thing on well, and now he cannot abandon us, as he did La Mole and Coconnas.”

Chicot saw that they had been laughing at M. d’Anjou, and as he detested him, would willingly have embraced them for it, always excepting M. de Mayenne, and giving his share to his sister.

“Let us return to business,” said the cardinal, “is all well closed?”

“Oh, yes!” said the duchess, “but if you like I will go and see.”

“Oh, no; you must be tired.”

“No; it was too amusing.”

“Mayenne, you say he is here?”

“Yes.”

“I did not see him.”

“No, he is hidden in a confessional.”

These words startled Chicot fearfully.

“Then he has heard and seen all?” asked the duke.

“Never mind, he is one of us.”

“Bring him here, Mayenne.”

Mayenne descended the staircase and came straight to where Chicot was hiding. He was brave, but now his teeth chattered with terror. “Ah,” thought he, trying to get out his sword from under his monk’s frock, “at least I will kill him first!” The duke had already extended his hand to open the door, when Chicot heard the duchess say:

“Not there, Mayenne; in that confessional to the left.”

“It was time,” thought Chicot, as the duke turned away, “but who the devil can the other be?”

“Come out, M. David,” said Mayenne, “we are alone.”

“Here I am, monseigneur,” said he, coming out.

“You have heard all?” asked the Duc de Guise.

“I have not lost a word, monseigneur.”

“Then you can report it to the envoy of his Holiness Gregory XIII.?”

“Everything.”

“Now, Mayenne tells me you have done wonders for us; let us see.”

“I have done what I promised, monseigneur; that is to say, found a method of seating you, without opposition, on the throne of France!”

“They also!” thought Chicot; “everyone wants then to be King of France!”

Chicot was gay now, for he felt safe once more, and he had discovered a conspiracy by which he hoped to ruin his two enemies.

“To gain a legitimate right is everything,” continued Nicolas David, “and I have discovered that you are the true heirs, and the Valois only a usurping branch.”

“It is difficult to believe,” said the duke, “that our house, however illustrious it may be, comes before the Valois.”

“It is nevertheless proved, monseigneur,” said David, drawing out a parchment. The duke took it.

“What is this?” said he.

“The genealogical tree of the house of Lorraine.”

“Of which the root is?”

“Charlemagne, monseigneur.”

“Charlemagne!” cried the three brothers, with an air of incredulous satisfaction, “Impossible!”

“Wait, monseigneur; you may be sure I have not raised a point to which any one may give the lie. What you want is a long lawsuit, during which you can gain over, not the people, they are yours, but the parliament. See, then, monseigneur, here it is. Ranier, first Duc de Lorraine, contemporary with Charlemagne; – Guibert, his son; – Henri, son of Guibert – ”

“But – ” said the duke.

“A little patience, monseigneur. Bonne – ”

“Yes,” said the duke, “daughter of Ricin, second son of Ranier.”

“Good; to whom married?”

“Bonne?”

“Yes.”

“To Charles of Lorraine, son of Louis IV., King of France.”

“Just so. Now add, ‘brother of Lothaire, despoiled of the crown of France by the usurper, Hugh Capet.’”

“Oh! oh!” said the duke and the cardinal.

“Now, Charles of Lorraine inherited from his brother Lothaire. Now, the race of Lothaire is extinct, therefore you are the only true heirs of the throne.”

“What do you say to that, brother?” cried the cardinal.

“I say, that unluckily there exists in France a law they call the Salic law, which destroys all our pretensions.”

“I expected that objection, monseigneur,” said David, “but what is the first example of the Salic law?”

“The accession of Philippe de Valois, to the prejudice of Edward of England.”

“What was the date of that accession?”

“1328,” said the cardinal.

“That is to say, 341 years after the usurpation of Hugh Capet, 240 years after the extinction of the race of Lothaire. Then, for 240 years your ancestors had already had a right to the throne before the Salic law was invented. Now, everyone knows that the law cannot have any retrospective effect.”

“You are a clever man, M. David,” said the Duc de Guise.

“It is very ingenious,” said the cardinal.

“It is very fine,” said Mayenne.

“It is admirable,” said the duchess; “then I am a princess royal. I will have no one less than the Emperor of Germany for a husband.”

“Well; here are your 200 gold crowns which I promised you.”

“And here are 200 others,” said the cardinal, “for the new mission with which we are about to charge you.”

“Speak, monseigneur, I am ready.”

“We cannot commission you to carry this genealogy yourself to our holy Father, Gregory XIII.”

“Alas! no; my will is good, but I am of too poor birth.”

“Yes, it is a misfortune. We must therefore send Pierre de Gondy on this mission.”

“Permit me to speak,” said the duchess. “The Gondys are clever, no doubt, but ambitious, and not to be trusted.”

“Oh! reassure yourself. Gondy shall take this, but mixed with other papers, and not knowing what he carries. The Pope will approve, or disapprove, silently, and Gondy will bring us back the answer, still in ignorance of what he brings. You, Nicolas David, shall wait for him at Chalons, Lyons, or Avignon, according to your instructions. Thus you alone will know our true secret.”

Then the three brothers shook hands, embraced their sister, put on again their monk’s robes, and disappeared. Behind them the porter drew the bolts, and then came in and extinguished the lights, and Chicot heard his retreating steps fainter and fainter, and all was silent.

“It seems now all is really over,” thought Chicot, and he came out of the confessional. He had noticed in a corner a ladder destined to clean the windows. He felt about until he found it, for it was close to him, and by the light of the moon placed it against the window. He easily opened it, and striding across it and drawing the ladder to him with that force and address which either fear or joy always gives, he drew it from the inside to the outside. When he had descended, he hid the ladder in a hedge, which was planted at the bottom of the wall, jumped from tomb to tomb, until he reached the outside wall over which he clambered. Once in the street he breathed more freely; he had escaped with a few scratches from the place where he had several times felt his life in danger. He went straight to the Corne d’Abondance, at which he knocked. It was opened by Claude Boutromet himself, who knew him at once, although he went out dressed as a cavalier, and returned attired as a monk.

“Ah! is it you?” cried he.

Chicot gave him a crown, and asked for Gorenflot.

The host smiled, and said, “Look!”

Brother Gorenflot lay snoring just in the place where Chicot had left him.

CHAPTER XXII.

HOW M. AND MADAME DE ST. LUC MET WITH A TRAVELING COMPANION

The next morning, about the time when Gorenflot woke from his nap, warmly rolled in his frock, our reader, if he had been traveling on the road from Paris to Angers, might have seen a gentleman and his page, riding quietly side by side. These cavaliers had arrived at Chartres the evening before, with foaming horses, one of which had fallen with fatigue, as they stopped. They entered the inn, and half an hour after set out on fresh horses. Once in the country, still bare and cold, the taller of the two approached the other, and said, as he opened his arms: “Dear little wife, embrace me, for now we are safe.”

Then Madame de St. Luc, leaning forward and opening her thick cloak, placed her arms round the young man’s neck and gave him the long and tender kiss which he had asked for. They stayed the night in the little village of Courville four leagues only from Chartres, but which from its isolation seemed to them a secure retreat; and it was on the following morning that they were, as we said, pursuing their way. This day, as they were more easy in their minds, they traveled no longer like fugitives, but like schoolboys seeking for moss, for the first few early flowers, enjoying the sunshine and amused at everything.

“Morbleu!” cried St. Luc, at last, “how delightful it is to be free. Have you ever been free, Jeanne?”

“I?” cried she, laughing, “never; it is the first time I ever felt so. My father was suspicious, and my mother lazy. I never went out without a governess and two lackeys, so that I do not remember having run on the grass, since, when a laughing child, I ran in the woods of Méridor with my dear Diana, challenging her to race, and rushing through the branches. But you, dear St. Luc; you were free, at least?”

“I, free?”

“Doubtless, a man.”

“Never. Brought up with the Duc d’Anjou, taken by him to Poland, brought back to Paris, condemned never to leave him by the perpetual rule of etiquette; pursued, if I tried to go away, by that doleful voice, crying, ‘St. Luc, my friend, I am ennuyé, come and amuse me.’ Free, with that stiff corset which strangled me, and that great ruff which scratched my neck! No, I have never been free till now, and I enjoy it.”