Chicot the Jester

“That Monsoreau will trust to his strength, and that Bussy will escape him.”

“Reassure yourself, monseigneur.”

“Why?”

“Is M. de Bussy irrevocably condemned?”

“Yes, mordieu! A man who dictates to me – who takes away from me her whom I was seeking for – who is a sort of lion, of whom I am less the master than the keeper – yes, Aurilly, he is condemned without mercy.”

“Well, then, be easy, for if he escape Monsoreau, he will not escape from another.”

“And who is that?”

“Does your highness order me to name him?”

“Yes, I do.”

“It is M. d’Epernon.”

“D’Epernon! who was to fight him to-morrow?”

“Yes, monseigneur.”

“How is that?”

Aurilly was about to reply, when the duke was summoned; for the king was at table, and had sent for his brother.

“You shall tell me during the procession,” said the duke.

We will now tell our readers what had passed between Aurilly and D’Epernon. They had long known each other, for Aurilly had taught D’Epernon to play on the lute, and, as he was fond of music, they were often together. He called upon Aurilly to tell him of his approaching duel, which disquieted him not a little. Bravery was never one of D’Epernon’s prominent qualities, and he looked on a duel with Bussy as certain death. When Aurilly heard it, he told D’Epernon that Bussy practised fencing every morning with an artist, lately arrived, who was said to have borrowed from all nations their best points, until he had become perfect. During this recital D’Epernon grew livid with terror.

“Ah! I am doomed,” said he.

“Well?”

“But it is absurd to go out with a man who is sure to kill me.”

“You should have thought of that before making the engagement.”

“Peste! I will break the engagement.”

“He is a fool who gives up his life willingly at twenty-five. But, now I think of it – ”

“Well.”

“M. de Bussy is sure to kill me.”

“I do not doubt it.”

“Then it will not be a duel, but an assassination.”

“Perhaps so.”

“And if it be, it is lawful to prevent an assassination by – ”

“By?”

“A murder.”

“Doubtless.”

“What prevents me, since he wishes to kill me, from killing him first?”

“Oh, mon Dieu! nothing; I thought of that myself.”

“It is only natural.”

“Very natural.”

“Only, instead of killing him with my own hands, I will leave it to others.”

“That is to say, you will hire assassins?”

“Ma foi! yes, like M. de Guise for St. Megrim.”

“It will cost you dear.”

“I will give three thousand crowns.”

“You will only get six men for that, when they know who they have to deal with.”

“Are not six enough?”

“M. de Bussy would kill four before they touched him. Do you remember the fight in the Rue St. Antoine?”

“I will give six thousand; if I do the thing, I will take care he does not escape.”

“Have you your men?”

“Oh, there are plenty of unoccupied men-soldiers of fortune.”

“Very well; but take care.”

“Of what?”

“If they fail they will denounce you.”

“I have the king to protect me.”

“That will not hinder M. de Bussy from killing you.”

“That is true.”

“Should you like an auxiliary?”

“I should like anything which would aid me to get rid of him.”

“Well, a certain enemy of your enemy is jealous.”

“And he is now laying a snare for him?”

“Ah!”

“Well?”

“But he wants money; with your six thousand crowns he will take care of your affair as well as his own. You do not wish the honor. of the thing to be yours, I suppose?”

“Mon Dieu! no; I only ask to remain in obscurity.”

“Send your men, and he will use them.”

“But I must know who it is.”

“I will show you in the morning.”

“Where?”

“At the Louvre.”

“Then he is noble?”

“Yes:”

“Aurilly, you shall have the six thousand crowns.”

“Then it is settled?”

“Irrevocably.”

“At the Louvre, then?”

“Yes, at the Louvre.”

We have seen in the preceding chapter how Aurilly said to D’Epernon, “Be easy, Bussy will not fight to-morrow.”

CHAPTER LXXXVII.

THE PROCESSION

As soon as the collation was over, the king had entered his room with Chicot, to put on his penitent’s robe and had come out an instant after, with bare feet, a cord round his waist, and his hood over his face; the courtiers had made the same toilet. The weather was magnificent, and the pavements were strewn with flowers; an immense crowd lined the roads to the four places where the king was to stop. The clergy of St. Germain led the procession, and the Archbishop of Paris followed, carrying the holy sacrament; between them walked young boys, shaking censers, and young girls scattering roses. Then came the king, followed by his four friends, barefooted and frocked like himself.

The Duc d’Anjou followed in his ordinary dress, accompanied by his Angevins. Next came the principal courtiers, and then the bourgeois. It was one o’clock when they left the Louvre. Crillon and the French guards were about to follow, but the king signed to them to remain. It was near six in the evening before they arrived before the old abbey, where they saw the prior and the monks drawn up on the threshold to wait for his majesty. The Duc d’Anjou, a little before, had pleaded great fatigue, and had asked leave to retire to his hotel, which had been granted to him. His gentlemen had retired with him, as if to proclaim that they followed the duke and not the king, besides which, they did not wish to fatigue themselves before the morrow. At the door of the abbey the king dismissed his four favorites, that they also might take some repose. The archbishop also, who had eaten nothing since morning, was dropping with fatigue, so the king took pity on him and on the other priests and dismissed them all. Then, turning to the prior, Joseph Foulon, “Here I am, my father,” said he; “I come, sinner as I am, to seek repose in your solitude.”

The prior bowed, and the royal penitent mounted the steps of the abbey, striking his breast at each step, and the door was immediately closed behind him.

“We will first,” said the prior, “conduct your majesty into the crypt, which we have ornamented in our best manner to do honor to the King of heaven and earth.”

No sooner had the king passed through the somber arcade, lined with monks, and turned the corner which led to the chapel, than twenty hoods were thrown into the air, and eyes were seen brilliant with joy and triumph. Certainly, they were not monkish or peaceful faces displayed, but bristling mustaches and embrowned skins, many scarred by wounds, and by the side of the proudest of all, who displayed the most celebrated scar, stood a woman covered with a frock, and looking triumphant and happy. This woman, shaking a pair of golden scissors which hung by her side, cried:

“Ah! my brothers, at last we have the Valois!”

“Ma foi, sister, I believe so.”

“Not yet,” murmured the cardinal.

“How so?”

“Shall we have enough bourgeois guards to make head against Crillon and his guards?”

“We have better than bourgeois guards; and, believe me, there will not be a musket-shot exchanged.”

“How so?” said the duchess. “I should have liked a little disturbance.”

“Well, sister, you will be deprived of it. When the king is taken he will cry out, but no one will answer; then, by persuasion or by violence, but without showing ourselves, we shall make him sign his abdication. The news will soon spread through the city, and dispose in our favor both the bourgeois and the troops.”

“The plan is good, and cannot fail,” said the duchess. “It is rather brutal,” said the Duc de Guise; “besides which, the king will refuse to sign the abdication. He is brave, and will rather die.”

“Let him die, then.”

“Not so,” replied the duke, firmly. “I will mount the throne of a prince who abdicates and is despised, but not of an assassinated man who is pitied. Besides, in your plans you forget M. le Duc d’Anjou, who will claim the crown.”

“Let him claim, mordieu!” said Mayenne; “he shall be comprised in his brother’s act of abdication. He is in connection with the Huguenots, and is unworthy to reign.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Pardieu! did he not escape from the Louvre by the aid of the King of Navarre?”

“Well?”

“Then another clause in favor of our house shall follow; this clause shall make you lieutenant-general of the kingdom, from which to the throne is only a step.”

“Yes, yes,” said the cardinal, “all that is settled; but it is probable that the French guards, to make sure that the abdication is a genuine one, and above all, a voluntary one, will insist upon seeing the king, and will force the gates of the abbey if they are not admitted. Crillon does not understand joking, and he is just the man to say to the king, ‘Sire, your life is in danger; but, before everything, let us save our honor.’”

“The general has taken his precautions. If it be necessary to sustain a siege, we have here eighty gentlemen, and I have distributed arms to a hundred monks. We could hold out for a month against the army; besides, in case of danger, we have the cave to fly to with our prey.”

“What is the Duc d’Anjou doing?”

“In the hour of danger he has failed, as usual. He has gone home, no doubt, waiting for news of us, through Bussy or Monsoreau.”

“Mon Dieu! he should have been here; not at home.”

“You are wrong, brother,” said the cardinal; “the people and the nobles would have seen in it a snare to entrap the family. As you said just now, we must, above all things, avoid playing the part of usurper. We must inherit. By leaving the Duc d’Anjou free, and the queen-mother independent, no one will have anything to accuse us of. If we acted otherwise, we should have against us Bussy, and a hundred other dangerous swords.”

“Bah! Bussy is going to fight against the king’s minions.”

“Pardieu! he will kill them, and then he will join us,” said the Duc de Guise; “he is a superior man, and one whom I much esteem, and I will make him general of the army in Italy, where war is sure to break out.”

“And I,” said the duchess, “if I become a widow, will marry him.”

“Who is near the king?” asked the duke.

“The prior and Brother Gorenflot.”

“Is he in the cell?”

“Oh no! he will look first at the crypt and the relics.”

At this moment a bell sounded.

“The king is returning,” said the Duc de Guise; “let us become monks again.” And immediately the hoods covered ardent eyes and speaking scars, and twenty or thirty monks, conducted by the three brothers, went towards the crypt.

CHAPTER LXXXVIII.

CHICOT THE FIRST

The king visited the crypt, kissed the relics-often striking his breast, and murmuring the most doleful psalms. At last the prior said, “Sire, will it please you now to depose your earthly crown at the feet of the eternal king?”

“Let us go!” said the king.

They arrived at the cell, on the threshold of which stood Gorenflot, his eyes brilliant as carbuncles.

Henri entered. “Hic portus salutis!” murmured he.

“Yes,” replied Foulon.

“Leave us!” said Gorenflot, with a majestic gesture; and immediately the door shut, and they were left alone.

“Here you are, then, Herod! pagan! Nebuchadnezzar!” cried Gorenflot, suddenly.

“Is it to me you speak, my brother?” cried the king, in surprise.

“Yes, to you. Can one accuse you of anything so bad, that it is not true?”

“My brother!”

“Bah! you have no brother here. I have long been meditating a discourse, and now you shall have it. I divide it into three heads. First, you are a tyrant; second, you are a satyr; third, you are dethroned.”

“Dethroned!”

“Neither more or less. This abbey is not like Poland, and you cannot fly.”

“Ah! a snare!”

“Oh, Valois, learn that a king is but a man.”

“You are violent, my brother.”

“Pardieu! do you think we imprison you to flatter you?”

“You abuse your religious calling.”

“There is no religion.”

“Oh, you are a saint, and say such things!”

“I have said it.”

“You speak dreadfully, my brother.”

“Come, no preaching; are you ready?”

“To do what?”

“To resign your crown; I am charged to demand it of you.”

“You are committing a mortal sin.”

“Oh! I have right of absolution, and I absolve myself in advance. Come, renounce, Brother Valois.”

“Renounce what?”

“The throne of France.”

“Rather death!”

“Oh! then you shall die! Here is the prior returning. Decide!”

“I have my guards – my friends; they will defend me.”

“Yes, but you will be killed first.”

“Leave me at least a little time for reflection.”

“Not an instant!”

“Your zeal carries you away, brother,” said the prior, opening the door; and saying to the king, “Your request is granted,” he shut it again.

Henri fell into a profound reverie. “I accept the sacrifice,” he said, after the lapse of ten minutes.

“It is done – he accepts!” cried Gorenflot.

The king heard a murmur of joy and surprise.

“Read him the act,” said a voice, and a monk passed a paper to Gorenflot.

Gorenflot read it to the king, who listened with his head buried in his hands.

“If I refuse to sign?” cried he, shedding tears.

“It will be doubly your ruin,” said the Duc de Guise, from under his hood. “Look on yourself as dead to the world, and do not force your subjects to shed the blood of a man who has been their king.”

“I will not be forced.”

“I feared so,” said the duke to his sister. Then, turning to his brother, “Let everyone arm and prepare,” said he.

“For what?” cried the king, in a miserable tone.

“For anything.”

The king’s despair redoubled.

“Corbleu!” cried Gorenflot, “I hated you before, Valois, but now I despise you! Sign, or you shall perish by my hand!”

“Have patience,” said the king; “let me pray to my divine Master for resignation.”

“He wishes to reflect again,” said Gorenflot.

“Give him till midnight,” said the cardinal.

“Thanks, charitable Christian!” cried the king:

“His brain is weak,” said the duke; “we serve France by dethroning him.”

“I shall have great pleasure in clipping him!” said the duchess.

Suddenly a noise was heard outside, and soon they distinguished blows struck on the door of the abbey, and Mayenne went to see what it was. “My brothers,” said he, “there is a troop of armed men outside.”

“They have come to seek him,” said the duchess.

“The more reason that he should sign quickly.”

“Sign, Valois, sign!” roared Gorenflot.

“You gave me till midnight,” said the king, piteously.

“Ah! you hoped to be rescued.”

“He shall die if he does not sign!” cried the duchess. Gorenflot offered him the pen. The noise outside redoubled.

“A new troop!” cried a monk; “they are surrounding the abbey!”

“The Swiss,” cried Foulon, “are advancing on the right!”

“Well, we will defend ourselves; with such a hostage in our hands, we need not surrender.”

“He has signed!” cried Gorenflot, tearing the paper from Henri, who buried his face in his hands.

“Then you are king!” cried the cardinal to the duke; “take the precious paper.”

The king overturned the little lamp which alone lighted the scene, but the duke already held the parchment.

“What shall we do?” said a monk. “Here is Crillon, with his guards, threatening to break in the doors!”

“In the king’s name!” cried the powerful voice of Crillon.

“There is no king!” cried Gorenflot through the window.

“Who says that?” cried Crillon.

“I! I!”

“Break in the doors, Monsieur Crillon!” said, from outside, a voice which made the hair of all the monks, real and pretended, stand on end.

“Yes, sire,” replied Crillon, giving a tremendous blow with a hatchet on the door.

“What do you want?” said the prior, going to the window.

“Ah! it is you, M. Foulon,” replied the same voice, “I want my jester, who is in one of your cells. I want Chicot, I am ennuyé at the Louvre.”

“And I have been much amused, my son,” said Chicot, throwing off his hood, and pushing his way through the crowd of monks, who recoiled, with a cry of terror.

At this moment the Duc de Guise, advancing to a lamp, read the signature obtained with so much labor. It was “Chicot I.”

“Chicot!” cried he; “thousand devils!”

“Let us fly!” said the cardinal, “we are lost.”

“Ah!” cried Chicot, turning to Gorenflot, who was nearly fainting, and he began to strike him with the cord he had round his waist.

CHAPTER LXXXIX.

INTEREST AND CAPITAL

As the king spoke and the conspirators listened, they passed from astonishment to terror. Chicot I. relinquished his role of apparent terror, threw back his hood, crossed his arms, and, while Gorenflot fled at his utmost speed, sustained, firm and smiling, the first shock. It was a terrible moment, for the gentlemen, furious at the mystification of which they had been the dupes, advanced menacingly on the Gascon. But this unarmed man, his breast covered only by his arms – this laughing face, stopped them still more than the remonstrance of the cardinal, who said to them that Chicot’s death could serve no end, but, on the contrary, would be terribly avenged by the king, who was the jester’s accomplice in this scene of terrible buffoonery.

The result was, that daggers and rapiers were lowered before Chicot, who continued to laugh in their faces.

However, the king’s menaces and Crillon’s blows became more vehement, and it was evident that the door could not long resist such an attack. Thus, after a moment’s deliberation, the Duc de Guise gave the order for retreat. This order made Chicot smile, for, during his nights with Gorenflot, he had examined the cave and found out the door, of which he had informed the king, who had placed there Torquenot, lieutenant of the Swiss guards. It was then evident that the leaguers, one after another, were about to throw themselves into the trap. The cardinal made off first, followed by about twenty gentlemen. Then Chicot saw the duke pass with about the same number, and afterwards Mayenne. When Chicot saw him go he laughed outright. Ten minutes passed, during which he listened earnestly, thinking to hear the noise of the leaguers sent back into the cave, but to his astonishment, the sound continued to go further and further off. His laugh began to change into oaths. Time passed, and the leaguers did not return; had they seen that the door was guarded and found another way out? Chicot was about to rush from the cell, when all at once the door was obstructed by a mass which fell at his feet, and began to tear its hair.

“Ah! wretch that I am!” cried the monk. “Oh! my good M. Chicot, pardon me, pardon me!”

How did Gorenflot, who went first, return now alone? was the question that presented itself to Chicot’s mind.

“Oh! my good M. Chicot!” he continued to cry, “pardon your unworthy friend, who repents at your knees.”

“But how is it you have not fled with the others?”

“Because the Lord in His anger has struck me with obesity, and I could not pass where the others did. Oh! unlucky stomach! Oh! miserable paunch!” cried the monk, striking with his two hands the part he apostrophized. “Ah! why am not I thin like you, M. Chicot?”

Chicot understood nothing of the lamentations of the monk.

“But the others are flying, then?” cried he, in a voice of thunder.

“Pardieu! what should they do? Wait to be hung? Oh! unlucky paunch!”

“Silence, and answer me.”

“Interrogate me, M. Chicot; you have the right.”

“How are the others escaping?”

“As fast as they can.”

“So I imagine; but where?”

“By the hole.”

“Mordieu! what hole?”

“The hole in the cemetery cellar.”

“Is that what you call the cave?”

“Oh! no; the door of that was guarded outside. The great cardinal, just as he was about to open it, heard a Swiss say, ‘Mich dwistel,’ which means, ‘I am thirsty.’”

“Ventre de biche! so then they took another way?”

“Yes, dear M. Chicot, they are getting out through the cellar.”

“How does that run?”

“From the crypt to the Porte St. Jacques.”

“You lie; I should have seen them repass before this cell.”

“No, dear M. Chicot; they thought they had not time for that, so they are creeping out through the air-hole.”

“What hole?”

“One which looks into the garden, and serves to light the cellar.”

“So that you – ”

“I was too big, and could not pass, and they drew me back by my legs, because I intercepted the way for the others.”

“Then he who is bigger than you?”

“He! who?”

“Oh! Holy Virgin, I promise you a dozen wax candles, if he also cannot pass.”

“M. Chicot!”

“Get up.”

The monk raised himself from the ground as quickly as he could.

“Now lead me to the hole.”

“Where you wish.”

“Go on, then, wretch.”

Gorenflot went on as fast as he was able, while Chicot indulged himself by giving him a few blows with the cord. They traversed the corridor, and descended into the garden.

“Here! this way,” said Gorenflot.

“Hold your tongue, and go on.”

“There it is,” and exhausted by his efforts, the monk sank on the grass, while Chicot, hearing groans, advanced, and saw something protruding through the hole. By the side of this something lay a frock and a sword. It was evident that the individual in the hole had taken off successively all the loose clothing which increased his size; and yet, like Gorenflot, he was making useless efforts to get through.

“Mordieu! ventrebleu! sangdien!” cried a stifled voice. “I would rather pass through the midst of the guards. Do not pull so hard, my friends; I shall come through gradually; I feel that I advance, not quickly, it is true, but I do advance.”

“Ventre de biche!” murmured Chicot, “it is M. de Mayenne. Holy Virgin, you have gained your candles.”

And he made a noise with his feet like some one running fast.

“They are coming,” cried several voices from inside.

“All!” cried Chicot, as if out of breath, “it is you, miserable monk!”

“Say nothing, monseigneur!” murmured the voices, “he takes you for Gorenflot.”

“Ah! it is you, heavy mass – pondus immobile; it is you, indigesta moles!”

And at each apostrophe, Chicot, arrived at last at his desired vengeance, let fall the cord with all the weight of his arm on the body before him.

“Silence!” whispered the voices again; “he takes you for Gorenflot.”

Mayenne only uttered groans, and made immense efforts to get through.

“Ah! conspirator!” cried Chicot again; “ah! unworthy monk, this is for your drunkenness, this for idleness, this for anger, this for greediness, and this for all the vices you have.”

“M. Chicot, have pity,” whispered Gorenflot.

“And here, traitor, this is for your treason,” continued Chicot.

“Ah! why did it not please God to substitute for your vulgar carcass the high and mighty shoulders of the Duc de Mayenue, to whom I owe a volley of blows, the interest of which has been accumulating for seven years!”

“Chicot!” cried the duke.

“Yes, Chicot, unworthy servant of the king, who wishes he had the hundred arms of Briareus for this occasion.”

And he redoubled his blows with such violence, that the sufferer, making a tremendous effort, pushed himself through, and fell torn and bleeding into the arms of his friends. Chicot’s last blow fell into empty space. He turned, and saw that the true Gorenflot had fainted with terror.

CHAPTER XC.

WHAT WAS PASSING NEAR THE BASTILE WHILE CHICOT WAS PAYING HIS DEBT TO Y. DE MAYENNE

It was eleven at night, and the Duc d’Anjou was waiting impatiently at home for a messenger from the Duc le Guise. He walked restlessly up and down, looking every minute at the clock. All at once he heard a horse in the courtyard, and thinking it was the messenger, he ran to the window, but it was a groom leading up and down a horse which was waiting for its master, who almost immediately came out. It was Bussy, who, as captain of the duke’s guards, came to give the password for the night. The duke, seeing this handsome and brave young man, of whom he had never had reason to complain, experienced an instant’s remorse, but on his face he read so much joy, hope, and happiness, that all his jealousy returned. However, Bussy, ignorant that the duke was watching him, jumped into his saddle and rode off to his own hotel, where he gave his horse to the groom. There he saw Rémy.