Chicot the Jester

“It is probable.”

“But you saw them?” said the king.

“All.”

“You recognized them, no doubt?”

“No, sire.”

“Not recognized them?”

“That is to say, I recognized only one.”

“Who was that?”

“M. de Mayenne.”

“M. de Mayenne, to whom you owed – ”

“Yes, sire; we are quits.”

“Ah! tell me about that, Chicot.”

“Afterwards, my son; now let us think of the present.”

“Confiteor,” repeated Gorenflot.

“Ah! you have made a prisoner,” said Crillon, laying his large hand on the monk’s shoulder.

Chicot was silent for a minute, leaving Gorenflot a prey to all the anguish of such profound terror that he nearly fainted again.

At last Chicot said, “Sire, look well at this monk.”

“The preacher Gorenflot,” cried Henri.

“Confiteor, confiteor,” repeated he.

“Himself,” said Chicot.

“He who – ”

“Just so,” interrupted Chicot.

“Ah, ah!”

Gorenflot shook with terror, for he heard the sounds of swords clashing.

“Wait,” said Chicot, “the king must know all.” And, taking him aside, “My son,” said he, “thank God for having permitted this holy man to be born thirty-five years ago, for it is he who has saved us all.”

“How so?”

“It was he who recounted to me the whole plot, from the alpha to the omega.”

“When?”

“About a week ago; so that if ever your majesty’s enemies catch him he will be a dead man.”

Gorenflot heard only the last words, “a dead man”; and he covered his face with his hands.

“Worthy man,” said the king, casting a benevolent look on the mass of flesh before him, “we will cover him with our protection.”

Gorenflot perceived the nature of the look, and began to feel relieved.

“You will do well, my king,” said Chicot.

“What must we do with him?”

“I think that as long as he remains in Paris he will be in danger.”

“If I gave him guards.”

Gorenflot heard this proposition of Henri’s. “Well!” thought he, “I shall get off with imprisonment; I prefer that to beating, if they only feed me well.”

“Oh! no, that is needless,” said Chicot, “if you will allow me to take him with me.”

“Where?”

“Home.”

“Well! take him, and then return to the Louvre.”

“Get up, reverend father,” said Chicot.

“He mocks me,” murmured Gorenflot.

“Get up, brute,” whispered Chicot, giving him a sly kick.

“Ah! I have deserved it,” cried Gorenflot.

“What does he say?” asked the king.

“Sire, he is thinking over all his fatigues and his tortures, and when I promised him your protection, he said, ‘Oh! I have well merited that.’”

“Poor devil!” said the king, “take good care of him.”

“Oh! be easy, sire, he will want for nothing with me.”

“Oh! M. Chicot, dear M. Chicot,” cried Gorenflot, “where am I to be taken to?”

“You will know soon. Meanwhile, monster of iniquity, thank his majesty.”

“What for?”

“Thank him, I tell you.”

“Sire,” stammered Gorenflot, “since your gracious majesty – ”

“Yes,” interrupted Henri, “I know all you did for me, in your journey from Lyons, on the evening of the League, and again to-day. Be easy, you shall be recompensed according to your merits.”

Gorenflot sighed.

“Where is Panurge?” said Chicot.

“In the stable, poor beast.”

“Well! go and fetch him, and return to me.”

“Yes, M. Chicot.”

And the monk went away as fast as he could, much astonished not to be followed by guards.

“Now, my son,” said Chicot, “keep twenty men for your own escort, and send ten with M. Crillon to the Hôtel d’Anjou and let them bring your-brother here.”

“Why?”

“That he may not escape a second time.”

“Did my brother – ”

“Have you repented following my advice to-day?”

“No, par le mordieu.”

“Then do what I tell you.”

Henri gave the order to Crillon, who set off at once.

“And you?” said Henri.

“Oh! I am waiting for my saint.”

“And you will rejoin me at the Louvre?”

“In an hour; go, my son.”

Henri went; and Chicot, proceeding to the stables, met Gorenflot coming out on his ass. The poor devil had not an idea of endeavoring to escape from the fate that he thought awaited him.

“Come, come,” said Chicot, “we are waited for.” Gorenflot made no resistance, but he shed many tears.

CHAPTER XCIII.

WHERE CHICOT GUESSES WHY D’EPERNON HAD BLOOD ON HIS FEET AND NONE IN HIS CHEEKS

The king, returning to the Louvre, found his friends peacefully asleep, except D’Epernon, whose bed was empty.

“Not come in yet; how imprudent,” murmured the king to Chicot, who had also returned, and was standing with them by their beds. “The fool; having to fight to-morrow with a man like Bussy, and to take no more care than this. Let them seek M. d’Epernon,” said he, going out of the room, and speaking to an usher.

“M. d’Epernon is just coming in, sire,” replied the man.

Indeed, D’Epernon came softly along, thinking to glide unperceived to his room.

On seeing the king he looked confused.

“Ah! here you are at last,” said Henri; “come here and look at your friends. They are wise! they understand the importance of the duel to-morrow; but you, instead of praying and sleeping like them, have been running about the streets. Corbleu; how pale you are! What will you look like to-morrow?”

D’Epernon was indeed pale, but at the king’s remark he colored.

“Now go to bed,” continued Henri, “and sleep if you can.”

“Why not?”

“Much time you will have. You are to fight at daybreak; and at this time of year the sun rises at four. It is now two; you have but two hours to sleep.”

“Two hours well employed go a long way.”

“You will sleep, then?”

“Well, sire!”

“I do not believe it.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are agitated; you think of to-morrow.”

“I will sleep, sire, if your majesty will only let me.”

“That is just,” said Chicot.

Indeed D’Epernon undressed and got into bed, with a calm and satisfied look, that seemed, both to the king and Chicot to augur well.

“He is as brave as a Cæsar,” said the king.

“So brave that I do not understand it,” said Chicot.

“See, he sleeps already.”

Chicot approached the bed to look.

“Oh!” said he.

“What is it?”

“Look,” and he pointed to D’Epernon’s boots.

“Blood!”

“He has been walking in blood.”

“Can he be wounded?” said the king, anxiously.

“Bah! he would have told us; and, besides, unless he had been wounded like Achilles in the heel – ”

“See, the sleeve of his doublet is also spotted. What can have happened to him?”

“Perhaps he has killed some one to keep his hand in.”

“It is singular. Well, to-morrow, at least – ”

“To-day, you mean.”

“Well! to-day I shall be tranquil.”

“Why so?”

“Because those cursed Angevins will be killed.”

“You think so, Henri?”

“I am sure of it; my friends are brave.”

“I never heard that the Angevins were cowards.”

“No, doubtless; but my friends are so strong; look at Schomberg’s arm; what muscle!”

“Ah! if you saw Autragues’s! Is that all that reassures you?”

“No; come, and I will show you something.”

“Where?”

“In my room.”

“And this something makes you confident of victory?”

“Yes.”

“Come, then.”

“Wait, and let me take leave of them. Adieu, my good friends,” murmured the king, as he stooped and imprinted a light kiss on each of their foreheads.

Chicot was not superstitious, but as he looked on, his imagination pictured a living man making his adieux to the dead.

“It is singular,” thought he. “I never felt so before – poor fellows.”

As soon as the king quitted the room, D’Epernon opened his eyes; and, jumping out of bed, began to efface, as well as he could, the spots of blood on his clothes. Then he went to bed again.

As for Henri, he conducted Chicot to his room, and opened a long ebony coffer lined with white satin.

“Look!” said he.

“Swords!”

“Yes! but blessed swords, my dear friend.”

“Blessed! by whom?”

“By our holy father the Pope, who granted me this favor. To send this box to Rome and back, cost me twenty horses and four men.”

“Are they sharp?”

“Doubtless; but their great merit is that they are blessed.”

“Yes, I know that; but still I should like to be sure they are sharp.”

“Pagan!”

“Let us talk of something else.”

“Well, be quick.”

“You want to sleep?”

“No, to pray.”

“In that case we will talk. Have you sent for M. d’Anjou?”

“Yes, he is waiting below.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“Throw him into the Bastile.”

“That is very wise: only choose a dungeon that is deep and safe – such for example, as those which were occupied by the Constable de St. Paul, or Armagnac.”

“Oh! be easy.”

“I know where they sell good black velvet, my son.”

“Chicot! he is my brother.”

“Ah! true; the family mourning is violet. Shall you speak to him?”

“Yes, certainly, if only to show him that his plots are discovered.”

“Hum!”

“Do you disapprove?”

“In your place I should cut short the conversation, and double the imprisonment.”

“Let them bring here the Duc d’Anjou,” said the king.

A minute after the duke entered, very pale and disarmed. Crillon followed him.

“Where did you find him?” asked the king.

“Sire, his highness was not at home, but I took possession of his hotel in the king’s name, and soon after he returned, and we arrested him without resistance.”

“That is fortunate.” Then, turning to the prince, he said, “Where were you, monsieur?”

“Wherever I was, sire, be sure it was on your business.”

“I doubt it.”

François bowed.

“Come, tell me where you were while your accomplices were being arrested.”

“My accomplices!”

“Yes; your accomplices.”

“Sire, your majesty is making some mistake.”

“Oh! this time you shall not escape me; your measure of crime is full.”

“Sire, be moderate; there is certainly some one who slanders me to you.”

“Wretch! you shall die of hunger in a cell of the Bastile!”

“I bow to your orders, whatever they may be.”

“Hypocrite! But where were you?”

“Sire, I was serving your majesty, and working for the glory and tranquillity of your reign.”

“Really! your audacity is great.”

“Bah!” said Chicot, “tell us about it, my prince; it must be curious.”

“Sire, I would tell your majesty, had you treated me as a brother, but as you have treated me as a criminal, I will let the event speak for itself.”

Then, bowing profoundly to the king, he turned to Crillon and the other officers, and said, “Now, which of you gentlemen will conduct the first prince of the blood to the Bastile?”

Chicot had been reflecting, and a thought struck him.

“Ah!” murmured he, “I believe I guess now why M. d’Epernon had so much blood on his feet and so little in his cheeks.”

CHAPTER XCIV.

THE MORNING OF THE COMBAT

The king did not sleep all night, and very early in the morning he set off, accompanied by Chicot, to examine the ground where the combat was to take place.

“Quelus will be exposed to the sun,” said he; “he will have it at his right, just in his only eye; whereas Maugiron, who has good eyes, will be in the shade. That is badly managed. As for Schomberg, his place is good; but Quelus, my poor Quelus!”

“Do not torment yourself so, my king, it is useless.”

“And D’Epernon; I am really unjust not to think of him; he, who is to fight Bussy. Look at his place, Chicot, he who will have to give way constantly, for Bussy is like a tiger, he has a tree on his right and a ditch on his left.”

“Bah!” said Chicot, “I am not concerned about D’Epernon.”

“You are wrong; he will be killed.”

“Not he; be sure he has taken precautions.”

“How so?”

“He will not fight.”

“Did you not hear what he said before going to bed?”

“That is just why I think he will not fight.”

“Incredulous and distrustful!”

“I know my Gasçon, Henri; but if you will take my advice, you will return to the Louvre.”

“Do you think I can stay there during the combat?”

“I do not wish you not to love your friends, but I do wish you not to leave M. d’Anjou alone at the Louvre.”

“Is not Crillon there?”

“Crillon is only a buffalo – a rhinoceros – a wild boar; while your brother is the serpent, whose strength lies in his cunning.”

“You are right; I should have sent him to the Bastile.”

When Chicot and the king entered, the young men were being dressed by their valets.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” said he; “I find you all in good spirits, I hope?”

“Yes, sire,” said Quelus.

“You look gloomy, Maugiron.”

“Sire, I am superstitious, and I had bad dreams last night, so I am drinking a little wine to keep up my spirits.”

“My friend, remember that dreams are the impressions of the previous day, and have no influence on the morrow.”

“Yes, sire,” said D’Epernon, “I also had bad dreams last night; but, in spite of that, my hand is steady and fit for action.”

“Yes,” said Chicot, “you dreamed you had blood on your boots; that is not a bad dream, for it signifies that you will be a conqueror, like Alexander or Cæsar.”

“My friends,” said Henri, “remember you fight only for honor; the past night has seated me firmly on my throne, therefore do not think of me; and, above all things, no false bravery; you wish to kill your enemies, not to die yourselves.”

The gentlemen were now ready, and it only remained to take leave of their master.

“Do you go on horseback?” asked he.

“No, sire, on foot.”

They each kissed his hand, and D’Epernon said, “Sire, bless my sword.”

“Not so, D’Epernon; give up your sword – I have a better one for each of you. Chicot, bring them here.”

“No, sire, send your captain of the guards; I am but a Pagan, and they might lose their virtue by coming through my hands.”

“What are these swords, sire?” said Schomberg.

“Italian swords, my son, forged at Milan.”

“Thanks, sire.”

“Now go, it is time,” said the king, who could hardly control his emotion.

“Sire,” said Quelus, “shall we not have your majesty’s presence to encourage us?”

“No, that would not be right; you will be supposed to fight without any one being cognizant of it, and without my sanction. Let it appear to be the result of a private quarrel.”

When they were gone, the king threw himself down in tears.

“Now,” said Chicot, “I will go to see this duel, for I have an idea that something curious will happen with regard to D’Epernon.” And he went off.

Henri shut himself up in his own room, first saying to Crillon, who knew what was to take place, “If we are conquerors, Crillon, come and tell me; if not, strike three blows on the door.”

CHAPTER XCV.

THE FRIENDS OF BUSSY

The friends of the Duc d’Anjou had passed as good and tranquil a night as those of the king, although their master had not taken the same care of them. After a good supper, they had all retired to sleep at Antragues’s house, which was nearest to the field of battle. Antragues, before supper, had gone to take leave of a little milliner whom he adored, Ribeirac had written to his mother, and Livarot had made his will. They were up early in the morning, and dressed themselves in red breeches and socks, that their enemies might not see their blood, and they had doublets of gray silk. They wore shoes without heels, and their pages carried their swords, that their arms might not be fatigued.

The weather was splendid, for love, war, or walking; and the sun gilded the roofs, on which the night dew was sparkling. The streets were dry, and the air delightful.

Before leaving the house, the young men had sent to the Hôtel d’Anjou to inquire for Bussy, and had received a reply that he had gone out the evening before and had not yet returned.

“Oh!” said Antragues, “I know where he is; the king ordered a grand chase at Compiègne, and M. de Monsoreau was to set off yesterday. It is all right, gentlemen; he is nearer the ground than we are, and may be there before us. We will call for him in passing.”

The streets were empty as they went along; no one was to be seen except peasants coming from Montreuil or Vincennes, with milk or vegetables.

The young men went on in silence until they reached the Rue St. Antoine.

Then, with a smile, they glanced at Monsoreau’s house.

“One could see well from there, and I am sure poor Diana will be more than once at the window,” said Antragues.

“I think she must be there already,” said Ribeirac, “for the window is open.”

“True, but what can be the meaning of that ladder before it?”

“It is odd.”

“We are not the only ones to wonder,” said Livarot, “see those peasants, who are stopping their carts to look.”

The young men arrived under the balcony. “M. de Monsoreau,” they cried, “do you intend to be present at our combat? if so, be quick, for we wish to arrive first.”

They waited, but no one answered.

“Did you put up that ladder?” asked Antragues of a man who was examining the ground.

“God forbid!” replied he.

“Why so?”

“Look up.”

“Blood!” cried Ribeirac.

“The door has been forced,” said Antragues; and seizing the ladder, he was on the balcony in a moment.

“What is it?” cried the others, seeing him turn pale.

A terrible cry was his only answer. Livarot mounted behind him. “Corpses! death everywhere!” cried he. And they both entered the room. It bore horrible traces of the terrible combat of the previous night. A river of blood flowed over the room; and the curtains were hanging in strips from sword cuts.

“Oh! poor Rémy!” cried Antragues, suddenly.

“Dead!”

“Yes.”

“But a regiment of troopers must have passed through the room,” cried Livarot. Then, seeing the door of the corridor open, and traces of blood indicating that one or more of the combatants had also passed through there, he followed it. Meanwhile, Antragues went into the adjoining room; there also blood was everywhere, and this blood led to the window. He leaned out and looked into the little garden. The iron spikes still held the livid corpse of the unhappy Bussy. At this sight, it was not a cry, but a yell, that Antragues uttered. Livarot ran to see what it was, and Ribeirac followed.

“Look!” said Antragues, “Bussy dead! Bussy assassinated and thrown out of window.”

They ran down.

“It is he,” cried Livarot.

“His wrist is cut.”

“He has two balls in his breast.”

“He is full of wounds.”

“Ah! poor Bussy! we will have vengeance!”

Turning round they came against a second corpse.

“Monsoreau!” cried Livarot.

“What! Monsoreau also.”

“Yes, pierced through and through.”

“Ah! they have assassinated all our friends.”

“And his wife? Madame de Monsoreau!” cried Antragues; but no one answered.

“Bussy, poor Bussy.”

“Yes, they wished to get rid of the most formidable of us all.”

“It is cowardly! it is infamous!”

“We will tell the duke.”

“No,” said Antragues, “let us not charge any one with the care of our vengeance. Look, my friends, at the noble face of the bravest of men; see his blood, that teaches that he never left his vengeance to any other person. Bussy! we will act like you, and we will avenge you.”

Then, drawing his sword, he dipped it in Bussy’s blood.

“Bussy,” said he, “I swear on your corpse, that this blood shall be washed off by the blood of your enemies.”

“Bussy,” cried the others, “we swear to kill them or die.”

“No mercy,” said Antragues.

“But we shall be but three.”

“True, but we have assassinated no one, and God will strengthen the innocent. Adieu, Bussy!”

“Adieu, Bussy!” repeated the others; and they went out, pale but resolute, from that cursed house, around which a crowd had begun to collect.

Arriving on the ground, they found their opponents waiting for them.

“Gentlemen,” said Quelus, rising and bowing, “we have had the honor of waiting for you.”

“Excuse us,” said Antragues, “but we should have been here before you, but for one of our companions.”

“M. de Bussy,” said D’Epernon, “I do not see him. Where is he?”

“We can wait for him,” said Schomberg.

“He will not come.”

All looked thunderstruck; but D’Epernon exclaimed:

“Ah! the brave man par excellence – is he, then, afraid?”

“That cannot be,” said Quelus.

“You are right, monsieur,” said Livarot.

“And why will he not come?”

“Because he is dead.”

“Dead!” cried they all, but D’Epernon turned rather pale.

“And dead because he has been assassinated,” said Antragues. “Did you not know it, gentlemen?”

“No; how should we?”

“Besides, is it certain?”

Antragues drew his sword. “So certain that here is his blood,” said he.

“M. de Bussy assassinated!”

“His blood cries for vengeance! do you not hear it, gentlemen?” said Ribeirac.

“What do you mean?”

“‘Seek whom the crime profits,’ the law says,” replied Ribeirac.

“Ah! gentlemen, will you explain yourselves?” cried Maugiron.

“That is just what we have come for.”

“Quick! our swords are in our hands!” said D’Epernon.

“Oh! you are in a great hurry, M. le Gascon; you did not crow so loud when we were four against four!”

“Is it our fault, if you are only three?”

“Yes, it is your fault; he is dead because you preferred him lying in his blood to standing here; he is dead, with his wrist cut, that that wrist might no longer hold a sword; he is dead, that you might not see the lightning of those eyes, which dazzled you all. Do you understand me? am I clear?”

“Enough, gentlemen!” said Quelus. “Retire, M. d’Epernon! we will fight three against three. These gentlemen shall see if we are men to profit by a misfortune which we deplore as much as themselves. Come, gentlemen,” added the young mall, throwing his hat behind him, and raising his left hand, while he whirled his sword with the right, “God is our judge if we are assassins!”

“Ah! I hated you before,” cried Schomberg, “and now I execrate you!”

“On your guard, gentlemen!” cried Antragues.

“With doublets or without?” said Schomberg.

“Without doublets, without shirts; our breasts bare, our hearts uncovered!”

The young men threw off their doublets and shirts.

“I have lost my dagger,” said Quelus; “it must have fallen on the road.”

“Or else you left it at M. de Monsoreau’s, in the Place de la Bastile,” said Antragues.

Quelus gave a cry of rage, and drew his sword.

“But he has no dagger, M. Antragues,” cried Chicot, who had just arrived.

“So much the worse for him; it is not my fault,” said Antragues.

CHAPTER XCVI.

THE COMBAT

The place where this terrible combat was to take place was sequestered and shaded by trees. It was generally frequented only by children, who came to play there during the day, or by drunkards or robbers, who made a sleeping-place of it by night.

Chicot, his heart palpitating, although he was not of a very tender nature, seated himself before the lackeys and pages, on a wooden balustrade.

He did not love the Angevins, and detested the minions, but they were all brave young men, and in their veins flowed a generous blood, which he was probably destined to see flow before long.

D’Epernon made a last bravado, “What! you are all afraid of me?” he cried.

“Hold your tongue,” said Antragues.

“Come away, bravest of the brave,” said Chicot, “or else you will lose another pair of shoes.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that there will soon be blood on the ground, and that you will walk in it, as you did last night.”

D’Epernon became deadly pale, and, moving away, he seated himself at some distance from Chicot.

The combat began as five o’clock struck, and for a few minutes nothing was heard but the clashing of swords; not a blow was struck. At last Schomberg touched Ribeirac in the shoulder, and the blood gushed out; Schomberg tried to repeat the blow, but Ribeirac struck up his sword, and wounded him in the side.

“Now let us rest a few seconds, if you like,” said Ribeirac.

Quelus, having no dagger, was at a great disadvantage; for he was obliged to parry with his left arm, and, as it was bare, on each occasion it cost him a wound. His hand was soon bleeding in several places, and Antragues had also wounded him in the breast; but at each wound he repeated, “It is nothing.”