La Dame de Monsoreau (27 page)

" That is an account that has yet to be settled. Don't be uneasy about it, Monsieur Cupido, the score is chalked down — there; it will be wiped off some day."

And Chicot laid his hand on his forehead, which proves that, even in those times, the head was recognized as the seat of the memory.

" I say, Quelus," exclaimed D'Epernon, " we 're going to lose sight of the family name, and all through your gabbling."

" Don't be alarmed," said Chicot, " I hold it ; if I were speaking to M. de Guise, I would say : I hold it by the horns; but to you, Henri, I will content myself with saying : by the ears."

" The name ! The name ! " cried all the young men together.

" We have, among the remaining letters, a capital Jf; set down the H, Nogaret."

D'Epernon obeyed.

"Then an e, then an r, then, over yonder, in Valois, an o ; then, as you separate the praenomen from the nomen by what the grammarians call the particle, I lay my hand on a d and on an e, which, with the s at the end of the race-name, will make for us — will make for us — Spell, D'Epernon ; what does H, e, r, o, d, e, s spell ? "

" Herodes," said D'Epernon.

" Vilain Herodes ! " cried the King.

" Quite correct," said Chicot; " and that is the name you sign every day of your life, my son. Oh, fie! "

And Chicot fell back, expressing by his attitude all the symptoms of a chaste and bashful horror.

" Monsieur Chicot," said the King, " there is a limit to my endurance."

" Why," returned Chicot, " I state but a fact. I say what is, and nothing else ; but that is the way with kings: give them a caution, and they at once get angry."

<•' A fine genealogy you have made for me! " said Henri.

"Do not disown it, my son/'* said Chicot." Venire de

biche ! It is a rather good one for a king who needs the help of the Jews two or three times a month."

" That rascal is determined to have the last word," cried the King. " Hold your tongues, -gentlemen ; when he finds no one answers him, he will stop."

That very moment there was profound silence — a silence Chicot, who appeared to be paying particular attention to the street they were travelling in, did not show the slightest inclination to break. This state of things lasted several minutes, when, just as they came to the corner of the Rue des Noyers, beyond the Place Maubert, Chicot jumped from the litter, pushed through the guards, and fell on his knees in front of a rather good-looking house with a carved wooden balcony resting on a painted entablature.

" Hah, pagan! " cried the King, " if you want to kneel, kneel, at least, before the cross in the middle of the Rue Sainte-Genevieve, and not before that house. Is it that there is an oratory or an altar inside it ? "

But Chicot did not answer ; he had flung himself on his knees and was saying, at the pitch of his voice, the following prayer, of which the King did not lose a single word:

" God of goodness! God of justice! here is the house. I recognize it well, and shall always recognize it. Here is the house where Chicot suffered, if not for thee, O God, at least for one of thy creatures. Chicot has never asked thee for vengeance on M. de Mayenne, the author of his martyrdom, nor on Maitre Nicolas David, its instrument. No, Lord, Chicot has known how to wait, for Chicot is patient, although he is not eternal, and for six years, one of them a leap year, Chicot has been piling up the interest of the little account opened between him and MM. de Mayenne and Nicolas David ; now at ten per cent., which is the legal rate, since it is the rate at which the King borrows — the interest, accumulated in seven years, doubles the capital. Grant, then, O great and just God, that Chicot's patience may last another year, and that the lashes Chicot received in this house by order of that princely Lorraine butcher and that cut-throat Norman pettifogger, lashes which cost the said Chicot a pint of blood, may bring a return of a hundred lashes and two pints of blood for each of them ; so M. de Mayenne, fat as he is, and Nicolas David, long as he is, will no longer have blood or hide enough to pay Chicot, and will be forced into bankruptcy to the tune of a

deficit of fifteen or twenty per cent., seeing that the eightieth or the eighty-fifth stroke will be the death of them.

"In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen ! "

" Amen ! " said the King.

Chicot kissed the ground, and, in the midst of the utter bewilderment of all the spectators, who were entirely in the dark as to the meaning of the scene, he then resumed his place in the litter.

" Now, then," said the King, who, though he had flung most of his prerogatives to others during the last three years, felt that he was, at least, entitled to the earliest information about an incident of importance, " now, then, Master Chicot, why did you repeat that long and singular litany ? Why did you beat your breast so furiously ? What did you mean by those mummeries before a house that, to all appearance, has no religious

character ? '

"Sire," answered the jester, "Chicot is like the fox: Chicot scents and licks the stones where he left his blood behind him, waiting for the day when he shall crush the heads of those who spilled it on those same stones."

" Sire! " cried Quelus, " I am ready to bet that Chicot has mentioned the name of the Due de Mayenne in his prayer, and I think your Majesty heard him do so ; I will, therefore, also bet that this prayer had some connection with the flogging we spoke of a while go."

" Bet, 0 Seigneur Jacques de Levis, Comte de Quelus ! " said Chicot; " bet and you '11 win."

" Go on, Chicot," said the King.

" Yes, sire," returned the jester. " In that house Chicot had a mistress, a good and charming girl; nay, more, a lady, for that matter. One night that he visited her, a jealous prince had the house surrounded, had Chicot seized and beaten so roughly that Chicot was forced to jump from yon little balcony into the street. Now, as it was a miracle that Chicot was not killed, every time that Chicot passes in front of that house he kneels and prays, and, in his prayer, thanks the Lord for his escape,"

" Poor Chicot! And you were finding fault with him, sire ; in my opinion he has been really acting like a good Christian in all he has done."

" So you got quite a drubbing, my poor Chicot ? "

" Yes, sire, quite a drubbing; but -I am sorry it was n't

" Why ? "

" I should have liked if a few sword-cuts had been added."

" For your sins ? "

" No, for M. de Mayenne's."

" Ah, I understand ; your intention is to render unto Caesar "-

" No, not Caesar; don't confuse things, sire. Caesar is the great general, valiant warrior, the eldest brother, the person who would be King of France ; no, he has to reckon with Henri de Valois ; pay your own debts, my son, and I '11 pay mine."

Henri was not fond of hearing of his cousin the Due de Guise ; consequently, he became so grave during the rest of the time it took them to reach Bicetre that the conversation was not renewed.

The journey from the Louvre, to Bicetre had occupied three hours ; the optimists were ready to wager that they would be at Fontainebleau the next day, while the pessimists were equally ready to bet that they could not get there until noon the day after.

Chicot insisted that they would never arrive at all.

Once outside of Paris, there was less confusion on the line of march, and the throng seemed to get along more comfortably ; the morning was rather fine, the wind less stormy, and the sun had at length succeeded in piercing through the clouds. The day was not unlike one of those breezy October days when the sound of the falling leaves comes to the ears of the traveller and his eyes dwell softly on the mysteries of the murmuring woods.

It was three in the evening when the procession reached the outer walls of Juvisy. From that point the bridge built over the Orge could be already seen, and also the Cour-de-France, a great hostelry which dispersed far and wide on the evening breeze the delicious odors of its kitchens and the joyous din of its customers.

Chicot's nose seized these culinary emanations on the wing. He leaned out of the litter, and saw in the distance a number of men muffled up in fur cloaks. Among them was a short, fat personage whose broad-brimmed hat hid his face entirely.

These men entered hurriedly as soon as they saw the cortege.

But the stout little man did not go in quick enough to hinder Chicot's eyes from getting a good view of him. He was hardly inside before the Gascon jumped from the royal litter, went for

his horse, which a page had charge of, and hid in a recess in one of the walls. It was now nearly nightfall, and the procession moved past him, on its way to Essonnes, where the King intended sleeping. When the last horseman had disappeared, when the distant sound of the wheels of the litter had died away, the jester left his place of concealment, stole to the other side of the castle, and then presented himself at the door of the hostelry, as if he had come from Fontainebleau. Before entering, Chicot glanced quickly through a window and saw with pleasure that the men he had remarked before were still in the inn; among them, the short, stout individual who had clearly attracted his special attention. But as Chicot had, seemingly, excellent reasons for avoiding the notice of the aforesaid individual, instead of entering the room occupied by this personage, he ordered a bottle of wine to be brought to him in the room opposite, taking care to place himself in such a position that no one could come in unobserved by him.

Prudently selecting a dark nook in this apartment, Chicot was enabled to see everything in the other chamber, even a corner of the chimney, wherein was seated on a stool his short, stout man, who, evidently unconscious that he had to dread any investigation, allowed the warmth and glow of the bright fire in the grate to play on his face until it was bathed in a flood of light.

" I was not mistaken," murmured Chicot, " and when I was saying my prayer before the house in the Rue des Noyers, I felt as if I scented the return of that man. But why this return on the sly to the good city of our friend Herodes ? Why did he hide when the King was passing ? Ah ! Pilate ! Pilate! what if God, perchance, refused me the year I asked of him and forced me to a liquidation earlier than I thought of?"

Chicot had soon the delight of perceiving that he was favorably placed, not only to see but to hear, benefiting by one of those acoustic effects which chance sometimes capriciously produces. As soon as he noticed this, he listened now as intently as he had looked before.

" Gentlemen," said the stout little man to his companions, " I think it is time to leave; the last lackey passed a long time ago, and I am sure the road is now safe."

" Perfectly safe," answered a voice that made Chicot jump — a voice that proceeded from a body to which Chicot had not

heretofore paid any attention, being absorbed in the contemplation of the principal personage.

The individual to whom the body belonged from which this voice proceeded was as long as the person he addressed as " monseigneur " was short, as pale as the other was ruddy, as obsequious as the other was arrogant.

" Ha! Maitre Nicolas," said Chicot to himself, laughing noiselessly: "Tuquoqur-— that's good. Our luck will be of the worst, if, this time, we separate without having a few words."

And Chicot emptied his glass and paid the score at once, so that nothing might delay him whenever he should feel like going.

It was a prudent forethought, for the seven persons who had attracted Chicot's attention paid in their turn, or, rather, the short, fat individual paid for all, and each of them, receiving his horse from a groom or lackey, leaped into the saddle. Then the little band started on the road to Paris and was soon lost in the evening fogs.

" Good ! " said Chicot, " he is going to Paris ; then I '11 go there also."

And Chicot, mounting his horse, followed them at a distance, keeping their gray cloaks always in sight, or, when prudence held him back, taking care to be within reach of the echo of their horses' hoofs.

The cavalcade left the Fromenteau road, crossed the lands between it and Choisy, passed the Seine by the Charenton bridge, returned by the Porte Saint-Antoine, and, like a swarm of bees, was lost in the Hotel de Guise, the gate of which closed on the visitors immediately, as if it had been kept open solely for their convenience.

" Good again!" said Chicot, hiding at a corner in the Rue des Quatre-Fils ; " Guise is in this as well as Mayenne. At first the thing was only queer; now it is becoming interesting."

And Chicot lay in wait a full hour, in spite of the cold and hunger that were beginning to bite him with their sharp teeth At last the gate opened ; but instead of seven cavaliers muffled up in cloaks, it was seven monks of Sainte Genevieve, muffled up in cowls, that appeared, with enormous rosaries rattling at their sides.

" Upon my word !" thought Chicot, " this is a change with

a vengeance ! Is the Hotel de Guise so embalmed in holiness that sinners are metamorphosed into saints by merely crossing its threshold ? The thing grows more and more interesting."

And Chicot followed the monks as he had followed the cavaliers, not having the least doubt but that the frocks covered the same bodies the cloaks had covered lately.

The monks passed the Seine at Notre-Dame bridge, crossed the Cite, marched over the Petit-Pont, cut through the Place Maubert, and ascended the Rue Sainte-Genevieve.

" Ugh ! " gasped Chicot, as he doffed his cap before the house in the Rue des Noyers where he had said his prayer in the morning, " are we actually returning to Fontainebleau ? In that case I have n't taken the shortest route. But no, I am mistaken, we're not going so far."