La Dame de Monsoreau (29 page)

" Two bottles!" said Gorenflot ; " why two, as I don't drink ? "

" If you were drinking, I 'd order four, or rive, or six; I 'd order all there are in the house," said Chicot, " But when I drink by myself, I 'm but a poor drinker, and two bottles will be enough for me."

" In fact, two bottles are moderate, and if you eat no meat with them, your confessor will not quarrel with you."

" Oh, fie, fie ! " said Chicot, "to hint at any one's eating meat on a Wednesday in Lent ! "

And making his way to the larder, while Maitre Bonhomet was making his way to the cellar, he drew therefrom a fine fat pullet of the Mans breed.

" What are you doing there ?" said Gorenflot, who could not help taking an interest in the Gascon's movements; " what are you doing there, my brother ? "

" Why, you see ! I 'in appropriating this carp for fear some one else might lay his hands on it. During the Wednesday of Lent there's always a tierce competition for these sorts of comestibles."

" A carp ! " cried the astounded monk.

" A carp beyond doubt," said Chicot, holding the succulent fowl up before his eyes.

"And how long is it since a carp had a beak?" asked Gorenflot.

"A beak ?" exclaimed the Gascon ; "you mean a mouth! "

" And wings ? " continued the monk.

" Fins."

" And feathers ? "

" Scales. My dear Gorenflot, you must be drunk."

" Drunk ! " cried Gorenflot, " 1 drunk ! A likely thing, indeed ! I who have eaten only herbs and drunk only water."

" Nothing surprising. The spinach has upset your stomach and the water has gone to your head."

" Well, here is our host ; he '11 settle it."

" Settle what ? "

" Whether it is a carp or a pullet."

" Agreed, but first let him uncork the wine. I want to see if it is the same. Uncork, Maitre Claude."

Maitre Bonhomet uncorked a bottle and poured out half a glass for Chicot.

Chicot swallowed it oft 0 and smacked his lips.

" Ah ! " said he, " I am a poor taster and my tongue has no memory. It is impossible for me to tell if it 's worse or better than that we drank at the Porte Montmartre. I am not sure even but that it is the same."

Gorenflot's eyes sparkled as they rested on the couple of ruby drops still left in the bottom of Chicot's glass.

"Now, my good brother," said Chicot, pouring a thimbleful of wine into the monk's glass, " you are placed in this world for the good of your neighbor ; enlighten me."

Gorenflot took the glass, raised it to his lips, and slowly swallowed the small quantity of liquid it contained.

" It 's of the same country for certain," said he, " but " —

" But," repeated Chicot.

" I tasted too little to be sure whether it is better or worse."

" And yet I have such a longing to know," said Chicot. "Confound it! I do not like to be deceived, and only that

you have a sermon to preach, my brother, I should ask you to give this wine another trial."

" If it would be doing you a favor," said the monk.

" Would n't it, though ! " rejoined Chicot.

And he half filled Gorenflot's glass.

Gorenflot raised the glass to his lips with the same solemnity as before, and sipped it with the same conscientious deliberation.

" It is better," said he, " better ; I stake my reputation on that."

" Bah ! you had an understanding with our host! "

" A good drinker ought, at the first draught, to recognize the wine, at the second the quality, at the third the age."

" Oh, the age," said Chicot; " I can't tell you how much I should like to know the age of that wine ! "

" The easiest thing in the world," replied the monk, holding out his glass, " just a few drops, and you '11 know it."

Chicot filled three-fourths of the glass. Gorenflot swallowed it slowly, but without taking the glass from his lips.

" 1561," said he, as he put the glass back on the table.

" Hurrah ! " cried Claude Bonhomet, " 1561 ; that 's the naked truth."

" Brother Gorenflot," said the Gascon, doffing to him, u Rome has canonized many who were not as deserving of the honor as you."

" Oh," said Gorenflot modestly, " it is partly the result of experience."

" And of genius ! " asserted Chicot. " Experience alone could never achieve such results. I 'm a living proof of that. for my experience has not, I venture to say, been inconsiderable. But what are you doing now ? "

" You see for yourself, I 'm getting up."

" Why ? "

"To meet my congregation."

" Without eating a piece of my carp ? "

" Ah ! true," said Gorenflot ; " it would seem, my worthy brother, that you know even less about eating than drinking. Maitre Bonhomet, please tell us what is that creature ? "

And Brother Gorenflot pointed to the object under discussion.

The innkeeper stared in bewilderment at his questioner.

" Yes," repeated Chicot, " we want to know what is that creature."

" Why," said mine host, " it is a pullet."

" A pullet! " exclaimed Chicot, with an air of dismay.

" And a Mans pullet at that," continued Bonhornet.

" Now what have you to say ?" said Gorenflot, triumphantly.

« What have I to say ? " returned Chicot. " Why, that I am apparently in error; but, as I have a real longing to eat of this pullet, and yet would not sin, do me the favor, my brother, in the name of our mutual friendship, to sprinkle a few drops of water on it and christen it carp."

" Oh, really! " protested Brother Gorenflot.

" Do it, I beseech you ! " said the Gascon, " do it; you will thereby, perhaps, save me from a mortal sin."

" Well, to save you from a mortal sin — agreed ! " said Gorenflot, who, besides being naturally an excellent comrade, had had his spirits elevated a little by his three vinous experiments, " but I don't see any water."

" I know it is written, though I forget where : ' In a case of urgency thou shalt use whatever comes to thy hand; everything is in the intention. 7 Baptize with wine, my brother, baptize with wine ; the creature will not be the worse on that account, though it may be a little less Catholic."

And Chicot filled the monk's glass to the brim. The first bottle was finished.

" In the name of Bacchus, Momus, and Comus, trinity of the great Saint Pantagruel," said Gorenflot, " I baptize thee carp."

And, steeping his finger-tips in the wine, he sprinkled a few drops on the pullet.

" Now," said the Gascon, touching glasses with the monk, " to the health of the newly baptized ; may she be roasted to perfection, and may the art of Maitre Claude Bonhomet add other priceless qualities to those she has received from nature."

" To his health," said Gorenflot, interrupting a hearty laugh to swallow the Burgundy Chicot poured out for him, " to his health. Morbleu ! but that 's a wine that 's up to the mark."

" Maitre Claude," said Chicot, " roast me incontinent this carp on the spit, baste it with fresh butter, into which you will shred a little bacon and some shalots; then, when it hath begun to turn a golden brown, slip me into the pan two slices of toast, and serve hot."

Gorenflot spoke not a word, but he looked approbation,

which approbation was confirmed by a certain little motion of the head, peculiar to him.

" And now," said Chicot, when he saw his orders in a fair way of being executed, " sardines, Maitre BonJiomet, and some tunny. We are in Lent, as our pious brother has just told us, and only Lenten fare will I touch. So, — stay a moment, — bring on two more bottles of that excellent Romance, 1561.''

The perfumes that arose from the kitchen, one of those kitchens of the south so dear to the true gourmand, were beginning to be diffused around; they gradually mounted to the brain of the monk; his tongue became moist and his eyes shone, but he restrained himself still, and even made a movement to get up.

" So, then," said Chicot, " you leave me thus, and at the very beginning of the battle ? "

" I must, my brother," said Gorenflot, lifting up his eyes to heaven to notify God of the sacrifice he was making for His sake.

" But it is terribly imprudent of you to think of preaching when you 're fasting."

" Why ? " stammered the monk.

" Because your lungs will fail you, my brother ; Gallien has said: Pulmo homuils facile deficit — Man's lungs are weak and easily fail."

" Alas ! yes," said Gorenflot, " and it has often been my own experience; had I had lungs, I should have been a thunderbolt of eloquence."

" You see I 'in right, then," returned Chicot.

" Luckily," said Gorenflot, falling back on his chair, " luckily, I have zeal."

" Yes, but zeal is not enough ; in your place I should try these sardines and drink a few drops of this nectar."

" A single sardine, then," replied Gorenflot, " and just one glass."

Chicot laid a sardine on the brother's plate and passed him the second bottle.

The monk ate the sardine and drank the contents of the glass.

" Well ? " asked Chicot, who, while urging the Genevievan to eat and drink, took good care to keep sober himself; " well, how do you feel ? "

" The fact is," answered Gorenflot, " I feel a little stronger."

" Venire de biche ! when a fellow has a sermon to preach, it is not a question of feeling a little stronger, it's a question of feeling entirely strong, and," continued the Gascon, " in your place, if I wanted to achieve this result I should eat the two fins of this carp; for if you do not eat, your breath is pretty sure to smell of wine. Merum sobrio male olet"

"Ah!" exclaimed Gorenflot, "devil take me if you're not right. I never thought of that. 7 '

The pullet was brought in at this very moment. Chicot carved one of the portions he had baptized by the name of fins; the monk ate it, and picked a leg and thigh afterward.

" Christ's body ! " he cried, " but this is the delicious fish ! "

Chicot cut off another fin and laid it on Gorenflot's plate, he himself toying with a bone.

" And the famous wine," said he, uncorking a third bottle.

Once started, once warmed up, once quickened in the depths of his huge stomach, Gorenflot no longer had the strength to stop ; he devoured the wing, made a skeleton of the carcass, and then summoned Bonhomet.

" Maitre Claude," said he, " I am very hungry ; did you not suggest a certain bacon omelet ? "

" Undoubtedly," answered the innkeeper, who never contradicted his customers when their assertions had a tendency to increase the length of their bills.

"Then bring it on, bring it on immediately," said the monk.

" In five minutes," replied the host, who, at a glance from Chicot, left hurriedly to prepare the order.

" Ah ! " cried Gorenflot, dropping his enormous fist, which was armed with a fork, on the table, " things are going better now."

" I should think so ! " said Chicot.

" And if the omelet were here I 'd make only a mouthful of it, just as I swallow this wine at a gulp."

And his liquorish eyes gleamed as he tossed off a quarter of the third bottle.

" Aha !" said Chicot, " so you were ill, my friend ? "

" I was a ninny, my brother," returned Gorenflot; " that cursed sermon drove me crazy; I have thought of nothing else for the last three days."

" It must be magnificent ? " said Chicot.

" Splendid."

" Tell me about it while we 're waiting for the omelet."

" No, no !" cried Gorenflot ; " a sermon at table ! where did you ever hear of such a thing ? at your royal master's court, Mister Jester ? "

" Oh, I have heard some very fine discourses at the court of King Henri, whom God preserve ! " said Chicot, raising his hat.

" And on what do those discourses turn ? " inquired Gorenflot.

" On virtue," said Chicot.

" Oh, yes," cried the monk, throwing himself back in his chair, " he is quite a paragon of virtue, is your King Henri."

" I don't know if he be a paragon or not," rejoined the Gascon; " but what I do know is that I have never seen anything there. to bring a blush to my cheeks."

" I believe you; mordieu ! don't I believe you ! " said the monk. " It is a long time since you could blush, you hardened sinner."

"la sinner ! Oh. fie! " said Chicot, " I who am abstinence personified, continence in flesh and bone! I who follow all the processions and observe all the fasts ! "

" Yes, the hypocritical processions, the make-believe fasts of your Sardanapalus, your Nebuchadnezzar, your Herodes ! Fortunately, we're beginning to know your King Henri by heart. May the devil take him !"

And Gorenflot, in place of the sermon asked for, sang the following song at the top of his voice :

" ' The King, to get money, pretends

That he 's poor, as if that made amends

For his shameful abuses The hypocrite thinks that his sin Is effaced when he scourges his skin And fasts like recluses.

" ' But Paris, who knows him too well, Would far sooner see him in hell

Than lend him a copper. He filched from her so much before, That she says : " You pay off the old score, Or go begging, you pauper! " '

" Bravo ! " cried Chicot, " bravo ! " Then, to himself:

" Good ! since he sings, he '11 speak."

At this moment, Maitre Bonhomet entered, in one hand the famous omelet, and in the other two fresh bottles.

tk Bring it here, bring it here," cried the monk, with sparkling eyes and with a smile so broad that it revealed all his thirty-two teeth.