La Dame de Monsoreau (94 page)

Sometimes, however, it happens that in the midst of all these splendors a cloud settles on the brow of Gorenflot; the

fat pullets of Mans in vain exhale their delicious odors under his wide nostrils ; in vain do the little oysters of Flanders — a thousand of which he has ingulped in mere sport — gape and wriggle in their pearly couches ; the multiform bottles, though uncorked, remain intact ; Gorenflot is gloomy; Gorenflot is not hungry ; Gorenflot is pensive.

Then the report runs that the worthy Genevievari is in an ecstasy like Saint Francis, or in a swoon like Saint Teresa, and the admiration of his brethren for him is redoubled.

He is more than a monk, he is a saint; he is more than a saint, he is a demigod; some even say he is an entire god.

" Hush ! " murmur his brethren ; " disturb not the trance of Brother Gorenflot ! "

And they respectfully retire.

The prior alone waits for the moment when Brother Gorenflot gives some faint sign of life; he then approaches the monk, takes his hand obsequiously, and addresses him deferentially. Gorenflot raises his head and looks at the prior with lack-lustre eyes.

He is coming back from another world.

" What were you doing, my worthy brother ? " asks the prior.

" I ? " answers Gorenflot.

" Yes, you ; you were doing something."

" Yes, father prior, I was composing a sermon."

" Like the one you had the courage to deliver on the night of the Holy League ? "

Every time this sermon is mentioned Gorenflot deplores his infirmity.

" Yes," said he, with a sigh, " like that one. But, ah! what a pity it is I did not write it down ! "

" Does a man like you need to write, my dear brother ? " would be the prior's answer. " No, he speaks by inspiration ; he opens his mouth, and, as he is full of the Word of God, the Word of God flows from his lips."

" Do you think so ? " murmurs Gorenflot.

" Happy the man whose humility makes him doubt of his gifts,' 7 replies the prior.

And, in fact, Gorenflot, who comprehends the necessities of the situation and what his antecedents naturally lead others to expect from him, occasionally thinks of composing a sermon.

Yes, Gorenflot is going to play the very mischief with Marcus Tullius and Caesar and Saint Gregory and Saint

Augustine and Saint Jerome and Tertullian, for sacred eloquence is about to be renewed by the illustrious Genevievan. Reruni novus ordo nascitur.

From time to time also, at the end of a repast, or even in the middle of his ecstasies, Gorenflot would rise, and, as if pushed on by some invisible arm, would go straight to the stable; after entering, he looked fondly at Pan urge, who brayed with pleasure ; then he passed his heavy hand over the animal's sides, his big fingers disappearing in the superabundant hair. This was more than pleasure for Panurge; it was bliss, and, not content with braying, he rolled over in his delight.

The prior and three or four dignitaries of the convent usually attended him in these excursions, and must have rather bored Panurge with their platitudes. But, on the other hand, they offered him cakes, biscuits, and macaroons, as those who desired to win Pluto's favor in days of yore were in the habit of offering honey cakes to his dog Cerberus.

Panurge makes no objection ; he is of a rather good-natured disposition; besides, having no ecstasies, having no sermon to compose, and having no reputation to support except his reputation for obstinacy, idleness, and luxury, he finds that none of his desires is left ungratified and that he is the happiest ass in the world.

The prior looks at him with emotion.

" Simplicity and gentleness," says he, " are the virtues of the strong."

Gorenflot has discovered that ita in Latin corresponds to yes ; this discovery has been of marvellous service to him, and to every question he generally answers : ita, with a self-complacency that never fails to be effective.

The abbot, encouraged by finding him so constantly acquiescent, will sometimes say :

" You work too hard, my dear brother, and this accounts for your occasional dejection."

. And Gorenflot's response to Messire Joseph Fouloii is like that made sometimes to Henri III. by Chicot:

" Who knows ? "

" Perhaps," adds the prior, " our repasts are too coarse for your taste; would you like me to change the brother cook ? As you well know, dear brother, Quaedam saturationes minus succedunt"

" Ita" is the eternal answer of Gorenflot, made without ever interrupting the caresses he lavishes on his ass.

" You show extraordinary fondness for your Panurge, my brother," says the prior, sometimes ; " perhaps a desire to travel has again taken possession of your soul."

To which Gorenflot's answer would be an " oh ! " and a sigh.

The fact is that it is the memory of his travels that tortures Gorenflot; for Gorenflot, who had at first looked on his removal from the convent as a terrible misfortune, had discovered during his exile certain infinite and unknown delights that have their source in liberty.

Amid all his happiness, this longing for freedom was like a worm gnawing at the heart; freedom with Chicot, the jolly comrade ; with Chicot, whom he loved without well knowing why ; perhaps it was because he was now and then beaten by him.

" Alas ! " timidly observed a young brother, after a careful study of the monk's physiognomy, " I am afraid you are right, honored prior, and that the reverend father finds his stay in our convent wearisome/'

" No, that is hardly correct," answered Gorenflot; " but I feel I was born for a life of struggle, destined to hold forth in the interests of the church at the cross-roads and in the suburbs."

While saying these words, the eyes of Gorenflot brighten; he is thinking of the omelets he had eaten with Chicot, of Maitre Claude Bonhomet's Anjou wine, and of the low-roofed hall in the Come d'Abondance.

Ever since the evening of the League, or rather, ever since the morning he returned to his convent, he has not been allowed to go out; for, after the King appointed himself chief of the Union, the Leaguers became exceedingly prudent.

And then, Gorenflot is so simple-minded that he never even thought of taking advantage of his lofty position and ordering the gates to be thrown open.

He was told that no one was allowed to go out, and so he did not go out.

And none of his brethren had the slightest suspicion .of the real reason why his abode in the convent was so irksome to him.

At last the prior, seeing he was becoming sadder and sadder every day, said to him one morning :

" My dear brother, no one ought to resist his vocation, yours is to combat for Christ; go, then, fulfil the mission confided to you by the Lord; but guard your precious life carefully, and return for the great day."

" What great day ? " asked G-orenflot, forgetting in his joy what he was expected to know.

" That of Corpus Christi."

" Ita," said the monk, with an air of deep sagacity; " but," added Gorenflot, " give me some money, so that by bestowing it in alms, I may be inspired to fulfil my task in a truly Christian spirit."

The prior went hastily for a large wallet, which he opened and held before Gorenflot, who plunged his huge hand deep in it.

" You will see what I shall bring back with me to the convent," said he, as he stuffed the money he had just borrowed from the prior's wallet into the big pocket in his robe.

" You have your text, have you not, my dear brother ? " inquired Joseph Foulon.

" Yes, certainly."

" Confide it to me."

" With pleasure ; but to you alone."

The prior drew near to Gorenflot and lent an attentive ear.

" Listen."

" I am listening."

" < The flail that thrashes the corn thrashes itself.' 9:

" Magnificent! Sublime ! " cried the prior.

And the other monks present sincerely shared the enthusiasm of Messire Joseph Foulon, and repeated after him :

u Magnificent! Sublime ! "

" And am I now free, father ? " asked Gorenflot, humbly.

" Yes, my son," answered the reverend abbot, " go and walk in the path of the Lord."

Gorenflot, thereupon, had Panurge saddled, succeeded in bestriding him, with the aid of two vigorous monks, and sallied forth from the convent about seven in the evening.

It was on the same day that Saint-Luc arrived from Meridor, bringing news that created the utmost excitement in Paris.

Gorenflot, after following the Rue Saint-Etienne, turned to the right and passed the Jacobin convent, when suddenly Pan-urge started; he had just felt the pressure of a heavy hand on his crupper.

" Who goes there ? " cried Gorenflot, in terror.

" A friend," answered a voice he thought he recognized.

Gorenflot longed to turn round, but, like those sailors who, every time they go aboard rind it takes time to enable them to adjust their gait to the rolling of the vessel, whenever the monk mounted his ass anew he found it also took some time to master his centre of gravity.

" What do you want ? " said he.

" Would you have the goodness, worthy brother," replied the vwice, " to show me the way to the Corne d'Abondance ? "

" Morbleit ! " exclaimed Gorenflot, joyfully, " it is M. Chicot in person."

" Perfectly correct," answered the Gascon. " I was going to the convent for you, my dear brother, when I saw you outside of it. I have followed you for some time, afraid that, if I spoke to you, it might compromise your character. But, now that we are quite alone, how goes it, you rogue ? Ventre de biche ! you have grown thin ! "

" And you, M. Chicot, have grown fat, you may take my word for it."

" I think both of us are a little inclined to flatter each other."

" But what is the matter with you, M. Chicot ? " said the monk; " you appear to be carrying something heavy."

" A quarter of venison I stole from his Majesty," said the Gascon. " We '11 broil a few steaks off it."

" Dear M. Chicot! " cried the monk ; " and under the other arm ? "

" A bottle of Cyprus wine sent by a king to my King."

" Let us have a look at it," said Gorenflot.

" It is my favorite wine; I am very fond of it," said Chicot, drawing aside his cloak ; " are not you also, ray good brother ? "

" Oh ! oh! " was all the monk could say when he perceived this double godsend, and he gave such a jump in his saddle that Panurge bent under him, " oh ! oh ! "

In his jo}' the monk raised his arms to heaven, and in a voice that shook the windows in the houses on each side of him, he sang the following song, in which he was accompanied by Panurge :

" Music has charms beyond compare, But charms that through our ears regale us.

Flowers have odors rich and rare.

But, when we 're hungry, perfumes fail us,

A blue, clear sky is pleasant to see,

When no black cloud comes marring our pleasure. Still, wine that down the throat runs free

Has joys superior beyond measure. It smells as sweet as any flower;

You touch and taste and drink it gladly, 'T is brighter than skies that sometimes lower.

No wonder that I love it madly ! "

It was the first time that Gorenflot had sung for nearly a whole month.

CHAPTER LXXIV.

HOW BUSSY PURSUED A PARTY OF FRIENDS AND ENEMIES BY RIDING IN FRONT OF THEM.

LET us allow the two friends to enter the hostelry of the Corne d' Abondance, where, it will be remembered, Chicot never brought Gorenflot without some design or other the importance of which the monk was far from suspecting, and let us return to M. de Morisoreau, as he follows the highway from Meridor to Paris in his litter, and to Bussy also, who started from Angers with the intention of pursuing the same route.

It is not difficult for a well-mounted horseman to overtake travellers on foot, but still he runs a certain risk, — he may pass them on the way.

Now this is just what happened to Bussy.

It was the end of May, and the heat was excessive, especially about noon.

For this reason, M. de Monsoreau ordered his bearers to enter a little wood near the road and stop there for a time. He was also desirous that his departure should be known to the Due d'Anjou at as late a period as possible. Therefore, both to escape observation from some unfriendly passer-by, and to avoid the sultriness that prevailed at the time, he directed his attendants to proceed to the most sheltered part of the grove ; and, as they had a horse laden with provisions, a collation could be prepared without much trouble.

During this time Bussy passed them.

But Bussy had not travelled far, as may easily be imagined, without inquiring whether a party of horsemen and a litter carried by peasants had been seen.

On the way to the village of Durtal he had received information of the most positive and satisfactory nature. Convinced, therefore, that Diane was only a little in advance of him, he had ridden on slowly, standing in his stirrups, whenever he came to an elevation, to get a glimpse of those he was in the wake of.

But suddenly, and contrary to his expectation, all traces of them disappeared; the travellers he chanced to come across told him they had seen nobody, and, as soon as he reached the first houses in La Fleche, he became convinced that, instead of being behind, he was in advance, — that he was ahead of them instead of being in the rear of them.

Then he remembered the little wood and discovered the reason why his horse had neighed several times when going by it.