Chicot the Jester

“I, and these other gentlemen,” replied Quelus, with pride; “we devote ourselves, sire.”

“To what?”

“To your safety.”

“Against whom?”

“Against your enemies.”

“Private enmities of young men?”

“Oh! sire, that is the expression of vulgar prejudice; speak like a king, sire, not like a bourgeois. Do not profess to believe that Maugiron detests Antragues, that Schomberg dislikes Livarot, that D’Epernon is jealous of Bussy, and that I hate Ribeirac. Oh! no. They are all young, and agreeable, and might love each other like brothers: it is not, therefore, a rivalry between man and man, which places the swords in our hands; it is the quarrel of France with Anjou, the dispute as to the rights of the populace against the prerogatives of the king. We present ourselves as champions of royalty in those lists, where we shall be met by the champions of the League, and we came to say, ‘Bless us, sire, smile on those who are going to die for you.’ Your blessing will, perhaps, give us the victory, your smile will make us die happy.”

Henri, overcome with emotion, opened his arms to Quelus and the others. He united them in his heart; and it was not a spectacle without interest, a picture without expression, but a scene in which manly courage was allied to softer emotions, sanctified by devotion. Chicot looked on, and his face, ordinarily indifferent or sarcastic, was not the least noble and eloquent of the six.

“Ah!” cried the king, “I am proud to-day, not of being King of France, but of being your friend; at the same time, as I know my own interests best, I will not accept a sacrifice, of which the result will deliver me up, if you fall, into the hands of my enemies. France is enough to make war on Anjou; I know my brother, the Guises, and the League, and have often conquered more dangerous foes.”

“But, sire, soldiers do not reason thus, they never take ill luck into their calculations.”

“Pardon me, Maugiron; a soldier may act blindly, but the captain reflects.”

“Reflect, then, sire, and let us act, who are only soldiers,” said Schomberg: “besides, I know no ill luck; I am always successful.”

“Friend, friend,” said the king, sadly, “I wish I could say as much. It is true, you are but twenty.”

“Sire,” said Quelus, “on what day shall we meet MM. Bussy, Livarot, Antragues and Ribeirac?”

“Never; I forbid it absolutely.”

“Sire, excuse us, the rendezvous was arranged before the dinner, words were said which cannot be retracted.”

“Excuse me, monsieur,” said Henri, “the king absolves from oaths and promises by saying, ‘I will, or I will not,’ for the king is all-powerful. Tell these gentlemen, therefore, that I have menaced you with all my anger it you come to blows; and that you may not doubt it yourselves, I swear to exile you, if – ”

“Stop! sire; do not swear; because, if for such a cause we have merited your anger, and this anger shows itself by exiling us, we will go into exile with joy, because, being no longer on your majesty’s territories, we can then keep our promises, and meet our adversaries.”

“If these gentlemen approach you within range of an arquebuse, I will throw them all into the Bastile.”

“Sire, if you do so we will all go barefooted, and with cords round our necks, to M. Testu, the governor, and pray to be incarcerate with them.”

“I will have them beheaded, then; I am king, I hope.”

“We will cut our throats at the foot of their scaffold.”

Henri kept silent for a long time; then, raising his eyes, said, “God will surely bless a cause defended by such noble hearts.”

“Yes, they are noble hearts,” said Chicot, rising; “do what they wish, and fix a day for their meeting. It is your duty, my son.”

“Oh I mon Dieu! mon Dieu!” murmured Henri.

“Sire, we pray you,” cried all the four gentlemen, bending their knees.

“Well! so be it. Let us trust that God will give us the victory. But let us prepare for the conflict in a Christian manner. If I had time, I would send all your swords to Rome, that the Pope might bless them. But we have the shrine of St. Genevieve, which contains most precious relics: let us fast, and do penance, and keep holy the great day of the Fête Dieu, and then the next day – ”

“Ah! sire, thanks; that is in eight days!” cried the young men.

And they seized the hands of the king, who embraced them all once more, and, going into his oratory, melted into tears.

“Our cartel is ready,” said Quelus, “we have but to add the day and hour. Write, Maugiron, the day after the Fête Dieu. Here is a table.”

“It is done,” said Maugiron, “now who will carry the letter?”

“I will, if you please,” said Chicot, approaching, “but I wish to give you a piece of advice. His majesty speaks of fasts and macerations. That is all very well after the combat, but before, I prefer good nourishment, generous wine, and eight hours’ sleep every night.”

“Bravo, Chicot!”

“Adieu, my little lions,” replied the Gascon, “I go to the Hôtel Bussy.” He went three steps and returned, and said, “Apropos, do not quit the king during the Fête Dieu; do not go to the country, any of you, but stay by the Louvre. Now, I will do your commission.”

CHAPTER LXXXV.

THE FÊTE DIEU

During these eight days events were preparing themselves, as a tempest gathers in the heavens during the calm days of summer. Monsoreau had an attack of fever for twenty-four hours, then he rallied, and began to watch, himself; but as he discovered no one, he became more than ever convinced of the hypocrisy of the Duc d’Anjou, and of his bad intentions with regard to Diana.

Bussy did not discontinue his visits by day, but, warned by Rémy of this constant watchfulness, came no more at night to the window.

Chicot divided his time between the king, whom he watched like a child, and his friend Gorenflot, whom he had persuaded to return to his convent. He passed hours with him in his cell, always bringing with him large bottles in his pocket, and the report begin to be spread that Gorenflot had nearly persuaded him to turn monk.

As for the king, he gave constant lessons in fencing to his friends, teaching them new thrusts, and, above all, exercising D’Epernon, to whom fate had given so skilful an adversary, that he was visibly preoccupied by it.

Any one walking in the streets of Paris at certain hours, might have met the strange monks, of whom our first chapters furnished some description, and who resembled troopers more than monks. Then, to complete the picture, we must add that the Hôtel de Guise had become at once mysterious and turbulent, the most peopled within and the most deserted without that can be imagined; that meetings were held every night in the great hall, and with all the blinds and windows hermetically closed, and that these meetings were preceded by dinners, to which none but men were invited, and which were presided over by Madame de Montpensier. Of all these meetings, however, important though they were, the police suspected nothing. On the morning of the great day, the weather was superb, and the flowers which filled the streets sent their perfumes through the air. Chicot, who for the last fortnight had slept in the king’s room, woke him early; no one had yet entered the royal chamber.

“Oh, Chicot!” cried the king, “you have woke me from one of the sweetest dreams I ever had in my life.”

“What was it, my son?”

“I dreamed that Quelus had run Antragues through the body, and was swimming in the blood of his adversary. Let us go and pray that my dream may be realized. Call, Chicot, call.”

“What do you want?”

“My hair-cloth and my scourge.”

“Would you not prefer a good breakfast?”

“Pagan, would you go to hear mass on the Fête Dieu with a full stomach?”

“Even so.”

“Call, Chicot.”