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Книга довольно хорошо написана в виде рассказов старого человека молодому парню, основанных на событиях его реальной жизни, охватывающей период с нача...
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Chicot the Jester
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“What! your highness has taken the trouble to inquire?”
“I saw them.”
“How so?” cried Bussy, astonished.
“Oh! I had business myself at the Porte St. Antoine. They barely missed killing me in your place. Ah! I did not know it was you they were waiting for, or else – ”
“Well?”
“Had you this new page with you?” asked the prince, without finishing his sentence.
“No, I was alone, and you?”
“I had Aurilly with me; and why were you alone?”
“Because I wish to preserve my name of the brave Bussy.”
“And they wounded you?”
“I do not wish to give them the pleasure of knowing it, but I had a severe wound in the side.”
“Ah! the wretches; Aurilly said he was sure they were bent on mischief.”
“How! you saw the ambush, you were with Aurilly, who uses his sword as well as his lute, you thought they had bad intentions, and you did not watch to give aid?”
“I did not know who they were waiting for.”
“Mort diable! when you saw the king’s friends, you might have known it was against some friends of yours. Now, as there is hardly any one but myself who has courage to be your friend, you might have guessed that it was I.”
“Oh! perhaps you are right, my dear Bussy, but I did not think of all that.”
When they entered, “Remember your promise,” said Bussy, “I have some one to speak to.”
“You leave me, Bussy?”
“Yes, I must, but if I hear a great noise I will come to you, so speak loud.”
Then Bussy, followed by Jeanne, took a secret staircase, traversed two or three corridors, and arrived at an antechamber.
“Wait here for me,” said he to Jeanne.
“Ah, mon Dieu! you leave me alone.”
“I must, to provide for your entrance.”
CHAPTER V.
HOW MADAME DE ST. LUC PASSED THE SECOND NIGHT OF HER MARRIAGE
Bussy went straight to the sleeping-room of the king. There were in it two beds of velvet and satin, pictures, relics, perfumed sachets from the East, and a collection of beautiful swords. Bussy knew the king was not there, as his brother had asked to see him, but he knew that there was next to it a little room which was occupied in turn by all the king’s favorites, and which he now expected to find occupied by St. Luc, whom the king in his great affection had carried off from his wife. Bussy knocked at the antechamber common to the two rooms. The captain of the guards opened.
“M. de Bussy!” cried he.
“Yes, myself, dear M. de Nancey; the king wishes to speak to M. de St. Luc.”
“Very well, tell M. de St. Luc the king wants him.”
“What is he doing?”
“He is with Chicot, waiting for the king’s return from his brother.”
“Will you permit my page to wait here?”
“Willingly, monsieur.”
“Enter, Jean,” said Bussy, and he pointed to the embrasure of a window, where she went to hide herself. St. Luc entered, and M. de Nancey retired.
“What does the king want now?” cried St. Luc, angrily; “ah! it is you, M. de Bussy.”
“I, and before everything, let me thank you for the service you rendered me.”
“Ah! it was quite natural; I could not bear to see a brave gentleman assassinated: I thought you killed.”
“It did not want much to do it, but I got off with a wound, which I think I repaid with interest to Schomberg and D’Epernon. As for Quelus, he may thank the bones of his head: they are the hardest I ever knew.”
“Ah! tell me about it, it will amuse me a little.”
“I have no time now, I come for something else. You are ennuyé – ”
“To death.”
“And a prisoner?”
“Completely. The king pretends no one can amuse him but me. He is very good, for since yesterday I have made more grimaces than his ape, and been more rude than his jester.”
“Well, it is my turn to render you a service: can I do it?”
“Yes, go to the Marshal de Brissac’s, and reassure my poor little wife, who must be very uneasy, and must think my conduct very strange.”
“What shall I say to her?”
“Morbleu! tell her what you see; that I am a prisoner, and that the king talks to me of friendship like Cicero, who wrote on it; and of virtue like Socrates, who practised it. It is in vain I tell him I am ungrateful for the first, and incredulous as to the last: he only repeats it over again.”
“Is that all I can do for you?”
“Ah, mon Dieu! I fear so.”
“Then it is done.”
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Книга довольно хорошо написана в виде рассказов старого человека молодому парню, основанных на событиях его реальной жизни, охватывающей период с нача...
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