Chicot the Jester by Alexandre Dumas, Pere - HTML preview

PLEASE NOTE: This is an HTML preview only and some elements such as links or page numbers may be incorrect.
Download the book in PDF, ePub, Kindle for a complete version.

Chapter 49

HOW THE KING N AXED A CHIEF WHO WAS NEITHER THE DUC DE GUISE NOR M. D'ANJOU.

"Gentlemen," said the king, after assuring himself that his four friends, now replaced by ten Swiss, were behind him, "a king hears equally the voices which come to him from above and from below, that is to say, what is commanded by God, or asked by his people. I understand perfectly that there is a guarantee for my people, in the association of all classes which has been formed to defend the Catholic faith, and therefore I approve of the counsels of my cousin De Guise. I declare, then, the Holy League duly constituted, and as so great a body must have a powerful head, and as it is necessary that the chief called to sustain the Church should be one of its most zealous sons, I choose a Christian prince for the chief, and declare that this chief shall be"--he made a slight pause--"Henri de Valois, King of France and Poland."

The Duc de Guise was thunderstruck. Large drops stood on his forehead, and he looked from one to the other of his brothers. All the leaguers uttered a murmur of surprise and discontent. The cardinal stole up to his brother, and whispered:

"François; I fear we are no longer in safety here. Let us haste to take leave, for the populace is uncertain, and the king whom they execrated yesterday, will be their idol for two or three days."

During this time the king had signed the act prepared beforehand by M. de Morvilliers, the only person, with the exception of the queen mother, who was in the secret, then he passed the pen to the Duc de Guise, saying:

"Sign, my cousin; there, below me, now pass it to M. le Cardinal and M. de Mayenne."

 

But these two had already disappeared. The king remarked their absence, and added, "Then pass the pen to M. de Monsoreau."

 

The duke did so, and was about to retire, but the king said, "Wait."

And while the others signed, he added, "My cousin, it was your advice, I believe, to guard Paris with a good army, composed of all the forces of the League. The army is made, and the natural general of the Parisians is the king."

"Assuredly, sire."

 

"But I do not forget that there is another army to command, and that this belongs of right to the bravest soldier in my kingdom; therefore go and command the army." "And when am I to set out, sire?"

 

"Immediately."

"Henri, Henri!" whispered Chicot; but, in spite of his signs and grimaces, the king gave the duke his brevet ready signed. He took it and retired, and was soon out of Paris. The rest of the assembly dispersed gradually, crying, "Vive le Roi! and Vive la Ligue!"

"Oh, sire!" cried the favorites, approaching the king, "what a sublime idea you have had!"

"They think that gold is going to rain on them like manna," said Chicot, who followed his master about everywhere with lamentations. As soon as they were left alone, "Ah! M. Chicot!" said Henri, "you are never content. Diable! I do not ask even for complaisance, but for good sense."

"You are right, Henri; it is what you want most."

 

"Confess I have done well."

 

"That is just what I do not think."

 

"Ah! you are jealous, M. Roi de France."

 

"I! Heaven forbid. I shall choose better subjects for jealousy."

 

"Corbleu."

 

"Oh! what self-love."

 

"Am I or not king of the League?"

 

"Certainly you are; but----"

 

"But what?"

 

"You are no longer King of France."

 

"And who is king then?"

 

"Everybody, except you; firstly, your brother----"

 

"My brother!"

 

"Yes, M. d'Anjou." "Whom I hold prisoner."

 

"Yes, but prisoner as he is, he was consecrated."

 

"By whom was he consecrated?"

"By the Cardinal de Guise. Really, Henri, you have a fine police. They consecrate a king at Paris before thirty-three people, in the church of St. Genevieve, and you do not know of it!"

"Oh! and you do?"

 

"Certainly I do."

 

"How can you know what I do not?"

 

"Ah! because M. de Morvilliers manages your police, and I am my own."

 

The king frowned.

 

"Well, then, without counting Henri de Valois, we have François d'Anjou for king," continued Chicot; "and then there is the Duc de Guise."

 

"The Duc de Guise!"

 

"Yes, Henri de Guise, Henri le Balfré."

 

"A fine king! whom I exile, whom I send to the army."

"Good! as if you were not exiled to Poland; and La Charité is nearer to the Louvre than Cracow is. Ah, yes, you send him to the army--that is so clever; that is to say, you put thirty thousand men under his orders, ventre de biche! and a real army, not like your army of the League; no, no, an army of bourgeois is good for Henri de Valois, but Henri de Guise must have an army of soldiers--and what soldiers? hardened warriors, capable of destroying twenty armies of the League; so that if, being king in fact, Henri de Guise had the folly one day to wish to be so in name, he would only have to turn towards the capital, and say, 'Let us swallow Paris, and Henri de Valois and the Louvre at a mouthful,' and the rogues would do it. I know them."

"You forget one thing in your argument, illustrious politician."

 

"Ah, diable! it is possible! If you mean a fourth king----"

"No; you forget that before thinking of reigning in France, when a Valois is on the throne, it would be necessary to look back and count your ancestors. That such an idea might come to M. d'Anjou is possible; his ancestors are mine, and it is only a question of primogeniture. But M. de Guise!"

"Ah! that is just where you are in error."

 

"How so?"

 

"M. de Guise is of a better race than you think."

 

"Better than me, perhaps," said Henri, smiling.

 

"There is no perhaps in it."

 

"You are mad. Learn to read, my friend."

"Well, Henri, you who can read, read this;" and he drew from his pocket the genealogy which we know already, handing it to Henri, who turned pale as he recognized, near to the signature of the prelate, the seal of St. Peter.

"What do you say, Henri? Are not your fleur-de-lys thrown a little in the background?"

 

"But how did you get this genealogy?"

 

"I! Do I seek these things? It came to seek me."

 

"Where?"

 

"Under the bolster of a lawyer."

 

"And what was his name?"

 

"M. Nicolas David."

 

"Where was he?"

 

"At Lyons."

 

"And who took it from under the bolster?"

 

"One of my good friends."

 

"Who is he?"

 

"A monk."

 

"His name?" "Gorenflot."

 

"What! that abominable leaguer, who uttered those incendiary discourses at St. Genevieve, and again yesterday in the streets of Paris?"

 

"You remember the history of Brutus, who pretended to be a fool?"

 

"He is, then, a profound politician? Did he take it from the advocate?"

 

"Yes, by force."

 

"Then he is brave?"

 

"Brave as Bayard."

 

"And having done this, he has not asked for any recompense?"

 

"He returned humbly to his convent, and only asks me to forget that he ever came out."

 

"Then he is modest?"

 

"As St. Crepin."

 

"Chicot, your friend shall be made a prior on the first vacancy."

 

"Thanks for him, Henri."

 

"Ma foi!" said Chicot to himself, "if he escapes being hung by Mayenne, he will have an abbey."

Chapter 50

ETEOCLES AND POLYNICES.

This day of the League terminated brilliantly and tumultuously, as it began. The friends of the king rejoiced, the preachers proposed to canonize Brother Henri, and spoke everywhere of the great deeds of the Valois. The favorites said, "The lion is roused." The leaguers said, "The fox has discovered the snare."

The three Lorraine princes, as we have seen, had left Paris, and their principal agent, M. de Monsoreau, was ready to start for Anjou. But as he was leaving the Louvre, Chicot stopped him.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" said he.

 

"To his highness."

 

"His highness?"

 

"Yes, I am unquiet about him. We do not live in times when a prince ought to travel without a good escort."

 

"Well, if you are unquiet, so am I."

 

"About what?"

 

"About his highness also."

 

"Why?"

 

"Do you not know what they say?"

 

"That he has gone to Anjou."

 

"No; that he is dead."

 

"Bah!" said Monsoreau, with a tone of surprise, not unmixed with joy, "you told me he was traveling."

 

"Diable! they persuaded me so, but now I have good reason to think that if the poor prince be traveling, it is to another world."

 

"What gives you these mournful ideas?" "He entered the Louvre yesterday, did he not?"

 

"Certainly; I came in with him."

 

"Well! he has never been seen to come out."

 

"From the Louvre?"

 

"No."

 

"Where is Aurilly?"

 

"Disappeared."

 

"But his people?"

 

"Disappeared."

 

"You are joking, are you not, M. Chicot?"

 

"Ask!"

 

"Whom?"

 

"The king."

 

"I cannot question his majesty."

 

"Oh! yes, if you go about it in the right way."

 

"Well," said the count. "I cannot remain in this uncertainty." And leaving Chicot, he went to the king's apartment.

 

"Where is the king?" he asked: "I have to render an account to him of the execution of some orders he gave me."

 

"With M. le Duc d'Anjou," replied the man.

 

"With the Duke; then he is not dead?"

 

"I am not so sure of that."

M. de Monsoreau was thoroughly bewildered; for if M. d'Anjou were in the Louvre, his absence on such a day was unaccountable.
Immediately after the sitting, Quelus, Maugiron, Schomberg, and D'Epernon, in spite of the ennui they experienced there, were so anxious to be disagreeable to the duke that they returned to him. He, on his part, was mortally ennuyé, as well as anxious, which, it must be confessed, the conversation of these gentlemen was not calculated to remove.

"Do you know, Quelus," said Maugiron, "that it is only now I begin to appreciate our friend Valois; really he is a great politician."

 

"Explain yourself," said Quelus, who was lounging on a chair.

 

"While he was afraid of the conspiracy, he kept it quiet; now he speaks of it openly, therefore he is no longer afraid of it."

 

"Well?"

 

"If he no longer fears it, he will punish it; you know Valois, he has certainly many good qualities, but clemency is not one of them."

 

"Granted."

 

"Then if he punishes these conspirators there will be a trial, and we shall have a fine spectacle."

 

"Unless, which is possible, on account of the rank of the accused, they arrange it all quietly."

 

"That would be my advice, certainly; it is better in family affairs."

 

Aurilly glanced at the prince.

"Ma foi," said Maugiron, "I know one thing; that in the king's place I would not spare the high heads, which are always the most guilty. I would make an example of one or two-one, at all events."

"I think it would be well to revive the famous invention of sacks."

 

"What was that?"

"A royal fancy in the year 1550; they shut up a man in a sack, in company with three or four cats, and threw them into the water. The minute the cats felt the water they attacked the man, and there passed in the sack things which unluckily could never be seen."

"Really, Quelus, you are a well of science, and your conversation is most interesting." "They could not apply this invention to the chiefs; they have the right to be beheaded; but to the small fry, I mean the favorites, squires, and lute-players."

"Gentlemen----" stammered Aurilly.

"Do not reply to them, Aurilly," said François, "it cannot be addressed to me." As he spoke the king appeared on the threshold. The duke rose. "Sire," cried he, "I appeal against the unworthy treatment I meet with from your followers."

Henri did not seem to hear. "Good morning, Quelus," said he kissing his favorite on both cheeks; "good morning, the sight of you rejoices my soul, and you, my poor Maugiron, how are you?"

"I am terribly ennuyé, sire; when I undertook to guard your brother, I thought he was more amusing. Oh I the tiresome prince; are you sure he is the son of your father and mother?"

"Sire! you hear," cried the prince, "is it your wish that your brother should be insulted?"

 

"Silence, monsieur," said Henri, "I do not like my prisoners to complain."

 

"Prisoner, or not, I am your----"

 

"The title which you are about to invoke," interrupted the king, "is fatal to you. My brother guilty, is doubly guilty."

 

"But if he is not?"

 

"He is."

 

"Of what crime?"

 

"Of having displeased me."

 

"Sire, have our family quarrels need of witnesses?"

 

"You are right, monsieur. My friends, let, me speak a little to my brother."

 

"I will take Aurilly," said Maugiron.

 

"Now we are alone, monsieur," said the king, when they were gone.

"I waited for this moment impatiently." "And I also; ah, you want my crown, my worthy Eteocles; you made of the League a means, and of the throne an aim, and were consecrated in a corner of Paris, to be able to proclaim yourself to the Parisians shining with holy oil."

"Alas! your majesty will not let me speak."

"What for?--to lie, or to tell me things which I know already? But no, you would lie; for to confess what you have done, would be to confess that you merit death. You would lie, and I would spare you that shame."

"My brother, is it your intention to overwhelm me with outrages?"

 

"If what I say is an outrage, it is I who lie, and I ask no better. Speak then, I listen; tell me you are not disloyal, and at the same time unskilful."

 

"I do not know what your majesty means; you speak enigmas."

"Then I will explain my words; you have conspired against me, as formerly you conspired against my brother Charles, only then it was by the aid of Henri of Navarre, and now it is with the assistance of the Duc de Guise. It is true that formerly you crawled like a serpent; now you wish to spring like the lion; after perfidy, open force; after poison, the sword."

"Poison! what do you mean?" cried François, with flashing eyes.

"The poison with which you assassinated our brother Charles, which you destined for Henry of Navarre, your associate. That fatal poison is known; our mother has used it so often, which is doubtless the reason why you renounced it on this occasion, and preferred rather the part of captain of the League. But look me in the face, François, and learn that a man like you shall never kill me. A sword! Ah! I should like to see you here in this room alone with me, holding a sword. I have conquered you in cunning, and in a combat you would be killed. Dream no longer of struggling against me in any manner, for from this moment I act as king--as master--as despot; I shall watch you everywhere, follow you everywhere, and, at the least suspicion, I will throw you to the axe of my executioner. This is what I had to say to you in private, and I will order you to be left alone to-night to ponder over my words."

"Then, sire, for a suspicion, I have fallen into disgrace with you?"

 

"Say, under my justice."

 

"But, at least, sire, fix a term to my captivity, that I may know what to expect?"

 

"You will know when you hear your sentence read."

"Can I not see my mother?" "What for? There were but three copies in the world of the famous hunting-book which killed my poor brother, and of the two others, one is in London and the other at Florence. Besides, I am not a Nimrod, like my poor brother; adieu, François."

"Gentlemen," said the king, opening the door, "the Duc d'Anjou has requested to be alone to-night to reflect on an answer he has to make to me to-morrow morning. Leave him then alone, except occasional visits of precaution. If he be troublesome, call me; I have the Bastile ready, and the governor, M. Laurent Testu, is the best man in the world to conquer ill tempers."

"Sire," cried François, trying a last effort, "remember I am your----"

 

"You were also the brother of Charles IX., I think."

 

"At least restore me to my friends."

 

"I deprive myself of mine to give them to you." And Henri shut the door, while the duke fell in despair into his armchair.

Chapter 51

HOW PEOPLE DO NOT ALWAYS LOSE THEIR TIME BY SEARCHING EMPTY DRAWERS.

The scene which the duke had just had with the king made him regard his position as desperate. The minions had not allowed him to be ignorant of what had passed, and he had heard the people cry, "Vive le roi!" He felt himself abandoned by the other chiefs, who had themselves to save. In his quarrels with his brother Charles he had always had for confidants, or rather dupes, those two devoted men, Coconnas and La Mole, and, for the first time in his life, feeling himself alone and isolated, he felt a kind of remorse at having sacrificed them. During that time his sister Marguerite loved and consoled him. How had he recompensed her?

He had recently had near him a brave and valiant heart and sword--Bussy, the brave Bussy. And he had offended him to please Monsoreau, who had his secret, with which he always threatened him, and which was now known to the king. He had therefore quarreled with Bussy gratuitously, and, above all, uselessly, which as a great politician once said, "was more than a crime, it was a mistake!" How he would have rejoiced in his present situation, to know that Bussy was watching over him; Bussy the loyal, Bussy the universal favorite. It would have been probable liberty and certain vengeance.

But as we have said, Bussy, wounded to the heart, kept away from the prince, so the prisoner remained fifty feet above the ground, with the four favorites in the corridor, without counting the court full of Swiss. Besides this, one or other of the young men entered from time to time, and, without seeming even to notice the prince, went round the room, examined the doors and windows, looked under the beds and tables, and glanced at the curtains and sheets.

"Ma foi!" said Maugiron, after one of these visits, "I have done; I am not going to look after him any more to-night."

 

"Yes," said D'Epernon, "as long as we guard him, there is no need of going to look at him."

 

"And he is not handsome to look at," said Quelus.

 

"Still," said Schomberg, "I think we had better not relax our vigilance, for the devil is cunning."

 

"Yes, but not cunning enough to pass over the bodies of four men like us."

"That is true," said Quelus. "Oh!" said Schomberg, "do you think, if he wants to fly, he will choose our corridor to come through? He would make a hole in the wall."

"With what?"

 

"Then he has the windows."

 

"Ah! the windows, bravo, Schomberg; would you jump forty-five feet?"

 

"I confess that forty-five feet----"

 

"Yes, and he who is lame, and heavy, and timid as----"

 

"You," said Schomberg.

 

"You know I fear nothing but phantoms--that is an affair of the nerves."

 

"The last phantom was," said Quelus, "that all those whom he had killed in duels appeared to him one night."

 

"However," said Maugiron, "I have read of wonderful escapes; with sheets, for instance."

 

"Ah! that is more sensible. I saw myself, at Bordeaux, a prisoner who escaped by the aid of his sheets."

 

"You see, then?"

"Yes, but he had his leg broken, and his neck, too; his sheets were thirty feet too short, and he had to jump, so that while his body escaped from prison, his soul escaped from his body."

"Besides," said Quelus, "if he escapes, we will follow him, and in catching him some mischief might happen to him."

So they dismissed the subject. They were perfectly right that the duke was not likely to attempt a perilous escape. From time to time his pale face was at the window which overlooked the fosses of the Louvre, beyond which was an open space about fifteen feet broad, and then the Seine rolled calm as a mirror. On the other side rose, like a giant, the tower of Nesle.

He had watched the sunset and the gradual extinction of all the lights. He had contemplated the beautiful spectacle of old Paris, with its roofs gilded by the last rays of the sun, and silvered by the first beams of the moon; then little by little he was seized with a great terror at seeing immense clouds roll over the sky and announce a storm. Among his other weaknesses, the Duc d'Anjou was afraid of thunder, and he would have given anything to have had his guardians with him again, even if they insulted him. He threw himself on his bed, but found it impossible to sleep. Then he began to swear, and break everything near him. It was a family failing, and they were accustomed to it at the Louvre. The young men had opened the door to see what the noise meant, and seeing that it was the duke amusing himself, they had shut it again, which redoubled his anger. He had just broken a chair, when a crashing of glass was heard at the window, and he felt a sharp blow on his thigh. His first idea was that he was wounded by some emissary of the king's.

"Ah! I am dead!" he cried, and fell on the carpet. But as he fell his hand came in contact with a larger and rougher substance than a ball.

"Oh! a stone," thought he, and feeling his leg, he found it uninjured. He picked up the stone and looked at it, and saw that it was wrapped in a piece of paper. Then the duke's ideas began to change. Might not this stone come from a friend as well as an enemy. He approached the light, cut the silk which tied the paper round the stone and read,--

"Are you tired of keeping your room? Do you love open air and liberty? Enter the little room where the Queen of Navarre hid your poor friend, M. de la Mole, open the cupboard, and, by displacing the lowest bracket, you will find a double bottom; in this there is a silk ladder; attach it yourself to the balcony, two vigorous arms will hold it at the bottom. A horse, swift as thought, will lead you to a safe place.

"A FRIEND."

 

"A friend!" cried the prince; "oh! I did not know I had a friend. Who is this friend who thinks of me?" And the duke ran to the window, but could see no one.

 

"Can it be a snare?" thought he; "but first let me see if there is a double bottom and a ladder."

The duke then, leaving the light where it was for precaution, groped his way to the cabinet, which he knew so well. He opened it, felt for the bottom shelf, and, to his great joy, found what he looked for. As a thief escapes with his booty, the duke rushed into the next room with his prey. Ten o'clock struck; the duke thought of his hourly visitors, and hid his ladder under a cushion, on which he sat down. Indeed, five minutes had not passed before Maugiron appeared in a dressing-gown, with a sword in one hand and a light in the other. As he came in one of his friends said to him, "The bear is furious, he was breaking everything just now; take care he does not devour you, Maugiron."

Maugiron made his usual examination; he saw a broken window, but thought the duke had done it in his rage.

 

"Maugiron!" cried Schomberg, from outside, "are you already eaten that you do not speak? In that case, sigh, at least, th