La Dame de Monsoreau (59 page)

"But," answered the Due d'Anjou, trying to recover the composure so sadly shaken by the ironical words of Guise, " what interest had I in my brother's death, when the successor of Charles IX. must be Henri III. ? "

" One moment, monseigneur, let us understand each other — one throne was already vacant, that of Poland. The death of King Charles IX. left another, that of France. Doubtless I am aware that your eldest brother would have certainly chosen the throne of France. But the throne of Poland was not so very bad a makeshift. There are many people, I have been told, who have coveted even the poor little throne of Navarre. Moreover, the death of Charles would bring you a step nearer to royalty, and then, there was no reason why you should not profit by the next accident. King Henri III. was able to return from Warsaw in ten days ; what was to hinder you from doing, in case of an accident, what King Henri had done ? "

Henri III. looked at Chicot, who looked at him in turn, not with his usual expression of malice and sarcasm, but with an almost tender interest, which, however, quickly vanished from his bronzed face.

" Well, what do you conclude from all this ?" asked the Due d'Anjou, ending, or, rather, trying to end, a conversation in which the thinly veiled discontent .of the Due de Guise made itself evident.

" Monseigneur, I conclude that every king has his accident, as we were saying just now. Now, you are the inevitable accident of Henry III., especially if you are the chief of the

League, for to be chief of the League is almost to be the king of the King ; not to mention that, by becoming chief of the League, you get rid of the Bearnais, that is to say, you destroy the ' accident' of your highness' coming reign."

" Coming ! do you hear him ? " cried Henri III.

" Venire de biche ! I should say I do/' answered Chicot.

« Then ? " - said the Due de Guise.

" Then," repeated the Due d'Anjou, " I will accept. You advise me to do so, do you not ? "

" Advise you ! " cried the Lorraine prince, " I entreat you to accept, monseigneur."

" And what will you do to-night ? "

" Oh, as to that, you may be easy. My men are all ready, and to-night Paris will see some curious scenes."

" What are they going to do in Paris to-night ? " asked Henri of Chicot.

" What! you can't guess ? " answered the jester.

" No."

" What a donkey you are, my son ! To-night the League is to be signed publicly. For a long time our good Parisians have been signing it privately ; they were waiting for your sanction; you gave it this morning, and they are signing to-night, ventre de biche ! You see, Henri, your f accidents' -for you have now two of them — are not losing their time."

" Very well," said the Due d'Anjou; «till to-night, then, duke."

" Yes ; till to-night," said Henri.

" What! you will run the risk of parading your capital tonight, Henri ? " asked Chicot.

" Undoubtedly."

" You are wrong, Henri."

« Why ? "

" Look out for the accidents ! "

" Do not be alarmed. I shall be well attended. You come with me."

" What do you take me for — a Huguenot ? I am a good Catholic, my son, and to-night I go to sign the League, sign it ten times rather than once, — yea, a hundred times rather than ten."

The voices of the two dukes were now silent.

" One word," said Henri, detaining Chicot, as he was moving off. « What do you think of all this ? "

" I think none of your royal predecessors was forewarned of his accident. Henri II. was not forewarned about his eye ; Antoine de Bourbon was not forewarned about his shoulder ; Jeanne d'Albret was not forewarned about her nose ; Charles IX. was not forewarned about his mouth. So you see you have a great advantage over them, Master Henri, for, venire de biche ! you know your brother, don't you, sire ? "

" Yes," said Henri, " and, par la mordieu ! before very long he '11 know me, too! "

CHAPTEE XL.

HOW THE LEAGUE HAD AN EVENING PARTY.

ALL that distinguishes the Paris of to-day during its festivals is an uproar more or less noisy, a crowd more or less considerable, but always the same uproar and the same crowd. The Paris of olden time had a good deal more to show for itself than this. The narrow streets themselves were singularly beautiful, with their houses of many gables, balconies, and carved woodwork, while each house had a characteristic physiognomy of its own; then the crowds of people, all in a hurry and all rushing to the same point, expressing frankly their mutual admiration or contempt, hooting this one or that one who had something strange about him that separated him from his neighbors. The language, dress, arms, gesture, voice, and demeanor, formed each in itself a curious detail, and these thousand details, assembled on a single point, made up a picture of the most interesting description.

Now, this is what Paris was at eight in the evening 011 the day when M. de Guise, after his visit to the King and his conversation with the Due d'Anjou, decided on having the good citizens of the capital of the realm sign the League.

A crowd of citizens dressed in their holiday apparel, or armed with their handsomest weapons, as if for a review or a battle, directed their steps to the churches. The faces of all these men, moved by the same feeling and inarching to the same goal, were at once joyous and menacing, the latter especially when they passed in front of a post of the Swiss guards or the light horse. The expression of their features, and, notably, the cries, hisses, and bravados that corresponded

with it, would have alarmed M. de Morvilliers if that magistrate had not known his good Parisians thoroughly — a mocking and rather irritating race, but incapable of mischief, except drawn into it by some wicked leader or provoked to it by some imprudent enemy.

What added to the noise and confusion of the crowd, and at the same time added to the variety and picturesqueness of the scene, was the presence of large numbers of women, who, disdaining to keep house on such an important day, had either compelled or persuaded their husbands to take them with them. Some had even done better, and had brought with them their batches of children ; and it was rather comical to see these brats tied, as it were, to the monstrous muskets, gigantic sabres, and terrible halberds of their fathers. In fact, in all times and ages the little vagabond of Paris has liked to trail a weapon when he could not carry it, or to admire it when he could not trail it.

From time to time, a group, more fiery than the others, drew their old swords from their scabbards ; it was especially when passing before some dwelling supposed to be the abode of a Huguenot that this demonstration took place. Thereupon the children shrieked out: " Death to the Huguenots ! " while the fathers shouted : " To the stake with the heretics! To the stake! To the stake ! "

These cries drew to the windows the pale face of some old servant or dark-featured minister. Then our citizen, proud and happy at having frightened some one more cowardly than himself, like the hare in La Fontaine, continued his triumphal march, and carried his noisy and harmless menace in another direction.

But it was in the Rue de PArbre-See, especially, that the crowd was the thickest. The street was literally packed, and the throng pressed tumultuously toward a bright light suspended below a sign, which many of our readers will recognize when we say that this sign represented 011 a blue ground a chicken in the process of being cooked, with this legend : " A la Belle-Etoile."

On the threshold, a man with a square cotton cap — made according to the fashion of the time — on a head that was perfectly bald, was haranguing and arguing. With one hand he brandished a naked sword, and waved a register, already half filled with signatures, with the other, crying at the top of

his voice : " Conie on, come on, honest Catholics ; enter the hostelry of the Belle-Etoile, where you will find good wine and a good welcome; come on, the moment is propitious; to-night the good will be separated from the wicked ; to-morrow morning we shall know the wheat from the tares ; come on, gentlemen ; those who can write will come and write ; those who cannot will give their names and surnames to me, Maitre la Huriere, or to my assistant, M. Croquentin."

This M. Croquentin, a young rascal from Perigord, clad in white like Eliakim, and girt with a cord in which were stuck a knife and an inkhorn, — this M. Croquentin, we repeat, was writing rapidly the names of his neighbors, at the head of which he placed that of his respectable employer, Maitre la Huriere.

" Gentlemen," shrieked the innkeeper of the Belle-Etoile, " gentlemen, it is for our holy religion ! Hurrah for our holy religion, gentlemen ! Hurrah for the Mass ! "

He was nearly strangled from emotion and weariness, for this enthusiasm of his had been having full swing ever since four in the afternoon.

The result of it was that numbers, animated with the same zeal, signed their names on his register if they could write, or delivered them to Croquentin if they could not.

All this was the more nattering for La Huriere because he had a serious rival in the church of Saint Germain 1'Auxerrois, which stood close by. But fortunately the faithful were very numerous at that time, and the two establishments, instead of injuring, helped each other: those who could not penetrate into the church to sign their names in the register on the high altar tried to slip through to the place where La Huriere and Croquentin officiated as secretaries ; and those who failed to reach La Huriere and Croquentin hoped for better luck at Saint Germain 1'Auxerrois.

When the registers of the innkeeper and his assistant were full, La Huriere called for two more, so that there might be no interruption in the signatures, and the invitations were then cried out anew by the innkeeper, proud of his first success, which must, he was sure, gain him that high position in the opinion of M. de Guise to which he had long aspired.

While the signers of the new registers were surrendering themselves to the impulses of a zeal that was constantly growing warmer, and that was, as we have said, ebbing back

from one point to another, a man of lofty stature was seen elbowing his way through the crowd, distributing quite a number of blows and kicks on his passage, until he finally reached M. Fromentin's register.

Then he took the pen from an honest citizen who had just signed in a trembling hand, and traced his name in letters half an inch long, so that, what with his magnificent flourishes, splashes, and labyrinthine windings, the page, lately so white, became suddenly black. After this, he passed his pen to an aspirant who was waiting his turn behind him.

" Chicot!" read the next signer.

" Confound it! " said the latter, " what a magnificent hand this gentleman writes ! "

Chicot, for it was he, had refused, as we have seen, to accompany Henri, and was determined to have a little fun with the League on his own account.

Chicot, having verified his presence on the register of M. Croquentin, passed immediately to that of Maitre la Huriere. The innkeeper had seen the glorious flourishes admiringly but enviously. The Gascon was, therefore, received, not with open arms, but with open register, and, taking a pen from the hand of a woollen merchant who lived in the Rue de Bethisy, he wrote his name a second time with flourishes even more intricate and dazzling than the first ; after which, he asked La Huriere if he had not a third register.

The innkeeper did not understand a joke ; he was poor company outside his hostelry. He looked crossly at Chicot, Chicot stared at him in return. La Huriere muttered " heretic ; " Chicot mumbled something about his " wretched cookshop." La Huriere laid down his register and seized his sword; Chicot laid down his pen and did the same. The scene, in all probability, would have ended in a collision, about the result of which the innkeeper would have had no reason to congratulate himself, when some one pinched the Gascon's elbow and he turned round.

The pincher was no other than the King, disguised as a citizen, and, with him, Quelus and Maugiron, in the same disguise, but with arquebuses on their shoulders as well as rapiers at their sides.

"Well, well! " said the King ; « how is this ? Good Catholics quarreling ! Par la mordieu ! 't is a bad example."

" My good gentleman," answered Chicot, pretending not to

recognize the King, u please to mind your own business. I am dealing with a blackguard who bawls after passers-by to sign his register, and, after they sign it, he bawls louder still."

The attention of La Huriere was distracted by new signers, and a rush of the crowd hustled Chicot, the King, arid his minions away from the hostelry of the fanatic innkeeper. They took refuge on the top of a flight of steps from which they could see over the crowd.

" What enthusiasm ! " cried Henri. " The interests of religion must be well advanced in my good city of Paris to-night."

" Yes, sire," answered Chicot; " but it is bad weather for heretics, and your Majesty knows that you are considered one. Look yonder, on the left; well, what do you see ? "

" Ah ! Mayenne's broad face and the sharp muzzle of the cardinal."

" Hush, sire ; we play a safe game when we know where our enemies are and our enemies do not know where we are."

" Do you think, then, I have anything to fear ? "

" Anything to fear ? Great heavens ! sire, in a crowd like this it is impossible to answer for anything. You have a knife in your pocket, that knife makes its way innocently into your neighbor's belly, quite unconscious of what it is doing, the ignorant thing! Your neighbor swears an oath and gives up the ghost. Let us go somewhere else, sire."

" Have I been seen ? "