Chicot the Jester

CHAPTER VII.
HOW, WITHOUT ANY ONE KNOWING WHY, THE KING WAS CONVERTED BEFORE THE NEXT DAY

Three hours passed thus.

Suddenly, a terrible cry was heard, which came from the king’s room.

All the lights in his room were out, and no sound was to be heard except this strange call of the king’s. For it was he who had cried.

Soon was heard the noise of furniture falling, porcelain breaking, steps running about the room, and the barking of dogs-mingled with new cries. Almost instantly lights burned, swords shone in the galleries, and the heavy steps of the Guards were heard.

“To arms!” cried all, “the king calls.”

And the captain of the guard, the colonel of the Swiss, and some attendants, rushed into the king’s room with flambeaux.

Near an overturned chair, broken cups, and disordered bed, stood Henri, looking terrified and grotesque in his night-dress. His right hand was extended, trembling like a leaf in the wind, and his left held his sword, which he had seized mechanically.

He appeared dumb through terror, and all the spectators, not daring to break the silence, waited with the utmost anxiety.

Then appeared, half dressed and wrapped in a large cloak, the young queen, Louise de Lorraine, blonde and gentle, who led the life of a saint upon earth, and who had been awakened by her husband’s cries.

“Sire,” cried she, also trembling, “what is the matter? Mon Dieu! I heard your cries, and I came.”

“It – it is nothing,” said the king, without moving his eyes, which seemed to be looking up the air for some form invisible to all but him.

“But your majesty cried out; is your majesty suffering?” asked the queen.

Terror was so visibly painted on the king’s countenance, that it began to gain on the others.

“Oh, sire!” cried the queen again, “in Heaven’s name do not leave us in this suspense. Will you have a doctor?”

“A doctor, no,” cried Henri, in the same tone, “the body is not ill, it is the mind; no doctor – a confessor.”

Everyone looked round; nowhere was there to be seen any traces of what had so terrified the king. However, a confessor was sent for; Joseph Foulon, superior of the convent of St. Généviève, was torn from his bed, to come to the king. With the confessor, the tumult ceased, and silence was reestablished; everyone conjectured and wondered – the king was confessing.

The next day the king rose early, and began to read prayers then he ordered all his friends to be sent for. They sent to St. Luc, but he was more suffering than ever. His sleep, or rather his lethargy, had been so profound, that he alone had heard nothing of the tumult in the night, although he slept so near. He begged to be left in bed. At this deplorable recital, Henri crossed himself, and sent him a doctor.

Then he ordered that all the scourges from the convent should be brought to him, and, going to his friends, distributed them, ordering them to scourge each other as hard as they could.

D’Epernon said that as his right arm was in a sling, and he could not return the blows he received, he ought to be exempt, but the king replied that that would only make it the more acceptable to God.

He himself set the example. He took off his doublet, waistcoat, and shirt, and struck himself like a martyr. Chicot tried to laugh, as usual, but was warned by a terrible look, that this was not the right time, and he was forced to take a scourge like the others.

All at once the king left the room, telling them to wait for him. Immediately the blows ceased, only Chicot continued to strike D’O, whom he hated, and D’O returned it as well as he could. It was a duel with whips.

The king went to the queen, gave her a pearl necklace worth 25,000 crowns, and kissed her, which he had not done for a year. Then he asked her to put off her royal ornaments and put on a sack.

Louise, always good, consented, but asked why her husband gave her a necklace, and yet made such a request.

“For my sins,” replied he.

The queen said no more, for she knew, better than any one, how many he had to repent of.

Henri returned, which was a signal for the flagellation to recommence. In ten minutes the queen arrived, with her sack on her shoulders. Then tapers were distributed to all the court, and barefooted, through the snow, all the courtiers and fine ladies went to Montmartre, shivering. At five o’clock the promenade was over, the convents had received rich presents, the feet of all the court were swollen, and the backs of the courtiers sore. There had been tears, cries, prayers, incense, and psalms. Everyone had suffered, without knowing why the king, who danced the night before, scourged himself to-day. As for Chicot, he had escaped at the Porte Montmartre, and, with Brother Gorenflot, had entered a public-house, where he had eaten and drank. Then he had rejoined the procession and returned to the Louvre.

In the evening the king, fatigued with his fast and his exercise, ordered himself a light supper, had his shoulders washed, and then went to visit St. Luc.

“Ah!” cried he, “God has done well to render life so bitter.”

“Why so, sire?”

“Because then man, instead of fearing death, longs for it.”

“Speak for yourself, sire, I do not long for it at all.”

“Listen, St. Luc, will you follow my example?”

“If I think it a good one.”

“I will leave my throne, and you your wife, and we will enter a cloister. I will call myself Brother Henri – ”

“Pardon, sire, if you do not care for your crown, of which you are tired, I care very much for my wife, whom I know so little. Therefore I refuse.”

“Oh! you are better.”

“Infinitely better, sire; I feel quite joyous, and disposed for happiness and pleasure.”

“Poor St. Luc!” cried the king, clasping his hands.

“You should have asked me yesterday, sire, then I was ill and cross. I would have thrown myself into a well for a trifle. But this evening it is quite a different thing. I have passed a good night and a charming day. Mordieu, vive la joie!”

“You swear, St. Luc.”

“Did I, sire? but I think you swear sometimes.”

“I have sworn, St. Luc, but I shall swear no more.”

“I cannot say that; I will not swear more than I can help, and God is merciful.”

“You think he will pardon me?”

“Oh! I speak for myself, not for you, sire. You have sinned as a king, I as a private man, and we shall, I trust, be differently judged.”

The king sighed. “St. Luc,” said he, “will you pass the night in my room?”

“Why, what should we do?”

“We will light all the lamps, I will go to bed, and you shall read prayers to me.”

“No, thank you, sire.”

“You will not?”

“On no account.”

“You abandon me, St. Luc!”

“No, I will stay with your majesty, if you will send for music and ladies, and have a dance.”

“Oh, St. Luc, St. Luc!”

“I am wild to-night, sire, I want to dance and drink.”

“St. Luc,” said the king, solemnly, “do you ever dream?”

“Often, sire.”

“You believe in dreams?”

“With reason.”

“How so?”

“Dreams console for the reality. Last night I had a charming dream.”

“What was it?”

“I dreamed that my wife – ”

“You still think of your wife?”

“More than ever, sire; well, I dreamed that she, with her charming face – for she is pretty, sire – ”

“So was Eve, who ruined us all.”

“Well, my wife had procured wings and the form of a bird, and so, braving locks and bolts, she passed over the walls of the Louvre, and came to my window, crying, ‘Open, St. Luc, open, my husband.’”

“And you opened?”

“I should think so.”

“Worldly.”

“As you please, sire.”

“Then you woke?”

“No, indeed, the dream was too charming; and I hope to-night to dream again; therefore I refuse your majesty’s obliging offer. If I sit up, let me at least have something to pay me for losing my dream. If your majesty will do as I said – ”

“Enough, St. Luc. I trust Heaven will send you a dream to-night which will lead you to repentance.”

“I doubt it, sire, and I advise you to send away this libertine St. Luc, who is resolved not to amend.”

“No, no, I hope, before to-morrow, grace will have touched you as it has me. Good night, I will pray for you.”

CHAPTER VIII.
HOW THE KING WAS AFRAID OF BEING AFRAID

When the king left St. Luc, he found the court, according to his orders, in the great gallery. Then he gave D’O, D’Epernon and Schomberg an order to retire into the provinces, threatened Quelus and Maugiron to punish them if they quarreled anymore with Bussy, to whom he gave his hand to kiss, and then embraced his brother François.

As for the queen, he was prodigal in politeness to her.

When the usual time for retiring approached, the king seemed trying to retard it. At last ten o’clock struck.

“Come with me, Chicot,” then said he, “good night, gentlemen.”

“Good night, gentlemen,” said Chicot, “we are going to bed. I want my barber, my hairdresser, my valet de chambre, and, above all, my cream.”

“No,” said the king, “I want none of them to-night; Lent is going to begin.”

“I regret the cream,” said Chicot.

The king and Chicot entered the room, which we already know.

“Ah ça! Henri,” said Chicot, “I am the favorite to-night. Am I handsomer than that Cupid, Quelus?”

“Silence, Chicot, and you, gentlemen of the toilette, go out.”

They obeyed, and the king and Chicot were left alone.

“Why do you send them away?” asked Chicot, “they have not greased us yet. Are you going to grease me with your own royal hand? It would be an act of humility.”

“Let us pray,” said Henri.

“Thank you, that is not amusing. If that be what you called me here for, I prefer to return to the bad company I have left. Adieu, my son. Good night.”

“Stay,” said the king.

“Oh! this is tyranny. You are a despot, a Phalaris, a Dionysius. All day you have made me tear the shoulders of my friends with cow-hide, and now we are to begin again. Do not let us do it, Henri, when there’s but two, every blow tells.”

“Hold your tongue, miserable chatterer, and think of repentance.”

“I repent! And of what? Of being jester to a monk. Confiteor – I repent, mea culpa, it is a great sin.”

“No sacrilege, wretch.”

“Ah! I would rather he shut up in a cage with lions and apes, than with a mad king. Adieu, I am going.”

The king locked the door.

“Henri, you look sinister; if you do not let me go, I will cry, I will call, I will break the window, I will kick down the door.”

“Chicot,” said the king, in a melancholy tone, “you abuse my sadness.”

“Ah! I understand, you are afraid to be alone. Tyrants always are so. Take my long sword, and let me take the scabbard to my room.”

At the word “afraid,” Henri shuddered, and he looked nervously around, and seemed so agitated and grew so pale, that Chicot began to think him really ill, and said, —

“Come, my son, what is the matter, tell your troubles to your friend Chicot.”

The king looked at him and said, “Yes, you are my friend, my only friend.”

“There is,” said Chicot, “the abbey of Valency vacant.”

“Listen, Chicot, you are discreet.”

“There is also that of Pithiviers, where they make such good pies.”

“In spite of your buffooneries, you are a brave man.”

“Then do not give me an abbey, give me a regiment.”

“And even a wise one.”

“Then do not give me a regiment, make me a counselor; but no, when I think of it, I should prefer a regiment, for I should be always forced to be of the king’s opinion.”

“Hold your tongue, Chicot, the terrible hour approaches.”

“Ah! you are beginning again.”

“You will hear.”

“Hear what?”

“Wait, and the event will show you. Chicot, you are brave!”

“I boast of it, but I do not wish to try. Call your captain of the guard, your Swiss, and let me go away from this invisible danger.”

“Chicot, I command you to stay.”

“On my word, a nice master. I am afraid, I tell you. Help!”

“Well, drôle, if I must, I will tell you all.”

“Ah!” cried Chicot, drawing his sword, “once warned, I do not care; tell, my son, tell. Is it a crocodile? my sword is sharp, for I use it every week to cut my corns.” And Chicot sat down in the armchair with his drawn sword between his legs.

“Last night,” said Henri, “I slept – ”

“And I also,” said Chicot.

“Suddenly a breath swept over my face.”

“It was the dog, who was hungry, and who licked your cream.”

“I half woke, and felt my beard bristle with terror under my mask.”

“Ah! you make me tremble deliciously.”

“Then,” continued the king, in a trembling voice, “then a voice sounded through the room, with a doleful vibration.”

“The voice of the crocodile! I have read in Marco Polo, that the crocodile has a voice like the crying of children; but be easy, my son, for if it comes, we will kill it.”

“‘Listen! miserable sinner,’ said the voice – ”

“Oh! it spoke; then it was not a crocodile.”

“‘Miserable sinner,’ said the voice, ‘I am the angel of God.’”

“The angel of God!”

“Ah! Chicot, it was a frightful voice.”

“Was it like the sound of a trumpet?”

“‘Are you there?’ continued the voice, ‘do you hear, hardened sinner; are you determined to persevere in your iniquities?’”

“Ah, really; he said very much the same as other people, it seems to me.”

“Then, Chicot, followed many other reproaches, which I assure you were most painful.”

“But tell me what he said, that I may see if he was well informed?”

“Impious! do you doubt?”

“I? all that astonishes me is, that he waited so long to reproach you. So, my son, you were dreadfully afraid?”

“Oh, yes, the marrow seemed to dry in my bones.”

“It is quite natural; on my word, I do not know what I should have done in your place. And then you called?”

“Yes.”

“And they came?”

“Yes.”

“And there was no one here?”

“No one.”

“It is frightful.”

“So frightful, that I sent for my confessor.”

“And he came?”

“Immediately.”

“Now, be frank, my son; tell the truth for once. What did he think of your revelation?”

“He shuddered.”

“I should think so.”

“He ordered me to repent, as the voice told me.”

“Very well. There can be no harm in repenting. But what did he think of the vision?”

“That it was a miracle, and that I must think of it seriously. Therefore, this morning – ”

“What have you done?”

“I gave 100,000 livres to the Jesuits.”

“Very well.”

“And scourged myself and my friends.”

“Perfect! but after?”

“Well, what do you think of it, Chicot? It is not to the jester I speak, but to the man of sense, to my friend.”

“Ah, sire, I think your majesty had the nightmare.”

“You think so?”

“Yes, it was a dream, which will not be renewed, unless your majesty thinks too much about it.”

“A dream? No, Chicot, I was awake, my eyes were open.”

“I sleep like that.”

“Yes, but then you do not see, and I saw the moon shining through my windows, and its light on the amethyst in the hilt of my sword, which lay in that chair where you are.”

“And the lamp?”

“Had gone out.”

“A dream, my son.”

“Why do you not believe, Chicot? It is said that God speaks to kings, when He wishes to effect some change on the earth.”

“Yes, he speaks, but so low that they never hear Him.”

“Well, do you know why I made you stay? – that you might hear as well as I.”

“No one would believe me if I said I heard it.”

“My friend, it is a secret which I confide to your known fidelity.”

“Well, I accept. Perhaps it will also speak to me.”

“Well, what must I do?”

“Go to bed, my son.”

“But – ”

“Do you think that sitting up will keep it away?”

“Well, then, you remain.”

“I said so.”

“Well, then, I will go to bed.”

“Good.”

“But you will not?”

“Certainly not, I will stay here.”

“You will not go to sleep?”

“Oh, that I cannot promise; sleep is like fear, my son, a thing independent of will.”

“You will try, at least?”

“Be easy; I will pinch myself. Besides, the voice would wake me.”

“Do not joke about the voice.”

“Well, well, go to bed.”

The king sighed, looked round anxiously, and glided tremblingly into bed. Then Chicot established him in his chair, arranging round him the pillows and cushions.

“How do you feel, sire?” said he.

“Pretty well; and you?”

“Very well; good night, Henri.”

“Good night, Chicot; do not go to sleep.”

“Of course not,” said Chicot, yawning fit to break his jaws.

And they both closed their eyes, the king to pretend to sleep, Chicot to sleep really.

CHAPTER IX.
HOW THE ANGEL MADE A MISTAKE AND SPOKE TO CHICOT, THINKING IT WAS THE KING

The king and Chicot remained thus for some time. All at once the king jumped up in his bed. Chicot woke at the noise.

“What is it?” asked he in a low voice.

“The breath on my face.”

As he spoke, one of the wax lights went out, then the other, and the rest followed. Then the lamp also went out, and the room was lighted only by the rays of the moon. At the same moment they heard a hollow voice, saying, apparently from the end of the room, —

“Hardened sinner, art thou there?”

“Yes,” said Henri, with chattering teeth.

“Oh!” thought Chicot, “that is a very hoarse voice to come from heaven; nevertheless, it is dreadful.”

“Do you hear?” asked the voice.

“Yes, and I am bowed down to the earth.”

“Do you believe you obeyed me by all the exterior mummeries which you performed yesterday, without your heart being touched?”

“Very well said,” thought Chicot. He approached the king softly.

“Do you believe now?” asked the king, with clasped hands.

“Wait.”

“What for?”

“Hush! leave your bed quietly, and let me get in.”

“Why?”

“That the anger of the Lord may fall first on me.”

“Do you think He will spare me for that?”

“Let us try,” and he pushed the king gently out and got into his place.

“Now, go to my chair, and leave all to me.”

Henri obeyed; he began to understand.

“You do not reply,” said the voice; “you are hardened in sin.”

“Oh! pardon! pardon!” cried Chicot, imitating the king’s voice. Then he whispered to Henri, “It is droll that the angel does not know me.”

“What can it mean?”

“Wait.”

“Wretch!” said the voice.

“Yes, I confess,” said Chicot; “I am a hardened sinner, a dreadful sinner.”

“Then acknowledge your crimes, and repent.”

“I acknowledge to have been a great traitor to my cousin Condé, whose wife I seduced.”

“Oh! hush,” said the king, “that is so long ago.”

“I acknowledge,” continued Chicot, “to have been a great rogue to the Poles, who chose me for king, and whom I abandoned one night, carrying away the crown jewels. I repent of this.”

“Ah!” whispered Henri again: “that is all forgotten.”

“Hush! let me speak.”

“Go on,” said the voice.

“I acknowledge having stolen the crown from my brother D’Alençon, to whom it belonged of right, as I had formerly renounced it on accepting the crown of Poland.”

“Knave!” said the king.

“Go on,” said the voice.

“I acknowledge having joined my mother, to chase from France my brother-in-law, the King of Navarre, after having destroyed all his friends.”

“Ah!” whispered the king, angrily.

“Sire, do not let us offend God, by trying to hide what He knows as well as we do.”

“Leave politics,” said the voice.

“Ah!” cried Chicot, with a doleful voice, “is it my private life I am to speak of?”

“Yes.”

“I acknowledge, then, that I am effeminate, idle, and hypocritical.”

“It is true.”

“I have ill-treated my wife – such a worthy woman.”

“One ought to love one’s wife as one’s self, and prefer her to all things,” said the voice, angrily.

“Ah!” cried Chicot, “then I have sinned deeply.”

“And you have made others sin by your example.”

“It is true.”

“Especially that poor St. Luc; and if you do not send him home to-morrow to his wife, there will be no pardon for you.”

“Ah!” said Chicot to the king, “the voice seems to be friendly to the house of Cossé.”

“And you must make him a duke, to recompense him for his forced stay.”

“Peste!” said Chicot; “the angel is much interested for M. de St. Luc.”

“Oh!” cried the king, without listening, “this voice from on high will kill me.”

“Voice from the side, you mean,” said Chicot.

“How! a voice from the side?”

“Yes; can you not hear that the voice comes from that wall, Henri? – the angel lodges in the Louvre.”

“Blasphemer!”

“Why, it is honorable for you; but you do not seem to recognize it. Go and visit him; he is only separated from you by that partition.”

A ray of the moon falling on Chicot’s face, showed it to the king so laughing and amused, that he said, “What! you dare to laugh?”

“Yes, and so will you in a minute. Be reasonable, and do as I tell you. Go and see if the angel be not in the next room.”

“But if he speak again?”

“Well, I am here to answer. He is vastly credulous. For the last quarter of an hour I have been talking, and he has not recognized me. It is not clever!”

Henri frowned. “I begin to believe you are right, Chicot,” said he.

“Go, then.”

Henri opened softly the door which led into the corridor. He had scarcely entered it, when he heard the voice redoubling its reproaches, and Chicot replying.

“Yes,” said the voice, “you are as inconstant as a woman, as soft as a Sybarite, as irreligious as a heathen.”

“Oh!” whined Chicot, “is it my fault if I have such a soft skin – such white hands – such a changeable mind? But from to-day I will alter – I will wear coarse linen – ”

However, as Henri advanced, he found that Chicot’s voice grew fainter, and the other louder, and that it seemed to come from St. Luc’s room, in which he could see a light. He stooped down and peeped through the keyhole, and immediately grew pale with anger.

“Par la mordieu!” murmured he, “is it possible that they have dared to play such a trick?”

This is what he saw through the keyhole. St. Luc, in a dressing-gown, was roaring through a tube the words which he had found so dreadful, and beside him, leaning on his shoulder, was a lady in white, who every now and then took the tube from him, and called through something herself, while stifled bursts of laughter accompanied each sentence of Chicot’s, who continued to answer in a doleful tone.

“Jeanne de Cossé in St. Luc’s room! A hole in the wall! such a trick on me! Oh! they shall pay dearly for it!”. And with a vigorous kick he burst open the door.

Jeanne rushed behind the curtains to hide herself, while St. Luc, his face full of terror, fell on his knees before the king, who was pale with rage.

“Ah!” cried Chicot, from the bed, “Ah! mercy! – Holy Virgin! I am dying!”

Henri, seizing, in a transport of rage, the trumpet from the hands of St. Luc, raised it as if to strike. But St. Luc jumped up and cried —

“Sire, I am a gentleman; you have no right to strike me!”

Henri dashed the trumpet violently on the ground. Some one picked it up; it was Chicot, who, hearing the noise, judged that his presence was necessary as a mediator. He ran to the curtain, and, drawing out poor Jeanne, all trembling —

“Oh!” said he, “Adam and Eve after the Fall. You send them away, Henri, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will be the exterminating angel.”

And throwing himself between, the king and St. Luc, and waving the trumpet over the heads of the guilty couple, said —

“This is my Paradise, which you have lost by your disobedience; I forbid you to return to it.”

Then he whispered to St. Luc, who had his arm round his wife —

“If you have a good horse, kill it, but be twenty leagues from here before to-morrow.”