Les Quarante-cinq. English

  CHAPTER XLIII.

  HOW CHICOT BLESSED KING LOUIS II. FOR HAVING INVENTED POSTING, ANDRESOLVED TO PROFIT BY IT.

  Chicot, to whom our readers will now permit us to return, after his lastadventure, went on as rapidly as possible. Between the duke and himwould now exist a mortal struggle, which would end only with life.Mayenne, wounded in his body, and still more grievously in hisself-love, would never forgive him. Skillful in all mimicry, Chicot nowpretended to be a great lord, as he had before imitated a goodbourgeois, and thus never prince was served with more zeal than M.Chicot, when he had sold Ernanton's horse and had talked for a quarterof an hour with the postmaster. Chicot, once in the saddle, wasdetermined not to stop until he reached a place of safety, and he wentas quickly as constant fresh relays of horses could manage. He himselfseemed made of iron, and, at the end of sixty leagues, accomplished intwenty hours, to feel no fatigue. When, thanks to this rapidity, inthree days he reached Bordeaux, he thought he might take breath. A mancan think while he gallops, and Chicot thought much. What kind of princewas he about to find in that strange Henri, whom some thought a fool,others a coward, and all a renegade without firmness. But Chicot'sopinion was rather different to that of the rest of the world; and hewas clever at divining what lay below the surface. Henri of Navarre wasto him an enigma, although an unsolved one. But to know that he was anenigma was to have found out much. Chicot knew more than others, byknowing, like the old Grecian sage, that he knew nothing. Therefore,where most people would have gone to speak freely, and with their heartson their lips, Chicot felt that he must proceed cautiously and withcarefully-guarded words. All this was impressed on his mind by hisnatural penetration, and also by the aspect of the country through whichhe was passing. Once within the limits of the little principality ofNavarre, a country whose poverty was proverbial in France, Chicot, tohis great astonishment, ceased to see the impress of that misery whichshowed itself in every house and on every face in the finest provincesof that fertile France which he had just left. The woodcutter who passedalong, with his arm leaning on the yoke of his favorite ox, the girlwith short petticoats and quiet steps, carrying water on her head, theold man humming a song of his youthful days, the tame bird who warbledin his cage, or pecked at his plentiful supply of food, the brown, thin,but healthy children playing about the roads, all said in a languageclear and intelligible to Chicot, "See, we are happy here."

  Often he heard the sound of heavy wheels, and then saw coming along thewagon of the vintages, full of casks and of children with red faces.Sometimes an arquebuse from behind a hedge, or vines, or fig-trees, madehim tremble for fear of an ambush, but it always turned out to be ahunter, followed by his great dogs, traversing the plain, plentiful inhares, to reach the mountain, equally full of partridges and heathcocks.Although the season was advanced, and Chicot had left Paris full of fogand hoar-frost, it was here warm and fine. The great trees, which hadnot yet entirely lost their leaves, which, indeed, in the south theynever lose entirely, threw deep shadows from their reddening tops.

  The Bearnais peasants, their caps over one ear, rode about on thelittle cheap horses of the country, which seem indefatigable, go twentyleagues at a stretch, and, never combed, never covered, give themselvesa shake at the end of their journey, and go to graze on the first tuftof heath, their only and sufficing repast.

  "Ventre de biche!" said Chicot; "I have never seen Gascony so rich. Iconfess the letter weighs on my mind, although I have translated it intoLatin. However, I have never heard that Henriot, as Charles IX. calledhim, knew Latin; so I will give him a free French translation."

  Chicot inquired, and was told that the king was at Nerac. He turned tothe left to reach this place, and found the road full of peoplereturning from the market at Condom. He learned, for Chicot, careful inanswering the questions of others, was a great questioner himself, thatthe king of Navarre led a very joyous life, and was always changing fromone love to another.

  He formed the acquaintance of a young Catholic priest, a sheep-owner,and an officer, who had joined company on the road, and were travelingtogether. This chance association seemed to him to represent Navarre,learned, commercial, and military.

  The officer recounted to him several sonnets which had been made on theloves of the king and the beautiful La Fosseuse, daughter of Rene deMontmorency, baron de Fosseux.

  "Oh!" said Chicot; "in Paris, we believe that the king is mad aboutMlle. de Rebours."

  "Oh! that is at Pau."

  "What! has the king a mistress in every town?"

  "Very likely; I know that he was the lover of Mlle. de Dayelle, while Iwas in garrison at Castelnaudry."

  "Oh! Mlle. Dayelle, a Greek, was she not?"

  "Yes," said the priest; "a Cyprian."

  "I am from Agen," said the merchant; "and I know that when the king wasthere he made love to Mlle. de Tignonville."

  "Ventre de biche!" said Chicot; "he is a universal lover. But to returnto Mlle. Dayelle; I knew her family."

  "She was jealous and was always threatening; she had a pretty littleponiard, which she used to keep on her work-table, and one day, the kingwent away and carried the poniard with him, saying that he did not wishany misfortune to happen to his successor."

  "And Mlle. de Rebours?"

  "Oh! they quarreled."

  "Then La Fosseuse is the last?"

  "Oh! mon Dieu! yes; the king is mad about her."

  "But what does the queen say?"

  "She carries her griefs to the foot of the crucifix," said the priest.

  "Besides," said the officer, "she is ignorant of all these things."

  "That is not possible," said Chicot.

  "Why so?"

  "Because Nerac is not so large that it is easy to hide things there."

  "As for that, there is a park there containing avenues more than 3,000feet long of cypresses, plane trees, and magnificent sycamores, and theshade is so thick it is almost dark in broad daylight. Think what itmust be at night."

  "And then the queen is much occupied."

  "Occupied?"

  "Yes."

  "With whom, pray?"

  "With God, monsieur," said the priest.

  "With God?"

  "Yes, the queen is religious."

  "Religious! But there is no mass at the palace, is there?"

  "No mass; do you take us for heathens? Learn, monsieur, that the kinggoes to church with his gentlemen, and the queen hears mass in herprivate chapel."

  "The queen?"

  "Yes."

  "Queen Marguerite?"

  "Yes; and I, unworthy as I am, received two crowns for officiatingthere; I even preached a very good sermon on the text, 'God hasseparated the wheat from the chaff.' It is in the Bible, 'God willseparate,' but as it is a long time since that was written, I supposedthat the thing was done."

  "And the king?"

  "He heard it, and applauded."

  "I must add," said the officer, "that they do something else than hearmass at the palace; they give good dinners--and the promenades! I do notbelieve in any place in France there are more mustaches shown than inthe promenades at Nerac."

  Chicot knew Queen Marguerite well, and he knew that if she was blind tothese love affairs, it was when she had some motive for placing abandage over her eyes.

  "Ventre de biche!" said he, "these alleys of cypresses, and 3,000 feetof shade, make me feel uncomfortable. I am coming from Paris to tell thetruth at Nerac, where they have such deep shade, that women do not seetheir husbands walking with other women. Corbiou! they will be ready tokill me for troubling so many charming promenades. Happily I know theking is a philosopher, and I trust in that. Besides, I am an ambassador,and sacred."

  Chicot entered Nerac in the evening, just at the time of the promenadeswhich occupied the king so much. Chicot could see the simplicity of theroyal manners by the ease with which he obtained an audience. A valetopened the door of a rustic-looking apartment bordered with flowers,above which was the king's antechamber and sitting-room.
An officer orpage ran to find the king, wherever he might be when any one wished foran audience, and he always came at the first invitation. Chicot waspleased with this; he judged the king to be open and candid, and hethought so still more when he saw the king coming up a winding walkbordered with laurels and roses, an old hat on his head, and dressed ina dark green doublet and gray boots, and with a cup and ball in hishand. He looked gay and happy, as though care never came near him.

  "Who wants me?" said he to the page.

  "A man who looks to me half courtier, half soldier."

  Chicot heard these words, and advanced.

  "It is I, sire."

  "What! M. Chicot in Navarre! Ventre St. Gris! welcome, dear M. Chicot!"

  "A thousand thanks, sire."

  "Quite well? Ah, parbleu! we will drink together, I am quite delighted.Chicot, sit down there." And he pointed to a grass bank.

  "Oh no, sire!"

  "Have you come 200 leagues for me to leave you standing? No, no; sitdown; one cannot talk standing."

  "But, sire, respect--"

  "Respect! here in Navarre! You are mad, my poor Chicot."

  "No, sire, I am not mad, but I am an ambassador."

  A slight frown contracted Henri's brow, but disappeared at once.

  "Ambassador, from whom?"

  "From Henri III. I come from Paris and the Louvre, sire."

  "Oh! that is different. Come with me," said the king, rising, with asigh.

  "Page, take wine up to my room. Come, Chicot, I will conduct you."

  Chicot followed the king, thinking, "How disagreeable! to come andtrouble this honest man in his peace and his ignorance. Bah! he will bephilosophical."