Les Quarante-cinq. English

  CHAPTER XLIV.

  HOW THE KING OF NAVARRE GUESSES THAT "TURENNIUS" MEANS TURENNE, AND"MARGOTA" MARGOT.

  The king of Navarre's room was not very sumptuous, for he was not rich,and did not waste the little he had. It was large, and, with hisbedroom, occupied all the right wing of the castle. It was well, thoughnot royally furnished, and had a magnificent view over meadows andrivers. Great trees, willows, and planes hid the course of the streamevery here and there, which glanced between, golden in the sunlight, orsilver by that of the moon. This beautiful panorama was terminated by arange of hills, which looked violet in the evening light. The windows onthe other side looked on to the court of the castle.

  All these natural beauties interested Chicot less than the arrangementsof the room, which was the ordinary sitting-room of Henri.

  The king seated himself, with his constant smile, in a great armchair ofleather with gilt nails, and Chicot, at his command, sat down on a stoolsimilar in material. Henri looked at him smilingly, but with curiosity.

  "You will think I am very curious, dear M. Chicot," began the king, "butI cannot help it. I have so long looked on you as dead, that in spite ofthe pleasure your resurrection causes me, I can hardly realize the idea.Why did you so suddenly disappear from this world?"

  "Oh, sire!" said Chicot, with his usual freedom, "you disappeared fromVincennes. Every one eclipses himself according to his need."

  "I recognize by your ready wit that it is not to your ghost I amspeaking." Then, more seriously, "But now we must leave wit and speak ofbusiness."

  "If it does not too much fatigue your majesty, I am ready."

  Henri's eyes kindled.

  "Fatigue me! It is true I grow rusty here. I have to-day exercised mybody much, but my mind little."

  "Sire, I am glad of that; for, ambassador from a king, your relation andfriend, I have a delicate commission to execute with your majesty."

  "Speak quickly--you pique my curiosity."

  "Sire--"

  "First, your letters of credit. I know it is needless, since you are theambassador: but I must do my duty as king."

  "Sire, I ask your majesty's pardon; but all the letters of credit that Ihad I have drowned in rivers, or scattered in the air."

  "And why so?"

  "Because one cannot travel charged with an embassy to Navarre as if youwere going to buy cloth at Lyons; and if one has the dangerous honor ofcarrying royal letters, one runs a risk of carrying them only to thetomb."

  "It is true," said Henri, "the roads are not very safe, and in Navarrewe are reduced, for want of money, to trust to the honesty of thepeople; but they do not steal much."

  "Oh, no, sire; they behave like lambs or angels, but that is only inNavarre; out of it one meets wolves and vultures around every prey. Iwas a prey, sire; so I had both."

  "At all events, I am glad to see they did not eat you."

  "Ventre de biche! sire, it was not their faults; they did their best,but they found me too tough, and could not get through my skin. But toreturn to my letter."

  "Since you have none, dear M. Chicot, it seems to me useless to returnto it."

  "But I had one, sire, but I was forced to destroy it, for M. de Mayenneran after me to steal it from me."

  "Mayenne?"

  "In person."

  "Luckily he does not run fast. Is he still getting fatter?"

  "Ventre de biche! not just now, I should think."

  "Why not?"

  "Because, you understand, sire, he had the misfortune to catch me, andunfortunately got a sword wound."

  "And the letter?"

  "He had not a glimpse of it, thanks to my precautions."

  "Bravo! your journey is interesting; you must tell me the details. Butone thing disquiets me--if the letter was destroyed for M. de Mayenne,it is also destroyed for me. How, then, shall I know what my brotherHenri wrote?"

  "Sire, it exists in my memory."

  "How so?"

  "Sire, before destroying it I learned it by heart."

  "An excellent idea, M. Chicot. You will recite it to me, will you not?"

  "Willingly, sire."

  "Word for word."

  "Yes, sire, although I do not know the language, I have a good memory."

  "What language?"

  "Latin."

  "I do not understand you; was my brother Henri's letter written inLatin?"

  "Yes, sire."

  "And why?"

  "Ah! sire, doubtless because Latin is an audacious language--a languagewhich may say anything, and in which Persius and Juvenal haveimmortalized the follies and errors of kings."

  "Kings?"

  "And of queens, sire."

  The king began to frown.

  "I mean emperors and empresses," continued Chicot.

  "You know Latin, M. Chicot?"

  "Yes and no, sire."

  "You are lucky if it is 'yes,' for you have an immense advantage overme, who do not know it, but you--"

  "They taught me to read it, sire, as well as Greek and Hebrew."

  "You are a living book, M. Chicot."

  "Your majesty has found the exact word--'a book.' They print somethingon my memory, they send me where they like, I arrive, I am read andunderstood."

  "Or not understood."

  "How so, sire?"

  "Why, if one does not know the language in which you are printed."

  "Oh, sire, kings know everything."

  "That is what we tell the people, and what flatterers tell us."

  "Then, sire, it is useless for me to recite to your majesty the letterwhich I learned by heart, since neither of us would understand it."

  "Is Latin not very much like Italian?"

  "So they say, sire."

  "And Spanish?"

  "I believe so."

  "Then let us try. I know a little Italian, and my Gascon patois issomething like Spanish: perhaps I may understand Latin without everhaving learned it."

  "Your majesty orders me to repeat it, then?"

  "I beg you, dear M. Chicot."

  Chicot began.

  "Frater carissime,

  "Sincerus amo quo te prosequebatur germanus noster Carolus Nonus,functus nuper, colet usque regiam nostram et pectori meo pertinaciteradhoeret."

  "If I am not mistaken," said Henri, interrupting, "they speak in thisphrase of love, obstinacy, and of my brother, Charles IX."

  "Very likely," said Chicot; "Latin is such a beautiful language, thatall that might go in one sentence."

  "Go on," said the king.

  Chicot began again, and Henri listened with the utmost calm to all thepassages about Turenne and his wife, only at the word "Turennius," hesaid:

  "Does not 'Turennius' mean Turenne?"

  "I think so, sire."

  "And 'Margota' must be the pet name which my brothers gave to theirsister Marguerite, my beloved wife."

  "It is possible," said Chicot; and he continued his letter to the endwithout the king's face changing in the least.

  "Is it finished?" asked Henri, when he stopped.

  "Yes, sire."

  "It ought to be superb."

  "I think so, also, sire."

  "How unlucky that I only understood two words, 'Turennius' and'Margota.'"

  "An irreparable misfortune, sire, unless your majesty decides on havingit translated by some one."

  "Oh! no; you yourself, M. Chicot, who were so discreet in destroying theautograph, you would not counsel me to make this letter public?"

  "But I think that the king's letter to you, recommended to me socarefully, and sent to your majesty by a private hand, must containsomething important for your majesty to know."

  "Yes, but to confide these important things to any one, I must havegreat confidence in him."

  "Certainly."

  "Well, I have an idea. Go and find my wife. She is learned, and willunderstand it if you recite it to her; then she can explain it to me."

  "That is an excellent plan."

  "Is it not? Go." r />
  "I will, sire."

  "Mind not to alter a word of the letter."

  "That would be impossible, sire. To do that I must know Latin."

  "Go, then, my friend."

  Chicot took leave and went, more puzzled with the king than ever.