Александр Дюма
Chicot the Jester
CHAPTER XXVIII.
HOW BROTHER GORENFLOT TRAVELED UPON AN ASS, NAMED PANURGE, AND LEARNED MANY THINGS HE DID NOT KNOW BEFORE
What made Chicot so indifferent to his own repast was, that he had already breakfasted plentifully. Therefore, he sat Gorenflot down to eggs and bacon, while he went among the peasants to look for an ass. He found a pacific creature, four years old, and something between an ass and a horse; gave twenty-two livres for it, and brought it to Gorenflot, who was enchanted at the sight of it, and christened it Panurge. Chicot, seeing by the look of the table that there would be no cruelty in staying his companion’s repast, said, —
“Come, now we must go on; at Mélun we will lunch.”
Gorenflot got up, merely saying, “At Mélun, at Mélun.”
They went on for about four leagues, then Gorenflot lay down on the grass to sleep, while Chicot began to calculate.
“One hundred and twenty leagues, at ten leagues a day, would take twelve days.” It was as much as he could reasonably expect from the combined forces of a monk and an ass. But Chicot shook his head. “It will not do,” he said, “if he wants to follow me, he must do fifteen.”
He pushed the monk to wake him, who, opening his eyes, said, “Are we at Mélun? I am hungry.”
“Not yet, compère, and that is why I woke you; we must get on; we go too slow, ventre de biche!”
“Oh, no, dear M. Chicot; it is so fatiguing to go fast. Besides, there is no hurry: am I not traveling for the propagation of the faith, and you for pleasure? Well, the slower we go, the better the faith will be propagated, and the more you will amuse yourself. My advice is to stay some days at Mélun, where they make excellent eel-pies. What do you say, M. Chicot?”
“I say, that my opinion is to go as fast as possible; not to lunch at Mélun, but only to sup at Monterau, to make up for lost time.”
Gorenflot looked at his companion as if he did not understand.
“Come, let us get on,” said Chicot.
The monk sat still and groaned.
“If you wish to stay behind and travel at your ease, you are welcome.”
“No, no!” cried Gorenflot, in terror; “no, no, M. Chicot; I love you too much to leave you!”
“Then to your saddle at once.”
Gorenflot got on his ass this time sideways, as a lady sits, saying it was more comfortable; but the fact was that, fearing they were to go faster, he wished to be able to hold on both by mane and tail.
Chicot began to trot, and the ass followed. The first moments were terrible for Gorenflot, but he managed to keep his seat. From time to time Chicot stood up in his stirrups and looked forward, then, not seeing what he looked for, redoubled his speed.
“What are you looking for, dear M. Chicot?”
“Nothing; but we are not getting on.”
“Not getting on! we are trotting all the way.”
“Gallop then!” and he began to canter.
Panurge again followed; Gorenflot was in agonies.
“Oh, M. Chicot!” said he, as soon as he could speak, “do you call this traveling for pleasure? It does not amuse me at all.”
“On! on!”
“It is dreadful!”
“Stay behind then!”
“Panurge can do no more; he is stopping.”
“Then adieu, compère!”
Gorenflot felt half inclined to reply in the same manner, but he remembered that the horse, whom he felt ready to curse, bore on his back a man with a hundred and fifty pistoles in his pocket, so he resigned himself, and beat his ass to make him gallop once more.
“I shall kill my poor Panurge!” cried he dolefully, thinking to move Chicot.
“Well, kill him,” said Chicot quietly, “and we will buy another.”
All at once Chicot, on arriving at the top of a hill, reined in his horse suddenly. But the ass, having once taken it into his head to gallop, was not so easily stopped, and Gorenflot was forced to let himself slide off and hang on to the donkey with all his weight before he could stop him.
“Ah, M. Chicot!” cried he, “what does it all mean? First we must gallop fit to break our necks, and then we must stop short here!”
Chicot had hidden himself behind a rock, and was eagerly watching three men who, about two hundred yards in advance, were traveling on quietly on their mules, and he did not reply.
“I am tired and hungry!” continued Gorenflot angrily.
“And so am I,” said Chicot; “and at the first hotel we come to we will order a couple of fricasseed chickens, some ham, and a jug of their best wine.”
“Really, is it true this time?”
“I promise you, compère.”
“Well, then, let us go and seek it. Come, Panurge, you shall have some dinner.”
Chicot remounted his horse, and Gorenflot led his ass. The much-desired inn soon appeared, but, to the surprise of Gorenflot, Chicot caused him to make a detour and pass round the back. At the front door were standing the three travelers.
CHAPTER XXIX.
HOW BROTHER GORENFLOT CHANGED HIS ASS FOR A MULE, AND HIS MULE FOR A HORSE
However, Gorenflot’s troubles were near their end for that day, for after the detour they went on a mile, and then stopped at a rival hotel. Chicot took a room which looked on to the high-road, and ordered supper. But even while he was eating he was constantly on the watch. However, at ten o’clock, as he had seen nothing, he went to bed, first, however, ordering that the horse and the ass should be ready at daybreak.
“At daybreak?” uttered Gorenflot, with a deep sigh.
“Yes; you must be used to getting up at that time.”
“Why so?”
“For matins.”
“I had an exemption from the superior.” Chicot ordered Gorenflot’s bed to be placed in his room. With daylight he was up and at the window, and before very long he saw three mules coming along. He ran to Gorenflot and shook him.
“Can I not have a moment’s rest?” cried the monk, who had been sleeping for ten hours.
“Be quick; get up and dress, for we are going.”
“But the breakfast?”
“Is on the road to Monterau.”
“Where is Monterau?”
“It is the city where we breakfast, that is enough for you. Now, I am going down to pay the bill, and if you are not ready in five minutes, I go without you.”
A monk’s toilet takes not long; however, Gorenflot took six minutes, and when he came down Chicot was starting. This day passed much like the former one, and by the third, Gorenflot was beginning to get accustomed to it, when towards the evening, Chicot lost all his gaiety. Since noon he had seen nothing of the three travelers; therefore he was in a very bad humor. They were off at daybreak and galloped till noon, but all in vain; no mules were visible. Chicot stopped at a turnpike, and asked the man if he had seen three travelers pass on mules.
“Not to-day,” was the reply, “yesterday evening about seven.”
“What were they like?”
“They looked like a master and two servants!”
“It was them,” said Chicot; “ventre de biche! they have twelve hours’ start of me. But courage!”
“Listen, M. Chicot!” said Gorenflot, “my ass can do no more, even your horse is almost exhausted.” Chicot looked, and saw, indeed, that the poor animals were trembling from head to foot.
“Well! brother,” said he, “we must take a resolution. You must leave me.”
“Leave you; why?”
“You go too slow.”
“Slow! why, we have galloped for five hours this morning.”
“That is not enough.”
“Well, then, let us go on; the quicker we go, the sooner we shall arrive, for I suppose we shall stop at last.”
“But our animals are exhausted.”
“What shall we do then?”
“Leave them here, and take them as we come back.”
“Then how are we to proceed?”
“We will buy mules.”
“Very well,” said Gorenflot with a sigh. Two mules were soon found, and they went so well that in the evening Chicot saw with joy those of the three travelers, standing at the door of a farrier’s. But they were without harness, and both master and lackeys had disappeared. Chicot trembled. “Go,” said he, to Gorenflot, “and ask if those mules are for sale, and where their owners are.” Gorenflot went, and soon returned, saying that a gentleman had sold them, and had afterwards taken the road to Avignon.
“Alone?”
“No, with a lackey.”
“And where is the other lackey?”
“He went towards Lyons.”
“And how did they go on?”
“On horses which they bought.”
“Of whom?”
“Of a captain of troopers who was here, and they sold their mules to a dealer, who is trying to sell them again to those Franciscan monks whom you see there.”
“Well, take our two mules and go and offer them to the monks instead; they ought to give you the preference.”
“But, then, how shall we go on?”
“On horseback, morbleu.”
“Diable!”
“Oh! a good rider like you. You will find me again on the Grand Place.” Chicot was bargaining for some horses, when he saw the monk reappear, carrying the saddles and bridles of the mules.
“Oh! you have kept the harness?”
“Yes.”
“And sold the mules?”
“For ten pistoles each.”
“Which they paid you?”
“Here is the money.”
“Ventre de biche! you are a great man, let us go on.”
“But I am thirsty.”
“Well, drink while I saddle the beasts, but not too much.”
“A bottle.”
“Very well.”
Gorenflot drank two, and came to give the rest of the money back to Chicot, who felt half inclined to give it to him, but reflecting that if Gorenflot had money he would no longer be obedient, he refrained. They rode on, and the next evening Chicot came up with Nicolas David, still disguised as a lackey, and kept him in sight all the way to Lyons, whose gates they all three entered on the eighth day after their departure from Paris.
CHAPTER XXX.
HOW CHICOT AND HIS COMPANION INSTALLED THEMSELVES AT THE HOTEL OF THE CROSS, AND HOW THEY WERE RECEIVED BY THE HOST
Chicot watched Nicolas David into the principal hotel of the place, and then said to Gorenflot, “Go in and bargain for a private room, say that you expect your brother, then come out and wait about for me, and I will come in when it is dark, and you can bring me straight to my room. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly.”
“Choose a good room, as near as possible to that of the traveler who has just arrived; it must look on to the street, and on no account pronounce my name.”
Gorenflot acquitted himself marvelously of the commission. Their room was only separated by a partition from that of Nicolas David.
“You deserve a recompense,” said Chicot to him, “and you shall have sherry wine for supper.”
“I never got tipsy on that wine; it would be agreeable.”
“You shall to-night. But now ramble about the town.”
“But the supper?”
“I shall be ready against your return; here is a crown meanwhile.”
Gorenflot went off quite happy, and then Chicot made, with a gimlet, a hole in the partition at about the height of his eye. Through this, he could hear distinctly all that passed, and he could just see the host talking to Nicolas David, who was professing to have been sent on a mission by the king, to whom he professed great fidelity. The host did not reply, but Chicot fancied he could see an ironical smile on his lip whenever the king’s name was mentioned.
“Is he a leaguer?” thought Chicot; “I will find out.”
When the host left David he came to visit Chicot, who said, “Pray sit down, monsieur; and before we make a definitive arrangement, listen to my history. You saw me this morning with a monk?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Silence! that monk is proscribed.”
“What! is he a disguised Huguenot?”
Chicot took an offended air. “Huguenot, indeed! he is my relation, and I have no Huguenot relations. On the contrary, he is so fierce an enemy of the Huguenots, that he has fallen into disgrace with his majesty Henri III., who protects them, as you know.”
The host began to look interested. “Silence,” said he.
“Why, have you any of the king’s people here?”
“I fear so; there is a traveler in there.”
“Then we must fly at once, for proscribed, menaced – ”
“Where will you go?”
“We have two or three addresses given to us by an innkeeper we know, M. la Hurière.”
“Do you know La Hurière?”
“Yes, we made his acquaintance on the night of St. Bartholomew.”
“Well, I see you and your relation are holy people; I also know La Hurière. Then you say this monk – ”
“Had the imprudence to preach against the Huguenots, and with so much success that the king wanted to put him in prison.”
“And then?”
“Ma foi, I carried him off.”
“And you did well.”
“M. de Guise offered to protect him.”
“What! the great Henri?”
“Himself; but I feared civil war.”
“If you are friends of M. de Guise, you know this;” and he made a sort of masonic sign by which the leaguers recognized each other.
Chicot, who had seen both this and the answer to it twenty times during that famous night, replied, “And you this?”
“Then,” said the innkeeper, “you are at home here; my house is yours, look on me as a brother, and if you have no money – ”
Chicot drew out his purse. The sight of a well-filled purse is always agreeable, even to a generous host.
“Our journey,” continued Chicot, “is paid for by the treasurer of the Holy Union, for we travel to propagate the faith. Tell us of an inn where we may be safe.”
“Nowhere more so than here, and if you wish it, the other traveler shall turn out.”
“Oh! no; it is better to have your enemies near, that you may watch them. But, what makes you think he is our enemy?”
“Well! first he came disguised as a lackey, then he put on an advocate’s dress, and I am sure he is no more an advocate than he is a lackey, for I saw a long rapier under his cloak. Then he avowed he had a mission from the king!”
“From Herod, as I call him.”
“Sardanapalus.”
“Bravo!”
“Ah! I see we understand each other.”
“Then we are to remain here?”
“I should think so.”
“Not a word about my relation.”
“Of course not.”
“Nor of me.”
“Oh, no! But hush! here is some one.”
“Oh, it is the worthy man himself!”
The host turned to Gorenflot, and made a sign of the leaguers. Gorenflot was struck with terror and astonishment.
“Reply, my brother,” said Chicot; “he is a member.”
“Of what?”
“Of the Holy Union,” said Bernouillet, in a low tone.
“You see all is safe; reply,” said Chicot.
Gorenflot replied, to the great joy of the innkeeper.
“But,” said Gorenflot, who did not like the conversation, “you promised me some sherry.”
“Sherry, Malaga, Alicant – every wine in my cellar is at your disposal.”
Gorenflot looked at Chicot in amazement.
For three following days Gorenflot got drunk, first on sherry, next on Malaga, then on Alicant; afterwards he declared he liked Burgundy best, and returned to that. Meanwhile, Chicot had never stirred from his room, and had constantly watched Nicolas David, who, having appointed to meet Pierre de Gondy at this inn, would not leave the house. On the morning of the sixth day he declared himself ill, and the next day worse. Bernouillet came joyfully to tell Chicot.
“What! do you think him in danger?”
“High fever, my dear brother; he is delirious, and tried to strangle me and beat my servants. The doctors do not understand his complaint.”
“Have you seen him?”
“Yes; I tell you he tried to strangle me.”
“How did he seem?”
“Pale and furious, and constantly crying out.”
“What?”
“Take care of the king! they want to hurt the king! Then he constantly says that he expects a man from Avignon, and wishes to see him before he dies.”
As for Gorenflot, he grew visibly fatter every day, so much so, that he announced to Chicot with terror one day that the staircase was narrowing. Neither David, the League, nor religion occupied him; he thought of nothing but how to vary his dinner and wine, so that Bernouillet often exclaimed in astonishment, “To think that that man should be a torrent of eloquence!”
CHAPTER XXXI.
HOW THE MONK CONFESSED THE ADVOCATE, AND THE ADVOCATE THE MONK
At last M. Bernouillet came into Chicot’s room, laughing immoderately.
“He is dying,” said he, “and the man has arrived from Avignon.”
“Have you seen him?”
“Of course.”
“What is he like?”
“Little and thin.”
“It is he,” thought Chicot; and he said, “Tell me about his arrival.”
“An hour ago I was in the kitchen, when I saw a great horse, ridden by a little man, stop before the door. ‘Is M. Nicolas here?’ asked he. ‘Yes, monsieur,’ said I. ‘Tell him that the person he expects from Avignon is here.’ ‘Certainly, monsieur, but I must warn you that he is very ill.’ ‘All the more reason for doing my bidding at once.’ ‘But he has a malignant fever.’ ‘Oh, pray, then, be quick!’ ‘How! you persist?’ ‘I persist.’ ‘In spite of the danger!’ ‘In spite of everything I must see him.’ So I took him to the room, and there he is now. Is it not odd?”
“Very droll.”
“I wish I could hear them.”
“Go in.”
“He forbade me to go in, saying he was going to confess.”
“Listen at the door.”
Bernouillet went, and Chicot went also to his hole: but they spoke so low that he could hear nothing, and in a few minutes Gondy rose and took leave. Chicot ran to the window, and saw a lackey waiting with a horse, which M. de Gondy mounted and rode off.
“If he only has not carried off the genealogy. Never mind, I shall soon catch him if necessary; but I suspect it is left here. Where can Gorenflot be?”
M. Bernouillet returned, saying, “He is gone.”
“The confessor?”
“He is no more a confessor than I am.”
“Will you send me my brother as soon as he comes in.”
“Even if he be drunk?”
“Whatever state he is in.”
Bernouillet went, and Chicot remained in a state of indecision as to what to do, for he thought, “If David is really so ill, he may have sent on the despatches by Gondy.” Presently he heard Gorenflot’s voice, singing a drinking song as he came up the stairs.
“Silence, drunkard!” said Chicot.
“Drunkard, indeed!”
“Yes; but come here and speak seriously, if you can.”
“What is it now?”
“It is, that you never think of the duties of your profession, that you wallow in greediness and drunkenness, and let religion go where it pleases.”
Gorenflot looked astonished. “I!” he gasped.
“Yes, you; you are disgraceful to see; you are covered with mud; you have been drunk in the streets.”
“It is too true!”
“If you go on so, I will abandon you.”
“Chicot, my friend, you will not do that? Am I very guilty?”
“There are archers at Lyons.”
“Oh, pity! my dear protector, pity!”
“Are you a Christian or not?”
“I not a Christian!”
“Then do not let a neighbor die without confession.”
“I am ready, but I must drink first, for I am thirsty.”
Chicot passed him a jug of water, which he emptied.
“Now who am I to confess?”
“Our unlucky neighbor who is dying.”
“Let them give him a pint of wine with honey in it.”
“He needs spiritual aid as well as temporal. Go to him.”
“Am I fit?” said Gorenflot, timidly.
“Perfectly.”
“Then I will go.”
“Stay; I must tell you what to do.”
“Oh! I know.”
“You do not know what I wish.”
“What you wish?”
“If you execute it well, I will give you one hundred pistoles to spend here.”
“What must I do?”
“Listen; your robe gives you authority; in the name of God and the King, summon him to give up the papers he has just received from Avignon.”
“What for?”
“To gain one hundred pistoles, stupid.”
“Ah! true; I go.”
“Wait a minute. He will tell you he has confessed.”
“But if he has?”
“Tell him he lies; that the man who has just left him is no confessor, but an intriguer like himself.”
“But he will be angry.”
“What does that matter, since he is dying?”
“True.”
“Well; one way or the other, you must get hold of those papers.”
“If he refuses?”
“Refuse him absolution, curse him, anathematize him – ”
“Oh, I will take them by force.”
“Good; and when you have got them, knock on the wall.”
“And if I cannot get them?”
“Knock also.”
“Then, in any case I am to knock?”
“Yes.”
Gorenflot went, and Chicot placed his ear to the hole in the wall. When Gorenflot entered, the sick man raised himself in his bed, and looked at him with wonder.
“Good day, brother,” said Gorenflot.
“What do you want, my father?” murmured the sick man, in a feeble voice.
“My son, I hear you are in danger, and I come to speak to you of your soul.”
“Thank you, but I think your care is needless; I feel better.”
“You think so?”
“I am sure of it.”
“It is a ruse of Satan, who wishes you to die without confession.”
“Then he will be deceived, for I have just confessed.”
“To whom?”
“To a worthy priest from Avignon.”
“He was not a priest.”
“Not!”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“I knew him.”
“You knew the man who has just gone?”
“Yes; and as you are not better, and this man was not a priest, you must confess.”
“Very well,” replied the patient, in a stronger voice, “but I will chose to whom I will confess.”
“You will have no time to send for another priest, and I am here.”
“How! no time, when I tell you I am getting well?”
Gorenflot shook his head. “I tell you, my son, you are condemned by the doctors and by Providence; you may think it cruel to tell you so, but it is what we must all come to sooner or later. Confess, my son, confess.”
“But I assure you, father, that I feel much stronger.”
“A mistake, my son, the lamp flares up at the last, just before it goes out. Come, confess all your plots, your intrigues, and machinations!”
“My intrigues and plots!” cried David, frightened at this singular monk, whom he did not know, but who seemed to know him so well.
“Yes; and when you have told all that, give me up the papers, and perhaps God will let me absolve you.”
“What papers?” cried the sick man, in a voice as strong as though he were quite well.
“The papers that the pretended priest brought you from Avignon.”
“And who told you that he brought me papers?” cried the patient, putting one leg out of bed.
Gorenflot began to feel frightened, but he said firmly, “He who told me knew well what he was saying; give me the papers, or you shall have no absolution.”
“I laugh at your absolution,” cried David, jumping out of bed, and seizing Gorenflot by the throat, “and you shall see if I am too ill to strangle you.”
Gorenflot was strong, and he pushed David back so violently that he fell into the middle of the room. But he rose furious, and seizing a long sword, which hung on the wall behind his clothes, presented it to the throat of Gorenflot, who sank on a chair in terror.
“It is now your turn to confess,” said he, “speak, or you die.”
“Oh!” cried Gorenflot, “then you are not ill – not dying.”
“It is not for you to question, but to answer.”
“To answer what?”
“Who are you?”
“You can see that.”
“Your name?”
“Brother Gorenflot.”
“You are then a real monk?”
“I should think so.”
“What brings you to Lyons?”
“I am exiled.”
“What brought you to this inn?”
“Chance.”
“How long have you been here?”
“A fortnight.”
“Why did you watch me?”
“I did not.”
“How did you know that I had the papers?”
“Because I was told so.”
“Who told you?”
“He who sent me here.”
“Who was that?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“You must.”
“Oh! oh! I will cry out.”
“And I will kill.”
Gorenflot cried out, and a spot of blood appeared on the point of the sword.
“His name?” cried David.
“Oh! I can hold out no more.”
“Speak.”
“It was Chicot.”
“The king’s jester!”
“Himself.”
“And where is he?”
“Here!” cried a voice, and Chicot appeared at the door with a drawn sword in his hand.
