CHAPTER XVII.
HOW HENRI III. TRAVELED, AND HOW LONG IT TOOK HIM TO GET FROM
PARIS TO FONTAINEBLEAU.
The sun, which shone four or five hours after the events which
we have just recorded had taken place, saw, by his pale light,
Henri III. set off for Fontainebleau, where a grand chase was
projected. A crowd of gentlemen, mounted on good horses and wrapped
in their fur cloaks, then a number of pages, after them lackey,
and then Swiss, followed the royal litter. This litter, drawn
by eight mules richly caparisoned, was a large machine, about
fifteen feet long and eight wide, on four wheels, furnished inside
with cushions and curtains of silk brocade. In difficult places
they substituted for the mules an indefinite number of oxen.
This machine contained Henri III., his doctor, and his chaplain,
Chicot, four of the king's favorites, a pair of large dogs, and
a basket of little ones, which the king held on his knees, and
which was suspended from his neck by a golden chain. From the
roof hung a gilded cage containing turtle doves, quite white,
with a black ring round their necks. Sometimes the collection
was completed by the presence of two or three apes. Thus this
litter was commonly termed the Noah's Ark.
Quelus and Maugiron employed themselves with plaiting ribbons,
a favorite diversion of that time; and Chicot amused himself
by making anagrams on the names of all the courtiers. Just as
they passed the Place Maubert, Chicot rushed out of the litter,
and went to kneel down before a house of good appearance.
"Oh!" cried the king, "if you kneel, let it be before the crucifix
in the middle of the street, and not before the house. What do
you mean by it?"
But Chicot, without attending, cried out in a loud voice:
"Mon Dieu! I recognize it, I shall always recognize it--the house
where I suffered! I have never prayed for vengeance on M. de
Mayenne, author of my martyrdom, nor on Nicholas David, his
instrument. No; Chicot is patient, Chicot can wait, although
it is now six years that this debt has been running on, and in
seven years the interest is doubled. May, then, my patience last
another year, so that instead of fifty blows of a stirrup-leather
which I received in this house by the orders of this assassin
of a Lorraine prince, and which drew a pint of blood, I may owe
a hundred blows and two pints of blood! Amen, so be it!"
"Amen!" said the king.
Chicot then returned to the litter, amidst the wondering looks
of the spectators.
"Why, Chicot, what does all this mean?" said the king.
"Sire, it means that Chicot is like the fox--that he licks the
stones where his blood fell, until against those very stones
he crushes the heads of those who spilt it."
"Explain yourself."
"Sire, in that house lived a girl whom Chicot loved, a good and
charming creature, and a lady. One evening when he went to see
her, a certain prince, who had also fallen in love with her,
had him seized and beaten, so that Chicot was forced to jump
out of window; and as it was a miracle that he was not killed,
each time he passes the house he kneels down and thanks God for
his escape."
"You were, then, well beaten, my poor Chicot?"
"Yes, sire, and yet not as much as I wished."
"Why--for your sins?"
"No, for those of M. de Mayenne."
"Oh! I understand; your intention is to render to Cæsar----"
"Not to Cæsar, sire--Cæsar is the great general, the valiant
warrior, the eldest brother, who wishes to be king of France.
No, you must settle with him; pay your debts, and I will pay
mine."
Henri did not like to hear his cousin of Guise spoken of, and
this made him serious. It was three o'clock in the afternoon
when they arrived at Juvisy and the great hotel of the "Cour de
France."
Chicot, looking out of the litter, saw at the door of the hotel
several men wrapped in cloaks. In the midst of them was a short,
stout person, whose large hat almost covered his face. They went
in quickly on seeing the litter, but not before the look of this
person had had time to excite Chicot's attention. Therefore he
jumped out, and asking a page for his horse, which was being
led, let the royal litter go on to Essones, where the king was
to sleep, while he remained behind, and, cautiously peeping in
through a window, saw the men whom he had noticed sitting inside.
He then entered the hotel, went into the opposite room, asked
for a bottle of wine, and placed himself so that, although he
could not be seen, no one could pass by without his seeing them.
"Ah!" said he to himself, "shall I be forced to make my payment
sooner than I expected?"
Soon Chicot found that by keeping the door open he could both
see into the room and hear what was said.
"Gentlemen," said the short fat man to his companions, "I think
it is time to set out; the last lackey of the cortege is out
of sight, and I believe now that the road is safe."
"Perfectly so, monseigneur," replied a voice which made Chicot
tremble, and which came from the mouth of a person as tall as
the other was short, as pale as he was red, and as obsequious
as he was arrogant.
"Ah! M. Nicolas," said Chicot, "tu quoque, that is good. It will
be odd if I let you slip this time!"
Then the short man came out, paid the bill, and, followed by
the others, took the road to Paris. Chicot followed them at a
distance. They entered by the Porte St. Antoine, and entered
the Hôtel Guise. Chicot waited outside a full hour, in spite
of cold and hunger. At last the door reopened, but, instead of
seven cavaliers wrapped in their cloaks, seven monks came out,
with their hoods over their faces, and carrying immense rosaries.
"Oh!" said Chicot, "is, then, the Hôtel Guise so embalmed in
sanctity that wolves change into lambs only by entering it? This
becomes more and more interesting."
And he followed the monks as he had followed the cavaliers, for
he believed them to be the same. The monks passed over the bridge
of Notre Dame, crossed the city and the petit pont, and went up
the Rue St. Geneviève.
"Oh!" said Chicot, as he passed the house where he had kneeled
in the morning, "are we returning to Fontainebleau? In that case
I have made a round."
However, the monks stopped at the door of the Abbey of St. Geneviève,
in the porch of which stood another monk, who examined everyone's
hand.
"Why," said Chicot, "it seems that to be admitted to night into
the abbey one must have clean hands!"
Then he saw, with astonishment, monks appear from every street
leading to the abbey, some alone, some walking in pairs, but
all coming to the abbey.
"Ah!" said Chicot, "is there a general chapter at the abbey to-night?
I have never seen one, and I should like it much."
The monks entered, showing their hands, or something in them,
and passed on.
"I should like to go also," thought Chicot; "but for that I want
two things--a monk's robe, for I see no layman here, and then this
mysterious thing which they show to the porter, for certainly
they show something. Ah, Brother Gorenflot, if you were here!"
The monks continued to arrive, till it seemed as if half Paris
had taken the frock.
"There must be something extraordinary to-night," thought Chicot.
"I will go and find Gorenflot at the Corne d'Abondance; he will
be at supper."
