Chicot the Jester

CHAPTER LV.
HOW BUSSY WAS OFFERED THREE HUNDRED PISTOLES FOR HIS HORSE, AND PARTED WITH HIM FOR NOTHING

The next day, Bussy left Angers before the most wakeful bourgeois had had their breakfast. He flew along the road, and Diana, mounted on a terrace in front of the castle, saw him coming, and went to meet him. The sun had scarcely risen over the great oaks, and the grass was still wet with dew, when she heard from afar, as she went along, the horn of St. Luc, which Jeanne incited him to sound. She arrived at the meeting-place just as Bussy appeared on the wall. The day passed like an hour. What had they to say? That they loved each other. What had they to wish for? They were together.

“Diana,” said Bussy at length, “it seems to me as though my life had begun only to-day. You have shown me what it is to live.”

“And I,” replied she, “who not long ago would have willingly thrown myself into the arms of death, would now tremble to die and lose your love. But why do you not come to the castle? My father would be glad to see you, and M. de St. Luc is your friend.”

“Alas, Diana, if I came once, I should be always there; all the province would know it, and if it came to the ears of that ogre, your husband, he would hasten here. You forbid me to deliver you from him – ”

“Oh, yes!”

“Well, then, for the safety of our happiness, we must guard our secret. Madame de St. Luc knows it, and her husband soon will. I have written him a line this morning, asking him for an interview at Angers, and when he comes I will make him promise never to breathe a word of this. It is the more important, dear Diana, as doubtless they are seeking me everywhere. Things looked grave when I left Paris.

“You are right; and then my father is so scrupulous that, in spite of his love for me, he is capable of denouncing me to M. de Monsoreau.”

“Let us hide ourselves well, then; I fear some evil spirit, jealous of our happiness.”

“Say adieu to me, then; and do not ride so fast – your horse frightens me.”

“Fear nothing; he knows the way, and is the gentlest and safest horse I ever rode. When I return to the city, buried in sweet thoughts, he takes the way without my touching the bridle.”

At last the sound of the returning chase was heard, the horns playing an air agreed upon with Jeanne, and Bussy left. As he approached the city, he remarked that the time was approaching when the gates of the city would be closed. He was preparing to ride on quickly, when he heard behind him the gallop of horses. For a lover who wishes to remain concealed, as for a robber, everything seems a menace. Bussy asked himself whether he should ride on or draw up and let them pass, but their course was so rapid that they were up to him in a moment. There were two.

“Here is the city,” said one, with a Gascon accent; “three hundred more blows with the whip, and one hundred with the spur; courage and vigor!”

“The beast has no more breath – he shivers and totters; he will not go on; and yet I would give a hundred horses to be in my city before nightfall.”

“It is some Angers man out late,” thought Bussy. “But look, the horse is falling; take care, monsieur,” cried he; “quit your horse – he is about to fall.”

Indeed, as he spoke the animal fell heavily on his side, shook his legs convulsively, then suddenly his breath stopped, his eyes grew dim, and he was dead.

“Monsieur!” cried the cavalier to Bussy, “three hundred pistoles for your horse!”

“Ah, mon Dieu!” cried Bussy, drawing near.

“Do you hear me, monsieur? I am in haste.”

“Ah! my prince, take it for nothing,” cried Bussy, who had recognized the Duc d’Anjou.

At the same moment they heard the click of a pistol, which was cocked by the duke’s companion.

“Stop, M. d’Aubigné,” cried the duke, “it is Bussy, I believe.”

“Oh! yes, my prince, it is I. But what, in Heaven’s name are you doing, killing horses on the road at this hour?”

“Ah! is it M. de Bussy?” said D’Aubigné, “then you do not want me any more. Permit me to return to him who sent me?”

“Not without receiving my sincere thanks and the promise of a lasting friendship.”

“I accept it, monseigneur, and will recall your words to you some day.”

“M. D’Aubigné! I am in the clouds,” murmured Bussy.

“Did you not know? As you are here, did you not expect me?” said the prince, with an air of suspicion which did not escape Bussy, who began to reflect that his secret residence in Anjou might seem very strange to the prince.

“I did better than expect you,” said Bussy, “and as you wish to enter the town before the gates are closed, jump into the saddle, monseigneur.”

The prince accepted, and Bussy mounted behind him, asking himself if this prince, dressed in black, were not the evil spirit sent already to disturb his happiness.

“Where do we go now, monseigneur?” said he, as they entered the city.

“To the castle. Let them hoist my banner and convoke the nobility of the district.”

“Nothing more easy,” said Bussy, full of surprise, but willing to be docile. The news was soon spread through the city that the duke had arrived, and a crowd soon collected.

“Gentlemen!” cried the duke, “I have come to throw myself into my good city of Angers. At Paris the most terrible dangers have menaced my life – I had lost even my liberty. I succeeded in escaping, thanks to some good friends, and now I am here I feel my tranquillity and my life assured.”

The people cried, “Long live our seigneur.”

“Now let me sup,” said the prince, “I have had nothing since the morning.”

The city was illuminated, guns were fired, the bells of the cathedral were rung, and the wind carried to Méridor the noisy joy of the good Angevins.

CHAPTER LVI.
THE DIPLOMACY OF THE DUC D’ANJOU

When the duke and Bussy were left alone, the duke said, “Let us talk.”

François, who was very quick, had perceived that Bussy had made more advances to him than usual, therefore he judged that he was in some embarrassing situation, and that he might, by a little address, get an advantage over him. But Bussy had had time to prepare himself, and he was quite ready.

“Yes, let us talk, monseigneur,” replied he.

“The last day I saw you, my poor Bussy, you were very ill.”

“It is true, monseigneur, I was very ill, and it was almost a miracle that saved me.”

“There was near you a doctor very devoted to you, for he growled at everyone who approached you.”

“True, prince, Rémy loves me.”

“He kept you rigorously to your bed, did he not?”

“At which I was in a great rage, as your highness might have seen.”

“But, if that were the case, why did you not send the doctor to the devil, and come out with me as I begged you to do? But as it was a grave affair, you were afraid to compromise yourself.”

“Did you say I was afraid?”

“I did say so.”

“Well, then, it was a lie!” said Bussy, jumping up from his chair; “you lied to yourself, monseigneur, for you do not believe a single word of what you say. There are twenty scars on my body, which prove the contrary. I never knew fear, and, ma foi, I know people who cannot say the same.”

“You have always unanswerable arguments, M. de Bussy,” cried the duke, turning very pale; “when you are accused, you cry louder than your accuser, and then you think you are right.”

“Oh! I am not always right, I know well, but I know on what occasions I am wrong.”

“And what are they?”

“When I serve ungrateful people.”

“Really, monsieur, I think you forget yourself,” said the duke, with some dignity. Bussy moved towards the door, but the prince stopped him.

“Do you deny, monsieur,” said he, “that after refusing to go out with me, you went out immediately after?”

“I deny nothing, monseigneur, but I will not be forced to confession.”

“Tell me why you would not go out with me.”

“I had business.”

“At home?”

“Or elsewhere.”

“I thought that when a gentleman was in the service of a prince, his principal business was that of the prince.”

“And who does your business generally, monseigneur, if not I?”

“I do not say no; generally I find you faithful and devoted, and, I will say more, I excuse your bad humor.”

“You are very good.”

“Yes, for you had some reason to be angry.”

“Ah! you confess it.”

“Yes, I promised you the disgrace of M. de Monsoreau. It seems you hate him very much.”

“I! not at all. I find him very ugly, and should have liked him away from court, not to have had to look at him. It seems, however, that you admire him, and there is no accounting for tastes.”

“Well, then, as that was your sole excuse, you were doubly wrong to refuse to accompany me, and then to go out after, and commit follies.”

“Follies! what did I do?”

“Doubtless, you do not like MM. d’Epernon and Schomberg, neither do I, but one must have some prudence. Kill them, and I should be grateful to you, but do not exasperate them.”

“What did I do to them?”

“Why, you had D’Epernon stoned.”

“I!”

“Yes, so that his clothes were torn to pieces.”

“Good! and what about M. Schomberg?”

“You will not deny that you had him dyed indigo color? When I saw him three hours after, he was still bright blue. Do you call that a joke?” And the prince laughed in spite of himself, and Bussy joined him.

“Then,” said he, “they think it was I who played them these tricks!”

“Perhaps it was I.”

“And you have the conscience to reproach a man who had such fine ideas.”

“Well, I pardon you. But I have another complaint to make. What did you do to deliver me from my unlucky situation?”

“You see, I came to Anjou.”

“It seems to me that you would have been more useful nearer.”

“Ah! there we differ; I preferred coming to Anjou.”

“Your caprice is a bad reason.”

“But, if I came to gather your partisans?”

“Ah! that is different. What have you done?”

“I will explain that to you to-morrow; at present I must leave you.”

“Why!”

“I have to see an important person.”

“Oh, very well; but be prudent.”

“Prudent! are we not the strongest here?”

“Never mind, risk nothing. Have you done much?”

“I have only been here two days.”

“But you keep yourself concealed, I hope.”

“I should think so. Look at my dress; am I in the habit of wearing cinnamon-colored clothes?”

“And where are you lodging?”

“Ah! I hope you will appreciate my devotion; in a tumble-down old house, near the ramparts. But you, my prince, how did you get out of the Louvre? How was it that I found you on the road, with M. d’Aubigné for a companion?”

“Because I have friends.”

“You! friends!”

“Yes, friends that you do not know.”

“Well, and who are they?”

“The King of Navarre and D’Aubigné, whom you saw.”

“The King of Navarre! Ah! true, did you not conspire together?”

“I never conspired, M. de Bussy.”

“No; ask poor La Mole and Coconnas.”

“La Mole,” said the prince, gloomily, “died for another crime than the one alleged against him.”

“Well, never mind him. How the devil did you get out of the Louvre?”

“Through the window.”

“Which window?”

“That of my bedroom.”

“Then you knew of the rope-ladder?”

“What rope-ladder?”

“In the cupboard.”

“Ah! it seems you knew it,” cried the prince, turning pale.

“Oh! your highness knows I have sometimes had the happiness of entering that room.”

“In the time of my sister Margot. Then you came in by the window?”

“As you came out. All that astonishes me is, that you knew of the ladder.”

“It was not I who found it.”

“Who then?”

“I was told of it.”

“By whom?”

“By the King of Navarre.”

“Ah! the King of Navarre knew of it; I should not have thought so. However, now you are here safe and sound, we will put Anjou in flames, and Béarn and Angoumois will catch the light, so we shall have a fine blaze.”

“But did you not speak of a rendezvous?”

“It is true; the interest of the conversation was making me forget. Adieu, monseigneur.”

“Do you take your horse?”

“If it will be useful to you, monseigneur, you may keep it, I have another.”

“Well! I accept; we will settle that later.”

The duke gave Bussy his hand, and they separated.

CHAPTER LVII.
THE IDEAS OF THE DUC D’ANJOU

Bussy returned home, but instead of St. Luc, whom he expected, he found only a letter fixing their meeting for the next day. About six in the morning St. Luc started, and rode straight to Bussy’s house.

“Accept the hospitality of my poor hut, St. Luc,” said Bussy, “I am encamped here.”

“Yes, like a conqueror on the field of battle.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, dear Bussy, that my wife has no secrets from me, and has told me all. Receive my compliments, but, since you have sent for me, permit me to give you a piece of advice.”

“Well.”

“Get rid as soon as possible of that abominable Monsoreau; no one at the court knows of your love for his wife, so when you marry the widow, no one will say you killed him on purpose.”

“There is but one obstacle to this project, which presented itself to my mind, as to yours.”

“What is it?”

“That I have sworn to Diana to respect the life of her husband, as long as he does not attack me.”

“You were very wrong.”

“Why so?”

“Because if you do not take the initiative, he will discover you, and will kill you.”

“I cannot break my oath to Diana. Besides, he who is now a monster in all eyes, would be thought an angel in his tomb.”

“Therefore I do not advise you to kill him yourself.”

“Oh, St. Luc, no assassins.”

“Who spoke of assassins?”

“Of what then?”

“Nothing; an idea passed through my mind; I will tell you what it was at another time. I do not love this Monsoreau much more than you, although I have not the same reason to detest him, so let us speak of the wife instead of the husband.”

Bussy smiled. “You are a capital companion, St Luc,” said he, “and you may count on my friendship. Now my friendship consists of three things, my purse, my sword, and my life. Now, what about Diana?”

“I wished to ask if you were not coming to Méridor.”

“My dear friend, I thank you, but you know my scruples.”

“I know all. At Méridor you fear to meet Monsoreau, although he is eighty leagues off; fear to have to shake his hand, and it is hard to shake the hand of the man you wish to strangle; you fear to see him embrace Diana, and it is hard to see that of the woman you love.”

“Ah! how well you understand!” cried Bussy, with rage; “but, my dear friend, did you not hear last night the noise of bells and guns?”

“Yes; and we wondered what it meant.”

“It meant that the Duc d’Anjou arrived last night.”

St. Luc jumped up. “The duke here! We heard he was imprisoned at the Louvre.”

“That is just why he is now at Angers. He managed to escape through a window, and came here.”

“Well?”

“Well, here is an excellent opportunity to revenge yourself for the king’s persecutions. The prince has already a party, he will soon have troops, and we shall have something like a little civil war.”

“Oh! oh!”

“And I reckoned on you to help us.”

“Against the king?” said St. Luc, with sudden coldness.

“Not precisely against the king, but against those who fight against us.”

“My dear Bussy, I came here for country air, not to fight against his majesty.”

“But let me present you to monseigneur.”

“Useless, my dear Bussy, I do not like Angers.”

“My dear St. Luc, you will do me a great service by consenting; the duke asked me what I came here for, and, not being able to tell because of his own passion for Diana, I said that I had come to draw to his cause all the gentlemen in the Canton; I even told him I had a rendezvous with one this morning.”

“Well! tell him you have seen the gentleman, and that he asks six months to consider. Listen, I will always help you to defend Diana, you shall help me to defend my wife. We will make a treaty for love, but not for politics.”

“I see, I must yield to you, St. Luc, for you have the advantage over me. I want you, and you do not want me.”

“On the contrary, it is I who claim your protection.”

“How so?”

“Suppose the rebels besiege and sack Méridor.”

The two friends laughed; then, as the duke had sent to inquire for Bussy, they separated with renewed promises of friendship, and charmed with each other.

Bussy went to the ducal palace, where already all the nobility of the provinces were arriving. He hastened to arrange an official reception, a repast and speeches, and having thus cut out some hours’ occupation for the prince, mounted his other horse, and galloped to Méridor. The duke made some good speeches, and produced a great effect, giving himself out for a prince persecuted by the king on account of the love of the Parisians for him. When Bussy returned, it was four in the afternoon; he dismounted, and presented himself to the duke all covered with dust.

“Ah! my brave Bussy, you have been at work?”

“You see, monseigneur.”

“You are very hot.”

“I have ridden fast.”

“Take care not to get ill again.”

“There is no danger.”

“Whence do you come?”

“From the environs. Is your highness content? have you had a numerous assemblage?”

“Yes, I am pretty well satisfied, but I missed some one.”

“Who?”

“Your protege, the Baron de Méridor.”

Bussy changed color.

“And yet we must not neglect him,” continued the duke, “he is influential here.”

“You think so?”

“I am sure of it. He was the correspondent of the League at Angers, chosen by M. de Guise, and the Guises choose their men well. He must come, Bussy.”

“But if he does not come?”

“I will go to him.”

“To Méridor?”

“Why not?”

“Oh, why not, certainly,” cried Bussy, with flashing eyes, “a prince may do anything.”

“Then you think he is still angry with me?”

“How should I know?”

“You have not seen him?”

“No.”

“As one of the great men of the province, I thought – ”

“I was not sufficiently fortunate in the former promises I made him to be in a hurry to present myself to him.”

“Has he not attained his object?”

“How so?”

“He wanted his daughter to marry the count, and she has done so.”

Bussy turned his back on the duke, who, at the same moment, moved towards another gentleman who entered the room. Bussy began to reflect on what the duke’s projects were with regard to the baron – whether they were purely political, or whether he was still seeking to approach Diana; but he imagined that, embroiled with his brother, banished from the Louvre, and the chief of provincial insurrection, he had sufficiently grave interests at stake to outweigh his love fancies. He passed the night banqueting with the duke and the Angevin gentlemen, then in dancing with the Angevin ladies. It is needless to say that he was the admiration of the latter, and the hatred of the husbands, several of whom looked at him in a way which did not please him, so that, curling his mustachios, he invited three or four of them to take a walk with him by moonlight; but his reputation had preceded him, and they all declined.

At the door Bussy found a laughing face waiting for him, which he believed to be eighty leagues off.

“Ah,” cried he joyfully, “it is you, Rémy.”

“Yes monsieur.”

“I was going to write to you to join me.”

“Really!”

“On my word.”

“That is capital; I was afraid you would scold me.”

“For what?”

“For coming without leave. But I heard that Monsieur le Duc d’Anjou had escaped, and had fled here. I knew you were here also, and I thought there might be civil war, and many holes made in skins, so I came.”

“You did well, Rémy; I wanted you.”

“How is Gertrude, monsieur?”

“I will ask Diana the first time I see her.”

“And, in return, every time I see her I will ask for news of Madame de Monsoreau.”

“You are charming.”

Meanwhile they had reached Bussy’s lodging.

“Here is my palace; you must lodge as you can.”

“It will not be difficult; I could sleep standing, I am so tired.”

Bussy rose early the next morning, and went to the ducal palace, leaving word for Rémy to follow him. The duke had prepared a list of important things to be done: firstly, a walk round the walls to examine the fortifications; secondly, a review of the inhabitants and their arms; thirdly, a visit to the arsenal; fourthly, correspondence.

“Ah!” cried the duke, “you already!”

“Ma foi! yes, monseigneur; I could not sleep, your highness’s interests were so much on my mind. What shall we do this morning? Shall we hunt?”

“How!” said the duke, “you pretend to have been thinking all night of my interests, and the result of so much meditation is to propose to me a hunt!”

“True,” said Bussy; “besides, we have no hounds.”

“And no chief huntsman.”

“Ah, ma foi! the chase would be more agreeable without him.”

“Ah, I am not like you – I want him; he would have been very useful to us here.”

“How so?”

“He has property here.”

“He!”

“He or his wife.”

Bussy bit his lips.

“Méridor is only three leagues off, you know that,” continued the duke, “you, who brought the old baron to me.”

“Dame! I brought him because he hung on to my cloak. However, my protection did not do him much good.”

“Listen,” said the duke, “I have an idea.”

“Diable!” said Bussy, who was always suspicious of the duke’s ideas.

“Yes; it is that, if Monsoreau had the advantage over you at first, you shall have it now.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is very simple; you know me, Bussy?”

“I have that misfortune.”

“Think you I am the man to submit to an affront with impunity?”

“Explain yourself, monseigneur.”

“Well, he stole the young girl I loved to make her his wife; now I will steal his wife!”

Bussy tried to smile, but made a grimace instead.

“Steal his wife!” stammered he.

“Nothing more easy, she is here, and you told me she hated her husband; therefore, without too much vanity, I may flatter myself she will give me the preference, if I promise her – ”

“What, monseigneur?”

“To get rid of her husband for her.”

“You will do that?”

“You shall see. Meanwhile I will pay a visit to Méridor.”

“You will dare?”

“Why not?”

“You will present yourself before the old baron, whom you abandoned after promising me – ”

“I have an excellent excuse to give him.”

“Where the devil will you find it?”

“Oh! I will say to him, I did not break this marriage, because Monsoreau, who knew that you were one of the principal agents to the League, threatened to denounce you to the king.”

“Has your highness invented that?”

“Not entirely.”

“Then I understand.”

“Yes, I shall make him believe that by marrying his daughter I saved his life.”

“It is superb.”

“Well! order the horses, and we will go to Méridor.”

“Immediately, monseigneur.” Bussy then went to the door, but turned back and said, “How many horses will your highness have?”

“Oh, four or five, what you like.”

“If you leave it to me, I shall take a hundred.”

“What for?” cried the prince, surprised.

“To have at least twenty-five I can rely on in case of attack.”

“Attack!”

“Yes, I have heard that there are thick woods in that neighborhood, and it would not surprise me if we fell into some ambush.”

“Ah, do you think so?”

“Monseigneur knows that true courage does not exclude prudence; I will order one hundred and fifty.”

And he moved towards the door.

“A moment,” said the prince. “Do you think I am in safety at Angers?”

“Why, the town is not very strong, but well defended – ”

“Yes, but it may be badly defended; however brave you are, you can be but in one place at a time.”

“True.”

“Then if I am not in safety here – and I am not if Bussy doubts – ”

“I did not say I doubted.”

“If I am not safe, I had better make myself so. I will go to the castle and entrench myself.”

“You are right, monseigneur.”

“And then another idea.”

“The morning is fruitful.”

“I will make the Méridors come here.”

“Monseigneur, you are grand to-day. Now let us visit the castle.”

Bussy went out while the prince was getting ready, and found Rémy waiting. He wrote hastily a little note, picked a bunch of roses from the conservatory, rolled the note round the stems, went to the stable, brought out his horse, and, putting Rémy on it, and giving him the bouquet, led him out of the city.

“Now,” said he, “let Roland go; at the end of this road you will find the forest, in the forest a park, round the park a wall, and at that part of the wall where Roland stops, throw over this bouquet.”

“He whom you expect does not come,” said the note, “because he who was not expected has come, and is more menacing than ever, for he loves still. Take with the lips and the heart all that is invisible to the eyes in this paper.”

In half an hour Rémy reached his destination, carried by his horse, and threw over the bouquet; a little cry from the other side told him it had been received. Then Rémy returned, in spite of his horse, which seemed much put out at losing its accustomed repast on the acorns. Rémy joined Bussy as he was exploring a cave with the prince.

“Well,” said he to his messenger, “what did you hear or see?”

“A wall, a cry, seven leagues,” replied Rémy laconically.