CHAPTER XI.
THE EVENING OF THE LEAGUE.
Paris presented a fine sight, as through its then narrow streetsthousands of people pressed towards the same point, for at eighto'clock in the evening, M. le Duc de Guise was to receive thesignatures of the bourgeois to the League. A crowd of citizens,dressed in their best clothes, as for a fete, but fully armed,directed their steps towards the churches. What added to thenoise and confusion was that large numbers of women, disdainingto stay at home on such a great day, had followed their husbands,and many had brought with them a whole batch of children. It wasin the Rue de l'Arbre Sec that the crowd was the thickest. Thestreets were literally choked, and the crowd pressed tumultuouslytowards a bright light suspended below the sign of the BelleEtoile. On the threshold a man, with a cotton cap on his headand a naked sword in one hand and a register in the other, wascrying out, "Come come, brave Catholics, enter the hotel of theBelle Etoile, where you will find good wine; come, to-night thegood will be separated from the bad, and to-morrow morning thewheat will be known from the tares; come, gentlemen, you whocan write, come and sign;--you who cannot write, come and tellyour names to me, La Huriere; vive la messe!" A tall man elbowedhis way through the crowd, and in letters half an inch high, wrotehis name, 'Chicot.' Then, turning to La Huriere, he asked if hehad not another register to sign. La Huriere did not understandraillery, and answered angrily. Chicot retorted, and a quarrelseemed approaching, when Chicot, feeling some one touch his arm,turned, and saw the king disguised as a simple bourgeois, andaccompanied by Quelus and Maugiron, also disguised, and carryingan arquebuse on their shoulders.
"What!" cried the king, "good Catholics disputing among themselves;par la mordieu, it is a bad example."
"Do not mix yourself with what does not concern you," repliedChicot, without seeming to recognize him. But a new influx ofthe crowd distracted the attention of La Huriere, and separatedthe king and his companions from the hotel.
"Why are you here, sire?" said Chicot.
"Do you think I have anything to fear?"
"Eh! mon Dieu! in a crowd like this it is so easy for one manto put a knife into his neighbor, and who just utters an oathand gives up the ghost."
"Have I been seen?"
"I think not; but you will be if you stay longer. Go back to theLouvre, sire."
"Oh! oh! what is this new outcry, and what are the people runningfor?"
Chicot looked, but could at first see nothing but a mass of peoplecrying, howling, and pushing. At last the mass opened, and a monk,mounted on a donkey, appeared. The monk spoke and gesticulated,and the ass brayed.
"Ventre de biche!" cried Chicot, "listen to the preacher."
"A preacher on a donkey!" cried Quelus.
"Why not?"
"He is Silenus," said Maugiron.
"Which is the preacher?" said the king, "for they speak both atonce."
"The underneath one is the most eloquent," said Chicot, "but theone at the top speaks the best French; listen, Henri."
"My brethren," said the monk, "Paris is a superb city; Paris isthe pride of France, and the Parisians a fine people." Then hebegan to sing, but the ass mingled his accompaniment so loudlythat he was obliged to stop. The crowd burst out laughing.
"Hold your tongue, Panurge, hold your tongue," cried the monk,"you shall speak after, but let me speak first."
The ass was quiet.
"My brothers," continued the preacher, "the earth is a valleyof grief, where man often pan quench his thirst only with histears."
"He is drunk," said the king.
"I should think so."
"I, who speak to you," continued the monk, "I am returning fromexile like the Hebrews of old, and for eight days Panurge andI have been living on alms and privations."
"Who is Panurge?" asked the king.
"The superior of his convent, probably but let me listen."
"Who made me endure this? It was Herod; you know what Herod Ispeak of. I and Panurge have come from Villeneuve-le-Roi, inthree days, to assist at this great solemnity; now we see, butwe do not understand. What is passing, my brothers? Is it to-daythat they depose Herod? Is it to-day that they put brother Henriin a convent?--Gentlemen," continued he, "I left Paris with twofriends; Panurge, who is my ass, and Chicot, who is his majesty'sjester. Can you tell me what has become of my friend Chicot?"
Chicot made a grimace.
"Oh," said the king, "he is your friend." Quelus and Maugironburst out laughing. "He is handsome and respectable," continuedthe king.
"It is Gorenflot, of whom M. de Morvilliers spoke to you."
"The incendiary of St. Genevieve?"
"Himself!"
"Then I will have him hanged!"
"Impossible!"
"Why?"
"He has no neck."
"My brothers," continued Gorenflot: "I am a true martyr, and itis my cause that they defend at this moment or, rather, thatof all good Catholics. You do not know what is passing in theprovinces, we have been obliged at Lyons to kill a Huguenot whopreached revolt. While one of them remains in France, there willbe no tranquillity for us. Let us exterminate them. To arms!to arms!"
Several voices repeated, "To arms!"
"Par la mordieu!" said the king, "make this fellow hold his tongue,or he will make a second St. Bartholomew!"
"Wait," said Chicot, and with his stick he struck Gorenflot withall his force on the shoulders.
"Murder!" cried the monk.
"It is you!" cried Chicot.
"Help me, M. Chicot, help me! The enemies of the faith wish toassassinate me, but I will not die without making my voice heard.Death to the Huguenots!"
"Will you hold your tongue?" cried Chicot. But at this momenta second blow fell on the shoulders of the monk with such forcethat he cried out with real pain. Chicot, astonished, lookedround him, but saw nothing but the stick. The blow had been givenby a man who had immediately disappeared in the crowd afteradministering this punishment.
"Who the devil could it have been?" thought Chicot, and he beganto run after the man, who was gliding away, followed by onlyone companion.