THE RETREAT IN WHICH MONSIEUR LOUIS OF FRANCE SAYS HIS PRAYERS.
The reader has not, perhaps, that one moment of the of vagabonds, Quasimodo, as he Paris from the of his tower, only one light burning, which like a star from a window on the of a the Porte Saint-Antoine. This was the Bastille. That star was the of Louis XI. King Louis XI. had, in fact, been two days in Paris. He was to take his on the next day but one for his of Montilz-les-Tours. He but and in his good city of Paris, since there he did not about him pitfalls, gibbets, and Scotch archers.
He had come, that day, to sleep at the Bastille. The great five toises[64] square, which he had at the Louvre, with its chimney-piece with twelve great and thirteen great prophets, and his bed, eleven by twelve, pleased him but little. He himself all this grandeur. This good king the Bastille with a and couch. And then, the Bastille was than the Louvre.
This little chamber, which the king for himself in the famous prison, was also and the of a from the keep. It was in form, with of straw, with beams, with fleurs-de-lis of metal with in color; with rich with of white metal, and with others painted a fine, green, of and indigo.
There was only one window, a long pointed casement, with wire and of iron, by with the arms of the king and of the queen, each being two and twenty sols.
There was but one entrance, a modern door, with a arch, with a piece of on the inside, and on the by one of those of Irish wood, of cabinet-work wrought, numbers of which were still to be in old houses a hundred and fifty years ago. “Although they and the places,” says Sauvel in despair, “our old people are still to of them, and keep them in of everybody.”
In this chamber, nothing was to be of what ordinary apartments, neither benches, trestles, forms, common in the of a chest, by and counter-pillars, at four a piece. Only one easy arm-chair, very magnificent, was to be seen; the was painted with roses on a red ground, the seat was of Cordovan leather, with long fringes, and with a thousand nails. The of this chair it that only one person had a right to in this apartment. Beside the chair, and close to the window, there was a table with a cloth with a pattern of birds. On this table an with ink, some parchments, pens, and a large of silver. A little on was a brazier, a praying in velvet, with small of gold. Finally, at the end of the room, a of and yellow damask, without either or lace; having only an ordinary fringe. This bed, famous for having the sleep or the of Louis XI., was still to be two hundred years ago, at the house of a of state, where it was by old Madame Pilou, in Cyrus under the name Arricidie and of la Morale Vivante.
Such was the which was called “the where Monsieur Louis de France says his prayers.”
At the moment when we have the reader into it, this was very dark. The had an hour before; night was come, and there was only one set on the table to light five in the chamber.
The on which the light was a in and of with silver, and a with of cloth of gold with black figures. This costume, on which the light played, with on every fold. The man who it had his on his in colors; a by a deer passant. The was flanked, on the right by an branch, on the left by a deer’s antlers. This man in his a rich hilt, of gilt, was in the of a helmet, and by a count’s coronet. He had a air, a proud mien, and a high. At the one read on his visage; at the second, craft.
He was bareheaded, a long roll of in his hand, the arm-chair in which was seated, his up, his crossed, his on the table, a very personage. Let the reader in fact, on the rich seat of Cordova leather, two knees, two thin thighs, in black tricot, a in a of fustian, with of which more leather than was visible; lastly, to all, a old of the of black cloth, with a of figures. This, in company with a dirty skull-cap, which allowed a to escape, was all that the seated personage. He his so upon his breast, that nothing was to be of his thus into shadow, the of his nose, upon which a of light, and which must have been long. From the of his hand, one that he was an old man. It was Louis XI. At some them, two men in of Flemish were conversing, who were not in the to prevent any one who had been present at the performance of Gringoire’s from in them two of the Flemish envoys, Guillaume Rym, the pensioner of Ghent, and Jacques Coppenole, the popular hosier. The reader will that these men were mixed up in the politics of Louis XI. Finally, at the end of the room, near the door, in the dark, stood, as a statue, a man with limbs, a harness, with a of bearings, square with eyes, with an mouth, his ears by two large screens of hair, had something about it of the dog and the tiger.
All were the king.
The who near the king was reading him a of long to which his to be attentively. The two Flemings were together.
“Cross of God!” Coppenole, “I am of standing; is there no chair here?”
Rym by a negative gesture, by a smile.
“Croix-Dieu!” Coppenole, at being to his voice thus, “I should like to on the floor, with my crossed, like a hosier, as I do in my shop.”
“Take good that you do not, Master Jacques.”
“Ouais! Master Guillaume! can one only here on his feet?”
“Or on his knees,” said Rym.
At that moment the king’s voice was uplifted. They their peace.
“Fifty for the of our valets, and twelve for the of the of our crown! That’s it! Pour out gold by the ton! Are you mad, Olivier?”
As he spoke thus, the old man his head. The of the of Saint-Michael be on his neck. The his and profile. He the papers from the other’s hand.
“You are us!” he cried, his over the scroll. “What is all this? What need have we of so a household? Two at ten a month each, and, a at one hundred sols! A valet-de-chambre at ninety a year. Four cooks at six score a year each! A spit-cook, an herb-cook, a sauce-cook, a butler, two sumpter-horse lackeys, at ten a month each! Two at eight livres! A of the and his two at four and twenty a month! A porter, a pastry-cook, a baker, two carters, each sixty a year! And the six score livres! And the master of the of our funds, twelve hundred livres! And the five hundred. And how do I know what else? ’Tis ruinous. The of our are France to the pillage! All the of the Louvre will melt such a fire of expenses! We shall have to sell our plate! And next year, if God and our Lady (here he his hat) us life, we shall drink our from a pot!”
So saying, he a at the which upon the table. He and continued,—
“Master Olivier, the who over great lordships, like kings and emperors, should not allow in their houses; for the fire spreads through the province. Hence, Master Olivier, this said once for all. Our every year. The thing us. How, pasque-Dieu! when in ’79 it did not six and thirty thousand livres, did it in ’80, forty-three thousand six hundred and livres? I have the in my head. In ’81, sixty-six thousand six hundred and eighty livres, and this year, by the of my body, it will eighty thousand livres! Doubled in four years! Monstrous!”
He paused breathless, then energetically,—
“I around me only people who on my leanness! you from me at every pore.”
All silent. This was one of those of which are allowed to take their course. He continued,—
“’Tis like that in Latin from the of France, that we should re-establish what they call the of the Crown! Charges in very deed! Charges which crush! Ah! gentlemen! you say that we are not a king to nullo, nullo! We will let you see, pasque-Dieu! we are not a king!”
Here he smiled, in the of his power; this his humor, and he the Flemings,—
“Do you see, Gossip Guillaume? the of the keys, the butler, the chamberlain, the are not the smallest valet. Remember this, Gossip Coppenole. They no purpose, as they thus the king; they produce upon me the of the four Evangelists who the of the big clock of the palace, and which Philippe Brille has just set in order afresh. They are gilt, but they do not the hour; and the hands can on without them.”
He in for a moment, then added, his head,—
“Ho! ho! by our Lady, I am not Philippe Brille, and I shall not the great anew. Continue, Olivier.”
The person he by this name, took the papers into his hands again, and to read aloud,—
“To Adam Tenon, of the of the of the of Paris; for the silver, making, and of said seals, which have been new the others preceding, by of their and their condition, no longer be used, twelve parisis.
“To Guillaume Frère, the of four livres, four parisis, for his trouble and salary, for having and the in the two dove-cots of the Hôtel Tournelles, the months of January, February, and March of this year; and for this he seven of barley.
“To a for a criminal, four parisis.”
The king in silence. From time to time he coughed; then he the to his and a with a grimace.
“During this year there have been by the of justice, to the of the trumpet, through the of Paris, fifty-six proclamations. Account to be regulated.
“For having and in places, in Paris as well as elsewhere, for money said to be there concealed; but nothing been found: forty-five parisis.”
“Bury a to a sou!” said the king.
“For having set in the Hôtel Tournelles six of white in the place where the iron is, thirteen sols; for having and delivered by of the king, on the day of the musters, four with the of the said seigneur, with of roses all about, six livres; for two new to the king’s old doublet, twenty sols; for a box of to the of the king, fifteen deniers; a newly to the king’s black pigs, thirty parisis; many partitions, planks, and trap-doors, for the of the lions at Saint-Paul, twenty-two livres.”
“These be dear beasts,” said Louis XI. “It not; it is a in a king. There is a great red lion I love for his ways. Have you him, Master Guillaume? Princes must have these animals; for we kings must have lions for our dogs and for our cats. The great a crown. In the days of the of Jupiter, when the people offered the temples a hundred and a hundred sheep, the gave a hundred lions and a hundred eagles. This was wild and very fine. The kings of France have always had their throne. Nevertheless, people must do me this justice, that I still less money on it than they did, and that I a of lions, bears, elephants, and leopards.—Go on, Master Olivier. We to say thus much to our Flemish friends.”
Guillaume Rym low, while Coppenole, with his mien, had the air of one of the of which his was speaking. The king paid no heed. He had just his into the goblet, and he out the beverage, saying: “Foh! what a potion!” The man who was reading continued:—
“For a footpad, locked up these six months in the little of the flayer, until it should be what to do with him, six livres, four sols.”
“What’s that?” the king; “feed what ought to be hanged! Pasque-Dieu! I will give not a more for that nourishment. Olivier, come to an about the with Monsieur d’Estouteville, and prepare me this very the wedding of the and the gallows. Resume.”
Olivier a mark with his thumb against the article of the “rascally soldier,” and passed on.
“To Henriet Cousin, master of the high of in Paris, the of sixty parisis, to him and by the of Paris, for having bought, by order of the said the provost, a great sword, to and who are by for their demerits, and he the same to be with a and with all appertaining; and to be and set in order the old sword, which had and in on Messire Louis de Luxembourg, as will more appear....”
The king interrupted: “That suffices. I allow the with great good will. Those are which I do not begrudge. I have that money. Continue.”
“For having over a great cage....”
“Ah!” said the king, the arms of his chair in hands, “I well that I came to this Bastille for some purpose. Hold, Master Olivier; I to see that myself. You shall read me the cost while I am it. Messieurs Flemings, come and see this; ’tis curious.”
Then he rose, on the arm of his interlocutor, a to the of mute who the door to him, to the two Flemings to him, and the room.
The company was recruited, at the door of the retreat, by men of arms, all with iron, and by pages flambeaux. It for some time through the of the donjon, with and in the very of the walls. The captain of the Bastille at their head, and the to be opened the and king, who as he walked.
At each wicket, all were to stoop, that of the old man with age. “Hum,” said he his gums, for he had no longer any teeth, “we are already prepared for the door of the sepulchre. For a low door, a passer.”
At length, after having passed a final wicket, so with that a of an hour was to open it, they entered a and hall, in the centre of which they by the light of the torches, a of masonry, iron, and wood. The was hollow. It was one of those famous of of state, which were called “the little of the king.” In its there were two or three little so closely with iron bars; that the was not visible. The door was a large of stone, as on tombs; the of door which for entrance only. Only here, the was alive.
The king to walk slowly the little edifice, it carefully, while Master Olivier, who him, read the note.
“For having a great of of solid beams, and wall-plates, nine in length by eight in breadth, and of the of seven the partitions, and with great of iron, which has been in a in one of the towers of the Bastille Saint-Antoine, in which is and detained, by of the king our lord, a who an old, decrepit, and cage. There have been in making the said new cage, ninety-six beams, and fifty-two joists, ten plates three long; there have been to hew, work, and fit all the said in the of the Bastille twenty days.”
“Very of oak,” said the king, the with his fist.
“There have been used in this cage,” the other, “two hundred and twenty great of iron, of nine feet, and of eight, the of medium length, with the rowels, and to the said bolts; weighing, the said iron in all, three thousand, seven hundred and thirty-five pounds; eight great of iron, to the said in place with and in all two hundred and eighteen pounds, not the iron of the for the of the the been placed, the of iron for the door of the and other things.”
“’Tis a great of iron,” said the king, “to the light of a spirit.”
“The whole to three hundred and seventeen livres, five sols, seven deniers.”
“Pasque-Dieu!” the king.
At this oath, which was the of Louis XI., some one to in the of the cage; the of was heard, on the floor, and a voice, which to issue from the was uplifted. “Sire! sire! mercy!” The one who spoke thus not be seen.
“Three hundred and seventeen livres, five sols, seven deniers,” Louis XI. The voice which had from the had all present, Master Olivier himself. The king alone the air of not having heard. At his order, Master Olivier his reading, and his his of the cage.
“In to this there been paid to a who the to place the of the windows, and the of the where the is, that not support this by of its weight, twenty-seven fourteen parisis.”
The voice to again.
“Mercy, sire! I to you that ’twas Monsieur the Cardinal d’Angers and not I, who was of treason.”
“The is bold!” said the king. “Continue, Olivier.”
Olivier continued,—
“To a for window frames, bedstead, stool, and other things, twenty livres, two parisis.”
The voice also continued.
“Alas, sire! will you not to me? I to you that ’twas not I who the to Monseigneur de Guyenne, but Monsieur le Cardinal Balue.”
“The is dear,” the king. “Is that all?”
“No, sire. To a glazier, for the of the said chamber, forty-six sols, eight parisis.”
“Have mercy, sire! Is it not to have all my to my judges, my plate to Monsieur de Torcy, my library to Master Pierre Doriolle, my to the of the Roussillon? I am innocent. I have been in an iron for fourteen years. Have mercy, sire! You will your in heaven.”
“Master Olivier,” said the king, “the total?”
“Three hundred sixty-seven livres, eight sols, three parisis.
“Notre-Dame!” the king. “This is an cage!”
He the book from Master Olivier’s hands, and set to it himself upon his fingers, the paper and the alternately. Meanwhile, the be sobbing. This was in the darkness, and their as they looked at each other.
“Fourteen years, sire! Fourteen years now! since the month of April, 1469. In the name of the Holy Mother of God, sire, to me! During all this time you have the of the sun. Shall I, creature, more the day? Mercy, sire! Be pitiful! Clemency is a fine, virtue, which the of wrath. Does your that in the hour of death it will be a great of for a king to have left any unpunished? Besides, sire, I did not your majesty, ’twas Monsieur d’Angers; and I have on my a very chain, and a great of iron at the end, much than it should be in reason. Eh! sire! Have on me!”
“Olivier,” the king, his head, “I that they me twenty a for plaster, while it is but twelve. You will this account.”
He his on the cage, and set out to the room. The from the of the and the noise, that the king was taking his departure.
“Sire! sire!” he in despair.
The door closed again. He no longer saw anything, and only the voice of the turnkey, in his ears this ditty,—
“Maître Jean Balue,
A la vue
De évêchés.
Monsieur de Verdun.
N’en a plus un;
Tous dépêchés.”[65]
The king in to his retreat, and his him, by the last of the man. All at once his to the Governor of the Bastille,—
“By the way,” said he, “was there not some one in that cage?”
“Pardieu, yes sire!” the governor, by the question.
“And who was it?”
“Monsieur the Bishop of Verdun.”
The king this than any one else. But it was a of his.
“Ah!” said he, with the air of of it for the time, “Guillaume de Harancourt, the friend of Monsieur the Cardinal Balue. A good of a bishop!”
At the of a moments, the door of the had opened again, then closed upon the five the reader has at the of this chapter, and who their places, their conversations, and their attitudes.
During the king’s absence, had been on his table, and he the himself. Then he to read them promptly, one after the other, a to Master Olivier who appeared to the office of minister, to take a pen, and without to him the of the despatches, he to in a low voice, the which the wrote, on his knees, in an the table.
Guillaume Rym was on the watch.
The king spoke so low that the Flemings nothing of his dictation, some and scraps, such as,—
“To maintain the places by commerce, and the by manufactures....—To the English our four bombards, London, Brabant, Bourg-en-Bresse, Saint-Omer....—Artillery is the of being more now....—To Monsieur de Bressuire, our friend....—Armies cannot be without tribute, etc.”
Once he his voice,—
“Pasque Dieu! Monsieur the King of Sicily his with yellow wax, like a king of France. Perhaps we are in the to permit him so to do. My of Burgundy no with a of gules. The of houses is by the of prerogatives. Note this, friend Olivier.”
Again,—
“Oh! oh!” said he, “What a long message! What our the claim?” And his over the and his reading with interjection: “Surely! the Germans are so great and powerful, that it is credible—But let us not the old proverb: ‘The is Flanders; the duchy, Milan; the kingdom, France.’ Is it not so, Messieurs Flemings?”
This time Coppenole in company with Guillaume Rym. The hosier’s was tickled.
The last Louis XI. frown.
“What is this?” he said, “Complaints and fault against our in Picardy! Olivier, with to M. the Marshal de Rouault:—That is relaxed. That the of the troops, the nobles, the free archers, and the Swiss on the rustics.—That the military, not with what they in the houses of the rustics, them with of or of to go and wine, spices, and other in the town.—That the king this. That we to our people against inconveniences, and pillage.—That such is our will, by our Lady!—That in addition, it us not that any fiddler, barber, or any soldier should be like a prince, in velvet, cloth of silk, and of gold.—That these are to God.—That we, who are gentlemen, ourselves with a of cloth at sixteen the ell, of Paris.—That the camp-followers can very well come to that, also.—Command and ordain.—To Monsieur de Rouault, our friend.—Good.”
He this aloud, in a tone, and in jerks. At the moment when he it, the door opened and gave passage to a new personage, who himself into the chamber, in affright,—
“Sire! sire! there is a of the in Paris!” Louis XI.’s contracted; but all that was visible of his passed away like a of lightning. He himself and said with severity,—
“Gossip Jacques, you enter very abruptly!”
“Sire! sire! there is a revolt!” Gossip Jacques breathlessly.
The king, who had risen, him by the arm, and said in his ear, in such a manner as to be by him alone, with and a at the Flemings,—
“Hold your tongue! or speak low!”
The new understood, and in a low to give a very account, to which the king calmly, while Guillaume Rym called Coppenole’s attention to the and dress of the new arrival, to his cowl, (caputia fourrata), his cape, (epitogia curta), his of black velvet, which a president of the of accounts.
Hardly had this the king some explanations, when Louis XI. exclaimed, into a laugh,—
“In truth? Speak aloud, Gossip Coictier! What call is there for you to talk so low? Our Lady that we nothing from our good friends the Flemings.”
“But sire...”
“Speak loud!”
Gossip Coictier was with surprise.
“So,” the king,—“speak sir,—there is a among the in our good city of Paris?”
“Yes, sire.”
“And which is moving you say, against the of the Palais-de-Justice?”
“So it appears,” said the gossip, who still stammered, by the and which had just taken place in the king’s thoughts.
Louis XI. continued: “Where did the watch meet the rabble?”
“Marching from the Grand Truanderie, the Pont-aux-Changeurs. I met it myself as I was on my way to your majesty’s commands. I some of them shouting: ‘Down with the of the palace!’”
“And what have they against the bailiff?”
“Ah!” said Gossip Jacques, “because he is their lord.”
“Really?”
“Yes, sire. They are from the Cour-des-Miracles. They have been this long while, of the bailiff, they are. They do not wish to him either as judge or as voyer?”[66]
“Yes, certainly!” the king with a of which he in to disguise.
“In all their to the Parliament, they to have but two masters. Your and their God, who is the devil, I believe.”
“Eh! eh!” said the king.
He his hands, he laughed with that which makes the beam; he was unable to his joy, although he at moments to himself. No one it in the least, not Master Olivier. He for a moment, with a but air.
“Are they in force?” he inquired.
“Yes, assuredly, sire,” Gossip Jacques.
“How many?”
“Six thousand at the least.”
The king not from saying: “Good!” he on,—
“Are they armed?”
“With scythes, pikes, hackbuts, pickaxes. All of very weapons.”
The king did not appear in the least by this list. Jacques it his to add,—
“If your not send to the bailiff, he is lost.”
“We will send,” said the king with an air of false seriousness. “It is well. Assuredly we will send. Monsieur the is our friend. Six thousand! They are scamps! Their is marvellous, and we are at it. But we have only a people about us to-night. To-morrow will be time enough.”
Gossip Jacques exclaimed, “Instantly, sire! there will be time to the a score of times, to the seignory, to the bailiff. For God’s sake, sire! send to-morrow morning.”
The king looked him full in the face. “I have told you to-morrow morning.”
It was one of those looks to which one not reply. After a silence, Louis XI. his voice once more,—
“You should know that, Gossip Jacques. What was—”
He himself. “What is the bailiff’s jurisdiction?”
“Sire, the of the has the Rue Calendre as as the Rue de l’Herberie, the Place Saint-Michel, and the as the Mureaux, near the church of Notre-Dame Champs (here Louis XI. the of his hat), which number thirteen, plus the Cour Miracles, plus the Maladerie, called the Banlieue, plus the whole which at that Maladerie and ends at the Porte Sainte-Jacques. Of these places he is voyer, high, middle, and low, justiciary, full seigneur.”
“Bless me!” said the king, his left ear with his right hand, “that makes a of my city! Ah! the was king of all that.”
This time he did not himself. He dreamily, and as though speaking to himself,—
“Very fine, the bailiff! You had there your teeth a slice of our Paris.”
All at once he out explosively, “Pasque-Dieu! What people are those who to be voyers, justiciaries, and masters in our domains? who have their at the end of every field? their and their at every cross-road among our people? So that as the Greek that he had as many gods as there were fountains, and the Persian as many as he stars, the Frenchman as many kings as he sees gibbets! Pardieu! ’tis an thing, and the of it me. I should like to know it be the of God that there should be in Paris any other lord than the king, any other judge than our parliament, any other than ourselves in this empire! By the of my soul! the day must come when there shall in France but one king, one lord, one judge, one headsman, as there is in but one God!”
He his cap again, and continued, still dreamily, with the air and of a who is on his pack of hounds: “Good, my people! done! these false lords! do your duty! at them! have at them! them! take them! them!... Ah! you want to be kings, messeigneurs? On, my people on!”
Here he himself abruptly, his as though to take his which had already escaped, his in turn on each of the five who him, and his with hands and full at it, he said to it: “Oh! I would you if you what there was in my head.”
Then about him once more the and of the re-entering his hole,—
“No matter! we will the bailiff. Unfortunately, we have but here at the present moment, against so great a populace. We must wait until to-morrow. The order will be to the City and every one who is will be hung.”
“By the way, sire,” said Gossip Coictier, “I had that in the agitation, the watch have two of the band. If your to see these men, they are here.”
“If I to see them!” the king. “What! Pasque-Dieu! You a thing like that! Run quick, you, Olivier! Go, them!”
Master Olivier the room and returned a moment later with the two prisoners, by of the guard. The had a coarse, idiotic, and face. He was in rags, and walked with one and his leg. The second had a and countenance, with which the reader is already acquainted.
The king them for a moment without a word, then the one abruptly,—
“What’s your name?”
“Gieffroy Pincebourde.”
“Your trade.”
“Outcast.”
“What were you going to do in this sedition?”
The at the king, and his arms with a air.
He had one of those where is about as much at its as a light an extinguisher.
“I know not,” said he. “They went, I went.”
“Were you not going to attack and your lord, the of the palace?”
“I know that they were going to take something from some one. That is all.”
A soldier pointed out to the king a which he had on the person of the vagabond.
“Do you this weapon?” the king.
“Yes; ’tis my billhook; I am a vine-dresser.”
“And do you this man as your companion?” added Louis XI., pointing to the other prisoner.
“No, I do not know him.”
“That will do,” said the king, making a with his to the who the door, to we have already called the reader’s attention.
“Gossip Tristan, here is a man for you.”
Tristan l’Hermite bowed. He gave an order in a low voice to two archers, who away the vagabond.
In the meantime, the king had approached the second prisoner, who was in great drops: “Your name?”
“Sire, Pierre Gringoire.”
“Your trade?”
“Philosopher, sire.”
“How do you permit yourself, knave, to go and our friend, the of the palace, and what have you to say this popular agitation?”
“Sire, I had nothing to do with it.”
“Come, now! you wretch, were not you by the watch in that company?”
“No, sire, there is a mistake. ’Tis a fatality. I make tragedies. Sire, I your to to me. I am a poet. ’Tis the way of men of my to the by night. I was there. It was chance. I was arrested; I am of this tempest. Your sees that the did not me. I your majesty—”
“Hold your tongue!” said the king, two of his ptisan. “You our head!”
Tristan l’Hermite and pointing to Gringoire,—
“Sire, can this one be also?”
This was the word that he had uttered.
“Phew!” the king, “I see no objection.”
“I see a great many!” said Gringoire.
At that moment, our was than an olive. He from the king’s cold and that there was no other than something very pathetic, and he himself at the of Louis XI., exclaiming, with of despair:—
“Sire! will your to me. Sire! not in over so small a thing as myself. God’s great not a lettuce. Sire, you are an and, very monarch; have on a man who is honest, and who would it more difficult to up a than a cake of ice would to give out a spark! Very sire, is the of a lion and a king. Alas! only minds; the of the north wind do not make the his cloak; the sun, his little by little, him in such that it will make him to his shirt. Sire, you are the sun. I to you, my lord and master, that I am not an outcast, thief, and fellow. Revolt and not to the of Apollo. I am not the man to myself into those clouds which out into clamor. I am your majesty’s vassal. That same which a husband for the of his wife, the which the son for the love of his father, a good should for the of his king; he should away for the of this house, for the of his service. Every other which should transport him would be but madness. These, sire, are my of state: then do not judge me to be a and my is at the elbows. If you will me mercy, sire, I will wear it out on the in praying to God for you night and morning! Alas! I am not rich, ’tis true. I am poor. But not on that account. It is not my fault. Every one that great is not to be from literature, and that those who are best posted in good books do not always have a great fire in winter. The advocate’s all the grain, and only to the other scientific professions. There are very excellent the hole-ridden of the philosopher. Oh, sire! is the only light which can the of so great a soul. Clemency the all the other virtues. Without it they are but men after God in the dark. Compassion, which is the same thing as clemency, the love of subjects, which is the most powerful to a prince. What it to your majesty, who all faces, if there is one man more on earth, a the of calamity, with an empty pocket which against his belly? Moreover, sire, I am a man of letters. Great kings make a pearl for their by protecting letters. Hercules did not the title of Musagetes. Mathias Corvin Jean de Monroyal, the ornament of mathematics. Now, ’tis an way to protect to men of letters. What a on Alexander if he had Aristoteles! This act would not be a little on the of his to it, but a very to it. Sire! I a very proper for Mademoiselle of Flanders and Monseigneur the very Dauphin. That is not a of rebellion. Your sees that I am not a of no reputation, that I have well, and that I much natural eloquence. Have upon me, sire! In so doing you will perform a to our Lady, and I to you that I am at the idea of being hanged!”
So saying, the Gringoire the king’s slippers, and Guillaume Rym said to Coppenole in a low tone: “He well to himself on the earth. Kings are like the Jupiter of Crete, they have ears only in their feet.” And without himself about the Jupiter of Crete, the with a smile, and his on Gringoire: “Oh! that’s it exactly! I to Chancellor Hugonet of me.”
When Gringoire paused at last, out of breath, he his the king, who was in a spot on the of his with his finger-nail; then his to drink from the of ptisan. But he not a word, and this Gringoire. At last the king looked at him. “Here is a terrible bawler!” said, he. Then, to Tristan l’Hermite, “Bah! let him go!”
Gringoire backwards, with joy.
“At liberty!” Tristan “Doth not your wish to have him a little while in a cage?”
“Gossip,” Louis XI., “think you that ’tis for of this that we to be at three hundred and sixty-seven livres, eight sous, three apiece? Release him at once, the (Louis XI. was of this word which formed, with Pasque-Dieu, the of his joviality), and put him out with a buffet.”
“Ugh!” Gringoire, “what a great king is here!”
And for of a order, he the door, which Tristan opened for him with a very grace. The soldiers left the room with him, pushing him them with thwacks, which Gringoire like a true philosopher.
The king’s good since the against the had been to him, itself in every way. This was no small of it. Tristan l’Hermite in his the look of a dog who has had a away from him.
Meanwhile, the king with his on the arm of his chair, the March of Pont-Audemer. He was a prince, but one who how to his than his joys. These of at any good news sometimes to very great lengths thus, on the death, of Charles the Bold, to the point of to Saint Martin of Tours; on his to the throne, so as to order his father’s obsequies.
“Hé! sire!” Jacques Coictier, “what has of the attack of for which your had me summoned?”
“Oh!” said the king, “I greatly, my gossip. There is a in my ear and my chest.”
Coictier took the king’s hand, and to of his with a air.
“Look, Coppenole,” said Rym, in a low voice. “Behold him Coictier and Tristan. They are his whole court. A physician for himself, a for others.”
As he the king’s pulse, Coictier an air of and alarm. Louis XI. him with some anxiety. Coictier visibly more gloomy. The man had no other farm than the king’s health. He on it to the best of his ability.
“Oh! oh!” he at length, “this is indeed.”
“Is it not?” said the king, uneasily.
“Pulsus creber, anhelans, crepitans, irregularis,” the leech.
“Pasque-Dieu!”
“This may off its man in less than three days.”
“Our Lady!” the king. “And the remedy, gossip?”
“I am upon that, sire.”
He Louis XI. put out his tongue, his head, a grimace, and in the very of these affectations,—
“Pardieu, sire,” he said, “I must tell you that there is a of the vacant, and that I have a nephew.”
“I give the to your nephew, Gossip Jacques,” the king; “but this fire from my breast.”
“Since your is so clement,” the leech, “you will not to me a little in my house, Rue Saint-André-des-Arcs.”
“Heugh!” said the king.
“I am at the end of my finances,” the doctor; “and it would be a that the house should not have a roof; not on account of the house, which is and bourgeois, but of the paintings of Jehan Fourbault, which its wainscoating. There is a Diana in the air, but so excellent, so tender, so delicate, of so an action, her so well and with a crescent, her so white, that she leads into those who her too curiously. There is also a Ceres. She is another very divinity. She is seated on of and with a of ears with and other flowers. Never were more eyes, more limbs, a air, or a more skirt. She is one of the most and most perfect the has produced.”
“Executioner!” Louis XI., “what are you at?”
“I must have a for these paintings, sire, and, although ’tis but a small matter, I have no more money.”
“How much your cost?”
“Why a of copper, and gilt, two thousand at the most.”
“Ah, assassin!” the king, “He out one of my teeth which is not a diamond.”
“Am I to have my roof?” said Coictier.
“Yes; and go to the devil, but me.”
Jacques Coictier low and said,—
“Sire, it is a which will save you. We will apply to your the great of cerate, Armenian bole, white of egg, oil, and vinegar. You will continue your and we will answer for your majesty.”
A not one alone. Master Olivier, the king to be in a mood, and the moment to be propitious, approached in his turn.
“Sire—”
“What is it now?” said Louis XI. “Sire, your that Simon Radin is dead?”
“Well?”
“He was to the king in the of the of the treasury.”
“Well?”
“Sire, his place is vacant.”
As he spoke thus, Master Olivier’s its for a one. It is the only which takes place in a courtier’s visage. The king looked him well in the and said in a tone,—“I understand.”
He resumed,—
“Master Olivier, the Marshal de Boucicaut was to say, ‘There’s no master save the king, there are no save in the sea.’ I see that you agree with Monsieur de Boucicaut. Now to this; we have a good memory. In ’68 we you of our chamber: in ’69, of the of the of Saint-Cloud, at a hundred of Tournay in (you wanted them of Paris). In November, ’73, by to Gergeole, we you of the Wood of Vincennes, in the place of Gilbert Acle, equerry; in ’75, gruyer[67] of the of Rouvray-lez-Saint-Cloud, in the place of Jacques le Maire; in ’78, we settled on you, by sealed with green wax, an of ten parisis, for you and your wife, on the Place of the Merchants, at the School Saint-Germain; in ’79, we you of the of Senart, in place of that Jehan Daiz; then captain of the Château of Loches; then of Saint-Quentin; then captain of the of Meulan, of which you to be called comte. Out of the five paid by every who on a day, there are three for you and we have the rest. We have been good to your name of Le Mauvais (The Evil), which your too closely. In ’76, we you, to the great of our nobility, of a thousand colors, which give you the of a peacock. Pasque-Dieu! Are not you surfeited? Is not the of and miraculous? Are you not that one more will make your sink? Pride will be your ruin, gossip. Ruin and always press hard on the of pride. Consider this and your tongue.”
These words, with severity, Master Olivier’s to its insolence.
“Good!” he muttered, almost aloud, “’tis easy to see that the king is to-day; he all to the leech.”
Louis XI. from being by this insult, with some gentleness, “Stay, I was that I you my to Madame Marie, at Ghent. Yes, gentlemen,” added the king to the Flemings, “this man been an ambassador. There, my gossip,” he pursued, Master Olivier, “let us not angry; we are old friends. ’Tis very late. We have our labors. Shave me.”
Our readers have not, without doubt, waited until the present moment to in Master Olivier that terrible Figaro Providence, the great maker of dramas, so in the long and of the of Louis XI. We will not here to that figure. This of the king had three names. At he was called Olivier le Daim (the Deer); among the people Olivier the Devil. His name was Olivier le Mauvais.
Accordingly, Olivier le Mauvais motionless, at the king, and at Jacques Coictier.
“Yes, yes, the physician!” he said his teeth.
“Ah, yes, the physician!” Louis XI., with good humor; “the physician has more than you. ’Tis very simple; he has taken upon us by the whole body, and you us only by the chin. Come, my barber, all will come right. What would you say and what would of your office if I were a king like Chilperic, in his in one hand? Come, mine, your office, me. Go what you need therefor.”
Olivier that the king had up his mind to laugh, and that there was no way of him, off to his orders.
The king rose, approached the window, and opening it with agitation,—
“Oh! yes!” he exclaimed, his hands, “yonder is a in the sky over the City. ’Tis the burning. It can be nothing else but that. Ah! my good people! here you are me at last in the of lordship!”
Then the Flemings: “Come, look at this, gentlemen. Is it not a fire which yonder?”
The two men of Ghent near.
“A great fire,” said Guillaume Rym.
“Oh!” Coppenole, flashed, “that me of the of the house of the Seigneur d’Hymbercourt. There must be a yonder.”
“You think so, Master Coppenole?” And Louis XI.’s was almost as as that of the hosier. “Will it not be difficult to resist?”
“Cross of God! Sire! Your will many of men of thereon.”
“Ah! I! ’tis different,” returned the king. “If I willed.”
The hardily,—
“If this be what I suppose, sire, you might will in vain.”
“Gossip,” said Louis XI., “with the two of my and one of a serpentine, work is of a of louts.”
The hosier, in of the to him by Guillaume Rym, appeared to his own against the king.
“Sire, the Swiss were also louts. Monsieur the Duke of Burgundy was a great gentleman, and he up his nose at that rout. At the of Grandson, sire, he cried: ‘Men of the cannon! Fire on the villains!’ and he by Saint-George. But Advoyer Scharnachtal himself on the with his battle-club and his people, and when the Burgundian army came in with these in hides, it in pieces like a of at the of a pebble. Many were then by low-born knaves; and Monsieur de Château-Guyon, the in Burgundy, was dead, with his horse, in a little meadow.”
“Friend,” returned the king, “you are speaking of a battle. The question here is of a mutiny. And I will the upper hand of it as soon as it shall me to frown.”
The other indifferently,—
“That may be, sire; in that case, ’tis the people’s hour not yet come.”
Guillaume Rym it on him to intervene,—
“Master Coppenole, you are speaking to a king.”
“I know it,” the hosier, gravely.
“Let him speak, Monsieur Rym, my friend,” said the king; “I love this of speech. My father, Charles the Seventh, was to say that the truth was ailing; I her dead, and that she had no confessor. Master Coppenole me.”
Then, his hand on Coppenole’s shoulder,—
“You were saying, Master Jacques?”
“I say, sire, that you may possibly be in the right, that the hour of the people may not yet have come with you.”
Louis XI. at him with his eye,—
“And when will that hour come, master?”
“You will it strike.”
“On what clock, if you please?”
Coppenole, with his and countenance, the king approach the window.
“Listen, sire! There is here a keep, a belfry, cannons, bourgeois, soldiers; when the shall hum, when the shall roar, when the shall in great noise, when and soldiers shall and each other, the hour will strike.”
Louis’s and dreamy. He for a moment, then he with his hand the thick of the donjon, as one the of a steed.
“Oh! no!” said he. “You will not so easily, will you, my good Bastille?”
And with an the Fleming,—
“Have you a revolt, Master Jacques?”
“I have them,” said the hosier.
“How do you set to work to make a revolt?” said the king.
“Ah!” Coppenole, “’tis not very difficult. There are a hundred ways. In the place, there must be in the city. The thing is not uncommon. And then, the of the inhabitants. Those of Ghent are easy to into revolt. They always love the prince’s son; the prince, never. Well! One morning, I will suppose, some one enters my shop, and says to me: ‘Father Coppenole, there is this and there is that, the Demoiselle of Flanders to save her ministers, the is the on shagreen, or something else,’—what you will. I my work as it stands, I come out of my hosier’s stall, and I shout: ‘To the sack?’ There is always some at hand. I it, and I say aloud, in the that to me, what I have on my heart; and when one is of the people, sire, one always has something on the heart. Then people up, they shout, they ring the bell, they arm the with what they take from the soldiers, the market people join in, and they set out. And it will always be thus, so long as there are in the seignories, in the bourgs, and in the country.”
“And against do you thus rebel?” the king; “against your bailiffs? against your lords?”
“Sometimes; that depends. Against the duke, also, sometimes.”
Louis XI. returned and seated himself, saying, with a smile,—
“Ah! here they have only got as as the bailiffs.”
At that Olivier le Daim returned. He was by two pages, who the king’s articles; but what Louis XI. was that he was also by the of Paris and the of the watch, who appeared to be in consternation. The also an air of consternation, which was one of beneath, however. It was he who spoke first.
“Sire, I ask your majesty’s for the news which I bring.”
The king and the on the with the of his chair,—
“What this mean?”
“Sire,” Olivier le Daim, with the air of a man who that he is about to a blow, “’tis not against the of the that this popular is directed.”
“Against whom, then?”
“Against you, sire?’
The king rose and as a man,—
“Explain yourself, Olivier! And your well, gossip; for I to you by the of Saint-Lô that, if you to us at this hour, the which the of Monsieur de Luxembourg is not so that it cannot yet yours!”
The was formidable; Louis XI. had only twice in the of his life by the of Saint-Lô.
Olivier opened his mouth to reply.
“Sire—”
“On your knees!” the king violently. “Tristan, have an to this man.”
Olivier and said coldly,—
“Sire, a was to death by your of parliament. She took in Notre-Dame. The people are trying to take her from by main force. Monsieur the and the of the watch, who have just come from the riot, are here to give me the if this is not the truth. The is Notre-Dame.”
“Yes, indeed!” said the king in a low voice, all and with wrath. “Notre-Dame! They to our Lady, my good in her cathedral!—Rise, Olivier. You are right. I give you Simon Radin’s charge. You are right. ’Tis I they are attacking. The is under the protection of this church, the church is under my protection. And I that they were acting against the bailiff! ’Tis against myself!”
Then, by fury, he to walk up and with long strides. He no longer laughed, he was terrible, he and came; the was into a hyæna. He to such a that he not speak; his moved, and his were clenched. All at once he his head, his appeared full of light, and his voice like a clarion: “Down with them, Tristan! A hand for these rascals! Go, Tristan, my friend! slay! slay!”
This having passed, he returned to his seat, and said with cold and wrath,—
“Here, Tristan! There are here with us in the Bastille the fifty of the Vicomte de Gif, which makes three hundred horse: you will take them. There is also the company of our of Monsieur de Châteaupers: you will take it. You are of the marshals; you have the men of your provostship: you will take them. At the Hôtel Saint-Pol you will of the dauphin’s new guard: you will take them. And, with all these, you will to Notre-Dame. Ah! messieurs, of Paris, do you yourselves thus against the of France, the of Notre-Dame, and the peace of this commonwealth! Exterminate, Tristan! exterminate! and let not a single one escape, it be for Montfaucon.”
Tristan bowed. “’Tis well, sire.”
He added, after a silence, “And what shall I do with the sorceress?”
This question the king to meditate.
“Ah!” said he, “the sorceress! Monsieur d’Estouteville, what did the people wish to do with her?”
“Sire,” the of Paris, “I that since the has come to tear her from her in Notre-Dame, ’tis that them, and they to her.”
The king appeared to deeply: then, Tristan l’Hermite, “Well! gossip, the people and the sorceress.”
“That’s it,” said Rym in a low to Coppenole, “punish the people for a thing, and then do what they wish.”
“Enough, sire,” Tristan. “If the is still in Notre-Dame, must she be in of the sanctuary?”
“Pasque-Dieu! the sanctuary!” said the king, his ear. “But the woman must be hung, nevertheless.”
Here, as though with a idea, he himself on his his chair, took off his hat, it on the seat, and at one of the which it down, “Oh!” said he, with hands, “our Lady of Paris, my patroness, me. I will only do it this once. This must be punished. I you, the virgin, my good mistress, that she is a who is not of your protection. You know, madame, that many very have the of the churches for the of God and the of the State. Saint Hugues, of England, permitted King Edward to a in his church. Saint-Louis of France, my master, transgressed, with the same object, the church of Monsieur Saint-Paul; and Monsieur Alphonse, son of the king of Jerusalem, the very church of the Holy Sepulchre. Pardon me, then, for this once. Our Lady of Paris, I will do so again, and I will give you a of silver, like the one which I gave last year to Our Lady of Écouys. So be it.”
He the of the cross, rose, his once more, and said to Tristan,—
“Be diligent, gossip. Take Monsieur Châteaupers with you. You will the to be sounded. You will the populace. You will the witch. ’Tis said. And I the of the to be done by you. You will me an account of it. Come, Olivier, I shall not go to this night. Shave me.”
Tristan l’Hermite and departed. Then the king, Rym and Coppenole with a gesture,—
“God you, messieurs, my good friends the Flemings. Go, take a little repose. The night advances, and we are nearer the than the evening.”
Both retired and their under the of the captain of the Bastille. Coppenole said to Guillaume Rym,—
“Hum! I have had of that king! I have Charles of Burgundy drunk, and he was less than Louis XI. when ailing.”
“Master Jacques,” Rym, “’tis kings less than water.”
