Part 68 (1/2)
”Oh! I shall be well accompanied; will you come with me?”
”What! do you take me for a Huguenot? I shall go and sign the League ten times. However, Henri, you have a great advantage over your predecessors, in being warned, for you know your brother, do you not?”
”Yes, and, mordieu! before long he shall find it out.”
CHAPTER XI.
THE EVENING OF THE LEAGUE.
Paris presented a fine sight, as through its then narrow streets thousands of people pressed towards the same point, for at eight o'clock in the evening, M. le Duc de Guise was to receive the signatures 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 the noise and confusion was that large numbers of women, disdaining to stay at home on such a great day, had followed their husbands, and many had brought with them a whole batch of children. It was in the Rue de l'Arbre Sec that the crowd was the thickest. The streets were literally choked, and the crowd pressed tumultuously towards a bright light suspended below the sign of the Belle Etoile. On the threshold a man, with a cotton cap on his head and a naked sword in one hand and a register in the other, was crying out, ”Come come, brave Catholics, enter the hotel of the Belle Etoile, where you will find good wine; come, to-night the good will be separated from the bad, and to-morrow morning the wheat will be known from the tares; come, gentlemen, you who can write, come and sign;--you who cannot write, come and tell your names to me, La Huriere; vive la messe!” A tall man elbowed his way through the crowd, and in letters half an inch high, wrote his name, 'Chicot.' Then, turning to La Huriere, he asked if he had not another register to sign. La Huriere did not understand raillery, and answered angrily. Chicot retorted, and a quarrel seemed approaching, when Chicot, feeling some one touch his arm, turned, and saw the king disguised as a simple bourgeois, and accompanied by Quelus and Maugiron, also disguised, and carrying an 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,” replied Chicot, without seeming to recognize him. But a new influx of the crowd distracted the attention of La Huriere, and separated the 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 man to put a knife into his neighbor, and who just utters an oath and gives up the ghost.”
”Have I been seen?”
”I think not; but you will be if you stay longer. Go back to the Louvre, sire.”
”Oh! oh! what is this new outcry, and what are the people running for?”
Chicot looked, but could at first see nothing but a ma.s.s of people crying, howling, and pus.h.i.+ng. At last the ma.s.s opened, and a monk, mounted on a donkey, appeared. The monk spoke and gesticulated, and the a.s.s brayed.
”Ventre de b.i.+.c.he!” 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 at once.”
”The underneath one is the most eloquent,” said Chicot, ”but the one at the top speaks the best French; listen, Henri.”
”My brethren,” said the monk, ”Paris is a superb city; Paris is the pride of France, and the Parisians a fine people.” Then he began to sing, but the a.s.s mingled his accompaniment so loudly that 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 a.s.s was quiet.
”My brothers,” continued the preacher, ”the earth is a valley of grief, where man often pan quench his thirst only with his tears.”