The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Victor Hugo [229]
“Hold your tongue, or speak low!”
The new-comer understood, and began to tell him in a low voice a very incoherent tale, to which the king listened with perfect composure, while Guillaume Rym drew Coppenole’s attention to the new-comer’s face and dress, his furred hood (caputia fourrata), his short cloak (epitogia curta), and his black velvet gown, which bespoke a president of the Court of Accounts.
This person had no sooner given the king a few details, than Louis XI cried with a burst of laughter,—
“Indeed! Speak up boldly, Compere Coictier! Why do you talk so low? Our Lady knows that we hide nothing from our good Flemish friends.”
“But, Sire—”
“Speak up boldly!”
Compere Coictier was dumb with surprise.
“So,” resumed the king,—“speak, sir,—there is a commotion among the common people in our good city of Paris?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“And it is directed, you say, against the Provost of the Palace of Justice?”
“It looks that way,” said the compere, who still stammered and hesitated, utterly astounded by the sudden and inexplicable change which had been wrought in the king’s sentiments.
Louis XI added: “Where did the watch encounter the mob?”
“Moving from the chief haunt of the beggars and vagrants towards the Pont-aux-Changeurs. I met them myself on my way hither to execute your Majesty’s orders. I heard certain of the number shouting, ‘Down with the Provost of the Palace!’”
“And what is their grievance against the provost?”
“Ah!” said Jacques, “that he is their lord.”
“Really!”
“Yes, Sire. They are rascals from the Court of Miracles. They have long complained of the provost, whose vassals they are. They refuse to recognize him either as justiciary or road-surveyor.”
“Ay, say you so!” returned the king, with a smile of satisfaction which he vainly strove to disguise.
“In all their petitions to Parliament,” added Jacques, “they claim that they have but two masters,—your Majesty and their God, who is, I believe, the devil.”
“Hah!” said the king.
He rubbed his hands; he laughed that inward laugh which makes the face radiant; he could not disguise his joy, although he tried at times to compose himself. No one understood his mood, not even Master Olivier. He was silent for a moment, with a pensive but contented air.
“Are they strong in numbers?” he asked suddenly.
“Indeed they are, Sire,” replied Compere Jacques.
“How many?”
“At least six thousand.”
The king could not help exclaiming, “Good!” He added, “Are they armed?”
“With scythes, pikes, hackbuts, mattocks, and all sorts of danger ous weapons.
The king seemed by no means alarmed at this account. Compere Jacques felt obliged to add,—
“If your Majesty send not promptly to the provost’s aid, he is lost.”
“We will send,” said the king, with an assumed expression of seriousness. “It is well. Certainly we will send. The provost is our friend. Six thousand! They are determined knaves. Their boldness is marvelous, and we are greatly wroth at it; but we have few people about us tonight. It will be time enough in the morning.”
Compere Jacques exclaimed, “Straightway, Sire! The provost’s house may be sacked twenty times over, the seigniory profaned, and the provost hanged, by then. For the love of God, Sire, send before tomorrow morning!”
The king looked him in the face. “I said tomorrow.” It was one of those looks which admit of no reply. After a pause, Louis XI again raised his voice. “Compère Jacques, you must know—What was—” He corrected himself. “What is the Provost’s feudal jurisdiction?”
“Sire, the Provost of the Palace has jurisdiction from the Rue de la Calandre to the Rue de l‘Herberie, the Place Saint-Michel, and the places commonly called the Mureaux, situated near the church of Notre-Dame des Champs [here the king lifted the brim of his hat], which residences are thirteen in number; besides the Court of Miracles, the lazaretto known as the Banlieue, and all the highway beginning at this lazar-house and ending at the Porte Saint-Jacques. Of these divers places he