"Why a roof of copper, embellished and gilt, two thousand livres at the most.""Ah, assassin!" cried the king, "He never draws 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 cure me."
Jacques Coictier bowed low and said,--
"Sire, it is a repellent which will save you. We will apply to your loins the great defensive composed of cerate, Armenian bole, white of egg, oil, and vinegar. You will continue your ptisan and we will answer for your majesty."A burning candle does not attract one gnat alone. Master Olivier, perceiving the king to be in a liberal mood, and judging the moment to be propitious, approached in his turn.
"Sire--"
"What is it now?" said Louis XI.
"Sire, your majesty knoweth that Simon Radin is dead?""Well?"
"He was councillor to the king in the matter of the courts of the treasury.""Well?"
"Sire, his place is vacant."
As he spoke thus, Master Olivier's haughty face quitted its arrogant expression for a lowly one. It is the only change which ever takes place in a courtier's visage. The king looked him well in the face and said in a dry tone,--"Iunderstand."
He resumed, "Master Olivier, the Marshal de Boucicaut was wont to say, 'There's no master save the king, there are no fishes save in the sea.' I see that you agree with Monsieur de Boucicaut.
Now listen to this; we have a good memory. In '68we made you valet of our chamber: in '69, guardian of the fortress of the bridge of Saint-Cloud, at a hundred livres of Tournay in wages (you wanted them of Paris). In November, '73, by letters given to Gergeole, we instituted you keeper of the Wood of Vincennes, in the place of Gilbert Acle, equerry; in '75, gruyer* of the forest of Rouvray-lez-Saint-Cloud, in the place of Jacques le Maire; in '78, we graciously settled on you, by letters patent sealed doubly with green wax, an income of ten livres parisis, for you and your wife, on the Place of the Merchants, situated at the School Saint-Germain; in '79, we made you gruyer of the forest of Senart, in place of that poor Jehan Daiz; then captain of the Chateau of Loches; then governor of Saint-Quentin; then captain of the bridge of Meulan, of which you cause yourself to be called comte. Out of the five sols fine paid by every barber who shaves on a festival day, there are three sols for you and we have the rest. We have been good enough to change your name of Le Mauvais (The Evil), which resembled your face too closely. In '76, we granted you, to the great displeasure of our nobility, armorial bearings of a thousand colors, which give you the breast of a peacock. ~Pasque-Dieu~! Are not you surfeited? Is not the draught of fishes sufficiently fine and miraculous? Are you not afraid that one salmon more will make your boat sink?
Pride will be your ruin, gossip. Ruin and disgrace always press hard on the heels of pride. Consider this and hold your tongue."* A lord having a right on the woods of his vassals.
These words, uttered with severity, made Master Olivier's face revert to its insolence.
"Good!" he muttered, almost aloud, "'tis easy to see that the king is ill to-day; he giveth all to the leech."Louis XI. far from being irritated by this petulant insult, resumed with some gentleness, "Stay, I was forgetting that Imade you my ambassador to Madame Marie, at Ghent. Yes, gentlemen," added the king turning to the Flemings, "this man hath been an ambassador. There, my gossip," he pursued, addressing Master Olivier, "let us not get angry; we are old friends. 'Tis very late. We have terminated our labors. Shave me."Our readers have not, without doubt, waited until the present moment to recognize in Master Olivier that terrible Figaro whom Providence, the great maker of dramas, mingled so artistically in the long and bloody comedy of the reign of Louis XI. We will not here undertake to develop that singular figure. This barber of the king had three names. At court he was politely called Olivier le Daim (the Deer);among the people Olivier the Devil. His real name was Olivier le Mauvais.
Accordingly, Olivier le Mauvais remained motionless, sulking at the king, and glancing askance at Jacques Coictier.
"Yes, yes, the physician!" he said between his teeth.
"Ah, yes, the physician!" retorted Louis XI., with singular good humor; "the physician has more credit than you.
'Tis very ******; he has taken hold upon us by the whole body, and you hold us only by the chin. Come, my poor barber, all will come right. What would you say and what would become of your office if I were a king like Chilperic, whose gesture consisted in holding his beard in one hand?
Come, gossip mine, fulfil your office, shave me. Go get what you need therefor."Olivier perceiving that the king had made up his mind to laugh, and that there was no way of even annoying him, went off grumbling to execute his orders.
The king rose, approached the window, and suddenly opening it with extraordinary agitation,--"Oh! yes!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands, "yonder is a redness in the sky over the City. 'Tis the bailiff burning.
It can be nothing else but that. Ah! my good people! here you are aiding me at last in tearing down the rights of lordship!"Then turning towards the Flemings: "Come, look at this, gentlemen. Is it not a fire which gloweth yonder?"The two men of Ghent drew near.
"A great fire," said Guillaume Rym.
"Oh!" exclaimed Coppenole, whose eyes suddenly flashed, "that reminds me of the burning of the house of the Seigneur d'Hymbercourt. There must be a goodly revolt yonder.""You think so, Master Coppenole?" And Louis XI.'s glance was almost as joyous as that of the hosier. "Will it not be difficult to resist?""Cross of God! Sire! Your majesty will damage many companies of men of war thereon.""Ah! I! 'tis different," returned the king. "If I willed."The hosier replied hardily,--