by Robert Merle
In short, I must follow her instructions in everything and also learn some of the slang of the bonnet-maker’s trade before testing my new skin.
“My friend,” I interrupted, half-amused, half-annoyed by the portrait she’d drawn of me (and of the court), “do you really think I’m so ridiculous?”
“Absolutely not!” she replied, planting a kiss on the corner of my mouth. “You are, my Pierre, what you are and I like you just as you are. But ten years in the court have changed you, for, just as my bonnets are moulded on the block, men cannot help but be moulded by their surroundings. And if you weren’t such a precious and gracious gentleman, would I love you like I do? And, at least in your case, the man is still visible beneath the veneer of the courtier.”
I spent two days learning from my little fly from hell the manners, tone and language proper to my new profession, lessons which she found exceedingly funny—and, no doubt, comforting, since she now found herself in a position of superiority, as she worked to teach me how to abase myself. During this time I also made arrangements to rent a carriage, and cajoled Quéribus into lending me his escort, which he gave up reluctantly since he enjoyed being surrounded at all times, even when he went to the Louvre, which was only a short distance from his lodgings. His escort were no happier, since they had to abandon their brilliant, gold-laced livery and clothe themselves in grey, black or brown like common people, whom our lackeys infinitely despise. However, when I explained to them that they were in fact acting in the service of the king, who would recompense them for acceding to his demands, they agreed much more light-heartedly to wear these humble clothes that gave them the feeling that they had been degraded.
Our voyage was made without encumbrance or incident, and, once in Boulogne, we found lodgings in a nice enough inn called the Golden Vessel, from where I sent one of my men the next morning to the governor’s mansion to inform Madame de Bernay that we would consider it a great honour to show her, before any of the other ladies of the town, the Paris finery that we’d brought at great peril, and that she had only to name the day and the hour and we would be there immediately.
The words “Paris finery” were, I’ll wager, a kind of shibboleth, for, less than two hours later, Madame de Bernay sent a great hulk of a lackey to inform us that she would receive us at ten o’clock sharp. We arrived at this rendezvous in our carriage, which was filled with our marvels, and which we left in the courtyard of the governor’s mansion under the watchful eye of two other giants. Alizon reminded me in a whisper that a merchant would deeply offend any lady of her station if he presumed to look at her as a woman he might desire, and that in Madame de Bernay’s presence I should be very careful to stifle the looks I was accustomed to give women—especially since she was generally admired for her youth and charms.
Indeed, her charms were very much in evidence, for she received us in her negligee while at her toilette, with one chambermaid holding her mirror, a second doing her make-up and a third brushing her hair. Her casual attire set Alizon on edge, though it was evident that Madame de Bernay paid no more attention to a master bonnet-maker than she did to the stool on which she was resting her bare feet. Her attitude allowed me the leisure, while Alizon was greeting her and displaying her wares, to take a good look at her, and even a cursory glance convinced me that the lady was even more comely than her reputation, having a trim and well-proportioned body and one of those angelic faces that might not correspond to her nature, but that are most pleasant to look at. Her eyes were of the most beautiful blue and her features finely chiselled, and her blonde hair formed a halo round her pretty head.
Whether because Madame de Bernay was seduced by the finery that was presented to her so artfully by Alizon, wished to prevent the other noblewomen of Boulogne from getting their hands on them, or else simply loved spending her husband’s money, she would have bought the lot, I’ll wager, had her husband not appeared. As he kissed her hands, he asked her about the bill, and, finding it too high, stopped the flow of coins and told me to follow him into his cabinet so that he could pay me what he now owed.
I was delighted by the opening that this provided me, and once the door was closed behind us, and the money safely in my purse, I said,
“Monseigneur, our business is not yet done. I have a letter to give you from the king.”
“From the king?” he repeated, and, taking the letter in his large fingers, he looked carefully at the seal and then again with his magnifying glass. “Well, that’s the king’s seal all right,” he confirmed. “But who are you, Monsieur?” he continued, giving me a curious look. “This letter did not arrive by the usual channels.”
“That’s because the news it contains is not ordinary news,” I replied, responding to his observation rather than to his question.
Monsieur de Bernay understood immediately, being one of those apparently dull men who sometimes surprise us with their sharpness. And after one last inquisitive look, he broke the seal and read the letter; then he sighed and read it again, while I watched him with as much curiosity as he had when he observed me.
I must admit that the governor of Boulogne had much less cause to be proud of his appearance than did his wife, being fat-arsed and paunchy, with a chubby and soft face and so many wrinkles that you could scarcely see the slits of his eyes as he read the letter. And as he read, haltingly and with difficulty, those eyes betrayed his regret—being as greedy for his comfort and repose as he was—at having to choose between the king and the Holy League. Clearly, he would have preferred his present indetermination, which allowed him to avoid the wrath of either party and not put his position as governor in jeopardy should Guise come out on top.
When he’d finished his second reading, he said not a word, but sighed deeply and, turning away, stood before his window, tapping the panes, deep in thought. Finally, turning round and walking back to me, his eyes still hidden within the ramparts of the folds of his eyelids, he said:
“Monsieur, after what you told me when you handed me this letter, it would appear that you are familiar with its contents.”
“I am, Monseigneur.”
“Where are you lodging?”
“At the Golden Vessel.”
“At two o’clock this afternoon, I shall send you Captain Le Pierre, whom I’d like you to inform of this matter so that he can take care of it.”
I could not hide my doubts and displeasure at this suggestion, and replied:
“Monseigneur, I would have little authority in such a conversation. Wouldn’t it be better to have that meeting here and in your presence rather than at my inn, where your captain’s visit to a master bonnet-maker could not fail to arouse suspicion?”
“I could not have the meeting here, Monsieur,” objected Monsieur de Bernay. “I will be away for the next few days in order to visit a property I have ten leagues from here, but Captain Le Pierre has been given command of the city and of the port in my absence, and I’m certain that, as he is a brave and good soldier, he will know how to handle the matter.”
I was unable to disguise my astonishment that the governor of one of the king’s good cities should decide to absent himself at the very moment that he learnt that there was a plan afoot to take the city from him.
“Captain Le Pierre will come to visit you with his wife on the pretext of buying her some of the finery that you’re selling, which will give his visit a credible appearance.”
“Monseigneur,” I said after a moment of silence, “if you cannot attend this meeting, perhaps I could ask you to return the letter from the king so that I may show it to him and thereby justify my mission here.”
“Your request is entirely understandable and I would be happy to acquiesce,” replied the governor, thrusting the letter into my hands as though it were burning his fingers, happy to pass this inflammatory object on to this Captain Le Pierre so that he could hurry off to his estate ten leagues from Boulogne and wash his hands of the entire matter. He could thus argue later that he’d never receiv
ed my visit, nor read the letter, having already left.
When he came to see me at our lodgings, Captain Le Pierre produced quite a different reaction in me: he carried his spare body very erect, and his bony face and black eyes communicated a firmness that was entirely lacking in the governor. Moreover, he had an honest look, quick gestures and directness of speech, all of which I found reassuring. I received him in one of the two rooms I’d taken at the inn—why I’d taken a second room the reader may easily guess; the reason I’d given Alizon was that it was so that she could receive her customers and store her merchandise in the one she slept in, and in the other I could receive the various fellows I needed to talk to.
“’Sblood!” cried Le Pierre, full of anger and bitterness after having perused His Majesty’s letter. “Who would have thought that the provost Vétus would have betrayed the trust of the king and become Guise’s instrument in delivering a port of such extraordinary importance as Boulogne to His Majesty’s enemies! And who could fail to see that this betrayal profits no one but the Spanish king! Good God, this is outrageous! It’s out-and-out treason!”
As much as Monsieur de Bernay had disappointed me, Le Pierre delighted me with his response—and all the more so since he declared that as a citizen and native of Boulogne he’d prefer to die than allow his city to be put under yoke of a foreign power, be it Lorraine or Spain. As I wanted to sound him out a bit further, I asked him what he thought of the pretext of religion as the cover for the League’s seditious activities.
“Bah!” he spat. “That’s nonsense! The king is as Catholic as you and me! And there’s no reason to worry about Navarre, since the king is neither dead nor dying. These foreigners” (meaning the house of Lorraine) “simply want the throne! That’s all there is to it! The rest is the nonsense you hear from the priests who execrate the heretics from morning to night! If the king wants to declare war on the heretics, I’ll sign on! If he wants to keep the peace, I’ll keep it! We have a number of these shit-and-piss-stained Leaguers in Boulogne too! But—by God!—as long as I’m here, they’re not going to drag the people of this town into tumult and sedition! I’ll put a stop to that!” he declared, making a fist of his right hand, which was neither small nor irresolute.
“Well then, Captain!” I exclaimed. “I’m very happy to hear this, and all the more so since Monsieur de Bernay seemed so hesitant I couldn’t help but wonder which party he’s in!”
“Monsieur de Bernay,” laughed Le Pierre derisively, “is in Monsieur de Bernay’s party. That’s all there is to it! But he’s honest enough. Guise offered him 20,000 écus to abandon Boulogne, but he refused. Of course, it’s true that he’s rich enough already, though less so since he married that noble lady—who, as anyone will tell you, looks angelic enough, but Lord! what a big spender! Thank the Lord that Madame Le Pierre has more sense in her little finger than that lady has in both her hands, which are more like sieves! But to come back to Monsieur de Bernay, after he refused Guise’s offer, he began to be so afraid of the duc’s vengeance that he shits his breeches every time he hears his name! That’s all there is to it! So he left town to do as the snail does—pull his head and horns into his shell until the storm blows over—without realizing that he’s going to get harvested anyway!” (At this Le Pierre had a good laugh.) “But—’sblood!—there’s a better way to handle things! I’m going to wade in up to my elbows, set my sails and my traps and make sure that I foil the ambush of this traitor so thoroughly that they’ll talk about it for a long time in Boulogne and throughout the region! As for Monsieur de Bernay, he’s better off where he is than back here, where things are going to get very rough! If you’re afraid of leaves, don’t go wandering into the woods!”
I was very happy to discover Le Pierre’s resolve and that his heart was in the right place, and, no longer doubting the outcome of the enterprise, since a trap foiled is a victory won, I prepared to saddle up and leave the next morning so that I could hurry to reassure the king. But Alizon, who was having great success selling her wares to the young ladies of the town, begged me to stay another week in the hope that she could unload the rest of her merchandise.
In addition, Le Pierre yearned so much to shine under the watch of a missus dominicus,|| who would report back to the king. Ignorant of my little fly from hell’s prayers to remain in Boulogne, he joined to them his own, assuring me that he’d sent a scout to determine the strength of the Duc d’Aumale’s forces and another who was to warn him of the approach of Vétus, who was expected any day now in Boulogne and said to be bringing three months of pay for the soldiers in the garrison there. He urged me to stay so that I could observe the downfall of these treasonous Frenchmen.
He convinced me to remain—to Alizon’s great delight, who was happy to be making so much money, and, like as not, to be passing herself off as my wife, playing this role to the hilt every night at dinner at the Golden Vessel. At night, too, claiming that she’d been terrified by a mouse, she would abandon her room and climb into bed with me, which troubled my sleep since I could feel her so close to me and since, the nights in Boulogne being so cold, she would cuddle up close to me to stay warm.
Each day of this week seemed to melt into a night both sweet and uncomfortable (since I was pulled in such different directions by my contrary desires). On the morning of the ninth day, Captain Le Pierre came to wake me, bringing me a helmet and a cuirass, and requested me to join him on the ramparts of the town, since Vétus was now only two leagues away.
I hurried to stand guard with him and watched the provost arrive, along with a heavy escort. As they approached, a sergeant posted in the entrance tower signalled for them to enter by the east gate, where a beautiful ambush was awaiting them. Scarcely had the traitor and his fifty men crossed the threshold—already shouting “We’re taking the town, the town is taken!”—before, without having raised the drawbridge in front of them, Le Pierre ordered the portcullis behind them dropped, and a good hundred arquebusiers rushed up from their hiding places on all sides, their wicks lit. At this point, Captain Le Pierre shouted to the rascals to throw down their weapons or be cut to pieces.
They obeyed and were pulled from their horses and led directly to jail, confused, crestfallen and roundly mocked by the townspeople as they walked through the streets. After which, the portcullis was raised to give the appearance of a town that had already been taken and then abandoned, and that was therefore available to whoever wanted to take it. We didn’t have long to wait. Le Pierre’s scout rode up at breakneck speed and spread the word that the Duc d’Aumale was approaching with 200 cavalrymen and 300 foot soldiers.
“Well!” said Le Pierre happily. “Two hundred horsemen is not so many! I placed sixty in the little wood that you see over there on the right, and behind them are a solid hundred arquebusiers. As for cannon, we’ve placed our heaviest pieces on the east wall, so we’ll tear them up pretty badly, but I don’t have enough cavalry to chase them down and capture that scoundrel Aumale, which I’d love to do, so I could hand him over to His Majesty!”
In the end, we almost did, for Aumale’s foot soldiers, believing they were going to sack the city, rape its girls and women and make a fortune pillaging it, started running joyously towards the gate, emitting a deafening victory cry, but were suddenly pitilessly cut down, not only by the arquebusiers hidden in the little wood, but also by those within the walls and by the cannon. After which, Le Pierre’s cavalry, emerging from the cover of the trees, galloped straight for Aumale and surrounded him, but were too few to prevent his cavalry from freeing him and ignominiously abandoning the field, their foot soldiers fleeing in panic and disappearing as quickly as they’d rushed the town.
Ah, dear reader, you can easily imagine what joy, what acclamation and what a quantity of wine was shared after such a victory! And what endless stories were recounted by the soldiers! But even though so much ammunition was fired precipitously, it caused few casualties among Aumale’s troops, killing or wounding a mere twenty of these poor
fellows, who were, alas, only Frenchmen like us, who had been misled by Guise and the so-called Holy League, and who had been enlisted in the service of the king of Spain without their ever realizing it.
But though the engagement was brief and not very bloody, the battle plans that Captain Le Pierre had drawn up seemed to me so judicious and his resolution so unshakeable that I swore to him that I would make a report to the king so advantageous that it would earn him His Majesty’s eternal gratitude. And celebrating that evening with him in his lodgings in the amiable company of his wife, Henriette, and my supposed wife, he made a toast to me, and then another to Alizon, and then to me again, emptying his glass and eating the crust at the bottom. In response, I drank a toast to him, he one to Alizon and I one to Henriette, and then he toasted the king, and I the good city of Boulogne. He followed this with a sarcastic toast to the provost Vétus, and I, matching his silliness, one to the Duc d’Aumale, and then he to Guise and I to the Jesuits who had plotted this nasty coup and happily failed to bring it to fruition, so that at midnight we separated, very happy with each other, and very shaky on our legs—at least, he and I were, for the ladies had preferred talk to drink, so that Alizon had to help me stagger to the Golden Vessel and climb the stairs to our room, where, once we’d arrived, I fell, nearly unconscious, on the bed and she had to undress me.
