Notre Dame de Paris - Bartleby.com

That, furthermore, it does not please us that any musician, barber, or man-at-arms whatsoever, should
go clad like a prince in velvet, silk, and gold rings; that such vanities are hateful to God; that we, who
are a gentleman, content ourselves with a doublet of cloth at sixteen sols parisis the ell; that messieurs
the varlets may very well come down to that price likewise. Convey and command this—To M. de
Rouault, our friend.—Good.”
He dictated this letter in a loud voice with a firm tone, and in short, abrupt sentences. As he spoke the
last word, the door flew open and admitted a fresh person, who rushed into the chamber in breathless
agitation, crying:
“Sire! Sire! there is a rising of the populace of Paris!”
The King’s grave face contracted, but such emotion as he displayed passed like a flash. He controlled
himself. “Compere Jacques,” he said in a tone and with a look of quiet severity, “you enter very
abruptly.”
“Sire! Sire! there is a revolt!” gasped Maître Jacques.
Louis, who had risen from his seat, seized him roughly by the arm, and in a tone of concentrated anger
and a sidelong glance at the Flemings, said in his ear so as to be heard by him alone: “Hold thy peace,
or speak low!”
The newcomer grasped the situation and proceeded to tell his news in a terrified whisper, the King
listening unmoved, while Guillaume Rym directed Coppenole’s attention to the messenger’s face and
dress, his furred hood (caputia forrata), his short cloak (epitogia curta), his gown of black velvet, which
proclaimed him a president of the Court of Accompts.
Scarcely had this person given the King a few details, when Louis exclaimed in a burst of laughter:
“Nay, in good sooth, speak up, Compere Coictier. What need to whisper thus? Our Lady knows we no
secrets from our good Flemish friends.”
“But, Sire——”
“Speak up!” said the King.
Compêre Coictier stood in mute surprise.
“So,” resumed the King—“speak out, monsieur. So there is a rising of the populace in our good city of
Paris?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Which is directed, you tell me, against Monsieur the Provost of the Palais de Justice?”
“It would seem so,” replied the man, who still found his words with difficulty, so confounded was he by
the sudden and inexplicable change in the King’s manner.
“Where did the watch encounter the mob?” asked Louis.
“Advancing from the Great Truanderie towards the Pont-aux-Changeurs. I met it myself on my way
here in obedience to your Majesty’s orders. I heard some of them cry, ‘Down with the Provost of the
Palais!”’