Notre Dame de Paris - Bartleby.com

Jacques Coictier made a profound obeisance and said: “Sire, it is a repellant that will save you. We
shall apply to your loins the great deterrent composed of cerade, clay of Armenia, white of egg, oil, and
vinegar. You will continue the tisane, and we will answer for your Majesty’s safety.”
A lighted candle never attracts one gnat only. Master Olivier, seeing the King in so liberal a mood, and
judging the moment propitious, approached in his turn.
“Sire——”
“What do you want now?” asked Louis.
“Sire, your Majesty is aware that Simon Radin is dead.”
“Well?”
“He was King’s Councillor to the Court of Treasury.”
“Well?”
“Sire, his post is vacant.”
As he spoke, Maître Olivier’s overbearing countenance changed its arrogance for cringing—the only
alternation on the face of a courtier. The King looked him very straight in the face and answered dryly,
“I understand.”
“Maître Olivier,” he went on, “the Marshal de Boucicaut says: ‘There is no good gift but from the
King; there is no good fishing but in the sea.’ I see you share Monsieur de Boucicaut’s opinion. Now
harken to this—we have a good memory. In ’68 we made you a groom of the chamber; in ’69, warder of
the fort on the bridge of Saint-Cloud, with a salary of a hundred livres tournois (you wanted it parisis).
In November, ’73, by letters patent given at Gergeole, we appointed you ranger of the forest of
Vincennes in place of Gilbert Acle, squire; in ’75, warden of the forest of Rouvraylez-Saint-Cloud, in
place of Jacques le Maire; in ’78, we graciously settled upon you, by letters patent sealed with a double
seal of green wax, an annuity of ten livres parisis, for yourself and your spouse, chargeable on the place
aux Marchands, near the School of Saint-Germain; in ’79, we made you warden of the forest of Senard,
in the place of poor Jehan Diaz; then captain of the Castle of Loches; then Governor of Saint-Quentin;
then captain of the Bridge of Meulan, of which you had yourself called count. Of the five sols fine paid by
every barber who shaves on a holiday, you get three—and we get what you leave. We were pleased to
change your surname of Le Mauvais as being too expressive of your mien. In ’74, we granted you, to the
great umbrage of our nobility, armorial bearings of many colours, which enables you to display a
peacock breast. Pasque-Dieu! are you not surfeited? Is not the draught of fishes abundant and
miraculous enough? Are you not afraid that one salmon more will sink your boat? Pride will be your
ruin, my Gossip. Ruin and shame tread ever close upon the heels of pride. Remember that, and keep
still.”
These words, pronounced with severity, brought back the insolence to Olivier’s face.
“Good!” he muttered almost aloud; “’tis evident the King is sick to-day, for he gives all to the
physician.”
Far from taking offence at this piece of effrontery, Louis resumed in a milder tone: “Stay, I had