Chapter VI: Chaudoreille's Godson

Among the numerous habitués of the various bathing establishments might be noticed a tall, lean man, with a yellow complexion, like the description of the Knight of the Rueful Countenance. This personage had one of those elongated faces, with prominent cheek bones which call attention to the hollowness of the cheeks; also a long, pointed nose, a chin of the same type, an enormous mouth with a full complement of long teeth, each one of which resembled a tusk, and which terrified beyond words all the little children in whose presence this gentleman was pleased to smile; for he then appeared exactly as if he proposed to swallow the innocent creatures. A low forehead, yellow hair, and moustaches of the same color, the latter twisted at the ends so that they nearly joined the corners of the eyes--such was the Chevalier Passedix, who claimed to be Chaudoreille's godson.

We like to believe, dear reader, whichever your sex, that you have known a certain _Barber of Paris_, whose adventures made some noise long ago; in that case, you may not have forgotten entirely his friend the Chevalier Chaudoreille, that vain, cowardly Gascon, gambler and shameless liar, who boasted so loudly of his long sword, which he called Roland, and who came to such a tragic end, falling from a roof, and running himself through in his fall with his faithful Roland, which he held in his hand to feel his way along the slippery roof on which he was walking.

The Chevalier Passedix, then, claimed to be the godson of Chaudoreille, albeit the latter, in his negotiations with Touquet the barber, had never mentioned his godson. But there are many people who forget that they ever held a child over the baptismal font, or who do not choose to remember that they have been godparents, in order to evade the duties which that relation imposes on them.

However, Passedix, himself a Gascon, resembled his godfather in many respects; like him, he was a glutton, a gambler, and a liar; like him, he sighed for every woman who looked at him, believing himself to be a very attractive gallant, whereas he might fittingly have served as a scarecrow in a community of women.

But there was one respect in which the resemblance between him and his godfather had no existence. Chaudoreille was always a coward, his battles were mere bluster, and his very death was tragic only because he was fleeing over the roofs from an imaginary danger.

Passedix, on the contrary, was really brave; he would draw his sword on the most trivial pretext, would often take up the cudgels for a perfect stranger, and like Don Quixote, whom he resembled in his great height and his leanness, he would readily have fought against a windmill. But his courage was rarely fortunate, and whether because he handled Roland unskilfully,--for he possessed his godfather's famous rapier,--or because his excessive ardor made him imprudent, or because he was too sure of victory, the chevalier was almost always beaten; indeed, he was very lucky when he came off with a few scratches and was not nailed to his bed to await the healing of his wounds.

On a certain beautiful warm spring morning, several young nobles were chatting and laughing in Master Hugonnet's shop. Some were waiting for their inamoratas to come from the baths, others had come thither in the hope of seeing Ambroisine, La Belle Baigneuse, and perhaps of being shaved by her. The majority were there because it was a favorite rendezvous of idlers, lady killers, and all the young dandies and rakes who were eager to learn the news, the spicy anecdotes of the court and city, to inquire concerning the scandalous intrigue of the moment, in order that they might make merry at the expense of the poor betrayed husband; for we must not forget that husbands were betrayed in the good old times no less than they are to-day.

As there were no cafés in those days for the idlers and gossips, the bathing establishments filled their place. As there were no newspapers to read, people were accustomed to collect to listen to the man who came there to tell some anecdote or some new occurrence. The gossips were welcome and held the floor. Many falsehoods were told, as will always be the case in such assemblages; the man who lied with the most assurance was almost always the one who was most eagerly listened to, and most loudly applauded by those at whom he laughed in his sleeve. To-day, we find _blagueurs_ who delight to hoodwink their auditors. The words have changed, but the characters are the same.

Some of the idlers who were assembled at Master Hugonnet's stood in the doorway of the shop, both wings of the door being thrown open, and amused themselves by watching the passers-by. Rue Saint-Jacques was frequented by students, clerks of the Basoche, and a great number of the lower classes; moreover, the proximity of the Hôtel de Cluny brought to the quarter many ecclesiastics and doctors of the Sorbonne.

Our young gentlemen did not always confine themselves to ogling the passers-by. When a woman who was at all attractive, or a clown with a particularly idiotic face, passed the barber's shop, they addressed a compliment or an obscene jest to the one, to the other some unflattering epithet or some insulting question. And woe to the unlucky wight who should take the jest in bad part! for if he lost his temper and presumed to reply, all the idlers and all the customers assembled at the baths instantly ran out to listen to the complainant; and then, instead of one jest, he had to undergo a perfect hailstorm of witticisms from all sides.

"Pardieu! messeigneurs," said one young blade, all covered with ribbons and lace, as he left the door and threw himself carelessly on one of the hard chairs in the shop, "I have just seen two women of rather attractive aspect go in at the door leading to the baths."

"How were they dressed, Sénange?" inquired the young man who was at that moment in the barber's hands.

"Oh! how curious this little Monclair is! He wants to make us believe that he is waiting here for a fair; that someone is to come here to fetch him!"

"Yes, sambleu! I am expecting someone; what is there so surprising in that? Haven't you at least one mistress yourself, Sénange?"

"One mistress! Vertudieu! if I had but one, it seems to me that it would be almost the same as if I had none."

"Very pretty! but I shouldn't expect it from anyone but Léodgard.--Come, Sénange, be decent; how were the damsels dressed who have just gone into the baths?"

"One--and she must have been the dowager--wore a brown pelisse and hood; her head was all wrapped up in the hood, and there was a thick veil over all; guess at the face, if you can!"

"And the other?"

"The other was dressed in pink; there was a border of black lace to her hood, and it fell over her eyes; but her feet were small, her slippers embroidered with silver thread, and her leg well turned, as one could easily see, for she raised her skirts very generously!"

"Oh! it is she, I am sure!"

"By Notre-Dame de Paris!" cried Master Hugonnet, holding his razor in the air; "if you move about like this, my lord, something will happen to your face; that leap of yours nearly cost you your nose, and I assure you that it would not have been my fault. Keep quiet, or I will not answer for the consequences!"

"'Tis well, barber; go on, do your duty; I will try to be calm.--By the way, messieurs, it seems to me that it is a long while since we last saw Passedix in this quarter!"

"True; the valiant Passedix no longer shows himself; where can he be?--Have you seen him lately, Hugonnet?"

"No, messeigneurs; it is several weeks since the Chevalier Passedix has been here."

"That is the more surprising, because, if I remember aright, he was deeply in love with your daughter Ambroisine."

"In love with my daughter--he! He is in love with all women; but it amounts to nothing."

"Did you treat him a little--harshly? You are quite capable of it."

"No, I was not put to that trouble; the chevalier has always been too respectful for me to be angry with him."

"Then it must be that poor Passedix has had some new affair of honor; he has probably fought a duel and come out second best, as usual; and doubtless he is stretched out on his bed of pain at this moment."

"Perhaps he has been attacked by Giovanni, the fashionable robber!"

"Giovanni would not have wounded him; he contents himself with robbing and never does any harm."

"But if a man doesn't choose to be robbed, and defends himself----"

"Look at Léodgard, messieurs; he defended himself gallantly, and yet Giovanni robbed him and did not hurt a hair of his head."

At that moment, loud exclamations were heard at the shop door.