The King Drinks
In the city of Troyes, in the year of grace, 1428, Canon Guillaume Chappedelaine was elected by the Chapter to be King of the Epiphany, in accordance with the custom which then prevailed throughout Christian France. For the canons were wont to choose one of their number and to designate him as king because he was to take the place of the King of kings and to gather them all round his table, until such time as Jesus Christ Himself should gather them, as they all hoped, into His holy paradise.
Sieur Guillaume Chappedelaine owed his election to his virtuous life and his generosity. He was a rich man. Both the Burgundian and the Armagnac captains, when ravaging Champagne, had spared his vineyards. For this good fortune he was indebted first to God and then to himself, to the kindness he had shown to the two factions which were at that time rending asunder the kingdom of the lilies. His wealth had contributed not a little to his election; for in that year a setier1 of corn fetched eight francs, five-and-twenty eggs six sous, a young pig seven francs, while throughout the winter Churchmen had been reduced to eat cabbages like villeins.
Wherefore on the Feast of the Epiphany, Sieur Guillaume Chappedelaine, clothed in his dalmatica, holding in his hand a palm-branch in lieu of a sceptre, took his place in the cathedral choir, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold. Meanwhile, out in the sacristy, there came forth three canons, wearing crowns upon their heads. One was robed in white, another in red, the third in black. They stood for the three kings of the East, the Magi, and, going down to that part of the church which represents the foot of the cross, they chanted the Gospel of St. Matthew. A deacon, bearing at the end of a pole five lighted candles, to symbolize the miraculous star which led the Magi to Bethlehem, ascended the great nave and entered the choir. The three canons followed him singing, and, when they reached this passage in the gospel, Et intrantes domum, invenerunt puerum cum Maria, matre ejus, et procidentes adoraverunt eum, they stopped in front of Sieur Guillaume Chappedelaine and bowed low before him. Then came three children, bearing salt and spices, which Sieur Guillaume graciously received after the manner of the Infant King who had accepted the myrrh, the gold and the frankincense of the kings of this world. After this divine service was celebrated with due devoutness.
In the evening the canons were invited to sup with the King of the Epiphany. Sieur Guillaume’s house was close against the apse of the cathedral. It was recognizable by the golden hood on a shield of stone which adorned its low door. That night the great hall was strewn with foliage and lit by twelve torches of fir-wood. The whole Chapter sat down to the table, groaning beneath a lamb cooked whole. There were present Sieurs Jean Bruant, Thomas Alépée, Simon Thibouville, Jean Coquemard, Denys Petit, Pierre Corneille, Barnabe Videloup and François Pigouchel, canons of Saint-Pierre, Sieur Thibault de Saugles, knight and hereditary lay canon, and, at the bottom of the table, Pierrolet, the little clerk, who, although he could not write, was Sieur Guillaume’s secretary and served him at Mass. He looked like a girl dressed up as a boy. He it was who on Candlemas Day appeared as an angel. It was also the custom on Ember Wednesday in December, when the coming of the Angel Gabriel to announce to Mary the mystery of the Incarnation was read at Mass, for a young girl to be placed on a platform and for a child with wings to tell her that she was about to become the mother of the Son of God. A stuffed dove was suspended over the girl’s head. For two years Pierrolet had represented the angel of the Annunciation.
But his soul was far from being as sweet as his countenance. He was violent, foolhardy and quarrelsome, and he often provoked boys older than himself. He was suspected of being immoral; and in truth the soldiers garrisoned in the towns set no good example. Little notice, however, was taken of his bad habits. That which most vexed Sieur Guillaume was that Pierrolet was an Armagnac and for ever quarrelling with the Burgundians. The canon repeatedly told him that such a state of mind was not only wicked but absolutely devilish in that good town of Troyes, where the late Henry V of England had celebrated his marriage with Madame Catherine of France and where the English were the rightful masters, for all power is of God. Omnis potestas a Deo.
The guests having taken their places, Sieur Guillaume recited the Benedicite and every one began to eat in silence. Sieur Jean Coquemard was the first to speak. Turning to Sieur Jean Bruant, his neighbour, he said:
“You are wise and learned. Did you fast yesterday?”
“It was seemly so to do,” replied Sieur Jean Bruant. “In the rubric, the eve of the Epiphany is described as a vigil and a vigil is a fast.”
“Pardon me,” retorted Sieur Jean Coquemard. “But I, together with notable doctors of divinity, hold that an austere fast accords ill with the joy of the faithful as they recall the birth of our Saviour which the Church continues to celebrate until the Epiphany.”
“In my opinion,” replied Sieur Jean Bruant, “those who do not fast on these vigils have fallen away from our ancient piety.”
“And in mine,” cried Sieur Jean Coquemard, “those who by fasting prepare for the most joyful of festivals are guilty of following customs censored by the majority of our bishops.”
The dispute between the two canons began to wax bitter.
“Not to fasti What lack of zeal!” exclaimed Sieur Jean Bruant.
“To fast! How obstinate!” said Sieur Jean Coquemard. “You are one of those proud, reckless men who love to stand alone.”
“You are one of the weak who meekly follow the corrupt herd. But even in these wicked times of ours I have my authorities. Quidam asserunt in vigilia Epiphaniæ jejunandum.”
“That settles the question. Non jejunetur!”
“Peace! Peace!” cried Sieur Guillaume from the depths of his great raised seat. “You are both right: it is praiseworthy of you, Jean Coquemard, to partake of food on the eve of the Epiphany, as a sign of rejoicing, and of you, Jean Bruant, to fast on the same vigil, since you fast with seemly gladness.”
This utterance was approved by the whole Chapter.
“Not Solomon himself could have pronounced a wiser judgment,” cried Sieur Pierre Corneille.
And Sieur Guillaume, having put to his lips his goblet of silver gilt, Sieurs Jean Bruant, Jean Coquemard, Thomas Alépée, Simon Thibouville, Denys Petit, Pierre Corneille, Barnabé Videloup and François Pigouchel all cried with one voice:
“The King drinks! the King drinks!”
The uttering of this cry was part of the festival, and the guest who failed to join in it risked a severe penalty.
Sieur Guillaume, seeing that the flagons were empty, ordered more wine to be brought, and the servants grated the horse-radish which should stimulate the thirst of the guests.
“To the health of Monsignor, Bishop of Troyes and of the Regent of France,” said Sieur Guillaume, rising from his canonical seat.
“Right willingly, sieur,” said Thibault of Saulges, knight. “But it is an open secret that our Bishop is disputing with the Regent touching the double tithe which Monsignor of Bedford is exacting from Churchmen, under the pretext of financing the Crusade against the Hussites. Thus we are about to mingle in one toast the healths of two enemies.”
“Ha ha!” replied Sieur Guillaume. “But healths are proposed for peace and not for war. I drink to King Henry VI’s Regent of France and to the health of Monsignor, Bishop of Troyes, whom we all elected two years ago.”
The canons, raising their goblets, drank to the health of the Bishop and of the Regent Bedford.
Meanwhile there was raised at the bottom of the table a young and as yet piping voice, which cried:
“To the health of the Dauphin Louis, the true King of France!”
It was the little Pierrolet, whose Armagnac sympathies, heated by the canon’s wine, were finding expression.
No one took any notice, and Sieur Guillaume having drunk again they all cried in chorus:
“The King drinks! The King drinks!”
The guests, all speaking at once, were noisily discussing matters both sacred and profane.
“Have you heard,” said Thibault de Saulges, “that the Regent has sent ten thousand English to take Orleans?”
“In that case,” said Sieur Guillaume, “the town will fall into their hands, as have already Jargeau and Beaugency, and so many good cities of the kingdom.”
“That remains to be seen!” said the little Pierrolet, growing red.
But, he being at the far end of the table, once again no one heard him.
“Let us drink, monsignors,” said Sieur Guillaume, who was doing the honours of his table lavishly.
And he set the example by raising his great cup of silver gilt.
More loudly than ever the cry resounded:
“The King drinks! The King drinks!”
But after the thunder of the toast had rolled away, Sieur Pierre Corneille, who was seated rather low down at the table, said bitterly:
“Monsignors, I denounce the little Pierrolet. He did not cry ‘The King drinks!’ Thereby he has transgressed our rights and customs, and he must be punished.”
“He must be punished!” repeated in chorus Sieurs Denys Petit and Barnabe Videloup.
“Let chastisement be meted out to him,” said, in his turn, Sieur Guillaume. “His hands and face must be smeared with soot, for such is the custom.”
“It is the custom!” cried all the canons together.
And Sieur Pierre Corneille went to fetch soot from the chimney, while Sieurs Thomas Alépée and Simon Thibouville, laughing unrestrainedly, threw themselves upon the child and held his arms and legs.
But Pierrolet escaped out of their hands, then, standing with his back to the wall, he drew a little dagger from his belt and swore that he would plunge it into the throat of anyone who came near him.
Such violence highly amused the canons, and especially Sieur Guillaume. Rising from his seat, he went up to his little secretary, followed by Pierre Corneille, who held in his hand a shovelful of soot.
“It is I,” he said in unctuous tones, “who for his punishment will make of this naughty child a negro, a servant of that black King Balthazar who came to the manger. Pierre Corneille, hold out the shovel.”
And, with a gesture as deliberate as that with which he would have sprinkled holy water upon the faithful, he threw a pinch of soot into the face of the child who, rushing upon him, plunged his dagger into Sieur Guillaume’s stomach.
The canon uttered a long sigh and fell with his face to the ground. His guests crowded round him. They saw that he was dead.
Pierrolet had disappeared. A search was made for him all over the town, but he could not be found. Later it became known that he had enlisted in Captain La Hire’s company. At the Battle of Patay, under the Maid’s eyes, he took prisoner an English captain and was dubbed a knight.
Notes
1 An obsolete measure varying according to place. In 1703, in the Orkney and Shetland Isles a setten of barley was about twenty-eight pounds’ weight.