There was a burst of laughter and applause. A pun is always instantly appreciated in Paris, and consequently always applauded.
Let us add that Coppenole was a man of the people, and that the audience about him consisted of the people only; thus the sympathy between them was prompt, electric, and they were at once on an equal footing. The proud exclamation of the Flemish hosier, while it mortified the courtiers, stirred in every humble soul a certain sense of dignity still vague and indistinct, in the fifteenth century . This hosier, who had just held his own before the Cardinal himself, was their equal! A very pleasant thought for poor devils who were wont to respect and obey the servants of the officers of the bailiff of the Abbot of St. Geneviève, train-bearer to the Cardinal.
Coppenole bowed haughtily to his Eminence, who returned the salutation of the all-powerful citizen dreaded by Louis XI. Then, while Guillaume Rym, “a wise and wily man,” as Philippe de Comines has it, watched them both with a smile full of mocking and superiority, they took each his place,—the Cardinal troubled and disconcerted, Coppenole calm and erect, doubtless thinking that after all his title of hosier was quite as good as any other, and that Mary of Burgundy, mother of that Margaret whose marriage he was now negotiating, would have feared him less as cardinal than as hosier; for no cardinal would have led on the men of Ghent against the favorites of the daughter of Charles the Bold; no cardinal could have hardened the hearts of the masses against her tears and her prayers, by a single word, when the heiress of Flanders besought her people to grant their pardon, at the very foot of their scaffold; while the hosier had but to lift his leathern elbow to cause both your heads to fall, O ye illustrious lords, Guy d‘Hymbercourt and Chancellor Guillaume Hugonet!
But all was not over yet for the poor Cardinal, who was to drink the dregs of the bitter cup of association with such low company.
The reader may perhaps recall the impudent beggar who clung to the fringes of the Cardinal’s dais at the opening of the prologue. The arrival of the distinguished guests did not cause him to relax his hold; and while prelates and ambassadors were packed as close as Dutch herrings in the seats upon the platform, he made himself quite comfortable, and coolly crossed his legs upon the architrave. Such insolence was unusual, and no one noted it at the moment, attention being fixed elsewhere. He for his part saw nothing in the hall; he swayed his head to and fro with the careless ease of a Neapolitan, repeating ever and anon amid the din, as if mechanically, “Charity, kind people!” and certainly he was the only one in the entire audience who did not deign to turn his head to listen to the altercation between Coppenole and the usher. Now, as chance would have it, the master hosier of Ghent, with whom the people already sympathized strongly, and upon whom all eyes were fixed, seated himself in the front row upon the platform, just above the beggar; and they were not a little amazed to see the Flemish ambassador, after glancing at the rascal beneath him, give him a friendly slap upon his tattered shoulder. The beggar turned; surprise, recognition, delight, were visible in both faces, then, without paying the slightest heed to the throng of spectators, the hosier and the scurvy knave fell to talking in low tones, clasping each other’s hands; while the rags of Clopin Trouillefou, displayed against the cloth of gold of the dais, produced the effect of a caterpillar upon an orange.
The novelty of this strange scene excited such an outburst of mirth in the hall that the Cardinal quickly perceived it; he bent forward, and, unable from his position to catch more than a glimpse of Trouillefou’s disgraceful garments, he quite naturally supposed that the beggar was asking alms, and, indignant at his audacity, he exclaimed, “Sir Bailiff of the Palace, throw that rascal into the river!”
“By God’s cross! Sir Cardinal,” said Coppenole, without releasing Clopin’s hand, “he is my friend.”
“No?l! No?l” cried the mob. From that instant Master Coppenole was “in high favor with the people,” in Paris as in Ghent; “for men of his cut always are,” says Philippe de Comines, “when they are thus disorderly.”
The Cardinal bit his lip. He bent towards his neighbor, the Abbot of St. Geneviève, and said in an undertone:— “Pleasant ambassadors are these sent us by the arch-duke to announce the coming of Lady Margaret!”
“Your Eminence,” replied the abbot, “wastes his courtesies upon these Flemish grunters,—Margaritas ante porcos.”u
“Say rather,” replied the Cardinal with a smile, “Porcos ante Margaritam.”v