The Châtelet Apprentice Read Online Free Page A

.
    By now it was time for supper, so the pair of them hurried off to the refectory. Then Nicolas prepared himself for a night’s sleep that proved no more refreshing than the previous one. He had to try to restrain his imagination. It was often feverish and unbridled and played unfortunate tricks on him, either by making the future look bleak or, on the contrary, by putting out of his mind what should have been a reason for caution or concern. He resolved once more to improve himself and, for reassurance, told himself that he knew how to benefit from experience. However, his familiar anxiety soon returned with the thought that the following day he would be starting a new life that he had to avoid conjuring up in his imagination. On several occasions this idea gripped him just as he was dozing off, and it was very late by the time he finally fell into a deep sleep.
    *
    In the morning, after he had listened to Père Grégoire’s final words of advice, Nicolas said goodbye and they promised to see each other again. The monk had indeed grown fond of the young man and would have been happy to continue to instruct him in the science of medicinal herbs. As the weeks had gone by his pupil’s considerable qualities of observation and reflection had not escaped his notice. He made him write two letters, one to his guardian and the other to the marquis, and promised to have them sent. Nicolas did not dare add a message for Isabelle, vowing that he would make good use of his new-found freedom to do so a little later.
    Almost as soon as Nicolas had stepped out of the doors of the monastery, Père Grégoire went to the altar of the Blessed Virgin and began to pray for him.
    Â 
    Nicolas took the same route as he had the day before, but this time there was a spring in his step. As he passed the Châtelet, he went over his interview with Monsieur de Sartine, a conversation in which he had hardly said a word. So, he was about to enter ‘the King’s service’ … Until then, he had not understood the full significance of these words. On reflection they had no meaning for him.
    His schoolmasters and the marquis had mentioned the King, but all that seemed to belong to another world. He had seen engravings and a head on coins and he had mumbled his way through the unending list of sovereigns, which had meant no more to him than the succession of kings and prophets in the OldTestament. In the collegiate church of Guérande he had sung the Salve fac regum on 25 August, Saint Louis’s day. His intellect made no connection between the King, a figure in stained glass, the symbol of faith and fidelity, and the man of flesh and blood who ruled the State.
    This thought occupied him until he reached Rue de Gesvres. There, aware once more of his surroundings, he was astonished to discover a street that crossed the Seine. When he came out on Quai Pelletier, he realised that it was a bridge lined with houses on either side. A young Savoyard chimney sweep waiting for custom, with a marmot on his shoulders, told him it was Pont-Marie . Looking back at this marvel several times, he reached Place de Grève. He recognised it from a print he had once seen, bought from a street hawker, which showed the torture and execution of Cartouche the highwayman before a large gathering of people in November 1721. As a child, he had daydreamed in front of it and imagined being part of the scene, lost in the crowd and caught up in endless adventures. With a shock he realised that his dream had become a reality: he was walking the stage where famous criminal executions had taken place.
    Leaving the grain-port behind him to his right, he entered the heart of old Paris through the Saint-Jean arch at the Hôtel de Ville. When giving him directions, Père Grégoire had particularly warned him about this spot: ‘It’s a grim and dangerous place,’ he said, clasping his hands, ‘with everyone from Rue Saint-Antoine