The Iron Trevet; or, Jocelyn the Champion: A Tale of the Jacquerie

"Aye! Aye!" came the thundering response from the audience. "The Regent and his courtiers shall not make us retreat."

"For a moment frightened by the firmness of the national assembly", Marcel proceeded, "the Regent granted the reforms and swore to carry them out. The deputies of the towns of Gaul, gathered at Paris in the States General, were, with the loyal aid of the Regent, to rule the whole country wisely and paternally, as the magistrates of the communes rule the towns. Thus there would no longer be any royal and feudal tyranny; no more ruinous prodigalities; no more false money; no more venal justice; no more excessive taxes; no more arbitrary imposts; no more pillaging in the name of the King and princes; no more odious privileges for church and nobility; in short, there would be an end of the infamous and horrible seigniorial rights that cause the heart to rise, and reason to revolt. That is what we wanted; and that is just what the Regent and the court resist energetically."

"Blood and death!" cried Maillart in a loud voice, rising from his seat with violent gesticulation. "They will have to submit; if not we shall massacre every one of them from the Regent down to the last courtier! Death to the traitors! To arms! Let's set fire to the palace and the castles."

A large number applauded the excited words of Maillart; and the man of the furred cap, who insinuated himself into this meeting as he had done in the morning among the crowds that witnessed the funeral procession of Perrin Macé, moved about saying: "Hein, my friends, what an intrepid man is this Master Maillart! He speaks only of blood and massacre! Master Marcel, on the contrary, seems always afraid to compromise himself. It does not surprise me; it is said he has secretly embraced the side of the court."

"Marcel … betray the people of Paris!" answered several men. "You are raving, good man! Go on your way!"

"All the same," insisted the man of the furred cap, "Marcel keeps quiet and does not respond to the appeal to arms so bravely made by Master Maillart."

"How do you expect Marcel to speak in the midst of all this noise? But, silence! Quiet is being restored. Marcel is about to resume. Let's listen!"

"No criminal weakness," proceeded Marcel; "but neither let there be any blind revenge. Soon perhaps the cry 'To arms!' will resound from one confine of Gaul to the other, both in towns and country!"

"Eh! What do we care about the country?" cried Maillart. "Let's mind our own business. Let's roll up our sleeves and strike without mercy!"

"My friend, your courage carries you away," Marcel answered Maillart in an accent of cordial reproach. "Shall the boon of freedom be the privilege of some only? Are we, the bourgeois and artisans of the towns, the whole people? Are there not millions of serfs, vassals and villeins given up to the mercy of feudal power? Who cares for these unfortunate people? Nobody! Who represents their interests in the States General? Nobody!" And turning to William Caillet, who, standing aside and under the shadow was attentively listening to the provost, he pointed to the poor peasant and added: "No, I was mistaken. On this day the serfs are here represented. Contemplate this old man and listen to me!"

All eyes turned to Caillet, who in his rustic timidity lowered his head. Marcel continued:

"Listen to me, and your hearts, like mine, will boil with indignation. With me you will cry: 'Justice and vengeance! War upon the castles, peace to the cottages!' The history of this vassal is that of all of our brothers of the country. This man had a daughter, the only solace to his sorrows. The name of that child, who was as beautiful as wise, will indicate her candor to you. It is Aveline-who-never-lied. She was affianced to a miller lad, a vassal like herself. By reason of the goodness of his disposition he was called Mazurec the Lambkin. The day of their marriage is set… But in these days the wife's first night belongs to her seigneur… The nobles call it the right of first fruits."

"Shame!" cried the audience in furious indignation. "Execrable shame!"

"And this execrable shame are we not the accomplices of by allowing our brothers to remain subject to it?" cried Marcel in a voice that dominated the thrill of anger which ran through the audience. Silence being again restored, Marcel proceeded: "If the bride is homely, or if it so happen that the seigneur is unable to violate her, he puts on the mien of a good prince; he receives money from the bridegroom, and the latter escapes the ignominy. William Caillet, that is the name of the bride's father, that man yonder, wished to ransom his daughter from such shame; in the absence of the seigneur, the bailiff consented to a money indemnity. Caillet sells his only property, a milch-cow, and gives the money to Mazurec, who, with bounding joy, proceeds to the castle to redeem the honor of his wife. A knight happens to cross his path and robs the vassal. The latter reaches the manor in tears and recognizes the robber among the guests of his seigneur, who had just arrived. The vassal prays for mercy for his wife, and for justice against the robber. 'O, your bride, I am told is beautiful and you charge one of my noble guests with theft,' said the seigneur to him, 'I shall take your bride into my bed, and you shall be punished with death for defaming a knight.' That's not all!" cried Marcel suppressing with a gesture a fresh explosion from the audience whose indignation was rising to highest pitch. "Driven to despair, the vassal assaults his seigneur; he is thrown into prison; the bride is dragged to the castle; she resists her seigneur … he has the right to have her pinioned. Does he do so? No! He meant to give Jacques Bonhomme a striking lesson. He meant to show that he could take the vassal's wife not only by the right of the strongest but also in the name of the law, of justice and even of that which is most sacred in the world, of God himself! The seigneur indulges this savage pleasure. He files a complaint with the seneschal of Beauvoisis 'against the resistance of the vassal!' The judges meet, and a decision is rendered in the name of right, justice and law in these terms: 'Whereas, the seigneur has the right of first fruits over the bride of his vassal, he shall exercise his right over her; whereas, the bridegroom has dared to revolt against the legitimate exercise of that right, he shall make the amende honorable to his seigneur with arms crossed and upon his knees! Furthermore, whereas the said vassal has charged a knight with robbery, and the latter has demanded to prove his innocence by arms, we decree a judicial combat. According to law, the knight shall combat in full armor and on horseback, the serf on foot and armed with a stick; and if the vassal is vanquished and survives, he shall be drowned as the defamer of a knight.'"

At these last words of Marcel's an explosion of fury broke forth from the audience. Caillet hid his pale and somber face in his hands. Marcel restored quiet and proceeded:

"Justice has spoken; the decree is enforced. The bride is bound and carried to the bed of the seigneur; he dishonors her and then returns her to her husband. The latter makes the amende honorable on his knees before his seigneur; he is thereupon taken to the arena to fight half naked the iron-cased knight… You may guess the issue of the duel… The vassal being vanquished, he is put into a bag and thrown into the river… Such is feudal justice!"

"And to-day," now cried out William Caillet stepping forward, a frightful picture of hate and rage, "my daughter carries in her bosom the child of her seigneur! What shall be done to that child, townsmen of Paris, if born alive? You have wives and daughters and sisters! Answer, what would you do? Is that child of shame to be loved? Is it to be hated as the child of Aveline's executioner? Should I at the whelp's birth break in his head lest he grow into a wolf? What to do?"

An oppressive silence followed upon the words of William Caillet. None dared answer. Marcel continued:

"This, then, is what is going on at the very gates of our town. The country people are pitilessly left to the mercy of the seigneurs! The women are violated, and the men put to death! We have been the accomplices of the executioners of so many victims; we have been so by our criminal indifference, and to-day we pay the penalty of our selfishness. We, the townspeople, believed we would be strong enough to overcome the seigneurs and the crown; we imagined we could compel them to reform the execrable abuses that oppress us. To-day we should admit that we have thought too highly of our own power. The Regent and his partisans violate their own sworn oaths, and shatter our hopes. Vainly have I, in the name of the States General, again and again requested an audience from the Regent to remind him of his sacred promises. The gates of Louvre remained shut in my face. The audacity of our enemies proceeds from the circumstance that our power ends outside of the gates of our towns. Let us join hands with the serfs of the country; let us cease separating our cause from theirs, and matters will take on a different aspect. We never shall obtain lasting and fruitful reforms without a close alliance with the country folks. If to-morrow at a given signal the serfs should rise in arms against their seigneurs, and the towns against the officers, then no human power would be able to overcome such a mass-uprising. The Regent, the seigneurs and their troops would be swept aside and annihilated by the storm. Then would the peoples of Gaul, resuming possession of their country's soil and re-entering upon their freedom, see before them a future of peace, of grandeur and of prosperity without end… Do you desire to realize that future by joining hands with our brothers the peasants?"

"Aye! Aye! We will!" cried the councilmen.

"Aye! Aye! We will!" re-echoed from thousands of voices with boundless enthusiasm. "Let's join our brothers of the country. Let our device be theirs also – 'To a happy issue,' for townsmen and peasants!"

"Come, poor martyr!" cried Marcel with tears in his eyes and embracing Caillet, who was not less moved than the provost. "I take heaven and the cries that escape from so many generous hearts, moved by the recital of the sufferings of your family, as witnesses to the indissoluble alliance concluded this day between all the children of our mother country! Let us stand united against our common enemy! Artisans, bourgeois and peasants —each for all, and all for each, and to a happy issue the good cause! War upon the castles!"

Sublime was the sensation, holy the enthusiasm of the crowd at the sight of the provost, dressed in his magisterial robe, closing in his arms the horny-handed serf dressed in rags.

Profoundly moved and even surprised by what he saw and heard, Caillet, despite his rugged nature, almost fainted. Tears streamed down his face. He leaned against the wall to avoid dropping to the floor, while Marcel cried out:

"Let all who desire to lead the good cause to a happy issue meet to-morrow morning arms in hand upon the square of St. Eloi church."

"Count upon us, Marcel," came from the crowd; "we shall all be there! We shall follow you with closed eyes! Long live Marcel! Long live the peasants! To a happy issue! To a happy issue! War on the castles, peace to the huts!" Amid these exclamations the crowd tumultuously evacuated the hall of the Cordeliers.

"Do you see, friends, how far this Marcel goes in his defiance of the people of Paris?" remarked the man of the furred cap to several townsmen near him as they were leaving the hall. "Did you hear him?"

"What did he say that was so bad? Come, now, my good man, you are losing your wits!"

"What did he say? Why, he calls for help to the vagabonds and strollers in the country! Are we not brave enough to do our own work without the support of Jacques Bonhomme? Verily, never before did Master Marcel show so completely the contempt he entertains for us! John Maillart is quite another friend of the people! Long live John Maillart!"

CHAPTER VII.

POPULAR JUSTICE

It is some time since sunrise. The Regent, who has recently and for good cause moved to the tower of the Louvre, has just risen from his bed, which is located in the rear of a vast chamber, roofed with gilded rafters and magnificently furnished. Rich carpets hang from the walls. A few favorites are accorded the august honor of assisting the treacherous and wily youth, who is reigning over Gaul, in his morning toilet. One of the courtiers, the seigneur of Norville, jealous of his servitude to the prince, is kneeling at his feet in the act of adjusting his long tapering shoes, while, seated on the edge of his bed, his head down, careworn, pensive and twirling his thumbs as was his habit, the Regent mechanically allows himself to be shod. Hugh, the Sire of Conflans and marshal of Normandy, he who presided at the mutilation and execution of Perrin Macé, is conversing in a low voice with Robert, marshal of Champagne, another councilor of the Regent, in the embrasure of a window at the other end of the chamber. After a long time watching his thumbs twirl, the Regent raised his head, called the marshal of Normandy in his shrill voice and asked: "Hugh, at what hour is the barrier of the Seine closed, below the postern that opens on the river bank?"

"Sire, the barrier is closed at nightfall"; and the marshal added sardonically. "Such are the orders of Marcel."

"After nightfall, no vessel can leave Paris?"

"No, Sire. After nightfall no one can leave Paris either by land or water. Such, again, are the orders of Marcel."

"In that case," the Regent replied without looking up and after a moment's reflection, "you will procure a vessel this morning, have it moored outside of the barrier at a little distance from the postern gate at the foot of the little staircase. You and Robert," proceeded the Regent pointing to the marshal of Champagne, "will hold yourselves ready to accompany me. Prudence and discretion."

For a moment the two favorites remained mute with astonishment. The marshal of Normandy broke the silence with the question: "Do you contemplate leaving Paris by night and furtively, Sire? Would you not be leaving the field to that miserable Marcel? Why, by the saints! If that insolent bourgeois annoys you, Sire, follow the advice I have so often given you! Have Marcel and his councilmen hanged as I hanged Perrin Macé! Did his execution cause Paris to riot? No; not one of the good-for-nothings has dared to kick; they contented themselves with attending in mass the funeral of the hanged fellow. Charge me with relieving you of Marcel along with his gang. It is done quickly."

"Among other scamps that should be hanged high and short," added the marshal of Champagne, "is one Maillart, who is profuse in violent denunciations of the court!"

"Maillart! Allow not a hair on Maillart's head to be touched!" said the Regent with lively interest, while bestowing a sinister and false leer upon the courtiers.

"It will be as you say, Sire," answered the marshal of Normandy, not a little astonished at the prince's words. "We shall spare Maillart. But by God! Order that the other insolent creatures be put to death, Marcel first of all! Your orders shall be executed."

"Hugh," answered the prince, rising on his feet to put on his robe that the seigneur of Norville was pressing upon his master after having shod him, "let the vessel be ready this evening as I ordered. Be punctual. Prudence and discretion."

"You do not then listen to my advice!" cried the marshal almost angrily. "Your clemency for those vile bourgeois will yet be the undoing of you! Your goodness misleads you!"

"My clemency! My goodness!" repeated the prince, casting a sinister look upon the marshal.

Understanding now the secret thoughts of his master, the courtier answered: "If you have decided to mete out prompt justice to that insolent bourgeoisie, why wait so long, Sire?"

"Oh! Oh! Why!" said the young man shrugging his shoulders. He then relapsed into silence, and presently repeated: "Let the vessel be ready this evening."

The Regent's favorites were too well acquainted with the youth's stubbornness and profound powers of dissimulation to endeavor to obtain from him any further light upon his plans. Nevertheless, the marshal of Normandy was about to return to the charge, when an officer of the palace entered and said: "Sire, the seigneur of Nointel and the knight of Chaumontel request admission to take leave from you, a favor that you have accorded them."

At a sign of the Regent the officer left walking backward, and returned almost immediately accompanied by Conrad of Nointel and the knight of Chaumontel. The trials of war had no wise affected the health of the two seigneurs. The two had been among the first to turn tail at the battle of Poitiers. The groom of the beautiful Gloriande was not leading back to her feet the ten chained English prisoners that she had demanded as the pledge of her future husband's valor.

"Well, Conrad of Nointel, you are leaving the court to return to your seigniory?" said the Regent. "We hope to see you again in more prosperous days. We ever love to number a Neroweg among our faithful vassals, seeing that it is said your family is as old as that of the first Frankish kings. Have you not an elder brother?"

"Yes, Sire. The elder branch of my family inhabits Auvergne, where it owns estates that it owes to the sword of my ancestors, Clovis' companions of war. My father left his castle of Plournel, situated near Nantes, to come to Nointel which reverted to him upon my mother's death. He preferred the neighborhood of Paris and of the court to that of savage Brittany. I am of my father's opinion, and I do not expect ever to return to the domains that I own in that region and which are governed by my bailiffs."

"I rely on your promise. The illustriousness of your house makes me anxious to keep it near my court."

"Sire, I shall return for a double reason. First of all to please the Regent, and also to please my betrothed, the damosel of Chivry, who much desires to see the court. But I must hasten to leave Paris in order to collect the money for my own and my friend's ransom. It is a large sum that we have to pay."

"Then you were both taken by the English?"

"Yes, Sire," answered the knight of Chaumontel; "but seeing that my casque and sword are my only property, Conrad, as a loyal brother in arms, has taken it upon himself to pay for me – "

"Did the English set you free on parole? They are generous enemies."

"Yes, Sire," answered Conrad. "I was taken by the men of the Duke of Norfolk, and he placed our ransom at six thousand florins. But I said to him: 'If you retain me a prisoner, my bailiff will never be able to raise from my vassals so large a sum; the vigorous hand of their own seigneur is required to seize so much money from those villeins; let me, therefore, return to my domains, and on my faith as a Christian and a knight I shall speedily bring to you the six thousand florins for our ransom.'"

"And the Englishman accepted?"

"Without hesitation, Sire. Moreover, learning that my seigniory was in Beauvoisis, he said to me: 'You will run in that region across a certain bastard named Captain Griffith, who for some time has been raiding the region of Beauvoisis with his band.'"

"That is so!" exclaimed one of the courtiers. "Fortunately, however, the fortified castles of the seigneurs are protected from the ravages of that chief of adventurers. He falls upon the plebs of the open fields, and his bands put everything to fire and to the sword. He is a savage warrior."

"Well," resumed the Regent with a cruel smile, "let the bourgeois who presume to govern in our stead stop these disasters!" And turning to the Sire of Nointel: "But what has that adventurer of a captain to do with your ransom?"

"It is to him I am to deliver our ransom, together with a letter that the Duke of Norfolk gave me for him."

At this moment the marshal of Normandy, who had inclined his head toward the window, interrupted Conrad, saying: "What noise is that?.. I hear near and approaching clamors."

"Clamors!" cried the seigneur of Norville, "who would be so impudent as to clamor in the vicinity of the King's palace? Give the order, Sire, to punish the varlets."

"It is not clamors merely, but threatening cries," put in the marshal of Champagne running to the door which he opened, and through which a wild outburst of furious imprecations penetrated into the royal chamber. Almost at the same time an officer of the palace ran in from the gallery. He was pale and frightened, and came screaming: "Flee, Sire! The people of Paris are invading the Louvre! They have disarmed your guards!"

"Stand by, my friends!" cried the Regent, livid with terror and taking refuge in his bed, behind the curtains of which he sought to hide himself. "Defend me!.. The felons mean to kill me!"

At the first signal of danger, the marshals of Normandy and Champagne, the same as a few other courtiers, resolutely drew their swords. Conrad of Nointel and his friend the knight of Chaumontel, however, guided by a valor that was tempered by extreme prudence, searched with their eyes for some issue of escape, while the seigneur of Norville, jumping upon the bed, tried to hide himself behind the same curtain with the Regent. Suddenly another door, one facing that of the gallery, flew open, and a large number of palace officers, prelates and seigneurs, ran in helter-skelter, screaming: "The Louvre is invaded by the people! Marcel is heading a band of murderers… Save the Regent!"

These cries had hardly been uttered when the courtiers saw Marcel, followed by a compact troop armed with pikes, axes and cutlasses, appear at the other end of the gallery that communicated with the royal apartment. These men, bourgeois and artisans of Paris, uttered not a sound. Only their foot-falls were heard on the stone slabs. The silence of the armed crowd seemed more ominous than its previous clamors. At their head marched the provost, calm, grave and resolute. A few steps behind him came William Caillet armed with a pike, Rufin the Tankard-smasher with a battle mace, and Jocelyn the Champion with drawn sword. During the few seconds that it took Marcel to cross the gallery, the distracted courtiers held a sort of council in broken words. None of the confused and hasty views prevailed. The Regent remained hidden behind the curtains of his bed together with the seigneur of Norville. Trembling and pale but kept from fleeing by a sense of self-respect, the majority of the courtiers crowded back into the furthest corner of the apartment, while the less scrupulous Conrad of Nointel and his friend, having slid themselves near the second door that led to another apartment, prudently took themselves off.

When he presented himself at the threshold of the royal chamber, Marcel met there none to defend it besides the two marshals who stood with drawn swords. Be it, however, that at that supreme moment they felt imposed by the aspect of the provost, or that they realized the uselessness of a struggle that meant inevitable death to themselves, both lowered their swords.

"Where is the Regent?" inquired Marcel in a loud and firm voice. "I wish to speak with him. He has nothing to fear from the people."

The accent of the provost was so sincere and the loyalty of his word was so generally acknowledged, even by his enemies, that yielding both to a sentiment of royal dignity and to the confidence inspired by Marcel's words, the Regent came out from behind the curtains, not a little encouraged at the same time by the presence of the court people and the quiet demeanor of the armed crowd that had invaded the Louvre.

"Here I am," said the Regent taking a few steps toward Marcel yet unable, despite his powers of dissimulation, to wholly conceal the rage that had succeeded his fright. "What do you want of me? The Regent waits to hear you!"

Marcel turned towards the armed men who had followed him and ordered them with a gesture to guard silence and not to cross the threshold of the royal chamber which he now entered alone. On the other hand, after a short and whispered consultation with his courtiers, the Regent gradually regained composure and addressed the provost in these words: "Your audacity is great!.. To enter my palace in arms!"

"Sire! I have long been requesting an interview from you by letters, and failed; I have been compelled to force open your doors in order to make you hear, in the name of the country, the language of sincere severity – "