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IRVINE
THE JRON TREVET
: : OR : :
JOCELYN THE CHAMPION
A Tale of the Jacquerie
By EUGENE SUE
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL FRENCH BY
DAN IEL DE LEON
NEW YORK LABOR NEWS COMPANY, TQ^
Copyright, 1906, by the
NEW YORK I.ABOR NEWS CO.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
Etienne Marcel, John Maillart, William Caillet, Adam the
Devil and Charles the Wicked, King of Navarre, are the five
leading personages in this story. Their figures and actions, the
virtues and foibles of the ones, the vices of the others, the er-
rors of all, are drawn with strict historic accuracy, all the five
being historic characters. Seeing the historic importance of
the epoch in which they figured, and the types that these five
men represent, the story of "The Iron Trevet; or, Jocelyn, the
Champion" is more than an historic narrative, it is more than
a treatise on the philosophy of history, it is a treatise on human
nature, it is a compendium of lessons inestimable to whomsoever
his or her good or evil genius throws into the clash of human
currents, and to those who, though not themselves participants,
still may wish to understand that which they are spectators of
and which, some way or other, they are themselves affected by
and, some way or other, are bound to either support or resist.
In a way, "The Iron Trevet; or, Jocelyn the Champion" is
the uniquest of the series of brilliant stories that the genius of
Eugene Sue has enriched the world with under the collective title
of "The Mysteries of the People" we can recall no other in-
stance in which so much profound and practical instruction is so
skillfully clad in the pleasing drapery of fiction, and one within
so small a compass.
To America whose youthful years deprive her of historic per-
spective, this little story, or rather work, can not but be of service.
To that vast English-speaking world at large, now throbbing
with the pulse of awakening aspirations, this translation discloses
another treasure trove, long and deliberately held closed to it
in the wrappage of the foreign tongue in which the original
appeared. DANIEL DE LEON.
New York, April 13, 1904.
INDEX
Translator's Preface iii
Part I. The Seigniory of Nointel.
Chapter 1. The Tavern of Alison the Huffy 10
Chapter 2. The Amende Honorable 26
Chapter 3. TheTournament 34
Chapter 4. The Judicial Combat 39
Chapter 5. Sheet Lightenings 50
Chapter 6. Prophecies and Premonitions 68
Chapter 7. Wrecked Hearts 65
Part II. The Eegency of Normandy.
Chapter 1. The States General 74
Chapter 2. Etienne Marcel 77
Chapter 3. The Man of the Furred Cap 83
Chapter 4. The Serpent Under the Grass 97
Chapter 5. Charles the Wicked 105
Chapter 6. The Meeting at the Cordeliers 118
Chapter 7. Popular Justice 126
Chapter 8. "The Hour Has Sounded !" 143
Part III. The Jacquerie.
Chapter 1. Captain Griffith and His Chaplain 154
Chapter 2. The Fox's Burrow 161
Chapter 3. The Castle of Chivry 175
Chapter 4. Jacquerie ! Jacquerie ! 180
Chapter 5. The Orville Bridge 191
Chapter 6. "On to Clermont I" 207
Chapter 7. Clermont 211
Part IV. John Maillart.
Chapter 1. The Wages of Envy 228
Chapter 2. Last Day at Home 239
Chapter 3. Darkening Shadows 247
Chapter 4. Plotters Uncovered 258
Chapter 5. The Gate of St. Antoine 267
Epilogue 270
PART L
THE SEIGNIORY OF NOINTEL.
CHAPTER I.
THE TAVERN OF ALISON THE HUFFY.
On a Sunday, towards the end of the month of October of
1356, a great stir was noticeable since early morning in the little
town of Nointel, situated a few leagues from the city of Beau-
vais, in the department of Beauvoisis. The tavern of Alison the
Huffy so nicknamed from her hot temper, although she was a
good woman was rapidly filling with artisans, villeins and serfs
who came to wait for the hour of mass at the tavern, where, due
to the prevailing poverty, little was drunk and much talked.
Alison never complained. As talkative as huffy, dame Alison
preferred to see her tavern full with chattterers than empty of
tipplers. Still fresh and buxom, though on the shady side of thirty,
she wore a short skirt and low bodice probably because her bust
was well rounded and her limbs well shaped. Black of hair,
bright of eyes, white of teeth, and quick of hands, more than
once since her widowhood, had Alison broken a bumper over the
head of some customer, whom liquor had rendered too expressive
in his admiration for her charms. Accordingly, like a prudent
housekeeper, shehad taken the precaution of replacing her earthen-
ware bumpers with pewter ones. That morning the dame seemed
to be in a particular huffy mood, judging by her rumpling brows,
her brusque motions, and her sharp and cross words.
Presently, the door of the tavern was darkened and in step-
ped a man of vigorous age, with an angular and sun-burnt face,
whose only striking features were two little, piercing, crafty and
savage eyes half hidden under his eyebrows thick and grizzly
like his hair, that escaped in disorder from under his old woolen
cap. He had traveled a long distance ; his wooden shoes, shabby
cloth leggings and patched smock-frock were covered with dust.
THE IRON TREVET. n
He was noticeably tired ; it was with difficulty that he moved his
limbs with the support of a knotted stick. Hardly inside the
tavern, the serf, whose name was William Caillet, let himself
down heavily upon a bench, immediately placing his elbows
on his knees and his head upon his hands. Alison the Huffy, al-
ready out of humor, as stated, called to him sharply:
"What do you want here ? I do not know you. If you want to
drink, pay ; if not, off with you !"
"In order to drink, money is needed ; I have none," answered
William Caillet; "allow me to rest on this bench, good woman."
"My tavern is no lazar-house," replied Alison; "be gone, you
vagabond !"
"Come now, hostess, we have never seen you in such a bad
humor," put in one of the customers; "let the poor man rest;
we invite him to a bumper."
"Thank you," answered the serf with a somber gesture and
shaking his head ; "I'm not thirsty."
"If you do not drink you have no business here," the buxom
tavern-keeper was saying when a voice, hailing from without,
called : "Where is the hostess . . . where is she ... a thou-
sand bundles of demons ! Is there no one here to take my horse ?
Our throats are dry and our tongues hanging out. Ho, there,
hostess, attend to us !"
The arrival of a rider, always a good omen for a hostlery, drew
Alison away from her anger. She called her maid servant while
herself ran to the door to answer the impatient traveler, who, his
horse's bridle in hand, continued finding fault, although good-
naturedly. The new arrival was about twenty-four years of age ;
the visor of his somewhat rusty casque, wholly raised, exposed to
view a pleasant face, the left cheek of which was furrowed with a
deep scar. Thanks to his Herculean build, his heavy cuirass of
tarnished iron, but still usable, seemed not to press him any
more than a coat of cloth. His coat of mail, newly patched in
several places, fell half over his thigh-armor, made, like his
12 THE IRON T REVET.
greaves, of iron, the latter of which were hidden within the large
traveling boots. From his shoulder-strap hung a long sword,
from his belt a sharp dagger of the class called "mercy". His
mace, which consisted of a thick cudgel an arm long, terminating
in three little iron chains riveted to a ball seven or eight pounds
heavy, hung from the pommel of the rider's saddle, together with
his steel-studded and ribbed buckler. Three reserve wooden lance
shafts, tied together, and the points of which rested in a sort of
leather bonnet, adjusted to the strap of one of his stirrups, were
held up straight along the saddle, behind which a sheepskin
satchel was attached. The horse was large and vigorous. Its
head, neck, chest and part of its crupper were protected by arj
iron caparison a heavy armor that the robust animal carried
as easily as its master wore his.
Eesponding to the redoubled calls of the traveler, Alison th
Huffy ran out with her maid and said in bitter-sweet voice:
"Here I am, Sir. Hein ! If ever you are canonized, it will not be,
I very much fear, under the invocation of St. Patience !"
"By the bowels of the Pope, my fair hostess, your pretty black
eyes and pink cheeks could never be seen too soon. As sure as
your garter could serve you for a belt, the prettiest girl of Paris,
where I come from, could not be compared to you. By Venus
and Cupid, you are the pearl of hostesses."
"You come from Paris, Sir Knight !" said Alison with joyful
surprise, being at once nattered by the compliments of the travel-
er, and proud of having a guest from Paris, the great city. "You
really come from Paris?"
"Yes, truly. But tell me, am I rightly informed ? Is there to
be a passage of arms to-day, here in the valley of Nointel ?"
"Yes, Sir ; you arrive in time. The tourney is to begin soon ;
right after mass."
"Well, then, my pretty hostess, while I take my horse to the
stable to have him well fed, you will prepare a good repast for
myself, and, to the end that it may taste all the better, you will
THE IRON TREVET. 13
share it with me while we chat together. There is much infor-
mation that I need from you;" and raising his coat of mail to
enable him to reach his leather purse, the rider took from it a
piece of silver. Giving it to Alison, he said gaily : "Here is pay-
ment in advance for my score. I am none of your strollers, so
frequent in these days, who pay their host with sword thrusts
and by plundering his house ;" but noticing that Alison examined
the piece before putting it in her pocket, he added laughing:
"Accept that coin as I did, with eyes shut. The devil take it, only
King John and his minter know what the piece is worth, and
whether it contains more lead than it does silver !"
"Oh, Sir Knight, is it not terrible to think that our master,
the King, is an inveterate false-coiner? What times these are!
We are borne down with taxes, and we never know the value of
what we have !"
"True. But I wager, my pretty hostess, that your lover is in no
such annoying ignorance. . . . Come, you will have overcome
your modest blushes by the time your niaid has shown me the way
to the stable, after which you will make my breakfast ready. But
you must share it with me ; that's understood."
"As you please, Sir Knight," answered Alison, more and more
charmed with the jolly temper of the stranger. Accordingly,
she hastened to busy herself with the preparations for the meal,
and in a short time spread upon one of the tables of the tavern
a toothsome dish of bacon in green fennel, flanked with fried
eggs, cheese and a mug of foaming beer.
The serf, William Caillet, now forgotten by the hostess, his
forehead resting on both his hands, seemed lost to what went on
around him, and kept his seat on a bench not far from the table
at which presently Alison and the traveler took theirs. Back
from the stable, the latter relieved himself of his casque, dagger
and sword, laying them down near to himself, and proceeded to
do honor to the repast.
14 THE IRON T REVET.
"Sir Knight," said Alison, "you come from Paris ? What fine
stories you will have to tell !"
"Mercy, pretty hostess, do not call me 'Sir Knight.' I be-
long to the working class, not the nobility. My name is Jocelyn.
My father is a book-seller, and I am a champion* as my battle-
harness attests to you ; and here I am at your service."
"Can it be !" exclaimed Alison, joining her hands in glad as-
tonishment, "you are a fighting champion ?"
"Yes, and I have not yet lost a single case, as you may judge
from my right hand not yet being cut off a penalty reserved
for all champions who are vanquished in a judicial duel. Although
often wounded, I have at least always rendered a Eoland for
my adversary's Oliver. I learned in Paris that there was to be
a tourney here and thinking that, as usual, it would be followed
or preceded by some judicial combat, where I might represent the
appellant or the appellee, I came to the place on a venture. Now,
then, as a tavern-keeper, you are surely informed thereon."
"Oh, Sir champion ! It is heaven that sends you. There will
surely be need of you."
"Heaven, I am of the opinion, mixes but little in my concerns.
Let us leave Gog and Magog to settle their affairs among them-
selves."
"You should know that, unfortunately, I have a process. I
admit that I am in great trouble."
"You, my pretty hostess ?"
"It is now three months ago that I lent twelve florins to
Simon the Hirsute. When I asked him for the money, the mean
thief denied the debt. We went before the seneschal. I main-
tained what I said; Simon maintained his side. There were no
*In the judicial combats of the Middle Ages, it was allowed to women,
children and old men, except in cases of high treason or of parricide, to
appear in the lists by a representative. Such a hired combatant was
called a champion.
THE IRON TREVET. 15
witnesses either for or against us, and as the amount involved
was above five sous, the seneschal ordered a judicial battle. But
who would take my part?"
"And you have found nobody to be your champion against
Simon the Hirsute ?"
"Alas, no ! By reason of his strength and his wickedness the
fellow is feared all over this country. No one would venture to
fight with him."
"Well, my pretty hostess, you can count with me. I shall fight
him as well for the sake of your pretty eyes as for the sake of
your cause."
"Oh, my cause is good, Sir champion. It is as true that I lent
Simon the Hirsute those twelve florins as ... I'll tell you how
it was "
"You need say no more. A pretty mouth like yours would not
fib. Moreover, I'm in the habit of placing confidence in what my
clients tell me. What is wanted is, not solid reasons, but rude
blows with the sword, the lance or the mace. Thus, so long as
this right fist is not cut off, it will offer arguments more con-
clusive than the sublest ones of the most famous jurists."
"I must not conceal from you the fact that that thief of a
Simon has been an archer. He is a dangerous man. Everybody
is afraid of him."
"Pretty hostess, there is another custom I have when I am to
plead a case. I never inquire how my adversary fights. In that
way I never form in advance a plan of attack, frequently frus-
trated in practice. I have a quick and correct eye. Once on
the arena, I size up my man, fall to, and decide on the spot
whether to thrust or to cut. I have ever congratulated myself
on this manner of pleading. You may rely upon me. The tour-
ney does not open till noon ; my arms are in good condition and
my horse is eating his provender. Let's drink a glass : Long live
joy, my pretty hostess ! and good luck to the good cause !' J
"Oh, helpful champion ! If you gain my process I shall give
16 THE IRON TREVET.
you three florins. It would not be paying too much for the
pleasure of seeing the scamp of a Simon the Hirsute brought to
grief!"
"Agreed ! If I gain your process you will give me three florins
and a smacking kiss for good measure, if you like! . . .
Agreed?"
"Oh, Sir, such things are not said."
"Well, then, I shall give you the smacking kiss, seeing the
other plan embarrasses you. But by all the devils, your fore-
head remains troubled. Why so? You needed a champion, and
heaven as you said sends you one who is impatient to sail
into the thief, and yet your pretty forehead keeps its wrinkles !"
"I should be satisfied, and yet my heart is heavy. I want to
tell you all about it."
"Have you, perchance, some other process, or some unfaithful
lover? You may speak freely to me."
Alison remained for a moment sad and silent, whereupon she
resumed with painful voice.
"Sir champion, you come from Paris; you must be very
learned. Perhaps you may render a service to a poor lad who
is much to be pitied, and who also must himself do battle to-day
in a judicial duel, but under very sad circumstances."
"Explain yourself. What is the matter ?"
"In this country of Nointel, when a female serf or bourgeois
marries, the seigneur, if it please him, is entitled to ... the
first night of his female vassal. They call it the 'right of first
fruits/ ... At least do not laugh !"
"Laugh! Not by the devil!" answered Jocelyn, whose face
suddenly overspread with somberness. "Oh, you recall to my
mind a melancholy affair. A short while ago I had to plead a
case on the arena near Amiens. Crossing a village, I saw a
gathering of serfs. Upon inquiry I learned that one of the
peasants of the group, a butcher attached to the fief of the
bishopric, had married that very morning a handsome girl of
THE IRON TREVET. 17
the parish. The bishop, in the exercise of his right, sent for
the bride to take her to his bed. The serf answered the episco-
pal bailiff, charged with the mission : 'My wife is in my hut, I
shall bring her out to you' ; and coming back a few instants later
said to him: 'My wife is a little bashful, she does not like to
come out, go in and bring her out yourself.* The bailiff went
into the hut, and what does he find? The unhappy girl lying
in a pool of blood ; she was dead."
"Good God ! What a shocking story !"
"In order to ransom her from dishonor, her husband had
killed her with a blow of his axe."
At these words, William Caillet, who until then had remained
indifferent to the conversation between Alison and Jocelyn,
shook convulsively, raised his savage face and listened, while,
tears streaming from her eyes, Alison cried : "Oh, poor woman !
To be thus killed ! What a terrible resolution must not have
seized her husband to resort to such a frightful extreme !"
"Resolute men are rare."
"Alas, Sis champion. Those who, degraded by serfdom, re-
main indifferent to such ignominy are perhaps less to be pitied
than those who resent it."
"But most of them do resent it," cried Jocelyn. "In vain do
the seigneurs seek to reduce these ill-starred beings to the state
of brutes. Are not even among wild beasts the males seen to
defend their females unto death? Does not man, however
coarse, however brutified, however craven he may be, fire up
with jealousy the moment he loves? Is not love the only pos-
session left to the serfs, the only solace in their misery ? Blood
and death ! I grow savage at the mere thought of the rage and
despair of a serf at the sight of the humble companion of his
cheerless days sullied forever by a seigneur! By the navel of
Satan, by the horns of Moses, the thought of it exasperates me !"
"Oh, Sir," said Alison with tears in her eyes, "your word*
18 THE IRON TREVET.
tell the story of that poor Mazurec, the young man I was about
to tell you of."
William Caillet again shook convulsively at the sound of the
name of Mazurec, and leaped up, but controlling himself by
dint of a violent effort, he resumed his seat, and lent increased
attention to what was said by Alison and Jocelyn, who himself
seemed greatly struck by the name of Mazurec, that his hostess
had just pronounced.
"The serfs name is Mazurec?" he inquired, visibly affected.
"Yes, Sir. Why does the name surprise you ?"
"It is one of my own father's given names. Do you know the
age of the young fellow?"
"He can be no more than twenty years; his mother, who has
long been dead, was not of this neighborhood."
"Whence came she?"
"I could not tell you that. She arrived here shortly before
the birth of Mazurec. She begged her bread. Our neighbor
the miller of the Gallion mill, took pity upon her. His own wife
had died in childbed about two months before. The name of
Mazurec's mother was Gervaise."
"Gervaise?" repeated Jocelyn, seeming to interrogate his
memory, "was her name Gervaise ?"
"Yes, Sir champion. She was so pleasing and sweet to the
eyes of the miller that he said to himself: 'She must soon be
brought to bed; if she is willing, she shall be nurse to both my
child and her own.' And so it was. Gervaise brought up the
two boys. She was so industrious and of so good a character
that the miller kept her as a servant. Then a misfortune hap-
pened. The Count of Beaumont declared war to the Sire of
Nointel. That is now five years ago. The miller was compelled
to follow his seigneur to war. During that time the men of
Beaumont raided the place, burning and sacking. They set fire
to the mill where Gervaise was left with the two children. She
perished in the flames, together with the miller's child. Mazurec
THE IRON TREVET. 19
alone escaped miraculously. Out of pity my husband and I
took him in."
"You are a worthy woman, my hostess. I shall have to cut
the throat of Simon the Hirsute."
"Do not praise me too much, Sir champion. The hardest
heart would have taken an interest in Mazurec. He was the
sweetest and best child in the world. His goodness and mildness
won for him the name of Mazurec the Lambkin."
"And did he make good the promise of his name ?"
"He was a real lamb. All night long he cried for his mother
and his foster brother. By day he helped us, according to his
strength, in whatever work we had in hand. When the war
closed our neighbor the miller did not come back. He had been
killed. The Sire of Nointel had the burnt-down mill rebuilt.
God only knows what taxes he imposed upon us, his vassals, to
indemnify himself for the expenses of his campaign against
the seigneur of Beaumont. Mazurec took service under the
new miller. Every Sunday, on his way to church, Mazurec stop-
ped here to thank us for our kindness towards him." There
is no more grateful heart than his. And now I'll tell you how
his misfortune came about. Occasionally he was sent by the
miller with bags of flour to the village of Cramoisy, about three
leagues from here, where the Sire of Nointel has established a
fortified post. In that village poor Mazurec has made me his
confidante he often saw, seated at the door of her hut, a beau-
tiful young girl, spinning at her wheel ; other times he met her
pasturing her cow along the green borders of the road. This
young girl was known as Aveline-who-never-lied. She had a
heart of gold."
"And these two folks loved each other?"
"Indeed! They loved each other passionately. And they
were well matched."
William Caillet listened to Alison's narrative with redoubled
attention. Unable to keep back a tear that rolled down his
20 THE IRON T REVET.
emaciated cheeks, he wiped it off with the back of his hand. The
tavern-keeper proceeded :
"Mazurec was a serf of the same seigniory with Aveline and
her father. The latter consented to the marriage. The bailiff
of the Sire of Nointel in the absence of his master, also gave
his consent. Everything was moving smoothly along, and often
did Mazurec say to me: 'Dame Alison, what a pity that 1*15
mother cannot witness our happiness !' "
"But how came these happy hopes to be destroyed, my pretty
hostess ?"
"You know, Sir, that, if the seigneur is willing, the vassals
can ransom themselves of the infamous right that we spoke of
a few minutes ago. So did my deceased husband, without which
I would have remained single all my life. Aveline's father had
a cow for only earthly possession. He sold that, preferring to
forfeit the animal that furnished him with food, rather than
to see his adored daughter dishonored by the Sire of Nointel.
The day of the bethrothal Mazurec went to the castle to de-
liver to the bailiff the price of the bride's redemption. Un-
fortunately, the bailiff happened to be away. The bridegroom
returned to Aveline, and her father decided that they should
be married the next morning, and that immediately after the
mass Mazurec should return to the castle to ransom his wife.
The marriage took place, and, according to custom, the bride
remained locked up at the vicarage until the husband could show
his letter of redemption."
"Yes/' observed Jocelyn. "And it therefore often happens
that, to escape the disgrace, brides yield themselves to their in-
tended husbands before marriage. No more than just, under the
circumstances."
"But too true; and often also the men thereupon leave the
poor girl and do not marry her. But neither Mazurec nor
Aveline entertained such evil thoughts. In possession of the
needed sum for the ransom, he only asked to acquit himself
honestly. After the mass, Mazurec returned to the castle, carry-
THE IRON TREVET. 21
ing the money in a purse suspended from his belt. On the
road he met a knight who inquired for the way to Nointel;
and, would you believe it, Sir? while Mazurec was giving him
the directions, the scamp of a knight stooped down in the saddle
as if to adjust the strap of his stirrup, snatched the purse from
poor Mazurec, and, spurring his horse, galloped off."
"There are hundreds of such thefts committed. The knights
look upon them as mere feats of knighthood. But they are in-
famous acts !"
"Mazurec, left behind distracted, vainly ran after the thief.
He lost sight of him. An hour later he arrived breathless at
the castle, threw himself at the feet of the bailiff, told him of his
mishap, and with tears in his eyes demanded justice against
the thief. The Sire of Nointel, who had arrived at his manor
that very morning from Paris, accompanied by several friends,
happened to cross the corridor at the very time that Mazurec
was imploring the bailiff's help. The Sire of Nointel, informed
of the occurence, asked, laughing, whether the bride was pretty.
'There is none prettier in your domain, Sire', answered the bailiff.
Suddenly, his eyes falling upon one of the knights of the Sire's
suite, Mazurec cried: 'It is he who robbed me of my purse,
only an hour ago!' 'Miserable serf, thundered the seigneur,
'dare you charge one of my guests with robbery ? You lie !' "
"Without a doubt the thievish knight denied the robbery/'
"Yes, Sir, and Mazurec, on his side, still insisted. There-
upon, after a whispered conversation with the bailiff and the
knight who was accused of the robbery, the Sire of Nointel gave
this decision: 'One of my equerries, escorted by several men-
at-arms, shall forthwith proceed to the vicarage and conduct
the bride here. According to my right, I shall spend the night
with her. To-morrow morning she may be returned to that
vassal. As to the charge of robbery, that he has the effrontery
to prefer against a noble knight, the knight demands the trial
of arma, and if, although defeated, this vile varlet survives the
22 THE IRON TREVET.
battle, he shall be tied up in a bag and cast into the river
as the defamer of a knight. Let justice take its course.' r
"Oh !" cried Jocelyn, "the unhappy lad is lost. The knight
is the appellant, as such he has the right to fight on horseback
and in full armor, against the serf in a smock-frock and with a
stick for only weapon."
"Alas, Sir ! As you see I had good reasons for being heavy at
heart. Poor Mazurec thought less on the battle than on his
bride. He threw himself sobbing at the feet of his seigneur,
and beseeched him not to dishonor Aveline. And do you know
what answer the Sire of Nointel made to him? 'Jacque Bon-
homme * that's the title of derision that the nobles give their
serfs Macque Bonhomme, my friend, I have two reasons for
spending this night with your wife: first, because, as they say.
she is quite comely ; and second, because that will be the punish-
ment for your insolence to charge one of my guests with larceny.'
At these words Mazurec the Lambkin became Mazurec the Wolf.
He threw himself furiously upon his seigneur, meaning to
strangle him. But the knights who stood by felled the poor
serf to the floor, pinioned him and thrust him into a dungeon.
Can anything exceed such cruelty ? Add to that that the Sire of
Nointel is himself betrothed to be married ; his bride, the noble
damo?el Gloriande of Chivry, is to be the queen of the tourney
about to take place."
"Shame !" cried Jocelyn, his cheeks aflame with indignation,
and furiously striking the table with his Herculean fist. "An end
must be put to these horrors ! They cry for vengeance ! They
cry for blood !"
"Oh ! There will be blood !" whispered a hollow voice in the
ear of Jocelyn. "Floods of blood ! The torch and the axe will
do their office"; and feeling a strange hand pressing on his
* Jack Drudge.
THE IRON TREVET. 23
shoulder, the champion turned quickly around. Before him
stood William Caillet.
"What do you want?" asked the young man, struck by the
sinister and desperate looks of the peasant. "What do you want
of me ? Who are you ?"
"I am the father of Mazurec's wife."
"You, poor man ?" cried the hostess with pity. "Oh ! I re-
gret to have been rude to you. Pardon me, poor father. Alaa,
what have you come here for ?"
"For my daughter," answered William ; and he added with a
frightful smile: "She will be now returned to me; the night
is over; the infamous dues are paid."
"My God! My God!" rejoined Alison, unable to repress her
tears. "And when we think that poor Mazurec is a prisoner
at the castle, and that this morning, before mass, he is to make
the 'amende honorable' on his knees before the Sire of Noin-
tel "
"He! Is he to be subjected to that further indignity?" cried
Jocelyn, interrupting his hostess. "And what is he to apologize
for?"
"Alas, Sir champion!" answered Alison, "I have not yet
told you the end of the adventure. While Mazurec was being
taken to prison, the bailiff went for Aveline at the vicarage and
brought her to the castle. She resisted her seigneur with all
her strength. He then laughed in her face and said: 'Ho!
you resist me! Very well. I shall now have the pleasure of
exercising my right by judicial decree. It will be a good lesson
to Jacques Bonhomme/ He thereupon had the bride taken to a
cell, and lodged a complaint against her in the court of the
seneschal at Beauvais. Seeing that the law recognizes the right
of a seigneur over his female vassals, the court gave its decree
accordingly. It is in the name of justice that the wretched
Aveline was violated last night by our seigneur; it is in the
name of justice that Mazurec is sentenced to beg the pardon
of his seigneur for having intended to oppose him in the ex-
24 THE IRON T REVET.
ercise of his seigniorial right ; it is in the name of justice that,
after this public expiation, Mazurec is to fight the thief of a
knight."
"Aye," put in William Caillet, clenching his fists; "Mazurec
is to fight on foot and armed with a stick against his robber,
covered with iron . . . Mazurec will be vanquished and kill-
ed, or, if he survive, will be drowned. I shall try to fish out
his body and bury him in some hole . . . Then I shall
take away my daughter . . . She is to be returned to me
this morning, and who knows but in nine months I may be the
grandfather of a noble brat!" After a short pause the peasant
resumed with a sinister and chilling smile : "Oh ! If that child
should live . . . if it should live . . . But he did
not finish his sentence. For a moment he remained silent;
then, laying his horny right hand upon the shoulder of Jocelyn,
he approached the young man's ear and added in a low voice:
"Shortly ago you said an end must be put to these horrors, they
call for blood !"
"Yes, and I say so again. These horrors cry for vengeance!
They cry for the death and destruction of our oppressors !"
"He who says that aloud is a man who will act," replied the
serf fastening his small, savage and piercing eyes upon the cham-
pion. "If the time for action arrives, remember William Caillet
. . . of the village of Cramoisy, near Clermont/'
"I shall not forget your name," Jocelyn returned in a low
voice to Caillet, and clasped his hand. "The hour of justice
and vengeance may sound sooner than you think, especially if
there are many serfs like you !"
"There are," rejoined the peasant in the same low voice.
"Jacque Bonhomme is on his feet. We are preparing a general
uprising."
"It was to assure myself regarding that that I rode into this
region," whispered Jocelyn in the ear of Caillet, without being
heard by Alison. "Silence and courage ! The day of reprisal
is at hand."
THE IRON TREVET. 25
More and more agreeably surprised at meeting in Jocelyn an
unexpected ally, the peasant did not remove his penetrating eyes
from the young man. Habituated by servitude to mistrust, he
feared to be deceived by the promises of an unknown person.
Suddenly the chimes of the church of Nointel fell upon their
ears. Alison shivered. "Oh!" said she, "I shall not have the
courage to witness the ceremony !"
"What do you mean ?" asked Jocelyn, while the men who had
gathered in the tavern trooped out precipitately, saying: "Let
us hasten to the parvise of the church . . . One should see
everything there is to be seen . . .
"They are going to witness the 'amende honorable' of poor
Mazurec," answered Alison.
"I shall have more courage than you, my good hostess," said
Jocelyn taking up his sword and casque, and looking for William
Caillet, who, however, had disappeared. "I shall witness that
sad ceremony because, for more reasons than one, the fate of
Mazurec interests me. The tourney will not begin until after
mass; I shall have time to return for my horse so as to have
myself forthwith entered by the judge-at-arms as your defender
against Simon the Hirsute."
"My God, Sir ! Is there, then, no way to prevent the judicial
duel of poor Mazurec ? ... It means death to him !"
"If he declines the battle he will be drowned; such is the
law of our feudal lords. But I hope I may be able to give
Mazurec some good advice. I shall try and speak to him.
Wait for me here, my pretty hostess, and do not lose hope."
Saying this, Jocelyn wended his steps towards the parvise of
the church.
CHAPTER II.
THE "AMENDE HONORABLE".
The church of Nointel rose at one end of a spacious square,
into which two tortuous streets ran out. The houses, most of
which were contructed of wood, sculptured with no little art,
were topped with slated roofs, pointed and deeply inclined. Some
of these domiciles were ornamented with balconies, where on this
morning numerous spectators stood crowded. Thanks to his
athletic physique, Jocelyn succeeded without much trouble to
reach the edge of the parvise, where, among a number of knights,
stood the Sire of Nointel, a tall young man of haughty and scof-
fing mien, whose reddish blonde hair was curled like a woman's.
He wore, according to the fashion of the time, a richly em-
broidered short velvet tunic, and silk hose of two different colors.
The left side of his clothing was red, the other yellow. His
shoes, made of tender cordwain, tapered upward like a gilded
ram's horn. From his half red, half yellow velvet bonnet, or-
namented with a chain of precious stones, waved a tuft of os-
trich feathers altogether a head-gear of exorbitant value. The
friends of the Sire of Nointel were, like himself, dressed in parti-
colored garb. Behind this brilliant company, stood the pages
and equerries of the seigneur carrying his colors. One of them
held his banner, emblazoned with three eagle's talons on a red
background. At the sight of that device, the designation of the
house of Neroweg, the hereditary enemy of his own family, Joce-
lyn shuddered, astonishment seized him, he became profoundly
pensive. The rasping voice of a royal notary drew Jocelyn from his
reverie. Stepping forward to the front of the parvise, the notary
three times called for silence, and then, amidst the profound
stillness of the crowd, he proceeded to read :
THE IRON TREVET 27
"Whereas the charter and statute on the right of first fruits vests
in the seigneur of the lands and seigniory of Nointel, Loury, Berte-
ville, Cramoisy, Saint-Leu and other places the privilege of demanding
the first wedded day of all the maids ivho are not noble, and who shall
marry in said seigniory, after which the said seigneur shall no longer
touch the said married woman, and shall leave her to her husband ;
"And whereas, on the eleventh day of this month, Aveline-who-never-
lied, a female serf of the parish of Cramoisy, was maried to Mazurec
the Lambkin, a miller serf at the Gallion mill ;
"And whereas, our young, high, noble and puissant seigneur, Conrad
Neroweg, knight and seigneur of the said seigniory herein above men-
tioned, having wished to exercise his right of first fruits on the said
Aveline-who-never-lied, and the said Mazurec the Lambkin, her husband,
having sought to oppose himself thereto by using unseemly words to-
wards the said seigneur, and the said married woman having been re-
quired to submit to the said right and having obstinately refused, the
said seigneur, by reason of the disobedience of the said married couple
and their unseemly words, caused them both to be separately imprisoned
and filed a criminal bill with his worship the seneschal of Beauvoisis
notifying him of the above occurrences ;
"And whereas, an inquest was made in writing and by the summoning
of witnesses upon the ancient right and custom in order to ascertain and
establish that the said seigneur of Nointel has the said right to the
first fruits ; and the information being gathered and inquest made, a sen-
tence was rendered by the court of the seneschal of Beauvisis, as fol-
lows, word by word:"
Clenching his fists with rage, Jocelyn observed to himself : "Can
law, can justice consecrate such infamy! To what human power
can these wretched vassals appeal in their despair ? Oh, the mar-
tyrs of so many centuries can not fail to demand heavy reprisals !"
The royal notary proceeded to read :
"The case ofc^the young, high, noble and puissant Conrad Nero-
weg, seignetfr"t>f Nointel and other seigniories, reclaimer of the right
of first fruits upon all maids, not noble, who marry in the said seigniory,
the party of the one part, and Aveline-who-never-lied, recently married
to Mazurec the Lambkin, refuser of the said right, the party of the
other part ; and the said seigneur of Nointel, also claimant in reparation
and chastisement for the unseemly words pronounced by the said Mazu-
rec the Lambkin. The court of the seneschal of Beauvoisis, in view cf
the criminal charges of the said seigneur and the information and in-
quests taken, rendering justice to the parties concerned, says and declares
that the said seigneur is ivell grounded in law and in reason in claiming
the first fruits from all maids, not noble, married in his seigniory; and
by reason of that which is declared herein above, the said court has
28 THE IRON TREVET.
sentenced and now condemns the said Aveline-who-never-lied and the
said Mazurec the Lambin to render obedience to the said seigneur in
what concerns his right of the first fruits; and concerning the unseemly
words that the said Mazurec the Lambkin pronounced against his
seigneur, the said court has sentenced and now sentences him to apol-
ogize to said seigneur and, -with one knee on the ground, his head bare,
and his hands crossed over his brfast, to pray his mercy in the presence
of all who were assembled at his wedding. And, furthermore, the
said court orders that the present sentence shall be announced by a royal
notary or beadle in front of the church of the said seigniory."
The decree, which confirmed and consecrated through the or-
gans of law and justice the most execrable of all the feudal laws,
produced different emotions in the surrounding crowd. Some,
stupefied with terror, misery and ignorance, cowardly resigned to
a disgrace that their fathers had been subjected to and was re-
served for their own children, seemd amazed at the resistance
that Mazurec had offered ; others, who, due to a sentiment, if not
of love, yet of dignity, prized themselves happy that, thanks
to their money, the ugliness of their wives, or the accidental ab-
sence of the seigneur, they had been able to escape the ignominy,
imagined themselves in the place of the condemned man and were
somewhat moved with pity for him; finally, the larger number,
married or not, serfs, villeins or townsmen, felt violent indigna-
tion, hardly repressed by fear. Hollow murmurs ran through the
crowd at the last words of the notary. But all these sentiments
soon made place for those of anguish and compassion when, led
by the seigneur's men-at-arms, the condemned man appeared at
the portico of the church. Mazurec was about twenty years of
age, and the benignity of his face and the mildness of his nature
had earned him the name of Lambkin. On that day, however, he
seemed transfigured by misfortune and despair. His physiog-
nomy was savage and pinched, his clothes in tatters, his face livid,
his eyes fixed and red with tears and sleeplessness, his hair tum-
bling all imparted to him a frightful appearance. Two men-at-
arms unbound the prisoner, and pressing heavily upon his should-
ers forced him to drop upon his knees before the Sire of Nointel,
who together with his friends, laughed outright at the abject sub-
THE IRON T REVET. 39
mission of Jacques Bonhomme. Presently the royal notary said
in a loud voice :
"The reparation and amende honorable of the condemned man
to his seigneur must have for witness those who assisted at the
marriage of Mazurec. Let them come forward."
At these words, Jocelyn the Champion saw William Caillet and
another robust serf, called Adam the Devil, step from the front
ranks of the crowd. To judge by the perspiration that bathed
his bony and tired face, the latter had just run a long distance.
Struck, at first, by the determined mien of Adam the Devil, Jo-
celyn saw him, as well as his friend William Caillet, suddenly
metamorphose himself, so to speak. Affecting dullness and
humble timidity, dropping their eyes, doubling their backs, and
dragging their legs, both doffed their caps with a pitiful air as
they approached the royal notary. Caillet saluted him by twice
bowing to the earth with his arms across his breast and saying
in a trembling voice:
"Pardon . . . excuse . . . Sir, if we, I and my companion,
come alone. The other witnesses of the wedding, Michael-kill-
bread and Big Peter, they have just been laid up with the fever
which they caught draining the swamp of our good seigneur.
Their teeth are clattering and they are shaking on the straw.
That's why they have not been able to come to town. I am Wil-
liam, the father of the bride ; this is my companion, Adam, who
witnessed the wedding."
"These witnesses will suffice, I think, for the amende honorable,
will they not, seigneur ?" said the notary to the Sire of Nointel.
The latter answered with an affirmative nod of the head, while
continuing to laugh aloud with his friends at the stupid and
timorous appearance of the two boors. All the while, on his knees
a few paces from his seigneur, Mazurec could not repress his tears
at the sight of Aveline's father ; they rolled down slowly from his
inflamed eyes while the notary addressed him, saying: "Cross
your hands over your chest, and raise your eyes to heaven."
3 o THE IRON TREVET.
The condemned man clenched his fists with rage and did not
follow the notary's orders.
"Ho ! pshaw !" cried William Caillet, addressing Mazurec in
a reproachful tone. "Don't you hear what this kind gentleman
says ? He told you to cross your two hands, in this way . . * > look
. . . this way . . . look at me . . . *
These last words, "look at me," were pronounced by the peasant
with such force that Mazurec raised his head, and understood
the meaning of the rapid glance that Caillet darted at him. Quick-
ly obeying the orders of the notary, the condemned man crossed
his arms on his breast.
"Now, ' proceeded the scribe, "raise your head towards our
seigneur and repeat my words : "Seigneur, I humbly repent hav-
ing had the audacity of using unseemly words towards you."
The serf hesitated a moment, and then, overcoming his aversion
with a violent effort, he repeated in a hollow voice: "Seigneur,
I humbly repent having had the audacity of .... using .... un-
seemly words .... towards } r ou."
"Further," pursued the notary, "I repent no less humbly, my
seigneur, of having wickedly wished to oppose your exercise of
your right of the first fruits upon one of your female vassals,
whom I took for my wife."
Mazurec's resignation had reached the end of its tether. The
notary's last words, recalled to the unhappy man's mind the in-
famous violence that the sweet maid whom he tenderly loved had
been made a victim of; he uttered a heart-rending cry, hid his
face in his hands and, convulsed with sobs, fell forward with his
face on the ground. At that spectacle, Jocelyn, whose indignatiop
threatened to overpower his prudence, was about to leap forward,
when he again heard the cry of William Caillet. Stooping down
to Mazurec as if help him rise, he said two words in his ears so
as to be heard by none others, and continued aloud : "Ho ! Pshaw !
.... What ails you ? . . . . Why do you weep, my boy ? . . . . You
are told that our good seigneur will pardon your fault when you
THE IRON TREVET. 31
shall have repeated the words that you are ordered to .... Go
ahead .... Fling them out quickly, those words!"
With his face bathed in tears and a smile of the damned, Ma-
zurec repeated these words after the notary had told them over
again: "I repent no less humbly, my seigneur, having wickedly
wished to oppose your exercise of your right of the first fruits
upon one of your female vassals, whom I took for my wife."
"In repentance of which, my seigneur," pursued the notary,
"I humbly place myself at your mercy."
"In repentance of which, my seigneur," stammered Mazurec
in a fainting voice, "I humbly place myself at your mercy."
"Be it so," responded the Sire of Nointel with a haughty anc 7
flippant air. "I grant you mercy. But you shall not be set free
until after having rendered satisfaction in a judicial duel, to
which you are summoned by my guest Gerard of Chaumontel,
a nobleman, whom you have outrageously defamed by accusing
him of larceny." Turning thereupon to one of his equerries:
"Let the peasant be guarded until the hour of the tourney, and
let the daughter be delivered to her father;" and stepping away
with his friends towards the door of the church, the young
seigneur said to them, laughing: "The lesson will do Jacques
Bonhomme good. Do you know, gentlemen, that that stupid pack-
has of late been pricking up its ears and commenced to bridle up
against our rights? Although she was a comely lassie, I cared
little for that peasant's wife ; but it was necessary to prove to the
vile rustic plebs that we own it body and soul ; therefore, gentle-
men, let us never forget the proverb : 'Smite a villein and he'll
bless you ; bless a villein and he'll smite you/ * Now, let us hear
the sacred mass ; you will tell me whether Gloriande de Chivry,
my betrothed, whom you will see in my seigniorial pew, is not
a superb beauty."
"Happy Conrad!" said Gerard of Chaumontel, the robber
* "Poignez villain, il vous oindra ; oignez villain, il vou poin-
dra."
32 THE IRON T REVET.
knight, "for bride, a handsome and radiant beauty, who, besides,
is the richest heiress of this region, seeing that after the death
of the Count of Chivry, his seigniory, in default of male heirs,
will fall from the lance to the distaff ! Oh, Conrad ! What beau-
tiful days of gold and silk will you not spin, thanks to the opulent
distaff of Gloriande of Chivry!"
At the moment when thus chatting the noblemen entered the
church, Mazurec, who was still kept a prisoner, vanished under the
vault, and a man of the suite of the Sire of Nointel led out
Aveline. She was not quite eighteen. Despite the pallor of her
face and her deeply disturbed features, the girl preserved her
surpassing beauty. She moved with faltering steps, still clad in
her humble bride's apparel, of coarse white cloth. Her loose hair
fell upon and half covered her shoulders. Her lacerated arms
still bore the traces of tight hands, seeing that, in order to
triumph over the desperate resistance of his victim, the Sire of
Nointel had her bound fast. Crushed with shame at the thought
of being thus exposed to the gaze of the crowd, the moment she
stepped upon the parvise Aveline closed her eyes with an invol-
untary movement, and did not at first see Mazurec who was being
taken back to prison. However, at the heart-rending cry that he
uttered, a shudder went over her frame, she trembled at every
limb, and her eyes met the gaze of her husband, a gaze of deso-
lation, in which passionate love and yet painful repulsion mixed
with ferocious jealousy, raised within his breast by the thought of
the outrage that his wife had been subject to, were all depicted at
once . The last of these feelings was betrayed by an involuntary
movement, made by the wretched young man, who, avoiding the
beseeching looks of Aveline, made a gesture of horror, covered
his face with his hands, and rushed under the vault like one de-
mented, followed by the men-at-arms who had him in charge.
"He despises me," murmured the girl with fainting voice and
following her husband with haggard eyes. "He now no longer
loves me." Saying this, Aveline became livid, her knees yielded
THE IRON TREVET. 33
under her, she lost consciousness and would have rolled upon the
ground without Caillet, who, hastening to meet her, received her
in his arms, saying : "Your father remains to you." Then, helped
by Adam the Devil, he raised her up, and both, carrying the
swooning young bride in their arms, disappeared in the crowd.
Jocelyn the Champion, a witness to this distressing scene,
rushed into the vault that opened upon the parvise, overtook the
keepers of Mazurec and said to one of them:
"The serf they are taking away yonder has been summoned to
a judicial combat, is it so comrade ?"
"Yes," answered the man-at-arms, "he is to combat with the
knight Gerard of Chaumontel. Such is the sentence."
"I must speak to that serf."
"He is to communicate with nobody."
"I am his judicial second in this combat, will you venture to
keep me from seeing and speaking with my client ? By Satan ! I
know the law. If you refuse "
"There is no need of bawling so loud. If you are Jacques
Bonhomme's judicial second, come you have a sorry prin-
cipal!"
CHAPTER III.
THE TOURNAMENT.
The tourney, a ruinous spectacle offered to the nobility of the
neighborhood by the Sire of Nointel in celebration of his
betrothal, was held on a large meadow that stretched before
the gates of the town. The lists were according to the royal
ordinance of the year 1306, twenty-four paces long by forty wide,
and surrounded by a double row of fences four feet apart. In
this latter space the horn and clarion blowers were posted ; like-
wise the valets of the combatting knights were allowed in this
latter enclosure, ready to carry their masters from the melee,
or to run to their assistance when unhorsed, seeing that these
valiant jousters were covered with such heavy and thick armor
that they could move only with difficulty. Within these barriers
were also seen the heralds and sergeants-at-arms, charged with
preserving order at the tourney, and passing upon foul blows.
The plebs of the town and neighboring fields, having hastened
to witness the spectacle at the close of the mass, crowded on
the outside. A more ragged, wan, miserable and worn-out
mass could hardly be imagined than that presented by the
crowd whose crushing labors supplied the prodigalities of their
seigneurs. The only satisfaction enjoyed by these cowed and
brutified people was that of being allowed to assist from a dis-
tance, as on this day, at the sumptuous displays that they paid
for with their sweat and their marrow. The vassals, leaving
their mud-huts, where, exhausted with hunger and broken by
toil at night they huddled pell-mell on the marshy ground
like animals in their pens contemplated with an astonishment
that was sometimes mixed with savage hatred, the brilliant
assemblage covered with silks and velvets, embroideries and
THE IRON T REVET. 35
precious stones, seated on a spacious amphitheater, that, decked
with tapestries and rich hangings, rose along one of the sides
of the lists, and was reserved for the noble dames, the seigneurs
and the prelates of the vicinage. On either side of the amphi-
theater, which was sheltered by tent-cloths from the rays of
the sun and from the rain, were two tents intended for the
knights who participated in the jousts. There they don their
heavy armors before the combat, and thither are they trans-
ported when hurt or unhorsed. Numerous banners emblazoned
with the arms of the Sire of Nointel floated from the top of
poles that surround the lists. The queen of the tournament
is Gloriande, a noble young lady, the daughter of Raoul, count
and seigneur of Chivry, and betrothed since the previous month
to Conrad of Nointel. Magnificently bedizened in a scarlet
robe embroidered with gold, her black hair braided with pearls,
tall and of remarkable beauty but of a haughty and bold type,
with disdainful lips and imperious mien, Gloriande was throned
superbly under a species of canopy contrived in the center of
the platform, whence she could command a view of the arena.
Her father, proud of his daughter's beauty, stood behind her.
The noblemen and ladies of all ages, were seated on benches
flanking either side of the canopy where the young queen of the
tournament paraded her wealth and her charms. Suddenly the
clarions sound the opening of the passage of arms ; and a herald,
clad in red and yellow, the colors of Nointel, advances to the
center of the arena and cries the formula :
"Hear ye, hear ye, seigneurs and knights, and people of all
estates: our sovereign seigneur and master, by the grace of
God, John, King of the French, forbids under penalty of life
and of forfeiture of goods, all speaking, crying out, coughing,
expectorating or uttering and giving of any signs during the
combat."
The profoundest silence ensues. One of the bars is lowered,
and the Sire of Nointel, cased in a brilliant steel armor tipped
with gold ornaments, rides into the arena. Mounted on a richly
36 THE IRON TREVET.
caparisoned charger that he causes to prance and caracole with
ease, he reins in before the canopy of Gloriande, and the damosel,
taking from her own neck the necklace of gold strands, ties it to
the iron of the lance that her betrothed lowers before her. By
that act he is accepted by the lady as her knight of honor,
a quality by which he is to exercise sovereign surveillance over
the combatants, and if the point of the weapon from which
hangs the necklace touch any of the jousters, he must imme-
diately withdraw from the combat. In giving her necklace to
her knight, Gloriande's shoulders and bosom remain naked,
and she receives without blushing the testimonies of admira-
tion showered upon her by the knights in her vicinity, whose
libertine praises savor strongly of the obscene crudities peculiar
to the language of those days. After having made the tour of
the field, during which he displays anew his skill in horseman-
ship, the Sire of Nointel returns to the foot of the platform
where the queen of the tournament is seated, and raises his
lance. The clarions forthwith resound, the bars are let down
at the opposite sides of the arena, and each gives passage to a
troop of knights armed cap-a-pie, visors down, recognizable only
by their emblems or the color of their shields and the banners
of their lances. The two sets, mounted on horses covered with
iron, remain for an instant motionless like equestrian statues,
at the extremities of the arena. The lances of these gallants,
six feet long and stripped of their iron, are, in the parlance
of tourneys, "courteous"; their thrust, no wise dangerous, can
have for Its only effect to roll the ill-mounted combatant off
his horse. The Sire of Nointel consults the radiant Gloriande
with the eye. With a majestic air she waves her embroidered
handkerchief, and immediately her knight of honor utters three
times the consecrated formula : "Let them go ! Let them go !
Let them go !"
The two sets break loose; the horses are put to a gallop; and,
lances in rest, they rush to the center of the lists, where they
dash against one another, horses and riders, with an incredibl;
THE IRON TREVET. 37
clatter of hardware. In the shock the larger number of lances fly
into splinters. The disarmed tilters thus declare themselves van-
quished, and their armor and mounting belong by right to
the vanquisher. Accordingly, these tourneys are as much a
game of hazard as is a game of dice. Not a few renowned
tilters, hankering after florins more than after a puerile glory,
derive large revenues from their skill in these ridiculous jousts ;
almost always do the adversaries whom they have overcome
ransom their arms and horses with considerable sums. At a
signal of the Sire of Nointel, a few minutes' truce followed upon
the disarming of two of the knights who rolled down upon the
thick bed of sand that the ground is prudently covered with.
There is nothing so pitifully grotesque as the appearance of
these disarmed gallants. Their valets raise them up in almost
one lump within their thick iron shell that impedes their move
ments, and with legs stiff and apart, they reach the barrier
steaming in perspiration, seeing that, in order to soften the
pressure, these noble combatants wear under their armor a skin
shirt and hose thickly padded with horse's hair. The van-
quished abandon the lists in disgrace, while the vanquishers,
after prancing over the arena, approach the platform where the
queen of the tournament is enthroned. There they lower their
lances to her in token of gallant homage. The charmed
Gloriande answers them with a condescending smile and they
leave the lists in triumph. The remaining knights now con-
tinue the struggle on foot and with swords swords no less
"courteous" than their lances, without either point or edge, so
that these valiant champions skirmish with steel bars three feet
and a half long, and they carry themselves heroically in a com-
bat that is all the less perilous, seeing that they are protected
against all possible danger by their padded undergarments laid
over by an impenetrable armor.
At a fresh signal from the Sire of Nointel, a furious conflict
is engaged in by the remaining combatants. One of them slips
and falls over backward and remains motionless, as little able
38 THE IRON TREVET.
to rise as a tortoise laid on its back. Another of the Caesars
has his sword broken in two in his own hands. Only two com
batants now remain, and continue the struggle with rage. The
one carries a green buckler emblazoned with an argent lion
the other a red buckler emblazoned with a gold dolphin. The
knight of the argent lion deals with his sword such a hard
blow upon his adversary's casque, that, dazed by the shock,
the latter falls heavily upon his haunches on the sand. The
great conqueror superbly enjoyed his triumph by proudly con-
templating his vanquished adversary, ridiculously seated at hi
feet; and, responding to the enthusiastic acclamations of the
assembled nobility, he approached the throne of the queen of
the tourney, bent one knee, and raised his visor. After placing
a rich collar around the conqueror's neck in token of his prowess,
Gloriande stooped down, and, following the custom of the time,
deposited a loud and long kiss upon his lips. This duty, at-
tached to her distinguished office, Gloriande fulfilled without
blushing, and with an off-handedness that denoted ample ex-
perience. Thanks to her beauty, the young lady of Chivry had
been often before chosen queen of tournaments. The clarions
announced the victory of the knight of the argent lion, who, strut-
ting proudly with the trophy around his neck, placed his right
hand on his hip, walked around the arena, and marched out at the
barriers.
These first passages of arms were followed by an interval
during which the valets of the Sire of Nointel, carrying cups,
plates, and flagons of gold and silver, that glistened in the
dazzled eyes of the peasants, served the noble company on the
platform with spiced wines, refreshments and choice pastries,
ample honor being done by all to the munificence of the Sire of
Nointel.
CHAPTER IV.
THE JUDICIAL COMBAT.
The seigneurs, their wives and daughters on the platforms had
just enjoyed the refection, while commenting upon the in-
cidents of the tourney, when a shudder ran through the crowd
of peasants and bourgeois massed outside of the barriers. Until
then and while witnessing the jousts and the passages of arms
they had been animated with curiosity only. In the combat,
which it was murmured among them was to follow these harmless
struggles, the populace felt themselves concerned. It was to be
a combat to the death between a vassal and a knight, the latter
on horseback and in full armor, the vassal on foot, dressed in
his blouse and armed with a stick. Even the more timid and
brutalized ones among the vassals revolted at the thought of
so crassly unequal a conflict, in which one of their class was
inevitably destined to death. It was, accordingly, amidst a silence
laden with anxiety and suppressed anger that one of the heralds
uttered three times from the center of the arena the consecrated
formula : "Let the appellant enter !"
The knight Gerard of Chaumontel, now summoned to the trial
of a judicial combat against the accusation of theft made by
Mazurec, issued from one of the contiguous tents and entered
the arena on horseback, in full armor. His buckler hangs from
his neck; his visor is up; in his hand he carries a little image
of St. James, for whom the pious knight seemed to entertain
a peculiar devotion. His two seconds, on horseback like him-
self, ride beside him. With him they make the round of the
arena while the fair Gloriande says to her father disdainfully:
"What a shame for the nobility to see a knight reduced, ir
order to prove his innocence, to do combat with a varlet !"
40 THE IRON TREVET.
"Oh, my daughter! What evil days these are that we live
in !" answered the aged seigneur with a growl. "Those accursed
king's jurists are crossing their pencils over all our rights
under the impertinent pretext of legalizing them. Was not n
decree of the court of the seneschal of Beauvoisis requisite in
order to authorize our friend Conrad to exercise his seigniorial
right over a miserable female serf in revolt?" Eemembering,
however, that his daughter was the betrothed of the Sire of
Nointel, the Count of Chivry stopped short. Gloriande sur-
mised the cause of her father's reticence and said to him with a
haughtiness that verged on anger: "Do you think that I am
jealous of such as her? Can I look upon these female serfs as
rivals ?"
"No, no; I am not placing such an insult upon you, my
daughter . . . but after all, the rebellion of that female
vassal is as novel as it is monstrous. Oh, the spirit of revolt
among the populace, although partly broken to-day, has spread
into our domains and has infested our peasants also; and that
is taken by the crown for a pretext to add to our troubles by
encroaching upon our rights, claiming that they must be first
sanctioned by the jurists. A curse upon all reform kings I"
"But, father, our rights remain."
"Blood and thunder, my daughter! Do our privileges stand
in need of confirmation by the men of the gown ? Does not our
class hold its rights by the right of our ancestors' swords? No
no, the crown aims at monopolizing all rights, and to be the sole
exploiter of the plebs."
"Have not the kings," observed another knight, "taken from
us one of our best sources of revenue, the minting of money
in our seigniories, under the pretext that we coined false money ?
The devil take kings who hold up law! May hell consume tlu
gentry of the pen !"
"Blood and thunder ! It is enough to make one's blood boil
in his veins," cried the Count of Chivry. "Is there in the
THE IRON TREVET. 4I
whole world any worse money than the king's. False coiners
have been quartered who are less thievish than our King John
and his predecessors."
"Let that good prince look elsewhere than here for support,"
put in another knight. "The truce with England will soon
expire. If war breaks out anew, King John will see neither
a man nor a gold piece out of my domain. He may, for all I
care, leave his carcass on the field of battle."
"Oh, gentlemen," said Gloriande gulping down a yawn, "how
uninteresting is your conversation! Let us rather talk about
the Court of Love that is soon to hold its sessions in Clermont,
and for which I shall order the most skillful hairdressers from
Paris. I am also expecting a Lombard who is to bring me
magnificent silks, woven with gold and silver, and which I shall
wear during the solemnity."
"And what do you expect to pay all those fine things with?"
cried the Count of Chivry. "How are we to meet the expenses
of brilliant tourneys and the sumptuous displays of the Court of
Love if, on the one side, the King ruins us, and, on the other,
Jacques Bonhomme refuses to work ?"
"Oh ! Oh ! Dear father !" replied the fair Gloriande, laugh-
ing aloud. "Jacques Bonhomme will meekly bend the neck. At
the first crack of the whip of one of our hunters you will see
those varlets lie down flat upon their faces. And mind you,"
added the young lady, redoubling her laughter, "just turn your
eyes to that bugaboo of a Jacques Bonhomme, does he not look
redoubtable?" and she pointed with her finger at Mazurec the
Lambkin, who, at the second call of the herald, had stepped
into the arena accompanied by his two seconds, Jocelyn the
Champion and Adam the Devil. Mazurec, dressed in hi*
"blaude," the ancient Gallic blouse, made of coarse cloth and
of the same fabric as his hose, wore on his head a woolen cap while
his wooden shoes partly hid his bare feet. Jocelyn, his second,
held in his hand a stout stick of sorb, four feet long, and freshly
cut by himself in a neighboring thicket, with an eye to the fact
42 THE IRON TREVET.
that, when fresh, the sorb wood is heavy and does not easily
break. The appellee, as well as the appellant, in the judicial
battle were required to make the round of the arena before en-
gaging in combat. The serf filled the formality in slow and
measured steps, accompanied by his two seconds.
"My brave fellow," Jocelyn said to Mazurec, "do not forget
my advice, and you stand a chance of worsting your noble robber,
for all that he may be on horseback and armed cap-a-pie."
"I'd as lief die," answered the serf, marching dejectedl
between his two seconds with his head down and his eyes fixed.
"When I saw Aveline this morning it was as if a knife haf
entered my heart," he added sobbing. "Oh, I am a lost man !"
"By the navel of the Pope ! No feebleness," replied Jocelyn
with emphasis and alarmed at the despondent voice of his prin-
cipal. "Where is your courage ? This morning from a lambkin
you became a wolf."
"To now live with my poor wife would be a daily torture to
me," murmured the serf. "I would rather the knight killed me
outright."
Thus conversing, half the field had been covered by Mazureo
in company with his seconds. The latter, more and more
alarmed at the unhappy young man's despondency, were at that
moment passing at the foot of the amphitheater where the nobility
of the neighborhood were seated with the fair Gloriande in thei 1
midst. Casting an expressive look at the champion, Adam the
Devil nudged Mazurec with his elbow and said to him in a low
voice: "Take a look at the betrothed of our seigneur . . .
I swear she's handsome ! . . . That will make a pretty wed-
ding! Hm! . . . Won't the two lovers be happy?" A J
these words, which fell like molten lead upon the bleeding
wound in his heart, the vassal shook convulsively. "Take n
good look at the handsome young lady," proceeded Adam the
Devil. "See how happy she is in her rich clothes. Do you hear
her laugh? . . . Go to! No doubt she's laughing at you
THE IRON TREVET. 43
and at your wife, who was violated last night by our seigneur
. . . But do take a look at the beauty! I wager she i
jeering at you "
Drawn from his dejection, and rage mounting to his heart,
Mazurec brusquely raised his head. For an instant his eyes
fiery and red with weeping, fastened on the betrothed of his
seigneur, the haughty damosel, resplendent in attire and personal
beauty, radiant with happiness, and surrounded by brilliant
knights, who, courting her smiles, crowded near her.
"At this hour/' the caustic voice of Adam the Devil whispered
to the ear of Mazurec, "your own bride is drinking her shame
and her tears. What ! In order to avenge Aveline and your-
self would you not make an attempt to kill the nobleman who
robbed you ! . . . That thief is the cause of all your mis-
fortune."
"My stick!" cried the vassal leaping forward, transported
with rage, at the same instant that one of the sergeants-at-armp
hurried by to notify him that it was not allowed to stop on the
arena and look at the ladies, but that he was to betake himself
to one of the tents in order, before the combat, to take th'
customary oaths with the vicar of Nointel. Now inflamed with
hatred and rage, Mazurec quickly followed the sergeant-at-
arms, while, walking more slowly, Jocelyn said to Adam the
Devil :
"You must have suffered a great deal in your lifetime . . .
I overheard you a minute ago. You know how to fire hatred n
"Three years ago," broke in the serf with a wild look, "I
killed my wife with an axe, and yet I loved her to distrac-
tion"
"Was that at Bourcy near Senlis?"
"Who told you of it ? How come you to know it ?"
"I happened to ride through the village on the day of the
murder. You preferred to see your wife dead rather than dis-
graced by your episcopal seigneur."
"Exactly. That's the way I felt on the subject."
44 THE IRON TREVET.
"But how did you become a serf of this seigniory ?"
"After I killed my wife, I kept in hiding for a month in the
forest of Senlis, where I lived on roots ; thereupon I came to this
country. Caillet gave me shelter. I offered my services as a
butcher to the superintendent of the seigniory of Nointel. After
the lapse of a year I was numbered among the vassals of the
domain. I remained here out of friendship for Caillet."
During this conversation between his two seconds Mazurec had
arrived near the tent where he, as well as the Knight of Chau-
montel, was to take the customary oath. Clad in his sacerdotal
robes and holding a crucifix in his hands, the vicar addressed the
serf and the knight.
"Appellant and appellee, do not ye shut your eyes to the
danger to which you expose your souls in combating for a bad
cause. If either of you wishes to withdraw and place himself
at the mercy of his seigneur and the King, it is still time. It
will soon be too late. One of you is about to cross the gates of
the other world. You will there find seated a God who is merci-
less to the perjurer. Appellant and appellee, think of that. All
men are equally weak before the tribunal of divine justice. The
eternal kingdom is not entered in armor. Is either of you willing
to recede?"
"I shall maintain unto death that this knight has robbed me ;
he has caused my misfortunes; if God is just, I shall kill this
man," answered Mazurec in a voice of concentrated rage.
"And I," cried the knight of Chaumontel, "swear to God that
that vassal lies in his throat, and outrageously slanders me.
I shall prove his imposture with the intercession of our Lord
and all his saints, especially with the good help of St. James, my
blessed patron."
"Aye," put in Jocelyn, "and above all with the good help of
your armor, your lance and your sword. Infamous man ! To
battle on horseback, helmet on head, cuirass on body, sword at
your side, lance in your hand, against a poor man on foot and
armed only with a stick. Aye, you behave like a coward.
THE IRON TREVET. 45
Cowards are thieves; consequently, you stole the purse of my
principal I"
"How dare you address me in such words !" cried the knight
of Chaumontel. "Such a common fellow as you! Miserable
vagabond ! Intolerable criminal !"
"Heavens be praised ! He utters insults !" exclaimed Jocelyn
with delight. "Oh, Sir thief, if you are not the most cowardly
of two-legged hares, you will follow me on the spot behind
yonder pavillion, or else I shall slap your ignoble scamp's face
with the scabbard of my sword."
Livid with rage, Gerard of Chaumontel was, to the extreme
joy of Jocelyn, about to accept the latter's challenge, when one
of his seconds said to him:
"That bandit is trying to save his principal by provoking
you to a fight. Fall not into the trap. Do not mind him, mind
the vassal."
Taking this prudent advice, Gerard of Chaumontel con-
temptuously answered Jocelyn : "When arms in hand I shall
have convicted this other varlet of imposture, I shall then con-
sider whether you deserve that I accept your insolent chal-
lenge."
"You evidently desire to taste the scabbard of my sword/'
cried Jocelyn. "By heaven, I shall not deprive you of the dish ;
and if your hang-dog face does not redden with shame, it will
redden under my slaps. Coward and felon "
"Not another word, or I shall order one of my men to expel
you from the arena," said the herald-at-arms to Jocelyn; "a
second has no right to insult the adversary of his own prin-
cipal."
Jocelyn realized that he would be compelled to yield to force,
held his tongue, and cast a distracted look at Mazurec. The
vicar of Nointel raised the crucifix and resumed in hisnasal voice :
"Appellant and appellee, do you and each of you still insist
that your cause is just? Do you swear on the image of the
Saviour of mankind?" and the vicar presented the crucifix to
46 THE IRON TREVET.
the knight, who took off his iron gauntlet and placing his hand
upon the image of Christ, declared:
"My cause is just, I swear to God I"
"My cause is just," said in turn Mazurec ; "and I take God f or
my witness; but let us combat quickly; oh, quickly !"
"Do you swear," proceeded the vicar, "that neither of you
carries about his person either stone, or herb, or any other
magic charm, amulet or incantation of the enemy of man ?"
"I swear," said the knight.
"I swear," said Mazurec panting with rage. "Oh, how much
time is lost !"
"And now, appellant and appellee," cried the herald-at-arms,
"the lists are open to you. Do your duty."
The knight of Chaumontel seized his long lance and jumped
upon his horse, which one of his seconds held for him, while
Jocelyn, pale and deeply moved, said to Mazurec, while giving
him his stick : "Courage ! . . . Follow my advice . . .
I expect you will kill that coward . . . But one last word
. . . . It regards your mother . . . Did she never tell
you the name of your father ?"
"Never ... as I told you this morning in prison.
My mother always avoided speaking to me of my father."
"And her name was Gervaise?" asked Jocelyn pensively.
"What was the color of her hair and eyes?"
"Her hair was blonde, her eyes black. Poor mother."
"And had she no other mark?"
"She had a small scar above her right eye-brow "
The clarions sounded at this point. It was the signal for the
judicial duel. Unable to restrain his tears, Jocelyn pressed
Mazurec in his arms and said to him : "I may not at a moment
like this reveal to you the cause of the double interest that
you inspire me . . . My suspicions and hopes, perhaps,
deceive me ... But courage . . . Hit your enemy on
the head."
"Courage!" put in Adam the Devil in an undertone. "In
THE IRON TREVET. 4?
order to keep your blood boiling, think of your wife . . .
remember the betrothed of your seigneur laughed at you . . .
Kill the thief, and patience ... It will some day be our
turn to laugh at the noble damosel . . . Think above all of
your wife ... of her last night's shame and of your own
. . . Kemember that you have both been made forever un-
happy, and fall to bravely upon that nobleman! Be brave
. . . You have a cane, nails and teeth !"
Mazurec the Lambkin uttered a cry of rage and rushed into
the lists at the moment when, in answer to a motion from the
Sire of Nointel, the marshal of the tourney gave the signal for
the combat to the appellant and appellee by calling three times
the consecrated words : "Let them go I"
The noble spectators on the platform laughed in advance at
the sorry discomfiture of Jacques Bonhomme; but among the
plebeian crowd all hearts stopped beating with anxiety at this
decisive moment. The knight of Chaumontel, a vigorous man,
armed in full panoply, mounted on a tall charger covered with
iron, and his long lance in rest, occupied the center of the arena,
while Mazurec dashed to the spot barefoot, clad in his blouse
and holding his stick in his hands. At sight of the serf, the
knight, who, out of contempt for such an adversary, had dis-
dained to lower his visor, put the spurs to his horse, and lowering
his pointed iron-headed lance, charged upon the serf certain of
transfixing him then and there, and then trampling over him
with his horse. But Mazurec, mindful of Jocelyn's recom-
mendations, avoided the lance thrust by suddenly letting him-
self down flat upon his face; and then, partly rising up at the
moment when the horse was about to grind him under its
hoofs, he dealt the animal two such heavy blows with his stick
on its forelegs that the courser, stung with pain, reared, slipped
its footing and almost fell over, while its rider was shaken out of
position on the saddle.
"Felony !" cried the Sire of Nointel with indignation. "It is
forbidden to strike a horse!"
48 THE IRON TREVET.
"Well done ? my brave woolen cap !" cried the populace on the
outside, palpitating with suspense and clapping their hands,
despite the strictness and severity of the royal ordinances
which commanded profound silence to the spectators at a tour-
ney.
"Fall to, Mazurec !" simultaneously cried Jocelyn and Adam
the Devil. "Courage ! Kill the nobleman ! Kill him ! Death
to the thief!"
Mazurec rose, and seeing the knight out of poise and holding
to the bow of his saddle, dropped his stick, picked up a fistful
of sand, leaped upon the horse behind Gerard of Chaumontal,
while the latter was seeking to regain his equilibrium, lost no
time in clutching the knight around the neck with one hand,
turned him half over backward, and with the other rubbed his
eyes with the sand he had just picked up. Almost half-blinded,
the noble robber dropped his lance and reins and sought to carry
his hands to his eyes. Mazurec seeing the movement, put his
arms around the knight, and, after a short struggle, succeeded
in making him wholly lose his balance and tumble down to the
ground, where both fell rolling on the arena, while the crowd
of serfs, now considering the serf the victor over the knight,
clapped their hands, stamped oo the ground with joy and cried :
"Victory for the woolen cap !"
Gerard of Chaumontel, however, although blinded by the sand
and dazed by the fall, gathered fresh strength from the rage
that took possession of him at finding himself unhorsed by a
peasant, and with little difficulty regained the upper hand
over his unskilled adversary. In the unequal struggle against
the man clad in iron, the tight clasp of the virtually naked serf
was in vain; his nails broke off against, or glided harmlessly
over the polished armor of his adversary, while the latter,
finally succeeding in planting his two knees upon the serf?
chest, bruised his head and face with a shower of hammer blowy
dealt with his iron gauntlet. His face beaten to pulp and bleed-
ing, Mazurec pronounced once more the name of Aveline and
THE IRON TREVET. 49
remained motionless. Gerard of Chaumontel, who was gradually
regaining his sight, not satisfied with having almost beaten the-
serf's face out of shape, then drew his dagger to finish his victim.
But quickly recalling himself, and animated by a feeling of
refined cruelty, he replaced the dagger in his belt, rose up-
right, and placing one of his iron shod feet upon the chest
of the prostrate and moaning Mazurec, cried in a stentorian
voice: "Let this vile impostor be bound up, put in a bag and
thrown into the river as he deserves. It is the law of the duel ;
let it be carried out !"
CHAPTER V.
SHEET LIGHTNINGS.
An oppressive silence followed the close of the judicial com-
bat, as Gerard of Chaumontel, leaving the outstretched body
of the serf on the sand, rejoined his seconds while rubbing his
irritated eyelids, and jointly they quitted the arena. The sergeant-
at-arms had proceeded to pick up the prostrate body of the vas-
sal in order to carry it to the bridge that spanned the near-by
river; and the vicar of Nointel had followed on the tracks of
the mournful train, in order to administer the last sacraments
to the condemned man so soon as he should recover consciousness 1 ,
and before he was bundled into a bag, agreeable to the ordinance,
and cast into the river. For a moment struck dumb with terror
by the issue of the judicial combat, the plebs crowd was slow-
ly recovering its voice, and, despite its habit of respect towards
the seigneurs, had begun to murmur with rising indignation.
Several voices were heard to say that the knight having been
unhorsed by the vassal, the latter was to be considered the vic-
tor and should not be killed. The turmoil was on the increase,
when an unexpected event suddealy drew to itself the attention
of the crowd and cut short its criminations. A large troop of
men-at-arms, covered with dust and one of whom bore a white
flag emblazoned with the fleur-de-lis,* hove in sight at a dis-
tance over the field and rapidly approached the fenced-in arena,
Mazurec was forgotten. Sharing the astonishment of the as-
sembled nobility at the sight of the armed troop that had now
reached the barriers, the Sire of Nointel applied both spurs to
his horse, rode rapidly forward, and addressing himself to one
*The three lilies, the device of French royalty.
THE IRON TREVET. 51
of the new arrivals, a herald with the fleur-de-lis jacket, sa-
luted him courteously and inquired:
"Sir herald, what brings you hither?"
"An order of the King, my master. I am charged with a mes-
sage to all the seigneurs and noblemen of Beauvoisis. Having
learned that a large number of them were gathered at this place,
I came hither. Listen to the envoy of King John."
"Enter the lists and read your message aloud," answered
Conrad of Nointel to the herald, who, producing a parchment
from a richly embroidered bag, rode to the center of the arena
and prepared to read.
"This extraordinary message augurs nothing good," said the
seigneur of Chivry to his daughter Gloriande. "King John is
going to demand some levy of men of us for his war against
the English, unless it be some new edict on coinage, some fresh
royal pillage."
"Oh, father! If, like so many other seigneurs, you had only
chosen to go to the court at Paris . . . you would then
have shared in the largesses of King John, who, we hear, is
so magnificently prodigal towards the courtiers. You would
then have gained on the one side what you lost on the other.
And then also . . . they say the court is such a charming
place . . . continuous royal feasts and dances, enhanced
by choicest gallantry. After our marriage Conrad must take
me to Paris. I wish to shine at the royal court."
"You are a giddy-headed girl," observed the aged seigneur
shrugging his shoulders, and half closing his fist, which he
applied to his ear for a trumpet, so as to be better able to hear
the royal herald, he remarked to himself: "What devil of a
song is he going to sing to us?"
"John, by the grace of God, King of the French," said the
herald reading from his parchment, "to his dear, beloved and
faithful seigneurs of Beauvoisis ; Greeting !"
"Proceed, proceed; we can do very well without your polite-
52 THE IkOM TREVET.
ness and greetings,'' grumbled the aged seigneur of Chivry.
"They are gilding the pill for us to swallow/'
"Pray, father, let me hear the messenger," said Gloriande
impatiently. "The royal language has a court perfume that
ravishes me."
The herald proceeded: "The mortal enemy of the French,
the Prince of Wales, son of the King of England, has perfid-
iously broken the truce that was not to expire for some time
longer. He is advancing at the head of a strong army."
"There we are," cried the Count of Chivry, angrily stamping
with his feet. "It is a levy of men that we are going to be asked
for. Blood and massacre ! To the devil with the King !"
The herald continued reading: "After having set fire to
everything on their route, the English are marching towards the
heart of the country. In order to arrest this disastrous invasion,
and in view of this great public danger, we impose upon our
peoples and our beloved nobility a double tax for this year.
Furthermore, we enjoin, order and command all our dear, beloved
and faithful seigneurs of Beauvoisis to take up arms themselves,
levy their men, and join us within eight days at Bourg, whence
we shall take the field against the English, whom we shall
vanquish with the aid of God and our valiant nobility. Let
everyone be at his post of battle. Such is my will. JOHN."
This appeal from the King of the French to his valiant
nobility of Beauvoisis was received by the noble assemblage
with a mute stupor, that speedily made place for murmurs
of anger and rebellion.
"We refuse to give men and money. To the devil with
King John!" cried the Count of Chivry. "Already has he
imposed subsidies upon us for the maintenance of his troops.
Let him take them to war! We propose to remain at our
manors !"
"Well said!" exclaimed another seigneur. "The King evi-
dently kept up no army. All our moneys have been squandered
THE IRON TREVET. 53
in pleasures and festivities. The court at Paris is an insatiable
maw !"
"What!" interjected a third; "we are to wear ourselves out
making Jacques Bonhomme sweat all the wealth he can, and
the cream thereof is to go into the King's coffers? Not by all
the devils ! Already have we given too much."
"Let the King defend himself. His domains are more exposed
than our own. Let him protect them !"
"It is all we can do, we and our own armed forces, to protect
our castles against the bands of marauders, of Navarrais and of
the hired soldiery that ravages our lands ! And are we to aban-
don .our homes in order to march against the English? By
the saints ! Fine goslings would we be !"
"And in our absence, Jacques Bonhomme, who seems to
indulge in dreams of revolt, will put in fine strokes !"
"By heavens, messieurs!" cried a young knight, "We, never-
theless, may not, to the shame of knighthood, remain barracked
on our own manors while battles are being fought on the fron-
tier."
"Well! And who keeps you back, my dear fire-eater?" cried
the Count of Chivry. "Are you curious to make acquaintance
with war ? Very well ; depart quickly, and soon . . . Each
one disposes at his will of his own person and men."
"As to me," loudly put in the radiant Gloriande with fiery
indignation, "I shall not bestow my hand on Conrad of Nointel
if he does not depart for the war, and return crowned with the
laurels of victory, leading to my feet ten Englishmen in chains.
Shame and disgrace! Gallant knights to stay at home when
their King calls them to arms ! I shall not acknowledge for my
lord and husband any but a valiant knight !"
Despite Gloriande's heroic words and a few other rare pro-
tests against the selfish and ignominious cowardice of the larger
number of seigneurs, a general murmur of approval received
the words of the aged seigneur of Chivry, who, encouraged by
54 THE IRON TREVET.
the almost unanimous support of the assembly, stepped upon
his bench and answered the herald in a stentorian voice :
"Sir, in the name of the nobility of Beauvoisis, I now answer
you that we have our hands so full on our own domains, that it
would be disastrous for us to take the -field in distant regions.
For the rest, the request of the King will be considered when
the deputies of the nobility and the clergy shall be assembled
in the States General of the Kingdom. Until then we shall re-
main at home."
A sudden outburst of hisses from the crowd of peasants and
bourgeois answered the words of the seigneur of Chivry; and
Adam the Devil, leaving Jocelyn the Champion for a moment
alone with Mazurec, who, having regained consciousness, was
resignedly expecting the hour of his death, thrust himself among
several groups of serfs saying:
"Do you hear them? Fine seigneurs they are! . . .
What are they good for? . . . Only to combat in tourneys
with pointless lances and edgeless swords, or to indulge in
bravados in combats, where they are fully armed, against Jacques
Bonhomme, armed only with a stick !"
"That's so!" answered several angry voices. "To the devil
with the nobility!"
"Poor Mazurec the Lambkin! It is enough to make one's
heart ache to see his face bleeding under the iron gauntlet of the
Knight."
"And now they are to put him in a bag and throw him into the
water! ... I declare . . . That's what they call jus-
tice ..."
"Ah! When, thanks to the cowardice of our seigneurs, the
English will have penetrated to this region," resumed Adam the
Devil, "what with our masters on one side and the English on
the other, we shall be like iron beaten on the anvil by the ham-
mer. Oppressed by these, pillaged and sacked by the others,
our lot will be twice as hard. Woe is us !"
"That's what happens now when bands of marauders descend
THE IRON TREVET. 55
upon our villages. We flee for safety to the woods, and when
we return, we find our homes in flames or in ashes !"
"0, God ! What a lot is ours !"
"And yet our vicar says that secures our salvation . *
in heaven ! Another fraud upon us !"
"Woe is us if on top of all our ills we are to be ravaged
and tortured by the English. That means our end."
"Yes, and we are all to go down through the cowardice of our
seigneurs," put in Adam the Devil, "themselves, their families
and retainers safely entrenched and provisioned in their fortified
castles, they will allow us to be pillaged and massacred by the
English ! Oh ! What a fate is in store for us !"
"And when everything we have will have been devastated,"
replied another serf in despair, "our seigneur will then tell us,
as he told us when the last gang of marauders passed over the
region like a hurricane: 'Pay your taxes, Jacques Bonhomme/
*But, Sire, the marauders have carried away everything; they
have left us only our eyes to weep with, and we weep!' 'Oh,
you rebel, Jacques Bonhomme! Give him quick a beating and
put him to the torture !' Oh, it is too much ... too much !
, , . That must end. Death to the nobles and their helpers,
the clergy !"
The murmurs among the rustic plebs, at first low and
rumbling, presently broke out into loud hisses and impreca-
tions, and these were so menacing and direct against the nobles,
that the seigneurs, for a moment taken aback by the incredible
audacity of Jacques Bonhomme, bridled up furiously, drew
their swords, and, in the midst of alarmed cries of the elder
and younger ladies, precipitately descended the steps of the plat-
form to chastise the varlets at the head of the sergeants of the
tourney, their own men-at-arms and also of those of the royal
herald, who promptly sided with the noblemen against the
plebs.
"Friends," cried Adam the Devil, rushing from one group
of the serfs to another to inflame their courage, "if the seigneurs
56 THE IRON TREVET.
are a hundred, we are a thousand. Have you not a minute ago
seen Mazurec unhorse a knight all alone, with his stick and onljp
a handful of sand? Let's prove those nobles that we are not
afraid of them. Pick up stones and sticks! Let's deliver
Mazurec the Lambkin ! Death to the nobles !"
"Yes! Take up stones and sticks! Let's deliver Mazurec'."
responded the more daring ones. "The devil take the seigneurs
who wish to leave us at the mercy of the English !"
Under the pressure of this furious mob a portion of the barrier
around the lists was soon torn up and a large number of vassals
arming themselves with the debris of the fence, redoubled their
threats and imprecations against the seigneurs. Attracted by
the tumult and catching a glimpse of Adam the Devil, who witb
glistening eyes was brandishing one of the posts of the barrier,
Jocelyn left Mazurec and ran towards the serf to whom he cried
out: "Those wretches will be mowed down . . . you will
lose everything . . . The right time has not yet come !"
"It is always in time to kill noblemen," answered Adam the
Devil, grinding his teeth, saying which he redoubled his voci-
ferations : "Stones and sticks ! Let's deliver Mazurec !"
"But you lose him by that !" cried Jocelyn in despair. "You
will lose him ! I hoped to save him !" and turning to the sur-
rounding serfs he said : "Do not attack the seigneurs ; you are
in the open field, they on horseback ; you will be trampled under
foot. Come, now ! Disperse !"
The voice of Jocelyn was lost in the tumult, and his efforts
remained fruitless in the midst of the exasperation of the
mob. A reflux of the crowd separated him from Adam the
Devil, and soon the foresight of the champion was but too well
verified. For a moment taken by surprise and even frightened
at the aggressive attitude of Jacques Bonhomme, a spectacle
they had never before witnessed, the seigneurs presently re-
covered their composure. Headed by the Sire of Nointel and
supported by about fifty men-at-arms, sergeants and knights
who speedily mounted their horses, the armed nobility now
THE IRON TREVET. 57
advanced in good order, and charged upon the revolted serfs
with swords and lances. The women and children who hap-
pened to be in the crowd, were thrown down and trampled over
by the horses, and filled the air with their heart-rending cries.
The peasants, without order and without leadership, and al-
ready frightened at their own audacity whose consequences they
now dreaded, fled in all directions over the meadow. Some few
of the more valorous and determined stood their ground and
were either cut down by the knights or severely wounded and
taken prisoners. In the heat of the fray, Adam the Devil, who
had been thrown down by a sabre cut, was seeking to rise when
he felt a Herculean hand seize him by the collar, raise him
and despite his resistance, drag him far away from the field
of carnage. The serf recognized Jocelyn who said to him while
dragging him along: "You will be a precious man on the day
of uprising . . . but to allow yourself to be killed to-day
is an act of folly ... Come, let us preserve ourselves for a
later day."
"Mazurec is lost!" cried the serf in the agony of despair
and struggling against Jocelyn; but the latter, without making
answer, compelled Adam the Devil, who was greatly enfeebled
by the loss of blood, to take shelter behind a heap of lumber that
had been brought thither for the construction of the barrier
around the lists, but had been found unnecessary. Both lay
themselves down flat upon the grass.
CHAPTEE VI.
PROPHECIES AND PREMONITIONS.
The sun has gone down; night is drawing nigh. The noble
dames, frightened by the recent popular commotion, have left
the platform of the tourney and returned to their manors either
on their palfreys or on the cruppers of their cavaliers' horses.
At a short distance from the lists where lay the corpses of a con-
siderable number of serfs, killed in their futile attempt at revolt,
flows the Orville River. On one side its banks are precipitous,
but on the other they slope gently, covered with reeds. The
river is crossed by a wooden bridge. To the right of the bridge
are a few old willows. Their branches have almost all been
freshly lopped off with axes. The few remaining ones, strongly
supported and spreading out, have been turned into gibbets. From
them now hang the bodies of four of the vassals who had been
captured in the revolt. The pendent bodies resemble shadows
cast upon the clear sky of the dusk. Night approaches rapidly.
Standing on the middle of the bridge surrounded by his friends,
among whom is Gerard of Chaumontel, the Sire of Nointel
makes a sign, and the last of the revolted and captured serfs is,
despite his cries and entreaties, hanged like his companions from
a branch of a willow on the bank of the river. A man then
brings to the bridge a large bag of coarse grey material, of the
kind used by the millers. A strong cord inserted at its mouth
like a purse-string enables its being tied closely. Mazurec the
Lambkin is led forward tightly pinioned. Up to then he had
been seated at one end of the bridge near the vicar. The latter
after having placed the crucifix to the mouths of the serfs that
had been hanged, returned to the victim about to be drowned.
Mazurec is no longer recognizable. His bruised face covered
with clotted blood is hideous to behold. One of his eyes has
THE IRON TREVET. 59
been knocked out and his nose crushed under the fierce blows
dealt him by the knight of Chaumontel with his iron gauntlet.
The executioner opens the mouth of the bag while the bailiff
of the seigniory approaches Mazurec and says: "Vassal, your
felony is notorious; you have dared to charge Gerard, a noble-
man of Chaumontel, with robbery; he appealed to a judicial
duel where you were vanquished and convicted of calumny and
defamation; in obedience to the royal ordinance, you are to be
submerged until death does ensue. Such is the supreme and
irrevocable sentence."
Mazurec steps forward, and as he is about to be seized and
thrust into the bag, he raises his head, and addressing the Sire
of Nointel and Gerard, says to them as if inspired with prophetic
exaltation :
"It is said among our people that those about to perish be-
come seers. Now, this is what I foretell : Gerard of Chaumon-
tel, you robbed me and now you have me drowned . . . you
will die drowned. Sire of Nointel, you have done violence to
my wife . . . your wife will be done violence to. Mayhap
my wife may bring to the world the child of a noble ; .
your wife may bring to the world the child of a serf. May
God take charge of my vengeance. The day of reprisals will
come !"
Mazurec the Lambkin had barely uttered these words when
the executioner proceeded to tie him up in the bag. Conrad
grew pale and shivered at the sinister prophecy of his vassal,
and was unable to utter a word. Gerard, however, addressing
the serf who was being "bagged" burst out laughing and pointed
to the five hanged serfs who rocked in the evening breeze, and
whose outlines were dimly perceptible like spectres in the
twilight, said :
"Look at the corpses of those villeins who dared to rebel against
their seigneurs! Look at the water that runs under the bridge
and that is about to swallow you up ... should Jacques
Bonhomiae still dare to kick, there are our long lances to pierce
60 THE IRON TREVET.
him through, wide branched trees to hang, and rivers to drown
him."
Mazurec was the while tied in the bag, and at the moment
when the executioner was about to hurl him into the river,
the vassal's voice was heard for the last time from within the
canvas. "Gerard of Chaumontel, you will be drowned; Sire of
Nointel, your wife will be violated .
A peal of contemptuous laughter from the knight answered
the serf's prediction, and amidst the silence of night the splash
was heard of Mazurec's body dropping into the deep waters of
the river.
"Come away, come away," said the Sire of Nointel to Gerard
in a faltering voice; "let's return to the castle; this place
frightens me. The prophecy of that miserable villein makes
me shudder despite myself . . . He mentioned reprisals."
"What feebleness ! Conrad, are you becoming weak-minded ?"
"Everything that happened to-day is of ill-omen. I tremble at
the future."
"What do you mean?" replied Gerard, following his friend,
who was walking away at a rapid pace. "What is that you said
about ill-omen? Come, explain the cause of your terror."
"This evening, before returning to Chivry, Gloriande said to
me: 'Conrad, to-morrow my father celebrates our betrothal in
the chapel of his castle ; I desire that you depart that same evp
ning to join the forces of the King; and even then I shall not
be your wife unless you lead back from battle and place at my
feet, as a pledge of your bravery, ten Englishmen in chains and
captured by yourself/ "
"The devil take such folly!" cried Gerard. "The romances
of knighthood have turned her head !"
"I wish/ added Gloriande, 'that my husband be illustrious
by his prowesses. Therefore, Conrad, to-morrow I shall take
the oath at the altar to finish my days in a monastery, if you are
killed in battle, or if you fail in the promises that I have de-
manded of you !' "
THE IRON TREVET. 61
"By the saints! That girl is gone daft on her Englishmen
in chains. There are only blows to be fetched in war, and
your betrothed runs the chances of seeing you return without
an eye, a leg or an arm ... if you do return . . . The
devil take her whims !"
"I am bound to yield to Gloriande's wishes. There is no more
stubborn head than hers. Besides, she loves me as I do her.
Her wealth is considerable. I have dissipated a good part of
my fortune at the court of King John. I cannot renounce the
marriage. Whatever it may cost me, I must join the army with
my men. Sad it is, but there is no choice I"
"Be it so ! But then fight . . . prudently and moderate-
ly."
"I am anxious to live so that I may marry Gloriande . . .
provided during my absence the prediction of that miserable
vassal "
"Ho! Ho! Ho !" broke in the knight of Chaumontel, laughing
out aloud. "You surely are not troubled with the fear that
during your absence Jacques Bonhomme will violate your wife ?"
"These villeins, an unheard of thing, have dared to insult, to
menace and to throw themselves upon us like the wild beasts
that they are."
"And you saw that rag-tag flee before our horses like a set
of hares. The executions of this evening will complete the
lesson, and Jacques Bonhomme will remain the Jacques Bon-
homme of ever. Come ! Make your mind easy ! While I pre-
fer a hundred times the hunt, the tourneys, wine, game and
love to the stupid and dangerous feats of war, I shall accompany
you to the army, so as to bring you back soon to the beautiful
Gloriande. As to the English prisoners that you are to lead in
chains to her feet as a pledge of your valor, we shall scrape to-
gether a few leagues from our lady's manor the first varlets
that we can lay our hands on. We shall bind them and threaten
them with hanging if they utter a single word } ajid they will do
6a THE IRON TREVET.
well enough for the ten English prisoners. Is not the idea a
jolly one? But, Conrad, what are you brooding over?"
"Perhaps I was wrong in exercising my right over that
vassal's wife," replied the Sire of Nointel with a somber and
pensive mien. "It was a mere libertine caprice, because I love
G-loriande. But the resistance of the scamp, who, besides,
charged you with theft, irritated me." And resuming after a
moment of silence, the Sire of Nointel addressed his friend:
"Tell me the truth; here among ourselves; did you really rob
the villein? It would have been an amusing trick ... I
only would like to know if you really did it?"
"Conrad, the suspicion is insulting "
"Oh, it is not in the interest of the dead serf that I put the
question, but it is in my own."
"How? Explain yourself more clearly."
"If that vassal has been unjustly drowned ... his
prophecy would have more weight."
"By heavens ! Are you quite losing your wits, Conrad ? Do
you see me saddened because Jacques Bonhomme has predicted
to me that I was to be drowned? . . . The devil! It is I
who mean to drown your sadness in a cup of good Burgundy
wine . . . Come, Conrad, to horse ... to horse!
. . . Supper waits, and after the feast pretty female serfs!
Long live joy and love ! Let's reach the manor in a canter "
"Perhaps I did wrong in forcing the serf's wife," the Sire
of Nointel repeated to himself. "I know not why, but a tradi-
tion, handed down from the elder branch of my family, located
at Auvergne, comes back to me at this moment. The tradition
has it that the hatred of the serfs has often been fatal to the
Nerowegs !"
"Hallo, Conrad, to horse ! Your valet has been holding your
stirrup for the last hour," broke in the cheerful voice of Gerard.
"What are you thinking about ?"
"I should not have violated the vassal's wife," the Sire of
THE IRON TREVET. 63
Nbintel still mumbled while swinging himself on his horse's
back, and taking the route to his manor accompanied by Gerard
of Chaumontel.
CHAPTER VII.
WRECKED HEARTS.
The ground floor of the house of Alison the Huffy is closed.
A lamp burns inside, but the door and windows are bolted
within. Aveline-who-never-lied lies half stretched out upon a
bench. Her hands lie across her breast, her head reclines on the
knees of Alison. She would be thought asleep were it not for the
tremors that periodically convulse her frame. Her discolored
visage bears the traces of the tears, which, rarer now, still oc-
casionally escape from her swollen eyelids. The tavern-keeper
contemplates iihe unfortunate girl with an expression of pro-
found pity. William Caillet, seated near by, with his elbows
on his knees, his forehead in his hands, takes not his eyes from
his daughter. He remembered Alison, and relying on her kind-
heartedness, had taken Aveline to the tavern with the aid of
Adam the Devil, who immediately had gone out again to the
tourney to meet Jocelyn the Champion, by whom he was later
snatched from the fray.
Suddenly sitting up affrighted, Aveline cried semi-delirious:
"They are drowning him ... I see it ... He is
drowned! . . . Did you not hear the splash of his body
dropping into the water? . . . My bridegroom is dead
"Dear daughter," said Alison, breaking into tears, "calm your-
self . . . Have confidence in God . . . They may have
had mercy upon him "
"She is right . . . This is the hour," said William Caillet
in a low hollow voice. "Mazurec was to be drowned at night-
fall. Patience! Every night has its morn. The unfortunate
man will be avenged,"
THE IRON TREVET. 65
Hearing a rap at the door, Alison, who was holding Aveline
in her arms, turned to William : "Who can it be at this hour ?"
The old peasant rose, approached the door and asked : "Who's
that?"
"I, Jocelyn the Champion," a voice answered.
"Oh !" murmured Aveline's father, "he comes from the river" ;
saying which he opened.
Jocelyn entered with quick steps. At the sight, however, of
Mazurec's wife, held in a swooning condition in the arms of
Alison, he stopped short, turned to Caillet, and whispered to
him : "He is saved !"
"He ?" cried the serf stupified. "Saved ?"
"Silence!" said Jocelyn, pointing to Aveline. "Such news
may prove fatal if too suddenly conveyed."
"Where is he? Where did he take refuge?"
"Adam is bringing him hither . . . He can hardly stand
. . . I came ahead of them . . . He is weeping in-
cessantly . . . We came across the field . . . The cur-
few has sounded. We met nobody. Poor Mazurec is saved "
"I shall go out to meet him," said Caillet, panting with emo-
tion. "Poor Mazurec ! Dear son ! Dear child !"
Jocelyn approached Aveline, who, with her arms around Ali-
son's neck was sobbing bitterly. "Aveline," said Jocelyn to
her, "listen to me, please. Have courage and confidence ''
"He is dead," murmured Aveline moaning and not heeding
Jocelyn. "They have drowned him."
"No ... he is not dead," Jocelyn went on saying.
"There is hope of saving him."
"Good God!" cried Alison, now weeping with joy and em-
bracing Aveline in a transport of happiness. "Do you hear, dear
little one ? He is not dead."
Aveline joined her hands and essayed to speak, but the words
died away on her lips that trembled convulsively.
"This is what happened," explained Jocelyn. "Mazurec was
put into a bag and he was thrown into the water. Fortunately,
66 THE IRON T REVET.
however," Jocelyn hastened to add, seeing Aveline utter a smoth-
ered cry, "Adam the Devil and myself, profiting by the darkness,
had hidden ourselves among the reeds that border the bank of
the river about a hundred paces from the bridge. The current
was toward us. With the aid of a long pole we sought to drag
towards us the bag in which Mazurec was tied up, and to pull him
out in time."
"Oh !" stammered the young girl, "Help came too late."
"No, no! Calm yourself. We succeeded in drawing the bag
to the bank. Adam cut it open with one rip of his knife, and
we took Mazurec out of the canvas still breathing."
"He lives !" exclaimed the girl in a delirium of joy. Her first
movement was to precipitate herself towards the door, and
there she fell in the arms of her father, who, having just re-
turned, stood on the threshold.
"Yes, he lives !" said Caillet to his daughter, closing her to his
breast. "He lives . . . and he is here!"
That same instant Mazurec appeared at the threshold, pale,
faint, dripping water, his face unrecognizable, and supported
by Adam the Devil. Instead of running to the encounter of her
husband, Aveline staggered back frightened and cried: "It is
not he !"
She did not recognize Mazurec. His crushed eye, encircled
with black and blue concussions, his crushed nose, his lips split
and swollen, so completely changed his once sweet and attractive
features, that the hesitation of the vassal's wife lasted several
seconds ; but soon recovered from her painful surprise, she threw
herself at the neck of Mazurec, and kissed his wounds with
frantic excitement.
Mazurec returned the embrace of his wife and murmured
sadly: "Oh, poor wife . . . although I still live, yet you
are a widow."
These words, reminding as they did the young couple that they
were forever separated by the infamous outrage that Aveline
had been the victim of and that might mean maternity to her,
THE IRON TREVET. 67
caused them both to break forth into a flood of tears that flowed
while they remained closely locked in a gloomy and mute em-
brace.
"Oh!" exclaimed William Caillet, even whose harsh features
were now moistened with tears at the sight of the ill-starred
couple, "to avenge them . . . How much blood . . .
Oh! how much blood . . . What conflagrations . . .
what massacres . . . the reprisals must be terrible."
"That seigniorial race must be strangled out of existence,"
put in Adam the Devil, biting his nails with suppressed rage.
"They must be extirpated . . . they must be killed off
. . . all of them . . . even the whelps in the cradle
. . . not a vestige of the seigniory must be left in existence."
And turning to Jocelyn, the peasant added with savage reproach :
"And you, you tell U3 to be patient "
"Yes," answered Jocelyn, interrupting him ; "yes, patience, if
you wish on one day to avenge the millions of slaves, serfs and
villeins of our race, who for centuries have been dying, crushed
down, tortured and massacred by the seigneurs. Yes, patience,
if you desire that your vengeance be fruitful and accomplish
the deliverance of your brothers ! To that end I conjure you,
and you, Caillet, also no partial revolts! Let all the serfs
of Gaul rise simultaneously, on one day, at the same signal.
The seigniorial race will not see the morrow of that day."
"To wait," replied Adam the Devil, scowling with impatience ;
"always to wait !"
"And when will the signal of revolt come?" asked Caillet.
"Whence is it to come? Answer me that!"
"It will come from Paris, the city of revolts and of popular
uprisings," answered Jocelyn ; "and that will be within shortly."
"From Paris," exclaimed the two peasants in a voice expressive
of astonishment and doubt. "What ! Those Parisians . . .
will, they be ready to revolt?"
"Like you, the Parisians are tired of the outrages and exac-
tions of the seigneurs; like you, the Parisians are tired of the
68 THE IRON T REVET.
thieveries of King John and his court, both of whom ruin and
starve the country; like you, they are tired of the cowardice
of the nobility, the only armed force in the country, and that,
nevertheless, allows Gaul to be ravaged by the English; finally,
the Parisians are tired of praying and remonstrating with the
King to obtain from him the reform of execrable abuses. The
Parisians are, therefore, decided to appeal to arms against the
royalty. The rupture of the truce with the English, just an-
nounced by the royal messenger, will undoubtedly hasten the
hour of revolt. However, until that solemn hour shall sound,
patience, or all is lost."
"And these Parisians," replied Caillet with redoubled atten-
tion, "who directs them ? Have they a leader ?"
"Yes," answered Jocelyn with enthusiasm, "a most courageous,
wise and good man. He is an honor to our country !"
"And his name?"
"Etienne Marcel, a bourgeois, a draper, and provost of the
councilmen of Paris. The whole people are with him because
he aims at the welfare and the enfranchisement of the people.
A large number of the bourgeois of the communal towns, that
have fallen back into the royal power and who are ready to rise,
are in touch with Marcel. But he realizes that the bourgeois
and artisans would be guilty of a wicked act if they did not
offer their advice and help to the serfs of the country and aid
them also to break the yoke of the seigneurs. By acting in con-
cert serfs, artisans and bourgeois we could easily prevail over
the seigneurs and the royal house. Count ourselves; count our
oppressors. How many are they ? A few thousand at the most,
while we are millions !"
"That's true," said Caillet, exchanging looks of approval with
Adam. "The towns and the country combined, that's the world !
The seigneurs and their clergy are insignificant."
"I came to this place," proceeded Jocelyn ,"by the advice of
Etienne Marcel, calculating that, as a rule, tourneys attract a
large number of vassals. I was to ascertain whether the senti-
THE IRON TREVET. 69
ment of rebellion existed in this province as it did in others.
I have no longer any doubt on the subject. I have met you,
William and Adam, and no longer ago than this afternoon I
have seen, much as I regretted the partial and hasty move-
ment, that Jacques Bonhomme, tired of his burden of shame,
misery and sufferings, is ripe for action. I shall now return
to Paris with a heart full of hope. Therefore, patience!
Friends, patience ! Soon will be the hour of reprisals sound,
the hour of inexorable justice. Then, death to our oppressors !"
"Yes/' answered Caillet; "we shall settle the accounts of our
ancestors . . . and I shall settle the accounts of my daugh-
ter ... Do you see my child? Do you?" and the old
peasant pointed to Aveline who sat near Mazurec. Overcome
with sorrow, mute, their eyes fixed on the floor and holding
each other's hands the smitten couple presented a picture of un-
utterable woe.
"But coming to think of it," said Jocelyn. "Mazurec cannot
remain in this territory."
"I have thought of that," rejoined Caillet. "To-night I shall
return to Cramoisy with my daughter and her husband. I know
a grotto in the thickest part of the forest. The hiding-place
was long of service to Adam. I shall take Mazurec thither.
Every night my daughter will take to him a share of our pit-
tance. The poor child feels so desolate that to separate her en-
tirely from her husband would be to kill her. He shall remain
in hiding until the day of vengeance shall have arrived. You
may rely on me, upon Adam and upon many others."
"But who will give the signal at which the towns and country
folks are to rise ?" asked Adam the Devil.
"Paris," responded Jocelyn. "Before long I shall have
moneys brought to you, or I may bring them myself, with which
to purchase arms. Be careful not to awaken the suspicions of the
seigneurs. Buy your arms one by one in town ... at fairs,
and hide them at home. If you know any safe blacksmiths, get
them to turn out pikes . . , town money will furnish you
70 THE IRON T REVET.
with iron . . . and with iron you will be able to purchase
revenge and freedom. Who has iron has bread !"
A prolonged neighing just outside the door interrupted the
conversation. "It is Phoebus, my horse/' cried Jocelyn, agree-
ably reminded that he had left the animal tied close to the tour-
ney. "He must have grown tired of waiting for me, must have
snapped the strap and returned to the tavern after me, where,
however, he has been only once before. Brave Phoebus," Jocelyn
added, proceeding to the door. "This is not the first proof
of intelligence that he has given me/' Hardly had Jocelyn
opened the upper part of the door than the head of Phoebus ap-
peared; the animal neighed anew and licked the hands of his
master, who said to him : "Good friend, you shall have a good
supply of oats, and then we shall take the road/'
"What, Sir, you intend to depart this very night?" asked
Alison the Huffy, drying her tears that had not ceased to flow
since the return of Mazurec. "Do you mean to depart, despite
the dark and the rain ? Remain with us at least until to-morrow
morning."
"The royal messenger has brought tidings that hasten my re-
turn to Paris, my pretty hostess. Keep a corner for me in your
heart, and ... we shall meet again. I expect to be soon
back in Nointel."
"Before leaving us, Sir champion," insisted Alison, rum-
maging in her pocket, "take these three franks. I owe them to
you for having won my case."
."Your case ? . . . I have not yet pleaded it !"
"You have gained my case without pleading it."
"How is that?"
"This forenoon, when you returned for your horse to ride
to the tourney, Simon the Hirsute came out of his house as you
passed by. 'Neighbor,' said I to him, 'I have not until now been
able to find a champion. I now have one/ 'And where is that
valiant champion?' answered Simon sneering. 'There,' said I,
'do you see him? It is that tall young man riding yonder on
THE IRON TREVET. 71
the bay horse/ Simon then ran after you, and after a careful
inspection that took you in from head to foot, he came back
crestfallen and said to me: 'Here, neighbor, I give you threo
florins, and let's be quits.' 'No, neighbor, you shall return to
me my twelve florins, or you will have to settle with my cham-
pion, if not to-day, to-morrow/ A quarter of an hour later,
Simon the Hirsute, who had now turned sweet as honey, brought
me my twelve florins. Here are the three promised to you, Sir
champion."
"I have not pleaded, and have nothing coming to me from
you, my pretty hostess, except a kiss which you will let me have
when you hold my stirrup/'
"Oh, what a large heart you have, Sir champion !" cordially
answered Alison. "One embraces his friends, and I am certain
you now entertain some affection for me."
After Phoebus had eaten his fill and Jocelyn had thrown
a thick traveling cloak over his armor, he returned to the room.
Approaching Mazurec he said to him with deep emotion:
"Courage and patience . . . embrace me ... I know
not why, but I feel an interest in you beside that which your
misfortunes awaken ... I shall ere long have clari-
fied my doubts"; and, then addressing Aveline: "Good-bye,
poor child ; your hopes are shattered ; but at least the companion
of your sorrows has been saved to you. Often will your tears
mingle with his and they will seem less bitter" ; turning finally
to Caillet and Adam the Devil, whose horny hands he pressed in
his own: "Good-bye, brothers . . . remember your prom-
ises; I shall not forget mine; let us know how to wait for the
great day of reprisal."
"To see that day and avenge my daughter, to exterminate the
nobles and their tonsured helpers, is all I desire," answered
Caillet; "after that I shall be ready to die."
After planting a cordial kiss on the red lips of Alison, who
73 THE IRON TREVET.
was holding his stirrup, and two on her rosy cheeks, Jocelyn the
Champion bounded on his horse, and despite the rain and the
thick darkness, hastily resumed the road to Paris.
"Happy trip and speedy return !" cried out Alison after him.
PART H.
THE REGENCY OF NORMANDY
CHAPTER I.
THE STATES GENERAL.
The Prankish conquerors of Gaul founded about a thousand
years before the date of this narrative the first dynasty that
reigned in the land. Clovis, the first of the kings, established
and his successor followed the custom of almost yearly convoking
their leudes, or chiefs of bands, to gatherings that they named
Fields of May. At these assemblies, from which the Celtic or
conquered people were wholly excluded and to which only the
warrior ruler class was admitted, the Prankish chiefs or feudal
lords deliberated with their supreme sovereign, the king, in
their own or Germanic tongue upon new martial enterprises;
or upon new imposts to be laid upon the subjected race. It was
at these Fields of May that later, during the usurpatory do-
minion of the stewards of the palace, the do-nothing kings, those
last scions of Clovis, unnerved and degenerate beings, appeared
once a year with artificial beards as the grotesque and hollow
effigies of royalty. These assemblies were continued under the
reign of Charles the Great and the Carlovingian kings the
dynasty that in 752 succeeded that of Clovis. The bishops, ac-
complices of the conquerors, joined in these assemblies, where, ac-
cordingly, only the nobility, that is, the conquerors, and the
clergy had seats. Under Hugh Capet and his descendants, the
dynasty of the Capets, which succeeded that of the Carlovingians
in 987, continued the practice of the Fields of May, but under
a different name. At irregular intervals they held in their do-
mains Courts or Parliaments assemblies composed of seigneurs
and prelates, but from which the newly shaping class of bour-
geois or townsmen was excluded, along with the artisans and
serfs, essentially as was the case under the previous dynasties.
THE IRON TREVET. 75
These assemblies represented exclusively the interests of the
ruling class and its accomplices.
Towards the close of 1290, the legists or lawyers, a new class
of plebeian origin, began to enter the parliaments. The royal
power, that had reared its head upon the ruins of the indepen-
dence of the feudal lords, grew ever more oppressive and absolute,
and the functions of the parliaments were by degrees restricted
to servilely registering and promulgating the royal ordinances,
instead of remaining what they originally were, free gatherings
where kings, seigneurs and prelates deliberated as peers upon
the affairs of the State that is to say, their own private inter-
ests, to the exclusion of those of the people. In course of time,
despite these registrations, neither law nor ordinance was carried
out, and the government became wholly autocratic. Then came
a turn. The spirit of liberty breathed over Gaul, and a species
of general insurrection broke out against the crown. The towns-
men, entrenched in their towns, the seigneurs in their castles,
the bishops in their dioceses, reused to pay the imposts decreed
at the royal pleasure. Thus Philip the Fair, in the early part
of the eleventh century, was unable to enforce the ordinance
that levied a fifth of all incomes. Although the decree was
registered by parliament, the officers of the King were met with
swords, sticks and showers of stones in Paris, Orleans and other
places, and remained unable to fetch the money to the royal
treasury. At that juncture Enguerrand de Marigny, an able
minister, who was later hanged, said to Philip the Fair: "Fair
iSire, you are not the strongest; therefore, instead of ordering,
request, pray, entreat, if necessary. To that end convoke a na-
tional assembly, States General, composed of prelates, seigneurs
and bourgeois or townsmen, jointly deputed. In our days, fair
Sire, we must reckon with the townsmen, that bourgeois class
that has succeeded in emancipating itself. To that national
assembly submit gently, mildly and frankly the needs that press
you. If you do, there is a good chance of your wishes being met."
The advice was wise. Philip the Fair followed it. Thus it
y6 THE IRON TREVET.
came about that for the first time since nine centuries, and
thanks to the communal insurrections, the bourgeois those
plebeians who represented the subjugated class took their seats
in the national assembly beside the seigneurs, who represented
the oppressors, and the bishops, their accomplices. Before these
States General, that thus came into existence, the king now
appeared in humble posture, affecting poverty and good will,
and obtained the levies of men and subsidies that he needed.
After Philip the Fair, his descendants, greedy, prodigal and
needy, convoked a national assembly whenever they required a
new levy of taxes or of men. The bourgeois deputies ever ap-
peared at these assemblies in a defiant mood. They never were
convoked except to exact gold and the blood of their race from
them. To exact is the correct term. Vain it was for the bour-
geois deputies to refuse, as they did, the levies of men and
moneys that seemed to them unjust. Their refusal was annulled,
and the method of annulment was tihis : The States General con-
sisted of three estates the nobility, the clergy and the bour-
geoisie each being represented by an equal number of deputies.
Accordingly, the bourgeoisie was out-voted by the combined
estates of the nobility and the clergy, both of which were ever
found anxious to meet the royal wishes on the head of taxation.
The reason was plain. The prelates and seigneurs, being
exempt of taxation in virtue of the privileges of the nobility of
the one and the alleged sanctity of the other, and sharing, thanks
to the prodigalities of the kings, in the taxes levied on the
bourgeoisie, granted with gladsome hearts all the levies for money
that the crown ever requested.
Thus stood things at the beginning of the reign of John II.
Though the position of the people continued to be grievous, yet
marked progress had been made.
CHAPTEE II.
ETIENNE MARCEL.
The hopeless minority in which the bourgeoisie found itself
in the States General rendered its participation in government
a fiction. It remained for a great man and the proper juncture
in order to turn the fiction into a reality. The juncture set in
during the year 1355, when King John II found his treasury
empty through his ruinous prodigalities, and Gaul in flames
through the pretensions of the King of England to the ownership
of the country and his efforts to reconquer it, while in the south
Charles the Wicked, King of Navarre, whom John II. had given
his daughter in marriage, was arms in hand, capturing several
provinces to which he laid claim as part of his wife's dower. The
man of the occasion arose in Etienne Marcel.
With the country torn up by war and his treasury bankrupt,
John II convoked the States General. He needed stout levies
of men and stouter levies of money. The Archbishop of Rouen,
then the royal chancellor, haughtily presented the King's de-
knands. But the imperious chancellor had counted without
Etienne Marcel, one of the greatest men who ever added luster
to the name of Gaul. The great commoner, deputed to the
States General by the city of Paris and indignant at seeing the
nobility and clergy disregard the just protests of the deputies
of the bourgeoisie, thundered against the odious practice, and,
sustained by the menacing attitude of the Parisians, he uttered
the memorable declaration that the alliance of the nolility and
the clergy was no longer to be of controlling force upon the depu-
ties of the bourgeoisie, and that if, contrary to the vote of the
bourgeoisie, the seigneurs and prelates granted levies of men and
moneys to the King without any guarantee as to the proper em-
78 THE IRON TREVET.
ployment of such forces and funds for the public welfare, the
towns would have to refuse obedience to such decrees and furnish
neither men nor moneys to the crown.
These energetic and wise words, never heard before, imposed
upon the States General. In the name of the deputies of the
bourgeoisie, Marcel submits to the crown the conditions under
which the third estate would consent to grant the men and sub-
sidies asked for; and the crown accepts, knowing the people
of Paris stood ready to sustain their spokesman. Unfortunately,
and the experience was to be more than once made by Marcel,
he soon realized the hollowness of royal promises. The moneys
granted by the national assembly are insanely dissipated by the
King and his courtiers. The levies of men, instead of being
employed against the English, whose invasion spread over wider
areas of the national territory, are turned to the private wars
of the King against some of the seigneurs, and intended either
to protect or enlarge his own domains. The audacity of the Eng-
lish redoubles; they break the truce and threaten the very heart
of the land ; and King John then hastily summons his faithful
and wellrbeloved nobility to join him in the defence of the na-
tion.
The reception given to the royal herald by the valiant jousters,
warm from the passage of arms at the tourney of Nointel, has
been narrated. Nevertheless, with good or ill will, the majority
of the gallants, all of whom were made to fear for their own
estates by the foreign invasion, dragged their vassals after them,
and joined John II near Poitiers. At the first charge of the
English archers the brilliant gathering of knights turn their
horses' heads, ply their spurs, cowardly take to flight, and leave
the poor people that they had compelled to follow them at the
mercy of the invader who falls upon them and ruthlessly puts
them to the sword. King John himself remains a prisoner on
the field, while his son Charles, Duke of Normandy, a stripling
barely twenty years of age, escapes with his brothers the dis-
graceful defeat of his father only by riding full tilt to Paris,
THE IRON TREVET. jg
where, in his capacity of Regent, he convokes the States Gen-
eral for the purpose of obtaining fresh sums to ransom the
seigneurs who remained in the hands of the enemy.
Without Etienne Marcel, the draper, Gaul would have been
lost; but the ascendancy of his genius and patriotism dominated
the assembly. In answer to the chancellor, who conveyed the
demands of the Regent, Marcel declared that before attending
to the ransom of the King and knights, the nation's safety de-
manded attention. The nation's safety demanded urgent and
radical reforms. He recited them. And, losing sight of noth-
ing, but developing superhuman activity, he caused Paris to be
protected with new fortifications in order to render the town
safe from the English who had advanced as far as St. Cloud.
He armed the people; organized the street police; made pro-
visions for food by large importations of grains; calmed and
reassured the alarmed spirits ; by his example imparted a similar
temper to the other towns ; and, faithful in the midst of all other
cares to the plan of reform that he had pursued and ripened
during the long years of his obscure and industrious life, he
caused the appointment of a committee of twenty-four bourgeois
deputies charged with the drafting of the reforms that were
to be demanded from the Regent. The deputies of the nobility
and the clergy withdrew disdainfully from the national assembly,
shocked at the audacity of the bourgeois legislators. These,
however, masters of the situation and laboring under the high
inspiration of Etienne Marcel, drew up a plan of reforms that
in itself meant an immense revolution. It was the republican
government of the ancient communes of Gaul, now extended be-
yond the confines of the town and made to cover the entire
nation ; it was the substitution of the power of deputies elected
by the whole country for the absolute power of the crown.
The King becomes merely the chief agent of the States General,
and he has no power without their sovereign consent to dispose
of a single man, or a single florin. These reforms, the fruit
of many vigils on the part of Etienne Marcel, were accepted and
8o THE IRON T REVET.
solemnly sworn to by Charles, Duke of Normandy, in the capacity
of Regent for his father, then a prisoner in the English camp,
and they were promulgated in the principal towns of Gaul with
the sound of trumpets, under the title of "Royal Ordinance of
the 17th day of January, 1357." The ordinance was as fol-
lows:
The States General shall henceforth meet whenever they may think
fit and without requiring the consent of the King, to deliberate upon
the government of the kingdom, and the vote of the nobility and clergy
shall have no binding power over the deputies of the communes.
The members of the States General shall be under the protection of
the king, the Duke of Normandy and their successors. And, further
more, members of the States General shall be free to travel throughout
the kingdom with an armed escort that shall be charged with causing
them to be respected.
The moneys proceeding from the subsidies granted by the States
General shall be levied and distributed, not by royal officers, but by depu-
ties elected by the States General; and they shall swear to resist all
orders of the King and his ministers, in case the King or his ministers
wish to turn the moneys to other expenses than those provided for by
the States General.
The King shall grant no pardon for murder, rape, abduction or in-
fringement of truce.
The offices of justice shall not be sold or farmed out.
The costs of processes, inquests and administration in the chambers
of parliament and of accounts shall be lowered, and the officials of those
departments who may refuse, shall be expelled as extortionists of the
public fund.
All seizures of food, clothing or money in the name and for the service
of the King or of his family shall be forbidden ; and power is given
to the inhabitants to gather at the call of their town bell and to pursue
the seizers.
To the end of avoiding all monopoly and extortion, no officer of the
King shall be allowed to carry on any trade in merchandise or money.
The expenses of the houshold of the King, the Dauphin and of 'the
princes shall be moderated and reduced to reasonable bounds by the
States General ; and the stewards of the royal households shall be obliged
to pay for what they buy.
Finally, the King, the Dauphin, the princes, the nobility, the prelates
of whatever rank, shall bear the burden of taxation the same as all other
citizens, as justice requires.
Compared with the Fields of May of olden days, where the
conquering Franks and their bishops disposed of the people
THE IRON T REVET. 3i
of Gaul like cattle, the national assemblies, held under the or-
dinance that Etienne Marcel had wrung from the crown as-
semblies dominated by the industrious class which by its labor,
commerce, trades and arts enriched the country while the royalty,
nobility and clergy devoured it the progress was gigantic.
No less distinguished were the services of Etienne Marcel
at this juncture against the foreign invader, who was advancing
with rapid marches upon the capital of the land. Paris, origin-
ally circumscribed to the island that is washed by the two arms
of the Seine, extended itself from century to century beyond its
original cradle to the right and to the left, until under the reign
of John II it had grown to a town of large proportions. The
old part of the city, that which is bounded by the two arms
of the river, continued at this time to be called the Cite and
served as the headquarters of the clergy, whose houses seemed
to cuddle under the shadow of the high towers of the tall church
of Notre Dame. The Bishop of Paris had almost the entire Cite
for his jurisdiction. On the right bank of the Seine and at
the place where rose the thick tower of the gate of the Louvre,
began the fortified premises of what was generally called the
town. It was peopled with merchants, artisans and bourgeois,
and it contained the square at one end of which stood the pillory,
where malefactors were exposed or executed before taking their
corpses to the gibbets of Montfaucon. The girdle of fortresses
that surround Paris to the north extends from the thick tower
of the Louvre to the gate of S. Honore. From there, the wall
winding towards the Coquiller gate, reaches the gate of Mont
Martre, makes a curve near St. Denis street, continues in the
direction of the gate of St. Antoine, and arrives at the Bar-
bette gate, which is flanked by the large tower of Billy, built
on the borders of the Seine opposite Notre Dame and the isle of
Cows. The girdle of the ramparts, interrupted at this spot by
the river, is resumed on the left bank. It skirts the quarter
of the University, which is inhabited by the students and which
has for its issues the gates of St, Vincent, St. Marcel, St. Gene-
82 THE IRON TREVET.
vieve, St. James and St. Germain. Thence it flanks the palace
of- Nesle and runs out into the tower of Philip-Hamelin, built on
the left bank opposite the tower of the Louvre, which rises on.
the right bank. This vast enclosure which insured the defense
of Paris was completed by arduous labors of fortification due to
the genius and the prodigious activity of Etienne Marcel. He
caused the ramparts to be equipped with numerous engines of
war of the new kind that then began to come in vogue named
cannons tubes made of bars of iron held fast by rings of the
same metal. By means of a powder recently invented by a Ger-
man monk, these cannons expelled stone and iron balls with what
was then considered marvelous velocity, force and noise, and to a
then equally marvelous distance. Without those immense works,
all of which were executed within three months, the capital
of Gaul would have inevitably fallen into the hands of the Eng-
lish.
CHAPTER III.
THE MAN OF THE FUERED CAP.
Many weeks had elapsed since the night when Jocelyn the
Champion rode back to Paris from the little village of Nointel.
A man wearing a woolen cap, clad in an old blouse of grey
material, carrying a knapsack on his back and a heavy stick
in his hand entered Paris by the gate of St. Denis. It was
William Caillet, the father of Aveline-who-never-lied. The old
peasant looked even somberer than when last seen at Nbintel.
His hollow and fiery eyes, his sunken cheeks, his bitter smile
all betokened a profound and concentrated sorrow. This, how-
ever, yielded presently to astonishment at the tumultuous aspect
of the streets of Paris, where he now found himself for the first
time in his life. The multitude of busy people wearing different
costumes, the horses, carriages, litters that crossed in all direc-
tions, gave the rustic a feeling akin to vertigo, while his ears
rung with the deafening cries incessantly uttered by the mer-
chants and their apprentices, who, standing at the doors of
their shops solicited customers. "Hot stoves! Hot baths!"
cried the keepers of bathing houses ; "Fresh and warm cakes !"
cried the pastry venders ; "Fresh wine, just arrived from Argen-
teuil and Suresne!" cried a tavern-keeper armed with a large
pewter tumbler, and with looks and gestures inviting the topers
to drink; "Whose coat needs mending?" asked the tailor; "The
oven is warm, who wants to have his bread baked ?" vociferated a
baker ; further off a royal edict was being proclaimed, announced
by drum and trumpet; in among the crowd several monks,
collectors for a brotherhood, held out their purses and cried:
"Give for the ransom of the souls in purgatory !" while beggurs,
exhibiting their real or assumed deformities excHmed: "Give
84 . THE IRON T REVET.
to the poor, for the love of God !" Before venturing further into
Paris, William Caillet sat down on a stone step placed near a
door meaning both to rest himself and to accustom his eyes
and ears to a noise that was so utterly new to him.
Presently a distant rumbling, proceeding from Mauconseil
street, almost drowned the cross-fire of cries. At intervals the
roll of drums and mournful clarion notes mingled with the ap-
proaching and rumbling din, and soon Caillet heard repeated
from mouth to mouth in accents at once sorrowful and angry :
"That's the funeral of the poor Perrin Mace." All the passers-
by started, and a great number of merchants and apprentices left
their shops in charge of the women behind the counters, and ran
towards Mauconseil and Oysters-are-fried-here streets, where the
funeral procession was to pass after traversing St. Denis street.
Struck by the eagerness of the Parisians to witness the funeral,
which seemed to be a matter of public mourning, Caillet followed
the crowd, whose confluence from several other streets soon be-
came considerable. Accident threw him near a student of the
University of Paris. The young man, about twenty years of
age, was named Rufin the Tankard-smasher, a nickname that was
borne out by the jovial and convivial mien of the strapping
youngster. He had on his head a crazy felt hat that age had
rendered yellow, and he wore a black coat no less patched up
than his hose. He looked as threadbare as ever did a Paris
student. Held back by his rustic timidity, Caillet did not ven-
ture to open a conversation with Rufin the Tankard-smasher,
notwithstanding several remarks dropped by the crowd around
him and by the student himself increased the rustic's curiosity
in the young man.
"Poor Perrin Mace!" said a Parisian, "To have his hand
cut off and then be hanged without trial ! And all because
it so pleased the Regent and his courtiers !"
"That's the way the court respects the famous ordinance of our
Marcel!"
THE IRON TREVET. 85
"Oh, this nobility! . . . It is the pest and ruination of
the country ! . . .It and its clergy !"
"The nobles !" cried Rufin the Tankard-smasher ; "they are
merely caprisoned and plumed parade horses; good to prance
and not to carry or draw. The moment they are called to do
work, they rear and kick !"
"And yet, master student," ventured a large sized man with
a furred cap, "the noble knighthood deserves our respect."
"The knighthood !" cried Rufin, laughing contemptuously,
"the knighthood is good only to figure in tourneys, attracted
by the lure of profit. The horse and arms of the vanquished be-
long to the vanquisher. By Jupiter ! Those doughty chaps seek
to throw down their adversaries just as we students seek to knock
down the nine-pins at a bowling game on the college grounds.
But so soon as their skins are in danger in battle, where there
is no profit to be fetched other than blows, that same nobility
shamefully takes to flight, as happened at the battle of Poitiers,
where it gave the signal for run-who-run-can to an army of forty
thousand men pitted against only eight thousand English
archers ! By the bowels of the Pope ! Your nobles are not men,
they are hares!"
"Come, now, master student," laughingly put in another
townsman ; "let us not be too hard upon the nobility ; did it not
rid us of King John by leaving him a prisoner in the hands of the
English?"
"Yes !" exclaimed another, "but we shall have to pay the royal
ransom, and in the meantime must submit to the government
of the Regent, a stripling of twenty years, who orders people to
be hanged when they demand the moneys owing to them by the
royal treasury, and object when we strike them, as did Perrin
Mace."
"With the aid of heaven, our friend Marcel will soon put B
stop to that sort of thing."
"Marcel is the providence of Paris."
''Friends," resumed the man of the furred cap, smiling dis-
86 THE IRON TREVET.
(lain fully, "you seem to have nothing but the name of Marcel
in your mouths. Although Master Marcel is a provost and presi-
dent of the town council, yet he is not everything on earth.
The other councilmen are his superiors in trade. Take, for in-
stance, John Maillart, there you have a worthy townsman
"Who is it dare compare others with the great Marcel !" cried
Eufin the Tankard-smasher. "By Jupiter, whoever utters such
foolishness quacks like a goose !"
"Hm ! Hm I" grumbled the man of the furred cap ; "I said
so!"
"Then it is you who quack like a goose!" promptly replied
the Tankard-smasher. "What ! You dare maintain that Marcel
is not the foremost townsman ! He, the friend of the people !"
"Aye, aye !" came from the crowd. "Marcel is our saviour.
Without him Paris would by this time have been taken and
sacked by the English !"
"Marcel," resumed the Tankard-smasher with increasing en-
thusiasm, "he who restored economy in our finances, order and
security in the city ! By the bowels of the Pope ! I know some-
thing about that ! Only a fortnight ago, towards midnight, I
with my chum Nicolas the Thin-skinned were beating at the door
of a public house on Trace-Pute street. The woman of the house
refused us admission, pretending that the girls we were looking-
for were not in. Thereat I and my friend came near breaking
in the door. At that a platoon of cross-bowmen, organized by
Marcel to maintain order in the streets, happens to go by, and
they arrest and lodge both of us at the Chatelet, despite our
privileges as students of the Paris University! . . . Now
dare say that Marcel does not keep order in town !"
"That may all be," answered the man of the furred cap ; "but
any other councilman would have done as much; and Master
John Maillart"
"John Maillart!" exclaimed Rufin. "By the bowels of the
Pope ! Had he or any other, the King himself, dared to en-
croach upon the franchises of the University, the students, rising
THE IRON TREVET. 87
enmasse, would have poured, arms in hands, out of their quarter
of St. Germain and there would have been a battle in Paris.
But what is allowed to Marcel, the idol of Paris, is not allowed
to any other."
"The student is right!" went up from the crowd. "Marcel
is our idol because he is just, because he protects the interests
of the bourgeois against the court people, of the weak against
the strong. Long live Etienne Marcel !"
"Without the activity of Marcel, his courage and his fore-
sight, Paris would have been burned down and deluged in blood
by the English."
"Did not Marcel also keep our town from starvation, when
he went himself at the head of the militia as far as Corbeil
to protect a cargo of grain that the Navarrais meant to pillage ?"
"I don't deny that," calmly observed the man of the furred
cap with envious insistence. "All I maintain is that, put in the
place of Marcel, Maillart would have done as well."
"Surely, provided the councilman had the genius of Marcel.
If he had, he surely would have done as well as Marcel!" re-
joined the Tankard-smasher. "If my sweetheart wore a beard,
she would be the lover and somebody else the sweetheart !"
This sally of the student was received with a universal laughter
of approval. The immense majority of the Parisians entertained
for Marcel as much attachment as admiration.
Wrapt in his somber silence, William Caillet had listened atten-
tively to the altercation, and he saw confirmed that which Jocelyn
the Champion had stated to him a short time ago at Nointel con-
cerning the influence of Marcel upon the Parisian people. By
that time, the roll of drums, the notes of the clarions and the
din of a large multitude had drawn nearer. The procession
turned into Mauconseil in order to cross St. Denis street. A
company of the town's cross-bowmen, commanded by a captain,
marched at the head and opened the way, preceded by the drum-
mers and clarion blowers, who alternately struck up funeral bars.
Behind the cross-bowmen came the town's heralds, dressed in the
88 THE IRON TREVET.
town colors, half reel and half blue. From time to time the
heralds recited solemnly the following mournful psalmody :
"Pray for the soul of Perrin Mace", a bourgeois of Paris, unjustly
executed !
"John Baillet, the treasurer of the Regent, had borrowed in the
name of the King a sum of money from Perrin Mace".
"Mace" demanded his money in virtue of the new edict that orders the
royal officers to pay for what they buy and return what they borrow for
the King, under penalty of being brought to law by their creditors.
"John Baillet refused to pay, and furthermore insulted, threatened
and struck Perrin Mace.
"In the exercise of his right of legitimate defence, granted him by
the new edict, Perrin Mace" returned blow for blow, killed John Baillet
and betook himself to the church of St. M6ry, a place of asylum, from
where he demanded an inquest and trial.
"The Duke of Normandy, now Regent, immediately sent one of his
courtiers, the marshal of Normandy, to the church of St. Me"ry, accom-
panied with an escort of soldiers and the executioner.
"The marshal of Normandy dragged Perrin Mace" from the church,
and without trial Mack's right hand was cut off and he was immediately
hanged.
"Pray for the soul of Perrin Mace", a bourgeois of Paris, unjustly
executed."
Regularly after these sentences, that were alternately recited
by the heralds in a solemn voice, the muffled roll of drums and
plaintive clarion notes resounded, but they hardly served to hush
the imprecations from the crowd, indignant at the Regent and
his court. Behind the heralds followed priests with their cruci-
fixes and banners, and then, draped in a long black cloth embroid-
ered in silver, came the coffin of the executed bourgeois, carried
by twelve notables, clad in their long robes and wearing the two-
colored hats of red and blue, such as were worn by almost all the
partisans of the popular cause. The collars of their gowns were
held by silver brooches, likewise enameled in red and blue, and
bearing the inscription "To a happy issue," a device or rallying
cry given by Marcel. Behind the coffin marched the councilmen
of Paris with Etienne Marcel at their head. The obscure bour-
geois, who had stepped out of his draper's shop to become one
of the most illustrious citizens of Gaul, was then in the full ma-
THE IRON TREJ'ET. 89
turity of his age. Of middle height and robust, Etienne Marcel
somewhat stooped from his fatigues, seeing that his prodigious
activity of a man of both thought and action left him no repose.
His open, manly and characterful face bore at the chin a thick
tuft of brown beard, leaving his cheeks and lips clean shaven.
The feverish agitation of the man and the incessant cares of
public affairs had furrowed his forehead and left their marks
on his features without, however, in any way affecting the august
serenity that an irreproachable conscience imparts to the physi-
ognomy of an honorable man. There was nothing benigner or
more affectionate than his smile when under the influence of the
tender sentiments so familiar to his heart. There was nothing
more imposing than his bearing, or more threatening than his
looks when, as powerful an orator as he was a great citizen,
Etienne Marcel thundered with the indignation of an honest and
brave soul against the acts of cowardice and treason and the
crimes of the feudal nobility and the despotic crown. The pro-
vost wore the red and blue head-gear together with the emblaz-
oned brooch that distinguished the other councilmen. Among
these, John Maillart often during the procession gave his arm
to Marcel, who, fatigued by the long march through the streets
of Paris, cordially accented the support of one of his oldest
friends. Since youth Marcel had lived in close intimacy with
Maillart, but the latter, ever keeping concealed the enviousness
that the glory of Marcel inspired him with, could not now wholly
repress a bitter smile at the enthusiastic acclaim that salutedi
Marcel along the route.
A woman clad in long mourning robes and whose presence
seemed out of place at such a ceremony marched beside Maillart.
It was his wife, Petronille, still young and passing handsome,
but of atrabilious and harsh mien. Each time that the heralds
finished the mournful psalmody and before they began it anew,
Petronille Maillart would break out into sobs and moans, and
raising and wringing her arms in despair cried out : "Unhappy
Pen-in Mace! Vengeance upon his ashes! Vengeance!" The
go THE IRON TREVET.
plaintive outcries and the contortions of Madam Maillart seemed,
however, to excite more surprise than interest with the crowd.
"By Jupiter !" cried Rufin the Tankard-smasher, "what brings
that bellowing woman to this funeral? What makes her demean
herself like that, as if she were possessed? She is neither the
widow nor any relative of Perrin Mace."
"For that reason her presence is all the more admirable," ob-
served the man of the furred cap addressing the crowd. "Behold
her, friends ! Do you see how her despair testifies the extent to
which she, as well as her husband, share in the terrible fate of
poor Perrin Mace? . . . You are witnesses, friends, that
Dame Petronille is the only councilman's wife who assists at the
ceremony !"
"That's true!" said several voices. "Poor, dear woman! She
must feel sadly distracted."
"Yes, indeed. And surely that is not the case with the wife
of Marcel, our first magistrate. She and the others remain
calmly at home, without at all concerning themselves about this
public sorrow," put in the man of the furred cap. "Fail not to
take notice !"
"By the bowels of the Pope!" cried the Tankard-smasher.
"Marcel's wife acts like a sensible body. She is right not to
come out and exhibit herself and utter shrieks fit to deafen
Beelzebub just when the drums are silent . . . The afflic-
tion of that bellowing woman looks to me like a sheet of music,
marked on time. That woman is playing a comedy."
"You vainly try to pass the matter off as a joke, master stu-
dent," rejoined the man of the furred cap. "It will, neverthe-
less, be noted that the wife of Maillart assisted at the funeral of
Perrin Mace, and that the wife of Marcel did not. Hm ! Hm !
My friends, that gives room for many suspicions; or, rather, it
confirms certain rumors."
"What suspicions?" asked Rufin; "What rumors? Explain
yourself."
But without answering the student the man of the furred cap
was lost in the crowd, while continuing to whisper to those that
THE IRON TREVET. 91
he came in contact with. During this slight incident, the fun-
eral procession had continued to file by. Notable townsmen,
carrying funeral torches, marched behind the councilmen; they
were followed by the trade guilds, each headed by its banner;
finally the rear was brought up by a long line of people of all
conditions uttering imprecations against the Eegent and his
court, and acclaiming Marcel with ever increasing enthusiasm.
Marcel, the crowd declared, would know how to avenge the
fresh and sanguinary court iniquity.
From mouth to mouth the announcement was carried that,
after the ceremony, Marcel would address the people in the large
hall of the Convent of the Cordeliers. William Caillet silently
assisted at this scene which seemed to impress him deeply. After
a few moments' reflections he overcame his rustic timidity and
drew Eufin the Tankard-smasher aside by the arm just as the
latter was about to walk away. The student turned around,
and yielding to the joviality of his nature as well as purposing to
haze the rustic after the time-honored practice of the University
of Paris, said to him banteringly: "I wager, dear rustic,
that you overheard me speaking of one of my sweethearts ! Hein !
I see through you, my sylvan swain ! You would like to admire
the town beauties. By the bowels of the Pope ! You shall have
your pick "
Hurt by the student's banter, William Caillet answered him
gruffly: "I am a stranger in Paris; I come from a great dis-
tance "
"Oh! You would like to enter the University, would you?"
Rufin interrupted him with redoubled hilarity. "You are some-
what too bearded for a bachelor ; but that does not matter ; what
faculty would you choose ? theology or medicine ? arts, letters or
canonical law?"
"Oh, these townsmen !" exclaimed the old peasant with pungent
bitterness. "They are no better than the people of the castles.
Go, Jacques Bonhomme, you have enemies everywhere and no-
where a friend."
92 THE IRON T REVET.
Saying this, Caillet started to walk away. But touched by the
sad accent of the peasant, Rufin held him back : "Friend, if I
have hurt your feelings, excuse me. We townsmen are not the
enemies of Jacques Bonhomme for the reason that our enemies
are common to us both."
Ever suspicious, Caillet remained silent and sought to dis-
cover from the face of the student whether his words did not con-
ceal a trap or implied some fresh ridicule. Rufin surmised the
apprehensions of the serf, examined him once more attentively,
and now struck by the lines of sorrow on his face, said to him :
"May I die like a dog if I am not speaking sincerely to you.
Friend, you seem to have suffered much; you are a stranger; I
am at your disposal f I do not offer you my purse because it
is empty ; but I offer you half of the pallet on which I sleep in a
student's room with a chum from my province, and a part of our
meager pittance."
Now convinced by the frankness of the townsman, the peasant
answered : "I have no time to stay in Paris ; I only wish to speak
with Jocelyn the Champion and Marcel; could you help me to
that?"
"You know Jocelyn the Champion ?" Rufin asked with deep in-
terest, while a cloud of sadness darkened his countenance.
"Did any misfortune befall him ?"
"He left here to assist at a tourney in Beauvoisis some time
ago, and the poor fellow never returned . . . His aged and
infirm father died of grief at the disappearance of his son.
Brave Jocelyn ! I entered the University the year before he left
it. He was the best and most courageous lad in the world
. . . He must have been killed at the tourney, or assassinated
on his return to Paris. Highwaymen infest the roads."
"No ; he was not killed at the tourney of Nointel. The night
after the passage of arms I saw him take his horse to return to
Paris."
"Are you from Beauvoisis?"
"Yes," answered Caillet ; and he added with a sigh : "Well,
THE IRON TREVET. 93
that young man is dead ! Great pity ! There are few like him
who love Jacques Bonhomme." After a moment's silence the
peasant resumed : "How can I manage to meet Marcel ?"
"By following me to the convent of the Cordeliers where he is
to address the people after the funeral of Perrin Mace. Come
with me."
"Go ahead," said Caillet; "I shall follow you."
"Come, we shall go out by the Coquiller gate ; that's the short-
est route."
The old peasant walked in silence by the side of Rufin who
sought to draw from him some words on the subject of his trip.
But the serf remained impenetrable. Going out by the gate of
St. Denis and following the streets of the suburbs, that were much
less crowded than those of the city, Caillet and his guide had just
left Traversine to enter Montmartre street when they heard the
distant funeral chant of priests interspersed from time to time
with plaintive clarion notes. The peasant noticed with surprise
that as the chant drew nearer the residents along the streets
closed and bolted their doors.
"By the bowels of the Pope !" exclaimed the student. "Acci-
dent is serving us well. You have seen honors paid to the re-
mains of Perrin Mace by the officials and the people; you will
now see the honors paid to John Baillet, the cause of the iniquity
that Paris is feeling indignant about. Yes, Baillet's remains
are honored by the Regent and his court. Come quick ; the pro-
cession is probably going to the convent of the Augustian monks."
Hastening his steps and followed by the peasant, the student
reached the corner of Montmartre and Quoque-Heron streets,
opposite which stood the convent, whose doors opened to receive
the coffin. "Look," said the student turning to Caillet. "How
significant is not the contrast presented by these two funerals.
At Perrin Mace's a large concourse of people were present, seri-
ous and moved with just indignation ; at John Baillet's nobody
assists but the Regent, the princes his brothers, the courtiers and
the officers of the royal household not one representative of the
94 THE IRON TREVET.
people! The townsmen leave a deep void around this royal
demonstration which is indulged in as a sort of challenge to the
popular one. Tell me, friend, does not the very aspect of the two
processions appeal to the eye. At the funeral of Perrin Mace
we saw a great mass composed of bourgeois and artisans plainly
or even poorly dressed; at the funeral of John Baillet we see
only a handful of courtiers and officers brilliantly attired in gold
and silk and velvet, and decked in magnificent uniforms.
William Caillet listened to the student, seeking to bore through
him with his eyes, and shaking his head answered pensively:
"Jocelyn did not deceive me," and after a pause he proceeded :
"But what are the Parisians still waiting for? We are ready,
and have long been I"
"What do you mean ?" asked Eufin.
Immediately relapsing into his former close-mouthedness, the
peasant made no answer. The procession just turned into the
street. The coffin of John Baillet, heavily inlaid with gold and
preceded by royal heralds and sergeants-at-arms was borne by
twelve menials of the Eegent in costly livery. The young prince
and his brothers, accompanied by the seigneurs of the court,
alone followed the coffin. Charles, the Duke of Normandy and
now Eegent of the French, as the eldest son of King John, at
the time an English prisoner, had, like his brothers and the
French nobility, fled ignominiously from the battlefield of Poi-
tiers. The young man who now governed Gaul was barely
twenty years of age. He was of frail physique and pale com-
plexion. His sickly face concealed under a kind and timid
mien a large fund of obstinacy, of perfidy, of wile and of wicked-
ness odious vices usually rare in youths, except of royal lineage.
Magnificently dressed in gold-embroidered green velvet, a black
headgear ornamented with a chain and brooch of costly stones on
his head, the mean-spirited and languishing Eegent marched
slowly leaning on a cane. At a short distance behind him ad-
vanced his brothers, and then came the seigneurs of the court,
among them the marshal of Normandy, who, ordered by the
THE IRON TREVET. 9S
young prinoe, had superintended the mutilation and subsequent
execution of Perrin Mace. The marshal, who was the Sire of
Conflans, one of the Eegent's favorites, superb and arrogant, cast
upon the few and straggling spectators disdainful and threaten-
ing looks, and exchanged a few words with the Sire of Charny,
a courtier no less loved by the prince that he was detested by the
people. Suddenly Rufin the Tankard-smasher felt his arm rude-
ly seized by the vigorous hand of Caillet, who with distended
and flaming eyes, and his breast heaving with pain, gasped out:
"Look! . . . There they are! . . . There are the
two ! The Sire of Nointel and that other, the knight of Chau-
montel! . . . Oh, do you see them both with their scarlet
hats, down there with the tall man in an ermine cloak?" cried
out Caillet despite himself.
"Yes, yes; I see the two seigneurs," answered the student,
astonished at the emotion manifested by the peasant. "But
what makes you tremble so ?"
"Down in the country they are thought dead or prisoners of
the English," exclaimed Caillet. "Fortunately it is not so ...
There they are . . . there they are ... I have seen
them with my own eyes !" and contracting his lips with a fright-
ful smile the serf added raising his two fists to heaven: "Oh,
Mazurec ! . . . Oh, my daughter ! . . . Here I see the
two men at last ! . . . They will return home for the mar-
riage of the handsome Gloriande . . . We've got them!
. . . We've got them !"
"The looks of this man make me shiver," thought the student
to himself, gazing at the peasant with stupor, and he proceeded
aloud : "Who are those two seigneurs that you are speaking of?"
Without heeding Eufin, Caillet proceeded to say: "Oh, now
more than ever am I anxious to see Marcel without delay. I
must speak with the provost!"
"In that case," the student said to him, "come and rest at my
lodging. In the evening we shall wait upon the provost at the
convent of the Cordeliers. He is to address the people there this
96 THE IRON T REVET.
evening. But, once more, what is the reason of your excitement
at the sight of those two seigneurs in the Eegent's suite ?"
The peasant cast a suspicious side-glance at the student, re-
mained silent and his face assumed a somberer hue.
"By the bowels of the Pope!" thought Rufin the Tankard-
smasher, "I have run up against an odd customer ; he alternates
between dumbness and riddles. He saddens even me who am not
given to melancholy ! He positively frightens even me who am
no poltroon!"
And accompanied by William Caillet, the student wended his
steps towards the quarter of the University.
CHAPTEE IV.
THE SERPENT UNDER THE GRASS.
Etienne Marcel's house was located near the church of St.
Eustace in the quarter of the market. His shop, filled with
rolls of cloth that were exposed on the shelves, communicated
with a dining room. A staircase ran into this room, leading
to the chambers on the floor above.
It being night and the shop closed, Marguerite, Marcel's wife,
and Denise her niece, had gone upstairs into one of the chambers
where they took up some sewing which they were busily at by
the light of the lamp. Marguerite was about forty-five years.
She must have been handsome in her younger days. Her face
betokened kindness and was now pensive and grave. Denise
was close to eighteen. Her cheerful face, habitually serene and
candid, seemed this evening profoundly sad. The two women
remained long in silence, each engaged in her work. By degrees,
however, and without raising her head Denise's needle relaxes,
and presently, dropping her hands upon her lap, the tears roll
out of her eyes. Marguerite, no less pre-occupied than her niece,
mechanically raises her eyes towards the young girl, and noticing
her tears, says tenderly :
"Poor child ! I know the cause of your sorrow because I know
the bent of your mind. I would not have you share a hope that
I myself hardly retain. But, after all, although the continued
absence of Jocelyn justifies our fears, we should not despair . . .
He may yet return . . .
"No, no," answered Denise, now giving free course to her
tears. "If Jocelyn still lived, he would not have left his aged
father in the uncertainty that hastened his death. If Jocelyn
still lived he would have communicated with my uncle Marcel,
9l THE IRON TREVET.
whom he loved and venerated like a father. No, no", she ex-
claimed amid sobs, "He is dead. I shall never see him again !"
"My child, it is quite possible that carried away by his im-
prudent courage, Jocelyn went to the battle of Poitiers, where he"
may have remained in the hands of the English. Prisoners re-
turn. I conjure you, do not yield to despair. I suffer to see you
weep."
In lieu of answer the young girl rose and walked up to Mar-
guerite, took her two hands, kissed them and said : "Dear, good
aunt, you brush aside your own sorrows to think of mine, and
you seek to console me ... I am ashamed not to know better
and to repress my sorrow while you bear up so courageously be-
fore Master Marcel and your son!"
"Truly, Denise, I do not understand you", remarked Mar-
guerite slightly embarrassed. "My life is so happy, I need no
special courage to bear it "
"Oh, oh ! Do I not see you daily receive Master Marcel and
your son Andre with a smile on your lips and a serene face, while
your heart is in a storm of anxieties "
"You are mistaken, Denise !"
"Oh, believe rne; it is no indiscreet curiosity that guided me
when I sought to penetrate your feelings. It was the desire to
say nothing that might wound your secret thoughts whenever I
am alone with you, as now so often happens good dear aunt."
"You dear child!" exclaimed Marguerite embracing Denise
with effusion and now making no effort to restrain her own tears.
"How could I fail to be profoundly effected by so much de-
licacy and tenderness? How could I fail to respond with un-
reserved confidence?" Marguerite stopped but after a last few
moments of hesitancy and making a supreme effort she proceed-
ed: *'"Tis true; you did not deceive yourself. Yes, my life is
now spent amid anxieties and alarms. I thank you for having
drawn the secret from me. I shall now, at least, be able to
weep before you without reserve, and give a loose to my heart.
Having paid that tribute to feebleness, I shall be able all the
THE IRON TREVET. 99
better to appear serene before my husband and my son! Oh
... I admit it; my only fear is to have them discover that I
suffer! I know Marcel's love for me. It reciprocates mine. If
he knew I was wretched I might cause his own calmness and
fortitude to weaken that never yet have abandoned him and
that he needs now more than ever in these perilous days."
"Oh, the women who envy you would at this moment pity
you, did ihey but see and hear you, dear aunt!"
"Yes", replied Marguerite with bitterness ; "the wife of Marcel,
the idol of the people ... of Marcel, the real king of Paris,
is envied. They envy the companion of that great citizen. Oh,
they should rather pity her . . . Tender indulgences . . .
sweet joys of the hearth, the happiness of the humblest . . .
since long I know you no more! The artisan, the merchant,
their day's labors being done, at least enjoy in the bosoia of
their families some rest until the morrow. My poor husband,
on the contrary, spends his nights at work . . . while I,
his wife, remain a prey to constant uneasiness night and day,
ever fearing for his life or his son's !"
"You have no reason to tremble for the life of Master Marcel,
who can not take a step without he is surrounded 'by a crowd of
devoted friends."
"I fear the Eegent's hatred, and that of the nobles and pre-
lates."
At that moment Agnes the Bigot, Marguerite's confidential
servant, entered the room and said to her mistress: "Madam,
the wife of Master Maillart, the councilman, has come to visit
you."
"So late ! Did you tell her I was home ?"
"Yes, madam."
Marguerite made a gesture of impatience and annoyance, dried
her tears and said to Denise in an undertone : "You just men-
tioned envious women . . . Petronille Maillart is of the
number . . . Hide your tears, I pray you, to avoid her
drawing wrongful conclusions from our sadness. She is cruelly
ioo THE IRON TREVET.
jealous of the popularity of Marcel; and Maillart, I believe,
shares the feelings of his wife/'
"Can Maillart be jealous of my uncle, the friend of his child-
hood !"
"Maillart is a weak man whom his wife dominates."
"Maillart is always speaking about running to arms, and of
massacring the nobles and priests."
"Violence is not strength, Denise; the most excited natures
usually are the least firm . . . But silence ! Here is Petro-
nille . . . What can be the purpose of a visit at this hour ?"
Petronille Maillart entered. She was still in her mourning
garb. From the instant of her entrance she darted an inquisitive
glance at the wife of Marcel and at Denise, and undoubtedly ob-
served the traces of recent tears, seeing that a smile flitted over
her lips. Affecting great sympathy she said :
"Excuse me, Dame Marguerite, for coming to your house at
so late an hour; but I wished to speak to you upon serious mat-
ters."
"You are always welcome, Dame Petronille."
"I fear not, at this moment. Sorrow loves solitude, and I
notice with pain that your eyes and those of your dear niece
are still red with tears. Just heaven! Do you entertain any
fears for our excellent friend Marcel. Do the people, perhaps,
incline to deny the value of the services he has rendered Paris?
Ingratitude of the masses !"
"Be at ease, Dame Petronille," answered Marguerite interrupt-
ing her. "Thanks to God, I entertain no fears on the score of
my husband. It is true Denise and I feel sad. Shortly before
you came in, we were speaking of a friend whose fate is making
us uneasy. You have often seen him here. It is Jocelyn the
Champion."
"Surely ; I remember him well. A veritable Hercules . . .
was the poor fellow killed?"
"No; we are not ready to believe that such a misfortune
has happened. But it is a long time we have not heard from him."
THE IRON TREVET. 101
"Nothing more natural, Dame Marguerite. I can now ac-
count for your tears . . . But let me come to the purpose
of my visit, which, seeing the lateness of the hour, must seem
strange to you. The curfew has sounded long ago. You know
how attached Maillart and I are to you and your husband/'
"I feel thankful for your friendship."
"Now, then, the duty of good friends is to speak frankly."
"Certainly, there is nothing more precious than sincere friends.
Pray speak, Dame Petronille I"
"Very well, dear Marguerite; your absence from the funeral
of poor Perrin Mace has been noticed. I attended the cere-
mony; you see it on my clothes. In my quality of a council-
man's wife I felt bound to render this last homage to the mem-
ory of the poor victim of an iniquity."
"Madam . . . ' I can only pity such a victim."
"And do you not revolt at the fate of the unfortunate man ?"
"That great iniquity has revolted my husband. In his quality
of the first magistrate of the town, he was bound to head the
procession."
"First magistrate of the town!" rejoined Dame Petronille
with ill-suppressed bitterness. "Yes, until his successor is
elected. Any one of the councilmen can be chosen provost.
The election decides that."
"Surely," answered Marguerite, exchanging looks with Denise
who had resumed her sewing. "My husband's duty," continued
Marcel's wife, "was first to protest against the crime of the
Regent's courtiers by solemnly attending the funeral of Perrin
Mace . . . As to me, Dame Petronille, knowing that it is
not the custom for women to assist at these sad ceremonies, I
stayed at home."
"But do people care for custom in such grave circumstances ?"
cried Mai Hart's wife. "One consults only his heart, as I did.
Dressed in black from head to foot, I joined the funeral pro-
cession, moaning and weeping all the tears I had. I thought I
would let you know it as a friend, my dear Dame Marguerite.
loa THE IRON TREVET.
It is much to be regretted that you did not follow my example."
"Each is the judge of his own conduct, Madam."
"No doubt, when none is concerned but ourselves. But in this
matter, your husband, our excellent friend Marcel, was also con-
cerned. I therefore fear that, under the circumstances, you
have done him great harm in the popular esteem."
"What is it you mean ?"
"Oh, my God ! Poor dear dame ! Do you think I would have
made haste to come to you after curfew if my purpose were not
to give you charitable advice?"
"I do not question your good intentions. Marcel himself
imparted to the funeral of Perrin Mace the solemn character
that has been attached to it. He attended it at the head of
the councilmen. In that he fulfilled his duty."
"I know that my husband marched after yours, madam,"
spitefully rejoined the envious woman, "seeing that in his
quality of provost, Master Marcel has precedence over all the
councilmen . . . He is acknowledged by all as the leader."
"Oh, madam! There is no question of rank," cried Mar-
guerite. "I only meant to say that Marcel attended the funeral."
"Yes ; but you did not, Dame Marguerite ; and people said so.
They remarked : 'See, the wife of Master Maillart, the council-
man, follows the hearse of Perrin Mace ! Oh ! Oh ! She does
not care about custom, not she ! She meant, like her husband,
to protest with her presence and her tears against the iniquity
of the court. How, then, does it happen that the wife of the
first magistrate remains at home ? Can it be that Master Mar-
cel takes the action of the Eegent and court less to heart than
he pretends ? Can it be that, as the proverb puts it, he is trying
to run with the hares and hunt with the hounds ? Is he secretly
laying the pipes for a reconciliation between himself and the
court ? Can Master Marcel contemplate betraying the people ?' "
"Oh ! That's infamous !" cried out Denise, unable to control
her indignation. "To dare accuse Master Marcel of treason be-
THE IRON TREVET. 103
cause his wife did not attend the funeral procession and parade
an affected sorrow!"
"Denise!" Marguerite quickly called out to the impetuous
young girl, fearing the conversation, puerile in appearance, would
take a still more acrid turn, and entail dangerous results for Mar-
cel.
It was too late. Rising, Dame Petronille addressed Denise
in a bitter tone : "Listen, learn, my friend, that my pain, no less
than my husband's, was not affectation !"
"Dame Petronille," Marguerite interposed anxiously, "that was
not Denise's meaning . . . Listen to me ... I pray
you."
"Madam," dryly answered Maillart's wife, "I came here to
warn you as a true friend of the thoughtless, no doubt, but never-
theless, dangerous rumors against Master Marcel's popularity.
These rumors are at this very hour circulating in Paris . . .
So far from thanking me, I am received here with insult. The
lesson is good. I shall profit by it."
"Dame Petronille" x
"Enough, Madam. Neither I nor my husband shall ever
again set foot in your house. I meant, like a friend, to point
out to you the danger that Master Marcel's good name is running.
I have done my duty, let come what may !"
"Dame Petronille," Marguerite answered with sad but severe
dignity, "since Marcel consecrated his life to public affairs,
there is not a word or action of his that he cannot answer for
with head erect. He has done good for good's sake, without even
expecting anything from the gratitude of men. He will remain
indifferent to their ingratitude. If ever his services are not ap-
preciated, he will take with him into his retirement the con-
sciousness of ever having acted like an honorable man. As to
me, I shall bless the day when my husband should quit public
affairs so that we may resume our obscure lives and ordinary oc-
cupations."
So obvious was the sincerity with which Marguerite expressed
KM THE IRON TREVET.
herself in speaking of her delight to return to obscurity, that
Dame Petronille, furious at having been unable to wound the
woman whom she envied, lost all control of herself. "You err,"
she declared, "in these days, it does not depend upon a man
like Master Marcel to quietly bury himself in a retreat. No!
No! When one has been the idol of Paris, you must either
keep or lose the confidence of the people. If it is lost, you are
looked upon as a traitor. And do you know what is dealt out to
traitors? Death!"
"Can the enemies of Marcel have the audacity of pointing
at him as a traitor?" cried Marguerite with tears in her eyes.
"Do they aim at his life ? Come, Dame Petronille, your silence
upsets me."
Petronille was about to answer when the voice of Marcel
was heard outside the chamber cheerfully announcing: "Mar-
guerite! Denise! I have good news! Good news!" Dame
Petronille remained silent, and stiffly bowing, rapidly took her
departure without uttering a word.
CHAPTER V.
CHAKLES THE WICKED.
Marcel entered. The radiant joy that suffused his face upon
entering the house now made room for amazement at the silent
and brusque departure of Maillart's wife, who swept by him at
the door. He looked at Marguerite and Denise inquiringly, and
noticing the disquietude and even alarm depicted on their faces
by the odious calumnies of Petronille, he hastened to ask:
"What is the matter, Marguerite? Why did our friend's wife
leave in that strange manner ?"
"Oh, uncle I" broke out the young girl with tears in her eyes.
"There are very wicked people . . . serpents and vipers."
"They are to be pitied, my child. But I hope you do not
refer to wicked people in connection with Maillart's wife ?"
"My friend," said Marguerite with embarrassment, "idle talk
deserves contempt only. Nevertheless, in times like these idle
talk may have serious consequences."
"Well," observed Marcel dejectedly, "I have but an hour to
spend with you. I am tired out. I hoped to enjoy some rest.
I came full of joy with good news that was to make you happy
as it made me. And here it is all spoiled. But these minutes
of quiet and relaxation are sweet to me at your side, dear objects
of my love."
"These moments are quite rare," said Marguerite sighing, "and
they are as precious to us as to you ... do not doubt, be-
loved Marcel!"
"I know it. Fortunately, you are not one of those spiritless
women, whose constant anxieties are a torment to their hus-
bands, who love them and suffer through their uneasiness. No,
you are brave. You accept with fortitude the conditions that
circumstances raise around us, convinced that my conduct is up-
10 6 THE IRON TREVET.
right. I see you ever serene, and a smile on your lips. I feel
refreshed in your wise and sweet tranquility, and gather new
strength for the struggle, for the present my life is one con-
tinuous struggle. It is a holy struggle, glorious, fruitful . . .
but it exhausts . . . nevertheless, thanks to you, dear Mar-
guerite, I ever find at our hearth the happy quiet, the confident
ease that are to the soul what a peaceful sleep is to the body "
"Dear Etienne, we shall speak later on the visit of Dame
Petronille," Marguerite broke in, fearing to disturb the rest
her husband had come in search of in her company. "You
have been announcing a good news . . . We are waiting for
it."
"Yes, I prefer that," answered the provost with a sigh of relief,
taking a seat between his wife and Denise, while the latter quietly
removed his hat and cloak. "Coming upstairs I told Agnes to
place an additional cover at supper."
"Will our son return this evening from the Bastille of St.
Antoine?" quickly inquired Marguerite. "Was that the good
news you brought us ? We shall be glad to see him."
"No, no! Andre will not return before to-morrow morning.
He is to keep watch over night at the Bastille with his company
of cross-bowmen. My son must put the example of order in the
service. He will neglect none of his duties."
"And who is to take supper with us, uncle?"
"Why, dear Denise?" answered Marcel smiling. "Who? One
of our best friends. Guess, if you can."
"Simon the Feather-dealer ? . . . Peter Caillet? . . .
Master Delille? . . . Philip Giffart? . . . John God-
dard? . . . Josserand? . . . John Sorel? . . ."
"No, Denise. Look not for our guest among my friends of the
council. He is not yet old enough to figure in such serious func-
tions. But, so as to help you guess, I shall add that our guest
for this evening has just arrived from the country."
"Can it be my old cousin who lives with his daughter at Vau-
THE IRON TREVET. 107
couleurs ? Can he have left the quiet valley of the Meuse to come
and see us?"
"No, dear Denise. The friend whom we expect has been
away from Paris only a short time. Cudgel your memory."
"A short time ?" Denise repeated mechanically, and struck by
a sudden thought but hardly daring to indulge it, the poor child
grew pale, joined her two trembling hands, and fixing upon her
uncle a look at once full of anxiety and hope, she stammered:
"Uncle, what is it you say ? Can it be ? . .
"I shall add that the fate of that friend has recently made us
feel uneasy."
"It is he!" cried Denise throwing herself at Marcel's neck.
"Can it be ? . . . Jocelyn is back . . . God be praised !"
"Jocelyn !" exclaimed Marguerite joining in the surprise and
joy of Denise. "Have you seen him ? Is he in Paris ?"
"Yes ; I saw the worthy fellow this morning at the town hall.
He is in good health, although he has suffered a good deal during
his travels."
The emotion and tears of Denise must be left undescribed.
After the first ebullition of joy was over, Marcel said to his
wife: "I was presiding at the town hall over the council when
one of our sergeants handed me a letter. I opened it and read
that Jocelyn requested to speak with me. I ordered him to be
taken upstairs to my room, and immediately after the session I
hastened thither. Oh, my poor Denise ! I confess it. I hardly
recognized our friend, he was so changed ! He has lost flesh
. his eyes are hollow ... his cheek-bones stick out."
"What happened to him ?" asked Denise. "Did he go to fight
the English, as my aunt feared. Does he come from prison ?"
"He comes from prison, but did not go to war," answered
Marcel. "This is what happened: As you know, he left for
Nointel in Beauvoisis. After he left Nointel at night, and
taking rest for an hour the next morning at Beaumont-sur-Oise,
he resumed his journey. A short while after he heard the rapid
gallop of a horse approaching behind him; turning he saw a-
io8 THE IRON TREVET.
man with a woman on his horse's crupper fleeing before three
armed knights who followed at a distance. The couple drew in a
few steps from Jocelyn, and the man, a lad of about twenty,
said to our friend : 'We are fleeing from the castle of the Sire of
Beaumont ; he is the guardian of my sister who accompanies me,
and he sought to violate her. He is riding after us with his
men. You are armed. For pity's sake defend us; help me to
protect my sister ! . . .
"I know the heart and courage of Jocelyn," said Denise deeply
moved. "He surely took the part of the unfortunate girl !"
"Without hesitating, because, as he said to me, in his capacity
of champion he could not refuse so good a case. The Sire of
Beaumont arrived with his two equerries . ' . .
"And the combat started!" cried Denise joining her hands.
"Poor Jocelyn ! Alone against three !"
"He was strong enough to overcome them. Unfortunately,
however, at the very start of the action one of the combatants
dealt him such a furious blow from behind with a mace on the
head that Jocelyn's casque was broken. He fell from his horse
unconscious . . . and when he awoke he.found himself half
naked lying on straw, and aching at every limb at the bottom of a
dungeon."
"Poor Jocelyn !" said Marguerite. "That dungeon, no doubt,
was some prison cell in the castle of Beaumont, whither our
wounded friend was transported after the combat, stripped of his
arms and in a dying condition ?"
"Yes, dear Marguerite; and Jocelyn remained in that cell,
a prey to a devouring fever, until his recent release."
"How he must have suffered I But, uncle, how did our poor
friend manage to come out ?"
"A few days after taking Jocelyn prisoner, the Sire of Beau-
mont departed with his men to fight the English. Whether he
was killed or captured at the rout of Poitiers is not known.
But two days ago the Sire of Beaumont's castle was attacked and
taken by the troop of a certain Captain Griffith."
THE IRON T REVET. 109
"That horrible adventurer, who pushed forward as far as St.
Cloud and gave us such a fright?" asked Denise. "I remember
you left the city at the head of the militia, ran against and
forced him to retreat. Good Godl In what hands did poor
Jocelyn fall !"
"Be not alarmed, dear child! By a singular accident our
friend has had only cause to praise the adventurer. That sav-
age and eccentric warrior seems sometimes to yield to generous
impulses. After having, according to their wont, sacked the
castle of Beaumont, massacred the men and violated the women,
the band delved down into the subterranean passages in quest of
booty. Thus they came to Jocelyn's dungeon, broke his chains
and lead him to Captain Griffith, who on that day happily hap-
pened to be in a good humor. He cross-questioned our friend,
and no doubt struck by his brave and robust appearance, despite
all his sufferings, made him an offer to enlist in his company.
Jocelyn declined. Griffith, who was half in his cups, then
ordered Jocelyn to be furnished with clothes and two florins,
and, alluding to our friend's thinness said to him : 'When you
shall have regained some meat on your bones you will prove a
rude customer; if I again run across you I should be pleased to
break a lance with you. You are free. Go! And my patron
saint, the Devil, be good to you I"
"That Griffith is a dreadful bandit 1" repeated Denise. "And
yet I cannot but feel thankful to him for having liberated
Jocelyn."
"And then," put in Marguerite, "our friend proceeded straight
back to Paris?"
"Yes," answered Marcel sadly, ."here another and unexpected
sorrow awaited him."
"Oh!" said Denise, "his father's death? It must have been
a severe blow to him !"
"Yes ; the blow was severe. Picture to yourself what he must
have felt. On his arrival, he hastened joyfully to the house
of our old friend Lebrenn, the bookseller. There he first learned
no rHE IRON TREVET.
of his loss . . . He spent the whole of yesterday and the
night in solitude and mourning. This morning he came to sco
me at the town hall. This evening we shall be at least able to
offer him the consolation of a tried friendship."
Agnes the Bigot came in at this juncture and handed to Marcel
a small gold medal enameled in green and bearing the letters
"C" and "N," surmounted by a crown. "A man/' she an-
nounced, "wrapped up to the nose in a cloak and whose eyes
are barely visible, is in the shop ; he wishes to see Master Mar-
cel without delay ; he handed me the medal with orders to bring
it to you/'
Marcel was visibly surprised at the sight of the medal, and said
to his wife: "Dear Marguerite, I shall not be able to enjoy even
the short hour of rest that I promised mysel. Leave me alone
now. Go down with Denise. Jocelyn cannot now be long
coming. Do not stay supper for me" ; and turning to Agnes the
Bigot : "Lead the man upstairs."
"Marcel," said Marguerite uneasily, while the servant with-
drew to execute her master's orders, "you are fatigued, and will
you not take even time enough for a meal ?"
"In a few minutes, when I go down again, I shall take a few
mouthfuls before leaving."
"What! Another night!"
"I convoked a night meeting to the convent of the Cordeliers,"
explained Marcel, assuming a serious expression; "the funeral
of Perin Mace may be the signal for transcend ant happenings.
We must be ready for all eventualities "
The provost did not finish the sentence, seeing the closely
cloaked man appear at the door led by Agnes. Marguerite left
feeling all the more alarmed, the unfinished words of her husband
having recalled to her mind the recent conversation with
Petronille Maillart. After the departure of the two women, the
stranger, first making certain that the door was closed, removed
his cloak and threw it on a chair. The man, extremely small of
stature, twenty-five years at the most, and dressed plainly in a
THE IRON TREVET. m
buff jacket, was of distinguished and regular features ; yet despite
the gracefulness of his carriage, the affability of his manners and
the almost caressing melody of his voice, there lingered a sardonic
and insidious leer in his smile that betrayed the wickedness of his
soul and the perversity of his heart. More and more concerned
by the man's presence, Marcel seemed to accept his visit as one of
those disagreeable duties that men in public life must frequently
submit to ; nevertheless his icy attitude and his look of suspicion
fully revealed the aversion he entertained for his caller, to whom
he said : "I did not expect to receive this evening the King of
Navarre in my house."
Charles the Wicked that was the man's well deserved nick-
name answered with a smile and with his insinuating voice,
that most perfidious of all his charms : "Do not kings pay each
other mutual visits? What is there surprising in that Charles,
King of Navarre, should pay a visit to Marcel, King of the
people of Paris ? We are sovereigns, both of us."
"Sire," answered Marcel impatiently, "please to state the pur-
pose of your visit. What do you wish of me ? No useless words !"
"You are short of speech."
"Shortness is the language of business. Moreover, it is well to
measure the words one utters in your presence."
"Do you, then, continue to mistrust me ?"
"Always, more than ever."
"I love frankness."
"Come, to the point, direct, and without mental reservation."
For a moment Charles the Wicked remained silent; then
boldly fixing his viper's eyes upon the provost, he answered,
slowly weighing each word :
"What do I wish, Marcel? I wish to be King of the French
. . . This astonishes you !"
"No," answered the provost with a coolness that stupefied
Charles the Wicked ; "sooner or later you were bound to make the
disclosure."
112 THE IRON T REVET.
"You foresaw things from a great distance . . . How
long is it since you foresaw it ?"
"Since I saw your creature Robert le Coq, Bishop of Laon,
throw himself with ardor on the side of the popular party, and
show himself one of the most violent enemies of King John,
whose daughter you married "
"Nevertheless, if my memory does not fail me, you made good
use of the influence of the Bishop of Laon in the States General
to induce them to accept your famous ordinance of reforms."
"I use any instrument that aids me in doing good."
"And then you break it ?"
"If necessary. But Robert le Coq is too subtle to be broken.
Nevertheless, despite his finesse, I have penetrated his secret
motives."
"And that is?"
"The people of Paris have with their keen eyes and tongues
surnamed the Bishop of Laon 'a two-edged dirk ;' the people, Sire,
are right. By showing himself so hostile to King John, your
father-in-law, and afterwards so hostile to the Regent, your broth-
er-in-law, the Bishop of Laon played a double game. He aimed,
with the aid of the popular party, to first of all dethrone the
reigning dynasty; and then ... to give the crown to you.
That is the reason, Sire, why I am not taken by surprise at your
admission that you wish to be King of the French."
"What do you think of my pretensions ?"
"Your chances are fair of mounting the throne. I am ready
to admit that."
"With your help, Marcel?"
"I might enter into your projects."
"Is that true !" cried the King of Navarre, unable to conceal
his joy ; but after a short moment's reflection, and casting upon
the provost a defiant look, he presently proceeded : "Marcel, you
are laying a trap for me ... I know how and more than
once you have expressed yourself regarding me. Your words were
extremely severe."
THE IRON TREVET. 113
"Sire, you are called Charles the Wicked. I hold the name fits
you. But you are active, subtle, venturesome ; you command num-
erous armed bands; your partisans are powerful; your wealth
considerable. You are a force, that, at a given moment, may be
useful. For that reason I caused your release from prison where
your father-in-law kept you locked up."
"So that I, Charles, King of Navarre, am to be merely an in-
strument in the hands of Marcel, the cloth merchant/' 3
"Sire, you have your views; I have mine, and I shall express
them to you. The Regent, hypocritic and stubborn, mocks at his
oaths. He signed and promulgated the reform ordinances ; he em-
braced me in tears, calling me his good father ; he swore by God
and all the saints that he desired the welfare of the people and
that he would loyally adhere to the great measures decreed by the
national assembly. The Regent has broken all his promises. His
ruse, his well calculated indolence, his ill will, the increasing
audacity of the court and the nobility, who rule supreme in their
domains, either hamper or prevent the execution of the new
edicts. The Regent is secretly inciting the jealousy of a large
number of communal cities against Paris, that, as they put it, Ms
seeking to govern Gaul'. The nobility in its deliberate inaction,
and sheltered by its fortified castles, allows the English to ex-
tend their depredations to the very gates of Paris. The royal
false money continues to ruin commerce and to destroy credit.
Finally, only two days ago, the Regent's favorite caused a
bourgeois of Paris to be mutilated and executed under our very
eyes, thereby proclaiming the contempt of the court for the laws
enacted by the States General. The plan of the court is simple :
to tire out the country by disasters : to render impossible the good
results that were justly expected from the national assembly, a
popular government where the King is no longer master but
servant: finally, the court expects that one of these days it can
tell the people, whose sufferings will havo become intolerable
by these machinations: 'Ye people, behold the fruit of your
rebellion. In lieu of having remained submissive, as in the
114 THE IRON T REVET.
past, to the sovereign authority of your kings, you have wished
to reign, yourselves, by sending your deputies to the States
General; you now pay the penalty of your audacity. May this
rough lesson prove to you once more that princes are born to
command and the people to obey. And now, pay your taxes and
resume your secular yoke with humble repentance' !"
"So help me God ! You could not have been better instructed
upon the projects of my brother-in-law and his councilors if you
had attended their secret meetings ! And if they triumph, would
you despair?"
"Despair ? For the present, Sire ; but I would remain full of
hope in the future. The conquest of freedom is as assured as
it is slow, laborious and painful ... I do not even now
despair of the present. I propose to make a last attempt with
the Regent."
"And if you fail, will you come to me ?"
"Between two evils, Sire, one is forced to choose the lesser."
"In short, you believe you will find in me what the Regent
lacks?"
"You have an immense advantage over him. You wish to be-
come King of the French, while the Regent is that by birth."
"Do you forget my royalty of Navarre?"
"To speak truly, I did forget it, Sire . . . just as you
forget it for the crown of France. As I was saying, a King
by the right of birth looks upon all reform as an encroachment
upon his power . . . You, on the contrary, look upon the
reforms as a means whereby to usurp power. Now, then, how-
ever perfidious, however wicked you, Charles the Wicked, may
be, I dare you to fail to announce your access to the throne
and that in your own interest by great and useful measures
to the public welfare. That much would be gained . . .
later, we shall see ... "
"And throw me down ?"
"I shall work to that end, Sire, with all my powers, the
moment you turn from the straight path. You are forewarned,"
THE IRON TREVET. 115
"And, Master Marcel, you would destroy your own work
without scruple?"
"Without scruple! Moreover, better so than as it happened
with the first and second dynasties when the stewards of the
royal palace or the large feudal seigneurs dethroned the kings
and changed dynasties."
"And who would then accomplish the rough task? I would
like to know the artisan."
"The people, Sire! . . . That people, still in its infancy
and credulous, must learn that at its breath it can waft away
the sovereign masters who impose themselves upon it by force
and cunning, and whom the church consecrated. Some day,
this very century perhaps, that people will come of age; it will
realize the ruinous and superfluousness of the royal power.
But that day is not yet. In our days, the people, ignorant
and enslaved to habit, would wish to crown a new master the
moment they overthrow an old one. They rely on princes.
You, Sire, are one of these predestined beings. You can even
pretend to reign over Gaul by virtue of one of your ancestors,
who was himself "deprived of the crown for the benefit of his
cousin Philip of Valois, the father of King John. It is, ac 4
cordingly, not impossible that you may some day reign over
France ... a deplorable possibility . . . yet tangible
enough !"
"You must have courage to speak that wise to me."
"Instead of telling you the truth, I would otherwise be basely
flattering you, whose first thought, if to-morrow you are King,
would be to rid yourself of me. I indulge in no illusions on
that head."
"Rid myself of you, who would have served me !"
"For that very reason! My presence would be a constant
reminder of your debt. But thait matters not. Whether I
die to-day or to-morrow, whether you be king or not, whether
or not my last effort with the Regent fail, whether the court
party triumph or is now vanquished whatever may happen,
u6 THE IRON T REVET.
the future belongs to the popular party even if the present
may slip. Yes; whatever people may do, the ordinance of
the reforms of 1356 and the sovereign act of the national as-
sembly in this generation will leave imperishable traces be-
hind them. I have sowed too hastily, some say, and they add,
*a slow crop follows a hasty planting.' Be it so! But I have
sowed. The seed is in the earth. Sooner or later the future
will gather the crop. My task is done. I can die. And now,
Sire, I sum up : If I fail in my last attempt with the Kegent,
I shall take recourse with you. You will be first appointed
captain-general of Paris ... it will be your first step
towards the throne . . . We shall then take measures to
lead things to a happy issue, according to our device."
"My first words on coming in were : 'Marcel, I wish to be King
of the French/ I had my project. I renounce it to join
yours," said Charles the Wicked resuming his cloak. "You
are one of those inflexible men who can not be convinced any
more than they can be corrupted. I shall not seek to change
your views concerning me, nor yet to purchase your alliance.
However dangerous it may be to me, I accept it as you offer
it. I return to St. Denis to await the event. In case my
presence shall be necessary in Paris, write to me and I shall
come. I only demand of you absolute secrecy on this inter-
view."
"Our common interests demand secrecy."
"Adieu, Marcel ! May God prosper you."
"Adieu, Sire !"
Enveloping himself anew up to his eyes, the King of Navarre
left the provost. The latter followed him with his eyes, and
after the departure of Charles the Wicked said to himself:
"Fatal necessity ! To have to aid in the elevation of this man !
And yet it may be necessary! The change of dynasty may
help me to save Gaul, should the Kegent wreck to-morrow
my last hope . . . Yes, Charles the Wicked, with the view
of usurping and keeping the crown, will be compelled to enter
THE IRON TREVET. 117
the wide path of the reforms that alone can lighten the weight
now crushing the townsmen and above all the peasantry. Oh,
poor rustic plebs, so patient in your secular martyrdom! Oh,
poor Jaques Bonhomme, as the nobility in its insolent haughti-
ness loves to call you, your day of deliverance is approaching!
For the first time united in a common cause with the bour-
geoisie, the people of the towns, when you will stand erect,
Jaques Bonhomme, in arms as your brothers of the towns,
we shall see whether this Charles the Wicked 3 however exe-
crable a man he may be, will dare to deviate from the path
that he is ordered to march I"
A bell rang and recalled Marcel from his reverie. "I shall
have barely time to reach the convent of the Cordeliers, in
order to prepare our friends for to-morrow's measures . . .
terrible measures! . . . yet as legitimate as the law of
retaliation . . . supreme and unavoidable law in such
gloomy days as these, when violence can be opposed and overcome
with violence only! Oh! Let the blood fall upon the heads
of those who, having driven the people to extremities, have by
their conduct provoked these impious struggles !"
Saying this, Marcel descended the stairs to take his leave
from his wife, his niece and Jocelyn the Champion, who, at
the invitation of the provost was then taking supper with his
family, and, gathered around the table, presented a charming
picture of peace and good will,
CHAPTER VI.
AT THE CORDELIERS.
After taking some rest at Rufin's lodging, William Caillet
accompanied his host to the convent of the Cordeliers, where a
large crowd was gathering, greedy to hear Marcel's address. The
Cordeliers, a poor monastic order that aroused the profound
enviousness of the high and splendidly endowed clergy, had
ranked themselves on the side of the people against the court.
The large hall of their convent was the habitual place for the
holding of large popular mass meetings. Acquainted with the
brother who attended the gate, Ruf in received from him permis-
sion to speak with Marcel in the refectory which he would have
to cross on the way to the hall where he was to address the people.
The spacious hall, walled and vaulted with stone, and lighted only
by the lamps that burned on a sort of tribune situated at one of
its extremities, was packed with a dense and impatient crowd, on
the front ranks alone of which fell the light of the lamps; the
deeper ranks, and in the measure that they stood further and
further away from the lighted platform, remained in a semi-
obscurity,, that deepened into complete darkness at the other end
of the hall. The audience consisted of bourgeois and artisans,
a large number of whom wore head covers of red and blue, the
colors adopted by the popular party, and brooches with the device
"To a happy issue."
The two funerals that had taken place during the day, and
both the contrast and significance of which were so obvious, form-
ed the subject of conversation with the seething mass. The
least clearsighted among them foresaw a decisive crisis and an
inevitable conflict between the court and the people, represented
respectively by the Regent and Marcel. Accordingly, the ar-
THE IRON TREVET. 119
rival of the latter was awaited with as much impatience as
anxiety. A few minutes later Marcel entered by a door near the
platform, accompanied by several councilmen, John Maillart
among them. Jocelyn the Champion, Eufin the Tankard-smash-
er and William Caillet brought up the rear. The last of these
had just enjoyed a long conversation with Marcel and Jocelyn.
Enthusiastic cheers greeted Marcel and the councilmen. The
former mounted the platform followed by all the councilmen,
except Maillart who remained below, and took seats behind the
speaker. In the midst of profound silence, Marcel said :
"My friends, the hour is critical. Let us indulge neither in
faint-heartedness nor in illusions. The regent and the court
have dropped the mask. This morning, to our solemn protest
against the iniquitous and sanguinary act that in defiance of law
smote Perrin Mace, the court answered by following the hearse
of John Baillet. This is a challenge . . . Let us take up the
gauge ! Let us make ready for battle."
"Aye ! Aye !" came the thundering response from the audience.
"The Eegent and his courtiers shall not make us retreat."
"For a moment frightened by the firmness of the national as-
sembly", Marcel proceeded, "the Eegent 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 Eegent, to rule the whole country wisely and paternal-
ly, 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 wo
wanted; and that is just what the Eegent and the court resist
energetically."
"Blood and death !" cried Maillart in a loud voice, rising from
120 THE IRON TREVET.
his scat 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 Mace, moved about
saying : "Hein, my friends, what an intrepid man is this Master
Maillart ! He speaks only of blood and massacre ! Master Mar-
cel, on the contrary, seems always afraid to compromise him-
self. It does not surprise me ; it is said he has secretly embraced
the side of the court."
"Marcel . . . betray the people of Paris !" answered sev-
eral 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? No-
THE IRON TREVET. 121
body! Who represents their intersets 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 mis-
taken. 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 in-
dignation. 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 af-
fianced 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. "Ex-
ecrable shame !"
"And this execrable shame are we not the accomplices of by
allowing our brothers to remain subject to it?" cried Marcal
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 con-
sented to a money indemnity. Caillet sells his only property,
a milch-cow, and gives the money to Mazurec, who, with bounding
122 THE IRON TREVET.
joy, proceeds to the cnstle 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. '0, 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 ?
Xo ! 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
THE IRON TREVET. 123
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 there-
upon 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, be-
lieved 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 Eegent
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 re-
mained shut in my face. The audacity of our enemies proceeds
124 THE IRON TREVET.
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 mat-
ters 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 be-
tween 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
THE IRON T REVET. 125
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 con-
tempt he entertains for us! John Maillart is quite another
friend of the people ! Long live John Maillart !"
CHAPTEE VII.
POPULAK 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 glided rafters and magnificently fur-
nished. 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 Mace,
is conversing in a low voice with Robert, marshal of Cham-
pagne, 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
THE IRON TREVET. 127
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 astonish-
ment. 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 bour-
geois annoys you, Sire, follow the advice I have so often given
you! Have Marcel and his councilmen hanged as I hanged
Perrin Mace ! 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!"
"Haillart! Allow hot 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 Nor-
mandy, 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 al-
128 THE IRON T REVET.
most 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 I" said the young man shrugging his shoulders.
He then relapsed into silence, and presently repeated : "Let the
vessel be ready this evening."
The Kegent's favorites were too well acquainted with the
youth's stubbornness and profound powers of dissimulation to en-
deavor 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 Plour-
THE IRON T REVET. 129
nel, 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 Eegent, 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 thou-
sand 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/ "
130 THE IRON TREVET.
"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 dis-
asters !" 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 pene-
trated 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,
THE IRON TREVET. 131
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 I"
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 com-
municated 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 cur-
tains 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 Con-
rad of Nointel and his friend, having slid themselves near the
second door that led to another apartment, prudently took them-
selves off.
When he presented himself at the threshold of the royal cham-
ber, 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
ij3 THE IRON T REVET.
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 consulta-
tion with his courtiers, the Regent gradually regained com-
posure 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 "
"To the point," broke in the Regent impatiently. "What do
you want? Speak!"
"Sire! The people demand, first of all the loyal enforce-
ment of the reform ordinances which you have signed and
promulgated."
"You are called the King of Paris," answered the Regent with
a caustic smile ; "well, then, rule ! . . . Save the country !"
"Sire! The voice of the national assembly has been heard
in Paris and in some other large towns. But your partisans and
your officers, sovereign in their seigniories or in the domains
which they govern in your name, have banded themselves to
THE IRON TREVET. 133
prevent the execution of the laws upon which the safety of
Gaul depends. Such a state of things must promptly cease,
Sire ! . . . Aye, very promptly. The people so wills it."
The Regent turned to the group of prelates and seigneurs at
the head of whom stood the Marshal of Normandy; a hurried
council was again held by the courtiers who hastened around
their chief; and then returning to the provost, the Regent
answered haughtily : "Is that your only grievance ? Let's hear
the rest!!"
"We have imperative demands."
"What else do you want ?"
"An act of justice and reparation, Sire! Perrin Mace, a
bourgeois of Paris, has been mutilated and then put to death
in defiance of right and of law by the order of some of your
courtiers. . . The seigneur who ordered the execution of an
innocent man must be sentenced to death! It is the law of
retaliation."
"By the cross of the Saviour !" cried the Eegent. "You dare
come and demand of me the condemnation and execution of the
marshal of Normandy, my best friend !"
"That man is causing your ruin with his detestable advice.
He shall expiate his crime."
"Impudent scamp !" cried out the marshal of Normandy in
a fit of rage, threatening Marcel with his sword. "You have the
audacity to make charges against me !"
"Not another word!" ordered the Regent interrupting his
favorite and beckoning him to lower his sword. "It is for me
to answer in this place. I order you, Master Marcel, to leave
this place, and upon the spot!"
"Sire !" answered the provost with patronizing commisera-
tion, "you are young, my hairs are grey . . . Your age is
impetuous, mine is calm ... I therefore have the right and
the duty to lecture to you. I beseech you in the name of the
country, in the name of your crown, to loyally fulfill your prom-
134 ,.THE IRON TREVET.
ises, and, however painful it may seem to you, to ^rant ilie
reparation tliat 1 demand in the name of justice. Prove in that
manner that, when the law is audaciously violated, you punish
the guilty, whatever his rank . . . Sire ! It is still time for
you to listen to the voice of equity ! "
"And I tell you, Master Marcel," yelled the Eegent furious-
ly, "that it is time, high time, to put an end to your insolent re-
quests ! Be gone, instantly !"
"Away with this varlet in rebellion against his King/' cried
the courtiers, like the Regent re-assured and deceived by the
attitude of Marcel's armed escort, that remained mute and mo-
tionless, and turning to them the marshal of Normandy called
out: "As to you, good people of Paris, who now regret the
criminal errand on which this bedeviled rebel has brought you
despite yourselves, join us, the true friends of your King, in
punishing the treason of this miserable Marcel . . . Let his
blood fall upon himself !"
The provost smothered a sigh of regret, stepped back a few
paces so as to place himself beyond the reach of the marshal's
sword, turned to his people and said : "Carry out the orders that
brought you here."
These words were hardly uttered when Marcel's armed men,
anxious to make amends for the silence and prolonged restraint
imposed upon them by his orders, burst loose in an explosion of
cries of indignation and of threats that struck the Regent and
his courtiers with stupor and consternation. Rufin the Tankard-
Emasher bolted upon the marshal of Normandy, seized him
by the collar and cried : "You had Perrin Mace mutilated and
hanged ; now you shall be hanged ! The gibbet is ready !"
"And this for you, caitiff," responded the marshal, quick as
lightning transfixing the student's left arm with a thrust of his
sword. "The cord that is to hang me is not yet twisted."
"No, but the iron that will smash you to death is forged,
my noble gentleman," answered the student dealing with his
mace a furious blow upon the marshal's head, "I have been
THE IRON TREVET. 135
Rufin the Tankard-smasher ; now I am Rufin the Head-smasher 1"
The student spoke true. The marshal's skull was crushed ; he
fell and expired at the Regent's feet bestaining with his blood
the latter's robe. During the tumult that ensued, the marshal
of Champagne rushed at Marcel dagger in hand. But William
Caillet, who had all the while been seeking with burning eyes
for the Sire of Nointel from among the brilliant bevy of cour-
tiers, threw himself in front of the provost ahead of Jocelyn,
who had darted forward with the same intention, and the old
peasant thrust his pike into the bowels of the marshal. The
corpse of the courtier rolled upon the floor. Popular vengeance
was taken.
The other seigneurs and prelates, who had run to the royal
chamber, fled back distracted by the door that had admitted
them. When the Regent, who, fainting with terror, had crouched
back upon the bed with his face hidden in his hands, looked up
again, he found himself alone with Marcel and not far from the
prostrate corpses of his two councilors. Marcel's armed men had
slowly departed through the gallery together with Caillet, while
Jocelyn was engaged near a window in bandaging with his hand-
kerchief the wound of the student.
Finally, protruding under the drapery of the bed behind which
he had held himself all the while motionless as a mouse, the feet
were seen of the seigneur of Norville, who had lacked even the
strength to flee.
"Mercy, Master Marcel !" cried the Regent, trembling with
fear and throwing himself at Marcel's feet with arms out-
stretched in supplication and his face in tears. "Do not kill
me ; have pity upon me, my good father ! Mercy !"
"We have no thought of killing you," Marcel answered, pain-
fully touched by the suspicion; and stooping down to raise the
Regent added: "May my name be accursed if such a crime
ever entered my mind ! Fear not, Sire ! Rise ! The people of
Paris are good/'
136 THE IRON TREVET.
"Oh, my good father! I beg your pardon on my knees
for having ignored your wise counsels and listened to bad ad-
visers." Breaking out into sobs, the young prince added,
wringing his hands in despair : "Oh, good God ! Alone and so
young to be far away from my father, who is held a prisoner,
is it any fault of mine if I placed confidence in the men around
me?" The Regent's eyes fell upon the corpses of the two mar-
shals. In heart-rending accents he proceeded : "There they are,
the men who misled me ! They loved me ! They knew me since
my cradle! But, like myself, they were blind in their error.
Oh, good father! Reproach me not for weeping over the fate
of these unfortunate men. It is my last adieu to them," and still
on his knees, the Regent crouched lower, his face in his hands and
continued sobbing with rage, not repentance.
Although . long made acquainted by experience with the Re-
gent's profound duplicity a degree of duplicity almost in-
credible at so tender an age Marcel was deceived by what seemed
the sincerity of the young man's distressful accent. His touch-
ing prayer, his tears, the sorrow which he did not fear to express
at the death of his two councilors all combined to induce the
belief that, frightened by the terrible reprisals that had taken
place under his own eyes, the Regent was sincerely contrite at
his errors, and that, convinced at last regarding his own in-
terests, which commanded him to break with the evil past, he
now really desired to march on the straight path. Marcel con-
gratulated himself on the happy change, and said to Jocelyn in
a low voice: "Order our people away from the gallery. Let
them leave the palace and assemble under the large window
of the Louvre. You and Rufin may stay with me. I shall take
the Regent out of this chamber. The sight of the corpses is too
painful to him."
Jocelyn and the student executed the orders of Marcel.
Crouching on the floor the Regent did not cease moaning and
sobbing. The seigneur of Norville left his hiding place without
THE IRON TREVET. 137
being noticed by the prince, and approaching him on tip-toe whis-
pered in his ear : "Sire, the most faithful of all your servitors
is happy of having braved a thousand dangers and deaths sooner
than to leave you alone with these bandits and rebels. Allow
me, my noble and dear master, to help you to rise."
The Regent obeyed mechanically, and noticing that Marcel,
who was just giving his instructions to Jocelyn and Rufin, could
neither see nor hear him, he whispered back to Norville : "Do
not leave me. Watch for a moment when I can speak to you
without being seen by anybody" ; observing thereupon that Mar-
cel was again approaching, while the champion and Rufin both
left the room, he uttered a piteous moan, turned to the corpses
of the two marshals and muttered in a smothered voice : " Adieu,
oh, you who loved me and whose sad errors I shared. May God
receive you in his Paradise I"
"Come, Sire, come/' said Marcel with kindness, leading the
Regent to the gallery ; "come, lean upon me I"
The seigneur of Norville followed the prince from whom he
did not take his eyes and said to the provost in an undertone:
"Oh, Master Marcel! Be the protector, the tutor of my poor
young master . . . He always had a tender feeling for
you !"
"Now, Sire," Marcel said to the Regent after they had gone
a little way, "I place confidence in your promise ... I be-
lieve in the salutary effect of the terrible example you witnessed.
Oh, these painful extremes; but violence fatedly engenders vio-
lence! ... It now depends upon you, Sire, to prevent
the recurrence of similar acts of reprisal. Give the example of
respect for the law. All will then look to the law instead
of resorting to force, the last recourse of men when they have
vainly invoked justice! The present moment is decisive. If
you should still belie our hopes . . . our new hopes ; if un-
fortunately it should be shown to us that you are incapable or
unworthy of ruling under the watchful and severe vigilance
I3 8 THE IRON TREVET.
of the States General, elected by the nation herself, I tell you
sincerely, Sire, the people, finding their patience exhausted, and
impatient of further deceit, sufferings, disasters and misery,
might respect your life, but they would then choose another
King who shall be more thoughtful of the public weal . . .
You will then cease to reign."
"Oh, good father! Why threaten me! I am a poor young
man, and am at your mercy. Have pity upon me I"
"Sire ! I do not threaten you. . Far from me be such cruelty !
I only place things before you such as they are. It depends upon
you to help towards the public safety."
"Speak, speak, good father ... I shall obey you as a
most respectful son, I swear to you upon my salvation . . .
Moreover, you shall be my only councilor . . . Speak, what
do you order ?"
"The people are assembled before the Louvre . . . They
are informed of the death of the marshal of Normandy . . .
Show yourself at the window . . . Say a few good words
to the- crowd . . . Announce plainly your good resolves
. . . Declare that the cause of the people is above all yours
. . . and here, Sire," added Marcel, taking off his hat and
offering it to the Eegent, "as a token of our alliance, good will
and harmony, wear my hat with the popular colors. The in-
habitants of Paris will be pleased at this first proof of condescen-
sion and agreement."
"Give it to me . . . Give it to me/' the Eegent said with
avidity, hastening to don Marcel's hat of red and blue. "A friend
like you, my good father . . . only such a friend could give-
me such an advice . . . Open the window; I wish to speak
to my well beloved people of Paris," added the Eegent addressing
the seigneur of Norville, who having held himself at a distance
during the conversation of Marcel and the prince, now again
drew near as ordered. "Open the window wide," said the prince.
"Jocelyn," observed Eufin in a low voice to the champion while
the Regent, slowly moving towards the window that the seigneur
THE IRON TREVET. 139
of Norville hastened to open, seemed to be consulting Marcel,
"what do you think of the good resolutions of that youngster ?"
"Like Master Marcel, I believe him sincere. Not that I trust
in the heart of that royal stripling, but because it is to his in-
terest to follow wise counsel."
"Hm ! Hm ! To me it looks as if he is playing a comedy. A
prince's word is poor guarantee."
"Do yon imagine the Eegent is so double-faced or so foolish as
to try to deceive Master Marcel ?"
"As true as Homer is the king of rhapsodists, never was my
wench Margot about to play me some scurvy trick without she
called me her 'musk-rat/ her ^beautiful king/ her 'gold canary,'
and other names no less flattering than deceitful."
"But what connection is there between Margot and the Eegent ?
Quit your fooling !"
"Listen to me to the end. I happen to have an assignment with
her for this evening near the Louvre, on the river bank, because
by what she says, her friend Jeannette does not want to see me
at her house. Very well. I swear by Ovid, the poet beloved of
Cupid, Margot acted the gentle puss and induced me to go and
inhale the mists of the Seine simply because she had made up
her mind to go elsewhere this evening."
"Rufin, let's talk seriously !"
"Seriously, Jocelyn. I fear that the promises of the Regent
are like those of Margot ! I can assure you, much as the sword
thrust I received smarts me devilishly, I would have preferred
having pocketed one more in return for having settled the ac-
counts of that puling youngster as I did the accounts of the
marshal of Normandy."
"Come, now ! Those are excesses worthy only of John Maillart
. . . But, by the way, did he accompany us hither ?"
"No. After he had, despite all your and Marcel's entreaties,
driven a few miserable brutes to massacre Master Dubreuil when
he crossed our march on his mule, Maillart disappeared. I place
I 4 o THE IRON TREVET.
no reliance on him. Heaven and earth ! That murder was de-
plorable! The marshals of Normandy and Champagne were
enough "
"Listen !" cried Jocelyn interrupting his friend, and pointing
to the Regent, who, having advanced to the balcony, was ad-
dressing the people gathered on the street.
"Beloved inhabitants of my good city of Paris," the Regent was
saying in a moved and tearful voice, "I appear before you firmly
resolved to make amends for my wrongful conduct. I swear by
these colors that are your own, and that henceforth will be mine,"
he added, carrying his hand to the red and blue hat he wore on
his head. "The marshal of Normandy, one of my councilors, un-
justly ordered the execution of Perrin Mace, an honest bourgeois
of Paris. The marshal has just been put to death. May that
reparation satisfy you, dear and good Parisians ! Let us forget
our dissensions ; let us join in a common accord for the country's
good . . . Let us love one another! Let us help one an-
other ! I admit my errors ! Will you pardon them ? Oh, I am
so young! Evil councilors led me astray. But I shall hence-
forth have only one . . . That councilor . . . here he
is !" and the Regent, turning towards Marcel, added : "Good in-
habitants of Paris, receive this embrace which .1 now give you
from the bottom of my heart in the person of the great citizen
whom we all cherish, whom we all venerate." While pronouncing
these last words, the young prince threw himself weeping into
the arms of the provost and pressed him to his breast, the em-
brace of rulers, a mortal caress !
At the touching spectacle, the enthusiastic clamors of the
mobile and credulous mass resounded loud, and prolonged cries
of "Long live Marcel !" "Long live the Regent !" "To a happy
issue!" greeted the reconciliation as a happy augury of the
future.
Profoundly moved himself. Marcel said to the Regent upon re-
turning with him into the gallery: "Sire, full of hope and of
THE IRON TREVET. 141
confidence, the people acclaimed with their joyous cries an era
of peace, of justice, of grandeur and of prosperity. Do not shat-
ter so many hopes. Good is so easy for you to achieve ! It is so
beautiful to bequeath to posterity a glorious name, blessed by
all."
"My good father!" answered the Eegent, panting for breath,
"my eyes have been opened to the light; my heart expands
. . . I am reborn for a new life . . . You shall not leave
me to-day ; only to-night if you must . . . Let's go to work
. . . Let us jointly take prompt, energetic measures . . .
Oh! Your wishes shall be realized. . . I shall bequeath
to posterity a name blessed by all ... Come, my good
father!" and passing his arm around the neck of Marcel with
filial familiarity, the young man took a few steps with him
in the gallery towards his cabinet. But suddenly stopping, he
added in the most natural manner, as if struck by a thought:
"Oh, I forgot !" He then left Marcel and stepped back towards
the seigneur of Norville, whom he called. The latter hastened
to respond and the Eegent whispered to him: "This evening,
at nightfall, let a vessel manned with two trusty sailors be ready
for me just outside the barrier facing the postern gate of the
Louvre . . . Gather all my gold and precious stones in a
coffer, and keep yourself ready to accompany me. Prudence and
discretion !"
"Sire, rely upon me !"
"Well, Jocelyn," said Marcel to the champion during the secret
conversation of the Regent and his courtier, "you see it ...
My hopes have not been deceived . . . The lesson was ter-
rible and salutary. Return home and tell Marguerite that I
do not expect to be back until late. I wish to profit on the spot
by the young man's repentance. He and I will probably work to-
gether a part of the night."
"Pardon me. my jrood father," said the Resrent to the provost,
returning to him; "we shall doubtlessly be up late together, and
142 THE IRON TREVET.
I wished to notify the Queen that I may not see her again to-
day" ; and again placing his arm around Marcel's neck he said to
him while walking towards the cabinet: "Now, to work! Good
father, to work ! And quickly !"
Thus, followed by the seigneur of Norville, the two quitted
the gallery, from which also Jocelyn and Eufin took their de-
parture together.
''After what you have just heard," remarked the champion to
the student, "can you still entertain any doubts concerning the
Regent's sincerity ? Do you still believe he plays a comedy ?"
"Do you remember, Jocelyn, that at the University we were
in the habit of taking aim with a stone saying : 'If my stone hits,
my first wish will be realized ?' "
"Rufin !" sadly answered the champion, "since on my arrival
in Paris I learned of my father's death, I have lost my sense
of humor. As I said to you before, I say now, let us talk serious-
ly, my friend."
"I would not, my worthy Jocelyn, seem to make light of your
bereavement; and yet, out of place as my words may seem, they
are, by Jupiter, to the point ! All I shall say is this : Day be-
fore yesterday, my wench Margot gave me, with a good many
monkey tricks and pussy purrings, an assignment at the river
bank. If Margot is faithful to her promise, I shall then believe
the Regent to be sincere in his good resolves ; not before."
"The devil take the fool!" said Jocelyn impatiently and he
walked away ahead of Rufin, who pensively said to himself:
"My friend Rufin the Head smasher, you are become as much of
a fatalist as a Mohamedan I That's a shameful thing for a free
thinker I"
CHAPTER VIII.
THE HOUR HAS SOUNDED!
Marcel had not yet arrived home although night was far ad-
vanced. Marguerite, Denise and William Caillet were seated to-
gether in one of the upper chambers of the house. The two
women listened with wrapt and grief-stricken attention to the
narrative of Jocelyn who had just finished the story of Aveline
and Mazurec.
"Delivered from the dungeon in the castle of Beaumont, thanks
to the bizarre generosity of Captain Griffith," the champion was
saying, "I hastened to Paris, and at my arrival," added the young
man unable to contain his tears, "I learned of the death of my
venerated father."
"Ah ! At least he loved you with his last breath," said Denise
sharing the emotions of Jocelyn. "Your father came here almost
every day, and we only spoke of you."
"Let that thought console you, Jocelyn," observed Marguerite.
Your father considered you an exemplary son."
"I know it, Dame Marguerite ; and the thought does afford me
some consolation in my bereavement. Before dying my father
gave me a proof of the confidence he placed in my respect and af-
fection. He made an important revelation."
"On what ?" asked Marguerite.
"I told you of the profound interest that Mazurec inspired
me with, Mazurec, the husband of Caillet's daughter," answered
Jocelyn with deep emotion. "Well, then, after the last revela-
tion made by my father, I can doubt no longer that Mazurec is
my brother !"
"Are you certain?" Marguerite and Denise cried in one
voice. "That unfortunate lad, that martyr, your brother!"
144 THE IRON TREVET.
"Is it possible?" asked Caillet in turn and no less astonished.
"How do you know it?"
"When my mother died," explained Jocelyn, "I was a child
and my father quite young. One evening, some four or five
years later, as he was entering Paris, he found on the road a
young peasant woman lying on the ground unconscious and
bleeding of a wound. Moved by compassion, he raised and
carried her to a neighboring inn. The young woman regained
consciousness and informed him that she was a vassal of the
Bishop of Paris, and that, having lost her mother since early
childhood, she was then fleeing from a merciless step-mother
who that same day came near killing her. The young woman
was named Gervaise. Touched by her youth, her misfortune
and her beauty, my father apprenticed her to a washerwoman
who lived near us. He often visited his protege. Both loved
each other, and one day Gervaise informed my father that she
carried under her heart the fruit of their joint indiscretion.
My father, as an honest man, realized his duty, but being at that
season forced to leave Paris on a trip, promised Gervaise under
oath to marry her upon his return. Several weeks, a month and
two passed by and my father did not return "
"But he was a man incapable of violating a sacred promise,"
interjected Marguerite. "During the long years that we knew
your father, we learned to appreciate the straightforwardness of
his nature and the goodness of his heart. Undoubtedly some
serious accident must have kept him away."
"Almost at the end of his journey, my father was attacked
by a band of highwaymen. He was robbed, wounded and left
for dead on the road."
"And that prevented him from communicating with Ger-
vaise?"
"He was picked up and for a long time he languished between
life and death. The unhappy woman thought herself deserted.
THE IRON TREVET. 145
The consequences of her error began to betray her weakness.
A prey to shame and despair she left Paris !"
"Her condition should have earned the sympathy of people."
"Barely convalescent, my father hastened to write to Ger-
vaise announcing his speedy return. But when he arrived she
had disappeared. Despite all the inquiries that he instituted, he
never succeeded in finding her again. Her disappearance was a
great sorrow to him, and remorse haunted him the rest of his
days. Such was his confession in a letter that he wrote to me
shortly before his death, and in which he conjured me, if by
some accident, impossible to foresee, I should meet Gervaise or
her child, i/o atone for the injury that he had involuntarily done
to both."
"And thus, thanks to a strange coincidence," observed Mar-
guerite, "you now feel certain that the unhappy Mazurec, whose
distressing story you have told us, is indeed your brother?"
"I can have no doubt. After leaving Paris, Gervaise arrived
in Beauvoisis begging for her bread, shortly before giving birth
to Mazurec, and he himself told me that his mother's name was
Gervaise ; that she was blonde ; that her eyes were black, and that
she had a little scar above the left eyebrow. The description
corresponds exactly with that which my father left me of tha
poor creature. The scar came from a blow that she received
from her step-mother. Finally, by naming her son Mazurec,
one of my father's names, the poor woman furnished the last
link to the chain of evidence."
"Your father was at least saved a bitter sorrow," remarked
Denise sadly, "of never having learned the horrible fate of Ger-
vaise's son."
Steps were at that moment heard mounting the stairs. Mar-
guerite listened attentively, and quickly rising and stepping to
the door exclaimed : "It is Marcel ! God be praised !" and turn-
ing '"n a low voice to Denise who had followed her: "I could
146 THE IRON TREVE1 .
hardly conceal my uneasiness; my husband's late absence was
seriously alarming me. May God be praised for his return !"
The provost entered, and after answering the tender caresses
of his wife and niece, said to them : "I suppose you think I am
tired of the night at work with the Regent, yet never have I
felt so easy in mind and so light of heart. Happiness is such a
sweet recreation ! I was profoundly happy to see that young man
return to the path of duty and equity as if by enchantment,
and express regret at his errors, and promise to atone for them.
Well was I in the right to say that we must never despair of
youth."
"Then, my friend," asked Marguerite, "the Regent did not
deceive your last hopes?"
"He went beyond them. We have just taken prompt and
energetic measures looking to the realization of the just and
fruitful reforms that were enacted last year by the national
assembly. We shall now appeal to the nation's courage and de-
votion to put an end to the disastrous war with the English.
We are to call, not upon the nobility only, but upon the whole
people peasants, townsmen and artisans to take up arms in
this holy war. That great triumph is to be the signal for the
deliverance of our rustic brothers/' added Marcel reaching out his
hand to Caillet. "Yes, those who will have gloriously vanquished
and chased away the enemy, having become free men by their
victory, are for ever after to be free from the tyranny of the
seigneurs who have not even known how to protect our native
country. Oh, my friend, how many agonies and sufferings
does not that hope wipe off from my heart and mind ! The
hope of seeing Gaul at last victorious and free, peaceful and
prosperous !"
"Master Marcel ! Treason ! . . . Treason !" suddenly re-
sounded from a voice rushing up the stairs. The provost held
THE IRON TREVET. 147
his breath, all others in the chamber trembled with fear, and
Eufin the Tankard-smasher rushed in breathless, repeating:
"Treason ! . . . Master Marcel, treason !"
"Who betrays?" cried Jocelyn. "Speak!"
"Do you remember this morning at the Louvre?" answered
Rufin. "I told you then that if Margot, my wench, keeps the
appointment she made with me, I shall then believe in the sin-
cerity of the Regent, but not before !"
"Young man," put in Marcel with severity, seeing his wife
and niece blush at the amorous confidences of the student, "is
it for the purpose of cracking bad jokes that you have come to
alarm my household?"
"The news I bring will be an apology, Master Marcel," re-
spectfully answered Rufin mopping his forehead that streamed
with perspiration ; "the Regent has fled from Paris . . "
"The Regent has fled !" cried Marcel stupefied. "Impossible !
It is hardly half an hour since I was with him."
"And that is less time than he needed to descend from the
Louvre, to go out by the postern gate that opens upon the river
outside of the barrier and to jump upon a skiff that was waiting
for him !"
"You are dreaming!" replied Jocelyn, while Marcel seemed
thunderstruck, unable to understand what he heard. "You are
dreaming, my gay Rufin, or you have just left some tavern
the fumes of whose wine have upset your mind."
"By Bacchus, the god of wine, and by Morpheus, the god of
slumbers!" cried the student, "I am as certain that I am wide
awake as that I am not drunk! I saw the Regent with my
two eyes step into the vessel, and with my two ears I heard tho
Regent say to the friend who accompanied him: 'I leave this
accursed town, and I swear not to set foot in it again until Mar-
cel, the councilmen and the other chiefs of rebels shall have
paid with their heads for their insolent audacity and for the
revolt of these accursed Parisians.' Is that clear enough?
148 THE IRON TREVET
Moreover, would I dare come here and tell yarns to Master
Marcel, whom I admire and respect as much as any one could ?
And above all when, in the teeth of the privileges of the Uni-
versity, he had me housed at the Chatelet, together with my chum
Nicholas the Thin-skinned because of the racket we made one
night on the street?" Noticing that despite certain irrelevant
details of his report, the people in the chamber began to attach
faith to his words, Kufin continued, while Marcel seemed racked
with painful astonishment and a prey to overpowering indigna-
tion: "As I was telling you, I had an assignation with my
wench Margot, on the river bank, outside the barriers. Tired
of waiting in vain for this fallacious creature, I was about to
leave when I perceived a lighted lantern on the other side
of the barrier and just under the postern of the Louvre. Know-
ing as well as anybody that the vaulted corridor of that issue
runs out on one of the stairs of the large tower, a suspicion
flashed through my mind. The night was silent. At the risk
of drowning and of going to Pluto to meet Margot, only this
time on the borders of the Styx, I reached the stairs by clamber-
ing along the poles and the chain of the barriers. At that mo-
ment the bearer of the lantern, who must have meant to make
sure that the vessel was there, re-entered the palace. I slid
along the wall of the Louvre up to the postern and there,
screened by the gate which was left open, I soon heard a voice
saying : 'Come, come, Sire ; the vessel and the two boats are near
the shore.' At which the Regent answered in the way I have
just stated to Master Marcel 'I leave the accursed town, and I
swear not to set foot in it again until Mjarcel, the councilmen
and the other chiefs of rebels shall have paid with their heads
for their insolent audacity and for the revolt of these accursed
Parisians.' The Regent and his companion marched quietly to
the bank of the river, and soon the sound of oars told me
that the boat was leaving rapidly. It vanished in the darkness
of the night." Turning to Jocelyn with a triumphant air, tho
THE IRON TREVET. 149
student remarked: "Well, what did I tell you this morning?
You took me for a fool ! And now you see the Regent has
fled from Paris threatening the inhabitants with vengeance ! By
the bowels of the Pope! The belief in fatalism is a great
thing!"
Learning that Marcel was now running fresh dangers, Mar-
guerite exchanged glances of anxiety with Denise, while seeking
to conceal her alarm from her husband lest she increased his
worries. On the other hand, foreseeing that the Regent's trea-
son would hasten the uprising of the rustic serfs, Caillet shrugged
his shoulders with sinister gladness. Finally, Marcel, with his
arms crossed upon his breast, his head lowered, his lips contracted
with a bitter smile, broke the silence with these words uttered
deliberately: "When we parted the Eegent said to me: 'My
good father, I beseech you, go and take a little rest; night is
falling; I desire to-morrow early to renew our work with fresh
ardor. Go and take rest, my good father, and you will enjoy
as much as myself the restful sleep that will come to us from
knowledge of having done right/ Such were the last words T
had from that young man/'
"Oh, Marcel/' said Marguerite, "how will you not regret the
confidence you placed in him !"
"Let us never regret having had faith in the repentence of a
man. If we do, we shall become merciless. Moreover, there are
treasons so black and monstrous that in order to suspect them
one must be almost capable of committing them." After another
short interval of contemplative silence Marcel resumed: "I
hoped to save Gaul fresh bloodshed ! Vain hope ! That unhappy
fool wants war ! How much is he not to be pitied for being so
ill-advised !"
"You pity him!" cried Marguerite; "and yet his last words
threatened you with death !"
"Dear wife; if my head were all that was at stake, I would
not enter into a terrible struggle to preserve it. I have achieved
ISO THE IRON TREVET.
things that sooner or later will bear fruit. My share in this
world has been handsome and large. I am ready to quit life.
It is not my head that I would dispute to the Regent, it is the
lives of our councilmen, it is the lives of a mass of our fellow
townsmen, all of them menaced by the merciless revenge of the
court ! What I wish to defend is our freedom so dearly bought
by our fathers; what I wish to secure is the enfranchisement
of those millions of serfs who are driven to extremities by the
tyranny of the seigneurs. Finally, what I aim at is the welfare
of Gaul, to-day exhausted and moribund ! The dice are cast.
The Eegent and seigneurs want war! They shall have war!
. . . a terrible war ! . . . Such a war as human memory
does not recall !" Saying this, Marcel sat down at a table and
rapidly wrote a few lines upon a parchment.
"No!" replied William Caillet in a tremor of rage. "No;
never will that have been seen that will be seen now! Up,
Jacques Bonhomme !" cried the old peasant in savage exalta-
tion. "Up! Seize the fagot! Fall to! Take in the harvest,
Jacques Bonhomme, and be not dainty about it! Take up your
scythe in your bare arms the short and sharp scythe ! Let not
a blade be left to be gleaned after you!" and reaching out
his trembling hand to Marcel, the serf added: "Adieu, I de-
part well satisfied. By to-morrow evening I shall be in the coun-
try. At dawn of the next day Jacques Bonhomme will be up
and doing in Beauvoisis, in Picardy, in Laonnais and in many
other districts !"
"Postpone your departure just one hour," answered Marcel
while sealing the letter he nad just written. "I am going to
the Louvre. You shall depart at my return."
"My friend," exclaimed Marguerite in alarm, "what do you
want at the Louvre?"
"To make certain of the Regent's departure, although the
account, given by Rufin leaves me no doubt on that head. I
THE IRON TREVET. 151
wish, before resorting to terrible extremes, to be absolutely certain
of the Eegent's treason."
As Marcel was uttering the last words, Agnes the Bigot en-
tered precipitately and delivered to her master a letter that one
of the town sergeants had just brought in great haste. Marcel
took the letter, read it quickly and cried: "The councilmen
have assembled at the town hall and expect me. One of them,
instructed by a man connected with the palace on the flight of
the Regent, ran to the Louvre, assured himself of the fact, and
hastily convoked the council. No doubt now. The Regent'?
treason is confirmed." Delivering to Jocelyn the letter he had
just written, Marcel said to him: "Take horse, and carry
this letter to the King of Navarre at St. Denis. Wait for no
answer."
"I shall jump on your horse's crupper, Jocelyn," cried Caillet.
I shall that way reach the country a few hours sooner."
"Done !" said the champion ; and turning to Marcel : "After
I shall have delivered your letter to the King of Navarre, I shall
pursue my route with Caillet to join by brother Mazurec."
"It is your duty, go!" answered Marcel stretching his arms
out to Jocelyn. "Embrace me. Who knows whether we shall
ever again meet!" And after having pressed the champion to
his breast, he took the hand of Denise who turned away her
head to hide her tears, and added : "Whatever may befall me,
Denise shall be your wife upon your return; you could have
no worthier mate, nor could she choose a worthier husband;
may heaven grant that I assist at your wedding. If later any
danger should threaten you, you will find a safe retreat in Lor-
raine at Vaucouleurs with the relatives of my niece."
Breaking out into tears and almost fainting, but supported
by Marguerite, Denise stretched out her hand to Jocelyn who
covered it with kisses, while Marcel said to Caillet : "Now, the
152 THE IRON TREVET.
hour has sounded! To arms, Jacques Bonhomme! Peasants,
artisans, townsmen, all for each ! Each for all ! To the happy
issue of the good cause!"
"To the happy issue of the good cause!" rejoined the serf
shaking with impatience. "To an evil issue the cause of the
seigneurs and their clergy! Up, Jacques Bonhomme! War
upon the castles \"
"And I," cried the student addressing Caillet while Marcel
was giving his last instructions to Jocelyn, "I also will accom-
pany you. I have shins of steel to tire out a horse. I shall ride
ahead of Jocelyn's steed. To a happy issue the good cause!
I represent the alliance of the University with the rustic folks.
Eufin the Tankard-smasher was my name of peace; Rufin the
Head-smasher becomes my name of war ! And by the god Syl-
vanus, the genius of the fields and forests, I shall make havoc
in this sylvan war ! Forward ! Forward ! . . .
A few minutes later William Caillet departed from Marcel's
domicile accompanied by the champion and the student, all three
bound for Beauvoisis.
PART m.
THE JACQUERIE.
CHAPTER I.
CAPTAIN GRIFFITH AND HIS CHAPLAIN.
The morning after William Caillet, Jocelyn the Champion
and Rufin the Tankard-smasher left Paris, a band of English
adventurers, commanded by Captain Griffith, and who for some
time had been raiding the region of Beauvoisis, was marching
under a balmy May sun in the direction of the village of Cram-
oisy. The men, about a hundred all told, and armed with
weapons of different descriptions, marched in disorder with the
exception of about fifty archers who carried on their shoulders
their six-feet-long ash bows, a favorite weapon with the English,
and which they handled with such dexterity that at the battle
of Poitiers ten thousand of them were enough to put to rout
the army of King John, consisting of more than forty thousand
men commanded by the elite of the French nobility.
Several empty carts, hitched to horses and oxen and led by
peasants who had been pressed into Captain Griffith's band under
pain of death, were intended for the prospective booty. The
English sold to the contiguous towns the proceeds of their
thefts from the castles, as well as the droves of cattle that they
took from the fields. In these towns the raiders were certain
of purchasers for the sufficient reason that whoever refused
was hanged on the spot. Captain Griffith affected a lordly gen-
erosity towards his customers in consenting to leave with them
the spoils of his thieving exploits in exchange for moneys that it
was in his power to rob them of. In his quality of the bastard
of a great lord, the Duke of Norfolk, he prided himself of
acting courteously, "as a true Englishman," according to his fa-
vorite phrase, and not scurvily like so many other leaders of mer-
cenary bands.
THE IRON TREVET. 155
Captain Griffith a man in the full vigor of his age, robust
and corpulent, and with hair and beard of a reddish blonde
rode at the head of his archers, the elites of his troop. Although
in full armor, he had hung his casque on the pommel of his
saddle, and now wore on his head a bonnet of fox-skin. Bold-
ness, incontinence and a sort of cruel joviality stood out from the
features of the Englishman that wore a rubicund tint from
the potations and meats that he was in the habit of swallowing
in enormous quantities. The morning air having sharpened
his appetite, if ever it can be said to have been satisfied, the
bastard of Norfolk was picking a ham, and from time to time
lovingly resorted to a wine pouch that also hung from the
pommel of his saddle. At his side rode his lieutenant, whom
with impious mockery he styled his "Chaplain." Guilty of all
the crimes on the calendar, Captain Griffith took, like Rolf the
Norman pirate before him, a diabolical delight in all manner of
sacrilege.
The Chaplain, a hulky scamp with a toper's face and as vig-
orous of bone as his Captain, wore under his iron coat of mail
a monk's gown and on his head a steel helmet.
"My son," said he to the bastard of Norfolk, "without meaning
to offend you, I shall have to call your attention to the fact
that this is the third time you put your wine pouch to your
mouth without offering your brother in Beelzebub to quench his
thirst."
"What have you eaten, Chaplain, to make you so thirsty?"
"By the devil! I have been eating with my eyes the ham
that you have been devouring with your teeth."
"Why, then, quench your thirst by seeing me drink! Your
health, friend !"
"Sacrilege ! To refuse wine to a thirsty chaplain ! I would
prefer, for the sake of your salvation, to see you again journey a
whole day on a stretch in a chariot drawn by St. Patrick, the
abbot, and his 'chapter/ ''
"Pshaw !" hissed Griffith ; "there were relays."
156 THE IRON TREVET.
"True, several relays, each of twelve monks, and they were suc-
cessively hitched. It was in your favor."
"There, devil's Chaplain, drink! Drink to my amorous ex-
ploits I"
After having kept for a seemingly interminable time his lips
glued to the orifice of the pouch that the Captain had passed
over to him, the Chaplain detached them for a moment, not so
much for the purpose of answering his worthy chief as for the
purpose of taking breath. Breathing heavily, he asked : "What
amorous exploits ? Sacred or profane ones ?" and then proceeded
to quaff.
"I mean that winsome tavern-keeper, who escaped us at the
pillage of the little town of Nointel. Since that day, the pretty
ankles of the brunette have not ceased trotting in my brain.
As sure as I am Norfolk's bastard," added the Captain while the
Chaplain continued to drain the contents of the pouch at long
draughts, "there are two things that I would sell my soul to
Beelzebub for. First, to snatch up that luscious tavern-keeper,
second to fight with that tall scamp whom we released from the
dungeons of Beaumont. He was then but a bag of bones, but
when he will have been fatted up, I would wager your neck,
Chaplain, that there is not the likes of him in this whole pol-
troon country of Gaul. I am tired of seeing only puny knights
at the point of my lance whom I run down as if they were nine-
pins. What a set of cowards these French noblemen are !"
At this point, the lieutenant, who had never ceased drinking-,
emitted a long gurgling sound, while with his free hand he
pointed to a small troop of armed foot-men headed by a rider,
and who pursued a route that somewhat led away from that of
the English, but that ran out upon the same clearance at the
top of a hill. The rider who led the foot-men, ordered a halt,
and galloping over the meadow approached ihe English troop
with his right hand up as a sign that he had no hostile intentions.
Fearing, nevertheless, some ambuscade, Captain Griffith also or-
dered his troop to halt, but he placed his archers in line, donned
THE IRON TREVET. 157
his casque, took his long stout lance from the hands of one of his
men, and seeing the Chaplain still clinging to the pouch of wine
struck it from his lips with so dexterous a lance thrust that,
slightly grazing the drinker's nose, the weapon hurled the pouch
ten paces off. "You have watered quite enough!" he said with
a gruff laugh.
"Fortunately the pouch is now empty," said the Chaplain
wiping his mouth with the back of his right hand; "not a drop
has been lost."
The unknown rider approached the while, but suddenly reined
in seeing the archers, as was their wont before shooting their
bolts, plant their left feet in the center of their bows in order to
bend them.
"I come as a friend I"
"Who are you ?" demanded the bastard of Norfolk. "What do
you want?"
"I am the bailiff of the Sire of Nointel, the seigneur of these
domains. I wish to speak with the valiant Captain Griffith."
"I am he . . . What do you want?"
"Sir, is it you who have just pillaged the burgs and villages of
our seigneur, the Sire of Nointel?"
"Would you, perchance, want to prevent me?"
"On the contrary, Sir; I have come in the name of my seig-
neur to offer you the advice of my old experience in order to help
you to collect ransom from these villeins. Jacques Bonhomme
is a wily customer ; he has hiding places where he keeps his coin
under shelter, and even provisions and cattle."
"Chaplain," the Captain broke in upon the bailiff, "we shall
have to cut the ears of this fellow who comes here to mock us.
Draw your cutlass and give him absolution for his sins."
"Sir, listen to me, and you will be convinced that I am not
joking!" cried the bailiff. "Are you the son of the Duke of
Norfolk?"
158 THE IRON TREVET.
"A bastard son by my mother's virtue. But seeing she be-
stowed upon me a good fist, good eyes and good teeth I hold her
quits. I remain noble from one side."
"The Duke your father knows that you hold the field in this
region, and he is charmed with your prowesses. He wrote so to
my master/'
"A short time ago, on the occasion of one of my archers' re-
turn to Guyenne, I wrote to my father : 'My lord, in your life
you gave me nothing but a kick with your left foot which I
still feel; but I am none the less your affectionate bastard who
is doing havoc in Gaul and who signs himself Captain Grif-
fith.' ' ;
"Sir," said the bailiff handing a letter to the Captain, "here is
the answer of the noble Duke, your father."
Greatly astonished, Captain Griffith broke the seal on the
parchment and read: "One of the poltroon French knights
whom I took prisoner at the battle of Poitiers will deliver this
letter to you and also six thousand florins for his ransom. You
are a fine scamp. Persevere in your exploits Norfolk."
"What a father !" exclaimed the Chaplain raising his hands to
heaven. "What a son!"
"Six thousand florins !" cried Captain Griffith. "Well ! The
good man must have remembered my worthy mother"; and ad-
dressing the bailiff he asked : "Where are the six thousand
florins?"
"In the purses of the vassals of my seigneur, the Sire of Noin-
tel, who was taken prisoner at the battle of Poitiers by the
noble Duke of Norfolk. But, oh ! My master is ruined by the
costs of war and not a florin in the castle. But he gave his
word as a Christian and a knight to pay his ransom to your
father or to you, Sir. He will keep his word. It is an estab-
lished custom that the vassals must ransom their seigneurs when
taken prisoner. I therefore come, Sir Captain, to offer to you,
by order of my master what little service I can render to you
to the end of aiding you in collecting the sum, a very difficult
THE IRON T REVET.
'59
thing to do without our aid. If you want a proof, all you have
to do is to follow me not far from here, and you will see some-
thing that will greatly astonish you."
Captain Griffith, whose curiosity was now pricked, started his
horse at the pace of the bailiff's, and resuming its march the
troop descended the flank of the hill at whose foot lay the strag-
gling village of Cramoisy, consisting of about three hundred cot-
tages and houses. The silence of the tomb reigned in these
homes. They were deserted, and the open doors showed their
interiors to be empty and bare. Stupefied, Captain Griffith
reined in his horse and said to the bailiff :
"By the devil ! Where are the inhabitants of these shanties ?"
"The other villages of this seigniory are as deserted as this
one. You will find there, Sir, neither women, nor men, nor
children, nor cattle," answered the bailiff. "There are left, as
you see, only the four walls of the houses. You will, there-
fore, find it difficult to collect here even the smallest fraction
of your six thousand florins. Jacques Bonhomme is a sly fox;
he had wind of your coming and has run into the earth to escape
you. But, to a sly fox a sly limehound. I know the burrow of
Jacques Bonliomme. Follow me, Sir."
"Where to ? Whither do you lead us ?"
"Only one league from here . . . But we shall have to
descend from our horses at the outskirts of the forest. You can
leave there the gross of your troop. A dozen of your archers
will be enough for the job I have in mind. The risk is slight."
"Whv would you have me descend from horseback, and leave
behind the bulk of my troop?"
"It will, in the first place, be impossible for us to ride on
horseback over the quagmires, jungles and bogs that we shall
have to cross in order to arrive at the hiding place of Jacques
Bonhomme. In the second place, the fox has a sharp ear. The
noise made by a large troop would give him the alarm."
"Captain," suggested the Chaplain, "suppose this scamp were,
but leading us into an ambuscade?"
j6o THE IRON TREVET.
"Chaplain, never did Griffith recoil before danger," was the
Captain's answer ; "moreover, if this bailiff with a marten's snout
should deceive us, let him be forewarned. At the first suspicion
of treachery we shall promptly hack him to pieces."
"That's right," returned the Chaplain. "Let's march! His
skin answers for our lives."
"March 3" ordered Captain Griffith, and guided by the bailiff,
who had been rejoined by his men, the troop left the village of
Cramoisy and wended its way towards a forest, the skirt of which
drew its length along the horizon.
CHAPTER II.
THE FOX'S BUREOW.
About two leagues from the village of Cramoisy, and in the
thickest of the seigniorial forest of Nointel, is a vast subter-
ranean grotto, out into the chalky rock that offers little re-
sistance to the pick and the mattock. The cavern dates from
the far-back troubled days when the Norman pirates were in the
habit of rowing up the Somme, the Seine and the Oise and raid-
ing the surrounding lands. Such of the serfs whose dire misery
did not reach the pitch of constraining them to join the Nor-
mans, and who sought to escape the flood of pillage and massacre,
had dug the underground place of refuge. Carrying thither
their little havings, and even cattle, they remained hidden until
the pirates left the country. Similar places were in later years
contrived in almost all parts of Gaul by the vassals of the nobility
for the purpose of escaping the brigandage of the English, of the
robber bands and of the bands of mercenaries who devastated the
provinces, finally also to escape the extortions of the seigneurs
that now became intolerable, seeing that Jacques Bonhomme
was forced to pay the ransom of their masters who had been
taken prisoners at the battle of Poitiers. In other regions of
Gaul the peasants withdrew with their families upon rafts which
they anchored midstreams of rivers, and which frequently were
either submerged or carried away by the floods to be finally
swamped with the wretched mass of humanity that they bore.
Never before had desolation and panic reached such a pitch in
the unfortunate country; the huts were almost all abandoned,
the fields uncultivated and a famine was apprehended similar
to that which desolated Gaul in the year 1000.
The underground retreat whither the inhabitants of Cramoisy
i6a THE IRON TREVET.
and several other villages of the seigniory of Nointel took refuge
consists of a long vault, at the extremity and to the right and
left of which are several other galleries in which cattle, goats
and sheep are crowded. A well, used for a drinking trough, is
dug in the center of the principal gallery. Above, an opening,
partially masked with stones and underbrush, admits some light
and air to the dark and icy asylum that oozes with the moisture
of the earth. There, more than a thousand people crowded to-
gether men, women and children who fled from their homes.
The milk of the cattle, a few handfuls of rye or wheat pounded
between two stones entertain rather than" appease the tortures of
hunger. A steaming, suffocating and nauseous heat, produced
by the agglomeration of people and cattle, pervades the gloomy
place. Now plaintive wails are heard, then the outbursts of vio-
lent quarrels, such as are certain to break out among semi-
savages whom suffering exasperates. Wan and half naked chil-
dren, who, however, preserve the carelessness of their age, played
at this moment at the edge of the well which just happened
to be lighted by a ray of sunlight that filtered through the rocks
and underbrush which concealed the only air-hole of the vault.
That sun ray also lighted a group of three persons, huddled
together in a dug-out near the well. The three persons were
Aveline, Alison and Mazurec.
When the little village of Nointel was pillaged by the troup
of Captain Griffith, the handsome tavern-keeper succeeded in
saving what moneys she had and fled to Cramoisy where she
joined Aveline. Learning there that the. English were still
ravaging the neighborhood, she joined the peasants in their
flight to the underground retreat.
Aveline, now far advanced in pregnancy, expected every day to
be delivered of the child of her disgrace and the fruit of the
iniquity perpetrated upon her by her seigneur. Barely covered
in a few rags, she lay on the cold and bare earth. Ever sympa-
thetic, Alison held upon her knees the languishing and pale
head of the young girl, whose thinness had now become shocking.
THE IRON T REVET. 163
Her hollow cheeks imparted monstrous size to her eyes, which she
attached beseechingly upon Mazurec, engaged at the moment in
sharpening upon a stone the teeth of a pitch-fork while mutter-
ing to himself: "William is long in returning from Paris; we
are waiting for him so as to start the massacre . . . sacred
reprisals !"
Thus muttering to himself, Mazurec continued sharpening
his fork. He had become a hideous sight. Having lost his
right eye since the judicial combat with the knight of Chaumon-
tel, the now hollow, quivering and half closed eyelids on that
side of his face exposed a blood-clotted cavity. His crushed nose
is a mass of scars, purplish like his torn -up upper lip which
exposes his broken teeth. His long matted hair falls upon the
ragged goat-skin jacket which he wears and from which protrude
his nervy, but now haggard arms. Attaching upon her hus-
band a beseeching look, Aveline said to him in a weak and
sad voice: "Mazurec, if I give birth to a child before dying
. . . promise me not to kill it ! . . . Answer me . . .
I beseech you in God's name . . . Have mercy on the inno-
cent creature."
"I promise nothing," answered the vassal in a hollow voice
without stopping from his work; "we shall see what's to be
done."
"He will kill the innocent child, Dame Alison !" cried Aveline
weeping and hiding her head.
"Keep still!" replied Mazurec with the mien of a tiger that
rendered his face still more frightful; "Keep still, or I may
believe you are proud of having a child of your seigneur."
Aveline answered with a hysterical sob, while Alison cried
indignantly : "Wretch, you will yet be the cause of your wife's
death!"
"I had as lief she was dead as alive ... as to the child
she now carries ... he shall not live ... I shall
smother the noble whelp."
164 THE IRON T REVET.
"Well, then, why don't you kill both mother and child. That
would be less cruel than to kill Aveline by little and little as
you are doing !" And looking at Mazurec with eyes of angry
reproach, Alison added: ''Oh, Mazurec the Lambkin, the un-
fortunate girl whose death you now wish, once made your heart
bound with joy when you passed the door at which she used to
spin !"
At these words which recalled to Mazurec the spring-tide of
his love, days that were sweet even to the wretched serf, the
young man broke down in tears, threw the fork aside, and close-
ly embracing his wife, whose pale face he covered with kisses,
he said : "Pardon me, my poor Aveline ! . . . Oh, my blood
has turned to gall ... I have suffered so much . . .
1 still suffer so much . . . Pardon me, my dear wife !"
Mazurec was uttering these words when suddenly the species
of airhole above the well was almost wholly obstructed with
large stones that were being rolled about by the men of the bailiff
of Nointel, and the bailiff himself, applying his mouth as close-
ly as he could to the little opening that was left, shouted down
into the cavity : "All of you, vassals of the parish of Cramoisy
and neighboring villages, you are taxed, as your quota of the
ransom of our very noble, very high, very dear and very power-
ful seigneur^ the sum of one thousand florins ; the other parishes
of the seigniory shall be similarly taxed. Rummage around your
purses quickly so that you meet the sum demanded. You have
hiding places where you bury your valuables. Choose quickly
between death and your money. If within the time it shall
take me to utter a 'pater' * and an 'ave,' ** one of you does
not come out with the money, you will all be smoked to death
like so many foxes in their burrow, after which the corpses will
be rifled/'
The bailiff stopped; the air-hole was tightly closed with clods
of earth ; and the cavern was plunged into utter darkness.
"Oh, my God! What's going to happen? Leave me not
THE IRON TREVET. 165
Mazurec," cried Aveline in a tremor and throwing her arms
around her husband who jumped up the better to hear the
announcement made by the bailiff, and which, repeated from
mouth to mouth by the vassals, left them steeped in gloomy
silence. The unhappy serfs clung all the more tightly to their
little coin, their last resource, the only fruits left to them of
their crushing labors and homicidal privations, seeing that they
had suceeded in saving it from the rapacity of their seigneurs
only by dint of untold privations and nameless devices, often
struggling against the torture itself that was frequently inflicted
upon them in the hope of wringing from them the disclosure
of the hiding places where they kept their little treasure buried.
The first shock being over, cries of indignation and revolt re-
sounded in the cavern. The noise increased more and more.
"We leave our homes to live in holes like wild beasts, and we
are hunted down even here I"
"To be pillaged by the English, and be forced besides to pay for
the ransom of our seigneurs !"
"No! No! Let them choke us with smoke, let them burn
us, let them massacre us ... They shall get not one denier
from us!"
"We shall throw our few remaining sous into the well, sooner
than deliver them to our butcher I"
It did not take the bailiff long to say his "pater" and "ave."
Seeing none of the serfs coming out of the cavern to bring him
the sum demanded, he ordered the burrow of Jacques Bonhomme
to be smoked. The work was easily done. The cavern was en-
tered by a narrow and steep passage cut into the rock. The
Englishmen of Captain Griffith and the retinue brought by the
* The Lord's Prayer, called "pater" from the first word,
"pater" (father) in the Latin prayer.
** A prayer or invocation to Mary, so named from the first
word, "Ave, Maria," (Hail to you, Mary), in the Latin prayer.
166 THE IRON TREVET.
bailiff heaped up at tho mouth of the entrance a mass of dry
leaves and branches, set fire to the same, and with the aid of their
long lances shoved on the brasier a heap of green branches the
thick and acrid smoke of which soon filled the interior of the
cavern, the only opening that could have allowed tlie smoke to
escape having been tightly closed in advance.
Ghastly was the scene that ensued. Suffocated and blinded
by the black and pungent smoke, the vassals were a prey to dis-
tracting pain. The cattle, submitted to the identical trial, be-
came furious, broke their ropes and rolled in the darkness amid
the crowd whom they trampled under foot or gored with their
horns. The wails of women and children, the imprecations of
men, the lowing of the cattle made an infernal concert. Sev-
eral of the serfs succeeded in groping their way to the well
and threw themselves in to escape prolonged torture; others
threw themselves headlong towards the mouth of the cavern,
but smothered by the thick smoke and the flames that entered
the passage and that now converted the entrance into a furnace,
dropped down into the middle of the flames and were consumed ;
others again threw themselves down flat upon the ground,
scratched the earth with their nails and, burying their faces
in the earth imagined in their wild delirium they could thus
take breath; lastly not a few were the mothers who, wishing to
spare their children a long agony, strangled them quickly to
death.
Mazurec held Aveline tightly in his arms while he shuddered
at the thought of the horrible death that awaited her. The
tender sentiments of their happier days took possession of his
heart and mind and he racked his brain for a means of escape.
It was in vain. Long worn out by misery and sorrow, the young
woman was not equal to so rude an additional strain. In her
death agony she fastened her lips to Mazurec's as though, wishing
to escape suffocation, she strove to inhale her husband's breath.
By degrees her hold on him was relaxed, with one convulsive
THE IRON TREVET. 167
effort she embraced her husband and then her arms dropped by
her side.
"Dead !" shrieked the serf; "dead and unavenged, my dearly
beloved Aveline'"
"You can still revenge her and save us both and many more
of these unfortunates," came panting from Alison, who still
preserved her senses and energy. "Let us hasten !" continued the
tavern-keeper with an ever more oppressed voice. "Let us en-
deavor to get out of here; ... I shall give the bailiff
three hundred florins that I have sewn in my clothes ; . .
he will allow us to escape; . . . if he does not, kill him;
. . . take your pitch-fork; ... it lies there . ,,,.,
Let's flee! ..."
Mazurec emitted a cry of savage joy. The imminence of
danger and the hope of revenge increased his strength tenfold.
He seized the fork with his right hand, with his left he dragged
Alison after him, and guided by the ruddy glow at the mouth of
the cavern, the vassal plied his fork so as to clear a passage
through the crowd that ran about delirious. Some he threw
down, others he walked over. Finally he reached the approaches
of the burning pile near which a number of corpses lay strewn.
Dropping the hand of Alison and hitting upon a plan that had
occurred to none during the general panic, Mazurec thrust his
pitch-fork into the midst of the burning pile, scattered it, threw
some of it behind him, opened a passage to himself, cleared
the space which was covered with burning embers, and after a few
bounds found himself at the issue of the cavern. For a moment
Mazurec stood still inhaling the free air; his strength returned
speedily ; and making one last effort he rushed out. At the un-
expected sight of Mazurec, foaming at the mouth with rage and
brandishing his fork, both the Englishmen and the bailiff's men
drew back in terror. Mazurec lost no time ; he rushed upon the
bailiff, buried the fork in the bowels of his seigneur's menial,
threw him down, and, maddened with rage, trampled him under
168 THE IRON TREVET.
foot while he again and again thrust his pitch-fork into the
bailiff's breast, his face and every part of his body that he could
reach, uttering at every thrust: "This is for your having
dragged Aveline to your master's bed ! . . . This is for your
having now smothered Aveline to death !"
At the sight of the terrific spectacle Captain Griffith broke out
in a loud guffaw saying: "I take this expert poker under my
protection. I admire his dexterity in the use of his pitch-fork I"
In the midst of these exclamations Captain Griffith suddenly re-
mained, silent, then clapping his hands he proceeded in new
ecstacy : "By the devil ! Here are my two beautiful black eyes
and plump ankles ! Oh, this time you will not escape me, my
belle ! Mine be your treasures !"
The English captain uttered these cries at the sight of Alison,
who now appeared at the entrance of the cavern, pale, with
disheveled hair, her clothes half burnt, breathing fast and so
feeble that she was unable to walk except supporting herself by
the rocks that lay near by. Captain Griffith, without being moved
at the lamentable aspect of the woman, and listening only to his
own amorous suggestions, made one bound at his prey, took her
in his arms and cried: "This time I hold you! Now you are
mine I"
"Mercy!" cried Alison, struggling to free herself. "I shall
give you all the money I have . . . Mercy !"
"Love first, money afterwards !" was the answer of Norfolk's
bastard carrying Alison off.
"Help, Mazurec! Help!" cried the tavern-keeper as loudly
as her weak voice allowed her. But Mazurec, exasperated with
suffering and now drunk with bloodshed and the transports of
revenge, continued to hack with his pitch-fork the corpse of the
bailiff, and heard not the appeal of Alison.
Suddenly, stepping out of a thick bush and appearing on the
top of a rocky eminence, Jocelyn the Champion precipitated
himself upon the ravisher, followed by Adam the Devil, William
THE IRON TREVET, 169
Caillet, Eufin the Tankard-smasher and several serfs armed with
axes, forks and scythes. This small troop, attracted by the cries
of Alison, had rushed forward ahead of a large number of re-
volted peasants, who, crossing a denser part of the forest, marched
slowlier.
"Here I am, my charming hostess !" cried Jocelyn, leaping
from rock to rock, sword in hand; "here I am . . . ready
to defend you !"
"My Hercules of the castle of Beaumont I" exclaimed Captain
Griffith, drawing his sword at the sight of Jocelyn whom he
immediately recognized; and relinquishing Alison he rushed,
sword in hand, at Jocelyn, saying: "Only to-day I requested
but two things from Satan: to embrace that belle and to find
you again a little fattened, my sturdy boy ! Let's commence
with you ; the belle shall have her turn !"
"I have not yet gathered much meat on my bones/' responded
the champion, intrepidly attacking the bastard of Norfolk, "but
you shall not be long in admitting that my wrist has not yet
lost any of its strength."
A mad combat was immediately engaged in between the
champion and the Captain, while Caillet, Adam the Devil, Eufin
and several of the serfs who accompanied them, threw them-
selves furiously upon Captain Griffith's Chaplain and the archers
who had come with him when he left the gross of his troop near
the skirt of the forest, as the bailiff had advised.
"Kill, kill the English ! . . ' . Death to the English !"
Overpowered and crushed by numbers, cut to pieces with the
scythes, disemboweled with the forks, knocked down with the
hatchets, not one of Captain Griffith's men escaped the carnage.
After heroically defending himself against Adam the Devil, who
was armed with a short scythe and against Eufin who wielded
a long sword, the Chaplain fell under their blows. His atten-
tion being now drawn again from his frenzy against the corpse
of the bailiff by the arrival of the peasants who came with
170 THE IRON TREVET.
Caillet, Mazurec turned to them and brandishing his fork first
joined their side of the combat; but struck with a sudden
thought, he climbed the hillock where the air-hole had been con-
trived over the cavern, and which had recently been closed by
the orders of the bailiff of Nointel. With the assistance of his
fork he rolled off the stones from the aperture, and the smoke,
now finding an issue, escaped therefrom in thick and black puffs.
Climbing down, Mazurec disappeared within the cavern.
At that moment, though wounded in the arm, Jocelyn was
holding Captain Griffith to the ground with both his knees press-
ing on the Englishman's chest, and was looking for the dagger
at his belt to bury it in his throat saying : "You shall die, Eng-
lish dog, who do not respect even dying women !"
"As true as you are the best blade that I have yet met in this
country, my only regret is that I leave that belle behind !"
Such were the last words of the bastard of Norfolk. At the
same moment Mazurec issued from the cavern with the corpse
of Aveline in his arms, saying:
"William Caillet, here is your daughter and my wife. All
of you who have wives, children, parents or friends step into
that cavern. Look for them among the dead and dying. Our
seigneur, the Sire of Nointel, had us smoked in our refuge be-
cause we refused to contribute money towards his ransom !"
At this announcement a large number of peasants ran into the
cavern, while Caillet approached Mazurec, who still held his
wife's body in his arms, and calmly said: "Lay her down on
the grass . . . We shall dig her grave/' But the words
were hardly uttered by the old man than throwing himself down
beside the lifeless body of his daughter, he broke out in convul-
sive sobs while kissing her cold face.
"I have cried so much that I have no tears left/* said Ma-
zurec contemplating the spectacle with a dry and fiery eye, while
Adam the Devil silently dug Aveline's grave with the aid of his
short scythe.
THE IRON TREVET. 171
A clump of roots and trees had until now concealed the sad
spectacle from Jocelyn, who, not having noticed his brother
in the heat of the combat, sat down on the grass supported by
Rufin, and left his arm to be attended by Alison. Always
brave and helpful, despite the different emotions that stormed
through her heart, the tavern-keeper had ripped up her neck-
cloth, and kneeling down beside Jocelyn, looked upon him with
tenderness while staunching his wound.
"When we first met, you won my case; to-day I owe to you
life and honor. How can I ever repay such a debt. Oh, I know
too well how you contemn money to offer you three hundred
franks that I have sewed in my skirt."
"Do you wish, dear and good hostess, to repay your debt?
Go to Paris. When you arrive there, ask where Master Marcel
lives. Everybody will show you the place. Tell his wife that
I have been slightly wounded and that there is no danger.
That will assure Dame Marcel and also her niece . . . my
betrothed."
"Oh, you are betrothed. Sir !" exclaimed Alison with some con-
fusion, and gulping down a sigh, she added in an unsteady
voice: "May God protect your love! I shall do as you say.
I shall go to Paris ... I shall calm the anxieties of the
girl you love. In her place I would be happy, indeed . . .
Oh, so happy to be reassured regarding him whom I love," saying
which Alison lowered her head to conceal a furtive tear that
shone on her beautiful black eyes.
"Oh, Jocelyn !" Eufin said in a low voice, charmed with the
grace and kindness of Alison, " a comely and honest body like
that is worth a hundred Margots."
"Dear hostess !" resumed Jocelyn after a moment's reflection,
"Will you allow me to give you advice? In times like these,
a woman who travels alone runs great dangers. Take this
friend of mine, Rufin, for your escort."
"Jocelyn," said the student with a lively movement, "I wish
to remain with you to fight the nobility."
172 THE IRON TREVET.
"You fought bravely despite the wound that you received
only day before yesterday, and which still gives you much pain.
You can render our cause a great service by returning and
notifying Marcel that the peasants are in arms in this province
and that William Caillet has given the signal for the uprising.
Marcel awaits this news to act ... And if he has any
confidential message for me, he will send it through you. You
will then rejoin me in Beauvoisis. You will be easily able to
learn the whereabouts of Caillet's troops, which I shall not
leave"; and seeing that the student was about to yield, Jocelyn
added in a low voice : "Despite the indiscretions of your youth,
you are an upright fellow ; promise me that you will guard Ali-
son as you would your own sister/'
"I promise, Jocelyn ; and you can trust my word ! I shall be
a good guardian to Alison."
Suddenly a tremor ran over Jocetyn. He had just noticed
Mazurec and Caillet carrying the body of Aveline. He under-
stood what had happened, profound sorrow depicted itself upon
his face, and kneeling down he said: "Kneel, Rufin . . .
kneel, my good hostess ... I shall have to wait till after
this funeral to inform Mazurec that I am his brother."
Adam the Devil had finished digging the grave of Aveline.
Caillet and Mazurec, holding the body by the shoulders and feet,
laid it down in the tomb. The peasants who witnessed the cere-
mony fell upon their knees. The funeral of the poor female
serf piously performed under the vault of the forest in the midst
of the heaped-up rocks at the mouth of the cavern the immense
tomb of so many other victims was a spectacle of mournful
grandeur. Everything contributed to render the scene terrible
and imposing. There lay the mutilated and bloody members of
the bailiff, the pitiless executer of the Sire of Nointel's orders;
yonder were strewn the corpses of the English, no less execrated
than the seigneurs by the people of the fields; further at a dis-
tance was the kneeling crowd of serfs, bare-headed, clad in rags,
.THE IRON TREVET. 173
holding strange and murderous weapons in their hands, and
hardly able to restrain their fury; finally there were the father
and the husband laying with their own hands into her grave
her who should have been the solace of the former's old age and
the joy and love of the latter's youth !
As soon as the body of the dead girl was laid in the fosse,
Adam the Devil began filling it up with earth, while William
Caillet standing at the head of his daughter's sepulchre and hold-
ing Mazurec to his breast cried out in a voice that pulled at the
heart-strings of all present :
"Adieu, my daughter ! Adieu, my poor Aveline ! You who
aever lied ! You who never did wrong ! Adieu ! For evermore
adieu!" and raising his trembling hands heavenward, the old
peasant proceeded solemnly : "I swear here by the body of my
child whom I have buried with my own hands ! By the bones
of our friends and our relatives whose grave is that cavern ! By
the sufferings that we endure! By the blood and the sweat of
our forefathers ! I shall revenge my daughter ! I shall revenge
our fathers ! I shall revenge our race for the tortures it has
endured ! War upon the castles, without let or mercy !"
Carried away by these words, the surrounding serfs rose to
their feet, and brandishing their staves, their scythes, their forks
and their axes, all responded in chorus with a voice that the
echoes of the forest answered back : "Vengeance !" "Justice I"
In the meantime the peasants who had run into the cavern
were coming back with terror marked on their faces: "Dead
. . . They are all dead or dying ! Women and children, old
and young ... all are dead !"
"All dead !" Caillet repeated in a terrific voice, "the little chil-
dren ! The women ! The old men and the young ! All dead !
Up, Jacques Bonhomme! Up, my Jacques! Let the Jacquerie
commence !"
"It shall commence with the castle of Chivry," cried Adam
the Devil. "Our seigneur is to be this very day at the castle of
i 7 4 THE IRON TREVET.
Chivry to wed the gorgeous Gloriande ... on the day of
the tourney she laughed at Mazurec! ... It will now be
your turn to laugh at the haughty damosel . . . Up, my
Jacques, let the Jacquerie commence!"
"Ha! Ha! The belle Gloriande!" Mazurec repeated with a
ferocious and semi-delirious laughter. "I shall appear before
her with one eye knocked out and my nose crushed ! Oh ! The
gorgeous Gloriande! . . . What a fright she'll have!
. . . Her husband took my bride . . . Up, up, my
Jacques ! The Jacquerie commences ! . . . War upon the
castles !"
The revolted peasants tumultuously followed Caillet, Adam the
Devil and Mazurec across the forest crying: "To Chivry
. . . Up, Jacques . . . The Jacquerie commences!"
"Good-bye, hostess!" said Jocelyn rising and preparing to
follow Mazurec. "Good-bye, Eufin. Guard with the solicitude of
a brother this worthy woman who confides herself to your pro-
tection."
"I trust your friend," answered Alison, "because you told me
to trust him."
"I swear," put in the student deeply moved, "that you can
trust me as fully as you would Jocelyn himself, pretty hostess."
"Good-bye, Eufin ; I shall join my brother, disclose to him the
bonds that unite us, and battle at his side. Once more, good-
bye, Alison. Say to Dame Marcel and to Denise, my betrothed,
that if I do not see them again, my last thoughts will have been
to them. As to you, Eufin, say to Marcel that the peasants of
this province are at work exterminating the seigneurs."
"Good-bye, Jocelyn," Eufin answered sadly, extending his
hand to his friend. "If Master Marcel should have any message
for you I shall ask him to commission me to bring it to you !"
Once more the champion pressed his friend's hand and has-
tened to join the Jacques whose vociferations were heard in the
distance. Before following the student, the good Alison knelt
down at the grave of Aveline and amidst tears bade the last adieu
to the ill-starred young woman.
CHAPTER III.
THE CASTLE OF CHIVRY.
The castle of Chivry, situated about three leagues from Noin-
tel, and like almost all other feudal manors, built on the brow
of a precipitous mountain, has nothing to fear from an attack
from without. Defended both by a hundred men-at-arms and
its own natural position, it can resist a long siege. For such an
attack, artillery and other engines of war would have been
requisite. The interior magnificence of this seigniorial edifice
matches its defensive strength. Among its many sumptuous
features is the throne hall, or hall of honor, which presents a
dazzling sight. Its rafters, painted and gilded, glisten under the
blue of the ceiling. Rich hanging carpets cover the walls, and
enormous fire-places of sculptured stone, where whole trunks of
trees are burned, rise at the two extremities of the vast apart-
ment which is lighted by ten ogive windows of glass bearing
armorial designs. The hall, virtually a gallery, is two hundred
feet long, by one hundred wide vast dimensions, indispensible
to the state ceremonies which the stewards of the Sire of
Chivry, as is the custom, attend mounted on horseback, enter-
ing by one of the doors of the hall, and solemnly carrying on
the silver platters the "dishes of honor" such as peacocks and
roasted pheasants, prepared with their own heads, and out-
spread tails and wings, or gigantic pastries representing the
seigniorial manor, ornamented with an escutcheon painted in
lively colors a glorious dish that the pages place on the table
before the queen of the feast, and that must be cut by the
equerry.
On this day, a brilliant company the nobles, seigneurs and
dames, damosels and children of the neighboring estates assem-
176 THE IRON TREVET.
bled in the throne hall of the castle of Chivry, and pressed
around the beautiful Gloriande, who sat triumphant on the
throne a sort of raised seat covered and canopied with gold
brocades. Never did the damosel seem more superb and bril-
liant in the eyes of her admirers. Her attire was dazzling. Her
black hair, braided with a thread of pearls and carbuncles, is
half hid under her virginal bride's veil. Her robe of white velvet,
embroidered with silver, boldly exposes her breast and plump
arms. A scarf of Oriental silk, fringed with pearls, girds her
supple and well-shaped waist. With brilliant eyes, pink cheeks
and smiling lips, Gloriande receives the compliments of the
noble assemblage who congratulate her on her wedding, the cele-
bration of which is soon to be announced by the bell of the
castle's chapel. The aged Count of Chivey enjoys the happiness
of his daughter and the homage she is the recipient of. Never-
theless, despite the gladness denoted by her face, from time to
time Gloriande puckers up her black eyebrows, while throwing
impatient looks towards the doors of the gallery. Noticing one
of these looks of impatience, the Count of Chivry says to his
daughter smiling: "Be at ease . . . Conrad will soon be
here . . . There he is . . . Behold your bridegroom !
What a noble presence !"
At the moment when the noble seigneur was saying these
words a triumphant procession entered the spacious hall. Clar-
ion players opened the march with a bravoure, they were fol-
lowed by the pages bearing the livery of Nointel who in turn
were followed by the seigneur's equerries. These led ten hideous
looking men in chains. Their faces and skulls, smoothly shaven,
are of dark brown color. Sad and dejected, they hold their
heads down. They are clad in new white and green blouses,
the armorial colors of the house of Chivry. From time to time
the captives noisily clank their chains and emit lamentable moan-
ings. Behind them marches the Sire of Nointel, superbly
astride of a charger, with visor down, lance in hand and ac-
coutred in battle armor. At his side but on foot marches Gerard
of Chaumontel, also in full armor and seeming to share his
THE IRON TREVET. 177
friend's glory. The cheers of the noble assemblage greet the
procession, and the radiant Gloriande, whose cheeks are now
red with pride, rises from her seat and waving her handkerchief
cries :
"Glory to the victor ! Honor to the bravest gallant I"
"Glory to the victor!" is echoed back by the noble assem-
blage. "Honor to the bravest gallant ! Long live the seigneur
of Nointel !"
The Sire of Nointel descends from his horse, raises the visor
of his casque and while his equerries beckon the captives to kneel
down, he delivers himself of the following sentence:
"My lady-love ordered me to go to war against the English
and to bring ten prisoners to her feet. The duty of all gallant
knights is to obey the queen of their thoughts. Here are the ten
English soldiers that I took at the battle that we have fought.
And I, a captive of the god of love, now lead these chained men
to the feet of my lady-love."
These chivalrous and gallant words threw the assemblage into
transports of enthusiasm. The Sire of Nointel bows his head
and proceeds :
"These prisoners belong to my lady-love. Let her dispose of
them at her sovereign will."
"Seeing that my valiant knight requests me to decide over
the fate of these prisoners," answered Gloriande, "I order that
they be delivered of their chains . . . and that they be set
free ! The day of my marriage shall be a day of joy for all" ;
and extending her hand to Conrad who drops on one knee before
his bride, she proceeds : "Here is my hand, Sire of Nointel. I
can give it to no more valorous a knight."
"Happy day to the wedded couple!" cries the assemblage.
"Glory and happiness to Gloriande of Chivry and Conrad of
Nointel !"
While the brilliant company was thus manifesting its share
in the gladness of the young couple, the Count of Chivry ap-
i?8 THE IRON T REVET.
preached the knight of Chaumontel and asked him in a low
voice :
"Gerard, what devil of Englishmen are these fellows . . .
Why, they are dark as moles!"
"Sir Count," gravely answered the knight, "these scamps
are of the English tribe of Ratamorphrydich !"
"How do you call that tribe?" again inquired the aged seig-
neur stupefied at the barbarous name; "I never heard of it be-
fore."
"The Ratamorphrydich," explained the knight, "are one of
the most ferocious tribes of northern England. They are sup-
posed to descend from a gypsy or Syrian colony that migrated
from Moscovy to the shores of Albion upon the back of marine
horses."
"Well! Well!" rejoined the aged count enraptured at the
geographic knowledge of the knight. "That is a very com-
plete and clear explanation."
The bell of the castle's chapel now sounded, and the seigneur
of Chivry said to the knight: "This is the first peal of the
wedding mass. Oh, Gerard, this is a beautiful day for my old
years . . . doubly beautiful because it shines in otherwise
sad times."
"But it seems, Sire, that you have no cause to complain
of the events. Conrad returns to you covered with laurel.
True enough, he is a paroled prisoner of the English, but at
this very moment his vassals are emptying their purses for
his ransom. He is beloved by your daughter, whom he adores.
Your castle, well fortified and provisioned, and defended by
a courageous garrison, has nothing to fear from either the
English or the marauding bands. Jacques Bonhomme, still
sore at every limb from the lesson he received last year at the
tourney of Nointel, dare not raise his nose above the ditches
where he is at work for you. You may live in peace and shrdl
where he is at work for you. You may live in peace and
THE IRON TREVET. 179
contentment. Long live love, and let the future take care of
itself !"
"Father," said Gloriande to the Count of Chivry, "the bell
has sounded the second call for mass . . . Let us start."
"Very well, my impatient bride," the Count replied smiling
upon his daughter, "give your hand to Conrad and we shall start
for the altar."
"Oh, father, do you know that Conrad spoke of me to the
Kegent, our Sire? The young and lovely prince wishes to see
me at court . . . We shall have time to order three dresses,
one of brocade, the other of silver. . . the third lamina-
ted in flower work."
"You may order ten dresses, twenty if you wish, and of the
richest. Nothing is too beautiful for Gloriande of Chivry when
she makes her appearance at court! It is well to show those
kings, who seek to crowd the seigneurs, that we are as great
seigneurs as themselves. You shall not lack for money. My
bailiffs shall levy a double tax upon my vassals in honor of your
wedding, as is customary. But here comes another impatient
hot-blood who implores you to take pity on his martyrdom,"
gaily added the Count pointing at Conrad who now approached.
The Sire of Nointel lovingly took the hand of his bride, the
procession formed and, followed by the pages and equerries, the
noble assembly marched to the chapel of the manor.
The English prisoners, who had been freed of their chains
by the order of Gloriande, brought up the rear. While cross-
ing the threshold of the gallery a large newly sharpened knife
with a coarse wooden handle dropped from the blouse of one
of the prisoners.
"Adam the Devil," whispered another prisoner, "pick up your
knife before it attracts the attention of the soldiers."
CHAPTER IV.
"JACQUERIE ! JACQUERIE !"
The marriage of the damosel of Chivry with the seigneur of
Nointel took place in the morning. In the afternoon, the large
number of guests invited to the brilliant wedding were gathered
in the large throne hall, now transformed into a banquet room.
The banquet was continued deep into the evening, and was now
nearing its end. For the last six hours the noble guests had been
doing ample honor to the interminable meal. While Jacques
Bonhomme barely preserves existence with decayed beans and
water, the seigneurs eat fit to split their stomachs. It was so
at the nuptials of the belle Gloriande. The first course, intended
to open the appetite, consisted of citrons, fruit cooked in vinegar,
sour cherries, salted dishes, salads and other toothsome prepara-
tions. The second course was of lobster patties, cream almonds,
soups of meat, of rice, of oats, of wheat, of macaroni, of frican-
delles, each served in the different colors that expert cooks impart
to them and that please the eyes of the gourmands soups in
white, in blue, in yellow, in red, in green or of golden hue were
spread in harmonious combinations. The third course had roasts
with sauce, and what a variety of sauces ! cinnamon, nutmeg,
raisin, jennet, rose, flower all these sauces likewise colored dif-
ferently. The fourth course consisted of pastries of all sorts, of
boars, of deer, monstrous pastries that held, floating on goose fat,
a whole stuffed lamb, finally tarts of rose leaves, of cherries, of
chestnuts, and in the middle of all these a monumental fabric
of pastry three feet high, representing the donjon-keep, the tow-
ers and the ramparts of the noble manor of Chivry. The long
table loaded down with costly plate which reflected one another
THE IRON TREFET. 181
by the light of wax candles presented the aspect of gladsome dis-
order. The flagons and silver decanters, filled with spiced wines
and circulating from hand to hand, redoubled the conviviality
of the hour. Some of the guests grew unsteady in their seats,
their heads swimming in the fumes of approaching drunkenness.
The cheeks and eyes of several of the dames and their daughters,
even without having celebrated Gloriande's nuptials to a Bacchic
excess, had become purple and inflamed; their breasts heaved,
and they laughed boisterously at the licentious stories told by
the seigneurs who sat near and drank out of the same cup with
them. Outside of the banquet table, the servants, and even the
men-at-arms, were sharing the convivial joys of their masters, and
celebrated the nuptials of their seigneur's daughter with deep
potations of beer, cider, and even wine. Many were asleep in the
profound slumbers of inebriety.
Alone Gloriande and her bridegroom have remained free from
the effects of the overfeeding and drinking. Their intoxication
is sweeter. They love each other, and soon the hour would come
for their retirement. From time to time they exchanged furtive
glances of impatience. Ardent are the looks of Conrad ; troubled
those of Gloriande. Her beautiful bosom undulates attractively
the necklace of pearls and diamonds that rests upon it. She even
frowns and shrugs her white shoulders upon hearing her father,
now in an advanced stage of intoxication, bellowing at the top
of his voice for silence and announcing that he would sing an
old drinking song of twenty-eight verses, and each couple, drink-
ing from the same goblet, was to empty it at each couplet, after
which the bride and bridegroom would be ceremoniously con-
ducted by her maids of honor to the bridal chamber, whose door
opened into the hall. At her father's proposition to sing twenty-
eight verses, a proposition that was received with general ac-
claim, Gloriande cast a desolate look upon Conrad, and the latter,
turning to his friend Chaumontel, whispered in his ear: "The
devil take the drunken old man . . . along with his song."
ife THE IRON TREVET.
"By the way," answered the half intoxicated knight, laughing
loudty, "the old man asked me this morning how our English
prisoners happened to be dark as moles ;" and turning from the
Count of Chivry the knight reflected a moment and then pro-
ceeded: "But, Conrad, were there not originally eleven rustics
instead of ten that we picked up near the forest, from which they
had just issued with forks, scythes and axes? They said they
were hunting for a wolf that caused them much damage. Ah!
Ah! I must still laugh when I think of our capture . . .
By the devil ... It was eleven and not ten rustics that
we caught. . . . How does it come that, being eleven, there
should only be ten now ?"
"Do you forget that one of them ran away on the road ?"
"That's a ray of light !" cried Gerard, counting on his fingers
with the gravity of a drunken man. "The rustics were eleven.
Good. . . . One of them escapes. . . . Consequently
there should be only ten left ! Conrad, you are the brightest of
mortals !"
At that moment the seigneur of Chivry struck up the fourth
couplet of his Bacchic song. No longer could the beautiful Glor-
iande endure her armorous martyrdom. She exchanged a few signs
of intelligence with Conrad, and almost immediately uttered a
slight cry, while seizing her father's arm, near whom she was seat-
ed. The old seigneur abruptly broke off his song and said to Glor-
iande, in blank amazement :
"What is the matter, dear daughter ? Are you not well ?"
"I feel giddy ; I am not well ; I shall withdraw to my room."
"My dearly beloved Gloriande," said the Sire of Nointel, ris-
ing quickly, "allow me to accompany you."
"Yes, I wish you would, Conrad. ... I shall take some
air at the window of my room. ... I think that will do
me good."
"Come, my children," said the seigneur of Chivry, resignedly,
"I shall start my song all over again at to-morrow's feast ;" and
THE IRON TREVET. 183
then added : "Let the maids of honor kindly accompany the bride,
according to custom, as far as the door of the nuptial chamber."
At these words several of the young ladies regretfully quitted
the knights near whom they sat and surrounded the bride, while
Conrad walked around the immense table to join his wife, an'd
two pages threw open the doors of the bridal chamber, brilliantly
lighted by torches of perfumed wax. The nuptial couch was seen
at the end of the chamber, surmounted with an armorial canopy,
and half concealed behind curtains of . tapestry that glistened
with silver thread. Suddenly the voice of Gerard of Chaumontel,
more and more intoxicated, was heard crying :
"Noble dames and damosels, I request leave to prove fo you
that I am a man ... of singular powers of divination !"
"Prove it ! Prove it !" gayly came from the guests. "Prove
it to us, to-night ! We listen ! Give us the proof !"
"Last year," proceeded Gerard, "on the day of the tourney of
Nointel, where all of you were present, and where Jacques Bon-
homme kicked some capers, Conrad ordered several of the scamps
to be hanged, and to drown the one whom I vanquished "in a
judicial combat, all according to usage and custom."
"I very much would like to see a villein drown," cried a lad
of eleven years, son of the Sire of Bourgeuil. "I have seen vil-
leins whipped, I have seen their ears cropped, I have seen them
hanged and quartered, but never have I seen any drowned.
Father, . . . will you not have a villein drowned . . .
for me to see? . . . I would like to see a villein drowned.
. . . I have taken the fancy."
"My son/' the Sire of Bourgeuil answered the child in a magis-
terial tone, "your interruption is unbecoming. You should have
waited till the knight finished before expressing your wish to me."
"Well," continued Gerard of Chaumontel, "the rustic whom I
vanquished, at the moment of taking his first and last bath, cried
out to me with the voice of a devil who has caught cold : 'You
184 THE IRON TREVET.
cause me to be drowned, you shall be drowned !' and to Conrad :
'You outraged my wife, your wife shall be outraged !' "
"The knight of Chaumontel is tipsy," murmured several
guests.
"Such lugubrious stories about hanging and drowning are out
of place at a wedding."
"Enough, Sir knight ! Enough !"
"Drink your wine in peace, good Sir !"
"Wait till I prove it to you . . . how I am a man of
singular powers of divination," continued Gerard. But the
hisses drowned his voice, and the Sire of Nointel, shivering de-
spite himself at the mournful recollection now evoked by his
friend, took the hand of Gloriande whom the maids of honor sur-
rounded and said to her while marching towards the nuptial
chamber: "Listen not to the fool; he is tipsy . . . Come,
my beloved . . . Love awaits us."
Suddenly an equerry appeared like a specter at the large door
of the hall. His face was livid and his body streamed blood.
He took two steps forward, swayed on his feet and dropped
down upon the stone slabs which he reddened with his blood.
With his last dying breath he uttered these words "My seigneur
. . . Oh, my seigneur . . . Save yourself!"
At the spectacle a cry of horror and fear leaped from every
mouth. The belle Gloriande, seized with terror, threw herself
into Conrad's arms. The guests, pale and stupefied, were for
an instant struck silent, while from the distance a formidable
noise seemed to approach. Another equerry, also pale as a
ghost and bleeding, ran in screaming in a broken voice :
"Treason! . . . Treason! . . . The English pris-
oners have cut the throats of the guards at the main gate of the
castle . . . They opened it to a furious multitude . . .
The assailants are here !"
Immediately the cry of "Jacquerie! Jacquerie!" repeated
THE IRON TREVET. 185
from hundreds of throats, resounded outside the banquet hall,
and the glasses of the windows, beaten in with axes and pitch-
forks, flew in all directions with a wild rush.
A numerous band of Jacques, led by Adam the Devil and his
blackened companions who had performed the role of English
prisoners in that same hall that same morning, now rushed in
through the doors and broken windows. Guided by an identical
impulse, the terror-stricken noble assemblage crowded towards
the principal door expecting to escape at that issue. Their
exit was, however, intercepted by William Caillet and Mazurec,
who appeared at the threshold at the head of still another band
of Jacques armed with staves, scythes, forks and axes. Almost
all these peasants in arms were vassals of the seigneurs of Chivry
and Nointel. At the sight of the wan, savage, blood-stained,
half-naked mob, bearing on their bodies the impress of serf-
dom, the dames and damosels uttered cries of terror and huddled
together in wild panic into the extreme corner of the hall. The
seigneurs, having according to usage doffed their armor to don
their gala dress, seized the table knives and the flagons of glass
and silver to defend themselves. The joyous fumes of wine
that at first confused their minds were soon dissipated and they
ranked themselves into an improvised barrier before the women.
William Caillet swung his axe three times. At that signal
the tumultuous clamors of the Jacques was hushed by little and
little until the silence became profound, disturbed only by ex-
clamations and moans from the affrighted noble women.
"My Jacques!" cries Caillet. "You brought ropes along.
First of all bind fast all the noblemen; kill on the spot who-
ever resists; but keep alive the father and the husband of the
bride ; also to keep alive the knight of Chaumontel. We have an
account to settle with them."
"I shall take charge of those three," said Adam the Devil.
"Follow me, my alleged Englishmen. Get the ropes ready."
The vassals flew upon the seigneurs. A few of them offered
186 THE IRON T REVET.
a desperate resistance and were killed, but the larger number
of the knights, demoralized and terror-stricken by the sudden-
ness of the attack allowed themselves to be bound. Among
these were the aged seigneur of Chivry, Gerard of Chaumontel
and the Sire of Nointel, the last of whom was torn from the
arms of his bride. More furious than frightened, Gloriande
gave a loose to imprecations and insults that she hurled at the
revolted serfs. Adam the Devil seized and overpowered her,
tearing in the attempt her wedding dress to shreds, and tied
her hands behind her back, while with refined ferocity he ob-
served :
"To each his turn, my noble damosel . . . Last year you
laughed at us at the tourney of Nointel . . . Now it is our
turn to laugh at you, my amorous belle !"
"This English prisoner knows me !" exclaimed Gloriande. "Is
all this but a horrible dream ? Conrad, revenge your wife !"
"I am a vassal of the seigniory of Nointel, and not an Eng-
lishman, my belle," answered Adam the Devil. "The role of
prisoner was imposed upon us by your noble husband, your
valiant knight, the Sire of Nointel, too much of a coward to
make real prisoners. He met us just outside of the forest and
ordered us under pain of hanging to accompany him hither
and be the accomplices of his trick upon you by figuring as the
English prisoners that he was to lead to you from the battle that
was fought. We consented to the masquerade. It helped us
in our plan to enter your father's castle. One of us, managing
to escape on the road, took to our companions the order to
draw near the manor by nightfall. We cut the throats of the
guards, lowered the bridge and let our Jacques in. Now we
are going to laugh at you, my belle . . . just as you laughed
at us at the tourney of Nointel ! It is now our turn to feast."
Gloriande allowed Adam the Devil to speak without inter-
rupting him. And shuddering with painful indignation she
cried: "Conrad lied Conrad is a coward!"
THE IRON TREVET. 187
"Yes, your nobleman of a husband is a liar and a coward,"
rejoined Adam the Devil, dragging Gloriande towards the other
extremity of the hall. "A beauty like you deserves a braver
husband. I shall take you to the kind of lover you have been
dreaming of."
Gloriande of Chivry forgot for a moment the dangers that
beset her and the terror that had begun to seize her mind. Over-
whelmed by the idea, horrible to her pride, that Conrad of Noin-
tel was a coward, she let herself be dragged without resistance
towards the other end of the hall.
In the center of the Jacques who had formed a circle stood
William Caillet reclining on the handle of his heavy axe; near
him were Jocelyn the Champion with his arms across his breast,
and Mazurec the Lambkin, now the widower of Aveline-who-
never-lied. Only partly clad in rough sheep-skin, his hair mat-
ted, his arms bare and blood-bespattered, with the cavity of one
eye hollow, his nose crushed, his upper lip split the serf pre-
sented a repulsive aspect. Adam the Devil pushed Gloriande
towards Mazurec saying : "There is your new husband ! Come,
my pretty lass, embrace your lord and master !"
At the sight of the disfigured serf Gloriande drew back and
uttered a cry of fright; but terror palsied her brain when she
saw Mazurec slowly advancing upon her with his one eye burning
with hatred, and laying his callous hand upon her shoulder say
in a hollow voice: "In the name of force . . . you are
mine . . . the same as in the name of force my bride Ave-
line belonged to Conrad of Nointel . . .
"What is the monster saying?" muttered the distracted Glor-
iande drawing back and seeking to free herself from the grasp
of the vassal. "Father ! . . . Come to my help, father !"
The noble seigneur of Chivry lay nearby bound hand and foot,
the same as Gerard of Chaumontel and Conrad of Nointel, the
last of whom, out of his senses with fright and crushed with
188 THE IRON T REVET.
remorse, neither heard nor saw aught, but was muttering be-
tween his teeth : "Have mercy upon me, my Lord God ! . . .
I am a great sinner ... .1 repent having outraged that vas-
sal's bride ..."
"Help, father!" Gloriande continued to cry, ever seeking to
escape the grip of Mazurec, whose nails, now long and bent
like those of a bird of prey, dug deep into the flesh of the Sire
of Nointel's bride and held her firmly while he exclaimed:
"This noble damosel is mine!"
"Vassal!" cried the seigneur of Chivry gasping for breath
and addressing Caillet: "You are the chief of these bandits;
save my daughter's life and honor and I promise to pardon
you ... Be merciful ... I swear by the living God,
I shall remit the punishment that your crimes deserve !"
"Noble seigneur," replied the chief of the Jacques with
ominously sinister calmness, "the wedding day of the child whom
we love is a beautiful day! It is a beautiful day for the
nobles "
"Oh, indeed I believed this morning that the wedding day
of my daughter Gloriande would be a beautiful day for me."
"So did I imagine on the morning of the day when my daugh-
ter Aveline-who-never-lied wedded ... A vassal has a
father's heart ... I tenderly loved my daughter . . .
She was a sweet and pure girl, the pride of my miserable life
. . . Your son-in-law, the Sire of Nointel, had my daugh-
ter dragged to his bed . . . the next day he returned her to
me!"
"The Sire of Nointel only exercised the right he has over
all brides who are not noble! . . . It is his right of first
fruits . . . It is the feudal law !"
"Conrad of Nointel exercised a right that he derived from
force . . . To-day the Jacques are stronger, and they will,
in turn, exercise their right," answered Caillet without abandon-
THE IRON T REVET. 189
ing his savage calmness. "Mazurec, my daughter's bridegroom
sought to resist the ignomy she was threatened with . . .
In punishment for his rebellion he was compelled to make the
amende honorable on his knees before his seigneur. . . Yes-
terday my daughter, together with so many other victims, was
smothered to death by the smoke that the bailiff of the Sire of
Nointel ordered the cavern in which they had taken refuge
to be filled with . . . 'An eye for an eye, a tooth for a
tooth !' . . . So says Scripture . . . The Sire of Noin-
tel has outraged the bride of Mazurec the Lambkin .
Now the bride of the Sire of Nointel belongs to Mazurec."
The Jacques greeted the sentence of their chief with tri-
umphant acclaim, while with one kick Adam the Devil broke
open the door of Gloriande's nuptial chamber, and by the light
of the torches of perfumed wax that burned within from massive
candlesticks of silver, the Jacques saw the dazzling interior of the
apartment.
Fainting with terror Gloriande still struggled with Mazurec
who dragged her to the nuptial couch. "Father! Deliver
me !" cried the agonized belle.
"Thus did Aveline call me to her help," said William Caillet
with his foot on the Count of Chivry. "You shall drain the cup
to the lees !"
"Oh, death ! rather than to witness such atrocities !" cried
the Sire of Nointel. "Heaven and earth ! To see that miser-
able vassal dare to lay hands upon Gloriande! The scamp is
tearing down the curtains ! He means to violate my bride !"
"Oh ! Oh ! You are a rebel !" cried Adam the Devil laugh-
ing loudly. "We now sentence you to make the amende honor-
able on both knees before your master and seigneur, Jacques Bon-
homme, in the person of Mazurec; and you shall beg his par-
don for having insulted him ... for calling him scamp !"
"Conrad, let us know how to die !" cried the knight of Chau-
IQO THE IRON TREVET.
montel. "We shall soon be revenged upon these scamps; not
one of them will escape the lances of the knights."
Jocelyn the Champion, who had until then stood by an im-
passive witness, now stepped forward and heavily laying his
iron gauntlet upon the knight's shoulder said to him: "You
fought cased in iron against my brother Mazurec who was half
naked and armed only with a stick. I have decided that you
shall now fight him, yourself half naked and armed with a
stick, he cased in iron. If you are vanquished you shall bo
thrown into a bag and drowned. To-day, from appellee, Jacques
Bonhomrne has become appellant."
"But before the combat," cried Adam the Devil, "let us take
supper, my Jacques ; the table is set ; plenty of wine is still left
in the flagons ; also meats on the dishes ! . . . Let us feast
before the eyes of these seigneurs, the fathers, brothers or hus-
bands of yonder dames and damosels! . . . Fall to, my
Jacques! Long live love and wine! After the feast we shall
lock up thi whole nobility, men, women and children, in the
underground prisons of the castles ! The ruins of the burnt-
down manor shall be their fitting tombstone . . . Fall to,
Jacques Bonhomrne . . . Long live love and wine, and ours
be the dames and damosels of these nobles !"
CHAPTER V.
THE ORVILLE BRIDGE.
Night is about to yield to day ; the moon is setting ; the first
glimmerings of dawn begin to crimson the eastern sky. The
troop of Jacques, who fired the manor of Chivry after putting
its noble tenants to the sword, is now marching towards the
bridge that spans the Orville river, and from which, the year
before, tied in a bag, Mazurec was thrown into the water. At
the head of the troop march William, Mazurec, Jocelyn and
Adam the Devil. Behind them follow the Jacques leading the
Sire of Nointel and the knight of Chaumontel, half naked, un-
armed and pinioned. His head covered with the casque, clad in
the cuirass and coat of mail, and armed with the dagger and
sword of the knight of Chaumontel, Mazurec marches between
Jocelyn the Champion and Caillet. Halting at the crest of the
hill they had just ascended, and which commanded a wide view
of the surrounding country, the latter cried pointing in sev-
eral directions of the horizon that was either lighted with flames
or darkened with black clouds :
"Do you see the castles of Chivry, of Bourgeuil, of Saint-
Prix, of Montsorin, of Villiers, of Rochemur and so many others,
aye, so many others, set this night on fire, sacked and their
noble masters put to the sword by bands of revolted serfs?
. . . Do you hear the village bells summoning the serfs to
arms ? . . . They sound still ! They are summoning the
Jacques to the hunt of the nobles !"
Indeed, the hurried peals of the bells, loudly sounding from
a large number of villages that lay scattered in the fields and!
forests, reached the hill, carried thither by the morning breeze.
The horizon, reflecting the flames that were devouring so many
192
THE IRON T REVET.
feudal manors, itself seemed on fire. Hardly were the first
rays of the sun able to penetrate the thickness of the somber mass
of smoke.
"The sight is worth the music P remarked Adam the Devil
listening to the sound of the bells. Crossing his arms behind
him, spreading out his legs, and poising himself on his robust
loins he swept with an eager eye the flaming curtain of the dis-
tant conflagrations. "There they are on fire and in ruins, those
proud donjons cemented in the blood and the sweat of mr peo-
ple, and that for centuries have been the terror of our fathers !
Ha ! Ha ! Ha !" and laughing boisterously the serf proceeded :
"What mournful scenes must now be enacting at those manors !"
"At this hour," observed Caillet, "in Beauvoisis, in Laonnais,
in Picardy, in Vermandois, in Champagne, everywhere, in the
Isle of France, Jacques Bonhomme is making similar bonfires!
Everywhere the nobility and their supporting priests are being
massacred !"
"I wish I could see all the fires I" exclaimed Adam tb> Devil,
raising his head. "I would like to hear all the cries uttered by
these nobles !"
"Oh!" observed Jocelyn, with profound sorrow, "if the cries
of our fathers, the male and female serfs and vassals, who for so
many hundreds of years have endured martyrdom, could reach
us across the centuries ! . . . Oh ! if the cries of our mothers,
borne down by serfdom, starved in misery; and outraged by the
seigneurs, could now reach us across these many centuries . .
If that could be, then the frightful concert of maledictions, of
imprecations and of cries of pain that would reach us would
drown that which now goes up from these feudal strongholds !
. . . The hour of justice has come at last !"
"Brother," said Mazurec, sad and dejected, while hastening
his steps so as to leave Caillet and Adam the Devil behind and
snatch a few moments of privacy with Jocelyn, "I have an ad-
mission to make to you . . . and perhaps also to pray your
THE IRON TREVET. 193
indulgence for a weakness of my heart . . . When I had
dragged the bride of Conrad into her nuptial chamber . . .
and after the door was closed behind us, Gloriande threw herself
at my feet, and with joined hands she implored mercy. I said
to myself : 'My poor Aveline must have prayed for mercy . . .
she must have suffered terribly/ I wept at the thought of Ave-
line; I forgot my hatred and my vengeance. Seeing me weep,
Gloriande redoubled her supplications. I then said to her : 'In
my condition of serf I had but one joy in the world, the love of
Aveline-who-never-lied . . . She was outraged by my seig-
neur, your bridegroom . . . After months of suffering and
despair she died, smothered by smoke in the cavern of Nointel
shortly before being delivered of the child of her shame . . .
It seems to me I see my poor Avelin, on her knees, like you now,
asking for mercy . . . It is her whom I pity . . . You
need not fear me!' And Gloriande took my hands in hers,
kissed and moistened them with her tears . . . She begged
me to allow her to escape by a secret passage. I consented. I
remained in the room, thinking of Aveline until they set fire to
the castle. I did not wish to outrage my seigneur's bride.
. . . Vengeance would not have restored to me my lost hap-
piness."
"Oh, my poor brother! Gentle soul! Generous heart!" an-
swered Jocelyn, deeply moved. "You whom nature made Maz-
urec the Lambkin and whom your master's ferocity transformed
into Mazurec the Wolf! You were born to love, not to hate!
Oh, you speak truly ! Vengeance does not return the lost happi-
ness ! Sublime martyr, you need no indulgence for your gener-
ous conduct! Your heart did not fail you; it inspired itself
with the principle of mercy proclaimed by the young carpenter
of Nazareth!" And seeing that Adam the Devil and Caillet
were approaching, Jocelyn added, in a low voice: "Brother, let
none know that you respected Gloriande ; above all, Conrad must,
for his punishment, believe that his bride was dishonored!"
Turning then to Caillet, who had just joined the two, Jocelyn
194 THE IRON TREVET.
observed : "We shall soon be at the Orville bridge. Our friends
are anxious we should reach the spot quickly. The work of pun-
ishment is not yet finished."
The slanting rays of the sun now glisten in the rapid waters
of the Orville that the previous year had swallowed up Mazurec
pinioned and tied in a bag. On its banks still stand the trunks
of the old willow trees from which were hanged the serfs caught
in the riot of the tourney. The morning breeze agitates the reeds
that concealed Adam the Devil and Jocelyn during the prepara-
tions for the death of Mazurec, and from behind which they had
succeeded in rescuing him.
The Jacques arrived at the bridge, crossed it and stepped upon
the broad meadow in the middle of which the last year's tourney
given by the seigneur, of Nointel was held. They halted there.
A large number of them had been spectators of the passage of
arms, and had afterwards witnessed the judicial duel between
Mazurec and the knight of Chaumontel. Obedient to the orders
of Caillet, several peasants proceeded to cut it with their scythes
young tree branches, that they stuck in the ground, forming an
enclosure about thirty feet square, in imitation of the fence or
barrier of tourneys. The enclosure being ready, the Jacques
crowded in dense ranks around it.
At a signal, William Caillet approached the men who led
the pinioned Sire of Nointel and the knight of Chaumontel.
The latter, though pale, still preserved his resoluteness; the
former, however, looking dejected and discouraged, was now
a prey to superstitious terror. He sees verified the sinister
prophecy of his vassal, who the year before had said to him:
"You have outraged my bride, your bride shall be outraged."
Of all his attire, the Sire of Nointel has preserved only his
jerkin and velvet shoes, now in shreds from the roughness of
the road. Cold drops of perspiration gather at his temples.
Caillet addresses him: "Last year my daughter was forcibly
THE IRON T REVET. 195
placed in your bed . . . last night Mazurec, the wronged
bridegroom whom we saved from the watery grave that you de-
creed to him, returned outrage for outrage . . . My daugh-
ter and many other victims died an atrocious death in the cavern
of the forest of Nointel, last night your bride and many other
nobles died in the underground dungeons of the castle of Chivry
that Jacques Bonhomme set on fire . . . But that is not
yet enough. Mazurec was sentenced to make the amende hon-
orable to you because he insulted you; seeing that you insulted
Mazurec when he dragged away your wife, you shall now make
the amende honorable on your knees before Mazurec. If you re-
fuse," added Caillet, seeing the enraged seigneur stamp the
ground with his feet, "if you refuse, I shall then sentence you
to the same death that you have inflicted upon several of your
vassals. Two young and strong trees shall be bent, you shall be
tied by the feet to the one and by the arms to the other, the, sap-
lings will then be let free to straighten themselves up again
. . . You are forewarned, Sire of Nointel !"
"I witnessed the death of my friend Toussaint the Heavy-bell,
who was dismembered in that manner by your orders between two
oak saplings !" interposed Adam the Devil. "I know exactly how
it must be done in order to manage that torture successfully.
Now choose between the amende honorable or the death we just
described."
"Submit, Conrad !" said the knight of Chaumontel, with bitter
disdain. "Let us submit to the extreme limit of the excesses
of these varlets. We will be revenged. Oh, soon again the
casque will resume the upperhand over the woolen cap, and the
lance over the fork."
Shivering with dismay at the threatened torture, Conrad of
Nointel answered his friend in a hoarse voice: "Gerard, do not
leave me alone!"
"I shall be your faithful companion to the end/' answered
the knight. "We have joyously emptied more than one cup to-
gether, we shall die together."
Led by Jacques, the two nobles were placed in the center
196 THE IRON TREVET.
of the enclosure, around which stood the revolted vassals. Many
of them had also witnessed the amende honorable of Mazurec,
who, now armed in the armor of the knight of Chaumontel, is
standing near the center of the lists, reclining on his long
sword.
"On your knees!" ordered Adam the Devil to the Sire of
Nointel, and pressing down with his strong hands the seigneur's
shoulders, he made him drop on his knees at the feet of Mazurec.
"And now, noble seigneur, repeat my words :
"Seigneur Jacques Bonhomme, I blame myself and humbly
repent having used unseemly words against you when last night
you dragged my noble bride . . .
Outbursts of laughter, jeers and cat-calls from the Jacques
greeted these words, which recalled to the Sire of Nointel both
the forfeiture of his happiness and the disgrace of his bride.
He shrank together, emitted a roar of pain, and burning tears
dropped from his eyes while grinding his teeth he muttered:
"Death and massacre !"
"That is quite painful, is it not, Sire of Nointel," suggested
Caillet, "to be forced to beg pardon on one's knees for having
wished to resist the outrage that is racking your mind? Poor
Mazurec the Lambkin went through this shame only last year,
as you are doing now! . . . It is justice! . . . Stay
on your knees !"
"Come, let's hurry!" resumed Adam the Devil, "make the
amende honorable on your knees before Jacques Bonhomme, if
not, you shall be dismembered on the spot, my noble Sire \"
The Sire of Nointel answered only with a fresh roar of rage,
writhing in his bonds : "Oh, my unhappy life !"
"Conrad," said Gerard, "repeat the empty words, yield to
these cowardly varlets. What can you do against force ? There
is nothing but to submit."
"Never!" cried the Sire of Nointel, in a frenzy of rage.
"Sooner a thousand deaths! To ask pardon of that miserable
THE IRON TREVET. 197
serf . . . when before my own eyes he dragged away my
bride . . . my beautiful and proud Gloriande . . . /'
and breaking out again in a cry of rage : "Blood and massacre !
A minute ago I felt overwhelmed ... I now feel hell
burning in my breast . . . Oh, if only I were free . . .
I would tear these varlets to pieces with my nails and teeth ! I
would put them through a thousand deaths!"
"Sire of Nointel, if upon your knees you make the amende
honorable to Mazurec , I shall then put a sword in your hand,"
said Jocelyn the Champion slowly drawing near. "I promise
to fight with you, and you will then at least die as a man. Come,
on your knees !"
"True?" mumbled Conrad, his mind wandering with despair
and rage, "you will give me a sword? ... I shall be able
to die seeing the blood of one of you flow . . . you miser-
able rebels !"
Seizing the naked sword that his brother held in his hand,
Jocelyn took it and threw it on the ground a few paces from
Conrad, and planting his foot upon the blade said: "Make the
amende honorable you will then be unbound and you may take
this sword . . . then there shall be a combat to the death
between us two, son of Neroweg !"
"Come, my handsome Sir," resumed Adam the Devil address-
ing Conrad, "come, repeat after me 'Seigneur Jacques Bon-
homme, I blame myself and humbly repent . . .
"Seigneur Jacques Bonhomme," repeated Conrad of Nointel
in a voice strangling with rage and casting a furtive look at
the sword only the sight of which imparted to him the neces-
sary strength to perform the revolting expiatory act. "Seigneur
Jacques Bonhomme, I blame myself and humbly repent . . .
Shame and humiliation !"
"Having used unseemly words against you, Seigneur Jacques
Bonhomme," proceeded Adam the Devil amidst new outbursts
igB THE IRON TREVET.
of laughter and jeers from the Jacques, "when last night you
were about to outrage my bride on the nuptial bed . . . my '
belle Gloriande of Chivry."
"No, no, never," cried Conrad of Nointel, foaming at the
mouth, "I never shall repeat those infamous words!"
Jocelyn took off and threw his casque at a distance, unbuckled
his steel corselet, threw away his armlets, pulled off his leather
jerkin, preserving only that part of his armor that covered his
thighs and lower extremities, removed his shirt, leaving his
breast bare, and said to the Sire of Nointel: "Here is flesh to
bore holes through, if you can ... I am wounded in the
thigh . . . that evens up your chances; moreover, I swear
I shall strike only at your breast; yes, I swear it, as truly as,
freeman or serfs, my ancestors have during the centuries that
rolled over us crossed swords with yours !"
"Oh, you dog whom my ancestors conquered ... I shall
kill you I" cried Conrad of Nointel nearly delirious. Retaining
his posture on his knees before Mazurec, he muttered, gasping
for breath : "I repent, seigneur Jacques Bonhomme ... of
having used unseemly words . . . against you . . .
when you sought ... to outrage . . . my bride in her
nuptial bed . . .
"The belle Gloriande of Chivry, and pronounce the name dis-
tinctly," said Adam the Devil. "Now, hurry up!"
"The . . . belle . . . Gloriande ... of ...
Chivry . . . ' repeated Conrad, as if tearing the words
from his breast.
"High, puissant and redoubtable seigneur of Nointel, Jacques
Bonhomme pardons you for the outrage he perpetrated upon
you !" now put in Mazurec in the midst of a fresh explosion of
triumphant laughter and contemptuous jeers uttered by the
Jacques.
"The sword! The sword!" cried Conrad rising livid and
THE IRON TREVET. 199
fearful with rage, but with his hands still pinioned behind him,
and addressing Jocelyn. "You promised me blood . . . v
yours ... or mine ... I wish to die seeing blood
. . . To the sword, to the sword !"
"Remove his bonds," said the champion with his feet still on
the sword that lay on the ground and drawing his own.
While the Jacques were unfastening the bonds that held the
arms of the seigneur of Nointel, the knight of Chaumontel took
a step towards his friend and said to him: "Farewell, Conrad
. . . you are blinded with rage . . . you are weakened
by the trials of last night . . . you will be killed by that
Hercules ... a champion by profession . . . But we
shall be revenged."
"I killed!" cried the Sire of Nointel with a ghostly smile.
"No, no; it is I who will kill the dog ... I will cut the
vagabond's throat !"
"Recommend your soul to St. James," said Gerard in a pen-
etrating voice to Conrad; "an invocation to him is sovereign
in cases of duels."
"Oh, I shall invoke my hatred," replied Conrad twitching his
arms that Adam the Devil was about to unloosen. But Jocelyn
made a sign to his companion to wait a moment before untying
the Sire of Nointel, and then turning to the revolted serfs he
made to them this vigorous and terse address :
"It is now eleven hundred years ago . . . one of my an-
cestors, Schavanoch the Soldier the foster brother of Victoria
the Great, the emperor woman who predicted the enfranchise-
ment of Gaul fought against one of the chiefs of the Frankish
hordes who then threatened to invade Gaul, our mother country ;
that Frankish chieftain was called Neroweg the Terrible Eagle,
and he was the ancestor of the Sire of Nointel, whom you there
see before you . . . Two centuries later, the Franks, thanks
to the complicity of the Bishop of Rome, had succeeded in con-
quering Gaul and in reducing her inhabitants to a condition of
200 THE IRON TREVET.
most cruel slavery; our land thereupon became a prey to our
conquerors, and we moistened it with our sweat, our tears and
our blood . . . During the first years of the Frankish con-
quest, Karadeuk the Bagaude, the ancestor of both Mazurec and
myself, a revolted slave, fought with Neroweg, Count of Au-
vergne, count by the right of rapine and murder. That Neroweg
had subjected to a cruel torture Loysik the Working-Hermit and
Ronan the Vagre, sons of Karadeuk the Bagaude. Bagaudie
and Vagrerie were the Jacquerie of those days. Vagres and
Bagaudes revenged themselves then as the Jacques do now for
the oppression of the seigneurs. In that fight between Karadeuk
the Bagaude and the Count Neroweg, Neroweg fell under the
axe of Karadeuk . . . Coming down to three centuries ago,
another of my ancestors, Den-Brao the Mason was buried alive
together with several other serfs, his fellow workmen, by Nero-
weg IV, Count of Plouernel in Brittany.
That noble thereby buried together with Den-Brao the secret of
an underground passage that they had been made to construct,
leading from the feudal manor into the forest. The grandson of
Den-Brao, who remained a serf of the seigniory of Plouernel, was
called Fergan the Quarryman. Neroweg VI kidnapped a son of
Fergan for the purpose of applying the child to the bloody sorcer-
ies of a witch. Fergan succeeded in rescuing his child, but he wit-
nessed the murder of his two relatives Bezenecq the Rich and
Bezenecq's daughter Isoline. Unable to pay an enormous ran-
som imposed upon him by Neroweg VI, Bezenecq perished under
the torture, while Isoline, the witness of her father's torment,
became insane and died. Then came the days of the Crusades.
Fergan and his seigneur met face to face and alone in the middle
of the desert of Syria. Fergan could have killed him by surprise,
but he fought him and vanquished . . . Finally, only a
year ago, my brother Mazurec the Lambkin has seen his bride
dishonored by the Sire of Nointel, the scion of the Nerowegs of
old, he forced my brother to make him the amende honorable at
THE IRON T REVET. 201
his feet, and thereupon to fight half naked with the knight of
Chaumontel in full armor. Vanquished in this unequal combat
and sentenced to be drowned in a bag, Mazurec would have per-
ished but for Adam the Devil and myself, who succeeded in
drawing him out of the river betimes, but his wife, Aveline-
who-never-lied, died an atrocious death only a few days ago.
The history of my family's sufferings is the history of the fami-
lies of us all, the enslaved and oppressed of your class, Sire of
Nointel, during so many centuries ! Aye, among the thousands
upon thousands of revolted vassals, who at this hour are run-
ning to arms, there is not one whose family has not undergone
what mine has ! The narrative of Mazurec's family and mine
is theirs also. Do you now understand the treasury of hatred
and of vengeance that has been heaping up from century to cen-
tury in the indignant breast of Jacques Bonhomme? Do you
understand that from age to age the fathers bequeathed this
hatred to their children as the only heritage left to them by
servitude? Do you understand that the vassal has a frightful
account to settle with his seigneur ? Do you understand how, in
his turn, Jacques Bonhomme has no mercy and no pity? Do
you, finally, understand that if at this moment, instead of fight-
ing you, I were to kill you like a wolf caught in a trap, the act
would be just? You have but one life, but innumerable are the
lives of the Gauls taken by you, and much larger yet those taken
by your class !"
An explosion of fury from the Jacques marked the close of
these words. Sufficiently exasperated against the Sire of Noin-
tel, they felt that the narrative of Jocelyn's family was that of
the martyrdom on earth endured by Jacques Bonhomme.
"Death to the seigneur! . . . Death without combat !"
repeated the insurgents. "Death to him, like a wolf caught in
a trap !"
"Vassal, you promised to fight with me!" cried Conrad of
Nointel. "Of what use are these ancient stories ?"
202 THE IRON TREVET.
"Do you repudiate the acts of your ancestors ? Do you repu-
diate your class ?"
"Even with your sword at my throat I shall to the very end
pronounce myself proud of belonging to the warrior class that
has held you under the whip and the stick, ye miserable serfs
. . . Even dying would I smite your faces !"
With a wafture of his hand Jocelyn restrains a fresh ex-
plosion of fury from the Jacques, and says to Adam the Devil:
"Deliver the seigneur of his bonds . . . Once more in the
course of the centuries a son of Joel and a son of Neroweg shall
take each other's measure, sword in hand !"
"And may my stock again meet yours to the undoing of your
own!" answered Conrad of Nointel in a hollow voice. "The
elder branch of my family still occupies its domains in Auvergne
. . . and my father's brother has sons! The race of the
Nerowegs will reappear across the ages !"
"Battle! . . . Battle!" said Jocelyn. "It shall be a
battle to the death, without quarter or mercy . . . Battle !"
"And also I, brother, shall have neither pity nor mercy for
that thief, the cause of all my misfortunes !" cried Mazurec point-
ing at the knight of Chaumontel, and added: "Adam, untie
also his hands. , There is room enough here for a double com-
bat. My brother shall have the seigneur ... I shall take
this thief of a knight. Give me a pitchfork, the fork is the
lance of Jacques Bonhomme."
Freed of his bonds and clad only in his shirt and hose, Ger-
ard of Chaumontel receives from William Caillet a stick to de-
fend himself with, and from Adam the Devil a rude push that
throws him in front of Mazurec, who, protected from head to
foot by the knight's own armor, holds up his three-pronged and
sharp fork.
"Come up, you double thief!" Mazurec called out; "must I
step forward to meet you ?"
THE IRON TREVET. 203
the Jacques, grasps his stick with both hands and forcing a smile
on his lips answers: "The heralds-at-arms have not yet given
the signal."
In the meantime, Conrad of Nointel, whose arms have been
unbound, stooped down to seize the sword from which Jocelyn
had not yet lifted his foot.
"One moment!" cried the champion, always with his foot
firmly on the sword. "Sire of Nointel, look me in the face
. . . if you dare !"
Conrad raised his head, fastened his glistening eyes upon his
adversary and asked : "What do you want ?"
"Worthy Sire, I wish to goad you to the combat. I mistrust
your courage. You fled like a coward at the battle of Poitiers,
and a minute ago you referred to me as a vile slave fit only for
the whip and the cane "
"And I say so again!" yelled Conrad turning red and white
with rage, "you vagabond !"
"Take this for the insult!" came from Jocelyn like a flash
while buffeting the livid face of Conrad of Nointel. "These
slaps are the goad I promised you. Even if you were more
cowardly than a hare, fury will now serve you instead of cour-
age !" Saying this Jocelyn made a leap backward, placing him-
self on his guard and leaving the sword on the ground free.
Crazed with rage, Conrad of Nointel seized the weapon and
rushed upon Jocelyn at the very moment that, armed with his
stick, Gerard of Chaumontel was rapidly retreating before the
approaching prongs of Mazurec's fork.
"Infamous thief!" cried the vassal pressing the knight with
his fork; "I had more courage than you ... I threw my
self under the feet of your horse, and seized you hand to hand !"
"My Jacques!" cried out Adam the Devil seeing the knight
of Chaumontel still retreating before Mazurec, "cross your
scythes behind that knight of cowardice; let him fall under
your iron if he tries to escape Mazurec's fork."
204 THE IRON TREVET.
The Jacques followed Adam the Devil's suggestion; at the
same time that Mazurec ran forward with his fork Gerard of
Chaumontel perceived a formidable array of scythes rise behind
him.
"Cowardly varlets ! Infamous scamps ! You abuse your
strength !"
"And you, worthy knight," answered Adam the Devil, "did not
you abuse your strength when you fought on horseback and in
full armor against Mazurec half naked and with only a stick to
defend himself ?"
During this short dialogue, the Sire of Nointel was impetuous-
ly charging upon Jocelyn. Rendered dexterous in the handling
of the sword by the practice of the tourneys, young, agile and
vigorous, he aims many an adroit blow at Jocelyn, who, how-
ever, parries them all like a consummate gladiator, while prick-
ing his adversary with the contemptuous remark. "To know
how to handle a sword so well, and yet to retreat so pitifully at
the battle of Poitiers ! What a shame I"
With a rapid step back Jocelyn evades at that instant a dan-
gerous thrust of Conrad of Nointel's sword, retorts with a vig-
orous pass, smites his adversary on the shoulder and, to his great
astonishment, sees him suddenly roll on the ground, seem to
stiffen his members, and then remain motionless.
"What?" observed the champion lowering his sword, "dead
with so little ? Beaten down so quickly ?"
"Brother, look out ... it probably is a ruse!" cried
Mazurec, at whom Gerard of Chaumontel had finally aimed so
furious a blow with his stick that it broke into splinters against
the iron casque on the vassal's . head. "Without the casque I
would now be a dead man. Oh! that's a good practice yon
knights have of fighting so well armed against half naked Jacques
Bonhomme !" Although somewhat dazed by the shock, Mazurec
plunged his fork into the bowels of the robber knight, who fell
blaspheming. Observing that Conrad still remained motionless
THE IRON T REVET. 205
on the ground, Mazurec repeated the warning: "Look out,
brother ! It is a ruse !"
And so it was. Astonished at the fall of his adversary Jocelyn
was stooping over him when the Sire of Nointel suddenly rose
on his haunches, seized the champion's leg with one hand, and
with the other sought to stab his adversary in the flank with a
dagger that he had kept concealed in his hose. Taken by sur-
prise and pulled by a leg, Jocelyn lost his balance.
"Viper!" cried Jocelyn dropping his sword and falling upon
Conrad whose hand he struggled to overpower. "I was on the
look-out ... I thought your death was feigned!" and
wresting the dagger from Conrad's hand, Jocelyn plunged it in
his adversary's breast : "Die, thou son of the Nerowegs !"
"Gerard!" muttered Conrad, dying, "I ... was wrong
. . . in violating the vassal's wife . . . Oh, Gloriande I"
Hardly had Jocelyn stepped aside from the corpse of the Sire
of Nointel when his vassals, so often the victims of his cruelty,
precipitated themselves upon the arena, and plying their forks,
scythes and axes with savage fury on the still warm body of their
recent tyrant, mutilated it beyond recognition. In the mean-
time, aided by other Jacques, Adam the Devil raised the knight
of Chaumontel, who, though mortally wounded by the thrust
of Mazurec's fork, was still alive, and called out: "Fetch the
bag and ropes !"
A peasant brought a bag with which they had ^provided them-
selves at the castle of Chivry. The bleeding body of the knight
of Chaumontel was placed within and tied fast so as to allow
his cadaverous head to stick out, and the bundle was carried
to the Orville bridge.
"Do you recall my prophecy/' Mazurec asked the knight, with
a diabolical smile; "I prophesied you would be drowned."
Gerard of Chaumontel uttered a deep moan. A superstitious
terror now overpowered him. His wonted haughtiness was no
more. In a fainting voice he murmured : "Oh, St. James, have
pity upon me , . . Oh, St. James, intercede for me . . ,
206 THE IRON T REVET.
with our Lord and all his saints ... I am justly punished
. . . .1 stole the vassal's purse . . . Oh, Lord, Oh,
Lord, have pity upon me !"
Arrived at the Orville bridge, the peasants threw the bagged
body of the knight of Chaumontel into the river amid the fran-
tic cheers of the Jacques, who exclaimed : "May thus perish all
seigneurs I"
CHAPTER VI.
ON TO CLERMONT!
Tarrying a moment on the Orville bridge, which the Jacques
had left on the march to join other bands and proceed in stronger
force against other seigniories, Jocelyn noticed a rider approach-
ing at full gallop. A few minutes later he recognized the rider
to be Rufin the Tankard-smasher, who soon reined in near the
bridge, followed at a distance by a considerable number of in-
surgents.
Jumping off his horse Rufin said to Jocelyn : "I learned from
the peasants coming up behind me that there was a large gather-
ing of Jacques at this place; I thought I would find you among
them and hastened hither to deliver to you a letter from Master
Marcel . . . Great events are transpiring in Paris."
Jocelyn eagerly took the missive, and while he read it, Rufin
the, Tankard-smasher went on saying : "By Jupiter ! The com-
pany of an honorable woman brings good luck. When I used
to have Margot on my arms, I always ran up against some acci-
dent; on the other hand, nothing could have been happier than
this trip of mine to Paris with Alison the Huffy, who, I fancy, is
huffy only at Cupid. We arrived in Paris without accident, and
Dame Marguerite received Alison with great friendship. Oh,
my friend ! I worship that tavern-keeper. Fie ! What an im-
proper term ! No ! That Hebe ! And was not Hebe the Olymp-
ian tavern-keeper? Oh, if Alison would only have me for her
husband, we would set up a lovely tavern, intended especially
for the students of the University. The shield would be splen-
did. It would exhibit Greek and Latin verses appealing to the
topers, such as : "Like Bacchus docs
Jocelyn here interrupted the student, saying with much ani-
mation after he had finished Etienne Marcel's letter: "Rufin, I
208 THE IRON TREVET.
return with you to Paris ; the provost has orders for me. Mazu-
rec is revenged. Everywhere the Jacques are rising according
to the information that reaches Marcel from the provinces. The
formidable movement must now be directed and utilized. The
Jacquerie must be organized. Wait for me a minute. I shall be
back immediately."
Jocelyn thereupon called to Adam the Devil, Mazurec and
William Caillet, who had also remained behind, took them aside
and said: "Marcel calls me to his side. The Kegent has with-
drawn to Compiegne ; he has declared Paris out of the pale of the
law and is preparing to march upon the city at the head of the
royal troops ; they are waiting for him, and will give him a warm
reception. All the communal towns, Meaux, Amiens, Laon,
Beauvais, Noyons, Senlis are in arms. Everywhere the peasants
are rising and the bourgeois and guild corporations are joining
them. The King of Navarre is captain-general of Paris. The
man deserves the nickname of 'Wicked/ nevertheless he is a
powerful instrument. Marcel will break him if he deviate from
the right path and refuse to bow before the popular sovereignty.
The hour of Gaul's enfranchisement has sounded at last. In
order to carry the work to a successful issue, the Jacquerie will
have to be regulated. These scattered and dispersed bands must
gather together, must discipline their forces and form an army
capable of coping, first with that of the Eegent, and then with
the English. We must first crush the inside foe and then the
foreign one."
"That is right," said Caillet, thoughtfully. "Ten scattered
bands can not accomplish much^ the ten together can. I am
known in Beauvoisis. Our Jacques will follow me wherever I
lead them. Once the seigneurs are exterminated, we shall fall
upon the English, a vermin that gnaws at the little that seigneurs
and their clergy leave us."
"Yesterday's butcheries have opened my appetite," cried Adam
the Devil, brandishing his scythe. "We shall mow down the
English to the last man. Death to all oppressors !"
THE IRON TREVET. 209
"The crop will be fine if we mow together," replied Jocelyn.
"Meaux, Senlis, Beauvais and Clermont are awaiting the Jacques
with open arms. Their gates will be opened to the peasants.
These will find there food and arms."
"Iron and bread ! We need no more I" put in William Caillet.
"And what is Marcel's plan ?"
"These fortified cities, occupied by the Jacques and the armed
bourgeoisie, will hold the Kegent's troops in check in the prov-
inces." answered Jocelyn. "The other sections of the country are
to organize themselves similarly. Now, listen well to Marcel's
instructions. The King of Navarre is on our side because he
expects with the support of the popular party to dethrone the
Regent. He occupies Clerrnont with his troops. Thence he is
to proceed to Paris and meet the royal army under the walls
of the city. He needs reinforcements. Marcel mistrusts him.
Now, then, you are to gather all the bands of Jacques into a body
and proceed to Clermont at the head of eight thousand men.
You can then join Charles the Wicked without fear, although
he is never to be trusted. But as his own forces barely number
two thousand foot soldiers and five hundred horsemen, in case of
treason they would be crushed by the Jacques, who would out-
number them four to one."
"Agreed," answered William Caillet, after carefully listening
to the champion, "and from Clermont are we to march straight
to Paris?"
"Upon your arrival at Clermont you will receive further in-
structions ir?m Marcel. To overpower the nobility, dethrone
the Regent and chase the foreigners from our soil that is the
provost's programme. When the campaign shall be over, the
hour of Jacques Bonhomme's enfranchisement will have come.
Delivered from the tyranny of the seigneurs and the pillaging
of the English, free, happy and at peace, the peasant will then
be able to enjoy the fruits of his arduous labors and wijl be
able to taste without molestation the sweet pleasures of the
hearth . . . Yes, you William Caillet, you Adam the Devil,
210 THE IRON TREVET.
you Mazurec, and so many others who have been wounded in
your tenderest feelings, you will have been the last martyrs of
the seigneurs and clergy, you will be the liberators of your
kind."
"Jocelyn, whatever may now happen, vanquisher or van-
quished, I can die in peace. My daughter is revenged I" said
William Caillet. "I promise to lead more than ten thousand
men to the walls of Clermont. The blood of the seigneurs and
their priests who have outraged us, the conflagrations of their
castles and churches, from which they issued to oppress us, will
mark the route of the Jacques."
"Marcel recalls me to Paris; I shall return to him; but you
will meet me at Clermont, where I shall convey to you further
instructions." And pressing Mazurec to his heart: "Adieu, my
brother, my poor brother ! We shall soon meet again. William,
I leave him with you. Watch over the unfortunate lad !"
"I love him as I did my daughter ! She will be the topic of
our conversation. And we shall fight like men who no longer
care for life."
After this exchange of adieus, Jocelyn turned back to Paris
with Eufin the Tankard-smasher on the crupper of his horse.
CHAPTEK VII.
CLERMONT.
Charles the Wicked, King of Wavarre, occupied at Clermont,
in the province of Beauv^isis, 'he castle of the count of the
place a vast edifice one of whoue towers dominated the square
called the "Suburb." The first f^oor of the donjon, lighted by a
long ogive window, formed a large circular hall. There, near a
table, sat Charles the Wicked. It was early morning. The
prince asked one of his equerries :
"Has the scaffold been erected?"
"Yes, Sire, you can see it from this window. It is just as you
ordered it."
"What face do the bourgeois make ?"
"They are in consternation; all the shops are closed; the
streets are deserted."
"And the masses? . . . the artisans . . . Are they
heard to murmur ?"
"Sire, after yesterday's massacre, there are none more of the
poorer class to be seen . . . neither on the streets nor the
squares . . . The -people are scarce."
"But some must still be left."
"Those that are left are in consternation and stupor like the
bourgeois."
"All the same, let my Navarrians keep sharp watch at the gates
of the town, on the ramparts and on the streets. Let them kill
on the spot any bourgoeis, peasant or artisan who dares this
morning to put his nose outside of his house."
"The order has been given, Sire. It will be carried out."
"And the chiefs of those accursed Jacques?"
"They remain impassive, Sire !"
212 THE IRON TREVET.
"Blood of Christ! They will become livelier, and that soon
. . . Has a trevet been procured. Let the executioner hold
himself ready."
"Yes, Sire. Everything is prepared according to your orders."
"Let everything be ready at the stroke of seven."
"All shall be ready, Sire."
Charles the Wicked reflected a moment, and then resumed,
taking up an enameled medallion with his monogram that lay
near him on the table: "Did the man arrive who was arrested
at the gates last night, and who sent me this medallion ?"
"Yes, Sire. He has just been brought in unarmed and pin-
ioned, as you ordered. He is kept under watch in the lower hall.
What is your pleasure?"
"Let him be brought up."
The equerry stepped out. Charles the Wicked rose, and ap-
proached the window that opened upon the square where the
scaffold was erected. After throwing it partly open so as to be
able to look out, he reclosed it and returned to his seat near the
table, his lips contracted with a sinister smile. He had barely
sat down again when the equerry returned preceding the a'rchers
in the middle of whom walked Jocelyn the Champion with his
hands bound behind his back and his face inflamed with anger.
The prince made a sign to the equerry, who thereupon withdrew
with the Navarrians, leaving Charles the Wicked and Jocelyn
alone, the latter, however, still pinioned.
"Sire, I am the victim either of a mistake or of unworthy
treason!" cried Jocelyn. "For the sake of your honor, I hope
it is a mistake . . . Order me to be unbound."
"There is no mistake in the case/'
"Then it is treason ! To disarm me ! To pinion me ! . . .
Me, the carrier of the medallion that I sent to you together with
a letter that I brought to you from Master Marcel ! That is
treason, Sire ! Disgraceful felony !"
"There is in all this neither mistake nor felony. A truce
with your imprudent words !"
THE IRON TREVET. 213
"What else is it?"
"A simple measure of prudence," cooly answered Charles the
Wicked ; "you signed the letter ' Jocelyn the Champion' . . .
Is that your name and profession ?"
"Yes, Sire ; I am a defender of the oppressed/'
"Did Marcel send you to me ?"
"I told you so, and proved it by forwarding the medallion.
What do you want of me ? Ask ; I shall answer ?"
"What is the purpose of your message ?"
"You shall know it when you will have set me free of my
bonds."
"The bonds do not tie your tongue . . . seems to me!
You can answer very well as you are."
"You ignore my character of ambassador! I have come in
that capacity."
"That's subtle . . . but be careful ; the minutes are pre-
cious ; your message is certainly important . . . Its success
may be endangered by a prolonged silence."
"Sire, I came to you, if not as a friend, still as an ally. You
treat me like an enemy. Master Marcel will be thankful for my
reserve "
"Very well," said Charles the Wicked, ringing a bell. The
call was forthwith answered by the equerry. "Let this man be
taken outside of the town, and the gates closed after him. Do
not allow him in again."
After a brief struggle with himself, Jocelyn resumed : "How-
ever outrageous be the reception you give an envoy of Matcel, I
shall speak and fulfill my mission."
At another sign from the King of Navarre, the equerry stepped
out again and the former said to Jocelyn : "What is your mes-
sage ?"
"Master Marcel charged me to say to you, Sire, that it was
time to open the campaign ; the Regent's army is marching upon
Paris; all the vassals are up in arms; numerous troops of
Jacques must be approaching Clermont to join you. Indeed, I
214 THE IRON TREVET.
am astonished at not having met any Jacques."
"By what gate did you enter Clermont ? From what side did
you cross the walls?"
"By the gate of the Paris road. It was dark when I arrived
and sent you one of the archers who arrested me."
"You spoke with no soldier?"
"I was locked up alone in one of the turrets of the ram-
part. I could speak with nobody. I communicated only with
your archers."
"Proceed . . . with your message."
"Marcel wishes to know what your plan of campaign will be
when your troops have been reinforced by eight or ten thousand
Jacques, who, according to our information, may any time ar-
rive in Clermont."
"We shall speak about that presently . . . First tell me
what the public sentiment is in Paris. Are more rebellions
feared?"
"The adversaries of Marcel and partisans of the Regent are
very active. They seek to mislead the population by imputing
to the revolt all the ills that the city suffers from. Royal troops
seized Etamps and Corbeil to prevent the arrival of grains in
Paris and starve out the city. Marcel took the field with the
bourgeois militia, and after a murderous conflict he threw the
royalists back and secured the subsistence of Paris. But the
provost's adversaries are redoubling their underhand manoeuvres
with a view to bring a portion of the bourgeoisie back to the
Regent. The people, more accustomed to privations, are easily
resigned ; full of hope in the future that is to bring them deliv-
erance, they weaken neither in energy nor in devotion to Marcel,
especially since the tidings of the revolts of the Jacques reached
Paris. The vassals of the whole valley of Montmorency are now
in revolt . . . " ; but suddenly breaking off, Jocelyn said :
"Sire, order these bonds to be removed from my hands; they
are a disgrace to me and to you . . . You treat me like a
prisoner !"
THE IRON TREVET. 215
"You were saying that the 'Begent's partisans are active? Is
not Maillart among the leaders in that movement?"
"No ... at least not openly. The avowed leaders of the
court party are all nobles ; among them is the knight of Charny
and the knight James of Pontoise. Prompt and resolute action
is necessary. Your chances of reigning over Gaul are excellent
if you come to the help of the Parisians, take the field against
the forces of the Kegent, and utilize, as Master Marcel suggests,
the powerful aid offered by the Jacquerie. Next to the clergy
and the seigneurs, there are no more implacable enemies of the
peasants than the English. Marcel's purpose in encouraging
the insurrections of the Jacques and organizing their bands is
above all to hurl them in mass against the English in the name
of the country that the invaders are ravaging with their preda-
tory bands, and to drive them from our soil. Triumph is as-
sured if the present enthusiasm of the Jacques is utilized by
turning it into that sacred channel towards the safety and de-
liverance of the country. That is the reason, Sire, why Master
Marcel has been seeking to effect the junction of the Jacques
with the forces that you command."
"Our friend Marcel," Charles the Wicked observed caustically,
"made an excellent choice of allies for me in the revolted peas-
ants !" saying which he rang the bell. The equerry entered and
left after the prince had whispered a few words in his ear.
"Sire/' again remonstrated Jocelyn, "your manners are mys-
terious. Are you hatching some other plot against me? You
may be frank ; I am in your power."
"There is no plot hatching," cooly answered Charles the
Wicked, shrugging his shoulders. "I am merely taking pre-
cautions to insure the quiet and calmness of our interview as
becomes people Me ourselves."
"Sire, have I perchance failed in calmness and quiet? My
language is self-possessed."
"So far ... you are right . . . but presently your
2i6 THE IRON TREVET.
moderation may be put to a severe test . . . my precautions
are wise "
The entrance of two other robust equerries in the company
of the prince's confidante interrupted his last words, and with-
out Jocelyn, whose hands were tied, being able to offer any ef-
fective resistance, he was thrown on the floor, where, however,
despite his being pinioned, he resented the treatment with" Her-
culean though vain efforts to disengage himself from his as-
sailants.
"By God I You are a Hercules . . . what athletic vigor
you display ! Am I wrong if I take precautions against the
consequences of our further interview, despite your assurances
of calmness and moderation ?"
N"ot without much difficulty the three equerries finally suc-
ceeded in binding Jocelyn's legs as firmly as his arms. When
that was done, Charles the Wicked said: "Place the envoy on
the settee near the window. He may sit up or lie down, as he
chooses . . . You may now go."
Again alone with Jocelyn, who was writhing in impotent rage,
the prince pursued : "Our interview can now proceeed peace-
fully."
"Oh, Charles the Wicked, every day you strive to justify your
name !" cried Jocelyn. "My suspicions did not deceive me. You
have some infamous act of treason to inform me of !"
Nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders, the prince answered:
"Vassal, if I did you the honor of fearing you I would have had
you hanged before this ... If I was betraying Marcel I
would be at Compiegne beside the Eegent . . .You axe
not hanged, and I am not at Compiegne ! Let us now tranquilly
resume the conversation that was interrupted when you were
speaking about the Jacques . . . Well, now, the Jacques
did come in bands . . . The worthy allies of your friend
Marcel came "
"Here to Clermont?"
THE IRON TREVET. 217
"They came here ... to Clermont. in the number of
eight or ten thousand."
"Where are they?"
"Oh! Oh! ... Where are they?" Charles the Wicked
answered back with a Satanic leer. "Where are they? . . .
That is an embarrassing question, that is ! . . . Since man
is man it has been the despair of those who seek to fathom the
secret of where we go . . . when we leave this world
. . . They are where we all shall go !"
"What is that ? The Jacques ?
"They are where we all shall go ... Do you not under-
stand me?"
"Dead ! ?" cried Jocelyn, stupefied with terror. "Dead ! Mas-
sacred ! My God !"
"Come, keep cool . . . Listen to the details of the ad-
venture . . . you are to transmit it to your friends."
"This man frightens me!" thought Jocelyn, a cold perspira-
tion bathing his forehead. "Is it some trap he is laying for me ?"
"The Jacques came/' resumed Charles the Wicked, "those
wild beasts that pillage and burn down castles, massacre priests
and seigneurs, outrage women, and pitilessly cut the throats of
children, to the end, as these devils put it, of annihilating the
nobility !"
"Oh, God !" cried Jocelyn, sitting up, "the reprisals of Jacques
Bonhomme lasted one day . . . his martyrdom centu-
ries !
"Vassal !" the King of Navarre haughtily interrupted Jocelyn,
"the rights of the conqueror over the conquered, of the seigneur
over the serf, are absolute and from heaven ! . . . A villein
or peasant in revolt deserves death. It is the feudal law."
The champion shivered, and looking fixedly at the King of
Navarre said: "Charles the Wicked, you will not let me leave
this place alive ; you would be a lost man if I carried your words
to Marcel !"
"You will leave this place alive," coldly answered the prince,
2i8 THE IRON TREVET.
"and besides my words, you will report the facts to Marcel."
A prey to irrepressible agony, Jocelyn fell back upon the
settee and Charles the Wicked proceeded :
"You will first of all tell Marcel that, however wily he may
be, I have not been his dupe. The chiefs of the Jacques whom
he sent to me as auxiliaries were expected to become my watch-
ers, and, if need be, my butchers ... if I deviated from
the path marked out by that insolent bourgeois. I was in his
hands, said he to me, but an 'instrument that he would break
if need be' ... Very well ! I have broken one of Marcel's
redoubtable instruments ... I have annihilated the Jac-
querie . . . and at this very moment my friends, Gaston
Phoebus, the Count of Foix and the Captal of Buch are crush-
ing in Meaux the last coils of that serpent of revolt that sought
to rise against the nobility "
"The Jacquerie crushed ! annihilated !" exclaimed Jocelyn,
more and more beside himself. But returning to his first sus-
picion, he gathered voice to say: "Charles the Wicked, you are
the most cunning man on earth . . . you are laying some
trap for me ... If the Jacques came to Clermont to the
number of eight or ten thousand, you were not in command of
sufficient forces to exterminate them."
"Sir envoy, you are too hasty in your conclusions. Listen first,
you will then be able to judge. I promised facts to you. Here
they are. Yesterday, towards noon, I was apprised of the ap-
proach of the Jacques. The bourgeoisie of Clermont and the
corporation of artisans, infected with the old communal leaven,
went out ot meet the malefactors and to feast them. I encour-
aged their plans, and while the Jacques halted in the valley
near Clermont, three of their chiefs presented themslves at the
drawbridge demanding to entertain me."
"What were their names?"
"William Caillet . . . Adam the Devil ... and
Mazurec the Lambkin . . I ordered the three Jacques
chiefs to be brought to me ; I received them with great courtesy ;
THE IRON TREVET. 219
I touched their hands, called them my comrades and gave them
fraternal embraces. We agreed that, obedient to Marcel's wishes,
they should be my auxiliaries, and that we would speedily start
on the march to Paris. In the meantime their men were to re-
main encamped in the valley. After issuing their orders, to this
effect, the three chiefs conferred with me upon the plan of cam-
paign. So said, so done. The three chiefs returned to their en-
campment to order matters and came back to me. My first act
then was to throw all three into prison. I knew that, deprived
of their chiefs, the execrable bandits were half overcome. I then
sent one of my officers, the Sire of Bigorre, to inform the Jacques
that at the conference I had with their chiefs, they desired that
their men should immediately begin to exercise themselves with
my archers and cavalrymen, in order to accustom themselves to
military manoeuvres. The Jacques tumbled into the trap, gladly
accepted the proposition, and were formed into battalions."
Noticing the indignation and rage of Jocelyn, that betrayed
themselves through his involuntary twitchings in his bonds,
Charles the Wicked interrupted his narrative for a moment in
order to interject the remark : "I congratulate myself more and
more upon having had you bound fast. Waste not your fury.
It will soon have stronger matter upon which to expend itself
. . . I now proceed . . . The bourgeois and artisan
guilds of Clermont had tapped a large number of barrels to
feast their friends the Jacques with. Their hilarity was soon
complete. With loud cries the Jacques called for their first ex-
ercise in military marching. The Sire of Bigorre, an able cap-
tain, commanded the manoeuvre. He did it in such a way that,
after a few marches and countermarches, the Jacques found
themselves huddled and crowded together like a herd of cattle
at the bottom of the valley, an easy mark to my archers stationed
on the surrounding eminences, while my cavalry occupied the
only two issues from which the fleers could escape out of the
deep hollow/'
220 THE IRON TREVET.
"You princes are experts at massacres !" cried Jocelyn, in bit-
ter despair.
"It was a regular slaughter of wolves," answered Charles the
Wicked. "The Jacques, like stupid and ferocious brutes, and
full of vain-glory at parading before the bourgeois of Clermont,
put out their chests, and carried their staves, forks and scythes
with as much pride as if they carried the noble arms of knight-
hood; they even applauded the excellent order of my men-at-
arms who held the crests round about the hollow in which they
were penned up. Suddenly the clarions gave a signal. The
music greatly delighted the revolted varlets. But their delight
is soon ended. At the clarion's first notes my archers bent their
bows and a hail storm of murderous bolts, shot by my soldiers
from above into the compact mass of Jacques in the hollow,
decimated the bandits. A panic took possession of the savage
herd; the brutes sought to flee by the two issues in the valley;
but there they found themselves face to face with my five hun-
dred cavalrymen, cased in iron, who, with lances, swords and
iron maces furiously charged upon the canaille, while my archers
continued riddling with their bolts both the flanks of the band
and those who sought to climb up the hill ... It was a
superb slaughter . . . The ground was heaped with the
dead !"
Jocelyn uttered a hollow groan. Charles the Wicked smiled
satisfied and proceeded:
"Xothing more cowardly can be conceived than those varlets
after their first exaltation. Such was their fright, as told me by
the Sire of Bigorre, that they allowed themselves to be killed
like sheep ; they fell upon their knees, bared their throats to the
swords, their breasts to the arrows and their heads to the iron
maces. In short, all those whom iron did not pierce were smoth-
ered under the corpses. A large number of bourgeois and town
plebs, spectators of the slaughter, and also crowded down in the
valley, shared the fate of their comrade Jacques Bonhomme.
Thus with one blow I relieved myself of the peasants and of the
THE IRON TREVET. 221
town plebs together with a considerable number of communal
bourgeois. I now hold their town in my power, and keep it.
That is their affair with me. And, now, Sir ambassador, tell
Marcel in my name no more to mix up the Jacques in our oper-
ations. There are now few of these ferocious beasts left; more-
over, they are evil companions. You shall presently be freed
of your bonds and your horse shall be returned to you. Should
you doubt my words and wish to make sure of the facts before
returning to Paris, go out by the side of the valley, look around,
and, above all, close your nose . . . the carcasses of those
accursed Jacques are beginning to emit rank odors."
Forgetting in his rage that he was pinioned, Jocelyn turned to
rush upon Charles the Wicked. The prince, however, proceeded
smiling as before :
"Ungrateful fellow . . . You would strangle me . . .
Yet you ignore how generous I have been ... I have saved
the lives of the three chiefs of that band of raving wolves . .
Do you doubt it?" he inquired, answering a painful sigh that
escaped from the breast of Jocelyn, whose thoughts ran upon
his brother; "you question my clemency and generosity!' '
"Coull it be true?" cried Jocelyn, yielding to a vague hope;
"did my brother Mazurec really escape?"
"If you talk calmly instead of bellowing like a staked steer, I
shall give you my word as a knight that you will see your
brother."
"Mazurec lives ... I shall see him !"
"He lives . . . You will see him . . . upon the
word of a knight. But let us talk sensibly. We must now con-
sider the means by which Marcel and I can co-operate in the ac-
complishment of our common projects."
"Marcel will not co-operate with the butcher of so many in-
nocent victims!" cried Jocelyn. "Marcel will not ally himself
with you, who just told me that all rebellious vassals deserve
death! . . . The fatal alliance he entered into with you,
compelled thereto by stress of circumstances, is now forever sun-
222 THE IRON TREVET.
dered. It has been a terrible lesson. It will enlighten the people
who seek the support of princes in the struggle against their
oppressors."
"You slander Marcel's good judgment, whose political sagacity
none appreciates more than I. That clothier is a master-man.
Do you know what he will answer you when, back to Paris, you
will have reported to him the carnage of the Jacquerie ?"
"Oh, indeed I do!"
"He will say this: "The bourgeoisie and the Jacquerie were
my army; I expected to discipline it and to be able to say to
the King of Navarre: "My army is superior to yours; accept
my conditions; let us jointly march against the Kegent; I prom-
ise you his crown if you consent to submit to the national as-
sembly as the supreme power. If you prefer allying yourself
with the Regent, do so. The bourgeoisie holds the towns, the
Jacquerie the country. I do not fear you." But here is the Jac-
querie, the bulk of my army, annihilated/ Marcel will thought-
fully add: 'The disaster is irreparable. I now have but one of
two courses open: either submission to the Regent, and deliver
up to him my head and the heads of my friends, or promote the
projects of the King of Navarre, who has an army capable of
coping with the royal forces. Accordingly, instead of dictating
terms to the King of Navarre, I am compelled to accept his
terms/ That is what Marcel will say."
"Marcel will never betray the cause to which he has devoted
his life."
"So far from betraying the cause of the people, he will insure
the execution of a part of his programme. Do you take me for
fool enough to ignore that, inevitably Marcel said so to me, and
he spoke truly inevitably, if I mount the throne, I am com-
pelled to carry out the larger part of the reforms that that re-
dresser of wrongs has been pushing so many years ? Would not
the bourgeois sooner or later rebel against me as they have done
against the Regent if I did not grant them greater freedom?
Marcel furthermore said to me with his usual good sense : 'You,
THE IRON TREVET. 223
Sire, who covet the crown, will see in every reform measure only
a means to confirm you upon the throne ; the Eegent, on the con-
trary, considers every measure of reform as a curtailment of his
hereditary sovereign rights.' "
"Charles the Wicked, if such are your plans, if each of your
words is not a lie or does not hide some trap, why did you mas-
sacre the Jacques? Why did you crush that popular uprising?
Was it not bound to insure the freedom of Gaul and chase away
the English?"
"Do you take me for a simpleton? What would there be left
for me to reign over if Gaul were entirely free? What would
become of the nobility ? No, no ! Whether I like it or not, I shall
be compelled to grant a large number of reforms that may satisfy
the bourgeoisie; I would not resign myself to the role of a pas-
sive instrument of the national assembly, as Marcel proposes, but
I shall want to rule jointly with the assembly ; and I would put
forth all my efforts to end the English war. But as to raising
Jacques Bonhomme from his condition not at all ! If I tried
it I would turn every seigneur into an enemy. Jacques Bon-
homme shall remain Jacques Bonhomme. Who would be left to
fill the royal treasury if I enfranchised Jacques Bonhomme?
Who would there be left to be taxed at will ? The enfranchise-
ment of Jacques Bonhomme would be the end of both nobility
and royalty ! . . . Those pests of bourgeois franchises, that
issued from the execrable communes, are themselves enough of a
menace to the throne . . . This being all understood, you
will say to Marcel that as early as to-morrow I shall begin col-
lecting the several divisions of my army, and that I shall march
upon Paris, whose gates shall be open to me . . . Finally,
in order to setfle this and some other matters, you will tell him
fo meet me at Saint-Ouen, where I shall be in the evening of
the day after to-morrow."
The merciless logic of Charles the Wicked only redoubled the
horror that he inspired Jocelyn with, and the latter was about
to give vent to it when the hour of seven was struck from afar
224 THE IRON TREVET.
by the parochial church of Clermont. With his usual smile the
prince observed :
"I promised you that you would see your brother . . .
You are about to see him. And I want to let you know how I
discovered your relationship. I ordered a fellow who is all ears
to be concealed in a secret closet of the prison of the three chiefs
of the Jacquerie. He was instructed to spy upon the scamps'.
In that way he heard one of them say to his accomplices, that he
regretted he could not see his brother Jocelyn the Champion and
friend of Marcel once more. When I this morning received the
letter signed 'Jocelyn/ announcing yourself as the envoy of the
provost, I easily discovered your relationship with the Jacques."
"Where is my brother? Where is that poor Mazurec? Have
me carried before him."
"You will see him! Did I not pledge you my word as a
knight? . . . But do not forget to notify Marcel that I
expect to see him at Saint-Ouen day after to-morrow evening.
And may the devil take you !"
The King of Navarre left the room. A few minutes after his
departure the door was again opened and Jocelyn joyfully turned
expecting to see his brother enter. He hoped in vain. It was one
of the equerries.
"Your master assured me that I would see my brother, Mazu-
rec," said Jocelyn, an unaccountable feeling of anxiety creeping
over him.
The equerry opened the window near which the champion had
been deposited and pointing to it said: "Look out of this win-
dow. Our Sire is faithful to his promise," and he withdrew,
locking the door after him.
Seized with a terrible presentiment, Jocelyn leaned towards
the window as far as his bound limbs allowed him, and the fol-
lowing ghastly scene was enacted before his eyes :
Below the window, about thirty feet down, is a vast square
surrounded with houses and into which two streets run out, both
of which are barred with strong cordons of soldiers charged to
THE IRON T REVET. 225
keep the inhabitants of the town from entering the square. At
one end of the square and not far from Jocelyn's window rises
a wide scaffold. In the middle of the scaffold stands a stake
with a stool attached, at either side of which is a block on which
a sharp-pointed pile is firmly fastened. Several executioners
are busy on the scaffold. Some are attaching iron chains to the
center stake; others are standing around a cooking-stove turning
on the burning coals, with the help of tongs, one of those iron
trevets or tripods used by the peasants to cook their porridge in
the fire-place. The trevet begins to be red hot; some of the
executioners engaged near the stove kneel down and blow upon
the fire to keep up the flames.
Presently, trumpets are heard approaching from the direc-
tion of one of the two streets ; the cordon of soldiers posted at the
mouth of that street part and allow a passage to a first squad of
archers. Between this and the second squad, William Caillet,
Adam the Devil and Mazurec the Lambkin are seen marching
with firm tread. Mazurec is only half clad in an old hose of
goat-skin; the two other peasants wear the ancient Gallic
"blaude" or blouse, wooden shoes and woolen cap. It was not
thought necessary to pinion them. Adam and Mazurec have each
an arm on the shoulder of William Caillet, who is placed between
the two. Thus joined in one embrace, the three men marcTi
with heads erect, intrepid looks and resolute carriage towards
the scaffold erected for their last martyrdom.
The archers who compose the rear-guard of the escort spread
themselves over the place, with their bows ready and their eyes
searching the windows of the surrounding houses. One of the
lattices clicks open, and instantly two arrows fly and disappear
through the aperture, followed by an agonizing cry within. The
two archers immediately re-fit their bows. They are executing
the orders they received from their chiefs. The town people oc-
cupying the houses around the square had been forbidden to ap-
pear at their windows during the execution of the three chiefs
of the Jacquerie. The three are now at the foot of the scaffold.
226 THE IRON TREVET.
Gasping for breath, his face moist with cold perspiration, hor-
rified and desperate at the sight of such a spectacle, Jocelyn feels
his head swimming. He seems oppressed by a horrible night-
mare. He distinguishes the faces ; he hears the voice of Mazurec,
of Adam, of Caillet exchanging a supreme adieu on the scaffold,
while the executioners around them are making ready. William
iCaillet takes the hands of Adam and Mazurec and cries out in
a strong voice that reaches the champion's ears :
"Firm, my Jacques ! Firm to the end ! Adam, your wife is
revenged ! . . . Mazurec, our Aveline is revenged ! . . .
Our relatives and friends, smothered to death in the cavern of
the forest of Nointel are avenged . . . The executioners are
about to torture and put us to death. What does it matter?
Our death will not return life to the noble dames and seigneurs
who fell under our blows in the midst of their happiness. They
sorrowed to leave life . . . not so with us, with us whose
lives are brimful of sorrows and tears ! . . . The Jacquerie
has revenged us ! . . . Some day others will finish what we
began ! . . . Firm, my Jacques ! Firm to the end !"
"Oh, Jacques Bonhomme, for so many centuries a martyr!"
responded Adam and Mazurec in savage enthusiasm. "The Jac-
querie has revenged you! . . . Others will finish what we
began! . . . Firm, my Jacques! . . . Firm to the
end !"
The executioners, engaged in their last dispositions, feel no
concern at what the three peasants may say. Their words can
find no echo upon that deserted place. As soon as the iron trevet
is at white head, one of the tormentors cried : "Ready ! We are
ready for the job !"
The arches chain the three Jacques fast to the platform of
the scaffold and deliver them to the executioners. These seize
William Caillet and bind him down upon the seat attached to the
stake in the center of the two blocks with sharp-pointed piles.
Mazurec and Adam are stripped of their clothes except their
hose, their hands are tied behind their backs and they are led
THE IRON TREVET. 227
id the two blocks One of the executioners pulls off the woolen
cap that covers the grey-headed William Caillet, while another
seizes with a pair of tongs the little trevet, turns it upside down
with its feet in the air, and placing the white-hot iron on the
skull of the aged peasant cries out : "I crown thee King of the
Jacques !"
Caillet bellows with the insufferable pain ; his hair takes fire,
the skin of his forehead shrivels, runs blood and rips open under
the pressure of the incandescent iron. The axes of two other exe-
cutioners rise over Mazurec and Adam, who are now on their
knees each before one of the blocks.
"Brother I" cries Jocelyn the Champion, overcoming the night-
mare pressure on his chest that suffocated and extinguished his
voice; "Brother!"
At the heart-rending cry, Mazurec quickly raises and turns
hip head towards the window from which the cry proceeded. But
that very instant the glint of the descending axe of the execu-
tions r flashes in Jocelyn's eyes ; his brother's body sinks upon and
his head rolls over the scaffold, reddening it with its blood. The
champion is seized with a vertigo; his heart fails him; and he
falls unconscious upon the floor.
When Jocelyn receovered consciousness he found himself un-
bound and stretched upon a pallet of straw in a lower hall. An
archer mounted guard over him near a lamp. It was night.
Gathering his thoughts as if he had awakened from some trou-
bled dream, the champion soon recalled the horrible reality. The
archer informed him that he was found unconscious by the
equerries of the prince in the hall of the tower, had been trans-
ported to that place, and, after a fit of delirium, had fallen into
profound torpor. The archer also informed him that his horse
and arms were to be returned to him, and that he could leave
Clermont whenever he wished. Jocelyn requested the archer to
take him to one of the officers of the King of Navarre, hoping to
obtain permission to render a pious homage to Mazurec. The
prince granted the request, and Jocelyn, leaving the castle, pro-
2a8 THE IRON T REVET.
ceeded to the place of the execution. By the light of the moon he
mounted the scaffold which was guarded by soldiers, The corpses
of the three Jacques were to remain exposed during the whole
of the next day. After his torture, William Caillet had been
beheaded like his two companions. His head and theirs were
stuck to the points of the piles that surmounted the blocks. Joce-
lyn religiously kissed the icy forehead of his brother Mazurec,
and turning to descend the scaffold, his foot struck against the
iron trevet which had fallen down after the decapitation of Wil-
liam Caillet.
"This instrument of torture and witness of my brother's mar-
tyrdom shall join the relics of our family," said Jocelyn the
Champion to himself, picking up and concealing the trevet under
his cloak. He then hastened to his horse that was held ready at
the gate of Clermont and left the town, hastening to rejoin
Elienne Marcel in Paris.
CHAPTER J.
THE WAYS OF ENVY.
About a month had elapsed since the death of William
Caillet, Adam the Devil and Mazurec the Lambkin.
Denise, the niece of Etienne Marcel and betrothed to
Jocelyn the Champion, has retired to a large apart-
ment over the cloth shop of the provost and is busy
sewing by a lamp. Uneasiness is depicted on the sweet
face of the young maid. From time to time she stays
her needle and listens towards the window through
which the confused talk and hurrying steps of large
numbers of people on the street penetrate into the
room. Gradually the noise on the street subsided
and silence reigned again. These evidences of the
excitement that agitated Paris greatly alarmed Denise.
"My God !" she exclaimed. "The tumult augments. My
aunt Marguerite has not yet returned. Where can she
have gone to? Why did she borrow the cloak of Agnes
our servant? Why the disguise? Why did she conceal
her head under a cowl? Can she have gone to the town-
hall, where my uncle and Jocelyn have been since morn-
ing?" At the thought of the champion, Denise blushed,
sighed and proceeded : "Oh, should there be any dan-
THE IRON TREVET. 229
ger, Jocelyn will watch over my uncle Marcel as he would have
done over his own father . . . But the prolonged absence
of my aunt causes me mortal anxiety . . . May God guard
her ... "
Agnes the Bigot, the old domestic of the house, entered the
room precipitately, and said to Denise whom she had known since
her birth : "For the last hour I have noticed three men of sin-
ister looks on our street. They never stray far from our door.
I watched them through the lattices. Off and on they consult
in a low voice and then separate again. One of them has now
planted himself on the left, the second to the right of the door,
and the third opposite . . . They must have been sent to
spy upon the people who enter and leave the house."
"Such spyings seem to me ominous ; I shall notify my aunt as
soon as she returns."
"I think this is she," answered the servant. "I heard the shop
door open and close ; that must be madam."
Indeed Marguerite Marcel soon entered the room. She threw
far from her a cowled cloak that she had on, and said to Agnes :
"Leave us."
The provost's wife threw herself into a chair; she was ex-
hausted with fatigue and emotion. Her dejection, the pallor of
her visage and the visible palpitation of her bosom redoubled the
fears of Denise who was about to interrogate her aunt, when the
latter, making an effort over herself suppressed her agitation
and said to Denise collectively :
"Courage, my child ; courage !"
"Oh, heaven 1 ... Aunt . . . have we any new mis-
fortune to deplore? What has happened now?' 1
"No . . . not at present; but to-morrow; perhaps this
very evening." Marguerite stopped short for a moment, and
then proceeded with still greater calmness and decision : "I paid
a tribute to weakness; I now feel strong again; I am now pre-
pared for the worst ... I shall at least know by resignation
how to rise to the hight of the man whose name I bear ! Oh,
230 THE IRON T REVET.
never was an honorable man more unworthily misunderstood, or
attacked in more cowardly fashion!"
"Then Master Marcel is exposed to new perils ?"
"My presentiments did not deceive me. What I have just
learned by myself confirms them. A plot is hatching against
Marcel and his partisans. Perhaps his own life and the lives of
his friends are at stake. Let the worst come ! At the hour of
danger Marcel will do his duty and I mine ... I shall
stand by my husband unto death."
Marguerite pronounced these last words in an accent of such
mournful determination that a cry of astonishment and fright
escaped from Denise.
"My resolution astonishes you, poor child !" resumed Marcel's
wife. "To-day you see me full of courage ! And yet last year
. . . even as late as yesterday ... I admitted to you
my agony and the fears that every day beset me at the mere
thought of the dangers that my husband ran. I then minded
only his fatigue, I then only objected to the overwhelming labors
that barely left him two hours of rest a night, I then looked back
regretfully to the days when, a stranger to political affairs, he
busied himself only with the affairs of our own cloth business.
Our then obscurity at least saved us the sad spectacle of the
hatreds and the envy that have since been unchained against Mar-
cel's glory and popularity."
"Oh, aunt, you speak truly ! Do you remember that wicked
and envious Petronille Maillart? Thank God she never came
back since the day of the funeral of Perrin Mace ! We have Been
spared her presence !"
"I now have no doubt that her husband is one of the leaders
in the plot that is hatching against Marcel."
"Master Maillart! . . . Uncle's childhood friend! He
who only the other day was so loudly protesting his affection for
him!"
"Maillart is a weak man ; he yields to his wife's influence over
him, and she is consumed with envy. She envied in me the wife
THE IRON TREVET. 231
of the man whom the idolizing people called the King of Paris.
In those days I would have sacrificed Marcel's glory to his re-
pose ... his genius to his safety ! The slightest popular
commotion made me fear for him ... I was then weak and
cowardly . . . But to-day, when he is pursued hy hatred,
ingratitude and iniquity, I feel strong, brave and withal proud
of being the wife of that great citizen. I feel capable of prov-
ing to him my devotion unto death."
"Oh, may heaven prevent that your devotion be put to so ter-
rible a test ! But how did you learn about the plot ?"
"I determined this evening to put an end to my suspense, and
to ascertain the actual facts regarding the popular sentiment
towards Marcel. I wrapped myself in that mantel to prevent
being discovered, and moved among numerous groups that gath-
ered in our quarter."
"I now understand it all. And you learned directly . . . '
"Things that cause me to foresee an imminent and fearful
crisis. The life of Marcel is in great danger."
"Good God ! May you not be mistaken ?"
"No ! The privations, the sufferings and the ills that follow
in the wake of the painful conquest of freedom are laid to Mar-
cel's door. My husband is at once attacked by the emissaries of
the court party Mid by those of the party of Maillart. These
emissaries circulate among the poor people, who, credulous of
evil as well as of good, are fickle in their affections, and whim-
sical in their hatred. It is harped upon to them that all the
evils of these days would have been avoided if Councilman Mail-
lart, 'the true friend of the people/ had been listened to ; others
preach prompt submission to the Kegent as the only means to a
speedy end of our public disasters. 'What does the Regent,
after all, demand,' ask his backers, 'What does he exact in re-
turn for his pardon ? Only eight hundred thousand gold pieces
for the ransom of King John and the heads of the leaders of the
revolt and of its principal partisans! Would it be paying too
232 THE IRON TREVET.
dearly with a little shame, a little gold and a little blood for the
peace of the city ?' "
"Great God !" cried Denise, pale and trembling, "who are the
leaders of the revolt whose heads the Regent demands?"
"They are Marcel . . . my son . . . our best friends
. . . all honorable people, devoted to the public weal, adver-
saries of oppression and iniquity . . . uncompromising ene-
mies of the English, who are ravaging our unhappy land, and
who would have put Paris to fire and sword were not Paris pro-
tected by the fortifications that it owes to Marcel's foresight and
zeal! The people to-day seem to have forgotten the services that
my husband has rendered the city; they seem to have forgotten
that they owe to Marcel the reforms that have been imposed upon
the Kegent and which guarantee them against rapine and vio-
lence from the side of the court."
"Can it be possible that the people are guilty of such ingrati-
tude against Master Marcel ?"
"My husband's soul is too large, his spirit too just to have
been swayed in his public acts by expectations of gratitude. How
often has he not said to me: 'Let us do what is right and just,
such acts are their own reward.' Marcel is prepared for any
emergency. Nevertheless, thinking that my observations might
be of benefit to him, I stepped into the house of our friend Simon
the Feather-dealer who lives not far from the town-hall, and I
wrote to my husband what I had seen and heard. My letter was
carried to him by a trusty man " but observing that the tears
that Denise had long been suppressing now inundated her face,
Marguerite interrupted her report, inquiring tenderly : 'Why do
you weep, dear Denise?"
"Oh, aunt! I have neither your strength nor your courage
. . . The thought of the dangers that threaten Master Marcel
. . . and our friends . . . overwhelm me with fear !"
"Poor child ! You are thinking of Jocelyn, your lover ? He
is a true friend of ours."
THE IRON T REVET. 233
"Should there be a riot or a fight, he will rush into the thick-
est ... to save Marcel/'
"I regret, for the sake of your happiness, dear child, that I
ever called you to Paris. Had you not come, you would now
be living peacefully at Vaucouleurs, away from this center of
trouble and strife."
At this instant Agnes the Bigot re-entered, preceding a per-
son whom she announced, saying: "Dame Maillart has come,
she assures me, in order to render you a great service. She wishes
to speak to you without delay."
"I do not wish to see her !" cried Marguerite, impatiently. "I
detest the sight of that woman. I refuse to receive her !"
"Madam, she says she came to render you a great service."
answered the servant, sorry for having involuntarily crossed her
mistress' wishes. "I thought I was doing right to allow her to
come up ; it is now unfortunately too late :
Indeed, Petronille Maillart appeared at that moment at the
door of the room. Triumphant and barely controlled hatred be-
trayed itself in the looks that the councilman's wife cast upon
Marguerite. But assuming a mild and kind voice she approached
the object of her envy.
"Good evening, Dame Marcel ; good evening, poor Dame Mar-
cel."
"This affectation of sympathy conceals some odious perfidy,"
thought Denise, whose face was still wet with tears. "I do not
like to afford this wicked woman the spectacle of my sorrow."
The young maid left the room, together with the servant.
Alone with the councilman's wife, Marguerite addressed her
dryly :
"I am greatly astonished to see you here, madam ; our friendly
relations must cease."
"I understand your astonishment, poor Dame Marguerite, see-
ing we have not met since the day of the funeral of Perrin Mace.
Oh, Master Marcel's popularity was then immense ; people called
234 THE IRON TREVET.
him then the King of Paris . . . they swore by him . . .
he was looked upon as the saviour of the city "
"Madam, I beg you to speak less of the past and more of the
present . . . Make your visit short. What do you want
of me?"
"First of all to beg you to forget the little quarrel we two had
on the day of the funeral of Perrin Mace. Next I come to ren-
der a great service to poor Master Marcel."
"My husband excites nobody's pity ... he does not need
your services."
" Alack ! I wish I could leave you in that error, Dame Mar-
guerite. But I must tell you the truth, and inform you, see-
ing you are not aware of it, that you no longer are the 'Queen of
Paris' as you were in the days when Master Marcel was the
King. Even at the risk of wounding your legitimate pride, I
must add against my will that your husband's position has be-
come desperate ... I feel distressed at the sorrow that
overwhelms you "
"Your excellent heart is unnecessarily alarmed, Dame Petron-
ille. Do not mind my sorrow."
"Unfortunately, however, I am certain of what I say."
"Madame, I greatly mistrust both your protestations and your
confidences."
"You do not seem to be informed on what is transpiring in
Paris."
"I know that there are wicked and envious people in Paris."
"I know you too well, Dame Marguerite, to imagine that a wise
and discreet person like yourself would reproach me with being
envious "
"Indeed, I would not venture, madam ... I would in-
deed not venture "
"And you would be right. What is there in your present fate
to be envied. A storm is beating down upon you."
"Envious people do not need much to be envious about. They
THE IRON TREET. 235
envy even the calmness and courage derived from a clean con-
science, when misfortune is on \"
"You admit it ? . . . Misfortune has come upon you and
your husband?" cried the councilman's wife triumphantly, and
for a moment forgetting her role of hypocrite. But recalling her-
self, she added cajolingly: "The avowal at least makes me hope
that you will accept the services of my husband."
Realizing the gravity of the last words of the councilman's
wife, Marguerite fixed a penetrating look upon her and answered :
"Did Master Maillart send you to offer his services to my hus-
band ? Whence such solicitude ?"
"Have the two not been friends since their childhood ? Is the
friendship of youth ever forgotten? You have earned our af-
fection."
"It is so at least with generous hearts. But if Master Maillart
wishes to render a service to my husband, why should he send
you, madam ? Does he not meet Marcel daily at the town-hall ?"
"Since last evening, neither Maillart nor any of his friends
have set foot at the town-hall . . . and for good reasons.
And for another reason he would not set foot here. That is why
he has commissioned me to come and offer you his advice and
services."
"What does he advise . . . what are his services?"
"Maillart advises your husband to secretly leave Paris this
very night."
"We now know the advice; it implies a great resolution
. . . As to the service . . . what is it ?"
"My husband offers to favor Marcel's flight if you adopt his
advice."
"And how?"
"Maillart will send a trusty man to your house towards mid-
night. He shall accompany your husband. He is to wrap him-
self up well so as not to be recognized, and confidently follow
our emissary, who is charged to see him safely off . . . But
236 THE IRON TREVET.
your husband must be absolutely alone, otherwise our emissary
will refuse to conduct him."
"It seems to me that in his eagerness to advise and serve,
Master Maillart forgets that Marcel and the town council the
governors, as they are called are still masters of Paris. The
captains of tens and the guards at the gates still obey them. If
it should happen a thing that I consider impossible that my
husband should contemplate quitting his post at the moment of
danger, he would take horse with some of his friends, and would
order whatever gate of Paris he chose to be opened . . . He
has the right and the power to do so."
"You would be right if Master Marcel's orders would be
obeyed, if these were still the days when, lording it over all Paris,
he had the first place at all ceremonies . . . But the times
have changed, good Dame Marguerite. At this very hour in
which I am speaking to you, your husband's authority is about
to be ignored. If he tried to order one of the gates of Paris to
be opened, his action would confirm the rumors concerning his
treason. People would cry: 'Hold the traitor! Death to the
traitor!' A hundred avenging arms would rise, and Master
Marcel would fall under their blows dead, disfigured, bleeding,
butchered ! . . . His body would be torn to pieces . . .
That would then be his fate !"
"Enough ! Enough !" stammered Marguerite, shivering and
hiding her face in her hands. "This is horrible. Hold your
tongue !"
"Would not such a death be awful, dear Dame Marguerite?
Therefore, in order to save his friends from such a fate, my hus-
band charged me to come and offer you his services."
Despite the poor opinion in which she held Maillart and his
wife, whose envy she was aware of, Marguerite did not imagine
that the proposition of the councilman, one of Marcel's oldest
friends and, like himself, of the popular party, could conceal a
trap or a snare. Marguerite even took it for a token of sincere
pity, easily supposable from the part of envious people at the
THE IRON TREVET. 237
moment of their triumph over a rival. Moreover, did not the
state of public opinion in Paris, on which Marguerite had that
very evening sought to assure herself, but too well confirm the
words of the councilman's wife on the subject of Marcel's in-
creasing unpopularity ? On the other hand, Marguerite was too
well acquainted with her husband's force of character and his
energy not to feel assured that, unless he was reduced to utter
extremities, he never would decide to leave Paris as a fugitive.
Nevertheless, the hour of that terrible extremity might arrive.
In that case Maillart's offer was not to be despised. These
thoughts rapidly flashed through Marguerite's mind. She re-
mained pensive and silent for a moment, while the councilman's
wife observed her closely and anxiously awaited her answer.
"Dame Maillart," finally answered Marguerite, "I wish to be-
lieve, I believe in the generous impulses that dictated the tender
of services that you have just made me in the name of your
husband."
"Then, it is understood ?" said the councilman's wife, with an
eagerness that should have excited Marguerite's suspicion. "The
emissary will be here at midnight. Let your husband follow him
without taking any companion ... He must have no escort
. . . That is understood."
"Allow me, Dame Petronille. I can not go so far as to ac-
cept your offer in my husband's name. He alone is the judge of
his conduct. He gave me reasons to believe that he would be
here this evening to take a few hours' rest. If my expectations
prove true, I shall soon see him ... I shall notify him of
Master Maillart's proposition. Ask your husband to send his
emissary here at midnight. My husband will decide."
"He should not hesitate a moment. Believe me, poor Dame
Marguerite, you must exert your whole influence upon your hus-
band, and decide him to avail himself of the one opportunity of
escape left to him. He is in great danger."
At this juncture Denise entered the room affecting great hurry
and said : "Aunt, Dame Alison wishes to see you privately ; she
238 THE IRON TREVET.
has no time to wait/' To these words Denise added a significant
gesture conveying to Marguerite the hint to seize the opportunity
for putting an end to the visit of the detested Dame Petronille.
Marguerite understood the thoughts of her niece, and said to
the councilman's wife: "Please excuse me, there is a visitor I
must receive."
"Adieu, good Dame Marcel," said the councilman's wife, tak-
ing a step towards the door. "Fail not to remember my advice
. . . We must know how to resign ourselves to what can not
be prevented . . . The days follow, but do not resemble each
other . . . For the rest you understand me. Good evening,
dear Dame Marguerite, I wish you happier days. May God pre-
serve you and yours !"
As always, not envy here followed hatred, but hatred envy.
Born of the rankling enviousness that the unworthy entertain for
the worthy, Petronille Maillart was consumed with malevolent
hatred for the man and woman whose ruin she was plotting.
Casting upon Marguerite the furtive look of a viper, Dame Pe-
tronille took her leave.
CHAPTEE II.
LAST DAY AT HOME.
The handsome tavern-keeper, who now entered in response to
the summons of Denise, looked neat and prim as ever. Her beau-
tiful black eyes, Tier white teeth, her comeely shape, above all her
golden heart all justified the partiality of the student Rufin for
this amiable and honorable woman to the total eclipse of Margot.
Finally, thanks to Jocelyn, Alison had not only saved her honor
from the clutches of Captain Griffith, but also quite a round
sum of gold, sewed in her skirt, from the rapacity of the English.
Jocelyn the Champion, once Alison's defender against Simon
the Hirsute and later her liberator, when exposed to the liber-
tinage of the bastard of Norfolk, had inspired her with senti-
ments more tender than merely those of gratitude. Nevertheless,
apprized of the engagement of Denise and Jocelyn, the young
woman struggled bravely against the promptings of her heart,
and seeking to free her mind from the affectionate thoughts that
crowded upon her, had found pleasure in observing that, despite
his turbulence, Rufin the Tankard-smasher lacked neither de-
votion, nor heart, nor brightness, nor yet external attractions.
Thus, since the day when, fleeing from the horrors of the war
that desolated Beauvoisis, she had taken refuge in Paris near
the family of the provost to whom she had been recommended
by Jocelyn, Alison often met the student in her little lodgings
at the inn where she housed, and it often occurred to her that,
despite his name, which sounded particularly unpleasant in a
tavern-keeper's ear, Rufin the Tankard -smasher might after all
not make a bad husband. Moreover, her vanity was not a ITUlo
flattered by the hope of herself opening a tavern, whose principal
customers would be the students of the University of Paris. Re-
240 THE IRON TREVET.
ceived with kindness by Marguerite and Denise, Alison enter-
tained for both a deep sense of gratitude. On this evening she
had hastened to Marcel's house in the hope of being of service
to them. Observing the signs of uneasiness depicted on the tav-
ern-keeper's face, Marguerite said to her affectionately, taking
her hands :
"Good evening, dear Alison . . . you look alarmed
. . . . Tell us the cause of your trouble."
"Oh, Dame Marguerite ! I have but too much reason for being
alarmed, if not for myself, yet for you"; and interrupting her-
self she added : "First of all, and so as not to forget the circum-
stance, I must warn you that coming in I saw three men envel-
oped in cloaks who seem to be in hiding on some ambuscade.
These men seem to have evil intents."
"Agnes, our servant, also noticed them," said Denise ; "we are
forewarned."
"They are no doubt spies," replied Marguerite. "But Marcel
need not fear the consequences of being spied upon. Whatever
he does is in the public interest, and none of his acts need con-
cealment. Nevertheless, seeing that hatred now dogs his steps
. . . the information may be useful."
"It is distressing to me, Dame Marguerite, to bring what may
be bad news to you, who received me so kindly upon my arrival
from Beauvoisis."
"Our friend Jocelyn recommended you to us ; he informed us
of your misfortunes and of your tender care of that ill-starred
Aveline. Our good wishes in your behalf were but natural. But
what is the matter ?"
"This evening I was looking out of the window of my room at
the tumult of the people in the street, because you must know
there is an unusual agitation this evening on the streets of Paris,
when a young man all out of breath, handed me this note from
Eufin the Tankard-smasher."
Alison drew from her corsage a slip of paper which she passed
to Marguerite, who nervously seizing it began to read it aloud :
THE IRON TREVET. 241
"As true as Venus in her Olympian beauty ..."
"Skip that, skip that, Dame Marguerite ! Begin at the fourth
or fifth line," said Alison, blushing and smiling at once. "Those
are but flourishes that Master Kufin amuses himself with. Lose
no more time over them than I did myself . . . That worthy
fellow should have abstained from his roguishness when writing
upon such serious subjects."
After having run her eyes over the first lines of the epistle,
during which the student displayed his amorous and mythological
vein, Marguerite arrived at the essential portion of the missive :
"... Hurry to the house of Master Marcel ; if he is not
at home, tell his honored wife to have him warned not to leave
the town-hall without a strong escort. I am on the track of a
plot against him. So soon as I shall have positive proofs I shall
go either to Master Marcel's house, or to the town-hall to inform
him of my discovery. Above all, let him be on his guard against
Councilman Maillart. He has no more mortal enemy. He ought
to order his arrest on the spot . . . just as I would on the
spot have your heart for my prison whose turnkey is the gentle
bantling Cupid."
"Skip all that also, Dame Marguerite; those are some more
flourishes. There is nothing more of importance. I am not a
little surprised at seeing master student mix up folly with seriou^.
matter in that manner."
"Serious, indeed ! Very serious ! . . . This letter in-
creases my apprehensions," answered Marguerite, trembling; and
recalling her recent conversation with the councilman's wife, she
thought to herself: "Could the councilman's offer be a snare?
. . . And still I can not yet accept the existence of quite so
horrible a plot !"
"My God !" cried Denise bitterly, "and yet uncle, despite all
our presentiments, always answers us when we mention to him
our suspicions regarding Maillart: 'He is not a bad sort of a
man ; only he is wholly under the influence of his wife, who is
devoured with vanity. Do not judge him unjustly/ "
242 THE IRON TREVET.
"Dear Alison/' rejoined Marguerite after a few moments' re-
flection, "did you question the messenger who brought you the
letter?"
"Indeed, madam ... I asked where he had left Master
Rufin."
"What answer did he make ?"
"That the student was in a tavern near the arcade of St. Nich-
olas when he handed him the letter."
As Alison was uttering the last words, two men wrapped to the
eyes in cloaks entered the room. Marguerite immediately recog-
nized her husband and Jocelyn the Champion. As they were
throwing off their wraps, Marguerite cried : "At last, here you
are!" and unable longer to control her emotions, she threw her
arms around Marcel's neck, while Denise gave her hand to her
lover, who respectfully took it to his lips. Under bis armor
Jocelyn wore a black jacket, a piece of clothing that he had
assumed since the day that he witnessed the execution of Mazurec
the Lambkin. Sad and pale, the face of Jocelyn betokened the
grief that beset his mind. After tenderly embracing Marcel,
who effusively returned her caresses, Marguerite said, delivering
to him Rufin the Tankard-smasher's letter :
"My friend, take notice of what this latter contains ; our good
Alison just brought it to me in great haste."
Marcel read the letter in a low voice in the midst of the pro-
found silence of all present, while Marguerite, his niece and Ali-
son attentively watched his face. He remained calm throughout.
He even smiled at the mythological flourishes of the student.
WJien he had finished the letter he returned it to Alison, saying
kindly :
"I thank you for your anxiety to bring me the missive, Dame
Alison ; our friend Rufin is wrongly alarmed."
"Nevertheless, my friend," put in Marguerite with intense
seriousness, "what about the plot that the student mentions, and
on the track of which he says he is?"
THE IRON TREVET. 243
"Kufin must have exaggerated to himself the importance of
some insignificant fact, my dear Marguerite."
"But . . . did you notice what he said about Maillart?"
"Last evening Maillart affectionately shook me by the hand
when leaving the town-hall after a discussion in which his opin-
ion differed from mine. 'Men/ said he to me, 'may differ, but
the bonds of old friendship are indissoluble/ he added.
Jocelyn confirmed the episode, but Marguerite insisted, the
disclosures of the student having gone far to confirm her sus-
picions against the councilman. "Marcel," said the alarmed wife,
"Maillart' s wife was here this evening . . . she came to pro-
pose a place of refuge for you in case of danger "
"The generous offer does not surprise me."
"A man is to come here this midnight . . . you are to
follow him alone . . . well wrapt in your mantle," said
Marguerite with emphasis. "Alone ... do you hear, Mar-
cel? . . . and he is to conduct you to a place whence you
shall be able to flee without danger."
"This is too much kindness/' Marcel answered with a smile.
"I am grateful for the offer; I do not think of fleeing, that is
certain . . . We never have been so near the triumph."
"What !" cried Marguerite encouraged by new hope. "Is that
true ? And yet, why all this commotion . . . Why this tu-
mult in Paris . . . why these alarming rumors?" and her
apprehensions that for an instant had been allayed by the re-
assuring words of her husband, again regaining the upperhand,
she proceeded sadly : "The precaution that you as well as Joce-
lyn took of enveloping yourselves in these cloaks, no doubt for
the purpose of not being recognized on the street all these
things contribute to make me fear that you are deceiving your-
self ... or that out of consideration for me, you are con-
cealing the true state of things."
"Aunt forgot to tell you that three men seem to have been
watching our house all evening/' said Denise, and it did not
escape her that Jocelyn seemed struck by the circumstance.
244 THE IRON TREVET,
"And I also/' observed Alison, "noticed at entering that there
seemed to be three spies near the house. Their presence is
strange."
"My friend," said Marguerite, seeking to detect from her hus-
band's face whether his feeling of safety was real or assumed, "I
sent you this evening a note that I wrote to you at our friend's,
Simon the Feather-dealer. I there informed you of my impres-
sions on my personal observations, and urged you to take pre-
cautionary measures."
"I received your letter, my dear wife," said Marcel, tenderly
taking Marguerite's hands. "You trust me, do you not ? . . .
Very well; believe me when I assert that your fears are un-
founded. Better than anybody else do I know what is going on
in Paris this evening. Are our enemies active? I let them
talk, certain that I shall lead my work to a happy issue, as my
device proclaims. For the rest, is not my presence here the best
proof of my confidence in the situation? Upon receipt of your
letter I decided to leave the town-hall for a moment in order to
come and calm your fears, to comfort you, and also to beg of
you not to alarm yourself if it should happen that I do not re-
turn home all day to-morrow . . . To-morrow grave mat-
ters will be decided. And to sum up," Marcel proceeded, cheer-
fully, "as I mean to overthrow all your objections, you dear, timid
soul, I shall add that it was partly due to my modesty that I en-
veloped myself in that cloak. I meant to reach here and return
without being stopped twenty times on the street by the cheers
of the people. Despite the envy and hatred of some of the bour-
geois partisans of the Regent, Marcel continues to be loved by the
people of Paris."
"And you would not doubt it, Dame Marguerite," added Joce-
lyn, "if you had heard, as I did, the addresses delivered to-day
by the trades guilds, all of which came to pledge their loyalty to
Master Marcel."
Jocelyn's words, the cheerful and serene physiognomy of the
provost and the tone of conviction that marked his words, some-
THE IRON TREVET. 245
what allayed the fears of Marguerite and Denise, the latter of
whom said to Marcel: "Your presence suffices to encourage us,
dear uncle, just as the sight of the physician sometimes suffices
to allay the pains of a patient."
"My worthy Jocelyn," Marcel said, cheerfully, turning to the
champion, "that applies to you as much as to me . . . you
happy and beloved lover !"
"Dear Denise/' said the champion to the blushing maid, "the
mourning for my poor brother has put off our marriage . . .
I do not very much regret the circumstance when I consider that
in these days of turmoil I could not have devoted all my time to
you. But believe Master Marcel; better days are approaching.
Need I tell you that they are the subject of my ardent wishes,
seeing that they will witness our union?"
"Dame Alison," cordially put in Marcel, "since marriage is the
topic of the conversation, take pity on the amorous martyrdom
of poor Eufin . . . He is a good and loyal heart, despite
some transports of youth that earned for him the nickname of
'Tankard-smasher/ I feel quite sure that the wholesome in-
fluence of a kind and honorable woman like yourself would make
an excellent husband of him. It would be a double pleasure to
me to see you and Rufin, Denise and Jocelyn, approach the altar
the same day. What say you ?"
"That needs thinking over," answered Alison, meditatively.
"That peeds much thinking over, Master Marcel. For the rest,"
she proceeded, with a blush and a sigh, "I say neither 'yes' nor
'no' ... I wish to consult Dame Marguerite."
"Eufin's prospects are good," rejoined the provost. "The
woman who says not nay ever has a strong wish to say aye."
"Marcel would not be so cheerful and jovial did he actually
believe himself and his partisans on the eve of grave dangers,"
thought Marguerite, now more and more reassured by the turn
of gaiety her husband's words had taken. "I must have attached
exaggerated importance to what I heard this evening. My hus-
band is right. Even when his popularity is strongest, calumny
246 THE IRON TREVET.
pursues him. Maillart may be yielding simultaneously both to
envy and the more generous feelings prompted by old friendship.
He may believe in the loss of popularity by Marcel and enjoy
the idea, and yet wish to save him. That wicked Petronille has
merely thrown poison into an offer that, in itself, is honorable.
If it were otherwise, Maillart would be the vilest of men, and
that I am not ready to believe. Such a degree of perversity would
exceed the bounds of possibility "
"Denise," said the provost, kissing his niece on the forehead,
"order a lamp to be taken into my cabinet. I have some docu-
ments to finish." Turning to his wife, whom he also kissed on
the forehead : "I shall see you again before I leave," and taking
Jocelyn by the arm : "Come, we have work to attend to."
Denise hastened to carry a lamp into Marcel's cabinet, where
she left her uncle and her lover closeted togther.
CHAPTER III.
DARKENING SHADOWS.
Once alone in his cabinet with Jocelyn, Marcel sank into pro-
found pensivness. The cheerful serenity that had pervaded his
bearing during the conversation with his wife was now replaced
by an expression of melancholic seriousness. For a few min-
utes he contemplated in silence his studious retreat, the witness
of the meditations of his riper years. Finally, leaning over a
large table that was strewn with parchments, he emitted a sigh
and said to Jocelyn:
"How manj- nights have I not spent here, elaborating by the
light of this little lamp the plans of reform that some day, hap
now what hap may, will be the solid basis for the emancipation
of our people, the evangelium of the rights of the citizen ! . . .
Here have been spent the happiest, the most beautiful days of
my life ! . . . What a pure joy did I not then taste ! . . .
Sustained by my ardent love for justice and right, and enlight-
ened by the lessons of the past, I soared upward to the sub-
limest theories of freedom ! . . . I then was ignorant of the
deceptions, the evils, the delays, the struggles, the storms that
the practice and application of truth inevitably engender!
. . . I then saw truth in its radiant simplicity ! . . . I
did not then reckon with human passions! . . . But that
matters not! . . . Truth is absolute . . . Sooner or
later it imposes itself upon humanity that ever is on the march,
progresses and improves itself . . .
Jocelyn listened to Marcel in mute reverence. He now beheld
that illustrious man wrapt with pensive brow in ever deeper medi-
tation. A few instants later, Marcel stepped towards an oaken
trunk that age had blackened. He opened it, took out several
248 THE IRON TREVET.
rolls of parchment, lay them on the table, pushed a stool near
and sat down to write. His virile and characterful face betrayed
by degrees increasing sadness, and, to Jocelyn's surprise several
tears dropped from the provost's eyes upon the lines that he was
writing. Tears from so great a man, from a man of such energy,
endowed with ancient stoicism, profoundly impressed the cham-
pion. Jocelyn's heart ached, and he began to suspect Marcel's
motives for the affectation of safety that he had shortly before
displayed before his family. Jocelyn saw him dry his tears and
seal the parchment with black wax, using for that purpose the
impress of a large gold ring that he wore on his finger, after
which, placing the scroll together with the others that he had
taken from the trunk, he made one package of all, sealed them
together and replaced them in the trunk. He then locked it, and
giving the key to Jocelyn, said to him deliberately :
"Keep this key safe ... I charge you to deliver it to my
wife and to tell her, in case certain events should happen, that
she will find in that trunk, together with my testament and
some other papers that it is well to keep, a letter for herself
. . . written by me this evening . . . written for my
beloved Marguerite ..."
"Master Marcel," Jocelyn answered, a cold shudder running
over his frame, "these are lugubrious preparations."
"Lugubrious ? ... no ... but prudent ... I
have fulfiled my sacred duty ... I now find myself in a
singular frame of mind . . . The latest happenings, those
of to-day, cast over my mind, not any doubt upon the decision
I should take, but considerable uncertainty on the head of the
means to be adopted. Never yet have I been so in need of a clear-
ness of judgment as now, when I must take some supreme and
irrevocable step. I imagine that by talking over the general con-
dition of things, these will stand out more clearly before me.
Thought expressed in words becomes preciser, while mute it
often fades from one thing to another and is lost to the goal in
mind. Therefore, listen to me, and if in the rough sketch that
THE IRON TREVET. 249
I shall present any omission should strike you, any point should
seem obscure, tell me so . . . It is a friendly duty that i
now conjure you to fulfill."
"I listen, Master Marcel."
"Upon your return from Clermont pardon that I open the
wound of your private sorrow I also wept over the death of
your unfortunate brother upon your retum from Clermont, you
informed me of the massacre of the Jacques. The following day
we learned that the Captal of Buch and the Count of Foix ex-
terminated at Meaux another considerable troop of revolted peas-
ants. Finally, recovering from the stupor into which these for-
midable insurrections had struck it, the nobility gathered its
forces and running over the country it put a mass of serfs, men,
women and children, to frightful tortures and to death, whether
these sympathized with the Jacquerie or not, and set their villages
on fire. That settled, at least for a long time to come, all thought
of an alliance between the townsfolks and the country people.
The destruction of the Jacquerie reduces the bourgeoisie to its
own forces in its struggle against the Regent. The bourgeoisie
has, thereupon, no choice but either to accept the unequal fight
or deliver itself to Charles the Wicked, and instead of dictating
terms to him, accept those that he may choose to dictate to us."
"That was the calculation of the blood-thirsty knave. He said
so explicitly to me at Clermont."
"Nevertheless, by massacring the Jacques, skillful politician
though Charles the Wicked be, he deprived himself of powerful
auxiliaries against the Regent, whose forces are far superior to
those of his own. He may fail in his calculations."
"The scoundrelly prince ! Had he followed your generous ad-
vice, his own hands, re-inforced by thousands of armed peasants
and thousands of bourgeois, would by now have crushed the royal
troops. And profiting by the general enthusiasm of the people,
who are as exasperated at the English as at the seigneurs, Charles
the Wicked would now be chasing the foreigners from our soil
and would ascend the throne in the midst of the acclamations
250 THE IRON TREVET.
of a people whom he would govern placing before them the ex-
ample of submission to the national assembly."
"Such was the glorious mission that opened before Charles
the Wicked. It is not yet too late if he would only have the
courage, the wisdom and the loyalty to devote himself body and
soul to so noble an aim. I shall presently explain that. At
present, however, he is, just as ourselves, no other than a rebel
against the loyal authority of the Eegent. The latter disposes
of considerable forces. He has on his side the monarchic tra-
dition, which in the eyes of the people runs back into the night
of the ages ; he has on his side the royal name, the courtiers, the
clergy, the royal officers, the administrators of the revenue and of
justice, in short, all those who live upon abuses and exactions
a huge clientage that imparts formidable strength to the Eegent.
Charles the Wicked is too clear-sighted not to have realized
by now all that he lost by destroying the Jacquerie, and how
slight his chances now are of usurping the crown. He must
have thought of an eventual settlement with the Eegent in case
our cause, to whose side he still seems to lean, should be seriously
compromised, or actually lost."
"Do you believe that Charles the Wicked has actually nego-
tiated with the Eegent?"
"Everything makes me think so. The conduct of the King
of Navarre during these last days reveals a man who is wavering
between ambition to ascend the throne and the fear of a defeat
which he would have to pay for with his life and the loss of his
domains. He sends us a few insignificant reinforcements, but
refuses to enter Paris. He has accepted the title of captain-gen-
eral of our city, but the queen, his mother, has frequent interviews
with the Eegent. The hour is critical. The court party ex-
ploits at our expense and with its habitual perfidy the present
national calamities whose original causes are the insane prodigal-
ities of the court itself. King John and his creatures have driven
both towns and country districts to desperation with their acts
of rapine and violence and their unbearable imposts. A revo-
THE IRON TREVET. 251
lution broke out. We conquered radical reforms. These were
expected to inaugurate an era of peace and prosperity unequaled
in the annals of the land, because liberty is at once well-being and
independence. But liberty is complete only with the possession
of the instruments of work."
"A profound truth, Master Marcel. Tyranny ever engenders
servitude, and servitude misery. Only by freeing them from
seigniorial tyranny could the insurrection of the serfs insure to
these the enjoyment of the fruits of the earth which they now
cultivate for their own butchers."
"Yes, but all revolution is arduous and rough. It cannot over-
night remedy ills that are the fatal inheritance of the past. Some-
times such ills are even temporarily aggravated by the remedial
revolution, as the cauterized wound for a while smarts worse than
before. These ills, these sufferings, have been carried to their
extreme by the ravages of the English after the battle of Poitiers.
The people have valiantly endured them, placing their confidence
in the revolution of 1357. The city council, presided over by my-
self, the 'governors' in short, as the body is called, have been
forced to exercise a temporary dictatorship, often to resort to
energetic and even terrible measures in order to make front
against the English at our gates, and the court party inside of
our walls. The people at first accepted the dictatorship for the
sake of the safety of the city, but they have since fallen away
when they found that we could not instantly meet their expecta-
tions of material well-being. The people are tired of dictatorship,
and now in their credulous despair they lend ear to the mischiev-
ous words of their own enemies! They are ready to withdraw
from the struggle instead of finishing the work of emancipation !
The people now deplore their rebellion ; they are ready to curse the
councilmen who have sacrificed their repose and their property,
and even exposed their lives in the effort of emancipation. They
imagine that by humbly submitting to the Regent, that by meekly
resuming their yoke, the ills they now suffer from will vanish.
Perchance to-morrow the people will be dragging me to the scaf-
252 THE IRON T REVET.
fold, me who so recently was their idol!" After a few seconds
of silence the provost resumed : "To sum up, we can now barely
count with the support of the masses; Charles the Wicked is a
doubtful ally ; the Kegent a formidable adversary."
"Unhappily the manifestations of the defection of the people,
whom the manoeuvres of the Eegent's party have done their best
to promote, have struck me during the last few days. Must all
hope be given up, Master Marcel ?"
"No! No! I merely wished to establish the critical aspect
of our situation. But all is not lost. By virtue of their very fickle-
ness the people are capable of sudden revulsions. A con-
siderable section of the bourgeoisie, firmly resolved to carry our
work to a happy issue, in the language of my device, will go with
us to the end, whatever the dangers be that menace our lives and
property in case of failure. We still can make our influence felt
among the masses ; we can arouse their enthusiasm, wrench them
free from their acquiesence in the enemy's suggestions, adopt ter-
rible measures against these, and gain a decisive victory over the
Eegent. But seeing that the Jacquerie is annihilated, it would
be insane to undertake such a struggle without the support of
Charles the Wicked. This, then, is our last resource. This
very night I shall induce the prince to declare himself against
the Eegent, and sufficiently compromise himself so as to force
him to the alternative of vanquishing with us and ruling, or of
losing both his life and his property should the Eegent prevail.
If he accepts my propositions, then Charles the Wicked, having
staked his head for a crown, will enter Paris at the head of his
Navarrians. We shall make a supreme effort; we shall arouse
the people and shall take the field against the Eegent. If we
are victorious, we shall then rouse against the English the peas-
ants that have escaped the vengeance of the nobility. The for-
eigner will be beaten back ; delivered from her domestic and her
foreign foes, Gaul will delegate her sovereignty to Charles of
Navarre under control of the national assembly. Our provinces
THE IRON TREVET. 253
will then form a powerful confederation with us as the center."
"Such a result would be admirable. But would Charles the
Wicked keep his promise once he is crowned King of France?
Will he submit to the laws of the States General ?"
"He would have submitted to all our conditions before the anni-
hilation of the Jacquerie which was a counterpoise to his bands
of mercenaries. But when he mounts the throne the force of cir-
cumstances will compel him to keep a large number of the re-
forms very much like a gift of joy. Thus a part of our conquests
over the royalty will have been assured. Nor is that all. The
masses, still steeped in ignorance are slavish. Accustomed
through centuries to being governed despotically by a prince of
royal lineage, they can arrive only by degrees at free government
under elective magistrates, as were the communal towns at the
time of their enfranchisement. But experience will be gradually
gained. Is not the mere fact of the overthrow of one dynasty
and the setting up of a new at the will of the citizens, an immense
step forward? The divine prestige of the royalty will have re-
ceived a death-blow. The power of choosing a sovereign implies
the right to depose him. And, finally, let us not lose sight of
this, always supposing that Charles the Wicked succeeds in the
war: Gaul will be delivered of the English; after that, what-
ever may happen, the nobility will preserve the memory of the
formidable insurrection of the Jacques; it will feel itself com-
pelled to ease the yoke, realizing that, driven again to extremities,
Jacques Bonhomme might again wield the fork, the scythe and
the torch."
"Aye, Master Marcel, the future is bright . . . provided
Charles the Wicked openly pronounces against the Kegent, and
we triumph."
"I have weighed everything, calculated everything. If we suc-
cumb in this supreme conflict, Charles the Wicked will share our
defeat and, like us, will pay for his rebellion with his head. He
is, at best, a wicked prince; the Kegent will return to Paris
254
THE IRON TREVET.
just as he would inevitably do if the King of Navarre refuses
to embrace our cause. It would be an act of folly to try to
oppose the Eegent without him. Let us examine this last
hypothesis. Aiming at putting an end to the hesitations of
Charles the Wicked, I have forced him to decide this very
night"
"This very night?"
"At one o'clock to-morrow morning I shall await the King of
Navarre at the St. Antoine gate. I declared to him yesterday
at St. Denis that I shall no longer count with him, and shall
look upon him as a traitor if at the hour I mentioned he does
not appear at the rendezvous so as to enter Paris with me and
to solemnly announce to-morrow at the town-hall his adherence
to our cause, and the support of his arms. We are left to our
own forces if Charles the Wicked fails to put in his appearance
to-night."
"What did he answer you, Master Marcel?"
"He answered me in his usual manner, that he would think it
over. Now, then, if the fear of losing his domains and of risking
his head carries the day over his ambition, he will go and throw
himself at the feet of the Regent and will offer him his services
in atonement for his past conduct. The Regent has great in-
terest in temporizing with such an adversary. He will grant
him pardon, and the two will march upon Paris at the head of
their combined troops. Our city will then fall back under the
monarchic yoke."
"Then, Master Marcel," cried Jocelyn, "let us call to arms
all the stout-hearted people of the city; let us then close our
gates and lock ourselves behind our ramparts that are now so
well fortified by your foresight and zeal ; let us be killed to the
last man; let not the Regent re-enter his capital but through
the breach that he will have to make over our corpses !"
"Such a resolution is heroic. But you forget the horrors that
follow the capture of a city by assault. You forget Meaux de-
THE IRON TREET.
255
livered to the flames by the Captal of Buch and the Count of
Foix ; the women assaulted, old men and children slaughtered or
perishing in the flames ! Shall I deliver Paris to such a fate,
Paris the head and heart of Gaul ? No ! To attempt to resist
the Kegent without the assistance of Charles the Wicked would
be to expose ourselves to annihilation. Let us prefer a salutary
sacrifice to a sterile heroism. Even our defeat will be fruitful."
"Master Marcel, I do not understand you now."
"Whatever the stubbornness and duplicity of the Kegent may
be, the terrible lessons he has received will not be lost upon him.
A fugitive before the popular uprising, he was forced to leave
the palace of the Louvre furtively ... he has seen himself
on the point of losing his crown. If, thanks to the submission
of the Parisians, he should re-enter the city, however he may
seek to satiate his vengeance and satisfy his royal pride, he will
feel compelled to observe certain reforms. These, no doubt, will
be less numerous than Charles the Wicked would have accepted
in order to consolidate his usurpation. Nevertheless, whatever
they be and however few, these reforms will remain safe to pos-
terity, our revolution will have borne some fruit, the burden that
weighed upon the people will have been lightened. Do you
grasp my sense ? . . . What is it that astonishes you ?"
"In order to satisfy the resentment of the Eegent and slake
his vengeance, the heads of the chiefs of the rebellion will be de-
manded."
"Some heads will be demanded!" answered Marcel with
Spartan simplicity. "Yes, the Regent will demand my own
head first of all and also the heads of the governors, the prin-
cipal leaders in the rebellion . . . Very well! We shall
deliver our heads to the Regent . . . My friends and I are
in accord upon that . . . This conversation elucidates, as
I expected of it, the facts that are to be considered, and confirms
me in my resolution. At one in the morning I shall proceed
to the gate of St. Antoine, where I shall expect to meet Charles
2 5 6 THE IRON TREVET.
the Wicked. If he fails to come, I shall take horse and ride to
the Kegent's camp at Charenton. I shall offer him my life; if
that does not suffice him, I shall offer him the lives of my friends :
they have authorized me to dispose of their heads. In exchange,
I shall demand of the prince the observances of the reforms sworn
to in 1357. I shall demand a good deal so as to obtain something
. . . These reforms will smooth the day for the advent of
our plan of government, based upon the federation of the prov-
inces and the permanence of the sovereign national assemblies
that will at first delegate the appearance of a crown to a phantom
king, and later, by wholly suppressing the idol, suppress royal-
ty itself. The government of free Gaul, free and confederated,
will then be again what it was at the time of the invasion of
Cassar, as we learn from history and as one of your family's
legends confirms."
"At the time of the abolition of the commune of Laon and of
so many other municipal republics that Louis the Lusty de-
stroyed, my ancestor Fergan the Quarryman said to his son, who
despaired of the future : 'Hope, my child, hope ! . . . Have
faith in the slow, painful but irrestible progress of the race.'
He spoke truly ! Thanks to your genius, I might have seen in
this very century the municipal government of the old com-
munes free, benevolent and wise governments applied no long-
er to one town only but to all Gaul. Be praised for having pro-
moted such a step forward."
"That is my dream ! Social unity and administrative uni-
formity. Political rights made commensurate with civic rights.
The principles of authority transferred from the crown to the
nation. The States General changed into a national assembly
under the control of the people of the towns and the country,
and the living forces of the nation; and the popular sovereignty
attested by the overthrow of one dynasty and the transfer of the
crown to another, until the day of the total suppression of the
royalty, the last vestige of the Frankish conquest ! . . . That
THE IRON TREVET. 2 tf
was my dream ! Time will change the dream into reality. May
be I stepped in advance of my century ... Is that wrong ?
. . . That government of the future will have been practiced
three years ! . . . Our children will place all the stronger
reliance in the prospect of their deliverance when, instructed
by the past, they will know that their fathers actually held their
deliverance in their own hands; that, having one day assumed
their freedom, they bent and chased away the royal incumbent,
and that, if they relapsed under the yoke, it was because on the
eve of final triumph they yielded to discouragement; it was be-
cause, after having overcome formidable obstacles, they grew
faint-hearted at the moment of reaching the ultimate goal. The
lesson will be great and profitable to our children. Perchance
the death of myself and my friends may render the lesson all the
more striking ! Our death will have been as fruitful as our life !
. . . The scaffold will crown it!"
CHAPTER IV.
PLOTTERS UNCOVERED.
Wrapt in wonderment and admiration, Jocelyn was contem-
plating the noble figure of Etienne Marcel that now seemed trans-
figured in the brilliancy of the sentiments he had given utterance
to, when a knock was heard at the door. Jocelyn opened and
Denise said to him :
"Jocelyn, your friend Rufin wishes to speak to you without
delay/'
"Master Marcel," the champion observed, "it must be about
the plot that Rufin thinks to have discovered."
"My child, tell Rufin to come in/' said the provost to his
niece.
Rufin entered immediately. He was deeply agitated : "Mas-
ter Marcel," he said, "I believe the goddess Fortuna served me as
well this time as she did the night I discovered the flight of the
Regent" ; and drawing a letter from his pocket he handed it over
to Marcel, adding : "Be kind enough to post yourself thereon ;
if the message is to be judged by the messenger, it bodes nothing
good."
Marcel took the letter, broke the seal, trembled when he recog-
nized the hand that wrote it, and carefully read its contents,
while Jocelyn, leading the student to the outer end of the cabinet,
said to him in a low voice :
"How did you get the letter, friend Rufin f"
"By Hercules ! It got it ... by the force of my fist !
without, however, forgetting the aid that my chum Nicholas
the Thin-skinned and two Scotch students lent me. I became
acquainted with the last two about a year ago in a contest over
the flagrant superiority of the rhetoric of Fichetus over that of
Faber. Our discussion having turned from oral to manual, to
THE IRON TREVET. 259
all the greater honor of rhetoric, I preserved a striking souvenir
of their fists "
"The minutes are precious, Eufin ; grave matters are at stake ;
I beseech you, come to the point."
"This evening, towards nightfall, I was walking on Oysters-
are-fried-here street, totally oblivious of the perfumes exhaled by
the fries, although I had dined only on a herring, and thinking
only of that treasure, that pearl, or rather of that bouquet of
roses that Dame Venus, her godmother, christened by the succu-
lent name of Alison "
"For heaven's sake, Eufin!"
"Keep cool; I shall bid my soul hold its tongue. I shall
come to the point. Well, then, I noticed a large crowd at the
other end of the street; I elbowed my way in and reached its
front ranks. There I saw a certain large-boned scamp with a
furred cap whom I had come across before and knew to be a
bitter partisan of Maillart. The said large-boned scamp was
perorating against Master Marcel, attributing to him all the
ills we are suffering from and crying: 'We must put an end
to the tyranny of the governors. The Regent's army is gathered
at Charenton and is about to march upon us. The Regent is
furious. He wishes to set fire to his good city of Paris and
slaughter its townsmen. Maillart, the true friend of the people,
is alone able to make a front against the Regent or to negotiate
with him and thus save the city from the ruin that threatens
it'"
"Always that Maillart!"
"Such language exasperated me. I was on the point of break-
ing out and confounding the man of the furred cap whose words,
I must say so, were having their effect upon the mob. Some of
them had even begun to vituperate Master Marcel and the gov-
ernors, when suddenly I heard someone behind me say in Latin :
'The water begins to boil, the fish must now be thrown in/ and
another voice answered, also in Latin: 'Then let us hasten to
notify the master cook/ Seeking to fathom the mysterious
260 THE IRON TREVET.
meaning of these parables, I turned towards my Latinists at the
moment when they began to cry, this time in French: 'Good
luck to Maillart, to the devil with Marcel! He is a criminal!
A traitor ! He plots with the Navarrians ! Good luck to Mail-
lart ! He alone can put an end to our ills !' A portion of the
crowd took up the cries, whereupon the lumbering scamp of the
furred cap closed his peroration and came down from the box
on which he had been perched. The two Latinists then ap-
proached him, and while the crowd was dispersing my three
gentlemen stepped aside and conducted an animated discussion.
I did not lose sight of them; the three walked on together and
I followed, catching these broken words that they let drop:
'rendezvous,' Ahorse/ 'arcade of St. Nicholas.' You know how
even at mid-day the arcade of St. Nicholas is dark and deserted.
Night was falling fast. The idea struck me that my three
worthies might be having some suspicious rendezvous at that se-
cluded spot, because the mysterious Latin words would not
leave my head. 'The water begins to boil' might mean the boil-
ing of the popular rage; 'the fish that was to be thrown in the
boiling water,' might mean Master Marcel ; finally, 'the cook who
was to be notified' "
"Might be the Eegent or Maillart," put in Jocelyn. "I do
not believe your penetration was at fault. It is a credit to your
sagacity."
"And the words 'horse,' 'rendezvous,' 'arcade of St. Nicholas'
might mean some messenger on horseback was waiting for my
three worthies at that secluded spot. I know the place. Often
did Margot . . . _ But I shall drop Margot ! I said to my-
self on the contrary: 'Oh, if now, instead of following the
lumbering scamp of the furred cap to the spot so propitious to
love, I followed the divine Alison "
The champion again made an impatient gesture, took his
friend by the arm, and pointed significantly towards the other
end f the chamber where Marcel sat with his forehead leaning
on his hand, contemplating the letter that he had just finished
THE IRON TREVET. 261
reading, and a smile at once bitter and sorrowful playing around
his lips. The student grasped Jocelyn's meaning and proceeded
in a still lower voice :
"I have quick legs. I put them to use and made a short
cut on the run across St. Patern to arrive before my three men
at the arcade of St. Nicholas. The place was dark as an oven.
I listened, but heard nothing. I know the place. Groping
about I found a niche where one time stood the statue of the
saint. I vanished in the cavity, and awaited at all hazards.
I was well repaid. About fifteen minutes later steps were heard
under the vault and I recognized the voice of the man of the
furred cap whispering: 'Haloa . . . haloa! John Four-
Sous', and presently a voice answered : 'He has not yet arrived
. . . the devil take the loafer !' 'No time is lost/ answered
a third voice, Hie only needs three hours to reach here from
Charenton on horseback; he will not fail." 3
"The situation is grave," said Jocelyn. "It is at Charenton
that the Regent has his headquarters. There must be some trea-
sonable plot on foot."
"Exactly. So you can imagine how I congratulated myself
on my discovery. Evidently there was a plot hatching with
the court party. John Four-Sous finally arrived by the other
side of the entrance of the arcade and the man of the furred cap
asked him: 'Are you ready to leave?' 'Yes, my horse stands
saddled in the stable of the inn of The Three Monkeys.' 'Very
well ; here is the letter,' came from the man of the furred cap,
'Make haste to arrive at the royal encampment; deliver the let-
ter to the eeneschal of Poitou; he will understand.' 'But will
they allow me to leave the city?' asked the messenger. Tear
not,' he is answered, 'the gate of St. Antoine is this evening
guarded by men of our side ; Master Maillart is to be there him-
self; you shall give for pass-word "Montjoie, the King and
Duke"; that will let you through. To horse, now, to horse!'
After that the man of the furred cap and his two companions
walked off by one entrance and John Four-Sous by the other. I
262 THE IRON TREVET.
left the niche where I had taken St. Nicholas' place, and fol-
lowed the messenger of whom I got a clear view when the light
of the moon fell upon him outside the vault. The scamp was
tall, sinewy and well armed. I made up my mind to seize the
letter that he carried. How to do it ? I was still revolving the
matter when I saw him enter the tavern of The Three Monkeys.
I imagined he was going for his horse in the stable. Not at all !
John Four-Sous, heing a man of foresight, called for supper
before starting on his journey, and through the open door I saw
him comfortably anchored at a table. Bacchus willed it that
I had often emptied more than one tankard at the tavern of The
Three Monkeys without smashing them after drinking. I knew
the inn-keeper, a worthy fellow belonging to Marcel's party. I
immediately dropped a few lines to the divine Alison whom
Dame Venus . . . attached to her chariot . . .
"We know all about that . . . come to the point."
"Uncertain of what success I might meet, I wished at least to
forewarn Master Marcel, and that so soon as possible, that
something was hatching against him. The inn-keeper under-
took to forward my note to Alison's inn, and presently . . .
Blessed be the goddess Fortuna, whom do I see enter but my
chum Nicholas the Thin-skinned, in the company of the Scotch
students, with whom I had once fistically discussed the merits
of the rhetoric of Fichetus. They came to drink some spiced
wine. With the corner of my eyes I was taking in John Four-
Sous devouring his ample supper. My plan was formed. I
communicated it to my friends and the inn-keeper, confiding to
them the suspicions that I entertained, and which the incident of
the arcade of St. Nicholas confirmed. Nothing simpler than
my project : Pick up a quarrel with John Four-Sous, fall upon
him, take possession of the letter, and lock up the scamp in the
cellar of The Three Monkeys so as to keep him from giving the
alarm to Maillart's party. So said, so done ... I ap-
proached John Four-Sous' table and started quarrelling with
him. He gave me an insolent answer. I jumped at his throat
THE IRON TREVET. 263
and Nicholas the Thin-skinned rummaged through the fellow's
pockets, and seized the letter, and "
The student's account was interrupted by Marcel, who after a
long and thorough reflection, rose from his seat, and stepping
towards Jocelyn said :
"I spoke to you of my quandary; this letter would have put
an end to it had not my resolution been previously taken. Do
you know who wrote this letter ?"
"No, Master Marcel; who is its author? A friend or an
enemy ?"
"My oldest friend," answered the provost with deep concern
and disgust, "John Maillart! This letter proves that for some
time, and despite his affectation of devotion for the popular cause
and his violent language against the court, Maillart was secretly
negotiating with the royalist party whose chiefs in Paris are
the Sire of Charny and the knight James of Pontoise, for the
nobility, with Maillart and the old councilmen Pastorel and
John Alphonse for the bourgeoisie. These are our worst
enemies."
"Master Marcel/' asked Jocelyn, "will not you and the gov-
ernors take rigorous measures against these traitors ?"
"They dare to conspire within our walls !" added the student.
"They seek to lead astray a credulous people! They deserve
death !"
"It will have been brought on by our enemies themselves!
They must be stricken down with terror. They invoke fright-
ful, vengeance upon Paris!" replied Marcel. "Yes, Maillart,
keeping the Kegent informed upon our intestine dissensions,
upon the discouragement inspired among the masses by the
agents of the court, upon the hatred that they have incited against
us, beseeches the prince to march upon Paris, and assures him
that the people are tired of suffering. He assures him that a
movement in his favor will break out within our walls so soon as
he approaches. He informs the prince that he and his partisans
will be on guard to-night and to-morrow at the gate of St.
264 THE IRON TREVET.
Antoine, and that they will open the gates to him. Finally,
he expresses the hope of being able to deliver me to the Regent,
me whom he calls 'the soul of the revolution.' "
"There can be no longer any doubt !" exclaimed Jocelyn horri-
fied. "So that when Maillart's wife came here this evening to
offer means for your escape to Dame Marguerite she only was
laying a trap for you."
"Aye," broke in Marcel with a look of contempt, "she was
laying a trap for me. I was to trust the loyalty of my oldest
friend ... I was to go alone to his house . . . and
there he was to take me prisoner and deliver me to the Regent
at his entry into Paris!"
"Treason and cowardice!" cried the student indignantly.
"What a female monster! Oh, I judged her rightly from her
hypocritical lamentations at the funeral of Perrin Mace."
"The envy and pride that devour her have lost Maillart," re-
joined the provost. "The vanity of that insensate woman has
driven her husband to crime and to deep baseness. That
man without character and without convictions reminds the
seneschal in his letter that the Regent promised him a patent of
nobility in consideration of the services he is rendering the
court party ! . . . That is the Maillart that was incessantly
reproaching me for not exterminating the members of the court
party who remained in Paris ! . . . He could not find words
enough to throw at the nobility !"
"Oh, Master Marcel," cried Jocelyn, "and your blood was
to be the price for the ennobling of that infamous wretch !"
"This act of betrayal wounds me doubly ... I know
mankind. Nevertheless, I resisted up to this moment the belief
that Maillart could be guilty of such felony . . . He, the
friend of my infancy . . . But now, to work. There is now
no longer any doubt, nor can there now be any question what
step to take . . . The reaction of the court party will be
merciless . . . Our only chance of escape lies in the support
of the King of Navarre . . . and in the vigorous measures
THE IRON TREVET. 265
that we must now take against these implacable enemies."
"Master Marcel," Jocelyn whispered to the provost, "'if Charles
the Wicked does not put in his appearance at the rendezvous of
this evening, what will you do then?"
"I shall ride at a gallop to deliver to the Eegent my own
head and the heads of the governors . . . Our blood will
slake the young prince's thirst for vengeance and he will spare
Paris."
A great noise, at first from a distance, was heard rapidly ap-
proaching along the street. Presently distinct cheers were
heard : "Good luck to Marcel !" "To a happy issue, to a happy
issue!" "Good luck to Marcel!" and almost at the same time
time Marguerite entered her husband's cabinet saying : "Simon
the Feather-dealer, Philip Giffart, Consac and other friends are
in arms in the street with a large number of faithful partisans
cheering for you. Our friends consider it prudent to come for
you and escort you to the town-hall."
"Good-bye, Marguerite, dear and beloved wife!" said Marcel
with profound but well-controlled emotion, thinking that this
was perhaps the last time he might press to his heart the
companion of his life. "Adieu . . . and may we soon meet
again !"
"Oh, my friend, these cheers that acclaim you with enthusiasm
reassure me . . . Our friends are guarding you."
"Fear nothing; I shall see you again to-morrow . . .
Adieu! . . . Adieu once more!" repeated Marcel, who de-
spite his courage, felt his heart breaking at the moment of a
separation that might be eternal. Giving a last embrace to Mar-
guerite, Marcel descended to the street. There he was met
by several of the councilmen in the midst of a large crowd
of partisans whose sympathetic acclamations redoubled at the
sight of their idol. Discouragement had, it was true, gained over
a majority of the people. Nevertheless Marcel could still count
upon many devoted and intrepid hearts.
"Friends!" Marcel cried out aloud to the councilmen, "we
266 THE IRON T REVET.
shall not go to the town-hall, but to the gate of St. Antoine.
I shall tell you more on the way.
The words were caught by one of the three men who all
during the evening had never left the approaches to Marcel's
house. The spy said to his companions :
"Let one of you hurry to the Sire of Charny and notify him
that Marcel is going with his men to the gate of St. Antoine.
The other of you run ahead of the bandits and notify Master
Maillart that they are coming. I shall follow them at a dis-
tance and watch their movements. Let each be at his post and
well armed."
CHAPTER V.
THE GATE OF ST. ANTOINE.
The clock had sounded the first hour of morning from the
church in the quarter of St. Antoine. Just before sinking below
the horizon the moon still shed enough light to brighten with a
fringe of silver the topmost battlement of the two high towers
that defend the gate of St. Antoine, towards which Etienne Mar-
cel was wending his way accompanied by the councilman Philip
Giffart and Jocelyn, and holding two keys in his hands. The
other magistrates and a group of their partisans had posted
themselves, at the request of the provost, in a house near the
ramparts. The profoundest silence reigned near a wide and
dark vaulted passage that led to the gate of the city. A man
leading a horse by the bridle followed Marcel at a little dis-
tance.
"This is the decisive moment," Marcel was saying to his
companions. "If Charles the Wicked has come to our rendezvous,
we then have a chance of success ... if not, I shall mount
that horse and ride to Charenton to deliver myself to the
Eegent 1"
Hardly had Marcel finished pronouncing these words when
two sentinels, posted outside the dark passage which he was
about to enter, called out: "Montjoie, the King and Duke!"
and almost at the same moment appeared John Maillart stepping
forward. At the sight of his old friend, whose infamous treason
he was now acquainted with, Marcel stopped indignant and
the following exchange of words took place :
"Marcel," said the councilman in an imperious voice, "Mar-
cel, what business brings you here at this hour? You should
now be at the town-hall !"
2 68 THE IRON TREVET.
"What business is that of yours," answered Marcel. "I am
here to guard the safety of the town, whose government is in
my hands."
"By God!" cried Maillart imperceptibly drawing nearer to
Marcel. "By God! Yon cannot be here for anything good!"
and turning to the two sentinels who stood motionless a few
steps off: "You see it; Marcel holds in his hands the keys of
the gate . . . It is to- betray us !"
"You miserable and abominable scamp," cried Marcel, "you
lie in your throat !"
"No, traitor, it is you who lie!" replied Maillart, and sud-
denly raising a short axe that he had held concealed behind his
back, he leaped with one bound at the provost crying : "To me,
my friends ! Death to Marcel ! Death to him and his partisans !
They are all traitors!" Before Jocelyn or Philip Giffart could
foresee and parry the sudden charge, Maillart dealt so furious
a blow at Marcel's head that he staggered and fell bathed in
blood.
At Maillart's cry, "To me, my friends I" the passageway, until
then dark, was suddenly illumined by several lanterns that had
been kept under the cloaks of their carriers. By the glimmering
light a large number of men were seen, all armed with pikes,
halbards and cutlasses. Among them were the Sire of Charny,
the knight James of Pontoise and the councilman Pierre Des-
sessarts. Hardly had Marcel dropped under the axe of Mail-
lart than the troop of assassins issued forth from their ambuscade,
and crying: "Montjoie, the King and Duke!" precipitated
themselves upon the provost to despatch him. Marcel, his skull
cleaved in two and his face covered with blood, sought to regain
his feet with the help of Jocelyn and Philip Giffart. These
made heroic efforts to defend the wounded man, but they were
soon thrown down with him and all three riddled with sword
thrusts and axe blows. The other governors and several of fheir
partisans, who were posted in reserve at a nearby house where
they were to await the issue of Marcel's rendezvous with the
THE IRON TREVET. 269
King of Navarre, hearing the increasing tumult and cries of
"Montjoie, the King and Duke!" rushed to the gate of St.
Antoine intending to come to the aid of the provost. Their red
and blue head-covers pointed them out to the fury of the mur-
derers. Their heroic defence was soon overcome and they were
all butchered like their chief. But the rage of Maillart and of
the Sire of Charny was not yet appeased.
"To death with all the enemies of our Sire, the Kegent!"
cried the seigneur. "We know where they are burrowing. Let
us run to their houses. We shall kill them in their beds !"
"To death!" responded John Maillart brandishing his axe.
"To death with the partisans of Marcel ! To death with all the
communiers !"
"Montjoie, the King and Duke !" repeated in chorus the armed
band. "Death to the red and blue !"
"Friends!" cried the seigneur of Charny, "the body of the
knight of Conflans, a victim of the popular party, was exposed
in the Student's Dale. Let now the body of Marcel be exposed
in the same place . . . Carry him on your shoulders."
"To-morrow the body shall be placed on a hurdle and dragged
through the mud to the Louvre which our beloved Sire, the
Eegent, was forced to leave in sight of Marcel's threats. After
that let the carcass of the felon be thrown into the river un-
worthy sepulchre for a Christian/' added John Maillart, and he
said to himself, thinking of his wife : "Petronille will no longer
reproach me with being under the provost; Petronille will no
longer be eaten up with jealousy ; Petronille will no longer hear
that Marguerite is the wife of the 'King of Paris' . . . and
I shall have a title of nobility."
The orders of the Sire of Charny and Maillart were carried
out. The corpse of the provost was picked out from among his
dead friends. Four men carried on their shoulders the dis-
figured remains of the great citizen, and marching by the light
of torches, the funeral cortege wended its way to the Student's
Dale brandishing their arms and shouting :
270 THE IRON TREVET.
"Death to the partisans of the governors !"
"Death to the red and blue !"
"Montjoie, the King and Duke !"
EPILOGUE.
The hatred of Etienne Marcel's enemies pursued him beyond
the grave. His corpse, taken to the Student's Dale, remained
there the whole day exposed to the insults and the jeers of the
fickle and ingrate mass whose enfranchisement and happiness
he had labored to attain. The day after his death his bloody
and mutilated remains were thrown upon a hurdle, dragged to-
wards the Seine and hurled into the river in front of the Louvre.
Such was that great man's sepulchre.
The principal leaders of the popular party, to the number of
sixty, among whom were Simon the Feather-dealer, Cousac and
Pierre Caillart, were executed by orders of John Maillart and the
Sire of Charny, now become joint dictators. These executions
being over, the dictators delegated Simon Maillart, a brother
of the councilman, the councilmen Dessessarts and John Pastorel,
to appear before the Regent and notify the young prince that he
could re-enter his good town of Paris, now submissive and peni-
tent. The Regent answered the delegation: "That will be
gladly done." Accompanied by a numerous cavalcade, the Ee-
gent left the bridge at Charenton and re-entered the Louvre
where, in the language of the chronicler of the time, "he found
John Maillart, whom he greatly esteemed and loved."
"As the Regent," the chronicler proceeds, "was crossing a cer-
tain street on his way to the Louvre, a workingman had the dar-
ing to call out aloud: 'By God, Sire, if my advice had been
taken, you would not now be entering here. But nothing will
be done for you.' ' ;
These and some other instances showed, to the honor of hu-
manity, that ingratitude, defection and the fickleness of the
masses the fruits of their ignorance and secular subjection
THE IRON TREVET. 271
offered at least pleasing exceptions. The memory of Marcel re-
mained alive and sacred in the hearts of many loyal to the popu-
lar cause. Despite the triumph of the court party, several con-
spiracies were started looking to the overthrow of the throne
and intended to revenge upon the Eegent the death of the ven-
erated Etienne Marcel. The last of these conspiracies was or-
ganized by a rich Paris bourgeois, Martin Pisdoe. He mounted
the scaffold and paid with his head for his religious devotion to
the memory of Marcel.
Jocelyn the Champion had been left for dead near the gate
of St. Antoine in the midst of a heap of corpses. Informed
the same night by popular rumors of the assassination of the
provost and his partisans, Rufin the Tankard-smasher and Alison
the Huffy hastened to the place of the massacre in order to as-
certain Jocelyn's fate. They found him covered with wounds,
ready to expire, and carried him to a charitable person in the
neighborhood where, thanks to their untiring care he was rescued
from death. Protected by the obscurity of his name, he long
remained hidden in that asylum where a surgeon, a friend of
Eufin, visited Him. Only slowly did he regain his strength.
Marguerite learned of her husband's death from emissaries
sent by John Maillart, who came that same night to arrest her
at her house. Taken to prison, the unfortunate woman vainly
implored permission to bury Marcel with her own hands. The
supreme consolation was denied her, and she was later made
acquainted with the ignominies inflicted on her husband's corpse.
She soon died in captivity. The property of Etienne Marcel
was confiscated for the benefit of the Eegent.
Alison, always compassionate, offered Denise, who now found
herself helpless and without means, to share with her the cham-
ber she occupied at her inn. Often the two called to see Jocelyn
the Champion in his secret retreat. Among other wounds an
axe-stroke deprived him forever of the use of his right arm.
When his other wounds were completely healed, he married
272 THE IRON TREVET.
Denise; on the sarnie day Dame Alison married Rufin the
Tankard-Smasher.
Jocelyn had inherited a little patrimony, thanks to which he
could almost wholly cover the indispensible needs of himself and
wife, a fortunate circumstance seeing that the weakness conse-
quent upon his wounds did not allow him to pursue his profes-
sion of champion. The only relative left to Denise lived near
the frontier of Lorraine in the town of Vaucouleurs. Jocelyn
decided to move hither. Despite the little notice he had drawn
upon himself during the late revolt, it would have been impru-
upon himself during the late revolt, it would have been impru-
dent on his part to prolong his stay in Paris after his recovery,
seeing that the re-action of the court party was implacable.
Jocelyn sold his patrimony, took, not without deep regret, leave
from Eufin the Tankard-smasher and Alison, and escaping a
hundred dangers from the bands of English soldiers and mar-
auders who then ravaged Gaul, he reached the town of Vau-
couleurs with Denise and settled there.
THE END.
Date Due
PRINTED IN U.S.A. CAT. NO. 24 161
