The Jacquerie: An Historical Romance

Google

This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project

to make the world's books discoverable online.

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books

are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.

Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the

publisher to a library and finally to you.

Usage guidelines

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing tliis resource, we liave taken steps to
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.
We also ask that you:

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for
personal, non-commercial purposes.

+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for in forming people about this project and helping them find
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it.

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe.

About Google Book Search

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web

at |http: //books .google .com/I

■■■;/

. /

'>

THE

JACQUERIE;

OR,

THE LADY AND THE PAGE:

9n HUtortoil ftamxntr.

BY

G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.

AUTHOR OF

« THX GIP8T," '' THE ROBBER,** " THE GENTLEMAN OF THE
OLD SCHOOL,** ETC. ETC. ETC.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

LONDON:

FEINTED FOR

LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS,

FATERNOSTER.ROW.
1841.

*'|IAY 20 1921

^

PREFACE.

I HAVE ventured in the following pages to
present to the reader a tale relating to re-
mote times, though not so remote by more
than a century as those which have already
afforded me a subject which became very popu^-
lan Periods of history with which the reader
is not already well acquainted are not the most
favourable for engaging his attention , and
exciting his interest in a work of fiction ; but
very few persons who are likely to read this
book have not heard of the famous insurrection
of the. peasantry, called the Jacquerie^ and do
not know something of its horrible details.
Amongst those details, dreadful as they were,
manypointsof deep tragic interest are to be found,
some of which I have endeavoured to display in

A 3

VI PREFACE.

the following pages; while, at the same time, I
have striven to keep in the shade the more re-
volting excesses of the insurgents.

Whether, in my anxiety to avoid that
extravagance of horrors, of which we are all too
fond in the present day, I have diminished the
tragic effect of some of the incidents, I cannot
tell ; but I would always rather be accused of
under-drawing than over-drawing such pictures.

Historians have* taken very different views of
the great event which forms the subject of my
work, some regarding the revolt of the peasantry
as a grand political convulsion, brought about
by complex and deep-seated causes; while
others look upon it merely as an accidental
burst of brute force against the trammels in
which it alv/ays has been, and always must
be, held by superior knowledge and intellect.
Under not less different points of view have
been considered and judged the character and
motives of the leader of the insurrection. By
some, he has been pronounced a hero ; by some,
he has been painted as a demon ; by some, he
is represented as a mere savage ; by some, he is

PREFACE. Vii

elevated to the rank of a philosopher and a polw
tician.

That he was a man of superior education to
those by whom he was surrounded, I can have
no doubt That he was a blood-thirsty and
ferocious monster, the records of those times
prove beyond the possibility of refutation ; and
it is very fair to conclude, as he was undoubt-
edly possessed of considerable abilities, skill,
aiid information, that some strong personal
motives, some particular passion or desire, led
him to use the miseries and wrongs of his fellow-
serfs for the attainment of his own objects.
Of course, in the ranks of the Jacquerie there
were various classes of intellect, and various
degrees of education. There might be one or
two persons who saw beyond the immediate
efforts of the day; there might even be some who
proposed to themselves objects superior to any
selfish gratification ; but I am bound to say,
that not the slightest trace of vast conceptions,
projects of public good, political reasoning, or
even any purpose of generally benefitting their
kind, is to be found amongst all the accounts

Vin PREFACE.

which we have received of these insurgents;
It is more wonderful that they achieved great
enterprises with such objects than with such
means. There is not in the annals of the world
an instance in which^ if we are to believe the
statements of contemporaries^ so much bar*
barous brutality and so little mind was dis-
played by any body of rebels against existing
authority. We know not what was the account
that Caillet gave of himself, but we find that a
number of others, when interrogated, could
assign no reason for their rising, but that they
were miserable. The very words are striking,
and, coupled with the fact that these men pro-
posed to themselves no object but the slaughter
of the nobility, gives us, perhaps, the true secret
of the Jacquerie, and shows that, with the mass,
it was the frenzied outbreak of despair.

The events to which this insurrection gave
place, the dangers, the perils, and the sufferings of
some of the best people in the land, and the ulti-
mate overthrow and destruction of the insurgents
by a mere handful of gallant gentlemen, form
the materials from which the following pages

PREFACE. IX

are composed. In my mani^ement of the snb«
ject, while I have endeavoured to bring the
scenes before the reader^s eyes as far as pos->
sible as pictures, and have introduced some
of ^those little traits of the times, which give
identity and verisimilitude to a tafe, making the
reader familiar, as it were, with things afar off,
I have likewise tried to avoid those long details
of customs, ceremonies, and dresses, which
please a few readers and fatigue many. While
I trust I have not violated historical accumcy,
I have laboured more ta depict the men than
the habits of the age; and in so doing I have
generally kept away from those broad and
striking contrasts, which are met with occa^
sionallt/ in human life, so that we may occasionaUy
introduce them, but are nevertheless so rare,
that we should not make use of them frequently.
Thus, in Albert Denyn and William Caillet,
I have given one of liiese conti*asts, bringing
into strong opposition a selfish and a generous
character, and endowing both with thase in-
tellectual powers, and that moving energy,
which are necessary to carry out the pecu-

X PREFACE.

liarities of any particular disposition to an
important result. I have endeavoured also to
trace the effect, the original bias, upon the con-
duct, and upon the fate of each, making the same
passion which leads the selfish man to all that is
base, violent, and criminal, conduct the generous
one to all that is high, virtuous, and noble.

In the other personages of the tale I have
attempted, without losing sight of the peculiar
spirit of the chivalrous ages, which threw, as it
were, a uniform tone or hue over society, to
mark the slighter distinctions of character, so
that the Lord of Mauvinet may be different
from the Captal de Buch, the;captal quite
distinct from the Count of Foix, and the count
from the Lord of St. Leu. I have aimed at
the same in the female characters, though they
are few in number, and of less importance than
the others.

In regard to the conclusion of the tale,
I have adhered to the plan of the work
that I had originally formed, which certainly
renders the plot more complete and more in
accordance with the general taste of the day,

PREFACE, XI

than another termination which suggested itself
to my mind while I was writing, the nature of
which the reader will easily divine if he reads
the book to an end. Nevertheless, I was greatly
tempted to adopt the latter, and even doubt
now that I judged rightly.

In depicting the historical personages, who
from time to time figure on the scene, I believe
I have adhered strictly to truth, making them
such as they were and no other; and if I may
seem to have carried chivalrous'generqsity too far
in the character of the Captal de Buch, let the
reader remember some of the ascertained points
in his history — that he was the bosom friend
of Edward the Black Prince — that he was one
of the founders of the Garter — that he remained
for many years in prison rather than promise
not to fight for England — and that there is every
reason to believe that he died of grief for the
loss of his friend and his commander. Such
things can be told of few upon this earth, and
those who have been so distinguished may well
be represented in somewhat dazzling colours.

THE

JACQUERIE

CHAPTER L

Even in the middle of the fourteenth century
the tint of age had overspread the vast old
church of St. Peter of Montvoye, some twenty
miles from Tours- The stone, which had once
been light grey, was stained with many a dingy
colour, and the sharp cutting of the mason's
chisel had been rounded away by the ob-
literating hand of time. Indeed, so tall and
shadowy was the building, that, although in its
first newness the exterior might have appeared
bright and shining, amidst the green woods that
covered the surrounding country, the interior

VOL. I. B

'^^^s

2 THE JACQUERIE.

never could have given the spectator the idea
of freshness ; but in its dim obscurity must have
looked old even from the first. It had been
built in that style mistakenly called Norman,
but at a period when the round arch was gra-
dually declining, and the long lancet-shaped
window, the lofty column, and the horse-shoe
arch, were occasionally used. The lighter forms,
indeed, of a later period were not there to be
seen; and all was heavy, massive, and stern,
scarcely relieved by the many mouldings and
rich ornaments of the arches, and the quaint
and ever-varying decorations of the capitals.
The tall windows afforded but a faint and
uncertain light, except when the full sunshine
of the summer poured at noon through the
arch of the southern transept, and even then
the stained glass softened and saddened the
blaze, giving a sort of unearthly hue to the
rays, as they fell upon the checkered pavement.
Round the chancel ran two dark side aisles,
which received none but wandering beams,
that found their way thither from the body of
the church — except, indeed, when one of the

THE JACQUERIE. 8

small, low-arched doors, that led into the cloisters
of the neighbouring abbey, opened, and the day-
light, for a few moments, streamed in, display-
ing the figure of a priest or monk, and casting
his long shadow upon the floor.

In this church, one evening in the autumn of
the year 1357, just when the light was growing
feint, ere the going down of the sun left all
in darkness, was a tallf handsome young man,
of four or five and twenty years of age, with
his arms crossed upon his bosom, and his eye
bent down upon the ground. The dark aisle
of the transept in which he stood was too
shadowy for any one to have distinguished his
features, or their expression, had there been
other people in the church, but he was quite
alone. Neither priest appeared at tlie altar,
nor penitent in the confessional ; and the flick-
ering of a faint lamp before one of the shrines
was the only thing that looked like life within
the walls of the building.

Though no one saw his features, it may be
necessarv that the reader should see them with
the eye of imagin^atiop, and also requisite that

B 2

4 THE JACQUERIE.

he should mark the peculiar expression which
those features wore. The lines were all good,
except perhaps about the mouth, where a certain
heavy fulness of the lips took away all beauty
from that part of the face. The forehead was
broad and capacious, though not remarkably
high; the brow strongly marked, but finely
shaped; the eyes large, sparkling, and full of
thoughtful meaning ; the nose small, but beau-
tifully cut, and the chin perhaps a little more
prominent than is exactly symmetrical, but still
rounded into that form, which the Grecian
chisel was delighted to display. The hair and
beard, which were all short, were of a rich brown
colour, and curled about the face in many a
graceful sweep; but the form of the head was in
itself remarkable, being nearly spherical, though
there certainly did appear a degree of fulness
behind the ears and at the back of the skull,
which diminished the beauty of the whole.

Could any body have watched the expression
which the countenance we have described wore
at that moment, he might have been more
puzzled than ever he was in life before, to in*

THE JACQUERIE, 5

terpret the meaning of what waa written on that
page. Dark and stern it certainly was ; but at
the same time, there was a mingling of scorn
and melancholy, too, with that look of fierce de-
termination, which had a strange effect. The
brow was knitted into a heavy frown ; the full
black eye fixed upon the pavement, though
nothing was to be seen there but the dim
shadow of the aisle; the nostril was curled as
if with strong contempt for some object in his
own thoughts ; but the turn of the mouth was
that of deep sadness ; and thus he stood for
several minutes, till suddenly the whole aspect
changed, and, though as mingled as before, the
expression presented elements entirely different.
A low suppressed laugh caused his lips to
part; a gleam of triumphant joy lighted up
his eye as if from the anticipation of some
difficult success ; the knitting of the brow passed
away, and the only part of his former look that
remained was the scornful turn of the nostril
and the upper lip.

It may seem strange to the reader that I
have paused to give so minute a description of

B 3

6 THE JACQUERIE.

the features of a man who was dressed in the
garb of a villein or serf, attached as domestic
to some noble house; but so it was, and such
in fact was the condition of the personage
now before us. The dress that he wore was
of brown hure^ as it was then called, but it
fitted him well ; and, with a certain degree of
vanity as well as taste, he had contrived to give
it so much additional smartness, that it became
his person as well as more lordly robes- Each
sinewy limb was shown to the best advantage,
and the symmetrical grace of his whole person
was displayed, rather than concealed, by the
close-fitting garments which covered him.

In saying that his station was that of a
domestic in some noble house, I do not mean
to imply that it was inferior, as compared
with that held by others in his own grade of
society. It must be remembered, that many
of those tasks of personal attendance and ser-
vice which are now performed by hired servants
were in those days executed by young nobles
of the highest rank and fairest prospects, either
in the dwelling of their own parents, or in the

THE JACQUERIE. 7

castles of the friends and relations of their
family, where they appeared as pages or squires;
and to wait upon their lord's person, to clean
his armour as well as the dressing of his horse,
the service of his table, and various other
acts now considered menial, were then part of
their daily duty. Many other functions, how-
ever, were assigned in every large mansion'
to serfs or villeins, who sometimes, in the
house of a liberal and kindly master, were
raised to offices apparently higher than those
which were conferred on the young nobility
of the household. There was a distinction,
however, which perhaps we do not very clearly
understand at present; and although a villein
might fill the post of chaplain, almoner, and
counsellor, and sit at his lord's table*, while
the sons of princes poured the wine or carved
the meat, yet the serf could not, except in
default of noble hands, bear his lord's shield
or spear, could not give him the water to wash

* This fact is proved by various particulars given by the
Sire de Joinville respecting the household of St. Louis.

B 4

8 THE JACQU£RIE.

before dinner, or hand him the cup out of which
he drank.

The dress of the person whom I have de-
scribed was good, fine in the texture, and such
as none but one highly favoured would have
been permitted to wear, though it was still that
of the villein, and showed that, although the
form and the features might all be as high and
refined as Grecian sculpture ever displayed, yet
the taint of slavery was in the blood, and that
the wearer was a serf of the soil.

By this time, however, great changes and
ameliorations had taken place in the condition
of that class, and they stood in a very dif-
ferent position from that in which they had
been placed at the time that Europe first issued
forth from the darkness of the ninth century.
Many wise and good monarchs had willingly
and anxiously contributed to add comforts to
the situation of the lower orders, and if not
actually to unbind the fetters from their hands,
at least so to regulate the relations between
the lords of the soil and them, that those fetters
might not be made more galling. Many unwise

THE JACQUERIE, 9

and vicious monarchs, too — for God often uses
the wicked as instruments of good — in their
quarrels with the baronage, which sometimes
trod rather hard upon the skirts of the royal
mantle^ had endeavoured to punish the ob-
noxious class, by giving back some of the privi-
leges of man to those on whom that class
trampled ; and thus, though the villeins upon
the lord's estates or territory were still nominally
his chattels, as much as his horse, his dog, or
his hawk, yet he was restrained in his dealing
with them within certain limits and by cer-
tain rules : their property was protected, their
lives and persons were under the safeguard of
the law, and they were no longer a mere herd
of cattle, to be dealt with at the pleasure of a
brutal owner. The cultivators of the soil, the
mechanic, the manufacturer, the merchant, the
inhabitants of all villages, and many of the
dwellers in towns, were generally classed as
villeins. " Though, long before the period of
which I now speak, the formation of com-
munes had introduced a distinction, and the
free commons of a great number of cities pre-

10 THE JACQUERIE.

sented an intermediate class between the ba-
ronage and the serfs, they were still ranked
as villeins by blood, though enjoying all the
rights of freemen, without the privileges of
nobility. In rural districts, however, many a
terrible and degrading badge of slavery still
remained fixed upon the peasant. In one
place, the right of the lord implied one degrading
service, in another, it comprised others ; and in
times of trouble and disaster, when the strong
hand of lawful authority was removed, and the
arm of the law shortened, exaction, pillage, op-
pression, and tyranny, resumed their full sway :
the dearest rights and most sacred feelings of
human nature were set at nought ; and the only
safeguard of the peasant was the honour, virtue,
and benevolence of some of the chivalrous lords
of the land. That safeguard was sufficient to
protect many, but it was not sufficient to se-
cure all ; and although, in some instances, the
nobl^ chatelain was a father to those below
him, ever ready to succour them in sorrow or
calamity, to shield them from danger, and to
avenge them against wrong, yet in others, the

THE JACQUERIE. 11

feudal lord was the enemy of all around, the
tyrant of all beneath.

The times I write of, too, were amongst the
most terrible that ever the fair land of France
beheld. Her king was a captive in a foreign
land, her nobility, overthrown in the terrible
day of Poitiers, were scattered, disunited, and
dismayed, her fields overrun with bands of law-
less adventurers, living alone by plunder, and
inured to massacre and bloodshed, as a trade,
her finances ruined, her young prince power-
less, insulted, and betrayed, struggling with a
fierce faction and ambitious demagogues in the
capital, and not one bond of union existing
throughout the whole land, but that of similar
language, manners, and faith. The latter,
alas I was suffered to have but little sway either
in moderating men's passions or directing their
actions. In the turbulence, the excitement, the
disorganisation of the day, the functions of re-
ligion were reduced to the task of affording
consolation and nourishing hope; but even
this was a blessed privilege where all else
was sorrow, wretchedness, and despair.

It may easily be conceived, then, that while

12 THE JACQUERIE.

such a State of anarchy existed in the land,
the condition of the peasantry in many districts
daily became worse. Though the law existed,
there was none to administer the law, or to
enforce it between the lord and his serf, and
thus the will of every man became the only
rule in his own territories. Jacques Borihomme^
as the insolent nobles called the unfortunate
cultivator of the soil, sowed in fear and reaped
with pain; and in many places ills more bur-
thensome than human nature could bear ground
the labourer to the earth.

Such was the state of France at the time
when the personage whom I have described
stood alone in the dark aisle of the church of
St. Peter at Montvoye, musing bitterly over
many a topic of deep and terrible interest.
By his dress one might perceive that he was
of the class of serfs, and that he was some
favoured domestic in a noble house. From the
scenes that are to come, we shall gather the
character of his mind, and see more of his con-^
dition and feelings, as w^ell as learn those actions,
which gained him a place, though a sad one, in
the history of the times in which he lived.

THE JACQUERIE. 13

CHAP. 11.

Suddenly the door at the end of the aisle
opened, and a ray from the setting sun broke
in upon the darkness, tinting the manifold
columns and arches as it passed, and casting a
sudden brilliance down the long perspective of
the pavement — like one of those bright and
wonderful thoughts, which sometimes, in the
mental world, burst upon subjects that have
remained obscure for ages, discovering to the
eye of a Newton or a Hei'schei a long chain of
beautiful facts, all lighted up by the removal of
one dark obstacle.

The opening of the door disclosed to the
eyes of him who was standing in the church
two forn^s entering from the cloistered quad*
rangle of the abbey adjoining, and he instantly
drew back into one of the small chapels,
and bent his knee before a shrine, though, to

14 THE JACQUERIE.

say sooth) he prayed not in his heart, but
gazed between the pillars that concealed his
own person at the others, as they paused
for a moment in the archway, with the light
shining round them as if in a picture.

The two figures were those of an old man
and a young one : the first was dressed in the
long robe of a grey friar ; but the loose heavy
gown — even when massed in the dark shadow,
as he stood with the light flowing in fi*om
behind — could not conceal the calm dignity of
his person ; while the ray, catching upon the
bald head, and streaming through the white
hair, showed enough to account for a certain
bend of the whole form by the heavy pressure
of the hand of time. The younger man, who
stood beside him, was tall and upright, with
an air of easy grace and commanding power
in every line, and as he advanced with a step
firm but noiseless, and slow to suit the pace of
his more aged companion, he offered a picture
of vigorous manhood in its early prime, such
as might well busy the hand of a skilful artist
to depict. •

THE JACQUERIE. 15

As the latter turned to speak to the good prior
of Montvoye, for such was the monk who walked
by his side, the light caught upon his face, and
displayed a countenance decidedly handsome
in feature, but deriving its great beauty from
the expression, which was very peculiar. It
was calm, thoughtful, and even gentle, with a
flickering smile hanging at that moment round
the lip, which seemed to denote a quick and
playful fancy ; but the tranquillity of the ex-
pression had nothing of weakness in it : as
did his whole figure and carriage, it gave the
idea of high mental and bodily powers, great
energy and activity of character, though those
qualities were for the time in repose.

The complexion was fair rather than dark ;
but the face was browned with much ex-
posure to the sun and wind; and a distinct
line across the forehead showed where the
casque or the cap had shaded the head from
the summer heat. The eyes were hazel, and
fringed with long dark lashes, but the hair and
beard were of a light, rich brown.

He was speaking as he came forward ; but the

16 THE JACQUERIE.

only words which caught the ear of the person
who remained kneeling in the neighbouring
chapel were, " I am right glad it is so, father^
for I have myself known what it is to lose those
who are most dear. Not only is your noble
brother living, but in good health. His
wounds are now healed ; but he is one of those
who could not survive a field like that, without
some worthy marks of having done his duty."

" You do him justice, noble lord," replied
the prior : " Maurice de Mauvinet * will never
shame his race* We have mourned for him as
dead ; and well may we now rejoice to find him
living."

The prior said no more for the moment,
but walked on by the side of his more youthful
companion, musing as he went. Both paused,
bowed, and crossed themselves as they traversed
the nave before the high altar; and then, taking
their way to the opposite door of the transept,

* Maurice de Mauvinet was seneschal of Touraine,
and was taken prisoner, severely wounded, at the battle of
Poitiers. He is one of those particularly mentioned in
the letter of the Black Prince.

THE JACQUERIE. 17

they issued forth upon the steps of the church ;
before which stood a glittering train of men^t-
arms> calmly talking with some monks and
serving men, or arranging the caparisons of
their horses and soothing the eager fire with
which the chargers fretted to depart.

The young nobleman turned as if to take his
leave ; but the prior spoke first, with a thought
ful smile. " I will not detain you long, noble
sir," he said, '^ for the evening is at hand ; and
night is no time to travel in this poor land of
France; but yet I would fain hear another
word or two of my dear brother's fate ere we
part, though to-morrow perhaps I shall meet
with you again."

" Nay, speak boldly, my good father," re-
plied the knight : ^^ I fear not the darkness.
What would you know more ?"

" First," said the prior, " I would ask, when
we may hope to see my brother back ? "

" Nay, that I know not," answered his com-
panion : ^^ right soon, I trust, good father.
He may come whensoever he will. *Tis now
some six weeks since that, journeying by

VOL. 1 c

18 THE JACQUERIE.

Poitiers, I first had reason to believe the
letters he had written, as soon as his wounds
were healed, had never reached his friends in
France. It is no marvel that such has been
the case; for where no law remains, and it
would seem that all rule has been done away
with here, letters often find other bands than
those for which they were intended. However,
I wrote to the noble lord at once, and sent the
packet by a trusty messenger — who I know
has since reached the good city of London— r
telling him what I had heard, and beseeching
him to come over hither and seek his liberty
himself, lest men should say I had acted so
discourteously as not to put a worthy prisoner
to ransom. It never crossed my mind, how-
ever, that his near friends and children them-
selves were all this time ignorant that he was
in life, till last night, at Tours, I heard, by a
mere gossip's talk in the inn, that he was
mourned as dead, and his young son, called
Count of Mauvinet, in his place."

" The boy will gladly give his countship up,''
replied the prior, ^^to see his small image in

THE JACQUERIE. 19

his dear father's ejes again. — But one question
more, most noble captal. At what sum have
you fixed my brother's ransom? We will
raise it speedily, and with right good will."

" Faith, my father," answered the other, ** it
was not I who fixed it; 'twas himself. The
simple facts are these. After the battle, when
night was just approaching, I went out to seek
for the body of my sister's son, who had
fiJlen. We found it amongst a heap of dead,
and, lying near, was what seemed the corpse
of my good Lord of Mauvinet. They had
stripped him of his arms and clothing : but I
knew his face, for we had held a conference
the day before on some matters regarding a
truce; and, thinking it were but an act of
charity towards his friends, I bade my people
raise his body, too, and bear it to my tent.
Ere we reached the camp, however, I found
that the spark of life was not yet extinct, and
therefore we gave him such tending as the
time admitted. He recovered, as you know;
and I scarcely held it just to put a man so
captured to ransom. He, however, fixed the

c 2

t20 THE JACQUERIE.

£um himself at five thousand marks of silver,
and reckoned on having it right speedily.
However, believe me, my good father, it was
not seeking his ransom that I came; it was
merely, that, hearing you all believed him dead,
I thought it but a pleasant ride to turn some
twenty miles from my way, and, by the tidings
of his safety, to light up joy in hearts that had
long been desolate."

** Joy, indeed, do you bear with you, noble
captal," replied the prior, **and glad will be
the welcome that waits you at my brother's
house, when once the news that you bring is
known; but yet, as at this hour, and in these
times, I fear you would not easily get ad*
mission within the gates of a castle whose cha-
telain is a boy of six years old, and whose lady
does not yet number nineteen, unless you were
accompanied by some known friend. I have
therefore ^*

m

** I should but have to ride a few miles
farther," replied the knight, interrupting him
with a gay laugh. " The truce holds me from
storming the castle ; and if they will not have

THE JACQUERIE, 21

the good news I bear them to-night, they
must wait till you carry it to them to-morrow
morning."

" Not so, noble sir," replied the prior ; " for
although, as I told you, the abbot being absent
at this moment, I cannot to-night have the
satisfaction of accompanying you to Mauvinet
myself, yet I have provided means for insuring
your reception. I have just sent for a youth,
now at the abbey. He is well known in my
brother's house, and greatly trusted by us all,
who will both serve to guide you thither, and
open the gates to you when you arrive. He
has not yet come up, I see ; but I suppose he
was taken by surprise, and has some small
preparations to make for his journey."

The knight thanked the good monl^for his
care in simple terms, and then remained
plunged in silence, for he had many another
thought to busy his mind withal ; and the things
that were now passing round him formed as yet
but a light episode in his existence. The prior
himself resumed the discourse, however, saying,
after a short pause, ^* In behalf of the youth

c 3

22 THE JACQUERIE.

who is coming I would bespeak your kind
consideration, my lord ; for though I must not
say that he is of noble blood, yet he is in all
things far above the race of mere peasants.'^

" The son of some citizen ?" asked the
knight, with an air of indifference.

" Not exactly," replied the prior. " His
father held lands in Normandy, but fell under
some false suspicions during the troubles in that
district, and was put to death by his lord un-
justly. His wife and child fled hither, where
they found a protector in my brother ; and the
mother dying, the youth has been brought up
partly at the abbey, partly at the castle."

" There have been so many troubles in Nor-
mandy, good father," answered the knight,
" that I know not well which you mean ; but
if you speak of those that occurred a few
years ago, when your good prince, King John,
held what we call the hloody feast of Bxmm^
arrested many noble gentlemen at his son^s
own table, and after dinner struck off their
heads in the field behind the castle — if you
mean those troubles, all I can say is, the

THE JACQUERIE. 23

unjust lord of this good youth's father had a
goodly example of cruelty and tyranny before
his eyes,"

^^ It was previous to the time you speak of
that these events took place," replied the
prior ; ^^ but I beseech you, noble sir, cast no
harsh censure on my king, while he lies yet a
prisoner in a distant land. So long as he was
able he was ever ready to meet in arms, as a
monarch and a knight, those who gainsayed his
deeds, but now—"

" I was wrong — I was wrong, good father,"

replied tl^ captal : ^^ he is as valiant a prince

as ever drew a sword, and I should not have

blamed him when he could not answer to the

charge."

*^ He may have had good cause for what he

did, my lord," replied the churchman. ^^ There
runs a whisper amongst us, that the false King
of Navarre had seduced the inexperience of
the prince to rise against his father, and that
the Lord of Harcourt was privy thereunta"

*^ Still the king confounded guilt and in-
nocence together," replied the other, " and

c 4

24 THE JACQUERIE.

put noble gentlemen to death without a trial.
— But here comes the youth of whom you
spoke I suppose. He seems a likely stripling,
and more fit to make a man-at-arms of than a
monk."

" In truth, my lord," answered the prior,
'^ it is plain to see that he has no great taste for
the gown. We have done the best we could
for him — taught him a world of learning, if he
would use it wisely : but, to say sooth, he has
ever shown himself fonder of watching the tilt-
yard, and secretly practising with the sword
and spear, than reading theology or singing in
our choir. He was generally at the castle till
my brother marched for Poitiers; but since
then I have not well known how to dispose of
him — for here we cannot do as in England,
where persons, not of noble birth, can bear
honourable arms, and gain a high renown."

A kind and ready answer sprang to the lips
of his companion, but a moment's thought
made him determine to pause a while; and he
turned to examine more particularly the person
of the young man who approached.

THE JACQU£RIK. 25

. He was a very different being from him
whom we have already described as lingering
moodily in the aisle of the church. He was
not by four or five years so old as the other,
and his countenance bore the expression of
youth » which is a very peculiar one, and which
once lost can never be regained. It was not
that his face was without traces of thought, for
vtrith all its cheerful sunshiny look there was
reflection, and imagination, and mind in every
line ; but it was, that there were none of the
furrows of care, anxiety, and grief upon it,
jione of the lines that show that the heart has
been used, and a portion of its freshness taken
away« There might, indeed, come a shade of
melancholy over his brow from time to time,
but that shade was as a floating cloud over a
summer sky, and not the dull grey expanse
of a chill autumn day. Neither were there
on that countenance the branded stamp of
fiery passions, nor the harsh traces of gnawing
discontent. It was frank and open ; changeful,
but not moody ; thoughtful, but not sad.
The complexion was rather fair than dark;

26 THE JACQUERIE.

the limbs light and active, though giving a
promise of great strength ; and there was in
every motion, as in every look, a breathing
spirit of yomig exuberant life that had some*
thing wonderfully prepossessing in it to the eye.
His dress was that of the richest class of
peasantry; but that he had received an edu-
cation far above his birth was evident, from the
grace with which he moved. As he approached
the prior and his companion, he uncovered his
head, listened with respectful but not servile
attention to the directions that he received;
and then, as soon as the knight had mounted,
laid his hand upon the saddle-bow of a horse
that had been prepared for himself, and without
touching the stirrup bounded into the seat.

THE JACQUERIE. 27

CHAP. III.

There was a castle upon a slight rising ground
in the midst of a wide basin in the hills. It
was strongly fortified, according to the military
architecture of the fourteenth century : bar-
bican, portcullis, moat, and drawbridge de-
fended it sufficiently on all sides against the
ordinary means of attack ; and the tall walls
and towers, with their crenelles and loopholes,
threatened an approaching enemy with sad an-
noyance in his advance. Sweeping down the
lower slopes of the neighbouring uplands,
indeed, were various scattered woods, leaving
wide open fields between them; but they
came at not point so near to the castle as to
give a coming foe the means of concealing his
proceedings.

The moat, or piece of water which surrounded
the fortress itself, was somewhat more than fifty

28 THE JACQUEKIE,

yards broad, and was indeed one of its best
defences ; for only one means of traversing its
deep water existed, which was by a narrow
causeway, not carried straight across, but with
a benj^ or elbow in the middle, so that any
inimical troops which might attempt to force
their way over, before they reached the draw-
bridge and barbican, must necessarily expose
their flank, first on the one side and then
jon the other, to the whole artillery of the
castle walls.

Those walls themselves, at the point opposite
to the causeway, approached close to the edge
of the water, and in some places the grey
foundations dipped themselves therein ; but on
the three other sides a crescent-shaped slip of
meadow stretched out between the chateau
itself and the greater moat, together with a
small piece of ground cultivated as a garden,
and one or two old trees. The breadth of this
field was no where more than thirty or forty
yards, and between it and the walls was a
narrower moat, ciit from the other, and crossed
by two or three drawbridges which led to

THE JACQUERIE. 29

posterns in the towers, sufficiently wide and
high to permit the passage of a horse ; for in
truth the green meadow that we have men-
tioned was used — in times when it might be
dangerous to cross to the other side^of the
great moat — for the purpose of practising
those chivalrous sports which were a part of
the daily life of that period.

It was about half past eight o'clock when the
party, which we have seen quit the Abbey of
Montvoye, paused for a moment on the slope
of one of the neighbouring hills, and the young
guide, who had not quitted the side of his
noble companion during the ride, pointed with
his hand towards the valley below, saying,
^* There, noble sir, is the castle !"

The moon had risen little more than an hour
above a line of dark wood' that skirted the
distant horizon behind the castle; and her living
beams showed the whole dark masses of the
ancient feudal building cutting clear upon the
luminous sky behind, while the wide moat^
except where the shadow of the towers fell^
shone bright and silverlike in the white

80 THE JACQUERIE.

moonlight. A long row of windows in the
lower part of the keep appeared illuminated
by lights within, and from the casement of a
chamber in the story just above came forth the
rays of a lamp.

^^ You see, noble sir," continued the youth^
after they had paused for a moment, ^^ you
see they are still waking. That is the cham-
ber of the Lady Adela, above the knight's
hall."

^^ You have guided us well and quickly, good
youth," answered his companion : ^^ let us spur
on, however, lest we have yet to wake the lady
from her slumbers."

The young man followed rapidly, but still a
step behind the knight ; for though he had been
treated with kindly courtesy, there had not
been wanting that tone of conscious superiority
in the captal's demeanour which he was well
entitled to assume, both by station and renown
in arms. The youth felt it somewhat painfully,
however, even more, perhaps, than he would
have done from those whom he knew well,
and who had not the habit of treating him as

THE JACQUERIE. 31

the mere peasant^ whom the churl's blood
excluded from all courteous consideration. I
have said, indeed, that he had not been so used
by the knight, who had addressed him often,
and asked him many a question, showing more
interest in him than most men might have
done so circumstanced. But still, the moment
the answer was given, the captal had relapsed
into a state of apparent indifference, remained
silent for several minutes, and then speaking
of something totally different.

Why he should expect more attention from
strangers than from those with whom he was fa-
miliar, the youth could hardly tell; but yet
the cold want of interest with which the knight
heard his replies seemed to show him, more
sensibly, the dark spot of the serf's blood : it
was as if each man be met marked it upon his
forehead, and treated him accordingly. His
nature was a generous nature, however: he
might grieve without anger; he could feel
pain without bitterness; and although he
longed to conquer his &te, it was by great
^nd noble deeds which would shame the world

32 THE JACQUERIE.

for fixing on any class of men the odious name
of villeins.

When they had reached the bottom of the
descent, the knight again drew in his horse and
paused to look up at the dark towers, as they
rose majestically against the sky. The light
was still shining from the window above, and
a faint strain of music found its way out into
the air of night.

'^ She sings I " said the captal, speaking to
himself. ^^ She sings t So soon do deep griefs
pass from the mind of youth ! "

To his surprise, the young man who rode by
his side, and who had never ventured to address
him, except when he himself was spoken to,
now replied somewhat sharply, saying, " It is
a hymn f — Hark I "

The captal made no observation, but
paused and listened ; and now distinctly heard
that the strain which he had taken for a light
song was, in fact, a solemn address to Heaven.
He did not answer the youth's observation,
however, but only crossed himself, saying, " God
hear her orisons ! Now, we must seek ad-

THE JACQUERIE. 3^

mission quickly. Over this causeway seems
our nearest way."

. " It is the only way," replied the young man ;
*' but take care how you try it, till I have blown
my horn, for you might have a flight of arrows
on you, such as fell at Poitiers."

" Now Heaven forbid ! " replied the captal ;

«

'' wind your horn, good youth ! "

The young man raised his horn to his lips,
and blew a long and cheerful blast. A moment
after^ a warder on the barbican answered in the
same tone, and shouted out a welcome in reply
to the well-known sounds, but at the same time
demanded aloud, " Who have you got with
you ? "

" I know not your name, noble sir," said the
guide to his companion " All I know is, that
you are a friend of my good lord the prior."

" Say it is the Captal de Buch," answered
the knight, "who comes with good tidings to
the house of Mauvinet."

" What, the noble Captal de Buch ! " ex-
claimed the youth, gazing up in his com*
panion's face, " who led the English horse

VOL. I. D

34 THE JACQU£RI£.

against the battle of the constables at Poi-
tiers?"

" The same," replied the captal, " the same,
young man ; but be sure you say he brings good
tidings : for my name is not too well loved in
France, and may not gain me admission, without
something added."

" Your name is honoured throughout the
world ! " replied the young man, " but I will
do your bidding, if you will wait for but a
moment here;" and riding on alone he ap-
proached the barbican, and after a few words
was admitted by the warder.

The Captal de Buch remained in a musing
mood, sometimes gazing down into the glis-
tening waters of the moat, sometimes looking
up to the moonlight sky, sometimes scanning
the dark towers, and, while his spirit was in
truth busy with other things, taking in vague
impressions of their military strength ; for in
despite of all that has been said against it, the
mind is not only capable to a certain degree of
carrying on two operations at once, but gene-
rally does so; and we continually find, that
while we are revolving one definite train of

THE JACQU£RI£. 35

ideas with all the intensity of deep reflection,
the casual sights that pass before the eye,
and the sounds that fall upon the ear, are each
marked and considered in a general manner as
if by separate powers of perception and thought
within us. The armed attendants of the knight
in the meanwhile remained at some short dis-
tance behind, the younger and more impetuous
fretting at the brief pause, and the old and
veteran followers of the great leader calmly
enduring a delay which they were well aware
proceeded but from necessary caution, gazing
up with curious eyes at the battlements, and
thinking how such a castle might be best at-
tacked.

There was another person present, however,
who had joined the party at some distance from
the abbey, and who after speaking a word to
their young guide had fallen behind. This was
the remarkable man whom we have described
in the first chapter, and who after overtaking
the troop had shown no disposition to converse
or jest with the light-hearted men-at-arms of
the captal's train, during the whole journey

D 2

36 THE JACQUERIE.

they had made together. His eyes were now
neither turned to the sky, nor to the moat, nor
to the castle, but were either fixed upon the
ground, or busily engaged in scanning the
forms of his temporary companions. The
same scornful bend was still about his lip, and
it might curl somewhat more strongly at some
of the words which he caught, but he uttered
not a syllable in reply.

At the end of about ten minutes the delay
seemed to be long even to the captal, and from
time to time he turned his eyes towards the
barbican, while his horse pawed the ground
impatiently, as if wondering what stayed his
impetuous rider.

At length, however, the light of torches ap-
peared in the gate; the drawbridge was once
more let down, the portcullis was raised, and
by the flickering glare of the flambeaux might
be seen a number of armed men arraying
themselves on either side of the causeway, while
the youth, who had guided the party thither,
came forth and announced to the captal that he
was welcome to the castle of Mauvinet.

THE JACQUERIE. 37

Ere he entered, however, one of the old
soldiers of that great oflScer's band rode up to
his lord's side, and begged him to remark the
armed throng which lined the portal of the
barbican. The captal, however, merely replied
with an impatient " Pshaw ! " and touching his
horse slightly with the spur rode on across the
causeway, passed the outer defences, and bowing
with a courteous inclination to the soldiery as he
proceeded, entered the gates of the castle upon
horseback, and dismounted in the court yard.
Here he found stationed several old officers to
receive him ; but the youth, who had guided
him thither, still acted the part of his chief
conductor, and led him forward up the steps to
the great hall of the building, which was known
by the name of " the knights' hall."

Although the room contained many lights,
yet the part where they first entered was com-
paratively dark, but at the farther end was
an object, which instantly attracted the captal's
attention, and seemed to surprise him not a little.
It was the form of a girl, apparently of nine-
teen or twenty years of age, habited ingarmenti?

D 3

38 THE JACQUERIE.

of deep blacky and followed by a waiting-woman
in the same sombre garb. The captal could not
doubt for a moment that the lady before him
was the person whom he came to see ; and the
surprise, which he evidently felt, must have
been excited either by the beauty and grace of
her form, and the loveliness of her face, or by
the expression of wondering hope and joy which
lighted up her countenance.

He advanced quickly towards her, however,
while she on her part came forward with a
hasty step, exclaiming, " Welcome, welcome,
my good Lord Captal. Albert tells me, you
bring me glad tidings — I know it ; I know
it ! My father is alive ! — A thousand welcomes
for such happy news ! " And in the eagerness
of her joy, according to the simple custom of
that day, without shame or reserve, the lady
approached the knight and kissed him on either
side of the face ; while her eyes beamed forth
the delight that was in her heart. At the same
time, however, as if doubting her own hopes,
she repeated twice, " Is it not true ? is it not
true, noble knight ? "

1

THE JACQUERIE. 39

"Yes, lady," replied the captal, "it is true.
Your noble father does live, is well, and will
soon be restored unto you. I have brought you
the tidings myself, that I might have the satis-
faction of witnessing the joy which I now be-
hold."

" Joy, indeed," replied the lady, "joy indeed !
the greatest that has entered these gates for
many a day; but I must send for my poor
brother ! Though the dear child sleeps, it is no
sin to wake him with such news as this."

I will not pause to detail the farther convers-
ation of the knight and the young lady of
Mauvinet. It lasted nearly an hour, and in the
course of it, all that the captal had to tell
brought forth on her fair face a thousand varying
and beautiful expressions, which caught the eye
of one not insensible to beauty, and made him
long to know more of the bright heart, from
which such gleams seemed to issue forth.

With graceful courtesy and kindness, though
with some timidity of manner, the lady caused
refreshments to be set before her guest, and
pressed him to his food, while several of the old

D 4

40 THE JACQUERIE.

officers of her father's household stood around
the table, and others went to prepare lodg-
ings in the castle for the knight and his fol-
lowers. •

Adela de Mauvinet was soon joined in her
task of entertaining her unexpected guest by her
young brother, a boy of six or seven years old,
whose gladness to hear of his father's safety
seemed even beyond his years, and increased the
recompence which Adela's joy had already
bestowed upon the captal for the glad tidings
which he had brought.

It was not till after he had told the story
twice, and added many a little anecdote to gra-
tify the children of his prisoner, that the great
leader retired to rest; but if we must say truths
the thought of Adela de Mauvinet, of her beauty,
and of the varying changes which had come over
her countenance while he told her of her father's
safety, somewhat disturbed his repose, and made
his slumbers more dreamy and disturbed than
they were wont to be.

Let it not be supposed for one moment that
the captal was already in love. Though those

THE JACQUERIE. 41

were days in which such a thing was quite pos-
sible — when the Romeo and Juliet love,
brought forth, like the lightning from its cloud,
in a single moment, often produced effects as
fierce and keen as that of heaven's bolt itself,
rending the stubborn heart, and spreading
desolation round — yet the captal was of a
different nature, and loved not easily though
long. Still the beauty and the grace of her
whom he had that night seen for the first time
touched his imagination, though not his heart,
and he lay and thought for more than one half
hour of Adela de Mauvinet, and dreamed of
her in sleep.

42 THE JACQUERIE*

CHAP. IV.

There had been a light frost upon the ground,
but the morning was bright and clear, and
some of the soldiery of the castle had been
wrestling and playing at backsword and
buckler in that open space between the walls of
the castle and the great moat, which we have
already mentioned. It was a fine sight to see
them in the clear fresh air, with their strong
and muscular limbs cast every moment into
some new and graceful attitude ; and several of
the followers of the Captal de Buch, who came
at first merely to look on, soon entered so fully
into the spirit of the contest, that, when in-
vited by some of the wrestlers to take part,
they joined in and tried a fall with the rest.

There were two persons, however, who
gazed for some time on the sports, but took no
part therein, remaining aloof at some distance,

THE JACQUERIE. 4d

and with crossed arms and bended heads
watching the exercises, in which they were
unwilling or unable to mingle. Those persona
were no other than the youth who had con-
ducted the Captal de Buch to Mauvinet^ and
the man whom we have described as lin-
gering in the church of Montvoye. Very
different, however, was the expression on the
countenance of each, as they stood there and
gazed. The face of the younger displayed
a keen interest in all that he saw going on
before him, while that of his companion was
unmoved, and calm, and seemed rather to hold
the wrestlers and their sports in contempt, than
to derive any pleasure from the sight of their
pastime.

^^ Come, Albert," he said at length, addressing
the other, ^^ come, let us get away from these
brawling fools. To stand here and watch
them does no good either to you or me. You
would &in join them, and be such another as
themselves : I despise them, and would not be
one of them if I could. Come, Albert, come
and let us talk over poor France."

44 THE JACQUERIE.

((

I might join them this moment if I
would," replied the other ; " you know they
are all very kind to me."

" Kind !'* replied his companion with a
bitter sneer upon his lip, and at the same time
walking slowly away ; " kind ! " and you are
content to take from kindness that which is
your own by right."

The young man to whom he spoke started,
and looked inquiringly in his companion's
face. " Mine bv right ! " he exclaimed ; " how
is it mine by right more than yours? — What is it
that you mean, William Caillet ? How is it mine
more than yours ?"

" I said not that it was yours more than
mine," replied Caillet ; " but come away where
we cannot be heard, and I will explain to you
my meaning."

As he spoke, he moved away with a slow
step and a careless air, as if unwilling to let
any of those around see that there was in his
bosom deeper thoughts than were displayed by
the mere surface. The other followed him
across one of the small bridges, and by a pos-

THE JACQUERIE. 45

tern into the castle. Caillet paused not within
the building, but crossed the court, and saun-
tering through the great gates approached the
barbican. He walked on with an air of listless
indifFerence, spoke a few words to the warder
that let down the drawbridge for them, and
then, seeing that his companion lingered, as if
unwilling to go on, he said, " Come, Albert,
will you not take a walk this fine morning ? See
how bright the sun shines : you will find matter
for some new song."

The youth, whom he called Albert, smiled
and followed him, merely replying, *' I cannot
go far, Caillet, for I have charge to wait upon
the noble Captal de Buch till the good prior
comes."

" The captal will not want you for an hour
or two," replied Caillet, " and you have plenty
of time for a walk. Come, if you be willing;
if not, stop behind. Good faith, it is the same
to me. I seldom seek better company than
my own ; for nowadays one's thoughts are one's
best friends."

The other made no answer, but accompanied

46 THE JACQUERIE.

him in silence, and CaiUet took his way
through the meadows on the opposite side of
the moat, and walked on up the slope of the
hill to some trees a little in advance of the wood,
which crowned a spot where a precipitous bank
of no great height afforded a full view into the
valley with the castle and all the adjoining lands.
There the two sat themselves down ; and for
several minutes Caillet spoke not a word, but
continued gazing with a meditative look over
the fair scene spread out before him.

His companion's eyes rested long upon the
landscape also with much real enjoyment of
all that is fine in nature; and, to say truth,
attaching no great importance to the words of
Caillet, he had totally forgotten all that had
previously passed between them, when the other
again resumed the subject, saying, " I asked you
if you were content to take as a favour what
is yours by right; land you seemed as much
surprised at my saying that it is yours by right,
as if you were as ignorant a peasant as any of
all the many who hug their chains, scarcely
knowing that they bear them."

THE JACQUERIE. 47

^^ Still I do not understand what you mean,
Caillet," replied the other. ** 1 have no right to
meddle with the sports of a rank above myself
unless I am invited."

" They have thrown away much teaching
upon you to very little purpose I " replied
Caillet in a tone of scornful wonder* ^' Is it
possible, that you, Albert, who have had all the
learning the monks of the convent can give,
and have been taught every thing that even
a knightly education can bestow, should
be so blind, so dull, so stupid, as not to know,
or so base as not to feel, that yours are the
same rights as those of any other man on earth ;
and that these proud nobles, in their gilded
garments, are but of the same clay as you and
I, without one difiFerence between us and them,
except that some braver and more powerful
robber than themselves chanced to be the
founder of their race, and to snatch from our
ancestors the lands that they now possess. To
prevent us froni ever taking back our own
they have called us villeins — serfs; they have
prescribed to us certain garments as a badge

48 THE JACQUERIE.

of our slavery, forbidden us the use of all but
certain weapons, even to defend our lives against
the beasts of the forest^ or the field. They
have denied us practice and skill in arms, lest
we should use those arms against themselves.
They keep from us all knowledge, too, lest we
should learn our rights as men, the tyrant
vanity of their pretensions, and their feebleness
and baseness when stripped of the advantages
which circumstances have given them.

" Nay, nay," replied his companion, inter-
rupting him, " they do not keep from us all
knowledge ! Are we not both instances of the
contrary ? How very many do they themselves
educate? And how very, very many of the
church have sprung from our own class ? "

" Ay, of the church ! " replied Caillet with a
look of scorn, " granted of the church. Nay,
more, my short-sighted friend, I will concede
more still : they are ready, they are anxious, when
they see any one of more genius than the rest —
when they see any one whose mind is fitted for
great things, whose spirit and nature empower
him to accomplish great enterprises, they are

THE JACQUERIE. 49

ready, I say, gladly to educate him for the
church/'

^'^ And is not that noble and kind?" cried
Albert, interrupting him.

*' It might be so," answered the other in a
sharp tone, " were it done with a good motive ;
but why is it they do this ? Is it not to bind
down both the souls and bodies of the great
and high-minded to a profession which affords
the surest safeguard their usurpation can have,
which bids us still endure in patience, and cuts
us off from all those ties of kindred which would
make us feel for the wrongs of our fellow-men ?
The hands of the clergy cannot bear arms
against the cowards that enslave us ; the voice
of the clergy must not be raised to bid the serf
ishake off his chains, the villein to cast off his
bondage. This is the cause why, whenever a
child is perceived of somewhat greater powers
than the rest of his race, he is sent to the convent
or the seminary, and bred up in the trammels
of another sort of servitude, more lowering, more
debasing, than that from which he escapes, be-

VOL. I. E

50 THE JACQUERIE.

cause it is the servitude of the mind, because it
is the villeinage of the heart. — And why is all
this ? why is it, but because they are afraid of
us; because these insolent men, who, when
they meet the peasant in the field, scatter the
dust over him with their horses' hoofs, and call
him in contempt Jacques Banliomme; because
these very men are cowards at their hearts, and
fear the very worms they tread upon.'*

His young companion had listened with a
thoughtful brow, a somewhat gloomy air, and
an eye bent upon the ground, with sensations
that prevented him for some time from making
any reply. He felt that there was some truth
in what Caillet said; but he felt, also, that it
was not all true, and yet did not at once see
where lay the line between the truth and false-
hood. At length, however, when his companion
accused the nobles, whom he had been ac-
customed through life to honour and to respect,
of cowardice as well as tyranny, he burst forth
with a laugh, not altogether gay : " Nay, nay,"
he cried, " nay, nay, Caillet, some of them may
be tyrants, bloodthirsty, cruel tyrants — nay,

THE JACQUERIE. 51

we know that it is so, but they are no cowards.
I would fain see you, my good friend, try your
hands with one of these who you say are afraid."
" Some day, perchance, you may," replied the
other; " and wherever the fear lay, Albert, it
should not be on my part. But enough of that !
I am no boaster ; and when the time of trial
comes, I shall not be found wanting. You say
they are no cowards : would that France could
find it so ! for if she did, these proud English--
men would not thus be riding over the land as
lords and masters. Would that France had
ever found it so ! for then we should not have
seen King John's whole host scattered like a
fiock of sheep by a poor handful of &mished
English knights ; we should not have seen eight
thousand men chasing a host ten times their
number ; we should not have seen men drown-
ing themselves in the fords for very terror.
Out upon it ! Will you tell me that, at Poitiers,
the cowardly nobles did not betray their king
and sell their country? Shame, shame upon
France I If the villeins had fought at Poitiers,
instead of their lords, history would have had

E 2

52 THE JACQUERIE.

to tell another tale, and this young tiger of
England, this black prince, Edward, would now
be in chains in Paris. Out upon it, I say, that
we should thus be sold by dastards into the
hands of our enemies 1 "

He had spoken so vehemently, that his com-
panion had not an opportunity to interrupt him,
though he had been very willing so to do. The
moment the other stopped, however, he ex-
claimed, " No, Caillet, no ! you are wrong, you
are quite wrong. Who does not know that
courage without conduct is nothing? Look
at our own King John : did not the great
prince, who conquered him, pronounce that
he had done to the utmost his duties as a
knight? Did you not hear the herald tell in
the castle-hall, how the English prince himself
served him the cup at supper, and declared that
he had won the fame of the best knight in that
day's battle ? — Then look at our own noble lord,
found upon the field with twenty wounds upon
him : was that like a coward, Caillet ? — All the
eight thousand noblemen, who died where they
{Stood, did they show any lack of courage ? '*

THE JACQUERIE. 53

" No," replied Caillet, with a bitter sneer
curling his lip ; " no, they certainly did not.
But what think you, Albert, of the twenty
thousand, who fled without striking a stroke?
what think you of the thousands and the tens
of thousands — ay, the hundreds of thousands—
that were seen flying over the plains of Foitou,
with nothing but their own fear pursuing them ?
I have said, and say again, that at Poitiers
France was sold to England, not for gold, but
for a worse price — fear !"

*^ Nay, nay/' replied his companion, " you
do them wrong. Have we not all heard, how
often, in every period of history, a momentary
panic has overthrown a host?"

" Perhaps," replied Caillet, " had you been
there, you would have fled too."

The young man's cheek turned red; but
Caillet proceeded, before he could reply, adding,
" No, Albert, no, I am well aware you would
not — there is not one of us that would ; and
therefore it is that I say, if the peasants of
France had fought at Poitiers, England would
not have won so great a victory."

E 3

54 THE JACQUERIE.

' " I know not," replied his companion, " I
know not that ! All I am sure of is, that
thousands of our nobles did their duty gal-
lantly, fought well, and if they did not con-
quer, died, or were taken prisoners, when they
could resist no more/'

" And is that all that you am sure of, Albert
Denyn ?" continued his companion, in a stern
and reproachful tone ; " is that all that you have
learned ? you, who so lately have travelled all the
way to Poitiers, to inquire about our lord ? Do
you not know, that the country is in misery
and starvation? Do you not know, that the
peasantry are oppressed and ground into the
dust ? Do you not know, that even where the
cruel lord of the land spares the countrymen,
the bloody hand of the adventurers, who ravage
the country, plagues them at their very hearths
with fire and sword ? Do you not know, that
the misery, the agony, and the distress of the
people, can reach no higher point? that they
labour in the fields with their terrified eyes
looking round every moment for an enemy?
that they pass by the chateau and the town in

THE JACQUERIE. 55

haste, lest the scourge of their oppressors should
reach them on the way? that they dare not
sleep even in their wretched cabins for fear the
robbers should be upon them? and that they
lie through the miserable night in boats moored
in the river, or the lake, lest murder, and violar
tion, and wrong should visit their habitation in
the darkness ? Do you not know all this, Al-
bert Denyn? and do you find nothing to pity
in the state of our brethren throughout the
land ?"

" I have heard that such things do exist,"
replied the other, in a sad tone ; " but on the
road to Poitiers I saw little of them. I saw the
effects of war : I saw desolated fields, and people
in distress, and much mourning, and many a
noble castle ruined and destroyed; but the
peasant seemed to have suffered less than his
lord ; and I was told every where that the adven-
turers made war upon the palace, but not upon
the cottage. Yet I say not, Caillet, that your
representation is not just: I am aware that
such great miseries exist: I am aware that
want and starvation reign in some of the finest

£ 4

56 THE JACQUERIE.

parts of France; and, from my very soul, I
grieve for and pity the poor creatures who are
so suffering/'

" Ay," said Caillet, in a musing tone, " I
have been told, that on the side of Poitiers the
famine is not so bad ; but I will tell you, Albert,
what I myself have seen. I have seen a dying
child clinging to the cold breast of its dead
mother, and seeking nourishment in vain, while
the famished father sat by, and saw, and could
give no aid, because he had not s^en food him-
self for many a day. This was the first sight I
beheld, when I was lately sent to Brie. A little
farther on I came to a brighter scene, a spot
in the hills, which seemed to have escaped the
scourge of war, and to enjoy as much happiness
as yet remained in France. The fields were
rich and plentiful — it was then, you know, the
time of harvest — and abundant sheafs of corn
loaded the ground. I even heard a peasant
singing — a sound that had not met my ear for
many a day; but suddenly I saw a band of
men come down from the neighbouring castle
with carts and waggons, many a train; they

s

THE JACQUERIE. 57

came into those fields ; they took up that bar-
vest ; they loaded their waggons therewith ;
they asked no man*s leave ; they gave no man
an account; all they said was, that it was for
their lord's ransom — their lord, who had been
taken while flying like a coward from the field
of Poitiers. I turned to look for the man
who bad been singing, and saw him sitting
lyitb the tears flowing from his eyes, thinking
of the coming winter, and the misery of his
wife and cbil|clren. I rode on as fast as I could
go, for the sight was terrible to me; and at
length I heard the sound of merriment, the
tabret and the flute, and my heart rejoiced at
the sound. Dismounting from my horse, I
went into the village to see what good fortune
could make people so happy in the midst of
misery and sorrow. It was a marriage going
on, and the farmer's daughter was being led
back from the church to the sound of the pipe.
All that her parents could spare had been given
to deck her out upon her bridal day. She
was as fair a young creature as ever you be-
held, not unlike our own sweet lady of the

58 THE JACQUERIE.

eastle ; " and as be spoke» CaiUet fixed his eyes
keenly upon the countenance of his companion,
repeating, " not unlike, I say, the Lady Adela.
Her bridegroom walked beside her, and ever
and anon he turned to gaze upon her, thinking
that she was his own, and never to be parted
from him again. But at that moment came by
a gay troop, with glittering garments, and gold,
and furs, and all the good peasants bowed them
lowly down before the lord of the village and
his guests. So the noble stopped to speak,
and to gaze upon the peasant's daughter in her
bridal finery; and he said a world of gallant
things to her, and told her she was as fair as
any lady in the land ; and then she blushed to
hear such praises, and looked lovelier than
before. At length he went away ; but ere he
had been gone half an hour, his people came
down, to summon the young bride up to the
castle, without father, or brother, or mother, or
husband; and when she trembled, and would
not go, they took her by force; and when the
bridegroom strove to rescue her, they struck

THE JACQUERIE. 59

him with a partisan upon the head, and left
him as one dead upon the ground."

" And was he dead," exclaimed Albert, with
his eyes flashing fire ; " and was he really dead ?"

" I know not," answered the other coldly,
but in his heart well pleased to see the eager-
ness which he had raised in his companion ; ^^ I
know not. It was no business of mine, you know,
Albert ; — they were but peasants — villeins —
serfs. — * How now, Jacques Bonhomme !' cried
the lord's bailiff, as he struck the bridegroom
on his head with his partisan. * Dare you
resist my lord's will?' and I heard the iron
strike against the bone of his skull."

" But was he dead ? -^ What became of the
bride?" demanded Albert, eagerly. " You did
not leave them so, Caillet. Was he dead, I
say?".

" Better for him if he had been," replied
Caillet, in a solemn tone : ^' he lived, but how
long I know not. His bride did not return for
several days ; and she was dead ere I passed by
again."

Albert Denyn pressed his hands upon his

60 THE JACQUERIE*

eyes, and remained for several minutes in deep
thought. Caillet took care not to disturb his
reverie, adding not another word to those which
had produced the effect he wanted. At length
Albert raised his head suddenly, and started up
from the spot where they were sitting, exclaim-
ing, ^^ It is time that I should go, Caillet : it is
time that I should go."

- *' Nay, nay," replied the other, " you have
half an hour yet, and I have much to say ; —
but I know whitlier you would go, and I cannot
blame you. Though I grieve for you, Albert, I
cannot blame you — for she is well worthy of
love."

" Who ? What do you mean ? " exclaimed
Albert Denyn. " I know not what you would
say, Caillet."

" You know right well, Albert Denyn ! " re-
plied Caillet ; " but don't let me pry into your
secrets. Once we were friends, but now you
give me not your confidence; and yet I wish
you well, and would fain see you happy. You
might be so, too, were you other than you are ;
but they have taken care so to enthral you with

THE JACQUERIE. 61

prejudices, that I fear you will not dare to strive
for the prize, were you even certain of winning
it/'

Albert gazed at him for a moment, and then
resuming his seat, once more covered his eyes
with his hands, and seemed to fall into deep
thought. Caillet also bent his look upon the
ground, in a musing mood; but he turned his
gaze from time to time for a single moment
upon his young companion, calculating all that
was passing within, till, at length, judging that
what he had said had worked in his mind suf-
ficiently, he once more renewed the subject.

" I cannot blame you, Albert," he said, " and
you might be happy, if you would ; but with
your feelings and your thoughts in regard to
our tyrant masters, what you dream of is mad-
ness, and every thought that you give to her is
but adding to your own miseiy."

^^And it is madness in you to speak thus,
Caillet," replied Albert, suddenly rising again ;
" utter madness I You know not what you
speak of ! You do not know my feelings, nor
my thoughts ! You fancy that I imagine things

62 THE JACQUERIE.

impossible, when no such ideas ever enter intx>
my mind. It is phrensy, William Caillet: I
tell you, it is sheer phrensy in you to talk thus ;
and would be worse in me to listen to you."

" Stay, Albert, yet stay a moment," replied
Caillet, laying his hand upon his arm. *^ You
must listen to a few words more, as you have
heard so much already. You need not go
to the castle yet : the captal is with the lady
Adela; and if I judged his looks last night
aright, he will not thank the man who in-
terrupts him. You may well spare me a few
minutes more; and ere you again say that I
know not the feelings of your heart, be a little
more sure that the assertion is true."

" You do not know, you cannot know," an-
swered Albert, vehemently, but still with a
sudden degree of hesitation and sinking of his
voice, which showed the keen eye of his com-
panion that he was afraid the inmost thoughts
of his bosom were really discovered. Gently
drawing him by the arm, Caillet made him once
more sit down by him, saying, " Albert Denyn,
it is a friend who speaks to you. Listen, and

THE JACQUERIE* 63

I will show you what I know, or, if you like
the term better, what I fancy/'

" You are wrong — you are wrong," replied
Albert, as he sat down ; ^' but speak on if you
will, it matters not: I am not the madman
that you think ;*' and while his companion pro-
ceeded, he gazed forward upon vacancy with an
abstracted air, as if he would fain have per-
suaded himself and Caillet that he was utterly
indifferent to the subject of discourse.

His keen companion was not to be deceived,
however ; and he went on, saying, " Do you
think, Albert, that I have gone on in the same
dwelling with you, except during the time that
you have been away at the abbey, for nearly
ten years, without knowing something of your
mind and character? Do you think that I have
lived with you so intimately the last four years^
watching you every day, marking your every
action, and hearing your every word, without
knowing the passion that has been growing up
in your heart, without seeing that in some sort
it is returned?"

"Hush I hush! Caillet," replied his com-

64 THE JACQUERIE.

panion. " Returned ! — what mean you by re-
turned? — But I must not pretend to misun*
derstand you. Yet you are mistaken ; — in all
this you are mistaken. Passion ! — It cannot be
passion that I feel ; it is too humble^ too lowly,
too hopeless. — Oh 1 no, Caillet, no ; call it by
some other name — deep, deep devotion, if yoii
will — respect, admiration, love — yes, love ; ^ —
love such as the most humble may feel to the
most high, but love without even a dream of
hope, without an expectation, without one pre-
sumptuous thought.-^ Oh ! no, Caillet,*no; call
it not passion, that is not the name."

He spoke with great agitation and eagerness,
and when he had done, pressed his hand upon his%
brow, and bent down his head upon his knee.
"Call it what name thou wilt, my good Albert,"
replied Caillet, with a slight sneer : " thou art far
more learned than I am, though the chaplain
vowed I was a good scholar, too. — - But, I say, call
it what thou wilt. So that my meaning is clear,
it is all the same to me."

" Returned!" continued Albert Denyn, again
raising his head, and heeding not the words of

THE JACQUERIE. 65

his companion^ but going on in the train of his
own thoughts; " returned ! — Vain, vain imagina*
tion ! Surely, Caillet, Satan must have put such
a vision in your mind to tempt and grieve me.
Oh ! no, as we have spoken thus far, I must
speak farther, I believe you love me, Caillet : I
am sure, at least, you would not injure me ; and
I will not deny that, to me, there seems about
that sweet lady's looks, and words, and move-
ments, some spirit almost divine, which hallows
the very ground on which she sets her foot.
How often have I stood, and watched for the
hour of her coming forth, as weary travellers
look for the rising of the sun ! How often have
I stood, when I could not, or dared not, join the
gay cavalcade, to gaze upon her from some
distant tower, as she followed her father, while
he flew his hawks over the plains round about !
How often have 1 contented myself since I
have lately been at the abbey, by standing in yon
meadow opposite, and watching the light in her
chamber window, and thinking that she sat
there at her orisons, while I prayed Heaven to
pour its blessings on her, too ! "

VOL. I. F

66 THE JACQUERIE.

^^ And has she not marked that service, that
devotion ? " said Caillet, more in the tone of an
assertion than a question. ^^ Has she not marked
it, and rewarded it with smiles, such as she
bestows on none of all the household but your-
self?"

" Smiles," replied Albert ; ** oh ! yes, she
smiles kindly and sweetly, because she sees that
I would fein please and serve her ; but they are
cold, cold smiles, Caillet — cold to what I feel.
It is but the approbation that she gives to the
devoted servant of her house ; a passing casual
glance, with one kindly look upon him, who the
moment after is altogether forgotten, but who
never forgets her — no, not for one moment
throughout the livelong day. Yes, Caillet, you
have seen her smile upon me gently and placidly;
but as the moon shines on the water — bright
sweetness, without warmth. Oh ! no, Caillet,
no; that is no return for sensations such as
mine."

Caillet laughed, and answered, "And yet you
disclaim all passion, Albert. You own, however,
that she smiles upon you, and all who see her

THE JACQUERIE. 67

know it. You acknowledge, too, that you love
faer, and none wbo have eyes and see you near
her ean doubt it. Nor do I deny that she is
worthy of all devotion, though she deals
proudly with me, as you well know. Though
when she passes by me, her head is carried
more haughtily, her eye assumes a deeper
fire, — though to me she takes all the air of
one of the proud tyrants of the land, yet I
deny not — nay I willingly allow, that her
beauty is worth the attachment of any one,
whether rich or poor, noble or serf."

" Oh ! more than her beauty," exclaimed
Albert ; " her gentleness, her kindness, her true
nobility of nature, — those are worth love in-
deed. Were she not beautiful, I could love her
full as well."

Caillet smiled again. " Had she not been
beautiful," he said, " would you have ever felt
so, Albert?"

" Oh I yes," replied the other, " beyond a
doubt. How many things would have made
me love her, — how many acts of kindness has
she shown me, — how much goodness that I have

F 2

68 THE JACQUERIR.

not deserved ! Thanks be to God, that I have
neither known sickness nor much care in life;
but when her father's horse struck me on the
shoulder, and cast me down upon the ground,
what a cry she gave, and sprang forward to see
if I were hurt I — When have I asked for any
favour at the hands either of our noble lord or
the good prior, without her seconding my prayer,
and ensuring its success ? "

" And yet," said Caillet, " you would have
jne think that she does not return your affec-
tion/*

*^ I say again, it is but simple kindness
that she feels," replied Albert; **when I tell
these things, I speak selfishly. Are there not
a thousand other motives for loving her besides
these ? I will ask you, Caillet, you yourself, who
judge so harshly — I will ask you, I say, whether
there was ever any one so tender, so gentle, so
beneficent to every one who approaches her ?
Have we not all seen her tend upon the sick bed
of a poor peasant with as much care as if that
peasant had been a prince? Do you not re-
member, when the poor girl Marritonne died.

THE JACQUERIE. 69

how night after night she sat by her bedside,
watching her pale face, and giving her the cool
drink to quench the terrible thirst that she en-
dured ? "

" I know nothing of it," replied Caillet some-
what impatiently ; " I visited not the girl's sick
chamber ; and you, good Albert, can but know
this tale from the report of some of the serving
women."

" Nay, nay," replied Albert, " not from their
report, but my own eyesight, Caillet ; for I was
sent many a time by my good lord to call the
lady from a task which he feared might injure
her health. Twice, too, I went with him my-
self; so that I speak from my own knowledge,
Caillet, and not from, the tales of any one, how-
ever true those tales might be. But why should
I pause upon one instance ? Do not you as well
as I know a thousand such acts ? You do not
doubt them any more than I do, Caillet. You
but affect to do so."

" Nay," answered Caillet, " I neither doubt,
nor affect a doubt. Have I not already said
that I hold her to be worthy of the love of any

F 3

70 THE JACQUERIE.

one?Jand only grieve, good Albert, that you
are mad enough to love her, or foolish enough
not to take the way of winning her."

" Winning her !" exclaimed the other with
an indignant scoff; " you are indeed mad
now, Caillet, to talk of such a thing. We have
heard, it is true, of rich peasants marrying the
daughters of poor lords ; and the fabliau of the
Villein and the Lady shows us how the daughter
of a noble can shrink from such an union.
But for a poor peasant like me, depending
solely upon his lord's bounty, without even a
title to claim that — as I was not born on this
good lord's lands — for one whom he first re-
ceived and protected from charity, whom he has
educated from kindness, and who is wholly
indebted to him for his daily bread, — for such
a one, I say, to dream of winning one whom
the whole country is ready to seek, — for whom
knights, and nobles, and the princes of the
land might well lay lance in rest, were some-
what worse than madness, Caillet. — Try not
to put such visions into my mind. Yqu know,
as well as I, that such things are quite impos-
sible."

THE JACQUERIE. 71

^* I know the contrary," replied Caillet in a
calm determined tone. " I know that they are
possible — quite possible ; but I will admit that
they are impossible to you^ for you will not take
the means to bring that prize within your reach
which is but at a short distance from your grasp.
I see that it is so : and though I do not regret
that I have spoken to you thus, yet I fear, Albert,
I fear for your own happiness that it will be in
vain. Come, let us go back."

Thus saying he rose, and walked slowly
towards the castle, with his companion at his
side, both musing and silent for some way;
though Caillet, notwithstanding the air of
indifference which he assumed, watched the
countenance of Albert eagerly though stealthily,
and tried to read thereon each passing emotion
which the dangerous words he had uttered
called up in his young comrade's heart. He
spoke not, however, thinking that he had said
enough for the day, and that at some after-
period he might return to the same theme.

But Albert himself was too much moved by
all that he had heard to let the subject drop

F 4

72 THE JACQUERIC.

there ; and ere they had reached the foot of the
slope, he said, " Would to Heaven, Caillet,
that you had not spoken to me all you have
this day, or that you had said more."

" I will add more, if you desire it," replied
his companion. " I know that with you I am
safe in utterhig all that I think ; but as to your
wishing that I had not spoken at all, that is a
weak wish, good Albert. Why should you
entertain it ? Is it because I have made you
look into your own heart, and see things in it
that you never beheld before ? — Is it because I
have made you look around at your situation,
and shown you that you are placed within reach
of honour and happiness, where great glory
and joy, and a bright name are to be gained, if
you will but seek them, although there be diffi-»
culties and dangers in the way, strong resolu-
tions to be taken, and great exertions to be
made "

" I fear no difficulties, I fear no great exer-
tions," exclaimed Albert, eagerly; "but you
have not shown me this "

Caillet went on, however, without heeding,

THE JACQUERIE. 7t3

his fine countenance assuming an expression
even more stern than that which it usually
bore, — " Or is it because I have placed before
your eyes that jtvhich every Frenchman should
know, whatever be his rank, whatever be his
class ; namely, the dreadful state to which the
land has been reduced by the baseness of the
class that call themselves noble — because I have
shown you how shamefully they abuse the
power that they shamefully possess, — how the
poor peasant groans throughout the land — and
how dark a debt of crime and sorrow is daily
accumulating against the rich, the powerful,
and the great, which must one day be paid,
and that ere many years be past?"

Albert heard the latter part of Caillet's speech
in silence; but in the end replied, after musing
a moment or two over what had been said,
" Caillet, I do not understand you clearly ; but
it is none of all these things that I wish I had
never heard. The words you have spoken this
day have kindled thoughts in my mind which
but for you could never have been there. You
are right well aware that hope once roused can

74 THE JACQUERIE.

sleep no more, and that whatever she has seized
remains in her grasp for ever. Why or where-
fore, you know best; but I see, Caillet — I see
clearly, that you have carefully tried to raise
hopes up in my bosom which should never be
there, and which it must now be the study of
my life to forget. Would to Heaven you
had never done this ! But as you have, you
must tell me why it has been done, why you
should seek to encourage feelings that you know
can but make me miserable — Uioughts that
are worse than idle vanity, — that are wicked,
presumptuous, evil ! "

Caillet gazed upon him for a moment in
silence ere he replied, with a look that had
something contemptuous in it. The expression
of scorn, indeed, was so constantly upon his
countenance, that it was difficult to tell whether
the curl of his lip proceeded from some secret
emotion of the mind, or merely from an acci-»
dental movement of the features ; but Albert,
who knew him well, saw that look, and was not
pleased with it; and although it passed away in
a moment, he remembered it when it was gone.

THE JACQUERIE. 75

and recalled it afterwards, when many circum-
s.tances had changed their relative position to
each other.

" My answer to your question," said Caillet
at length, "is very simple. I have done all
this that you say, in the hope of promoting
your happiness. I have done it because the
feelings that you speak of need not necessarily
produce evil, or sorrow, or disappointment -~
because, if you would yield to reason, give your
own mind sway, and exert those talents that
God has bestowed upon you, the very wishes
and the hopes that you entertain might lead
to the greatest results, and be beneficial both to
yourself and to your country."

« Still, still," replied Albert, « I know not
what you mean. I must hear more, Caillet, —
I must hear all."

" You shall," answered Caillet, " you shall
hear all, Albert, and I would fain tell you all
now; but, lo ! there comes the train of the good
prior over the hill, and we must both return to
the chateau. One word, then, for all, before we
go. The state of misery in which France exists

76 THE JACQUERIE.

cannot endure much longer; the bondage in
which we, the peasantry of France, are kept,
must soon come to an end. Ere long, the
rights now withheld will be struggled for and
regained; men will recover the privileges of
men, and will cast from them the yoke of others
not more worthy than themselves. We are on
the eve of great events ; and when they come
to pass, if you but choose the side of honour
and freedom, you will win your own happiness,
as well as give happiness to thousands. — I ask
you to take no active part," he continued, seeing
a cloud come over his companion's brow at the
vague hints which he gave, — « I ask you to take
no active part as yet^ but merely to watch
events as they arise, to judge sanely, and act
nobly."

As soon as he had uttered these words, Caillet
— fearful that anything more might startle and
alarm his companion — left what he had said to
work out its effect, and to familiarise the mind
of Albert Denyn with thoughts of change and
strife, with which ideas he had, as we have
seen, contrived to mingle hopes and expect-

THE JACQUERIE. 77

ations the most likely to have effect upon a
young and inexperienced mind. Without
pausing, then, to permit any farther questions
to be addressed to him at the time, he hurried
his pace back towards the castle, which they
reached not long before the arrival of the
train of horsemen whom they had seen coming
over the hill.

78 TRE JACQUERIE.

CHAP. V.

The sweet hours of the morning I There is
nothing on earth like the sweet hours of the
morning ! It is the youth of the day ; and the
childhood of all things is beautiful. The fresh-
ness, the unpolluted freshness of infancy, hangs
about the early moments of the dawn ; the air
seems to breathe of innocence and truth ; the
very light is instinct with youth, and speaks of
hopes. Who is there that loves beauty and
brightness, and does not enjoy the early hours
of the morning ?

Such at least was not the case with the
Captal de Buch. Of all the heroic followers
of that heroic prince, whose deeds occupy so
great a space in the annals of British glory,
one of the most feeling, one of the most ima-
ginative, one of the most chivalrous, in the
best and highest sense of the word, was that

THE JACQUERIE. 79

famous leader, who led the small body of horse
which by a sudden and unexpected charge
contributed so much to win the battle of
Poitiers. His whole life proved it, and his
death not less so.

Although I know not that he has left any
thing like verse behind, yet it is evident that
his heart overflowed with the true spirit of
poetry; and often in the camp or the fortress,
when he had spent a great part of the night
in watching, he would rise betimes like any
common soldier in the army, to mark the bright
dawning of the day, and enjoy all the fresh
beauties of the early morning. It was so even
now in the castle of Mauvinet ; and with the
first stirrers in the place he was on foot, and
gazing forth from the window of his chamber
upon the clear, grey coming of the autumnal
day. Each object that his eye rested on sug*
gested some new train of thought, excited some
fresh current of feelings; and he stood for
more than an hour, sometimes turning his eyes
upon the soldiers below, as they wrestled and
pitched the bar, sometimes gazing up towards

80 THE JACQUERIE*

the hills, and marking the gleams and shadows
which the floating clouds cast upon the meadows
and the woods.

In his fanciful mood he compared those
meadows and woods to man and his ever-chang-
ing fate and fortunes, — now looking bright and
smiling, now plunged into gloom and obscu-
rity ; and all by objects which are but vapour,
blown hither and thither by the breath of
accident. For the autumn colours of the woods,
too, he would have a likeness ; and he thought
that that rich brown was like the hue of
mature life, when the vigorous fruits of judgment
and experience are succeeding to the green
leaves arid fresh flowers of youth. All things, in
short, excited his imagination at that moment,
even more than was usually the case ; for the
fair being with whom he had passed a few
short hours on the preceding night had
awakened sensations, which always, more or
less, rouse fancy from her slumbers even in
the most dull and unideal breast.

As he thus stood and gazed, he marked the
youth who had conducted him thither on

THE JACQUERIE. 81

the preceding night, walking forward, as we
iiave shown, with his companion towards the
hill; and when once his eye had lighted on him,
he continued to look after him, — not exactly
watching his movements, but with a certain
feeling of interest, for which it was diflBcult to
account.

^^ It is strange,'^ he said to himself, after a
tim'e, — "it is strange how we sometimes feel
towards persons, the first time we behold them,
sensations totally different from those which we
ever experience towards others — affection, dis-
like, confidence, esteem ! I remember once being
told by an old priest, who thought much of
such things, that when we find such an interest
suddenly arise in our hearts, without being
able to discover any real cause, either reason-
able or unreasonable, we may be sure that our
&te is some way connected with that of the
person who has excited it; and that sooner or
later, perhaps many years after, our weal or
woe will be affected by our acquaintance with
him. I must hear more of that youth; for it
is strange why I should experience sensations

VOL. I. G

82 THE JACQU£RIE.

towards him different from those called forth by
any other peasant that one meets with every
day. Who is that with him, I wonder, — a
tall powerful fellow, who would make a good
billman in case of need?"

The captal continued to gaze for some time,
till at length a sewer, with one of his own at-
tendants, summoned him to breakfast; and
descending he found the whole of the party of
the castle assembled in the hall, except the young
Lady Adela, who sent him kindly greeting, but
did not appear herself.

An old knight, whose years and station placed
him highest in the household of the Senechal of
Touraine, led the captal by the hand to the
seat of honour, and then sat down beside
him. But as it is not the object of this book
to describe the particular customs of the day,
and rather its intent to deal with the men than
the manners of the times, I shall pass over all
the ceremonies of the breakfast, though those
were days in which ceremonies were not few,
and proceed at once to the moment when the
eaptal, having finished his meal and washed his

THE JACQUERIE. 83

hands, the old knight we have mentioned in-
vited him, in his lady's name, to visit her in her
own apartment.

The captal followed willingly enough; and
when he saw Adela de Mauvinet by the morn-
ing light, he thought her still more beautidd
than on the preceding night Her young
brother was with her; and again and again
they both thanked him, not only for the good
tidings that he had brought, but for the kindness
which had prompted him to bring them that
intelligence himself. The captal, according to
the custom of the day, denied all merit, but
yet was not sorry to hear such words from such
lips ; and as the boy was very like his sister, he
bestowed on him the caresses that he could not
offer to her. A short time thus passed jojrfully ;
but the interview was not destined to be long
uninterrupted, for a few minutes after, the door
opened, and Albert Denyn appeared, with a fa-
miliarity that somewhat surprised the captal.

He was received by the lady with a smile, which
for an instant made a strange feeling of dis-
pleasure pass through the warrior's heart, though

G 2

84 THE JACQUERIE.

be would have laughed if any one had told him
he was in love with the lady, or jealous of the
peasant page. The demeanour of the youth
himself was all respect and reverence ; his coun-
tenance was grave, and even melancholy, and
all his tones were sad.

" I come, lady," he said, as soon as he en-
tered, " to tell you, that my lord the prior
must be even now at the gates. I saw him
riding over the hill with a large train, and
hastened to inform you, as I thought you might
wish to meet him on the steps.'*

" Oh ! yes, yes !" cried the Lady Adela, joy-
fully, " let us go, let us go ! You know my
dear uncle already, my lord captal," she con-
tinued, " and can well judge what joy his pre-
sence gives me whenever he can come hither."

" I have seen him but once, sweet lady," re-
plied the captal; "but after that once I need no
assurance that his disposition is one to win
love as well as respect from all who know him
well."

" You do him but justice," replied the lady,
suffering him to take her hand, to lead her

THE JACQUERIE. 85

down; "you do him but justice; as you will
each day feel more and more, when longer ac-
quaintance shows you his heart more fully.'*

The train of the prior had not yet passed the
causeway, when the Lady Adela, the captal,
and the lady's brother, followed by Albert
Denyn, reached the steps which led from the
great gates down to the open space between it
and the barbican. A number of the retainers
of the castle were already congregated there to
receive the brother of their lord ; but with con-
fusion somewhat unusual, they were gathered
into separate groups, speaking low together, and
fixing their eyes with a degree of anxiety upon
the troop that approached, which was certainly
larger than the train with which the good prior
generally travelled. All made way, however,
for the lady and her company, and she paused
upon the steps while the new-comers advanced
across the causeway, three abreast, and then
passed the barbican.

As they came nearer, however, the eye of the
captal lighted up with a look of eagerness.
The young Lord of Mauvinet laid his hand

o 3

86 THE JACQUERIE.

suddenly upon his sister's arm, and the next
instant Adela herself, with a cry of joy,
darted down the steps like lightning, and in a
moment was clasped in the arms of a noble-
looking man, who followed close upon the right
of the prior. Her little brother sprang after
her as fast as his young limbs would carry him,
and he, also, with tears of pleasure, was pressed to
his father's heart, while the acclamations of the
retainers round about rent the air; and the glad
faces that every where presented themselves told
how truly loved a feudal lord might make him-
self, if he chose to exercise the great power that
he possessed with benevolence and humanity*

As soon as he had received the welcome of
his children, tlie Lord of Mauvinet turned to
the Captal de Buch, and greeted him as a well-
loved friend; but his next salutation, to the
surprise of that nobleman, was given to the
youth, Albert Denyn. To him the count extend-
ed his hand ; and though the youth bent down to
kiss it respectfully, the senechal pressed his with
fatherly kindness, saying, ^^ I have heard, Albert,
of all that you did to discover me, or at

THE JACQUERIE. 87

least to find my bones, at the peril of your own
life and liberty. I knew, my boy, that your
love would not fail me, and I thank you
much."

The young man heard him in silence, with-
out venturing a word in reply ; but tears rose
in his eyes, while his look spoke how happy
his lord's commendation made him; and
bowing low, he retired speedily amongst the
throng, with a reverence to the prior as he
passed, and one brief glance towards the captal
and the Lady Adela.

From feelings that he could not explain, the
captal watched the youth with perhaps more
attention than he had ever before bestowed on
any person of the same rank; but, just and
generous under all circumstances, he admitted
to his own heart that the young man's de-
meanour fully justified that affection and esteem
which the whole family of his lord displayed
towards him.

As may be well supposed, after his long
absence and supposed death, there was many
a one to claim the Lord of Mauvinet's at-

G 4

88 TH£ JACQUERIE.

tention, and to congratulate him upon his
return ; and for all, he bad some kindly word,
which sent them away content with the atten-
tion which they had received. Amongst the
rest the baron remarked Caillet, spoke to him
kindly and familiarly; but not in the same
terms of confidence and regard which he had
used towards Albert Denyn. His notice, how-
ever^ called the attention of the captal to the
striking person of the young peasant; and he
gazed at him for some time, examining with
keen and experienced eyes a countenance^
which might well afford matter of curious
speculation.

It would appear that the result was not
satisfactory to the captal, for his brow became
slightly contracted; and walking beside the
prior's mule, he asked him, " Who is that
strong, well-looking youth, my lord prior, with
whom your brother is now speaking?"

" His name is Caillet," replied the prior :
" he is a young man of great talent, born on
my brother^s estates in Beauvoisis. The good
chaplain tried to make a priest of him, but

THE JACQUERIE. 89

failed : not for want of quickness on the part of
his scholar, but from somewhat too great quick-
ness and a strength of determination not easily
mastered. What he thought fit to study he
acquired with surprising ease, and much he
learned that good Father Robert would fain
have prevented ; but what he did not choose to
apply to, nothing on earth would make him
look at."

'* I should judge so," replied the captal,
" from his face : a sturdy and determined spirit
is written in every line, and no slight opinion of
himself."

** He is not humble," replied the prior, but
made no other comment

When they had passed on into the chateau,
one of the first tasks of its lord was to beseech
the Captal De Buch to spend some short time
as a guest in the castle of Mauvinet ; and, to
say the truth, the captal had no strong inclina-
tion to refuse ; for bright eyes were there which
had about them a strange fascination, that the
heart of the gallant knight was not well cal-
culated to resist He agreed willingly, then, to

90 THE JACQUERIE.

spend ten days with his noble prisoner in the
forest sports of those times; and the Lord of
Mauvinet sincerely rejoiced to secure the
society of one whom he had learned to love
and to respect during the tedious hours of his
captivity in England.

Let us leave the count for a time, however,
in the embraces of his children, and the first
delights of his return, and turn to others with
whom we shall have more to do than even with
that nobleman himself. The captal, on his
part, knew that there are moments when the
society of any one, however friendly, may be a
restraint upon feelings which require full in-
dulgence ; and not long after they had entered
the castle he drew the prior of Montvoye
aside, saying, " You have ridden far this
morning, my good lord prior, otherwise I
would claim your company for a walk in the
sunshine yonder under the castle-wall; but if
you will be a guest of my chamber for half an
hour, I would fain ask you a question or two
about my young guide of last night, and make
you a proposal about him, which may, perhaps,

THE JACQUERIE. 91

meet your views and his, perhaps not, but
which you shall decide when you have heard
it fully."

" I am no way fatigued, my good lord,"
replied the prior, " and will willingly be the
comrade of your walk. Albert is as good a
youth as ever lived, and right gladly shall I
hear any thing for his advantage."

Leaving the count and his children, then,
alone, the prior and the captal issued forth, and
took their way through the many square courts
of the castle — into the depth of which, enclosed
as they were by tall buildings, the sunshine
rarely found its way, except at noon—- till they
issued forth by one of the posterns upon the
meadow under the walls, whicli we have already
more than once mentioned. They there again
paused to gaze at the scene around, both en-
joying greatly the picturesque beauties of the
landscape.

It would be an egregious mistake to suppose
that in that age, however rude and barbarous
in some respects, there did not exist a love for,
and fine appreciation of, all that is beautiful in

92 THE JACQUERIE.

this world, in which our lot is cast The very
architecture of the time shows that such a feel-
ing of the graceful and the sublime existed : the
fifteenth century followed soon after, with all
its miracles of art ; and even at the time of
which I speak there were many persons living
who had in their own bosoms as much of the
spirit of the picturesque as a Prout or a Turner,
though they had not a knowledge of how to re-
present for others that which they felt so keenly.

After having gazed, then, for some moments,
over the fair prospect which was to be seen from
the meadow, the captal turned to the prior to
resume the subject of their discourse, first com-
menting for a moment, as was natural, on
that which had just occupied his attention.
" This is as sweet a spot, my lord prior," he
said, " as ever I beheld — calm, bright, and
beautiful !"

" Heaven keep it peaceful, too !" replied the
prior. " We have as yet luckily escaped here
many of the horrors of war ; and I trust it may
be long ere we know any thing of that deso-
lating power. But you, of course, noble

THE JACQUERIE. 93

captal," he continued, ^' cannot look upon the
sad pursuits of strife with the same horror that
I do."

" I suppose not, good father," replied the
captal : " each man has in this world his vo-
cation ; and I cannot but think that war, when
honourably waged and justly undertaken, is
the most noble calling that man can have. So
it would seem, too, thinks the youth of whom
we were speaking. From what you said, I
took an interest in him, and I asked him some
questions on the road last night. His answers
pleased me well: he seems frank and true.
But I have lived long enough in the world,
good prior, to know that frankness is sometimes
assumed as one of the cunningest cloaks for
cunning; and I would fain know from you
what is this youth's real disposition."

" He is truth and honour itself, my lord,"
replied the prior. " In no rank have I ever
found so much sincerity, so much unvarying
uprightness of heart, so scrupulous a regard for
plighted faith, so knightly a scorn of falsehood."

" The character you give him is high, in-

94 THE JACQUERIE.

deed," replied the captal ; " doubtless, too, he
is brave — at least he has the air, the eye, of a
brave man."

" Ay, and the heart," answered the prior.
" After that sad field of Poitiers, when terror
and consternation spread over the whole king-
dom, and every day brought past this place parties
of fugitives, each full of wild tales of English
bands pursuing, ravaging the country round,
and slaying all they met with — when the
dauphin himself scarcely dared to pause for
half an hour, to take some light refreshment
here, and when his own attendants told the
same tale of the whole land being covered
by your troops — that lad, when no other
would go, went boldly to the very field of
Poitiers itself, to seek his lord, and, at no
persuasion, would take the cognisance of the
house of Mauvinet from his bonnet."

" He was quite safe !" said the captal — " we
warred not with peasants."

" True, my lord, true, my lord," replied
the prior ; " but that sad disease, terror, has its
delirium, like all other fevers; and our pea-

THE JACQUERIE. 95

santry fled as fast or even faster than many of
their lords. It was vain to argue, it was
vain to reason with them. Day after day
brought new rumours, each more wild and
foolish than the former. No man consulted
his understanding-— no man believed aught but
the last tale of terror which the day brought
forth; and, in some parts of the country, the
fields and>illages were quite deserted. Why,
the very ferries over the river were, in many
places, left without boats or boatmen. But,
in the midst of all this, Albert pursued his way,
and searched for his lord, far and near, for
several weeks.'*

** He is such as I thought him," replied the
captal ; ^^ and what I was going to propose as a
&vour to him, I shall now. ask, my good lord,
as a favour to myself. His taste, it seems, is
for arms. In France he can never hope to rise
higher than a mere common soldier of some
commune, or, at best, the constable of a band
of burgesses. In England, such distinctions
. are not to be found. The noble, it is true, is
still noble, but we have no such things as

96 THE JACQUERIE.

villeins; they have been long done away in
that land, though, at one time, the custom did
exist there as well as in France. With us in
Gascony there are villeins enough ; but if you
will give the youth to me, he shall serve in my
band till I can get him better service in
England. And as I must pass my leisure time,
whilst this truce exists, in seeking some feats of
arms elsewhere, doubtless he may gain some
renown, which will obtain for him consideration
in a country where great deeds are always
honoured, let the doer of them be who he may.
This is the proposal that I have to make, my
lord prior, in regard to your young client.
I thought of offering it last night, when you
spoke about his wish for arms, but I judged it
better to wait till I had seen farther. What
say you; shall it be so?"

Somewhat to the surprise of the Captal de
Buch, the prior hesitated ere he replied, and
then answered, " I must consult my brother
first, my good lord. It is he who brought up
the youth, not I ; he has only been resident

THE JACQUERIE. 9?

with me since the battle, when I thought it best
that he should be at the abbey."

" May I inquire, good fatlier," demanded
the captal, ^' was there any thing in his conduct
to show that he could not be trusted except
under your eye ?"

" No, no I " answered the prior, eagerly ;
'^ nothing of the kind, my good lord. But my
brother, who had his own views for him, being
supposed dead, I saw no fate before him but the
cloister or the priest's office, and it was with the
object of providing for him thus that I took
him* Now, however, that the count has re-
turned in safety, he of course must act as before,
and I must either refer you to him, or consult
with him upon the subject myself, before I give
you a reply."

" Consult with him, by all means," answered
the captal ; "if you think what I have proposed
advantageous for the youth, well ! I am ready
to do my best for him ; if not, it is well also ; only
I do beseech you, my good lord prior, do not
make him a priest against his will ; for if you do,

VOL. 1. u

98 THE JACQUERIE.

the community will suffer fully as much as him-
self-"

« Far be it from me," replied the prior, smiling,
" and I feel very sure that I might at once ac-
cept your offer ; for I know that my brother
seeks nothing but Albert's good, and your
proposal is most generous and kind. Never-
theless, there are some things to be considered, of
which I will speak with you more hereafter ; but
in the mean time, I thank you gratefully on
Albert's part for the bounty that you show
him."

The captal bowed somewhat stiffly ; for from
what the prior had said the day before, he had
not doubted that he would eagerly avail himself
of any means to promote, the young peasant's
wishes for a military life. And it must be re-
membered, that the offer of the knight was one
that might well be received with gladness, even
by a youth of the very highest rank. Renown
in arms was then the first claim to reverence
from all classes; and the fame of the cs^tal,
as a commander, was scarcely second to that
of any one in the days wherein he lived. In

THE JACQUERIE. 99

that famous order of chivalry, which, both from
its priority in point of time, and the renown
of those who have borne it, leaves every other
but a mere shadow, I mean the order of the
Garter, his name stands fifth amongst the
founders, and with only one subject between him
and princes of the royal blood ; and, in those
times, that distinction was held far higher than
even now. Well might the captal think that the
offer he made in fiivour of a mere French peasant
was one of no slight kindness ; and well might
he feel somewhat surprised that the prior should
receive it with any hesitation, however slight.
He pressed the matter no farther, then, at the
time ; but after speaking gravely with his com-
panion on other subjects, he returned with him
to the hall, jested for a few minutes with some
of the French gentlemen present, displayed his
great muscular powers and skill in one or two
feats of strength, and then retiring to his cham-
ber, was heard singing to an instrument pf music,
which was always borne with him by one of his
train. At dinner, too, he was somewhat grave ;
but afterwards, as the shades of evening were

H 2

100 THE JACQUERIE.

beginning to fall, he was seen walking with the
prior and the Count of Mauvinet, and bearing
a lighter countenance, while all three spoke in
somewhat low tones together, and the attendants
kept far behind. They were at this time beyond
the great moat, and under a small hanging
wood. As they proceeded, something was heard
to rustle amongst the brown leaves within ear-
shot of the pages. " There is a wolf I" cried
one of the boys, throwing a stone into the
covert ; but the sound instantly ceased, and they
passed on.

THE JACQUERIE. 101

CHAP. VI.

Nearly a fortnight passed over in the chateau
of Mauvinet without any one incident worthy
of remark, and yet there is much to telL The
small things of life are often more important than
the great, the slow than the quick, the still than
the noisy. The castle, and the palace, and the
church stand for years the raging of the wind,
the beating of the rain, the red bolt of the light-
ning, yet crumble down beneath the quiet touch
of time, without any one seeing where and when
the fell destroyer is at work. There may well
be no great incident, and yet a change the
most happy, or the most disastrous, may have
taken place in the space of a few short days.

There was then, as we have said, much to tell,
though there was no marked event upon which
the pen of the narrator can dwell. There had
been forest sports, the hunting of the boar and

H 3

102 THE JACQUERIE.

the wolf; there had been the flight of the falcon
over the valleys and the plains around ; there
had been gay autumnal evenings within the
castle-walls, with the blazing fire, and the cheer-
ful tale, and the song of chivalry and love, and the
sharp sirvente^ and sometimes the merry dance*
In fact, the time had passed so gaily, that one
might almost have forgotten the terrible state of
the country around, had it not been that from
time to time a report reached the castle of out-
rages committed by this and that band of
marauders, and once rumour brought the adven-
turers so near that the Lord of Mauvinet and the
Captal de Buch both rode out armed to give
them the encounter, and drive them forth from
Touraine. The report proved false, however,
and was, in fact, merely one of those tales of
terror which circulated from mouth to mouth
throughout the land.

On all these things it is unnecessary to dwell
longer, as they afford no matter of interest but
for those who may be inclined to study deeply
the manners of the times ; but day by day, and
hour by hour, and moment by moment, feelings

THE JACQUERIE. 103

were coining into the bosom of Captal de Buch,
such as he had never before experienced. Ere
a week was over, he had fully determined to
demand the hand of Adela de Mauvinet, and the
rest of the fortnight he employed in eagerly
seeking her regard.

Love in a young and timid man may often,
from its very newness and intensity, bafBe its
own endeavours; it may obscure high talents
and bright qualities, and weigh down the eager
and the ardent spirit, and even the active and
powerful mind, so that the lover may appear
in the very worst light to the person he most
wishes to please; but with knowledge and
experience of the world, and that confidence
in one's own powers, that just appreciation of
ourselves which nothing but such knowledge
of the world can give, love produces none of
those results, but, on the contrary, stimulates
every nerve to exertion, acuminates every faculty
of the mind and the body, and teaches us to
display to the very best advantage every grace
or perfection that we may happen to possess.

Such, then, was the case with the Captal de

H 4

104 THE JACQUERIE,

Buch; he certainly loved deeply and well ; he
felt for Adela what he had never felt for any
one else — and his whole mind was bent upon
obtaining her regard. But those very sensa-
tions only induced him to put forth his great
power of pleasing, called into activity the vigour
of his mind, and taught him to use all those
means which, he knew right well, are the most
successful with the female heart. He was con-
stantly by her side when the opportunity
naturally presented itself. The tone of his
conversation was that which seemed best to
accord with the general character of her own
mind ; and yet the brilliancy of his thoughts,
the richness of idea which had been acquired
by seeing many scenes, mingling with many
events, and frequenting many courts, gave a
sort of sparkling effect to his conversation, even
when, as I have said, it took its general hue
from the character of her with whom he spoke.
It was as if his mind was a magic mirror which
reflected hers, but gave additional brightness
to all the images it received.

And yet — for generally in this world there

THE JACQUERIE. 105

is some fatal abatement to the pleasure of the
day — and yet there was something in the
manner of Adela that surprised, disappointed,
and grieved the captal. That she did not dis-
like his society was evident; that his words,
his manners, and accomplishments were justly
appreciated by her, was also clear; but still
there was an indescribable something in her
manner which showed him that he did not
make that progress in her heart which he so
ardently desired.

On almost all subjects she spoke with him
willingly, cheerfully, but there was one on which
she spoke not at all. When he talked of love
she was silent — love, I mean in the abstract,
or with reference to others; for his own love
towards her he had never yet ventured to tell.
The moment the subject was mentioned Adela
replied not, unless she was forced to do so, and
when such was the case answered but vaguely,
and generally fell into a fit of musing, from
which the captal found it difficult to rouse
her. He knew not how to account for such
conduct; it appealed to him strange, and

106 THE JACQUERIE.

certainly alarmed him, but still he was quite
sufficiently in love to listen eagerly to any
thing that hope whispered. He thought to
himself, " She is so young, she knows not yet
what love is ;" and still he went on in the same
course, with little fear of ultimate success*

To those who knew her well, however, a
change might be seen in Adela herself; she
had become graver, more thoughtful : at times
even somewhat sad. She showed no distaste
to the society of the captal: how could she
to that of a man who had saved her father's^
life, who had been his friend in adversity, and
who had cheered for him the hours of captivity
and sorrow? but still there was not that
alacrity in going forth with him which might
have been expected from her character in times
of old. The bounding joy with which at one
time she would have sprung to meet the de-
liverer of her parent was no longer seen.

The count himself remarked that it was so,
and he too thought it strange, although he
doubted not, and could not doubt, the affection
of his child. Still it struck him as extra-*

THE JACQUERIE. 107

ordinary, the more so, indeed, from all he
knew of Adela's character. There were others,
who marked the difference likewise, and on
whom it made the same impression. To Adela
no one said any thing, however; and she re-
mained not only unconscious that the coldness
in her demeanour towards the captal had been
perceived, but in truth unconscious that there
was a coldness. Had she known it she would
certainly have been greatly grieved, — but whe-
ther she would have changed or not who can
say?

Thus passed the time with her. With her
father it might be somewhat different. It seldom
happens, I believe, that parents, even the most
anxious and careful, become aware of the at-
tachments which their children inspire, or of
the affections which they feel, till the time
to prevent the danger is over. Loving Adela,
as he did, the count thought naturally that she
was worthy of all admiration ; and in the cap-
taPs attention towards her he saw nothing but
what might naturally be expected from so
gallant a knight towards so fair a lady. In the

108 THE JACQUERIE,

end, indeed, he thought that there was some-
times a sparkling brightness in his guest's eyes,
which betrayed a greater degree of warmth
than the mere courtesy of the day required;
but he marked it little, though others marked
it much, and he gave no thought to the question,
of whether it would please him well to see his
daughter united to the great English leader.

There was another, in regard to whom we
must also trace the passing of the time, although
he may seem a very insignificant personage
amongst those of whom we have been lately
speaking. That personage was Albert Denyn,
and he had also undergone a change ; he, too,
had become sad, and thoughtful, and gloomy.
Smiles had nearly forsaken his countenance
since the captal entered the castle of Mauvinet ;
and he was seen, day by day, wandering
through the woods and over the hills around,
with his eyes fixed upon the dull ground, as if
questioning his mother earth of his hard des-
tiny, and finding no reply; or sitting gazing
on the hilt of the sword, which he, as well as
Caillet, and several other favourite attendants

THE JACQUERIE. 109

of the Lord of Mauvinet, were permitted to
wear; as if demanding why the hand which
could use it as bravely as any lord in the land^
should not be held as noble as that of others
less worthy.

He seemed to avoid the society of all. The
tilt-yard and the meadow, where the soldiery
used to practise, and where he himself had a
sort of prescriptive right to mingle with others
of nobler birth, now beheld him no more;
and even Caillet, who, though he in general
sought conversation with few in the castle,
now looked for every opportunity of speaking
with him, found none without great diffi-
culty, and even when he did obtain a moment,
met with some interruption almost as soon as
their conference began.

The captal, from motives secret even to
himself, watched the young peasant, whenever
he happened to be in the same chamber with
,him, and, more especially, when Adela was
there; but he saw nothing but what the
youth's station in the household of the lady's
father warranted. There was deep respect and

110 TH£ JACQUERIE.

reverence, zeal and affection in bis manner;
but humble and calm withal, without presump*-
tion in look or word.

The captal took it for granted, in the end,
that the youth's melancholy was habitual ; but
others knew better; and more than one of
those who had been accustomed to see him the
gayest of a thousand gay hearts, now questioned
him regarding his sudden gloom. Amongst
the rest was the prior ; but the good father -^
forced to reside at the abbey, and paying
but short visits to his brother's castle — saw
not many of those slighter traits which might,
perhaps, have directed his judgment aright,
could he have watched them; and thus he
attributed Albert's sadness to motives far from
the real ones.

" My dear son," he said, one day, when he
was riding over to the castle, and found the
youth upon the hills by the way, " I have
remarked, with grief, the gloom that hangs^
upon you; for I cannot but ascribe it, in
some degree, to what my brother and myself
have yielded to, out of kindness for you, with-

THE JACQUERIE. Ill

out dreaming that it could produce pain and
sorrow instead."

The youth started and turned red, but in-
stantly became pale, demanding, " What mean
you, father? I know not to what you can
allude/'

" Nay I my son," answered the prior, " I saw
this sadness fall upon you the moment we men-
tioned what we considered the splendid offer
made in your favour by the noble Captal de
Buch ; and I have marked the gloom coming
deeper and deeper every day since, so that I
cannot be mistaken."

Albert paused a moment, but his heart was
too pure and true to suffer him to take advan-
tage of the good prior's mistake, even to hide
the many feelings wfthin his bosom that he
dared not avow ; and in this, as in all things,
he spoke the plain truth. ^' Indeed, dear and
noble sir," he said, " you are mistaken. When
you told me of the generous offer of the cap-
tal, I became grave, perhaps, because my heart
was filled with two strong emotions — joy to
see what I had scarcely deemed possible ful-

112 THE JACQUERIE.

filled, and yet sorrow to part with many dear
and true friends such as I shall never find
again. Oh ! my lord, can you suppose that,
after all the kindness you have shown me, I
can think of the hour that must separate me
from your paternal care, perhaps for ever,
without a painful feeling of apprehension and
regret ? Can I either think of leaving my
noble lord, your brother, or our sweet lady
Adela, without deep grief? Oh ! no, my
lord. This, I assure you, was all that called a
shadow over my face when first you told me of
the captal's offer; and, since then, perhaps
other things — fancies — wayward fancies — ap-
prehensions of never seeing those I love again,
or seeing them changed towards me — or — or
— a thousand idle dreands, have made me sad ;
but this will all pass away when I am gone."

" Fear not ! Albert," replied the prior, gazing
on him with a look of approbation and regard—
" Fear not 1 We shall meet again, and, perhaps,
in happier circumstances than the times admit
at present. Fear not, either, that you will find
us changed. We are not of a race that change*

THE JACQUERIE. 113

Only act honourably wherever you may be,
and you will learn that we are still the same
under all circumstances."

" I trust I ever shall act honourably, my
lord," replied Albert. " I have but one ap-
prehension ; and that is, that I may, at some
time, be compelled to lay down those arms
which I am now about to bear, by being called
to use them against France; and should that
be "

" No fear ! no fear !" exclaimed the prior :
" the captal has plighted his word that such an
act shall never be required of you, my son. If
that idea has disturbed you, let it do so no
more ; for you know that his word is never
broken."

The youth kissed the good monk's hand in
sign of gratitude; but, notwithstanding such
assurance, Albert was not gayer than before.
For the day, indeed, he made an effort, but ere
night fell he had sunk back into deeper gloom
than ever. Even in the hall, after supper, a
dark fit of thought came upon him, and he stood
silent and- sad, with his gaze fixed upon the

VOL. I. I

114 THE JACQUERIE.

pavement, while all were laughing and jesting
around, till suddenly raising his head, he found
the eyes of the Lady Adela resting upon him
with a look little less sorrowful than his own.
He started^ and turned away, and strove for
the rest of the evening to assume a more cheer-
ful air when he passed the spot where she sat ;
but the sight of the Captal de Buch placed
beside her, and striving by every means to win
her attention and regard, was not calculated to
cheer the heart of Albert Denyn.

On the morning following, however, from one
of the windows at which he had watched the
sun rise with eyes that had not been closed all
night, he beheld the captal and the Lord of
Mauvinet walk forth together unattended ; and
knowing that at that hour the great hall of
the castle was likely to be vacant, he proceeded
thither to indulge his thoughts more at ease,
than in the narrow space of the small room
which he tenanted in one of the turrets. Intense
thought may take place in narrow chambers ;
the mathematician may pursue his calculations,
the philosopher his reasonings, the politician

THE JACQUERIE. 115

his schemes, within the straitest confines ; but,
where strong emotions of the heart mingle with
the deep workings of the brain, the spirit within
us seems to pant for space, and the movement
of the mind requires room for the movements
also of the corporeal frame. Albert Denyn felt
relieved in the great hall, where he could now
be quite solitary : it seemed as if the busy
thoughts within his bosom found freer play.
There he walked to and fro for some minutes
alone, stopping from time to time to gaze out
of the window, till at length seeing the captal
and the count on their way back towards the
chateau, he paused for a moment to consider
whether he would wait their coming where he
^as, or retire again to his own chamber. He
felt, however, that his thoughts at that moment
were too painful to endure the presence of
others, and turning away, he passed along the
corridor which led from room to room by the
principal apartments of the castle, intending to
mount to the turret in which he slept by a
small staircase at the end.

Ere he reached the farther extremity of the

I 2

116 THE JACQU£RI£.

gallery, however, he beheld the Lady Adela
comiDg towards him, and for an instant he
hesitated what to do ; but he soon saw that she
had remarked his presence, and he advanced^
making a lowly bow as he approached her.

Adela, however, paused when he came near,
cast a hurried glance around the corridor to
assure herself that they were alone, and then
said, '^ Albert, what is it that makes you so
sad ? why are you so changed, so gloomy ? has
any thing gone wrong with you ? "

" Nothing, lady, nothing, indeed," replied
Albert ; " far from it, all has gone well — well
in a way that I could not hope.*'

" Then what is the cause of your gloom,
Albert?" she asked; " what is the occasion of
the melancholy that hangs upon you ? "

Albert Denyn was shaken with agitation, so
that his very limbs trembled; his countenance
was as pale as death, and his breath seemed to
come hard. Adela marked all those signs of *
strong emotion, and as he did not answer, she
added in a gentle tone, " Nay, nay, Albert, you
must speak : we have been brought up together

THE JACQUERIE. 117

almost all our lives, and you will not surely re-
fuse to tell me — me, Albert — me you will not
refuse to tell ! "

Albert could bear no more. " You ! you !'*
he exclaimed — " Oh ! lady, you are the last
that I ought to tell 1 "

The words had scarcely passed his lips, when
the Captal de Buch entered the gallery alone
and thoughtful, with his eyes bent upon the
ground. The moment he came in, however, he
raised his head, and saw Albert Denyn ad-
vancing towards him, while the Lady Adela
turned away with a glowing cheek and agitated
air. But Albert had at once regained his
calmness, as soon as he became aware of the
presence of a third person, for there was a depth
in his sorrow which gave vigour to every effort
of his mind ; and he came slowly but firmly
on towards the captal, reaiching the spot where
the knight stood, at the very moment that
Adela quitted the corridor by another door.

In those days there was a sort of parental
power in great military leaders over the young
men who attached themselves to them, which

1 3

118 THE JACQUERIE.

gave a right to question and to govern them,
in a way that might not otherwise have been
submitted to by hot and fiery spirits in tlie
heyday of youth. It was in this tone, rather
than in that of a master, that the Captal de Bueh
now addressed Albert Denyn, saying, " What
has agitated the lady, my young friend?*'

The captal himself was not free from emo-
tion as he spoke; but Albert replied calmly,
" Why she is agitated, my lord, I cannot pre-
tend to inform you. All that passed was, that
she was kind enough to ask what had made me
80 sad, and whether any thing had gone wrong
with me. I assured her that such was not the
case — but she would not believe my assurance;
though, as you know, my lord, from your own
noble offer, all has gone better with me than I
ever could have dared to hope."

The captal bit his lip, and then fixing his
eyes upon the ground, remained in thought for
a moment or two. He had thus continued, till
Albert doubted whether he ought to retire or
wait his further commands, when raising his
eyes proudly, the knight added, " If you are still

THE JACQUERIE. 119

inclined to accept my offer, young man, it would
be as well for you to know that I shall not
remain here many days longer ; perhaps even
to-morrow may be fixed for my departure. Are
you still desirous of accompanying me, or not ?"

Albert gazed in the captal's face with evident
surprise. " Most gratefully I most thankfully !
noble sir," he said : " I should ill deserve your
&vour, did I even hesitate."

" You are the best judge," replied the captal,
in a sharp tone, and passed on towards h!s own
apartments.

Albert remained for a moment or two where
the captal had left him ; and then retiring to his
own chamber, spent an hour in thought.

Ere we turn to new events, however, and more
active scenes than those in which we have lately
engaged, we must pause to relate the conver-
sation which had taken place between the Captal
de Buch and the Count de Mauvinet during
their morning walk ; — a conversation which,
as we have seen, had made the former forget in
a degree that courteous kindness for which he
had ever been celebrated.

I 4

120 THE JACQUERIE.

Not unmerited praises of the Lady Adela de
Mauvinet, on the part of the captai, began his
conferencie with the count ; and her father cer-
tainly heard those praises with pleasure, although
by this time he had learned to apprehend some
proposal on the part of his friend, which might
give him pain either to refuse or to accede to.
He replied, however, cautiously, and in such a
manner as he thought might perhaps check
expectation ; but the captal went on and told
the tale of his love, ending with a demand of
the hand of Adela de Mauvinet. It often re-
quires more courage to encounter a painful
proposition such as this, than any corporeal
danger ; and the Lord of Mauvinet would more
willingly have met an enemy in the field than
have heard the wishes of the Captal de Buch..

Nevertheless when it was once pronounced, he
met it decidedly. " My noble lord," he replied,
"and my dear good friend, it would be less grie-
vous to me far, to lie once more upon the field
of Poitiers amongst the dead and dying, than to
say what I must say. If I had been asked not
many months ago," he proceeded sadly, "whe-

THE JACQUERIE. 121

ther I would ever consent to give my child to
one who had aided, as much as any man now
living, to overthrow the hosts of France at
Poitiers, I would have answered, No; it is a thing
utterly impossible — of which I can never dream.
Those feelings have been changed by your ge-
nerous kindness. But if any one asks me even
now, whether I will consent to give my daughter
to a man who still remains an enemy of my coun-
try, I must repeat those words. No ! it is im-
possible ! Could you, my lord captal, quit the
cause of England, espouse the cause of France,
cast from you all the ties that have long bound
you, and become a faithful subject of the same

land as myself "

" Impossible, impossible ! " replied the captal

— " never ! By the side of that noble prince
under whose standard I have fought for years

— whose very name is renown, whose spirit is
chivalry, whose, heart is honour, and whose look
is victory — by him will I stand to the last day
of life and glory, in the companionship of Edward
of England ! "

" Right well, my lord, I know it must be so,"

12*2 THE JACQUERIE.

answered the Count de Mauvinet : " so noble a
spirit as yours could never quit, even for the
smile of the brightest lady in all the land, the
standard under which he has won fame ; but,
alas ! in knowing that such will be your conduct,
I must also feel that my daughter can never be
the bride of any one but a friend to France, and
an enemy to France's enemies. My lord captal,"
he continued, ** think me not ungrateful ; but
put it to your own noble heart how you would
act, were you placed as I am ; put it to your
own heart, I say, and answer for me truly and
straightforwardly. As knight, and nobleman,
and man of honour, I charge you tell me how
would you behave ?"

The captal stopped suddenly in their pro-
gress, bent his eyes sternly upon the ground,
and, for nearly two minutes, seemed to put the
painful question to his own conscience. Then,
starting from his reverie, he wrung the count's
hand vehemently in his own ; and, as if that ges-
ture were sufficient answer to the question, he
added not a word more, but darted back at once
to the castle.

THE JACQUERIE. 123

CHAP. VIL '

When the Captal de Buch had left Albert
Denyn in the corridor, he walked on straight to
his own chamber, passing through the ante-
room, where some of his pages and attendants
were stationed, and closing the door carefully
behind him. He then advanced towards a great
chair, which was placed near the window, but
he reached it not, pausing in the midst of the
room, and remaining there with his eyes bent
upon the ground in deep thought. He con-
tinued in this meditative mood for several mi-
nutes, perfectly motionless and still, though with
a knitted brow and heavy air, showing evidently
that the matter of his reflexions was any thing
but pleasing or calm. At length, however, he
lifted his head with an air somewhat melancholy,
yet somewhat proud, saying aloud, as he did so,
*' It is well I It is well as it is I Better far not

124 THE JACQUERIE.

her hand, than not her love ! Better far, better
far ! Farewell such fantasies, they shall soon
be forgotten."

Yet he spoke with a sigh.; and after he had
done, he sat down, and seemed to think sadly
and bitterly over all that had just passed.

That day had been appointed for a long ex-
pedition to meet the Prior of Montvoye, at a
small chapel attached to the abbey, some seven
or eighf miles from the castle, and the captal
had looked forward to the ride with no small
pleasure in the anticipation. He had thought
how he would keep by the side of Adela de
Mauvinet, and what he would say — ay, and
what she would reply ; and with the fond fancy
of love he had pictured to his own imagination
her bright looks, and the sunny smile that
sometimes came into her face when she was well
pleased with any thing that met her ear or eye.
But now, alas ! the captal's vision was broken,
and the prospect of the journey presented to him
nothing but pain. At one time he hesitated as
to whether he would go; but then again he recol-
lected that it might seem weak and unmanly in

THE JACQUERIE. 125

the eyes of the Lord of Mauvmet, and even of
Adela herself, should he give way to such feel-
ings ; and then he thought that, at all events,
he might enjoy the satisfaction of being with
her for the time. Thus he would gradually have
reasoned himself into once more looking for-
ward to the expedition with pleasure, had there
not been from time to time a painful recollection
of the glowing colour, which he had seen upon ,
Adela's cheek, when his sudden coming inter-
rupted her conversation with Albert Denyn*
The remembrance, as I have said, gave him
pain, and he loved not to let his mind rest upon
it; but yet the importunate memory thereof
would not be denied; and for more than an
hour he remained calling back every look that
he had seen pass between Adela and the young
peasant. How long he might have remained
thus I cannot tell, had he not been visited at
the end of an hour and a half by the Count
de Mauvinet himself.

" The horses are prepared, and in the court-
yard, noble sir," he said, " and I have come to
be your esquire ; but I trust that you will not

126 THE JACQUERIE.

go this dayi to do me pleasure, if it accord not
with your own inclination."

" I am most ready and willing, my lord,"
replied the captal, starting up; ^^but I had
fallen into a fit of musing. I am with you
in a moment, however;" and making some
slight change in his apparel, he hastened to
descend with his friend to the court-yard of
the castle, where horses and attendants were
already prepared and arrayed to set out upon
their expedition to the chapel. Amongst
the foremost stood the beautiful white jennet
which had been brought out for Adela de
Mauvinet; but she herself had not yet come
down to take her place in the cavalcade. The
count sent a page to call her, and after a mo*
ment's delay, she too appeared; but it seemed
to the captal, as he gazed at her for a moment,
that there were traces of tears upon her cheek.
They had been carefully wiped away, however,
and during the ride no difference from her
ordinary demeanour showed that she he had
been grieved or agitated during that morning.

When they had passed the drawbridge and

THE JACQUERIE. 127

the barbican, and were proceeding over the
causeway, three abreast, the captal looked
round for Albert Denyn, but the youth was not
with them; and perhaps with some curiosity,
to see what effect his words would produce upon
Adela, he turned towards the Count of Mau-
vinet, inquiring, " Where is the good youth,
Albert Denyn ? he has not gone with us to-day."

" He asked my permission," replied the Lord
of Mauvinet, ^^ to remain behind, in order to
see some cottagers, with whom he was placed
in his infancy, after his father's death. They
were very kind to him, and Albert is not one
to forget kindness from any one."

The captal fixed his eyes upon Adela, and
then fell into a fit of musing, but made no reply
to the words of the Lord of Mauvinet. He taxed
his own heart, however, with want of courtesy
and benevolence, in feeling pain at hearing
the commendation of any good man.

" This is not right," he said to himself, " this
is not right. If the youth deserves praise, praise
let him have — ay, and win honour and re-
nown too, if God so wills it I "

12S THE JACQUERIE.

Let US not pause in this place upon the
expedition which was now undertaken by the
party from the chateau. The circumstances
under which they went were distressing to
all of die principal personages concerned. The
feelings of the count and the captal may be
easily conceived; and could any one have seen
into the bosom of the fair girl who rode be-
tween them, her state of mind would have
appeared even more painful ; for from various
minute facts, which had come to her know-
ledge in the course of the preceding day,
Adela had discovered that the deliverer of
her father entertained towards her a passion
which she could not return. His conduct had
lately alarmed her ; and though for some time
she had striven to shut the facts from her own
eyes, yet the truth had forced itself upon her
at last, and she had become convinced not only
that the captal loved her, but that he would
demand her hand. What might be the decision
of her parent she knew not, but she felt but too
well that she could never entertain for ihe captal
that affection which a wife should feel towards

THE JACQUERIE. 129

a husband. When she discovered such sen*
sations in her own bosom, her first question
to herself was why her heart was so cold and
indifferent to one well calculated to please and
to win. He had all that could attract — beauty
of person, grace, and courtesy of manner ; high
qualities of mind ; dignity, and command in his
whole air; he was renowned in arms, kind,
generous, gay, wise, faithful, just, and true of
heart ; and Adela again and again asked herself
why it was she could not love him. It was
early on that morning that these things were
passing in her mind; and busy with such
ideas, she had lingered beyond the hour at
which she usually visited her father's chamber,
to wish him health and happiness through the
day. When she went, she found that he was
already gone forth with the Captal de Buch ;
and a cold sensation came over her heart when
she thought of what might be the subject of
their conversation. As she was returning, she
met Albert Denyn, as we have shown, and the
brief conversation which we have related, took
place between them. After it was over, Adela

VOL. I. K

130 THE JACQUERIE.

asked herself no more why she could not love
the captal, but she sat down in her chamber,
and wept.

She had sufficient command over herself, to
prevent the feelings of her heart from affecting
her demeanour in any great degree : but it may
be well believed, that her sensations were not
a little sad ; and the day which had been in-
tended to be a day of pleasure, proved, in most
res{}ects, one of pain to almost all the parties
concerned.

When they had visited the chapel, paid their
devotions at the shrine, and again taken leave
of the prior, the Count de Mauvinet somewhat
hurried his pace; for several delays had oc-
curred during the morning, and the sun was
beginning to decline. Those were times, too,
in which, as we have before shown, it was
neither safe nor agreeable to travel late at
night, although the proximity of the castle of
Mauvinet, and the general tranquillity of that
part of the country, seemed to promise the
party of the count full security on the way.
He had with him, too, a stout band of attend-

THE JACQUERIE. 131

ants ; and the very presence of Captal de Buch
himself was a host.

The sun had just touched the edge of the
sky, when they again came within a mile of the
castle; but here they were detained for some
time, by an incident of deep interest to the
Count de Mauvinet himself, and little less so
in the eyes of the captal. They found the
road at the top of the hill crowded with
peasantry of the richer class, wealthy farmers,
and landholders on the estates of Mauvinet,
all* dressed in their holyday costume, and
bearing a certain expression of pleasure and
satisfaction in their faces, that seemed to speak
of some occasion of much joy. Two or three
of the principal persons were collected in front
of the rest ; and as the count's party approached,
one of them advanced a little before the others,
and respectfully stopped their lord as he was
coming forward.

" What would you, good Larchenay ? " said
the count, bending his head a little, and ad-
dressing him with a well-pleased air. " Is

K 2

132 THE JACQUERIE,

there any thing in which I can serve you, my
good friend ? "

" Yes, my lord, much," replied the farmer ;
" and, indeed, we have all met here to make
you a humble request^ which we trust you
will not deny us."

" I am not accustomed, my good Larchenay,
to refuse you any thing in reason," replied the
Lord of Mauvinet ; ^^ and so glad am I to find
myself amongst you all once more, that I am
little likely to be hard-hearted now."

" Thanks, then, my noble lord," replied the
peasant : " our request, I see, is half granted
already. We have heard that to-morrow you
propose to pay your ransom to the noble
Captal de Buch, and yet your faithful pea-
santry have not been called upon to bear a
share therein. It was never yet known, my
lord, that the poor tenants of so noble a gen-
tleman as yourself were refused the right of
contributmgto redeem their good lord ; and we
have collected together and brought hither our
little tribute of gratitude and attachment to one
who has ever been a kind master to all — who

THE JACQUERIE. 133

has aided us in sickness, has spared us in ad-
versity, and protected us in danger. We know
not, my lord, the exact sum at which your ransom
has been fixed, but we have gathered, amongst
us here some ten thousand crowns, which we
come to offer with a very willing heart."

The affection of his peasantry brought tears
into the eyes of the Lord of Mauvinet, and he
thanked them in words which were evidently
not words of course, although he would fain
have declined the aid tendered to him. " The
peasantry of France,** he said, " have suffered
too much already, my good friends, for me
at least to press upon them more, whatever
Others may do. This was the reason why I
asked no assistance from my people ; not that
I doubted in the least their love for their lord,
or their willingness to help him in a time of
need. My ransom is provided, my friends ; half
is ready here, and half must be prepared by this
time in Beauvoisis; and, as I fixed it myself, when
my noble friend here, the Captal de Buch, would
scarcely accept of any, so would I also fain pay
it myself, although you offer me such an aid,"

K 8

134 THE JFACQUERIE.

The farmer^ whom he had called Larchenay,
heard him in respectful silence, and drew a
step back with a disappointed air; but an
older, and somewhat ruder looking man,
stepped forward, and said in a bolder tone,
" My lord the count, you have never taken
from us more than was your due, very often
much less. It is seldom that we have an
opportunity of showing our thanks. It has
pleased God that you should be taken pri-
soner, while you were gallantly defending your
country, and when others had basely fled and
abandoned her cause. Depend upon it, my
lord, one reason why you have thus been suf-
fered to fall into the hands of the enemy was,
that your faithful peasantry might have an op-
portunity of showing that the poor people of
France can be grateful to those who love and
protect them. I beseech you, my lord, do not
refuse our request, but let us pay our master's
ransom, right glad as we are to get him back."
** Oh, my father," said Adela, seeing that
the count still hesitated, " pray accept it : I am
sure there is not a peasant on the land who

THE JACQU£RIE. 135

will not feel happy and proud to have contri-
buted to your deliverance."

" Well, be it so, my good friends," said the
count, with a voice trembling with emotion,
^^ be it so. It seems as if I gained my liberty
twice, when it is my people that give it me.
Come then, come to the chateau, and we will
speak more of all this. I would fain thank you,
my friends, better than I can now when words
fail me, and my heart is full. Larchenay,
come hither, and, as we go, assure me, that in
these times of difficulty and distress this gift
does not press upon you too hardly."

" Oh, no," replied the good man, " on my
life it does not. Thanks to your kindly care,
and. that of your good brother, there are no
peasants in France who have suffered so little
as we have done. The enemy has never
visited our fields; famine has never been felt
amongst us ; if we ever have wanted any thing,
it has been supplied to us, my lord, by your
bounty ; so that we are wealthy as well as con-
tented ; and we know that we owe that wealth
to you."

K 4

136 THE JACQUERIE.

Thus conversing, the Lord of Mauvinet arid
his peasantry, with the rest of the company,
which had accompanied him during the day,
proceeded slowly back towards the chateau,
wliile the sun set, but left the sky glowing
with the glory of his departing light. They
reached the foot of the slope, and were be-
ginning to cross the meadows, which ex-
tended from the hills to the moat of the castle,
when suddenly a quarrel from a crossbow struck
the horse of the Captal de Buch, and the
noble animal, with the blood flowing in pro-
fusion from a wound in his side, reared, and
then staggered under his gallant rider.

The captal, however, though taken by sur-
prise, sprang to the ground before the charger
fell, exclaiming, " My Lord of Mauvinet, that
was meant for you. — Draw round your lord."

Even while he was speaking, more serious
cause of alarm appeared ; for from the hanging
wood, which we have already mentioned, rode
forth at full speed a large body of men-
at-arms, bearing down with levelled lances
upon the little party which was crossing the

THE JACQUERIIS. 137

meadow. The peasantry were defenceless, and
one of the first thoughts of the Lord of Mau-
vinet was for them. He himself and all his
armed attendants, as well as the Captal de
Buch and his followers, hastened to cast them-
selves into the front and meet the shock of the
enemy's charge. But the number of the as-
sailants was far superior to their own ; and it
was very evident from the order in which they
came on, that they were all experienced men-
at-arms.

" Your horse, your horse," cried the captal
to one of his men : " give me a spear, St. John.
Keep the line there, my men, keep the line.
My Lord of Mauvinet, if you take ground a
little to the right, our flank will be protected
by those trees. Stand firm, stand firm ! St.
George for merry England !"

Almost as he spoke, and while he was yet
mounting the horse which had been brought up
for himj the body of adventurers, for such were
evidently the assailants, came up at full speed,
expecting, undoubtedly, to find all give way
before them. In this, however, they were

138 THE JACQUERIE.

greatly mistaken; the veteran attendants of
the captal and the Count de Mauvinet pre-
senting a firm and unwavering face to the
enemy, and the captal himself causing his
horse to passage, by a hard stroke of the spur,
at the very moment that one of the heavy-
armed leaders of the enemy's troop came
impetuously upon him, suffered the man to
dash between him and one of his retainers,
but at the same time, with his shortened lance,
struck him fiercely in the throat, and hurled
him bleeding to the ground.

" A good stroke!" he cried, as gaily as if
the dangerous strife were but a May-day
pastime. " A good stroke ! St. George for
merry England !"

Notwithstanding the skill of the captal and
the Count of Mauvinet, and the bravery and
determination of their own personal follow-
ers, the advantage was still on the side of
the adversary, who, besides numbers, had the
hill in his favour; and although, where the
two leaders were, the line was kept firm and
no ground lost, yet the centre even of their

THE JACQUERIE. 139

short phalanx was beginning to waver and
give way, when some cried aloud, ** They are
coming from the casde I They are coming
from the castle I"

The captal, even while he struck down one of
the adventurers with his heavy sword, turned
his eyes towards the chateau of Mauvinet, and
saw a straggling band of men galloping over
the causeway at full speed; but far before
them was a horseman who seemed to gain
ground upon those who. followed every mo-
ment, and the captal thought he recognised,
though the light was now becoming faint, the
form of Albert Denyn.

"Courage! courage, my men!'' cried the
great leader — " aid is at hand ! Hold firm there
in the centre I By heaven, they ai-e breaking
in I Down with that green plume ! strike him
on the head, Martin I down with him ! down
with him ! — It is too late V*

And he said truly, for, notwithstanding a
vigorous effort made by the men in the centre
to recover their position, a strong body of the
adventurers forced their way through, and the

110 THE JACQUERIE.

line was completely broken. At that moment,
however, the first of the horsemen from the
castle arrived, proving, as the captal had
imagined, Albert Denyn. His body was un-
defended, but his head was covered with a
plain steel cap, such as the commons usually
wore in the field, and in his hand was a heavy
battle-axe which he had caught up in haste.
His eye ran rapidly over the conflict as he
came up ; and although the Lord of Mauvinet
cried, " Hither, Albert ! hither ! " he directed
his course to the rear of the peasantry, forced
his way through the midst of the frightened
multitude, and cast himself between Adela and
the man in the green plume, who had nearly
reached the spot where she stood.

" He is right, he is right," cried the Captal
de Buch, spurring on his horse, and leading
forward the soldiers who were near him, to at-
tack the flank of the enemy.

All he could do, however, was to break their
line as they had broken the small band of the
Count de Mauvinet ; and the whole became a
scene of strife, confusion, and disarray, in which

THE JACQUERIE. l4l

each man was soon found fighting for his own
life, and little heeding the proceedings of his
comrades.

In the mean time the retainers of the house
of Mauvinet were every moment reinforced by
fresh arrivals from the chateau; and the ad-
venturers speedily found that the day was
going against them — a discovery which soon
led to an attempt to rally their forces and
make their retreat in an orderly manner.
But the party whom they had attacked had
become aware of their own advantage, and of
course were but little disposed to suffer them
to retire in peace.

As they drew out, and endeavoured to form,
the Lord of Mauvinet, seeing many of his poor
tenants either wounded or killed, and indignant
at the very fact of an ambush being laid so near
his own castle, eagerly arrayed his men to pursue
the assailants, and only paused to give one glance
roufid, in order to ascertain that his daughter
was in safety.

At the moment that he thus turned to
gaze, she had dismounted from her horse, and

142 THE JACQUERIE.

was bending, in no slight terror, by the ani-
mal's side. The space around was not yet
absolutely cleared of enemies, but they were
now only seeking to retreat ; and before her
stood Albert Denyn, with his foot planted on
the dead body of the man with the green
plume, who had led the party of adventurers,
which first broke the ranks of the vassals of
Mauvinet The battle-axe which had slain
him was bloody in the youth's hand, and his
horse's bridle, cast over the other arm, seemed
to show that he had sprung to the ground for
the defence of his young mistress.

Feeling that Adela was now safe, the count
hesitated no longer, but, uniting his men with
those of the captal, he urged the pursuit of the
enemy fiercely, slaying many, and taking se-
veral more, though, in truth, few condescended
to ask for quarter. In the mean time, Albert
Denyn paused for a moment by the side of the
Lady Adela, inquiring eagerly, though gently,
whether she were injured.

" Oh, no, no, Albert," she replied ; " thanks
to God, I am not ; but oh ! help my father.

THE JACQUERIE. 143

Albert, help my father. See, he is pursuing
them fiercely. I fear only for him."

Albert looked around, saying, ^^ It is growing
dark, lady ; I cannot leave you without pro-
tection."

Adela, however, again besought him more
earnestly than before to fly to the assistance of
her father ; and some of the peasantry around
exclaimed, ^^ We will guard her to the castle,
oh we will guard her;" but Albert did not
feel well satisfied with the protection that they
could give, till William Caillet, forcing his way
through the rest, approached Albert, saying,
" Leave her to me, Albert, I will defend the
Lady Adela in case of need : you know that I
can do so well."

Albert hesitated for a moment, though he
knew not why; but at that instant the lady
repeated, " Go, Albert, go I See I they are sur-
rounding my father. Go I Oh go all of you ! I
shall be very safe now."

Albert Denyn paused no longer, but, setting
his foot in the stirrup, sprang upon his horse's
back, and galloped at full speed after the

144 THE JACQUERIE-

Lord of Mauvinet and his party^ His aid,
however, was scarcely required, for the ad-
venturers were in full retreat, and Adela*s
eyes had deceived her when she imagined
that her father was surrounded by any but
friends. The increasing darkness, too, soon
put a stop to the pursuit, and the Captal de
Biich, drawing in his horse, said, with a faint
smile, ** This is but a scurvy jest, my Lord of
Mauvinet, and I fear your poor peasants have
suffered/'

" I fear so, too," replied the count in a sad
tone, while he turned his horse to return to
the castle. —-" Ha, Albert, where is Adela?
why did you leave her?"

" She would have me follow you, my lord,"
replied Albert Denyn ; " and Caillet, who was
there, promised to guard her back."

^^ Then she is safe I then she is safe I " said
the Count. " Come, my good lord captal — I
must give you some better entertainment than
this, or you will call me churlish;" and thus
saying, he led the cavalcade homeward.

THE JACQUERIE. 145

CHAP. VIII.

*^ You had better mount, lady, and get back to
the castle with all speed," said Caillet as soon
as Albert Denyn had left them : " Peter the
horse-boy promised to bring me out a horse,
but I fear the knave has failed me."

" No, no ! there he stands," cried one of the
peasants who heard what was said, ^^ there he
stands, and the horse with him."

" Let me help you, lady," continued Caillet,
^offering to assist her to her saddle, and beckon-
ing for the boy to bring up his horse ; but Adela
motioned him back, saying, *^I need no aid,
William Caillet," and at the same time she
sprang upon her well-taught jennet, which re-
mained perfecdy still till she was in the seat.
" I see not," she continued, speaking to Caillet,
^' that you need a horse to accompany me to the
castle. You can walk at my side."

VOL. I. L

k.

146 THE JACQUERIE.

" But in case we should be obliged to make
more baste, lady," replied Caillet. " The enemy
are still scattered about, madam. See there !
and there ! " and as he spoke he, too, leapt into
the saddle.

" Then we will go quick," said Adela shaking
her rein, and turning her jennet's head towards
the castle.

Caillet rode on also, not, as might have been
expected from his station, a step behind, but
close to her horse's side, and Adela only the
more eagerly urged the beast forward. Just as
they were within two hundred yards of the moat,
however, some five or six horsemen passed be-
tween them and the castle at full speed, and
Caillet, laying his hand on Adela's bridle-rein,
exclaimed, " This way ! this way, lady I "

As he spoke he turned her jennet's head
towards the wood that skirted the hill ;*and as
there seemed no other way of avoiding the party
of adventurers, Adela bewildered and confused
suffered him to do as he pleased, thinking that
as the men were evidently flying the danger
would soon be over.

THE JACQUERIE. 147

In the mean while the group of peasantry,
which had remained on the slope of the hill,
continued gathered together on the same spot
engaged in the various sad occupations that such
an event as that which had just taken place na-
turally left for them to perform. There were
dead amongst them to be mourned ; there were
wounded to be tended; the adventurers had
found time, even in the midst of bloodshed and
confusion, to strip several of the money which
they had brought for their lord's ransom,
and that also had to be lamented and com-
mented upon. But upon the little knoll, from
which Adela and Caillet had departed for the
castle, four or five men stood apart talking
eagerly together, and not paying any attention
to matters which might well interest them as
well as their companions. Their eyes were
fixed upon the course taken by Caillet and the
lady, whom they continued to trace by Adela's
white jennet, which could still be seen, notwith*
standing the increasing darkness of the evening.

" Yes, yes," said ope, "it is all right : you see
he is going straight to the castle.''

L *2

]48 THE JACQUERIE.

" Watch him still, watch him still," cried an-
other: " I love him not at all. As the lady said,
why should he take a horse, to go back with
her a five minutes' walk ? see how he rides close
to her side, too, as if he were the Captal de Buch.
Some one ha3 certainly betrayed us into the
hands of these companions, otherwise they would
never have come so near the castle, and I as
well as Larchenay doubt him much. He
was the only one that knew of our intention of
bringing the money here, as far as I know ; and
when I was speaking with old Tourmont, the
warder at the castle, just now, he told me that
Caillet had been absent all this day and yester*-
day, and he said, he wondered that our lord let
him go on so."

" So do I," replied an old peasant who formed
one of the group; " and I am determined, for my
part, to tell my lord the count that I found him
persuading my second son Charles that I did
not treat him well : he has been a mischief-maker
in more than one house, and it is time that the
thing should be stopped ! So I shall let my lord
know the whole without ceremony. But look

THE JACQUERIE. 149

there, look there, Larchenay ! He is leading my
young lady towards the wood : he is bent upon
some mischief, depend upon it."

"I will stop him," cried Larchenay : "if he
goes up there, I can cut him off by the well
path. Come with me, Peter John, come with me,
quick, quick — Santa Maria ! there is a scream."

Thus saying he darted away up the side of
the hill, took a road through the wood, and raix
at full speed for some two or three hundred
yards along the narrow and intricate turningi$
and windings of the forest ways. He was then
pausing for a moment to take breath, when an-
other scream at no great distance reached hia
ear, and rushing on as fast as possible, he suddenly
came to a spot where two paths met. Along
the one crossing that which he himself was
pursuing, was coming up at the moment with
furious speed the very person whom he sought,
William Caillet, leading on the jennet of Adela
de Mauvinet It was in vain that the poor
girl attempted to pull in her horse ; for Caillet
had contrived to grasp the bridle in such a
manner that she had no longer any power over

L a

150 THE JACQUERIE.

the animal ; and he continued galloping on^
without paying the slightest attention either to
her remonstrances or to her cries for help.

The instant Larchenay beheld such a scene,
he darted forward and attempted to stop the
horse of Cailljet. Nor was he altogether un-
successful, for, catching the bridle, he checked
the animal for a moment But, without uttering
a word, Caillet struck him a blow on the head,
with a heavy mace, which hung at the saddle-
bow, and laid the poor man senseless on the
ground.

The villein then spurred on at full speed
as before, making no reply to the entreaties
and tears of the lady, and indeed not even
seeming to hear her, till at length, finding her-
self carried farther and farther from assistance,
Adela exclaimed, " If you do not instantly stop,
you will drive me to spring from the horse."

Caillet merely looked round, replying, " If
you do, you will kill yourself. You had bet-
ter submit quietly to what cannot be avoided.
— I tell you," he continued in a sharper tone,
seeing her resolutely disengage herself from the

THE JACQUERIE. ]51

saddle and trappings of the horse for the pur-
pose of casting herself off — "I tell you, if you
do, you will kill yourself." '

But even while he spoke he relaxed in a
degree the horses' speed, and Adela seizing
the opportunity, after hesitating in terror a
single instant, summoned all her courage and
sprang from her jennet to the ground.

She had been taught to practise such things,
when a child in sport, and she had often
done it with ease and safety ; but the case was
very different now : she was cast violently for-
ward and fell ; nor can there be a doubt, that
she would have sustained severe injury had not
the path been covered with long forest grass.

Caillet reined up the horses violently, and
springing to the ground bent over her with a
look of alarm and grief. ^^You have killed
yourself," he exclaimed : " rash girl, you have
killed yourself rather than fly with one who
loves you to madness."

" Leave me," said Adela, ** leave me ; if you
are sorry for what you have done, leave me, and
provide for your own safety. Some one will be

L 4

152 THE JACQUERIE.

here sooii) and I shall have help ; leave me, then^
leave me, tpr I am resolved to go no farther ;
so that, if you are wise, you will now think only
of yourselC

" No, lady, no," exclaimed the villein — "I
have not done all this to be now disappointed.
You are not so much hurt, I see, as your
rashness might have brought about, and you
i^hall go on with me, if we both die before to-

morrow."

" Never," replied Adela, firmly, "never, while
I have power to resist." Caillet answered merely
by a laugh, and raising her like a feather from
the ground in his powerful arms, he placed
her once more upon her horse, in spite of her
screams and tears, strapped her tightly to the
saddle with one of the stirrup leathers of his
own charger, and then, remounting, proceeded
with the same furious pace as before.

Adela clasped her hands in despair ; she could
no longer escape ; she saw that if she now at-
tempted to cast herself down, certain death would
be the consequence; for, dragged along by the
band which fastened her to the saddle, she

THE JACQUERIE. 153

must evidently perish in the most horrible
manner ; and yet she asked herself whether it
would not be better so to perish, than to remain
in the power of one so hateful to her in every
respect; one from whom she could expect
neither mercy nor consideration; who had in-
curred by the very act he had that night com-
mitted the inevitable punishment of death,
if taken, and who had consequently nothing
else to fear, let his acts be what they would. She
asked herself whether it would not be better to
die at once, horrible as the mode might be, than
to continue in his hands and at his mercy. She
felt that it would be so, but yet her heart failed
her; imagination painted all that she would have
to suffer — the lingering agony of being dragged
along upon the ground, till life was extinguished
— the probable chance that, maimed and injured,
she might still remain in his power, without ab-
solute death bringing her relief, and at the same
time hope, persevering hope, yet whispered that
9ome help might come — that her father, or
the captal, or Albert Denyn, might learn her
fate in time to save her from Caillet's hands ;

154 THE JACQU£KI£.

and thus, for many minutes, with agony of mind
inconceivable, she struggled between terror and
strong resolution*

Her fall, too, had hurt her, though not
severely : she had suffered much fatigue as
well as apprehension during the day; and at
length as the last ray of twilight went out and
left her in utter darkness, in the midst of the
deep wood, and in the power of a man whom
she detested, strength failed as well as courage ;
her head grew giddy, and exclaiming, " Stop,
stop, I shall faint, I shall die," she fell forward
upon her horse's neck.

When Adela's recollection returned, she
found herself still in the wood, but seated on
the ground at the foot of an old decayed beech
tree, with none but William Caillet near her.
A large fire, however, was blazing before her,
branches of the trees, thickly piled up with
leaves, were under her head, and various
minute circumstances showed, not only that
some care had been taken to recall her to
consciousness and to provide for her comfort,
but apparently that a considerable period of

THE JACQUERIE. 155

time must have elapsed, since the moment at
Mrhich memory and sensation had lefl her.

As she opened her eyes, she gazed around
with fresh terror and dismay; but no con-
solation, no hope, was afforded by any of
the objects on which the poor girl's glance
fell. Caillet was standing before her, gazing
upon her. At first he was apparently moved
with pity, but the moment that he saw she
had fully recovered from the fit of faint-
ing into which she had fallen, it seemed as
if some demon, which had rested for a time
under the command of a better power, roused
itself again to triumph in her misery and dis-
tress ; and his usual sneering curl came upon
his lip as he said, " You are well now, lady,
and no doubt you will soon get reconciled to
your fate, though it may seem a hard one to
you at present."*

Adela, for a moment, covered her eyes with
her hands, and strove to recall those powers
of thought which for some time had been
utterly extinct, and were still feeble and
wavering. " My fate?" said she, wildly; and.

156 THE JACQUERIE.

speaking more to herself than him, " What
fate?'^

" To be mine," replied Caillet, watching every
look and gesture of his victim — " ay, lady, to be
imine. — Yes !" he continued, seeing an involun-
tary shudder come over lier as he spoke, " yes,
to be mine — mine, whom you have treated
with contumely and contempt because I dared
to love you, and, if not to avow, to let you see
that love — mine, whom you trod upon, at
whom you looked indignation and scorn, while
on the weak boy, who neither dared to speak
nor show his love, you smiled continually, en-
couraging him in a passion which you would
have scoffed at as soon as it was displayed. — Ay,
you may tremble, lady ! but I tell you you are
mine ! No help can reach you here — mine,
and on my own terms."

He paused a moment, gazing full upon her
by the fire light as she sat with her hands
covering her eyes, and the tears streaming
rapidly down her cheeks ; but at length he
added, in a softer tone, " Listen to me. Mode-
rate your pride ; cast away the evil spirit of your
class ; and perhaps you may have some comfort."

THE JACQUERIE. 157

" What? what? Oh what?" exclaimed Adela,
eagerly ; " I have no pride ! William Caillet,
you have no right to say I have any pride."

" Well, then, listen to me," he repeated, as*
suming a kindly tone and an air of tenderness,
which, to say the truth, sat not ill upon his fine
features — "listen to me, Adela; for between
you and me — and ere a few short months be
over, between lord and serf through the whole
land — the terms of master and dependant must
be at an end. Listen to me, and I will tell
you how you may save yourself much pain,
and save me from a harsh determination, which
I seek not to display, unless I am driven
to it."

As he spoke, he drew nearer to her, and
seated himself beside her at the foot of the
beech tree; but Adela started up with a look
of horror which she could not repress, and
drew far back from him, gazing at him with
terror and apprehension, such as the bird may
be supposed to feel, when it finds the fatal eyes
of the serpent upon it.

A bittei^ frown came upon the face of Caillet

158 THE JACQUERIE.

as she did so, and he too rose, saying, " Am I so
hateful to you, lady ? Then I must use another
tone — Down by my side, I say I You are the^
serf here, and I am lord. Do not think that I
have risked death and torture, and cast behind
me every ordinary hope of man, to be now
mocked by a weak girl. Down by my side, I
say 1 To-morrow, the idle rites of the aJtar
shall unite us for ever; for I would fain see
whether, in case of misfortune, the Lord of
Mauvinet will slay his daughter's husband.
Ay, to-morrow you shall be my wife ; but ere
to-morrow comes, you shall humbly thank me
for granting you that name."

Adela had gazed upon him while he spoke '\ ^^j

with a look of horror and apprehension which
she could not repress, though she hardly un-
derstood the meaning of his words ; but when,
as the villiin ended, he made a movement to-
wards her as if to seize her by the arm, she
uttered a loud scream, and darted away down
the forest road ; the profound darkness, which,
at any other time, might have terrified her, now
seeming a refuge from her brutal pursuer.

^

THE JACQUERIE. 159

Ere she had taken ten steps, however, and
while the light of the fire still shone upon her
patli, a living being — but whether man or
beast she did not at first clearly see — came
out rapidly, but quietly, from amongst the trees
on her left hand, and stood in the way between
her and Caillet

The villain, for a moment, recoiled, so strange
was the sight presented to him by the red glare
of the fire. At first he, too, doubted whether it
was a human creature that he saw ; and had his
been an ordinary mind, or had his education
been that of a common peasant, he might have
supposed that some of the numerous evil spirits
with which the fanciful superstitions of the
times peopled the forests and the mountains now
stood before him. He soon perceived, however,
that though nearly covered by the long and
tangled beard and the grey locks which hung in
wild profusion over the brow, it was the face of a
man which glared fiercely upon him. The form,
indeed, was scarcely human; the height not
more than four feet; the breadth great; and the
arms exceedingly long and powerful ; but the

^

160 THE JACQUERIE.

whole frame contorted, and more resembling
the knotted trunk of some old hawthorn tree
than the body of a man. He was covered, too,
with untanned goat-skins for clothing, which
added to the wild savageness of his appear^
ance.

Caillet paused only sufficient time to see that
it was one of his own species, and then sprang
forward again to grasp the poor girl, who fled
half fainting from his pursuit ; but the strange
being which had crossed his path stretched out
its long arms from side to side of the road, ex-
claiming in a deep loud voice, " Stop ! " and as
Caillet, fearful of losing the object for which he
had played so rash and daring a game, rushed
on, his knees were suddenly twined round by
the sinewy limbs of this new opponent; and
feeling as if he had been clasped tight in bands
of iron, he reeled and fell headlong as he
endeavoured to disentangle himself.

His adversary relaxed his grasp as they fell
together, and both started up at the same mo-
ment ; but still the wild-looking creature which
had interrupted Caillet in his course was be*

r

THE JACQUERIE. 161

tween him and the way she had taken; and,
brandishing a huge axe which had hung at his
back, he barred the road, saying, " I have let
thee stay for the last hour by my fire, and stable
thy horse under my trees, and use my fountain
of pure water; and now, brute beast, not know-
ing that there was any one that watched thee
but the high unseen eye of God, thou wouldst
offer violence to innocence even in my pre-
sence. — Get thee gone ! lest I slay thee ! Be-
take thee to thy horse's back and flee, or I will
dash thy brains out where thou standest."

Caillet made no reply, but taking a single
step back, laid his hand upon the hilt of the
sword which he wore, and drawing it from the
scabbard, aimed a sudden and violent blow
at the head of his adversary. It was instantly
met by the staff of the axe, however, and the
edge cut deep into the wood ; but ere it could
be returned, sounds met the ears of both the
combatants, which, for a moment, suspended
the encounter.

VOL. I. M

162 THE JACQUERIE,

CHAP. IX.

Adela d£ Mauvinet paused not^ to ascertain
who or what it was that interposed between her
and her abhorred pursuer. She saw that he was
delayed) and [even a moment gained, seemed to
her a blessing so great as to give fresh strength
to her weak and fainting steps. She flew on,
then, down the road till the darkness caused her
to stop for an instant and ask herself whether
she might not plunge into the thick wood which
stretched out on either hand, and, like the timid
hare or the wild deer, conceal herself amidst
the underwood till the return of light enabled
her to find some place of refuge, or brought her
some help.

As she thus paused for a moment, she heard
the blast of a distant horn, and her heart beat
almost to bursting with renewed hope. She
thought at first only of rushing on ; but it was

THE JACQUEKIE. 168

far off: — the person who blew the blast might
take some other path : Caillet was sure to over-
take her ere the other could come near ; and she
turned hastily towards the thicket. For another
instant she listened again, holding the stem of
one of the trees for support. The horn wa&
not heard ; but she caught what seemed fierce
Words from the other side ; and, at all events, it
was clear that her enemy's pursuit was stopped
for the moment.

The horn sounded again, in a moment or
two, but it was still very distant; and Adela
was drawing gently back from the road amongst
the brushwood, when there came a flash along
the path, as if some one bearing a torch were
approaching from the side nearest to Mauvinet.
Her first impulse was to spring forward and meet
it, and when she heard horses' feet, too, coming
rapidly, hope rose high ; but then she thought
of the attack upon her father's band, and her
heart fell again. It might be the adventurers
— it might be some base confederate of Caillet,
and she drew farther back amongst the trees^

M 2

164 THE JACQUERIE.

but not so completely as to deprive herself of
a view of the road.

Eagerly did she gaze towards it for the next
few minutes, the light increasing quickly, and
the horses' feet sounding near and more near.
At length it came in sight; and Adela, uttering
a cry of joy, darted forward, exclaiming, " Oh,
Albert, Albert ! — you have come to save me I**

Albert Denyn sprang to the ground, and cast
his left arm round her, while his right hand
grasped the torch, and with eager eyes and a
look mingling fierce indignation with anxiety
and alarm, he asked hurriedly, " Has he in-
jured you, dear lady ? — Where is he ? Where
is he ? — No hand but mine must punish him.
Tell me quick, Lady Adela ; for your father
and the captal follow fast behind, and I would
fain be the first."

" Oh, leave him to them, Albert !" exclaimed
Adela. " He is strong ; he is well armed : — he
fights for existence. Some one has stopped him,
or he would have pursued me. Leave him,
Albert, leave him, at least till some others come
to aid you !"

THE JACQUERIE. 165

" Hark ! " cried the youth, not heeding her
entreaties, " I hear voices there on before. —
Dear lady, you are safe. My lord the count
will be with you in a moment Let me — let
me, I beseech you, give him his due reward;"
and, without waiting to hear more, he pressed
his lips respectfully upon Adela's hand, and
burst away.

Darting forward like lightning, Albert soon
heard the clang of steel, and caught a glimpse
of the fire from beside which Adela had fled.
It shone faintly through the trees, indeed, for
the road had taken a slight turn : but it was
sufficiently bright to show him two dark forms,
engaged in what seemed a struggle for life and
death, the light flashing occasionally upon the
blade of the sword, or the head of the axe, as
they whirled round and round the heads of the
combatants.

With his whole soul burning with anger
and indignation the youth rushed on, ex-
claiming, " Leave him to me — leave him to
me. — ^Villain ! traitor ! is this all your boasted
zeal ? Turn upon me, Caillet, turn upon me ;

M 3

166 THE JACQUERIE.

leave him to me, old man; I will punish
him."

** Ha I ha ! *' cried the strange being who
had interrupted Caillet in his pursuit of Adela
— "art thou come hither to deal with him? So
be it then ; deal with him thou shalt.''

Almost at the same moment^ Caillet ex-
claimed, with flashing eyes, " Now, then,
meddling young fool, you shall have your
reward, though doubtless you are not here
alone. You have not courage to be aught
but the lackey of some pitiful lord, or to wait
upon a ladj^s serving woman. Serf by choice
as well as &te, come on, I say ! I may,
perhaps, have time yet to give you a chance,
like the fools you so proudly serve, of dying
for a lady love, if not, at least I can die myself,
and I well deserve it, for having suffered either
pity or remorse, or any other such idle dream,
to make me miss my opportunity. Come on,
though I well know you have cowardly odds
enough against me ! "

" I trust to have time to slay you before
they can interfere," replied Albert, whose.

THE JACQUERIE. 167

sword was already crossed with that of Caillet;
<^ and all that I wish is^ that I were but
sure of half an hour with you alone here in
the wood. — - Back^ back, traitor, into the
clearer light: this darkness suits your spirit
better than miine.*'

Thus saying, he pressed forward upon his
adversary with such fierceness and activity, that
Caillet was compelled to retreat towards the
centre of the little opening in the wood, while
the wild spectator of their combat, who had
stood by for a moment, listening and leaning
on his axe, now rushed forward to the fire
of withered branches, and dry fern and gorse,
and tossing them high in the air, made a
pyramid of flame blaze up, and cast a bright
glare of red light over the whole scene around.

Nor, to say the truth, was Caillet displeased
to be thus enabled to see more clearly, in his
strife with Albert Denyn, He was much too
clear-sighted and shrewd, not to have perceived
the youth's natural genius for military ex-
ercises, and marked the great progress which
he had made with very little instruction ; and,

M 4

168 THE JACQUERIE,

indeed, though, from his greater age and ex-
perience, he had always affected a superiority
over Albert, and pretended to regard him as a
mere youth, yet, in reality, he had feared him,
rather than despised him ; had been jesdous of
him, rather than looked down upon him. He
was thus well aware, that it was with no com-
mon antagonist he had to do ; and though he

«

vainly fancied himself as superior in skUl, as he
.was in age and strength, he knew that a false
step, or an ill-aimed blow, might well turn the
chances aganst himself.

Caillet retreated then more willingly than
Albert thought, watching the eager thrusts and
blows of his assailant, and ready at any
moment to take advantage of a mistake. The
youth rushed on fiercely, and perhaps some-
what rashly, and a lunge that passed close to
his breast, and wounded him slightly in the
shoulder, showed him that he must be more
cautious in his dealings with his adversary.
In the open light, however, he took more
care ; and a scornful smile of satisfaction, which
^ame upon Caillet's face, when he saw the

THE JACQUERIE. 169

blood flow rapidly from his companion's arm^
was the next moment changed into a scowl
of malignant hatred, as an unexpected blow,
from Albert's sword, covered his whole face
with blood, and made him stagger as he stood*
Nevertheless he parried a second blow, and
only became the more wary, from the injury
he had received; his first fear being, lest
the flowing of the gore, which dimmed his
sight, might prevent him from taking that
revenge for which his soul thirsted. For a
moment or two he kept entirely on the de-
fensive, retreating slowly round the fire; and
Albert became possessed with the idea, that
he was endeavouring to reach his horse,
which stood hard by cropping the grass, at
the side of Adela's jennet.

Determined that he should not escape, the
youth sprang, with one bound, into the midst
of the burning branches, and then, by another,
placed himself between his enemy and the
horses; the intense heat, however, and the
sufibcating smoke of the fire, made his head
giddy, and his sight dim; and Caillet, who

170 THE JACQUERIE.

now attacked him with redoubled fury, mighty
perhaps, have ultimately gained the advantage,
had not the galloping of cavalry sounded close
at hand, and drawn the villein's attention to
the other side. Albert took immediate ad-
vantage of the opportunity, sprang fiercely
upon him, closed with him in a moment, and
shortening his sword, was about to drive it
into his heart, when his arm was suddenly
seized, and a loud voice exclaimed, '^Come,
come, my young tiger ! On my soul, you
have well nigh killed your game ; but I must
stop you, however; for if I mistake not, this
is the youth who gave us tidings of such a
goodly booty."

^^And this is he," exclaimed Caillet, now
freed from Albert's grasp — **and this is he
who defeated your plan, and prevented you
from reaping the harvest which I had pro-
mised you. Leave him to me, leave him to
me, I beseech you: I have an account as
well as you to settle with him."

" By Heaven," cried the person who had be-
fore spoken, and in whom Albert instantly re-

THE JACQUERIE. 171

cognised one of the band of adventurers that
he had found contending with the Lord of
Mauyinet and his little party — ** By Heaven,
if we had left him to you, my man, for
another minute, he would soon have settled
that account you talk of: at least so it seemed
just now. But we have no time to wait for idle
talk : you must both come with 'us ; for it
seems we owe you both something, and that
score had better be cleared."

Too many persons stood round at the mo-
ment, and those persons too well armed, for
Albert Denyn to offer any opposition. He
had about him, it is true, all the eager spirit of
youth; he had in his heart that daring courage^
which utter contempt of danger, inexperience,
a hardy education, and a mind neither sof-
tened by luxury nor attached to the world
by high fortunes and bright hopes, can alone
give; he had, in short, courage approaching
to rashness. But yet there are some circum-
stances, in which successful resistance is so
evidently impossible, that even rashness itself
dare not attempt it; and in the present in-

172 THE JACQUERIE.

tance, Albert did not even dream of opposing
the force which now surrounded him. All his
thoughts were, how best to act, in the situ-
ation in which he was placed, not for hi§ own
security but for the safety of Adela. He knew,
or at least he believed, that the party of the
Lord of Mauvinet, and the Captal de Buch,
could be at no great distance ; and there was
every probability of their coming to his relief,
if he could delay the adventurers for a few
moments; but he hesitated even to make the
attempt, lest by any means the safety of Adela
might be compromised, and she might likewise
fall into the hands of the free companions,
before those who had quitted Mauvinet to
deliver her could come up.

Ere he had time to arrange any plan Caillet,
as if he could have divined what was passing
in his enemy's mind, and sought to frustrate
his design, turned to the leader of the troop,
exclaiming, " I will go with you willingly
enough, noble sir ; but I beseech you seek for
the lady who was with me, and who must,
even now, be at no great distance along that

THE JACQUERIE. 173

road. You know our contract was, that she
was to be my share of the day's booty.'*

"It was your business to keep her when you
had got her, then," replied the adventurer,
harshly: "we have no time to seek this errant
lady now.'*

" You had better not dally," cried Albert
Denyn, eagerly : ** the count and the Captal
de Buch, with all their men, must be here
ere many minutes are over. Some went by
the one path, and some by the other, while I
cut across through the brushwood by the
chapel, till I reached the road again; but I
cannot have gained ten minutes upon the rest*
Hark ! there is a horn : those are the captal's
men coming up on the right."
't " By the bones of the saints, then," exclaimed
the captain of the adventurers, " we have but
little time to spare. Quick! to your horses!
— Come, come, young man," he continued,
speaking to Albert : " if you try to delay, we
will drive you on with a lance I Mount your
horse! quick!"

174 THE JACQUERIE.

" That is not my horse," said Albert Denyn,
" that is the lad/s."

** Here is another in the lane/' said a second
man.

" Bring it, Hugo ! bring it up ! " cried the
first; and in a moment Albert's horse, which
had followed him slowly frorii the spot where he
had left Adela, was led forward, and he was
forced to mount, in order to proceed with his
captors. Placed between two of the free com-
panions, his sword having been taken from him,
and no means, either of resistance or defence,
being left to him, Albert Denyn suffered himself
to be hurried along at a quick pace, hearing
from time to time the distant horns of the
firiendly troop, from which he had been se-
parated, but with the mortification of finding
that the sounds grew fainter and more faint, as
he was thus borne on against his will to a dis-
tance from all those for whom he felt any attach-
ment. He had but one consolation : that]|Adela,
at least, had escaped; that she was delivered
from the hands of Caillet, and had not fallen
into those of the adventurers.

THE JACQUERIE. 175

This was certainly no slight comfort; but
still, with the restless anxiety of all those who
love well; imagination suggested a thousand
dangers, and created a thousand fears, in regard
to the safety of the fair Lady of Mauvinet.
He fancied that the count and the captal might
not find her ; that she might be forced to stray
in terror and solitude through that dark wood
during the livelong night, and perhaps pe-
rish ere the morning, with hunger, cold, and
apprehension. For his own fate he cared little :
he feared not that any evil would befall him, al-
though he knew that the free companions had
sometimes shown great cruelty to prisoners who
could not or would not pay a large ransom;
but his was not a heart at all prone to appre-
hension; and he rode on, endeavouring to
solace himself with youth's bright hope, that
" all will go well," which lights us still, though
the clouds lour above, and the tempest beats
around us.

The march of the adventurers lasted the
whole night, at first proceeding very rapidly,
but gradually assuming a slower pace, as they

176 THE JACQUERIE.

imagined pursuit to be left far behind tjjem.
During the earlier part of. the journey, Albert
paid but little attention to any thing that was
said or done by those around him ; and, in-
deed> but little conversation took place among
the men themselves. As their progress became
slow, however, they began to speak over the
events of the day, first in broken sentences and
detached words, and then in more lengthened
discussions, to which Albert — somewhat re-
covered from the first tumultuous feelings
that his captivity had occasioned — turned an
attentive ear, the subject being one in which,
as may be well supposed, he took some interest.
It would be tedious, both to the reader and
the writer, to detail the whole conversation of
the two men who guarded Albert on either side,
in which those who rode immediately before
and behind also joined occasionally. The
youth gathered, however, that although they
had been disappointed in a part of their booty,
they had yet contrived to strip the good farmers
of Mauvinet of a very considerable sum ; but
the loss of men they had sustained also ap-

THE JACQUERIE. 177

peared to have been severe ; and they spoke in
terms of so much anger, regarding the death
of the leader who had first broken through
the little band of the count and the captaly
that Albert began to apprehend his own life
might not be in safety if it were discovered
that his was the hand which slew him.

" We shall never get his like," exclaimed
one of the men, " if we seek him far and wide."

"I wish," cried another, "that I could have
struck only one blow at the fellow, when he hit
him on the head with the axe : he should
have kept him company on the road, wherever
he is gone."

** It is a bad day's work," rejoined the [first.
" To lose such a captain as that, may well
make us curse the hand that did it."

" I got hold of him by the collar, at one
time," said a third speaker, " and in another
moment would have cleft his skull, but, just
then, fresh people came up from the castle, and
I was obliged to let go my grasp : I would have
given my right hand for five ftiinutes more;
but the time may come when we shall meet

VOL. I. N

178 THE JACQUERIE.

ivith the lad again. I wish Sir Robert would
go and storm the castle some day."

" That would take more men than wf have
got to spare,'* replied the first who had
spoken ; " but I trust we shall lay hands upon
the youth some time or another, as you say,
and then woe be to him, if he come in my way."
" Or in mine," answered the other ; " but
see, there is the daylight coming in. We
cannot have much farther to march."

What he said was true. The soft morning
light was beginning to appear in the east ; and
the objects around became more distinctly
visible, every thing looking calm, and sweet,
and peaceful, and the whole scene seeming to
reproach man for the folly and the wickedness
^f his unceasing strife and vain contentions.

The adventurers had quitted the wood for
some time when the day dawned, and the land-
scape presented merely a quiet country scenes
-with fields spread out in various states of
cultivation ; and some scattered cottages nested
in various sheltered nooks of that undulating
track of country which lies upon the frontiers

THE JACQUERIE. 179

of Main and Touraine. On a distant emi-
nence, however, was seen a tall tower rising
np and commanding the whole country round
about, and towards it the band of free com-
panions now took their way, passing through
the midst of several of the fields, without the
slightest consideration for some of the late
crops, which were still upon the ground.

As the light grew brighter and brighter
every moment, Albert could perceive one of
the men who rode beside him turn round
several times with a frowning brow, to gaze
upon his countenance, and, at length, without
sajdng any thing, but merely making a sign
for those who were behind, to ride forward
and fill up his place, the adventurer galloped
on, towards the head of the line, and spoke
for several moments with the leader. He then
came back again and resumed his place, without
making any comment; and a few moments
after, the whole body wound slowly up a
steep ascent towards the gates of the castle.

To whom it originally belonged, Albert
knew not, but it was now evidently in the

N 2

180 THE JACQUERIE.

hands of a large body of plunderers, of which
the troop that carried him along with them
formed a part. As they approached, a number
of the soldiery were seen sitting round the
barbican, which was beyond the moat, cleaning
their arms, or playing at various games of
chance; and little discipline or regularity of
any kind seemed to be maintained amongst
them. Even the band which had captured
Albert, dispersed, without order, as they came
up. Some, stopping to speak with their com-
panions, remained behind, some dismounting,
led their horses through the gates, some staid
in a group to talk together over the adventures
of the past night. The men who surrounded
him, however, and those who accompanied
Caillet in the rear, rode on into the outer
court without losing sight of them for a
moment ; and the instant he had passed through
the long dark archway, Albert heard an order
given for the gates to be closed behind.

THE JACQUERIE. 181

CHAP. X.

To retrace one's steps is almost always an un**
pleasant task. Whether the path that we have
followed be one of joy or of sorrow; whether the
bright beams of hope, or the dark clouds of
despondency, have hung upon our way, it is
still an unpleasant thing to tread back our
course, and resume our advance again from
a spot which we left long before* If sorrow
have been our companion in the scenes which
we are called upon to revisit, though there
is an accidental sweetness that mingles with
the bitterness of recollected woes, yet dark-
ness must ever fill the principal part of the
picture, and the light be faint and sad. Even
if we have known bright joys and that glorious
happiness which visits the mortal being but
once or twice in life, still we find something
unpleasant in retreading our steps : the scenes

N 3

18S THE JACQUERIE.

m

are less fair than memory painted them; the
light that gave them lustre is gone out, and
the contrast generally renders that which might
otherwise have been pleasing, sad, and very
often more gloomy than if there had never
been any thing glittering and joyfiil in the
things around us.

We must, nevertheless, turn back, in the
course of this history's chronology, to the mo-
ment at which we left the Count de Mauvinet,
the Captal de Buch, and Albert Denyn, re*
turning towards the chateau, after having dis-
persed the body of adventurers, and pursued
them as far as was judged necessary. The
count and the captal rode on, without any
thing like apprehension or alarm, although
both' were grave ; for the latter was any thing
but sanguinary by nature, and loved not to
see unnecessary bloodshed, and the count, on
his part, had a personal interest of a painful
kind in the events of the day. Many of his
peasantry, upon whose superiority he prided
himself, as much as upon the protection and
happiness which they enjoyed upon his do-

THE JACQUERIE. 183

mainS) had been slaughtered or wounded be-
fore his eyes, when they came to offer an
honourable tribute of gratitude for the kind-
ness which he had ever displayed towards
them. Thus neither of the two noblemen
could feel gay or even cheerful ; although, in
the first excitement of success, they might
jest at the discomfiture of the adventurers*
But still, neither of them experienced the least
apprehension in regard to Adela, after the
explanation which Albert Denyn had given.

Albert himself was not so well satisfied ;^
why or wherefore he knew not. There were
fears in his mind, vague, indefinite, perhaps un-
reasonable; and he looked eagerly first to*
wards the chateau and then towards the hill,
though too little light remained in the sky
for him to see distinctly any object at a dis-
tance. When they had reached a small mound,
however, about a hundred yards from the cause-
way, which led across the moat, they were met
by one of the peasants running at full speed,
and exclaiming, " Oh, my lord, my lord! the
Lady Adela P'

N 4

184 THE jacquerie/

** What of her ?" exclaimed the count, appre-
hensions for his daughter immediately taking
possession of his bosom ; ^^ what of your lady ?
*— Speak, man, speak ! "

*^ He has carried her off,*' cried the man,
out of breath. " Instead of turning towards the
castle, he has forced her away into the wood."

" Who do you mean by he?" demanded the
captal : " what can we understand by he 9^

** I mean William Caillet," replied the maUj
^' I saw him do it myself, and Larchenay has
followed him into the wood. Peter John has
gone thither also; but I fear they will not
overtake him, for they have no horses."

" Why did you leave her, Albert?" ex-
claimed the Count de Mauvinet ; ^^ why did
you leave her?"

" She commanded me to do so, my lord,"
answered Albert : " she thought you were in
danger. Caillet, too — the traitor I"

" Which w*ay did they take ? " cried the
count ; " which way did they take ?"

The man explained as well as he could;
but in the dim light he had not seen the

THE JACQUERIE. 185

proceedings of Caillet distinctly, and more
of the peasantry coining up only embarrassed
the statements of the first/ The count and his
companions paused but for a moment to hear ;
and then exclaiming, ** On into the wood I —
My lord captal, I will tiot ask you if you will
seek my child with me, I know you will,*'
the Lord of Mauvinet spurred forward his horse
towards the side of the wood, and entered by
the first path he could find*

It so happened that his knowledge of the
country, and a rapid calculation of the road which
a person engaged in such a base enterprise was
likely to take, led him at once directly upon
the track of Caillet ; and the count for some
minutes pursued it fiercely, galloping at full
speed, and without drawing a rein. The
shadows of the night, however, were creeping
over the scene apace; and at length the horse
of the captal, which, though somewhat weary
with a long day's journey, was still full of
fire, shied at an object by the side of the road,
and the moment after, the count himself pulled
In his rein, exclaiming, ^' There is a dead man !''

186 THE JACQUERIE.

** No, not yet dead,'* cried a faint voice,
<< though well nigh dead, my lord ; for that
yillain Caillet has fractured my skull, I am
sure/*

** What, Larchenay !" exclaimed the count,
'* is that you, my poor fellow ? Where is the
villain ? Was your lady with him ?"

" Ay, that she was, my lord," answered the
ftrmer, in a faint.voice. <^ He was leading the
horse along by the bridle, whether she would
or not; and I am sure there was magic in the
thing ; for though she screamed so loudly, and
it was her own fiivourite jennet, the beast
went on without heeding her cries, at the
slightest touch of that traitor's hand.

<* Which way did he take?'* demanded the
Lord of Mauvinet.

<^ Oh, straight on, straight on,** replied the
farmer : ^^ he staid for no one, but dealt me
that one blow on the head, and galloped for-
ward at full speed."

^* Some one see to him/* exclaimed the count,
pointing to the poor &rmer : ^< let him be
carried to the castle, and have all care and

THE JACQUERIB. 187

tendance. Let us on now ourselves ; we must
soon come up with the villain ; his horse can
never match ours."

** Alas ! my lord," said Larchenay, " he
has dared to take out one of your own noblest
chargers.*'

" Accursed villain,'* cried the count ; " then
we must but make the more speed. Set to your
spurs, my lord captal ; this is a sad day's work,
indeed."

They galloped on for some way, without
check or pause^ no one uttering a word, but all
listening eagerly, although the noise of their
own horses' feet must have drowned every
lighter sound. At length, however, Albert
Denyn spoke.

" Hark I my lord, hark !" he said; " surely
there is a horse's feet before us ?"

t

The Lord ^of Mauvinet paused, exclaiming,
" Halt I" and the whole line of those who
were following instantly drew in their reins.
At first, no other sound was heard; but
the next instant the captal exclaimed, '^ You
are right, young man, you are right ; there is

188 THE JACQUERIE.

some one flying along the road ;" and in a
moment after, the noise of a horse's feet, as
they passed over some more stony part of the
road, were distinctly heard, beating the ground
with furious rapidity.

No more words were spoken; no thought
animated the bosom of any one, but who
should first overtake the villain that had com-^
mitted so terrible an outrage. But still the
sounds went on before them, and led them
for some way in the pursuit; till at length,
through the dim light, they suddenly caught
a sight of the charger, which the moment after
stood quite still ; and at the same instant, the
rider put his hand to his head, and fell for-
ward upon the neck of his horse. The next
minute the Count de Mauvinet was by his
side ; but instead of William Caillet, the figure
was that of one of the heavy-armed adven-
turers whom they had so lately overthrown;
and almost at the same time that the count
laid his hand upon the bridle, so as to make
the horse suddenly retreat a step, the man
fell headlong to the ground, dead from the

THE JACQUERIE. 189

wounds he had received in the late combat
Some of the men sprang to the ground, and
opened his casque^ but life was quite extinct.

" We have been mistaken," cried the Lord of
Mauvinet, "and without torches, our pursuit
will be vain. Can you tell, Albert, where we
can find either torches or flambeaux to guide
lis on our way onward ? "

« There is St. Mary's Chapel not far off,'*
said Albert, rapidly; " the priest there has
doubtless both."

" Thither, thither ! " cried the Lord of Mau-
vinet, " let us go thither;" and turning his horse's
bridle, he led the way to a small chapel in the
wood, by the side of which stood the house of
a poor priest, who, though in truth he had
nothing within his dwelling to justify him in
thinking that any one would plunder his abode,
would yet scarcely, on any persuasion, open
the gates to the Lord of Mauvinet and his
party, though the count threatened to drive
in the door if he hesitated any longer. When
the- good man was at length convinced, that
it was indeed his chief patron who was there

190 THE JACQUERIE.

waiting for torches, he would have fain made
a thousand excuses for the delay ; and in the
very attempt wasted so much time, that Albert
Denyn, springing to the ground, entered with-
out farther ceremony, and soon returned, bear-
ing in his hand that which was wanted, much
to the satisfaction of his lord.

Leaving the poor priest to close his house again
at leisure, the party proceeded once more upon
the search, the hearts of all sinking with ap-
prehension at the many long delays which had
intervened. To describe the feelings of Albert
Denyn would be impossible; and though, if any
one could have seen his countenance, those
feelings would have been found plainly written
there, yet as he had uttered not one word but
those which we have mentioned, during the whole
ride, no one present had any idea of what was
going on in his breast, unless, indeed, it was
the Captal de Buch, who might entertain some
suspicion that the heart of his young retainer
was less at ease than some of those present
suspected.

At length, on reaching a spot where several

THE JACQUERIE. 191

ways divided, the whole party were obliged
to make a pause, to settle their farther course^
lest, while they were proceeding on one path,
Caillet should escape by another. All the
roads, it appeared, joined again at the distance
of a few miles ; and while the j^captal took one,
the Count de Mauvinet chose another, and
despatched three or four of the men by a
small path which led between the two* There
was still, however, an extensive track where
the wood had been cut down, to afford firing
for the ensuing winter; and lest the villain
Caillet should evade their pursuit by cross-
ing that, Albert besought his lord's permission
to gallop forward by tfie only open path he
knew of across the brushwood, and rejoin
them somewhat farther on*

He took one of the torches with him; and
as he turned to go, the Captal de Buch said,
gazing on him with a peculiar sort of smile,
*^ We will sound our horns, young man, in case
you should need helpj though I do not think
you are one to call for it without great ne-
cessity.'*

192 THE JACQUERIE,

** I trust nol^ my lord," replied Albert ; "and
in this case I think I could well deal with that
base villain alone.''

** And doubtless would willingly do so," said
the captal.

" Most willingly, my lord,*' replied Albert—
" pray God send me that good fortune !"— and
thus saying, he rode away. His horse, which
had not been out with the party in the morning,
was of course fresher than any of the others;
and as we have shown — what between the
shortness of the path and the pace at which
he went — he gained a considerable way upon
his companions. In the mean time, the*count and
the Captal de Buch rode on, pushing their
chargers to their utmost speed, each party guided
by persons who knew the way well, and each
keeping nearly on a line with the other,, though
that of the captal was perhaps a little in ad-
vance.

The great English commander, however, had
not reached the spot where the brief combat
had taken place, between Albert Denjm and
Caillet more than a single minute, when the

THE JACQUERIE. 193

count himself galloped up, exclaiming, " What
have we here? a fire! — and as I live, my poor
Adela's jennet ! Oh, my lord captal, this is very
terrible."

The captal gazed sternly round him for a
moment in silence, and then sprang to the
ground, saying, "Here is something more! That
good youth has overtaken him, my lord — here
is the torch he carried, and the ground covered
with blood. See, see — Here amongst the grass
— There has been a sharp strife ! — but what
have we ? Here are the foot-marks of many
horses. A whole band has been here not
long ago — some thirty or forty, it would seem.
Take my word for it, my lord, this is a deeper
scheme than we have fancied : this villain is in
lea<rue with the men who attacked us to-
night, and it is they who have got your
daughter, for the sake of a ransom. Albert,
poor boy, has met with them, and has fared
ill, it would seem. They have not killed him,
however, or we should find his body ; but he
must be badly wounded, if this be all his blood.*'

When he had done speaking, the captal
VOL. I. o

194 THE JACQUERIE.

turned to the count, and standing by the side of
that nobleman's horse, laid his hand upon the
animaVs neck, gazing up into his friend's face,
which was full of the anguish that a parent alone
can feel in such circumstances. The captal
was moved by the depth of sorrow which he
beheld. "Take comfort," he said, "my good
lord, take comfort!"

" Oh, my lord captal," replied the count,
" there can be no comfort for a father, while he
knows not his child's fate I But you cannot feel
what I feel, nor can I expect or ask you to
follow out this enterprise as I must follow it !
I can know no rest till I have delivered my
child."

** Am I a knight, a noble, and your friend,"
demanded the captal, grasping his hand, " and
shall I quit you in such an hour as this?-^
Nay, nay, my lord, hear me but one word," and
unsheathing his sword, he held up the cross
of the hilt before his eyes, saying, " So help me
God and our Lady, in my utmost need, as I
do never sheath this sword or lay my head
upon a pillow, or eat aught but bread, till I

THE JACQUERIE. 195

have delivered the Lady Adela, or taken ven-
geance of those that have done her wrong. Nor
will I forget the man who has injured that poor
boy, Albert. I have not been so kind to him
in my thoughts, as I might have been, but I
will do him justice, if God give me grace, here-
after. And now, my lord, let us on upon our way,
as far as our tired horses will carry us. These
men themselves cannot outrun us far, for their
beasts were evidently hard pressed when last
we saw them.'*

** We shall find a village some three miles
on," said the Lord of Mauvinet, in a sad tone
— ^* perhaps there we may obtain some intelli-
gence."

o 2

1 96 THE JACQUERIE,

CHAP. XL

Albert Denyn gazed round the small court
of the castle, when the gate was shut behind
him, with feelings not a little painful. His
heart was one which might find joy and satis-
faction in honourable danger and noble strife
which, even had death been imminent, nay, cer-
tain, would not have hesitated for an instant to
plunge into a struggle, which had any high and
generous object. But the aspect of the battle
field, with its eager endeavour, its inspiriting
emulation, with the bray of trumpets and the
clang of arms, is very, very different from the
silent grey walls of the prison, with the pros-
pect of lengthened captivity, and of unrecorded
d eat. Such were the things which Albert
Denyn had now to contemplate, as he gazed
around him in the castle of the adventurers ;
for the menacing looks which he had seen, and

THE JACQUERIE. 197

the words which he had heard, were not to be
mistaken.

The court was nearly empty of all human
beings but those who brought him thither ; and
there seemed something solemn and sad even in
the sunshine, as it rested on the tall wall of
the principal keep of the castle, with none but
a few small irregular windows breaking the
flat monotony of the surface. The large doors
of the keep were half open^ and from within —
but seeming as if they echoed through many
vacant halls — came the sounds of laughter and
merriment, ringing harsh upon the ear of the
young captive.

He and Caillet were now both told to dis-
mount; and while they stood face to face, at
some little distance, with no very pleasant
sensations in their hearts towards each other,
five or six of the adventurers stood round
watching them; and two, who seemed to be
principal personages in the band, passed through
the doors into the keep, and disappeared for
some time.

While they were gone, Caillet fixed his eyes

o 3

198 THE JACQUERIE.

upon Albert sternly and steadfastly, but met a
look not less fixed and determined tban his
own. Neither spoke, however ; and at length
one of the adventurers who had left them re-
appeared at the door of the hall, making a
sign to the others, who immediately bade
their two prisoners to go on, and led them
forward to the keep. Albert thought that
he could perceive a gleam of triumph come
over Caillet's countenance as he passed, but
that look left it In a moment, and his features
relapsed into their usual expression of cold
scorn.

Mounting the steps, they were hurried
through the great hall of the keep, which was
quite empty, and across another vacant room
beyond, to a small dark chamber, which had
once been painted with various gay devices,
but which was already blackened over with
the smoke of many years. In the large chimney
blazed an immense fire of wood ; and the white
wreaths of shioke, still escaping, curled round
the rafters above, and made the eyes wink
with the pungent vapour. In the midst stood a

THE JACQU£BI£. 199

table loaded with viands, and covered with large
leathern bottles of wine, while round the
upper end sat four strong middle-aged men,
with harsh and weather-beaten countenances,
on most of which were to be traced manifold
scars. The one at the head of the board,
who seemed to be superior to the rest, had a
frank and somewhat gay look, with large'
square heavy features, and bushy overhanging
eyebrows. He and the rest gazed upon Al-
bert and Caillet for a moment without speakings
while two or three of the adventurers who had
brought them thither seated themselves at the
table with the others, and the rest, who ap-
peared of an inferior grade, stood round the
prisoners.

Albert, on his part — wisely resolved to keep
silence as far as possible — • remained standing
before the adventurers with as calm an air as
he could assume. Caillet, however, bent his
brows — somewhat angrily it seemed — upon
the personage at the head of the table, and,
after pausing for a short time, as if to see
whether the other would begin, he spoke

o 4

200 THE JACQUERIE.

himself, saying, " This is not fair or right ;
I thought I was dealing with men of honour,
who would keep their word with me, when I
kept my word with them."

" You are saucy, my friend/' said the leader
of the adventurers — " take a quieter tone here/
We are men of honour, and do keep our word
with all those who trust us and who show good
faith towards us; but it seems that there are
suspicions of your not having so done, and
it is but fair that we should know whether
such be the case or not. I have sad news
here : not half the plunder that you promised
has been obtained; our people have been
attacked unexpectedly, and met with severe
loss. You yourself, I am told, were seen
amongst those who led the rescue from the
castle, and it is much doubted whether you
did or did not betray us into the hands of the
enemy."

" He who pretends to doubt, is a knave,'*
replied Caillet boldly, ** and he who really
doubts, is a fool. - Did I not stipulate for a
certain prize, and was I not to take my own

THE JACQUERIE. 201

means and time for obtaining it? How could
I gain possession of her but by the way I
took? It was the meddling boy who stands
there that led the rescue from the castle ; I had
nothing to do with it."

" We will speak of him by and by," said
the leader ; " in the mean time, keep to your own
al&ir. How was it discovered so soon from die
castle that they had made the attack?"

** Because, " replied Caillet, " they were
half an hour later than they promised to be.
If they had been to their time, nothing of the
kind could have happened, but they were
not; and they have no right now to lay the
fault upon me of that which was their own
doing."

" How is this, Harvft ?" said the leader, " how
came you to be so late ?"

<* Why, I will tell you, Griffith," answered
the man ; " it was Chapelle, who would stay
to drink some wine, which we found at the
miller's : I told him five times to come away^
but he would not; aud then he was so drunk,
we were forced to dra(w him through tlie river

202 THE JACQUERIE.

to get him sober again, as he had to command
the second troop, you know."

" In short, then, it was your own fault," re-
plied the commander, " and you have no right
to blame others for that which you did your-
selves. There is no proof at all that he had
any thing to do with the rescue, and I see
not why you interrupted him or brought him
hither."

^^ It is not of that alone which I complain,"
said Caillet ; " it is, that they have prevented me
from punishing yon insolent boy, who was the
cause of all the mischief, and, by dragging me
away, have suffered the very prize for which
I had risked all, to be snatched from my hands
for ever."

''As to punishing him," said one of the men,
laughing, '' he was more in the way to punish
you, good youth. When we found you, you
were but in a bad taking, and in a few minutes
more would certainly have measured your length
upon the ground with more than one hole in
your throat, if I judge right ; why, he had cut
you over the head, had got you by the neck,

THE JACQUERIE. 203

and had very nearly settled the affiiir to his
own satis&ction, I suppose, before we came
up. — Was it not so V* he added, addressing
Albert Denjoi.';

But' Albert made no reply; and one of the
leaders who were sittmg at the table burst out
into a laugh, exclaiming, " Better say no more
on that subject, my hero ; and as for the woman,
give him a hundred crowns, Griffith, and send
him about his business, then he will have no
reason to complain. — Surely a hundred crowns
is above the worth of any woman that ever yet
was bom,— -Why he looks discontented: what
would he have ? Give it^hira, and send him off;
for we must have no saucy grumblers here.'*

But the other, whom he had called Griffith,
and who, as the reader perhaps may know, was
afterwards one of the most distinguished
amongst the adventurous leaders of the time,
treated the claims of Caillet with somewhat
more respect, saying, "I am sorry you have
been disappointed, and will willingly do all I
can to make up for it. What will you have ?
what do you wish for ? '*

204 THE JACQUERIE.

Caillet gazed sternly down upon the ground
for a moment or two, and then raising his eyes,
replied with a heavy frown upon his counte-
nance, " For the objects and purposes which j with
you and through you, I have lost I sacrificed
every thing on earth. I have no longer an
abode, a friend, or aught else that can make
existence tolerable ; and therefore it is tliat I
, demand to be received into your band, to have
a new existence given me by youraelves, as
through you I have lost that which I myself
possessed. You will neither find me wanting in
strength or skill, as I am ready to prove with
any one, or upon any one here present ; and of
my determination and resolution you may
judge by what you know of me already. Tliisi
then, I say, is the only compensation that can
be made me for that of which the silly inter-
ference of the men who brought me hither has
deprived me."

The men round the table looked in each
other's faces with evident surprise, but that sur-
prise was clearly not pleasurable ; and after a
moment Griffith answered, " No, no, my good

THE JACQUERIE. 205

friend, jou make a great mistake: it is im»
possible that you can be received into this band
for manifold strong reasons ; first, if you must
needs know them, we have none amongst us
but gentlemen and soldiers of tried courage
and of old repute; secondly, although you seem
to think that your coming here and proposing
to DS a little enterprise, which if fully successful
might have increased our treasure in no slight
degree, is a service deserving high encourage-
ment, yet I have to tell you, that that very fact
— though we may pay you with a part of the
$P<h], or suffer you to take the prize you coveted
•—far from gaining you admission into our band,
would exclude you from amongst us for ever.
]Khow that we hate and despise traitors ; that
we abominate and contemn those who betray
the trust reposed in them; that we have no place
amongst us for sucli people ; and though we may
use them, as men use' dirty tools to work great
(^nds, ,yet we cast them from us as soon as pos-
sible^ and wash our hands when we have done.
The insolence of your demand is forgiven, and
we. will not treat you ill, though you have for-

206 THE JACQUERIE.

gotten yourself. Nay more, we will make you
the compensation proposed. Take him away,
Harv^, and give him a hundred crowns ; restore
to him his horse and his weapons, or if his
horse be tired, let him have another, as good as
his own, for he will have to make his escape
from this part of the country. Furnish him
with a safe-conduct, too, that none of our people
may hurt him, and let him go in peace. This
is all that can be done for you, young man, and
more than most men would do ; so say no more,
if— -as I judge by your look— what is hanging
upon your lips is insolent, for the Welsh blood
in my veins is not cool, and you may chance to
set it on fire."

" You mistake,'^ replied Caillet ; " I am going
to say nothing that can give you offence; you
are the best judge whom you will admit into
your band. Filled already with brave men,
you need no more, but you would not have found
me wanting. All I could desire further were but
one short half hour with that youth whom your
comrade here so foolishly fencied had done me
some serious hurt."

THE JACQUERIE. 207

" No, no/' cried Griffith ; « be wise, and
take care of yourself ! The sooner you are away
from this place the better, both for you and us :
we love not your presence. As to this youth, we
have to deal with him ourselves, and will do so
as we think fit, without your help or counsel."

" You owe to him," added Caillet, unwilling
to leave any thing unsaid that could injure the
man he hated, " you owe to him whatever evil
has befallen your band ; for he it was who,
watching from one of the windows of the tower,
first saw the attack upon the count, and then
called the whole place to arms."

" Leave him to us, leave him to us," said
Griffith impatiently ; " we will act towards him
as we judge right. Take him away, Harvfe, take
the fellow away ! — We have heard too much of
his babble already."

Caillet was accordingly led out of the room ;
but, as he passed, he twice turned his eyes
fiercely upon Albert Denyn, and ran his hand
along his belt as if feeling for some weapon
of offence, to smite his adversary with, at any
risk. As soon as he was gone, the leader of the

208 THE JACQUERIE.

adventurers turned to Albert, demanding,
** Well, young man, what have you to say ? "

** Nothing," replied Albert calmly.

^^ That is soon said/' answered the other ;
** but we may have something more to say to
you. They tell me that it was you who slew,
by the blow of an axe, one of our dearest
companions and best leaders.''

He paused as if for a reply; and Albert an-
swered, " It is very possible: one of them I cer-
tainly did slay, and he looked like a brave man
and a valiant captain, so it is doubtless of him
you'speak."

** Cool enough," replied Griffith : " let me see
now, young man, if you can give me as calm an
answer to what I have next to ask. Can you
tell me any reason why, as you slew him, we
should not slay you ? "

**The best of all reasons," replied Albert
Denyn — " because I have done nothing for
which I should be slain. I have done nothing
but what any man here would have done in my
place. I have served and defended my lord ;
I have defended his daughter. If I had died

THE JACQUERIE. 209:

upon the field, I should have died doing what
was right; and if I am killed now, those who
put me to death will neither show knightly
courtesy nor the dealing of true soldiers, but
will commit a murder like base assassins upon
an unarmed man. If there be any man among
you who would not have done as I have done^
I teli him that he is a traitor and a felon, to his
beard; and let him come forth and slay me^
if I am to be slain, for the trade of a murderer
will suit well with his character. But if there
be one noble heart and good soldier amongst
you, he will defend me.'*

" On my soul that will I ! *' said one of those
who had been sitting at meat when the party
which conducted the youth had entered; " Grif-
fith, you see well the lad did but do his duty.
Out upon it ! If we are to punish a man for
fighting well in his captain's behalf and fairly
killing a bold adversary, I will put my head
iinder a monk's cowl and patter henedicites to
every one I meet ; for I trust — Heaven help
me ! — to kill as good a man as Chapelle every
year, if I keep to this trade. Set the youth

VOL. I. p

210 THE JACQUERIE.

free ! set him free 1 — Did he do any thing
unfair, MaiUot ?— Speak ! "

"No," answered the adventurer who had
ridden beside Albert, and who was one of those
that had taken ^eir places at the table ; " but
he killed my sworn brother Chapelle. I claim
his blood, and his blood I will have."

"Poo! nonsense!" exclaimed Griffith: "the
lad did his duty bravely; no one can say more
•—let him go ! let him go ! "

" Not till I have his head," said the man they
called MaiUot. " He is my prisoner : I took him,
and I have a right to dispose of him as I will."

" But you did not take him in fair fight," said
Griffith: " if I understood Harve right you came
upon him while he was fighting with the other
fellow, and seized him without resistance."

" It was Harve seized him and not Maillot,"
cried another man.

^^ I took him by one arm while Harve caught
him by the other," replied the man named
Maillot, ^< and I say he shall die."

<^ I say he shall not, however," replied Grif-
fith — " at all events, not till Sir Robert Knowles

THE JACQUERIE. 211

decides upon it I determine that at once, Master
Maillot ! and if you dare to show your refrac-
tory spirit any more, I will cleave you down to
the jaws for your pains. Hark ye, young man j
I will take care diat no harm shall happen to
you. Sir Robert Knowles, oar present leader,
is a good soldier and a true knight ; and he will
liot suffer a prisoner to be butchered in cold
blood for any man's will. To-morrow some of
Our purty will move hence and go back into
Maine, where Sir Robert is. You shall go
with them, and, in the mean time,^ you shall
have free quarters in the castle here."

As he spoke, one of those who were sitting
at the table with him leant across, and spoke to
the leader in a low voice, nothing being heard
but the words, '* Maillot — find means — blood-
thirsty — take care,"

" By Heaven !" exclaimed GriflSth when the
6ther bad done — " by Heaven I he had better
hot, for he should not be alive many honrs after
liimself. But to make all sure, give the youth
back his sword, some one. He looks as if he
could defend himself right well."

p 2

212 THE JACQUERIE.

While the sword was handed to Albert De*
nyii, who gladly thrust the scabbard back into
his belt again, the man named Maillot gazed
upon him with fierce and angry eyes, turning
from time to time towards his companion Grif-
fith, and gnawing his lip as if he would fain have
given vent to his indignation, but did not dare
to do so. Griffith took no notice of him, but
still was evidently irritated, and somewhat ex«
cited by the man's demeanour ; and, in order to
have an excuse for not remarking it, spokie in
a low tone to one of those who sat at t^ble
with him. A short period of reflection, howeverj
showed Maillot that he was placing himself in
circumstance of danger, and made him de-
determine somewhat to change his manner.
It was with difficulty, however, that he could
sufficiently repress his feelings to say in a
sullen voice^ " You Will do as you like.
Master Griffith, but I do think it tomewhat
hard that my prisoner should be thus suffered
purposely to escape under the pretence of
sending him to Knowles; for ^nothing else
can be meant by the letting hini go free in

THE JACQUERIE, 213

this way. Why, the first time the gates of
the castle are open he will pass, through^ of
course, if he be not a (ixAj and then I not only
lose my revenge, but any nmsom, too, which
I might get^ if Knowles says he shall not be
killed.*'

*^ Come, that i^ fair enough," said one of the
men at the table ; ^' we must not do injustice,
Griffith, either."

" He can*t escape, he wo*n't escape/' said
Griffith ; ^^ no fear of that. Hark ye ! young
man, give us your parole— -your word of
honour, I mean — that come what will^ you
will not try to escape*"

" Rescue, or no rescue ? " demanded Albert
Denyn.

" Ay," answered Griffith, " rescue, or no

rescue."

♦* And what if I refuse?'* said Albert.

"Why," answered Griffith, laughing at the
youth's boldness, " why, then, my young con-
dition-maker, I shall take leave to thrust you
into prison, instead of letting you walk about^
the castle."

P 3

214 THE JACQUERIEa^

"Do SO, then," replied Albert, " for I will have
ho hand in giving up my liberty voluntarily/*

"On my life,** answered Griffith, "you
are a determined youth, but nevertlieless I
will not see wrong done you. If you value
the free air so little, you must lose it ; but for
the rest, no man shall take your life while I
^an prevent it, except it. be in &ir and open,
fight. Still, as you like a prisbn, a prison you
shall have. I^et him be put into the tower
on the left hand of the gate, since such is his
fancy. There he will find strong doors enougb»^
and I wish him joy of his solitude; for I think
he will see nothing but a heron in the ditch^
andy perhaps, not even that.'*

" I should think not,'* replied another, " for
Pierrot with his crossbow would not let any bird
rest there long. There, away with him, away
with him -^ we have had enough of such gossip
for once.**

As they spoke, one of the men laid bis
hands upon the collar of Albert Denyn, and
pulled him somewhat rudely away, Griffith ex-
claiming, at the same time, " Give him b<A

I

I THE JACQt7£ai£« 215

though, give him food ! It is not good to be
hungry in prison, as I can tell my friends. I re-
collect once catching a rat that visited me in my
dungeon at Evreux, and saying grace most de-
voutly over my supper, though I was obliged to
eat him raw notwithstanding."

A loud laugh burst from the whole of the
adventurers, at the idea of their companion's
dainty regale, and Albert Denyn was led out
of the room to be conducted to the place of
his temporary abode.

p 4

216 THE JACQUERIE.

CHAP. XII.

There is nothing so difficult to bear, there is
nothing which requires so much courage of
^e most serviceable kind to endure, as anxiety
in solitude and inactivity. The very movement of
the mind when we suffer great agitation lightens
its weight ; but when we have to sit and count
the livelong hours alone, confined to one small
space, and limited to mere reflection, thought
becomes a burden, and imagination a torment,
and every feeling of our heart seems to war
against our peace.

Thus it was with Albert Denyn. So long as
he was in the presence of the adventurers he
had the ideas of personal danger to occupy
him. He had felt the other evils of his situa-
tion comparatively little, and had looked upon
the imprisonment, to which he, in some de«
gree, voluntarily subjected himself, as some-

THE JACQUERIE. 217

tbing requiring no great fortitude to bear; but;
wben he was actually thrust into the chamber
irhere he was to pass an indefinite space of
time, and where he might have to undergo
any thing that his captors chose to inflict upon
biniy his heart gradually sunk, and a deep
and overwhelming feeling of melancholy took
possession of him.

The first half hour, indeed, was broken by
two visits from one of the adventurers bringing
him jbome food and a pitcher of good wine.
The man seemed a good-natured pei*sonage,
spoke to him in a kindly tone; and, though
he accused him of folly in not promising to
liold himself as a prisoner, rescue or no rescue,
he still assured him that he would be taken
good care of, and that no harm would hap-
pen to hip»

After he was gone, however, the hours wore
away slowly ; and though Albert tasted the
food which was set before him, and tried to
occupy a part of the time in any manner, yet
be felt no appetite, and was obliged to betake
himself to a prisoner's wonted occupation of

218 THE jacquerie;

pacing up and down the room. Weariness,
however, at length overcame him, and lying
down upon the ground, for they had not yet
furnished him either with bed or stool, he
placed his arm under his head fora pillow and
fell into a sound sleep. Jt lasted some time ;
and loud laughter in some of the neighbouring
parts of the building was the first thing that
roused him. The sound of merriment, as may
well be conceived, was harsh to his ear, for he
had been dreaming of Adela de Mauvinet;— a
vague, confused, wild vision it was of dangers
and terrors, which, even when he woke, left him
disturbed, and agitated. He found, however^
that though his sleep had been thus resdess,
it must have been very deep ; for somebody had
visited the chamber during his slumber, and
had left a settle and a table, and put down
also some straw in one corner of the room*

The sight of these few articles of furniture
was a much greater comfort to the poor youth
than might be supposed; for before he bad
fallen asleep, he had remarked a window above
him, which he could by no means reach, so as

THE JACQUERIE* 21 &

to gaze from it out into the country beyond ;
but the tall stool which had been brought,
enabled him to see with ease, resting his
arms in the deep opening of the wall.

When he first looked out, the mellow evening
sun was just approaching the verge of the sky^
and all thi^ bright and beautiful colours of an
autumn evening were tinging the clouds, and
hanging on the woods and fields around. The
country was not particularly beautifiil; but
there was something in ' that bright evening
light which gave it a loveliness that it would not
otherwise have possessed. Each green slope
seemed rounded with gold, and a rich misty
purple rested in all the woods and dells around.
The fantastic vapours that hung upon the edge
of the sky changed every moment in hue and
in form, as if they had been full of life, and
playiilg with the setting sun ; and every thing
on which the eye of Albert rested recalled to his
memory many a happy day, when, on' such an
autumn*tide as that, his own fancy had
seemed to take part with the light clouds, and
join, in their sports with the departing rays.

220 THE JACQUERIE*

After any deep passion, however, has taken
possession of our hearts, it seizes -~ like some
iavading tyrant in a conquered country — ?
upon every bright thing within us, whether it
lie sweet memories, or warm hopes, or grand
energies, appropriating all to its purposes, and
marking them as its own for ever. It was thus
with the heart of Albert Denyn. The sight of
that fair sunset called back the memories of
dear early days, but instantly, with those me-^
mories, came the image of Adela de Mauvinet,
mingling the painful fears and apprehensions
that the circumstances in which she was
placed might naturally call forth, with every
happier feeling to which the associations, con-*
nected with the sight before his eyes, would
have otherwise given rise.

Where was she? he asked himself: what
had become of her ? Was she still wandering
in the wood alone, or had her father and the
captal come to her deliverance? It was all
vague, and uncertain, and terrible; and howi
ever strongly hope might be inclined to raise
her voice in a young bosom, fear for the time

THE JACQC£RIE. 221

was predominant, and sadness altogether took
possession of Albert's heart.

The sun had half gone down, and half of the
broad golden disk was still seen above the
distant forest, when Albert perceived two or
three mounted men coming over the slope of
a hill half way between the castle and the
woods. Immediately after the horsemen, came
some persons on foot, and then others leading
horses, amongst whom, the youth thought he
could distinguish the flutter of a woman^s gar-^
mehts, and his heart sunk with a sensation of
dread and apprehension which language can
scarcely convey.

He asked himself if it could he Adela; if
she had really fallen into the hands of some
brutal band of plunderers; and his heart
seemed prophetically to answer " Yes I'*

Ere the party came near enough for him
to distinguish any thing clearly, the sun sunk
altogether amongst the trees, and the group
on which his eyes were fixed giw more and
more dim, till at length it was lost to his sight.
But still Albert remained convinced that Adela

222 THE JACQUERIE.

was a captiye there, and leaping down into
the room, he walked backwards and- forwards
in a state almost approaching distraction.

It was some time before reflection came to his
aid; but when be did take time to think, he
remembered that the lady perhaps might be
more safe in the hands of the adventurers than
any woman of a lower rank. Her ransom was
sure to be large, if she were treated with all
honour; and the vengeance of her father and
the whole of France was to be dreaded if
any harm befell her; so that he could not but
judge that the free companions would show
her tenderness and respect as soon as they
were aware of her name, which she would
UDdoubtedly make known as soon as die fell
into their power.

Albert tried to comfort himself with such
thoughts ; but still his heart beat with anxiety
and alarm; and in a few minutes after, the
sound of a trumpet, apparently coming from
the court-yard, a number of voices speakings
and a loud tongue calling upon the name of
several women, seemed to indicate the arrival

THE jacquerie; 223

of the party he had seen. The place, how-
ever, soon resumed its tranquillity ; and a period
of about a quarter of an hour passed without
any other sound, till at length there was a
considerable noise; and several voices speaking
in the adjoining passage were heard, with the
sound of coming footsteps, and now and then
a sharp oath*

The steps paused at the door of the chamber
in which Albert was confined, and the door was
thrown violently open, admitting the blaze of a
torch. At first the light dazzled him ; but the
moment after, he perceived in the hands of
some of the adventurers without, that strange,
uncouth4ooking being whom he had found
contending with Caillet, in defence of Adela.
Although it cannot be said that the young
man felt pleasure at the sight of any human
being deprived of liberty, and although the
appearance of the old man but tended to con-
firm his apprehensions in regard to Adela's
being captured, yet certainly it was a relief to
behold some one who could give him a know*
ledge of the exact truth.

224 THE JACQUERIE.

Fearful, however, that he might be deprived
of even that satisfaction, if his captors per*
ceived that there was any feeling of interest
between him and the person whom they
seemed to destine for his fellow-prisoner, he
remained perfectly silent^ and kept as far back
as possible in the chamber. The old man
was thrust in with unnecessary vehemence; and
it is probable that those who brought him
thither had already treated him somewhat
roughly, for one of the leaders who came up at
the moment exclaimed,-—

** Calmly, calmly ! Remember his age.**
'. As soon as the new captive was in the
chamber, the door was shut, and the two
prisoners were left in utter darkness. For some
minutes neither of them spoke, though the elder
was heard muttering to himself, but the words
were indistinct to any other ears than his own.
Albert kept silence for a moment or two, lest
any one whp might be near should overhear
what he was about to say; and he still heard
various voices speaking without, when siid-^

THE JACQUERIE. 225

deuly, to his surprise, his strange companion
burst into a loud and vehement laugh.

" You seem to bear your imprisonment
lightly," said Albert at length : " would that
I could laugh as you do."

" Why do you not, then?" demanded the old
man; " but you need not tell me; I know why
as well as you do. It is that you have known so
few and such slight sorrows, that a day's im-
prisonment, even in such a chamber as this, with
every comfort and aid to boot, is, to you, as
heavy a grief as the loss of all that makes life
valuable would be to me. Misfortune is a
hard master, and requires a long apprentice-
ship, young man."

" Doubtless," answered Albert, " doubtless
it is so ; but yet I cannot but think a long im«
prisonment, the uncertainty of our future fate,
and a separation, perhaps for ever, from those
we love best, might well make us sad, even
if we had more philosophy than I pretend to.**

" I will tell thee what, youth," answered the
old man : " the time may come when the loss
of friends, the breaking of all hopes, the dis-

VOL. I. Q

226 THE JACQUERIE*

appointment of every expectation, the murder
of your children or your relations, the agonies,
the tears, and the ruin of those you love best
on earth, will so teach you to expect misfor-
tune, that a brief imprisonment, such as you
have met with now, will seem to you as a relief
from worse, rather than a disappointment of
your hopes. This, I tell you, may happen to
you* It has happened to many of your relations

before^ and why not to you also ?"

** How do you know," answered Albert,

** that it has befallen any of my relations ? "

** Because they were men,'* replied his strange
companion ; ^^ therefore, all must have suffered,
and some must have suffered thus. Thus, too,
very likely you will suffer, when your ap-
pointed time is come."

" Perhaps it may be so," said the youth :
^< I have a good foretaste of such suffering even

now."

*^ Call you what you now endure a foretaste
of such sufferings?" cried the old man; " call
you this, then, a foretaste — this which is but a
mere nothing? It is mere foolishness. The

THE JACQUERIE. 227

time will be when you shall look back to
this period, and wish it could come over again/'

** No," answered Albert firmly, " no : what
I felt yesterday can hardly ever be surpassed by
what I may feel hereafter. — No, it cannot be !
What may be my future fate, I do not know;
but of one thing I am certain, that there were
moments in the course of last night which no
after sorrow can ever surpass — nay, nor can it
exceed that which I feel now, ignorant as I am
of what has befallen the daughter of my noble
and generous lord."

His fellow-prisoner remained silent for se-
veral moments, and then replied, " You wish
to know what has become of her. She is here —
in this very castle— but a few yards distant."

" As I thought," cried Albert, " as I
thought ! This is indeed terrible; but they dare
not, surely they dare not, treat her ill."

" No," answered the old man ; " oh no ! Fear
not for that ; they will not treat her ill ! Fools
as they are, they are too wise for that."

" I trust they are," said Albert, " I trust
they are ; and yet what reliance can be placed

Q 2

228 THE JACQUERIE.

in such men ? Their passions are their guides
as often as their interests."

« That is true," replied his companion, " that
is very true ; you are wiser than I thought you,
youth ; and yet you have a right to be wise
too. But put your mind at ease. The wife
of the man named Griffith is here in the
castle even now, and she is a woman of high

birth herself."

" Of high birth ! " exclaimed Albert, " and
the wife of an adventurer like this?"

" Even so," answered the old man. " Know
you not that half of those who live by plun-
dering their fellow-creatures call themselves
of high race, and that many of them have well
won the only title to nobility, which this age
knows, by shedding more blood than any of
the other barbarous monsters of the time? — ^[But
to what I was saying — the wife of this Griffith
is here. The lady has been taken to her
chamber, and there she will be well. I have
heard them talking about her ransom already.
Set your mind at ease, set your mind at ease !
When I look back upon the past," he continued,

THE JACQUERIE. 229

after a momentary pause — " When I look back
upon the past, I often think that the light sor-
rows of youth are as heavy to those that bear
them as the weightier woes of age. There was
an old Greek, a slave, who dealt in fabliaux —
I know not whether you have ever heard of
him.*'

" Oh yes," replied Albert. " His name was
Esopus."

" The same, the same," replied the old man,
whose learning did certainly surprise Albert
Denyn. " That old Greek told a story of a
hare running a race with a tortoise, which was
intended to represent the heedless lightness of
youth contending against the cautious expe-
rience of age; but while he showed that the
slow perseverance of the one ultimately outdid
the excessive activity of the other, he should
have shown also, that the hare might have been
crushed to death under a weight which the
tortoise would hardly have felt Thus it is
with age and youth: the apathy of age is a
hard shell, which enables it to bear cares a
thousand times more heavy than those which

Q 3

830 ' THE JACQUERIE.

would crush youth at once under their burden.
We have so many times in life the opportunity
of practising the art of endurance, that it would
be hard if we did not learn the lesson ere we
have done."

" Thank God, to hear of the lady's safety,
however," said Albert — " that is one great
satisfaction ; and with it I will comfort myself,
although your picture of life is not altogether
consolatory."

" It is such as life is," replied the old man,
** and such as you will find it, youth. The
man that sees fifty years, and yet finds any
thing to enjoy in life, is either a beast or a
fool; for by that time all the better parts of
our nature have discovered that their home is
in another place."

" And yet," said Albert Denyn, ** you
laughed right heartily but now."

" That did I," rejoined his companion : " I
laughed — I did not smile; and laughter is only
a sign of sadness or of folly, not of happiness.
Happiness never does more than smile. It is
that insane thing merriment, or mockery, or

l^HE JACQUERIE. 031

scorn, or despair, that laughs. I laughed in
mockery of thsoe who shut me in here."

'* And why in mockery?" demanded Albert.
^^ Good faith, I have not the heart to mock
them : they have too much power over me for
me to scorn them."

** They have no power over me," replied the
old man. " I will tell you hereafter why I
laughed, and why I scorn them : let it be suffi-
cient for you now to know that the lady is safe."

" That is, indeed, much," replied Albert ;
" and I could almost content myself with
being assured that such is the case, if I had any
means of informing my good lord, her father,
that she runs no risk. But that is hopeless."

"Ha!" said the old man, "ha I we may
find such means, nevertheless ; yet why would
you send him such tidings?"

"Why?" exclaimed Albert, "has he not
been a friend, a father to me ? And were it
not so, is he not a human being, a parent, a
fond, affectionate, tender parent, whose heart
must be now bleeding with apprehension, and
grief, and terrible anxiety."

Q 4

232 THE JACQUERIE.

*< Then he really loves his daughter," said
the old man, in a cold tone.

<< Loves her ! exclaimed Albert — " how can
he help loving her ? Loves her ! better than
his own life ; better than aught else on earth,
except his honour !"

** By so much the more,*' replied the old man
in a stern tone, <^ will he contemn the presump-
tuous thoughts that are in your bosom, youth."

Albert Denyn was silent for a moment — not
with shame; but he was surprised and pained
to find that his feelings towards Adela showed
themselves so plainly, that the scanty means of
observation which the old man as yet possessed
were nevertheless sufficient to discover a secret,
which he had thought well concealed from all
eyes but those which watched him with such
keenness and suspicion as had been displayed
by Caillet.

He answered quite calmly, however, when he
did speak ; for although his own eyes had now
been long opened to all that was passing in bis
heart, though he felt and knew that he loved
with all the ardour, as well as the devotion, of

THE JACQUERIE. 233'

the deepest passion, yet his love was utterly
without the presumption of a single hbpe* He
felt so humble in his affectioh, that he was not
moved by many of the agitating emotions
which affect other men under the influence of
the same passion ; and although it certainly was
his purpose to hide his love for his lord's
daughter, out of respect and reverence, yet
he was so conscious of rectitude of purpose, as
well as humility of feeling, that though he did
not wish, yet he did not much fear discovery.

" You are mistaken," he replied at lengthy
in a tone so tranquil and cool as to surprise bis
hearer, **you are mistaken. I have no pre-
sumptuous thoughts in my bosom, old man;
my thoughts are as humble as my station.**

"Do you pretend to say," demanded hia
strange companion, "do you pretend to say
that you do not love this lady?"

" God forbid!" answered Albert — *• I love
her with my whole heart and soul. I would
willingly sacrifice my life for her, and yet, old
man, all this can be without one presumptuous
thought. — Can you not understand this?"

334 THE JACQUERIE.

The old man paused for a moment, and then
replied, ^^ I can understand it well; but I kneiRr
not that you could either understand or feel it.''

** Why what can you know,'* asked Albert^
** either of me or of my^ nature, by seeing
me in curcumstances of excitement, for some
short five minutes? I should almost think that^
in this dark place^ you mistook me for some
one else, were it not for what you say of the
Lady Adela."

" No I" replied the old 'man' — "no— I make
no mistake — your voice is enough for me* I
never forget sounds that I once hear, and I should
know your voice amidst the shout of an army*
But you are wrong in another point — this is Hot
the first time that I have seen, these are not
the only means I have had of knowing you*
From your birth till now I have been near
you. — But all that matters not — What have I
to do in life, but to watch those that are around
me; to mark their qualities, and to hate or
love them as those qualities may require?"

" Methinks,*' replied Albert, "it might be as
well to leave them without either hate or love**'

THE JACQUEKIE. ^235

" Not SO, not so" answered the old man: "to
hate and to love is a necessity of our nature^
nay more, it is an ordinance of God. Not to
abhor vice, not to feel affection for virtue, is
to share with the evil. Vice is, in fact, only a
bolder sort of indifference to virtue. I would
father almost see a man wicked than the friend
* of wicked men.*'

There was something strange and rambling
in the old man's discourse, which certainly had
80 much of singularity in it as to lead Albert
to imagine that his reason was somewhat un«
settled* ^The singularity of his appearance,
which has been already described, might not
alone have produced such a conviction ; for in
that age, what we should now call eccentricity,
in that particular shape, was not only common,
but was absolutely sanctioned by the super-
stitions of the day. Many a man still thought
he was doing God good service, and insuring
the salvation of his own soul, by wearing gar-
ments of skins> feeding upon roots, and separating
himself from his fellow-men, so that to encounter
a: person habited like Albert^ present comr

S39 THE JACQUERIE;

panion, and to find him a devout, discreet^ and
sensible person, though sonaewhat tinged with
janaticism, was by no means an uncommoa
case. The peculiarity of the opinions, however^
which the old man entertained, without any ia«
quiry as -to whether tliey were right or wron^
might well lead the youth to imagine that l)i$
intellect was somewhat shaken; for in those days
it was rare, indeed, to find any one who w6nt
out of the beaten track.

Judging thus of his companion's state of mind^
Albert cared not to enter into any abstruse dhr
cussions, but turned the conversation back to
what the old man had been saying in regard to
himself. ^' Was it from knowing that I was the
companion of wicked men, then," he asked^
^^ that you supposed me filled with presumptuous
ihoughts, which certainly I never entertained?
I know not that I ever showed myself the
friend of wicked men : when have I done 60^
my good friend? *'

** Have you not been always the companioii
and the friend of this very Caillet, to whom
you show so mortal a hatred, now that a ri-

THE JACQUERIE. 287

Talry has sprung up between you ? Who was
90 often seen with him as you ? who seemed to
share bis thoughts and his counsels but your*
self?'*

^ Nay, nay, you are much mistaken," replied
Albert eagerly: ^'circumstances cast ustogetheTy
biit not affection : there was a link between us^
which bound us to companionship, with our hearts
idnbound. We were both serfs in a house
where all were noble round us; except the other
servants of the mansion, who were all differently
treated from ourselves. They were, indeed, a
separate order of beings in mind as well as in
treatment; but in scarcely any respect was
diere a distinction made between us and those
Aoble pages, whom, from time to time, the
highest personages in the land sent to receive
instruction in the house of our generous and
knightly master. If there was a difference^ it
was only, that more knowledge was given to us
than to them; that to us were opened the stores
of ancient learning ; that for us all the know-
ledge of the schools was poured forth, and that«
as our lord wished to place us in the church, we

238 THE JACQUERIE.

were taught many an art and many a science
that the high nobles of the land did not re-
ceive. Thus were we companions from early
years, though he was older than I, and thus,
were we cast upon each other, for society,
by similarity of situation though not of tastes.
He, however, was discontented with all things :
I was with all things well contented. I might
regret, it is true, that I was not one of the
nobles that I saw from day to day. I might
wish that fortune had placed me amongst them,
but I hated them not, because such was not
my lot. I was happy, I was grateful for the
superior instruction accorded to me, and for
the kindly treatment I received; but Caillet
vowed, for'^his part, that he would rather have
remained in ignorance, and in the lowest state
of bondage, than acquire knowledge, which
only showed him the evils of his station. He
detested the nobles of the land, and avowed that
detestation when conversing with those whom he
believed would not report the fact ; and such was
I. Not that he ever loved me, for he loved me
not, but that I was the only one in the same

THE JACQUERIE. 239^

State and situation as himself, — • the only one^
in short, to whom he could speak his feelings
freely. He knew that I would not betray him,
and therefore he dared to say to me what he
thought, although his feelings and mine were
always different, and he was sure to encounter
opposition and dispute. Thus were we, as I
have said, companions without being friends,
til], by his last act, he has ended the conv
panionship also— and if ever we spend another
half hour together, it will be the last that one
or the other will see in this world."

** Did the Lord of Mauvinet teach you the use
of arms?" demanded the old man, in a slow
and thoughtful tone: ^^you seem skilful with
the sword.'*

*^ I was early taught," replied Albert, *^ to
wield all such weapons as peasants are per-
mitted to employ, and the sword was placed in
my hands when I was very young. Afterwards,
my noble lord — though I cannot say that he
caused me to be taught to bear the weapons of
a man-at-arms, yet when he saw how much
delight I took therein — suffered me to learn

240 THE JACQUERIE.

the use of the lance, the management of the
boi^e, and indeed all the exercises of chivalry.
Caillet also had the same advantage; but I
think he was not more skilful than myself. He
'was older, and more confident, perhaps ; but yet
I should not fear to meet him in a good cause,
even though he had some superiority."

^* And you would slay him, boy," replied his
companion ; ^^ for his heart is bad, and yours is
good ; and the man who wants the armour of
a just spirit has but a feeble defence in all
external arms/'

** I know not," answered Albert Denyn ;
^ though I can well conceive, that many a man,
feeling his conscience ill at ease, may become
weak and timid in the hour of danger. Such,
however, I am sure, is not the case with Cailletr
He thinks all that he does is right — not that he
does it because he thinks it right, but that he
thinks it right because he does it. I have heard
him defend eagerly the same feelings and con*
duct in himself which I have heard him blame
most bitterly in men of noble blood; and I
never yet, in all my life, heard him acknowledge^

THE JACQU£RI£. 241

or saw him feel^ that he was wrong. Such a
thing is not in his nature. — Call him not, ia
Heaven's name, call him not my friend," he
continued, reverting to what had passed before.;
^^ I should hate myself if I could ever have been
a friend to one so base and utterly unworthy.
But now that you have probed my spirit to the
bottom, let me hear that which I own is of
greater moment to me than all things. Tell me
more of the lady ; tell me all that you know con-
cerning her. How came they not to find her?—
her father and the captal, I mean. How came
she taken by these men ? and what, think you,
will be the result of the situation in which we
all are placed ? "

^^ Manifold questions,^' answered the old
man, **none of which I will answer now*
Wait till after midnight be passed," he continued
in a lower tone, " and I will then reply to you
fully. I have that to tell you which may
surprise you not a little. Now lay down your
head upon the table, for you have need of
repose."

^**I have slept already," replied Albert.

VOL. I. R

242 THE JACQUERIE.'

But the old man instantly rejoined, ^* Sleep
again then, sleep again ! What right has youth
to think ? Sleep again, I say, for not a word
more shall you hear from my lips till after
midnight; and it yet wants full four hours to
the time when the sun turns back again to
this side of the earth.''

Albert Denyn saw by the faint light, which
found its way into the room from the moon*
light sky without, that the old man crossed hia
arms upon his chesty and buried the greater
part of his face in the skins of which his dress
was formed; and perceiving that it would be
useless to seek farther conversation for the time^
he, too, bent down his eyes upon his folded
hands, and remained silent, though he slept not.

THE JACQUERIE. 243

CHAP. XIII,

To an active mind there is something solemn,
and even elevating, in the task of watching in
the night. The silence, the darkness, have their
effect ; the sally-ports of the ear and the eye are
closed. The spirit shut up within its citadel
holds no intercourse with the world without.
The thoughts, the feelings, the fancies, the
passions, which form the turbulent garrison of
the human heart, cut off from communion with
all the busy things of external life, may be re-
viewed by reason, and brought under the rod of
judgment. Well used, an home's watching in
the midst of the night is often more valuable
to the mind of man than whole years of the
busy life of day. The world, and all its im-
portant littlenesses seem, for the time, to be
dead ; the immortal being within us feels alone
in the presence of its God; the heart speaks to
the heart of all the higher purposes of life, and

R 2

244 THE JACQUERIE,

the clay that encumbers us appears to be, in a
degree, cast aside together with our intercourse
with other earthly creatures. If ever spirit
triumphs over matter in this world, it is in the
hours of 'solemn and silent watching in the
midst of the night.

Albert Denyn remained without speaking
for a long time; and although his watch was
not so still and calm, as it might have been
at a later hour, still it gave opportunity for
thought, which was not lost upon him. From
time to time there came sounds of voices speak-
ing, of merriment, of laughter, and of song; but
gradually these bursts became shorter, and
more short, the Intervals longer, and the silence
between more profound, till at length all be-
came still, while the gloom was increased by the
moon getting behind the hills, and leaving
notliing within the sight of the watchers in the
prison but a bright star shining through the
high window — like some of the mysterious
truths of revelation, bright and wonderful,
amidst darkness, but castbg no light upon any
other object.

THE JACQUERIE, 245

In the mean while, Albert Gommuned with
his own heart. At first, his feelings and thoughts
were turbulent and wild, refusing all control,
so that though he felt they wanted regula-
rity, he almost despaired of their ever re-
turning to order again. Gradually, however,
of themselves, they became more calm ; and ere
long he could reason collectedly, and thought
and reflection brought on high resolves. He
found that a passion had grown upon his heart
which should never have taken root therein; and
he accused himself of folly and of weakness, even
although his own heart acquitted him of pre-»
sumption. To cast that passion from him, he
never hoped to do: he never wished it; he felt
it was impossible; but he believed that in a
firm and noble spirit — and he knew his own to
be so — that passion itself might be so purified
and elevated, as to lead him on to great and
worthy deeds, to be a new principle of action in
his breast, to inspire high purposes and efforts,
and give a mightier energy to the chivalrous
spirit that existed within him.

R 3

246 THE JACQUERIE.

He fancied that the very thought of what
would be Adela's feelings, if she heard, by chance^
of some great enterprise achieved by him, would
carry him on to exertions that nothing could
resist ; and thus judgment and reason employed
the power of fancy to lead and guide the pas-» '
sions of his heart to grand purposes, rather
than in the paths of vice, and wrong. So may
we always do in life if our will be towards virtue
rather than crime.

Thus had passed the li!tftp*for' laany hours;
silence had come completely oves«^e world ;
and Albert had more than once turned his eyes
impatiently towards a spot, on the other fide
of the chamber, at whichr he could faintly per-
ceive a dim obscure mass, * marking the' place
where the old man sat ; but had seen, not the
slightest movement, nor heard the lightest sound.
At length, however, the clear voice of a cock,
crowing at some distance, came upon the air, and
his strange companion suddenly broke silence.
** Now, now," he said, " I will tell you what
you wish to hear, and more than you expect ;

THE JACQUERIE. 247

for the time is coming, when you may ax^t as
well as speak."

*< Tell me first of the Lady Adela," exclaimed
Albert ; ^^ it is of her I would fain have tidings,
old man."

''Call me not old man/' replied the other;
'^ that is not my name, youth, though I be old,
and though I be a man."

*' I would willingly give you your own name,
if I knew it," answered Albert Denyn.

"Call me Waltelttn Urgel," said his. com-
panion; ^^:ihsit is the name which the people
give me ; and as to the lady, be satisfied she is
weH^ and safe* The object of these plunderers i&
to win gold. They are like children piling up
heaps 'of dirt, for -the purpose of casting it to
the winds the next moment— still their object
is gold ; and when they have so fair a chance
of gaining a great sum, by this poor girl's
ransom, they will not risk the loss of it by
doing her any injury. No, no ! they have given
her a chamber near that of their leader's wife,
and ther^ she will be tended with all courtesy.
To-morrow they will bid her write to her

R 4

S48 THE JACQUERIE.

father, showing what gentle usage she has re-
ceived, and naming the ransom they have fixed.
But they will hold out the fear of less gentle
deeds, if he should attempt to recover her by
force of arms. So much for that : your second
question was, how she was taken by these
men *'

<^ And how it happened that her father and
the captal found her not,'' added Albert, ^< for
they were close behind.*'

" Of that I know nothing," replied the old
man ; " but how they took her, I can tell right
well. I left you contending with the villain
Caillet, and sought the lady to give her help.
She had seen me defend her with my] axe,
and so she trusted me; but when the men
came up, who took you prisoner, we had well
nigh fallen into their hands at once, for she
thought it was her father's party, and would
have darted forward to meet them, had I not
shown her who they really were. I then led
her to a place of security, made her a bed of
leaves, sheltered her from the winds of night,
and lighted her a fii*e, to dispel the damp air of

THE JACQUERIE. 249^

the forest; for she has ever been good to the
poor and the lowly^ and deserves the careful
watching of all who love the noble and the
kind. I promised to guide her safely back to
her home the next day ; but ere I could do so,
at an early hour this morning these knavish
companions, hearing that I was still in the
neighbouring wood, came out to hunt me down
like a wild beast."

" Why, what harm had you done them?'*
demanded Albert.

" None," replied the old man ; " but do
we need to harm others to make them harm
us ? No, no, not so in this world t For the last
twelve years have I dwelt either in this old castle,
or in that dim wood. Neither in the wood nor
the castle had I any right but sufferance ; but
the building itself was only tenanted by some
servants of a lord who spent his days in
rioting afar. They charitably gave me a
dwelling in the- winter time, and all the
bright summer I spent in the green forest.
With the chambers, the passages, the towers,
and even the dungeons of this place, and with

850 THE JACQUEBZIIw

th^ most secret paths of the wood, no one in
all the land is so well acquainted as I am, and
when, some ten days ago, these filthy robbers
^ame and took possession of the place, I fled,
and sought refuge where you saw me last night.
There is a tower herein, to which they could fin d
no entrance, and it is called the Stairless Tower.
They thought, it seems, that it must contain
treasure ; and the people they found here told
ihem that none knew its secrets biit] myself,
for they had seen me more than once upon the
top, when they, poor fools, could not find the
way up. This led to more inquiries ; and as
wicked men never feel safe in their wickedness,
the plunderers fancied that my knowledge of
the place would be dangerous to them, if, as
they intend to do, they kept possession of it,
as a sort of advanced post on the side of
Touraine. They sent out one party to seek me
many days, hoping to lure me back with pro*
mises and offers ; but they found me not, and
at length, this morning, they despatched another
to hunt me down like a wild beast/'

THE JACQUERIE. 251

*' But the Lady Adela," cried Albert Denyn
*— •" What became of her ? "

** I had watched the lady through the night,'*
replied the old man ; ^^ but she slept not, till
just before the morning's dawn, when her eyes
grew heavy, and a short slumber came upon
hen Not long after, I heard some sounds;
and, though the fire had now sunk low, there
came a smoke and the crackling of wood, with
shouts and cries from several sides; a light
redder than the morning, too, began to glare
upon the trees, and I soon found that the
villains had^ tracked me into the covert, and
had then set fire to the wood to drive me out.
I had still hope to bafile them, and for some
time wound through paths they knew not of,
leading the lady by the hand. But it proved
all in vain : they had guarded the outlets well,
and when we issued forth they were upon us.
They shouted loud at their double prize ; and
though they became more reverent when they
heard the lady's name, yet were they not the
less joyful. On reaching this place, they first pro-
vided for her comfort. The leader's wife was

252 THE JACQUERIE.

called, and maids, and women; and with as
much ceremony as if the desolate castle had
been a court, she was ushered to her chamber.
They then turned to me, mocked my contorted
back, bade me stretch out my lengthy arms, and
made sport of me for some ten minutes, till
they bethought them of the Stairless Tower—
then their greediness would know no delay.
They took me to the foot of it, and told me
instantly to show them the way ; but I was lord
now, and I laughed them to scorn, telling them
they should never know from me till they asked
me with lowered voices and in humbler terms ;
till they promised me part of the spoil, and
seasoned their offers with fine words. They
saw that I mocked them, and thrust me in
here, threatening me with torture on the mor-
row, if I still remained refractory. When the
morning comes, however, for me they will look
in vain. Had they wished really to torture me,
tlie time was when their hands were upon my
shoulders."

" But how will you escape ?" demanded
Albert : '^ the walls of this prison are thick, the

THE JACQUERIE. 253

door by which they brought us in is strong ;
and I see not how any one could free himself
from this place without tools for breaking out,
such as we do not possess. There are stout
bars upon that window, good Walleran ; and
though they have left me my sword, yet it
would take many a long day, I fear, to wrench
oiF those bars, even if it could be done at all.'^

The old man laughed aloud. " Listen, youth,"
he replied at length. " I said I would tell
you something you did not expect to hear.
What if I set you free this very night, this very
hour ? What if I show you the means by which
such a youth as thou art can be back at the
castle of Mauvinet before mid-day to-morrow?'*

Albert started up. " Do you jest, or speak
in earnest?" he exclaimed: "can it be pos-
sible?"

" In serious earnest," answered the other ;
" and so possible is it, that I will do it."

" But Adela," said Albert, hesitating — " but
the Lady Adela, can I leave her here?"

" What good can you do her by remaining?**
demanded the old man.

254 THE JACQUERIE.

: " But little, in truth," answered Albert ;
<^ yet still, while there is a possibility of as-*
fisting her, I would fain be near. If we can
fly? why can she not fly also ? You know where
they have placed her — can we not find some
means of communicating with her, and telling
her what we intend to do?"

" All this is very possible," replied the old
man, ^' and she may even fly, if she will trust
herself to you."

" She will," replied Albert, " I am sure she
will."

^^ Be not too sure, till you have heard the
whole," replied his companion. " There are
dangers and difficulties to be encountered,
youog man, which may not be easily overcome,
and it may seem better to her to wait for the
ransom from her father."

: " At all events, she shall have the choice,"
replied Albert, " if I can give it her."
: ** That you shall be enabled to do, if you
will," replied . the other ; ** but there may be
Jperils in so doing, which even you may not
choose to risk."

THE JACQUERIE. 255

" None, none ! " cried Albert Denyn, reso-
lutely : ^^ there is no difficulty, no danger, t
would not undertake, to set her free. I would
lose this right hand to be the man that gives
her liberty.**

<^ Idle talk^ idle talk !." said the old man ;
** boyish passion all 1 But hear me^ and then act
as you think fit. Your own liberty is easy of
attamment, for there is, in fact, no obstacle in
your way."

< ' ^^ How no obstacle?** cried Albert Denyn,
" when these barred windows, and * *

^< Oh the prompt and presumptuous heart of
youth } " exclaimed his companion, ^* never wait-
ing till it understands, seldom even listenmg tiU
it hears I I tell thee th^e is, in &ct, no obstacle
in your way to liberly ; but in i>rder to set her
free, you must enter the castle again— > you
niust swim the moat to readi it; you must find
your way in darkness and in solitude, through
passages which no feet but mine have trodden
Ibr many years^ and then through rooms where
4^acb instant you are likely to be seized and
murdered.'*

256 THE JACQUERIE.

" Never mind," cried Albert — " I fear not.
I will set her free or die.'*

*^ Ay ; but when you have found her,"
added the old man, << when she has agreed to
fly with you — when you have led her back by
those same difficult passages, remember there
is still the moat to cross, and it is both broad
and deep."

" I thought not of that," said Albert with a
sigh, *^ I thought not of that."

^^ But in such enterprises we should think of
all things," answered Walleran Urgel. ^* Now
will you undertake it?"

" Without a doubt," replied Albert at once;
<< without the slightest doubt or hesitation
whatsoever. I have swam three times that
distance, with heavier biirdens than she is, and
J fear not."

** But she may very likely fear,** replied the
old man.

" Perhaps she may,*' replied Albert Denyn ;
^' I am afraid she will ; but at all events she shall
have the choice. I would risk far more, for a
less object than that."

THE JACQUEUIE. 237

u

Well, then," rejoined his companion, " if

you are so resolved, you shall not want the

means. Mount upon that stool, and make
your way through the window."

" But the bars, the bars," said Albert,
** how am I to remove the bars?"

** Take the grating by the lower edge,**
said the old man, *^ and pull with all your
strength."

Albert did as Walleran bade him, but the
bars remained immovable.

" It is in vain," he said, turning round, ** it
is altogether in vain."

" So soon are youth's best energies checked
by disappointment," rejoined the other. '* For
a great object you must have more than courage^
you must have resolution, you must have more
even than resolution, you must haveperseverance
unto death. Now, then, put to your strength,
and try again — but not as before, not as before!
— Lift the bars upward. Do they move?"

** Yes, yes," exclaimed Albert eagerly,
** they slide up as if by magic."

*^ There is no magic like a little knowledge,"

VOL. I. s

/

258 THE JACQUERIE

ireplied the old man. " Now mark what I say,
and proceed gently; for, if you do not, you will
call listening ears this way^ or even perchance
wake those that sleep. The bars have moved
upwards, iiow they will move outwards too,
and, falling on a hinge below, will make you a
ladder to descend ; but you must hold them
fast, and let them down gently, or the clang
will rouse others, with whose presence we can
well dispense.**

Albert followed the directions he received
exactly, and without any trouble lowered down
the whole grate, which being pushed outwards
when once raised, freed itself from the grooves
ito which the two ends moved, and turning (m
pivots in the lower rim, swung over and hung
down against the wall. It required great
strength, indeed, to hold the mass of iron
work up, so that it descended without noise; but
the joy with which Albert saw the task accom-
plished would be very, very difficult to tell.
• ^^ Now," said the old man, as soon as this was
done, "make your way down to the ground^
. beneath the wall, then, before you cross the

N

THE JAGaUERIE% Q69

Bioat, creep rounds along the narrow ridge of
earth between the masonry and the water*
After you have passed three round towers you
will come to a square one which dips itself into
the moat, there you must plunge in and swim
across f and then going round to the other
side of that square tower, you must enter the
moat again and swim over once more. You
will there find, not far from the place where you
cross, a small archway, like the mouth of a con-
duit. Bow your head and enter it; then go
on straight It will lead you to some stairs,
which when you have mounted, you will find
yourself in a narrow passage, at the end of
which there is a door with a latch in the ^ in-
side ; lift that latch, and the next step takes
you into tlie corridor leading to the chief
rooms in the building. Where they have
lodged the lady I cannot exactly tell, but I heai*d
some mention made of a small room, which
you will find the thirds upon the left-hand side.
There you must try your fortune: I can help you
po more, for I have now told you all I know.**
** I give you many thanks," replied Albert^

s 2

■' 'St

^60 I'HE JACQUERII!.

*^ and will now speed away ; but ere I go, let
me, at least, aid you from the window : you are
neither so young nor so strong as I am, and
it were well that you have some one with you
while you cross the moat.'*

" Alas ! good youth," replied the old man^
" you must leave me behind ; I cannot pass the
Water as thou canst. My crippled frame could
never learn the art which will soon bear thee
to the other side."

" But I can support you," replied Albert t
" it has ever been a sport of my youth to carry
great weights across the moat at Mauvineti
which is far broader than this seems to be."

** Nay, nay," replied the old man — " go you
upon your way. Fear not for me ; I will find
other means to fly. Fear not for me, I say, I
shall be safe, and even if they slew me here,
what matter ? am I not old and crippled, poor,
miserable, abandoned?'*

" Yes," replied Albert ; " but I see, notwith-
standing, that you are kind of heart and
generous. I found you defending innocence^
and contending with a villain; and now you

THE JACQUERIE. ^61

take an interest in me, and set me free. I would
fain, therefore, aid you before I go."

"What!" exclaimed the old man, as if
speaking to himself, " what ! one to love and
to esteem me ! — But go, go, good youth ; this
enterprise will take you time ; I will find my way
forth alone. I tell you that within these walls,
ftt least, they cannot keep me ; but be careful
of yourself, for your task is a harder one than
mine; and remember, leave the door, which
Jeads into the corridor, open behind you ; for
once closed, you will not find it again." He
added some more directions which Albert
stored carefully in his memory, and then,
grasping the youth's hand in his large sinewy
fingers, he bade God speed him, and aided
him to pass through the window.

When he was gone, the old man paused for
a moment, listening for any sound, and then
returned to his seat, saying, " He is noble and
good ! he is noble and good ! What will be
the end of all this ? what will be the end ?"

In the mean while, Albert, dropping from the
window, found himself on a small ridge of land

s 3

262 THE JACQUERIE.

immediately under the wall of the castle) with
scarcely sufficient footing between him and the
moat to admit of his proceeding step by step, in
the direction which he had been told to follow*
Sometimes, however, the space grew wider, and
enabled him to go on more rapidly; but his
progress was necessarily so slow for some way,
that he was tempted, more than once, to plunge
into the moat, as the shortest method.

At length, however, a tall square tower pre-
scfnted itself, much larger than any of the others,
with its foundations dipping into the moat, as the
old man had described; and without further
hesitation, Albert plunged in and swam round
till he reached the same shelf of land which
recommenced on the other side of the towen

After some search, he found the small arch to
which he had been directed, though the lower
part of it was pai*tially filled with water, and en-»
tering, in. profound darkness, he found his way
along, feeling with his hands against the wall,
and sometimes stumbling over pieces of stone
which had fallen from above; showing that
ho careful eye had for many years examined

THE JACQU£RI£« 263

the spat to take precautions against de«
cay. The description of Walleran Urgel had
been so exact, that the youth met with no
great difficulty; and he soon reached the
door, and found the latch which caused it to
open.

Albert raised it gently, and the door moved
back without noise; but the moment it did so,
a bright light burst in upon him, and, instead
of seeing before him a corridor, as he had
expected, he found himself entering a small
chamber in which a light was burning. On
two sides of the room appeared the old black
oak wood-work, which had originally lined
the corridor, but on the other two sides the
walls were composedjof rough thick plankings
bearing the marks of the saw fresh upon it^
so that it was evident to Albert Denyn, that
the adventurers had converted the corridor
into separate apartments since they had taken
possession of the castle.

The light which struck him as he opened th^
door, proceeded from a tall sconce containing
three lamps, which apparently had not been

s 4

264 THE JACQUERIE.

trimmed for some hours ; and Albert drew back
U» he marked the interior of the room, not
doubting, from all he saw, that he was in the
chamber of one of the free leaders* A large
bed, occupying at least one fourth of the small
loom, stood in the corner opposite, with the
thick green curtains drawn closely round it.
]3u€ all within was perfectly silent and still, so
that it was clear the tenant of the room was
either absent or asleep.

To advance offered certainly no small risk,
and yet Albert could not make up his mind to
return, and leave the task he had undertaken
unaccomplished. He paused, then, and gazed
into the room for a moment, hesitating how to
Act; but the next instant he drew his sword
and took a few steps forward, resolved at all
events to go on. There was a door on either side
m the new partitions. That on the left was fas-
tened by two large wooden bolts, and against it
lay a casque, and a cuirasse, with a pair of heavy
i^eel gloves, which it seemed scarcely possible to
move without making some noise ; but the other
doer, to which Albert next turned, was secured

THE JACQUERIE. 265

In a different manner. It opened into the room^
and across it had been laid one of those movable
cupboards) few of which have descended to the
present day, although their place has been sap^
plied by things much less convenient than them-*
selves. It must have cost some trouble to place
it in the position which it then occupied, and
while it there remained, no man, unassisted^
could have forced the door open from without.
Piled up upon it also, were several other ar*
tides of furniture ; and when Albert perceived
all this caution to prevent any one entering
the chamber during the slumbers of its oc-
cupant, a hope came upon him, which made
bis heart beat wildlv.

A moment after, his eye lighted upon some of
the apparel of a lady ; and instead of trying, as
be had at first proposed, to make his way forth
undiscovered by one of the doors, he now gently
approached the bed, and drew back one of the
curtains.

His hopes had not deceived him. Before his
eyes, overpowered by slumber, lay Adelaide
Mauvinet, with one beautiful arm bent under*

266 THE JACQUERIE.

neath her head, and ll^e other resting on the
cover of the bed, while the fair hand dropped
gracefully over the edge* Her rich browa
hair, which she had unloosed ere she cast her-
self down, to take the repose which she so
much needed, but almost feared to indulge fell
round her face and over her shoulder in beau-
tiful proiusion ; and, lovely as Albert had
always thought her, she seemed fairer, brighter
than ever to his eyes, as she there lay, buried
in deep, calm sleep, in the midst of such perils
as those that surrounded her/^ - Jl

^ He stood and gazed upon her for several mi-
nutes, drinking deep draughts of love, if I may
so express it, till at length the resolutions, which
he had that very night formed, came back to
his mind, and he instantly asked himself how
he might best wake her without giving her
alarm. At length, sheatTung his sword, he knelt
down by the bedside, threw back the curtain
that the flight might fall full upon him, and
then taking- the hand that dropped over the
edge, he pressed his lips. tenderly but respect-
fully upon it.

THE JACQUERIE. . 267

Adela instantly woke, started, raised herself
partly on her arm, and gazed wildly at the youth
as he knelt beside her. As soon as she saw who
it was, however, a bright smile of joy lighted
Tip her countenance. None of the particulars
of her situation seemed to have been forgotten
even in sleep ; for, raising her finger, she said
in a low tone, ** Oh, Albert, is it possible? How
came you hither? It is indeed joy to see you
here — but speak low, speak low, for they are in
that room, and there are people all around
us."

** I am here, lady, to set you free," replied
Albert, in a whisper. "I have been a prisoner
like you, and have found means to escape, by
those means also I can set you free ; but I must
not conceal from you that there are dangers and
difficulties in the way, though I would not quit
this place without offering you the opportunity
of flying also."

** But how came you here?" demanded Adela.
** I have been so anxious about you ever since
you left me; for you were scarcely gone, er^
these men passed by; and I feared that they

26Q THE JACQUERIE.

ivould find you contending with that base man
Caillet."

Albert told her that they had done so : but
she would not be satisfied, until he had related
1(11 that had befallen him ; and the interest and
the pity that fehe showed as he proceeded were
sweet but dangerous to his heart.

In return, while she related a part of what
liad occurred to her, she dwelt much and .long
upon the apprehensions she had entertained for
him, speaking little of her own fears and su&
ferings; and it was a strange and somewhat
agitating conversation for both that took place
during the next half hour, while, with Albert
kneeling by her bedside, with whispered words
and eyes gazing into each other's, they poured
forth every feeling and thought of their bosoms
*— except that one passion, which gave tone and
depth to all the rest

It may well be asked, " Was that one passion
then not spoken? Was it possible at such a time,
and in such circumstances, not to open the gates
of the heart and set the imprisoned secret free?"

It was not spoken. Not a word did Albert

THE JACQUERIE. 269

Utter that he would not have uttered in the halls
of Mauvinet : there was as much deep respect
in manner and in gesture; but from his coun-
tenance he could not banish what he felt: it
sparkled in his eyes, it was heard, too, in his
tone, whenever Adela's dangers, or griefs, or
sufferings were mentioned. Neither did she
name the name of love — nor, indeed, did she
think of it at that moment. In the agitation^
the fears, the cares, the hopes of such a situ-«
ation, she looked upon the youth beside her
only as the companion of her infancy and her
girlhood, as the person in whom she had most
confidence on earth, to whom she could speak
as to a brother. If her tones were those of
love — if her look was that of deep affection — it
was that the moment was one of those when
circumstances break down the barriers which we
raise in our hearts against bur own feelings, and
when the stream of passion flows forth without
our will, mingling with the whole current of our
actions.

However that may be, during that night a
Hew consciousness came upon the heart of Al-

270 THE JACQUEJIIE.

bert Dienyn— -the consciousness that he was
beloved ; and however he might school himseUy
he could not so far play the hypocrite with his
own soul, as to wish that it were otherwise.

Though much was said, and many a thing
was told, their conversation was but short, for
their words were quick as the time required.
And though Albert could have remained there
in that sweet intercourse for ever, it became
necessary that he should press Adela to decide
whether she would attempt to fly with him or
not. He informed her of all she would have to
encounter; he showed her that he should be
obliged to swim with her across the moat ; and^
after a moment's hesitation, she replied, •—

" No, Albert, no — you shall not risk your
life for me any more.''

" There is no danger, dear lady," he replied,
*^ there is no risk of that kind : I know I can
do it with ease ; I only fear for you who have
suffered so terribly already; I dread that the
cold and the night wandering might injure, nayi
even kill youi"
> << Perhaps it might," she said, in a sad toiie^

THE JACQUERIE. 271

<< perhaps it might ; and I cling weakly to life,
Albert) I know not why."

** Oh yes, live, live, deai' lady !'* replied Albert,
" live for brighter days I live to make others
happy, and to be happy also yourself I'*

Adefa made no reply for some moments ; but
her eyes filled with tears, and a look of deep
sadness came over her whole countenance.
" No,*' she said at length, ** no, I will not fly
at such a risk to you. Besides, I know my
&ther will right gladly pay the ransom that
they fix ; and these men have treated me with
all honour and some kindness, so that I have
nothing to fear. Their chief himself, to give
me security in my chamber, blocked up the
door as you see there ; the other door leads to
the room where sleeps his child, and there are
also bolts which no strength could break. He
showed me these things himself and his wife
gave me all comfort, and promised me her aid
and protection. Under these circumstances
it were wrong to risk so much. Go, then,
Albert, go, and tell my father my situation —I
know I need not ask him to set me free

272 THE JACQUERIE.

speedily. You will reach him probably evert
before the letter which they have made me
write can inform him of my fate. Tell him
I am well — far better^ indeed, in health than I
could, by any means, have expected. I must
not add that I am happy," she continued, ^^ for
that I am not — perhaps may never be so
again."

Albert gazed sadly on the ground, but made
no reply; and after a moment Adela added,
^ Now go, Albert, now go — may Heaven send
jou a blessing for all that you have done for
ine!"

*' One thing more, dear lady," replied Albert,
**one thing more before I do as you bid me —
Recollect that the door by which I entered here,
and which you see stand open there, is unknown
to these people themselves. That passage might
afford you a place of refuge, in case their con-
duct towards you should change at any time.
On the other side there is a lock ; but I must
see how it can be opened from this room."

It was not without difficulty that the method
was discovered, for the wood-work fitted so close

THE JACQUERIE. 273

as to afford not the slightest indication of an
opening. when it was shut. At length, however,
having found the way of closing and unclosing
it at pleasure, and explained the means to
Adela, Albert again approached to bid her
adieu, and once more knelt by her side to kiss
)ier hand,

" Oh ! Albert," she said in the same low tone
in which they had hitherto spoken, " it is a ter^
rible thing to bid you go, and leave me her0
alone, but it must be so at length. It is very,
very terrible ; " and she bent down her head^
till her eyes almost I'ested on his shoulder, whil^
her tears fell thick and fast.

" Go, Albert," she continued at length, " go —
I will be thus selfish no longer ! Go at once !
Fare you weU, fare you well ; I shall never for-
get you, I shall never forget your kindness*
Now leave me without another word, for J am
weak, and overcome already."

Albert felt that it would be best to depart,
and only pausing to press his lips again upon
her hand, he tore himself away, and left her^
In a few minutes he had passed through th^

VOL. I. T

274 THE JACQUERIE.

long passage which conducted to the meaty
and with a fiselingof reckless self-abandcmmenty
he plunged in without a moment's pause or
thought.

The noise of his sudden leap into the watfflr
called the attention of some one above, and
a cry of " Who goes there ? ♦" was heard,
warning him to be more cautious* He made
no reply, but swam gently. on; and he could
hear the man say to himself, ^^It must be a
dog — I will give him a shot, at all events." The
next instant, the twang of a crossbow met his
ear, and a quarrel struck the water close beside
him.

* It was luckily too dark for any thing to
be seen distinctly, and proceeding as quietly
and silently as possible, Albert reached the
other side of the moat, and for a moment lay
still under the shadow of the bank. The heed*
less soldier above seemed quite satisfied with
what he had done, and in a few minutes walked
on, whistling a light air ; while Albert, on his
part, crept slowly up the bank, and was soon
amongst the fields of the open country.

,THE JACQUERIE. 275

All was dark, however ; there were woods,
and orchards, and vineyards around, and, en-
tangled amongst them, Albert could for some
time find no path, but wandered without guide,
and with no knowledge whither he was direct-
ing his steps* At length he came upon a road,
which, though neither very large nor very good,
he judged to be much used, from the ruts and
irregularities which it presented ; and following
it for about half a mile, the youth came sud-
denly upon a rising ground, whence he could
discover^ somewhat to his surprise and conster-
nation, the faint outline of the castle he had
just quitted, rising at the distance of a few
hundred yards. He was once more turning
away to seek some other path, when he was
suddenly startled by the cry of "Who goes
there ? " and the next instant rough hands were
laid upon his shoulders.

T 2

276 THE JACQUERIE.

CHAP. XIV,

Leaving Albert Denyn in the hands of his
captors, we must turn to follow the proceedings
of the Ck)unt de Mauvinet and the Captal de
Bnch, who were not long in hearing news of
the body of adventurers which had taken pos*
session of the castle on the hill. Every peasant
that they met with when day dawned gave them
jsome tidings of a detachment from the famous
jcompany of Sir Robert Knowles who had lately
establislied themselves in the neighbourhood,
and laid the country under contribution as far
as Mans and La Fleche, None, indeed, could
give any information regarding the exact fate
of the Lady Adela ; but some had heard a troop
of horse pass their cottages during the night ;
and the two noblemen were so thoroughly
convinced that the lady had fallen into the
hands of these adventurers, that after giving
their horses a few hours' rest at the first

THE JACQUERIE* 277

village they could find, they marched oiij
guided by some of the peasantry, and only
halted at length, in order to send back messen-
gers to Mauvinet, with directions to call forth
every retainer of the house, and bring them to
a certain spot by daybreak on the following
morning.;

Some consultation was held as to whether it
would be better to send a summons, requiring
the marauders in the castle to give up their
prisoners, or to proceed at once by force. But
the captal strongly urged the necessity of giving
no intimation of their purpose to the adven-*
turers till the last moment; and the count
yielded, although his deep anxiety for his child
made him desirous of taking the most speedy
means that could be adopted for bringing her
captivity to an end. No rest nor sleep was his
portion during the night, though he adopted
the best measures that circumstances permitted
him to use, for refreshing his men and horses
against the following day.

The captal, on his part, not forgetting the
vow that he had made, entered no bouse, but laid

T 3

S78 WHE JACQUERIB.

himself down in the open fields, with his meii
around him, and his naked sword by his side*
An hour before daylight the two leaders met,
to consult together upon their after proceed-
ings ; and before they separated, several bands
pf the retainers of the house of Mauvinet came
in, and reported that others were following hard
behind. The whole country, they said, was
risinig in indignation and alarm ; and severed of
the vassals of other noble houses in the neigh<^
bourhood were found to have joined themselves
|o the troops of the Lord of Mauvinet ; so that
an overpowering force might soon be expected^
ready to act at once against the adventurers. >
After a short conference, the Captal de Buch
proposed to his friend to go forward with bis
men, and reconnoitre the enemy's position,
while the count himself remained behind, to
collect the various bands as they came up. The
captal promised to return before day had dawned
fnore than half an hour ; and his proposal being
agreed to, he set out at once, accompanied by
the troop of twenty, or five and twenty men,
.which had followed him to Mauvinet.

THE jacquerie; 1279

It was somewhat later than the hour he bad
lipecified ere he did indeed return ; but then be
came with a smiling countenance, assuring the
count that the place was one of no great strength^
and could not make any formidable resistance*
The array which presented itself to his eyes oni
rejoining the count, seemed to warrant well the
expectation of speedy success ; for more than
four hundred men were now in the field ; vo*
lunteers were coming in every moment, and
various implements for assaulting the castle had
already been provided. No farther delay took
place : the troops instantly were put in motion ;
and the Lord of Mauvinet and his friend le4
the way a few hundred yards in advance, at the
head of a small^body of chosen men* §

The whole aspect of the scene, as they
approached the castle, seemed to show, that
the free companions had not the slightest idea
of being attacked; and in passing through a
small hollow-way, at about a mile's distcmce
from the fortress, the count and his com-
panions came suddenly upon an armed man,
riding on with the utmost tranquillity. The

T 4

280 THE JACQUEBIE.

space between him and them, when be first
appeared, was not more than forty or fiftj
yatds, and reining up his horse quickly, he
seemed about to fly; but perceiving levelled
lances and preparations for instant pursuit^
he laid down his bridle and halted, waiting
till they came up. His appearance left ho
doubt of his being one of the adventurers ; and
he was instantly surrounded by the men of
Mauvinet, who, perhaps, might have treated
him ill, had it not been for the interference
of the captal ; for the Lord of Mauvinet himself
was too much enraged to respect the cha*
I'acter of soldiers in so lawless a body of
marauders.

" Nay, nay, count," said the captal, seeing
the fierce look which the father of Adela bent
upon the prisoner : " remember these are all
good men at arms, most of them gentlemen
of birth ; and the unhappy licence of the times
has justified things that in other days were
unjustifiable/'

** I shall ever give heed to your voice, my
roble^ friend/' replied the Lord of Mauvinet^

THE JACQUERIE* 261

*< when it is raised in a righteous cause ; but
you will not expect me to spare men who,
without the warrant of actual war, do acts that
actual war itself has never sanctioned — carry
off women and children from their parents,
and wage dishonest hostilities in time of truce
ligainst the innocent and unoffending. The
slaughter of my peasantry were enough, but
the outrage offered to my child leaves no
room for mercy or forbearance ; and a short
shrift, and a neighbouring tree, is all the lenity
I can show."

. . " Yet listen, my good lord," rejoined the
eaptal: ^^this man may, perhaps, if you grant
him pardon, give us some good information
regarding the enemy. Hark, fellow — you look
wondrous pale for one who has chosen so
perilous a trade — stand forward, and try, by
anwering truly, to save your life. You come
from the castle of La Trie aux Bois — is it not
so?"

** Yes, noble sir," replied the man, who evi-
dently did not like the aspect of death in the
shape which it now assumed; ^' but I have only

S82 THE JACQUERIE.

4

been there three days, and have had no share
in what has been done there.'*

** How came you to go thither at all ? " de-
manded the captal. :

*^ I carried letters, noble sir/* answered the
man, ^^ from good Sir Robert Knowles to
worthy Captain Griffith.''

^^ Ha I my old companion Knowles ! " cried
the captal — << is he come so near? and Griffith
too I he is a good soldier, if ever man was;
Nor is he discourteous either. The Lady Adda
will suffer no wrong at his hands. I shall like
wdl to try twelve strokes of a good sword with
him^ and will, please Heaven, ere the world be
three hours older."

*^'Ah, sir, you reckon ill,*' rejoined the ad-
venturer: ^^ be left the castle this morning in
ibe grey, with a score of lances, to confer with
good Sir Robert ; nor will he return till ton
morrow at noon. They say there is some di&
ference between them — but I know not.*'

** And whither were you going iiow? " asked
the count, ^^ wbo had hitherto remained silent':
^ you seemed in great haste."

THE jacquerie; 283

*^ I was carrying a letter, noble sir,'' replied
the man.

"What, another letter I " exclaimed the Cap*
tal de Buch« ^^ By your leave, sir letter
carrier, we will see this epistle."

*^ It is directed to the noble Lord of Mau-*
vinet,** replied the adventurer, " and is written
by the lady they took yesterday."

*• Then give it to me instantly," exclaimed
the count : *< quick, fellow I quick I or we will
take it in a way that may be somewhat more
speedy."

The prisoner, whose senses were so far con-
fused that he did not yet understand that one
of the personages who spoke to him was the
very nobleman to whom the letter was ad-
dressed, gave it up with evident reluctance;
and— first kissing the handwriting of his be^
loved child 'T-^ the count tore it open and read.
The captal watched his countenance narrowly,
and saw, with no small delight, that the brow of
Adela's father grew^ brighter, and that a look
of relief came over his whole face.

" She is well, thanks be to God I " exclaimed

284 THE JACQUERIE.

the count, turning to his friend. ^' She is well,
and they have used her with all respect and
courtesy; but tell me, my good lord captain
did ever mortal man hear such insolence as
this? They come hither, into the heart of the
land, carry off our children, and boldly put
them to ransom, as if there were a war pro-
claimed against bdbes and ladies. They ask a
thousand crowns of gold, and bid me ransom
my daughter at once, as if she were a knight
captured in fair fight. By St. Maurice, tills 13
too much ! "

<^ Do they mention the villain who carried
her off?" demanded the captal: "it would
seem they have taken her out of his hands."

** They neither mention him, nor my poor
boy, Albert," replied the count. " Of the one I
will have signal vengeance, and for the safety
of the other good account. That youth is like
a son to me, captal, and I will reckon with
that man severely who does him wrong. But
let us march on, and by the way, speak of this
ransoming. What say you ? — should I give^
it?"

THB JACQUERIE. 285

" No, my good lord, no," replied the capta],
'* I can feel that you are anxious for your
daughter, but they dare not — it is impossible —
they dare not injure her, I am sure. My oath
IS, that I will set her free, and of course that
oath implies by force of arms. It I must
keep; and I will answer for it that the lady
shall suffer no Wrong, although these men per-
chance may threaten it« Let us march on, my
lord; and bringing this man along with us, use
him for what "^purposes we may think fit here*
after."

As was very natural, the Lord of Mauvinet
could hardly, in his anxiety for his daughter^
feel satisfied with the assurance of the captal ;
but still, as is often the case with all men, he
would not show the weakness that he felt, and
agreed to the proposal of his friend, though
he would fain have yielded to 'the demand
of ransom, however unreasonable, and secured
his child's safety, before he sought vengeance
for the insult that had been offered to him.

Marching on, then, they soon came within
sight of the castle; but as they rode forward^

286 THE jacquerie;

upon a rising ground, wfaith looked down upon
kt the eount observed a small patty of horsemen
coming up at some distance, nearly on a parallel
line with his own forces. • .

<^ Who are these?" he exclaimed, speaking to
^e captal — " who are these, my good lord ? We
had better send out to cut them oiF/'

" No, no," replied the captal, smiling, *' they
are my oWn men. I thought it best, when I
returned to you just now, to leave a party upon
that road, both to bring us any intelligence,
and to cut oiF the enemy, should they think fit
to send out for aid in that direction. My
people will come up against the other side of
the castle, and make all sure there."

" Well bethought, well bethought, my noble
friend," replied the count : ** we will teach
those hardy plunderers another tale* Bring
that fellow hither from behind; and let Bertrand,
with the men from the abbey, sweep round to
the right, while we advance against the barr
bican. Now, noble captal, where will you cora«-
mand?"

^^ Upon the left, my good lord," answered the

mZ JACQtTEBIS. 287

captaL ^ Methinks I will attack the wall near
yon square tower : it is there, most likely, that
they have lodged the lady, and I would &in
have it no other hand than mine which sets
her free.**

^< But the wall seems strong and high th^e^"
replied the Lord of Mauvinet*

*^The more the honour of scaling it^'^said
the captal, with a laugh. ^^ We must show them
what the chivalry of France and England can
do when united. Let us ride on together,
however ; but first, send on this fellow to sum-
mon them to set the lady free^ and then we
will act as we may find needful/*

The captal's plan wds followed; the troops
of Mauvinet advanced,- in somewhat irregular
arder^ if such an expression may be permitted;
for the best arrayed feudal armies of that day
seldom presmted any very great appearance of
discipline ; and troops so hastily called together
as those now before the castle could not be
expected to equal a long organised force. They
made a gallant show, however, as they came
up with their armour shining in the sun^ and

288 THE JACQUERIS.

their 'peoncMis flattering in the breeze, while
the castle, whidi when they first approached
it had a^eared almost entirely deserted, with
nothing but two soldiers pacing upon the walls,
and a few moi loitering about the gate of the
barbican, suddenly displayed an aspect of &r
greater busde and activity. Soldiers were
seal running here and there, the drawbridge
was sudd^y drawn up, the portcullis let fall,
the walls became strongly manned, and all the
bustle and agitation of a place suddenly and
unexpectedly attacked showed itself in the
fortress.

At the distance of an arrow's flight fix>m the
barbican the count and the captal paused upoa
a litde mound, and for a few moments gazed
upon the active scene before them. The pri-
soner was then called up, and the count in-
formed him that he spared his life upon the
condition, he should go into the castle and
bear the message with which he was about to
charge him.

** Tell them,** he said, " that I have come
to punish them for their unheard-of insp^

THE JACQUERIE. 289

leiic^ in daring to carry off my child almost
from my very side, and for their discourtesy
and unknightly baseness, in tearing a lady
from her home, and demanding a ransom for
her liberty. Bid them, if they would escape
my utmost vengeance, instantly set free the
Lady Adela de Mauvinet ; bid them surrender
to me, tied hand and foot, the villain named
William Caillet, who dared to carry her off, and
also bid them send back to me, or give a good
account of the youth named Albeit Denyn,
whom I have reason to believe has fallen into
their power. Go, and bring me back a speedy
answer.*'

The man hesitated before he departed, and
even when he had taken two or three steps
came back and said, " I am afraid, my noble
lord, they will not suflFer me to return."

" Thou hadst better find means to return,*'
said the captal sternly; "for be perfectly as-
sured, my friend, that within one hour from
this time I will speak with thee in that castle,
if thou art not here before; and what I say
then will not please thee. — I mean, fellow, that

VOL. I, u

290 THE JACQUERIE.

thy life shall answer for thy disobedience ; and
that if thou art not here ere our trumpets
sound to the attack, it were better for thee
to seek a priest quickly, for thou wilt have short
time for shrift."

The tone in which the captal spoke was
as significant as his words, and the man went
away somewhat pale in the face.

" The villain ought to be hanged for his
cowardice," said the captal. " He is one of those
who hang upon the skirts of braver rascals than
himself, finding just sufficient valour in a
multitude of companions to carry him through
a general battle. — We will give them some ten
minutes, my lord, to send their answer. I have
despatched two or three of my people down to
the village that we passed on the right, to seek
some of their masons' ladders. We must con-
trive to join two together to reach that wall ;
and even then we shall have some difficulty.*'

" Better by far," said the count, " join
your efforts to mine, my lord, and force our
way in together at this gate : I fear you will
make no impression on the wall.'*

THE JACQUERIE. 291

" Will you bet me a Barbary horse/' said
the captal, laughingly, ^^ that I am not in before
you, my lord? — But see, my men are already
making preparations; and, as I live, here
comes our messenger again — He has had a
speedy answer .'*

The man approached slowly and evidently
with trepidation ; which the looks of the
captal and the count were not well calculated
to remove. " Well, fellow," exclaimed the
Lord of Mauvinet, ere he reached them, *^ what
is the reply?"

" I dare not give it you, my lord," said
the man — " I dare not give it you, unless
you promise me your pardon."

*^ Well, well, you shall be pardoned," joined
in the captal ; ^' and if my Lord of Mauvinet
follows my advice, he will shave your head,
and thrust you into a monastery."

"Speak, man, speak!" cried the count,
^* or, by Heaven, I will thrust my sword through
thee."

" Well, then, my lord," replied the mes^
senger, " though I beseech your forgiveness for

u 2

292 THE JACQU£RIE.

speaking it, the Captain Maillot, who now com-
mands in the absence of the Welshman, bade
me give you this answer at once — That as to
William Cailiet he knows nothing of him ; that
as for Albert Denyn, you may seek him where
you will find him; and that as for the Lady
Adela, she shall not have her liberty unless
you pay the thousand crowns demanded."

*^ Courteous, modest, and reasonaUe,''. said
the captal; ^^but what more^ my friend, what
more? I see there is something more under
that white face."

<< It must be told,'' said the man, with a
sigh; ^^ and it is this — He bade me say tQ
the count, that the safety of his daughter de-
pends upon his withdrawijs^ his banner in-
stantly from before those walls* — He i^ke
it in harder terms than I dare name, and I
believe he will keep his word."

The count gazed with a countenance of an-
guish and anxiety in the face of the: captal,
struggling between apprehension for his phild
and the consciousness that his honour, as
% lg»i^t» was. pledged to resent the insult

THE JACQUERIE. 293

offered to him. The face of the eaptal gave
him no relief, though it was certainly much
calmer than he expected to see it; yet there
WBS a heavy frown upon that leader's brow^
which spoke at once the determination that tlie
count feared they must both take.
' <« My lord," said the eaptal, after a moment's
pause, ^^your situation is painful, but yield
not, I beseech you, to apprehension ! In truth,
there is nothing to fear. Again I pledge myself
|hat there shall no harm happen; . However^ db
you as you like : my answer I will send to these
nien myself. — Go back to them,*' hejcontinued,
turning to the messenger — -"go back to them^
and say that the Captal de Bueh has pledged
himself to set free the Lady Adela de Mau**
vinet ; that he will not only set her free, but
punish them who keep her ; and that he
vows by his faith and honour, as a Christian
knight, if he find that insult or injury of
any kind bfts been offered to the lad}', not
contented with putting * every man that he
^nds within the cadtle to the sword, he will
hung Maillot and twelve of his companions

294 THE JACQUERIE.

by their feet from the walls of the castle,
till deatli deliver them, or the ravens eat
them living. Go tell them that I swear this
on my honour and on my faith : now let
me see what they dare do. — Give me my
casque. — What! you are afraid? — Well, poor
fool, I will go myself. — My Lord of Mauvinet, I
beseech you prepare all means for instant attack*
I see they have brougiit up the ladders there to
my men. The instant I have given my message^
I will ride round and scale the walls. You,
at the same moment, force your way in here,
while others attack at different points. They
cannot long hold out against such a force a$
we have here : it is a place of no strength—
a mere cottage. Be of good cheer, my lord, be
of good cheer — no harm shall happen."

The count shook his head mournfully, say'*^
ing, " We must do what our honour requires,
lord captal ; God give us a good issue."

^^ Fear not, fear not," exclaimed the captal,
who had by this time put on his casque ; and
thus saying, he galloped forward with the
two or three men whom he had kept with him.

THE JACQUERIE. 295

approaching the barbican, the wall of which,
at this moment, was covered with men-at-arms.
When the captal was about forty or fifty yards
from that outwork, the count and those who
stood beside him perceived the adventurers
bend their bows, and in a moment several
arrows fell around the captal.

The Lord of Mauvinet's indignation was
roused more vehemently than ever; and,
waving his hand to his followers, he exclaimed,
" On, on, to the barbican ! A purse of gold
and knighthood for the first man who crosses
the bridge!'*

The retainers of Mauvinet were in movement
in a moment ; and, dashing on towards the gates,
they arrived just as the captal was once more
turning away, shaking his fist fiercely towards
the men upon the walls. His visor was up, and
they could see that he had been slightly
wounded in the face, but his countenance was
all courage, and even gaiety ; and he waved his
hand to the count, crying, —

" On, on, my lord !" whilst he himself gal-

i296 THE JACQUERIE.

loped round towards the point of attack he had
chosen.

The enemy sent a flight of arrows after him,
but their attention was soon called in another
direction; for the men of Mauvinet rushing
forward, soon reached the foot of the barbican ;
and so fiercely did they ply the axe and hammer,
that in a few minutes, notwithstanding all the
shouts and cries that echoed around, the
crashing sound of large masses of wood torn
ofiF from the gate, and the giving way of the
iron work within, in several places, showed
the besieged that the outwork could not be
maintained any longer.

As soon as they perceived that such was
the case, they made signs at once, to their
companions on the other side of the moat,
to let down the drawbridge; and a general
rush took place amongst the soldiery in the
barbican to make their escape. Ere they could
all pass, however, the gate which had been
attacked gave way at once, with a tremendous
crash, the troops of Mauvinet rushed in ; and,
before the bridge could be raised, several of

THE JACQUERIE. 297

those upon it were thrown over into the moat ;
and a number of assailants rushing across^ with
repeated blows of their axes cut through the
wood-work where the chains were fastened,
and the pont-levis, which was slowly rising,
fell again with great force.

The" portcullis, however, was down, the
gates closed, and the walls above covered
with archers : but the barbican served the
Count de Mauvinet as a fort; and while a
number of his men plied the bars of the
portcullis with blows of the axe, others with
crossbows kept up an answering discharge
against those upon the battlements.

In an instant afterwards, however, the Lord
of Mauvinet suddenly cried, " Stop, stop,
every man of you!" and all eyes turning to
the gallery above the gate, beheld a man-at-
arms dragging forth Adela by the hand, to the
very spot where all the bolts were directed.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

VOL. I.

London:

Printed by A. SpornswoooF,
New-Street*Square»