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THE
JACQUERIE;
OB,
THE LADY AND THE PAGE;
9n Huttorital iUinuime.
BY
G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.
ikUTHOK or
THE Oirsr^** ** THE BOBBER,*' " THE GBMTLEMJkN OF THE
OLD school/* etc. ETC. ETC.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOB
LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS*
FATEBNOSTEB-BOW.
1841.
2_\\^'=^2,,\'\
'» >'" I . •' * • ..
--- ,.—•
THE
JACQUERIE.
CHAPTER I.
The glorious summer had come back again,
calling back out of the earth the flowers and
leaves, spreading over the sky the sunshine and
the blue, and giving back to the choristers of
nature cheerfulness and song — as we may
suppose the dawning of another life will do to
the heart, which has been chilled in the wintry
grave, restoring to it the bright objects of love
and affection lost upon earth, giving the sun-
shine of faith, and the blue sky of peace, and
drawing from the spirit the melodious voice of
praise.
It was in the early morning, somewhere to-
VOL. Ill* B
2 THE JACQUERIE.
wards the hour of six, and the slanting sun,
like hope in youth, brightened all the salient
objects in the picture, and promised a long
course of glory and of brightness. The heart
of him that looked upon the glittering scene
around beat in glad response to its aspect, as,
keeping his horse at a quick pace during the
freshness of the morning, a young cavalier,
mounted upon a strong destrier or charger,
trotted gaily along through the hilly country,
which at that time formed the frontier of France
on the side of Lower Lorraine. Like every one
else in those days he rode fully armed, though
the steel panoply by which he was covered was
in a great measure concealed by a surcoat of
arms, presenting a silver ground, traversed by
a broad stripe, called a bend dexter, in deep
blue, bearing on the centre of the breast, tech-
nically the fess point, a heart embroidered in
red. The cavalier was stout and tall, a light
mustachio fringed his upper lip, and the hair,
which was suffered to appear by sf velvet cap
replacing the helmet that hung at his saddle^
liow, curled in profuse masses over his neck
THE JACQUERIE. 3
and shoulder. His complexion was browned
by exercise and exposure ; and upon his cheek
and brow appeared more than one deep scar,
telling of blows boldly met, and probably as
vigorously returned. As he gazed round him,
there was an air of glad hilarity in his face,
and in all his bearing, which spoke a lieart full
of hope and joy. One perceived it in the light
touch of his left hand upon the bridle; one
marked it in the half-suspended position of the
right ; one saw it in the bright sparkling of his
clear hazel eye, in the thrown back head, the
expanded chest, and the smiling curl of the
lip, as the varied thoughts chased each other
through his busy mind.
That young cavalier was Albert Denyn, re-
turning to his native land, after his first cam-
paign under the glorious leading of the Captal
de Buch ; and to say sooth, though there were
manifold feelings in his bosom which combined
to give that joyful air to his whole person, the
surcoat of arms which we have said he wore
was not amongst the least important causes of
the gladness which sparkled on his countenance.*
B 2
4 THE JACQU£RI£.
He had gone forth with no right to any
other garment than that of the serf; he came
back clad in the coat of arms which he had
won from a grateful prince by his own merits ;
and the feelings which had given him energy
to win that garb were now his chief recom-
pense in wearing it.
In every faculty of the mind and body^
Albert Denyn had expanded, if we may use
the term, since last we saw him ; and all those
faculties had been directed to win high renown
by an eager and enthusiastic spirit prompted
to vast exertions by the strong love which we
have already seen working at his heart.
I believe that the portion of earthly greatness
which men acquire is regulated as much by
the strength of the passions which prompt them
as by the powers of their minds. The passions^
in short, are the main springs which move
the watches of the world, the principles are the
pendulums or balances which regulate the move-
ments, the talents are the wheels which carry
on the action. But, alas ! the human kind but
little appreciates a correct result, and the
THE JACQUERIE. 5
Strength of the main spring too often obtains
more admiration in the world than the nice
adaptation of those principles which regulate
its movement. It is sad, it is very sad, to think
that the meed of fame, of power, and of
success, is more frequently assigned to the
action of strong passions than to the operation
of great intellect. The ambition that carried
forward Napoleon Buonaparte raised him above
La Place in the estimation of the world, because
La Place was without any strong passion to
direct his efforts on those roads where power
and fortune are to be gained; but who can
doubt, that traces calmly the course of the
one and the other, where the greatest mind,
the greatest soul, resided ?
That man whose passions are so strong as to
trample upon all restraint, to east behind him
virtue and remorse, and to use his talents solely
for the gratification of his predominant desire,
whatever that desire may be, has a field open
before him, from which the man of stronger
principles is excluded ; and though his success
will often depend as much upon accident as
B 3
6 ^ THE JACQUERIS.
upon his own efforts, yet he will acquire, either
in fortune or misfortune, the renown x){ great
enterprises, which is the most dazzling of all
tinsel in the eyes of the world.
It must be acknowledged, that although
Albert Denyn was possessed of great natural
energies of mind and activity of body ; although
he was brave to a fault, quick, skilful, talented ;
though he had genius for every thing which in
that age led to greatness ; nevertheless he owed
his prompt and rapid success to the eager impe-
tuosity, the resolute and unconquerable perse-
verance which was given by the presence of a
strong master passion in his heart. Love, with
him, was as one of those generals, whom we have
heard of, who have still conquered by their own
energy, when every one around deemed success
impossible; who when repelled at one point
still attacked at another, and whose fire gave
courage and energy to every part of the army
that surrounded them.
Thus, during the time that he had followed
the captal in his expedition against the pagans of
Prussia, and in various other accidental enter-
THE JACQUERIE; 7
prises which presented themselves, and were
liever neglected by that great adventurous
leader, the thought of Adela de Mauvinet,
the hope of justifying her regard, of winning re-
nown which might reach her ears, and of grati-
fying her heart by his own success, seemed to
give him eyes for opportunities that other people
overlooked, and to endow him with resolution,
endurance, courage, and activity, which he
might never have displayed in the same degree,
had not that strong motive been ever present to
his thoughts.
We will not pause upon all that took place
during the period of his absence. That period
was but brief, it is true ; but those were dayg
in which great events and strange adventures
crowded themselves into a narrow space, and
jostled each other, if we may so term it, upon
the highways of life. We have instances of
men sharing in the great victory of Cressy, in
the north of France, and aiding to conquer the
Saracens in the south of Spain, within six
weeks; and the Captal de Buch was not one
to let his sword slumber in the scabbard,
B 4
8 THE JACQUERI£.
whenever there was an occasion of drawing it
with honour. As he went towards the north,
he aided several of the princes of Germany in
the wars which were then raging; and as he
returned, he took service for twenty days with
the emperor, and in that short space went
through all the hazards, the adventures, and
the struggles of a campaign.
Throughout the whole of these proceedings,
Albert Denyn had every day some oppor-
tunities of distinguishing himself; and indeed
it became visible to his own eyes as well as to
those of others, that such opportunities were
studiously afforded him by the captal. This
was the only sign of peculiar favour that the
great leader bestowed upon him. At first it
made the rest of the band somewhat jealous ;
but they found that to counterbalance, as it
were, the advantage given, the captal was more
sparing of reward and praise to Albert than to
any other of his followers. He knew that an
opening was what the youth desired, and that
the honour was the best recompense for his
exertions. Thus gradually the stout men-
THE JACQUERIE* 9
at-arms became reconciled to see Albert
Deriyn always chosen as one in any important
undertaking; and even more, his success was
so continual) his exertions so great, his talents
so conspicuous, and his superiority so evident,
even to themselves, that they began to acknow-
ledge his right to lead, and to be obeyed, and
often wondered amongst themselves, why it was
that the captal seemed so niggardly of praise
and reward to one who so well deserved it.
Whatever might be the object of the captal in
the conduct which he pursued, Albert Denyn
himself was well satisfied. There were occasional
little traits which showed him that he was both
esteemed and loved. More than once, when there
was a difficulty in procuring quarters, his leader
made him sleep in the same chamber with
himself. On various expeditions, he invited him
to sit down to meat with him, and sent him
the cup out of which he drank. At other times,
too, when they were alone together, Albert
would see the captal's eyes rest upon him with
an expression of thoughtful interest, which was
not to be mistaken ; and all these signs showed
10 THE JACQUERIE*
him, that neither the silence which his leader
maintained regarding his successes, nor the se-
verity with which he put him upon every service
of danger, difficulty, or fatigue, was any indi-
cation of want of regard and care. He felt,
moreover, that by this very conduct the captal
was eifecting for him the greatest of all objects,
rendering him a hardy and experienced soldier
in the shortest possible time.
If the captal was niggardly of praise, there
were others who were not so; and several of
the princes whom the wandering band of
soldiers aided for the time, distinguished the
youth greatly, both by applause and rewards.
He bore away from one a rich casque; from
another a splendid sword; another gave him
a jewel of much value ; another bestowed upon
him a golden chain ; and at length, the emperor
himself called him forth, while the captal was
sitting at meat with him, and asked what he
could do to reward his gallant efforts in defence
of the empire.
" He is as brave a youth, sir emperor," the
captal replied, " as ever drew a sword, and
.THE JACQUERIE* 11
there is nothing that you can do for him of
which he will not show himself as worthy as any
knight in all the land."
The emperor gazed upon him for a moment
from head to foot, and then said, ^^ Take the
cup, young man, and give me to drink/*
Albert approached the high officer who held
the golden hannap on the monarch's right
hand ; but the German noble hesitated for a
moment to give him the cup, till the emperor
signified his pleasure again, by an inclination
of the head. He then suffered Albert to take
the hannap, while he himself filled it with wine ;
and bending his knee, the youth offered it to
the German sovereign, who took it with a smile^
saying, " Do you know what this means, good
youth ? — It means that, noble or not noble
heretofore, you are so from this moment. Go
to our heralds, and bid them give you a coat
of arms, and take this cup with which you have
served me for your fee."
Had the monarch bestowed on him half
his treasury, the gift would not have been so
great to Albert Denyn ; and gladly he accom-
12 THE JACQUERIE*
panied the captal on his way back towards
France, bearing with him feelings changed,
indeed, hopes raised, prospects widened, em*
pectations excited; but having still the same
principles warm at his heart, the same passion
strong in his bosom.
I have said his hopes were raised. Do not
let my meaning be mistaken: the hopes that
were entertained by Albert Denyn were of a
kind difficult nowadays to be conceived, and
belonged entirely to the age he lived in and
its chivalrous spirit. Far, far different were
they from the warm and glittering hopes, which
— like the beams of the summer sun — pervade
the universe of the human heart, cheering,
brightening, vivifying all things. In com-
parison with these, they were pale and cold,
like the reflected light of the moon, shining
brightly, it is true, upon some objects, but
throwing long, dark shadows, too, upon those
spots where the rays could not penetrate.
His hopes never reached to, never even
approached, the very thought of winning her
he loved for his own. What though he might
THE JACQUERI£. Id
now call himself noble ; what though he might
now be entitled to move in the same society as
herself, yet he was well aware that there v/as no
earthly chance of him, who had been but yester-
day a serf, ever being considered worthy of one
descended from a long line of glorious ances-
toi*s. The vision would have been a vain one,
and, knowing that it must be so, he limited his
highest expectations, and his most enthusiastic
hopes, to the joy of showing her whom he loved
— and by whose heart, he too well knew, he was
r
loved in return — that he was worthy of that
higher happiness of which he dared not even
dream* Such hopes, indeed, he did entertain,
and they were sufficient to make his return
joyful.
There was something, too, in re-entering his
native land — in crossing the frontier from a
foreign state — in pronouncing the word France
— and in feeling himself suiTounded by all
the bright associations which are gathered to-
gether for almost every man within the circle
of his country, that added to his happiness ; so
that, perhaps, that moment, in which we have
14 THE JACQUERIE.
depicted him returning from the far north of
Germany to the land of his birth, was the
brightest that he had known since first he had
learned what it is to love.
Albert Denyn was glad that he was alone;
for he could indulge his thoughts and his feel-
ings without any eye to mark the changes which
they might produce in his demeanour. He had
sought, indeed, for the opportunity of preceding
the captal by a few days in their return to
France ; and, though his leader remonstrated
upon the risk of passing alone through a country
which had been, when they had left it, very
nearly in a state of anarchy, Albert Denyn had
pressed his request, and had been accordingly
charged by the captal, with letters and mes-
sages to the King of Navarre, one of the most
extraordinary, though, unfortunately, not one of
the most virtuous, personages of his day.
I The young man-at-arms now rode on con-
fident in success, and we may say, also, con-*
scious of strong powers of body and of mind;
and certainly, as he looked round him and
saw a well cultivated country, and a con-
THE JACQUERIE; 15
tented peasantry, his eye lighted upon nothing
to create apprehension or diminish his joy at
re-entering his native land. Situated upon
the extreme frontier of France, and under the
rule of great barons who had mingled but little
in the desolating contest between France and
England, the district which he was traversing
had suffered comparatively little from the scourge
of war. The desolating bands which had visited
the other parts of France had not ventured
thither; and the poor man sitting before his
door, or the merry host of the little inn, hanging
up the garland upon the tall pole that gave
notice of his vocation, spoke of peace and se-
curity, which went calmly and pleasantly to the
heart of the wayfarer.
It was about six o'clock in the evening when
Albert Denyn reached the small village of Orny,
just upon the frontier of Champagne and Bur-
gundy ; and as his horse was tired by a long
day's journey, he looked round him for some
place of rest for the night. Inns were naturally
more scarce in those days than they are at pre-
sent, an^ were rarely to be found, except iix
16 THE JACQUERIE*
great towns, or situated at certain distances
from each other upon the most frequented high
roads. There were, indeed, smaller places of ac-
commodation, where the foot-passenger, or the
peasant who drove his cattle to some neigh-
bouring fair or market, could obtain repose and
food, in almost every considerable village ; but
these auberges were seldom frequented by
the traveller on horseback, and, indeed, were
at one time prohibited from receiving him«
The adventurous man at arms, however, the
knight, or the leader of a troop, was very rarely
unable to find lodging and refreshment. Hos-
pitality was a chivalrous duty, and perhaps one
of the most generally practised. Occasionally,
indeed, the great lord, the baron of the neigh-
bouring castle, the chatelain in his manoir, set
at nought all the principles of knighthood, and
exercised his hospitality in a very unpleasant
manner: but there was no medium; and the
traveller who had any claim, however small, to
distinction, was sure either to be received and
entertained with joy and liberality, or plundered,
and perhaps murdered into the bargain.
THE JACQUERIE, 17
Albert Denyn, however, had no inclination
to try the welcome of the castle, if he (;ould
find food and rest any where else; and he
gazed inquiringly round the little village
green, on the one side of which stood the
church, and on the other a small but neat-
looking house, with a little piece of vineyard
attached to it, which he judged might be
either that of some peasant well to do, or that
of the curate of the parish. He was soon led
to conclude that the latter was the case, by
perceiving an elderly man in the habit of a
priest crossing over from the church with a
slow step and eyes bent down upon the ground,
and approaching the door of the house after
having passed through the little vineyard.
Albert Denyn had not been taught to phi-
losophise, or to enter deeply into the meta-
physics of the human character; but to some
men it is natural to take keen and rapid note
of the various peculiarities in the appearance
and demeanour of others, and to apply them
as keys to read the inmost secrets of the heart.
It is done almost unconsciously : we arrive at.a
VOL. III. c
18 THE JACQUERIE.
judgment scarcely knowing how at the time;
and it requires thought, and the act of tracing
back our course step by step, before we can tell
how we came to the conclusion which we have
reached.
Such was the case with Albert Denyn : it was
a part of his nature to mark instantly each trait
in the bearing of others ; and the habit had been
still more strongly grafted in his mind during
his service with the captal, whose keen and ob-
servant character had its influence on all who
were long near him. Thus, as Albert's eye
rested on the priest while crossing the small
piece of vine, and remarked that the good old
man neither turned to the right or left, neither
paused to examine whether the flower of his
vineyard was going on prosperously, nor halted
to look at some particular plant upon his path-—
for each man has his favourite, even in a vine-
yard — but walked silently on, with his eyes
fixed heavily on the ground beneath his feet —
as he marked all this, the young man said to
himself, " The good father has something
heavy at his heart, not to notice the things in
which he usually takes pleasure. I must disturb
THE JACQUERIE. 19
him, however, to know where I can rest to-
night;" and riding up to the vineyard just as
the priest was opening the door of his cottage,
he said, " Your blessing, my father ! "
" You have it, my son," replied the priest,
raising his eyes for the first time. " What would
you farther?"
" I would merely know," replied Albert
Denyn, " if there be any place near, where I
can lodge for the night?"
The priest gazed in his face for a minute or
two inquiringly, and then, as if satisfied with
what he had seen, replied, " Yes, my son, for the
night you can lodge here : there is no other place
within four leagues of this village, and you seem
tired ; but, alas I I can only give you lodging for
one night, for I must hurry afar myself to other
scenes, whence, perhaps, I may never return."
" Rest for the next six hours," answered
Albert Denyn, " is all that I require, good
father. On the morrow, too, I must wend for-
ward on my way ; and, indeed, were it not that
my beast is weary, I would willingly go some
leagues farther to-night.", .
2
20 THE JACQUERIE.
** It is a noble beast," said the priest, looking
at the horse, " and seems to bear you well. You
will find a stable at the back of the house : there
is room for him beside my mule : I will go in,
and bid the maid prepare you some supper."
Albert Denyn took round his horse to the
stable which the priest had mentioned, and, as
every good man would do, cared fully for the ac-
commodation of his dumb companion before he
thought of his own. He then returned, and lifted
the latch of the cottage door, which at once gave
him admission, for no bolts and bars were there
to keep out a marauder from the humble abode
of the village curate. The room in which Albert
found the good priest was a neat but simple
chamber, with one or two wooden stools, a small
table in the midst, and one at the side, which
supported three books, a missal, a volume of
homilies, and a Bible, in the ordinary Latin
translation of the Roman church. Above the
whole rose an oaken crucifix, with the figure of
the expiring Saviour, sculptured, not amiss, in
the same wood. Upon it the eyes of the priest
were fixed when Albert entered the room.
THE JACQUERIE. 21
bearing in them a peculiar expression, which
the young soldier afterwards recollected, and
easily interpreted when once he had got the key
to his companion's feelings : that expression,
though it had much humble piety in it, had
much questioning meditation : it seemed to ask
of the Saviour, " Thou who didst die to give
peace to mankind, thou who art God as well as
man, how is it that, notwithstanding thy inef-
fable love and mighty power, the same fearful
passions, the same acts of blood and crime, dis*
grace that race for which thou hast made so
awful a sacrifice?"
The supper was soon served after Albert
entered the room ; and the good man blessed
the meal, but ate little himself, while the sad-
ness which appeared in his whole countenance
and manner gradually communicated itself to
his younger companion, and quenched the tem-
porary gaiety with which he had returned to
his native land, Albert longed to question his
new acquaintance as to the cause of his care or
sorrow, but he did not dare to do so openly ;
for reverence towards age, and respect for the
c 3
22 THE JACQUERIE.
sacred character of the priesthood, had been
early implanted in his mind ; and in those days
it was neither a mode nor a custom to hold
lightly every venerable institution. He ap-
proached the subject, however, saying, " Which
way do you travel, good father, to-morrow, for I
am journeying on into France, and perhaps may
afford you some protection by the way ? '*
" I am going towards Paris, my son," replied
the priest ; " but I fear that a single arm would
be but of very little avail against those who
might be disposed to molest me."
" In some cases certainly but little," rejoined
Albert Denyn ; " but there are other circum-
stances in which it might not prove so inefficient,
good father. If it be the adventurers that you
fear, they were as often to be found, when I left
France, in bands of three or four, as in bands of
fifty or sixty."
" And you think you could protect me against
any three or four," said the priest with a slight
smile.
** I would do my best at least," answered
Albert Denyn, the colour mounting in his cheek
THE JACQU£RIE. SS
— " I would do my best, good father, and I have
seen some service."
" Your countenance speaks it, my son," re-
plied the priest, looking at the scars which we
have mentioned, on the young man's cheek and
brow, " and willingly will I accept your com-
pany, and protection, if you go towards Paris.
But you are very young to have seen much ser-
vice. In what wars have you borne arms ? You
could not have been at Poitiers ? "
" Not till the battle was over," said Albert
Denyn. " But I went to the field shortly after
to seek for my lord, who was supposed to be
dead. Since then," he continued, " I have served
with the noble Captal de Buch."
" What then ! " exclaimed the priest with a
start, " you are not a Frenchman ! "
" Nay," rejoined Albert, " I am a Frenchman
altogether, and have never borne arms against
my country. But Thave been fighting under the
captal's banners for the emperor and some of
the princes of Germany, and also in company
with the Teutonic knights, against the pagans of
Prussia;'*
c 4
24 THE JACQUERIE.
^* That, at all events, is a noble cause," replied
the priest ; " but you may chance to meet with
worse than pagans here, my young friend. Yet I
will willingly take your escort ; for many of the
bands of revolted peasants separate into parties
of four and five, and I cannot but think that the
arm of one gentleman, such as yourself, is at al}
events equal to those of four or five villeins."
The blood mounted again into the cheek of
Albert Denyn as he recollected how short a
time he had possessed a right to bear the
honourable name which the priest gave him,
and how lately the contemptuous epithet ap-
plied to the peasantry might as well have been
used to designate himself.
" I really do not know, father," he an-
swered, " but I will do my best to protect
you ; yet I cannot but think, that amongst the
peasantry of every country there are as strong
arms, as brave hearts, and as high spirits as
amongst the nobles. We see that it is so in
England, where there are no such class as that
of villeins j and, doubtless, it would be the same
with the peasants of France if they had the
same advantages."
THE JACQUERIE. 25
The priest gazed at him with a look of dark
surprise, and, after a moment's silence, ex-
claimed, " You astonish me ! — But you have
been long out of France, my son, and you do
not know what has happened here, what is
happening every day in this land of our birth.
You have not heard of all the horrors that have
been perpetrated within the last three months."
" No, no," cried Albert Denyn, with no
slight surprise and apprehension, as many an
incident in the past recurred to his mind —
seeds which might now be producing sad and
terrible fruits for the nobility of France. " No,
no, I have heard nothing ! No news has reached
me from my native country since I quitted it in
the autumn of last year/'
" Then," said the priest, " there is a moui*nful
tale to be told, and perchance the news may
come sadly to your own heart ; the peasantry,
oppressed as perhaps they really were, suf-»
fering as they certainly were, have risen in
Beauvoisis, have spread over Picardy, and, aa
it were, mad with sorrow and endurance, are
now committing, in their frenzy, crimes that
26 THE JACQUERIE.
will shut them out from the support of all
good men, from the mitigation of their woes
and wrongs, and from the attainment of the
very ends they aim at. But, in the mean while,
all is giving way before them ; castle after castle
has been taken ; towns have been stormed ;
the most dreadful massacres have been com-
mitted; blood, desolation, and destruction, are
spreading over the whole face of France ; and
those whom honourable warfare had spared, and
the sword of the marauder had not yet reached,
are falling by thousands under the scythes and
the flails of these wild madmen."
" But they must have a leader," exclaimed
Albert Denyn : " have any of the nobles joined
them, 01* the townspeople?"
" None of the nobles," replied the priest,
** and but few of the communes as yet ; but it
would appear that the latter will soon give
them too terrible help. In the mean time they
are led by a fiend incarnate, whose heart
Satan must possess entirely, for he has endowed
his brain with talents which are but used for
the purposes of desolation and destruction. No
THE JACQUERIE. 27
one seems to stand before him, no power has
been found capable of opposing him ; and with
the rude and unpractised hands of peasantry
he has accomplished enterprises that would
have set regular armies at defiance."
" What is his name?" exclaimed Albert
Denyn, starting up with a degree of emotion,
which the good priest did not understand,
though the reader perhaps may. " What is his
name, good father?'*
" His nanie is William Caillet," replied the
priest : ** do you know him ?"
But before the last words were uttered, Albert
Denyn had drawn his sword from the scabbard,
and holding up the cross of the hilt before his
eyes, as was very common in the oaths of that
day, he exclaimed, " God give him to my sword,
as I swear never to use it, except in self-defence,
or for the protection of the wronged, against any
other than him and his, till he or I be dead !'*
" Amen," said the priest ; " and God's
blessing go with you, young man ! But tell me
more of this business : you seem to have been
acquainted with this fiend in former days,"
28 THE JACQU£RIE.
** I was ! 1 was I " replied Albert Denyn,
*' and I know to what his infernal schemes tend."
As he spoke^ and the thought presented itself
to his mind of all the consequences towards
Adela de Mauvinet and her noble father,
which the successes of William Caillet might
produce, a wild feeling of anxiety and alarm
took possession of him, and he exclaimed,
" Would that the captal were here ! — What
shall I do? — Where shall I find men ? — In Beau-
voisis, you said, good father ; in Beauvoisis and
Picardy ; not in Touraine?*'
**A11 over France, my son," replied the
priest : " the malady is more or less raging in
every part of the country, though most power-
fully in Picardy and the Beauvoisis. But come,
you are much moved ; tell me your history, and
perhaps I can counsel you as to your future
conduct. After that, we will pray God to give
us health and sleep, in the trust that he will
guide, guard, and deliver us."
THE JACQUERIE. 29
CHAP. 11.
By daylight on the following morning, Albert
Denyn and the priest were on their way towards
Paris; but the countenance of the young cavalier
had lost all the gaiety which it had presented on
the preceding day ; and the traces of deep
anxiety were to be marked in every line, as
he rode on discussing eagerly with his com-
panion all the events which had taken place
in France during the preceding winter. It
seemed that he could never hear too much of
the progress of the Jacquerie. He asked question
after question, then paused for a moment to
meditate, till some new inquiry suggested itself
to his mind ; and, although his fellow-traveller
gave as distinct answers as he could, all seemed
unsatisfactory, leaving a cloud of doubt and
trouble on his countenance, which no explan*
. ation from the good priest could remove.
30 THE JACQUERIS.
The truth is, that he found the nobility of
France — the warrior class of a warlike nation —
those who had affected peculiarly to themselves
the right of bearing arms and waging battle —
had been struck with a general panic by the
rising of the peasantry, and, instead of making
one powerful effort to crush the insurrection,
had offered their throats, as it were, to the
butchers, who had slain them with merciless
determination. He asked himself what could
be the cause of this conduct? Was it — ds
Caillet had so boldly asserted not long before—
was it, that these men were really cowards,
and that their courage only consisted in vain
boasts and idle pretences ? or was there some-
thing in the sense of the oppression that they
had exercised towards the peasantry, which
weighed down their arms, and took the spirit
from their hearts ?
Such were some amongst the questions that
Albert Denyn asked himself; but he knew not
one half of the circumstances which combined
to paralyse for a time the power of the nobility
of France, and to render the fiery courage which
THE JACQUERIE, 31
they undoubtedly possessed utterly unavailing
against the unarmed multitudes of peasantry by
whom they were assailed. The young soldier
wa& not aware that universal disunion reigned
amongst the higher classes, that it was difficult
to find three gentlemen in all France who were
striving for the same object, acting upon the
same principles, or directed by the same views,
that during the absence and the imprisonment
of the king, the whole realm was torn by con-
tending factions, the capital itself in a state of
insurrection against its legitimate prince, and
each separate castle throughout the country
tenanted by those who differed from the inha-
bitants of the neighbouring one in every prin-
ciple and every purpose, and were often in
actual warfare with them.
The sense of common danger had not yet
convinced the nobles of the necessity of even
temporary union; and, consequently, though
the ravages of the peasantry spread consterna-
tion amongst them, yet each saw his neighbour
butchered without making an effort to help him,
and often laughed at the fate of his enemy, when
82 THE JACQUERIE.
the same knife that had murdered him was well
nigh at his own throat.
All these things, however, Albert Denyn had
still to learn, and the facts that he saw, without
comprehending the causes, at once perplexed,
surprised, and dismayed him. Still, amongst
the crowd of vague and anxious thoughts
which hurried through his brain, there were
fears and doubts respecting the fate of the
house of Mauvinet, which made his heart sink.
He knew that it had been the intention of the
count to visit his territories in the north of
France, though he tried to console himself
with the hope that, as the year had been far ad-
vanced when he left Touraine, the purpose of
the Lord of Mauvinet might have been delayed
in execution, and that he and his household
might have remained in a part of the country
where the insurrection of the peasantry was
not so general, and where the strength of his
dwelling-place would enable him to set such
foes at defiance.
The good priest marked the trouble of his
young companion's mind, and sought as far as
THE JACQUERIE. 33
possible to give him relief; but although Albert
had afforded him some insight into his previous
history, he did not completely comprehend all
the deep anxiety that the young soldier felt;
for there were parts of his connection with the
house of Mauvinet which to no living ear
would Albert Denyn have uttered for the
wealth of worlds, and those were more es-
pecially the parts which gave poignancy, almost
to agony, to the apprehensions which he en-
tertained.
Of the Lord of Mauvinet himself the priest
could tell nothing; he had some vague recol-
lection of that nobleman havin^: been amons^st
those summoned to hold council with the regent
in Paris ; and certainly he had not heard his
name mentioned as one of those who had suf-
fered from the ravages of the peasantry ; but,
nevertheless — although he saw that the young
soldier was more deeply interested in the
fate of that nobleman than was usual with
any dependent of a noble house — yet he was
forced to admit that he himself might have
been murdered and his castle destroyed, with-
VOL. 111. D
34 THE JACQUERIE.
out the tidings reaching that part of the
country.
** It was more than three weeks," he added
to what he had been saying on the subject,
" before the unfortunate news which now takes
me to Paris found . its way to my dwelling,
though 'tis but a two days' journey."
" May I ask," said Albert Denyn, " what is
the nature of your errand, good father ? I have
seen that you were sad — very sad ; but I did
not like to inquire the cause till you alluded
to it yourself."
" There is no secret in it, my son," replied
the priest; ^^ but though sympathy is a soothing
thing, I did not mention the occasion of my
grief, because I believe that we have no right to
load others with the burden of our sorrow,
unless they themselves seek to share it. I will
tell you the story, however, to-night at our
first resting-place, if we reach one in safety;
but the tale is somewhat long, and might bring
tears into my eyes."
Albert pressed him no farther, but rode on
conversing with the good old man of other
THE JACQUERIE. 35
matters, and remarking from time to time the
changes which became apparent in the face of
the country. After pursuing their journey
for about two hours, every thing indicated that
they were entering those districts which for
the last three months had been a scene of
continued strife and confusion. Here and
there a smoking ruin was to be seen, some-
times of a village, sometimes of a castle. All
the small towns through which the road passed
were fortified and barricaded at each end, in
the best manner that the inhabitants could
devise. No man was met altogether unarmed,
except in the very smallest hamlets; and, at
the first sight of Albert Denyn's crest and
plume, the shepherds in the fields, unless two
or three were together, set off running to-
wards the nearest wood, leaving their sheep in
charge of the dogs. The stumps of fruit trees,
which had been cut down and used for firing,
in those parts of the country where no forests
were near, showed the lawless recklessness of
the bands which had swept the land during
the winter ; and in many places fields, untilled
J} 2
36 THE JACQU£RI£.
and unsown, but rank with weeds and wila
grass, told a terrible tale of depopulation and
despair.
A little before sunset the two travellers rode
up the gentle slope of a hill, from the summit
of which they perceived a wide plain, slightly
undulating and marked by long lines of light
and shade, as the sweeps of the ground and
the masses of distant woods caught or obstructed
the rays of the declining sun* The golden light
of evening was in the sky, and spread more or
less over the whole scene, mingling even with
the blue shadows, and giving them a warmer
and a richer hue. In the foreground, at about
a mile's distance, was a village bosomed in elms,
with the square spire of the church, new built
and white with freshness, rising above tlie trees
and shining bright in the evening sun. Every
thing was beautiful, and calm, and peaceful; and
it was scarcely possible to conceive that the
fierce and cruel passions which were ravaging
the rest of France could exercise their virulent
activity in so tranquil a scene as that.
It was so, however; and as Albert Denyn and
THE JACQUERIE. 87
his companion rode into the village, they found
the grass growing in the little street as thick as
in a meadow. Several of the houses had been
burnt, others were scorched with fire, but had
been afterwards extinguished, and the only
buildings that seemed to have escaped were the
church and the priest's house adjoining.
As they passed by the churchyard, Albert
perceived a number of fresh made graves, which
told their own sad tale, and he inquired no
farther. It was to the habitation of the curate
that they now bent their way ; and Albert's
fellow-traveller knocked some time for ad-
mittance without the door being opened, while
first a female, and then a male head, Ex-
amined the wayfarers closely through a window
at the side. At length a strong middle-aged
man in a priest's garments opened the door, and
instantly recognising one of his visiters, ex-
claimed, " Ah ! Monsieur Dacy, is it you?"
" It is, indeed, my good brother," replied the
cure. " I have come, with a young friend here,
to claim your hospitality for a night; shall we
be safe?"
D 3
38 THE JACQUERIE.
" Oh yes," answered the priest, " quite safe
will you be, though I always like to see who it is,
before I draw a bolt, that I may be prepared
for the worst. Yet those burnt houses at the end
of the place, and those fresh graves, are as good
as a fortification. If any band of plunderers
come, they know by those signs that others have
been here before them, and they turn away again
for some better booty. You shall be right
welcome, my good friend; but how is it, Father
Dacy, that you leave your own pleasant village^
which has, as I hear, escaped hitherto ?"
" I will tell you presently," said the good
priest ; " but let us first take care of our
beasts."
The welcome that the travellers received was
hearty and kind: the food which the priest set
before them was indeed as homely as it well
could be, but it was abundant, and the evening
passed tranquilly, though the chief topic of
conversation during the meal was the sorrows
and miseries of the land. Such a subject na-
turally led the good Cure Dacy to explain the
cause of his present journey ; and although he
THE JACQUERIE. 39
had told Albert that the tale was long, yet the
pain that the relation occasioned to himself
made him shorten it as much as possible.
" You know," he began, addressing the priest
of the place, " that my brother, animated by a
more ambitious spirit than I ever possessed,
had raised himself high in the world, and had
become one of the advocates general of the king."
" Had !" exclaimed the priest: " you speak as
if he were so no longer."
" Neither is he," answered the Cure Dacy, " for
. he is in a bloody grave. He was one of those
bold or brave men who most strongly advised
the Duke of Normandy to resist the ambition
of the Prevot Marcel ; and with the marshals
of Normandy and Champagne drew upon them-
selves the anger of the whole faction. The great
men escaped; but my poor brother, in passing
through the streets witb his daughter — just at
the time that the bad King of Navarre was
haranguing the people in the Pre aux Clercs —
was attacked by a furious mob, and fled into
the shop of a confectioner for safety. The man
would willingly have saved him and his child,
D 4
40 THE JACQUERIES.
and was putting up the boards before the shop
to keep the people out ; but ere he could do it,
three or four leaped up upon the booth where
his wares were exposed, and sprang into the in-
side. My brother defended himself well with
a beam he had caught up; his poor child
clung to the knees of his assassins, and be-
sought them to be merciful; but, in spite of all
they murdered him before her very eyes, and
would, most likely, have killed her also, as
she lay fainting and deluged with her father's
blood, had not Marcel himself come by at that
moment, and rescued her from their hands.
As soon as she could, she sent messengers to me,
beseeching me to come, as speedily as possible;
for in the house of the pr^vot she is without
protection, and surrounded by the youth of a
wild licentious party, who have as little respect
for innocence as they, have for law or order.
I am hastening, therefore, to Paris, to take her
quickly from amongst them, though Heaven
only knows whether I shall ever return alive
myself, or whether they will suffer her to ac-
company me."
THE JACQUERIE. 41
After the Cure Dacy stopped, Albert Denyn
remained for a moment or two in deep thought,
while, the good priest of the place spoke a few
words of comfort to his sorrowing brother. At
length, however, the young soldier looked up,
and asked, though still with an air of medi-
tation, " Is the King of Navarre, then, still in
Paris ?"
" Ay, my son," answered Monsieur Dacy ;
" not only is he in Paris, but he and Marcel
rule all there, so that the life of the regent him-
self is every hour in danger/'
" Can he aid," demanded Albert, *' in making
them give your niece up to you, and in securing
your safety and free departure ?"
" None so much," replied the priest; "for
they report that Marcel is but his tool, and to-
tally dependent upon him."
" Well, then," said Albert Denyn, "per-
haps I can help you, more than either I or you
expected."
" Indeed !" exclaimed Dacy with much sur-
prise ; " do you know him, then ?"
" No," answered Albert with a smile, " I do
42 THE JACQUERIE.
not know him, and cannot well explain to you
the whole matter. This much I may say, how-
ever, I have letters to him both from the Count
de Foix and the noble Captal de Buch, and he
is likely to attend to any thing that I may ask/*
" God be praised, then," cried the priest,
" God be praised for sending you to my assist-
ance, young man ; for this King of Navarre is
as lawless as any of the other rovers that torture
our poor land of France. We are told that his
partisans are even more cruel and barbarous
than the rest, and as for himself, nothing stays
him but the consideration of his own pleasure
or his own interest."
" A sweet character, good father," replied
Albert Denyn, " but it will be for his own
interest to attend to what I say."
" Will it so ? " exclaimed a voice very
different in tone and accent from any of those
which had been yet speaking. All eyes were
directed at once to the low narrow door of the
small chamber, just behind the back of Albert
Denyn. It had been left ajar to give air to
the room, which was close and hot; and it
THE JACQUERIE. 43
was opening as Albert turned his head, pre-*
senting a sight that made him instantly rise,
front the door-way, and without farther cere-
mony draw his sword from the sheath.
" Put up, put up your sword," said the
voice which had just spoken, and at the same
moment a person entered the room, completely
armed except the head, and having nothing in
his hand but a leading staff, while a page
followed with his helmet, and two or three men
at arms were seen looking over his shoulder.
He was somewhat less than the middle size,
but formed with wonderful grace, and his
countenance was as beautiful as it was possible
to conceive, somewhat effeminate, indeed, in
features, and gentle in expression. The tone
of his voice, too, harmonised perfectly with the
rest, being peculiarly melodious and soft ; and
there was even a degree of languor in his
sleepy dark eye, which gave the idea of a
chai'acter and disposition very different from
those of the turbulent, ruthless, wily person,
who now stood before the young soldier and
his companions. " Put up your sword, young
44 THE JACQUERIE.
gentleman,^' he said, " for you can do nothing
with it : we are many, and you are few,"
« Very true," replied Albert Denyn ; " but
few have often done much against many, and,
therefore, I do not put up my sword until I
know what is your purpose, fair sir, — Neither
will it be very safe," he added, " to advance
another step farther, till you have explained
that purpose,"
" It is quite peaceable," answered the stran-
ger, regarding the youthful man-at-arms with
a smile, " The truth is, that having ridden
somewhat late, my horses being tired, and my
men in need of repose, I have come hither to
seek a night's lodging, without the intention of
hurting any one — no not even the good priest
who was giving me so high a character but
now, I shall take no notice of his words, let
him rest assured,"
" Doubtless your grace will not," said^ Albert
Denyn ; " for, to an honourable man, a thing
so overheard must be as if it had never been
spoken."
" Not on that account," replied the King of
THE JACQUERIE. 45
Navarre, for he it was, ^' but because the good
priest's speech suited me well. Every one has
his taste in this world, and the character which
would please others may not please me. It
is a very wholesome and good reputation that
I have found in his mouth ; one that I have
long sought to establish. No man after that
can mistake my views and purposes. He wha
trusts me is a fool, except it be my interest
to keep faith with him. He who fears me
is wise, and will take care not to ofiFend me.—
Now, good father, see to the lodging of my
people, and give me a share of your supper."
Thus saying, he passed by Albert Denyn, and
took a seat calmly at the table.
The young gentleman put his sword up into
the sheath, and the two priests stood by, gazing
for a moment or two upon the King of Navarre
and his followers with astonishment, not un-
mixed with fear. At length, however, the king
made an impatient movement with his hand,
saying, " Do as I bid you ! " and the curate of
the place quietly slipped out of the chamber
to follow the orders he had received.
46 THE JACQUERIB.
«
And now, young gentleman/' continued
the King of Navarre, drawing one of the dishes
towards him, and loading a clean trencher
which happened to stand near with its contents,
** tell me, while I eat my supper, how it may
be my interest to attend to what you say?
Such I think was your expression just as I
entered."
" It was so, your grace," replied Albert
Denyn, ^' and the reason I made use of such
words, was that I bear you letters of some
importance from the noble Captal de Buch,
who allows me to add that he holds me in some
esteem."
" That alters the case," rejoined the King of
Navarre, "and you have said right; I have
too high regard for my cousin the captal not
to treat with all reverence his messengers. —
Besides," he continued with a laugh, " whether
I regard him or not, the captal can serve me.
Where are your letters, young man? — yet
keep them," he added, seeing Albert Denyn
put his hand into the bosom of his surcoat.
** I am sleepy to-night; you shall deliver them
TaE JACQUERIE. 47
to-morrow to me in Paris. I shall set off at
four in the morning: you come after quickly,
and seek me at the abbey of St. Germain
des Pres. Bring yon good priest with you,
too ; and if he have any favour to require at
our hands we will grant it him, in consideration
of the sweet character that he gave us not
long since."
The dark smile which followed the latter part
of his speech might well make the good Cure
Dacy feel somewhat doubtful of the king's in-
tentions; but Charles the Bad took no farther
notice of him during the few minutes that he
stayed in the room, finishing his supper quickly,
and then betaking himself to sleep in the
priest's own bed.
Every one found a place of repose where
he could for the night, and early on the follow-
ing morning the King of Navarre departed,
leaving much fewer traces of his visit behind
him than was usually the case. Some of his
soldiers, indeed, had slept on straw in the
church, and, as might be expected, the door of
the sacristy was found broken open, and the
48 THE JACQUERIE*
place itself stripped of all that it contained ; for
where Charles appeared in person very little
reverence was shown to the church ; and those
things which even the most ruthless bands of
plunderers spared were sure to disappear during
one of his visitations.
THE JACQUERIE. 49
CHAP. III.
It was about three o'clock on the following day
when Albert Denyn and the good priest Dacy
entered the city of Paris ; but let the reader re-
member, that by those words, the city of Parisy
we do not in the least mean to imply any thing
like that great and extraordinary abode of talent
and folly, virtue and crime, distinguished by a
similar name in the present day. The city of
Paris at that period was inferior in extent to
many provincial towns of our own times, and
very much inferior, indeed, to any provincial
town in point of comfort and accommodation,
cleanliness and neatness. Only a few of the
principal streets were paved; all were so narrow
that in most of them not more than three horses
could go abreast ; sand, filth, and ordure filled
the lesser thoroughfares; and the ways were
seldom, if ever, cleansed, except when the au-
VOL. III. E
50 THE JACQUERIE.
tumnal inundations of the Seine washed away
the dirt that had accumulated during the past
year, and sometimes carried off several of the
houses likewise. Here and there, indeed, rose,
from the midst of the wild and confused mass
of hovels and cabins which then formed the
French capital, some of those splendid monu-
ments of architectural genius which are never
sufficiently marvelled at and appreciated, ex-
cept when we look to the state of society and
art at the time of their construction. Here
appeared a magnificent church, there a vast
abbey, there a noble palace, and every where
was seen, amidst wooden houses and mere huts,
tracery of stotie-work so fine and beautiful,
that modern times have never been able to
approach the excellence of the execution, even
when they have -ventured upon the labour and
expense.
Albert Denyn, however, and the priest were
both full of anxious thoughts, which left little
room for new impressions to penetrate. When
man is at ease in himself, and the mind, as it
were, idle in its empty house, it is natural that
THE JACQUERIE. 51
the spirit should look out of the window and
mark every thing that is passing in the world
without; but when there is business within of
high moment, the casements are closed against
external objects, while the soul holds council in
the secret chambers of the heart.
The young cavalier and his companion then
rode along in silence, giving little attention to
the mere physical appearance of the city they
had entered, the one having seen it many times
before, the other having come lately from
foreign towns at that time far more splendid
than the French capital itself.
There were other sights, however, of a kind
calculated to awaken Albert Denyn's habit of
observation, which now crossed his eyes as he
rode on guided by the priest. Crowds of people
were seen hurryhig hither and thither, and every
now and then, four or five persons would pause
as they passed to gaze at the two wayfarers who
were entering the great city, regarding them ap-
parently with no very friendly looks, and making
comments as they went on, which the young
soldier judged, from a word or two that reached
E 2
52 THE JACQUERIE.
his ear, to be of a somewhat offensive and me-
nacing nature. He remarked, too, that almost
every body whom he met, whatever might be the
variety of colours and materials in other parts of
their garments, had one piece of dress uniformly
alike. This was the hood, which was the ge*
neral covering for the head used in that day ;
and not one Parisian out of a hundred that the
travellers passed in the streets were without a
chaperon^ as it was called, of party-coloured cloth
or silk, half red, half green, with an enamelled
clasp under the chin.
" How is it," demanded Albert, " that the
people of Paris have their hoods all of one colour,
good father ? Is there any law to that effect ? "
" The law of fear, my son," answered the
priest : ^^ that party-coloured hood is the mark
of the pr^vot's party, and if you were to look at
the clasp, you would find enamelled on it the
words d bonne Jin, It was taken at first only by
those who thought the prevot was right; but
since men have found that life is not safe with-
out that mark of partisanship, even those that
hate him the most have adopted it too. God
THE JACQUERIE. 53
send that we get much further in safety with-
out it."
Scarcely had he spoken when a body of armed
citizens stopped Albert Denyn and himself, de*
manding, " Where go you, gentlemen travellers,
and who are you for ? "
Albert Denyn answered at once that they
were going towards the Abbey of St. Germain
des Pres, to seek the King of Navarre ; and, as it
fortunately happened that the interrogators were
of the prevot's party, with whom Charles the
Bad was leagued, the reply was satisfactory, and
the two were told to pass on their way in peace*
They met with no farther interruption till
they reached the small square before the eastern
gate of the Abbey of St. Germain, where on
the one side appeared the inn or hostelry of
the Red Hat ; on the other, the bridge of the
abbey ditch; and between the church and the
tavern, that ancient instrument of disgrace and
punishment, the pillory.
A sturdy porter stopped Albert Denyn and
his companion at the entrance of the monastery,
demanding whom they sought, and on the
E a
54 THE JACQUERIE.
reply being given, told them that the King
of Navarre was at that moment in the champ
dos of the Pres aux Clercs hai*d by, and
had left particular orders that if any mes-
sengers from the Captal de Buch came to seek
him, they were to be sent thither with all
speed. Albert and his companion accordingly
turned the heads of their beasts towards the
rich meadows that at that time extended west-
ward of the Abbey of St. Germain, and soon
reached a spot where the murmuring sound
of many voices showed that a number of people
were assembled. In a minute or two after
entering the space set apart for judicial combats,
they found themselves in the midst of eight or
ten thousand Parisians, who were crowding
round the raised platform of wood from which
the judges of the field generally witnessed the
duels that took place below.
The front seats on the scaffold were now
occupied by the King of Navarre, his officers
and partisans ; and from it he was addressing
the people in a strain of eloquent blandishment,
well calculated to gain the affections of the
/THE JACQUERIE. 55
easily flattered multitude. At the same time,
it was evident that he laboured hard to inspire
them with a great idea of his power and in-
fluence, and to show, that although the dauphin
and royal family of France had proclaimed
themselves his enemies, yet many of the greatest
men in Europe held him in high veneration
and respect. He was mentioning the names of
several great leaders as friendly to him when
Albert Denyn entered; and it now became
evident with what view he had refused to re-
ceive the letters which the young soldier bore
him from the Captal de Buch on the preceding
night, reserving them to work their effect on
the Parisians at the present moment.
^* Who have we here ? " he exclaimed, as
his eyes fell upon Albert. " What seek you»
young gentleman?" Albert's errand was soon
told; but the Navarrese monarch caused him
to ascend the platform, and deliver his des-
patches before the eyes of the crowd. He
then affected to consult with him long apart,
and in the end announced to the willing ears
around, that his noble cousin, the famous Captal
£ 4
56 THE JACQUERIE.
de Buch, had promised him the aid of his whole
forces and his great renown. He pointed out
Albert as a young gentleman high in the con-
fidence of the captaly sent on purpose from
Germany to bear him tidings of his speedy
approach, and he then turned to the young
soldier, asking what guerdon he would have
for the good intelligence he bore.
Albert smiled at the farce that was played
before his eyes, not having yet suflSciently
mingled in the busy scenes of life to know that,
in nine cases out of ten, " all the world is in-
deed a stage.;" though in a different sense
from that of the great poet, " and all the men
and women merely players."
He forgot not, however, the errand of his
reverend companion, Monsieur Dacy, and he
replied, in a low voice, " I ask no guerdon,
your grace; but I do beseech you to take
measures, that this good man's niece shall be
given up to' him, and that he shall have free
passage with her out of Paris."
" Let me hear more of his story," said the
Navarrese ; " speak quick and low, and I will
do what I can."
THE JACQUERIE* 57
Albert answered briefly, and the wily king
of Navarre seemed to listen to him with one
ear, while with the other he gathered the sense
of a long and vehement oration, which was
commenced as if to fill up the time, by a tall
powerful man, with a party-coloured chaperon,
who stood near the king. Ever and anon, too,
Charles the Bad would interrupt his conference
with Albert, either to address a word to the
speaker in a low tone, or to express his loud
approbation of what was uttered.
" You say she is in the prevot's house — " he
proceeded, talking to the young soldier; and
then added aloud, " it is true, every word of
it. Excellent! excellent ! — Keep off the sub-
ject of the money. Marcel.-— Now, my friend,
she shall be set free, and all aid given to
good Monsieur Dacy. Qur good Parisians will
not hurt him : they have had one out of the
family, and that is surely enough. — Now,
Marcel, dismiss them with a benediction, and
speak to me here."
The last words were spoken to the orator ;
and Albert turned to gaze upon the famous
58 THE JACQUERIE.
man before him, not doubting, from the name
by which the King of Navarre addressed him,
that the person who had been haranguing the
people was the well-known pr^vot des mar-
chands. His countenance was somewhat bull-
like, but in other respects not disagreeable;
and there certainly was a high intellectual
expression in the forehead and eyes, though
the mouth and lower part of the face was
heavy and earthly.
Marcel soon brought his speech to a con-
clusion, upon the hint of his confederate,
and the multitude began slowly to disperse,
while the pr6v6t came closer to the King of
Navarre, and heard what he had to tell him,
examining Albert Denyn narrowly from head*
to foot as he listened.
" And you are the lady's lover, I suppose,'*
he said, addressing the young soldier as soon as
the King of Navarre had finished.
** You mistake, my good sir," replied Albert,
in a tone of very little reverence; " I never saw
her in my life. It is for her uncle I am moved."
<* A disinterested youth!" cried the prevot
THE JACQUERIE. 69
with a sneer : " we must not keep him long in
Paris, or the metal will get tarnished. How-
ever, if that be her uncle, he shall have my
help to take her from my house as quickly as
may be ; for my wild nephew would fain have
her for his paramour, and I approve not of such
follies. — You should thank me for saving her
from the rough hands into which she had
&llen, when I found her," continued Marcel,
addressing the priest. But the good old man
shook his head with a mournful air, answering,
" My brother's blood, sir, were surely weight
enough upon the hand that slew him, without
the blood of his unhappy child."
'* I slew not your brother," replied the
pr^v6t sternly : " he was partly answerable for
his own death. Why did he meddle with things
that concerned him not ? However, you shall
have your niece, and God speed you home with
her. Who has an inkhorn here? Maitre
Jacques, you have some parchment; give me
two fingers' breadth."
Thus saying, he wrote a few words hastily on
the parchment, commanding those of his house-
60 THE JACQUERIE*
hold to give up to the Cure Dacy the daughter
of his brother, and to suffer him to depart with
her in peace. He then put the order into the
poor man's hand, who received it with tears of
joy, and taking leave of Albert Denyn, not
without regret, left the spot to seek his niece
at once.
The King of Navarre and the pr^vot stood
silent for a moment, after Dacy had left them,
gazing apparently with some interest at the
young soldier, who had cast down his eyes
thoughtfully upon the ground, and remained
for a very brief space, absorbed in deep
meditation, though surrounded by scenes and
people that might well call for active presence
of mind.
" And so now, young man, you are thinking
what you are to do next," said the prevot, as
Albert looked up again.
" Not so," replied Albert ; " I have no doubts
of the kind."
*' Why, how, then, do you intend to bestow
yourself?" demanded the prevot.
I intend to take up my lodging for the night
THE JACQUERIE. 61
at the sign of the Red Hat, before the gate of
the abbey/' Albert replied ; " and to-morrow
I set forth again, either for Touraine or the
Beauvoisis, according to the information I
receive this night."
The prevot looked at him for an instant'in
silence, and then asked, " Will you sup with
me to-night, young gentleman?"
Albert's first impulse was to refuse ; but the
moment after, he thought, " I shall hear more
there of all that is passing in France than I
can any where else ;" and he accordingly an-
swered, " Willingly, sir: at what hour?"
" At the hour of seven," replied the prevot;
and Albert, remounting his horse, rode away
towards the inn which he had seen before the
gate of the abbey of St. Germain.
" What want you with that youth?" de-
manded the King of Navarre, as Albert turned
from them : " he is a clever lad, but raw ;
yet, doubtless, a stout man at arms."
" I want many such, most noble king," an-
swered the prevot : ** we are all busy with such
things, that it is well to have help at hand, in
62 THE JACQUERIE.
case of need. Six strong men, such as that^
in his anteroom, would haVe saved Charles of
Spain from the knife."
" I think not, Marcel," replied the King of
Navarre, speaking of the murder which he had
committed not long before, with the same calm
carelessness with which the prevot had him-
self alluded to it — " I think not; for I had
twenty such with me, so that six would have
been of small service. However, I beseech
you, take care of the youth here in Paris ; for
the captal writes in such terms of him, that
were any evil to happen to him, it might de-
prive us of our best hopes. — You know the
captal as well as I do."
" I will guard him as the apple of my eye,"
replied the prev6t; " but let us go."
THE JACQUERIE. 63
CHAP. IV.
Albert Denyn found his way back to the
Chapeau Bouge^ and, like all true men at arms,
provided for the accommodation of his horse
before he attended in any degree to himself.
Nor, to say the truth, did he feel disposed to
eat ; for there had come upon him that feeling
of oppression which the thoughtful and imagin-
ative mind experiences in scenes through which
the mere man of action passes with no other
sensation than that of animal exertion. If he
have but a heart, the man of the strongest in-
tellect and most daring courage will find at
certain moments, when surrounded by the
whirlwind of passions and the storm of party
strife, a shadow fall upon him like that of a
storm cloud rushing over a summer sky. With-
out any definite reflections upon the emptiness
of human endeavours, without any philosophic
64 THE JACQUERIE.
thought upon the baseness of human nature,
and the lowness of even man's highest earthly
objects, a sensation of weariness and disgust at
all that is passing aroimd us will benumb us
for a time, till some strong excitement calls us
to mingle in the very scenes, to take part in
the very deeds, which had produced the loath-
ing. Then even we rise up like a slave to his
appointed labour, and feel that we are but
buckling on the burden of human destiny,
till we are fully launched in a sea of exertions,
and the more earthly portion of our mixed life
in the excitement of action, overcomes the
heavenly.
Albert entered the inn, and as the hour of
supper was still at some distance, sat down at
a table in the hall, and leaned his head upon
his hand in deep thought. He had no active
part in the things that were passing round
him ; he had but to stand by, and see the busy
passions and fierce deeds of others ; to witness
the cunning of one, the bold knavery of
another, the fierce ambition of a third, and the
evils that were the result of all. He had but,
THE JACQUERIE. 65
as I have said, to stand by and look on ; and it
seemed as if the splendid veil with which all the
things of earth invest themselves had. dropped
down, and that he beheld at once the dust and
ashes of which the whole is composed. These
moments come to every one at some time or
another in life — moments when we look, as it
were, prophetically into the coffin of human
desire and enjoyment, and see the mouldering
bones and crumbling clay of these two bright
children of earthly existence, as at some future
period we may expect to behold them from the
height of an after and a better state of being.
His thoughts first turned to the King of
Navarre, and then to Marcel, and he asked
himself, " Are these the men for whom France
sheds her best blood? How vain, how very
vain, are all the quarrels and dissensions of life !
Well might the good prior say, that sooner or
later I would see that the world I would not
quit is a world of emptiness and sorrow, with
scarce a grain of real gold to gild it for the
eyes of children."
Such was for some time the train that his
VOL. III. F
66 THE JACQUERIE.
thoughts followed, but we need not pursue
them farther ourselves. Almost every one in
the end rises from such contemplations better,
perhaps, than when he sat down ; but still with
a feeling that thej too are vain, that, tied as
we are to the burden of mortal existence, it is
useless to inquire of what it is composed, or to
try in a fine balance the weight of that which
we are bound to bear.
After resting thus, then, for about half an
hour, Albert rose up suddenly, and tightening
the belt that held his sword, strolled forth into
the streets, saying to himself, " I must gather
some tidings in the city of what is passing in
Touraine or Beauvoisis."
Who ever saw Paris, except In the dead of
night, without her myriads rushing here and
there in the fierce pursuit of pleasure, ven-
geance, amusement, or folly? If the gay
capital ever was still, such was not the case
when Albert Denyn now issued out of the
Chapeau Rouge. For the moment, indeed,
the vicinity of the abbey of St. Germain was
comparatively deserted, the tide having flowed
THE JACQUERIE. 67
another way after the prevot and the King of
Navarre had left the Pre aux Clercs : but a
very few minutes brought the young soldier
into the midst of crowds of men, and women,
and children, all seeming as busy and as gay as
if the whole world was happiness and industry.
Every where were seen the chaperons of red
and green, and even the women affected the well-
known colours in their garments, so that any
one passing along the thronged thoroughfares
without such a symbol might well be remarked
by the eager eyes of a population, always ready
to quarrel with those who give them any or no
offence. Scarcely had Albert reached the
bridge, when five strong men walking nearly
abreast, and talking vehemently, stopped him
rudely, and examined him from head to foot,
exclaiming, *' Where is the chaperon ? Where
the clasp ? '*
Albert Denyn felt his blood boil within him,
and would willingly have replied with the
sword, but outmatched as he was by the persons
who opposed his passage, and knowing well that
if even he escaped from them, that he was sur-
F 2
68 THE JACQUERIE.
rounded on every side by partisans of the same
faction, he answered, with an appearance of
calmness that he did not feel, " I have been
but a few hours at Paris — let me go on f "
"Ay, that is some reason,** replied one of
the men.
" Why, he is the man who was speaking with
the prevot," said another.
" One of those English dogs," exclaimed
a third : " the pr6v6t is too fond of them ; "
but at the same time the speaker drew
back with the rest, and suffered the young
soldier to pursue his way. For some distance
he was not subject to any farther annoyance,
-although the peculiar air and manner which
always indicates the stranger in a town which
Tie has not frequently or lately visited, pointed
him out to the eyes of the Parisians, and called
attention to his want of those party symbols,
under which alone safety was to be found in
the French capital.
At length, however, as he entered one of
the streets leading from the water's edge
towards the great hotel of St. Paul, he ob-
THE JACQUERIE. 69
served a crowd of people gathered together
at the distance of some three hundred yards
from him, and as he approached he heard
remonstrances uttered in a loud voice, mingled
with urgent complaints and entreaties. There
was a sufficient portion of the chivalrous spirit
in the breast of Albert Denyn to make hiui
take part eagerly with the weak and the dis-
tressed ; and although he knew that his single
hand could be of but little service where so
many persons were engaged, he could not
refrain from scanning the crowd with his eyes
as he approached, in order to ascertain who
was the sufferer whose entreaties met his ear.
For a moment or two he could only see a
number ^of people all pressing round one
' particular spot; but the next moment, as the
mob swayed to and fro, he caught a glimpse of
a man in a clerical habit, and thought he
recognised the form of the good Cure Dacy.
He was instantly springing forward to satisfy
himself of the fact, when a hand was laid upon
his arm; and, turning sharply round, he
beheld another group of soldiery, who had
F 3
70 THE JACQUERIE.
come up the street behind him with a quicker
step than his own. The face of the person who
held him appeared familiar to him, though
in the various scenes of strife and conten-
tion in which he had lately been engaged he
had seen so many men of different grades and
characters that he could not connect it with
any particular train of events. There was a
smile upon the soldier's countenance, too, which
seemed to show that his recollection was better
than that of Albert himself.
The latter, however, hastily disengaged his
arm, exclaiming, ^' I cannot stop : they are
hurting the poor old man, and I must help
him. Who are you ? what do you want ?"
" Do you not recollect the Captain GriflSth?"
said the personage who had detained him. ^^ But
what are you going to do with these fellows ?
They are too many for you, if I judge what
you are about rightly."
" Then give me some help," cried Albert
Denyn : " they are maltreating the poor old
man Dacy, and his niece too : do you not see
her?"
THE JACQUERIE. 71
<< O ho! is that the game?" exclaimed Griffith.
" Well, lead on, we will aid you, though it is
no business of ours after all. Still it keeps
one in exercise, and that is something in this
world."
Albert Denyn darted forward, followed by
Griffith and the four or five free companions
who were with him, and, pushing their way
with fierce recklessness through the mob, they
were soon in the c^itre, where a young man of
handsome person, but of somewhat loose and
dissolute appearance, was dragging a very
lovely girl away from the arms of the good old
Cure Dacy, in spite of her tears, remonstrances,
and cries. The people who stood round, took
little part in the matter, except by laughter at
the poor girl's agony, and the priest's grief and
reproaches.
The scene, however, was changed in a min-
ute : for Albert Denyn with one blow of his
gauntleted hand struck the young ribald to
the ground, while Dacy caught his niece in
his arms; and Griffith and his companions
drove back the crowd on both sides.
F 4
7*2 THE JACQUERIE.
Swords were instantly drawn on the part
of the Parisians; but Albert Denyn, un-
sheathing his own weapon, placed bis foot
on the prostrate body of the youth he had
knocked down, exclaiming, " Take care, my
men, take care, or worse may come of it. This
fellow I have found violating the commands of
the prevot, and I will drag him to the Hotel
de Ville, or kill him if he resists."
" Why it is the prevot's own nephew," cried
several voices from the crowd.
" I know that," replied Albert Denyn, " or,
at least, I guess it from what the prevot said."
The people seemed to. hesitate, in con-
sequence of what they heard and saw; and,
probably, the matter might have ended peace-
ably, but some of those on the right pressed
rather sharply upon one of Griffith's men,
who, not being of a very patient and enduring
race, struck the Parisian who was next to him
a blow in the face, with the pommel of his
sword, which dashed out three of his front
teeth, and cast him back, bleeding, on those
behind.
THE JACQUERIE. 73
An instant shout of indignation burst from
the crowd, and a tremendous rush was made
upon the small knot of soldiery who were
gathered together round the good Cure Dacy
and his niece. Albert Denyn thrust himself
between the poor girl and the foremost of the
mob. Griffith's practised sword waved not in
vain; and, to say truths though the numbera
who were opposed to the Parisians were but
small, yet their great superiority in the use of
their arms, their daring habits, vigorous frames,
and thorough contempt for their enemies, ren-
dered each man there, in reality, equal to four or
five of their assailants, so that the strife was by
no means as unequal as it appeared.
After but a few blows had been given, the
armed crowd recoiled, with several severe
gashes apparent amongst the foremost of them ;
and Griffith, with Albert Denyn, as if com-
prehending, at once, what was best to be done,
began to force their way onward, with the rest
surrounding the poor girl and her nncle, as if
to guide them in safety towards the Hotel de
Ville.
74 THE JACQUERIE.
For a minute or two the mob continued to
give way before the brandished weapons of the
adventurers ; but it soon became apparent that
numbers were flocking up to the aid of the Pa*
risians. A more formidable attack than ever
was made at the comer of the next street ; and
one of Griffith's men was brought to the ground
stunned by the blow of a mace, which dented
in his steel cap, and well nigh fractured his
skull. Griffith, himself, stepped forward to
defend him, but, in so doing, he left a gap in
their little circle. The nephew of the pr^vot,
who was then, again, at the head of his people,
dashed in with two of the others, in spite of all
the efforts of Albert Denyn, and, once more»
seized his prey ; and the situation of the young
soldier, his companions, and the object of his
interest, appeared nearly desperate, when a cry
of " Marcel ! Marcel I Long live the prevot !'*
came thundering down the street, and a con-
fused troop of horse and foot rushed on, driving
in the stragglers, and making a way into the
very heart of the crowd.
" What is this ?' What is this ?" exclaimed the
THE JACQUERIE. 75
Frevot Marcel, q>ringing to the ground and
catching his nephew with a vehement and angry
grasp.'^ ^^ Jean, you are a licentious fool ! Did I
not forbid this? Did I not give orders that
the girl should be suffered to depart ? "
As he spoke, he thrust the young man vehe-
mently from him; but at the same instant
came first a low murmur, and then a loud shout
from the mob, with the words, " Down with the
English ! Away with the adventurers ! *'
Marcel looked fiercely round him for a mo-
ment, first turning his eyes upon the citizens,
and then upon his own armed followers. But
one or two of the latter had taken up the cry
also, and were vociferating with the rest,
" Down with them ! down with them ! down
with the English I " The prevot saw that
whatever might be his inclination, he would
find but little support among his own people in
any endeavour that he might mttke to protect
the adventurers ; and like all fierce demagogues,
though internally furious at any opposition on
the part of those whom he was accustomed to
lead blindfold, he determined to temporise and
76 THE JACQU£RI£.
yield to their clamour, with a strong determin-
ation of taking vengeance, at a future period,
upon the chief of those who opposed his will.
<< Fear not, my friends," he exclaimed in a
loud and impressive tone : " your prevot will
do equal justice upon all offenders. Stand
back, my men, stand back, and let my train
gather round us; we will deal with the En-
glishmen, and treat them according to their
deserts."
The aspect of affairs now began to be serious ;
for GrifEth and his companions and Albert
Denyn himself could catch no glance of recog-
nition upon the prevot's countenance.
" A pretty pass!" cried Griffith, as he saw
the forty or fifty well armed soldiers of which the
pr^vot's train was composed gather in a stern
circle round him and the rest, keeping back the
crowd but presenting a much more formidable
array than the undisciplined multitude. ^' Let
us stand back to back, my men, for we know
not on which side we shall be taken : we can
make a pretty little hash of them yet, if they
come near. .^— Now, master prevot, what is it
THE JACQUERIE. 77
that you mean by this? Are we not your
friends, and the friends of the King of Na-
varre?"
*^ Not when I find you brawling in the streets,"
said the prevot, affecting a fierce tone ; but the
moment after, he beckoned to Albert Denyn,
saying, " You, at least, are a Frenchman —
approach and speak to me."
" They came to help me," replied Albert
Denyn, " in protecting this poor girl and the
priest, who were attacked contrary to your own
orders. — For good or ill I will take my part
with them."
" Well done, my young gallant," cried
Griffith : " you will soar high some of these
days."
But in the mean time the prevot made a
quick and angry gesture, exclaiming, " Come
hither, I say : you will make mischief speedily.
You shall return to them, if you please."
Albert Denyn took a step or two forward, to
the spot where the pr6v6t stood, close to the
old priest and his niece, with his hand still
grasping his nephew by the shoulder. It was to
78 THE JACQUERIE.
the latter, however, that Marcel first spoke:
" Get ye gone, Jean," he said, pushing the
young man back, " get ye gone to my house,
and there wait as if you were a prisoner. I will
not be long, and you shall remember this
day's fine deeds — There, make your way
through the crowd, and begone ! "
" And you, old man," he continued, turning
to the priest^ " hie thee hence, out of Paris, as
fast as may be, and take thy pretty mischief
with thee : we have causes of contention enough
among us already. — I know what thou wouldst
say, but thou shalt have safe guard and convey-
ance. — Here, Guetry, take four strong men
with you ; find quick a litter or a horse for this
girl ; conduct her and her uncle safely for ten
leagues upon their road ere noon to-morrow.
You answer for them with your life."
The man to whom he spoke was an old
weather-beaten soldier, whose habit was ever to
obey without any comment; and merely nodding
his head, and saying, ** Well, sir, well I " he
took the priest by the arm, and drew him and
his niece across the little space which had been
TH£ JACQUERIE. 79
cleared round the pr^vot, towards the side next
the river.
" Now, what would you with me ? " de-
manded Albert Denyn : *' these men, I tell you,
pr^vot, were aiding me to rescue that pooi?
girl, to whom you yourself promised protection
and assistance. I now require you to give
them an opportunity of going free, if they have
done no other wrong than defending the weak
and helpless against your vicious rabble of
Paris."
" And what would be the consequences if I
made the attempt?" asked tlje prevot, leaning
down his head and speaking low. " They would
be torn to pieces, and so should I myself. No,
no, that will never do. Go tell them in a
whisper," he continued in the same under
tone — " Go tell them in a whisper, that there
is but one way to save them. — If they resist
they ai^ lost. Let them seem to submit to my
will, go whither I would have them, and as
I would have them, and I pledge my salvation
that they shall be out of Paris to-morrow."
" How is that ? " demanded Albert ; but the
80 THE JACQUERIE.
prevot made an impatient gesture with his
hand, exclaiming, '« Go ! go quick ! there is no
time to spare ! "
A fresh cry of " Down with the English !
Down with the adventurers ! " confirmed the
words of Marcel ; and Albert, returning to the
side of Griffith, who stood contemplating the
menacing looks of the prevot's followers, and
the crowd that was seen behind them, with an
air of very great indifference, spoke with the
leader of the free companions for a moment
in a low voice. Ere Griffith could answer,
however, the soldiers of the prevot began to
press closer round; and, in a moment after,
a general rush was made upon the little group
in the centre of the circle. One of the as-
sailants went down in an instant by a blow
from the hand of Griffith ! A second was
struck to the earth a little to the left. But
ere another stroke could be given, the ad-
venturers and Albert Denyn himself, were
seized by the hands of the crowd, and most
likely would have fared ill, had it not been
for the prompt and vigorous interference of
THE JACQUERIE. 81
Marcel, and two or three of his officers, who
thought fit on this occasion to follow his lead.
** Do not hurt them, do not hurt them,"
shouted the pr^v6t, loudly. " Bring them along
to the Tour de Nesle : tie them if they resist. —
By Sainte Genevieve, I will cleave you down to
the mouth, Fran9ois, if you touch him with
that dagger. Take that, then," and he dashed
one of his unruly followers to the ground with
a blow from the back of his battle axe which
drove his iron cap down upon his head.
" I will be obeyed," continued Marcel :
"bring these men on to the Tour de Nesle.
They shall be judged and dealt with according
to law ; but we will have no more murder in
the streets. Come, away with them, away with
them ! and to-morrow they shall have sentence."
" Long live the pr^vot ! Long live Stephen
Marcel !" cried one of the men in the crowd.
The rest took it up ; and amidst a number of
incongruous shouts and exclamations, Albert
Denyn, Griffith, and the rest, were hurried
on with no very great ceremony or tenderness
towards an old tower, which stood by the side
VOL. III. a
82 TU£ JACQUEBIE.
pf the river at the end of the town. As they
came near the building, a number of the people
ran on before, to call out the keepers of the
prison in order to receive the captives. Marcel
himself, who had remounted his hoi'se, was also
a little in advance; and as Albert Denyn was
hurried past through the low-browed arch of
the Tour de Nesle, he saw the pr6v6t speak-
ing eagerly to a broad, square-built, heavy-*
looking man, with a knot of immense keys in
his hand.
In the mean time the prisoners were driven
forward ; and it so happened, that the young
follower of the Captal de Buch being the last
in the line was in the very door-way of a larger
dull-looking room on the left of the gate into
which they had thrust his companions, when
the person he had seen speaking to the prevot
pushed his way hastily through the soldiery and
^ught him by the arm, exclaiming, ^' Not in
there, not in there, there are too many there
already. — Here, Pierre le Nain I take two of
them up-stairs; I will put this one in th^
prison behind 1 "
THE JACQUEBIE. 83
Albert Denyn saw little more, for he was
dragged forward; and ere he well knew which
way they were taking him, he was thrust into
a small narrow chamber at the back of the
building, the door of which was instantly closed
and locked upon him.
G 2
84 THE JACQUERIE.
CHAP. V.
Under the shadow of one of those deep old
woods, whereof we have more than once had
occasion to speak — which at that time covered
nearly one third of the whole soil of France,
and of which vestiges are still to be met with
in almost every part of that fair land — in the
dark hours of the night of the bright month of
May, sat a group of men round a large watch-
fire, whose lurid glare was the fittest light for the
deeds of those on whose faces it shone. Gleam-
ing througli the bolls of the trees flashed the
flame of many more; and those who gazed
upon that part of the forest from a height,
might well have thought that some ruthless hand
was endeavouring to consume it all.
At the spot which we have mentioned were
collected some ten or twelve persons, as difierent
from each other in mind, character, and pur«
THE JACQUERIE. 85
poses, as it is possible to conceive. There was
the hardy, honest peasant of a superior class,
who, roused up by intolerable wrongs, had
joined the Jacquerie, and had been led on, step
by step, to deeds of blood and horror, which
his soul abhoiTed. Close by him sat the rude,
relentless ruffian, whose sole object was blood
and lust, and who, after being long kept down
by the hand of power, now revelled even unto
drunkenness in the anarchies of the times.
There, too, appeared the daring freebooter, who
had long lived upon plunder, and who, finding
the Jacquerie a more profitable means of pur-
suing the same trade, had joined the revolted
peasants with many of his band. There, too,
was the dull, but remorseless Jacques Morne;
there, Thibalt de la Rue; and there, William
Caillet, still maintaining that superiority over
all around, which from the* first had been the
meed of higher intellect and greater energies.
It was strange to see these men, some of
whom had been very lately not even clothed
in the garb of peasants, but covered with rags
or skins, now robed in silk and rich cloth, or
G 3
86 THE JACQUERIE.
cased in splendid armour, and decorated with
chains of gold. The whole wealth of a pro-
vince was theirs ; for the first wild attack upon
Plessy had not only encouraged their friends^
and at once roused the whole peasantry
throughout the land, but had, by its success,
struck terror into their enemies, and caused
£l general consternation wherever the report
was heard. Knights and nobles had fled be-
fore them; castle after castle had been taken
by storm ; small towns even had been captured
and plundered; and still the cry went forth
from many thousands of men in arms, " War to
the castle and the palace I Death to the noble
and the rich ! "
Scenes of horror which no pen can describe,
acts of barbarity that imagination can scarcely
conceive, not only initiated the peasant into
the new trade of the Jacquerie, but bound
him to his bloody calling by the irreparable
ties of crime. And there they now sat, the
leaders of the insurrection, each urging it
forward in his own peculiar way, and all con-
tributing by their various passions to its dis-
tinctive character and extraordinary success.
THE JACQUERIE. 87
Amongst them all, with their furred gowns,
and their scarlet robes, and their rich em-
broidery, William* Caillet appeared in a garb
chosen with that peculiar and careful adaptation
of means to an end which so strongly charac-
terised his mind, and blended in such an ex-
traordinary manner with the fierce passions of
which he was the slave. No gold, no jewels, no
sparkling ornaments appeared upon his person.
He was clad in armour of the finest kind, and
over all he wore a surcoat of unmingled black.
His helmet lay beside him, even when he slept,
and the only decoration which it displayed was
a tall black plume, which, together with his
commanding height, he knew would make him
an object easy to be distinguished amongst the
peasantry whom he had excited to revolt.
It was not, however, to produce an effect
upon the enemy that he assumed this peculiarity
of dress ; he thought more of the people who
surrounded him, and of the danger of losing
his influence and command over them. It
was thus an impression upon their minds that
he sought to effect, and for that purpose he
G 4
88 THE JACQUERIE.
chose his garb with care. Every serf who
pillaged a nobleman's wardrobe he knew would
appear in tinsel and glitter; but those plain
dark arms, the black plume and coat^ had not
only something mysterious and solemn in their
aspect, but something that harmonised with
the character of his own feelings, and especially
accorded with the stern, determined severity,
the immovable, unrelenting determination which
he found no difficulty in displaying.
He had become frugal of his speech since bis
first success ; he conversed but little with any
one, and made confidants of none but those
whom he was forced to trust. From time to
time, indeed, when any thing induced him to
suspect tliat the zeal of bis followers began to
slacken ; that some apprehension of the result
produced a momentary hesitation ; when he saw
them divided in councils, or seeking some petty
object to the neglect of a greater one, then his
wonted eloquence would burst forth in words
of fire, and lead all hearts away.
The con8«equenee of this conduct lya^,: that
ithe whole body looked up to him with rever-
THE JACQUERIE. 89
ence, not unmixed with fear. Even those^
strange as it may seem, who had cast behind
them every human apprehension, every holy
respect, regarded him with some degree of awe,
and obeyed him when he thought (it to com-
mand, without a word of opposition or a thought
of resistance.
There was but one person who approached
him with no such feelings, and that was old
Thibalt de la Rue. His was a nature totally
without deference for any thing. He was one of
those who were very rare in that age, an utter
unbeliever in all that others hold sacred ; he
wanted, in short, the faculty of reverence ; and
the very existence of a God he did not give
credit to, because he could not comprehend
the nature of any being wortliy of veneration
and respect. He believed not in virtue, except
such animal qualities as the human creature
shares with the brute; and, perhaps, if he had
inquired strictly into his own heart, he would
have found that he only admitted that man
might be brave, and woman tender, without
conceiving that the one could be honest, 4m:
96 THE JACQUERIF.
the other chaste ; and yet such are the strange
contradictions in our nature^ that this unbe-
lieving frame of mind did not exclude super-
stition. The fact was, he could fear, though
he could not reverence.
Not only were splendid dresses around that
fire, though upon rude limbs, and unsymmetrical
forms enough, but rich cheer, such as those lips
had never tasted before the commencement of
that year, was spread out in i*ude fashion for the
leaders of the revolt. Fine trout from the stream,
and carp from the tank ; game of such kind as
was then in season ; and even the baronial pea*
cock, with his spreading tail, was there, rudely
cooked indeed, but washed down with wine
which might have pleased an emperor, the warm
vintages of the luxuriant south brought from
afar, for those never destined to drink it.
We may well believe, that, under swdi cir«
cumstances, but small moderation was observed.
Golden hanaps, plundered from this castle and
that, passed freely round the circle ; and under
the daring influence of the grape, the joke, the
jest, and the ribald song, passed hither and
THE JACQUERIE. 91
thither, while similar sounds echoed up from the
other fires which had been kindled in every part
of the forest, giving the best indication, to any
ears that listened, of the wild saturnalia which
reigned in one of the fairest provinces of France.
There were only two of the persons present
who drank moderately, and consequently were
more silent — Caillet and Thibalt de la Rue.
The first scarcely uttered a word to any one>
passed the cup often untouched, and gazed,
with his large flashing eyes, full upon the blazing
pile before him, as if giving it back, fire for
fire. Thibalt la Rue, on his part, spoke some-
what more ; glanced round the scene about him
with keen, small, serpent-like eyes, and ever
and anon, as he marked the traces of coming
drunkenness m the vacant look and dropping
mouths of his companions, a withering smile of
anefiable scorn, and, as it were, of hatred for
the whole human race, glanced over his lip,
and passed away in an instant. His word^
though sweet in tone, and accompanied with
» bland expression, were generally venomously
hitter, searching out, with terrible sagacity, the
92 THE JACQUERIE.
tender point in every one to whom he spoke,
and plunging in a dagger, where it was least
expected.
To Caillet, indeed, that night his language
was peculiarly gentle. There was a honied
smoothness about it, which did more to put the
keen leader of the insurrection upon his guard
than if he had openly avowed the most hostile
purposes. In one respect, Caillet had mistaken
the character of Thibalt la Rue: he knew
well his passion for gold, and had, in their late
successes, pampered it to the utmost ; but he
had fancied that passioii to be the only ones
He believed that in him, as so often happens
in the world, avarice had swallowed up every
other feeling.
In this, however, he erred: the love of
power was strong in the heart of the old man ;
he cared not, indeed, whether he ruled openly,
or by another ; but still he was well pleased to
rule ; to exercise his cunning and his skill, in
guiding, directing, commanding ; and he could
not bear to see even Caillet himself, though he
knew and felt his superior genius, completely
THE JACQUERIE. 93
independent of his sway, by the influence he
had gained over his fellow-insurgents. He had
resolved^ then, long before this period, that
such a state of things should be changed, and,
as his whole spirit was intrigue, he took no small
delight in working for his own ends.
Let it not be supposed, indeed, that his design
was to overthrow Caillet, for he saw too clearly
that STich an event as that man's fall must prove
the destruction of all around. But he sought
to gain such power over Caillet himself, as,
through him, to govern the whole. Circum-
stances, as we shall sooti see, had, up to this
poiiit, wonderfully favoured his schemes; but
this was one of those critical instants, in which
there was likely to be a struggle, and it was
his object to turn Caillet in one direction, while
he himself acted in another, in order to possess
himself of an advantage which he felt sure
would enable him to rule the leader at his will.
He had prepared all for his purpose before he
sat down beside that fire, and by subtle in-
sinuations to several of the persons present, he
had prompted that proposal w*hich was certain
94 THE JACQUERIE.
to* lead the forces of the insurgents in the
direction that he desired, if Caillet still re-
mained ignorant of facts with which he himself
had accidentally become acquainted. He had
so schemed, also, that if Caillet resisted, he was
likely to meet with opposition for the first timOi
and perhaps to have his determination over-
ruled by the voices of all the leaders present.
The proposal of which we have spoken had
been delayed, and the feast and the revd
protracted, somewhat longer than the old man
liked; and at length, looking towards the
captain of the freebooters we have mentioned,
a man of great corporeal powers and no slight
talents, he said aloud, after an unnoticed sign
for the other to begin, " IVell, my friends, we
had better settle our proceedings for to-morrow,
before we are all quite drunk."
Caillet remained silent ; and the freebooter,
then remembering the suggestionis that had been
niade to him by Thibalt, exclaimed, " Of course
vre shall now go to Senlis, as we proposed last
week! There is nothing to stop us now; the
town is open, and full of Wiealth; we shall get
THE JACQUERIE. 95
immense booty^ and destroy a whole nest of the
viper nobility."
Caillet gazed at him, as he spoke, with a
stern smile ; but before he could answer, several
of the others round exclaimed, " Oh, yes, to
Senlis — to Senlis let us go : we shall never get
such plunder as that"
The leader frowned, and replied sternly,
** We go first to Ermenonville ! That casde
taken, I lead you to Senlis ; but we must not
leave it behind us, with its garrison ready to
attack us in the rear."
^< Send old Thibalt with ten thousand men
to blockade it," cried the freebooter who bad
been well tutored : " there are not fifty men in
the place; but before we have captured it^
the dauphin's troops may be in Senlis, and we
lose the best thing that has offered itself since
the beginning."
Thibalt cast a rapid glance towards Caillet, to
see how he relished the proposal ; but the latter
replied, fixing his eyes sternly upon the free-
booter, ** I do not change my purposes! What
I have said is determined. We take Ermenoni^
96 THE JACQUERIE.
ville, and then attack Senlis; and should the
dauphin's troops be in it, if there be no cowards
amongst ourselves, we will burn them and
Senlis together."
" Nay," cried the freebooter boldly, while
several voices murmured something about pro-
ceeding to Senlis at once, " I see not why one
man's voice should overthrow all our counsels.
Let us put it to the vote here, whether we shall
go first to Senlis or Ermenonville. You are
a brave, strong man, William Caillet, and a
good leader to boot ; but not a bit braver, or
stronger, or wiser, than I or any one else here
present."
If I am not," answered Caillet, rising coldly
and slowly from the ground, ^^ I am not fit to
overrule your opinion, which I will do, or die.
We will have no disputes or factions amongst
us. There is one way, when any two leaders
differ, of settling the matter at once, without
sending the quarrel throughout the whole.
Stand up, man, I say ! stand up and draw your
sword ! — No words,|my friends, but make a space
around. He has said that I am not braver, or
THE JACQUERIE. 97
Stronger, or wiser than he is ; I say that I am
all! Now let him try. Stand back, I say;
those that know me will not meddle. — Are you
a coward?" he added, seeing that the freebooter
hesitated.
His opponent's weapon instantly flashed in
the air, and was aimed at Caillet's naked head,
with a sudden straight-forward stroke which
seemed destined to cleave him to the ground ;
but it was parried in a moment ; and ere he
could recover his guard, the sweeping blade of
the insurgent leader struck him on the neck
beneath the left ear, and laid him a headless
trunk upon the earth, as if hq. had been
smitten with a scythe. The dark blood spouted
forth, and deluged the grass; and Caillet,
wiping his blade upon a handful of leaves,
replaced it in the sheath, saying, " A body of
our men are already before Ermenonville ; we
will take it, ere two suns have risen and set,
and then I promise I will lead to Senlis."
" When you have possessed yourself of fair
Adela de Mauvinet," added Thibalt la Rue, with
a sweet smile, and in a low tone ; " but what
VOL. III. H
98 THE JACQUERIE.
is to be done with this piece of flesh that lies
quivering here? I fear it will be difficult to fit
the head upon the body again ; and if those he
brought with him see them thus disjoined^ they
may very likely quit us, or breed a tumult."
" If they seek to quit us, let them go," re-
plied Caillet ; " we can well spare them. If
they breed a tumult, there are plenty of trees
to hang them to ; nor will ropes be wanting,
nor hands willing to do it. As for the rest, let
his body be taken away and buried. The
matter is suflScient as it is, to serve for a good
warning, my friend Thibalt, both for those who
listen to evil counsels, and to those who give
them."
It was early on the following morning when
the immense multitude of the insurgents
surrounded the castle of Ermenonville ; and,
though the place was strong and well defended,
yet before night, terrible progress had been
made towards its destruction. The walls were
undermined in various places, and two or three
more hours of light would have seen many
a yawning breach in the defences.
THE JACQUERIE. 99
Just about the time that the sun was setting,
old Thibalt la Rue was seen speaking eagerly
with four of the peasants, who had been carry-
ing forward the attack on the side where he
himself commanded.
" But I tell you," he said, in answer to
some objection which one of them had seemed
to make — " but I tell you, that as soon as he
has got possession of this girl, he will have all
that he has ever desired, and then he will
marry her, get a promise of pardon, and
distinction for himself, quit us, and leave us
to our fate ; nay perhaps be the first to head
the troops against us. No, no, we must enable
her to make her escape, or else get hold of her
ourselves, which would be better still ; for then
we could rule him as we liked."
" But how can we do it, how can we do it ? "
asked the peasant, to whom he was speaking.
" The old lord is too cunning to believe any
thing you can write to him,"
« I don't know that," replied Thibalt ; " and
besides, there are four or five of the men from
St. Leu who were villeins of the old lord's, and
H 2
100 THE JACQUERIE.
they go to this business with an unwilling
heart, for they love him much. If you will
consent and help me, I will speak with them
as soon as the sun is down. We can get them,
I dare say, to be hostages."
" But how can we get hold of the girl, then ? "
demanded the peasant to whom he spoke.
" By a sudden attack laid in ambush,"
replied Thibalt. ** You shall command it;
and can easily hide two or three hundred men
in the brushwood on the skirts of the forest.
It will all be easily managed: make his own
people persuade the old lord to try an escape
during the night, they becoming pledges for
his safety. Do not set upon him till he is
beyond our farthest posts : by that time the
hostages will be free; so that if these men of
Mauvinet require any sureties themselves, I
can give myself up for one, and be at liberty
before you make your attack. But mind, on
your life and honour, you do no harm to the
girl ; otherwise, we lose our whole hold upon
Caillet."
" I will take care of that," answered the other
THE JACQUERIE. 101
— " I will take care of that; but now, Master
Thibalt, if I bring her safe to you, you shall
ransom her from me, for it is for you I am
working, that is clear enough."
** I will give you a hundred pieces of gold,"
said Thibalt.
" If you do not make it five hundred,"
replied the man, " I will take her up to
Caillet, or keep her myself to be my own
paramour."
Even villains find a state of society in which
all principle is at an end very inconvenient to
live in ; and old Thibalt himself, who had never
conceived any moral tie as binding, now
longed for some such bond, wherewith to
secure his own instruments. He was obliged,
however, to deal with things as he found them ;
and after settling the affair as far as possible,
with those to whom he had first communicated
his views, he prowled about till the sun was
down, and then gathered together five or six
of the men of Mauvinet, with whom he held
a long and eager conversation. At length
he procured a light, and a piece of parchment,
H 3
102 THE JACQUERIE.
and sending for a cunning scribe over whom he
had gained some power, he caused him to write
hastily the following lines : —
" Lord of Mauvinet,
" These are written to you by a friend.
The castle of Ermenonville cannot be held out.
If you are the man that we believe, you are
already thinking of cutting your way through,
and selling your life dearly. However, as
you were always a kind lord, and a good
master, your friends in the camp of the free
people of France have determined to give you
an opportunity of escaping, if you choose to
take advantage of it. In the quarter opposite
to the western postern you will find a path
open for you; and you may rest perfectly
certain that you will be safe for the distance
of two miles. But to render you more secure,
as you may well entertain a doubt of the word
pledged to you, you will find three hostages,
unarmed, within five yards of the door.
Them you will take with you for a mile on
your way, and then set them free. But as you
THE JACQUERIE. 103
value your own life, and the lives of those
who risk all to save you, you must be as still
as death, while you and yours go through the
midst of the camp. Not a word must be
spoken, and you must pass along slowly, lest
the noise of your horses, or the jingling of
your harness, should rouse others than those
who seek your good. The hour is midnight."
«
As soon as this was written, it was tied to
the head of an arrow, round the shaft of which
was wrapped some tow. That material was
then lighted, and the whole was shot into
the castle. For several hours after, the or-
dinary scenes took place amongst the insur-
gents, but gradually about ten o'clock all noises
ceased, and weariness laid the strong limbs
at rest. Little guard or watch of any kind
was kept amongst them, for their numbers
were so immense, that they imagined they had
no cause for fear. To all appearance the only
persons that were awake amongst the whole
multitude were William Caillet and Thibalt
la Rue, who sat close together, talking eagerly
H 4
104 THE JACQUERIE.
in their usual strain. The old man seemed
anxious, rather than otherwise, to keep his
companion's eyes from sleep, laying out schemes
and plans for the future, and inquiring into
the tidings which Caillet had received from
various parts of France.
At length, however, Caillet exclaimed, " Get
you gone, Thibalt, get you gone ! I must
sleep ! For three nights I have not closed my
eyes -#- but now I have them in my grasp !
Nothing can snatch them from me now, and
I may well have a few hours slumber."
Old Thibalt suppressed the bitter smile that
was rising to his lip, and merely adding in a
taunting tone, " I thought you never slept,
Caillet," he left him, returning to his own part
of their leaguer, where he instantly sought out the
men he had been conversing with at nightfall.
" I am come, you see," he said, " to place
myself in your hands. Where are the three
men who are to be hostages ? "
" They are gone forward already," replied
one of the peasants. " Let us draw back.
Master Thibalt, into this hollow, and watch
what follows."
THE JACQUERIE. 105
Thibalt accompanied them in silence; and
then seating themselves in a little cavity of the
ground, the party gazed eagerly for some
minutes over the slope towards the castle.
The night was very dark; and though one
could see the sombre masses of towers and
walls, marked by a deeper blackness upon
the sky behind, nothing else was visible.
All was silent too; but after a time the
keen ears of the old man caught a s^nd,
and raising himself upon his knees, he soon
saw a number of dark objects, which might
be men and horses, moving slowly and silently
forward. They passed on with a low rustling,
and were soon lost to his sight, Thibalt and
liis companions listened eagerly for several
minutes, but at length, as all remained still,
he turned, and said, " You see I have dealt
fairly with you."
In less than half an hour, the three men,
who had been given as hostages, came back;
and Thibalt, without waiting to hear their
account of what had taken place, exclaimed,
" All is now safe, so I will retire to rest ! and
106 THE JACQUERIE.
he hurried away to a hut in which he had taken
up his abode.
It was situated near the edge of the camp,
and the old man was some time in reaching
it; but even when he had entered and closed
the door, far from seeking repose, he listened,
with his head inclined and his ear turned to
the window, till, suddenly, he heard a distant
sound of shouts and clashing of arms, as of
men in strife. Others heard it also, and rushed
forth : the whole camp was soon roused, and
«very thing was noise and confusion. But in
the midst of all, the leader of the peasants
whom he had cunningly placed in ambush was
brought into his hut, wounded and bleeding.
" Curse upon them and you ! " he exclaimed
as soon as he saw^Thibalt. " They have es-
caped, and half killed me."
The old man tried to give him consolation ;
but the dying Jacque rolled his eyes wildly
round, saying to one of his companions, who
had helped him thither, " Fetch me Caillet.
— I would fain speak to William Caillet."
" Go, go ! " cried Thibalt, in a sweet tone.
THE JACQUERIE. 107
" fetch him Caillet, as he wants to speak to
him."
The man retired, leaving his comrade alone
with the old serpent who had employed him ;
and in less than ten minutes Caillet was in the
hut.
" Alas ! you are too late,*' said Thibalt, as he
saw him -. — " the poor fellow is dead. They have
broken through, Caillet, you have heard, and
killed poor Merlache, here. What he had to
say, I know not, but he wanted much to speak
with you."
Caillet uttered not a word, but turned upon
his heel.
108 THE JACQUERIE.
CHAP. VI.
The only article of furniture that was to be
found in the prison to which Albert Denyn
had been consigned was a small three-legged
stool. And as the young soldier looked round
at the bare walls, the small grated window some
two or three feet above his head, the damp
earthen floor, and the strong iron-plaited door
covered with dull and dropping mould, he could
not but feel a sort of heavy and cheerless cloud
come over his brighter hopes, and make the
prospect before him look more dark and gloomy
than it really was. A moment after, however,
the buoyant heart of youth rose up again, and
he murmured to himself, with a smile, " This
is certainly a strange turn of fate 1 "
He had still to undergo that which is more
difficult to endure, without despondency, than
any sudden misfortune or disappointment j
THE JACQUERIE. 109
namely, the weary passing of hours in solitude
and idleness. At first, he consoled himself with
the thought, that the prevot would certainly not
fail to keep his promise, and set him and the rest
of the prisoners at liberty, as soon as he could
do so without danger. The king of Navarre,
he fancied, also, out of respect for the Captal
de Buch, would not suffer his imprisonment to
be long.
Nevertheless, as hour after hour went by,
and not a soul entered the prison, either to
bring him provisions, or exchange a word with
him, his spirits sank, and he felt a degree of
melancholy creep over him, of which he was
ashamed, and with which he struggled, without
being able to overcome it.
The light which the chamber possessed
was but little, even in the brightest part
of the day; but now that light began to
decrease; and, at length, the young soldier
saw the last ray fade away, and all was
darkness. He continued to walk up and
down the room, however, giving way to all
the sad thoughts which were naturally sug-
110 THE JACQUERIE.
gested, not only by his own situation, but
by the state of France, and the dangers which
surrounded those who were most dear to him.
The wing of Time flew on, with nothing to
relieve the monotony of its passing, except the
noises which he heard, occasionally, proceeding
either from other parts of the prison, or from
the busy world without, the tie between him
and which seemed now to his eyes entirely
dissevered.
During the early part of the night the sound
of tongues reachec um, talking loudly, in some
of the neighbourmg chambers; and once he
heard a gay voice singing in the English
tongue ; showing, that either the other prisoners
did not share his despondency, or else were
better provided with means of lightening
the load of imprisonment. Tlien, again, the
plashing sound of oars, and the rushing of a
boat through the water immediately beneath
the tower, struck his ear, and gay tongues, and
a merry laugh, from a distance — probably
from the other side of the river — served more
to increase his melancholy, by contrasting
THE JACQUERIE. Ill
harshly with his own feelings, than to enliven
him, by showing that there was still joy and
cheerfulness in the world. As time went on,
however, all these sounds ceased, and silence
took up her dominion over the gay metropolis
of France.
To the best of Albert Denyn's judgment,
midnight was past by more than one hour, when
he again heard the noise of oars, and a boat
seemed to stop beneath the walls of the tower
itself. The next moment, three sharp blows,
as if struck by some heavy substance against a
wooden door, reached the ear of the young
prisoner; and, after an interval of silence,
which lasted, perhaps, four or five minutes,
the blows were repeated, and a voice exclaimed,
" Mathew, Mathew ! open and let me in !"
For a short time no other sound was
heard, but then a heavy foot sounded upon
the stairs, the great gate creaked upon its
hinges, and the murmur of two persons speak-*
ing low made itself faintly heard through the
door of his prison. An instant after, that
door, itself, opened, and a bright light flashed
112 THE JACQUERIE,
in, dazzling Albert Denyn's eyes, so that he
could not, at first, see who it was that
approached. It was the voice of the Pr^vot
Marcel, however, that exclaimed, as he turned
sharply to the keeper of the tower, who was
behind him, " How is this, Mathew ? You
have left him without bed, or light, or food,
apparently ! "
" You never told me to give him either,"
replied the gaoler : *^ you said to keep him
alone — — "
** But not to starve him," cried the prevot.
" However, quick, bring him some food and
wine. They have treated you ill, my young
friend, but I have not forgotten my promise."
Certainly, five minutes before, Albert Denyn
would have thought a jest the most unpalat-
able thing in the world. But so speedy are the
revolutions of feeling in the human heart, that
apprehension and despondency vanished at
once, and he replied gaily, " You invited me
to supper, monsieur le prevot — I must say you
have given me dainty fare."
" Knights errant," answered the prevot with
THE JACQUERIE. 113
a grim smile, "have always been known to
feed poorly, and sleep on hard beds ; and such
will ever be the case, my good sir, with those
who meddle in affairs with which they have
nothing to do."
" But/' exclaimed Albert Denyn, " you
would not have me stand tamely by, and
see ''
** Well, well," exclaimed the prevot, in-
terrupting him, " we have no time to talk of
these things now. Besides, the matter is
settled, and there is never any use of returning
to a business that is gone. Let the past have
its own ! From its sad and dark dominion
we can never recover one of all the things
that have bowed to its sway — be they the
bright and beautiful ; be they the stern and
terrible; be they good, be they bad. The
Past is the only monarch against whose sway
there is no appeal, and from whose dread
sceptre there is no escaping. — The old man
and his niece are safe, far beyond the walls of
Paris. Your friends here, in the prison with
you, shall be set at liberty before to-morrow
VOL. III. I
114 THE JACQUERIE.
morning. But it is with you that I liave to
speak, and with the present that we have to
deal. You are a Frenchman, are you not?'*
" A true one,'* answered Albert Denyn,
" Then, how come you to be serving with
the Captal de Buch?" demanded the prevot.
" I have only served with him in foreign
lands," replied Albert ; " but never against my
native country. For it I will always draw my
sword, and never against it; and that the
noble captal knows right well."
" Good — good," said the prevot ; and, after
thinking for a moment, he added, " I have a
task for you, which you must not refuse."
" Tell me more of it, prevot," rejoined Albert.
*^ I have learned many a lesson of late, and,
amongst the rest, know, that one ought to
undertake nothing, without comprehending,
clearly, what it is, and what it leads to."
" You are right to be cautious," said the
prevot ; "but it is a task that you may well be
proud to perform."
He paused and mused for several minutes ;
and then, while the gaoler brought in a small
THE JACQUERIE. 115
table and some food, he spoke of indifferent
subjects, or else gazed heavily upon the ground*
As soon as the man was gone, however, he con-
tinued, saying, " Fall to and refresh yourself;
but keep your ears open. — There is a young lady
now in this town of Paris — would to God that
she had not come hither ! — of high rank and
station ; but of a race who are safer any where
else than in the French capital. You have
heard of the taking of the tower of the Louvre,
where we found such a supply of arms and
ammunition: she was known to be therein,
and the mob sought for her, somewhat eager
for bloodshed. I found means to save her from
their fury, for the time ; for, though no way
tender-hearted, I love not to see a woman's
blood spilled ;—' and, besides, it is always well to
leave some door open for retreat in case of
need. I concealed her then ; but these people,
these Parisians, the most turbulent and uii-
governable race on the face of the earth, know
that she is still in the capital, suspect me, and
watch every movement that I make. She must
be got out of Paris before day-break to-morrow.
I 2
116 THE JACQUERIE.
I dare send none of my own people with
her to give her protection, and I know no one
to apply to but you."
Albert Denyn listened eagerly, and imagina-*
tion whispered instantly in his ear the name of
Adela de Mauvinet, There was no cause, it is
true, why he should suppose the prevot spoke of
her. He had merely mentioned a lady of high
rank, and there was not any reason whatso-
ever for believing that Adela was in Paris ; but
yet a feeling of hope and expectation rose in
the breast of the young soldier, which made his
heart beat high as he listened. Did you never
remark in the midst of some wide extended
plain, while the clouds of. an April day ar6
passing over, sweeping forest and field, vil-
lage and stream, with their blue shadows as
they fly, one bright particular spot — some
church spire, or cottage window — on which the
light rests longer, and catches more frequently,
than on any other point in the whole scene —
a spot which seems to draw to itself every stray
Sunbeam that visits the landscape, and which
shines out the moment that a ray finds its way
THE JACQUEKIE. 117
«
through the cloud ? Such is the object of its love
to a young heart. The moment that the light of
hope breaks through the darkness of despon*
dency and the clouds of care, the first rays fall
naturally upon the predominant object of the
heart's affections, making it sparkle with con^-
trasted splendour from the gloom of the scene
around.
Without an instant's hesitation Albert Denyn
accepted the task, only remarking, " It is un-
fortunate that you can give me no one to
accompany me, a single hand can do but little
in times like these.*'
" I have no one, I have no one,'' said the
prevot impatiently. ^' If I contrive to get her
safe from Paris, it will be no slight thing.
Your task must be to bring her in safety to
Ermenonville or Beaumont.**
*' Could I not have some of the English with
me ? " demanded Albert Denyn. " There are
Several of them I have seen before, and one
named Scroope, who stood strongly by me
when they had taken me prisoner, and were
about putting me to death."
I 3
118 THE JACQUERm.
** I dare not trust them," replied the prevot,
" I dare not trust them ; they are all rank
marauders; and if they were to discover the
prize they have in their hands, they would cut
your throat for the mere ransom, if they could
not get you to join and share with them. Yet
stay — this fellow Scroope, you may take him
with you ! Man to man, you will be his matdr,
doubtless, and he must promise to be under
your command. Wait a moment or two and
finish your supper; I will go and speak with
him.*'
The pr^vot quitted the chamber, and Albert
Denyn was left for about a quarter of an hour
in solitude. At the end of that time, however,
Marcel returned with the soldier Scroope, who
laughed when he saw the young soldier, saying
good humouredly, " So I am to be under
your command, though I have seen more bat-
tles than you have seen years. However, Td
be under the command of a baby of six months
old, in order to get out of the hole into which
they have crammed me, giving me nothing but
sour wine and hogs' flesh. — But tell me, how
THE JACQUERIE. 119
came you by this fine coat of arras ? When
last I saw you, there was something not quite
so gay about you.*'
" That is nothing to you, my good friend,"
replied Albert Denyn : " be you sure that the
arms are my own, as well as that medal of the
emperor, at which you are looking. — He put it
round my neck with his own hand^" the youtli
added proudly. " But let us not waste time.
I am ready, sir prevot."
" Not till I have finished this flagon," cried
Scroope; " if you do not drink it, I see no
reason why I should not."
Tlie rest, of their proceedings in the prison
were soon brought to an end. Marcel led the
way out, and descending the little sloping
muddy path which led to the bank of the river,
they found a boat with a solitary boatman, who
rose as he perceived the prevot.
" Quick, Mathurin,"said the prevot, speaking
to the person in the skiff; " you I can trust.
Run back with this key; bring out another
horse, a destrier j to the place where I sent the
boy with the others. If they seek to stop you
I 4
120 THE JACQUERIE.
at the gate, show them your badge : we will
row ourselves to the place."
The man sprang to the shore ; Albert
Denyn, the prevot, and Scroope entered the
boat ; and the Englishman, seizing the oars of
his own free will, rowed rapidly on, under the
direction of Marcel, to a spot on the other bank
of the river.
As near as possible, at the point where the
houses of the village of Passy approach the
river in the present day — but which then
formed part of a green field bordered by a
vineyard and embellished with several groups
of tall trees — appeared in the clear moon-
light a dark mass standing under one of the
elms. It might have been composed of bushes
for aught that the eye could really discern,
but the imagination of Albert Denyn instantly
aided him to arrange it as a group of men
and horses. In this instance, imagination
was right to a certain degree : the horses were
there ; one tied to the tree itself, ^and another
held by a page covered with a large riding
mantle. No other human beings, however.
THE JACQUERIE. 121
were there ; and Albert Denyn, who sprang to
the ground before the prevot, looked round in
vain for the lady.
Marcel spoke a few words to the page in a
low voice; and speedily after was heard the
sound of another horse's feet coming rapidly.
The noise was soon found to proceed, however,
from the approach of the man named Mathurin,
leading a charger provided with a strong steel
saddle and head-piece.
" Now mount quick," said the prevot ;
<* and God speed you."
" But where is the lady?" demanded Albert
Denyn.
" You will find her by the way," replied
the prevot.
" I am to ride her horse, and enact the lady,
till you do," cried the page, springing upon the
light jennet which he had hitherto held : " I can
show you the road, if you do not know it."
" Oh, we all know the way right well,"
replied the man named Scroope ; *^ you saucy
pages think that no one is acquainted with any
thing but yourselves."
122 THE JACQUERIE.
Thus saying, he mounted the beast pro-
vided for him ; and taking leave of Marcel,
with one or two words of instruction from the
pr^vot, as to what places they were to avoid,
and what places to seek, the little party set out
upon its journey.
THE JACQUERIE. 125
CHAP. VII.
Albert Denyn, the page, and the stout
yeoman, Scroope, rode on for about an hour
almost in silence; the two former were cer-
tainly occupied with thoughts of their own ;
the latter was troubled with very few thoughts
of any kind ; but, unlike some persons, whose
mind is lightly loaded, his tongue was not the
more active on that account. He was the per-
fect soldier of that day, though a favourable
specimen of the animal ; for his heart was good,
his judgment not bad; and when called upon
to act, he did so in a manner very creditable
to himself; but until the moment for action
came, he went on, without the slightest inquiry
regarding what was to happen next, and in
utter carelessness of every thing that was taking
place around him. He was exactly one of those^
so well depicted by Dryden, who whistle as
124 THE JACQUERIE.
they go for want of thought; and, indeed, in
the present instance, he practised the same
musical idleness, whistling a light air, till
Albert put him in mind that he might call at-
tention to their party, which was not at all to
be desired.
During the hour that we have mentioned,
the thoughts of Albert Denyn were stirred up
by expectation, and he looked anxiously forward
every moment, in the hope of seeing the person
whom he was destined to escort. At the end
of that time, however, the moon touched the
edge of the sky; and although morning was
near, the sun yet gave no light. There seemed
every chance of passing her in the darkness ;
and Albert Denyn could refrain no longer, but
turning to the page, he said, ** Surely we can-
not have missed the lady."
" Do not fear, do not fear,'* replied the boy,
laughing ; ^* all will go right, I dare say."
" But I do not choose to trust to dare says,"
rejoined the young soldier, not particularly well
pleased with the tone of the page's answer.
^^ Have you good reason to think that we are on
THE JACQUERIE. 126
the tract to find her? — The pr^vot told me
that it would be ^with the greatest difficulty
that he got her out of Paris ; and if he brought
her as far as this, he might send her with equal
safety to Beaumont,"
"Doubtless," said the boy in the same
tone ; " but she may be nearer to us than we
think ! — Do you not understand yet, young
man?"
" Perhaps I do," replied Albert Denyn ; but
at the same time his expectations grew cold,
for the voice that spoke to him was certainly
iiot that of Adela de Mauvinet.
The party relapsed into silence again; and
in about half an hour, the eastern sky grew
grey and then yellow, and twilight and light
suc(ieeded to darkness. Albert Denyn turned
a near glance upon the countenance of his
yourtg companion, and he saw, beneath the
page's hood, the soft features and fair skin of a
very beautiful girl, of about two or three and
twenty years of age; but that girl was not
Adela de Mauvinet. Tenderness and courtesy
towards woman, however, was a part of the
126 THE JACQUERIE,
young soldier's code ; and after riding on by the
lady's side for some way, he said, " Are you
not likely to be much fatigued?"
" Oh no," she replied ; ** I have been used
lately to a harder life than I ever thought to-
know. But at all events it were better to die
of weariness, than to be torn to pieces by the
mad mob of Paris/*
" But what can you have done/' asked Albert
Denyn, " to offend the people? I thought
that the good Parisians were softened in a
moment by youth and beauty,"
" You have heard the same story," answered
the lady, " of the effect produced by an in-
nocent maiden upon a lion. I should not like
to be the virgin to try, however, and much less
to trust the tiger of Paris — I mean the mob of
the capital— with no other arms than youth,
beauty, or innocence either. Why, without
«hame or remorse, they would cut off Diana's
«ars, and hang up Venus to the first spout
they could find."
She spoke laughing, but with some degree of
bitterness, and similar to the specimen we have
THE JACQUERIE. 127
given was her conversation as they proceeded*
In despite of all that she had gone through, she
was still light, gay, and somewhat coquettish
withal : by no means without a due sense of
her own beauty, and her own wit, and of the
united effect of both upon her companions. Nor
is it to be denied that, as he rode on hour
after hour, by the side of this fair being, Albert
Denyn felt no slight degree of interest and ad-
miration. But still she was not to him, nor
ever could be, Adela de Mauvinet.
We must not pause upon all the little ad-
ventures that took place by the way ; nor tell all
the little acts of kindness and attention which
Albert paid to his fair charge; nor must we
detail how she assuredly tried to pique his ad-
miration to the highest point, and felt some-
what pettish and disappointed on finding that,
though full of chivalrous courtesy and attention,
there was none of that fiery and eager admir-
ation about him which is in general so easily
excited in the breast of the young.
All passed in safety. Here and there, in-
deed, the travellers heard of parties of free
128 THE JACQUERIE*
companions, and as they proceeded farther
from ParlSj sad tales of the ravages of the
Jacquerie met their ears. Once^ indeed, they
were induced to turn several miles out of the
direct road, so that Ermenonville was still at
some distance when day began to decline ; but
no troop, either of the adventurers or of the
insurgent peasants, presented themselves ; and
the lady continued to make light of the revolt,
and to declare that all the Jacques in the world
could not be so bad as the citizens of Paris*
Even her tone, however, was changed, when,
pausing at a small village where they proposed
to pass the night, she saw the smoking ruins
of a tall castle on the neighbouring hill, and
heard that it had been burned to the ground
three days before by the peasantry of Brie.
A hurried consultation was held on the fol-
lowing morning early, between the lady and
Albert Denyn, for it can hardly be said that
Scroope took any part therein ; ready to follow
wherever any one else preceded him, but neither
willing nor, indeed, able to lead. The first
point to be considered was, in what direction
THE JACQUERIE. 129
their steps should be turned ; for some rumours
had reached them during the precedmg evening,
of a large body of insurgents barring the way
towards Ermenonville ; but the lady pressed
eagerly that they should, at least, make the
attempt in that quarter.
" I have faithful friends," she said, " in the
castle itself; and if I could once reach them, I
should feel safe."
" We will try," replied Albert Denyn, " we
will try. But if we find ourselves shut out
from Ermenonville, it is to Beaumont, is it
not, that we must direct our steps ?"
The lady assented, and they rode on with
the first light of the day, in the direction which
had been fixed upon.
They had proceeded about six miles when,
towards seven o'clock in the morning, the sun,
which was still low down in the sky, appeared
to pour all his rays upon one spot in the land-
scape, at the distance of about a mile from them,
as they passed across the brow of a hill which
looked over the country, far and wide around.
The light flashed brightly back from that point
VOL. III. K
130 THE JACQUERIE.
to the eyes of the little party, as if reflected from
some bright substance ; and the lady, drawing
in her horse's rein, exclaimed, " What is that?
what is that ? Those must be armed men."
'* I think it is so,'* replied Albert Denyn ;
^^ and, by seeing no surcoat amongst them, I
should judge that they are the rebel Jacques.
Wait here, with this soldier, lady, and I will go
on and ascertain."
Although his fair companion besought him,
eagerly, to stay with her himself, and send the
man Scroope forward to reconnoitre, Albert
Denyn would not trust that task to his
somewhat duller intellects, and rode on, winding
amongst the lanes and high banks, in order to
get as near as possible, without being observed,
to the party he had seen.
At length, at a spot where he could just raise
his head above the bank, he obtained a full view
into the meadow, where some thirty or forty
men-at«arms were collected ; and the scene pre-
sented to his eyes was one of no slight interest.
The distance was too great for him to distin-
guish the faces ; but he was soon satisfied that
THE JACQUERIE. 131
the persons there collected did not belong to the
Jacquerie. In one part, a group was gathered
together, eating what seemed a hasty meal ; in
another, a strong man with his corselets stripped
off, was holding out his naked arm, while a
woman, on her knees beside hun, twined a long
bandage round what seemed a severe wound.
Under some trees appeared three or four
ladies and two men, with a page apparently
helping them to wine ; while at a little distance
under a bank were collected the horses of the
party with a boy watching them.
Satisfied with what he had seen, but yet
judging that it was more prudent, circumstanced
as he was, to avoid all communication with
strangers, Albert Denyn rode back, and met his
fair companion — whose impatient spirit would
not suffer her to remain where he left her —
coming down by the road which he h^d followed*
*^ Well, what are they ? what are they,
ungallant squire?" she cried. "If you leave
ladies, intrusted to your care, in that manner,
you will get no fair hands to buckle on your
knightly spurs — what are these men ?"
K 2
132 THE JACQUERIE.
" They seem of gentle blood, lady," replied
Albert, "and have women with them ; but,
nevertheless, I think we had better pass on
our way without venturing to speak with them.
They may be some of the English bands, and
as bad as the Jacquerie."
" Worse, perhaps," said Scroope, bluntly :
" were they to meet with a pretty lady dressed
as a boy, I would not answer for any of our
brave fellows not thinking her fair game."
" Hush, sir I" cried the lady, turning upon
him with an air of dignity and sternness, very
different from the coquettish manner which she
had assumed towards Albert Denyn: "hush,
sir ! you do not know of whom you speak."
" By the Lord, it matters very little," replied
the man, with a tone of indifference : " a good
English rider would not stop to ask who or
what you are, so that he found you in that dress,
and in these fields. Nevertheless, do not be
offended or afraid: I will do my best to
befriend and protect you, as I have promised ;
but I think, with my good companion,, we had
better keep out of the way of superior numbers.'*
THE JACQUERIE. 133
By this time they had reached the spot
from which Albert Denyn had reconnoitred
the party; and a little farther on, the bank
sloped down still more, so that the lady herself
was enabled to see over into the meadow.
That little germ of curiosity which is at the
bottom of every heart, both male and female,
and mingles itself with more things than we
think of, would not suffer her to let the op-
portunity pass unemployed; and, drawing in
her rein, she gazed out over the field, where
the party we have spoken of was, by this time,
in the act of gathering together their equipf-
ments, and mounting their horses for the pur-
pose of departure.
" I cannot but think," exclaimed the lady,
" that those must be French arms I see yonder."
" You had better ride on, lady," said Albert
Denyn : " they will see our heads above the
bank, and worse may come of it."
" See, see !" said the lady, without attending
to what her companion said — " see ! they are
raising a banner there. — Whose arms are
those?"
K 3
134 THE JACQUERIE.
" Mauvinet ! Mauvinet I" cried Albert
Denyn, clasping bis bands with joy: ^^good
friends to tbe crown' of France, lady! The
seneschal of Toumine ! Let us haste to meet
them : they must cross by the gap we have just
passed;'' and without more ado^ he turned his
horse and galloped back, scarcely remarking
whether the lady followed him or not.
In a minute he had reached the break in the
bank which led into the fields; and spurring
his charger through, he dashed forward, at full
speed, to meet the party, which was now coming
slowly on, four or five abreast, with the good
Lord of Mauvinet and several other gentlemen
in the front, forming a guard on either side of a
fair female form, the sight of which made the
stout heart of Albert Denyn flutter like that of
a timid girl.
On the other hand, the sudden appearance
of a horseman covei'ed with a surcoat of arms^
unknown to any one present, followed at some
little distance by what seemed a page and
another man at arms, created some surprise.
THE JACQUERIE. 135
and, as it happened, apprehension amongst the
party of the Lord of Mauvinet*
^* Halt !" cried the count, as soon as he saw
him approaching. " Who have we here ? —
Some fresh bad tidings, I fear. — Whose are
those bearings on his coat? Argent a bend
dexter azure — those are not French arms, I
think. Why turn you so pale, my Adela?
Fear not, fear not: we can defend you stilly
dear girl — but, surely, I know that youth
— Albert Denyn, as I live. Welcome, .wel-
come, my dear boy!" and the old nobleman
held out his arras to his young retainer as if he
had been a son.
Albert Denyn sprang to the ground, and ea-
gerly kissed the good lord's hand, and then
turning a look full of emotion to the other side,
he saw the sweet eyes of Adela de Mauvinet,
filled with tears, bent down towards the saddle-
bow, while the quivering of her lip told to him,
and perhaps to others, what a struggle there was
in her breast to prevent the words of joy from
breaking forth.
A few moments of silence followed on uU
K 4
136 THE JACQUERIE.
parts, and then some sentences of explanation
succeeded ; but ere Albert Denyn could say one
half of that which he had to tell, the eyes of the
old Lord of Mauvinet had lighted on the lady
in a page's habit, who was now approaching
near ; and after passing his hand twice across
•
his sight, as if to clear it from some illusion,
he cast his rein to an attendant, sprang to the
ground, and advancing towards the fair rider
with a lowly inclination, pressed his lips upon
her hand. This act, as may be supposed,
created some small bustle and surprise in his own
troop; and under favour thereof Adela bent down
her head to speak to the companion of her
childhood, saying first aloud, " Who is that,
Albert?" and then adding, in a low voice,
" Thank God ! thank God, you have come
back to us ! Ay, and with this too," she added,
laying her finger lightly for a single instant on
his coat of arms. *' Well won has it been, I am
sure, dear Albert, and ever will be nobly borne —
But who is this my father is bringing up?"
" In truth I do not know, dear lady," replied
Albert : " she is a high-bred, and somewhat
THE JACQUERIE. 137
» <
high-mannered, lady, who was put under my
charge to conduct in safety from Paris, where
her life was in danger, to Ermenonville."
He had not time to say any more, when the
Lord of Mauvinet, leading the lady's horse by
the bridle, approached, saying, " Dismount, my
Adela, and pay due reverence to the Duchess of
Orleans."
The surprise of Albert Denyn was not less
than that of those around him : but after the
little bustle occasioned by the meeting was over,
a short consultation was held ; and on hearing
that the duchess was wending her way towards
Ermenonville, the Lord of Mauvinet shook his
head mournfully^ saying, " Ermenonville is but
a name, madam. Two days ago we ourselves,
in all but thirty fighting men, strove to hold
out the place against eight thousand Jacques.
Finding it in vain, we made our way through
them in the night, not without some loss and
some wounds, leaving behind us at Clari on the
hill two men to watch the proceedites of the
villains, and bring us tidings. Fromi^hem we
find that ere the sun had risen three Hours, on
138 THE JACQUERIE.
the day we left it, not a stone was left standing
of Ermenonville. We were even now bending
our steps towards Beaumont on the Oyse^ think*
ing, madam^ that you were there. We know,
however, that there is a strong body of men in
the place, and we niay well expect aid from
Paris, or from Montereau."
" From Montereau, perhaps," replied the
duchess ; " but from Paris, none. However,
let us onward, my good lord, for it seems that
danger lies upon the path that we were following.
At Beaumont we shall find some repose, and
can hold counsel farther.''
As^the lady spoke, she took her place between
theLordof Mauvinet and his daughter, making
a sign to Albert Denyn to occupy a place be^
hind her, and saying aloud, ^^ Follow me, my
young friend ; you shall still be my squire, so
keep close to your lady. I owe that good youth
much, my Lord of Mauvinet, though whether
from some secret knowledge of my name and
station, or because he is somewhat young in
ladies* company, he has been as cold and shy
as a new captain of the guard."
THE JACQUERIE. 139
The Lord of Mauvinet replied something in
a light tone; but Adela turned her eyes to the
young soldier's countenance with a smile which
seemed to say, that she knew better than the gay
duchess the causes of his coldness and his shyness.
The party proceeded, and after a somewhat
fatiguing march, they came in sight of the tall
towers and heavy walls of the castle of Beau-
mont on the Oyse, and rode gladly up the as-
cent, iu hopes of repose and safety.
One after another, the cavalcade entered
through the heavy arches of the gate tower ; but
ere Albert Denyn followed their example, he
turned for a moment to gaze around him, and
to examine the features of the country in which
he was about to pause for the night, as had be-
come habitual with him, during the wandering
life which he had lately led under the banner of
the Captal de Buch.
The spring sun was shining over a sparkling
scene, casting long shadows here and there, from
Wood, and village, and rising ground ; so that,
though the scene was fair to look upon, it was
difficult for any unpractised eye to judge ex-
140 THE JACQUERIE.
actly of the various objects which the prospect
might contain. At two points of the plain of
Chambly, however, Albert Denyn saw some
sombre masses of considerable extent, which
puzzled him not a little. They were darker
than the mere shadows cast by the copses, yet
they did not seem to be sufficiently raised from
the surface of the country to be either woods or
hamlets. Albert continued to gaze, for the pur-
pose of seeing if they were stationary, but they
neither advanced nor receded, and he then cast
his eyes upon the ground, and remained musing
somewhat gloomily for a moment or two. Sud-
denly, however, a hand was laid upon his arm, and
the friendly voice of the Lord of Mauvinet said,
" How now, Albert, why are you tarrying here,
when there are friends within who are anxious
to hear all that has happened to you ? and why
look you so sad, wlien, from all that I have
heard, and all that I see, there is no man in all
France, should have a gladder heart than you ? "
" My noble lord," replied Albert, willing to
avoid the real subject of his thoughts, " I can-
not think how any one in France can have a
THE JACQUERIE, 141
cheerful heart, and see her in such a state as she
now is ; but if you would know what I have
been watching, look there, at those two dark
spots some five miles off."
. " What are they ? " said the Lord of Mau-
vinet : " your young eyes are better than mine,
Albert. I do not see them move : they seem
to me like the young plantations made by the
last king."
" If they be young plantations, my lord," re-
plied Albert, " there are men in them. They
do not advance, it is true ; but if you will look
steadfastly, you will see the edges change their
shape from time to time, like the outskirts of a
great crowd of people collected in one spot, for
the night."
" The Jacques, for my life, then," cried the
old lord : " we must have them well watched,
Albert : ay, and by some of our own people too;
for I find these fellows in the castle here had
thoughts of abandoning it before we came up,
and I do not believe they are much to be trusted.
I will set Pierrot to look out from the highest
tower. — But you come in with us ; the duchess
142 THE JACQUERIE.
asks for you ; and you must tell us all your ad-
ventures."
" Nay, nay, my lord," answered the youth,
** my adventures are little worth hearing, and,
in truth, I cannot speak of them before a erowd
who care nought for me, and know nought of
me."
" Nonsense, nonsense," ci'ied the old lord ;
*^ there is no crowd there ; the knights and the
men at arms are all in the hall, the duchess
sups in her own bower, with none but myself
and Adela, and one whom you must love and
like, the young Lord Louis de Cbamble. He
saved my life at Ermenonville, and is very dear
to me. The duchess asks for your presence, too,
and you must obey."
" But," said Albert Den3m, ** perhaps she
does not know "
" Yes, yes, she does know," replied the old
nobleman, " she knows more than I did, till she
herself told me : that it was the emperor himself
who gave you that chain and surcoat ; so come,
my good youth, without further words."
Thus speaking, the count turned into the
THE JACQUERIE. 143
castle again, and Albert Denyn followed, to the
presence of the Duchess of Orleans.
The page's garb was now thrown aside, the
princess had resumed her own attire, and with
it her manner had become more dignified and
calm, though not without a spice of gay coquetry
from time to time, which sat not ill upon her
pretty features. She welcomed the young sol-
dier graciously enough ; but after the first formal
compliment to herself, the eyes of Albert Denyn
instantly turned to the only other male person
present, the Lord of Mauvinet having left the
room for an instant, in order to give directions
for watching the castle walls during the night»
By the side of the duchess was seated the young
nobleman of whom the count had spoken. He
was handsome and prepossessing in look, distin-
guished in demeanour, and with every external
sign of one as likely to win a lady's heart as to
gain the approbation of those on whose decisior
her hand depended. %
Albert Denyn owned that there was nothing
that he could find fault with in the whole ap-
pearance of the young Lord of Chamble, un-
144 THE JACQUERIE.
less, indeed, it were the slightest possible tinge
of superciliousness in his manner towards him-
self; but yet he loved him not, and felt towards
liim all that eager jealousy which can exist so
well in love without hope.
The Count de Mauvinet soon returned, and,
although he little doubted that the dark masses
which they had seen were, as Albert Denyn
suspected, the revolted serfs, pausing only for
the night in their advance to attack the very
castle where he was, yet so hardened was the
mind of the veteran soldier to danger, that he
seemed to cast all thought of it from him, enjoyed
to the full the period of refreshment and rest
afforded to him, and laughed gaily over the joy-
ous board, even while the hard hand of peril was
knocking at the very gates.
Notwithstanding all Albert Denyn's unwilling-
ness, the good old lord pressed him almost in a
tone of command to relate all that had befallen
him in foreign countries. Adela's sweet eyes
brightened at the very thought, and the Duchess
of Orleans herself added her voice, which of
course was not to be refused. We must not
THE JACQUERIE. 145
pause upon Albert's history. He told it as one
who, having great deeds to recount, was fearful,
even in seeming, to overrate his own merit.
He referred, then, not to himself so much as to
Captal de Buch. It was thus acted the captal
here, so spoke the captal there ; here were the
pagans defeated, there a body of the Teutonic
knights were saved.
Those who knew him well understood the
whole matter ; and even the Duchess of Orleans,
with a woman's tact, comprehended that he
might have spoken more of himself if he had so
willed, while Adela, with her colour varying
every moment, gazed down upon the ground,
and the good old Lord of Mauvinet forced him
by questions to relate a great part of that which
he had withheld.
The keen eyes of the Duchess of Orleans,
too, were not long in discovering more of the
secrets of Albert's heart than he fancied that
either word, or look, or tone displayed ; and she
marked, not without a certain degree of playful
malice, that there were no very kindly glances
passed between the young soldier and the gay
VOL. III. L
146 THE JACQUERIE.
«
Lord of Chamble. It might come across her
mind, too — for she had many of those little
faults which checker the brighter parts of wo-
man's character — ^it might come across her mind^
too, to give some brief pain to the heart of poor
Adela de Mauvinet by coquetting with him who,
she saw, was not a little loved; but better
thoughts came after, and more generous feelings
whispered, " Tliis youth served and protected
me, not knowing who I was, and I will reward
him in the way he will best like."
" Come hither, Albert Denyn," she said, after
supper was over, as she sat in somewhat a
queenly state, with the rest of the party ranged
around — "I owe you some recompence for my
safe escort hither, and you shall have this string
of pearls to match your golden chain. Kneel,
good youth, and I will put it on. The first
time you carry this through a body of the
Jacques, I will ask knighthood for you at the
dauphin's own hand."
" It shall not be long, lady," replied Albert
Denyn, while the princess hung the pearls to
the chain given him by the emperor; but the
THE JACQUERIE. 147
duchess at the same time bent down her head,
saying, in a lower tone, " Now mark, if I do
not reward you better still ! so do not let idle
jealousy lose you opportunity, while I sport
with a fool's vanity."
No one but Albert heard the words which
she uttered ; and he rose, and went back to bis
place, scarcely comprehending their meaning
Aimself. In a few minutes, however, he saw
the duchess call the attention of the I-.ord of
Chamble, and during the whole of the evening,
ere she retired to rest, she left no fascination
of tone, look, or manner untried upon the young
knight to withdraw him from Adela de MaU"*
vinet, and attach him to herself. She had not
so easy a task as she had expected, however :
Louis de Chamble was not so weak as she had
imagined ; and the beauty of Adela was so far
superior to her own, that the vague charm of
her rank was not sufficient to counterbalance
the exceeding loveliness of the old seneschal's
daughter. The result was, that the princess
became somewhat piqued at her own want of
success, and then presuming on her station, she
L 2
148 THE JACQUERIE.
exacted, but more severely, those attentions
which she saw were burdensome.
Thus, from time to time, Albert Denyn had
an opportunity of saying much to her he loved.
On the subject of his attachment, indeed, he did
not speak ; but all he saw in the demeanour of
Adela herself was sufficient to tell him that,
as far as her affections went, he had no cause
of jealousy in regard to the young Lord of
Chamble.
Thus passed the first evening in the castle
of Beaumont sur Oyse ; and when the duchess
rose to seek repose, which was not till a late
hour of the night, she laid her hand upon that
of Adela, saying, " You shall lie in my cham-
ber, sweet lady. Fare you well, knights and
gentlemen, and good dreams sit on your pil-
lows."
** Albert, come with me," said the old Lord of
Mauvinet : " you shall tell me something more
of yourself ere I sleep. Good night, my Lord
of Chamble : we will talk farther on the subject
of which you spoke to me this morning, when
we see what to-morrow brings forth. All I
THE JACQUERIE. 149
can reply at present is, you have my best
wishes.'*
The Lord of Chamble remained alone in
the room after the others left it; and, if one
might judge by the frown upon his brow, the
subject of his meditations was not very pleasant.
At length, however, he started from his fit of
thought, and retired to his own chamber ; but
it was not to sleep, for there were those pas-
sions in his heart that are the bitterest foes to
slumber.
L 3
150 THE JACQUERIE.
CHAP. VIIL
" He will have his best wishes ! " muttered
Albert Denyn to himself, meditating on what
the Lord of Mauvinet had said, while, about
an hour after the duchess had retired, he wan-
dered round the dark battlements of Beaumont.
All that those few words might imply, all that
they might produce, came up before the mind
of the young soldier, saddening his heart, and
once more drowning out every spark of hope,
if, indeed, he can be said to have entertained any.
"I am a fool," he continued : " I dream of
things that can never be, and then my heart is
wrung to wake and find that I have been
dreaming — but, hark I What is that sound ?
Some people speaking in the court beneath.
I thought that all. but the guai*ds upon the
walls were sound asleep."
The words that were uttered below rose up
THE JACQU£R]£. 151
to him as he stood above, and he heard one
man say to the other, " Do not let us wait for
them any longer. Go in, I say, and down the
steps; we cannot lose our way, and they must
come after, if they will.'*
" But are you sure that we can get out at
the other end ?*' demanded another voice, " Is
there no door to keep us in ?*'
" None," answered the first, " none, I tell
you. It opens out amongst the furze bushes
two hundred yards beyond the moat. Hark !
I hear the rest coming."
"Men deserting from the castle!" said
Albert to himself — " I must go and wake the
Lord of Mauvinet ; though it is better, indeed,
that the cowards should be away than remain
here to cast ice upon brave men's hearts."
Nevertheless, he turned his steps in haste
towards the apartment where he had left the
count; but ere he had reached the spot at
which a flight of steps descended from the
battlements, the young Lord of Chambl^ cast
himself in his way, saying, " Stay, young man,
I have a word of advice to give you."
L 4
152 THE JACQUERIE.
" You must choose some other time, then,
my lord," replied Albert Denyn — " at present
I am in haste."
" And yet you must stay," rejoined the Lord
of Chamble, in a cold, and a somewhat sneermg
tone. " What I have to tell you is of moment,
too ; for if you do not attend to it, you may
fall into disgrace."
" Stand back, sir, and let me pass," cried
Albert Denyn. " There are men deserting
from the castle, and it may be my good lord's
wish to stop them. — Stand back, I say, or by
the heaven above us I will cast you over into
the court beneath ! Each moment, you are
doing an injury you can never repair;" and
thrusting the young knight out of his way,
witli a force that he could not resist, Albert
Denyn strode on, attending but little to the
fierce mutterings of the angry noble, and soon
reached the apartments of the count.
A door opening at once from the stairs led
into an antechamber, where two stout yeomen
slept with their bed drawn across the entrance
of the inner room. It was with difficulty that
THE JACQUERIE. 153
Albert Denyn woke them ; but having at
length, if we may use the expression^ undrawn
these living bolts, he entered the chamber
of the count, and strove to rouse the page,
who lay on a truckle-bed, at the old noble-
man's feet. The boy, like the yeomen, how-
ever, tired out with a long day's march, slept
like the rock on which the castle was built;
and ere Albert Denyn had made the slightest
progress in awakening him, the count started
up, demanding, " Who is there?"
The matter was soon explained; and the
count, rising at once, threw on his furred gown,
exclaiming, " We must stay these cowards :
they will do quite as well upon the battlements
as marks for the enemy's arrows, as better
men."
"I fear, my lord, it is too late," replied
Albert Denyn ; " for I met your good friend,
the Lord of Chamble, who would insist upon
stopping me, to speak of something, I kno
not what, and in the mean time the mischief
must have been done."
" Lead on, however," cried the old lord —
154 THE JACQUERIE*
** lead on, to the spot where you heard these
voices* We must see how they contrived to
escape at least; for, by the duchess's per-
mission, I ordered all the gates to be strictly
closed, and watched by my own men/'
As Albert Denyn anticipated, the court was
found deserted but the path which the deserters
had taken was discovered without difficulty. A
large arched doorway, through which a tall horse
could be led with ease^ was open on the eastern
side of the court; and when, by the light of
torches, which were soon procured, Albert and
the Lord of Mauvinet entered the passage, with
which the door communicated, and advanced
some fifty or sixty paces therein, they could hear
the sound of horse's feet echoing along the vault
from a distance^ showing that the fugitives were
beyond recall.
The old lord pursued the examination,
however; observing, with a grim smile, '* This
place may serve as an entrance for brave
enemies, as well as an exit for cowardly
friends."
Various gates, and heavy doors, were found
THE JACQUERIE. 155
all left wide open; and these being closed, and
other precautions taken for the defence of the
place, the Lord of Mauvinet and his com-
panions returned to the court, to inquire who
were the deserters, and how many effective
soldiers were left within the walls. Just as
they were issuing from the vault, however, they
were met by the young Lord of Chamble, who
advanced furiously upon Albert Denyn, ex*
claiming, ^^ Villain, you struck me ! and if I live
another hour I will punish you as such a pre-
sumptuous slave deserves."
Though the blood mounted high on Albert
Denyn's cheek, and his heart burned within
him, he replied calmly, though sternly, ^^ I struck
you not, my lord, though I thrust you from my
way, when you stayed me in doing my duty.
Villain I am none, young sir, thanks to God
and the hand of the emperor ; and as to pre-
sumption, I know not what you mean; for I
have never presumed towards you at least."
*« My Lord of Chambl^,'* cried the Count
de Mauvinet, " I must beseech you to forbear*
This youth is as noble in heart as any in the
156 THE JACQUERIE.
land: I owe him more than life — my daughter,
and my daughter's safety. Believe me, you have
mistaken him : he could never intend to offend
you, and only acted in haste, as no time was to be
lost — he is not one to presume in any shape."
" My lord count, you are blind," replied the
young knight sharply: "you see not how far
he dares to presume. — Ay, sir, he does pre-
sume upon some slight services he may have
rendered — he presumes, I say, to raise his in-
solent eyes even to your daughter, and yet you
see it not."
The count gazed on the young lord's face as
if struck dumb, and then turned a stern and in-
quiring glance upon Albert Denyn, whose cheek
was very pale, and whose look was bent upon
the ground.
" Speak," cried the Lord of Mauvinet,
" speak, Albert. Do you not hear his charge ?"
" I hear, my lord," answered Albert, " a vague
charge, which implies a falsehood that it does not
boldly assert. If this lord would merely say, that
I love your daughter he tells the truth; for who
could live with her as I have lived and not love
THE JACQUERIE, 157
her? I do, my lord ; I love her better than any
other being, or thing, on earth — the companion
of my childhood, the friend of my youth, the
brightest and the best of earthly beings. But
this, my lord, is a privilege of the lowest in all
the land — to love and admire that which is
fair and high. It is a duty of chivalry, and
from such duties, I am not now, thank God,
excluded. But if he would say that I love her
with but one purpose or one thought that is not
high and noble; if by the words, * raising my
eyes to her,' he means, that I aspire to that
which is impossible, I tell him that he lies to
his beard, and will prove it on him with "
*^ Hush, hush !" exclaimed the Lord of Mau-
vinet, who had listened in stern thoughtfulness,
while the young soldier spoke — "I will not suffer
such words to pass on either side ; at least not
in times of peril like these, when every sword
is wanted against the bosoms of the enemy.
My lord, you have done Albert wrong. Every
one on this earth has a right to choose out his
fair lady, to love and serve her by all honourable
means; and the highest chatelain in all the land,
158 THE JACQUERIE.
nay, the queen herself upon her throne^ receives
honour from the love of any gentleman, however
poor his estate, provided he pass not the bounds
•pf due respect. So say the laws of chivalry, my
lord; and due respect, I am right sure, Albert
Denyn will never forget towards the daughter of
his friend — Nay, frown not, my good lord : I
entreat you both, forbear all angry words, and
all sharp discussions. He, who says one syllable
more, at least till all these troubles be appeased,
makes an enemy of me. Let each man honour
the lady that he loves by doing great *deeds in
behalf of his native land ; and so no more of
this ! — Now call all the soldiers in the castle
forth, and let us see who are these runaways."
" My lord, my lord," cried a trooper, coming
in breathless haste from the walls above, ^^ there
is danger abroad. The bands of villeins are
advancing against the castle, I do believe, for I
heard but now a rushing sound coming up from
the plain. It was like the noise of a full stream,
or a heavy wind blowing through a forest in the
winter ; and then came a sharp cry, mingled, it
seemed, with groans; I fear they have come
THE JACQUERIE. 159
upon some poor fellow's house, and murdered
those within/'
*^ More likely have caught the cowards who
have deserted," replied the Lord of Mauvinet^
*' and given them due punishment for their
treachery. — Away to the walls — call all the men
out. Carry forth torches on the battlements,
and light the beacon on the highest tower ! Let
them see that we are prepared for them."
Thus saying, the good seneschal strode up to
the platform to look out. Albert Denyn and
several others followed close upon him, but
all was obscurity round about. The moon
was down, not a star was in the sky. The old
trees which surrounded the castle at no great
distance could hardly be distinguished from
the dark masses of the ground; and in vain the
eye of the count plunged into the void of the
night, seeking for human forms — he could
discover nothing. There was a low rustle,
indeed, but nothing like the voice of man met
the ear; it might be the wind beginning to
rise; it might be the rushing of the Oyse,
heard through the stillness of the night.
160 THE JACQUERIE.
" Can you see any thing, Albert?" whispered
the seneschal to the young man-at-arms, with
his eyes bent sternly upon the darkness — "can
you see any thing ? I am blind, I think/'
Albert Denyn did not reply, but he put his
hand back to one of the yeomen who stood a
step behind, took the long bow of yew, which
he carried from him, and said in a low voice^
"An arrow !"
The youth laid the feather to the string,
stretched forth his left arm to its full extent,
and drew his right hand to his ear. The string
twanged, the arrow whizzed from the bow, and
the next instant a shrill cry of agony, followed
by a confused murmur and the rushing sound of
many feet, rose from the other side of the moaU
Almost at the same moment the flame of the
beacon towered up high in the air above, and
a crowd of grim faces and shadowy forms were
seen, by the glare, within half a bow- shot of the
walls.
" Well done, my boy ! well done, Albert ! "
cried the seneschal : " you have sent one of them
to Satan's kingdom, at all events. — Now, my
THE JACQUERIE. 161
men, bring us up some piles of wood. We must
keep up a blaze along the battlements till day*
break, lest they try to take us unawares."
No attack was made, however, during the
night, by the immense body of armed peasantry
which now surrounded the castle. Some one of
importance seemed to have been hit by Albert
Denyn's shaft, and when daylight dawned, a
great deal of confusion and hurrying to and fro
was still remarked among them. Still it was
an awful sight to see that ocean of grim faces,
marked by every wild and savage passion, and
that crowd of powerful forms covered with every
sort of wild and unusual arms, all surrounding
the castle of Beaumont, which, alas ! now num-*
bered within its walls not more than forty per-
sons capable of making any effectual defence.
The good Lord of Mauvinet counted his gar-
rison over eagerly, but with an undaunted look ;
and when some one said, in a low tone, " We
shall never be able to keep the place," he replied,
^* I have fled once from them, and I will not
fly again. The place is strong ; and were the
women not here, I would hold it out till the very
VOL. III. M
162 THE JACQUERIE.
last, and die amongst the walls, rather than
abandon them. Would to God the women were
not here ! they cow my heart, and make an in-
fant of me. However, we must double our
energies, and our activity. You, Albert, defend
the north tower with your companion, Scroope,
and four of the soldiery — It is one of the points
of the greatest danger. My Lord of Cbambl^,
you, with'your men, take the eastern side— It is
scarcely less perilous than the other. Herestall,
and Huguenin, you to the south tower; the
west needs no defence but its own walls* I
will be with you all from time to time. There
seems to be store of arrows, quarrels, and every
implement of war in the place : we will have
them brought up as speedily as possible, and
you must pour them upon the enemy without
ceasing. The duchess said there were mango-
nels somewhere — they might serve us bravely
if we could find them. Let some one ask her,
where they may be found."
In about half an hour the attack of the castle
commenced, and was met with that sort of
gallant determination which renders small means
THE JACQUERIE* 163
more available than the most extensive supplies
in the hands of the irresolute^. We will not pause>
however, to detail the strife that took place, for
we may have had too much of such things
already. Suffice it, that it was waged with wild
and savage fury on the one part, and with
steady, though fiery, courage on the other,
through the greater part of the day.
It is strange what companionship in such
scenes of peril and exertion can do to soften
animosities, and make even the fiercest passions
of the human heart forget their virulence, at
least for a time. Towards three o'clock, Albert
Denyn perceived that the attack, which had
slackened on his own side, was directed against
the easternVall, where the young lord of Cham-
bid had been placed, and he sent three of hi&
men to give him aid in repelling it. Shortly after,
the tide turned again, and the northern tower
was once more assailed with violence. Loui&
of Chamble then came round himself to ask how
the day went with Albert Denyn, and to see if
he could give him help in driving back the
enemy.
M 2
164 THE JACQUERIE.
Albert thanked him^ but said no ; and
pointing with his hand to a spot amidst the
crowd beneath the walls, he added, " We must
all look well to ourselves now, my good lord,
for the fiercest of the strife is yet to come. Do
you see that man on horseback ?"
" Ay," answered the young knight ; " I saw
him before, at Ermenonville. Who is he ? He
seems to have just arrived."
*^ He has so, my lord," replied Albert.
" Hitherto these fools have been knocking their
heads against stone walls; but now you will
find them better directed. That is the fiend,
William Caillet ! I would willingly give my
right hand to-morrow morning, to be one hour
with him upon the hill-side this night."
The anticipations of Albert Denyn proved
correct. The plan of the assault was immediately
changed ; the northern and eastern parts of the
castle of Beaumont were left, comparatively, at
peace, though two strong bodies of the revolt-
ed peasantry still remained opposite to them j
but the principal attack was directed at once
against the southern tower, which was a large
THE JACQUERIE. 166
building lately added to the old castle of
Beaumont, and connected with it by an arch
over the moat, which had not vet been carried
round it.
There was now no longer any wavering, any
hesitation amongst the insurgents : the assault
of the peasantry was not only fierce but in--
cessant; and labouring with pickaxes and
iron bars, though numbers of them fell by
arrows and by stones cast down upon their
heads, they succeeded in shaking the foun-
dation of one part of the tower; and towards
seven o'clock, a large portion of the wall gave
way, crushing a number of assailants under
it, but leaving an entrance open into the tower
itself.
The Lord of Mauvinet, with one of his chief
followers named Herestall, had taken the de-
fence of that part upon themselves ; but both
Albert Denyn and the young Lord of Chamble,
seeing that the assault had ceased at every other
point, had yielded to their impatience, and
joined the party in the tower.
When the first stones were loosened from
M 3
166 TH£ JACQU£RI£.
the foundations, however, Albert Denyn had
disappeared; but he returned just at the mo^
ment when, the fall of the wall being inevitable,
the seneschal and the rest were retiring from
the spot which had been undermined.
" We must defend the bridge over the moat,
Albert," said the Lord of Mauvinet ; " or break
it down, if it be possible."
*'' I have thought of that, my lord," replied
the youth ; " and every thing is prepared."
^ It is very strong, is it not ? " demanded the
count: " how long will it take to throw it
down ?"
" One minute, and three blows of an axe,"
replied the young soldier : " I have had the
beams sawn underneath."
" Thanks, thanks, my dear boy," replied the
Lord of Mauvinet : " you have saved us half
a dozen lives at least."
" Then I beseech you let me finish the work,
my lord," replied Albert: " I would give a
year of life to strike one blow, hand to hand,
with the enemy."
" Do it, do it, my dear boy," said the old
THE JACQUERIE. 167
lord. ** There, there goes the wall !" and
down it rolled in thunder.
" Away with you, away with you, over the
bridge, my men," cried the seneschal ; *^ Albert,
you and I will be the last."
'* I with you ! I with you ! " exclaimed the
young Lord of Charable.
" Ay, but we are all under Albert's command
for the moment," said the count : ^^ he breaks
down the bridge ! He has won the honour well.
Here, here they come ! Back, back, my lord,
to the bridge! — Now, Albert, now my boy,
give them not too much time. — This axe is
heavier than yours."
Albert caught the ponderous weapon from
the seneschal's hand, and retreating side by side
with him, he struck a blow with his full force
upon the spot where he had caused the wood-
work to be sawn through on one side of the
bridge. A large portion of the structure, stone,
and lime, and beams, and iron, plunged down
in dust and ruin into the moat beneath.
" Quick, my lord, quick !" he cried; " pass
over ! Tread lightly, I beseech you !"
M 4
168 THE JACQUERIE.
" They are breaking down the bridge, they
are breaking down the bridge," cried the voices
of the peasantry, rushing up over the fallen
walls of the tower.
" Out of my way, out of my way," shouted
the thundering voice of Caillet; and darting
forward with the leap of a tiger, he sprang
towai'ds Albert Denyn, who stood with one foot
upon the entrance of the bridge, and the other
upon the threshold of the arched door-way,
which led to the platform of the captured tower.
" That to send thee to hell," cried Caillet,
striking a sweeping blow with his long sword at
the neck of Albert Denyn.
But the young soldier caught it upon his
shield, without wavering more than if he had
been struck with a willow wand ; and whirling
the battle-axe over his head, he dashed it with
such force upon the helmet of Caillet, that
driving in the steel-cap, it hurled him back-
wards, wounding and bleeding, into tlie mass
of peasantry that were following close beliind.
With one bound, Albert Denyn then sprang
across the bridge, and two more blows upon
THE JACQUERIE. 169
the wood-work of the ruined arch placed a
yawning chasm between the southern tower and
the old castle of Beaumont.
' A flight of arrows, which told sadly amongst
the peasantry in the tower, now poured upon
them from the walls of the castle; and In a
few minutes after, the part of the building
they had gained was abandoned by the Jacques,
who retired, carrying with them — apparently
with much care— one of their wounded leaders
to a group of trees at some little distance.
The rest of the insurgent force around the
castle remained firm, but did not renew the
attack ; and as Albert Denyn, with a feeling
of proud satisfaction at his heart, stood lean-
ing on the battle-axe which had done such
good service, and gazing out upon the dark
masses of the enemy, the good Lord of Mau-
vinet grasped him by the hand, saying, " I
trust you have killed the villain, Albert. I
never yet beheld a better blow ; but come, they
will do no more to-night, and we all want re-
freshment. We will place a watch upon the
walls, and see for some wine and meat.'*
170 THE JACQUERIE.
Thus speaking, the old nobleman turned away,
and descended to the hall ; but Albert Denyn
remained upon the battlements, musing deeply
and sadly upon the fruitlessness of all that he
could do to remove the original stain of his
birth. After pausing for about half an hour, he
sent down for some food, saying that he wished
to remain on the walls and watch ; and it was
there that he saw the dull shades of night
creep on once more upon the grey and heavy
sky.
He was sitting thus, upon one of the stone
benches of the parapet, when the young Lord
of Chamble approached the spot where he had
placed himself, and said, ^^ I have come to seek
you myself, for your noble friend, the Lord of
Mauvinet, wishes to speak with you."
Albert rose in silence and followed him ; and
as they passed through one of the stone passages
where there was a torch, he saw the eye of the
young nobleman fixed upon him with a look of
much interest, though there was still some stern-
ness mixed with it. What was to come next
Albert Denyn did not know; but it is only
THE, JACQUEEIE. 171
people of unsteady minds that are ever taken by
surprise ; men of strong principles are always
prepared.
On entering the hall, he found the Lord of
Mauvinet alone: his sword, unbuckled, lay
upon the table before him, and there was an
expression of stern sadness about him which
was soon explained. He held out his hand to
Albert Denyn, who kissed it affectionately, and
the seneschal then said, ^^ Albert, my mind is
made up, never to yield the castle of Beaumont;
I will hold it out to the last ; but, as I told you
this morning, the thought that there are four
women in it, and one of them so high in rank,
hangs like a weight upon me. I have deter-
mined to send them away : I have spoken to
the duchess, and she consents. They must have
a small guard ; and your hand, which has so
often defended and delivered Adela, must pro-
tect her now."
Albert Denyn cast himself upon his knee
before his ancient master: — " My lord, I do
beseech you," he cried, " let me stay with you ;
let me stay and share your fate, whatever it may
172 THE JACQUERIE.
be — to die with you, if God wills it so, and if
not, to live and share your glory. Hear me, my
lord, hear me. I know that the task you would
give me is one of danger, honour, and high
esteem; but here is this noble gentleman
standing beside you, much more worthy of the
distinction than I am ; fitted in all respects to
give protection to the Lady Adela, and doubtless
desirous to show what great deeds he can do in
her defence. Let him go upon this generous
task, my lord, which befits him far better than
It does me, while I, a poor adventurer, without
home or name, remain to do what is indeed
my duty, and defend, with my heart's blood,
that good old master, to whom I owe every
thing from childhood until now."
The tears came into the old seneschal's eyes,
and he laid his hand fondly on Albert's head,
saying, ^^ God bless you, my son ; but it must
not be. You know that I value my children
more than my own life ; and if I should die, you
will live to be the defence and prop of my son,
m .1*
who, thank God, is safe, as yet, in Touraihe.
You will not refuse to go with Adela, Albert ;
THE JACQUERIE. 173
this noble lord accompanies you ; and to your
mutual care and honour I confide both her
and that high lady who takes part in the jour-
ney. Fear not for me, Albert. I doubt not to
hold out the castle till help arrives ; .the more
so, indeed, now that other tower is gone. With
our small means it was but an encumbrance^
and it can do nothing now against us."
" But, my lord," replied Albert Denyn,
' *' we take men from you."
^' Not half so many as were required to
defend that tower," replied the old lord. " I
shall give you but four — your companion
Scroope and three others. You two will make
six; there are four women, ten in all."
<' But think you, my lord," said Albert,
'* that we shall be able to cut our way through,
with so small a force ? *'
" You must not make the attempt," replied
the old lord: ** our sally from Ermenonville
has put them upon their guard ; but the pas*
sage, the passage under ground, my dear boy :
the duchess has shown me where it issues forth.
It is to the right there, far beyond their line
174 THE JACQUERIE.
^ at least beyond where their line was when
the sun set."
** Then why not come yourself, my lord,"
said Albert : ^^ let us all abandon the castle :
you cannot be expected "
** No, no," cried the veteran soldier, " I
have fled once, I will not fly twice for all the
Jacques in Brie — Not a word more, my boy*
Guide the ladies all safe to Meaux; the market-
place there is impregnable; then send me
help as speedily as possible. But remember,
both of you, young men," he continued, ^' that
the safety of those who are dearest to me may
be fiitally compromised, if there be still one
thought of misunderstanding between you."
** There shall be none on my part, noble
count," replied the young Lord of Chambl^,
holding out his hand frankly to Albert Denyn.
^^ I find I have mistaken him ; and if we must
still be rivals, our rivalry, for the time, at least,
shall consist alone in seeing who can do most to
guide, defend, and comfort the ladies committed
to our charge. What say you ? do you pledge
yourself to this ? "
THE JACQUERIE; 175
" By my honour and hopes of heaven,"
replied Albert Denyn, grasping the hand the
other gave him. — *' When shall we set out,
my lord ? "
" Some two hours hence," answered the Count
de Mauvinet. " They will all then be asleep.
Nevertheless, you must proceed with great cau-*
tion. Let one go out first, to make sure that
there is no party beyond the mouth of the vault.
If he do not come back or give a signal, the
rest can follow. In the mean time, I will send
some flights of arrows amongst them from the
other side, so as to create confusion in that
quarter."
" In an hour and a half, my lord, then, I
will be ready," said Albert Denyn, '* and yet
I would iain stay ; but I will obey you in this
also, and, if I live, will bring you succour ere
three days be over. Fare you well then, for the
present, my lord: I will go and watch those
men. This night is somewhat lighter than the
last, and I should much fear for the result of
our expedition, did I not trust, that the bead
which was most likely to watch for our de*
176 THE JACQUERIE,
struction lies on an aching pillow, with no
great power to rise."
** Ay, or on a still one, from which it will
never rise again,'* replied the Lord of Mau-
vinet.
As Albert Denyn had said, the night was
somewhat clearer, and his last look from the
battlements ere he descended to the court-yard
at the appointed hour showed him that, a?
before, the principal body of the insurgents
lay before the great gates of the castle, while
another smaller party, but still some thousands
strong, were pressed close round a postern to
the east, by which they doubtless thought that
an escape might be attempted.
" Keep the torches moving quickly round
the walls," said Albert to one of the sentinels
on guard; and then, mounting to the beacon
tower, he bade the man slacken the flame a
little, saying, " Our good lord is going to
give them soon a flight or two of arrows."
After one more glance towards the fields,
he descended, and found all prepared.' Adela
and the duchess, with two other women, ap«
THE JACQUERIE. 177
peared a moment or two aftei* ; the first with
her countenance very pale, the second pre*
serving the same light, and somewhat care-
less bearing, which she had always hitherto
maintained.
" Here, young gentleman," she said, as
soon as she saw Albert — - " tell your sweet
friend, here, that there is not so much danger
as she fancies. Me she will not believe."
" I trust that there is not much danger, in-
deed," replied Albert ; " for if we find that there
is any one near the sally-port, or whatever it
may be, at the end of the vault, we can but
retreat to the castle again, and my good lord
will keep some one there to give us admission."
'* I will, I will," replied the old Lord of
Mauvinet ; " but I will see you forth myself.
Now lead the horses. — Do you know, madam,"
he continued, speaking to the duchess, ** whe-
ther the roof rises, so that you can mount before
you issue forth ? "
" Oh yes, my lord," she replied—'* there are
some fifty yards of a dark sort of cavern in the
rock, beyond the last gate; one can mount
VOL. III. N
178 THE JACQUERIE.
there. — My Lord of Chamble, you are my
knight for the time ; you shall win high thanks
if you bring me safe to Meaux."
Thus speaking, she led the way onward
through the vault, lighted by a single torch,
with the horses brought after. The Lord of
Mauvinet paused for a moment, to give some
orders for diverting the attention of the in-
surgents to the other side of the castle, and
then followed quickly. The vault was long,
and not a word was spoken : the hearts of all
there present were too full for words. At
length, however, they redched the last door,
and entered the natural cavern.
" Farewell, my lord," said the duchess,
extending her hand to the count. The old
seneschal pressed his lips upon it, and then
casting his arms round his daughter, he held
her to his heart with a long and a close em-
brace. Adela's tears fell quick upon his
cheek, as he bent to kiss her $ and, feeling that
it was too much for either of them to speak, he
lifted her on her horse in silence.
" Albert," said the count, in a low, but
THE JACQUEIUE. 179
solemn voice, grasping the young soldier's
hand, " Albert, I trust her to you, with but
one injunction — mark, you obey it ! Should
you all be made prisoners by these slaves, let her
not fall alive into their hands. You understand
me. Slay her, if you love her. Slay her, as
I would slay her ; and her spirit and mine will
thank you for it in heaven."
" I will give her my dagger, my lord," replied
Albert, calmly : " I shall be dead, ere then ! "
N 2
180 THE JACQUERI£.
CHAR IX.
** I CANNOT follow them so fast, Albert, I cannot
follow them so fast : my horse is very lame, and
will not go on."
" Yet a little while, dear lady, yet a little
while : I fear we are not past all danger yet.
Their bands stretch out far and wide around
the castle, and methinks I see a light yonder
which may belong to them. Stay, I will dis-
mount and look what is the matter ; perhaps it
may be a stone in the beast's foot."
It was in vain, however, that Albert Denyn
examined ; no stone could he find ; but still the
horse went lame, and could not keep up with
the rest.
•* What is the matter ? " demanded the voice
of the duchess? as she remarked a pause, and
some confusion.
" The lady's horse, madam, is lame," replied
THE JACQUERIE, 18l
Albert, " and cannot follow you so fast ; and
yet I am afraid that by any delay we may en-
danger your safety."
" We must have passed all danger now," said
the princess. ** There is a light down there —
from some peasant's cottage, doubtless. Let us
turn our steps thither, and examine what is the
matter with the beast,"
** Madam," replied Albert, *^ your security
must be the first thing thought of. " Let the
lady's saddle be put upon my horse — I will
follow you on foot."
** Nay, nay," cried the princess, " that shall
never be ! Take her behind you, good youth*
Make a pillion of your cloak ; but first let us
see what yon light is. We must have gone neat
two leagues by this time, and I have no fear."
Thus saying, and without waiting for reply,
she turned her rein in the direction of the
light, and rode on with the young Lord of
Chambl^. It soon became evident that they
were approaching some huts; but before she
reached them, Albert Denyn spurred on, and
laid his hand upon her bridle, saying, " I beseech
N 3
182 THE JACQUERIE.
you, madam, let me go forward first oh foot — I
hear voices speaking. Here^ Scroope, hold my
rein for a moment, and for Heaven's sake make
up a pillion for the Lady Adela behind my saddle.
I will be back in an instant, madam ; but if you
hear me shout loudly, ride on with all speed,
and leave me to my fate/'
As he spoke, Albert dismounted and advaneed
towards the light ; but when he came nearer to
the hut, he' could distinguish that the sounds
which had met bis ear as he rode up were those
of complaint and pain.
The cabins were few in number ; all were dark
save one, and, by the rays that Issued from it,
Albert gazed around, but could see no human
being near. He af^roached close to the door,
and listened ;but the first thing that broke the
silence was merely a groiui of anguish*
<^ Ah, that does me good to hear," said a
shrill voice. ^* It is medicine to me, it is balm ;
but yet I would fain have a drop of water. They
have all left me, and they think I will die ; but
they are mistaken. Woinan, give me a drop
of water, and I vow you shall go free : I k^t
r
THE JACQUERIE. 183
you from them to be my paramour ; but if you
will give me a cup of water, I. promise you
shall go free."
Another deep groan from a spot near broke
in upon what he was saying, and then a sweets
toned woman's voice^ full of deep sadness, re*
plied, " How can I give thee water with my
hands tied ? Think you that if I could give it to
any one, it would not be to my own father,
whom you have so inhumanly mangled ? "
" Fiend, give me water," cried the same voice,
frantically ; " or when my men come, I will
make them dishonour thee before his eyes."
A low sob was the only reply, and Albert
Dei^yn, re-assured, thrust open the door and en-
tered.
The scene was a strange and horrible one, as
ever war with all its horrors presented. Cast
down in one corner of the hut lay the mangled
form of a tall and powerful man, past the middle
age ; whose dress, though torn and dabbled with
blood, bespoke high rank and station. His ar-
mour had been stripped off, except the grieves,
which were still upon his legs, while both his
N 4
184 THE JACQUERIE.
arms, from the way in which they lay, seemed
to be broken. Crouching on the ground near
him, with her hands tied behind her back, and
gazing upon him with a look full of deep but
agonised affection, was a beautiful girl, of perhaps
nineteen years of age, whp seemed to have suf-
fered no violence, though her robe was spotted
with drops of blood, which probably had flowed
from the dying man beside her.
A resin torch was stuck in one corner of the
hut, and by its light was seen, on the other hand,
a low bed piled up with straw, over which was
cast a rich crimson cloak. Thereon was
stretched the lean and withered form of old
Thibalt la Rue, with an arrow still left
plunged in his right side, just beneath the
arm, which seemed to keep him in great
torture, and prevent him from moving hand or
foot without pain.
As may be well supposed, all the eyes
of those within the cabin were instantly
turned upon the opening door; and when
the fine majestic form of the young soldier ap»
peared, covered with his coat of arms, a look of
THE JACQUERIE. 185
terror passed over the fiend-like countenance of
the oJd man, while a cry of joy burst from the
lips of the fair girl at the other side of the hut,
" It is a gentleman, my father," she cried,
" Oh God, it is a gentleman come to help us,"
The dying man strove to turn, but could
not, and Albert Denyn instantly advancing, cut
the cord that tied the lady's hands. Without a
pause, she started to a table, on which stood a
cup of water, and brought it to her father's lips ;
while Albert gazed earnestly upon him, saying,
^' Surely I have seen your face before. Is it
possible that I behold my good Lord of
St. Leu?"
*' Yes, yes !" cried the wounded nobleman, his
lips now moistened and refreshed, " and you are
the man of all others I would see. Take care
of my daughter, good youth. Convey her safely
to the Captal de Buch : she has a packet for him
in her bosom, which he will give much to have.
Away with her, quick ! Mind not me. Thank
God I she is unpolluted as yet. I trust her to
your honour. Away ! away "
His mind, occupied by one all-engrossing
186 THE JACQUERIE.
thought, evidently took into consideration no-
thing else; but the poor girl again cast herself
on her knees beside him, exclaiming, ^^ I can-
not, I will not leave you ! Oh my father, let me
stay and die beside you."
" Give me some drink ! give me some
drink ! " shrieked the voice of the old man
from the other bed. " Monsters, will you not
give me some drink ? May hell seize upon you
all!"
Ko one attended to him, however— the hour of
retribution was eome^-^and the agony he had so
often inflicted upon others now fell upon him^fl
*' I know not how I can save her," said
Albert Denyn, speaking in a low voice to the
Lord of St. Leu ; ^^ we are ourselves embatrassed
for chargers. One has fallen lam^ and **
" There must be horses near, " replied
the dying man. ^^ Our own cannot be far ofiv
They pursued us as we were trying to escape
towards Paris : they caught us not far from
this spot, and our beasts must be here. ^— Take
her ! take her quick ! "
THE JACQUERIE, 187
** Stay," cried Albert, " I will go and see
what can be done.'*
Thus saying, he left the hut, and found that
the Duchess of Orleans and her party had gra-
dually advanced to within a few steps of the
spot where it stood. To her and the rest he
explained briefly what he had seen. The other
hovels were searched immediately, and in one
of them three or four horses were found, with
a young peasant of some twelve years old
dressed in the rich embroidered suit which
had once covered a nobleman's son, sound
Asleep on some straw in a comer of this
temporary stable. The boy was roused and
tied hand and foot, and two fresh holies were
brought forth for Adela and Margaret of
St. Leu. There was a third powerful beast,
which had evidently been the charger of a man-*
at-arms ; and a vagae hope of being able to save
the Lord of St. Leu himself crossed the mind
of the young soldier, as he turned back with
Sctoope and another to the little hut. The
moment he entered, the voice of the old man
Jdd THE JACQUERIE.
Thibalt assailed him, calling him by name, and
beseeching him to bring him water.
** If you will give me but one drop, Albert
Denyn," he said, *' I will tell you a secret you
would cut off your right hand to bear ! "
*^ Albert Denyn ! " cried tlie young lady of
St, Leu, looking at him. " Are you Albert
Denyn ? — Give him some water,"
The youth took the cup and filled it from a
jar that stood near. The unfortunate wretch
clutched it eagerly and drank, and then ex-
claimed, " More, give me more ! "
*' What is your secret, then ? " demanded
Albert Denyn.
*' Listen, listen," said the old man.
The youth put down his ear, and Thibalt
whispered a word which made the light flash
from the young soldier's eyes.
" Give me more drink," cried Thibalt, seeing
the effect that he had produced, ^^ give me
more drink, and I will tell thee all."
Albert turned eagerly to seek it; but at that
moment the young Lord of Chamble entered
THE JACQUERIE. 189
the place, and his eyes fell at once upon old
Thibalt de la Rue,
" Ha ! " he exclaimed. " This is the darkest
fiend of them all ! — Lying on my murdered
brother^s cloak too ! — Down to hell, old mon-
ster ! " and ere Albert Denyn could stop him,
he had driven his dagger into Thibalt's heart.
With a yell, a gasp, and a fearful contortion,
the wretched old man gave up his spirit to its
terrible account*
" My lord, you have stopped words I would
have given a world to hear," cried Albert
Denyn ; " but it is done, and cannot now be
helped. — Dear lady," he continued, turning to
the Lord of St. Leu*s daughter, " perhaps we
may be able to carry your father with us, if we
be not sharply pursued. If he can sit upon a
horse at all, I and another will support him in
our arms."
*^ God of heaven reward you !" cried the girl.
" I will reward you, too. — Father, dear father,
do you hear him?" and she again turned to
gaze into her parent's face.
The wounded man made no reply. The eyes
190 THE JACQUERIE.
were fixed and glassy : there was a gi'ey shade
over the whole countenance ; and Albert Denyn,
starting forward, gazed at him intently fijr a
moment. He took her hand, saying, " Lady^
come away ! Your cares are fruitless."
" One moment," she said, in a calmer tone
than he expected — "but one moment," and
bending down her head, she pressed her lips
upon the cold brow of her dead father.
^' Now," she continued, " now I am ready. I
have no right to keep you longer."
Her eyes were dry, but an unwonted drop
glistened on the lids of Albert Denyn as he
«aid, " Alas, poor lady ! Would that we could
have saved him."
She gave him a grateful look, but made no
reply ; and he led her out, accompanied by the
rest, one of the rude soldiers, before they went,
spurning the body of Thibalt de la Rue from
the straw on which it was stretched, and
spreading the cloak over the dead form of the
Lord of St. Leu. But few words more were
spoken, and none that it may be necessary to
repeat ; for the recognition of Adela and Mar-
THE JACQUERIE* 191
garet of St. Leu was too full of sad feelings on
both parts to admit of conversation. The
saddle was changed from the horse which
had fallen lame to one of those which had
been brought out of the hut, the young lady
of St. Leii was placed upon another, and the
party once more proceeded in the darkness*
Two of the troopers lingered for a moment
or two, indeed, and then came up at a quick
pace ; but Albert Denyn had heard a sharp cry
and a groan behind them, and he turned sharply
to one of the men, saying, " You have not hurt
the boy?"
" Out upon the wolfs whelp ! " was the only
reply; and Albert very well divined the
fate of the unfortunate Jad who had been
left by the insurgents to guard the horses.
It did not surprise him; for such was the
merciless conduct of each party to the other, in
the fearful strife that was then going on, that
no one could hope for pity if he fell into the
hands of the enemy.
It may be easily imagined that the journey
was a painful one to all. Apprehension,
192 THE JACQUERIE.
indeed, decreased every minute, as mile after
mile was placed between them and the castle of
Beaumont. But there was scarcely one person
present who had not some deep cause for
care or for sorrow in his breast ; and the lightest
hearted of the cavalcade seemed to be the
Duchess of Orleans herself, who led the way
with the young Lord of Chambl^ talking
almost gaily, and keeping him constantly by
her side.
Margaret of St. Leu, Albert Denyn, and Adela
de Mauvinet followed, while between the two
latter existed those deep feelings of anxiety and
grief for the same objects, and from the same
causes, which, like almost every other circum-
stance that had taken place in their mutual lives,
were calculated to draw their hearts closer and
closer together, and to render the love which
was in the bosom of each unchangeable and
eternal. They spoke but little in words, it is
true; but their thoughts spoke, and each, in
mind, was conversing with the other.
At length, as the grey streaks in the sky
told the approach of day, Adela addressed her
THE JACQUERIE. 193
companion in a low voice, saying, " Where do
you think you can obtain help for my father?*'
" I know but one place," replied Albert
Denyn, " in which it can be found, and but one
person capable of giving it — Paris, and the king
of Navarre. As soon as you are safe in Meaux,
I must hasten to the king — some other
messenger must also be sent; for I risk
my liberty by going, and may be arrested
before I reach him."
" Oh, he will give no aid," cried Adela.
" My father is of the regent's party, and
Charles the Bad hates him bitterly; but the
Captal de Buch — Albert, where is the captal ?"
" By this time he must be in France,"
answered Albert Denyn. " But, alas ! dear lady,
he had but sixteen men with him ! all the rest
were left behind to aid the Teutonic knights : —
the dauphin is powerless, and there is no time
to be lost."
" I fear there is not," said Adela, " I
fear there is not, indeed. Oh, tell me the
truth, Albert, tell me the whole truth. My
father put on a face of hope and confidence,
VOL. in. o
194 THE JACQUERIE.
and said he could hold out the castle for a
week. But I heard something of one of the
towers being taken."
" That is no disadvantage, dear lady," re-
plied Albert. " The tower was a weak point,
rather than a defence. We have broken down
the bridge between it and the castle, and, as
they have no machines of war it gives them no
assistance. I trust your father may hold out for
a week, perhaps for longer ; the more so, as I
believe that villain Caillet — who, from his
talent, is more to be dreaded than all the rest —
is at least disabled for a time. If his casque
had not been of the best tried steel, he would
have been a corpse ere now. As it was, the
battle-axe must have reached his head ; for I
saw the blood start as he fell."
" God forgive me that I must rejoice," said
Adela, " at any man's sufferings."
" I think he is dead, lady," joined in one of
the troopers who was riding near ; " for I be-
held the blow given, and he went down much
like a dead man."
" No, no," answered Albert Denyn — ** he
THE JACQUERIE. 195
died not on the spot ; for I afterwards saw him
walk to the rear, supported by two of his base
companions ; but, for a time at least, I trust
that he is disabled. That old man, too, cannot
direct them now; and he was as shrewd a
miscreant as ever lived. It was. a serviceable
bow that sent that arrow to his breast."
" I ratlier think it was your own. Master
Albert," replied the soldier who had previously
spoken ; ^' for that young wolf told us, before
Peter cut his throat, that the old knave was
wounded by an arrow, shot in the darkness of
the night, on their very first arrival under
Beaumont."
" That is strange, indeed," said Albert
Denyn; and after a moment's musing he
added, — " Let us hope for the best, dear lady..
Look where the sun is rising brightly ; so may
a better day rise for us all ! "
" God grant it !" cried Adela; " God grant
it ! " And she turned her glistening eyes on
him who spoke, with a look which seemed to say,,
that if her day was to be bright, his happiness
must have a share in making it so. *^ But stilly
o 2
1^ THE JACQUERIE.
Albert," she continued, " still some aid must
be sought for my father. Whither shall we
turn for that ? "
" If the captal has not passed on yet to
Paris/* replied Albert, " he cannot be very
far distant. I know the road he is to take ; I
will seek him, and ask his counsel. Perhaps
we can raise men ; call the nobles to arms
throughout the country, and march against
these savages at once. But, lo ! surely those
are the buildings of Meaux. Two hours more
will bring us thither."
Adela looked forward, and saw at the edge
of thejplain that they were now traversing some
tall towers and spires, with several glistening
pieces of water; but, why she could not tell,
her bosom did not experience that joy which
the sensation of renewed security generally in-
spires. She asked herself what next was to
happen ; and felt that, if the heart be prophetic,
no great happiness awaited her there.
After a pause of about ah hour, in a small
town not far from the spot where Meaux
first appeared to their eyes, they again re-
THE JACQUEJIIE, 197
newed their journey, and entered the city
about mid-day. There were many people in
the streets, and a number more came out tp
gaze upon them as they passed; but Albert
Denyn could not help thinking that he saw
some scowling malevolence in the eyes of the
citizens. Opposite the principal church, how-
ever, they were met by the mayor, to whom
the Duchess of Orleans was known, and to
whom she had sent forward a messenger from
their last halting place. He received her with
fawning smiles, and lowly inclinations of the
head, and besought her to take up her resi-
dence in the town-house, at least for a time ;
but while they were yet parleying on the sub-
ject, a messenger arrived in breathless haste,
saying, " That the young Duchess of Normandy,
having heard of her fair aunt's arrival, had sent
him to beg that she would join her instantly
in the great market-place, where she and
some other persons of quality were then
residing."
The duchess rode on accordingly ; and Albert
Denyn followed with the rest, thinking it not
o 3
198 THE JACQUERIE.
a little strange to hear that the wife of the
dauphin, the regent of the kingdom, should be
making her abode in the market-place of Meaux.
As they rode on, however, and passed over the
old bridge across the river Marne, he perceived
the meaning of that term which he had before
not understood. The stream of the Marne
itself flowed between the city and the market-
place, which was situated on an island, formed
by the river and by a deep and broad canal. A
number of fine edifices surrounded the square
where the weekly markets were held, and these
buildings were protected by walls, towers, and
ditches, like a regular fortress. The fortifica-
tions, indeed, did not embrace the whole of the
island, the unenclosed space being covered by
green pasture, upon which some cattle and
sheep were feeding peacefully.
At the fortified gate of the market-place,
when the fugitives from Beaumont arrived
there, stood two men at arms, and two or three
domestic servants, as it appeared; and when
the great doors were thrown open, and Albert
Denyn, together with the rest of the troop,
THE JACQUERIE. 199
followed the Duchess of Orleans in, the first
object that his eyes lighted upon was the young
Duchess of Normandy, with a number of other
ladies and female attendants, come forth to
greet her noble relation ; but he was surprised
to see only two or three pages, and still fewer
serving men, without a single knight or man-at-
arms to give them protection.
The two ladies embraced eagerly, and con*-
tinued in conversation for some time, while the
gentlemen who had accompanied the Duchess of
Orleans remained at some little distance. At
length, the princess beckoned to Albert Denyn,
and he could see at his approach that her face
was graver than he had beheld it before.
" You are weary, and well nigh exhausted,''
said the duchess ; ^' and yet, good youth, I doubt
not that you will undertake to ride forth again
within an hour, to do good service- both to me
and the lady that you love."
" I proposed, madam," replied Albert, " but
to feed my horse, and to set out, in order to
rejoin the noble Captal de Buch, and lead him
to the deliverance of the Lord of Mauvinet."
o 4
200 THE JACQUERIE.
The lady paused, thoughtfully, and then said,
" Well, that must do. Can you trust the man
Scroope to deliver a message faithfully ? "
" I think I can, madam," replied Albert
Denyn. " But let me hear its nature."
" The message I would send," answered the
duchess, \ " is to the regent, now at Mon-
terreaux. I would have him told, that, left
well nigh defenceless as we are, we doubt the
faith of the people of Meaux ; and that, not-
withstanding all the oaths and protestations of
John Soulas and his companions, we believe
him to be a knave, and that they mean to play
us false. We would beseech the dauphin to
return directly with force to deliver us, or
worse may come of it. Now, good youth, take
the man Scroope with you — you will find
fresh horses in the stable. You can either
trust him to seek the captal, and go on with
the message to the regent, or you can send
him to the regent, and seek the captal your-
self. But I will tell you, that he who bears
this message to the dauphin will meet the
best reward in the regent's power to bestow."
THE JACQUERIE. 201
" Madam," replied Albert Denyn," Scroope's
path and mine will lie for some way together.
Perhaps I may meet the captal, ere we are
obliged to separate; for that noble lord comes
by Provins and Melun. But if we are forced
to part, believe me, madam, by all I hold most
dear, I will do that which in my poor judg-
ment seems at the time best calculated to
bring you speedy aid; for if I judge rightly,
the Lord of Mauvinet can make good his part
much longer than you could do here with the
very few men you have about you."
" There are some soldiers, sir, on the walls,"
answered the Duchess of Normandy ; " but,
alas ! they are not many."
" No time is then to be lost, your highness,"
replied Albert Denyn : " I will go forth at
once."
" At le^t take some refreshment," said the
duchess. " Happily we have abundance here ;
though, alas ! each meal that we eat we know
not but it may, be the last. There are plenty
of fresh horses too in the stables."
Albert was turning away ; but the Duchess
1202 TH£ JACQUERIE.
of Orleans followed him a step, and then
said, in a low voice, " Your devotion pleases
me, sir, and is worthy of high reward. In
those points that you hold most dear, I will
take care that you shall not lose by your
absence. Though the page was not happy that
loved the lady of high degree, yet there are
times and seasons when the differences of
station are swjept away, and when bold love, if
joined with valour and with virtue, may be
successful. Say a word to your fair lady before
you go. Ask her if she have a token to send to
her father — and now fare you well. — My Lord
of Chambl^," she continued, raising her voice,
" I would speak with you for a moment. You
must conduct our defence for us here in case
of need, for we have great fear of these men
of Meaux."
The young nobleman advanced ; but Albert
Denyn stopped him for a moment as he passed,
saying, *^ Farewell, my lord: perhaps we may
never meet again; but I know I leave the
Lady Adela under the protection of a good
knight, and a strong sword. I think you
THE JACQUERIE. 208
neard what her father said to me, as we parted*
I trust that task to you, should such a dreadful
day ever come ; and I beseech you, and this
noble lady also, to take care of that poor for-
lorn girl, whose father we saw expire last
night."
A few words to Adela, and a few to the
orphan lady of St. Leu, were all that Albert
Denyn indulged in; and then explaining to
Scroope the task that was given them, he
sought fresh horses in the stables of the market-
place, and passing over the bridge, issued forth
again from the town of Meaux.
204 THE JACQUERIE.
CHAP. X.
If in this earth on which we live^ and this
state of mortal being, a foretaste of that hell
which evil actions prepai'e for men hereafter
be allowed to visit the bosoms of the wicked,
it must surely be when, in the struggle against
virtue and right, they find themselves baffled
and overthrown ; when they see that holy
obedience to God's high will, which they con-
temned as pusillanimous or scoffed at as feeble,
triumphing, in the power of wisdom and the
might of justice, over their furious weakness
and their foolish cunning.
That foretaste of hell was in the heart of
William Caillet, when, after having been
dashed backward amongst his blood-thirsty
followers by the hand of the youth he affected
to scorn and despise, he was led away from
the southern tower of the castle of Beaumont,
bleeding, dizzy, and baffled.
THE JACQUERIE. 205
Ere he could recover his recollection, Jacques
Morne and another had drawn him not only
away from the tower, but to a considerable dis-
tance from the fortress itself, out of the reach of
the missiles which from time to time were poured
from the walls. The peasantry gazed at him
as he moved slowly along, with anxiety and
wonder. This was the first time that they had
ever seen him wounded; and as his fiery courage
had led him into the very front on every occa-
sion of danjger and strife, they' had become
possessed with a superstitious notion that he
was invulnerable. His superiority of mind, his
powers of language, his fierce daring, the calm,
deliberate cruelty with which he committed,
or ordered, barbarous acts, which the others
performed when maddened by excited passions,
his continual success, and his thirst, as it were,
for strife and bloodshed, had all convinced
them that he was of a different kind of being
from themselves; and, as there is always some
justice in the appreciation of character by mul-
titudes, however rude, the revolted peasantry
imagined that their leader, if not absolutely a
1206 THE JACQUERIE.
fiend, was endowed by the spirits of darkness
with supernatural powers.
As Caillet recovered, in some degree, from
the first effects of the blow, he saw the dis-
mayed and wondering eyes that turned upon
him ; and feeling that unless he made a great
effort, a part of the influence of his character
would be lost with the people, he exclaimed,
in his short, stern manner, " No farther ! " and
poshing from him on either side the men who
were supporting him, he drew himself to his
full height, and spreading out his shoulders,
took in a deep, long breath.
The next moment, feeling that his strength
was indeed gone for the time, he sat down upon
the ground to hide his weakness, and in a full
and yet powerful voice said to Jacques Morne,
** Take off my casque ; — bring me a bucket
full of water."
The casque was soon removed; and looking
at the deep rent through the steel, as he held
it on his knee, without attempting to stop the
blood that continued flowing from his forehead,
he continued to those around, '^ The blade
THE JACQUERIE. 207
must have been enchanted that struck that
blow. — The tower, however, is ours. I knew
that somethuig must be paid for it, and it is
well worth a few drops of blood. — Let it flow,
let it flow," he continued, removing the hand of
one of the men who attempted to stanch it with
some bandages of linen which had been brought
to the spot : " when enough has come, I will stop
it myself. Did not somebody tell me, when
I came up a few hours ago, that old Thibalt
had been wounded by an arrow last night ? "
" Yes," replied one of the men with a sar-
castic grin ; " and he caused himself to be re-
moved to a hut a mile or two behind, where he
had laid a trap for the old Lord of St. Leu and
the Lady Magaret, whom he intends to keep
for his paramour.
" If he can think of paramours," answered
Caillet, " he cannot be badly hurt, and must
come up to-morrow to bear his share in the
day's work. I intend to take the castle before
noon. We have done enough for one day. — Now^
Morne, dip the bandages in the water; bind them
round my head. — Withdraw the men a little
208 THE JACQUERIE.
distance from the walls, as the sun is going down ;
but mind that they keep close together, and lie
shoulder to shoulder through the night, tliat we
may have no more escaping as at Ermenonville*
I will go to yon cottage, and have an hour or
two's sleep. I have had none for many a day.
Come with me, Morne, for a while : I would
speak to you as we go. — I expect great tidings
and great deeds to-morrow, my friends," he
continued, turning to the peasantry who stood
near; « and if my mind does not deceive me^ I
shall lead you to a higher enterprise than any
you have yet undertaken. Wake me if any thing
happens, or if any messenger arrives; and an
hour before daylight send a messenger to old
Thibalt, bidding him come up by dawn."
Thus saying, Caillet turned and walked away ;
proceeding with a firm strong step, an upright
mien, and unchanged demeanour, till he had
passed the greater part of the peasantry. He
then, however, took Jacques Mome's arm, leant
heavily upon it, and when he had reached the
cottage, he cast himself down in a bed, in the
right-hand room, with a deep groan.
THE JACQUERIE. 209
" What can I get you, Caillet ? '* said Jacques
Morne : " you are badly hurt."
*' No, no,'* he replied, " I am not. I shall
be well to-morrow: my head aches with the
blow, that is all. Bring me plenty of water
to keep these bandages wet. — Put a man to
guard the door. — Let me hear every thing that
happens during the night ; and, now leave me."
It was about two o'clock in the mornings
when CaiUet, who had at length fallen asleep^
was roused by some one bringing him in letters.
A torch was soon procured, and he read the
contents eagerly, and with a smile of triumph.
Then turning to the messenger he said, " You
come from Paris yourself? "
The man bowed his head ; and Caillet con-
tinued, " Well, take some short rest. Go back
and tell Vaillant and Giles that I will not fail
them. I will be there to a moment, with twenty
thousand men. I have no materials here, or I
would write ; but you know what to say, and
will say it exactly."
The messenger retired; and Caillet asked
those who had brought him in, whether any
VOL. III. P
210 THE JACQUERIE*
thing had occurred in the neighbourhood of the
castle.
. " Nothing," replied the man : " nothing
could happen. There is not room for a mouse
to creep out of it between our mien. They dis-
charged a flight of arrows, indeed, about mid-
night; but without eiBFect."
Caillet started up off the bed, and gazed in
the face of the man who spoke. " A flight of
arrows at midnight!" he exclaimed — "that
was not without its purpose. We shall hear
more anon. Where lies Jacques Morne ? Bring
the casque after me ; but stay, give me a cup
of wine."
While the peasant was seeking in the other
chamber of the cottage for the wine that Caillet
demanded, there were voices heard at the door,
and the insurgent leader went out himself to
see who it was.
" Here is bad news, Caillet," said Jacques
Morne, who was one of the speakers. " Old
Thibalt is dead ! "
" Then death be his paramour !" cried Caillet,
with a bitter and a somewhat wild laugh. " What
THE JACQUEKIE. 211
had the old dry lath to do with paramours? —
I wonder if his inquisitive mind have found the
way to hell yet ? — It was no bad hand that shot
that arrow. That old man would have made
mischief amongst us, Morne. He could not be
honest even with his brethren."
" It was not the arrow killed him," replied
Morne, in a low tone. " There was a dagger
wound in his heart ; and a horse-boy, who was
found dying, said that there had been several
women and five or six men there, mounted on
strong horses. They stabbed oldThibalt, and cut
the boy's throat, it seems ; but he is still living,
if you would ask him any farther questions. —
I fear, Caillet, that they have escaped from the
castle; for the boy heard one of them call
another, Albert Denyn, and they spoke about
going to Meaux — yet how they got out I
cannot tell; for, on my life, they must have
marched across our bodies."
" Ha, ha, ha !" laughed Caillet, with a wild,
fiendish, mocking laugh ; " they will make me
hunt them throughout all France ; but so shall
we find the richer castles and towns to plunder,
p 2
212 THE JACQU£RI£.
and the more of these locust nobles to destroy.
— Meaux, gone to M eaux, have they ? Well,
then, we will go to Meaux too. — Go, go,
Morne, go ! Gather all the people together
where I can speak to them. Get the men of
influence in the front. I have great news for
them, Morne ; so let the tidings of the principal
people having escaped from the castle spread
among them. I will be there by day-break."
As soon as Morne was gone Caillet quaffed off
the cup of wine that the peasant brought him ;
and then sitting down, leaned his head upon
his hands, muttering to himself, " How it aches !
Nor are my thoughts so clear as they used to
be. I wonder why images that one would
banish will return to plague us — I, who can
command thousands of men, cannot I command
these phantoms, these creatures of my own
brain ? — That old man ! — That Walleran
Urgel, that I slew in the wood ! — That
daughter of the Lord of Plessis, that I spurned
away from me to the blood-hounds that fol-
lowed ! and the little children too ! I can see
them standing, pale, at the other side of the
THE JACQUERIE. ^IH
room. How she did shriek when the men
seized her ! — Hark, she is shrieking still ! — >
No ! all is silence. The cry was in my own
heart !
" But," he continued, " this is frenzy. I
will go forth : the cool air will calm my brain*
See, there is the grey morning. — Hark ye
without there, bring my casque after me, and
a lance ; " and thus saying, he wandered forth
with his eyes bent upon the ground.
As soon as the sun had fully risen, a large
body of the peasantry had been gathered to-
gether upon the slope descending from the
castle. They were not all there, although
William Caillet had demanded that all should
be collected; but it was in vain, with the
mixed, undisciplined, many-passioned crowd,
without any law, or recognised authority what-
soever, to attempt a universal movement*
General impulses might be given, carrying a
great majority in a particular way ; but the
leaders had always found that there were
numbers, not absolutely dissentient, but who
straggled away to some other object, in spite
p 3
214 THE JACQUERIE.
of all that could be doiie to keep them toge-
thet.
Such, then, was the case on the present
occasion. Some fifteen or sixteen thousand
men were collected, however; and amongst
them, all those who generally led the rest,
receiving their directions from Caillet himself;
Some standing, some sitting, some lying on the
grass, now waited for his coming with not a
little impatience; for the tidings had been
spread amongst them that the principal persons
who had been in the castle of Beaumont on the
preceding day had made their escape during
the night, and also that some great enterprise
was about to be proposed to them. They had
just arrived at that period of the insurrection
when the first ardour of their furious outbreak
began to die away, and some new stimulus^
some great object, was wanting to call forth
again the same terrible energies which they had
at first displayed.
At length there came a murmur from the
side of the castle next to the gate, and, in a
minute after, Caillet appeared amongst them ;
!i
THE JACQUERIE. 215
the impression of his presence being rather
heightened than diminished, by the sternness
of his pale and dark, but magnificent, coun-
tenance^ and by the bloody bandages that
ivrapped his brow.
He paused and looked around him, in silence,
for a moment, and then said, " My friends, you
have, heard that the prey have escaped us for the
time — I know not bow, and it matters but little."
" We have discovered how, we have dis-
covered how," cried half-a-dosien voices. " We
have traced the horses' feet from a cave hidden
by the gorse and bushes there ; but there are
3till men in the castle."
" It matters not," replied Caillet. " Those
who made it worth taking are gone. You have
heard that they have escaped, I say, but there is
one thing that you have not heard, that they have
escaped, only to fall again into our hands with
greater certainty than ever. There were some
of you that feared, there were some of you that
doubted, when I told you, that our very first
success would bring millions to aid and support
us in breaking our chains, and crushing our
p 4
216 THE JACQUERIE,
enemies. What I have told you has now proved
true : all your best hopes are fulfilled. The
people of Paris — I mean the oppressed people of
Paris — not only offer to join you, but call you
to take part with them in a great enterprise;
and the commune of another important city,
with the mayor and magistrates at its head,
offer to receive you as brothers, to give up the
place to you, and to enable you, at one blow,
to crush the whole brood of serpents that hoxe
poisoned France. This is more than I evex'
dreamed or hoped for. My friends, my deal
fellow-countrymen, John Soulas, mayor of Meaux,
offers to receive us, and our Parisian brethren,
under Vaillant and Giles, into that great and
important city. You will ask, perhaps, what is
the advantage of that ? There are some, indeed,
who may think it will be enough to plunder the
rich houses of the nobles therein ; to sack the
king's palace; to break into the many convents
and abbeys it contains. But I tell you, all
this is nothing, in comparison with that which
our entrance into Meaux will afford us. Listen
and mark me# Shut up in the market-place
THE JACQUERIE, 217
of that town, and the buildings that surround it,
are the Duchess of Normandy, the young wife
of the regent, Isabel of France, the regent's
sister, a young and lovely woman, with two
hundred others of all the highest ladies of the
land of France, They have none to defend or
help them : they are in our power ; they are at
our tnercy. Wealth, too, and jewels in abun-
dance, are there, and those who have fled from
this castle have madly directed their course
thither. Here are the letters of the mayor in-
viting us ; here are the letters of Vaillant and
his friends beseeching us to join them. It is
for you, you, my friends, to say what shall be
done. Speak ! shall we continue the siege of
this castle of Beaumont, or shall I instantly lead
you to Meaux ?"
" To Meaux, to Meaux ! " shouted a thousand
voices. " Lead us to Meaux, brave Caillet ! "
^' We will have princesses for our wives and
concubines," said one.
" We will not keep them long," answered
another.
" The dagger can soon cut such marriage
218 TMR JACQUERIE.
VOWS," cried Caillet with the sneer upon his lip.
" Is it to Meaux then ? *'
"To Meaux, to Meaux!" again exclaimed
the multitude.
" Well, then," continued Caillet, " let us not
pause a moment. Bring me a horse, and I am
ready as I stand. Let a few remain here to
blockade this place, that the men therein issue
not forth to cut off the stragglers. Let others
follow after, who are encumbered with their
baggage or their wealth ; but all that are young,
and active, and daring, follow me without de-
lay."
Ere half an hour was over, a great part of
the immense multitudes which had been
gathered together under the walls of Beaumont
was in movement towards Meaux. A new
impetus was given to them, and they rushed on
like famished tigers, either for blood or
crime. It was night when they reached the
town ; and such was their impatient confidence^
that on finding the gates shut it was with
difliculty Caillet restrained them from attempting
to storm the place. They spread themselves,
THE JACQUERIE. 219
however, through the smaller houses scattered
about in the fields, and on the banks of the
river; and many a bright flame rising up from
the country for miles round Meaux told of the
scenes of devastation and violence that v^rere
taking place.
r At the demand of the insurgent leader, the
mayor himself came, early on the following
morning, to one of the wickets to speak with him
yfho had already made himself such a meteor-^
like reputation for wonderful as well as
horrible deeds. Caillet asked him but few
questions, and those in a tone of authority and
power, that made the magistrate shrink, over-*
awed before him. The first demand was^
would the citizens thraw open their gates to
receive him, as had been promised, or should
he open a passage through the walls, which
would give him and his party speedy admission
to the city.
The mayor replied in humble tone, That not
only would the gates be very soon cast wide to
admit him, but that he would quickly see with
what joy the people were ready to welcome him*
220 THE JACQUERIE.
Caillet's last question was, " Did any of the
fugitives from Beaumont enter Meaux to-day ? "
and on hearing a full account of the arrival of
the duchess and her party, he muttered to him-
self, " Now, Adela de Mauvinet, now ! "
Till nine o'clock all the entrances of the town
remained closed, and it was with difficulty that
Caillet restrained the Jacques ; but at that hour
the gates were thrown open, and the mayor him-
self appeared on horseback, to usher the leaders
in. Shouts and acclamations rang through the
air, and it required no slight exertion to main-
tain a degree of order and regularity, as the
peasantry were led into the city through the
, various narrow streets, and were directed in
masses towards the wide open space which fronted
the bridge leading to the market-place.
There, new shouts burst upon the air, when the
rude multitude found large tables spread for them
in the midst of the streets, groaning with
abundance, and the townsmen of Meaux in arms
ready to provide every thing they might want
at their repast.
In the same place appeared likewise some
THE JACQUERIE. 221
fifteen hundred of the citizens of Paris under
the two insurgent chiefs, Giles and Vaillant;
and many were the smooth congratulations
which the would-be polite Parisians poured
forth upon Caillet, as he rode on by the side
of the mayor. But the stern, dark leader of
the peasants' revolt replied to them very briefly,
yet in words which, even accustomed as their earg
were to a higher sort of eloquence than the
country people ever heard, struck and astonished
them, and at once taught them, that they had
come there to be led, and not to lead.
Caillet stood by, while the peasants devoured
the food that had been prepared for them, glancing
his eyes from the walls and towers of the market-
place on the other side of the Marne to his
rude followers, and muttering to himself, " I
must allow them to sate one beast's appetite
before I lead the wolves to gratify another. —
This place is stronger than I thought," he said
aloud, speaking to the Parisians and the mayor.
" It will take us two days to reduce it, if there
be many men therein."
" Two days ! " cried the mayor — " more than
■222 THE JACQUERIE.
that, good sir, though there be not a score of
men within the place."
Caillet gazed at him with a scornful smile.
'^^ Why," he replied, " it is the work of a car-
penter to take it ! — It needs no general. Have
you no boats or ladders ? This bridge, indeed,
they can defend. But give me boats and
ladders, and we will be in that market square
within an hour. They must be made, I know.
But that can well be done in two days, as I have
«aid."
" And yet, my good friend," answered the
mayor, speaking to him in a low voice, that the
rest of those around might not hear, " did I not
understand you rightly, that there is a lady in
the place whom you would fain reserve to
yourself from less scrupulous hands? The
same is the case with me. If we assault the
wall at many points, who can tell where the
entrance will first be made. If we attack the
gate alone "
" You are right," said Caillet : " we will
attack the gate; but it shall not require more
time either to take the place. What car-
THE JACQtJERIE. 223
penters have you here? Let them be brought :
with planks, and heavy beams of wood, we
will soon shatter that gate to atoms, and have
a fair way in."
Carpenters were accordingly called for-
ward: beams and planks were procured; and
under the direction and continual superin-
tendence of Caillet, one of the vast and power-
ful machines was commenced, which in those
days supplied the place of cannon. The con-
struction proceeded with great rapidity ; and the
insurgents, heavy with wine and meat, gathered
round the spot where the carpenters were labour-
ing, and viewed their progress with surprise and
admiration. But their wonder was still more
excited by Caillet's knowledge and skill, he
alone, of all the persons present, being able to
direct the workmen in what they had to do.
The rude Jacques gazed and muttered, com-
menting upon every part of the work; and
.though they knew, generally, that the object
of the machine was to drive down the walls
or burst open the gates, much did they marvel
at many of the things they saw, asking each other.
224 THE JACQUERIE*
« What is that for ? What is that to do ? "
and still they turned their eyes to Caillet, who
stood stern and dark, giving no explanation
to any one, but ordering with clear precision
every thing that was to be done.
'^ I believe he is something more than a
man," said one of the peasants*
^' I think he is the devil himself," murmured
another.
" I have heard," answered a third, " that his
sword cuts through an enemy without his ever
moving an arm/^
" Joachim Verger, who was there, when he
killed Antoine the robber," whispered another,
" told me, that his blade gave but one wave,
and the fellow's head rolled along the ground
like a dropped pippin."
" He can read and write," said the person
who had first spoken, " which is more than
half the lords of the land can do ; and where he
got such knowledge, unless from the devil, I^
do not know."
Such was the conversation amongst one of
the many groups of Jacques who wandered
THE JACQUERIE. 225
through the town of Meaux. It was a curious
thing to see the different effects which their
appearance in the city produced upon the citi-
zens themselves, according to their various cha-
racters. There were some who had shut up
and barred their houses, covered their windows
over with planks, and blocked up the staircases
that led to the higher stories. There were
others, a great deal more frightened than these
at the presence of the Jacques in Meaux, who
nevertheless stood at their own doors, with
faces full of forced and fearful smiles, shaking
hands with the rude peasantry, or offering
them wine and hydromel. There were priests
and monks who led them into the church
or the convent; and,, while in their hearts
they were giving them to eternal condemnation,
called down with loud voices the blessings of
God upon them, and prayed for success to their
holy cause. In short, all the hypocrisy of fear
was enacted with various grimaces in different
parts of the town of Meaux.
But there were other places where the Jacques
were in truth willingly received, and where
VOL. III. . Q
226 THE JACQUERIE.
the poorer sort of artisans — those who were
either driven to despair by unmerited poverty,
or those who were reduced to it by vice, by
debauchery, and bad conduct — halloed on the
fierce insurgents from the country, and excited
them with the thought of the lewd horrors of
the ensuing day, when they should have broken
into the market-place of Meaux, and torn the
victims it contained from their only place of
refuge.
During this time, however, the machine which
was to batter down the gate proceeded rapidly,
and ere night fell was well nigh complete. The
news spread through the people that at day-
break the next morning the attack would
commence; and each man prepared himself—-
sitting at the doors and in the streets, where
tables were spread for them — with gluttony
and drunkenness, for the brief strife and the
brutal gratification of the following day.
In the mean while, however, Caillet, Soulas,
Vaillant, and Giles, held counsel together, of a
kind which, perhaps, might not altogether
have pleased their followers, had they been
THE JACQUEniE* 227
able to hear it. They parted before hand the
principal captives amongst them : each claimed
his choice of one, or perhaps two, of the fair
unhappy beings, who remained trembling
within those walls. Soulas and Caillet were
animated by individual passion, and each
named the woman that was to fall to his share ;
but the other two were mad with crime and
folly, and had well nigh quarrelled as to who
should seize upon the young wife of the regent.
Vaillant, however, contented himself at last
with the Duchess of Orleans; and all that
remained to be settled was the means of
securing to themselves, in the midst of such a
scene as was to ensue, the captives they had thus
appropriated. Every one, however, had, or
fancied he had, a certain number of devoted
followers who would obey his will. Soulas
had a guard at his disposal ; Vaillant and
Giles boasted how many they could command ;
but Caillet only said, " No one disobeys me
twice ! "
Ere he lay down to rest, he sent for Jacques
Morne, and spoke with him long. The man
Q 2
228 THE JACQUERIE.
was but the slave of his will, and ended by
saying, " Oh ay, Caillet, oh ay, Caillet : there
are plenty of people from about Beauvois that
know her, and will help me willingly enough.
I will answer for saving her, if you do not get
hold of her first yourself— only I bargain to kill
all the rest as I find them. I care not for
women ; and, as you said yourself one day, we
must crush the dams, if we would have no
more young vipers bred to sting us."
Caillet made no reply, except by the word
" Well ! " and a nod of the head, which Jacques
Morne rightly understood as an order to leave
him.
As soon as he was alone, the leader of the
revolt sat down in a large curiously-fashioned
chair of ivory, which was placed near a table in
the centre of the room ; and after leaning his
head upon his hand for several minutes, and
muttering to himself " How it aches !" he turned
and gazed around him upon the, splendid fur-
niture of the apartment in which the mayor had
lodged him. It was in the king's palace at
Meaux, and in the very bed-room which the
THE JACQUERIE. 229
regent had occupied, that John Soulas had
placed thechief of the insurgent peasants. Rich
arras hung around ; the arms of France were
emblazoned over each of the two doors ; and
a royal crown surmounting the curtains of
crimson velvet and gold, which surrounded the
beds instantly showed Caillet that he was in the
state chamber of the monarch himself.
" How it aches !" he said again, pressing his
hand upon his brow. ** I wonder if the other
heads which have lain upon that gorgeous pillow
have throbbed as mine does now : perhaps they
have ; for to the weak, luxurious triflers, from
amongst whom our kings are chosen, the weight
of a crown is a heaw burden ; and that which
would soon bring ease to my aching temples
may well sicken them. A crown ! It is a
strange and mysterious garland that — not with-
out its thorns, perhaps, but still with flowers of
the brightest hue and finest odour. First, in
the wreath is power ! — To command and to be
obeyed ! or simply to know that, at our will,
millions are ready to act whatever part wie
please ; to feel that our word, like lightning, can
Q 3
230 THE JACQUERIE.
carry death from one side of the world to the
other ! Then comes the utter independence of
our will, which no man under a monarch can be
said to have — the despotic sway over ourselves,
our actions, thoughts, and seemings ! None of
the hard task-masters affect the monarch that
goad all inferior men through life— the care, the
caution, the prudence, the hypocrisy, that are
necessary for eveiy one in his dealings with the
world, let his mind be as high as it will, let his
objects be as mighty and as wise as any that the
earth can show ! — No one but a king can have this
immunity ! — Why, hei-e I am, myself, as much a
slave as ever, forced to bend my looks, and shape
my words, and suit my actions to the will, and
to the whim, and to the prejudices of the thou-
sands that follow me. Not even a glance of my
eye is wholly free. Have I not eternally to
think of how it may suit the masters that I seem
to command? — No, no, freedom is only to be
found in power ; and oh ! what a grand thing
it must be to feel one's self able not only to
scorn and hate, but to make contempt and
detestation felt ! Then comes enjoyment — un-
THE JACQUERIE. 231
limited gratification, with no bounds but the
capabilities of the body and the mind. Varied,
everlasting, with the whole world for a garden,
and every delight that it produces for the fruit !
How immense might be one's range, how mar-
vellous the sudden contrast of pleasure ; to
change from fiery passion to calm tranquillity,
from the burning flame of desire to the soft
lulling draught of sweet music ; to vary the
corporeal pleasures of the table and the wine
cup, the dance and the chase, with the go-
vernment of nations, the mazes of policy, the
extension of territory, the battle and the vic-
tory ! — Then comes — But who is there ? " he
continued, turning sharply round as he heard
the door open behind him. " What would you
have with me, Vaillant, and what makes you
look pale?"
The man to whom he spoke — one of the chief
leaders, as the reader already knows, of the re-
volted citizens of Paris who had joined with
the Jacques in the attack of Meaux — advanced
to the table with a quick step, and an air from
which he made an effort to banish all anxiety.
Q 4
Q32 THE JACQUERIE.
He could not effect that purpose so success-
fully, however, as to prevent the eyes of Caillet
from perceiving that there was emotion within,
and the latter repeated, " What makes you look
so pale? — Pray be seated, sir."
"Am I pale?" said Vaillant, drawing for-
ward a stool. " It is fatigue. I came to seek
you, honourable sir, to have some consultation
with you without the presence of these citizens
of Meaux. They are a faithless race, now joining
with us, now perhaps turning against us. I
know not what hold you have over them "
" Power !" rejoined Caillet. « Go on !"
" But we citizens," continued Vaillant, "only
rely upon them inasmuch as we have thousands
behind us in Paris to support us. If any thing
were to go wrong in the capital, it is not im-
possible that these men would seize and deliver
us to the dauphin."
" Hark ye, Vaillant," replied Caillet : " your
friends in Paris have received a heavy blow !
— There is no use of hypocrisy with me."
" Ha ! " cried Vaillant : " have you then
heard the news ? "
THE JACQUERIE. 233
" I have not heard," answered Caillet, " but
I have read it."
" Read it?" exclaimed the Parisian.
" Ay, in your face," said Caillet : " what are
the tidings, Vaillant? speak them plainly and
at once. Your situation and mine in regard of
these men of Meaux is much the same. They
cannot betray you without betraying me also,
they cannot frustrate your objects without dis*
appointing mine. As our security depends upon
each other, our thoughts must be in common.
What is your news ? Is the dauphin in Paris ? "
" No, no, not yet," exclaimed Vaillant ; " but
the great prevot is dead ! Stephen Marcel has
been horribly murdered !"
Caillet mused without reply, though to the
surprise of his companion a slight smile fluttered
on his lip. It was not that he was amused to
hear a man, whose business at that very hour
was murder, talk with a seeming abhorrence of a
similar crime ; Caillet knew the human heart too
well to wonder at that. But it was, that he was
not displeased at the fact of the pr^vot's death ;
and although he would hardly own his satisfaction
234 THE JACQUERIE.
to himself, the signs of it made themselves vi*
sible in his countenance. He had regarded
Marcel with a certain degree of jealousy ; he
had seen him take the lead of the insurgents in
the capital, as he himself had done in the
country, and he had looked forward to the time
when, the nobles having been destroyed and
trampled under foot, and the royal authority
having been utterly overthrown, he himself and
the prevot, holding from their several factions
the only power remaining in the state, would
stand up, two mighty rivals, one against the
other, and end the great contest which had
begun, by a last struggle between themselves.
Though pleased, however, he was not wholly
satisfied. With the peculiar boldness of his
character he had calculated upon making even
Marcel himself an instrument for effecting
his purposes, till such time, at least, as the
strife necessarily began between them ; and
there was therefore before his eyes some de-
rangement of his more remote schemes in
consequence of the death of that celebrated
demagogue.
THE JACQUERIE. 235
Caillet's first words were, " We must find
another/'
They were addressed^ indeed, more to himself
than to his companion ; but Vaillant instantly
exclaimed, ^^ Another ! where shall we find such
another ? Wlio shall supply the place of Stephen
Marcel ? *'
" Why not, Pierre Vaillant?*' demanded Cail<»
let, turning upon him his flashing eyes : ^^ such
things are not impossible. But how did this
man die ? "
" All I know is but a report by word of
mouth," replied Vaillant ; " I hear, however,
that he had covenanted last night to give admis-
sion to the King of Navarre — ''
" Ha ! " cried Caillet, his brow becoming
as black as night.
" And he had gone," continued the Parisian,
*' to the gate of St. Anthony to open it for the
Navarrese troops, when two of those tyrannical
royalists, John of Charny and Pepin des Essarts,
fell upon him with their battle-axes on the steps
of the Bastille. Marcel fought like a lion, they
say, and so did those who were with him, but
236 THE JACQUERIE.
more came up to join the murderers, and they
dashed his brains out upon the stones."
" Served the traitor right ! " replied Caillet :
" what had he to do with kings ? Had he been
true to the commons, he would not have died."
" But I hear — " said Vaillant in a low tone,
*' but I hear that it was their intention to put
all our enemies to death that night, and the
houses were marked for the purpose. No man
was to be left living but such as are known
friends to the people. All the rest were to be
slain without mercv."
" There he was right," replied Caillet; " and
if such were really his purposes, he was more
lionest than wise; for to deal with king, or
prince, or noble, otherwise than with a dagger
or a spear, is a folly for any man who seeks to
overthrow our tyrants. As for the rest, fear not
this good mayor of Meaux: he is in my hands,
my friend ; and were he but to dream of treason
he should see this town one mass of flames be-
fore an hour was over. I have not cast down
thirty fortified places, I have not trodden on
the neck of thirty lordly barons, supported by
THE JACQUERIE. 237
their veteran bands, to fear a petty thing like
Soulas, Mayor of Meaux. But I will tell you
what we have to dread : it is that the dauphin,
freed from his apprehensions of Marcel, may
turn his forces against us here at once, before we
have captured yon market-place. Attacked in
Meaux, we should fight to a disadvantage ; and,
therefore, my good sir, we must resolve to force
those walls and gates before noon to-morrow.
We must not pause for sleep. Come with me !
That engine shall be finished before I lay my
head upon a pillow; at least so far, that the
rudest workman may complete it in my absence.*'
Thus saying, he raised the lamp from the table,
and followed by Vaillant proceeded to the spot
where the huge mangonel, which he had laboured
to construct all day, lay still incomplete. The
carpenters were again summoned to their task ;
and though they proceeded more slowly than
he desired or expected, Caillet remained till he
saw the engine ready, and nothing left to be
done on the following morning but to bring up
to the open space before the bridge the large
masses of stone with which the mangonel was
to be charged.
288 THE JACQUERIE.
CHAP. XI.
It was night; and Albert Denyn and the
stout soldier Scroope sat by the fire-side of the
good Cure Dacy; while his niece — her eyes
sparkling with pleasure to render any service
to him who had so greatly contributed to her
deliverance — poured out from one of those
lai*ge leathern bottles then in use some choice
wine, which her uncle had brought forth to
refresh the weary travellers after their long
and hard day's ride.
At every village through which they had
passed) Albert Denyn had inquired for the troop
of the Captal de Buch ; and as such a celebrated
leader was not likely to cross the country un-
noticed, he concluded, from all he heard, that
his noble friend had not yet arrived. The
fear that he might not appear in time, and thus
disappoint one of his chief hopes for the de-
THE JACQUERIE. 239
liverance of those he loved, saddened the young
soldier, and threw him into deep fits of thought;
and imagination tormented him with appre-^
hensions for Adela and her father.
" Poor as I am," cried Albert, at length, " I
would give a purse of gold to have tidings to-
morrow morning either from Beaumont or from
Meaux/'
" Rest, Test, my son," replied the cure,
"and trust in God: He brings deliverance when
we least expect it. Finish thy supper, and then
to bed: thy horses shall be well cared for;
and if you must needs part at day-break to-
morrow, they will not go unfed. — Drink
another cup of wine, worthy trooper," he con-
tinued, speaking to Scx'oope. " It was for such
occasions as these that wine was given to man."
" By my faith, good father," answered Scroope,
" I think it is for every occasion. 1 do not
know the time or the circumstances in which
wine does not do my heart good : it's the best
of all liquors, bating beer. Good barley beer,
that some folks call ale, is worth all the other
liquors in the world put together."
240 THE JACQUERIE.
Ere long, Albert Denyn and the trooper
retired to rest ; but there were people on foot
in the cure*s house all night ; and he himself
returned upon his mule, as from a long ride, at
tlie hour of three in the morning.
" I have been able to get no intelligence,
my child," he said to his niece, who was wait-
ing in the passage to receive him. " There
is a rumour of a bad man, named Peter Giles,
having marched from Paris, with some men-
at-arms, towards the town of Meaux; but
whether to attack or defend it, no one could
tell. Has the man returned from Beaumont ?
— but that is impossible ; he has not had
time.*'
Shortly after, the step of Albert Denyn was
heard upon the stairs, and he and Scroope
prepared instantly to set out.
" Whither do you turn your steps first, my
sons ?" asked the cur6.
" To Provins, my good father," replied
Albert Denyn : " there we part, and one of
us goes to'Montereau, while the other speeds
away towards the frontier."
. THE JACQUERIE. 241
The old man made no answer, but gave them
his benediction, and let them depart.
The two horsemen rode on till the middle of
the day ; but they were then obliged to halt, in
order to refresh their horses. As soon as the
beasts had taken some food, they were brought
out again ; and Albert Denyn had his foot in the
stirrup, when the sound of a trumpet was heard,
and shortly after, over a gentle slope in the
road, at about the distance of a quarter of a
mile, some fluttering pennons, and two broad
banners, were seen rising in the air.
• " The captal, as I live !" exclaimed Albert
Denyn ; " but whose can be that other ban-
ner? Or, a pale gules !"
' "That?" answered Scroope; "why you
should know it better than I do — it is the
device of the Count of Foix. I saw it often in
Perigueux. It gave us some trouble at times."
Albert Denyn spurred on, and in a minute
or two more, sprang to the ground by the side
of the captal's horse. The eagerness of his
countenance, and the few first words that he
spoke, made the great leader instantly halt his
VOL. III. R
242 THE JACQU£EIE.
little troop, Tvliile the principal persons present
gathered round him.
^^ What news from Paris? What news of this
Jacquerie we hear of? What news of die King
of Navarre?"
^^ Bad from allquarters, I fear,'' replied Albert
Denyn. ^' The King of Navarre and the dau-
phin are at open. war $ the Parisians are in revolt;
the Jacques are slaughtering the nobles through-
out the land. But, my lord captal," he con-
tinued, ^^ I came hither, seeking you at full
speed. I have an adventure for you, fair sir,
which you will not fail to undertake. My good
Lord of Mauvinet, with but a handful of men,
is shut up in the castle of Beaumont — some
thirty leagues hence — by tlie Jacques of Brie."
'< How many are there against him?" de-
manded the captal.
" I cannot justly say," answered Albert
Denyn : " were they regular troops one might
judge, but they are merely a wild multitude —
certainly more than twenty thousand men."
" And we have five-and-thirty, noble count,"
replied the captal, turning towards the Count
THE JACQUERIE. 243
de Foix. — "Well, Albert, now tell me two
things. How long can the good lord hold out ?
and is the Lady Adela with him?"
"* The count can keep the castle, I should
judge, two or three days," replied the young
soldier—" a week at the utmost. But we ran
raise men» my lord. I am sure that from some
of the neighbouTing castles we can gain assist-
ance. A^ for the Lady Adela," and the co-
lour came up into hijs cheek, while the keen eye
of the captal rested firmly upon him, "she
is in Meaux,' in not much greater safety than
her fattier. The Duchess of Orleans and her-
self resolved to make their escaj^ from Beau-
mont, and I, with scmie others, were sent to
guard them to Meaux, where it was supposed
the regent might be found. None of the royal
family was there, however, when we arrived,
but the Duchess of Normandy; and with her
some sixty or seventy of the highest ladies in
France, I was told, but scarcely enough men-
at-arms to play sentinel on the battlements of
the market-place. The citizens are disaffected,
it seems ; the ladies are terrified at their situa-
R 2
244 THE JACQUERIE.
tion ; and I came away with the purpose of
either going to Montereau, or sending this good
fellow, to the dauphin, for the purpose of call-
ing him back to Meaux, with what troops he
may have at his command."
" Better go youself, Albert," said the captal:
*^ you may gain a high reward, while we raise
men, and ride on to Beaumont."
" No, my lord," replied Albert, " by your
good leave, I will go with you to Beaumont :
Scroope, here, can carry the message to the
dauphin, and win the guerdon."
" Well, then, forward, my good friend,"
said the captal, addressing Scroope : ^^ do you
know the message and the road?"
" Both, both sir," answered Scroope, passing
on, '^ and I will not miss the reward for want of
the spur."
" Come, Albert, with us then," continued the
captal, *^ and tell us more of those sad events as
we go. Will France never be at peace?"
" God forbid that there should be peace for
any length of time !" cried the Count de Foix.
^< War is the occupation of a gentleman ; and
THE JACQUERIE. 245
what should we do, captal, if all the world were
to agree to remain slobbering in furred gowns ?
But as for these Jacques, I have no notion of
the villains taking the trade out of our • hands.
Plunder is a part of our especial privileges,
captal; and we must not let mere peasants
share with us."
He spoke laughingly, and with a certain de-
gree of sarcastic bitterness ; for there was not
wanting even in those days, amongst the nobles
themselves, a perception of the vices of their
social state ; although they would have sooner
given up life itself than that curious mixture of
fierce and gentle, cruel and generous, pursuits,
which formed the chivalrous occupation of the
day.
The captal, without pausing, rode on for
about ten miles past the little inn where Albert
had stopped to refresh his horses, and at length
drew in the rein at a small place called Touquin,
intending to pass the night there : it was but a
hamlet, but at that time a populous one. The
castles of several nobles were seen rising round ;
the Jacquerie had not, as yet, infected the pea-
R 3
246 THE JACQUERIE.
santry; and besides finding ample accommo-
dation for their men in the cottages around^ the
captal and the Count de Foix trusted to obtain
there, such an accession of strength from the
castles of Coulommiers, Villeneuve, Rosoy, and
from the height near Jouy, which was then
crowned by one of the finest chateaus in the
country, as to enable them to attempt the relief
of Beaumont with some certainty of success.
The evening meal was soon spread; the captal
and the count took their places at the head of
the table ; their followers ranged thepaselves on
either side, keeping due distinction of rank; and
with the light-hearted spirit of the day, th^
laughed, and joked^ and drank as if there were
no such things as bloodshed, and murder, and
civil contentions in all the world.
" Why, Albert, where got you that string"of
pearls ?" demanded the captal at length. " The
gold chain, I know was the emperor's gift, but
that must have been from the hand of some fair
lady, surely."
^^ It was given me, beau sire, by the Duchess
of Orleans," replied Albert Denyn, " as a reward
THE JACQUERIE. 247
fer guarding her from Paris to Beaumont ; and
she, moreover, promised me, if I carried itthrougli
the midst of the Jacques, to ask knighthood for
me from the hand of the dauphin himself."
" There was never any thing like his luck,"
said Bassot de Mauleon, one of tlie gentlemen
attached to the Captal de Buch : ^' he seems to
fall in with every good thing that is going !"
<< Because he is -always in the saddle to seek
them, Bassot," replied the captal. " Why, you
tnight have won the gold chain, the emperor
gave him^ for you set out together ; only you
staid to nuike love to a pretty girl in a village
cm the Danube, and lost the reward."
" But I won the girl," cried Mauleon, " and
that was better of the two. Yet it must be
owned, be is a lucky man."
^^ He will be more lucky still, before he has
done," said the captal.
" Fortune is conduct," observed the Count
de Foix ; '* but I suppose, young gentleman,
you look upon yourself in a state to claim
the duchess's promise; for if I understood you
rightly, you guarded her safely to Meaux from
R 4
248 THE JACQU£RI£.
Beaumont, when the castle was besieged by the
Jacques.'*
" No, no, my lord," replied Albert Denyn,
" such was not her meaning, and I would never
dare claim knighthood upon such a ground. If
I carry the trinket through the villains, sword
in hand, in the open day, it may be considered
as something, but our escape from Beaumont
was made by secret ways, and in the darkness
of the night."
. " Well," said the captal, *' we must not linger
long over our food, for, with my good will, to-
morrow evening shall find us under the walls
of Beaumont. We will send messengers imme-
diately to the lords of Jouy, Villeneuve, and
Rosoy ; and with the first gleam of light, if they
send us any reinforcements, we will be upon our
way to deliver my good Lord of Mauvinet. —
Mauleon, you shall go to Jouy, and beseech the
chatelain to give us his company on this — *
" Noble gentlemen," said the aubergiste en-
tering, <^ here is a priest without, asking to ,
speak with one of you, named Denyn, and if he
be not here, with the noble Captal de Buch." .
THE JACQUERIE. 249
" Why, Albert," cried the captal, " what do
you do with a priest ? Are you going to make
confession before you are hanged?"
" Your pardon, noble sirs," urged the auber-
giste, " but the good priest is very earnest for
instant admission. He says the matter is of life
and death."
" Send him in, send him in then," ex-
claimed the captal ; and at the same moment
Albert Denyn started up, and advanced to-
wards the door. Before he reached it, however,
the good priest, Dacy, entered the room, . with
a face very pale, and a dress soiled with dust
and hard riding. , .
" My son," he said, grasping the young
soldier's hand, " you were eager for tidings
from Beaumont and from Meaux; I bring
you both. Beaumont is well nigh free; the
Jacques have decamped from it, leaving only
enough to keep the garrison in. But alas for
Meaux ! the mayor and the people have thrown
open the gates to the villeins; the rabble of
Paris have joined them; they are even now at-
tacking the market-place, where are collected
250 THE JACQUERIE.
all the noblest ladies in France, almost without
defence."
Albert struck his band against his forehead,
forgetting all restraint in the agony of the
moment.
'' She will be lost ! She will be lost !" he
exclaimed. '^ My beautiful, my beloved ! and I
not there to die for her !"
' The powerful hand of the captal was laid upon
his shoulder. " Fear not, dear boy," he said ;
and then turning to the rest, added in a loud
voice, " Give my banner to the wind ! Every
foot into the stirrup ! Greilly to the rescue !
and shame upon him who will not follow to
deliver the ladies of France !"
Albert turned and grasped his hand; but the
captal stopped him — " Not a word, not a word ! *'
he cried. *^ We go to great deeds, Albert^
which will make our names immortal whether
we live or die. — By Heaven, my cousin of Foix,
I would rather have this opportunity of march*
ing, with five-and-thirty men, to deliver the
ladies of France from an army of villeins, than
wear the crown of any realm in Christendom.
THE JACQUERIE. 251
What say you, my men ? is not this glorious
fortune?"
A shout was the reply; and ere half an hour
was over, the gallant little band was on its way
to Meaux.
252 THE JACQUERIE.
CHAP. XII.
The waiting for deliverance ! — It is a terrible
thing, wherever we put our trust or hope, if that
hope be of earth. Ay, it is a terrible thing,
even when our hope is from heaven ; for, unto
all of us, from one end of the world to the
other, might be addressed the often-repeated
reproach of the Redeemer, that we are of but
little faith. However strong may be our con-
viction of God's mercy and tenderness, of his
unwillingness to punish, of his readiness to for-
give, of the omniscience of his wisdom, and the
omnipotence of his power, the weak spirit of
man will still tremble, and doubt, and fear ; will
shrink from each painful trial, whatever be the
object, and think the deliverance long and
tardy, even while he continues to hope that it
will come. But how often is it with us that
hope itself goes out; that looking round, and
THE JACQUERIE. 253
calculating all the chances and probabilities of
human aid, we see none on any side ; that all
assistance from any being on the earth seems
impossible, and blasphemous fear even whispers
a doubt, that God himself can help us ?
' The situation of those within the market-
place of Meaux might well produce in their
minds the utmost pitch of despair; when, on
the night after Albert Denyn had left them,
they heard the shouts of the wild and furious
multitude that poured down to the banks of the
Marne, and when they saw rising up through
the country round the flames of houses, and
cottages, and hamlets mingling with the blaze of
watch-fires and the glare of torches. It was by
these terrible signs they first learned that the
Jacques were under the walls of Meaux.
Little sleep had any one that night, though
many there present needed it greatly ; and by
those on the battlements could be heard, till a
late hour, the shrieks and cries, as well as the
sounds of revelry and rude merriment, which
rose up from the fields round the city. In the
mean while, within the walls of the market-
254 THE JACQUBRIE.
place, circulated the report that the mayor,
whose faith had been long doubtful, had pro-
mised admission to the enemy; and the com-
munication which they held with tlu>se in the
town, little as it was, soon confirmed the tidings.
Many were the anxious consultations ; many the
fruitless inquiries, as to when the message could
reach the dauphin, and as to how long the
place could be held out ; mietny the bitter
murmurings and keen reproaches with which
they loaded the name of Soulas the treacherous
mayor of Meaux and the faithless citizens, to
whose courage and truth the ladies of France
had been committed. Often, too, during the
night, some timid girl, who at any other time
would have feared to have set her foot at that
hour beyond the precincts of her paternal dwell-
ing, stole up to the unguarded battlements to
listen for the sounds that she dreaded to hear,
and scan the darkness with an eager eye, lest
the ruffians by whom she was surrounded should
take advantage 'of the obscurity to steal upon
them unperceived.
But of all within those walls, there was none
THE JACQUERIE. 255
SO sad, there was none so apprehensive, as poor
Adela de Mauvinet ; for she bad not alone to ask
herself what might be her own fate the next mo-»
xnent, but she had bitterly to inquire, without
the power of obtaining any certain answer, what
might be the condition of her beloved &ther at
that very time. Would the multitude of Jac-
querie have quitted Beaumont, she asked herseli^
without having taken the ca$de? and as her
heart replied to the question but too sadly, tears
as for the dead rolled over her fair cheeks.
There were but two other beings to whom
she was attached on earth, her young brodier
and Albert Denyn. That the former was
safe, she thanked God ; but as she did so, she
added, in her own mind, " I shall never be*
hold him more." It must be owned, however,
that it was to the companion of her childhoo<^
the friend of her youth, her deliverer from
danger and from worse than death, her lover,
her best beloved, that her thoughts turned most
eagerly. What would be his feelings, she
asked, when he returned to Meaux, and
found the place of their refuge in the power of
256 THE JACQUERIE.
the unsparing, sanguinary, barbarous multitude;
what would be his anguish, when he learned
that she had fallen into the brutal hands of him
from whom he had once saved her, and when he
could not know to what horrors she might be
subjected before death delivered her.
She thought of him, and she grieved for bis
agony; but Ade]a judged, and judged rightly,
that Albert would not long survive her, and
something like hope and joy sprung up again in
her mind, as she said to herself, ^' It was impos-
sible we ever could be united on earth; but
now, though our bridal be a bloody one, we shall
soon be united in heaven."
From time to time the contemplation of
her own fate, too, pressed heavily upon her.
** What would she herself do ? she asked.
How should she herself act ? Was she bound
by any religious tie to suffer dishonour, rather
than to seek death ?" and she tried to call up
again to memory all that she knew of the word
of Truth, in order to gain some rule for her
conduct, and to justify, if possible, to her own
mind, the last terrible act of maiden purity.
THE JACQUERIE. 257
The legends of her church supplied her with
manifold examples' of such conduct ; but still
she shrunk from the idea of suicide. " Would
they but kill me ! '' she thought, ** would
they but kill me !— Yet surely woman, though
she be weak, has a right to defend herself to
the last. There are not men enough to guard
the walls, or to protect us and themselves, if
the villeins break in. Why should we not take
what arms we can get ? Why should we not aid
to defend ourselves ? Why should we not, as
a last resource, drive them to slay us, by re-
sistance even unto death ? Then the whole sin
and crime would be theirs; we shall die un-
polluted ; and the weight of the murder will rest
heavy upon them.'*
To a night of agitation and fear succeeded
a day of terror and dismay. The young
Duchess of Normandy and her companions
gathered themselves together in the midst of
the market-place, not to consult as much as to
lament; and the dark and anxious counte-
nances of the few men that were with them —
countenances in which there was no hope^*
VOL. III. s
258 THE JACQUERIE.
served but to dispirit them the more. Each
told the other how she had spent the hours,
the sad thoughts, the fearful visions, the dark
imaginations that had possessed them.
There was not a woi^d of courage or energy
amongst them, till Adela related what had been
passing in her mind ; and it was strange to hear
that sweet and gentle voice proposing high deeds
to women like herself, in defence of their honouL*
and their purity ; and to see the fair and beau**
tiful beings around her roused into ardour and
eagerness by her example, and with renewed
courage seeking for those arms which their
hands were but little accustomed to wield.
*^ We can but die," they exclaimed, ** we caa
but die ; and it is better to die by any other
hands than our own."
A faint, sad smile came over the countenance
of the young Lord of Chambl^, as he heard their
determination*
" I never thought to fall," he said, " with
such fair companions in arms ; but I fear we can
make no great resistance, and my fate will be
soon decided. I^ therefore, you are deter*
THE JACQUEEIE. 259
mined upon your conduct — and I cannot but
applaud the purpose — take the lightest weapons
that you can get, I saw some cross-bows, with
which the pages learn to aim their quarrels;
these, with daggers, and short swords, and
knives, very weak bands can use ; and as what
you seek is, alas ! but death hi the end, you may
well draw it down upon your heads from the
enemy, if you employ such arms with determin-
ation."
While he was yet speaking, a messenger
came to call him to the gate tower ; and after
a few minutes' absence, he returned, saying, " I
know not what these treacherous communes are
doihg. They are laying out tables in the streets,
as if for some great festival."
The matter was speedily explained, however.
The sight of the Jacques pouring in soon
brought all the men-at-arms to the walls. The
pages joined them to make the greater show ;
and to the honour of those within the market-
place of Meaux, let it be remembered, that not
the lowest person there present, not the serving
man, who never raised his ambition higher
s 2
260 TH£ JACQU£RI£.
than perhaps to groom the horse of the knight,
where he before groomed the horse of the
squire, who did not now swear to die willingly,
for the ladies of France, and to spend the. last
drop of his blood to protect them.
Anxiously the women remained behind, with
sinking hearts and trembling limbs, but still
resolved and prepared. The suspense, how-
ever, proved too much for endurance; and at
the end of an hour, one of die boldest ven-.
tured up to the top of the wall, to ascertain
what was taking place.
^' They seem to be constructing a machine
for battering down the gates," said the Lord of
Chambl^, in reply to her questions. ^^ If sd, it
must be to-morrow, or the next day, before they
begin the attack."
« Thank God, thank God I" cried the lady;
** then we may yet be saved."
^^ Montereau is far off," answered the Lord
of Chamble, sadly. ^^ The messenger knew not
that the danger was so pressing ; the dauphin,
I find, had but three hundred men with him;
and there are many thousands within sight of
THE JACQtJERlEl 261
this gate. Not only the villain peasants, but
men-at-arms, I see, with banners — ' probably
the commons of Paris. Take not hold of a
foolish hope, lady : I feel upon my heart that
weight which tells me we are to die here, and
soon.'*
During the rest of the day, after this brief
conversation, pages were sent down from timel
to time, to tell the princesses and their com-
panions what was taking place in the town,
as far as those on the gate tower could discover;
but the delay of the attack was an aggravation
rather than a relief. It wore out and exhausted
the energies of the hearts within those walls;
it made the iifterval like the agony of a pro-
longed death ; and by the time that night came,
there was more than one of the ladies there
present who proposed not to wait for the at-
tack, but to destroy themselves together, and at
once. Some, however, clung to the last hope
of life, and their voices prevailed to stay the
rash act*
Towards sunset, the young Lord of Chamble
came down for a few moments to take some
s 3
1262 THE JACQUERIE.
refreshment ; and when the Duchess of Nor-
mandy asked him at what time he thought the
attack would commence, he replied, " Early
to-morrow morning, lady, if not during the
darkness. The engine they are making has
been constructed with incredible rapidity ; and a
few hours more of daylight will enable them
to complete it, even if they do not go on by
torchlight. We must remain upon the walls all
night, and show lights here and there^ to deceive
them : they evidently think that we are ten times
more numerous than we are, otherwise they
would have scaled the walls at twenty points
long ere this."
" Had we not better, then, spread round the
battlements ourselves," said the duchess of
Normandy, " and keep up fires, and carry
torches, during the night? they cannot see
whether we are men or women ; and if we can
but intimidate them for a time, my husband
may come up."
" You can do so, if you please," replied the
young knight, sadly ; " but some of you had
better sleep, while some keep the walls. Then,
THE JAC&UEnilS^. 283
as to tormorrow, if you still hold your re^olu-
tioi), and think there is.no chance of these men
tearing you, when I go up to the tower I will
order the small gate in the palisade behind to
be fastened up. There is no need for us to
leave ourselves a retreat ; and you will have
then some defence, which will oblige them
to "
** Butcher us witliout dishonouring us, you
would say, my lord," added the Duchess of
Orleans, as the young knight left the sentence
unfinished. — " Well, dear niece, you and I will
be captain of the two bands, who watch the
walls, and rest by turns. As I am brave, I will
have some coward for my lieutenant ; and as
you are cowardly, you shall have our swe^
Adela for yours, for she comes of a brave race."
There is nothing so sad as when mirth min-
gles with misery ; and the tears rose in the young
duchess's eyes, as she heard her fair relation's
words. The night, however, passed as had
been appointed ; and throughout those hours of
darkness bands of noble ladies and fair girls
patrolled the beleaguered walls, armed with
s 4
264 THE JACQUERIE,
such light weapons as they could wield, and
trembling as they went
The Duchess of Normandy had returned to
the house she inhabited about an hour, when
daylight began to dawn; and looking up, she
said to Adela de Mauvinet, who was lying at
her feet, ** I wish, dear girl, you would go to
the walls, and look out on the road that leads to-
wards Fontenoy. Perhaps the dauphin may be
coming. — God of heaven ! this is very terrible,
not to know that one has half an hour to live.
^- Take some one with you, and go, Adela."
<< I fear not ! I will go alone, madam," replied
the young Lady of Mauvinet. ^' Look how yon
poor thing is sleeping, quite worn out : it were
barbarous to wake her. I will go alone."
As she went, however, she found a young
waiting-woman of the Duchess sitting weeping
on the stairs, who, when she heard whither she
was going, said, ^' Let me go with you, lady, as
far as the stairs up to the wall. I dare not show
my head above in the daylight, for fear they
should shoot me with an arrow."
^^ Come as far as thou wilt, and no farther,"
I'HE JACQUERIE. 2M
replied Adela. <^ Would to God they would
shoot me with an arrow! It would find no hope
in my heart to quell."
They soon reached the foot of the wall, and
mounted the steps, the poor girl following, till
she was within a few feet of the top^ There
however, the young lady left her, and going On,
soon obtained a view over the fields around.
The side to which she had been told to direct
her attention was that which, looking over the
meadow we have before mentioned, turned
towards the south, where the bend of the river
Marne, with the canal which insulated the
market-place, could be clearly discerned, as well
as a little sloping field beyond, and then some
undulating country, stretching away towards
Couilly.
Adela gazed out with even more than the
eager anxiety of the sister in the fairy tale, but
nothing did she see except the fair face of
nature. She turned her eyes towards the town ,
but the great mass of the market-place lay
between her and the bridge, and she could
behold nothing in that direction either.
266 THE JACQUERIE.
« If we had but a boat," she thought, ** we
might ferry over into those fields, and perhaps
escape;" but then she remarked, some wayup^
by the side of the canal, at a spot which must
have been visible from many parts of the town,
some two or three hundred of the Jacques lolling
idly about, as if upon the watch, and she added
to herself, "They would catch us ere we could
fly."
At that moment a sort of rushing sounds
and then a dull, heavy noise, as if a violent
blow were struck upon some large hollow sur-
face, met her ear, and made her clasp her
hands with terror.
" Run, run," she exclaimed to tlie girl who
was upon the steps — " Run and ask what that
sound is, and come back and let me know."
The girl was away, and returned in a minute,
with a face still paler than before, and her teeth
chattering in her head with fear.
" The attack has begun!" she said — "the at-
tack has begun ! That was a stone as big as one
of these in the wall cast against the gates by
the mangonel they have made."
THE JACQUERIE. 267
" Now were the time to die," said Adela to
herself, looking at a dagger which Albert
Denyn had given her — " Now were the time to
die."
" Oh, look out, look out!'* exclaimed the
girl, wringing her hands. " Is there no hope?
Is there no help ?"
Adela turned her faint eyes over the prospect,
towards Fontenoy, and was silent. The next
instant she uttered a loud shriek, but it wa3
a shriek of joy.
" Yes, yes I" she cried — " it is — it must be
a banner, that is rising over the hill I Yes, there
it is, full ! A banner ! a banner I The Captal
de Buch ! The Captal de Buch ! Another, toq^
or, a pale gules ! — The Count of Foix ! Spears,
spears coming up over the hill ! Run, tell the
princess, girl ! Tell the poor Lady of St. Leu
too ! — Call it up to them upon the gate tower !
Bid them fight for their honour ! Say help is at
hand ! — Run, girl, run ! — Who is this first, that
comes spurring on like fire ? Albert, as I live !
my own dear Albert ! bearing the captal's ^
banner too !"
268 THE JACQUERIE.
** Where are they, where are they ?" cried
the voice of the Dachess of Normandy, rushing
with her hair all dishevelled, to the battlements,
followed by a number of others. " Where are
our deliverers? Alas! they are very few. —
They must be but the advance — Still, still they
will enable us to keep the place till the dauphin
comes. — But how are they to pass ? There is
no bridge —there is no boat — How will they
pass? — oh I how will they pass ?"
Adela made no reply. Her eyes, her heart,
her soul, were fixed upon the banner of the
Captal de Buch and him who bore it. Right
onward he rode, like lightning down the slope,
towards the spot where the canal was cut from
the Marne, and where the current, being some*
what diverted, was consequently not so strong.
No pause, no hesitation, was seen ; but waving
the banner over his head as he approached the
stream, he struck the rowels of his spurs deep
into his horse's sides, and plunged down the
bank into the water. Loaded with heavy
armour, horse and man for a moment well nigh
disappeared in the tide; but the banner still
THE JACQUERIEi^ 269
waved in the air, and the next instant charger
and rider rose. up and came rapidly towards the
meadow. The distance was but small ; and ere
the rest of the horsemen reached the bank, the
fore-feet of Albert Denyn's steed were striking
the firm ground on the other side. No one
hesitated to follow up his example. The captal
and the Count of Foix plunged in the first;
then came the banner-bearer of the count, and
then, man by man, the gentlemen of their train.
" Throw open the postern on the meadow 1 "
cried the duchess. *^ Run and tell our dear
Lady of Orleans. — Come, let us greet our de-
liverers."
" Look, look ! " exclaimed Adela — " yon
poor fellow is off his horse. — Help him, good
God I he will be drowned I No, no — tlie gallant
captal has got him by the hand. He is safe ! he
is safe!"
With gladly beating hearts, and brains well
n%h bewildered by renewed hope, that bevy
of fair girls ran down the steps to meet the noble
gentlemen and tbeir train, who came to fight
in their defence. . They found the postern gate
270 THE JACQU£RIB.
open, and the Duchess of Orleans and a number
of other ladies already there. The captal had
^rung from his horse, and was leading him by
the rein, speaking as he came to Albert Denyn^
who had also dismoanted, as was likewise the case
with the Count of Foix and several otiiers.
'^ By my honour, Albert," said the captal,
<^ these brave fellows may well accuse me of
having a favourite now. In letting you lead
through that river, I have done for you what I
would not do for any other man on earth ; and
yet you are so ungrateful, that you are going to
take from me what I once coveted more than a
monarch's crown."
There was gaiety and sadness mixed in the
leader's tone ; but the voice of Albert Denyn
was all sad, as he answered, " My lord, my
lord, do not make me remember too bitterly that
I was once a serf."
"Well, well," replied the captal, "I will soon
give you an opportunity of doing great deeds5
my friends. — Martin, see that the horses be fed
instantly, and if any fresh ones can be had in
the place bring them all forth, — Cousin of Foisf^
THE JACQUERIE. 271
is not this our fair princess of Normandy ? •—
Ladys by your leave, I kiss your sweet hand^
and upon this fair book I swear, that, although
I have but too often drawn my harsh sword
against your husband and his friends, it sliall
to-day achieve your deliverance, or John de
Greilly shall sleep this night in death. — Lady
of Orleans, I know you well. La I Here stands
d good knight of Foix for your defence.— Sweet
Adela de Mauvinet, I bring you good tidings — »
your father is quite safe. But whom shall I give
you for your champion ? My young hero, here,
good Albert Denyn, who certainly has borne
my banner this day through fields I never
thought to see it cross !-*- Ladies dear, for the
rest of you, on my life, you are so many and we
so few, you must e'en share the rest of u»
amongst you; but, nevertheless, I will trust
that one good man-at-arms will show himself
able this day to defend four ladies against at
least a hundred Jacques."
" Alas ! my lord," said the Duchess of Nor-r
mandy, ^^ speak not of it so lightly : you are
very, very few, and you know not the numbers
272 THE JACQUERIE*
that are opposed to you. We hoped that you
but led the advanced party of a larger force.^
There are very many thousands in the town of
Meaux and the neighbouring fields. They
are even now attacking the gate. Hark ! the
engine has dashed another stone against it.^'
'^Fear not, lady, fear not," answered the
captal. ^^ By my life and by my honour, there is
not a doubt or an apprehension in my mind
that these few hands which you see around you
are quite sufficient to scatter yon base rabble to
the winds of heaven, and give their carcasses to
the ravens. Some two miles hence, I have seen
a sight which has filled my spirit with a fire
that burns for the destruction of these men,
who have not only cast off a yoke which was
perhaps a heavy one, but have cast off also every
feeling of humanity, and by deeds of blood and
horror, and infernally devised cruelty, have
shown themselves unworthy of any state but tliat
against which they have risen. •— • But who have
we here?"
« My Lord of Chambl^," said the Count of
Foix, who had been speaking to the Duchess
THE JACQUERIE. 273
of Orleans, and now advanced toward the gen-
tleman who approached, ^' how goes it with you?
But badly, I fear. However, we have come to
give you help, and we will soon, please God
and our Lady, set this affair to rights."
The tone of confidence in which the captal
and the Count of Foix spoke^ as well as the
very fact of receiving assistance at all, at a mo-
ment when it seemed beyond all expectation,
had restored, in some degree, lost hope and
comfort to the breasts of the ladies of France ;
but such was not the effect upon the young
Lord of Chambl^, when he beheld the scanty
numbers which followed the two leaders, and
remembered the immense multitude he had
lately had before his eyes.
** There may now be some chance, my lord/'
he said, <'of repelling these villains, and de-
fending the place; for even your small force
will enable us to man the walls, and to re-
pair what evil is done to the gates ; but as for
deliverance, I fear we must wait till the regent
arrives."
<^ Small force I " exclaimed the Count of Foix,
VOL. III. T
274 THE JACQUERIE,
with a gay and cheerful laugh. ^' Why, my
friend, do j'ou not see we have an army ? Is not
this the Captal de Buch standing here ? to say
nothing of the poor Count of Foix ; and as for
the rest, were you to ask any of the gentlemen
ranged in that band, whether for half a king-
dom lie would have its numbers tripled, I tell
you he would say, No ! So greedy are we of
the glory of this day, that you may think your-
self lucky, Monsieur de Chamble, if we let you
share in it ? "
" Please God, my lords," replied the young
nobleman, " what you share I will share ; but
tell me, what is it that you intend to do ? for I
see nothing that can be done."
" You ask, what we will do," said the Captal
de Buch, taking a step forward, and speaking
in a calm, determined tone : " this, my noble
lord. With God's pleasure, and these ladies'
favour, as soon as our horses are fed, or we can
procure fresh ones, we will throw open yonder
gates, give our bannera to the wind, clear the
bridge, we saw as we came down, of the enetoyj
and smite the base knaves as long as there is one
THE JACQUERIE. 27$
of them or us left living. This ia oux* purpose ;
and it shall never be said that we suffered our-
selves to be herie cooped up, trusting to stone
walls for defence against the scum of France.
I declare, before Heaven, that would no one
else go with me, I would set out myself with
my lance in my hand, and ride them down.
Who will refuse to do the same?"
"Not I," "Not I," "Not I," cried all the
voices round.
" Nor I, my lord," replied the young Lord
of Chamble ; " but — — " and he glanced his
eye over the group of ladies who stood near.
" Doubt not ! doubt not ! " exclaimed the
Count of Foix. — " Ladies, do you trust us?"
" Ay, my lord ! " answered the Duchess of
Orleans. " Were they ten times as many, we
would rely on you as if you were a host. As for
horses, there are plenty here : had we had men
to mount them, we might have been delivered
long ago."
" Quick, then ! Let them be brought forth ! "
exclaimed the Captal de Buch. " Put our
caparisons on them : they are somewhat wet
T 2
376 THE JACQUERIE.
with the water of the river, but we will soon
dry them in the fire of the battle. Ladies
fair, if we deliver you this day, as we trust
right certainly to do, I pray you remember,
whether I live or fall, it is to this young gen-
tleman here present, as much as any one, that
you owe your safety."
♦* I, for one, do owe him much already, my
lord," said a pale but beautiful girl, taking a
step forward. " He generously tried to save
my dying father, when delay might have been
worse than death to himself. But that father,
noble captal, commanded me strictly, the very
first moment I could gain speech with you, to
give you this packet, and beg you to see right
done. I will explain hereafter every thing
concerning it, but I must not fail to obey his
words. Here is the packet."
I The captal took it, saying, with a smile, ^< I
must not stay to read it now, fair lady, for there
are some skilful hands plying a mangonel
against the gates, I hear. -— Lo ! here are the
horses. — Cousin, take you your choice : — the
grey?-— well, give me the black one then*
THE JACQUERIE. 277
Brace up those girths tighter, good youth
— how the brute plunges!— he has not been
forth for many a day. We will take down that
lire before we have done. — Albert, you shall
be my squire, and win the spurs you talked of.
— Mauleon, come you on the other side. —
Cousin of Foix, let us make our front as wide
as the gate will admit. Bring down any men-
at-arms that can be had from the tower, and
let the varlets twang the bow-string eagerly
upon the enemy till we be past the bridge. —
Fair ladies, adieu. Close well the gates behind
us, and then watch us from the walls. Your
bright eyes will give us a thousand hearts. —
Down with your vizor, Albert ! "
^' I would fain that he should know me, my
lord," replied Albert Denyn.
" Ha ! " said the captal — " Well, as you will.
Now let our trumpet sound to the charge.—
Open the doors, and on them ! '*
The gates of the market-place were suddenly
thrown back ; and through tlie archway might
be seen tlie line of the bridge over the Marne
witli but very few men upon it; but beyond it
T 3
278 THE JACQUERIB.
appeared a sea of fierce and furious faces^ turned
up towards the walls from the large open space
on the other side of the riven A great part of
the multitude were but rudely armed, with
pikes, or bills, or scythes ; but amongst them,
too, were men covered from head to foot with
armour ; and banners and standards were like*
wise displayed in their ranks, whilst in the
midst, the huge mangonel was seen, in the act
of heaving another immense stcme into the air.
<• Halt ! " cried the captal, « halt ! till it has
fallen. -— Now on them I — charge ! — Greilly
-to the rescue ! St. George for merry Eng-
land ! "
« Foix ! Foix! St. Michael and St. George 1
St. Michael and St. George ! " cried the Count
of Foix; and, dashing their spurs into their
horses' flanks, they galloped through the arch-
way, the proud beasts that bore tiiem, full of
food and rest, plunging fiercely as if to escape
from the rein.
The news of a reinforcement having thrown
itself into the market-place had reached the
multitudes of the Jacquerie, a few minutes
THE JACQUERIE. 279
before, and had somewhat shaken their confi-
dence ; but when they saw the gates thrown
open, and banners and spears coming forth,
many a heart, not knowing the scanty num-
bers of their adversaries, began to quail, ere
the first horsemen were tipon the bridge,
A movement of flight instantly took place*
In vain Caillet tried to rally the multitude ; in
vain the Paris^ians, and a number of his own
determined followers, made a fierce stand to
oppose the passage of the fugitives. As man
after man poured forth from the narrow arch-
way and thundered along the bridge, and a»
the arrows from the gate fell amongst them»
"wounding many and killing one or two, the
effort for flight became general, and every
street leading from the bridge was jammed up
with people.
Mad, furious, and despairing, Caillet seized
a crossbow from one of the men near him^
saying, " I will show you how to treat the
vipers," and aiming a quarrel at the Gaptal
de' Buch he loosed the string. The missile
flew off with a hi^ng sound, but the pressure
T 4
280 THE JACQUERIE.
of the people had shaken the marksman's aim.
The captal rode on unharmed, piercing at the
very moment the back of one of the fugitives
"with his keen lance ; but the Lord of Chamble
wavered in the saddle, dropped the reins, fell,
and was dragged by a page from under the
horse's feet.
The young noble uttered no sound ; but the
man whom the captal transfixed with his lance
gave a sudden yell of agony that spread new
consternation amongst the people. Caillet,
Jacques Morne, Vaillant, Soulas, and the rest,
were borne away in spite of all their efforts ; and
urging on their horses fiercely through the
streets, the men-at-arms, some with their
lances, and some with their long swords,
pierced, and cut down, or trampled under foot,
the immense multitude which had so lately been
attacking the fortified market-place of M eaux,
but who, now smitten with an inconceivable
panic, fled before less than a score and a
half of men. They pressed each other to death
in the narrow streets, trod upon every one that
fell without mercy, and at once, terrifying and
THE JACQUERIE. 281
slaying each other, issued forth into the fields
and meadows round Meaux, fleeing in every
direction but fleeing in vain. Wherever they
turned, wherever a group gathered together,
there the fierce hand of the pursuers was
upon them, hewing them down without mercy,
and giving no ear to the cries and entreaties
of those who had never listened to pity in their
own hour of power.
From seven o'clock in the morning till nearly
three in the afternoon, the band of the Captal
de Buch and the Count of Foix continued to
slay tlie Jacques and their accomplices; and
however marvellous it may appear, no fact of
history is more clearly ascertained than that,
either pressed to death in the narrow streets, or
killed by the sword in the city and the fields
around, seven thousand men died in that day
before the efibrts of less than forty.
Very early in the fight, or rather slaughter,
the little band of the captal and the Count of
Foix had divided into five separate parties;
and when, about three o'clock, the former
planted his banner upon a small hill, and
282 THE JACQUERIE.
looked over the plains around, he could see
his horsemen wheeling hither and thither, hut
no body of the insurgents was to be distin*-
guished in any direction.
He ordered his trumpet then to sound a
recall ; and he was shortly after rejoined by the
Count of Foix, who sprang firom his horse and
cast himself down upon the turf, saying, ^^ On
my life, captal, though I have seen many hard*-
fought days, and hunted many a wild beast
from morning until nightfall, I never remember
having been so weary in all my life. Why, till
the last hour, my arm has not ceased slaying
for a minute. Never let them talk of Samson
after this day's work. I wish my sword had
been the jaw-bone of an ass^ it would have been
easier wielded. How many thousand did you
kill, captal ? — Ho ! Raonl, take &S my casque,
and let me have a little air."
** I slew till I was sick. of the bloody work,'*
replied the captal. " It was mere butchery;
and, on my life, I think I should have sheathed
my sword and let them go free,, had not the tale
of that poor dying wretch we found last night •^
THE JACQUERIE. 283^
how that they had I'oasted her husband's body
before her eyes and made her eat him — rung in
my ears, and rendered me as merciless as the
north-east wind. I have no taste for killing
sheep."
" Nor I either," answered the Count of Foix;
and, to say truth, I had but one fair stroke
or two with any man — one of the Parisian
fellows, I imagine, who, finding me close upon
him, turned and aimed a blow at my thigh.
He had good arms, for my lance broke on his^
plastron, and it took me two good thrusts of
my sword, which is heavy enough, to end him."*
" Albert Denyn had the best of the day, my
lords," said Mauleon, joining in ; " for he at-
tached himself to the man in the black armour^
who was worth the whole of the rest of them
put together. Albert touched no one else but
him, except when people came between them,
and then he cut his way through, as a ship
cleaves the sea."
<* That was Caillet ! " exclaimed the Captal de
Buch : '* that was their leader. Albert vowed
himself to his destruction. — Did he kill him ?'^
284 THE JACQUERIE.
" Not that I saw, my lord," replied Mauleon.
" Just out of the town gates, that fellow, and
four or five others who were with him, found
horses; but there the black armour turned upon
Albert, and they had two or three stout blows
together. Then the other put the spur to his
horse and galloped, and Albert after him.
More than once they came to blows ; for, ever
and anon, the black armour faced round upon
his pursuer, sometimes alone, sometimes with
two others; but still Albert made his part
good ; for I saw him cleave one of them, who
had no head-piece, down to the very jaws, and
then wheel upon the others again. After that,
I followed you, my lord, and saw no more."
" Let the trumpet sound ! " said the captal :
" they are coming in but slowly."
" They are weary to death, I dare say," re-
plied the Count of Foix ; "but let us be riding
back towards Meaux, there will be bright eyes
looldng out for us. — I think we have lost none
of our number, but one who was shot by a
quarrel on the bridge. Who was he? I saw
some one fall, but did not mark who it was."
THE JACQUERIE. 285
" It was the young gentleman we found in
the place, my lord," answered one' of the men-
at-arms. ^^Monsieur de Chamble, I think
they called him."
. " Indeed I " cried the count. " Poor fellow !
Was he killed?"
'^ As dead as a roebuck," replied the man.
^^ He was raising his vizor just at the moment,
and it went into his forehead."
<^ Well, some one must be killed," said the
count; and with this brief elegy the subject was
dismissed.
The Count of Foix mounted his horse again,
and, with their trumpet sounding, he and the
captal took their way back towards Meaux.
As they rode on, party after party came in and
joined them ; and before they reached the gates
of the city, no one was wanting but one or two
pages and varlets, who were known to have re-
turned to the market-place with some prisoners,
the young Lord of Chambl^, and Albert
Denyn.
An unexpected obstacle, however, presented
itself under the very walls. Some of the citizens
5286 THE JACQUERIE.
appeared upon the battlements and threatened
to keep the gates closed, unless a promise of
amnesty was given for the part that the people
of Meaux had taken. The cheek of the
<:apta1 turned very red; but the Count of Foix,
remarking that the great valves of the gate did
not seem fully closed, spurred forward, and
pushed them hard with his hand.
The door gave way, in spite of some resist-*
ance that was made. The men-at-arms rushed
in, and were joined by a part of the citizens,
cryingi " Down with the traitors ! . Down with
the traitors! Long live the dauphin ! Long
live the dauphin ! " and in a moment the
scene of strife was renewed in the streets of
the city.
Worsted, but desperate, some of the mayor's
party fled into the houses, and opened a
discharge of arrows and quarrels from the
windows, drawing down a bitter retribution on
their own heads.
" Out upon the traitorous hounds ! '* ex-
claimed the Captal de Buch.
** Bum them out 1 *' cried the Count of Foix.
THE JACQUERIE. 287
The suggestion was too rapidly adopted — fire
was brought; and ere an hour wasovei', one half
of the town of Meaux was in flames. In one
of the houses was taken John Sonlas, the
treacherous mayor; and some of the other
citizens would have put him to death at once
for the evils that he had brought upon the city :
but the captal and the Count of Foix in-
terfered, and, tying him hand and foot, had him
•carried with them into the market-place, to
await the judgment of the dauphin«
In the midst of that small square, where, nof
many hours before, they had stood expecting
death with all the most aggravating circum-
stances, the ladies af France were now collected
to welcome the little band of their gallant
deliverers. Two by two, as they passed the
gate, the nobles and their men-at-arms, leaving
their exhausted horses panting in the shade,
advanced to meet the gratulations that poured
upon them.
All was joy and satisfaction in every bosom^
but one, there present. Adela de Mauvinet,
however, gazed over the band as they ad-
288 THE JACQUERIE.
vanced, and searched amongst them, with an
eager and an anxious eye, for the one being most
dear to her own heart* She saw him not : she
counted them over again and again. He was
not there ; and as she stood by the side of the
Duchess of Orleans, who was pouring forth
thanks with an eloquent voice, Adela sunk
slowly down, and was caught in the arms of
the young lady of St Leu, hearing not the
words which the latter addressed to her, ^^ He -
is safe — I am sure he is safe I"
THE JACQUERIE. 289
CHAP. XIII.
We must now not only change the scene to a
camp, at some distance from Meaux, but pass
over, at once, seven days in the course of our
history.
In the centre of the long rows of canvass
streets, was a large open space before a royal
pavilion, with the standard of France upon
the right-hand, and another banner upon the
left. On either side appeared a long rank
of men-at-arms; and the curtain of the tent
drawn up, displayed a young, and somewhat
pallid, man, seated in a large chair of state;
while round about him, and back to the
very crimson hangings behind, appeared a
crowd of noblemen and gentlemen, for the
most part armed completely except the head.
Placed in a somewhat lower chair, by the
side of the principal personage, was the young
Duchess of Normandy, and next to her, again,
the Duchess of Orleans. A number of ladies
VOL. III. ^T
290 THE JACQUERIE.
Stood behind and around them; and though
all, more or less, were dressed with such
splendour as befits a court, it was sad to see
that many were in the weeds of mourning.
On the right of the dauphin, a little in
advance, was a group composed of the most
distinguished men in France, and amongst them
were to be seen the Count of Foix, the Begue
de Vilaine, the Captal de Buch, and the old
Lord of Mauvinet — last, as the poet says, but
not least, for he was standing next to the
prince himself, with his arms crossed upon his
chest, his grey hair escaping from under his
velvet cap, and his eyes bent thoughtfully, but
not sadly, upon the ground.
Near the Duchess of Orleans appeared
Adela de Mauvinet, somewhat pale, but with a
fluttering colour upon her cheek, which came
and went at almost every word ; and though her
eyes were generally bent on the ground, yet,
from time to time, she raised them to a con-
siderable group of persons who had been
brought into the presence of the regent by two
heralds. One of the party had been speaking
THE JACQUERIE. 291
to the Duke of Normandy for a considerable
time ; and when he came to the end of their
communication, the prince bowed his head^
saying, *' Monsieur de Picquigny, greet well,
for us, our noble cousin of Navarre, and tell him
that there is nothing we desire more than peace
with him and all the world. As soon as he gives
us such proof and assurance of his good inten-
tions towards ourselves, as may prove satisfactory
to us, and to our council, we will gladly believe
his professions, sheath the sword, and take him
to our bosom with brotherly love. In the mean
time, we readily consent to meet him at our
father's royal mansion at St. Ouen, and pledge
him our word, in presence of these noble
gentlemen, that he shall be safe in person, and
have liberty to come and go, without stop or
hinderance, for two days before and after our
interview. Let him name the day."
*' I humbly thank your highness," said the
personage who had spoken on behalf of the King
of Navarre ; " and I beg to present to you,
according to your desire, the young gentleman,
who, with his own hand, took that traitorous
u 2
292 THE JACQUERIE.
villain, William Caillet, after pursuing him for
two days, in the fields near Clermont. I my-
self it was who found him bleeding and ex-
hausted, and demanded his prisoner at his
hands on behalf of the King of Navarre."
" And so the king struck off his head," added
the dauphin — "it was too much honour for a
villain like that He should have hanged hirai
to a tree. However, we thank the noble king
for the good service he has rendered France, for
exterminating the remainder of these Jacques
near Clermont. — Young gentleman, stand for-
ward: I find that you have done right well,
and gallantly ; but tell me something more of
the means by which you accomplished what has
foiled so many experienced knights. How did
you contrive to take this villain?"
" I pursued him, your highness," replied
Albert Denyn, " from Meaux to Nanteiul, and
there lost sight of him during the night. But
I knew he could not go far, for he had often
turned upon me, and was badly wounded. The
other man who was with him was wounded too,
•— one I killed under the walls of Meaux. At
THE JACQUERIE. 293
day-break, however, after sleeping in the fields,
I caught sight of them again, pursued, and
overtook them beyond Senlis. There they
turned again ; and after a few strokes, Caillet*s
companion, Morne, was killed. The two who
remained alive were both much hurt,, and had
lost some blood; but though he was weaker
and had suffered more, he would have con-:
tinned the fight ; but some horsemen appeared
afar ofF, and he fled again. I pursued once
more, but my horse was weary, and could hardly
carry me farther, when, after a long chase, I
found my enemy dropped from his beast, unable
to go farther. We had been friends in boy-
hood; and I could not kill him in cold blood.
So I bound him and gave him up to Monsieur
de Picquigny who followed."
" And for the capture of this notorious ma-
lefactor what do you claim as" your reward ? "
demanded the regent. " Knighthood, doubtless,
so kneel down."
Albert Denyn knelt at the feet of the prince,
with his face glowing up to the very brow, on
which were the scars of more than one fresh
u 3
294 THE JACQUERIE.
wound. Ere he could answer, however, the
Duchess of Orleans rose, and laying her hand
playfully on the string of pearls which Albert
wore, twisted through the gold chain round
his neck, she said, ^^ By this sign and token,
I redeem my promise. — Charles, your highness
must seek some other recompence : I promised,
that if he bore this trinket through the hosts of
the Jacquerie to demand knighthood for him of
yoitrself, or of any other knight, who, for my
love and his merit, would bestow it."
** Well, then," replied the dauphin, " I grant
it to your suit, fair lady, and dub him even now.
He shall buckle on the spurs hereafter. In the
name of God, St. Michael, and St. George, I
dub thee knight;" and he laid his sword upon
Albert Denyn's shoulder ; adding, " This is for
that lady's sake I What other guerdon do you
demand or me for your good service done ?"
Still, ere Albert could reply, he was again
interrupted. The Captal de Buch stepped
forward, saying, " Your highness promised,
that, as soon as you had given an answer to the
King of Navarre, you would grant me a boon.
THE JACQUERIE. 295
I have yielded to a lady, but can yield to no
one else."
"Well, what is it?" demanded the dauphin,
looking round with a smile.
** I have told your highness," replied the
captal.
** Oh, yes ! I remember," said the dauphin*
•r— " Know all men by these presents, that I re-
voke and annul the sentence of high treason
which went forth against the Lord of Granville,
some fourteen or fifteen years ago ; restore to his
heirs and race their honours, dignities, and pos-
sessions, of all kinds whatsoever, and pronounce
the said sentence of no effect, and as if it never
had been. — Let letters of abolition be drawn
up," be added, turning to an officer behind. —
*' I perform this act, my lord captal, with the
greater pleasure, as I myself can bear witness
that my father erred, and that the noble gen-
tleman he did to death was wholly innocent."
*^ I give your highness thanks," exclaimed
the Count of Mauvinet, stepping forward ; " for
though we had not met for years before his
death, he was my dearest friend."
u 4
296 THE JACQUERIE.
" I thank your highness, also," said the young
lady of St. Leu, "for he was my poor mother's
brother."
" Well, now your boon, young gentleman ?"
asked the dauphin : "we must not keep you
kneeling here all day."
Albert Denyn turned first pale, and next
red, and then rising from his knee, bowed low,
and took a step back.
" I have none to ask, your highness," he
replied — "I have obtained more than I either
expected or asked. There is but one thing
farther, in all the earth, that I could desire;
but it is so much beyond all hope, as well as be-
yond my worthiness, that I might be well ac-
cused of daring presumption, were I to dream
of it. For an instant it may have crossed my
mind, but I now banish it for ever, and I neither
can nor will utter it to any one."
" Then I will for you," said the Captal de
Buch. — "My Lord of Mauvinet, it is only you
can give him his guerdon. The boon he would
^^ ask, if he dared, is this lady's fair hand," and
crossing over, he took that of Adela in his
THE JACQUERIE. 297
She trembled violently; and the Count de
Mauvinet stood silent, with no expression of
surprise on his countenance, but with a flushed
cheek, a downcast eye, a quivering lip, and all
those signs which may best denote a fierce
mental struggle going on within.
" My lord," continued the Captal de Buch,
" remember all that this young man has been to
her, all that he has done for her ;— think that he
has been as a brother in her infancy and youth ;
think that he has been her protector in his man-
hood ; think that he has defended her honour
and her life; think that he has spilt his blood as
freely as if it had Ijeen water, to save her from
death and shame ! My lord, we know that many
a born villein has won the hand of a noble
lady by the mere force of riches — at least so
says many an old song. Now, my lord, his riches
are of a nobler kind than ever were brought to
barter yet ; and, moreover, he has been ennobled
by the hand of the emperor, knighted by the
hand of the regent — — "
" Cease, my good lord, pray cease ! It is
in vain,'* cried Albert Denyn: "the original
taint is there, and cannot be removed."
298 THE JACQUERIE.
But the Captal de Buch went on without
heeding him. — ** Fair lady," he said, turning to
Adela, " I know not well what areyo»r feelings;
and therefore to you, too, I will plead for my
young friend. The time was, when no gift on
earth I coveted so much as this fair hand. I
thought it was a prize for which kings might
strive : I deemed that few on the earth were
worthy of it. Forgive me, lady, if I say that he
is worthy, at least as much as any man can be,
in services rendered, in noble deeds o( arms, in
generous courage, and in a lofty spirit. I,
John de Greilly, have been held no mean judge
of such things, and by my honour and my chi-
valry, I speak the truth when I say, that were
you my own child, were you my own sister, I
would give you to him. — What say you, my
Lord of Mauvinet? Remember what he has
done for your child, remember what he has done
for you, and above all, remember what he has
done for France. Then if you can lay your
finger upon a nobler youth in all this presence,
refuse him your daughter's hand."
"But does he ask it?" inquired the Lord
of Mauvinet.
THE JACQUERIE. 299
" I dare not ask it, my lord," replied Albert
Denyn. " Were it possible for me to do so, I
would dispute it with a world."
" Well ! " said the old nobleman, at length —
** Well, Albert^ one ought rightly to be assured
that the blood is noble which is permitted to
mingle with the race of Mauvinet. Neverthe-
less, you have indeed done things that may
well prove you of gentle race. If my child
loves you, I will not say you nay. — Adela^
decide for youself, now and for ever. Your
hand might be a boon for the highest and
noblest in France; station, and rank, and
honour, might well be yours — and may still be
yours ! Bat if your heart tells you that he ha&
won you well, if yoii can choose him, and never
regret your choice, why, then, now let it be
made."
Adela sprang forward, knelt at her father'^
feet, and held out her hand to Albert Denyn.
" Out of all the world !" she exclaimed, with
a burst of strong feeling that nothing could
restrain — " out of all the world ! Would that
the emperor had not ennobled him! — would
300 THE JACQUERIE.
that the sword of knighthood had never touched
his shoulder! — that I might show him how
noble I think him." And hiding her eyes on
her father's coat of arms, she wept with mingled
joy and agitation. But when she raised them
again, and looked from her parent to her lover,
the colour came somewhat into her cheek ; for
with a faint and sad smile the young lady of
St. Leu came forward, and throwing her arm
over Albert's shoulder, kissed him on either
cheek. ;
, "I give you joy!" she said, "my noble
cousin — I give you joy ! "
A proud and meaning smile curled the lip of
the Captal de Buch; but his was the only
countenance there present which did not bear a
strong expression of surprise.
" What is the meaning of this?" exclaimed
the old Lord of Mauvinet. "Your cousin,
lady? Have my dreams proved right? And
is the orphan boy I educated "
" Albert Denyn, Count of Granville," re-
plied the young lady, " and my dear cousin.
It was to your abode, my lord, that he was
THE JACQUERIE. 301
taken by my unhappy uncle Walleran, when
the death of his elder brother, and the pro-
scription of the whole race, drove him mad
himself, and left the young heir destitute and
in danger. He feared to tell you, it seems,
who the child was, lest he should bring your
house also into peril ; he dared not carry him
to my father, who was already suspected, from
his connection with the house of Granville."
" But where is your uncle Walleran?" ex-
claimed the count. " I knew him well in
former times : he was always wild and strange,
but good at heart,"
" Alas ! my lord, he is dead," replied the
Captal de Buch. " The brief history of the last
year is this : — By a strange fate — for I must not
venture to call it chance — my band was joined
by Count Walleran de Granville as I was riding
away from your castle of Mauvinet. His own
nephew, not knowing him as his relation,
pledged himself for his good faith. I soon dis-
covered that the wild^ooking man was not the
being which he seemed; and when he found the
station in which Albert was placed with me, he
S02 THE JACQUERIE.
vevealed the whole secret, promising me the in-
contestible proofs of his nejdiew's birth and
rank. These were to be given me at a little inii
near St. Leu, where he proposed to leave iis»
There, however he suddenly disappeared, enticed
away, it seems, daring the night, by a fiend-like
old man, named Thibalt de la Rue, and some
accomplices. That old man had brought down
death upon his brother, the Lord of Granville,
whose servant he was, by a false accusation ; and
he now betrayed Count Walleran into the hands
of William Caillet, who slew him for some old
offence. Thibalt de la Rue, however, possessed
himself of the papers which had been drawn up
for me. I, in the mean time, had left behind
Albert and some others to seek for Walleran : they
found the body, and the Lord of St. Leu coming
up, old Thibalt was arrested upon strong sus-
picion. The Lord of St. Leu turned him over
to the Lord of Flessis, as his natural superior ;
but Monsieur de St. Leu's men searched him
before delivering him up, and found the papers
for which Albert Denyn had been inquiring, in
my name. That noble gentleman kept them.
THE JACQUERIE. 803
waiting for my return fi'om Prussia ; but
intending to act strongly against the Jacques^
and fearing that he might be killed in some
encounter, the Lord of St. Leu gave those
papers to his daughter, with directions to de-
liver them to me, that I might, when occasion
served, assert her cousin's rights. Since his
unfortunate death, she has placed them in my
hand?, and I have fulfilled the task. The ways
of Providence are strange ; and we often see a
retributive justice in this world, as if directed
immediately by God himself. I find that it was
an arrow from the hand of Albert Denyn which
smote the old fiend, who had betrayed his father
and his uncle. His arm was it, also, that, after
pursuing his uncle's murderer through two long
days, delivered him up to justice, bound and
overcome. — I have but one word more to say,
and it is to you, lady," he continued, turning to
Adela. " You heard me declare, I believe, when
I entered the market-place at Meaux, that I
would not have had another man with me to
share in the honour of that day for half a king-
dom. I believe, from my heart, that, with some-*
304 THE JACQU£RIE«
what similar feelings, you would not have lost
the opportunity of choosing this noble youth on
account of his merit alone, for the brightest
coronet that ever sat upon mortal brow; and,
therefore, you will easily forgive me, that I kept
the secret till your choice was made."
" Oh, my lord," exclaimed Adela, " how ge-
nerous you are ! Noble in every feeling, chi-
valrous in every act, your name shall long
stand high upon the roll of renown *, and men
shall point to the words, ^John de Greilly,
Captal de Buch,' and say, < That was a knight,
indeed!'"
It stands still in St. George's Hall at Windsor,
amongst the first of those mighty champions, who are
known by the title of ** Founders of the Order of the
Garter."
Note on Page 288,
The account given by Froissart of this adventure
of the Captal de Buch and bis companions is as'
follows. The reader will see that I have deviated
very little from this account; and, even in the
Variations I have made, I am justified by other
Contemporary authors who have written on the
subject : —
<' £n ce temps que ces mechants gens couroient^
revinrent de Prusse le Comte de Foix et le Captal
de Buch, son cousin ; et entendirent sur le chemin,
si comme ils devoient entrer en France, la pestil-
lence et Thorriblit^ qui couroit sur le gentilshommes.
Si en eurent ces deux seigneurs grand' piti6. Si
chevauchdrent par leur joum^es tant qu'ils vinrent
a Chalons en Champagne, qui rien ne se mouvoit
du fait des vilains, ni point n'y entroient. Si leur
fut dit en la dite cit6 que la Duchesse de Nor-
tnandie et la Duchesse d'Orleans, et bien trois cents
dames et damoiselles, et le Due d'Orleans aussi,
^toient ^ Meaux en Brie, en grand meschef de coeur,
pour cette Jaquerie. Ces deux bons chevaliers
s*accorderent que ils iroient voir les dames et les
reconforteroient a leur pouvoir, combien que le
captal fut Anglois. Mais ils ^toient pour ce temps
troves entre le royaume de France et le royaume
d' Angleterre ; si pouvoit bien le dit captal chevau-
cher partout ; et aussi la 11 vouloit remontrer sa
VOL. III. X
306 NOT£.
gentillesse, en la compagnie du Comte de Foix. Si
pouvoient ^tre de leur route environ quarantc
lances, et non plus ; car ils venoient d'un p61erinage,
ainsi que je vous ai j^ dit
Tant chevauchdrent que ils vinrent a Meaux en
Brie. Si allerent tantdt devers la Duchesse de
Normandie et lea autres damesy qui furent moult
li6es de leur yenue ; car tous lea jours elles 6toient
menac^es des Jacques et des vilains de Brie» et
m^mement de ceux de la ville, ainsi qu'il fut ap»
parent. Car encore pour ce que ces m^chants gens
entendirent que il avoit la foison de dames et de
damoiselles et de jeunes gentils enfants, ils s'assem-
blerent ensemble, et ceux de la Comt^ de Valois
aussi, et s'en vinrent devers Meaux, D 'autre party
ceux de Paris, qui bien savoient cette assemble,
se partirent un jour de Paris, par flottes et par
troupeaux, et s'envinrent avecques les autres. £t
furent bien neuf mille tous ensemble, en tres grand'
volont^ de jnal faire. £t toujours leur croissoient
gens de divers iienx et de plusieurs chemins qui se
raccordoient a Meaux. £t s'envinrent jusques aux
portes de la dite ville. £t ces m^hants gens de la
vilie ne voulurent contredire Fentr^e a ceux de
Paris, mais ouvrirent leur portes* Si entrerent au
bourg si grand* plenty que toutes les rues en ^toient
convertes jusques au march6. • * *
<< Quand ces noblea dames, qui 6toient herbergees
au marcli6 de Meaux, qui est assez fort, mais qu'il
soit gard^ et d^fendu, car la riviere de Maroe
I'avironne, virent si grand' quantity de gens ac-^
courir et venir sur elles, si furent moult 6bahies et
effray^es ; mais le Comte de Foix et le Captal de
308 NOTE.
account of an interview he had with Bassot de MaU-
leon, mentioned in the text, in which the captal's
companion informed him that the ladies of France
were totally alone in the market-place, and that the
number of Jacques killed was six thousand. Another
author greatly reduces the number of the com-*
panions of the Count de Foix and the Captal de
Buch. By this last authority, also, we find that
only one of the gentlemen who issued forth from
the market-place was killed upon this occasion*
The name, however, is by him written Chambly.
The description of the market-place of Meaux,
as I have given it in the text, is, I believe, a com*
plete picture of what it was at that time ; at least I
am led to suppose so» from the statements of Mon-
sieur de Secousse, who took infinite pains to ascer-
tain the facts. It may be remarked, also, that
many other places mentioned in this work have
changed in appearance as much as Meaux ; cities
having grown up round castles, which then stood
naked on the hill side, or at most had a small village
of peasant's huts attached to them.
THE END.
London:
Printed by A.',Spottiswoooe,
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