by Eugène Sue
“Rid myself of you, who would have served me!”
“For that very reason! My presence would be a constant reminder of your debt. But that matters not. Whether I die to-day or to-morrow, whether you be king or not, whether or not my last effort with the Regent fail, whether the court party triumph or is now vanquished — whatever may happen, the future belongs to the popular party even if the present may slip. Yes; whatever people may do, the ordinance of the reforms of 1356 and the sovereign act of the national assembly in this generation will leave imperishable traces behind them. I have sowed too hastily, some say, and they add, ‘a slow crop follows a hasty planting.’ Be it so! But I have sowed. The seed is in the earth. Sooner or later the future will gather the crop. My task is done. I can die. And now, Sire, I sum up: If I fail in my last attempt with the Regent, I shall take recourse with you. You will be first appointed captain-general of Paris ... it will be your first step towards the throne.... We shall then take measures to lead things to a happy issue, according to our device.”
“My first words on coming in were: ‘Marcel, I wish to be King of the French.’ I had my project. I renounce it to join yours,” said Charles the Wicked resuming his cloak. “You are one of those inflexible men who can not be convinced any more than they can be corrupted. I shall not seek to change your views concerning me, nor yet to purchase your alliance. However dangerous it may be to me, I accept it as you offer it. I return to St. Denis to await the event. In case my presence shall be necessary in Paris, write to me and I shall come. I only demand of you absolute secrecy on this interview.”
“Our common interests demand secrecy.”
“Adieu, Marcel! May God prosper you.”
“Adieu, Sire!”
Enveloping himself anew up to his eyes, the King of Navarre left the provost. The latter followed him with his eyes, and after the departure of Charles the Wicked said to himself: “Fatal necessity! To have to aid in the elevation of this man! And yet it may be necessary! The change of dynasty may help me to save Gaul, should the Regent wreck to-morrow my last hope.... Yes, Charles the Wicked, with the view of usurping and keeping the crown, will be compelled to enter the wide path of the reforms that alone can lighten the weight now crushing the townsmen and above all the peasantry. Oh, poor rustic plebs, so patient in your secular martyrdom! Oh, poor Jacques Bonhomme, as the nobility in its insolent haughtiness loves to call you, your day of deliverance is approaching! For the first time united in a common cause with the bourgeoisie, the people of the towns, when you will stand erect, Jacques Bonhomme, in arms as your brothers of the towns, we shall see whether this Charles the Wicked, however execrable a man he may be, will dare to deviate from the path that he is ordered to march!”
A bell rang and recalled Marcel from his reverie. “I shall have barely time to reach the convent of the Cordeliers, in order to prepare our friends for to-morrow’s measures ... terrible measures!... yet as legitimate as the law of retaliation ... supreme and unavoidable law in such gloomy days as these, when violence can be opposed and overcome with violence only! Oh! Let the blood fall upon the heads of those who, having driven the people to extremities, have by their conduct provoked these impious struggles!”
Saying this, Marcel descended the stairs to take his leave from his wife, his niece and Jocelyn the Champion, who, at the invitation of the provost was then taking supper with his family, and, gathered around the table, presented a charming picture of peace and good will.
CHAPTER VI.
AT THE CORDELIERS.
AFTER TAKING SOME rest at Rufin’s lodging, William Caillet accompanied his host to the convent of the Cordeliers, where a large crowd was gathering, greedy to hear Marcel’s address. The Cordeliers, a poor monastic order that aroused the profound enviousness of the high and splendidly endowed clergy, had ranked themselves on the side of the people against the court. The large hall of their convent was the habitual place for the holding of large popular mass meetings. Acquainted with the brother who attended the gate, Rufin received from him permission to speak with Marcel in the refectory which he would have to cross on the way to the hall where he was to address the people. The spacious hall, walled and vaulted with stone, and lighted only by the lamps that burned on a sort of tribune situated at one of its extremities, was packed with a dense and impatient crowd, on the front ranks alone of which fell the light of the lamps; the deeper ranks, and in the measure that they stood further and further away from the lighted platform, remained in a semi-obscurity, that deepened into complete darkness at the other end of the hall. The audience consisted of bourgeois and artisans, a large number of whom wore head covers of red and blue, the colors adopted by the popular party, and brooches with the device “To a happy issue.”
The two funerals that had taken place during the day, and both the contrast and significance of which were so obvious, formed the subject of conversation with the seething mass. The least clear-sighted among them foresaw a decisive crisis and an inevitable conflict between the court and the people, represented respectively by the Regent and Marcel. Accordingly, the arrival of the latter was awaited with as much impatience as anxiety. A few minutes later Marcel entered by a door near the platform, accompanied by several councilmen, John Maillart among them. Jocelyn the Champion, Rufin the Tankard-smasher and William Caillet brought up the rear. The last of these had just enjoyed a long conversation with Marcel and Jocelyn. Enthusiastic cheers greeted Marcel and the councilmen. The former mounted the platform followed by all the councilmen, except Maillart who remained below, and took seats behind the speaker. In the midst of profound silence, Marcel said:
“My friends, the hour is critical. Let us indulge neither in faint-heartedness nor in illusions. The regent and the court have dropped the mask. This morning, to our solemn protest against the iniquitous and sanguinary act that in defiance of law smote Perrin Macé, the court answered by following the hearse of John Baillet. This is a challenge.... Let us take up the gauge! Let us make ready for battle.”
“Aye! Aye!” came the thundering response from the audience. “The Regent and his courtiers shall not make us retreat.”
“For a moment frightened by the firmness of the national assembly”, Marcel proceeded, “the Regent granted the reforms and swore to carry them out. The deputies of the towns of Gaul, gathered at Paris in the States General, were, with the loyal aid of the Regent, to rule the whole country wisely and paternally, as the magistrates of the communes rule the towns. Thus there would no longer be any royal and feudal tyranny; no more ruinous prodigalities; no more false money; no more venal justice; no more excessive taxes; no more arbitrary imposts; no more pillaging in the name of the King and princes; no more odious privileges for church and nobility; in short, there would be an end of the infamous and horrible seigniorial rights that cause the heart to rise, and reason to revolt. That is what we wanted; and that is just what the Regent and the court resist energetically.”
“Blood and death!” cried Maillart in a loud voice, rising from his seat with violent gesticulation. “They will have to submit; if not we shall massacre every one of them from the Regent down to the last courtier! Death to the traitors! To arms! Let’s set fire to the palace and the castles.”
A large number applauded the excited words of Maillart; and the man of the furred cap, who insinuated himself into this meeting as he had done in the morning among the crowds that witnessed the funeral procession of Perrin Macé, moved about saying: “Hein, my friends, what an intrepid man is this Master Maillart! He speaks only of blood and massacre! Master Marcel, on the contrary, seems always afraid to compromise himself. It does not surprise me; it is said he has secretly embraced the side of the court.”
“Marcel ... betray the people of Paris!” answered several men. “You are raving, good man! Go on your way!”
“All the same,” insisted the man of the furred cap, “Marcel keeps quiet and does not respond to the appeal to arms so bravely made by Master Maillart.”
&nbs
p; “How do you expect Marcel to speak in the midst of all this noise? But, silence! Quiet is being restored. Marcel is about to resume. Let’s listen!”
“No criminal weakness,” proceeded Marcel; “but neither let there be any blind revenge. Soon perhaps the cry ‘To arms!’ will resound from one confine of Gaul to the other, both in towns and country!”
“Eh! What do we care about the country?” cried Maillart. “Let’s mind our own business. Let’s roll up our sleeves and strike without mercy!”
“My friend, your courage carries you away,” Marcel answered Maillart in an accent of cordial reproach. “Shall the boon of freedom be the privilege of some only? Are we, the bourgeois and artisans of the towns, the whole people? Are there not millions of serfs, vassals and villeins given up to the mercy of feudal power? Who cares for these unfortunate people? Nobody! Who represents their interests in the States General? Nobody!” And turning to William Caillet, who, standing aside and under the shadow was attentively listening to the provost, he pointed to the poor peasant and added: “No, I was mistaken. On this day the serfs are here represented. Contemplate this old man and listen to me!”
All eyes turned to Caillet, who in his rustic timidity lowered his head. Marcel continued:
“Listen to me, and your hearts, like mine, will boil with indignation. With me you will cry: ‘Justice and vengeance! War upon the castles, peace to the cottages!’ The history of this vassal is that of all of our brothers of the country. This man had a daughter, the only solace to his sorrows. The name of that child, who was as beautiful as wise, will indicate her candor to you. It is Aveline-who-never-lied. She was affianced to a miller lad, a vassal like herself. By reason of the goodness of his disposition he was called Mazurec the Lambkin. The day of their marriage is set.... But in these days the wife’s first night belongs to her seigneur.... The nobles call it the right of first fruits.”
“Shame!” cried the audience in furious indignation. “Execrable shame!”
“And this execrable shame are we not the accomplices of by allowing our brothers to remain subject to it?” cried Marcel in a voice that dominated the thrill of anger which ran through the audience. Silence being again restored, Marcel proceeded: “If the bride is homely, or if it so happen that the seigneur is unable to violate her, he puts on the mien of a good prince; he receives money from the bridegroom, and the latter escapes the ignominy. William Caillet, that is the name of the bride’s father, that man yonder, wished to ransom his daughter from such shame; in the absence of the seigneur, the bailiff consented to a money indemnity. Caillet sells his only property, a milch-cow, and gives the money to Mazurec, who, with bounding joy, proceeds to the castle to redeem the honor of his wife. A knight happens to cross his path and robs the vassal. The latter reaches the manor in tears and recognizes the robber among the guests of his seigneur, who had just arrived. The vassal prays for mercy for his wife, and for justice against the robber. ‘O, your bride, I am told is beautiful and you charge one of my noble guests with theft,’ said the seigneur to him, ‘I shall take your bride into my bed, and you shall be punished with death for defaming a knight.’ That’s not all!” cried Marcel suppressing with a gesture a fresh explosion from the audience whose indignation was rising to highest pitch. “Driven to despair, the vassal assaults his seigneur; he is thrown into prison; the bride is dragged to the castle; she resists her seigneur ... he has the right to have her pinioned. Does he do so? No! He meant to give Jacques Bonhomme a striking lesson. He meant to show that he could take the vassal’s wife not only by the right of the strongest but also in the name of the law, of justice and even of that which is most sacred in the world, of God himself! The seigneur indulges this savage pleasure. He files a complaint with the seneschal of Beauvoisis ‘against the resistance of the vassal!’ The judges meet, and a decision is rendered in the name of right, justice and law in these terms: ‘Whereas, the seigneur has the right of first fruits over the bride of his vassal, he shall exercise his right over her; whereas, the bridegroom has dared to revolt against the legitimate exercise of that right, he shall make the amende honorable to his seigneur with arms crossed and upon his knees! Furthermore, whereas the said vassal has charged a knight with robbery, and the latter has demanded to prove his innocence by arms, we decree a judicial combat. According to law, the knight shall combat in full armor and on horseback, the serf on foot and armed with a stick; and if the vassal is vanquished and survives, he shall be drowned as the defamer of a knight.’”
At these last words of Marcel’s an explosion of fury broke forth from the audience. Caillet hid his pale and somber face in his hands. Marcel restored quiet and proceeded:
“Justice has spoken; the decree is enforced. The bride is bound and carried to the bed of the seigneur; he dishonors her and then returns her to her husband. The latter makes the amende honorable on his knees before his seigneur; he is thereupon taken to the arena to fight half naked the iron-cased knight.... You may guess the issue of the duel.... The vassal being vanquished, he is put into a bag and thrown into the river.... Such is feudal justice!”
“And to-day,” now cried out William Caillet stepping forward, a frightful picture of hate and rage, “my daughter carries in her bosom the child of her seigneur! What shall be done to that child, townsmen of Paris, if born alive? You have wives and daughters and sisters! Answer, what would you do? Is that child of shame to be loved? Is it to be hated as the child of Aveline’s executioner? Should I at the whelp’s birth break in his head lest he grow into a wolf? What to do?”
An oppressive silence followed upon the words of William Caillet. None dared answer. Marcel continued:
“This, then, is what is going on at the very gates of our town. The country people are pitilessly left to the mercy of the seigneurs! The women are violated, and the men put to death! We have been the accomplices of the executioners of so many victims; we have been so by our criminal indifference, and to-day we pay the penalty of our selfishness. We, the townspeople, believed we would be strong enough to overcome the seigneurs and the crown; we imagined we could compel them to reform the execrable abuses that oppress us. To-day we should admit that we have thought too highly of our own power. The Regent and his partisans violate their own sworn oaths, and shatter our hopes. Vainly have I, in the name of the States General, again and again requested an audience from the Regent to remind him of his sacred promises. The gates of Louvre remained shut in my face. The audacity of our enemies proceeds from the circumstance that our power ends outside of the gates of our towns. Let us join hands with the serfs of the country; let us cease separating our cause from theirs, and matters will take on a different aspect. We never shall obtain lasting and fruitful reforms without a close alliance with the country folks. If to-morrow at a given signal the serfs should rise in arms against their seigneurs, and the towns against the officers, then no human power would be able to overcome such a mass-uprising. The Regent, the seigneurs and their troops would be swept aside and annihilated by the storm. Then would the peoples of Gaul, resuming possession of their country’s soil and re-entering upon their freedom, see before them a future of peace, of grandeur and of prosperity without end.... Do you desire to realize that future by joining hands with our brothers the peasants?”
“Aye! Aye! We will!” cried the councilmen.
“Aye! Aye! We will!” re-echoed from thousands of voices with boundless enthusiasm. “Let’s join our brothers of the country. Let our device be theirs also— ‘To a happy issue,’ for townsmen and peasants!”
“Come, poor martyr!” cried Marcel with tears in his eyes and embracing Caillet, who was not less moved than the provost. “I take heaven and the cries that escape from so many generous hearts, moved by the recital of the sufferings of your family, as witnesses to the indissoluble alliance concluded this day between all the children of our mother country! Let us stand united against our common enemy! Artisans, bourgeois and peasants — each for all, and all for each, and to a happy issue t
he good cause! War upon the castles!”
Sublime was the sensation, holy the enthusiasm of the crowd at the sight of the provost, dressed in his magisterial robe, closing in his arms the horny-handed serf dressed in rags.
Profoundly moved and even surprised by what he saw and heard, Caillet, despite his rugged nature, almost fainted. Tears streamed down his face. He leaned against the wall to avoid dropping to the floor, while Marcel cried out:
“Let all who desire to lead the good cause to a happy issue meet to-morrow morning arms in hand upon the square of St. Eloi church.”
“Count upon us, Marcel,” came from the crowd; “we shall all be there! We shall follow you with closed eyes! Long live Marcel! Long live the peasants! To a happy issue! To a happy issue! War on the castles, peace to the huts!” Amid these exclamations the crowd tumultuously evacuated the hall of the Cordeliers.
“Do you see, friends, how far this Marcel goes in his defiance of the people of Paris?” remarked the man of the furred cap to several townsmen near him as they were leaving the hall. “Did you hear him?”
“What did he say that was so bad? Come, now, my good man, you are losing your wits!”
“What did he say? Why, he calls for help to the vagabonds and strollers in the country! Are we not brave enough to do our own work without the support of Jacques Bonhomme? Verily, never before did Master Marcel show so completely the contempt he entertains for us! John Maillart is quite another friend of the people! Long live John Maillart!”
CHAPTER VII.
POPULAR JUSTICE.
IT IS SOME time since sunrise. The Regent, who has recently and for good cause moved to the tower of the Louvre, has just risen from his bed, which is located in the rear of a vast chamber, roofed with gilded rafters and magnificently furnished. Rich carpets hang from the walls. A few favorites are accorded the august honor of assisting the treacherous and wily youth, who is reigning over Gaul, in his morning toilet. One of the courtiers, the seigneur of Norville, jealous of his servitude to the prince, is kneeling at his feet in the act of adjusting his long tapering shoes, while, seated on the edge of his bed, his head down, careworn, pensive and twirling his thumbs as was his habit, the Regent mechanically allows himself to be shod. Hugh, the Sire of Conflans and marshal of Normandy, he who presided at the mutilation and execution of Perrin Macé, is conversing in a low voice with Robert, marshal of Champagne, another councilor of the Regent, in the embrasure of a window at the other end of the chamber. After a long time watching his thumbs twirl, the Regent raised his head, called the marshal of Normandy in his shrill voice and asked: “Hugh, at what hour is the barrier of the Seine closed, below the postern that opens on the river bank?”