Kitabı oku: «The Iron Trevet; or, Jocelyn the Champion: A Tale of the Jacquerie», sayfa 17

"Such a resolution is heroic. But you forget the horrors that follow the capture of a city by assault. You forget Meaux delivered to the flames by the Captal of Buch and the Count of Foix; the women assaulted, old men and children slaughtered or perishing in the flames! Shall I deliver Paris to such a fate, Paris the head and heart of Gaul? No! To attempt to resist the Regent without the assistance of Charles the Wicked would be to expose ourselves to annihilation. Let us prefer a salutary sacrifice to a sterile heroism. Even our defeat will be fruitful."

"Master Marcel, I do not understand you now."

"Whatever the stubbornness and duplicity of the Regent may be, the terrible lessons he has received will not be lost upon him. A fugitive before the popular uprising, he was forced to leave the palace of the Louvre furtively … he has seen himself on the point of losing his crown. If, thanks to the submission of the Parisians, he should re-enter the city, however he may seek to satiate his vengeance and satisfy his royal pride, he will feel compelled to observe certain reforms. These, no doubt, will be less numerous than Charles the Wicked would have accepted in order to consolidate his usurpation. Nevertheless, whatever they be and however few, these reforms will remain safe to posterity, our revolution will have borne some fruit, the burden that weighed upon the people will have been lightened. Do you grasp my sense?.. What is it that astonishes you?"

"In order to satisfy the resentment of the Regent and slake his vengeance, the heads of the chiefs of the rebellion will be demanded."

"Some heads will be demanded!" answered Marcel with Spartan simplicity. "Yes, the Regent will demand my own head first of all and also the heads of the governors, the principal leaders in the rebellion… Very well! We shall deliver our heads to the Regent… My friends and I are in accord upon that… This conversation elucidates, as I expected of it, the facts that are to be considered, and confirms me in my resolution. At one in the morning I shall proceed to the gate of St. Antoine, where I shall expect to meet Charles the Wicked. If he fails to come, I shall take horse and ride to the Regent's camp at Charenton. I shall offer him my life; if that does not suffice him, I shall offer him the lives of my friends: they have authorized me to dispose of their heads. In exchange, I shall demand of the prince the observances of the reforms sworn to in 1357. I shall demand a good deal so as to obtain something… These reforms will smooth the day for the advent of our plan of government, based upon the federation of the provinces and the permanence of the sovereign national assemblies that will at first delegate the appearance of a crown to a phantom king, and later, by wholly suppressing the idol, suppress royalty itself. The government of free Gaul, free and confederated, will then be again what it was at the time of the invasion of Cæsar, as we learn from history and as one of your family's legends confirms."

"At the time of the abolition of the commune of Laon and of so many other municipal republics that Louis the Lusty destroyed, my ancestor Fergan the Quarryman said to his son, who despaired of the future: 'Hope, my child, hope!.. Have faith in the slow, painful but irresistible progress of the race.' He spoke truly! Thanks to your genius, I might have seen in this very century the municipal government of the old communes – free, benevolent and wise governments – applied no longer to one town only but to all Gaul. Be praised for having promoted such a step forward."

"That is my dream! Social unity and administrative uniformity. Political rights made commensurate with civic rights. The principles of authority transferred from the crown to the nation. The States General changed into a national assembly under the control of the people of the towns and the country, and the living forces of the nation; and the popular sovereignty attested by the overthrow of one dynasty and the transfer of the crown to another, until the day of the total suppression of the royalty, the last vestige of the Frankish conquest!.. That was my dream! Time will change the dream into reality. May be I stepped in advance of my century… Is that wrong?.. That government of the future will have been practiced three years!.. Our children will place all the stronger reliance in the prospect of their deliverance when, instructed by the past, they will know that their fathers actually held their deliverance in their own hands; that, having one day assumed their freedom, they bent and chased away the royal incumbent, and that, if they relapsed under the yoke, it was because on the eve of final triumph they yielded to discouragement; it was because, after having overcome formidable obstacles, they grew faint-hearted at the moment of reaching the ultimate goal. The lesson will be great and profitable to our children. Perchance the death of myself and my friends may render the lesson all the more striking! Our death will have been as fruitful as our life!.. The scaffold will crown it!"

CHAPTER IV.
PLOTTERS UNCOVERED

Wrapt in wonderment and admiration, Jocelyn was contemplating the noble figure of Etienne Marcel that now seemed transfigured in the brilliancy of the sentiments he had given utterance to, when a knock was heard at the door. Jocelyn opened and Denise said to him:

"Jocelyn, your friend Rufin wishes to speak to you without delay."

"Master Marcel," the champion observed, "it must be about the plot that Rufin thinks to have discovered."

"My child, tell Rufin to come in," said the provost to his niece.

Rufin entered immediately. He was deeply agitated: "Master Marcel," he said, "I believe the goddess Fortuna served me as well this time as she did the night I discovered the flight of the Regent"; and drawing a letter from his pocket he handed it over to Marcel, adding: "Be kind enough to post yourself thereon; if the message is to be judged by the messenger, it bodes nothing good."

Marcel took the letter, broke the seal, trembled when he recognized the hand that wrote it, and carefully read its contents, while Jocelyn, leading the student to the outer end of the cabinet, said to him in a low voice:

"How did you get the letter, friend Rufin?"

"By Hercules! I got it … by the force of my fist! without, however, forgetting the aid that my chum Nicholas the Thin-skinned and two Scotch students lent me. I became acquainted with the last two about a year ago in a contest over the flagrant superiority of the rhetoric of Fichetus over that of Faber. Our discussion having turned from oral to manual, to all the greater honor of rhetoric, I preserved a striking souvenir of their fists – "

"The minutes are precious, Rufin; grave matters are at stake; I beseech you, come to the point."

"This evening, towards nightfall, I was walking on Oysters-are-fried-here street, totally oblivious of the perfumes exhaled by the fries, although I had dined only on a herring, and thinking only of that treasure, that pearl, or rather of that bouquet of roses that Dame Venus, her godmother, christened by the succulent name of Alison – "

"For heaven's sake, Rufin!"

"Keep cool; I shall bid my soul hold its tongue. I shall come to the point. Well, then, I noticed a large crowd at the other end of the street; I elbowed my way in and reached its front ranks. There I saw a certain large-boned scamp with a furred cap whom I had come across before and knew to be a bitter partisan of Maillart. The said large-boned scamp was perorating against Master Marcel, attributing to him all the ills we are suffering from and crying: 'We must put an end to the tyranny of the governors. The Regent's army is gathered at Charenton and is about to march upon us. The Regent is furious. He wishes to set fire to his good city of Paris and slaughter its townsmen. Maillart, the true friend of the people, is alone able to make a front against the Regent or to negotiate with him and thus save the city from the ruin that threatens it.'"

"Always that Maillart!"

"Such language exasperated me. I was on the point of breaking out and confounding the man of the furred cap whose words, I must say so, were having their effect upon the mob. Some of them had even begun to vituperate Master Marcel and the governors, when suddenly I heard someone behind me say in Latin: 'The water begins to boil, the fish must now be thrown in,' and another voice answered, also in Latin: 'Then let us hasten to notify the master cook.' Seeking to fathom the mysterious meaning of these parables, I turned towards my Latinists at the moment when they began to cry, this time in French: 'Good luck to Maillart, to the devil with Marcel! He is a criminal! A traitor! He plots with the Navarrians! Good luck to Maillart! He alone can put an end to our ills!' A portion of the crowd took up the cries, whereupon the lumbering scamp of the furred cap closed his peroration and came down from the box on which he had been perched. The two Latinists then approached him, and while the crowd was dispersing my three gentlemen stepped aside and conducted an animated discussion. I did not lose sight of them; the three walked on together and I followed, catching these broken words that they let drop: 'rendezvous,' 'horse,' 'arcade of St. Nicholas.' You know how even at mid-day the arcade of St. Nicholas is dark and deserted. Night was falling fast. The idea struck me that my three worthies might be having some suspicious rendezvous at that secluded spot, because the mysterious Latin words would not leave my head. 'The water begins to boil' might mean the boiling of the popular rage; 'the fish that was to be thrown in the boiling water,' might mean Master Marcel; finally, 'the cook who was to be notified' – "

"Might be the Regent or Maillart," put in Jocelyn. "I do not believe your penetration was at fault. It is a credit to your sagacity."

"And the words 'horse,' 'rendezvous,' 'arcade of St. Nicholas' might mean some messenger on horseback was waiting for my three worthies at that secluded spot. I know the place. Often did Margot… But I shall drop Margot! I said to myself on the contrary: 'Oh, if now, instead of following the lumbering scamp of the furred cap to the spot so propitious to love, I followed the divine Alison – "

The champion again made an impatient gesture, took his friend by the arm, and pointed significantly towards the other end of the chamber where Marcel sat with his forehead leaning on his hand, contemplating the letter that he had just finished reading, and a smile at once bitter and sorrowful playing around his lips. The student grasped Jocelyn's meaning and proceeded in a still lower voice:

"I have quick legs. I put them to use and made a short cut on the run across St. Patern to arrive before my three men at the arcade of St. Nicholas. The place was dark as an oven. I listened, but heard nothing. I know the place. Groping about I found a niche where one time stood the statue of the saint. I vanished in the cavity, and awaited at all hazards. I was well repaid. About fifteen minutes later steps were heard under the vault and I recognized the voice of the man of the furred cap whispering: 'Haloa … haloa! John Four-Sous', and presently a voice answered: 'He has not yet arrived … the devil take the loafer!' 'No time is lost,' answered a third voice, 'he only needs three hours to reach here from Charenton on horseback; he will not fail.'"

"The situation is grave," said Jocelyn. "It is at Charenton that the Regent has his headquarters. There must be some treasonable plot on foot."

"Exactly. So you can imagine how I congratulated myself on my discovery. Evidently there was a plot hatching with the court party. John Four-Sous finally arrived by the other side of the entrance of the arcade and the man of the furred cap asked him: 'Are you ready to leave?' 'Yes, my horse stands saddled in the stable of the inn of The Three Monkeys.' 'Very well; here is the letter,' came from the man of the furred cap, 'Make haste to arrive at the royal encampment; deliver the letter to the seneschal of Poitou; he will understand.' 'But will they allow me to leave the city?' asked the messenger. 'Fear not,' he is answered, 'the gate of St. Antoine is this evening guarded by men of our side; Master Maillart is to be there himself; you shall give for pass-word "Montjoie, the King and Duke"; that will let you through. To horse, now, to horse!' After that the man of the furred cap and his two companions walked off by one entrance and John Four-Sous by the other. I left the niche where I had taken St. Nicholas' place, and followed the messenger of whom I got a clear view when the light of the moon fell upon him outside the vault. The scamp was tall, sinewy and well armed. I made up my mind to seize the letter that he carried. How to do it? I was still revolving the matter when I saw him enter the tavern of The Three Monkeys. I imagined he was going for his horse in the stable. Not at all! John Four-Sous, being a man of foresight, called for supper before starting on his journey, and through the open door I saw him comfortably anchored at a table. Bacchus willed it that I had often emptied more than one tankard at the tavern of The Three Monkeys without smashing them after drinking. I knew the inn-keeper, a worthy fellow belonging to Marcel's party. I immediately dropped a few lines to the divine Alison whom Dame Venus … attached to her chariot…"

"We know all about that … come to the point."

"Uncertain of what success I might meet, I wished at least to forewarn Master Marcel, and that so soon as possible, that something was hatching against him. The inn-keeper undertook to forward my note to Alison's inn, and presently… Blessed be the goddess Fortuna, whom do I see enter but my chum Nicholas the Thin-skinned, in the company of the Scotch students, with whom I had once fistically discussed the merits of the rhetoric of Fichetus. They came to drink some spiced wine. With the corner of my eyes I was taking in John Four-Sous devouring his ample supper. My plan was formed. I communicated it to my friends and the inn-keeper, confiding to them the suspicions that I entertained, and which the incident of the arcade of St. Nicholas confirmed. Nothing simpler than my project: Pick up a quarrel with John Four-Sous, fall upon him, take possession of the letter, and lock up the scamp in the cellar of The Three Monkeys so as to keep him from giving the alarm to Maillart's party. So said, so done… I approached John Four-Sous' table and started quarrelling with him. He gave me an insolent answer. I jumped at his throat and Nicholas the Thin-skinned rummaged through the fellow's pockets, and seized the letter, and – "

The student's account was interrupted by Marcel, who after a long and thorough reflection, rose from his seat, and stepping towards Jocelyn said:

"I spoke to you of my quandary; this letter would have put an end to it had not my resolution been previously taken. Do you know who wrote this letter?"

"No, Master Marcel; who is its author? A friend or an enemy?"

"My oldest friend," answered the provost with deep concern and disgust, "John Maillart! This letter proves that for some time, and despite his affectation of devotion for the popular cause and his violent language against the court, Maillart was secretly negotiating with the royalist party whose chiefs in Paris are the Sire of Charny and the knight James of Pontoise, for the nobility, with Maillart and the old councilmen Pastorel and John Alphonse for the bourgeoisie. These are our worst enemies."

"Master Marcel," asked Jocelyn, "will not you and the governors take rigorous measures against these traitors?"

"They dare to conspire within our walls!" added the student. "They seek to lead astray a credulous people! They deserve death!"

"It will have been brought on by our enemies themselves! They must he stricken down with terror. They invoke frightful vengeance upon Paris!" replied Marcel. "Yes, Maillart, keeping the Regent informed upon our intestine dissensions, upon the discouragement inspired among the masses by the agents of the court, upon the hatred that they have incited against us, beseeches the prince to march upon Paris, and assures him that the people are tired of suffering. He assures him that a movement in his favor will break out within our walls so soon as he approaches. He informs the prince that he and his partisans will be on guard to-night and to-morrow at the gate of St. Antoine, and that they will open the gates to him. Finally, he expresses the hope of being able to deliver me to the Regent, me whom he calls 'the soul of the revolution.'"

"There can be no longer any doubt!" exclaimed Jocelyn horrified. "So that when Maillart's wife came here this evening to offer means for your escape to Dame Marguerite she only was laying a trap for you."

"Aye," broke in Marcel with a look of contempt, "she was laying a trap for me. I was to trust the loyalty of my oldest friend … I was to go alone to his house … and there he was to take me prisoner and deliver me to the Regent at his entry into Paris!"

"Treason and cowardice!" cried the student indignantly. "What a female monster! Oh, I judged her rightly from her hypocritical lamentations at the funeral of Perrin Macé."

"The envy and pride that devour her have lost Maillart," rejoined the provost. "The vanity of that insensate woman has driven her husband to crime and to deep baseness. That man without character and without convictions reminds the seneschal in his letter that the Regent promised him a patent of nobility in consideration of the services he is rendering the court party!.. That is the Maillart that was incessantly reproaching me for not exterminating the members of the court party who remained in Paris!.. He could not find words enough to throw at the nobility!"

"Oh, Master Marcel," cried Jocelyn, "and your blood was to be the price for the ennobling of that infamous wretch!"

"This act of betrayal wounds me doubly … I know mankind. Nevertheless, I resisted up to this moment the belief that Maillart could be guilty of such felony… He, the friend of my infancy… But now, to work. There is now no longer any doubt, nor can there now be any question what step to take… The reaction of the court party will be merciless… Our only chance of escape lies in the support of the King of Navarre … and in the vigorous measures that we must now take against these implacable enemies."

"Master Marcel," Jocelyn whispered to the provost, "if Charles the Wicked does not put in his appearance at the rendezvous of this evening, what will you do then?"

"I shall ride at a gallop to deliver to the Regent my own head and the heads of the governors … Our blood will slake the young prince's thirst for vengeance and he will spare Paris."

A great noise, at first from a distance, was heard rapidly approaching along the street. Presently distinct cheers were heard: "Good luck to Marcel!" "To a happy issue, to a happy issue!" "Good luck to Marcel!" and almost at the same time Marguerite entered her husband's cabinet saying: "Simon the Feather-dealer, Philip Giffart, Consac and other friends are in arms in the street with a large number of faithful partisans cheering for you. Our friends consider it prudent to come for you and escort you to the town-hall."

"Good-bye, Marguerite, dear and beloved wife!" said Marcel with profound but well-controlled emotion, thinking that this was perhaps the last time he might press to his heart the companion of his life. "Adieu … and may we soon meet again!"

"Oh, my friend, these cheers that acclaim you with enthusiasm reassure me … Our friends are guarding you."

Fear nothing; I shall see you again to-morrow … Adieu!.. Adieu once more!" repeated Marcel, who despite his courage, felt his heart breaking at the moment of a separation that might be eternal. Giving a last embrace to Marguerite, Marcel descended to the street. There he was met by several of the councilmen in the midst of a large crowd of partisans whose sympathetic acclamations redoubled at the sight of their idol. Discouragement had, it was true, gained over a majority of the people. Nevertheless Marcel could still count upon many devoted and intrepid hearts.

"Friends!" Marcel cried out aloud to the councilmen, "we shall not go to the town-hall, but to the gate of St. Antoine. I shall tell you more on the way."

The words were caught by one of the three men who all during the evening had never left the approaches to Marcel's house. The spy said to his companions:

"Let one of you hurry to the Sire of Charny and notify him that Marcel is going with his men to the gate of St. Antoine. The other of you run ahead of the bandits and notify Master Maillart that they are coming. I shall follow them at a distance and watch their movements. Let each be at his post and well armed."