Kitobni o'qish: «The Iron Trevet; or, Jocelyn the Champion: A Tale of the Jacquerie», sahifa 18
CHAPTER V.
THE GATE OF ST. ANTOINE
The clock had sounded the first hour of morning from the church in the quarter of St. Antoine. Just before sinking below the horizon the moon still shed enough light to brighten with a fringe of silver the topmost battlement of the two high towers that defend the gate of St. Antoine, towards which Etienne Marcel was wending his way accompanied by the councilman Philip Giffart and Jocelyn, and holding two keys in his hands. The other magistrates and a group of their partisans had posted themselves, at the request of the provost, in a house near the ramparts. The profoundest silence reigned near a wide and dark vaulted passage that led to the gate of the city. A man leading a horse by the bridle followed Marcel at a little distance.
"This is the decisive moment," Marcel was saying to his companions. "If Charles the Wicked has come to our rendezvous, we then have a chance of success … if not, I shall mount that horse and ride to Charenton to deliver myself to the Regent!"
Hardly had Marcel finished pronouncing these words when two sentinels, posted outside the dark passage which he was about to enter, called out: "Montjoie, the King and Duke!" and almost at the same moment appeared John Maillart stepping forward. At the sight of his old friend, whose infamous treason he was now acquainted with, Marcel stopped indignant and the following exchange of words took place:
"Marcel," said the councilman in an imperious voice, "Marcel, what business brings you here at this hour? You should now be at the town-hall!"
"What business is that of yours," answered Marcel. "I am here to guard the safety of the town, whose government is in my hands."
"By God!" cried Maillart imperceptibly drawing nearer to Marcel. "By God! You cannot be here for anything good!" and turning to the two sentinels who stood motionless a few steps off: "You see it; Marcel holds in his hands the keys of the gate… It is to betray us!"
"You miserable and abominable scamp," cried Marcel, "you lie in your throat!"
"No, traitor, it is you who lie!" replied Maillart, and suddenly raising a short axe that he had held concealed behind his back, he leaped with one bound at the provost crying: "To me, my friends! Death to Marcel! Death to him and his partisans! They are all traitors!" Before Jocelyn or Philip Giffart could foresee and parry the sudden charge, Maillart dealt so furious a blow at Marcel's head that he staggered and fell bathed in blood.
At Maillart's cry, "To me, my friends!" the passageway, until then dark, was suddenly illumined by several lanterns that had been kept under the cloaks of their carriers. By the glimmering light a large number of men were seen, all armed with pikes, halbards and cutlasses. Among them were the Sire of Charny, the knight James of Pontoise and the councilman Pierre Dessessarts. Hardly had Marcel dropped under the axe of Maillart than the troop of assassins issued forth from their ambuscade, and crying: "Montjoie, the King and Duke!" precipitated themselves upon the provost to despatch him. Marcel, his skull cleaved in two and his face covered with blood, sought to regain his feet with the help of Jocelyn and Philip Giffart. These made heroic efforts to defend the wounded man, but they were soon thrown down with him and all three riddled with sword thrusts and axe blows. The other governors and several of their partisans, who were posted in reserve at a nearby house where they were to await the issue of Marcel's rendezvous with the King of Navarre, hearing the increasing tumult and cries of "Montjoie, the King and Duke!" rushed to the gate of St. Antoine intending to come to the aid of the provost. Their red and blue head-covers pointed them out to the fury of the murderers. Their heroic defence was soon overcome and they were all butchered like their chief. But the rage of Maillart and of the Sire of Charny was not yet appeased.
"To death with all the enemies of our Sire, the Regent!" cried the seigneur. "We know where they are burrowing. Let us run to their houses. We shall kill them in their beds!"
"To death!" responded John Maillart brandishing his axe. "To death with the partisans of Marcel! To death with all the communiers!"
"Montjoie, the King and Duke!" repeated in chorus the armed band. "Death to the red and blue!"
"Friends!" cried the seigneur of Charny, "the body of the knight of Conflans, a victim of the popular party, was exposed in the Student's Dale. Let now the body of Marcel be exposed in the same place… Carry him on your shoulders."
"To-morrow the body shall be placed on a hurdle and dragged through the mud to the Louvre which our beloved Sire, the Regent, was forced to leave in sight of Marcel's threats. After that let the carcass of the felon be thrown into the river – unworthy sepulchre for a Christian," added John Maillart, and he said to himself, thinking of his wife: "Petronille will no longer reproach me with being under the provost; Petronille will no longer be eaten up with jealousy; Petronille will no longer hear that Marguerite is the wife of the 'King of Paris' … and I shall have a title of nobility."
The orders of the Sire of Charny and Maillart were carried out. The corpse of the provost was picked out from among his dead friends. Four men carried on their shoulders the disfigured remains of the great citizen, and marching by the light of torches, the funeral cortége wended its way to the Student's Dale brandishing their arms and shouting:
"Death to the partisans of the governors!"
"Death to the red and blue!"
"Montjoie, the King and Duke!"
EPILOGUE
The hatred of Etienne Marcel's enemies pursued him beyond the grave. His corpse, taken to the Student's Dale, remained there the whole day exposed to the insults and the jeers of the fickle and ingrate mass whose enfranchisement and happiness he had labored to attain. The day after his death his bloody and mutilated remains were thrown upon a hurdle, dragged towards the Seine and hurled into the river in front of the Louvre. Such was that great man's sepulchre.
The principal leaders of the popular party, to the number of sixty, among whom were Simon the Feather-dealer, Cousac and Pierre Caillart, were executed by orders of John Maillart and the Sire of Charny, now become joint dictators. These executions being over, the dictators delegated Simon Maillart, a brother of the councilman, the councilmen Dessessarts and John Pastorel, to appear before the Regent and notify the young prince that he could re-enter his good town of Paris, now submissive and penitent. The Regent answered the delegation: "That will be gladly done." Accompanied by a numerous cavalcade, the Regent left the bridge at Charenton and re-entered the Louvre where, in the language of the chronicler of the time, "he found John Maillart, whom he greatly esteemed and loved."
"As the Regent," the chronicler proceeds, "was crossing a certain street on his way to the Louvre, a workingman had the daring to call out aloud: 'By God, Sire, if my advice had been taken, you would not now be entering here. But nothing will be done for you.'"
These and some other instances showed, to the honor of humanity, that ingratitude, defection and the fickleness of the masses – the fruits of their ignorance and secular subjection – offered at least pleasing exceptions. The memory of Marcel remained alive and sacred in the hearts of many loyal to the popular cause. Despite the triumph of the court party, several conspiracies were started looking to the overthrow of the throne and intended to revenge upon the Regent the death of the venerated Etienne Marcel. The last of these conspiracies was organized by a rich Paris bourgeois, Martin Pisdoé. He mounted the scaffold and paid with his head for his religious devotion to the memory of Marcel.
Jocelyn the Champion had been left for dead near the gate of St. Antoine in the midst of a heap of corpses. Informed the same night by popular rumors of the assassination of the provost and his partisans, Rufin the Tankard-smasher and Alison the Huffy hastened to the place of the massacre in order to ascertain Jocelyn's fate. They found him covered with wounds, ready to expire, and carried him to a charitable person in the neighborhood where, thanks to their untiring care he was rescued from death. Protected by the obscurity of his name, he long remained hidden in that asylum where a surgeon, a friend of Rufin, visited him. Only slowly did he regain his strength.
Marguerite learned of her husband's death from emissaries sent by John Maillart, who came that same night to arrest her at her house. Taken to prison, the unfortunate woman vainly implored permission to bury Marcel with her own hands. The supreme consolation was denied her, and she was later made acquainted with the ignominies inflicted on her husband's corpse. She soon died in captivity. The property of Etienne Marcel was confiscated for the benefit of the Regent.
Alison, always compassionate, offered Denise, who now found herself helpless and without means, to share with her the chamber she occupied at her inn. Often the two called to see Jocelyn the Champion in his secret retreat. Among other wounds an axe-stroke deprived him forever of the use of his right arm. When his other wounds were completely healed, he married Denise; on the same day Dame Alison married Rufin the Tankard-Smasher.
Jocelyn had inherited a little patrimony, thanks to which he could almost wholly cover the indispensible needs of himself and wife, a fortunate circumstance seeing that the weakness consequent upon his wounds did not allow him to pursue his profession of champion. The only relative left to Denise lived near the frontier of Lorraine in the town of Vaucouleurs. Jocelyn decided to move hither. Despite the little notice he had drawn upon himself during the late revolt, it would have been imprudent on his part to prolong his stay in Paris after his recovery, seeing that the re-action of the court party was implacable. Jocelyn sold his patrimony, took, not without deep regret, leave from Rufin the Tankard-smasher and Alison, and escaping a hundred dangers from the bands of English soldiers and marauders who then ravaged Gaul, he reached the town of Vaucouleurs with Denise and settled there.
