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 THE 
 
 JACQUERIE. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by A. Spottiswoode, 
 
 New-Street-Square.
 
 THE 
 
 JACQUERIE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE LADY AIS^D THE PAGE: 
 
 BY 
 
 G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ. 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 ** THE GIPSY," " THE ROBBER," " THE GEXTLEMAK OF THE 
 OLD SCHOOL," ETC. ETC. ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. L 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRIKTED FOE 
 
 LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS, 
 
 FATERXOSTER-BOW. 
 184-1.
 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 I HAVE ventured in the follovving pages to 
 present to the reader a tale relating to re- 
 mote times, though not so remote by more 
 than a century as those which have already 
 afForded me a subject which became very popu- 
 lar. Periods of history with which the reader 
 is not already well acquainted are not the most 
 favourable for engaging his attention, and 
 exciting his interest in a v/ork of fiction ; but 
 very few persons who are likely to read this 
 ^ book have not heard of the famous insurrection 
 "^ of the peasantry, called the Jacquerie, rind do 
 iL not know something of its horrible details, 
 rj Amongst those details, dreadful as they v>ere, 
 ^ many points of deep tragic interest are to be found, 
 X some of which I have endeavoured to display in 
 A 3
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 the following pages; while, at the same time, I 
 have striven to keep in the shade the more re- 
 volting excesses of the insurgents. 
 
 Whether, in my anxiety to avoid that 
 extravagance of horrors, of which we are all too 
 fond in the present day, I have diminished the 
 tragic effect of some of the incidents, I cannot 
 tell ; but I would always rather be accused of 
 under-drawing than over-drawing such pictures. 
 
 Historians have taken very different views of 
 the great event which forms the subject of my 
 work, some regarding the revolt of the peasantry 
 as a grand political convulsion, brought about 
 by complex and deep-seated causes; while 
 others look upon it merely as an accidental 
 burst of brute force against the trammels in 
 which it always has been, and always must 
 be, held by superior knowledge and intellect. 
 Under not less different points of view have 
 been considered and judged the character and 
 motives of the leader of the insurrection. By 
 some, he has been pronounced a hero ; by some, 
 he has been painted as a demon ; by some, he 
 is represented as a mere savage ; by some, he is
 
 PREFACE. Vll 
 
 elevated to the rank of a philosopher and a poli- 
 tician. 
 
 That he was a man of superior education to 
 those by whom he was surrounded, I can have 
 no doubt. That he was a blood-thirsty and 
 ferocious monster, the records of those times 
 prove beyond the possibility of refutation ; and 
 it is very fair to conclude, as he was undoubt- 
 edly possessed of considerable abilities, skill, 
 and information, that some strong personal 
 motives, some particular passion or desire, led 
 him to use the miseries and wrongs of his fellow- 
 serfs for the attainment of his own objects. 
 Of course, in the ranks of the Jacquerie there 
 were various classes of intellect, and various 
 degrees of education. There might be one or 
 two persons who saw beyond the immediate 
 efforts of the day; there might even be some who 
 proposed to themselves objects superior to any 
 selfish gratification ; but I am bound to say, 
 that not the slightest trace of vast conceptions, 
 projects of public good, political reasoning, or 
 even any purpose of generally benefitting their 
 kind, is to be found amongst all the accounts
 
 Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 which we have received of these insurgents. 
 It is more wonderful that they achieved great 
 enterprises with such ohjects than with such 
 means. There is not in the annals of the world 
 an instance in which, if we are to believe the 
 statements of contemporaries, so much bar- 
 barous brutality and so little mind was dis- 
 played by any body of rebels against existing 
 authorit}^ We know not what was the account 
 that Caillet gave of himself, but we find thai a 
 number of others, when interrogated, could 
 assign no reason for their rising, but that tliey 
 icere miserable. The very words are striking, 
 and, coupled with the fact that these men pro- 
 posed to themselves no object but the slaughter 
 of the nobility, gives ns, perhaps, the true secret 
 of the Jacquerie, and shows that, with the mass, 
 it was the frenzied outbreak of despair. 
 
 The events to which this insurrection gave 
 place, the dangers, the perils, and the sufferings of 
 some of the best people in the land, and the ulti- 
 mate overthrow and destruction of the insurgents 
 by a mere handful of gallant gentlemen, form 
 the materials from which the following pages
 
 PREFACE. IX 
 
 are composed. In my management of tlie sub- 
 ject, -while I have endeavoured to bring the 
 scenes before the reader's eyes as far as pos- 
 sible as pictures, and have introduced some 
 of those little traits of the times, which give 
 identity and verisimilitude to a tale, making the 
 reader familiar, as it were, with things afar off, 
 I have likewise tried to avoid those long details 
 of customs, ceremonies, and dresses, which 
 please a few readers and fatigue many. While 
 I trust I have not violated historical accuracy, 
 I have laboured more to depict the men than 
 the habits of the age ; and in so doing I have 
 generally kept avray from those broad and 
 striking contrasts, which are met with occa- 
 sionally in human life, so that we may occasionallij 
 introduce them, but are nevertheless so rare, 
 that we should not make use of them frequently. 
 Thus, in Albert Denyn and William Caillet, 
 I have given one of these contrasts, bringing 
 into strong opposition a selfish and a generous 
 character, and endowing both with those in- 
 tellectual powers, and that moving energy, 
 which are necessary to carry out the pecu-
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 liarities of any particular disposition • to an 
 important result. I have endeavoured also to 
 trace the effect, the original bias, upon the con- 
 duct, and upon the fate of each, making the same 
 passion which leads the selfish man to all that is 
 base, violent, and criminal, conduct the generous 
 one to all that is high, virtuous, and noble. 
 
 In the other personages of the tale I have 
 attempted, without losing sight of the peculiar 
 spirit of the chivalrous ages, which threw, as it 
 were, a uniform tone or hue over society, to 
 mark the slighter distinctions of character, so 
 that the Lord of Mauvinet may be different 
 from the Captal de Buch, the captal quite 
 distinct from the Count of Foix, and the count 
 from the Lord of St. Leu. I have aimed at 
 the same in the female characters, though they 
 are few in number, and of less importance than 
 the .others. 
 
 In regard to the conclusion of the tale, 
 I have adhered to the plan of the work 
 that I had originally formed, which certainly 
 renders the plot more complete and more in 
 accordance with the general taste of the day,
 
 PREFACE. XI 
 
 than another termination which suggested itself 
 to my mind while I was writing, the nature of 
 which the reader will easily divine if he reads 
 the book to an end. Nevertheless, I was greatly 
 tempted to adopt the latter, and even doubt 
 now that I judged rightly. 
 
 In depicting the historical personages, who 
 from time to time figure on the scene, I believe 
 I have adhered strictly to truth, making them 
 such as they were and no other; and if I may 
 seem to have carried chivalrous generosity too far 
 in the character of the Captal'de Bucli, let the 
 reader remember some of the ascertained points 
 in his history — that he was the bosom friend 
 of Edward the Black Prince — that he was one 
 of the founders of the Garter — that he remained 
 for many years in prison rather than promise 
 not to fight for England — and that there is every 
 reason to believe that he died of grief for the 
 loss of his friend and his commander. Such 
 things can be told of few upon this earth, and 
 those who have been so distinguished may well 
 be represented in somewhat dazzling colours.
 
 THE 
 
 JACQUERIE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Even in the middle of the fourteenth century 
 the tint of age had overspread the vast old 
 church of St. Peter of Montvoye, some twenty 
 miles from Tours. The stone, which had once 
 been light grey, was stained with many a dingy 
 colour, and the sharp cutting of the mason's 
 chisel had been rounded away by the ob- 
 literating hand of time. Indeed, so tall and 
 shadow}^ was the building, that, although in its 
 first newness the exterior might have appeared 
 bright and shining, amidst the green woods that 
 covered the surrounding country, the interior 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 'J THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 never could have given the spectator the idea 
 of freshness ; but in its dim obscurity must have 
 looked old even from the first. It had been 
 built in that style mistakenly called Norman, 
 but at a period when the round arch was gra- 
 dually declining, and the long lancet-shaped 
 window, the lofty column, and the horse-shoe 
 arch, were occasionally used. The lighter forms, 
 indeed, of a later period were not there to be 
 seen; and all was heavy, massive, and stern, 
 scarcely relieved by the many mouldings and 
 rich ornaments of the arches, and the quaint 
 and ever-varying decorations of the capitals. 
 The tall windows afforded but a faint and 
 uncertain light, except when the full sunshine 
 of the summer poured at noon through the 
 arch of the southern transept, and even then 
 the stained glass softened and saddened the 
 blaze, giving a sort of unearthly hue to the 
 rays, as they fell upon the checkered pavement. 
 Round the chancel ran two dark side aisles, 
 which received none but wandering beams, 
 that found their way thither from the body of 
 the church — except, indeed, when one of the
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 3 
 
 small, low-arched doors, that led into the cloisters 
 of the neighbouring abbey, opened, and the day- 
 light, for a few moments, streamed in, display- 
 ing the figure of a priest or monk, and casting 
 his long shadow upon the floor. 
 
 In this church, one evening in the autumn of 
 the year 1357, just when the light was growing 
 faint, ere the going down of the sun left all 
 in darkness, was a tall, handsome young man, 
 of four or five and twenty years of age, with 
 his arms crossed upon his bosom, and his eye 
 bent down upon the ground. The dark aisle 
 of the transept in which he stood was too 
 shadowy for any one to have distinguished his 
 features, or their expression, had there been 
 other people in the church, but he was quite 
 alone. Neither priest appeared at the altar, 
 nor penitent in the confessional ; and the flick- 
 ering of a faint lamp before one of the shrines 
 was the only thing that looked like life within 
 the walls of the building. 
 
 Though no one saw his features, it may be 
 necessary that the reader should see them with 
 the eye of imagination, and also requisite that 
 B 2
 
 4 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 he should mark the peculiar expression which 
 those features wore. The lines were all good, 
 except perhaps about the mouth, where a certain 
 heavy fulness of the lips took away all beauty 
 from that part of the face. The forehead was 
 broad and capacious, though not remarkably 
 high; the brow strongly marked, but finely 
 shaped; the eyes large, sparkling, and full of 
 thoughtful meaning ; the nose small, but beau- 
 tifully cut, and the chin perhaps a little more 
 prominent than is exactly symmetrical, but still 
 rounded into that form, which the Grecian 
 chisel was delighted to display. The hair and 
 beard, which were all short, were of a rich brown 
 colour, and curled about the face in many a 
 graceful sweep ; but the form of the head was in 
 itself remarkable, being nearly spherical, though 
 there certainly did appear a degree of fulness 
 behind the ears and at the back of the skull, 
 which diminished the beauty of the whole. 
 
 Could any body have watched the expression 
 which the countenance we have described wore 
 at that moment, he might have been more 
 puzzled than ever he was in life before, to in-
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 5 
 
 terpret the meaning of what was written on that 
 page. Dark and stern it certainly was ; but at 
 the same time, there was a minslino: of scorn 
 and melancholy, too, with that look of fierce de- 
 termination, which had a strange effect. The 
 brow was knitted into a heavy frown; the full 
 black eye fixed upon the pavement, though 
 nothing was to be seen there but the dim 
 shadow of the aisle; the nostril was curled as 
 if with strong contempt for some object in his 
 own thoughts ; but the turn of the mouth was 
 that of deep sadness ; and thus he stood for 
 several minutes, till suddenly the whole aspect 
 changed, and, though as mingled as before, the 
 expression presented elements entirely different. 
 A low suppressed laugh caused his lips to 
 part; a gleam of triumphant joy lighted up 
 his eye as if from the anticipation of some 
 difficult success ; the knitting of the brow passed 
 away, and the only part of his former look that 
 remained was the scornful turn of the nostril 
 and the upper lip. 
 
 It may seem strange to the reader that I 
 have paused to give so minute a description of 
 B 3
 
 6 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 the features of a man who was dressed in the 
 garb of a villein or serf, attached as domestic 
 to some noble house; but so it was, and such 
 in fact was the condition of the personage 
 now before us. The dress that he wore was 
 of brown hure, as it was then called, but it 
 fitted him well ; and, with a certain degree of 
 vanity as well as taste, he had contrived to give 
 it so much additional smartness, that it became 
 his person as well as more lordly robes. Each 
 sinewy limb was shown to the best advantage, 
 and the symmetrical grace of his whole person 
 was displayed, rather than concealed, by the 
 close-fitting garments which covered him. 
 
 In saying that his station was that of a 
 domestic in some noble house, I do not mean 
 to imply that it was inferior, as compared 
 with that held by others in his own grade of 
 society. It must be remembered, that many 
 of those tasks of personal attendance and ser- 
 vice which are now performed by hired servants 
 were in those days executed by young nobles 
 of the highest rank and fairest prospects, either 
 in the dwelling of their own parents, or in the
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 7 
 
 castles of the friends and relations of their 
 family, where they appeared as pages or squires ; 
 and to wait upon their lord's person, to clean 
 his armour as well as the dressing of his horse, 
 the service of his table, and various other 
 acts now considered menial, were then part of 
 their daily duty. Many other functions, how- 
 ever, weie assigned in every large mansion 
 to serfs or villeins, who sometimes, in the 
 house of a liberal and kindly master, were 
 raised to offices apparently higher than those 
 which were conferred on the young nobility 
 of the household. There was a distinction, 
 however, which perhaps we do not very clearly 
 understand at present; and although a villein 
 might fill the post of chaplain, almoner, and 
 counsellor, and sit at his lord's table*, while 
 the sons of princes poured the wine or carved 
 the meat, yet the serf could not, except in 
 default of noble hands, bear his lord's shield 
 or spear, could not give him the water to wash 
 
 * This fact is proved by various particulars given by the 
 Sire de Joinville respecting the household of St. Louis. 
 
 B 4
 
 » THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 before dinner, or hand him the cup out of which 
 he drank. 
 
 The dress of the person whom I have de- 
 scribed was good, fine in the texture, and such 
 as none but one highly favoured would have 
 been permitted to wear, though it was still that 
 of the villein, and showed that, although the 
 form and the features might all be as high and 
 refined as Grecian sculpture ever displayed, yet 
 the taint of slavery was in the blood, and that 
 the wearer was a serf of the soil. 
 
 By this time, however, great changes and 
 ameliorations had taken place in the condition 
 of that class, and they stood in a very dif- 
 ferent position from that in which they had 
 been placed at the time that Europe first issued 
 forth from the darkness of the ninth century. 
 Many wise and good monarchs had willingly 
 and anxiously contributed to add comforts to 
 the situation of the lower orders, and if not 
 actually to unbind the fetters from their hands, 
 at least so to regulate the relations between 
 the lords of the soil and them, that those fetters 
 might not be made more galling. Many unwise
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 9 
 
 and vicious monarchs, too — for God often uses 
 the wicked as instruments of good — in their 
 quarrels with the baronage, which sometimes 
 trod rather hard upon the skirts of the royal 
 mantle, had endeavoured to punish the ob- 
 noxious class, by giving back some of the privi- 
 leges of man to those on whom that class 
 trampled ; and thus, though the villeins upon 
 the lord's estates or territory were still nominally 
 his chattels, as much as his horse, his dog, or 
 his hawk, yet he was restrained in his dealing 
 with them within certain limits and by cer- 
 tain rules: their property was protected, their 
 lives and persons were under the safeguard of 
 the law, and they v/ere no longer a mere herd 
 of cattle, to be dealt with at the pleasure of a 
 brutal owner. The cultivators of the soil, the 
 mechanic, the manufacturer, the merchant, the 
 inhabitants of all villages, and many of the 
 dwellers in towns, were generally classed as 
 villeins. Though, long before the period of 
 which I now speak, the formation of com- 
 munes had introduced a distinction, and the 
 free commons of a great number of cities pre-
 
 10 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 sented an intermediate class between the ba- 
 ronage and the serfs, they were still ranked 
 as villeins by blood, though enjoying all the 
 rights of freemen, without the privileges of 
 nobility. In rural districts, however, many a 
 terrible and degrading badge of slavery still 
 remained fixed upon the peasant. In one 
 place, the right of the lord implied one degrading 
 service, in another, it comprised others ; and in 
 times of trouble and disaster, when the strong 
 hand of lawful authority was removed, and the 
 arm of the law shortened, exaction, pillage, op- 
 pression, and tyranny, resumed their full sway : 
 the dearest ricjhts and most sacred feelinfrs of 
 human nature were set at nought ; and the only 
 safeguard of the peasant was the honour, virtue, 
 and benevolence of some of the chivalrous lords 
 of the land. That safeguard was sufficient to 
 protect many, but it was not sufficient to se- 
 cure all ; and although, in some instances, the 
 noble chatelain was a father to those below 
 him, ever ready to succour them in sorrow or 
 calamity, to shield them from danger, and to 
 avenge them against wrong, yet in others, the
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 11 
 
 feudal lord was the enemy of all around, the 
 tyrant of all beneath. 
 
 The times I write of, too, were amongst the 
 most terrible that ever the fair land of France 
 beheld. Her king was a captive in a foreign 
 land, her nobility, overthrown in the terrible 
 day of Poitiers, were scattered, disunited, and 
 dismayed, her "fields overrun with bands of law- 
 less adventurers, living alone by plunder, and 
 inured to massacre and bloodshed, as a trade, 
 her finances ruined, her young prince power- 
 less, insulted, and betrayed, struggling with a 
 fierce faction and ambitious demagogues in the 
 capital, and not one bond of union existing 
 throughout the whole land, but that of similar 
 language, manners, and faith. The latter, 
 alas ! was suffered to have but little sway either 
 in moderating men's passions or directing their 
 actions. In the turbulence, the excitement, the 
 disorganisation of the day, the functions of re- 
 ligion were reduced to the task of affording 
 consolation and nourishing hope; but even 
 this was a blessed privilege where all else 
 was sorrow, wretchedness, and despair. 
 
 It may easily be conceived, then, that while
 
 12 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 such a state of anarchy existed in the land, 
 the condition of the peasantry in many districts 
 daily became worse. Though the law existed, 
 there was none to administer the law, or to 
 enforce it between the lord and his serf, and 
 thus the will of every man became the only 
 rule in his own territories. Jacques BonJiomme, 
 as the insolent nobles called the unfortunate 
 cultivator of the soil, sowed in fear and reaped 
 with pain ; and in many places ills more bur- 
 thensome than human nature could bear ground 
 the labourer to the earth. 
 
 Such was the state of France at the time 
 when the personage whom I have described 
 stood alone in the dark aisle of the church of 
 St. Peter at Montvoye, musing bitterly over 
 many a topic of deep and terrible interest. 
 By his dress one might perceive that he was 
 of the class of serfs, and that he was some 
 favoured domestic in a noble house. From the 
 scenes that are to come, we shall gather the 
 character of his mind, and see more of his con- 
 dition and feelings, as well as learn those actions, 
 which gained him a place, though a sad one, in 
 the history of the times in which he lived.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 13 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Suddenly the door at the end of the aisle 
 opened, and a ray from the setting sun broke 
 in upon the darkness, tinting the manifold 
 columns and arches as it passed, and casting a 
 sudden brilliance down the long perspective of 
 the pavement — like one of those bright and 
 wonderful thoughts, which sometimes, in the 
 mental world, burst upon subjects that have 
 remained obscure for ages, discovering to the 
 eye of a Newton or a Herschel a long chain of 
 beautiful facts, all lighted up by the removal of 
 one dark obstacle. 
 
 The opening of the door disclosed to the 
 eyes of him who was standing in the church 
 two forms entering from the cloistered quad- 
 r.on'^le of ihe abbey adjoining, and he instantly 
 
 ^^^ back into one of the small chapels, 
 af-^^^.n'^his knee before a shrine, thougli, to
 
 14 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 say sootli, be prayed not in his heart, but 
 
 gazed between the pillars that concealed his 
 
 own person at the others, as they paused 
 
 for a moment in the archway, with the light 
 
 shining round them as if in a picture. 
 
 The two figures were those of an old man 
 
 and a young one : the first was dressed in the 
 
 long robe of a grey friar ; but the loose heavy 
 
 gown — even when massed in the dark shadow, 
 
 as he stood with the light flowing in from 
 
 behind — could not conceal the calm dignity of 
 
 his person ; while the ray, catching upon the 
 
 bald head, and streaming through the white 
 
 hair, showed enough to account for a certain 
 
 bend of the whole form by the heavy pressure 
 
 of the hand of time. The younger man, who 
 
 stood beside him, was tall and upright, with 
 
 an air of easy grace and commanding power 
 
 in every line, and as he advanced with a step 
 
 firm but noiseless, and slow to suit the pace of 
 
 his more aged companion, he offered ^ picture 
 
 of vigorous manhood in its earl (/. <Sr, • ' 
 » • ^ ^Of^ -ions, 
 
 as might well busy the hand of a .'v/ 
 
 ^ "^ '^z ne, m 
 
 to depict. ^J '^■-
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 15 
 
 As the latter turned to speak to the good prior 
 of Montvoye, for such was the monk who walked 
 by his side, the light caught upon his face, and 
 displayed a countenance decidedly handsome 
 in feature, but deriving its great beauty from 
 the expression, which was very peculiar. It 
 was calm, thoughtful, and even gentle, with a 
 flickering smile hanging at that moment round 
 the lip, which seemed to denote a quick and 
 playful fancy ; but the tranquillity of the ex- 
 pression had nothing of weakness in it : as 
 did his whole figure and carriage, it gave the 
 idea of high mental and bodily powers, great 
 energy and activity of character, though those 
 qualities were for the time in repose. 
 
 The complexion was fair rather than dark ; 
 but the face was browned with much ex- 
 posure to the sun and wind ; and a distinct 
 line across the forehead showed where the 
 casque or the cap had shaded the head from 
 the summer heat. The eyes were hazel, and 
 fringed with long dark lashes, but the hair and 
 beard were of a light, rich brown. 
 
 He was speaking as he came forward ; but the
 
 16 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 only words which caught the ear of the person 
 who remained kneeling in the neighbouring 
 chapel were, " I am right glad it is so, father, 
 for I have myself known what it is to lose those 
 who are most dear. Not only is your noble 
 brother living, but in good health. His 
 wounds are now healed ; but he is one of those 
 who could not survive a field like that, without 
 some worthy marks of having done his duty." 
 
 " You do him justice, noble lord," replied 
 the prior : " Maurice de Mauvinet * will never 
 shame his race. We have mourned for him as 
 dead; and well may we now rejoice to find him 
 living." 
 
 The prior said no more for the moment, 
 but walked on by the side of his more youthful 
 companion, musing as he went. Both paused, 
 bowed, and crossed themselves as they traversed 
 the nave before the high altar; and then, taking 
 their way to the opposite door of the transept, 
 
 * Maurice de Mauvinet was seneschal of Touraine, 
 and was taken prisoner, severely wounded, at the battle of 
 Poitiers. He is one of those particularly mentioned in 
 the letter of the Black Prince.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 17 
 
 they issued forth upon the steps of the church ; 
 before which stood a glittering train of men-at- 
 arms, calmly talking with some monks and 
 serving men, or arranging the caparisons of 
 their horses and soothing the eager fire with 
 which the chargers fretted to depart. 
 
 The young nobleman turned as if to take his 
 leave ; but the prior spoke first, with a thought 
 ful smile. " I will not detain you long, noble 
 sir," he said, " for the evening is at hand; and 
 night is no time to travel in this poor land of 
 France; but yet I would fain hear another 
 word or two of my dear brother's fate ere we 
 part, though to-morrow perhaps I shall meet 
 with you again." 
 
 " Nay, speak boldly, my good father," re- 
 plied the knight : " I fear not the darkness. 
 What would you know more ?" 
 
 " First," said the prior, " I would ask, when 
 we may hope to see my brother back ? " 
 
 ''Nay, that I know not," answered his com- 
 panion : " right soon, I trust, good father. 
 He may come whensoever he will. 'Tis now 
 some six weeks since that, journeying by 
 
 VOL. 1 C
 
 18 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 Poitiers, I first had reason to believe the 
 letters he had written, as soon as his wounds 
 were healed, had never reached his friends in 
 France. It is no marvel that such has been 
 the case; for where no law remains, and it 
 would seem that all rule has been done away 
 with here, letters often find other hands than 
 those for which they were intended. However, 
 I wrote to the noble lord at once, and sent the 
 packet by a trusty messenger — who I know 
 has since reached the good city of London — 
 telling him what I had heard, and beseeching 
 him to come over hither and seek his liberty 
 himself, lest men should say I had acted so 
 discourteously as not to put a worthy prisoner 
 to ransom. It never crossed my mind, how- 
 ever, that his near friends and children them- 
 selves were all this time ignorant that he was 
 in life, till last night, at Tours, I heard, by a 
 mere gossip's talk in the inn, that he was 
 mourned as dead, and his young son, called 
 Count of Mauvinet, in his place." 
 
 " The boy will gladly give his countship up," 
 replied the prior, " to see his small image in
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 19 
 
 his dear father's eyes again. — But one question 
 more, most noble captal. At what sum have 
 you fixed my brother's ransom ? We will 
 raise it speedily, and with right good will." 
 
 " Faith, my father," answered the other, " it 
 was not I who fixed it; 'twas himself. The 
 simple facts are these. After the battle, when 
 night was just approaching, I went out to seek 
 for the body of my sister's son, who had 
 fallen. We found it amongst a heap of dead, 
 and, lying near, was what seemed the corpse 
 of my good Lord of Mauvinet. They had 
 stripped him of his arms and clothing : but I 
 knew his face, for we had held a conference 
 the day before on some matters regarding a 
 truce ; and, thinking it were but an act of 
 charity towards his friends, I bade my people 
 raise his body, too, and bear it to my tent. 
 Ere we reached the camp, however, I found 
 that the spark of life was not yet extinct, and 
 therefore we gave him such tending as the 
 time admitted. He recovered, as you know; 
 and I scarcely held it just to put a man so 
 captured to ransom. He, however, fixed the 
 c 2
 
 20 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 sum himself at five thousand marks of silver, 
 and reckoned on having it right speedily. 
 However, believe me, my good father, it w^as 
 not seeking his ransom that I came; it was 
 merely, that, hearing you all believed him dead, 
 I thought it but a pleasant ride to turn some 
 twenty miles from my way, and, by the tidings 
 of his safety, to light up joy in hearts that had 
 long been desolate." 
 
 " Joy, indeed, do you bear with you, noble 
 captal," replied the prior, "and glad will be 
 the welcome that waits you at my brother's 
 house, when once the news that you bring is 
 known; but yet, as at this hour, and in these 
 times, I fear you would not easily get ad- 
 mission within the gates of a castle whose cha- 
 telain is a boy of six years old, and whose lady 
 does not yet number nineteen, unless you were 
 accompanied by some known friend. I have 
 therefore " 
 
 " I should but have to ride a few miles 
 farther," replied the knight, interrupting him 
 with a gay laugh. *' The truce holds me from 
 storming the castle; and if they, will not have
 
 THE JACQUERIK. 21 
 
 the good news I bear them to-night, they 
 must wait till you carry it to them to-morrow 
 morning.'* 
 
 " Not so, noble sir," replied the prior ; " for 
 although, as I told you, the abbot being absent 
 at this moment, I cannot to-night have the 
 satisfaction of accompanying you to Mauvinet 
 myself, yet I have provided means for insuring 
 your reception. I have just sent for a youth, 
 now at the abbey. He is well known in my 
 brother's house, and greatly trusted by us all, 
 who will both serve to guide you thither, and 
 open the gates to you when you arrive. He 
 has not yet come up, I see ; but I suppose he 
 was taken by surprise, and lias some small 
 preparations to make for his journey." 
 
 The knight thanked the good monk for his 
 care in simple terms, and then remained 
 plunged in silence, for he had many another 
 thought to busy his mind withal ; and the things 
 that were now passing round him formed as yet 
 but a light episode in his existence. The prior 
 himself resumed the discourse, however, saying, 
 after a short pause, " In behalf of the youth 
 c 3
 
 22 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 who is coming I would bespeak your kind 
 consideration, my lord ; for though I must not 
 say that he is of noble blood, yet he is in all 
 things far above the race of mere peasants." 
 
 "The son of some citizen?" asked the 
 knight, with an air of indifference. 
 
 " Not exactly," replied the prior. " His 
 father held lands in Normandy, but fell under 
 some false suspicions during the troubles in that 
 district, and was put to death by his lord un- 
 justly. His wife and child fled hither, where 
 they found a protector in my brother ; and the 
 mother dying, the youth has been brought up 
 partly at the abbey, partly at the castle." 
 
 " There have been so many troubles in Nor- 
 mandy, good father," answered the knight, 
 " that I know not well which you mean ; but 
 if you speak of those that occurred a few 
 years ago, when your good prince. King John, 
 held what we call the bloody feast of Rouen, 
 arrested many noble gentlemen at his son's 
 own table, and after dinner struck off their 
 heads in the field behind the castle — if you 
 mean those troubles, all I can say is, the
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 23 
 
 unjust lord of this good youth's father had a 
 goodly example of cruelty and tyranny before 
 his eyes." 
 
 " It was previous to the time you speak of 
 that these events took place," replied the 
 prior ; " but I beseech you, noble sir, cast no 
 harsh censure on my king, while he lies yet a 
 prisoner in a distant land. So long as he was 
 able he was ever ready to meet in arms, as a 
 monarch and a knight, those who gainsayed his 
 deeds, but now " 
 
 " I was wrong — I was wrong, good father," 
 replied the captal : " he is as valiant a prince 
 as ever drew a sword, and I should not have 
 blamed him when he could not answer to the 
 charge." 
 
 " He may have had good cause for what he 
 did, my lord," replied the churchman. " There 
 runs a whisper amongst us, that the false King 
 of Navarre had seduced the inexperience of 
 the prince to rise against his father, and that 
 the Lord of Harcourt was privy thereunto." 
 
 *' Still the king confounded guilt and in- 
 nocence together," replied the other, " and 
 c 4
 
 24 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 put noble gentlemen to death without a trial. 
 — But here comes the youth of whom you 
 spoke I suppose. He seems a likely stripling, 
 and more fit to make a man-at-arms of than a 
 monk." 
 
 " In truth, my lord," answered the prior, 
 " it is plain to see that he has no great taste for 
 the gown. We have done the best we could 
 for him — taught him a world of learning, if he 
 would use it wisely ; but, to say sooth, he has 
 ever shown himself fonder of watching the tilt- 
 yard, and secretly practising with the sword 
 and spear, than reading theology or singing in 
 our choir. He was generally at the castle till 
 my brother marched for Poitiers; but since 
 then I have not well known how to dispose of 
 him — ^for here we cannot do as in England, 
 where persons, not of noble birth, can bear 
 honourable arms, and gain a high renown." 
 
 A kind and ready answer sprang to the lips 
 of his companion, but a moment's thought 
 made him determine to pause a while; and he 
 turned to examine more particularly the person 
 of the young man who approached.
 
 THE JACQUERIi:. '2o 
 
 He was a very different being from him 
 whom we have ah'eady described as lingering 
 moodily in the aisle of the church. He was 
 not by four or five years so old as the other, 
 and his countenance bore the expression of 
 youth, which is a very peculiar one, and which 
 once lost can never be regained. It was not 
 that his face was without traces of thought, for 
 \vith all its cheerful sunshiny look there was 
 reflection, and imagination, and mind in every 
 line ; but it was, that there were none of the 
 furrows of care, anxiety, and grief upon it, 
 none of the lines that show that the heart has 
 been used, and a portion of its freshness taken 
 away. There might, indeed, come a shade of 
 melancholy over his brow from time to time, 
 but that shade w^as as a floating cloud over a 
 summer sky, and not the dull grey expanse 
 of a chill autumn day. Neither were there 
 on that countenance the branded stamp of 
 fiery passions, nor the harsh traces of gnawing 
 discontent. It was frank and open; changeful, 
 but not moody ; thoughtful, but not sad. 
 The complexion was rather fair than dark;
 
 26 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 the limbs light and active, though giving a 
 promise of great strength ; and there was in 
 every motion, as in every look, a breathing 
 spirit of young exuberant life that had some- 
 thing wonderfully prepossessing in it to the eye. 
 His dress was that of the richest class of 
 peasantry; but that he had received an edu- 
 cation far above his birth was evident, from the 
 grace with which he moved. As he approached 
 the prior and his companion, he uncovered his 
 head, listened with respectful but not servile 
 attention to the directions that he received ; 
 and then, as soon as the knight had mounted, 
 laid his hand upon the saddle-bow of a horse 
 that had been prepared for himself, and without 
 touching the stirrup bounded into the seat.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 27 
 
 CHAR III. 
 
 There was a castle upon a slight rising ground 
 in the midst of a wide basin in the hills. It 
 was strongly fortified, according to the military 
 architecture of the fourteenth century : bar- 
 bican, portcullis, moat, and drawbridge de- 
 fended it sufficiently on all sides against the 
 ordinary means of attack ; and the tall walls 
 and towers, with their crenelles and loopholes, 
 threatened an approaching enemy with sad an- 
 noyance in his advance. Sweeping down the 
 lower slopes of the neighbouring uplands, 
 indeed, were various scattered woods, leaving 
 wide open fields between them; but they 
 came at not point so near to the castle as to 
 give a coming foe the means of concealing his 
 proceedings. 
 
 The moat, or piece of water which surrounded 
 the fortress itself, was somewhat more than fifty
 
 28 THE JACQUEUIE. 
 
 yards broad, and was indeed one of its best 
 defences ; for only one means of traversing its 
 deep water existed, which was by a narrow 
 causeway, not carried straight across, but with 
 a bend or elbow in the middle, so that any 
 inimical troops which might attempt to force 
 their way over, before they reached the draw- 
 bridge and barbican, must necessarily expose 
 their flank, first on the one side and then 
 on the other, to the whole artillery of the 
 castle walls. 
 
 Those walls themselves, at the point opposite 
 to the causeway, approached close to the edge 
 of the water, and in some places the grey 
 foundations dipped themselves therein; but on 
 the three other sides a crescent-shaped slip of 
 meadow stretched out between the chateau 
 itself and the greater moat, together with a 
 small piece of ground cultivated as a garden, 
 and one or two old trees. The breadth of this 
 field v/as no where more than thirty or forty 
 yards, and between it and the walls was a 
 narrower moat, cut from the other, and crossed 
 by two or three drawbridges which led to
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 29 
 
 posterns in the towers, sufficiently wide and 
 high to permit the passage of a horse ; for in 
 truth the green meadow that we have men- 
 tioned was used - — in times when it might be 
 dangerous to cross to the other side of the 
 great moat — for the purpose of practising 
 those chivalrous sports which were a part of 
 the daily life of that period. 
 
 It was about half past eight o'clock when the 
 party, which we have seen quit the Abbey of 
 Montvoye, paused for a moment on the slope 
 of one of the neighbouring hills, and the young 
 guide, who had not quitted the side of his 
 noble companion during the ride, pointed with 
 his hand towards the valley below, saying, 
 " There, noble sir, is the castle !" 
 
 The moon had risen little more than an hour 
 above a line of dark wood that skirted the 
 distant horizon behind the castle; and her living 
 beams showed the whole dark masses of the 
 ancient feudal building cutting clear upon the 
 luminous sky behind, while the wide moat, 
 except where the shadow of the towers fell, 
 shone bright and silverlike in the white
 
 30 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 moonlight. A long row of windows in the 
 lower part of the keep appeared illuminated 
 by lights within, and from the casement of a 
 chamber in the story just above came forth the 
 rays of a lamp. 
 
 " You see, noble sir," continued the youth, 
 after they had paused for a moment, " you 
 see they are still waking. That is the cham- 
 ber of the Lady Adela, above the knights 
 hall." 
 
 " You have guided us well and quickly, good 
 youth," answered his companion : " let us spur 
 on, however, lest we have yet to wake the lady 
 from her slumbers." 
 
 The young man followed rapidly, but still a 
 step behind the knight ; for though he had been 
 treated with kindly courtesy, there had not 
 been wanting that tone of conscious superiority 
 in the captal's demeanour which he was well 
 entitled to assume, both by station and renown 
 in arms. The youth felt it somewhat painfully, 
 however, even more, perhaps, than he would 
 have done from those whom he knew well, 
 and who had not the habit of treating him as
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 31 
 
 the mere peasant, whom the churl's blood 
 excluded from all courteous consideration. I 
 have said, indeed, that he had not been so used 
 by the knight, who had addressed him often, 
 and asked him many a question, showing more 
 interest in him than most men might have 
 done so circumstanced. But still, the moment 
 the answer was given, the captal had relapsed 
 into a state of apparent indifference, remained 
 silent for several minutes, and then speaking 
 of something totally different. 
 
 Why he should expect more attention from 
 strangers than from those with whom he was fa- 
 miliar, the youth could hardly tell; but yet 
 the cold want of interest with which the knight 
 heard his replies seemed to show him, more 
 sensibly, the dark spot of the serf's blood : it 
 was as if each man he met marked it upon his 
 forehead, and treated him accordingly. His 
 nature was a generous nature, however: he 
 might grieve without anger; he could feel 
 pain without bitterness; and although he 
 longed to conquer his fate, it was by great 
 and noble deeds which would shame the world
 
 3*2 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 for fixing on any class of men the odious name 
 of villeins. 
 
 When they had reached the bottom of the 
 descent, the knight again drew in his horse and 
 paused to look up at the dark towers, as they 
 rose majestically against the sky. The light 
 was still shining from the window above, and 
 a faint strain of music found its way out into 
 the air of night. 
 
 *' She sings ! " said the captal, speaking to 
 himself. " She sings I So soon do deep griefs 
 pass from the mind of youth ! " 
 
 To his surprise, the young man who rode by 
 his side, and who had never ventured to address 
 him, except when he himself was spoken to, 
 now replied somewhat sharply, saying, " It is 
 a hymn ! — Hark ! " 
 
 The captal made no observation, but 
 paused and listened ; and now distinctly heard 
 that the strain which he had taken for a light 
 song was, in fact, a solemn address to Heaven. 
 He did not answer the youth's observation, 
 however, but only crossed himself, saying, " God 
 hear her orisons ! Now, we must seek ad-
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 33 
 
 mission quickly. Over this causeway seems 
 our nearest way." 
 
 " It is the only way," replied the young man ; 
 " but take care how you try it, till I have blown 
 my horn, for you might have a flight of arrows 
 on you, such as fell at Poitiers." 
 
 " Now Heaven forbid ! " replied the captal : 
 *' wind your horn, good youth ! " 
 
 The young man raised his horn to his lips, 
 and blew a long and cheerful blast. A moment 
 after, a warder on the barbican answered in the 
 same tone, and shouted out a welcome in reply 
 to the well-known sounds, but at the same time 
 demanded aloud, " Who have you got with 
 you?" 
 
 " I know not your name, noble sir," said the 
 guide to his companion •' All I know is, that 
 you are a friend of my good lord the prior." 
 
 " Say it is the Captal de Buch," answered 
 the knight, " who comes with good tidings to 
 the house of Mauvinet." 
 
 " What, the noble Captal de Buch ! " ex- 
 claimed the youth, gazing up in his com' 
 panion's face, " who led the English horse 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 J34 THE Jacquerie. 
 
 against the battle of the constables at Poi- 
 tiers?" 
 
 " The same," replied the captal, " the same, 
 young man ; but be sure you say he brings good 
 tidings : for my name is not too well loved in 
 France, and may not gain me admission, without 
 something added." 
 
 " Your name is honoured throughout the 
 world ! " replied the young man, " but I will 
 do your bidding, if you will wait for but a 
 moment here ; " and riding on alone he ap- 
 proached the barbican, and after a few words 
 was admitted by the warder. 
 
 The Captal de Buch remained in a musing 
 mood, sometimes gazing down into the glis- 
 tening waters of the moat, sometimes looking 
 up to the moonlight sky, sometimes scanning 
 the dark towers, and, while his spirit was in 
 truth busy with other things, taking in vague 
 impressions of their military strength ; for in 
 despite of all that has been said against it, the 
 mind is not only capable to a certain degree of 
 carrying on two operations at once, but gene- 
 rally does so; and we continually find, that 
 while we are revolving one definite train of
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 35 
 
 ideas with all the intensity of deep reflection, 
 the casual sights that pass before the eye, 
 and the sounds that fall upon the ear, are each 
 marked and considered in a general manner as 
 if by separate powers of perception and thought 
 within us. The armed attendants of the knight 
 in the meanwhile remained at some short dis- 
 tance behind, the younger and more impetuous 
 fretting at the brief pause, and the old and 
 veteran followers of the great leader calmly 
 enduring a delay which they were well aware 
 proceeded but from necessary caution, gazing 
 up with curious eyes at the battlements, and 
 thinking how such a castle might be best at- 
 tacked. 
 
 There was another person present, however, 
 who had joined the party at some distance from 
 the abbey, and who after speaking a word to 
 their young guide had fallen behind. This was 
 the remarkable man whom we have described 
 in the first chapter, and who after overtaking 
 the troop had shown no disposition to converse 
 or jest with the light-hearted men-at-arms of 
 the captal's train, during the whole journey 
 D 2
 
 36 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 they had made together. His eyes were now 
 neither turned to the sky, nor to the moat, nor 
 to the castle, but were either fixed upon the 
 ground, or busily engaged in scanning the 
 forms of his temporary companions. The 
 same scornful bend was still about his lip, and 
 it might curl somewhat more strongly at some 
 of the words Vv^hich he caught, but he uttered 
 not a syllable in reply. 
 
 At the end of about ten minutes the delay 
 seemed to be long even to the captal, and from 
 time to time he turned his eyes towards the 
 barbican, while his horse pawed the ground 
 impatiently, as if wondering what stayed his 
 impetuous rider. 
 
 At length, however, the light of torches ap- 
 peared in the gate ; the drawbridge was once 
 more let down, the portcullis was raised, and 
 by the flickering glare of the flambeaux might 
 be seen a number of armed men arraying 
 themselves on either side of the causeway, while 
 the youth, who had guided the party thither, 
 came forth and announced to the captal that he 
 was welcome to the castle of Mauvinet.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 37 
 
 Ere he entered, however, one of the old 
 soldiers of that great officer's band rode up to 
 his lord's side, and begged him to remark the 
 armed throng which lined the portal of the 
 barbican. The capta], however, merely replied 
 with an impatient " Pshaw ! " and touching his 
 horse slightly with the spur rode on across the 
 causeway, passed the outer defences, and bowing 
 with a courteous inclination to the soldiery as he 
 proceeded, entered the gates of the castle upon 
 horseback, and dismounted in the court yard. 
 Here he found stationed several old officers to 
 receive him ; but the youth, who had guided 
 him thither, still acted the part of his chief 
 conductor, and led him forward up the steps to 
 the great hall of the building, which was known 
 by the name of " the knights' hall." 
 
 Although the room contained many lights, 
 yet the part where they first entered was com- 
 paratively dark, but at the farther end was 
 an object, which instantly attracted the captal's 
 attention, and seemed to surprise him not a little. 
 It was the form of a girl, apparently of nine- 
 teen or twenty years of age, habited in garments 
 D 3
 
 38 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 of deep black, and followed by a waiting-woman 
 in the same sombre garb. The captal could not 
 doubt for a moment that the lady before him 
 was the person whom he came to see ; and the 
 surprise, which he evidently felt, must have 
 been excited either by the beauty and grace of 
 her form, and the loveliness of her face, or by 
 the expression of wondering hope and joy which 
 lighted up her countenance. 
 
 He advanced quickly towards her, however, 
 while she on her part came forward with a 
 hasty step, exclaiming, " Welcome, welcome, 
 my good Lord Captal. Albert tells me, you 
 bring me glad tidings — I know it ; I know 
 it ! My father is alive ! — A thousand welcomes 
 for such happy news ! " And in the eagerness 
 of her joy, according to the simple custom of 
 that day, without shame or reserve, the lady 
 approached the knight and kissed him on either 
 side of the face ; while her eyes beanx^d forth 
 the delight that was in her heart. At the same 
 time, however, as if doubting her own hopes, 
 she repeated twice, " Is it not true ? is it not 
 true, noble knight ? "
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 39 
 
 "Yes, lady," replied the captal, "it is true. 
 Your noble father does live, is well, and will 
 soon be restored unto you. I have brought you 
 the tidings myself, that I might have the satis 
 faction of witnessing the joy which I now be- 
 hold." 
 
 "Joy, indeed," replied the lady, "joy indeed! 
 the greatest that has entered these gates for 
 many a day; but I must send for my poor 
 brother ! Though the dear child sleeps, it is no 
 sin to wake him with such news as this." 
 
 I will not pause to detail the farther convers- 
 ation of the knight and the young lady of 
 Mauvinet. It lasted nearly an hour, and in the 
 course of it, all that the captal had to tell 
 brought forth on her fair face a thousand varying 
 and beautiful expressions, which caught the eye 
 of one not insensible to beauty, and made him 
 long to know more of the bright heart, from 
 which such gleams seemed to issue forth. 
 
 With graceful courtesy and kindness, though 
 
 with some timidity of manner, the lady caused 
 
 refreshments to be set before her guest, and 
 
 pressed him to his food, while several of the old 
 
 D 4
 
 40 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 officers of her father's household stood around 
 the table, and others went to prepare lodg- 
 ings in the castle for the knight and his fol- 
 lowers. 
 
 Adela de Mauvinet was soon joined in her 
 task of entertaining her unexpected guest by her 
 young brother, a boy of six or seven years old, 
 whose gladness to hear of his father's safety 
 seemed even beyond his years, and increased the 
 recompence which Adela's joy had already 
 bestowed upon the captal for the glad tidings 
 which he had brought. 
 
 It was not till after he had told the story 
 twice, and added many a little anecdote to gra- 
 tify the children of his prisoner, that the great 
 leader retired to rest; but if we must say truth, 
 the thought of Adela de Mauvinet, of her beauty, 
 and of the varying changes which had come over 
 her countenance while he told her of her father's 
 safety, somewhat disturbed his repose, and made 
 his slumbers more dreamy and disturbed than 
 they were wont to be. 
 
 Let it not be supposed for one moment that 
 the captal was already in love. Though those
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 41 
 
 were days in which such a thing was quite pos- 
 sible — when the Romeo and Juliet love, 
 brought forth, like the lightning from its cloud, 
 in a single moment, often produced effects as 
 fierce and keen as that of heaven's bolt itself, 
 rending the stubborn heart, and spreading 
 desolation round; — yet the captal was of a 
 different nature, and loved not easily though 
 long. Still the beauty and the grace of her 
 whom he had that night seen for the first time 
 touched his imagination, though not his heart, 
 and he lay and thought for more than one half 
 hour of Adela de Mauvinet, and dreamed of 
 her in sleep.
 
 42 THE JACQUERIK. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 There had been a light frost upon the ground, 
 but the morning was bright and clear, and 
 some of the soldiery of the castle had been 
 wrestling and playing at backsword and 
 buckler in that open space between the walls of 
 the castle and the great moat, which we have 
 already mentioned. It was a fine sight to see 
 them in the clear fresh air, with their strong 
 and muscular limbs cast every moment into 
 some new and graceful attitude ; and several of 
 the followers of the Captal de Buch, who came 
 at first merely to look on, soon entered so fully 
 into the spirit of the contest, that, when in- 
 vited by some of the wrestlers to take part, 
 they joined in and tried a fall with the rest. 
 
 There were two persons, however, who 
 gazed for some time on the sports, but took no 
 part therein, remaining aloof at some distance.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 43 
 
 and with crossed arms and bended heads 
 watching the exercises, in which they were 
 unwilling or unable to mingle. Those persons 
 were no other than the youth who had con- 
 ducted the Captal de Buch to Mauvinet, and 
 the man whom we have described as lin- 
 gering in the church of Montvoye. Very 
 different, however, was the expression on the 
 countenance of each, as they stood there and 
 gazed. The face of the younger displayed 
 a keen interest in all that he saw going on 
 before him, while that of his companion was 
 unmoved, and calm, and seemed rather to hold 
 the wrestlers and their sports in contempt, than 
 to derive any pleasure from the sight of their 
 pastime. 
 
 " Come, Albert," he said at length, addressing 
 the other, " come, let us get away from these 
 brawling fools. To stand here and watch 
 them does no good either to you or me. You 
 would fain join them, and be such another as 
 themselves : I despise them, and would not be 
 one of them if I could. Come, Albert, come 
 and let us talk over poor France.'*
 
 44 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 " I might join them this moment if I 
 would," replied the other ; " you know they 
 are all very kind to me." 
 
 " Kind !" replied his companion with a 
 bitter sneer upon his lip, and at the same time 
 walking slowly away; '•'kind!" and you are 
 content to take from kindness that which is 
 your own by right." 
 
 The young man to whom he spoke started, 
 and looked inquiringly in his companion's 
 face. " Mine by right ! " he exclaimed ; " how 
 is it mine by right more than yours? — What is it 
 that you mean, William Caillet ? How is it mine 
 more than yours ?" 
 
 " I said not that it was yours more than 
 mine," replied Caillet ; " but come away where 
 we cannot be heard, and I will explain to you 
 my meaning." 
 
 Asjie spoke, he moved away with a slow 
 step and a careless air, as if unwilling to let 
 any of those around see that there was in his 
 bosom deeper thoughts than were displayed by 
 the mere surface. The other followed him 
 across one of the small bridges, and by a pos-
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 45 
 
 tern into the castle. Caillet paused not within 
 the building, but crossed the court, and saun- 
 tering through the great gates approached the 
 barbican. He walked on with an air of listless 
 indifference, spoke a few words to the w^arder 
 that let down the drawbridge for them, and 
 then, seeing that his companion lingered, as if 
 unwilling to go on, he said, " Come, Albert, 
 will you not take a walk this fine morning ? See 
 how bright the sun shines : you will find matter 
 for some new song." 
 
 The youth, whom he called Albert, smiled 
 and followed him, merely replying, " I cannot 
 go far, Caillet, for I have charge to wait upon 
 the noble Captal de Buch till the good prior 
 comes." 
 
 " The captal will not want you for an hour 
 or two," replied Caillet, " and you have plenty 
 of time for a walk. Come, if you be willing ; 
 if not, stop behind. Good faith, it is the same 
 to me. I seldom seek better company than 
 my own ; for nowadays one's thoughts are one's 
 best friends." 
 
 The other made no answer, but accompanied
 
 46 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 him in silence, and Caillet took his way 
 through the meadows on the opposite side of 
 the moat, and walked on up the slope of the 
 hill to some trees a little in advance of the wood, 
 which crowned a spot where a precipitous bank 
 of no great height afforded a full view into the 
 valley with the castle and all the adjoining lands. 
 There the two sat themselves down ; and for 
 several minutes Caillet spoke not a word, but 
 continued gazing with a meditative look over 
 the fair scene spread out before him. 
 
 His companion's eyes rested long upon the 
 landscape also with much real enjoyment of 
 all that is fine in nature; and, to say truth, 
 attaching no great importance to the words of 
 Caillet, he had totally forgotten all that had 
 previously passed between them, when the other 
 again resumed the subject, saying, " I asked you 
 if you were content to take as a favour what 
 is yours by right ; and you seemed as much 
 surprised at my saying that it is yours by right, 
 as if you were as ignorant a peasant as any of 
 all the many who hug their chains, scarcely 
 knowing that they bear them."
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 47 
 
 " Still I do not understand what you mean, 
 Caillet," replied the other. *^ 1 have no right to 
 meddle with the sports of a rank above myself 
 unless I am invited." 
 
 " They have thrown away much teaching 
 upon you to very little purpose ! " replied 
 Caillet in a tone of scornful wonder. " Is it 
 possible, that you, Albert, who have had all the 
 learning the monks of the convent can give, 
 and have been taught every thing that even 
 a knightly education can bestow, should 
 be so blind, so dull, so stupid, as not to know, 
 or so base as not to feel, that yours are the 
 same rights as those of any other man on earth ; 
 and that these proud nobles, in their gilded 
 garments, are but of the same clay as you and 
 I, without one difference between us and them, 
 except that some braver and more powerful 
 robber than themselves chanced to be the 
 founder of their race, and to snatch from our 
 ancestors the lands that they now possess. To 
 prevent us from ever taking back our own 
 they have called us villeins — serfs; they have 
 prescribed to us certain garments as a badge
 
 48 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 of our slavery, forbidden us the use of all but 
 certain weapons, even to defend our lives against 
 the beasts of the forest, or the field. They 
 have denied us practice and skill in arms, lest 
 we should use those arms against themselves. 
 They keep from us all knowledge, too, lest we 
 should learn our rights as men, the tyrant 
 vanity of their pretensions, and their feebleness 
 and baseness when stripped of the advantages 
 which circumstances have given them. 
 
 " Nay, nay," replied his companion, inter- 
 rupting him, " they do not keep from us all 
 knowledge ! Are we not both instances of the 
 contrary ? How very many do they themselves 
 educate? And how very, very many of the 
 church have sprung from our own class ? " 
 
 " Ay, of the church ! " replied Caillet with a 
 look of scorn, " granted of the church. Nay, 
 more, my short-sighted friend, I will concede 
 more still : they are ready, they are anxious, when 
 they see any one of more genius than the rest — 
 when they see any one whose mind is fitted for 
 great things, whose spirit and nature empower 
 him to accomplish great enterprises, they are
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 49 
 
 ready, I say, gladly to educate him for the 
 church." 
 
 '' And is not that noble and kind ? " cried 
 Albert, interrupting him, 
 
 " It might be so," answered the other in a 
 sharp tone, " were it done with a good motive ; 
 but why is it they do this ? Is it not to bind 
 down both the souls and bodies of the great 
 and high-minded to a profession which affords 
 the surest safeguard their usurpation can have, 
 which bids us still endure in patience, and cuts 
 us off from all those ties of kindred which would 
 make us feel for the wrongs of our fellow-men ? 
 The hands of the clergy cannot bear arms 
 against the cowards that enslave us ; the voice 
 of the clerg}^ must not be raised to bid the serf 
 shake off his chains, the villein to cast off his 
 bondage. This is the cause why, whenever a 
 child is perceived of somewhat greater powers 
 than the rest of his race, he is sent to the convent 
 or the seminaiy, and bred up in the trammels 
 of another sort of servitude, more lowering, more 
 debasing, than that from which he escapes, be- 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 cause it is the servitude of the mind, because it 
 is the villeinage of the heart. — And why is all 
 this ? why is it, but because they are afraid of 
 us ; because these insolent men, who, when 
 they meet the peasant in the field, scatter the 
 dust over him with their horses' hoofs, and call 
 him in contempt Jacques Bonliomme ; because 
 these very men are cowards at their hearts, and 
 fear the very worms they tread upon." 
 
 His young companion had listened with a 
 thoughtful brow, a somewhat gloomy air, and 
 an eye bent upon the ground, with sensations 
 that prevented him for some time from making 
 any reply. He felt that there was some truth 
 in what Caillet said; but he felt, also, that it 
 was not all true, and yet did not at once see 
 where lay the line between the truth and false- 
 hood. At length, however, when his companion 
 accused the nobles, whom he had been ac- 
 customed through life to honour and to respect, 
 of cowardice as well as tyranny, he burst forth 
 with a laugh, not altogether gay : " Nay, na^'," 
 he cried, " nay, nay, Caillet, some of them may 
 be tyrants, bloodthirsty, cruel tyrants — nay,
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 51 
 
 we know that it is so, but they are no cowards. 
 I would fain see you, my good friend, try your 
 hands with one of these who you say are afraid." 
 " Some day, perchance, you may," replied the 
 other; " and wherever the fear lay, Albert, it 
 should not be on my part. But enough of that ! 
 I am no boaster ; and when the time of trial 
 comes, I shall not be found wanting. You say 
 they are no cowards : would that France could 
 find it so ! for if she did, these proud English- 
 men would not thus be riding over the land as 
 lords and masters. Would that France had 
 ever found it so ! for then we should not have 
 seen King John's whole host scattered like a 
 flock of sheep by a poor handful of famished 
 English knights ; we should not have seen eight 
 thousand men chasing a host ten times their 
 number; we should not have seen men drown- 
 ing themselves in the fords for very terror. 
 Out upon it ! Will you tell me that, at Poitiers, 
 the cowardly nobles did not betray their king 
 and sell their country ? Sliame, shame upon 
 France ! If the villeins had fought at Poitiers, 
 instead of their lords, history would have had 
 E 2 
 
 a OF 5LL UB.
 
 52 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 to tell another tale, and this young tiger of 
 England, this black prince, Edward, would now 
 be in chains in Paris. Out upon it, I say, that 
 we should thus be sold by dastards into the 
 hands of our enemies ! " 
 
 He had spoken so vehemently, that his com- 
 panion had not an opportunity to interrupt him, 
 though he had been very willing so to do. The 
 moment the other stopped, however, he ex- 
 claimed, " No, Caillet, no ! you are wrong, you 
 are quite wrong. Who does not know that 
 courage without conduct is nothing? Look 
 at our own King John : did not the great 
 prince, who conquered him, pronounce that 
 he had done to the utmost his duties as a 
 knight? Did you not hear the herald tell in 
 the castle-hall, how the English prince himself 
 served him the cup at supper, and declared that 
 he had won the fame of the best knight in that 
 day's battle ? — Then look at our own noble lord, 
 found upon the field with twenty wounds upon 
 him : was that like a coward, Caillet ? — All the 
 eight thousand noblemen, who died where they 
 stood, did they show any lack of courage ? "
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 53 
 
 " No," replied Caillet, with a bitter sneer 
 curling his lip ; " no, they certainly did not. 
 But what think you, Albert, of the twenty 
 thousand, who fled without striking a stroke? 
 what think you of the thousands and the tens 
 of thousands — ay, the hundreds of thousands — 
 that were seen flying over the plains of Poitou, 
 with nothing but. their own fear pursuing them ? 
 I have said, and say again, that at Poitiers 
 France was sold to England, not for gold, but 
 for a worse price — fear ! " 
 
 " Nay, nay," replied his companion, " you 
 do them wrong. Have we not all heard, how 
 often, in every period of history, a momentary 
 panic has overthrown a host ? " 
 
 " Perhaps," replied Caillet, " had you been 
 there, you would have fled too." 
 
 The young man's cheek turned red; but 
 Caillet proceeded, before he could reply, adding, 
 " No, Albert, no, I am well aware you would 
 not — there is not one of us that would ; and 
 therefore it is that 1 say, if the peasants of 
 France had fought at Poitiers, England would 
 not have won so great a victory." 
 E 3
 
 54 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 " I know not," replied his companion, " I 
 know not that ! All I am sure of is, that 
 thousands of our nobles did their duty gal- 
 lantly, fought well, and if they did not con- 
 quer, died, or were taken prisoners, when ihey 
 could resist no more." 
 
 " And is that all that you am sure of, Albert 
 Denyn?" continued his companion, in a stern 
 and reproachful tone ; " is that all that you have 
 learned ? you, who so lately have travelled all the 
 way to Poitiers, to inquire about our lord ? Do 
 you not know, that the country is in misery 
 and starvation ? Do you not know, that the 
 peasantry are oppressed and ground into the 
 dust? Do you not know, that even where the 
 cruel lord of the land spares the countrymen, 
 the bloody hand of the adventurers, who ravage 
 the country, plagues them at their very hearths 
 with fire and sword ? Do you not know, that 
 the misery, the agony, and the distress of the 
 people, can reach no higher point? that they 
 labour in the fields with their terrified eyes 
 looking round every moment for an enemy? 
 that they pass by the chateau and the town in
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 55 
 
 haste, lest the scourge of their oppressors should 
 reach them on the way ? that they dare not 
 sleep even in their wretched cabins for fear the 
 robbers should be upon them? and that they 
 lie through the miserable night in boats moored 
 in the river, or the lake, lest murder, and viola- 
 tion, and wrong should visit their habitation in 
 the darkness ? Do you not know all this, Al- 
 bert Denyn? and do you find nothing to pity 
 in the state of our brethren throughout the 
 land ?» 
 
 " I have heard that such things do exist," 
 replied the other, in a sad tone ; " but on the 
 road to Poitiers I saw litde of them. I saw the 
 effects of war : I saw desolated fields, and people 
 in distress, and much mourning, and many a 
 noble castle ruined and destroyed; but the 
 peasant seemed to have suffered less than his 
 lord ; and I was told every where that the adven- 
 turers made war upon the palace, but not upon 
 the cottage. Yet I say not, Caillet, that your 
 representation is not just : I am aware that 
 such great miseries exist : I am aware that 
 want and starvation reign in some of the finest 
 E 4
 
 56 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 parts of France; and, from my very soul, I 
 grieve for and pity the poor creatures who are 
 so suffering." 
 
 " Ay," said Caillet, in a musing tone, " I 
 have been told, that on the side of Poitiers the 
 famine is not so bad ; but I will tell you, Albert, 
 what I myself have seen. I have seen a dying 
 child clinging to the cold breast of its dead 
 mother, and seeking nourishment in vain, while 
 the famished father sat by, and saw, and could 
 give no aid, because he had not seen food him- 
 self for many a day. This was the first sight I 
 beheld, when I was lately sent to Brie. A little 
 farther on I came to a brighter scene, a spot 
 in the hills, which seemed to have escaped the 
 scourge of war, and to enjoy as much happiness 
 as yet remained in France. The fields were 
 rich and plentiful — it was then, you know, the 
 time of harvest — and abundant sheafs of corn 
 loaded the ground. I even heard a peasant 
 singing — a sound that had not met my ear for 
 many a day ; but suddenly I saw a band of 
 men come down from the neighbouring castle 
 with carts and waggons, many a train; they
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 57 
 
 came into those fields ; they took up that liar- 
 vest ; they loaded their waggons therewith ; 
 they asked no man's leave ; they gave no man 
 an account ; all they said was, that it was for 
 their lord's ransom — their lord, who had been 
 taken while flying like a coward from the field 
 of Poitiers. I turned to look for the man 
 who had been singing, and saw him sitting 
 with the tears flowing from his eyes, thinking 
 of the coming winter, and the misery of his 
 wife and children. I rode on as fast as I could 
 go, for the sight was terrible to me ; and at 
 length I heard the sound of merriment, the 
 tabret and the flute, and my heart rejoiced at 
 the sound. Dismounting from my horse, I 
 went into the village to see what good fortune 
 could make people so happy in the midst of 
 misery and sorrow. It was a marriage going 
 on, and the farmer's daughter was being led 
 back from the church to the sound of the pipe. 
 All that her parents could spare had been given 
 to deck her out upon her bridal day. She 
 was as' fair a young creature as ever you be- 
 held, not unlike our own sweet lady of the
 
 5b THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 castle;" and as he spoke, Caillet fixed his eyes 
 keenly upon the countenance of his companion, 
 repeating, " not unlike, I say, the Lady Adela. 
 Her bridegroom walked beside her, and ever 
 and anon he turned to gaze upon her, thinking 
 that she was his own, and never to be parted 
 from him again. But at that moment came by 
 a gay troop, with glittering garments, and gold, 
 and furs, and all the good peasants bowed them 
 lowly down before the lord of the village and 
 his guests. So the noble stopped to speak, 
 and to gaze upon the peasant's daughter in her 
 bridal finery ; and he said a world of gallant 
 things to her, and told her she was as fair as 
 any lady in the land; and then she blushed to 
 hear such praises, and looked lovelier than 
 before. At length he went away ; but ere he 
 had been gone half an hour, his people came 
 down, to summon the young bride up to the 
 castle, without father, or brother, or mother, or 
 husband; and when she trembled, and would 
 not go, they took her by force; and when the 
 bridegroom strove to rescue her, they struck
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 59 
 
 him with a partisan upon the head, and left 
 him as one dead upon the ground." 
 
 " And was he dead," exclaimed Albert, with 
 his eyes flashing fire ; " and was he really dead ?" 
 
 " I know not," answered the other coldly, 
 but in his heart well pleased to see the eager- 
 ness which he had raised in his companion ; " I 
 know not. It was no business of mine, you know, 
 Albert; — they were but peasants — villeins — 
 serfs. — ' How now, Jacques Bonhomme !' cried 
 the lord's bailiff, as he struck the bridegroom 
 on his head with his partisan. ' Dare you 
 resist my lord's will?' and I heard the iron 
 strike against the bone of his skull." 
 
 " But was he dead ? — What became of the 
 bride?" demanded Albert, eagerly. " You did 
 not leave them so, Caillet. Was he dead, I 
 say?" 
 
 " Better for him if he had been," replied 
 Caillet, in a solemn tone : " he lived, but how 
 long I know not. His bride did not return for 
 several days ; and she was dead ere I passed by 
 again." 
 
 Albert Denyn pressed his hands upon his
 
 60 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 eyes, and remained for several minutes in deep 
 thought. Caillet took care not to disturb his 
 reverie, adding not another word to those v^rhich 
 had produced the effect he wanted. At length 
 Albert raised his head suddenly, and started up 
 from the spot where they were sitting, exclaim- 
 ing, " It is time that I should go, Caillet : it is 
 time that I should go." 
 
 " Nay, nay," replied the oth^r, " you have 
 half an hour yet, and I have much to say ; - — 
 but I know whither you would go, and I cannot 
 blame you. Though I grieve for you, Albert, I 
 cannot blame you — for she is well worthy of 
 love." 
 
 " Who ? What do you mean ? " exclaimed 
 Albert Denyn. " I know not what you would 
 say, Caillet." 
 
 " You know right well, Albert Denyn ! " re- 
 plied Caillet ; "" but don't let me pry into your 
 secrets. Once we were friends, but now you 
 give me not your confidence; and yet I wish 
 ycu well, and would fain see you happy. You 
 might be so, too, were you other than 'you are; 
 but they have taken care so to enthral you with
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 61 
 
 prejudices, that I fear you will not dare to strive 
 for the prize, were you even certain of winning 
 it." 
 
 Albert gazed at him for a moment, and then 
 resuming his seat, once more covered his eyes 
 with his hands, and seemed to fall into deep 
 thought. Caillet also bent his look upon the 
 ground, in a musing mood ; but he turned his 
 gaze from time to time for a single moment 
 upon his young companion, calculating all that 
 w^as passing within, till, at length, judging that 
 what he had said had worked in his mind suf- 
 ficiently, he once more renewed the subject. 
 
 " I cannot blame you, Albert," he said, " and 
 you might be happy, if you would ; but with 
 your feelings and your thoughts in regard to 
 our tyrant masters, what you dream of is mad- 
 ness, and every thought that you give to her is 
 but adding to your own misery." 
 
 " And it is madness in you to speak thus, 
 Caillet," replied Albert, suddenly rising again ; 
 " utter madness ! You know not what you 
 speak of I You do not know my feelings, nor 
 my thoughts ! You fancy that I imagine things
 
 62 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 impossible, when no such ideas ever enter into 
 my mind. It is phrensy, William Caillet : I 
 tell youj it is sheer phrensy in you to talk thus ; 
 and would be worse in me to listen to you." 
 
 " Stay, Albert, yet stay a moment," replied 
 Caillet, laying his hand upon his arm. " You 
 must listen to a few words more, as you have 
 heard so much already. You need not go 
 to the castle yet : the captal is with the lady 
 Adela; and if I judged his looks last night 
 aright, he will not thank the man who in- 
 terrupts him. You may well spare me a few 
 minutes more; and ere you again say that I 
 know not the feelings of your heart, be a little 
 more sure that the assertion is true." 
 
 " You do not know, you cannot know," an- 
 swered Albert, vehemently, but still with a 
 sudden degree of hesitation and sinking of his 
 voice, which showed the keen eye of his com- 
 panion that he was afraid the inmost thoughts 
 of his bosom were really discovered. Gently 
 drawing him by the arm, Caillet made him once 
 more sit down by him, saying, " Albert Denyn, 
 it is a friend who speaks to you. Listen, and
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 63 
 
 I will show you what I know, or, if you like 
 the term better, what I fancy." 
 
 " You are wrong — you are wrong," replied 
 Albert, as he sat down ; " but speak on if you 
 will, it matters not : I am not the madman 
 that you think ;" and while his companion pro- 
 ceeded, he gazed forward upon vacancy with an 
 abstracted air, as if he would fain have per- 
 suaded himself and Caillet that he was utterly 
 indifferent to the subject of discourse. 
 
 His keen companion was not to be deceived, 
 however; and he went on, saying, "Do you 
 think, Albert, that I have gone on in the same 
 dwelling with you, except during the time that 
 you have been away at the abbey, for nearly 
 ten years, without knowing something of your 
 mind and character ? Do you think that I have 
 lived with you so intimately the last four years, 
 watching you every day, marking your every 
 action, and hearing your every word, without 
 knowing the passion that has been growing up 
 in your heart, without seeing that in some sort 
 it is returned?" 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! Caillet," replied his com-
 
 64 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 panion. " Returned ! — what mean you by re- 
 turned? — But I must not pretend to misun- 
 derstand you. Yet you are mistaken ; — in all 
 this you are mistaken. Passion ! — It cannot be 
 passion that I feel ; it is too humble, too lowly, 
 too hopeless. — Oh ! no, Caillet, no ; call it by 
 some other name — deep, deep devotion, if you 
 will — respect, admiration, love — yes, love ; — 
 love such as the most humble may feel to the 
 most high, but love without even a dream of 
 hope, without an expectation, without one pre- 
 sumptuous thought. — Oh ! no, Caillet, no; call 
 it not passion, that is not the name.'* 
 
 He spoke with great agitation and eagerness, 
 and when he had done, pressed his hand upon his 
 brow, and bent down his head upon his knee. 
 " Call it what name thou wilt, my good Albert," 
 replied Caillet, with a slight sneer: " thou art far 
 more learned than I am, though the chaplain 
 vowed I was agood scholar, too. — But, I say, call 
 it what thou wilt. So that my meaning is clear, 
 it is all the same to me." 
 
 " Returned!" continued Albert Denyn, again 
 raising his head, and heeding not the words of
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 65 
 
 his companion, but going on in the train of his 
 own thoughts; *' returned! — Vain, vain imagina- 
 tion ! Surely, Caillet, Satan must have put such 
 a vision in your mind to tempt and grieve me. 
 Oh ! no, as we have spoken thus far, 1 must 
 speak farther. I believe you love me, Caillet : I 
 am sure, at least, you would not injure me ; and 
 I will not deny that, to me, there seems about 
 that sweet lady's looks, and words, and move- 
 ments, some spirit almost divine, which hallows 
 the very ground on which she sets her foot. 
 How often have I stood, and watched for the 
 hour of her coming forth, as weary travellers 
 look for the rising of the sun ! How often have 
 I stood, when I could not, or dared not, join the 
 gay cavalcade, to gaze upon her from some 
 distant tower, as she followed her father, while 
 he flew his hawks over the plains round about ! 
 How often have 1 contented myself, since I 
 have lately been at the abbey, by standing in yon 
 meadow opposite, and watching the light in her 
 chamber window, and thinking that she sat 
 there at her orisons, while I prayed Heaven to 
 pour its blessings on her, loo ! " 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 " And has she not marked that service, that 
 devotion ? " said Caillet, more in the tone of an 
 assertion than a question. " Has she not marked 
 it, and rewarded it with smiles, such as she 
 bestows on none of all the household but your- 
 self?" 
 
 " Smiles," replied Albert ; *' oh ! yes, she 
 smiles kindly and sweetly, because she sees that 
 I would fain please and serve her ; but they are 
 cold, cold smiles, Caillet — cold to what I feel. 
 It is but the approbation that she gives to the 
 devoted servant of her house ; a passing casual 
 glance, with one kindly look upon him, who the 
 moment after is altogether forgotten, but who 
 never forgets her — no, not for one moment 
 throughout the livelong day. Yes, Caillet, you 
 have seen her smile upon me gently and placidly; 
 but as the moon shines on the water — bright 
 sweetness, without warmth. Oh ! no, Caillet, 
 no; that is no return for sensations such as 
 mine." 
 
 Caillet laughed, and answered, "And yet you 
 disclaim all passion, Albert. You own, however, 
 that she smiles upon you, and all who see her
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 67 
 
 know it. You acknowledge, too, that you love 
 her, and none who have eyes and see you near 
 her can doubt it. Nor do I deny that she is 
 worthy of all devotion, though she deals 
 proudly with me, as you well know. Though 
 when she passes by me, her head is carried 
 more haughtily, her eye assumes a deeper 
 fire, — though to me she takes all the air of 
 one of the proud tyrants of the land, yet I 
 deny not — nay I willingly allow, that her 
 beauty is worth the attachment of any one, 
 whether rich or poor, noble pr serf." 
 
 " Oh ! more than her beauty," exclaimed 
 Albert ; " her gentleness, her kindness, her true 
 nobility of nature, — those are worth love in- 
 deed. Were she not beautiful, I could love her 
 full as well." 
 
 Caillet smiled again. " Had she not been 
 beautiful," he said, " would you have ever felt 
 so, Albert?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes," replied the other, " beyond a 
 
 doubt. How many things would have made 
 
 me love her, — how many acts of kindness has 
 
 she shown me, — how much goodness that I have 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE JACQUERIK. 
 
 not deserved ! Thanks be to God, that I have 
 neither known sickness nor much care in life ; 
 but when her father's horse struck me on the 
 shoulder, and cast me down upon the ground, 
 what a cry she gave, and sprang forward to see 
 if I were hurt! — When have I asked for any 
 favour at the hands either of our noble lord or 
 the good prior, without her seconding my prayer, 
 and ensuring its success ? " 
 
 " And yet," said Caillet, " you would have 
 me think that she does not return your affec- 
 tion." 
 
 " I say again, it is but simple kindness 
 that she feels," replied Albert ; " when I tell 
 these things, I speak selfishly. Are there not 
 a thousand other motives for loving her besides 
 these ? I will ask you, Caillet, you yourself, who 
 judge so harshly — I will ask you, I say, whether 
 there was ever any one so tender, so gentle, so 
 beneficent to every one who approaches her ? 
 Have we not all seen her tend upon the sick bed 
 of a poor peasant with as much care as if that 
 peasant had been a prince? Do you not re- 
 member, when the poor girl Marritonne died,
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 69 
 
 how night after night she sat by her bedside, 
 watching her pale face, and giving her the cool 
 drink to quench the terrible thirst that she en- 
 dured ? " 
 
 " I know nothing of it," replied Caillet some- 
 what impatiently ; " I visited not the girl's sick 
 chamber ; and you, good Albert, can but know 
 this tale from the report of some of the serving 
 women." 
 
 " Nay, nay," replied Albert, " not from their 
 report, but my own eyesight, Caillet ; for I was 
 sent many a time by my good lord to call the 
 lady from a task which he feared might injure 
 her health. Twice, too, I went with him my- 
 self; so that I speak from my own knowledge, 
 Caillet, and not from the tales of any one, how- 
 ever true those tales might be. But why should 
 I pause upon one instance ? Do not you as well 
 as I know a thousand such acts ? You do not 
 doubt them any more than I do, Caillet. You 
 but affect to do so." 
 
 " Nay," answered Caillet, " I neither doubt, 
 nor affect a doubt. Have I not already said 
 that I hold her to be worthy of the love of any 
 F 3
 
 70 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 one? and only grieve, good Albert, that you 
 are mad enough to love her, or foolish enough 
 not to take the way of winning her." 
 
 " Winninsc her!" exclaimed the other with 
 an indignant scoff; *' you are indeed mad 
 now, Caillet, to talk of such a thing. We have 
 heard, it is true, of rich peasants marrying the 
 daughters of poor lords ; and the fabliau of the 
 Villein and the Lady shows us how the daughter 
 of a noble can shrink from such an union. 
 But for a poor peasant like me, depending 
 solely upon his lord's bounty, without even a 
 title to claim that — as I was not born on this 
 good lord's lands -— for one whom he first re- 
 ceived and protected from charity, whom he has 
 educated from kindness, and who is wholly 
 indebted to him for his daily bread, — for such 
 a one, I say, to dream of winning one whom 
 the whole country is ready to seek, — for whom 
 knights, and nobles, and the princes of the 
 land might well lay lance in rest, were some- 
 what worse than madness, Caillet. — Try not 
 to put such visions into my mind. You know, 
 as well as I, that such things are quite impos- 
 sible."
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 71 
 
 *' I know the contrary," replied Caillet in a 
 calm determined tone. " I know that they are 
 possible — quite possible ; but I will admit that 
 they are impossible to you^ for you will not take 
 the means to bring that prize within your reach 
 which is but at a bhort distance from your grasp. 
 I see that it is so : and though I do not regret 
 that I have spoken to you thus, yet 1 fear, Albert, 
 I fear for your own happiness that it will be in 
 vain. Come, let us go back." 
 
 Thus saying he rose, and walked slowly 
 towards the castle, with his companion at his 
 side, both musing and silent for some way; 
 though Caillet, notwithstanding the air of 
 indifference which he assumed, watched the 
 countenance of Albert eagerly though stealthily, 
 and tried to read thereon each passing emotion 
 which the dangerous words he had uttered 
 called up in his young comrade's heart. He 
 spoke not, however, thinking that he had said 
 enough for the day, and that at some after- 
 period he might return to the same theme. 
 
 But Albert himself was too much moved by- 
 all that he had heard to let the subject drop 
 F 4
 
 72 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 there ; and ere they had reached the foot of the 
 slope, he said, " Would to Heaven, Caillet, 
 that you had not spoken to me all you have 
 this day, or that you had said more." 
 
 " I will add more, if you desire it," replied 
 his companion. " I know that with you I am 
 safe in uttering all that I think ; but as to your 
 wishing that I had not spoken at all, that is a 
 weak wish, good Albert. Why should you 
 entertain it ? Is it because I have made you 
 look into your own heart, and see things in it 
 that you never beheld before ? — Is it because I 
 have made you look around at your situation, 
 and shown you that you are placed within reach 
 of honour and happiness, where great glory 
 and joy, and a bright name are to be gained, if 
 you will but seek them, although there be diffi- 
 culties and dangers in the way, strong resolu- 
 tions to be taken, and great exertions to be 
 made " 
 
 " I fear no difficulties, I fear no great exer- 
 tions," exclaimed Albert, eagerly ; " but you 
 have not shown me this " 
 
 Caillet went on, however, without heeding,
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 73 
 
 his fine countenance assuming an expression 
 even more stern than that which it usually 
 bore. — " Or is it because I have placed before 
 your eyes that which every Frenchman should 
 know, whatever be his rank, whatever be his 
 class ; namely, the dreadful state to which the 
 land has been reduced by the baseness of the 
 class that call themselves noble — because I have 
 shown you how shamefully they abuse the 
 power that they shamefully possess, — how the 
 poor peasant groans throughout the land — and 
 how dark a debt of crime and sorrow is daily 
 accumulating against the rich, the powerful, 
 and the great, which must one day be paid, 
 and that ere many years be past?" 
 
 Albert heard the latter part of Caillet's speech 
 in silence; but in the end replied, after musing 
 a moment or two over what had been said, 
 '' Caillet, 1 do not understand you clearly ; but 
 it is none of all these things that I wish I had 
 never heard. The words you have spoken this 
 day have kindled thoughts in my mind which 
 but for you could never have been there. You 
 are right well aware that hope once roused can
 
 74 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 sleep no more, and that whatever she has seized 
 remains in her grasp for ever. Why or w^here- 
 fore, you know best; but I see, Caillet — 1 see 
 clearly, that you have carefully tried to raise 
 hopes up in my bosom which should never be 
 there, and which it must now be the study of 
 my life to forget. Would to Heaven you 
 had never done this ! But as you have, you 
 must tell me why it has been done, why you 
 should seek to encourage feelings that you know 
 can but make me miserable — thoughts that 
 are worse than idle vanity, — that are wicked, 
 presumptuous, evil ! " 
 
 Caillet gazed upon him for a moment in 
 silence ere he replied, with a look that had 
 something contemptuous in it. The expression 
 of scorn, indeed, was so constantly upon his 
 countenance, that it was difficult to tell whether 
 the curl of his lip proceeded from some secret 
 emotion of the mind, or merely from an acci- 
 dental movement of the features ; but Albert, 
 who knew him well, saw that look, and was not 
 pleased with it; and although it passed away in 
 a moment, he remembered it when it was gone,
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 75 
 
 and recalled it afterwards, when many circum- 
 stances had changed their relative position to 
 each other. 
 
 " My answer to your question," said Caillet 
 at. length, "is very simple. I have done all 
 this that you say, in the hope of promoting 
 your happiness. . I have done it because the 
 feelings that you speak of need not necessarily 
 produce evil, or sorrow, or disappointment — 
 because, if you would yield to reason, give your 
 own mind sway, and exert those talents that 
 God has bestowed upon you, the very wishes 
 and the hopes that you entertain might lead 
 to the greatest results, and be beneficial both to 
 yourself and to your country." 
 
 " Still, still," replied Albert, " I know not 
 what you mean. I must hear more, Caillet, — 
 I must hear all." 
 
 " You shall," answered Caillet, " you shall 
 hear all, Albert, and I would fain tell you all 
 now; but, lo ! there comes the train of the good 
 prior over the hill, and we must both return to 
 the chateau. One word, then, for all, before we 
 go. The stale of misery in which France exists
 
 76 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 cannot endure much longer; the bondage in 
 which we, the peasantry of France, are kept, 
 must soon come to an end. Ere long, the 
 rights now withheld will be struggled for and 
 regained ; men will recover the privileges of 
 men, and will cast from them the yoke of others 
 not more worthy than themselves. We are on 
 the eve of great events; and when they come 
 to pass, if you but choose the side of honour 
 and freedom, you will win your own happiness, 
 as well as give happiness to thousands. — I ask 
 you to take no active part," he continued, seeing 
 a cloud come over his companion's brow at the 
 vague hints which he gave, — "I ask you to take 
 no active part as 7/ef, but merely to watch 
 events as they arise, to judge sanely, and act 
 nobly." 
 
 As soon as he had uttered these words, Caillet 
 — fearful that anything more might startle and 
 alarm his companion — left what he had said to 
 work out its effect, and to familiarise the mind 
 of Albert Denyn with thoughts of change and 
 strife, with which ideas he had, as we have 
 seen, contrived to mingle hopes and expect-
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 77 
 
 ations the most likely to have effect upon a 
 young and inexperienced mind. Without 
 pausing, then, to permit any farther questions 
 to be addressed to him at the time, he hurried 
 his pace back towards the castle, which they 
 reached not long before the arrival of the 
 train of horsemen whom they had seen coming 
 over the hill.
 
 78 TRE JACQUERIE. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 The sweet hours of the morning ! There is 
 nothing on earth like the sweet hours of the 
 morning ! It is the youth of the day ; and the 
 childhood of all things is beautiful. The fresh- 
 ness, the unpolluted freshness of infancy, hangs 
 about the early moments of the dawn ; the air 
 seems to breathe of innocence and truth ; the 
 very light is instinct with youth, and speaks of 
 hopes. Who is there that loves beauty and 
 brightness, and does not enjoy the early hours 
 of the morning ? 
 
 Such at least was not the case with the 
 Captal de Buch. Of all the heroic followers 
 of that heroic prince, whose deeds occupy so 
 great a space in the annals of British glory, 
 one of the most feeling, one of the most ima- 
 ginative, one of the most chivalrous, in the 
 best and highest sense of the word, was that
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 79 
 
 famous leader, who led the small body of horse 
 which by a sudden and unexpected charge 
 contributed so much to win the battle of 
 Poitiers. His whole life proved it, and his 
 death not less so. 
 
 Although I know not that he has left any 
 thing like verse behind, yet it is evident that 
 his heart overflowed with the true spirit of 
 poetry; and often in the camp or the fortress, 
 when he had spent a great part of the night 
 in watching, he would rise betimes like any 
 common soldier in the army, to mark the bright 
 dawning of the day, and enjoy all the fresh 
 beauties of the early morning. It was so even 
 now in the castle of Mauvinet ; and with the 
 first stirrers in the place he was on foot, and 
 gazing forth from the window of his chamber 
 upon the clear, grey coming of the autumnal 
 day. Each object that his eye rested on sug- 
 gested some new train of thought, excited some 
 fi'esh current of feelings ; and he stood for 
 more than an hour, sometimes turning his eyes 
 upon the soldiers below, as they wrestled and 
 pitched the bar, sometimes gazing up towards
 
 80 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 the hills, and marking the gleams and shadows 
 which the floating clouds cast upon the meadows 
 and the woods. 
 
 In his fanciful mood he compared those 
 meadows and woods to man and his ever-chang- 
 ing fate and fortunes, — now looking bright and 
 smiling, now plunged into gloom and obscu- 
 rity ; and all by objects which are but vapour, 
 blown hither and thither by the breath of 
 accident. For the autumn colours of the woods, 
 too, he would have a likeness ; and he thought 
 that that rich brown was like the hue of 
 mature life, when the vigorous fruits of judgment 
 and experience are succeeding to the green 
 leaves and fresh flowers of youth. All things, in 
 short, excited his imagination at that moment, 
 even more than was usually the case; for the 
 fair being with whom he had passed a few 
 short hours on the preceding night had 
 awakened sensations, which always, more or 
 less, rouse fancy from her slumbers even in 
 the most dull and unideal breast. 
 
 As he thus stood and gazed, he marked the 
 youth who had conducted him thither on
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 81 
 
 the preceding night, walking forward, as we 
 have shown, with his companion towards the 
 hill; and when once his eye had lighted on him, 
 he continued to look after him, — not exactly 
 watching his movements, but with a certain 
 feeling of interest, for which it was difficult to 
 account. 
 
 <' It is strange," he said to himself, after a 
 time, — " it is strange how we sometimes feel 
 towards persons, the first time we behold them, 
 sensations totally different from those which we 
 ever experience towards others — affection, dis- 
 like, confidence, esteem ! I remember once being 
 told by an old priest, who thought much of 
 such things, that when we find such an interest 
 suddenly arise in our hearts, without being 
 able to discover any real cause, either reason- 
 able or unreasonable, we may be sure that our 
 fate is some way connected with that of the 
 person who has excited it; and that sooner or 
 later, perhaps many years after, our weal or 
 woe will be affected by our acquaintance with 
 him. I must hear more of that youth; for it 
 is strange why I should experience sensations 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 towards him different from those called forth by 
 any other peasant that one meets with every 
 day. Who is that with him, I wonder, — a 
 tall powerful fellow, who would make a good 
 billman in case of need?" 
 
 The captal continued to gaze for some time, 
 till at length a sewer, with one of his own at- 
 tendants, summoned him to breakfast; and 
 descending he found the whole of the party of 
 the castle assembled in the hall, except the young 
 Lady Adela, who sent him kindly greeting, but 
 did not appear herself 
 
 An old knight, whose years and station placed 
 him highest in the household of the Senechal of 
 Touraine, led the captal by the hand to the 
 seat of honour, and then sat down beside 
 him. But as it is not the object of this book 
 to describe the particular customs of the day, 
 and rather its intent to deal with the men than 
 the manners of the times, I shall pass over all 
 the ceremonies of the breakfast, though those 
 were days in which ceremonies were not few, 
 and proceed at once to the moment when the 
 captal, having finished his meal and washed his
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 83 
 
 hands, the old knight we have mentioned in- 
 vited him, in his lady's name, to visit her in her 
 own apartment. 
 
 The captal followed willingly enough; and 
 when he saw Adela de Mauvinet by the morn- 
 ing light, he thought her still more beautiful 
 than on the preceding night. Her young 
 brother was with her ; and again and again 
 they both thanked him, not only for the good 
 tidings that he had brought, but for the kindness 
 which had prompted him to bring them that 
 intelligence himself. The captal, according to 
 the custom of the day, denied all merit, but 
 yet was not sorry to hear such words from such 
 lips ; and as the boy was very like his sister, he 
 bestowed on him the caresses that he could not 
 oiFer to her. A short time thus passed joyfully; 
 but the interview was not destined to be long 
 uninterrupted, for a few minutes after, the door 
 opened, and Albert Denyn appeared, with a fa- 
 miliarity that somewhat surprised the captal. 
 
 He was received by the lady with a smile, which 
 for an instant made a strange feeling of dis- 
 pleasure pass through the warrior's heart, though 
 G 2
 
 84 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 he would have laughed if any one had told him 
 he was in love with the lady, or jealous of the 
 peasant page. The demeanour of the youth 
 himself was all respect and reverence ; his coun- 
 tenance was grave, and even melancholy, and 
 all his tones were sad. 
 
 " I come, lady," he said, as soon as he en- 
 tered, " to tell you, that my lord the prior 
 must be even now at the gates. I saw him 
 riding over the hill with a large train, and 
 hastened to inform you, as I thought you might ^ 
 wish to meet him on the steps." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, yes !" cried the Lady Adela, joy- 
 fully, "let us go, let us go ! You know my 
 dear uncle already, my lord captal," she con- 
 tinued, " and can well judge what joy his pre- 
 sence gives me whenever he can come hither." 
 
 " I have seen him but once, sweet lady," re- 
 plied the captal; "but after that once I need no 
 assurance that his disposition is one to win 
 love as well as respect from all who know him 
 well." 
 
 " You do him but justice," replied the lady, 
 suffering him to take her hand, to lead her
 
 THE JACQUERIE, 85 
 
 down; "you do him but justice; as you will 
 each day feel more and more, when longer ac- 
 quaintance shows you his heart more fully." 
 
 The train of the prior had not yet passed the 
 causeway, when the Lady Adela, the captal, 
 and the lady's brother, followed by Albert 
 Denyn, reached the steps which led from the 
 great gates down to the open space between it 
 and the barbican. A number of the retainers 
 of the castle were already congregated there to 
 receive the brother of their lord ; but with con- 
 fusion somewhat unusual, they were gathered 
 into separate groups, speaking low together, and 
 fixing their eyes with a degree of anxiety upon 
 the troop that approached, which was certainly 
 larger than the train with which the good prior 
 generally travelled. All made way, how^ever, 
 for the lady and her company, and she paused 
 upon the steps while the new-comers advanced 
 across the causeway, three abreast, and then 
 passed the barbican. 
 
 As they came nearer, however, the eye of the 
 captal lighted up with a look of eagerness. 
 The young Lord of Mauvinet laid his hand 
 G 3
 
 86 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 suddenly upon his sister's arm, and the next 
 instant Adela herself, with a cry of joy, 
 darted down the steps like lightning, and in a 
 moment was clasped in the arms of a noble- 
 looking man, who followed close upon the right 
 of the prior. Her little brother sprang after-' 
 her as fast as his young limbs would carry him, 
 and he, also, with tears of pleasure, was pressed to 
 his father's heart, while the acclamations of the 
 retainers round about rent the air ; and the glad 
 faces that every where presented themselves told 
 how truly loved a feudal lord might make him- 
 self, if he chose to exercise the great power that 
 he possessed with benevolence and humanity. 
 
 As soon as he had received the welcome of 
 his children, the Lord of Mauvinet turned to 
 the Captal de Buch, and greeted him as a well- 
 loved friend; but his next salutation, to the 
 surprise of that nobleman, was given to the 
 youth, Albert Denyn. To him the count extend- 
 ed his hand ; and though the youth bent down to 
 kiss it respectfully, the senechal pressed his with 
 fatherly kindness, saying, " I have heard, Albert, 
 of all that vou did to discover me, or at
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 87 
 
 least to find my bones, at the peril of your own 
 life and liberty. I knew, my boy, that your 
 love would not fail me, and I thank you 
 much." 
 
 The young man heard him in silence, with- 
 out venturing a word in reply ; but tears rose 
 in his eyes, while his look spoke how happy 
 his lord's commendation made him; and 
 bowing low, he retired speedily amongst the 
 throng, with a reverence to the prior as he 
 passed, and one brief glance towards the captal 
 and the Lady Adela, 
 
 From feelings that he could not explain, the 
 captal watched the youth with perhaps more 
 attention than he had ever before bestowed on 
 any person of the same rank ; but, just and 
 generous under all cii'cumstances, he admitted 
 to his own heart that the young man's de- 
 meanour fully justified that affection and esteem 
 which the whole family of his lord displayed 
 towards him. 
 
 As may be well supposed, after his long 
 absence and supposed death, there was many 
 a one to claim the Lord of Mauvinet's at- 
 G 4
 
 88 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 tention, and to congratulate him upon his 
 return ; and for all, he had some kindly word, 
 which sent them away content with the atten- 
 tion which they had received. Amongst the 
 rest the baron remarked Caillet, spoke to him 
 kindly and familiarly ; but not in the same 
 terms of confidence and regard which he had 
 used towards Albert Denyn. His notice, how- 
 ever^ called the attention of the captal to the 
 striking person of the young peasant ; and he 
 gazed at him for some time, examining with 
 keen and experienced eyes a countenance, 
 which might well afford matter of curious 
 speculation. 
 
 It would appear that the result was not 
 satisfactory to the captal, for his brow became 
 slightly contracted; and walking beside the 
 prior's mule, he asked him, " Who is that 
 strong, well-looking youth, my lord prior, with 
 whom your brother is now speaking?" 
 
 " His name is Caillet," replied the prior : 
 ** he is a young man of great talent, born on 
 my brother's estates in Beauvoisis. The good 
 chaplain tried to make a priest of him, but
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 89 
 
 failed : not for want of quickness on the part of 
 his scholar, but from somewhat too great quick- 
 ness and a strength of determination not easily 
 mastered. What he thought fit to study he 
 acquired with surprising ease, and much he 
 learned that good Father Robert would fain 
 have prevented ; but what he did not choose to 
 apply to, nothing on earth would make him 
 look at." 
 
 " I should judge so," replied the captal, 
 " from his face : a sturdy and determined spirit 
 is written in every line, and no slight opinion of 
 himself." 
 
 *' He is not humble," replied the prior, but 
 made no other comment. 
 
 When they had passed on into the chateau, 
 one of the first tasks of its lord was to beseech 
 the Captal De Buch to spend some short time 
 as a guest in the castle of Mauvinet ; and, to 
 say the truth, the captal had no strong inclina- 
 tion to refuse ; for bright eyes were there which 
 had about them a strange fascination, that the 
 heart of the gallant knight was not well cal- 
 culated to resist. He agreed willingly, then, to
 
 90 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 spend ten days with his noble prisoner in the 
 forest sports of those times; and the Lord of 
 Mauvinet sincerely rejoiced to secure the 
 society of one whom he had learned to love 
 and to respect during the tedious hours of his 
 captivity in England. 
 
 Let us leave the count for a time, however, 
 in the embraces of his children, and the first 
 delights of his return, and turn to others with 
 whom we shall have more to do than even with 
 that nobleman himself. The captal, on his 
 part, knew that there are moments when the 
 society of any one, however friendly, may be a 
 restraint upon feelings which require full in- 
 dulgence; and not long after they had entered 
 the castle he drew the prior of Montvoye 
 aside, saying, " You have ridden far this 
 morning, my good lord prior, otherwise I 
 would claim your company for a walk in the 
 sunshine yonder under the castle-wall; but if 
 you will be a guest of my chamber for half an 
 hour, I would fain ask you a question or two 
 about my young guide of last night, and make 
 you a proposal about him, which may, perhaps.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 91 
 
 meet your views and his, perhaps not, but 
 which you shall decide when j'ou have heard 
 it fully." 
 
 " I am no way fatigued, my good lord," 
 replied the prior, " and will willingly be the 
 comrade of your walk. Albert is as good a 
 youth as ever lived, and right gladly shall I 
 hear any thing for his advantage." 
 
 Leaving the count and his children, then, 
 alone, the prior and the captal issued forth, and 
 took their way through the many square courts 
 of the castle — into the depth of which, enclosed 
 as they were by tall buildings, the sunshine 
 rarely found its way, except at noon — till they 
 issued forth by one of the posterns upon the 
 meadow under the walls, which we have already 
 more than once mentioned. They there again 
 paused to gaze at the scene around, both en- 
 joying greatly the picturesque beauties of the 
 landscape. 
 
 It would be an egregious mistake to suppose 
 that in that age, however rude and barbarous 
 in some respects, there did not exist a love for, 
 and fine appreciation of, all that is beautiful in
 
 9*2 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 this world, in which our lot is cast. The very 
 architecture of the time shows that such a feel- 
 ing of the graceful and the sublime existed : the 
 fifteenth century followed soon after, with all 
 its miracles of art ; and even at the time of 
 which I speak there were many persons living 
 who had in their own bosoms as much of the 
 spirit of the picturesque as a Prout or a Turner, 
 though they had not a knowledge of how to re- 
 present for others that which they felt so keenly. 
 
 After having gazed, then, for some moments, 
 over the fair prospect which was to be seen from 
 the meadow, the captal turned to the prior to 
 resume the subject of their discourse, first com- 
 menting for a moment, as was natural, on 
 that which had just occupied his attention. 
 " This is as sweet a spot, my lord prior," he 
 said, " as ever I beheld — calm, bright, and 
 beautiful!" 
 
 " Heaven keep it peaceful, too !" replied the 
 prior. " We have as yet luckily escaped here 
 many of the horrors of war ; and I trust it may 
 be long ere we know any thing of that deso- 
 lating power. But you, of course, noble
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 93 
 
 captal," he continued, " cannot look upon the 
 sad pursuits of strife with the same horror that 
 I do." 
 
 "I suppose not, good father," replied the 
 captal : " each man has in this world his vo- 
 cation ; and I cannot but think that war, when 
 honourably waged and justly undertaken, is 
 the most noble calling that man can have. So 
 it would seem, too, thinks the youth of whom 
 we were speaking. From what you said, I 
 took an interest in him, and I asked him some 
 questions on the road last night. His answers 
 pleased me well: he seems frank and true. 
 But I have lived long enough in the world, 
 good prior, to know that frankness is sometimes 
 assumed as one of the cunningest cloaks for 
 cunning ; and I would fain know from you 
 what is this youth's real disposition." 
 
 " He is truth and honour itself, my lord," 
 replied the prior. " In no rank have I ever 
 found so much sincerity, so much unvarying 
 uprightness of heart, so scrupulous a regard for 
 plighted faith, so knightly a scorn of falsehood." 
 
 " The character you give him is high, in-
 
 94 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 deed," replied the captal ; " doubtless, too, he 
 is brave — at least he has the air, the eye, of a 
 brave man." 
 
 " Ay, and the heart," answered the prior. 
 " After that sad field of Poitiers, when terror 
 and consternation spread over the whole king- 
 dom, and every day brought past this place parties 
 of fugitives, each full of wild tales of English 
 bands pursuing, ravaging the country round, 
 and slaying all they met with — when the 
 dauphin himself scarcely dared to pause for 
 half an hour, to take some light refreshment 
 here, and when his own attendant^ told the 
 same tale of the whole land being covered 
 by your troops — that lad, when no other 
 would go, went boldly to the very field of 
 Poitiers itself, to seek his lord, and, at no 
 persuasion, would take the cognisance of the 
 house of Mauvinet from his bonnet." 
 
 " He was quite safe !" said the captal — " we 
 warred not with peasants." 
 
 " True, my lord, true, my lord," replied 
 the prior ; " but that sad disease, terror, has its 
 delirium, like all other fevers; and our pea-
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 95 
 
 santry fled as fast or even faster than many of 
 their lords. It was vain to argue, it was 
 vain to reason with them. Day after day 
 brought new rumours, each more wild and 
 foolish than the former. Xo man consulted 
 his understanding — no man believed aught but 
 the last tale of terror which the day brought 
 forth; and, in some parts of the country, the 
 fields and villages were quite deserted. Why, 
 the very ferries over the river were, in many 
 places, left without boats or boatmen. But, 
 in the midst of all this, Albert pursued his way, 
 and searched for his lord, far and near, for 
 several weeks. 
 
 " He is such as I thought him," replied the 
 captal ; " and what I was going to propose as a 
 favour to him, I shall now ask, my good lord, 
 as a favour to myself. His taste, it seems, is 
 for arms. In France he can never hope to rise 
 higher than a mere common soldier of some 
 commune, or, at best, the constable of a band 
 of burgesses. In England, such distinctions 
 are not to be found. The noble, it is true, is 
 still noble, but we have no such things as
 
 96 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 villeins; they have been long done away in 
 that land, though, at one time, the custom did 
 exist there as well as in France. With us in 
 Gascony there are villeins enough ; but if you 
 will give the youth to me, he shall serve in my 
 band till I can get him better service in 
 England. And as I must pass my leisure time, 
 whilst this truce exists, in seeking some feats of 
 arms elsewhere, doubtless he may gain some 
 renown, which will obtain for him consideration 
 in a country where great deeds are always 
 honoured, let the doer of them be who he may. 
 This is the proposal that I have to make, my 
 lord prior, in regard to your young client. 
 I thought of offering it last night, when you 
 spoke about his wish for arms, but I judged it 
 better to wait till I had seen farther. What 
 say you ; shall it be so?" 
 
 Somewhat to the surprise of the Captal de 
 Buch, the prior hesitated ere he replied, and 
 then answered, " I must consult my brother 
 first, my good lord. It is he who brought up 
 the youth, not I ; he has only been resident
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 97 
 
 with me since the battle, when I thought it best 
 that lie should be at the abbey." 
 
 " May I inquire, good father," demanded 
 the captal, " was there any thing in his conduct 
 to show that he could not be trusted except 
 under your eye ?" 
 
 " No, no ! " apswered the prior, eagerly ; 
 " nothing of the kind, my good lord. But my 
 brother, who had his o\\ti views for him, being 
 supposed dead, I saw no fate before him but the 
 cloister or the priest's office, and it was with the 
 object of providing for him thus that I took 
 him. Now, however, that the count has re- 
 turned in safety, he of course must act as before, 
 and I must either refer you to him, or consult 
 with him upon the subject myself, before I give 
 you a reply." 
 
 " Consult with him, by all means," answered 
 the captal ; "if you think what I have proposed 
 advantageous for the youth, well ! I am ready 
 to do my best for him ; if not, it is well also ; only 
 I do beseech you, my good lord prior, do not 
 make him a priest against his will ; for if you do, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 the community will suffer fully as much a^ him- 
 self." 
 
 " Far be it from me," replied the prior, smiling, 
 " and I feel very sure that I might at once ac- 
 cept your offer ; for I know that my brother 
 seeks nothing but Albert's good, and your 
 proposal is most generous and kind. Never- 
 theless, there are some things to be considered, of 
 which I will speak with you more hereafter ; but 
 in the mean time, I thank you gratefully on 
 Albert's part for the bounty that you show 
 him." 
 
 The captal bowed somewhat stiffly ; for from 
 what the prior had said the day before, he had 
 not doubted that he would eagerly avail himself 
 of any means to promote the young peasant's 
 wishes for a military life. And it must be re- 
 membered, that the offer of the knight was one 
 that might well be received with gladness, even 
 by a youth of the very highest rank. Renown 
 in arms was then the first claim to reverence 
 from all classes; and the fame of the captal, 
 as a commander, was scarcely second to that 
 of any one in the days wherein he lived. In
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 99 
 
 that famous order of chivalry, which, both from 
 its priority in point of time, and the renown 
 of those w4io have borne it, leaves every other 
 but a mere shadow, I mean the order of the 
 Garter, his name stands fifth amongst the 
 foundei's, and with only one subject between him 
 and princes of the royal blood; and, in those 
 times, that distinction was held far higher than 
 even now. Weil might the captal think that the 
 offer he made in favour of a mere French peasant 
 was one of no slight kindness ; and well might 
 he feel somewhat surprised that the prior should 
 receive it with any hesitation, however slight. 
 He pressed the matter no farther, then, at the 
 time; but after speaking gravely with his com- 
 panion on other subjects, he returned with him 
 to the hall, jested for a few minutes with some 
 of the French gentlemen present, displayed his 
 great muscular powers and skill in one or two 
 feats of strength, and then retiring to his cham- 
 ber, was heard singing to an instrument of music, 
 which was always borne with him by one of his 
 train. At dinner, too, he was somewhat grave ; 
 but afterwards, as the shades of evening were 
 H 2
 
 100 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 beginning to fall, he was seen walking with the 
 prior and the Count of Mauvinet, and bearing 
 a lighter countenance, while all three spoke in 
 somewhat low tones together, and the attendants 
 kept far behind. They were at this time beyond 
 the great moat, and under a small hanging 
 wood. As they proceeded, something was heard 
 to rustle amongst the brown leaves within ear- 
 shot of the pages. " There is a wolf!" cried 
 one of the boys, throwing a stone into the 
 covert ; but the sound instantly ceased, and they 
 passed on.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 101 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 Nearly a fortnight passed over in tae chateau 
 of Mauvinet without any one incident worthy 
 of remark, and yet there is much to tell. The 
 small things of life are often more important than 
 the great, the slow than the quick, the still than 
 the noisy. The castle, and the palace, and the 
 church stand for years the raging of the wind, 
 the beating of the rain, the red bolt of the light- 
 ning, yet crumble down beneath the quiet touch 
 of time, without any one seeing where and when 
 the fell destroyer is at work. There may well 
 be no great incident, and yet a change the 
 most happy, or the most disastrous, may have 
 taken place in the space of a few short days. 
 
 There was then, as we have said, much to tell, 
 
 though there was no marked event upon which 
 
 the pen of the narrator can dwell. There had 
 
 been forest sports, the hunting of the boar and 
 
 H 3
 
 102 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 the wolf; there had been the flight of the falcon 
 over the valleys and the plains around ; there 
 had been gay autumnal evenings within the 
 castle-walls, with the blazing fire, and the cheer- 
 ful tale, and the song of chivalry and love, and the 
 sharp sirvente, and sometimes the merry dance. 
 In fact, the time had passed so gaily, that one 
 might almost have forgotten the terrible state of 
 the country around, had it not been that from 
 time to time a report reached the castle of out- 
 rages committed by this and that band of 
 marauders, and once rumour brought the adven- 
 turers so near that the Lord of Mauvinet and the 
 Captal de Buch both rode out armed to give 
 them the encounter, and drive them forth from 
 Touraine. The report proved false, however, 
 and was, in fact, merely one of those tales of 
 terror which circulated from mouth to mouth 
 throughout the land. 
 
 On all these things it is unnecessary to dwell 
 longer, as they afford no matter of interest but 
 for those who may be inclined to study deeply 
 the manners of the times; but day by day, and 
 hour by hour, and moment by moment, feelings
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 103 
 
 were coming into the bosom of Captal de Bucb, 
 such as he had never before experienced. Ere 
 a week was over, he had fully determined to 
 demand the hand of Adela de Mauvinet, and t^ 
 rest of the fortnight he employed in e- .y 
 seekinoj her ref^ard. 
 
 Love in a young and timid p: .nay often, 
 from its very newness and ir'^ jsity, baffle its 
 own endeavours; it may obscure high talents 
 and bright qualities, and weigh down the eager 
 and the ardent spirit, and even the active and 
 powerful mind, so that the lover may appear 
 in the very worst light to the person he most 
 wishes to please ; but with knowledge and 
 experience of the world, and that confidence 
 in one's own powers, that just appreciation of 
 ourselves which nothing but such knowledge 
 of the world can give, love produces none of 
 those results, but, on the contrary, stimulates 
 every nerve to exertion, acuminates every faculty 
 of the mind and the body, and teaches us to 
 display to the very best advantage every grace 
 or perfection that we may happen to possess. 
 
 Such, then, was the case with the Captal de 
 H 4
 
 104 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 Buch ; he certainly loved deeply and well ; he 
 felt for Adela what he had never felt for any 
 one else — and his whole mind was bent upon 
 ' <^aining her regard. But those very sensa- 
 tiv '^nly induced him to put forth his great 
 power '^leas^*^ s called into activity the vigour 
 of his miii ^ taught him to use all those 
 means which, i knew right well, are the most 
 successful with the female heart. He was con- 
 stantly by her side when the opportunity 
 naturally presented itself. The tone of his 
 conversation was that which seemed best to 
 accord with the general character of her own 
 mind ; and yet the brilliancy of his thoughts, 
 the richness of idea which had been acquired 
 by seeing many scenes, mingling with many 
 events, and frequenting many courts, gave a 
 sort of sparkling effect to his conversation, even 
 when, as I have said, it took its general hue 
 from the character of her with whom he spoke. 
 It was as if his mind was a magic mirror which 
 reflected hers, but gave additional brightness 
 to all the images it received. 
 
 And yet — for generally in this world there
 
 THE JACQUERIE. l05 
 
 is some fatal abatement to the pleasure of the 
 day — and yet there was something in the 
 manner of Adela that surprised, disappointed, 
 and grieved the captal. That she did not dis- 
 like his society was evident ; that his words, 
 his manners, and accomplishments were justly 
 appreciated by her, was also clear ; but still 
 there was an indescribable something in her 
 manner which showed him that he did not 
 make that progress in her heart which he so 
 ardently desired. 
 
 On almost all subjects she spoke with him 
 willingly, cheerfully, but there was one on which 
 she spoke not at all. When he talked of love 
 she was silent — love, I mean in the abstract, 
 or with reference to others ; for his own love 
 towards her he had never yet ventured to tell. 
 The moment the subject was mentioned Adela 
 replied not, unless she was forced to do so, and 
 when such was the case answered but vaguely, 
 and generally fell into a fit of musing, from 
 which the captal found it difficult to rouse 
 her. He knev>' not how to account for such 
 conduct ; it appeared to him strange, and
 
 106 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 certainly alarmed him, but still he was quite 
 sufficiently in love to listen eagerly to any 
 thing that hope whispered. He thought to 
 himself, " She is so young, she knows not yet 
 what love is ; " and still he went on in the same 
 course, with little fear of ultimate success. 
 
 To those who knew her well, however, a 
 change might be seen in Adela herself; she 
 liad become graver, more thoughtful : at times 
 even somewhat sad. She showed no distaste 
 to the society of the captal : how could she 
 to that of a man who had saved her father's 
 life, who had been his friend in adversity, and 
 who had cheered for him the hours of captivity 
 and sorrow ? but still there was not that 
 alacrity in going forth with him which might 
 have been expected from her character in times 
 of old. The bounding joy with which at one 
 time she would have sprung to meet the de- 
 liverer of her parent was no longer seen. 
 
 The count himself remarked that it was so, 
 and he too thought it strange, although he 
 doubted not, and could not doubt, the affection 
 of his child. Still it struck him as extra-
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 107 
 
 ordinary, the more so, indeed, from all he 
 knew of Adela's character. There were others, 
 who marked the difference likewise, and on 
 whom it made the same impression. To Adela 
 no one said any thing, however ; and she re- 
 mained not only unconscious that the coldness 
 in her demeanour towards the captal had been 
 perceived, but in truth unconscious that there 
 was a coldness. Had she known it she would 
 certainly have been greatly grieved, — but whe- 
 ther she would have changed or not who can 
 say? 
 
 Thus passed the time with her. With her 
 father it might be somewhat different. It seldom 
 happens, I believe, that parents, even the most 
 anxious and careful, become aware of the at- 
 tachments which their children inspire, or of 
 the affections which they feel, till the time 
 to prevent the danger is over. Loving Adela, 
 as he did, the count thought naturally that she 
 v/as worthy of all admiration ; and in the cap- 
 tal's attention towards her he saw nothing but 
 what might naturally be expected from so 
 gallant a knight towards so fair a lady. In the
 
 108 THE JACQUEIUK. 
 
 end, indeed, he thought that there was some- 
 times a sparkling brightness in his guest's eyes, 
 which betrayed a greater degree of warmth 
 than the mere courtesy of the day required ; 
 but he marked it little, though others marked 
 it much, and he gave no thought to the question, 
 of whether it would please him well to see his 
 daughter united to the great English leader. 
 
 There was another, in regard to whom we 
 must also trace the passing of the time, although 
 he may seem a very insignificant personage 
 amongst those of whom we have been lately 
 speaking. That personage was Albert Denyn, 
 and he had also undergone a change ; he, too, 
 had become sad, and thoughtful, and gloomy. 
 Smiles had nearly forsaken his countenance 
 since the captal entered the castle of Mauvinet ; 
 and he was seen, day by day, wandering 
 through the woods and over the hills around, 
 with his eyes fixed upon the dull ground, as if 
 questioning his mother earth of his hard des- 
 tiny, and finding no reply; or sitting gazing 
 on the hilt of the sword, which he, as well as 
 Caillet, and several other favourite attendants
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 109 
 
 of the Lord of Mauvinet, were permitted to 
 wear ; as if demanding why the hand which 
 could use it as bravely as any lord in the land, 
 should not be held as noble as that of others 
 less worthy. 
 
 He seemed to avoid the society of all. The 
 tilt-yard and the meadow, where the soldiery 
 used to practise, and where he himself had a 
 sort of prescriptive right to mingle with others 
 of nobler birth, now beheld him no more; 
 and even Caillet, who, though he in general 
 sought conversation with few in the castle, 
 now looked for every opportunity of speaking 
 with him, found none without great diffi* 
 culty, and even when he did obtain a moment, 
 met with some interruption almost as soon as 
 their conference began. 
 
 The captal, from motives secret even to 
 himself, w^atched the young peasant, whenever 
 he happened to be in the same chamber with 
 him, and, more especially, when Adela was 
 there ; but he saw nothing but what the 
 youth's station in the household of the lady's 
 father warranted. There was deep respect and
 
 110 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 reverence, zeal and affection in his manner ; 
 but humble and calm withal, without presump- 
 tion in look or word. 
 
 The captal took it for granted, in the end, 
 that the youth's melancholy was habitual ; but 
 others knew better ; and more than one of 
 those who had been accustomed to see him the 
 gayest of a thousand gay hearts, now questioned 
 him regarding his sudden gloom. Amongst 
 the rest was the prior ; but the good father — 
 forced to reside at the abbey, and paying 
 but short visits to his brother's castle — saw 
 not many of those slighter traits which might, 
 perha]3S, have directed his judgment aright, 
 could he have watched them; and thus he 
 attributed Albert's sadness to motives far from 
 the real ones. 
 
 " My dear son," he said, one day, when he 
 w^as riding over to the castle, and found the 
 youth upon the hills by the way, " I have 
 remarked, with grief, the gloom that hangs 
 upon you; for I cannot but ascribe it, in 
 some degree, to what my brother and myself 
 have yielded to, out of kindness for you, with-
 
 THE JACQUERIE. Ill 
 
 out dreaming that it could produce pain and 
 sorrow instead." 
 
 The youth started and turned red, but in- 
 stantly became pale, demanding, '• What mean 
 you, father? I know not to what you can 
 allude." 
 
 " Nay ! my son," answered the prior, " I saw 
 this sadness fall upon you the moment we men- 
 tioned what we considered the splendid offer 
 made in your favour by the noble Captal de 
 Buch ; and I have marked the gloom coming 
 deeper and deeper every day since, so that I 
 cannot be mistaken." 
 
 Albert paused a moment, but his heart was 
 too pure and true to suffer him to take advan- 
 tage of the good prior's mistake, even to hide 
 the many feelings within his bosom that he 
 dared not avow ; and in this, as in all things, 
 he spoke the plain truth. *' Indeed, dear and 
 noble sir," he said, " you are mistaken. When 
 you told me of the generous offer of the cap- 
 tal, I became grave, perhaps, because my heart 
 was filled with two strong emotions — joy to 
 see what I had scarcely deemed possible ful-
 
 112 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 filled, and yet sorrow to part with many dear 
 and true friends such as I shall never find 
 again. Oh ! my lord, can you suppose that, 
 after all the kindness you have shown me, X 
 can think of the hour that must separate me 
 from your paternal care, perhaps for ever, 
 without a painful feeling of apprehension and 
 regret ? Can I either think of leaving my 
 noble lord, your brother, or our sweet lady 
 Adela, without deep grief? Oh ! no, my 
 lord. This, I assure you, was all that called a 
 shadow over my face when first you told me of 
 the captal's offer; and, since then, perhaps 
 other things — fancies — wayward fancies — ap- 
 prehensions of never seeing those I love again, 
 or seeing them changed towards me — or — or 
 — a thousand idle dreams, have made me sad ; 
 but this will all pass away when I am gone." 
 
 " Fear not ! Albert," replied the prior, gazing 
 on him with a look of approbation and regard — 
 " Fear not ! We shall meet again, and, perhaps, 
 in happier circumstances than the times admit 
 at present. Fear not, either, that you will find 
 us changed. We are not of a race that change.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 1 13 
 
 Only act honourably wherever you may be, 
 and you will learn that we are still the same 
 under all circumstances." 
 
 " I trust I ever shall act honourably, my 
 lord," replied Albert. " I have but one ap- 
 prehension ; and that is, that I may, at some 
 time, be compelled to lay down those arms 
 which I am now about to bear, by being called 
 to use them against France ; and should that 
 be " 
 
 " No fear ! no fear !" exclaimed the prior : 
 " the captal has plighted his word that such an 
 act shall never be required of you, my son. If 
 that idea has disturbed you, let it do so no 
 more ; for you know that his word is never 
 broken." 
 
 The youth kissed the good monk's hand in 
 sign of gratitude ; but, notwithstanding such 
 assurance, Albert was not gayer than before. 
 For the day, indeed, he made an effort, but ere 
 night fell he had sunk back into deeper gloom 
 than ever. Even in the hall, after supper, a 
 dark fit of thought came upon him, and he stood 
 silent and sad, with his gaze fixed upon the 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 114 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 pavement, while all were laughing and jesting 
 around, till suddenly raising his head, he found 
 the eyes of the Lady Adela resting upon him 
 with a look little less sorrowful than his own. 
 He started, and turned away, and strove for 
 the rest of the evening to assume a more cheer- 
 ful air when he passed the spot where she sat ; 
 but the sight of the Captal de Buch placed 
 beside her, and striving by every means to win 
 her attention and regard, was not calculated to 
 cheer the heart of Albert Denyn. 
 
 On the morning following, however, from one 
 of the windows at which he had watched the 
 sun rise with eyes that had not been closed all 
 night, he beheld the captal and the Lord of 
 Mauvinet walk forth together unattended ; and 
 knowing that at that hour the great hall of 
 the castle was likely to be vacant, he proceeded 
 thither to indulge his thoughts more at ease, 
 than in the narrow space of the small room 
 which he tenanted in one of the turrets. Intense 
 thought may take place in narrow chambers ; 
 the mathematician may pursue his calculations, 
 the philosopher his reasonings, the politician
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 115 
 
 his schemes, within the straitest confines ; but, 
 where strong emotions of the heart mingle with 
 the deep workings of the brain, the spirit within 
 us seems to pant for space, and the movement 
 of the mind requires room for the movements 
 also of the corporeal frame. Albert Denyn felt 
 relieved in the great hall, where he could now 
 be quite solitary : it seemed as if the busy 
 thoughts w^ithin his bosom found freer play. 
 There he walked to and fro for some minutes 
 alone, stopping from time to time to gaze out 
 of the window, till at length seeing the captal 
 and the count on their way back towards the 
 chateau, he paused for a moment to consider 
 whether he would wait their coming where he 
 was, or retire again to his own chamber. He 
 felt, however, that his thoughts at that moment 
 were too painful to endure the presence of 
 others, and turning away, he passed along the 
 corridor which led from room to room by the 
 principal apartments of the casde, intending to 
 mount to the turret in which he slept by a 
 small staircase at the end. 
 
 Ere he reached the farther extremity of the 
 I 2
 
 116 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 gallery, however, he beheld the Lady Adela 
 coming towards him, and for an instant he 
 hesitated what to do ; but he soon saw that she 
 had remarked his presence, and he advanced, 
 making a lowly bow as he approached her. 
 
 Adela, however, paused when he came near, 
 cast a hurried glance around the corridor to 
 assure herself that they were alone, and then 
 said, " Albert, what is it that makes you so 
 sad ? why are you so changed, so gloomy ? has 
 any thing gone wrong with you ? " 
 
 " Nothing, lady, nothing, indeed," replied 
 Albert ; " far from it, all has gone well — well 
 in a way that I could not hope." 
 
 " Then what is the cause of your gloom, 
 Albert?" she asked; "what is the occasion of 
 the melancholy that hangs upon you ? " 
 
 Albert Denyn was shaken with agitation, so 
 that his very limbs trembled; his countenance 
 was as pale as death, and his breath seemed to 
 come hard. Adela marked all those signs of 
 strong emotion, and as he did not answer, she 
 added in a gentle tone, " Nay, nay, Albert, you 
 must speak : we have been brought up together
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 117 
 
 almost all our lives, and you will not surely re- 
 fuse to tell me — me, Albert — me you will not 
 refuse to tell ! " 
 
 Albert could bear no more. " You ! you I " 
 he exclaimed — " Oh ! lady, you are the last 
 that I ought to tell ! " 
 
 The words had scarcely passed his lips, when 
 the Captal de Buch entered the gallery alone 
 and thoughtful, with his eyes bent upon the 
 ground. The moment he came in, however, he 
 raised his head, and saw Albert Denyn ad- 
 vancing towards him, while the Lady Adela 
 turned away with a glowing cheek and agitated 
 air. But Albert had at once regained his 
 calmness, as soon as he became aware of the 
 presence of a third person, for there was a depth 
 in his sorrow which gave vigour to every effort 
 of his mind ; and he came slowly but firmly 
 on towards the captal, reaching the spot where 
 the knight stood, at the very moment that 
 Adela quitted the corridor by another door. 
 
 In those days there was a sort of parental 
 power in great military leaders over the young 
 men who attached themselves to them, which 
 1 3
 
 118 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 gave a right to question and to govern them, 
 in a way that might not otherwise have been 
 submitted to by hot and fiery spirits in the 
 heyday of youth. It was in this tone, rather 
 than in that of a master, tliat the Captal de Buch 
 now addressed Albert Denyn, saying, " What 
 has agitated the lady, my young friend?" 
 
 The captal himself was not free from emo- 
 tion as he spoke; but Albert replied calmly, 
 " Why she is agitated, my lord, I cannot pre- 
 tend to inform you. All that passed was, that 
 she was kind enough to ask what had made me 
 so sad, and whether any thing had gone wrong 
 with me. I assured her that such was not the 
 case — but she would not believe my assurance ; 
 though, as you know, my lord, from your own 
 noble offer, all has gone better with me than I 
 ever could have dared to hope." 
 
 The captal bit his lip, and then fixing his 
 eyes upon the ground, remained in thought for 
 a moment or two. He had thus continued, till 
 Albert doubted whether he ought to retire or 
 wait his further commands, when raising his 
 eyes proudly, the knight added, " If you are still
 
 THE JACQUERIE. M9 
 
 inclined to accept my offer, young man, it would 
 be as well for you to know that I shall not 
 remain here many days longer ; perhaps even 
 to-morrow may be fixed for my departure. Are 
 you still desirous of accompanying me, or not?" 
 
 Albert gazed in the captal's face with evident 
 surprise. " Most gratefully ! most thankfully ! 
 noble sir," he said : " I should ill deserve your 
 favour, did I even hesitate." 
 
 " You are the best judge," replied the captal, 
 in a sharp tone, and passed on towards his own 
 apartments. 
 
 Albert remained for a moment or two where 
 the captal had left him ; and then retiring to his 
 own chamber, spent an hour in thought. 
 
 Ere we turn to new events, however, and more 
 active scenes than those in which we have lately 
 engaged, we must pause to relate the conver- 
 sation which had taken place between the Captal 
 de Buch and the Count de Mauvinet during 
 their morning walk ; — a conversation which, 
 as we have seen, had made the former forget in 
 a degree that courteous kindness for which he 
 had ever been celebrated. 
 I 4
 
 120 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 Not unmerited praises of the Lady Adela de 
 Mauvinet, on the part of the captal, began his 
 conference with the count ; and her father cer- 
 tainly heard those praises with pleasure, although 
 by this time he had learned to apprehend some 
 proposal on the part of his friend, which might 
 give him pain either to refuse or to accede to. 
 He replied, however, cautiously, and in such a 
 manner as he thought might perhaps check 
 expectation; but the captal went on and told 
 the tale of his love, ending with a demand of 
 the hand of Adela de Mauvinet. It often re- 
 quires more courage to encounter a painful 
 proposition such as this, than any corporeal 
 danger ; and the Lord of Mauvinet would more 
 willingly have met an enemy in the field than 
 have heard the wishes of the Captal de Buch. 
 
 Nevertheless when it was once pronounced, he 
 met it decidedly. " My noble lord," he replied, 
 "and my dear good friend, it would be less grie- 
 vous to me far, to lie once more upon the field 
 of Poitiers amongst the dead and dying, than to 
 say what I must say. If I had been asked not 
 many months ago," he proceeded sadly, "whe-
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 121 
 
 ther I would ever consent to give my child to 
 one who had aided, as much as any man now 
 living, to overthrow the hosts of France at 
 Poitiers, I would have answered, No; it is a thing 
 utterly impossible — of which I can never dream. 
 Those feelings have been changed by your ge- 
 nerous kindness. But if any one asks me even 
 now, whether I will consent to give my daughter 
 to a man who still remains an enemy of my coun- 
 try, I must repeat those words. No ! it is im- 
 possible ! Could you, my lord captal, quit the 
 cause of England, espouse the cause of France, 
 cast from you all the ties that have long bound 
 you, and become a faithful subject of the same 
 
 land as myself " 
 
 " Impossible, impossible ! " replied the captal 
 
 — " never ! By the side of that noble prince 
 under whose standard I have fought for years 
 
 — whose very name is renown, whose spirit is 
 chivalry, whose heart is honour, and whose look 
 is victory — by him will I stand to the last day 
 of life and glory, in the companionship of Edward 
 of England ! " 
 
 " Right well, my lord, I know it must be so,"
 
 J 22 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 answered the Count de Mauvinet: " so noble a 
 spirit as yours could never quit, even for the 
 smile of the brightest lady in all the land, the 
 standard under which he has won fame; but, 
 alas ! in knowing that such will be your conduct, 
 I must also feel that my daughter can never be 
 the bride of any one but a friend to France, and 
 an enemy to France's enemies. My lord captal," 
 he continued, '* think me not ungrateful ; but 
 put it to your own noble heart how you would 
 act, were you placed as I am ; put it to your 
 own heart, I say, and answer for me truly and 
 straightforwardly. As knight, and nobleman, 
 and man of honour, I charge you tell me how 
 would you behave ?" 
 
 The captal stopped suddenly in their pro- 
 gress, bent his eyes sternly upon the ground, 
 and, for nearly two minutes, seemed to put the 
 painful question to his own conscience. Then, 
 starting from his reverie, he wrung the count's 
 hand vehemently in his own ; and, as if that ges- 
 ture were sufficient answer to the question, he 
 added not a word more, but darted back at once 
 to the castle.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 123 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 When the Captal de Buch had left Albert 
 Denyn in the corridor, he walked on straight to 
 his own chamber, passing through the ante- 
 room, where some of his pages and attendants 
 were stationed, and closing the door carefully 
 behind him. He then advanced towards a great 
 chair, which was placed near the window, but 
 he reached it not, pausing in the midst of the 
 room, and remaining there with his eyes bent 
 upon the ground in deep thought. He con- 
 tinued in this meditative mood for several mi- 
 nutes, perfectly motionless and still, though with 
 a knitted brow and heavy air, showing evidently 
 that the matter of his reflexions was any thing 
 but pleasing or calm. At length, however, he 
 lifted his head with an air somewhat melancholy, 
 yet somewhat proud, saying aloud, as he did so, 
 " It is well ! It is well as it is ! Better far not
 
 124 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 her hand, than not her love ! Better far, better 
 far ! Farewell such fantasies, they shall soon 
 be forgotten." 
 
 Yet he spoke with a sigh ; and after he had 
 done, he sat down, and seemed to think sadly 
 and bitterly over all that had just passed. 
 
 That day had been appointed for a long ex- 
 pedition to meet the Prior of Montvoye, at a 
 small chapel attached to the abbey, some seven 
 or eight miles from the castle, and the captal 
 had looked forward to the ride with no small 
 pleasure in the anticipation. He had thought 
 how he would keep by the side of Adela de 
 Mauvinet, and what he would say — ay, and 
 what she would reply ; and with the fond fancy 
 of love he had pictured to his own imagination 
 her bright looks, and the sunny smile that 
 sometimes came into her face when she was well 
 pleased with any thing that met her ear or eye. 
 But now, alas ! the captal's vision was broken, 
 and the prospect of the journey presented to him 
 nothing but pain. At one time he hesitated as 
 to whether he would go; but then again he recol- 
 lected that it might seem weak and unmanly in
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 125 
 
 the eyes of the Lord of Mauvlnet, and even of 
 Adela herself, should he give way to such feel- 
 ings ; and then he thought that, at all events, 
 he might enjoy the satisfaction of being with 
 her for the time. Thus he would gradually have 
 reasoned himself into once more looking for- 
 ward to the expedition with pleasure, had there 
 not been from time to time a painful recollection 
 of the glowing colour, which he had seen upon 
 Adela's cheek, when his sudden coming inter- 
 rupted her conversation with Albert Denyn. 
 The remembrance, as I have said, gave him 
 pain, and he loved not to let his mind rest upon 
 it; but yet the importunate memory thereof 
 would not be denied; and for more than an 
 hour he remained calling back every look that 
 he had seen pass between Adela and the young 
 peasant. How long he might have remained 
 thus I cannot tell, had he not been visited at 
 the end of an hour and a half by the Count 
 de Mauvinet himself. 
 
 " The horses are prepared, and in the court- 
 yard, noble sir," he said, " and I have come to 
 be your esquire ; but I trust that you will not
 
 126 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 go this day, to do me pleasure, if it accord not 
 with your own inclination." 
 
 " I am most ready and willing, my lord," 
 replied the captal, starting up ; " but I had 
 fallen into a fit of musing. I am with you 
 in a moment, however ; " and making some 
 slight change in his apparel, he hastened to 
 descend with his friend to the court-yard of 
 the castle, where horses and attendants were 
 already prepared and arrayed to set out upon 
 their expedition to the chapel. Amongst 
 the foremost stood the beautiful white jennet 
 which had been brought out for Adela de 
 Mauvinet; but she herself had not yet come 
 down to take her place in the cavalcade. The 
 count sent a page to call her, and after a mo- 
 ment's delay, she too appeared ; but it seemed 
 to the captal, as he gazed at her for a moment, 
 that there were traces of tears upon her cheek. 
 They had been carefully wiped away, however, 
 and during the ride no difference from her 
 ordinary demeanour showed that she he had 
 been grieved or agitated during that morning. 
 
 When they had passed the drawbridge and
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 127 
 
 the barbican, and were proceeding over the 
 causeway, three abreast, the captal looked 
 round for Albert Denyn, but the youth was not 
 with them ; and perhaps with some curiosity, 
 to see what effect his words would produce upon 
 Adela, he turned towards the Count of Mau- 
 vinet, inquiring, " Where is the good youth, 
 Albert Denyn ? he has not gone with us to-day.'* 
 
 " He asked my permission," replied the Lord 
 of Mauvinet, " to remain behind, in order to 
 see some cottagers, with whom he was placed 
 in his infancy, after his father's death. They 
 were very kind to him, and Albert is not one 
 to forget kindness from any one." 
 
 The captal fixed his eyes upon Adela, and 
 then fell into a fit of musing, but made no reply 
 to the words of the Lord of Mauvinet. He taxed 
 his own heart, how^ever, with want of courtesy 
 and benevolence, in feeling pain at hearing 
 the commendation of any good man. 
 
 " This is not right," he said to himself, " this 
 is not right. If the youth deserves praise, praise 
 let him have — ay, and win honour and re- 
 nown too, if God so wills it ! "
 
 128 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 Let US not pause in this place upon the 
 expedition which was now undertaken by the 
 party from the chateau. The circumstances 
 under which they went were distressing to 
 all of the principal personages concerned. The 
 feelings of the count and the captal may be 
 easily conceived; and could any one have seen 
 into the bosom of the fair girl who rode be- 
 tween them, her state of mind would have 
 appeared even more painful ; for from various 
 minute facts, which bad come to her know- 
 ledge in the course of the preceding day, 
 Adela had discovered that the deliverer of 
 her father entertained towards her a passion 
 which she could not return. His conduct had 
 lately alarmed her ; and though for some time 
 she had striven to shut the facts from her own 
 eyes, yet the truth had forced itself upon her 
 at last, and she had become convinced not only 
 that the captal loved her, but that he would 
 demand her hand. What might be the decision 
 of her parent slie knew not, but she felt but too 
 well that she could never entertain for the captal 
 that affection which a wife should feel towards
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 129 
 
 a husband. When she discovered such sen- 
 sations in her own bosom, her first question 
 to herself was why her heart was so cold and 
 indifferent to one well calculated to please and 
 to win. He had all that could attract — beauty 
 of person, grace, and courtesy of manner ; high 
 qualities of mind; dignity, and command in his 
 whole air ; he was renowned in arms, kind, 
 generous, gay, wise, faithful, just, and true of 
 heart ; and Adela again and again asked herself 
 why it was she could not love him. It was 
 early on that morning that these things were 
 passing in her mind; and busy with such 
 ideas, she had lingered beyond the hour at 
 which she usually visited her father's chamber, 
 to wish him health and happiness through the 
 day. When she went, she found that he was 
 already gone forth with the Captal de Buch ; 
 and a cold sensation came over her heart when 
 she thought of what might be the subject of 
 their conversation. As she was returning, she 
 met Albert Denyn, as we have shown, and the 
 brief conversation which we have related, took 
 place between them. After it was over, Adela 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 asked herself no more why she could not love 
 the captal, but she sat down in her chamber, 
 and wept. 
 
 She had sufficient command over herself, to 
 prevent the feelings of her heart from affecting 
 her demeanour in any great degree : but it may 
 be well believed, that her sensations were not 
 a litde sad ; and the day which had been in- 
 tended to be a day of pleasure, proved, in most 
 respects, one of pain to almost all the parties 
 concerned. 
 
 When they had visited the chapel, paid their 
 devotions at the shrine, and again taken leave 
 of the prior, the Count de Mauvinet somewhat 
 hurried his pace ; for several delays had oc- 
 curred during the morning, and the sun was 
 beginning to decline. Those were times, too, 
 in which, as we have before shown, it was 
 neither safe nor agreeable to travel late at 
 night, although the proximity of the castle of 
 Mauvinet, and the general tranquillity of that 
 part of the country, seemed to promise the 
 party of the count full security on the way. 
 He had with him, too, a stout band of attend-
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 131 
 
 ants; and the very presence of Captal de Buch 
 liimself was a host. 
 
 The sun had just touched the edge of the 
 sky, when they again came within a mile of the 
 castle ; but here they were detained for some 
 time, by an incident of deep interest to the 
 Count de Mauvinet himself, and little less so 
 in the eyes of the captal. They found the 
 road at the top of the hill crowded with 
 peasantry of the richer class, wealthy farmers, 
 and landholders on the estates of Mauvinet, 
 all dressed in their holyday costume, and 
 bearing a certain expression of pleasure and 
 satisfaction in their faces, that seemed to speak 
 of some occasion of much joy. Two or three 
 of the principal persons were collected in front 
 of the rest; and as the count's party approached, 
 one of them advanced a little before the others, 
 and respectfully stopped their lord as he was 
 coming forward. 
 
 " What would you, good Larchenay ? " said 
 the count, bending his head a little, and ad- 
 dressing him with a well-pleased air. " Is 
 K 2
 
 132 THE JACQUERIE, 
 
 there any thing in which I can serve you, my 
 good friend ? " 
 
 " Yes, my lord, much," replied the farmer; 
 " and, indeed, we have all met here to make 
 you a humble request, which we trust you 
 will not deny us." 
 
 " I am not accustomed, my good Larchenay, 
 to refuse you any thing in reason," replied the 
 Lord of Mauvinet ; " and so glad am I to find 
 myself amongst you all once more, that I am 
 little likely to be hard-hearted now." 
 
 " Thanks, then, my noble lord," replied the 
 peasant : " our request, I see, is half granted 
 already. We have heard that to-morrow you 
 propose to pay your ransom to the noble 
 Captal de Buch, and yet your faithful pea- 
 santry have not been called upon to bear a 
 share therein. It was never yet known, my 
 lord, that the poor tenants of so noble a gen- 
 tleman as yourself were refused the right of 
 contributing to redeem their good lord ; and we 
 have collected together and brought hither our 
 little tribute of gratitude and attachment to one 
 who has ever been a kind master to all — who
 
 THE JACQUERIE. iO-i 
 
 has aided us in sickness, has spared us in ad- 
 versity, and protected us in danger. We know 
 not, my lord, the exact sum at which your ransom 
 has been fixed, but we have gathered amongst 
 us here some ten thousand crowns, which we 
 come to offer with a very wilhng heart." 
 
 The affection of his peasantry brought tears 
 into the eyes of the Lord of Mauvinet, and he 
 thanked them in v/ords which were evidently 
 not words of course, although he would fain 
 have declined the aid tendered to him. " The 
 peasantry of France," he said, " have suffered 
 too much already, my good friends, for me 
 at least to press upon them more, whatever 
 others may do. This was the reason why I 
 asked no assistance from my people ; not that 
 I doubted in the least their love for their lord, 
 or their willingness to help him in a time of 
 need. My ransom is provided, my friends ; half 
 is ready here, and half must be prepared by this 
 time in Beauvoisis; and, as I fixed it myself, when 
 my noble friend here, the Captal de Buch, would 
 scarcely accept of any, so w^ould I also fain pay 
 it myself, although you offer me such an aid." 
 K 3
 
 134 THK JACQUERIE. 
 
 The farmer, whom he had called Larchenay, 
 heard him in respectful silence, and drew a 
 step back with a disappointed air ; but an 
 older, and somewhat ruder looking man, 
 stepped forward, and said in a bolder tone, 
 " My lord the count, you have never taken 
 from us more than was your due, very often 
 much less. It is seldom that we have an 
 opportunity of showing our thanks. It has 
 pleased God that you should be taken pri- 
 soner, while you were gallantly defending your 
 country, and when others had basely fled and 
 abandoned her cause. Depend upon it, my 
 lord, one reason why you have thus been suf- 
 fered to fall into the hands of the enemy was, 
 that your faithful peasantry might have an op- 
 portunity of showing that the poor people of 
 France can be grateful to those who love and 
 protect them. I beseech you, my lord, do not 
 refuse our request, but let us pay our master's 
 ransom, right glad as we are to get him back." 
 " Oh, my father," said Adela, seeing that 
 the count still hesitated, " pray accept it : I am 
 sure there is not a peasant on the land who
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 135 
 
 will not feel happy and proud to have contri- 
 buted to your deliverance." 
 
 " Well, be it so, my good friends," said the 
 count, with a voice trembling with emotion, 
 " be it so. It seems as if I gained my liberty 
 twice, when it is my people that give it me. 
 Come then, come to the chateau, and we will 
 speak more of all this. I would fain thank you, 
 my friends, better than I can now when words 
 fail me, and my heart is full. Larchenay, 
 come hither, and, as we go, assure me, that in 
 these times of difficulty and distress this gift 
 does not press upon you too hardly." 
 
 " Oh, no," replied: the good man, " on my 
 lite it does not. Thanks to your kindly care, 
 and that of your good brother, there are no 
 peasants in France who have suffered so little 
 as we have done. The enemy has never 
 visited our fields; famine has never been felt 
 amongst us; if we ever have wanted any thing, 
 it has been supplied to us, my lord, by your 
 bounty; so that we are wealthy as well as con- 
 tented ; and we know that we owe that wealth 
 to you." 
 
 K 4
 
 l.?6 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 Thus conversing, the Lord of Mauvinet and 
 liis peasantry, with the rest of the company, 
 which had accompanied him during the day, 
 proceeded slowly back towards the chateau, 
 while the sun set, but left the sky glowing 
 with the glory of his departing light. They 
 reached the foot of the slope, and were be- 
 ginning to cross the meadows, which ex- 
 tended from the hills to the moat of the castle, 
 when suddenly a quarrel from a crossbow struck 
 the horse of the Captal de Buch, and the 
 noble animal, with the blood flowing in pro- 
 fusion from a wound in his side, reared, and 
 then staggered under his gallant rider. 
 
 The captal, however, though taken by sur- 
 prise, sprang to the ground before the charger 
 fell, exclaiming, " My Lord of Mauvinet, that 
 was meant for you. — Draw round your lord." 
 
 Even while he was speaking, more serious 
 cause of alarm appeared ; for from the hanging 
 wood, which we have already mentioned, rode 
 forth at full speed a large body of men- 
 at-arms, bearing down with levelled lances 
 upon the little party which was crossing the
 
 THE JACQUERIK. 1-37 
 
 meadow. The peasantry were defenceless, and 
 one of the first thoughts of the Lord of jMau- 
 vinet was for them. He himself and all his 
 armed attendants, as well as the Captal de 
 Buch and his followers, hastened to cast them- 
 selves into the front and meet the shock of the 
 enemy's charge. But the number of the as- 
 sailants was far superior to their own ; and it 
 was very evident from the order in which they 
 came on, that they were all experienced men- 
 at-arms. 
 
 " Your horse, your horse," cried the captal 
 to one of his men : '* give me a spear, St. John. 
 Keep the line there, my men, keep the line. 
 My Lord of Mauvinet, if you take ground a 
 little to the right, our flank will be protected 
 by those trees. Stand firm, stand firm I St. 
 George for merry England ! " 
 
 Almost as he spoke, and while he was yet 
 mounting the horse which had been brought up 
 for him, the body of adventurers, for such were 
 evidently the assailants, came up at full speed, 
 expecting, undoubtedly, to find all give way 
 before them. In this, however, they were
 
 138 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 greatly mistaken; the veteran attendants of 
 the captal and the Count de Mauvinet pre- 
 senting a firm and unwavering face to the 
 enemy, and the captal himself causing his 
 horse to passage, by a hard stroke of the spur, 
 at the very moment that one of the heavy- 
 armed leaders of the enemy's troop came 
 impetuously upon him, suffered the man to 
 dash between him and one of his retainers, 
 but at the same time, with his shortened lance, 
 struck him fiercely in the throat, and hurled 
 him bleeding to the ground. 
 
 " A good stroke!" he cried, as gaily as if 
 the dangerous strife were but a May-day 
 pastime. '^ A good stroke ! St. George for 
 merry England !" 
 
 Notwithstanding the skill of the captal and 
 the Count of Mauvinet, and the bravery and 
 determination of their own personal follow- 
 ers, the advantage was still on the side of 
 the adversary, who, besides numbers, had the 
 hill in his favour; and although, where the 
 two leaders were, the line was kept firm and 
 no ground lost, yet the centre even of their
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 139 
 
 short phalanx was beginning to waver and 
 give way, when some cried aloud, *' They are 
 coming from the castle ! They are coming 
 from the castle !" 
 
 The captal, even while he struck down one of 
 the adventurers with his heavy sword, turned 
 his eyes towards the chateau of Mauvinet, and 
 saw a straggling band of men galloping over 
 the causeway at full speed; but far before 
 them was a horseman who seemed to gain 
 ground upon those who followed every mo- 
 ment, and the captal thought he recognised, 
 though the light was now becoming faint, the 
 form of Albert Denyn. 
 
 "Courage! courage, my men!" cried the 
 iireat leader — " aid is at hand ! Hold firm there 
 in the centre ! By heaven, they are breaking 
 in ! Down with that green plume ! strike him 
 on the head, Martin ! down with him ! down 
 with him ! — It is too late !" 
 
 And he said truly, for, notwithstanding a 
 vigorous effort made by the men in the centre 
 to recover their position, a strong body of the 
 adventurers forced their way through, and the
 
 140 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 line was completely broken. At that moment, 
 however, the first of the horsemen from the 
 castle arrived, proving, as the captal had 
 imagined, Albert Denyn. His body was un- 
 defended, but his head was covered with a 
 plain steel cap, such as the commons usually 
 wore in the field, and in his hand was a heavy 
 battle-axe which he had caught up in haste. 
 His eye ran rapidly over the conflict as he 
 came up; and although the Lord of Mauvinet 
 cried, " Hither, Albert ! hither ! " he directed 
 his course to the rear of the peasantry, forced 
 his way through the midst of the frightened 
 multitude, and cast himself between Adela and 
 the man in the green plume, who had nearly 
 reached the spot where she stood. 
 
 " He is right, he is right,*' cried the Captal 
 de Buch, spurring on his horse, and leading 
 forward the soldiers who were near him, to at- 
 tack the flank of the enemy. 
 
 All he could do, however, was to break their 
 line as they had bi'oken the small band of the 
 Count de Mauvinet ; and the whole became a 
 scene of strife, confusion, and disarray, in which
 
 THE JACQUEIUE. I4l 
 
 each man was soon found fighting for his own 
 life, and little heeding the proceedings of his 
 comrades. 
 
 In the mean time the retainers of the house 
 of Mauvinet were every moment reinforced by 
 fresh arrivals from the chateau ; and the ad- 
 venturers speedily found that the day was 
 going against them — a discovery which soon 
 led to an attempt to rally their forces and 
 make their retreat in an orderly manner. 
 But the party whom they had attacked had 
 become aware of their own advantage, and of 
 course were but little disposed to suffer them 
 to retire in peace. 
 
 As they drew out, and endeavoured to form, 
 the Lord of Mauvinet, seeing many of hi? poor 
 tenants either wounded or killed, and indignant 
 at the very fact of an ambush being laid so near 
 his own castle, eagerly arrayed his men to pursue 
 the assailants, and only paused to give one glance 
 round, in order to ascertain that his daughter 
 was in safety. 
 
 At the moment that he thus turned to 
 gaze, she had dismounted from her horse, and
 
 142 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 was bending, in no slight terror, by the ani- 
 maFs side. The space around was not yet 
 absolutely cleared of enemies, but they were 
 now only seeking to retreat; and before her 
 stood Albert Denyn, with his foot planted on 
 the dead body of the man with the green 
 plume, who had led the party of adventurers, 
 which first broke the ranks of the vassals of 
 Mauvinet. The battle-axe which had slain 
 him was bloody in the youth's hand, and his 
 horse's bridle, cast over the other arm, seemed 
 to show that he had sprung to the ground for 
 the defence of his young mistress. 
 
 Feeling that Adela was now safe, the count 
 hesitated no longer, but, uniting his men with 
 those of the captal, he urged the pursuit of the 
 enemy fiercely, slaying many, and taking se- 
 veral more, though, in truth, few condescended 
 to ask for quarter. In the mean time, Albert 
 Denyn paused for a moment by the side of the 
 Lady Adela, inquiring eagerly, though gently, 
 whether she were injured. 
 
 " Oh, no, no, Albert," she replied ; " thanks 
 to God, I am not ; but oh ! help my father.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 143 
 
 Albert, help my father. See, he is pursuing 
 them fiercely. I fear only for him." 
 
 Albert looked around, saying, " It is growing 
 dark, lady ; I cannot leave you without pro- 
 tection." 
 
 Adela, however, again besought him more 
 earnestly than before to fly to the assistance of 
 her father ; and some of the peasantry around 
 exclaimed, " We will guard her to the castle, 
 oh we will guard her;" but Albert did not 
 feel well satisfied with the protection that they 
 could give, till William Caillet, forcing his way 
 through the rest, approached Albert, saying, 
 " Leave her to me, Albert, I will defend the 
 Lady Adela in case of need : you know that I 
 can do so well." 
 
 Albert hesitated for a moment, though he 
 knew not why ; but at that instant the lady 
 repeated, " Go, Albert, go ! See ! they are sur- 
 rounding my father. Go ! Oh go all of you ! I 
 shall be very safe now." 
 
 Albert Denyn paused no longer, but, setting 
 his foot in the stirrup, sprang upon his horse's 
 back, and galloped at full speed after the
 
 144 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 Lord of Mauvinet and his party. His aid, 
 however, was scarcely required, for the ad- 
 venturers were in full retreat, and Adela's 
 eyes had deceived her when she imagined 
 that her father was surrounded by any but 
 friends. The increasing darkness, too, soon 
 put a stop to the pursuit, and the Captal de 
 Buch, drawing in his horse, said, with a faint 
 smile, '' This is but a scurvy jest, my Lord of 
 Mauvinet, and I fear your poor peasants have 
 suffered." 
 
 " I fear so, too," replied the count in a sad 
 tone, while he turned his horse to return to 
 the castle.— "Ha, Albert, where is Adela? 
 why did you leave her?" 
 
 " She would have me follow you, my lord," 
 replied Albert Denyn ; " and Caillet, who was 
 there, promised to guard her back." 
 
 " Then she is safe ! then she is safe ! " said 
 the Count. " Come, my good lord captal — I 
 must give you some better entertainment than 
 this, or you will call me churlish ;" and thus 
 saying, he led the cavalcade homeward.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 145 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 " You had better mount, lady, and get back to 
 the castle with all speed," said Caillet as soon 
 as Albert Denyn had left them : " Peter the 
 horse-boy promised to bring me out a horse, 
 but I fear the knave has failed me." 
 
 " No, no ! there he stands," cried one of the 
 peasants who heard what was said, " there he 
 stands, and the horse with him." 
 
 " Let me help you, lady," continued Caillet, 
 offering to assist her to her saddle, and beckon- 
 ing for the boy to bring up his horse ; but Adela 
 motioned him back, saying, " I need no aid, 
 William Caillet," and at the same time she 
 sprang upon her well-taught jennet, which re- 
 mained perfecdy still till she was in the seat. 
 " I see not," she continued, speaking to Caillet, 
 " that you need a horse to accompany me to the 
 castle. You can walk at my side." 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE JACQUERIE, 
 
 " But in case we should be obliged to make 
 more haste, lady," replied Caillet. " The enemy 
 are still scattered about, madam. See there ! 
 and there ! " and as he spoke he, too, leapt into 
 the saddle. 
 
 " Then we will go quick," said Adela shaking 
 her rein, and turning her jennet's head towards 
 the castle. 
 
 Caillet rode on also, not, as might have been 
 expected from his station, a step behind, but 
 close to her horse's side, and Adela only the 
 more eagerly urged the beast forward. Just as 
 they were within two hundred yards of the moat, 
 however, some five or six horsemen passed be- 
 tween them and the castle at full speed, and 
 Caillet, laying his hand on Adela's bridle-rein, 
 exclaimed, " This way ! this way, lady ! " 
 
 As he spoke he turned her jennet's head 
 towards the wood that skirted the hill ; and as 
 there seemed no other way of avoiding the party 
 of adventurers, Adela bewildered and confused 
 suffered him to do as he pleased, thinking that 
 as the men were evidently flying the danger 
 would soon be over.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 147 
 
 In the mean while the group of peasantry, 
 which had remained on the slope of the hill, 
 continued gathered together on the same spot 
 engaged in the various sad occupations that such 
 an event as that which had just taken place na- 
 turally left for them to perform. There were 
 dead amongst them to be mourned ; there were 
 wounded to be tended ; the adventurers had 
 found time, even in the midst of bloodshed and 
 confusion, to strip several of the money which 
 they had brought for their lord's ransom, 
 and that also had to be lamented and com- 
 mented upon. But upon the little knoll, from 
 which Adela and Caillet had departed for the 
 castle, four or five men stood apart talking 
 eagerly together, and not paying any attention 
 to matters which might well interest them as 
 well as their companions. Their eyes were 
 fixed upon the course taken by Caillet and the 
 lady, whom they continued to trace by Adela's 
 white jennet, which could still be seen, notwith- 
 standing the increasing darkness of the evening. 
 
 " Yes, yes,'* said one, "it is all right : you see 
 he is going straight to the castle.'* 
 
 L 'J
 
 148 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 " Watch him still, watch him still," cried an- 
 other : " I love him not at all. As the lady said, 
 why should he take a horse, to go back with 
 her a five minutes' walk ? see how he rides close 
 to her side, too, as if he were the Captal de Buch. 
 Some one has certainly betrayed us into the 
 hands of these companions, otherwise they would 
 never have come so near the castle, and I as 
 well as Larchenay doubt him much. He 
 was the only one that knew of our intention of 
 bringing the money here, as far as I know ; and 
 when I was speaking with old Tourmont, the 
 warder at the castle, just now, he told me that 
 Caillet had been absent all this day and yester- 
 day, and he said, he wondered that our lord let 
 him go on so." 
 
 " So do 1," replied an old peasant who formed 
 one of the group; " and I am determined, for my 
 part, to tell my lord the count that I found him 
 persuading my second son Charles that I did 
 not treat him well : he has been a mischief-maker 
 in more than one house, and it is time that the 
 thing should be stopped ! So I shall let my lord 
 know the whole without ceremony. But look
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 149 
 
 there, look there, Larchenay ! He is leading my 
 young lady towards the wood : he is bent upon 
 some mischief, depend upon it." 
 
 "I will stop him," cried Larchenay : "if he 
 goes up there, I can cut him off by the well 
 path. Come with me, Peter John, come with me, 
 quick, quick — Santa Maria! there is a scream." 
 
 Thus saying he darted away up the side of 
 the hill, took a road through the wood, and ran 
 at full speed for some two or three hundred 
 yards along the narrow and intricate turnings 
 and windings of the forest ways. He was then 
 pausing for a moment to take breath, when an- 
 other scream at no great distance reached his 
 ear, and rushing on as fast as possible, he suddenly 
 came to a spot where two paths met. Along 
 the one crossing that which he himself was 
 pursuing, was coming up at the moment with 
 furious speed the very person whom he sought, 
 William Caillet, leading on the jennet of Adela 
 de Mauvinet. It was in vain that the poor 
 girl attempted to pull in her horse ; for Caillet 
 had contrived to grasp the bridle in such a 
 manner that she had no longer any power ovej: 
 L a
 
 150 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 the animal ; and he continued galloping on, 
 without paying the slightest attention either to 
 her remonstrances or to her cries for help. 
 
 The instant Larchenay beheld such a scene, 
 he darted forward and attempted to stop the 
 horse of Caillet. Nor was he altogether un- 
 successful, for, catching the bridle, he checked 
 the animal for a moment. But, without uttering 
 a word, Caillet struck him a blow on the head, 
 with a heavy mace, which hung at the saddle- 
 bow, and laid the poor man senseless on the 
 ground. 
 
 The villein then spurred on at full speed 
 as before, making no reply to the entreaties 
 and tears of the lady, and indeed not even 
 seeming to hear her, till at length, finding her- 
 self carried farther and farther from assistance, 
 Adela exclaimed, " If you do not instantly stop, 
 you will drive me to spring from the horse." 
 
 Caillet merely looked round, replying, " If 
 you do, you will kill yourself. You had bet- 
 ter submit quietly to what cannot be avoided. 
 — I tell you," he continued in a sharper tone, 
 seeing her resolutely disengage herself from the
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 151 
 
 saddle and trappings of the horse for the pur- 
 pose of casting herself off — " I tell you, if you 
 do, you will kill yourself" 
 
 But even while he spoke he relaxed in a 
 degree the horses' speed, and Adela seizing 
 the opportunity, after hesitating in terror a 
 single instant, summoned all her courage and 
 sprang from her jennet to the ground. 
 
 She had been taught to practise such things, 
 when a child in sport, and she had often 
 done it with ease and safety; but the case was 
 very different now : she was cast violently for- 
 ward and fell ; nor can there be a doubt, that 
 she would have sustained severe injury had not 
 the path been covered with long forest grass. 
 
 Caillet reined up the horses violently, and 
 springing to the ground bent over her with a 
 look of alarm and grief. "You have killed 
 yourself," he exclaimed : " rash girl, you have 
 killed yourself rather than fly with one who 
 loves you to madness." 
 
 " Leave me," said Adela, " leave me; if you 
 are sorry for what you have done, leave me, and 
 provide for your own safety. Some one will be 
 L 4
 
 152 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 here soon, and I shall have help ; leave me, then, 
 leave me, for I am resolved to go no farther ; 
 so that, if you are wise, you will now think only 
 of yourself." 
 
 " No, lady, no,*' exclaimed the villein — "I 
 have not done all this to be now disappointed. 
 You are not so much hurt, I see, as your 
 rashness might have brought about, and you 
 shall go on with me, if we both die before to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Never," replied Adela, firmly, "never, while 
 I have power to resist." Caillet answered merely 
 by a laugh, and raising her like a feather from 
 the ground in his powerful arms, he placed 
 her once more upon her horse, in spite of her 
 screams and tears, strapped her tightly to the 
 saddle with one of the stirrup leathers of his 
 own charger, and then, remounting, proceeded 
 with the same furious pace as before. 
 
 Adela clasped her hands in despair ; she could 
 no longer escape ; she saw that if she now at- 
 tempted to cast herself down, certain death would 
 be the consequence; for, dragged along by the 
 band which fastened her to the saddle, she
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 153 
 
 must evidently perish in the most horrible 
 manner ; and yet she asked herself whether it 
 would not be better so to perish, than to remain 
 in the power of one so hateful to her in every 
 respect ; one from whom she could expect 
 neither mercy nor consideration; who had in- 
 curred by the very act he had that night com- 
 mitted the inevitable punishment of death, 
 if taken, and who had consequently nothing 
 else to fear, let his acts be what they would. She 
 asked herself whether it would not be better to 
 die at once, horrible as the mode might be, than 
 to continue in his hands and at his mercy. She 
 felt that it would be so, but yet her heart failed 
 her ; imagination painted all that she would have 
 to suffer — the lingering agony of being dragged 
 along upon the ground, till life was extinguished 
 — the probable chance that, maimedand injured, 
 she might still remain in his power, without ab- 
 solute death bringing her relief, and at the same 
 time hope, persevering hope, yet whispered that 
 some help might come — that her father, or 
 the captal, or Albert Denyn, might learn her 
 fate in time to save her from Caillet's hands;
 
 154 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 and thus, for many minutes, with agony of mind 
 inconceivable, she struggled between terror and 
 strong resolution. 
 
 Her fall, too, had hurt her, though not 
 severely : she had suffered much fatigue as 
 well as apprehension during the day ; and at 
 length as the last ray of twilight went out and 
 left her in utter darkness, in the midst of the 
 deep wood, and in the power of a man whom 
 she detested, strength failed as well as courage ; 
 her head grew giddy, and exclaiming, *' Stop, 
 stop, I shall faint, I shall die," she fell forward 
 upon her horse's neck. 
 
 When Adela's recollection returned, she 
 found herself still in the wood, but seated on 
 the ground at the foot of an old decayed beech 
 tree, with none but William Caillet near her. 
 A large fire, however, was blazing before her, 
 branches of the trees, thickly piled up with 
 leaves, were under her head, and various 
 minute circumstances showed, not only that 
 some care had been taken to recall her to 
 consciousness and to provide for her comfort, 
 but apparently that a considerable period of
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 155 
 
 time must have elapsed, since the moment at 
 which memory and sensation had left her. 
 
 As she opened her eyes, she gazed around 
 with fresh terror and dismay ; but no con- 
 solation, no hope, was afforded by any of 
 the objects on which the poor girl's glance 
 fell. Caillet was standing before her, gazing 
 upon her. At first he was apparently moved ^ 
 with pity, but the moment that he saw she 
 had fully recovered from the fit of faint- 
 ing into which she had fallen, it seemed as 
 if some demon, which had rested for a time 
 under the command of a better power, roused 
 itself again to triumph in her misery and dis- 
 tress ; and his usual sneering curl came upon 
 his lip as he said, " You are well now, lady, 
 and no doubt you will soon get reconciled to 
 your fate, though it may seem a hard one to 
 you at present." 
 
 Adela, for a moment, covered her eyes with 
 her hands, and strove to recall those powers 
 of thought which for some time had been 
 utterly extinct, and were still feeble and 
 wavering. " My fate ? " said she, wildly ; and,
 
 156 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 speaking more to herself than him, " What 
 fate?" 
 
 " To be mine," replied Caillet, watching every 
 look and gesture of his victim — " ay, lady, to be 
 mine. — Yes !" he continued, seeing an involun- 
 tary shudder come over her as he spoke, "yes, 
 to be mine — mine, whom you have treated 
 with contumely and contempt because I dared 
 to love you, and, if not to avow, to let you see 
 that love — mine, whom you trod upon, at 
 whom you looked indignation and scorn, while 
 on the weak boy, who neither dared to speak 
 nor show his love, you smiled continually, en- 
 couraging him in a passion which you would 
 have scoffed at as soon as it was displayed. — Ay, 
 you may tremble, lady ! but I tell you you are 
 mine ! No help can reach you here — mine, 
 and on my own terms." 
 
 He paused a moment, gazing full upon her 
 by the fire light as she sat with her hands 
 covering her eyes, and the tears streaming 
 rapidly down her cheeks; but at length he 
 added, in a softer tone, " Listen to me. Mode- 
 rate your pride ; cast away the evil spirit of your 
 class ; and perhaps you may have some comfort."
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 157 
 
 " What? what? Oh what?" exclaimed Aclela, 
 eagerly; "I have no pride! William Caillet, 
 you have no right to say I have any pride." 
 
 " Well, then, listen to me," he repeated, as- 
 suming a kindly tone and an air of tenderness, 
 which, to say the truth, sat not ill upon his fine 
 features — " listen to me, Adela ; for between 
 you and me — and ere a few short months be 
 over, between lord and serf through the whole 
 land — the terms of master and dependant must 
 be at an end. Listen to me, and I will tell 
 you how you may save yourself much pain, 
 and save me from a harsh determination, which 
 I seek not to display, unless I am driven 
 to it." 
 
 As he spoke, he drew nearer to her, and 
 seated himself beside her at the foot of the 
 beech tree; but Adela started up with a look 
 of horror which she could not repress, and 
 drew far back from him, gazing at him with 
 terror and apprehension, such as the bird may 
 be supposed to feel, when it finds the fatal eyes 
 of the serpent upon it. 
 
 A bitter frown came upon the face of Caillet
 
 158 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 as she did so, and he too rose, saying, " Am I so 
 hateful to you, lady ? Then I must use another 
 tone — Down by my side, I say ! You are the 
 serf here, and I am lord. Do not think that I 
 have risked death and torture, and cast behind 
 me every ordinary hope of man, to be now 
 mocked by a weak girl. Down by my side, I 
 say ! To-morrow, the idle rites of the altar 
 shall unite us for ever; for I would fain see 
 whether, in case of misfortune, the Lord of 
 Mauvinet will slay his daughter's husband. 
 Ay, to-morrow you shall be my wife ; but ere 
 to-morrow comes, you shall humbly thank me 
 for granting you that name." 
 
 Adela had gazed upon him while he spoke 
 with a look of horror and apprehension which 
 she could not repress, though she hardly un- 
 derstood the meaning of his words ; but when, 
 as the villein ended, he made a movement to- 
 wards her as if to seize her by the arm, she 
 uttered a loud scream, and darted away down 
 the forest road ; the profound darkness, which, 
 at any other time, might have terrified her, now 
 seeming a refuge from her brutal pursuer.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 159 
 
 Ei'e she had taken ten steps, however, and 
 while the light of the fire still shone upon her 
 path, a living being — but whether man or 
 beast she did not at first clearly see — came 
 out rapidly, but quietly, from amongst the trees 
 on her left hand, and stood in the way between 
 her and Caillet. 
 
 The villein, for a moment, recoiled, so strange 
 was the sight presented to him by the red glare 
 of the fire. At first he, too, doubted whether it 
 was a human creature that he saw; and had his 
 been an ordinary mind, or had his education 
 been that of a common peasant, he might have 
 supposed that some of the numerous evil spirits 
 with which the fanciful superstitions of the 
 times peopled the forests and the mountains now 
 stood before him. He soon perceived, however, 
 that though nearly covered by the long and 
 tangled beard and the grey locks which hung in 
 wild profusion over the brow, it was the face of a 
 man which glared fiercely upon him. The form, 
 indeed, was scarcely human ; the height not 
 more than four feet ; the breadth great ; and the 
 arms exceedingly long and powerful ; but the
 
 160 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 whole frame contorted, and more resembling 
 the knotted trunk of some old hawthorn tree 
 than the body of a man. He was covered, too, 
 with untanned goat-skins for clothing, which 
 added to the wild savageness of his appear- 
 ance. 
 
 Caillet paused only sufficient time to see that 
 it was one of his own species, and then sprang 
 forward again to grasp the poor girl, who fled 
 half fainting from his pursuit ; but the strange 
 being which had crossed his path stretched out 
 its long arms from side to side of the road, ex- 
 claiming in a deep loud voice, " Stop !" and as 
 Caillet, fearful of losing the object for which he 
 had played so rash and daring a game, rushed 
 on, his knees were suddenly twined round by 
 the sinewy limbs of this new opponent ; and 
 feeling as if he had been clasped tight in bands 
 of iron, he reeled and fell headlong as he 
 endeavoured to disentangle himself. 
 
 His adversary relaxed his grasp as they fell 
 together, and both started up at the same mo- 
 ment ; but still the wild-looking creature which 
 had interrupted Caillet in his course was be-
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 161 
 
 tween liini and the way she had taken ; and, 
 brandishing a huge axe which had hung at his 
 back, he barred the road, saying, *' I have let 
 thee stay for the last hour by my fire, and stable 
 thy horse under my trees, and use my fountain 
 of pure water; and now, brute beast, not know- 
 ing that there was any one that watched thee 
 but the high unseen eye of God, thou wouldst 
 oflPer violence to innocence even in my pre- 
 sence. — Get thee gone ! lest I slay thee ! Be- 
 take thee to thy horse's back and flee, or I will 
 dash thy brains out where thou standest." 
 
 Caillet made no reply, but taking a single 
 step back, laid his hand upon the hilt of the 
 sword which he wore, and drawing it from the 
 scabbard, aimed a sudden and violent blow 
 at the head of his adversarv. It was instantlv 
 met by the staff of the axe, however, and the 
 edge cut deep into the wood ; but ere it could 
 be returned, sounds met the ears of both the 
 combatants, which, for a moment, suspended 
 the encounter. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE JACQUERIE, 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 Adela de Mauvinet paused not, to ascertain 
 who or what it was that interposed between her 
 and her abhorred pursuer. She saw that he was 
 delayed, and ^even a moment gained, seemed to 
 her a blessing so great as to give fresh strength 
 to her weak and fainting steps. She flew on, 
 then, down the road till the darkness caused her 
 to stop for an instant and ask herself whether 
 she might not plunge into the thick wood which 
 stretched out on either hand, and, like the timid 
 hare or the wild deer, conceal herself amidst 
 the underwood till the return of light enabled 
 her to find some place of refuge, or brought her 
 some help. 
 
 As she thus paused for a moment, she heard 
 the blast of a distant horn, and her heart beat 
 almost to bursting with renewed hope. She 
 thought at first only of rushing on ; but it was
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 163 
 
 far off: — the person who blew the blast might 
 take some other path : Caillet was sure to over- 
 take her ere the other could come near ; and she 
 turned hastily towards the thicket. For another 
 instant she listened again, holding the stem of 
 one of the trees for support. The horn was 
 not heard ; but she caught what seemed fierce 
 words from the other side; and, at all events, it 
 was clear that her enemy's pursuit was stopped 
 for the moment. 
 
 The horn sounded again, in a moment or 
 two, but it was still very distant; and Adela 
 was drawing gently back from the road amongst 
 the brushwood, w^hen there came a flash alono- 
 the path, as if some one bearing a torch were 
 approaching from the side nearest to Mauvinet. 
 Her first impulse was to spring forward and meet 
 it, and when she heard horses' feet, too, coming 
 rapidly, hope rose high ; but then she thought 
 of the attack upon her father's band, and her 
 heart fell again. It might be the adventurers 
 — it might be some base confederate of Caillet, 
 and she drew farther back amongst the trees, 
 
 31 2
 
 164 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 but not so completely as to deprive herself of 
 a view of the road. 
 
 Eagerly did she gaze towards it for the next 
 few minutes, the light increasing quickly, and 
 the horses' feet sounding near and more near. 
 At length it came in sight; and Adela, uttering 
 a cry of joy, darted forward, exclaiming, " Oh, 
 Albert, Albert ! — you have come to save me ! '* 
 
 Albert Denyn sprang to the ground, and cast 
 his left arm round her, while his right hand 
 grasped the torch, and with eager eyes and a 
 look mingling fierce indignation with anxiety 
 and alarm, he asked hurriedly, '' Has he in- 
 jured you, dear lady ? — Where is he? Where 
 is he ? — No hand but mine must punish him. 
 Tell me quick, Lady Adela; for your father 
 and the captal follow fast behind, and I would 
 fain be the first." 
 
 " Oh, leave him to them, Albert !" exclaimed 
 Adela. " He is strong ; he is well armed ; — he 
 fights for existence. Some one has stopped him, 
 or he would have pursued me. Leave him, 
 Albert, leave him, at least till some others come 
 t6 aid you ! "
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 165 
 
 " Hark ! '* cried the vouth, not beedino; her 
 entreaties, " I hear voices there on before. — 
 Dear lady, you are safe. My lord the count 
 will be with you in a moment. Let me — let 
 me, I beseech you, give him his due reward;" 
 and, without waiting to hear more, he pressed 
 his lips respectfully upon Adela's hand, and 
 burst awav. 
 
 Darting forw^ard like lightning, Albert soon 
 heard the clang of steel, and caught a glimpse 
 of the iire from beside which Adela had fled. 
 It shone faintly through the trees, indeed, for 
 the road had taken a slight turn : but it was 
 sufficiently bright to show him two dark forms, 
 enfrasced in what seemed a stru^ijG^le for life and 
 death, the light flashing occasionally upon the 
 blade of the sword, or the head of the axe, as 
 they whirled round and round the heads of the 
 combatants. 
 
 With his whole soul burnino^ with an^jer 
 and mdignation the youth rushed on, ex- 
 claiming, " Leave him to me — leave him to 
 me. — Villain ! traitor ! is this all your boasted 
 zeal ? Turn upon me, Caillet, turn upon me ; 
 
 .AI 3
 
 166 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 leave him to me, old man; I will punish 
 him." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " cried the strange being who 
 had interrupted Caillet in his pursuit of Adela 
 — "art thou come hither to deal with him? So 
 be it then ; deal with him thou shalt," 
 
 Almost at the same moment, Caillet ex- 
 claimed, with flashing eyes, " Now, then, 
 meddling young fool, you shall have your 
 reward, though doubtless you are not here 
 alone. You have not courage to be aught 
 but the lackey of some pitiful lord, or to wait 
 upon a lady's serving woman. Serf by choice 
 as well as fate, come on, I say ! I may, 
 perhaps, have time yet to give you a chance, 
 like the fools you so proudly serve, of dying 
 for a lady love, if not, at least I can die myself, 
 and I well deserve it, for having suffered either 
 pity or remorse, or any other such idle dream, 
 to makejme miss my opportunity. Come on, 
 though I well know you have cowardly odds 
 enough against me ! " 
 
 " I trust to have time to slay you before 
 they can interfere," replied Albert, whose
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 167 
 
 sword was already crossed with that of Caillet; 
 " and all that I wish is, that I were but 
 sure of half an hour with you alone here in 
 the wood. — Back, back, traitor, into the 
 clearer light: this darkness suits your spirit 
 better than mine." 
 
 Thus saying, he pressed forward upon his 
 adversary with such fierceness and activity, that 
 Caillet was compelled to retreat towards the 
 centre of the little opening in the wood, while 
 the wild spectator of their combat, who had 
 stood by for a moment, listening and leaning 
 on his axe, now rushed forward to the fire 
 of withered branches, and dry fern and gorse, 
 and tossing them high in the air, made a 
 pyramid of flame blaze up, and cast a bright 
 glare of red light over the whole scene around. 
 
 Nor, to say the truth, was Caillet displeased 
 to be thus enabled to see more clearly, in his 
 strife with Albert Denyn, He was much too 
 clear-sighted and shrewd, not to have perceived 
 the youth's natural genius for military ex- 
 ercises, and marked the great progress which 
 he had made with very little instruction ; and, 
 M 4
 
 168 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 indeed, though, from liis greater age and ex- 
 perience, he had always affected a superiority 
 over Albert, and pretended to regard him as a 
 mere youth, yet, in reality, he had feared him, 
 rather than despised him ; had been jealous of 
 him, rather than looked down upon him. He 
 was thus well aware, that it was with no com- 
 mon antagonist he had to do ; and though he 
 vainly fancied himself as superior in skill, as he 
 was in age and strength, he knew that a false 
 step, or an ill-aimed blow, might well turn the 
 chances aganst himself. 
 
 Caillet retreated then more willingly than 
 Albert thought, watching the eager thrusts and 
 blows of his assailant, and ready at any 
 moment to take advantage of a mistake. The 
 youth rushed on fiercely, and perhaps some- 
 what rashly, and a lunge that passed close to 
 his breast, and wounded him slightly in the 
 shoulder, showed him that he must be more 
 cautious in his dealings with his adversary. 
 In the open light, however, he took more 
 care ; and a scornful smile of satisfaction, which 
 ^ame upon Caillet's face, when he saw the
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 169 
 
 blood flow rapidly from his companion's ai-m, 
 was the next moment changed into a scowl 
 of malignant hatred, as an unexpected blow, 
 from Albert's sword, covered his whole face 
 with blood, and made him stagger as he stood. 
 Nevertheless he parried a second blow, and 
 only became the more wary, from the injury 
 he had received; his first fear being, lest 
 the flowing of the gore, which dimmed his 
 sight, might prevent him from taking that 
 revenge for which his soul thirsted. For a 
 moment or two he kept entirely on the de- 
 fensive, retreating slowly round the fire; and 
 Albert became possessed with the idea, that 
 he was endeavouring to reach his horse, 
 which stood hard by cropping the grass, at 
 the side of Adela's jennet. 
 
 Determined that he should not escape, the 
 youth sprang, with one bound, into the midst 
 of the burning branches, and then, by another, 
 placed himself between his enemy and the 
 horses ; the intense heat, however, and the 
 suffocating smoke of the fire, made his head 
 giddy, and his sight dim; and Caillet, who
 
 170 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 now attacked him with redoubled fury, might, 
 perhaps, have ultimately gained the advantage, 
 had not the galloping of cavalry sounded close 
 at hand, and drawn the villein's attention to 
 the other side. Albert took immediate ad- 
 vantage of the opportunity, sprang fiercely 
 upon him, closed with him in a moment, and 
 shortening his sword, was about to drive it 
 into his heart, when his arm was suddenly 
 seized, and a loud voice exclaimed, *' Come, 
 come, my young tiger ! On my soul, you 
 have well nigh killed your game ; but I must 
 stop you, however ; for if I mistake not, this 
 is the youth who gave us tidings of such a 
 goodly booty." 
 
 "And this is he," exclaimed Caillet, now 
 freed from Albert's grasp — **and this is he 
 who defeated your plan, and prevented you 
 from reaping the harvest which I had pro- 
 mised you. Leave him to me, leave him to 
 me, I beseech you: I have an account as 
 well as you to settle with him." 
 
 " By Heaven," cried the person who had be- 
 fore spoken, and in whom Albert instantly re-
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 17J 
 
 cognised one of the band of adventurers that 
 he had found contending with the Lord of 
 Mauvinet and his little party — " By Heaven, 
 if we had left him to you, my man, for 
 another minute, he would soon have settled 
 that account you talk of: at least so it seemed 
 just now. But we have no time to wait for idle 
 talk : you must both come with 'us ; for it 
 seems we owe you both something, and that 
 score had better be cleared." 
 
 Too many persons stood round at the mo- 
 ment, and those persons too well armed, for 
 Albert Denyn to offer any opposition. He 
 had about him, it is true, all the eager spirit of 
 youth ; he had in his heart that daring courage, 
 which utter contempt of danger', inexperience, 
 a hardy education, and a mind neither sof- 
 tened by luxury nor attached to the world 
 by high fortunes and bright hopes, can alone 
 give; he had, in short, courage approaching 
 to rashness. But yet there are some circum- 
 stances, in which successful resistance is so 
 evidently impossible, that even rashness itself 
 dare not attempt it; and in the present in-
 
 172 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 tance, Albert did not even dream of opposing 
 the force which now surrounded him. All his 
 thoughts were, how best to act, in the situ- 
 ation in which he was placed, not for his own 
 security but for the safety of Adela. He knew, 
 or at least he believed, that the party of the 
 Lord of Mauvinet, and the Captal de Buch, 
 could be at no great distance ; and there was 
 every probability of their coming to his relief, 
 if he could delay the adventurers for a few 
 moments; but he hesitated even to make the 
 attempt, lest by any means the safety of Adela 
 might be compromised, and she might likewise 
 fall into the hands of the free companions, 
 before those who had quitted Mauvinet to 
 deliver her could come up. 
 
 Ere he had time to arrange any plan Cailiet, 
 as if he could have divined what was passing 
 in his enemy's mind, and sought to frustrate 
 his design, turned to the leader of the troop, 
 exclaiming, " I will go with you willingly 
 enough, noble sir ; but I beseech you seek for 
 the lady who was with me, and who must, 
 even now, be at no great distance along that
 
 THE JACQUEPxIE. 173 
 
 road. You know our contract was, that she 
 was to be my share of the day's booty." 
 
 " It was your business to keep her when you 
 had got her, then," replied the adventurer, 
 harshly: "we have no time to seek this errant 
 lady now." 
 
 " You had better not dally," cried Albert 
 Denyn, eagerly : '^ the count and the Captal 
 de Buch, with all their men, must be here 
 ere many minutes are over. Some went by 
 the one path, and some by the other, while I 
 cut across through the brushwood by the 
 chapel, till I reached the road again; but I 
 cannot have gained ten minutes upon the rest. 
 Hark ! there is a horn : those are the captal's 
 men coming up on the right." 
 7, " By the bones of the saints, then," exclaimed 
 the captain of the adventurers, " we have but 
 little time to spare. Quick ! to your horses ! 
 — 'Come, come, young man," he continued, 
 speaking to Albert : " if you try to delay, we 
 will drive you on with a lance ! ^Nlount your 
 horse ! quick ! "
 
 174 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 '' That is not my horse," said Albert Denyn, 
 *^ that is the lady's." 
 
 " Here is another in the lane," said a second 
 man. 
 
 ^' Bring it, Hugo ! bring it up ! " cried the 
 first; and in a moment Albert's horse, which 
 had followed him slowly from the spot where he 
 had left Adela, was led forward, and he was 
 forced to mount, in order to proceed with his 
 captors. Placed between two of the free com- 
 panions, his sword having been taken from him, 
 and no means, either of resistance or defence, 
 being left to him, Albert Denyn suffered himself 
 to be hurried along at a quick pace, hearing 
 from time to time the distant horns of the 
 friendly troop, from which he had been se- 
 parated, but with the mortification of finding 
 that the sounds grew fainter and more faint, as 
 he was thus borne on against his will to a dis- 
 tance from all those for whom he felt any attach- 
 ment. He had but one consolation : that Adela, 
 at least, had escaped ; that she was delivered 
 from the hands of Caillet, and had not fallen 
 into those of the adventurers.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 175 
 
 This was certainly no slight comfort ; but 
 still, with the restless anxiety of all those who 
 love well, imagination suggested a thousand 
 dangers, and created a thousand fears, in regard 
 to the safety of the fair Lady of Mauvinet. 
 He fancied that the count and the captal might 
 not find her ; that she might be forced to stray 
 in terror and solitude through that dark wood 
 during the livelong night, and perhaps pe- 
 rish ere the morning, with hunger, cold, and 
 apprehension. For his own fate he cared little : 
 he feared not that any evil would befall him, al- 
 though he knew that the free companions had 
 sometimes shown great cruelty to prisoners who 
 could not or would not pay a large ransom; 
 but his was not a heart at all prone to appre- 
 hension ; and he rode on, endeavouring to 
 solace himself with youth's bright hope, that 
 ^' aU will go well," which lights us still, though 
 the clouds lour above, and the tempest beats 
 around us. 
 
 The march of the adventurers lasted the 
 whole night, at first proceeding very rapidly, 
 but gradually assuming a slower pace, as they
 
 176 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 imagined pursuit to be left far beliind them. 
 During the earlier part of the journey, Albert 
 paid but little attention to any thing that was 
 said or done by those around him ; and, in- 
 deed, but little conversation took place among 
 the men themselves. As their progress became 
 slow, however, they began to speak over the 
 events of the day, first in broken sentences and 
 detached words, and then in more lengthened 
 discussions, to which Albert — somewhat re- 
 covered from the first tumultuous feelings 
 that his captivity had occasioned — turned an 
 attentive ear, the subject being one in which, 
 as may be well supposed, he took some interest. 
 It would be tedious, both to the reader and 
 the writer, to detail the whole conversation of 
 the two men who guarded Albert on either side, 
 in which those who rode immediately before 
 and behind also joined occasionally. The 
 youth gathered, however, that although they 
 had been disappointed in a part of their booty, 
 tliey had yet contrived to strip the good farmers 
 of Mauvinet of a very considerable sum ; but 
 the loss of men they had sustained also ap-
 
 THE JALQCERIE. 177 
 
 peared to have been severe ; and they spoke in 
 terms of so much anger, regarding the death 
 of the leader who had first broken through 
 the little band of the count and the captal, 
 that Albert began to apprehend his own life 
 might not be in safety if it were discovered 
 that his was the hand which slew him. 
 
 " We shall never get his like," exclaimed 
 one of the men, " if we seek him far and wide." 
 
 "I wish," cried another, "that I could have 
 struck only one blow at the fellow, when he hit 
 him on the head with the axe : he should 
 have kept him company on the road, wherever 
 he is gone." 
 
 " It is a bad day's work," rejoined the [first. 
 " To lose such a captain as that, may well 
 make us curse the hand that did it." 
 
 " I got hold of him by the collar, at one 
 time," said a third speaker, " and in another 
 moment would have cleft his skull, but, just 
 then, fresh people came up from the castle, and 
 I was obliged to let go my grasp : I would have 
 given my right hand for five minutes more; 
 but the time may come ^vhen we shall meet 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 with the lad again. I wish Sir Robert would 
 go and storm the castle some day." 
 
 " That would take more men than we have 
 got to spare," replied the first who had 
 spoken ; " but 1 trust we shall lay hands upon 
 the youth some time or another, as you say, 
 and then woe be to him, if he come in my way." 
 
 " Or in mine," answered the other ; " but 
 see, there is the daylight coming in. We 
 cannot have much farther to march." 
 
 What he said was true. The soft morning 
 light was beginning to appear in the east ; and 
 the objects around became more distinctly 
 visible, every thing looking calm, and sweet, 
 and peaceful, and the whole scene seeming to 
 reproach man for the folly and the wickedness 
 of his unceasing strife and vain contentions. 
 
 The adventurers had quitted the wood for 
 some time when the day dawned, and the land- 
 scape presented merely a quiet country scene, 
 with fields spread out in various states of 
 cultivation ; and some scattered cottages nested 
 in various sheltered nooks of that undulating 
 track of country which lies upon the frontiers
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 179 
 
 of Main and Touraine. On a distant emi- 
 nence, however, was seen a tall tower rising 
 up and commanding the whole country round 
 about, and towards it the band of free com- 
 panions now took their way, passing through 
 the midst of several of the fields, without the 
 slightest consideration for some of the late 
 crops, which were still upon the ground. 
 
 As the light grew brighter and brighter 
 every moment, Albert could perceive one of 
 the men who rode beside him turn round 
 several times with a frowning brow, to gaze 
 upon his countenance, and, at length, without 
 saying any thing, but merely making a sign 
 for those who were behind, to ride forward 
 and fill up his place, the adventurer galloped 
 on, towards the head of the line, and spoke 
 for several moments with the leader. He then 
 came back again and resumed his place, without 
 making any comment ; and a few moments 
 after, the whole body wound slowly up a 
 steep ascent towards the gates of the castle. 
 
 To whom it originally belonged, Albert 
 knew not, but it was now evidently in the 
 N 2
 
 180 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 hands of a large body of plunderers, of which 
 the troop that carried him along with them 
 formed a part. As they approached, a number 
 of the soldiery were seen sitting round the 
 barbican, which was beyond the moat, cleaning 
 their arms, or playing at various games of 
 chance ; and little discipline or regularity of 
 any kind seemed to be maintained amongst 
 them. Even the band which had captured 
 Albert, dispersed, without order, as they came 
 up. Some, stopping to speak with their com- 
 panions, remained behind, some dismounting, 
 led their horses through the gates, some staid 
 in a group to talk together over the adventures 
 of the past night. The men who surrounded 
 him, however, and those who accompanied 
 Caillet in the rear, rode on into the outer 
 court without losing sight of them for a 
 moment ; and the instant he had passed through 
 the long dark archway, Albert heard an order 
 given for the gates to be closed behind.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 181 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 To retrace one's steps is almost always an un- 
 pleasant task. Whether the path that we have 
 followed be one of joy or of sorrow; whether the 
 bright beams of hope, or the dark clouds of 
 despondency, have hung upon our way, it is 
 still an unpleasant thing to tread back our 
 course, and resume our advance again from 
 a spot which we left long before. If sorrow 
 have been our companion in the scenes which 
 we are called upon to revisit, though there 
 is an accidental sweetness that mingles with 
 the bitterness of recollected woes, yet dark- 
 ness must ever fill the principal part of the 
 picture, and the light be faint and sad. Evea 
 if we have known bright joys and that glorious 
 happiness which visits the mortal being but 
 once or twice in life, still we find something 
 unpleasant in retreading our steps : the scenes 
 N 3
 
 182 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 are less fair than memory painted them; the 
 light that gave them lustre is gone out, and 
 the contrast generally renders that which might 
 otherwise have been pleasing, sad, and very 
 often more gloomy than if there had never 
 been any thing glittering and joyful in the 
 things around us. 
 
 We must, nevertheless, turn back, in the 
 course of this history's chronology, to the mo- 
 ment at which we left the Count de Mauvinet, 
 the Captal de Buch, and Albert Denyn^ re- 
 turning towards the chateau, after having dis- 
 persed the body of adventurers, and pursued 
 them as far as was judged necessary. The 
 count and the captal rode on, without any 
 thing like apprehension or alarm, although 
 both were grave ; for the latter was any thing 
 but sanguinary by nature, and loved not to 
 see unnecessary bloodshed, and the count, on 
 his part, had a personal interest of a painful 
 kind in the events of the day. Many of his 
 peasantry, upon whose superiority he prided 
 himself, as much as upon the protection and 
 happiness which they enjoyed upon his do-
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 183 
 
 mains, had been slaughtered or wounded be- 
 fore his eyes, when they came to offer an 
 honourable tribute of gratitude for the kind- 
 ness which he had ever displayed towards 
 them. Thus neither of the two noblemen 
 could feel gay or even cheerful ; although, in 
 the first excitement of success, they might 
 jest at the discomfiture of the adventurers. 
 But still, neither of them experienced the least 
 apprehension in regard to Adela, after the 
 explanation which Albert Denyn had given. 
 
 Albert himself was not so well satisfied ; 
 why or wherefore he knew not. There were 
 fears in his mind, vague, indefinite, perhaps un- 
 reasonable ; and he looked eagerly first to- 
 wards the chateau and then towards the hill, 
 though too little light remained in the sky 
 for him to see distinctly any object at a dis- 
 tance. AVhen they had reached a small mound^ 
 however, about a hundred yards from the cause- 
 way, which led across the moat, they were met 
 by one of the peasants running at full speed, 
 and exclaiming, " Oh, my lord, my lord ! the 
 Lady Adela!" 
 
 N 4
 
 184 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 " What of her ?" exclaimed the count, appre- 
 hensions for liis daughter immediately taking 
 possession of his bosom ; " what of your lady ? 
 — Speak, man, speak !" 
 
 " He has carried her off," cried the man, 
 out of breath. " Instead of turning towards the 
 castle, he has forced her away into the wood,'* 
 
 " Who do you mean by he ?" demanded the 
 captal : " what can we understand by he ?** 
 
 " I mean William Caillet," replied the man, 
 " I saw him do it myself, and Larchenay has 
 followed him into the wood. Peter John has 
 gone thither also; but I fear they will not 
 overtake him, for they have no horses." 
 
 " Why did you leave her, Albert?" ex- 
 claimed the Count de Mauvinet ; " why did 
 you leave her?" 
 
 " She commanded me to do so, my lord," 
 answered Albert : " she thought you were in 
 danger. Caillet, too — the traitor !" 
 
 " Which way did they take?" cried the 
 count; " which way did they take?" 
 
 The man explained as well as he could; 
 but in the dim light he had not seen the
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 185 
 
 proceedings of Caillet distinctly, and more 
 of the peasantry coming up only embarrassed 
 the statements of the first. The count and his 
 companions paused but for a moment to hear ; 
 and then exclaiming, " On into the wood ! — 
 My lord captal, I will not ask you if you will 
 seek my child with me, I know you will," 
 the Lord of Mauvinet spurred forward his horse 
 towards the side of the wood, and entered by 
 the first path he could find. 
 
 It so happened that his knowledge of the 
 country, and a rapid calculation of the road which 
 a person engaged in such a base enterprise was 
 likely to take, led him at once directly upon 
 the track of Caillet ; and the count for some 
 minutes pursued it fiercely, galloping at full 
 speed, and without drawing a rein. The 
 shadows of the night, however, were creeping 
 over the scene apace ; and at length the horse 
 of the captal, which, though somewhat weary 
 with a long day's journey, was still full of 
 fire, shied at an object by the side of the road, 
 and the moment after, the count himself pulled 
 in his rein, exclaiming, "There is a dead man !"
 
 186 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 <' No, not yet dead,'* cried a faint voice, 
 '^ though well nigh dead, my lord ; for that 
 villain Caillet has fractured my skull, I am 
 sure." 
 
 " What, Larchenay !" exclaimed the count, 
 ** is that you, my poor fellow ? Where is the 
 villain ? Was your lady with him?" 
 
 " Ay, that she was, my lord," answered the 
 farmer, in a faint voice. " He was leading the 
 horse along by the bridle, whether she would 
 or not; and I am sure there was magic in the 
 thing ; for though she screamed so loudly, and 
 it was her own favourite jennet, the beast 
 went on without heeding her cries, at the 
 slightest touch of that traitor's hand. 
 
 " Which way did he take?" demanded the 
 Lord of Mauvinet. 
 
 '' Oh, straight on, straight on," replied the 
 farmer : " he staid for no one, but dealt me 
 that one blow on the head, and galloped for- 
 ward at full speed." 
 
 " Some one see to him," exclaimed the count, 
 pointing to the poor farmer : " let him be 
 carried to the castle, and have all care and
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 187 
 
 tendance. Let us on now ourselves ; we must 
 soon come up with the villain ; his horse can 
 never match ours." 
 
 *' Alas ! my lord," said Larchenay, " he 
 has dared to take out one of your own noblest 
 chargers." 
 
 " Accursed villain," cried the count ; " then 
 we must but make the more speed. Set to your 
 spurs, my lord captal ; this is a sad day's work, 
 indeed." 
 
 They galloped on for some way, without 
 check or pause, no one uttering a word, but all 
 listening eagerly, although the noise of their 
 own horses' feet must have drowned every 
 lighter sound. At length, however, Albert 
 Denyn spoke. 
 
 " Hark ! my lord, hark ! " he said ; " surely 
 there is a horse's feet before us ?" - 
 
 The Lord ^of Mauvinet paused, exclaiming, 
 " Halt !" and the whole line of those who 
 were following instantly drew in their reins. 
 At first, no other sound was heard; but 
 the next instant the captal exclaimed, " You 
 are right, young man, you are right ; there is
 
 188 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 some one flying along the road;" and in a 
 moment after, the noise of a horse's feet, as 
 they passed over some more stony part of the 
 road, were distinctly heard, beating the ground 
 with furious rapidity. 
 
 No more words were spoken; no thought 
 animated the bosom of any one, but who 
 should first overtake the villain that had com- 
 mitted so terrible an outrage. But still the 
 sounds went on before them, and led them 
 for some way in the pursuit; till at length, 
 through the dim light, they suddenly caught 
 a sight of the charger, which the moment after 
 stood quite still ; and at the same instant, the 
 rider put his hand to his head, and fell for- 
 ward upon the neck of his horse. The next 
 minute the Count de Mauvinet was by his 
 side; but instead of William Caillet, the figure 
 was that of one of the heavy-armed adven- 
 turers whom they had so lately overthrown; 
 and ^almost at the same time that the count 
 laid his hand upon the bridle, so as to make 
 the horse suddenly retreat a step, the man 
 fell headlong to the ground, dead from the
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 189 
 
 wounds he had received in the late combat. 
 Some of the men sprang to the ground, and 
 opened his casque, but life was quite extinct. 
 
 " We have been mistaken," cried the Lord of 
 Mauvinet, ^*and without torches, our pursuit 
 will be vain. Can you tell, Albert, where we 
 can find either torches or flambeaux to guide 
 us on our way onward ? " 
 
 « There is St. Mary's Chapel not far off,'* 
 said Albert, rapidly; " the priest there has 
 doubtless both." 
 
 " Thither, thither ! " cried the Lord of Mau- 
 vinet, " let us go thither;" and turninghis horse's 
 bridle, he led the way to a small chapel in the 
 wood, by the side of which stood the house of 
 a poor priest, who, though in truth he had 
 nothing within his dwelling to justify him in 
 thinking that any one would plunder his abode, 
 would yet scarcely, on any persuasion, open 
 the gates to the Lord of Mauvinet and his 
 party, though the count threatened to drive 
 in the door if he hesitated any longer. When 
 the good man was at length convinced, that 
 it was indeed his chief patron who was there
 
 190 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 waiting for torches, he would have fain made 
 a thousand excuses for the delay; and in the 
 very attempt wasted so much time, that Albert 
 Denyn, springing to the ground, entered with- 
 out farther ceremony, and soon returned, bear- 
 ing in his hand that which was wanted, much 
 to the satisfaction of his lord. 
 
 Leaving the poor priest to close his house again 
 at leisure, the party proceeded once more upon 
 the search, the hearts of all sinking with ap- 
 prehension at the many long delays which had 
 intervened. To describe the feelings of Albert 
 Denyn would be impossible; and though, if any 
 one could have seen his countenance, those 
 feelings would have been found plainly written 
 there, yet as he had uttered not one word but 
 those which we have mentioned, during the whole 
 ride, no one present had any idea of what was 
 going on in his breast, unless, indeed, it was 
 the Captal de Buch, who might entertain some 
 suspicion that the heart of his young retainer 
 was less at ease than some of those present 
 suspected. 
 
 At length, on reaching a spot where several
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 191 
 
 ways divided, the whole party were obliged 
 to make a pause, to settle their farther course, 
 lest, while they were proceeding on one path, 
 Caillet should escape by another. All the 
 roads, it appeared, joined again at the distance 
 of a few miles ; and while the [captal took one, 
 the Count de Mauvinet chose another, and 
 despatched three or four of the men by a 
 small path which led between the two. There 
 was still, however, an extensive track where 
 the wood had been cut down, to aflPord firing 
 for the ensuing winter; and lest the villain 
 Caillet should evade their pursuit by cross- 
 ing that, Albert besought his lord's permission 
 to gallop forward by the only open path he 
 knew of across the brushwood, and rejoin 
 them somewhat farther on. 
 
 He took one of the torches with him; and 
 as he turned to go, the Captal de Buch said, 
 gazing on him with a peculiar sort of smile, 
 '^ We will sound our horns, young man, in case 
 you should need help, though I do not think 
 you are one to call for it without great ne- 
 cessity."
 
 192 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 " I trust not, my lord," replied Albert ; "and 
 in this case I think I could well deal with that 
 base villain alone." 
 
 " And doubtless would willingly do so," said 
 the captal. 
 
 " Most willingly, my lord," replied Albert — 
 " pray God send me that good fortune !" — and 
 thus saying, he rode away. His horse, which 
 had not been out with the party in the morning, 
 was of course fresher than any of the others ; 
 and as we have shown — what between the 
 shortness of the path and the pace at which 
 he went — he gained a considerable way upon 
 his companions. In the mean time, the'count and 
 the Captal de Buch rode on, pushing their 
 chargers to their utmost speed, each party guided 
 by persons who knew the way well, and each 
 keeping nearly on a line with the other, though 
 that of the captal was perhaps a little in ad- 
 vance. 
 
 The great English commander, however, had 
 not reached the spot where the brief combat 
 had taken place, between Albert Denyn and 
 Caillet more than a single minute, when the
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 193 
 
 count himself galloped up, exclaiming, " What 
 have we here? a fire! — and as I live, my poor 
 Adela's jennet ! Oh, my lord captal, this is very 
 terrible." 
 
 The captal gazed sternly round him for a 
 moment in silence, and then sprang to the 
 ground, saying, "Here is something more! That 
 good youth has overtaken him, my lord — here 
 is the torch he carried, and the ground covered 
 with blood. See, see — Here amongst the grass 
 — There has been a sharp strife ! — but what 
 have we ? Hei'e are the foot-marks of many 
 horses. A whole band has been here not 
 long ago — some thirty or forty, it would seem. 
 Take my word for it, my lord, this is a deeper 
 scheme than we have fancied : this villain is in 
 league with the men who attacked us to- 
 night, and it is they who have got your 
 daughter, for the sake of a ransom. Albert, 
 poor boy, has met with them, and has fared 
 ill, it would seem. They have not killed him, 
 however, or we should find his body ; but he 
 must be badly wounded, if this be all his blood." 
 
 When he had done speaking, the captal 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 turned to the count, and standing by the side of 
 that nobleman's horse, laid his hand upon the 
 animal's neck, gazing up into his friend's face, 
 which was full of the anguish that a parent alone 
 can feel in such circumstances. The captal 
 was moved by the depth of sorrow which he 
 beheld. " Take comfort," he said, " my good 
 lord, take comfort!" 
 
 *' Oh, my lord captal," replied the count, 
 " there ckn be Jio comfort for a father, while he 
 knows not his child's fate ! But you cannot feel 
 what I feel, nor can I expect or ask you to 
 follow out this enterprise as I must follow it ! 
 I can know no rest till I have delivered my 
 child." 
 
 " Am I a knight, a noble, and your friend," 
 demanded the captal, grasping his hand, " and 
 shall I quit you in such an hour as this? — 
 Nay, nay, my lord, hear me but one word," and 
 unsheathing his sword, he held up the cross 
 of the hilt before his eyes, saying, " So help me 
 God and our Lady, in my utmost need, as I 
 do never sheath this sword or lay my head 
 upon a pillow, or eat aught but bread, till I
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 195 
 
 have delivered the Lady Adela, or taken ven- 
 geance of those that have done her wrong. Nor 
 will I forget the man who has injured that poor 
 boy, Albert. I have not been so kind to hini 
 in my thoughts, as I might have been, but I 
 will do him justice, if God give me grace, here- 
 after. And now, my lord, let us on upon our way, 
 as far as our tired horses will carry us. These 
 men themselves cannot outrun us far, for their 
 beasts were evidently hard pressed when last 
 we saw them." 
 
 '* We shall find a village some three miles 
 on," said the Lord of Mauvinet, in a sad tone 
 — " perhaps there we may obtain some intelli- 
 gence." 
 
 o 2
 
 196 THE JACQUERIE, 
 
 CHAP. XL 
 
 Albert Denyn gazed round the small court 
 of the castle, when the gate was shut behind 
 him, with feelings not a little painful. His 
 heart was one which might find joy and satis- 
 faction in honourable danger and noble strife, 
 which, even had death been imminent, nay, cer- 
 tain, would not have hesitated for an instant to 
 plunge into a struggle, which had any high and 
 generous object. But the aspect of the battle 
 field, with its eager endeavour, its inspiriting 
 emulation, with the bray of trumpets and the 
 clang of arms, is very, very different from the 
 silent grey walls of the prison, with the pros- 
 pect of lengthened captivity, and of unrecorded 
 deat. Such were the things which Albert 
 Denyn had now to contemplate, as he gazed 
 around him in the castle of the adventurers ; 
 for the menacing looks which he had seen, and
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 197 
 
 the words which he had heard, were not to be 
 mistaken. 
 
 The court was nearly empty of all human 
 beings but those who brought him thither ; and 
 
 there seemed somethiniT solemn and sad even in 
 
 o 
 
 the sunshine, as it rested on the tall wall of 
 the principal keep of the castle, with none but 
 a few small irregular windows breaking the 
 flat monotony of the surface. The large dooi*s 
 of the keep were half open, and from within — 
 but seeming as if they echoed through many 
 vacant halls — came the sounds of laughter and 
 merriment, ringing harsh upon the ear of the 
 young captive. 
 
 He and Caillet were now both told to dis- 
 mount; and while they stood face to face, at 
 some little distance, with no very pleasant 
 sensations in their hearts towards each other, 
 five or six of the adventurers stood round 
 watching them ; and two, who seemed to be 
 principal personages in the band, passed through 
 the doors into the keep, and disappeared for 
 some time. 
 
 While they were gone, Caillet fixed his eyes 
 o 3
 
 198 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 upon Albert sternly and steadfastly, but met a 
 look not less fixed and determined than his 
 own. Neither spoke, however ; and at length 
 one of the adventurers who had left them re- 
 appeared at the door of the hall, making a 
 sign to the others, who immediately bade 
 their two prisoners to go on, and led them 
 forward to the keep. Albert thought that 
 he could perceive a gleam of triumph come 
 over Caillet's countenance as he passed, but 
 that look left it in a moment, and his features 
 relapsed into their usual expression of cold 
 scorn. 
 
 Mounting the steps, they were hurried 
 through the great hall of the keep, which was 
 quite empty, and across another vacant room 
 beyond, to a small dark chamber, which had 
 once been painted with various gay devices, 
 but which was already blackened over with 
 the smoke of many years. In the large chimney 
 blazed an immense fire of wood ; and the white 
 wreaths of smoke, still escaping, curled round 
 the rafters above, and made the eyes wink 
 with the pungent vapour. In the midst stood a
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 199 
 
 table loaded with viands, and covered with large 
 leathern bottles of wine, while round the 
 upper end sat four strong middle-aged men, 
 with harsh and weather-beaten countenances, 
 on most of which were to be traced manifold 
 scars. The one at the head of the board, 
 who seemed to be superior to the rest, had a 
 frank and somewhat gay look, with large 
 square heavy features, and bushy overhanging 
 eyebrows. He and the rest gazed upon Al- 
 bert and Caillet for a moment without speaking, 
 while two or three of the adventurers who had 
 brought them thither seated themselves at the 
 table with the others, and the rest, who ap- 
 peared of an inferior grade, stood round the 
 prisoners. 
 
 Albert, on his part — wisely resolved to keep 
 silence as far as possible •— remained standing 
 before the adventurers with as calm an air as 
 he could assume. Caillet, however, bent his 
 brows — somewhat angrily it seemed — upon 
 the personage at the head of the table, and, 
 after pausing for a short time, as if to see 
 whether the other would begin, he spoke 
 o 4
 
 200 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 himself, saying, " This is not fair or right ; 
 I thought I was dealing with men of honour, 
 who would keep their word with me, when I 
 kept my word with them." 
 
 " You are saucy, my friend," said the leader 
 of the adventurers — " take a quieter tone here. 
 We are men of honour, and do keep our word 
 with all those who trust us and who show good 
 faith towards us; but it seems that there are 
 suspicions of your not having so done, and 
 it is but fair that we should know whether 
 such be the case or not. I have sad news 
 here : not half the plunder that you promised 
 has been obtained; our people have been 
 attacked unexpectedly, and met with severe 
 loss. You yourself, I am told, were seen 
 amongst those who led the rescue from the 
 castle, and it is much doubted whether you 
 did or did not betray us into the hands of the 
 enemy." 
 
 " He who pretends to doubt, is a knave," 
 replied Caillet boldly, " and he who really 
 doubts, is a fool. Did I not stipulate for a 
 certain prize, and was I not to take my own
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 201 
 
 means and time for obtaining it? How could 
 I gain possession of her but by the way I 
 took ? It was the meddling boy who stands 
 there that led the rescue from the castle ; I had 
 nothing to do with it." 
 
 " We will speak of him by and by," said 
 the leader ; " in the mean time, keep to your own 
 affair. How was it discovered so soon from the 
 castle that they had made the attack?" 
 
 " Because, " replied Caillet, " they were 
 half an hour later than they promised to be. 
 If they had been to their time, nothing of the 
 kind could have happened, but they were 
 not; and they have no right now to lay the 
 fault upon me of that which was their own 
 doing." 
 
 " How is this, Harv^ ?" said the leader, " how 
 came you to be so late ? " 
 
 " Why, I will tell you, Griffith," answered 
 the man ; " it was Chapelle, who would stay 
 to drink some wine, which we found at the 
 miller's : I told him five times to come away, 
 but he would not ; and then he was so drunk, 
 we were forced to draw him through the river
 
 2^2 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 to get him sober again, as he had to command 
 the second troop, you know." 
 
 " In short, then, it was your own fault," re- 
 plied the commander, " and you have no right 
 to blame others for that which you did your- 
 selves. There is no proof at all that he had 
 any thing to do with the rescue, and I see 
 not why you interrupted him or brought him 
 hither." 
 
 " It is not of that alone which I complain," 
 said Caillet ; " it is, that they have prevented me 
 from punishing yon insolent boy, who was the 
 cause of all the mischief, and, by dragging me 
 away, have suffered the very prize for which 
 I had risked all, to be snatched from my hands 
 for ever." 
 
 " As to punishing him," said one of the men, 
 laughing, " he was more in the way to punish 
 you, good youth. When we found you, you 
 were but in a bad taking, and in a few minutes 
 more would certainly have measured your length 
 upon the ground with more than one hole in 
 your throat, if I judge right ; why, he had cut 
 you over the head, had got you by the neck,
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 203 
 
 and had very nearly settled the affair to his 
 own satisfaction, I suppose, before we came 
 up. — Was it not so?" he added, addressing 
 Albert Denyn.^ 
 
 But Albert made no reply; and one of the 
 leaders who were sitting at the table burst out 
 into a laugh, exclaiming, " Better say no more 
 on that subject, my hero ; and as for the woman, 
 give him a hundred crowns, Griffith, and send 
 him about hi^ business, then he will have no 
 reason to complain. — Surely a hundred crowns 
 is above the worth of any w^oman that ever yet 
 was born. — Why he looks discontented : what 
 would he have ? Give it^him, and send him off; 
 for we must have no saucy gi'umblers here." 
 
 But the other, whom he had called Griffith, 
 and who, as the reader perhaps may know, was 
 afterwards one of the most distinguished 
 
 amongst the adventurous leaders of the time, 
 treated the claims of Caillet with somewhat 
 more respect, saying, " I am sorry you have 
 been disappointed, and will willingly do all I 
 can to make up for it. What will you have ? 
 what do you wish for ? "
 
 204 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 Caillet gazed sternly down upon the ground 
 for a moment or two, and then raising his eyes, 
 replied with a heavy frown upon his counte- 
 nance, " For the objects and purposes which, with 
 you and through you, I have lost I sacrificed 
 every thing on earth. I have no longer an 
 abode, a friend, or aught else that can make 
 existence tolerable ; and therefore it is that I 
 demand to be received into your band, to have 
 a new existence given me by yourselves, as 
 through you I have lost that which I myself 
 possessed. You will neither find me wanting in 
 strength or skill, as I am ready to prove with 
 any one, or upon any one here present ; and of 
 my determination and resolution you may 
 judge by what you know of me already. This, 
 then, I say, is the only compensation that can 
 be made me for that of which the silly inter- 
 ference of the men who brought me hither has 
 deprived me." 
 
 The men round the table looked in each 
 other's faces with evident surprise, but that sur- 
 prise was clearly not pleasurable ; and after a 
 moment Griffith answered, " No, no, my good
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 205 
 
 friend, you make a great mistake : it is im- 
 possible that you can be received into this band 
 for manifold strong reasons ; first, if you must 
 needs know them, we have none amongst us 
 but gentlemen and soldiers of tried courage 
 and of old repute ; secondly, although you seem 
 to think that your coming here and proposing 
 to us a little enterprise, which if fully successful 
 might have increased our treasure in no slight 
 degree, is a service deserving high encourage- 
 ment, yet I have to tell you, that that very fact 
 — though we may pay you with a part of the 
 spoil, or suffer you to take the prize you coveted 
 — far from gaining you admission into our band, 
 would exclude you from amongst us for ever. 
 Know that we hate and despise traitors ; that 
 we abominate and contemn those who betray 
 the trust reposed in them; that we have no place 
 amongst us for such people ; and though we may 
 use them, as men use dirty tools to work great 
 ends, yet we cast them from us as soon as pos- 
 sible, and wash our hands when we have done* 
 The insolence of your demand is forgiven, and 
 we will not treat you ill, though you have for-
 
 206 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 gotten yourself. Nay more, we will make you 
 the compensation proposed. Take him away, 
 Harv^, and give him a hundred crowns ; restore 
 to him his horse and his weapons, or if his 
 horse be tired, let him have another, as good as 
 his own, for he will have to make his escape 
 from this part of the country. Furnish him 
 with a safe-conduct, too, that none of our people 
 may hurt him, and let him go in peace. This 
 is all that can be done for you, young man, and 
 more than most men would do ; so say no more, 
 if — as I judge by your look — what is hanging 
 upon your lips is insolent, for the Welsh blood 
 in my veins is not cool, and you may chance to 
 set it on fire." 
 
 " You mistake," replied Caillet ; " I am going 
 to say nothing that can give you offence ; you 
 are the best judge whom you will admit into 
 your band. Filled already with brave men, 
 you need no more, but you would not have found 
 me wanting. All I could desire further were but 
 one short half hour with that youth whom your 
 comrade here so foolishly fancied had done me 
 some serious hurt."
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 207 
 
 " No, no," cried Griffith ; " be wise, and 
 take care of yourself ! The sooner you are away 
 from this place the better, both for you and us : 
 we love not your presence. As to this youth, we 
 have to deal with him ourselves, and will do so 
 as we think fit, without your help or counsel." 
 
 " You owe to him," added Caillet, unwilling 
 to leave any thing unsaid that could injure the 
 man he hated, " you owe to him whatever evil 
 has befallen your band; for he it was who, 
 watching from one of the windows of the tower, 
 first saw the attack upon the count, and then 
 called the whole place to arms." 
 
 " Leave him to us, leave him to us," said 
 Griffith impatiently ; " we will act towards him 
 as we judge right. Take him away, Harv^, take 
 the fellow away ! — We have heard too much of 
 his babble already." 
 
 Caillet was accordingly led out of the room ; 
 but, as he passed, he twice turned his eyes 
 fiercely upon Albert Denyn, and ran his hand 
 along his belt as if feeling for some weapon 
 of offence, to smite his adversary with, at any 
 risk. As soon as he was gone, the leader of the ,
 
 208 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 adventurers turned to Albert, demanding, 
 " Well, young man, what have you to say ? " 
 
 *' Nothing," replied Albert calmly. 
 
 ^' That is soon said," answered the other ; 
 '* but we may have something more to say to 
 you. They tell me that it was you who slew, 
 by the blow of an axe, one of our dearest 
 companions and best leaders." 
 
 He paused as if for a reply; and Albert an- 
 swered, '' It is very possible: one of them I cer- 
 tainly did slay, and he looked like a brave man 
 and a valiant captain, so it is doubtless of him 
 y outspeak." 
 
 '' Cool enough," replied Griffith : " let me see 
 now, young man, if you can give me as calm an 
 answer to what I have next to ask. Can you 
 tell me any reason why, as you slew him, we 
 should not slay you ? " 
 
 "The best of all reasons," replied Albert 
 Denyn — " because I have done nothing for 
 which I should be slain. I have done nothing 
 but what any man here would have done in my 
 place. I have served and defended my lord ; 
 I have defended his daughter. If I had died
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 209 
 
 upon the field, I should have died doing what 
 was right ; and if I am killed now, those who 
 put me to death will neither show knightly 
 courtesy nor the dealing of true soldiers, but 
 will commit^a murder like base assassins upon 
 an unarmed man. If there be any man among 
 you who would not have done as I have done, 
 I tell him that he is a traitor and a felon, to his 
 beard ; and let him come forth and slay me, 
 if I am to be slain, for the trade of a murderer 
 will suit well with his character. But if there 
 be one noble heart and good soldier amongst 
 you, he will defend me." 
 
 " On my soul that will I ! " said one of those 
 who had been sitting at meat when the party 
 which conducted the youth had entered. " Grif- 
 fith, you see well the lad did but do his duty. 
 Out upon it ! If we are to punish a man for 
 fighting well in his captain's behalf and fairly 
 killing a bold adversary, I will put my head 
 under a monk's cowl and patter benedicites to 
 every one I meet ; for I trust — Heaven help 
 me ! • — to kill as good a man as Chapelle every 
 year, if I keep to this trade. Set the youth 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 free ! set him free ! — Did he do any thing 
 unfair, Maillot?— Speak !" 
 
 ** No,'* answered the adventurer who had 
 ridden beside Albert, and who was one of those 
 that had taken their places at the table ; " but 
 he killed my sworn brother Chapelle. I claim 
 his blood, and his blood I will have." 
 
 " Poo ! nonsense ! " exclaimed Griffith : " the 
 lad did his duty bravely ; no one can say more 
 — let him go ! let him go ! " 
 
 " Not till I have his head," said the man they 
 called Maillot. '^ He is my prisoner : I took him, 
 and I have a right to dispose of him as I will." 
 
 " But you did not take him in fair fight, " said 
 Griffith: " if I understood Harve right you came 
 upon him while he was fighting with the other 
 fellow, and seized him without resistance." 
 
 " It was Harve seized him and not Maillot," 
 cried another man. 
 
 ' "I took him by one arm while Harve caught 
 him by the other," replied the man nalned 
 Maillot, " and I say he shall die." 
 
 " I say he shall not, however," replied Grif- 
 iith — " at all events, not till Sir Robert Knowles
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 211 
 
 decides upon it. I determine that at once, Master 
 Maillot ! and if you dare to show your refrac- 
 tory spirit any more, I will cleave you down to 
 the jaws for your pains. Hark ye, young man, 
 I will take care that no harm shall happen to 
 you. Sir Robert Knowles, our present leader, 
 is a good soldier and a true knight; and he will 
 not suffer a prisoner to be butchered in cold 
 blood for any man's will. To-morrow some of 
 our party will move hence and go back into 
 Maine, where Sir Robert is. You shall go 
 "with them, and, in the mean time, you shall 
 have free quarters in the castle here." 
 
 As he spoke, one of those who were sitting 
 at the table with him leant across, and spoke to 
 the leader in a low voice, nothing being heard 
 but the words, " Maillot — find means — blood- 
 thirsty — take care," 
 
 " By Heaven !" exclaimed Griffith when the 
 other had done — " by Heaven ! he had better 
 not, for he should not be alive many hours after 
 himself. But to make all sure, give the youth 
 back his sword, some one. He looks as if he 
 could defend himself right well." 
 p 2
 
 212 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 While the sword was handed to Albert De- 
 nyn, who gladly thrust the scabbard back into 
 his belt again, the man named Maillot gazed 
 upon him with fierce and angry eyes, turning 
 from time to time towards his companion Grif- 
 fith, and gnawing his lip as if he would fain have 
 given vent to his indignation, but did not dare 
 to do so. Griffith took no notice of him, but 
 still was evidently irritated, and somewhat ex- 
 cited by the man's demeanour ; and, in order to 
 have an excuse for not remarking it, spoke in 
 a low tone to one of those who sat at table 
 with him. A short period of reflection, however, 
 showed Maillot that he was placing himself in 
 circumstances of danger, and made him de- 
 determine somewhat to change his manner. 
 It was with difficulty, however, that he could 
 sufficiently repress his feelings to say in a 
 sullen voice, " You will do as you like, 
 Master Griffith, but I do think it somewhat 
 hard that my prisoner should be thus suffered 
 purposely to escape under the pretence of 
 sending him to Knowles; for 'nothing else 
 can be meant by the letting him go free in
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 213 
 
 this way. Why, the first time the gates of 
 the castle are open he will pass through, of 
 course, if he be not a fool, and then I not only 
 lose my revenge, but any ransom, too, which 
 I might get, if Knowles says he shall not be 
 killed." 
 
 " Come, that is fair enough," said one of the 
 men at the table; " we must not do injustice, 
 Griffith, either." 
 
 " He can't escape, he wo'n't escape," said 
 Griffith ; " no fear of that. Hark ye I young 
 man, give us your parole — your word of 
 honour, I mean — that come what will, you 
 will not try to escape." 
 
 " Rescue, or no rescue ? " demanded Albert 
 Denyn. 
 
 " Ay," answered Griffith, " rescue, or no 
 rescue." 
 
 " And what if I refuse?" said Albert. 
 
 " Why," answered Griffith, laughing at the 
 youth's boldness, " why, then, my young con- 
 dition-maker, I shall take leave to thrust you 
 into prison, instead of letting you walk about 
 the castle." 
 
 p 3
 
 214 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 "Do SO, then," replied Albert, "for I will have 
 no hand in giving up my liberty voluntarily." 
 
 " On my life," answered Griffith, " you 
 are a determined youth, but nevertheless I 
 will not see wrong done you. If you value 
 the free air so little, you must lose it ; but for 
 the rest, no man shall take your life while I 
 can prevent it, except it be in fair and open 
 fight. Still, as you like a prison, a prison you 
 shall have. Let him be put into the tower 
 on the left hand of the gate, since such is his 
 fancy. There he will find strong doors enough, 
 and I wish him joy of his solitude; for I think 
 he will see nothing but a heron in the ditch, 
 and, perhaps, not even that." 
 
 " I should think not," replied another, " for 
 Pierrot with his crossbow would not let any bird 
 rest there long. There, away with him, away 
 with him — we have had enough of such gossip 
 for once." 
 
 As they spoke, one of the men laid his 
 hands upon the collar of Albert Denyn, and 
 pulled him somewhat rudely away, Griffith ex- 
 claiming, at the same time, " Give him food
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 215 
 
 though, give him food ! It is not good to be 
 hungry in prison, as I can tell my friends. I re- 
 collect once catching a rat that visited me in my 
 dungeon at Evreux, and saying grace most de- 
 voutly t)ver my supper, though I was obliged to 
 eat him raw notwithstanding." 
 
 A loud laugh burst from the whole of the 
 adventurers, at the idea of their companion's 
 dainty regale, and Albert DenjTi was led out 
 of the room to be conducted to the place of 
 his temporary abode. 
 
 p 4
 
 216 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 There is nothing so difficult to bear, there is 
 nothing which requires so much courage of 
 the most serviceable kind to endure, as anxiety 
 in solitude and inactivity. The very movement of 
 the mind when we suffer great agitation lightens 
 its weight ; but when we have to sit and count 
 the livelong hours alone, confined to one small 
 space, and limited to mere reflection, thought 
 becomes a burden, and imagination a torment, 
 and every feeling of our heart seems to war 
 against our peace. 
 
 Thus it was with Albert Denyn. So long as 
 he was in the presence of the adventurers he 
 had the ideas of personal danger to occupy 
 him. He had felt the other evils of his situa- 
 tion comparatively little, and had looked upon 
 the imprisonment, to which he, in some de- 
 gree, voluntarily subjected himself, as some-
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 217 
 
 thing requiring no great fortitude to bear ; but 
 when he was actually thrust into the chamber 
 where he was to pass an indefinite space of 
 time, and where he might have to undergo 
 any thing that his captors chose to inflict upon 
 him, his heart gradually sunk, and a deep 
 and overwhelming feeling of melancholy took 
 possession of him. 
 
 The first half hour, indeed, was broken by 
 two visits from one of the adventurers bringing 
 him ^some food and a pitcher of good wine. 
 The man seemed a good-natured personage, 
 spoke to him in a kindly tone ; and, though 
 he accused him of folly in not promising to 
 hold himself as a prisoner, rescue or no rescue, 
 he still assured him that he would be taken 
 good care of, and that no harm would hap- 
 pen to him. 
 
 After he was gone, however, the hours wore 
 away slowly ; and though Albert tasted the 
 food which was set before him, and tried to 
 occupy a part of the time in any manner, yet 
 he felt no appetite, and was obliged to betake 
 himself to a prisoner's wonted occupation of
 
 218 THE JACQUERIE, 
 
 pacing up and down the room. Weariness, 
 however, at length overcame him, and lying 
 down upon the ground, for they had not yet 
 furnished him either with bed or stool, he 
 placed his arm under his head for a pillow and 
 fell into a sound sleep. It lasted some time ; 
 and loud laughter in some of the neighbouring 
 parts of the building was the first thing that 
 roused him. The sound of merriment, as may 
 well be conceived, was harsh to his ear, for he 
 had been dreaming of Adela de Mauvinet; — a 
 vague, confused, wild vision it was of dangers 
 and terrors, which, even when he woke, left him 
 disturbed, and agitated. He found, however, 
 that though his sleep had been thus restless, 
 it must have been very deep ; for somebody had 
 visited the chamber during his slumber, and 
 had left a settle and a table, and put down 
 also some straw in one corner of the room. 
 
 The sight of these few articles of furniture 
 was a much greater comfort to the poor youth 
 than might be supposed; for before he had 
 fallen asleep, he had remarked a window above 
 him, which he could by no means reach, so as
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 219 
 
 to gaze from it out into the country beyond ; 
 but the tall stool which had been brought, 
 enabled him to see with ease, resting his 
 arms in the deep opening of the wall. 
 
 When he first looked out, the mellow evening 
 sun was just approaching the verge of the sky, 
 and all the bright and beautiful colours of an 
 autumn evening were tinging the clouds, and 
 hanging on the woods and fields around. The 
 country was not particularly beautiful; but 
 there was something in that bright evening 
 light which gave it a loveliness that it would not 
 otherwise have possessed. Each green slope 
 seemed rounded with gold, and a rich misty 
 purple rested in all the woods and dells around. 
 The fantastic vapours that hung upon the edge 
 of the sky changed every moment in hue and 
 in form, as if they had been full of life, and 
 playing with the setting sun ; and every thing 
 on which the eye of Albert rested recalled to his 
 memory many a happy day, when, on such an 
 autumn-tide as that, his own fancy had 
 seemed to take part with the light clouds, and 
 join in their sports with the departing rays.
 
 220 THE JACQUERIE, 
 
 After any deep passion, however, has taken 
 possession of our hearts, it seizes — like some 
 invading tyrant in a conquered country — 
 upon every bright thing within us, whether it 
 be sweet memories, or warm hopes, or grand 
 energies, appropriating all to its purposes, and 
 marking them as its own for ever. It was thus 
 with the heart of Albert Denyn. The sight of 
 that fair sunset called back the memories of 
 dear early days, but instantly, with those me- 
 mories, came the image of Adela de Mauvinet, 
 mingling the painful fears and apprehensions 
 that the circumstances in which she was 
 placed might naturally call forth, with every 
 happier feeling to which the associations, con- 
 nected with the sight before his eyes, would 
 have otherwise given rise. 
 
 Where was she? he asked himself: what 
 had become of her ? Was she still wandering^ 
 in the wood alone, or had her father and the 
 captal come to her deliverance? It was all 
 vague, and uncertain, and terrible; and how- 
 ever strongly hope might be inclined to raise 
 her voice in a young bosom, fear for the time
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 221 
 
 was predominant, and sadness altogether took 
 possession of Albert's heart. 
 
 The sun had half gone down, and half of the 
 broad golden disk was still seen above the 
 distant forest, when Albert perceived two or 
 three mounted men coming over the slope of 
 a hill half way between the castle and the 
 woods. Immediately after the horsemen, came 
 some persons on foot, and then others leading 
 horses, amongst whom, the youth thought he 
 could distinguish the flutter of a woman's gar- 
 ments, and his heart sunk with a sensation of 
 dread and. apprehension which language can 
 scarcely convey. 
 
 He asked himself if it could be Adela; if 
 she had really fallen into the hands of some 
 brutal band of plunderers; and his heart 
 seemed prophetically to answer " Yes !'* 
 
 Ere the party came near enough for him 
 to distinguish any thing clearly, the sun sunk 
 altogether amongst the trees, and the group 
 on which his eyes were fixed grew more and 
 more dim, till at length it was lost to his sight. 
 But still Albert remained convinced that Adela
 
 222 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 was a captive there, and leaping down into 
 the room, he walked backwards and forwards 
 in a state almost approaching distraction. 
 
 It was some time before reflection came to his 
 aid; but when he did take time to think, he 
 remembered that the lady perhaps might be 
 more safe in the hands of the adventurers than 
 any woman of a lower rank. Her ransom was 
 sure to be large, if she were treated with all 
 honour ; and the vengeance of her father and 
 the whole of France was to be dreaded if 
 any harm befell her; so that he could not but 
 judge that the free companions would show 
 her tenderness and respect as soon as they 
 were aware of her name, which she would 
 undoubtedly make known as soon as she fell 
 into their power. 
 
 Albert tried to comfort himself with such 
 thoughts ; but still his heart beat with anxiety 
 and alarm; and in a few minutes after, the 
 sound of a trumpet, apparently coming from 
 the court-yard, a number of voices speaking, 
 and a loud tongue calling upon the name of 
 several women, seemed to indicate the arrival
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 223 
 
 of the party he had seen. The place, how- 
 ever, soon resumed its tranquillity; and a period 
 of about a quarter of an hour passed without 
 any other sound, till at length there was a 
 considerable noise ; and several voices speaking 
 in the adjoining passage were heard, with the 
 sound of coming footsteps, and now and then 
 a sharp oath. 
 
 The steps paused at the door of the chamber 
 in which Albert was confined, and the door was 
 thrown violently open, admitting the blaze of a 
 torch. At first the light dazzled him ; but the 
 moment after, he perceived in the hands of 
 some of the adventurers without, that strange, 
 uncouth-looking being whom he had found 
 contending with Caillet, in defence of Adela. 
 Although it cannot be said that the young 
 man felt pleasure at the sight of any human 
 being deprived of liberty, and although the 
 appearance of the old man but tended to con- 
 firm his apprehensions in regard to Adela's 
 being captured, yet certainly it was a relief to 
 fcehold some one who could give him a know- 
 ledge of the exact truth.
 
 224 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 Fearful, however, that he might be deprived 
 of even that satisfaction, if his captors per- 
 ceived that there was any feeling of interest 
 between him and the person whom they 
 seemed to destine for his fellow-prisoner, he 
 remained perfectly silent, and kept as far back 
 as possible in the chamber. The old man 
 was thrust in with unnecessary vehemence ; and 
 it is probable that those who brought him 
 thither had already treated him somewhat 
 roughly, for one of the leaders who came up at 
 the moment exclaimed, — 
 
 " Calmly, calmly ! Remember his age." 
 ', As soon as the new captive was in the 
 chamber, the door was shut, and the two 
 prisoners were left in utter darkness. For some 
 minutes neither of them spoke, though the elder 
 was heard muttering to himself, but the words 
 were indistinct to any other ears than his own. 
 Albert kept silence for a moment or two, lest 
 any one who might be near should overhear 
 what he was about to say ; and he still heard 
 various voices speaking without, when sud-
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 2*25 
 
 denly, to his surprise, his strange companion 
 burst into a loud and vehement laugh. 
 
 " You seem to bear your imprisonment 
 lightly," said Albert at length : " would that 
 I could laugh as you do." 
 
 " Why do you not, then?" demanded the old 
 man ; " but you need not tell me ; I know why 
 as well as you do. It is that you have known so 
 few and such slight sorrows, that a day's im- 
 prisonment, even in such a chamber as this, with 
 every comfort and aid to boot, is, to you, as 
 heavy a grief as the loss of all that makes life 
 valuable would be to me. Misfortune is a 
 hard master, and requires a long apprentice- 
 ship, young man." 
 
 *' Doubtless," answered Albert, " doubtless 
 it is so ; but yet I cannot but think a long im- 
 prisonment, the uncertainty of our future fate, 
 and a separation, perhaps for ever, from those 
 we love best, might well make us sad, even 
 if we had more philosophy than I pretend to." 
 
 " I will tell thee what, youth," answered the 
 old man : " the time may come when the loss 
 of friends, the breaking of all hopes, the dis- 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 appointment of every expectation, the murder 
 of your children or your relations, the agonies, 
 the tears, and the ruin of those you love best 
 on earth, will so teach you to expect misfor- 
 tune, that a brief imprisonment, such as you 
 have met with now, will seem to you as a relief 
 from worse, rather than a disappointment of 
 your hopes. This,* I tell you, may happen to 
 you. It has happened to many of your relations 
 before, and why not to you also ?'* 
 
 " How do you know," answered Albert, 
 " that it has befallen any of my relations ? " 
 
 " Because they were men," replied his strange 
 companion ; " therefore, all must have suffered, 
 and some must have suffered thus. Thus, too, 
 very likely you will suffer, when your ap- 
 pointed time is come." 
 
 " Perhaps it may be so," said the youth : 
 " I have a good foretaste of such suffering even 
 now." 
 
 " Call you what you now endure a foretaste 
 of such sufferings?" cried the old man; "call 
 you this, then, a foretaste — this which is but a 
 mere nothing? It is mere foolishness. The
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 227 
 
 time will be when you shall look back to 
 this period, and wish it could come over again." 
 
 *' No," answered Albert firmly, " no : what 
 I felt yesterday can hardly ever be surpassed by 
 what I may feel hereafter. — No, it cannot be ! 
 "What may be my future fate, I do not know ; 
 but of one thing I am certain, that there were 
 moments in the course of- last night which no 
 after sorrow can ever surpass — nay, nor can it 
 exceed that which I feel now, ignorant as I am 
 of what has befallen the daughter of my noble 
 and generous lord." 
 
 His fellow-prisoner remained silent for se- 
 veral moments, and then replied, " You wish 
 to know what has become of her. She is here- 
 in this very castle — but a few yards distant." 
 
 " As I thought," cried Albert, ''as I 
 thought ! This is indeed terrible ; but they dare 
 not, surely they dare not, treat her ill." 
 
 " No," answered the old man ; " oh no ! Fear 
 not for that ; they will not treat her ill ! Fools 
 as they are, they are too wise for that." 
 
 " I trust they are," said Albert, " I trust 
 they are ; and yet what reliance can be placed 
 Q 2
 
 228 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 in such men ? Their passions are their guides 
 as often as. their interests." 
 
 " That is true," replied his companion, " that 
 is very true ; you are wiser than I thought you, 
 youth ; and yet you have a right to be wise 
 too. But put your mind at ease. The wife 
 cf the man named Griffith is here in the 
 castle even now, and she is a woman of high 
 birth herself." 
 
 " Of high birth!" exclaimed Albert, " and 
 the wife of an adventurer like this?" 
 
 " Even so," answered the old man. " Know 
 you not that half of those who live by plun- 
 derino: their fellow-creatures call themselves 
 of high race, and that many of them have well 
 vfon the only title to nobility, which this age 
 knows, by shedding more blood than any of 
 the other barbarous monsters of the time? — ^But 
 to what I was saying — the wife of this Griffith 
 is here. The lady has been taken to her 
 chamber, and there she will be well. I have 
 heard them talking about her ransom already. 
 Set your mind at ease, set your mind at ease ! 
 When I look back upon the past," he continued,
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 2*29 
 
 after a momentary pause — " When I look back 
 upon the past, I often think that the light sor- 
 rows of youth are as heavy to those that bear 
 them as the wei2:htier woes of ao;e. There was 
 an old Greek, a slave, who dealt in fabliaux — 
 I know not whether you have ever heard of 
 him." 
 
 " Oh yes," replied Albert. " His name was 
 Esopus." 
 
 " The same, the same," replied the old man, 
 whose learning did certainly surprise Albert 
 Denyn. " That old Greek told a story of a 
 hare running a race with a tortoise, which was 
 intended to represent the heedless lightness of 
 youth contending against the cautious expe- 
 rience of age; but while he showed that the 
 slow perseverance of the one ultimately outdid 
 the excessive activity of the other, he should 
 have shown also, that the hare might have been 
 crushed to death under a weight which the 
 tortoise would hardly have felt. Thus it is 
 with age and youth : the apathy of age is a 
 hard shell, which enables it to bear cares a 
 thousand times more heavy than those which 
 Q 3
 
 230 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 would crush youth at once under their burden. 
 We have so many times in life the opportunity 
 of practising the art of endurance, that it would 
 be hard if we did not learn the lesson ere we 
 have done." 
 
 " Thank God, to hear of the lady's safety, 
 however," said Albert — " that is one great 
 satisfaction ; and with it I will comfort myself, 
 although your picture of life is not altogether 
 consolatory." 
 
 " It is such as life is," replied the old man, 
 '^ and such as you will find it, youth. The 
 man that sees fifty years, and yet finds any 
 thing to enjoy in life, is either a beast or a 
 fool; for by that time all the better parts of 
 our nature have discovered that their home is 
 in another place." 
 
 " And yet," said Albert Denyn, " you 
 laughed right heartily but now." 
 
 " That did I," rejoined his companion : " I 
 laughed — I did not smile; and laughter is only 
 a sign of sadness or of folly, not of happiness. 
 Happiness never does more than smile. It is 
 that insane thing merriment, or mockery, or
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 231 
 
 scorn, or despair, that laughs. I laughed in 
 mockery of thsoe who shut me in here." 
 
 " And why in mockery?" demanded Albert. 
 " Good faith, 1 have not the heart to mock 
 them : they have too much power over me for 
 me to scorn them." 
 
 " They have no power over me," replied the 
 old man. " I will tell you hereafter why I 
 laughed, and why I scorn them : let it be suffi- 
 cient for you now to know that the lady is safe." 
 
 " That is, indeed, much," replied Albert ; 
 " and I could almost content myself with 
 being assured that such is the case, if I had any 
 means of informing my good lord, her father, 
 that she runs no risk. But that is hopeless." 
 
 " Ha ! " said the old man, " ha ! we may 
 find such means, nevertheless ; yet why would 
 you send him such tidings?" 
 
 " WTiy?" exclaimed Albert, " has he not 
 been a friend, a father to me ? And were it 
 not so, is he not a human being, a parent, a 
 fond, affectionate, tender parent, whose heart 
 must be now bleeding with apprehension, and 
 grief, and terrible anxiety." 
 Q 4
 
 232 THE JACQUERIE, 
 
 ** Then he really loves his daughter," said 
 the old man, in a cold tone. 
 
 *' Loves her ! exclaimed Albert — " how can 
 he help loving her ? Loves her ! better than 
 his own life ; better than aught else on earth, 
 except his honour !" 
 
 " By so much the more," replied the old man 
 in a stern tone, " will he contemn the presump- 
 tuous thoughts that are in your bosom, youth." 
 
 Albert Denyn was silent for a moment — not 
 with shame; but he was surprised and pained 
 to find that his feelings towards Adela showed 
 themselves so plainly, that the scanty means of 
 observation which the old man as yet possessed 
 were nevertheless sufficient to discover a secret, 
 which he had thought well concealed from all 
 eyes but those which watched him with such 
 keenness and suspicion as had been displayed 
 by Caillet. 
 
 He answered quite calmly, however, when he 
 did speak ; for although his own eyes had now 
 been long opened to all that was passing in his 
 heart, though he felt and knew that he loved 
 with all the ardour, as well as the devotion, of
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 233 
 
 the deepest passion, yet his love was utterly 
 without the presumption of a single hope. He 
 felt so humble in his affection, that he was not 
 moved by many of the agitating emotions 
 which affect other men under the influence of 
 the same passion ; and although it certamly was 
 his purpose to hide his love for his lord's 
 daughter, out of respect and reverence, yet 
 he was so conscious of rectitude of purpose, as 
 well as humility of feeling, that though he did 
 not wish, yet he did not much fear discovery. 
 
 " You are mistaken," he replied at length, 
 in a tone so tranquil and cool as to surprise his 
 hearer, " you are mistaken. I have no pre- 
 sumptuous thoughts in my bosom, old man ; 
 my thoughts are as humble as my station.'* 
 
 " Do you pretend to say," demanded his 
 strange companion, "do you pretend to say 
 that you do not love this lady?" 
 
 " God forbid!" answered Albert — " I love 
 her with my whole heart and soul. I would 
 willingly sacrifice my life for her, and yet, old 
 man, all this can be without one presumptuous 
 thought. — Can you not understand this?"
 
 234 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 The old man paused for a moment, and then 
 replied, " I can understand it well; but I knew 
 not that you could either understand or feel it.'* 
 
 " Why what can you know,'* asked Albert, 
 " either of me or of my^ nature, by seeing 
 me in circumstances of excitement, for some 
 short five minutes ? I should almost think that, 
 in this dark place, you mistook me for some 
 one else, were it not for what you say of the 
 Lady Adela." 
 
 " No !" replied the old 'man — "no — I make 
 no mistake — your voice is enough for me. I 
 never forget sounds that I once hear, and I should 
 know your voice amidst the shout of an army. 
 But you are wrong in another point — this is not 
 the first time that I have seen, these are not 
 the only means I have had of knowing you. 
 From your birth till now I have been near 
 you. — But all that matters not. — What have I 
 to do in life, but to watch those that are around 
 me ; to mark their qualities, and to hate or 
 love them as those qualities may require?" 
 
 " Methinks," replied Albert, "it might be as 
 well to leave them without either hate or love."
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 235 
 
 " Not SO, not so," answered the old man: *'to 
 hate and to love is a necessity of our nature, 
 nay more, it is an ordinance of God. Not to 
 abhor vice, not to feel affection for virtue, is 
 to share with the evil. Vice is, in fact, only a 
 bolder sort of indifference to virtue. I w^ould 
 rather almost see a man wicked than the friend 
 of wicked men." 
 
 There was something strange and rambling 
 in the old man's discourse, which certainly had 
 so much of singularity in it as to lead Albert 
 to imagine that his reason was somewhat un- 
 settled. |,The singularity of his appearance, 
 which has been already described, might not 
 alone have produced such a conviction ; for in 
 that age, what we should now call eccentricity, 
 in that particular shape, was not only common, 
 but was absolutely sanctioned by the super- 
 stitions of the day. Many a man still thought 
 he was doing God good service, and insuring 
 the salvation of his own soul, by wearing gar- 
 ments of skins, feeding upon roots, and separating 
 himself from his fellow-men, so that to encounter 
 a person habited like Albert's present com-
 
 236 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 panion, and to find him a devout, discreet, and 
 sensible person, though somewhat tinged with 
 fanaticism, was by no means an uncommon 
 case. Thepeculiarity of the opinions, however, 
 which the old man entertained, without any in- 
 quiry as to whether they were riglit or wrong, 
 might well lead the youth to imagine that his 
 intellect was somewhat shaken; for in those days 
 it was rare, indeed, to find any one who went 
 out of the beaten track. | 
 
 Judging thus of his companion's state of mind, 
 Albert cared not to enter into any abstruse dis- 
 cussions, but turned the conversation back to 
 what the old man had been saying in regard to 
 himself. " Was it from knowing that I was the 
 companion of wicked men, then," he asked, 
 " that you supposed me filled with presumptuous 
 thoughts, which certainly I never entertained? 
 I know not that I ever showed myself the 
 friend of wicked men : when have I done so, 
 my good friend ? " 
 
 " Have you not been always the companion 
 and the friend of, this very Caillet, to whom 
 you show so mortal a hatred, now that a ri-
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 237 
 
 valry has sprung up between you ? Who was 
 so often seen with him as you ? who seemed to 
 share his thoughts and his counsels but your- 
 self? " 
 
 " Nay, nay, you are much mistaken," replied 
 Albert eagerly: "circumstances cast us together, 
 but not affection : there was a link between us, 
 which bound us to companionship, with our hearts 
 unbound. We were both serfs in a house 
 where all were noble round us; except the other 
 servants of the mansion, who were all differently 
 treated from ourselves. They were, indeed, a 
 separate order of beings in mind as well as in 
 treatment ; but in scarcely any respect was 
 there a distinction made between us and those 
 noble pages, whom, from time to time, the 
 highest personages in the land sent to receive 
 instruction in the house of our generous and 
 knightly master. If there was a difference, it 
 was only, that more knowledge was given to us 
 than to them; that to us were opened the stores 
 of ancient learning ; that for us all the know- 
 ledge of the schools was poured forth, and that? 
 as our lord wished to place us in the church, we
 
 238 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 were taught many an art and many a science 
 that the high nobles of the land did not re- 
 ceive. Thus were we companions from early 
 years, though he was older than I, and thus 
 were we cast upon each other, for society, 
 by similarity of situation though not of tastes. 
 He, however, was discontented with all things : 
 I was with all things well contented. I might 
 regret, it is true, that I was not one of the 
 nobles that I saw from day to day. I might 
 wish that fortune had placed me amongst them, 
 but I hated them not, because such was not 
 my lot. I was happy, I was grateful for the 
 superior instruction accorded to me, and for 
 the kindly treatment I received; but Caillet 
 vowed, for his part, that he would rather have 
 remained in ignorance, and in the lowest state 
 of bondage, than acquire knowledge, which 
 only showed him the evils of his station. He 
 detested the nobles of the land, and avowed that 
 detestation when conversing with those whom he 
 believed would not report the fact ; and such was 
 I. Not that he ever loved me, for he loved me 
 not, but that I was the only one in the same
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 239 
 
 State and situation as himself, — the only one, 
 in short, to whom he could speak his feelings 
 freely. He knew that I would not betray him, 
 and therefore he dared to say to me what he 
 thought, although his feelings and mine were 
 always different, and he was sure to encounter 
 opposition and dispute. Thus were we, as I 
 have said, companions without being friends, 
 til], by his last act, he has ended the com- 
 panionship also — and if ever we spend another 
 half hour together, it will be the last that one 
 or the other will see in this world." 
 
 " Did the Lord of Mauvinet teach you the use 
 of arms?" demanded the old man, in a slow 
 and thoughtful tone: "you seem skilful with 
 the sword." 
 
 ** I was early taught," replied Albert, " to 
 wield all such weapons as peasants are per- 
 mitted to employ, and the sword was placed in 
 my hands when I was very young. Afterwards, 
 my noble lord — though I cannot say that he 
 caused me to be taught to bear the weapons of 
 a man-at-arms, yet when he saw how much 
 delight I took therein — suffered me to learn
 
 240 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 the use of the lance, the management of the 
 horse, and indeed all the exercises of chivalry. 
 Caillet also had the same advantage; but I 
 think he was not more skilful than myself. He 
 was older, and more confident, perhaps ; but yet 
 I should not fear to meet him in a good cause, 
 even though he had some superiority." 
 
 " And you would slay him, boy," replied his 
 companion ; " for his heart is bad, and yours is 
 good ; and the man who wants the armour of 
 a just spirit has but a feeble defence in all 
 external arms." 
 
 <' I know not," answered Albert Denyn ; 
 '* though I can well conceive, that many a man, 
 feeling his conscience ill at ease, may become 
 weak and timid in the hour of danger. Such, 
 however, I am sure, is not the case with Caillet. 
 He thinks all that he does is right — not that he 
 does it because he thinks it right, but that he 
 thinks it right because he does it. I have heard 
 him defend eagerly the same feelings and con- 
 duct in himself which I have heard him blame 
 most bitterly in men of noble blood; and I 
 never yet, in all my life, heard him acknowledge.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 241 
 
 or saw him feel, that he was wrong. Such a 
 thing is not in his nature. — Call him not, in 
 Heaven's name, call him not my friend," he 
 continued, reverting to what had passed before: 
 *' I should hate myself if I could ever have been 
 a friend to one so base and utterly unworthy. 
 But now that you have probed my spirit to the 
 bottom, let me hear that which I own is of 
 greater moment to me than all things. Tell me 
 more of the lady ; tell me all that you know con- 
 cerning her. How came they not to find her? — 
 her father and the captal, I mean. How came 
 she taken by these men ? and what, think you, 
 will be the result of the situation in which we 
 all are placed ? " 
 
 '* Manifold questions," answered the old 
 man, " none of which I will answer now. 
 Wait till after midnight be passed," he continued 
 in a lower tone, " and I will then reply to you 
 fully. I have ^that to tell you which may 
 surprise you not a little. Now lay down your 
 head upon the table, for you have need of 
 repose." 
 
 " I have slept already," replied Albert. 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE JACQUEEIE. 
 
 But the old man instantly rejoined, " Sleep 
 again then, sleep again ! What right has youth 
 to think ? Sleep] again, I say, for not a word 
 more shall you hear from my lips till after 
 midnight; and it yet wants full four hours to 
 the time when the sun turns back again to 
 this side of the earth.'* 
 
 Albert Denyn saw by the faint light, which 
 found its way into the room from the moon- 
 light sky without, that the old man crossed his 
 arms upon his chest, and buried the greater 
 part of his face in the skins of which his dress 
 was formed; and perceiving that it would be 
 useless to seek farther conversation for the time, 
 he, too, bent down his eyes upon his folded 
 hands, and remained silent, though he slept not.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 243 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 To an active mind there is something solemn, 
 and even elevating, in the task of watching in 
 the night. The silence, the darkness, have their 
 effect ; the sally-ports of the ear and the eye are 
 closed. The spirit shut up within its citadel 
 holds no intercourse with the world without. 
 The thoughts, the feelings, the fancies, the 
 passions, which form the turbulent garrison of 
 the human heart, cut off from communion with 
 all the busy things of external life, may be re- 
 viewed by reason, and brought under the rod of 
 judgment. Well used, an hour's watching in 
 the midst of the night is often more valuable 
 to the mind of man than whole years of the 
 busy life of day. The world, and all its im- 
 portant littlenesses seem, for the time, to be 
 dead ; the immortal being within us feels alone 
 in the presence of its God; the heart speaks to 
 the heart of all the higher purposes of life, and 
 R -2
 
 244 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 the clay that encumbers us appears to be, in a 
 degree, cast aside together witli our intercourse 
 with other earthly creatures. If ever spirit 
 triumphs over matter in this world, it is in the 
 hours of 'solemn and silent watching in the 
 midst of the night. 
 
 Albert Denyn remained without speaking 
 for a long time; and although his watch was 
 not so still and calm, as it might have been 
 at a later hour, still it gave opportunity for 
 thought, which was not lost upon him. From 
 time to time there came sounds of voices speak- 
 ing, of merriment, of laughter, and of song; but 
 gradually these bursts became shorter, and 
 more short, the intervals longer, and the silence 
 between more profound, till at length all be- 
 came still, while the gloom was increased by the 
 moon getting behind the hills, and leaving 
 nothing within the sight of the watchers in the 
 prison but a bright star shining through the 
 high window — like some of the mysterious 
 truths of revelation, bright and wonderful, 
 amidst darkness, but casting no light upon any 
 other object.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 245 
 
 In the mean while, Albert communed with 
 his own heart. At first, his feelings and thoughts 
 were turbulent and wild, refusing all control, 
 so that though he felt they wanted regula- 
 rity, he almost despaired of their ever re- 
 turning to order again. Gradually, however, 
 of themselves, they became more calm ; and ere 
 long he could reason collectedly, and thought 
 and reflection brought on high resolves. He 
 found that a passion had grown upon his heart 
 which should never have taken root therein; and 
 he accused himself of folly and of weakness, even 
 although liis own heart acquitted him of pre- 
 sumption. To cast that passion from him, he 
 never hoped to do : he never wished it ; he felt 
 it was impossible; but he believed that in a 
 firm and noble spirit — and he knew his own to 
 be so — that passion itself might be so purified 
 and elevated, as to lead him on to great and 
 worthy deeds, to be a new principle of action in 
 his breast, to inspire high purposes and efforts, 
 and give a mightier energy to the chivalrous 
 spirit that existed within him. 
 R 3
 
 246 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 He fancied that the very thought of what 
 would be Adela's feelings, if she heard, by chance, 
 of some great enterprise achieved by him, would 
 carry him on to exertions that nothing could 
 resist ; and thus judgment and reason employed 
 the power of fancy to lead and guide the pas« 
 sions of his heart to grand purposes, rather 
 than in the paths of vice and wrong. So may 
 we always do in life if our will be towards virtue 
 rather than crime. 
 
 Thus had passed the time for many hours ; 
 silence had come completely over the world ; 
 and Albert had more than once turned his eyes 
 impatiently towards a spot, on the other side 
 of the chamber, at which he could faintly per- 
 ceive a dim obscure mass, marking the place 
 where the old man sat ; but had seen, not the 
 slightest movement, nor heard the lightest sound. 
 At length, however, the clear voice of a cock, 
 crowing at some distance, came-upon the air, and 
 his strange companion suddenly broke silence. 
 " Now, now," he said, " I will tell you what 
 you wish to hear, and more than you expect ;
 
 THE JACQL'ERIE. 247 
 
 for the time is coming, when you may act as 
 well as speak." 
 
 " Tell me first of the Lady Adela," exclaimed 
 Albert ; " it is of her I would fain have tidings, 
 old man." 
 
 '* Call me not old man," replied the other ; 
 " that is not my name, youth, though I be old, 
 and though I be a man." 
 
 " I would willingly give you your own name^ 
 if I knew it," answered Albert Denyn. 
 
 " Call me Walleran Urgel," said his com- 
 panion; "that is the name which the people 
 give me ; and as to the lady, be satisfied she is 
 well, and safe. The object of these plunderers is 
 to win gold. They are like children piling up 
 heaps of dirt, for the purpose of casting it to 
 the winds the next moment — still their object 
 is gold ; and when they have so fair a chance 
 of gaining a great sum, by this poor girl's 
 ransom, they will not risk the loss of it by 
 doing her any injury. No, no ! theyJiave given 
 her a chamber near that of their leader's wife, 
 and there she will be tended with all courtesy. 
 To-morrow they will bid her write to her 
 R 4
 
 248 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 father, showing what gentle usage she has re- 
 ceived, and naming the ransom they have fixed. 
 But they will hold out the fear of less gentle 
 deeds, if he should attempt to recover her by 
 force of arms. So much for that : your second 
 question was, how she was taken by these 
 men " 
 
 " And how it happened that her father and 
 the captal found her not,'* added Albert, " for 
 they were close behind." 
 
 *' Of that I know nothing," replied the old 
 man ; " but how they took her, I can tell right 
 well. I left you contending with the villain 
 Caillet, and sought the lady to give her help. 
 She had seen me defend her with my] axe, 
 and so she trusted me; but when the men 
 came up, who took you prisoner, we had well 
 nigh fallen into their hands at once, for she 
 thought it was her father's party, and would 
 have darted forward to meet them, had I not 
 shown her who they really were. I then led 
 her to a place of security, made her a bed of 
 leaves, sheltered her from the winds of night, 
 and lighted her a fire, to dispel the damp air of
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 249 
 
 the forest ; for she has ever been good to the 
 poor and the lowly, and deserves the careful 
 watching of all who love the noble and the 
 kind, I promised to guide her safely back to 
 her home the next day ; but ere I could do so, 
 at an early hour this morning these knavish 
 companions, hearing that I was still in the 
 neighbouring wood, came out to hunt me down 
 like a wild beast." 
 
 " "Why, what harm had you done them?" 
 demanded Albert. 
 
 " None," replied the old man ; " but do 
 we need to harm others to make them harm 
 us ? No, no, not so in this world ! For the last 
 tw^elve years have I dwelt either in this old castle, 
 or in that dim wood. Neither in the wood nor 
 the castle had I any right but sufferance ; but 
 the building itself was only tenanted by some 
 servants of a lord who spent his days in 
 rioting afar. They charitably gave me a 
 dwelling in the winter time, and all the 
 bright summer I spent in the green forest. 
 With the chambers, the passages, the towers, 
 and even the dungeons of this place, and with
 
 250 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 the most secret paths of the wood, no one in 
 all. the land is so well acquainted as I am, and 
 when, some ten days ago, these filthy robbers 
 came and took possession of the place, I fled, 
 and sought refuge where you saw me last night. 
 There is a tower herein, to which they could find 
 no entrance, and it is called the Stairless Tower. 
 They thought, it seems, that it must contain 
 treasure ; and the people they found here told 
 them that none knew its secrets but myself, 
 for they had seen me more than once upon the 
 top, when they, poor fools, could not find the 
 way up. This led to more inquiries ; and as 
 wicked men never feel safe in their wickedness, 
 the plunderers fancied that my knowledge of 
 the place would be dangerous to them, if, as 
 they intend to do, they kept possession of it, 
 as a sort of advanced post on the side of 
 Touraine. They sent out one party to seek me 
 many days, hoping to lure me back with pro- 
 mises and offers ; but they found me not, and 
 at length, this morning, they despatched another 
 to hunt me down like a wild beast."
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 251 
 
 " But the Lady Adela," cried Albert Denyn 
 — " What became of her ? " 
 
 " I had watched the lady through the night," 
 replied the old man ; " but she slept not, till 
 just before the morning's dawn, when her eyes 
 grew heavy, and a short slumber came upon 
 her. Not long after, I heard some sounds ; 
 and, though the fire had now sunk low, there 
 came a smoke and the crackling of wood, with 
 shouts and cries [from several sides ; a light 
 redder than the morning, too, began to glare 
 upon the trees, and I soon found that the 
 villains had tracked me into the covert, and 
 had then set fire to the wood to drive me out. 
 I had still hope to baffle them, and for some 
 time wound through paths they knew not of, 
 leading the lady by the hand. But it proved 
 all in vain ; they had guarded the outlets well, 
 and when w^e issued forth they were upon us. 
 They shouted loud at their double prize ; and 
 though they became more reverent when they 
 heard the lady's name, yet were they not the 
 less joyful. On reaching this place, they first pro- 
 vided for her comfort. The leader's wife was
 
 252 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 called, and maids, and women; and with as 
 much ceremony as if the desolate castle had 
 been a court, she was ushered to her chamber. 
 They then turned to me, mocked my contorted 
 back, bade me stretch out my lengthy arms, and 
 made sport of me for some ten minutes, till 
 they bethought them of the Stairless Tower — 
 then their greediness would know no delay. 
 They took me to the foot of it, and told me 
 instantly to show them the way ; but I was lord 
 now, and I laughed them to scorn, telling them 
 they should never know from me till they asked 
 me with lowered voices and in humbler terms ; 
 till they promised me part of the spoil, and 
 seasoned their offers with fine words. They 
 saw that I mocked them, and thrust me in 
 here, threatening me with torture on the mor- 
 row, if I still remained refractory. When the 
 morning comes, however, for me they will look 
 in vain. Had they wished really to torture me, 
 the time was when their hands were upon my 
 shoulders." 
 
 " But how will you escape ?'* demanded 
 Albert : '* the walls of this prison are thick, the
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 253 
 
 door by which they brought us in is strong; 
 and I see not how any one could free himself 
 from this place without tools for breaking out, 
 such as we do not possess. There are stout 
 bars upon that window, good Walleran ; and 
 though they have left me my sword, yet it 
 would take many a long day, I fear, to wrench 
 off those bars, even if it could be done at all." 
 
 The old man laughed aloud. " Listen, youth," 
 he replied at length. " I said I would tell 
 you something you did not expect to hear. 
 What if I set you free this very night, this very 
 hour ? What if I show you the means by which 
 such a youth as thou art can be back at the 
 castle of Mauvinet before mid-day to-morrow?" 
 
 Albert started up. " Do you jest, or speak 
 in earnest?" he exclaimed: "can it be pos- 
 sible?" 
 
 " In serious earnest," answered the other ; 
 " and so possible is it, that I will do it." 
 
 " But Adela," said Albert, hesitating — " but 
 the Lady Adela, can I leave her here?" 
 
 " What good can you do her by remaining?" 
 demanded the old man.
 
 254 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 " But little, in truth," answered Albert ; 
 " yet still, while there is a possibility of as- 
 sisting her, I would fain be near. If we can 
 fly, why can she not fly also ? You know where 
 they have placed her — can we not find some 
 means of communicating with her, and telling 
 her what we intend to do ? " 
 
 " All this is very possible," replied the old 
 man, "and she may even fly, if she will trust 
 herself to you." 
 
 " She will," replied Albert, " I am sure she 
 will." 
 
 " Be not too sure, till you have heard the 
 whole," replied his companion. " There are 
 dangers and difficulties to be encountered, 
 young man, which may not be easily overcome, 
 and it may seem better to her to wait for the 
 ransom from her father." 
 
 " At all events, she shall have the choice," 
 replied Albert, " if I can give it her." 
 
 " That you shall be enabled to do, if you 
 will,^' replied the other ; " but there may be 
 perils in so doing, which even you may not 
 choose to risk."
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 253 
 
 " None, none ! " cried Albert Denyn, reso- 
 lutely : " there is no difl&culty, no danger, I 
 would not undertake, to set her free. I would 
 lose this right hand to be the man that gives 
 her liberty." 
 
 " Idle talk,' idle talk ! " said the old man ; 
 " boyish passion all ! But hear me, and then act 
 as you think fit. Your own liberty is easy of 
 attainment, for there is, in fact, no obstacle in 
 your way." 
 
 " How no obstacle?" cried Albert Denyn, 
 " when these barred windows, and " 
 
 " Oh the prompt and presumptuous heart of 
 youth ! " exclaimed his companion, *' never wait- 
 ing till it understands, seldom even listening till 
 it hears ! I tell thee there is, in fact, no obstacle 
 in your way to liberty ; but in order to set her 
 free, you must enter the castle again — you 
 must swim the moat to reach it ; you must find 
 your way in darkness and in solitude, through 
 passages which no feet but mine have trodden 
 for many years, and then through rooms where 
 each instant you are likely to be seized and 
 murdered."
 
 256 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 " Never mind,'* cried Albert — "I fear not. 
 I will set her free or die." 
 
 " Ay; but when you have found her,'* 
 added the old man, " when she has agreed to 
 fly with you — when you have led her back by 
 those same diflficult passages, remember there 
 is .still the moat to cross, and it is both broad 
 and deep." 
 
 " I thought not of that," said Albert with a 
 sigh, " I thought not of that." 
 
 " But in such enterprises we should think of 
 all things," answered Walleran Urgel. " Now 
 will you undertake it?" 
 
 " Without a doubt," replied Albert at once ; 
 " without the slightest doubt or hesitation 
 whatsoever. I have swam three times that 
 distance, with heavier burdens than she is, and 
 I fear not." 
 
 " But she may very likely fear," replied the 
 old man. 
 
 " Perhaps she may," replied Albert Denyn ; 
 *' I am afraid she will ; but at all events she shall 
 have the choice. I would risk far more, for a 
 less object than that."
 
 THE JACQUEKIE. 257 
 
 *' Well, then," rejoined his companion, " if 
 you are so resolved, you shall not want the 
 means. Mount upon that stool, and make 
 your way through the windo\v." 
 
 " But the bars, the bars," said Albert, 
 " how am I to remove the bars?" 
 
 " Take the grating by the lower edge,'* 
 said the old man, " and pull with all your 
 strength." 
 
 Albert did as Walleran bade him, but the 
 bars remained immovable. 
 
 " It is in vain," he said, turning round, " it 
 is altogether in vain." 
 
 *• So soon are youth's best energies checked 
 by disappointment," rejoined the other. ^' For 
 a great object you must have more than courage, 
 you must have resolution, you must have more 
 even than resolution, you must have perseverance 
 unto death. Now, then, put to your strength, 
 and try again — but not as before, not as before ! 
 — Lift the bars upward. Do they move ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," exclaimed Albert eagerly, 
 " they slide up as if by magic." 
 
 " There is no magic like a little knowledge," 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 replied the old man. '« Now mark what I say, 
 and proceed gently; for, if you do not, you will 
 call listening ears this way, or even perchance 
 wake those that sleep. The bars have moved 
 upwards, now they will move outwards too, 
 and, falling on a hinge below, will make you a 
 ladder to descend ; but you must hold them 
 fast, and let them down gently, or the clang 
 will rouse others, with whose presence we can 
 well dispense." 
 
 Albert followed the directions he received 
 exactly, and without any trouble lowered down 
 the whole grate, which being pushed outwards 
 when once raised, freed itself from the grooves 
 in which the two ends moved, and turning on 
 pivots in the lower rim, swung over and hung 
 down against the wall. It required great 
 strength, indeed, to hold the mass of iron 
 work up, so that it descended without noise ; but 
 the joy with which Albert saw the task accom- 
 plished would be very, very difficult to tell. 
 
 " Now," said the old man, as soon as this was 
 .done, " make your way down to the ground 
 beneath the wall, then, before you cross the
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 259 
 
 moat, creep round, along the narrow ridge of 
 earth between the masonry and the water. 
 After you have passed three round towers you 
 will come to a square one which dips itself into 
 the moat, there you must plunge in and swim 
 across; and then going round to the other 
 side of that square tower, you must enter the 
 moat again and swim over once more. You 
 will there find, not far from the place where you 
 cross, a small archway, like the mouth of a con- 
 duit. Bow your head and enter it ; then go 
 on straight. It will lead you to some stairs, 
 which when you have mounted, you will find 
 yourself in a narrow passage, at the end of 
 which there is a door with a latch in the in- 
 side; lift that latch, and the next step takes 
 you into the corridor leading to the chief 
 rooms in the building. Where they have 
 lodged the lady I cannot exactly tell, but I heard 
 some mention made of a small room, which 
 you will find the third, upon the left-hand side. 
 There you must try your fortune: I can help you 
 no more, for I have now told you all I know." 
 ** I give you many thanks," replied Albert, 
 s 2
 
 260 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 " and will now speed away ; but ere I go, let 
 me, at least, aid you from the window : you are 
 neither so young nor so strong as I am, and 
 it were well that you have some one with you 
 while you cross the moat.'* 
 
 " Alas ! good youth," replied the old man, 
 " you must leave me behind ; I cannot pass the 
 water as thou canst. My crippled frame could 
 never learn the art which will soon bear thee 
 to the other side." 
 
 "But I can support you," replied Albert: 
 "it has ever been a sport of my youth to carry 
 great weights across the moat at Mauvinet, 
 which is far broader than this seems to be." 
 
 " Nay, nay," replied the old man — " go you 
 upon your way. Fear not for me ; I will find 
 other means to fly. Fear not for me, I say, I 
 shall be safe, and even if they slew me here, 
 what matter ? am I not old and crippled, poor, 
 miserable, abandoned ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Albert ; " but I see, notwith- 
 standing, that you are kind of heart and 
 generous. I found you defending innocence, 
 and contending with a villain; and now you
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 261 
 
 take an interest in me, and set me free. I would 
 fain, therefore, aid you before I go." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed the old man, as if 
 speaking to himself, " what ! one to love and 
 to esteem me ! — But go, go, good youth ; this 
 enterprise will take you time : I will find my way 
 forth alone. I tell you that within these walls, 
 at least, they cannot keep me ; but be careful 
 of yourself, for your task is a harder one than 
 mine; and remember, leave the door, which 
 leads into the corridor, open behind you ; for 
 once closed, you will not find it again." Ha 
 added some more directions which Albert 
 stored carefully in his memory, and then, 
 grasping the youth's hand in his large sinewy 
 fingers, he bade God speed him, and aided 
 him to pass through the window. 
 
 When he was gone, the old man paused for 
 a moment, listening for any sound, and then 
 returned to his seat, saying, " He is noble and 
 good ! he is noble and good ! What will be 
 the end of all this ? what will be the end ?" 
 
 In the mean while, Albert, dropping from the 
 window, found himself on a small ridge of land 
 s 3
 
 262 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 immediately under the wall of the castle, with 
 scarcely sufficient footing between him and the 
 moat to admit of his proceeding step by step, in 
 the direction which he had been told to follow. 
 Sometimes, however, the space grew wider, and 
 enabled him to go on more rapidly; but his 
 progress was necessarily so slow for some way, 
 that he was tempted, more than once, to plunge 
 into the moat, as the shortest method. 
 
 At length, however, a tall square tower pre- 
 sented itself, much larger than any of the others, 
 with its foundations dipping into the moat, as the 
 old man had described; and without further 
 hesitation, Albert plunged in and swam round 
 till he reached the same shelf of land which 
 recommenced on the other side of the tower. 
 
 After some search, he found the small arch to 
 which he had been directed, though the lower 
 part of it was partially filled with water, and en- 
 tering, in profound darkness, he found his way 
 along, feeling with his hands against the wall, 
 and sometimes stumbling over pieces of stone 
 which had fallen from above; showing that 
 no careful eye had for many years examined
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 263 
 
 the spot to take precautions against de- 
 cay. The description of Walleran Urgel had 
 been so exact, that the youth met with no 
 great difficulty ; and he soon reached the 
 door, and found the latch which caused it to 
 open. 
 
 Albert raised it gently, and the door moved 
 back without noise; but the moment it did so, 
 a bright light burst in upon him, and, instead 
 of seeing before him a corridor, as he had 
 expected, he found himself entering a small 
 chamber in which a liojht was burninor. On 
 two sides of the room appeared the old black 
 oak wood-work, which had originally lined 
 the corridor , but on the other two sides the 
 walls were composed^ of rough thick planking, 
 bearing the marks of the saw fresh upon it; 
 so that it was evident to Albert Denyn, that 
 the Oidventurers had converted the corridor 
 into separate apartments since they had taken 
 possession of the castle. 
 
 The light which struck him as he opened the 
 door, proceeded from a tall sconce containing 
 three lamps, which apparently had not been 
 s 4
 
 264 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 trimmed for some hours; and Albert drew back 
 as he marked the interior of the room, not 
 doubting, from all he saw, that he was in the 
 chamber of one of the free leaders. A large 
 bed, occupying at least one fourth x)f the small 
 room, stood in the corner opposite, with the 
 thick green curtains drawn closely round it. 
 But all within was perfectly silent and still, so 
 that it was clear the tenant of the room was 
 either absent or asleep. 
 
 To advance offered certainly no small risk, 
 and yet Albert could not make up his mind to 
 return, and leave the task he had undertaken 
 unaccomplished. He paused, then, and gazed 
 into the room for a moment, hesitating how to 
 act; but the next instant he drew his sword 
 and took a few steps forward, resolved at all 
 events to go on. There was a door on either side 
 in the new partitions. That on the left w^s fas- 
 tened by two large wooden bolts, and against it 
 lay a casque, and a cuirasse, with a pair of heavy 
 steel gloves, which it seemed scarcely possible to 
 move without making some noise ; but the other 
 door, to which Albert next turned, was secured
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 265 
 
 in a different manner. It opened into the room, 
 and across it had been laid one of those movable 
 cupboards, few of which have descended to the 
 present day, although their place has been sup- 
 plied by things much less convenient than them- 
 selves. It must have cost some trouble to place 
 it in the position which it then occupied, and 
 while it there remained, no man, unassisted, 
 could have forced the door open from without. 
 Piled up upon it also, were several other ar- 
 ticles of furniture ; and when Albert perceived 
 all this caution to prevent any one entering 
 the chamber during the slumbers of its oc- 
 cupant, a hope came upon him, which made 
 his heart beat wildly. 
 
 A moment after, his eye lighted upon some of 
 the apparel of a lady; and instead of trying, as 
 he had at first proposed, to make his way forth 
 undiscovered by one of the doors, he now gently 
 approached the bed, and drew back one of the 
 curtains. 
 
 His hopes had not deceived him. Before his 
 eyes, overpowered by slumber, lay Adela^ de 
 Mauvinet, with one beautiful arm bent under-
 
 266 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 neath her head, and the other resting on the 
 cover of the bed, while the fair hand dropped 
 gracefully over the edge. Her rich brown 
 hair, which she had unloosed ere she cast her- 
 self down, to take the repose which she so 
 much needed, but almost feared to indulge, fell 
 round her face and over her shoulder in beau- 
 tiful profusion ; and, lovely as Albert had 
 always thought her, she seemed fairer, brighter 
 than ever to his eyes, as she there lay, buried 
 in deep, calm sleep, in the midst of such perils 
 as those that surrounded her/ 
 
 He stood and gazed upon her for several mi- 
 nutes, drinking deep draughts of love, if I may 
 so express it, till at length the resolutions, which 
 he had that very night formed, came back to 
 his mind, and he instantly asked himself how 
 he might best wake her without giving her 
 alarm. At length, sheatTnng his sword, he knelt 
 down by the bedside, threw back the curtain 
 that the 'light might fall full upon him, and 
 then taking the hand that dropped over the 
 edge, he pressed his lips tenderly but respect- 
 fully upon it.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 267 
 
 Adela instantly woke, started, raised herself 
 partly on her arm, and gazed wildly at the youth 
 as he knelt beside her. As soon as she saw who 
 it was, however, a bright smile of joy lighted 
 up her countenance. None of the particulars 
 of her situation seemed to have been forgotten 
 even in sleep; for, raising her finger, she said 
 in a low tone, " Oh, Albert, is it possible ? How 
 came you hither? It is indeed joy to see you 
 here — but speak low, speak low, for they are in 
 that room, and there are people all around 
 us." 
 
 " I am here, lady, to set you free," replied 
 Albert, in a whisper. " I have been a prisoner 
 like you, and have found means to escape, by 
 those means also I can set you free ; but I must 
 not conceal from you that there are dangers and 
 difficulties in the way, though I would not quit 
 this place without offering you the opportunity 
 of flying also." 
 
 '* But how came you here?" demanded Adela. 
 ** I have been sq anxious about you ever since 
 you left me; for you were scarcely gone, ere 
 these men passed by; and I feared that they
 
 268 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 would find you contending with that base man 
 Caillet." 
 
 Albert told her that they had done so ; but 
 she would not be satisfied, until he had related 
 all that had befallen him ; and the interest and 
 the pity that she showed as he proceeded were 
 sweet but dangerous to his heart. 
 
 In return, while she related a part of what 
 had occurred to her, she dwelt much and long 
 upon the apprehensions she had entertained for 
 him, speaking little of her own fears and suf- 
 ferings; and it was a strange and somewhat 
 agitating conversation for both that took place 
 during the next half hour, while, with Albert 
 kneeling by her bedside, with whispered words 
 and eyes gazing into each other's, they poured 
 forth every feeling and thought of their bosoms 
 — except that one passion, which gave tone and 
 depth to all the rest. 
 
 It may well be asked, " Was that one passion 
 then not spoken? Was it possible at such a time, 
 and in such circumstances, not to open the gates 
 of the heart and set the imprisoned secret free?" 
 
 It was not spoken. Not a word did Albert
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 269 
 
 Utter that he would not have uttered in the halls 
 of Mauvinet : there was as much deep respect 
 in manner and in gesture; but from his coun- 
 tenance he could not banish what he felt : it 
 sparkled in his eyes, it was heard, too, in his 
 tone, whenever Adela's dangers, or griefs, or 
 sufPerincrs were mentioned. Neither did she 
 
 o 
 
 name the name of love — nor, indeed, did she 
 think of it at that moment. In the agitation, 
 the fears, the cares, the hopes of such a situ- 
 ation, she looked upon the youth beside her 
 only as the companion of her infancy and her 
 girlhood, as the person in whom she had most 
 confidence on earth, to whom she could speak 
 as to a brother. If her tones were those of 
 love — if her look was that of deep affection — it 
 was that the moment was one of those when 
 circumstances break down the barriers which we 
 raise in our hearts against our own feelings, and 
 when the stream of passion flows forth without 
 our will, mingling with the whole current of our 
 actions. 
 
 However that may be, during that night a 
 new consciousness came upon the heart of Al-
 
 270 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 bert Denyn — the consciousness that he was 
 beloved ; and however he might school himself, 
 he could not so far play the hypocrite with his 
 own soul, as to wish that it were otherwise. 
 
 Though much was said, and many a thing 
 was told, their conversation was but short, for 
 their words were quick as the time required. 
 And though Albert could have remained there 
 in that sweet intercourse for ever, it became 
 necessary that he should press Adela to decide 
 whether she would attempt to fly with him or 
 not. He informed her of all she would have to 
 encounter; he showed her that he should be 
 obliged to swim with her across the moat; and, 
 after a moment's hesitation, she replied, — 
 
 " No, Albert, no — you shall not risk your 
 life for me any more." 
 
 '' There is no danger, dear lady," he replied, 
 ** there is no risk of that kind : I know I can 
 do it with ease ; I only fear for you who have 
 suffered so terribly already ; I dread that the 
 cold and the night wandering might injure, nay, 
 even kill you." 
 
 " Perhaps it might," she said, in a sad tone,
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 271 
 
 " perhaps it might ; and I cling weakly to life, 
 Albert, I know not why." 
 
 " Oh yes, live, live, dear lady !" replied Albert, 
 " live for brighter days ! live to make others 
 happy, and to be happy also yourself ! " 
 
 Adela made no reply for some moments ; but 
 her eyes filled with tears, and a look of deep 
 sadness came over her whole countenance. 
 " No," she said at length, " no, I will not fly 
 at such a risk to you. Besides, I know my 
 father will right gladly pay the ransom that 
 they fix ; and these men have treated me with 
 all honour and some kindness, so that I have 
 nothing to fear. Their chief himself, to give 
 me security in my chamber, blocked up the 
 door as you see there ; the other door leads to 
 the room where sleeps his child, and there are 
 also bolts which no strength could break. He 
 showed me these things himself, and his wife 
 gave me all comfort, and promised me her aid 
 and protection. Under these circumstances 
 it were wrong to risk so much. Go, then, 
 Albert, go, and tell my father my situation — I 
 know I need not ask him to set me free
 
 272 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 speedily. You will reach him probably even 
 before the letter which they have made me 
 write can inform him of my fate. Tell him 
 I am well — far better, indeed, in health than I 
 could, by any means, have expected. I must 
 not add that I am happy," she continued, " for 
 that I am not — perhaps may never be so 
 again." 
 
 Albert gazed sadly on the ground, but made 
 no reply ; and after a moment Adela added, 
 '' Now go, Albert, now go — may Heaven send 
 you a blessing for all that you have done for 
 me!" 
 
 " One thing more, dear lady," replied Albert, 
 " one thing more before I do as you bid me — 
 Kecoilect that the door by which I entered here, 
 and which you see stand open there, is unknown 
 to these people themselves. That passage might 
 afford you a place of refuge, in case their con- 
 duct towards you should change at any time. 
 On the other side there is a lock ; but I must 
 see how it can be opened from this room." 
 
 It was not without difficulty that the method 
 was discovered, for the wood-work fitted so close
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 273 
 
 as to afford not the slightest indication of an 
 opening when it was shut. At length, however, 
 having found the way of closing and unclosing 
 it at pleasure, and explained the means to 
 Adela, Albert again approached to bid her 
 adieu, and once more knelt by her side to kiss 
 her hand. 
 
 " Oh ! Albert," she said in the same low tone 
 in which they had hitherto spoken, "it is a ter- 
 rible thing to bid you go, and leave me here 
 alone, but it must be so at length. It is very, 
 very terrible;" and she bent down her head, 
 till her eyes almost rested on his shoulder, while 
 her tears fell thick and fast. 
 
 " Go, Albert," she continued at length, " go — 
 I will be thus selfish no longer ! Go at once ! 
 Fare you well, fare you well ; I shall never for- 
 get you, I shall never forget your kindness* 
 Now leave me without another word, for I am 
 weak, and overcome already." 
 
 Albert felt that it would be best to depart, 
 and only pausing to press his lips again upon 
 her hand, he tore himself away, and left her 
 In a few minutes he had passed through the 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 long passage which conducted to the moat, 
 and with a feehng of reckless self-abandonment, 
 he plunged in without a moment's pause or 
 thought. 
 
 The noise of his sudden leap into the water 
 called the attention of some one above, and 
 a cry of " Who goes there ? " was heard, 
 warning him to be more cautious. He made 
 no reply, but swam gently on ; and he could 
 hear the man say to himself, ** It must be a 
 dog — I will give him a shot, at all events." The 
 next instant, the twang of a crossbow met his 
 ear, and a quarrel struck the water close beside 
 him. 
 
 It was luckily too dark for any thing to 
 be seen distinctly, and proceeding as quietly 
 and silently as possible, Albert reached the 
 other side of the moat, and for a moment lay 
 still under the shadow of the bank. The heed- 
 less soldier above seemed quite satisfied with 
 what he had done, and in a few minutes walked 
 on, whistling a light air ; while Albert, on his 
 part, crept slowly up the bank, and was soon 
 amongst the fields of the open country.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 275 
 
 All was dark, however ; there were woods, 
 and orchards, and vineyards around, and, en- 
 tangled amongst them, Albert could for some 
 time find no path, but wandered without guide, 
 and with no knowledge whither he was direct- 
 ing his steps. At length he came upon a road, 
 which, though neither very large nor very good, 
 he judged to be much used, from the ruts and 
 irregularities which it presented ; and following 
 it for about half a mile, the youth came sud- 
 denly upon a rising ground, whence he could 
 discover, somewhat to his surprise and conster- 
 nation, the faint outline of the castle he had 
 just quitted, rising at the distance of a few 
 hundred yards. He was once more turning 
 away to seek some other path, when he was 
 suddenly startled by the cry of " Who goes 
 there ? " and the next instant rough hands were 
 laid upon his shoulders. 
 
 T 2
 
 276 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 Leaving Albert Denyn in the hands of his 
 captors, we must turn to follow the proceedings 
 of the Count de Mauvinet and the Captal de 
 Buch, who were not lon<? in hearinor news of 
 the body of adventurers which had taken pos- 
 session of the castle on the hill. Every peasant 
 that they met with when day dawned gave them 
 some tidings of a detachment from the famous 
 company of Sir Robert Knowles who had lately 
 established themselves in the neighbourhood, 
 and laid the country under contribution as far 
 as Mans and La Fleche. None, indeed, could 
 give any information regarding the exact fate 
 of the Lady Adela ; but some had heard a troop 
 of horse pass their cottages during the night ; 
 and the two noblemen were so thoroughly 
 convinced that the lady had fallen into the 
 Iiands of these adventurers, that after ffivins: 
 their horses a few hours' rest at the first
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 277 
 
 village they could find, they marched on, 
 guided by some of the peasantry, and only 
 halted at length, in order to send back messen- 
 gers to Mauvinet, with directions to call forth 
 every retainer of the house, and bring them to 
 a certain spot by daybreak on the following 
 morning. 
 
 Some consultation was held as to whether it 
 would be better to send a summons, requiring 
 the marauders in the castle to give up their 
 prisoners, or to proceed at once by force. But 
 the captal strongly urged the necessity of giving 
 no intimation of their purpose to the adven- 
 turers till the last moment ; and the count 
 yielded, although his deep anxiety for his child 
 made him desirous of taking the most speedy 
 means that could be adopted for bringing her 
 captivity to an end. No rest nor sleep was his 
 portion during the night, though he adopted 
 the best measures that circumstances permitted 
 him to use, for refreshing his men and horses 
 against the following day. 
 
 The captal, on his part, not forgetting the 
 vow that he had made, entered no house, but laid 
 T
 
 278 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 himself down in the open fields, with his men 
 around him, and his naked sword by his side. 
 An hour before daylight the two leaders met, 
 to consult together upon their after proceed- 
 ings ; and before they separated, several bands 
 of the retainers of the house of Mauvinet came 
 in, and reported that others were following hard 
 behind. The whole country, they said, was 
 rising in indignation and alarm ; and several of 
 the vassals of other noble houses in the neigh- 
 bourhood were found to have joined themselves 
 to the troops of the Lord of Mauvinet ; so that 
 an overpowering force might soon be expected, 
 ready to act at once against the adventurers. 
 
 After a short conference, the Captal de Buch 
 proposed to his friend to go forward with his 
 men, and reconnoitre the enemy's position, 
 while the count himself remained behind, to 
 collect the various bands as they came up. The 
 captal promised to return before day had dawned 
 more than half an hour ; and his proposal being- 
 agreed to, he set out at once, accompanied by 
 the troop of twenty, or five and twenty men, 
 which had followed him to Mauvinet.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. '279 
 
 It was somewhat later than the hour he had 
 specified ere he did indeed return ; but then he 
 came with a smiling countenance, assuring the 
 count that the place was one of no great strength, 
 and could not make any formidable resistance. 
 The array which presented itself to his eyes on 
 rejoining the count, seemed to warrant well the 
 expectation of speedy success ; for more than 
 four hundred men were now in the field ; vo- 
 lunteers were coming in every moment, and 
 various implements for assaulting the castle had 
 already been provided. No farther del^y touk 
 place: the troops instantljr u^ie put in motion; 
 and the Lord of Mauvinet and his friend led 
 the way a few hundred yard^ in advance, at the 
 head of a small body of chosen men. 
 
 The whole aspect of the scene, as they 
 approached the castle, seemed to show, that 
 the free companions had not the slightest idea 
 of being attacked; and in passing through a 
 small hollow-way, at about a mile's distance 
 from the fortress, the count and his com- 
 panions came suddenly upon an armed man, 
 riding on with the utmost tranquillity. The 
 T 4
 
 280 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 space between him and them, when he first 
 appeared, was not more than forty or fifty 
 yards, and reining up his horse quickly, he 
 seemed about to fly ; but perceiving levelled 
 lances and preparations for instant pursuit, 
 he laid down his bridle and halted, waiting 
 till they came up. His appearance left no 
 doubt of his being one of the adventurers ; and 
 he was instantly surrounded by the men of 
 Mauvinet, who, perhaps, might have treated 
 him ill, had it not been for the interference 
 of tlic oaptal ; for the Lord of Mauvinet himself 
 was too much enraged to respect the cha- 
 racter of soldiers in so lawless a body of 
 marauders. 
 
 " Nay, nay, count," said the captal, seeing 
 the fierce look which the father of Adela bent 
 upon the prisoner : " remember these are all 
 good men at arms, most of them gentlemen 
 of birth ; and the unhappy licence of the times 
 has justified things that in other days were 
 unjustifiable." 
 
 *^ I shall ever give heed to your voice, my 
 noble friend," replied the Lord of Mauvinet,
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 281 
 
 " when it is raised in a righteous cause ; but 
 you will not expect me to spare men who, 
 without the warrant of actual war, do acts that 
 actual war itself has never sanctioned — carry 
 off women and children from their parents, 
 and wage dishonest hostilities in time of truce 
 against the innocent and unoffending. The 
 slaughter of my peasantry were enough, but 
 the outrage offered to my child leaves no 
 room for mercy or forbearance ; and a short 
 shrift, and a neighbouring tree, is all the lenity 
 I can show." 
 
 "Yet listen, my good lord," rejoined the 
 captal : " this man may, perhaps, if you grant 
 him pardon, give us some good information 
 regardiijg th^ enemy. Hark, fellow — you look 
 •wondrous pale for one who has chosen so 
 perilous a trade — stand forward, and try, by 
 anwering truly, to save your life. You come 
 from the castle of La Trie aux Bois — is it not 
 so?" 
 
 " Yes, noble sir," replied the man, who evi- 
 dently did not like the aspect of death in the 
 shape which it now assumed ; " but I have only
 
 282 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 been there three days, and have had no share 
 in what has been done there." 
 
 " How came you to go thither at all ? " de- 
 manded the captal. 
 
 " I carried letters, noble sir," answered the 
 man, " from good Sir Robert Knowles to 
 worthy Captain Griffith.'* 
 
 " Ha ! my old companion Knowles ! " cried 
 the captal — " is he come so near? and Griffith 
 too ! he is a good soldier, if ever man was. 
 Nor is he discourteous either. The Lady Adela 
 will suffer no wrong at his hands. I shall like 
 well to try twelve strokes of a good sword with 
 him^ and will, please Heaven, ere the world be 
 three hours older." 
 
 " Ah, sir, you reckon ill," rejoined ihe ad- 
 venturer : " he left the castle this morning in 
 the grey, with a score of lances, to confer with 
 good Sir Robert ; nor will he return till to- 
 morrow at noon. They say there is some dif- 
 ference between them — but I know not." 
 
 " And whither were you going now ? " asked 
 the count, " who had hitherto remained silent : 
 " you seemed in great haste."
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 283 
 
 " I was carrying a letter, noble sir," replied 
 the man. 
 
 " What, another letter ! " exclaimed the Cap- 
 tal de Buch. " By your leave, sir letter 
 carrier, we will see this epistle." 
 
 " It is directed to the noble Lord of Mau- 
 vinet," replied the adventurer, " and is written 
 by the lady they took yesterday." 
 
 " Then give it to me instantly," exclaimed 
 the count : " quick, fellow ! quick ! or we will 
 take it in a way that may be somewhat more 
 speedy." 
 
 The prisoner, whose senses were so far con- 
 fused that he did not yet understand that one 
 of the personages who spoke to him was the 
 very nobleman to whom the letter was ad- 
 dressed, gave it up with evident reluctance; 
 and — first kissing the handwriting of his be- 
 loved child — the count tore it open and read. 
 The captal watched his countenance narrowly, 
 and saw, with no small delight, that the brow of 
 Adela's father grew^ brighter, and that a look 
 of relief came over his whole face. 
 
 *' She is well, thanks be to God ! " exclaimed
 
 284 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 the count, turning to bis friend. " She is well, 
 and they have used her with all respect and 
 courtesy; but tell me, my good lord captal, 
 did ever mortal man hear such insolence as 
 this ? Tliey come hither, into the heart of the 
 land, carry off our children, and boldly put 
 them to ransom, as if there were a war pro- 
 claimed against babes and ladies. The}^ ask a 
 thousand crowns of gold, and bid me ransom 
 my daughter at once, as if she were a knight 
 captured in fair fight. By St. Maurice, this is 
 too much ! " 
 
 " Do they mention the villain who carried 
 her off?" demanded the captal: "it would 
 seem they have taken her out of his hands." 
 
 *^ They neither mention him, nor my poor 
 boy, Albert,'^ replied the count. " Of the one I 
 will have signal vengeance, and for the safety 
 of the other good account. That youth is like 
 a son to me, captal, and I will reckon with 
 that man severely who docs Kim wrong. But 
 let us march on, and by the way, speak of this 
 ransoming. What say you ? — ■ should I give 
 it?"
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 285 
 
 " No, my good lord, no," replied the captaL 
 " I can feel that you are anxious for your 
 daughter, but they dare not — it is impossible— 
 they dare not injure her, I am sure. My oath 
 is, that I will set her free, and of course that 
 oath implies by force of arms. It I must 
 keep ; and I will answer for it that the lady 
 shall suffer no wrong, although these men per- 
 chance may threaten it. Let us march on, my 
 lord; and bringing this man along with us, use 
 him for what 'purposes we may think fit here- 
 after.'* 
 
 As w^as very natural, the Lord of Mauvinet 
 could hardly, in his anxiety for his daughter, 
 feel satisfied with the assurance of the captal ; 
 but still, as is often the case with all men, he 
 would not show the weakness that he felt, and 
 agreed to the proposal of his friend, though 
 he would fain have yielded to the demand 
 of ransom, however unreasonable, and secured 
 his child's safety, before he sought vengeance 
 for the insult that had been offered to him. 
 
 Marching on, then, they soon came within 
 sight of the castle; but as they rode forward.
 
 286 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 upon a rising ground, which looked down upon 
 it, the count observed a small party of horsemen 
 coming up at some distance, nearly on a parallel 
 line with his own forces. 
 
 " Who are these?" he exclaimed, speaking to 
 the captal — " who are these, ray good lord ? We 
 had better send out to cut them off." 
 
 " No, no," replied the captal, smiling, " they 
 are my own men. I thought it best, when I 
 returned to you just now, to leave a party upon 
 that road, both to bring us any intelligence, 
 and to cut off the enemy, should they think fit 
 to send out for aid in that direction. My 
 people will come up against the other side of 
 the castle, and make all sure there." 
 
 " Well bethought, well bethought, my noble 
 friend," replied the count: "we will teach 
 those hardy plunderers another tale. Bring 
 that fellow hither from behind; and let Bertrand, 
 with the men from the abbey, sweep round to 
 the right, while we advance against the bar- 
 bican. Now, noble captal, where will you com- 
 mand?" 
 
 " Upon the left, my good lord," answered the
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 287 
 
 captal. " Methinks I will attack the wall near 
 yon square tower : it is there, most likely, that 
 they have lodged the lady, and I would fain 
 have it no other hand than mine which sets 
 her free." 
 
 " But the wall seems strong and high there," 
 replied the Lord of Mauvinet. 
 
 " The more the honour of scaling it," said 
 the captal, with a laugh. " We must show them 
 what the chivalry of France and England can 
 do when united. Let us ride on together, 
 however ; but first, send on this fellow to sum- 
 mon them to set the lady free, and then we 
 will act as we may find needful." 
 
 The captal's plan was followed ; the troops 
 of Mauvinet advanced, in somewhat irregular 
 order, if such an expression may be permitted ; 
 for the best arrayed feudal armies of that day 
 seldom presented any very great appearance of 
 discipline ; and troops so hastily called together 
 as those now before the castle could not be 
 expected to equal a long organised force. They 
 made a gallant show, however, as they came 
 up with their armour shining in the sun, and
 
 288 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 their pennons fluttering in the breeze, while 
 the castle, which when they first approached 
 it had appeared almost entirely deserted, with 
 nothing but two soldiers pacing upon the walls, 
 and a few men loitering about the gate of the 
 barbican, suddenly displayed an aspect of far 
 greater bustle and activity. Soldiers were 
 seen running here and there, the drawbridge 
 was suddenly drawn up, the portcullis let fall, 
 the walls became strongly manned, and all the 
 bustle and agitation of a place suddenly and 
 unexpectedly attacked showed itself in the 
 fortress. 
 
 At the distance of an arrow's flight from the 
 barbican the count and the captal paused upon 
 a little mound, and for a few moments gazed 
 upon the active scene before them. The pri- 
 soner was then called up, and the count in- 
 formed him that he spared his life upon the 
 condition, he should go into the castle and 
 bear the message with which he was about to 
 charge him. 
 
 ** Tell them," he said, ^' that I have come 
 to punish them for their unheard-of inso-
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 289 
 
 lence, in daring to carry off my child almost 
 from my very side, and for their discourtesy 
 and iinknightly baseness, in tearing a lady 
 from her home, and demanding a ransom for 
 her liberty. Bid them, if they would escape 
 my utmost vengeance, instantly set free the 
 Lady Adela de Mauvinet ; bid tliem surrender 
 to me, tied hand and foot, the villain named 
 William Caillet, who dared to carry her off, and 
 also bid them send back to me, or give a good 
 account of the youth named Albert Denyn, 
 whom I have reason to believe has fallen into 
 their power. Go, and bring me back a speed\' 
 answer." 
 
 The man hesitated before he departed, and 
 even when he had taken two or three steps 
 came back and said, " I am afraid, my noble 
 lord, they will not suffer me to return." 
 
 " Thou hadst better find means to return," 
 said the captal sternly ; " for be perfectly as- 
 sured, my friend, that within one hour from 
 this time I will speak with tliee in that castle, 
 if thou art not here before; and what I say 
 then will not please thee. — I mean, fellow, that 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 thy life shall answer for thy disobedience ; and 
 that if thou art not here ere our trumpets 
 sound to the attack, it were better for thee 
 to seek a priest quickly, for thou wilt have short 
 time for shrift." 
 
 The tone in which the captal spoke was 
 as significant as his words, and the man went 
 away somewhat pale in the face. 
 
 " The villain ought to be hanged for his 
 cowardice," said the captal. " He is one of those 
 who hang upon the skirts of braver rascals than 
 himself, finding just sufficient valour in a 
 multitude of companions to carry him through 
 a general battle. — We will give them some ten 
 minutes, my lord, to send their answer, I have 
 despatched two or three of my people down to 
 the village that we passed on the right, to seek 
 some of their masons' ladders. We must con- 
 trive to join two together to reach that wall ; 
 and even then we shall have some difficulty." 
 
 " Better by far," said the count, " join 
 your efforts to mine, my lord, and force our 
 way in together at this gate : I fear you will 
 make no impression on the wall,"
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 291 
 
 " Will you bet me a Barbary horse," said 
 the captal, laughingly, " that I am not in before 
 you, my lord? — But see, my men are already 
 making preparations ; and, as I live, here 
 comes our messenger again — He has had a 
 speedy answer.'* 
 
 The man approached slowly and evidently 
 with trepidation ; which the looks of the 
 captal and the count were not well calculated 
 to remove. " Well, fellow," exclaimed the 
 Lord of Mauvinet, ere he reached them, " what 
 is the reply ? " 
 
 " I dare not give it you, my lord," said 
 the man — " I dare not give it you, unless 
 you promise me your pardon," 
 
 " Well, well, you shall be pardoned," joined 
 in the captal; "and if my Lord of Mauvinet 
 follows my advice, he will shave your head, 
 and thrust you into a monastery." 
 
 "Speak, man, speak!" cried the count, 
 " or, by Heaven, I will thrust my sword through 
 thee." 
 
 " Well, then, my lord," replied the mes- 
 senger, " though I beseech your forgiveness for 
 u 2
 
 292 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 speaking it, the Captain Maillot, who now.com- 
 mands in the absence of the Welshman, bade 
 me give you this answer at once — That as to 
 William Caillet he knows nothing of him ; that 
 as for Albert Denyn, you may seek him where 
 you will find him; and that as for the Lady 
 Adela, she shall not have her liberty unless 
 you pay the thousand crowns demanded." 
 
 " Courteous, modest, and reasonable," said 
 the captal ; "but what more, my friend, what 
 more? I see there is something more under 
 that white face." 
 
 " It must be told," said the man, with a 
 sigh; "and it is this — He bade me say to 
 the count, that the safety of his daughter de- 
 pends upon his withdrawing his banner in- 
 stantly from before those walls. — He spoke 
 it in harder terms than I dare name, and I 
 believe he will keep his word." 
 
 The count gazed with a countenance of an- 
 guish and anxiety in the face of the captal, 
 struggling between apprehension for his child 
 and the consciousness that his honour, as 
 a knight, was pledged to resent the insult
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 295 
 
 offered to him. The face of the captal gave 
 him 110 relief, though it was certainly much 
 calmer than he expected to see it ; yet there 
 was a heavy frown upon tliat leader's brow, 
 which spoke at once the determination that the 
 count feared they must both take. 
 
 " My lord," said the captal, after a moment's 
 pause, " your situation is painful, but yield 
 not, I beseech you, to apprehension ! In truth, 
 there is nothing to fear. Again I pledge myself 
 that there shall no harm happen. However, do 
 you as you like : my answer I will send to these 
 men myself — Go back to them," hecontinued, 
 turning to the messenger — "go back to them, 
 and say that the Captal de Buch has pledged 
 himself to set free the Lady Adela de Mau- 
 vinet ; that he will not only set her free, but 
 pqnish them who keep her ; and that he 
 vows by his faith and honour, as a Christian 
 knight, if he find that insult or injury of 
 any kind has been offered to the lady, not 
 contented with putting every man that he 
 finds within the castle to the sword, he will 
 hang Maillot and twelve of his companions
 
 294 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 by their feet from the walls of the castle, 
 till death deliver them, or jthe ravens eat 
 them living. Go tell them that I swear this 
 on my honour and on my faith : now let 
 me see what they dare do. — Give me my 
 casque. — What ! you are afraid? — Well, poor 
 fool, I will go myself. — My Lord of Mauvinet, I 
 beseech you prepare all means for instant attack. 
 I see they have brought up the ladders there to 
 my men. The instant I have given my message, 
 I will ride round and scale the walls. You, 
 at the same moment, force your way in here, 
 while others attack at different points. They 
 cannot long hold out against such a force as 
 we have here : it is a place of no strength — 
 a mere cottage. Be of good cheer, my lord, be 
 of good cheer — no harm shall happen." 
 
 The count shook his head mournfully, say- 
 ing, " We must do what our honour requires, 
 lord captal : God give us a good issue." 
 
 " Fear not, fear not," exclaimed the captal, 
 who had by this time put on his casque ; and 
 thus saying, he galloped forward with the 
 two or three men whom he had kept with him.
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 295 
 
 approaching the barbican, the wall of which, 
 at this moment, was covered with men-at-arms. 
 When the captal was about forty or fifty yards 
 from that outwork, the count and those who 
 stood beside him perceived the adventurers 
 bend their bows, and in a moment several 
 arrows fell around the captal. 
 
 The Lord of Mauvinet's indignation was 
 roused more vehemently than ever; and, 
 waving his hand to his followers, he exclaimed, 
 " On, on, to the barbican ! A purse of gold 
 and knighthood for the first man who crosses 
 the bridge ! " 
 
 Tlie retainers of Mauvinet were in movement 
 in a moment ; and, dashing on towards the gates, 
 they arrived just as the captal was once more 
 turning away, shaking his fist fiercely towards 
 the men upon the walls. His visor was up, and 
 they could see that he had been slightly 
 wounded in the face, but his countenance was 
 all courage, and even gaiety ; and he waved his 
 hand to the count, crying, — 
 
 " On, on, my lord !" whilst he himself gal-
 
 i296 THE JACQUERIE. 
 
 loped round towards the point of attack he had 
 chosen. 
 
 The enemy sent a flight of arrows after him, 
 but their attention was soon called in another 
 direction ; for the men of Mauvinet rushhig 
 forward, soon reached the foot of the barbican ; 
 and so fiercely did they ply the axe and hammer, 
 that in a few minutes, notwithstanding all the 
 shouts and cries that echoed around, the 
 crashing sound of large masses of wood torn 
 off from the gate, and the giving way of the 
 iron work within, in several places, showed 
 the besieged that the outwork could not be 
 maintained any longer. 
 
 As soon as they perceived that such was 
 the case, they made signs at once, to their 
 companions on the other side of the moat, 
 to let down the drawbridge; and a general 
 rush took place amongst the soldiery in the 
 barbican to make their escape. Ere they could 
 all pass, however, the gate which had been 
 attacked gave way at once, with a tremendous 
 crash, the troops of Mauvinet rushed in ; and, 
 before the bridge could be raised, several of
 
 THE JACQUERIE. 297 
 
 those upon it were thrown over into the moat ; 
 and a number of assailants rushing across, with 
 repeated blows of their axes cut through the 
 wood-work where the chains were fastened, 
 and the pont-levis, which was slowly rising, 
 fell again with great force. 
 
 The portcullis, however, was down, the 
 gates closed, and the M-alls above covered 
 with archers : but the barbican served the 
 Count de Mauvinet as a fort; and while a 
 number of his men plied the bars of the 
 portcullis with blows of the axe, others with 
 crossbows kept up an answering discharge 
 against those upon the battlements. 
 
 In an instant afterwards, however, the Lord 
 of Mauvinet suddenly cried, " Stop, stop, 
 every man of you !" and all eyes turning to 
 the gallery above the gate, beheld a man-at- 
 arms dragging forth Adela by the hand, to the 
 very spot where all the bolts were directed. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by A. Spottiswoode, 
 
 New-Street-Square.

 
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