 20. The Hundred Years' War. Philip VI and John II. It was a great loss for King Edward. Under Van Arteveld's bold dominance and in consequence of his alliance with England the warlike renown of Flanders had made some noise in Europe, to such an extent that Petrarch exclaimed, List to the sounds still indistinct that reach us from the world of the West. Flanders is plunged in ceaseless war, all the country stretching from the restless ocean to the Latin Alps is rushing forth to arms. Would it to heaven that there might come to us some gleams of salvation from dense? O Italy, poor fatherland, thou pray to sufferings without relief. Thou who wasst want, with thy deeds of arms, to trouble the peace of the world. Now art thou motionless when the fate of the world hangs on the chances of battle. The Fleming's spared no effort to reassure the King of England. Their envoys went to Westminster to deplore the murder of Van Arteveld, and tried to persuade Edward that his policy would be perpetuated throughout their cities, and to such a purpose as Froyce Art, that in the end the King was fairly content with the Fleming's, and they with him, and between them the death of James Van Arteveld was little by little forgotten. Edward, however, was so much affected by it that he required a whole year before he could resume, with any confidence, his project of the war. And it was not until the 2nd of July 1346 that he embarked to Southampton, taking with him, besides his son the Prince of Wales, hardly sixteen years of age, an army which comprised, according to Froyce Art, seven earls, more than thirty-five barons, a great number of knights, four thousand men-at-arms, ten thousand English archers, six thousand Irish, and twelve thousand Welsh infantry, in all something more than thirty-two thousand men, troops even more formidable for their discipline and experience of war than for their numbers. When they were out at sea none knew, not even the King himself, for what point of the continent they were to make, for the South or the North, for Aquitaine or Normandy. Sir, said Godfrey Darkwart, who had become one of the King's most trusted councillors, the country of Normandy is one of the fattest in the world, and I promise you at the risk of my head, that if you put in there you shall take possession of land at your good pleasure, for the folk there never were armed, and all the flour of their chivalry is now at Aguillon with their duke. For certain we shall find their gold, silver, victual, and other good things in great abundance. Edward adopted this advice, and on the twelfth of July 1346 his fleet anchored before the peninsula of Quotentine at Cape La Hogue. Whilst disembarking, at the very first step he made on shore, the King fell so roughly, says Foysart, that blood spurted from his nose. Sir, said his knights to him, go back to your ship, and come not now to land, for here is an ill sign for you. May verily, quote the King, full roundly, it is a right good sign for me, since the land doth desire me. Caesar did and said much the same on disembarking in Africa, and William the Conqueror on landing in England. In spite of contemporary accounts there is a doubt about the authenticity of these striking expressions, which become favourites, and crop up again on all similar occasions. For a month Edward marched his army over Normandy, finding on his roads, says Foysart, the country fat and plenteous in everything, the garners full of corn, the houses full of all manner of riches, carriages, wagons and horses, swine, ewes, weathers, and the finest oxen in the world. He took and plundered on his way Barfleur, Sherbourg, Bologna, Quotentine, and St. Lo. When on the 26th of July he arrived before Cain, a city bigger than any in England save London, and full of all kinds of merchandise, of rich burgers, of noble dames and affine churches, the population attempted to resist. Philip had sent to them the Constable, Raoul Doe, and the Count of Tancarville, but after three days of petty fighting around the city and even in the streets themselves, Edward became master of it, and on the entreaty it is said of Godfrey Darkourt, exempted it from pillage. During his march he occupied Luvier, Vernon, Vernul, Montt, Mélan, and Poissie, where he took up his quarters in the old residence of King Robert, and thence his troops advance and spread themselves as far as Rue, Nulee, Bologna, St. Cloud, Bourg-laurent, and almost to the gates of Paris, whence could be seen the fire and smoke from burning villages. We ourselves, says a contemporary chronicler, saw these things, and it was a great dishonor that in the midst of the Kingdom of France the King of England should squander, spoil, and consume the King's wines and other goods. Great was the consternation at Paris. And it was redoubled when Philip gave orders for the demolition of the houses built along by the walls of circumvalation, on the grounds that they embarrassed the defence. The people believed that they were on the eve of a siege. The order was revoked, but the feeling became even more intense when it was known that the King was getting ready to start for Saint Denis, where his principal allies, the King of Bohemia, the Dukes of Honolte and of Lorraine, the Council Flanders and of Blois, and a very great array of baronry and chivalry were already assembled. Ah, dear sir and noble king, cried the burgers of Paris, as they came to Philip and threw themselves on their knees before him. What would you do? Would you thus leave your good city of Paris? Your enemies are already within two leagues, and will soon be in our city, when they know that you are gone, and we have and shall have none to defend us against them. Sir, may it please you to remain and watch over your good city. My good people, answered the King, have no fear, the English shall come no nyer to you. I am away to Saint Denis to my men at arms, for I mean to ride against these English and fight them in such a fashion as I may. Philip recalled in all haste his troops from Aquitaine, commanded the burger forces to assemble, and gave them, as he had given all his allies, Saint Denis for the rallying point. At sight of so many great lords and all sorts of men of war flocking together from all points, the Parisians took fresh courage. For many a long day there had not been seen as Saint Denis a king of France in arms and fully prepared for battle. Edward began to be afraid of having pushed too far forward, and of finding himself endangered in the heart of France, confronted by an army which would soon be stronger than his own. Some chroniclers say that Philip in his turn sent a challenge either for single combat or for a battle on a fixed day in a place assigned, and that Edward in his turn also declined the proposition he had but lately made to his rival. It appears, further, that at the moment of commencing his retreat away from Paris, he tried ringing the changes on Philip with respect to the line he intended to take, and that Philip was led to believe that the English army would fall back in a westerly direction, by Orleans and Tour, whereas it marched northward, where Edward flattered himself he would find partisans, counting especially on the help of the Flemings, who in fulfillment of their promise had already advanced as far as Bethune to support him. Philip was soon better informed, and moved with all his army into Picardy in pursuit of the English army, which was in a hurry to reach and cross the Somme, and so continue its march northward. It was more than once forced to fight on its march with the people of the towns and country through which it was passing. Provisions were beginning to fall short, and Edward sent his two marshals, the Earl of Warwick and Godfrey Darkcourt, to discover where it was practicable to cross the river, which at this season of the year and so near its mouth was both broad and deep. They returned without having any satisfactory information to report, whereupon, says Froycart, the king was not more joyous or less pensive, and began to fall into a great melancholy. He had halted three or four days at Arraigne, some few leagues from Amiens, whether the king of France had arrived in pursuit with an army, it has said, more than a hundred thousand strong. Philip learned through his scouts that the king of England would evacuate Arraigne the next morning, and ride to Abbeville in hopes of finding some means of getting over the Somme. Philip immediately ordered a Norman baron, Gadamer du Fay, to go with a body of troops and guard the ford of Blanche Tush, below Abbeville, the only point at which it was said the English could cross the river, and on the same day he himself moved with the bulk of his army from Amiens on Arraigne. There he arrived about midday, some few hours after that the king of England had departed with such precipitation that the French found it in great store of provisions, meat ready spitted, bread and pastry in the oven, wines and barrel, and many tables which the English had left ready set and laid out. Sir, said Philip's officers to him, as soon as he was at Arraigne, rest you here and wait for your barons and their folk, for the English cannot escape you. It was concluded in point of fact that Edward and his troops, not being able to cross the Somme, would find themselves hemmed in between the French army and the strong places of Abbeville, St. Valerie, and La Côte, in the most evil case in perilous position possible. But Edward, on arriving at the little town of Oismont, hard by the Somme, set out in person in quest of the ford he was so anxious to discover. He sent for some prisoners he had made in the country and said to them, right courteously, according to Froyce-Arte, is there here any man who knows of a passage below Abbeville, whereby we and our army might cross the river without peril? And a varlet from a neighbouring mill, whose name history has preserved is that of a trader, Gubbin, a guest, said to the king, Sir, I do promise you, at the risk of my head, that I will guide you to such a spot, where you shall cross the river Somme without peril, you and your army. Comrade, said the king to him, if I find true that which thou tellest us, I will set thee free from thy prison, thee and all thy fellows, for love of thee, and I will cause to be given to thee a hundred golden nobles and a good stallion. The varlet had told the truth. The ford was found at the spot called Blanche-Tosh, where their Philip had sent Gadamer du Fay with a few thousand men to guard it. A battle took place, but the two marshals of England, unfurling their banners in the name of God and St. George, and having with them the most valiant and best-mounted, threw themselves into the water at full gallop, and there in the river was done many a deed of battle, and many a man was laid low on one side and the other, for Sir Gadamer and his comrades did valiantly defend the passage, but at last the English got across and moved forward into the fields as fast as ever they landed. When Sir Gadamer saw the mishap, he made off as quickly as he could, and so did many of his comrades. The King of France, when he heard the news, was very wroth, for he had good hope of finding the English on the Somme and fighting them there. What is it right to do now? asked Philip of his marshals. Sir, answered they, you cannot now cross in pursuit of the English, for the tide is already up. Philip went disconsolent to lie at Abbeville, whither all his men followed him. Had he been as watchful as Edward was, and had he, instead of halting it, arraigns by the ready-set tables which the English had left, marched at once in pursuit of them, perhaps he would have caught and beaten them on the left bank of the Somme, before they could cross and take up position on the other side. This was the first striking instance of that extreme inequality between the two kings in point of ability and energy, which was before long to produce results so fatal for Philip. When Edward, after passing the Somme, had arrived near Cressy, five leagues from Abbeville, in the Countship of Pont-Thos, which had formed part of his mother Isabel's dowry, Halt, we hear, he said to his marshals, I will go no farther till I have seen the enemy. I am on my mother's rightful inheritance which was given her on her marriage. I will defend it against my adversary Philip of the Lois. And he rested in the open fields he and all his men, and made his marshals mark well the ground where they would set their battle in array. Philip on his side had moved to Abbeville, where all his men came and joined him, and whence he sent out scouts to learn the truth about the English. When he knew that they were resting in the open fields near Cressy, and showed that they were awaiting their enemies, the King of France was very joyful, and said that, please God, they should fight him on the morrow, the day after Friday, August 25th, 1346. He that day bade to supper all the high-born princes who were at Abbeville. They were all in great spirits and had great talk of arms, and after supper the King prayed all the lords to be all of them one toward another friendly and courteous, without envy, hatred, and pride, and every one made him a promise thereof. On the same day of Friday the King of England also gave a supper to the earls and barons of his army, made them great cheer, and then sent them away to rest which they did. When all the company had gone he entered into his oratory and fell on his knees before the altar, praying devoutly that God would permit him on the morrow, if he should fight, to come out of the business with honour, after which about midnight he went and lay down. On the morrow he rose pretty early, for good reason, heard Mass with the Prince of Wales his son, and both of them communicated. The majority of his men confessed and put themselves in good ease. After Mass the King commanded all to get on their arms and take their places in the field according as he had assigned them the day before. Edward had divided his army into three bodies. He had put the first, forming the van, under the orders of the young Prince of Wales, having about him the best and most tried warriors, the second had for commanders earls and barons in whom the King had confidence, and the third, the reserve he commanded in person. Having thus made his arrangements, Edward mounted on a little palfrey, with a white staff in his hand and his marshals in his train, rode at a foot pace from rank to rank, exhorting all his men, officers and privates, to stoutly defend his right and do their duty. And he said these words to them, says Freud's heart, with so bright a smile and so joyous a mean that Housseau had before been disheartened felt re-heartened on seeing and hearing him. Having finished his ride Edward went back to his own division, giving orders for all his folk to eat their fill and drink one draft which they did. And then they sat down all of them on the ground, with their headpieces and their bows in front of them, resting themselves in order to be more fresh and cool when the enemies should come. Philip also set himself in motion on Saturday the 26th of August, and after having heard Mass, marched out from Amboville with all his barons. There was so great a throng of medded arms there, says Freud's heart, that it were a marvel to think on, and the King rode mighty gently to wait for all his folk. When they were two leagues from Amboville, one of them, that were with him, said, Sir, it were well to put your lines in order of battle, and to send three or four of your knights to ride forward and observe the enemy in what condition they be. So four knights pushed forward to within sight of the English, and returning immediately to the King, whom they could not approach without breaking the host that encompassed him, they said by the mouth of one of them, No, sir, that the English be halted, well and regularly, in three lines of battle, and show no sign of meaning to fly but a weight your coming. For my part, my counsel is that you halt your men, and rest them in the fields throughout this day. Before the Hindemost can come up, and before your lines of battle are set in order, it will be late. Your men will be tired and in disarray, you will find the enemy cool and fresh. Tomorrow morning you will be better able to dispose your men and determine in what quarter it will be expedient to attack the enemy. Sure may you be that they will await you. This counsel was well pleasing to the King of France, and he commanded that thus it should be. The two marshals rode one to the front, and the other to the rear with orders to the bannerettes, halt banners by command of the King, in the name of God and St. Denis. At this order those who were foremost halted, but not those who were Hindemost, continuing to ride forward, and saying that they would not halt until they were as much to the front as the foremost were. Neither the King nor his marshals could get the mastery of their men, for there was so goodly a number of great lords that each was minded to show his own might. There was, besides in the fields so goodly a number of common people, that all the roads between Abbeville and Cressy were covered with them. And when these folk thought themselves near the enemy, they drew their swords shouting, Death, Death, and not a soul did they see. When the English saw the French approaching, they rose up in fine order and ranged themselves in their lines of battle. That of the Prince of Wales right in front, and the Earls of Northampton and Arendelle, who commanded the Second, took up their place on the wing, right orderly and all ready to support the Prince if need should be. Well, the lords, Kings, Dukes, Counts, and Barons of the French came up not altogether, but one in front and another behind, without plan or orderliness. When King Philip arrived at the spot where the English were thus halted, and saw them, the blood boiled within him, for he hated them, and he said to his marshals, Let our Genoese pass to the front and begin the battle, in the name of God and St. Denis. There were there fifteen thousand of these said Genoese bowmen, but they were sore-tired with going afoot that day more than six leagues and fully armed, and they said to their commanders that they were not prepared to do any great feat of battle. To be saddled with such a scum as this that fails you in the hour of need! said the Duke Dylann Cohn on hearing those words. Whilst the Genoese were holding back, there fell from heaven a rain, heavy and thick, with thunder and lightning very mighty and terrible. Before long, however, the air began to clear and the sun to shine. The French had it right in their eyes and the English at their bats. When the Genoese had recovered themselves and got together, they advanced upon the English with loud shouts, so as to strike dismay, but the English kept quite quiet and showed no sign of it. Then the Genoese bent their crossbows and began to shoot. The English, making one step forward, let fly their arrows, which came down so thick upon the Genoese that it looked like a fall of snow. The Genoese, galled and discomfited, began to fall back. Between them and the main body of the French was a great hedge of men at arms who were watching their proceedings. When the King of France saw his bowmen thus in disorder he shouted to the men at arms, up now and slay all this scum, for it blocks our way and hinders us from getting forward. Then the French on every side struck out at the Genoese, at whom the English archers continued to shoot. Thus began the battle between the Breuil and Cressy at the hour of Vespers. The French, as they came up, were already tired and in great disorder, how be it so many valiant men and good knights kept ever riding forward for their honour's sake, and preferred to die than that a base fight should be cast in their teeth. A fierce combat took place between them and the Division of the Prince of Wales. Caesar penetrated the Count d'Alencône and the Count of Flanders with their followers round the flank of the English archers, and the King of France, who was foaming with displeasure and wrath, rode forward to join his brother d'Alencône, but there was so great a hedge of archers and men at arms mingled together that he could never get passed. Thomas of Norwich, a knight serving under the Prince of Wales, was sent to the King of England to ask him for help. Sir Thomas, said the King, is my son dead or unhorsed, or so wounded that he cannot help himself? Not so, my Lord, please God, but he is fighting against great odds, and is like to have need of your help. Sir Thomas, replied the King, returned to them who sent you, and tell them from me not to send for me whatever chance befall them, so long as my son is alive, and tell them that I bid them let the lad win his spurs, for I wish, if God so deem, that the day should be his, and the honour thereof remain to him, and to those whom I have given him in charge. The knight returned with this answer to his chiefs, and it encouraged them greatly, and they repented within themselves for that they had sent him to the King. Warlike ardour, if not ability and prudence, was the same on both sides. Philip's faithful ally, John of Luxembourg, King of Bohemia, had come dither, blind as he was, with his son Charles and his knights, and when he knew that the battle had begun he asked those who were near him how it was going on. My Lord, they said, the Genoese are disconfited, and the King has given orders to slay them all, and all the while between our folk and them there is so great disorder that they stumble one over another and hinder us greatly. Ha! said the King, that is an ill sign for us. Where is Sir Charles, my son? My Lord, we know not. We have reason to believe that he is elsewhere in the fight. Sirs, replied the old King, ye are my legemen, my friends and my comrades. I pray you and require you to lead me so far to the front in the work of this day that I may strike a blow with my sword. It shall not be said that I came hither to do not. So his train, who loved his honour and their own advancement, says Royce Art, did his bidding. For to acquit themselves of their duty, and that they might not lose him in the throng, they tied themselves altogether by the reins of their horses, and set the King, their Lord, right in front, that he might the better accomplish his desire, and thus they bore down on the enemy. And the King went so far forward that he struck a good blow, yea, three and four, and so did all those who were with him. And they served him so well and charged so well forward upon the English, that all fell there and were found next day on the spot around their Lord, and their horses tied together. The King of France, continues Royce Art, had great anguish at heart when he saw his men thus disconfited and falling one after another before a handful of folk as the English were. He asked Council of Sir John of Honolte, who was near him, and who said to him, Truly, sir, I can give you no better Council than that you should withdraw and place yourself in safety, for I see no remedy here. It will soon be late, and then you would be as likely to ride upon your enemies as amongst your friends, and so be lost. Late in the evening at nightfall King Philip left the field with a heavy heart, and for good cause he had just five barons with him and no more. He rode quite broken-hearted to the Castle of Bray. When he came to the gate he found it shut and the bridge drawn up, for it was fully night, and it was very dark and thick. The King had the Castellan summoned, who came forward on the battlements and cried aloud, Who's there? Who knocks at such an hour? Then Castellan, said Philip, it is the unhappy King of France. The Castellan went out as soon as he recognized the voice of the King of France, and he well knew already that they had been disconfited, from some fugitives who had passed at the foot of the Castle. He let down the bridge and opened up the gate. Then the King, with his following, went in and remained there up to midnight, for the King did not care to stay and shut himself up therein. He drank a draft, and so did they who were with him. Then they mounted to horse, took guides to conduct them, and rode in such wise that at the break of day they entered the good city of Amiens. There the King halted, took up his quarters in an abbey, and said that he would go no farther until he knew the truth about his men, which of them were left on the field and which had escaped. CHAPTER XXV. THE HUNDRED YEARS' WAR Philip VI and John II. Part VII. In the same year, on the eighteenth of April, 1349, Philip of Velois bought of James of Aragon, the last King of Mallorca, for one hundred and twenty thousand golden crowns, the lordship and town of Montpellier, thus trying to repair to some extent for the Kingdom of France the losses he had caused it. His successor, John II, called the good, on no other ground than that he was gay, prodigal, credulous and devoted to his favourites, did nothing but reproduce, with aggravations, the faults and reverses of his father. He had hardly become King when he witnessed the arrival in Paris of the Constable of France, Raoul, Count of Eau and of Goons, whom Edward III had made prisoner at Cain, and who, after five years' captivity, had just obtained, that is, purchased his liberty. Raoul lost no time in hurrying to the side of the new King, by whom he believed himself to be greatly beloved. John, as soon as he perceived him, gave him a look, saying, Count, come this way with me, I have to speak with you aside. Right willingly, my lord. The King took him into an apartment and showing him a letter asked, Have you ever, Count, seen this letter anywhere but here? The Constable appeared astounded and troubled. Ah, wicked traitor, said the King, you have well deserved death, and by my father's soul it shall assuredly not miss you. And he sent him forthwith to prison in the Tower of the Louvre. The lords and barons of France were sadly astonished, says Froyce-Art, for they held the Count to be a good man and true, and they humbly prayed the King that he would be pleased to say wherefore he had imprisoned their cousin, so gentle a knight, who had toiled so much, and so much lost for him and for the Kingdom. But the King would not say anything, save that he would never sleep so long as the Count of Goons was living, and he had him secretly beheaded in the Castle of the Louvre, whether rightly or wrongly, for which the King was greatly blamed, behind his back, by many of the barons of high estate in the Kingdom of France, and the dukes and counts of the border. Two months after this execution John gave the office of Constable and a large portion of Count Raoul's property to his favorite, Charles of Spain, a descendant of King Alfonso of Castile and naturalized in France, and he added there, too, before long some lands claimed by the King of Navarre, Charles the Bad, a nickname which at eighteen years of age he had already received from his numbery subjects, but which had not prevented King John from giving him in marriage his own daughter, Joan of France. From that moment a deep hatred sprang up between the King of Navarre and the favorite. The latter was sometimes disquieted thereby. Fear not, from my son of Navarre, said John, he durst not bex you, for if he did he would have no greater enemy than myself. John did not yet know his son-in-law. Two years later in thirteen-fifty-four his favorite, Charles of Spain, arrived at Légal in Normandy. The King of Navarre, having noticed thereof, instructed one of his agents, the Bastard de Muriel, to go with a troop of men-at-arms and surprise him in that town, and he himself remained outside the walls, awaiting the result of his design. At break of day he saw galloping up the Bastard de Muriel, who shouted to him from afar, "'Tis done!' "'What is done?' asked Charles. "'He is dead,' answered Muriel. King John's favorite had been surprised and massacred in his bed. John burst out into threats. He swore he would have vengeance, and made preparations for war against his son-in-law. But the King of England promised his support to the King of Navarre. Charles the Bad was a bold and able intriguer. He levied troops and won over allies amongst the lords, dread of seeing the recommencement of a war with England gained ground, and amongst the people, and even in the King's council, there was a cry of peace with the King of Navarre. John took fright and pretended to give up his ideas of vengeance. He received his son-in-law who thanked him on bended knee. But the King gave him never a word. The King of Navarre, uneasy but bold as ever, continued his intrigues for obtaining partisans and for exciting troubles and enmities against the King. I will have no master in France but myself, said John to his confidant. I shall have no joy so long as he is living. His eldest son, the young Duke of Normandy, who was at a later period Charles V, had contracted friendly relations with the King of Navarre. On the 16th of April, 1356, the two princes were together at a banquet in the Castle of Ruin, as well as the Count Darkcourt and some other lords. All on a sudden King John, who had entered the castle by a postern with a troop of men at arms, strode abruptly into the hall, preceded by the marshal Arnul Donenham, who held a naked sword in his hand, and said, Let none stir, whatever he may see, unless he wished to fall by this sword. The King went up to the table, and all rose as if to do him reverence. John seized the King of Navarre roughly by the arm and drew him towards him, saying, Get up, traitor! Thou art not worthy to sit at my son's table. By my father's soul, I cannot think of me to drink so long as thou art living. A servant of the King of Navarre, to defend his master, drew his cutlass, and pointed it at the breast of the King of France, who thrust him back, saying to his agents, Take me this fellow and his master, too. The King of Navarre dissolved in humble protestations and repentant speeches over the assassination of the constable Charles of Spain. Go, traitor, go! answered John. You will need to learn good read or some infamous trick to escape from me. The young Duke of Normandy had thrown himself at the feet of the King his father, crying, Ah, my Lord, for God's sake have mercy, you do me dishonour. For what will be said of me, having prayed King Charles and his parents to dine with me, if you do treat me thus? It will be said that I betrayed them. Hold your peace, Charles, answered his father. You know not all I know. He gave orders for the instant removal of the King of Navarre, and afterwards of the Count Darkourt and three others of those present under arrest. Riddes of these men said he to the captain of the ribalds, forming the soldiers of his guard, and the four prisoners were actually beheaded in the King's presence outside Ruin, in a field called the field of pardon. John was, with great difficulty, prevailed upon not to meet out the same measure to the King of Navarre, who was conducted first of all to Gallard Castle, then to the Tower of the Louvre, and then to the prison of the Châtelet. And there, says Foyce-art, they put him to all sorts of discomforts and fears. For every day and every night they gave him to understand that his head would be cut off at such and such an hour, or at such and such another he would be thrown into the sin, whereupon he spoke so finely and so softly to his keepers, that they who were so in treating him by the command of the King of France had great pity on him. With such violence, such absence of all legal procedure, such a mixture of deception and indulgence and thoughtless brutality, did King John treat his son-in-law, his own daughter, some of his principal barons, their relations, their friends, and the people with whom they were in good credit. He compromised more and more seriously every day his own safety, and that of his successor, by vexing more and more without destroying his most dangerous enemy. He showed no greater prudence or ability in the government of his kingdom. Always in want of money, because he spent it foolishly on gallows or presents to his favourites, he had recourse for the purpose of procuring it, at one time to the very worst of all financial expedience, debasement of the coinage, at another to disreputable imposts, such as the tax upon salt, and upon the sale of all kinds of merchandise. In the single year of 1352 the value of a silver mark varied sixteen times, from four leavers ten sews to eighteen leavers. To meet the requirements of his government and the greediness of his courtiers, John Twice, in 1355 and 1356, convoked the State's general, to the consideration of which we shall soon recur in detail, and which did not refuse him their support. But John had not the wit either to make good use of the powers with which he was furnished, or to inspire the State's general with that confidence which alone could decide them upon continuing their gifts. And nevertheless King John's necessities were more evident and more urgent than ever. War with England had begun again. The truth is that, in spite of the truth still existing, the English, since the accession of King John, had at several points resumed hostilities. The disorders and dissensions to which France was a prey, the presumptuous and hair-braining capacity of her new king, were, for so ambitious enable a prince as Edward III, very strong temptations. Norted opportunities for attack and chances of success fail him any more than temptations. He found in France, amongst the grandees of the kingdom and even at the king's court, men disposed to desert the cause of the king and of France to serve a prince who had more capacity and who pretended to claim the crown of France as his lawful right. The feudal system lent itself to ambiguous questions and doubts of conscience. A lord who had two suzerains and who rightly or wrongly believed that he had cause of complaint against one of them was justified in serving that one who could and would protect him. Personal interest and subtle disputes soon make traitors, and Edward had the ability to discover them and win them over. The alternate outbursts and weaknesses of John in the case of those whom he suspected, the snares he laid for them, the precipitancy and cruel violence with which he struck them down, without form of trial, and almost with his own hand, forbid history to receive his suspicions and his forcible proceedings as any kind of proof. But amongst those whom he accused there were undoubtedly traitors to the king and to France. There is one about whom there can be no doubt at all. As early as 1351, amidst all his embroilments and all his reconciliations with his father-in-law, Charles the Bad, King of Navarre, had concluded with Edward III a secret treaty, whereby, in exchange for promises he received, he recognized his title as King of France. In 1355 his treason burst forth. The King of Navarre, who had gone for refuge to Avignon under the protection of Pope Clement VI, lost France by English aquitaine and went and landed at Cherbourg, which he had an idea of throwing open to the King of England. He once more entered into communications with King John, once more obtained forgiveness from him, and for a while appeared detached from his English alliance. But Edward III had openly resumed his hostile attitude, and he demanded that aquitaine and the Countship of Pont-Thaux, detached from the Kingdom of France, should be ceded to him in full sovereignty, and that Brittany should become all but independent. John haughtily rejected these pretensions, which were merely a pretext for recommending war. And it recommended accordingly, and the King of Navarre resumed his course of profidity. He had lands and castles in Normandy, which John put under sequestration, and ordered the officers commanding in them to deliver up to him. Six of them, the commandants of the castles of Cherbourg and Evreau, amongst others, refused, leaving no doubt that in betraying France and her King they were remaining faithful to their own Lord. At several points in the Kingdom, especially in the northern provinces, the first fruits of the war were not favourable for the English. King Edward, who had landed at Calais with a body of troops, made an unsuccessful campaign in Artoise and Picardy, and was obliged to re-embarque for England, falling back before King John, whom he had at one time offered and at another refused to meet and fight at a spot agreed upon. But in the south-west and south of France, in 1355 and 1356, the Prince of Wales, at the head of a small picked army and with John Chandos for comrade, victoriously overran Limousin, Périgord, Langdoc, Avernia, Berry, and Poitot, ravaged the country and plundered the towns into which he could force an entrance, and the environs of those that defended themselves behind their walls. He met with scarcely any resistance, and he was returning by way of Berry and Poitot back again to Bordeaux, when he heard that King John, starting from Normandy with a large army, was advancing to give him battle. John, in fact, with easy self-complacency and somewhat proud of his petty successes against King Edward in Picardy, had been in a hurry to move against the Prince of Wales, in hopes of forcing him also to re-embarque for England. He was at the head of forty or fifty thousand men, with his four sons, twenty-six dukes or counts, and nearly all the baronage of France, and such was his confidence in this noble army that on crossing the Loire he dismissed the Berger forces, which was madness in him and in those who advised him, said even his contemporaries. John, even more than his father Philip, was a king of courts, ever surrounded by his nobility and carrying little for his people. Jealous of the Order of the Garter, lately instituted by Edward III in honour of the beautiful Countess of Salisbury, John had created, in thirteen fifty-one, by way of following suit, a brotherhood called Our Lady of the Noble House, or of the Star, the knights of which, to the number of five hundred, had to swear that if they were forced to recoil in a battle they would never yield to the enemy more than four acres of ground, and would be slain rather than retreat. John was destined to find out before long that neither numbers nor bravery can supply the place of prudence, ability, and discipline. When the two armies were close to one another, on the platform of Mont-Portus, two leagues to the north of Poitiers, two legates from the Pope came hurrying up from that town, with instructions to negotiate peace between the kings of France, England, and Navarre. John consented to an armistice of twenty-four hours. The Prince of Wales, seeing himself cut off from Bordeaux by forces very much superior to his own, for he had but eight or ten thousand men, offered to restore to the king of France all that he had conquered this bout, both towns and castles, and all the prisoners that he and his had taken, and to swear that, for seven whole years, he would bear arms no more against the king of France. But King John and his council would not accept anything of the sort, saying that the prince and a hundred of his knights must come and put themselves as prisoners in the hands of the king of France. Neither the Prince of Wales nor Chandos had any hesitation in rejecting such a demand. God forbid, said Chandos, that we should go without a fight. If we be taken or disconfited by so many fine men at arms, and in so great a host, we shall incur no blame. And if the day be for us, and fortune be pleased to consent there, too, we shall be the most honored folk in the world. The battle took place on the nineteenth of September, 1356, in the morning. There is no occasion to give the details of it here, as was done but lately in the case of Cressy. We shall merely have to tell an almost perfectly similar story. The three battles which, from the fourteenth to the fifteenth century, were decisive as to the fate of France, to wit, Cressy, on the twenty-sixth of August, 1346, Patier, on the nineteenth of September, 1356, and Agincourt, on the twenty-fifth of October, 1415, considered as historical events were all alike, offering a spectacle of the same faults and the same reverses, brought about by the same causes. In all three, no matter what was the difference in date, place, and persons engaged, it was a case of undisciplined forces, without cooperation or order, and ill-directed by their commanders, advancing bravely in one after another, to get broken against a compact force, under strict command, and as docile as heroic. From the battle of Patier we will cull but that glorious feat which was peculiar to it, and which might be called as unfortunate as glorious if the captivity of King John had been a misfortune for France. Nearly all his army had been beaten and dispersed, and three of his sons, with the eldest, Charles, Duke of Normandy at their head, had left the field of battle with the wreck of the divisions they commanded. John still remained there with the knights of the star, a band of faithful knights from Picardy, Burgundy, Normandy, and Poitot, his constable, the Duke of Artois, and his standard-bearer, Geoffrey de Charny, and his youngest son, Philip, a boy of fourteen, who clung obstinately to his side, saying, every instant, Father, where right? Father, where left? The king was surrounded by a silence of whom some did and some did not know him, and all of whom kept shouting, Yield you, yield you, else you die. The banner of France fell at his side, for Geoffrey de Charny was slain. Dennis de Morbec, a knight of Sainte-Omer, made his way up to the king and said to him in good French, Sir, Sir, I pray you, yield. To whom shall I yield me? said John, where is my cousin, the Prince of Wales? Sir, yield you to me, I will bring you to him. Who are you? Dennis de Morbec, a knight of Artois. I serve the King of England, not being able to live in the Kingdom of France, for I have lost all I possessed there. I yield me to you, said John, and he gave his glove to the knight who led him away in the midst of a great press, for everyone was dragging the king, saying, I took him, and he could not get forward, nor could my Lord Philip his young son. The king said to them all, Sirs, conduct me courteously, and quarrel no more together about the taking of me, for I am rich and great enough to make every one of you rich. Hereupon the two English marshals, the Earl of Warwick and the Earl of Suffolk, seeing from afar this throng, gave spur to their steeds and came up, asking, What is this yonder? And answer was made to them, it is the King of France who has taken, and more than ten nights and squires would feign have him. Then the two barons broke through the throng by dint of their horses, dismounted and bowed full low before the king, who was very joyful at their coming, for they saved him from great danger. A very little while afterwards the two marshals entered the pavilion of the Prince of Wales, and made him a present of the King of France, the which present the king could not but take kindly as a great and noble one. And so truly he did, for he bowed full low before the king, and received him as king, properly and discreetly, as he well knew how to do. When evening came the Prince of Wales gave a supper to the King of France, and to my Lord Philip his son, and to the greater part of the barons of France who were prisoners. And the Prince would not sit at the King's table for all the kings and treaty, but waited as a serving man at the King's table, bending the knee before him and saying, Dear Sir, be pleased not to put on so sad a continence, because it hath not pleased God to consent this day to your wishes. For surely my Lord and Father will show you all the honour and friendship he shall be able. And he will come to turns with you so reasonably that she shall remain good friends for ever. Henceforth it was, fortunately, not on King John, or on peace or war between him and the King of England, that the fate of France depended. CHAPTER 20 THE HUNDRED YEARS' WAR Philip VI AND JOHN II PART VIII Whilst Philip, with all speed, was on the road back to Paris with his army as disheartened as its King, and more disorderly in retreat than it had been in battle, Edward was hastening, with ardour and intelligence, to reap the fruits of his victory. In the difficult war of conquest he had undertaken, what was clearly of most importance to him was to possess on the coast of France, as near as possible to England, a place which he might make, in his operations by land and sea, a point of arrival and departure, of occupancy, of provisioning, and of secure refuge. Calais exactly fulfilled these conditions. It was a natural harbour, protected for many centuries past by two huge towers, of which one, it is said, was built by the Emperor Caligula and the other by Charlemagne. It had been deepened and improved at the end of the tenth century, by Baldwin in the fourth, Count of Flanders, and in the thirteenth by Philip of France, called Tufskin, Hurapel. Count of Boulogne, and in the fourteenth it had become an important city, surrounded by a strong wall of circumvillation, and having erected in its midst a huge keep, furnished with bastions and towers, which was called the castle. On arriving before the place, September 3, 1346, Edward immediately had built all around it, says Froycarde, houses and dwelling places of solid carpentry, and arranged in streets as if he were to remain there for ten or twelve years, for his intention was not to leave it winter or summer, whatever time and whatever trouble he must spend and take. He called this new town Villeneuve-la-Hardie, and he had, therein, all things necessary for an army, and more too, as a place appointed for the holding of a market on Wednesday and Saturday, and therein were mercers' shops, and butcher's shops, and stores for the sale of cloth and bread, and all other necessaries. King Edward did not have the city of Calais assaulted by his men, well knowing that he would lose his pains, but said he would starve it out, however long a time it might cost him, if King Philip of France did not come to fight him again and raise the siege. Calais had for its Governor John de Vienne, a valiant and faithful Burgundian knight, the witch, seeing, says Froycarde, that the King of England was making every sacrifice to keep up the siege, ordered that all sorts of small folk, who had no provisions, should quit the city without further notice. They went forth on a Wednesday morning, men, women, and children, more than seventeen hundred of them, and passed through King Edward's army. They were asked why they were leaving, and they answered because they had no means of living. Then the King permitted them to pass, and cause to be given to all of them, male and female, a hardy dinner, and after dinner two shillings apiece, the witch-grace was commended as very handsome, and so indeed it was. Edward probably hoped that his generosity would produce in the town itself which remained in a state of siege a favourable impression, but he had to do with a population ardently warlike and patriotic, Burgers as well as knights. They endured for eleven months all the sufferings arising from isolation and famine, though from time to time fishermen and seamen in their neighbourhood, and amongst others two seamen in Abbeville, the names of whom have been preserved in history, marant and mestrile, succeeded in getting victuals into them. The King of France made two attempts to relieve them. On the twentieth of May thirteen forty-seven he assembled his troops at Amiens, but they were not ready to march till about the middle of July, and as long before the twenty-third of June a French fleet of ten galleys and thirty-five transports had been driven off by the English. John de Vien wrote to Philip, Everything has been eaten, cats, dogs, and horses, and we can no longer find victual in the town unless we eat human flesh. If we have not speedy sucker we will issue forth from the town to fight, whether to live or die, for we would rather die honourably in the field than eat one another. If a remedy be not soon applied you will never more have letter from me, and the town will be lost as well as we who are in it. May our Lord grant you a happy life and a long, and put you in such a disposition that, if we die for your sake, you may settle the account therefore with our heirs. On the twenty-seventh of July Philip arrived in person before Calais. If Freud's art can be trusted he had with him full two hundred thousand men, and these French rode with banners flying as if to fight, and it was a fine sight to see such a puissant army, and so when they of Calais who were on the walls saw them appear and their banners floating on the breeze they had great joy and believed that they were going to be soon delivered. But when they saw camping and tending going forward they were more angered than before, for it seemed to them an evil sign. The marshals of France went about everywhere looking for a passage, and they reported that it was nowhere possible to open a road without exposing the army to loss, so well all the approaches to the place by sea and land were guarded by the English. The Pope's two legates, who had accompanied King Philip, tried in vain to open negotiations. Philip sent four nights to the King of England to urge him to appoint a place where a battle might be fought without advantage on either side. But, sirs, answered Edward, I have been here nigh upon a year, and have been at heavy charges by it, and having done so much that before long I shall be master of Calais. I will by no means retard my conquest, which I have so much desired. Let mine adversary and his people find out away as they please to fight me. Other testimony would have us believe that Edward accepted Philip's challenge, and that it was the King of France who raised fresh difficulties in consequence of which the proposed battle did not take place. For his heart's account, however, seems the more truth-like in itself, and more in accordance with the totality of fats. However that may be, whether it were actual powerlessness or want of spirit both on the part of the French army and of the King, Philip, on the 2nd of August, 1347, took the road back to Amiens, and dismissed all those who had gone with him, men at arms and common folk. When the people of Calais saw that all hope of a rescue had slipped from them, they held a council, and resigned themselves to offer submission to the King of England rather than die of hunger, and begged their Governor, John de Vienne, to enter into negotiations for that purpose with the besiegers. Walter de Manille, instructed by Edward to reply to those overtures, said to John de Vienne, The King's intent is that you put yourselves at his free will to ransom or put to death such as it shall please him. The people of Calais have caused him so great displeasure, cost him so much money, and lost him so many men, that it is not astonishing if that weighs heavily upon him. Sir Walter, answered John de Vienne, It would be too hard a matter for us if we were to consent to what you say. There are within here but a small number of us knights and squires, who have loyally served our Lord the King of France, even as you would serve yours in light case. But we would suffer greater evils than ever men have had to endure, rather than consent that the meanest prentice-boy or varlet of the town should have other evil than the greatest of us. We pray you be pleased to return to the King of England, and pray him to have pity upon us, and you will do us courtesy. By my faith, answered Walter de Manille, I will do it willingly, Sir John, and I would that by God's help the King might be pleased to listen to me. And the brave English knight reported to the King the prayer of the French knights in Calais, saying, My Lord, Sir John de Vienne told me that they were in very sore extremity and famine, but that rather than surrender all to your will to live or die as it might please you, they would sell themselves so dearly as never did men at arms. I will do no otherwise than I have said, answered the King. My Lord, replied Walter, you will perchance be wrong, for you will give us a bad example. If you should be pleased to send us to defend any of your fortresses, we should of assurity not go willingly if you have these people put to death. For thus they would do to us in like case. These words caused Edward to reflect, and the greater part of the English barons came to the aid of Walter de Manille. Sirs, said the King, I would not be all alone against you all. Go Walter to them of Calais, and say to the Governor that the greatest grace they can find in my sight is that six of the most notable burgers come forth from the town, bare-headed, bare-footed, with ropes around their necks, and with the keys of the town and castle in their hands. With them I will do accordingly to my will, and the rest I will receive to mercy. My Lord, said Walter, I will do it willingly. He returned to Calais where John de Vienne was awaiting him and reported the King's decision. The Governor immediately left the ramparts, went to the marketplace, and had the bell rung to assemble the people. At sound of the bell men and women came hurrying up, hungering for news, as was natural for people so hard-pressed by famine that they could not hold out any longer. John de Vienne then repeated to them what he had just been told, adding that there was no other way, and that they would have to make short answer. On this they fell a weeping and crying out so bitterly that no heart in the world, however hard, could have seen and heard them without pity. Even John de Vienne shed tears. Then rose up to his feet the richest burger of the town, eustice de Saint-Pierre, who at the former council had been for capitulation. Sir, said he, it would be great pity to leave this people to die by famine or otherwise, when any remedy can be found against it, and he who should keep them from such a mishap would find great favour in the eyes of our Lord. I have great hope to find favour in the eyes of our Lord if I die to save this people. I would feign be the first herein, and I will willingly place myself in my shirt and bare-headed and with a rope around my neck at the mercy of the King of England. At this speech men and women cast themselves at the feet of eustice de Saint-Pierre, weeping piteously. Another right honourable burger, who had great possessions and two beautiful damsels for daughters, rose up and said that he would act comrade de eustice de Saint-Pierre. His name was John Dare. Then for the third James de Vieson, a rich man in personality and realty, then his brother Peter de Vieson, and then the fifth and sixth of whom none has told the names. On the fifth of August 1347 these six burgers, thus apparelled, with cords round their necks and each with a bunch of the keys of the city and of the castle, were conducted outside the gates by John de Vieson, who rode a small hackney, for he was in such ill plight that he could not go afoot. He gave them up to Sir Walter, who was awaiting him, and said to him, as Captain of Calais I deliver to you, with the consent of the poor people of the town, these six burgers, who are, I swear to you, the most honourable and notable in person, in fortune, and in ancestry, in the town of Calais. I pray you be pleased to pray the King of England that these good folks be not put to death. I know not, answered de Manny, what my Lord the King may mean to do with them, but I promise you that I will do mine ability. When Sir Walter brought in the six burgers in this condition, King Edward was in his chamber with a great company of urls, barons, and knights. As soon as he heard that the folks of Calais were there as he had ordered, he went out and stood in the open space before his hostel, and all those lords with him, and even Queen Philippa of England, who was with child, followed the King her Lord. He gazed most cruelly on those six poor men, for he had his heart possessed with so much rage that at first he could not speak. When he spoke he commanded them to be straightway beheaded. All the barons and knights who were there prayed him to show them mercy. Gentle sirs, said Walter de Manny, restrain your wrath. You have renown for gentleness and nobleness. Be pleased to do not whereby it may be diminished. If you have not pity on yonder folk, all others will say that it was cruelty on your part to put to death these six honorable burgers, who of their own free will have put themselves at your mercy to save the others. The King gnashed his teeth, saying, Sir Walter, hold your peace. Let them fetch hither my headsmen. The people of Calais have been the death of so many of my men that it is but in meat that yon fellows die also. Then with great humility the noble queen, who was very nigh her delivery, threw herself on her knees at the feet of the King, saying, Ah, gentle sir, if as you know I have asked nothing of you from the time that I crossed the sea in great peril, I pray you humbly that as a special boon, for the sake of Holy Mary's son and for the love of me, you will please to have mercy on these six men. The King did not speak at once, and fixed his eyes on the good dame, his wife, who was weeping piteously on her knees. She softened his stern heart, for he would have been loath to vexer in the state in which she was, and he said to her, Ha, dame, I had much rather you had been elsewhere than here, but you pray me such prayers that I dare not refuse you, and though it irks me much to do so, there, I give them up to you, do with them as you will. Thanks, hardy thanks, my lord, said the good queen. Then she rose up and raised up the six burgers, had the ropes taken off their necks, and took them with her to her chamber, where she had fresh clothes and dinner brought to them. Afterwards she gave them six nobles apiece, and had them let out of the host in all safety. Edward was choleric and stern in his collar, but judicious and politic. He had sense enough to comprehend the impressions exhibited around him and to take them into account. He had yielded to the free-spoken representations of Walter Damani and the softened treaties of his royal wife. When he was master of Calais he did not suffer himself to be under any illusion as to the sentiments of the population he had conquered, and without excluding the French from the town he took great care to mingle with them an English population. He had allowed a free passage to the poor Calaisians driven out by famines. He now fetched from London thirty-six burgers of position and three hundred others of inferior condition, with their wives and children, and he granted to the town thus depopled and repeopled all such municipal and commercial privileges as were likely to attract new inhabitants thither. But at the same time he felt what renown and importance of devotion, like that of the six burgers of Calais, could not fail to confer upon such men. And not only did he trouble himself to get them back to their own hearths, but on the eighth of October, thirteen forty-seven, two months after the surrender of Calais, he gave use to St. Pierre a considerable pension, on account of the good services he was to render in the town by maintaining good order there, and he reinstated him, him and his heirs, in possession of the properties that had belonged to him. Eustice, more concerned for the interests of his own town than for those of France, and being more of a Calaisian burger than a national patriot, showed no hesitation, for all that appears in accepting this new fashion of serving his native city, for which he had shown himself so ready to die. He lived four years as a subject of the King of England. At his death, which happened in thirteen fifty-one, his heirs declared themselves faithful subjects of the King of France, and Edward confiscated away from them the possessions he had restored to their predecessor. Eustice de Saint-Pierre's cousin and comrade in devotion to their native town, John Dare, would not enter Calais again. His property was confiscated, and his house, the finest it is said in the town, was given by King Edward to Queen Philippa, who showed no more hesitation in accepting it than Eustice in serving his new king. Long-lived delicacy of sentiment and conduct was rarer in those rough and rude times than heroic bursts of courage and devotion. Philip of Velois tried to afford some consolation and supply some remedy for the misfortunes of the Calaisians banished from their town. He secured to them exemption from certain imposts, no matter whether they were moved, and the possession of all property and inheritance that might fall to them, and he promised to confer upon them all vacant offices which it might suit them to fill. But it was not in his gift to repair, even superficially and in appearance, the evils he had not known how to prevent or combat to any purpose. The outset of his reign had been brilliant and prosperous, but his victory at Cachel over the Flemmings brought more cry than wool. He had vanity enough to flaunt it rather than wit enough to turn it to account. He was a prince of courts, and tournaments, and trips and gallows, whether regal or plebeian. He was volatile, imprudent, haughty, and yet frivolous, brave without ability, and despotic without anything to show for it. The battle of Cressy and the loss of Calais were reverses from which he never even made a serious attempt to recover. He hastily concluded with Edward a truce, twice renewed, which served only to consolidate the victor's successes. A calamity of European extent came as an addition to the distresses of France. From 1347 to 1349 a frightful disease brought from Egypt and Syria through the ports of Italy, and called the Black Plague, or the Plague of Florence, ravaged Western Europe, especially Provence and Langoc, where it carried off, they say, two-thirds of the inhabitants. Machiavelli and Boccaccio have described with all the force of their genius the material and moral effects of this terrible plague. The court of France suffered particularly from it, and the famous object of Petrarch's tender sonnets, Laura de Nove, married to Hugh de Saade, fell victim to it at Avignon. When the epidemic had well nigh disappeared, the survivors, men and women, princes and subjects, returned passionately to their pleasures and their gallows. To mortality, says a contemporary chronicler, succeeded a rage for marriage, and Philip of Velois himself, now fifty-eight years of age, took for his second wife Blanche of Navarre, who was only eighteen. She was a sister of that young king of Navarre, Charles II, who was soon to get the name of Charles the Bad, and to become so dangerous an enemy for Philip's successors. Seven months after his marriage, and on the twenty-second of August, thirteen-fifty, Philip died at Nogent Leroy in the Hôtemarne, strictly enjoining his son John to maintain with vigor his well-assertained right to the Crowny War, and leaving his people bowed down beneath the weight of extortions so heavy that the like had never been seen in the kingdom of France. Only one happy event distinguished the close of this reign. As early as 1343 Philip had treated, on a monetary basis, with Humbert II, Count and Dauphin of Viennes, for the session of that beautiful province to the Crown of France after the death of the then possessor. Humbert, an adventurous and fantastic prince, plunged in 1346 into a crusade against the Turks, from which he returned in the following year without having obtained any success. Tired of seeking adventures as well as of reigning, he, on the sixteenth of July 1349, before a solemn assembly held at Lyon, abdicated his principality in favour of Prince Charles of France, grandson of Philip of Valois, and afterwards Charles V. The new Dauphin took the oath between the hands of the Bishop of Grenoble, to maintain the liberties, franchises and privileges of the Dauphiné, and the ex-Dauphin, after having taken holy orders and passed successively through the archbishopric of Rème and the bishopric of Paris, both of which he found equally unpalatable, he went to die at Clermont in Auvergne, in a convent belonging to the order of Dominicans, whose habit he had donned. CHAPTER XXI THE STATES GENERAL OF THE 14TH CENTURY Let us turn back a little in order to understand the government and the position of King John before he engaged in the war which, so far as he was concerned, ended with the battle of Poitiers and imprisonment in England. A valiant and loyal knight, but a frivolous, harebrained, thoughtless, prodigal and obstinate as well as impetuous prince, and even more incapable than Philip of Valois in the practice of government, John, after having summoned at his accession in 1351, a state's assembly concerning which we have no explicit information left to us, tried for a space of four years to suffice in himself for all the perils, difficulties and requirements of the situation he had found bequeathed to him by his father. For a space of four years, in order to get money, he debased the coinage, confiscated the goods and securities of foreign merchants, and stopped payment of his debts, and he went through several provinces, treating with local councils or magistrates in order to obtain from them certain subsidies, which he purchased by granting them new privileges. He hoped by his institution of the order of the star to resuscitate the chivalrous zeal of his nobility. All these means were vain or insufficient. The defeat of Cressy and the loss of Calais had caused discouragement in the kingdom and aroused many doubts as to the issue of the war with England. Even an even treason brought trouble into the court, the councils, and even the family of John. To get the better of them he at one time heaped favors upon the men he feared, at another he had them arrested, imprisoned, and even beheaded in his presence. He gave his daughter Joan in marriage to Charles the Bad, King of Navarre, and some few months afterwards, Charles himself, the real or presumed head of all the traitors, was seized, thrown into prison, and treated with extreme rigor, in spite of the supplications of his wife, who vigorously took the part of her husband against her father. After four years thus consumed in fruitless endeavours, by turns violently and feebly enforced, to reorganize an army and a treasury, and to purchase fidelity at any price or arbitrarily strike down treason, John was obliged to recognize his powerlessness and to call to his aid the French nation, still so imperfectly formed, by convoking at Paris for the thirtieth of November, 1355, the State's General of Langdoye. That is, northern France, separated by the Dorgonia and the Garonne from Langdoc, which had its own assembly district. Avernia belonged to Langdoye. It is certain that neither this assembly, nor the king who convoked it, had any clear and fixed idea of what they were meeting together to do. The kingship was no longer competent for its own government and its own perils, but insisted, none the less, in principle, on its own all but unregulated and unlimited power. The assembly did not claim for the country the right of self-government, but it had a strong leaven of patriotic sentiment, and at the same time was very much discontented with the king's government. It had equally at heart the defence of France against England and against the abuses of the kingly power. There was no notion of a social struggle and no systematic idea of political revolution. A dangerous crisis and intolerable sufferings constrained king and nation to come together in order to make an attempt at an understanding and at mutual exchange of the supports and the reliefs of which they were in need. On the 2nd of December, 1355, the three orders, the clergy, the nobility, and the deputies from the towns, assembled at Paris in the Great Hall of the Parliament. Peter de la Forest, Archbishop of Ruin and Chancellor of France, asked them in the king's name to consult together about making him a subvention, which should suffice for the expenses of the war, and the king offered to make a sound and durable coinage. The tampering with the coinage was the most pressing of the grievances for which the three orders solicited a remedy. They declared that they were ready to live and die with the king and to put their bodies in what they had at his service, and they demanded authority to deliberate together which was granted them. John de Crayon, Archbishop of Orem, Walter de Brienne, Duke of Athens, and Stephen Marcel, provost of the tradesmen of Paris, were to report the result, as presidents, each of his own order. The session of the states lasted not more than a week. They replied to the king that they would give him a subvention of thirty thousand men-at-arms every year, and for their pay they voted an impulse to fifty-hundred-thousand leavers, five millions of leavers, which was to be levied on all folks of whatever condition they might be, church folks, nobles or others, and the gable or tax on salt over the whole kingdom of France. On separating the states appointed beforehand two fresh sessions at which they would assemble, one in the month of March to estimate the sufficiency of the impost, and to hear, on that subject, the report of the nine superintendents charged with the execution of their decision, the other in the month of November following, to examine into the condition of the kingdom. They assembled, in fact, on the first of March, and on the eighth of May, thirteen-fifty-six. As the year at that time began with Easter, the twenty-fourth of April was the first day of the year, thirteen-fifty-six. The new style, however, is here in every case adopted. But they had not the satisfaction of finding their authority generally recognized, and their patriotic purpose effectually accomplished. The impost they had voted, notably the salt tax, had met with violent opposition. When the news thereof reached Normandy, says Froyzard, the country was very much astounded at it, for they had not learned to pay any such thing. The Count de Harcourt told the folks of Ruin, where he was puissant, that they would be very serfs and very wicked if they agreed to this tax, and that by God's help it should never be current in his country. The King of Navarre used much the same language in his Countship of Ephraux. At other spots the mischief was still more serious. Close to Paris itself, at Maloune, payment was peremptorily refused, and at Eris, on the fifth of March, thirteen-fifty-six, the commonality of the towns, as Froyzard, rose upon the rich burgers and slew fourteen of the most substantial, which was a pity and loss, so it is when wicked folk have the upper hand of valiant men. However, the people of Eris paid for it afterwards, for the King sent thither his cousin, my Lord James of Bourbon, who gave orders to take all them by whom this edition had been caused, and on the spot had their heads cut off. The State's general, at their re-assembly on the first of March thirteen-fifty-six, admitted the feebleness of their authority and the insufficiency of their preceding votes for the purpose of aiding the king in war. They abolished the salt tax and the sales duty, which had met with such opposition, but staunch in their patriotism and loyalty, they substituted therefore an income tax imposed on every sort of folk, nobles or burgers, ecclesiastical or lay, which was to be levied not by the high justices of the king, but by the folks of the three estates themselves. The king's ordinance, dated the twelfth of March thirteen-fifty-six, which regulates the execution of these different measures, is to this import. There shall be, in each city, three deputies, one for each estate. These deputies shall appoint in each parish collectors, who shall go into the houses to receive the declaration which the persons who dwell there shall make touching their property, their estate, and their servants. When a declaration shall appear in conformity with truth, they shall be content therewith. Else they shall have him who has made it set before the deputies of the city in the district whereof he dwells, and the deputies shall cause him to take, on this subject, such oaths as they shall think proper. The collectors in the villages shall cause to be taken therein, in the presence of the pastor, suitable oaths on the subject of the declarations. If in the towns or villages any one refuse to take the oaths demanded, the collectors shall assess his property according to general opinion and on the deposition of his neighbors. In return for so loyal and persevering a cooperation on the part of the state's general, notwithstanding the obstacles encountered by their votes and their agents, King John confirmed expressly by an ordinance of May 26, 1356, all the promises he had made them, and all the arrangements he had entered into with them by his ordinance of December 28, 1355, given immediately after their first session. A veritable reformatory ordinance which enumerated the various royal abuses, administrative, judicial, financial, and military, against which there had been a public clamor, and regulated the manner of addressing them. After these mutual concessions and promises the state's general broke up, adjourning until the thirtieth of November following, 1356. But two months and a half before this time, King John, proud of some success obtained by him in Normandy, and of the brilliant army of knights remaining to him after he had dismissed the burger-forces, rushed, as has been said, with conceded impetuosity to encounter the Prince of Wales, rejected with insolent demands the modest proposals of withdrawal made him by the commander of the Little English Army, and on the nineteenth of September lost, contrary to all expectation, the lamentable battle of Portier. We have seen how he was deserted before the close of the action by his eldest son, Prince Charles, with his body of troops, and how he himself remained with his youngest son, Prince Philip, a boy of fourteen years, a prisoner in the hands of his victorious enemies. At this news, says Froycarte, the kingdom of France was greatly troubled and excited, and with good cause, for it was a right grievous blow and vexatious for all sorts of folk. The wise men of the kingdom might well predict that great evils would come of it, for the king, their head, and all the chivalry of the kingdom were slain or taken. The knights and squires who came back home were on that account so hated and blamed by the commoners that they had great difficulty in gaining admittance to the good towns, and the king's three sons who had returned, Charles, Louis, and John, were very young in years and experience, and there was in them such small resource that none of the said lads liked to undertake the government of the said kingdom. The eldest of the three, Prince Charles, aged nineteen, who was called a dauphin after the session of Dauphiny to France, nevertheless assumed the office in spite of his youth and his anything but glorious retreat from Portier. He took the title of Lieutenant of the King, and had hardly re-entered Paris on the 29th of September, when he summoned for the fifteenth of October the State's General of Langduy, who met, in point of fact, on the seventeenth in the Great Chamber of the Parliament. Never was seen, says the report of their meeting, an assembly so numerous or composed of wiser folk. The superior clergy were there almost to a man. The nobility had lost too many in front of Portier to be abundant at Paris, but there were counted at the assembly four hundred deputies from the good towns, amongst whom special mention is made, in the documents, of those from Amiens, Tornay, Lille, Arras, Choy, Auxerre, and Seine. The total number of members at the assembly amounted to more than eight hundred. The session was opened by a speech from the Chancellor, Peter de La Forest, who called upon the estates to aid the dauphin with their councils under the serious and melancholy circumstances of the kingdom. The three orders at first attempted to hold their deliberations each in a separate hall, but it was not long before they felt the inconveniences arising from their number and their separation, and they resolved to choose from amongst each order commissioners, who should examine the questions together, and afterwards make their report and their proposals to the general meeting of the estates. Eighty commissioners were accordingly elected and set themselves to work. The dauphin appointed some of his officers to be present at their meetings, and to furnish them with such information as they might require. As early as the second day these officers were given to understand that the deputies would not work whilst anybody belonging to the king's council was with them. So the officers withdrew, and a few days afterwards, towards the end of October, 1356, the commissioners reported the result of their conferences to each of the three orders. The general assembly adopted their proposals, and had the dauphin informed that they were desirous of a private audience. Charles repaired with some of his councillors to the monastery of the Cordellier, where the estates were holding their sittings, and there he received their representations. They demanded of him that he should deprive of their offices such of the king's councillors as they should point out, have them arrested and confiscate all their property. Twenty-two men of note, the Chancellor, the Premier President of the Parliament, the king's stewards, and several officers in the household of the dauphin himself were thus pointed out. They were accused of having taken part to their own profit in all the abuses for which the government was reproached, and of having concealed from the king the true state of things and the misery of the people. The commissioners elected by the estates were to take proceedings against them. If they were found guilty they were to be punished, and if they were innocent they were at the very least to forfeit their offices and their property on account of their bad councils and their bad administration. The chronicles of the time are not agreed as to these last demands. We have, as regards the events of this period, two contemporary witnesses, both full of detail, intelligence, and animation in their narratives, namely Freud's art and the Continuer of William of Nongus' Latin Chronicle. Freud's art is in general favourable to kings and princes. The anonymous chronicler on the contrary has a somewhat passionate bias towards the popular party. Probably both of them are often given to exaggeration in their assertions and impressions. But taking into account none but undisputed facts, it is evident that the claims of the state's general, though they were for the most part legitimate enough at bottom, by reason of the number, gravity, and frequent recurrence of abuses, were excessive and violent, and produced the effect of complete suspension in the regular course of government and justice. The Dauphin, Charles, was a young man, of a naturally sound and collected mind, but without experience, who had hitherto lived only in his father's court, and who could not help being deeply shocked and disquieted by such demands. He was still more troubled when the estates demanded that the deputies, under the title of reformers, should traverse the provinces as a check upon the malversions of the royal officials, and that twenty-eight delegates, chosen from amongst the three orders, four prelates, twelve knights, and twelve burgesses, should be constantly placed near the king's person, with power to do and order everything in the kingdom, just like the king himself, as well for the purpose of appointing and removing officers, as for other matters. It was taking away the entire government from the crown, and putting it into the hands of the estates. The Dauphin's surprise and suspicion were still more vivid when the deputies spoke to him about setting at liberty the king of Navarre, who had been imprisoned by King John, and told him that, since this deed of violence, no good had come to the king or the kingdom, because of the sin of having imprisoned the said king of Navarre. And yet Charles the Bad was already as infamous as he has remained in history. He had labored to embroil the Dauphin with his royal father, and there was no plot or intrigue, whether with the malcontents in France or with the king of England, in which he was not, with good reasons, suspected of having been mixed up, and of being ever ready to be mixed up. He was clearly a dangerous enemy for the public peace, as well as for the crown, and for the state's general, who were demanding his release, a bad associate. In the face of such demands and such forebodings, the Dauphin did all he could to gain time. Before he gave an answer he must know, he said, what subvention the state's general would be willing to grant him. The reply was a repetition of the promise of thirty thousand men at arms, together with an enumeration of the several taxes whereby there was a hope of providing for the expense. But the produce of these taxes was so uncertain that both parties doubted the worth of the promise. Careful calculation went to prove that the subvention would suffice, at the very most, for the keep of no more than eight or nine thousand men. The estates were urgent for a speedy compliance with their demands. The Dauphin persisted in his policy of delay. He was threatened with a public and solemn session, at which all the questions should be brought before the people, and which was fixed for the third of November. Great was the excitement at Paris, and the people showed a disposition to support the estate at any price. On the second of November the Dauphin summoned at the Louvre a meeting of his councillors and of the principal deputies, and there he announced that he was obliged to set out for Metz, where he was going to follow up the negotiations entered into with the Emperor Charles IV and Pope Innocent VI for the sake of restoring peace between France and England. He added that the deputies, on returning for a while to their provinces, should get themselves in line best to the real state of affairs, and that he would not fail to recall them so soon as he had any important news to tell them, and any assistance to request of them. END OF CHAPTER XXI THE STATES GENERAL OF THE 14TH CENTURY It was not without serious grounds that the Dauphin attached so much importance to gaining time. When in the preceding month of October he had summoned to Paris the State's General of Langdoy. He had likewise convoked at Toulouse those of Langdoc, and he was informed that the latter had not only just voted a levy of fifty thousand men at arms with an adequate subsidy, but that in order to show their royalist sentiments they had decreed a sort of public morning to last for a year if King John were not released from his captivity. The Dauphin's idea was to summon other provincial assemblies, from which he hoped for similar manifestations. It was said moreover that several deputies, already gone from Paris, had been ill-received in their towns, at Soissant, amongst others, on account of their excessive claims and their insulting language toward all the King's councillors. Under such flattering auspices the Dauphin set out, according to the announcement he had made from Paris, on the 5th of December, 1356, to go and meet the Emperor Charles IV at Metz. But at his departure he committed exactly the fault which was likely to do him the most harm at Paris. Being in want of money for his costly trip he subjected the coinage to a fresh adulteration, which took effect five days after his departure. The leaders in Paris seized eagerly upon so legitimate grievance for the support of their claims. As early as the third of the preceding November when they were apprised of the Dauphin's approaching departure for Metz, and the adjournment of their sittings, the State's General had come to a decision that their remonstrances and demands, summed up in twenty-one articles, should be read in General Assembly, and that a recital of the negotiations which had taken place on that subject between the estates and the Dauphin should likewise be drawn up, in order that all the deputies might be able to tell in their districts wherefore the answers had not been received. When after the Dauphin's departure the new debased coins were put in circulation the people were driven to an outbreak thereby, and the provost of tradesmen, Stephen Marcell, hurried to the Louvre to demand of the Count of Anjou, the Dauphin's brother and lieutenant, a withdrawal of the decree. Having obtained no answer he returned the next day, escorted by a throng of the inhabitants of Paris. At length on the third day the numbers assembled were so considerable that the young prince took alarm and suspended the execution of the decree until his brother's return. For the first time Stephen Marcell had got himself supported by an outbreak of the people. For the first time the mob had imposed its will upon the ruling power, and from this day forth Pacific and lawful resistance was transformed into a violent struggle. At his re-entry into Paris, on the nineteenth of January, thirteen-fifty-seven, the Dauphin attempted to once more gain possession of some sort of authority. He issued orders to Marcell and the sheriffs to remove the stoppage they had placed on the currency of the new coinage. This was to found his opposition on the worst side of his case. We will do nothing of the sort, replied Marcell, and in a few moments at the provost's orders the work-people left their work and shouts of two arms resounded through the streets. The prince's counsellors were threatened with death. The Dauphin saw the hopelessness of a struggle, for there were hardly a handful of men left to guard the Louvre. On the morrow, the twentieth of January, he sent for Marcell and the sheriffs into the great hall of Parliament, and giving way on almost every point, bound himself to no longer issue new coin, to remove from his council the officers who had been named to him, and even to imprison them until the return of his father, who would do full justice to them. The estates were at the same time authorized to meet when they pleased, on all which points the provost of tradesmen requested letters which were granted him, and he demanded that the Dauphin should immediately place sergeants in the houses of those of his counsellors who still happened to be in Paris, and that proceedings should be taken without delay for making an inventory of their goods, with a viewed confiscation of them. The estates met on the fifth of February. It was not without surprise that they found themselves less numerous than they had hitherto been. The deputies from the Duchy of Burgundy, from the Countships of Flanders and Alencon, and several nobles and burkers from other provinces, did not repair to the session. The kingdom was falling into anarchy. Bands of plunderers roved hither and thither, threatening persons and ravaging lands. The magistrates either could not or would not exercise their authority. Disquietude and disgust were gaining possession of many honest folks. Marcel and his partisans, having fallen into somewhat of disrepute and neglect, keenly felt how necessary, and also how easy it was for them to become completely masters. They began by drawing up a series of propositions which they had distributed and spread abroad far and wide in the provinces. On the third of March they held a public meeting, at which the Dauphin and two of his brothers were present. A numerous throng filled the hall. The bishop of Lone, Robert Lecoque, the spokesman of the party, made a long envioment statement of all the public grievances, and declared that twenty-two of the king's officers should be deprived forever of all offices, that all the officers of the kingdom should be provisionally suspended, and that reformers, chosen by the estates, and commissioned by the Dauphin himself, should go all over France to hold inquiries as to these officers, and according to their deserts, either reinstate them in their offices or condemn them. At the same time the estates bound themselves to raise thirty thousand men-at-arms whom they themselves would pay and keep, and as the produce of the impost voted for this purpose was very uncertain, they demanded their adjournment to the fortnight of Easter, and two sessions certain for which they should be free to fix the time before the fifteenth of February in the following year. This was simply to decree the permanence of their power. To all these demands the Dauphin offered no resistance. In the month of March following a grand ordinance drawn up in sixty-one articles enumerated all the grievances which had been complained of, and prescribed their address for them. A second ordinance regulating all that appertained to the suspension of the royal officers was likewise, as it appears, drawn up at the same time, but has not come down to us. At last a grand commission was appointed, comprised of thirty-six members, twelve elected by each of the three orders. These thirty-six persons, says Freud-Sart, were bound to often meet together at Paris, for to order the affairs of the kingdom, and all kinds of matters were to be disposed of by these three estates, and all prelates, all lords, and all commonalities of the cities and good towns, were bound to be obedient to what these three estates should order. Having their power thus secured to their absence, the estates adjourned to the twenty-fifth of April. The rumour of these events reached Fordeaux, where, since the defeat at Poitiers, King John had been living as the guest of the Prince of Wales, rather than as a prisoner of the English. Amidst the gallows and pleasures to which he abandoned himself, he was indignant to learn that Paris the royal authority was ignored, and he sent three of his comrades in captivity to notify to the Parisians that he rejected all the claims of the estates, that he would not have payment made of the subsidy voted by them, and that he forbade their meeting on the twenty-fifth of April following. This strange manifesto on the part of imprisoned royalty excited in Paris such irritation amongst the people that the Dauphin hastily sent out of the city the king's three envoys, whose lives might have been threatened, and declared to the thirty-six commissioners of the estates that the subsidy should be raised and that the general assembly should be perfectly free to meet at the time it had appointed. And it did meet towards the end of April, but in far fewer numbers than had been the case hitherto, and with more and more division from day to day. Nearly all the nobles and ecclesiastics were withdrawing from it, and amongst the burgesses themselves many of the more moderate spirits were becoming alarmed at the violent proceedings of the commission of the thirty-six delegates, who under the direction of Stephen Marcel were becoming a small oligarchy, little by little usurping the place of the great national assembly. A cry was raised in the provinces against the injustice of those chief governors who were no more than ten or a dozen, and there was a refusal to pay the subsidy voted. These symptoms and the disorganization which was coming to a head throughout the whole kingdom made the Dauphin think that the moment had arrived for him to seize the reins again. About the middle of August, 1357, he sent for Marcel and three sheriffs, accustomed to direct matters at Paris, and let them know that he intended thence forward to govern by himself without curators. He at the same time restored to office some of the lately dismissed royal officers. The thirty-sixth commissioners made a show of submission, and their most faithful ecclesiastical ally, Robert Lecoq, Bishop of Lone, returned to his diocese. The Dauphin left Paris and went a trip into some of the provinces, halting at the principal towns, such as Rouen and Chart, and everywhere with intelligent but timid discretion, making his presence and his will felt, not very successfully, however, as regarded the re-establishment of some kind of order on his route in the name of the kingship. Marcel and his partisans took advantage of his abstinence to shore up their tottering supremacy. They felt how important it was for them to have a fresh meeting of the estates, whose presence alone could restore strength to their commissioners, but the Dauphin only could legally summon them. They therefore eagerly pressed him to return in person to Paris, giving him a promise that, if he agreed to convoke their deputies from twenty or thirty towns, they would supply him with the money of which he was in need, and would say no more about the dismissal of royal officers, or about setting at liberty the king of Navarre. The Dauphin, being still young and trustful, though he was already discreet and reserved, fell into the snare. He returned to Paris, and summoned thither, for the seventh of November following, the deputies from seventy towns, a sufficient number to give their meeting a specious resemblance to the state's general. One circumstance ought to have caused him some glimmering of suspicion. At the same time that the Dauphin was sending to the deputies his letters of convocation, Marcel himself also sent them, as if he possessed the right, either in his own name, or in that of the thirty-sixth-delegate commissioners, of calling them together. But a still more serious matter came to open the Dauphin's eyes to the danger he had fallen into. During the night between the eighth and ninth of November, thirteen-fifty-seven, immediately after the reopening of these states, Charles the Bad, king of Navarre, was carried off by a surprise from the castle of Arleau and Cambresis, where he had been confined, and his liberators removed him, first of all, to Amiens, and then to Paris itself, where the popular party gave him a triumphant reception. Marcel and his sheriffs had decided upon, and prepared, at a private council, this dramatic incident, so contrary to the promises they had but lately made to the Dauphin. Charles the Bad used his deliverance like a skillful workman. The very day after his arrival in Paris he mounted a platform set against the walls of Saint-Germain's Abbey, and there, in the presence of more than ten thousand persons, Burgesses and Populus, he delivered a long speech, seasoned with much venom, says a chronicler of the time. After having denounced the wrongs which he had been made to endure, he said, for eighteen months past, he declared that he would live and die in defense of the kingdom of France, giving it to be understood that, if he were minded to claim the crown, he would soon show by the laws of right and wrong that he was nearer to it than the king of England was. He was insinuating, eloquent, and an adept in the art of making truths subserve to the cause of falsehood. The people were moved by his speech. The Dauphin was obliged not only to put up with the release in the triumph of his most dangerous enemy, but to make an outward show of reconciliation with him, and to undertake not only to give him back the castles confiscated after his arrest, but to act towards him as a good brother towards his brother. These were the exact words made use of in the Dauphin's name, but without having asked his pleasure about it, by Robert Lecoq, Bishop of Lone, who himself had also returned from his diocese to Paris at the time of the recall of the estates. The consequences of this position were not slow to exhibit themselves. Whilst the king of Navarre was re-entering Paris in the Dauphin submitting to the necessity of a reconciliation with him, several of the deputies who had but lately returned to the state's general, and amongst others nearly all those from Champagne and Burgundy, were going away again, being unwilling either to witness the triumphal re-entry of Charles the Bad, or to share the responsibility for such acts as they foresaw. Before long the struggle, or rather the war, between the king of Navarre and the Dauphin broke out again. Several of the nobles in possession of the castles which were to have been restored to Charles the Bad, and especially those of Bretouille, Passe-sur-Hur, and Pont d'Amère, flatly refused to give them back to him, and the Dauphin was suspected, probably not without reason, of having encouraged them in their resistance. Without the walls of Paris it was really war that was going on between the two princes. Philip of Navarre, brother of Charles the Bad, went marching with bands of pillagers over Normandy and Anjou, and within a few leagues of Paris, declaring that he had not taken, and did not intend to take, any part in his brother's specific arrangements, and carrying fire and sword through the country. The peasantry from the ravaged districts were overflowing Paris. Stephen Marcel had no mind to reject the support which many of them brought him, but they had to be fed and the treasury was empty. The wreck of the State's general, meeting on the second of January, 1358, themselves had recourse to the expedient which they had so often and so violently reproached the king and the Dauphin with employing. They notably depreciated the coinage, allotting a fifth of the profit to the Dauphin, and retaining the other four fifths for the defense of the kingdom. What Marcel and his party called the defense of the kingdom was the works of fortification around Paris, begun in October 1356 against the English, after the defeat of Poitiers, and resuming in 1358 against the Dauphin's party in the neighboring provinces, as well as against the robbers that were laying them waste. Amidst all this military and popular excitement the Dauphin kept the Louvre, having about him two thousand-minute arms whom he had taken into his pay, he said, solely on account of the prospect of a war with the Navaris. Before he went and plunged into a civil war outside the gates of Paris, he resolved to make an effort to win back the Parisians themselves to his cause. He sent a crier through the city to bid the people assemble in the marketplace, and thither he repaired on horseback, on the eleventh of January, with five or six of his most trusty servants. The astonished mob thronged about him, and he addressed them in vigorous language. He meant, he said, to live and die amongst the people of Paris. If he was collecting his men-at-arms it was not for the purpose of plundering and oppressing Paris, but that he might march against their common enemies, and if he had not done so sooner it was because the folks who had taken the government gave him neither money nor arms, but they would some day be called to strict account for it. The Dauphin was small, thin, delicate, and of insignificant appearance, but at this juncture he displayed unexpected boldness and eloquence. The people were deeply moved, and Marcel and his friends felt that a heavy blow had just been dealt them. They hastened to respond with a blow of another sort. It was everywhere whispered abroad that if Paris was suffering so much from civil war and the irregularities and calamities which were the concomitance of it, the fault lay with the Dauphin's surroundings, and that his noble advisers deterred him from measures which would save the people from their miseries. Just Marcel and the Burgesses of Paris took counsel together and decided that it would be a good thing if some of those attendants on the regent were to be taken away from the midst of this world. They all put on caps, red on one side and blue on the other, which they wore as a sign of their confederation in defense of the common wheel. This done they reassembled in large numbers on the 22nd of February, 1358, with the provost at their head, and marched to the palace where the duke was lodged. This crowd entered on its way, the street called Giveri, jewellery, the Advocate-General Renneau d'Assis, one of the twenty-two royal officers denounced by the estates in the preceding year, and he was massacred in a pastry-cooked shop. Marcel, continuing his road, arrived at the palace and ascended, followed by a band of armed men to the apartments of the Dauphin, whom he requested very sharply, says Royce Hart, to restrain so many companies from roving about on all sides, damaging and plundering the country. The duke replied that he would do so willingly if he had the wherewithal to do it, but that it was for him who received the dukes belonging to the kingdom to discharge that duty. I know not why or how, adds Royce Hart, but words were multiplied on the part of all and became very high. My Lord Duke, suddenly said the provost, do not alarm yourself, but we have somewhat to do here, and turning towards his fellows in the caps, he said, dearly beloved, do that for which ye are come. Immediately the Lord de Comflin, Marshal of Champagne, and Robert de Clermont, Marshal of Normandy, noble and valiant gentleman, and both at the time unarmed, were massacred so close to the Dauphin and his couch that his robe was covered with their blood. The Dauphin shuddered, and the rest of his officers fled. Take no heed, Lord Duke, said Marcel, you have not to fear. He handed to the Dauphin his own red and blue cap, and himself put on the Dauphins, which was of black stuff with gold and fringe. The corpses of the two marshals were dragged into the courtyard of the palace, where they remained until evening, without anyone staring to remove them. And Marcel with his followers repaired to the mansion-house, and harangued from an open window the mob collected at the Place de Grève. What has been done is for the good of the prophet of the kingdom, he said. The dead were false and wicked traitors. We do own it, and will maintain it, cried the people who were about him. The house from which Marcel thus addressed the people was his own property, and was called the Pillar House. There he accommodated the town council, which had formerly held its sittings in diverse parlours. End of Chapter 21, Part 2