The Iron Trevet or Jocelyn the Champion

material, carrying a knapsack on his back and a heavy stick in his hand entered Paris by the gate of St. Denis. It was William Caillet, the father of Aveline-who-never-lied. The

customers. "Hot stoves! Hot baths!" cried the keepers of bathing houses; "Fresh and warm cakes!" cried the pastry venders; "Fresh wine, just arrived from Argenteuil and Suresne!" cried a tavern-keeper armed with a large pewter tumbler, and with looks and gestures inviting the topers to drink; "Whose coat needs mending?" asked the tailor; "The oven is warm, who wants to have his bread baked?" vociferated a baker; further off a royal edict was being proclaimed, announced by

n, and soon Caillet heard repeated from mouth to mouth in accents at once sorrowful and angry: "That's the funeral of the poor Perrin Macé." All the passers-by started, and a great number of merchants and ap

ut twenty years of age, was named Rufin the Tankard-smasher, a nickname that was borne out by the jovial and convivial mien of the strapping youngster. He had on his head a crazy felt hat that age had rendered yellow, and he wore a black coat no less patched up than his hose. He looked as t

nd cut off and then be hanged without trial! And all

rt respects the famous

he pest and ruination of the c

arisoned and plumed parade horses; good to prance and not to carry

arge sized man with a furred cap, "the

n their adversaries just as we students seek to knock down the nine-pins at a bowling game on the college grounds. But so soon as their skins are in danger in battle, where there is no profit to be fetched other than blows, that same nobility shamefully

"let us not be too hard upon the nobility; did it not rid us of

the government of the Regent, a stripling of twenty years, who orders people to be hanged when they dem

friend Marcel will soon put a

he providenc

your mouths. Although Master Marcel is a provost and president of the town council, yet he is not everything on earth.

l!" cried Rufin the Tankard-smasher. "By Jupiter, w

the man of the furr

the Tankard-smasher. "What! You dare maintain that Marcel

ur saviour. Without him Paris would by this t

the Thin-skinned were beating at the door of a public house on Trace-Pute street. The woman of the house refused us admission, pretending that the girls we were looking for were not in. Thereat I and my friend came near breaking in the door. At that a platoon

urred cap; "but any other councilman would h

franchises of the University, the students, rising en masse, would have poured, arms in hands, out of their quarter of St. Ger

e he is just, because he protects the interests of the bourgeois against t

and his foresight, Paris would have been burn

ent himself at the head of the militia as far as Corbeil to p

cap with envious insistence. "All I maintain is that, put

y would have done as well as Marcel!" rejoined the Tankard-smasher. "If my swe

aughter of approval. The immense majority of the Parisian

roll of drums, the notes of the clarions and the din of a large multitude had drawn nearer. The procession turned into Mauconseil in order to cross St. Denis street. A company of the town's cross-bowmen, commanded by a captain, marched at the head and opened the way

rin Macé, a bourgeois of

egent, had borrowed in the name of th

oyal officers to pay for what they buy and return what they borrow fo

and furthermore insulted, thre

Perrin Macé returned blow for blow, killed John Baillet and betook himself to the

s courtiers, the marshal of Normandy, to the church of St. Mé

rom the church, and without trial Macé's right

rin Macé, a bourgeois of

e bourgeois, who had stepped out of his draper's shop to become one of the most illustrious citizens of Gaul, was then in the full maturity of his age. Of middle height and robust, Etienne Marcel somewhat stooped from his fatigues, seeing that his prodigious activity of a man of both thought and action left him no repose. His open, manly and characterful face bore at the chin a thick tuft of brown beard, leaving his cheeks and lips clean shaven. The feverish agitation of the man and the incessant cares of public affairs had furrowed his forehead and left their marks on his features without, however, in any way affecting the august serenity that an irreproachable conscience imparts to the physiognomy of an honorable man. There was nothing benigner or more affectionate than his smile when under the influence of the tender sentiments so familiar to his heart. There was nothing mo

d harsh mien. Each time that the heralds finished the mournful psalmody and before they began it anew, Petronille Maillart would break out into sobs and moans, and raising and wringing her arms in despai

woman to this funeral? What makes her demean herself like that, as if she

friends! Do you see how her despair testifies the extent to which she, as well as her husband, share in the terrible fate of p

oices. "Poor, dear woman! She

trate. She and the others remain calmly at home, without at all concerning themselves

to come out and exhibit herself and utter shrieks fit to deafen Beelzebub just when the drums are silent.... The af

nevertheless, be noted that the wife of Maillart assisted at the funeral of Perrin Macé, and that the wife of M

ked Rufin; "What rumo

to file by. Notable townsmen, carrying funeral torches, marched behind the councilmen; they were followed by the trade guilds, each headed by its banner; finally the rear was brought up by a long line of people of al

ons he overcame his rustic timidity and drew Rufin the Tankard-smasher aside by the arm just as the latter was about to walk away. The student turned around, and yielding to the joviality of his nature as well as purposing to haze the rustic after the time-honored practic

llet answered him gruffly: "I am a strang

oubled hilarity. "You are somewhat too bearded for a bachelor; but that does not matter

erness. "They are no better than the people of the castles. Go, J

Rufin held him back: "Friend, if I have hurt your feelings, excuse me. We townsmen are no

amined him once more attentively, and now struck by the lines of sorrow on his face, said to him: "May I die like a dog if I am not speaking sincerely to you. Friend, you seem to have suffered much; you are a stran

wered: "I have no time to stay in Paris; I only wish to speak w

asked with deep interest, while a clo

isfortune

f grief at the disappearance of his son. Brave Jocelyn! I entered the University the year before he left it. He was the best and most cour

intel. The night after the passage of arms

from Be

dead! Great pity! There are few like him who love Jacques Bonhomme." After

liers where he is to address the people afte

d Caillet; "I s

y the Coquiller gate; th

lowing the streets of the suburbs, that were much less crowded than those of the city, Caillet and his guide had just left Traversine to enter Montmartre street when they heard the distant funeral cha

d the corner of Montmartre and Quoque-Heron streets, opposite which stood the convent, whose doors opened to receive the coffin. "Look," said the student turning to Caillet. "How significant is not the contrast presented by these two funerals. At Perrin Macé's a large concourse of people were present, serious and moved with just indignation; at John Baillet's nobody assists but the Regent, the princes, his brothers, the courtiers and the officers of the royal household-not one representative of th

haking his head answered pensively: "Jocelyn did not deceive me," and after a pause he pr

ou mean?"

oitiers. The young man who now governed Gaul was barely twenty years of age. He was of frail physique and pale complexion. His sickly face concealed under a kind and timid mien a large fund of obstinacy, of perfidy, of wile and of wickedness-odious vices usually rare in youths, except of royal lineage. Magnificently dressed in gold-embroidered green velvet, a black head-gear ornamented with a chain and brooch of costly stones on his head, the mean-spirited and languishing Regent marched slowly leaning on a cane. At a short distance behind him advanced his brothers, and then came the seigneurs of the court, am

, the knight of Chaumontel!... Oh, do you see them both with their scarlet hats, d

e student, astonished at the emotion manifested

... I have seen them with my own eyes!" and contracting his lips with a frightful smile the serf added raising his two fists to heaven: "Oh, Mazurec!... Oh,

himself, gazing at the peasant with stupor, and he proceeded

"Oh, now more than ever am I anxious to see Mar

the provost at the convent of the Cordeliers. He is to address the people there this evening. But, once

lance at the student, remained silen

nst an odd customer; he alternates between dumbness and riddles. He saddens even me

, the student wended his steps tow