not sufficient for the maintenance of it. The Duke of Anjou attempted to renew the taxes, and one of Charles V.'s former councillors, John Desmarets, advocate-general in parliament, abetted him in his attempt. Seven times, in the course of the year 1381, assemblies of notables met at Paris to consider the project, and on the 1st of March, 1382, an agent of the governing power scoured the city at full gallop, proclaiming the renewal of the principal tax. There was a fresh outbreak. The populace, armed with all sorts of weapons, with strong mallets amongst the rest, spread in all directions, killing the collectors, and storming and plundering the Hotel de Ville. They were called the Malleteers. They were put down, but with as much timidity as cruelty. Some of them were arrested, and at night thrown into the Seine, sewn up in sacks, without other formality or trial. A fresh meeting of notables was convened, towards the middle of April, at Compiegne, and the deputies from the principal towns were summoned to it; but they durst not come to any decision: "They were come," they said, "only to hear and report; they would use their best endeavors to prevail on those by whom they had been sent to do the king's pleasure." Towards the end of April some of them returned to Meaux, reporting that they had everywhere met with the most lively resistance; they had everywhere heard shouted at them, "Sooner death than the tax." Only the deputies from Sens had voted a tax, which was to be levied on all merchandise; but, when the question of collecting it arose, the people of Sens evinced such violent opposition that it had to be given up. It was when facts and feelings were in this condition in France, that Charles VI. and the Duke of Burgundy had set out with their army to go and force the Flemish communes to submit to their count.

Returning victorious from Flanders to France, Charles VI. and his uncles, everywhere brilliantly feasted on their march, went first of all for nine days to Compiegne, "to find recreation after their fatigues," says the monk of St. Denis, "in the pleasures of the chase; afterwards, on the 10th of January, 1383, the king took back in state to the church of St. Denis the oriflamme which he had borne away on his expedition; and next day, the 11th of January, he re-entered Paris, he alone being mounted, in the midst of his army." The burgesses went out of the city to meet him, and offer him their wonted homage, but they were curtly ordered to retrace their steps; the king and his uncles, they were informed, could not forget offences so recent. The wooden barriers which had been placed before the gates of the city to prevent anybody from entering without permission, were cut down with battle-axes; the very gates were torn from their hinges; they were thrown down upon the king's highway, and the procession went over them, as if to trample under foot the fierce pride of the Parisians. When he was once in the city, and was leaving Notre Dame, the king sent abroad throughout all the streets an order forbidding any one, under the most severe penalties, from insulting or causing the least harm to the burgesses in any way whatsoever; and the constable had two plunderers strung up to the windows of the houses in which they had committed their thefts. But fundamental order having been thus upheld, reprisals began to be taken for the outbreaks of the Parisians, municipal magistrates or populace, burgesses or artisans, rich or poor, in the course of the two preceding years;—arrests, imprisonments, fines, confiscations, executions, severities of all kinds fell upon the most conspicuous and the most formidable of those who had headed or favored popular movements. The most solemn and most iniquitous of these punishments was that which befell the advocate-general, John Desmarets. "For nearly a whole year," says the monk of St. Denis, "he had served as mediator between the king and the Parisians; he had often restrained the fury and stopped the excesses of the populace, by preventing them from giving rein to their cruelty. He was always warning the factious that to provoke the wrath of the king and the princes was to expose themselves to almost certain death. But, yielding to the prayers of this rebellious and turbulent mob, he, instead of leaving Paris as the rest of his profession had done, had remained there, and throwing himself boldly amidst the storms of civil discord, he had advised the assumption of arms and the defence of the city, which he knew was very displeasing to the king and the grandees." When he was taken to execution, "he was put on a car higher than the rest, that he might be better seen by everybody." Nothing shook for a moment the firmness of this old man of seventy years. "Where are they who judged me?" he said: "let them come and set forth the reasons for my death. Judge me, O God, and separate my cause from that of the evil-doers." On his arrival at the market-place, some of the spectators called out to him, "Ask the king's mercy, Master John, that he may pardon your offences." He turned round, saying, "I served well and loyally his great-grandfather King Philip, his grandfather King John, and his father King Charles; none of those kings ever had anything to reproach me with, and this one would not reproach me any the more if he were of a grown man's age and experience. I don't suppose that he is a whit to blame for such a sentence, and I have no cause to cry him mercy. To God alone must I cry for mercy, and I pray Him to forgive my sins." Public respect accompanied the old and courageous magistrate beyond the scaffold; his corpse was taken up by his friends, and at a later period honorably buried in the church of St. Catherine.

After the chastisements came galas again, of which the king and his court were immoderately fond. Young as he was (he was but seventeen), his powerful uncle, the Duke of Burgundy, was very anxious to get him married, so as to secure his own personal influence over him. The wise Charles V., in his dying hours, had testified a desire that his son should seek alliances in Germany. A son of the reigning duke, Stephen of Bavaria, had come to serve in the French army, and the Duke of Burgundy had asked him if there were any marriageable princess of Bavaria. "My eldest brother," answered the Bavarian, "has a very beautiful daughter, aged fourteen." "That is just what we want," said the Burgundian: "try and get her over here; the king is very fond of beautiful girls; if she takes his fancy, she will be Queen of France." The Duke of Bavaria, being informed by his brother, at first showed some hesitation. "It would be a great honor," said he, "for my daughter to be Queen of France; but it is a long way from here. If my daughter were taken to France, and then sent back to me because she was not suitable, it would cause me too much chagrin. I prefer to marry her at my leisure, and in my own neighborhood." The matter was pressed, however, and at last the Duke of Bavaria consented. It was agreed that the Princess Isabel should go on a visit to the Duchess of Brabant, who instructed her, and had her well dressed, say the chroniclers, for in Germany they clad themselves too simply for the fashions of France. Being thus got ready, the Princess Isabel was conducted to Amiens, where the king then was, to whom her portrait had already been shown. She was presented to him, and bent the knee before him. He considered her charming. Seeing with what pleasure he looked upon her, the constable, Oliver de Clisson, said to Sire De Coney, "By my faith, she will bide with us." The same evening, the young king said to his councillor, Bureau de la Riviere, "She pleases me: go and tell my uncle, the Duke of Burgundy, to conclude at once." The duke, delighted, lost no time in informing the ladies of the court, who cried, "Noel!" for joy. The duke had wished the nuptials to take