In these chapters, Tuchman uses the figure of Enguerrand de Coucy to embody a new model of aristocratic leadership, one defined by pragmatism and political acumen rather than by the reckless pursuit of chivalric glory. As the reign of Charles V ends and the disastrous regency of his uncles begins, Coucy’s career demonstrates the skills necessary to navigate a collapsing political order. His swift and successful campaign in Normandy is a model of combined arms and diplomacy, securing a clear political objective with minimal waste. His most telling act is his refusal of the office of Constable, the supreme military command in France. This decision reveals a sophisticated understanding of the political dangers posed by the jealous royal uncles, a risk that the more traditional, hot-headed warrior Olivier de Clisson readily accepts. Tuchman repeatedly positions Coucy as a mediator and problem-solver, sending him to negotiate with the rebellious Parisians and, most significantly, to bring the treacherous duke of Montfort to heel. By concluding this section with a direct quote from the chronicler Froissart praising Coucy as “the most gracious and persuasive lord in all Christendom” (437), Tuchman solidifies his role as the book’s central consciousness—a rational actor in an increasingly irrational world.

Tuchman structures this part of the narrative around the escalating conflict between social classes, portraying the popular uprisings of the early 1380s as a transnational phenomenon. By juxtaposing the Peasants’ Revolt in England with the Harelle in Rouen and the Maillotins in Paris, she argues that these were more than just isolated riots. In Tuchman’s reckoning, they were expressions of a widespread and fundamental grievance against the ruling class. The core issue was the oppressive burden of taxation, levied to fund wars that brought only devastation to the common people while enriching the nobility. Tuchman emphasizes The Breakdown of Social Order in Times of Crisis by giving voice to the rebels’ developing class consciousness, as articulated by the radical priest John Ball in England and the unnamed cobbler in Paris. The response of the nobility is consistent across national lines. Faced with a direct threat to their power, they close ranks, brutally suppressing the revolts and revoking any concessions made under duress. The French victory at Roosebeke is not depicted as a national triumph. Instead, Tuchman presents it as a decisive moment in this class war, a victory that strengthens the crown’s hand to crush dissent at home and dismantle the traditional liberties of cities like Paris.

The military campaigns of this period serve as evidence of The Illusion of Chivalry. Tuchman contrasts the high-minded ideals of knightly conduct with the greed, incompetence, and brutality that characterized contemporary warfare. The Italian expedition serves as a case study. The Duc d’Anjou’s quest for the crown of Naples is a pageant of chivalric extravagance that is completely detached from military reality, ending in starvation, disease, and total failure. In contrast, Coucy’s follow-up campaign in Italy is a masterclass in pragmatism. He uses deception to seize Arezzo, assesses the political landscape after Anjou’s death, and, recognizing the mission’s futility, skillfully negotiates a profitable and safe withdrawal for his army. The planned invasions of England further underscore the disconnect between chivalric ambition and practical reality. Despite immense preparations and expense, these grand enterprises collapse under the weight of internal political rivalries, logistical challenges, and a fundamental reluctance to risk a hazardous landing. The introduction of Honoré Bonet’s The Tree of Battles, a contemporary critique of the suffering inflicted on non-combatants, reinforces Tuchman’s argument that the chivalric code was a hollow ideology that failed to restrain the destructive impulses of the warrior class.

Tuchman’s narrative method in these chapters mirrors the chaotic and fragmented nature of the era. She shifts perspectives rapidly between the courts of France and England, the battlefields of Flanders, and the political labyrinth of Italy. This cross-cutting technique prevents the reader from seeing events in a simple, linear progression and instead creates a sense of compounding crises. The French crown is simultaneously beset by the duke of Brittany’s treachery, an insulting challenge from the duke of Guelders, and the looming threat of England, all while its resources are being squandered on foreign adventures and its authority is challenged by internal revolt. Tuchman shows how personal animosities and individual ambitions consistently derail state policy. Just as Gian Galeazzo’s coup in Milan reshapes Italian politics, the duke of Montfort’s personal hatred for Clisson is sufficient to scuttle a national invasion of England. By focusing on these character-driven conflicts, Tuchman argues that the grand historical forces of the century were often products of the deeply personal, and frequently irrational, motivations of its key actors.