Edition d'Élite

Historical Tales

The Romance of Reality

By

CHARLES MORRIS

_Author of "Half-Hours with the Best American Authors, " "Tales from theDramatists, " etc. _

IN FIFTEEN VOLUMES

Volume VI

French

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON

 _CONTENTS_

 PAGE

THE HUNS AT ORLEANS 7

THE WOOING OF CLOTILDE 18

THE RIVAL QUEENS 29

ROLAND AT RONCESVALLES 40

CHARLEMAGNE AND THE AVARS 47

THE CROWNING OF CHARLEMAGNE 58

PETER THE HERMIT 69

THE COMMUNE OF LAON 81

HOW BIG FERRÉ FOUGHT FOR FRANCE 94

BERTRAND DU GUESCLIN 103

JOAN OF ARC, THE MAID OF ORLEANS 116

THE CAREER OF A KNIGHT-ERRANT 133

LOUIS THE POLITIC AND CHARLES THE BOLD 147

CHARLES THE BOLD AND THE SWISS 158

BAYARD, THE GOOD KNIGHT 166

EPISODES IN THE LIFE OF A TRAITOR 176

ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S DAY 188

KING HENRY OF NAVARRE 197

THE MURDER OF A KING 210

RICHELIEU AND THE CONSPIRATORS 218

THE PARLIAMENT OF PARIS 233

A MARTYR TO HIS PROFESSION 251

THE MAN WITH THE IRON MASK 257

VOLTAIRE'S LAST VISIT TO PARIS 264

THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 271

THE FALL OF THE BASTILLE 281

THE STORY OF THE SAINTE AMPOULE 287

THE FLIGHT OF THE KING 298

THE END OF THE TERROR 306

THE BURNING OF MOSCOW 316

NAPOLEON'S RETURN FROM ELBA 327

THE PRUSSIAN WAR AND THE PARIS COMMUNE 337

 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

 FRENCH. 

 PAGE

FRIEDLAND _Frontispiece_. 

CITY OF ORLEANS 8

THE VOW OF CLOVIS 25

THE CORONATION OF CHARLEMAGNE 63

A MARRIAGE FEAST IN BRITTANY 82

COLUMN OF JULY, PLACE DE LA BASTILLE 100

JOAN OF ARC AT ORLEANS 125

A DUEL OF KNIGHTS 133

LOUIS XI 147

THE DUKE OF GUISE AT THE FRENCH COURT 189

EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF HENRY IV 196

CHAMBER OF MARY D' MEDICI 212

CATHEDRAL OF NOTRE DAME, PARIS 242

VOLTAIRE'S LAST VISIT TO PARIS 265

MARIE ANTOINETTE AND HER CHILDREN 274

THE LAST VICTIMS OF THE REIGN OF TERROR 307

THE CITY OF MOSCOW 317

ARC DE TRIOMPHE AND CHAMPS ELYSÉES, PARIS 327

NAPOLEON'S RETURN FROM ELBA 332

SCENE FROM THE FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR 340

_THE HUNS AT ORLEANS. _

On the edge of a grand plain, almost in the centre of France, rises arich and beautiful city, time-honored and famous, for it stood therebefore France had begun and while Rome still spread its wide wings overthis whole region, and it has been the scene of some of the most notableevents in French history. The Gauls, one of whose cities it was, namedit Genabum. The Romans renamed it Aurelian, probably from their EmperorAurelian. Time and the evolution of the French language wore this namedown to Orleans, by which the city has for many centuries been known. 

The broad Loire, the longest river of France, sweeps the foot of thesloping plain on which the city stands, and bears its commerce to thesea. Near by grows a magnificent forest, one of the largest in France, covering no less than ninety-four thousand acres. Within the cityappears the lofty spires of a magnificent cathedral, while numeroustowers rise from a maze of buildings, giving the place, from a distance, a highly attractive aspect. It is still surrounded by its mediævalwalls, outside of which extend prosperous suburbs, while far and widebeyond stretches the fertile plain. 

Such is the Orleans of to-day. In the past it was the scene of twostriking and romantic events, one of them associated with the name ofJoan of Arc, the most interesting figure in French history; the other, which we have now to tell, concerned with the terrible Attila and hishorde of devastating Huns, who had swept over Europe and threatened toannihilate civilization. Orleans was the turning-point in the career ofvictory of this all-conquering barbarian. From its walls he was drivenbackward to defeat. 

Out from the endless wilds of Scythia had poured a vast swarm of nomadhorsemen, ill-favored, fierce, ruthless, the scions of the desert andseemingly sworn to make a desert of Europe. They were led by Attila, the"Scourge of God, " as he called himself, in the tracks of whose horse'shoofs the grass could never grow again, as he proudly boasted. 

Writers of the time picture to us this savage chieftain as a deformedmonster, short, ill-formed, with a large head, swarthy complexion, small, deep-seated eyes, flat nose, a few hairs in place of a beard, andwith a habit of fiercely rolling his eyes, as if to inspire terror. Hehad broad shoulders, a square, strong form, and was as powerful in bodyas he was ready and alert in mind. The man had been born for aconqueror, and Europe was his prey. 

The Scythians adored the god of war, whom they worshipped under theshape of an iron cimeter. It was through the aid of this superstitionthat Attila raised himself to dominion over their savage and tamelesshordes. One of their shepherds, finding that a heifer was wounded in thefoot, followed the track of blood which the animal had made, anddiscovered amid the long grass the point of an ancient sword. This hedug from the earth in which it was buried and presented to Attila. Theartful chief claimed that it was a celestial gift, sent to him by thegod of war, and giving him a divine claim to the dominion of the earth. Doubtless his sacred gift was consecrated with the Scythian rites, --alofty heap of fagots, three hundred yards in length and breadth, beingraised on a spacious plain, the sword of Mars placed erect on itssummit, and the rude altar consecrated by the blood of sheep, horses, and probably of human captives. But Attila soon proved a better claim toa divine commission by leading the hordes of the Huns to victory aftervictory, until he threatened to subjugate, if not to depopulate, allEurope. It was in pursuance of this conquering career that he wasbrought, in the year 451, to the banks of the Rhine and the borders ofthe future realm of France, then still known as Gaul, and held by thefeeble hand of the expiring empire of Rome. 

The broad Rhine proved but a feeble obstacle to the innumerable cavalryof the Huns. A bridge of boats was quickly built, and across the streamthey poured into the fair provinces of Gaul. Universal consternationprevailed. Long peace had made the country rich, and had robbed itspeople of their ancient valor. As the story goes, the degenerate Gaulstrusted for their defence to the prayers of the saints. St. Lupus savedTroyes. The prayers of St. Genevieve turned the march of Attila asidefrom Paris. Unluckily, most of the cities of the land held neithersaints nor soldiers, and the Huns made these their helpless prey. Cityafter city was taken and ruined. The fate of Metz will serve as anexample of the policy of the Huns. In this city, as we are told, priestsand infants alike were slain, and the flourishing city was so utterlydestroyed that only a chapel of St. Stephen was left to mark its site. Its able-bodied inhabitants were probably reserved to be sold as slaves. 

And now, in the prosecution of his ruinous march, Attila fixed his campbefore the walls of Orleans, a city which he designed to make thecentral post of the dominion which he hoped to establish in Gaul. It wasto be his fortified centre of conquest. Upon it rested the fate of thewhole great province. 

Orleans lay behind its walls trembling with dread, as the neigh of theHunnish horses sounded in its ears, as the standards of the Hunnish hostfloated in the air. Yet it was not quite defenceless. Its walls had beenrecently strengthened. Behind them lay a force of soldiers, or of armedcitizens, who repelled the first assaults of the foe. An army was knownto be marching to its relief. All was not lost. 

Forty years earlier Rome had fallen before Alaric, the Goth. The empirewas now in the last stages of decreptitude. Yet by fortunate chance ithad an able soldier at the head of its armies, Ætius, the noblest son ofdeclining Rome. "The graceful figure of Ætius, " says a contemporaryhistorian, "was not above the middle stature; but his manly limbs wereadmirably formed for strength, beauty, and agility; and he excelled inthe martial exercises of managing a horse, drawing the bow, and dartingthe javelin. He could patiently endure the want of food or of sleep; andhis mind and body were alike capable of the most laborious efforts. Hepossessed the genuine courage that can despise not only dangers butinjuries; and it was impossible either to corrupt, or deceive, orintimidate the firm integrity of his soul. "

When the Huns invaded Gaul, this skilled and valiant commander flew toits relief. To his Roman army he added an army of the Visigoths ofSouthern Gaul, under their King Theoderic, and marched to the rescue ofthe land. But the gathering of this army took precious time, duringwhich the foe wrought ruin upon the land. The siege of Orleans had begunby the time Ætius was fairly ready to begin his march. 

In that seemingly doomed city all was terror and dismay. A speedycapture, a frightful massacre, or a no less frightful enslavement to thesavage Huns, was the dread of the trembling inhabitants. They had nosaint to rescue them by his prayers. All their hope lay in the arms oftheir feeble garrison and the encouraging words of their bishop, inwhose heart alone courage seemed to keep alive. 

Anianus was the name of this valiant and wise churchman, whose counselsof hope alone sustained the despairing citizens, whose diligence andearnestness animated the garrison in its defence. The siege was fierce, the defence obstinate, the army of relief was known to be on its way, ifthey could but hold out till it came. Anianus, counting the days andhours with intense anxiety, kept a sentinel on the lookout for the firstsigns of the advancing host of Romans and Goths. Yet hours and days wentby, and no sign of flashing steel or floating banner could be seen, until the stout heart of the bishop himself was almost ready to give wayto the despair which possessed so many of the citizens. 

The Huns advanced point by point. They were already in the suburbs. Thewalls were shaking beneath the blows of their battering-rams. The citycould not much longer be held. At length came a day which threatened toend with Orleans in the hands of the ruthless foe. And still theprayed-for relief came not. Hope seemed at an end. 

While such of the people as could not bear arms lay prostrate in prayer, Anianus, hopeful to the last, sent his messenger to the ramparts to lookfor the banners of the Roman army. Far and wide, from his lofty outlook, the keen-eyed sentinel surveyed the surrounding country. In vain helooked. No moving object was visible, only the line of the forest andthe far-off bordering horizon. He returned with this discouragingtidings. 

"Go again, " said the bishop. "They should have been here before now. Anyminute may bring them. Go again. "

The sentinel returned, and again swept the horizon with his eyes, notingevery visible object, seeing nothing to give him hope. With heavy treadhe returned to the bishop, and reported his failure. 

"They must be near!" cried Anianus, with nervous impatience. "Go; lookonce more. Let nothing escape your eyes. "

Back went the messenger, again mounted the rampart, again swept theplain with his eyes. Nothing, --ah! what was that, on the horizon, at thevery extremity of the landscape, that small, faint cloud, which he hadnot seen before? He watched it; it seemed to grow larger and nearer. Inhaste he returned to the bishop with the hopeful news. 

"I have seen a distant mist, like a far-off cloud of dust, " he said. "Itis moving. It comes nearer. "

"It is the aid of God!" burst from the lips of the bishop, his heartsuddenly elate with joy. And from the expectant multitude, through whoseranks ran like wildfire the inspiring tidings, burst the same glad cry, "It is the aid of God!"

Crowds ran in all haste to the ramparts; hundreds of eyes were fixed onthe far-off, mist-like object; every moment it grew larger and moredistinct; flashes, as of steel, color, as of standards, were graduallyperceived; at last a favorable wind blew aside the dust, and to theirjoyful eyes, under this gray canopy, appeared the waving folds ofbanners, and under them, in serried array, the squadrons of the Romanand Gothic troops, pressing forward in all haste to the relief of thebeleaguered city. 

Well might the citizens cry, "It is the aid of God!" The army of Ætiushad come not a day, not an hour, too soon. The walls had given waybefore the thundering blows of the battering-rams. A breach had beenmade through which the Huns were swarming. Only for the desire of Attilato save the city, it might have been already in flames. As it was, thesavage foes were breaking into the houses in search of plunder, anddividing such citizens as they had seized into groups to be led intocaptivity, when this cry of glad relief broke loudly upon the air. 

The news that had aroused the citizens quickly reached the ears ofAttila. A strong army of enemies was at hand. There was no time tooccupy and attempt to defend the city. If his men were assailed bycitizens and soldiers in those narrow streets they might be slaughteredwithout mercy. Prudence dictated a retreat. 

Attila was as prudent as he was daring. The sound of trumpets recalledhis obedient hordes. Out they swarmed through the openings which hadpermitted their entrance. Soon the army of the Huns was in full retreat, while the advancing host of Romans and Goths marched proudly into theopen gates of the delivered city, with banners proudly floating andtrumpets loudly blaring, while every heart within those walls was in athrill of joy. Orleans had been saved, almost by magic as it seemed, fornever had been peril more extreme, need more pressing. An hour more ofdelay, and Orleans, perhaps the whole province of Gaul, had been lost. 

We may briefly conclude the story of this invasion of the Huns. Attila, convinced of the strength and spirit of his enemy, retreated in haste, foreseeing ruin if he should be defeated in the heart of Gaul. Hecrossed the Seine, and halted not until he had reached the plains ofChâlons, whose level surface was well adapted to the evolutions of theskilled horsemen who formed the strength of his hordes. 

As he retreated, the Romans and Goths followed, pressing him sharply, making havoc in his rear-guard, reaching Châlons so closely upon hismarch that the Goths, under Torismond, the young and valiant son oftheir king, were able to seize a commanding height in the midst of thefield, driving back the Huns who were ascending from the opposite side. 

The battle that followed was one of the decisive battles of history. Hadthe Huns won the victory, all western Europe might have become theirprey. The victory of Ætius was the first check received by this mightyhorde in their career of ruin and devastation. The conflict, asdescribed by the historians of the time, was "fierce, various, obstinate, and bloody, such as could not be paralleled, either in thepresent or in past ages. " The number of the slain is variously estimatedat from three hundred thousand to about half that number. Exaggerated asthese estimates undoubtedly are, they will serve to indicate theferocity and bloody nature of the struggle. For a time it seemed as ifthe Huns would win. Led by their king, they broke through the centre ofthe allies, separated their wings, turned their whole strength againstthe Goths, and slew Theodoric, their king, at the head of his men. 

But the victory which seemed theirs was snatched from them by thevaliant Torismond, who descended from the height he had seized, assailedthe Huns with intrepid courage, and so changed the fortune of the fieldthat Attila was obliged to retreat, --vanquished for the first time inhis long career. The approach of night alone saved the Huns from a totaldefeat. They retired within the circle of their wagons, and remainedthere as in a fort, while the triumphant allies encamped upon the field. 

That night was one of anxiety for Attila. He feared an attack, and knewthat the Huns, dismounted and fighting behind a barricade, were inimminent danger of defeat. Their strength lay in their horses. On footthey were but feeble warriors. Dreading utter ruin, Attila prepared afuneral pile of the saddles and rich equipments of the cavalry, resolved, if his camp should be forced, to rush into the flames, anddeprive his enemies of the glory of slaying or capturing the greatbarbarian king. 

The attack did not come. The army of Ætius was in no condition for anassault. Nor did it seem safe to them to attempt to storm the camp oftheir formidable antagonist, who lay behind his wagons, as thehistorians of the time say, like a lion in his den, encompassed by thehunters, and daring them to the attack. His trumpets sounded defiance. Such troops as advanced to the assault were checked or destroyed byshowers of arrows. It was at length determined, in a council of war, tobesiege the Huns in their camp, and by dread of starvation to force theminto battle on unequal terms, or to a treaty disgraceful to their king. 

For this Attila did not wait. Breaking camp he retreated, and bycrossing the Rhine acknowledged his defeat. The Roman empire had won itslast victory in the west, and saved Gaul for the Franks, whose day ofconquest was soon to come. 

_THE WOOING OF CLOTILDE. _

A beautiful, wise, and well-learned maiden was Clotilde, princess ofBurgundy, the noblest and most charming of the daughters of the Franks. Such was the story that the voice of fame whispered into the ear ofClovis, the first of the long line of Frankish kings. Beautiful she was, but unfortunate. Grief had marked her for its own. Her father had beenmurdered. Her two brothers had shared his fate. Her mother had beenthrown into the Rhone, with a stone around her neck, and drowned. Hersister Chrona had taken religious vows. She remained alone, the last ofher family, not knowing at what moment she might share their fate, dwelling almost in exile at Geneva, where her days were spent in worksof charity and piety. 

It was to her uncle, Gondebaud, king of the Burgundians, that she owedthese misfortunes. Ambition was their cause. The fierce barbarian, inwhom desire for a throne outweighed all brotherly feeling, had murderedhis brother and seized the throne, leaving of the line of Chilperic onlythese two helpless girls, one a nun, the other seemingly a devotee. 

To the ears of Clovis, the king of the Franks, came, as we have said, the story of the beauty and misfortunes of this Burgundian maiden, ascion like himself of the royal line of Germany, but an heir to sorrowand exposed to peril. Clovis was young, unmarried, and ardent of heart. He craved the love of this famed maiden, if she should be as beautifulas report said, but wisely wished to satisfy himself in this regardbefore making a formal demand for her hand. He could not himself seeher. Royal etiquette forbade that. Nor did he care to rouse Gondebaud'ssuspicions by sending an envoy. He therefore adopted more secretmeasures, and sent a Roman, named Aurelian, bidding him to seek Genevain the guise of a beggar, and to use all his wit to gain sight of andspeech with the fair Clotilde. 

Clothed in rags, and bearing his wallet on his back, like a wanderingmendicant, Aurelian set out on his mission, travelling on foot toGeneva. Clovis had entrusted him with his ring, as proof of his mission, in case he should deem the maiden worthy to be the bride of his king. Geneva was duly reached, and the seeming pilgrim, learning where theprincess dwelt, and her habits of Christian charity towards strangers, sought her dwelling and begged for alms and shelter. Clotilde receivedhim with all kindness, bade him welcome, and, in pursuance of the customof the times, washed his feet. 

Aurelian, who had quickly made up his mind as to the beauty, grace, andwit of the royal maiden, and her fitness to become a king's bride, benttowards her as she was thus humbly employed, and in a low voice said, --

"Lady, I have great matters to announce to thee, if thou wilt deign togrant me secret speech. "

Clotilde looked up quickly, and saw deep meaning in his face. "Surely, "she thought, "this is no common beggar. "

"Say on, " she remarked, in the same cautious tone. 

"Clovis, king of the Franks, has sent me to thee, " said Aurelian. "If itbe the will of God, he would fain raise thee to his high rank bymarriage, and that thou mayst be satisfied that I am a true messenger, he sendeth thee this, his ring. "

Clotilde joyfully took the ring, her heart beating high with hope anddesire for revenge. Dismissing her attendants, she warmly thanked themessenger for his caution, and declared that nothing could give hergreater joy than to be bride to Clovis, the great and valorous king whowas bringing all the land of Gaul under his rule. 

"Take in payment for thy pains these hundred sous in gold and this ringof mine, " she said. "Return promptly to thy lord. If he would have myhand in marriage, let him send messengers without delay to demand me ofmy uncle Gondebaud; and bid him direct his messengers, as soon as theyobtain permission, to take me away in haste. If they delay, I fear allwill fail. Aridius, my uncle's counsellor, is on his way back fromConstantinople. If he should arrive, and gain my uncle's ear, before Iam gone, all will come to naught. Haste, then, and advise Clovis thatthere be no delay. "

Aurelian was willing enough to comply with her request, but he met withobstacles on the way. Starting back in the same disguise in which hehad come, he made all haste towards Orleans, where he dwelt, and wherehe hoped to learn the location of the camp of the warlike Clovis. Onnearing this city, he took for travelling companion a poor mendicant, whom fortune threw in his way, and with whom he journeyed for miles inthe intimacy of the highway. Growing weary as night approached, andhaving confidence in his companion, Aurelian fell asleep by the wayside, leaving the beggar to watch. 

Several hours passed before he awoke. When he did so it was to find, tohis intense alarm, that his companion had vanished and his wallet hadgone, and with it the gold which it contained and Clotilde's preciousring. In dismay Aurelian hurried to the city, reached his home, and senthis servants in all directions in search of the thievish mendicant, whomhe felt sure had sought some lurking-place within the city walls. 

His surmise was correct. The fellow was found and brought to him, thewallet and its valuable contents being recovered intact. What was to bedone with the thief? Those were not days of courts and prisons. Men wereapt to interpret law and administer punishment for themselves. Culpritswere hung, thrashed, or set at liberty. Aurelian weighed the offence anddecided on the just measures of retribution. The culprit, so says thechronicle, was soundly thrashed for three days, and then set free. 

Having thus settled this knotty question of law, Aurelian continued hisjourney until Clovis was reached, told him what he had seen and whatheard, and gave him Clotilde's ring and message. Clovis was alikepleased with the favorable report of his messenger and with thejudicious advice of the maiden. He sent a deputation at once toGondebaud, bidding the envoys to make no delay either in going orreturning, and to demand of Gondebaud the hand of his niece in marriage. 

They found Gondebaud, and found him willing. The request of the powerfulClovis was not one to be safely refused, and the Burgundian king waspleased with the idea of gaining his friendship, by giving him his niecein marriage. His consent gained, the deputation offered him a denier anda sou, according to the marriage customs of the Franks, and espousedClotilde in the name of Clovis. Word was at once sent to Clovis of theirsuccess, and without delay the king's council was assembled at Châlons, and preparations made for the marriage. 

Meanwhile, news startling to Clotilde had reached Geneva. Aridius was onhis way back. He had arrived at Marseilles, and was travelling with allspeed towards Burgundy. The alarmed woman, in a fever of impatience, hastened the departure of the Franks, seemingly burning with desire toreach the court of the king, really cold with fear at the near approachof the shrewd Aridius, whose counsel she greatly dreaded. Her nervoushaste expedited matters. Gondebaud formally transferred her to theFranks, with valuable gifts which he sent as a marriage portion, andthe cortege set out, Clotilde in a covered carriage, her attendants andescort on horseback. And thus slowly moved away this old-timemarriage-train. 

But not far had they left the city behind them when Clotilde'simpatience with their slow movement displayed itself. She had keptherself advised. Aridius was near at hand. He might reach Geneva thatvery day. Calling to her carriage the leaders of her escort, she said, --

"Good sirs, if you hope to take me into the presence of your lord, youmust find me better means of speed than this slow carriage. Let medescend, mount on horseback, and then away as fast as we may. Much Ifear that, in this carriage, I shall never see Clovis, your king. "

Learning the reason of her haste, they did as requested, and mounted onone of their swiftest steeds, Clotilde swept onward to love andvengeance, leaving the lumbering carriage to follow with her femaleattendants at its slow will. 

She was none too soon. Not long had she left her uncle's court beforeAridius reached it. Gondebaud, who had unbounded respect for andconfidence in him, received him joyfully, and said, after their firstgreetings, --

"I have just completed a good stroke of policy. I have made friends withthe Franks, and given my niece Clotilde to Clovis in marriage. "

"You have?" exclaimed Aridius, in surprise and alarm. "And you deem thisa bond of friendship? To my poor wit, Gondebaud, it is a pledge ofperpetual strife. Have you forgotten, my lord, that you killedClotilde's father and drowned her mother, and that you cut off the headsof her brothers and threw their bodies into a well? What think you thiswoman is made of? If she become powerful, will not revenge be her firstand only thought? She is not far gone; if you are wise you will send atonce a troop in swift pursuit, and bring her back. She is but one, theFranks are many. You will find it easier to bear the wrath of one personthan for you and yours to be perpetually at war with all the Franks. "

Gondebaud saw the wisdom of these words, and lost no time in taking hiscouncillor's advice. A troop was sent, with orders to ride at all speed, and bring back Clotilde with the carriage and the treasure. 

The carriage and the treasure they did bring back; but not Clotilde. She, with her escort, was already far away, riding in haste for thefrontier of Burgundy. Clovis had advanced to meet her, and was awaitingat Villers, in the territory of Troyes, at no great distance from theborder of Burgundy. But before reaching this frontier, Clotilde gavevent to revengeful passion, crying to her escort, --

"Ride right and left! Plunder and burn! Do what damage you may to thishated country from which Heaven has delivered me!"

Then, as they rode away on their mission of ruin, to which they hadobtained permission from Clovis, she cried aloud, --

"I thank thee, God omnipotent, for that I see in this the beginning ofthe vengeance which I owe to my slaughtered parents and brethren!"

In no long time afterwards she joined Clovis, who received her with alover's joy, and in due season the marriage was celebrated, with all thepomp and ceremony of which those rude times were capable. 

Thus ends the romantic story told us by the chronicler Frédégaire, somewhat too romantic to be accepted for veracious history, we fear. Yetit is interesting as a picture of the times, and has doubtless in it anelement of fact--though it may have been colored by imagination. Aurelian and Aridius are historical personages, and what we know of themis in keeping with what is here told of them. So the reader may, if hewill, accept the story as an interesting compound of reality andromance. 

But there is more to tell. Clotilde had an important historical part toplay, which is picturesquely described by the chronicler, Gregory ofTours. She was a Christian, Clovis a pagan; it was natural that sheshould desire to convert her husband, and through him turn the nation ofthe Franks into worshippers of Christ. She had a son, whom she wished tohave baptized. She begged her husband to yield to her wishes. 

"The gods you worship, " she said, "are of wood, stone, or metal. Theyare nought, and can do nought for you or themselves. "

"It is by command of our gods that all things are created, " answeredClovis. "It is plain that your God has no power. There is no proof thathe is even of the race of gods. "

Yet he yielded to her wishes and let the child be baptized. Soonafterwards the infant died, and Clovis reproached her bitterly. 

"Had he been dedicated to my gods he would still be alive, " he said. "Hewas baptized in the name of your God, and you see the end; he could notlive. "

A second son was born, and was also baptized. He, too, fell sick. 

"It will be with him as with his brother, " said Clovis. "You have hadyour will in baptizing him, and he is going to die. Is this the power ofyour Christ?"

But the child lived, and Clovis grew less incredulous of the God of hiswife. In the year 496 war broke out between him and a German tribe. TheGermans were successful, the Franks wavering, Clovis was anxious. Beforehurrying to the front he had promised his wife--so says Frédégaire--tobecome a Christian if the victory were his. Others say that he made thispromise at the suggestion of Aurelian, at a moment when the battleseemed lost. However that be, the tide of battle turned, the victoryremained with the Franks, the Germans were defeated and their kingslain. 

Clotilde, fearing that he would forget his promise, sent secretly to St. Remy, bishop of Rheims, to come and use his influence with the king. Hedid so, and fervently besought Clovis to accept the Christian faith. 

"I would willingly listen to you, holy father, " said Clovis, "but I fearthat the people who follow me will not give up their gods. I am about toassemble them, and will repeat to them your words. "

He found them more ready than he deemed. The story of his promise andthe victory that followed it had, doubtless, strongly influenced them. Before he could speak, most of those present cried out, --

"We abjure the mortal gods; we are ready to follow the immortal God whomRemy preaches. "

About three thousand of the Franks, however, refused to give up theirold faith, and deserted Clovis, joining the Frankish King ofCambrai--who was before long to pay dearly for this addition to hisranks. 

Christmas-day, 496, was fixed by Remy for the ceremony of baptism of theking and his followers, and on that day, with impressive ceremonies, Clovis the king and about three thousand of his warriors were madeChristians, and the maker of the French nation was received into thefold of the Church. From that time forward Clovis won victory aftervictory over his surrounding enemies. He had been born leader of atribe. He died king of a nation. 

As regards Gundebaud, the result proved as Aridius predicted, whether ornot through the personal influence of Clotilde upon her husband. Clovisbroke his truce with Gondebaud, and entered Burgundy with an army. Gondebaud was met and defeated at Dijon, partly through the treachery ofhis brother, whom Clovis had won over. He fled to Avignon and shuthimself up in that stronghold. Clovis pursued and besieged him. Gondebaud, filled with alarm, asked counsel of Aridius, who told himthat he had brought this upon himself. 

"I will save you, though, " he said. "I will feign to fly and go over toClovis. Trust me to act so that he shall ruin neither you nor your land. But you must do what I ask. "

"I will do whatever you bid, " said Gondebaud. 

Aridius thereupon sought Clovis, in the guise of a deserter fromGondebaud. But such was his intelligence, the charm of his conversation, the wisdom and good judgment of his counsel, that Clovis was greatlytaken with him, and yielded to his advice. 

"You gain nothing by ravaging the fields, cutting down the vines, anddestroying the harvests of your adversary, " he said, "while he defiesyou in his stronghold. Rather send him deputies, and lay on him atribute to be paid you every year. Thus the land will be preserved, andyou be lord forever over him who owes you tribute. If he refuse, then dowhat pleases you. "

Clovis deemed the advice good, did as requested, and found Gondebaudmore than willing to become his tributary vassal. And thus ended thecontest between them, Burgundy becoming a tributary province of France. 

_THE RIVAL QUEENS. _

From the days of Clovis to the days of Charles Martel and Charlemagnethe history of the Frankish realm, so far as its kingship is concerned, is almost a blank. It was an era of several centuries of incompetent andsluggish monarchs, of whom we can say little more than that they wereborn and died; they can scarcely be said to have reigned. But from themidst of this dull interregnum of Merovingian sluggards comes to us thestory of two queens, women of force and power, whose biography is fullof the elements of romance. As a picture of the manners and customs ofthe Merovingian epoch we cannot do better than to tell the stories ofthese queens, Fredegonde and Brunehild by name, whose rivalry andenmity, with their consequences, throw a striking light on the historyof those obscure times. 

What is now France was at that time divided into three kingdoms, Austrasia, Neustria, and Burgundy, King Chilperic reigning overAustrasia; King Sigebert over Neustria. But the power behind the thronelay in the wives of these kings, with whom alone we have to do. Contrasted characters they were, --Fredegonde wicked, faithless, self-seeking; Brunehild patriotic and devoted to the good of hercountry; yet in the end wickedness triumphed, and honesty died aviolent and frightful death. With this preliminary we may proceed withour tale. 

Fredegonde was the daughter of poor peasants, who dwelt in the vicinityof Montdidier in Picardy. But so striking and notable was her beautythat at an early age she was made, under circumstances of which we arenot informed, one of the ladies in waiting on Queen Andovere, the firstwife of King Chilperic. The poor queen was destined to suffer from theartfulness of her maid. The beauty of Fredegonde quickly attracted theattention of the king, and her skilful and unscrupulous arts soon madeher a power in the court. The queen was in her way; but no long timepassed before, on the pretext of a spiritual relationship with herhusband which rendered the marriage illegal, the hapless Andovere wasrepudiated and banished to a convent. 

But Chilperic was not yet ready to marry a peasant. He chose for hissecond wife Galsuinthe, daughter of the king of the Visigoths. Thismarriage lasted a still shorter time than the other. Galsuinthe wasfound strangled in her bed; and now, no longer able to restrain hispassion for the beautiful and artful maid of honor, Chilperic marriedFredegonde, and raised the peasant maiden to the throne for which shehad so deeply and darkly wrought. 

The marriage of Galsuinthe had been preceded by that of her youngersister, Brunehild, who became the wife of Sigebert, brother of Chilpericand king of Austrasia. The murder of Galsuinthe was ascribed byBrunehild to Fredegonde, with excellent reason if we may judge from hersubsequent career, and from that day on an undying hatred existedbetween the two queens. To this the stirring incidents of their afterlives were due. War broke out between the two kings, probably inspiredby Brunehild's thirst for revenge for her sister's death on the onehand, and the ambition and hatred of Fredegonde on the other. Sigebertwas successful in the field, but treachery soon robbed him of the fruitsof victory. He was murdered in his tent (in the year 575) by twoassassins in the pay of Queen Fredegonde. 

This murder gave Chilperic the ascendancy. Sigebert's army disbanded, and Brunehild, as the only means of preserving her life, sought anasylum in the cathedral of Paris. And now the scene becomes one of rapidchanges, in which the unscrupulous Fredegonde plays the leading part. Chilperic, not daring to offend the church by slaying the fugitive queenunder its protection, sent her to Rouen. Here the widowed lady, herbeauty rendered more attractive by her misfortunes, was seen and lovedby Merovée, the son of Chilperic by his first wife, then in that town ona mission from his father. Fired with passion for the hapless queen, hemarried her privately, the Bishop of Rouen sealing their union. 

This imprudent action soon became known at the court of Chilperic, andthe ambitious Fredegonde hastened to turn it to her advantage. Merovéewas heir to the throne of Chilperic. He was in her way, and had nowgiven her a pretext for his removal. Chilperic, who seems to have beenthe weak slave of her designs, would have seized both Merovée and hisbride but for the Austrasians, who demanded that their queen Brunehildshould be restored to them, and enforced their demands with threats. Shewas surrendered; but Merovée, under the influence of his step-mother, was imprisoned, then shorn and shut up in a monastery, and afterwardsbecame a fugitive, and was urged to head a rebellion against his father. Such was the terror, however, which the unhappy youth entertained forhis cruel step-mother, that he put an end to his existence by suicide, inducing a faithful servant to strike him dead. 

Fredegonde's success in getting rid of one of the heirs to the throne, only partly satisfied her ambitious views. There was another son, Clovis, brother of Merovée. To rid herself of him the wily queen tookanother course. Three of her own children had recently died, and sheascribed their death to Clovis, whom she accused of sorcery. He wasseized under this charge, thrown into prison, and there ended hiscareer, a poniard-thrust closing his brief tale of life. The tale ofmurders in this direction was completed by that of the repudiated QueenAndovere, who was soon found strangled in the convent to which she hadbeen consigned. 

Fredegonde had thus rid herself of all claimants to the throne outsideof herself and her descendants, Galsuinthe having left no children. Though death had recently robbed her of three children, one survived, ason named Clotaire, then a few months old. Her next act of treachery wasto make away with her weak and confiding husband, perhaps that she mightreign alone, perhaps through fear that Chilperic might discover herguilty relations with Landry, an officer of the court, and subsequentlymayor of the palace. Whatever the reason, soon after these events, KingChilperic, while in the act of dismounting on his return from the chase, was struck two mortal blows by a man who took to rapid flight, while allaround the cry was raised, "Treason! it is the hand of the AustrasianChildebert against our lord the king!"

The readiness with which this cry was raised seemed evidence of itsfalsity. Men ascribed it and the murder to emissaries of Fredegonde. But, heedless of their opinions, she installed herself as sovereignguardian of her infant son, and virtual reigning queen of Neustria. Itwas now the year 584. Fredegonde had by her beauty, ambition, boldness, and unscrupulousness raised herself from the lowly rank of a peasant'sdaughter to the high position of sovereign over a great dominion, aqueenship which she was to hold during the remainder of her life, herstrong will, effrontery, artifice, skill in deception, and readiness tostrengthen her position by crime, enabling her to overcome allresistance and maintain her ascendancy over the restless and barbarouselements of the kingdom she ruled. She was a true product of the times, one born to become dominant over a barbarous people. 

Gregory of Tours tells a story of Chilperic and Fredegonde, which willbear repetition here. In addition to the sons of Chilperic, of whom thequeen disposed as we have seen, he had a daughter, Rigouthe by name, whom he promised in marriage to Prince Recared, son of the king of theVisigoths of Spain. 

"A grand deputation of Goths came to Paris to fetch the Frankishprincess. King Chilperic ordered several families in the fiscal domainsto be seized and placed in cars. As a great number of them wept and werenot willing to go, he had them kept in prison that he might more easilyforce them to go away with his daughter. It is said that several, intheir despair, hung themselves, fearing to be taken from their parents. Sons were separated from fathers, daughters from mothers, and alldeparted with deep groans and maledictions, and in Paris there reigned adesolation like that of Egypt. Not a few, of superior birth, beingforced to go away, even made wills whereby they left their possessionsto the churches, and demanded that, so soon as the young girl shouldhave entered Spain, their wills should be opened just as if they werealready in their graves. 

"When King Chilperic gave up his daughter to the ambassadors of theGoths, he presented them with vast treasures. Queen Fredegonde addedthereto so great a quantity of gold and silver and valuable vestmentsthat, at the sight thereof, the king thought he must have noughtremaining. The queen, perceiving his emotion, turned to the Franks, andsaid to them, --

"'Think not, warriors, that there is here aught of the treasures offormer kings. All that ye see is taken from my own possessions, for mymost glorious king has made me many gifts. Thereto have I added of thefruits of my own toil, and a great part proceeds from the revenues Ihave drawn, either in kind or in money, from the houses that have beenceded unto me. Ye yourselves have given me riches, and ye see here aportion thereof; but there is here nought of the public treasure. '

"And the king was deceived into believing her words. Such was themultitude of golden and silver articles and other precious things thatit took fifty wagons to hold them. The Franks, on their part, made manyofferings; some gave gold, others silver, sundry gave horses, but mostof them vestments. 

"At last the young girl, with many tears and kisses, said farewell. Asshe was passing through the gate an axle of her carriage broke, and allcried out 'Alack!' which was interpreted by some as a presage. Shedeparted from Paris, and at eight miles' distance from the city she hadher tents pitched. During the night fifty men arose and, having taken ahundred of the best horses, and as many golden bits and bridles, and twolarge silver dishes, fled away, and took refuge with King Childebert. During the whole journey whoever could escape fled away with all thathe could lay hands on. It was required also of all the towns that weretraversed on the way that they should make great preparations to defrayexpenses, for the king forbade any contribution from the treasury. Allthe charges were met by extraordinary taxes levied upon the poor. "

In this story there is probably much exaggeration, but it has itssignificance as a picture of life in the dark ages, from one to themanner born. So far as Fredegonde was concerned, the marriage ofRigouthe removed from her path one possible future rival for the throne. 

Twice in the foregoing pages Childebert of Austrasia has been mentioned. Who was this Childebert, it may be asked? He was the son of Brunehild, whom the Austrasians had preserved after the murder of their king, andas a guardian for whom they had insisted on the return, by Chilperic, ofthe captive queen. Brunehild from that time reigned in Austrasia duringthe minority of her son, and in a manner in striking contrast with thereign of her wicked rival. 

Unlike the latter, she was a princess by birth, and of that race ofGothic kings who had preserved some traces of the Roman civilization. Fredegonde was a barbarian, Brunehild a scion of a semi-civilization andfar superior to her rival in culture and intellectual power. As a queenshe did so much for her country that her name as a public benefactor waslong afterwards remembered in the land. The highways, the bridges, allthe public works of the state received her careful attention, so much sothat the Roman roads in Austrasia received, and long retained, the nameof "Brunehild's Causeways. " Her name was associated with many otherthings in the land. In a forest near Bourges men long pointed out"Brunehild's castle, " at Etampes was shown "Brunehild's tower, " and nearCahors "Brunehild's fort. " A more interesting evidence of her activityfor the good of her people for ages existed in the by-word of"Brunehild's alms, " which long retained the evidence of her abundantcharities. She protected men of letters, --a rare production in thatday, --and in return we find one of them, Fortunatus, bishop of Poitiers, dedicating poems to her. 

But the life of Queen Brunehild was far from being a quiet one. Inaddition to her conflicts with her mortal foe, Queen Fredegonde, she hadher own nobles to fight against. They seem to have detested her from thefact that her palace was filled with royal officers and favorites, whosepresence excited the jealousy of the great landholders and warriors. ButBrunehild protected them, with unyielding courage, against their foes, and proved herself every inch a queen. It was a semblance of the Romanimperial monarchy which she wished to establish in Austrasia, and to herefforts in this direction were due her struggles with the turbulentlords of the land, whose opposition gave her more and more trouble astime went on. 

A story of this conflict is told by Gregory of Tours. One of the palaceofficers of the queen, Lupus, a Roman by birth, but made by her duke ofChampagne, "was being constantly insulted and plundered by his enemies, especially by Ursion Bertfried. At last, having agreed to slay him, theymarched against him with an army. At the sight, Brunehild, compassionating the evil case of one of her lieges unjustly presented, assumed a manly courage, and threw herself among the hostile battalions, crying, 'Stay, warriors; refrain from this wicked deed; persecute notthe innocent; engage not, for a single man's sake, in a battle whichwill desolate the country!' 'Back, woman!' said Ursion to her; 'let itsuffice thee to have ruled under thy husband's sway. Now it is thy sonthat reigns, and his kingdom is under our protection, not thine. Back!if thou wouldst not that the hoofs of our horses trample thee under asthe dust of the ground!' After the dispute had lasted some time in thisstrain, the queen, by her address, at last prevented the battle fromtaking place. "

The words of Ursion were prophetic. To be trampled under horses' hoofsinto the dust was the final fate of the queen, though for many years yetshe was to retain her power and to keep up her strife with the foes whosurrounded her. Far nobler of soul than Fredegonde, she was as strong inall those qualities which go to make a vigorous queen. 

But we must hasten on to the end of these royal rivals. Fredegonde diedquietly in Paris, in 597, powerful to her death, and leaving on thethrone her son Clotaire II. , whom she had infected with all her hatredagainst the queen of Austrasia. Brunehild lived till 614, thirty-nineyears after the death of her husband Sigebert, and through the reigns ofher son and two of her grandsons, who were but puppets in her hands. Herlater years were marked by lack of womanly virtue, and by anunscrupulousness in ridding herself of her enemies significant ofbarbarous times. At length, when she had reached the advanced age ofeighty years, she was deserted by her army and her people whom thecrimes imputed to her had incensed, and fell into the hands of hermortal foe, Clotaire II. , in whom all the venom of his cruel motherseemed retained. 

After having subjected the aged queen to base and gross insults andsevere tortures, the crowned wretch had her paraded on a camel in frontof his whole army, and then tied by one arm, one foot, and hair of herhead to the tail of an unbroken horse, which dashed and kicked her topieces as he rushed away in affright, before the eyes of the ferociousClotaire and his army. 

By the death of Brunehild and her sons, whom Clotaire also put to death, this king became master of Austrasia, and thus lord of all the Frankishrealm, the successor in power of the two queens whose story stands outso prominently in that dark and barbarous age. 

_ROLAND AT RONCESVALLES. _

From the long, straight ridge of the Pyrenees, stretching from the Bayof Biscay to the Mediterranean, and dividing the land of France fromthat of Spain, there extend numerous side-hills, like buttresses to themain mountain mass, running far into the plains on either side. Betweenthese rugged buttresses lie narrow valleys, now spreading into broadamphitheatres, now contracting into straightened ravines, winding upwardto the passes across the mountain chain. Dense forests often borderthese valleys, covering the mountain-sides and summits, and hiding withtheir deep-green foliage the rugged rocks from which they spring. Suchis the scene of the celebrated story which we have next to tell. 

All these mountain valleys are filled with legends, centring around agreat event and a mighty hero of the remote past, whose hand and swordmade famous the little vale of Roncesvalles, which lies between thedefiles of Sizer and Val Carlos, in the land of the Basques. This herowas Roland, the nephew of the great emperor Charlemagne, who has beengiven by romantic fiction the first place among the legendary Paladinsof France, and made memorable in epic poetry as the hero of thecelebrated "Orlando Furioso" of Ariosto, and the less notable "OrlandoInnamorato" of Boiardo. 

All these stories are based upon a very slender fabric of history, whichwould have been long since forgotten had not legend clung to it with soloving a hand, and credited its hero with such a multitude of marvellousdeeds. The history of the event is preserved for us by Eginhard, thesecretary and annalist of Charlemagne. He takes few words to tell whathas given rise to innumerable strophes. 

In the year 778, Charlemagne invaded Spain, then almost wholly in thehands of the Saracens. His march was a victorious one until Saragossawas reached. Here he found himself before a well-supplied, strongly-fortified, and fully-garrisoned city, while his own army wasnone too well provided with food. In the end he found it expedient toretreat, leaving Saragossa still in Saracen hands. 

The retreat was conducted without loss until the Pyrenees were reached. These were crossed by the main body of the army without hostiledisturbance, leaving to follow the baggage-train and a rear-guard underthe king's nephew Roland, prefect of the Marches of Brittany, with whomwere Eginhard, master of the household, and Anselm, count of the palace;while legend adds the names of Oliver, Roland's bosom friend, thewarlike Archbishop Turpin, and other warriors of renown. 

Their route lay through the pass of Roncesvalles so narrow at pointsthat only two, or at most three men could move abreast, while the ruggedbordering hills were covered with dense forest, affording a secureretreat for an ambushing foe. It was when the main body of the army wasmiles in advance, and the rear-guard struggling up this narrow defile, that disaster came. Suddenly the surrounding woods and mountainsbristled with life. A host of light-armed Basque mountaineers emergedfrom the forest, and poured darts and arrows upon the crowded columns ofheavily-armed Franks below. Rocks were rolled down the steepdeclivities, crushing living men beneath their weight. The surprisedtroops withdrew in haste to the bottom of the valley, death pursuingthem at every step. The battle that followed was doubtless a severe andhotly-contested one; the prominent place it has gained in traditionindicates that the Franks must have defended themselves valiantly; butthey fought at a terrible disadvantage, and in the end they were killedto a man. Then the assailants, rich with the plunder which they hadobtained from the baggage-wagons and the slain bodies, vanished into theforests whence they came, leaving to Charlemagne, when he returned insearch of Roland and his men, only the silence of death and the lividheaps of the slain in that terrible valley of slaughter. 

Such is the sober fact. Fancy has adorned it with a thousand lovingfictions. In the valleys are told a multitude of tales connected withRoland's name. A part of his armor has given its name to a flower of thehills, the _casque de Roland_, a species of hellebore. The _breiche deRoland_, a deep fissure in the mountain crest, is ascribed to a strokeof his mighty blade. The sound of his magic horn still seems to echoaround those rugged crests and pulse through those winding valleys, asit did on the day when, as legend says, it was borne to the ears ofCharlemagne miles away, and warned him of the deadly peril of hisfavorite chieftain. 

This horn is reputed to have had magical powers. Its sound was sointense as to split all other horns. The story goes that Roland, himselfsadly wounded, his fellows falling thickly around him, blew upon it somighty a blast that the veins and nerves of his neck burst under theeffort. The sound reached the ears of Charlemagne, then encamped eightmiles away, in the Val Carlos pass. 

"It is Roland's horn, " he cried. "He never blows it except the extremitybe great. We must hasten to his aid. "

"I have known him to sound it on light occasions, " answered Ganalon, Roland's secret foe. "He is, perhaps, pursuing some wild beast, and thesound echoes through the wood. It would be fruitless to lead back yourweary host to seek him. "

Charlemagne yielded to his specious argument, and Roland and all hisfollowers died. Charles afterwards discovered the body with the armsextended in the form of a cross, and wept over it his bitterest tears. "There did Charlemagne, " says the legend, "mourn for Orlando to the verylast day of his life. On the spot where he died he encamped and causedthe body to be embalmed with balsam, myrrh, and aloes. The whole campwatched it that night, honoring his corpse with hymns and songs, andinnumerable torches and fires kindled in the adjacent mountains. "

At the battle of Hastings the minstrel Taillefer, as we have elsewheretold, rode before the advancing Norman host, singing the "Song ofRoland, " till a British hand stilled his song and laid him low in death. This ancient song is attributed, though doubtfully, to Turold, thatabbot of Peterborough who was so detested by Hereward the Wake. From itcame many of the stories which afterwards were embodied in the epiclegends of mediæval days. To quote a few passages from it may not beamiss. The poet tells us that Roland refused to blow his magic horn inthe beginning of the battle. In the end, when ruin and death weregathering fast around, and blood was flowing freely from his own veins, he set his lips to the mighty instrument, and filled vales and mountainswith its sound. 

 "With pain and dolor, groan and pant, Count Roland sounds his Olifant: The crimson stream shoots from his lips; The blood from bursten temple drips; But far, oh, far, the echoes ring, And in the defiles reach the king, Reach Naymes and the French array; ''Tis Roland's horn, ' the king doth say; 'He only sounds when brought to bay, ' How huge the rocks! how dark and steep The streams are swift; the valleys deep! Out blare the trumpets, one and all, As Charles responds to Roland's call. Round wheels the king, with choler mad The Frenchmen follow, grim and sad; No one but prays for Roland's life, Till they have joined him in the strife. But, ah! what prayer can alter fate? The time is past; too late! too late!"

The fight goes on. More of the warriors fall. Oliver dies. Roland andTurpin continue the fight. Once more a blast is sent from the magichorn. 

 "Then Roland takes his horn once more; His blast is feebler than before, But still it reaches the emperor; He hears it, and he halts to shout, 'Let clarions, one and all, ring out!' Then sixty thousand clarions ring, And rocks and dales set echoing. And they, too, hear, --the pagan pack; They force the rising laughter back: 'Charles, Charles, ' they cry, 'is on our track!' They fly; and Roland stands alone, -- Alone, afoot; his steed is gone. "

Turpin dies. Roland remains the sole survivor of the host, and he hurtunto death. He falls on the field in a swoon. A wounded Saracen rises, and, seeing him, says, --

"Vanquished, he is vanquished, the nephew of Charles! There is hissword, which I will carry off to Arabia. " He knew not the power of thedying hero. 

 "And as he makes to draw the steel, A something does Sir Roland feel; He opes his eyes, says nought but this, 'Thou art not one of us, I wis, ' Raises the horn he could not quit, And cracks the pagan's skull with it. . . . And then the touch of death that steals Down, down from head to heart he feels; Under yon pine he hastes away On the green turf his head to lay; Placing beneath him horn and sword, He turns towards the Paynim horde, And there, beneath the pine, he sees A vision of old memories; A thought of realms he helped to win, Of his sweet France, of kith and kin, And Charles, his lord, who nurtured him. "

And here let us take our leave of Roland the brave, whose brief story offact has been rounded into so vast a story of fiction that the actualhistories of few men equal in extent that of this hero of romance. 

_CHARLEMAGNE AND THE AVARS. _

Striking is the story which the early centuries of modern Europe have totell us. After the era of the busy building of empire in which thesturdy old Romans were the active agents, there came an era of theoverthrow of empire, during which the vast results of centuries ofactive civilization seemed about to sink and be lost in the seethingwhirlpool of barbarism. The wild hordes of the north of Europeoverflowed the rich cities and smiling plains of the south, and leftruin where they found wealth and splendor. Later, the half-savagenomades of eastern Europe and northern Asia--the devastatingHuns--poured out upon the budding kingdoms which had succeeded themighty empire of Rome, and threatened to trample under foot all that wasleft of the work of long preceding ages. Civilization had swung downwardinto barbarism; was barbarism to swing downward into savagery, and manreturn to his primitive state?

Against such a conceivable fate of Europe Charlemagne served as a mightybulwark, and built by his genius an impermeable wall against the torrentof savage invasion, saying to its inflowing waves, "Thus far shalt thoucome, and no farther. " Attila, the "Scourge of God, " in the track ofwhose horses' hoofs "no grass could grow, " met his only great defeat atChâlons-sur-Marne, on the soil of Gaul. He died in Hungary; his hordeswere scattered; Europe again began to breathe. But not long had the Hunsof Attila ceased their devastations when another tribe of Hunnish originappeared, and began a like career of ravage and ruin. These calledthemselves Avars. Small in numbers at first, they grew by vanquishingand amalgamating other tribes of Huns until they became the terror andthreatened to become the masters of Europe. Hungary, the centre ofAttila's great circle of power, was made their place of abode. Here wasthe palace and stronghold of their monarchs, the Chagans, and here theycontinued a threat to all the surrounding nations, while enjoying thevast spoils which they had wrung from ruined peoples. 

Time passed on; civilization showed feeble signs of recovery; France andItaly became its abiding-places; but barbarian invasion still threatenedthese lands, and no security could be felt while the hordes of the northand east remained free to move at will. This was the task thatCharlemagne was born to perform. Before his day the Huns of the east, the Saxons of the north, the Moors of the south kept the growingcivilization of France in constant alarm. After his day aggression byland was at an end; only by sea could the north invade the south. 

The record of the deeds of Charlemagne is a long one. The Saxons wereconquered and incorporated into the kingdom of the Franks. Thencollision with the Avars took place. The story of how Charlemagne dealtwith these savage hordes is one of the most interesting episodes in theextended tale of his wars, and we therefore select it for our presenttheme. The Avars had long been quiet, but now again began to stir, making two invasions, one of Lombardy, the other of Bavaria. Both wererepelled. Stung by defeat, they raised a greater army than before, andin 788 crossed the Danube, determined in their savage souls to teachthese proud Franks a lesson, and write on their land in blood the oldstory of the prowess and invincibility of the Huns. To their alarm andastonishment they found themselves not only checked, but utterly routed, thousands of them being left dead upon the field, and other thousandsswallowed up by the Danube, in their wild effort to swim that swollenstream. 

This brings us to the record of the dealings of Charlemagne with theHuns, who had thus dared to invade his far-extending kingdom. Vast hadbeen the work of this mighty monarch in subduing the unquiet realmsaround him. Italy had been made a part of his dominions, Spain invadedand quieted, and the Saxons, the fiercest people of the north, forced tosubmit to the power of the Franks. Now the Avars of Hungary, the mostdangerous of the remaining neighbors of Charlemagne's great empire, wereto be dealt with. 

During the two years succeeding their defeat, overtures for peacepassed between the Avars and Charlemagne, overtures which, perhaps, hadtheir chief purpose in the desire to gain time to prepare for war. 

These nomadic hordes were celebrated alike for their cunning and theirarrogance, --cunning when they had an object to gain, arrogance when theyhad gained it. In their dealings with Charlemagne they displayed thesame mixture of artfulness and insolence which they had employed intheir dealings with the empire of the East. But they had now to do witha different man from the weak emperors of Constantinople. Charlemagnecontinued his negotiations, but prepared for hostilities, and in thespring of 791 put himself at the head of a powerful army, prepared torepay the barbarian hordes with some of the havoc which they had dealtout to the other nations of Europe. 

It was no light task he had undertaken, and the great general made readyfor it with the utmost care and deliberation. He was about to invade acountry of great resources, of remarkable natural and artificialdefences, and inhabited by a people celebrated for their fierceness andimpetuosity, and who had hitherto known little besides victory. And hewas to leave behind him in his march a kingdom full of unquiet elements, which needed the presence of his strong arm and quick mind to keep it insubjection. He knew not but that the Saxons might rise upon his marchand spread ruin upon his path. There was one way to avoid this, and thathe took. Years before, he had incorporated the Lombards with his army, and found them to fight as valiantly for him as against him. He now didthe same with the Saxons, drafting a large body of them into his ranks, with the double purpose of weakening the fighting power of the nation, and employing their fierce courage in his own service. All winter theworld of the Franks was in commotion, preparing for war. The chroniclersof the times speak of "innumerable multitudes" which the great conquerorset in motion in the early spring. 

The army marched in three grand divisions. One entered Bavaria, joinedto itself recruits raised in that country, and descended the Danube inboats, which carried also an abundance of provisions and militarystores. A second division, under Charlemagne himself, marched along thesouthern side of the river; and a third, under his generals Theodericand Meginfried, along its northern banks. The emperor had besides sentorders to his son Pepin, king of Italy, bidding him to lead an army ofLombards and other Italians to the frontier of Hungary, and co-operatewith the other troops. 

Before telling the story of the expedition, it behooves us to give someaccount of the country which the king of the Franks was about to invade, and particularly to describe the extraordinary defences and interiorconditions with which it is credited by the gossipy old Monk of St. Gall, the most entertaining, though hardly the most credible, writer ofthat period. All authors admit that the country of the Avars wasdefended by an ingenious and singular system of fortifications. Theaccount we propose to give, the Monk of St. Gall declares that he wrotedown from the words of an eye-witness, Adelbart by name, who took partin the expedition. But one cannot help thinking that either thiseye-witness mingled a strong infusion of imagination with his vision, orthat the monk added fiction to his facts, with the laudable purpose ofmaking an attractive story. Such as it is, we give it, without furthercomment. 

Nine concentric circles of palisaded walls, says the garrulous old monk, surrounded the country of the Avars, the outer one enclosing the entirerealm of Hungary, the inner ones growing successively smaller, theinnermost being the central fortification within which dwelt the Chagan, with his palace and his treasures. These walls were made of double rowsof palisades of oak, beech, and pine logs, twenty feet high and twentyfeet asunder, the interval between them being filled with stone andlime. Thus was formed a great wall, which at a distance must havepresented a singular appearance, since the top was covered with soil andplanted with bushes and trees. 

The outermost wall surrounded the whole country. Within it, at adistance of twenty Teutonic, or forty Italian, miles, was a second, ofsmaller diameter, but constructed in the same manner. At an equaldistance inward was a third, and thus they continued inward, fortressafter fortress, to the number of nine, the outer one rivalling theChinese wall in extent, the inner one--the _ring_, as it wascalled--being of small diameter, and enclosing a central space withinwhich the Avars guarded the accumulated wealth of centuries of conquestand plunder. 

The only places of exit from these great palisaded fortifications werevery narrow gates, or sally-ports, opening at proper intervals, and wellguarded by armed sentinels. The space between the successive rampartswas a well-wooded and thickly-settled country, filled with villages andhomesteads, so close together that the sound of a trumpet could be heardfrom one to the other, and thus an alarm from the exterior be conveyedwith remarkable rapidity throughout the whole land. 

This and more the veracious Monk of St. Gall tells us. As to believinghim, that is quite another matter. Sufficient is told by other writersto convince us that the country was guarded by strong and singulardefences, but the nine concentric circles of breastworks, surpassing theChinese wall in length and size, the reader is quite privileged todoubt. 

Certainly the defences failed to check the advance of the army ofCharlemagne. Though he had begun his march in the spring, so extensivewere his preparations that it was September before he reached the banksof the river Enns, the border line between Bavaria and Hungary. Here thearmy encamped for three days, engaged in prayers for victory, and hereencouraging news came to Charlemagne. His son Pepin, with the Duke ofFriuli, had already invaded Hungary, met an army of the Avars, anddefeated it with great slaughter. The news of this success must haveinvigorated the army under Charlemagne. Breaking camp, they invaded thecountry of the Avars, advancing with the usual impetuosity of theirgreat leader. One after another the Hungarian lines of defence weretaken, until three had fallen, while the country between them was laidwaste. No army appeared in the path of the invaders; sword in hand, Charlemagne assailed and broke through the strong walls of his foes;soon he reached the river Raab, which he followed to its junction withthe Danube. 

Until now all had promised complete success. Those frightful Huns, whohad so long kept Europe in terror, seemed about to be subdued and madesubjects of the great monarch of the Franks. But, through that fatalitywhich so often ruins the best-laid plans of men, Charlemagne suddenlyfound himself in a perilous and critical situation. His army wascomposed almost wholly of cavalry. As he lay encamped by the Danube, adeadly pestilence attacked the horses, and swept them off with suchrapidity that a hasty retreat became necessary. Nine-tenths of thehorses had perished before the retiring army reached Bavaria. Goodfortune, however, attended the retreat. Had the Avars recovered from thepanic into which their successive defeats had thrown them, they mighthave taken a disastrous revenge upon the invaders. But as it was, Charlemagne succeeded in retiring without being attacked, and was ableto take with him the valuable booty and the host of prisoners which werethe trophies of his victorious progress. 

He fully intended to return and complete the conquest of Hungary in thespring, and, to facilitate his advance, had a bridge of boatsconstructed, during the winter, across the Danube. He never returned, asit happened. Circumstances hindered. But in 794 his subject, themargrave Eric, Duke of Friuli, again invaded Hungary, which had in theinterval been exhausted by civil wars. All the defences of the Avarswent down before him, and his victorious troops penetrated to that innerfortress, called the _Ring_, which so long had been the boastedstronghold of the Chagans, and within whose confines were gathered thevast treasures which the conquering hordes had accumulated duringcenturies of victory and plunder, together with the great wealth in goldand silver coin which they had wrung by way of tribute from the weakrulers of the Eastern Empire. A conception of the extent of this spoilmay be gathered from the fact that the Greek emperor during the seventhcentury paid the Avars annually as tribute eighty thousand gold solidi, and that on a single occasion the Emperor Heraclius was forced to paythem an equal sum. 

In a nation that had made any progress towards civilization this wealthwould have been distributed and perhaps dissipated. But the only usewhich the half-savage Avars seem to have found for it was to store itup as spoil. For centuries it had been accumulating within thetreasure-house of the _Ring_, in convenient form to be seized and borneaway by the conquering army which now broke into this long-defiantstronghold. The great bulk of this wealth, consisting of gold and silvercoin, vessels of the precious metals, garments of great value, richweapons and ornaments, jewels of priceless worth, and innumerable otherarticles, was taken to Aix-la-Chapelle, and laid at the feet ofCharlemagne, to be disposed of as he saw fit. So extensive was it, that, as we are told, fifteen wagons, each drawn by four oxen, were needed toconvey it to the capital of the mighty emperor. 

Charlemagne dealt with it in a very different manner from that pursuedby the monarchs of the Avars. He distributed it with a liberal hand, thechurch receiving valuable donations, including some of the most splendidobjects, a large share being set aside for the pope, and most of thebalance being given to the poor and to the royal officers, nobles, andsoldiers. The amount thus divided was so great that, as we are told, thenation of the Franks "became rich, whereas they had been poor before. "That treasure which the barbarian invaders had been centuries incollecting from the nations of Europe was in a few months againscattered far and wide. 

Eric's invasion was followed by one from Pepin, king of Italy, who inhis turn entered the _Ring_, took the wealth which Eric's raiders hadleft, demolished the palace of the Chagan, and completely destroyed thecentral stronghold of the Avars. They were not, however, fully subdued. Risings afterwards took place, invading armies were destroyed, and notuntil 803 was a permanent conquest made. The Avars in the end acceptedbaptism and held themselves as vassals or subjects of the great Frankishmonarch, who permitted them to retain some of their old laws andgovernmental forms. At a subsequent date they were nearly exterminatedby the Moravians, and after the year 827 this once powerful peopledisappear from history. Part of their realm was incorporated withMoravia, and remained so until the incursion of the Magyars in 884. 

As regards the location of the _Ring_, or central stronghold of theAvars, it is believed to have been in the wide plain between the Danubeand the Theiss, the probable site being the Pusste-Sarto-Sar, on theright of the Tatar. Traces of the wonderful circular wall, or of thepalisaded and earth-filled fortifications of the Avars, are said stillto exist in this locality. They are known as Avarian Rings, and in ameasure sustain the old stories told of them, though hardly that of thelegend-loving Monk of St. Gall and his romancing informant. 

_THE CROWNING OF CHARLEMAGNE. _

Charlemagne, the great king, had built himself an empire only surpassedby that of ancient Rome. All France was his; all Italy was his; allSaxony and Hungary were his; all western Europe indeed, from the bordersof Slavonia to the Atlantic, with the exception of Spain, was his. Hewas the bulwark of civilization against the barbarism of the north andeast, the right hand of the church in its conflict with paganism, thegreatest and noblest warrior the world had seen since the days of thegreat Cæsar, and it seemed fitting that he should be given the honorwhich was his due, and that in him and his kingdom the great empire ofRome should be restored. 

Augustulus, the last emperor of the west, had ceased to reign in 476. The Eastern Empire was still alive, or rather half-alive, for it was alife without spirit or energy. The empire of the west had vanished underthe flood of barbarism, and for more than three centuries there had beenno claimant of the imperial crown. But here was a strong man, a nobleman, the lord and master of a mighty realm which included the oldimperial city; it seemed fitting that he should take the title ofemperor and rule over the western world as the successor of the famousline of the Cæsars. 

So thought the pope, Leo III. , and so thought his cardinals. He hadalready sent to Charlemagne the keys of the prison of St. Peter and thebanner of the city of Rome. In 799 he had a private interview with theking, whose purpose no one knew. In August of the year 800, havingsettled the affairs of his wide-spread kingdom, Charlemagne suddenlyannounced in the general assembly of the Franks that he was about tomake a journey to Rome. Why he went he did not say. The secret was notyet ready to be revealed. 

On the 23d of November the king of the Franks arrived at the gates ofRome, a city which he was to leave with the time-honored title ofEmperor of the West. "The pope received him as he was dismounting; then, on the next day, standing on the steps of the basilica of St. Peter andamidst general hallelujahs, he introduced the king into the sanctuary ofthe blessed apostle, glorifying and thanking the Lord for this happyevent. "

In the days that followed, Charlemagne examined the grievances of theChurch and took measures to protect the pope against his enemies. Andwhile he was there two monks came from Jerusalem, bearing with them thekeys of the Holy Sepulchre and Calvary, and the sacred standard of theholy city, which the patriarch had intrusted to their care to present tothe great king of the Franks. Charlemagne was thus virtuallycommissioned as the defender of the Church of Christ and the truesuccessor of the Christian emperors of Rome. 

Meanwhile, Leo had called a synod of the Church to consider whether thetitle of emperor should not be conferred on Charles the Great. Atpresent, he said, the Roman world had no sovereign. The throne ofConstantinople was occupied by a woman, the Empress Irene, who hadusurped the title and made it her own by murder. It was intolerable thatCharles should be looked on as a mere patrician, an implied subordinateto this unworthy sovereign of the Eastern Empire. He was the master ofItaly, Gaul, and Germany, said Leo. Who was there besides him to act asDefender of the Faith? On whom besides could the Church rest, in itsgreat conflict with paganism and unbelief?

The synod agreed with him. It was fitting that the great king should becrowned emperor, and restore in his person the ancient glory of therealm. A petition was sent to Charles. He answered that, howeverunworthy the honor, he could not resist the desire of that august body. And thus was formally completed what probably had been the secretunderstanding of the pope and the king months before. Charles, king ofthe Franks, was to be given the title and dignity of Charles, Emperor ofthe West. 

The season of the Feast of the Nativity, Christmas-day of the year 800, duly came. It was destined to be a great day in the annals of the Romancity. The chimes of bells which announced the dawning of that holy dayfell on the ears of great multitudes assembled in the streets of Rome, all full of the grand event that day to be consummated, and rumors ofwhich had spread far and wide. The great basilica of St. Peter was to bethe scene of the imposing ceremony, and at the hour fixed its aisleswere crowded with the greatest and the most devoted and enthusiasticassemblage it had ever held, all eager to behold and to lend theirsupport to the glorious act of coronation, as they deemed it, fixed forthat day, an act which, as they hoped, would restore Rome to theimperial position which that great city had so many centuries held. 

It was a noble pile, that great cathedral of the early church. It hadbeen recently enriched by costly gifts set aside by Charles from thespoils of the Avars, and converted into the most beautiful of ornamentsconsecrated to the worship of Christ. Before the altar stood the goldencensers, containing seventeen pounds weight of solid gold. Above gleamedthree grand coronas of solid silver, of three hundred and seven poundsin weight, ablaze with a glory of wax-lights, whose beams softlyilluminated the whole great edifice. The shrine of St. Peter dazzled theeyes by its glittering "rufas, " made of forty-nine pounds of the purestgold, and enriched by brilliant jewels till they sparkled like singlegreat gems. There also hung superb curtains of white silk, embroideredwith roses, and with rich and intricate borders, while in the centre wasa splendid cross worked in gold and purple. Suspended from the keystoneof the dome hung the most attractive of the many fine pictures whichadorned the church, a peerless painting of the Saviour, whose beautydrew all eyes and aroused in all souls fervent aspirations of devotedfaith. Never had Christian church presented a grander spectacle; neverhad one held so immense and enthusiastic an audience; for one of thegreatest ceremonies the Christian world had known was that day to beperformed. 

Through the wide doors of the great church filed a procession of bronzedveterans of the Frankish army; the nobility and the leading people ofRome; the nobles, generals, and courtiers who had followed Charlemagnethither; warriors from all parts of the empire, with their corslets andwinged helmets of steel and their uniforms of divers colors; civicfunctionaries in their gorgeous robes of office; dignitaries of thechurch in their rich vestments; a long array of priests in their whitedalmatics, until all Christendom seemed present in its noblest and mostshowy representatives. Heathendom may have been represented also, for itmay be that messengers from the great caliph of Bagdad, the renownedHaroun al Raschid, the hero of the "Arabian Nights' Entertainments, "were present in the church. Many members of the royal family ofCharlemagne were present to lend dignity to the scene, and toweringabove them all was the great Charles himself, probably clad in Romancostume, his garb as a patrician of the imperial city, which dignity hadbeen conferred upon him. Loud plaudits welcomed him as he rose intoview. There were many present who had seen him at the head of his army, driving before him hosts of flying Saracens, Saxons, Lombards, andAvars, and to them he was the embodiment of earthly power, the mightypatron of the church, and the scourge of pagans and infidels; and asthey gazed on his noble form and dignified face it seemed to some ofthem as if they looked with human eyes on the face and form of arepresentative of the Deity. 

A solemn mass was sung, with all the impressive ceremony suitable to theoccasion. As the king rose to his feet, or while he still kneeled beforethe altar and the "confession, "--the tomb of St. Peter, --the pope, as ifmoved by a sudden impulse, took up a splendid crown which lay upon thealtar, and placed it on his brow, saying, in a loud voice, --

"Long life and victory to Charles, the most pious Augustus, crowned byGod the great and pacific Emperor of the Romans!"

At once, as if this were a signal for the breaking of the constrainedsilence, a mighty shout rose from the whole vast assembly. Again andagain it was repeated, and then broke out the solemn chant of thelitany, sung by hundreds of voices, while Charlemagne stood in dignifiedand patient silence. Whether or not this act of the pope was a surpriseto him we have no assurance. Eginhard tells us that he declared that hewould not have entered the church that day if he had foreseen the pope'sintentions; yet it is not easy to believe that he was ignorant of ornon-consenting to the coming event. At the close of the chant Leoprostrated himself at the feet of Charlemagne, and paid him adoration, as had been the custom in the days of the old emperors. He then anointedhim with holy oil. And from that day forward Charles, "giving up thetitle of patrician, bore that of emperor and Augustus. "

The ceremonies ended in the presentation from the emperor to the churchof a great silver table, and, in conjunction with his son Charles andhis daughters, of golden vessels belonging to the table of five hundredpounds' weight. This great gift was followed, on the Feast of theCircumcision, with a superb golden corona to be suspended over thealtar. It was ornamented with gems, and contained fifty pounds of gold. On the Feast of the Epiphany he added three golden chalices, weighingforty-two pounds, and a golden paten of twenty-two pounds' weight. Tothe other churches also, and to the pope, he made magnificent gifts, andadded three thousand pounds of silver to be distributed among the poor. 

Thus, after more than three centuries, the title of Augustus wasrestored to the western world. It was destined to be held many centuriesthereafter by the descendants of Charlemagne. After the division of hisempire into France and Germany, the imperial title was preserved in thelatter realm, the fiction--for it was little more--that an emperor ofthe west existed being maintained down to the present century. 

As to the influence exerted by the power and dominion of Charlemagne onthe minds of his contemporaries and successors, many interesting storiesmight be told. Fable surrounded him, legend attached to his deeds, andat a later date he shared the honor given to the legendary King Arthurof England, of being made a hero of romance, a leading character in manyof those interminable romances of chivalry which formed the favoritereading of the mediæval age. 

But we need not go beyond his own century to find him a hero of romance. The monk of the abbey of St. Gall, in Switzerland, whose story of thedefences of the land of the Avars we have already quoted, has left us achronicle full of surprising tales of the life and doings of Charles theGreat. One of these may be of interest, as an example of the kind ofhistory with which our ancestors of a thousand years ago were satisfied. 

Charlemagne was approaching with his army Pavia, the capital of theLombards. Didier, the king, was greatly disquieted at his approach. Withhim was Ogier the Dane (Ogger the monk calls him), one of the mostfamous captains of Charlemagne, and a prominent hero of romance. He hadquarrelled with the king and had taken refuge with the king of theLombards. Thus goes on the chronicler of St. Gall:

"When Didier and Ogger heard that the dread monarch was coming, theyascended a tower of vast height, where they could watch his arrival fromafar off and from every quarter. They saw, first of all, engines of warsuch as must have been necessary for the armies of Darius or JuliusCæsar. 

"'Is not Charles, ' asked Didier of Ogger, 'with this great army?'

"But the other answered, 'No. ' The Lombard, seeing afterwards an immensebody of soldiery gathered from all quarters of the vast empire, said toOgger, 'Certainly, Charles advances in triumph in the midst of thisthrong. '

"'No, not yet; he will not appear so soon, ' was the answer. 

"'What should we do, then, ' rejoined Didier, who began to be perturbed, 'should he come accompanied by a larger band of warriors?'

"'You will see what he is when he comes, ' replied Ogger; 'but as to whatwill become of us I know nothing. '

"As they were thus parleying, appeared the body of guards that knew norepose; and at this sight the Lombard, overcome with dread, cried, 'Thistime it is surely Charles. '

"'No, " answered Ogger, 'not yet. '

"In their wake came the bishops, the abbots, the ordinaries of thechapels royal, and the counts; and then Didier, no longer able to bearthe light of day or to face death, cried out with groans, 'Let usdescend and hide ourselves in the bowels of the earth, far from the faceand the fury of so terrible a foe. '

"Trembling the while, Ogger, who knew by experience what were the powerand might of Charles, and who had learned the lesson by long consuetudein better days, then said, 'When you shall behold the crops shaking forfear in the fields, and the gloomy Po and the Ticino overflowing thewalls of the city with their waves blackened with steel, then may youthink that Charles is coming. '

"He had not ended these words when there began to be seen in the west, as it were a black cloud raised by the north-west wind or by Boreas, which turned the brightest day into awful shadows. But as the emperordrew nearer and nearer, the gleam of arms caused to shine on the peopleshut up within the city a day more gloomy than any kind of night. Andthen appeared Charles himself, that man of steel, with his head encasedin a helmet of steel, his hands garnished with gauntlets of steel, hisheart of steel and his shoulders of marble protected by a cuirass ofsteel, and his left hand armed with a lance of steel which he held aloftin the air, for as to his right hand, he kept that continually on thehilt of his invincible sword. The outside of his thighs, which the rest, for their greater ease in mounting on horseback, were wont to leaveunshackled even by straps, he wore encircled by plates of steel. Whatshall I say concerning his boots? All the army were wont to have theminvariably of steel; on his buckler there was naught to be seen butsteel; his horse was of the color and the strength of steel. 

"All those who went before the monarch, all those who marched by hisside, all those who followed after, even the whole mass of the army, had armor of the like sort, so far as the means of each permitted. Thefields and the highways were covered with steel; the points of steelreflected the rays of the sun; and this steel, so hard, was borne bypeople with hearts still harder. The flash of steel spread terrorthroughout the streets of the city. 'What steel! alack, what steel!'Such were the bewildered cries the citizens raised. The firmness ofmanhood and of youth gave way at sight of the steel; and the steelparalyzed the wisdom of graybeards. That which I, poor tale-teller, mumbling and toothless, have attempted to depict in a long description, Ogger perceived at one rapid glance, and said to Didier, 'Here is whatyou so anxiously sought, ' and whilst uttering these words he fell downalmost lifeless. "

If our sober chronicler of the ninth century could thus let hisimagination wander in speaking of the great king, what wonder that theromancers of a later age took Charlemagne and his Paladins as fruitfulsubjects for their wildly fanciful themes!

_PETER THE HERMIT. _

In the last decade of the eleventh century there might have been seen, wandering through every part of France and Germany, a man of singularappearance. Small of stature, almost dwarfish in size, emaciated byrigid austerities, angular and ungainly in form, clad in a woollen tunicover which he wore a serge cloak that came down to his heels, his headand feet bare, and mounted on an ass that seemed to have practised thesame austerities as its master, this singular person rode up and downthe land, rousing everywhere as he went the wildest enthusiasm. Miserable as he seemed in body, he was a man of active and earnest mind, of quick intellect, keen and penetrating eye, and an ease, fluency, andforce of speech that gave him the power to sway multitudes and stir upthe soul of Europe as no man before him had ever done. 

This man was Peter the Hermit, the father of the Crusades. He had been asoldier in his youth; afterwards a married man and father of a family;later a monk and recluse; then a pilgrim to Jerusalem, now he was anenvoy from Simeon, patriarch of Jerusalem, to arouse the nations ofEurope with the story of the cruelties to which Christian pilgrims weresubjected by the barbarous Turks. 

The pope, Urban II. , had blessed his enterprise; and then, dressed andmounted as described, and bearing in his arms a huge cross, theinspired envoy rode throughout the Teutonic lands, everywhere recountingwith vehement speech and with the force of fiery indignation thesufferings of the Christians and the barbarities of the Turks, andcalling on all pious souls to take arms in defence of the Holy Sepulchreand for the emancipation of the Holy Land from infidel control. 

"We saw him at that time, " says Guibert de Nogent; his contemporary, "scouring city and town, and preaching everywhere. The people crowdedaround him, heaped presents upon him, and celebrated his sanctity bysuch great praises that I remember not that like honor was ever renderedto any other person. In all that he did or said he seemed to have in himsomething divine, insomuch that people went so far as to pluck hairsfrom his mule to keep as relics. "

Never had mankind been more excited. All Europe was aroused, indignant, fiery. The Holy Sepulchre must be rescued, Palestine must be in thehands of the Christians, the infidel Turks must be driven from thatsacred soil and punished for the indignities they had heaped uponpilgrims, Europe must march to Asia, and win salvation by driving theunbelieving barbarian from the land sanctified by the feet of Christ. 

Everywhere men rose, seized their arms and prepared for the march, ofwhose length and dangers few of them dreamed. "The most distant islandsand savage countries, " says William of Malmesbury, "were inspired bythis ardent passion. The Welshman left his hunting, the Scotchman hisfellowship with vermin, the Dane his drinking-party, the Norwegian hisraw fish. " So far extended the story of the mission of Peter the Hermit;while in France, Germany, and the other lands in which he made hisindignant and fiery appeals, the whole population seemed ready to riseand march _en masse_ to the Holy Land. 

In 1095, taking advantage of this enthusiasm, Urban II. , the pope, called a council at Clermont, in Auvergne, where numbers of clergymenand multitudes of people assembled. Here, after the council, the popemounted a platform which rose in the midst of a great open space, andaround which extended a vast throng of knights, nobles, and commonpeople. Peter the Hermit stood by the pope's side, and told the story ofthe miseries and humiliations of the Christians in Jerusalem in thatfiery and fluent oratory which had stirred the soul of all Europe. PopeUrban followed in an impassioned address, recounting the sufferings ofthe Christian pilgrims, and calling upon the people of France to risefor their deliverance. 

"Men of France, " he said, "men from beyond the mountains, nations chosenand beloved of God, right valiant knights, recall the virtues of yourancestors, the virtue and greatness of King Charlemagne and your otherkings; it is from you above all that Jerusalem awaits the help sheinvokes, for to you, above all nations, God has vouchsafed signal gloryin arms. Christians, put an end to your own misdeeds and let concordreign among you while in those distant lands. If necessary, your bodieswill redeem your souls. . . . These things I publish and command, and fortheir execution I appoint the end of the coming spring. "

His eloquent words roused the mass to madness. From the throng rose onegeneral cry, "God wills it! God wills it!" Again and again it wasrepeated as if it would never end, while swords waving in the air, banners floating on high, and every indication of applause and approval, attested the excitement and enthusiasm of the crowd. 

"If the Lord God were not in your soul, you would not all have utteredthe same words, " cried the pope, when he could make himself heard. "Inthe battle, then, be those your war-cry, those words that came from God. In the army of our Lord let nought be heard but that one shout, 'Godwills it! God wills it!' Whosoever hath a wish to enter upon thispilgrimage, let him wear upon his breast or his brow the cross of theLord, and let him who, in accomplishment of his desire, shall be willingto march away, place the cross behind him, between his shoulders; forthus he will fulfil the precept of the Lord, who said, 'He that doth nottake up his cross and follow me, is not worthy of me. '"

These words aroused a new enthusiasm. The desire to assume the crossspread like a contagion through the crowd. Adhemar, bishop of Puy, wasthe first to receive it from the pope's hands. This emblem was of redcloth, sewed on the right shoulder of the coat, or fastened on the frontof the helmet. In haste the crowd sought materials to make it. Thepassion for wearing the cross spread like wild fire through Europe. Peter the Hermit, seconded by the pope, had given birth to the Crusades. 

The first outburst of enthusiasm was, as always, the strongest. It hasbeen said that in the spring of 1096 six million souls took the road toPalestine. This is, doubtless, a vast exaggeration, but great numbersset out, and an immense multitude of ignorant and enthusiastic peoplepushed tumultuously towards the Holy Land, in advance of the organizedarmies of the First Crusade. 

As early as the 8th of March, 1096, great mobs--they cannot fairly becalled armies--began their journey towards Palestine. They were not onlycomposed of armed men; women and children made up part of them; wholefamilies abandoned their villages; and without organization orprovisions, or a knowledge of what lay before them, the ignorant andenthusiastic mass pushed onward with unquestioning faith. 

The first body of these enthusiasts, led by a poor knight called Walterthe Penniless, was cut to pieces by the natives of Bulgaria, a few onlyreaching Constantinople. A second multitude, forty thousand strong, washeaded by Peter the Hermit. It was similar in character to thepreceding. Whenever a town came in sight on their way, the childreneagerly asked if that were Jerusalem. The elders were little betterinformed. Onward they went, through Hungary, through Bulgaria, throughthe provinces of the Greek empire, everywhere committing excesses, everywhere treated as enemies by the incensed people, until the line ofmarch was strewn with their dead bodies. Peter the Hermit sought tocheck their excesses, but in vain; and when, at length, a miserableremnant of them reached Constantinople, the Emperor Alexius hastened toconvey them across the Bosphorus, to save the suburbs of his city fromtheir ravages. 

In Asia Minor they were assailed by the Turks, and numbers of themslain; and when, in the spring of the next year, Godfrey de Bouillon andthe other Crusader chiefs, with a real army of knights and men-at-arms, reached that locality, and marched to besiege Nicæa, the first importantTurkish stronghold on their line of march, they saw coming to meet thema miserable band, with every indication of woful destitution, at whosehead appeared Peter the Hermit. It was the handful of destitutewanderers that remained from the hundreds of thousands who had set outwith such high hopes a year before. 

Thus began that great movement from Europe towards Asia, which was tocontinue for several centuries, and end at length in disaster anddefeat. But we are concerned here only with Peter the Hermit, and theconclusion of his career. He had set the flood in motion; how far was heto be borne on its waves?

The chiefs of the army welcomed him with respect and consideration, andheard with interest and feeling his account of the misfortunes of thoseunder his leadership, and how they were due to their own ignorance, violence, and insubordination. With the few who survived from themultitude he joined the crusading army, and regained the ardent hopeswhich had almost vanished from his heart. 

The army that reached Nicæa is said to have been six hundred thousandstrong, though they were probably not nearly so many. On they went withmany adventures, meeting the Turks in battle, suffering from hunger andthirst, enduring calamities, losing many by death, until at length thegreat city of Antioch was reached and besieged. 

Here at first food was plenty and life easy. But the Turks held out, winter came, provisions grew scarce, life ceased to be agreeable. Suchwas the discouragement that succeeded that several men of note desertedthe army of the cross, among them Robert, duke of Normandy, William, viscount of Melun, called the _Carpenter_, from his mighty battle-axe, and Peter the Hermit himself. Their flight caused the greatestindignation. Tancred, one of the leaders, hurried after and overtookthem, and brought them back to the camp, where they, overcome by shame, swore on the Gospel never again to abandon the cause of the cross. 

In time Antioch was taken, and the Turks therein massacred. But, unknownto the Crusaders, an immense army of Turks was being organized in Syriafor its relief; and four days after its capture the Crusaders foundthemselves in their turn besieged, the place being completely enclosed. 

Day by day the blockade became more strict. Suffering from want of foodbegan. Starvation threatened the citizens and the army alike. It seemedas if the crusade might end there and then, in the death or captivity ofall concerned in it; when an incident, esteemed miraculous, roused thespirits of the soldiers and achieved their deliverance. 

A priest of Marseilles, Peter Bartholomew by name, presented himselfbefore the chief and said that he had had a marvellous dream. St. Andrewhad thrice appeared to him, saying, "Go into the church of my brotherPeter at Antioch, and hard by the high altar thou wilt find, on diggingup the ground, the head of the spear which pierced our Redeemer's side. That, carried in front of the army, will bring about the deliverance ofthe Christians. "

The search was made, a spear-head was found, hope, confidence, enthusiasm were restored, and with loud shouts the half-starvedmultitude demanded that they should be led against the enemy. But beforedoing so, the chiefs decided to apprise the leader of the Turks of theirintention, and for this purpose chose Peter the Hermit as their boldestand ablest speaker. 

Peter, therefore, under a flag of truce, sought the Turkish camp, presented himself without any mark of respect before Corboghâ, theleader of the Turks, and his captains, and boldly told them the decisionof the crusading chiefs. 

"They offer thee, " he said, "the choice between divers determinations:either that thou appear alone in person to fight with one of ourprinces, in order that, if victorious, thou mayst obtain all thou canstdemand, or, if vanquished, thou mayst remain quiet; or again, pick outdivers of thine who shall fight, on the same terms, with the same numberof ours; or, lastly, agree that the two armies shall prove, one againstthe other, the fortune of battle. "

Corboghâ received this challenge as an amusing jest, saying that thechiefs must be in a desperate state to send him such a proposition. "Go, and tell these fools, " he said, "that all whom I shall find in fullpossession of all the powers of the manly age shall have their lives, and shall be reserved by me for my master's service, and that all othersshall fall beneath my sword, as useless trees, so that there shallremain of them not even a faint remembrance. Had I not deemed it moreconvenient to destroy them by famine than to smite them with the sword, I should already have gotten forcible mastery of the city, and theywould have reaped the fruits of their voyage hither by undergoing thelaw of vengeance. "

Corboghâ spoke much too hastily. Before night of the next day he was ahelpless fugitive, his army destroyed or dispersed. Peter the Hermitreturned with his message, but, by the advice of Godfrey de Bouillon, he simply announced that the Turks desired battle, and that instantpreparation for it must be made. On the next day the whole Christianarmy, armed and enthusiastic, issued from the city, a part of the clergymarching at their head, the miraculous spear-head borne before them, andattacked the Turks in their camp. The battle was long, fierce, andstubborn, but in the end the Turks gave way before the fury of Christianenthusiasm, and fled for their lives, vast multitudes of them beingslain on the field, while the vain-glorious Corboghâ rode in all haste, with a weak escort, towards far-off Bagdad. 

The camp of the Turks was taken and pillaged. It yielded fifteenthousand camels and an unnamed multitude of horses. The tent of Corboghâproved a rich prize. It was laid out in streets, flanked by towers, inimitation of a fortified town, was everywhere enriched with gold andprecious stones, and was so spacious that it would have contained morethan two thousand persons. It was sent to Italy, where it was longpreserved. So great was the spoil that, says Albert of Aix, "everyCrusader found himself richer than he had been at starting from Europe. "

In June, 1099, the Crusaders arrived before Jerusalem, and saw with eyesof wonder and delight the vision of the Holy City which they had come sofar to gaze upon. After a month of siege the chiefs fixed a day for thegrand assault, and on the day preceding that chosen the whole armymarched, fasting, and preceded by their priests, in slow processionround the walls, halting at every hallowed spot, listening to the hymnsand exhortations of their priests, and looking upward with wrathful eyesat the insults heaped by the Islamites upon the cross and other symbolsof the Christian faith. 

"Ye see, " cried Peter the Hermit, "the blasphemies of God's enemies. Now, this I swear to you by your faith; this I swear to you by the armsyou carry; to-day these infidels are still full of pride and insolence, but to-morrow they shall be frozen with fear; those mosques, which towerover Christian ruins, shall serve for temples to the true God, andJerusalem shall hear no longer aught but the praises of the Lord. "

His words were received with shouts of applause by the whole army. Hishad been the first voice to call Europe to the deliverance of the HolyCity; now, with a strong army to back him, he gazed on the walls ofJerusalem, still in the hands of the infidels, likely soon to be in thehands of the Christians. Well might he feel joy and self-gratification, in thinking that all this was his work, and that he had been the apostleof the greatest event in modern history. 

On the next day, July 14, 1099, the assault began at daybreak. OnFriday, the 15th, Jerusalem fell into the hands of the Crusaders, andthe mission of Peter the Hermit was accomplished, the Holy City was won. 

With that great day ended the active part played by Peter the Hermit inhistory. He was received with the greatest respect by the Christiandwellers in Jerusalem, who exerted themselves to render him the highesthonors, and attributed to him alone, after God, their deliverance fromthe sufferings which they had so long endured. On his return to Europehe founded a monastery near Hue, in the diocese of Liége, where he spentthe remainder of his life in retirement, respected and honored by all, and died there on the 11th of July, 1115. 

_THE COMMUNE OF LAON. _

The history of the kingdoms of Europe has a double aspect, that of thearrogant rule of kings and nobles, and that of the enforced submissionand occasional insurrection of the common people, whom the governingclass despised while subsisting on the products of their labor, as atree draws its nutriment from the base soil above which it proudlyrises. Insurrections of the peasantry took place at times, we have said, though, as a rule, nothing was gained by them but blows and bloodshed. We have described such outbreaks in England. France had its share ofthem, all of which were speedily and cruelly suppressed. It was not byarmed insurrection that the peasantry gained the measure of liberty theynow possess. Their gradual emancipation was gained through unceasingprotest and steady pressure, and in no sense by revolt and bloodshed. 

A different story must be told of the towns. In these the common peoplewere concentrated and well organized, and possessed skilled leaders andstrong walls. They understood the political situation, struck for adefinite purpose, and usually gained it. The history of nearly everytown in France tells of some such demand for chartered privileges, ordinarily ending in the freeing of the town from the tyranny of thenobles. Each town had its municipal government, the _Commune_. It wasthis body which spoke for the burghers, which led in the struggle forliberty, and which succeeded in gaining for most of the towns a charterof rights and privileges. Many stirring incidents might be told of thisfight for freedom. We shall confine ourselves to the story of the revoltof the Commune of Laon, of which a sprightly contemporary descriptionexists. 

At the end of the eleventh century Laon was a bustling and importantcity. It was the seat of a cathedral and under the government of abishop; was wealthy and prosperous, stirring and turbulent; was thegathering-place of the surrounding people, the centre of frequentdisturbances. Thierry draws a vivid picture of the state of affairsexisting within its walls. "The nobles and their servitors, " he says, "sword in hand, committed robbery upon the burghers; the streets of thetown were not safe by night nor even by day, and none could go outwithout running a risk of being stopped and robbed or killed. Theburghers in their turn committed violence upon the peasants, who came tobuy or sell at the market of the town. "

Truly, town life and country life alike were neither safe nor agreeablein those charming mediæval days when chivalry was the profession of alland the possession of none, when the nobility were courteous in word andviolent in deed, and when might everywhere lorded it over right, andconscience was but another word for desire. As for the treatment of thepeasantry by the townsmen, we may quote from Guibert, an abbot ofNogent-sous-Coucy, to whose lively pen we owe all we have to tell aboutLaon. 

"Let me give as example, " he says, "a single fact, which had it takenplace among the Barbarians or the Scythians would assuredly have beenconsidered the height of wickedness, in the judgment even of those whoknow no law. On Saturday the inhabitants of the country places used toleave their fields and come from all sides to Laon to get provisions atthe market. The townsfolk used then to go round the place carrying inbaskets or bowls or otherwise samples of vegetables or grain or anyother article, as if they wished to sell. They would offer them to thefirst peasant who was in search of such things to buy; he would promiseto pay the price agreed upon; and then the seller would say to thebuyer, 'Come with me to my house to see and examine the whole of thearticles I am selling you. ' The other would go; and then, when they cameto the bin containing the goods, the honest seller would take off andhold up the lid, saying to the buyer, 'Step hither and put your head orarms into the bin to make quite sure that it is all exactly the samegoods as I showed you outside. ' And then when the other, jumping on tothe edge of the bin, remained leaning on his belly, with his head andshoulders hanging down, the worthy seller, who kept in the rear, wouldhoist up the thoughtless rustic by the feet, push him suddenly into thebin, and, clapping on the lid as he fell, keep him shut up in this safeprison until he had bought himself out. "

This has more the aspect of a practical joke than an act of barbarism. But withal, between the cheating of the peasantry by the burghers, therobbery of the burghers by the nobles, and the general turmoil andterror, there might have been found more delightful places of residencethan the good city of Laon in the eleventh century. The story of thiscity is a long one. We are here concerned with but one episode in thetale. 

In the year 1106 the bishopric of Laon, which had been for two yearsvacant, was bought by Gaudri, a Norman by birth, and a man of no verysavory reputation. He was a clergyman with the habits of a soldier, hasty and arrogant in disposition, hurrying through the service of themass, and dallying with delight over narratives of fighting and hunting, one of the churchmen of wickedly worldly tastes of which those dayspresented so many examples. 

Laon soon learned something of the character of its new bishop. Not longwas he in office before outrages began. He seized one man whom hesuspected of aiding his enemies, and put out his eyes. Another wasmurdered in the church itself, with his connivance. In his deeds ofviolence or vengeance he employed a black slave, imitating in this someof the Crusaders, who brought with them such servants from the east. Nolawless noble could have shown more disregard of law or justice thanthis dignitary of the church, and the burghers of Laon viewed withgrowing indignation his lawless and merciless course. 

Taking advantage of the absence of Bishop Gaudri in England, theburghers bribed the clergy and knights who governed in his stead, andobtained from them the privilege of choosing their own rulers. "Theclergy and knights, " we are told, "came to an agreement with the commonfolk in hopes of enriching themselves in a speedy and easy fashion. " Acommune was set up, and given the necessary powers and immunities. 

Gaudri returned, and heard with fierce wrath of what had been done inhis absence. For several days he stayed outside the walls, clouding andthundering. Then the burghers applied the same plaster to his wrath asthey had done to the virtue of his representatives. They offered himmoney, "enough to appease the tempest of his words. " He accepted thebribe and swore to respect the commune. This done, he entered the cityin state. 

The burghers knew him somewhat too well to trust him. There were higherpowers in France than Bishop Gaudri, which were known to be susceptibleto the same mercenary argument. A deputation was therefore sent to KingLouis the Fat at Paris, laden with rich presents, and praying for aroyal confirmation of the commune. The king loved the glitter of cash;he accepted the presents, swore that the commune should be respected, and gave Laon a charter sealed with the great seal of the crown. Allthat the citizens were to do in return, beyond meeting the customarycrown claims, was to give the king three lodgings a year, if he came tothe town, or in lieu thereof, if he failed to come, twenty livres foreach lodging. 

For three years all went well in Laon. The burghers were happy in theirsecurity and proud of their liberty, while clergy and knights wereoccupied in spending the money they had received. The year 1112 came. The bishop and his subordinates had got rid of their money, and cravedagain the power they had sold. They began to consider how the citizensmight once more be made serfs. They would not have hesitated long butfor that inconvenient grant of Louis the Fat. But King Louis might bemanaged. He was normally avaricious. The bishop invited him to Laon totake part in the keeping of Holy Week, trusting to get his aid tooverthrow the commune. 

The king came. The burghers were not long in suspecting the cause of hiscoming. They offered him some four hundred livres to confirm them intheir liberties. The bishop and his party offered him seven hundredlivres to restore their power. The higher offer prevailed. The charterwas annulled, and the magistrates of the commune were ordered to ceasefrom their functions, to give up the seal and the banner of the town, and no more to ring the belfry-chimes which indicated the beginning andthe ending of their sessions. 

Wrath and uproar succeeded this decree. The burghers had tasted thesweets of liberty, and were not ready to lose their dearly-boughtindependence. So violent were they that the king himself was frightened, and hastily left his hotel for the stronger walls of the episcopalpalace. At dawn of the next day, partly in fear and perhaps partly inshame, he departed from Laon with all his train, leaving the Easterfestival to take place without him. 

It was destined to be a serious festival for Bishop Gaudri and his crewof base-souled followers. The king had left a harvest of indignationbehind him. On the day after his going all shops and taverns were keptclosed and nothing was sold; every one remained at home, nursing hiswrath. The next day the anger of the citizens grew more demonstrative. Arumor spread that the bishop and grandees were busy calculating thefortunes of the citizens, that they might force from them the sumpromised the king. The burghers assembled in burning indignation, andforty of them bound themselves by oath to kill the bishop and all thosewho had aided him to destroy the commune. 

Some rumor of this got afloat. Anselm, the arch-deacon, warned thebishop that his life was in danger, and urged him not to leave hishouse, and, in particular, not to accompany the procession onEaster-day. Thus Cæsar had been warned, and had contemned the warning. Gaudri emulated him, and answered, with a sneer of contempt, --

"Pooh! _I_ die by the hands of such fellows!"

Easter-day came. The bishop did not appear at matins, or at the laterchurch service. But, lest he should be called coward, he joined theprocession, followed by his clergy and domestics, and by a number ofknights with arms and armor concealed under their clothes. Slowlythrough the streets moved the procession, the people looking on inlowering silence. As it passed a dark arch one of the forty rushedsuddenly out, crying, "Commune! commune!" No one joined him; the crowdseemed intimidated; their feelings subsided in a murmur; the processioncontinued on its way undisturbed. 

The next day another procession took place. This day the bishop hadfilled the town with peasants, who were charged to protect his church, his palace, and himself. The people kept quiet. All went well. BishopGaudri, satisfied that the talk of danger was all a myth, now dismissedthe peasants, feeling quite secure. 

"On the fourth day after Easter, " says Guibert of Nogent, "my cornhaving been pillaged in consequence of the disorder that reigned in thetown, I repaired to the bishop, and prayed him to put a stop to thisstate of violence. 

"'What do you suppose, ' said he to me, 'these fellows can do with alltheir outbreaks? Why, if my blackamoor, John, were to pull the nose ofthe most formidable amongst them, the poor devil durst not even grumble. Have I not forced them to give up what they called their commune, forthe whole duration of my life?'

"I held my tongue, " adds Guibert; "many folks besides me warned him ofhis danger, but he would not deign to believe anybody. "

For three days all kept quiet. The bishop and his myrmidons busiedthemselves in calculating how much cash they could squeeze from thepeople. The people lowered like a gathering storm. All at once the stormbroke. A sudden tumult arose; crowds filled the streets. "Commune!commune!" was the general cry; as if by magic, swords, lances, axes, bows, and clubs appeared in the hands of the people; with wild shouts ofvengeance they rushed through the streets and burst into the bishop'spalace. The knights who had promised to protect him hastened thither andfaced the infuriated populace. The first three who appeared were hotlyattacked and fell before the axes of the burghers. The others held back. In a few minutes more flames appeared in the palace, and in no long timeit was a mass of seething fire. The day of vengeance had come. 

The bishop had fled to the church. Here, having no means of defence, hehastily put on the dress of one of his servants and repaired to thechurch cellar, where were a number of empty casks. One of these he gotinto, a faithful follower then heading him in, and even stopping up thebung-hole. Meanwhile, the crowd were in eager quest for the object oftheir wrath. The palace had been searched before being set on fire; thechurch and all accompanying buildings now swarmed with revengefulburghers. Among these was a bandit named Teutgaud, a fellow notoriousfor his robberies and murders of travellers, but now hand and glove withthe commune. The bishop had named him _Isengrin_, the by-word then forwolf. 

This worthy made his way into the cellar, followed by an armed crowd. Through this they went, tapping the casks as they proceeded. Teutgaudhalted in front of that in which the bishop was concealed--on whatsuspicion does not appear. 

"Knock in the head of this, " he ordered. 

He was quickly obeyed. 

"Is there any one here?" he asked. 

"Only a poor prisoner, " came a quavering voice from the depths of thecask. 

"Ha! ha!" laughed Teutgaud; "so it is you, Master Isengrin, who arehiding here!"

Seizing the trembling bishop by the hair, he dragged him withoutceremony from the cask. The frightened culprit fell on his knees andbegged piteously for his life. He would do anything; he would give upthe bishopric, yield them all the money he had, and leave the country. 

Insults and blows were the only replies. In a minute more theunfortunate man was dead. Teutgaud, true to his profession, cut off hisfinger to obtain the episcopal ring that glittered on it. Stripped ofits clothing, the body was hurled into a corner, and the furious throngflung stones and mud at it, as the only vent remaining to theirrevengeful passions. 

All that day and the night that followed the armed and maddened townsmensearched the streets and houses of Laon for the supporters of themurdered bishop, and numbers of them shared his fate. Not the guiltyalone, but many of the innocent, perished before the blind wrath of themultitude. "The progress of the fire, " says Guibert, "kindled on twosides at once, was so rapid, and the winds drove the flames so furiouslyin the direction of the convent of St. Vincent, that the monks wereafraid of seeing all they possessed become the fire's prey, and all thepersons who had taken refuge in this monastery trembled as if they hadseen swords hanging over their heads. "

It was a day and night of frightful excess, one of those dread occasionswhich arise when men are roused to violence by injustice, and for thetime break all the bonds of mercy and moderation which ordinarilycontrol them. Regret at their insensate rage is sure to succeed all suchoutbreaks. Retribution is likely to follow. Consternation came to theburghers of Laon when calm thought returned to them. They had defied theking. What would he do? To protect themselves they added to the burdenof their offences, summoning to their aid Thomas de Marle, the son ofLord Enguerraud de Coucy, a man who was little better than a brigand, and with a detestable reputation for cruelty and ferocity. 

De Marle was not quite ready to undertake this task. He consulted hispeople, who declared that it would be folly for their small force toseek to defend such a city against the king. He thereupon induced theburghers to meet him in a field, about a mile from the city, where hewould make answer to their request. When they had come, he said, --

"Laon is the head of the kingdom; it is impossible for me to keep theking from making himself master of it. If you fear his arms, follow meto my own land, and you will find in me a protector and a friend. "

Their consternation was extreme at this advice. For the time being theywere in a panic, through fear of the king's vengeance, and theconference ended in many of them taking the advice of the Lord of Marle, and flying with him to his stronghold. Teutgaud was among the numberthat accepted his protection. 

The news of their flight quickly spread to the country places aroundLaon. The story went that the town was quite deserted. The peasants, filled with hopes of plunder, hastened to the town, took possession ofwhat empty houses they found, and carried off what money and othervaluables they could discover. "Before long, " says Guibert, "there arosebetween the first and last comers disputes about the partition of theirplunder; all that the small folks had taken soon passed into the handsof the powerful; if two men met a third quite alone they stripped him;the state of the town was truly pitiable. The burghers who had quittedit with Thomas de Marle had beforehand destroyed and burnt the housesof the clergy and grandees whom they hated; and now the grandees, escaped from the massacre, carried off in their turn from the houses ofthe fugitives all means of subsistence and all movables to the veryhinges and bolts. "

What succeeded must be briefly told. The story of the events heredescribed spread through the kingdom. Thomas de Marle was put under banby the king and excommunicated by the church. Louis raised an army andmarched against him. De Marle was helpless with illness, but truculentin temper. He defied the king, and would not listen to his summons. Louis attacked his castles, took two of them, Crecy and Nogent, and inthe end forced him to buy pardon by a heavy ransom and an indemnity tothe church. As for the burghers who had taken refuge with him, the kingshowed them no mercy. They had had a hand in the murder of BishopGaudri, and all of them were hung. 

The remaining story of Laon is too long for our space. The burgherscontinued to demand their liberties, and in 1128 a new charter wasgranted them. This they retained, except during some intervals, untilthat later period when the mediæval system of municipal government cameto an end, and all the cities and towns fell under the direct control ofthe deputies of the king. 

_HOW BIG FERRÉ FOUGHT FOR FRANCE. _

It was in the heart of the Hundred Years' War. Everywhere France laydesolate under the feet of the English invaders. Never had land beenmore torn and rent, and never with less right and justice. Like a flockof vultures the English descended upon the fair realm of France, ravaging as they went, leaving ruin behind their footsteps, marchinghither and thither at will, now victorious, now beaten, yet everplundering, ever desolating. Wherever they came the rich were ruined, the poor were starved, want and misery stared each other in the face, happy homes became gaping ruins, fertile fields became sterile wastes. It was a pandemonium of war, a frightful orgy of military license, ascene to make the angels weep and demons rejoice over the cruelty ofman. 

In the history of this dreadful business we find little to show whatpart the peasantry took in the affair, beyond that of mere suffering. The man-at-arms lorded it in France; the peasant endured. 

Yet occasionally this down-trodden sufferer took arms against hisoppressors, and contemporary chronicles give us some interesting insightinto brave deeds done by the tiller of the soil. One of these we proposeto tell, --a stirring and romantic one. It is half legendary, perhaps, yet there is reason to believe that it is in the main true, and itpaints a vivid picture of those days of blood and violence which is wellworthy of reproduction. 

In 1358 the king of Navarre, who had aided the English in their raids, suddenly made peace with France. This displeased his English allies, whonone the less, however, continued their destructive raids, small partiesmarching hither and thither, now victorious, now vanquished, aninterminable series of minor encounters taking the place of largeoperations. Both armies were reduced to guerilla bands, who fought asthey met, and lived meanwhile on the land and its inhabitants. Thebattle of Poitiers had been recently fought, the king of France was aprisoner, there was no organization, no central power, in the realm, andwherever possible the population took arms and fought in their owndefence, seeking some little relief from the evils of anarchy. 

The scene of the story we propose to tell is a small stronghold calledLongueil, not far from Compiègne and near the banks of the Oise. It waspretty well fortified, and likely to prove a point of danger to thedistrict if the enemy should seize it and make it a centre of theirplundering raids. There were no soldiers to guard it, and the peasantsof the vicinity, Jacques Bonhomme (Jack Goodfellow) as they were called, undertook its defence. This was no unauthorized action. The lord-regentof France and the abbot of the monastery of St. Corneille-de-Compiègne, near by, gave them permission, glad, doubtless, to have even their pooraid, in the absence of trained soldiery. 

In consequence, a number of the neighboring tillers of the soilgarrisoned the place, providing themselves with arms and provisions, andpromising the regent to defend the town until death. Hither came many ofthe villagers for security, continuing the labors which yielded them apoor livelihood, but making Longueil their stronghold of defence. In allthere were some two hundred of them, their chosen captain being a tall, finely-formed man, named William a-Larks (_aux Alouettes_). For servant, this captain had a gigantic peasant, a fellow of great stature, marvellous strength, and undaunted boldness, and withal of extrememodesty. He bore the name of Big Ferré. 

This action of the peasants called the attention of the English to theplace, and roused in them a desire to possess it. _Jacques Bonhomme_ washeld by them in utter contempt, and the peasant garrison simply broughtto their notice the advantage of the place as a well-fortified centre ofoperations. That these poor dirt delvers could hold their own againsttrained warriors seemed a matter not worth a second thought. 

"Let us drive the base-born rogues from the town and take possession ofit, " said they. "It will be a trifle to do it, and the place will serveus well. "

Such seemed the case. The peasants, unused to war and lacking allmilitary training, streamed in and out at pleasure, leaving the gateswide open, and taking no precautions against the enemy. Suddenly, totheir surprise and alarm, they saw a strong body of armed men enteringthe open gates and marching boldly into the court-yard of thestronghold, the heedless garrison gazing with gaping eyes at them fromthe windows and the inner courts. It was a body of English men-at-arms, two hundred strong, who had taken the unguarded fortress by surprise. 

Down came the captain, William a-Larks, to whose negligence thissurprise was due, and made a bold and fierce assault on the invaders, supported by a body of his men. But the English forced their way inward, pushed back the defenders, surrounded the captain, and quickly struckhim to the earth with a mortal wound. Defence seemed hopeless. Theassailants had gained the gates and the outer court, dispersed the firstparty of defenders, killed their captain, and were pushing their waywith shouts of triumph into the stronghold within. The main body of thepeasants were in the inner court, Big Ferré at their head, but it wasbeyond reason to suppose that they could stand against this compact andwell-armed body of invaders. 

Yet they had promised the regent to hold the place until death, and theymeant it. 

"It is death fighting or death yielding, " they said. "These men willslay us without mercy; let us sell them our lives at a dear price. "

"Gathering themselves discreetly together, " says the chronicler, "theywent down by different gates, and struck out with mighty blows at theEnglish, as if they had been beating out their corn on thethreshing-floor; their arms went up and down again, and every blow dealtout a mighty wound. "

Big Ferré led a party of the defenders against the main body of theEnglish, pushing his way into the outer court where the captain hadfallen. When he saw his master stretched bleeding and dying on theground, the faithful fellow gave vent to a bitter cry, and rushed withthe rage of a lion upon the foe, wielding a great axe like a feather inhis hands. 

The English looked with surprise and alarm on this huge fellow, whotopped them all in height by a head and shoulders, and who came forwardlike a maddened bull, uttering short, hoarse cries of rage, while theheavy axe quivered in his vigorous grasp. In a moment he was upon them, striking such quick and deadly blows that the place before him was soonvoid of living men. Of one man the head was crushed; of another the armwas lopped off; a third was hurled back with a gaping wound. Hiscomrades, seeing the havoc he was making, were filled with ardor, andseconded him well, pressing on the dismayed English and forcing thembodily back. In an hour, says the chronicler, the vigorous fellow hadslain with his own hand eighteen of the foe, without counting thewounded. 

This was more than flesh and blood could bear. The English turned tofly; some leaped in terror into the ditches, others sought to regain thegates; after them rushed Big Ferré, still full of the rage of battle. Reaching the point where the English had planted their flag, he killedthe bearer, seized the standard, and bade one of his followers to goand fling it into the ditch, at a point where the wall was not yetfinished. 

"I cannot, " said the man; "there are still too many English there. "

"Follow me with the flag, " said Big Ferré. 

Like a woodman making a lane through a thicket, the burly championcleared an avenue through the ranks of the foe, and enabled his followerto hurl the flag into the ditch. Then, turning back, he made such havocamong the English who still remained within the wall, that all who wereable fled in terror from his deadly axe. In a short time the place wascleared and the gates closed, the English--such of them as wereleft--making their way with all haste from that fatal place. Of thosewho had come, the greater part never went back. It is said that the axeof Big Ferré alone laid more than forty of them low in death. In thisnumber the chronicler may have exaggerated, but the story as a whole isprobably true. 

The sequel to this exploit of the giant champion is no less interesting. The huge fellow whom steel could not kill was slain by water, --not bydrowning, however, but by drinking. And this is how it came to pass. 

The story of the doings at Longueil filled the English with shame andanger. When the bleeding and exhausted fugitives came back and reportedthe fate of their fellows, indignation and desire for revenge animatedall the English in the vicinity. On the following day they gatheredfrom all the camps in the neighborhood and marched in force on Longueil, bent on making the peasants pay dearly for the slaughter of theircomrades. 

This time they found entrance not so easy. The gates were closed, thewalls well manned. Big Ferré was now the captain of Longueil, and solittle did he or his followers fear the assaults of their foes, thatthey sallied out boldly upon them, their captain in the lead with hismighty axe. 

Fierce was the fray that followed. The peasants fought like tigers, their leader like a lion. The English were broken, slaughtered, drivenlike sheep before the burly champion and his bold followers. Many wereslain or sorely wounded. Numbers were taken, among them some of theEnglish nobles. The remainder fled in a panic, not able to stand againstthat vigorous arm and deadly axe, and the fierce courage which theexploits of their leader gave to the peasants. The field was cleared andLongueil again saved. 

Big Ferré, overcome with heat and fatigue, sought his home at the end ofthe fight, and there drank such immoderate draughts of cold water thathe was seized with a fever. He was put to bed, but would not part withhis axe, "which was so heavy that a man of the usual strength couldscarcely lift it from the ground with both hands. " In this statement onewould say that the worthy chronicler must have romanced a little. 

The news that their gigantic enemy was sick came to the ears of theEnglish, and filled them with joy and hope. He was outside the walls ofLongueil, and might be assailed in his bed. Twelve men-at-arms werechosen, their purpose being to creep up secretly upon the place, surround it, and kill the burly champion before aid could come to him. 

The plan was well laid, but it failed through the watchfulness of thesick man's wife. She saw the group of armed men before they couldcomplete their dispositions, and hurried with the alarming news to thebedside of her husband. 

"The English are coming!" she cried. "I fear it is for you they arelooking. What will you do?"

Big Ferré answered by springing from bed, arming himself in all hastedespite his sickness, seizing his axe, and leaving the house. Enteringhis little yard, he saw the foe closing covertly in on his smallmansion, and shouted, angrily, --

"Ah, you scoundrels! you are coming to take me in my bed. You shall notget me there; come, take me here if you will. "

Setting his back against a wall, he defended himself with his usualstrength and courage. The English attacked him in a body, but found itimpossible to get inside the swing of that deadly axe. In a little whilefive of them lay wounded upon the ground, and the other seven had takento flight. 

Big Ferré returned triumphantly to his bed; but, heated by hisexertions, he drank again too freely of cold water. In consequence hisfever returned, more violently than before. A few days afterwards thebrave fellow, sinking under his sickness, went out of the world, conquered by water where steel had been of no avail. "All his comradesand his country wept for him bitterly, for, so long as he lived, theEnglish would not have come nigh this place. "

And so ended the short but brilliant career of the notable Big Ferré, one of those peasant heroes who have risen from time to time in allcountries, yet rarely have lived long enough to make their fameenduring. His fate teaches one useful warning, that imprudence is oftenmore dangerous than armed men. 

We are told nothing concerning the fate of Longueil after his death. Probably the English found it an easy prey when deprived of the peasantchampion, who had held it so bravely and well; though it may be that thewraith of the burly hero hung about the place and still inspired hislate companions to successful resistance to their foes. Its fate is oneof those many half-told tales on which history shuts its door, afterrevealing all that it holds to be of interest to mankind. 

_BERTRAND DU GUESCLIN. _

In the castle of Motte-Broon, near Rennes, France, there was born aboutthe year 1314 "the ugliest child from Rennes to Dinan, " as anuncomplimentary chronicle says. He was a flat-nosed, swarthy, big-headed, broad-shouldered fellow, a regular wretch, in his ownmother's words, violent in temper, using his fist as freely as histongue, driving his tutor away before he could teach him to read, buthaving no need to be taught to fight, since this art came to him bynature. At sixteen he fled from home to Rennes, where he entered intoadventures, quarrels, and challenges, and distinguished himself bystrength, courage, and a strong sense of honor. 

He quickly took part in the wars of the time, showed his prowess inevery encounter, and in the war against Navarre, won the highest honors. At a later date he engaged in the civil wars of Spain, where he headedan army of thirty thousand men. In the end the adventurers who followedhim, Burgundian, Picard, Champagnese, Norman, and others, satisfied withtheir spoils, left him and returned to France. Bertrand had but somefifteen hundred men-at-arms remaining under his command when a greatperil confronted him. He was a supporter of Henry of Transtamare, whowas favorable to France, and who had made him Constable of Castile. This was not pleasing to Edward III. Of England. Don Pedro the Cruel, aking equally despised and detested, had been driven from Castile by theFrench allies of his brother Henry. Edward III. Determined to replacehim on the throne, and with this intent sent his son, the Black Prince, with John Chandos, the ablest of the English leaders, and an army oftwenty-seven thousand men, into the distracted kingdom. 

A fierce battle followed on April 3, 1367. The ill-disciplined soldiersof Henry were beaten and put to rout. Du Guesclin and his men-at-armsalone maintained the fight, with a courage that knew no yielding. In theend they were partly driven back, partly slain. Du Guesclin set his backagainst a wall, and fought with heroic courage. There were few with him. Up came the Prince of Wales, saw what was doing, and cried, --

"Gentle marshals of France, and you too, Bertrand, yield yourselves tome. "

"Yonder men are my foes, " exclaimed Don Pedro, who accompanied theprince; "it is they who took from me my kingdom, and on them I mean totake vengeance. "

He came near to have ended his career of vengeance then and there. DuGuesclin, incensed at his words, sprang forward and dealt him so furiousa blow with his sword as to hurl him fainting to the ground. Then, turning to the prince, the valiant warrior said, "Nathless, I give up mysword to the most valiant prince on earth. "

The prince took the sword, and turning to the Captal of Buch, theNavarrese commander, whom Bertrand had years before defeated andcaptured, bade him keep the prisoner. 

"Aha, Sir Bertrand, " said the Captal, "you took me at the battle ofCocherel, and to-day I've got you. "

"Yes, " retorted Bertrand; "but at Cocherel I took you myself, and hereyou are only my keeper. "

Pedro was restored to the throne of Castile, --which he was not long tohold, --and the Prince of Wales returned to Bordeaux, bringing him hisprisoner. He treated him courteously enough, but held him in strictcaptivity, and to Sir Hugh Calverley, who begged that he would releasehim at a ransom suited to his small estate, he answered, --

"I have no wish for ransom from him. I will have his life prolonged inspite of himself. If he were released he would be in battle again, andalways making war. "

And so Bertrand remained in captivity, until an event occurred of whichthe chroniclers give us an entertaining story. It is this event which itis our purpose to relate. 

A day came in which the Prince of Wales and his noble companions, havingrisen from dinner, were amusing themselves with narratives of daringdeeds of arms, striking love-passages, and others of the tales withwhich the barons of that day were wont to solace their leisure. The talkcame round to the story of how St. Louis, when captive in Tunis, hadbeen ransomed with fine gold, paid down by weight. At this point theprince spoke, somewhat unthinkingly. 

"When a good knight is made prisoner in fair feat of arms, " he said, "and sworn to abide prisoner, he should on no account depart without hismaster's leave. But one should not demand such portion of his substancein ransom as to leave him unable to equip himself again. "

The Sire de Lebret, who was friendly to Du Guesclin, answered, --

"Noble sire, be not angry if I relate what I have heard said of you inyour absence. "

"By my faith, " said the prince, "right little should I love follower ofmine, sitting at my table, if he heard a word said against my honor andapprised me not of it. "

"Sire, " answered he of Lebret, "men say that you hold in prison a knightwhose name I well know, whom you dare not deliver. "

"That is true, " broke in Oliver de Clisson; "I have heard the samesaid. "

The prince heard them with a countenance that reddened with anger. 

"I know no knight in the world, " he declared, "who, if he were myprisoner, I would not put to a fair ransom, according to his ability. "

"How, then, do you forget Bertrand du Guesclin?" said Lebret. 

The prince doubly changed color on hearing this. He felt himself fairlycaught, and, after a minute's indecision, he gave orders that Bertrandshould be brought before him. 

The knights who went in search found Bertrand talking with hischamberlain, as a relief to his weariness. 

"You are come in good time, " he said to his visitors, and bade thechamberlain bring wine. 

"It is fitting that we should have good and strong wine, " said one ofthe knights, "for we bring you good and pleasant tidings, with the bestof good-will. "

"The prince has sent us for you, " said another. "We think you will beransomed by the help of the many friends you have in court. "

"What say you?" answered Bertrand. "I have not a half-penny to my purse, and owe more than ten thousand livres in this city, which have been lentme since I have been held prisoner here. I cannot well ask more from myfriends. "

"How have you got rid of so much?" asked one of his visitors. 

"I can easily answer for that, " said Bertrand, with a laugh. "I haveeaten, drunk, given, and played at dice. A little money is soon spent. But that matters not; if once free I shall soon pay it. He who, for myhelp, lends me the keys of his money, has it in the best of keeping. "

"Sir, you are stout-hearted, " answered an officer. "It seems to you thateverything which you would have must happen. "

"By my faith, you are right, " said Bertrand, heartily. "In my view adispirited man is a beaten and discomfited one. "

"Surely there is enchantment in your blood, " rejoined the officer, "foryou seem proof against every shock. "

Leaving Bertrand's chamber, they sought that in which was the prince andhis companions. The prisoner was dressed in a rough gray coat, and borehimself with manly ease and assurance. The prince laughed pleasantly onseeing him. 

"Well, Bertrand, how are you?" he asked. 

"Sir, when it shall please you, I may fare better, " answered Bertrand, bowing slightly. "Many a day have I heard the rats and mice, but it islong since I have heard the song of birds. I shall hear them when it isyour pleasure. "

"That shall be when you will, Bertrand, " said the prince. "I require youonly to swear never to bear arms against me nor these with me, nor toassist Henry of Spain. If you consent to this, we shall set you free, pay your debts, and give ten thousand florins to equip you anew. If yourefuse, you shall not go. "

"Then, sir, " answered Bertrand, proudly, "my deliverance will not cometo pass, for before I do this, may I lie chained by the leg in prisonwhile I live. With God's will, I shall never be a reproach to myfriends, but shall serve with my whole heart the good king of France, and the noble dukes of Anjou, Berry, Burgundy, and Bourbon, whosesubject I have been. But, so please you, worthy prince, suffer me togo. You have held me too long in prison, wrongfully and without cause. Had I been free I had intended to go from France, to work out mysalvation by fighting the Saracens. "

"Why, then, went you not straight, without stopping?" asked the prince. 

"I will tell you, " exclaimed Bertrand, in a loud and fierce tone. "Wefound Peter, --the curse of God confound him!--who had long since thricefalsely murdered his noble queen, who was of the royal blood of Franceand your own cousin. I stopped to take revenge for her, and to helpHenry, whom I believe to be the rightful king of Spain. But you, throughpride and covetousness of gold and silver, came to Spain, thinking tohave the throne after the death of Peter. In this you injured your ownblood and troubled me and my people, ruined your friends and famishedyour army, and for what? After all this, Peter has deceived you bycheating and trickery, for he has not kept faith nor covenant with you. But for this, by my soul and faith, I thank him heartily. "

These bold words were listened to by the prince with a changeful face. Seldom had he heard the truth spoken so bluntly, or with such firmcomposure in the speaker. When he had ceased, the prince rose, and witha somewhat bitter laugh declared that, on his soul, Bertrand had spokenbut the truth. The barons around repeated the same among themselves, and, fixing their eyes on Bertrand, said, --"A brave fellow, theBreton. "

"Whether this be truth or no, Bertrand, " continued the prince, "you haverejected my offer, and shall not escape without a good ransom. It vexesme to let you go at all, for your king has none like you; but as men saythat I keep you prisoner because I fear you, you shall go free onpayment of sufficient ransom. Men shall learn that I neither fear norcare for you. "

"Sir, I thank you, " said Bertrand. "But I am a poor knight of littlename and small means. What estate I have is deeply mortgaged for thepurchase of war-horses, and I owe besides in this town full ten thousandflorins. I pray you, therefore, to be moderate, and deliver me. "

"Where will you go, fair sir?" asked the prince. 

"Where I may regain my loss, " answered Bertrand. "More than that, I saynot. "

"Consider, then, " said the prince, "what ransom you will give me. Whatsum you name shall be enough for me. "

"I trust you will not stoop to retract your meaning, " rejoined Bertrand. "And since you are content to refer it to my pleasure, I ought not tovalue myself too low. So I will give and engage for my freedom onehundred thousand double golden florins. "

These words roused the greatest surprise and excitement in the room. Many of those present started, and the prince changed color, as helooked around at his knights. 

"Does he mean to make game of me, that he offers such a sum?" asked theprince. "I would gladly free him for the quarter. "

Then, turning again to Bertrand, who stood with impassive countenance, he said, --

"Bertrand, neither can you pay, nor do I wish such a sum. So consideragain. "

"Sir, " answered Bertrand, with grave composure, "since you wish not somuch, I place myself at sixty thousand double florins; you shall nothave less, if you but discharge me. "

"Be it so, " said the prince. "I agree to it. "

Then Bertrand looked round him with glad eyes, and drew up his form withproud assurance. 

"Sir, " he said, "Prince Henry may truly vaunt that he will die king ofSpain, cost him what it may, if he but lend me half my ransom, and theking of France the other. If I can neither go nor send to these two, Iwill get all the spinstresses in France to spin it, rather than that Ishould remain longer in your hands. "

"What sort of man is this?" said the prince, aside to his lords. "He isstartled by nothing, either in act or thought; no more than if he hadall the gold in the world. He has set himself at sixty thousand doubleflorins, when I would have willingly accepted ten thousand. "

The barons talked among one another, lost in astonishment. Bertrandstood aside, his eyes fixed quietly upon the prince. 

"Am I then at liberty?" he asked. 

"Whence shall the money come?" queried Chandos. 

"Trust me to find it, " said Bertrand. "I have good friends. "

"By my faith, " answered Chandos, heartily, "you have one of them here. If you need my help, thus much I say: I will lend you ten thousand. "

"You have my thanks, " answered Bertrand. "But before accepting youroffer, I will try the people of my own country. "

The confidence of the gallant soldier was not misplaced. Part of the sumwas raised among his Breton friends, and King Charles V. Of France lenthim thirty thousand Spanish doubloons. In the beginning of 1368 thePrince of Wales set him at liberty. 

The remaining story of the life of Du Guesclin is a stirring andinteresting one. War was the only trade he knew, and he plunged boldlyinto it. First he joined the Duke of Anjou, who was warring in Provenceagainst Queen Joan of Naples. Then he put his sword again at the serviceof Henry of Transtamare, who was at war once more with Pedro the Cruel, and whom he was soon to dethrone and slay with his own hand. But shortlyafterwards war broke out again between France and England, and CharlesV. Summoned Du Guesclin to Paris. 

The king's purpose was to do the greatest honor to the poor but proudsoldier. He offered him the high office of Constable ofFrance, --commander-in-chief of the army and the first dignitary underthe crown. Du Guesclin prayed earnestly to be excused, but the kinginsisted, and he in the end felt obliged to yield. The poor Breton hadnow indeed risen to high estate. The king set him beside himself attable, showed him the deepest affection, and showered on him gifts andestates. His new wealth the free-handed soldier dispensed lavishly, giving numerous and sumptuous dinners, where, says his poetchronicler, --

 "At Bertrand's plate gazed every eye, So massive, chased so gloriously. "

This plate proved a slippery possession. More than once he pledged it, and in the end sold great part of it, to pay "without fail the knightsand honorable fighting-men of whom he was the leader. "

The war roused a strong spirit of nationality through France. Towns, strongholds, and castles were everywhere occupied and fortified. TheEnglish marched through the country, but found no army in the field, nostronghold that was to be had without a hard siege. Du Guesclin adoptedthe waiting policy, and kept to it firmly against all opposition of lordor prince. It was his purpose to let the English scatter and wastethemselves in a host of small operations and petty skirmishes. For eightyears the war continued, with much suffering to France, with no gain toEngland. In 1373 an English army landed at Calais, which overran nearlythe whole of France without meeting a French army or mastering a Frenchfortress, while incessantly harassed by detached parties of soldiers. Onreturning, of the thirty thousand horses with which they had landed, "they could not muster more than six thousand at Bordeaux, and had lostfull a third of their men and more. There were seen noble knights whohad great possessions in their own country, toiling along afoot, withoutarmor, and begging their bread from door to door without getting any. "Such were the happy results for France of the Fabian policy of theConstable Du Guesclin. 

A truce was at length signed, that both parties might have time tobreathe. Soon afterwards, on June 8, 1376, the Black Prince died, and inJune of the following year his father, Edward III. , followed him to thetomb, and France was freed from its greatest foes. During his service asconstable, Bertrand had recovered from English hands the provinces ofPoitou, Guienne, and Auvergne, and thus done much towards theestablishment of a united France. 

Du Guesclin was not long to survive his great English enemies. The kingtreated him unjustly, and he threw up his office of constable, declaringthat he would seek Spain and enter the service of Henry of Castile. Thisthreat brought the king to his senses. He sent the Dukes of Anjou andBourbon to beg Du Guesclin to retain his office. The indignant soldieryielded to their persuasions, accepted again the title of Constable ofFrance, and died four days afterwards, on July 13, 1380. He had beensent into Languedoc to suppress disturbances and brigandage, provoked bythe harsh government of the Duke of Anjou, and in this service fellsick while besieging Châteauneuf-Randon, in the Gévandan, a fortressthen held by the English. He died at sixty-six years of age, with hislast words exhorting the captains around him "never to forget that, inwhatsoever country they might be making war, churchmen, women, children, and the poor people were not their enemies. "

He won victory even after his death, so say the chronicles of that day. It is related that an agreement had been made for the surrender of thebesieged fortress, and that the date fixed was July 14, the day after DuGuesclin died. The new commander of the army summoned the governor tosurrender, but he declared that he had given his word to Du Guesclin, and would yield the place to no other. He was told that the constablewas dead. 

"Very well;" he replied, "I will carry the keys of the town to histomb. "

And so he did. He marched out of the place at the head of his garrison, passed through the lines of the besieging army, knelt before DuGuesclin's corpse, and laid the keys of Châteauneuf-Randon on his bier. 

And thus passed away one of the greatest and noblest warriors France hadever known, honored in life and triumphant in death. 

_JOAN OF ARC, THE MAID OF ORLEANS. _

At the hour of noon, on a sunny summer's day in the year of our Lord1425, a young girl of the little village of Domremy, France, stood withbent head and thoughtful eyes in the small garden attached to herfather's humble home. There was nothing in her appearance to attract asecond glance. Her parents were peasants, her occupation was one ofconstant toil, her attire was of the humblest, her life had beenhitherto spent in aiding her mother at home or in driving her father'sfew sheep afield. None who saw her on that day could have dreamed thatthis simple peasant maiden was destined to become one of the most famouswomen whose name history records, and that this day, was that of thebeginning of her career. 

She had been born at a critical period in history. Her country was inextremity. For the greater part of a century the dreadful "HundredYears' War" had been waged, desolating France, destroying its people bythe thousands, bringing it more and more under the dominion of a foreignfoe. The realm of France had now reached its lowest depth of disaster, its king uncrowned, its fairest regions overrun, --here by the English, there by the Burgundians, --the whole kingdom in peril of being taken andreduced to vassalage. Never before nor since had the need of adeliverer been so vitally felt. The deliverer chosen of heaven was theyoung peasant girl who walked that summer noon in her father's humblegarden at Domremy. 

Young as she was, she had seen the horrors of war. Four years before thevillage had been plundered and burnt, its defenders slain or wounded, the surrounding country devastated. The story of the suffering and perilof France was in all French ears. Doubtless little Joan's soul burnedwith sympathy for her beloved land as she moved thoughtfully up and downthe garden paths, asking herself if God could longer permit such wrongsand disasters to continue. 

Suddenly, to her right, in the direction of the small village church, Joan heard a voice calling her, and, looking thither, she was surprisedand frightened at seeing a great light. The voice, continued; hercourage returned; "it was a worthy voice, " she tells us, one that couldcome only from angels. "I saw them with my bodily eyes, " she afterwardssaid. "When they departed from me I wept and would fain have had themtake me with them. " Again and again came to her the voices and theforms; they haunted her; and still the burden of their exhortation wasthe same, that she should "go to France to deliver the kingdom. " Thegirl grew dreamy. She became lost in meditation, full of deep thoughtsand budding purposes, wrought by the celestial voices into high hopesand noble aspirations, possessed with the belief that she had beenchosen by heaven to deliver France from its woes and to disconcert itsenemies. 

The times were fitting for such a conception. Two forces ruled mens'minds, --ambition and trust in the supernatural. The powerfuldepended upon their own arms for aid; the weak and miserable turned toChrist and the Virgin for support; there were those who looked to seeGod in bodily person; His angels and ministers were thought to dealdirectly with man; it was an age in which force and fraud alike weredominant, in which men were governed in their bodies by the sword, intheir souls by their belief in and dread of the supernatural, and inwhich enthusiasm had higher sway than thought. It was enthusiasticbelief in her divine mission that moved Joan of Arc. It was trust in heras God's agent of deliverance that filled the soul of France with newspirit, and unnerved her foes with enfeebling fears. Joan's mission andher age were well associated. In the nineteenth century she would havebeen covered with ridicule; in the fifteenth she led France to victory. 

Three years passed away. Joan's faith in her mission had grown with theyears. Some ridiculed, many believed her. The story of her angelicvoices was spreading. At length came the event that moved her to action. The English laid siege to Orleans, the most important city in thekingdom after Paris and Rouen. If this were lost, all might be lost. Some of the bravest warriors of France fought in its defence; but thegarrison was weak, the English were strong, their works surrounded thewalls; daily the city was more closely pressed; unless relieved it mustfall. 

"I must go to raise the siege of Orleans, " said Joan to Robert deBaudricourt, commander of Vaucouleurs, with whom she had gained speech. "I will go, should I have to wear off my legs to the knee. "

"I must be with the king before the middle of Lent, " she said later toJohn of Metz, a knight serving with Baudricourt; "for none in the world, nor kings, nor dukes, nor daughter of the Scottish king can recover thekingdom of France; there is no help but in me. Assuredly I would farrather be spinning beside my poor mother, for this other is not mycondition; but I must go and do my work because my Lord wills that Ishould do it. "

"Who is your Lord?" asked John of Metz. 

"The Lord God. "

"By my faith, " cried the knight, as he seized her hands. "I will takeyou to the king, God helping. When will you set out?"

"Rather now than to-morrow; rather to-morrow than later, " said Joan. 

On the 6th of March, 1429, the devoted girl arrived at Chinon, inTouraine, where the king then was. She had journeyed nearly a hundredand fifty leagues, through a country that was everywhere a theatre ofwar, without harm or insult. She was dressed in a coat of mail, borelance and sword, and had a king's messenger and an archer as her train. This had been deemed necessary to her safety in those distracted times. 

Interest and curiosity went before her. Baudricourt's letters to theking had prepared him for something remarkable. Certain incidents whichhappened during Joan's journey, and which were magnified by report intomiracles, added to the feeling in her favor. The king and his councildoubted if it were wise to give her an audience. That a peasant girlcould succor a kingdom in extremity seemed the height of absurdity. Butsomething must be done. Orleans was in imminent danger. If it weretaken, the king might have to fly to Spain or Scotland. He had no money. His treasury, it is said, held only four crowns. He had no troops tosend to the besieged city. Drowning men catch at straws. The people ofOrleans had heard of Joan and clamored for her; with her, they feltsure, would come superhuman aid. The king consented to receive her. 

It was the 9th of March, 1429. The hour was evening. Candles dimlylighted the great hall of the king's palace at Chinon, in which nearlythree hundred knights were gathered. Charles VII. , the king, was amongthem, distinguished by no mark or sign, more plainly dressed than mostof those around him, standing retired in the throng. 

Joan was introduced. The story--in which we cannot put too muchfaith--says that she walked straight to the king through the crowd ofshowily-dressed lords and knights, though she had never seen himbefore, and said, in quiet and humble tones, --

"Gentle dauphin" (she did not think it right to call him king until hehad been crowned), "my name is Joan the maid; the King of Heaven sendethyou word by me that you shall be anointed and crowned in the city ofRheims, and shall be lieutenant of the King of Heaven, who is king ofFrance. It is God's pleasure that our enemies, the English, shoulddepart to their own country; if they depart not, evil will come to them, and the kingdom is sure to continue yours. "

What followed is shrouded in doubt. Some say that Joan told Charlesthings that none but himself had known. However this be, the kingdetermined to go to Poitiers and have this seeming messenger from Heavenquestioned strictly as to her mission, by learned theologians of theUniversity of Paris there present. 

"In the name of God, " said Joan, "I know that I shall have rough workthere, but my Lord will help me. Let us go, then, for God's sake. "

They went. It was an august and learned assembly into which theunlettered girl was introduced, yet for two hours she answered all theirquestions with simple earnestness and shrewd wit. 

"In what language do the voices speak to you?" asked Father Seguin, theDominican, "a very sour man, " says the chronicle. 

"Better than yours, " answered Joan. The doctor spoke a provincialdialect. 

"Do you believe in God?" he asked, sharply. 

"More than you do, " answered Joan, with equal sharpness. 

"Well, " he answered, "God forbids belief in you without some signtending thereto; I shall not give the king advice to trust men-at-armsto you and put them in peril on your simple word. "

"In the name of God, " replied Joan, "I am not come to Poitiers to showsigns. Take me to Orleans and I will give you signs of what I am sentfor. Let me have ever so few men-at-arms given me and I will go toOrleans. "

For a fortnight the questioning was continued. In the end the doctorspronounced in Joan's favor. Two of them were convinced of her divinemission. They declared that she was the virgin foretold in ancientprophecies, notably in those of Merlin. All united in saying that "therehad been discovered in her naught but goodness, humility, devotion, honesty, and simplicity. "

Charles decided. The Maid should go to Orleans. A suit of armor was madeto fit her. She was given the following of a war-chief. She had a whitebanner made, which was studded with lilies, and bore on it a figure ofGod seated on clouds and bearing a globe, while below were two kneelingangels, above were the words "Jesu Maria. " Her sword she required theking to provide. One would be found, she said, marked with five crosses, behind the altar in the chapel of St. Catharine de Fierbois, where shehad stopped on her arrival in Chinon. Search was made, and the sword wasfound. 

And now five weeks were passed in weary preliminaries, despite the factthat Orleans pleaded earnestly for succor. Joan had friends at court, but she had powerful enemies, whose designs her coming had thwarted, andit was they who secretly opposed her plans. At length, on the 27th ofApril, the march to Orleans began. 

On the 29th the army of relief arrived before the city. There were tenor twelve thousand men in the train, guarding a heavy convoy of food. The English covered the approach to the walls, the only unguardedpassage being beyond the Loire, which ran by the town. To the surpriseand vexation of Joan her escort determined to cross the stream. 

"Was it you, " she asked Dunois, who had left the town to meet her, "whogave counsel for making me come hither by this side of the river, andnot the direct way, over there where Talbot and the English are?"

"Yes; such was the opinion of the wisest captains, " he replied. 

"In the name of God, the counsel of my Lord is wiser than yours. Youthought to deceive me, and you have deceived yourselves, for I ambringing you the best succor that ever had knight, or town, or city, andthat is, the good-will of God and succor from the King of Heaven; not, assuredly, for love of me; it is from God only that it proceeds. "

She wished to remain with the troops until they could enter the city, but Dunois urged her to cross the stream at once, with such portion ofthe convoy as the boats might convey immediately. 

"Orleans would count it for naught, " he said, "if they received thevictuals without the Maid. "

She decided to go, and crossed the stream with two hundred men-at-armsand part of the supplies. At eight o'clock that evening she entered thecity, on horseback, in full armor, her banner preceding her, beside herDunois, behind her the captains of the garrison and several of the mostdistinguished citizens. The population hailed her coming with shouts ofjoy, crowding on the procession, torch in hand, so closely that herbanner was set on fire. Joan made her horse leap forward with the skillof a practised horseman, and herself extinguished the flame. 

It was a remarkable change in her life. Three years before, a simplepeasant child, she had been listening to the "voices" in her father'sgarden at Domremy. Now, the associate of princes and nobles, and thelast hope of the kingdom, she was entering a beleaguered city at thehead of an army, amid the plaudits of the population, and followed bythe prayers of France. She was but seventeen years old, still a meregirl, yet her coming had filled her countrymen with hope and depressedtheir foes with dread. Such was the power of religious belief in thatgood mediæval age. 

The arrival of the Maid was announced to the besiegers by a herald, whobore a summons from her to the English, bidding them to leave the landand give up the keys of the cities which they had wrongfully taken, under peril of being visited by God's judgment. They detained andthreatened to burn the herald, as a warning to Joan, the sorceress, asthey deemed her. Yet such was their terror that they allowed the armedforce still outside the city to enter unmolested, through theirintrenchments. 

The warning Joan had sent them by herald she now repeated in person, mounting a bastion and bidding the English, in a loud voice, to begone, else woe and shame would come upon them. 

The commandant of the bastille opposite, Sir William Gladesdale, answered with insults, bidding her to go back and mind her cows, andsaying that the French were miscreants. 

"You speak falsely!" cried Joan; "and in spite of yourselves shall soondepart hence; many of your people shall be slain; but as for you, youshall not see it. "

Nor did he; he was drowned a few days afterwards, a shot from Orleansdestroying a drawbridge on which he stood, with many companions. 

What succeeded we may tell briefly. Inspired by the intrepid Maid, thebesieged boldly attacked the British forts, and took them one afteranother. The first captured was that of St. Loup, which was carried byJoan and her troops, despite the brave defence of the English. The nextday, the 6th of May, other forts were assailed and taken, the men ofOrleans, led by Joan, proving irresistible. The English would not faceher in the open field, and under her leadership the French intrepidlystormed their ramparts. 

A memorable incident occurred during the assault on the works south ofthe city. Here Joan seized a scaling ladder, and was mounting it herselfwhen an arrow struck and wounded her. She was taken aside, her armorremoved, and she herself pulled out the arrow, though with some tearsand signs of faintness. Her wound being dressed, she retired into avineyard to rest and pray. Discouraged by her absence, the French beganto give way. The captains ordered the retreat to be sounded. 

"My God, we shall soon be inside, " cried Joan to Dunois. "Give yourpeople a little rest; eat and drink. "

In a short time she resumed her arms, mounted her horse, ordered herbanner to be displayed, and put herself at the head of the stormingparty. New courage inspired the French; the English, who had seen herfall, and were much encouraged thereby, beheld her again in arms withsuperstitious dread. Joan pressed on; the English retreated; the fortwas taken without another blow. Back to Orleans marched the triumphantMaid, the people wild with joy. All through the night the bells rang outglad peals, and the _Te Deum_ was chanted. Much reason had they for joy:Orleans was saved. 

It was on a Saturday that these events had taken place. At daybreak ofthe next day, Sunday, May 8, the English advanced to the moats of thecity as if to offer battle. Some of the French leaders wished to accepttheir challenge, but Joan ran to the city gates, and bade them desist"for the love and honor of holy Sunday. "

"It is God's good-will and pleasure, " she said, "that they be allowed toget them gone if they be minded to go away; if they attack you, defendyourselves boldly; you will be the masters. "

An altar was raised at her suggestion; mass was celebrated, and hymns ofthanksgiving chanted. While this was being done, the English turned andmarched away, with banners flying. Their advance had been an act ofbravado. 

"See, " cried Joan, "are the English turning to you their faces, orverily their backs? Let them go; my Lord willeth not that there be anyfighting this day; you shall have them another time. "

Her words were true; the English were in full retreat; the siege ofOrleans was raised. So hastily had they gone that they had left theirsick and many of their prisoners behind, while the abandoned works werefound to be filled with provisions and military supplies. The Maid hadfulfilled her mission. France was saved. 

History contains no instance to match this. A year before, Joan of Arc, a low-born peasant girl, had occupied herself in tending sheep andspinning flax; her hours of leisure being given to dreams and visions. Now, clad in armor and at the head of an army, she was gazing in triumphon the flight of a hostile army, driven from its seemingly assured preyby her courage, intrepidity, and enthusiasm, while veteran soldiersobeyed her commands, experienced leaders yielded to her judgment. Neverhad the world seen its like. The Maid of Orleans had made her nameimmortal. 

Three days afterward Joan was with the king, at Tours. She advanced tomeet him with her banner in her hand, her head uncovered, and making adeep obeisance over her horse's head. Charles met her with the deepestjoy, taking off his cap and extending his hand, while his face beamedwith warm gratitude. 

She urged him to march at once against his flying enemies, and to startwithout delay for Rheims, there to be crowned, that her mission might befulfilled. 

"I shall hardly last more than a year, " she said, with propheticinsight; "we must think of working right well this year, for there ismuch to do. "

Charles hesitated; hesitation was natural to him. He had many adviserswho opposed Joan's counsel. There were no men, no money, for so great ajourney, they said. Councils were held, but nothing was decided on. Joangrew impatient and impetuous. Many supported her. Great lords from allparts of France promised their aid. One of these, Guy de Laval, thuspictures the Maid:

"It seems a thing divine to look on her and listen to her. I saw hermount on horseback, armed all in white armor, save her head, and with alittle axe in her hand, on a great black charger, which, at the door ofher quarters, was very restive and would not let out her mount. Thensaid she, 'Lead him to the cross, ' which was in front of the neighboringchurch, on the road. There she mounted him without his moving, and as ifhe were tied up; and turning towards the door of the church, which wasvery nigh at hand, she said, in quite a womanly voice, 'You priests andchurchmen, make procession and prayers to God!' Then she resumed herroad, saying, 'Push forward, push forward!'"

Push forward it was. The army was infected with her enthusiasm, irresistible with belief in her. On the 10th of June she led them to thesiege of the fortified places which lay around Orleans. One by one theyfell. On Sunday, June 12, Jargeau was taken. Beaugency next fell. Nothing could withstand the impetuosity of the Maid and her followers, Patay was assailed. 

"Have you good spurs?" she asked her captains. 

"Ha! must we fly, then!" they demanded. 

"No, surely; but there will be need to ride boldly; we shall give a goodaccount of the English, and our spurs will serve us famously in pursuingthem. "

The French attacked, by order of Joan. 

"In the name of God, we must fight, " she said. "Though the English weresuspended from the clouds, we should have them, for God has sent us topunish them. The gentle king shall have to-day the greatest victory hehas ever had; my counsel has told me that they are ours. "

Her voices counselled well. The battle was short, the victory decisive. The English were put to flight; Lord Talbot, their leader, was taken. 

"Lord Talbot, this is not what you expected this morning, " said the Duked'Alençon. 

"It is the fortune of war, " answered Talbot, coolly. 

Joan returned to the king and demanded that they should march instantlyfor Rheims. He hesitated still. His counsellors advised delay. Theimpatient Maid left the court and sought the army. She was mistress ofthe situation. The king and his court were obliged to follow her. OnJune 29 the army, about twelve thousand strong, began the march toRheims. 

There were obstacles on the road, but all gave way before her. Thestrong town of Troyes, garrisoned by English and Burgundians, made ashow of resistance; but when her banner was displayed, and the assaultbegan, she being at the head of the troops, the garrison lost heart andsurrendered. On went the army, all opposition vanishing. On the 16th ofJuly, King Charles entered Rheims. The coronation was fixed for thefollowing day. "Make good use of my time, " Joan repeated to the king, "for I shall hardly last longer than a year. "

In less than three months she had driven the English from beforeOrleans, captured from them city after city, raised the sinking cause ofFrance into a hopeful state, and now had brought the prince to becrowned in that august cathedral which had witnessed the coronation ofso many kings. On the 17th the ceremony took place with much grandeurand solemnity. Joan rode between Dunois and the Archbishop of Rheims, while the air rang with the acclamations of the immense throng. 

"I have accomplished that which my Lord commanded me to do, " said Joan, "to raise the siege of Orleans and have the gentle king crowned. Ishould like it well if it should please Him to send me back to my fatherand mother, to keep their sheep and their cattle and do that which wasmy wont. "

It would have been well for her if she had done so, for her futurecareer was one of failure and misfortune. She kept in arms at the king'sdesire. In September she attacked Paris, and was defeated, she herselfbeing pierced through the thigh with an arrow. It was her first repulse. During the winter we hear little of her. Her family was ennobled byroyal decree, and the district of Domremy made free from all tax ortribute. In the spring the enemy attacked Compiègne. Joan threw herselfinto the town to save it. She had not been there many hours when, in asortie, the French were repulsed. Joan and some of her followersremained outside fighting, while the drawbridge was raised and theportcullis dropped by the frightened commandant. The Burgundians crowdedaround her. Twenty of them surrounded her horse. One, a Picard archer, "a tough fellow and mighty sour, " seized her and flung her to theground. She was a prisoner in their hands. 

The remaining history of Joan of Arc presents a striking picture of thecharacter of the age. It is beyond our purpose to give it. It willsuffice to say that she was tried by the English as a sorceress, dealtwith unfairly in every particular, and in the end, on May 30, 1431, wasburned at the stake. Even as the flames rose she affirmed that thevoices which she had obeyed came from God. Her voice was raised inprayer as death approached, the last word heard from her lips being"Jesus!"

"Would that my soul were where I believe the soul of that woman is!"cried two of her judges, on seeing her die. 

And Tressart, secretary to Henry VI. Of England, said, on his returnfrom the place of execution, "We are all lost; we have burned a saint!"

A saint she was, an inspired one. She died, but France was saved. 

_THE CAREER OF A KNIGHT-ERRANT. _

Mediæval history would be of greatly reduced interest but for itssprightly stories of knights and their doings. In those days when men, "clad in complete steel, " did their fighting with spear, sword, andbattle-axe, and were so enamoured of hard blows and blood-letting thatin the intervals of war they spent their time seeking combat andadventure, much more of the startling and romantic naturally came topass than can be looked for in these days of the tyranny of commerce andthe dominion of "villanous saltpetre. " This was the more so from thefact that enchanters, magicians, demons, dragons, and all that uncannybrood, the creation of ignorance and fancy, made knighthood often nosinecure, and men's haunting belief in the supernatural were frequentlymore troublesome to them than their armed enemies. But with thismisbegotten crew we have nothing to do. They belong to legend andfiction, not to history, and it is with the latter alone that we arehere concerned. But as more than one example has been given of howknights bore themselves in battle, it behooves us to tell something ofthe doings of a knight-errant, one of those worthy fellows who wentabroad to prove their prowess in single combat, and win glory in thetournament at spear's point. 

Such a knight was Jacques de Lelaing, "the good knight without fear andwithout doubt, " as his chroniclers entitle him, a Burgundian by birth, born in the château of Lelaing early in the fifteenth century. Jacqueswas well brought up for a knight. Literature was cultivated in Burgundyin those days, and the boy was taught the arts of reading and writing, the accomplishments of French and Latin, and in his later life heemployed the pen as well as the sword, and did literary work of whichspecimens still survive. 

In warlike sports he excelled. He was still but a youth when the nephewof Philip the Good of Burgundy (Philip the _Bad_ would have hit the markmore nearly) carried him off to his uncle's court to graduate inknighthood. The young adventurer sought the court of Philip wellequipped for his new duties, his father, William de Lelaing, havingfurnished him with four fine horses, a skilful groom, and a no lessskilful valet; and also with some good advice, to the effect that, "Inasmuch as you are more noble than others by birth, so should you bemore noble than they by virtues, " adding that, "few great men havegained renown for prowess and virtue who did not entertain love for somedame or damoiselle. "

The latter part of the advice the youthful squire seemed well inclinedto accept. He was handsome, gallant, bold, and eloquent, and quicklybecame a favorite with the fair sex. Nor was he long in gaining anopportunity to try his hand in battle, a squabble having arisen betweenPhilip and a neighboring prince. This at an end, our hero, stirred byhis "errant disposition, " left Philip's court, eager, doubtless, to winhis spurs by dint of battle-axe and blows of blade. 

In 1445 he appeared at Nancy, then occupied by the French court, whichhad escorted thither Margaret of Anjou, who was to be taken to Englandas bride to Henry VI. The occasion was celebrated by festivals, of whicha tournament was the principal feature, and here the Burgundian squire, piqued at some disparaging remarks of the French knights, rode into thelists and declared his purpose to hold them against all comers, challenging the best knight there to unhorse him if he could. 

The boastful squire was richly adorned for the occasion, having alreadymade friends among the ladies of the court, and wearing favors andjewels received at the hands of some of the fairest there. Nor was hisboast an empty one. Not a man who faced him was able to hurl him fromthe saddle, while many of them left the lists with bruised bodies orbroken bones. 

"What manner of man will this be, " said the onlookers, "who as a boy isso firm of seat and strong of hand?"

At the banquet which followed Jacques was as fresh and gay as if newlyrisen from sleep, and his conquests among the ladies were as many as hehad won among the knights. That night he went to his couch the owner ofa valuable diamond given him by the Duchess of Orleans, and of a ringset with a precious ruby, the gift of the Duchess of Calabria. Verily, the squire of Burgundy had made his mark. 

The end of the year found our bold squire in Antwerp. Here, in thecathedral of Notre Dame, he met an arrogant Sicilian knight namedBonifazio, whose insolent bearing annoyed him. The Sicilian wore on hisleft leg a golden fetter-ring fastened by a chain of gold to a circletabove his knee, while his shield bore the defiant motto, "Who has fairlady, let him look to her well. "

Jacques looked at the swaggering fellow, liked his bearing but little, and touched his shield by way of challenge, saying, "Thine is animpertinent device. "

"And thou art but a sorry squire, though with assurance enough for atried knight, " answered the Sicilian. 

"That is to prove, " said Jacques, defiantly. "If my master, Duke Philip, will give me leave to fight, thou durst not deny me, being, as we are, on his Grace's territory. "

Bonifazio accepted the challenge, and as the duke gave consent, a battlebetween squire and knight was arranged, Ghent being the chosen place ofcombat. 

Two days it lasted, the first day's fight being a sort of horsebackprelude to the main combat. In this the squire bore himself so wellagainst his experienced antagonist, that Duke Philip judged he hadfairly won his spurs, and on the next day he was formally made aknight, with the accolade and its attendant ceremonies. 

This day the work displayed worthily followed the promising preface. After a preliminary bout with spears, the combatants seized theirbattle-axes, and hewed at each other with the vigor of two woodmenfelling a mighty oak. The edges of the axes being spoiled, the knightsdrew their well-tempered swords and renewed the combat with thelustihood of the heroes of the Round Table, fighting so fiercely that itwas not easy to follow the gleam of the swift-flashing blades. In theend the Burgundian proved himself more than a match for the Sicilian, driving him back, hewing rents in his armor, and threatening him withspeedy death. At this stage of the affray Duke Philip, at the request ofthe Duke of Orleans, flung his truncheon into the lists and ended thefight, in time to save the Sicilian knight. 

His signal victory won Sir Jacques much fame. His antagonist was a manof mark, and the Burgundian knight gained from his prowess theappellation of "The Good Knight, " which he maintained throughout hiscareer. He now determined to take up the profession of knight-errant, travelling from court to court, and winning smiles and fame whereverlists were set up or men of prowess could be found. But first he soughthis home and the approval of his parents. 

"Go on thy way, with God's blessing, " said his stout sire, who hadcracked skulls in his day and was proud of his doughty son. 

"Yes, go on thy way, Jacques, " said his mother in milder tone, and withmoist eyes. "I have put a healing ointment in thy valise, that will curebruises. If thou shouldst break a bone, Heaven send thee a skilfulsurgeon. "

Into France rode Sir Jacques, well mounted, and with squire and page inhis train, in search of adventures and opponents, eager for fame andprofit. From his left arm, fastened by a chain of gold, hung a splendidhelmet, which he offered as a prize to any knight who could overcome himin single combat. To this he added a diamond, which he agreed to presentto any lady whom his victor should name. Whoever should first drop hisaxe in the combat was to bestow a bracelet on his opponent. To thisJacques added a singular stipulation, significant of queer doings inthose days, that neither knight should be fastened to his saddle. Forall else, he put his trust in God and his own right arm, and in the aidthat came to him from the love of "the fair lady who had more power overhim than aught besides throughout the entire world. "

Thus prepared and thus defying, Sir Jacques rode through Paris and theother cities of France without meeting a knight ready to accept hischallenge. This was due to the king, however, rather than to hisknights; Charles VII. Had forbidden any of his chevaliers to fight thebold Burgundian, the fame of whose strength and prowess was alreadywide-spread. Through southern France, then in the hands of the English, rode our hero, with the same fortune. Many were ready to meet him atthe board, none in the field. Into Spain he passed on, still without anadversary, and sore in temper despite his pride in his reputation. 

At last, in the realm of the Dons, he found a knight ready to breaklances with him in the field, out of pure duty to his "much loved lady, "as he affirmed. This was Don Diego de Guzman, grand master of Calatrava, whom he met on the borders of Castile, and who at once accepted hischallenge. Yet single combat in those days was not quite the easy affairwe might imagine it, if we judged from fiction and legend. Before aknight could indulge in mortal affray he was obliged to obtain theconsent of his sovereign, provided that peace ruled between his countryand that of his antagonist, as was the case between Spain and Burgundy. The king of Spain was absent. An answer could not be had immediately. While awaiting it, Sir Jacques rode into Portugal, followed by asplendid retinue, and offered an open challenge to the knights of thatkingdom to take the field against him. 

His ride was almost a royal procession. The story of his one combatseemed to have gained Jacques world-wide fame. From the frontier toLisbon he was met with a continuous ovation, and in the capital, where aball was given in his honor, he was invited to open the dance with thequeen for partner. And so it went, --an abundance of merry-making, unlimited feasting and dancing, but no fighting. Sir Jacques grewmelancholy. He pleaded with King Alphonso. 

"I have had a turn in the dance with your queen, " he said; "now let mehave a tourney with your knights. "

"Burgundy is my good friend, " answered the king, "and Heaven forbid thata knight from that court should be roughly treated by any knights ofmine. "

"By all the saints, I defy the best of them!" cried the irate knight. 

"And so let it rest, " said Alphonso, placably. "Ride back to Castile, and do thy worst upon Guzman's hard head and strong ribs. "

There being nothing better to do, Jacques complied, and made his way toValladolid, having learned that the king of Spain had graciouslyconsented to the combat. The 3d of February, 1447, was the day which hadbeen fixed for the battle between the two knights, "for the grace of Godand the love of their ladies, " and on the advent of that day the citynamed was so crowded with sport-loving Spaniards that its streets werebarely passable. A great day in the history of knight-errantry waspromised, and gentles and simples, lords and ladies alike, were anxiousto see the spectacle. 

When the morning of the eventful day dawned all was bustle andexcitement in Valladolid, and multitudes gathered at the lists. TheBurgundian was on the ground and ready by ten o'clock, but it was threebefore Don Guzman appeared, and then he came armed with an axe soportentously long in the handle that the Spanish umpires themselves, anxious as they were for his success, forbade its use. Yet the truculentDon gave them no small trouble before he would consent to chooseanother. This done, the knights were conducted to their tents, whichthey were not to leave till the clarions had thrice sounded the signalof battle. 

Don Guzman, however, proved inconveniently brave and eager. At the firsttrumpet blast out he sprang, and muttered fiercely when ordered back. The second blast brought him out again, and this time the king himselfsent him back "with an ugly word. " The third blast sounded. Out now flewboth combatants. Battle-axe in hand, they made at each other, and soonthe ring of axe on helmet delighted the ardent souls of the thousands oflookers-on. At length, Diego's axe was hurled from his hand. Jacques, with knightly courtesy, threw down his, and an interval of wrestling forthe mastery followed. Then they drew their swords, and assailed eachother with undiminished fierceness. What might have been the result itis not easy to say; Sir Jacques had no carpet knight to deal with in DonDiego; but the king ended the business by throwing his truncheon intothe lists, and refusing permission to the combatants to finish theirfight on horseback, as they wished. They thereupon shook hands, whilethe air rang with the shouts of the spectators. 

In the end Don Guzman behaved well. He praised the skill and courage ofhis antagonist, and presented him with an Andalusian horse, coveredwith rich trappings. In this Jacques was not to be outdone. He sent theDon a charger of great beauty and value, whose coverings were of bluevelvet embroidered in gold, and the saddle of violet velvet. Banquetsand balls followed the combat; the combatants were feasted to theirhearts' content; and Sir Jacques at length left the court of Spainloaded with presents and covered with honor. 

And now the "good knight" turned his steps homeward, challenging allchampions as he went, but without finding an opponent. Feasting he foundin abundance; but no fighting. Stopping at Montpelier, he became theguest of Jacques Coeur, silversmith and banker to Charles VII. Hisworthy host offered him money freely, and engaged to redeem anyvaluables which the wandering knight might have found it necessary topawn. Sir Jacques thanked him, but said, --

"My good master, the Duke of Burgundy, provides all that is necessaryfor me, and allows me to want for nothing. "

Soon after, our errant knight reached Philip's court, where he wasreceived with the highest honors. Then to his paternal castle he wendedhis way, to be welcomed by his proud parents as gladly as if he had wonthe Holy Grail. Dancing and rejoicing followed, in which all theneighboring noble families participated, and many a fair damsel shed hersmiles--in vain it seems--on the famous and heart-whole knight. 

We next hear of Jacques de Lelaing in 1449. In that year the heraldCharolais made his advent at the Scottish court, bearing a challengefrom the Burgundian knight to the whole clan of the Douglases. JamesDouglas accepted the challenge, and Sir Jacques appeared in due time atStirling, where a battle took place in which the Burgundian again cameoff victor. From Scotland Jacques sought England but failed to find inthat kingdom any knight willing to accept his challenge. Yet he had butfairly got home again when an English knight, Sir Thomas Karr by name, appeared at the court of Philip the Good, and challenged Jacques deLelaing to combat for the honor of old England. 

As may well be imagined, this challenge was speedily accepted, the listsbeing set in a field near Bruges. The English knight was the heavier, but Jacques was the favorite, for once again he was fighting on hisnative soil. Fierce was the combat. It ended in the Burgundian's favor. Karr struck him a blow on the arm with his battle-axe which renderedthat arm useless, it being paralyzed or broken. But the valiant Jacquesdropped his axe, closed with his foe, and with the aid of his one armflung him to the ground, falling upon him. This ended the combat, theBurgundian being pronounced victor. But as he had been the first to drophis battle-axe, he presented Sir Thomas with a rich diamond, as he hadagreed in his challenge. 

Jacques had been sorely hurt. His wound took a long time to heal. Whenhis arm had grown strong again he repaired to Châlons, where he openeda tournament of his own, in which he held the lists against all comers. This was in fulfilment of a vow which he had made that he would appearin the closed lists thirty times before the completion of his thirtiethyear. Much fighting was done, much blood spilt, and much honor gained bySir Jacques. We cannot tell all that took place, but the nobletournament at Châlons was long afterwards the talk of the country-side. 

As for Sir Jacques, he was now at the height of fame, and Philip theGood, to do him the highest honor in his power, created him a knight ofthe illustrious order of the Golden Fleece. Of his single combatsafterwards we shall but speak of one fought at Brussels, in honor of theson of the Duke of Burgundy, then eighteen years old. Jacques de Lelaingwas selected to tilt with the young count, --doubtless with the idea thathe could be trusted not to harm him. In the first course that was runthe count shattered his spear against the shield of Jacques, who raisedhis own weapon and passed without touching his adversary. Thiscomplaisance displeased the duke, who sent word to the knight that if heproposed to play with his adversary he had better withdraw at once. Theyran again. This time both splintered their spears, and both kept theirseats, much to the delight of Duke Philip. 

On the next day the grand tourney came off. To behold it there werepresent no less than two hundred and twenty-five princes, barons, knights, and squires. That day the youthful Count de Charolaisacquitted himself nobly, breaking eighteen spears, --and possibly somebones of his antagonists. He carried off the prize, which was bestowedupon him by the ladies of his father's court, and Duke Philip gloried inthe prowess of his son. 

With that tournament ended the record of the single combats of Jacquesde Lelaing. War followed, the duke and his robber barons fightingagainst the rich cities of Belgium, and spoiling many of them. In thosewars Sir Jacques took part. At length, in June, 1453, siege was beingmade against the Château de Pouckes, a stronghold against whose wallsthe Burgundians plied a great piece of artillery, an arm which was thenonly fairly coming into use. Behind this stood Sir Jacques, with anumber of other nobles, to watch the effect of the shot. Just then camewhizzing through the air a stone bullet, shot from a culverin on thewalls of the castle, the artillerist being a young man of Ghent, son ofHenry the Blindman. This stone struck Sir Jacques on the forehead andcarried away the upper half of his head, stretching him dead on thefield. He was yet a young man when death thus came to him. Only eightyears before he had made his first appearance in the lists, at Nancy. 

Philip the Good was infuriated when he heard of the loss of his favoriteknight. He vowed that when the Château was taken every soul in it shouldbe hung from the walls. He kept his word, too, with a few exceptions, these being some priests, a leprous soldier, and a couple of boys. Oneof these lads made his way in all haste to Ghent, and not until well outof reach of the _good_ Philip did he reveal the truth, that it was hishand which had fired the fatal shot. 

And so ended the life of our worthy knight-errant, the prize-fighter ofan earlier day than ours, the main difference between past and presentbeing that his combats were fought with battle-axe and sword instead offists, and that his backers were princes, his admirers high-born ladies, instead of the low-lived class of bruisers who now support such_knightly_ exhibitions. Four centuries and more have passed since thedays of Sir Jacques. It is to be hoped that long before another centuryhas passed, there will be an end of all single combats in civilizedlands. 

_LOUIS THE POLITIC AND CHARLES THE BOLD. _

In the latter half of the fifteenth century Europe had two notablesovereigns, Louis XI. Of France and Charles the Bold, or Charles theRash, of Burgundy; the one famous in history for his intricate policy, the other for his lack of anything that could fairly be called policy. The relations between these two men ranged from open hostility to apeace of the most fragile character. The policy of Louis was of the kindthat was as likely to get him into trouble as out of it. The rashnessand headstrong temper of Charles were equally likely to bring trouble intheir train. In all things the two formed a strongly contrasted pair, and their adjoining realms could hardly hope for lasting peace whilethese men lived. 

The hand of Charles was ever on his sword. With him the blow quicklyfollowed the word or the thought. The hand of Louis--"the universalspider, " as his contemporaries named him--was ever on the web ofintrigue which he had woven around him, feeling its filaments, andkeeping himself in touch with every movement of his foes. He did notlike war. That was too direct a means of gaining his ends. It was hisdelight to defeat his enemies by combinations of state policy, to playoff one against another, and by incessant intrigue to gain those endswhich other men gained by hard blows. 

Yet it is possible for a schemer to overdo himself, for one who truststo his plots and his policy to defeat himself by the very neatness andintricacy of his combinations, and so it proved on one occasion in thedealings between these two men. The incident which we propose to relateforms the subject of "Quentin Durward, " one of the best-known novels bySir Walter Scott, and is worth telling for itself without theallurements of romance. 

"Louis had a great idea of the influence he gained over people by hiswits and his language, " says one of his biographers. "He was alwaysconvinced that people never said what ought to be said, and that theydid not set to work the right way. " He liked to owe success to himselfalone, and had an inordinate opinion of his power both of convincing andof deceiving people. In consequence, during one of his periods ofstrained relations with Charles of Burgundy, which his agents found itimpossible to settle, this royal schemer determined to visit Charles inperson, and try the effect on his opponent of the powers of persuasionof which he was so proud. 

It was as rash a project as Charles himself could have been guilty of. The fox was about to trust himself in the den of the angry lion. ButLouis persisted, despite the persuasions of his councillors, sent toCharles for a letter of safe-conduct, and under its assurance soughtthe Duke of Burgundy in his fortified town of Péronne, having with himas escort only fourscore of his Scotch guard and sixty men-at-arms. 

It was a mad movement, and led to consequences of which Louis had notdreamed. Charles received him civily enough. Between rash duke andpolitic king there was every show of amity. But the negotiations went onno more rapidly now than they had done before. And soon came news whichproved that Louis the schemer had, for once at least, played the fool, and put himself in a position of the utmost danger. 

The policy of the royal spider had been stretched too far. His webs ofplot had unluckily crossed. In truth, shortly before coming to Péronne, he had sent two secret agents to the town of Liége, to stir the unrulycitizens up to rebellion against the duke. Quite forgetting this trifleof treachery, the too-hasty plotter had sought the duke's strongholdwith the hope of placating him with well-concocted lies and a smoothtongue. Unluckily for him, his agents did not forget their orders. 

The Liégoise broke out into rebellion, under the insidious advice of theFrench king's agents, advanced and took the town of Tongres, killed somefew people, and made prisoner there the bishop of Liége and the lord ofHumbercourt. The fugitives who brought this news to Péronne made thematter even worse than this, reporting that the bishop and lord hadprobably been killed. Charles believed them, and broke into a fury thataugured badly for his guest. 

"So the king came here only to deceive me!" he burst out. "It is he whoby his ambassadors excited these bad folks of Liége! By St. George, theyshall be severely punished for it, and he himself shall have cause torepent. "

The measures taken by the incensed duke were certainly threatening. Thegates of the town and castle were closed and guarded by archers. Louiswas to all intents and purposes a prisoner, though the duke, a littleashamed, perhaps, of his action, affirmed that his purpose was torecover a box of gold and jewels that had been stolen from him. 

The den of the lion had closed on the fox. Now was the time for the foxto show his boasted wit, for his position was one of danger. Thatrash-headed Duke of Burgundy was never the man to be played with, and inhis rage was as perilous as dynamite. It was, in truth, an occasionfitted to draw out all the quickness and shrewdness of mind of Louis, those faculties on which he prided himself! To gain friends in thecastle he bribed the household of the duke. As for himself he remainedquiet and apparently easy and unsuspicious, while alertly watchful toavail himself of any opportunity to escape from the trap into which hehad brought himself. During the two days that succeeded, the rage ofCharles cooled somewhat. Louis had offered to swear a peace, to aidCharles in punishing the Liégoise for their rebellion, and to leavehostages for his good faith. This the angry duke at first would notlisten to. He talked of keeping Louis a prisoner, and sending for PrinceCharles, his brother, to take on himself the government of France. Themessenger was ready for this errand; his horse in the court-yard; theletters written. But the duke's councillors begged him to reflect. Louishad come under his safe-conduct. His honor was involved. Such an actwould be an eternal reproach to Burgundy. Charles did reflect, andslowly began to relent. He had heard again from Liége. The affair wasnot so bad as he had been told. The bishop and lord had been set free. The violent storm in the duke's mind began to subside. 

Early in the next day the irate duke entered the chamber of the castlein which he held his royal guest a prisoner. The storm had fallen, butthe waves still ran high. There was courtesy in his looks, but his voicetrembled with anger. The words that came from his lips were brief andbitter; there was threat in his manner; Louis looked at him with moreconfidence than he felt. 

"Brother, " he said, "I am safe, am I not, in your house and yourcountry?"

"Yes, " answered the duke, with an effort at self-repression; "so safethat if I saw an arrow from a bow coming towards you I would throwmyself in the way to protect you. But will you not be pleased to swearto the treaty just as it is written?"

"Yes, and I thank you for your good-will, " said Louis, heartily. 

"And will you not be pleased to come with me to Liége to help me punishthe treason committed against me by these Liégoise, all through you andyour journey hither? The bishop is your near relative of the house ofBourbon. "

"Yes, Pâques-Dieu!" replied Louis; "and I am much astounded by theirwickedness. But let us begin by swearing this treaty; and then I willstart with as many or as few of my people as you please. "

"My brother, the fox, is over-willing, " may have been the thought thatpassed through the duke's mind. "He is ready to lose his foot to get hisbody out of the trap. "

But whatever his thoughts, in action he took prompt measures to bind theslippery king to his promise. From Louis's boxes was produced the crossof St. Laud, claimed to be made of the wood of the true cross, and sonamed because it was usually kept in the church of St. Laud, at Angers. It was said to have belonged to Charlemagne, and Louis regarded it asthe most sacred of relics. On this the king swore to observe the treaty, though it contained clauses to which he would not have assented underother circumstances. The document was immediately signed. Louis, for thefirst moment since learning of his almost fatal blunder, breathed atease. As for the second part of his promise, that of helping Charles topunish the townsmen whom he had himself stirred to rebellion, it littletroubled his conscience--if he possessed any sentiment that couldproperly be denominated by this name. 

On the day after the signing of the treaty the two princes set outtogether. Charles was followed by his army, Louis by his modestbody-guard, which had been augmented by three hundred men-at-arms, justarrived from France. On the 27th of October [1468] they arrived at therebellious city. There seemed no trouble to get into it. No wall orditch surrounded it. The duke had previously deprived it of theseobstacles to his armies. But an obstacle remained in the people, whocould not easily be brought to believe that the king of France and theDuke of Burgundy, those fire-and water-like potentates, were trueallies. The thing seemed impossible. Louis was their friend, and wouldcertainly strike for them. They made a sortie from the city, shouting, "Hurrah for the king! Hurrah for France!"

To their consternation, they saw Louis and Duke Charles together at thehead of the advancing army, the king wearing in his hat the cross of St. Andrew of Burgundy, his false voice shouting "Hurrah for Burgundy!"

The surprise of the Liégoise was shared by many of the French, whosesense of national honor was shocked to see so utter a lack of pride andso open a display of treachery in their monarch. They had not deemed hisboasted policy capable of such baseness. Louis afterwards excusedhimself with the remark, "When pride rides before, shame and hurtfollow close after, " a saying very pretty as a politic apothegm, but notlikely to soothe the wounded pride of France. 

The treachery of Louis roused a different feeling in the hearts of theLiégoise, --that of indignation. They determined to defend their city, despite its lack of ramparts, and met the advancing army with suchspirit that it was obliged to convert its assault into a siege. Nightafter night the Burgundian army was troubled by the bold sorties of thecitizens. In one of these the duke and king both were in danger ofcapture. At ten o'clock, one night, about six hundred well-armed menmade a sudden assault upon the duke's quarters. They were ill-defended. Charles was in bed. Only twelve archers were on guard, and these wereplaying at dice. The assault came with startling suddenness. The archersseized their arms, but had great difficulty in defending the door-way. Charles hastened to put on breast-plate and helmet and to join them. But only the opportune arrival of aid saved him from being seized in themidst of his army. 

Louis ran a similar danger. His quarters had simultaneously beenattacked. Luckily for him, his Scotch guardsmen were more ready thanthose of Burgundy. They repulsed the attack, with little heed whethertheir arrows killed hostile Liégoise or friendly Burgundians. As for theassailants, they found it easier to get into the French camp than out ofit. They were killed almost to a man. 

On the next day the duke and his councillors determined on an assault. The king was not present, and when he heard of it he did not favor theplan. 

"You have seen the courage of these people, " he remarked. "You know howmurderous and uncertain is street-fighting. You will lose many brave mento no purpose. Wait two or three days, and the Liégoise will certainlycome to terms. "

Most of the Burgundian captains were of the same opinion. The duke, whose rash spirit could ill brook opposition, grew angry. 

"He wishes to spare the Liégoise, " he angrily exclaimed. "What danger isthere in this assault? There are no walls; they cannot put a single gunin position; I certainly will not give up the assault. If the king isafraid, let him get him gone to Namur. "

This insult to the king, which shocked the Burgundians themselves, wasrepeated to him, and received in silence. He had made up his mind todrain the cup of humiliation to the dregs. The next day, October 30, theassault was made, Charles at the head of his troops. Louis came up tojoin him. 

"Bide your time, " said Charles. "Put not yourself uselessly in danger. Iwill send you word when it is time. "

"Lead on, brother, " answered Louis. "You are the most fortunate princealive; I will follow you. "

On they marched--into, as it proved, an undefended city. The Liégoisehad been discouraged by the fall of many of their bravest men. It wasSunday; no attack was looked for; "the cloth was laid in every house, and all were preparing for dinner"; the Burgundians moved through emptystreets, Louis following with his own escort, and shouting, "Hurrah forBurgundy!"

By mid-day the vengeance of Charles was complete; the town had beenpillaged; there was nothing left to take in house or church; many afloor was stained with blood; Liége for the time was ruined. 

As for the arch-deceiver to whom all this was due, he completed his workof baseness by loading the duke with praises, his tone and manner socourteous and amiable that Charles lost the last shreds of his recentanger. 

"Brother, " said the king the next day, "if you still need my help, donot spare me. But if you have nothing more for me to do, it would bewell for me to go back to Paris, to make public in my court ofparliament the arrangement we have come to together; otherwise it wouldrisk becoming of no avail. You know that such is the custom of France. Next summer we must meet again. You will come into your duchy ofBurgundy, and I will go and pay you a visit, and we will pass a weekjoyously together in making good cheer. "

It may be that this smooth speech was accompanied by a mentalcommentary, --"Let me once get from under your claws, my playful tiger, and I will not be fool enough to put myself back there again, "--but ifso nothing of the kind appeared on his face. 

Charles made no answer. He sent for the treaty, and left it to the kingto confirm or renounce it, as he would. Louis expressed himself as fullysatisfied with its terms, and on the next day, November 2, set out onhis return to France. Charles kept him company for some distance. Onparting, the king said, --

"If my brother Charles, who is in Brittany, should not be content withthe assignment which I, for love of you, have made him, what would youhave me do?"

"If he do not please to take it, but would have you otherwise satisfyhim, I leave that to the two of you to settle, " said Charles. 

With these words he turned back, leaving Louis to pursue his way freeonce more, "after having passed the most trying three weeks of hislife. "

That the fox kept faith with the lion, or the lion with the fox, is notto be looked for. New disputes broke out, new battles were fought, --notnow in alliance, --and the happiest day in the life of Louis XI. Was thatin which he heard that Charles of Burgundy, the constant thorn in hischaplet, had fallen on the fatal field of Nancy, and that France wasfreed from the threatening presence of the bold and passionate duke. 

_CHARLES THE BOLD AND THE SWISS. _

On the 6th of February, 1476, Duke Charles of Burgundy marched fromBesançon to take the field against the Swiss, between whom and Burgundyhostilities had broken out. There were three parties to this war, LouisXI. Being the third. That politic monarch had covertly stirred up theSwiss to their hostile attitude, promised them aid in money, if not inmen, and now had his secret agents in both camps, and kept himself inreadiness to take advantage of every circumstance that might be turnedto his own benefit. Leaving Tours, he went to Lyons, that he might bewithin easy distance of the seat of war. And not long had he been therebefore news of the most gratifying character came to his ears, DukeCharles had met the foe, and--but we anticipate. 

The army of Burgundy was a powerful one, having not less than thirty orforty thousand men and a strong train of artillery. It was followed, aswas Charles's fashion in making war, with an immense baggage-train. Personally his habits were simple and careless, but he loved to displayhis riches and magnificence, and made his marches and encampmentsas much scenes of festival as of war. What this showy duke wanted fromtheir poor cities and barren country the Swiss could not very well see. "The spurs and the horses' bits in his army are worth more money thanthe whole of us could pay in ransom if we were all taken, " they said. 

Without regard to this, Charles marched on, and on February 19 reachedGranson, a little town in the district of Vaud. Here fighting had takenplace, and hither soon came the Swiss battalions. Powerful fellows theywere, bold and sturdy, and animated with the highest spirit of freedom. On they marched, timing their long strides to the lowings of the "bullof Uri" and the "cow of Unterwalden, " two great trumpets of buffalo hornwhich, as was claimed, Charlemagne had given to their ancestors. 

Against these compact battalions, armed with spears eighteen feet long, the squadrons of Burgundy rode in vain. Their lines were impregnable. Their enemies fell in numbers. In the end the whole Burgundian army, seized with panic, broke and fled, "like smoke before the northernblast. "

So sudden and complete was the defeat that Charles himself had to taketo flight with only five horsemen for escort, and with such haste thateverything was left in the hands of the foe, --camp, artillery, treasure, the duke's personal jewels, even his very cap with its garniture ofprecious stones and his collar of the Golden Fleece. 

The Swiss were as ignorant of the value of their booty as they wereastonished at the completeness of their victory. Jewels, gold, silver, rich hangings, precious tapestry, had little value in their eyes. Theysold the silver plate for a few pence, taking it for pewter. The silksand velvets found in the baggage-wagons of the duke, the rich cloth ofgold and damask, the precious Flanders lace and Arras carpets, were cutin pieces and distributed among the peasant soldiers as if they had beenso much common canvas. Most notable of all was the fate of the greatdiamond of the duke, which had once glittered in the crown of the GreatMogul, and was of inestimable value. This prize was found on the road, inside a little box set with fine pearls. The man who picked it upthought the box pretty and worth keeping, but saw no use for that bit ofshining glass inside. He threw this contemptuously away. Afterwards hethought it might be worth something, to be so carefully kept, and wentback to look for it. He found it under a wagon, and sold it to aclergyman in the neighborhood for a crown. This precious stone, one ofthe few great diamonds in the world, is now in the possession of theEmperor of Austria, its value enhanced to him, it may be, by its strangehistory. 

There was only one thing in this event that did not please LouisXI. , --that Charles had left the field alive. He sent him advice, indeed, to let those poor folks but hard fighters of the Alps alone, wellconvinced that the fiery duke would not take his counsel. In truth, Charles, mad with rage, ordered that all the soldiers who had fled fromthe field should be put to death, and that the new recruits to be raisedshould be dealt with in the same manner if they did not march to hiscamp with all haste. It cannot be said that this insane command wasobeyed, but so intense was his energy, and so fierce his rage againstthe Swiss, that in no great time he had a fresh army, of fromtwenty-five to thirty thousand men, composed of Burgundians, Flemings, Italians, and English. 

Late in May he was again on the march, --with much less parade anddisplay than before, --and on the 10th of June pitched his camp beforethe little town of Morat, six leagues from Berne. 

Everywhere as he went he left word that it was war to the death on whichhe was bent. His pride had been bitterly wounded. He vowed to heal it inthe blood of his foes. 

The Swiss were preparing with all haste, and advancing to Berne. Thegovernor of Morat sent them word to be at ease concerning him. "I willdefend Morat, " he said, and to garrison and people he swore that hewould hang the first who spoke of surrender. For ten days he had heldout against Charles's whole army, while his countrymen were gathering. 

The men of Zurich were the last to reach Berne. On the 21st of June, inthe evening, the Swiss encamped near their foes. 

"Have those hounds lost heart, pray?" the duke had just said; "I wastold that we were about to get at them. "

His wish was to be gratified in a way he had not meant; they were aboutto get at him. The next day, June 22, opened with a pelting rain. Later, the sun burst through the clouds. With its first beams the Swisswere in motion, marching on the camp of their foes. 

A man-at-arms hurried to the duke's tent, and told him that the Swisswere coming, and that they had attacked the lines. He declared the storywas a lie, and drove the messenger with an insulting reproof from histent. What, these base peasants? To attack his army? The thing wasincredible! For all that, he left the tent and hurried to the pointindicated. It was true, they had attacked, and were already driving backhis men. 

Charles rallied them as he best could. The battle was desperate. All theremainder of the day it continued. But before nightfall the Swiss wereeverywhere victorious, the Burgundians everywhere beaten. Charles hadstill three thousand horsemen, but they, too, broke before the fiercecharges of the Swiss, and in the end he escaped with difficulty, havingbut a dozen men at his back, and leaving eight or ten thousand of hissoldiers dead on the field, the greater part of them killed after thefight by the relentlessly furious Swiss. 

Charles, obstinate, furious, wild with rage, sought to collect anotherarmy, but failed. No men could be found willing to bear arms againstthose terrible Swiss. He shut himself up for weeks in one of hiscastles, dismayed, inconsolable, heated with passion, ready to crush theworld if his hand could have grasped it, a sorry spectacle ofdisappointed ambition and overthrown pride. 

Other enemies rose against him. René II. , duke of Lorraine, whom he hadrobbed of his dominions and driven from Nancy, now saw an opportunity torecover his heritage. He had been wandering like a fugitive from courtto court. Before Morat he had joined the Swiss, and helped them to theirvictory. Now, gathering a force, he re-entered his duchy, besiegedNancy, then feebly garrisoned, and pressed it hard. The governor sentmessengers to Duke Charles, asking for aid. He received none. The dukedid not even reply to him. He seemed utterly dispirited. In thisemergency the governor surrendered, and René had his own again. 

Yet at that very moment, Charles the Bold, throwing off his apathy, wasmarching upon Lorraine, with a small army which he had hastilycollected. On the 22d of October, 1476, he reached Nancy, which was oncemore besieged. At his approach, Duke René left the town, but left itwell garrisoned. He went in search of reinforcements. These he found inSwitzerland, the agents of Louis XI. Promising them good pay, whiletheir hatred of Charles made them fully ready for the service. 

On January 4, 1477, René, having led his new army to Lorraine, foundhimself face to face with the army of Charles the Bold, who was stillbesieging Nancy. Charles held council with his captains. 

"Well, " he said, "since these drunken scoundrels are upon us, and arecoming here to look for meat and drink, what ought we to do?"

"Fall back, " was the general opinion. "They outnumber us. We shouldrecruit our army. Duke René is poor. He will not long be able to bearthe expense of the war, and his allies will leave him as soon as hismoney is gone. Wait but a little, and success is certain. "

The duke burst into one of his usual fits of passion. 

"My father and I, " he cried, "knew how to thrash these Lorrainers, andwe will make them remember it. By St. George, I will not fly before aboy, before René of Vaudemont, who is coming at the head of this scum!He has not so many men with him as people think; the Germans have noidea of leaving their stoves in winter. This evening we will deliver theassault against the town, and to-morrow we will give battle. "

He did give battle on the morrow, --his last, as it proved. The fray didnot last long, nor was the loss of life in the field great. But theBurgundians broke and fled, and the pursuit was terrible, the Lorrainersand their Swiss and German allies pursuing hotly, and killing all theyfound. René entered Nancy in triumph, and relieved the citizens from thefamine from which they had long suffered. To show him what they hadendured in his cause, there were piled up before his door "the heads ofthe horses, dogs, mules, cats, and other unclean animals which had forseveral weeks past been the only food of the besieged. "

The battle over, the question arose, what had become of the Duke ofBurgundy? None could answer. Some said a servant had carried himwounded from the field; others, that a German lord held him prisoner. But a page soon appeared who said he had seen him fall and could lead tothe spot. He did so, conducting a party to a pond near the town, where, half buried in the mud, lay several dead bodies lately stripped. Amongthe searchers was a poor washerwoman, who, seeing the glitter of a ringon the finger of one of the corpses, turned it over, and cried, "Ah! myprince!"

All rushed to the spot. The body was examined with care. There was nodoubt, it was that of Charles of Burgundy. His rash and violentdisposition had at length borne the fruit that might have beenanticipated, and brought him to an end which gave the highestsatisfaction to many of his foes, and to none more than to Louis XI. OfFrance. He was buried with great pomp, by the order of Duke René. In1550 the emperor Charles V. , his great grandson, had his body taken toBruges, and placed on the tomb the following inscription:

"Here lieth the most high, mighty, and magnanimous prince, Charles, Dukeof Burgundy, . . . The which, being mightily endowed with strength, firmness, and magnanimity, prospered awhile in high enterprises, battles, and victories, as well at Montlhéry, in Normandy, in Artois, and in Liége, as elsewhere, until fortune, turning her back on him, thuscrushed him before Nancy. "

To-day it might be written on his tomb, "His was a fitting end to aviolent, lawless, and blood-thirsty career. "

_BAYARD, THE GOOD KNIGHT. _

Good knights were abundant in the romance of the age of chivalry; theyseem to have been greatly lacking in its history. Of knights withoutfear there were many; of knights "without fear and without reproach" weare specially told of but one, Pierre du Terrail, Chevalier de Bayard, "_Le chevalier sans peur et sans reproche_. " Many are the stories of thecourage, the justice, the honor, the mercy, the intrepidity in war, thehumanity and kindliness of spirit in peace, which make this admirablecharacter an anomaly in that age of courteous appearance and brutalreality yclept the "age of chivalry. " One such story we have to tell. 

The town of Brescia had been taken by the French army under Gaston deFoix, and given up to pillage by his troops, with all the horrors whichthis meant in that day of license and inhumanity. Bayard took part inthe assault on the town, and was wounded therein, so severely that hesaid to his fellow-captain, the lord of Molart, --

"Comrade, march your men forward; the town is ours. As for me, I cannotpull on farther, for I am a dead man. "

Not quite dead, as it proved. He had many years of noble deeds beforehim still. When the town was taken, two of his archers bore him to ahouse whose size and show of importance attracted them as a fair harborfor their lord. It was the residence of a rich citizen, who had fled forsafety to a monastery, leaving his wife to God's care in the house, andtwo fair daughters to such security as they could gain from the hay in agranary, under which they were hidden. 

At the loud summons of the archers the lady tremblingly opened the door, and was surprised and relieved when she saw that it was a wounded knightwho craved admittance. Sadly hurt as Bayard was, his instinct ofkindness remained active. He bade the archers to close the door andremain there on guard. 

"Take heed, for your lives, " he said, "that none enter here unless theybe some of my own people. I am sure that, when this is known to be myquarters, none will try to force a way in. If, by your aiding me, youmiss a chance of gain in the sack of the town, let not that trouble you;you shall lose nothing by your service. "

The archers obeyed, and the wounded knight was borne to a rich chamber, the lady herself showing the way. When he had been laid in bed, shethrew herself on her knees before him, and pleadingly said, --

"Noble sir, I present you this house and all that is therein, all ofwhich, in truth, I well know to be yours by right of war. But Iearnestly pray that it be your pleasure to spare me and my two youngdaughters our lives and honor. "

"Madam, " answered the knight, with grave courtesy, "I know not if I canescape from my wound; but, so long as I live, trust me that no harmshall come to you and your daughters, any more than to myself. Only keepthem in their chambers; let them not be seen; and I assure you that noman in the house will take upon himself to enter any place against yourwill. "

These words the lady heard with joy, and on Bayard's request that heshould have a good surgeon without delay, she and one of the archers setout in quest of the best that could be found. Fortunately, it provedthat the knight's wound, though deep, was not mortal. At the seconddressing Master Claude, the surgeon of Gaston de Foix, took him in hand, and afterwards attended him assiduously until his wound was healed, aprocess which took about a month. After the first dressing of the wound, Bayard asked his hostess, in kindly tones, where her husband was. 

"I know not, my lord, if he be dead or alive, " she answered, burstinginto tears. "If he be living, I am sure he has taken refuge in amonastery where he is well known. "

"Let him return home, " answered Bayard. "I shall send those after himwho will see that he has no harm. "

The lady, elate with hope, sent to inquire, and found that her husbandwas really where she had supposed. Bayard's steward and the two archerswere sent for him, and conducted him safely through the turmoil of thestreets, where war's ravage, in its worst form, was still afoot. On hisarrival, the knight received him with a courteous welcome, and bade himnot to be alarmed, as only friends were quartered upon him, and heshould suffer no loss in person or estate. 

For a month the wounded knight lay on his couch, where, though he wasmade as comfortable as possible by the assiduous ministrations of hisgrateful host and hostess, he suffered much from his hurt. At the end ofthat time he was able to rise and walk across the chamber, though stillvery weak. But news came that a great battle between the French and theSpaniards was likely soon to be fought, and the brave Bayard burned withwarlike desire to take part in the conflict. 

"My dear friend, " he said to the surgeon, "tell me if there is anydanger in setting me on the march. It seems to me that I am well, ornearly so; and, in my judgment, to stay here longer will do me more harmthan good, for I fret sorely to be thus tied. "

"Your wound is not yet closed, " said the surgeon, "though it is quitehealed inside. After another dressing you may be able to ride, providedthat your barber attends to dressing it with ointment and a little lintevery day. The worst of the wound is now on the surface, and, as it willnot touch your saddle, you will run no risk in riding. "

Bayard heard these words with gladness, and at once gave orders to hispeople to prepare for the road, as he would set out for the army in twodays. 

Meanwhile, his host and hostess and their children were far from well atease. Until now their guest had protected and spared them, but they knewtoo well the habits of soldiers to imagine that he intended to do thiswithout being abundantly paid for the service. They held themselves ashis prisoners, and feared that he might yet force them to ransomthemselves with the utmost sum their estate would afford, perhaps ten ortwelve thousand crowns. Yet he had been so gentle and kindly that thegood lady entertained hopes that he might prove generous, if softened bya suitable present. Therefore, on the morning of the day which he hadfixed for his departure, she appeared in his chamber, followed by aservant who carried a small steel box. 

Bayard had been walking up and down the room to try his leg, and had nowthrown himself into a chair to rest. The lady fell upon her knees beforehim; but before he would permit her to speak he insisted that she shouldrise and be seated. 

"My lord, " she began, "I can never be thankful enough for the gracewhich God did me, at the taking of this town, in directing you to thisour house. We owe to you our lives and all that we hold dear. Moreover, from the time that you arrived here, neither I nor the least of mypeople have endured a single insult, but all has been good-will andcourtesy, nor have your folks taken a farthing's worth of our goodswithout paying for them. I am aware that my husband, myself, mychildren, and all my household are your prisoners, to be dealt withaccording to your good pleasure, in person and goods; but, knowing thenobleness of your heart, I am come to entreat you humbly to have pity onus, and extend to us your wonted generosity. Here is a little present wemake you; and we pray that you may be pleased to take it in good part. "

She opened the box which the servant held, and Bayard saw that it wasfilled with golden coins. The free-hearted knight, who had never in hislife troubled himself about money, burst out laughing, and said, --

"Madam, how many ducats are there in this box?"

His action, so different from what she expected, frightened the poorwoman. Thinking it to indicate that the sum was below his expectations, she said hurriedly, --

"My lord, there are but two thousand five hundred ducats; but, if youare not content, we will find a larger sum. "

"By my faith, madam, " he warmly replied, "though you should give ahundred thousand crowns, you would not do as well towards me as you havedone by the good cheer I have had here and the kind attendance you havegiven me. In whatsoever place I may happen to be, you will have, so longas God shall grant me life, a gentleman at your bidding. As for yourducats, I will have none of them, and yet I thank you; take them back;all my life I have always loved people much more than crowns. And takemy word for it that I go away as well pleased with you as if this townwere at your disposal and you had given it to me. "

The good lady listened to him with deep astonishment. Never had shedreamed of such a marvel as this, a soldier who did not crave money. Shewas really distressed by his decision. 

"My lord, " she said, "I shall feel myself the most wretched creature inthe world if you will not take this small present, which is nothing incomparison with your past courtesy and present kindness. "

Seeing how firm she was in her purpose, he said, with a gentle smile, --

"Well, then, I will take it for love of you; but go and fetch me yourtwo daughters, for I would fain bid them farewell. "

Much pleased with his acceptance, the lady left the room in search ofher daughters, whom the knight knew well, for they had solaced many ofthe weary hours of his illness with pleasant chat, and music from theirvoices and from the lute and spinet, on which they played agreeably. While awaiting them he bade the servant to empty the box and count theducats into three lots, two of a thousand each and one of five hundred. 

When the young ladies entered, they would have fallen on their knees astheir mother had done before them, but Bayard would not consent thatthey should remain in this humble attitude. 

"My lord, " said the elder, "these two poor girls, who owe so much toyour kindness, are come to take leave of you, and humbly to thank yourlordship for your goodness, for which they can make no return other thanto pray that God may hold you in His good care. "

"Dear damsels, " answered Bayard, much affected, "you have done what Iought to do; that is, to thank you for your good company, for which I ammuch beholden. You know that fighting men are not likely to be ladenwith pretty things to present to ladies. I am sorry not to be betterprovided. But here are some ducats brought me by your lady-mother. Ofthese I give to each of you a thousand towards your marriage; and for myrecompense you shall, if it please you, pray God for me, as you haveoffered. "

He swept the ducats from the table into their aprons, forcing them toaccept them whether they would or not. Then, turning to his hostess, hesaid, --

"Madam, I will take these five hundred ducats that remain for my ownprofit, to distribute among the poor sisterhoods of this town which havebeen plundered; and to you I commit the charge of them, since you, better than any other, will understand where they are most needed. Andwith this mission I take my leave of you. "

Then he bade them adieu by touching their hands, after the Italianfashion, "and they fell upon their knees, weeping so bitterly that itseemed as if they were to be led out to their deaths. "

The dinner hour came and passed. When it was over the knight quicklyleft the table and called for his horses, being eager to be gone forfear the two armies might come to battle in his absence. As he left hischamber to seek his horse, the two fair daughters of the house came downto bid him a final farewell and to make him presents which they hadworked for him during his illness. 

One gave him a pair of pretty and delicate bracelets, made of gold andsilver thread, worked with marvellous neatness. The other presented hima handsome purse of crimson satin very cleverly ornamented with theneedle. The knight received these graceful gifts with warm thanks, saying that presents which came from hands so fair were more to him thana hundred-fold their value in gold. To do them the more honor, he putthe bracelets on his wrists and the purse in his sleeve, and assuredthem that, as long as they lasted, he would wear them for love of thegivers. 

Then, mounting, the good knight rode away, leaving more tears of joy andheartfelt gratitude behind him than can be said of few soldiers sincethe world began. It was not for fame he had wrought, or of fame he hadthought, but he won high fame by his generous behavior, for histreatment of his Brescian hosts is still quoted as the rarest deed inhis chaplet of good actions. 

The two archers who had stayed with Bayard failed not to receive thepromised reward. Gaston de Foix, the Duke of Nemours, sent the knight anumber of presents, among them five hundred crowns, and these he dividedbetween the archers whom he had debarred from their share of the spoil. 

It will suffice to say, in conclusion, that he reached the army in timeto take part in the battle that followed, and to add therein to his fameas a "good knight without fear. "

_EPISODES IN THE LIFE OF A TRAITOR. _

At the early hour of one o'clock in the morning of September 8, 1523, atrain of men-at-arms and servants, headed by a tall, stern-faced, soldierly-looking man, rode from the gates of the strong castle ofChantelle, and headed southward in the direction of Spain. The leaderwas dressed in armor, and carried sword by side and battle-axe at hissaddle-bow. Of his followers, some fifteen of them were attired in apeculiar manner, wearing thick jackets of woollen cloth that seemed asstiff as iron mail, and jingled metallically as they rode. Mail theywere, capable of turning arrow or spear thrust, but mail of gold, not ofiron, for in those jackets were sewed up thirty thousand crowns of gold, and their wearers served as the ambulatory treasury of the proud soldierat their head. 

This man was no less a personage than Charles, Duke of Bourbon, Constable of France, the highest personage in the kingdom next to themonarch himself, but now in flight from that monarch, and from thesoldiers who were marching to environ Chantelle and carry him as aprisoner to the king. There had been bad blood between Bourbon andFrancis I. , pride and haughtiness on the one side, injustice andindecision on the other; wrong to the subject, defiance to the king;and now the "short-tempered" noble and great soldier had made amoonlight flitting, bent on cutting loose from his allegiance to France, and on lending the aid of his sword and military skill to her hereditaryfoes. 

For a month Bourbon and his followers wandered around the provinces ofsouthern France. Incessantly he changed his road, his costume, hiscompanions, his resting-place, occasionally falling in with soldiers ofthe king who were on their way to take part in the wars in Italy, seeking in vain for adherents to his cause, and feeling his way bycorrespondence to an understanding with the enemies of France. In earlyOctober he entered the domains of the emperor, Charles V. , anddefinitely cut loose from his allegiance to the king. 

The news of this defection filled Francis with alarm. He had, by hisinjustice, driven his greatest soldier from the realm, and now sought toundo the perilous work he had done. He put off his journey to join thearmy marching to Italy, and sent a messenger to the redoubtablefugitive, offering restitution of his property, satisfaction in full ofhis claims, and security for good treatment and punctual payment. Bourbon curtly refused. 

"It is too late, " he said. 

"Then, " said the envoy, "I am bidden by the king to ask you to deliverup the sword of constable and the collar of the order of St. Michael. "

"You may tell the king, " answered Bourbon, shortly, "that he took fromme the sword of constable on the day that he took from me the commandof the advanced guard to give it to M. D'Alençon. As for the collar ofhis order, you will find it at Chantelle under the pillow of my bed. "

Francis made further efforts to win back the powerful noble whom he hadso deeply offended, but equally in vain. Bourbon had definitely cutloose from his native land and was bent on joining hands with its mortalfoes. Francis had offended him too deeply to be so readily forgiven ashe hoped. 

It is not the story of the life of this notable traitor that we proposeto tell, but simply to depict some picturesque scenes in his career. Charles V. Gladly welcomed him, and made him his lieutenant-general inItaly, so that he became leader against the French in their invasion ofthat land. We next find him during the siege of Milan by the army ofFrancis I. , one of whose leaders was Chevalier Bayard, "the goodknight, " who was the subject of our last story. The siege was destinedto prove a fatal affair for this noble warrior. The French foundthemselves so hard pressed by the imperial army under the Constable deBourbon that they fell back to await reinforcements. Near Romagnano, onthe banks of the Sesia, they were thrown into disorder while seeking topass the stream, and Bonnivet, their leader, was severely wounded. TheCount de St. Pol and Chevalier Bayard took command. Bayard, always firstin advance and last in retreat, charged the enemy at the head of a bodyof men-at-arms. It proved for him a fatal charge. A shot from anarquebuse gave him a mortal wound. 

"Jesus, my God, " he cried, "I am dead!"

He took his sword by the handle, kissed its cross-hilt as an act ofdevotion, and repeated the _Miserere_, --"Have pity on me, O God, according to Thy great mercy!"

In a moment more he grew deathly pale and grasped the pommel of thesaddle to keep him from falling, remaining thus until one of hisfollowers helped him to dismount, and placed him at the foot of a tree. 

The French were repulsed, leaving the wounded knight within the lines ofthe enemy. Word of Bayard's plight was quickly brought to Bourbon, whocame up with a face filled with sympathetic feeling. 

"Bayard, my good friend, I am sore distressed at your mishap, " he said. "There is nothing for it but patience. Give not way to melancholy. Iwill send in quest of the best surgeons in this country, and, by God'shelp, you will soon be healed. "

Bayard looked up at him with dying eyes, full of pity and reproach. 

"My lord, I thank you, " he said, "but pity is not for me, who die like atrue man, serving my king; pity is for you, who bear arms against yourprince, your country, and your oath. "

Bourbon made no answer. He turned and withdrew, doubtless stung to thesoul by the reproachful words of the noblest and honestest man of thatage. His own conscience must have added a double sting to Bayard'swords. Such is the bitterest reward of treason; it dares not lookintegrity in the face. 

Bayard lived for two or three hours afterwards, surrounded by hisfriends, who would not leave him, though he bade them do so to escapefalling into the enemy's hands. They had nothing to fear. Both armiesmourned the loss of the good knight, with equal grief. Five days afterhis death, on May 5, 1524, Beaurain wrote to Charles V. , --

"Sir, albeit Sir Bayard was your enemy's servant, yet was it pity of hisdeath, for he was a gentle knight, well beloved of every one, and onethat lived as good a life as ever any man of his condition. And, intruth, he fully showed it by his end, for it was the most beautiful thatI ever heard tell of. "

So passed away a man who lived fully up to the principles of chivalry, and whose honesty, modesty, sympathy, and valor have given him undyingfame. His name survives as an example of what chivalry might have beenhad man been as Christian in nature as in name, but of what it rarelywas, except in theory. 

The next picture we shall draw belongs to the date of February 24, 1525. Francis I. Had for months been besieging Pavia. Bourbon came to itsrelief. A battle followed, which at first seemed to favor the French, but which Bourbon's skill soon turned in favor of the Imperialists. Seeing his ranks breaking on all sides, Francis, inspired by fury anddespair, desperately charged the enemy with such knights and men-at-armsas he could get to follow him. The conflict was fierce and fatal. Aroundthe king fell his ablest warriors, --Marshal de Foix, Francis ofLorraine, Bussy d'Amboise, La Trémoille, and many others. At sight ofthis terrible slaughter, Admiral Bonnivet, under the king the leader ofthe French host, exclaimed, in accents of despair, "I can never survivethis fearful havoc. " Raising the visor of his helmet, he rusheddesperately forward where a tempest of balls was sweeping the field, andin a moment fell beside his slain comrades. 

Francis fought on amid the heaps of dead and dying, his soul filled withthe battle rage, his heart burning with fury and desperation. He waswounded in face, arms, and legs, yet still his heavy sword swept rightand left, still men fell before his vigorous blows. His horse, mortallywounded, sank under him, dragging him down. In an instant he was upagain, laying about him shrewdly. Two Spaniards who pressed him closelyfell before the sweep of that great blade. Alone among his foes hefought on, a crowd of hostile soldiers around him. Who he was they knewnot, but his size, strength, and courage, the golden lilies whichstudded his coat of mail, the plume of costly feathers which waved fromhis helmet, told them that this must be one of the greatest men in theFrench array. 

Despite the strength and intrepid valor of the king, his danger wasincreasing minute by minute, when the Lord of Pompérant, one ofBourbon's intimate friends, pressed up through the mass and recognizedthe warrior who stood like a wounded lion at bay amid a pack of wolves. 

"Back! back!" he cried, springing forward, and beating off the soldierswith his sword. "Leave this man to me. "

Pressing to the king's side, he still beat back his foes, saying tohim, --

"Yield, my liege! You stand alone. If you fight longer, I cannot answerfor your life. Look! there is no hope for you. The Duke of Bourbon isnot far off. Let me send for him to receive your sword. "

The visor of the king hid the look with which he must have receivedthese words. But from the helmet's iron depths came in hollow tones thereply of Francis of France to this appeal. 

"No, " he cried, sternly, "rather would I die the death than pledge myfaith to Bourbon the traitor! Where is the Viceroy of Naples?"

Lannoy, the viceroy, was in a distant part of the field. Some time waslost in finding and bringing him to the spot. At length he arrived, andfell upon one knee before Francis, who presented him his sword. Lannoytook it with a show of the profoundest respect, and immediately gave himanother in its place. The battle was over, and the king of France was aprisoner in the hands of his rebellious subject, the Duke of Bourbon. The wheel of fate had strangely turned. 

The captive king had shown himself a poor general, but an heroicsoldier. His victors viewed him with admiration for his prowess. When hesat at table, after having his wounds, which were slight, dressed, Bourbon approached him respectfully and handed him a dinner napkin. Francis took it, but with the most distant and curt politeness. The nextday an interview took place between Bourbon and the king, in referenceto the position of the latter as captive. In this Francis displayed thesame frigidity of manner as before, while he was all cordiality withPescara, Bourbon's fellow in command. The two leaders claimed Francis astheir own captive, but Lannoy, to whom he had surrendered, had himembarked for Naples, and instead of taking him there, sent him directlyto Spain, where he was delivered up to Charles V. Thus ended thisepisode in the life of the Constable de Bourbon. 

We have still another, and the closing, scene to present in the life ofthis great soldier and traitor. It is of no less interest than thosethat have gone before. Historically it is of far deeper interest, for itwas attended with a destruction of inestimable material that has rarelybeen excelled. The world is the poorer that Bourbon lived. 

In Spain he had been treated with consideration by the emperor, but withdisdain by many of the lords, who despised him as a traitor. Charles V. Asked the Marquis de Villena to give quarters in his palace to the duke. 

"I can refuse the emperor nothing, " he replied; "but as soon as the_traitor_ is out of my house I shall set it on fire with my own hand. Noman of honor could live in it again. "

Despite this feeling, the military record of Bourbon could not be setaside. He was the greatest general of his time, and, recognizing this, Charles again placed him in command of his armies in Italy. On goingthere, Bourbon found that there was nothing that could be called anarmy. Everything was in disorder and the imperial cause almost at anend. In this state of affairs, Bourbon became filled with hopes of greatconquests and high fame for himself. Filled with the spirit ofadventure, and finding the Spanish army devoted to him, he added to itsome fifteen thousand of German lanzknechts, most of them Lutherans. 

Addressing this greedy horde of soldiers of fortune, he told them thathe was now but a poor gentleman, like themselves, and promised that ifthey would follow him he would make them rich or die in the attempt. Finishing his remarks, which were greeted with enthusiastic cheers, hedistributed among them all his money and jewels, keeping little morethan his clothes and armor for himself. 

"We will follow you everywhere, to the devil himself!" shouted the wildhorde of adventurers. "No more of Julius Cæsar, Hannibal, and Scipio!Hurrah for the fame of Bourbon!"

Putting himself at the head of this tumultuous array, the duke led themsouthward through Italy, halting before Bologna, Florence, and othertowns, with a half-formed purpose to besiege them, but in the endpushing on without an assault until, on the 5th of May, 1527, his hordeof land pirates came in sight of Rome itself. 

The imperial city, after being sacked by the Goths, Vandals, and otherbarbarians, had remained without serious damage for a thousand years, but now another army was encamped under its walls, and one equally benton havoc and ruin with those of the past. 

"Now is the time to show courage, manliness, and the strength of yourbodies, " said Bourbon to his followers. "If in this bout you arevictorious, you will be rich lords and well off for the rest of yourlives. Yonder is the city whereof, in times past, a wise astrologerprophesied concerning me, telling me that I should die there; but Iswear to you that I care but little for dying there if, when I die, mycorpse be left with endless glory and renown throughout the world. "

He then bade them to retire for the night, ordering them to be readybetimes in the morning for the assault, which would take place at anearly hour on that day. Hardly, indeed, had the stars faded before thesunrise of May 6, when the soldiers were afoot and making ready for theassault. Bourbon placed himself at their head, clad all in white that hemight be better seen and known. To the walls they advanced, bearingscaling ladders, which they hastened to place. On the first raised ofthese Bourbon set foot, with the soldier's desire to be the earliest inthe assault. But hardly had he taken two steps up the ladder than hisgrasp loosened and he fell backward, with blood gushing from his side. He had been hit with an arquebuse-shot in the left side and mortallywounded. 

He had but voice enough left to bid those near him to cover his bodywith a cloak and take it away, that his followers might not know of hisdeath. Those were the last words recorded of the Duke of Bourbon. Hedied as he had lived, a valiant soldier and a born adventurer, hurlinghavoc with his last words on the great city of the Church; for hisfollowers, not knowing of his death, attacked so furiously that thewalls were soon carried and the town theirs. Then, as news came to themthat their leader had fallen, they burst into the fury of slaughter, shouting, "Slay, slay! blood, blood! Bourbon! Bourbon!" and cutting downremorselessly all whom they met. 

The celebrated artist, Benvenuto Cellini, tells us in his autobiographythat it was he who shot Bourbon, aiming his arquebuse from the wall ofthe Campo Santo at one of the besiegers who was mounted higher than therest, and who, as he afterwards learned, was the leader of the assailingarmy. 

Whoever it was that fired the fatal shot, the slain man was frightfullyavenged, Rome being plundered, ravaged, and devastated by his brutalfollowers to a degree not surpassed by the work of the Vandals of old. For several months the famous city remained in the hands of thislicentious soldiery, and its inhabitants were subjected to everyoutrage and barbarity which brutal desire and ungoverned license couldincite, while in none of its former periods of ravage were so many ofthe precious relics of antiquity destroyed as in this period ofoccupation by men who called themselves the soldiers of civilized andChristian lands. 

_ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S DAY. _

"Kill! kill! kill!" was the cry in Paris. "Blood! blood! death to theHuguenots!" came from the lips of thousands of maddened murderers. Bloodflowed everywhere; men dabbled in blood, almost bathed in blood. Acrimson tide flowed in the streets of Paris deep enough to damn theinfamous Catherine de' Medici and her confederates. To the crime ofassassination on that direful day of St. Bartholomew must be added thatof treachery of the darkest hue. Peace had been made between the warringparties. The Protestant chiefs had been invited to Paris to witness themarriage of the young King Henry of Navarre with Marguerite de Valois, sister of the king of France, which was fixed for the 18th of August, 1572. They had been received with every show of amity and good-will. Thegreat Huguenot leader, Admiral de Coligny, had come, confiding in thehonor of his late foes, and had been received by the king, Charles IX. , with demonstrations of sincere friendship, though the weak monarchwarned him to beware of the Guises, his bitter enemies and theremorseless haters of all opponents of the Catholic party. 

On the 22d of August the work of treachery began. On that day amurderous shot was fired at Coligny as he stood by the window of hisroom engaged in reading a letter. It smashed two fingers of his righthand, and lodged a ball in his left arm. The would-be murderer escaped. 

"Here is a fine proof of the fidelity to his agreement of the Duke ofGuise, " said Coligny, reproachfully, to the king. 

"My dear father, " returned the king, "the hurt is yours, the grief andthe outrage mine; but I will take such vengeance that it shall never beforgotten. "

He meant it for the moment; but his mind was feeble, his will weak, himself a mere puppet in the hands of his imperious mother and theimplacable Guises. Between them they had determined to rid themselves ofthe opposing party in the state on the death of the admiral and theother Protestant leaders. Sure of their power over the king, the ordersfor the massacre were already given when, near midnight of August 24, St. Bartholomew's day, the queen, with some of her leading councillors, sought the king's room and made a determined assault upon the feebledefences of his intellect. 

"The slaughter of many thousands of men may be prevented by a singlesword-thrust, " they argued. "Only kill the admiral, the head and frontof the civil wars, and the strength of his party will die with him. Thesacrifice of two or three men will satisfy the loyal party, who willremain forever your faithful and obedient subjects. War is inevitable. The Guises on one side, and the Huguenots on the other, cannot becontrolled. Better to win a battle in Paris, where we hold all thechiefs in our clutches, than to put it to hazard in the field. In thiscase pity would be cruelty, and cruelty would be pity. "

For an hour and a half the struggle with the weak will of the kingcontinued. He was violently agitated, but could not bring himself toorder the murder of the guest to whom he had promised his royal faithand protection. The queen mother grew alarmed. Delay might ruin all, bythe discovery of her plans. At length, with a show of indignation, shesaid, --

"Then, if you will not do this, permit me and your brother to retire tosome other part of the kingdom. "

This threat to leave him alone to grapple with the difficulties thatsurrounded him frightened the feeble king. He rose hastily from hisseat. 

"By God's death!" he cried, passionately, "since you think proper tokill the admiral, I consent. " With these words he left the room. 

The beginning of the work of bloodshed had been fixed for an hour beforedaybreak. But the king had spoken in a moment of passion and agitation. An hour's reflection might change his mind. There was no time to belost. The queen gave the signal at once, and out on the air of thatdreadful night rang the terrible tocsin peal from the tower of thechurch of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, the alarm call for which thewhite-crossed murderers waited. 

Quickly the silence of the night was broken by loud cries, shouts ofvengeance, the tramp of many feet, the sharp reports of musketry. Thework was begun. Every man not marked by a cross was to be slaughtered. The voice of murder broke fearfully upon the peacefulness of therecently quiet midnight hour. 

The noise roused Coligny. He rose hastily and threw on hisdressing-gown. The cries and shots told him what was going on. He hadtrusted the faithless Guises and the soulless De' Medici, and this waswhat came of it. 

"M. Merlin, " he said to a clergyman who was with him, "say me a prayer;I commit my soul to my Saviour. "

Some of his gentlemen entered the room. 

"What is the meaning of this riot?" asked Ambrose Paré. 

"My lord, it is God calling us, " said Cornaton. 

"I have long been ready to die, " said the admiral; "but you, my friends, save yourselves, if it is still possible. "

They left him, and escaped, the most of them by the roof. Only one manstayed with him, Nicholas Muss, a German servant, "as little concerned, "says Cornaton, "as if there was nothing going on around him. "

The flight had been made barely in time. Hasty footsteps were heardbelow. The assassins were in the house. In a moment more the chamberdoor was flung open and two servants of the Duke of Guise entered. 

"Art not thou the admiral?" asked one of them, Behme by name. 

"Young man, " answered Coligny, "thou comest against a wounded and agedman. Thou'lt not shorten my life by much. "

Behme's answer was to plunge a heavy boar-spear which he held into thebody of the defenceless veteran. Withdrawing it, he struck him on thehead with it. Coligny fell, saying, --

"If it were but a man! But it is a horse-boy. "

Others rushed into the room and thrust their weapons into the dying man. 

"Behme, " cried the duke of Guise from the court-yard, "hast thou done?"

"It is all over, my lord, " answered the assassin. 

The murderers flung the body from the window. It fell with a crash atthe feet of Guise and his companions. They turned it over, wiped theblood from the face, and said, --

"Faith, it is he, sure enough!"

Some say that Guise kicked the bleeding corpse in the face. 

Meanwhile, murder was everywhere. The savage lower orders of Paris, all, high and low, of the party of the Guises, were infected with the thirstfor blood, and the streets of the city became a horrible whirlpool ofslaughter, all who did not wear the saving cross being shot down withoutmercy or discrimination. 

The anecdotes of that fatal night and the succeeding day are numerous, some of them pathetic, most of them ferocious, all tending to show howbrutal man may become under the inspiration of religious prejudice andthe example of slaughter, --the blood fury, as it has been fitly termed. 

Téligny, the son-in-law of Coligny, took refuge on a roof. The guards ofthe Duke of Anjou fired at him as at a target. La Rochefoucauld, withwhom the king had been in merry chat until eleven o'clock of thepreceding evening, was aroused by a loud knocking upon his door. Heopened it; six masked men rushed in, and instantly buried their poniardsin his body. The new queen of Navarre had just gone to bed, underperemptory orders from her mother, Catherine de' Medici. She was wakenedfrom her first slumber by a man knocking and kicking at her door, withwild shouts of "Navarre! Navarre!" Her nurse ran to open the door, thinking that it was the king, her lady's husband. A wounded andbleeding gentleman rushed in, blood flowing from both arms, four archerspursuing him into the queen's bedchamber. 

The fugitive flung himself on the queen's couch, seizing her in hisalarm. She leaped out of bed towards the wall, he following her, andstill clasping her round the body. What it meant she knew not, butscreamed in fright, her assailant screaming as loudly. Their cries hadthe effect of bringing into the room M. De Nançay, captain of theguards, who could not help laughing on seeing the plight of the queen. But in an instant more he turned in a rage upon the archers, cursed themfor their daring, and harshly bade them begone. As for the fugitive, M. De Leran by name, he granted him his life at the queen's prayer. Sheput him to bed, in her closet, and attended him until he was well of hiswounds. 

Such are a few of the anecdotes told of that night of terror. They mightbe extended indefinitely, but anecdotes of murder are not of the mostattractive character, and may profitably be passed over. The king savedsome, including his nurse and Ambrose Paré his surgeon, both Huguenots. Two others, destined in the future to play the highest parts in thekingdom, were saved by his orders. These were the two Huguenot princes, Henry of Navarre, and Henry de Condé. The king sent for them during theheight of the massacre, and bade them recant or die. 

"I mean, for the future, " he said, "to have but one religion in mykingdom; the mass or death; make your choice. "

The king of Navarre asked for time to consider the subject, remindingCharles of his promised protection. Condé was defiant. 

"I will remain firm in what I believe to be the true religion, " he said, "though I have to give up my life for it. "

"Seditious madman, rebel, and son of a rebel, " cried the king, furiously, "if within three days you do not change your language, I willhave you strangled. "

In three days Charles himself changed his language. Remorse succeededhis insensate rage. 

"Ambrose, " he said to his surgeon, "I do not know what has come over mefor the last two or three days, but I feel my mind and body greatlyexcited; in fact, just as if I had a fever. It seems to me every moment, whether I wake or sleep, that these murdered corpses appear to me withhideous and blood-covered faces. I wish the helpless and innocent hadnot been included. "

On the next day he issued orders, prohibiting, on pain of death, anyslaying or plundering. But he had raised a fury not easily to beallayed. The tocsin of death still rang; to it the great bell of thepalace added at intervals its clanging peal; shouts, yells, the sharpreports of pistols and arquebuses, the shrieks of victims, filled theair; sixty thousand murderers thronged the streets, slaying all who worenot the white cross, breaking into and plundering houses, andslaughtering all within them. All through that dreadful Sunday thecrimson carnival went on, death everywhere, wagons loaded with bleedingbodies traversing the streets, to cast their gory burdens into theSeine, a scene of frightful massacre prevailing such as city streetshave seldom witnessed. The king judged feebly if he deemed that with aword he could quell the storm his voice had raised. Many of the noblesof the court, satisfied with the death of the Huguenot leaders, attempted to stay the work of death, but a report that a party ofHuguenots had attempted to kill the king added to the popular fury, andthe sanguinary work went on. 

It is not known how many were slain during that outbreak of slaughter. It was not confined to Paris, but spread through France. Thousands aresaid to have been killed in the city. In the kingdom the number slainhas been variously estimated at from ten to one hundred thousand. Suchwas the frightful result of a lamentable event in which religiousanimosity was taken advantage of to intensify the political enmity ofthe warring parties of the realm. 

It proved a useless infamy. Charles IX. Died two years afterwards, afterhaving suffered agonies of remorse. Despite the massacre, the Huguenotswere not all slain. Nor had the murder of Coligny robbed them of aleader. Henry of Navarre, who had narrowly escaped death on that fearfulnight, was in the coming years to lead the Protestants to many avictory, and in the end to become king of France, as Henry IV. By hiscoronation, Coligny was revenged; the Huguenots, instead of beingexterminated by the hand of massacre, had defeated their foes and raisedtheir leader to the throne, and the Edict of Nantes, which was soonafterwards announced, gave liberty of conscience to France for manyyears thereafter. 

_KING HENRY OF NAVARRE. _

For the first time in its history France had a Protestant king. HenryIII. Had died by the knife of an assassin. Henry of Navarre was named byhim as his successor. But the Catholic chiefs of France, in particularthe leaders of the League which had been banded against Henry III. , werebitterly opposed to the reign of a Huguenot in a realm that had alwaysbeen governed by Catholic kings, and it was evident that only by thesword could the throne be secured. 

The League held Paris and much of France. Henry's army was too weak toface them. He fell back on Dieppe, that he might be near the coast, andin position to receive reinforcements and supplies promised him by QueenElizabeth. The Duke of Mayenne pursued him with an army of somethirty-five thousand men. Such was the situation at the date of theopening of our story. 

Henry III. Had been killed on the 1st of August, 1589. Henry IV. Wasproclaimed king on the 2d of August. On the 26th of the same month hereached Dieppe, where he was met by the governor, Aymar de Chastes, andthe leading citizens, who brought him the keys of the place. 

"I come to salute my lord and hand over to him the government of thiscity, " said Aymar, who was a Catholic noble. 

"Ventre-saint-gris!" cried Henry, with his favorite exclamation; "I knownone more worthy of it than you are. "

The citizens crowded round the king, profuse in their expressions ofloyalty. 

"No fuss, my lads, " said Henry, who was the embodiment of plain commonsense; "all I want is your affection, good bread, good wine, and goodhospitable faces. "

Within the town he was received with loud cheers, and the populationseemed enthusiastic in his favor. But the shrewd soldier had no idea ofshutting himself up in a walled town, to be besieged there by Mayenne. So, after carefully inspecting its fortifications, he left five hundredmen within the town, assisted by a garrison of burgesses, andestablished his camp on a neighboring hill, crowned by the old castle ofArques, where he put all his men and all the peasants that could befound busily to work digging like beavers, working night and day tofortify the camp. He set the example himself in the use of the spade. 

"It is a wonder I am alive with such work as I have, " he wrote at thetime. "God have pity upon me and show me mercy, blessing my labors, asHe does in spite of many folks. I am well, and my affairs are goingwell. I have taken Eu. The enemy, who are double me just now, thought tocatch me there; but I drew off towards Dieppe, and I await them in acamp that I am fortifying. To-morrow will be the day when I shall seethem, and I hope, with God's help, that if they attack me they willfind they have made a bad bargain. "

The enemy came, as Henry had said, saw his preparations, and by askilful manoeuvre sought to render them useless. Mayenne had no fancyfor attacking those strong works in front. He managed, by anunlooked-for movement, to push himself between the camp and the town, "hoping to cut off the king's communications with the sea, divide hisforces, deprive him of his reinforcements from England, and, finally, surround him and capture him, as he had promised the Leaguers of Paris, who were already talking of the iron cage in which the Bearnese would besent to them. "

But Henry IV. Was not the man to be caught easily in a trap. Much as hadbeen his labor at digging, he at once changed his plans, and decidedthat it would not pay him to await the foe in his intrenchments. If theywould not come to him, he must go to them, preserving his communicationsat any cost. Chance, rather than design, brought the two armies intocontact. A body of light-horse approached the king's intrenchments. Asharp skirmish followed. 

"My son, " said Marshal de Biron to the young Count of Auvergne, "charge;now is the time. "

The young soldier--a prince by birth--obeyed, and so effectively that heput the Leaguers to rout, killed three hundred of them, and returned tocamp unobstructed. On the succeeding two days similar encounters tookplace, with like good fortune for Henry's army. Mayenne was annoyed. His prestige was in danger of being lost. He determined to recover it byattacking the intrenchments of the king with his whole army. 

The night of the 20th of September came. It was a very dark one. Henry, having reason to expect an attack, kept awake the whole night. Incompany with a group of his officers, he gazed over the dark valleywithin which lay Mayenne's army. The silence was profound. Afar offcould be seen a long line of lights, so flickering and inconstant thatthe observers were puzzled to decide if they were men or glow-worms. 

At five in the morning, Henry gave orders that every man should be athis post. He had his breakfast brought to him on the field, and ate itwith a hearty appetite, seated in a fosse with his officers around him. While there a prisoner was brought in who had been taken during areconnoissance. 

"Good-morning, Belin, " said the king, who knew him. "Embrace me for yourwelcome appearance. "

Belin did so, taking the situation philosophically. 

"To give you appetite for dinner, " he said, "you are about to have workto do with thirty thousand foot and ten thousand horse. Where are yourforces?" he continued, looking around curiously. 

"You don't see them all, M. De Belin, " answered Henry. "You don't reckonthe good God and the good right, but they are ever with me. "

Belin had told the truth. About ten o'clock Mayenne made his attack. Itwas a day ill-suited for battle, for there lay upon the field so thicka fog that the advancing lines could not see each other at ten pacesapart. Despite this, the battle proceeded briskly, and for nearly threehours the two armies struggled, now one, now the other, in theascendant. 

Henry fought as vigorously as any of his men, all being so confusedlymingled in the fog that there was little distinction between officersand soldiers. At one time he found himself so entangled in a medley ofdisorganized troopers that he loudly shouted, --

"Courage, gentlemen; pray, courage! Are there not among you fiftygentlemen willing to die with their king?"

The confusion was somewhat alleviated by the arrival, at this juncture, of five hundred men from Dieppe, whose opportune coming the king gladlygreeted. Springing from his horse, he placed himself beside Chatillon, their leader, to fight in the trenches. The battle, which had been hotat this point, now grew furious, and for some fifteen minutes there wasa hand-to-hand struggle in the fog, like that of two armies fighting inthe dead of night. 

Then came a welcome change. For what followed we may quote Sully. "Whenthings were in this desperate state, " he says, "the fog, which had beenvery thick all the morning, dropped down suddenly, and the cannon of thecastle of Arques, getting sight of the enemy's army, a volley of fourpieces was fired, which made four beautiful lanes in their squadrons andbattalions. That pulled them up quite short; and three or four volleysin succession, which produced marvellous effects, made them waver, and, little by little, retire all of them behind the turn of the valley, outof cannon-shot, and finally to their quarters. "

Mayenne was defeated. The king held the field. He pursued the enemy forsome distance, and then returned to Arques to return thanks to God forthe victory. Immediately afterwards, Mayenne struck camp and marchedaway, leaving Henry master of the situation. The king of Navarre hadscored a master-point in the contest for the throne of France. 

During the ensuing year the cause of the king rapidly advanced. More andmore of France acknowledged him as the legitimate heir to the throne. Ayear after the affair at Dieppe he marched suddenly and rapidly onParis, and would have taken it had not Mayenne succeeded in throwing hisarmy into the city when it was half captured. In March, 1590, the twoarmies met again on the plain of Ivry, a village half-way between Mantesand Dreux, and here was fought one of the famous battles of history, aconflict whose final result was to make Henry IV. King of all France. 

On this notable field the king was greatly outnumbered. Mayenne hadunder his command about four thousand horse and twenty thousand foot, while Henry's force consisted of three thousand horse and eight thousandfoot. But the king's men were much better disciplined, and much morelargely moved by patriotism, Mayenne's army being in considerable partmade up of German and Swiss auxiliaries. The king's men, Catholics andProtestants alike, were stirred by a strong religious enthusiasm. In agrave and earnest speech to his men, Henry placed the issue of the dayin the hands of the Almighty. The Catholics of his army crowded to theneighboring churches to hear mass. The Huguenots, much fewer in number, "also made their prayers after their sort. "

The day of battle dawned, --March 14, 1590. Henry's army was drawn upwith the infantry to right and left, --partly made up of German and Swissauxiliaries, --the cavalry, under his own command, in the centre. In thisarm, in those days of transition between ancient and modern war, thestrength of armies lay, and those five lines of horsemen were that dayto decide the fate of the field. 

In the early morning Henry displayed a winning instance of that generousgood feeling for which he was noted. Count Schomberg, colonel of theGerman auxiliaries, had, some days before, asked for the pay of histroops, saying that they would not fight if not paid. Henry, indignantat this implied threat, had harshly replied, --

"People do not ask for money on the eve of a battle. "

He now, just as the battle was about to begin, approached Schomberg witha look of contrition on his face. 

"Colonel, " he said, "I have hurt your feelings. This may be the last dayof my life. I cannot bear to take away the honor of a brave and honestgentleman like you. Pray forgive me and embrace me. "

"Sir, " answered Schomberg, with deep feeling, "the other day yourMajesty wounded me; to-day you kill me. "

He gave up the command of the German reiters that he might fight in theking's own squadron, and was killed in the battle. 

As the two armies stood face to face, waiting for the signal of onset, Henry rode along the front of his squadron, and halted opposite theircentre. 

"Fellow-soldiers, " he said, "you are Frenchmen; behold the enemy! Ifto-day you run my risks, I also run yours. I will conquer or die withyou. Keep your ranks well, I pray you. If the heat of battle disperseyou for a while, rally as soon as you can under those pear-trees you seeup yonder to my right; and if you lose sight of your standards, do notlose sight of my white plume. Make that your rallying point, for youwill always find it in the path of honor, and, I hope, of victory also. "

And Henry pointed significantly to the snow-white plume that ornamentedhis helmet, while a shout of enthusiastic applause broke from all thosewho had heard his stirring appeal. Those words have become famous. Thewhite plume of Henry of Navarre is still one of the rallying points ofhistory. It has also a notable place in poetry, in Macaulay's stirringode of "Ivry, " from which we quote:

 "'And if my standard-bearer fall, As fall full well he may; For never saw I promise yet Of such a bloody fray; Press where ye see my white plume shine Amidst the ranks of war, And be your oriflamme to-day The helmet of Navarre. '"

The words we have quoted spoken, Henry galloped along the whole line ofhis army; then halted again, threw his bridle over his arm, and said, with clasped hands and deep feeling, --

"O God, Thou knowest my thoughts, and dost see to the very bottom of myheart; if it be for my people's good that I keep the crown, favor Thoumy cause and uphold my arms. But if Thy holy will have otherwiseordained, at least let me die, O God, in the midst of these bravesoldiers who give their lives for me!"

The infantry began the battle. Egmont, in command of Mayenne's rightwing, attacked sharply, but after a brief success was killed and his menrepulsed. On the king's right, Aumont, Biron, and Montpensier drovetheir opponents before them. At this stage of the affray Mayenne, incommand of the powerful body of cavalry in the centre, fell upon theking's horse with a furious charge, which for the time threatened tocarry all before it. The lines wavered and broke; knights and noblesfell back; confusion began and was increasing; the odds appeared toogreat; for a brief and perilous period the battle seemed lost. At thiscritical moment Henry came to the rescue. Victory or death had been hisword to his men. His promise was now to be kept in deeds. Pointing withhis sword to the enemy, and calling in a loud voice upon all who heardhim to follow, he spurred fiercely forward, and in a moment his whiteplume was seen waving in the thickest ranks of the foe. 

His cry had touched the right place in the hearts of his followers. Forgetting every thought but that of victory and the rescue of theirbeloved leader, they pushed after him in a gallant and irresistiblecharge, which resembled in its impetuosity that of the Black Prince atPoitiers. Mayenne's thronging horsemen wavered and broke before thisimpetuous rush. Into the heart of the opposing army rode Henry and hisardent followers, cutting, slashing, shouting in victorious enthusiasm. In a few minutes the forward movement of Mayenne's cavalry was checked. His troops halted, wavered, broke, and fled, hotly pursued by theirfoes. The battle was won. That rush of the white plume had carried allbefore it, and swept the serried ranks of the Leaguers to the winds. Letus quote the poetic rendition of this scene from Macaulay's ode. 

 "Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled din Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum And roaring culverin! The fiery duke is pricking fast Across St André's plain, With all the hireling cavalry Of Gueldres and Almayne. 'Now by the lips of those ye love, Fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the golden lilies, Upon them with the lance!' A thousand spurs are striking deep, A thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close Behind a snow-white crest, And in they burst, and on they rushed, While, like a gliding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blazed The helmet of Navarre. "

The enemy's cavalry being in flight and hotly pursued, Henry with ahandful of horsemen (he had but thirty at his back when he came out ofthe mêlée) charged upon the Walloons and Swiss, who instantly broke andfled, with such impetuous haste that they left their standards behindthem. 

"Slay the strangers, but spare the French, " was the king's order, as ahot pursuit of the flying infantry began, in which the Germanauxiliaries in particular were cut down mercilessly. 

 "And then we thought on vengeance, And all along our van, 'Remember St. Bartholomew!' Was passed from man to man. But out spake gentle Henry, 'No Frenchman is my foe; Down, down with every foreigner, But let your brethren go. '"

The Swiss, however, ancient friends and allies of France, begged theking's compassion and were admitted to mercy, being drafted into hisservice. The flying Germans and French were severely punished, greatnumbers of them falling, many more being taken, the list of prisonersincluding a large number of lords and leaders of the foe. The battle hadbeen remarkably short. It was won by the cavalry, the infantry havingscarcely come into action. As to its effect, we may quote again from thepoem. 

 "Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, From whom all glories are, And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre. Now let there be the merry sound Of music and of dance, Through thy corn-fields green and sunny vines, Oh, pleasant land of France. Hurrah! Hurrah! a single field Hath turned the chance of war! Hurrah! Hurrah! for Ivry, And Henry of Navarre!"

It "turned the chance of war" in truth, in a great measure. Paris was inconsternation. Everywhere was a great change in public opinion. Menceased to look on Henry as an adventurous soldier, and came to regardhim as a great prince, fighting for his own. Beyond this, however, theeffect was not immediate. Paris remained in the hands of the League. ASpanish League was formed. The difficulties seemed to grow deeper. Theonly easy solution to them was an abjuration of the Protestant faith, and to this view Henry in the end came. He professed conversion toCatholicism, and all opposition ceased. Henry IV. Became the fullyacknowledged king of France, and for the time being all persecution ofthe Huguenots was at an end. 

_THE MURDER OF A KING. _

History is full of stories of presentiments, of "visions of suddendeath, " made notable by their realization, of strange disasterspredicted in advance. Doubtless there have been very many presentimentsthat failed to come true, enough, possibly, to make those that have beenrealized mere coincidences. However that be, these agreements ofprediction and event are, to say the least, curious. The case of Cæsaris well known. We have now to relate that of Henry IV. 

Sully has told the story. Henry had married, as a second wife, Mary de'Medici, daughter of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, and a woman whoseheadstrong temper and cantankerous disposition were by no meanscalculated to make his life with her an agreeable one. In the end shestrongly insisted on being crowned queen, a desire on her part which wasvery unpleasant to her royal husband, who seemed to feel that somedisaster impended over the event. 

"Hey! my friend, " he said to Sully, his intimate, "I know not what isthe meaning of it, but my heart tells me that some misfortune willhappen to me. "

He was seated on a low chair, his face disturbed by uneasy thought, hisfingers drumming on his spectacle-case. Of a sudden he sprang up, andstruck his hand sharply on his thigh. 

"By God!" he said; "I shall die in this city, and shall never go out ofit. They will kill me. I see quite well that they have no other remedyin their dangers but my death. Ah! accursed coronation; thou wilt be thecause of my death!"

"What fancy is this of yours?" asked Sully. "If it continue, I am ofopinion that you should break off this anointment and coronation. If youplease to give me orders, it shall be done. "

"Yes, break off the coronation, " said the king. "Let me hear no moreabout it. I shall have my mind at rest from divers fancies which certainwarnings have put into it. To hide nothing from you, I have been toldthat I was to be killed at the first grand ceremony I should undertake, and that I should die in a carriage. "

"You never told me that, sir, " answered Sully. "I have often beenastounded to hear you cry out when in a carriage, as if you had dreadedthis petty peril, after having so many times seen you amidstcannon-balls, musketry, lance-thrusts, pike-thrusts, and sword-thrusts, without being a bit afraid. Since your mind is so exercised thereby, ifI were you, I would go away to-morrow, let the coronation take placewithout you, or put it off to another time, and not enter Paris for along time, or in a carriage. If you please, I will send word to NotreDame and St. Denys to stop everything and to withdraw the workmen. "

"I am very much inclined, " said the king; "but what will my wife say?She has gotten this coronation marvellously into her head. "

"She may say what she likes, " rejoined Sully. "But I cannot think that, when she knows your opinion about it, she will persist any longer. "

He did not know Mary de' Medici. She did persist strongly andoffensively. For three days the matter was disputed, with high words onboth sides. In the end, Henry, weary of the contention, and finding itimpossible to convince or silence his obstinate wife, gave way, and thelaborers were again set to work to prepare for the coronation. 

Despite his presentiments Henry remained in Paris, and gave orders forthe immediate performance of the ceremony, as if he were anxious to havedone with it, and to pass the crisis in his life which he feared. Thecoronation was proclaimed on the 12th of May, 1610. It took place on the13th, at St. Denys. The tragical event which he had dreaded did not takeplace. He breathed easier. 

On the next day, the 14th, he took it in mind to go to the arsenal tosee Sully, who was ill. Yet the same indecision and fear seemed topossess him. He stirred about in an unquiet and irresolute mood, sayingseveral times to the queen, "My dear, shall I go or not?"

He went so far as to leave the room two or three times, but each timereturned, in the same doubt. 

"My dear, shall I really go?" he said to the queen; and then, making uphis mind, he kissed her several times and bade her adieu. 

"I shall only go there and back, " he said; "I shall be here again almostdirectly. "

On reaching his carriage, M. De Praslin, the captain of his guard, proposed to attend him, but he would not permit it, saying, --

"Get you gone; I want nobody; go about your business. "

Yet that morning, in a conversation with Guise and Bassompierre, he hadspoken as if he dreaded quickly coming death. 

"You will live, please God, long years yet, " said Bassompierre. "You areonly in the flower of your age, in perfect bodily health and strength, full of honor more than any mortal man, in the most flourishing kingdomin the world, loved and adored by your subjects, with fine houses, finewomen, fine children who are growing up. "

Henry sighed, as if still oppressed by his presentiments, and sadlyanswered, --

"My friend, all that must be left. "

Those were his last words of which any record remains, save the few hespoke in the carriage. A few hours afterwards all the earthly blessingsof which Bassompierre spoke were naught to him. The king was dead. 

To return to our subject; in the carriage with the king were severalgentlemen of the court. Henry occupied the rear seat at the left, withM. D'Epernon seated at his right, and M. De Montbazon between him andthe door, while several other gentlemen occupied the remaining seats. When the carriage reached the Croix du Tiroir, the coachman askedwhither he should drive, and was bidden to go towards St. Innocent. Onthe way thither, while in the Rue de la Ferronnerie, a cart obstructedthe way, so that the carriage had to turn towards the sidewalk and toproceed more slowly. Here were some ironmongers' shops, beside one ofwhich lurked a man, his eyes keenly fixed on the approaching carriage, his hand nervously clutching some object in his pocket. 

As the carriage moved slowly by, this man sprang from his covert andrushed towards it, a knife in his hand. In an instant he had dealt theking two blows, in rapid succession, in the left side. The first struckhim below the armpit and went upward, merely grazing the flesh. Theother proved more dangerous. It entered his side between the fifth andsixth ribs, and, taking a downward direction, cut a large blood-vessel. The king, by chance, had his left hand on the shoulder of M. DeMontbazon, and was leaning towards M. D'Epernon, to whom he wasspeaking. He thus laid himself more fully open to the assassin's knife. 

All had passed so quickly that no movement of defence was possible. Henry gave a low cry and made a few movements. 

"What is the matter, sir?" asked M. De Montbazon, who had not seen theaffair. 

"It is nothing, " answered the king. "It is nothing, " he repeated, hisvoice now so low that they could barely hear him. Those were the lastwords he spoke. 

The assassin had been seized. He was a fanatic, named FrançoisRavaillac, who had been roused to his mad act by rumors that Henryintended to make war upon the pope, and other baseless fancies of theking's opponents. With him we are not further concerned, other than tosay that he was made to suffer the most barbarous tortures for his deed. 

The carriage was turned and driven back to the Louvre. On reaching theentrance steps some wine was given to the wounded monarch. An officer ofthe guard raised his head, his only sign of intelligence being somemovements of the eyes. In a moment more they were closed, never to beopened again. 

He was carried up-stairs and laid on the couch in his closet, and fromthere taken to the bed in his chamber. As he lay there some one gave himholy water, and M. De Vic, a councillor of state, put to his mouth thecross of his order, and directed his thoughts to God. All this was loston the king. He lay motionless and insensible. All around him were intears. The grief of the queen was unconsolable. All Paris was weeping. The monarch against whom the Parisians had so bitterly fought they nowmourned as they would have done for their dearest friend. 

The surgeons wanted to dress the king's wounds. Milon, the chiefphysician, who sat weeping at the bedside, waved them aside. A faintsigh died away on the king's lips. "It is all over, " said Milon, sadly. "He is gone. "

What followed may be told in a few words. The old adage, "The king isdead; long live the king!" was the thought of practical men of affairs. Sully, whom the news of the assassination had raised in haste from hissick-bed, put himself quickly at the head of some forty horse and rodetowards the palace. Guise and Bassompierre had come to the door, to seewhat was passing outside, as he rode up. 

"Gentlemen, " he said to them, with tearful eyes, "if the service youvowed to the king be impressed upon your souls as deeply as it ought tobe with all good Frenchmen, swear this moment to keep towards the king'sson and heir the same allegiance that you showed him, and to spend yourlives and your blood in avenging his death. "

"Sir, " answered Bassompierre, "it is for us to cause this oath to betaken by others; we have no need to be exhorted thereto. "

Leaving them, Sully rode to the Bastille, which he took possession of, and sent out soldiers to seize and carry off all the bread that could befound in the market and at the shops of the bakers. He despatched amessenger also, in the greatest haste, to his son-in-law, M. De Rohan, then in command of a force of six thousand Swiss, bidding him to marchwith all speed upon Paris. 

Henry IV. Was dead. His son was his legitimate successor. But the murderof Henry III. Had been followed by a contest for the throne. That ofHenry IV. Might be. Sully felt it necessary to take precautions, although the king was hardly cold in death. The king dies; the kingshipsurvives; prudent men, on whom the peace of a people depend, preparewithout delay; the Duke de Sully was such a man. His precautions, however, were not needed. No one thought of opposing the heirship of theking's son. 

_RICHELIEU AND THE CONSPIRATORS. _

In a richly-furnished state apartment of the royal palace of theLuxembourg, on a day in November, 1630, stood Louis XIII. , king ofFrance, tapping nervously with his fingers on the window-pane, and witha disturbed and irresolute look upon his face. Beside him was hisfavorite, St. Simon, a showily-dressed and handsome gentleman of thecourt. 

"What do you think of all this?" asked the king, his fingers keeping uptheir idle drumming on the glass. 

"Sir, I seem to be in another world, " was the politic reply. "But at anyrate you are master. "

"I am, " said the king, proudly, "and I will make it felt, too. "

The royal prisoner was stirring uneasily in the bonds which hardnecessity had cast round his will. It was against Cardinal Richelieuthat his testy remark was made, yet in the very speaking he could notbut feel that to lose Richelieu was to lose the bulwark of his throne;that this imperious master, against whose rule he chafed, was the gloryand the support of his reign. 

Just now, however, the relations between king and cardinal were sadlystrained. Mary de' Medici, the king's mother, once Richelieu's ardentfriend, was now his active foe. The queen, Anne of Austria, was equallyhostile. Their influence had been used to its utmost to poison the mindof the monarch against his minister, and seemingly with success. To allappearance it looked as if the great cardinal was near his fall. 

Rumor of what was afloat had invaded the court. Everywhere were secretwhisperings, knowing looks, expectant movements. The courtiers wereflocking to the Luxembourg, in hopes of some advantage to themselves. Marillac, the keeper of the seals, was at his country house at Glatigny, very near Versailles, where the king was expected. He remained there inhopes that Louis would send for him and put the power of the disgracedcardinal into his hands. The colossus seemed about to fall. All waitedexpectantly. 

The conspiracy of the queen-mother had gone farther than to use herpersonal influence with her son against the cardinal. There were othersin league with her, particularly Marillac, the keeper of the seals, andMarshal Marillac, his brother, then in command of a large force inPiedmont. All had been carefully prepared against the fall of theminister. The astute conspirators had fully laid their plans as to whatwas to follow. 

Unfortunately for them, they did not reckon with the two principalparties concerned, Louis XIII. And Cardinal Richelieu. With all hisweaknesses of temper and mind, the king had intellect enough to knowwhat were the great interests of his kingdom and power, and on whoseshoulders they rested. Above all the littleness of a court cabal hecould not but discern the great questions which impended, and with whichhe felt quite incompetent to deal. And he could perceive but one man inhis kingdom able to handle these great problems of state. 

As for Richelieu, he was by no means blind to what was going on aroundhim. He was the last man in the world to be a dupe. Delaying until thetime seemed ripe to move, he requested and obtained an interview withthe king. They were a long time closeted, while all the courtier-worldof Paris waited in expectation and suspense. 

What passed in that private cabinet of the palace no one knew, but whenthe interview was over it quickly became evident that the queen-motherand her associates had lost, the cardinal had won. Michael de Marillachad hopeful dreams that night, as he slept in his house at Glatigny; butwhen he awoke in the morning it was to receive the disturbing news thatthe king and the cardinal were at Versailles together, the ministerbeing lodged in a room under that of the monarch. Quickly came stillmore disturbing news. The king demanded a return of the seals. Beforethis tidings could be well digested, the frightened plotter learned thathis own arrest had been ordered, and that the exons were already at hisdoor to secure his person. 

While the courtier conspirator was being thus attended to, the soldier, his brother, was not forgotten. A courier had been despatched to theheadquarters of the army in Piedmont, bearing a letter to MarshalSchomberg, who, with Marshals La Force and Marillac, had formed there ajunction of the forces under their control. Marillac was in command onthe day of the courier's arrival, and was impatiently awaiting the news, for which he had been prepared by his brother, of the cardinal'sdisgrace. 

Schomberg opened his despatches. The first words he saw, in the king'sown handwriting, were these:

"My dear cousin, you will not fail to arrest Marshal Marillac; it is forthe good of my service and for your own exculpation. "

Schomberg looked at the document with startled eyes. What could thismean? And was it safe to attempt an arrest? A large section of thetroops were devoted to Marillac. He consulted with La Force, who advisedhim to obey orders, whatever the consequences. Schomberg thereuponshowed Marillac the despatch. He beheld it with surprise and alarm, butwithout thought of resistance. 

"I can protest that I have done nothing contrary to the king's service, "he said. "The truth is, that my brother, the keeper of the seals, and Ihave always been the servants of the queen-mother. She must have had theworst of it, and Cardinal Richelieu has won the day against her and herservants. "

So it proved, indeed, and he was to suffer for it. He was tried, --not onany political charge, however, the crimes alleged against him werepeculation and extortion, common practices with many of hisfellow-generals. 

"It is a very strange thing, " said he, bitterly, "to prosecute me asthey do; my trial is a mere question of hay, straw, wood, stones, andlime; there is not case enough for whipping a lackey. "

He was mistaken; there was case enough for beheading a marshal. It wasnot a question of peculation, but of offending the great cardinal, forwhich he was really put on trial, and the case ended in his being foundguilty of malfeasance in office and executed. His brother died in prisonthree months afterwards, --of decline, so the records say. 

"Dupes' Day, " as the day we have described came to be called, was over. The queen-mother had lost. Her dupes had suffered. Richelieu was morepowerful than ever. She had but strengthened his ascendancy over theking. But Mary de' Medici was not the woman to acknowledge defeateasily. No sooner had her first effort failed than her enmity againstthe too-powerful minister showed itself in a new direction, theprincipal agent of her purposes being now her son, the Duke of Orleans, brother to the king. The duke, after an angry interview with thecardinal, left Paris in haste for Orleans, his mother declaring to theking that the occasion of his sudden departure was that he could nolonger tolerate by his presence Richelieu's violent proceedings againstherself. She professed to have been taken by surprise by his departure, which Louis doubting, "she took occasion to belch forth fire and flamesagainst the cardinal, and made a fresh attempt to ruin him in the king'sestimation, though she had previously bound herself by oath to take nomore steps against him. "

Her malignity defeated itself. Richelieu was too skilful an adept in thegame of politics to be so easily beaten. He brought the affair beforethe council, seemingly utterly indifferent what might be done; thetrouble might be ended, he suggested, by his own retirement or that ofthe queen-mother, whichever in their wisdom they might deem best. 

The implied threat settled the matter. The king, alarmed at the idea ofhaving the government of France left on his weak hands, at once gave theoffending lady to understand that she had better retire for a time toone of his provincial palaces, recommending Moulins. Mary de' Mediciheard this order with fiery indignation. She shut herself up in thecastle of Compiègne, where she then was, and declared that she would notleave unless dragged out by main force. In the end, however, she changedher mind, fled by night from the castle, and made her way to Brussels, where she took refuge from her powerful foe. Richelieu's game was won. Mary de' Medici had lost all influence with her son. She was never tosee him again. 

A number of years passed before a new plot was hatched against thecardinal. Then a conspiracy was organized which threatened not only hispower but his life. It was in 1636. The king's headquarters were thenat the castle of Demuin. The Duke of Orleans, who had been recently inarmed rebellion against the king, and had been pardoned for his treason, determined, in common with the Count of Soissons, that their enemy, thecardinal, should die. There were others in this plot of assassination, two of the duke's gentlemen, Montrésor and Saint Ibal, being chosen todeal the fatal blow. They were to station themselves at the foot of thegrand stairway, meet Richelieu at his exit from the council, and strikehim dead. The duke was to give the signal for the murderous assault. 

The door of the council chamber opened. The king and the cardinal cameout together and descended the stairs in company, Richelieu attendingLouis until he had reached the foot of the stairway, and gone into anadjoining room. The cardinal turned to ascend again, without a moment'ssuspicion that the two gentlemen at the stair-foot clutched hiddendaggers in their hands, ready, at a signal from the duke, who stood nearby, to plunge them in his breast. 

The signal did not come. At the last moment the courage of Gaston ofOrleans failed him. Whether from something in Richelieu's earnest anddignified aspect, or some sudden fear of serious consequences tohimself, the chief conspirator turned hastily away, without speaking thefatal word agreed upon. What the duke feared to do, the count dared notdo. The two chosen assassins stood expectant, greeting the cardinal ashe passed, and waiting in nervous impatience for the promised signal. It failed to come. Their daggers remained undrawn. Richelieu calmlyascended the stairs to his rooms, without a dream of the deadly peril hehad run. 

The conspiracy against the cardinal which has attained the greatesthistorical notoriety is that associated with the name of Cinq-Mars, thefamous favorite of Louis XIII. Brilliant and witty, a true type of thecourtiers of the time, this handsome youth so amused and interested theking that, when he was only nineteen years of age, Louis made him masterof the wardrobe and grand equerry of France. M. Le Grand he was called, and grand enough he seemed, in his independent and capricious dealingswith the king. Louis went so far as to complain to Richelieu of thehumors of his youthful favorite. 

"I am very sorry, " he wrote, under date of January 4, 1641, "to troubleyou about the ill-tempers of M. Le Grand. I upbraided him with hisheedlessness; he answered that for that matter he could not change, andthat he should do no better than he had done. I said that, consideringhis obligations to me, he ought not to address me in that manner. Heanswered in his usual way; that he didn't want my kindness, that hecould do very well without it, and that he would be quite as wellcontent to be Cinq-Mars as M. Le Grand, but as for changing his ways andhis life, he couldn't do it. And so, he continually nagging at me and Iat him, we came as far as the court-yard, where I said to him that, being in the temper he was in, he would do me the pleasure of not comingto see me. I have not seen him since. "

This letter yields a curious revelation of the secret history of a royalcourt. There have been few kings with whom such impudent independencewould have served. Louis XIII. Was one of them. Cinq-Mars seems to haveknown his man. The quarrel was not of long continuance. Richelieu, whohad first placed the youth near the king, easily reconciled them, aservice which the foolish boy soon repaid by lending an ear to theenemies of the cardinal. For this Richelieu was in a way responsible. Hehad begun to find the constant attendance of the favorite upon the kingtroublesome to himself, and gave him plainly to understand so. "One dayhe sent word to him not to be for the future so continually at hisheels, and treated him even to his face with as much tartness andimperiousnesss as if he had been the lowest of his valets. " Suchtreatment was not likely to be well received by one of the independentdisposition of Cinq-Mars. He joined in a plot against the cardinal. 

The king was ill; the cardinal more so. Gaston, Duke of Orleans, wasagain in Paris, and full of his old intriguing spirit. The Duke ofBouillon was there also, having been sent for by the king to takecommand of the army of Italy. He, too, was drawn into the plot which wasbeing woven against Richelieu. The queen, Anne of Austria, was anotherof the conspirators. The plot thus organized was the deepest and mostfar-reaching which had yet been laid against the all-powerful minister. 

Bouillon was prince-sovereign of the town of Sedan. This place was toserve the conspirators as an asylum in case of reverse. But a town wasnot enough; an army was needed; whence should it come? Spain mightfurnish it. 

The affair was growing to the dimensions of a conspiracy against thecrown as well as the minister. Viscount de Fontrailles, a man whodetested the cardinal, and would not have hesitated to murder him as asimpler way of disposing of the difficulty, was named by Cinq-Mars as aproper person to deal with the Spaniards. He set out for Madrid, andsoon succeeded in negotiating a secret treaty, in the name of the Dukeof Orleans, by whose terms Spain was to furnish the conspirators withtwelve thousand foot, five thousand horse, and the necessary funds forthe enterprise. The town of Sedan, and the names of Cinq-Mars andBouillon, were not mentioned in this treaty, but were given in aseparate document. 

While this dangerous work was going on the cardinal was dangerously ill, a prey to violent fever, and with an abscess on his arm which preventedhim from writing. The king was with the army, which was besiegingPerpignan. With him was Cinq-Mars, who was doing his best to insinuatesuspicions of the minister into the mind of the king. All seemedpromising for the conspirators, the illness of the cardinal, in theiropinion, being likely to carry him off in no long period, and meanwhilepreventing him from discovering the plot and setting himself right withthe king. 

Evidently these hopeful people did not know the resources of CardinalRichelieu. In all his severe illness his eyes had not been blind, hisintellect not at rest. Keen as they thought themselves, they had a manwith double their resources to deal with. Though Richelieu was by nomeans surrounded by the intricate web of spies and intrigues with whichfiction and the drama have credited him, he was not without his secretagents, and his means of tracing the most hidden movements of hisenemies. Cinq-Mars lacked the caution necessary for a conspirator. Hispurposes became evident to the king, who had no thought of exchanginghis great minister for a frivolous boy who was only fitted to amuse hishours of relaxation. The outcome of the affair appears in a piece ofnews published in the _Gazette de France_ on June 21, 1642. 

"The cardinal-duke, " it said, "after remaining two days at Arles, embarked on the 11th of this month for Tarascon, his health becomingbetter and better. The king has ordered under arrest Marquis deCinq-Mars, grand equerry of France. "

Had a thunderbolt fallen in their midst, the enemies of Richelieu couldnot have been in greater consternation than at this simple item of news. How came it about? The fox was not asleep. Nor had his illness robbedhis hand and his brain of their cunning. The king, overladen withaffairs of state from which his minister when well had usually relievedhim, sent a message of confidence to Richelieu, indicating that hisenemies would seek in vain to separate them. In reply the cardinal sentthe king a document which filled the monarch with an astonishment thatwas only equalled by his wrath. It was a copy of the secret treaty ofOrleans with Spain!

The king could hardly believe his eyes. So this was what lay behind theinsinuations of Cinq-Mars? An insurrection was projected against thestate! The cardinal, mayhap the king himself, was to be overthrown byforce of arms! Only the sleepless vigilance of Richelieu could havediscovered and exposed this perilous plot. It remained for the king tosecond the work of his minister by decisive action. An order was at onceissued for the arrest of Cinq-Mars and his intimate friend, M. De Thou;while a messenger was sent off in all haste to the army of Italy, bearing orders for the arrest of the Duke of Bouillon at the head of histroops. 

Fontrailles, just arrived from his mission to Spain, returned to thatkingdom with all haste, having first said to Cinq-Mars, "Sir, you are afine figure; if you were shorter by the whole head you would not ceaseto be very tall. As for me, who am already very short, nothing could betaken off me without inconveniencing me and making me cut the poorestfigure in the world. You will be good enough, if you please, to let meget out of the way of edge tools. "

The minor parties to the conspiracy, with the exception of the prudentFontrailles, were in custody. The most guilty of all, the king'sbrother, was at large. What part was he to play in the drama ofretribution? Flight, or treachery to his accomplices, alone remained tohim. He chose the latter, sending an agent to the king, who had justjoined the cardinal at Tarascon, with directions to confess everythingand implore for him the pardon of his royal brother. The cardinalquestioned this agent, the Abbé de la Rivière, with unrelentingseverity, made him write and sign everything, and was inclined to makethe prince-duke appear as a witness at the trial, and yield up hisaccomplices in the face of the world. This final disgrace, however, wasomitted at the wish of Louis, and an order of exile was sent from theking to his brother, which bore this note in the cardinal's hand, --

"Monsieur will have in his place of exile twelve thousand crowns amonth, the same sum that the king of Spain had promised to give him. "

The dying cardinal had triumphed over all his foes. He had, from his bedat Tarascon, dictated to the king the course to be pursued, entailingdishonor to the Duke of Orleans and death to the grand equerry ofFrance. The king then took his way back to Fontainebleau in the litterof the cardinal, which the latter had lent him. Richelieu did notremain long behind him. He was conveyed to his house in Lyons in alitter shaped like a square chamber, covered with red damask, and borneon the shoulders of eighteen guards. Within, beside his couch, was atable covered with papers, at which he worked with his ordinarydiligence, chatting pleasantly at intervals with such of his servants asaccompanied him. In the same equipage he left Lyons for the Loire, onhis return to Paris. On the way it was necessary to pull down walls andbridge ditches that this great litter, in which the greatest man inFrance lay in mortal illness, might pass. 

What followed needs few words. The Duke of Bouillon confessedeverything, and was pardoned on condition of his delivering up Sedan tothe king. He was kept in prison, however, till after the death of hisaccomplices, Cinq-Mars and De Thou, who were tried and sentenced toexecution. 

Bouillon had not long to wait. The execution took place on the very dayon which sentence had been pronounced. The two culprits met deathfirmly. Cinq-Mars was but twenty-two years of age. He had rapidly runhis course. "Now that I make not a single step which does not lead me todeath, I am more capable than anybody else of estimating the value ofthe things of the world, " he wrote. "Enough of this world; away toParadise!" said De Thou, as he walked to the scaffold. 

There were no more conspiracies against Richelieu. There was no time forthem, for in less than three months afterwards he was dead. Thegreatest, or at least the most dramatic, minister known to the pages ofhistory had departed from this world. His royal master did not longsurvive him. In five months afterwards, Louis XIII. Had followed hisminister to the grave. 

_THE PARLIAMENT OF PARIS. _

In the streets of Paris all was tumult and fiery indignation. Never hadthere been a more sudden or violent outbreak. The whole city seemed tohave turned into the streets. Not until the era of the Revolution, acentury and a half later, was the capital of France again to see such anuprising of the people against the court. Broussel had been arrested, Councillor Broussel, a favorite of the populace, who sustained him inhis opposition to the court party, and at once the city was ablaze; forthe first time in the history of France had the people risen in supportof their representatives. 

It was by no means the first time that royalty had ended its disputeswith the Parliament in this summary manner. Four years previously, Anneof Austria, the queen-regent, had done the same thing, and scarce avoice had been raised in protest. But in the ensuing four years publicopinion had changed. The king, Louis XIV. , was but ten years old; hismother, aided by her favorite minister, Cardinal Mazarin, ruled thekingdom, --misruled it, as the people thought; the country was crushedunder its weight of taxes; the finances were in utter disorder; Francewas successful abroad, but her successes had been dearly bought, and thepeople groaned under the burden of their victories. Parliament madeitself the mouth-piece of the public discontent. It no longer felt uponit the iron hand of Richelieu. Mazarin was able, but he was not amaster, and the Parliament began once more to claim that authority inaffairs of state from which it had been deposed by the great cardinal. Aconflict arose between the members and the court which soon led to actsof open hostility. 

An edict laying a tax upon all provisions which entered Paris irritatedthe citizens, and the Parliament refused to register it. Other stepstowards independence were taken by the members. Gradually they resumedtheir old rights, and the court party was forced to yield. But couragereturned to the queen-regent with the news that the army of France hadgained a great victory. No sooner had the tidings reached Paris than thecity was electrified by hearing that President Brancmesnil andCouncillor Broussel had been arrested. 

It was the arrest of Broussel that stirred the popular heart. Mazarinand the queen had made the dangerous mistake of not taking into accountthe state of the public mind. "There was a blaze at once, a sensation, arush, an outcry, and a shutting up of shops. " The excitement of thepeople was intense. Moment by moment the tumult grew greater. "Broussel!Broussel!" they shouted. That perilous populace had arisen which wasafterwards to show what frightful deeds it could do under the impulse ofoppression and misgovernment. 

Paul de Gondi, afterwards known as Cardinal de Retz, then coadjutor ofthe Archbishop of Paris, and the leading spirit with the populace, hurried to the palace, accompanied by Marshal de la Meilleraie. 

"The city is in a frightful state, " they told the queen. "The people arefurious and may soon grow unmanageable. The air is full of revolt. "

Anne of Austria listened to them with set lips and angry eyes. 

"There is revolt in imagining there can be revolt, " she sternly replied. "These are the ridiculous stories of those who favor trouble; the king'sauthority will soon restore order. "

M. De Guitant, an old courtier, who entered as she was speaking, declared that the coadjutor had barely represented the facts, and saidthat he did not see how anybody could sleep with things in such a state. 

"Well, M. De Guitant, and what is your advice?" asked De Retz. 

"My advice is to give up that old rascal of a Broussel, dead or alive. "

"To give him up dead, " said the coadjutor, "would not accord with eitherthe piety or the prudence of the queen; to yield him alive might quietthe people. "

The queen turned to him a face hot with anger, and exclaimed, --

"I understand you, Mr. Coadjutor; you would have me set Broussel atliberty. I would strangle him with these hands first!" As she finishedthese words she put her hands close to the coadjutor's face, and added, in a threatening tone, "And those who--" Her voice ceased; he was leftto infer the rest. 

Yet, despite this infatuation of the queen, it was evident thatsomething must be done, if Paris was to be saved. The people grew moretumultuous. Fresh tidings continued to come in, each more threateningthan the last. The queen at length yielded so far as to promise thatBroussel should be set free if the people would first disperse and ceasetheir tumultuous behavior. 

The coadjutor was bidden to proclaim this in the streets. He asked foran order to sustain him, but the queen refused to give it, and withdrew"to her little gray room, " angry at herself for yielding so far as shehad. 

De Retz did not find the situation a very pleasant one for himself. Mazarin pushed him gently towards the door, saying, "Restore the peaceof the realm. " Marshal Meilleraie drew him onward. He went into thestreet, wearing his robe of office, and bestowing benedictions right andleft, though while doing so his mind was busy in considering how he wasgoing to get out of the difficulty which lay before him. 

It grew worse instead of better. Marshal Meilleraie, losing his headthrough excitement, advanced waving his sword in the air, and shoutingat the top of his voice, --

"Hurrah for the king! Liberation for Broussel!"

This did very well for those within hearing; but his sword provoked farmore than his voice quieted; those at a distance looked on his action asa menace, and their fury was augmented. On all sides there was a rushfor arms. Stones were flung by the rioters, one of which struck De Retzand felled him to the earth. As he picked himself up an excited youthrushed at him and put a musket to his head. Only the wit and readinessof the coadjutor saved him from imminent peril. 

"Though I did not know him a bit, " says De Retz, in his "Memoirs, " "Ithought it would not be well to let him suppose so at such a moment; onthe contrary, I said to him, 'Ah, wretch, if thy father saw thee!' Hethought I was the best friend of his father, on whom, however, I hadnever set eyes. "

The fellow withdrew, ashamed of his violence, and before any furtherattack could be made upon De Retz he was recognized by the people anddragged to the market-place, constantly crying out as he went, "Thequeen has promised to restore Broussel. "

The good news by this time had spread through the multitude, whose criesof anger were giving place to shouts of joy. Their arms were hastilydisposed of, and a great throng, thirty or forty thousand in number, followed the coadjutor to the Palais-Royal. When he entered, MarshalMeilleraie turned to the queen and said, --

"Madame, here is he to whom I owe my life, and your Majesty the safetyof the Palais-Royal. "

The queen's answer was an incredulous smile. On seeing it, the hastytemper of the marshal broke out in an oath. 

"Madame, " he said, hotly, "no proper man can venture to flatter you inthe state in which things are; and if you do not this very day setBroussel at liberty, to-morrow there will not be left one stone uponanother in Paris. "

Anne of Austria, carried away by her pride and superciliousness, couldnot be brought to believe that the populace would dare attempt an actualrevolt against the king. De Retz would have spoken in support of themarshal's words, but she cut him short, saying in a tone of mockery, --

"Go and rest yourself, sir; you have worked very hard. "

He left the palace in a rage. It was increased when word was brought tohim that he had been ridiculed at the supper-table of the queen. She hadgone so far as to blame him for increasing the tumult, and threatened tomake an example of him and to interdict the Parliament. In short, theexercise of power had made the woman mad. De Retz reflected. If thequeen designed to punish him, she should have something to punish himfor. He was not the man to be made a cat's-paw of. 

"We are not in such bad case as you suppose, gentlemen, " he said to hisfriends. "There is an intention of crushing the public; it is for me todefend it from oppression; to-morrow before mid-day I shall be master ofParis. "

Anne of Austria had made an enemy of one who had been her strong friend, a bold and restless man, capable of great deeds. He had long taken painsto make himself popular in Paris. During that night he and hisemissaries worked in secret upon the people. Early the next day the mobwas out again, arms in hand, and ripe for mischief. The chancellor, onhis way to the Palace of Justice, suddenly found his carriage surroundedby these rioters. He hastily sought refuge in the Hôtel de Luynes. Themob followed him, pillaging as they went, destroying the furniture, seeking the fugitive. He had taken refuge in a small chamber, where, thinking that his last hour had come, he knelt in confession before hisbrother, the Bishop of Meaux. Fortunately for him the rioters failed todiscover him, and were led away by another fancy. 

"It was like a sudden and violent conflagration lighted up from the PontNeuf over the whole city, " says De Retz. "Everybody without exceptiontook up arms. Children of five and six years of age were seen dagger inhand, and the mothers themselves carried them. In less than two hoursthere were in Paris more than two hundred barricades, bordered withflags and all the arms that the League had left entire. Everybody cried'Hurrah, for the king!' but echo answered, 'None of your Mazarin!'"

It was an incipient revolution, but it was the minister and the regent, not the king, against whom the people had risen, its object being thesupport of the Parliament of Paris, not the States General of thekingdom. France was not yet ready for the radical work reserved for alater day. The turbulent Parisians were in the street, arms in hand, butthey had not yet lost the sentiment of loyalty to the king. A centuryand a half more of misrule were needed to complete this transformationin the national idea. 

While all this was going on, the coadjutor, the soul of the outbreak, kept at home, vowing that he was powerless to control the people. At anearly hour the Parliament assembled at the Palace of Justice, but itsdeliberations were interrupted by shouts of "Broussel! Broussel!" fromthe immense multitude which filled every adjoining avenue. Only therelease of the arrested members could appease the mob. The Parliamentdetermined to go in a body and demand this of the queen. 

Their journey was an eventful one. Paris was in insurrection. Everywherethey found the people in arms, while barricades were thrown up at everyhundred paces. Through the shouting and howling mob they made their wayto the queen's palace, the ushers in front, with their square caps, themembers following in their robes, at their head M. Molé, their premierpresident. 

The conference with the queen was a passionate one. M. Molé spoke forthe Parliament, representing to the queen the extreme danger Paris wasin, the peril to all France, unless the prisoners were released and thesedition allayed. He spoke to a woman "who feared nothing because sheknew but little, " and who was just then controlled by pride and passioninstead of reason. 

"I am quite aware that there is a disturbance in the city, " sheanswered, furiously; "but you shall answer to me for it, gentlemen ofthe Parliament, you, your wives, and your children. "

With further threats that the king would remember the cause of theseevils, when he reached his majority, the incensed woman flouted from thechamber of audience, slamming the door violently behind her. To dealwith her, in her present mood, was evidently impracticable. The membersleft the palace to return. They quickly found themselves surrounded byan angry mob, furious at their non-success, disposed to hold themresponsible for the failure. On their arrival at the Rue St. Honoré, just as they were about to turn on to the Pont Neuf, a band of about twohundred men advanced threateningly upon them, headed by a cook-shop lad, armed with a halberd, which he thrust against M. Molé's body, crying, --

"Turn, traitor, and if thou wouldst not thyself be slain, give up to usBroussel, or Mazarin and the chancellor as hostages. "

Molé quietly put the weapon aside. 

"You forget yourself, " he said, with calm dignity, "and are oblivious ofthe respect you owe to my office. "

The mob, however, was past the point of paying respect to dignitaries. They hustled the members, threatened the president with swords andpistols, and several times tried to drag him into a private house. Buthe resisted, and was aided by members and friends who surrounded him. Slowly the parliamentary body made its way back to the Palais-Royal, whither they had resolved to return, M. Molé preserving his dignity ofmien and movement, despite the "running fire of insults, threats, execrations, and blasphemies, " that arose from every side. They reachedthe palace, at length, in diminished numbers, many of the members havingdropped out of the procession. 

The whole court was assembled in the gallery. Molé spoke first. He was aman of great natural eloquence, who was at his best as an orator whensurrounded by peril, and he depicted the situation so graphically thatall present, except the queen, were in terror. "Monsieur made as if hewould throw himself upon his knees before the queen, who remainedinflexible, " says De Retz; "four or five princesses, who were tremblingwith fear, did throw themselves at her feet; the queen of England, whohad come that day from St. Germain, represented that the troubles hadnever been so serious at their commencement in England, nor the feelingsso heated or united. "

Paris, in short, was on the eve of a revolution, and the queen could notbe made to see it. Cardinal Mazarin, who was present, and who had beenseverely dealt with in the speeches, some of the orators telling him, inmockery, that if he would only go as far as the Pont Neuf he would learnfor himself how things were, now joined the others in entreating Anne ofAustria to give way. She did so at length, consenting to the release ofBroussel, though "not without a deep sigh, which showed what violenceshe did her feelings in the struggle. "

It is an interesting spectacle to see this woman, moved by sheer prideand obstinacy, conjoined with ignorance of the actual situation, seekingto set her single will against that of a city in revolt, and endangeringthe very existence of the monarchy by her sheer lack of reason. Herconsent, for the time being, settled the difficulty, though the passionswhich had been aroused were not easily to be set at rest. Broussel wasreleased and took his seat again in the Parliament, and the peoplereturned to their homes, satisfied, for the time, with their victoryover the queen and the cardinal. 

In truth, a contest had arisen which was yet to yield importantconsequences. The Prince of Condé had arrived in Paris during theseevents. He had the prestige of a successful general; he did not like thecardinal, and he looked on the Parliament as imprudent and insolent. 

"If I should join hands with them, " he said to De Retz, "it might bebest for my interests, but my name is Louis de Bourbon, and I do notwish to shake the throne. These devils of square-caps, are they madabout bringing me either to commence a civil war, or to put a roperound their own necks? I will let them see that they are not thepotentates they think themselves, and that they may easily be brought toreason. "

"The cardinal may possibly be mistaken in his measures, " answered DeRetz. "He will find Paris a hard nut to crack. "

"It will not be taken, like Dunkerque, by mining and assaults, " retortedthe prince, angrily; "but if the bread of Gonesse were to fail them fora week--" He left the coadjutor to imagine the consequences. 

The contest continued. In January, 1649, the queen, the boy king, andthe whole court set out by night for the castle of St. Germain. It wasunfurnished, with scarcely a bundle of straw to lie upon, but the queencould not have been more gay "had she won a battle, taken Paris, and hadall who had displeased her hanged, and nevertheless she was very farfrom all that. "

Far enough, indeed. Paris was in the hands of her enemies, who were asgay as the queen. On the 8th of January the Parliament of Paris decreedCardinal Mazarin an enemy to the king and the state, and bade allsubjects of the king to hunt him down. War was declared against thequeen regent and her favorite, the cardinal. Had it been theStates-General in place of the Parliament, the French Revolution mighthave then and there begun. 

Many of the greatest lords joined the side of the people. Troops werelevied in the city, their command being offered to the Prince of Conti. The Parliaments of Aix and Rouen voted to support that of Paris. It wasdecreed that all the royal funds, in the exchequers of the kingdom, should be seized and used for the defence of the people. All wasfestivity in the city. The versatile people seemed to imagine that todeclare war was to decree victory. There was dancing everywhere withinthe walls. There was the rumble of war without. The Prince of Condé, atthe head of the king's troops, had taken the post of Charentin from theFrondeurs, as the malcontents called themselves, and had carried out histhreat of checking the flow of bread to the city. The gay Parisians werebeginning to feel the inconvenience of hunger. 

What followed is too long a story to be told here, except in bareepitome. A truce was patched up between the contending parties. Breadflowed again into Paris. The seared and hungry people grew courageousand violent again when their appetites were satisfied. When M. Molé andhis fellows returned to Paris with a treaty of peace which they hadsigned, the populace gathered round them in fury. 

"None of your peace! None of your Mazarin!" they angrily shouted. "Wemust go to St. Germain to seek our good king! We must fling into theriver all the Mazarins. "

One of them laid his hand threateningly on President Molé's arm. Thelatter looked him in the face calmly. 

"When you have killed me, " he said, quietly, "I shall only need six feetof earth. "

"You can get back to your house secretly by way of the record offices, "whispered one of his companions. 

"The court never hides itself, " he composedly replied. "If I werecertain to perish, I would not commit this poltroonery, which, moreover, would but give courage to the rioters. They would seek me in my house ifthey thought I shrank from them here. "

M. Molé was a man of courage. To face a mob is at times more dangerousthan to face an army. 

Paris was in disorder. The agitation was spreading all over France. Butthe army was faithful to the king, and without it the Fronde waspowerless. The outbreak had ended in a treaty of peace and amnesty inwhich the Parliament had in a measure won, as it had preserved all itsrights and privileges. 

It was to be a short peace. Condé, elated by having beaten the Fronde, claimed a lion's share in the government. His brother, the Prince ofConti, and his sister, the Duchess of Longueville, joined him in thesepretensions. The affair ended in a bold step on the part of Mazarin andthe queen. The two princes and M. De Longueville were arrested andconveyed to the castle of Vincennes, while the princesses were orderedto retire to their estates, and the Duchess of Longueville, fearingarrest, fled in haste to Normandy. 

For the present the star of the cardinal was in the ascendant. But hismaster-stroke set war on foot again. The Parliament of Paris supportedthe princes. Their partisans rallied. Bordeaux broke into insurrection. Elsewhere hot blood declared itself. The Duke of Orleans joined theparty of the prisoners. The Parliament enjoined all the officers of thecrown to obey none but the duke, the lieutenant-general of the kingdom. On the night of February 6, 1651, Mazarin set out again for St. Germain. Paris had become far too hot to hold him. 

The tidings of his flight brought the people into the streets again. TheDuke of Orleans informed Cardinal de Retz that the queen proposed tofollow her flying minister, with the boy king. 

"What is to be done?" he asked, somewhat helplessly. "It is a badbusiness; but how are we to stop it?"

"How?" cried the more practical De Retz; "why, by shutting the gates ofParis, to begin with. The king must not go. "

Within an hour the emissaries of the ready coadjutor were rousing up thepeople right and left with the tidings of the projected flight of thequeen with her son. Soon the city swarmed again with armed and angrymen, the gates were seized, mounted guards patrolled the streets, thecrowd surged towards the Palais-Royal. 

Within the palace all was alarm and confusion. Anne of Austria hadindeed been on the point of flight. Her son was in his travelling-dress. But the people were at the door, clamoring to see the king, threateningdire consequences if the doors were not opened to them. They could notlong be kept out; some immediate action must be taken. The boy'stravelling-attire was quickly replaced by his night dress, and he waslaid in bed, his mother cautioning him to lie quiet and feign sleep. 

"The king! we must see the king!" came the vociferous cry from thestreet. "Open! the people demand to see their king. "

The doors were forced; the mob was in the palace; clamor and tumultreigned below the royal chambers. The queen sent word to the people thatthe king was asleep in his bed. They might enter and see him if theywould promise to tread softly and keep strict silence. This message atonce stopped the tumult; the noise subsided; the people began to fileinto the room, stepping as noiselessly as though shod with down, gazingwith awed eyes on the seemingly sleeping face of the boy king. 

The queen stood at the pillow of her son, a graceful and beautifulwoman, her outstretched arm holding back the heavy folds of the drapery, her face schooled to quiet repose. Louis lay with closed eyes andregular breathing, playing his part well. For hours a stream of the menand women of Paris flowed through the chamber, moving in reverentialsilence, gazing on the boy's face as on a sacred treasure of their own. Till three o'clock in the morning the movement continued, the queenstanding all this time like a beautiful statue, her son still feigningslumber. It was a scene of remarkable and picturesque character. 

That night of strain and excitement passed. The king was with themstill, of that the people were assured; he must remain with them, theremust be an end of midnight flights. The patrol was kept up, the gateswatched, the king was a prisoner in the hands of the Parisians. 

"The king, our master, is a captive, " said M. Molé, voicing to theParliament the queen's complaint. 

"He _was_ a captive, in the hands of Mazarin, " replied the Duke ofOrleans; "but, thank God, he is so no longer. "

The people had won. Mazarin was beaten. He hastened to La Havre, wherethe princes were then confined, and set them at liberty himself. Hispower in France, for the time, was at an end. He made his way to thefrontier, which he crossed on the 12th of March. He was just in time:the Parliament of Paris had issued orders for his arrest, wherever foundin France. 

We must end here, with this closing of the contest between Mazarin andthe Fronde. History goes on to tell that the contest was reopened, Mazarin returned, there was battle in Paris, the Fronde failed, andMazarin died in office. 

The popular outbreak here briefly chronicled is of interest from thefact that it immediately followed the success of the insurrection inEngland and the execution of Charles I. The provocation was the same inthe two nations; the result highly different. In both cases it was arevolt against the tyranny of the court and the attempt to establishabsolutism. But the difference in results lay in the fact that Englandhad a single parliament, composed of politicians, while France had tenparliaments, composed of magistrates, and unaccustomed to handle greatquestions of public policy. Richelieu had taken from the civicparliaments of France what little power they possessed, and they werebut shadowy prototypes of the English representative assembly. "Withoutany unity of action or aim, and by turns excited and dismayed by theexamples that came to them from England, the Frondeurs had to guide themno Hampden or Cromwell; they had at their backs neither people nor army;the English had been able to accomplish a revolution; the Fronde failedbefore the dexterous prudence of Mazarin and the queen's fidelity to herminister. "

There lay before France a century and a half of autocratic rule andpopular suffering; then was to come the convening of the States-General, the rise of the people, and the final downfall of absolute royalty andfeudal privileges in the red tide of the Revolution. 

_A MARTYR TO HIS PROFESSION. _

The grounds of the Château de Chantilly, that charming retreat of thePrince de Condé, shone with all the splendor which artistic adornments, gleaming lanterns of varied form and color, splendidly-costumed damesand richly-attired cavaliers could give them, the whole scene having afairy-like beauty and richness wonderfully pleasing to the eye. For morethan a mile from the entrance to the grounds men holding lighted torchesbordered the road, while in all the villages leading thither thepeasants were out in their gala attire, and triumphal arches of verdurewere erected in honor of the king, Louis XIV. , who was on his waythither to visit Monsieur le Prince. 

He was coming, the great Louis, the Grand Monarque of France, and nobleand peasant alike were out to bid him welcome, while the artistic skillof the day had exhausted itself in efforts to provide him a splendidreception. And now there could be heard on the road the trampling ofhorses, the clanking of swords, the voices of approaching men, and agallant cavalcade wheeled at length into the grounds, announcing thatthe king was close at hand. A few minutes of anxious expectation passed, and then the king, attended by a large group of courtiers, camesweeping grandly forward, while at the same moment a gleaming display offireworks, at the end of the avenue, blazed off in fiery greeting. Asthe coruscating lights faded out Condé met the king in his coach, whichhe invited him to enter, and off they drove to the château, followed bya shining swarm of grand dames and great lords who had gathered to thisfête from all parts of France. 

Within the château as much had been done as without to render honor tothe occasion. Hundreds of retainers lined chamber and hall in splendidattire, their only duty being to add life and richness to the scene. Therooms were luxuriously furnished, the banqueting hall was a scene for apainter, and the banquet a triumph of the art of the cuisine, for was itnot prepared by the genius of Vatel, the great Vatel, the most famous ofcooks ministering to the most showy of monarchs!

All went well; the king feasted on delicacies which were a triumph ofart; Louis was satisfied; Vatel triumphed; so far the fête was asuccess. In the evening the king played at piquet, the cavaliers andladies promenaded through the splendidly-furnished and richly-lightedsaloons, some cracked jokes on sofas, some made love in alcoves, stillall went well. 

For the next day the programme included a grand promenade _à la mode deVersailles_, a collation in the park, under great trees laden with thefreshest verdure of spring, a stag-hunt by moonlight, a brilliantdisplay of fireworks, then a supper in the banqueting hall of thechâteau. And still all went well. At least all thought so but Vatel; butas for that prince of cooks, he was in despair. A frightful disaster hadoccurred. After the days and nights of anxiety and care in preparing forthis grand occasion, for a failure now to take place, it was to himunpardonable, unsupportable. 

Tidings of his distress were brought to Condé. The generous princesought his room to console him. 

"Vatel, " said he, "what is this I hear? The king's supper was superb. "

"Monseigneur, " said Vatel, tears in his eyes. "The _rôti_ was wanting attwo tables. "

"Not at all, " replied the prince. "You surpassed yourself; nothing couldhave been better; everything was perfect. "

Vatel, somewhat relieved by this praise, sought his couch, and a morselof sleep visited his eyelids. But the shadow of doom still hung over hiscareer. By break of day he was up again. Others might lie late abed, butthere could be no such indulgence for him; for was not he the powerbehind the throne? What would this grand fête be should his genius fail, his powers prove unequal to the strain? King and prince, lord and ladymight slumber, but Vatel must be up and alert. 

Fresh fish formed an essential part of the menu which he had laid outfor the dining-tables of the third day. He had ordered them from everypart of the coast. Would they come? Could the fates fail him now, atthis critical moment of his life? The anxious chief went abroad to viewthe situation. His eyes lighted. A fisher-boy had just arrived with twoloads of fish, fresh brought from the coast. Vatel looked at them, andthen gazed around with newly disturbed eyes. 

"Is that all?" he asked, his voice faltering. 

"That is all, sir, " answered the boy, who knew nothing about thenumerous orders. 

Vatel turned pale. All? These few fish all he had to offer his multitudeof guests? Only a miracle could divide these so as to give a portion toeach. He waited, despair slowly descending upon his heart. In vain hisanxious wait; no more fish appeared. Vatel's anxiety was fast becomingdespair. The disaster of the night before, to be followed by thisterrible stroke--it was more than his artistic soul could bear; disgracehad come upon him in its direst form; his reputation was at stake. 

He met Gourville, a wit and factotum of the court, and told him of hismisfortune. 

"It is disgrace, ruin, " he cried; "I cannot survive it. "

Gourville heard him with merry laughter. To his light mind the affairseemed only a good joke. It was not so to Vatel. He sought his room andlocked himself in. 

He was too soon, alas, too soon; for now fish are coming; here, there, everywhere; the orders have been strictly obeyed, there is abundancefor all purposes. The cooks receive them, and look for Vatel to giveorders for their disposal. He is not to be seen. "He went to his room, "says Gourville. They repair thither, knock persistently, but in vain, and finding that no answer can be obtained, they break open the door andenter. 

A frightful spectacle meets their eyes. On the floor before them liespoor Vatel, in a pool of his own blood, pierced through the heart. Inhis ecstasy of despair at the non-arrival of the fish, he had fastenedhis sword in the door, and thrown himself upon its deadly point. Thricehe had done so, twice wounding himself slightly, the third time piercinghimself through the heart. Poor fellow! he was dead, and the fish hadarrived. It was a useless sacrifice of his life to his art. 

The tidings of the tragedy filled the château with alarm and dismay. Theprince was in despair, the more so as the king blamed him for the fataloccurrence. He had long avoided Chantilly, he said, knowing that hiscoming would occasion inconvenience, since his host would insist onproviding for the whole of his suite. There should have been but twotables, and there were more than twenty-five; the strain on poor Vatelwas the cause of his death and the loss of one of the ornaments of thereign. He would never allow such extravagance again. Men like Vatel werenot to be so lightly sacrificed. 

While the king thus petulantly scolded his great subject in thetime-honored "I told you so" fashion, the whole château buzzed withopinions about the tragic event. "Vatel has played the hero, " said some;"He has played the idiot, " said others. Some praised his courage anddevotion to his art; others blamed his haste and folly. But praiseprevailed over blame, for, as all conceded, "he had died for the honorof his profession, " and no soldier or martyr could do more. 

But Vatel was gone, and dinner was not served. The dead was dead, butappetite remained. What was to be done? Gourville sprang into the breachand undertook to replace Vatel. The fish were cooked, the company dined, then they promenaded, then they played piquet, losing and winninglargely, then they supped, then they enjoyed a moonlight chase of thedeer in the park of Chantilly. Mirth and gayety prevailed, and beforebedtime came poor Vatel was forgotten. The cook who had died for his artwas as far from their thoughts as the martyrs of centuries before. 

Early the next day the king and his train departed, leaving Condé tocount the cost of the entertainment, which had been so great as to makehim agree with Louis, that hereafter two tables would be better thantwenty-five. Doubtless among his chief losses he counted Vatel. Moneycould be found again, waste repaired, but a genius of the kitchen theequal of Vatel was not to be had to order. Men like him are the growthof centuries. He died that his name might live. 

_THE MAN WITH THE IRON MASK. _

In the year 1662, the first year of the absolute reign of Louis XIV. , there occurred an event without parallel in history, and which stillremains shrouded in the mystery in which it was from the first involved. There was sent with the utmost secrecy to the Château of Pignerol anunknown prisoner, whose identity was kept secret with the most extremecare. All that can be said of him is that he was young, well-formed andattractive in appearance, and above the usual stature. As for his face, whether it were handsome or ill-favored, noble or base, no man couldsay, for it was concealed by an impenetrable mask, the lower portion ofwhich was made movable by steel springs, so that he could eat with iton, while the upper portion was immovably fixed. 

This mysterious state prisoner remained for a number of years atPignerol, under charge of its governor, M. De Saint Mars, an officer ofthe greatest discretion and trustworthiness. He was afterwards removedto the castle of the Isle of Sainte Marguerite, on the coast ofProvence, where he remained for years in the same mysterious seclusion, an object of the greatest curiosity on the part of all the people of theprison, and of no less interest to the people of the kingdom, to whoselove of the marvellous the secrecy surrounding him appealed. The maskwas never removed, day or night, so far as any one could learn, whileconjecture sought in vain to discover who this mysterious personagecould be. 

This much was certain, no person of leading importance had disappearedfrom Europe in the year 1662. On the other hand, the masked prisoner wastreated with a consideration which could be looked for only by personsof the highest birth. The Marquis of Louvois, minister of war under the"Grand Monarque, " was said to have visited him at Sainte Marguerite, andto have treated him with the respect due to one of royal birth. He spoketo him standing, as to one far his superior in station, and showed himthroughout the interview the greatest deference. 

In 1698, M. De Saint Mars was made governor of the Bastille. He broughtwith him this mysterious masked prisoner, whose secret it was apparentlynot deemed advisable to intrust to a new governor of Sainte Marguerite. As to what took place on the journey, we have some interesting detailsin a letter from M. De Formanoir, grand nephew of Saint Mars. 

"In 1698, M. De Saint Mars exchanged the governorship of the islands[Sainte Marguerite and Sainte Honnat] for that of the Bastille. When heset out to enter on his new office he stayed with his prisoner for ashort time at Palteau, his estate. The mask arrived in a litter whichpreceded that of M. De Saint Mars; they were accompanied by several menon horseback. The peasants went out to meet their seigneur. M. De SaintMars took his meals with his prisoner, who sat with his back towards thewindows of the room, which looked into the court-yard. The peasants ofwhom I made inquiry could not see if he had his mask on when eating; butthey observed that M. De Saint Mars, who sat opposite to him at table, had a pair of pistols beside his plate. They were attended by a singlevalet only, Antoine Ru, who took away the dishes set down to him in anantechamber, having first carefully shut the door of the dining-room. When the prisoner crossed the court-yard a black mask was always on hisface. "

The extreme caution here indicated was continued until the prisonerreached the Bastille. With regard to his life in this fortress we arebetter informed, since it must be acknowledged that the record of hisprevious prison life is somewhat obscure. All that seems wellestablished is that he was one of the "two prisoners of the Lower Tower"at Pignerol, in 1681; that he was spoken of to Saint Mars as "yourancient prisoner, " and "your prisoner of twenty years' standing;" thatin 1687 he was removed from Exiles to Sainte Marguerite with the samecare and secrecy observed in the journey to the Bastille, his jaileraccompanying him to the new prison, and that throughout he was under thecare of the relentless Saint Mars. 

Of the life of this remarkable state prisoner in the Bastille we havemore detailed accounts. Dujunca, the chief turnkey of that prison, hasleft a journal, which contains the following entry: "On Thursday, the18th September, 1698, at three o'clock in the afternoon, M. De SaintMars, the governor, arrived at the Bastille for the first time from theislands of Sainte Marguerite and Sainte Honnat. He brought with him inhis own litter an ancient prisoner formerly under his care at Pignerol, and whose name remains untold. This prisoner was always kept masked, andwas at first lodged in the Basinière tower. . . . I conducted himafterwards to the Bertaudière tower, and put him in a room, which, byorder of M. De Saint Mars, I had furnished before his arrival. "

Throughout the life of this mysterious personage in the Bastille, thesecrecy which had so far environed him was rigidly observed. So far asis known, no one ever saw him without his mask. Aside from this, and hisdetention, everything that could be was done to make his life enjoyable. He was given the best accommodation the Bastille afforded. Nothing thathe desired was refused him. He had a strong taste for lace and linen ofextreme fineness, and his wishes in this particular were complied with. His table was always served in the most elegant manner, while thegovernor, who frequently attended him, seldom sat in his presence. 

During his intervals of ailment he was attended by the old doctor of theBastille, who, while often examining his tongue and parts of his body, never saw his face. He represents him as very finely shaped, and ofsomewhat brownish complexion, with an agreeable and engaging voice. Henever complained, nor gave any hint as to who he was, and throughout hiswhole prison life no one gained the least clue to his identity. The onlyinstance in which he attempted to make himself known is described byVoltaire, who tells us that while at Sainte Marguerite he threw out fromthe grated window of his cell a piece of fine linen, and a silver plateon which he had traced some strange characters. This, however, is anunauthenticated story. 

The detention of this mysterious prisoner in the Bastille was not anextended one. He died in 1703. Dujunca's journal tells the story of hisdeath. "On Monday, the 19th of November, 1703, the unknown prisoner, whohad continually worn a black velvet mask, and whom M. De Saint Mars hadbrought with him from the island of Sainte Marguerite, died to-day atabout ten o'clock in the evening, having been yesterday taken slightlyill. He had been a long time in M. De Saint Mars' hands, and his illnesswas exceedingly trifling. "

There is one particular of interest in this record. The "iron mask"appears to have been really a mask of black velvet, the only iron aboutit being the springs, which permitted the lower part to be lifted. 

The question now arises, Who was the "man with the iron mask"? It is aquestion which has been long debated, without definite conclusion. Chamillard was the last minister of Louis XIV. Who knew this secret. When he was dying, his son-in-law, Marshal de Feuillade, begged him onhis knees to reveal the mystery. He begged in vain. Chamillard answeredthat it was a secret of state, which he had sworn never to reveal, andhe died with it untold. 

Voltaire, in his "Age of Louis XIV. , " was the first to call specialattention to this mystery, and since then numerous conjectures have beenmade as to who the Iron Mask really was. One writer has suggested thathe was an illegitimate son of Anne of Austria, the queen-mother. Anotheridentifies him with a supposed twin brother of Louis XIV. , whose birthRichelieu had concealed. Others make him the Count of Vermandois, anillegitimate son of Louis XIV. ; the Duke of Beaufort, a hero of theFronde; the Duke of Monmouth, the English pretender of 1685; Fouquet, Louis's disgraced minister of finance; a son of Cromwell, the Englishprotector; and various other wild and unfounded guesses. After all hasbeen said, the identity of the prisoner remains unknown. Mattioli, adiplomatic agent of the Duke of Mantua, who was long imprisoned atPignerol and at Sainte Marguerite, was for a long time generally thoughtto be the Iron Mask, but there is good reason to believe that he died in1694. 

Conjecture has exhausted itself, and yet the identity of this strangecaptive remains a mystery, and is likely always to continue so. Thefact that all the exalted personages of the day can be traced renders itprobable that the veiled prisoner was really an obscure individual, whomthe caprice of Louis XIV. Surrounded with conditions intended to excitethe curiosity of the public. There are on record other instances ofimprisonment under similar conditions of inviolate secrecy, and it isnot impossible that the king may have endeavored, for no purpose higherthan whim, to surround the story of this one with unbroken mystery. Ifsuch were his purpose it has succeeded, for there is no more mysteriousperson in history than the Man with the Iron Mask. 

_VOLTAIRE'S LAST VISIT TO PARIS. _

Never had excitable Paris been more excited. Only one man was talked of, only one subject thought of; there was no longer interest in rumors ofwar, in political quarrels, in the doings at the king's court; alladmiration and all sympathy were turned towards one feeble old man, whohad returned to Paris to die. For twenty-seven years he had been absent, that brilliant writer and unsurpassed genius, the versatile Voltaire. His facile pen had given its greatest glory to the reign of Louis XV. , yet for more than a quarter of a century he had been exiled from theland he loved, because he dared to exercise the privilege of free speechin that land of oppression, and to deal with kings and nobles as manwith man, not as reverent worshipper with divinity. Now, in hiseighty-fourth year of age, he had ventured to come back to the city heloved above all others, with scarcely enough life left for the journey, and far from sure that power would not still seek to suppress genius asit had done in the past. 

If he had such fears, there was no warrant for them. Paris was ready toworship him. The king himself would not have dared to interfere with thepopular idol in that interval of enthusiastic ebullition. All Paris wasprepared to cast itself at his feet; all France was eager to do himhonor; all calumny, jealousy, hatred were forgotten; a nation had risento welcome and honor its greatest genius, and the splendors of the courtpaled before the glory which seemed to emanate from that feeble, tottering veteran of the empire of thought, who had come back to occupy, for a brief period, the throne of his old dominion. 

The admiration, the enthusiasm, the glory were too much for him. He wasdying in the excitement of joy and triumph. Yet, with his wonderfulelasticity of frame and mind, he rose again for a fuller enjoyment ofthat popular ovation which was to him the wine of life. The story of hisfinal triumph has been so graphically told by an eye-witness that wecannot do better than to quote his words. 

"M. De Voltaire has appeared for the first time at the Academy and atthe play; he found all the doors, all the approaches, to the Academybesieged by a multitude which only opened slowly to let him pass, andthen rushed in immediately upon his footsteps with repeated plaudits andacclamations. The Academy came out into the first room to meet him, anhonor it had never yet paid to any of its members, not even to theforeign princes who had deigned to be present at its meetings. 

"The homage he received at the Academy was merely the prelude to thatwhich awaited him at the National theatre. As soon as his carriage wasseen at a distance, there arose a universal shout of joy. All thecurb-stones, all the barriers, all the windows, were crammed withspectators, and scarcely was the carriage stopped when people werealready on the imperial and even on the wheels to get a nearer view ofthe divinity. Scarcely had he entered the house when Sieur Brizard cameup with a crown of laurels, which Madame de Villette placed upon thegreat man's head, but which he immediately took off, though the publicurged him to keep it on by clapping of hands and by cheers whichresounded from all parts of the house with such a din as never washeard. 

"All the women stood up. I saw at one time that part of the pit whichwas under the boxes go down on their knees, in despair of getting asight any other way. The whole house was darkened with the dust raisedby the ebb and flow of the excited multitude. It was not withoutdifficulty that the players managed at last to begin the piece. It was'Irene, ' which was given for the sixth time. Never had this tragedy beenbetter played, never less listened to, never more applauded. Theillustrious old man rose to thank the public, and, a moment afterwards, there appeared on a pedestal in the middle of the stage a bust of thisgreat man, and the actresses, garlands and crowns in hand, covered itwith laurels. 

"M. De Voltaire seemed to be sinking beneath the burden of age and ofthe homage with which he had just been overwhelmed. He appeared deeplyaffected, his eyes still sparkled amidst the pallor of his face, but itseemed as if he breathed no longer save with the consciousness of hisglory. The people shouted, 'Lights! lights! that everybody may see him!'The coachman was entreated to go at a walk, and thus he was accompaniedby cheering and the crowd as far as Pont Royal. "

This was a very different greeting from that which Voltaire had receivedfifty years before, when a nobleman with whom he had quarrelled had himbeaten with sticks in the public street, and, when Voltaire showed anintention of making him answer at the sword's point for this outrage, had him seized and thrown into the Bastille by the authorities. This wasbut one of the several times he had been immured in this gloomy prisonfor daring to say what he thought about powers and potentates. But timebrings its revenges. The Chevalier de Rohan, who had had the poetcastigated, was forgotten except as the man who had dishonored himselfin seeking to dishonor Voltaire, and the poet had become the idol of thepeople of Paris, high and low alike. 

Voltaire was not the only great man in Paris at this period. There wasanother as great as he, but great in a very different fashion, --BenjaminFranklin, the American philosopher and statesman, as famous for commonsense and public spirit as Voltaire was for poetical power and satiricalkeenness. These two great men met, and their meeting is worthy ofdescription. The American envoys had asked permission to call on theveteran of literature, a request that was willingly granted whenVoltaire learned that Franklin was one of the number. What passedbetween them may be briefly related. 

They found the aged poet reclining on a couch, thin of body, wrinkled offace, evidently sick and feeble; yet his eyes, "glittering like twocarbuncles, " showed what spirit lay within his withered frame. As theyentered, he raised himself with difficulty, and repeated the followinglines from Thomson's "Ode to Liberty, " a poem which he had been familiarwith in England fifty years before. 

 "Lo! swarming southward on rejoicing suns, Gay colonies extend, the calm retreat Of undisturbed Distress, the better home Of those whom bigots chase from foreign lands; Not built on rapine, servitude, and woe, And in their turn some petty tyrant's prey; But bound by social Freedom, firm they rise. "

He then began to converse with Franklin in English; but, on being askedby his niece to speak in French, that she and others present mightunderstand what was said, he remarked, --

"I beg your pardon. I have, for the moment, yielded to the vanity ofshowing that I can speak in the language of a Franklin. "

Shortly afterwards, Dr. Franklin presented him his grandson, whereuponthe old man lifted his hands over the head of the youth, and said, "Mychild, God and liberty! Recollect those two words. "

This was not the only scene between Franklin and Voltaire. Another tookplace at the Academy of Sciences at one of the meetings of that body. The two distinguished guests sat side by side on the platform, in fullview of the audience. 

During the proceedings an interruption occurred. A confused cry arose, the names of the two great visitors alone being distinguishable. It wastaken to mean that they should be introduced. This was done. They roseand acknowledged the courtesy by bowing and a few words. But such aformal proceeding was far from enough to satisfy the audience. The noisecontinued. Franklin and Voltaire shook hands. This gave rise toplaudits, but the confused cries were not stilled; the audience wantedsome more decided demonstration. 

"Il faut s'embrasser, à la Françoise" ["You must embrace, in Frenchfashion"], they cried. 

John Adams, who witnessed the spectacle, thus describes what followed:"The two aged actors upon this great theatre of philosophy andfrivolity, embraced each other by hugging one another in their arms, andkissing each other's cheeks, and then the tumult subsided. And the cryimmediately spread through the whole kingdom, and, I suppose over allEurope, 'How charming it was to see Solon and Sophocles embrace. '"

A month later Voltaire lay dead, his brilliant eyes closed, his activebrain at rest. The excitement of his visit to Paris and the constantovation which he had received had been too much for the old man. He haddied in the midst of his triumph, vanished from the stage of life justwhen his genius had compelled the highest display of appreciation whichit was possible for his countrymen to give. As for the church, which hiskeen pen had dealt with as severely as with the temporal powers, itcould not well forget his incessant and bitter attacks. That he mightobtain Christian burial, he confessed and received absolution from theAbbé Gaultier; but, with his views, this was simply a sacrifice to theproprieties; he remained a heathen poet to the end, a born satirist andscoffer at all tradition and all conventionality. 

Voltaire was deistic in belief, in no sense atheistic. Among his latestwords were, "I die worshipping God, loving my friends, not hating myenemies, but detesting superstition. " Despite the admiration of thepeople, the powers of the state could not forget that the man soenthusiastically received was the great apostle of mockery andirreverence. The government gave its last kick to the dead lion byordering the papers not to comment on his death. The church laid aninterdict on his burial in consecrated ground, --an hour or two too late, as it proved. His body, minus the heart, was transferred in 1791 to thePantheon, and when, in 1864, the sarcophagus was opened with the purposeof restoring the heart to the other remains, it was found to be empty. In the stirring days of France the body had by some one, in some way, been removed. 

_THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. _

Paris, that city of sensations, was shaken to its centre by tidings of anew and startling event. The Cardinal de Rohan, grand almoner of France, at mass-time, and when dressed in his pontifical robes, had beensuddenly arrested in the palace of Versailles and taken to the Bastille. Why? No one knew; though many had their opinions and beliefs. Rumors ofsome mysterious and disgraceful secret beneath this arrest, a mystery inwhich the honor of Marie Antoinette, the queen of France, was involved, had got afloat, and were whispered from end to end of the city, in which"the Austrian, " as the queen was contemptuously designated, was by nomeans a favorite. 

The truth gradually came out, --the story of a disgraceful andextraordinary intrigue, of which the prince cardinal was a victim ratherthan an accessory, and of which the queen was utterly ignorant, thoughthe odium of the transaction clung to her until her death. When, eightyears afterwards, she was borne through a raging mob to the guillotine, insulting references to this affair of the diamond necklace were amongthe terms of opprobrium heaped upon her by the dregs of the Parisianpopulace. 

What was this disgraceful business? It is partly revealed in the graphicaccount of an interview with the king which preceded the arrest of theprince cardinal. On the 15th of August, 1785, Louis XVI. Sent for M. DeRohan to his cabinet. He entered smilingly, not dreaming of thethunderbolt that was about to burst upon his head. He found there theking and queen, the former with indignant countenance, the latter graveand severe in expression. 

"Cardinal, " broke out the king, in an abrupt tone, "you bought somediamonds of Boehmer?"

"Yes, sir, " rejoined the cardinal, disturbed by the stern severity ofthe king's looks and tone. 

"What have you done with them?"

"I thought they had been sent to the queen. "

"Who gave you the commission to buy them?"

"A lady, the Countess de La Motte Valois, " answered the cardinal, growing more uneasy. "She gave me a letter from the queen; I thought Iwas obliging her Majesty. "

The queen sharply interrupted him. She was no friend of the cardinal; hehad maligned her years before, when her husband was but dauphin ofFrance. Now was the opportunity to repay him for those malevolentletters. 

"How, sir, " she broke out severely; "how could you think--you to whom Ihave never spoken for eight years--that I should choose _you_ forconducting such a negotiation, and by the medium of such a woman?"

"I was mistaken, I perceive, " said the cardinal, humbly. "The desire Ifelt to please your Majesty misled me. Here is the letter which I wastold was from you. "

He drew a letter from his pocket and handed it to the king. Louis tookit, and cast his eyes over the signature. He looked up indignantly. 

"How could a prince of your house and my grand almoner suppose that thequeen would sign, 'Marie Antoinette of France?'" he sternly demanded. "Queens do not sign their names at such length. It is not even thequeen's writing. And what is the meaning of all these doings withjewellers, and these notes shown to bankers?"

By this time the cardinal was so agitated that he was obliged to resthimself against the table for support. 

"Sir, " he said, in a broken voice, "I am too much overcome to be able toreply. What you say overwhelms me with surprise. "

"Walk into the room, cardinal, " said the king, with more kindness oftone. "You may write your explanation of these occurrences. "

The cardinal attempted to do so, but his written statement failed tomake clear the mystery. In the end an officer of the king's body-guardwas called in, and an order given him to convey Cardinal de Rohan to theBastille. He had barely time to give secret directions to his grandvicar to burn all his papers, before he was carried off to thatfrightful fortress, the scene of so much injustice, haunted by so manywoes. 

The papers of De Rohan probably needed purging by fire, for the order toburn them indicates that they contained evidence derogatory to hisposition as a dignitary of the church. The prince cardinal was a vainand profligate man, full of vicious inclinations, and credulous to adegree that had made him the victim of the unscrupulous schemer, Madamede La Motte Valois, a woman as adroit and unscrupulous as she wasdaring. Of low birth, brought up by charity, married to a ruinednobleman, she had ended her career by duping and ruining Cardinal deRohan, a man whose character exposed him to the machinations of anadventuress so skilful, bold, and alluring as La Motte Valois. 

So much for preliminary. Let us take up the story at its beginning. Thediamond necklace was an exceedingly handsome and highly valuable pieceof jewelry, containing about five hundred diamonds, and held at a priceequal to about four hundred thousand dollars of modern money. It hadbeen made by Boehmer, a jeweller of Paris, about the year 1774, and wasintended for Madame Dubarry, the favorite of Louis XV. But before thenecklace was finished Louis had died, and a new king had come to thethrone. With Louis XVI. Virtue entered that profligate court, and MadameDubarry was excluded from its precincts. As for the necklace, itremained without a purchaser. It was too costly for a subject, and wasnot craved by the queen. The jeweller had not failed to offer it toMarie Antoinette, but found her disinclined to buy. The AmericanRevolution was going on, France was involved in the war, and money wasneeded for other purposes than diamond necklaces. 

"That is the price of two frigates, " said the king, on hearing of theestimated value of the famous trinket. 

"We want ships, and not diamonds, " said the queen, and ended theaudience with the jeweller. 

A few months afterwards, M. Boehmer openly declared that he had found apurchaser for the necklace. It had gone to Constantinople, he said, forthe adornment of the favorite sultana. 

"This was a real pleasure to the queen, " says Madame Campan. "She, however, expressed some astonishment that a necklace made for theadornment of French women should be worn in the seraglio, and, thereupon, she talked to me a long time about the total change whichtook place in the tastes and desires of women in the period betweentwenty and thirty years of age. She told me that when she was ten yearsyounger she loved diamonds madly, but that she had no longer any tastefor anything but private society, the country, the work and theattentions required by the education of her children. From that momentuntil the fatal crisis there was nothing more said about the necklace. "

The necklace had not been sold. It remained in the jeweller's handsuntil nearly ten years had passed. Then the vicious De La Motte laid anadroit plan for getting it into her possession, through the aid of theCardinal de Rohan, who had come to admire her. She was a hanger-on ofthe court, and began her work by persuading the cardinal that the queenregarded him with favor. The credulous dupe was completely infatuatedwith the idea. One night, in August, 1784, he was given a briefinterview in the groves around Versailles with a woman whom he supposedto be the queen, but who was really a girl resembling her, and taught byLa Motte to play this part. 

Filled with the idea that the queen loved him, the duped cardinal wasready for any folly. De La Motte played her next card by persuading himthat the queen had a secret desire to possess this wonderful necklace, but had not the necessary money at that time. She would, however, signan agreement to purchase it if the cardinal would become her security. De Rohan eagerly assented. This secret understanding seemed but anotherproof of the queen's predilection for him. An agreement was produced, signed with the queen's name, to which the cardinal added his own, andon February 1, 1785, the jeweller surrendered the necklace to De Rohan, receiving this agreement as his security. The cardinal carried thecostly prize to Versailles, where he was told the queen would send forit. It was given by him to La Motte, who was commissioned to deliver itto her royal patroness. In a few days afterwards this lady's husbanddisappeared from Paris, and the diamond necklace with him. 

The whole affair had been a trick. All the messages from the queen hadbeen false ones, the written documents being prepared by a seemingvalet, who was skilful in the imitation of handwriting. Throughout thewhole business the cardinal had been readily deceived, infatuationclosing his eyes to truth. 

Such was the first act in the drama. The second opened when the jewellerbegan to press for payment. M. De La Motte sold some of the diamonds inEngland, and transmitted the money to his wife, who is said to havequieted the jeweller for a time by paying him some instalments on theprice. But he quickly grew impatient and suspicious that all was notright, and went to court, where he earnestly inquired if the necklacehad been delivered to the queen. For a time she could not understandwhat he meant. The diamond necklace? What diamond necklace? What didthis mean? The Cardinal de Rohan her security for payment!--it was allfalse, all base, some dark intrigue behind it all. 

Burning with indignation, she sent for Abbé de Vermond and Baron deBreteuil, the minister of the king's household, and told them of theaffair. It was a shameful business, they said. They hated the cardinal, and did not spare him. The queen, growing momentarily more angry, atlength decided to reveal the whole transaction to the king, and rousedin his mind an indignation equal to her own. The result we have alreadyseen. De Rohan and La Motte were consigned to the Bastille. M. De LaMotte was in England, and thus out of reach of justice. Anothercelebrated individual who was concerned in the affair, and had aided induping the cardinal, the famous, or infamous, Count Cagliostro, wasalso consigned to the Bastille for his share in the dark and deepintrigue. 

The trial came on, as the closing act in this mysterious drama, in whichall Paris had now become intensely interested. The cardinal hadrenounced all the privileges of his rank and condition, and accepted thejurisdiction of Parliament, --perhaps counting on the open enmity betweenthat body and the court. 

The trial revealed a disgraceful business, in which a high dignitary ofthe church had permitted himself to be completely gulled by a shamelesswoman and the equally shameless Cagliostro, and into which not only thename but even the virtue of the queen had been dragged. Public opinionbecame intense. The hostility to the queen which had long smouldered nowopenly declared itself. "It was for her and by her orders that thenecklace was bought, " said the respectable Parisians. Those who were notrespectable said much worse things. The queen was being made a victim ofthese shameless and criminal adventurers. 

The trial went on, political feeling being openly displayed in it. Thegreat houses of Condé and Rohan took sides with the cardinal. Theirrepresentatives might be seen, dressed in mourning, interviewing themagistrates on their way to the tribunal, pleading with them on behalfof their relative. The magistrates needed little persuasion. TheParliament of Paris had long been at sword's point with the crown; nowwas its time for revenge; political prejudice blinded the members tothe pure questions of law and justice; the cardinal was acquitted. 

Cagliostro was similarly acquitted. He had conducted his own case, andwith a skill that deceived the magistrates and the public alike. Madamede La Motte alone was convicted. She was sentenced to be whipped, branded on each shoulder with the letter V (for _voleuse_, "thief"), andto be imprisoned for life. Her husband, who was in England, wassentenced in his absence to the galleys for life. A minor participant inthis business, the girl who had personated the queen, escapedunpunished. 

So ended this disgraceful affair. The queen was greatly cast down by theresult. "Condole with me, " she said, in a broken voice, to MadameCampan; "the intriguer who wanted to ruin me, or procure money by usingmy name and forging my signature, has just been fully acquitted. " But itwas due, she declared, to bribery on the part of some and to politicalpassion on that of others, with an audacity towards authority which suchpeople loved to display. The king entered as she was speaking. 

"You find the queen in great affliction, " he said to Madame Campan; "shehas much reason to be. But what then? They would not see in thisbusiness anything save a prince of the Church and the Prince of Rohan, whereas it is only the case of a man in want of money, and a mere trickfor raising cash, wherein the cardinal has been swindled in his turn. Nothing is easier to understand, and it needs no Alexander to cut thisGordian knot. "

Cardinal Rohan was exiled to his abbey of Chaise-Dieu, guilty in theking's opinion, a dupe in the judgment of history, evidently a credulousprofligate who had mistaken his vocation. The queen was the true victimof the whole affair. It doubled the hostility of the people to her, andhad its share in that final sentence which brought her head to theblock. 

_THE FALL OF THE BASTILLE. _

"To the Bastille! to the Bastille!" was the cry. Paris surged with anungovernable mob. Month by month, week by week, day by day, since themeeting of the States-General, --called into being chiefly to providemoney for the king and kept in being to provide government for thepeople, --the revolutionary feeling had grown, alike among the delegatesand among the citizens. Now the population of Paris was aroused, theunruly element of the city was in the streets, their wrath directedagainst the prison-fortress, the bulwark of feudalism, the stronghold ofoppression, the infamous keeper of the dark secrets of the kings ofFrance. The people had always feared, always hated it, and now againstits sullen walls was directed the torrent of their wrath. 

The surging throng besieged the Hôtel de Ville, demanding arms. Gainingno satisfaction there, they rushed to the Invalides, where they knewthat arms were stored. The governor wished to parley. "He asks for timeto make us lose ours!" cried a voice in the crowd. A rush was made, theiron gates gave way, the cellar-doors were forced open, and in a shorttime thirty thousand guns were distributed among the people. 

Minute by minute the tumult increased. Messengers came with threateningtidings. "The troops are marching to attack the Faubourgs; Paris isabout to be put to fire and sword; the cannon of the Bastille are aboutto open fire upon us, " were the startling cries. The people grew wildwith rage. 

This scene was the first of those frightful outbreaks of mob violenceof which Paris was in the coming years to see so many. It was the 14thof July, 1789. As yet no man dreamed of the horrors which the nearfuture was to bring forth. The Third Estate was at war with the king, and fancied itself the power in France. But beneath it, unseen by it, almost undreamed of by it, was rousing from sleep the wild beast ofpopular fury and revenge. Centuries of oppression were about to berepaid by years of a wild carnival of slaughter. 

The Bastille was the visible emblem of that oppression. It was an armedfortress threatening Paris. The cannon on its walls frowned defiance tothe people. Momentarily the wrath of the multitude grew stronger. Theelectors of the Third Estate sent a message to Delaunay, governor of theBastille, asking him to withdraw the cannons, the sight of whichinfuriated the people, and promising, if he would do this, to restrainthe mob. 

The advice was wise; the governor was not. The messengers were longabsent; the electors grew uneasy; the tumult in the street increased. Atlength the deputation returned, bringing word that the governor pledgedhimself not to fire on the people, unless forced to do so inself-defence. This message the electors communicated to the crowdaround the Hôtel de Ville, hoping that it would satisfy them. Theirwords were interrupted by a startling sound, the roar of a cannon, --evenwhile they were reporting the governor's evasive message the cannon ofthe Bastille were roaring defiance to the people of Paris! An attack hadbeen made by the people on the fortress and this was the governor'sresponse. 

That shot was fatal to Delaunay. The citizens heard it with rage. "Treason!" was the cry. "To the Bastille! to the Bastille!" again rosethe shout. Surging onward in an irresistible mass, the furious crowdpoured through the streets, and soon surrounded the towering walls ofthe detested prison-fortress. A few bold men had already cut the chainsof the first drawbridge, and let it fall. Across it rushed the multitudeto attack the second bridge. 

The fortress was feebly garrisoned, having but thirty Swiss soldiers andeighty invalids for its defence. But its walls were massive; it was wellprovided; it had resisted many attacks in the past; this disorderly andbadly-armed mass seemed likely to beat in vain against those century-oldbulwarks and towers. Yet there come times in which indignation growsstrong, even with bare hands, oppression waxes weak behind its walls ofmight, and this was one of those times. 

A chance shot was fired from the crowd; the soldiers answered with avolley; several men were wounded; other shots came from the people; thegovernor gave orders to fire the cannon; the struggle had begun. 

It proved a short one. Companies of the National Guard were brought upto restrain the mob, --the soldiers broke from their ranks and joined it. Two of their sub-officers, Elie and Hullin by name, put themselves atthe head of the furious crowd and led the people to the assault on thefortress. The fire of the garrison swept through their dense ranks; manyof them fell; one hundred and fifty were killed or wounded; but nowseveral pieces of cannon were dragged up by hand and their threateningmuzzles turned against the gates. 

The assault was progressing; Delaunay waited for succor which did notarrive; the small garrison could not withstand that mighty mob; in theexcitement of the moment the governor attempted to blow up the powdermagazine, and would have done so had not one of his attendants held hisarms by force. 

And now deputations arrived from the electors, two of them insuccession, demanding that the fortress should be given up to thecitizen guard. Delaunay proposed to capitulate, saying that he wouldyield if he and his men were allowed to march out with arms and honor. The proposition was received with shouts of sarcastic laughter. 

"Life and safety are all we can promise you, " answered Elie. "This Iengage on the word of an officer. "

Delaunay at this ordered the second drawbridge to be lowered and thegates to be opened. In poured the mass, precipitating themselves in furyupon that hated fortress, rushing madly through all its halls andpassages, breaking its cell-doors with hammer blows, releasing captivessome of whom had been held there in hopeless misery for half a lifetime, unearthing secrets which added to their revengeful rage. 

Elie and Hullin had promised the governor his life. They miscalculatedtheir power over their savage followers. Before they had gone far theywere fighting hand to hand with the multitude for the safety of theirprisoner. At the Place de Grève, Hullin seized the governor in hisstrong arms and covered his bare head with a hat, with the hope ofconcealing his features from the people. In a moment more he was hurleddown and trodden under foot, and on struggling to his feet saw the headof Delaunay carried on a pike. The major and lieutenant were similarlymassacred. Flesselles, the mayor of Paris, shared their fate. The otherprisoners were saved by the soldiers, who surrounded and protected themfrom the fury of the mob. 

The fall of the Bastille was celebrated by two processions that movedthrough the streets; one blood-stained and horrible, carrying the headsof the victims on pikes; the other triumphant and pathetic, bearing ontheir shoulders the prisoners released from its cells. Of these, two hadbeen incarcerated so long that they were imbecile, and no one couldtell whence they came. On the pathway of this procession flowers andribbons were scattered. The spectators looked on with silent horror atthe other. 

Meanwhile, the king was at Versailles, in ignorance of what was takingplace at Paris. The courts were full of soldiers, drinking and singing;wine had been distributed among them; there were courtiers and courtintrigues still; the lowering cloud of ruin had yet scarcely cast ashadow on the palace. Louis XVI. Went to bed and to sleep, in blissfulignorance of what had taken place. The Duke of Lioncourt entered and hadhim awakened, and informed him of the momentous event. 

"But that is a revolt!" exclaimed the king, with startled face, sittingup on his couch. 

"No, sire, " replied the duke; "it is a revolution!"

That was the true word. It was a revolution. With the taking of theBastille the Revolution of France was fairly inaugurated. As for thatdetested fortress, its demolition began on the next day, amid thethunder of cannon and the singing of the _Te Deum_. It had dominatedParis, and served as a state-prison for four hundred years. Its site washenceforward to be kept as a monument to liberty. 

_THE STORY OF THE SAINTE AMPOULE. _

Sad years were they for kings and potentates in France--now a centuryago--when the cup of civilization was turned upside-down and the dregsrose to the top. For once in the history of mankind the anarchist waslord--and a frightful use he made of his privileges. Not only livingkings were at a discount, but the very bones of kings were scattered tothe winds, and the sacred oil, the "Sainte Ampoule, " which for manycenturies had been used at the coronation of the kings of France, becamean object of detestation, and was treated with the same lack of ceremonyand consideration as the royal family itself. 

Thereby hangs a tale. But before telling what desecration came to theSainte Ampoule through the impious hands of the new lords of France, itmay be well to trace briefly the earlier history of this precious oil. Christianity came to France when Clovis, its first king, was baptized. And although we cannot say much for the Christian virtues of the worthyking Clovis, we are given to understand that Heaven smiled on hisconversion, for the story goes that a dove came down from the realm ofthe blessed, bearing a small vial of holy oil, which was placed in thehands of St. Remy to be used in anointing the king at his coronation. Afterwards the saint placed this vial in his own tomb, where it wasafter many years discovered by miracle. It is true, St. Remy tells usnone of this. Our authority for it is Hincmar, Archbishop of Rheims, whoflourished four centuries after Clovis and his converter had beengathered to their fathers. But as Hincmar defied those who doubted thestory of the dove and the vial to prove the contrary, and produced avial of oil from the saint's tomb in further proof of his statement, noreasonable person--at that day--could longer deny it, though the firstmention of it is by a chronicler who lived a century and a half afterthe saint. 

From the days of Hincmar forward the monarchs of France, at theircoronation, were anointed with this holy oil. And as the dove was saidto have descended at Rheims, and St. Remy was buried there, this becamethe city of the coronation. An order of knighthood was founded to takepart in the coronation, --the "Knights of the Sainte Ampoule, "--but theworthy incumbents held their office for a day only, --that of thecrowning of the king. They were created for that purpose, received theprecious vial from the archbishop, and after the ceremony returned it tothat high dignitary of the church and saw it restored to itsabiding-place. This done, they ceased to exist as knights of the holyoil, the order dying while the king lived. 

But these short-lived chevaliers made the most of their opportunity, andcrowded all the splendor and dignity into their one day that it wouldwell bear. The sacred vial was kept in the abbey of St. Remy, and fromthat place to the cathedral they moved in a stately procession thatalmost threw the cortege of the king into the shade. The Grand Prior ofSt. Remy bore the vial, in its case or shrine, which hung from his neckby a golden chain. He rode always on a white horse, being covered by amagnificent canopy, upheld by the knights of the Sainte Ampoule. Thecathedral reached, the prior placed the vial in the hands of thearchbishop, who pledged himself by a solemn oath to restore it at theend of the ceremony. And to make this doubly sure a number of baronswere given to the knights as hostages, the restoration of the vial to betheir ransom. The ceremony over, back to the abbey they went, throughstreets adorned with rich tapestries, and surrounded by throngs ofadmiring lookers-on, to whom the vial was of as much interest as theking's crown. 

For many centuries this honor came at intervals to the city of Rheims, and the St. Remy vial figured as an indispensable element of everykingly coronation. It figured thus in the mission of Joan of Arc, whosepurpose was to drive the English from Orleans and open the way toRheims, that the new king might be crowned with the old ceremony. Theholy oil continued to play a leading part in the coronation of the kingsuntil the reign of Louis XVI. Then came the Revolution, that mightyoverturner of all things sacred and time-honored, and a new chapter waswritten in the story of the Sainte Ampoule. It is this chapter which wehave now to give. 

The Revolution had gone on, desecrating things sacred and beheadingthings royal, through years of terror, and now had arrived the 6th ofOctober, 1793, a day fatal in the history of the holy oil. On that dayCitizen Rhul, one of the new sovereigns of France, entered the room ofPhilippe Hourelle, chief _marguillier_ of the Cathedral of Rheims, anddemanded of him the vial of coronation oil of which he had charge. Horror seized Monsieur Philippe; but Master Rhul was imperative, and theguillotine stood in the near perspective. There was nothing to do but toobey. 

"It is not in my care, " declared the trembling Philippe. "It is in thekeeping of the curé, Monsieur Seraine. I will instantly apply to him forit. "

"And make haste, " said Citizen Rhul. "Bring pomatum and all, " thusirreverently designating the age-thickened oil. 

"May I ask what you will do with it?" ventured Philippe. 

"Grease the knife of the guillotine, mayhap, that it may the easier slipthrough your neck, if you waste any time in your errand. "

As may be imagined, Philippe Hourelle lost no time in seeking the curé, and giving him his startling message. M. Seraine heard him with horror. Had the desecration of sans-culottisme proceeded so far as this? But anidea sprang to the quick wit of the curé. 

"We can save some of it, " he exclaimed. 

A minute sufficed to extract a portion of the unguent-like substance. Then, with a sigh of regret, the curé handed the vial to Philippe, who, with another sigh of regret, delivered it to Citizen Rhul, who, withouta sigh of regret, carried it to the front of the cathedral, and at thefoot of the statue of Louis XV. Hammered the vial to powder, and trodwhat remained of the precious ointment under foot until it wascompletely mingled with the mud of the street. 

"So we put an end to princes and pomatum, " said this irasciblerepublican, with a laugh of triumph, as he ground the remnants of thevial under his irreverent heel. 

Not quite an end to either, as it proved. The portion of the sacred oilwhich M. Seraine had saved was divided into two portions, one kept byhimself, the other placed in the care of Philippe Hourelle, to be keptuntil the reign of anarchy should come to an end and a king reign againin France. And had Citizen Rhul dreamed of all that lay in the futureevery hair on his democratic head would have stood erect in horror anddismay. 

In truth, not many years had passed before the age of princes came againto France, and a demand for St. Remy's vial arose, Napoleon was to becrowned emperor at Notre Dame. Little did this usurper of royalty carefor the holy oil, but there were those around him with more reverencefor the past, men who would have greatly liked to act as knights of theSainte Ampoule. But the unguent was not forthcoming, and the emperor wascrowned without its aid. 

Then came the end of the imperial dynasty, and the return of theBourbons. To them the precious ointment was an important essential oflegitimate kingship. Could St. Remy's vial be found, or had it and itscontents vanished in the whirlpool of the Revolution? That was to belearned. A worthy magistrate of Rheims, Monsieur de Chevrières, took inhand the task of discovery. He searched diligently but unsuccessfully, until one day, in the early months of 1819, when three gentlemen, sonsof Philippe Hourelle, called upon him, and told the story which we havejust transcribed. A portion of the holy oil of coronation, theydeclared, had been in their father's care, preserved and transmittedthrough M. Seraine's wit and promptitude. Their father was dead, but hehad left it to his widow, who long kept it as a priceless treasure. Theywere interrupted at this point in their story by M. De Chevrières. 

"This is fortunate, " he exclaimed. "She must pass it over to me. Hername will become historic for her loyal spirit. "

"I wish she could, " said one of the visitors. "But, alas! it is lost. Our house was plundered during the invasion, and among other thingstaken was this precious relic. It is irretrievably gone. "

That seemed to end the matter; but not so, there was more of theconsecration oil in existence than could have been imagined. The visitof the Hourelles was followed after an interval by a call from a JudgeLecomte, who brought what he affirmed was a portion of the holy ointmentwhich had been given him by the widow Hourelle. Unluckily, it was ofmicroscopic dimensions, far from enough to impart the full flavor ofkingship to his majesty Louis XVIII. 

It seemed as if this worthy monarch of the Restoration would have towear his crown without anointment, when, fortunately, a new andinteresting item of news was made public. It was declared by a number ofecclesiastics that the curé, M. Seraine, had given only a part of theoil to Philippe Hourelle, and had himself kept the remainder. He hadtold them so, but, as it proved, not a man of them all knew what he haddone with it. He had died, and the secret with him. Months passed away;spring vanished; summer came; then new tidings bloomed. A priest ofBerry-au-Bac, M. Bouré by name, sought M. De Chevrières, and gladdenedhis heart with the announcement that the missing relic was in hispossession, having been consigned to him by M. Seraine. It was rendereddoubly precious by being wrapped in a portion of the winding sheet ofthe blessed St. Remy himself. 

Nor was this all. Within a week another portion of the lost treasure wasbrought forward. It had been preserved in a manner almost miraculous. Its possessor was a gentleman named M. Champagne Provotian, who had thefollowing interesting story to tell. He had, a quarter of a centurybefore, in 1793, been standing near Citizen Rhul when that scion of theRevolution destroyed the vial of St. Remy, at the foot of the statue ofLouis XV. , in front of the Cathedral of Rheims. When he struck the vialhe did so with such force that fragments of it flew right and left, someof them falling on the coat-sleeve of the young man beside him, M. Champagne. These he dexterously concealed from the iconoclastic citizen, took home, and preserved. He now produced them. 

Here were three separate portions of the precious ointment. A commissionwas appointed to examine them. They were pronounced genuine, oil andglass alike. Enough had been saved to crown a king. 

"There is nothing now to obstruct the coronation of your Majesty, " saidan officer of the court to Louis XVIII. 

His majesty laughed incredulously. He was an unbeliever as regardedlegend and a democrat as regarded ceremony, and gave the gentleman tounderstand that he was content to reign without being anointed. 

"What shall be done with the ointment?" asked the disappointed official. 

"Lock it up in the vestry and say no more about it, " replied the king. 

This was done, and the precious relics were restored to the tomb of St. Remy, whence they originally came; being placed there in a silverreliquary lined with white silk, and enclosed in a metal case, withthree locks. And there they lay till 1825, when a new king came to thethrone, in the person of Charles X. 

Now, for the last time, the old ceremony was revived, the knights of theSainte Ampoule being created, and their office duly performed. With suchdignity as he could assume and such grandeur as he could display, Charles entered the choir of the cathedral and advanced to the grandaltar, at whose foot he knelt. On rising, he was led to the centre ofthe sanctuary, and took his seat in a throne-like chair, placed there toreceive him. In a semi-circle round him stood a richly-dressed group ofnobles and courtiers. 

Then came forward in stately procession the chevaliers of the SainteAmpoule, bearing the minute remnants of that sacred oil which wasclaimed to have been first used in the anointing of Clovis, thirteenhundred years before. An imposing group of churchmen stood ready toreceive the ointment, including three prelates, an archbishop, and twobishops. These dignitaries carried the precious relic to the high altar, consecrated it, and anointed the king with a solemn ceremony highlyedifying to the observers, and greatly gratifying to the vanity of thenew monarch. 

It cannot be said that this ceremonious proceeding appealed to thepeople of France. It was the nineteenth century, and the Revolution laybetween the new and the old age. All men of wit laughed at the pompousaffair, and five years afterwards the people of Paris dispensed withCharles X. As their king, despite the flavor of coronation that hungabout him. The dynasty of the Bourbons was at an end, and the knights ofthe Saint Ampoule had been created for the last time. 

In conclusion, there is a story connected with the coronation ceremonywhich may be of interest. Legend or history tells us that at one timethe English took the city of Rheims, plundered it, and, as part of theirplunder, carried off the Saint Ampoule, which their desecrating handshad stolen from the tomb of St. Remy. The people of the suburb of Chènela Populeux pursued the invaders, fell upon them and recovered thisprecious treasure. From that time, in memory of their deed, theinhabitants of Chène claimed the right to walk in the procession of theSainte Ampoule, and to fall heir to the horse ridden by the Grand Prior. This horse was furnished by the government, and was claimed by the prioras the property of the abbey, in recompense for his services. He deniedthe claim of the people of Chène, said that their story was a fable, andthat at the best they were but low-born rogues. As a result of all this, hot blood existed between the rival claimants to the white horse of thecoronation. 

At the crowning of Louis XIV. The monks and the people of Chène came toblows, in support of their respective claims. The villagers pulled theprior from his horse, pummelled the monks who came to his aid, thrashedthe knights out of every semblance of dignity, tore the canopy intoshreds, and led off the white horse in triumph. Law followed blows; thecost of a dozen horses was wasted on the lawyers; in the end the monkswon, and the people of Chène had to restore the four-footed prize to theprior. 

At the subsequent coronations of Louis XV. And Louis XVI. They renewedtheir claim, and violence was again threatened. The trouble was overcomeby special decrees, which prohibited the people of Chène from meddlingwith the claim of the prior. By the time of the coronation of CharlesX. , all such mediæval folly was at an end, and the stately old ceremonyhad become a matter of popular ridicule. 

The story of the Sainte Ampoule is not without its interest in showingthe growth of ideas. At the end of the ninth century, a bishop couldgravely state, and a nation unquestionably accept his statement, that adove had flown down from heaven bearing a vial of holy oil for theanointment of its kings. At the end of the nineteenth century the samenation has lost its last vestige of reverence for the "divinity whichdoth hedge a king, " and has no longer any use for divinely-commissionedpotentates or heaven-sent ointments. 

_THE FLIGHT OF THE KING. _

At midnight of the 22d of June, 1791, a heavy and lumbering carriagerolled slowly into the town of Varennes, situated in the department ofMeuse, in northeastern France. It had set out from Paris at an earlyhour of the preceding day, and had now left that turbulent capital morethan a hundred and fifty miles behind it, pursuing a direct routetowards the nearest frontier of the kingdom. 

There were in this clumsy vehicle several plainly-dressed ladies, a manattired as a servant, and a half-grown boy. They all seemed in the bestof spirits, and felicitated themselves on having come so far withoutquestion or obstruction. As they neared Varennes, however, an alarmingsound was borne on the midnight air to their ears, --that of a clangingbell, ringing quickly, as if in alarm. They entered the town and droveto the post-house. 

"Let us have horses at once, " was the demand of the outriders; "we mustgo forward without delay. "

"There are no horses ready, " was the reply. "Have you your passports?"

The papers were presented and taken to M. Sausse, the public officer ofthe commune, a timid little shop-keeper, sadly incompetent to deal withany matter that needed bold decision. He cast his eye over thepassports, which shook in his trembling hand. Yet they appeared to beall right, being made out in the name of Baron Korf, the man in thecarriage being named as a valet de chambre to the baron. 

But the disturbed little commune officer knew better than that. A youngman named Drouet, son of the postmaster at St. Menehould, had, ahalf-hour or so before, ridden at furious speed into the town, givingstartling information to such of the citizens as he found awake. Therequickly followed that ringing of the alarm-bell which had pealed troubleinto the ears of the approaching travellers. 

M. Sausse approached the carriage, and bowed with the deepest respectbefore the seeming servant within. 

"Will you not enter my house?" he asked. "There is a rumor abroad thatwe are so fortunate as to have our king in our midst. If you remain inthe carriage, while the municipal authorities are in council, yourMajesty might be exposed to insult. "

The secret was out; it was the king of France who was thus masqueradingin the dress of a lackey and speeding with all haste towards thefrontier. The town was alarmed: a group of armed men stood at theshopkeeper's door as the traveller entered; some of them told him rudelythat they knew him to be the king. 

"If you recognize him, " sharply answered the lady who followed, "speakto him with the respect you owe your king. "

It was Marie Antoinette, though her dress was rather that of awaiting-maid than a queen. The ladies who followed her were MadameElizabeth, the princess, and the governess of the royal children. Theboy was the dauphin of France. 

This flight had been undertaken under the management of General Bouillé, who had done all in his power to make it successful, by stationingrelays of soldiers along the road, procuring passports, and othernecessary details. But those intrusted with its execution had, asidefrom keeping the project a secret, clumsily managed its details. Thecarriage procured was of great size, and loaded like a furniture vanwith luggage. There was a day's delay in the start. Even the setting outwas awkwardly managed; the queen leaving the palace on foot, losing herway, and keeping her companions perilously waiting. The detachments oftroops on the road were sure to attract attention. Careful precautionsfor the defeat of the enterprise seemed to have been taken. 

Yet all went well until St. Menehould was reached, though the king wasrecognized by more than one person on the road. "We passed through thelarge town of Châlons-sur-Marne, " wrote the young princess, "where wewere quite recognized. Many people praised God at seeing the king, andmade vows for his escape. "

All France had not yet reached the republican virulence of Paris. "Allgoes well, François, " said the queen in a glad tone to Valory, hercourier. "If we were to have been stopped, it would have taken placealready. "

At St. Menehould, however, they found the people in a different temper. The king was recognized, and though his carriage was not stopped, adetachment of dragoons, who had followed him at a distance, was notsuffered to proceed, the people cutting the girths of the horses. YoungDrouet, of whom we have already spoken, sprang on horseback and rodehurriedly on towards Varennes, preceding the carriage. 

The soldiers who had been posted at Varennes were in no condition toassist the king. The son of Marquis Bouillé, who had accompanied theroyal party, found them helplessly intoxicated, and rode off at fullspeed to inform his father of the alarming condition of affairs. 

Meanwhile, the king, who had taken refuge in the shop of the grocerSausse, awaited the municipal authorities in no small perturbation ofspirits. They presented themselves at length before him, bowing withgreat show of respect, and humbly asking his orders. 

"Have the horses put to my carriage without delay, " he said, with nofurther attempt at concealment, "that I may start for Montmédy. "

They continued respectful, but were provided with various reasons whythey could not obey: the horses were at a distance; those in the stableswere not in condition to travel; pretext after pretext was advanced fordelay. In truth, no pretext was needed; the adjoining street was filledwith armed revolutionists, and in no case would the carriage have beensuffered to proceed. 

As daybreak approached a detachment of dragoons rode into the town. Theywere those who had been posted near Châlons, and who had ridden ontowards Montmédy after the king's passage. Missing him, they hadreturned. Choiseul, their commander, pushed through the people andentered the shop. 

"You are environed here, " he said to the king. "We are not strong enoughto take the carriage through; but if you will mount on horseback we canforce a passage through the crowd. "

"If I were alone I should try it, " said Louis. "I cannot do it asmatters stand. I am waiting for daylight; they do not refuse to let mego on; moreover, M. De Bouillé will soon be here. "

He did not recognize the danger of delay. The crowd in the streets wasincreasing; the bridge was barricaded; the authorities had sent amessenger in haste to Paris to tell what had happened and ask ordersfrom the National Assembly. 

"Tell M. De Bouillé that I am a prisoner, " said the king to CaptainDeslon, the commander of a detachment, who had just reached him. "Isuspect that he cannot do anything for me, but I desire him to do whathe can. "

The queen meanwhile was urgently entreating Madame Sausse to use herinfluence with her husband and procure an order for the king's release. She found the good woman by no means inclined to favor her. 

"You are thinking of the king, " she said; "I am thinking of M. Sausse;each is for her own husband. "

By this time the throng in the streets was growing impatient andviolent. "To Paris! to Paris!" shouted the people. The king grewfrightened. Bouillé had failed to appear. There was no indication of hisapproach. The excitement grew momentarily greater. 

During this anxious interval two officers rode rapidly up on the roadfrom Paris, and presented themselves before the king. They wereaides-de-camp of General Lafayette, commander of the National Guard. Oneof them, Romeuf by name, handed Louis a decree of the assembly orderingpursuit and return of the king. It cited an act which forbade any publicfunctionary to remove himself more than twenty leagues from his post. 

"I never sanctioned that, " cried the king, angrily, flinging the paperon the bed where the dauphin lay. 

The queen snatched it up hastily, exclaiming that the bed of herchildren should not be soiled by such a document. 

"Madame, " said Romeuf, warningly, "do you wish that other eyes than mineshould witness your anger?"

The queen blushed, and recovered with an effort the composure which shehad suffered herself to lose. 

A messenger now arrived from Bouillé bringing word that the detachmentshe had posted were moving towards Varennes, and that he himself was onthe way thither. But the tumult in the streets had grown hour by hour;the people were becoming furious at the delay; it seemed certain thatthe arrival of the troops would be the signal for a battle with thearmed populace, who had strongly barricaded the town. Utterlydisheartened, the king gave orders for the carriage; he had decided toreturn to Paris. 

An hour afterwards Bouillé, breathless from a long and hurried ride, arrived within sight of Varennes. Its barricades met his eyes. He wastold that the king had set out on his return an hour before. The gamewas up; Louis had lost his last hope of escape; the loyal general tookthe road for Stenay, and that same evening crossed the French frontier. 

The king's carriage made its way back to Paris through a throng thatlined the roads, and which became dense when the city was reached. TheNational Guards held their arms reversed; none of the spectatorsuncovered their heads; the flight of the king had put an end to hisauthority and to the respect of the people. It was a sad procession thatslowly made its way, in the evening light, along the boulevards towardsthe Tuileries. When the king and queen entered the palace the doorswere closed behind them, and armed guards stationed to prevent egress. The palace had become a prison; Louis XVI. Had ceased to reign; theNational Assembly was now the governing power in France. 

What followed a few words may tell. In the succeeding year the Reign ofTerror began, and Louis was taken from the Tuileries to the Temple, atrue prison. In December he was tried for treason and condemned todeath, and on January 21, 1793, his head fell under the knife of theguillotine. In October of the same year his unhappy queen shared hisfate. 

_THE END OF THE TERROR. _

No period of equal length in the whole era of history yields us such asuccession of exciting and startling events as those few years betweenthe convening of the States-General in France and the rise of Napoleonto power, and particularly that portion of the Revolution known as theReign of Terror. A volume of thrilling stories might have been made fromits incidents alone; but it would have been a volume so full of tales ofblood and woe, of misery and massacre, of the dominance of thosewild-beast passions which civilization seeks to subdue in man, that wemay well be spared the telling. As with the fall of the Bastille beganthe long dominion of the populace, so with the fall of Robespierre itended, and civil order returned to unhappy France. We have told thestory of the one; we shall conclude with that of the other. 

Three men dominated the Terror, --Danton, Marat, and Robespierre; thefirst named best deserving the title of man, for he possessed certainqualities of manliness not shown by his brutal colleagues. As Lamartinesays, "Nothing was wanting to make Danton a great man except virtue. " Hehad too much manliness, as it seems, for the purposes of Robespierre, and was brought by him to the guillotine on April 5, 1794. 

The triumvirate of the Reign of Terror was broken by his death and thatof Marat, who had fallen under the avenging knife of Charlotte Corday inJuly, 1793. Robespierre was left sole director of the Revolution, beingpresident of the Committee of Public Safety, leader of the Jacobin Club, favorite of the extreme terrorists, and lord and master of theConvention, whose members were held in subjection by his violence andtheir fears. 

His dominion was not to be of long continuance. It was signalized bysuch a frightful activity of the guillotine, in which multitudes ofinnocent persons daily perished, that the terror which he produced wasquickly followed by indignation, and a combination of many of theleading spirits of the Convention was formed against him. One afteranother he had vanquished all his enemies, and stood alone. But he stoodon such a ghastly pyramid of the dead that he could not hope to maintainhis dangerous elevation. The voice of vengeance, long choked by terror, at length began to rise against this wholesale executioner. 

The outbreak was precipitated by a demand of Saint-Just, the mostprominent supporter of Robespierre, that a dictatorship should beestablished in France, and that the "virtuous and inflexible, as well asincorruptible citizen, " Robespierre, should be made Dictator. It was adeclaration of war. Many of the members of the Convention knew that itmeant their death. Once give their terrible foe the extreme power whichthis demand indicated, and every known enemy of Robespierre in Francewould be doomed. Yet to oppose it was to oppose the Jacobins and therevolutionary sections, the controlling powers in Paris. The boldestmembers of the Convention might well pause and tremble before assailingtheir seemingly impregnable foe. But the rule of Robespierre had beenopposed in committee; it had ceased to be a secret that he had enemiesin the Convention; as yet the sentiment against him had spoken only inthe dark, but the time was rapidly approaching when an open strugglecould no longer be avoided. 

Robespierre himself began the battle. He said to a deputation fromAisne, "In the situation in which it now is, gangrened by corruption, and without power to remedy it, the Convention can no longer save therepublic; both will perish together. "

He repeated this accusation before the Convention itself, in athreatening speech, in which he declared that there was in its midst aconspiracy against public liberty; there were traitors in the nationalcouncils; the Convention must be purged and purified; the conspiratorsmust be punished. His words were listened to in sullen silence. When hehad ceased no word was spoken, except in whispers from member to member. The glove of defiance had been cast into their midst; were there noneamong them with the courage to take it up, or must they all yieldthemselves as the slaves or the victims of this merciless autocrat? No;there were men of courage and patriotism left. Three delegates rosesimultaneously, three voices struggled for precedence in the right toattack the tyrant and dare the worst. 

"The man who has made himself master of everything, the man whoparalyzes our will, is he who has just spoken--Robespierre!" criedCambon, in ringing tones of defiance. 

"It is Robespierre! It is Robespierre, " came from other unsealed voices. "Let him give an account of the crimes of the members whose death hedemanded from the Jacobins. "

The attack was so unexpected and so vehement that Robespierre hesitatedto reply. 

"You who pretend to have the courage of virtue, have the courage oftruth, " cried Charlier; "name the individuals you accuse. "

Tumult and confusion followed these daring words. Robespierre, unable togain the ear of the assembly, which now seemed filled with his enemies, and finding the feeling against him rapidly spreading, left the hall andtook refuge with the Jacobins, where he repeated his address, this timeto applauding hearers. Violent councils followed. Henriot, commandant ofthe troops, proposed to march on the Convention and put an end to itsexistence. "Name thy enemies, " shouted the members to Robespierre; "wewill deliver them to thee. " Yet there was hesitation and doubt among theleaders; they feared the result of violent measures, and felt inclinedto temporize and wait. 

The Convention met the next day. It met inspired with a new spirit. Courage animated the members. They had crossed the Rubicon, and feltthat there was no return. During the interval since the last sessiontheir forces had been organized, their plans considered. Saint-Justappeared and sought to speak. He was interrupted and his words drownedby the voices of indignant members. 

"I see here, " cried Billaud-Varennes, who stood beside him, "one of themen who yesterday, at the Jacobins, promised the massacre of theNational Convention; let him be arrested. "

The officers obeyed this order. Saint-Just was in custody. Billaudcontinued his remarks, declaring that the members were in danger ofmassacre, denouncing Robespierre and his supporters, bidding them to befirm and resolute. His boldness infected the assembly; the deputiesstood up and waved their hats, shouting their approval. In the midst ofthis scene Robespierre appeared, livid with rage, his eyes flashing withthe fury which inspired him. 

"I demand liberty to speak, " he exclaimed. 

"Down with the tyrant!" rose in a roar from a hundred voices. 

Tallien, the leader of the opposition, sprang into the tribune. 

"I demand that the veil be torn away instantly, " he exclaimed. "The workis done, the conspirators are unmasked. Yesterday, at the Jacobins, Isaw the army of the new Cromwell formed, and I have come here armed witha dagger to pierce his heart if the Assembly dares not decree hisaccusation. I demand the arrest of Henriot and his staff. "

The debate went on, growing more violent minute by minute. Several timesRobespierre strove to speak, but each time his voice was drowned incries of "Down with the tyrant!" Pale with rage and fear, he turned fromhis opponents towards his former supporters, both hands nervouslyclutching the tribune. 

"It is to you, pure and virtuous men, " he said, "that I address myself. I do not talk with scoundrels. "

"Down with the tyrant!" was the response of the members addressed. Evidently the whole assembly had turned against him. 

Henriot, the president, rang his bell for order. 

"President of assassins, " cried Robespierre, in a voice that grewfeebler, "I once more demand liberty to speak. "

"The blood of Danton is choking him!" cried Garnier de l'Aude. 

"Shall this man longer remain master of the Convention?" asked CharlesDuval. 

"Let us make an end! A decree! a decree!" shouted Lasseau. 

"A tyrant is hard to strike down!" exclaimed Fréron. 

Robespierre stood in the midst of his circle of enemies, assailed on allsides, nervously turning in his hands an open knife. 

"Send me to death!" he ejaculated. 

"You have merited it a thousand times, " cried his foes. "Down with thetyrant!"

In the midst of the tumult a decree for his arrest was offered andcarried. In it were included the names of his brother, of Couthon, andof Saint-Just. Henriot proclaimed the decree, while wild acclamations oftriumph shook the room. 

"Long live liberty! Long live the republic! Down with the tyrants! Tothe bar with the accused!" came from the lips of those who the daybefore had not dared to speak. The floodgates were down and the torrentof long repressed fury was rushing on the accused. The exciting sceneended in the removal of the prisoners, who were taken to separateprisons. 

Tidings of what had taken place in the Convention ran like wildfirethrough Paris. Thousands of households were inspired with hope. Theterrorists were filled with fury and dismay. The Commune and theJacobins swore to support Robespierre. The tocsin peal rang out; thepeople gathered; the gates of Paris were closed; Henriot, half drunk, galloped along the streets, crying out that the representatives of thepeople were being massacred; an insurrection against the Convention wasrapidly organized, headed by desperate men, among them Robespierrehimself, who was again free, having been taken from the hands of theofficers. 

All was in peril. The Convention had assembled again, but had taken nosteps in self-defence. Startling tidings were brought to the members inquick succession. It was said that the National Guard was coming withartillery, to direct it against the hall. The roar of the insurrectionfilled street and building. For the time it looked as if Robespierre hadconquered, and all was at an end. 

"I propose, " cried Elie Lacoste, "that Henriot be outlawed. "

As he spoke these words, the man named stood in the street without, ordering the artillerists, whose cannon were trained upon the Conventionhall, to fire. The gunners hesitated. It was a critical moment. The fateof France hung in the balance. A group of the deputies came hastily fromthe hall and faced Henriot and his men. 

"What are you doing, soldiers?" they exclaimed. "That man is a rebel, who has just been outlawed. "

The gunners lowered their matches. The Convention was saved. TheNational Guard had deserted Robespierre. Henriot put spurs to his horse, and fled at full gallop. 

"Outlaw all who shall take arms against the Convention, or who shalloppose its decrees, " said Barère; "as well as those who have defied itby eluding arrest. "

This decree, repeated to the insurgents, completed their discomfiture. Rapidly they dispersed. Public opinion had changed; the Convention hadtriumphed. The gunners who had marched with the insurrection desertedtheir pieces; and a few hours afterwards returned to them, to protectthe Convention. 

The members of the Convention had run a serious risk in not takingactive steps to assemble their friends, and in thus giving so perilousan opportunity to their enemies. This error was now retrieved; a sectionof their supporters came together, commanded by Lèonard Bourdon and agendarme named Méda. They reached the Hôtel de Ville without opposition. Méda entered it, crying, probably as a strategem, "Long liveRobespierre!" He reached the hall where the Jacobin leaders weregathered in silent dismay around the fallen dictator. Robespierre sat ata table, his head resting on his hand. Méda stepped towards him, pistolsin hand. 

"Surrender, traitor!" he exclaimed. 

"It is you who are a traitor, " retorted Robespierre, "and I will haveyou shot. "

His words were barely spoken when Méda fired, his bullet shatteringRobespierre's lower jaw. It is well to state here, however, that in thebelief of many Robespierre shot himself. 

This decided action created consternation in the room. The youngerRobespierre leaped from a window, receiving mortal injury from the fall. Saint-Just turned towards Lebas and said to him, "Kill me. "

"I have something better to do, " answered Lebas, shooting himselfthrough the head. 

A report from the stairway quickly followed. Méda with his second pistolhad shot Couthon and badly wounded him. The hall had suddenly become aplace of blood and death. The Jacobin chiefs, lately all-powerful, nowcondemned, dead, or dying, presented a frightful spectacle. Two dayshad changed the course of events in France. The Reign of Terror was atan end. 

Robespierre lay on a table, his head supported by a small deal box. Theblood flowed slowly from his mouth. He was silent, giving no sign ofpain or feeling. He was taken to the Conciergerie, whither otherprisoners of his faction were being brought. Saint-Just and Couthon werealready there. 

Five o'clock came. The carts had drawn up as usual at the gate of theprison, waiting for the condemned. This time there was a new spectaclefor the people, who had become wearied with executions, but were on thealert for the fresh sensation promised them. It was no time totemporize. The Convention had ordered the immediate execution of itsfoes. As Robespierre, with a blood-stained cloth round his face, enteredthe cart, there was a shout of joy and triumph from the assembled crowd. The late all-powerful man had not a friend left. 

On the scaffold the executioner tore the cloth from Robespierre'swounded face. A terrible cry of pain followed, the first sign ofsuffering he had given. In a minute more his head had fallen into thegory basket, and France was avenged. It was the 28th of July, 1794, lessthan four months after the death of Danton had left all the power in hishands. In that and the following days one hundred and three executionssealed the fate of the defeated enemies of the Convention. Justice hadbeen done; the Terror was at an end. 

_THE BURNING OF MOSCOW. _

From west to east across Europe had marched the army of the greatconqueror, no nation daring to draw a hostile sword, none venturing toplace an obstacle in its path. Across Russia it had marched almost astriumphantly, breaking irresistibly through the dams of armed men in itsway, sweeping onward with the strength and majesty of fate. At length ithad reached the heart of the empire of the czars, and before it laydisplayed the ancient capital of the Muscovite kings, time-honoredMoscow. 

This great city was revealed to the eyes of the weary soldiers with thesuddenness of a mirage in the desert. Throughout that day aninterminable outreach of level country had seemed to spread before them, dreary, uninviting, disheartening. Now, from the summit of a hill, theirtriumphant eyes gazed suddenly upon the roofs and spires of a mightycity, splendid, far-reaching, stretching far across the plain that layrevealed before their eyes. It seemed to them truly as if the hand of amagician had touched the desert, and caused this city to spring upacross their path. 

It was a remarkable spectacle that met their gaze. Here were visiblewhat seemed hundreds of gilded domes and shining spires, thousands ofhabitations rich with varied colors, a strange compound of palaces andcottages, churches and bell-towers, woods and lakes, Western andOriental architecture, the Gothic arches and spires of Europe mingledwith the strange forms of Byzantine and Asiatic edifices. Outwardly, aline of monasteries flanked with towers appeared to encircle the city. Centrally, crowning an eminence, rose a great citadel, from whose towersone could look down on columned temples and imperial palaces, embattledwalls crowned with majestic domes, from whose summits, above thereversed crescent, rose the cross, Russia's emblem of conquest over thefanatical sectaries of the East. It was the Kremlin which they herebeheld, the sacred centre of the Russian empire, the ancientdwelling-place and citadel of the czars. 

A wild cry of wonder and triumph burst from the soldiers who had firstreached the summit of the hill. "Moscow! Moscow!" they shouted, theirimaginations strongly excited by the magnificent spectacle. This crylent wings to those behind them. In crowding hosts the eager soldiersrushed up the long slope, all ranks mingling in their burning desire togaze upon that great city which was the goal of their far-extendedmarch. Deep were the emotions, intense the joy, with which they gazed onthis dazzling vision, with all its domes and spires burning in the warmrays of the sun. Napoleon himself, who hastened to the spot, was struckwith admiration, and new dreams of glory doubtless sprang up in his soulas he stood gazing with deep emotion on what must have seemed to him thekey of the East, the gateway to conquests never yet surpassed by man. Little did he dream that it was ruin upon which he gazed, the fatalturning-point in his long career of victory. Still certain of hisgenius, still confident in his good fortune, he looked forward to newconquests which would throw those of the past into the shade, and as hiseyes rested on that mighty city of the czars, the intoxication of gloryfilled his soul. 

The conqueror gave but little time to these dreams. The steps to realizethem must be taken. Murat was bidden to march forward quickly and torepress all disorders which might break out in the city. Denniée wasordered to hasten and arrange for the food and lodging of the soldiers. Durosnel received orders to communicate with the authorities, to calmtheir fears, and to lead them to the conqueror, that he might receivetheir homage. Fancying that the inhabitants awaited his coming intrembling fear, Napoleon halted until these preliminaries should bearranged, before making his triumphant entry into the conquered capitalof Muscovy. 

Murat, at the head of the light cavalry, galloped rapidly forward, quickly reaching the bridge over the Moskowa. Here he found a rear-guardof the Russian army, in rapid retreat. The meeting was not a hostileone; Murat rode to the Russian line, and asked if there was an officeramong them who spoke French. A young Russian immediately presentedhimself, and asked him what he wanted. 

"Who is the commander of this rear-guard?" he asked. 

The Russian pointed to a white-haired officer, who wore a long cloak offur. Murat advanced and held out his hand. The officer took and pressedit warmly. 

"Do you know me?" asked the Frenchman. 

"Yes, " answered the Russian, courteously; "we have seen enough of youunder fire to know you. "

A short colloquy succeeded, during which Murat could not keep his eyesfrom the officer's fur cloak, which looked as if it would be verycomfortable in a winter bivouac. The Russian, noticing his looks, tookoff the mantle and offered it to him, begging him to accept it as apresent from an admiring foe. Murat courteously accepted it, and inreturn presented the officer with a beautiful and valuable watch, whichwas accepted in the same spirit of courteous good-will. 

The Russian officer now joined his men, who were filing rapidly away, and Murat rode onward into the streets of the captured city, his staffand a detachment of cavalry accompanying him. Through street afterstreet he passed, here finding himself moving between rows of narrowwooden houses, there through avenues bordered by palatial residences, which rose from rich and ample gardens, but all silent and seeminglydeserted. 

The city was there, but where were the people? Solitude surrounded him. Not an inhabitant was to be seen. It seemed a city of the dead. IntoBerlin, Vienna, and other capitals had the French army entered, butnever had it seen anything like this utter solitude. The inhabitants, sothe surprised soldiers fancied, must be cowering in terror within theirhouses. This desolation could not continue. Moscow was known as one ofthe most bustling cities in Europe. As soon as the people learned thatno harm was meant them, the streets would again swarm with busy life. Hugging this flattering opinion to his soul, Murat rode on, threadingthe silent city. 

Ah! here were some of the people. A few distracted individuals hadappeared in the streets. Murat rode up to them, to find that they wereFrench, belonging to the foreign colony of Moscow. They begged piteouslyfor protection from the robbers, who, they said, had become masters ofthe town. They told Murat more than this, destroying the pleasantpicture of a submissive and contented population with which he hadsolaced his mind. The population had fled, they said; no one was left inthe city except a few strangers and some Russians who knew the ways ofthe French and did not fear them. In their place was a crew of thievesand bandits whom the Count of Rostopchin had let loose on desertedMoscow, emptying the prisons and setting these convicts free to ravagethe city at their will. 

Further evidence of this disheartening story was soon forthcoming. Whenthe French approached the Kremlin they were saluted by a discharge ofmusketry. Some of the villanous crew had invaded the capitol, seized onthe guns in the arsenal, and were firing on the invaders. A few minutessettled this last effort in the defence of Moscow. The citadel wasentered at a charge, several of the villanous crew were sabred, and theothers put to flight. The French had the town, but it was an empty one, its only inmates being thieves and strangers. 

The next morning, September 15, 1812, Napoleon made his triumphal marchinto Moscow, at the head of his conquering legions. But for the firsttime in his career of victory he found himself in the streets of adeserted city, advancing through empty avenues, to whose windows thetread of marching feet called not an eye to witness the triumph ofFrance. It was a gloomy and threatening impression which was experiencedby the grand army in its progress through those silent and lifelessstreets. The ancient city of the czars seemed a body without a soul. 

But if the people were gone, their dwellings remained. Moscow was taken, with all its palaces and treasures. It was a signal conquest. Napoleonhastened to the Kremlin, mounted to the top of the lofty tower of Ivan, and from its height looked with eyes of pride on the far-extending city. It was grand, that vision of palatial mansions, but it was mournful inits silence and gloom, the tramp of soldiery its only sound, the flutterof multitudes of birds--ravens and crows, which haunted the city inthousands--its only sign of life. Two days before Moscow had been one ofthe busiest cities in the world. Now it was the most silent. But theconqueror had this satisfaction, that while abandoned like other Russiantowns, it was not burned like them, he might find here winter-quartersfor his army and by mild measures lure the frightened people back totheir homes again. Comforted with this hopeful view, Napoleon descendedthe stairs again, filled with confidence and triumph. 

His confidence was misplaced. Disaster lowered upon the devoted city. Onthe day succeeding his entrance a column of flame suddenly appeared, rising from a large building in which was stored an abundant supply ofspirits. The soldiers ran thither without thought of alarm, fancyingthat this was due to some imprudence on the part of their own men. In ashort time the fire was mastered, and a feeling of confidence returned. 

But immediately afterwards a new fire broke out in a great collection ofbuildings called the Bazaar, in which were the richest shops of thecity, filled with costly goods, the beautiful fabrics of Persia andIndia, and rare and precious commodities from all quarters of the world. Here the flames spread with extraordinary rapidity, consuming theinflammable goods with frightful haste, despite the frantic efforts ofthe soldiers to arrest their progress. Despairing of success, theystrove to save something from the vast riches of the establishment, carrying out furs, costly wines, valuable tissues, and other precioustreasures. Such as remained of the people of the town aided in theseefforts, in the natural desire to save something from the flames. 

Until now all this seemed ordinary accident, and no one dreamed thatthese fires were the result of hostile design. They were soon to learnmore of the unconquerable determination of the Russians. During thefollowing night the wind rose suddenly, and carried the flames of theburning Bazaar along several of the most beautiful streets of Moscow, the fire spreading rapidly among the wooden buildings, and consumingthem with alarming rapidity. 

But this was not the most disturbing indication. Rockets were seen inthe distance, ascending into the air, and immediately afterwards firebroke out in a dozen quarters, and hired bandits were seen carryingcombustibles at the end of long poles, and seeking to extend the empireof the flames. A number of these were arrested, and under threat ofdeath revealed a frightful secret. The Count of Rostopchin had orderedthat the great city of Moscow should be set on fire and burned, with aslittle heed for the immense loss involved as he would have had inordering the burning of a wayside village. 

The news filled the whole army with consternation. Waiting till the windhad risen, the ferocious count had sent up his signal-rockets to orderthe work to begin. He had done more. On running to the pumps to obtainwater to extinguish the flames, there were none to be found. They hadbeen removed and the fire-extinguishing apparatus destroyed inpreparation for this incendiary work. 

Napoleon, alarmed and incensed, ordered that all caught in the act offiring buildings should be executed on the spot. The army was directedto use every effort to extinguish the flames. But the high wind set alltheir efforts at defiance. It increased in fury and varied in direction, carrying the conflagration over new quarters. From the Kremlin could beseen vast columns of fire, shooting from building to building, wrappingthe wooden structures in lurid sheets of flame, sweeping destructionforward at frightful speed. The roar of the flames, the explosions thatfrom time to time took place, the burning fragments which filled theair, borne on the wings of the wind, all went to make a scene as grandand fearful as human eye has ever gazed upon. To Napoleon and his men, who saw their hopes of safe and pleasant winter-quarters thus vanishingin flame, it must have been a most alarming and disquieting spectacle. 

After blowing for some hours from the north-west, the wind shifted tothe south-west, and the conflagration invaded new regions of the city. The Kremlin, hitherto out of the range of the flames, was now in danger. Fiery sparks, borne by the wind, fell on its roof and in its court-yard. The most frightful danger of the whole night now threatened theimperilled army. In the court-yards of the Kremlin had been placed morethan four hundred wagons of ammunition; in its arsenal were a hundredthousand pounds of powder. Should the flames reach these, Napoleon andhis guards would be blown into the air. 

All who were near him pressed him to hasten from this imminent peril. General Lariboisière begged him to fly, as a duty which he owed to hisarmy. Officers who came in from the streets reported that it was almostimpossible to pass through the avenues of the town, and that delay wouldincrease the danger. To remain where they were much longer might renderescape impossible. 

Napoleon, convinced by these words, left the Kremlin, after sometwenty-four hours' possession of this old palace of the czars, anddescended to the quay of the Moskowa, where he found his horses awaitinghim. Mounting, he rode through the fire-invaded streets towards thenorth-west, but with no little difficulty and danger, for the flamesfrom the other quarters of the city were now spreading here. 

The wind seemed steadily to increase in violence, torrents of smoke, cinders, and sparks were driven down into the streets; sheets of flameseemed to bend downward as if to sweep the ground; on every side thetroops were flying for their lives, on every side the conflagrationpursued them; it was through imminent peril that the grand army, whichon the morning before had marched so triumphantly into that abandonedcity, now succeeded in gaining a safe location outside, whence theycould look back in despair on that hell of flames in which their dearesthopes were being consumed. 

A small number of the inhabitants who had remained concealed in theirhouses now came out, carrying away with them what treasures they mostesteemed; in some cases, women their children, men their aged parents;many of them barely saving their clothes, and disputing the possessionof even these with the band of robbers whom Rostopchin had let loose, and who, like spirits of evil, danced with glee in the midst of theterrible conflagration which had been kindled by their hands. 

So ended one of the most startling events in history, --the burning of agreat city to dispossess a victorious foe. It proved successful. WhenNapoleon left the Kremlin on that fearful night he began his downwardcareer. The conflagration, it is true, did not drive him at once fromMoscow. He lingered for more than a month amid its ruins, in the vainhope that the czar would ask him for terms of peace. But the czar keptsilent, the city was untenable for winter-quarters, and retreat becameimperative. When, at length, the grand army marched, winter marched withit, --a winter such as even Russia had rarely seen. Napoleon had delayedtoo long. The north gathered its forces and swooped upon his shiveringranks, with death in its blasts. The Russians, recovering from theirlosses, rushed upon his freezing columns, pouring destruction upon themas they marched. All was at an end. The great victor's tide of successhad definitely turned. He had entered Russia with nearly half a millionof men; hardly a tenth part of this great army followed him from thatfatal land. 

_NAPOLEON'S RETURN FROM ELBA. _

All was quiet in Elba. Nothing was talked of at Porto-Ferrajo but theball to be given by Pauline, the sister of Napoleon, who had exchangedhis imperial dominion over half Europe for kingship over that littleMediterranean island. Evening came. The fête was a brilliant one. Napoleon was present, gay, cheerful, easy, to all appearance fullysatisfied with his little kingdom, and without thought of wider empireor heavier cares. He stayed till a late hour, and went home with two ofhis old generals, Bertrand and Drouet, to tell them the news which hadcome to him from the continent. This news was not altogether to hisliking. The Congress at Vienna had decreed his transportation to theAzores. Elba was too near France. 

Such was the state of affairs on the night of February 25, 1815. Atsunset of the next day there might have been seen a small flotillamoving before a south wind along the shores of Elba. It consisted of abrig, the Inconstant by name, a schooner, and five smaller vessels. Thebrig evidently carried guns. The decks of the other vessels were crowdedwith men in uniform. On the deck of the Inconstant stood Napoleon, hisface filled with hope and joy, his hand waving an adieu to his sisterPauline, who watched him from the château windows, on the island shore. 

The next day came. The sea was motionless. Not a breath of wind could befelt. The island was still close at hand. At a distance might be seenthe French and English cruisers which guarded that side of the island, now moveless upon a moveless sea. It was doubtful if the flotilla hadnot better return. But the wind rose again, and their progress wasresumed. 

Four in the afternoon found them off the heights of Leghorn. Fiveleagues to leeward lay one frigate; near the shores of Corsica wasanother; to windward could be seen a third, making its way towards theflotilla. It was the Zephyr, of the French navy, commanded by CaptainAndrieux. Now had come a vital moment in the enterprise. Should theEmperor declare himself and seek to gain over Andrieux? It was toodangerous a venture; he bade the grenadiers on the deck to concealthemselves; it was a situation in which strategy seemed better thanboldness. At six the two vessels were close together. LieutenantTaillade of the Inconstant knew and saluted Captain Andrieux. Aspeaking-trumpet colloquy followed. 

"Where are you bound?" asked Taillade. 

"To Leghorn. And you?"

"To Genoa. Have you any commissions I can execute there?"

"Thanks, not any. How is the Emperor?"

"Very well. "

"So much the better. "

The two vessels moved on, and soon lost sight of each other in thegrowing darkness. The other frigates had disappeared. 

The next day dawned. There was visible a large frigate in the distance, but it was not moving towards the flotilla. No danger was to be fearedfrom this source. But the vessel's head had been turned to thesouthward, to Taillade's surprise. 

"Gentlemen, " he called to the officers on the bridge, "are we bound forSpain or for Africa?"

Napoleon, who had perceived the same thing, summoned Taillade from hisconference with the officers. 

"Where are we?" he asked. 

"Sire, we are headed for Africa. "

"I don't wish to go there. Take me to France. "

"Your Majesty shall be there before noon to-morrow. "

The face of Napoleon beamed on hearing these words. He turned to thesoldiers of the Old Guard who accompanied him, and said, --

"Yes, grenadiers, we are going to France, to Paris. " Enthusiastic"_vivas_" followed his announcement, which told a tale of future gloryto those war-hardened veterans. They had fought for the Emperor on manya mighty field. They were ready to dare new dangers in the hope of newtriumphs. 

On the morning of Wednesday, March 1, the shores of France were visiblefrom the vessel's deck. At three in the afternoon anchor was dropped inthe Bay of Juan. Cheers and salvos of artillery greeted those welcomeshores; the boats were quickly dropped, and by five o'clock the wholeexpedition was on shore. The soldiers made their bivouac in an olivegrove on the borders of the bay. 

"Happy omen!" said Napoleon; "the olive is the emblem of peace. "

He plucked some violets, and then sat down and consulted his maps, whichwere spread on a table before him. There were two routes which might betaken; an easy one through Provence, and a difficult one over the snowymountains of Dauphiny. But on the former he could not count on theloyalty of the people; on the latter he could: the difficult route waschosen. 

It proved a cold and wearying journey. The men were obliged to march insingle file along narrow roads which bordered precipices. Several mules, one of them laden with gold, lost their footing and were plunged downthe cliff. Napoleon was forced to dismount and go on foot to keep warm. For a short time he rested beside the brush-wood fire of a cabin whoseonly tenant was an old woman. 

"Have you any news from Paris?" he asked her. "Do you know what the kingis doing?"

"The king? You mean the Emperor, " answered the old woman. "He is alwaysdown yonder. "

So, here was a Frenchwoman who had not heard a word of the last year'sdoings. Was this the stuff of glory? Napoleon looked at General Drouet, and said, in pensive tones, "Do you hear this, Drouet? What, after all, is the good of troubling the world in order to fill it with our name?"

We cannot follow their progress step by step. That small army of athousand men was marching to conquer a kingdom, but for days it had onlythe mountains and the snows to overcome. As yet not a soldier had beenencountered, and they had been a week on shore. But the news of thelanding had now spread far and wide, and soldiers were marching to stopthe advance of the "Brigand of Elba, " as the royalists in Paris calledNapoleon. How would they receive him, --with volleys or acclamations?That was soon to be learned. The troops in that part of France wereconcentrated at Grenoble and its vicinity. The Emperor was approachingthem. The problem would soon be solved. 

At nine o'clock of March 7 Napoleon separated his small force into threedivisions, himself taking station in the midst of the advance-guard, onhorseback, wearing his famous gray overcoat and the broad ribbon of theLegion of Honor. About one o'clock the small battalion approached aregiment of the troops of the king, who were drawn up in line across theroad. Napoleon dismounted. 

"Colonel Mallet, " he said, "tell the soldiers to put their weapons undertheir left arms, points down. "

"Sire, " said the colonel, "is it not dangerous to act thus in presenceof troops whose sentiments we do not know, and whose first fire may beso fatal?"

"Mallet, tell them to put the weapons under their arms, " repeatedNapoleon. 

The order was obeyed. The two battalions faced each other, at shortpistol-shot, in absolute silence. Napoleon advanced alone towards theroyal troops. 

"Present arms!" he commanded. 

They obeyed, levelling their guns at their old commander. He advancedslowly, with impassive face. Reaching their front, he touched his capand saluted. 

"Soldiers of the Fifth, " he cried, loudly, "do you recognize me?"

"Yes, yes, " came from some voices, filled with barely-repressedenthusiasm. 

"Soldiers, behold your general; behold your emperor, " he continued. "Letany of you who wishes to kill him, fire. "

Fire?--Their guns went to the earth; they flung themselves on theirknees before him, called him father, shed tears, shouted as if infrenzy, waved their shakos on their bayonets and sabres. 

"All is over, " said Napoleon to Bertrand and Drouet. "In ten days weshall be in the Tuileries. "

In a brief time the Emperor moved on, the king's regiment, now wearingthe tricolor cockade, following with his former troop. As they drew nearGrenoble throngs of peasantry gathered, with enthusiastic cheers. Another regiment approached, the seventh of the line, commanded byColonel de Labédoyère. He had taken the eagle of the regiment from achest, brandished his sword, and crying "Long live the Emperor! Thosewho love me follow me!" led the way from Grenoble. The whole regimentfollowed. Meeting Napoleon, the colonel and the Emperor sprang fromtheir horses and warmly embraced. 

"Colonel, " said Napoleon, "it is you who will replace me on the throne. "

It was night when they reached Grenoble. The royalist authorities hadclosed the gates, but the ramparts were thronged with men. The darknesswas profound, but Labédoyère called out loudly, --

"Soldiers, it is I, Labédoyère, colonel of the Seventh. We bring youNapoleon. He is yonder. It is for you to receive him and to repeat withus the rallying-cry of the former conquerors of Europe: Live theEmperor!"

His words were followed by a ringing shout from the ramparts. Many ranto the gates. Finding them closed and barred they furiously attackedthem with axes, while the peasants outside hammered on them as fiercely. Thus doubly assailed they soon gave way, and the stream of new-comersrushed in, torches and flambeaux illuminating the scene. Napoleon had nolittle difficulty in making his way through the crowd, which wasdelirious with joy, and reaching an inn, the Three Dauphins, where hedesigned to pass the night. 

On the 9th he left Grenoble, followed by six thousand of his oldsoldiers. His march was an ovation. He reached Lyons on the 10th. Several regiments had been collected here to oppose him, but they alltrampled the white cockade of the king underfoot, assumed the tricolor, and fraternized with the Emperor's troops. 

Marshal Ney was the only hope left to the royalists. He had, they said, promised Louis XVIII. To bring back Napoleon in an iron cage. This hopevanished when Ney issued a proclamation beginning, "The cause of theBourbons is lost forever;" which was followed, on March 18, by hisembracing the Emperor openly at Auxerre. 

All was over for Louis XVIII. Near midnight of March 19 some travellingcarriages rolled away from the court-yard of the Touileries in a torrentof rain, and amid a furious wind-storm that extinguished the carriagelights. It was Louis XVIII. Going into exile. On the 20th, at nineo'clock in the evening, the Emperor Napoleon drove through the streetsof Paris towards the abandoned palace through hosts of shouting soldiersand a population that was wild with joy. The officers tore him from hiscarriage and carried him on their arms, kissing his hands, embracing hisold gray overcoat, not letting his feet touch ground till they had bornehim to the foot of the grand stairway of the Tuileries. 

It was twenty days since he had landed, and France was his, the people, the soldiers, alike mad with delight, none, to all appearance, dreamingof what renewed miseries this ill-omened return of their worshippedemperor meant. 

It meant, as we now know, bloodshed, slaughter, and ruin; it meantWaterloo and St. Helena; it meant a hundred days of renewed empire, andthen the final end of the power of the great conqueror. On August 7, less than five months from the date of the triumphant entry to theTuileries, Napoleon stepped on board the British frigate Northumberland, to be borne to the far-off isle of St. Helena, his future home. 

Twenty-five years after the date of these events Napoleon returned againto France, but under very different auspices from those described. Onthe 29th of November, 1840, there anchored at Cherbourg, amid thesalutes of forts and ships, a French war-vessel called the Belle Poule, on which were the mortal remains of the great conqueror, long sinceconquered by death, and now brought back to the land over which he hadso long reigned. On December 8 the coffin was transferred to the steamerNormandie, amid a salute of two thousand guns, and taken by it to theSeine. On December 15 the coffin, placed on a splendid car drawn bysixteen horses, moved in solemn procession through the streets of Paris, attended by the noblest escort the city could provide, and passingthrough avenues thronged with adoring multitudes, who forgot theinjuries the great soldier had done to France and remembered only hisfame. The funeral train was received by King Louis Philippe, the royalfamily, and all the high dignitaries of the government at the Church ofthe Invalides, in which a noble and worthy final resting-place had beenprepared for the corpse of the once mighty emperor. "Napoleon, " saysBourrienne, "had again and finally conquered. While every throne inEurope was shaking, the Great Conqueror came to claim and receive fromposterity the crown for which he had sacrificed so much. In theInvalides the Emperor had at last found a resting-place, 'by the banksof the Seine, among the French people whom he had loved so well. '"

_THE PRUSSIAN WAR AND THE PARIS COMMUNE. _

There have been two critical periods in the story of France in whichhistory was made at a rate of rapidity rarely equalled in the history ofthe world. The first of these was the era of the Revolution and theNapoleonic régime, which has no parallel among human events in therapidity and momentous gravity of its changes. The second was the periodfrom August, 1870, to the summer of 1871, less than a year in length, yet crowded with important events to an unprecedented degree. 

Within that year was fought a great war between France and Germany, inwhich the military power of France, in an incredibly brief period, wasutterly overthrown, and that nation left at the mercy of its opponent. Within the same period the second empire of France came to a sudden anddisastrous end, and a republic, the third in French history, was builtupon its ruins. Simultaneously a new and powerful empire was founded, that of Germany, the palace at Versailles being the scene of this highlyimportant change in the political conditions of Europe. During thisperiod also a political revolution took place in Italy, in consequenceof the French war, and Paris sustained two sieges; the first by theGerman army; the second and most bitter by the French themselves, fighting against a mob of fanatical revolutionists and ending in afrightful saturnalia of murder, ruin and revenge. 

Has there ever been a year in the world's history more crowded withmomentous events? Within that year the political status of France, Germany, and Italy was transformed, the late emperor of France suddenlyfound himself a throneless fugitive, and the people of Paris passedthrough an experience unparalleled in the diversified history of thatancient city. Of all the sieges to which Paris has been subjected, farthe strangest was that in which the scum of the city, miscalled thecommune, fought with tiger-like ferocity against the forces of thenewly-formed republic, filled with the revengeful and murderous spiritwhich had inspired the masses in the first revolution. 

It is the story of this tragic interlude which we propose here to tell, premising with a brief résumé of the events which led up to it. 

Louis Napoleon, posing as Emperor Napoleon III. Of France, a positionwhich he had been enabled to gain through the glamour of the name of hisfamous uncle, was infected throughout his reign with the desire toemulate the deeds of the great Napoleon. He hoped to shine as one of themilitary stars of Europe, and was encouraged by the success of the warwhich he fomented in Italy. His second effort in this direction was theinvasion of Mexico and the attempt to establish an empire, under histutelage, upon American soil. In this he ran counter to the MonroeDoctrine and the power of the United States and was forced to retirewith his feathers scorched and his prestige sadly diminished. 

But what he probably proposed to make the great military triumph of hisreign came in 1870, when, on a flimsy pretence, a misunderstanding whichcalled only for diplomatic adjustment, he suddenly declared war againstGermany and rashly put his armies into the field to cope with thatpowerful rival. Never had there been a more unwise or suicidalproceeding. In shameful ignorance of the real condition of the army, which he was made to believe was "five times ready, " "ready to the lastgaiter button, " he marshalled against the thoroughly prepared militarypower of Germany an army ill-organized, ill-supplied, without properreserves, and led by commanders of appalling incapacity. Maps and planswere bad; strategy was an unknown quantity; no study had been made ofthe use of the railway in war; almost everything except courage waslacking, and courage without leadership was hopeless against thethoroughly drilled and supplied German army and the science of YonMoltke, the great German strategist. 

Had it been the first Napoleon, he would have made himself surepersonally as to "the last gaiter button" and all other details, butwith sublime self-satisfaction and inane blindness the Second Napoleonput himself at the head of this unready army, inspired apparently withthe "on to Berlin" confidence of the cheering Parisian mob. 

He was to be awakened suddenly and painfully from his dream of victoryand military fame. The first collision of the two armies took place onAugust 2. On September 2, just one month later, the derelict emperor wasa prisoner of war in the hands of the King of Prussia, together with hisarmy of more than 80, 000 men. He had proved an utter failure as acommander, a mere encumbrance, without a plan of campaign, a conceptionof leadership, or an idea of strategic movements. Recognizing, when toolate, his incapacity, he had resigned the general command to MarshalBazaine, who withdrew with a large army into Metz, and subsequently, ina northward movement for Bazaine's relief, he found himself surroundedat Sedan by an irresistible force and was obliged to surrender to savehis army from impending annihilation. 

Such was the first act in this lugubrious drama. Two days later, onSeptember 4, France was proclaimed a republic. Before the end of OctoberBazaine surrendered Metz to the Germans and his great army of 180, 000men was lost to France. The military force of France was vanishing withalarming rapidity. Another event of the period, of interest in thisconnection, was the loss of the temporal power of the pope, abovealluded to. The papacy had been defended by Napoleon III. Against theItalian revolutionists, and the withdrawal of the French force from Romeleft that city open to the army of Victor Emmanuel. It was occupied inSeptember and became the capital of the new kingdom of Italy. InDecember another important event took place, the King of Prussia beingproclaimed at Versailles the head of a new empire of Germany, whichembraced all the German states except Austria. 

Events of great moment, as may be seen, were occurring with startlingrapidity. Before the surrender of Bazaine the advance of the German armyhad appeared before Paris and on September 19 the siege of that citybegan. Soon it was so closely invested that food could not enter and theonly way out was by balloon. The German bombardment did little damage tothe great city, which was defended obstinately. But the Germans had apowerful ally within, where the grisly demon of famine threatened thedefenders. 

Meanwhile Gambetta, the most ardent patriot left to France, was seekingwith nervous energy to raise fresh armies in the south; Garibaldi, hissword free from duty in Italy, had come to the aid of France; allpatriots were called to the ranks and a struggle of some importance tookplace. But all this practically ceased on the 28th of January, 1871, when an armistice brought the hopeless resistance of Paris to an end. Almost at once the war died out on all sides, the Germans occupied allthe forts around Paris, and France lay at the mercy of Germany, after astruggle of six months' duration. 

The first siege of Paris had terminated; a second and more desperatelycontested one was at hand. On March 13 the German army around Paris, which had been given the triumph of a march into the conquered city, set out on its return home and the authorities of the new republicprepared to take possession of their freed capital. 

They were to find the task one of unlooked-for difficulty. On March 18the revolutionary element of the city rose _en masse_, organized underthe name of the Commune, took possession of Paris, and prepared todefend it to the death against the leaders of the new-formed government, whom they contemned as aristocrats. 

The story of the Commune is a shameful and terrible one. Beginning in afraternization of the National Guard with the mob, its advent was sealedwith murder. In a contest on the 18th for the possession of some cannonGeneral Lecomte ordered his men to fire on the insurgents. They refused. A gentleman standing in a crowd of angry men on the street corner said:"General Lecomte is right. " He was immediately seized and quicklyrecognised as General Clément Thomas, a brave officer who had donegallant service during the siege. This sufficed him nothing with themob. He and General Lecomte were at once dragged away to prison. At 4o'clock that same day they were brought out by a party of the insurgentNational Guards, and after a mock trial were taken to a walled enclosureand shot down in cold blood. They were the first victims of the mob, which had early begun to burn its bridges behind it. 

On the following day the leaders of the outbreak met at theHôtel-de-Ville. They all belonged to the International, a secret societyformed for the abolition of property, religion, rulers, government, andthe upper classes, and the reduction of the community to a state ofanarchy or something resembling it. They called upon the citizens tomeet in their sections and elect a commune--the new form of governmentadvocated by the Anarchists, in which destruction of all existinginstitutions was to precede reconstruction from the bottom upwards. 

Events now moved rapidly. A delegation from the few men of note left inParis proceeded to Versailles, where the government of the republic wasin session, and demanded that special municipal rights should be givento the people of Paris. The refusal of this request precipitated theinsurrection. The furious people at once elected a revolutionarygovernment, choosing the most extreme of the revolutionists, whoorganized what was called the Council of the Commune. This consisted ofeighty members, of varied nationality, seventy of them never having beenheard of in Paris before. They had risen from the bottom of the deep seaof anarchy to assume control. 

On the 3d of April the civil war broke out--Paris against Versailles, the army under the Assembly of the republic against the National Guardin sympathy with the Commune. The Germans, who still held two of theforts in the vicinity of Paris, looked grimly on at the tragedy about tobe played upon the stage which their hands had erected. 

The war began with murder. Dr. Pasquier, a distinguished surgeon, bearing a flag of truce, met two National Guards on the bridge ofCourbevoie, near Neuilly, where the body of Napoleon had been broughtashore thirty years before. After a brief debate one of the soldiersended the colloquy by blowing out the doctor's brains. As soon asGeneral Vinoy, in command of the army of order, heard of this murderousact he ordered the guns of Fort Varélien to be turned upon the city. 

On the following morning five columns of the troops of the Communemarched out to take the fort, lured by the confident impression that thesoldiers under Vinoy would fraternize with them. They were mistaken. Theguns of Fort Varélien hurled death-dealing missiles into their columnsand they were quickly in full retreat. Flourens, a scientist of fame whohad joined their ranks, fell dead. Duval, one of their generals, wascaptured and was quickly shot as a traitor. The other leaders were atonce sent to prison by the angry Council on their return and the Communeordered that Paris should be filled with barricades. 

Though the Commune had imprisoned the unsuccessful generals, they wereinfuriated at the execution of General Duval and sought in thedignitaries of the church the most exalted hostages they could findagainst such summary acts. On the night of the 6th Monseigneur Darboy, Archbishop of Paris, his chaplain, and eight other priests werearrested. The curé of the Madeleine and his vicar had before beenseized. Other priests were later taken into custody and the prison atMazas was well filled with these so-called hostages. The fury of theleaders of the revolt led them to other excesses against religion, thechurches being closed, the arms cut from the crosses, and red flags hungin their stead. 

The outrages were not confined to the church. In the words of a residentof Paris: "The motto of the Commune soon became fraternity of that sortwhich means arrest of each other. " Before the Council was two weeks oldmany of its leading members had found their way to prison. Dissensionshad broken out in its midst, and the stronger victimized the weaker. 

By April 7 a personage calling himself General Cluseret had, as some oneexpressed it, "swallowed up the Commune. " He called himself an American, and had been in the Union service in the American civil war, but no oneknew where he was born. He had served in the Chasseurs d'Afrique and inthe Papal Zouaves, and after the fall of the Commune escaped from Parisand became a general of the Fenians, nearly capturing Chester Castle intheir service. 

This man became absolute dictator over the revolted city, with its twomillion of inhabitants; yet after three weeks of this dictatorial rulehis star declined and he found himself in prison at Mazas, to which hehad sent so many others. 

Leaving these details for the present, we must return to the war, whichwas soon in full blast. The assault of April 4 repulsed, the guns ofFort Varélien were opened upon the city and the second bombardment ofParis in that memorable year began. The guns of its friends were moredestructive than those of its foes, the forts taking part in thebombardment being much nearer the centre of the city. Their shellsdamaged the Arch of Triumph, which the Prussians had spared; they fellalike on homes, public buildings and churches; alike on men, women andchildren, friend and foe. 

Under order of General Cluseret, the dictator of the Commune, every manwas ordered to take part in the defence of the city. His neighbors wererequired to see that he did so and to arrest him if he showed adisposition to decline. For the seventy-three days that the power of theCommune lasted Paris was a veritable pandemonium, the fighting, thearrests, the bombardment keeping the excitement at an intense pitch. Thepeople deserted the streets, which were silent and empty, except for thesoldiers of the Commune--a disorderly crew in motley uniforms--themovement of ammunition wagons, and the other scenes incident to a stateof war. But the usual swarming life of Paris had vanished. There was nomovement, scarcely any sound. The shop-windows were shut, many of themboarded up, red flags hanging from a few, but as a rule the verybuildings seemed dead. 

This is the story told by one observer, but another--perhaps at adifferent period of the bombardment--speaks of well-dressed people"loitering in the boulevards as if nothing were going on. The cafés, indeed, were ordered to close their doors at midnight, but behind closedshutters went on gambling, drinking and debauchery. After spending ariotous night, fast men and women considered it a joke to drive out tothe Arch of Triumph and see how the fight was going on. "

On the 9th of April the army of Versailles began to make active assaultsupon the forts held by the soldiers of the Commune, and with such effectthat confusion and dismay quickly pervaded its councils. As the strugglewent on the fury and spirit of retaliation of the insurgents increased. New hostages were arrested, the palace of the archbishop was pillaged, and in the first week of May the destruction of the house of M. Thiers, the president of the republic, was decreed. It was a beautiful mansion, filled with objects of art and valuable documents used by him in writinghis historical works. Some of these were removed, but most of them wereconsumed by the flames. On the 12th of May the Commune, now inspired bythe spirit of destruction, ordered the levelling of the famous column inthe Place Vendôme, describing it as a symbol of brute force and falseglory. 

This famous column, one hundred and thirty-five feet high, formed on themodel of Trajan's column at Rome, had been erected by Napoleon I. , castfrom cannon taken from his foes, and surmounted by a statue of Napoleonin his imperial robes. On May 16 this proud work of art fell, beingpulled down with a tremendous crash by the aid of ropes fastened to itsupper part. It is pleasant to be able to state that this fine work ofart has been restored. Its attempted destruction filled the army ofVersailles with a spirit of revenge, which led them, on their enteringParis a few days later, to deal with the insurrectionists with brutaland merciless energy. They had other and abundant cause for thisfeeling, as the reader will perceive in the recital of the later deedsof the desperate Commune. 

By the date now reached the army of order was rapidly gaining ground. The fort of Vauves was taken; that of Mont Rouge was dismantled;breaches were opened in the barricades, and by the 20th of May the armywas in the streets and fighting its way onward against a desperatedefence. The carnage was frightful; Dambrowski, a Pole and the only ablegeneral of the Commune, was killed; prisoners on both sides were shotdown without mercy; there were barricades in almost every street andthese were hotly defended, the courage of despair in their defendersmaking the progress of the besieging army a slow and bloody one. 

The rest of the story is all blood and horror. The desperate leaders ofthe Commune determined that, if they must perish, Paris should be theirfuneral pyre. On the night of May 24 the city became a scene ofincendiary rage. The Hôtel-de-Ville was in flames; the Palace of theTuileries was burning like a great furnace; the Palace of the Legion ofHonor, the Ministry of War, the Treasury were lurid volcanoes of flames;on all sides the torch had been applied. 

Not only these great public buildings, but many private houses wereconsigned to the flames. All the sewers beneath Paris had been strewnwith torpedoes, bombs, and inflammable materials, connected withelectric wires, and the catacombs in the eastern quarter of the citywere similarly prepared. It was the intention of the desperaterevolutionists to blow up the city, but fortunately, before theirpreparations were completed, the army of order was in control andsappers and miners were sent underground to cut the electric wiresleading to these mines of death-dealing explosives. 

But the capture of the city came too late to save the lives of many ofthe "hostages" whom the Commune had sent to prison. Not content withburning the architectural monuments of the city, as the last effort ofbaffled rage they condemned these innocent victims of their wrath todeath. On Wednesday, May 24, the venerable archbishop and five others ofthe imprisoned priests were taken from their cells and shot to death. OnThursday fifty more, priests and others, were similarly slaughtered. 

A large number of captives remained shut up in the prison of LaRoquette, around which, on Saturday the 27th, a yelling crowd gathered, thirsting for their lives. They, knowing that their rescuers werefighting within the city, determined to defend themselves and convertthe prison into a fortress. Poiret, one of the warders, horrified bywhat had already been done, was the leader in the resolution, in whichhe was joined by the Abbé Lamazan, who called out:

"Don't let us be shot, my friends; let us defend ourselves. Trust inGod; he is on our side. "

The _sergents de ville_, captives in the story below, had made the sameresolution. They had no arms, but they barricaded the doors and resolvedto defend themselves from the murderous throng outside, howling fortheir blood. Two guns and a mortar had been brought by the mob to fireon the prison and the moment was critical. 

Suddenly there came a lull in the uproar. Something had taken place. Ina few minutes more the crowd broke up and dispersed, dragging away theguns they had brought. Word had reached them that the Council had fledfrom its headquarters to Belleville and a sudden panic seized the mob. Yet that night they returned, howling and cursing, while a barricadenear by was still held by the insurgents. But with the early dawn thiswas abandoned, the mob melted away, and soon after a batallion ofrescuers marched up and took possession of the prison. The captives weresaved. Their resistance, seemingly so desperate, had proved successful. That day, Sunday, May 28, ended the rule of the Commune. The Versaillestroops, who had been fighting their way steadily from street to streetsince the 21st, completed their work, the whole great city was in theirhands, and the rule of the Commune was over. 

The Commune had left devastation behind it. On every side weresmoldering ruins, including the great municipal buildings, the lawcourts, and other public edifices, two theatres, eight whole streets, and innumerable private houses, while the dead bodies of its victims laywhere they had been shot down. The soldiers, infuriated by the ruinwhich they beheld on all sides, were savage in their revenge. Every manseized whose hands were black with powder was instantly shot, manyinnocent persons perishing, since numbers had been forced to thebarricades. The story of what took place during those bloody days ofretribution is too long to tell, and it must suffice to sum it up in thefrightful death roll of fourteen thousand persons--six thousand of themkilled in open fight, eight thousand executed in bitter revenge. 

The executions over, the prisons were filled to bursting. Count Orsitells us that six hundred men were locked up in the wine cellars ofVersailles, forty-five feet underground. He himself, falsely seizedthrough the malice of an enemy, spent ten days in this horrible placeamid the scum of the insurgents. As for the members of the Council ofthe Commune, some escaped, some were executed, others were transportedto New Caledonia, a lonely isle in the far Pacific--from which they weresubsequently freed when the hot blood of that year of revengefulretribution cooled down. 

Thus ends the remarkable story of that year of war, insurrection, anddevastation, the whole due to the overweening ambition of one man, LouisNapoleon, who wished to shine as a great conqueror. The destiny ofFrance lay in his hand alone. He blindly decided upon war. The resultwas the humiliation of France, the death of thousands of her sons, theoverthrow of her government, the frightful saturnalia of the rule of theCommune, and the loss to France of two of her provinces, those of Alsaceand Lorraine, and a war indemnity of one thousand million dollars. Suchterrors march in the train of blind and unrestrained ambition. 

THE END. 

[Illustration: FRIEDLAND. ]

[Illustration: COLUMN OF JULY, PLACE DE LA BASTILLE. ]

[Illustration: JOAN OF ARC AT ORLEANS. ]

[Illustration: A DUEL OF KNIGHTS]

[Illustration: LOUIS XI. ]

[Illustration: THE DUKE OF GUISE AT THE FRENCH COURT. ]

[Illustration: EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF HENRY IV. ]

[Illustration: CHAMBER OF MARY DE' MEDICI. ]

[Illustration: CATHEDRAL OF NOTRE DAME. PARIS. ]

[Illustration: THE VOW OF CLOVIS. ]

[Illustration: VOLTAIRE'S LAST VISIT TO PARIS. ]

[Illustration: MARIE ANTOINETTE AND HER CHILDREN. ]

[Illustration: THE LAST VICTIMS OF THE REIGN OF TERROR. ]

[Illustration: THE CITY OF MOSCOW. ]

[Illustration: ARC DE TRIOMPHE AND CHAMPS ELYSÉES. PARIS. ]

[Illustration: NAPOLEON'S RETURN FROM ELBA. ]

[Illustration: SCENE FROM THE FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR. ]

[Illustration: THE CORONATION OF CHARLEMAGNE. ]

[Illustration: CITY OF ORLEANS. ]

[Illustration: A MARRIAGE FEAST IN BRITTANY. ]