On the confines of Normandy, towards that part of Maine which joins
the Orleanois, and nearly on a straight line between Mortagne and
Orleans, lies a track of wild common land, unfit for cultivation. It
is now covered with low bushes, stunted trees, gorse, fern, and
brushwood, though often presenting patches of short grass, which serve
as pasture-ground for the sheep and cattle of the neighbouring
villages, which are few and far between.
The extent of this somewhat dreary district is about five miles in one
direction and six in another, and it is broken by hill and dale, deep
pits and quarries, rushy pools and swamps, over which at night hovers
the will-o'-the-wisp, while every now and then a tall beech or wide
spreading oak attests the existence in former days of an extensive
forest, now only traditionary. On one of the hills towards Chartres
appear the ruins of an old castle, which, though not referable to any
very remote period, must have been a place of some strength, and below
is a little hamlet, with a small church, containing several curious
monuments, where knights are seen stretched in well sculptured armour,
and leaguers in starched ruffs and slashed pourpoints, lie recumbent
in grey stone.
Here, however, in times not very long gone, stretched one of those
forests for which France was once famous, though the woods had been
cut down some years before the Revolution, and, converted into gold,
had furnished many a luxurious banquet, or been spent in revelry and
ostentation. It never, indeed, was very extensive, when compared with
many of the forests that surrounded it, but still, towards the end of
the sixteenth century it possessed scenes of wild beauty rarely to be
met with, and some of the finest trees in the country. Through a
portion of the wood ran one of the many windings of the river Huisne;
and the ground being hilly, as I have said, from the principal
eminences, the winding course of that stream might be discovered for
several miles, while here and there many a château, or _maison forte_,
appeared in sight, filled with branches of the families of Sourdis,
Estrées, Chazeul, de Harault, Liancourt, and others.
One or two village spires also graced the scene, but the eye could
catch no town of any great magnitude, which was probably one of the
reasons why that district had suffered less severely during the wars
of the league than almost any other in France. Several causes,
however, had combined to obtain for it this happy immunity. No
Protestants were to be found in the immediate neighbourhood, and
though all the gentlemen possessing property on the banks of the river
were steady Catholics, yet they were in general attached to the cause
of order and loyalty, and, while withheld by a feeling of bigotry from
supporting in arms a monarch whom they considered a heretic, were
unwilling to give the slightest aid to a faction, which they well knew
had anything at heart but the maintenance of a religion which they
used as a pretext for rebellion.
Thus the tide of war had rolled up the valleys of the Seine and of the
Loire; Orleans had been a scene of strife and bloodshed; Alençon had
been taken and retaken more than once; Dreux and Chartres had seen
armies frequently under their walls; but the track I speak of, with
the country round for several miles, had escaped the scourge of civil
contention, and a truce, or convention, existed amongst the noblemen
of that part of the country, by virtue of which each enjoyed his own
in peace with his neighbours, and feared little the approach of
hostile armies, as the ground was unfavourable to military evolutions;
and nothing was to be obtained by marching through a country where no
wealthy cities afforded an object either to cupidity or ambition.
When any great event was imminent, indeed, and the fortunes of France
seemed to hang upon the result of an approaching battle, small bands
of armed men hurrying up to join this force or that, would cross the
district, carefully watched by the retainers of the different lords in
the vicinity of the forest in order to prevent any outrage, and often
the little village church would be thronged with soldiery, who in a
few days after left their bones upon some bloody field; or at other
times the wild hymns of the Huguenots would rise up at nightfall from
the woodlands, in a strain of strange and scarcely earthly harmony.
Then too, in the open field, the Calvinistic preacher would harangue
his stern and determined brethren in language full of fiery
enthusiasm, and often the Roman Catholic peasant would pause to
listen, and go away almost convinced that the traditions to which he
had so long clung were false and superstitious.
Few acts of violence, however, were heard of; and when any of the many
bands of plunderers, who taking advantage of the anarchy of the times,
scoured the country, pillaging and oppressing both parties alike,
appeared in the woods and fields, the gentry, making common cause
against them, soon drove them out to carry on their lawless trade
elsewhere. Some severe acts of retribution too had been practised on
those who were taken, and sometimes for weeks the old oaks were
decorated with the acorns of Tristan the Hermit, as a warning to
others of the same class to avoid the dangerous vicinity.
It was not wonderful, therefore, that, on a cold clear day, of the
frosty spring of the year 159-, a stout, homely man, about forty years
of age, dressed in a plain brown peasant's coat, with a black cloak
and large riding boots, should ride along upon a strong bay horse,
apparently quite at his ease, though night was not far distant. His
dress and his whole appearance bespoke him a farmer well to do in the
world; but farmers in those days were not above any of the acts
required by their calling; and over the crupper of the horse was
thrown a large sack of corn, either for sale or for provender.
I have said that the good peasant appeared quite at his ease, and so
indeed he was, utterly unconscious of danger; but that did not imply
that he went unprepared for defence, for those were times when such
precautions had become habitual with all men. The very labourer went
to the field with pike, or large knife, or arquebuse, if he could get
it, and the good man we speak of had a long, broad, straight sword,
with iron hilt and clasps, by his side, and two pistols at his
saddle-bow. He was a strong, and seemingly an active man, too,
though of no very bulky proportions, and somewhat short in stature;
and there was an air of determination and vigour about him which would
have made a single opponent think twice before he attacked him.
Moreover, his countenance displayed a good deal of cool self-possessed
_nonchalance_, if I may be permitted for once to use a foreign word,
which showed that he was not one to sell either his corn or his life
very cheap, and he rode his horse like one well accustomed to its
back, and who found no difficulty in managing it at his will.
The evening, though, as I have said, very cold, was beautifully clear;
the western sky was all gold and sunshine, the blades of grass, and
the leaves that still hung upon the branches--which, like the
ungrateful world, had cast off so many of their green companions in
the dull moment of adversity--were all white with frost, and the road,
though somewhat sandy in its materials, was as hard as adamant.
With a quick habitual motion of the eyes, the farmer glanced from
right to left, marking everything around him as he advanced, and once,
where the scene was more open and unencumbered with trees, halted for
an instant and looked round. He still showed the careless confidence
of his heart by humming from time to time snatches of a common song of
the day, and once or twice laughed lightly at some thoughts which were
passing in his own mind. His features were good, though somewhat too
strongly marked, his eyes bright, and clear, his complexion ruddy with
health and exposure, and his limbs well knit and strong from labour
and hard exercise.
At length the worthy man, trotting on at no very quick pace, began to
descend the side of one of the hills of the forest and entered a sort
of wild dell, where small broken spots of turf were interspersed with
clumps of younger trees, principally ashes and elms, while the older
tenants of the wood hung upon the slopes higher up. At the bottom was
a small stream of very clear water, flowing on towards the Huisne,
through water-cresses and other plants of the brook, but now nearly
frozen over, though towards the mid-course the quickness of the
current, and perhaps the depth from which the fountain rose at no
great distance, kept the water free from ice. A little wooden bridge
spanned it over, leaving room for two horses abreast, but the old and
congealed ruts at the side showed that the carts, which occasionally
came along the road, passed through the stream itself; and some
vehicle which had traversed the valley not long before had so far
broken away the frozen surface of the rivulet, that the traveller had
clear space to let his horse drink, before he crossed the bridge.
As he paused to do so, however, and slackened his rein for that
purpose, he gazed round, and his eyes were quickly attracted by the
sight of some objects not very pleasant to contemplate for a wayfarer
in those days. About two hundred yards farther down the stream sat a
party of some eight or nine men, with their horses tied by the foot,
and feeding on the frosty grass as well as they could. Though the
number was so small, a cornet, or ensign of a troop of cavalry, rested
against a tree, for the ground was too hard to plant it in the earth
in the usual manner; and the steel caps, corslets, and arms which each
man bore, plainly showed the farmer that one of the wandering bands of
soldiery, who were constantly marching hither and thither, to plunder
or to fight, as the case might be, was now before him.
From the force they seemed to muster, the good farmer at once
concluded that such an inefficient body was more likely to be engaged
in a marauding expedition than in a march to join either the army of
the King or the Duke of Mayenne; but the green and red scarfs which
they wore evinced that, when engaged in regular military operations,
it was to the party of the latter they were attached, though the
district in which they now were generally favoured the royal cause.
However, as he himself, whatever his private opinions might be, bore
no distinctive signs of either faction about him the traveller hoped
that he might be suffered to pass unmolested, especially as his dress
and appearance offered no great show of wealth; and, therefore,
without displaying the slightest concern or apprehension, he suffered
his horse to conclude his draught, and then was preparing to resume
his journey, when, after a brief consultation, one of the soldiers
advanced at a quick pace on foot, and planted himself on the opposite
side of the bridge, while another ran higher up the hill, and the rest
rose slowly from the ground, and began to untie their horses.
All these movements were remarked by the traveller; but still he
maintained his air of easy carelessness till the soldier who had
placed himself opposite advanced a step or two towards him,
exclaiming, in an impatient tone, as if irritated by his apathy, "_Qui
vive?_"
The farmer was not without his reply, however, though, to say "Long
live the king," which he might be inclined to do, would have been a
dangerous experiment, and he therefore replied, without the least
hesitation, "_Vive la France!_"
"Come, come, master peasant, that will not do," exclaimed the other,
advancing upon him, pistol in hand; "thou art some accursed _Politic!_
Are you for the Holy Union or Henry of Bourbon?"
"Nay, good Sir, do not be angry," replied the farmer; "I am a poor man
of no party. I have nothing to do with these matters at present, and
mind only my own concerns."
"If thou art of no party," said the soldier, "thou art an enemy to
both. So, get off thy horse; I have a fancy for him."
"Nay, I pray you," cried the other, "do not take my beast. How am I to
carry my corn?"
"We will save you that trouble," rejoined the soldier, with the
courtesy usual on such occasions; "and if you have any weight of gold
upon you, we will deliver you of that burden also. So, get off at
once, Master What's-your-name, or I will send you off with a
pistol-shot."
"My name is Chasseron," answered the peasant, "and a name well known
for wronging no man; but if I must get off and part with my poor
beast, I pray you help me down with the corn, for I cannot dismount
till it is away.--But if you will leave me the nag," he added, "I will
pay you his full value, if you will come to my place. He and I have
been old friends, and I would fain not part with him."
"Get down! get down!" cried the soldier impatiently. "Clumsy boor,
can't you dismount with a sack behind you?" and at the same moment he
came nearer and laid his hand upon the load.
The instant he did so, the farmer thrust his strong hand between his
cuirass and his neck, half strangling him with his large knuckles; and
with his right drawing a pistol from his saddle-bow, he brought the
muzzle close to his ear, exclaiming, "Now, master, I see you have some
command, by your scarf. So if the way be not cleared very speedily,
you shall go up or down as the case may be, without any brains in your
skull. I've got one life under my fist, and they can but take one in
return, so now we shall see how they love you. Don't struggle, or you
shall soon struggle no more; but turn round, tell them to get out of
the way, and then march on with me to the top of hill."
"I can't turn," said the soldier, in a rueful tone.
"Oh, then, I'll turn you," answered Chasseron with a laugh; and
without quitting his hold, he whirled his adversary round with
prodigious strength, lifting him nearly off the ground as he did so.
"Now drop your pistol," he continued. "Drop it this instant!"
The man did so; and, touching his horse gently with his heel, the
stout farmer put him into a slow walk, while several of the marauders
ran forward to see what was going on.
"Bid them back!" cried Chasseron, jogging his companion's head with
the muzzle of his weapon. "Bid them back, or you are a dead man,
without shrift."
"Keep off! keep off, Beauvois," cried his adversary. "Keep off, La
Motte, or by the Holy Virgin he will kill me!"
"That I will," muttered Chasseron heartily; and the soldiers halted
for an instant as if to consult. But your good companion of those days
was not very careful of a comrade's life; and it seemed to be soon
agreed that the insolence of the farmer was not to be tolerated out of
any consideration for the gentleman in his hands. There was,
therefore, some cocking of pistols and looking at pans, with various
other indications of coming strife.
Chasseron, however, continued to advance, dragging his captive along,
and keeping a watchful eye upon all the proceedings of the enemy,
while the poor fellow in his hands shouted again and again to the hard
ears of his companions to hold back for God's sake. They on their part
paid little attention to his petitions; and, in a moment or two,
several of the soldiers began to creep closer, in order to get within
pistol-shot, while the rest mounted their horses as if to make an
attack on the rear of the enemy. No sooner had the foremost of those
on foot reached a fitting distance, than he began to take a deliberate
aim at the horseman; but the latter, muttering to himself, "This is
unpleasant, Pardie!" turned suddenly towards him, withdrew the pistol
from the ear of the fellow whom he held, levelled it at the other, and
fired. The man went down in a moment, his weapon discharging itself in
the air as he fell.
At the same time the captive struggled hard in the hands of Chasseron,
and, by a sudden effort, grasped his dagger to stab him before he
could resist. But the farmer was still quicker in his movements, his
other pistol was drawn in an instant and once more at his friend's
head, and while two shots from the enemy passed close to him, one
grazing his arm, the other going through his hat, he exclaimed, "Throw
down the _dague_, or you are a dead man!"
The order was obeyed in an instant; but it was repeated with regard to
the sword, which was also cast to the ground at a word; and then to
the surprise of the Leaguer, he was instantly set free.
"Now," cried Chasseron, "I give you your life. Run back as hard as you
can to your comrades; and, if you have any command over them, bid them
leave off attacking a man, who never did them any harm."
His prisoner required not two biddings to take to his heels; and the
good farmer, setting spurs to his horse, galloped up the hill as hard
as he could go, while the men who had mounted pursued him, at full
speed, firing at him as he went, and the soldier, who had at first ran
on upon the road, cast himself in the way, prepared to stop his
advance.
As it was now a flight and pursuit, one moment was a matter of life
and death to the farmer; and as he rode on upon the enemy before him,
he leveled his remaining pistol and fired. Though now at full speed,
his aim was not less true than before; but the ball striking his
adversary's steel cap in an oblique direction, glanced off without
wounding him, and the soldier fired in turn without effect. Drawing
his sword, the farmer galloped on; but he had to do with a resolute
and powerful opponent in the man who barred the way; the others were
coming up at a furious pace, and the life of poor Master Chasseron was
in no light peril, when suddenly a party of four horsemen, well
mounted and armed, appeared on the top of the hill, riding quickly, as
if attracted by the report of the firearms.
Now they might be friends, or they might be enemies; but Chasseron
determined to look upon them as the former, till they proved
themselves otherwise; and, waving his hand towards them, he cried,
"Help! help! Hurrah!" and, as his antagonist in front turned to see
who they were, he let fall a blow on his cap, which brought him on his
knee. The farmer was obliged instantly to wheel, however, to defend
himself against those who followed; and with wonderful strength and
agility he crossed swords with one, threw his discharged pistol at the
face of another, knocking out some of his front teeth, and watched a
third, who was somewhat behind.
However unequal might be the combat, he maintained it gallantly, while
the appearance of the fresh party, now galloping down at full speed,
made his enemies hesitate in their operations. Nor was the cry of
"Vive le Roy!" which came from the advancing cavaliers, nor the sight
of the white scarfs with which they were decorated, calculated to
reassure the Leaguers. The men who had remained below on foot,
however, now rushed up; and, withdrawing from the attack upon the
farmer to meet the more honourable adversaries who were by this time
close upon them, they attempted to give some little array to their
front, and to recharge their pistols.
But before this could be done, the new comers were amongst them;
Chasseron turned to give his powerful aid; white scarfs and green were
mingled together in a moment; and, after a brief struggle, the
Leaguers were driven down into the valley with the loss of two of
their number. After attempting to make a stand at the bridge they were
put to flight; and springing from their horses, the men who had
mounted followed the example of those on foot, and took refuge in the
wood, whither the victors did not think fit to pursue them. As soon as
it was clear that resistance had ceased, the successful party halted
by the stream, surrounding the good peasant with whom the strife
began; while he, on his part, hat in hand, thanked them heartily for
his deliverance.
"Parbleu!" he exclaimed, "if you had not come up, Monsieur, I should
have lost my wheat and my money too. I had killed one of them, and
might have got the better of two more; but I do not think I could have
managed all the seven."
These words were addressed to a young gentleman apparently not more
than one or two and twenty years of age. His complexion was pale, but
clear; his eyes dark and thoughtful; his deep brown hair waving from
under his hat, for he wore no defensive arms, and his short beard
curling round his mouth and chin. All the features of his face were
remarkably fine and delicate, but the forehead was broad and high, and
the eyebrows strongly marked. His whole air, and the expression of his
countenance, were grave and thoughtful; and although he had led the
others in their charge with gallant determination, yet it had been
with calm coolness which displayed not the slightest sign of vehemence
or emotion. The quick-eyed farmer had remarked also that he had
contented himself with driving back the enemy, and defending his own
person, without striking at any one or using the pistols with which
his saddle-bow was garnished. In person he was tall and well made,
though neither much above the ordinary height, nor apparently
particularly robust. His carriage, however, was graceful; and he sat
his horse with ease and power, managing it during the combat as if
well accustomed to the tilt yard if not to the battle field, and
drawing it suddenly up by the side of the stream when he saw that the
other party had betaken themselves to the wood.
To the address of the good countryman he replied briefly, saying, "You
are very welcome, my good Sir; though I am not fond of such affairs,
nor much habituated to them. Neither are you, I should suppose; and
yet you seem to have defended yourself skilfully and vigorously.--Are
you not hurt?"
"Not a whit!" answered the farmer; "and as to defending myself, that's
an old trade of mine; I have borne arms in my day, though I have given
that occupation up for the present; but there is many a man in the
army remembers Michael Chasseron. I did not wish to hurt any one, if
they would have let me pass quietly; so what they have got is their
own fault. And now we may as well see to their baggage: there may be
curious things amongst it."
"That you may do if you like," replied the young gentleman; "neither I
nor my servants can have anything to do with plunder."
"Nor I either," answered the farmer; "I am always content with my own,
if I could but get it; but these good men may have other things upon
them besides gold and silver. Papers, young gentleman, papers which
may be serviceable to the King; and for those, by your good leave, I
will look, begging you to stand by me for a minute or two, lest our
friends come out from their hiding-holes again."
"Willingly, willingly," said his companion, "that is a laudable
object, and in that we will help you." Thus saying he dismounted
himself, and bidding two of his servants do the same, proceeded with
Chasseron to search the bodies of those who had fallen, three horses
which remained tied to a tree, and some baggage which had been left on
the ground where the Leaguers had been sitting.
In a small leather bag buckled on the back of one of the chargers was
found a packet of letters and papers regarding the movements of
various bodies of men, which the good farmer examined with a curious
eye. He then handed them to the young gentleman, who had come down to
his assistance, saying. "You had better take them to the King, Sir."
"Nay," replied the stranger, "take them yourself, my good friend; I am
not going to the camp; and if this intelligence be of importance you
may get rewarded."
The farmer shook his head, laughing. "His Majesty," he said, "has
scarcely money, I hear, to buy himself a dinner. But I will take them,
for if I don't go myself, I will ensure that he gets them; and now let
us look at that fellow I cut over the head upon the hill, if we leave
him there, he will be frozen to death tonight, and that would be
scarce christian."
On approaching the spot where the man lay, they found him still alive,
though bleeding and stunned by the blow he had received. After some
consultation they took him up and placed him across one of the
Leaguers' horses; and Chasseron then laid his hand upon his brow,
saying thoughtfully, "Where shall we take him? The nearest place is
Marzay, M. de Liancourt's château; but I don't rightly know whether
they will give me shelter there for the night; and this business has
stopped me so, that I shall not be able to get to Marolles before
dark."
"Oh I will answer for your welcome, my good friend," replied the young
gentleman, "I am going to Marzay myself; M. de Liancourt is my uncle."
"Well then, we will come along," replied the farmer, mounting his
horse again; and, the wounded man being given into the charge of one
of the gentleman's servants, they rode on up the hill, Chasseron
keeping in front with the leader of the party.
After they had gone about two hundred yards at a slow pace, the farmer
turned towards his companion, who had fallen into a silent reverie,
and looking in his face for a moment he said, "I could almost swear I
have seen you somewhere before; but yet I know that can't be, for it
is some fifteen years ago."
"I must have been a child then," replied the cavalier, "for I have yet
to see three-and-twenty."
"It was your father, I suppose," continued Chasseron, "he was then a
young man, and you are as like him as one leaf on a tree is to
another."
"What might be his name?" asked the stranger, with a faint smile;
"give me that, and I will soon tell you if it was my father."
"That is easily done," replied the farmer; "his name was Louis de la
Grange, Baron de Montigni. He was a good soldier, and a good man."
"You are right," said the young gentleman; "such was my father's name,
and such was his character; but he has been dead now more than ten
years."
"Ah so I heard," answered Chasseron; "we must all die, and the great
reaper generally takes the best ears, and leaves the worthless ones
standing. I am glad to see his son, however.--But how comes it, Sir,
that you are not with the King? Many a man younger than you fought at
Arques, I believe."
"That is not improbable," replied De Montigni; "but my uncle sent me
to Padua to study, and laid his injunctions on me to remain there.
Neither, to say the truth, did I feel much inclination to take part in
all this strife, at least so long as the present King was in arms
against his sovereign."
"Parbleu! I do not see how he could help it," cried Chasseron; "if he
could not believe the Catholic doctrines, and they held a dagger to
his throat and bade him swear he did believe them, he had but one
choice, either to tell a lie, or knock the dagger out of their hands."
"I do not blame him," replied the young nobleman, "and for that very
reason I felt unwilling either to take arms for my King or against
him. Besides, I have friends on both sides, am not very fond of
shedding blood, and, to tell the truth, my friend, I found better
society amongst the dead than amongst the living. I mea--"
"Oh, I understand what you mean," answered the farmer: "you mean you
loved your books better than hard blows."
The young gentleman's cheek grew somewhat red; "I am not afraid of
blows," he said, "and I think you have had no occasion to suppose so."
"Pardie, no!" replied Chasseron frankly; "and I should not blame you
if you were. I am a very peaceable man myself, when men will let me
alone; and I desire nothing but to enjoy my own in tranquillity; so if
you could find peace at Padua with Horace, and Cicero, and Virgil, you
were quite right to take it."
"You seem to know something of such studies," said the young Baron de
Montigni, with a smile.
"Oh yes," replied Chasseron: "I see you judge by externals alone, my
young friend; and because I am here a poor cultivator of the soil, you
think that I am a mere peasant; but I am of gentle blood like
yourself--hold my own land, what is left of it; and your friend Virgil
should have taught you that there is no degradation in agriculture; so
that, though I have for a time beaten my sword into a reaping-hook, I
am not a bit the worse gentleman for that."
"Nay, God forbid," replied the young gentleman, "I hold it one of the
most honourable employments a man can follow; but you must not censure
me for seeking occupation in my books, as you say, while you seek
occupation in your fields."
"There is some difference, however," replied Chasseron; "in living
with the dead as you say, you cut yourself off from doing good to the
living, which ought to be the great object of each man's life. You may
tell me, that amongst those great men, those sages of antiquity, you
can best learn how to live, and gain precepts to be applied to your
future conduct; but there is a danger in being too long a learner;
and, in studying precepts all your life, you may forget ever to apply
them. Each man has duties, and those of busy times like these are
active ones. One's king, one's country, one's friends, one's
relations, one's fellow-citizens, all have claims upon us which the
dead have not; and the exercise of our abilities affords lessons for
our conduct, to which all the maxims of philosophers and moralists are
but bubbles."
"Methinks," replied De Montigni, "that the cultivator of the soil is
not much more called into active life than the cultivator of letters."
"Your pardon, your pardon, worthy Sir," answered the farmer; "he is
always mingling with his fellow-creatures; he is ever ready to take
his part with the rest when need shall be; he is daily benefiting
mankind, and not spending his life in studying how; he is still
learning more, even while he is enacting much; and, by the practice of
what is right, he learns to do it well."
The young gentleman smiled gaily, but changed the subject, saying,
"Perhaps you are right; but now tell me, as you seem to have studied
all these things deeply, and most likely have lived with your eyes
open to all that has taken place, what has been doing here of late,
and what is the real state of France? for, but imperfect and maimed
accounts reach us in foreign lands, perverted by the prejudices of
men, and coloured by all the passions of the relators. Nor have I
indeed paid much attention to what I heard, till I was summoned back
by my uncle; for the only tidings that reached us, came through the
League, except once or twice, when some Royalists passed by Venice."
"Your question is a wide one," replied Chasseron, "and I should have
to write a history to tell you. It is but needful to say, that France
is growing tired of the League; men are recovering from the fever
which had driven them mad. The King, now with many, now with few, is
still gaining ground on his enemies; but his friends are sometimes
more mischievous to him than his foes. Half the Catholics serve him
coldly, intrigue in his very camp, his court, and at his table,
because he is a heretic. The Huguenots murmur and complain because he
is obliged to buy, bribe, and reward their adversaries. Both fight
well when there is a battle or a siege, but both are well inclined to
leave him when he is obliged to spend his time in those slow and
difficult movements, which are no less necessary in a campaign than
the combat or the storming party. In the meanwhile, fed with foreign
gold, supported by foreign troops, confederated with the implacable
enemies of the land, and slaughtering Frenchmen with the swords of the
Spaniard, the only hold which the League have upon the people of
France is the frail pretext of religion, the almost incurable anarchy
into which they have thrown the country, and the possession of a
number of towns and fortresses, lands, governments, and territories,
which those who have grasped them are unwilling to resign and know
they can only retain so long as this great serpent of the League
remains uncrushed."
"But let me hear," rejoined the young baron, "if you can tell me why,
when the King had Paris at his mercy, he did not make himself master
of it. If I have been informed aright, he could have taken it in an
hour?"
"Perhaps he might," replied Chasseron, "and yet he did not. I think it
was very foolish of him, for my part; but still there would have been
terrible bloodshed, many thousands of good citizens would have
perished, the capital would have been a scene of slaughter, violence,
and devastation, such as the world has seldom witnessed. After all,
perhaps it is as well for a King not to do all that a King can do; and
yet the Parisians deserved no great mercy at his hands. But he, poor
foolish man, chose rather to wander about fighting here and fighting
there, sleeping hard, sometimes half starved, and working day and
night, than take their beds from under these rebellious citizens, or
give their wives and daughters up to his soldiers."
"And he was right," cried De Montigni warmly, "and God will bless him
for it. If I am not much mistaken, that act will set him firmly on the
throne of France."
"Perhaps so," said the farmer, "but old soldiers get hardened to such
things, and men do marvel and grumble too, that when he could have
terminated this long and desolating war by one bold and severe stroke,
he should have hesitated for the sake of the most rebellious race in
France. There is much to be said on either side, and I am inclined to
think myself that the King was wrong, though I was of a different
opinion at the time."
"Indeed!" exclaimed his young companion, "what has made you change
your views so quickly then?"
"Thought," answered the farmer, "thought, which may be as often the
comrade of the soldier in the camp or on the march, or of the farmer
in the field, if he likes to seek it, as of the pale student over his
book. No man need be without thought; and the active man, the man of
life and movement, acquires often a power of rapid but no less certain
calculation, which the slow ponderer of the cabinet can never gain. I
now believe, Monsieur de Montigni, upon farther consideration, that
though there might have been much bloodshed in the streets of Paris,
had it been taken when it was besieged, though even the Catholic
soldiers would have been difficult to restrain, and the Huguenots
would have remembered St. Bartholomew, yet the amount of slaughter
will be greater,--nay, perhaps has been greater already, by the
protraction of the war, than if Henry had blown the gates open, and
led his army into the heart of the capital."
"It was an amiable weakness, if it was one," replied De Montigni; "but
see, what a splendid scene we are coming upon, while the evening sun
pours such a flood of purple over the grey waves of the wintry
forest."
"Ay, indeed, it is a lovely land, this France," said Chasseron, "and
rich as it is lovely, if men would but be content to enjoy the
bounties which God gives, without carving out for themselves miseries
and contentions which frustrate all the benevolent purposes of the
Most High. Who that looks over such a prospect as that would think
that, in every village and in every field, in the wood and in the
plain, is strife and bloodshed, anarchy and crime, sown by the
virulent passions and intolerant bigotry of those for whose especial
blessing such glories were created? Out upon it! it almost makes one a
misanthrope. However, there stands Marzay, not half a mile distant,
with people walking on the ramparts. Who may they be, I wonder?"
"I can divine without seeing their faces," answered the young baron;
"there are the garments of a lady, and a priest's robes, and a
pourpoint, on the gold lace of which the sun's setting rays are
glistening. They are sweet Rose d'Albret, daughter of the Count de
Marennes, who was killed at Poictiers, and good father Walter de la
Tremblade; and either my uncle De Liancourt or the good old commander,
or, more likely still, my cousin Chazeul."
"Well," rejoined Chasseron, after a short pause, "I trust to your
warranty, Monsieur de Montigni; for I am not very sure that my having
killed a Leaguer or two will be my best recommendation; no, nor,
_ventre saint gris_, your white scarf the surest passport to favour in
Marzay. Your uncle is one of those we call _Politics_, who are more
afraid to espouse openly a cause they know to be just, than the
Leaguers to uphold one they know to be unjust; and, as for Monsieur de
Chazeul, why he is one of the pillars of the Holy Union."
"I'll be your surety," replied De Montigni, who was beginning to take
no slight pleasure in the conversation of his frank companion. "They
shall give you a hearty welcome, or I will hardly take one for myself,
which they would not like; so never fear."
"Nay, I fear not," answered his companion, drily: and they accordingly
rode on towards the gates, which lay straight before them.
De Montigni, however, fell into a fit of deep musing as they
approached, and bent his eyes stedfastly upon the ground, though the
persons who were walking on the ramparts above stopped as he drew
near, and a fair lady waved her hand as if in welcome.