[Illustration: _Arthur’s rescue of the Jew_ (Page 51)]
_Life Stories for Young People_
THE DUKE OF BRITTANY
_Translated from the German of
Henriette Jeanrenaud_
BY
GEORGE P. UPTON
_Translator of “Memories,” etc._
WITH TWO ILLUSTRATIONS
[Illustration: A · C · M^cCLURG]
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1908
Copyright
A. C. McClurg & Co.
1908
Published August 22, 1908
The University Press, Cambridge, U. S. A.
Translator’s Preface
“The Duke of Brittany” is the story of the brief but eventful career of
Arthur, son of Geoffrey Plantagenet and Constance of Brittany. Geoffrey
was the fourth son of Henry the Second of England and Eleanor, Duchess
of Guienne. Upon the death of his brother Henry, Richard, surnamed the
Lion-hearted, became the heir apparent and succeeded to the throne after
the death of his father in 1189. Richard shortly afterward became one of
the leaders of the Third Crusade, which ended disastrously. After being
taken prisoner in Austria by Duke Leopold he was ransomed and returned
to England, where he suppressed the rebellion of his brother John. He
then invaded France to punish Philip the Second, John’s ally, but was
mortally wounded while besieging the fortress of Chalus, near Limoges.
On Richard’s death, John, surnamed Lackland, ascended the throne,
ignoring the rightful claim of Duke Arthur, Geoffrey’s son. Almost his
first act was the murder of Arthur, who, with the encouragement of
Philip Augustus of France, was prepared to defend his claim as the son
of an elder brother. By John’s foul deed England lost its French fiefs.
The story turns upon the events in Arthur’s short life, his young days
in Brittany, the violent death of his father, the relations of his
mother to Philip of France, the boy’s love for his uncle Richard, his
service in the field with Philip, his espousal to Marie of France, the
war with John, his capture and assassination by the latter. The
incidental characters are the Jew Abraham of Paris, Earl Salisbury, the
valiant knight Höel of Mordant and his son Alan, between whom and Arthur
existed a beautiful friendship. Many of the scenes are of thrilling
dramatic interest, particularly the one in which the crafty and
malicious Queen Eleanor refrained from blinding Arthur only because of
his resemblance to his father, her favorite son; the assassination on
shipboard; and the accusation of King John by Alan. Some of the
historical data in the story are not accurate in minor details, but in
general the tale follows the versions of the historical authorities. It
is a fascinating picture of two lovable, high-minded, chivalrous youths,
worthy the study of the youths of to-day.
G. P. U.
Chicago, 1908.
Contents
Chapter Page
I The Hunt 11
II The New Life 19
III Geoffrey’s Legacy 24
IV The Embassy 29
V The Christening 34
VI The Guardianship 42
VII The Journey 48
VIII King Richard in Rouen 56
IX The Banquet 61
X The Return to Rennes 65
XI With King Philip Augustus 71
XII In the Field 79
XIII War Preparations 85
XIV In the House of the Jew 89
XV Arthur’s Departure 94
XVI The War with John 98
XVII The Imprisonment 107
XVIII King John 117
XIX The Tower of Rouen 126
XX On the Seine 133
XXI The Accusation 137
XXII The End 142
Appendix 144
Illustrations
Arthur’s Rescue of the Jew _Frontispiece_
The Assassination of Arthur 134
The Duke of Brittany
Chapter I
The Hunt
Near the close of the twelfth century a hunting-castle stood in the
northern part of Brittany, in the midst of dense forests. It belonged to
Geoffrey Plantagenet, Duke of Brittany[1], and his banner was flying
from one of its towers, for the master had come for a great hunt. His
wife Constance and her ladies accompanied him, though he was very
reluctant to have her come into that wild region; but Constance would
not be separated from her husband, and feared neither the solitude of
the gloomy forest nor the fierce storms which occasionally swept over
them from the adjacent shores. Brittany was her home. Her father, the
last of the independent dukes, ruled the eastern part of it, and she
brought it as her heritage to her husband, son of King Henry the Second
of England[2]. West Brittany, which was English, had come into
Geoffrey’s possession, before this time, from his father, and the two
divisions were consolidated by him into one dukedom. Constance loved the
country, and gladly visited this remote hunting-castle.
On the second evening after her arrival, Constance found herself alone
with her attendants, for the Duke and the nobles, who were taking part
in the chase, had ridden to the forest at early morning light with their
retinues.
There were but few guests, for many an old house had lost its brave
master, and many a strong castle stood empty. Many of the stoutest
vassals had been drafted into the service of the English king, and
others had fallen in the French wars. The country was impoverished and
well-nigh deserted; the Duke was no longer powerful enough to protect it
from marauding hordes and the ravages of wild animals. He had come at
this time not only to indulge in the pleasures of the chase, but to
restrain these pillagers as far as possible.
The Duchess and her ladies impatiently paced the high stone terrace of
the castle, stopping now and then to scan the forest, in whose gloom the
road by which the hunters entered was soon lost. As the sun disappeared
behind the dense mass of trees the Duchess eagerly listened for the
first peal of the horns announcing the return. But as the sun sank still
lower and the darkness grew more intense, no peal sounded from the
forest. The wind rustled the banner above her, then suddenly ceased, and
an ominous silence followed. After a few minutes the neigh of a horse
was heard in the distance.
“Do you hear that?” joyfully exclaimed the Duchess to her ladies. “It is
thus my husband’s faithful steed always announces its approach to the
castle. We shall soon hear the signal of the horn, summoning us to make
ready for them. Come, let us go to meet the Duke in the hall.”
Followed by her ladies, who cast parting and anxious glances at the
forest, the Duchess hastened inside, ascended the steep, winding stairs,
and entered the large reception hall, brilliantly illuminated by
torches, where the remaining inmates of the castle assembled, among them
the chaplain in his black vestments. Uttering the greeting, “Peace be
with you,” he took his place near the Duchess, the others arranging
themselves in a circle around the walls. The warder, with his heavy
bunch of keys in his leathern girdle, went out to the courtyard,
prepared to open the outer gate, which was protected by the drawbridge,
when the hunting-party arrived.
At that instant the horn signal was sounded; but what a mournful tone
they heard! All were astonished, and anxiously looked at the Duchess,
who advanced toward the door with pallid face. Once again the horn
sounded a piercingly mournful call, and through the outer gate, which
the warder had opened, they saw the party advancing.
A squire was in the advance, leading the Duke’s horse by the bridle.
When she saw the horse was riderless, the Duchess pressed her hand to
her heart but retained her composure; for, if her husband was injured
and needed her care, she must be courageous. The next to enter the
courtyard were the Duke’s followers. With slow and measured step they
carried a covered bier, and silently placed it in the entrance to the
hall. Behind them pressed knights and hunters, on foot and horse, and
much confusion prevailed.
Constance seemed to pay no heed to them. She went to the bier and lifted
the covering. There she saw Geoffrey, her husband—dead![3]
The handsome, noble features in their setting of luxuriant blond hair,
so lately lit up with life and animation, were now rigid in the chill of
death. Long Constance stood immovable, with the edge of the covering in
her uplifted hand, and gazed with horror-stricken eyes, as if
transformed to stone.
The chaplain tenderly approached her. “Gracious Princess, permit us to
conduct you to your apartments.”
His words broke the silence. She uttered an exclamation of despair and
with a shriek fell fainting into the arms of her ladies. The chaplain
had her quickly removed to her chamber and cared for, and then returned
to the hall. The knights had given over their weapons and horses to
their servants, and were assembled there. A low murmur of hushed voices,
mingled with sounds of mourning, filled the great room.
“Speak, Sir Knight,” the chaplain implored of Höel of Mordant,
Geoffrey’s oldest vassal and friend, who stood by the bier with bowed
head, leaning upon his sword. “I know not yet how this dreadful tragedy
occurred. I only realize that the Duke, whom we saw but a few hours ago
in the flower of his health and strength, is dead.”
Several voices were raised to relate the circumstances. The hunters had
had an enjoyable time until noon, and had slain many stags and boars,
but one huge boar, which the Duke discovered at the very outset, managed
for a long time to elude his spear. The hounds kept upon its track, and,
guided by their baying, he at last overtook it and hurled his spear. He
only wounded it slightly, whereupon the infuriated beast turned upon the
Duke’s horse and attacked it with its tusks. At this instant several
knights came up, and saw the Duke draw his hunting-knife, intending to
stab the boar in the neck; but at that moment his horse, overcome by
pain and fear, reared and fell, and in the fall the knife pierced the
Duke’s side. He lay weltering in his blood as his friends gathered
around him, and only once he opened his eyes. They rested upon Knight
Höel, who knelt by his side. The sorrowful glance of appeal in
Geoffrey’s dimming eyes deeply affected the knight. Raising his head he
thus spoke: “Whatever it may be, my Prince and brother-in-arms, that
thou would’st ask, trust me it shall be done. I will devote my loyal
service to the end of my life to thy memory, and hold it as a sacred
trust.” The Duke closed his eyes. A sigh escaped him, and his face was
illuminated with joyous satisfaction. Then they carried his body home.
“And now,” said Höel, “we will execute the last service for our master.
Chaplain, remove the body to the chapel and perform the sacred rites.”
Then, turning to two of the knights, he said: “And you, my friends, keep
the death-watch at the bier. I cannot yet master the sorrow which has
overcome me. I must have time for reflection, for my responsibility to
the ducal house is great. See that the gates are secure, and station
sentinels. In the morning all must assemble in the hall and have their
steeds in readiness, for messengers must be sent in all directions. Now,
betake yourselves to rest, if you can find it,” he ended with a sigh.
Suddenly cries were heard from above, and some one said, “The Duchess is
dying.”
“In the name of all the saints at once,” groaned the knight, “see to it
that she has help!”
The chaplain obeyed, but soon returned with the announcement, “Our
gracious lady has recovered and does not need me.” Thereupon he motioned
to the squires to take the bier into the chapel, and followed it.
Through the open door the priest was seen as he advanced to the altar,
which was faintly lit by tapers. In a low voice he began the service.
The mourners remained kneeling for a time during the sacred ceremony,
then gradually withdrew, and only the murmur of prayer was heard. Priest
and watchers were alone with the dead.