Produced by Ross Wilburn and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Edition d'Élite
Historical Tales
The Romance of Reality
By
CHARLES MORRIS
_Author of "Half-Hours with the Best American Authors," "Tales from the
Dramatists," 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 a
rich and beautiful city, time-honored and famous, for it stood there
before France had begun and while Rome still spread its wide wings over
this whole region, and it has been the scene of some of the most notable
events in French history. The Gauls, one of whose cities it was, named
it Genabum. The Romans renamed it Aurelian, probably from their Emperor
Aurelian. Time and the evolution of the French language wore this name
down to Orleans, by which the city has for many centuries been known.
The broad Loire, the longest river of France, sweeps the foot of the
sloping plain on which the city stands, and bears its commerce to the
sea. Near by grows a magnificent forest, one of the largest in France,
covering no less than ninety-four thousand acres. Within the city
appears the lofty spires of a magnificent cathedral, while numerous
towers rise from a maze of buildings, giving the place, from a distance,
a highly attractive aspect. It is still surrounded by its mediæval
walls, outside of which extend prosperous suburbs, while far and wide
beyond stretches the fertile plain.
Such is the Orleans of to-day. In the past it was the scene of two
striking and romantic events, one of them associated with the name of
Joan of Arc, the most interesting figure in French history; the other,
which we have now to tell, concerned with the terrible Attila and his
horde of devastating Huns, who had swept over Europe and threatened to
annihilate civilization. Orleans was the turning-point in the career of
victory of this all-conquering barbarian. From its walls he was driven
backward to defeat.
Out from the endless wilds of Scythia had poured a vast swarm of nomad
horsemen, ill-favored, fierce, ruthless, the scions of the desert and
seemingly 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's
hoofs the grass could never grow again, as he proudly boasted.
Writers of the time picture to us this savage chieftain as a deformed
monster, short, ill-formed, with a large head, swarthy complexion,
small, deep-seated eyes, flat nose, a few hairs in place of a beard, and
with a habit of fiercely rolling his eyes, as if to inspire terror. He
had broad shoulders, a square, strong form, and was as powerful in body
as he was ready and alert in mind. The man had been born for a
conqueror, and Europe was his prey.
The Scythians adored the god of war, whom they worshipped under the
shape of an iron cimeter. It was through the aid of this superstition
that Attila raised himself to dominion over their savage and tameless
hordes. One of their shepherds, finding that a heifer was wounded in the
foot, followed the track of blood which the animal had made, and
discovered amid the long grass the point of an ancient sword. This he
dug from the earth in which it was buried and presented to Attila. The
artful chief claimed that it was a celestial gift, sent to him by the
god of war, and giving him a divine claim to the dominion of the earth.
Doubtless his sacred gift was consecrated with the Scythian rites,--a
lofty heap of fagots, three hundred yards in length and breadth, being
raised on a spacious plain, the sword of Mars placed erect on its
summit, and the rude altar consecrated by the blood of sheep, horses,
and probably of human captives. But Attila soon proved a better claim to
a divine commission by leading the hordes of the Huns to victory after
victory, until he threatened to subjugate, if not to depopulate, all
Europe. It was in pursuance of this conquering career that he was
brought, in the year 451, to the banks of the Rhine and the borders of
the future realm of France, then still known as Gaul, and held by the
feeble hand of the expiring empire of Rome.
The broad Rhine proved but a feeble obstacle to the innumerable cavalry
of the Huns. A bridge of boats was quickly built, and across the stream
they poured into the fair provinces of Gaul. Universal consternation
prevailed. Long peace had made the country rich, and had robbed its
people of their ancient valor. As the story goes, the degenerate Gauls
trusted for their defence to the prayers of the saints. St. Lupus saved
Troyes. The prayers of St. Genevieve turned the march of Attila aside
from Paris. Unluckily, most of the cities of the land held neither
saints nor soldiers, and the Huns made these their helpless prey. City
after city was taken and ruined. The fate of Metz will serve as an
example of the policy of the Huns. In this city, as we are told, priests
and infants alike were slain, and the flourishing city was so utterly
destroyed 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 camp
before the walls of Orleans, a city which he designed to make the
central post of the dominion which he hoped to establish in Gaul. It was
to be his fortified centre of conquest. Upon it rested the fate of the
whole great province.
Orleans lay behind its walls trembling with dread, as the neigh of the
Hunnish horses sounded in its ears, as the standards of the Hunnish host
floated in the air. Yet it was not quite defenceless. Its walls had been
recently strengthened. Behind them lay a force of soldiers, or of armed
citizens, who repelled the first assaults of the foe. An army was known
to be marching to its relief. All was not lost.
Forty years earlier Rome had fallen before Alaric, the Goth. The empire
was now in the last stages of decreptitude. Yet by fortunate chance it
had an able soldier at the head of its armies, Ætius, the noblest son of
declining Rome. "The graceful figure of Ætius," says a contemporary
historian, "was not above the middle stature; but his manly limbs were
admirably formed for strength, beauty, and agility; and he excelled in
the martial exercises of managing a horse, drawing the bow, and darting
the javelin. He could patiently endure the want of food or of sleep; and
his mind and body were alike capable of the most laborious efforts. He
possessed the genuine courage that can despise not only dangers but
injuries; and it was impossible either to corrupt, or deceive, or
intimidate the firm integrity of his soul."
When the Huns invaded Gaul, this skilled and valiant commander flew to
its relief. To his Roman army he added an army of the Visigoths of
Southern Gaul, under their King Theoderic, and marched to the rescue of
the land. But the gathering of this army took precious time, during
which the foe wrought ruin upon the land. The siege of Orleans had begun
by the time Ætius was fairly ready to begin his march.
In that seemingly doomed city all was terror and dismay. A speedy
capture, a frightful massacre, or a no less frightful enslavement to the
savage Huns, was the dread of the trembling inhabitants. They had no
saint to rescue them by his prayers. All their hope lay in the arms of
their feeble garrison and the encouraging words of their bishop, in
whose heart alone courage seemed to keep alive.
Anianus was the name of this valiant and wise churchman, whose counsels
of hope alone sustained the despairing citizens, whose diligence and
earnestness animated the garrison in its defence. The siege was fierce,
the defence obstinate, the army of relief was known to be on its way, if
they could but hold out till it came. Anianus, counting the days and
hours with intense anxiety, kept a sentinel on the lookout for the first
signs of the advancing host of Romans and Goths. Yet hours and days went
by, 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 way
to the despair which possessed so many of the citizens.
The Huns advanced point by point. They were already in the suburbs. The
walls were shaking beneath the blows of their battering-rams. The city
could not much longer be held. At length came a day which threatened to
end with Orleans in the hands of the ruthless foe. And still the
prayed-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 look
for the banners of the Roman army. Far and wide, from his lofty outlook,
the keen-eyed sentinel surveyed the surrounding country. In vain he
looked. No moving object was visible, only the line of the forest and
the far-off bordering horizon. He returned with this discouraging
tidings.
"Go again," said the bishop. "They should have been here before now. Any
minute may bring them. Go again."
The sentinel returned, and again swept the horizon with his eyes, noting
every visible object, seeing nothing to give him hope. With heavy tread
he returned to the bishop, and reported his failure.
"They must be near!" cried Anianus, with nervous impatience. "Go; look
once more. Let nothing escape your eyes."
Back went the messenger, again mounted the rampart, again swept the
plain with his eyes. Nothing,--ah! what was that, on the horizon, at the
very extremity of the landscape, that small, faint cloud, which he had
not seen before? He watched it; it seemed to grow larger and nearer. In
haste he returned to the bishop with the hopeful news.
"I have seen a distant mist, like a far-off cloud of dust," he said. "It
is moving. It comes nearer."
"It is the aid of God!" burst from the lips of the bishop, his heart
suddenly elate with joy. And from the expectant multitude, through whose
ranks 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 on
the far-off, mist-like object; every moment it grew larger and more
distinct; flashes, as of steel, color, as of standards, were gradually
perceived; at last a favorable wind blew aside the dust, and to their
joyful eyes, under this gray canopy, appeared the waving folds of
banners, and under them, in serried array, the squadrons of the Roman
and Gothic troops, pressing forward in all haste to the relief of the
beleaguered city.
Well might the citizens cry, "It is the aid of God!" The army of Ætius
had come not a day, not an hour, too soon. The walls had given way
before the thundering blows of the battering-rams. A breach had been
made through which the Huns were swarming. Only for the desire of Attila
to save the city, it might have been already in flames. As it was, the
savage foes were breaking into the houses in search of plunder, and
dividing such citizens as they had seized into groups to be led into
captivity, when this cry of glad relief broke loudly upon the air.
The news that had aroused the citizens quickly reached the ears of
Attila. A strong army of enemies was at hand. There was no time to
occupy and attempt to defend the city. If his men were assailed by
citizens and soldiers in those narrow streets they might be slaughtered
without mercy. Prudence dictated a retreat.
Attila was as prudent as he was daring. The sound of trumpets recalled
his obedient hordes. Out they swarmed through the openings which had
permitted their entrance. Soon the army of the Huns was in full retreat,
while the advancing host of Romans and Goths marched proudly into the
open gates of the delivered city, with banners proudly floating and
trumpets loudly blaring, while every heart within those walls was in a
thrill of joy. Orleans had been saved, almost by magic as it seemed, for
never had been peril more extreme, need more pressing. An hour more of
delay, 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. He
crossed the Seine, and halted not until he had reached the plains of
Châlons, whose level surface was well adapted to the evolutions of the
skilled 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 his
march that the Goths, under Torismond, the young and valiant son of
their king, were able to seize a commanding height in the midst of the
field, driving back the Huns who were ascending from the opposite side.
The battle that followed was one of the decisive battles of history. Had
the Huns won the victory, all western Europe might have become their
prey. The victory of Ætius was the first check received by this mighty
horde in their career of ruin and devastation. The conflict, as
described by the historians of the time, was "fierce, various,
obstinate, and bloody, such as could not be paralleled, either in the
present or in past ages." The number of the slain is variously estimated
at from three hundred thousand to about half that number. Exaggerated as
these estimates undoubtedly are, they will serve to indicate the
ferocity and bloody nature of the struggle. For a time it seemed as if
the Huns would win. Led by their king, they broke through the centre of
the allies, separated their wings, turned their whole strength against
the Goths, and slew Theodoric, their king, at the head of his men.
But the victory which seemed theirs was snatched from them by the
valiant Torismond, who descended from the height he had seized, assailed
the Huns with intrepid courage, and so changed the fortune of the field
that Attila was obliged to retreat,--vanquished for the first time in
his long career. The approach of night alone saved the Huns from a total
defeat. They retired within the circle of their wagons, and remained
there 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 knew
that the Huns, dismounted and fighting behind a barricade, were in
imminent danger of defeat. Their strength lay in their horses. On foot
they were but feeble warriors. Dreading utter ruin, Attila prepared a
funeral pile of the saddles and rich equipments of the cavalry,
resolved, if his camp should be forced, to rush into the flames, and
deprive his enemies of the glory of slaying or capturing the great
barbarian king.
The attack did not come. The army of Ætius was in no condition for an
assault. Nor did it seem safe to them to attempt to storm the camp of
their formidable antagonist, who lay behind his wagons, as the
historians of the time say, like a lion in his den, encompassed by the
hunters, and daring them to the attack. His trumpets sounded defiance.
Such troops as advanced to the assault were checked or destroyed by
showers of arrows. It was at length determined, in a council of war, to
besiege the Huns in their camp, and by dread of starvation to force them
into battle on unequal terms, or to a treaty disgraceful to their king.
For this Attila did not wait. Breaking camp he retreated, and by
crossing the Rhine acknowledged his defeat. The Roman empire had won its
last victory in the west, and saved Gaul for the Franks, whose day of
conquest was soon to come.
_THE WOOING OF CLOTILDE._
A beautiful, wise, and well-learned maiden was Clotilde, princess of
Burgundy, the noblest and most charming of the daughters of the Franks.
Such was the story that the voice of fame whispered into the ear of
Clovis, the first of the long line of Frankish kings. Beautiful she was,
but unfortunate. Grief had marked her for its own. Her father had been
murdered. Her two brothers had shared his fate. Her mother had been
thrown into the Rhone, with a stone around her neck, and drowned. Her
sister Chrona had taken religious vows. She remained alone, the last of
her family, not knowing at what moment she might share their fate,
dwelling almost in exile at Geneva, where her days were spent in works
of charity and piety.
It was to her uncle, Gondebaud, king of the Burgundians, that she owed
these misfortunes. Ambition was their cause. The fierce barbarian, in
whom desire for a throne outweighed all brotherly feeling, had murdered
his brother and seized the throne, leaving of the line of Chilperic only
these 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, a
scion like himself of the royal line of Germany, but an heir to sorrow
and exposed to peril. Clovis was young, unmarried, and ardent of heart.
He craved the love of this famed maiden, if she should be as beautiful
as report said, but wisely wished to satisfy himself in this regard
before making a formal demand for her hand. He could not himself see
her. Royal etiquette forbade that. Nor did he care to rouse Gondebaud's
suspicions by sending an envoy. He therefore adopted more secret
measures, and sent a Roman, named Aurelian, bidding him to seek Geneva
in the guise of a beggar, and to use all his wit to gain sight of and
speech with the fair Clotilde.
Clothed in rags, and bearing his wallet on his back, like a wandering
mendicant, Aurelian set out on his mission, travelling on foot to
Geneva. 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 the
princess dwelt, and her habits of Christian charity towards strangers,
sought her dwelling and begged for alms and shelter. Clotilde received
him with all kindness, bade him welcome, and, in pursuance of the custom
of the times, washed his feet.
Aurelian, who had quickly made up his mind as to the beauty, grace, and
wit of the royal maiden, and her fitness to become a king's bride, bent
towards 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 to
grant 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 it
be the will of God, he would fain raise thee to his high rank by
marriage, 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 and
desire for revenge. Dismissing her attendants, she warmly thanked the
messenger for his caution, and declared that nothing could give her
greater joy than to be bride to Clovis, the great and valorous king who
was bringing all the land of Gaul under his rule.
"Take in payment for thy pains these hundred sous in gold and this ring
of mine," she said. "Return promptly to thy lord. If he would have my
hand in marriage, let him send messengers without delay to demand me of
my uncle Gondebaud; and bid him direct his messengers, as soon as they
obtain permission, to take me away in haste. If they delay, I fear all
will fail. Aridius, my uncle's counsellor, is on his way back from
Constantinople. If he should arrive, and gain my uncle's ear, before I
am gone, all will come to naught. Haste, then, and advise Clovis that
there be no delay."
Aurelian was willing enough to comply with her request, but he met with
obstacles on the way. Starting back in the same disguise in which he
had come, he made all haste towards Orleans, where he dwelt, and where
he hoped to learn the location of the camp of the warlike Clovis. On
nearing this city, he took for travelling companion a poor mendicant,
whom fortune threw in his way, and with whom he journeyed for miles in
the intimacy of the highway. Growing weary as night approached, and
having 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, to
his intense alarm, that his companion had vanished and his wallet had
gone, and with it the gold which it contained and Clotilde's precious
ring. In dismay Aurelian hurried to the city, reached his home, and sent
his servants in all directions in search of the thievish mendicant, whom
he felt sure had sought some lurking-place within the city walls.
His surmise was correct. The fellow was found and brought to him, the
wallet and its valuable contents being recovered intact. What was to be
done with the thief? Those were not days of courts and prisons. Men were
apt to interpret law and administer punishment for themselves. Culprits
were hung, thrashed, or set at liberty. Aurelian weighed the offence and
decided on the just measures of retribution. The culprit, so says the
chronicle, was soundly thrashed for three days, and then set free.
Having thus settled this knotty question of law, Aurelian continued his
journey until Clovis was reached, told him what he had seen and what
heard, and gave him Clotilde's ring and message. Clovis was alike
pleased with the favorable report of his messenger and with the
judicious advice of the maiden. He sent a deputation at once to
Gondebaud, bidding the envoys to make no delay either in going or
returning, and to demand of Gondebaud the hand of his niece in marriage.
They found Gondebaud, and found him willing. The request of the powerful
Clovis was not one to be safely refused, and the Burgundian king was
pleased with the idea of gaining his friendship, by giving him his niece
in marriage. His consent gained, the deputation offered him a denier and
a sou, according to the marriage customs of the Franks, and espoused
Clotilde in the name of Clovis. Word was at once sent to Clovis of their
success, 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 on
his way back. He had arrived at Marseilles, and was travelling with all
speed towards Burgundy. The alarmed woman, in a fever of impatience,
hastened the departure of the Franks, seemingly burning with desire to
reach the court of the king, really cold with fear at the near approach
of the shrewd Aridius, whose counsel she greatly dreaded. Her nervous
haste expedited matters. Gondebaud formally transferred her to the
Franks, with valuable gifts which he sent as a marriage portion, and
the cortege set out, Clotilde in a covered carriage, her attendants and
escort on horseback. And thus slowly moved away this old-time
marriage-train.
But not far had they left the city behind them when Clotilde's
impatience with their slow movement displayed itself. She had kept
herself advised. Aridius was near at hand. He might reach Geneva that
very 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, you
must find me better means of speed than this slow carriage. Let me
descend, mount on horseback, and then away as fast as we may. Much I
fear that, in this carriage, I shall never see Clovis, your king."
Learning the reason of her haste, they did as requested, and mounted on
one of their swiftest steeds, Clotilde swept onward to love and
vengeance, leaving the lumbering carriage to follow with her female
attendants at its slow will.
She was none too soon. Not long had she left her uncle's court before
Aridius reached it. Gondebaud, who had unbounded respect for and
confidence in him, received him joyfully, and said, after their first
greetings,--
"I have just completed a good stroke of policy. I have made friends with
the Franks, and given my niece Clotilde to Clovis in marriage."
"You have?" exclaimed Aridius, in surprise and alarm. "And you deem this
a bond of friendship? To my poor wit, Gondebaud, it is a pledge of
perpetual strife. Have you forgotten, my lord, that you killed
Clotilde's father and drowned her mother, and that you cut off the heads
of her brothers and threw their bodies into a well? What think you this
woman is made of? If she become powerful, will not revenge be her first
and only thought? She is not far gone; if you are wise you will send at
once a troop in swift pursuit, and bring her back. She is but one, the
Franks are many. You will find it easier to bear the wrath of one person
than 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 his
councillor'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 the
frontier of Burgundy. Clovis had advanced to meet her, and was awaiting
at Villers, in the territory of Troyes, at no great distance from the
border of Burgundy. But before reaching this frontier, Clotilde gave
vent to revengeful passion, crying to her escort,--
"Ride right and left! Plunder and burn! Do what damage you may to this
hated country from which Heaven has delivered me!"
Then, as they rode away on their mission of ruin, to which they had
obtained permission from Clovis, she cried aloud,--
"I thank thee, God omnipotent, for that I see in this the beginning of
the vengeance which I owe to my slaughtered parents and brethren!"
In no long time afterwards she joined Clovis, who received her with a
lover's joy, and in due season the marriage was celebrated, with all the
pomp 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. Yet
it is interesting as a picture of the times, and has doubtless in it an
element of fact--though it may have been colored by imagination.
Aurelian and Aridius are historical personages, and what we know of them
is in keeping with what is here told of them. So the reader may, if he
will, accept the story as an interesting compound of reality and
romance.
But there is more to tell. Clotilde had an important historical part to
play, which is picturesquely described by the chronicler, Gregory of
Tours. She was a Christian, Clovis a pagan; it was natural that she
should desire to convert her husband, and through him turn the nation of
the Franks into worshippers of Christ. She had a son, whom she wished to
have baptized. She begged her husband to yield to her wishes.
"The gods you worship," she said, "are of wood, stone, or metal. They
are nought, and can do nought for you or themselves."
"It is by command of our gods that all things are created," answered
Clovis. "It is plain that your God has no power. There is no proof that
he is even of the race of gods."
Yet he yielded to her wishes and let the child be baptized. Soon
afterwards the infant died, and Clovis reproached her bitterly.
"Had he been dedicated to my gods he would still be alive," he said. "He
was baptized in the name of your God, and you see the end; he could not
live."
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 had
your will in baptizing him, and he is going to die. Is this the power of
your Christ?"
But the child lived, and Clovis grew less incredulous of the God of his
wife. In the year 496 war broke out between him and a German tribe. The
Germans were successful, the Franks wavering, Clovis was anxious. Before
hurrying to the front he had promised his wife--so says Frédégaire--to
become a Christian if the victory were his. Others say that he made this
promise at the suggestion of Aurelian, at a moment when the battle
seemed lost. However that be, the tide of battle turned, the victory
remained with the Franks, the Germans were defeated and their king
slain.
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. He
did so, and fervently besought Clovis to accept the Christian faith.
"I would willingly listen to you, holy father," said Clovis, "but I fear
that the people who follow me will not give up their gods. I am about to
assemble them, and will repeat to them your words."
He found them more ready than he deemed. The story of his promise and
the 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 whom
Remy preaches."
About three thousand of the Franks, however, refused to give up their
old faith, and deserted Clovis, joining the Frankish King of
Cambrai--who was before long to pay dearly for this addition to his
ranks.
Christmas-day, 496, was fixed by Remy for the ceremony of baptism of the
king and his followers, and on that day, with impressive ceremonies,
Clovis the king and about three thousand of his warriors were made
Christians, and the maker of the French nation was received into the
fold of the Church. From that time forward Clovis won victory after
victory over his surrounding enemies. He had been born leader of a
tribe. He died king of a nation.
As regards Gundebaud, the result proved as Aridius predicted, whether or
not through the personal influence of Clotilde upon her husband. Clovis
broke his truce with Gondebaud, and entered Burgundy with an army.
Gondebaud was met and defeated at Dijon, partly through the treachery of
his brother, whom Clovis had won over. He fled to Avignon and shut
himself up in that stronghold. Clovis pursued and besieged him.
Gondebaud, filled with alarm, asked counsel of Aridius, who told him
that he had brought this upon himself.
"I will save you, though," he said. "I will feign to fly and go over to
Clovis. 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 from
Gondebaud. But such was his intelligence, the charm of his conversation,
the wisdom and good judgment of his counsel, that Clovis was greatly
taken with him, and yielded to his advice.
"You gain nothing by ravaging the fields, cutting down the vines, and
destroying the harvests of your adversary," he said, "while he defies
you in his stronghold. Rather send him deputies, and lay on him a
tribute to be paid you every year. Thus the land will be preserved, and
you be lord forever over him who owes you tribute. If he refuse, then do
what pleases you."
Clovis deemed the advice good, did as requested, and found Gondebaud
more than willing to become his tributary vassal. And thus ended the
contest between them, Burgundy becoming a tributary province of France.
_THE RIVAL QUEENS._
From the days of Clovis to the days of Charles Martel and Charlemagne
the 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 and
sluggish monarchs, of whom we can say little more than that they were
born and died; they can scarcely be said to have reigned. But from the
midst of this dull interregnum of Merovingian sluggards comes to us the
story of two queens, women of force and power, whose biography is full
of the elements of romance. As a picture of the manners and customs of
the Merovingian epoch we cannot do better than to tell the stories of
these queens, Fredegonde and Brunehild by name, whose rivalry and
enmity, with their consequences, throw a striking light on the history
of those obscure times.
What is now France was at that time divided into three kingdoms,
Austrasia, Neustria, and Burgundy, King Chilperic reigning over
Austrasia; King Sigebert over Neustria. But the power behind the throne
lay 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 her
country; yet in the end wickedness triumphed, and honesty died a
violent and frightful death. With this preliminary we may proceed with
our tale.
Fredegonde was the daughter of poor peasants, who dwelt in the vicinity
of Montdidier in Picardy. But so striking and notable was her beauty
that at an early age she was made, under circumstances of which we are
not informed, one of the ladies in waiting on Queen Andovere, the first
wife of King Chilperic. The poor queen was destined to suffer from the
artfulness of her maid. The beauty of Fredegonde quickly attracted the
attention of the king, and her skilful and unscrupulous arts soon made
her a power in the court. The queen was in her way; but no long time
passed before, on the pretext of a spiritual relationship with her
husband which rendered the marriage illegal, the hapless Andovere was
repudiated and banished to a convent.
But Chilperic was not yet ready to marry a peasant. He chose for his
second wife Galsuinthe, daughter of the king of the Visigoths. This
marriage lasted a still shorter time than the other. Galsuinthe was
found strangled in her bed; and now, no longer able to restrain his
passion for the beautiful and artful maid of honor, Chilperic married
Fredegonde, and raised the peasant maiden to the throne for which she
had so deeply and darkly wrought.
The marriage of Galsuinthe had been preceded by that of her younger
sister, Brunehild, who became the wife of Sigebert, brother of Chilperic
and king of Austrasia. The murder of Galsuinthe was ascribed by
Brunehild to Fredegonde, with excellent reason if we may judge from her
subsequent career, and from that day on an undying hatred existed
between the two queens. To this the stirring incidents of their after
lives were due. War broke out between the two kings, probably inspired
by Brunehild's thirst for revenge for her sister's death on the one
hand, and the ambition and hatred of Fredegonde on the other. Sigebert
was successful in the field, but treachery soon robbed him of the fruits
of victory. He was murdered in his tent (in the year 575) by two
assassins 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 an
asylum in the cathedral of Paris. And now the scene becomes one of rapid
changes, in which the unscrupulous Fredegonde plays the leading part.
Chilperic, not daring to offend the church by slaying the fugitive queen
under its protection, sent her to Rouen. Here the widowed lady, her
beauty rendered more attractive by her misfortunes, was seen and loved
by Merovée, the son of Chilperic by his first wife, then in that town on
a mission from his father. Fired with passion for the hapless queen, he
married her privately, the Bishop of Rouen sealing their union.
This imprudent action soon became known at the court of Chilperic, and
the ambitious Fredegonde hastened to turn it to her advantage. Merovée
was heir to the throne of Chilperic. He was in her way, and had now
given her a pretext for his removal. Chilperic, who seems to have been
the weak slave of her designs, would have seized both Merovée and his
bride but for the Austrasians, who demanded that their queen Brunehild
should be restored to them, and enforced their demands with threats. She
was surrendered; but Merovée, under the influence of his step-mother,
was imprisoned, then shorn and shut up in a monastery, and afterwards
became a fugitive, and was urged to head a rebellion against his father.
Such was the terror, however, which the unhappy youth entertained for
his 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 took
another course. Three of her own children had recently died, and she
ascribed their death to Clovis, whom she accused of sorcery. He was
seized under this charge, thrown into prison, and there ended his
career, a poniard-thrust closing his brief tale of life. The tale of
murders in this direction was completed by that of the repudiated Queen
Andovere, who was soon found strangled in the convent to which she had
been consigned.
Fredegonde had thus rid herself of all claimants to the throne outside
of herself and her descendants, Galsuinthe having left no children.
Though death had recently robbed her of three children, one survived, a
son named Clotaire, then a few months old. Her next act of treachery was
to make away with her weak and confiding husband, perhaps that she might
reign alone, perhaps through fear that Chilperic might discover her
guilty relations with Landry, an officer of the court, and subsequently
mayor of the palace. Whatever the reason, soon after these events, King
Chilperic, 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 all
around the cry was raised, "Treason! it is the hand of the Austrasian
Childebert against our lord the king!"
The readiness with which this cry was raised seemed evidence of its
falsity. Men ascribed it and the murder to emissaries of Fredegonde.
But, heedless of their opinions, she installed herself as sovereign
guardian of her infant son, and virtual reigning queen of Neustria. It
was now the year 584. Fredegonde had by her beauty, ambition, boldness,
and unscrupulousness raised herself from the lowly rank of a peasant's
daughter to the high position of sovereign over a great dominion, a
queenship which she was to hold during the remainder of her life, her
strong will, effrontery, artifice, skill in deception, and readiness to
strengthen her position by crime, enabling her to overcome all
resistance and maintain her ascendancy over the restless and barbarous
elements 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 will
bear repetition here. In addition to the sons of Chilperic, of whom the
queen 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 the
Visigoths of Spain.
"A grand deputation of Goths came to Paris to fetch the Frankish
princess. King Chilperic ordered several families in the fiscal domains
to be seized and placed in cars. As a great number of them wept and were
not willing to go, he had them kept in prison that he might more easily
force them to go away with his daughter. It is said that several, in
their despair, hung themselves, fearing to be taken from their parents.
Sons were separated from fathers, daughters from mothers, and all
departed with deep groans and maledictions, and in Paris there reigned a
desolation like that of Egypt. Not a few, of superior birth, being
forced to go away, even made wills whereby they left their possessions
to the churches, and demanded that, so soon as the young girl should
have entered Spain, their wills should be opened just as if they were
already in their graves.
"When King Chilperic gave up his daughter to the ambassadors of the
Goths, he presented them with vast treasures. Queen Fredegonde added
thereto so great a quantity of gold and silver and valuable vestments
that, at the sight thereof, the king thought he must have nought
remaining. The queen, perceiving his emotion, turned to the Franks, and
said to them,--
"'Think not, warriors, that there is here aught of the treasures of
former kings. All that ye see is taken from my own possessions, for my
most glorious king has made me many gifts. Thereto have I added of the
fruits of my own toil, and a great part proceeds from the revenues I
have drawn, either in kind or in money, from the houses that have been
ceded unto me. Ye yourselves have given me riches, and ye see here a
portion thereof; but there is here nought of the public treasure.'
"And the king was deceived into believing her words. Such was the
multitude of golden and silver articles and other precious things that
it took fifty wagons to hold them. The Franks, on their part, made many
offerings; some gave gold, others silver, sundry gave horses, but most
of them vestments.
"At last the young girl, with many tears and kisses, said farewell. As
she was passing through the gate an axle of her carriage broke, and all
cried out 'Alack!' which was interpreted by some as a presage. She
departed from Paris, and at eight miles' distance from the city she had
her tents pitched. During the night fifty men arose and, having taken a
hundred of the best horses, and as many golden bits and bridles, and two
large silver dishes, fled away, and took refuge with King Childebert.
During the whole journey whoever could escape fled away with all that
he could lay hands on. It was required also of all the towns that were
traversed on the way that they should make great preparations to defray
expenses, for the king forbade any contribution from the treasury. All
the charges were met by extraordinary taxes levied upon the poor."
In this story there is probably much exaggeration, but it has its
significance as a picture of life in the dark ages, from one to the
manner born. So far as Fredegonde was concerned, the marriage of
Rigouthe 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, and
as a guardian for whom they had insisted on the return, by Chilperic, of
the captive queen. Brunehild from that time reigned in Austrasia during
the minority of her son, and in a manner in striking contrast with the
reign of her wicked rival.
Unlike the latter, she was a princess by birth, and of that race of
Gothic kings who had preserved some traces of the Roman civilization.
Fredegonde was a barbarian, Brunehild a scion of a semi-civilization and
far superior to her rival in culture and intellectual power. As a queen
she did so much for her country that her name as a public benefactor was
long afterwards remembered in the land. The highways, the bridges, all
the public works of the state received her careful attention, so much so
that the Roman roads in Austrasia received, and long retained, the name
of "Brunehild's Causeways." Her name was associated with many other
things in the land. In a forest near Bourges men long pointed out
"Brunehild's castle," at Etampes was shown "Brunehild's tower," and near
Cahors "Brunehild's fort." A more interesting evidence of her activity
for the good of her people for ages existed in the by-word of
"Brunehild's alms," which long retained the evidence of her abundant
charities. She protected men of letters,--a rare production in that
day,--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. In
addition to her conflicts with her mortal foe, Queen Fredegonde, she had
her own nobles to fight against. They seem to have detested her from the
fact that her palace was filled with royal officers and favorites, whose
presence excited the jealousy of the great landholders and warriors. But
Brunehild protected them, with unyielding courage, against their foes,
and proved herself every inch a queen. It was a semblance of the Roman
imperial monarchy which she wished to establish in Austrasia, and to her
efforts in this direction were due her struggles with the turbulent
lords of the land, whose opposition gave her more and more trouble as
time went on.
A story of this conflict is told by Gregory of Tours. One of the palace
officers of the queen, Lupus, a Roman by birth, but made by her duke of
Champagne, "was being constantly insulted and plundered by his enemies,
especially by Ursion Bertfried. At last, having agreed to slay him, they
marched 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 not
the innocent; engage not, for a single man's sake, in a battle which
will desolate the country!' 'Back, woman!' said Ursion to her; 'let it
suffice thee to have ruled under thy husband's sway. Now it is thy son
that reigns, and his kingdom is under our protection, not thine. Back!
if thou wouldst not that the hoofs of our horses trample thee under as
the dust of the ground!' After the dispute had lasted some time in this
strain, the queen, by her address, at last prevented the battle from
taking place."
The words of Ursion were prophetic. To be trampled under horses' hoofs
into the dust was the final fate of the queen, though for many years yet
she was to retain her power and to keep up her strife with the foes who
surrounded her. Far nobler of soul than Fredegonde, she was as strong in
all those qualities which go to make a vigorous queen.
But we must hasten on to the end of these royal rivals. Fredegonde died
quietly in Paris, in 597, powerful to her death, and leaving on the
throne her son Clotaire II., whom she had infected with all her hatred
against the queen of Austrasia. Brunehild lived till 614, thirty-nine
years after the death of her husband Sigebert, and through the reigns of
her son and two of her grandsons, who were but puppets in her hands. Her
later years were marked by lack of womanly virtue, and by an
unscrupulousness in ridding herself of her enemies significant of
barbarous times. At length, when she had reached the advanced age of
eighty years, she was deserted by her army and her people whom the
crimes imputed to her had incensed, and fell into the hands of her
mortal foe, Clotaire II., in whom all the venom of his cruel mother
seemed retained.
After having subjected the aged queen to base and gross insults and
severe tortures, the crowned wretch had her paraded on a camel in front
of his whole army, and then tied by one arm, one foot, and hair of her
head to the tail of an unbroken horse, which dashed and kicked her to
pieces as he rushed away in affright, before the eyes of the ferocious
Clotaire and his army.