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Title: Zigzag Journeys in Europe - Vacation Rambles in Historic Lands
Author: Butterworth, Hezekiah, 1839-1905
Language: English
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Transcriber's Note
Illustration captions in braces {like this} are from the Table of
Contents, and have been added to the main text by the Transcriber
for the convenience of the reader.
ZIGZAG JOURNEYS
IN
EUROPE.
_VACATION RAMBLES IN HISTORIC LANDS._
BY
HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH.
BOSTON:
ESTES AND LAURIAT.
1882.
_Copyright_,
BY ESTES & LAURIAT,
1879.
[Decoration]
[Illustration: "THE BOY-KING."]
PREFACE.
The aim of the publishers and writer, in preparing this volume for
young people, is to give a view of the principal places in England and
France where the most interesting events have occurred; and, by a free
use of pictures and illustrative stories, to present historic views of
the two countries in an entertaining and attractive manner.
An American teacher takes a class of boys on a vacation tour to
England and France, and interests them in those places that illustrate
the different periods of English and French history. It is his purpose
to give them in this manner a picturesque view of present scenes and
past events, and to leave on their minds an outline of history for
careful reading to fill.
A few of the stories are legendary, as the "Jolly Harper Man" and the
"Wise Men of Gotham;" but these illustrate the quaint manners and
customs of the Middle Ages. Nearly all of the stories that relate to
history are strictly true.
The illustrations of history, both by pencil and pen, are given in the
disconnected way that a traveller would find them in his journeys;
but they may be easily combined by memory in their chronological
order, and made to form a harmonious series of pictures.
The writer has sought to amuse as well as to instruct, and for this
purpose the personal experiences of the young travellers are in part
given. Two of the boys, who have small means, make the trip in the
cheapest possible manner. Tommy Toby meets the mishaps a thoughtless
boy might experience. The other travellers have an eye for the
literary and poetic scenes and incidents of the tour.
* * * * *
That the volume may amuse and entertain the young reader, and awaken
in him a greater love of books of history, biography, and travel, is
the hope of the publishers and the author.
28 Worcester St., Boston, Mass.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE JOURNEY PROPOSED 3
II. TOM TOBY'S SECRET SOCIETY 12
III. FIRST MEETING OF THE CLUB 22
IV. ON THE ATLANTIC 51
V. THE LAND OF SCOTT AND BURNS 71
VI. STORY TELLING IN EDINBURGH 84
VII. A RAINY EVENING STORY AT CARLISLE 104
VIII. A CLOUDLESS DAY 119
IX. A SERIES OF MEMORABLE VISITS 135
X. A VISIT TO OXFORD AND WOODSTOCK 153
XI. LETTERS AND EXCURSIONS 160
XII. LONDON 173
XIII. BELGIUM 205
XIV. UPPER NORMANDY 226
XV. PARIS 249
XVI. BRITTANY 283
XVII. HOMEWARD 304
THE ZIGZAG SERIES.
BY
HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH,
OF THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE "YOUTH'S COMPANION," AND
CONTRIBUTOR TO "ST. NICHOLAS" MAGAZINE.
NOW PUBLISHED.
_ZIGZAG JOURNEYS IN EUROPE._
_ZIGZAG JOURNEYS IN CLASSIC LANDS._
_ZIGZAG JOURNEYS IN THE ORIENT._
TO BE FOLLOWED BY
_ZIGZAG JOURNEYS IN THE OCCIDENT._
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
"The Boy-king" _Frontispiece._
Statue of William the Conqueror at Falaise _Half-title._
It is Vacation 3
Tommy and the Bear 9
Tommy's Adventure 10
Norman Fisher-Girl 13
King Charles's Hiding-place 14
White Horse Hill 15
Street Scene in Normandy 16
Colonnade of the Louvre 17
Harold's Oath 23
Finding the Body of Harold 26
The Death of the Red King 27
St. Stephen's Church at Caen 30
Robert Throwing Himself on his Knees before his
Prostrate Father 31
William the Conqueror Reviewing his Army 35
Mont St. Michel 37
Amazement of Christopher Sly 46
Norman Peasant Girls 49
Pilot-Boat 53
Two of our Fellow-Travellers 55
A Steerage Passenger 56
Joan of Arc 59
Joan of Arc Recognizing the King 63
Joan of Arc Wounded 67
Signals 70
The Boys Consult the Barometer 72
Birthplace of Robert Burns 73
Edinburgh Castle 77
Holyrood Palace 79
Mary Stuart 80
Murder of Rizzio 81
Francis II. of France 86
Francis II. and Mary Stuart Love-making 89
The Death-bed of Francis II. 93
Mary Stuart Swearing she had never sought the
Life of Elizabeth 97
The Black Douglas Surprising an Enemy 100
Cæsar's Legions Landing in Britain 104
Romans Invading Britain 105
Massacre of the Druids 106
Druid Sacrifice 107
The Hermit 111
Shamble Oak 121
Greendale Oak 122
Parliament Oak 123
Mortimer's Hole 124
Murder of Thomas À Becket 125
Richard's Farewell to the Holy Land 129
Limestone Dwellings 133
Peveril of the Peak 137
The Boy at the Wheel 138
Boscobel 139
The Tomb of Richard Penderell 139
King Charles's Hiding-place 140
Shakspeare 141
Anne Hathaway's Cottage 144
Ruins of Kenilworth Castle 145
Portrait of Elizabeth 149
Alfred and his Mother 153
Canute and his Courtiers 154
Flight of Empress Maud 155
Death of Latimer and Ridley 156
Rosamond's Bower 157
A Studious Monk 157
An Old Time Student 158
House of a Migrating Citizen 162
Fac-simile of the Bayeux Tapestry 163
St. Augustine's Appeal to Ethelbert 169
The Saxon Priest Striking the Images 171
Westminster Abbey 174
Trial of Charles I. 177
Burial of Richard 180
The Tower of London 181
Wolsey Served by Nobles 185
Whitehall 187
Wolsey's Palace 188
Death of Cardinal Wolsey 189
Children of Charles I. 190
Oliver Cromwell 191
Queen Henrietta Maria 193
Street Amusements 195
Street Amusements 196
"'Ave you got a Penny?" 197
Victoria at the Age of Eight 200
Anger of King John 203
A Dutch Windmill 206
Dog-Carts 207
Street Scenes in Brussels 208
Hotel de Ville, Brussels 209
Charlemagne in Council 210
Charlemagne at the Head of his Army 211
Hotel de Ville, Ghent 212
Van Artevelde at his Door 213
Charles the Rash Discovered 217
Capture of King John and his Son 227
Tower of Joan of Arc, Rouen 229
The Maid of Orleans 230
"It is Rather Hard Bread" 233
Death of St. Louis 235
Interior of St. Ouen 236
Palais de Justice, Rouen 237
Northmen on an Expedition 238
The Barques of the Northmen before Paris 239
Catharine de Medici 241
Coligny 243
Charles IX. and Catharine de Medici 247
The Goddess of Reason carried through the
Streets of Paris 251
Garden of the Tuileries 255
Fountain in the Champs Elysées 257
Place de la Concorde 258
Entrance to the Louvre 259
Fountain, Place de la Concorde 261
Man of the Iron Mask 263
Versailles 267
Little Trianon 268
The Dauphin with the Royal Family in the Assembly 269
Forest of Fontainebleau 273
In the Wood at Fontainebleau 274
"Je ne comprends pas" 277
At Prayers 278
Clock Tower at Vire 283
Revoking the Edict of Nantes 291
Fénelon and the Duke of Burgundy 295
The Cathedral at Nantes 298
Louis XV. 299
Molière 306
The Reading of "Paul and Virginia" 307
Racine 309
Racine Reading to Louis XIV. 310
ZIGZAG JOURNEYS;
OR,
VACATIONS IN HISTORIC LANDS.
[Illustration: {STATUE OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR AT FALAISE.}]
[Illustration: IT IS VACATION.]
CHAPTER I.
THE JOURNEY PROPOSED.
"The school--is--dismissed."
The words fell hesitatingly, and it seemed to us regretfully, from the
tutor's lips.
The dismission was for the spring vacation. It was at the close of a
mild March day; there was a peculiar warmth in the blue sky and
cloudless sunset; the south winds lightly stirred the pines, and
through the open window wandered into the school-room.
"Dismissed!"
Usually at this word, on the last day of the term, every boy leaped to
his feet: there would be a brief bustle, then Master Lewis would be
seen seated alone amid the silence of the school-room.
But to-day there was something in the tone of the master's voice that
checked the usual unseemly haste. Every boy remained in his seat, as
though waiting for Master Lewis to say something more.
The master saw it, and choked with feeling. It was a little thing, the
seeming unwillingness to part; but it indicated to both teacher and
school an increasing respect and affection.
Master Lewis had learned to love his pupils: his hesitating words told
_them_ that. Every boy in his school loved Master Lewis: their conduct
in remaining in their seats told _him_ that.
The master stepped from his desk, as was his custom when about to say
any thing unusually social and confidential.
"Boys," he said, "I wish to tell you frankly, and you deserve to know
it, that I have become so attached to you during the winter term that
I am sorry to part from you, even for a week's vacation."
"I wish we might pass the vacation together," said Frank
Gray,--meaning by "we" the teacher and the school.
"I once read of a French teacher," said Ernest Wynn, "who used to
travel with his scholars in the neighboring countries, during
vacations."
"Wouldn't it be just grand if we could travel with Master Lewis during
our summer vacation!" said Tom Toby, who, although the dullest scholar
in the school, always became unexpectedly bright over any plan that
promised an easy time.
"We might visit some country in Europe," said Ernest. "We should then
be learning geography and history, and so our education would go on."
"It would help us also in the study of modern languages," said Frank
Gray.
Tom Toby's sudden brightness of face seemed to be eclipsed by these
last remarks.
"I think we had better travel in places nearer home, then."
"Why?" asked Frank.
"I was seasick once: it was _orful_."
"The sickness is a short and healthy one," said Frank.
"You will find it a healthy one, if you ever are rolling on the
Atlantic, with
'Twice a thousand miles behind you, and a thousand miles before.'
I wouldn't be sick in that way again for any thing. I tell you 'twas
_orful_!"
Master Lewis laughed at Tom's pointed objection.
"As to learning the languages," continued Tom, "I've noticed all the
Frenchmen and Germans I have tried to talk with speak their own
language very poorly."
Tom's percentages in the modern languages were the lowest of his
class, and Master Lewis could not restrain a smile.
"I once tried to make a Frenchman understand that I thought Napoleon
Bonaparte was the greatest man that ever lived. He kept saying, _Cela
va sans dire, cela va sans dire!_ [That is a matter of course.] I
never knew what he meant, to say: all I could make of it was, _That
goes without saying any thing_."
"The French teacher of whom I spoke," said Ernest Wynn, "used to allow
his pupils to travel much on foot, and to visit such places as their
love of history, geography, and natural science, made them most wish
to see. So they journeyed in a zigzag way, and published a book called
'_Voyages en zigzag_.'"
"I would not object to learning history, geography, and natural
science in that way," said Tom Toby. "I should rather walk after
history than study it the way I do now. I should prefer _riding_ after
it to walking, however. I wouldn't be cheated out of having a real
good time during my summer vacation for any thing."
A shadow fell on Master Lewis's face, as though his feelings were hurt
by something implied in Tom's remarks. Tom saw it.
"But--but I should have a real good time if I were with you, Master
Lewis, even if it were on the Atlantic, or studying French in France."
"I have often thought I would like to travel with my boys abroad. I
could take my first class, if I could secure their parents' consent,
the coming summer."
"Good!"
Every boy joined in the exclamation. Tom's voice, however, was a
little behind the others,--"-o-d."
"Let me suggest to the class," said Master Lewis, "that each member
speak to his parents about this matter during the present vacation;
and let each boy who can go send me in a letter during the week a map
of the country and the places he would most like to visit. He can draw
it in ink or pencil, and he need only put down upon it the places he
would most like to see."
"Good!"
The exclamation was unanimous.
The boys left their seats.
Tom Toby's face had become very animated again. Presently the boys of
the class were all gathered about him.
"I have a plan," said Tom. "It is just grand. Let us form a secret
society, and call ourselves the Zigzagers!"
"Good!" unanimously.
"But why a secret society?" asked Frank Gray.
"There is something so mysterious about a secret society," said Tom.
"Gives one such a good opinion of himself. Have a constitution, and
by-laws, and wear a pin!"
The first class in Master Lewis's school parted in high spirits, their
faces bright with smiles as they went out into the light of the March
sunset.
Tom's last words on parting were: "Try to think up a secret for the
society: it should be something surprising."
The first class in Master Lewis's school numbered six boys:--
Frank Gray,
Ernest Wynn,
Wyllys Wynn,
Thomas Toby,
George Howe, and
Leander Towle.
Frank Gray was the oldest boy and finest scholar in the school. He
was about fifteen years of age; was tall and manly, and was more
intimate with Master Lewis than with any of his schoolmates. Thomas
Toby, who disliked Frank's precise manners and rather unsocial ways,
used to call him "Lord _I_." Frank, however, was not intentionally
reserved: he was merely studious in his leisure, and best liked the
society of those from whom he could learn the most.
Ernest and Wyllys Wynn were brothers. Ernest had made himself popular
at school by his generous, affectionate disposition, and his ready
sympathy for any one in distress. He lived, as it were, a life outside
of himself; and his interest in the best good of others made for
himself unconsciously a pure and lovable character. He was fond of
music, and an agreeable singer: he liked the old English and Scottish
ballads, and so sung the songs of true feeling that every one is eager
to hear.
He often went to an almshouse near Master Lewis's to sing to the old
people there. The paupers all loved him, and clustered eagerly around
him when he appeared. His songs recalled their childhood scenes in
other lands. On fine summer evenings he might often be seen on the
lawn before the charitable institution, with a crowd of poor people
around him, whom he delighted with "Robin Ruff and Gaffer Green," "The
Mistletoe Bough," "Highland Mary," "The Vale of Avoca," "Robin Adair,"
or something aptly selected to awaken tender feelings and
associations.
Nearly all the children of the town seemed to know him, and regard him
as a friend, and used often to run out to meet him when he appeared in
the street. Master Lewis, in speaking of Ernest, once quoted Madame de
Sévigné's remark, "The true mark of a good heart is its capacity for
loving." It was meant to be a picture, and it was a true one.
Wyllys Wynn was much like his brother, and a very close friendship
existed between them. He was fond of history and poetry; he wrote
finely, and usually took the first prize for composition.
Tom Toby was quite a different character. He was just a _boy_, in the
common sense of the word. In whatever he attempted to do, he was sure
to blunder, and was as sure to turn the blunder to some comical
account. He had a way of making fun of himself, and of inciting others
to laugh at his own expense, which Master Lewis was disposed to
censure as wanting in proper self-respect.
Tom had no particular friend. He seemed to like all boys alike, except
those whom he thought insincere and affected, and such were the butt
of his sharp wit and ready ridicule.
Tom was famous among the boys for telling stories, and these often
related to his own mishaps. A knot of boys was often seen gathered
around him to listen to his random talk, his wit, and his day dreams.
Though a poor scholar, he was an apt talker, and almost any subject
would furnish him a text.
His father was a Maine lumber-dealer, and he had spent much time with
his father in the logging camps and backwoods towns of the Pine Tree
State. His adventures in these regions, told in his droll way, often
excited the wonder of his companions.
"Did you ever see a bear in the backwoods?" one of the boys asked him
one day.
"I never saw a live one but once."
"What did you do?"
"Do? I received a polite bow from him, and then I remembered that I
was wanted at home, and went home immediately.
"It was this way."--All of the boys of the class now gathered around
Tommy, as was the custom when he seemed about to tell one of his odd
stories.
"I attempted one day to rob a pigeon-woodpecker's nest which I had
found in one of the old logging roads that had not been used for
several years. The nest was in a big hollow tree. The top of the tree
had blown off, leaving a trunk some twelve or fifteen feet high.
[Illustration: {TOMMY AND THE BEAR.}]
"These woodpeckers make a hole for their nest so large that you can
run the whole length of your arm into it. I had long wanted a few eggs
from one of these birds' nests. I had heard the lumber-men tell how
white and handsome the eggs are.
"I was climbing up the tree very fast, my heart beating like a
trip-hammer, when I heard a scratching sound inside the big trunk, and
then a shaking at the top. I thought it very mysterious. I stopped,
and looked up. I saw something black, like a fur cap. I opened my eyes
and mouth so as to take a big look, and just then _out popped a bear's
head_ from the top of the trunk, and looked over very inquiringly. I
just looked once. He seemed to recognize me. He bowed. Then I
remembered that father had said I must come home early. I dropped to
the ground, and I never picked up my feet so lively before in my life.
I _flew_. When I got safely out of the woods, I thought of the
woodpecker. I never felt so glad for any bird in my life. What a
narrow escape that bird had! _I had been there myself_, and knew. I
wouldn't have robbed her nest for any thing after that.
"'No, not I.'"
[Illustration: {TOMMY'S ADVENTURE.}]
When Tommy first came to the boarding-school, he greatly amused his
companions one day by attempting to ride on the hose of a
street-sprinkler's cart, when it was not in action. He had never seen
such a carriage, and thought it offered a wonderfully convenient
arrangement for riding behind. Presently the driver raised the lever,
and the amazed lad found himself caught in the shower, and tumbled
into the dirt.
"Why didn't you tell me the thing was bewitched?" said he, as the boys
gathered around him.
But his indignation immediately subsided, and rubbing off the water
and dirt, and discovering the use of the cart, he was soon found
laughing as heartily as the others, and quite outdid them in relating
to Master Lewis the odd adventure.
George Howe and Leander Towle were cousins and very intimate friends.
They were unlike Frank Gray and the Wynns. They cared little for
poetry, art, or music. They stood well in their classes in mathematics
and the exact sciences, were fond of boating and out-of-door sports,
and both were warm friends of Tom Toby.
The pleasant relations that existed between the teacher and the school
also prevailed to a great degree among the lads themselves. Frank Gray
and Tommy Toby, being quite unlike, sometimes had a tilt in words;
but, as Frank was a gentleman by nature and training, and as Tommy had
tender feelings, their differences were easily harmonized. The mild
manners and good sense of Master Lewis seemed to impress themselves
strongly on the characters of his pupils. Tommy Toby, who was often
thoughtless in his conduct, was almost the only exception to the rule.
CHAPTER II.
TOM TOBY'S SECRET SOCIETY.
Plans for the Journey.--The Boys' Letters to Master Lewis.--Tom
Toby's Plans.--The New Society.--Master Lewis arranges a Cheap
Tour for George and Leander.--What may be seen for $100.
From Frank Gray, Master Lewis received the following letter early in
vacation-week:--
Cambridge, Mass., March 20.
My Dear Friend and Teacher:
My good father has consented for me to go.
He thinks that the tour, to be a really profitable one,
should be short, and that it would be better to attempt
to visit only a portion of a single country.
I have decided what country I would most like to visit.
It is "fair Normandy," the scene of the most romantic
events of both English and French history.
I would go from Boston to London; from London to Dieppe;
and then I would make partly on foot a zigzag journey to
the places indicated on the enclosed map of Normandy,
and such others, including Paris, as you may suggest.
The old towns on the coast of Normandy are especially
beautiful in summer, with their cool harbors, fine
landscapes, and historic ruins. I am told that they are
favorite places of resort of both the English and French
people, and that they give one delightful insights of
the best social life.
In this journey, we would have views of London and
Paris, and would be able to study that part of France
whose history is associated with old English wars, and
that is most famous in romance and song.
I make the suggestion at your own request. You are the
better judge in the whole matter, and it will give my
father pleasure to adopt any plan for me you may think
advisable.
I thank you again for the invitation, and father wishes
me to express to you his sense of your kindness.
I wish you a most pleasant vacation, and am
Affectionately yours,
Frank Gray.
"Fan me with a feather!" Tom Toby used sometimes to say after reading
one of Frank's letters; and we are not sure but this careful note
would have tempted a light remark, had he ever seen it.
[Illustration: NORMAN FISHER-GIRL.]
Soon after Frank's note, came a note from the Wynns:--
Concord, Mass., March 22.
Dear Teacher:
Father thinks so favorably of your kind invitation that
we venture to express our preference for a route of
travel.
It is a very simple one. We would go from Boston to
Liverpool, and walk from Liverpool to London, _en
zigzag_.
This would take us through the heart of England, and
enable us to visit such historic places as Boscobel,
where Charles II. was concealed after the battle of
Worcester, old Nottingham, Kenilworth, Oxford, and
Godstowe Nunnery, Stratford-on-Avon, White Horse Hill,
and a great number of old English villages and ruins.
Or we would go to Glasgow, thence to Edinburgh, and then
make short journeys towards London, visiting Abbotsford,
Melrose, and the ruins on the Border.
We are reading Walter Scott's "Kenilworth." The book,
as you may have guessed, has caused us to set our
affections strongly on the middle of England as the
scene of our proposed tour.
With kind remembrances of all your kindness to us.
Ernest Wynn.
Wyllys Wynn.
[Illustration: KING CHARLES'S HIDING-PLACE.]
Later came a characteristic note from two of the other boys.
Dear Teacher,--Our parents are desirous for us to go,
but can hardly afford the expense. We have permission to
accept your invitation, if we will travel so cheaply
that the cost to each will not be more than $100. Can
this be done? We are willing to go and return in the
steerage, travel third-class, and take shilling
lodgings, and eat plain food. We would prefer a tour
through the great manufacturing towns of Scotland and
England.
Respectfully,
George Howe.
Leander Towle.
On Saturday of vacation-week, Master Lewis opened a much-blotted
envelope, and read the following rather surprising communication:--
Master Lewis,--Father's answer to me is, "You may go
anywhere that promises any improvement."
I have been thinking of it. One should see their own
country first. This journey would about suit me: they
are very interesting places,--Newport, Old Orchard
Beach, White Mountains, Franconia Mountains,
Adirondacks, Saratoga, Niagara.
Mother has been crying. She is afraid, if I go to
Europe, I will never come back again.
Father thinks that there is no danger of that.
If I must go across the sea, I would prefer to
go--anywhere _you_ like, only take the shortest route
and fastest steamer over the water.
Were you ever sick on the ocean?
I am going to organize a society of travellers in the
school,--a secret society that will pledge each other
never-ending friendship and assistance.
I may need assistance myself in my life. Father thinks I
shall.
I am trying to think of a secret for the society. I can
think of hardly any thing that the rest of the world do
not know.
Hope you are well.
Tommy.
[Illustration: WHITE HORSE HILL.]
The spring and summer term--the session lasted through April, May,
and June--opened under unusually promising circumstances. The prospect
of the journey of the first class seemed to stimulate the whole
school: in fact, little else was talked of out of school-hours.
Master Lewis's customary address at the close of the first day of the
term was waited with impatient interest. When the time came for it,
there was almost a painful silence in the school-room.
[Illustration: STREET SCENE IN NORMANDY.]
"I shall speak first," said Master Lewis, "on the subject about which
your conduct tells me you are most eager to hear. I have decided to
make the journey abroad with the first class _this_ year"--
There was suppressed applause by the class.
"_Next_ year I hope to visit Switzerland and Italy, with all the
members of the school who can go, if this proposed journey should
prove a success. I say this, so that the second and third classes may
feel that they, too, have an interest in this general plan."
There was a burst of applause by the whole school.
[Illustration: COLONNADE OF THE LOUVRE.]
"I thank the boys of the first class for their letters and suggestions
about the route to be decided upon. I think I have a plan that will be
acceptable to you all. We will go first to Glasgow, will journey _en
zigzag_ to London; will there take the steamer for Antwerp, and will
make a zigzag tour from Ghent to St. Malo, taking a glance at Belgium,
a view of the whole of Normandy and the picturesque part of Brittany,
including a visit to Paris and a view of its beautiful palaces and
parks.
"As a preparation for this tour, I shall require the class to give
special attention to the French language and to English and French
history during the term."
Every thing that Master Lewis said or did was popular with the boys,
but no decision ever received more emphatic applause.
Tom Toby was busy at once, forming his secret society. He called a
meeting of the boys on the evening of the very first schoolday, in his
room. The Wynns entered willingly into his plan, and George Howe and
Leander Towle warmly supported it. Frank Gray, however, treated the
matter rather indifferently, a circumstance that Tommy quickly
observed.
"The first question to be decided," said Tommy, when the boys had met
in his room, "is, Shall we organize a secret society?"
The Wynns asked Frank Gray his opinion.
"I should prefer to hold my opinion in reserve, until I understand
what the object of the society is to be."
"It is to have a grip just like _that_," said Tommy, seizing Frank by
the hand, "one that takes the conceit all out of you, and makes you
remember who are your friends for ever."
"Then I do not think I shall care to join," said Frank, rubbing his
crushed hand on his knee. "I shall probably remember you as long as I
shall care to, without making any such arrangement."
"I think a school society is a good thing," said Ernest Wynn, mildly.
"It promotes lasting friendships"--
"Good for you!" said Tommy. "That's just what I wanted to say. 'It
promotes lasting friendship,' and, like a salve, it takes the
conceit"--
"It stimulates one to do his best, and"--
"That's it exactly," said Tommy. "I hope you all hear."
"Let's quit joking," said George Howe, in a matter-of-fact way. "A
society for the purpose of reading and studying about the places we
are to visit and for correspondence with each other, when a part of us
are abroad, would be an excellent thing. I hope we may have such a
society, and shall make our very best boy President of it."
"Who may that be?" said Frank.
"I," said Tommy, teasingly. "I thought you knew."
"I believe it is decided to call the society the Zigzag Travellers,"
said George.
"A promising name," said Frank, who was decidedly out of humor. "I
would suggest the Zigzag Club."
"I would nominate for President Wyllys Wynn."
"I agree to the nomination," said Frank.
"And so do I," said Tommy Toby: "at last, Frank and I are agreed."
"Who will prepare the rules for the society?" asked Frank.
"George Howe," said Ernest.
To this all the boys agreed.
"Who shall decide upon a secret?" asked Wyllys.
"I would nominate Tommy Toby," said Frank.
Tom was unanimously elected.
The next evening a second meeting of the society was held, to which
all the boys in the school were invited. It was decided to call the
society "The Zigzag Club." Charles Wyman, one of the second-class
boys, was appointed its Secretary, and general rules were adopted for
the conduct of its meetings. All of the boys, sixteen in number,
became members.
It was decided that the first formal meeting of the club for literary
exercises should be held in a fortnight, and that on that occasion
each boy of the first class should relate some historic story
associated with one of the places he expected to visit, and it was
suggested that the stories of the first meeting be confined to
_Normandy_. Wyllys Wynn was asked to sing some French or Norman song
on the occasion, and the Secretary was instructed to invite Master
Lewis to be present, and to deliver an address.
Tommy Toby had been very reserved since the first meeting of the club.
He had been quite ignored, and his feelings were hurt.
"Are you sure you treated Tommy quite right at the first meeting?"
asked Ernest Wynn of Frank Gray, quietly, as he observed Tom's injured
look at the second meeting of the club.
"I fear I was not quite gentlemanly," said Frank. "But I had no wish
to join a society gotten up merely for fun."
"Tommy's suggestion was the beginning of the club," said Ernest.
"Let's give him a vote of thanks."
"I will offer the resolution," said Frank.
"Let us close this meeting," said Frank, "by recognizing the debt we
owe to one of our members. Thomas Toby is the real founder of this
club. I did not feel much interested in it at first. I do now. Let us
give Thomas a vote of thanks."
Every boy applauded the motion, which was passed enthusiastically.
Tommy's face brightened, and his eyes filled with tears.
"O Frank," he said, "how could you? Ernest Wynn was at the bottom of
this, wasn't he?"
"Yes," said Frank.
"Well, Ernest _is_ a better fellow than I."
"Or I."
"We both are all right now!"
"Yes."
"Have you decided upon a secret?" continued Frank.
"I have thought much about it," answered Tom.
"And what is the result?"
Tommy turned to the blackboard, and wrote,--
"ALL O!"
The boys looked at the characters mysteriously.
"Is that the secret?" asked Frank.
"Yes, and I myself am going to keep it for the club."
Master Lewis had a private talk with George Howe and Leander Towle
immediately on their return.
"I wish you to go," he said; "and I think a most profitable tour can
be made in the way you propose for $100. You can at least visit
Glasgow, Edinburgh, Birmingham, London, and Paris, and spend three
days each in the three great capital cities. The information you would
thus gain would be of great value to you. I thus estimate the probable
expense to each:--
Steerage passage to go and return $50.00
Glasgow to Edinburgh, 2_s._ 6_d._, or 60
Edinburgh to London, and London to Paris by way
of Dieppe, about £3, or 14.40
Shilling lodgings and meals for fourteen days 14.00
Miscellaneous expenses 11.00
______
$90.00
"I will do my best to make your expenses as light as possible. I am
told that one can live comfortably on four shillings a day in Scotland
and England, and for five francs a day in Paris. You will not be able
to enjoy our walks in historic places outside of the great cities, and
you will probably be obliged to return before the rest of the party;
but the very restraint you will have to use will be a good experience
for you. As Franklin once said, 'A good kick out of doors is worth all
the rich uncles in the world.' It is good for one to bear the yoke in
his youth. You see what I mean,--self-reliance, independence! I am not
altogether sorry that you will be compelled to make the journey in
this way."
The boys thanked their teacher.
When they had left him, George Howe said decidedly,--
"I never respected any teacher as much as I do Master Lewis. How nobly
he has treated us!"
CHAPTER III.
FIRST MEETING OF THE CLUB.
Normandy.--Story of the New Forest and the Red King.--Story of
Robert of Normandy.--Story of the White Ship.--Story of the
Frolicsome Duke and the Tinker's Good Fortune.--Master Lewis
commends the Club.--The Secret.
When the boys were allowed to go to Boston,--once a week,--they had
access to the fine Public Library of which that city is justly so
proud. It was observed that the whole character of their reading
changed from merely entertaining to the most instructive books, after
the forming of the Club. Such picturesque historical works as Guizot's
"France" and "England," Palgrave's "Norman Conquest," Froude's
"England," Agnes Strickland's "Lives of the Queens," became especial
favorites. Even Tommy Toby read through Dickens's Child's History of
England, several of Abbott's short histories of the kings and queens,
and a book of marvellous old English ballads.
[Illustration: HAROLD'S OATH.]
The Club met as appointed. Each of the six boys had made his best
preparation for the exercises of the evening. All the boys were
present; and Master Lewis and his little daughter Florence sat beside
young President Wynn, on the platform.
Wyllys Wynn was the first speaker.
"Although President of the Club," he said, "I am expected to take part
in these exercises, and have been asked to present my story first.
Normandy is our subject to-night, and there is no name that is so
famously associated with the old Norman cities we expect to
visit--Caen, Falaise, Rouen, Fécamp, St. Valery--as that of William
the Conqueror. I will tell you the story of his life, and call it
THE NEW FOREST.
"About eight hundred years ago, William, Duke of Normandy, aspired to
become King of England, and to wear the crown whose rightful claimant
was Edgar Atheling. He made Harold, another heir to the English crown,
support his claim, and take an oath to be true to him. To make Harold
feel how solemn was an oath, he obliged him to swear it over a chest
full of dead men's bones.
"But Harold disregarded the oath that he had taken over the chest of
bones in Normandy; and, when old Edward, who was called The Confessor,
died, he seized the crown and royal treasure for himself, being
counselled to do so by an assembly of nobles called the Witenagemote.
"Duke William was an ambitious and a fiery-minded man. He gathered an
army of sixty thousand men, and a fleet of a thousand vessels and
transports; and one September day he sailed from St. Valery with his
army and fleet, the trumpets sounding and a thousand banners rising to
the wind. His own ship had many-colored sails: from its mast floated
the banner of the three Norman Lions; and a golden boy, pointing to
England, glittered on the prow.
"This fleet came into the harbor of Pevensey. He led his army to
Hastings; and there, on a bright afternoon in October, he met the army
of Harold.
"Duke William reviewed his army, and caused his men to pray for
victory ere they laid down beneath the moon and stars to rest. In the
morning, they sung an ode, called the War Song of Roland: then a
battle was fought, and the three Norman Lions at night waved
triumphantly over the field.
"Harold was slain, and the monks wandered over the battle-ground to
find his body. It was discovered at last, a despoiled and discrowned
figure, by Edith Swansneck, a beautiful girl who loved Harold and whom
the dead king had loved.
"Then William returned to Normandy. Fécamp blazed in his honor, and
all the cities received him with loud acclaim.
[Illustration: FINDING THE BODY OF HAROLD.]
"A hard king was Duke William. With his great army of Normans, he
marched over England, suppressing all who opposed him. The rivers were
tinged with blood, the beautiful English towns were reduced to
ash-heaps, the land was blackened with fire: he is said to have killed
or maimed a hundred thousand people.
[Illustration: THE DEATH OF THE RED KING.]
"Having conquered England, he sought enjoyment, and turned his
attention to field-sports and to hunting. He had sixty-eight royal
forests, full of stags and deer; but he permitted no one but himself
and the people of his court to hunt in them.
"At Winchester, he thought it would be a fine thing to have a great
hunting-park near his residence. There was a tract of country in the
county of Hampshire, very picturesque and beautiful, that he
determined to use for this purpose. But there were churches scattered
among the hills; and thousands of peasants dwelt here, who had rude
but happy homes.
"William cared little for the churches and less for the homes of the
peasants; so he sent soldiers to burn the former, and to drive the
people away from the latter.
"Nothing was done by the ruthless king to supply the wants of the
people, or to relieve their misery. They left their native hills with
wailing and weeping and wringing of hands, uttering imprecations on
the head of the Conqueror and upon his race.
"The stags multiplied, and the deer increased; and delightful to the
Norman was the New Forest, on the golden autumn days.
"One day, one of the king's sons, a fair-haired youth, named Richard,
went to hunt in this New Forest.
"He encountered a stag. The animal, maddened by the attack, rushed
upon the prince, and killed him.
"As the dead body was borne from the forest, broken and stained with
blood, the people said that this was a beginning of the reckoning God
would make with William, and that the New Forest would prove an
unquiet place to the Conqueror and to those of his blood.
"Foolish and superstitious stories began to be circulated. The people
said that the New Forest was haunted; that spirits were seen, by
moonlight, gliding among the dusky trees; that demons revelled there
when the tempest arose, and the lightnings flashed, and the rain
dashed on the great oaks. The old foresters did not wish to return to
it now. They talked of it in low whispers, as of a place accursed.
"At last William died. It was a bitter death. The Conqueror trembled
before that CONQUEROR to whom the princes of the earth must yield.
"It is said that, when he had reached the height of his fame, he
declared that he would surrender his crowns and kingdom to know again
'peace of mind, the love of a true friend, or the innocent sleep of a
child.'
"When his last hour drew near, the nobles fled from his bedside. His
servants pillaged the apartment where he died, and rolled the dead
body from the bed, and left it lying on the floor. A good knight took
it up, and carried it to St. Stephen's Church, at Caen.
[Illustration: ST. STEPHEN'S CHURCH AT CAEN.]
[Illustration: ROBERT THROWING HIMSELF ON HIS KNEES BEFORE HIS
PROSTRATE FATHER.]
"He left three sons, William Rufus, Robert, and Henry. To the first
he bequeathed England, to the second Normandy, and to the last £5,000.
"William Rufus now became king of England. He was called the Red King,
because he had a red face and red hair; and a red king he proved to
be, in another sense.
"The Red King, like his father, quarrelled with everybody, and, like
him, sought and found enjoyment by hunting in the New Forest.
"One pleasant day in May, when the leaves were tender, and the ferny
hills were sunny and sprinkled with flowers, another Richard, the son
of Robert of Normandy, went to hunt in the New Forest. After a merry
time, he was accidentally shot by an arrow. Again a mournful retinue
came out of the forest, bearing the body of a prince, stained with
blood.
"August came, with its young deer and newly fledged birds. The Red
King, with his brother Henry and a great court-party, went to the New
Forest, to spend some days in hunting and feasting. The first day sped
merrily, and was followed by a banquet. It was held at a place called
Malwood-Keep, a famous lodge for royal hunting-parties.
"The next night, a man with a coal-cart was riding in the New Forest,
when he discovered a body lying by the way, pierced by an arrow in the
breast. He laid it in his dirty cart, and jogged on. It was the Red
King.
"Many stories are told of the manner in which the king was killed.
Some say that he was accidentally shot by Sir Walter Tyrrel, a famous
hunter in those days.
"It is said that the king and Sir Walter came upon a stag. The king
drew his bow, and the string broke.
"'Shoot, Walter!' said the king.
"The arrow flew, struck a tree, glanced, and buried itself in the
king's breast. He died where the poor peasants had foretold he would
die, in the New Forest.
"We hope to visit Caen, and its cathedral, an edifice that was
founded by the Conqueror, and that has grown for nearly a thousand
years. The Conqueror's tomb is before the altar, but his bones were
scattered by the Huguenots in 1562."
* * * * *
Wyllys Wynn's story was applauded; and Master Lewis, amid the
applause, said audibly,--
"Excellent!"
Frank Gray followed:--
"Our President has told you the history of William the Conqueror and
of one of his sons, in his story of the New Forest. I will try to tell
you
THE STORY OF ROBERT OF NORMANDY.
"Robert of Normandy was the second son of the Conqueror, and succeeded
his father in the dukedom. He was unlike the rest of the Conqueror's
sons,--an easy, generous, pleasure-loving fellow; honest in heart, and
believing with wonderful simplicity that the world was all sunshine,
and that all the people in it were much like himself.
"I am sorry to say, however, that he once rebelled against his father,
whom he asked to give him the old Norman kingdom. 'I am not apt to
undress before I go to bed,' said the Conqueror.
"He began to rule independently, and William besieged him in the old
fortress of Gerberoi.
"In the midst of the battle, Robert unseated a tall knight, and was
about to despatch him, when he found him to be his father.
"He was greatly touched at the discovery, and kneeling down said, 'I
pray you forgive me.' He then raised his father, and they were
reconciled.
[Illustration: WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR REVIEWING HIS ARMY.]
"There is a castle in Normandy, which we hope to visit,--a mountain of
towers rising out of the sea. Pagan priests possessed it, holy hermits
succeeded them, and the Norman Dukes regarded it as their
stronghold. I have brought with me a picture of it, that you may
see. It is a fortress built upon a rock; and, when the great tide
sweeps in, it stands in the sea, lofty and doubly guarded.
[Illustration: {MONT ST. MICHEL.}]
"The Red King and Robert once were engaged in a war with their brother
Henry, who shut himself up in this fortress. At last, the water in the
fortress failed. The Red King was happy, but Robert began to pity his
famishing brother. So he sent him some bottles of wine.
"'A fine way to wage war,' said the Red King.
"'What,' said Robert, 'shall we let our brother die of thirst? Where
shall we get another, when he is gone?'
"We will see how Henry returned this love and brotherly kindness.
"It was considered very pious, in those rude times, for a person to
make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, in order to visit the Holy Sepulchre.
The Turks, who held the Holy City, abused the Christian pilgrims. An
eloquent and a fiery-minded monk, called Peter the Hermit, believing
it to be the duty of the Christian princes to wrest the Holy Sepulchre
from the power of the Turks, began to urge his opinions throughout
Europe. An intense excitement was created.
"Among his most fervent disciples was Robert of Normandy. In his
enthusiasm, the thoughtless, generous-hearted fellow sold his
dominions for a certain period to the Red King, and with the money
equipped a splendid retinue of knights and soldiers for service in the
Holy Land.
"He went to Jerusalem at the head of this glittering train, and, in
union with other Christian princes and nobles, besieged the Holy City,
subdued its defenders, and obtained possession of the Saviour's tomb.
"Robert was one of the most conspicuous leaders in the first crusade;
and, of all the princes who aided in the recovery of the Holy
Sepulchre, he sacrificed the most.
"When he returned from the East, he stopped in Italy. He was fond of
minstrelsy, and of works of art; and he feasted his eyes on the fading
grandeur of the old Italian cities. As he was the rightful claimant to
the throne of England, after the death of the Red King, and as his
exploits in the Holy Land had added to his fame, the Italians greatly
admired him.
"While stopping in Italy among the minstrels, the pictures, and the
loveliness of that dreamy and enchanted land, he fell in love with a
lady of marvellous beauty.
"Her name was Sibylla. He married her, and in a little time returned
to Normandy, to find that his younger brother, Henry, had assumed the
throne of England, and was governing with a high hand.
"It seems that the Red King had died while Robert was tarrying in
Italy, enamoured of Sibylla; and Henry, without waiting to see him
buried, had seized the royal treasure and the diadem, telling the
nobles that Robert had become King of Jerusalem.
"Having established his government, he was prepared to give Robert a
hot reception, if he should make any trouble about the matter on his
return.
"Robert, of course, asserted his claim to the throne. Some of the
nobles sustained Henry in his usurpation, others were for Robert.
"Henry, however, by dint of much fawning and lying, persuaded Robert
to relinquish his claim to England, and to be content with the little
duchy of Normandy, and with a pension, which he promised to pay.
"So the good-natured Robert governed in Normandy, and a good-natured
government he had. He was so weak and good-natured that he used to
allow his servants to steal his clothes, while he was lying in bed in
the morning.
"Henry, like the Red King before him, thought that Robert's government
was rather loose, and that it would be a very benevolent thing to
relieve the Normans of his misrule. For this reason, he went over to
Normandy with an army, took possession of the country, and established
his own hard rule, thus stealing from his brother the fair-skied duchy
that the Conqueror had given him. Having accomplished this, he settled
it that Robert was a very troublesome fellow, and that the proper
place for him was a prison; and he accordingly put him in one.
"He was not satisfied even then.
"One day there appeared in the apartments of the castle where Robert
was confined some stone-hearted men, by order from the king. They
heated a piece of metal red-hot, and then deliberately burned out poor
Robert's eyes.
"Beautiful, loving eyes they were; and what sights they had seen,--the
minarets of the East glimmering in the hot sun and shady moon, the
cool palm-groves along the Jordan, the splendid streets of Antioch,
the City of the Great King, the Holy Sepulchre with its golden lamps,
Italy with its deep skies and empurpled hills! Twenty-eight years was
poor Robert imprisoned, and then he died."
* * * * *
Frank's contribution was well received.
"I would like to add something to the touching narrative we have just
heard," said Master Lewis. "I would like to tell you about the great
sorrow that came to King Henry, after he had so wronged his brother.
Allow me to relate to you
THE STORY OF THE WHITE SHIP.
"Henry had a son--Prince Henry--whom he intensely loved. The prince
was wild and dissipated, and as much a despot at heart as his father.
He once boasted that, when he became king, he would yoke the English
to the plough, like oxen.
"The king's plottings, and much of his cruel treatment of his brother
Robert, sprang from his strong desire that this son might succeed him
on the throne.
"Did Prince Henry succeed his father as king?
"The people of Normandy and other French territories under the Norman
crown rebelled against Henry. The king, by the aid of the Pope,
pacified the discontented people by fair promises, and a peace was
made, upon which the king and the prince and a great retinue of nobles
went to Normandy, to arrange some very important matters of state.
"During this state visit, the Norman nobles were induced to recognize,
with great pomp, Prince Henry as the successor to the king; and a
marriage was contracted for the prince.
"In honor of these events, there were gala-days and festivals, and at
every scene of rejoicing the prince was the glittering star.
"The heart of the king swelled with pride. He had reason to hope that
all his plottings, and pilferings of crowns and dominions, were about
to end happily. The future seemed almost without a cloud.
"One bright day in autumn, after these events, the prince and a gay
party prepared to embark for England.
"There came to the king a man by the name of Fitz-Stephen, who said
that he was the son of the sea-captain who conveyed the Conqueror to
England on the ship with many-colored sails. He said, also, that he
had a beautiful ship, all white, and manned by fifty sea-browned
sailors, and that he would deem it a great honor to take the royal
party to England.
"'I have ordered my ship,' said the king, after a little deliberation;
'but yours shall have the honor of conveying the prince and young
nobles to England.'
"So the prince, and one hundred and twenty-two nobles, and eighteen
ladies of rank, all young, and full of merry life, went on board of
the White Ship.
"The king sailed away while it was yet day, leaving the prince and his
company still in the harbor.
"'Now,' said the prince, 'the king has gone, we will have a
merry-making. The time is ours, and we can spend it right jovially on
the deck of our beautiful ship.'
"He then ordered Fitz-Stephen to provide three casks of wine for the
fifty sailors. The harbor grew dusky, and the hunter's moon rose,
shimmering the wide waters. The wine flowed freely, the nobles danced,
and the beautiful ladies joined heartily in the revelries.
"The great sea sobbed before and around them, but merry music filled
their ears.
"At length, they shot out of the moonlit harbor. The sailors were
excited and half-drunk. The royal party urged them to row with speed,
in order to overtake the vessels of the king. Fitz-Stephen was in the
same condition as his crew, and steered recklessly.
"Soon there came a terrific crash. The White Ship reeled and reeled,
but went no farther. She had struck upon rocks, and the mirth was
turned to wailing and woe.
"As the ship was sinking, the prince leaped on board a boat. As he was
rowed away, he heard his sister calling for help from the deck of the
staggering vessel. Putting back, he reached the place just as the
White Ship was making her last plunge. Great numbers of the terrified
and desperate young men leaped on board of the boat. It overturned,
and the prince went down in the deep waters.
"Thus in a moment were baffled the purposes of King Henry for so many
guilty years; and, of the three hundred souls that made merry in the
moonlit harbor of Balfleur, but one survived to tell the dismal tale.
"For some days no one dared to approach the king with the dreadful
intelligence. At length, a little boy was sent to him to break the
news, who, weeping, knelt at his feet, and told him that the White
Ship was lost, and the prince had perished. The king fell to the floor
as dead. The historians tell us that he never smiled again.
"I do not greatly pity him; for he lied again, and he stole again, and
he made the people suffer again, and I have little doubt that he
smiled again, when some plot of his crafty old age had ended to his
liking.
"Mrs. Hemans, in a short historical poem, tenderly touches on the
sorrow of King Henry for the lost prince; and, as I have not alluded
to that sorrow in a very charitable spirit, I will quote the
stanzas:--
HE NEVER SMILED AGAIN.
"The bark that held a prince went down,
The sweeping waves roll'd on;
And what was England's glorious crown
To him that wept a son?
He lived,--for life may long be borne
Ere sorrow break its chain;
Why comes not death for those who mourn?--
He never smiled again!
There stood proud forms around his throne,
The stately and the brave;
But which could fill the place of one,
That one beneath the wave?
Before him pass'd the young and fair,
In pleasure's reckless train;
But seas dash'd o'er his son's bright hair--
He never smiled again!
He sat where festal bowls went round,
He heard the minstrel sing,
He saw the tourney's victor crown'd,
Amidst the knightly ring:
A murmur of the restless deep
Was blent with every strain,
A voice of winds that would not sleep--
He never smiled again.
Hearts, in that time, closed o'er the trace
Of vows once fondly pour'd,
And strangers took the kinsman's place
At many a joyous board;
Graves, which true love had bathed with tears,
Were left to heaven's bright rain,
Fresh hopes were born for other years--
He never smiled again!"
TOMMY TOBY'S STORY OF THE FROLICSOME DUKE.
Tom Toby's turn came next, and at the announcement of his name there
was a sudden lighting up of faces. Tom's face, which was usually
rather comical, assumed a more mirth-loving expression than ever.
"You said," he began, "that we were to visit Ghent and Bruges. I
believe these towns were in old Flanders, and that Flanders was in
Burgundy. One of the most clever rulers of whom I ever read was Philip
the Good, Duke of Burgundy, though he had some faults when he used to
be young like me.
"The good Duke married Eleonora, sister to the King of Portugal. The
wedding was celebrated in great pomp at Bruges, and the merry-makings
lasted a week.
"Christopher Sly was a tinker, and a tinker was a man who used to
'roam the countries around,' crying, 'Old brass to mend!' and who
repaired the good people's broken pots and kettles.
"Christopher heard of the great wedding in his travels, and came to
Bruges to enjoy the merry-making with the rest.
"He had only one pair of breeches, and they were made of leather. He
deemed them suitable for all occasions. He had never arrived at the
luxury of a coat, but in its place he wore a large leather apron,
which covered his great shoulders, like the armor of a knight.
"Christopher had one bad habit. He loved ale overmuch, and he used to
drink so deeply on festive occasions as to affect the steadiness both
of his mind and body.
"Christopher enjoyed the gala-days. He mingled in the gay processions
that followed the ducal pair to the tournament; he gazed with loyal
pride on the horses with their trappings of crimson and gold; he
followed the falconers to the hunting-parks, and listened to the music
that led the dance at night in the torch-lit palace.
"The ducal wedding took place in the deep of winter; and one night,
soon after the joyful event, and while Bruges was yet given up to
festivities, there fell a great snow-storm, blocking the streets and
silencing the town.
"Christopher's money was gone, and the falling weather chilled not
only his blood, but his spirits. He wandered about in the storm, going
from ale-house to ale-house, and receiving hospitality, until the town
of Bruges seemed to revolve around him as its inhabitants around the
Duke. Still he plodded away through the streets, longing to see the
warm fires glow and the torches gleam in the ducal palace. When he had
nearly reached the palace, the town began to spin and whirl around him
at such a rate that presently he sank in the chilly snow and knew no
more.
"'I am tired of the palace,' said the Duke to some courtiers. 'Let us
go into the streets this blustering night: it may be that we shall
meet with an adventure.'
"The Duke, with a few muffled followers, glided out of one of the
palace gates, and the gleamings of their lanterns shot down the
street. Presently the Duke stumbled over some object, lying
half-buried in the snow.
"'What's here?'
"'A dead man,' answered a courtier.
"'A drunken tinker,' answered an attendant, turning over the body of a
man lying like a log in the snow. 'How he snores! Dead drunk, as I
live!'
"'He would perish here before morning,' said the Duke.
"'What is to be done?' asked a courtier.
"'Take him to the palace, and we will have some sport with him. I will
cause him to be washed and dressed and perfumed, and to be laid in a
chamber of state. He will awake sober in the morning, when we will
persuade him that _he_ is the Duke, and that we are his attendants.
To-morrow the whole Court of Burgundy shall serve a poor tinker!'
"The attendants carried the unconscious tinker to the palace, where
they washed him, and, putting upon him an elegant night-dress, laid
him on a silk-curtained bed, in a very gorgeous chamber.
"The poor tinker, on waking in the morning, looked about the room in
wonder. He concluded that he must be dreaming, or that he had become
touched in mind, or that he had died the night before and had been so
happy as to get to heaven.
"At last, the Duke entered the apartment in the habit of the ducal
chamberlain.
"'What will your Worship have this morning?' asked the Duke.
"The tinker stared.
"'Has your Worship no commands?'
"'I am Christopher Sly,--Sly, the tinker. Call me not your Worship.'
"'You have not fully recovered yet, I see. But you will be yourself
again soon. What suit will your Worship wear to-day? Which doublet,
and what stockings and shoes?'
[Illustration: AMAZEMENT OF CHRISTOPHER SLY.]
"'I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor
more shoes than feet; nay, sometime, more feet than shoes. I tell you
I am Christopher Sly, and I am a tinker,' was the puzzled reply.
"But the ducal chamberlain only bowed the more.
"Sly continued to look about him in amazement. At last, he said, with
much hesitation,--
"'You may bring me my best suit. The day is pleasant. I will dress
becomingly.'
"'Now you are yourself again. I must hasten to inform the Court of
your recovery. I must fly to her Grace the Duchess, and say, "The
Duke, the Duke is himself again!"'
"'The Duke! I tell you I am Christopher Sly,--old Sly's son, of Burton
Heath,--by birth a peddler and by trade a tinker. Duke Sly! No. Duke
Christopher! or, better, Duke Christophero! Marry, friend! wouldn't
that sound well? It may be I am a duke, for all. Go ask Marian Hacket,
the buxom inn-keeper of Wincot, if she don't know Christopher
Sly,--Duke Christophero; and if she say I do not owe her fourteen
pence for small ale, then call me the biggest liar and knave in
Christendom!'
"The servants presently brought the poor tinker a silver basin, 'full
of rose-water, and bestrewed with flowers.' Then they brought him a
suit of crimson, trimmed with lace and starred. The bewildered fellow
stared awhile in silence; then he slowly put on the gorgeous apparel.
"The tinker next was conducted to a magnificent banqueting-hall, where
was spread a rich feast. The tables smoked with venison and sparkled
with wine. He was led to a high seat beneath a canopy of silk and
gold, the Duchess following, and seating herself by his side. Knights
and ladies filled the tables, and the tinker began to feast and to sip
wine like a duke indeed.
"'I wish'--said he, suddenly.
"'What is your wish?' asked the Duchess.
"'I wish that old Stephen Sly was here, and John Naps and Peter Turf,
and my wife Joan, and Marian Hacket: wouldn't it be jolly?'
"Christopher had never smacked his lips over such wine before, and he
drank so deeply that his ideas became mixed again. The feast ended.
The ladies sung and the musicians played, but Christopher continued
drinking as long as he could hold a beaker. He began to be sleepy, and
presently tumbled from his high seat beneath the silken canopy to the
floor,
'Where he sleeping did snore,
Being seven times drunker than ever before.'
"And here the reign of Duke Christophero came to a sudden end. The
real Duke ordered the attendants to take him away, and to put upon him
his 'old leather garments again.'
"'When the night is well advanced,' said the Duke, 'take him back to
the place where we found him, and there watch his behavior when he
awakes.'
"Poor Christopher Sly woke in the morning to find his glory gone. The
sun shone on the snow-covered gables of Bruges. He looked around him
with woe in his face, as he saw the snow beneath him instead of a
couch of down, and the sky above him, instead of a silken canopy,
sprinkled with gold. He snuffed the frosty air, and, heaving a deep
groan, he said, 'And I am old Stephen Sly's son, after all. I have
seen a vision. I will go home, and take my scolding from Joan.'"
"When we visit Bruges," added Tommy, "I hope we may all visit the
resting-place of Duke Christopher Sly."
* * * * *
Tommy's story, although not of great value to the young travellers,
was loudly applauded by the Club.
"I have heard," said Wyllys, "that there is a spire in Bruges four
hundred and fifty feet high, and a tower that contains forty-eight
bells; but I never heard before of Duke Christopher."
Ernest Wynn, who spoke French well and took a lively interest in
French poetry, sang a Norman seaside song, which is a favorite in some
of the coast towns, and is especially employed by the fishermen of
Étretat, when a ship goes out to sea in a storm. It began--
Le matin, quand je me réveille,
Je vois mon Jésus venir,
Il est beau à merveille,
C'est lui qui me réveille.
C'est Jésus!
C'est Jésus!
Mon aimable Jésus!
Je le vois, mon Jésus, je le vois
Porter sa brillante croix,
Là haut sur cette montagne:
Sa mère l'accompagne.
C'est Jésus,
C'est Jésus,
Mon aimable Jésus.
In the morn, when I awake,
My Jesus near I see.
He is wonderfully beautiful--
It is He that wakens me.
It is Jesus,
It is Jesus,
My lovable Jesus!
I see, I see my Jesus
Bear over the mountain high
His cross of light, accompanied
The Holy Mother by.
It is Jesus,
It is Jesus,
My lovable Jesus!
The selection was a rare one, and was mentioned by Master Lewis as
being exceptionally creditable.
George Howe and Leander Towle presented acceptable exercises on
"Norman Industries" and "Peasant Customs." The last topic seemed to
excite Tommy Toby to try to throw some farther light on this romantic
and interesting country.
"Would you like to know what lovely-looking creatures these Norman
peasant girls are, and how they look?" said he. "Well, they look
[going to the blackboard and drawing with a crayon a moment] just like
those."
[Illustration: {NORMAN PEASANT GIRLS.}]
"I am very gratified," said Master Lewis, "at the amount of historic
study our proposed tour has already stimulated. One must read and
study _to see_. Dr. Johnson used the comparison that 'some people
would see more in a single ride in a Hempstead stage-coach than others
would in a tour round the world.' Thoreau said,--
'If with fancy unfurled
You leave your abode,
You may go round the world
By the old Marlboro' road.'
"You might have added many charming stories to those already told. In
Calais, the last town of the Gallic dominions of the Plantagenets, we
shall visit the scene of the siege of Edward III. and of the immortal
Five who offered their lives as a ransom for their city, and whom good
Queen Philippa spared. At Falaise, we may see the ruin of the castle
from whose window Duke Robert, the father of the Conqueror, first saw
Arletta, the tanner's daughter, and was enchanted with her beauty. At
Rouen, we shall stand in the square where the Maid of Orleans was
burned, and, in all places, in contrast with the dark romances of the
past, will appear sunny hills, bowery valleys, and picturesque
streams.
"I think it was Victor Hugo who said that 'Europe was the finest
nation on the earth, France the finest country, and Normandy the
finest part of France.' I do not ask you to accept his opinion, but
Normandy is very beautiful."
Meetings of the Club were held every two weeks.
The boys tried to learn the secret which Tommy had been instructed to
select. But he claimed that he had been instructed also to keep it.
"It would not be creditable to the Club to tell it now," he said.
CHAPTER IV.
ON THE ATLANTIC.
The Steerage.--Pilot Boats.--Tommy meets Rough Weather.--His Letter
and Postscript.--Queer Passengers.--Games and Story-telling.--Story
of Joan of Arc.--Signalling at Sea.--Land!
An ocean steamer! Though a speck upon the waters, what a world it
seems! What symmetry, what strength, what a triumph of human skill!
What a cheerful sense of security one feels as one looks upon the oak
and the iron, and hears the wind whistle through the motionless forest
of cordage! There society in all its grades is seen, and human nature
in all its phases.
The cool upper deck of the steamer was more inviting to our tourists
than the hot streets and hotels of New York, and early in the
afternoon they met on the North River Pier, and went on board of their
ocean home. First, they examined the elegant saloons, then their snug
state-rooms, and at last the steerage apartment, where George and
Leander were to have their quarters.
The steerage was not a wholly uninviting apartment. It was a plain
cabin, amidships, well lighted and ventilated, and very clean. A
stanch-looking pair of stairs led down to it. On each side were bunks
in little rooms; those on the right hand for women, and on the left
for men. These were lighted and aired by port-holes. Each passenger
provided his own bedding and eating utensils.
"I like this," said Tommy Toby to the steward. "Are the passengers
here more likely to be sick than in the first cabin?"
"No," said the steward. "This is the steadiest part of the ship."
"Then what is the difference between the cabin and the steerage?"
"Well, the difference is in the folks, and the furniture, and the way
you eat your victuals."
The steerage passengers were allowed the freedom of the decks, but not
of the grand saloons. Master Lewis and the boys seated themselves in a
group on the upper deck, when they had well visited the different
parts of the ship.
Early in the evening, the immense ship moved slowly and steadily away
from the sultry wharves into the calm sea and cool air. The great city
with its gleaming spires seemed sinking in the sea, and the hills of
Neversink to be burying themselves in the shadows.
Pilot boats several times crossed the track of the steamer, with their
numbers conspicuously painted on their sails.
"Why does a captain, who navigates a ship across the ocean," asked
Frank of Master Lewis, "need the assistance of pilots and pilot-boats
when he is in sight of land?"
"It is because the harbor is more dangerous than the open ocean, and
pilots make these dangers the study of their lives.
"See yonder pilot-boat skimming with the grace of a sea-bird along the
sea. It has the stanchness of a ship built for the longest voyages. It
is doubtless made of the best oak, is sheathed with the best copper,
and may have cost twenty thousand dollars."
"The life of a pilot must be an adventurous one," said Frank, "and
there must be also much pleasure in it."
"It requires special education and hard training to become a pilot. It
is expected that the candidate for the position shall have been an
apprentice four years, during which he shall have performed all the
duties of a common sailor, even to the washing of the decks and the
tarring of the rigging. This is his college life. If he is an apt
student, he then obtains a certificate of qualification from a board
of commissioners by whom he has been rigidly examined.
"The pilot-boats themselves are exposed to great dangers in foggy
weather. A calm comes on, and they cannot move. In this situation,
they are liable to be struck by one of the great iron vessels or ocean
steamers. During the last twenty-five years, some thirty pilot-boats
have been lost on this coast."
[Illustration: PILOT-BOAT.]
The night was beautiful, calm, cool, starry. In the morning, the sun
rose red from the sea. Land had disappeared. The boys all met on the
deck, in fine health and spirits.
Towards evening, the sea grew rough, and there were premonitions of
sea-sickness among the passengers. Tommy Toby, in an amusing letter
which he wrote to his parents, gave a stereoscopic pen-picture of the
condition of our travellers at this period of the voyage. He
afterwards added a characteristic postscript. We give Tommy's letter
and postscript entire:--
My Dear Parents:
If I can only get safely back to Boston, I will never
start on a voyage again.
I knew it would be so. I have been seasick.
The first night and day we had very pleasant weather and
a light sea.
On the evening of the second day, I was on deck with
the boys.
All at once the boat gave a great lurch. Then another.
Then another.
"We are getting into rough water," said Master Lewis.
Wyllys Wynn, who is a poet, was repeating some beautiful
rhymes, when suddenly he grew white in the face, and
said, "And so it goes on for several lines." He meant
the poetry. Then he began to wander to and fro in search
of the cabin and his state-room.
Frank Gray began to tell a story, but stopped short, and
said, "The rest of it is like unto _that_!" He meant the
rest of the story. Then he went to the cabin, "making
very crooked steerage," one of the deck-hands said.
Ernest Wynn followed him, in the same strange gait.
"The Zigzag Club," said the deck-hand. He was a very
sarcastic man.
The ship gave another dreadful lurch, and I began to
feel very strange.
I went to my state-room. I felt worse on the way.
The ship seemed to have lost all her steadiness.
I cannot describe the night that followed. The ship
creaked, and seemed just about to roll over after every
lurch. Sometimes she went up. I was so dizzy, it seemed
to me that she went up almost to the moon. Then she came
down. She always came down. It seemed to me she must be
going down to the bottom of the sea.
In the morning, the steward came.
"It 'as been a 'eavy blow, ruther."
"A heavy blow!" said I. "Did you ever know any thing
like it in your life? Do you think we shall ever see
land again?"
"Nothin' alarmin'," said the steward.
A dreadful day followed. I did not leave my room. I
wished I had never left home. I felt like the Frenchman
who said, "I would kees ze land, if I could only see any
land to kees."
The next day I was better, only there was a light
feeling in my head.
I went up on deck. The sun was shining. The wind blew,
but the air was very refreshing.
This is the fourth day out. I have been able to eat
to-day. I am feeling very hungry.
I find that all the boys have been obliged to keep their
rooms, except George Howe, who is in the steerage.
How fearful I am we shall have another night like
_that_! How glad I shall be to see land again! The land
is the place, after all. I wish I were sure we would
have good weather, when we return.
Your thoughtful son,
Thomas Toby.
P. S. Three days after. I am well now. I never felt so
bright and happy in my life. The steward says that
people are seldom sick twice during the same voyage. An
ocean trip is just the thing, after all.
There were a few rather odd characters among the passengers: among them
a portly, self-satisfied Englishman, returning from a tour of the
States, with an increased respect for fine old English society; a
glib-tongued Frenchman, who was delighted with "Ze States,--deelightéd!"
and whose talk was like a row of exclamation points; and a sentimental
Italian fiddler, in very poor dress, going back to the beauties of
Naples and the dreamy airs and skies of "Etalee."
[Illustration: {TWO OF OUR FELLOW TRAVELLERS.}]
Tommy Toby seemed to gravitate towards these people, when his
sea-sickness was over.
"I likes zis American poy," said the Frenchman. "Intelegent! Has ze
activitee; agilitee; very great prom-ese!"
"Our country must be very different from yours," said Tommy, one day.
"Veery, veery different indeed! Wonderful countree,--delightful! What
grand rivers! what waterfalls,--Niag-e-ra! what lakes! Room for all ze
world! Hospitalitee for all ze nations!"
"The Frenchman says our country is the most wonderful in all the
world," said Tommy to the portly Englishman.
The latter looked very solemn; seemed about to speak, then made a
long pause as though the opinion he was about to utter was a very
weighty one.
"Poverty to riches, riches to poverty; now up, now down, but the
animating principle always the same,--riches, riches. Wonderful
people! progress! each one living to outdo the other. To-day an
alderman, to-morrow in the penitentiary; to-day my Lady of Lynne,
to-morrow John o' the Scales's wife!"
Tommy had an idea of what his lugubrious acquaintance meant to say,
though the latter's wisdom was rather above his intellectual stature.
"We have no castles in America," said Tommy.
"Castles! No; an American family could not keep a castle: it would be
sold in five years for a mill."
[Illustration: {A STEERAGE PASSENGER.}]
Tommy's face was always very bright after talking with the Frenchman,
but lengthened out during the interview with his English friend. He
usually retired discomforted from the latter, to seek comfort in the
steerage from the lively Italian's fiddle.
* * * * *
There was a bright girl on board, named Agnes,--the daughter of a
Boston gentleman, who was going abroad for a year. She was a social
miss; witty, yet polite; speaking to every one freely, without being
intrusive.
On the evening of the sixth day, nearly all the passengers were in the
saloon. Agnes was asked to sing. She winningly said,--
"I will do my best, if agreeable to all." She asked to be excused a
moment, and presently returned with a broad-rimmed hat and a basket,
and wandering carelessly up and down the saloon sang "The Beggar
Girl."
"Over the mountain, and over the moor,
Hungry and barefoot I wander forlorn.
My father is dead and my mother is poor,
And she grieves for the days that will never return.
Pity, kind gentlefolk,
Friends of humanity,
Keen blows the blast and night's coming on;
O give me some food
For my mother, for charity;
Give me food for my mother, and I will be gone."
Agnes presented her basket to one and another of the passengers, as if
to solicit contributions as the song went on. All were pleased with
the diversion, and it was proposed to have some other amusements
during the evening.
Agnes arranged some impromptu charades: one on _Ingratiate_ (in grey
she ate); another on _Cowhiding_ (cow hiding, in which she personated
a milk-maid calling "Co boss, co boss!" and afterwards the same maid
cowhiding a boy for hiding her cow). Agnes selected Tommy Toby to
assist her in this last amusing tableau.
Agnes next appeared as a mind-reader. Before this last rôle, however,
she was observed having a confidential chat with Tommy Toby.
"Now," said she, "if any of you are interested in clairvoyance, I
shall be pleased to give an exhibition of the science. You may not
know I am a mind-reader."
"She probably has been reading Master Toby's mind already," said her
father, smilingly looking over his paper.
"Oh, father!"
"If each of you will write a word on a slip of paper, I will have the
slips collected and put on my forehead; and I will take them from my
forehead one by one, but before I take each one down, I will tell what
is written upon it."
All wrote some word.
"Will some one collect the slips?" she asked.
"I will," said her father.
"I think as Thomas Toby is _spry_, I shall have to ask him to do me
the favor."
"How I wish I were _spry_!" said her father.
The slips were collected. Tommy put them all on her forehead. She put
up her fingers and held them there, and Tommy took a seat with his
friends.
Agnes seemed in reverie. Then she said emphatically,--
"On the first slip is written 'Boston!' Who wrote that?"
"I," said Tommy Toby.
"Then it is correct?"
"Yes."
She took the slip from her forehead and laid it in her lap, saying as
she did so,--
"It is not written very plainly, either."
So one by one she read all the slips. Each passenger acknowledged the
writing of each announced word, after it had been correctly given by
Agnes. First, the correct readings awakened wonder, then positive
excitement. The experiment was repeated at the request of all, with
the same wonderful result.
The diversion was reproduced on the following evening, and even Master
Lewis failed to see how the girl read the slips. It was noticed,
however, that Tommy Toby always collected the slips, and acknowledged
writing the first word. Agnes also examined each slip closely as she
took it down, as if to verify the results of her very penetrating
mind.
[Illustration: JOAN OF ARC.]
The secret of the trick was that Tommy always placed what he had
written at the bottom of the slips, or last; but he acknowledged to
have written what was taken from the forehead first. This gave Agnes
the opportunity of reading each slip as she laid it in her lap, and
of announcing what she read as though it were written on the _next_
slip on her forehead.
One evening, when Master Lewis and the boys were talking of the
historical places they expected to visit, Agnes approached pleasantly
and said, "I have a conundrum for you."
"What is it?" asked Master Lewis.
"What was Joan of Arc made of?"
The boys were unable to guess.
"Suppose you tell us the story of Joan of Arc, Master Lewis," said
Wyllys. "Then, perhaps, we will be able to decide."
"Yes, please," said Agnes. "I should be delighted to hear the story."
"As we expect to visit Rouen, where the Maid of Orleans"--
"I think she was Maid of"--said Tommy Toby. "I will tell you after the
story."
Then Master Lewis related the story of the unfortunate shepherd girl.
STORY OF JOAN OF ARC.
"Jeanne d'Arc, known in history as the Maid of Orleans, was born in
the pleasant village of Domremi, near the borders of Lorraine. Her
parents were peasants, and Jeanne was their fifth child. Her education
was very limited, and she spent her early years as a shepherdess.
"Her soul was full of romance and poetic inspiration, and she led a
dreamy life among the flocks.
"The neighborhood of Domremi abounded in superstitions. Stories of
fairies and demons, beautiful legends of the Virgin, and the mediæval
traditions of the saints were the themes of fireside hours, and Jeanne
drank deeply into the spirit of these wonderful myths.
"At the age of thirteen, she began to see visions and to dream
dreams. She fancied that angel voices whispered in her ear, and that
celestial lights flashed before her eyes.
"'At the age of thirteen,' she said, in her defence before the judge
who condemned her to death, 'I heard a voice in my father's garden at
Domremi, proceeding from the right on the side of the church,
accompanied with a great light. At first I was afraid, but presently
found that it was the voice of an angel, who has protected me ever
since, who has taught me to conduct myself properly, and to frequent
the church. It was Saint Michael.'
"She continued to hear strange voices. Her father said,--
"'Heed them not, Jeanne, it is but a fancy.'
"In this state of enthusiasm, she passed some five years among the
vine-clad hills of Domremi, her heart estranged from worldly
affections, and seeking for loving companionship from the beautiful
beings that filled her dreams.
"France, at this period, was rent asunder by civil dissension; the
people of the interior acknowledging Henry VI. of England as their
rightful sovereign, and those of the remoter provinces, Charles VII.
of France. The people of Lorraine adhered to the cause of Charles, and
Jeanne became a politician in girlhood, and aspired to chivalrous
deeds.
"When eighteen years of age, she fancied that celestial voices told
her that she was called to deliver her country from English rule, and
to place the young French king upon the throne of his fathers.
"Her father said,--
"'I tell thee, Jeanne, it is a fancy.'
"Leaving her rustic home, the unlettered girl sought an audience of
Captain de Baudricourt, who commanded for Charles at Vaucoleurs. In
this she was successful, and, although he at first treated her as an
idle enthusiast, he was finally so impressed by the recital of her
inspirations and visions, that he sent her to Chinon, where Charles
held his court, to consult with the king.
[Illustration: JOAN OF ARC RECOGNIZING THE KING.]
"'None in the world,' she said to Baudricourt, 'can recover the
kingdom of France, there is no hope but in me.' She added, 'I would
far rather be spinning beside my poor mother; but I must do this work,
because my Lord wills it.'
"'Who is your lord?' asked the general.
"'The Lord God!'
"'By my faith,' said Baudricourt, 'I will take you to the king.'
"She obtained an interview with Charles, whom she claimed to have
recognized in a promiscuous company by a sudden inspiration,
accompanied by celestial light. The story of her divine appointment
deeply moved the king; and, his cause becoming desperate, he accepted
the services of the fair prophetess, clad her in armor, and placed her
at the head of an army of ten thousand men.
"There was something in her very appearance that inspired awe. Her
mien was noble and commanding; her form was tall and elegant. She
controlled her charger with wonderful grace and skill. By her side was
a consecrated sword, found buried in the old church of St. Catherine
de Fierbois, the existence of which she claimed to have discovered by
a special revelation from above; and in her hand she carried a banner
emblazoned with angels and consecrated to God.
"The English troops, with the French allies of Henry, were besieging
Orleans, a famous old city, and one of the strongholds of Charles.
Thither Jeanne led her army. She soon inspired her soldiers with the
conviction that she held a commission from on high; and, when they
arrived before Orleans, they were wrought up to the highest pitch of
enthusiasm.
"Jeanne attacked the English, and in several engagements displayed
superior generalship and won brilliant victories. The confidence of
the French troops in her now became implicit, and they received her
commands as from a messenger of celestial truth.
"The English soldiers, too, were infected by the superstition, and a
panic ensued whenever she appeared. Jeanne was at last completely
victorious, and, although once severely wounded, raised the siege of
Orleans, and entered the city in triumph.
"The French kings for a long period had received their crowns at
Rheims. The city was a great distance from Orleans, and the approaches
to it were held by the English. Thither mysterious voices directed
Jeanne. Charles, yielding to her influence, set out on the long and
perilous journey, to be crowned in the ancient fane where his
ancestors of the house of Valois had received their diadems.
"The English troops retired, and the cause of Charles received a new
impetus wherever the young prophetess and her army appeared. The
journey was a continued triumph for Charles, and when he reached
Rheims, the fame of his success rekindled the fires of patriotism in
every town and province of France.
"'It was a joyous day in Rheims of old,' when the glittering retinue,
led by the young king and the peasant child, marched to the thronged
cathedral. The coronation services were wonderfully impressive and
inconceivably splendid. The holy unction was performed with oil said
to have been brought from heaven by a dove, to King Clovis. By the
side of the young monarch stood Jeanne in full armor, holding in her
hand her consecrated banner. Triumphant music pealed forth, and the
plaudits of the people made the old cathedral tremble. When the
ceremony was over, Jeanne threw herself at the feet of the king,
embraced his knees and wept.
"She felt now that her mission was accomplished. She resolved to
return to her home, and to pass her days among the simple peasants of
Domremi.
"But fame was too dazzling, and ambition tempted her to new exploits.
She was taken prisoner at last by her enemies, the Burgundians, was
delivered over to the English, put upon trial as a sorceress,
pronounced guilty, and condemned to death.
"She wept over her hard fate. 'I would rather be beheaded than
burned,' she said, when she reflected on the manner of her death,
which was to be burned at the stake. 'Oh, that this body should be
reduced to ashes!'
[Illustration: JOAN OF ARC WOUNDED.]
"She wept for her country.
"'O Rouen, Rouen!' she said, 'is it here that I must die? Here shall
be my last resting-place.'
"A huge pile of fuel was made in the ancient market place in Rouen,
and the Maid of Orleans was placed upon it; and in the presence of a
vast concourse of citizens, soldiers and ecclesiastics, she was
burned. Her last words were expressive of inward triumph. The
lamentable event occurred on the last day of May, 1431. Her ashes were
cast into the Seine, and carried to the sea.
"Joan of Arc was no wilful impostor. She fully believed that she
beheld faces of departed saints, and heard the voices of beings from
the unseen world. The result of her wonderful career was that Charles
ultimately won back to the royal house of Valois the whole kingdom of
France.
"An imposing mausoleum in the city of Orleans perpetuates her memory;
but her name stands above mortality, independent of marble or bronze.
Apart from her character as a visionary, Jeanne was a most noble girl.
The French still cherish an enthusiastic attachment for her memory,
and a yearly fête is given in honor of her deeds in the City of
Orleans."
* * * * *
"I think," said Tommy Toby, "that I can answer Agnes's conundrum. Joan
of Arc was Maid (made) of Orleans."
"Right," said Agnes. "What an agreeable company the Zigzag Club is!"
One afternoon the man on the lookout called the attention of those
around him to a distant object: it seemed like a mere speck in the
horizon. He presently said,--
"It is a ship."
The news spread. Every one came upon deck. Even the cooks in the
galley left their pots and kettles.
As she drew near, the British ensign was seen fluttering at the stern.
As she drew still nearer, she hoisted five small flags.
Then one of the quartermasters on our own ship brought several small
flags and a signal-book from the wheel-house. He opened the book to a
page of colored pictures of small flags, five of which corresponded to
those raised by the ship in view. Opposite each flag was a figure. The
figures combined in order made the number 94,362.
The quartermaster turned to another page, and opposite this number
appeared the name and port of the ship.
The ship hoisted another set of flags, which was answered by our own
ship.
"She asks to know our reckonings," said the quartermaster.
"Can a ship meeting another ask other questions in this way?" inquired
George Howe.
"Oh, yes; two vessels miles apart can carry on a long conversation
with each other. Ships have a regular alphabet of signal flags."
"What are signals of distress?" asked George.
"That flag," said the quartermaster, pointing to a picture in the
book, "means a fire or a leak. (1)
"This means a want of food. (2)
"And that, aground. (3)
"Here is one that signifies, 'Will you take a letter from me?'" (4)
[Illustration: {SIGNALS.}
_Fig. 1._
_Fig. 2._
_Fig. 3._
_Fig. 4._]
This dialogue between the two ships was the most pleasing and exciting
episode of the voyage, until land began to appear as a dim streak upon
the horizon.
CHAPTER V.
THE LAND OF SCOTT AND BURNS.
Glasgow.--Visit to Ayr.--Story of Highland Mary.--Glasgow
to Edinburgh.--Scene in Edinburgh at Night.--The Castle.--
Melrose.--Long Summer Days.
Old Glasgow, almost encircled by hills and uplands, presents a
picturesque view, as the steamer moves slowly up the narrowing channel
of the Clyde. But with its rapid commercial growth, its 2,000,000
spindles, its steam-power, and its busy marts of trade, it is a city
of the present rather than the past, and beyond the Knox monument and
the Cathedral presents few attractions to the history-loving stranger.
Our tourists stopped at Glasgow to make a day's excursion to the home
of Burns. They were taken from the boat to the Queen's Hotel in
George's Square; but George Howe and Leander Towle after resting with
the rest of the party, secured lodgings in a private house.
The boys arose the next morning, with dreams of the Doon and Ayr. To
their disappointment, a heavy mist hung over the city; and they found
it a dreary and disappointing walk to the South Side Station, where
they were to take the train for Ayr. The two hours' ride on the train
was as colorless; they were whirled through a novel and beautiful
summer landscape, but Nature had dropped her sea-curtain and
sky-curtain of fog and mist over all.
When the party arrived at Ayr, it was raining. The boys' faces, too,
were cloudy, and each one pressed Master Lewis with the question,
"What shall we do?"
Tommy Toby at last answered the rather embarrassing question with,
"Let us consult the barometer."
[Illustration: {THE BOYS CONSULT THE BAROMETER.}]
The barometer, too, wore a cloudy face, and frowned at them, as though
it meant never to predict fine weather again.
But, after waiting awhile at the station, there were signs of lifting
clouds and clearing skies. A weather-wise old Scotchman promised the
party a fair day, and bid them "God speed" for the home of "Robbie
Burns." Presently, the sun began to shoot his lances through the mist,
and the tourists set out for their first walk, which was to be a
two-mile one, to Burns's cottage.
[Illustration: BIRTHPLACE OF ROBERT BURNS.]
The cottage was indeed an humble one. It was built by the father of
Burns, with his own hands, before his marriage, and originally
contained two rooms.
In the interior of the kitchen, a Scotchwoman showed to the party a
recess where
"The bard peasant first drew breath."
The simplicity of the place and its ennobling associations seemed to
touch all except Tommy, who remarked to Frank Gray,--
"I was born in a better room than that myself."
"But I fear you never will be called to sing the songs of a nation."
"I fear I never shall," said Tommy, meekly.
From the cottage, the party went to the Burns monument.
From the base of its columns, the beauties of Scottish scenery began
to appear.
"It is the way in which one ends life that honors the place of one's
birth," said Frank to Tommy.
"So I see," said Tommy, as the sun came out and covered the beautiful
monument, and illuminated the record of the poet's fame.
The tourists, under the direction of a Scottish farmer, whose
acquaintance Master Lewis had made, next proceeded to an eminence
commanding a view of the mansion house of Coilsfield, the
romance-haunting Castle of Montgomery.
"There," said the Scotchman, "lived Burns's first sweetheart."
"Highland Mary?" asked several voices.
"Yes."
"They were separated by death," said Master Lewis. "Can you tell us
the story?"
"As Mary was expecting soon to be wedded to Burns, she went to visit
her kin in Argyleshire. She met Burns for the last time on a Sunday in
May. It was a lovely day, and standing one on the one side and one on
the other of a small brook, and holding a Bible between them, they
promised to be true to each other for ever.
"On the journey, Mary fell sick and died. You have read Burns's lines
'To Mary in Heaven'?"
That sacred hour can I forget?
Can I forget the hallowed grove,
Where by the winding Ayr we met,
To live one day of parting love?
Eternity will not efface
Those records dear of transports past;
Thy image at our last embrace!
Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!
"Do you ever sing the songs of Burns?" asked Master Lewis.
"Would you like to hear me try 'Highland Mary'?"
"Do!" said Ernest Wynn, who was always affected by ballad music.
The Scotchman quoted a line or two of the poem, changing from the
English to the Scottish accent. The boys were charmed with the words,
and sat down on the grass to listen to
HIGHLAND MARY.
Ye banks and braes and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie!
There simmer first unfauld her robes,
And there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.
How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasped her to my bosom!
The golden hours, on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Wi' monie a vow, and locked embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder:
But, oh! fell death's untimely frost
That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green 's the sod, and cauld 's the clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary!
Oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
I aft hae kissed sae fondly!
And closed for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mould'ring now in silent dust
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.
The "banks and braes and streams around" gleamed like a vision of
enchantment in the full noon sunlight. Never had the boys listened to
a song amid such highly romantic associations.
Bidding the entertaining Scotchman farewell, the party returned to
Ayr, and thence to Glasgow, where it arrived in the lingering sunlight
of the long afternoon.
The next morning it left by rail for Edinburgh, that city of high
houses and terraced hills; of grandly picturesque beauty; of the times
of Bruce, and the bright and dark days of the Stuarts; where one is
surrounded by the relics of a thousand years, and stands under the
protecting shadow of a castle that seems lifted into the regions of
air.
The party took rooms on Prince's Street, a thoroughfare one hundred
feet wide and a mile in length, graced with noble monuments of art and
bowery pleasure-grounds. It is considered one of the most picturesque
streets in the world.
Around you are shops with splendid windows, statues, public gardens,
birds, and flowers; above you are houses six or eight stories high;
above these, on the rocky hillsides, are queer old buildings of other
times; and high over all is the Castle, cold and grand on its rocky
throne.
"I shall rest to-morrow, boys," said Master Lewis, "and shall let you
roam at will. Let us spend the evening in one of the public gardens."
After supper, the party went to one of these fragrant street-gardens.
The band of the Duchess of Sutherland's Own, as a certain Highland
regiment is called, filled the quiet air with delicious music.
The sun withdrew his light from the street, the gardens, and the tall
houses on the hills, but the Castle stood long in the mellowed glory
of the sunset.
But the sun left even the Castle at last, and then began a spectacle
that seemed like an illusion or fairy-land.
[Illustration: EDINBURGH CASTLE.]
Lights began to twinkle in the streets; then in the tall windows
above them. Now and then a whole face of an antique pile was
illuminated; now some little eyrie that seemed hanging in air burst
into flame; now a line of terraces began to twinkle. The lights crept
up the hillsides everywhere.
"I never saw any thing so beautiful!" said Ernest Wynn.
Every one talks of the Castle in Edinburgh, and the boys paid their
first visit to it, and saw it in its morning glory. On the highest
platform of the Castle, three hundred and eighty-three feet above the
sea, stands the celebrated old cannon Mons Meg, made in Mons, in
Brittany, in 1486. It had figured in so many wars and historic scenes,
that the Scottish people came to regard it as a national relic. The
site of the Castle is about seven hundred feet in circumference, and
on three sides it seems just a bare rock, rising almost
perpendicularly in air.
[Illustration: HOLYROOD PALACE.]
The boys next visited Arthur's Seat, a high rock on the top of a hill,
in which there is a fancied resemblance to a chair. Queen Victoria
climbed up to it on a recent visit. It commands a sweeping view of the
sea, and the hills that encircle the city.
They next went to the old Palace of Holyrood, and were shown the
apartments of the unfortunate Queen of Scots.
"There," said the tall Scotchman who attended them about the place,
"is the room where Rizzio was murdered, in the presence of Mary."
They were told that a certain stain in the floor was the blood of the
hapless man.
[Illustration: MARY STUART.]
"We must ask Master Lewis to tell us the whole story," said Wyllys.
They next visited St. Giles, the scene of the preaching of Knox, the
Martyrs' Monument, and Knox's grave.
"We must have an evening meeting of the Club in Edinburgh," said
Wyllys Wynn, when the party with Master Lewis were at tea.
"To-night?" asked Frank.
"I would wait until after we have been to Abbotsford," said Master
Lewis. "Then I would have a meeting in the parlor, and let each one
tell some story associated with the most interesting object he has
seen."
[Illustration: MURDER OF RIZZIO.]
The next day Master Lewis and the tourists, except George and Leander,
who preferred remaining in the city, took the train for Melrose,
stopped at Melrose Station, and rode to Abbotsford, the reputed haunt
of Thomas the Rhymer, and the residence of Walter Scott.
They were met at the entrance of the gray mansion by a tall Scotchman,
and were taken from the magnificent entrance hall, about forty feet in
length, to the dining-room, which has a wonderful black-oak roof, and
is the place where Sir Walter died. Gazing from the window on the
beautiful landscape for the last time, he said to Lockhart, "Bring me
a book." "What book?" "There is but one book."
They were next shown the library, a repository of some twenty thousand
books and of presents from most eminent persons, among them a silver
urn from Lord Byron and two arm-chairs from the Pope.
Our tourists next visited the ruin of Melrose Abbey, and found it less
interesting than its historic associations. Late evening found them
again in Edinburgh.
"What time of the evening do you think it is?" asked Master Lewis of
the boys as they entered the hotel.
"Seven o'clock," said Tommy Toby.
"After nine o'clock," said Master Lewis.
The Castle still stood in the damask light of the twilight, like a
dark picture on an illuminated curtain.
"The summer days in these Northern regions are as long as they are
beautiful," said Master Lewis.
CHAPTER VI.
STORY TELLING IN EDINBURGH.
Story of Queen Mary and Rizzio.--Story of the Black Douglas.--Story
of a Glasgow Factory Boy.--The Castle by Moonlight.
The following day was to be the last the party were to spend in the
beautiful city of Edinburgh. In the evening the Class met as by
appointment, and, at the suggestion of Wyllys Wynn, Master Lewis was
asked to conduct the exercises of the section of the Club.
"I thank you," he said, "for this kind confidence, and I think we may
congratulate ourselves on the success of our journey thus far. I will
begin our conversation by asking Wyllys Wynn what is the most
interesting place he has seen in Scotland."
"The place that has most excited my interest," said Wyllys, "is the
room in the palace where Rizzio was killed. It is not the most
interesting place I have seen, of course, but it has most awakened my
curiosity.
"Will you not tell us the history of Rizzio?"
"To do so," said Master Lewis, "would require some account of the
whole of Queen Mary's life. The romance of Queen Mary's story will
have a freshness, after what you have now seen. I will do the best I
can to relate those incidents which make up the
STORY OF QUEEN MARY AND RIZZIO.
"Mary, Queen of Scots, was perhaps the most beautiful in person and
winning in manners and polite accomplishments of any modern queen. She
was the daughter of James V. of Scotland and Mary of Lorraine. Her
father heard of her birth on his death-bed. He had hoped his heir
would prove a son.
"'It came with a lass, and it will end with a lass,' said he.
"The crown of Scotland came with the daughter of Bruce, and ended with
unfortunate Mary.
"Mary became queen before she was a week old. Little she knew, in her
innocent cradle at Linlithgow, of the crown waiting her head or the
kingdom that was ruled in her name.
"Her childhood was like a fairy story. She had there Marys for
playmates, as she herself was named Mary; and each Mary was the
daughter of a noble family.
"When six years of age she was given in marriage to Francis II., the
son of the French King. The French fleet carried her away from the
rugged shores of Scotland, and the Scottish Marys went with her.
"Ten years were passed amid the gayeties and splendors of the French
court, and then, at the age of sixteen, she was married, amid great
pomp and rejoicings, to the Dauphin, whose courtly devotion and
elegant society she had long enjoyed. The associations of the young
pair before marriage had been very happy. They delighted to be with
each other even in society, when they would often separate themselves
from the gay throngs around them.
"The next year found Francis on the throne, and Mary seemed to be the
happiest queen in the world.
"But the following year the young king died, childless, and Mary was
compelled to return to Scotland.
"She sailed from Calais in the late summer of another changeful year.
She wept when the shores of France faded from her sight, and expressed
her regret in a tender poem, which you may have read.
[Illustration: {FRANCIS II. OF FRANCE.}]
"Mary was a Catholic. Scotland had adopted the Reformed Faith, and
the Scots received her with coldness and suspicion.
"Mary's life from childhood to her imprisonment was a series of
romances associated with marriage schemes. Francis had not been long
dead before many of the courts of Europe were planning marriage
alliances with the beautiful Queen. The kings of France, Sweden,
Denmark, Don Carlos of Spain, the Archduke of Austria, and many others
of lesser rank were named as suitable candidates for her hand.
"Her own choice fell upon her handsome cousin, Lord Darnley, who was a
Catholic, and among the nearest heirs to the English crown. He was a
weak, corrupt, ambitious man. But he had a winning face, and the
marriage was celebrated in Holyrood Palace, in the summer of 1565.
"One day, long before this marriage, as Mary was coming down the
stairs of the Palace, she saw the graceful form of a dark Italian
musician reclining on a piece of carved furniture in the hall. It was
her first view of David Rizzio, who had come to Scotland in the train
of the embassador from Savoy. In a celebrated picture of Mary, she is
represented as starting back in surprise and horror at the sight of
this adventurer, as though the moment were one of fate and evil
foreboding.
"This fascinating Italian won the confidence of Mary by his arts, and
used his influence to bring about the marriage with Darnley. He became
a friend of Darnley: they occupied the same apartments and engaged in
the same political intrigues.
"But, after the marriage, Rizzio himself drew away the affections of
the Queen from Darnley, who determined to assassinate Rizzio. Several
Scottish lords united with Darnley to do the deed.
"One day, when Mary had been supping with Rizzio, the white face of
Lord Ruthven appeared at the door of the room.
"'Let _him_ come out of the room,' he said to the Queen.
"'He shall not leave the room,' said the Queen; 'I read his danger in
your face.'
"Then Ruthven and his followers rushed upon Rizzio, dragged him from
the room, and stabbed him fifty-six times. You have seen the
blood-stains in the Palace, where the wily Italian was killed.
"It is said that his body was thrown upon the same chest, at the foot
of the stairs, where Mary had seen him first.
"Mary knew that Darnley had caused the murder.
"'I will now have my revenge,' she said, in the presence of the
conspirators.
"She said to Darnley, 'I will cause you to have as sorrowful a heart
as I have now.'
"For political reasons she, however, became seemingly reconciled to
him. Three months after the tragedy, James VI. of Scotland and I. of
England was born. You have seen his birthplace to-day.
"Twelve months passed. Earl Bothwell, a profligate noble, had won the
Queen's confidence. There is little doubt that the two formed a plot
to destroy Darnley's life.
"The Queen went to visit Darnley at Glasgow, he having fallen ill. She
pretended great affection for him, and brought him to Edinburgh, and
secured lodgings for him in a private house. She left him late one
Sunday evening, to attend a marriage feast.
"She remarked to him, in one of their last interviews,--
"'It was about this time, a year ago, I believe, that David was
murdered.'
"After she had gone, there was a great explosion, and Darnley's dead
body was found in a neighboring garden.
"Mary had had her revenge.
"Three months after the tragedy she married Bothwell, who had secured
a divorce from his young wife to prepare the way for the event.
[Illustration: FRANCIS II. AND MARY STUART LOVE-MAKING.]
"Scotland rose against Mary. She fled to England, and threw herself on
the protection of Elizabeth, abdicating the throne in favor of her
son. She was secured as a prisoner, and confined at Carlisle. She was
taken from Carlisle to Fotheringhay Castle. She was at last tried
for conspiracy against the life of Elizabeth. Sentence of death was
passed upon her. She protested her innocence. You know the rest,--the
last tragedy of all, in the Castle of Fotheringhay.
"Bothwell died an exile and a madman, some nine years after his
marriage with Mary.
"It is said that it was found, after her execution, that her real
hair, under her wig, was as white as that of a woman of seventy. I
cannot wonder.
"She had one little friend who remained true to the last. It was her
little dog. He followed her to the block, and cowered, frightened,
under her dress, at the fatal moment, and lay down beside her headless
body when the last tragedy was over. It could not be driven away from
its mistress; and when the body was removed it began to droop, as
though understanding its loss, and in two days it died."
"I have spoken at school a poem by Bulwer Lytton, founded on the
incident," said Wyllys.
"Can you now repeat it?" asked Master Lewis.
"I will try."
THE DEAD QUEEN.
The world is full of life and love; the world methinks might spare,
From millions, one to watch above the dust of monarchs there.
And not one human eye!--yet, lo! what stirs the funeral pall?
What sound--it is not human woe wails moaning through the hall.
Close by the form mankind desert one thing a vigil keeps;
More near and near to that still heart it wistful, wondering, creeps.
It gazes on those glazed eyes, it hearkens for a breath;
It does not know that kindness dies, and love departs from death.
It fawns as fondly as before upon that icy hand,
And hears from lips that speak no more the voice that can command.
To that poor fool, alone on earth, no matter what had been
The pomp, the fall, the guilt, the worth, the dead was still a Queen.
With eyes that horror could not scare, it watched the senseless clay,
Crouched on the breast of death, and there moaned its fond life away.
And when the bolts discordant clashed, and human steps drew nigh,
The human pity shrank abashed before that faithful eye;
It seemed to gaze with such rebuke on those who could forsake,
Then turned to watch once more the look, and strive the sleep to wake.
They raised the pall, they touched the dead: a cry, and both were
stilled,
Alike the soul that hate had sped, the life that love had killed.
Semir'amis of England,[1] hail! thy crime secures thy sway;
But when thine eyes shall scan the tale those hireling scribes convey,
When thou shalt read, with late remorse, how one poor slave was found
Beside thy butchered rival's corse, the headless and discrowned,
Shall not thy soul foretell thine own unloved, expiring hour,
When those who kneel around the throne shall fly the falling tower?--
When thy great heart shall silent break; when thy sad eyes shall strain
Through vacant space, one thing to seek, one thing that loved--in vain?
Though round thy parting pangs of pride shall priest and noble crowd,
More worth the grief that mourned beside thy victim's gory shroud!
[1] Elizabeth.
Master Lewis continued the general subject of the meeting.
"What, Frank, has been the most interesting object you have seen?"
"The Cannongate. I read its history in the guide-book, and I spent an
hour in the place. One could seem in fancy to live there hundreds of
years."
"King James rode through this street on his way to Flodden," said
Master Lewis. "Montrose was dragged here upon a hurdle. It was in a
church here that Jenny Geddes bespoke the sentiment of the people by
hurling her stool at the head of the Dean, who attempted to enforce
the Episcopal service.
"'I will read the Collect,' said the Dean.
"'Colic, said ye? The De'il colic the wame of ye!'
"Here came John Knox, after his interview with Queen Mary, cold and
grim, and unmoved by her tears. Here rode the Pretender. Here dwelt
the great Dukes of Scotland and the Earls of Moray and Mar."
[Illustration: THE DEATH-BED OF FRANCIS II.]
"I wished I were a poet, a painter, or an historian, when I was
there," said Frank. "It is said Sir Walter Scott used to ride there
slowly, and that almost every gable recalled to him some scene of
triumph or of bloodshed."
"I cannot begin to tell you stories of Cannongate," said Master Lewis.
"Such stories would fill volumes, and give a view of the whole of
Scottish history. What, Ernest, has impressed you most?"
"The view of Edinburgh at night is the most beautiful sight I have
seen. But the charm that Scott's poetry has given to Melrose Abbey,
haunts me still, notwithstanding my disappointment at the ruin. This
was the tomb of the Douglases and of the heart of Bruce."
"I will tell you a story of one of the Douglases, whose castle still
stands, not far from Melrose," said Master Lewis; "a story which I
think is one of the most pleasing of the Border Wars. I will call the
story
THE BLACK DOUGLAS.
"King Edward I. of England nearly conquered Scotland. They did not
have photographs in those days, but had expressive and descriptive
names for people of rank, which answered just as well. So Edward was
known as 'Longshanks.' It was from no lack of spirit or energy that he
did not quite complete the stubborn work; but he died a little too
soon. On his death-bed he called his pretty, spiritless son to him,
and made him promise to carry on the war; he then ordered that his
body should be boiled in a caldron, and that his bones should be
wrapped up in a bull's hide, and carried at the head of the army in
future campaigns against the Scots. After these and some other queer
requests, death relieved him of the hard politics of this world, and
so he went away. Then his son, Edward II., tucked away the belligerent
old King's bones among the bones of other old kings in Westminster
Abbey, and spent his time in dissipation among his favorites, and
allowed the resolute Scots to recover Scotland.
"Good James, Lord Douglas, was a very wise man in his day. He may not
have had long shanks, but he had a very long head, as you shall
presently see. He was one of the hardest foes with whom the two
Edwards had to contend, and his long head proved quite too powerful
for the second Edward, who, in his single campaign against the Scots,
lost at Bannockburn nearly all that his father had gained.
"The tall Scottish Castle of Roxburgh stood near the border, lifting
its grim turrets above the Teviot and the Tweed. When the Black
Douglas, as Lord James was called, had recovered castle after castle
from the English, he desired to gain this stronghold, and determined
to accomplish his wish.
"But he knew it could be taken only by surprise, and a very wily ruse
it must be. He had outwitted the English so many times that they were
sharply on the lookout for him.
"How could it be done?
"Near the castle was a gloomy old forest, called Jedburgh. Here, just
as the first days of spring began to kindle in the sunrise and
sunsets, and warm the frosty hills, Black Douglas concealed sixty
picked men.
"It was Shrove-tide, and Fasten's Eve, immediately before the great
Church festival of Lent, was to be celebrated with a great gush of
music and blaze of light and free offerings of wine in the great hall
of the castle. The garrison was to have leave for merry-making and
indulging in drunken wassail.
"The sun had gone down in the red sky, and the long, deep shadow began
to fall on Jedburgh woods, the river, the hills, and valleys.
"An officer's wife had retired from the great hall, where all was
preparation for the merry-making, to the high battlements of the
castle, in order to quiet her little child and put it to rest. The
sentinel, from time to time, paced near her. She began to sing,--
"'Hush ye,
Hush ye,
Little pet ye!
Hush ye,
Hush ye,
Do not fret ye;
The Black Douglas
Shall not get ye!'
[Illustration: MARY STUART SWEARING SHE HAD NEVER SOUGHT THE LIFE
OF ELIZABETH.]
"She saw some strange objects moving across the level ground in the
distance. They greatly puzzled her. They did not travel quite like
animals, but they seemed to have four legs.
"'What are those queer-looking things yonder?' she asked of the
sentinel as he drew near.
"'They are Farmer Asher's cattle,' said the soldier, straining his
eyes to discern the outlines of the long figures in the shadows. 'The
good man is making merry to-night, and has forgotten to bring in his
oxen; lucky 't will be if they do not fall a prey to the Black
Douglas.'
"So sure was he that the objects were cattle that he ceased to watch
them longer.
"The woman's eye, however, followed the queer-looking cattle for some
time, until they seemed to disappear under the outer works of the
castle. Then, feeling quite at ease, she thought she would sing again.
Spring was in the evening air; it may have made her feel like singing.
"Now the name of the Black Douglas had become so terrible to the
English that it proved a bugbear to the children, who, when they
misbehaved, were told that the Black Douglas would get them. The
little ditty I have quoted must have been very quieting to good
children in those alarming times.
"So the good woman sang cheerily,--
"'Hush ye,
Hush ye,
Little pet ye!
Hush ye,
Hush ye,
Do not fret ye;
The Black Douglas
Shall not get ye!'
"'DO NOT BE SO SURE OF THAT!' said a husky voice close beside her, and
a mail-gloved hand fell solidly upon her shoulder. She was dreadfully
frightened, for she knew from the appearance of the man he must be the
Black Douglas.
"The Scots came leaping over the walls. The garrison was merry-making
below, and, almost before the disarmed revellers had any warning, the
Black Douglas was in the midst of them. The old stronghold was taken,
and many of the garrison were put to the sword; but the Black Douglas
spared the woman and the child, who probably never afterward felt
quite so sure about the little ditty,--
"'Hush ye,
Hush ye,
Do not fret ye;
The Black Douglas
Shall not get ye!'
It is never well to be too sure, you know.
[Illustration: THE BLACK DOUGLAS SURPRISING AN ENEMY.]
"Douglas had caused his picked men to approach the castle by walking
on their hands and knees, with long black cloaks thrown over their
bodies, and their ladders and weapons concealed under their cloaks.
The men thus presented very nearly the appearance of a herd of cattle
in the deep shadows, and completely deceived the sentinel, who was
probably thinking more of the music and dancing below than of the
watchful enemy who had been haunting the gloomy woods of Jedburgh.
"The Black Douglas, or 'Good James, Lord Douglas,' as he was called by
the Scots, fought, as I have already said, with King Robert Bruce at
Bannockburn. One lovely June day, in the far-gone year of 1329, King
Robert lay dying. He called Douglas to his bedside, and told him that
it had been one of the dearest wishes of his heart to go to the Holy
Land and recover Jerusalem from the Infidels; but since he could not
go, he wished him to embalm his heart after his death, and carry it to
the Holy City and deposit it in the Holy Sepulchre.
"Douglas had the heart of Bruce embalmed and inclosed in a silver
case, and wore it on a silver chain about his neck. He set out for
Jerusalem, but resolved first to visit Spain and engage in the war
waged against the Moorish King of Grenada. He fell in Andalusia, in
battle. Just before his death, he threw the silver casket into the
thickest of the fight, exclaiming, 'Heart of Bruce! I follow thee or
die!'
"His dead body was found beside the casket, and the heart of Bruce was
brought back to Scotland and deposited in the ivy-clad Abbey of
Melrose.
"Douglas was a real hero, and few things more engaging than his
exploits were ever told under the holly and mistletoe, or in the warm
Christmas light of the old Scottish Yule-logs.
"What has interested you most in Scotland?" said Master Lewis to
George Howe, continuing the subject.
"I am hardly interested in antiquities at all," said George, frankly.
"I try to be, but it is not in me. A living factory is more to my
taste than a dead museum. The most interesting things I have seen are
the great Glasgow factories. As for stories, I have been thinking of
one that has more force for me than all the legends I ever read."
"We shall be glad to hear you tell it," said Master Lewis. "My
business is teaching, and it is my duty to stimulate a love of
literature. But I have all respect for a boy with mechanical taste;
no lives promise greater usefulness. We will listen to George's
story."
"It is not a romantic story," said George. "I will call it
A GLASGOW FACTORY BOY.
"Just above the wharves of Glasgow, on the banks of the Clyde, there
once lived a factory boy, whom I will call Davie. At the age of ten he
entered a cotton factory as 'piecer.' He was employed from six o'clock
in the morning till eight at night. His parents were very poor, and he
well knew that his must be a boyhood of very hard labor. But then and
there, in that buzzing factory, he resolved that he would obtain an
education, and would become an intelligent and a useful man. With his
very first week's wages he purchased 'Ruddiman's Rudiments of Latin,'
He then entered an evening school that met between the hours of eight
and ten. He paid the expenses of his instruction out of his own hard
earnings. At the age of sixteen he could read Virgil and Horace as
readily as the pupils of the English grammar schools.
"He next began a course of self-instruction. He had been advanced in
the factory from a 'piecer' to the spinning-jenny. He brought his
books to the factory, and placing one of them on the 'jenny,' with the
lesson open before him, he divided his attention between the running
of the spindles and rudiments of knowledge. He now began to aspire to
become a preacher and a missionary, and to devote his life in some
self-sacrificing way to the good of mankind. He entered Glasgow
University. He knew that he must work his way, but he also knew the
power of resolution, and he was willing to make almost any sacrifice
to gain the end. He worked at cotton-spinning in the summer, lived
frugally, and applied his savings to his college studies in the
winter. He completed the allotted course, and at the close was able
triumphantly to say, '_I never had a farthing that I did not earn_.'
"That boy was Dr. David Livingstone."
"An excellent story," said Master Lewis. "A sermon in a story, and a
volume of philosophy in a life. Now, Tommy, what is the most
attractive thing _you_ have seen?"
"I see it now. Oh, look! look!" said Tommy, flying to the window.
The full moon was hanging over the great castle, whitening its grim
turrets.
The boys all gazed upon the scene, which appeared almost too beautiful
for reality.
"It looks like a castle in the sky," said Wyllys.
Story-telling was at an end. So the exercises ended with an exhibition
of Edinburgh Castle by moonlight.
[Illustration: {CÆSAR'S LEGIONS LANDING IN BRITAIN.}]
CHAPTER VII.
A RAINY EVENING STORY AT CARLISLE.
The Druids and Romans.--The Story of the Jolly Harper Man.--"When
first I came to Merry Carlisle."
"Carlisle!" said Master Lewis, as the cars stopped at a busy looking
city, the terminus of many lines of railway.
"Carlisle?" asked Frank Gray, glancing at the evidences of business
energy about the station. "Carlisle? I have heard that the city was a
thousand years old."
"An old city may grow," said Master Lewis, on the way to the hotel.
"In 1800, Carlisle had but 4,000 inhabitants, now it has more than
30,000."
Carlisle was the ancient seat of the kings of Cambria, and was a Roman
station in the early days of the Christian era. It was destroyed in
900 by the Danes, was ravaged by the Picts and Scots, was doubtless
visited by Agricola, Severus, and Hadrian, and it has a part in the
history of all the Border wars. Here half-forgotten kings lived; here
Roman generals made their airy camps, and near it the grotesque ships
of Roman emperors dropped their sails in the Solway. Here Christianity
made an early advent, and the hideous rites of the Druid priests
disappeared.
[Illustration: ROMANS INVADING BRITAIN.]
The ancient Druids worshipped in sacred groves; the oaks were their
fanes and chapels, but they erected immense stone temples open to the
sky, the moon, and stars: these were their cathedrals. In them were
great stones used as altars of sacrifice, and on their altars the dark
and mysterious priests offered up human victims to their gods.
The country around Carlisle abounds in Roman and Druidical relics, and
in antiquities associated with the Border contests. At Penrith may be
seen the ruins of a Druid temple, formed of sixty-seven immense
stones, called "long Meg and her daughters."
The Isle of Man, the ancient and poetic Mona, whose grand scenery was
once the supposed abode of the gods of the Saxons, lies near the
Solway, and to it excursion steamers go from the western coast towns
of England carrying pleasure seekers all the long summer days. Here
the Druids gathered after the defeat of the Saxons by the Romans, and
thither the Romans followed them, and fell upon the long-bearded
priests and the wild torch-bearing priestesses, and put them to the
sword. The island of Mona may be called the Druid's sepulchre.
The afternoon was rainy, and the boys, though impatient, were confined
to the hotel.
[Illustration: {MASSACRE OF THE DRUIDS.}]
In the evening Master Lewis said,--
"One of the most quaint and curious of old English ballads is
associated with Carlisle, and is founded upon a funny story which
illustrates the rude simplicity of the early English court. The ballad
may be found in the Percy Society's Collections, which you may some
day examine in the Boston Public Library, or indeed in any great
library at home or in England. It is entitled 'The Jolly Harper Man.'
I will relate it to you in the rather decorated style that I once
heard it told to a company of young people at a Christmas gathering in
one of the London charity schools. I hope it will interest you as much
now as it did the boys and girls who listened to it then.
[Illustration: DRUID SACRIFICE.]
THE STORY OF THE JOLLY HARPER MAN AND HIS GOOD FORTUNE.
"Many, many years ago,--as long ago as the days of Fair Rosamond, when
Henry Plantagenet and his unruly family governed England, and some
think as long ago as old Henry I.,--there lived in Scotland a jolly
harper man, who was accounted the most charming player in all the
world. The children followed him in crowds through the streets, nor
could they be stopped while he continued playing; even the animals in
the woods sat on their haunches to listen when he wandered harping
through the country; and the fair daughters of the nobles immediately
fell in love as often as he approached their castles.
"King Henry had a wonderful horse--a very wonderful horse--named
_Brownie_. He did not quite equal in dexterity and intelligence the
high-flying animal of whom you have read in the 'Arabian Nights,' but
he knew a great deal, and was a sort of philosopher among
horses,--just as Newton was a philosopher among men. King Henry said
he would not part with him for a province,--he would rather lose his
crown. In this he was wise, for a new crown could have been as easily
made as a stew-pan; but all the world, it may be, could not produce
such another intelligent horse.
"King Henry had fine stables built for the animal,--a sort of horse
palace. They were very strong, and were fastened by locks, and bars,
and bolts, and were kept by gay grooms, and guarded day and night by
soldiers, who never had been known to falter in their devotion to the
interests of the king.
"So strongly was the animal guarded, that it came to be a proverb
among the English yeomanry, that a person could no more do this or
that hard thing than 'they could steal Brownie from the stables of the
king.'
"The king liked the proverb; it was a compliment to his wisdom and
sagacity. It made him feel good,--so good, in fact, that it led him
one day quite to overshoot the mark in an effort that he made to
increase the people's high opinion.
"'If any one,' said he, after a good dinner,--'if any one were smart
enough to get Brownie out of his stables without my knowledge, I would
for his cleverness forgive him, and give him an estate to return the
animal.' Then he looked very wise, and felt very comfortable and very
secure. 'But,' he added, 'evil overtake the man who gets caught in an
attempt to steal my horse. Lucky will it be for him if his eyes ever
see the light of the English sun again.'
"Then the report went abroad that the man who would be so shrewd as to
get possession of the king's horse should have an estate, but that he
who failed in the attempt should lose his head.
"The English court, at this time, was at Carlisle, near the Scottish
border. The jolly harper man lived in the old town of Striveling,
since called Stirling, at some distance from the border.
"The jolly harper man, like most people of genius, was very poor. He
often played in the castles of the nobles, especially on festive
occasions; and, as he contrasted the luxurious living of these fat
lords with his own poverty, he became suddenly seized with a desire
for wealth, and he remembered the proverb, which was old even then,
that 'Where there is a will there is a way.'
"One autumn day, as he was travelling along the borders of Loch
Lomond, a famous lake in the middle of Scotland, he remembered that
there was a cave overlooking the lake from a thickly wooded hill, in
which dwelt a hermit, who often was consulted by people in perplexity,
and who bore the name of the 'Man of Wisdom.'
"He was not a wicked magician, nor did he pretend to have any dealings
with the dead. He was gifted only with what was called clearness of
vision; he could see into the secret of things, just as Zerah Colburn
could see into difficult problems of mathematics, without study.
Things that were darkness to others were as clear as sunlight to him.
He lived on roots and herbs, and flourished so wonderfully on the
diet, that what he didn't know was considered not worth knowing.
[Illustration: THE HERMIT.]
"It was near nightfall when the jolly harper man came to the famous
hill. The sun was going down in splendor, and the moon was coming up,
faint and shadowy, and turning into gold as the shadows deepened.
Showers of silver began to fall on Loch Lomond, and to quiver over the
valleys. It was an hour to fill a minstrel's heart with romantic
feeling, and it lent its witchery to the heart of the jolly harper
man.
"He wandered up the hill overlooking the lake, where dwelt the Man of
Wisdom to whose mind all things were clear. He sat down near the mouth
of the cave, partook of his evening meal, then, seizing his harp,
began to play.
"He played a tune of wonderful sweetness and sadness, so soft and airy
that the notes seemed to glide down the moonbeams, like the tinkling
of fairy bells in the air. The wicked owl pricked up his ears to
listen, and was so overcome that he wished he was a more respectable
bird. The little animals came out of the bushes, and formed a circle
around the jolly harper man, as though enchanted.
"The old hermit heard the strain, and came out to listen; and, because
he had clearness of vision, he knew that music of such wonderful
tenderness could be produced only by one who had great gifts of
nature, and who also had some secret longing in his heart.
"So he came up to the jolly harper man, walking with his cane, his
gray beard falling over his bosom, and his long white hair silvered in
the moonlight.
"The jolly harper man secretly expected him, or at least he hoped that
he would come out. Like the Queen of Sheba, he wished to test the
wisdom of this new Solomon, and to inquire of him if there were no way
of turning his wonderful musical genius into bags of gold.
"'Why do you wander here, my good harper?' asked the hermit, when the
last strain melted away in low, airy echoes over the lake. 'There are
neither lads to dance nor lassies to sing. This hill is my dominion,
and the dominion of a hermit is solitude.'
"'See you not Loch Lomond silvered in the moon?' said the jolly harper
man. 'Nature inspired me to touch my harp, and I love to play when the
inspiration of Nature comes upon me.'
"The answer pleased the hermit as much as the music.
"'But why is your music so sad, my good harper man; what is there that
you would have that fortune denies?'
"'Alas!' said the jolly harper man, 'I am very poor. My harpings all
die in the air, and leave me but a scanty purse, poor clothing, and no
roof over my head. You are a man of wisdom, to whom all things are
clear. Point out to me the way to fortune, my wise hermit. I have a
good liberal heart; you could not do a service to a more deserving
man.'
"The old hermit sat down on a stone in silence, resting his chin on
his staff. He seemed lost in profound thought. At last he looked up,
and said slowly, pausing between each sentence,--
"'Beyond the border there is a famous country; in that country there
is a palace; near the palace there is a stable, and in that stable
there is a stately horse. That horse is the pride of the kingdom; the
man who would get possession of that horse, without the king's
knowledge, might exchange him for a province.'
"'Wonderful! wonderful! But--'
"'Near Striveling town there is a hill; on the hillside is a lot; in
the lot is a fine gray mare, and beside the gray mare is a foal.'
"'Yes, yes! wonderful! but--'
"'I must now reveal to you one of the secrets of Nature. Separate that
mare from the foal, though it be for hundreds of miles, and, as soon
as she is free, she will return to her foal again. Nature has taught
her how, just as she teaches the birds of passage the way to sunny
islands; or the dog to find the lost hunter; or--'
"'Yes, yes; all very wonderful, but--'
"'In your hand you carry a harp; in the harp lies the power to make
merry; a merry king makes a festive board, and festivity produces deep
sleep in the morning hours.'
"The jolly harper man saw it all in a twinkling; the way to fortune
lay before him clear as sunlight. Perhaps you, Tommy, do not get the
idea so suddenly. If not, I fear you are not gifted like the good
hermit with clearness of vision.
"The jolly harper man returned to Striveling the next day, after
spending the night with the hermit on the borders of Loch Lomond.
"The following night he was summoned to play before two famous
Scottish knights, Sir Charles and Sir Roger. They were very valiant,
very rich, and, when put into good humor, were very liberal.
"The jolly harper man played merrily. The great hall of the castle
seemed full of larks, nightingales, elves, and fairies.
"'Why, man,' said Sir Roger to Sir Charles, in a mellow mood, 'you and
I could no more harp like that than we could gallop out of Carlisle on
the horse of the king.'
"'Let me make a prophecy,' said the jolly harper man at this. 'I will
one day ride _into_ Carlisle on the horse of the king, and will
exchange the horse for an estate.'
"'And I will add to the estate five ploughs of land,' said Sir Roger;
'so that you never shall lack for a home in old Scotland.'
"'And I will add to the five ploughs of land five thousand pounds,'
said Sir Charles; 'so that you never shall lack for good cheer.'
"The next morning the jolly harper man was seen riding out of
Striveling town on a fine gray mare; but a little colt was heard
whinnying alone in the high fenced lot on the side of the hill.
"It had been a day of high festival at Carlisle; it was now the cool
of the summer eve; the horn of the returning hunter was heard in the
forest, and gaily plumed knights and courtiers were seen approaching
the illuminated palace, urging their steeds along the banks of the
river Eden, that wound through the moonlit landscape like a ribbon of
silver.
"The feast was at its height. The king's heart was merry. There only
needed some novelty, now that the old diversions had come to an end,
to complete the delights of the festive hours.
"Suddenly sweet sounds, as of a tuning harp, were heard without the
palace. Then music of marvellous sweetness seemed to fill the air. The
windows and doors of the palace were thrown open. The king himself
left the table, and stood listening on the balcony.
"A merry tune followed the airy prelude; it made the nerves of the
old nobles tingle as though they were young again; and, as for the
king, his heart began to dance within him.
"'Come in! come in, my harper man!' shouted the king, shaking his
sides with laughter, and patting a fat noble on the shoulder with
delight. 'Come in, and let us hear some more of your harping.'
"The jolly harper man bowed very low. 'I shall be glad to serve your
grace; but first, give me stabling for my good gray mare.'
"'Take the animal to my best stables,' said the king. ''Tis there I
keep my Brownie, the finest horse in all the land.'
"The jolly harper man, accompanied by a gay groom, then took his horse
to the stables; and, as soon as he came out of the stable-door, struck
up his most lively and bewitching tune.
"The grooms all followed him, and the guards followed the grooms. The
servants all came flocking into the hall as the jolly harper man
entered, and the king's heart grew so merry, that all who came were
made welcome, and given good cheer.
"The small hours of night came at last, and the grand people in the
hall began to yawn, one after another. The jolly harper man now played
a very soothing melody. The king began to yawn, opening his mouth each
time a little wider than before, and finally he dozed off in his
chair, his head tilted back, and his mouth stretched almost from ear
to ear. The fat nobles, too, began to snore. First the king snored,
and then the nobles, which was a very proper way of doing the
thing,--the blissful sound passing from nose to nose, and making a
circuit of the tables.
"The guards, grooms, and servants began to feel very comfortable,
indeed; and, though it was their business to keep awake, their eyelids
grew very heavy, and they began to reason that it would be perfectly
safe to doze while their masters were sleeping. Who ever knew any
mischief to happen when everybody was asleep?
"The jolly harper man now played his dreamiest music, and just as the
cock crew for the first time in the morning, he had the satisfaction
of seeing the last lackey fall asleep. He then blew out the lights,
and crept nimbly forth to the stables. He found the stable door
unlocked, and the gray mare kicking impatiently about, and whinnying
for her foal.
"Now, what do you suppose the jolly harper man did? Guess, if you have
Clearness of Vision. He took from his pocket a stout string, and tied
the halter of the king's horse, the finest in all the land, to the
halter of his own animal, and patting the fine gray mare on her side
said: 'And now go home to your foal.'
"The next morning all was consternation in the palace. The king's
horse was gone. The king sent for the jolly harper man, and said,--
"'My horse has escaped out of the stables, the finest animal in all
the land!'
"'And where is my fine gray mare?' asked the jolly harper man.
"'Gone, too,' said the king.
"'I will tell you what I think,' said the jolly harper man, with
wonderful confidence. 'I think that there has been a rogue in the
town.'
"The king, with equal wisdom, favored the idea, and the jolly harper
man made an early escape that morning from the palace.
"Then the jolly harper man went as fast as he could to Striveling. Of
course, he found his fine gray mare in the lot with her foal, and the
king's horse tied to her halter; and, of course, he rode the noble
animal into Carlisle; and presenting himself before the two knights,
Sir Roger and Sir Charles, claimed his five ploughs of land and five
thousand pounds.
"'Go to! go to!' said Sir Roger, pointing at him in derision; and Sir
Charles laughed a mighty laugh of scorn. 'The man does not live who
could ride away the king's Brownie! Go to!'
"'The king's Brownie stands in your own court!' cried the jolly harper
man; and Sir Roger and Sir Charles paid their forfeits without another
word.
"Then the jolly harper man returned the king's horse to the royal
owner: and who ever heard of such a thing as a king breaking his
promise? Not the jolly harper man, you may be sure."
"Is the story a true one?" asked Tommy Toby.
"The story, as I heard it, was acknowledged to be considerably
embellished; and I have tried to make it as attractive as possible.
You should always remember this, that a good historic story gathers
color by time. The stories of Faust, Macbeth, King Lear, William Tell,
Robert the Devil, and many others I might name, have but meagre facts
for a starting point."
"I know a story of Nottingham, that I think as funny as that," said
Tommy. "It is about the Wise Men of Gotham."
"We will hear it when we go to Nottingham," said Master Lewis. "I
think we will go there at once, after an excursion to the English
Lakes."
The next morning George Howe and Leander Towle left the party for
Birmingham, London, and Paris, as their means would not admit of their
making easy zigzag journeys through England, in the way that Master
Lewis had planned for the other boys. They agreed to meet Master Lewis
and their companions in London, on their return from Paris, at which
time they would have completed their tour, and would be obliged to
leave for home before the others made their journey through Normandy.
Ernest Wynn, as we have said, was very fond of old English and
Scottish ballads, and he never lost any good opportunity to hear a new
song.
While the party were talking over their plans for visiting English
places, the sound of a piano in an adjoining room fell upon Ernest's
ear.
He left his companions, and, going into the open room from which the
music came, listened attentively to the playing.
"Do you sing?" asked Ernest of the player, who was a pleasant-faced
little miss about ten or twelve years of age.
"Sometimes."
"I like music. Will you not sing for me?"
"If I can. What would you have me sing?"
"Oh, something about Carlisle: something that I would not hear at
home."
"Where is your home?"
"In America."
"In America! What, so far? Perhaps you would like to hear 'Mona's
Waters?'"
"Yes," said Ernest.
The song was very winningly sung.
"Now perhaps you would like to hear 'When first I came to merry
Carlisle'?"
Ernest smiled.
"It doesn't mean you at all. It was a girl who lost her lover in one
of the Border Wars.
"'When first I came to merry Carlisle,
Ne'er was a town sae sweetly seeming:
The white rose flaunted o'er the wall,
The thistled banners far were streaming.
"'When next I came to merry Carlisle,
Oh sad, sad, seemed the town, an' eerie!
The auld, auld men came out and wept,
O maiden! come ye to seek yere dearie?'"
"Thank you for that song," said Ernest. "I have heard 'Highland Mary'
sung at Ayr, and shall always remember it. And I shall also be pleased
to recollect,--
"'When first I came to merry Carlisle.'"
"And 'the girl I left behind me,'" said Tommy Toby to Ernest, softly.
The Miss saw the point of the joke, and, as it was politely spoken,
received the implied compliment with becoming modesty and good-humor,
saying that she should also remember very pleasantly the visit of the
Zigzag Club to her father's house.
CHAPTER VIII.
A CLOUDLESS DAY.
Sherwood Forest.--Nottingham.--Story of the Wise Men of Gotham.
"Have stood by the graves of Wordsworth and Coleridge. The trees were
green and cool; the Rotha rippled beside the poets' resting-place, and
Helvellyn and Catchedicam in the distance rose in the calm, bright
air. Beautiful indeed are these mountains in midsummer. The whole Lake
region is beautiful--beautiful!"
Such was the brief entry Wyllys Wynn made in the journal in his
guide-book, on returning from the English Lakes.
"There is a touching story associated with Helvellyn," said Wyllys to
Master Lewis, as the boys were returning from the Lakes, "that Scott
has told in very musical verse. It is of a little dog that watched
beside the dead body of his master for several months, and was found
guarding the bones. Will you not relate it to us?"
"Wordsworth and Scott, I think," said Master Lewis, "both tell the
story in verse.
"About the year 1805 there dwelt in the district a young man of
elegant tastes, who loved to explore these mountain regions. He was
well known for his literary attainments, and greatly beloved for his
gentle and amiable manners.
"He used to make frequent excursions among the wild mountains, and
would spend whole days feasting his eye on the exhaustless beauties
they afforded. He was always attended by a little terrier dog, to
which he was greatly attached, and which was ever on the alert to do
his master's bidding. Scott, in his ballad, calls the young man the
Wanderer, and so I will call him now.
"One spring day, when the streams were swollen, and the mountains were
all alive with waterfalls, birds, and flowers, the Wanderer set out on
an excursion that promised unusual attractions, attended by his little
favorite. He penetrated too far, or remained too long; night probably
overtook him, and he lost his way. He fell from a precipice, and was
dashed in pieces. For several months the little dog watched by the
remains of his beloved master, only leaving them, it is supposed, to
obtain necessary food. The remains of the Wanderer were found during
the following summer by a party of excursionists, and, when
discovered, the terrier was guarding them with pitying care.
"Sir Walter Scott, in company with Wordsworth, ascended Helvellyn
during the following autumn, and visited the spot where the Wanderer
died. The well-known ballad, one of the most pathetic of Scott's
poetical compositions, was the result of this excursion.
"'I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn,
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide,
All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling,
And starting around me the echoes replied.
On the right Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending,
And Catchedicam its left verge was defending,
One huge, nameless rock in the front was ascending,
When I marked the sad spot where the Wanderer had died.'"
The Class stopped at Sheffield, and thence began their first
experience of English stage-coaching to the old town of Mansfield.
They entered the latter upon a market-day, and found the streets full
of empty carts, cattle, and rustic people, presenting a scene of truly
ancient simplicity. Mansfield is still a miller's town, and must
present nearly the same appearance as in the days of Henry II., who,
according to the old ballad, was lost in the forests near the place.
The forests, however, have changed: little remains of them but a
heath, traversed by wild and romantic roads. Here and there a great
tree, like a forest lord, may be seen, to remind one of the kingly
hunting days.
Leaving Mansfield for Sherwood Forest, strange houses by the wayside,
excavated in limestone and recalling the supposed age of the
cave-dwellers, as in an unexpected picture, much excited the boys'
curiosity.
Sherwood Forest, or as much of it as remains, is twenty-five miles
long and about eight broad. The new growth of trees is very fine; but
it is the remains of the grand old oaks that attract the tourist and
summer wanderer. The wood has a ground-work of exhaustless ferns, the
delicate birches flutter in the warm winds, their peculiar shade
contrasting with the greenery around them. Here and there oaks of
different ages and altitudes rise gray, gnarled, and almost
leafless,--oaks on which a thousand tempests have beaten, and around
which ten thousand storms have blown. In Henry II.'s time not only
Nottingham, but the whole of England, was covered with oaks.
[Illustration: SHAMBLE OAK.]
Tommy Toby was very urgent to visit some of the old historic oaks of
Sherwood, especially such as are associated with quaint stories and
tragic histories.
Procuring a guide, the Class went first to see Shamble Oak. Think of
it: in the main circuit it is thirty-four feet! It is called Shamble
Oak because a butcher once used its hollow trunk to conceal stolen
sheep. He was hung on an oak.
The guide next took the boys to a dreamy old place called Welbeck
Park, to see the Greendale Oak, supposed to be seven hundred years
old, and which has a circumference of more than thirty-five feet!
"It looks as though it had the rheumatism," said Tommy. "With all of
its crutches and canes it will not live many years longer. Do you
think it will?"
"I think it likely to outlive all of us," said the guide. "More than
one hundred and fifty years ago an arch was cut in this tree, and a
lord rode through it on his wedding day. It was very, very old then;
but the lord is gone, and the oak lives."
[Illustration: GREENDALE OAK.]
The guide procured for the party a vehicle, and drove to Parliament
Oak, under which it is said that Edward I. held a Parliament in 1290.
The tree still furnishes green boughs. Its girth is about twenty-nine
feet.
Newstead Abbey, the home of Lord Byron, forms a part of the old
forest of Sherwood, and is but a short distance from Mansfield. It was
founded by Henry II., and presents one of the picturesque and
interesting ruins in this part of England.
"You will not be allowed to visit the Abbey," said the guide. "The
rooms of Lord Byron remain just as he left them; his bedstead, with
gilded coronets, his pictures, portraits of friends, writing-table,
and all; but it is private property, and visitors are not allowed."
"The Abbey was built by Henry as one of the many peace offerings which
he made for the murder of Thomas à Becket," said Master Lewis. "You
remember the story?"
[Illustration: PARLIAMENT OAK.]
"Yes," said Wyllys Wynn. "Thomas à Becket claimed that the power of
the clergy was superior to the power of the king, and Henry pronounced
him a traitor. He was killed at the altar by a party of conspirators,
whose deed had the supposed sanction of the king. Henry did penance at
Thomas à Becket's tomb."
"He stripped his back, and allowed the monks to whip him, did he not?"
said Tommy. "I remember the picture of it in my history."
Distant views of Newstead, so full of strange memories and fantastic
histories, were all the Class could obtain. The ruin looked down upon
the charming old Nottinghamshire woodlands like a picture of the
past, and the spirit of romance and poetry seemed to linger around it
still.
[Illustration: MORTIMER'S HOLE.]
Going next to the fine old town of Nottingham, almost the first thing
which the boys desired to see was Mortimer's Hole. This is a passage
through a sand-rock, more than three hundred feet in length. Through
this passage young Edward entered Nottingham Castle by night, and thus
surprised and captured Mortimer (Earl of March). The wicked Earl was
conveyed by the same passage out of the castle so secretly that the
guards were not aware that it had been entered.
In the evening spent at Nottingham, Tommy Toby was asked about his
story of which he had spoken in connection with the place.
[Illustration: MURDER OF THOMAS À BECKET.]
"It is not a story of Nottingham, but of Gotham, near Nottingham. It
is about the Wise Men."
"Who went to sea in a bowl?" asked Frank.
"No, they were much wiser than that. I will try to tell it in the way
Master Lewis tells his stories: in the rather _decorated_ style."
"I hope you will always have as nice a sense of honor as you show
now," said Master Lewis, "whenever you make the slightest change from
plain truth to parable. You have a tact for story-telling, for one so
young; and you studied up the story of 'The Frolicsome Duke,' which
you told the Club, in a manner that quite surprised us. I hope this
story will prove as entertaining."
THE STORY OF THE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM.
"More than six hundred and fifty years ago, there reigned in England a
king, named John. They called him _Sansterre_ or Lackland, for, unlike
his brothers, he had received from his father no fiefs.
"He was the son of Henry Plantagenet, a good king, as kings went in
those rude times, who governed England for thirty-four years.
"His mother was Eleanora of Aquitaine, who was, in her day, the
prettiest girl in France. But she was a wilful little woman and full
of craft. She married the French king first, but, not liking him on
account of his monkish ways, she procured a divorce, and told Henry
Plantagenet, who was young and handsome and gay, that she would like
to marry him. He accepted the proposal, because the union would add to
his dominions several provinces. Henry loved Rosamond Clifford,--'Fair
Rosamond,'--whom he had met in the valley of the Wye, and who was the
prettiest girl in all the world.
"The marriage proved an unhappy one. Henry soon discovered what a
wily, wilful little woman she was; he tried to curb her, and a
terrible time he had.
"Richard succeeded his father. It was he who made the grandest crusade
of the Middle Ages; who was married at Cyprus in flower-time; who
fought with noble Saladin at Acre and Jaffa; who was obliged to sail
away from the Holy Land; who looked back from his beautiful ship on
the unconquered coast with regret; who was shipwrecked and cast upon a
hostile coast; and who was discovered, when imprisoned in a gloomy old
castle on the Danube, by the harp of Blondel the Troubadour.
"Then came John, in whose veins flowed the worst blood of King Henry's
family. Prince Arthur, Geoffrey's son, had the best claim to the
crown, but somehow John got himself crowned, and he began to reign so
terribly that the hearts of the barons quaked within them; and so, for
a time, he silenced all opposition. He was as cunning as bad Queen
Eleanora, and he loved to make mischief as well. He would order that a
man should be killed, apparently with as little conscience as he would
have ordered a butcher to slay a sheep. Most bad kings have been
notable for some good qualities; King John, so far as I know, had
none.
"In Nottinghamshire there is an old town, removed from the great
centres of life and activity, called Gotham. The inhabitants were of
good Saxon stock, and they hated the whole race of Norman
Plantagenets. These people had learned something of liberty from bold
Robin Hood, 'all under the greenwood tree.'
"One day there came a report to Old Gotham that King John was making a
progress, and would pass through the town. Now it was an old custom in
feudal times that the course that a king took, in passing for the
first time through a district or a shire, should become ever after a
public highway. The people of Gotham wanted no public highway to their
town, no avenue that would open their retreat to the Normans, and put
them more easily in the power of brutal kings. And they hated John. So
they held a council, and resolved that the feet of John Lackland, the
murderer, should never dishonor the town of Gotham.
[Illustration: RICHARD'S FAREWELL TO THE HOLY LAND.]
"But the people understood that it would be a foolhardy work to oppose
the progress of the king openly. They must rely upon their wits.
The men decided to go in a body and fell large trees across a certain
upland, over which the royal party must pass to enter the town. This
they did, making a barrier through which mounted horsemen would find
it difficult to break, and which would compel a party like the king's
to turn off by another way.
"When King John came to the eminence, and found his progress arrested,
he was very angry, and, finding a couple of rustics near the place, he
demanded of them who had made the barrier.
"'The people of Gotham,' answered one of the rustics.
"'Go you to Gotham,' said the king, 'and tell the people from me, that
as soon as I return to camp I will send a troop to cut off their
noses.'
"The two rustics ran off, terribly frightened, and reported the
cheerful intelligence at Gotham. Oh, then there were stirring times in
that old town! The people had no wish to receive a kingly decoration
in that way.
"What was to be done?
"They met for consultation.
"Now there were wise men in Gotham, and, when the convention met,
these wise men expressed their opinions not only on the nose question,
but on public affairs in general. After a long deliberation, one of
these wise men, whom I will call Fitz Peter, said: 'Our wits have thus
far prevented King John from setting foot in our town, and our wits
are able to save our noses.' This opinion was received with great
satisfaction.
"But how should they accomplish the end?
"Now chief among the wise men of Gotham was one whom I will call
Leofric. He at last stood up with a very knowing look, and said: 'I
have heard of many people who were punished for being wise, but I
never heard of a person who was punished for being a fool. When the
king's troops come, let us each imitate a safe example, and act like a
fool.'
"At this the people shouted. So they decided to rely on their wits
for the safety of their noses, and to act like fools.
"One morning, very early, as a party of horsemen were leaving the town
for hunting, a troop appeared, with a fierce sheriff at their head.
"The bowmen were terribly scared, and the question passed around as to
what they should do. They hit upon a plan, and threw away their
hunting-gear. When the sheriff came up, he found the old men rolling
great stones up the hill, and the young men bending over and grunting
as if they were in great distress.
"'What are you doing?' demanded the sheriff of one of the old men who
was tugging away at a stone.
"'We are rolling stones up hill for day.'
"'You old fool!' said the sheriff. 'Go home and go to bed, and day
will come itself.'
"'Why,' returned the man, as though greatly astonished, 'I never
thought of that. How wise you be! You are the wisest man I ever did
see!'
"'And what are _you_ doing?' asked the sheriff, of one of the young
men.
"'We do the _grunting_,' was the prompt reply.
"'The old men do the lifting, and the young men do the grunting!'
exclaimed the sheriff. 'Well,' he added, in sudden good-humor, 'that
is the way the world goes everywhere!' And he galloped away, leaving
the men unharmed.
"The sheriff next met four old women, with brooms on their shoulders.
"'Whither away?' asked the sheriff.
"'To the priest's, to be married,' said they all.
"'To the priest's, to be married?'
"'We go every morning to be married,' answered one of the old crones,
'and we have been for the last forty years!'
"'Then why are you not married?'
"'The priest says that we do not bring the right thing. We carry
something new every morning.'
"'But why do you not take a _man_?'
"'A MAN!' exclaimed the old woman, leaping straight into the air. 'A
MAN? I never thought of that! How wise you be! Why, you are the wisest
man that I ever did see!'
[Illustration: LIMESTONE DWELLINGS.]
"The sheriff next met some men who had started on a journey, each of
whom carried on his back a door.
"'Why do you carry that door?' asked the sheriff of one of the
travellers.
"'Left my money at home.'
"'Then why not leave the door at home too?'
"'Afraid of thieves.'
"'Afraid of thieves? Then leave your door at home to protect your
money.'
"'They can't break in, because, you see, I've got the door.'
"'Leave your door at home, and take your money with you.'
"'I never thought of that. How wise you be! You are the wisest man
that I ever did see!'
"The sheriff let the travellers pass on unmolested.
"'The people are all fools here,' he said.
"'It would be too bad to harm such simple people,' said his comrades.
"'Fools all,' said the sheriff.
"'Fools all,' said the horsemen.
"'Let us go back,' said the sheriff, 'and report to the king that the
people in Gotham are fools.'
"'Right,' said the men.
"So they returned to the king, and reported that Gotham was a place of
fools. And from these circumstances, or incidents like these, if I may
believe an old tale, the men of that place were called, in derision,
'The Wise Men of Gotham,' from that day."
CHAPTER IX.
A SERIES OF MEMORABLE VISITS.
Tommy goes hunting.--"Peveril of the Peak."--The Boy at the
Wheel.--Leamington.--Stratford-on-Avon.--Shakspeare's Birthplace,
Garden, and Tomb.--Queer Relics.--Kenilworth.--Ernest's Album of
Leaves and Flowers.--Warwick Castle.--The Mighty Guy.--The Antique
Portress.
Master Lewis gave the boys a couple of days in Nottingham to enjoy
themselves as they liked.
Tommy Toby went _hunting_.
"I want to be able to tell people," he said, "that I have hunted in
Sherwood Forest, the royal hunting-ground of English kings."
"In midsummer?" asked Master Lewis. "I fancy if you were to use a gun
in the Forest of Sherwood, you might make a longer vacation abroad
than you intended."
"I do not intend to use a gun. I have bought me a bow and some
arrows."
"Let me see them," said Master Lewis. "They look very harmless,
certainly." Master Lewis seemed to hesitate about making further
objections.
Just what came of Tommy's hunting we cannot state at this stage of our
narrative. He left the boys at the hotel, bow and arrows in hand, and
saying as a word of parting,--
"'Let's go to the wood, said Richard to Robin.'"
He evidently went outside of the city into the wooded district, that
was a part of old Sherwood Forest. When Master Lewis found that he had
really gone out of the place he looked troubled, and said:--
"I should have prevented it."
Tommy returned late on the evening of the same day after a ten hours'
absence. He certainly looked like a modern hunter, for he was empty
handed, and his clothes were in a very disarranged condition.
"Where are your bow and arrows?" asked Frank.
"I shall tell you nothing at all about it, now," said Tommy. "It is my
own secret."
"Then you have two secrets," said Frank, referring to the fact that
Tommy had been made custodian of the secret he was supposed to have
selected for the Club.
"Yes, but _that_ don't _amount to much_," said Tommy.
"_Nothing, after all_," said Master Lewis, quietly, who had seen
Tommy's conundrum on a card. "I did not suppose that you really
intended to spend the day in the country alone with bow and arrow."
"Just look at my legs," said Tommy, rolling up his pants, and showing
bloody scars.
"Where did you get _them_?" asked Master Lewis.
"_Up a tree._ Please do not ask me now. If you will excuse me from
telling you now, I will give you a full account some other time."
"I will excuse you from giving an account of yourself, to-night; but
please remember that you must not go hunting, or anywhere, alone again
without my permission," said Master Lewis, noticing some singular
rents in Tommy's clothes.
Tommy went to his supper.
"I've been chased by the _terriblest_ bull you ever saw," he whispered
confidentially to Wyllys Wynn, as he passed him. "I'll tell you all
about it some time."
He added,--
"And that ain't all. I've been chased by _John_ Bull, too."
[Illustration: PEVERIL OF THE PEAK.]
Ernest Wynn went, under an arrangement made for him by Master Lewis,
to the Peak near Castleton, wishing to view the scene of Sir Walter
Scott's charming romance, "Peveril of the Peak." He found there only a
pitiful ruin, and instead of knights with dancing plumes and silver
shields, with which fancy pictures the eyry of the grand old Norman
baron, he met some very strange-looking mining people, who are often
to be seen in the rural districts in this part of England.
One incident touched Frank's kind heart, and seemed more to impress
him than the associations of manorial splendor he had made the journey
to see.
[Illustration: THE BOY AT THE WHEEL.]
In the entrance of one of the caves of the Peak was a little
rope-spinner, who was lame, and whose time was spent from sun to sun
in turning the wheel,--always the same, faithfully turning the wheel.
"I gave him a shilling," said Frank, "spoke kindly to him, and left
him gazing after me with tears in his eyes, still turning his wheel,
turning his wheel."
From Nottingham Master Lewis and the boys went to Birmingham, and
Frank Gray and Ernest Wynn made a détour to the little village of
Madeley, and visited Boscobel, the place of refuge of King Charles II.
after his defeat at the battle of Worcester. The king first arrived at
White Ladies about three-quarters of a mile from Boscobel House: there
he secreted himself in an oak, afterwards famous as the Royal Oak of
Boscobel. The brothers Penderell, foresters and yeomen, concealed him
in closets in their simple mansion, being true to their sovereign at
the risk of their lives, when it might have raised them from poverty
to riches to have uttered a treacherous word.
[Illustration: BOSCOBEL.]
The closets in which Charles was concealed are exhibited to visitors,
and Frank and Ernest were allowed to pass up and down the passages
that had afforded so secure a retreat to the fugitive. In the parlor
they were shown a chimney-piece, and on one of the panels a picture of
the king in the oak, and on another the king in disguise on
horse-back, escorted by the Penderells.
[Illustration: {THE TOMB OF RICHARD PENDERELL.}]
It is said that the king's pursuers were thrown off the right track of
discovery by an owl that flew out of the oak where he was concealed,
leading the captain to say, "The owl loveth not company, and where he
is no one else can be." It is also related that when Charles
complained of the slowness of the horse on which he fled in disguise,
one of the Penderells remarked that the animal never before had "the
weight of three kingdoms on his back." These stories may not be quite
true, but one is reminded of them by the figures on the chimney-piece.
The Class next went to Leamington, a most convenient point from which
to make short excursions to Stratford-on-Avon, Warwick Castle, and
Kenilworth Castle. Leamington, although itself not historically
interesting, is provided with excellent hotels, being an English
watering-place.
[Illustration: KING CHARLES'S HIDING PLACE.]
The first excursion of the party from Leamington was to
Stratford-on-Avon, to the house where Shakspeare was born, and the
church in which he was buried.
[Illustration: SHAKSPEARE.]
The birthplace of Shakspeare is an antique-looking stone house two
stones high, with picturesque gables fronting the street. In the room
where he first saw the light of the world he was to enrich with his
thought there is a cast of his face taken after his death, and a
portrait painted in the prime of his life. The latter showed a truly
noble brow; it was such a face as fancy itself might paint, so royally
did it seem endowed with genius. In this room Sir Walter Scott had
inscribed his name on a pane of glass, and Wordsworth once wrote a
stanza which is still preserved under glass. It began with these
lines:--
"The house of Shakspeare's birth we here may see;
That of his death we find without a trace.
Vain the inquiry, for immortal he"--
Here the poet seemed to pause as though the literary work was not
satisfactory; he drew his pen across what he had written, and under it
wrote the following stanza:--
"Of mighty Shakspeare's birth the room we see;
That where he died, in vain to find we try.
Useless the search, for, all immortal he:
And those who are immortal never die."
The effort furnishes a curious illustration of the methods of a poet's
mind in careful composition.
Back of the house is a garden, in which grew the old English flowers
that are portrayed by the poet in his dramas.
From the house the party went to the cottage of Anne Hathaway,
Shakspeare's wife, whom he loved in youth when life's bright ways lay
fair before him. It is a house which is mainly noticeable for its
simplicity.
"There is the place where he sat when he came to see his sweetheart,"
said the old lady who showed the house.
Shakspeare and his wife sleep in the same beautiful church amid the
bowery town of Stratford-on-Avon; and thither, rowing up the Avon
almost to the churchyard, our tourists made their way.
The party approached the church through an avenue of limes, and
entered the richly-carved oak doors of the Gothic porch. The tomb of
Shakspeare is in the chancel. The Avon runs but a short distance from
the walls, and the cool boughs of the summer trees wave before the
windows. A flat stone marks the place where the poet is buried, on
which are inscribed the oft quoted lines said to be written by the
poet himself:--
"Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear
To dig the dust enclosed here!
Blest be the spade that spares these stones,
And curst be he that moves my bones."
Over the grave, in a niche of the wall, is a bust of the poet. The
inscription mentions his age as fifty-three years.
[Illustration: ANNE HATHAWAY'S COTTAGE.]
Returning to the birthplace, Frank Gray and Tommy Toby visited the
Shakspeare Museum. The collection of curiosities was somewhat
comical,--such for example as a phial containing _juice_ from
mulberries gathered from Shakspeare's mulberry-tree; Shakspeare's jug,
from which Garrick sipped wine at the Jubilee in 1769. Frank seemed to
enjoy the specimens, his mind poetically associating them with bygone
scenes.
[Illustration: RUINS OF KENILWORTH CASTLE.]
Tommy showed a great contempt for Frank's wonder-talk.
"I've found something now," he said, "that outdoes all the rest. It is
a letter written--"
"By Shakspeare?" asked Frank, in an animated way.
"No: _to_ Shakspeare."
"By whom?"
"Mr. Richard Quyney. You have often heard of him, I suppose?"
"He was probably a literary man," said Frank.
"Probably. He asked for a _loan_ of thirty pounds."
The next day's trip was to Kenilworth Castle, an ivy-hung ruin
associated with the whole of England's history, and traditionally with
the romances of King Arthur. The walls are broken, the great
banqueting hall has just fallen into decay, and where the coronals
flashed and astrals blazed at night, now shine only the dim light of
the moon and stars. Here Queen Elizabeth was entertained by her
favorite, the Earl of Leicester. The splendor of that reception has
rarely been equalled. The fête, which was one long banquet, broken by
a most wonderful series of dramatic representations, lasted seventeen
days. There were tilts and tournaments; the park was peopled with gods
and goddesses to surprise the Queen wherever she went; nymphs and
mermaids rose from the pools, and there was minstrelsy on every hand.
Thirty-one barons were present. Ten oxen were slaughtered every
morning, sixteen hogsheads of wine and forty hogsheads of beer were
consumed daily. There were lodged in the castle four hundred servants,
all of whom appeared in new liveries of velvet, and shared the
unrestrained hospitality.
"All the clocks in the castle were stopped during that long festival,"
said Master Lewis, "and the hands were all left pointing at the
banquet hour."
"But time went on," said Wyllys Wynn.
"Yes, time went on, and the maiden Queen grew old as all mortals must,
and there came a time when her vanity could no longer be deceived.
She sought to keep from sight the white hairs and wrinkles of age by
every art, but Nature did its work, as with Canute and the sea. When
her form and features began to lose whatever of beauty they once
possessed, she tried to banish from her mind the reality that she was
past her prime by viewing herself in false and flattering mirrors.
"But the wrinkles grew deeper, and the white hairs multiplied, and her
limbs lost their power, and her strength at last was gone. Her
flatterers still fed her fondness for admiration with their arts, and
while life offered her any prospect she still smiled upon those whom
she must have suspected were deceiving her.
"'One day,' says her attendant, Lady Southwell, 'she desired to see a
_true glass_, which in twenty years before she had not seen, but only
such an one as on purpose was made to deceive her sight.'
"They brought it to the poor withered Queen. She raised it to her face
with her bony hands, and looked. For the first time for years she saw
herself.
"It was a revelation. Her old rage came back again. She pointed to her
flatterers with scorn, and ordered them to quit her presence.
"Then came the Archbishop of Canterbury, disgracing his sacred office
by his words. 'Madam,' said he, 'your piety, your zeal, and the
admirable work of the Reformation afford great grounds of confidence
for you.'
"But the wretchedly disenchanted woman could no longer be deceived.
"'My lord,' she said, 'the crown that I have borne so long has given
me enough of _vanity_ in my time. I beseech you not to augment it at
this hour.'
"She had seen herself, and the world also, in the true glass."
Ernest Wynn was observed by Master Lewis making a collection of ivy
leaves at Kenilworth.
"Do you collect leaves at all the historic places you visit?" he
asked.
[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF ELIZABETH.]
"I picked some heather at the birthplace of Burns, brought ivy from
Melrose, and wild flowers from Newstead and from the Peak, and I
purchased flowers from Shakspeare's garden."
"What do you intend to do with them?"
"I will tell you privately. George Howe is pleased with collections of
interesting things,--shells, stamps, autographs. He has but little
money, and I am making a scrap-book of pictures, leaves, and flowers
collected at notable places, as a present for him."
"It seems to me an admirable plan," said Master Lewis. "I should be
pleased with such a book myself."
The next day the party visited Warwick Castle, one of the finest and
best preserved of all the ancient country seats of the English
nobility. To one approaching it, its rich lawns, its towering trees
(of which some are from Lebanon), its picturesque windows, and harmony
of design make it an ideal of castellated beauty.
The Class was ceremoniously admitted by men in livery, and was taken
charge of by a portly and pompous Englishwoman, who wore a black silk
that rustled as she swept along. She carried a bunch of keys at her
side, and evidently entertained a high sense of the dignity of her
position.
"_This_," said the stately lady, pointing to an immense structure of
armor, "this is the armor of the mighty Guy."
"The mighty Guy!" said Tommy Toby, with large eyes, "will you please
tell us who _he_ was?"
The antique portress stared as though amazed at such a confession of
ignorance.
"We are from America," said Tommy.
Master Lewis smiled at being included in the uninstructed "we."
"Guy was a giant."
Tommy's interest grew.
"He was the great Earl of Warwick: a valiant soldier who slew so many
people that he became melancholy, and retired to Guy's Cliff, as it
is now called, and there lived alone in a cave for thirty years. He
was _nine_ feet high."
"And what is _that_?" said Tommy Toby, pointing to an immense pot.
"That," said the antique lady, "was the mighty Guy's _porridge pot_."
"How much does it hold?"
"It holds one hundred and twenty gallons, and weighs eight hundred
pounds."
"Did the mighty Guy drink as much porridge as that at every meal?"
asked Tommy, his curiosity taking a wider circle with each new
statement.
"I don't know; all of these things happened long, long before I was
born.
"_That_," said the lady, "is a rib of the Dun Cow."
"What kind of a cow was that?" asked Tommy.
"It was a cow which the mighty Guy killed on Dunsmore Heath. It weighs
nine pounds and a half."
"The cow?"
"No, the rib."
The lady led the party in a procession which she dramatically headed
through the lower rooms of the principal building. She showed them the
superb old baronial hall; the drawing-rooms, magnificent with
tapestries and inlaid furniture; the pictures by Vandyke. Then in an
awesome manner she suddenly stopped, and said in a low confidential
voice,--
"The Countess herself is above stairs."
"How many feet high is the Countess? I'd give a quarter--"
Tommy's intended remark was checked by Master Lewis.
The lady requested a fee on showing the party back to the lodge, and
dismissed Master Lewis with a stiff bow that indicated a want of
confidence in American respect for the great and mighty Guy and his
successors.
CHAPTER X.
A VISIT TO OXFORD AND WOODSTOCK.
A University a Thousand Years Old.--Woodstock.--Fair Rosamond.--Old
Ballad.--The Head of Brass that Spoke.
"Beautiful! beautiful!" exclaimed Wyllys Wynn, as the city of Oxford
appeared in view. "It looks like a city of churches."
"It is indeed a city of institutions," said Master Lewis.
"It is a very old city, is it not?" asked Wyllys.
"It is said to have been the residence of Alfred the Great, and of
King Canute. The University of Oxford was, according to tradition,
founded by Alfred the Great."
"If it be so, what a monument the good king left behind him! It was
this king, was it not, whose mother offered a beautiful manuscript to
the one of her four sons who would first learn to repeat it from
memory? Alfred, although he was a mere child and could not read,
induced an instructor to teach him the manuscript, and so secured the
prize."
[Illustration: ALFRED AND HIS MOTHER.]
"This was the king," said Tommy Toby, "who, when flying from the
Danes in disguise, was left by a rustic's wife to watch some cakes
that were baking by the fire."
"And let them burn," said Wyllys.
"The woman," said Tommy, "gave him a gentle hint, saying that if he
was too lazy to watch them, he would be glad enough to eat them when
they were cooked. I have heard my mother make very similar remarks."
[Illustration: CANUTE AND HIS COURTIERS.]
"Canute, of whom you spoke, was the king who ordered his throne to be
placed on the margin of the sea," said Wyllys to Master Lewis, "and
then commanded the sea to rise no farther."
"But the sea rose," said Master Lewis, "and the king refused to wear
again his golden crown for ever, resolving to serve only that King who
rules the sea.
"The history of Oxford covers a period of a thousand years," continued
Master Lewis. "Here Queen Matilda, or the Empress Maud, as she was
called, because she had been the wife of the German Emperor, was
besieged by King Stephen, who had usurped the throne, and thence she
fled from him one snowy day, herself and attendants dressed in white
that they might not be discovered; here the people closed the gates
against William the Conqueror; here Richard I. was born, and here
Ridley, Latimer, and Cranmer were burned. The early history of nearly
all great English scholars for many centuries is associated with the
colleges in this place."
[Illustration: FLIGHT OF EMPRESS MAUD.]
"How green are the English meadows with their hedgerows and trees!"
said Wyllys.
"And how bright are the streams that run among them! An English
landscape is more rich and varied than an American."
"I never would tell of it," said Tommy. "Grass is grass, and we have
just as good grass at home as anywhere."
"We have no buildings at home that are quite equal to Warwick
Castle," said Frank.
"It is better to admit excellences frankly wherever one is," said
Master Lewis, "and never let any prejudice color an opinion. When one
is travelling it is well never to make a comparison."
Few scenes are more charming, especially on a long sunny summer
afternoon, than the college buildings of Oxford, separated by gardens,
meadows, and rows of venerable trees, the latter as old as the roofs
and spires that rise above them.
[Illustration: DEATH OF LATIMER AND RIDLEY.]
While at Oxford the boys were taken to Woodstock, a distance of some
eight miles. The old ballad of "Fair Rosamond" so haunted the mind of
Ernest Wynn, at Oxford, that he induced Master Lewis to make an
excursion to Woodstock, the scene of the fancied tragedy.
"I have seen Kenilworth, the scene of one of Walter Scott's romances,"
said Ernest; "have been among the associations of 'Ivanhoe,' and
'Peveril of the Peak,' and I shall always be glad to have seen the
place of the novelist's other English fiction."
The town of Woodstock once constituted a part of the royal demesnes.
Here Ethelred held a council, and Alfred the Great translated the
"Consolations of Boethius." The history of the old palace of Woodstock
is associated with dark romances, splendid cavalcades, and crumbled
kings and queens.
Not a vestige of the palace now remains; its site is merely marked by
two sycamore trees.
The famous Rosamond's Bower, Maze, or Labyrinth seems to have
consisted of a succession of under-ground chambers, and is thought to
have existed before the time of King Henry II., who is supposed to
have used it to hide Fair Rosamond from his jealous queen. There was
but one way into it, though there were many ways that would lead
astray any one who should try to find the right passage. It may have
been like the following diagram, which may puzzle the reader who
attempts to find an open way to the centre.
[Illustration: {ROSAMOND'S BOWER.}]
Henry II. had married Eleanor of Aquitaine, a woman of bad reputation,
full of craft and wickedness, whom the French king had put away. But
he gave his affections to Rosamond Clifford, whose beauty had charmed
him when he first met her in the valley of Wye. It is said that she
supposed herself wedded to him; but however this may be, she and not
Eleanor was the spouse of his heart. She pined away in the seclusion
that the king provided for her, but he was true to her in her illness;
he hovered around her sick bed, and at last, when she was laid away to
rest in the chapel at Edstowe Nunnery, he kept her grave bright with
lights and sweet with flowers. The story of her being poisoned by
Queen Eleanor is a fiction, although it is said the Queen discovered
her place of concealment, and administered to her a severe reproof.
[Illustration: A STUDIOUS MONK.]
The atmosphere of learning dispels superstition, but history clings
fondly to the fine old legends of the past that gather around them
unreal lights and shadows. It is not strange that Oxford, the quiet
valley town, hidden even to the bases of its pinnacles, spires, and
towers in ancient groves, through which glide the waters of the
Thames, should still preserve traditions of the wonder-working gifts
of its early philosophers, whom ignorance associated with the magical
arts and regarded as more than men.
It is related that two old Oxford monks made a head of brass that
spoke.
These wise monks discovered from their wonderful books (the like of
which are not now to be found in any of the twenty colleges) that if
they were able to make a head of brass that could speak, and if they
could _hear_ it speak within a month, they would be given the power to
surround England with a magic wall of brass.
So they studied their folios, and found out the chemistry of making
the wonderful head.
[Illustration: AN OLD TIME STUDENT.]
They listened to hear it three weeks, and then became irresistibly
sleepy. So they intrusted a servant to listen, and to wake them if the
statue should begin to speak.
When they were well asleep, the head said,--
"Time is."
Then it said,--
"Time was."
The servant, not knowing the secret of the monks, failed to awake them
as he had been ordered to do, and down came the figure with a fearful
crash; and England has remained without any other wall of brass than
enters into an Englishman's composition to this day.
CHAPTER XI.
LETTERS AND EXCURSIONS.
An English Skylark.--Letter from George Howe.--Tommy's Account
of his Nottingham Adventure.--Glastonbury Abbey.--The Beginning
of the English Church.--St. Joseph of Arimathæa and the
Glastonbury Thorn.--Story of St. Dunstan and the Devil.
Master Lewis set apart a day at Oxford for leisure, writing, and rest.
In the morning, after breakfast, the Class took a walk to the suburbs,
and rested on some wayside seats overlooking the Thames.
It was a beautiful morning, cool and still. The world of sunlight all
seemed to be above the trees, an over-sea of gold, of which the long
arcades of intermingling boughs afforded but glimpses.
Near the wayside resting-place was a field bordered with trees. A
speck of a bird rose from it out of the grass uttering a few notes
that attracted the boys' attention. Up, up it went like a rocket, and
as it rose higher and higher its song became sweeter and sweeter,--a
happy, trilling melody, which made every boy leap to his feet, and try
to find a place where he could see it through the openings in the
trees.
"The bird seems to have gone straight up to heaven," said Wyllys Wynn.
"I can hardly see it; but I can hear its melody yet."
"That is an English skylark," said Master Lewis, "so famous in
pastoral poetry. You now understand Tennyson's meaning when he says,--
"'The lark becomes a sightless song.'
I am glad you have seen it. I wish we might see more of common sights
and scenes.
"I have here a letter from George Howe and Leander Towle, which
greatly pleases me. My object is to take you to historic scenes.
George and Leander have different tastes from yours, and expect to
follow different occupations. They are making their journey a study of
common life and its pursuits, as I would have them do."
"Will you not read their letter to us?" asked Ernest.
"That was just what I was about to do," said Master Lewis.
Caen, Normandy, July.
Dear Teacher:--
I begin my letter here in this city, which I suppose has
an atmosphere of old history, but which is interesting
to me because it is the centre of the "food-producing
land" of France, as Lower Normandy is well called. All
of this part of the country through which I have passed
is a scene of thrift, productiveness, and plenty. The
people are all busy and happy. Occupied minds are always
happy, I believe.
How did we get here?
We rode a part of the way to London on what is called, I
think, Parliamentary trains. This is not a train of
grand coaches for the use of members of Parliament, but
a sort of slow-coach train which Parliament has enacted
shall carry cattle, produce, and commercial necessities
for a fixed rate a mile. Or this is the way in which the
running of these cheap trains was explained to me.
It would have been a hard ride, had not new scenes been
continually coming into view, and the train have gone so
slowly that we were enabled to enjoy them almost as well
as though we had been riding on an English stage-coach.
I was so interested in the new objects that presented
themselves that I entirely forgot the manner of
conveyance.
I shall never forget that ride: it was like viewing a
long panorama.
It cost me only about £1 or $5.00, to travel from
Scotland to London.
We took a lodging room in London which cost us a
shilling a night apiece. While in London I visited the
Tower, Westminster Abbey, Windsor, and the principal
Parks. The half day spent in Westminster Abbey was worth
all the discomforts of the journey across the sea.
We also made a journey to Sydenham Crystal Palace,--an
immense museum of novelties, to which the admission is
only one shilling. It is probably the first palace ever
built for the people, and I like the idea of a people's
palace better than a king's. It occupies with its
grounds about three hundred acres, and cost nearly
£2,000,000. Twenty-five acres of glass were used in its
construction. The museum is full of the products of
industry of all countries and times. Think of it--all
for one shilling! It is a thing to make one always
respect the English people.
I need say very little of the tombs of the twenty or
thirty kings and queens in Westminster Abbey. I was
first impressed with the value of fame when I read
inscriptions to persons once famous of whom I never
heard,--Thomas Shadwell, Poet Laureate in the Court of
William III.; Mrs. Oldfield, whom we are told was buried
"in a fine Brussels lace head-dress,"--and I thought,
Well, all men can do is to perform their duty, and time
will one day make forgotten Thomas Shadwells and Mrs.
Oldfields of them all.
While in London I made also a pleasant excursion into
Berkshire, and there I saw the famous White Horse Hill.
It is said that the figure of the White Horse on the
hill was first made by Alfred the Great a thousand years
ago, to commemorate the defeat of the Danes,--the White
Horse being the standard or national emblem of the
Danish chief. Whatever may have been its origin, it is
_now_ made by annually cutting about an acre of turf
away from the chalk beneath it. This work is performed
during a festival in its honor, and is called "Scouring
the White Horse."
[Illustration: {HOUSE OF A MIGRATING CITIZEN.}]
While in Berkshire I saw an odd picture, not of a
castle, but of an old English gentleman's residence,
which was truly castle-like in appearance, and which
furnishes a happy suggestion to people who do not like
to live long in any one place. It was a tun on wheels,
and it had been used by an overtaxed and indignant
democrat for the purpose of having no fixed locality,
and so to avoid assessment.
In London I made a study of the cheapest way of getting
to Paris, and of seeing the most on the journey. I found
I could take a returning produce boat at Southampton for
Lower Normandy at a trifling cost, and could go on a
produce train from Caen to Paris as inexpensively.
We took a third-class ticket to Southampton. What a
delightful ride it was! Out of the smoke of London into
the blossoming country, among landscapes of cottages and
gardens,--thatched cottages, cottages covered with old
red tiles, cottages whose gardens seemed to climb up
embankments to the roofs; past wheat fields so full of
poppies that they seemed like poppy-fields in full
bloom! I saw one field completely covered with red,
purple, yellow, and white poppies. It was an exquisitely
beautiful sight,--nothing but bright color.
The steamer we took was employed simply for the
exportation of Normandy butter, potatoes, and other farm
produce. It comes to England loaded, and goes back
empty. I obtained passage for 10 francs, and what I
saved by travel on the water I intended to make up by a
longer trip by land.
We were much tossed about by the tides of the English
Channel, but arrived safely at Cherbourg, and went by
rail immediately to Bayeux, a dreamy, ecclesiastical
city that the battles of the past seem to have left in
strange silence. I spoke at the beginning of my letter
of the activity and thrift of Lower Normandy, but Bayeux
is the stillest city I ever saw.
[Illustration: FAC-SIMILE OF THE BAYEUX TAPESTRY.]
Here, in the Public Library, we saw the famous Bayeux
Tapestry, which is displayed under a glass case; is two
hundred and fourteen feet long and contains over fifteen
hundred figures. The canvas is embroidered in woollen
thread of various colors, the work of Matilda and her
maids. I make a copy from a sample picture of the exact
size of the thread used.
[Illustration: {EXAMPLE OF WOOLLEN THREAD.}]
One may read on this fabric the history of the Norman
Conquest of England. It is the most novel work of
history I ever saw.
The farming districts of Normandy seem indeed like
Arcadia: farmers mean business here, and thrive by
thrift. Their sons and daughters, I am told, do not run
off to the city. I have never seen a people whose habits
I like so well.
Give our regards to all.
George Howe.
P. S. We are on our way to Paris, riding through a
country of old churches, castles, and flowers, on a
produce train.
"I think," said Master Lewis, "that George and Leander are, after all,
making a very delightful tour; they certainly are getting better views
of common, practical life abroad than we are. I am glad that they had
the independence to make the journey in this way."
"How much do you think their whole tour will cost them?" asked Ernest.
"It will cost each of them less than either you or I have paid for a
single ocean passage," said Master Lewis.
The boys spent the afternoon in letter-writing.
Tommy Toby wrote a long letter to George Howe.
"I have taken George into my confidence," said he, after tea, as
Master Lewis and the boys were sitting by the open windows of the
hotel, "and have given him an account of my hunting adventure in
Nottingham."
"Suppose you read the letter to us," said Master Lewis.
Tommy, whose nature would not allow him to keep a secret long, however
disparaging to himself, seemed pleased to accept Master Lewis's
suggestion.
Oxford, July.
Dear George:--
We are all pleased with the trip you are making.
We have been to lots of curious places,--dust heaps of
old kings and queens and _we have heard a lark sing_.
At Nottingham I bought a bow and arrows, and went
hunting. Like you, I wanted to see the country.
I saw it.
They are very inquisitive people around Nottingham. They
seem to want to know your business before you are
introduced.
A little way out of the city I came to a fine old tract
of country. A gate opened into some large, hilly fields,
and there was a path through the fields that seemed to
lead to the wood.
I opened the gate and was going towards the wood, when I
heard a voice from the road,--
"Boy!"
I looked around, and made no answer.
"Where are yer going, _yer honor_?"
"I am going hunting," said I; and I walked on very fast.
I came to a wooded hill, and the scenery all around was
delightful, just like a picture. Below the hill was a
long pasture, and through it ran a stream of water
overhung with old trees. Under the trees were some
cattle.
I was going down towards the pasture when I heard a very
distressing noise,--
O-o-o-o-o!
"This is an English landscape," said I to myself. "How
much more lovely it is than castles, abbeys, and tombs!"
and I was trying to think of some poetry, such as Frank
would have quoted, when I heard that alarming sound
again,--
O-o-o-o-o!
I noticed that one of the fine animals had separated
himself from the rest of the herd by the shady brook,
and was coming out to meet me, looking very important.
Presently he put down his head, gave the earth a scrape
with his foot, and then came jumping towards me,
bounding and plunging over the hillocks, like a ship on
a heavy sea.
I turned right around, just as I did when I saw the
bear, and I remembered that Master Lewis might not like
to have me venture too far in my first hunting
expedition.
I ran! didn't I run? I soon heard the same deep sound
again, "nearer, clearer, deadlier than before," as the
reading book says.
I had almost regained the top of the hill, when the
animal bellowed almost right behind me. There was a tree
close by, and I went _up_. It was just as easy for me to
climb it as though it had been a ladder.
The animal bounded up the hill, and stood under the
tree, pawing the earth and making the same hollow noise.
I drew my bow, and let fly an arrow at him.
"Boy, come down!"
There was a thick, fat man, with a great stomach, coming
up the hill. He appeared greatly excited, and quite out
of breath. He presently arrived at the foot of the tree.
"Boy, bring me that bow and arrow."
I came down the tree more scared at the man than I was
at the animal. I handed him the bow, and what do you
think he did with it?
He gave me a dreadful cut across my back, and said,--
"Where'd yer come from? Take _that_ and That, and THAT,
and don't yer ever trespass on my grounds again."
I promised him I never would.
I walked just as fast as I could towards the gate, and
when I came to the road I was so flustrated that I went
the wrong way, and wandered about in the heat for hours
before I could get rightly directed towards Nottingham.
I wish you were with us at Oxford; it seems to me the
most beautiful place in all the world.
It was here we heard the skylark sing.
Tommy.
The next journey of the Club was indeed _en zigzag_.
"I have allowed you to visit," said Master Lewis to the boys, "the
places to which your reading has led your curiosity, most of which
places I have visited before. I now wish to take you to a ruin that I
have never seen, and of which you may have never heard. It is the
place where, according to tradition, Christianity was first
established in Great Britain; where St. Patrick is said to have
preached, and where he was buried. It is the place which poetry
associates with the mission and miracles of Joseph of Arimathæa; here
his staff, in the shape of the white thorn, is said to blossom every
Christmas."
"Glastonbury Abbey," said Ernest Wynn. "Of course there can be no
truth in the tradition of Joseph of Arimathæa and the White Thorn?"
"The story of Joseph's mission to England, his burial here, and his
blooming staff," said Master Lewis, "is undoubtedly a fiction, like
the legend which claims that the stone in the old Scottish Coronation
Chair in Westminster Abbey is the one on which Jacob rested when he
saw the vision of angels. But Glastonbury Abbey was possibly the first
Church in England. Here were the monuments of King Arthur, King
Edmund, and King Edgar; and even old King Coel, St. David, and St.
Dunstan are said to have been buried here."
"What! the St. Dunstan that the devil tried to tempt?" asked Tommy.
"The St. Dunstan that the devil did tempt, I fear," said Master Lewis.
"I would like to hear the story of his temptations," said Tommy, "as
we are going to Glastonbury."
THE STORY OF ST. DUNSTAN'S TEMPTATION.
"St. Dunstan," said Master Lewis, "was Abbot of Glastonbury Abbey, and
was a very ambitious man.
"He caused a cell to be made in which he could neither stand erect nor
lie down with comfort. He retired to this cell and there spent his
time in working as a smith, and--so the report went--in devotion.
"Then the people said, 'How humble and penitent Dunstan is! He has the
back-ache all day, and the legs-ache all night, and he suffers all for
the cause of purity and truth.'
"Then Dunstan told the people that the devil came to tempt him, which,
with his aches for the good cause, made his situation very trying.
"The devil, he said, wanted him to lead a life of selfish
gratification, but he would not be tempted to do a thing like that; he
never thought of himself. O no, good soul, not he!
"The people said that Dunstan must have become a very holy man, or the
devil would not appear to him _bodily_.
"The devil came to him one day, he said, as he was at work at his
forge, and, putting his nose through the window of his cell, tempted
him to lead a life of pleasure. He quickly drew his pincers from the
fire, and seized his tormentor by the nose, which put him in such pain
that he bellowed so lustily as to shake the hills.
"The boy-king Edred, who filled the throne at this time, was in poor
health, and suffered from a lingering illness for years. He felt the
need of the counsel of a good man, and he said to himself,--
"'There is Dunstan, a man who has given up all selfish feelings and
aspirations, a man whom even the devil cannot corrupt. I will bring
him to court, and will make him my adviser.'
"Then pure-hearted Edred brought the foxy prelate to his court, and
made him, of all things in the world, the royal treasurer; and he took
such good care of the money entrusted to his keeping that he was
speedily released from the responsibility. He seems to have been very
easily tempted during his political career."
The next day the party was borne away from shady Oxford, where one
would indeed like to tarry long in the midsummer days, to the old city
of Bristol, famous in the Roman conquest of Britain. In the journey
the gay poppy-fields and the picturesque cottage scenes, which give a
charm to the English landscape, often flitted into and out of view,
reminding the boys of George Howe's letter.
Glastonbury Abbey is indeed an interesting ruin. It stands apart from
the popular lines of travel, and so it figures little in the
narratives of those who make short tours abroad.
Think of the ruins of a church at least fourteen hundred years old! A
church that Joseph of Arimathæa, who provided the tomb for Jesus, is
reputed in the old monkish legends to have founded, and where St.
Patrick and St. Augustine probably did preach, and where in the Middle
Ages the remains of good King Arthur were disenterred!
[Illustration: ST. AUGUSTINE'S APPEAL TO ETHELBERT.]
Of the great church and its five chapels there yet remain parts of the
broken wall, and the three large crypts where the early kings of
England and founders of the English Church were buried. A little
westward from the ruin stands the beautiful Chapel of St. Joseph of
Arimathæa.
"I do not wonder," said Wyllys Wynn, "that the old English people
liked to believe that their church sprang from the mission of so
amiable a saint as St. Joseph."
"Christianity," said Master Lewis, "was really first established in
Great Britain in 596 by St. Augustine and forty missionaries who came
with St. Augustine from Rome to preach to the Anglo-Saxons. These
missionaries were kindly received by King Ethelbert, whose wife was
already a Christian. It is related that one of the Saxon priests, to
see if indeed his gods would be angry, went forth on horse-back, and
smote the images the people had been worshipping. To the astonishment
of the Saxons no judgment followed. The king was baptized, and the
missionaries baptized ten thousand converts in a single day in the
river Swale. The Christian religion had been preached in Britain
before, but not generally accepted."
[Illustration: THE SAXON PRIEST STRIKING THE IMAGES.]
"I like the association of St. Joseph's name with this old ruin so
well," said Wyllys, "that I wish to see the staff that you say is
believed to bloom at Christmas."
On the south side of Glastonbury is Weary-all Hill. It owes its name
to a very poetic legend. It is said that St. Joseph and his
companions, _all_ of them _weary_ in one of their missionary journeys,
here sat down to rest, and the Saint planted his staff into the earth,
and left it there. From it, we are told, springs the famous
Glastonbury Thorn which blossoms every Christmas, and whose miraculous
flowers were adored in the Middle Ages. Such a shrub still remains
which blooms in midwinter, and perpetuates the memory of the pretty
superstition.
CHAPTER XII.
LONDON.
London.--Westminster Abbey.--Westminster Hall and Parliament
Houses.--The Tower.--Sir Henry Wyat and His Cat.--Madame
Tussaud's Wax Works.--Tommy Accosts a Stranger.--Hampton Court
Palace.--Stories of Charles I. and Cromwell.--The Duchess's
Wonderful Pie.--The Boys' Day.--Tommy goes Punch and Judy
Hunting.--Street Amusements.--Tommy's Misadventure.--George
Howe's Cheap Tour.--Windsor Castle.--Story of Prince Albert and
his Queen.--Antwerp.
The train, from its sinuous windings among old English landscapes and
thickly populated towns, seemed at last to be gliding into a new world
of vanishing houses and streets. It suddenly stopped under the glass
roof of an immense station, where a regiment of porters in uniform
were awaiting it, and where all outside seemed a world of cabmen.
LONDON!--the world's great city, the nations' bazaar,--where humanity
runs in no fixed channels, but ceaselessly ebbs and flows like the
sea. Cabs, cabs! then a swift rattle through rattling vehicles, going
in every direction, on, on, on! Names of places read in histories and
story-books pass before the eye. The tides of travel everywhere seem
to overflow; all is bewildering, confusing. What a map a man's mind
must be to thread the innumerable streets of London!
The Class stopped at a popular hotel in a fine part of the city,
called the West End. It is pleasanter and more economical to take
furnished lodgings in London, if one is to remain in the city for a
week or more, but as Master Lewis was to allow the boys but a few
days' visit, he took them to a hotel in a quarter where the best
London life could be seen.
The London cabs meet the impatient stranger's wants at once, and the
boys were soon rattling in them about the city, out of the quarter of
stately houses into the gay streets of trade, which seemed to them
indeed like a great world's fair.
[Illustration: WESTMINSTER ABBEY.]
"This is Pall Mall [Pell Mell]," said Frank to Tommy, as their cab
rounded a corner.
"It seems to be all _pell mell_ here," said Tommy. "Had the poet been
to London when he wrote,--
"'Oh, then and there was hurrying to and fro'?
But this street has a more quiet look. What splendid houses!"
"Those," said Frank, "are the houses of the famous London Clubs."
The first visit that the boys made was to that time-honored pile of
magnificence into which kings and queens for centuries have gone to be
crowned and been carried to be buried,--Westminster Abbey.
The party entered at the western entrance, which commands an awesome,
almost oppressive, view of the interior. In the softened light of the
stained windows rose a forest of columns, rich with art and grandly
gloomy with the associations of antiquity. Far, far away it stretched
to the chapel of Edward the Confessor, a name that led the mind
through the faded pomps of the past almost a thousand years.
Monuments of kings and queens, benefactors and poets, beginning with
old Edward the Confessor and coming down to the Stuarts; of Eleanor,
who sucked the poison from her husband's wounds, and Philippa, who
saved the heroes of Calais. Here Bloody Mary, Queen Elizabeth, and
Mary, Queen of Scots, sleep in peace in the same chapel; and here the
merry monarch, Charles II., lies among the kingly tombs without a slab
to mark the place.
The new Houses of Parliament which stand between the Abbey and the
Thames are the finest works of architecture that have been erected in
England for centuries. They form a parallelogram nine hundred feet
long and three hundred feet wide. The House of Lords and House of
Commons occupy the centre of the building. Between these two halls of
State rises a tower three hundred feet high. At each end of the
building are lofty towers; the Victorian Tower, three hundred
forty-six feet high, and a clock tower, in which the hours are struck
on a bell called Big Ben, which weighs nine tons.
The entrance to the Houses of Parliament is through old Westminster
Hall, ninety feet high and two hundred and ninety long, whose gothic
roof of wood is the finest specimen of its kind in English art, and is
regarded as one of the wonders of human achievement.
It was in this hall that Charles I. was tried for treason, and
condemned; and it was here, at the trial, that the words of a
mysterious lady smote Oliver Cromwell to the heart.
"The Prisoner at the bar has been brought here in the name of the
People of England," said the solicitor.
"Not half the people!" exclaimed a mysterious voice in the gallery.
"Oliver Cromwell is a _traitor_!"
The assembly shuddered.
"Fire upon her!" said an officer.
They did not fire. It was Lady Fairfax.
Westminster Bridge, one thousand one hundred and sixty feet long, is
near the clock tower, and here the Class took its best view of the
Parliament Houses.
The next day the Class visited London Tower and the relics that recall
the long list of tragedies of ambitious courts and kings.
"This," said the guide, as the Class was taken into an apartment in
the White Tower, an old prison whose walls are twelve feet thick, "is
the beheading block that was used on Tower Hill. The Earl of Essex was
beheaded on it: see the _dints_!"
An axe stood beside the block, which is kept on exhibition in one of
the rooms in which Sir Walter Raleigh was confined.
"Where were the children of Edward murdered?" asked Frank Gray, after
being shown the place of the execution of Anne Boleyn.
"In the Bloody Tower," said the guide. "I am not hallowed to admit
visitors into that."
"We are a class in an American school. Could you not make some
arrangement to admit us?" asked Wyllys.
[Illustration: TRIAL OF CHARLES I.]
The guide left the party a few minutes, and then returned with a
bunch of keys.
He led the way to a small room in which the little sons of Edward had
been lodged, to be accessible to the murderers. Here the unhappy
children were smothered in bed. The room, apart from its dreadful
associations, was a pleasant one looking out on the Thames.
The party was next shown the stairs at the foot of which the remains
of the princes were discovered.
"I can imagine," said Ernest Wynn, "the life of the boys in the Tower.
How they went from window to window and looked out on the Thames, the
sunlight, and the sky as we do now; how they saw the bright, happy
faces pass, and children in the distance at play; how they watched, it
may be, the lights in their dead father's palace at night, and how
they wondered why the freedom of the gay world beyond the prison was
denied them. It is said that an old man who loved them used to play on
some instrument in the evening under the walls of the Tower, and thus
express to them his sympathy which he could not do in words."
"The burial of Richard III., who caused the death of the royal
children," said Master Lewis, "was almost as pitiful as that of the
princes themselves. After the fatal battle, his naked body was thrown
upon a sorry steed and carried over the bridge to Leicester amid
derision and scorn. For two hot summer days it was exposed to the
jeers of the mob, and then was laid in a tomb costing £10 1_s._, to
rest fifty years. The tomb was dashed in pieces during the
Reformation, the bones thrown into the river and the stone coffin,
according to tradition, used as a horse-trough."
The collection of armor in an apartment of the Tower called the Horse
Armory, a building over one hundred and fifty feet long, presented a
spectacle that filled our visitors with wonder. It seemed like a
sudden reproduction of the faded days of chivalry. On each side of the
room was a row of knights in armor, in different attitudes, looking
as though they were real knights under some spell of enchantment,
waiting for the magic word to start them into life again.
[Illustration: BURIAL OF RICHARD.]
The Jewel Tower did not so much excite the boys' astonishment. It was
like a costumer's shop; and even the royal crown of England wore an
almost ridiculous look, civilization and republican progress have so
far outgrown these theatrical playthings. The Queen's diadem, as it is
called, was indeed a glitter of diamonds, and the royal sceptres of
various devices carried one back to the days of Queen Esther.
[Illustration: THE TOWER OF LONDON.]
"Among the stories told of the prisoners in the Tower," said Master
Lewis, "there is one that is pleasant to remember. Sir Henry Wyat was
confined here in a dark low cell, where he suffered from cold and
hunger. A cat came to visit him at times, and used to lie in his bosom
and warm him. One day the cat caught a pigeon and brought it to him to
eat. The keeper heard of pussy's devotion to the prisoner, and treated
him more kindly. When Wyat was released, he became noted for his
fondness for cats."
Leaving the Tower, the boys stopped to look at the Traitor's Gate,
which had clanged behind so many illustrious prisoners brought to the
prison in the fatal barge; Cranmer, More, Anne Boleyn, bad men and
good men, how it swung behind them all, and ended even hope! With
sober faces the boys turned away.
The Zoölogical Gardens in Regent's Park presented the boys, on the day
after their visit to the Tower, a more cheerful scene. Who that has
read of the London "Zoo" has not wished to visit it? Here specimens of
the whole animal kingdom may be seen, and one wanders among the
immense cages, artificial ponds, bear-pits, enclosures of tropical
animals, reptile dens, feeling as free and secure as Adam appears in
the picture of Naming the Creation.
Here, unlike a menagerie, the animals all have room for the comforts
of existence. The rhinoceroses have a pond in which to stand in the
mud, and the hippopotami may sport as in their native rivers.
The British Museum, with its Roman sculptures, Elgin marbles, and
almost innumerable classic antiquities, and St. Paul's with its fifty
monuments of England's heroes and benefactors, presented to the Class
an extended view of the world's history. Sight-seeing became almost
bewildering, and when it was asked what place they next should visit,
Tommy Toby replied,--
"I feel as though I had seen almost enough."
"Let us visit Madame Tussaud's wax works," said Master Lewis.
"Are they like Mrs. Jarley's 'wax figgers?'" said Tommy; "if so I
would like to go. Who was Madame Tussaud?"
"She was a little French lady who took casts of faces of great men,
sometimes after their death or execution, and who died herself some
twenty or more years ago, at the age of ninety years."
The price of the exhibition was a shilling, and--
"For the Chamber of Horrors a sixpence hextra," said the man admitting
the party. Each one paid the "hextra" sixpence.
There were three hundred figures in all, supposed to be exact
representations of the persons when living. In a room called the Hall
of Kings were fifty figures of kings and queens, reproducing to the
life these generally condemned players on the stage of English
history.
A clever, winsome old man sat on one of the benches in the place,
holding a programme in his hand, and now and then raising his head, as
from studying the paper, to scrutinize one or another of the
astonishing works of art.
Tommy sat down beside the much interested, benevolent-looking old
gentleman, and said,--
"It was not _George_ Wilkes Booth who killed President Lincoln, it
was--
"Well, if this don't cap the whole! Why, _you_ are a 'figger,' too."
And so the mild, attentive-looking old gentleman proved to be.
The Chamber of Horrors revived the feeling the visitors had felt in
the Tower. It was a collection of representations of criminals. Among
the relics is the blade of the guillotine used during the Reign of
Terror in France, which is said to have cut off two thousand heads.
[Illustration: WOLSEY SERVED BY NOBLES.]
Hampton Court Palace, the gift of Cardinal Wolsey to Henry VIII., and
probably the most magnificent present that a prelate ever gave a king,
next received our tourists' attention. The palace originally consisted
of five courts, only a part of which now remain, but which assist the
fancy in stereoscoping the old manorial splendor. Here Wolsey lived in
vice-regal pomp, and had nearly one thousand persons to do his
house-keeping, and noble lords, on state occasions, waited upon him
upon bended knees.
The establishment at this time contained fifteen hundred rooms.
[Illustration: WHITEHALL.]
Edward VI., the last of the boy-kings of England, a youth noted for
his piety and love of learning, was born here, and here spent in
scholarly occupations a part of his short life. Catharine Howard, who
for a long time held the affections of Henry VIII., and who in his
best years greatly influenced his conduct by her wisdom and
accomplishments, was first acknowledged as queen here; and here also
Henry married another Catharine,--Catharine Parr, his sixth and last
wife. Bloody Mary kept Christmas here in 1557, when the great hall was
lighted with one thousand lamps.
Our visitors found Hampton Court open to the public,--a place of rare
freedom where people go out from London and enjoy the grounds much as
though it were their own. It is in fact a grand picture gallery and a
public garden.
[Illustration: WOLSEY'S PALACE.]
"Wolsey gave this palace to the king," said Master Lewis; "and the
king was sporting in the palace when he received the news of the death
of the Cardinal, who was stricken with a mortal sickness near
Leicester Abbey, soon after having been arrested for high treason. The
sad event did not seem to give the king the slightest pain. Such is
the value of the presents of a corrupt friendship.
"Charles I. resided here at times. Here he brought his young bride
when all London was reeking with the pestilence.
"Charles had three beautiful children, and was fond of their company.
Once, it is said, when he was with them at a window of Hampton Court
Palace, a gypsy appeared before him and asked for charity. He and the
children laughed at her grotesque appearance, which angered her, when
she took from her basket a glass and held it up to the king. He looked
into it and saw his head severed from his shoulders.
"The king gave her money.
"'A dog shall die in this room,' she said, 'and then the kingdom which
you will lose shall be restored to your family.'
[Illustration: DEATH OF CARDINAL WOLSEY.]
"Many years passed; and Oliver Cromwell, attended by his faithful dog,
came to Hampton Court Palace and slept in this room. When he awoke in
the morning, the dog was dead.
"'The kingdom has departed from me,' he said, recalling the gypsy's
prophecy; and so it proved.
"Of course the story of the gypsy's mirror is untrue, but the legend
is a part of the old romance of the palace; and such poetic incidents,
though false colored lights, serve to impress the facts of history
more vividly on the mind.
[Illustration: CHILDREN OF CHARLES I.]
"This legend of Charles I.," continued Master Lewis, "reminds me of a
more pleasant story, which I will tell you, now that you are at the
palace where the king brought his bride when life looked so fair and
promising. I will call the story--
THE DUCHESS'S WONDERFUL PIE.
"There were gala days at Paris,--wedding days. Then the new Queen of
England, Henrietta Maria, who had been married amid music and
rejoicings and strewings of flowers, made a journey to the sea, that
she might embark for England and see her new husband to whom she had
been married by proxy. There were more rejoicings when she landed at
Dover.
[Illustration: OLIVER CROMWELL.]
"It was the plague time in London, so the gala days were omitted
there; but the new queen had some magnificent receptions at
Burleigh-on-the-hill, the residence of the king's favorite, the Duke
of Buckingham.
[Illustration: QUEEN HENRIETTA MARIA.]
"There was one reception which the duke gave to the royal bride and
bridegroom that was a surprise and delight. It was a banquet; the
tables were sumptuous and splendid, and on one of them was a very
large pie,--as large as that is supposed to be in which the
four-and-twenty blackbirds of nursery-rhyme fame are said to have been
concealed. The pie excited wonder, but the guests all knew that it was
some
"'Dainty dish
To set before the king.'
"The banquet passed gayly, and the time came to serve the wonderful
pie. The crust was being removed, when instead of four-and-twenty
blackbirds flying out, up popped a little man. He was a chipper little
fellow, yet very polite, and was armed _cap-à-pie_.
"This was the first introduction of Jeffrey Hudson to the English king
and queen. The pie had been purposely constructed to hold the little
fellow, who, when the duchess made an incision in his castle of paste,
shifted his situation until sufficient room was made for his
appearance.
"The queen expressing herself greatly pleased with his person and
manners, the duchess presented him to her.
"This dwarf became very famous in the court of the queen."
* * * * *
The third day in London was given to the boys as their own. They were
allowed by Master Lewis to go to such places as best suited their
tastes. The prudent teacher had adopted this plan before, believing
that the boys needed it to teach them self-reliance.
"Where will you go to-day?" asked Frank Gray of Tommy.
"Punch-and-Judy hunting," said Tommy. "The streets of London are full
of exhibitions; the queerest performances you ever saw. I have been
wishing some time for a chance to see sights for myself. Will you go
with me?"
"Punch-and-Judy hunting?" said Frank, contemptuously. "No; I am going
to make an excursion to Cambridge."
"Remember," said Master Lewis, who had heard Tommy's remark, "that
London is a wilderness of streets. You must not wander far from any
principal street. Never lose sight of the cabs and omnibuses."
"I feel perfectly sure that I shall need no other help than the
cabman's in finding my way back. I have taken ten shillings in my
purse in case of an emergency."
"Keep your purse in your pocket wherever you find yourself," said
Master Lewis. "Punch-and-Judy crowds have not the credit of being the
most honest people."
Tommy found the hunting for street performances indeed alluring. Every
court and alley seemed alive with the most remarkable entertainments a
boy could witness.
[Illustration: STREET AMUSEMENTS.]
He first met three grotesque musicians who had gathered around them an
audience of admiring house-maids, dilatory market-people, and unkempt
children. But the hat for contributions was passed so soon after he
joined himself to the music-loving company that he at once left for
another performance where the call for money might not be so pressing.
A fiddler with three performing dogs, that were bedecked with hats and
ruffles, quite exceeded in dramatic interest the former exhibition.
But the fiddler, too, had immediate need of money, and Tommy
remembered Master Lewis's caution about the purse, and passed on to a
public place that seemed quite alive with groups of people gathered
around curious sights and entertainments.
The pastimes here took a scientific turn. Chief among these street
showmen rose the tall head of a middle-aged gentleman--"the
professor"--who administered the "galvanic grip."
"Has fast has yer cured, gentlemen, pass right along, pass right
along, and give others a chance. 'Ave you han hache or a pain? I say,
'ave you han hache or a pain? Cure ye right hup, right hup hin a
minute. I'll tell you what, it is astonishing, gentlemen, what cures
science will perform."
[Illustration: STREET AMUSEMENTS.]
At this point some one not schooled in the mysteries of science
received a very liberal dose of the "magnetic grip," and doubled his
body with an "O!" that seemed to be shot out of him, when the crowd
laughed and moved on.
You pay your five or ten pence and are presented with the handles
forming the terminations of the electric wire: you grasp these as
tight as you can, one in either hand, while the galvanist grinds away
at the machine.
When a hundred or more eyes are levelled upon you he suddenly
increases the motion in a manner that leaves no doubt in your mind
that that man has magnetism about him, whether he be a "professor" or
not. Of course your rheumatism at once disappears: it would do the
same had you fallen from the roof of a house.
Tommy had a strong inclination to be "cured" by the "professor of
galvanism," but he conscientiously recalled Master Lewis's advice
about the purse.
A man with a wonderfully bedecked performing monkey was leaving the
square, and, as a sort of testimony to the attraction of his
exhibition, a crowd of boys and girls were following him. Tommy wished
to see a performance that had evidently excited so much interest, and
he allowed himself to be borne along after the man in the juvenile
tide. After passing through several streets, the performer stopped in
an open court, but for some reason was ordered away. Tommy found
himself left almost alone in an antique-looking place, where there
were in sight neither omnibuses nor cabs.
"Which is the way to Regent Street?" asked Tommy of a sad-looking
little girl.
"Dunno," said Sad Eyes; "'ave ye got a penny?"
"What for?"
"For tellin' ye."
Tommy made other inquiries, but received about as definite information
as at first, and each person followed the unsatisfactory answer with,
"'Ave ye a penny?" as though it was worth that trifling amount to open
one's mouth.
An honest-looking house-wife, without bonnet or shawl, came marching
along the street with an air of friendly interest.
"Will you direct me to a street where I can find a hack?" asked Tommy.
"A what?"
"A cab."
"I guess yer lost, ar'n't ye?"
"If you will be so kind as to direct me to Regent Street or Oxford
Street, or Pall Mall, I will pay you."
[Illustration: "'AVE YOU GOT A PENNY?"]
Tommy felt in his pocket for his purse. It was _not_ there.
"Give me yer hand, little boy," said the benevolent-looking dame.
The two walked on through several streets, when the woman said,--
"This street will take you to Oxford Street. 'Ave you got a penny?"
"No," said Tommy; "I have lost it."
"Oh, you blackguard--"
Tommy did not stop to hear any figurative language, but found his way
to Oxford Street as quickly as possible, and took with him to the
hotel so deep a sense of humiliation that he did not relate the
misadventure and loss to his companions.
In the evening of the boys' "own" day, George Howe and Leander Towle
arrived unexpectedly at the hotel.
"We have come," said George, "to bid you good-by."
"Why good-by?" asked Master Lewis.
"We have been abroad a fortnight," said George; "have seen the
capitals of Scotland, England, and France; have rode through the heart
of England and the most interesting part of Normandy, and, as our
money is more than half gone, we must return. The steamer leaves
to-morrow."
"How much will the whole trip cost you?" asked Wyllys.
"It will cost us each $56.00 for the ocean passage both ways, and our
travelling expenses and board for the two weeks have averaged to each
$2.00 per day, or $28.00. The trip will cost me, well--when I have
made some purchases--say $95.00, though I have not yet spent as much
as this."
"Have you obtained your return tickets?" asked Master Lewis.
"No, not yet."
"Let me advise you not to take steerage passage in returning. The
steerage will be crowded, and you will in that case find it no holiday
experience. Take a second-cabin ticket for $40.00."
"My expenses then will not greatly exceed $100."
"Another steamer sails in a few days," said Master Lewis; "accept my
invitation to remain with us over to-morrow, and visit Windsor Castle
with us. It shall add nothing to your expenses."
The boys were delighted to accept Master Lewis's generous proposal. It
was arranged that the next morning the whole party should go to
Windsor.
"Before we go to Windsor Castle," said Frank Gray to Master Lewis,
"will you not tell us something about the place?"
"Windsor Castle," said Master Lewis, "is the finest of English
palaces, and is one of the residences of the royal family. In its
park, Prince Albert lies buried in the mausoleum erected by the queen.
Perhaps I cannot better instruct you for the visit than by telling you
the story of
PRINCE ALBERT AND HIS QUEEN.
"For seventeen years Queen Victoria has mourned for one of the best
husbands and one of the wisest advisers that ever a female sovereign
had.
"The marriage of Victoria and Albert was a love-match; not a very
common thing in unions of princes and princesses. They were first
cousins, Albert's father and Victoria's mother having been brother and
sister, the children of the Duke of Coburg; but, when they became
engaged, their situations were very different. Victoria was the young
queen of one of the mightiest and proudest empires on earth; Albert
was only the younger son of a poor and petty German prince, 'across
whose dominion one might walk in half a day.'
"But their relationship and the plans of their family served to bring
them together at a very early age, and they were very young when their
union was first thought of. Old King Leopold of Belgium was the uncle
of both of them; and it was he who first conceived the idea of their
marriage. But not a word was said to either of them about it until an
affection had grown up between them, and it was time for the young
queen to choose a partner for her heart and throne.
[Illustration: VICTORIA AT THE AGE OF EIGHT.]
"Albert and Victoria met for the first time when they were both
seventeen years old. The young prince and his brother went to England
to pay a visit to their aunt and cousin, and the young couple were
brought together. Albert at that time was rather short and thick-set,
but fine-looking, rosy-cheeked, natural and simple in his manners, and
of a cheerful disposition. He took a great deal of interest in every
thing about him, and while on his visit to England spent much time in
playing on the piano with his cousin Victoria, who was then a slight,
graceful, and interesting girl.
"She fell in love with him at once; but he, though he liked her, was
not so quickly impressed. He wrote to his Uncle Leopold that 'our
cousin is very amiable,' but had no stronger praise for her. Albert
then returned to the continent, and spent some years in travel and
study, writing occasionally to Victoria and she to him. Meanwhile,
King William IV. died, and Victoria, in her eighteenth year, ascended
the British throne.
"The young prince's next visit took place in the year after this
event, and now his object was to plead for the hand and heart of the
young queen. Victoria could scarcely believe her eyes when she saw
him. The short, thick-set boy had grown into a tall, comely youth,
with elegant manners and a strikingly handsome face. Soon after, she
wrote to her Uncle Leopold, 'Albert's beauty is most striking, and he
is most amiable and unaffected,--in short, very fascinating.'
"A few days after his arrival, Victoria had made up her mind; and,
sending for Lord Melbourne, the prime minister, told him that she was
going to marry Prince Albert. The next day she sent for the prince;
and 'in a genuine outburst of heartiness and love' she declared to him
that he had gained her whole heart, and would make her very happy if
he would share his life with her. He responded with warm affection,
and thus they became betrothed.
"The queen not only thus 'popped the question,' but insisted that the
marriage should take place at an early day. This was in the summer of
1839; and, in the early winter of 1840, the young couple were married
in the royal chapel of St. James, in the midst of general rejoicing,
and with great pomp and ceremony.
"Such was the beginning of a happy wedded life, which lasted for over
twenty years, and during which the love of each for the other seemed
to increase constantly. A little circle of children was soon formed
around the royal hearthstone, and the domestic life of the palace was
full of contentment and good order; and, as Victoria grew older, she
learned more and more of the excellent character that Providence had
given her for a husband.
"While Prince Albert assumed the direction of the family, and was the
unquestioned master of it in its private life, he was wise enough to
be very careful how he interfered with the queen in the performance of
her public duties. He knew that, as a foreigner, the English would be
very jealous of him if he took part in politics, or tried to influence
Victoria in her conduct as a ruler.
"At the same time, the young queen, scarcely more than a girl, needed
a guiding hand, and one that she could trust. No one could be so much
trusted as her husband; and Albert gradually became her adviser on
public affairs, as well as the head of her household. At first, there
were many grumblings and complaints about this in England; but as the
purity and good sense of the prince became better known, as it became
evident that his ambition was to serve the queen and the country,
these complaints for the most part ceased.
"Prince Albert devoted himself, with all his heart and mind, to the
duties which he found weighing upon him as a husband and father, and
as the most intimate counsellor of the monarch of a great country. He
denied himself many of the innocent pleasures which lay within his
reach, went but little into society, and spent his days and evenings
in serious occupations and in the midst of his happy family circle.
"Among other things, he took a very deep interest in the progress of
art, science, and education. 'His horses,' says a writer, 'might be
seen waiting for him before the studios of artists, the museums of art
and science, the institutions for benevolence or culture, but never
before the doors of dissipation or mere fashion.'
"It was Prince Albert who proposed and planned the great London
Exhibition of 1851, the first of the series of 'World's Fairs,' which
have since been so frequently held, the latest being our own
Centennial; and when it had been resolved upon, it was Prince Albert's
labor and energy, more than that of any other, which made it a
success.
"In his own family circle Prince Albert was always kind, gentle, and
indulgent, but firm and resolute in his treatment of his children. He
took a great interest in their studies, and directed their education,
sometimes teaching them himself; and he bestowed an anxious and
fatherly care upon the formation of their manners and habits, and a
right training of their hearts and minds.
"From first to last, he was as tenderly devoted to the queen as a
lover. He went with her everywhere, and his tastes and hers were
entirely congenial. Of a quiet and domestic disposition, he was amply
content to find his pleasures in the family circle; and Victoria took
a perpetual delight in his kind and cultivated companionship.
"When Prince Albert died, in December, 1861, the queen was overwhelmed
with grief; and it was many years before she so far recovered from it
that she could bear to show herself in public, or to take part in any
social gathering or State ceremony.
"He was placed in a tomb in the beautiful park of Windsor, where she
had so often roamed with him in their early wedded life; and every
year, on the sad anniversary of his death, Victoria repairs to his
grave, and prays, and scatters flowers on the tomb."
Windsor Castle had its rise in early Saxon times, and was made a
fortress by William the Conqueror. Froissart says that King Arthur
instituted his Order of the Knights of the Round Table here. King John
dwelt here during the conferences at Runnymede, when the barons drove
him almost to madness by compelling him to sign away his royal claims
by the acceptance of the Magna Charta.
The situation of the castle is most beautiful; it overlooks the
Thames, and from its tower twelve counties may be seen. The home park
of the palace contains five hundred acres, and this is connected with
Windsor Great Park, which has an area of one thousand eight hundred
acres.
[Illustration: ANGER OF KING JOHN.]
The beauty of St. George's Chapel greatly excited the wonder of our
tourists. Here are the tombs of Henry VIII., Charles I., Georges III.
and IV., and William IV.
"Here," said Wyllys Wynn, "is the finest monument I have yet seen in
England. How beautifully the light is made to fall upon it!"
The monument represented a dead princess, with a sheet thrown over the
body and couch, as though she had just expired. Above it the spirit of
the maiden is shown in the form of an angel ascending to heaven.
"It is the tomb of the Princess Charlotte," said Master Lewis. "She
was one of the most amiable princesses that ever won the affections of
the English people. Her death came like a private sorrow to every
family in the kingdom, and was the occasion of the most tender public
expressions of grief.
"I must tell you a story," continued Master Lewis, after standing at
the tomb of George III., "that will soften your feelings, perhaps,
towards one whom, for political reasons, our own history has taught us
to regard as little worthy of respect; but who had great private
virtues, whatever may have been his political mistakes."
In the bright avenue of elms, called the Long Walk, which connects the
home park with the Great Park of Windsor, Master Lewis told the boys
the story of the lamented Princess Amelia and her unhappy father, who
became insane from his loss, when she died. The pathetic story made a
great impression on the minds of the party, and it was several hours
before they resumed their accustomed air of gayety and enjoyment. They
returned to London in the late evening twilight, and the next day the
party separated. George Howe and Leander Towle remained in London
until the sailing of the next steamer for America; and Master Lewis
and the boys under his own care took a steamer for Antwerp.
CHAPTER XIII.
BELGIUM.
Belgium.--Dog-carts.--Waterloo.--Aix-la-Chapelle and
Charlemagne.--Story of Charlemagne.--Ghent and James van
Artevelde.--Bruges.--Story of Charles the Rash.--Longfellow's
"Belfry of Bruges."--French Diligences.--Normandy.--A
Story-telling Driver.--Story of the Wild Girl Of Songi.
"Anvers!" By this name is Antwerp known in Belgium, of which it is the
chief commercial port.
The Class stopped here only long enough to visit the Cathedral, where
are to be seen two of Rubens' most celebrated pictures, the Elevation
of and the Descent from the Cross. The boys climbed up to the belfry
of the famous spire, whose bells make the air tremble for miles with
the melody of their chimes.
It was Master Lewis's plan to travel through the lower part of Belgium
and through Normandy by short journeys near the coast, but he made a
détour from Antwerp to Brussels that the boys might visit the
battlefield of Waterloo.
The landscape along the route to Brussels was dotted with quaint
windmills, reminding one of the old pictorial histories, in which
Holland is illustrated by cuts of these workshops of the air.
The boys entered the city in the morning and passed in view of the
great market square and its contiguous streets.
"This city," said Frank Gray, "was the scene of the grand military
ball before the Battle of Waterloo.
"'There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and--'"
"And please don't quote the reading book," said Tommy Toby. "The city
is full of _dog-carts_. Dog-carts heaped full of vegetables and women
to lead about the dogs! What a comical sight!"
[Illustration: {A DUTCH WINDMILL.}]
"They are probably country people with produce to sell," said Wyllys.
"What curious head-dresses! What odd jackets! The scene does not much
remind one of Byron's poetry; but it is poetic, after all!"
"I understood that we came here to study the associations of
history," said Frank, "and not dog-carts."
"I came to see what I could see," said Tommy, "and not to imagine
battles in the air."
[Illustration: DOG-CARTS.]
The unexpected street scenes and the general interest of the Class in
them so offended Frank that he turned his eyes with a far-away look
towards the highest gables, and passed on the rest of the way to the
Hotel de l'Europe in silence.
The next morning the Class left the Place Royale, in a fine English
stage-coach, in company with an agent of the English mail coaches, for
Waterloo, which is about twelve miles from the city. It was a bright
day, and the airy road led through the forest of Soignies,--the
"Ardennes" of Byron's "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage."
"And Ardennes waves about them her green leaves,
Dewy with Nature's tear-drops, as they pass."
The battlefield of Waterloo is an open plain, graced here and there
with appropriate monuments, and dignified with an imposing earth mound
with the Belgian Lion on its top.
It did not seem that the plain could ever have been the scene of such
a contest, so great was its beauty and so quiet its midsummer
loveliness.
[Illustration: STREET SCENES IN BRUSSELS.]
"Here," said Frank, "the Old Guard of France, who could die but not
surrender, gave their blood for the empire."
"Here," said Wyllys, "England won her greatest battle on land--"
"At the cost of twenty thousand men, as I have read," said Tommy.
"Victor Hugo," said Master Lewis, "declares that Waterloo was not a
battle: it was a change of front of the nations of the world."
The Class stopped at Brussels on their return from the most peaceful
plain to take a view of the Hotel de Ville, which is one of the
finest town-halls in the country. Its tower is more than three hundred
and sixty feet high, and is surmounted with a colossal statue of St.
Michael, which looks very small indeed from the square, but which is
really seventeen feet high. The figure turns in the wind, and is the
weather vane of the city.
[Illustration: HOTEL DE VILLE, BRUSSELS.]
"I wish you to visit Aix-la-Chapelle," said Master Lewis. "The places
you have seen in England and expect to see in Normandy will, I hope,
leave in your mind a clear view of English history, when you shall
associate them under my direction, as I purpose to have you do. To
have a view of French history you will need to learn something of the
old empire of Charlemagne, of which this city was the principal
capital on this side of the Alps. Here the great king of the Franks,
Roman Emperor, and virtual ruler of the world was born, had his
favorite residence, and here he was buried. Here, in 1165, his tomb
was opened, and his body was found seated upon a throne, crowned, the
sceptre in his hand, the Gospel on his knee, and all of the insignia
of imperial state about him."
[Illustration: CHARLEMAGNE IN COUNCIL.]
Through districts of pasture lands, by cliffs that looked like
castles, over clear streams and past populous villages our tourists
made their way to the old city of the emperor of the West. It is
situated in a valley, surrounded by heights. Its town hall was built
on the ruins of the palace of Charlemagne.
The grand old cathedral has sixteen sides. In the middle of the
interior, a stone with the inscription CAROLO MAGNO marks the grave of
Charlemagne.
[Illustration: CHARLEMAGNE AT THE HEAD OF HIS ARMY.]
"Charlemagne, like Alfred of England," said Master Lewis, "was a
patron of learning; and he instituted in his own palace a school for
his sons and servants. But he was a war-making king. He conducted in
all fifty-three expeditions in Germany, Gaul, Italy, and Greece, and
made himself the ruler of the greater part of Northern and Eastern
Europe. He went to Rome in 800 A.D. and received a most gracious
reception from the Pope, as in all his contests he had been a faithful
servant of the Church.
"On Christmas day, 800 A.D. he went into St. Peter's to attend mass.
He took his place before the altar, and, as he bowed his head to pray,
the Pope placed the crown of the Roman Empire upon it, and all the
people shouted, 'Long live Charles Augustus, crowned of God, the great
Emperor of the Romans!'
"And so the king of the Franks became the emperor of the world."
The relics which the cathedral exhibits from time to time at great
public festivals are remarkable as illustrations of the influence of
superstition. Among the so-called _Grandes Reliques_ are the robe worn
by the Virgin at the Nativity and the swaddling clothes in which the
infant Saviour was wrapped. It would be almost irreverent to excite
ridicule by giving a list of the articles associated with the
crucifixion of Christ. Among the _Petites Reliques_ are pieces of
Aaron's rod that budded. Upon these pretended relics the German
emperors used to take the State oath at their coronations.
[Illustration: HOTEL DE VILLE, GHENT.]
The Class next visited the coronation room in the Hotel de Ville, a
hall one hundred and sixty feet long, where a series of impressive
frescoes presents a view of the life of Charlemagne. In this hall
thirty-five German emperors and fourteen empresses had been crowned.
[Illustration: VAN ARTEVELDE AT HIS DOOR.]
The Class returned to Brussels, and thence made easy journeys
through a fertile and thickly settled country, towards Normandy.
Ghent, a grand old city of the commerce kings of Flanders, with its
quaint town-hall and its two hundred and seventy bridges, next met the
eager eyes of our tourists, who stopped here briefly on their way to
Bruges.
"I never hear the name of Ghent pronounced," said Master Lewis,
"without recalling the scene which history pictures of James van
Artevelde standing in the door of his house, when the burghers, tired
of the rule of kings and nobles, came to him for counsel, and asked
him to become their leader. It was really the burghers' declaration of
independence, and the making one of their number,--for James van
Artevelde was a brewer,--president of the rich old city. This was on
the 26th of December, 1337. It was a bold stroke for liberty in the
days of tyranny, and the memory of it will ever live."
"I know but little of the history of Bruges," said Wyllys Wynn to
Master Lewis, during the ride to that city. "I have heard, of course,
of its belfry, and I also remember what Tommy said about it in his
story of Philip the Good and the Tinker. What makes the city so
famous?"
"It was once," said Master Lewis, "the greatest commercial port in the
world; a hundred and fifty foreign vessels would sometimes enter its
basins in a single day. Its inhabitants became very rich, and its
grandees lived like princes. A French queen who visited it in its high
prosperity is said to have exclaimed, 'I thought myself the only queen
here, but I see a thousand about me!' Twenty ministers from foreign
courts had residences within its walls. It excelled all places in the
manufacture of wool; and in recognition of this fact Philip the Good
instituted there the Order of the Golden Fleece.
"There is an historic character whose name is associated with Bruges
in a very different way from Philip the Good,--a famous son of Philip,
who was called
CHARLES THE RASH.
"His surname is a picture of his character, and it seems strange that
so good a duke as Philip should have had so bad a son. To wage war,
harry and burn, to be engaged always in some work of destruction, was
the passion of his life. He devastated Normandy, destroying more than
two hundred castles and towns. He filled the land with smoke, and
colored the rivers with blood.
"He succeeded to the ducal crown of Burgundy in 1467. Being the
richest prince of the times, he immediately began to make preparations
for war on a gigantic scale, which should add all the neighboring
territories and provinces to Burgundy. He desired to extend his
personal power at any expense of blood and treasure, and he mapped out
plans of conquest and dreamed dazzling dreams.
"While he was getting ready for war, Louis XI. of France invited him
to a conference: he hesitated, and Louis, through his partisans,
incited the citizens of Liége to revolt against him. Charles then
consented to the conference, but as soon as Louis arrived, he
treacherously seized him and made him his prisoner. He forced him to
swear a treaty on a box which was believed to contain pieces of the
true cross, and which had belonged to Charlemagne. He then compelled
him to go with him to Liége, and apparently to sanction the punishment
of the people for the very revolt he had incited them to make.
"He conquered Lorraine, and planned to subdue Switzerland and add it
to Burgundy. He entered Switzerland, captured Grandson, and hanged and
drowned the garrison. The Swiss rose unitedly against such a merciless
foe, and utterly defeated him. But he raised another army and again
entered Switzerland, full of visions of conquest. He was again
defeated.
[Illustration: CHARLES THE RASH DISCOVERED.]
"He came back to Burgundy, morose and gloomy. His nails and beard grew
long; he looked like a wild man; the people recoiled from him, and
his dark character seemed to throw a shadow around him wherever he
appeared.
"Lorraine, which he had conquered, rose against him. This roused him
again to action: he hired soldiers, and led the way to war. He met the
rebellious Lorrainers in the plain of Nancy. Here the rash duke made
his last fight. It was a snowy day, and the battle was a short
one,--the soldiers of Charles flying quickly before the enemy.
"When the duke was preparing himself for the battle, the gilt lion
which formed the crest of his helmet fell off.
"'It is a sign from God,' said he, smitten in conscience.
"When the battle was over his body was nowhere to be found.
"They searched for it in the snow-covered fields. At last a Roman page
said he had seen the duke fall. He led the people towards a frozen
pond, where were some bodies lying, stripped. A washerwoman who had
joined in the search, saw the glitter of a jewel on the hand of a
corpse whose face was not visible. The head was frozen in the ice. The
position of the body was changed. It was Charles the Rash. He was
finally buried in the church of Notre Dame, whose spire you may
already see shining in the sun."
The story of Charles the Rash led the Class to visit the old church of
Notre Dame soon after their arrival in the courtly old city. It had a
greater charm for the boys than the ornate town-hall with its famous
belfry and its many bells. In a side chapel was the tomb of the rash
duke and that of his daughter, Mary of Burgundy.
"I can only think of the snowy field, and the naked body frozen in the
ice," said Ernest Wynn, as he left the solemn chapel.
The belfry of Bruges, of which so much has been said and sung, is
really only about three hundred feet high, but affords a grand view of
the surrounding country. Its chimes play by machinery four times an
hour, and are regarded the finest in Europe.
We must let Longfellow tell the charming story of his visit to the old
tower:--
In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown;
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the town.
As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood,
And the world threw off the darkness, like the weeds of widowhood.
Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams and vapors gray,
Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the landscape lay.
At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here and there,
Wreaths of snow-white smoke, ascending, vanished, ghost-like, into air.
Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour,
But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower.
From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high;
And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky.
Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times,
With their strange, unearthly changes rang the melancholy chimes,
Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the
choir;
And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar.
Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain;
They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again;
All the Foresters of Flanders,--mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer,
Lyderick du Bucq and Cressy Philip, Guy de Dampierre.
I beheld the pageants splendid that adorned those days of old;
Stately dames, like queens attended, knights who bore the Fleece
of Gold.
Lombard and Venetian merchants with deep-laden argosies;
Ministers from twenty nations; more than royal pomp and ease.
I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the ground;
I beheld the gentle Mary, hunting with her hawk and hound;
And her lighted bridal-chamber, where a duke slept with the queen,
And the armed guard around them, and the sword unsheathed between.
I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Namur and Juliers bold,
Marching homeward from the bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold;
Saw the fight at Minnewater, saw the White Hoods moving west,
Saw great Artevelde victorious scale the Golden Dragon's nest.
And again a whiskered Spaniard all the land with terror smote;
And again the wild alarum from the tocsin's throat,--
Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and dike of sand,
"I am Roland! I am Roland! there is victory in the land!"
Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awakened city's roar
Chased the phantoms I had summoned back into their graves once more.
Hours had passed away like minutes; and, before I was aware,
Lo! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined square.
On entering Normandy, Master Lewis engaged passages on diligences,
wherever a promise of a route amid pleasant scenery offered itself. It
seemed to be the boys' greatest delight to ride on the top of a
diligence.
These French stage-coaches are lofty, lumbering vehicles, composed of
three parts. The front division is called _coupé_, and is shaped
somewhat like an old-time chariot. It holds three persons. Next is the
_intérieur_ or inside, holding six persons, an apartment much shunned
in pleasant weather in summer time. Behind is the _rotonde_ which
collects "dust, dirt, and bad company." Over all is the _banquette_, a
castle-like position on the top of the coupé, a seat protected by a
hood, or head, and leather apron.
To secure this seat beside the "driver" was Tommy Toby's highest
ambition, when about to leave a newly visited place.
In one of these rides, when Tommy and Wyllys Wynn occupied this high
seat, Tommy said to the driver,--
"It seems strange to me to find such great forests in old countries
like England, Belgium, and France. I fancied that great tracts of wood
only existed in new lands like America, or half-civilized places. Are
there wild animals in the woods here?"
The driver was a French soldier, quite advanced in life. He spoke
English well, and seemed to enjoy giving the largest possible
information to his seat companions.
"Yes, there are some wild animals left in the forest," he said,--"of
the harmless kind. _Wild people_ have sometimes been found in the
largest tracts of forest."
"Wild people?" asked Tommy, his curiosity greatly excited. "Did you
ever see a wild man?"
"No, not myself. Did you ever hear of Peter the Wild Boy found in the
woods in Hanover?"
"Yes," said Tommy.
"There was a wild girl found in the French woods, not far from Paris,
about the same time."
"Will you not tell us the story?" asked Tommy.
The diligence lumbered along among the cool forest scenery, between
the walls of green trees which now and then, like suddenly opened
windows, afforded extended views; and the good-natured, well-informed
driver told the two boys the story of
THE WILD GIRL OF SONGI.
"In the year 1731, as a nobleman was hunting at Songi, near the
ancient and historic town of Chalons, on the river Champagne, in
France, he discovered a couple of objects at a distance in the water,
at which he fired, supposing them to be birds.
"They immediately disappeared, but arose at a point near the shore,
when they were found to be two children, evidently about a dozen years
of age.
"They carried to the shore some fish that they had caught, which they
tore in pieces with their teeth and devoured raw, without chewing.
"After their meal, one of them found a rosary, probably lost by some
devotee, with which she seemed highly delighted. She endeavored to
conceal it from her companion, but the latter made the discovery,
and, filled with rage and jealousy, inflicted a severe blow on the
hand containing the treasure. The other returned the blow, striking
her companion on the head with a heavy missile, and bringing her to
the ground with a cry of pain.
"The sisters, for such they probably were, parted. The one most
injured went towards the river and was never seen or heard of
afterwards. The other hurried off towards the hamlet of Songi.
"She was a strange and frightful-looking creature. Her color was
black, and her only clothing consisted of loose rags and the skins of
animals. The people of Songi fled to their houses and barred their
doors at the sight of her.
"She wandered about the place, greatly to the terror of the villagers,
but at last some adventurers determined to set a dog on her. She
awaited the attack coolly, but as soon as the monster came fairly
within her reach, she dealt him such a blow on the head as laid him
lifeless on the spot.
"The astonished peasants kept at a safe retreating distance, not
wishing a personal encounter with such a creature. She endeavored to
gain admittance to some of the houses, but the quaking occupants, who
seem to have fancied that the evil one himself had made his
appearance, securely fastened their doors and windows.
"She at length retired to the fields and climbed a tree, where she
sat, appearing to the spectators like an omen of ill to Songi.
"The Viscount d'Epinoy was stopping at Songi at this time, and,
supposing the creature to be a wild girl, offered a reward for her
capture.
"The excitement in the hamlet cooling, a party was formed to secure
the reward. The wild girl still remained in the tree, evidently taking
repose. Thinking that she must be thirsty, a bucket of water was
placed at the foot of the tree. She descended, looking cautiously
around, and drank, but immediately ascended to the top of the tree, as
though fearful of injury.
"She was at length allured to descend by a woman, who held out to her
fish and fruit. She was seized by stout men, and taken to the seat of
the viscount. One of her first acts was to devour raw some wild fowl,
which she found in the kitchen.
"After public curiosity had been satisfied, the viscount sent her to a
shepherd to be tamed. The latter found this no easy matter, and her
wildness and animal nature were exhibited in so marked a manner that
she became known as the shepherd's beast.
"She sometimes escaped. Once she was missing over night, when there
came a terrible snow-storm, and the poor shepherd wandered in search
of her. He discovered her at last housed just as she had been in
childhood, in the branches of a tree. The wind blew and the snow
drifted around her, but she was loth to return. She had learned that
trouble dwells in houses, and here in the tree-top, if she was cold,
she was free. I wonder if she thought of her sister in whose arms she
had doubtless slept in the trees, in her childhood.
"Her agility was marvellous. She would outrun the swiftest animals,
even the rabbits and hares. The Queen of Poland once took her on a
hunting excursion, and much amusement she afforded to the royal party.
She would discover game with the shrewdness of a bird of prey, and
having outrun and captured a hare, she would bring it with great
eagerness to the astonished and delighted queen.
"She was once set at the table with some people of rank, at a banquet.
She seemed delighted with the bright costumes, and the wit and gay
spirits of the guests. Presently she was gone. She returned at last
with something very choice in her apron, and with a face beaming with
happiness, she approached a fine lady, and holding up a live frog by
the leg said gleefully, 'Have some?'
"She dropped the frog into the plate of the startled guest, and
passing around the table, with a liberal supply of the reptiles, said,
'Have some? have some?'
"The ladies started back from such a dessert, and the poor girl felt
a pang of disappointment at the sudden rejection of the offering.
"She had gathered the frogs from a pond near at hand.
"It was a long time before she became accustomed to the habits of
civilization. She died in a convent."
"What a strange history!" said Wyllys Wynn. "She must have found her
life in the convent very different from that of her childhood. What
was her name?"
"They called her Maria le Blanc."
CHAPTER XIV.
UPPER NORMANDY.
Calais.--The Black Prince.--Étretat.--French Bathing.--Legend.--
Rouen.--Story of St. Louis.--Story of St. Bartholomew's Eve.
The Class stopped briefly at Calais, and was disappointed to find a
city so famous in history situated in a barren district, and
surrounded with little that is picturesque. The old walls around the
town are, however, pleasant promenades, and command a view of the
white cliffs of England. It was here, after a siege of eleven months,
that Eustace de St. Pierre and his five companions offered themselves
to Edward III. as a ransom for the city, and were saved from death by
the pleading of Queen Philippa. The town was a fortress then, and
looked menacingly over to England. The English proudly held possession
of it for more than two hundred years, or from 1347 to 1558, when it
was captured in Bloody Mary's time by the French under the Duc de
Guise.
"When I am dead," said Mary in her last days, "and my body is opened,
ye shall find _Calais_ written on my heart."
Calais recalls the stories of valor of the chivalrous campaigns of
Edward III. and his son, the Black Prince, in Normandy. At Crecy, the
Black Prince, when only sixteen years of age, led the English army to
victory, and slew the King of Bohemia with his own hand.
King Edward watched this battle from a windmill on a hill. The French
army was many times larger than the English. The Prince during the
battle found himself hard pressed, and at one point the Earl of
Warwick sent to the king for assistance.
"Is my son killed?"
"No, sire," said the messenger.
"Is he wounded?"
"No, sire."
"Is he thrown to the ground?"
"No, but he is hard-pressed."
"Then," said the king, "I shall send no aid. I have set my heart upon
his proving himself a brave knight, and I am resolved that the victory
shall be due to his own valor."
[Illustration: CAPTURE OF KING JOHN AND HIS SON.]
In 1356, in another campaign in Normandy, the Black Prince won a most
brilliant victory at Poitiers, and captured the French King John. The
latter was a brave soldier, and fought with his battle-axe until all
the nobles had forsaken him. The Black Prince made a supper for him in
his tent in the evening, and waited upon him at the table with his own
hands. The Black Prince and the captive king rode through London
together, the former in great pomp, and the latter on a cream-colored
pony by his side. All of these things read prettily in history, but
one is glad that the time is past when war was the game of kings, and
armies were used as their playthings.
A series of easy rides near the cool sea brought the Class to the old
fishing village of Étretat, now a fashionable summer resort for French
artists, and a popular bathing-place for those desiring seclusion amid
the coast scenery. It is situated amid rocks which the sea has
excavated into arches, aiguilles, and other fantastic recesses and
caverns. Its pretty châlets and villas on the hills, its gayly-dressed
summer idlers, its groups of fishermen who are to be seen in all
weathers, its handsome fisher girls bronzed by the sun who lead a free
life by the sea, its bathers in brilliant dresses of blue serge and
bright trimmings, its bracing air and usually fine weather, make it
one of the quaintest and most restful nooks in France.
There are the remains of a Norman church near the sea. It is said to
occupy the spot where the people watched the great flotilla of William
the Conqueror drift to St. Valery, there to take the Norman army to
England.
A French watering-place is quite different from an American seaside
resort. You have your board and sleeping-room in one of the hotels,
but your parlors, piazzas, and places of recreation are in an elegant
pleasure house, called the _Casino_. For the privileges of the Casino
you pay a small sum; at Étretat it amounts to about ten dollars a
month. The billiard-rooms, ball-room, and the rooms for general
conversation are in the Casino.
Every one bathes in the sea at Étretat, women and children, whole
families together, and most of the girls are expert swimmers. It is
delightful to sit upon the _shingle_, as the pebbly beach is called,
and watch the sport in the sun-bright mornings or golden and dreamy
afternoons. The costumes of the bathers are so pretty that the scene
seems like a ball in the sea. Bathing men are stationed here and there
to render any needed assistance.
The great caverns which the sea has worn in the rocks at Étretat
remind one of the ruins of immense cathedrals, and are grand indeed in
the light of the full summer moon.
The place abounds with story-telling fishermen. The Class was told one
story here which is worthy of a poem.
"A beautiful stream once watered the valley. Its bed may still be
seen, but it now runs under ground. On the stream an industrious
miller built his mill and did a thriving business. One day a woman,
sick and destitute, came to him for help. He turned heartlessly away
from her with abuse. The poor creature raised her withered arm, and
said,--
"'To-morrow thou shalt have thy reward.'
"When the miller awoke the next morning he found his mill standing on
dry ground. The river had gone down into the earth, where it still
runs."
[Illustration: TOWER OF JOAN OF ARC, ROUEN.]
The fisher's hymn which Ernest Wynn gave the Club at its first meeting
was asked for here by Master Lewis, and was procured. It is sung
before the departure of ships and during great storms in the fishing
season, being a part of the mass for seamen, or the _messe
d'equipage_.
The Class left Étretat for Rouen.
* * * * *
"O Rouen! Rouen! it is here I must die, and here shall be my last
resting-place!" said Joan of Arc at the stake. Rouen was hardly the
resting-place of the heroic peasant girl, for her ashes were thrown
into the Seine. But the thought of the stranger on coming to Rouen is
less associated with its history under the sea-kings of the North, the
Norman dukes and the English invaders, than with the hard fate and the
public memorials of the simple shepherdess, who seems to have been
called from her flocks to change the destiny of France.
[Illustration: THE MAID OF ORLEANS.]
The Class entered Rouen after a series of short, zigzag journeys,
partly in coaches and partly on foot, going leisurely from town to
town through roads that presented to view continuous landscapes of
shining orchards, ripening gardens, and resplendent poppy-fields;
stopping at Amiens, the birthplace of Peter the Hermit, meeting here
and there a ruin, and finding everywhere the connecting historical
links between the present and the past.
At Amiens the Class was brought into the presence of a relic which
greatly excited the boys' wonder.
"This church," said their guide, taking the Class to a side chapel of
the cathedral, "contains a very rare relic,--a part of the head of
John the Baptist!"
Passing into the beautiful chapel the Class was shown the shrine
containing the precious treasure, which consists of the supposed
frontal bone, and the upper jaw of the saint.
The _valet de place_ who accompanied the Class from the hotel seemed
to have no doubt of the genuineness of the relic, or of the propriety
of adoring it, if indeed it were real,--and he bowed reverently before
the shrine.
"A very rare relic," he said.
"Wonderful!" said Frank. "I did not know that such sacred remains were
anywhere to be found as are shown us in the churches of France."
"_Quite_ a rare relic," said Master Lewis, coolly. "I believe that,
previous to the French Revolution, several whole heads of John the
Baptist were to be seen in France."
"You do not think that a church like this would be guilty of
imposture, do you?" asked Ernest Wynn.
"Not wilfully. Most of these French relics were brought from
Constantinople at the time of the Crusades. They may be genuine,--the
people believe them so; but, in the absence of direct historic
evidence, it is probable that the Crusaders were deceived in them by
others, who in their turn may have been deceived.
"You will be shown wonderful relics or shrines supposed to contain
them, in nearly all the great churches of France. The French people
were taught their reverence for relics by St. Louis, who sought to
enrich the churches of his country with such treasures."
"Who was St. Louis?" asked Ernest.
"I am glad to have you ask the question," said Master Lewis. "His name
meets you everywhere in France.
STORY OF ST. LOUIS.
"St. Louis was one of the best men that ever sat on a throne. But he
was influenced by the superstitions of the times in which he lived.
"His mother was a most noble and pious woman, and he was a dutiful and
affectionate son.
"It was regarded as very pious at this time for a prince to go on a
crusade. St. Louis was taken sick, and he made a vow that, if he
recovered, he would become a crusader. On his recovery, he appointed
his mother regent, and sailed with forty thousand men for Cyprus,
where he proceeded against Egypt, thinking by the conquest of that
country to open a triumphant way to Palestine. He was defeated, and
returned to France.
"He was a model prince among his own people. He used to spend a
portion of each day in charity, and to feed an hundred or more paupers
every time he went to walk. He visited his own domestics when they
were sick; he founded charities, which have multiplied, and to-day
cause his name to be remembered with gratitude almost everywhere in
France. He made it the aim of his life to relieve suffering wherever
it might be found.
"It is related of him, among a multitude of stories, that he was once
accosted by a poor woman standing at the door of her cottage, who held
in her hand a loaf, and said,--
"'Good king, it is of this bread that comes of thine alms that my
poor, sick husband is sustained.'
"The king took the loaf and examined it.
"'It is rather hard bread,' said he; and he then visited the sick man
himself and gave the case his personal sympathy.
[Illustration: "IT IS RATHER HARD BREAD."]
"Going out on a certain Good Friday barefoot to distribute alms, he
saw a leper on the other side of a dirty pond. He waded through it to
the wretched man, gave him alms, then, taking his hand in his own,
kissed it. The act greatly astonished his attendants, but the disease
was not communicated to him.
[Illustration: DEATH OF ST. LOUIS.]
"In 1270 he started on a new crusade, but died in Tunis of the
pestilence. Visions of the conquest of the Holy City seemed to fill
his mind to the last. He was heard to exclaim on his death-bed in his
tent, 'Jerusalem! Jerusalem! We will go up to Jerusalem!'"
* * * * *
One of the first places which the Class sought out in Rouen was the
statue of Joan of Arc. It is placed on a street fountain near the spot
where the unfortunate maid was burned. It disappointed our tourists,
and seemed an unworthy tribute to such an heroic character. The great
tower, called the Tower of Joan of Arc, seemed a more fitting reminder
of her achievements.
The streets of Rouen are narrow, but are full of life. Rouen has been
called a New Paris, and Napoleon said that Havre, Rouen, and Paris
were one city of which the river Seine was the highway. The
gable-faced, timber-fronted mansions are interspersed with evidences
of modern thrift, and the Rouen of romance seems everywhere
disappearing in the Rouen of trade.
The Cathedral of Rouen is a confusing pile of art; it has beautiful
rose windows, and its spire is four hundred and thirty-six feet high.
The old church of St. Ouen, which is larger and more splendid than the
cathedral, is regarded as one of the most perfect specimens of Gothic
art in the world. It is 443 feet long.
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF ST. OUEN.]
The Palais de Justice, as the old province house or parliament house
is called, is an odd but picturesque structure. It lines three sides
of a public square.
[Illustration: PALAIS DE JUSTICE, ROUEN.]
"To-morrow," said Master Lewis, after a day of sight-seeing in Rouen,
"we go to the most beautiful city in all the world."
"I wish I knew more about the history of Paris," said Ernest Wynn,
"now that it is so near to us. I think of it as a place of gayety and
splendor, the scene of St. Bartholomew's Massacre, of the Revolution,
and the Commune. It was the city that Napoleon seemed to love more
than any thing else in the world. What is its early history?"
"You will read in Julius Cæsar's Commentaries, in your course in
Latin," said Master Lewis, "a brief account of Lutetia, the chief town
of the Parisii, a Gallic tribe that the Romans conquered. This, I
think, is the oldest historical allusion to Paris, as Lutetia came to
be called. It was probably an old town at the time of the Roman
invasion; it was chosen by Clovis as the seat of his empire in the
sixth century; it began to grow when the Northmen came sailing up the
Seine in their strange ships to its gates, and made it their prey. In
the tenth century it became the residence of Hugh Capet, the founder
of the Capetian line of kings, and soon after increased so rapidly
that it doubled in size and population. Under Henri of Navarre, in
1589, the city began to be famous for its tendencies to gayety and
splendor. Louis the Great lavished the wealth of France upon it,
converting the old ramparts into picturesque public walks or
boulevards, and enlarging and adorning its palaces so that they
rivalled the royal structures of the East. Then Napoleon I. enriched
it with the spoils of Europe, spending on it more than £4,000,000 in
twelve years. Napoleon III. completed the work of his predecessors by
introducing into the city all modern improvements, and making Paris in
every respect the most magnificent capital in Europe.
[Illustration: NORTHMEN ON AN EXPEDITION.]
"I have given you in the story of Charlemagne and in the visit to
Aix-la-Chapelle a view of the early French Empire; in the story of St.
Louis you have had a glance at France at the time of the Crusades; I
think I will here tell you a story which will present to you another
period of the nation's history.
[Illustration: THE BARQUES OF THE NORTHMEN BEFORE PARIS.]
STORY OF CHARLES IX. AND ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S EVE.
"Charles IX., the twelfth king of the family of Valois, came to the
French throne when only ten years of age, under the regency of his
mother, that terrible woman, Catharine de Medici. He was an impulsive
youth, restless and vacillating, and was left wholly to the evil
influences of his mother. The first years of his reign were disturbed
by the struggles between the Protestant and Catholic parties in
France. These difficulties were apparently settled in 1569.
"The queen-mother, who was a Catholic, seemed to entertain kind
feelings towards the Protestant leaders. The Protestant King of
Navarre was promised the hand of the king's sister Marguerite, and
marked courtesy and apparent kindness of feeling were shown by the
royal household to many of the leading men of the great Protestant
party. The latter were thus rendered unsuspicious of danger, and
became almost wholly disarmed.
[Illustration: CATHARINE DE MEDICI.]
"But Catharine de Medici, full of craft and wickedness, had resolved
to destroy the Protestant power. She was fully versed in crime, and
the passion for dark deeds grew upon her with years. One day she went
to the boy-king, Charles, and disclosed a plot for the massacre of the
Protestants of France. He listened with a feeling of horror. He had
learned to love the Protestant statesmen, and to call their great
leader, Coligny, 'father.' His young heart recoiled from such a deed.
But his mother gave him no rest. She confided her plot to the Catholic
leaders, who joined hand in hand with her to accomplish the crime.
Church and State united to persuade the young king that the stability
of the throne, the glory of his family, and the advancement of
religious truth demanded the slaughter of the Huguenots, as the
Protestant party were called. Still he hesitated; but after a little
while exhibited his characteristic weakness under the influence of
persuasion, and the conspirators knew his final assent was certain.
"St. Bartholomew's Day was at hand, the time appointed by the Catholic
leaders, the Guises, for the work of death. Paris was full of
Huguenots from the principal provincial cities, who had been drawn
hither by the magnificent wedding of the Protestant King of Navarre.
The preparations for the massacre were nearly complete, but the young
king still hesitated to issue the fatal order.
"His mother now used every art in her power to make him place himself
boldly with the Guises. As he was king, she wished the sanction of a
royal edict to do her bloody work. With this the preparations for the
destruction of the Huguenots would be complete. Her appeals at length
so wrought upon his mind that he excitedly exclaimed, 'Well, then,
kill them! kill them all, that not a single Huguenot may live to
reproach me!' This frantic remark was construed as an order.
"The massacre was appointed to begin on St. Bartholomew's Eve, at the
tolling of a bell. The young king was fearfully nervous and agitated
during the preceding day. Just before the fatal hour, his conscience
had so affected his better feelings, that he despatched orders to the
Duc de Guise, countermanding the slaughter. The duke received the
message as he was in the act of mounting his horse to lead the
assassins.
"'_Il est trop tard!_' 'It is too late!' said the duke to the bearer,
and at once rode away.
[Illustration: COLIGNY.]
"It was a still night, August 24, 1572. The defenceless Huguenots
were unsuspicious of danger, while armed assassins were lurking in
every house. At last the heavy clang of a great bell fell on the
breathless evening air, and the slaughter began.
"All that summer night the streets ran with blood. The young and the
old, the daughter, the mother, the nobleman and the beggar,--all who
bore the name of Huguenot,--were cut off without mercy. None were
spared. Even women murdered women, and children, it is said, impelled
by the maddening example, applied the dagger to other children in
their beds. The streets of Paris ran with blood. From thirty to
seventy thousand persons were slain in the city and in the towns of
France on this night and a few days following it.
"The new Queen of Navarre, Marguerite de Valois, had gone to bed on
the fatal eve, by the express order of Catharine. Just as she was
going to sleep, she says, a man knocked with hands and feet at her
door, shouting 'Navarre! Navarre!' The nurse, thinking it was the
king, opened the door. A Protestant gentleman, bleeding, and pursued
by four archers, threw himself on her bed for protection. The archers
rushed after him, but were stayed by the appearance of the captain of
the guard. The young queen hid the wounded Huguenot in one of her
closets, and cared for him until he was able to escape. Such scenes
took place in nearly all the houses of the nobility.
"Coligny was rudely murdered, and his body thrown out of the window of
his apartments into the courtyard, where it is said to have been
kicked by the Duc de Guise. The young king was in a court of the
palace of the Louvre, with his mother, when the great bell began to
toll. At first he trembled with fear and horror. He recovered
presently from his fear, and, running to the palace window, became so
excited at the sight of blood that he fired upon the wretched
fugitives who were attempting to escape by swimming across the Seine.
"But the young king never knew a happy hour after that dreadful night.
He grew pale and thin, and his tortured conscience and shattered brain
called up in his solitary hours the images of the slain.
"Two years after the massacre of St. Bartholomew's Eve the young king
lay dying. His disease, it has been said, was caused by poison, which
had been applied to the leaves of one of his favorite books for the
purpose, by his unnatural mother. His sufferings were dreadful in the
extreme. Historians tell us that he sweat drops of blood. His mental
anguish was as fearful as his bodily distress. He would cry out to his
nurse, '_Ah, nourrice, ma mie, ma bonne! que du sang, que
d'assassinats! Oh quels mauvais conseils j'ai suivis! Oh Seigneur
Dieu, pardonnez moi, et faites moi misericorde!_' 'Ah, nurse, my good
nurse! What blood! What murders! Oh what bad counsels I followed! Lord
God, pardon me! Have mercy on me!'
"Historians cover the memory of Charles IX. with infamy, but his first
impulses were usually kind, and his first intentions good. He does not
seem to have inherited the disposition of that monster of wickedness,
his mother. His most evil acts could hardly be called his own. Left to
himself he would have been deemed a most polished and amiable prince,
though wanting in decision. As a victim of bad counsellors, pity
should mingle with the censure that follows his name."
[Illustration: CHARLES IX. AND CATHARINE DE MEDICI.]
CHAPTER XV.
PARIS.
Paris the Beautiful.--Notre Dame.--Tuileries and Louvre.--Garden
of the Tuileries.--Bois de Boulogne.--Church of the Invalides.--
Napoleon's Tomb.--Place de la Concorde.--Story of the Man of the
Iron Mask.--Versailles and the Trianons.--Story of the Dauphin.--
Fontainebleau.--The Seine.--Water-Omnibuses.--A Wonderful Boat.--
Tommy's French.--A Surprise.--St. Eustache.--Molière.--Young French
Heroes.--Wyllys Wynn's Poem.
Paris the beautiful!
City of light hearts, smiling faces, charming courtesies, and gay
scenes everywhere!
City of dark tragedies of history that have hardly left behind a scar!
The tropical forest gives no warning of poison lurking under the
flowers; the bright Southern sky wears no trace of the tempest. Paris
says to the stranger, "I am beautiful: I have ever been beautiful, and
I wear loveliness like a crown."
The streets are as gay as the summer sunshine in them; the boulevards,
as the wide streets and avenues for pleasure walks are called, seem
channels of happiness, through which the tides of life run as brightly
as they glimmer along the Seine. "La belle Paris!" says the stranger
as he comes, and "La belle Paris!" he utters respectfully as he goes.
We do not wonder that the French love it; that Napoleon gloried in it,
and that Mary Queen of Scots left it with a heavy heart. Here human
nature has light, warmth, and glow; and love, sympathy, and patriotism
are everywhere to be seen.
"Where are the ruins caused by the siege and the Commune?" asked Frank
Gray, after the Class had been driven through a number of streets. "I
do not see the first sign of there having been a recent war and
revolution."
"In the fall of 1870," said Master Lewis, "shot and shell for a long
period fell around the city and into it like rain. In the following
spring the Commune was declared the government of Paris, and it seemed
bent on destroying the city's beauty, and overturning its monuments of
art. The Vendôme Column, which celebrated the victories of Napoleon
the Great, was pulled down as a monument of tyranny; the Palace of the
Tuileries and the Hotel de Ville were set on fire; and the wealthy
citizens who had endured the siege by a foreign foe fled from their
own countrymen. To-day most of the houses destroyed by the war and the
Commune are rebuilt, and the streets are as splendid as in the gay
days of the Empire."
The Class took rooms in the _Grand Hotel_, one of the largest and
finest houses for public entertainment in Europe. Its first visit was
to the ancient Cathedral of Notre Dame, whose history is as old as
Christianity in France, and which even before that period was a Pagan
temple. Here _Te Deums_ for all of the nation's victories have been
sung; funeral orations of kings have been pronounced, confessions of
sin for a thousand years have been made, and masses innumerable
celebrated. Here Napoleon the Great was crowned, and Napoleon III. was
married. Here the Goddess of Reason, after being borne through the
streets in state, was enthroned during the Revolution of 1793. It has
thirty-seven chapels.
In entering the cathedral the Class seemed to be in a new world. The
rose-colored windows flooded the edifice with a soft light; and beyond
it was a blaze of candles amid clouds of incense, for the priests in
their gorgeous vestments were administering at the altar.
[Illustration: THE GODDESS OF REASON CARRIED THROUGH THE STREETS
OF PARIS.]
The boys passed through the waves of light reverently, and stood near
the altar. A choir of altar boys suddenly rose amid the smoke and
lights and glitter of priestly robes, and sang most melodiously. It
seemed very solemn and grand, but the thought of the associations of
the place was even more awe-inspiring. The scene was one that had
been enacted for more than a thousand years, under the groined roof of
the same stately edifice, and the past seemed to hang, a weight of
gloom, in the very air.
On each one's paying half a franc, the Class was admitted into the
sacristy, where the sacred relics, purchased in the East by St. Louis
himself, are kept. Among them is a supposed piece of the true cross
and a pretended part of the Crown of Thorns which was put upon the
Saviour's head before the Crucifixion.
The second day that the Class spent in Paris was the most delightful
of the whole tour.
"I shall go with you to-day," said Master Lewis, "to the most
beautiful place in Europe, the most beautiful garden in Europe, and
one of the most beautiful picture-galleries in the world."
"The Tuileries?" asked Frank.
"The Louvre?" asked Ernest.
"Both," said Master Lewis.
"The Tuileries and the Louvre are now one. Francis I. began the
building of the Louvre in 1541; Catharine de Medici commenced the
Tuileries in 1564; Napoleon III. united the two palaces in the four
years following 1852. The two palaces have been growing about three
hundred years. The Tuileries was partly burned by the Commune. The
united palaces cover twenty-four acres. Think of it! Twenty-four acres
of art, ornament, pictures, and splendor!"
The garden of the Tuileries is the favorite promenade of wealthy and
fashionable Parisians, and seemed to the boys too beautiful for
reality. Graceful statues rise on every hand from flower-beds, bowers,
by cool fountains, and in the shade of grand old trees,--statues in
marble, stone, and bronze; Grecian, Roman, French. Airy terraces,
basins bordered with rich foliage and gorgeous flowers carry the eye
hither and thither, and call out some new expression of admiration at
almost every step.
"How happy the life of a French king must have been!" said Tommy
Toby.
"How unhappy the lives of French kings have been!" said Master Lewis.
"If you would have a view of royalty that makes a peasant's life seem
desirable, read the history of the old French kings."
The beautiful forests of France extend to the very outskirts of the
city. One of these, the Bois de Boulogne, is the favorite park of
Paris. It contains more than two thousand acres. It has an immense
aquarium, pavilions of birds, and a garden for ostriches and
cassowaries, and its principal avenue is one hundred yards wide.
The Class visited this park on a beautiful afternoon, passing through
the Champs Elysées, a splendid avenue filled with equipages. In this
walk the boys saw the famous _Arc de Triomphe_ and the _Palais de
l'Industrie_, in which the World's Fair was held in 1855, when nearly
two million strangers beheld Paris in her glory. The Arc de Triomphe
was begun in 1806, the year of the battle of Austerlitz, and was
finished by Louis Philippe. It commemorates the victories of Napoleon,
and is the most magnificent imperial monument in the world.
No scene in Paris seemed to inspire a part of the Class with so much
awe as the tomb of Napoleon. At the entrance to the crypt of the dome
of the church of the Invalides, containing the conqueror's remains,
are these words: "I desire that my ashes may rest on the banks of the
Seine, in the midst of the French people whom I have loved so well."
From a balustrade above the tomb under the beautiful dome the boys
looked down in silence on the sarcophagus, or stone coffin, which is
of Finland granite. The monolith on which it rests is porphyry, and
weighs 130,000 pounds. The monument cost nine million francs.
A beautifully tinted light fell upon the sarcophagus.
"Look," said Tommy, "see--"
An armed guard approached, with a solemn gesture of the hand. He
simply said,--
"Be reverent."
[Illustration: GARDEN OF THE TUILERIES.]
The Hotel des Invalides, an asylum for disabled soldiers, of which
the church and dome are a part, was founded by Louis XIV. The dome is
gilded, and is three hundred and thirty feet high.
[Illustration: FOUNTAIN IN THE CHAMPS ELYSÉES.]
Ernest Wynn, who seemed to have a part of some old ballad always upon
his lips, repeated some fine lines to Master Lewis as they went out of
the church,--a quotation from an old song, entitled "Napoleon's
Grave." (At St. Helena.)
"Though nations may combat and war's thunders rattle,
No more on thy steed wilt thou sweep o'er the plain;
Thou sleep'st thy last sleep, thou hast fought thy last battle,
No sound can awake thee to glory again."
The delightful _Place de la Concorde_, which is between the Garden of
the Tuileries and the Champs Elysées, and which has been called the
most delightful spot in any European city, had been passed through by
the Class in their walk to the park, and it was decided to give an
afternoon to a visit to it. Here stands the obelisk of Luxor, brought
from the ruins of Thebes.
[Illustration: PLACE DE LA CONCORDE.]
Here stood the guillotine, or rather the guillotines, on which Louis
XIV. and Marie Antoinette and nearly three thousand persons perished.
Here revolutionists cut off the heads of the royal family, and the
people the heads of the revolutionists.
[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE LOUVRE.]
Two beautiful fountains were playing on the afternoon when the Class
made their visit. The sky was all rose and gold; the Seine flowed
calmly along; the aspect of every thing seemed as foreign to any past
association of war, tragedy, and pangs of human suffering as the
figures of the Tritons and Nereids that were spouting water from the
fishes in their hands.
[Illustration: FOUNTAIN, PLACE DE LA CONCORDE.]
Leaving the Place de la Concorde, which Master Lewis said he believed
was constructed in part of stones of the old Bastile, the Class went
to the public square where the Bastile had stood.
"The Place of the Bastile," said Master Lewis, "now adorned by the
Column of Liberty, is the site of the old Castle of Paris, which was
built as a defence against the English. The castle became a prison for
people who offended the French kings. The Man of the Iron Mask was
confined here. It was regarded as an obstacle to liberty, and it was
stormed by the people during the Revolution, and destroyed."
"Who was the Man of the Iron Mask?" asked Tommy Toby.
"That is a question that used to be asked by all the statesmen of
Europe, and that has been repeated and always will be by every reader
of history. It has been answered in many different ways. Books,
pamphlets, and essays have been written upon the subject. It is still
a secret, and seems destined always to remain so. I will give you
briefly the strange history of this State prisoner."
THE MAN OF THE IRON MASK.
"During the reign of that voluptuous old monarch, Louis XIV. of
France, there appeared on one of the Marguerite Islands, in the
Mediterranean, a prisoner of State closely guarded, and entrusted to
the especial care of a French governmental officer, De Saint Mars.
"Although confined in this obscure spot in the sea, where but little
was seen or heard save a distant sail and the dashing of waters, he
became a marked man among the few who chanced to meet him, and the
circumstance of his concealment was in danger of being noised abroad.
He was consequently removed to Paris, and immured in the cells of the
Bastile.
"From the time that he began to attract attention on the island in the
Mediterranean to the close of his protracted life, no one but his
appointed attendants is known to have seen his face.
"His head was enveloped in a black-velvet mask, confined by springs of
steel, and so arranged that he could not reveal his features without
immediate detection.
[Illustration: MAN OF THE IRON MASK.]
"His guardian, De Saint Mars, had been instructed by a royal order,
or by an order from certain of the king's favorites, to take his life
immediately, should he attempt to reveal his identity.
"During his confinement on the Marguerite island, De Saint Mars ate
and slept in the same room with him, and was always provided with
weapons with which to despatch him, should he attempt to discover the
secret of his history. If report is true, De Saint Mars might well
exercise caution, for it is asserted that he was to forfeit his own
life if by any want of watchfulness he allowed the prisoner to reveal
his identity.
"The prisoner himself seemed anxious to make the forbidden discovery.
He once wrote a word on some linen, and succeeded in communicating
what he wished to an individual not in the secret of the mystery. But
the _ruse_ was discovered, and the person that received the linen died
suddenly, being taken off, it was supposed, by poison. He once
engraved something, probably his name, on a piece of silver plate. The
person to whom it was conveyed was detected in his knowledge of the
secret, and soon after died, as suddenly and mysteriously as the one
who had received the linen.
"These incidents indicate that the prisoner was a man of shrewdness
and learning.
"He was attended, during his imprisonment in the Bastile, by the
governor of the fortress, who alone administered to his wants; and
when he attended mass he was always followed by a detachment of
invalides (French soldiers), who were instructed to fire upon him in
case he should speak or attempt to uncover his face.
"These circumstances, and many others of like character, show that he
was a person of very eminent rank, and that those who thus shut him
out from mankind were conscious that they were committing a crime of
no ordinary magnitude.
"Who, then, was this person of mystery, familiarly known as the Man of
the Iron Mask?
"He is supposed by many to have been a son of Anne of Austria and the
Duke of Buckingham, and consequently a half-brother of Louis XIV., and
a co-heir to the throne of France. If so, it would appear, that, while
Louis XIV. was luxuriating amid the splendors of the palace of
Versailles, his brother was suffering the miseries of exile, or
languishing in a dungeon, shut out not only from the outward world,
but from all intercourse with mankind. But other writers think him to
have been some less remarkable person.
"The iron mask, of which frequent mention has been made in sensational
books, was a very simple contrivance of velvet and springs of steel."
* * * * *
The Class made two excursions from Paris, one to Versailles and the
other to Fontainebleau.
Versailles, a town of 30,000 inhabitants, which has grown up around
one of the finest palaces and parks of Europe, was originally the
hunting-lodge of Louis XIII. Louis XIV. chose the place for a palace,
and employed almost an army of men for eleven years upon the
structure. He spent upon this palace nearly £40,000,000 sterling.
Thither in 1680 he removed his gay court, and here he passed in gloomy
grandeur his melancholy old age.
It is a place of beautiful gardens, wonderful fountains, fine statues,
and walks associated with the history of kings, queens, statesmen, and
scholars. The palace to the visitor seems a vast picture gallery,
wherein is shown the conquests of France. It is a long journey through
the glittering rooms. Here you see the representation of a king in his
moment of triumph, adored as a god, and there you see the same king
overthrown or stretched upon his bed of death. The fountains murmur,
the orange trees fill the air with perfume, and you turn from the
exhibition of the glowing and faded pomps of history to the gardens,
feeling that after all man's only nobility and kingship and hope of a
crown lies in his soul, and it is virtue alone that makes one royal.
Two small palaces or villas in the Park of Versailles, called Great
Trianon and Little Trianon, recalled to Master Lewis the happy days of
the life of Marie Antoinette, which she spent here while the unseen
cloud of the Revolution was gathering, and the calm settled down on
Paris before the storm.
[Illustration: VERSAILLES.]
"We have seen the places where Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette lived
and were beheaded. What became of their children?" asked Frank Gray.
"The oldest son of Louis XVI. died at the beginning of the Revolution.
As it may give you a picture of the stormy times of the period, let me
tell you
THE STORY OF THE DAUPHIN.
"He was born at Versailles in 1785. He was a most affectionate child,
and was ardently attached to his mother. He used to sport about the
gardens of the palace; the very place where we are now was his
play-ground.
"He would sometimes rise early in the morning to gather flowers from
the gardens to lay on his mother's pillow.
"'Ah!' he would say, when weary of play, 'I have not earned the first
kiss from mother to-day.'
[Illustration: LITTLE TRIANON.]
[Illustration: THE DAUPHIN WITH THE ROYAL FAMILY IN THE ASSEMBLY.]
"The Revolution came and cast a shadow over Versailles, with all its
glory. The royal family was surrounded with enemies, and was in
constant terror, and the little dauphin was made unhappy by the sight
of his mother's tears.
"One day a serving-woman told him that if he would procure some favor
for her she would be happy as a queen.
"'As happy as a queen!' he answered: 'I know of one queen who does
nothing but weep.'
"The Revolutionists overthrew the Bastile and the throne, and the
members of the royal family were obliged to seek protection in the
National Assembly. They were then confined in an old French prison,
called the Temple.
"The king was tried by the Assembly, was condemned and executed. He
deeply loved the dauphin, and parted from him with bitter grief.
"After the king's death the dauphin was the principal solace of the
queen in her imprisonment. He was at last removed from the queen's
apartment by an order of the Committee of Public Safety. It is related
that when the guards came to take him away, his mother fought for him
until her strength was exhausted, and she fell senseless upon the
floor.
"After the execution of his mother he was given over to the care of a
brutal shoemaker, named Simon, who endeavored to cause his death
without committing palpable murder. He was ill-fed, beaten and abused,
and received the name of the 'She-wolf's Whelp,' referring to Marie
Antoinette.
"At this period the police were in the habit of distributing in the
streets songs against 'Madame Veto,' as the queen had been called. One
of the most infamous of these, as vulgar as it was brutal, had been
preserved by Simon.
"One day, for the want of a new torture for the child, Simon resolved
to make him sing this obscene song against his mother.
"'Come along, Capet,' said he, 'here is a new song which you must
sing to me.'
"He handed the song to the dauphin. The boy saw its meaning, and with
all the instincts of a susceptible nature he recoiled from the thought
of reviling his mother. He laid it down on the table without saying a
word.
"Simon arose in wrath.
"'I thought I said you must sing.'
"'I never will sing such a song.'
"'I declare to you that I will kill you if you refuse to obey me.'
"'Never!'
"Simon caught up an andiron, and threw it at the child with a force
that would have proved fatal had he not missed his aim. His passion
then gradually subsided, but the boy refused to sing.
"One day, after a system of abuses too shocking to relate, Simon
seized the dauphin by the ear, and drawing him to the middle of the
apartment, said,--
"'Capet, if the Vendéans were to set you at liberty, what would you do
to me?'
"'I would forgive you,' replied the noble boy.
"His situation at last became wretched in the extreme. He was placed
in a filthy cell where he could neither receive pure air nor have
exercise; his food was scanty, his bed was not made for six months,
and his clothes were not changed for a year. He became covered with
vermin, and the mice used to nibble at his feet. He passed the days in
utter silence, wishing only to die. Once, when he had attempted to
pray kneeling, he had been discovered and terribly punished, and he
felt that it was not safe for him to speak even to his God.
"After the overthrow of the Revolutionary government under
Robespierre, he was assigned to more merciful keepers. But his body
and mind were in ruins, and all efforts to restore him proved in vain.
"It was a lovely June day in the summer of 1795. He was dying;
without, the air was full of sunshine, of birds and roses.
"'Are you in pain?' asked his attendant.
"'Yes,' he said; 'but not in so much as I was, the music is so sweet.'
"He presently added; 'Do you not hear the music?'
"'From whence does it come?'
"'From above.'
"His eyes became luminous; he seemed happy and peaceful, and he
fancied that among the voices that seemed to be singing around him he
could distinguish that of his mother. It may have been all but a dream
or fancy, but it grew out of the filial devotion of his heart."
[Illustration: FOREST OF FONTAINEBLEAU.]
Fontainebleau is one of the most ancient palaces of France; it is a
labyrinth of galleries, salons, amphitheatres, secret chambers, and
fantastic balconies. To traverse the palace is a journey. Like all the
old French palaces, it is surrounded with gardens, parks, and has its
wood or forest. Indeed, the town of Fontainebleau is situated in a
forest, which covers an extent of sixty-four miles.
[Illustration: IN THE WOOD AT FONTAINEBLEAU.]
"Artists, poets, romancers, and lovers," says a writer, "have from
time immemorial made the forest of Fontainebleau the empire of their
dreams. You ought to see it in the morning, when the bird sings, when
the sun shines, ... when all these stones, heaped beneath those aged
trees, take a thousand fantastic forms, and give to it the appearance
of the plain on which the Titans fought against Heaven. Oh, what
terrible and touching histories, stories of hunting and of love, of
treason and vengeance, this forest has covered with its shadow!"
St. Louis loved this forest, and Napoleon signed his abdication at
Fontainebleau.
Master Lewis had allowed the boys to have a day to themselves in each
of the principal places where they had stopped. If one of them wished
to make an excursion on that day to some neighboring place, the good
teacher made some careful arrangement for that one to do so. He was
very careful about all matters of this kind, without really seeming to
distrust the boys' judgment in their efforts to look out for
themselves. A coach-driver, a traveller, a valet-de-place, or some
person was usually employed to have an eye on the member of the Class
who was allowed to make a tour to a strange place alone.
The boys, with the exception of Tommy Toby, were given a day to go
where they liked in Paris. Master Lewis did not dare to allow Tommy
this privilege, after his misadventure in England.
The Wynns visited the Palace of the Institute; Frank Gray, the Grand
Opera House.
"I would like to go to the river this morning," said Tommy, "and sail
on the ---- queer boats there."
"The flies, or water-omnibuses?" said Master Lewis. "I will go with
you."
Tommy looked surprised and hardly seemed pleased, not that he did not
generally like Master Lewis's company, but because it looked to him
like a restraint upon his freedom.
But the good teacher took his hat and cane, and Tommy did not express
any displeasure in words. The two went to a splendid stone bridge
called the Pont d'Jena, over the Seine.
Compared with the Mississippi, the Ohio, or the St. Lawrence, the
Seine is but a small stream. The river is lined with solid stone-work
on each side, and its banks are shaded with trees. It is filled with
queer crafts, and a multitude of families live on the barges that
convey wood, coal, and certain kinds of merchandise from place to
place.
As Master Lewis and Tommy were standing on the bridge, watching the
sloops as they lowered their masts to pass under, an astonishing sight
met Tommy's eyes.
It was a great boat, like a steamer, but without screw or paddles,
swiftly passing up the river by means of a chain which rose out of the
water at the bows, ran along the deck, turned around wheels which
seemed to be worked by an engine, and then slipped overboard at the
stern.
"How far can that boat go on in that way?" asked Tommy.
"The chain by which the boat is carried forward," said Master Lewis,
"is _one hundred miles long_."
Master Lewis and Tommy passed some hours among the queer crafts on the
river, taking passages here and there on the flies or water-omnibuses.
"Were you afraid to trust me alone this morning?" asked Tommy, on
their return.
"Well, yes."
"Did you think I could not speak French well enough to go out alone?"
"Your French might not be very well understood here."
"I think I can talk simple French, such as servants could understand
very well."
In the afternoon, being somewhat alone, Tommy thought he would explore
the hotel, which was something of a town in itself. He descended from
his apartment on the third floor, with the intention of going to the
courtyard. But he could not find the place which had so attracted him
from his window. He tried to go back, but lost the way even to his
apartment. He descended again, but failed to find any place he
remembered to have seen before. It was all as grand as a palace, but
as puzzling as a labyrinth he had seen in the grounds of Hampton Court
Palace.
He said to one after another of the very polite people he chanced to
meet,--
"Please, sir [or madam], do you speak English?"
He received only smiles of good-will, and courteous shakes of the
head, in answer to all inquiries.
Tommy remembered his French lessons. Happy thought! He accosted a
servant, whose knowledge of the language he fancied might be as simple
as his own:--
"_Pardon, Monsieur, voulez-vous avez la bonté de m'indiquer un
valet-de-place?_"
"_Je ne comprends pas_," said he.
"_Je ne comprends pas_," said Tommy. "_Je ne puis pas trouver ma
chambre_," pointing upward. "_Voulez-vous m'indiquer quelqu'un qui
parle l'Anglais?_"
"_Je ne comprends pas._"
"_Ne comprenez-vous Français?_" said Tommy.
The man's face wore a willing, but very puzzled expression.
Just then a girl with a happy face came out of one of the rooms.
"Do you speak"----
"Why, yes, of course I speak. I am very glad to meet you here. How
pleasant!"
[Illustration: "JE NE COMPRENDS PAS."]
It was Agnes, the young lady who had made herself so agreeable on the
steamer.
The next morning, after a chat with Agnes, Master Lewis said to
Tommy,--
"I think I will let you take a day to go where you like."
"Will you not let me go with you?" asked Agnes. "It is a fête day, or
some kind of Church festival, and I would like to go to that lovely
church of St. Eustache, where they have the finest organ and sweetest
chanting in the world. I know you will like it. It took a hundred
years to build the church. It is all just like fairy-land."
As Agnes had been reading the comedies of Molière, the French
Shakspeare, she induced Tommy to attend her to the old Théâtre
Français, which was under the direction of the great dramatist for
many years, and where he was stricken down by death in the middle of a
play. It was not open for an exhibition at the hour of the visit, but
a courteous Frenchman took them through it, and related to Agnes some
pleasing anecdotes of Molière.
The Class took many delightful walks along the clean streets and
charming boulevards, visiting churches, public buildings, statues, and
paintings. In one of the visits to a church Tommy was much amused by a
priest who, as the people were going out after some superb music,
pretended to be praying, but who, amid the noise and confusion, was
only making contortions of his face. Tommy went through the priest's
performance in dumb show when he returned to the hotel, for the
amusement of Agnes, but was checked by Master Lewis when he attempted
a similar imitation in one of the public rooms, lest some one might
mistake it for a want of reverence for sacred things.
[Illustration: {AT PRAYERS.}]
In one of these walks they were shown a place where a French boy did a
noble act at the end of the last war.
An order had been issued to shoot all persons found with arms in their
hands in the streets. A captain with his company on duty came upon a
French boy with a musket.
"I must order your execution," he said.
"Let me return a watch I have borrowed," said the boy.
"When will you return?"
"At once, upon my word."
The boy went away, and the captain never expected to see him again.
But he presently came back, and taking a heroic attitude said,--
"_I am ready. Fire!_"
He was pardoned.
"The young French people," said Master Lewis, "are very patriotic.
History abounds with noble acts of French boys. I will relate an
incident or two to the point:--
"Joseph Barra lived in the interior of France at the beginning of the
French Revolution. He was a generous-hearted boy, who loved truth, his
mother, and his country. He was a Republican at heart; a boy of his
impulses could have been nothing else.
"Wishing to serve his country in the great struggle for liberty, he
entered the Republican army at the age of twelve, as a drummer boy.
His whole soul entered into the cause; he was ready to endure any
hardship and to make any sacrifice, that the country he loved might be
free. He allowed himself no luxuries, but he sent the whole of his pay
as a musician to his mother.
"His regiment was ordered to La Vendée to encounter a body of
Royalists. One day he found himself cut off from the troops, and
surrounded by a party of Royalists. Twenty bayonets were pointed
towards his breast. He stood, calm and unflinching, before the
glittering steel.
"'Shout,' cried the leader of the Royalists, 'shout, "Long live Louis
XVII!" or die!'
"The twenty bayonets were pushed forward within an inch of his body.
"He bent upon his captors a steady eye, kindling with the lofty
purpose of his soul. He took off his hat. He gazed for a moment on
the blue sky and the green earth. Then, waving his hand aloft, he
exclaimed, '_Vive la République!_'
"The twenty bayonets did their cruel work, and the boy died, a martyr
to his convictions of right and of liberty.
"Joseph Agricole Vialla, a boy thirteen years of age, connected
himself with a party of French Republican soldiers stationed on the
Danube. One day an army of insurgent Royalists were discovered on the
opposite side of the river, attempting to cross over on a pontoon. The
only safety for the Republican soldiers was to cut the cables that
held the bridge to the shore. Whoever should attempt to do this would
fall within range of the Royalists' guns, and would be exposed to what
seemed to be certain destruction.
"Who would volunteer?
"Every soldier hesitated. The boy Vialla seized an axe, and ran to the
bank of the stream. He began to cut the cables amid frequent volleys
of shot from the other side, when a ball entered his breast. He fell,
but raising himself for a moment, exclaimed,--
"'I die, but I die for my fatherland!'
"In the _Chant du Départ_--an old French revolutionary song, once
almost as famous as the _Marseillaise_--the deeds of these boy-heroes
are celebrated in the following strain:--
"'O Barra! Vialla! we envy your glory.
Still victors, though breathless ye lie.
A coward lives not, though with age he is hoary;
Who fall for the people ne'er die.
"'Brave boys, we would rival your deed-roll,
'Twill guard us 'gainst tyranny then;
Republicans all swell the bead-roll,
While slaves are but infants 'mong men.
"'The Republic awakes in her splendor,
She calls us to win, not to fly!
A Frenchman should live to defend her,
For her should he manfully die!'"
Wyllys Wynn seemed much impressed by these incidents of youthful
heroism. He sometimes wrote poems, and on his return to the hotel he
related the incident of the boy and the watch in these lines, which he
read in one of the parlors to Agnes.
HONOR BRIGHT.
The rush of men, the clash of arms,
The morning stillness broke,
And followed fast the fresh alarms,
The clouds of battle-smoke.
The Seine still bore a lurid light,
As down its ripples run,
Where late had shone the fires at night,
The rosy rifts of sun.
"Shoot every man," the captain cried,
"That dares our way oppose!"
Like water ran the crimson tide,
Like clouds the smoke arose.
They forward rushed, the streets they cleared,--
But ere the work was done,
Before the troop a boy appeared,
And bore the boy a gun.
"Thou too shalt die," the captain said.
The boy stopped calmly there,
And sweet and low the music played
Amid the silenced air.
"Hold!" cried the boy; "a moment wait.
For, ere I meet my end,
I would return this watch, that late
I borrowed of my friend."
"Return a watch?" The captain frowned.
"Your meaning I discern;
Such honest lads are seldom found:
And when would _you_ return?"
"At once!" the hero makes reply;
"As soon as e'er I can;
I _will_ return, and I will die
As nobly as a man!"
"Well, go!" The lordly bugle blew,
And said the man, with joy,
"Right glad am I to lose him, too,
I would not harm the boy."
Some moments passed; the deadly rain
Fell thickly through the air;
The smoke arose, and, lo! again
The boy stood calmly there.
The muskets ceased, the smoke-wreath passed
O'er sunlit dome and spire,--
"Here, captain, I have come at last,
And I am ready. Fire!"
As marble grew the captain's cheek,
He could not speak the word.
The shout of _Vive la République!_
Adown the ranks was heard.
The bugle blew a note of joy,
"Advance!" the captain cried,--
They marched, and left the happy boy
The colonnade beside.
We sing Vialla's sweet romance,
Of Barra's death we read,
But few among the boys of France
E'er did a nobler deed.
The palace burns, the columns fall,
The works of art decay,
But deeds like these the good recall
When empires pass away.
CHAPTER XVI.
BRITTANY.
Avranches.--Riding on Diligences.--Mont St. Michel.--Chateaubriand.--
Madame de Sévigné.--Brittany.--Breton Stories.--Story of the Old
Woman's Cow.--Story of the Wonderful Sack.--Nantes.--Scenes of the
Revolution at Nantes.--Fénelon and Louis XV.
The Class went by rail from Paris to the bright Norman district of
Calvados, visiting Caen and Bayeux, whose attractions have been
briefly sketched in the letter of George Howe to Master Lewis. The
next journey was to Avranches, or the "Village of the Cliff," by the
way of Falaise, the residence of Duke Robert, father of William the
Conqueror, and to the quaint town of Vire, famous for its cleanly,
industrious inhabitants its grand old hills buried in woods, its great
wayside trees, and its ancient clock-tower.
[Illustration: CLOCK TOWER AT VIRE.]
The Class met few people on this journey. The cantonniers were
evidently busy with their own simple industries. Once or twice the
boys saw gentlemen, whom Master Lewis said were curés, at work in
cool, green gardens; and often they met the pretty sight of women and
girls at work in the fields. The cottages were thatched, and some were
moss-grown, and all the canton wore the appearance of simple
contentment, virtue, and thrift.
Avranches is a favorite summer resort for English tourists, owing to
the beauty of its situation, its health-giving air, and the ease and
cheapness with which one may live.
The journey from Caen, along the bowery Norman highways, was made in
diligences. The boys seemed to brim over with pleasure at the prospect
of a ride in a diligence.
"There is one place where contentment and happiness may surely be
found," said Tommy Toby, one day.
"Where?" asked Master Lewis.
"On the top of a diligence."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, sure."
The next day the Class was overtaken, while travelling in the French
coach, by a pouring rain. Tommy, as usual, was on the seat with the
driver. He became very impatient, saying, every few minutes, "I wish
it would stop raining, I wish--" this, that, and the other thing.
"Tommy," said Master Lewis, from within the coach, "are you _sure_?"
After a time the sunlight overspread the landscape, making the watery
leaves shine like the multitudinous wavelets of the sea.
Tommy's merry voice was heard again, talking bad French.
"Contentment and happiness," said Master Lewis to Frank, "have
evidently returned again."
From Avranches the Class visited that wonderful castle, church, and
village of the sea, Mont St. Michel.
The journey from the mainland was by a tramway across the Grève, or
sands, at low tide. At neap tides the Mount is not surrounded by water
at any time, but at spring tides it is washed by the sea twice a day,
and sometimes seems like a partly sunken hill in the sea. The fortress
is girt about the base with feudal walls and towers colored by the
sea; above these rises a little town, the houses being set on broken
ledges of rock; above the town stand the fortifications, and a church
and its tower crown all. It is one of the most curious places in the
world.
Pagan priests here worshipped the god of high places; monks succeeded
them; Henry II held court here, then it became a place to which saints
made yearly pilgrimages. The Revolution drove out the monks, and
turned it into a prison. In an iron cage called the Cage of St.
Michel, a torturous contrivance, state prisoners used to be confined.
The Class next went to St. Malo, by the way of Dol; a breezy journey,
with the sea in view.
"St. Malo," said Master Lewis, "was the birthplace of Chateaubriand,
who visited our country after the American Revolution, and in 1801
wrote an Indian romance, 'Atala,' a prose Hiawatha, if I may so call
it, which charmed all Europe. He published a political work on
America, which had great influence in France. He was in early life a
sceptic, but the memory of a good mother made him a Christian, and he
published a book on religion which arrested the infidel tendencies of
the times. Louis XVIII. declared that one of his pamphlets was worth
an army of one hundred thousand men. He was one of the most brilliant
writers France ever produced. You should read on your return 'Atala'
in French. You will find an edition, I think, illustrated by Doré, in
which the pictures will compel you to read the story."
"I have read 'Atala,'" said Frank.
"Would you like to visit Chateaubriand's birthplace with me?" asked
Master Lewis.
Frank was very desirous to see the place at once, and Master Lewis
and he went to the house, now a hotel, immediately on their arrival in
the town. From the windows of the house could be seen the tomb of
Chateaubriand, which is on a little island in the harbor.
When Master Lewis returned to the hotel he was alone.
"Where is Frank?" asked Tommy.
"He is to spend the night in Chateaubriand's room," said Master Lewis.
"Visitors at St. Malo are allowed to sleep there on paying a small
sum."
"Is Chateaubriand living yet?" asked Tommy. "I thought you said he
came to our country after the Revolution."
"No, he died many years ago. Frank and I have just been looking from
the windows of his birthplace at his tomb on one of the little
islands."
"But Frank is not going to stay all night in the room of one that is
dead! What good will that do?"
"It is the respect that appreciation pays to genius," said Master
Lewis.
Ernest Wynn wished to spend the night with Frank, and received Master
Lewis's permission.
"Why, Ernest!" said Tommy, "I thought you had more sense. I am glad I
am not literary. This is the strangest thing I have met with yet."
Chateaubriand's birthplace is the Hotel de France. His room is among
those offered to visitors, at a little extra cost. Master Lewis had
stopped at the hotel during a previous tour.
If Tommy was surprised at the "respect appreciation pays to genius,"
in the incident of sleeping in Chateaubriand's room, he was more so by
a conversation which took place next day, when Master Lewis made his
plans for the last zigzag journeys.
"The last place we will visit," he said, "is Nantes. We will go by
rail to Rennes, and by diligences the rest of the way, which will
afford you a fine view of Brittany. At Rennes, we will make, if you
like, a détour to Vitré."
"What shall we see there?" asked Tommy.
"The residence of Madame de Sévigné."
"Is _she_ living?" asked Tommy.
"Oh, no."
"What did she do?"
"She wrote letters to her daughter," said Frank.
"Who was her daughter?"
"The prettiest girl in France."
"Is _she_ living?"
"Oh, no," said Frank, impatiently. "Why, did you never hear of the
Letters of Madame de Sévigné?"
"I never did. Are her letters there?"
"No."
"What is?"
"The room where she wrote them," said Master Lewis.
"They must be very wonderful letters, I should think," said Tommy, "to
make a traveller take all that trouble."
"They are," said Master Lewis. "Lord Macaulay says, 'Among modern
works I only know two perfect ones; they are Pascal's Provincial
Letters, and the Letters of Madame de Sévigné.'"
The Class was now in Brittany, a province old and poor, whose very
charm is its simplicity and quaintness. Normandy smiles; Brittany
wears a sombre aspect everywhere. Normandy is a bed of flowers;
Brittany seems to be a bed of stone. Here and there may be seen a
church buried in greenery, but the landscape is one of heath, fern,
and broom.
The people are as peculiar as the country. Their costumes are odd,
some of them even wear goat-skins. Many of them lead a sea-faring
life; it is the Bretons who chiefly man the French navy.
They cling to old legends and superstitions with great fondness; the
wild country abounds with wonder-stories. Nearly all of these stories
are striking from their very improbability. They relate to an
imaginary period when the Apostles travelled in Brittany, or to men
and women who were transformed during some part of their lives into
animals, especially into wolves. The story-telling beggars furnish
much of the fiction to the unread people.
Those legends which are the chief favorites are undoubtedly very old.
The Class listened to several of them at their hotel at St. Malo. Some
of them begin in a way that at once arrests attention; as the
following story of the
OLD WOMAN'S COW.
When St. Peter and St. John were visiting the poor in Brittany they
stopped one day to rest at a farm-house among the trees, where they
met a little old woman who kindly brought them a pitcher of cool
water.
After the saints had drunk, the old woman told them the story of her
hard life. She had seen better days, she said; her husband had once
owned a cow, but he had lost it, and he now was only a laborer on the
place.
"Let me take the stick in your hand," said St. Peter.
The saint struck the stick on the ground, and up came a fine cow with
udders full of milk.
"Holy Virgin!" said the woman. "What made that cow come up from the
ground?"
"The grace of God," said St. Peter.
When the saints had gone, the old woman wondered whether, if she were
to strike with the stick on the ground, another cow would appear.
She struck the ground as she had seen St. Peter do, when up came an
enormous wolf and killed the cow.
The old woman ran after the saints and told her alarming story.
"You should have been content," said St. Peter, "with the cow the Lord
gave you. It shall be restored to you."
She turned back, and found the cow at the door, lowing to be milked.
Another story, which greatly pleased Tommy is
THE WONDERFUL SACK.
St. Christopher was a ferry-man. He dwelt in Brittany, at Dol. One day
the Lord came to Dol, and wished to cross the river with the twelve
Apostles.
St. Christopher, instead of using a ferry-boat, carried the travellers
who came to him across the river on his broad shoulders.
When he had thus taken over the Lord and his Apostles, he claimed his
reward.
"What will you have?" asked the Lord.
"Ask for Paradise," said St. Peter.
"No," said St. Christopher; "I ask that whatsoever I may desire may at
all times be put into my sack."
"You shall have your wish; but never desire money."
One day the Evil One came to St. Christopher, and tempted him to wish
for money.
They fell to fighting, and the fight lasted two whole days; but, just
as the Evil One seemed about to overcome the saint, the latter said:--
"In the name of the Lord, get into my sack."
In a moment the Evil One was in the sack, and St. Christopher tied the
string, and took him to a blacksmith, and requested the use of a
hammer.
Then St. Christopher and the smith hammered the Evil One as thin as a
penny.
"I own I am _beaten_," said a voice from the sack. "Now let me out."
"On one condition," said the saint.
"Name it."
"That you will never trouble me again."
"I promise."
The ferry-man now began to lead a life of charity. He never thought of
himself, but lived wholly for others; and every one loved him, and all
that were in distress came to him for comfort.
One day he died, full of years, and, taking with him his wonderful
sack, he started for the gates of Paradise.
St. Peter opened the gate. But when he saw that the new-comer was St.
Christopher, who had slighted his counsel, he refused to admit him.
The Celestial City, blazing in splendor, stood on the top of a high
mountain; the sound of music and the odors of flowers came through the
gate as it was opened, and the saint with a heavy heart turned away
from all the ravishing beauty, and, hardly knowing what he did, went
down the mountain, until he came to the gate of the region where bad
souls dwell.
A youth at the gate said to him,--
"Come in."
The gate opened, and the Evil One saw him.
"Shut the gate! shut the gate!" said the Evil One to the youth.
Far, far away the Holy City beamed with ineffable brightness, and up
the hill again with a still heavy heart went St. Christopher.
"If I could only get my sack inside the gate, I could wish myself into
it; and once inside the gate I could never be turned out."
He came up to the gate again, and called for St. Peter.
The saint opened the gate a little.
"I pray you in charity," said St. Christopher, "let me listen to the
music."
[Illustration: REVOKING THE EDICT OF NANTES.]
The gate was set a little more ajar. Immediately St. Christopher threw
into the celestial place the wonderful sack; he wished, and in a
moment he was in the sack himself,--and he has remained in the region
of light, music, flowers, and happiness ever since.
* * * * *
The Class went by rail to Rennes, one of the old capitals of Brittany.
It was hardly interesting to them, but a pleasant ride took them to
Vitré, where the boys visited the residence of Madame de Sévigné.
Nantes, the ancient residence of the Dukes of Brittany, is situated on
the river Loire, about forty miles from the sea. It is one of the
largest and most beautiful of the provincial towns of France. In the
old castle Henry IV. signed the Edict of Nantes, giving freedom of
worship to the Protestants in France.
This famous Edict was published April 13, 1598. The Reformers, or
Huguenots, had at this time seven hundred and sixty churches. It was
revoked by Louis XIV. in 1685, under the influence of his prelates,
who persuaded him thus to seek expiation for his sins. The result of
the act was that four hundred thousand Protestants, who were among the
most industrious, intelligent, and useful people of France, left the
country rather than to give up their religion. They took refuge in
Great Britain, Holland, Prussia, Switzerland, and America. From them
these countries learned some of the finest French arts.
The Revocation of the Edict of Nantes was one of the many acts of
injustice that opened the way for the French Revolution, by destroying
public virtue.
Some of the most terrible scenes of the Revolution were enacted at
Nantes.
One of the first visits made by the Class at Nantes was to the old
warehouse, called the Salorges, built as an entrepot for colonial
merchandize, which is associated with the inhuman murders of the
Revolution. Here the monster Carrier caused men and women to be tied
together and hurled into the Loire, making an exhibition of the
cruelty which was known as Republican Marriages. It was in front of
the Salorges that executions by water, called Noyades, were
performed. Boats loaded with from twenty to forty victims were towed
into the middle of the river, and were sunk by means of trap-doors in
their sides, which were opened by cords communicating with the shore.
If any of these wretched people attempted to escape by swimming, they
were shot. As many as six hundred human beings perished in this way in
a single day. The whole number of persons thus destroyed reached many
thousands. Women and children were drowned as well as men. The river
became so full of bodies that the air was made pestilent.
This was during the dark days of the Reign of Terror, when Marat and
Robespierre ruled France. Besides the victims of the Noyades were
those who perished in other merciless ways. Five hundred children were
shot in a single day, and were buried in trenches that had been
prepared for the purpose.
"I do not wonder that Charlotte Corday, who killed Marat, should have
been regarded as a heroine," said Frank Gray. "I cannot understand how
Frenchmen, who seem to be the most polite, obliging, kind-hearted,
people in the world, could have been led to do the bloody deeds of the
Reign of Terror."
"That is because you have read history too much without thought. In
reading history always go back to the causes of things. Read backward
as well as forward. All the great palaces in France you have seen were
built by the money of an overtaxed people who had no political rights.
They were the glittering abodes of immorality. Again and again France
was governed by wicked women who became favorites of the king. The
Huguenots, who were the sincerely religious people of France, were
compelled to leave the nation. Think of it,--four hundred thousand
people going away from their native country at the unrestrained edict
of one bad man. Do you wonder the people of France desired a
Constitution for their protection? The nobler orders of the Catholic
Church, the Jansenists and Port Royalists as they were called, were
also suppressed. The Church became immoral, tyrannical, and almost
wholly corrupt, an enemy to the rights of the people. The reaction
against such a church, which violated all the precepts of the Gospel,
was infidelity.
[Illustration: FÉNELON AND THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY.]
"During the whole of the reign of Louis XV. the cloud of Revolution
was gathering. Louis saw it, but he was so given over to sensuality
that it little troubled him. 'These things will last as long as I
shall,' he said. '_Après nous le déluge_' (after us the deluge). He
was wholly governed, and the nation ruled, by Madame de Pompadour, a
corrupt and worthless woman, who made and dismissed ministers of State
and cardinals, declared war and dictated terms of peace. She declared
that even her lap-dog was weary of the fawnings of nobles. Are you
surprised that Frenchmen should rise against such a state of things as
this?"
"Was not Louis XV. educated by Fénelon, who wrote _Télémaque_, the
French text-book we have been studying?" asked Frank.
"Yes, the most corrupt king of France was educated by the purest and
most lovable man of genius that the times produced. The king was a
wilful child, but it was thought that Fénelon had quite changed his
character by his religious influence. He was subject to what were
called 'mad fits.' I might tell you some pleasant stories of this
period of his life. One day, when Fénelon had reproved him for some
grave fault, he said,--
"'I know what I am, and I know also what you are.'
"Fénelon's prudent conduct quite won back the affection of the child.
"'I will leave the Duke of Burgundy [his title] behind the door when I
am with you,' he used to say, 'and I will be only little Louis.'
"Fénelon turned the boy's mind to piety, and for a time influenced him
by it. 'All his mad fits and spites,' he said of his pupil, 'yielded
to the name of God.'
"But Fénelon, like all good and pure men of the time, was condemned
by the court and the Church. _Télémaque_, written to train the mind of
the young prince in the principles of virtue, caused him to lose favor
with the court, and he spent the last years of his life in virtual
exile.
[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL AT NANTES.]
[Illustration: LOUIS XV.]
"Aside from Fénelon's influence the prince had much to make him
vain. He was once ill, and on his recovery all Paris was filled with
rejoicing. An immense crowd gathered around the palace on the eve of
St. Louis's Day in honor of the convalescence. As the boy-king stood
on the balcony of the palace on the occasion, Marshal Villeroy said to
him,--
"'Look at all this company of people: all are yours; they all belong
to you; you are their master.'
"Think of a boy's being told that the people of Paris belonged to him!
"I can wonder at the Reign of Terror, but I cannot be surprised at the
Revolution when I view the history of France for the century that
preceded it. It is rather a matter of surprise that an enlightened
people should have submitted to tyranny so long."
Nantes is the Paris of the Loire. Its streets, boulevards, public
squares, the forest of masts in the river, and the trees that line its
banks, all seem a copy of the bright and gay French capital. Its old
cathedral is a queer-looking building, with towers scarcely higher
than its roof; but it contains a most beautiful tomb which was erected
in memory of Francis II. last Duke of Bretagne. It is adorned with
figures of angels, the twelve Apostles, St. Louis, and Charlemagne.
One of the most interesting excursions made by the Class from Nantes
was to the ruin of the old castle of
BLUE-BEARD.
There existed, many centuries ago, a ferocious, cruel old lord, whose
treatment of his wives and ogre-like tyranny to all around him, gave
origin to the thrilling story of Blue-beard; indeed, the story was so
nearly true that this old lord was actually called "Blue-beard" by his
neighbors, so blue-black was his long and stubby beard.
He lived in the old days when barons were fierce and despotic, and
shut their wives and daughters up in dark dungeons or high castle
casements, and thought little more of ordering a score of peasants off
to instant execution than of eating their breakfasts.
He was a rich old fellow, and had several castles scattered about the
country, whither princes and dukes used to go and visit him, and share
in his hunting-parties in the wildwoods.
His castles were situated in the province of Brittany, and his real
name was one which is still to be found in these secluded
regions,--the Sieur Duval. The lapse of time has caused all his fine
castles wholly to disappear, with one exception, and it is that which
I am about to describe to you.
Sieur Duval had his favorite residence on the banks of a lovely little
river, about two miles from Nantes. Here he was near town, and might
ride in on one of his high-tempered chargers whenever he listed, to
join the revels of the dukes, or go wife-hunting.
It was at this castle that his cruelties to his unhappy spouses are
supposed to have occurred; and it was from Nantes that the brother of
his last wife is said to have ridden in hot haste to rescue his
wretched sister and make an end of the odious old tyrant.
Taking a row-boat by the high, old bridge which, just on the outskirts
of Nantes, spans the river Erdre, you find yourself at first on a
broad sheet of water, with quaint, whitewashed stone-houses and huts,
their roofs covered with red brick tiles, and occasionally more
handsome mansions with lawns and gardens extending to the river-bank.
Here you may perhaps observe a row of curious flat-boats with roofs,
but open on all sides, lining both banks of the stream. In these are a
number of hard-featured, dark-skinned women of all ages, washing
clothes. They lean over the boat-sides, and scrub the shirts and
handkerchiefs in the water, then withdraw them, lay them smoothly on
some flat boards, like a table, and taking a flat hammer pound upon
them.
Presently you get past these, if you row vigorously, and come to
pretty bends in the river, and find yourself beyond the
thickly-settled part, amidst pleasant rural fields, with some wealthy
merchant's mansion raising its towers above the green trees.
After a while you approach a bright little village, all of whose
houses form a single street just along the banks of the river. Here
you disembark and pass along the village street, across a rickety
bridge which spans a little inlet from the stream, and so out into the
country, and through paths in the woods thickly grown with brush and
wildflowers.
Presently, soon after you have got out of sight of the village, you
ascend a gentle hill, and suddenly come upon an old, old house, with
its wooden ribs appearing, crossing each other, through the stone
walls, and a roof that looks as if about to fall in upon the people
who inhabit it.
Just beyond this, deeply imbedded in shrubs, brush, thickly-grown
ivies and other vines, and moss, is all that is left of Blue-beard's
castle.
The walls are still there, dividing the apartments. You can imagine
the rooms and the tower which arose above the tall trees that here
cluster on the river bank. And you may fancy, as you stand among the
beautiful ruins, that you are on the very spot where the room used to
be which Blue-beard forbade his last wife to enter.
Here is the portal, now crumbled and almost covered with moss and ivy,
where the old tyrant came in and out; there the wall where the last of
his poor victims sat, looking out and straining her eyes to see her
brother coming; beyond, the spot where Blue-beard was struck down, and
received his deserts. It seems too beautiful a place for so
remorseless an ogre; and as one looks out upon the lovely scenes where
the tearful spouses mourned their lot, one cannot help thinking how
happy they might have been in such a charming retreat, had they
enjoyed it with loving husbands and happy homes.
CHAPTER XVII.
HOMEWARD.
On the Cliffs at Havre.--Stories of French Authors.--Again on
the Sea.
"Only three days more remain to us in France," said Master Lewis,
after spending two days in Nantes. "We will now return to Paris by
rail, stopping a few hours in Orleans, and from Paris will go directly
to Havre, whence we will take the steamer for home."
"It seems to me," said Wyllys Wynn, "that, after what we have seen, I
shall like no reading so well as history."
"It has been my aim," said Master Lewis, "to take you to those places
where the principal great events of the histories of England and
France have occurred. I stopped at Carlisle to give you a lesson in
the early history of Britain,--the periods of the Druids and the
Romans. I took you to Glastonbury to give you a view of the history of
the early English Church. I went with you to Aix-la-Chapelle that you
might receive an impression of the dominion of Charlemagne. Normandy
is the common ground of old English and French history. I was glad to
select it for you as the direct object of our visit, although it has
formed a small part of our journey. I, like Tommy, have had a secret
which I have kept for the Club; it has been to interest you in the
places and events which would lead you, on your return, to become more
careful readers of the best books. I hope the journey will leave an
historic outline in your minds that future reading will fill.
Character is as much determined by the books one reads as by the
company one keeps. Show me a boy's selection of books, and I will tell
you what he is and what he is likely to become."
"Master Lewis," said Wyllys, "says he has aimed to take us to such
historic places as would give us, at the end of the journey, a
connected picture of English and of French history. Let us try to
associate the places we have seen with historic events. As I think of
our Scottish and English journey, I connect,--
"Carlisle with the Druids and Romans.
"Glastonbury with Early Christianity and the Boy Kings.
"Normandy with William the Conqueror and his sons.
"Nottingham with Robin Hood and the Norman and Plantagenet Kings.
"Boscobel with King Charles.
"Edinburgh with Mary, the Edwards, and the Douglases.
"Kenilworth with Elizabeth.
"Oxford with Canute and Alfred.
"London with the Tudors, the Commonwealth, the Georges, and Victoria."
"In our journey on the continent," said Frank, "I associate,--
"Brussels with Waterloo and Napoleon.
"Aix-la-Chapelle with Charlemagne.
"Ghent and Bruges with the Dukes of Flanders and Burgundy.
"Calais with Mary Tudor and Edward III. of England.
"Rouen with Charles VII. and Joan of Arc.
"Paris with Charles IX., the Bourbons, and Napoleon.
"Nantes with the Huguenots and the Revolution."
"We have also had views of the homes and haunts of great authors,"
said Ernest. "I have made a scrap-book of leaves and flowers from the
homes and graves of men of letters, and it includes souvenirs of
nearly all the most eminent names in English literature."
Havre is really a port of Paris, and is one of the most thriving
maritime towns of France. Like most port towns it is more
businesslike than picturesque. The Class made but two visits here,
outside of the hotel. One of these was to the birthplace of Bernardin
de St. Pierre in Rue de la Cordesis, and the other to the cliffs on
which the great French light-houses are erected at a height of three
hundred feet.
[Illustration: MOLIÈRE.]
It was in the bright twilight of a late day in August that the Class
mounted the cliffs and overlooked the sea, whose waves still reflected
the vermilion of the sky. The boys were sober at the thought that this
was their last day in Europe, and that they were now to return to the
set tasks of the school-room.
[Illustration: THE READING OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA."]
"These cliffs," said Master Lewis, "were the favorite haunts of the
author of 'Paul and Virginia.' He was a mere theorist, a daydreamer;
and here he loved to gaze on the bright sea, and plan expeditions
of republican colonists to such lands as he paints in his novels. His
expeditions ended in the air. But he himself went to Mauritius, where
he lived three years. On his return to Paris, while the brightness of
tropical scenery still haunted him, he wrote 'Paul and Virginia.'"
[Illustration: RACINE.]
"When Corneille, the great Corneille, as the popular dramatist came to
be called, read his masterpiece, _Polyeucte_, to a party of
fashionable literary people in Paris, it was coolly received on
account of the fine Christian sentiments it contained. The criticism
was that the religion of the stage should be that, not of God, but of
the gods. Even a bishop present took this view.
"Bernardin de St. Pierre was as sharply criticised when he first read
in public his beautiful romance of 'Paul and Virginia.' It was at a
party given by Madame Necker. 'At first,' says a writer, 'every one
listened in silence; then the company began to whisper, then to yawn.
Monsieur de Buffon ordered his carriage, and slipped out of the
nearest door. The ladies who listened were ridiculed when tears at
last gathered in their eyes.'
[Illustration: RACINE READING TO LOUIS XIV.]
"_Polyeucte_ still lives in French literature, and the wits who
condemned it are forgotten; 'Paul and Virginia' charmed France; fifty
imitations of it were published in a single year, and it was rapidly
translated into all European tongues. It remains a classic, but the
critics in Madame Necker's parlors are recollected only for their
mistake."
"We must read the works of these French authors on our return," said
Wyllys, "or at least the best selections from them. I shall wish to
read 'Pascal's Provincial Letters' and the Letters of Madame de
Sévigné, after what you have said of them."
"You should also read some of the best selections from the works of
Boileau, Molière, and Racine. I have only time to allude to them
briefly here.
"These authors were friends. They all lived in the time of the Grand
Monarch, as Louis XIV. was called. La Fontaine, some of whose fables
you have read, belongs to the same period, which is the greatest in
French literature.
"Louis XIV. appreciated nearly all the great writers of the time; he
seems to have felt that great authors, like great palaces, would add
lustre to his reign."
"I think that we might better change our society on our return into a
reading-club," said Tommy Toby.
"It seems to me your proposal is a very good one," said Master Lewis.
"We may be able to travel again. If we should visit Germany or the
Latin lands together another year, a reading-club would be an
excellent preparation for the journey."
"Very much better than a Secret Society," said Frank. "Suppose you
give the Class the secret you devised for our first meetings, Tommy."
"Oh," said Tommy, soberly, "that, like most of my other plans, was
just _nothing, after all_."
Away from busy Havre the next morning, under the French and American
flags, moved a little ocean world; and on the decks, looking back to
the fading shores of old Normandy, and cherishing delightful memories
of their zigzag journeys in historic lands, were the teacher and the
lads whose winding ways we have followed.
University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge.
Transcriber's Note
Minor punctuation errors have been repaired. Hyphenation and use of
accents has been made consistent.
Use of quote marks is inconsistent, particularly around poetry and for
continuing quotations, but is preserved as printed.
The illustration caption, 'THE BLACK DOUGLAS SURPRISING AN ENEMY' on
page 100 was omitted from the List of Illustrations. It has been added
in this e-text.
The uncaptioned sketch of thread from the Bayeux Tapestry, on page 164,
is not included in the List of Illustrations. This may have been
deliberate, as it is supposed to be a sketch by one of the class,
and so has not been added by the transcriber.
The List of Illustrations had the image on page 187 as 'OLD HAMPTON
COURT', while the caption under the illustration read 'WHITEHALL'. The
Transcriber has confirmed that the illustration is a picture of the
old Whitehall Palace (see painting _The Old Palace of Whitehall_, by
Hendrik Danckerts for comparison), and has amended the text in the
List of Illustrations to match the caption in the text.
Page 166 includes the word 'flustrated'. This may be a typographic
error for 'frustrated', or it may be deliberate on the part of the
author, perhaps a combination of 'flustered' and 'frustrated'. As
there is no way to be sure which is the case, it is preserved as
printed.
The following amendments have been made--
Page vii--Falise amended to Falaise--"Statue of William
the Conqueror at Falaise"
Page vii--the word 'At' deleted and the amended to The,
to match the caption in the main text--"The Death-bed of
Francis II."
Page 57--Ingraciate amended to Ingratiate--"... one on
_Ingratiate_ (in grey she ate); ..."
Page 173--Wyatt amended to Wyat--"... The Tower.--Sir
Henry Wyat and His Cat.--Madame Tussaud's Wax Works...."
Page 220--der amended to de--"All the Foresters of
Flanders,--mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer, ..."
The frontispiece illustration has been moved to follow the title
page. Other illustrations have been moved where necessary so that
they are not in the middle of a paragraph.
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Zigzag Journeys in Europe - Vacation Rambles in Historic Lands" ***
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