A head and shoulders portrait of the princess
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.
The king, standing next to an overturned chair, waves his fist
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.
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.
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 thenHer beauty and her chivalry, and—’”
“‘There was a sound of revelry by night,And Belgium’s capital had gathered thenHer beauty and her chivalry, and—’”
“And please don’t quote the reading book,” said Tommy Toby. “The city is full ofdog-carts. Dog-carts heaped full of vegetables and women to lead about the dogs! What a comical sight!”
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.”
A girl helps her dog to pull the four-wheeled cart
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.”
“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.
Traders and shoppers gathered around a dog-cart
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 thefinest 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.
A view of the exterior of the imposing hotel
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.”
Charlemagne with his advisers
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 inscriptionCarolo Magnomarks the grave of Charlemagne.
Charlemagne and his knights riding across a battlefield
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 800A.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, 800A.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-calledGrandes Reliquesare 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 thePetites Reliquesare pieces of Aaron’s rod that budded. Upon these pretended relics the German emperors used to take the State oath at their coronations.
A view of the exterior of the hotel
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.
Van Artevelde stands in his doorway listening to the burghers' plea
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
“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.
Charles' body is found by the washerwoman
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 fromhim, 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 roarChased 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.
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 roarChased 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 calledcoupé, and is shaped somewhat like an old-time chariot. It holds three persons. Next is theintérieuror inside, holding six persons, an apartment much shunned in pleasant weather in summer time. Behind is therotondewhich collects “dust, dirt, and bad company.” Over all is thebanquette, 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 spokeEnglish 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 peoplehave 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
“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 poorgirl 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.”
Calais.—The Black Prince.—Étretat.—French Bathing.—Legend.—Rouen.—Story of St. Louis.—Story of St. Bartholomew’s Eve.
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 findCalaiswritten 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.”
The king and his son surrounded by soldiers
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 allthe 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 theCasino. 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 theshingle, as the pebbly beach is called, andwatch 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.”