Historical Tales, Vol. 6 (of 15)

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Edition d'Elite

Historical Tales

The Romance of Reality

By

CHARLES MORRIS

_Author of "Half-Hours with the Best American Authors," "Tales from the
Dramatists," etc._

IN FIFTEEN VOLUMES

Volume VI

French

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON

_CONTENTS_

PAGE

THE HUNS AT ORLEANS 7

THE WOOING OF CLOTILDE 18

THE RIVAL QUEENS 29

ROLAND AT RONCESVALLES 40

CHARLEMAGNE AND THE AVARS 47

THE CROWNING OF CHARLEMAGNE 58

PETER THE HERMIT 69

THE COMMUNE OF LAON 81

HOW BIG FERRE FOUGHT FOR FRANCE 94

BERTRAND DU GUESCLIN 103

JOAN OF ARC, THE MAID OF ORLEANS 116

THE CAREER OF A KNIGHT-ERRANT 133

LOUIS THE POLITIC AND CHARLES THE BOLD 147

CHARLES THE BOLD AND THE SWISS 158

BAYARD, THE GOOD KNIGHT 166

EPISODES IN THE LIFE OF A TRAITOR 176

ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S DAY 188

KING HENRY OF NAVARRE 197

THE MURDER OF A KING 210

RICHELIEU AND THE CONSPIRATORS 218

THE PARLIAMENT OF PARIS 233

A MARTYR TO HIS PROFESSION 251

THE MAN WITH THE IRON MASK 257

VOLTAIRE'S LAST VISIT TO PARIS 264

THE DIAMOND NECKLACE 271

THE FALL OF THE BASTILLE 281

THE STORY OF THE SAINTE AMPOULE 287

THE FLIGHT OF THE KING 298

THE END OF THE TERROR 306

THE BURNING OF MOSCOW 316

NAPOLEON'S RETURN FROM ELBA 327

THE PRUSSIAN WAR AND THE PARIS COMMUNE 337

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

FRENCH.

PAGE

FRIEDLAND _Frontispiece_.

CITY OF ORLEANS 8

THE VOW OF CLOVIS 25

THE CORONATION OF CHARLEMAGNE 63

A MARRIAGE FEAST IN BRITTANY 82

COLUMN OF JULY, PLACE DE LA BASTILLE 100

JOAN OF ARC AT ORLEANS 125

A DUEL OF KNIGHTS 133

LOUIS XI 147

THE DUKE OF GUISE AT THE FRENCH COURT 189

EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF HENRY IV 196

CHAMBER OF MARY D' MEDICI 212

CATHEDRAL OF NOTRE DAME, PARIS 242

VOLTAIRE'S LAST VISIT TO PARIS 265

MARIE ANTOINETTE AND HER CHILDREN 274

THE LAST VICTIMS OF THE REIGN OF TERROR 307

THE CITY OF MOSCOW 317

ARC DE TRIOMPHE AND CHAMPS ELYSEES, PARIS 327

NAPOLEON'S RETURN FROM ELBA 332

SCENE FROM THE FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR 340

_THE HUNS AT ORLEANS._

On the edge of a grand plain, almost in the centre of France, rises a
rich and beautiful city, time-honored and famous, for it stood there
before France had begun and while Rome still spread its wide wings over
this whole region, and it has been the scene of some of the most notable
events in French history. The Gauls, one of whose cities it was, named
it Genabum. The Romans renamed it Aurelian, probably from their Emperor
Aurelian. Time and the evolution of the French language wore this name
down to Orleans, by which the city has for many centuries been known.

The broad Loire, the longest river of France, sweeps the foot of the
sloping plain on which the city stands, and bears its commerce to the
sea. Near by grows a magnificent forest, one of the largest in France,
covering no less than ninety-four thousand acres. Within the city
appears the lofty spires of a magnificent cathedral, while numerous
towers rise from a maze of buildings, giving the place, from a distance,
a highly attractive aspect. It is still surrounded by its mediaeval
walls, outside of which extend prosperous suburbs, while far and wide
beyond stretches the fertile plain.

Such is the Orleans of to-day. In the past it was the scene of two
striking and romantic events, one of them associated with the name of
Joan of Arc, the most interesting figure in French history; the other,
which we have now to tell, concerned with the terrible Attila and his
horde of devastating Huns, who had swept over Europe and threatened to
annihilate civilization. Orleans was the turning-point in the career of
victory of this all-conquering barbarian. From its walls he was driven
backward to defeat.

Out from the endless wilds of Scythia had poured a vast swarm of nomad
horsemen, ill-favored, fierce, ruthless, the scions of the desert and
seemingly sworn to make a desert of Europe. They were led by Attila, the
"Scourge of God," as he called himself, in the tracks of whose horse's
hoofs the grass could never grow again, as he proudly boasted.

Writers of the time picture to us this savage chieftain as a deformed
monster, short, ill-formed, with a large head, swarthy complexion,
small, deep-seated eyes, flat nose, a few hairs in place of a beard, and
with a habit of fiercely rolling his eyes, as if to inspire terror. He
had broad shoulders, a square, strong form, and was as powerful in body
as he was ready and alert in mind. The man had been born for a
conqueror, and Europe was his prey.

The Scythians adored the god of war, whom they worshipped under the
shape of an iron cimeter. It was through the aid of this superstition
that Attila raised himself to dominion over their savage and tameless
hordes. One of their shepherds, finding that a heifer was wounded in the
foot, followed the track of blood which the animal had made, and
discovered amid the long grass the point of an ancient sword. This he
dug from the earth in which it was buried and presented to Attila. The
artful chief claimed that it was a celestial gift, sent to him by the
god of war, and giving him a divine claim to the dominion of the earth.
Doubtless his sacred gift was consecrated with the Scythian rites,--a
lofty heap of fagots, three hundred yards in length and breadth, being
raised on a spacious plain, the sword of Mars placed erect on its
summit, and the rude altar consecrated by the blood of sheep, horses,
and probably of human captives. But Attila soon proved a better claim to
a divine commission by leading the hordes of the Huns to victory after
victory, until he threatened to subjugate, if not to depopulate, all
Europe. It was in pursuance of this conquering career that he was
brought, in the year 451, to the banks of the Rhine and the borders of
the future realm of France, then still known as Gaul, and held by the
feeble hand of the expiring empire of Rome.

The broad Rhine proved but a feeble obstacle to the innumerable cavalry
of the Huns. A bridge of boats was quickly built, and across the stream
they poured into the fair provinces of Gaul. Universal consternation
prevailed. Long peace had made the country rich, and had robbed its
people of their ancient valor. As the story goes, the degenerate Gauls
trusted for their defence to the prayers of the saints. St. Lupus saved
Troyes. The prayers of St. Genevieve turned the march of Attila aside
from Paris. Unluckily, most of the cities of the land held neither
saints nor soldiers, and the Huns made these their helpless prey. City
after city was taken and ruined. The fate of Metz will serve as an
example of the policy of the Huns. In this city, as we are told, priests
and infants alike were slain, and the flourishing city was so utterly
destroyed that only a chapel of St. Stephen was left to mark its site.
Its able-bodied inhabitants were probably reserved to be sold as slaves.

And now, in the prosecution of his ruinous march, Attila fixed his camp
before the walls of Orleans, a city which he designed to make the
central post of the dominion which he hoped to establish in Gaul. It was
to be his fortified centre of conquest. Upon it rested the fate of the
whole great province.

Orleans lay behind its walls trembling with dread, as the neigh of the
Hunnish horses sounded in its ears, as the standards of the Hunnish host
floated in the air. Yet it was not quite defenceless. Its walls had been
recently strengthened. Behind them lay a force of soldiers, or of armed
citizens, who repelled the first assaults of the foe. An army was known
to be marching to its relief. All was not lost.

Forty years earlier Rome had fallen before Alaric, the Goth. The empire
was now in the last stages of decreptitude. Yet by fortunate chance it
had an able soldier at the head of its armies, AEtius, the noblest son of
declining Rome. "The graceful figure of AEtius," says a contemporary
historian, "was not above the middle stature; but his manly limbs were
admirably formed for strength, beauty, and agility; and he excelled in
the martial exercises of managing a horse, drawing the bow, and darting
the javelin. He could patiently endure the want of food or of sleep; and
his mind and body were alike capable of the most laborious efforts. He
possessed the genuine courage that can despise not only dangers but
injuries; and it was impossible either to corrupt, or deceive, or
intimidate the firm integrity of his soul."

When the Huns invaded Gaul, this skilled and valiant commander flew to
its relief. To his Roman army he added an army of the Visigoths of
Southern Gaul, under their King Theoderic, and marched to the rescue of
the land. But the gathering of this army took precious time, during
which the foe wrought ruin upon the land. The siege of Orleans had begun
by the time AEtius was fairly ready to begin his march.

In that seemingly doomed city all was terror and dismay. A speedy
capture, a frightful massacre, or a no less frightful enslavement to the
savage Huns, was the dread of the trembling inhabitants. They had no
saint to rescue them by his prayers. All their hope lay in the arms of
their feeble garrison and the encouraging words of their bishop, in
whose heart alone courage seemed to keep alive.

Anianus was the name of this valiant and wise churchman, whose counsels
of hope alone sustained the despairing citizens, whose diligence and
earnestness animated the garrison in its defence. The siege was fierce,
the defence obstinate, the army of relief was known to be on its way, if
they could but hold out till it came. Anianus, counting the days and
hours with intense anxiety, kept a sentinel on the lookout for the first
signs of the advancing host of Romans and Goths. Yet hours and days went
by, and no sign of flashing steel or floating banner could be seen,
until the stout heart of the bishop himself was almost ready to give way
to the despair which possessed so many of the citizens.

The Huns advanced point by point. They were already in the suburbs. The
walls were shaking beneath the blows of their battering-rams. The city
could not much longer be held. At length came a day which threatened to
end with Orleans in the hands of the ruthless foe. And still the
prayed-for relief came not. Hope seemed at an end.

While such of the people as could not bear arms lay prostrate in prayer,
Anianus, hopeful to the last, sent his messenger to the ramparts to look
for the banners of the Roman army. Far and wide, from his lofty outlook,
the keen-eyed sentinel surveyed the surrounding country. In vain he
looked. No moving object was visible, only the line of the forest and
the far-off bordering horizon. He returned with this discouraging
tidings.

"Go again," said the bishop. "They should have been here before now. Any
minute may bring them. Go again."

The sentinel returned, and again swept the horizon with his eyes, noting
every visible object, seeing nothing to give him hope. With heavy tread
he returned to the bishop, and reported his failure.

"They must be near!" cried Anianus, with nervous impatience. "Go; look
once more. Let nothing escape your eyes."

Back went the messenger, again mounted the rampart, again swept the
plain with his eyes. Nothing,--ah! what was that, on the horizon, at the
very extremity of the landscape, that small, faint cloud, which he had
not seen before? He watched it; it seemed to grow larger and nearer. In
haste he returned to the bishop with the hopeful news.

"I have seen a distant mist, like a far-off cloud of dust," he said. "It
is moving. It comes nearer."

"It is the aid of God!" burst from the lips of the bishop, his heart
suddenly elate with joy. And from the expectant multitude, through whose
ranks ran like wildfire the inspiring tidings, burst the same glad cry,
"It is the aid of God!"

Crowds ran in all haste to the ramparts; hundreds of eyes were fixed on
the far-off, mist-like object; every moment it grew larger and more
distinct; flashes, as of steel, color, as of standards, were gradually
perceived; at last a favorable wind blew aside the dust, and to their
joyful eyes, under this gray canopy, appeared the waving folds of
banners, and under them, in serried array, the squadrons of the Roman
and Gothic troops, pressing forward in all haste to the relief of the
beleaguered city.

Well might the citizens cry, "It is the aid of God!" The army of AEtius
had come not a day, not an hour, too soon. The walls had given way
before the thundering blows of the battering-rams. A breach had been
made through which the Huns were swarming. Only for the desire of Attila
to save the city, it might have been already in flames. As it was, the
savage foes were breaking into the houses in search of plunder, and
dividing such citizens as they had seized into groups to be led into
captivity, when this cry of glad relief broke loudly upon the air.

The news that had aroused the citizens quickly reached the ears of
Attila. A strong army of enemies was at hand. There was no time to
occupy and attempt to defend the city. If his men were assailed by
citizens and soldiers in those narrow streets they might be slaughtered
without mercy. Prudence dictated a retreat.

Attila was as prudent as he was daring. The sound of trumpets recalled
his obedient hordes. Out they swarmed through the openings which had
permitted their entrance. Soon the army of the Huns was in full retreat,
while the advancing host of Romans and Goths marched proudly into the
open gates of the delivered city, with banners proudly floating and
trumpets loudly blaring, while every heart within those walls was in a
thrill of joy. Orleans had been saved, almost by magic as it seemed, for
never had been peril more extreme, need more pressing. An hour more of
delay, and Orleans, perhaps the whole province of Gaul, had been lost.

We may briefly conclude the story of this invasion of the Huns. Attila,
convinced of the strength and spirit of his enemy, retreated in haste,
foreseeing ruin if he should be defeated in the heart of Gaul. He
crossed the Seine, and halted not until he had reached the plains of
Chalons, whose level surface was well adapted to the evolutions of the
skilled horsemen who formed the strength of his hordes.

As he retreated, the Romans and Goths followed, pressing him sharply,
making havoc in his rear-guard, reaching Chalons so closely upon his
march that the Goths, under Torismond, the young and valiant son of
their king, were able to seize a commanding height in the midst of the
field, driving back the Huns who were ascending from the opposite side.

The battle that followed was one of the decisive battles of history. Had
the Huns won the victory, all western Europe might have become their
prey. The victory of AEtius was the first check received by this mighty
horde in their career of ruin and devastation. The conflict, as
described by the historians of the time, was "fierce, various,
obstinate, and bloody, such as could not be paralleled, either in the
present or in past ages." The number of the slain is variously estimated
at from three hundred thousand to about half that number. Exaggerated as
these estimates undoubtedly are, they will serve to indicate the
ferocity and bloody nature of the struggle. For a time it seemed as if
the Huns would win. Led by their king, they broke through the centre of
the allies, separated their wings, turned their whole strength against
the Goths, and slew Theodoric, their king, at the head of his men.

But the victory which seemed theirs was snatched from them by the
valiant Torismond, who descended from the height he had seized, assailed
the Huns with intrepid courage, and so changed the fortune of the field
that Attila was obliged to retreat,--vanquished for the first time in
his long career. The approach of night alone saved the Huns from a total
defeat. They retired within the circle of their wagons, and remained
there as in a fort, while the triumphant allies encamped upon the field.

That night was one of anxiety for Attila. He feared an attack, and knew
that the Huns, dismounted and fighting behind a barricade, were in
imminent danger of defeat. Their strength lay in their horses. On foot
they were but feeble warriors. Dreading utter ruin, Attila prepared a
funeral pile of the saddles and rich equipments of the cavalry,
resolved, if his camp should be forced, to rush into the flames, and
deprive his enemies of the glory of slaying or capturing the great
barbarian king.

The attack did not come. The army of AEtius was in no condition for an
assault. Nor did it seem safe to them to attempt to storm the camp of
their formidable antagonist, who lay behind his wagons, as the
historians of the time say, like a lion in his den, encompassed by the
hunters, and daring them to the attack. His trumpets sounded defiance.
Such troops as advanced to the assault were checked or destroyed by
showers of arrows. It was at length determined, in a council of war, to
besiege the Huns in their camp, and by dread of starvation to force them
into battle on unequal terms, or to a treaty disgraceful to their king.

For this Attila did not wait. Breaking camp he retreated, and by
crossing the Rhine acknowledged his defeat. The Roman empire had won its
last victory in the west, and saved Gaul for the Franks, whose day of
conquest was soon to come.

_THE WOOING OF CLOTILDE._

A beautiful, wise, and well-learned maiden was Clotilde, princess of
Burgundy, the noblest and most charming of the daughters of the Franks.
Such was the story that the voice of fame whispered into the ear of
Clovis, the first of the long line of Frankish kings. Beautiful she was,
but unfortunate. Grief had marked her for its own. Her father had been
murdered. Her two brothers had shared his fate. Her mother had been
thrown into the Rhone, with a stone around her neck, and drowned. Her
sister Chrona had taken religious vows. She remained alone, the last of
her family, not knowing at what moment she might share their fate,
dwelling almost in exile at Geneva, where her days were spent in works
of charity and piety.

It was to her uncle, Gondebaud, king of the Burgundians, that she owed
these misfortunes. Ambition was their cause. The fierce barbarian, in
whom desire for a throne outweighed all brotherly feeling, had murdered
his brother and seized the throne, leaving of the line of Chilperic only
these two helpless girls, one a nun, the other seemingly a devotee.

To the ears of Clovis, the king of the Franks, came, as we have said,
the story of the beauty and misfortunes of this Burgundian maiden, a
scion like himself of the royal line of Germany, but an heir to sorrow
and exposed to peril. Clovis was young, unmarried, and ardent of heart.
He craved the love of this famed maiden, if she should be as beautiful
as report said, but wisely wished to satisfy himself in this regard
before making a formal demand for her hand. He could not himself see
her. Royal etiquette forbade that. Nor did he care to rouse Gondebaud's
suspicions by sending an envoy. He therefore adopted more secret
measures, and sent a Roman, named Aurelian, bidding him to seek Geneva
in the guise of a beggar, and to use all his wit to gain sight of and
speech with the fair Clotilde.

Clothed in rags, and bearing his wallet on his back, like a wandering
mendicant, Aurelian set out on his mission, travelling on foot to
Geneva. Clovis had entrusted him with his ring, as proof of his mission,
in case he should deem the maiden worthy to be the bride of his king.
Geneva was duly reached, and the seeming pilgrim, learning where the
princess dwelt, and her habits of Christian charity towards strangers,
sought her dwelling and begged for alms and shelter. Clotilde received
him with all kindness, bade him welcome, and, in pursuance of the custom
of the times, washed his feet.

Aurelian, who had quickly made up his mind as to the beauty, grace, and
wit of the royal maiden, and her fitness to become a king's bride, bent
towards her as she was thus humbly employed, and in a low voice said,--

"Lady, I have great matters to announce to thee, if thou wilt deign to
grant me secret speech."

Clotilde looked up quickly, and saw deep meaning in his face. "Surely,"
she thought, "this is no common beggar."

"Say on," she remarked, in the same cautious tone.

"Clovis, king of the Franks, has sent me to thee," said Aurelian. "If it
be the will of God, he would fain raise thee to his high rank by
marriage, and that thou mayst be satisfied that I am a true messenger,
he sendeth thee this, his ring."

Clotilde joyfully took the ring, her heart beating high with hope and
desire for revenge. Dismissing her attendants, she warmly thanked the
messenger for his caution, and declared that nothing could give her
greater joy than to be bride to Clovis, the great and valorous king who
was bringing all the land of Gaul under his rule.

"Take in payment for thy pains these hundred sous in gold and this ring
of mine," she said. "Return promptly to thy lord. If he would have my
hand in marriage, let him send messengers without delay to demand me of
my uncle Gondebaud; and bid him direct his messengers, as soon as they
obtain permission, to take me away in haste. If they delay, I fear all
will fail. Aridius, my uncle's counsellor, is on his way back from
Constantinople. If he should arrive, and gain my uncle's ear, before I
am gone, all will come to naught. Haste, then, and advise Clovis that
there be no delay."

Aurelian was willing enough to comply with her request, but he met with
obstacles on the way. Starting back in the same disguise in which he
had come, he made all haste towards Orleans, where he dwelt, and where
he hoped to learn the location of the camp of the warlike Clovis. On
nearing this city, he took for travelling companion a poor mendicant,
whom fortune threw in his way, and with whom he journeyed for miles in
the intimacy of the highway. Growing weary as night approached, and
having confidence in his companion, Aurelian fell asleep by the wayside,
leaving the beggar to watch.

Several hours passed before he awoke. When he did so it was to find, to
his intense alarm, that his companion had vanished and his wallet had
gone, and with it the gold which it contained and Clotilde's precious
ring. In dismay Aurelian hurried to the city, reached his home, and sent
his servants in all directions in search of the thievish mendicant, whom
he felt sure had sought some lurking-place within the city walls.

His surmise was correct. The fellow was found and brought to him, the
wallet and its valuable contents being recovered intact. What was to be
done with the thief? Those were not days of courts and prisons. Men were
apt to interpret law and administer punishment for themselves. Culprits
were hung, thrashed, or set at liberty. Aurelian weighed the offence and
decided on the just measures of retribution. The culprit, so says the
chronicle, was soundly thrashed for three days, and then set free.

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