No More Learning

How can your laws be known or understood,
When we behold a man faithful and just,
Humbly devout, true to his word and trust,
Dejected and oppressed; whilst the profane
And wicked and unjust, in glory reign,
Proudly triumphant, flushed with power and gain?
What inference can human reason draw?
How can we guess the secret of thy law,
Or choose the path approved by power divine?
We take, alas! perforce, the crooked line,
And act unwillingly the baser part,
Though loving truth and justice at our heart;
For very need, reluctantly compelled
To falsify the principles we held;
With party factions basely to comply;
To flatter, and dissemble, and to lie!
---
Yet he the truly brave tried by the test
Of sharp misfortune, is approved the best;
While the soul-searching power of indigence
Confounds the weak, and banishes pretense.
Fixt in an honorable purpose still,
The brave preserve the same unconquered will;
Indifferent to fortune, good or ill.
-
A SAVAGE PRAYER
M
AY Jove assist me to discharge the debt
Of kindness to my friends, and grant me yet
A further boon-revenge upon my foes!
With these accomplished, I could gladly close
My term of life—a fair requital made;
My friends rewarded, and my wrongs repaid:


## p. 14794 (#368) ##########################################

14794
THEOGNIS
Revenge and gratitude, before I die,
Might make me deemed almost a deity!
Yet hear, O mighty Jove, and grant my prayer,
Relieve me from affliction and despair!
Oh, take my life, or grant me some redress,
Some foretaste of returning happiness!
Such is my state: I cannot yet descry
A chance of vengeance on mine enemy,
The rude despoilers of my property;
Whilst I like to a scared and hunted hound
That scarce escaping, trembling and half drowned,
Crosses a gully, swelled with wintry rain
Have crept ashore, in feebleness and pain.
Yet my full wish,- to drink their very blood,—
Some power divine, that watches for my good,
May yet accomplish. Soon may he fulfill
My righteous hope, my just and hearty will.
-


## p. 14795 (#369) ##########################################

14795
ANDRÉ THEURIET
(1833-)
N 1857 a poem by a new hand appeared in the Revue des
Deux Mondes. 'In Memoriam' was a romance in verse,
and it showed the qualities which distinguish all its author's
prose and poetry.
André Theuriet was born at Marly-le-Roi in 1833, and passed his
school days at Bar-le-Duc. Later he studied law in Paris, and then
accepted a position in the Treasury Department.
Theuriet began his literary career with poems; but he has also
been popular as a writer of stories, and has
been a well-known contributor of both to
many Paris journals; among them L'Illus-
tration, Le Moniteur, Le Figaro, Le Gau-
lois, and the Revue des Deux Mondes.

His poems were first collected in 1867,
when he published them in a volume enti-
tled 'Chemin du Bois,' which had the honor
of being crowned by the French Academy.
He has since then published several new
volumes of poems. Both in verse and
prose Theuriet excels in delicate depiction
of country life and of nature, and in his
sympathetic analysis of beauty.
ANDRE THEURIET
Theuriet has also attempted drama; and
in 1871 his 'Jean Marie,' a one-act play, was given with success at
the Odéon.
He has written a large number of novels and short stories, and
many of these have been translated into English. Among the best
known are 'The Maugars,' 'Angela's Fortune,' 'The House of the
Two Barbels,' 'Madame Heurteloup,' and 'Stories of Every-day Life. '
Perhaps their greatest charm is the quiet simplicity with which the
characters are drawn and the plot developed. "Theuriet is cer-
tainly," said Jules Lemaître, "the best, most cordial, and most accu-
rate painter of our little French bourgeoisie, half peasant in nature
and half townsfolk. "
He has a gentleness of spirit which makes him more alive to the
pathetic than to the tragic. He is more tender than strong. So both


## p. 14796 (#370) ##########################################


14796
ANDRÉ THEURIET
in his dainty and musical poems, and his graceful prose, he pleases
by his calm and discriminating exposition of the life he studies rather
than by emotional force.
THE BRETONNE
From Stories of Every-day Life
Ο
NE November night, the eve of St. Catherine, the iron grating,
of the Auberive Central Prison turned on its hinges to
release a woman about thirty years old. She was dressed
in a faded woolen gown, and wore a white cap which made an
odd frame for a face puffed and bleached by the prison régime.
She was a prisoner whose sentence had just expired. Her fellow
convicts called her "The Bretonne. " Just six years before, the
prison wagon had brought her there condemned for infanticide.
After having dressed herself again in her own clothes, and being
paid her small savings at the office, she was once more free,
with a passport marked for Langres.
The mail had already started; so, frightened and awkward,
she went stumblingly to the chief inn of the place, and in a hesi-
tating voice requested a night's lodging. The inn was full; and
the landlady, who was not at all anxious to harbor a bird of this
feather, advised her to try the little public-house at the other
end of the village.
The Bretonne, more and more dazed and awkward, went on
her way, and knocked at the door of this inn, which was in truth
hardly more than a tavern for laborers. This landlady too glanced
her over distrustfully; and then, doubtless divining an ex-convict,
sent her away on the pretext that she did not keep people over
night. The Bretonne dared not insist, but went meekly with
drooping head; while a sullen hate rose in her heart against the
world which thus repulsed her. There was nothing to do but
walk on to Langres. By the end of November, night falls early;
and as she followed the gray road stretching between two rows
of trees, with a rude north wind whistling in the branches, and
scattering the dead leaves, she was soon enveloped in darkness.
After six years of a confined and sedentary life she had almost
forgotten how to walk. Her knee-joints felt as though they
were bound; her feet, used to sabots, were uncomfortable in her
new shoes.
Before she had walked a league they were weary
I


## p. 14797 (#371) ##########################################

ANDRÉ THEURIET
14797
and blistered. She sat down on a stone and shivered, wonder-
ing if she must die of cold and hunger in the black night under
the chilling wind. Suddenly along the quiet road, through the
gusts of wind, she thought she heard the lingering sound of a
voice singing. As she listened, she distinguished the cadences of
one of the monotonous caressing little songs with which mothers
rock their children. Rising, she walked in the direction from
which it came; and reaching the turn of a cross-road, saw a light
glowing through the branches.
Five minutes later she reached a clay hut, with a roof covered
with clods of earth, and with a single window from which beamed
luminous rays. With a beating heart she made up her mind to
knock. The song stopped at once, and a peasant woman came
to the door. She was about the same age as the Bretonne, but
worn and faded with hard work. Her torn jacket showed some-
thing of her rough tanned skin; her red hair escaped in disorder
from her cloth cap. Her gray eyes gazed in surprise at this
rather odd-looking stranger.
"Well, good evening," she said, holding up her lamp.
is it? "
"I can go no farther," murmured the Bretonne with a stifled
sob. "The town is so far away; and if you will only take me
in for the night, I shall be very grateful. I shall be glad to pay
for your trouble. "
"Come in! " answered the other after a moment's hesitation.
Then she went on, in a voice that sounded inquisitive rather than
suspicious, "Why didn't you stay at Auberive ? »
"They wouldn't keep me;" and drooping her blue eyes, the
Bretonne, seized with a scruple, added: "You see I am just out
of prison, and people are afraid. "
"Ah! Come in just the same. I'm not at all afraid, as
I've never had anything but my poverty. It would be a sin to
shut the door on any Christian such a cold night. I'll get some
heather for your bed. "
She brought some armfuls of heather from a shed, and spread
them in a corner near the fire.
"What
"Do you live here all alone? " asked the Bretonne timidly.
"Yes, with my youngster who is nearly seven. I get our liv
ing by working in the wood,»
"So your husband is dead ? »
"I never had one," said the woman brusquely. "My poor
baby has no father. Never mind. Every one has his own


## p. 14798 (#372) ##########################################

14798
ANDRÉ THEURIET
troubles. Now there is your bed all ready for you, and here are
two or three potatoes left from our supper. It's all I can offer
you. "
She was interrupted by a childish voice from a dark little
hole separated from the main room by a wooden partition.
"Good-night," she added. "I hope you'll sleep well. I must
go to my baby: she's scared. "
She took the lamp and went into the next room, leaving her
guest in darkness. The Bretonne stretched herself out on the
heather. She ate her potatoes and then tried to close her
eyes, but sleep would not come to her. Through the thin parti-
tion she could hear the mother talking softly to the child, who
had been waked by the stranger's arrival and would not go to
sleep again. The mother petted and kissed her, with simple caress-
ing words which touched the Bretonne's heart.
This outbreak of tenderness stirred a confused maternal in-
stinct in the heart of the girl, who had been sentenced for stifling
her new-born baby. She remembered that her own child might
have been just the age of this little girl. This thought, and
the sound of the childish voice, made her shudder profoundly. A
gentle sentiment melted her bitter heart, and she felt moved to
weep.
"Come, my pet," said the mother. "If you are good, I will
take you to the fair of St. Catherine to-morrow. "
"St. Catherine is the little girls' saint, isn't she, mamma? "
"Yes, little one. "
"Does St. Catherine really bring playthings to children? "
"Yes, sometimes. "
"Why doesn't she bring me some? "
>>
"We live too far off, and then we are too poor. '
"Does she give them only to rich people? Why, mamma?
I would like some playthings too. "
"Well some day, if you are good-if you go to sleep like a
good girl-perhaps she will bring you some. "
"Then I'll go to sleep right away, so that she'll bring me
some to-morrow. "
Silence. Then light and even breathing. Both mother and
child were slumbering. The Bretonne alone could not sleep.
Her heart was wrung by a poignant yet tender emotion. She
thought more and more of her dead little one. At dawn the
mother and child were still fast asleep. The Bretonne slipped
quietly out of the house, and walking quickly towards Auberive,


## p. 14799 (#373) ##########################################

ANDRÉ THEURIET
14799
did not pause until she reached the first houses. Then she went
more slowly up the one street, reading the signs over the shops.
At last one seemed to satisfy her, and she knocked on the blinds
until she was admitted. It was a little haberdashery, where they
had also some playthings,-poor shopworn paper dolls, Noah's
arks, and sheepfolds. To the merchant's amazement, the Bre-
tonne bought them all, and then went away. She was going back
to the hut when she felt a hand on her shoulder; and turning
in fear, saw a police officer. The poor thing had forgotten that
convicts, after their release, were not allowed to remain in the
neighborhood of the prison.
"You ought to be at Langres by this time instead of vaga-
bonding here," said the officer severely. "Come, off with you. "
She tried to explain, but he would not listen. In a twinkling
a cart was obtained, she was forced to get in with a policeman
as escort, and off they went.
The cart jolted along the frozen road, and the poor Bre-
tonne pressed her package of toys between her chilled fingers.
They reached a turn in the road, and she recognized the foot-
path through the woods. Her heart leaped, and she implored the
policeman to stop and let her deliver a message to a woman who
lived only two steps away. She pleaded so earnestly that the
good-hearted fellow allowed himself to be persuaded. The horse
was tied to a tree, and they went along the path to the hut.
The woman was chopping kindling-wood in front of the door.
At sight of her guest returning with a policeman, she stood stu-
pefied, her arms hanging.
"Hush! " said the Bretonne. "Is the little one still sleep-
ing? "
"Yes - but — »
"Take these toys and put them softly on her bed. Tell her
St. Catherine sent them. I went back to Auberive for them,
but it seems I had no right, so they are taking me to Langres. "
"Blessed Virgin! " cried the mother.
"Hush! "
They went in the house to the bed. The Bretonne's escort
kept close behind her while she set out on the coverlid the dolls,
the ark, and the sheepfold. She kissed the bare little arm of the
sleeping child. Then she turned to the policeman, who was rub-
bing his eyes:-
«<
"Now," she said, we can start. "


## p. 14800 (#374) ##########################################

14800
ANDRÉ THEURIET
AN EASTER STORY
From Stories of Every-day Life'
TH
HERE was at Seville, in the faubourg of Triana, a boy of
fifteen years named Juanito el Morenito.
He was an
orphan; had grown by good luck, like a weed, on the pave-
ment of Triana: sleeping now out of doors, now in the stable of
a lodging-house; living on a handful of sweet acorns, or a fried
fish bought at a discount, and earning his living in a hundred
little occupations, of which the most lucrative was selling pro-
grammes at the doors of the theatres. In spite of his rags, he was
a pretty boy; with luminous eyes, smiling mouth, and curly hair,
and so deeply tanned that he had been surnamed Morenito. He
had, moreover, a little gipsy blood in his veins; and like the gip-
sies, he was of an independent disposition, loving vagrancy, and
passionately fond of bull-fights.
Upon Good Friday he awoke in a morose spirit. Throughout
Holy Week the theatres had been closed; and not having been
able to pursue his business of selling programmes, he had not
a cuarto in his pocket. His poverty was the more irksome that
upon Easter Day there was to be a magnificent bull-baiting, with
Mazzantini and Frascuelo as spadas, and that his empty purse
would deprive him of his favorite spectacle.
Nevertheless he resolved to go and seek his luck in the streets
of Seville; and after addressing a prayer to the Virgin de la
Esperanza, to whom he was very devoted, he shook off the bits
of straw which clung to his hair, and hurried out of the stable
where he had slept.
The morning was magnificent. The slender rose-tower of the
Giralda stood out clearly against the deep-blue sky. The streets
were already full of people from the country, who had come
to Seville to see the processions of the Confradias. In passing
before the Plaza de Toros, Morenito saw a long line of eager
people already besieging the ticket-office; and this augmented the
bitterness of his regrets. For four hours he rambled about Rue
Sierpes, sniffing the fried fish and the cinnamon cakes brown-
ing in boiling oil, and following the toreadors as they strutted
slowly before the cafés in their short coats and narrow breeches.
He racked his brain for an honest means of gaining a few pese-
tas. He attempted in vain to join those who were crying pro-
grammes of the procession with the names of the different


## p. 14801 (#375) ##########################################

ANDRÉ THEURIET
14801
fraternities: all the places were taken, and he was repulsed on
all sides. At last, having tried everything he could think of,-
his stomach empty, and his back baked by the sun,- he came out
on the Plaza de la Constitucion, where the processions must stop;
and finding a shady corner under one of the portals of the Audi-
encia, he decided to rest there while waiting for the Confradias
to pass.
"Who sleeps, dines;" and in place of a breakfast, Morenito
gave himself a good slice of slumber. He soon slept profoundly;
and upon my word he looked very handsome, stretched his full
length upon the white pavement, one arm folded under his curly
black head,- his eyelids shut tight with their long lashes, and
his red lips half open in a vague smile which partly uncovered
his little white teeth.
-
While he was slumbering, a couple of tourists passed; young
people, husband and wife probably,- certainly a pair of lovers,
as was evident by the way they held each other's arms.
"See what a pretty fellow he is," said the young man, stop-
ping to contemplate the sleeper; "and what a charming picture
that would make! What a delightful attitude! It's all there;
even the significant gesture of this open hand, which looks as if
it were expecting some windfall to drop into it during sleep. "
"Do you know," answered the young wife, "how to give this
sleeper a fine surprise? Put a piece of silver in his hand for
him to find when he wakes! >>
Lovers are generous. The young man took a five-franc piece
from his purse, and placed it gently on the open hand; which
by a mechanical movement half closed at the cool contact of the
metal. Then the couple went away laughing.
Morenito continued to sleep; and while sleeping, he dreamed.
He dreamed that the pure Virgin of the Esperanza was descend-
ing to him on a ladder the color of a rainbow. She had a crown
of lilies in her hair, and was carrying white roses in her hands.
And she said to him in a voice sweet as honey: "Juanito, thou
hast never forgotten to pray to me morning and evening. In
honor of the resurrection of my son, I wish to recompense thee.
Thou shalt go to see the bulls on Sunday! " At the same time,
the Virgin shook the petals from her white roses into Morenito's
hand; and in falling, each rose leaf changed into a piece of sil-
ver: and Morenito experienced such joy that it awoke him. He
stretched himself, and from one of his hands-oh, miracle! -
XXV-926


## p. 14802 (#376) ##########################################

14802
ANDRÉ THEURIET
He
a white coin slipped and fell with a silvery sound upon the
flagging. He could not believe either his eyes or his ears.
picked up the coin. It was a beautiful bright piece of five
pesetas. The Virgin had not mocked him, and he could go to
the bull-fight! With a bound he was on his feet, and running
toward the Plaza de Toros.
As he was turning the corner of the Calle San Pablo, he
almost rushed against a slip of a girl of the faubourg of Triana,
whom he had known since childhood, and who was named Chata.
She was very pale, and her great black eyes were full of tears.
"What is the matter, Chata? " he asked her.
"My mother is sick," she answered, "and I have not been
to bed for two nights. The doctor came this morning and or-
dered remedies. I went to the druggist's, but he would not give
me anything on credit. What shall I do?
What shall I do? If the bells toll for
her, they will toll for me too: I will not outlive her! "
Morenito remained thoughtful a moment, his gaze plunged
into Chata's tearful black eyes; then suddenly, taking the miracu-
lous coin, he put it into the hand of his little friend.
"Here, nina mia," he said, "take this money: it came from
the Virgin of the Esperanza, and the bonita Madre will not be
vexed if I use it to cure your mother. "
Chata was so excited that she did not take time even to
thank him, but ran to the druggist's without once looking back.
It was written that Morenito was surely not to go to the
prime bull-fight. But as there are compensations in the world,
he passed a gay Sunday nevertheless. That day Chata's mother
was better, and the little girl came to the lodging-house court
to thank Juanito. She had made something of a toilet; and
with the remainder of Morenito's money she had bought two
red roses, which she had thrust into her black hair.
The two
went for a walk along the Guadalquivir, under the orange-trees
in blossom.
The springtide had kindled an indescribable light in Chata's
eyes, and perhaps a more tender sentiment contributed to this
illumination. When they found themselves in a corner shaded
by high bushes of myrtle, she suddenly threw her two arms
around Morenito's neck, and said without the least false shame,
"Te quiero, companero! " (I love you, comrade! ) And while the
bells rang for the Easter festival, these two children tasted their
first kiss of love.
CH


## p. 14803 (#377) ##########################################

14803
AUGUSTIN THIERRY
(1795-1856)
BY FREDERIC LOLIÉE
UGUSTIN THIERRY, the celebrated historian and renovator of
historical research in France, was born at Blois, May 10th,
1795. He died in 1856. A pupil of the École Normale, and
at first destined to the profession of teaching, he was for several
years the collaborator of Saint-Simon. With this venturous economist
he prepared several works upon industry, speculative politics, and the
organization of European societies; imbib-
ing his master's ideas without sharing his
chimeras. But his true vocation was else-
where. He had felt it awakening within
him from his school days. This was in
1811, as he was finishing his studies at the
lyceum of his native town.
An enthusiastic reading of Châteaubri-
and's 'Martyrs' lighted the spark in his
intellect and decided his destiny. The
striking evocation of the empire of the
Cæsars in its decline; and the admirable
narrative of Eudorus; and the dramatic pict-
ure of a Roman army marching across the
marches of Batavia to meet an army of
Franks, -as though to hurl against each other, in one terrible shock,
civilization and barbarism,- had given him already a very vivid
glimpse of a new and picturesque manner of exhuming and reanimat-
ing the past. He was still very young when he decided to establish
the basis of his renovating method. He began by a straightforward
attack upon the erroneous science of the old historical school, and by
demonstrating the necessity of breaking with the false views of tra-
ditional teaching. This was the object of his 'Lettres sur l'Histoire
de France (Letters upon French History: 1827), in which are brill-
iantly developed the principles of an entirely modern art of restoring
to original documents their primitive physiognomy, their color, and
significance. For he possessed to a marvelous degree the intuition
which could discover the spirit under the dead letter of charters and

AUGUSTIN THIERRY


## p. 14804 (#378) ##########################################

14804
AUGUSTIN THIERRY
chronicles. Then, armed with a science painfully acquired in the
depths of libraries, where he lost health and later sight, he proceeded
from theory to practice. He published 'L'Histoire de la Conquête
de l'Angleterre par les Normands, de ses Causes et de ses Suites'
(History of the Norman Conquest of England, its Causes and Conse-
quences: 1825, 3 vols. ; new edition revised and enlarged, 1845, 4 vols. );
an account, detailed and extremely lucid, not only of the national
struggle which followed the victory of the Normans over the Saxons,
but also of the tendencies, impulses, motives, which impelled men
placed in a social state approaching barbarism. Then in his 'Récits
des Temps Mérovingiens' (Narratives of the Merovingian Era: 1840,
2 vols. ), he presented with a truly Homeric color of truth the man-
ners of the destroyers of the Roman Empire, their odd and savage
aspect, and the violent contrasts of the races which in the sixth cen-
tury were mingled but not yet blended on the soil of Gaul. This is
the most finished of Augustin Thierry's works. One should read also
the pages, full of candor and charm, of his 'Dix Ans d'Études' (Ten
Years of Study: 1834).
Augustin Thierry did not wholly escape the risk of errors, - the
anticipating views or daring conjectures always more or less entailed
by the spirit of generalization. In return he penetrated with astonish-
ing profundity to the very heart of barbarism; and rendered as living
as contemporaries the characters of one of the most complex and
least known epochs of European history. A great author as well
as a great historian, he carried his care for form to an incomparable
degree. Sainte-Beuve called him a translator of genius, of our old
chroniclers. Indeed he possessed the double seal of genius: boldness
in creation, and finish in detail.
The life of Augustin Thierry, like his style, deserves to be offered
as an example to the writers who seek in art something more than
selfish and transitory satisfactions. A martyr to his researches,—
blind, crippled, helpless, -until the last hour he never stopped per-
fecting his writings in the sense of beauty and truth. Nor did he
ever cease to consider devotion to science as superior to material
pleasures, to fortune, and even to health.
Frederic Police
-


## p. 14805 (#379) ##########################################

AUGUSTIN THIERRY
14805
THE TRUE HISTORY OF JACQUES BONHOMME, FROM AUTHEN-
TIC DOCUMENTS
From the Historical Essays'
-
J
ACQUES was still very young, when strangers from the south
invaded the land of his ancestors; it was a fine domain
bathed by two great lakes, and capable of producing corn,
wine, and oil in abundance. Jacques had a lively but unsteady
mind; growing up on his usurped soil he forgot his ancestors,
and the usurpers pleased him. He learned their language,
espoused their quarrels, and bound himself to their fortune.
This fortune of invasion and conquest was for some time suc-
cessful; but one day fortune became adverse, and the tide of war
brought invasion on the land of the usurpers. Jacques's domain,
on which floated their standards, was one of the first threatened.
Bodies of men who had emigrated from the north besieged it
on all sides. Jacques was too unaccustomed to independence to
dream of freeing his habitation: the sole alternatives his mind
suggested to him were, either to deliver himself up to new mas-
ters or to adhere to the old ones. Wavering between these two
resolutions, he confided his doubts to a grave personage of his
family, the priest of a religion which Jacques had recently em-
braced, and which he practiced with great fervor.
"My father," said he, "what shall I do? My present state
wearies me. Our conquerors, who call us their allies, treat us
really like slaves. They exhaust us to fill their treasury, which
in their language they call the basket: this basket is a bottomless
abyss. I am weary of submitting to their yoke: but the yoke
of their enemies frightens me; those north men are, it is said,
very rapacious, and their battle-axes are very sharp. For mercy's
sake, tell me whose side I shall take. " "My son," replied the
holy man, "you must be on the side of God: God in the present
day is on the side of the idolatrous north against the heretical
south. The men of the north will be your masters: I can pre-
dict this; for I myself, with my own hands, have just opened
your gates to them. " Jacques was stunned by these words; he
had not recovered from his bewilderment when a great noise of
arms and horses, together with strange acclamations, told him
that all was over. He saw men of great height, and speaking
from the throat, hurry into his dwelling, divide the furniture into
lots, and measure the land in order to divide it. Jacques was sad;
-


## p. 14806 (#380) ##########################################

14806
AUGUSTIN THIERRY
but feeling that there was no remedy, he endeavored to become
reconciled to his fate. He looked patiently at the thieves; and
when their chief passed, he saluted him by the cry of Vivat
rex! which the chief did not understand. The strangers distrib-
uted the booty, settled on their portions of land, reviewed their
forces, exercised themselves in arms, assembled in councils, and
decreed laws of police and war for themselves, without thinking
more of Jacques than if he had never existed. He stood at a
distance, awaiting an official notice of his destiny, and practicing
with a great deal of trouble to pronounce the barbaric names of
men in high stations among his new masters. Several of these
euphoniously disfigured names may be restored in the following
manner: Merowig, Chlodowig, Hilderik, Hildebert, Sighebert,
Karl, etc.
Jacques at last received his sentence: it was a formal act,
drawn up by the friend and compatriot who had made himself the
introducer of the conquerors; and who, as the price of such serv-
ice, had received from their bounty the finest portion of the culti-
vated land and the Greek title of Episcopus-which the conquerors
transformed into that of Biscop and granted without understand-
ing it. Jacques, who until then had been called Romanus, the
Roman, from the name of his first masters, saw himself qualified
in this new diploma with the title of litus seu villanus noster;
and ordered, under pain of the rod and cord, to cultivate the
land himself for the benefit of the strangers. The word litus
was new to his ears; he asked an explanation, and he was told
that this word, derived from the Germanic verb let or lát, per-
mit or leave, really signified that they had the kindness to let
him live. This favor appeared to him rather a slight one; and
he took a fancy to solicit others from the assembly of the pos-
sessors of his domain, which was held on fixed days in the open
air, in a vast field. The chiefs stood in the midst, and the mul-
titude surrounded them; decisions were made in common, and
each man gave his opinion, from the highest to the lowest- -a
maximo usque ad minimum. Jacques went to that august council;
but at his approach a murmur of contempt was raised, and the
guards forbade him to advance, threatening him with the wood
of their lances. One of the strangers, more polite than the
others, and who knew how to speak good Latin, told him the
cause of this treatment: "The assembly of the masters of this
land," said he, "dominorum territorii, is interdicted to men of


## p. 14807 (#381) ##########################################

AUGUSTIN THIERRY
14807
your class, to those whom we call 'liti vel litones, et istius
modi viles inopesque personæ. '»
-
Jacques went sadly to work: he had to feed, clothe, warm,
and lodge his masters; he worked for many years, during which
time his condition barely changed, but, during which, on the other
hand, he saw the vocabulary by which his miserable condition
was designated increase prodigiously. In several inventories that
were drawn up at the same time, he saw himself ignominiously
confounded with the trees and flocks of the domain, under the
common name of clothing of the land, terræ vestitus; he was
called live money, pecunia vive, body serf, addictus gleba, bond-
man in the idiom of the conquerors. In times of clemency and
mercy, only six days' labor out of seven was demanded of him.
Jacques was sober; he lived on little, and endeavored to save: but
more than once his slender savings were taken from him in vir-
tue of that incontestable axiom, "Quæ servi sunt, ea sunt domini,"
what the serf possesses is the master's property.
Whilst Jacques worked and suffered, his masters quarreled
amongst themselves, either from vanity or interest. More than
once they deposed their chiefs; more than once their chiefs
oppressed them; more than once opposite factions waged a civil
war. Jacques always bore the weight of these disputes: no party
spared him; he always had to bear the anger of the conquered
and the pride of the conquerors. It happened that the chief of
the conquering community pretended to have the sole real claims
on the land, the labor, the body and the soul of poor Jacques.
Jacques, credulous and trusting to an excess because his woes
were innumerable, allowed himself to be persuaded to give his con-
sent to these pretensions, and accept the title of "subjugated by
the chief," subjectus regis; in the modern jargon, "subject of the
king. " In virtue of this title, Jacques only paid the king fixed
taxes, tallias rationabiles, which was far from meaning reasonable
taxes. But although nominally become the property of the chief,
he was not therefore free from the exactions of the subalterns.
Jacques paid first on one side, then on the other; fatigue was
wearing him out. He entreated repose: the laughing reply was,
"Bonhomme cries out, but bonhomme must pay. " Jacques bore
with misfortune: he was unable to tolerate outrage.
He forgot
his weakness, he forgot his nakedness, and hurried out against.
his oppressors, armed to their teeth or intrenched in fortresses.
Their chiefs and subalterns, friends and enemies, all united to


## p. 14808 (#382) ##########################################

14808
AUGUSTIN THIERRY
crush him. He was pierced with the strokes of lances, hacked
with the cuts of swords, bruised under the feet of horses: no
more breath was left in him but what he required not to die on
the spot, for he was wanted.
Jacques-who since this war bore the surname of Jacques
bonhomme-recovered of his wounds, and paid as heretofore. He
paid the subsidies, the assistances, the gabelle, the rights of sale,
of tolls and customs, the poll tax, the twentieths, etc. , etc. At
this exorbitant price, the king protected him a little against the
rapacity of the other nobles: this more fixed and peaceful con-
dition pleased him; he became attached to the new yoke which
procured it for him; he even persuaded himself that this yoke
was natural and necessary to him, that he required fatigue in
order not to burst with health, and that his purse resembled trees,
which grow when they are pruned. Care was taken not to burst
out laughing at these sallies of his imagination; they were en-
couraged, on the contrary: and it was when he gave full vent to
them that the names of loyal and well-advised man, " recte
legalis et sapiens," were given him.
«
If it is for my good that I pay, said Jacques to himself one
day, it follows therefore that the first duty of those I pay is to
act for my good; and that they are, properly speaking, only the
stewards of my affairs. If they are the stewards of my affairs,
it follows that I have a right to regulate their accounts and
give them my advice. This succession of inductions appeared
to him very luminous: he never doubted but that it did the
greatest credit to his sagacity; he made it the subject of a large
book, which he printed in beautiful type. This book was seized,
mutilated, and burnt; instead of the praises which the author
expected, the galleys were proposed to him. His presses were
seized; a lazzaretto was instituted, wherein his thoughts were to
perform quarantine before passing into print. Jacques printed
no more, but he did not think less. The struggle of his thought
against authority was long secret and silent; his mind long medi-
tated this great idea, that by a natural right he was free and
master at home, before he made any tentative to realize it. At
last one day, when a great want of money compelled the powers
whom Jacques supplied, to call him to council to obtain from
him a subsidy which it did not dare to exact, Jacques arose,
assumed a proud tone, and clearly stated his absolute and impre-
scriptible right of property and liberty.


## p. 14809 (#383) ##########################################

AUGUSTIN THIERRY
14809
Authority capitulated, then retracted; war ensued, and Jacques
was the conqueror, because several friends of his former mas-
ters deserted to embrace his cause. He was cruel in his victory,
because long misery had soured him. He knew not how to con-
duct himself when free, because he still had the habits of slavery.
Those whom he took for stewards enslaved him anew whilst pro-
claiming his absolute sovereignty. "Alas! " said Jacques, "I have
suffered two conquests; I have been called serf, villain, subject:
but I never was insulted by being told that it was in virtue of
my rights that I was a slave and despoiled. " One of his officers,
a great warrior, heard him murmur and complain. "I see what
you want," said he, "and I will take upon myself to give it to
you. I will mix up the traditions of the two conquests that you
so justly regret: I will restore to you the Frankish warriors, in
the persons of my soldiers; they shall be, like them, barons and
nobles. I will reproduce the great Cæsar, your first master; I
will call myself imperator: you shall have a place in my legions;
I promise you promotion in them. " Jacques opened his lips to
reply, when suddenly the trumpets sounded, the drums beat, the
eagles were unfurled. Jacques had formerly fought under the
eagles; his early youth had been passed in following them mechan-
ically: as soon as he saw them again, he thought no longer-he
marched.
It is time that the jest should end. We beg pardon for hav-
ing introduced it into so grave a subject: we beg pardon for
having made use of an insulting name formerly applied to our
fathers, in order to retrace more rapidly the sad succession of
our misfortunes and our faults. It seems as if on the day on
which, for the first time, servitude, the daughter of armed invas-
ion, put its foot on the country which now bears the name of
France, it was written above that servitude should never leave
it; that, banished under one form, it was to reappear under
another, and changing its aspect without changing its nature,
stand upright at its former post in spite of time and mankind.
After the domination of the conquering Romans, came the dom-
ination of the conquering Franks; then absolute monarchy, then
the absolute authority of republican laws, then the absolute power
of the French empire, then five years of exceptional laws under
the constitutional charter. Twenty centuries have elapsed since
the footsteps of conquest were imprinted on our soil; its traces
have not disappeared: generations have trampled on without


## p. 14810 (#384) ##########################################

14810
AUGUSTIN THIERRY
destroying them; the blood of men has washed without effacing
them. Was it then for such a destiny that nature formed that
beautiful country which so much verdure adorns, such harvests
enrich, and which is under the influence of so mild a climate?
THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS
From the 'History of the Conquest of England by the Normans'
ON
THE ground which afterwards bore, and still bears, the
name of "Battle," the Anglo-Saxon lines occupied a long
chain of hills, fortified with a rampart of stakes and osier
hurdles. In the night of the 13th of October, William announced
to the Normans that the next day would be the day of battle.
The priests and monks, who had followed the invading army
in great numbers, being attracted like the soldiers by the hope of
booty, assembled together to offer up prayers and sing litanies,
while the fighting men were preparing their arms. The soldiery
employed the time which remained to them after this first care
in confessing their sins and receiving the sacrament. In the
other army the night was passed in quite a different manner:
the Saxons diverted themselves with great noise, and sung their
old national songs round their watch-fires, while they emptied the
horns of beer and of wine.
In the morning the bishop of Bayeux, who was a son of Will-
iam's mother, celebrated mass in the Norman camp, and gave a
blessing to the soldiers; he was armed with a hauberk under
his pontifical habit: he then mounted a large white horse, took
a baton of command in his hand, and drew up the cavalry into
line. The army was divided into three columns of attack: in the
first were the soldiers from the county of Boulogne and from
Ponthieu, with most of the adventurers who had engaged person-
ally for pay; the second comprised the auxiliaries from Brittany,
Maine, and Poitou; William himself commanded the third, com-
posed of the Norman chivalry. At the head and on the flanks
of each division marched several ranks of light-armed infantry,
clad in quilted cassocks, and carrying long-bows, or arbalets of
steel. The duke mounted a Spanish charger which a rich Nor-
man had brought him when he returned from a pilgrimage to
St. James of Compostella in Gallicia. From his neck were sus-
pended the most venerated of the relics on which Harold had


## p. 14811 (#385) ##########################################

AUGUSTIN THIERRY
14811
sworn; and the standard consecrated by the Pope was carried
at his side by a young man named Toustain-le-Blanc. At the
moment when the troops were about to advance, the duke, rais-
ing his voice, thus addressed them:-
"Remember to fight well, and put all to death; for if we
conquer we shall all be rich. What I gain, you will gain; if I
conquer, you will conquer; if I take this land, you shall have it.
Know however that I am not come here only to obtain my right,
but also to avenge our whole nation for the felonies, perjuries,
and treacheries of these English. They put to death the Danes,
men and women, on St. Brice's night. They decimated the com-
panions of my kinsman Alfred, and took his life. Come on, then;
and let us, with God's help, chastise them for all these misdeeds. "
-
The army was soon within sight of the Saxon camp, to the
northwest of Hastings. The priests and monks then detached
themselves from it, and ascended a neighboring height, to pray
and to witness the conflict. A Norman named Taillefer spurred
his horse forward in front, and began the song-famous through-
out Gaul- of the exploits of Charlemagne and Roland. As he
sung, he played with his sword; throwing it up with force in the
air, and receiving it again in his right hand. The Normans
joined in chorus, or cried, "God be our help! God be our help! "
As soon as they came within bowshot, the archers let fly their
arrows and the crossbow-men their bolts; but most of the shots
were deadened by the high parapet of the Saxon redoubts. The
infantry, armed with spears, and the cavalry, then advanced to
the entrances of the redoubts, and endeavored to force them.
The Anglo-Saxons, all on foot around their standard planted in
the ground, and forming behind their redoubts one compact and
solid mass, received the assailants with heavy blows of their
battle-axes, which, with a back-stroke, broke their spears and
clove their coats of mail. The Normans, unable either to pene-
trate the redoubts or to tear up the palisades, and fatigued with
their unsuccessful attack, fell back upon the division commanded
by William. The duke then commanded all his archers again to
advance, and ordered them not to shoot point-blank, but to dis-
charge their arrows upwards, so that they might fall beyond
the rampart of the enemy's camp. Many of the English were
wounded, chiefly in the face, in consequence of this manoeuvre;
Harold himself lost an eye by an arrow, but he nevertheless con-
tinued to command and to fight. The close attack of the foot


## p. 14812 (#386) ##########################################


14812
AUGUSTIN THIERRY
and horse recommenced, to the cry of "Notre Dame! Dieu aide!
Dieu aide! " But the Normans were repulsed at one entrance of
the Saxon camp, as far as a great ravine covered with grass and
brambles, in which, their horses stumbling, they fell pell-mell, and
numbers of them perished. There was now a momentary panic
in the army of the invaders: it was rumored that the duke was
killed; and at this news they began to fly. William threw him-
self before the fugitives, and barred their passage, threatening
them, and striking them with a lance; then uncovering his head,
"Here I am," he exclaimed; "look at me: I live, and with
God's help I will conquer! "
The horsemen returned to the redoubts; but as before, they
could neither force the entrance nor make a breach. The duke
then bethought himself of a stratagem to draw the English out
of their position, and make them quit their ranks. He ordered
a thousand horse to advance and immediately take to flight. At
the sight of this feigned rout, the Saxons were thrown off their
guard; and all set off in pursuit, with their axes suspended from
their necks. At a certain distance, a body of troops posted there
for the purpose joined the fugitives, who then turned round;
and the English, surprised in the midst of their disorder, were
assailed on all sides with spears and swords, which they could
not ward off, both hands being occupied in wielding their heavy
axes. When they had lost their ranks the gates of the redoubt
were forced, and horse and foot entered together; but the combat
was still warmly maintained, pell-mell and hand to hand. William
had his horse killed under him. King Harold and his two broth-
ers fell dead at the foot of their standard, which was plucked
from the ground, and the banner sent from Rome planted in its
stead. The remains of the English army, without a chief and
without a standard, prolonged the struggle until the close of day,
so that the combatants on each side could recognize one another
only by their language.
Having, says an old historian, rendered all which they owed
to their country, the remnant of Harold's companions dispersed;
and many died on the roads, in consequence of their wounds
and the day's fatigue. The Norman horse pursued them without
relaxation, and gave quarter to no one. They passed the night
on the field of battle; and on the morrow, at dawn of day, Duke
William drew up his troops, and had all the men who had fol-
lowed him across the sea called over from the roll which had
—


## p. 14813 (#387) ##########################################

AUGUSTIN THIERRY
14813
been prepared before his departure from the port of St. Valery.
Of these, a vast number, dead and dying, lay beside the van-
quished on the field. The fortunate survivors had, as the first
profits of their victory, the spoils of the dead. In turning over
the bodies there were found thirteen wearing under their armor
the monastic habit: these were the abbot of Hida and his twelve
companions; the name of their monastery was the first inscribed
in the Black Book of the conquerors.
The mothers and the wives of those who had repaired to
the field of battle from the neighboring country to die with the
King, came to the field to seek for and to bury the bodies of
their sons and husbands. The body of King Harold remained.
for some time on the battle-field, and no one dared ask for it.
At length Godwin's widow, named Githa, overcoming her anguish,
sent a message to Duke William demanding his permission to
perform the last rites in honor of her son. She offered, say the
Norman historians, to give him the weight of her son's body in
gold. But the duke refused harshly, saying that the man who
had belied his faith and his religion should have no sepulture but
the sands of the shore. If we may believe an old tradition on
this score, however, he eventually became milder in favor of the
monks of Waltham, an abbey founded and enriched in his life-
time by Harold.