Bertrand du Guesclin

“ If, as ye say, ye have lost all, it fits me better to aid than to punish you. What have ye done amiss?”
“We drove these waggons to the English camp; but what could we do? The spear was at our throats! Leave us our lives, noble knight; we have nought else to lose!”
“As God hears me, who hath delivered me this night,” said the hero, solemnly, “not a hair of your heads shall be touched, and all ye have lost shall be made good, if it cost me my last crown. While Bertrand du Guesclin hath a coin in his purse, any man that is poor and needy is welcome to share it!” ”

“ The Wolf and his band (Bertrand’s lifeguard all through that fearful night) stood like an iron wall between the tide of assault and the precious waggons; but, man on man, the devoted band fell before their swarming assailants, and as their ranks thinned, Du Guesclin’s men began to give way in turn, while the English pressed on with shouts of victory.
Driven to desperation, Bertrand plunged headlong into the living sea of fierce faces and tossing weapons, dealing death at every blow. ”

“ Had not he, Bertrand du Guesclin, sacrificed himself for Robin Raguenel’s sake, and accepted shame to save a coward? If Tiphaïne was so tender for Tinteniac’s sake, then, by God, let Tinteniac look to the guarding of his own petticoats!
But that great advocate whose irony slashes to shreds the special pleading of the meaner spirit, the sense of chivalry, that great chastener of manhood, took up the argument in Bertrand’s cause. All ethical struggles are fierce in powerful natures, fierce in their climax, but sure in their decision. ”

“ But bethink you, noble sir, a demon’s arm is mighty to smite.”
“So, perchance, is mine,” said the unknown, quietly; and, snatching up a battle-axe so heavy that few men could have even lifted it, he hewed, at one blow, from a tree by the window a huge limb as easily as if he were slicing a peach.
A cry of amazement broke from the lookers-on, and Paul said eagerly—
“But one man in this realm could deal such a blow! Is your worship, then, our Bertrand du Guesclin?” ”

“ She left the bed of heather, and Bertrand heard the rustle of her footsteps in the grass. He turned, looking like one who has been watching the sunrise and finding the woods dark and mist-fogged after the brightness of the broadening east.
Tiphaïne’s eyes had the strangeness of eyes that are half happy and half sad.
“And I have let you watch all night!”
He looked at her and smiled.
“It has seemed short enough.”
“Then Bertrand du Guesclin is never weary?”
“I had my own thoughts. With some thoughts—a man is never tired.”
The secrets of the heart escape in the uttering of a few simple words. ”

“ Such peace-loving people as were abroad went scuttling down alleys, and into corners like mice running from a cat. Bertrand watched the gentry disappear down a passage that led into the market square. Their drunken shouting had given him a cud to chew, for, if Croquart struck a blow at Josselin, he—Bertrand du Guesclin—might yet have a part to play.
At La Bellière the Sieur de Tinteniac sat at the window of the great solar, looking out upon the orchard-trees, whose boughs were white against the blue. ”

“ Down leaped Du Guesclin, and, taking the fallen man by the hand, said earnestly—
“How is it with you, noble sir? Woe worth the day, if my ill hap hath made me harm the best knight I ever faced!”
“Grieve not, fair sir,” said the brave Englishman, faintly. “I trow I shall live to fight another day, though I be sore shaken; but the victory is thine.”
“I pray you, then,” cried Bertrand, eagerly, as he raised him from the ground and signed to the nearest men to support him, “let me buy of you this good horse that I have ridden to-day, for better could no man wish at need.” ”

“ In our day it would greatly amaze every one to see two generals fight a duel on their own account in the midst of a battle, while their men looked on; but in that age such a thing was an everyday matter.
“Most willingly do I agree, good Sir Nicholas,” said the unknown, courteously; “and if it be my hap to be overthrown, I grudge thee not what small fame may be won by vanquishing Bertrand du Guesclin.”
“Du Guesclin!” echoed Dagworth, as a murmur of mingled wonder and admiration buzzed along the English ranks. “Then am I more highly favoured than I weened. ”

“ Who gave thee leave to set thyself up as England’s champion, when thy king’s son is here in presence? I counsel thee to rein up thy brawling humour, lest I curb it for thee!”
“Nay,” said Du Guesclin, “let not your highness be wroth with this good knight, if he be minded to bid me to a friendly trial of manhood. It grieves me much that I cannot pleasure him, having promised my liege lady to fight no combat this day; and if any man hath a mind to think Bertrand Du Guesclin a coward for that cause, e’en let him.” ”

“ Tiphaïne hung her head and wondered. There were so many powers behind the man, dragging him back from the prouder life. He had been wronged, perhaps treated unjustly, driven to recklessness by some undeserved disgrace. She remembered Bertrand’s passionate nature as a child. He was quickly wounded, and stubborn over the smart thereof.
“Ah, Bertrand du Guesclin,” she thought, “how long will my words ring within your ears? Will you hate me when your humbleness has gone? Will you hold to the old life, or break from it like a brave man, turning shame to good account? ”

“ The Lady Tiphaïne would not rejoice to see me as I am, and for myself I would rather shirk the meeting.”
Carro de Bodegat laughed maliciously.
“Messire du Guesclin, I feel for the lady.”
“Ascribe nothing to her, sir, but sorrow at seeing me condemned as a hypocrite.”
“True chivalry, messire; we can serve a petticoat when we cannot serve a country. What is your judgment, Brother Dubois?”
The elder man reflected before committing himself to an opinion.
“The thing seems reasonable, since it shows consideration for a lady. Then you ask this in all seriousness, Messire Bertrand du Guesclin?” ”

“ Thou art about to lose a staunch comrade.”
“Not Huon?” cried the hero, clenching his hands till the joints cracked.
“No, thank God; the Sire de St. Yvon is mending apace. But he whom they call the Black Wolf——”
Bertrand waited to hear no more, but flew up the narrow stair, thrusting aside the strong soldier like a child.
“Lives he?” asked he of his wife, as she came forward to meet him.
“He lives as yet,” she replied sadly; “but his sickness hath taken an ill turn, and——”
“I could have better spared a better man,” said Du Guesclin, in the very words that Shakespeare has immortalized. ”

“ But this mishap, so far from daunting him, seemed to goad him to fury. With a cry of rage he hurled the broken weapon far away, and, springing like a tiger on Du Guesclin, seized him in a clutch that made every joint of his armour crackle.
But this mode of attack was not likely to take by surprise the best wrestler in Brittany. Quick as thought Bertrand dropped his axe, and, in turn, seized his foe in a hug worthy of a Polar bear, and the grapplers swayed to and fro, stamping, struggling, gasping, now one and now the other seeming to have the mastery. ”

“ Then his head was seen to droop, and, without a word, he sank forward till his face rested on Bertrand’s knee.
They sprang to raise him, but too late; the aged monk was dead!
“He goes before me as my guide,” said Du Guesclin, solemnly, “and great honour it is for a sinner like me to pass through the gate of death with the holiest man in France. Sir Alured, give me thy hand once more, and the blessing of a dying man go with thee. Farewell, comrades! love one another, and serve truly our lord the king ”

“ In a moment the ring of savage faces and cruel spears that shut in Du Guesclin and Huon melted away like a dream, and a gruff voice said behind them—
“Cheer up, good Sir Bertrand; thou hast stood at bay like a stag of ten, and yon English wolves shall not have thee!”
In fact, this sudden charge of fresh men on wearied ones decided the battle. Confounded by so many successive attacks, the English thought themselves assailed by a new army, and gave way once more; and ere they could rally again, the work was done. ”

“ Olivier spread his shoulders but did not see that Bertrand smiled.
“True,” he confessed, with divine self-unction; “I am a good man at my arms. This cursed spear-wound still smarts a little and chafes under the harness. How many men, mother, can you spare me in the spring?”
Jeanne du Guesclin considered the demand with the fondness of an unwilling fool. Olivier’s vaporings never rang false in her maternal ears. Like many a shrewd, cold-hearted woman, she was deceived pitifully by the one thing that she loved. ”

“ About the year 1320 Bertrand du Guesclin was born in the castle of La Motte Bron, which stood in a picturesque part of Bretagne, about six leagues from the city of Rennes. His father, Reynauld du Guesclin, was a brave and loyal knight, who served God truly, and was very kind to the poor, giving them a great part of his substance, although he was not at all rich himself. ”

“ Bertrand du Guesclin, created Constable of France, was everywhere winning back towns, castles, and fortresses; the gallant Sir John Chandos was killed in Poitou, and by the end of 1370, Ponthieu, Périgord, Rouergue, Saintonge, Poitou, part of Limousin, and nearly all Guyenne had been won back. The rapid restoration of the kingdom was a marvel to every one. The hero du Guesclin was the idol of the nation; the Duc de Bourbon especially loved him because he had avenged his sister the Queen of Spain. The wise and firm government of the King brought prosperity and order into everything. ”

“ Du Guesclin.
And now, in the fourteenth century, a cavalier appeared who was worthy to have broken a lance with
“Uther’s son,
Begirt with British and Armorick knights!”
Romantic character of his early years.
Bertrand du Guesclin, a Breton, of gentle rather than noble family, was a knight in whom the love of military glory burnt with a pure and bright flame. He was born at the chateau of De la Motte de Broen, near Rennes, in Brittany, in the year 1320. Nature had so little graced his personal exterior, that even to the partial eye of a mother he seemed rather a clown than a [Pg 175] gentleman. ”

“ Despite the entreaties of his lady, the hardy old knight was already on his feet to make good his words, when the unknown warrior (who still sat erect in his saddle, waiting to see if any new foe would confront him) lowered his lance to him in courteous salute.
“Honoured sir,” said he, speaking for the first time, “for all others I have the lance of a warrior; for thee I have but the reverence of a son!”
And, opening his visor, he revealed to the thunder-struck father the harsh features of his despised son, Bertrand du Guesclin! ”

“ But Sir Thomas, though foiled for once, was not to be so easily baulked; and, a few minutes later, he said pointedly to Du Guesclin himself—
“I pray thee, good Sir Bertrand, what men were they who followed thee yester-eve? Some of my archers saw among the dead certain men whom they held to belong to a gang of robbers that have long haunted these woods; but I can never believe that any true knight would hold fellowship with such thievish scum!” ”

“ When the war did break out, the Duke of Brittany, as one of the great vassals of the French crown, must, of course, take the field for the King of France with all his Breton knights and nobles, among whom Sir Yvon du Guesclin, the representative of one of the oldest families in the Duchy, must appear with a meagre train of but thirty men-at-arms, instead of the five hundred spears that had followed his more fortunate ancestors.
Never had the stout old warrior so bitterly regretted the poverty and decay of his once formidable house ”

“ Patient, wary, unscrupulous, he was hardly crowned before he put an end to the war which had gone on without a pause in Britanny by accepting homage from the claimant whom France had hitherto opposed. Through Bertrand du Guesclin, a fine soldier whom his sagacity had discovered, he forced the king of Navarre to a peace which closed the fighting in Normandy. ”

“ Yvon, to watch the fit moment for a sally on the English rear, while Du Guesclin pressed them in front.
But only by the slackening of the English war-cry, and the swell of the answering French shout, could the anxious watchers on the walls guess how the fight was going; for of its actual progress little or nothing could be seen. Only at times did they catch a dim and doubtful glimpse of shadowy masses of men surging up against each other, clashing, parting, meeting once more, while a keen glitter of steel ran through the gloom like a shower of flying sparks. ”

“ The English, on the other hand, knew that if that food reached the town all their toil would be thrown away; and they fought like tigers to beat the assailants back.
“Lads!” roared Du Guesclin, “within yon walls are women weeping over their starving children, and here is the food that can save them!”
Fired by this appeal, the Bretons rushed on again, and the English put forth all their might to bar the way. The fight was at its hottest, when Huon saw his chance, and, flinging open the gate, came like a thunderbolt on the English ranks with a shout of “St. Yves for Bretagne!” ”

“ When the king gave Bertrand du Guesclin the countship of Longueville, in the diocese of Rouen, which had belonged to Philip, brother of the King of Navarre, Du Guesclin promised the king that he would drive out by force of arms all the plunderers and robbers, those enemies of the kingdom ”