Chapter IV: Part 4

After escaping from many dangers, he came through Ludermannland to the house of Joachim Brahe, a noble councillor of Sweden, who had married his sister Margaret. The meeting between brother and sister was full of joy, and Gustavus hoped that Brahe would have been prevailed upon to take up arms in the defence of his country, but the prudent statesman was not to be enticed. Christiern, whose presence had for a time been required in Denmark, was now on his way to Stockholm, and Brahe was one of the guests invited thither to behold the crown of Sweden placed upon his head. He could see nothing but rashness and certain failure in the project of taking up arms against so powerful a foe. Gustavus, therefore, bade his sister farewell with a heavy heart, and went on his way once more, and after wandering about some time longer in disguise, he retired to a country house at Rafnaes, which belonged to his father, to think over in solitude what was best to be done.

King Christiern arrived in Stockholm with his wife, leaving Sigbritt to manage the affairs of Denmark. With the help of the Pope, and the Archbishop of Upsal, he had himself declared heir to the Swedish throne before an immense concourse of people, and was crowned in their presence. Before this he promised to release all captives, and conferred many marks of royal favour upon the chief men of Stockholm. The first days after he was crowned were given up to knightly sports, and feasting, and merriment. But before three days had passed, the king's cruel temper got the better of him, and he withdrew from the scene of rejoicing to a secret council chamber, where he sat thinking over the best means of getting rid of the bishops and senators, and all men of high estate in Sweden, that his own position on the throne might be quite secure.

Soon it appeared as if a shadow of gloom had fallen over the city, where all had been noisy mirth: the castle was suddenly filled with prisoners; bishops and statesmen were alike consigned to its dark dungeons; in all the market places scaffolds were erected; and the unhappy captives were told that they must die.

The 8th of November in the year 1520 was the day on which the fearful deed began, a deed never equalled in horror in the annals of Swedish history. Early in the dark morning all the gates of the city were shut to prevent anybody from taking flight, and making the affair known in the country beyond. Every new comer was let in, but no one was allowed to go out. The streets were guarded, and field-pieces were placed upon the great market place, levelled towards the people. The way from the castle to the market was lined with Danish soldiers; trumpeters rode about the streets and proclaimed that all persons were to retire to their houses; and close their doors on pain of death. But the common people were horror-struck at these preparations they dared to disobey the king's orders, and crowded together to see what would happen next.

Towards noon the castle gates were opened, and bishops and nobles, councillors and burgomasters, were led between executioners and common soldiers to the appointed place on the market, just in front of the Council House. The bishops were clad in their sacred robes, the councillors had not had time to take off the dress they wore in council. Oh what a sad procession it was, as they came slowly along, with erect heads and a proud and calm demeanour worthy of their race! Sobs and murmurs were heard amongst the crowd; the roughest of the soldiers and headsmen were touched with pity and respect as these innocent men, most of them grey-headed, walked to their death. As soon as they reached the market place, a speech was made to the mob in which it was declared that the king was deeply grieved to be obliged to have recourse to such severe measures, but that he felt himself bound to punish the Swedes for the offence they had given to the Pope by becoming Protestants. And thus he made the terrible crime he was about to commit even worse, by his falsehood!

One of the bishops, an aged man, then declared his innocence, and asked that a clergyman might be allowed to attend himself and his companions in their last moments; but his request was refused, and a noise was made to prevent his words from being heard by the people. Then the headsmen began their dread work; the fourth victim was Erick Johannson the father of Gustavus. In a little time the market place was filled with dead bodies and the streets streamed with blood. Some of the mob, roused to a state of frenzy by the dreadful spectacle, made an attempt to rescue those of the doomed ones who were yet living, but they were cut down by the soldiers who had received orders to quell any outbreak on the part of the common people with the punishment of death. Escape was not to be thought of, because the gates of the city were always kept closed; the frightened people crept into cellars and corners. And when the king heard that they had hidden themselves, he caused a decree of pardon to be read, so that many of them came out believing it to be true, and only fell into the trap he had thus artfully laid for them.

Ninety-four Swedes fell the first day. For two days and two nights the corpses lay on the market place, and the cattle and the fowls strayed amongst them. To add to the horror the king caused the dead bodies of Sture the younger and his son Sten to be disinterred and thrown amongst the murdered to be buried with them.

Sture's widow, Christina, did not escape the king's wrath; she was summoned to his presence and condemned to die, but some persons present asked the tyrant to spare her life, and she was only sentenced to be imprisoned for the rest of her days.

In other parts of Sweden deeds equally cruel were enacted. Numbers of the peasants were deprived each of a leg and a hand, and, thus maimed, they were supposed to be able to till the land although they could not possibly fight. For these acts of cruelty and oppression Christiern the Second justly gained the title of the Wicked, and his own people soon began to hate him as much as the Swedes hated him for all the evil he had done.

In the meantime Gustavus was sought for in vain. He was still in his hiding-place at Rafnaes, sending out his peasants now and then to collect news. And one sad day a grey-haired man came to the neighbouring castle of Gripsholm which belonged to Joachim Brahe. It was Brahe's steward; he had followed his master to Stockholm, and had witnessed his unhappy fate. The old man could not speak for crying, and could only make known by signs the terrible events that had happened. Soon after, a peasant came by, and told the same story. And Gustavus sat in the lonely house, sorrowing for his father and his friends, and many of his kindred besides; yet although he was forsaken by all, and surrounded as it were by enemies, he would not give up hope, but only longed the more to succour his unhappy country. So one day he packed up all the money and valuable things he possessed, and taking them with him, left Rafnaes on horseback with the idea of persuading the brave people of Dalecarlia to stand by him in the struggle for freedom.

This province, which was the scene of his adventures for some time, is bordered on its western side by Norway: the mountain ridge which divides the sources of its two rivers Dalef from Lake Famund in that country rises to between three and four thousand feet above the level of the sea. Dalecarlia abounds in rivers and lakes; the winters there are long and severe; corn will not grow, and the tender bark of the pine trees is mixed with the scanty supply of rye or barley of which the people make their bread. Wolves and bears frequent the forests, and fish is plentiful in all the lakes, except in those near Fahlun, now the capital of the province, where the vapours for ever rising out of the great copper mine there, drive away to a distance birds, beasts, and fishes, and destroy, all verdure in the country around. Fahlun lies in a wide valley between two lakes; the mine is a vast abyss, and is worked open to the sky, and besides copper produces gold, silver, vitriol, ochre, and brimstone. The natives of Darlecarlia are hardy from the nature of their climate; they have always been very brave, trusting in their own strength, and having very little intercourse with the other people of Sweden. At the time Gustavus was amongst them they were so simple in their manners that the noblemen could scarcely be distinguished from the peasants. There was not a town then in the whole province, the people clustered together in villages, which were divided into parishes. Some of these lay along the rivers and lakes, others were hidden among the mountains, and were only to be approached by the steepest and most difficult of paths.

Gustavus took with him as he supposed the most faithful of all his servants, but the cowardly man thought the fortunes of his master much too insecure to be followed, and contrived to get away from him with the valuable things it had been his duty to carry. Gustavus soon found out his treachery, and pursued him until his horse could go no farther; then, being in great danger himself, he was obliged to leave the horse and the few things he had with him on the road and run for very life. Thus, without friends or money, clad in a coarse peasant's frock, he wandered about the dark pine forests and the mountains, only occasionally finding a roof to shelter his head from the inclement winter nights, or food to satisfy his sharp hunger. Still he never despaired, but trusted that God would let him live until he should have given back to his country the happiness it had lost for so long.

On the last day of November he arrived at Fahlun, and there he cut his hair short, and put on a round hat, such as the Dalecarlians wore, and a rough woollen vest, and set out with an axe on his shoulder in search of work. In a little time he found employment in the mines of Fahlun, by which he earned barely enough for his support; and finding that the noxious vapours and the closeness of the mines impaired his health, he left them, and wandered farther until he came to the house of a rich man named Andres Fehrson. Here he was hired as a farm-labourer, and set to work in the barns. The other farm-servants soon began to watch the new comer with interest. In their intercourse with him they soon found that he was not quite like one of themselves; he had been observed, too, to wear a rich silken handkerchief, beneath his woollen vest, and they suspected that he was some nobleman in disguise. Reports of this reached the ears of Fehrson, and he desired that the stranger should come to him. The very moment he saw him he recognised him as a fellow student in the school at Upsal, but although he was very glad to see his old comrade again, he dared not keep so dangerous a person in his house, and he urged him to go higher up the mountains and not to stay too long a time in one place. Gustavus was therefore obliged to set out on his wearisome travels once more: the winter had set in with all its rigour, the lakes and rivers were frozen, and as he was crossing some ice between Wika and Torsanga, a part of it gave way, and he fell up to his shoulders in the water, and was very nearly drowned. However, he managed to clamber out, and he found his way to a cottage, where some kind peasants gave him food and shelter, and afterwards brought him to the country house of Arendt Fehrson, a relation of Andres, who had served under Gustavus in the war with the Danes.

This man appeared to receive him with respect and courtesy, but soon after his arrival he rode swiftly to one of his friends to tell him of the prize concealed in his house, and to ask him to join him in making the affair known to the king;--for it will be remembered that a heavy price had been set upon the head of Gustavus--and the man who would have been base enough to betray him would have reaped great gain to himself. This friend was too honourable to listen to such a proposal, and Fehrson, enraged at his refusal, went to another of his friends, an officer in the Danish service, who had fewer scruples. Fehrson passed the evening at his house in feasting and drinking, and it was planned between them that he should return home the next morning, accompanied by twenty men, and seize the fugitive by force.

But Barbro Stigsdotter, the wife of Fehrson, had guessed the treachery of her husband, for she had seen him ride past his own house as he came from Magno Wilson, and take the road which led to the officer's dwelling. Touched with pity, she warned Gustavus of his danger, and kindly provided him with a horse and sledge, so that he might fly at once.

Gustavus was very thankful to avail himself of the means of escape, and was soon flitting over the snow in his sledge beneath the starry sky in search of another place of refuge. The next morning, when Arendt Fehrson arrived with his twenty men, he was told that his guest had been missing since the evening before, and that no one knew whither he was gone.

Gustavus at last reached the house of a true friend, a Swedish pastor, who helped him with good advice during the eight days he remained with him, and strengthened him in his resolve to arouse the Dalecarlians. But he dared not stay longer in this part of the country, because Arendt Fehrson had already spread the report of his being alive; and the pastor drove him to the village of Isale, where he was received into the cottage of an honest peasant named Swen Nilson, who did him good and faithful service.

One day when Gustavus was standing in the cottage, clad in his peasant's garb, which was beginning to be the worse for wear, a body of Danish soldiers employed to track the fugitive, rushed in, breathless and anxious, and asked if a young nobleman, a well known traitor to the king, were not concealed about the place. Nilson answered, No; and his wife, to remove suspicion, gave Gustavus a sharp blow with a long wooden spoon, and scolded him loudly for standing idle instead of going to work in the barn with the others. Gustavus took the hint, and hastened out of the cottage, thus escaping from his pursuers, who did not for one moment suppose that the general of the Swedish army, and the descendant of kings, was concealed beneath so humble a disguise.

After this Swen Nilson had the courage to drive his guest in a cart loaded with straw to Rattwik. It was a dangerous journey: the Danish soldiers guarded all the passes and bridges, and some of them plunged their weapons into the straw, and wounded Gustavus severely in the leg as he lay covered up at the bottom of the cart. He bore the pain in silence, but unfortunately the blood dripped from the wound through the cart, and would have betrayed the fact that he lay hidden there, had not Nilson thought of cutting open the heel of his horse, so that the blood appeared to be trickling from that. Happily the hurt was not dangerous, and the moment after it was bound up on his arrival at Rattwik, Gustavus went to the church, where a great crowd of people had assembled, and without making himself known, he told them of the horrible cruelty of the King of Denmark, and how Sweden would never be free unless they roused themselves, as their brave ancestors would have done, to shake off the shameful bondage.

The peasants listened in horror, they were moved by his words, and said they would take up arms as soon as they could find out how their neighbours were disposed in the matter. Gustavus thought he had gained something, and went on joyfully to Mora, the largest and most populous parish in the valley. The news of his coming got spread abroad, and the Danish governor, who dwelt in the strong castle of Westeras, began to tremble; he knew that the inhabitants of the valleys, if once aroused, could make themselves very terrible. So he doubled the heavy price already set upon the head of Gustavus, and told the people around that none of the deeds reported to be done at Stockholm had really been carried out, and that Christiern was a most kind and merciful sovereign!

It was Christmas-time when Gustavus arrived in Mora: the peasants had come down from their distant mountain homes to make merry with their friends in the valley, and one day he went up to the top of a hill, and spoke to a vast concourse of people, who had followed him out of curiosity. Here again some of the peasants were touched by his words; their eyes filled with tears, and they signified by their shouts and cheers that they were willing to aid him. But others were of a different mind; they did not want to go to war; the nobles had hitherto been chiefly the objects of the king's cruelty, and they thought that they should be left in peace themselves. They were very near fetching their weapons, and chasing the speaker by force from the spot. A turn of good fortune, however, came to Gustavus whilst he was still at Mora.

A party of a hundred Danes, having heard that he was there in the hope of rousing the peasants, rushed suddenly upon the place, making the air resound with their wild cries, and threatening to put every one they met to the sword if he were not given up. The peaceful people of Mora were unused to be thus disturbed, and they hastened to ring the church-bells, which were only rung when some great danger was at hand. The wind carried the sound of the bells to the neighbouring villages, and in a little while some thousand armed peasants were seen pouring into Mora. They stormed the great walled-in court around the pastor's house, where the Danes (alarmed in their turn) had taken refuge, broke down its gates with heavy wooden stakes, and only spared the lives of the soldiers on condition that they should not attempt to lay hands on Gustavus. This was the first time that arms had been taken up in his cause: it was a feeling of honour that prompted the Dalecarlian peasants to defend him, because they said that they should have been ashamed if any one demanding their help had been taken by force from amongst them.

Gustavus, thankful to his preservers, now quitted Mora, and took his way towards the western valleys, so that he might conceal himself in the wilder parts of the country, if the fury of his pursuers increased. Many Swedish nobles had already fled thither, and they came out of their hiding-places, and met together in the valley. And there came to Mora an old man named Lars Olosson, who had always been faithful to his country, and another brave man came from the forest, and entreated the people to take up arms. The peasants now saw that they were in earnest, and they hastened to seek for Gustavus, fearing that he might already have passed the boundary and entered Norway. But Swedish messengers can go on their errands very quickly, because all through their nine months of dreary winter the peasants wear long sliding-shoes, which enable them to flit over the snow with almost the speed of an arrow. These shoes are very strange looking things; they are long, narrow pieces of fir-wood, the one worn on the right foot being three feet in length, and that on the left foot seven. The messengers found Gustavus in a parish called Lima, and he was joyful indeed when he came back to Mora, and saw that two hundred peasants were ready to follow him at once. Their numbers soon increased, and he divided them into little companies, which had their headquarters, so that they could all fight in unity: they were hardy, long-lived men, and could be quite content to live upon coarse meal stirred in water, or a little bread made of the bark of the trees if they could get no better food. And Gustavus still went up the steep mountain paths from cottage to cottage, and from one country house to another to try and persuade the people to help him, and before the ice had melted on the rivers and lakes the number of his followers had increased to several thousand. He chose sixteen of the youngest and bravest for his bodyguard, and maintained strict discipline amongst his men, although he was greatly beloved by them for his kindness of heart.

The first attempt they made was on the strong castle of the Governor of the Koppar Mountain, which they captured, together with the stores of provisions it contained. Amongst these was a large chest full of money, which Gustavus divided amongst his followers, and another day they captured some pieces of silk, which they made into banners, but they had neither powder nor balls as yet.

Now that Gustavus had so large an army he wanted to begin the war by a bold stroke, and he drew off towards Westeras, the governor of the strong fortress there, being at the time absent in Stockholm. Here he gained a great victory over the Danes, which prepared the way to future success, but the manner in which a great part of his army rejoiced over the triumph they had won, was not at all to his taste. It happened thus: some of his troops had gone on in advance, and after a desperate struggle got possession of the place, whilst Gustavus was still in the forest with the rear of his army. After the affray they found some huge casks of wine and brandy, which they carried off to the Council House, and foolishly regaled themselves with until they all fell to quarrelling, or were heavy with sleep. The greatest disorder prevailed; the Danes took advantage of the tumult to renew the attack; and would have recovered the fortress had not Gustavus appeared with the rest of the army. He was very angry indeed with his men, and had to fight hard to drive back the Danes, so that a great number of soldiers were killed on either side; and when the battle was over he caused the hoops to be removed from the casks of wine that remained, and let it all flow away on the ground in sight of his whole army. This was in the month of May in the year 1521, when the short Swedish spring was changing to summer, and the land, having cast off its mantle of snow, looked fresh, and green, and full of hope. In the northern climes the flowers bloom, and the leaves come back to the trees very quickly, and a few weeks sunshine is sufficient to ripen the barley and the rye, or the corn, in the places where it will grow.

After the battle of Westeras the peasants armed themselves in the plains of Sweden; the nobles headed them, and many officers deserted from the Viceroy whom King Christiern had left in Stockholm to manage the affairs of the State. The Viceroy and Trolle were friends; they soon began to be greatly alarmed; but they could get no succour from Denmark because the people there disliked them so much, and were getting so tired of the evil doings of their king. Many battles were fought, and the Swedes were not always successful, but at last Gustavus got possession of Stockholm after having besieged it three times; and a happy day came, when he entered the capital surrounded by senators, officers, and the first nobles in the land, and repaired to the great church, where--kneeling at the foot of the altar,--he thanked the Almighty aloud, for having preserved him through so many dangers, and granted him success. And then he went to the palace, where he wept for those whom he had loved very dearly, and now missed on this day of his triumph. Not only had his father and his brother-in-law perished in the massacre at Stockholm, but his mother Cecilia, and two of his sisters, had been cruelly put to death during the siege. It is said that if the siege had been raised their lives would have been spared, but these brave women knew in that case their country would have been lost, and they were content to die for its sake.

In the year 1523 the Danes would not have Christiern to reign over them any longer, and made his uncle Frederic, Duke of Holstein, king in his stead. Christiern was forced to leave the country, and retired into Flanders, with his wife and children. When Sigbritt had to leave the royal palace, she did not dare venture out of it, even in disguise, and was carried to the vessel destined to receive her concealed in a large chest.

The Swedes, full of gratitude and love for their preserver, wanted him to be crowned King of Sweden. Gustavus, however, refused this honour, and governed the country for some time as administrator. But as the years went on and it was in danger from the plots made by the Roman Catholics and the friends of Christiern, he yielded to the wishes of the people, and in June, 1527, was solemnly crowned King of Sweden under the title of Gustavus the First. He had long forgiven all the offences that had been offered him, whilst he remembered every little act of kindness that had been shown him when he was wandering about, a wretched fugitive, in hourly danger of his life. During the thirty-three years he reigned his great care was to make his subjects happy, and he was fully employed in setting his country in order, after the misery it had suffered for so many years. It was Gustavus who settled the Protestant faith throughout the land, and Luther, and Melancthon, and other great Protestant divines, used frequently to visit his court. He wished to inspire his people with a taste for arts and sciences, and encouraged learning by inviting studious and clever men to Stockholm: printing had been already introduced into Sweden about the year 1483, when Sten Sture the Elder founded the famous School or University at Stockholm. The king employed his peasants in working fresh mines and salt springs; he caused hops to be grown in Sweden, so that the iron sent out yearly in exchange for that produce might be kept in the country, and prove the source of comfort and wealth. Any merchant or tradesman convicted of dishonesty was punished with extreme rigour, and the bad laws were done away with, and good ones ordained in their place. The palace was open to all who demanded audience, when the king was ever ready to hear complaints, or to give advice. He thought the Bible the best of all books, and grounded his actions on its holy precepts; and the Swedes were so happy under his just and merciful rule that they always cried when he went abroad, "Long live Gustavus, the best loved of kings!" Soon after he came to the throne he married Catherine, daughter of the Duke of Magnus, whose sister had just espoused the Crown Prince of Denmark. Catherine died young, and Gustavus next married Margaret, daughter of an ancient senator, the Governor of East Gothnia: this lady was amiable and beautiful, and made her husband and her children very happy. The king used to tell his children not to be proud of their high estate, saying, "One man is as good as another, and when the play is over we are all equal;" meaning, when the life of trial upon earth was ended. The only approach to vanity in his character was to be seen in his love for magnificent apparel; but this was quite an excusable fault, when it is remembered how content he was to wear the coarse peasant's dress in the days of his misfortunes.

At the last assembly he convoked at Stockholm in the year 1560, he was led into the Senate House, where his four sons, Erick, John, Magnus, and Charles, and all the orders in the kingdom were assembled. He then caused his will to be read, and made his children swear to obey it. Erick was declared successor to the throne; John, possessor of Finland; Magnus of Eastern Gothnia; and Charles of Sudermania. In a few earnest words he urged his people to obey his successor and to preserve the greatest unity among themselves; since on that would depend their strength and their freedom: he said also, that if he had ever done any good, thanks for it were to be ascribed to God alone, and implored pardon for all the faults he had committed.

Very soon after this he died, leaving a name which is still cherished in the heart of every Swede; for he was called not only the king, but the father and the instructor of his people. It must not be thought that his long reign was free from care, since he had constantly to preserve himself from the attempts that were made by the friends of Christiern to take his power from him.

When he came to the throne he found the country laid waste by the ravages of war, and its people almost without hope. He left Sweden free and happy, an army ready to march at a moment's notice, and a treasury full of money; indeed, it is said, that after his death a great vaulted chamber was found so full of silver that the door of it could scarcely be opened.

Gustavus never forgot that he owed his success to the brave Dalecarlians; and his watch word, when about to engage on any expedition attended with danger, was always, "God and the Swedish peasants!"

BERTRAND DU GUESCLIN,

THE HERO OF CHIVALRY.

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 was the eldest of ten children. Unhappily his excessive ugliness made him an object of dislike to his mother, and she was not nearly so kind to him as she was to her other children. Besides this, he was self-willed and savage, and his temper would break out into fits of violence which terrified his little brothers and sisters, and exposed him to the contempt of the whole household. This rough and repelling exterior, however, only hid for a time a generous nature and a feeling heart, and many were the tears poor Bertrand shed in solitude, for he was too proud to let them be seen, when he rebelled against the harsh treatment he received on account of his ill-behaviour.

One day the lady of La Motte was seated at table in the dining-hall of the castle with her younger sons, Guillaume and Olivier, whilst Bertrand was eating his dinner in a corner apart. It was very sad to know that the eldest son of the family behaved so rudely that his parents would not allow him to take his place at the table. But this day it happened that some chance word of ridicule reached him in his corner, and he arose in fury, and, rushing towards the table, commanded his brothers to make room for him at the upper end, where his place as the eldest child should have been by right. His brothers, surprised at the tone of his voice, obeyed, and his mother suffered him to sit in the highest place; but he had not been there long before his awkward and uncouth manners obliged her to order him to return to his corner. Bertrand arose, and in his rage clenched his hand, and hit the oaken table so hard a blow that it overturned, and emptied the contents of the dishes into the laps of the persons seated around it. This passionate act of course called down a fresh torrent of reproaches on his head. In the midst of all the disorder a lady, who was a frequent visitor at the castle, entered the hall. She asked Bertrand's mother why she was so angry. The lady of La Motte answered her by pointing to her little son, who was now sobbing bitterly in his corner. The lady went up to him, and although he was sullen at first, she soon persuaded him to tell her his sorrows. She invited him to return to the table, and Bertrand, to the astonishment of all who were present, took the dish of peacock which the steward was just bringing into the hall, and a goblet of wine, and served her with them himself, awkwardly it must be confessed, but in a spirit of gratitude for the few kind words she had spoken.

The lady who had thus befriended him was the daughter of a Jewish physician, but with her father had been converted to Christianity. She was reputed to be very clever, and was skilled in an art which was much practised in those days, namely, that of foretelling future events by observing the lines in people's hands, very much in the same manner as gipsies pretend to tell fortunes, even in our own time. After dinner she called Bertrand to her, and attentively examined his face and his hand, and presently told his mother that she ought to be proud of having such a son, instead of despising him, because she was convinced that when he grew up to be a man he would do great things for the glory of his country. From this day his mother looked more kindly upon him; she had him dressed for the first time in a manner suitable to his rank, and commanded the servants to treat him with the respect due to the eldest son of their master.

Bertrand's fiery temper, however, and his love of fighting, were a continual source of trouble and anxiety to his parents. Before he was nine years of age he would often leave the castle without their knowledge, and collect all the children he met with on his way, and then fight them one by one, or try his strength against a number of them together. When he returned home, bleeding, and with torn and soiled garments, his mother would justly reprove him for behaving so little like a gentleman.

At last his fighting propensities increased to such a pitch that the country people complained of him to his father, and the Sire de la Motte was obliged to order a forfeit to be paid by the parents of all children who were found in his company. Nevertheless Bertrand still contrived to get out of the castle secretly, and to lead the little villagers to their mimic battles. His father, as a last resource, shut him up in the dungeon of the castle, and in this dreary place he remained four months. But one evening a maid-servant, whose office it was to bring him his food twice a day, left the door open behind her, and Bertrand managed to slip out, not forgetting in his haste to turn the key upon her, in case she should betray him to his parents. Then he ran as fast as ever he could to a field, unfastened a mare from one of his father's ploughs, mounted it, laughing heartily the while at the ploughman, who was rushing after him, and galloped as far as Rennes, without saddle or bridle, to the house of his aunt, a sister of the Sire de la Motte, who was married to a knight of great honour.

His aunt had often heard of his misconduct at home, and was not at all pleased to see him arrive in such plight. She began scolding him in harsh words, when luckily for him his uncle intervened in his favour, reminding his wife that Bertrand was only a child, and had done nothing yet to forfeit his honour. "He is brave and spirited," said the good knight; "let us keep him in our house, and see if we cannot transform him into a great captain for the glory of Bretagne."

Bertrand remained with his uncle at Rennes until he was sixteen, and learned from him all the accomplishments necessary for a knight. Moreover, he learned to be gentle and courteous to those around him, and in these happier circumstances the good points of his character shone forth, and his violent temper was curbed, whilst his spirit remained free. It is related of him that he was so generous, that when he met with any poor persons, and had no money with him, he would give them some of the very clothes he wore, and if he had only a penny would share it with those who were in need. He found his greatest delight in listening to his uncle's stories of battles and sieges, and when some noble exploit was related, would clap his hands for joy, whilst his eyes shone like fire.

A very great fault, however, still remained to him, and that was his love of fighting. One Sunday it was announced in the city of Rennes that a prize would be given to the youth who should acquit himself best in single combat. Bertrand burned with impatience to enter the lists, and his aunt, fearing the temptation might prove too strong for him, carried him off with her to church, thinking he would certainly be safe there under her vigilant eye. As soon as Bertrand saw that her attention was fully absorbed in listening to the sermon, he took the opportunity of slipping out of church, and ran at full speed to the market-place. Here he was recognised by some of his opponents of former years, but he made them promise not to betray him to his aunt, and was just going to enter the lists, when a young Breton, who had thrown twelve of his competitors to the ground, advanced proudly to claim the prize, which was a hat with feather and silver band.

Bertrand defied him to the combat, and after a long struggle succeeded in overthrowing him; but during the time he had happened to fall on his opponent, and in so doing had cut his knee severely with a stone. This accident caused him so much pain that he could hardly stand, and he begged his comrades to take him to a surgeon's, where his wound could be dressed. The prize was brought to him there, but he dared not accept it, for fear his aunt, of whom he always seems to have had a wholesome dread, should hear of what he had done. She had indeed missed him, and had sought for him everywhere, and she did not spare her reproaches when she discovered the state he was in. Nevertheless she showed him greater kindness than he deserved, and nursed him until he had recovered from his wound.

The knight at last persuaded his father to recall him to the castle of La Motte Bron. Now Bertrand tasted the real joy of home for the first time, for his father was so delighted at the improvement in his character that he no longer withheld his love from him, and every member of the household had a kind word for him; while in former times, when he was so very naughty and unruly, there had only been complaints and reproofs.

The Sire Du Guesclin took care that the martial studies of his son should be completed, and gave him a little horse, on which Bertrand rode about to visit the great lords in the neighbourhood, and was present at the jousts and tournaments which were so often held at that time. Du Guesclin's poverty and youth prevented him, however, from entering the lists, and making known his courage and martial skill to the world. He grieved, too, because he was so ugly, and so humbly equipped, his famed steed being "little better than a miller's horse."

The time came at last when he was enabled to distinguish himself. A great tournament was announced at Rennes on the marriage of Jeanne de Penthievre, heiress to the duchy of Bretagne, with Charles de Blois, who was nephew to the King of France. The Sire de la Motte Bron judged it to be a fit occasion for the display of his dignity, and went with the nobles of Bretagne to Rennes, followed by a great number of his vassals; whilst poor Bertrand, mounted on his insignificant horse, and easily recognised by the roundness and largeness of his head, his short nose, his strongly-marked eyebrows, and his square-set figure, was an object of ridicule to the peasants as they flocked along the road to Rennes. The tournament used to be held in an open space inside the city, and the ladies, richly attired, looked on from the windows and balconies around.

Bertrand's eyes flashed when he reached the arena where the knights were already engaged, and heard the sound of the trumpets and the clashing of the weapons. "I shall never please the ladies," he said, as he had said many a time before, "but I will make my name to be feared by the enemies of my country."

Seeing one of his relations retire from the combat, he followed him to his house, and, throwing himself on his knees before him, implored him to lend him some armour and a horse. His cousin good-naturedly lent him a fresh horse, and armed him himself, and Bertrand rushed back to the tournament, and, having entered the lists without naming himself, challenged a knight, and quickly overthrew him. Another knight now came forward to avenge the vanquished one, and Bertrand was just going to attack him, when he saw his father's arms upon his shield, and bowing low, withdrew, to the astonishment of the spectators. After this he challenged no fewer than fifteen knights without coming to grief himself. All the people present were now very anxious to know his name, and one of the ladies who sat in the great balcony entreated a Norman knight to descend into the arena, and, if possible, remove the visor from the victor's face. The knight went down, and had just succeeded in removing the helmet from Bertrand's head, when a strong arm suddenly lifted him off his horse and laid him in the dust. Then Reynauld du Guesclin recognised his son, and hastened to embrace him in his pride and joy, and Bertrand was proclaimed victor over all to the sound of the trumpets, and received the prize, which was a beautiful silver swan, life size. The prize, however, he did not keep for himself, but gave it to his cousin, whose kindness had enabled him to win so great renown.

When Bertrand was twenty years of age he was no longer contented with displaying his prowess in tournaments, but began to fight in good earnest, taking the part of Charles de Blois in a quarrel that lasted for a very long time between that prince and his rival, Jean de Montfort.

Jean de Bretagne, known by the name of the Good Duke, had died without leaving any childhood, and was succeeded by his brother, Guy, Count of Penthievre, whose daughter's marriage with Charles de Blois had occasioned the festivity at Rennes. Charles thus claimed the duchy in right of his wife; but Guy was no sooner dead than his half-brother, Jean de Montfort, came forward, and maintained that his title to Bretagne was a better one than that of his niece.

This was not true, because the right of female succession had been fully established in the duchy, and the King of France and many of the Breton nobles sided with Charles, while the King of England sent assistance to De Montfort.

The wives of both princes were women of extraordinary spirit. Jeanne, Countess de Montfort, defended her husband's rights whilst he lived, and after his death those of his son, who was likewise named Jean; and once during the war, when she was shut up in the town of Hennebon, she held out, like a brave and skilful general, against all the attacks of the enemy until Sir Walter Manny arrived with succour from King Edward the Third of England. Jeanne de Penthievre was a woman of equal courage, but her pride and ambition caused her husband to risk the battle which cost him his life, and proved, as will be seen hereafter, the ruin of her own cause.

Du Guesclin chose the side of Charles de Blois because he believed it to be the right one. "Never," said he, "while I live, will I maintain an unrighteous cause." He was soon at the head of sixty men, in readiness to serve, and sold his mother's jewels that he might be able to buy horses, harness, and arms. His chroniclers tell us, however, how he very soon captured from an English knight, whom he met in a forest, a treasure consisting of jewels, which he gave to his mother in compensation for those she had lost. Although gunpowder was known in those days, it was very little used; the chief weapons were swords, lances, battle-axes, cross-bows, and clubs; and every warrior defended himself with the shield. Bertrand's name came to be feared by his enemies, as he had predicted in the days gone by: his first attempts in warfare were chiefly against the English, who held many of the fortresses in Bretagne for Jean de Montfort. A story is told of the manner in which he gained possession of one of these, the Castle of Fougeray, which was a very important place.

Bertrand knew all the ins and outs of the castle, because in the chances of war he had once been a prisoner for a short time within its walls, and he disguised himself, and about twenty of his companions in arms, as wood-cutters, in white gowns reaching down to the knee, and with bundles of faggots on their shoulders, as he had often seen the poor peasants bringing wood to the castle. He divided his men, to make it appear that they were coming from different parts of the country to sell their wood, and waited for the time when the governor should have gone out of his stronghold with a part of the garrison. When all was ready they passed the night securely in the forest, and came out of it in the grey dawn of the morning with their bundles on their shoulders.

The watchman of Fougeray saw them dimly in the distance, and rang the bell, to give the alarm, but all fear vanished when it was seen that only wood-cutters were coming towards the castle. Bertrand advanced to the drawbridge, and asked the porter if he did not want wood. The porter said that he did, and not suspecting any harm, let down the drawbridge at once. Du Guesclin laid down his heavy load of wood so as to prevent the bridge from being drawn up, and rushed on to the castle, shouting "Guesclin," the war cry which afterwards became so terrible to his enemies. His comrades followed quickly at his summons; the unhappy porter fell wounded in the struggle, and as there were a hundred men in the place and Bertrand had only sixty when all had come to his aid, the conflict was very sharp; women and children even throwing showers of stones on the heads of the Bretons. Du Guesclin himself was severely wounded, and was found defending himself to the last, without his hatchet, when a party of cavalry belonging to Charles de Blois came up in time to secure possession of the castle. The whole affair may have been considered an ingenious trick, but I think it would have been more noble for Bertrand to have ridden up openly to his enemies, clad in his armour, and with his sword in his hand, than to have deceived them by the woodcutter's guise.

The war went on, and at last the King of England sent Henry, the good Duke of Lancaster, to Bretagne at the head of a large force, with orders to lay siege to Rennes, the city where Bertrand had passed the happiest days of his boyhood, and which had twice been the scene of his triumphs. Besides all the great English nobles who had accompanied the duke, the army was increased by many Breton gentlemen who had enlisted themselves on the side of Jean de Montfort, and Lancaster made a solemn vow not to depart from Rennes until he had planted his standard upon its walls.

Bertrand concealed himself in a forest near the city, and constantly harassed his enemies by rushing suddenly upon them, by day and by night, and always to the cry of "Guesclin," until at last the Duke of Lancaster swore that if ever the brave Breton captain fell into his hands, he would never let him free, however large a ransom might be offered for him.

Lancaster made several attempts upon Rennes, but with little success. One day an English officer who had been captured by Du Guesclin, told him that his countrymen intended to undermine the city and open a breach. Upon this news Bertrand contrived one very dark night to glide with his Bretons into the midst of the English camp, where all was silent, and set fire to some of the tents. The enemy, awakened by the usual cry of "Guesclin," thought that Charles de Blois had fallen upon them with his army, and were very angry as they put out their fires to find it was only Bertrand with his handful of men.

The governor of Rennes now gave orders that in all the houses near the ramparts little copper basins should be hung with one or two balls of brass in each, so that by the jingling of the metal, which the movement of the miners would cause, it might be known in what direction they were at work. By this means the garrison were enabled to work against them until the mine was pierced, and the besiegers found a body of troops ready to beat them back.

The Duke of Lancaster now thought of another plan for subduing the people of Rennes. Knowing that they were almost without provisions, he caused two thousand pigs to be assembled in a field near the walls of the city, hoping that the hungry inhabitants would come out for the purpose of capturing them. The governor, however, was not to be outwitted, and had a sow attached by a rope to the gate of Rennes, with its head downwards. The sow struggled so hard to free itself and grunted and squeaked so loud that the other pigs were naturally attracted to the spot. When the besieged saw that the pigs were coming in that direction they lowered the drawbridge, and cut the rope. The sow, thus released, ran joyfully back into the city, followed by all the other pigs, and it was certain that the famished people of Rennes had a good meal that day and for many days after.

Du Guesclin performed numerous acts of daring during the siege, and one day, when the Bretons had eaten up the two thousand pigs and were very near dying of hunger again, he intercepted and captured a hundred waggons, loaded with wine, flour, and salt meat, which were on their way to the English camp; but when he found that the waggoners were supplying these provisions to the enemy at their own cost, he paid them liberally for all that he had seized.

The Duke of Lancaster now prepared a huge machine which was often used in those times of warfare. This was a wooden tower on wheels, as high as the walls of the city, which contained a number of men inside, who shot surely from it with their arrows. The tower would have caused great havoc, had not Bertrand one night crawled out with his Bretons, and completely destroyed it by fire.