Bertrand Du Guesclin
In the castle of Motte-Broon, near Rennes, France, there was born about
the year 1314 "the ugliest child from Rennes to Dinan," as an
uncomplimentary chronicle says. He was a flat-nosed, swarthy,
big-headed, broad-shouldered fellow, a regular wretch, in his own
mother's words, violent in temper, using his fist as freely as his
tongue, driving his tutor away before he could teach him to read, but
having no need to be ta
ght to fight, since this art came to him by
nature. At sixteen he fled from home to Rennes, where he entered into
adventures, quarrels, and challenges, and distinguished himself by
strength, courage, and a strong sense of honor.
He quickly took part in the wars of the time, showed his prowess in
every encounter, and in the war against Navarre, won the highest honors.
At a later date he engaged in the civil wars of Spain, where he headed
an army of thirty thousand men. In the end the adventurers who followed
him, Burgundian, Picard, Champagnese, Norman, and others, satisfied with
their spoils, left him and returned to France. Bertrand had but some
fifteen hundred men-at-arms remaining under his command when a great
peril confronted him. He was a supporter of Henry of Transtamare, who
was favorable to France, and who had made him Constable of Castile.
This was not pleasing to Edward III. of England. Don Pedro the Cruel, a
king equally despised and detested, had been driven from Castile by the
French allies of his brother Henry. Edward III. determined to replace
him on the throne, and with this intent sent his son, the Black Prince,
with John Chandos, the ablest of the English leaders, and an army of
twenty-seven thousand men, into the distracted kingdom.
A fierce battle followed on April 3, 1367. The ill-disciplined soldiers
of Henry were beaten and put to rout. Du Guesclin and his men-at-arms
alone maintained the fight, with a courage that knew no yielding. In the
end they were partly driven back, partly slain. Du Guesclin set his back
against a wall, and fought with heroic courage. There were few with him.
Up came the Prince of Wales, saw what was doing, and cried,--
"Gentle marshals of France, and you too, Bertrand, yield yourselves to
me."
"Yonder men are my foes," exclaimed Don Pedro, who accompanied the
prince; "it is they who took from me my kingdom, and on them I mean to
take vengeance."
He came near to have ended his career of vengeance then and there. Du
Guesclin, incensed at his words, sprang forward and dealt him so furious
a blow with his sword as to hurl him fainting to the ground. Then,
turning to the prince, the valiant warrior said, "Nathless, I give up my
sword to the most valiant prince on earth."
The prince took the sword, and turning to the Captal of Buch, the
Navarrese commander, whom Bertrand had years before defeated and
captured, bade him keep the prisoner.
"Aha, Sir Bertrand," said the Captal, "you took me at the battle of
Cocherel, and to-day I've got you."
"Yes," retorted Bertrand; "but at Cocherel I took you myself, and here
you are only my keeper."
Pedro was restored to the throne of Castile,--which he was not long to
hold,--and the Prince of Wales returned to Bordeaux, bringing him his
prisoner. He treated him courteously enough, but held him in strict
captivity, and to Sir Hugh Calverley, who begged that he would release
him at a ransom suited to his small estate, he answered,--
"I have no wish for ransom from him. I will have his life prolonged in
spite of himself. If he were released he would be in battle again, and
always making war."
And so Bertrand remained in captivity, until an event occurred of which
the chroniclers give us an entertaining story. It is this event which it
is our purpose to relate.
A day came in which the Prince of Wales and his noble companions, having
risen from dinner, were amusing themselves with narratives of daring
deeds of arms, striking love-passages, and others of the tales with
which the barons of that day were wont to solace their leisure. The talk
came round to the story of how St. Louis, when captive in Tunis, had
been ransomed with fine gold, paid down by weight. At this point the
prince spoke, somewhat unthinkingly.
"When a good knight is made prisoner in fair feat of arms," he said,
"and sworn to abide prisoner, he should on no account depart without his
master's leave. But one should not demand such portion of his substance
in ransom as to leave him unable to equip himself again."
The Sire de Lebret, who was friendly to Du Guesclin, answered,--
"Noble sire, be not angry if I relate what I have heard said of you in
your absence."
"By my faith," said the prince, "right little should I love follower of
mine, sitting at my table, if he heard a word said against my honor and
apprised me not of it."
"Sire," answered he of Lebret, "men say that you hold in prison a knight
whose name I well know, whom you dare not deliver."
"That is true," broke in Oliver de Clisson; "I have heard the same
said."
The prince heard them with a countenance that reddened with anger.
"I know no knight in the world," he declared, "who, if he were my
prisoner, I would not put to a fair ransom, according to his ability."
"How, then, do you forget Bertrand du Guesclin?" said Lebret.
The prince doubly changed color on hearing this. He felt himself fairly
caught, and, after a minute's indecision, he gave orders that Bertrand
should be brought before him.
The knights who went in search found Bertrand talking with his
chamberlain, as a relief to his weariness.
"You are come in good time," he said to his visitors, and bade the
chamberlain bring wine.
"It is fitting that we should have good and strong wine," said one of
the knights, "for we bring you good and pleasant tidings, with the best
of good-will."
"The prince has sent us for you," said another. "We think you will be
ransomed by the help of the many friends you have in court."
"What say you?" answered Bertrand. "I have not a half-penny to my purse,
and owe more than ten thousand livres in this city, which have been lent
me since I have been held prisoner here. I cannot well ask more from my
friends."
"How have you got rid of so much?" asked one of his visitors.
"I can easily answer for that," said Bertrand, with a laugh. "I have
eaten, drunk, given, and played at dice. A little money is soon spent.
But that matters not; if once free I shall soon pay it. He who, for my
help, lends me the keys of his money, has it in the best of keeping."
"Sir, you are stout-hearted," answered an officer. "It seems to you that
everything which you would have must happen."
"By my faith, you are right," said Bertrand, heartily. "In my view a
dispirited man is a beaten and discomfited one."
"Surely there is enchantment in your blood," rejoined the officer, "for
you seem proof against every shock."
Leaving Bertrand's chamber, they sought that in which was the prince and
his companions. The prisoner was dressed in a rough gray coat, and bore
himself with manly ease and assurance. The prince laughed pleasantly on
seeing him.
"Well, Bertrand, how are you?" he asked.
"Sir, when it shall please you, I may fare better," answered Bertrand,
bowing slightly. "Many a day have I heard the rats and mice, but it is
long since I have heard the song of birds. I shall hear them when it is
your pleasure."
"That shall be when you will, Bertrand," said the prince. "I require you
only to swear never to bear arms against me nor these with me, nor to
assist Henry of Spain. If you consent to this, we shall set you free,
pay your debts, and give ten thousand florins to equip you anew. If you
refuse, you shall not go."
"Then, sir," answered Bertrand, proudly, "my deliverance will not come
to pass, for before I do this, may I lie chained by the leg in prison
while I live. With God's will, I shall never be a reproach to my
friends, but shall serve with my whole heart the good king of France,
and the noble dukes of Anjou, Berry, Burgundy, and Bourbon, whose
subject I have been. But, so please you, worthy prince, suffer me to
go. You have held me too long in prison, wrongfully and without cause.
Had I been free I had intended to go from France, to work out my
salvation by fighting the Saracens."
"Why, then, went you not straight, without stopping?" asked the prince.
"I will tell you," exclaimed Bertrand, in a loud and fierce tone. "We
found Peter,--the curse of God confound him!--who had long since thrice
falsely murdered his noble queen, who was of the royal blood of France
and your own cousin. I stopped to take revenge for her, and to help
Henry, whom I believe to be the rightful king of Spain. But you, through
pride and covetousness of gold and silver, came to Spain, thinking to
have the throne after the death of Peter. In this you injured your own
blood and troubled me and my people, ruined your friends and famished
your army, and for what? After all this, Peter has deceived you by
cheating and trickery, for he has not kept faith nor covenant with you.
But for this, by my soul and faith, I thank him heartily."
These bold words were listened to by the prince with a changeful face.
Seldom had he heard the truth spoken so bluntly, or with such firm
composure in the speaker. When he had ceased, the prince rose, and with
a somewhat bitter laugh declared that, on his soul, Bertrand had spoken
but the truth. The barons around repeated the same among themselves,
and, fixing their eyes on Bertrand, said,--"A brave fellow, the
Breton."
"Whether this be truth or no, Bertrand," continued the prince, "you have
rejected my offer, and shall not escape without a good ransom. It vexes
me to let you go at all, for your king has none like you; but as men say
that I keep you prisoner because I fear you, you shall go free on
payment of sufficient ransom. Men shall learn that I neither fear nor
care for you."
"Sir, I thank you," said Bertrand. "But I am a poor knight of little
name and small means. What estate I have is deeply mortgaged for the
purchase of war-horses, and I owe besides in this town full ten thousand
florins. I pray you, therefore, to be moderate, and deliver me."
"Where will you go, fair sir?" asked the prince.
"Where I may regain my loss," answered Bertrand. "More than that, I say
not."
"Consider, then," said the prince, "what ransom you will give me. What
sum you name shall be enough for me."
"I trust you will not stoop to retract your meaning," rejoined Bertrand.
"And since you are content to refer it to my pleasure, I ought not to
value myself too low. So I will give and engage for my freedom one
hundred thousand double golden florins."
These words roused the greatest surprise and excitement in the room.
Many of those present started, and the prince changed color, as he
looked around at his knights.
"Does he mean to make game of me, that he offers such a sum?" asked the
prince. "I would gladly free him for the quarter."
Then, turning again to Bertrand, who stood with impassive countenance,
he said,--
"Bertrand, neither can you pay, nor do I wish such a sum. So consider
again."
"Sir," answered Bertrand, with grave composure, "since you wish not so
much, I place myself at sixty thousand double florins; you shall not
have less, if you but discharge me."
"Be it so," said the prince. "I agree to it."
Then Bertrand looked round him with glad eyes, and drew up his form with
proud assurance.
"Sir," he said, "Prince Henry may truly vaunt that he will die king of
Spain, cost him what it may, if he but lend me half my ransom, and the
king of France the other. If I can neither go nor send to these two, I
will get all the spinstresses in France to spin it, rather than that I
should remain longer in your hands."
"What sort of man is this?" said the prince, aside to his lords. "He is
startled by nothing, either in act or thought; no more than if he had
all the gold in the world. He has set himself at sixty thousand double
florins, when I would have willingly accepted ten thousand."
The barons talked among one another, lost in astonishment. Bertrand
stood aside, his eyes fixed quietly upon the prince.
"Am I then at liberty?" he asked.
"Whence shall the money come?" queried Chandos.
"Trust me to find it," said Bertrand. "I have good friends."
"By my faith," answered Chandos, heartily, "you have one of them here.
If you need my help, thus much I say: I will lend you ten thousand."
"You have my thanks," answered Bertrand. "But before accepting your
offer, I will try the people of my own country."
The confidence of the gallant soldier was not misplaced. Part of the sum
was raised among his Breton friends, and King Charles V. of France lent
him thirty thousand Spanish doubloons. In the beginning of 1368 the
Prince of Wales set him at liberty.
The remaining story of the life of Du Guesclin is a stirring and
interesting one. War was the only trade he knew, and he plunged boldly
into it. First he joined the Duke of Anjou, who was warring in Provence
against Queen Joan of Naples. Then he put his sword again at the service
of Henry of Transtamare, who was at war once more with Pedro the Cruel,
and whom he was soon to dethrone and slay with his own hand. But shortly
afterwards war broke out again between France and England, and Charles
V. summoned Du Guesclin to Paris.
The king's purpose was to do the greatest honor to the poor but proud
soldier. He offered him the high office of Constable of
France,--commander-in-chief of the army and the first dignitary under
the crown. Du Guesclin prayed earnestly to be excused, but the king
insisted, and he in the end felt obliged to yield. The poor Breton had
now indeed risen to high estate. The king set him beside himself at
table, showed him the deepest affection, and showered on him gifts and
estates. His new wealth the free-handed soldier dispensed lavishly,
giving numerous and sumptuous dinners, where, says his poet
chronicler,--
"At Bertrand's plate gazed every eye,
So massive, chased so gloriously."
This plate proved a slippery possession. More than once he pledged it,
and in the end sold great part of it, to pay "without fail the knights
and honorable fighting-men of whom he was the leader."
The war roused a strong spirit of nationality through France. Towns,
strongholds, and castles were everywhere occupied and fortified. The
English marched through the country, but found no army in the field, no
stronghold that was to be had without a hard siege. Du Guesclin adopted
the waiting policy, and kept to it firmly against all opposition of lord
or prince. It was his purpose to let the English scatter and waste
themselves in a host of small operations and petty skirmishes. For eight
years the war continued, with much suffering to France, with no gain to
England. In 1373 an English army landed at Calais, which overran nearly
the whole of France without meeting a French army or mastering a French
fortress, while incessantly harassed by detached parties of soldiers. On
returning, of the thirty thousand horses with which they had landed,
"they could not muster more than six thousand at Bordeaux, and had lost
full a third of their men and more. There were seen noble knights who
had great possessions in their own country, toiling along afoot, without
armor, and begging their bread from door to door without getting any."
Such were the happy results for France of the Fabian policy of the
Constable Du Guesclin.
A truce was at length signed, that both parties might have time to
breathe. Soon afterwards, on June 8, 1376, the Black Prince died, and in
June of the following year his father, Edward III., followed him to the
tomb, and France was freed from its greatest foes. During his service as
constable, Bertrand had recovered from English hands the provinces of
Poitou, Guienne, and Auvergne, and thus done much towards the
establishment of a united France.
Du Guesclin was not long to survive his great English enemies. The king
treated him unjustly, and he threw up his office of constable, declaring
that he would seek Spain and enter the service of Henry of Castile. This
threat brought the king to his senses. He sent the Dukes of Anjou and
Bourbon to beg Du Guesclin to retain his office. The indignant soldier
yielded to their persuasions, accepted again the title of Constable of
France, and died four days afterwards, on July 13, 1380. He had been
sent into Languedoc to suppress disturbances and brigandage, provoked by
the harsh government of the Duke of Anjou, and in this service fell
sick while besieging Chateauneuf-Randon, in the Gevandan, a fortress
then held by the English. He died at sixty-six years of age, with his
last words exhorting the captains around him "never to forget that, in
whatsoever country they might be making war, churchmen, women, children,
and the poor people were not their enemies."
He won victory even after his death, so say the chronicles of that day.
It is related that an agreement had been made for the surrender of the
besieged fortress, and that the date fixed was July 14, the day after Du
Guesclin died. The new commander of the army summoned the governor to
surrender, but he declared that he had given his word to Du Guesclin,
and would yield the place to no other. He was told that the constable
was dead.
"Very well;" he replied, "I will carry the keys of the town to his
tomb."
And so he did. He marched out of the place at the head of his garrison,
passed through the lines of the besieging army, knelt before Du
Guesclin's corpse, and laid the keys of Chateauneuf-Randon on his bier.
And thus passed away one of the greatest and noblest warriors France had
ever known, honored in life and triumphant in death.