« السابقةمتابعة »
STORY OF JOAN OF ARC.
Last summer I travelled through the north of France, and wandered over many spots whose names are recorded in the history of those days when England ruled over great part of that fair country. In the bustling town of Havre, in her streets crowded with busy merchants, her quays lumbered with cotton bales, and her docks filled with steam vessels, there are few traces of the little fishing village, whose name finds no place in history until long
after the period when France owned the British monarch for her lord; though there is one old tower, facing the sea at the entrance of the port, which bears evidence of an origin before the use of the cross-bow was quite laid aside for the cannon and musket. Its walls are sculptured over with cannon balls and cross-bow bolts, as if half embedded there, in token, I presume, that the builders considered them too thick to be endangered by the most formidable artillery.
But when proceeding along the beautiful banks of the Seine we reach the old town of Harfleur, now reduced to a village, whilst the
little Havre has grown into a great city, we find many things to recall the days of England's triumph. There are the ruins of the very walls surmounted by our warriors, and in an old piece of masonry a massive staple still exists on which
perhaps hung the very gate which was flung back to admit the conqueror, who, there dismounting, made bare his legs and feet, and walked from thence barefooted to the parish church of St. Martin, where he gave thanks to God for his success. As I stood on the hill which overlooks the town, I pictured to myself the probable positions of the English host at that memorable siege. Here, thought I, among these brakes and bushes stood the English tents; there, right opposite those mouldering walls, were placed the battering engines ; and on the river, which then shone brightly in the moonlight, lay the fleet destined to carry off the riches which were found there.
Such thoughts as these were often suggested by the sight of other scenes, connected, like Harfleur, with the memory of our ancient wars in France. Scarce a village, indeed, but has been the scene of