Sweet age of girlhood’s prime,

When glad, and gay, and free,

Loving and loved by all,

Life flows on joyously;

Ere yet earth’s cares have dimm’d

Eyes bright with happiness,

Or thrown a shade of gloom

O’er the imagined bliss [40]

Of coming life, which in

Dim future seems to shine,

Lit up by present hope

As jewels light the mine.

O fair Moselle! O sweetest Maid!

Who, dancing on midst sun and shade,

Hast left thy distant mountain home,

Through woods and valleys thus to roam;

May no sad shade thy life o’erspread,

No storm break o’er thy beauteous head,

But ever may thy fair wave glide

Peaceful, as when Meurthe’s sparkling tide

Flows in, and gently whispering its tale doth tell

To thee, O Queen of Rivers, radiant Moselle!

It is a rich green valley where these waters meet, where the Meurthe dies, and dying, gives her waters to increase those of her friend.

Bountifully watering the valley’s soil, our river flows through the department named after her, Moselle, and forms a large island, where the ancient Roman aqueduct formerly strode over.

Of this aqueduct sixteen arches and one column still remain on the right bank, at the village named Jouy aux Arches; from the gardens above, the river is seen glittering through the valley, which is framed into pictures by the huge arches.

Of course a legend exists that the Devil built this aqueduct. He had promised to do it, for some unknown consideration, before cock-crow; the cock, however, crowed too soon, and the Devil, irritated with the cock and himself, kicked down an unoffending arch: the uncompleted aqueduct soon became ruinous. [41]

Another legend makes Azita (a daughter of Noah) the builder of these arches; she, being a cautious lady, erected them in order that, if another flood came, she might climb up and be safe.

This aqueduct, which was six leagues long, poured its waters into a vast bason, where representations of naval engagements were given by the Romans. It was already a ruin in the tenth century.

Jouy is about six miles from Metz, which is esteemed the strongest city in France, and is garrisoned by twelve thousand men. As we approach the town the beautiful cathedral is seen looming large above the other buildings; it was commenced in the eleventh century, and not completed until the sixteenth: it is elegant in its proportions and beautiful in its detail; another older church is incorporated into it, and its windows are filled with very beautiful stained glass.

Approaching the town, the river breaks into two branches, and another stream comes in, all helping to fortify the old capital of the Austrasians.

The history of Metz is one of the most interesting that can be studied; its first appearance in history is as the capital of the Mediomatrices, and early it became the see of a Christian Bishop.

In the fifth century, Attila with his Huns swept like a pestilence over Europe, and Metz was sacked and burnt; to the Romans, Attila was “the Scourge of God,” to his countrymen little less than a god himself. At length he was defeated by the allied Germans and Romans on the plains of Chalons, after losing two [42]hundred thousand men; but even then his power was unbroken, and in a few months he was before Rome, which city he was induced to spare by the intercession of the Pontiff, Leo, who, arrayed in priestly robes and surrounded by his clergy chanting hymns, sought him in his camp. Soon after he retreated northwards, and was murdered by his wife, Criemhilda, who was of German origin: with him fell his vast empire, and the Huns disappeared beyond the Black Sea. This extraordinary century saw the rise and fall of three separate kings and tribes. First came Alaric, king of the Visigoths, who overran the Roman Empire and took Rome itself by storm, A.D. 410; but soon after, dying suddenly, his kingdom perished with him. His body, it is said, was laid in the bed of an Italian river, from which the stream had been diverted; an immense treasure was placed around him, and the stream returning to its natural course, the labourers were murdered, and thus the secret of his burial-place was hid for ever. After him came Attila; and lastly, Odoacer, sprung from the Heruli, became the King of Italy, dethroning Romulus Augustus, the last Roman Emperor: he perished too, being murdered in 493 by orders of Theodoric the Ostrogoth.

During all these wars, and midst the crash of falling empires, rose slowly the sun of Christianity, and soon its penetrating beams dispersed the night that had obscured earth since the Roman splendour had passed away. Now a king was baptized, and anon a martyr died, both events alike serving to spread the religion of [43]peace; and on the ruins of Paganism is now built up the Church of Christ, and a new period of the world’s history begins with the downfall of the Roman Empire.

The history of Metz at this early period is the history of the Austrasian kingdom, of which it was the capital.

At the beginning of the fifth century, a nation called the Franks appeared upon the scene of history: this nation was a powerful confederacy of German tribes, and came from the north-western parts of Germany.

They took possession of the neighbouring lands as far as the Moselle, and, the half of them settling on that river, were called the Salii. Gaul soon after being abandoned by the Romans, the Salii became an entirely independent nation, and about A.D. 420, being emulous of the fame of the great Gothic King (Alaric), they for the first time elected a king over themselves, and composed the celebrated Salique law. This king is handed down to us under the name of Pharamond, but it is very doubtful whether such a person ever existed; he was succeeded by Clodion, whose successor, Merowig, was the founder of the Merovingian dynasty: his grandson, Clovis, was the real founder of the kingdom of the Franks; he died “leaving a kingdom more extensive than that of modern France.”

He divided his territories into four parts, but his son Clotaire reunited them. Clovis was baptized a Christian in A.D. 493; he was ever the champion of the Church against the great Arian heresy, and has received, therefore, from the Church’s hands, a meed of [44]praise, certainly unwarranted, “as he had on all occasions shown himself a heartless ruffian, a greedy conqueror, and a bloodthirsty tyrant;” his great power was only attained by wading through a sea of blood, flowing not only from enemies, but also from his nearest relatives and friends.

Clotaire, who is recorded as having been “cruel and licentious, even for a Merovingian,” dying, the kingdom was again divided by his sons into four parts, Sigebert receiving Austrasia, with Metz for his capital.

He married the beautiful Brunhilda, daughter of Athanagildis, king of the Visigoths; and his brother, Chilperic, married her sister: this sister was murdered at the instigation of Fredegunda, to whom Chilperic was shortly after married. Then began a series of murders and bloodshed between the rivals Brunhilda and Fredegunda.

Never, says the historian, has one family amassed such a heritage of crime as King Clovis and his descendants,—the cruelties and murders of his sons were far exceeded by those of his grandsons, their wives, and successors. The history of this period is a chaos of murders, treachery, and license. The kings lived each with several wives and concubines, murdering each other and committing every crime; while the queens caused those who opposed their power to be assassinated, poisoned even their own sons, and sowed dissensions on all sides, leading as vile lives as their husbands. Thus the Merovingian race fell under the weight of its own crimes, and, long before its final [45]extinction in 752, it possessed but the shadow of authority, the real power being in the hands of subjects, termed Mayors of the Palace, who, from being mere house-stewards, rose to be leaders of the armies and presidents of the councils of their effeminate monarchs.

It is curious to find this debased family, through all their misdeeds, crimes, and impotency, still regarded with affection and veneration by the mass of their subjects; and although mere puppets in the hands of the Mayors, the people must have been unaware of their loss of dignity, and their eyes must have been systematically blinded by a fictitious state being preserved round these nominal kings. The following legend of Theolinda will exemplify this; the Sigebert referred to is Sigebert III., son of Dagobert I., who was the last of the family that exercised anything like independent authority.
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THEOLINDA.

On the banks of the Moselle, Theolinda was the fairest shepherdess; happy in love and beauty, she sat by the river’s bank, Alcidor’s arm around her. While sitting thus they were surprised by the approach of Sigebert and his Queen, who were passing a few days in a solitary castle which stood near the banks of the Moselle, surrounded by groves.

The King asked Alcidor if he would wish to serve in the army as a knight’s squire; and the Queen offered Theolinda to place her among her ladies, where she [46]would be “as a rose among wild flowers.” Both humbly declined, urging that love was sufficient for them, but professed that they were ready to lay down their lives, if needful, for their King: he smiled and left them, assuring them of his protection and assistance, should they need it.

*   *   *

The hordes of the Vandals were threatening Austrasia, and Sigebert stood on the defensive, feeling his weakness; his general took up a strong position in the Vosges mountains, and there awaited the enemy.

The news of these events reached the quiet valleys of the Moselle, and Alcidor hastened to fulfil his promise to the King, and joined the army that was gathering in the forest of Ardennes; being known as a brave man, and perfectly acquainted with the intricacies of the forest, he was appointed to command a body of bowmen.

A battle ensued, and Alcidor, with his war-cry of “Theolinda,” drove all before him, but in the heat of the battle a javelin struck his heart; the battle was lost, and Theolinda heard the news from a grey-haired shepherd: she dropped senseless to the ground, but recovering, hastened to the royal camp.

The King was sitting in his council-chamber, surrounded by his courtiers, in the city of Metz, when a knight came in and said, “Gracious prince! while setting the watch a virgin approached me; she was majestically handsome and mild. First I took her for a divinity, but she addressed me in the following [47]words,—’Permit me to speak to the General before the King quits the council-chamber.’”

“Admit her,” quoth the King.

And Theolinda entered, looking mildly and steadfastly around.

“Poor shepherdess!” said the King, “thy faithful lover hath fallen; his memory will ever be dear to us. What can I do for thee?”

“Oh, King,” replied Theolinda, “last night I saw him in my dreams, and he told me that by the decree of Heaven I am ordained to stop the career of the barbarian hordes. Wheresoever I cast my looks there shall the dark-red banner fail; the lilies shall advance carried by thy general, I preceding. Thus the white dove shall precede the army and victoriously soar aloft like the royal eagle; and I am come, my King, to lead thy warriors to victory.”

The King, without hesitation, exclaimed, “I feel the power of her words, and grant Theolinda’s request.”

Arrayed in glittering armour, and a white plume on her head, Theolinda preceded the King’s army: the King, on a fleet horse, flew from rank to rank encouraging, and victory crowned their efforts; the routed Vandals fled; and peace and prosperity returned to the banks of the Moselle.

Returning in triumph, the festive train proceeded to the Cathedral, and all being assembled within the sacred edifice, the King asked, “Where is the heroic maid that saved the country?”

At these words the ranks of the guards opened, and [48]Theolinda appeared; her arms were bright as the morning-star, her eyes were clear and serious, roses adorned her floating hair. The King addressed her thus: “Be a member of the most noble order; Pharamond’s sword knights thee.”

The virgin humbly bent her knee, he touched her with his sword, and knights and people shouted, “Hail! all hail! blessed be the saviour of her country!”

One only request she made, which was, that at her death her ashes should be laid with those of the dead Alcidor; and then, heedless of remonstrance, departed to live the life of a hermit in the wilderness; and many suffering pilgrims wandered to her for consolation.

Many years in pious seclusion she lived; at length Alcidor again appeared to her in a dream, and said, “Thy time of probation is ended; follow me now to the regions of eternal bliss!” She inclined her head and died. They laid her, as she had requested, with Alcidor.

In many points of view this legend is curious and interesting; perhaps, could we tear the veil from history, we might find that these Merovingians were not so black as they are painted, or, at any rate, that it was owing to some redeeming points that they lived thus in their subjects’ hearts. Curious especially is this legend, inasmuch as in all probability it may have incited Joan of Arc to perform her deeds, the similarity of the two stories being remarkable; and there can be but little doubt that this legend was rife at Joan’s day in this [49]district, near which she lived: in any case, the legend is touchingly simple and beautiful; it is given at great length in “Traditions of the Countries of the Rhine,” by Dr. Aloys Schreiber.

The Bishops of Metz early played an important part in history. Arnulph, who flourished about 622, was almost a king in power, and from him descended Charles Martel, whose son Pepin became in name, as his father had long been in fact, King of France.

Pepin’s son Charlemagne, we are told, held his court at Thionville (about twenty miles lower down the Moselle). Here he was accompanied by his seven beautiful daughters; all taught to work in wool, to ride, and to hunt, in order that they might not be corrupted by idleness: they all supped with him, and when he journeyed rode after him on horseback.

Charlemagne was said to have been seven feet high, and his arm was as mighty as his genius; wisdom and dignity sat on his brow; his seal was the handle of his sword, and he was wont to say, “With my sword I maintain all to which I affix my seal.” He died in 814, and was buried sitting upright as on a throne, and clothed in his imperial robes.

His successor, Louis, convoked the States at Thionville in 835; no less than eight Archbishops and thirty-five Bishops attended on this occasion, so numerous had become the Christian prelates. In 869 Charles the Bald was crowned at Metz, the Bishops of Metz and Toul being especially mentioned; [50]and in his grandson’s reign we find a Bishop Wala, of Metz, killed before the gates of that city, while fighting bravely in its defence against the Norsemen, who at this period made frequent incursions into France and the adjoining countries. Bishops had ceased to be pastors, and become warriors and temporal princes.

The Bishops of Metz were long able to maintain their authority in the city, though often the citizens disputed it. In Henry the Fowler’s reign, Metz became a free imperial city; and in the twelfth century a Ma?tre Echevin, with twelve councillors, was established, and for centuries this form of government was adhered to: thus the Bishops were superseded by a Republic. They still, however, enjoyed considerable power, being the principal parties in the election of the Ma?tre and his council.

A curious legend of Metz is handed down to us from the beginning of the thirteenth century.
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THE MIRACULOUS SHIRT.

In Metz there lived a lady named Florentina, whose husband, Alexander, was going to the Crusades; she presented him, on his departure, with a miraculous shirt, which would always retain its purity (a great comfort in a crusade).

The Knight was taken prisoner, and being put to labour, the Sultan remarked the extraordinary circumstance of a prisoner being always in a clean shirt, and [51]inquired the reason. Alexander told him it was a miraculous shirt, which would always remain as spotless as his wife’s virtue.

The Sultan despatched a cunning man to undermine the lady’s virtue, as he thought ill of the sex.

The emissary was quite unsuccessful.

Florentina having learnt from the cunning man her husband’s condition, disguised herself as a pilgrim, and reached the place of his captivity. She then, by her singing, so charmed the Sultan, that, at her request, he made her a present of a slave who she selected. This was her husband; and she gave him his liberty, and received in exchange from him a piece of the miraculous shirt, he not recognising his wife.

Florentina hastened back to Metz, but Alexander arrived there first, and was informed by his friends of his wife’s long absence during his captivity. When she arrived, he bitterly reproached her (although the shirt had not become dirty). She explained, and produced the piece he had given her, thus showing how she had been employed; and so they lived happily together.

Very quaint is this legend, and we are at a loss to understand the origin of so curious an invention. The following is a story of the same date, and, though not belonging to Metz, serves to illustrate this period:—

A Thuringian Count, who was married, being taken prisoner in the East, the Sultan’s daughter fell in love [52]with him, gave him his liberty, and fled with him to Europe, he promising to marry her.

On arriving at home he presented her to his Countess, and with the consent of all parties, and the Pope’s sanction, wedded her also, and they all three lived very happily together. At Erfurt may be seen the three effigies, the Count in the centre: the tombs have been opened, and one of the skulls was found to be like an Asiatic’s, thus in some measure corroborating the truth of this remarkable tale.
Metz.

Metz.

We have now emerged from what may be termed the ancient history of Metz, and the more detailed accounts of the modern period give us a series of [53]sieges, battles, and plots, from which we will select those appearing the most interesting.

In 1354 the Emperor Charles IV. remained some time at Metz, and returned there again two years after, when he held a Diet, at which the Archbishops of Trèves, Cologne, and Mayence, and the four lay-Electors, were present. At this Diet additions were made to the celebrated Golden Bull, which was then published, and remained the law of the Empire until the nineteenth century. Metz was now at the height of its glory. Now, say the “Annals,” Metz was resplendent with knights, princes, dukes, and archbishops. The Emperor, clothed with the imperial ensigns, and surrounded by the great officers of state, the naked sword in his hand and the crown on his head, attended service in the Cathedral.

A party in the town wished to raise a tumult, and deliver the city to the Emperor; but the Cardinal de Piergort representing the infamy of such treachery, the Emperor sent for the chiefs of the city and gave up to them the traitors, who, when night-time came, were drowned in the river. The Emperor departed, and then followed a series of discords unimportant except to the actors.

In 1365, companies of countrymen, and pillagers set free by the peace of Bretigny, succeeded each other in attacking Metz, and ravaging the neighbourhood. With some difficulty they were defeated and dispersed.

No sooner were these petty wars ended, than a [54]larger one broke out with the Lorrainese; and the Count de Bar advanced to Metz and defied the Messins to combat, sending them a bloody gauntlet. The citizens, however, declined the conflict, and peace was concluded.

In 1405 an émeute took place in the town, and the people rising turned out the magistrates, and replaced them with their own representatives. Soon, however, the ancient rulers managed to reinstate themselves, and took a bloody vengeance on their enemies.

In 1407, the Duke de Bar resolved to take Metz by surprise. He secretly fitted out a train of boats, filled with arms and munitions of war, and sent a large body of soldiers, who secreted themselves near the town. All was prepared, and on the morrow an attack was to be made, when a sudden panic seized the attacking party, and they fled, leaving their boats and munitions, by which the Messins learnt the peril they had escaped.

In 1444, a furious war was waged between the Duke of Lorraine and the Messins: the Duke was assisted by his brother-in-law, Charles VII. of France. The quarrel originated in some money claims that the city had on the Duchess of Lorraine, which claims she refused to satisfy. The irritated Messins seized on the lady’s baggage between Pont-à-Mousson and Nancy, as she was performing a pilgrimage to the former. The Duke, in revenge, besieged the city, and the burghers ravaged his territories. Much blood was shed on both sides, until at last peace was made [55]between the belligerents by the King, who received a sum of money from the Messins. So powerful was this republic, that it could single-handed wage war with a sovereign prince.

A few years after, when the celebrated War of Investitures took place, the Messins were called on to fight for Adolphe of Nassau, the nominee of the Pope. They pleaded their privileges and the late ruinous wars, and begged to remain neutral. The Pope, in consequence, excommunicated the city; a great number of the clergy obeyed the Papal Bull, and left in procession for Pont-à-Mousson, with the cross and banners at their head. For three years this extraordinary state of things lasted, during which time the churches were empty and the dying unshriven. At length the Pope took off the interdict, and the priests and canons returned, but the Messins had to pay dearly for their opposition to ecclesiastical power.

About this period the wily Louis XI. of France thought the time was come for joining Metz to his dominions; he accordingly wrote a kind, mild letter to the citizens, suggesting that they should put themselves under his protection, and thus secure their peace. The citizens wrote back cautiously, but expressed their surprise at the King’s proposition; he, fearing to incense and thus throw so powerful a city into alliance with the noblesse that were taking part against him, disowned his herald, and denied the letter he had sent.

The next event was an endeavour to take Metz by [56]storm, on the part of the Duke of Lorraine, and it very nearly succeeded. Early in the morning of the 9th April, 1473, while the Messins still slept, ten thousand Lorrainese arrived near the walls from Pont-à-Mousson, having marched during the night; with them was a certain Krantz, nicknamed “La Grande Barbe,” who had constructed a peculiar waggon, filled with casks, which was capable of sustaining the weight of a portcullis, and thus preventing its closing when once it had been raised.

Disguised as merchants, Krantz and some of his companions, with a train of waggons filled with casks, among which was the peculiarly-constructed one, appeared before the city gates, and were admitted; the waggons entered, and the particular one was halted immediately beneath the portcullis, the pretended merchants then rushed on the guardian of the gate and killed him.

Being joined by a select body of five hundred men, who quickly entered, La Grande Barbe raised the shout of “Ville gagnée!” adding, “Slay, slay, women and children; spare none! Vive Lorraine!”

The awakened burghers rushed in disorder from their beds, knowing what these sounds portended, and all was lost but for the presence of mind of a baker named Harelle, who lived near the gate under which the waggon was stationed. He ran to the house over the gate, and succeeded in lowering the side portions of the portcullis, so that horsemen could not enter, and foot soldiers only by creeping under the waggon. [57]

Then rushing into the streets, Harelle rallied and encouraged the citizens, and finally routed the Lorrainese, slaying La Grande Barbe and two hundred of his companions, the rest escaping by flight.

In a few minutes all was over; the assaulters dead or flown, the gates reclosed, and the assembled Council preparing to prosecute the war. Thus the clear-headed baker saved the good city of Metz.

In 1473 the Emperor Frederick III. visited the town, and the keys being presented to him, he promised solemnly to preserve the liberties of the citizens. He then, accompanied by his son, Maximilian, entered in state, followed by the Archbishop of Mayence, and other princes and prelates.

The Messins had been so harassed by attempts at surprise that they now were ever on their guard against them; and so fearful had they become, that when the Emperor, in visiting their church, came to the great bell, and expressed a wish to hear it sound, they declined respectfully, saying it was an old custom only to sound it thrice in the year. This they did, fearing it might be meant as a signal of attack on their hardly-maintained liberties. They also had, during the Emperor’s visit, 2000 men constantly under arms, ready to obey the Ma?tre Echevin’s orders at a moment’s notice; and they kept strict guard over the gates.

While Frederick was with them the Messins refused to admit Charles the Bold, with more than five hundred horsemen. He was furious, but the Emperor agreed to meet him at Trèves instead; and afterwards Duke [58]Charles had no time or opportunity to revenge himself on Metz, but rather conciliated that powerful city, and when he took Nancy sent a present of cannon and other spoil to the Messins, who were delighted at the misfortune of their old enemies, the Lorrainese.

In 1491 another attempt was made by the Duke of Lorraine to gain possession of the town. Surprise and stratagem having previously failed, he now tried treachery, and secured the services of a certain Sire Jehan de Landremont, who induced one of the gatekeepers, named Charles Cauvellet, a Breton by birth, but who had acquired the rights of citizenship, to join the plot.

All was easily arranged, thanks to Cauvellet, who had the keys of the city. A day was fixed on, but it turning out so rainy that the river flooded the approaches to the town, a fresh day was named; in the meantime Cauvellet’s conscience pricked him, and he confessed the plot to the Ma?tre Echevin. His life was spared, but the Sire de Landremont, after his sentence had been read at every cross-street in the town, he being led about on horseback for this purpose, was strangled, drawn, and quartered. He died with a smile on his countenance, saying he only regretted having been unsuccessful.

A peace was soon after patched up between René and the Messins.

Though so long resisting, the city was doomed eventually to fall by treachery, and the time at length arrived. [59]

In 1552, Henry II. of France entered Lorraine, and occupied Pont-à-Mousson. On the 10th of April he presented himself before the gates of Metz, which is styled in the annals of the day “a great and rich imperial city, very jealous of its liberties.” Although Henry had taken the most rigorous measures to suppress Protestantism in his own dominions, he here appeared as the champion of that religion, and entered into a secret treaty with the Protestant Princes, who agreed that he should occupy Metz, Courtrai, Toul, and Verdun, as Vicar-Imperial. Henry, wishing to gain immediate possession of Metz, engaged his ally, the Bishop, to bribe the inhabitants of the “Quartier du Heu,” and raise dissensions among the garrison. These preparations made, the Sieur de Tavannes arrived before that quartier, and harangued the people, telling them that the good King Henry was fighting for their liberties, and they could not do less than allow him to lodge in their town with his body-guard of five hundred men. “Surely that was not too much to grant to their defender?” The people, half-persuaded, allowed a body of men to approach and commence filing through the gate, but seeing that instead of five hundred there were nearly five thousand drawing near, they wished to close the gate; but Tavannes continued to speak them fair until upwards of seven hundred picked men had entered, when a Swiss captain, who held the keys for Metz, seeing the number, threw the keys at Tavannes’ head, exclaiming in the idiom of the country, “Tout est choué.” [60]

Thus was Metz taken, kings and nobles thinking any treachery fair against mere bourgeois. Of course Henry kept it for himself, not the Protestant interest; and henceforward it remained a portion of the French dominions.

Before the Emperor Charles V. allowed so important a free city quietly to revert to France, he sent Alba with a large army to besiege it, he remaining at Thionville to watch proceedings, his health being too bad to allow him to prosecute the siege in person.

The town was defended by the young Duke of Guise, who turned out all the women, old men, and children, and pulled down half the town in order the better to defend the other half; working himself in the trenches, he by his example so encouraged his soldiers and citizens, that they sustained all the assaults of the Imperialists.

Charles V., seeing that the siege did not progress, and that the breaches were repaired as fast as made; finding also that his own army was rapidly wasting with cold and sickness, reluctantly ordered Alba to raise the siege; the Duke retired, leaving his tents and sick, together with a great quantity of baggage and munitions: to the credit of the conquerors, they treated the sick with great kindness, contrary to the usual custom at that period. Charles departed, saying that he perceived “Fortune, like other women, accorded her favours to the young, and disdained grey locks.”

In 1555, the people of Metz became exceedingly [61]discontented at the Governor’s taking-away many of their ancient liberties; this gave rise to the
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PLOT OF THE CORDELIERS.

A Cordelier, named le Père Léonard, guardian of a convent, engaged many of the leading townspeople in a conspiracy to retake Metz from the French.

For this purpose, having first persuaded his brother monks to join him, he introduced into the convent, which had walls capable of defence, arms and soldiers.

He then agreed with the Governor of Thionville to open an entrance into the town for a body of Imperialist troops on a given night; at the same time, to distract the French, the town was to be fired in several places.

Vieilleville, the Governor of Metz, hearing that a Cordelier was constantly seen in conversation with the Governor of Thionville, became suspicious, and suddenly visiting the convent, found the arms and concealed men; he also seized Père Léonard as he entered the city on his return from Thionville, and learning from him that a body of Imperial troops was to march to Metz that very night, despatched a force, which, taking them by surprise, routed them and cut them to pieces.

The monks, from whom by promises and threats he had extorted a full disclosure of the plot, he threw into a dungeon, telling them they should be hanged next day, and might confess to each other. [62]

On the dungeon being opened in the morning, it was found that the monks, enraged with the Superior, who had drawn them into the plot, had killed him and maimed his four advisers; these latter were, with ten of their brethren, hanged, and the ten youngest were exiled from the town.

In 1631, Metz capitulated to Gustavus Adolphus; he remained there all the winter, and presented the Bishop’s library to his Chancellor, Oxenstiern, who sent it off to Sweden; but the vessel sank and the books were lost.

The only other extract from the history of Metz we shall here give is of a different character.

Louis XV. arrived at Metz with a strong army, in order to oppose Charles of Lorraine, whose duchy he had given to Stanislas of Poland.

Louis, who was accompanied by his mistress, the Duchess of Chateauroux, and her sister, was taken mortally ill; previously there had been erected a wooden gallery, which led, along the sides of four streets, from the Duchess’s apartments to those of the King: this gallery was now given up at the angry remonstrances of the people, who were much scandalized by the proceedings, and the sisters proceeded to the King’s residence, where they shut themselves into an apartment adjoining that of the dying monarch.

The Duke de Richelieu, who was in league with the Duchess, was First Lord of the Bedchamber, and [63]would not allow any of the Princes to have access to the King.

The town urged the King’s Confessor to remonstrate with him, but he refused; then the Bishop of Soissons undertook the task, and threatened the King that he would not administer the last sacrament to him if he refused to dismiss his mistresses. The doors were thrown open between the King’s room and that where the Duchesses sat, anxiously waiting the turn of events.

At length the King was induced to order them to depart, and they fled into the country.

Contrary to all expectation, and in consequence of a strong dose administered by a quack, the King recovered, after he had been given over by his doctors and received the last sacrament. The Duchesses were recalled.

Metz at the present day is the chief town of the Department of the Moselle; it is situated on both banks and the island formed by the embranchment of the river: its picturesque streets are connected by several bridges, from which the views are very striking.

It has excellent bathing establishments, fine cafés, a theatre, good shops, and above all a promenade, almost unequalled in beauty; it is situated on very high ground, densely shaded with great trees: seats, and flowers, and grass are there; the military bands play in the evening; the ladies are handsome and well-dressed, [64]and from the walks the view extends for many miles over the green plains of the Moselle; the different branches of the river shine in the valley; the sun sets over the hills which westward bound the view, its golden light streams through the foliage and suffuses the whole valley; little boats glide up and down the stream; merry voices sing in the distance; and thus, with music, beauty, and sunshine, we leave the old Austrasian capital.
Environs of Metz.

Environs of Metz.