Chapter LIII: The Tower of Phalsbourg

When I rode from the chapel of St. Nicolas in the Wood the morning was cool and delicious. The forests were clothed with luxuriant green foliage, that rustled pleasantly in the rising wind. The Meurthe flowed majestically through the broad and fertile valley between banks that teemed with fertility, or were covered by groves of wild apricot, plum, and orange trees.

Distant a mile or so rose Nanci, its old ramparts and plastered houses standing in relief against the cold sky, clear and white in the pale light of morning, for the sun was yet below the horizon, and the lingering stars that still twinkled amid the deep blue vault were reflected in the depths of the river that bathed the palace walls, while the sharp pinnacles of the cathedral spire cut the sky-line as they towered above every other feature of the city.'

'Adieu, Marie Louise,' said I, kissing my hand to the distant palace, as its casements began to gleam like plates of burnished gold; and as I crossed a wooded ridge, where the road suddenly dipped down towards the town and fortress of Château Salines, so famous for its saline springs, where salt has been manufactured since the days of Thierri of Alsace.

Riding rapidly without hindrance or molestation for twenty-two miles, I passed Dieuze between the banks of the Seille and another river, and then past Sarrebourg, a quaint old town which was quietly ceded to France by the Lorrainers in 1666. It is situated on the right bank of the Sarre, which flows from the wooded Vosges to the Lower Rhine, and is only fifteen miles westward of Elsace-Zaberne. I halted here at an hostelry named _L'Image de Notre Dame_, the sign-board of which had been riddled by the bullets of Saxe-Weimar's Swedish Protestants. This house of entertainment stood immediately opposite the palace of Henri de Vestingen, the Archbishop of Treves.

Though now so near my destination, a stupid crayfisher, of whom I unfortunately inquired the way, misdirected me; and at nightfall, instead of being at the end of my journey, I found myself in a wild and sequestered district among the mountains, where the patois of the peasants--of whom I met but two--was so quaint and barbarous that I could scarcely understand one word they uttered. To make all this more unpleasant a storm was coming on; the sky grew black and lowering; the air was full of electricity, and warm rain-drops fell heavily and at long intervals.

After a time I found myself close to a small, compact, but closely-walled town in a deep valley of the Vosges. I approached the gate joyfully, and heard a sentinel challenge in pure French; but still precaution on my part was necessary.

'Stand,' cried he, 'or I shall fire. France or Lorraine?'

To answer for either was dangerous; so I inquired,--

'What town is this?'

'Phalsbourg, on the frontier of Alsace.'

'How far is Zaberne distant?'

'Six miles to the north-east.'

'Then I have ridden fifty-four miles to-day.'

'From where, my friend?'

'Nanci.'

'Ha! from Nanci--indeed! well, pass on--do not advance one step, or I shall be compelled to fire.' The match of his arquebuse glowed in the dark, as he blew it to enforce the threat.

'Is this garrison French or Imperialist?' I asked.

'Return in the morning, and we shall each see what the other is like. Good night.'

'Good night;' and I rode off, as nearly as I could judge, in the direction of Zaberne; and now the warm rain plashed in my face, and I heard the rising wind begin to roar in the hollows, and saw the ghastly green lightning playing about the black peaks of the Vosges.

Phalsbourg, belonging to princes of that title, who were vassals of Duke Charles, stands on an eminence overhanging a deep and narrow defile of these mountains. It is strongly fortified, and was founded for defence by Count John, Palatine of the Rhine in 1570, but was annexed to France by the treaty of Vincennes, when ruin was deepening on the fated house of Lorraine.

As Zaberne was only six miles distant, I deemed it wiser in me to ride on and endeavour to reach the French lines, than perhaps to fall into a trap by attempting to make good a night's quarters in Phalsbourg; but the storm of rain came on, and this, together with the darkness of the night and my total ignorance of the way--no one being abroad to act as guide--caused me to ride almost at random for several miles along a rocky and devious path, until I reached a pile of buildings that rose in the centre of the way, and I found myself before a castle--one of those huge, fortified mansions of the middle ages, having walls of enormous height and thickness, with dungeons below, battlements above, gates and drawbridges in front.

A passing gleam of lightning revealed to me a lofty square tower defended by outworks, having a deep ditch, palisadoes, and a drawbridge, which was up. It was evidently the castle of some Alsatian noble, probably a vassal of the Bishop of Strasbourg, to whom the province of Alsace at one time belonged. Being furnished with letters from king Louis on one hand, and with a passport from Duke Charles on the other, it now occurred to me that I should be pretty safe in venturing into this feudal tower, whoever might be its lord; and half choked by wind and rain, and tired of struggling to keep in check my horse, which swerved and plunged at every flash of lightning that reddened the sky and threw forward in full and sable outline the huge square mass of the castle. I hallooed loudly, but my voice was swept away by the wind; till, waiting for a lull, and gathering all my strength, I placed a hand to my mouth, and shouted thrice again.

'Halloo!' answered a voice from the outworks; an arched gate opened; I saw the glow of a red light flaring on the wet walls without, and on the swampy fosse below, while three or four armed men applied their hands to the counterpoise of the drawbridge, and with a clang lowered it into its socket. As I approached the wicket of the strong pallisadoes, it was carefully closed, and a voice demanded--

'Whence come you?'

'From Nanci direct.'

'You are alone?'

'As you see, quite alone. Come, come, my friend, do not keep me long at parley in such a storm of wind and rain.'

'But what seek you here?'

'Shelter; what the devil would one seek else in such a night as this?'

'Enter,' was the gruff reply.

I rode in, and found myself in an archway, off which opened two vaulted guardhouses, full of armed men. The bridge was wound up; the barriers were closed; I gave my horse to a groom, and found myself housed in the castle of--I knew not whom.

'How name you this fortress?' I inquired of one who seemed to bear some authority, if I might judge by his polished cuirass and triple-barred helmet.

'The tower of Phalsbourg, monsieur.'

'And who commands here?'

'An officer of the Duke of Lorraine.'

'Good; lead me to him, I am furnished with papers from Monseigneur le Duc.'

'This way, monsieur, follow me.'

As we proceeded through the archway, across the court and entered the keep, neither the enormous thickness of the walls nor their height surprised me so much as the great number of well-armed men who crowded all the chambers, or were lounging on wooden benches, smoking, and polishing their accoutrements, in the whitewashed corridors, which were lighted by candles, placed in reflecting sconces of bright tin. However, I remembered the time and situation; that this was a frontier castle, garrisoned by Duke Charles against the French; and I recalled, too, the magnificence and military state maintained by the French nobles, even in time of peace, and of this, the style of the Marechal Duke of Sully, Grand Master of the Ordnance and Governor of Poitou, when living in retirement at his castle of Lillebonne, may serve for an example. He had constantly about him one company of French guards, and another of Swiss, who attended him on horseback when he went abroad, on which occasions the great bell of the castle was rung, a bombarde fired, and all his servants stood in two lines, bareheaded, from the staircase to the outer gate. At table, two guards, with partisans, attended nim, and only two chairs were placed there, one for him and another for his duchess, while their guests, no matter how high their rank or long their lineage, were merely accommodated with stools without backs.

As we ascended to the hall of this fortress, the sound of loud laughter, occasional oaths, and the rattle of dice-boxes, met my ear, while the fumes of wine, a close atmosphere, rendered more oppressive by the light of many lamps and the breath of several debauchees, saluted me, and on entering I beheld a very remarkable scene.

The hall was lofty, and hung with gaudy Haarlem tapestry.

It was crowded by cavaliers in rich and variously-coloured dresses of Blois and Utrecht velvet, laced with gold and silver; most of them had on cuirasses and gorgets, and all wore swords, daggers, and silver-mounted pistols, hung by swivels or hooks to their girdles. Many of these men were too evidently intoxicated. Some smoked, or sang, or slept on the side benches; a few were intent on gambling at a table apart; others were drinking wine or beer from vessels of all kinds, and some were engaged in coarse banter or dalliance with four or five gaudily-dressed and profusely-painted demoiselles, who, if they had been found in the Scottish camp of Marshal Hepburn, had assuredly been sent to ride the wooden horse at the quarter-guard.

Among the armed men present, I recognised the Swiss officer, M. Schreckhorn.

'Place, messieurs, place for a gentleman from Nanci!' exclaimed my conductor; and all turned towards me with interest and surprise, and several said--

'M. le Commandant! where is M. le Commandant?'

'Here,' growled a voice, as a tall, swarthy man, who, with his laced pourpoint unbuttoned, and his black hair dishevelled, had been asleep on a fauteuil, started up, and I found myself confronted with the Count de Bitche.

He uttered a shout of savage and half-drunken laughter; while, with a sinking heart, I found that, by my own unwariness, I had fallen into a deadly trap at last.