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 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 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.
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 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 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 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 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.
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 Maître 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 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 Maître 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.
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.”
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 discontented at the Governor’s taking-away many of their ancient liberties; this gave rise to the