In 1637 Duke Charles IV. besieged the town, which had been garrisoned by the French with fifteen companies of the regiment of Normandy. These soldiers being driven to extremity, declared, rather than submit without conditions, they would burn the abbess, abbey, and all the ladies, as well as the citizens; the ladies despatched six of their number to the Duke, who, overcome by the tears of beauty, granted an advantageous capitulation to the Norman rascals.
Next year Turenne appeared before the city, which the Duke had left feebly garrisoned; but the abbess, mindful of the Duke’s kindness, so stoutly defended it, that after three assaults Turenne retired with considerable loss. After this the abbess obtained from the French king a promise of neutrality.
The power of these extraordinary “Dames de Remiremont” lasted (though somewhat shorn) until the tide of the French Revolution swept away for a time even the name of the town, which was called Libremont. The church and buildings still remain, the last remnants of this extraordinary community.
Having climbed the hills above Remiremont and seated ourselves amid the heather and ferns, the valley in folds of bright green extends itself beneath; the hills around are varied and beautiful, clumps of trees adorn the meadows, and great shadows steal along, presenting to our eyes a constant succession of moving pictures.
One of these shadows we watch roll down the distant mountain-side, leaving it bright and glowing with the grain,—then, coming onwards, it rests upon a great clump of trees, whose contrasted darkness lights up the grass beyond: they in their turn are left behind, and, now quivering in light, they stand backed by the sombre mountain wrapped in a succeeding veil; these clouds roll on, and others quickly following, give to the valley an appearance similar to that of a rolling prairie: now they approach, and envelope the hill on which we sit in gloom; but shortly all again is clear, the sky above is pure, the air is sweet; the meadows glory in their abundance, and our river, bending and turning, now to the far side of the valley, now towards the town, freshens the heated herbage with its limpid stream.
From the valley, beautiful though it be, we turn our eyes to the more glorious beauty of the
NOONDAY CLOUDS.
Over our heads the sunbeams quiver,
The air is filled with heat and light,
While at our feet the shining river