Читать книгу: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 17, No. 478, February 26, 1831», страница 2

RANSOMS

(To the Editor.)

In a late number, you gave among the "County Collections," with which a correspondent had furnished you, the old Cornish proverb—

 
"Hinckston Down well wrought,
Is worth London dearly bought."
 

Possibly your correspondent was not aware that the true reading of this proverb is the following:—

 
"Hinckston Down well wrought,
Is worth a monarch's ransom dearly bought."
 

The lines are thus quoted by Mr. Barrington, in his elaborate work on the middle ages, and refer to the prevailing belief, that Hinckston Down is a mass of copper, and in value, therefore, an equivalent for the price set on the head of a captive sovereign. Perhaps, as some elucidation of so intricate a subject as that of the ransoming prisoners during the middle ages, the following remarks may not be deemed altogether unworthy of insertion in your pages.

Originally, the supposed right of condemning captives to death rendered the reducing of them to perpetual slavery an act of mercy on the part of the conqueror, which practice was not entirely exploded even in the fourteenth century, when Louis Hutin in a letter to Edward II. his vassal and ally, desired him to arrest his enemies, the Flemings, and make them slaves and serfs. (Mettre par deveres vous, si comme forfain à vous Sers et Esclaves à tous jours.) Rymer. Booty, however, being equally with vengeance the cause of war, men were not unwilling to accept of advantages more convenient and useful than the services of a prisoner; whose maintenance might be perhaps a burden to them, and to whose death they were indifferent. For this reason even the most sanguinary nations condescended at last to accept of ransom for their captives; and during the period between the eleventh and fifteenth centuries, fixed and general rules appear to have been established for the regulating such transactions. The principal of these seem to have been, the right of the captor to the persons of his prisoners, though in some cases the king claimed the prerogative of either restoring them to liberty, or of retaining them himself, at a price much inferior to what their original possessor had expected. On a similar principle, Henry IV. forbade the Percies to ransom their prisoners taken at Holmdown. In this case the captives consisted of the chief Scottish nobility, and the king in retaining them, had probably views of policy, which looked to objects far beyond the mere advantage of their ransom. It is mentioned by a French antiquary that the King of France had the privilege of purchasing any prisoner from his conqueror, on the payment of 10,000 livres; and as a confirmation of this, the money paid to Denis de Morbec for his captive John, King of France, by Edward III. amounted to this exact sum. The English monarch afterwards extorted the enormous ransom of three millions of gold crowns, amounting, as it has been calculated, to £1,500,000. of our present money, from his royal captive. The French author censures Edward somewhat unjustly for his share in this transaction; here as in the case of the Percies, state reasons interfered with private advantages. John yielded up to his conquerors not only the abovementioned sum, but whole towns and provinces became the property of the English nation; to these De Morbec could have no right. It was, however, notwithstanding the frequent mention in history of ransoms, still in the power of the persons in possession of a prisoner to refuse any advantage, however great, which his liberty might offer them, if dictated by motives of policy, dependant principally on his personal importance. Entius, King of Sardinia, son of Frederic II. was esteemed of such consequence to his father's affairs, that the Bolognese, to whom he became a prisoner in 1248, would accept of no price for his manumission; and he died in captivity, after a confinement of twenty-four years. Such was the conduct of Charles V. of France towards the Captal de Buche, for whose liberty he refused all the offers made to him by Edward III.

On this principle the Duke of Orleans and Comte d'Eu, were ordered by the dying injunctions of Henry V. to be retained in prison until his son should be capable of governing; nor was it until after a lapse of seventeen years, that permission was given to these noblemen to purchase their freedom.

If no state reason interfered, the conqueror made what profit he could of his prisoners. Froissart, in speaking of Poictiers, adds, that the English became very rich, in consequence of that battle, as well by ransoms as by plunder, and M. St. Palaye, in his "Mem. sur la Chevalrie," mentions that the ransom of prisoners was the principal means by which the knights of olden time supported the magnificence for which they were so remarkable. In the next century, the articles of war drawn up by Henry V. previous to his invasion of France, contain the condition, "that be it at the battle or other deeds of arms, where the prisoners are taken, he that may first have his Faye shall have him for a prisoner, and need not abide by him;" by Faye, probably the promise given by the vanquished to his captor to remain his prisoner, is understood; as the expression donner sa foi, occurs in various French historians. The value of a ransom is sometimes estimated at one year's income of a man's estate, and this opinion is supported by the custom of allowing a year's liberty to captives to procure the sum agreed upon. By the feudal law, every tenant or vassal was bound to assist his lord in captivity, by a contribution proportionate to the land he held. As, however, the amount received for prisoners is very various, personal importance had no doubt great weight in the determination of a captive's value. Bertrand du Guescelin who had no property, valued his own ransom at 100,000 livres; and Froissart, at the same period mentions the ransom of a King of Majorca, of the house of Arragon, as being exactly that sum.

(To be continued.)

THE FATHERLAND. ¹

(FROM THE GERMAN OF ARNDT.)

(For the Mirror.)

 
What is the German's Fatherland?
On Prussia's coast, on Suabia's strand?
Where blooms the vine on Rhenish shores?
Where through the Belt the Baltic pours?
Oh no, oh no!
His Fatherland's not bounded so.
 
 
What is the German's Fatherland?
Bavaria's or Westphalia's strand?
Where o'er his sand the Oder glides?
Where Danube rolls his foaming tides?
Oh no, oh no!
His Fatherland's not bounded so.
 
 
What is the German's Fatherland?
Tell me at length that mighty land.
The Swilzer's hills, or Tyrolese?
Well do that land and people please,
Oh no, oh no!
His Fatherland's not bounded so.
 
 
What is the German's Fatherland?
Tell me at length the mighty land.
In noble Austria's realm it lies,
With honours rich and victories?
Oh no, oh no!
His Fatherland's not bounded so.
 
 
What is the German's Fatherland?
Tell me at length that mighty land,
Is it what Gallic fraud of yore,
From Kasier² and the empire tore?
Oh no, oh no!
His Fatherland's not bounded so.
 
 
What is the German's Fatherland?
Tell me at length that mighty land,
'Tis there where German accents raise,
To God in heaven their songs of praise.
That shall it be
That German is the home for thee.
 
 
This is the German's Fatherland,
Where vows are sworn by press of hand,
Where truth in every forehead shines,
Where charity the heart inclines.
This shall it be,
This German is the home for thee.
 
 
This is the German's Fatherland,
Which Gallic vices dares withstand,
As enemies the wicked names,
Admits the good to friendship's claims.
This shall it be,
This German is the home for thee.
 
 
God! this for Fatherland we own,
Look down on us from heaven's high throne,
And give us ancient German spirit,
Its truth and valour to inherit.
This shall it be,
The whole united Germany.
 

H

Of the author of this song some account was given in a preceding number of the Mirror. It was written on the same occasion as the Patriot's Call, when Napoleon invaded Germany, and was intended to tranquillize all petty feelings of jealousy between the separate German states. The translator believes that Messrs. Treuttel and Würtz published this song in an English dress some few years since; he has, however, never seen a copy of that work.

THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS

PLUNDER OF A SPANISH DILIGENCE

(From the "Quarterly" Review, of "A Year in Spain." Unpublished.)

The author takes his seat about two in the morning in the cabriolet or front part of a diligence from Tarragona, and gives many amusing particulars concerning his fellow travellers, who, one after another, all surrender themselves to slumber. Thus powerfully invited by the examples of those near him, the lieutenant catches the drowsy infection, and having nestled snugly into his corner, soon loses entirely the realities of existence "in that mysterious state which Providence has provided as a cure for every ill." In short, he is indulged with a dream, which transports him into the midst of his own family circle beyond the Atlantic; but from this comfortable and sentimental nap he is soon aroused by the sudden stopping of the diligence, and a loud clamour all about him.

There were voices without, speaking in accents of violence, and whose idiom was not of my country. I roused myself, rubbed my eyes, and directed them out of the windows. By the light of a lantern that blazed from the top of the diligence, I could discover that this part of the road was skirted by olive-trees, and that the mules, having come in contact with some obstacle to their progress, had been thrown into confusion, and stood huddled together, as if afraid to move, gazing upon each other, with pricked ears and frightened aspect. A single glance to the right-hand gave a clue to the mystery. Just beside the fore-wheel of the diligence stood a man, dressed in that wild garb of Valencia which I had seen for the first time in Amposta: his red cap, which flaunted far down his back, was in front drawn closely over his forehead; and his striped manta, instead of being rolled round him, hung unembarrassed from one shoulder. Whilst his left leg was thrown forward in preparation, a musket was levelled in his hands, along the barrel of which his eye glared fiercely upon the visage of the conductor. On the other side the scene was somewhat different. Pepe (the postilion) being awake when the interruption took place, was at once sensible of its nature. He had abandoned the reins, and jumped from his seat to the road-side, intending to escape among the trees. Unhappy youth, that he should not have accomplished his purpose! He was met by the muzzle of a musket when he had scarce touched the ground, and a third ruffian appearing at the same moment from the treacherous concealment of the very trees towards which he was flying, he was effectually taken, and brought round into the road, where he was made to stretch himself upon his face, as had already been done with the conductor.

I could now distinctly hear one of these robbers—for such they were—inquire in Spanish of the mayoral as to the number of passengers: if any were armed; whether there was any money in the diligence; and then, as a conclusion to the interrogatory, demanding La bolsa! in a more angry tone. The poor fellow meekly obeyed: he raised himself high enough to draw a large leathern purse from an inner pocket, and stretching his hand upward to deliver it, said, Toma usted, caballero, pero no me quita usted la vida! "Take it, cavalier; but do not take away my life!" The robber, however, was pitiless. Bringing a stone from a large heap, collected for the repair of the road, he fell to beating the mayoral upon the head with it. The unhappy man sent forth the most piteous cries for misericordia and piedad. He might as well have asked pity of that stone that smote him, as of the wretch who wielded it. In his agony he invoked Jesu Christo, Santiago Apostol y Martir, La Virgin del Pilar, and all those sacred names held in awful reverence by the people, and the most likely to arrest the rage of his assassin. All in vain: the murderer redoubled his blows, until, growing furious in the task, he laid his musket beside him, and worked with both hands upon his victim. The cries for pity which blows at first excited, blows at length quelled. They had gradually increased with the suffering to the most terrible shrieks; then declined into low and inarticulate moans; until a deep-drawn and agonized gasp for breath, and an occasional convulsion, alone remained to show that the vital principle had not yet departed.

It fared even worse with Pepe, though, instead of the cries for pity, which had availed the mayoral so little, he uttered nothing but low moans, that died away in the dust beneath him. One might have thought that the extreme youth of the lad would have ensured him compassion; but no such thing. The robbers were doubtless of Amposta; and, being known to him, dreaded discovery. When both the victims had been rendered insensible, there was a short pause, and a consultation in a low tone between the ruffians, who then proceeded to execute their plans. The first went round to the left side of the diligence, and, having unhooked the iron shoe and placed it under the wheel, as an additional security against escape, opened the door of the interior, and mounted on the steps. I could hear him distinctly utter a terrible threat in Spanish, and demand an ounce of gold from each of the passengers. This was answered by an expostulation from the Valencian shopkeeper, who said that they had not so much money, but what they had would be given willingly. There was then a jingling of purses, some pieces dropping on the floor in the hurry and agitation of the moment. Having remained a short time at the door of the interior, he did not come to the cabriolet, but passed at once to the rotunda. Here he used greater caution, doubtless from having seen the evening before, at Amposta, that it contained no women, but six young students, who were all stout fellows. They were made to come down, one by one, from their strong hold, deliver their money and watches, and then lie flat upon their faces in the road.