The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1874-01-10
DE QUESNOY'S LAST BANQUET.

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Monsieur is sketching the old chateau
1t is we'll worth the trouble, ma foa! but,
for my part, like not to look at it,"
l started, and looked around. l had
seated myself on a huge, moss grown
bowlder, upon a gentle slope overlooking
| the broad, smooth stream of the Doubs.
| To my left extended wide stretch of Gull
tivated land, parcelled off into those little
patches which are one of the first things
that strike one on entering France. To
my right, against background Of eDcir-
cling woodland stood out the low, thatch-
ed houses, and broad, white, dusty street
of the little village of st. Pierre, halfway
up which the painted signboard of the
| Poname d Or glittered like shield Ill the
sunshine. Just below me, the river curved
| itself IN one great sweep round the base of
steep hill, that rose on the opposite side,
on the brow of which stood the ruins of
an old seignorial chateau. Such relies are
not uncommon in France; but this ruin
differed from those which l had yet seen.
as the corpse of man cruelty murdered
differs from that of one who has died in
his sleep. The ground riven as if by an
earthquake, the black, charred stones
scattered far and wide around, the yawn-
ing riffs in the masonry, which still remain
erect-all spoke, not of gradual decay, but
of sudden and terrible destruction. The
gloom of a great crime and fearful
tragedy seemed to brood over that gaunt,
CHASTITY ruin, looming grimly against the
glory of the clear summer sky, like the
shadow of one great sin upon a stainless
life.
1 turned round (as 1 have saiD to see
who had spoken, and saw beside me an old
man in the dress of a wellto- do-peasant of
the country. l had just been reading
Erckmann- Chatrian's glorious Hastoirs q IN
| Pdysan, and had we been in the neighbor-
hood Of Phlasbourg, instead of in that Of
Besancon, should have said that Michel
Bastien, now stood before me. The long
white hair and beard, enclosing the bronx
bright eye; the bold, erect bearing; above
all, the deep, earnest look, as of one who
had done and suffered above the measure
of his kind-were all suggestive of the
Alsatian Old Mortality. l saw at once that
had fallen in with a character"
"You say you don't like to look at that
ruin yonder % said 1. "Well, it certainly
is not a pleasant sight; but what do you
know about it?
Everything" answered the old peasant
emphatically 81 saw it in all its splendor;
and l saw it in the hour of its destruction
seventy years ago. If you care to hear
the story, I'll tell it to YOU
The offer was not to be sighted; for
such tale as this promised to be, related
by an eyewitness on the very scene of the
catastrophe, was an unexpected prize. l
motioned my companion to seat on the
stone beside me, and disposed myself to
listen to him.
81 remember the days before the Revo
lution,' he began, "although l was then
only a child; but remember them, just as
one might recollect horrid nightmare. l
seem to have dreamed of being hungry and
cold and ragged and helpless, for ever so
long-and then suddenly to have walked up
free and well off After all, it wasn't our
fault if the guAzotinades and noyades befel;
| they we're the work of the Terrorists of the
| Assemble, and the canatlle of the great
towns. All that we peasants wanted was
to have enough to live upon, instead of
being flayed alive by the mobiles; and the
Revolution did that for us, at least. Look
at me. In my childhood, ran barefoot
along the highroad, begging of the passers-
by, with no hope of ever being any better
off than my father, poor laborer, who
lived upon black bread and onions, and
never knew what it was to be warm or well
clothed from one years end to another.
remember that in those days l used always
TO think of heaven as place where one
would be allowed to sit close to big fire,
and eat ones fill of the white bread and
dainty roast meat which my cousin Pierre,
the soldier (who was on guard at the
| Chateau de Quesnoy when his colonel
dined there), had told me about. Well,
monsieur, l have now sheep and cattle of
my own, and good bit of cortland into
the bargain; my son Gaspard is an acocat
at Lyon; and my grandson. Baptiste, is
Sous lieutenant in the SINE legere. Show me
| IL +lo hoe
or grandson could have become an officer !.
| Bah
"Those were the days when the mobiles
did what they liked; and a pretty life they
led us, ma fol! Now, thank God, the
grands seigneurs can't cut your throat or
carry off your wife without any one daring
to say word; but before 80 it was anoth-
er matter Tonnerre! it was no joke then
to fall in the way of a party of young
chevaliers, hot with wine and mischief, and
ready for any devils prank that came into
their heads. Every man that came in their
road was sure to be beaten or run through,
about that the better. can remember,
even now Though was quite child when
it happened), the night that our young lord,
Henri de Quesnoy, and three or four of his
wild companions, secured the streets Of
Besancon with their riding whips, and
made every one they met go down on their
knees in the mud, and Cry 'Vive lie roi ?
| Then, as if it was not enough for them,
they broke ever so many windows, rang
the great alarm bell till they reused up the
whole town, and finished by hanging dead
dog at the door of M. lie Marie, with bit
of paper in its mouth on which was writ
TEN A ton tour, mon frere y [ It's your
turn, brother.l Little did they dream
then, that the day was to come when they
should themselves be hung like dogs to
every lamp iron, and when their blood
should run in the streets of their own
towns, to the cry, not of 'Vive lie ro = but
of 'Vive Ia nation. y But all this doesn't
belong to my story.
"Our old seigneur, Maurice de Quesnog,
| who lived at the chateau wonder in the year