As he stepped in front once more, In the frank blue Breton eyes - 9 Then said Damfreville, "My friend, Though I find the speaking hard. You must name your own reward. 'Faith, our sun was near eclipse! Demand what'er you will, France remains your debtor still. Ask to heart's content and have! or my name's not Damfreville." Then a beam of fun outbroke ΙΟ On the bearded mouth that spoke, Since on board the duty's done, And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run? Since 'tis ask and have, I may Since the others go ashore Come! A good whole holiday! Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!" That he asked, and that he got nothing more. II Name and deed alike are lost: Not a pillar nor a post In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell: Not a head in white and black On a single fishing smack, In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell. Go to Paris: rank on rank Search the heroes flung pell-mell On the Louvre, face and flank! You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Riel. So, for better and for worse, Hervé Riel, accept my verse! In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once more Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore ! When the English people expelled their Stuart rulers in the seventeenth century, the French king sided with the Stuarts, who had been his friends. In 1692 Louis XIV of France sent over a large fleet to attack the English. In a battle which took place off La Hague, a point near the mouth of the Seine River and opposite Plymouth Bay, many of the French ships were lost. But a single squadron reached the coast of France, where, hotly pursued by the English, it fled past Cherbourg, rounded Cape de La Hague, and dodged among the Channel Islands to St. Malo. There Damfreville declared it impossible to guide the ships farther through the narrow channel into the mouth of the Rance River, where they might find shelter. It was then that the simple-hearted sailor, Hervé Riel, brought up on the coast at Le Croisic and familiar with every crevice of the shore, led the squadron to safety through the rocks. This is the story told by Browning in his poem. The poem was written nearly two hundred years after the event described, and England at the time was sympathetic with France, which was being overrun by the German army. For the writing of "Hervé Riel," Browning received five hundred dollars. This he sent to the war sufferers in Paris, who were forced to endure a terrible siege. Be sure to read the poem aloud, so as to bring out all its stirring spirit and story-telling power. 1. Try telling the story in simple prose and see how clearly Browning has told it to you. 2. Why do you think he called the poem "Hervé Riel" instead of "The Escape of the Formidable”? 3. Trace on a map of France the journey of the ships. La Hague is near the mouth of the Seine River, and St. Malo and Croisic Point are well to the south of it. At St. Malo is the harbor formed by the mouth of the River Rance, on whose banks stands the fortress of Solidor. 4. What picture do you get of the French fleet in stanzas 1 and 2? 5. Try to picture to yourself the council of pilots with Damfreville. What reasons does Hervé Riel give for their cowardice? 6. Why do we feel confidence in Riel at once? 7. What do you think of him after his achievement? 8. Which do you think the better monument, this poem or a great effigy on the Louvre, the famous art gallery of Paris? Give your reasons. EXPLANATORY NOTES Ebb of tide (page 18), low tide. Flow at full, flood tide, when the water is high; opposite of ebb tide. Take in tow (page 18), pull through the water by a rope or chain, as a towboat tows a ship. Croisickese (page 18), a native of Le Croisic, a seaport in France. Malouins (page 19), inhabitants of the seaport of St. Malo. PRONUNCIATION Croisickese, krwä-sēk-ēz' Formidable, fôr'mi-da-b'l Grève, grāv Hervé Riel, ĕr-vā'rē-ěl' Louvre, loo'vr' Malouins, mal'oo-ans Rance, räns St. Malo, săn ma-lô THE HIGHWAYMAN 1 ALFRED NOYES PART ONE THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees; The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door. He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin; They fitted with never a wrinkle : his boots were up to the thigh! And he rode with a jeweled twinkle, His pistol butts a-twinkle, His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky. Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn yard; And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred; He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love knot into her long black hair. And dark in the dark old inn yard a stable-wicket creaked Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked; 1 Reprinted by permission from Collected Poems, vol. I, by Alfred Noyes. Copyright, 1913, by Frederick A. Stokes Company. His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like moldy hay, The landlord's red-lipped daughter; Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say "One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight; Watch for me by moonlight, I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way." He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce. could reach her hand, But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burned like a brand As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight (Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West. PART TWO He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, A redcoat troop came marching — Marching - marching King George's men came marching, up to the old inn door. They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead, But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed; |