Philip Rollo; or, the Scottish Musketeers, Vol. 1 (of 2)Grant, James
General
Philip Rollo; or, the Scottish Musketeers, Vol. 1 (of 2)
Grant, James
Thirty Years' War, 1618-1648 -- Fiction
"Lord preserve us, and keep us! I'll be catched noo, like a rat in a
girnel!" cried Dandy in great tribulation, as he ran three or four
times round the room in search of a similar nook, overturning a chair
or two in the dark; and, becoming more bewildered as he heard the
approaching footsteps, he made a sudden dive below a large and
stately bed which stood close to the wall, on one side of the
chamber; and there he was barely ensconced, when all the gildings of
its canopy, and of the corniced ceiling and furniture, glittered, as
the two servants entered with their lights, and, placing them on the
table, withdrew, retiring backwards before the little old man with a
reverence which, together with his whole peculiar bearing (for I
could overlook and overhear all through a hole in the decayed
hangings), told me he was Tilly--the great, the ferocious, the
terrible Tilly--the soldier-Jesuit--the demon-general of the Emperor
Ferdinand!
"You may go," said he, to the servants, and they retired.
Leaning on the arm of the tall cavalier, and on his gold-headed cane,
he crossed the waxed floor with a step rendered somewhat unsteady by
age, and reached a large stuffed chair, then, seating himself, he
drew several long breaths, during which the officer remained
respectfully silent, with his plumed beaver in his right hand, and
his left resting in the polished bowl-hilt of his long toledo.
Figure to yourself a little, lean old man, past his seventieth year,
and made more aged in aspect by the asceticism of a youth passed in a
Jesuit college, and by the wounds and toils of war; a thin face and
high narrow forehead, alternately clouded by thought, and knit by
irritability; fierce, deep eyes, like those of a rattlesnake, the
hooked nose of his Spanish mother, the tiger-like mouth of his
Walloon father, with a lanky cat-like mustache to show that he was a
soldier, and the small remains of a tonsure to declare that he was
yet a priest. A lean, bent body, encased in a leather doublet rusted
over by the constant use of ill-conditioned armour; meagre thighs and
crooked knees, cased in wide calfskin boots, having enormous
jinglespurs; a long sword, a little mantle, a high ruff, a
broad-brimmed hat of brown felt with a steeple crown, garnished by a
red feather stuck into the gold image of Madonna, which, with his
magnificent diamond ring, he afterwards bequeathed to our Lady of
Oetingen. Such was John de Tserclä, the Count de Tilly,
generalissimo of Ferdinand II. and of the troops of the Catholic
League, so celebrated for his valour and cunning, his generosity to
Catholics, his ferocity to Protestants--his aversion to women, to
wine, and to all human weaknesses--save the fear of ghosts!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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