arian laws, is
even now a strong feeling, but in the seventeenth century was still
more powerful. For the peasant knew very little of the world beyond his
own village, and it was difficult for him to pass the boundaries which
separated him from other vocations, or from establishing himself on the
property of other lords. He ever returned with tenacity from his
hiding-place to his devastated farm, and endeavoured to collect
together the trampled corn, or to sow the few seeds he had been able to
preserve. When his last beast had been stolen, he harnessed himself to
the plough. He took care not to give his house a habitable appearance;
he accustomed himself to dwell amidst dirt and ruins, and concealed the
flickering fire of his hearth from the gaze of marauders, who might
perhaps be seeking in the night for some warm resting-place. He hid his
scanty meal in a place which would disgust even a reckless enemy, in
ditches and coffins, and under skulls. Thus he lived under the powerful
pressure of habit, however little hope there might be that his labour
would prove advantageous to him. If a landed proprietor stood valiantly
by his village, even in times of comparative tranquillity, he
accompanied his beasts to the fields, armed to the teeth, ready to
fight against any robbers who might pounce down on him.

It was no less the interest of the landed proprietor and his officials,
than of the peasant himself, to preserve the villages. The smaller the
number of tax-payers became, the higher was the tax on the few who
remained. The rulers, from the cities in which they resided occupied
themselves during the whole war through their officials, bailiffs, and
receivers, with the fate of the villages, nay even of individuals. The
keeping of the parish records was only interrupted during the most
troubled time, and was always recommenced. Certificates, reports,
memorials, and rescripts passed hither and thither amidst all the
misery.[29] Petitions for remission of rents and liquidation of costs
were incessantly demanded, and many a poor schoolmaster obediently gave
his service as parish writer whilst the snow floated into his
schoolroom through the shattered windows, the parish chests lay broken
in the streets, and the parishioners, whose accounts he was writing,
went armed into the woods with dark illegal projects, which were never
reported to the government. Useless as this system of writing in many
cases was, it formed numerous links