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HEROINES 



-OF- 



— BY/ 



JOHN 8. JENKINS, 



H 



BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED. 



' Thou hast a charmed cup, O Fame ! 
A draught that mantles high, 
And seems to lift this earthly frame 
Above mortality.'" 



-Mrs. Heioans. 



L. P. MILLER & CO., 
CHICAGO AND PHILADELPHIA. 

?888. 



Jl)N 23 1888 



>^1 



'O 






% 



THE LIBRARY 

|| OF CONGRESS 
j WASHINGTON 

COPYRIGHTED BY 

L. P. Miller & Co. 
1888. 



6>'f 



HeROINES 

OF 

HISTORY. 



CONa^EHa^S. 



I. 

PAGE. 

Cleopatra 11 

II. 
Isabella op Castile 53 

III. 
Joan of Arc 139 C- 

IV. 
Maria Theresa 183 

V. 
Josephine 221 

VI. 
Elizabeth op England 269 

VII. 
Mary op Scotland . 325 

VIII. 
Catherine op Russia 393 

IX. 
Marie Antoinette 445 

X. 

Madame Roland , „ 473 



TO 

8. SHELDON NORTON, ESQ. 



My Dear Norton :— 

I do not inscribe this volume to you, merely because of the 
long and uninterrupted personal friendship existing between us, — 
though I would fain have you regard it as a memorial of the in- 
timacy which that friendship has sweetened and hallowed. I 
find other motives to influence me, in our mutual admiration of 
female heroism, and in the interest with which, in common with 
myself, you have traced out the varied fortunes, and studied the 
characters of the *' Heroines of History," whose lives I have 
attempted to sketch in the following pages. 

They were not perfect women,— and where did such ever 
exist, unless in the dreamy conceptions, half poetic, half philo- 
sophic, of the pure and simple-minded, though almost too un- 
worldly, bard of Rydal Mount ? I have not considered them as 
examples of female excellence, without spot or blemish ; nor 
have I represented them in that light. They were famous 
women, and so lifted "above mortality,"— and as such I have 
endeavored to portray them. 



VI DEDICATORY EPISTLE. 

The title is suggestive of the character of the book, It has 
not been my aim to give detailed biographies of the several per- 
sonages introduced, so much as to present pictures of them, — in 
the shading and coloring of which, while I may have gone 
beyond the letter of history, I have not done violence to its 
spirit, nor disregarded its facts. 

You will readily discover that the characters have not been 
selected in pursuance of any particular plan. Some have been 
taken from 

" The classic days, those mothers of romance, 
That roused a nation for a woman's glance;" 

and others from a period, full of interest, indeed, and abounding 
in great names and great deeds, but separated from our own 
times by a very narrow interval. 

Believing that you will be interested in the perusal of these 
pages— and hoping that the public may find nothing in them 
worthy of censure — I am their servant, and most truly, your 
friend, 

The Author. 



CLEOPATRA. 



Clnptra. 



Pot Cleopatra o Egypto foi vencido. 

Mascarbnhab. 



Whatever might hare been the character of the 
person occupying the throne of the Ptolemies, during 
the time of the Caesars and the Triumvirate, it may 
well be doubted, whether the independence of Egypt, 
under any other circumstances than those which at- 
tended the complete subjection of that kingdom to the 
Eoman sway, could have been longer maintained in 
opposition to the colossal power whose victorious 
standards were planted on the rocky shores of the At- 
lantic, or fanned by the soft breezes of the Orient ; 
and, perhaps, it was rather the misfortune than the 
fault, of the fair, but frail, descendant of a long line of 
illustrious princes, that she was the last of her dynasty 
and race who ruled in the home of her ancestors. 
Nay, — ^is it not certain, that the charms which captiva- 
ted Caesar and enthralled the heart of Antony, though 
powerless to save her country from the doom that 
awaited it, put far off the evil day of its undoing? 
The Egyptian kings had long been the mere allies of 



12 CLEOPATRA. 



Rome ; and such vassalage was almost sure to be the 
precursor of entire subjugation. 

Yet it is for the very reason offered by the Portu- 
guese poet in her condemnation — that for, or on ac- 
count of her, Egypt was vanquished — that the name 
of Cleopatra is so famous in history. The poet who 
has dwelt with delight on her charms and her follies, 
and the historian whose periods have grown eloquent 
as he depicted her graces and lamented the weakness 
with which they were allied, have referred to them 
more as the causes which produced the downfall of 
the Egyptian monarchy, than as the effects of that na- 
tional degeneracy which preceded it. As the beauty 
and the shame of Helen are first in the thought of the 
traveller who pauses beside the yellow waters of the 
Scamander, and looks a,:ound him, but in vain, for the 
memorials of ancient Ilium ; so he who gazes on the 
humble promontory that breaks the waters of the Io- 
nian sea, forgets that the crescent of the Moslem is re- 
flected in the blue waves that sparkle beneath it — 
Time rolls back the events which she has numbeicd 
— the proud galleys of Egypt's queen and her doating 
lover pass in review before him — and he remembers 
Duly, that here 

" was lost 
A world for woman, lovely, harmless thing 1" 

But the story of the false bride of Menelaiis is all a 
fable ; and thus, too, may it be said, that historic truth 
does not warrant the conclusion, that Egypt was over- 
thrown, for the sake of Cleopatra. It is enough that 



CLEOPATRA. 13 



she presided, as it were, over the catastrophe which 
she could not avert, to invest it with the attractions 
of Romance. Th'5 seeds of dissolution were not, in 
fact, planted bj her hand, — she but neglected to check 
their growth. Under her auspices, the last days of 
the monarchy fvere spent in the soft dalliance of love, 
in excess and voluptuousness, instead of the misery 
and confusion of a hopeless and protracted warfare. 
One after another of the Roman generals who designed 
to wrost from her the kingdom she had inherited, was 
made captive by her beauty, and in her embraces for- 
got the " high ambition" which had before been his 
mistress ; and it was only when that beauty had faded, 
and could no longer ensnare, that the Egypt whose 
glory and splendor had once been unrivalled, was 
humbled in the dust. The beauty and the love of 
Cleopatra had preserved for a season, but they did not 
secure, the independence of her country ; and the 
same hour that witnessed the overthrow of the one, 
beheld the failure of the other. 

Cleopatra was born about the year 68, B. C. Her 
father, Ptolemy Auletes, had ascended the throne of 
Egypt under the patronage of the Roman Senate ; his 
predecessor, Alexander Ptolemy III., having be- 
queathed his kingdom to the Romans, although, as he 
had been banished by his subjects, it was a matter of 
some doubt, whether he was capable of making such 
a disposition of his crown. Auletes was a shrewd and 
politic prince. With the sum of six thousand talents 
he purchased the favor and friendship of Julius Caesar 



14 CLEOPATRA. 



and Pompey, and through, their influence secured the 
alliance of Rome. His people, indignant at his con- 
duct, revolted from his authority and drove him into 
exile ; but they were compelled again to receive and 
recognize him as their king, by the presence of a Ro- 
man army. Subsequent to this re-establishment of his 
power, the peace of the realm was not disturbed ; and 
until his death, he continued in the uninterrupted pos- 
session of his kingdom. 

Auletes had two sons and three daughters. But 
two of his daughters survived him : the eldest, whose 
name was Berenice, was put to death by her father, 
because she had worn the crown, and assumed the 
royal authority, during his exile. By his will, there- 
fore, he left the government of Egypt to his eldest son 
and his second daughter, — the latter being the re- 
nowned Cleopatra. He also directed, in accordance 
with the usage of the Alexandrian court, that they 
should marry together and reign jointly. As both 
were minors, they were placed under the guardianship 
of the Roman Senate, by whom Pompey was selected 
to fulfil the duties of the office. 

At the time of her father's death, Cleopatra had 
nearly reached her seventeenth year — that season of 
poetry and love. She stood just upon the threshold 
of womanhood, — the faultless outlines of the girl want- 
ing but the filling up to perfect a form unmatched 
among Egyptian maidens for symmetry and grace. 
She was tall of stature, and queenly in gait and ajv 
pearance. Her features were regular, and every limb 
finely moulded, though yet lacking the round and vo- 



Oleopatra. 15 



luptuous fullness of her ripened beauty. The warm 
sun of that southern clime had tinged her cheek with 
a hue of brown, but her complexion was clear and 
pure as the serene sky that smiled above her head, anc 
distinctly traced beneath it, were the delicate vein^ 
filled with the rich blood that danced so wildly, when 
inflamed with hate, or heated with desire. 

Her eyes and hair were like jet, and glossy as the 
raven's plume. The former were large, and, as was 
characteristic of her race, apparently half shut and 
slightly turned up at the outer angles, thus adding a 
great deal to the naturally arch expression of her 
countenance ; but they were full, too, of brilliancy 
and fire. Her silken ringlets fell in long flowing 
masses down the stately neck, and over the snowy 
throat, and the polished shoulders, and the wavy 
bosom where Love delighted to make his pillow. 
Both nose and chin were small, but fashioned as with 
all the nicety of the sculptor's art; and her pearly 
teeth nestled lovingly between the coral lips whose 
kisses were sweet as honey from the hives of Hybla. 

But her beauty was not all mere comeliness of form 
and feature. To the witchery of Yenus she added 
something of the dignity of Juno. Beside the personal 
charms that might arouse the slumbering passions of 
an anchorite, she possessed the most exquisite mental 
gifts. Her countenance was expressive, and her dark 
sparkling eyes beamed with intelligence. With a 
fondness for philosophy, she united a love of letters as 
rare as it was attractive ; and in the companionship 
of scholars and poets, her mind expanded as she added 



16 CLEOPATRA. 



to its priceless stores of wealth. She was not only 
familiar with the heroic tales and traditions, with the 
poetic myths and chronicles, and the religious legends 
c f ancient Chemia ; but she was well versed, too, in 
the literature and science of Phoenicia and Chaldsea, 
of Greece and Rome. Of both the Greek and tht. 
Latin tongue she was a complete mistress, and with 
the swarthy Ethiop and the fierce Bedawi of the des- 
ert, with the Jew, the Syrian, the Mede, and the Per- 
sian, she could converse without an interpreter. De- 
lighting, as she indeed did, in the love-songs of Anac- 
reon, she often turned with interest to the dark vol- 
umes of papyrus containing the historic fragments of 
Manetho and Eratosthenes. Much as she admired 
Homer and Pindar, they were not more her favor- 
ites than Euclid or Archimedes, than Anaxagoras or 
Aristotle ; and Apollonius of Perga occupied as high 
a place in her regard, as his namesake, the Rhodian. 
She was skilled, also, in metallurgy and chemistry ; 
and a proficient in astronomy, and the other sciences 
cultivated in the age in which she lived. 

In the lighter accomplishments, she was not de- 
ficient. She possessed a fine taste, which had been 
highly cultivated. The female graces for which Mile- 
tus was so widely famed, beautified and adorned her 
<jharacter. Her skill in music found none to equal it. 
Hei voice itself was perfect melody, and when 
breathed through the soft tibia, fell upon the listening 
ear with a magic power, and bathed 

" The drooping spirits in delight 
Beyond the bliss of dreams." 



CLEOPATRA. 17 



Touched bj her fingers, the cithern seemed instinct 
with life, and from its strings there rolled a gushing 
flood of glorious symphonies. She was eloquent and 
imaginative, witty and animated. Her conversation, 
therefore, was charming ; and if she exhibited caprice, 
which she sometimes, did, it was forgotten in the in- 
imitable grace of her manner. 

Had she not been fond of pleasure, she would have 
constituted an exception to the times. Yet she was 
no Sybarite ; but, like Aspasia, — or, to find her par- 
allel in a later age, like Margaret of Valois, — she loved 
to mingle the intellectual with the sensual. There 
had been a reaction in the social condition of the 
Egyptian people — the sacerdotal power was dimin- 
ished — the influence of their strange religion was 
weakened — the prejudice of caste was not felt to the 
same extent as formerly — refinement had taken the 
place of austerity, and licentiousness that of gloomy 
formalism. This change commenced with her father's 
reign, and her character was formed by the circum- 
stances that surrounded her. 

Her vices were those of the age : — her virtues, few 
though they may have been, were cherished in spite 
of it. She was superstitious, — but Superstition was 
then Eeligion. She was cruel, — but cruelty was tLi- 
besetting sin of nations and individuals. She was sel 
fish : — why should she not have been selfish, with ene- 
mies plotting and conspiring against her at her father's 
court, and seeking in every way to compass her de- 
struction? She was ambitious, — but when were the 
sons or daughters of kings and princes without am- 
2 



18 CLEOPATRA. 

bition? She possessed strong and ardent passions, 
which she rarely attempted to control, — but they were 
the only feelings she was at liberty to gratify • she 
was formed to love, and be loved in return, but both 
the law and her religion forbade the indulgence of an 
lionest affection. 

Such was the youthful queen of Egypt when she 
ascended the throne of her father, not as sole mistress, 
but enjoying a divided empire, and coupled, too, with 
a condition, — that of her. marriage with her brother, 
who was still younger than herself, — from which she 
revolted, less from principle, indeed, than for the rea- 
son that its fulfilment was abhorrent to her inclina- 
tions. A mutual dislike seems to have been early 
formed between them ; and the flame was industri- 
ously fanned by the designing counsellors and favor- 
ites of young Ptolemy. Not less ambitious than his 
sister and wife, but her inferior in talents, in accom^ 
plishments, and in every attribute necessary to main- 
tain the dignity appropriate to his position, he was 
but the tool and creature of abler and more designing 
men. 

The strong aversion conceived for each other by the 
royal pair was soon changed to the most rancorous 
hate. The Egyptian people were by no means favor- 
able to the rule of a female sovereign, and this na- 
tional prejudice contributed a great deal to strengthen 
the influence of the king's advisers. While the joint 
power remained in the hands of Cleopatra, they could 
do nothing, — she was too intelligent to be a dupe, too 
ambitious to acknowledge a superior, — and, therefore, 



CLEOPATRA. 19 



it became their aim and object to deprive lier of her 
share in the sovereignty. Their plans, for the time, 
were siiccessfal. Acting under the advice of Photi- 
nus, his tutor, of Achillas, the general of his army, 
and Theodotus, the rhetorician, Ptolemy refused to 
allow her to participate in the administration of the 
government. 

It was not in the nature of Cleopatra to submit to 
so great an indignity. She claimed her rights, with a 
boldness and spirit which, among any other people, 
would have aroused a general and irrepressible feeling 
of enthusiasm in her favor ; but the prejudices of the 
populace were stimulated and aroused by the artful 
ministers, and they, too, joined in the cry against her. 
Too proud to compromise her dignity, by a surrender 
of her authority, she was nevertheless forced to vield 
to the tide of popular fury. But the heroic heart that 
beat in her bosom was unsubdued. Obliged to fly 
from Egypt, she hastened to Palestine and Syria, to 
collect an army that might enable her to recover the 
heritage of which she had. been deprived. 

Just at this juncture, the fate of Eome and of the 
world was decided on the plains of Pharsalia. Pom- 
pey fled to Egypt, but was treacherously murdered by 
the cruel Ptolemy and his ministers. The victorious 
Caesar followed close upon his track, with an army too 
small for conquest, but having in its leader a host 
Se was then at the zen'th of his power, and brare 
men trembled when his name was uttered. The mur* 
der of his great eneay did not secure his friendshij), 
as the counsellors of Ptolemy had anticipated : he 



20 CLEOPATRA. 



treated them with coldness, and demanded the prompt 
payment of a sum of money due him from Auletes. 

Anarchy now reigned in Egypt. Altercations and 
disputes between the respective adherents of Cleopatra 
and her brother were of daily occurrence. Assassina- 
tions were frequent ; violence usurped the place of 
justice; and crime went unpunished. While this 
state of things existed, Cassar could not expect that 
his claim would be satisfied ; for the turbulent state 
of the country afforded abundant excuses, or pretences, 
for postponing its consideration, or evading it alto- 
gether. Accordingly, it was his policy to promote the 
early restoration of order and quiet, and to that end 
he proposed, as the representative of the Eoman Sen- 
ate and nation, to hear and determine the dispute be- 
tv/een Cleopatra and her brother. 

In the mean time, the fair refugee had nearly com- 
pleted her preparations, and was about to return to 
Egypt to maintain her right to the throne by force of 
arms. Having received the summons of Caesar to ap- 
point some person to plead her cause before him, she 
determined to obey it, but to be her own advocate ; 
and fearing that the arbiter might be prejudiced 
against her by Ptolemy and his ministers, she re- 
solved to seek a private interview with him, without 
delay. 

Lest her approach should be suspected, and means 
be taken to prevent any communication with the Eo- 
man general, she sailed from Syria in a frail skiff, at- 
tended but by a single friend, Apollodorus, a Sicilian 
Greek. Caesar himself had not dared to venture out 



CLEOPATRA. 21 



to sea, on account of the prevalence of the fierce Ete 
sian winds; but nothing daunted her buoyant soul. 
It was a high stake in peril — her crown and kingdom 
— everything to her. Each moment was pregnant 
with danger, and the dark waters of the Mediterranean 
frowned gloomily upon her ; yet she knew not what 
it was to fear, for wind and wave seemed but to throb 
in unison with the wild, fierce passions that sustainec 
her. 

Arrived off the harbor of Alexandria, she found 
that it would be impossible to effect a landing in safe- 
ty, and to avoid the spies and elude the vigilance of 
Photinus and Achillas, except by stratagem. Her 
woman's wit and cunning now served her well. Hav- 
ing procured some cloths and other fabrics, such as 
were brought for sale by foreign merchants, she spread 
them out, and laid herself at full length upon them. 
Following her directions, her faithful attendant Apol- 
lodorus wound them about her person, and then tied 
the bundle with a thong in the same manner as pack- 
ages of goods were secured. 

Thus hidden from all stranger eyes, she was con- 
veyed in the dusk of evening to the quarters of the 
Roman commander; her companion sustaining, foi 
the nonce, the character of a merchant, and bearing 
the load of beauty on his shoulders as if it were but 
common merchandize. In answer to all inquiries, he 
said he bore a present for Caesar. That was true, 
though not in the sense in which he was understood ; 
but the reply was sufficient, and he pursued his way 
unmolested, through crowds of citizens and soldiers. 



22 CLEOPATRA. 



and past all the lines of guards, till be reached the 
presence of tlie illustrious Roman, and deposited the 
tair burden at his feet. 

Then he unloosed the package, and instead of Tyr- 
ian purples, of scarfs from Sidon glistening with their 
splendid saffron dyes, or shawls of Babylon enriched 
with stripes of gold or sprinkled with woven flowers, 
there sprang forth, like Yeniis from the waves of 
Ocean, a woman robed in beauty such as poet never 
dreamed, nor sculptor's art could fashion. The match- 
less queen of Egypt stood before him ; her disordered 
apparel but half concealing the matured charms of 
twenty summers ; her unbound tresses floating to her 
feet ; her short-sleeved tunic leaving the white arms 
uncovered which outshone the armillse of pearls that 
clasped them ; her olive-brown cheek tinged with 
blushes, and her dark eyes beaming with anxiety and 
hope. 

She came, — she saw, and conquered. Though al- 
ways addicted to sensual indulgences, C^sar had now 
passed his fiftieth year, and the hot blood of youth no 
longer warmed his veins. Yet passion was not wholly 
dead within him. He was unprepared for so much 
loveliness, and it filled him with surprise. Her charm- 
ing conversation, her sparkling vivacity and wit, in- 
creased the fascinating influence whose spell was on 
him, and he yielded, without an effort of resistance, to 
its power. His Roman wife was forgotten ; and in 
the arms of Cleopatra, he promised that her will, in 
Egypt, should be second to his own. 

It was nothing strange that the attachment should 



CLEOPATRA. 28 



be reciprocated by the Egyptian queen, — not strange 
that, escaping from an incestuous connection, she 
should indulge an unlawful passion, — not strange that, 
flying from the imbecile husband provided for her 
she should find a refuge " in a hero's love." There 
was much in the character of the Eoman statesman 
and warrior, that was calculated to inspire her regara. 
His person was not displeasing to her ; and his re- 
nown, his soldierly skill and daring, his intelligence, 
and his manly independence, all combined to attract 
her to him. She loved him, no doubt, sincerely ; and 
manifested her affection by an intimacy, which, though 
outraging decency and virtue, was but in keeping with 
the customs and manners of the time. She could not 
be his wife, and therefore became his mistress. 

On the day following this strange interview, Caesar 
sent for young Ptolemy, and advised him to become 
reconciled with Cleopatra, to take her as his wife, and 
share with her the regal power. The suspicions of the 
young monarch were at once aroused, and when he 
learned, as he soon did, that his sister was at that mo- 
ment in the apartments of Caesar, his anger rose be- 
yond control. Rushing from the palace into the open 
street, he tore the kingly diadem from ofp his head, 
and trampled it beneath his feet. To the people who 
crowded round him, he said that he had been be- 
trayed, and called upon them to avenge hiri. For his 
dishonor, if he knew it then, he cared but little, as he 
had before sought to compass the death of Cleopatra ; 
but that she was under the protection, and enjoyed the 
confidence of Caesar, seemed ominous of ill. 



24 CLEOPATRA. 



His story excited the sjmpatliy of the populace, and 
placing himself at their head, he returned to the palace 
for the purpose of attacking Caesar. But his ungovern- 
able rage only led him into further difficulty. He was 
seized by the "Roman soldiers, and forced to acquiesce 
in the arrangement which Caesar had indicated. An 
assembly of the Egyptian people was held, by order of 
the Eoman commander, at which he announced his de- 
cision, as guardian and arbiter, that Ptolemy and Cleo- 
patra should reign together jointly, in Egypt, accord- 
ing to the will of their father ; and that Ptolemy, their 
younger brother, and Arsinoe, the younger sister, 
should exercise joint rule in Cyprus, then a Eoman 
possession, but formerly one of the dependencies of 
Egypt, and now restored by Caesar. 

In this decree, both Ptolemy and Cleopatra, who 
were present when it was pronounced, concurred with- 
out hesitation ; and their example was followed by all 
the principal dignitaries in the kingdom. But the 
peace thus concluded was a hollow one. The decision 
of Caesar was fatal to the ambitious designs of Pothi- 
nus, and at his instigation, Achillas refused to give his 
assent, and marched with the Egyptian army upon 
Alexandria. Ptolemy, too, only waited for an oppor- 
tunity to manifest his dis" nclination to abide by an ar- 
rangement which had been forced upon him. While 
in the capital, he was but the mere prisoner of Caesar, 
and he desired to be released from the unwelcome sur- 
veillance. Professing the sincerest attachment to the 
Roman general, he deceived him so far, that he was 
permitted to go to the Egyptian camp, in order, as he 



CLEOPATRA. 25 



said, to prevail apon his friends to submit to the decree. 
Once there, he threw off all disguise, and prepared for- 
hostilities. 

The Alexandrean war now succeeded. Yarious for 
tune attended the movements and operations of the ri- 
val parties. At one time the little Eoman army seemed 
doomed to be overwhelmed bj the superior force of the 
Egyptians. But the good genius of Caesar did not de- 
sert him. He manfully supported the cause of Cleo- 
patra which he had espoused, and by repeated expo- 
sures of his own person to danger and peril, for her 
sake, awakened in her bosom still more powerful feel- 
ings of affection and regard. At length, being sec- 
onded by the Eoman troops from Syria and Cilicia, 
Caesar prosecuted the war with his accustomed vigor, 
and it finally ended in the complete overthrow and 
death of Ptolemy, and the general recognition of the 
authority of Cleopatra. 

During the series of contests that took place in the 
vicinity of Alexandrea, a large portion of the city was 
destroyed by fire, including its chiefest ornament, the 
noble library founded by the Ptolemies. At one time 
all seemed lost. But through the gathering gloom, 
the star of Caesar shone with a lustre as of old. Midst 
the ashes and ruins of the capital, his banners floated 
proudly in triumph or in defiance. From street to 
street the enemy were driven by hi.s victorious arms, 
until the beleaguered city was relieved. Indifferent to 
peril, he shared every risk ; and each day the heart of 
Cleopatra warmed toward him, as she beheld him fear- 
lessly encountering danger for her sake. Before, she 



26 CLEOPATRA. 



had but loved liim, — now, gratitude turned her love 
into devotion. 

The war being ended, Cleopatra was proclaimed 
anew the queen of Egypt ; and in order to gratify the 
disaffected partisans of Ptolemy, and to allay the preju- 
dices of the people, Csesar decreed that she should 
marry her younger brother, and that he should be as- 
sociated with her in the government. This marriage, 
however, was one of mere form, as the younger Ptole- 
my was then but eleven years of age ; and Cleopatra 
continued to shrare the counsels and the bed of C^sar. 

Having thus put down all opposition, and restored 
peace and tranquillity to the kingdom, Caesar and Cleo- 
patra made a royal progress through the valley of the 
Nile, accompanied by his Koman guards, by a large 
retinue of friends, and by troops of servants and attend- 
ants. Slowly and leisurely they ascended " the great 
river," whose banks were yellow with the ripening har- 
vest, in barges with poops of burnished gold — the oars, 
inlaid with silver, keeping time with the measured 
tones of sweetest music, and the carved prows cleav- 
ing the waters softly, like mermaids in their merry 
sports. 

Keclining beneath silken awnings spangled with 
stars and flowers, upon carpets that yielded to the 
slightest pressure, and in whose woof the velvet foli- 
age of the amaranth was blended with Eastern roses, 
and the azure flowers of the sacred lotus, the Egyptian 
queen and her noble lover passed the day in slumber, 
lulled by the mellow strains of bai^Diton and pipe, and 
fanned by the scented gales of " Araby the Blest." At 



CLEOPATRA. 27 



the fall of even, the lents were pitched upon the shore, 
and; summoned as it were by magic, long files of slaves 
came forth, bearing the vessels of gold and silver for 
the feast. The board was spread with fish and sesa- 
mum, Avith soup of alica, with olives, cakes and sweet- 
meats, and the luscious fruits of Yemen. Wines made 
from the palm and grape, cooled in the vases of Cop- 
tos, or sparkled in the golden craters wrought by Ar- 
give artists with exquisite skill ; and lamps of per- 
fumed oil, and censers filled with burning incense, 
scattered their rich odors through the groves of date- 
palms and acacias. The night was spent in merriment 
and feasting, and when the morrow came, it but re- 
newed the scenes of yesterday. 

In revelry like this, in love's soft dalliance, the 
winged hours flew swiftly by. Though his presence 
was no longer needed, Caesar still lingered at the Alex- 
audrean court. Cleopatra became the mother of a son, 
named, after his father, Csesarion. Thus was there an- 
other tie between them, and it was difficult to separate. 
At last, the revolt of Pharnaces obliged him to break 
loose from the sweet thraldom which had detained 
him, and hastening forthwith to Syria, he defeated the 
rebel prince, and drove him out of the kingdom of 
Pontus. 

Meanwhile, his enemies at home, not without cause, 
had brought discredit on his name ; and even his 
warmest and most faithful friends did not withhold 
their censures, for that he had not resisted the bland- 
ishments of the Egyptian Circe. Leaving a sufficient 
number of his troops with Cleopatra, to enable her to 



28 CLEOPATRA. 



suppress any outbreak that might occur, he now re- 
turned to Kome, taking with him her sister, the young 
Arsinoe, who had fallen into his hands as a prisoner 
on the defeat of Ptolemy, to grace the triumph decreed 
him by the Eoman Senate. 

From this time, and until after the death of Caesar, 
the reign of Cleopatra was not disturbed by foreign 
war or internal commotions. Her power was firmly 
established, and no one disputed her authority. Dur- 
ing the minority of her brother, she administered the 
government alone, with a skill and ability not unwor- 
thy ol the race from which she sprung. Though too 
much devoted to pleasure and gayety, she was not 
without ambition. She conciliated the favor of her 
subjects by her attention to their interests, by the en- 
couragement of commerce and the arts, and the restora- 
tion of the capital to its former splendor. Under the 
powerful protection of the first man in Eome, none 
dared to molest her, — kings and princes courted her 
alliance, and stood in awe of her name. It was, per- 
haps, a frail tenure — the will of Caesar — by which she 
held the sceptre ; but it was, also, the sole alternative 
of absolute submission to the Roman rule. Egypt was 
already doomed. Nature had made her the granary 
of the world, and she was far too valuable a prize to 
be either overlooked or forgotten. 

It had been the original intention of Caesar to bring 
Cleopatra to Rome, and there to marry her. For that 
purpose, he had solicited a friend to propose a law to 
the people, allowing a Roman citizen to marry as many 
wives as he thought fit. His friend acceded to the re- 



CLEOPATRA. 29 



quest, but nothing had been done when he returned to 
Rome. Opposition to his project being anticipated, no 
further steps were taken, though he continued as deep- 
ly enamored with her as ever, and many tender mes- 
sages were wont to pass between them. Had he hved, 
and attained the imperial power, it is not improbable 
that she would have become his wife ; and certainly, 
in one respect — as the two most conspicuous person- 
ages in the world — they would have been fitly mated. 
She the bride of Caesar — Csesar Emperor of Eome, — 
what might have been the fate of both ! what the des- 
tiny of " the Niobe of nations !" 

Events now followed each other in rapid succession. 
Cleopatra did not soon forget her love for Caesar. She 
visited him at Rome, became an inmate of his palace, 
and usurped the place which his wife should have occu- 
pied. But her hopes of an alliance with him, in which 
he probably shared, were suddenly frustrated by his 
assassination. The Roman people did not regard her 
with favor, and she returned forthwith to Egypt. Dis- 
appointed in the darling object of her heart, she re- 
solved to reign alone, and was not disposed to share 
her throne with a husband forced upon her acceptance. 
When her younger brother, therefore, having reached 
the age of fourteen years, claimed his share of the regal 
power, she removed him by poison, and was thence- 
forth sole mistress of the realm. 

Her court, like that of her father, was distinguished 
alike for its refinement and its voluptuousness. She 
was the patron, both of learning and of love. The 
fame of her wit and beauty was noised abroad, and 



30 CLEOPATRA. 



A^lexandrea became the favorite resort of travellers. 
To all she gave a cordial welcome, whether philoso- 
phers and men of letters, or gay gallants in quest of 
pleasure. 

It would seem that Cleopatra hesitated, at first, 
whether to ally herself with the Triumvirate, or with 
the party of Brutus and Cassius. Her sympathies were 
unquestionably with the friends of Caesar ; but while 
it remained in doubt which was the stronger faction, 
the safety of her kingdom and herself appeared to re- 
quire that she should not give offence to either. Her 
hesitation, however, was not of long continuance. 
Foreseeing the ultimate triumph of the powerful party 
headed by Antony, Lepidus, and Octavius Caesar, she 
refused her aid to Cassius, which he had earnestly so- 
licited, and shortly after sailed with a numerous fleet 
to join the forces of the Triumvirate. In consequence 
of a violent storm, in which many of her ships were 
destroyed or disabled, she was obliged to return to 
Egypt, where she remained till the question was de- 
cided by the utter discomfiture and overthrow of the 
republican faction in the battle of Philippi. 

After the defeat of Brutus and Cassius, and the firm 
establishment in Greece of the authority of his col- 
leagues and himself. Marc Antony crossed over into 
Asia, to secure and strengthen their interests in that 
quarter of the world. The prestige of his name was 
all-powerful. His progress was one continued triumph, 
— not such as best became a conqueror, but dishonored 
by the most shameful debauchery and excess. Kings 
bent before him, in humble obeisance, and laid their 



CLEOPATRA. 31 



hoarded treasures at his feet. Queens, rejoicing in 
youth and beauty, sought his presence eagerly, and 
yielded every favor that he asked. Never was the 
gross sensualism of his character more glaringly ex- 
hibited. The wealth of Croesus filled his coffers, but 
it was needed to furnish new pleasures for his jaded 
appetite. Sycophants and flatterers shared his gold, 
and partook with him in every vice and folly. Dan- 
cers and buffoons were his companions and attendants 
— the creatures of his bounty, and the ministers to his 
passions. 

Kumors of the sports and revelry, the rioting and 
feasting, in which he delighted, went before him 
Cities sent forth their entire population to greet his 
coming. His followers called him Bacchus — a name 
that pleased him, — and men and boys disguised as 
Pans and Satyrs, and women dressed as Bacchanals in 
loose Asiatic robes, with vine- wreaths about their 
heads and fawn-skins on their shoulders, ran before 
him, swinging their thyrsi crowned with acanthus- 
leaves and the foliage and berries of the ivy, beating 
their drums and cymbals, and shouting lo Bacche I lo 
Bacche ! 

This was Antony, — brave but effeminate ; talented 
and eloquent, but coarse by nature ; generous in dis- 
position, but often cruel and unforgiving ; sometimes 
abandoned, as it seemed, to the very lowest vices, and 
then, breaking loose from his degradation, exhibitiog his 
character radiant with its old light. This was the An- 
tony, who, History tells us, was ruined by the arts of 
Cleopatra, — as if he were an unwilling victim, and she 



32 CLEOPATllA. 



were wrong, judged by the standard of her time, in 
adopting the only means that could save her country 
from impending ruin. 

Antony had cast a longing eye on Egypt, and he 
wanted but a pretext, whether reasonable or unreason- 
able, to occupy it with his troops, abolish its govern- 
ment and laws, and seat a Eoman governor on the 
throne of Cleopatra. He had been informed that the 
governor of Phoenicia, then an Egyptian province, had 
aided Cassius, and he now summoned her before him, 
to answer for the conduct of her subordinate. His 
lieutenant, Dellius, was charged with his commands 
to her, to meet him at Tarsus, the capital of Cilicia. 

To disobey this summons was to incur the displeas- 
ure of Antony, with Lepidus and Octavius, joint ruler 
of the world, and to arm the whole power of Rome 
against her feeble kingdom. She determined, there- 
fore, to comply ; but that it might seem like condescen- 
sion, rather that enforced submission, she did not has- 
ten the preparations for her journey. From Dellius she 
learned the weak points of x\ntony : she knew his 
character, and felt assured he would prove an easy con- 
quest. He was fond of money, not so much for its 
own sake, as for the pleasures and amusements it could 
purchase ; — so from her affluence, she provided herself 
with the richest presents, and an ample store of gold 
and silver. He was vain, and relished display and 
pomp ; — so she caused a barge to be built, whose mag- 
nificence had never yet been equalled ; and its accom- 
paniments, and her own habits and ornaments, were 
suited to her dignity and wealth, and in keeping with 



CLEOPATEA. 33 



the show and splendor with which she intended to daz- 
zle the eyes of all beholders, and to charm and capti- 
vate the Roman general. 
But, more than all, he was the 

*' courteous Antony, 
Whom ne'er the word of No woman heard speak," — 

and so she brought herself. — And Cleopatra was not 
now the young and inexperienced girl who gave her 
love to Caesar. She was in her twenty-sixth year, and 
every charm was perfected, every grace was finished. 
With both mind and person fully developed, winning 
in her -address, fascinating in conversation, possessing 
a vivacity in whose presence melancholy was changed 
to mirthfulness, and skilled " in every art of wanton- 
ness" and coquetry, she was peerless and irresistible. 
None knew it better than herself, — none felt it more 
than Antony. 

Though she received maify pressing letters from 
Antony and his friends, urging her to expedite her 
movements, she affected to treat them with disdain, 
and lingered long at every place she visited upon the 
way. No thought of haste appeared to animate her ; 
but she travelled slowly, as if intent on pleasure, or 
delighting to provoke the impatience of those who 
waited for her arrival. At last her fleet was moored 
within the entrance of " the silver Cydnus," — and 
then, in the splendid galley brought across the sea, fol- 
lowed by a long line of smaller barges, she ascended 
the river to Tarsus. 

It was a srlorious pa^q^eant ! — ThtJ richest carvings 
'^ 3 ' _ 



34 CLEOPATRA. 



adorned her barge, wHch fairly blazed with gold and 
splendor. Its sails of brightest purple, swelled grace- 
fully with the soft south wind that strained its silken 
cordage. Its oars, both blade and handle tipped and 
bound with silver, moved in harmony with the volup- 
tuous music of the flute, the pipe, and cithern. Above 
it floated the mystic ensign of the Egyptian monarchs ; 
and from the burning censers on its prow, clouds of 
odorous perfume were wafted to the shore. Upon its 
deck was raised a lofty canopy of cloth of gold, be- 
neath which, on a cushioned couch, with ivory and 
tortoise-shell inlaid, reclined the dark-eyed queen of 
Egypt. She was robed like Yenus in a purple mantle, 
glittering with diamonds, and its border ornamented 
with threads of gold and silver intertwined. Eoses 
and myrtles were wreathed about her brows ; her ears 
were pierced with rings of orichalcum ; a necklace of 
precious stones encircled her swan-like throat ; the 
golden cestus clasped her waist, and golden sandals in 
cased her tiny feet. Beautiful boys, disguised as Cu 
pids, stood beside her, and fanned her with their wings. 
Damsels, among the fairest at her court, whose houried 
beauty could not be surpassed, were habited as Ne- 
reids and Graces, in loose, transparent robes, and wait- 
ed to do her bidding, or managed the helm and sails 
with great dexterity and skill. 

" The tackling silk, the streamers waved with gold. 
The gentle winds were lodged in purple sails. 
Her nymphs, like Nereids, round her couch were placed. 
Where she, another sea-born Venus, lay. 
She lay and lean'd her cheek upon her hand, 



CLEOPATKA. 36 



And cast a look so languishingly sweet, 

As if, secure of all beholders' hearts, 

Neglecting she could take them. Boys, like Cupids, 

Stood fanning with their painted wings the winds 

That played about her face ; but if she smiled, 

A darting glory seemed to blaze abroad, 

That man's desiring eyes were never wearied. 

But hung upon the object ! To soft flutes 

The silver oars kept time ; and while they played. 

The hearing gave new pleasures to the sight, 

And both to thought ! 'Twas heaven or somewhat rcore . 

For she so charmed all hearts, that gazing crowds 

Stood panting on the shore, and wanted breath 

To give their welcome voice."* 

The shore was lined with people, who watched the 
barge laden with so much beauty, with straining eyes. 
As it moved along, the cry was raised, that Yenus had 
come to feast with Bacchus. From mouth to mouth it 
passed, until it reached the market-place in Tarsus. 
All hastened forth to witness her approach, — all save 
Antony, who, deserted by suitors and attendants, re- 
mained alone on the tribunal where he was seated. 
Immediately upon her landing, he sent an officer to 
her with his greeting, coupled with the request that 
she would come and sup with him. 

"Go, tell your master," was her reply, "that it is 
more fitting he should come and sup with me !" 

This assumption of social superiority put an end at 
once to all the dignit}?- which Antony purposed to as- 
sume. He accepted the invitation of Cleopatra ; and 
thus, at the very outset, exhibited a deference toward 
her by which she did not fail to profit. 

* Dry den's " All for Love," — act iii. 



36 CLEOPATRA. 



For luxurious magnificence, and costly and profuse 
evtravagance, the entertainment provided by Cleopatra 
had never yet been equalled. Her tents and pavilions, 
hung with cloth of gold, or silken tapestry from the 
boms of Tyre and Sidon, were pitched beside the 
sparkling waters of the Cydnus, in a noble grove of 
spreading plane-trees and stately laurels. Lamps of 
bronze and gold, suspended by gilt chains or supported 
by lofty candelabra, arranged in squares and circles, 
and raised or depressed at pleasure, shed their per- 
fumed light around. Blazing censers, filled with choi- 
cest spices, loaded the air with fragrance. There were 
long rows of marble tables and silver tripods, covered 
with tureens, and urns, and vases, of gold and silver, 
fashioned with elegance and taste. Large silver lances, 
or chargers, splendidly embossed, contained the juicy 
meats, the fish, the hares, and pheasants. The bread 
and fruited cake were brought in silver baskets. 
Bronze dishes, with ornaments inlaid, were filled with 
eggs and roes of fishes, with oysters from the Helles- 
pont, with fresh and pickled olives, with frumenty and 
radishes, with dried dates and raisins, mulberries new- 
ly gathered, and almonds and confections. Banquet- 
ing cups of most exquisite workmanship, were wreathed 
with garlands and poured brimming full with the rich 
juice of Chios, or the produce of the Egyptian soil — 
not the mild wines of Thebais and Coptos, but the 
light fragrant Mareoticum, and the oily and aromatic 
Taenioticum. 

Upon the ornamented seats and couches reclined the 
guests, with chaplets of violets and roses, myrtle, ivy, 



CLEOPATRA. 87 



and philyra, bound about their temples. Their ears 
were charmed with the soft strains of music, and buf- 
foons amused them with their droll tricks and pleasan- 
tries. Attending servants cooled them with fans of 
peacock feathers, while they listened to the mytholo- 
gical 'love-stories which the pantomimes related, or 
watched the dancing girls, who, clad in the gossamer 
robes of Coa, with golden bangles upon their feet, and 
emerald brooches upon their arms and shoulders, 
moved with airy steps before them, — 

" The sparkling eyes and flashing ornaments, 
The white arms and the raven hair, the braids 
And bracelets, swan-like bosoms, the thin robes 
Floating like light." 

High above them all was Cleopatra, and Antony re- 
clining near her. Upon her head the diadem of Egypt, 
with the asp, the emblem of divinity, upon it, flashed 
with rarest gems. Her tunic glittered with all the 
colors of the East, and was overspread with rich em- 
broidery. A Babylonian shawl of finest tissue was 
thrown around her shoulders, and at her side there 
gleamed a Persian dagger whose hilt was pearls and 
diamonds. Cushions of crimson damask rose invitingly 
about her swelling limbs. Her full lips parted but to 
utter honeyed words. The glow of satisfaction was on 
her cheek, and in her eye the light of triumph. 

Joy and merriment everywhere prevailed. The 
guests pledged each other in wine-cups brimming full. 
Honey and spices were brought and mingled in the 
wine, and with the fragrant compound they drank the 



38 CLEOPATRA. 



health of Cleopatra. The Roman gaards without the 
tents, were also served with sumptuous fare, and in- 
stead of posca, filled their rhjtons with the barley wine 
of Egypt. 

Antony was in raptures with everything he saw and 
heard. His expectations were far exceeded, — his wild- 
est imaginings had not dwelt upon such splendor and 
magnificence. The following day he returned the 
compliment, but his entertainment was so mean com- 
pared with hers, that he was obliged to acknowledge 
himself outdone. He had boasted that Cleopatra 
should pay him tribute or resign her kingdom ; but 
now he yielded all to her, and even caused her sister 
Arsinoe, who had taken refuge in Diana's temple at 
Miletus, to be put to death, at her request, that there 
should be no rival to contest her throne. She encour- 
aged all his follies, humored every caprice, and laughed 
at every whim. His coarseness she returned with in- 
terest, and with infinite wit and grace. He sought her 
love with warmest protestations ; but " she yielded 
with coy submission." 

" Nay ! swear that you love me," she said, — " swear 
by the holy Osiris !" 

" I swear !" he said. 

Thenceforth she called herself the wife of Antony, 
though no rite nor ceremony had sanctioned their 
illicit love. 

Day after day was given to feasting — each enter- 
tainlnent surpassing in elegance that which preceded 
it. Antony was astonished at the wealth so lavishly 
displayed by Cleopatra. She only sneered at what she 



CLEOPATEA. 89 



called his parsimony. At a banquet given by her, he 
expressed his wonder at the great number of golden 
cups, enriched with jewels, and beautifully wrought, 
that adorned the tables. She said they were but tri- 
fles, and gave them to him. The next day she provi- 
ded a still more costly entertainment ; Antony, as was 
his custom, brought with him all his officers of rank ; 
and when the feast was ended, she bestowed on each 
guest the Vessels of gold and silver he had used. At 
another of her banquets, she wore in her ear-rings two 
pearls of immense value ; and having made a wager 
with Antony that she could spend more than ten thou- 
sand sestertia upon a single entertainment, the value 
of the different dishes was estimated, but falling short 
of that sum, she declared that she could lay out so 
much upon herself, and calling for a cup of vinegar, 
dissolved in it one of the pearls, and then drank off 
the costly draught. She was about to do the same 
with the other pearl, but the umpire stopped her, and 
decided the wager in her favor. 

Forgetful alike of public duties and private ties and 
obligations, Antony lingered away the time at Tarsus 
in revelry and dalliance. Affairs in Syria demanded 
his attention, in consequence of the warlike demonstra- 
tions of Parthia, yet they were neglected. At Eome, 
his individual interests were suffering by reason of his 
continued absence, but his spirited and ambitious wife, 
Fulvia, in vain besought him to hasten his return. A 
spell was thrown around him which he had not the 
desire, if he possessed the power, to break. The 
tighter his chains were drawn, the closer he hugged 



40 CLEOPATRA. 



them — the more he loved the beautiful tyrant whose 
willing slave he was. 

From Tarsus Antony and Cleopatra proceeded to 
Tyre, at which place she was to embark for Alexan- 
drea. Here he designed to separate from her, in order 
to lead the Roman army against the Parthian forces 
then preparing to enter Syria. But this was not her 
intention. She had lost Csesar, as she thought, mainly 
through her own neglect to render her influence over 
him secure. It was her ambition now, to become the 
acknowledged wife of Antony. His prospects were as 
fair, if not prem^aturely blighted, as those of the 
younger Caesar, whose superior he was in age, in expe- 
rience, and, perhaps, in popularity. As his wife, then, 
she would not only remain the queen of Egypt, but 
she might be Empress of Rome and of the world. To 
suffer him to leave her, therefore, till the fulfilment of 
those hopes, which, once buried in the grave of 
Caesar, had now revived again, would be to ruin them 
forever. 

Her arts and blandishments proved irresistible. 
Home, country, duty and ambition — all were forgotten 
by Antony. Instead of leading his soldiers to new 
victories, and planting the Roman eagles in triumph 
on the banks of the Euphrates, he accompanied Cleo- 
patra to Alexandrea. In the Egyptian capital the 
scenes at Tarsus were renewed. He gave himself up 
to all the wild, fierce passions of his nature, and rev- 
elled in debauchery and excess. She did not once 
make the attempt to restrain him, but gave encourage- 
ment to every folly, and rejoiced whenever she was 



CLEOPATRA. 41 



able to provide some new pleasure for his entertain- 
ment. This was the secret of her power, and she did 
not hesitate to use it. 

She was with him day and night. They gamed, 
and feasted, and drank together. They fished and 
hunted in each other's company, and she attended him 
when he reviewed his troops. Disguised as slaves, 
they rambled through the city in the dusk of evening, 
making themselves merry with the faults and frailties 
of the inhabitants, jesting rudely with those they met, 
and playing tricks upon them, and often becoming in- 
volved in serious brawls and difficulties. They called 
their mode of life " inimitable :" and it was so — ^for it 
was characterized by unrestrained indulgence and ex- 
travagance unbounded. 

But while she thus encouraged and ministered to 
his vices, she neglected no opportunity to impress him, 
and those who were about them, with the notion that 
she possessed superior tact and sagacity. She treated 
his opinions with levity, and exacted a large share of 
deference for her own. Even their amusements fur- 
nished occasions for triumph over him, which she failed 
not to improve. One day when they were fishing, he 
was deeply chagrined at his ill-success, and ordered 
one of the fishermen to dive under the water secretly, 
and fasten some of the larger fishes that had been 
taken upon his hook, so that the raillery of the queen 
might not be provoked. She discovered the trick at 
once, but affected not to perceive it ; and on the fol- 
lowing day invited a still more numerous company to 
witness similar sport. But she privately instructed an 



42 CLEOPATEA.' 



experienced diver in her service, to procure a salted 
iish from the market, and when a favorable opportu- 
lity offered, to attach it to Antony's hook. This was 
done, and he drew up the fish amid the laughter and 
merriment of the whole party. — " Go, general !" she 
exclaimed, " leave fishing to us, petty princes of Pha- 
ros and Canopus ; your game is cities, kingdoms, and 
provinces 1" 

At length Antony was aroused from his folly and 
inaction, by the intelligence that the Parthian army 
had been repeatedly victorious in Syria, and that his 
presence was absolutely necessary to prevent fresh dis- 
asters. The news from Kome, too, was far from pleas- 
ing to him ; his wife and brother, more watchful of his 
interests than himself, had raised an army to check the 
ambitious designs of Octavius ; but they had been 
overpowered, and were forced to flee from Italy. He 
proceeded to Phoenicia, however, but the letters of 
Fulvia finally induced him to turn his course toward 
Rome. She died at Sicyon, on her way to meet him : 
and he was afterward reconciled to young Caesar, and 
married his sister Octavia. Her gentle virtues did not 
fail to win upon his better nature ; but the marriage 
had been based upon political considerations solely 
and he soon began to tire of the restraints it imposed. 
Memory often dwelt upon the fascinating charms of 
the fair Egyptian, and he longed to return to her again, 
but durst not hazard a rupture with his brother-in-law 
aiid co-triumvir. 

Years passed by. The world had been divided be- 
tween the triumvirs, and Antony had received for his 



CLEOPATKA. 43 



portion the coiintries lying east of the Ionian sea. Im- 
portant matters of state, and the active duties of his 
life, diverted his mind from Cleopatra, yet she was not 
forgotten. The condition of affairs in Syria once more 
demanded his attention, and leaving Octavia behind 
him at Eome, he re- visited the scenes around which 
clustered so many pleasant but guilty recollections. 
There Cleopatra joined him again, upon his earnest 
solicitation, though she did not attempt to conceal her 
anger because he had deserted her, and married Octa- 
via. She was still ambitious, and still claimed the 
name and station of his wife : she loved him also, it 
may be, and was jealous of her Eoman rival. To ap- 
pease her, therefore, he gave her the provinces of Phoe- 
nicia, the Lower Syria, the isle of Cyprus, and a great 
part of Cilicia, with the balm-producing portion of Ju- 
dea, and a large and fertile tract of Arabia. Upon the 
twin children, Alexander and Cleopatra, which, she 
had born« him, he bestowed the surnames of the Sun 
and Moon. 

After spending several months with him, Cleopatra 
returned to Egypt, and he proceeded against the Par- 
thians with a powerful and well-appointed army. But 
the unwise delay was fatal to the expedition, which 
was wholly unsuccessful ; and when he returned to 
Phoenicia, it was with the mere remnant of the proud 
array he had led across the sandy plains of Syria. The 
timely arrival of Cleopatra at Sidon, where he awaitod 
her, with supplies of clothing and provisions, alone 
saved his army from utter destruction. 

Henceforth the wiles of the charming queen were 



44 CLEOPATRA. 



far more powerful with Antony than all other influ- 
ences combined. Now that he was restored to her, 
she resolved not to lose sight of him again. Separated 
from him she was but the sovereign of a petty king- 
dom ; with him — a ruler of the world — she was not 
only the companion of his pleasures, but she governed 
and controlled him. Accordingly, all her arts were 
employed to retain him near her, — and they were not 
employed in vain. 

Octavia came as far as Athens to meet her lord and 
husband, but he sent her back to Eome with bitter 
words. This was Cleopatra's triumph, but she rued i+ 
bitterly in the hour of her humiliation. She saved 
Egypt from the Koman's grasp, but sacrificed herself. 
Antony became her veriest slave ; for her sake he 
heaped indignities upon his lawful wife, and added to 
them the last and foulest one of all, repudiation. She 
conquered, but unmanned him. 

The pride and daring of the soldier were not, indeed, 
altogether subdued in the effeminacy of the lover, and 
the weakness of the debauchee. After spending an- 
other winter at the Egyptian capitol, wearied and sated 
with pleasure, he took the field again the following 
spring. Armenia was conquered, and its captive mon- 
arch dragged through Alexandrea, where he celebra- 
ted his triumph, at his chariot wheels, laden with 
chains of gold, and thus presented to the lovely siren 
who was the victor's victor. Again the banquet and 
the feast filled up the time ; and sport, and revelry, 
and dalliance, made Antony the wreck of what he was. 
But his return to Eome was thus prevented, and it 



CLEOPATRA. 45 



was thdt she ardently desired. Her charms were fad- 
ing now ; in a few years their influence would be no 
longer felt ; and it would seem, that she hoped to re- 
tain her pov/or, hy ministering to his coarser passions 
and desires. 

Once moi'j hf) prepared to lead his soldiers against 
the ParthiT-i. Cleopatra had promised to accompany 
him to the Eciphrates, and she had pictured to herself 
bright sC'Snf s of future glory and conquest. But before 
they set o'li upon the expedition, the ceremony of the 
coronation of herself and children was performed. In 
the paloKJG court, a throne of solid gold, with steps of 
silver was ordered to be placed. Seated upon this, 
and clad in a robe of gorgeous purple embroidered 
with gold and fastened with diamonds, was Anton j 
himself, with a golden sceptre in his hand, at his side a 
Persian scimitar, and on his head the diadem of the 
Persian kings. On his right hand was Cleopatra, in 
the robes of Isis made of costly asbeston, — the lotus 
twined about the diadem upon her head, and in her 
hand, the rattling sistrum. Beneath them sat Csesarion, 
the son of Julius Caesar, and Alexander and Ptolemy, 
the sons of Antony and Cleopatra. 

At Antony's command, the heralds proclaimed Cleo- 
patra, queen of Egypt, Cyprus, Libya, and Lower 
Syria, and named her son Csesarion as her colleague. 
The other princes were then proclaimed "kings of 
kings ;" and the kingdoms and provinces of the East 
were divided between them. Thus ended the pageant, 
— and it was all but empty show. 

Cleopatra accompanied Antony in his expedition, 



4:6 OLEOPATEA. 



for thej were now inseparable. They proceeded as far 
as the Araxes, but alarming news from Rome recalled 
them. They then directed their course to Grreece ; at 
Ephesus, at Samos, and at Athens, spending weeks 
and months in revelry and feasting, which, profitably 
employed, wo aid have made them masters of Rome, 
and thus realized the glorious dreams of her proud am- 
bition. Never was woman so self-deceived. She an- 
ticipated an easy victory over the stripling Caesar, when 
Antony declared war against him. Her jealous pride 
rose high with the thought that Octavia would b^ 
humbled, — that Antony would be the world's gre-at 
master, and she its mistress. 

The delusion was not a strange one ; and from it 
she never woke, till from her galley's deck at Actium, 
she saw that all was lost. Had Antony pushed on to 
Rome, he could scarcely have failed of victory. It 
was not his wish that Cleopatra should remain with 
him, but fearing, with very good reason, that a recon- 
ciliation would take place between Octavius and An- 
tony if she returned to Egypt, she bribed one of the 
counsellors of the latter, in whom he placed great con- 
fidence, to advise that she should continue at his side. 

Antony lingered away most precious time, and when 
at last he ventured to risk an engagement, he listened 
to the advice of Cleopatra, instead of following his own 
better judgment, and offered battle at sea. The hos- 
tile fleets encountered each other before the promon- 
tory of Actium. Foreseeing certain defeat, on account 
of the imbecility and want of skill displayed by An- 
tony, Cleopatra determined to secure her own personal 



CLEOPATRA. 47 



safety, and left the scene of tlie engagement with lier 
fifty galleys. Antony might still have made a noble 
stand, but his courageous spirit seemed to have for- 
saken^ him. He gave up everything without a strug- 
gle worthy of his name and character, and followed the 
flying Cleopatra. Having been received into her gal- 
ley, they hastened with all speed to Alexandrea, — not 
to make a noble stand in defence of what was left to 
them, but to forget their folly in the wildest excesses, 
or in the intervals of dissipation, to load each other 
with reproaches. 

It is as two jealous lovers, not bound together by 
the sacred tendrils of an honest affection, but united by 
an unholy passion, that Antony and Cleopatra are 
from this time to be regarded. They loved and hated 
one another by turns, — they doubted and deceived 
each other. One day she spent in feasting with him 
as in former days, and on the next refused to see him. 
She feared, as had been the case before so often, that 
Antony would make his peace with Csesar ; and so, 
she resolved to provide for her own security, by se- 
cretly dispatching friendly messages to the conqueror. 

Upon the arrival of Octavuis with his army before 
the walls of Alexandrea, the warrior heart of Antony 
aroused itself once more. He made a gallant sally, and 
drove back the advancing legions. But the advantage 
he achieved was but temporary, and on the following 
day the fleet of Cleopatra was surrendered by her 
command to Csesar. Antony sought the queen forth- 
with to charge her with her treachery. But she had 
now immured herself, with all her most valuable treas- 



48 CLEOPATRA. 



ures, in a lofty tomb which she had caused to be 
erected beside the temple of Isis. In reply to the in- 
quiries of Antony, from whose ungovernable rage the 
worst consequences were feared in case they saw each 
other then, it was told him that she had killed herself. 
His love for her at once retarned, and shutting him- 
self up in his apartment, he fell upon his sword. At 
this moment, an officer came to inform him that Cleo- 
patra was still alive ; and at his request he was carried 
to the tomb, and there he died folded in her arms — 
those arms whose fascinating embrace had brought 
him to this strait. 

By stratagem the officers of Octavius obtained ad- 
mission into the tomb ; whereupon she attempted to 
stab herself with a dagger, but her design was frustra- 
ted by their interference. Octavius himself now came 
to see her. She appeared before him clothed in a simple 
under tunic, thinking, perhaps, the charms displayed 
so freely might move him, but he did not deign to no- 
tice them. " The deadly sorrow charactered in her 
face" had robbed her of her former beauty. She then 
urged him with tears, to spare her children and her- 
self, and leave them undisturbed in Egypt. He prom- 
ised fairly, but she doubted him ; and she determined 
to die by her own hand, rather than be led in triumph, 
like the humblest slave, before the car of the Eoman 
conqueror. This degradation she had always feared ; 
her high soul revolted at the prospect which she saw 
before her ; and sooner than be young Caesar's captive^ 
she resolved to perish nobly, — 



CLEOPATRA. 49 



" although unqueened, 
Yet like a queea" 

« 

With the effect of different poisons she had made 
Herself perfectly familiar ; and either by this means, 
or, as was commonly believed, by the bite of an asp 
secretly introduced into the tomb, her life was ended. 

Such was the fate of Cleopatra. Faults and vices 
she exhibited, which, revolting as they were, need 
not be excused in her, for they were characteristic of 
her age. Though her virtues were mental only, they 
deserve to be remembered. It should not be forgotten 
also, that History — all-partial to the Koman as it is — 
has scarcely done her justice. She loved Caesar, and 
to her it seemed not guilty. She was ambitious, too, 
not only desiring to save her throne and kingdom, but 
to reign in Eome. In her intercourse with Antony, 
she was prompted not by sensual motives only, but 
chiefly by policy and ambition. She was, indeed, mis- 
taken as to the effect of the means and arts which she 
employed to win him to her. Judged by the times Id 
which she lived, this was her error I 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 




xii^? ijA.HolnruTSr.X, 



4^ /^C 



II. 

3i0ahlla nf CastilL 

' She had all the royal makings of a queen." — Shakspeaeb. 

Isabella of Spain — The Catholic, as she was called 
—stands before the world, as a model of queenly and 
womanly excellence. In her, the energy of manhood, 
the wisdom of the statesman, the devout rectitude of a 
saint, and the tenderness and grace of woman, were 
more perfectly combined than in any female sovereign 
whose name adorns the pages of history. Far as the 
east is from the west, and distant as their several peri- 
ods, is the character of this renowned Castillian from 
that of the passionate and cunning Cleopatra. The 
beautiful conscientiousness of the former, her firm ad- 
herence to conviction, her delicacy and mercy and 
sweet humility, are a proof of the moral superioritv 
resulting from the prevalence of Truth, however per- 
verted or obscure it be, in the place of utter delusion 
whatever of classic attraction it may have. Oblivion 
has veiled her faults, if any belonged to her intrinsic 
being ; she is left perfect to the eye of posterity, ex- 
cept it be in her almost inevitable failure to assert at 
all times, her own manifest and better instincts, over those 



54 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



influences of her life and time which go far to excuse 
the few blamable acts that may be charged upon her. 

And such a picture of character, fair as her own 
lovely countenance, is framed in the most pictur.esque 
era of modern history. The scenery and romantic as- 
sociations of Spain, the conquest of the splendid Moor- 
ish kingdom of Grenada, the gorgeous evening of the 
day of chivalry and the morning of great discoveries, 
heralded by Columbus, were the fit setting for the 
jewel of queens, or rather an appropriate scene for the 
display jf her noble qualities. The disappointments 
she endured in the latter part of her life, the cruelties 
of which she was the unwitting or unwilling abettor, 
the bigotry that took advantage of her piety, and the 
despotism established by her husband, the artful Fer- 
dinand, are the clouds that darken the narrative of a 
reign, else bright and beautiful. 

Spain was originally divided into four kingdoms: 
Castile, Arragon, Navarre, and the Moorish possessions, 
the latter comprising the most luxuriant districts and 
the most important strongholds upon the coast. Cas- 
tile and Arragon were nearly alike, both governments 
being monarchial, yet in spirit republican. The king 
had little power, separate from the assembly or parlia- 
ment, consisting of the grandees, nobles of the second 
class, representatives of towns and cities, and deputies 
of the clergy. This was evident in the oath of alle- 
giance taken in this form: " We, who are each of us as 
good as you, and altogether more powerful than you, 
promise obedience to your government, if you main- 
tain our rights and liberties: but not otherwise I" 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 55 



Many of the nobles were, in fact, petty kings, own- 
ing vast and populous territories, which yielded them 
richer revenues and larger armies than the monarch 
himself could command. The continual jealousies and 
feuds existing among them, kept the kingdom in con- 
stant turmoil, ani thus originated the confusion, re- 
volts and successive tragedies, that darkened the 
chronicles of Castile and Arragon, previous to the ac- 
cession of Ferdinand and Isabella. 

While John II. occupied the Castillian throne, his 
subjects laid aside for a time the ferocious and warlike 
spirit that had previously marked the national charac- 
ter, and imitated the refined taste of their sovereign, 
whose love of letters and utter disinclination for busi- 
ness, induced him to neglect even the most important 
affairs of the kingdom, leaving all in the hands of favor- 
ites, and often signing documents at their option, with- 
out taking the trouble to examine the contents. The 
nobles finally became disgusted with their poetizing 
king and jealous of the arrogant favorites who, raised 
from an humble origin, assumed the dignity and mag- 
nificence of royalty, and presumed to direct the affairs 
of the kingdom. A revolt ensued, and Henry, the 
young son of the king, was placed at the head of the 
disaffected party. This storm was quelled at the ac- 
cession of a new queen, a woman of strong and reso- 
lute character, who obtained such ascendency over the 
ease-loving monarch as to cause the downfall and final 
execution of the principal and most obnoxious favorite, 
Alvaro de Luna. 

John's regret for this step, induced a melancholy 



56 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



that aggravated tlie disease which terminated his life 
soon after. He left, by his first wife, one child, Henry, 
whom he appointed his successor, and guardian of the 
two young children by his second wife — Alfonso, then 
an infant, and Isabella, afterwards Queen of Castile, 
who was born April 22d, 1451, at Madrigal. She was 
but four years old at the time of her father's death, and 
was soon after removed, with her mother, to the little 
town of Aravelo. 

Henry lY. was welcomed to the throne amidst un- 
feigned expressions of joy from a people wearied with 
the long, inglorious reign of his father. They hoped 
for a vigorous government, and the prosecution of the 
war against the Moors, which for years had been in 
contemplation. It required but a short time, however, 
to unfold the worthless character of the new king, who, 
without a corresponding taste for intellectual pursuits, 
inherited all his father's aversion to business. At once 
indolent, profligate and imbecile, he gathered about 
him courtiers who, like himself, sought only frivolous 
or debasing amusements, till, without shame, they in- 
dulged in open vice, boldly boasting of their exploits. 

The low state of morals was not improved after the 
arrival of Joanna of Portugal, whom Henry espoused, 
having repudiated his first wife, Blanche of Arragon, 
after a union of twelve years. The new queen was 
accompanied by a brilliant suite, and her arrival was 
signalized by the festivities and pageant due to roy- 
alty in those days of chivalry. Being young, beautiful 
and vivacious, she fascinated the Castillians, and by her 
wit and raillery, overcame the punctilious etiquette 



\ 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 57 



observed at court. Her freedom of manner soon gave 
rise to gross suspicions. 

Beltran de la Cueva, one of tlie handsomest and 
most accomplished cavaliers of his time, was designated 
her favorite, and notwithstanding her undisguised pref- 
erence, the king, so far from resenting it, continued to 
heap favors upon the man, who previously had gained 
such ascendency over him as to guide the affairs of the 
kingdom, to suit his own views and interests. 

To this polluted, licentious court, Isabella, in her 
sixteenth year, and her brother Alfonso, were brought, 
after the birth of the ill-fated Princess Joanna. This 
was a matter of policy, as the king required the oath 
of allegiance to the infant Joanna as his successor, with- 
out regarding her supposed illegitimacy; and fearing 
the dissatisfied nobles would form a separate faction in 
favor of Isabella, he required her presence at the royal 
palace. 

All her early life had been spent in seclusion with her 
mother, who faithfully instructed her in those lessons 
of virtue and piety, which shone out so vividly in after 
years. Her education received a finish seldom attain- 
ed in that age ; her tastes were refined and elevated ; 
her nature gentle and placid ; and with these womanly 
qualities she united a maturity of judgment, energj^, 
and firmness, that fully fitted her for the commanding 
position she was soon to take. 

Her beauty, gentleness, and grace ensured her a 
warm welcome at court, but the satelhtes that invari- 
ably hasten to flutter about a new star and bask in its 
rays, were soon overawed in her presence. The blame- 



58 ISABELIJI OF CASTILE. 



less purity of her conduct; her sincere, unostentatious 
piety, and natural dignity of demeanor, repelled famil- 
iarity, while it won the truest affection and homage of 
those who surrounded her. She was one whose influ- 
ence roused all the pure, noble, and true aspirations of 
the soul, and as such she stood alone in the royal 
family, and far above the contamination of its giddy 
train of followers. 

Being nearly related to the crown, her hand was 
sought from childhood by numerous applicants. While 
too young to have a voice in the decision, she was 
solicited for the same Ferdinand t ) whom she was des- 
tined to be finally united, and afterwards promised to 
his brother Carlos, whose tragical end defeated the 
purpose. In her thirteenth year, Henry affianced her 
to Alfonso, King of Portugal ; but after an interview 
with that monarch, neither entreaties nor threats could 
gain her consent to a union every way disagreeable 
to her. Knowing her refusal would avail her little, 
she replied with a discretion, rare at so early an age, 
that " the infantas of Castile could not be disposed of 
without the consent of the nobles of the realm." The 
chagrined monarch was obliged to withdraw his suit, 
and Isabella still continued free. 

Though Henry had not succeeded in disposing of 
her, he felt secure in having her under his surveillance, 
and in order to divert his discontented subjects, he an- 
nounced a crusade against the Moors ; he assumed the 
device of Grenada, a pomegranate branch, in token of 
his intention to enroll it among his own provinces ; and 
he assembled the chivalry of the nation, and with a 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 59 

splendid army, set out for the Moorish dominions. 
This grand expedition ended only in an empty display 
beneath the walls of Grenada, which were lined with 
jeering enemies, but with vv^hom the timid king would 
not venture a battle, flying even from the petty scenes 
of action carried on along the borders, unless detained 
personally by the indignant knights, who burned to 
retaliate the insults of the infidels. But, from all their 
expostulations and reproaches, the cowardly king took 
shelter in the reply, that " he prized the life of one of 
his soldiers more than those of a thousand Mussel- 
men." 

Kepeated attempts like these, disgusted the gallant 
Castillians and brought complaints from the southern 
provinces, which were laid waste in these continual 
affrays, and complained that " the war was carried on 
against them instead of the infidels." Another cause 
of disquietude arose from the abuses of government, 
which occasioned almost a state of bankruptcy. The 
nobles, unable to obtain redress, converted their castles 
into fortresses, and with their retainers went out upon 
the highways, and robbing travellers and seizing upon 
their persons, sold them to the Moors, who retained 
them in slavery, except wh5n redeemed by heavy 
ransoms. These occurrences received no check from 
the imbecile monarch. Such grievances, together with 
the jealousy of the nobility, in consequence of obscure 
persons being elevated above the old aristocracy of the 
kingdom, and some concessions made to Arragon which 
were thought to compromise the honor of the nation, — 
occasioned a general revolt. 



60 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



One of the prominent leaders of tlie insurgents was 
the Marquis of Villena, the most powerful noble in 
Castile, possessing a large and populous territory. He 
was a man of polished address and unfailing shrewd- 
ness, but turbulent, restless, and continually involving 
the nation in trouble. The other noted partisan was 
the Archbishop of Toledo, a stern warrior and church- 
man. 

A confederacy was organized, which, among other 
things, demanded Alfonso to be recognized as Henry's 
successor, instead of Joanna. Too indolent to adopt 
severe measures to crush the rebellion in its beginning, 
he refused the advice of his adherents, and yielded all 
that was demanded of him. He soon after retracted 
all his agreements, which so incensed and disgusted the 
confederates that they determined to defy his authority 
and elect a king for themselves. 

An immense concourse assembled in an open plain 
near the city of Avila, where a scaffold was erected, 
and a crowned e^gy of Henry TV. was placed upon a 
mock throne, arrayed in royal drapery, with a sword, 
sceptre and other insignia of royalty decorating it. A 
list of grievances was then read, after which the Mar- 
quis of Villena, and other leaders, despoiled the statue 
of its kingly trappings, and threw it to the ground, 
where it was rolled and trampled in the dust by the ex- 
cited multitude. Alfonso, then but eleven years of 
age, was seated in the chair of state, proclaimed king, 
and received the homage of the multitude, amidst a 
loud flourish of trumpets. 

The news of this bold usurpation threw the whole 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 61 



kingdom into a frightful state of excitement, since every 
man was obliged to choose his party. Old feuds were 
revived, families divided one against another, and all the 
horrors of a civil war threatened to devastate the land. 
Henry was obliged to summon his forces, which were 
strong enough to have maintained his right to tl ^ 
throne ; but they had no sooner assembled than he dis- 
banded them, and commenced negotiations with the 
running marquis. A cessation of hostilities during six 
3Qonths, was agreed upon, in order to make some ami- 
cable arrangement ; but Henry's adherents were over- 
whelmed with indignation that he should have forsaken 
bis own cause. Had a humane spirit dictated his 
course, he might have been honored, but the weakness 
and cowardice plainly evinced in all his movements, 
made him despicable in the eyes of his subjects, and 
the jest of his enemies, in an age when the laws of 
chivalry demanded redress for the slightest affront. 

The two parties maintained their separate sovereigns 
with their respective courts, each enacting laws, as if 
the other was not in existence. It was plainly seen 
that peace could not be long preserved while they were 
thus playing at cross purposes ; but the ready Marquis 
of Yillena devised a scheme which should conciliate 
all parties and secure his own aggrandizement. 

He proposed the marriage of his brother, Don Pedro 
de Pach^co, grand-master of Calatrava, a prominent 
member of the new party, with Isabella. To this the 
feeble king assented, though the project was strongly 
opposed by Isabella, who considered it not only de- 
grading to her rank, but bore a personal dislike to 



62 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



Pacheco. He was many years her senior, of dissolute 
habits, was a fierce and noisy leader of faction, and in 
every respect unfitted to appreciate Isabella's lofty 
character. 

Her opposition availed her nothing, however, and 
not knowing whither to turn for escape from the hate- 
ful marriage, she shut herself in her own apartments, 
praying and fasting for a day and night. When weep- 
ing under the tyranny her heartless brother imposed, 
and bewailing her fate to a faithful, courageous friend, 
Beatriz de Bobadilla, the latter exclaimed, " God will 
not permit it, neither will I, " and drawing forth a gleam- 
ing dagger she wore concealed upon her person, pas- 
sionately vowed to strike Don Pedro to the heart, if he 
dared to drag her to the altar. 

Magnificent preparations went on for the celebration 
of the nuptials. The master of Calatrava had obtained 
a dispensation from the pope, releasing him from the 
vows of celibacy, and exultingly devised the most ex- 
travagant display for an occasion which was to bestow 
upon his fortunate self the hand of a beautiful and 
distinguished princess, nearly related to the crown. 
Already he saw himself a king. Elated with the pros- 
pect, and quite insensible to the unwillingness of the 
bride-elect, he set out from his residence with an im- 
posing and showy retinue, for Madrid, where the cere- 
mony was to be performed. 

On his way thither, however, he was seized with a 
fatal illness, and died with frightful imprecations on his 
lips, because his life had not been spared till the goal 
of his ambition had been reached. His death was bv 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 68 



some attributed to poison, though no one cast the 
slightest imputation on Isabella, whose well-known pu- 
rity and uprightness placed her above suspicion. 

Don Pedro's death dissipated all the fine schemes for 
the reconciliation of the parties, and it was soon deter- 
mined to decide the contest by a battle. The two 
armies met at Olmedo. The royal adherents greatly 
outnumbered the confederates, but the latter made up 
in enthusiasm and spirit what they lacked in numbers. 
Alfonso's army was led by the Archbishop of Toledo, 
conspicuously arrayed in a scarlet mantle, embroidered 
with a white cross, beneath which he wore a complete 
suit of armor. The prince, also clad in mail, rode at 
his side. Before the battle commenced, the archbishop 
sent a message to Beltran dela Cueva, advising him not 
to appear in the field, as a score of knights had vowed 
his death. He returned a defiant answer, minutely de- 
scribing the dress he was to wear on the occasion, which 
cost him many a sharp struggle during the day. 

Henry took great care to avoid a dangerous prox- 
imity to the scene of blood and death, and upon the 
first announcement of the enemy's victory, which 
proved to be a false alarm, he fled in dismay with forty 
attendants, to a near village for safety, leaving his 
friends to fight as best they might. The battle ceased 
only when darkness separated the combatants, nothing 
being gained on either side. The insurgents, however, 
occupied the city of Segovia, where Isabella repaired 
after the battle, and during the succeeding months of 
anarchy and bloodshed, remained under Alfonso's pro- 
tection. 



64 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



The struggle finally ceased at the death of Alfonso, 
who, after a short and sudden illness, expired the 5th 
of July, 1468, at a little village near Avila, the scene 
of his proclaimed sovereignty two years before. His 
loss was deeply deplored, as he gave promise of un- 
usual talent, and possessed a nobleness of sentiment 
that might have made him a just and great king. His 
death was ascribed by many to poison, and by others to 
the plague, which united its unsparing scythe to the char- 
iot of war that wheeled right and left, over fair Castile. 

Isabella immediately retired to a monastery, at Avila, 
but the alarmed confederacy looked to her as its head, 
and unanimously delegated the Archbishop of Toledo to 
offer her the crown of Castile and Leon, promising her 
their support. Not withstan ding the primate's eloquent 
entreaties, she firmly refused the honor, replying mag- 
nanimously that, " while^her brother Henry lived, none 
other had a right to the crown ; that the country had 
been divided long enough under the rule of two con- 
tending monarchs; and that the death of Alfonso 
might perhaps be interpreted into an indication from 
Heaven of its disapprobation of their cause." 

The inhabitants of Seville and other cities, pro- 
claimed her their queen, and continued to send depu- 
ties to gain her consent to adopt their cause ; but her 
immovable decision obliged the confederates to open 
negotiations with the ruling sovereign, which ended in 
a treaty, many of the articles whereof were degrading 
to him as a man and as a king. He declared Joanna 
illegitimate, and accepted Isabella as his heir and sue 
cesser. 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 65 



An interview took place between Henry and Isabella 
at Toros de Guisando, each accompanied by a brilliant 
suite, when the king affectionately embraced his sister 
and publicly announced her as successor to the throne 
this was followed by an oath of allegiance from the 
assembled grandees, who, in token of their faithfulness, 
knelt and kissed the hand of the princess. Isabella 
took up her residence at Ocana, where she enjoyed 
comparative quiet in the peace and prosperity once 
more restored to the distracted kingdom. Suitors ap- 
peared with redoubled assiduity, now that her succes- 
sion to the crown was established. Among them was 
a brother of Edward TV. of England, and the Duke of 
Guienne, brother of the French king and heir-apparent 
to the throne. Isabella's choice hesitated between the 
latter and Ferdinand of Arragon, though her decision 
was influenced by a personal preference as well as by 
the interests of the kingdom. France was distant from 
Castile, and the customs, language and manners of the 
people widely differed, while Arragon was closely allied 
to Castile in every respect. Aside from this, Ferdinand 
greatly exceeded the duke in personal appearance and 
accomplishments, which enlisted Isabella's favor. 

In this decision she was fiercely opposed by a party 
who had retired in disgust at Henry's repudiation of 
Joanna, and headed by the malicious Marquis of Vil- 
lena, formed a new faction in favor of the discarded 
heir. In Isabella's marriage with Ferdinand, \he mar- 
quis saw his own downfall, and, with the hope of frus- 
trating her intentions, regained his power over her 
guardian, the king, and induced him to suggest to Al- 
5 



66 ISABELLA OF OASTILB. 



fonso of Portugal the renewal of his former addresses 
more publicly. 

The King of Portugal gladly acceded, and sent a 
pompous and magnificent embassy to Isabella at Ocana. 
She peremptorily declined the honor, which so incensed 
Henry, that, urged on by the cunning marquis, he 
threatened her with imprisonment in the royal fortress 
at Madrid, if she did not see fit to acquiesce in the 
choice he had made for her. Such menaces did not 
intimidate her, as the inhabitants of Ocana were devo- 
tedly attached to her and approved of the Arragonese 
match, making known their approbation by singing 
ballads in the streets, that derided Alfonso and com- 
pared his age and defects to Ferdinand's youth, beauty 
and chivalry. She also had the promised support of 
the Archbishop of Toledo, who was warmly attached 
to her interests, offering to come in person, at the head 
of a sufficient force to protect her, if violent measures 
were resorted to. 

Notwithstanding a provision in the treaty which re- 
quired her to consult Henry as to her marriage, she 
determined no longer to regard his wishes, since he 
had violated almost every article himself. Without 
farther hesitation, she took the opportunity of his ab- 
sence in the southern provinces to quell an insurrec- 
tion, to send an envoy to Arragon, accepting Ferdi- 
nand's suit. While awaiting the result she repaired to 
Madrigal, remaining with her mother for greater secu* 
rity. This proved a disadvantage, as she found there 
the Bishop of Burgos, a nephew of the Marquis of Vil- 
lena, who acted as a spy npon all her movements, cor- 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 67 



rupted her servants, ferreted out her designs, and faith- 
fully reported the particulars to Henry and the marquis. 
They became alarmed at her daring step, and at once 
made preparations to put their threat in execution. 

By an order from the king, the Archbishop of Se- 
ville was directed to proceed to Madrigal wiih a suf- 
ficient force to secure Isabella; and the inhabitants 
were warned not to attempt her defence. They en- 
treated her to fly, and succeeded in informing the 
Archbishop of Toledo of her danger. He promptly 
placed himself at the head of a body of horse, pro- 
ceeded to Madrigal with such speed as to arrive before 
her enemies, and gallantly carried her off in the very 
face of the Bishop of Burgos and his guard. She was 
thus escorted to the city of Yalladolid, where the in- 
habitants greeted her with hearty enthusiasm. Soon 
after her arrival a despatch was sent to Ferdinand to 
expedite matters during the king's absence. 

John of Arragon had received the favorable answer 
to his son's suit with the greatest satisfaction, as it had 
long been his favorite scheme to consolidate the prov- 
inces of Spain under one head. The marriage articles 
had been signed, the most pleasing of which to the 
Castillians was that Ferdinand should reside in Castile, 
and the " essential rights of sovereignty over that king- 
dom should be relinquished to his consort." 

But the arrival of the princess' messengers with the 
information of the necessity of hasty measures, embar- 
rassed the King of Arragon, whose treasury was ex- 
hausted by a war with the Catalans, leaving him with- 
out means to provide Ferdinand with a suitable escort, 



68 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



or to support the expense attending a royal marriage. 
After much, deliberation it was decided that the prince 
should go, in the disguise of a servant to a pretended 
company of merchants, while, to divert the attention 
of the Castillians, a showy embassy should proceed by 
another route. This stratagem succeeded. The dis- 
tance to be traversed was short, but the country was 
patrolled by troops to intercept them, and the frontiers 
were guarded by strong fortified castles. They trav- 
elled at night, Ferdinand performing all the offices of 
a servant, till they reached the friendly castle of the 
Court of TreviSo, from which a well-armed escort ac- 
companied them to Duenas in Leon. Here he was 
welcomed by a throng of nobles, and the joyful intelli- 
gence of his safe arrival sent to Isabella. The follow- 
ing evening he went secretly to Valladolid, accompa- 
nied by a few persons; he was warmly received by 
the Archbishop of Toledo, who conducted him to the 
princess, at the palace of John Vivero, where she with 
her little court resided. 

'* Ferdinand was at this time in his eighteenth year. 
His complexion was fair, though somewhat bronzed by 
constant exposure to the sun ; his eyes quick and 
el eerful ; his forehead ample and approaching to bald- 
nijss. His muscular and well-proportioned frame was 
invigorated by the toils of war, and by the chivalrous 
exercises in which he delighted. He was one of the 
hest horsemen in his court, and excelled in field sports 
of every kind. His voice was somewhat sharp, but he 
possessed a fluent eloquence ; and when he had a point 
to carry, his address was courteous and insinuating." 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 69 



" Isabella was a year older than he. She was well 
formed, of the middle size, with great dignity and 
gracefulness of deportment; a mingled gravity and 
sweetness of demeanor ; confiding and affectionate. Her 
complexion was fair ; her hair aubarn, inclining to red- 
ness ; her eyes of a clear blue, with a benign expres- 
sion ; and there was a singular modesty in her counte- 
nance, gracing as it did a wonderful firmness of pur- 
pose and earnestness of spirit." 

The interview lasted two hours, full of interest and 
mutual admiration, sealing the marriage contract with 
a love that rarely unites royal hearts, denied the free 
choice that blesses lower rank. Arrangements were 
made for the celebration of the nuptials, but both 
parties were so poor as to be obliged to borrow money 
to defray the expenses of the occasion. The ceremony 
took place on the morning of October 19th, 1469, at 
the palace, and in presence of a large assemblage of 
noblemen and dignitaries. A week of festive rejoic- 
ings followed, and, at its expiration, the newly-married 
pair publicly attended mass at one of the churches, as 
was the custom. 

Their first step had been to inform the king of their 
union and loyal submission. He coldly received their 
tardy seeking of his approbation, and replied that he 
** should consult his ministers." The Marquis of Yil- 
lena, who had now attained the dignity of grand mas- 
ter of St. James, chagrined at the failure of his schemes, 
quickly concocted new ones that put all Castile in fer- 
ment. He counselled Henry to again institute Joanna 
his successor, which advice was the more readily ac- 



70 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



cepted since an embassjr had just arrived from the 
King of France, proposing the Duke of Guienne, 
Isabella's disappointed suitor, for his daughter's hand 
A.n interview took place between the Castillian mon- 
arch and the French ambassadors, during which a 
proclamation was read, condemning Isabella's violation 
of the treaty by her unapproved marriage, and reinstat- 
ing Joanna in her former rights. The nobles took the 
oath of allegiance, and the young princess was formally 
affianced to the Duke of Guienne. 

Ferdinand and his consort, now almost forsaken by 
the same ones who a short time before had warmly 
espoused their cause, remained quietly at Duenas, sur- 
rounded by an unostentatious court, and so poor they 
could scarcely support the expenses of their frugal 
table. Henry's court, on the contrary, exhibited a 
frivolous and corrupt abandonment ; himself the spec- 
tacle of a king completely under the guidance of rapa- 
cious and profligate councillors ; and his dominion the 
scene of continued warfare and crime, carried on with 
impunity under the very eyes of Castile's incapable 
monarch. 

At this crisis, and when Ferdinand's preaence was 
most needed to inspire the remaining adherents with 
courage, he was summoned to the assistance of his 
father, who, at war with France, was perilously be- 
sieged in the city of Perpignan. "With Isabella's ap- 
probation, Ferdinand led a body of horse furnished by 
the Archbishop of Toledo, into Arragon, where he re- 
ceived reinforcements from the nobility uf that king* 
dom. With this army he suddenly appeared befoi^ 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 71 



the surprised enemy, who abandoned the siege in dis- 
may. John, with the remnant of his troops, went out 
to meet his son and dehverer, whom he embraced with 
affecting gratitude, in the presence of the two armies. 

During this absence several events favored Isabella's 
fortune. The Archbishop of Seville, a powerful man 
in position and character, observing the marked con- 
trast between the courts of the king and princess, and 
won by the superior decorum of the latter, justly con- 
cluded, Castile would attain a greater degree of pros- 
perity under her firm administration, than it could 
ever reach in the reign of her weak-minded rival, who, 
like her father, was entirely controlled by those around 
him. Influenced by such considerations, the arch- 
bishop revolutionized his interest and fortune in Isabel- 
la's favor. 

Another important accession to her party, was one 
of the king's officers, Andres de Cabrera, who con- 
trolled the royal coffers. Partly influenced by hatred 
towards the grand-master of St. James, and more by 
the urgent importunities of his wife, Beatriz de Boba- 
dilla, Isabella's early friend, he opened a secret cor- 
respondence with the princess, advising her to have an 
interview with her brother. To assure her of his 
friendly motives, he sent his wife, who performed 
the iourney in the disguise of a peasant, and, thus 
unsuspected, reached Duenas, gained access to the 
apartments of her royal friend, and induced her to at- 
tempt a reconciliation with the king. With this cer- 
tainty of protection from Cabrera and his friends, 
Isabella willingly set out for Saragossa, where Henry 



72 ISABELLA OP CASTILE. 



usually resided. An interview took place that resultea 
in a good understanding ; and, to give public proof of 
it, the king led her palfrey through the streets of the 
city. Grand fetes were given to express the universal 
joy at the event. While these rejoicings were in pro- 
gress, Ferdinand returned to Castile and hastened to 
Saragossa, where he was warmly welcomed by his 
sovereign. 

This happy reconciliation 'did not suit the designs 
of the plotting favorite, who took the first occasion to 
crush these germs of peace. After a splendid enter- 
tainment given by Cabrera, Henry was taken violently 
ill. Ever ready to listen to his crafty minister's sug- 
gestions, he attributed to poison the result of his own 
excesses, and immediately issued secret orders for 
Isabella's arrest. The vigilance of her friends saved 
her, and she returned to Duenas in disgust. 

Ferdinand was again called to his father's succor. 
Tn the meantime events thickened towards the con- 
summation of his consort's power. The death of the 
Duke of Guienne, in France, dampened the hopes of 
the opposing party for Joanna, more especially since 
the alliance had been declined by several princes, owing 
to her alleged illegitimacy. Shortly after, Henry was 
deprived of his supporter and adviser, by the death of 
the grand -master of St. James ; this was an occasion 
of more jo}^ than grief to the Castilians, who were now 
delivered from the cause of nearly all the evils that for 
years had banished peace from the kingdom. To the 
monarch it was an irreparable loss, occasioning an anx- 
iety and melancholy that hastened the progress of a 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 78 



disease which for some time had threatened his life. 
Undecided in matters of moment, to the last, he died 
December 11th, 1474, unlamented, without a will, and 
without naming his successor. 

The following morning, Isabella, who was at Sego- 
V ia, desired the inhabitants of that city to proclaim her 
sovereignty, resting her claims to the crown upon the 
fact that the cortes had never revoked the act which ap- 
pointed her Henry's successor, although twice summoned 
by him to give allegiance to Joanna. An assemblage 
of the chief grandees, nobles and dignitaries, in robes 
of office, gathered at the castle, and, receiving Isabella 
under a canopy of rich brocade, conducted her to the 
public square ; two of the chief citizens led the Span- 
ish jennet she rode, preceded by an officer on horse- 
back who upheld a naked sword, the symbol of sov- 
ereignty. A platform had been erected and a throne 
placed upon it, which Isabella occupied with graceful 
dignity, while a herald proclaimed, " Castile, Castile 
for the King Don Ferdinand and his consort Dona Isa- 
bella, queen proprietor of these kingdoms I" 

The royal standard was then unfnrled, and the peal 
of bells and sound of cannon announced the recogni- 
zance of the new queen. The procession then moved 
to the principal cathedral, where, after the solemn 
chanting of the Te Deum, Isabella devoutly prostrated 
herself before the altar and invoked the protection and 
guidance of the Almighty. Immediately after the 
coronation, deputies from various cities tendered their 
allegiance and raised the new standard upon their walls. 

Ferdinand was still absent, but on his return he ex- 



74 ISABELLA OP CASTILE. 



hibited great dissatisfaction with the investment of su- 
preme authority in his consort. With unyielding 
firmness and winning gentleness, she maintained her 
right, convincing, and at the same time, with womanly 
tact, soothing her offended husband, by mild, just rea 
soning; assuring him their interests were indivisible; 
that the division of power was but nominal ; and that 
the interest of their only child, a daughter, demanded 
it, as she could not inherit the crown if females were 
excluded from the succession ; — this was one of his 
grounds of contention, since he himself was a distant 
heir of the Castilian crown. 

It was satisfactorily decided, however, "that all ap- 
pointments were to be made in the name of both, with 
the advice and consent of the queen. The command- 
ers of fortified places were to render homage to her 
alone. Justice was to be administered by both con- 
jointly when residing in the same place, and independ- 
ently when separate. Proclamations and letters patent 
were to be subscribed with the signatures of both ; 
their images were to be stamped on the public coin, 
and the united arms of Castile and Arragon embla- 
zoned on a common seal." 

The succession was not yet peacefully established. 
Joanna's party still contended for the crown. Among 
her prominent supporters was the young Marquis of 
Villena, who inherited his father's titles and estates, 
but not his crafty, intriguing character. The Arch- 
bishop of Toledo, offended with the proclaimed queen 
because he was not solely consulted by her, and jealous 
of the rising importance of Cardinal Mendoza, sudden- 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 75 



ly withdrew from court. He. shortly after openly es- 
poused the cause of the unfortunate princess whom he 
had so long and successfully opposed. He would not 
be conciliated by any advances from Ferdinand and 
Isabella, who, as far as possible, without compromising 
their dignity, sought to regain his friendship. 

Propositions were now made by the rebellious party 
to Alfonso Y. of Portugal, to espouse Joanna and assist 
in asserting her claims. To this he readily agreed. 
He assembled an army which comprised the flower of 
the Portuguese nobility, eager to engage in an expedi- 
tion that promised them glory in the chivalrous defence 
of an injured princess. Advancing into Castile, they 
were met by the Duke of Arevalo and the Marquis of 
Villena, who presented the king to his future bride. 
They were publicly affianced and proclaimed King and 
Queen of Castile. A week of festivities followed, after 
which the army quietly awaited reinforcements from 
the Castilians. During this delay, Ferdinand and Isa- 
bella, who, on the first arrival of the invaders, possessed 
but a scanty army, put forth indefatigable exertions to 
strengthen their forces. Isabella frequently sat up the 
whole night dictating despatches ; she visited in person, 
on horseback, the several cities that had delayed alle- 
giance, thus succeeding in rallying an army of forty -two 
thousand men, well equipped. On one. of her journeys, 
she sent a message to the archbishop, notifying him of 
an intended visit in hope of reconciliation, to which he 
impudently replied, that "if the queen enteied by one 
door he would go out at the other." 

As soon as such preparations as could be rapidly 



76 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



made, were completed, the army set out for the cit^ o[ 
Toro, of which Alfonso had taken possession. Una- 
ble to engage the Portuguese in battle, Ferdinand laid 
siege to the city ; but owing to a want of proper bat- 
tering artillery, and the cutting off of supplies by the 
enemy, who occupied the neighboring fortresses, he 
was obliged to withdraw his forces. An inglorious and 
confused retreat followed. The army was disbanded; 
scattering to their homes or strengthening the gar- 
risons of friendly cities. The Archbishop of Toledo ex- 
ulted at this ominous opening of the war on the part 
of the king, and no longer hesitated to join the enemy 
with all the forces under his command, haughtily boast- 
ing that " he had raised Isabella from the distaff, and 
would soon send her back to it again." 

Tidings from Portugal of .an invasion, caused the de- 
tachment of so large a portion of Alfonso's army as to 
cripple his operations, obliging him to remain in Toro- 
without any aggressive movements. The king and 
queen in the meantime gathered a new army and pro- 
ceeded to besiege Zamora. That being an important 
post to the enemy, Alfonso abandoned Toro, and with 
reinforcements from Portugal, headed by his son Prince 
John, went to its relief. A battle ensued, in which the 
Portuguese were completely routed and would have 
been nearly all put to the sword but for the friendly 
darkness that enabled many in extremity to give the 
Castilian war-cry of " St. James and St. Lazarus,'' and 
thus escape their confused pursuers. Many of the troops 
were massacred in attempting to fly to the frontiers of 
their own country. This cruelty was rebuked by Fer- 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 77 



dinand, who not only ordered their safe conduct, but 
provided many of them with clothing, who were 
brought prisoners in a state of destitution and suffer- 
ing. He permitted them to return safely to their homes. 

Isabella, upon hearing of this decisive victory, com- 
manded the people to go in procession to the church 
of St. Paul, humbly walking barefoot herself to the 
cathedral, where thanksgiving was offered to God for 
the success he had vouchsafed them. 

Complete submission followed, except from the Mar- 
quis of Yillena and the imperious archbishop, who main- 
tained their rebellious manoeuvres till the demolition of 
their castles and the desertion of their retainers, obliged 
them to yield. Alfonso retreated into Portugal with 
Joanna, but mortified v^ith his defeat, applied to the 
King of France to assist him in securing the crown of 
Castile for the Princess Joanna ; he remained nearly a 
year in France for that purpose. Louis promised as- 
sistance when Alfonso's title was secured by a dispen- 
sation from the pope for his marriage with Joanna. 
To his entire chagrin, he found that Louis was already 
negotiating with his rivals, and, overwhelmed with 
mortification at having been duped before all the world, 
he retired to an obscure village in Normandy, and 
wrote Prince John of his wish to resign his crown and 
enter a monastery. His retreat was discovered, and at 
last persuaded by the urgent entreaties of his follow- 
ers, he returned to Portugal, arriving just alter his 
son's coronation. This caused him additional chagrin. 
John, however, immediately resigned his premature 
dignity, on his father's reappearance. 



78 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



A treaty was soon after confirmed with Castile which 
obliged Alfonso to resign all claims to the hand of 
Joanna, and imposed upon her the necessity of taking 
the veil, or wedding Don Juan the infant son of Ferdi- 
nand and Isabella, when he should arrive at a suitable 
age. Wearied and disgusted with worldly ambition, 
forsaken by her relatives, successively affianced to 
princes, who one after another rejected her at every 
reverse of fortune, and at last offered a consort still in 
the cradle, with the alternative of becoming a nun, she 
chose the latter, as at least a means of releasing her 
from a position which made her the foot-ball of oppos* 
ing parties. 

Alfonso was so much disappointed at the loss of his 
bride, that he determined to put his former threat of 
entering a monastery in execution. The one he fixed 
upon was situated in a lonely spot on the shores of the 
Atlantic, but the realization of this quixotic fancy was 
prevented by his death, shortly after Joanna took the 
veil. 

The same year, 1479, chronicled the death of John 
of Arragon, thus bequeathing an independent crown 
to Ferdinand. This event strengthened the security 
of Castile, and cemented the various provinces into a 
whole that was soon to stand foremost among nations. 

When tranquillity was at last restored to a people 
who for years had suffered the disasters of war, one 
would suppose they would willingly have been cradled 
in the arms of peace and prosperity ; but the restless, 
turbulent spirit of the times, required a channel for ixs 
resistless flood, that would otherwise undermine the 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 79 



foundations of a throne slowly gaining steadiness and 
solidity after its long rocking. 

The ambition of the chivalry of Spain was enthusi- 
astically directed towards the prosecution of the war 
against the Moors, while the zealous clergy were ab- 
sorbed in the new project of establishing the Inquisi- 
tion in these dominions, rapidly becoming powerful. 
The Jews, who were a numerous, wealthy and impor- 
tant class, had incurred the hatred of the Castilians, 
both on account of their heretical belief, and because 
of the almost irretrievable indebtedness of a large share 
of the nobility to these money-lenders. Since the 
avowed purpose of the Inquisition was the conversion 
or condemnation of this unfortunate people, both the 
Castilians and Arragonese submitted to its otherwise 
detested establishment, hoping thus to escape their ex- 
tensive liabilities; not foreseeing that its unlimited 
power might finally initiate the whole nation in its 
mysterious horrors. The clergy were eager for the 
work, and the pope willingly sanctioned measures 
which, by the confiscation of the estates of the accused, 
would pour immense wealth into his coffers. 

Isabella, whose tenderness of heart revolted at the 
barbarous design, withheld her consent till, blinded by 
the united representations of advisers, in whom she re- 
posed confidence, and actuated by a bigotry which 
owed its place in her otherwise perfect character to the 
early teachings of her confessor Thomas de Torquema- 
da, a proud, intolerant man of unrelenting cruelty, she 
at length permitted the appointment of two Dominician 
friars in September, 1480, who were ordered to repair 



80 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



to Seville and commence operations immediately. This 
appointment was not made, however, till after Isabella 
had induced them to employ milder means, that failed 
of course, in the hands of fiery, overbearing monks. 

An edict was issued, ordering the arrest of all per 
sons suspected of heresy, some of the proofs of which 
were, "wearing cleaner linen on the Jewish . sabbath 
than on other days of the week ; having no fire in the 
house the preceding evening; giving Hebrew names 
to children, a whimsical, cruel provision, since, by an 
enactment of Henry II., they were prohibited the use 
of christian names, under severe penalties." The cells 
of the convent of St. Paul, where the dreadful tribunal 
commenced its murderous deeds, were quickly filled ; 
and the number of arrests multiplied so rapidly that 
they were obliged to remove its operations to the for- 
tress of Triana in the suburbs of Seville. Eemoved 
from the immediate supervision of the citizens, the in- 
fatuated, brutal monks carried on the revolting work,' 
instituting mock trials which gave the accused no op- 
portunity of defence, but confronted him with witness- 
es concealed beneath black cowls and judges enveloped 
in dark robes ; the scene was rendered more gloomy 
and depressing by the dimly -lighted chambers where 
the sittings were held. The victim, with no hope of 
escape, however innocent, was often condemned through 
the machinations of some deadly but disguised enemy, 
hurried away and subjected to most excruciating tor- 
tures, in dungeons too deep for their cries of agony to 
reach any sympathizing ear. 

In the meantime Isabella, who devoutly believed 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 81 



this to be a pious work, was occupied in preparations 
for the Moorish war, in accordance with the promise 
she made on ascending the throne, and with the same 
bigoted zeal that actuated her in the forced conversion 
of her own subjects. Ferdinand engaged in the pro- 
ject with commendable activity, under the cloak of 
his " most catholic majesty," but with the secret grati- 
fication of adding to his dominions a wealthy and beau- 
tiful region, acknowledged as the Eden of Spain. Its 
position too, embracing the most important fortifica- 
tions along the coast, caught the covetous eye of the 
king, and probably had an influence upon Isabella, 
though her prominent idea was the conversion of the 
infidels. 

The Moorish kingdom, which had formerly extend- 
ed over a large portion of Spain, had been reduced, by 
successive conquerors, to a narrow district of seventy 
miles in breadth, lying between the mountains and sea, 
and stretching along the coast one hundred and eighty 
miles. The inhabitants were still subject to their ene- 
mies, being obliged to pay an annual tribute which had 
ceased during the reign of Henry II. and his succes- 
sors. In this interval they had become prosperous, 
amassed great wealth, beautified their possessions with 
every known luxury, and cultivated the arts and 
sciences to a surprising degree. Ingenious and inven 
tive, they originated much that has been universally 
adopted by mankind. To them we owe the first manu- 
facture of paper, and from them came the equally 
world-appropriated invention of gunpowder. Astrono- 
my, philosophy, and mathematics, made rapid strides 
6 



82 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



under their direction, though perverted to the use»s of 
astrology, magic, and the untiring search after the 
elixir of life and the philosopher's stone. Literaiure 
and poetry were successfully cultivated, but overbur- 
dened with legends and fairy tales that have since 
been inwoven in the poetry of all nations. 

The renowned city of Grenada was situated nearly 
in the centre of the kingdom, upon two hills and an in- 
tervening valley, one of the hills being crowned by the 
fortress of Alcazaba, the other by the palace of Alham- 
bra, magnificent and fanciful in its architecture, adorn- 
ed within by richly-tinted walls, musical fountains, 
perfumed gardens, and gay with gorgeously-dressed 
attendants, — npw a pile of ruins whose history seems 
but the maofical creation of an Arabian romance. No- 
ble palaces and lofty houses, abounding in Oriental 
colonnades and graceful porticoes, crowded the city. 
It was famous for its gallant warriors, who proudly 
boasted an army of twenty thousand men within its 
walls. Around the city extended the Yega or plain 
of Grenada, luxurious with vineyards, abundant in 
citron and orange groves that perpetually blossomed, 
and watered by the Xenil that flowed in a thousand 
diverted channels through these enchanting gardens. 
Upon one side of the plain extended a long range of 
mountains whose snowy peaks rose like sentinels along 
the frontiers, while the dark Mediterranean dashed 
against the rocky battlements with which nature had 
provided its extreme southern boundary. 

Populous cities, towns and impregnable fortresses 
were numerous in this fertile kingdom, which was re- 



JSA BELLA OF CASTILE. 6'6 



garded bj the Moors with a passionate devotion, re- 
vealed in the romantic ballads and legends that immor- 
talized its beauty and glory. The king, Muley Aben 
Hassen, was an old man, yet one who retained the fiery 
spirit of his youth, and the natural vigor of his mind. 
He still held the reins of government with a firm, un- 
yielding hand, but was an undisputed tyrant in his do- 
mestic relations. 

To this haughty monarch Ferdinand and Isabella 
sent an embassy as soon as their purpose was decided, 
demanding the payment of long arrears of tribute due 
to Castile. He received the embassy in the halls of 
the Alhambra, and proudly defied the demand. " Tell 
your sovereigns," said he, "that the kings of Grenada 
who used to pay tribute to the Castilian crown are dead. 
Our mint,, at present, coins nothing but blades of scimi- 
ters and heads of lances !" The indignant ambassa- 
dors returned to Castile, while Aben Hassen, fully 
aware of the vast preparations making against him, 
determined to open hostilities himself. The fortress 
and town of Zahara, negligently guarded because of 
its impregnable situation upon craggy heights, was 
fixed upon for the first onset. An inconsiderable num- 
ber of valiant Moors scaled the almost inaccessible 
walls of precipitous rock, and, under cover of a raging 
tempest and the darkness of night, surprised the slum- 
bering inhabitants, massacring such as resisted, and 
carrying the rest into slavery. 

The neAvs of this capture, roused the wrath and re- 
venge of all Spain, as though it had not intended to 
commit a like aggression. Ponce de Leon, the Marquis 



S4 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



of Cadiz, noted for his personal prowess, was selected 
to conduct an army of five thousand foot and horse 
into the enemy's country, though, with some especial 
design, his soldiers were kept in ignorance, they ex- 
pecting some sally along the frontiers. They per- 
formed a fatiguing and perilous march over the moun- 
tains that separated them from the kingdom of Grenada, 
the way being rendered more dangerous by moving 
only at night in order to conceal their approach. This 
feat accomplished, the marquis announced to his as- 
tonished soldiers that they were within half a league 
of the fortress of Alhama, in the very heart of the 
Moorish dominions. This fortress and town, of the 
same name, were, hke Zahara, situated on a rocky emi- 
nence, washed at its base by a deep river on one side, 
and screened on the other side from any powerful at- 
tack by the mountains. Its apparant security of posi- 
tion lulled the vigilance of the sentinels, and enabled 
a detachment of the Spanish army to scale the walls 
unseen, put the garrison to the sword, and throw open 
the gates to the remaining troops. The town was cap- 
tured after a brave resistance from the Moors, who 
fought desperately this first battle for their beautiful 
land, their homes, and those endeared ones who were 
threatened with death or hopeless slavery. 

The news of this daring exploit almost within sight 
of Grenada, struck terror into the hearts of the people, 
who deplored the evil the tyrant king was bringing 
upon them. The astrologers shook their heads, and 
said the stars denoted the downfall of the empire, while 
the poets mournfully sang, *' Woe is Alhama," and 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 85 



women and children rushed through the streets, tear- 
ing their hair, and wildly calling upon their king to stay 
the destruction which threatened to overwhelm them. 

But Aben Hassen, roused by this defiance of the 
Castilians thrown in his very teeth, and deaf to the 
lamentations and reproaches of his subjects, made 
hasty preparations to retake his captured city. A large 
army, fierce for vengeance, assembled under the walls 
of Alhama, and laid siege to the city. The conquer- 
ors held unflinchingly what they had so perilously 
grasped, unintimidated by the fast exhausting means 
found in the city, or the long-protracted, fierce attacks 
of tlie Moors, rapidly thinning their numbers. In this 
extremity the marquis succeeded in conveying intelli- 
gence to his wife, who, alarmed for the safety of her 
husband, quickly dispatched a message to the most 
powerful neighboring chief, the Duke of Sidonia, to 
fly to his relief. This nobleman was a deadly enemy 
of the marquis, but with a chivalrous honor, obeyed 
the confiding frankness of the demand, and, with his 
speedily gathered retainers, amounting to fifty-five 
thousand, set out for the Moorish dominions. 

The tidings of the victory and ensuing danger of the 
Spanish army at Alhama, reached Ferdinand and Isa- 
bella at Medina del Campo. After a public procession 
and thanksgiving in the cathedrals, Ferdinand dis- 
patched orders to the duke, who had already begun 
his march, to await his presence ; but he, unwilling to 
lose a moment, disobeyed the command, and pushed 
on to the rescue of his countrymen. 

The first announcement of their approach to Alhama, 



86 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



was the sudden retreat of the Moors into Grenada, a 
movement the besieged could not comprehend till, 
presently, they saw lances glittering and banners float- 
ing among the defiles of the mountains. With shouts 
of joy they went forth to meet the brilliant arr.-iy, the 
marquis and duke embracing cordially, in presence of 
both armies, forever burying the animosity that had 
stained their family escutcheons with the blood of 
many generations. They triumphantly entered the 
city together. 

In accordance with Isabella's directions, the cross 
was reared where the crescent had hung for centuries ; 
the mosques were converted into cathedrals ; and the 
belongings and decorations of Catholic worship dis- 
placed the sacred utensils of Moorisli rites. An ex- 
quisitely embroidered cloth, the work of the queen's 
own hands, was laid upon the newly-erected altar in 
the principal mosque of Alhama, thus consecrating to 
religion what had been gained by rapacious bloodshed. 

A stronghold being now secured in the very midst 
of the kingdom of Grenada, Isabella determined to 
prosecute the war more vigorously than ever. With 
her sanction Ferdinand summoned an army, wk'ch, it 
was found, lacked sufficient supplies of ordnance and 
ammunition, in consequence of want of means, to incur 
liirther expense. Not listening to the advice of more 
experienced men, and burning with a desire for mili 
lary renown, he persisted in entering upon a campaign 
with this ill-equipped army. The soldiers caught the 
dispirited bearing of the leaders, and, full of evil fore- 
oodintjs, deiectedly followed the royal standard, carried 



I 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 87 



b>ofore tliem to the cathedral of Cordova to receive a 
blessing, and thence on their long march and toil over 
the rugged mountains. 

Loxa, a thriving city on the banks of the Xenil, so 
completely surrounded by inaccessible rocks as to be 
designated " a flower among thorns," was the first point 
of attack. The army, fatigued with their rough march, 
and with no ardor in the enterprise, poorly withstood 
the wily assaults of the Moors, who, ])ractising the 
Arabian and Indian tactics, concealed themselves in 
crevices or behind rocks, and suddenly sprang upon 
their astonished foes, darted fatal showers of poisoned 
arrows among their ranks, then fell upon them with 
never-failing scimeters and deadly knives. A com- 
plete rout ensued, and the remnant of Ferdinand's 
army returned to Cordova in a disconsolate plight. 
Isabella was mortified at such a signal defeat ; she 
fully resolved to adopt measures proportioned to the 
importance of the undertaking, and not thus allow the 
fame of Castilian arms to be tarnished. 

The court removed to Madrid at the beginning of 
the year 1483 — a year remarkable for the death of the 
Archbishop of Toledo, who, after his disgrace, retired 
to his own palace, where he pursued the study of al- 
chemy with such infatuation as exhausted even his 
princely revenues. This year was also notable for the 
appointment of Thomas de Torquemada inquisitor- 
general of Castile and Arragon, investing him with 
full powers to conduct the operations of the Holy Of- 
fice — powers which he exercised with the utmost vigor 
and cruelty, enforcing every imaginable torture with 



88 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



.horrible precision. Isabella permitted its continuance, 
notwithstanding the serious drain it produced upon 
the working-classes as well as the nobility. No one 
was above a suspicion that, without warning, he might 
be snatched away from the fire- side, from the busy 
loom, or the plying hammer, with a suddenness and 
impenetrable secrecy that seemed the work of imps of 
Satan, carrying their victims to subterranean halls and 
placing them before malicious, cowled tribunals, which 
consigned them to a frightful, secret death, in the 
depths of the fortresses and castles occupied by the 
inquisitors. 

Had Isabella been left to her own judgment, she 
would have used milder means to " root out heresy" 
from her kingdom, but, actuated by her early teachers 
who impressed her with the duty of thorough action, 
and influenced by her confessor Talavera, she counte- 
nanced the proceedings of the Inquisition. Talavera, 
though not possessing the cruelty of Torquemada, was 
equally austere and haughty. Upon his first attend- 
ance upon the queen as confessor, he remained seated 
while she knelt before him. " It is usual for both par- 
ties to kneel," said she. "No," replied he, "this is 
God's tribunal ; I act here as his minister, and it is fit- 
ting that I should keep my seat while your Highness 
kneels before me." " This is the confessor I wanted," 
said she afterwards in commenting upon it. What 
wonder that with such spiritual guides, in whom she 
reposed the greatest confidence, her doubts should be 
overruled. 

Her resolution to execute the war of Grenada on a 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 89 



larger scale, was soon made manifest ; in opposition to 
the wishes of Ferdinand and the chief leaders, she used 
energetic measures to raise a new army. Ashamed to 
be outdone by a woman, the old spirit of chivalry was 
roused again, and they now eagerly offered their ser 
vices to the courageous queen. The treasury being ex- 
hausted by the various objects that drew largely upon 
it, the pope was applied to, who permitted fands to be 
raised out of the ecclesiastical revenue, and also issued 
a " bull of crusade," which granted indulgences to all 
who should take up arms against the infidel. 

Magnificent preparations were made with expecta- 
tions of a certain success that seemed to be warranted 
by the scenes of civil faction which Grenada presented. 
The Sultana Ayxa was jealous of a beautiful Greek 
slave, of whom the old king was undisguisedly fond, 
and fearing lest the succession of her own son Boabdil 
should be superseded by other heirs, she represented 
her wrongs to the people already rebellious under the 
tyrannical government. 

These intrigues were discovered, for which Aben 
Hassen caused her to be imprisoned in the highest 
tower of the Alhambra. With the aid of her atten- 
dants she effected the escape of herself and son by 
tying scarfs and shawls together, upon which doubt- 
ful support they descended to the ground unharmed, 
and were welcomed by a large share of the quickly- 
assembled inhabitants. A contest soon commenced 
which stained the halls of the Alhambra with blood, 
and drove from it the tyrant king, who took shelter in 



90 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



Malaga, a city that remained lo\'al to him, leaving 
Boabdil to occupy the throne. 

M^hile the kingdom of Grrenada was thus weakened 
by domestic feuds and unable to rally unitedly, the 
Castilians decided to strike a blow at Malaga. The 
gallant army passed out of the gates of Antequera, ex- 
ultant and eager for the victory of which they were 
confident. The following day they arrived at the tor- 
tuous defiles of the Axarquia, dragging heavy artillery 
and baggage through the rocky windings with great 
difficulty. During the slow ascent, the inhabitants of 
the villages among the mountains had time to escape 
with their effects and spread the alarm through the 
lower country. 

Aben Hassen made immediate preparations, and, 
with a strong force, sallied from the city of Malaga to 
meet the enemy, while entangled in the passes. The 
Castilians were under several leaders, neither of whom 
had the supreme command ; not finding the booty 
they anticipated they began to separate in various de- 
tachments, that of the grand- master of St. James alone 
proceeding in military order. Upon that division the 
first attack of the Moors fell, and as soon as the sound 
of the alarm was given, the Marquis of Cadiz hastened 
to his relief. The spirit and agility of the Moors .gave 
them success; the Castilians were scattered, and laden 
with spoils gathered in the various forages for which 
they had separated, and, unable to manage the cavalry 
amid the defiles, were driven back after a desperate 
struggle. In order to facilitate their escape, they were 
obliged to leave the artillery, baggage, and dearly-earn- 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 91 



e I booty to their pursuers. Their retreat was further 
e nbarrassed by missiles showered upon them from the 
heights above by the numerous peasantry and villa- 
ge rs. Heavy rocks and stones rolled down upon their 
close ranks, making fearful inroads on the already 
diminished numbers, causing confusion, alarm, and a 
struggle for life that lessened the chances of escape, and 
often sent them rolling into deep chasms, clutching 
each other with a death-grasp. 

The Marquis of Cadiz succeeded in extricating his 
detatchment and escaped to Andalusia, but the rest 
wer(5 not so fortunate. Some lost their way, wander- 
ing back into Grenada ; others died from exhaustion 
and terror ; many were taken prisoners, and those who 
still kept together mistook the route and came to a 
stand in a deep, dark glen, hemmed in by insurmount- 
able locks. Darkness was fast enveloping them, in- 
creasing their danger and magnifying the horrors of 
their situation. Watch-fires were kindled by the 
enemy along the ridges of the mountains, and the 
fierce Moors flitted hither and thither in the red light, 
like a multitude of evil spirits securing the captivity 
of their victims. Well-aimed arrows were darted 
among the unresisting soldiery, who, thinking now only 
of personal safety, desperately sought to retrace their 
steps. After struggling through almost impenetrable 
thickets, scaling frightful precipices and leaping dark 
chasms, a moiety of that brilliant army reached their 
own frontiers, almost dead with fatigue and terror. 
They left three of their most illustrious commanders, 
and two brothers of the Marquis of Cadiz, slain among 



92 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



the defiles, to be mutilated by the revengeful Moors, 
or to be prey for the eagle's eyrie ; and one was taken 
a prisoner, with no hope of ransom. 

After these disasters, the war would have ceased foi 
a time, but for a rash expedition undertaken by Boab- 
dil, the young King of Grenada, who was jealous of the 
renown which his father's knights had gained, and de- 
termined to perform some exploit himself which should 
secure the loyalty of his adherents. Accordingly he 
summoned a large army which embraced the flower of 
Moslem chivalry ; disregarding the ill-omened accident 
of breaking his lance against an arch as he passed 
through the gateway of the city at the head of his 
army, he persisted in executing his purpose, perhaps 
the more desperately, from the repeated and mysteri- 
ous warnings he received from the astrologers, and be- 
cause of an old prophecy which foretold that he would 
be the last king of Grenada. 

The Castilians having been informed of his design 
of investing Lucena on the Spanish frontiers, provided 
that city with a strong garrison. The Count de Cabra 
raised a small army, and came in sight of Lucena just 
as the Moors were marching towards it on the opposite 
side. The approach of the Spanish army was partially 
concealed by the rolling hills among which they pass- 
ed, affording the Moors only an occasional glimpse of 
troops thus multiplied infinitely to their alarmed vision; 
the echoes of the loud clarions and trumpets that filled 
their ears, impressed them with the approach of an im- 
mense army. At the same time troops poured forth 
from the gptes of the city. Imagining themselves 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 98 



already overpowered, a portion of the Moors fled, leav- 
ing the brunt of the battle to the cavalry, who soon 
obliged the rest to give way and retreat towards the 
Xenil, closely followed by their pursuers. The panic 
and struggle for life were so great that numbers were 
precipitated into the waters, grappling one another, till 
they sank in a common grave. The proudest blood of 
Grenada flowed from the banks and mingled with the 
rolling river that day — a day immortalized in the 
mournful lamentations and ballads of a race who 
fought to perpetuate a nation that was doomed to be 
struck out from the kingdoms of the earth. 

Boabdil was often seen in the thickest of the melee, 
conspicuous from being mounted upon a richly-capari- 
soned, whitR steed, and wearing golden armor, and a 
magnificent turban blazing with jewels. His royal 
guard fell o;..e after another around him. Unable to 
sustain himf,v:)lf longer, or to hope for escape across the 
river, he dispjiounted and concealed himself in a thicket. 
A Castilian coldier discovered his retreat, and would 
have dispatched him after calling assistance, had not 
the king revealed his rank. This was the crowning 
feature of the day. He was triumphantly led to the 
Spanish camp and conducted to Count Cabra, who re 
ceived him w th all the honor and respect due to the 
royal captive. He was then escorted to the count's 
castle, and entertained with munificent hospitality, the 
most punctilious care being taken to make the golden- 
plumaged bird forget that he was caged. 

Isabella received the tidings with tears as well as 
joy, and sent him a message full of kindness and cour- 



94 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



tesy ; all her generous womaDly sympathies were 
awakened for the unfortunate prince. When a coun- 
cil convened to determine what was to be done with 
their captive, they talked of delivering him to the ven- 
geance of his father for a heavy ransom, but Isabella' 
indignantly rejected the proposal, deciding that he 
should be liberated and sent back to his country, on 
condition of allegiance to the Castilian sovereigns ; the 
promise of supplies to their troops, and permission to 
pass unmolested through that portion of the country 
under his sway ; together with the payment of a large 
sum of money annually ; and the delivery of his son, 
and several children of the nobility, as hostages. lie 
was released, and after a cordial interview with the 
king and queen, was conducted by a brilliant escort to 
his own dominions. 

In the loftiest towers of the Alhambra, his mother 
and beautiful young wife Morayma had watched daily 
for the coming of Boabdil ; straining their eyes in vain 
beyond the vine-covered Vega, to catch a glimpse of 
the triumphant return of the gaily-equipped cavaliers, 
who had gone forth with buoyant hopes to win glory. 
While still gazing far among the blue mountains for a 
sight of the Moslem banners, heralding the approach 
of the victors, their keen eyes perceived a little band 
of horsemen skimming swiftly across the plain. With 
beating hearts they returned to the state chamber to 
await tidings that were soon conveyed to them, more 
loudly than words could have done, in the blood stain- 
ed, dusty habiliments that remained to the exhausted 
cavaliers, who rushed with evil news to the presence 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 95 



of the queen-regent. The announcement of the capture 
of Boabdil, overwhelmed his wife and mother with 
grief, and filled the city with lamentations. Old men 
and women wandered through the streets, tearing their 
hair and throwing ashes upon their heads. The wise 
were struck dumb with the unheard-of calamity ; and 
even the children united in the wailing cry that rose 
yet more mournfully than the sad cadence that pro- 
phesied the recoil of the first blow, beginning with 
the words — 

*' Ay de mi Alhama l" 

The high-spirited Sultana Ayxa, unwilling to in- 
dulge a useless grief, made an efibrt for Boabdil's lib- 
erty, offering an immense ransom and terms which, for 
the most part, were those the conquerors granted. 
But the glory of Grenada had departed, for, no sooner 
nad the degraded king returned to his dominions, than 
Aben Hassen renewed his former animosity through 
Abdallah El Zagel, a vigorous and fiery warrior, who 
was appointed to succeed the old monarch now blind 
and infirm. The new opposing king carried on a de- 
termined warfare with the fated Boabdil's party, till the 
palace of the Alhambra and the streets of Grenada 
were streaming with the blood of the bravest Moors, 
who should have reserved their strength for the com 
mon defence of the kingdom. 

Ferdinand and Isabella continued to take advantage 
of these destructive feuds, pushing their conquests from 
town to town, capturing the most important posts and 
strongest fortresses along the frontiers. No memorable 



96 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



campaign occurred however till 1485, — a year distin- 
guished for the siege and capture of Eonda. Isabella, 
with all her household, accompanied the army, ani- 
mating the soldiers with fresh courage, and prompting 
the gallant knights and cavaliers to valiant deeds, to 
deserve the smiles and commendation of their beautiful 
queen, for whom it was glory to peril their lives. Her 
presence softened the horrors and sufferings of wai", as 
she always advised the most lenient and magnanimous 
conduct toward the vanquished, and held back the 
murderous sword that almost universally follows in the 
track of victory. She frequently reviewed the troops 
on horseback, wearing light armor, and addressed the 
soldiers with a perfect grace and strength, united with 
unassumed modesty, that won the admiration of the 
whole army. Any one of those thousands would prob- 
ably have laid down his life in the defence of a queen, 
regarded, by all her subjects, with the passionate de- 
votion of a lover, as well as with the awe which, not 
only royalty, but the purity and beauty of her charac- 
ter inspired. 

To her the honor is due of first establishing the ines- 
timable services of a hospital in the army ; she paid, 
from her own revenues, the skillful military surgeons 
and the expenses of six spacious tents, provided with 
beds and everything necessary for the comfort of the 
sick and wounded ; it was denominated the " Queen's 
Hospital." She was always accompanied by the In- 
fanta Isabella, whom she loved with more than ordi- 
nary tenderness. The sweetest and most confidential 
intercourse existed between them, endearing them to 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 97 



each other with such strength of affection as nearly 
proved fatal when a final separation became necessary. 

The campaign of 1486 opened under brilHant aus- 
pices. Vast preparations were made, and once more 
the valiant warriors of Spain, emboldened by the pres- 
ence of Ferdinand, filed out from the gates of Cordova 
amidst floating banners, the flourish of trumpets, the 
music of clarions, and buoyed by the hopes of victor}^, 
whereof they were more rationally certain from being 
thoroughly supplied with every provision necessary to 
a well-equipped army. 

While they proceeded to the siege of Loxa, Isabella 
remained at Cordova, assuming the sole administration 
of government, and attending to civil and military busi- 
ness with surprising precision and skill. The derange- 
ment of internal affairs, increased during the prolonged 
absence of the sovereigns, added to the thousand sepa- 
rate demands upon her time, caused many an applicant 
to be unavoidably unheard. Among the throng who 
eagerly sought her presence, was one who, in lowly 
garb, passed unnoticed through the streets of Cordova, 
abstracted and absorbed in the great dreams that daily 
pictured the glorious panorama of the Western World, 
and living a life of noble aspirations and intense long- 
ing to grasp the reality beyond the ocean that his keen 
vision had already spanned — a life of hopes and aims 
exalting him far above the motley, scornful multitude, 
which, to his unmindful sight, 

" Passed dimly fortli and back, as seen in dreams." 

Impatient with the cold and reiterated refusals of an 

.7 



98 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



audieace, Columbus succeeded in laying his gigantic 
plans before Talavera, tbe queen's confessor, through 
whom he hoped to reach Isabella's ear. He had pre- 
viously applied to John II. of Portugal, who rejected 
the chimerical ideas with disdain ; now he liad a worse 
obstacle to encounter in the learned prelate's uncon- 
querable aversion to any departure from the long- 
established theories. Too much occupied to bestow 
thought upon Columbus' scheme, Isabella refused him 
admission, with an indefinite promise of giving atten- 
tion to the subject at some future day. Columbus, im 
patient at the delay, could only plunge into the scenes 
of warfare that now seemed to engulph every other 
interest. 

After the capture of Loxa, Ferdinand requested Isa- 
bella's presence in the army, to which she promptly 
responded. With the Princess Isabella, the ladies of 
her court, and a numerous and brilliant train of at- 
tendants, she set out for the camp. The Marquis of 
Cadiz, with a detachment of nobles and cavaliers met 
her on the frontiers, and conducted her to the encamp- 
ment in the vicinity of Moclin. " The queen rode a 
chestnut mule, seated on a saddle-chair, embossed with 
gold and silver. The housings were of a crimson color, 
and the bridle was of satin, curiously wrought with 
'etters of gold. The infanta wore a skirt of fine velvet 
over others of brocade, a scarlet mantilla of the Moor- 
ish fashion, and a black hat trimmed with gold em- 
broidery. The king rode forward, at the head of his 
nobles, to receive her. He was dressed in a crimson 
doublet, with breeches of yellow satin. Over his shoul- 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE 99 



ders was thrown a mantle of rich brocade, and a sou 
pravest of the same materials concealed his cuirass. 
By his side, close girt, he wore a Moorish scimiter, and 
beneath his bonnet his hair was confined by a cap of 
the finest stuff. He was mounted on a noble war- 
horse of a bright chestnut color." As they approaclTed 
each other, they bowed thrice, umcovering their heads, 
and saluted one another affectionately, though with the 
stately ceremonies which accompanied every movement 
of their majesties. 

The presence of Isabella and her court in the camp, 
spread univei-sal joy, gave new life to the soldiery, and 
added to the brilliancy of the scene. Royal pavilions 
were reared in the midst of the encampment, embel- 
lished with all the luxuries pertaining to a court, and 
gay with the presence of the beautiful and distin- 
guished. There were the heroic Marchioness of Cadiz, 
and the Marchioness of Moya, better known as Beatriz 
de Bobadilla, together with the dignified presence of 
the grand cardinal Mendoza, a man reverenced for his 
learning and reliable qualities. The gallant Earl of 
Rivers, of England, with his brave followers ; Gonsalvo 
de Cordova, the notable captain of the royal guards, 
and his famous brother Don Alonzo ; the Marquis of 
Cadiz, styli?d "the Mirror of Andalusi an Chivalry;" 
the Count de Cabra, the capturer of Boabdil, and a 
host of renowned knights, with their numberless fol- 
lowers, made up as famed and gorgeous an array as 
ever entered the battle-field. 

And among this throng of haughty, powerful nobles, 
who burned to gain laurels to lay at the feet of the 



100 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



worshipped queen, moved Columbus, still unnoticed, 
still overshadowed by the bold and great, whose em- 
blazoned names in future years would pale before the 
radiance of the genius now despised by their preju- 
dices. The din of war drowned his pleadings, and the 
poor but noble Grenoese could only raise his arm be- 
side the common soldier to strike a common foe. 

Moclin was captured ; its dungeons thrown open, 
from whence poured forth christian captives, whose 
fate had long been a mystery to their mourning rela- 
tives ; its mosques were converted into cathedrals, col- 
leges founded for the instruction of the Moors in the 
catholic faith, and arrangements made for the govern- 
ment of the conquered cities. Isabella universally ex- 
erted herself to alleviate the horrors of war, showing 
such leniency and kindness towards her Moslem sub- 
jects, as secured a devotion almost equal to that of her 
own nation ; and when severe or cruel measures were 
applied, it was because her remonstrances were over- 
ruled by Ferdinand and the Spanish leaders. 

At the close of the campaign, the sovereigns returned 
to Spain, making Salamanca their place of royal resi- 
dence. Here Columbus succeeded, through the influ- 
ence of the Marquis of Cadiz and Cardinal Mendoza, 
both inen of enlightened minds, in obtaining the ap- 
pointment of a council to decide his claims. Talavera 
was designated to select the most learned and scientific 
men in the kingdom, for this purpose ; many of them 
were equally pugnacious to innovations upon estab- 
lished theories, and caused discussions which were 
likely to foil the long-protracted hopes of Columbus, 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. lOl 



by their interminable length, if not in their decision. 
The spring of 1487 came, and the council, without 
having effected anything, was broken up by the prep- 
arations demanded for a new campaign. 

Ferdinand placed himself at the head of an army ot 
twelve thousand horse and forty thousand foot, and 
once more advanced towards the dominions of the 
Moors. A toilsome march over the mountains, a rapid 
descent among the defiles, and the army swept like a 
cloud of devouring locusts over the fair fields, vine- 
yards and gardens of Grenada, leaving a scene of deso- 
lation behind it, and at length settling in a broad val- 
ley, at the extremity of which lay the city of Malaga, 
second in importance only to Grenada. The approach 
to it, however, was rendered perilous by two well- 
guarded eminences, commanding the valley both on 
the sea-coast and the opposite side, where the wild 
sierra receded into mountainous heights that overshad- 
owed the city. After a desperate defence by the Moors, 
the Marquis of Cadiz took possession of the position 
considered most dangerous from its exposure to attacks 
of bands concealed in the neighboring thickets; the 
other most important point was secured by La Yega. 

The following morning, the remainder of the army 
swept through the pass and defiled into a wide plain 
which surrounded the city upon three sides ; the fourth 
was washed by the waves of the ocean. A Spanish 
fleet rode in the harbor, effectually cutting off supplies 
in that quarter. Thus the doomed city was completely 
encircled by a foe daily tightening its coils, till the vic- 
tim was crushed in the fearful embrace. Malaga was 



102 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



bravely defended by a noble Moor, named Hamet El 
Zegri, renowned since the siege of Ronda, and appoint- 
ed to this responsible post by El Zagel, who still dis- 
puted the crown with Boabdil. But for this weak 
prince, Malaga might have been rescued by the Moors, 
inasmuch as a valiant band of troops set out from Gre- 
nada to their assistance, but were intercepted by Boab- 
dil and engaged in a bloody affray, which disabled 
them. After several weeks spent in the unsuccessful 
bombardment of the city, the Christians, wearied with its 
determined resistance, became discontented. A rumor 
had reached the besieged that the Spaniards were about 
to break up their camp ; this gave them fresh courage 
to prolong the struggle. To undeceive them, Ferdi- 
nand immediately sent for Isabella to join the army, 
knowing her presence would dispel the dissatisfaction 
among the troops, and would assure the infidels of 
their intentions to persevere. 

Isabella's arrival was greeted with every manifesta- 
tion of joy ; the plain of Malaga presented a scene like 
that of Moclin ; it was brilliant with gorgeously attired 
horsemen, and glancing weapons, gay with pavilions, 
from which floated the royal standard, and the interior 
of which was richly hung with silken draperies, and 
otherwise luxuriously fitted for the presence of beauti- 
ful women of noble birth, the wives or sisters of those 
in the camp. The army was purified from the vices 
which usually accompany war. Gambling was pro- 
hibited under severe penalties, blasphemy punished 
and prostitutes banished — a state of things due to Isa- 
bella's pious and virtuous regulations. 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 103 



Immediately after her arrival, she showed the hu- 
manity and mildness of her character, by requesting 
the cessation of hostile operations, and caused terms of 
capitulation to be offered the inhabitants of Malaga ; 
they would gladly have accepted these but for the 
fierce chieftain El Zegri, who returned only a defiant 
answer. The siege was, therefore, prosecuted with 
redoubled vigor. 

An event occurred shortly after the queen's arrival, 
which occasioned great alarm for her safety. A wild 
Moor named Agerbi, allowed himself to be taken 
prisoner, and, promising to reveal important informa- 
tion to the Spanish sovereigns, was conducted to the 
royal tent. The king being asleep, the queen refused 
to confer with the prisoner till he should awaken and 
be present at the audience. The Moor was, therefore, 
led to an adjoining pavilion, where the Marchioness 
of Moya and Don Alvaro were playing a game of chess. 
Their magnificent apparel and distinguished bearing 
deceived Agerbi, who, thinking himself in the presence 
of royalty, suddenly drew forth a dagger from the 
folds of his Moorish mantle and plunged it into the 
side of the unsuspecting Don Alvaro, then turned, 
quick as lightning, upon the marchioness, who escaped 
injury by the weapon becoming entangled in the heavy 
embroidery of her robes, in its descent. The atten- 
dants fell upon the assassin, dispatching him with 
numberless blows. The noise of the affray soon spread 
the alarm, and, in revenge for the daring attempt, his 
body was thrown from an engine into the besieged 
city. Spanish historians denominate him a fanatic* 



104 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



his own countrymen might have immortalized him as 
a hero who, in the face of certain death, made one last 
effort to arrest the departing glory of the kings of 
Grenada, by sending into the captivity of death the 
crowned instigators of their downfall. 

The vigilance of sentinels was redoubled, and an 
additional guard placed in the ro3^al quarters. Though 
Isabella was disturbed and alarmed at her danger, 
she still enforced her wishes to spare the destruction 
of Malaga and its inhabitants. Capitulation was again 
offered, but rejected with disdain, notwithstanding the 
famine which had reduced the besieged to the neces- 
sity of eating the flesh of horses, cats, dogs, and boiled 
leaves ; to this distress a pestilence was added, arising 
from the use of such unwholesome food. Reduced to 
the uttermost extremity, their numbers rapidly dimin- 
ishing, and their places of defence giving way under 
the increasing fire and battering engines of the Span- 
iards, El Zegri at length sent an embassy to Ferdi- 
nand, accepting the offered terms ; to which the king 
replied that it was too late, as they must now abide by 
such terms as their conquerors chose to offer. After 
remonstrances, threats, and defiance on the part of the 
Moorish general, he was at length obliged to surrender 
Malaga unconditionally, having bravely maintained its 
iefence for three months. 

Ferdinand and Isabella entered the city at the head 
of a triumphant procession, and went in state to the 
cathedral of St. Mary, where mass was performed, and 
thanks given to the Grod of armies for enabling them 
to establish the catholic faith in the land of the infidels. 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 105 



The Te Deum was solemnly chanted, followed by all 
the usual demonstrations of victory. In the meantime 
the inhabitants of Malaga awaited the decision of their 
fate with the additional terror of suspense. 

The dungeons were opened and the christian cap- 
tives, who had been chained there for years, were led 
before Isabella, in the presence of the assembled multi- 
tude. Sons, brothers, husbands, long mourned as dead, 
were recognized among the dejected, cadaverous be- 
ings, with cries of joy at the reunion, and tears at the 
sight of their suffering. Isabella wept with them, had 
them carefully pi'ovided for, and enabled them to re- 
turn to their families. 

Strange inconsistency that could release captives in 
a foreign land with tears, while, in her own dominions, 
thousands innocently suffered a more horrible captivity 
m the dungeons of the Inquisition! And strange 
mfatuation that should lead her, immediately after the 
release of Spanish prisoners, for whom her tears had 
dowed, to enslave a host of the most beautiful Moorish 
maidens, for herself and friends, tearing them from 
homes and loved ones no less dear because the cres- 
cent was an emblem of their faith, though this was suf- 
ficient to make them unfeeling in the eyes of the Span- 
iards. 

The terrified inhabitants were ordered to appear in 
the spacious court-yard of the Alcazaba, to hear their 
doom pronounced. Wasted by famine and exhausted 
with fearful watching, they clung in despairing silence 
to one another, pale and trembling ; they were anxious 
as to their impending fate, yet hoping for the generous 



106 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



treatment shown towards other conquered cities. Here 
and there a sullen Moor stood apart with folded arms 
and rebellious spirit, haughtily awaiting the sentence he 
knew full well would be no light one from the exasper- 
ated conquerors. Breathlessly the multitude listened 
till the dreaded decree of hopeless slavery was passed 
upon them ; then sent up a long, mournful cry that 
might have touched a heart of stone. "Oh Malaga! 
renowned and beautiful, what shall become of thy old 
men and thy matrons, thy sons and thy maidens, when 
they shall feel the galling yoke of bondage," cried 
they, in tones of agonized grief. Daughters clung to 
mothers, children in vain supplicated the protection of 
their fathers ; the family ties were broken ; some were 
destined to the burning coast of Africa, some to be 
distributed in the beautiful plains of Italy, while the 
noblest and fairest were selected to embellish the 
palaces of Spain, in subjection to those whom they 
hated as infidels as well as oppressors. 

Ferdinand would have put them all to the sword 
but for the remonstrances of his more humane consort, 
though their policy had always been marked by a 
magnanimity that won them a world-wide fame in 
those days of savage warfare. The rapacious Ferdi- 
nand, fearing that the inhabitants would conceal their 
wealth, secured it by offering freedom to them at a 
ransom so enormous, that despite all the gold, precious 
stones, and merchandise the duped victims could lay 
at his feet, it availed them nothing. 

These traits that gradually became more prominent 
in his character, repulsed the upright purity and ten- 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 107 



derness of Isabella's more refined, exalted nature, and 
chilled the love that had at first united their interests 
and aims. But whatever Isabella's disappointment 
was upon a clearer perception of the soul that years 
made more transparent to her insight, she never com- 
promised the dignity of either by revealing it to those 
who surrounded them. 

The year succeeding the capture of Malaga, was 
more remarkable for its reverses than successes. After 
a short campaign, Ferdinand withdrew his forces. 
Isabella's residence during the ensuing winter was at 
Valladolid and Saragossa, where she was entirely en- 
grossed in domestic affairs and the education of her 
children. The Princess Isabella was her constant com- 
panion and confidant, relieving her mother's sorrows 
by her gentle, sweet sympathy. Her eldest and prom- 
ising son Don Juan, often diverted her from oppressive 
troubles ; but all her motherly anxieties were awaken- 
ed for her second daughter Joanna, who, having al- 
ways been subject to fits, was threatened with idiocy 
or insanity. The infant Catherine, destined to a sad 
fate, and known as Catherine of Arragon, was at this 
time affianced to Prince Arthur, son of Henry YII. of 
England, an event which sealed a long, unbroken peace 
between the two nations. 

The brilliant campaign of 1489 decided the fate of 
Grenada. An -ssrmy was raised of fifteen thousand 
horse and eighty thousand foot, embracing the most 
distinguished leaders and hardy knights of Spain, to- 
gether with troops furnished by allies. Ferdinand led 
his legions once more over the mountainous barriers, 



108 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



determined to summon all their strength for a final 
victory that should terminate this long, disastrous 
war. 

The siege of Baza was determined upon, as it was 
the capital of El Zagel's dominions, and the most im- 
portant post to be obtained. A long and fierce resist- 
ance, however, dampened the ardor of the Spaniards, 
and, after sufiering several reverses in skirmishes and 
attacks upon the town, and dreading the severity of 
the fast-approaching winter, they were so, entirely dis- 
heartened as to unitedly desire the king to return to 
Castile, and await the following spring for the further- 
ance of designs that would detain and expose them to 
certain death by the hardships of the cold season, and 
the cutting off of supplies by the breaking up of the 
roads over the mountains. Even the most heroic lead- 
ers advised Ferdinand to abandon the siege, and scarce- 
ly one in the whole army opposed it but the sagacious 
commander of Leon. 

Uncertain what course to take, and unwilling to dis- 
band his army without a single conquest, Ferdinand 
sent an embassy to Isabella who resided at Jaen, a place 
nearest the scene of action and most convenient for 
communication. Her reply, full of hope, courage and 
energy, promising the faithful discharge of her engage- 
ment to furnish supplies to the army without intermis- 
sion, at whatever cost or labor, reassured the dispirited 
army. With fresh vigor they made preparations for 
the approaching winter, and the astounded Moors of 
Baza suddenly beheld a city of houses and streets rise 
as if by magic, where only light tents had sheltered the 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 109 



besiegers. Walls of mud, thatched with timber, con- 
stituted the houses of the nobility ; palisades joined at 
the top, and intertwined with boughs, protected the 
common soldiers. Shortly after the completion of 
these huts, a severe storm swept them all to the earth ; 
torrents rolled down from the mountains, swelling the 
streams to an impassable depth and rapidity ; the 
mountain roads were blocked up by fallen rocks and 
trees, and deep fissures were cut by the descending 
floods. 

Alarm was depicted on every countenance, now that 
supplies and intercourse with their own country were 
completely cut off. Two or three days of painful sus- 
pense ensued, when a messenger arrived from Isabella, 
exhorting them to hold their position, for the roads 
should be quickly repaired. With incredible alacrity 
and skillful management, she succeeded in the recon- 
struction of the roads; her workmen made new ones, 
bridged the swollen rivers, and established a line of 
fourteen thousand mules, which constantly conveyed 
supplies of every description to the army. The im- 
mense expense incurred, she defrayed by pawning the 
crown jewels, plate, and personal ornaments ; by large 
sums borrowed of wealthy individuals who, for their 
reimbursement, trusted to the word of the queen — a 
sufficient guarantee for any risk, so faithful was she in 
performing her promises ; and by the treasures of the 
convents and monasteries, thrown open to her. Thus 
to the indefatigable efforts of this high-spirited, admi- 
rable woman, who wonderfully united feminine quali- 
ties with masculine wisdom, energy and skill, was 



UO ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



owing the brilliant and decisive conquests that suc- 
ceeded. 

Baza was still defended with determined valor and 
strength, drawn from the dependence of the fate of 
Grenada upon the loss or retention of this royal strong 
hold. The Spaniards again lost patience with the pro- 
longed defence, looked to the queen for new inspira- 
tion, and believing her presence would hasten the 
termination of the siege, entreated her to join them. 

Accompanied by the Princess Isabella, the Mar- 
chioness of Moya, and other ladies of her court, she 
arrived at the camp in November, the sixth month of 
the siege. When the Moors beheld her gay cavalcade 
streaming from among the mountains, knowing what 
a talisman of success lay in her presence, they beat 
their breasts in dismay and despair, exclaiming " Now 
is the fate of Baza decided !" 

"From the moment of her appearance," says the 
historian, "a change came over the scene. No more 
of the cruel skirmishes, which before had occurred every 
day ; no report of artillery or clashing of arms or any 
of the rude sounds of war were to be heard, but all 
seemed disposed to reconciliation and peace." Baza 
almost immediately surrendered, and the triumphant 
Christians entered the city amid the firing of artillery, 
waving of banners and the ringing of bells — hateful 
sights and sounds to the vanquished. The alcaydo, 
who had bravely sustained the defence, was loaded with 
civilities and presents. Overcome by the same kind- 
ness and sweet sympathy which gave Isabella such 
power over her own subjects, he knelt before her in 



ISABELLA OF CASTlLE. HI 



admiration, and offered his services in her cause thence- 
forth. She replied graciously and created him one of 
her knights. 

The monarch El Zagel, then in a neighboring fortress, 
knowing how fruitless resistance would be, resigned' 
himself to a fate he could no longer avert. " What 
Allah wills he brings to pass in his own way. Had her 
not decreed the fall of Grenada this good sword might 
have saved it ; but his will be done I" exclaimed the 
fallen king, with the solemn gravity and unchanging 
features characteristic of the Moors. 

Ferdinand appointed him king of Andaraz, subject 
to the crown of Castile. This shadow of royalty could 
not divert him from his melancholy downfall. In a 
short time, he resigned the despised crown, and left 
the scenes that continually reminded him of the de- 
parted glory of Grenada. He took refuge among the 
Africans, who seized upon the riches he carried with 
him, and left him to end his days in extreme povertj/ 
and obscurity. 

Boabdil was now called upon to yield up his capital, 
and acknowledge the supreme sovereignty of Castile 
and Arragon. The inhabitants of Grenada refused the 
demand, and sent a message of defiance to the con- 
querors. Unwilling to open another siege so late in 
the season, they returned to the city of Seville, to re- 
cruit, perfectly at ease in the knowledge that Grenada 
was theirs except in name. 

In the following spring, the nuptials of the Princess 
Isabella and young Alfonso of Portugal, were cele- 
brated in a succession of balls, f^tes and tournaments, 



112 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



which were gladly welcomed after the toils and hard- 
ships of war. But the queen mingled in these rejoic- 
ings with a heavy heart, dreading septiration from a 
daughter who had enlisted her strongest affections, and 
who regarded her own departure with equal and fore- 
boding sadness. 

Columbus again appeared at court, in the interval 
of peace, to present his claims. He was referred to the 
council of Salamanca, which, after a three years' con- 
sideration of the matter, had decided that " the scheme 
proposed was vain and impossible ; and that it did not 
become such great princes to engage in an enterprise of 
the kind, on such weak grounds as had been ad- 
vanced." This was the decision of Spain's most learned 
and scientific men ; yet there was a minority in the 
council, of more enlightened views, who would fain 
have encouraged the great discoverer, and so far pre- 
vailed on the sovereigns as to induce them to hold out 
promises of future and more explicit attention to the 
subject, when the war of Grenada had ceased. 

In April, 1491, the king assembled an army of fifty 
thousand, to strike a final blow that would set his seal 
upon the entire kingdom of Grrenada. Accompanied 
by Don Juan, now created a knight, and the command- 
ers who had gained numberless honors during the long 
wars, the unfailing Marquis of Cadiz, the valiant Count 
Cabra, Don Alonzo de Aguilar, and his brother Gon- 
salvo de Cordova, of brilliant renown in the after Ital 
lan campaigns. With such supporters. King Ferdi- 
nand once more encamped upon the banks of Xenil, 
facing the royal city of the Moslems, the last of all the 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 113 



Strongholds of the kingdom that remained free and in- 
dependent. The Yega stretched away from its frown- 
ing battlements, covered with a wild, entangled growth 
of vines, groves and gardens, whose beauty had beei 
desolated in the long struggle, but had sLTung up again 
in untrained luxuriance, in a soil enriched with the 
blood poured freely upon it. The river had gradually 
withdrawn from its artificial channels, rolling through 
the plain as musically as if a crimson tide never min- 
gled with the pure waters, ever fed by 

*• the rills 
That like ribands of silver unwound from the hills." 

The grand solid mountains rising beyond, alone re- 
mained unshaken and unchanged, a chain of unavail- 
ing bulwarks towards which the eyes of every Moslem 
had often turned, watching in dread and hatred the 
coming of the myriads yearly poured forth from those 
rugged defiles. 

This last defiant approach to the very walls of their 
beloved and last remaining city, filled the Moorish 
knights with uncontrollable vengeance and indigna- 
'tion. Thousands of the bravest and choicest of Mos- 
lem chivalry were shut within its walls, determined to 
sacrifice their heart's blood, before they would yield 
their royal palaces, or see christian monarchs seated 
upon their throne. Undaunted by the encircling foe, 
and caring less for the horrors of a famine than sub- 
mission to a foreign yoke, they daily sent forth the 
best warriors to challenge the Spanish knights to com- 
bat upon the Vega, which became the strange scene of 
8 



114 ISABELLA 01^' CASTILE. 



innumerable single-handea battles and daring exploitb, 
that seem more the picturiiigs of romance than the ter- 
rible reality of war, prompted on one side by bigotry 
and on the other by a desperate defence of home, lib- 
erty and kingdom. 

The Spanisn army met with a disaster which proved 
in the end the speedier termination of the siege. Isa- 
bella, who was present in the camp, occupied a mag- 
nificent pavilion, belonging to the Marquis of Cadiz, 
which, with his usual gallantry, he had resigned to her 
use. One night, when all were v^rapped in secure 
slumber, the cry of fire proceeding from the royal quar 
ters, roused the whole camp to arms, supposing the 
enemy were upon them. The flames, \irhich had caught 
in the hangings of the queen's tent, from a carelessly 
placed taper, spread with rapidity, ai^d were not ex- 
tinguished till after the loss of a laige quantity of 
plate, jewels and brocade, and the costly decorations 
of the pavilions occupied by the nobility. Isabella 
herself narrowly escaped injury. As a memorial of 
her gratitude to God for the preservatio/), and in token 
of her determination never to abandoii the Yega till 
Grenada had surrendered, she caused a city of substan-. 
tial houses to be erected in the place where the en- 
campment stood. Immediately the soldiers became 
artisans, and instead of 

" the shock, the shout, the groan of war," 

the din of industry went up to the ears of the amazed 
Moors, who beheld in the rising city a token of inflexi- 
ble determination that it was useless and fatal to com- 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 115 



bat. In less than three months, La Santa Fe was com 
pleted, and was, long after, the boast of the Spaniards, 
for its freedom from the pollution of heresy. 

Boabdil would have yielded at once, but dared not op 
pose the undiminished courage of the inhabitants, who 
were still resolved to die in defence of their last posses- 
sions, although fully aware of the impossibility of re- 
taining their position eventually. Secret negotiations 
were carried on, however, with the king's vizier, some- 
times within the sacred precincts of the Alhambra, and 
sometimes at midnight in the little village of Churriana, 
which ended in Boabdil's betrayal of Grenada into the 
hands of the Christians. 

In the meantime, Columbus had retired from the 
Spanish court in disgust, and prepared to visit the 
King of France, who had written him in an encourag- 
ing tone. While on his way he was detained at the 
convent of La Eabida, by his friend the guardian, Juan 
Perez, formerly confessor to the queen. Comprehend- 
ing the greatness of Columbus' designs, and anxious 
that his sovereigns should lose neither the golden 
opportunity of extending their dominions to an incal- 
culable extent, nor the glory of perfecting the gigantic 
schemes, in defiance of the world's brand of fanaticism, 
he offered to seek an interview with Isabella, and make 
one more effort in behalf of one with whom a continent 
had been unknowingly rejected. 

The good monk arrived at Santa Fe, and having 
obtained an audience, eloquently expostulated with 
Isabella. She became warmly interested in his repre- 
sentations, and urged by two eminent men and the in- 



116 ISABELI.A OF CASTILE. 



telligent Marchioness of Moya, consented to receive Co- 
lumbus, sending him substantial evidence of her favor 
in the presentation of a well-filled purse, a mule, and 
habiliments necessary to his appearance • at court 
Overjoyed at the near prospect of the consummation 
of his hopes, he hastened to Santa Fe, arriving in time 
to witness the surrender of Grenada. 

Elated with success, the sovereigns and court were 
ready to listen approvingly to new plans. Columbus 
appeared before them, adding the power of his inspired 
presence, lofty demeanor, and the eloquence of his 
beaming, benignant face to persuasions, in which he 
pictured in glowing description the realms he should 
add to their dominions, and the converts that should 
be made among the heathen, who peopled these imagi- 
nary regions in barbarous magnificence. Warriors and 
courtiers, knights and fair women, graced the interview, 
some listening with admiration and enthusiasm, others 
scofiing at the eloquent pleader, for presuming to re- 
veal his wild dreams in presence of the majestic pair, 
more imposingly royal than ever, now that they were 
thrice crowned. 

Isabella listened approvingly. The thought of con- 
verting the benighted heathen in the supposed conti- 
nent, was a strong motive of acceptance ; but the cau* 
tious Ferdinand had no idea of complying with terms 
in which Columbus demanded " for himself and heirs, 
the title and authority of Admiral and Viceroy over all 
lands discovered by him with one tenth of the profits" 
— terms which Talavera, already appointed Archbishop 
of Grenada, haughtily assured the king, " savored of 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 117 



the highest degree of arrogance, and would be unbe- 
coming in their highnesses to grant to a needy foreign 
adventurer." 

Although Columbus saw the means of accomplishing 
his great schemes, almost within his grasp, he proudly 
spurned every offer which did not secure to him the 
titles and emoluments due to his achievements. Ee* 
fusing farther conference, he indignantly left the court, 
and mounting his mule, turned his back upon the scene 
of conquest that to him seemed child's play, in compar 
ison with the magnificent world, to whose shores he 
would have winged even a single vessel, had such a 
prize been within his reach, in defiance of the super- 
stition which kept the people aloof from his project, 
and in scorn at the fool-hardiness of the learned. 
While he angrily hastened across the Vega towards 
the mountain roads, his friends were eagerly expostu- 
lating with the queen, assuring her that he would well 
deserve the reward he asked, if he succeeded, and, if 
he failed, nothing would be required. Yielding at last 
to her own generous impulses, she determined not to 
regard Ferdinand's opposition, or the advice of over- 
cautious councillors. " I will assume the undertaking 
for my own crown of Castile," said she, '* and am ready 
to pawn my jewels to defray the expenses of it, if the 
funds of the treasury shall be found inadequate I" 

A messenger was quickly dispatched for Columbus, 
who was overtaken a few leagues on his route. As- 
sured that the orders came from the queen herself, he 
gladly returned to Santa Fe, where "he met a gracious 
reception, and at last received from her own lips the 



118 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



acceptance of his terms, definitely concluded April 
17th, 1492. With accustomed promptness, Isabella 
immediately gave orders for the equipment of two ves- 
sels, the third being provided by Juan Perez of Ls 
Rabida, and the Pinzons, distinguished mariners of Pa- 
los. The fleet was manned with great difficulty, but at 
length preparations were completed, and, on the 30th 
of April, after partaking of the sacrament and confess- 
ing themselves, Columbus and his motley crew, spread 
their sails and floated away to unknown regions, from 
which they were never expected to return. 

Grenada had surrendered, and, at the triumphant 
entrance of the Spanish mgnarchs, the unfortunate 
Boabdil met them, and would have dismounted to do 
them homage, but was hastily prevented and kindly 
embraced by Ferdinand, and received with cordial re- 
gard by Isabella, who delivered to him his son, detain 
ed at the Spanish court as a hostage during the last 
years of the war. Boabdil then delivered up the keys 
of the Alhambra. "They are thine, oh king, since 
Allah so decreed it; use thy success with clemency 
and moderation," said he mournfully, turning away 
and passing through one of the gates of Grrenada, 
which he requested might immediately be walled up, 
that no other should pass after him. He began the 
tedious route to the Alpuxarras; arriving at the last 
eminence from which he could behold the royal city, 
he stopped and turned to look upon its rich palaces, 
and the beloved, sacred Alhambra, now desecrated 
with the blazing cross and waving banners of the con- 
querors, gazed upon the wide Vega with its fragrant 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 119 



vines and orange groves, followed the windings of the 
Xenil, looked afar upon the minarets and towers that 
shot up from the cities clustered in the luxurious plain, 
and then at the blue heights of the rockj barriers he 
liad thought a safeguard to his kingdom, rudely 
wrenched from his weak grasp. The scene and its 
associations were too much for the banished prince. 
He covered his face in his Moorish mantle, and burst 
into tears. "You do well to weep like a woman for 
what you could not defend like a man," exclaimed 
his haughty, unfeeling mother, adding the sting of re- 
proach to his sorrow. "Alas! when were woes ever 
equal to mine !" returned the unhappy prince, pursu- 
ing his desolate journey to the barren regions assigned 
to him in lieu of his splendid possessions. The rock 
where he stood and mourned his fate, is still known 
by the poetical appellation oi El ultimo sospiro delmoro^ 
" The last sigh of the Moor." 

His final career was like that of his uncle El Zagel. 
Disgusted with his petty dominions, he sold them for 
an insignificant sum, and passed into Fez, where he 
fell in battle in the service of an African prince, " losing 
his life in another's cause, though he dared not die in 
his own." 

The kingdom of Grenada was now wholly in posses- 
sion of the Christians, after a struggle through seven 
hundred and forty-one years, during which the Ara- 
bian empire had lessened in every succeeding genera- 
tion, ana finally absorbed in the Spanish nation after 
an unceasing war of ten years. The event was cora- 
memorated by processions and demonstrations of tri- 



120 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



umpli^ not onlv in Eome and many of the cities of the 
continent, but also in London, to say nothing of the 
joy manifested throughout Spain. 

Immediately after the close of the war, the death of, 
one of its most brilliant supporters caused general 
mourning. The Marquis of Cadiz, who had been pres- 
ent during every campaign, from the surprise of Zahara 
to the fall of Grrenada, expiret* the 28th cf xiugust, 
1492. The king and queen, with the court, wore deep 
mourning for the cavalier, who was esteemed, like the 
Cid, both by friend and foe. 

But a far greater calamity fell upon Spain at the 
same time, and a louder lamentation went up from 
palace and hovel. After Ferdinand and Isabella had 
entered Grenada, they issued an edict for the expul- 
sion of the Jews from their dominions. The Inquisi- 
tors represented the impossibility of their conversion, 
and recommended banishment as the only method of 
purging the land of such heinous offenders. To send 
from Spain a class of people comprising the most in- 
dustrious and skilful of her artisans, and the wealthiest 
portion of her subjects, iu many cases intermarried with 
the nobility, seemed to Isabella an impolitic measure, 
as well as inhuman in tearing from their homes those 
who claimed a long line of ancestry in renowned Spain, 
where their interests and affections were entirely cen- 
tred. She would have rejected a proposition so re- 
pellant to hei* kindly, generous nature ; but, while 
negotiating with a representative Jew, who came to 
offer thirty thousand ducats, towards defraying the ex- 
penses of the Moorish war, thinking thus to gain favor 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 121 



for his people, Torquemada, the inquisitor-general, rush- 
ed into the apartment, and holding up a crucifix, ex- 
claimed, "Judas Iscariot sold his master for thirty 
pieces of silver. Your highnesses would sell him anew 
for thirty thousand : here he is: take him; barter him 
away!" and, throwing the crucifix down before the 
astonished sovereigns, fled from their presence. In- 
stead of resenting his unasked interference, they were 
overawed by his denunciations. Without farther hesi- 
tation, Isabella afiixed her name to the decree, thus 
again silencing the promptings of her own better judg- 
ment, and in the name of a religion whose teachers had 
possessed themselves of her conscience, inflicted an- 
other scourge upon the subjects who adored her, and 
whose cries of suffering, if they reached her ear, could 
not swerve her from her stern sense of duty. She 
might have wept when she saw them streaming forth 
in little bands, after selling their property at immense 
sacrifice, not knowing where to turn from persecution, 
since all the world spurned them; she might have 
been touched with compassion for the sick and help- 
less, dragging over the painful route ; or pitied the 
young maidens, educated in luxurious abodes, and 
sent forth homeless ; or, when the exiles reached the 
frontiers, fainting with hunger and fatigue, or scattered 
through Portugal, Italy, Africa, and even Turkey, 
their numbers dwindled away in consequence of mur- 
ders, exhaustion or the plague, which strewed their 
pathway with the dead and dying — If she could hav^ 
witnessed all this torture, tears might have welled up 
abundantly from the depths of her sensitive heart, but 



122 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



they would have flowed without prompting a revoca- 
tion of the fiat, any more than the lamentations of the 
Moors would have stayed her determination to make 
theirs a christian land. Spain must be cleansed from 
heresy I was the continued teachings of the stern Tor- 
quemada, in her childhood; Spain must be cleansed 
from heresy ! was his warning admonition in her girl- 
hood; Spain must and shall be cleansed from heresy! 
he boldly demanded, when she ascended the throne. 
When we know with what unquestioning confidence 
the Catholics, to this day, commit their consciences to 
the keeping of confessors, we need not wonder at the 
religious errors that darkened Isabella's character, or 
why she should have yielded to the advice of grim and 
cruel monks, instead of regarding the dictates of her 
own truer soul. 

In the following year, 1493, the court, then residing 
at Barcelona, were struck with unutterable surprise by 
the reception of letters from Columbus, announcing his 
return to Spain, and the success of his voyage. Every 
one was on tiptoe to see and do honor to the illustrious 
man who, a year before, they had brushed past with 
curling lip. Isabella was impatient for an interview, 
and commanded his attendance at court, whither he 
quickly repaired, accompanied by a few Indians he 
had brought with him, and bearing samples of the vari- 
ous produce of the islands he had discovered, together 
with strange animals, and birds of gaudy plumage. I 
was the proudest moment of his life, when, seated in 
the presence of the monarchs, who received him with 
unheard of distinction, and in the hearing of the same 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 128 



learned scholars who formerly had looked upon him 
as a visionary, denouncing his theories as silly vaga- 
ries, he gave a glowing description of his discoveries 
in the exploration of an ocean never before traversed . 
He had torn aside the mystery that for ages had veiled 
the western horizon, and now that he held up a new 
world to their view, they clothed it with the golden 
tissue of their imagination, and exalted the bold voyager 
as extravagantly as they had before denounced him. 
Crowds followed him wherever he went, and he was 
everywhere received with the honors usually reserved 
for those of noble birth. The poor Genoese who, in 
his younger years, had sighed in vain for a sail to wing 
his material self where his spirit daily wandered, at 
last had realized his visions, and sat before kings, the 
greatest conqueror of the age. He had fought with 
poverty, contempt, ridicule, and the derision of the 
whole world ; he had gone amidst the mingled jeers 
and pity of old, experienced navigators to combat 
waves, which he was assured would bear him to purga- 
tory, to the outskirts of the earth, or to desolate re- 
gions where diabolic imps would forever enchain him 
with spells; he had fought the prejudices of his mu- 
tinous crew and commanded them into submission. 
He had waged one long battle from early youth to late 
manhood, in which he had gained a continent to lay at 
the feet of his sovereigns. Well might he bear his 
honors with noble dignity I 

But no adulation or acknowledgments were so grate- 
ful to him as the testimonial of regard for his services 
given by Isabella. She caused a fleet of seventeen 



124 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



vessels to be fitted out to promote his discoveries. At 
his departure, she provided, among other stipulations, 
for the interests of the heathen, forbidding their being 
seized as slaves. She enjoined on Columbus, ** to treat 
them well and lovingly, and to chastise, in the most 
exemplary manner, all who should offer the natives the 
slightest molestation." These arrangements Isabella 
assumed herself, since her worthy prelates could not 
decide if it would be christian or not to enslave them ; 
thus she evinced the justice of her character, when ex- 
ercising her own judgment. 

News reached her during his third voyage, in 1498, 
of the violation of these especial charges, added to 
other delinquencies, all of which were grossly misrep- 
resented by his enemies. She showed her deep dis- 
pleasure at this, by ordering all the Indians who had 
been shipped to Spain to be returned to their own 
land, and such as had been sent to any market, to be 
restored immediately. A person called Boabdil, was 
also sent with full powers to make arrests in Hispaniola 
of those who had disobeyed her commands ; making 
the most of his commission, he ordered the admiral 
before him, and, putting fetters upon him, conveyed 
him to Spain. Columbus bore these sad reverses with 
the same lofty spirit in which he had received distinc- 
tion ; but he was quickly released on arriving in Spain, 
where every one was indignant at this outrage upon 
the man to whom so much was due. The court was 
residing at Grenada, when the king and queen, morti- 
fied and grieved at this excess of their orders, and will- 
ing to repair the indignity, sent a large sum of monoj 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 125 



and ricli habiliments to the discoverer, with a request 
to appear at court. Hastening to Grenada, he sought 
the presence of the benevolent queen. At the sight 
of him, and at the remembrance of the unkind requi- 
tals, from her own hand as it were, towards one whc 
had rendered her such glorious services, she could not 
restrain her tears ; reaching forth her hand, she offered 
consolatory words to heal his wounded spirit. Over- 
come with this unexpected reception, he threw himself 
at her feet and wept aloud. 

Both the king and queen exempted him from the 
blame which had been attached to him by enemies, re- 
stored him to his honors, and, in 1502, sent him on a 
fourth voyage of discovery. Isabella was destined 
never to see his return home, as accumulated af&ictions 
were rapidly undermining her constitution. 

The Princess Isabella had, some time before, been 
deprived of her youthful husband, Alfonso of Portu- 
gal, after a union of but five months, his death being 
occasioned by a fall from his horse. She returned to 
her mother, depressed with grief from which nothing 
could divert her, and the melancholy indulgence of 
which preyed upon her naturally delicate constitution. 
While Isabella watched her daughter with anxious and 
foreboding care, she was called to the death-bed of the 
queen-dowager, her mother, to whom she had devoted 
herself with dutiful attention, notwithstanding the 
many cares that demanded her time. 

A few years after the death of Alfonso, the Princess 
Isabella was prevailed upon to accept the suit of Eman- 
uel, King of Portugal, who became a passionate admi- 



126 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



rer of the sweet and gentle princess, during her resi- 
dence at Lisbon. She would not give her acceptance 
till he promised to expel every Jew from his domin- 
ions — a stipulation that made him hesitate for a time ; 
but he was too fond of her to allow such a barrier, and 
accordingly the despised and hated Jews, who had 
taken refuge there from Spain, were again sent forth 
in exile. 

Ferdinand was too much occupied in affairs with the 
French and Italians, to give much heed to domestic 
arrangements. It was important, however, to his poli- 
tic schemes, to secure the friendship of Austria and 
England, and accordingly family alliances were ar- 
ranged, to cement the good feeling existing. In 1496, 
a marriage was concluded between Prince Juan, their 
only son, and Margarite of Austria, and between the 
infanta Joanna and Philip, Archduke of Austria, son 
and heir of the Emperor Maximilian ; while the young- 
est, infanta Catherine, was affianced to Arthur, Prince 
of Wales, both too young to admit of an immediate 
marriage. 

At the close of the summer, a gallant and beautiful 
armada was fitted out, ready to convey the young 
Princess Joanna to foreign shores. Isabella, whose 
affectionate heart clung tenaciously to her children, ac- 
companied her daughter to the place of embarkation, 
deferring their separation to the last moment before 
the fleet sailed. After bidding farewell to her beloved 
child, she returned in her boat to the shore, but the 
tide had risen so rapidly that no dry footing could be 
found for her on the beach. The sailors were pre- 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 127 



paring to drag the boat farther upon the strand, when 
Gonsalvo de Cardova, but lately returned from an 
Itahan campaign, and covered with honors, being pres 
ent, attired in a rich and elegant court dress, gallantly 
waded into the water, and, lifting the queen in his 
arms, bore her safely to the shore, amid shouts of ap- 
plause from the delighted spectators. 

After Joanna had embarked, the weather became 
tempestuous, and the long absence of the fleet without 
tidings, alarmed Isabella, already overburdened with 
anxieties. She consulted the most experienced navi- 
gators as to the safety of the fleet, suffering distressful 
fears, till the welcome news came of the safe arrival of 
the princess in Flanders, though not without the loss 
of several ships, and many of her attendants. Her 
marriage with Philip was celebrated with great pomp 
in the city of Lisle. The same fleet that bore her to 
the Austrian prince, was to convey Margarite to Spain. 
After the refitment of the vessels, she embarked, and 
arrived early in March 1497, having experienced a se- 
vere tempest. She was cordially received by the Span- 
ish monarchs and Prince Juan, who eagerly hastened 
to meet her. The marriage was celebrated in April, 
with magnificence ; the ceremony was performed by 
tne Archbishop of Toledo, in the presence of the no- 
bility of Castile and Arragon. The event was followed 
by a continued round of splendid festivities, in which 
Margarite and her Flemish attendants participated, with 
an easy gaiety that caused surprise and remark among 
the stately and formal Spaniards. 

Soon after this. Ferdinand and Isabella attended the 



128 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



nuptials of their unusually loved daughter Isabella 
celebrated without parade in a little town on the fron- 
tiers. While thus happily engaged the king and queen 
received an alarming summons to Salamanca, where 
Prince Juan had become suddenly and dangerously 
ill ; before their arrival, he failed so rapidly that no 
hopes were entertained for his recovery. He expired 
in October 1497, in the twentieth year of his age. 

Thus, at a stroke, the Spanish sovereigns were de- 
prived of an heir, whose character and education Isa- 
bella had carefully superintended, in order to prepare 
him for the important station he was expected to fill. 
His talents and admirable qualities endeared him to the 
nation, which hoped much under the administration of 
so wise, temperate, and benignant a prince. All Spain 
was in mourning, but the affliction fell upon none so 
heavily as the doting mother, who could find no con- 
solation in the vain splendor of royalty. Her deep 
piety alone prepared her to meet adversity, as it had 
borne her through prosperity, without arrogance. She 
received the mournful tidings in the touching language 
of resignation, " The Lord hath given, and the Lord 
hath taken away, blessed be his name !" 

The succession now devolved upon the Queen ol 
Portugal, but before the formal recognition of hei 
right had been instituted, death claimed her also. 
This occurrence, though not so great a national'^calam- 
ity as the loss of Prince Juan, was a fatal stroke to Isa- 
bella, from which she never fully recovered. The 
young infant that cost its mother's life, was happil)' a 
son, named Miguel, in honor of the saint's day op 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 129 



which he was born. The delicate, helpless child, un- 
conscious of its magnificent destiny, was borne in state 
through the kingdoms of its inheritance, to receive the 
allegiance of the grandees, and amidst solemn and 
pompous ceremonies was proclaimed successor to Fer- 
dinand and Isabella, and to Emanuel of Portugal. 
Thus above the head of the little sleeper, almost hid- 
den in the satins and costly lace of royal babyhood, 
were suspended a multiplicity of crowns that, when 
encircling the brow of the young prince, would make 
him King of Portugal, Gastile, Arragon, Navarre, Gre- 
nada, Naples and Sicily. Too brilliant a destiny for a 
cradled infant, who, as if already pierced with the 
thorns that thickly line a golden crown, pined away 
and died, before it reached its second year. 

These successive calamities were overpowering to 
the sensitive queen. Still, after her recovery from a 
severe illness, induced by her excessive grief, she con- 
tinued to exert herself for the welfare of her subjects, 
and the furtherance of every project for the advance- 
ment of the nation and the interests of religion. On 
the death of Cardinal Mendoza, Archbishop of Seville, 
in 1495, she appointed Ximenes his successor, who, a 
short time previous, had been induced to accept the 
office of confessor to her majesty. Knowing nothing 
of his new dignities, he was called to the royal pres- 
ence, to open dispatches from the pope. After humbly 
kissing the missive, he broke the seal, and was over- 
whelmed to find the contents addressed to himself, 
with the title of Archbishop of Toledo. Without 
waiting to examine it farther, and exclaiming " This 
9 



V60 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



cannot be for me," he dropped it in consternation and 
fled from the apartment. Messengers were sent to 
command his return, but he was not to be found till a 
courier overtook him on his way to the monastery at 
Ocana, whither he was travelling on foot in the blazing 
sun, at his best speed. He was with difficulty prevailed 
on to return, but no entreaties of the monarchs could 
induce him to accept so high an office, for which he 
declared himself totally unfitted, and which would de- 
prive him of his unobtrusive, holy life in the cloisters. 
He had been the jest and the fear of the gay courtiers, 
when now and then his pale spectral face, and thin but 
muscular form, came among them, clothed in coarse 
garments, girdled with a rope, and all the more hum- 
ble from its contrast with their own gay trappings. 
For six months, he steadily refused the appointment, 
till a command of obedience arrived from the pope, 
compelling him to occupy the chair of primacy. He 
still continued to appear on foot, in humble garb, till 
assured by Isabella that .his excessive austerity and 
plainness would degrade the office in the eyes of the 
people, he assumed the state and magnificence that 
characterized his predecessors. But, beneath his silken 
robes, he kept his coarse Franciscan dress, abstained from 
the luxuries that daily loaded his table, and slept upon 
a hard mattress, so arranged as to be concealed in the 
downy couch that was apparently his resting-place. 

Stern, inflexible, bigoted, nothing could deter him 
from executing plans once formed. He began a thor- 
ough reformation in tlie monasteries and convents^ 
into which deplorable vices and abuses had crept. Isa< 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 181 



bella countenanced his efforts, notwithstanding the gen- 
eral opposition to Ximenes' severity, often visiting the 
convents, taking with her a distaff or embroidery, set- 
ting an example of industry, and endeavoring to purify 
the frivolous character of the inmates by her pious in- 
structions. 

Ximenes disregarded the express provisions of the 
treaty between Grenada and Castile, and undertook 
the bold measure of converting the Moors. Taking up 
his residence for a short time in Grenada, he began by 
collecting all the volumes of Moslem literature that he 
could lay hands upon, reserving only a few medical 
works for his own shelves, a,nd consigned the rest to 
the flames in a public square in the city. His daring 
infringement of the people's rights, and inquisitorial 
enforcement of a hated religion, occasioned a revolt 
which threatened his life; but he refused to fly for 
safety, boldly confronting the mob, and declaring his 
willingness to endure martyrdom. By the adroit in- 
terference of the Archbishop of Grenada, who was 
greatly beloved by the inhabitants, the disturbance 
was quelled, and, in the end, Ximenes triumphed. 

Isabella was greatly incensed at his high-handed 
measures, and wrote him a severe letter, to which he 
replied by his presence, ascribing his conduct to a wor 
thy zeal for the conversion of the infidels. He recom 
mended that the sovereigns should condemn the delin 
quents for treason ; and offer them pardon on conditio! 
of renouncing their faith. Isabella did not accept thip 
advice, yet imprisoned the leaders of the revolt. Many, 
from fear, emigrated, and the panic led nearly all the 



182 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



remaiuing inhabitants to accept the Catholic belief 
All Christendom was astonished at this " miracle" — 
the more wonderful from the well-known hatred ita 
subjects entertained for the religion they had assented 
to. Ximenes was henceforth venerated as a saint, hif 
admirers asserting that he "had achieved greater tri- 
amphs than even Ferdinand and Isabella, since the^ 
had conquered only the soil, while he had gained the 
souls of Grenada." 

In 1500, the birth of a son, the celebrated Charles 
v., to Philip and Joanna, gave universal joy, and as, 
on the death of the Queen of Portugal and her heirs, 
the succession would devolve on the young infant 
through Joanna, the Spanish monarchs requested the 
presence of the child's parents in Spain, that their right 
might be recognized. Philip did not comply with the 
invitation till the following year, being too much occu- 
pied in the pursuit of pleasure, to secure his interests. 
The tour was finally made, accompanied by brilliani 
fetes and rejoicings throughout the nation. Arrived 
at Toledo, where the court then was, Philip so betrayed 
his aversion to business, and his dislike to the stateli- 
ness of Castilian ceremonies, as to alarm the sovereigns 
concerning his capability to occupy the Spanish throne. 
Isabella was more deeply grieved in noting his open 
neglect of her daughter, whom she again clasped in 
her arms after a long separation, listening with painful 
solicitude to a weeping account of his infidelity, and 
his repulsion of a heart that clung to him with tena- 
cious affection, and was unappreciated by him because 
encased in so plain a setting. 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 131^ 



' As soon as Joanna was duly recognized heir to the 
Spanish crown, by the cortes of Castile and Arragon, 
Philip, impatient at the restraint upon his free habits, 
and despising the formalities of the court, intimated his 
intention to set out immediately for France. This was 
warmly opposed by Ferdinand and Isabella, who rep- 
resented to him the importance of remaining long 
enough to become familiar with the usages and inter- 
ests of their kingdom, and to secure the good- will of 
his future subjects; besides, Joanna's delicate health 
required repose, and the open war with France might 
expose him to an uncivil reception. He persisted in 
his determination, leaving Joanna, who was unable to 
accompany him, inconsolable. From the moment of 
the departure of her idolized husband, she fell into a 
deep melancholy, from which nothing could arouse 
her. The birth of a son, named Ferdinand in honoi 
of the king, did not dispel her strange mood, but each 
day gave more decisive proof of mental derangement. 

This was an additional grief to Isabella, whose health 
was rapidly failing under her accumulated sorrows and 
cares, aggravated by the exposures and fatigue to which 
she was subject in being frequently called to Joanna, 
who resided at Medina del Campo. She was sum- 
moned, on one occasion, when no one could prevail 
upon the unfortunate princess to return to her apart- 
ments, after mounting the battlements of the castle, in 
a fit of insanity. She consented to take shelter in a 
miserable kitchen, in the neighborhood, but, at day- 
light, returned to the castle walls, where she stood im- 
movable as a statue, till Isabella arrived, and exerted 



134 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 



her authority in removing her. In a few months, she 
returned to Flanders, notwithstanding her mother's 
unwillingness to trust her to the journey during the 
Inclement season, and while the country was agitated 
with warlike preparations to further the conquests of 
Gonsalvo de Cordova, in Italy. 

Still inconsolable for the loss of her most cherished 
daughter, the amiable and beautiful Queen of Portugal : 
missmg, with a mother's yearning tenderness, those 
who had been destined to a foreign land ; and daily 
probed, to the utmost depths of her tried heart, with 
painful accounts of slander, and disgraceful scenes en- 
acted by the unhappy Joanna, at the Flemish court ; 
together with anxiety for the issue of the impending 
war, and letters from the New World, exciting her ac- 
tive sympathies for the welfare of the poor India^ns — all 
this drew too heavily upon her already exhausted con- 
stitution, and prostrated her on a bed of sickness from 
which she was never to rise. Her life was slowly con- 
sumed by a fever, not lessened by her solicitude foi 
Ferdinand, who was seriously ill at the same time. 
She still, with surprising energy, attended to business, 
receiving all who sought an interview as she had been 
accustomed to do when in health, but particularly at- 
tending to affairs relating to the welfare of her subjects 
when she should no longer be with them. Among hei 
last words, were earnest injunctions to enforce kind- 
ness and justice towards the Indians, whose condition 
had greatly excited her interest and pity. The con- 
tinued violation of her early commands, was concealed 
from her, and the suspicion of this induced her to make 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 135 



them the subject of a codicil to her will, two days be- 
fore her death. 

Owing to the incapacity of Joanna to occupy the 
throne, she appointed Ferdinand regent of Castile until 
the majority of her grandson, Charles Y., influenced ir 
so doing by her declared confidence in Ferdinand's 
" wise and beneficent rule." She also touchingly ex- 
pressed her affection for him in the words which be- 
queathed to him some of her personal property, "1 
beseech the king, my lord, that he will accept all my 
jewels, or such as he shall select, so that, seeing them, 
he may be reminded of the singular love I always bore 
him while living, and that I am now waiting for him 
in a better world ; by which remembrance he may be 
encouraged to live more justly and holily in this." 
The same jewels, perhaps, not long after served to adorn 
a young, beautiful bride, the Princess Germain de Foix 
of France, whom the unfaithful and politic Ferdinand 
led to the altar, in the same DuefLas, where, in his youth, 
he had given his fresh vows to the devoted Isabella. 

Having addressed a few words of consolation to the 
weeping friends about her, some of whom had been the 
companions of her youth, she received the sacrament., 
and soon after expired, November 26th, 1504, it being 
the fifty -fourth year of her age and the thirtieth of her 
reign. Her remains were conveyed to Grenada, as 
she had requested, but during the journey a severe and 
iong-con tinned tempest made the roads nearly impassa- 
ble, rendering the way desolate, and depressing with 
still deeper gloom, those who bore her beloved form to 
its plain tomb in the Alhambra. 



136 ISABELLA OF oASTILE. 



" To that unfathomed, boundless sea, 
The silent grave ! 

Thither all earthly pomp and boast 
Roll, to be swallowed up and lost 
In one dark wave." 



The people viei with each other in extolling the in- 
umphant glories of her reign, and the wisdom and pu- 
rity of her character — one that scarcely deserves the 
charge of bigotry, since the two great errors of her ad- 
ministration were measures which she abhorred, and 
would never have allowed to be executed, had not her 
judgment been overruled by those upon whom she re- 
lied for spiritual guidance. 

Uniting the noblest masculine qualities with the 
finest and most lovable characteristics of woman, she 
secured the love and devotion of a nation still proud 
of that incomparable queen, upon whom was justly be- 
stowed theUj as now, the simple but eloquent designa- 
tion — " Isabella de la paz y bontad" — Isabella of peace 
and goodness I 



JOAN OF ARC. 



\\ 




W:^^'^^: 



^iy.o^' 



UL 

Snan nf In. 

" Monarch of Frrvnce 1 
Send thou the tidings over all the realm, 
Great tidings of deliverance and of joy ; 
The maid is come, the mission'd maid, whose hand 
Shall in the consecrated walls of Rheims 
Crown thee, anointed king!" — Southey's Joan of Aku 

In this age of intelligence and refinement, of the 
arts, of commerce, political science and Christianity, it 
is difficult to believe that so few years, comparatively, 
have elapsed, since superstition threw her dark pall over 
all that is now bright and attractive. The period is not 
very remote, when the most trivial events were pre- 
sumed to be of an unearthly or supernatural character ; 
when it was rare, indeed, that any man, however much 
in advance of his age in knowledge, had the boldness to 
attribute an unforeseen and extraordinary occurrence, 
though susceptible of the fullest explanation, to its 
proper and legitimate cause. 

Among the polytheists of Greece and Eome, to doubt 
the interposition of these numerous divinities in the 
commonest concerns of life, wa,s the worst grade of 



140 JOAN OF ARC. 



treason to the state. They beheved, ,as they were 
taught by the religion in which they placed their trust, 
and by its priests whom they reverenced, that every 
water-fall had its nymph, every grove its dryad, — that 
there was a deity to smile upon every folly, to encour- 
age every unholy passion, or to strengthen every vir- 
tuous hope and noble aspiration. In the "dim, re- 
ligious light" of a later era, popular credulity clung 
with less tenacity to the forms and ceremonies, than to 
the substance of superstition. Astrology was mistaken 
for astronomy; philosophy and magic were synony- 
mous terms ; palmistry and necromancy were ranked 
among the sciences ; the belief in ghosts and witches 
was general; ancient wood and castle were peopled 
with spirits and hobgoblins ; bright-eyed elves beset 
the path of the lonely wayfarer ; and light-footed fai- 
ries danced the livelong night upon the green. 

The French historian, speaking of this period, says : 
" Henceforward, diablerie had little to learn, but was 
soon erected into a science. Demonology brought forth 
witchcraft. It was not sufficient to be able to distin- 
guish and classify legions of devils, to know their 
names, professions and dispositions ; it was necessary 
to learn how to make them subservient to the uses of 
man. Hitherto, the object studied had been the means 
of driving them away; from this time, the means 
of making them appear, was the end desired. Witches, 
sorcerers, demonologists, started up beyond all number. 
Each clan in Scotland, each great family in France and 
Germany, almost each individual, had one of these 
tempters, who heard all the secret wishes one feared to 



JOAN OF ARC. 141 



address to God, and the thoughts which shunned the 
ear. Thej were everywhere. Their flight of bats al- 
most darkened God's own light and day. They had 
been sent to carry off in open day a man who had just 
received the communion, and who was watched by a 
circle of friends with lighted tapers." 

Such was the character of the age — made up of cre- 
dulity and superstition — prone to believe and trust in 
the strange and the marvellous — ready to grasp super- 
natural aid, when human efforts failed; — such was 
France when, at the death of her maniac king, Charles 
VI ., a bloody struggle for the crown commenced be- 
tween the various competitors and their adherents — a 
struggle prolonged from a want of skilful military lead- 
ers, and the superstitious belief of all parties, in omens 
preceding a conflict which depressed them Avith coward- 
ly fear, or elated them with reckless courage, according 
to the import of the signs. Chance decided the victory. 

The rival houses of Orleans and Burgundy were the 
instigators of the civil war that desolated France, en- 
listing the aid of foreigners who threatened to subjugate 
the nation to British power. Charles the dauphin, 
sixth son of the deceased monarch, and claimant of the 
crown, strengthened the Orleans party by marrying a 
daughter of Count Armagnac, " a Gascon nobleman of 
influence in his rude land, warlike, fierce and not unfit- 
ted to lead a party in those days of open strife." On the 
other hand the young Duke of Burgundy, in revenge 
for the murder of his father, in which Charles had par- 
ticipated, offered the crown of France to Henry Y., of 
England, already upon their shores with a well-disci- 



142 JOAN OF ARC. 



plined army, in answer to the call of the old duke. In 
accepting the tendered throne, he espoused Catherine, 
the daughter of Charles VI., but before his young head 
bore the weight of a double crown, he died, leaving 
an infant son, Henry VI., with the Duke of Bedford, 
at Paris, to rival the claims of the " little king of Bour 
ges," as Charles was called in derision by his enemies. 
And indeed this raillery was not amiss, for the dau 
phin was sorely straitened in his resources, being 
scarcely able to furnish his table. He was naturally 
amiable and weak in character, yet adversity lent him 
courage and prudence that served him in time of need, 
but relaxed into effeminate ease when his foes granted 
him tranquillity. His army was made up of the sturdy 
Scotch retainers of the Earl of Buchan, soldiers from 
Italy and Spain, the fierce, cruel Armagnacs, and such 
of the French as supported his claims, though he 
placed little dependence on the unskilled troops of his 
own nation. France was thus overrun with a foreign 
soldiery who made up for their lack of enthusiasm in 
the cause which they supported, by the hearty eager- 
ness with which they pillaged the towns, cities and 
hamlets, that fell into their hands. There was scarce a 
river in France but had rolled a crimson tide through 
its channel, or borne the mangled corse of friend and 
foe to low, quiet valleys, terrifying the simple inhabi- 
tants and warning them that strife and bloodshed were 
near. Neither age nor sex were spared the inhuman 
butchery. Scarce an humble cottage but had wrongs 
to revenge, and not a palace or castle had escaped the 
mournful loss of some of the noblest blood of France, 



JOAN OF ARC. 143 



as often spent in petty vengeance as on the field of 
battle. 

The English, supported by the Burgundian party, 
succeeded in capturing every town north of the Seine, 
driving Charles and his adherents beyond the Loire. 
Had the English now unitedly pushed their conquests, 
France would have been completely subjugated. Their 
strength was destroyed, however, by private feuds and 
jealousies which finally obliged the Duke of Bedford 
to return to England, leaving Charles VII. in a com- 
parative state of tranquillity. Orleans was the last 
stronghold left him, and in that city and the surround- 
ing region his remaining followers stationed themselves. 
The king, so far from making defensive preparations 
and accumulating forces in the two years' interval of 
peace, spent the time in distant chateaux, luxuriating 
in ease and pleasure, utterly regardless of the petty in- 
trigues and struggles for power that daily weakened 
his party. 

But all these years of turmoil and war and supersti- 
tion, were schooling a daring spirit to uphold the vic- 
torious banners of France — not a noble youth learning 
the tactics of war at the side of a chieftain father ; not 
a young Tell gathering vigor in the strong mountain 
air, and practising eye and hand to unerring archery ; 
nor a bold genius whose military talent was to place 
him at the head of the armies of France, — but a simple, 
gentle, peasant girl, instigated by imaginary saints and 
angels. 

Joan of Arc or Jeanne d'Arc, ^'^ La Pucelle (V Or- 



144 JOAN OF ARC. 



leans'^ according to the old chroniclers, was born in the 
department of Yosges, in northern France, in the year 
1411 or 1412. Her family name is said to have been 
written Dare. She was the third daughter of an hon- 
nest and worthy husbandman, bearing the name of 
Jacques d'Arc, who, though a native of Montiereu- 
Der, at the time of her birth, dwelt in the pretty little 
village of Dom-Remy, which lies in one of the most 
beautiful valleys of the winding Meuse, between the 
towns of Neufchateau and Vaacouleurs, and on the 
borders of Lorraine and Champagne. In this lovely 
and fruitful region she first saw the light. Her quiet 
and pleasant home, the rich pasture-lands that girt it 
as with a belt of emeralds, the neighboring groves of 
beech and chestnut, where fairy forms were seen to flit 
and fairy voices whispered ; the balloon-shaped hills 
of the Vosges which stretched far away to the land of 
the vine and the olive, and the dark forests of oak and 
fir that crowned their summits, shaking and bowing 
their stately tops in the fragrant breezes from the pur- 
ple vineyards and the smiling slopes of Burgundy, — 
these were all the world to her, through the quiet and 
peculiarly meditative years of her childhood. The 
sweet-toned bells in the chapel of our Lady of Belle- 
mont lulled her infant slumbers with their musical 
chimes ; and, as she grew older, her young mind ex- 
panded in an atmosphere of legends and myths, of 
saints and fairies, that gave a wild and boundless range 
to a naturally vivid imagination. Her mother, in 
whom a superstitious piety was strongly implanted, 
kept the little ones quiet while she plied the humming 



JOAN OP^ ARC. 145 



distaft* by telling them tales of valiant knights and 
**faire ladyes" carried off by demons, or visited by 
angels and attended by a troop of fairies — all which 
the little listeners most devoutly believed. The young 
Joan never lost a word of the wonderful legends, stor 
ingthem in her memory till her brain became peopled 
with imaginary beings, who accompanied all her lonely 
rambles ; whose voices whispered to her in the stirring 
leaves of the forests,- whose forms were wreathed in 
the mists of waterfalls, and whose tones were as audi- 
ble to her sensitive ear, in the gushing music of wind- 
ing streams, as they had been in the sweet tones of her 
mother's voice when united with the dreamy hum of 
the spinning-wheel. 

She never danced and sung like the other maidens in 
the hamlet, nor joined in their merry sports, but prefer- 
red to steal away by herself and tell over beads, to kneel 
in a shaded aisle of the chapel, and breathe her baptis- 
mal vows, at the sacred shrine, or at the hour of ves- 
pers devoutly repeat the compline before a favorite 
picture of the virgin. But if she did not mingle with 
gay playmates at the sound of the viol, she could boast 
of a neat and nimble use of the needle, and could ply 
the distaff with speed equal to her mother's. Beading 
and writing were unsolved riddles to her, for these 
were accomplishments known on^y to the clergy, to 
those of gentle birth, or to such as depended on them 
for a livelihood ; and there were many a peerless dame 
and gallant knight, who deemed these performances 
an unbecoming labor, and kept servants in the house- 
hold to do such menial of&ces. 
10 



146 JOAN OF ARC. 



It is asserted by some, that Joan was a servant in a 
road-side inn, and tended the horses and the guests, in 
the capacity of an hostler, and that she rode them to 
the watering-places, thus acquiring great skill in horse- 
manship. These facts are not well authenticated, how- 
ever, and they certainly are not in keeping with the 
gentleness, modesty, and delicacy of her character. It 
is related by others, that she tended her father's flocks 
and herds while they grazed oh the mountain side, a 
not improbable occupation and a very common one in 
the valley of the Mouse. Here upon the slopes, 

•* "With gorse-flower glowing, as the sun illumed 
Their golden glory," 

she rested the livelong day, watching the grazing herds, 
and looking down upon the picturesque valley, bor- 
dered with a vast forest, its green meadows, luxuriant 
vineyards, the river with its wooded banks, and her 
own loved hamlet in the midst, invoking good spirits 
to guard it against the ravages of war, nor let the 
clash and din of weapons echo among the blue hills 
that shut in the peaceful valley. But the occasional 
traveller brought tidings of unjust and murderous 
deeds, and, as Joan's spirit began to break away from 
the enfoldings of childhood, her lonely day-watches 
were occupied with burning thoughts of her country's 
wrongs ; she longed to pass beyond the hills where she 
was born, and mingle in the mortal strife. Her pale 
cheek crimsoned when she heard the story of helpless 
women falling beneath the battle-axe, and children 
dxiven forth to suffer the horrors of famine, that their 



JOAIS' OF ARC. 147 



cries miglit intimidate the stout hearts of their fathers, 
and make them yield their strongholds. 

And when, at last, a troop of fierce soldiers came 
with victorious shouts along the Meuse, to the very 
heart of the sacred valley, and Joan and the humble 
household had to flee for safety, then the martial spirit 
pervaded her being and was henceforth inseparable 
from the religious fervor that actuated her in freeing 
France from her enemies. The fugitives returned to 
the unobtrusive village and found the beloved chapel 
in ruins. This wanton destruction of her favorite and 
holy resort, awakened a new feeling of heroism in 
Joan which, with unfixed purpose, only awaited events 
which should direct her. 

In the vicinity of Domremy was a large old tree, 
whose immense, thickly -foliaged branches overspread 
a wide green sward. It had stood through many gene- 
rations, and legend upon legend hallowed its remem- 
brances. To the young people it was known as " the 
tree of the Ladies," and "Beauty of May," and tra- 
dition said the fairies used to meet and converse with 
brave knights, who, in later times, had become so 
wicked, that the =?Drites refused to appear to any but 
the good and virtuous. At early dawn the maidens 
of Domremy traced the footprints of the fairies where 
they had danced all night beneath the great tree ; and 
they hung garlands upon the branches, wishing they 
might get a glimpse of the forms that Joan assured 
them she had seen, and whose voices whispered mys- 
terious things to her. Near by was also a fountain, 
called the " Fountain of the Fairies," and here the 



148 JOAN OF ARC. 



young girl lingered for hours, till she saw the mistj^ 
waters take shape and beheld the holy features of St. 
Margaret or St. Catherine, beaming kindly upon her, 
and heard them in a low, soft voice call her " the res 
torer of France," and felt them affectionately embra- 
cing her. 

This she related to her parents and the village 
maidens, but it only excited their derision, since none 
of them were equally fortunate. She solemnly chided 
them for their unbelief, for she evidently had faith in 
these visions — the result of a morbid imagination, 
dwelling constantly upon one theme. 

After the intelligence of the marvellous success of 
the English, and the retreat of Charles YII. beyond the 
Loire, had startled the quiet laborers in the valley, and 
become the theme at every cottage door or fireside, 
Joan's visions became more vivid, and in her daily 
visits to the fountain she discovered the mission which 
the angels had devolved upon her. St. Michael, " the 
archangel of battles and of judgments," appeared in 
the midst of a dazzling light, saying, " Jeanne, go to 
the succor of the King of France, and thou shalt restore 
his kingdom to him. St. Marguerite and St. Catherine 
will be thy aids." A host of angels in white, wearing 
crowns, and speaking in soft voices, followed the ap- 
pearance of St. Michael ; and when they had all disap- 
peared the timid girl wept abundantly, wishing they 
had taken her with them. 

Several years had passed in this way, confirming 
Joan's belief in these messages and commands from 
ifod, as she denominated them. She obeyed the 



JOAN OF AEG. 14P 



voices, whicli directed her to attend cliurcli fliith fully 
and perform all her duties. She was known to all the 
villagers in her pious and charitable acts, and her 
youthful friend Haumette assured her companions that 
Joan was a good, simple girl, and always talked of God 
and the angels. She entered maidenhood, pure and 
beautiful, the impress of her unsullied thoughts stamped 
apon her pale calm face, full of childish, innocence, yet 
adorning a mind of rare sense and shrewdness. 

Both her mother and father reproved her firm belief 
in the mission that had been given her, and, with alarm, 
found her already practising military exercises, mounted 
upon a horse and tilting her lance against trees, as if in 
koightly combat. Her father declared that, rather than 
see his daughter among men-at-arms, he would drown 
her with his own hands. Hoping to divert her from 
her wild, unwomanly schemes, her parents used their 
authority to secure her marriage. A young man de- 
clared she had promised him her hand in childhood, 
and, to enforce his claims, cited her before the ecclesias- 
tical Judge of Toul. This they thought would frighten 
her into acceptance, since, with her timidity and mod- 
esty that suffused her face with blushes at a word from 
a stranger, she could never summon courage to defend 
herself. To their surprise, she appeared in court, and 
declared the falsity of the charge. 

A visit from an uncle at length secured an opportu- 
nity for her to execute her purpose. He was convinced 
of her divine mission, and promised to take her to 
Robert de Baudricourt, captain of Vaucouleurs, to 
whom St. Michael had directed her for aid. Bidding 



150 JOAN OF ARC. 



farewell to her beloved home, her cherished mother, 
and dear companion Haumette, she journeyed with her 
uncle to Vaucouleurs, in her simple peasant's costume, 
a coarse red dress and little close white cap. They 
travelled nearly four leagues along the banks of the 
Meuse, and traversed the valley spread with verdant 
meadows, enamelled with flowers from which the town 
derived its name, and at the extremity of \^'hich it lay 
in the form of an amphitheatre. They arrived in the 
busy streets, where all was new, stirring life, to the 
young girl who had never before wandered beyond the 
hills that encircled her home. They sought the dwell- 
ing of an hospitable wheelwright, whose wife was cap- 
tivated with the gentleness and beauty of the strangely 
commissioned maiden. 

Joan's uncle had previously obtained an interview 
with Baudricourt, giving an account of her and asking 
the aid she desired, to which the blunt soldier replied, 
" Give her a good whipping and take her back to her 
father." Nothing daunted by this scorn of her preten- 
sions, she succeeded in obtaining admittance to the 
castle, and soon stood in the presence of the hardy cap- 
tain. Speaking in a firm ton'e, she told him " she came 
from her Lord, to succor the king, and that she would 
raise the siege of Orleans, and bring Charles to Eheims 
to be crowned." The captain, struck with her appear- 
ance and astonished at her words, believed her possessed 
with a devil, and sent immediately for the cure. Upon 
entering her presence, the frightened priest exhibited 
his stole or scarf, and commanded the evil spirits to de- 
part, if they guided her. She siraolv smiled upon him, 



JOAN OF ARC. 151 



and conversed with so much honesty and unaffected 
simphcity, that the cur^ himself was bewildered. The 
Qews that the prophecy concerning a Pucelle of the 
marches of Lorraine who was to save the realm, was 
about to be accomplished, and that the Maid had actu- 
ally appeared, threw all Yaucouleurs in commotion. 
Crowds hastened to see her and hear her words, and 
all were equally vehement in their admiration, and 
confident of her saintly commission. Several of the 
nobility were won over to her cause, and promised to 
conduct her to the king, for she assured them that "no 
one in the world, nor kings, nor dukes, nor daughter 
of the King of Scotland, could recover France but her- 
self, and that it was her Lord's will she should do it,'' 
urging them to hasten, for she must be at Orleans 
before Mid-Lent. 

Baudricourt sent messengers to the king, to obtain 
his consent to an interview with Joan. Orleans being 
closely besieged, the inhabitants not able to defend it 
much longer, and Charles's crown being dependent on 
the preservation of this last stronghold, he was willing 
to grasp any aid, however supernatural, if it would but 
serve his purpose. Keceiving his orders for her ad- 
vance, she set out from Yaucouleurs, equipped in 
man's attire, mounted upon a fiery black charger, the 
gift of the admiring inhabitants, and armed with 
sword bestowed by Baudricourt. At her departure, a 
message of entreaty, threats and commands came from 
her parents, who were frantic with the thought of trust- 
ing their youngest and delicate daughter to all the hor» 
rors and exposures of war. But Joan, still firm in her 



152 JOAN OF ARC. 



resolves, begged their forgiveness, and continued hex 
journey with an escort of three knights. 

The district that lay between Yaucouleurs and 
Chinon, where Charles held his court, was overrun 
with men-at-arms of both parties, making the journey 
extremely perilous ; but Joan fearlessly traversed it, 
cheering her companions, who regretted the under- 
taking and began to fear that their charge was a witch 
or sorceress. She continued to face danger with the 
utmost tranquillit}^, and insisted upon sojourning at 
every little town to hear mass or to repeat her prayers 
in the churches. At Fierbois she remained a long 
time, kneeling before the altar in St. Catherine's cathe- 
dral, in spite of the entreaties of her impatient escort. 
After escaping an ambuscade that had been laid for 
her, they arrived safely at Chinon. Here in a strong 
castle, the ruins of which still ornamented the town, 
Charles and his courtiers were assembled. A rich 
suite of apartments was occupied by his queen, Mary 
of Anjou, and her ladies of honor, among whom was 
Agnes Sorrel, known by the appellation of " Fairest 
of the Fair," and "Lady of Beauty," and celebrated 
as much for her gaiety of temper, entertaining con- 
versation and grace of manner, as for her beauty. The 
gentle, submissive queen had consented to live amica- 
bly with, this beautiful woman, who shared the affec- 
tions of tbe king and had a powerful influence over 
him. Seeing the hopeless condition of Orleans, he 
would have fled to the remote province of Dauphiny 
and abandoned his crown, but for the spirited Agnes 
and the prudent, sensible queen, both of whom warned 



JOAN OF ARC. 153 



him that his followers would forsake him if he betray- 
ed his despair of success by flight. 

The news of the coming of Joan, excited hope, fear, 
and curiosity in the occupants of the castle. XJncer 
tair. whether to receive her, and fearing lest he should 
place himself in the power of an evil spirit, Charles 
called a council of warriors, priests, and bishops, to 
consider the dangers or advantages of accepting one 
who might be a sorceress, for their leader. As for 
trusting the events of war to a woman, such an ob- 
jection was not raised, since it was a common occur- 
rence for the fair sex to engage in battle, and in those 
very years, " the Bohemian women fought like men 
in the wars of the Hussites." The council, however, de- 
bated for two days the expediency of even admitting 
her to the king's presence, but it was finally decided 
that, if she could prove the "divinity of her mission" 
by selecting the king from among his courtiers, she 
should receive the equipment she desired, and accom- 
pany such forces as could be raised, to Orleans. 

In the meantime, Joan was conducted to the queen's 
apartments, where the two friendly rivals received her 
with equal interest and curiosity. The rustic peasant 
girl exhibited no wonder as she entered the luxurious 
abode of the queen, where, in the soft shade of purple 
hangings, richly worked with golden fleur-de-lis, sat 
the attendants, industriously engaged with their em- 
broidery frames, while the queen, with fur-bordered 
robes, occupied a slightly -raised platform, covered with 
tapestry. Her face was expressive and gentle, with a 
shade of subdued sadness resting upor/ it, and in her 



154 JOAN OF ARC. 



eyes beamed a soft winning radiance that reassured the 
timid girl, who modestly approached, though not over- 
awed by the royal presence. She answered the ques- 
tions relating to her childhood and the " voices," with 
the same simplicity and sweetness as when among her 
companions. The beautiful Agnes, whose vanity 
always found her a position and light that best dis 
played her faultless form, and a complexion clear as 
the coloring of Correggio, half reclined in a rich cos- 
tume, her sandaled foot resting upon a velvet cushion 
With a keen, penetrating gaze she bent her full, dark 
eye upon Joan, so cross-questioning her as might easily 
have bewildered an intentional deceiver. The result 
of this interview was the unreserved approval of the 
two who most influenced the king, thus preparing him 
to place greater confidence in Joan's account when she 
appeared before him. 

When the hour for presentation arrived, Joan was 
conducted to a magnificent hall, arched and ornament- 
ed with dark fret-work, upon which was thrown the 
brilliant and waving light of fifty torches. A crowd 
of nobles, and more than three hundred knights in em- 
blazoned court dresses, added to the splendor of the 
scene. The king, in no way distinguished by his 
attire, mingled with the courtiers. To the surprise of 
the assemblage, upon Joan's entrance, they beheld, in- 
stead of a woman of masculine form and courageous 
front, only a slender, delicate girl, " a poor little shep- 
herdess," who with a face pale and — 

" Chaste as the icicle 
That's curdled by the iVost of purest snow, 
And hangs on Dian's tempf >," — 



JOAN OF ARC. * 155 



advanc(jd with composed air, and with as modest a 
comtenance as if she had been bred up in court all her 
life. Being led to a knight of distinguished bearing, 
she said he was not the king, and immediately selected 
the true Charles from among the brilliant throng, fell 
at his feet and, embracing his knees, exclaimed, " Gen- 
tle dauphin, the King of Heaven sends you word by 
me, that you shall be consecrated and crowned in the 
city of Eheims." 

The king raised her, and, still unconvinced, led her 
aside, when she told him of a circumstance he had sup- 
posed known to himself alone, namely, that he had 
prayed in his oratory that God would restore his king- 
dom, or allow him to escape safely to Spain or Scot- 
land. Charles paled at this revelation of his secret 
prayer, and no longer doubted that the Maid was the 
appointed rescuer of his crown. It did not occur to 
him, nor to those present, that she had been in the 
queen's apartments and might have heard of it there, 
as well as have seen or listened to some outline of his 
personal appearance, which enabled her to distinguish 
him. She was certainly a girl of good sense and 
shrewdness, but in her honesty and simplicity might 
have been but vaguely conscious of what occurred in 
the royal apartments, and mingled her impressions 
with the revelations of " the voices." 

Still there were many who were not willing to rely 
upon the mysterious pretensions of the Maid, and it 
was resolved to refer the matter to the doctors of the- 
ology. They were equally puz2iled for a decision, either 
because of their superstition, or because they were 



156 JOAN OF ARC. 



careful not to take sides in a matter which divided the 
court, shirking the responsibility by referring the ex- 
amination to the University of Poitiers. By a proc- 
lamation from the archbishop of Kheims, also presi- 
dent of the royal council, which held its sittings in 
Poitiers, a great number of doctors and professors of 
theology, including priests and monks, besides members 
of parliament, assembled at the capital of the depart- 
ment to determine the case of this little peasant girl. 

Joan, always attired in the dress of a man, was con- 
ducted to Poitiers, but, without trepidation or concern 
for the result of the trial, looked with admiring eyes upon 
the varied scenery while journeying, sure to dismount 
at every little church to repeat an Ave Maria before its 
altar whether its spire upheld the cross in the midst of 
a town through which she passed, or whether humbly 
nestled in a hermit-like retreat among the hills and 
valleys that lay between Chinon and the parliamentary 
city. Poitiers was easily descried in the distance, for 
it crowned and girdled a hill at the junction of two 
rivers. A thick wall, flanked by strong towers, guard- 
ed the city, which boasted the remains of an old Koman 
castle and amphitheatre, besides its splendid cathedrals 
and imposing palaces. Joan approached the city that 
had so much interest for her, passed through the gates 
without fear, and guided through the narrow, crooked 
streets, was conducted to the house of an advocate of 
the parliament and left in the care of his wife. 

The following day, the pompous prelates having as- 
sembled, the maid was conducted to the vast hall 
where they sat. Upon being questioned, she related 



JOAN OF ARC. 157 



all that she had seen and heard in a sweet heart-touch- 
ing voice, and with a simplicity and innocence that 
already won the grim judges before whom she meekly 
stood. After she asserted that she obeyed the direc- 
tions of God and liis angels, a Dominican friar said, 
"Joan, thou sayesfc that God wishes to deliver the peo- 
ple of France ; if such be his will, he has no need of 
men-at-arms." To this she readily replied, " Ah, the 
men-at-arms will fight, and God will give the victory. " 
A professor of theology in the university, demanded 
a sign from her by which they might believe in the 
holiness of her mission. To this she quickly retorted, 
" 1 have not come to Poitiers to work signs or mira- 
cles ; my sign will be the raising of the siege of 
Orleans. Give me men-at-arms, few or many, and I 
will go." 

With all their cross-questioning, they could find 
nothing to condemn in her, and therefore countenanced 
the granting of the forces she asked. The people of 
Poitiers went in crowds to see her, wept at her win- 
ning, childish purity, and declared " the maid was of 
God." 

Messengers from Dunois, the celebrated bastard of 
Orleans, who with his forces was in the besieged city, 
arged hasty measures to be adopted. In reply to his 
impatient demands, Joan was fully equipped and pro- 
vided with a suitable escort. She wore a complete suit 
of white armor, a small axe, and at her side a sword 
upon which was engraved the royal insignia of three 
fleur-de-lis. This sword she had demanded from the 
learned assembly, telling them they would find it be- 



168 JOAN OF ARC. 



hind the altar of St. Catherine's cathedral at Fierbois. 
This information proving correct, the awed monks 
bore the miraculous sword to the girl, whom they seri- 
ously began to fear, forgetting she had prayed at St. 
Catherine's altar for hours, when she might have heard 
the whisperings of priests, or have spied the sword 
herself; yet undoubtedly she believed it had been 
placed there by her favorite saint. 

She bore a white standard in her hand, embroidered 
with fleur-de-lis, and upon which was represented a 
shield and sword surmounted by a crown, and a beau- 
tifally painted image of the Saviour. Thus equipped 
and mounted upon her black charger, accompanied by 
one of her own brothers, a page, a maitre cChotel^ an old 
knight, his valets, and a confessor of the order of St. 
Augustine, she set out for Blois, where a large body of 
troops were rallying to follow her charmed standard. 

The impatient army waited on the banks of the Loire, 
with a large convoy of provisions for the relief of the 
beleaguered city. Joan was received by them with en- 
thusiastic shouts. Young, beautiful, modest, and coura- 
geous, with the attributes of a saint, the soldiers looked 
upon her with mingled admiration, worship and fear. 
She found herself surrounded by the cavaliers of Italy 
and Arragon, the valiant Scots, the Grascon nobles, the 
fierce '' fire-eaters" of the galiant Count Dunois, and 
the cruel but brave Armagnacs — a band of ferocious 
brigards, with captains at their head, who had long 
been the terror of France. One of them, Gilles de 
Retz, was not only the robber hero of his own times, 
but as th^ origirvai o^ "' B^ue Beard'* haft be<jn immor- 



JOAN OF ARC. 159 



talized as the "bugbear" of nursery tales, through 
every succeeding generation. With such a promis- 
cuous and fearfal host, the brave girl unfurled her 
sainted banner, and turned her face towards Orleans. 
It was spring-time; the hills were blossoming with the 
yellow furz, the meadows were carpeted with velvety 
green, the vast forests had put off their sombre dress 
and sported fresh fragrant leaves, "the deep arches of 
the wilderness halls" echoed the notes of the nightin- 
gale, the blue-bird winged from grove to perfumed 
vineyards, while 

" The oriole, drifting like a flake of fire," 

whirled to the loftiest tree-tops and joined its sweet 
notes in the universal concert. The air, clear and in- 
vigorating in its freshness, inspired the army with 
buoyant hopes and a good- will that made them readily 
obedient to the commands of their gentle leader. She 
banished from the camp all profiligacy, endeavoring to 
elevate the debased character of her followers. During 
the first day's journey, she caused an altar to be erect- 
ed on the banks of the Loire in the open air ; she also 
partook of the communion and required the same of 
the soldiers. 

Hearing one of the robber captains, La Hire, swear- 
ing violently, she mildly rebuked him; fierce as he 
was, he received it with humility, promising in future 
to " swear only by his baton." Joan's purity, gentle- 
ness and religious zeal, gained her a strong power over 
those Armagnac brigands, who would have devotedly 
followed her wherever she chose tc lead, even on a 



160 JOAN OF ARC. 



crusade to the Holy Sepulchre. The remainder of the 
army were scarcely less infatuated ; their enthusiasm 
increased daily as they saw her sharing their hardshipis, 
sleeping unpillowed upon the damp earth, encased in 
ner protecting armor. 

They marched rapidly along the southern banks of" 
the Loire, where the heights were covered with orchards, 
vineyards, castles and villages. Passing Chambourd, 
and the clustered turrets and towers of an imposing 
castle that marked its boundaries, in the midst of a 
neighboring wood, they approached within a few 
leagues of Orleans. Joan was impatient to cross the 
river and enter the city on the northern side, where the 
English encampment lay. This the chiefs would not 
hear to, and their counsel was supported by the Count 
Dunois, who came from Orleans with an escort to meet 
them, and induced Joan to adopt a less perilous en- 
trance by water. 

Orleans stood at the extremity of an elevated plain, 
which terminates near the banks of the Loire. The 
broad rapid river, washing its southern walls, prevent- 
ed the English from investing it completely. In the 
beginning of the siege, the French had burned the en- 
tire suburbs, which were extensive as a city, and con- 
tained a countless number of churches, convents and 
monasteries, that would have served as so many strong- 
holds for the English, besides many finely-built houses 
— the resorts of the burghers of Orleans. The inhabi- 
tants had retired within the embattled walls that en- 
circled the city, flanked by square towers at short in- 
tervals, and thickly planted with cannon which, by the 



JOAN OF ARC. 161 



destruction of the suburbs, could play freely among 
advancing ranks of the besiegers. 

The English were protected by fifty or more bastilles 
and forts, erected and strongly garrisoned by men-aL- 
arms, whose commanders were selected from the flower 
of the English army. The commander-in-chief, Salis- 
bury, and the distinguished Talbot, occupied the near- 
est bastille, while the one next the Loire was intrusted 
to Sir William Glasdale, as being a post of danger. 
Moving towers and battering engines added to the for- 
midable and firm appearance of their position. The 
English soldiers were nearly as superstitious as their 
foes, and their army was partly composed of French 
troops of the Burgundian party. They were filled 
with dread and fear at the thought of fighting against 
a maid commissioned by heaven, or as some thought, a 
sorceress, or a saint who had the power of striking 
them to the earth by a word. Her fame had arrived 
before her, but her entrance into Orleans escaped the 
vigilance of the English, since it was covered by the 
darkness of a midnight tempest, as is asserted by some. 
Others record her arrival at " eight o'clock of the even- 
ing April 29th, when so great and so eager was the 
crowd, striving to touch her horse at least, that her pro- 
gress through the streets was exceedingly slow ; they 
gazed at her as if they were beholding an angel. She 
rode along, speaking kindly to the people, and, after 
offering up prayers in the church, repaired to the house 
of the Duke of Orleans' treasurer, an honorable man, 
whose wife and daughter gladly welcomed her." The 
succeeding day, she rode gaily round the walls of the 
11 



162 JOAN OF ARC. 



city, to reconnoitre tlie English bastilles, followed by a 
crowd who afterward repaired with her to the church 
of Saint-Oroix to attend vespers, and with French readi- 
ness to laugh or shed tears, as occasion may direct, 
" when she wept at prayers they wept likewise." The 
citizens were bewitched by her presence, and made the 
most extravagant exj)ressionsof joy, feasted and smiled 
upon each other at the prospect of a near deliverance 
from their enemies. The army were raised above all 
fear, " drunk with religion and war," and farious with 
a fanaticism equal to their previoas despair. 

The first attack which she led was directed against 
one of the northern bastilles, strongly defended by 
men-at-arms. Talbot came to their assistance with a 
formidable detachment, but a fresh outpouring from 
the gates of Orleans and the approach of the Maid ir: 
her white armor and emblazoned surcoat, so filled 
them with fear that wherever her magic standard ap- 
peared, the soldiers threw down their arms and fled in 
consternation. The bastille was taken, razed to the 
ground, and its defenders either put to the sword or 
carried prisoners into Orleans. Joan at this first scene 
of carnage, wept to see so many perish unconfessed, 
and commanded the following day to be observed by 
fasting, prayer and confession. 

The next morning, she addressed her troops, and 
assured the commanders that victory was certain ; they 
sallied out in the early sun, the knights with glittering 
hehnets and polished shields, and coats of mail over 
which were thrown elegantly embroidered surcoats of 
silk or satin, whereon were curiously beaten the arma 



JOAN OF ARC. 163 



of their house in gold. The men-at-arms, bristhng 
with murderous weapons, the scalers and the archers, 
filed out of the city, and, throwing themselves in boats, 
crossed the Loire and attacked the tournelles, erected 
on the opposite bank and defended by Glasdale. Joan, 
in the beginning of the onset, was wuimded by an ar- 
row and fell, but was rescued, borne away from the 
scene of conflict and laid upon the grass. Upon un- 
loosing her armor and examining the wound, she found 
the arrow had pierced her through, and, terrified, wept 
with womanly weakness. This was but for a moment, 
for her " voices" came again ; she rallied her strength 
and courage, dressed the wound with oil, and remained 
till night-fall in communion with her protecting saints, 
who appeared to her excited vision surrounded by a 
halo of light. Her standard was borne by a Basque 
soldier in the thickest of the affray, and never failed to 
disperse the enemy. While victory was still wavering 
between the two parties, the citizens of Orleans became 
impatient to decide the contest, rushed forth in a body, 
and assailed the French forces, who were urged on by 
shouts from the Maid, exclaiming, "Enter, all is 
yours." At a bound they gained the redoubt, and the 
English, terrified at the rush, and believing they saw 
the patron saint of the city or the Archangel Michael 
protecting the French, fled in dismay to a bastille con- 
nected with the redoubt by a small bridge. A cannon- 
ball shivered the bridge while they were crowded upon 
it, precipitating them into the river and placing them 
at the mercy of their foes. Glasdale, who had heaped 
epithets of shame upon the head of the Maid, was 



164 JOAN OF ARC. 



drowned before her ejes. " Ah, how I pity thy soul/' 
she exclaimed, as she saw him borne down in useless 
struggles by the weight of his armor, to rise no mere. 

These and other decisive defeats completely dis 
heartened the English commanders, who saw their own 
troops paralyzed in the presence of the reputed sorcer- 
ess, fall down in terror before her standard, and at the 
same time beheld the Orleanists possessed of a ferocious 
courage, and fanatical confidence of success that made 
them irresistible. Unwilling to risk another battle, 
Talbot and Suffolk ordered a retreat, leaving on the 
plain their artillery, the bastilles, the sick, wounded 
and such prisoners as they had taken. While they 
were marching away, Joan had an altar erected on the 
plain, and mass sung in the hearing of the retreating 
enemy, tingling their ears with the sound of triumph 
and thanksgiving, as they went out of sight. 

There was no longer a doubt entertained of the 
divine mission of the peasant girl, henceforth called the 
" Maid of Orleans," and admitted to the councils of 
war. Messengers were now sent to Charles VII., still 
indolently whiling away his time in his castle at Chi- 
non, to come speedily with whatever forces he could 
collect, and follow up their success before the English 
should be strengthened by detachments sent by the 
Duke of Bedford at Paris, under the command of Sir 
John Falstaff. As soon as the king arrived, the French 
were eager to see the accomplishment of the remainder 
of Joan's promises, and hastened to take possession oi 
Sargeau and Beaugency, before these places could be 
relieved by the English. 



JOAN OF ABC. 166 



The armies of Talbot and Sir John Falstaff had 
meanwhile effected a junction, and, being in a section 
overgrown with thickets and brambles, the Orleanists 
in pursuit of them could not discover their position. 
Joan now rode at the head of a rapidly increasing 
army ; recruits poured in from all quarters, wrought 
to the highest pitch of enthusiasm at the reported mira- 
cles Joan had performed, and elated at the late suc- 
cesses. "The English are uniting," said she, "but, in 
G-od's name, advance boldly against them and assuredly 
they shall be conquered." "But where shall we find 
them ?" asked some. " Eide boldly forward and you 
will be conducted to them," she replied. A band of 
sixty horsemen were sent in advance to reconnoitre ; 
unable to discover the English, they started a stag 
which rushed into the enemy's ranks. A loud shout 
of surprise from them betrayed their position, while 
the French men-at-arms galloped up to the disordered 
army, gave them no time to rally, and rushed upon 
them. ' The soldiers, from fear of the Maid, had been 
deserting in great numbers, and now, as she rode fear- 
lessly at the head of a force multiplied into a host in 
the bewildered vision of the enemy, the English lead- 
ers could do nothing with the dismayed troops. Sir 
John Falstaff, though he had won honors for his cour- 
ageous conduct in other battles, seemed overwhelmed 
with fear and confusion, and catching the superstitious 
spirit that infatuated his troops, turned and fled from 
the battle-field without striking a blow, for which cow- 
ardice the enraged Duke of Bedford deprived him of 
the Order of the Garter. Talbot was unwilling again 



16fi JOAN OF ARC. 



to show his back to the royalists ; he fought bravely, 
but was deserted by his followers and taken prisoner, 
while the rest were pursued and put to the sword. 

At the sight of the awful carnage, the maiden leader 
wept ; she obeyed the impulse of her tender sympathy ; 
she dismounted and held the head of one who had been 
cut down before her, praying for his soul while she 
attempted to soothe his dying agonies. 

After the signal victory of this battle of Patay, the 
French, eager to see the king crowned at Kheims, went 
triumphantly from town to town, carrying everything 
before them. " The indolent young monarch himself 
was hurried away by this popular tide which swelled 
and rolled noi'thward. King, courtiers, politicians, en- 
thusiasts, fools and wise, were off together, either vol- 
untarily or compuhorily. At starting, they were 
twelve thousand; but the mass gathered bulk as it 
rolled along." Upon approaching Troyes, it was found 
so well garrisoned that the army, large as it was, de- 
spaired of forcing it without artillery. A council was 
assembled after taking their position under the walls, 
in which the leaders unanimously advised the aban- 
donment of their march to Rheims, since it would be 
poor policy to leave such a stronghold in their rear, 
and impossible to besiege the city since they lacked 
both provision and artillery. One Armagnac captain 
disputed the retreat. While they were warmly debat- 
ing, Joan herself knocked at the door and assured thenr 
they should be in Troyes in three days. " We would 
willingly wait six," said the chancellor, "were we cer- 
tain you spoke sooth." '' Six I you shall enter to-mor- 



JOAN OF ARC, 167 



row," exclaimed che heroic girl, seizing her standard 
and calling npou the troops to follow her. 

A portion of the ditch or fosse that surrounded the 
city, was quickly filled by her direction, and, while 
they prepared to cross and make the attack, the Eng- 
lish offered to capitulate, reserving the privilege of 
marching away with their effects without molestation 
As they passed from the gates, Joan perceived a num- 
ber of French prisoners manacled and driven before 
them. She refused to let them pass and the king was 
obliged to ransom them. 

The way was now open for their progress to Eheims. 
Upon approaching that city, a deputation of the citi- 
zens went out to meet the king, presenting him the 
keys of the city and acknowledging him their sov- 
ereign. Joan led the way, with her white banner al- 
ways unfurled and floating like a beckoning spirit be- 
fore the impetuous and worshipping army who fol- 
lowed wherever it conducted them. Her face beamed 
the triumph and joy she felt. Passing through the 
massive gateway, they went with a conqueror's step 
along the thronged streets, and then to the cathedral 
to offer prayers and thanksgiving. This cathedral stood 
in a square, from which the six principal streets of 
Rheims diverged. It was here that, two days after, 
the promised coronation took place. 

The holy oil of Clovis, secretly kept in the old church 
of St. Remy's, was brought with great ceremony by 
priests who were met at the entrance of the cathedral 
b}^ the archbishop. He received it and, approaching 
the king, who bowed reverently before it, anointed and 



168 JOAN OF ARC. 



consecrated him with all the state and pomp that the 
mysterious aid by which the event had been attained, 
could suggest. The dark massive walls, from which 
graceful arches sprang and fell, resting upon tall clus* 
tered columns ; the curious and elaborate carvings 
everywhere visible ; the vast interior crowded with fe- 
rocious soldiers, bearing their battle-axes and cross- 
bows ; knights with plumed helmets, and gold-embroid- 
ered surcoats ; the glittering mail of the men-at-arms; 
the fair and noble ladies of Eheims in their enormous 
and lofty head-dresses ; the nobles, in rich coronation 
robes, grouped about their monarch, who stood promi- 
nent in the stateliest array of royalty; the pompous 
archbishop, and above all 

" The maid "with helmed head, 
Like a war-goddess, fair and terrible," 

Standing near the king, her sacred sword sheathed, and 
her banner dropping in folds upon her white armor — 
together formed a scene that filled the superstitious 
throng with a feeling of awe and wonder, and hushed 
them all to silence. 

When the crown — a golden bauble, to gain which 
such rivers of blood had flowed — was placed upon the 
monarch's head, Joan burst into tears and prostrated 
herself at his feet, beseeching him, now that her prom- 
ises were fulfilled, to permit her to return to her own 
valley, and with her sisters watch the flocks upon the 
hills, and be happy and peaceful again with her grieved 
parents. All who listened wept with her, but Charles, 
•mwilling to lose one upon whom his battles depended. 



JOAN OF ARC. 169 



would not consent to lier departure till the English 
were driven from France. As a mark of his gratitude 
he ennobled her family, giving them the title of '* du 
Ljs," in allusion to the lilies on her banner, and pre- 
sented her with a handsome estate. 

The movements of the army were now like so many 
triumphal processions. City after city surrendered 
without resistance, till it arrived at St. Denys. Joan 
refused to proceed further, warned by her voices, or 
presentiments, that she could not advance with safety. 
Kegardless of her advice, the commanders, elated with 
past success, pushed forward to Paris. 

The Duke of Bedford was alarmed at the rapid pro- 
gress of the Orleanists ; he sent to the Duke of Bur- 
gundy for assistance, and afterwards to the powerful 
Cardinal Winchester, who hastily raised forces in Eng- 
land, and came to Paris with the young Henry YI. in 
order to crown him there. Thus strengthened, and in 
possession of the Seine both above and below the city, 
it was impossible for Charles YII. to besiege it with 
his army, ill-provided with the necessary provisions 
and equipments. In the very face of impossibilities, 
he advanced towards the strong and well -prepared city, 
depending on the mysterious power of the Maid and 
the enthusiasm of his followers. 

They carried one of the outposts, and the brave and 
fearless Joan cleared the first fosse with a bound, firmly 
maintaining her seat, and in another spring was beyond 
the mound that separated it from the second, where 
but few dared to follow her. Her conspicuous dress, 
was a fair mark for the showers of arrows falling thickly 



170 JOAN OF ARC. 



around her; regardless of her danger, she sounded 
the depth of the fosse with her lance, but, while urging 
the troops to follow, an arrow darted through the links 
of her armor, and pierced deeply, causing such a flow 
of blood as obliged her to seek shelter. The French 
were repulsed with severe losses. The headlong im- 
petuosity that had served them before, would not 
calmly brook reverses, and they were ready to heap 
reproaches and harsh epithets upon the brave girl who 
had warned them not to make the rash attempt upon 
Paris. Disheartened and weak with pain and loss of 
blood, she could not be prevailed upon to return to 
the camp till after night-fall. 

The French now abandoned the hope of securing 
Paris, and occupied the winter in laying siege to two 
towns, one of which was successfully carried by the 
exertions of Joan, the other abandoned in a panic. In 
the meantime, the Duke of Burgundy assembled a for- 
midable army, and with the English troops, in the 
spring of 1480, laid siege to Compiegne, where the 
French were concentrated. The Maid threw herself 
into the city, and, on the second day, headed a sally 
against the besiegers. In the beginning of the strug- 
gle her party was successful, but the English rallied 
and drove back the assailants. Joan remaining in the 
rear, to cover the retreat of her followers, reached the 
bridge too late to enter the gates which suddenly 
closed ; and, betrayed by the governor of the city, she 
was left among the crowd upon the bridge. Conspic- 
uous by her dress, a purple surcoat brilliantly embroi- 
dered with gold, thrown over her armor, she was im- 



tf 



JOAN OF ARC. 171 



mediately seized by a Picard archer and dragged from 
her horse. She surrendered to the bastard of Ven- 
dome, a distinguished knight, who conducted her to 
the EngUsh camp and placed her under a secure guard. 

The soldiers crowded about and gazed upon her, and 
the English nobles and Burgundians could not restrain 
their exclamations of surprise at finding the witch, the 
sorceress, the great object of terror, to be only a simple, 
delicate and fair young girl. They were more delighted 
at her capture than if they had taken a host of French 
prisoners, and assembling in showy array in the plain 
before Compiegne, sent up shouts of victory. 

Joan was sold to John of Luxembourg, who sent 
her under a strong guard to the castle of Beaulieu in 
Picardy, where she was confined in the highest tower ; 
but soon after, from political motives, he had her re- 
moved to his own castle of Beaurevoir. Here she 
could only gaze from the narrow windows of the lofti- 
est tower, upon the meadows, the streams and the blue 
hills, beyond which she could in fancy see her peace- 
ful home, her mourning parents, and her young and 
loved Haumette, with whom she would have given 
worlds to breathe the free air again. A close prisoner, 
and in despair for France, fearful too for her own fate 
she passed the weary days in prayer and weeping 
She was filled with forebodings of evil. She had en 
deavored to effect her escape from the castle of Beau 
lieu, and even now from the high towers of Beaurevoir 
the intrepid girl attempted a descent. She fell and was 
taken up half dead by the ladies of Luxembourg, who 
bestowed the most tender care upon her. They were 



172 JOAN OF ARC. 



won by lier gentleness, and doubly attracted by sym- 
pathy for her grief that she could no longer aid France, 
and her tears and anxiety for the king for whom she 
suffered, but who made no effort for her deliverance. 
She knew that her present captor had sold her to the 
Duke of Burgundy, and suffered herself to be led 
away from her new-found friends, who in vain plead 
with tears, at the feet of John of Luxembourg, entreat- 
ing him not to deliver her into the hands of the Eng- 
lish, thirsting, as they did, for the blood of one who 
had cost them so dearly. 

She was convej^ed to Arras, and from thence to the 
donjon-keep of Crotoy, where she could look out upon 
the sea and watch the ships gliding to and fro, or driv- 
ing along on the waves of a tempest. A clear day re- 
vealed the distant coast of England ; it reminded her 
of the Duke of Orleans, who, like herself, a close pris- 
oner, wore his life away in chains on a foreign shore ; 
all her fire and spirit was roused, for it had been one 
of her treasured hopes to secure his release, when the 
French arms had triumphed. 

Joan was consoled and strengthened by a priest who, 
likewise a captive, said mass daily in her presence. In 
this she heartily joined, her old enthusiasm returning 
and her courage revived by the voices which assured 
her that " she should be delivered when she had seen 
the king of the English." 

Nearly a year had passed since her first imprison- 
ment, when she was claimed by the bishop of the dio- 
cese in which she was taken, at the instigation of Car- 
dinal Winchester, whose plan was to crown Henry YL, 



JOAN OF ARC. 173 



and at the same time disgrace the pretensions of Charles 
VII. by burning the girl who had secured his corona- 
tion, as a witch or sorceress. By order of the Yicar of 
the Inquisition, Joan was taken to Eouen in February 
1431. 

Eeleased from her long confinement, she exulted 
in the pure fresh air of freedom, and rode cheerfully 
along with her keepers, though still manacled with 
chains. Approaching Eouen, the inhabitants thronged 
the entrance to catch a glimpse of the wonderful being 
who was represented, at one moment, a beautiful 
woman, an angel, and at the next, described as a 
demon who possessed a terrible power over her ene- 
mies. They hardly knew whether to shrink from her 
gaze or touch and kiss her garments ; all were filled 
with amazement at beholding so fair and harmless a 
girl. The women of Eouen, in their tall muslin caps, 
red petticoats and clattering cabots, followed her 
through the streets, and with motherly protection 
would have shielded her from the denunciations about 
to descend upon her, could they have rescued her from 
the grim monks who closely guarded her. Joan felt 
her spirit depressed as they traced the narrow winding 
streets of Eouen, lined with peaked-roofed houses, deco- 
rated with curious carvings and innumerable balconies. 
Towers and spires with rich-cut ornaments loomed up 
along the narrow way which was crowded and con- 
fused with passing donkeys, laden vfith well-filled pan- 
niers and driven by quaintly dressed women and chil- 
dren, while men, in silken jackets and long-peaked 
shoes, added their sonorous cries to the Babel of voices. 



174 JOAN OF AUG. 



Joan, wearj and bewildered, was soon led before the 
impatient assemblage, eager for their victim. Bishops, 
monks, doctors of theology and of the canon law, en- 
veloped in stately robes, sat ready to pronounce judg- 
ment upon a girl whom they were bribed to condemn 
by some means, if she were guilty or not. Alone in 
the midst of this subtle court, without the sympathy of 
a friend or the aid of a counsel, Joan sat with intrepid 
bearing, her spirit free though her limbs were chained. 

Upon being required to swear to speak the truth, 
she consented, but refused to reveal anything connect- 
ed with her visions. She was ordered to repeat the 
Pater and the Ave, her judges thinking she would not 
dare to, if possessed with an evil spirit. To their sur- 
prise she readily assented, if the presiding bishop would 
hear her confess. This touching and confiding demand 
overcame the bishop, who adjourned the sitting, and af- 
terwards deputed one of his assessors to question the 
accused. 

As it was found impossible to convict her on the 
ground of sorcerj?-, she was charged with heresy, since 
she refused to acknowledge the authority of the church 
militant. She told them she held her belief in God 
alone. The long-continued trial, and her efforts to sus- 
tain herself, induced an illness, from which she had not 
recovered when she was again summoned to the hall 
of the castle where the court sat. Threats of torture 
were given to intimidate her, but she adhered firmly to 
her account of the voices, and would still acknowledge 
none but the one God. They insisted upon her discard- 
mg the man's dress she wore, but to this she would not 



JOAN OF AEO. 175 



consent, it being her only protection, and the dresa 
which her saints directed her to wear. 

Led back to the tower, where her every movement 
was watched by keepers stationed near her, she became 
more severely ill. In this situation, her tormentors 
visited her, hoping to make her yield her belief while 
too weak to maintain courage in her assertions. " The 
angel Gabriel," said she, " has appeared to strengthen 
me." They were obliged to leave her, firm and un- 
yielding as she had ever been. 

In order to terrify her into submission, a scaffold was 
erected in the cemetery of St. Ouen, behind the church 
of the same name. Joan was placed upon it in the 
midst of huissiers and tortures, a preacher, and an exe- 
cutioner in his cart below her. Opposite, on another 
scaffolding, sat Cardinal Winchester and the bishops, 
with their assessors and scribes. The preacher, who was 
to exhort and urge her to submission, overdid the mat- 
ter by exclaiming violently against Charles VII., call- 
ing him a heretic in accepting Joan for a leader. This 
roused the indignation of the brave girl who, in spite 
of threatened terrors, had the nobleness to defend the 
king who had deserted her. "On my faith, sir, I un- 
dertake to tell you and to swear on pain of my life, 
that he is the noblest Christian of all Christians, the 
sincerest lover of the faith of the Church, and not what 
you call him," exclaimed she boldly. " Silence her," 
cried out the bishop, who begar to read the sentence 
of condemnation. " Abjure or be burnt," reached her 
ears. Those about and below her, entreated her to 
save herself by acknowledging the power of the pope. 



176 JOAN OF AUG. 



"We pity you, Joan," urged the people who crowded 
about the scaffold. Overcome at last with fear and en- 
treaties she consented to abjure, on condition she should 
be delivered from the power of the English and bp 
placed in the hands of the church. 

"What is to be done next?" respectfully asked Can- 
chon, the bishop, turning to Cardinal Winchester. 
" Admit her to do penance," answered the wily Eng- 
lishman, which penance was to pass the rest of her 
days in imprisonment, " on the bread of grief and the 
water of anguish." " Take her back whence you 
brought her," continued the bishop, while Joan, dumb 
with surprise and despair, could scarcely move. The 
poor girl had thought at least she was to be spared 
chains and the hateful dungeon. Even at this respite 
the English were so enraged that they pelted the bishop 
with.stones, and the priests and doctors could escape 
only by promising they should soon have her again. 

She was led away to her prison-house and chained 
to a beam ; but this did not satisfy the English, who at- 
tributed the continued success of the French arms to 
her sorcery, exerted even within the walls of a prison. 
The guards were ordered to hang her armor within 
reach, hoping she would be tempted to resume the 
dress, and thus break the conditions she had signed. 
The result was what they wished, and, as soon as the 
news reached the cardinal, he gladly exclaimed, " She 
is caught !" The inquisitor and others were deputed 
to visit and question her. She bravely faced them and 
told them she had resumed that dress " because it was 
fitter for her as long as she was guarded by men." 



JOAN OF ARC. 177 



" Put me in a seemly prison and I will be good and 
do whatever the church shall wish," said she. 

The next day it was told her she must die. She 
v^^ept pitifully, tearing her hair and mourning that she 
was to endure the frightful torture of being burned. 
After the first burst of grief, she confessed and asked 
to receive the sacrament, which was granted her, with 
the inconsistency of condemning her as a heretic and 
at the same time granting her all the ordinances of the 
church. 

The following morning she was dressed in female 
attire, placed on a cart, accompanied by priests, and 
surrounded by a guard of eight hundred Englishmen, 
armed with sword and lance, who conveyed her to the 
old market-place. She wept as they went along, cry- 
ing out, " Kouen, Eouen ! must I then die here ?" 

Three scaffolds were erected, one upon which a 
throne was placed for the Cardinal Winchester and the 
prelates, the other for the judges and preacher, and 
the third built high and filled underneath with fagots, 
was for the harmless victim. The ceremony began 
with a sermon, preached by one of the doctors of the 
university of Paris. This was followed by exhorta- 
tions from the bishops to recant all she had said con- 
cerning her angels, but though she was bitterly disap- 
pointed that none had come to rescue her, and hei 
confidence in the voices thus sorely tried, because they 
failed to deliver her, still she affirmed the truth of her 
assertions and persisted in rejecting the pope and his 
minions. " Though you should tear off my limbs and 
pluck my soul from my body, I would say nothing 
12 



178 JOAN OF ARC. 



else, " she cried. She knelt upon the platform, in- 
voked God, the virgin, St. Michael, and St. Catherine, 
then turned to those who had accused her. forgave 
them their injuries, and besought their pardon, asking 
them to pray for her. She entreated the priests each 
to say a mass for her soul. Her manner, voice, and 
look were so full of grief, and her appeals so touching 
that, with contagious sympathy, every beholder wept — 
even the cruel cardinal. Vexed at betraying such weak- 
ness, the judges dried their eyes, and crushing the 
momentary feeling of kindness for the lovely and 
friendless girl, proceeded to read her condemnation in 
a stern voice. 

The fagots were kindled, and as they crackled and 
burned beneath the platform, she cried out for a cruci- 
fix. An Englishman gave her one he had hastily carv- 
ed out of a stick, but she entreated them to bring one 
from the neighboring church, which, after some hesita- 
tion, was obtained and held up before her. At last, 
overcome with terror, and suflPocated with the smoke 
and flames that curled about her delicate form, she ex- 
pired with prayers on her lips. The multitude wept 
at her sufferings, and silently dispersed, full of con- 
sternation at the deed. Even the executioner hasten- 
ed to relieve his terror and remorse by confession. 

Thus perished a fair and innocent girl who had com- 
mitted no crime but that of seeking to rescue her nation 
from the grasp of a hated enemy. Pure, gentle, and 
heroic, imbued with the superstition of the times, gift- 
ed with a vivid, intense imagination that had become 
morbid through her early habits of lonely communion, 



JOAN OF ARC. 179 



it was not wonderful that she should imagine she con- 
versed with spirits, in an age when every one consulted 
unseen spirits and fairies to some extent; she was 
educated from the cradle in the belief of visions of 
saints and angels, assurances of which fell daily upon 
her ear in tales and legends from her mother's lips. 
The French believed and accepted her as a celestial 
deliverer, investing her with a supernatural power 
which she did not claim. On one occasion at Bourges, 
when the women prayed her to touch crosses and chap- 
lets, she laughed merrily, and said, " Touch them your- 
selves, they will be just as good.'' 

Her success, was simply that of a warrior who in- 
spires his troops with his own courage and confidence 
of victory, and rushes to battle with an impetuosity 
that sometimes supplies a lack of skill. She took ad- 
vantage of the superstition of those she led as well as 
those she opposed. She embodied their ideal of aa 
angel in mortal form, by the purity of her beauty, 
manner, and words which was manifested even in her 
equipments, and thus they followed her with a unity 
and enthusiasm that gave strength to a party that pre- 
viously owed its weakness to an indolent ana despair- 
ing prince, and to the divisions and feuds among the 
leading nobility. 

Through all the deference and honors paid her, she 
never lost the child-like sweetness and simplicity that 
were singularly united in her character with good 
sense, shrewdness, and woman's subtlety. 

Charles VII., who owed his crown and kingdom to 
her heroic exertions, acknowledged the debt by causing 



180 JOAN OF ARC. 



a monument to be erected to her memory in Paris so 
soon as his power was established. The inhabitants 
of Rouen testified their admiration of her and their dis- 
approbation of the unjust sentence, by erecting a statue 
that still stands in.the market-place of the old city. 

The house in which she was born was afterwards re- 
paired on the original plan by the king's orders, and 
still remaips in Dom-Remy. " It stands near the church 
and is easily discovered by a Gothic door that supports 
three scutcheons adorned with the fleur-de-lys, and a 
statue, in which she is represented in full armor. It 
became national property during the reign of Louis 
XVIIL, who granted the village twelve thousand 
francs to build a monument to the memory of Joan, 
eight thousand for the education of young girls in 
Dom-Remy and the neighboring hamlets, and another 
eight thousand as a support for a sister of charity to 
teach the school." A fine painting, the gift of the 
king, decorates the principal room of the house. 

In the market-place, which is surrounded by poplar 
trees, and watered by a fountain, is placed a statue of 
the Maid. On the monument is the simple inscription 

^^ To the memory of Joan of Arc,^'' 



MARIA THERESA. 




.LiiulTT 



il^i/,^^^^^ri ^.-^^u/'mm^yc 



IV. 

jfilaria Clmtso. 

We will not from the helm, to sit and weep; 
But keep our course, though the rough wind say, No. 

Shak. 

Austria is a name that suggests the ideas of despot- 
ism, cruelty and bigotry. In these respects, it is a land 
that has no rival, except Russia. Every humane and 
free heart must burn with indignation at the mere men- 
tion of those Empires. But Austria, however repul- 
sive as a blood-thirsty power, has much attractive in- 
terest in its several provinces and noted places, and in 
portions of its history. Bohemia, Moravia and Hun- 
gary, have associations that are dear to art, to religion, 
and to liberty. Austerlitz is a word of potent influ- 
ence, and Vienna is full of picturesque imagery, for it 
is the name of a capital than which there is none more 
gay, magnificent, and enriched with curiosities. 

"Not in any other town 

With statelier progress to and fro 
The double tides of chariots flow 
By park and suburb, under brown 



184 MARIA THERESA. 



Of lustier leaves ; nor more content, 
Or pleasure, lives in any crowd, 
When all is gay witli lamps, and loud 

With sport and song, in booth and tent, 

Imperial halls, or open plain ; 

And wheels the circled dance, and breaks 

The rocket molten into flakes 
Of crimson or in emerald rain." 

And as for the history of Austria, it would have 
enough charm, if it only bore the noble name of Maria 
Theresa. In her we behold, indeed, some of the worst 
peculiarities of her royal line, but softened by her 
womanly nature, and receiving from that nature many 
a balancing virtue. If her censorship of the press and 
espionage of private life, were worthy of her detestable 
successors, her great and successful enterprises, mili- 
tary, educational and industrial, and her reforms in 
church and state, were worthy of her beauty, talent and 
exalted character. 

Vienna was her birthplace, and her birthday the 13th 
of May, 1717. As usual, the royal child received a 
baptismal name proportioned in length to her imperial 
ancestry, and superfluous as her fortune ; it was Maria- 
Theresa- Valperga- Amelia-Christina — a grand name, 
" like a carriage of state with six horses." Nothing- 
short of a family that, like Maria Theresa's — the House 
of Hapsburgh, had reigned four hundred years, and 
had absorbed so many states and races into its vast em- 
pire, should justify such a parade of praenomenes. 

Her father, the Emperor Charles VI., was a man of 
dull perceptions and extraordinary gravity, very punc- 



MARIA THERESA. 185 



tilious in all matters of form, and of a benevolent dis- 
position. He labored to improve the condition of his 
dominions, rebuilt roads, encouraged commerce, manu- 
factures and art, revised the laws of Hungary, and es- 
tablished museums and libraries. He was fond of ath- 
letic sports, such as hunting and shooting at a mark, 
but his ruling passion was music. He composed an 
opera, and himself led the orchestra, while his daugh- 
ters acted as ballet-dancers. The costume and scenery 
of one of these exhibitions cost him over a hundred 
and thirty thousand dollars. From Italy, he attracted 
to his court Metastasio, who composed some of his best 
operas at Vienna, and was Italian preceptor to the 
young princesses. But, in consequence of the imbecil- 
ity of Charles and his advisers, his reign nearly ruined 
his empire ; his best general, Prince Eugene, died, and 
his enemies made encroachments on every side. The 
English ambassador wrote home that " everything in 
this court is running into the last confusion and ruin, 
where there are as visible signs of folly and madness as 
ever were inflicted on a people whom Heaven is deter- 
mined to destroy, no less by domestic divisions than by 
the more public calamities of repeated defeats, defence- 
lessness, poverty, plague and famine." The loss of 
Belgrade, surrendered by a treaty to the Turks, and 
the menacing conduct of the French, preyed on his 
spirits, undermined his health, and inflamed his ail- 
ments of gout and indigestion. With reckless impru- 
dence, he insisted on taking a hunting excursion, and 
eat immoderately of mushrooms stewed in oil. This 
prostrated him beyond recovery ; he took an affection- 



186 MARIA THERESA. 



ate leave of his family, and died in 1740, when Maria 
Theresa was twenty-three years of age. 

His wife was Elizabeth Christina, daughter of Louis 
Khodolpb, Duke of Brunswick. By her, he was the 
father of a son, who died in infancy, and three daugh- 
ters, one of whom died in childhood ; the others were 
Maria Theresa, the eldest, and Maria Amelia ; they 
married brothers, Francis, Duke of Lorraine, and 
Prince Charles of Lorraine. The latter, Maria Ame* 
lia's husband, was distinguished in the wars of Theresa's 
accession to the throne. The mother, like the daugh- 
ters, was famed for beauty, elegant manners and kind 
disposition. 

The sisters, who bore the title of archduchesses, were 
very unlike in their style of person, mind and charac- 
ter. Equally fascinating, Maria Amelia had less intel- 
lect and confidence and brilliancy of feature. Maria 
Theresa was full of life and dignity. She seemed every 
way constituted for a queen. Her form was tall and 
well-proportioned, her face regular, her eyes a bright 
gray, her complexion clear, her voice musical, and her 
bearing at once majestic and graceful. In her youth, 
her temper was sufl&ciently gentle and yielding, her 
heart overflowing with tenderness ; it was not unti] 
she assumed the sceptre, and found herself threatened 
on every side by hostile invasions, that the unrelent- 
mg determination of her character was drawn forth, 
and, indeed, a degree of resoluteness was demanded 
that hardly differed from the obstinacy peculiar to her 
family-blood. 

She was educated, after the manner of the age, more 



MARIE THERESA. 187 



in feminine accomplishments than in the solid acquire- 
ments that would best fit her for a station of great au- 
thority. From her father, she inherited a passion for 
music, which was carefully developed under her dis- 
tinguished instructors, among whom was Metastasio. 
He took much pride in her proficiency, especially in 
the Italian language, and could not praise too highly 
her talent and gentleness. Happily, the family pride 
so assiduously nourished by the House of Hapsburgh, 
induced in her a studious acquaintance with the history 
and condition of her expected empire, so that a founda- 
tion was laid for her able administration. At the same 
time, the seeds of her after bigotry, were sown and 
cultivated by the thousand Romanish observances, to 
which a great part of her time was set apart. It fos- 
tered, however, a strong religious inclination that might 
have made her a saint, in the annals of a more enlight- 
ened creed than that of Rome. 

At the age of fourteen, she was required, as a matter 
of custom for the heir-apparent to the crown, to be 
present at the meetings of the royal council. She had 
no share, of course, in the debates, but, however long 
and tedious the sessions were, she always showed the 
liveliest interest in everything said, whether intelligible 
to her or not. The need of being well versed in affairs 
of state, was apparently anticipated by her shrewd ap- 
prehension. The only part she was permitted to take 
in the proceedings, was the offering of petitions, en- 
trusted to her care. Her immature years and ready 
good- will made her freouently subject to such appli- 
cations; and when her father rebuked her with the 



188 MARIA THERESA. 



words, *' You seem to think a sovereign has nothing 
to do but to grant favors," she replied, with a pre- 
cocious wisdom, " I see nothing else that can make a 
crown supportable." At so early a period of life, she 
saw that her father's miseries were not outweighed by 
the empty shows of imperial grandeur. 

The young Francis, Duke of Lorraine, whose mother 
was a first cousin of the Emperor, had been brought 
up at the court of Yienna, as the destined husband of 
Maria Theresa. From infancy, they had associated to- 
gether, and now, in youth, became more romantically 
devoted to each other. He had every quality to capti- 
vate her heart. Though not powerful or brilliant in 
mind, he was intelligent and kind ; and he was brave, 
manly, accomplished and remarkably handsome. 

When the archduchess had reached the age of eigh- 
teen, her father's government was so much endangered 
by the triumphs of foes and the indifference of pledged 
friends, that he was urged to break up the proposed 
union with Francis, and give his daughter to Don Car- 
los, of Spain, as a last resort to uphold his own power. 
The Spanish minister at his court, recommended that 
both daughters be married to princes of Spain. But 
Maria Theresa, already betrothed, remonstrated so 
warmly that the emperor knew not what to do. In 
the words of the English minister, " She is a princess 
of the highest spirit ; her father's losses are her own. 
She reasons already ; she enters into affairs ; she ad- 
mires his virtues, but condemns his mismanagement ; 
and is of a temper so formed for rule and ambition as 
to look upon him as little more than her administrator. 



MARIA THERESA. 189 



Notwithstanding this lofty humor by day, she sighs 
and pines all night for her Duke of Lorraine. If she 
sleeps, it is only to dream of him ; if she wakes, it is 
but to talk of him to the lady in waiting ; so that there 
is no more probability of her forgetting the very indi- 
vidual government, and the very individual husband 
which she thinks herself born to, than of her forgiving 
the authors of losing either." The empress joined her 
own to the entreaties of her daughter; the German 
ministers interfered in behalf of the duke ; and the em- 
peror, driven to sleepless distraction, finally yielded to 
the wish of his family, and strengthened his power by 
a treaty with his old enemy France, giving the duchy 
of Bar and Francis' inheritance of Lorraine, in ex- 
change for Tuscany. 

Francis and Maria Theresa, thus saved from separa- 
tion by her constancy and resolutiou, were married 
at Vienna in February, 1736. Two sweet children 
crowned this year's happiness. Blessed in these, and 
in their own youth, beauty, love and splendid position 
and prospects, nothing could exceed the brightness of 
their union. But the common lot of trouble was in 
store for them. The duke was appointed to the com- 
mand of an army sent against the Turks, in the first 
year of his marriage. He was courageous, and often 
risked his life ; but he was not a great and successful 
commander, and he was, moreover, fettered by the in- 
structions of the court, and by the lack of needed 
means. Victorious at first, the army suffered sad re- 
verses and was weakened by pestilence. Francis re- 
turned to Vienna to meet the complaints of the em- 



190 MARIA THERESA. 



peror, the cold welcome of the powerful, the unjust 
contempt of the people, but to be greeted also by the 
warm sympathy of his wife, whose fear for his expo- 
sures was now changed to indignation at his treat- 
ment. 

Her father found it advisable to send her and the 
duke to Tuscany, ostensibly to visit their new estates, 
and he talked of changing the heirship of the crown to 
his youngest daughter, and betrothing her to the Elec- 
tor of Bavaria. All this was probably done to appease 
the popular feeling. At Florence, the young wife was 
very discontented ; the climate was disagreeable to her 
more northern associations ; she saw little to admire in 
the people, or the city and scenery ; she was in con- 
tinual distress about the misguided state of affairs at 
home, whereby her vast inheritance was rapidly dwin- 
dling. And Charles himself did not long manage to 
dispense with his daughter's clearer mind and firmer 
character. 

Four years passed since her nuptials, when she was 
called to the throne by the death of her father, whose 
end was hastened by his repeated misfortunes. She 
was twenty-three when she thus began to enjoy the 
various titles of Queen of Hungary and Bohemia, 
Archduchess of Austria, Sovereign of the Netherlands, 
Duchess of Milan, of Parma, and Placentia, and Grand- 
duchess of Tuscany, all of which honors are summed 
up in the one name of Empress of Austria. She 
swayed the sceptre over various nations, with diverse 
languages and laws, and only held together by sub- 



MARIA THERESA. 191 



It was the richest empire of Europe, but its treasury 
v/as drained, its armies scattered, its provinces disaf- 
fected, and, on every side, were greedy governments 
to whom her accession was the signal to fall upon her 
dominions and divide them among themselves. The 
famous Pragmatic Sanction was to be broken by all. 
This was a treaty which it had been the labor of 
Charles' life to establish. By it, the European powers 
had guaranteed to support the claims of Maria Theresa 
to the imperial crown, instead of the daughters of Em- 
peror Joseph, the predecessor and brother of Charles, 
and to whose family the succession should have re- 
verted' according to Charles' own solemn promise. 
These daughters had married, the eldest the Elector 
of Bavaria, the youngest the Elector of Saxony. 

France, jealous of the ascendency of Austria, with 
various false excuses deferred to acknowledge Maria 
Theresa, and prepared to assist the pretensions of the 
Bavarian Elector, who claimed Austria, Hungary, and 
Bohemia. The King of Spain made the same preten- 
sion, and set on foot an expedition against the Italian 
dependencies of the empire. The Sardinian king had 
his eye on Milan; and the King of Prussia, Frederic II., 
marched for Silesia before his designs were known at 
V'ienna, and took possession of it. He proved to be 
the almost life-long and very dangerous enemy of the 
empress, although he entertained high personal respect 
for her character. His father, without engaging much 
in war, had made it his empty pride to discipline a 
vast standing army^ amass money, and drill his son in 
military science. Frederic had resisted this stern 



192 MARIA THERESA. 



schooling and devoted himself passionately to litera- 
ture and art. But, so soon as, about this time, he 
mounted the throne of his father, he suddenly revealed 
extraordinary ambition and skill as a politician and 
commander. 

Thus was the young and beautiful Maria Theresa 
at the instant the diadem was placed on her head, 
called "to take arms against a sea of troubles." Her 
own strong understanding and strong will were all that 
she could rely upon. Her husband was brave and 
tender, but with no talents nor disposition to assume 
the guidance of affairs ; he was devoted to pleasure, 
and seems to have trusted more to his wife's intelli- 
gence and decision, than to his own. The members 
of the state-council were weak men, who were con- 
founded by the difficulties that beset them. Barten- 
stein, who was their chief, and had been under Charles, 
was a man of facile pen arid tongue, faithful to hia 
trust, but too shallow for his responsible position, 
England alone, although afterwards tardy in many of 
her engagements, was enthusiastic in favor of the 
empress; the English ladies, indeed, subscribed some 
four hundred and fifty thousand dollars in her aid. 
But she did not find it consistent to accept it, and, for 
the present, was virtually without allies, armies, coun- 
sellors, and money. Never was a sky darker than 
hers. All who were around her, expressed only de- 
spair in their countenances. The army that had been 
hastily raised to oppose the aggressions of Frederic, 
was defeated by his troops, in Silesia. The French, 
appealed to in remembrance of the Pragmatic Sanction, 



MARIA THERESA. 198 



by which they were bound, gave evasive answers, until 
they marched their forces across the Ehine, joined the 
Elector of Bavaria, subdued Bohemia, and approached 
the gates of Vienna itself 

Still was Maria Theresa undaunted, although the 
crisis of her fate grew desperate even to sublimity. 
The birth of a son, whose destiny was involved in that 
of the empire, like her own, was perhaps opportune at 
this dark hour, for it roused all the lioness within her. 
The mother will dare for her offspring that which she 
would shrink from, for her own sake. The bold and 
wise resolution of the empress was taken. By it, she 
at once saved herself and her magnificent realm. His- 
tory and romance have no more inspiring and memor- 
able story to relate. It is glorious as a dream. 

The Hungarians, whose struggles in this century 
have excited universal sympathy, had been relieved 
from political evils by Maria Theresa, who restored 
to them their privileges. For this they were deeply 
grateful to her. She was their queen, in virtue of a 
previous union of Austria and Hungary by the mar- 
riage of their respeciive sovereigns. 

In the great emergency of her dominions, therefore, 
she went to Presburg to be crowned, it being the cus- 
tom to repeat the act of coronation in each of the 
several kingdoms acknowledging one head. The cere- 
mony took Dlace, on the 13th of June, 1741. Accord- 
ing to the ancient usage, the iron crown of St. Stephen 
was placed on her, having been lined with cushions to 
make it fit her womanly head ; his ragged and vener- 
ate(i robe covered her jewelled dress, and his scimiter 
13 



194 MARIA THERESA. 



was girded at her side. An eye-witness of the scene 
writes that " the antiquated crown received new graces 
from her head, and the old tattered robe of St. Stephen 
oecame her as well as her own habit, if diamonds, 
pearls, and all sorts of precious stones can be called 
clothes." She rode gallantly to the top of the Eoyal 
Mount, a hill near Presburg, and went gracefully 
through the ceremony of waving the drawn sabre and 
defying "the four corners of the world." Then she 
returned, and dined in public. The heat and fatigue 
had heightened the color of her transparent com- 
plexion, the crown was removed, and her rich masses 
of hair fell in curls over her shoulders and breast. Her 
appearance, her recent liberal concessions, and her de- 
fenceless situation, aroused the warmest enthusiasm of 
the brave and chivalric Hungarians. 

She knew that she could trust herself and fortunes 
to their generosity and invincible prowess ; and, hav- 
ing summoned the representatives of all orders of the 
state to meet in diet at the great hall of the castle, she 
appeared, clad in mourning and the Hungarian cos- 
tume, and still wearing the crown and scimiter which 
were regarded by the nation with such religious respect. 
With slow, stately steps, she walked through the apart- 
ment, and ascended the tribune, from which it was cus- 
tomary for sovereigns to address the states. After an 
impressive silence, the chancellor stated her distresses 
and requested speedy assistance. Then she herself 
made a short speech in Latin, a language in common 
use among the Hungarians. She appealed to the depu- 
ties, declaring that her only resource was in their faith- 



MARIA THERESA. 196 



fulness, arms and tried valor; she called on them to 
deliberate as to the best means of rescuing her from 
danger, and promised always to seek their happiness. 
Her words and her loveliness set on fire all the admira- 
tion and martial spirit of the assembly ; they half drevv 
their swords and flung them back in their brazen scab- 
bards with a loud ringing sound, and shouted, " We 
will consecrate our lives and arms; we will die for our 
king, Maria Theresa I" It was a law that no queen 
could reign over them, and hence they called her king. 
She was overcome by this outburst of zeal, and wept 
for joy and gratitude. Such an evidence of sensibility 
kindled their enthusiasm almost to madness ; they shed 
tears of sympathy, and wildly gesticulating their reso- 
lution, retired and voted abundant supplies of men and 
money. 

A similar scene occurred, when the Duke of Lor- 
raine appeared to take oath, as co-regent of the king- 
dom. At the conclusion of the act, he waved his hand, 
and said, " My blood and life for the queen and king- 
dom." At the same moment, she held up her infant 
son. An exulting cry again arose ; and the deputies 
repeated their vow, " We will die for our king and her 
family; we will die for Maria Theresa." 

" Fail- Austria spreads her mournful charms, 

The queen, the beauty, sees the world in arms ; 
From hill to hill the beacon's towering blaze 
Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of praise 
The fierce Croatian, and the wild Hussar, 
With all the sons of ravage, crowd tlie wai'." 

^^'=t coup-cVetat of the empress soon chi\nged the 



196 MARIA THERESA. 



whole face of affairs. Naraerous half-savage tribes, 
from the far-off banks of the Save, the Teiss, the Drave 
and the Danube, sent their wild warriors to rally around 
her standard. Croats, Pandours, Sclavonians, Waras- 
dinians, and Tolpaches, as they are called, astonished 
the eyes of civilized Europe by their ferocious looks, 
and their strange dress, arms, and mode of warfare. 
The students of Vienna, whose modern representatives 
were bravely active in the revolution of 1848, mingled 
their delicate young faces with the shaggy beards of 
the Croats and Pandours. All classes pressed into the 
army, while the enemies of Maria Theresa became jeal- 
ous of each other, and divided in their councils. 

Frederic sought peace, in view of this turning of the 
tide of success, yet he was too proud to yield his claim 
to Silesia. The empress, having long and heroically 
resisted this claim, at length ceded to him a part of 
that province, well-knowing that she was not, with all 
her new supplies, a match for so many powerful ene- 
mies, on the right hand and the left. The Elector of 
Bavaria, aided by France, had already seized Bohemia, 
was crowned King of Prague, and soon after crowned 
Emperor of Germany, at Frankfort. This was a great 
offence to Maria Theresa, who wished her husband to be 
elected to the imperial diadem. And she was speedily 
avenged. The Austrian army, headed by the Duke of 
Lorraine, entered the capital of Bavaria as conquerors, 
the very day that the elector was crowned at Frankfort. 

The Austrians, supported by England and Holland, 
achieved one victory after another. The English 
kins:. George II., was himself present at hazardous 



MARIA THERKSA. 197 



battles • the semi-civilized Croatians swam rivers, each 
with his sabre in his mouth, and, mounting on each 
other's shoulders, scaled castle- walls ; the provinces in 
Italy were fortified, and the Spanish and French inva- 
sions repulsed in that direction ; Cardinal Fleury, foi 
seventeen years the animating soul of the court of 
France, died and left his nation without a pilot ; the 
French, besieged at Prague, were weakened by disease 
and famine, and at last fled to the Rhine, leaving twelve 
hundred men, destroyed by cold and hunger, to mark 
their track. Through the whole campaign, Maria 
Theresa issued her orders with great determination 
and wisdom. Her will seemed to have grown relent- 
less and imperious, by the difficulties she had met and 
overcome. She was vexed exceedingly at the escape 
of the "perfidious French," for whom she had no 
mercy ; she celebrated the evacuation of Prague with 
public chariot-races, in imitation of the Greeks ; and 
herself and her sister, habited in appropriate costume, 
took the reins, among others, and drove adventurously 
around the course, with flushed faces, erect forms and 
streaming robes, to the admiration of all beholders, 
ilfter the victory of Dettingen, the empress-queen, re- 
turning from a boating excursion, was cheered by the 
Viennese, who came forth to meet her and crowded the 
banks of the Danube, for nine miles. She celebrated 
the event by a Te Deum in the cathedral, and joyous 
festivities. 

Elated by unexpected success, her ambition, and her 
animosity to the powers that had conspired to crush her, 
at length knew no bounds. She rejected the compro- 



198 MAEIA THERESA. 



mises offered, and meditated nothing less than the com- 
plete dismemberment of the French and Prussian terri- 
tories. But dissension began to prevail among her 
allies. Frederic, who was always wide awake, guessed 
her designs, captured Prague and threatened her capital 
itself. Bavaria also, was again seized by her foes ; and 
Maria Theresa was forced to apply once more to her 
sympathetic Hungarians. She went to Presburg, and 
appealed to their loyalty with still greater effect. Count 
Palfy, the aged palatine, erected the great red banner 
of the kingdom, a signal for a general "insurrection," 
as a general levy of troops was called. Forty-four 
thousand men took up their march, and thirty thou- 
sa,nd others were collected in readiness. " This amazing 
unanimity," writes a man of that day, " of a people so 
divided amongst themselves, especially in point of re- 
ligion, could only be effected by the address of Maria 
Theresa, who seemed to possess one part of the charac- 
ter of Elizabeth of England, that of making every man 
about her a hero." An ecstacy of zeal prevailed from 
the highest to the lowest rank of society. The em- 
press sent a horse, a sword and a ring to the pala- 
tine ; the horse was her own, and richly caparisoned, 
and the sabre was studded with diamonds. 

The tide of war turned again. Bohemia and Bava- 
ria were reconquered ; and Charles VII. who had been, 
from the first, a puppet-emperor in the hands of France, 
died from chagrin and indigestion, like Charles VI. 
He enjoined on his son to make no pretensions to the 
crown ; the advice was complied with, and Austria 
seized the occasion to secure the election of the husbana 



MARIA THERESA. 199 



of the empress — Francis, Duke of Lorraine. He was 
crowned at Frankfort, Oct. 4th, 1745. Maria Theresa 
witnessed the ceremony from a balcony, and cried — 
" Long live the Emperor Francis L !" A general ac- 
klamation echoed her words. After this, she visited 
the army at Heidelberg, numbering sixty thousand ; 
she met the new emperor at the head of his troops, 
rode along the lines, saluting each rank with charming 
grace and majesty, dined under a pavilion, and gave 
largess to each soldier. 

Her husband being thus regularly invested with the 
imperial dignity, she was henceforth known as the 
" Empress-queen," Germany being the empire, and 
Hungary and Bohemia the queendoms. But though 
she had fairly, according to the code of force, won 
these high titles, she was compelled, out of regard to 
the Elector of Saxony, who was a constant sufferer in 
her cause, to resign Silesia to Prussia, by a final treaty. 
This humiliation slie had resisted for years, and with 
an immense expenditure of gold and blood. It was 
her pride to preserve entire the whole empire ; Fred- 
eric had been her first assailant; she could not forgive 
him for opening the general war against her ; and she 
had declared that she would sell her last shift, before 
she would yield one inch of Silesia. But, in Italy and 
Holland, her foes were triumphing; Marshal Saxe 
was retrieving the glory of French arms ; England 
was tired of furnishing money to Austria at the rate of 
a million pounds in one year, and had, moreover, a re- 
bellion at home to attend to ; and thus she was forced 
to consult prudence. 



200 MAKIA THERESA. 



In 1748, a general peace was ratified by the celebrated 
treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, at which the plenipotentiaries 
of all the leading powers, met. Even then and there, 
Count Kaunitz, acting under the instructions of the in- 
domitable empress-queen, endeavored to break up the 
conference, so unwilling was she to lose any territory, 
while a florin was left in her cofiPers, or a soldier under 
her command. As it was, she gave up Silesia, Parma, 
Placentia, and Guastilla. 

She now turned her attention to the internal admin- 
istration of the realm. To be well prepared for any 
new wars, she adopted a better discipline of the army, 
founded a military academy at the capital, and inspect- 
ed the camps and garrisons. The discerning Frederic 
acknowledged that her power over the hearts of her 
soldiers was magical, and that the Austrian army, 
never before so well trained, had been made to achieve 
successes worthy of a great man. 

In civil affairs, her energy was no less conspicuous 
than in military. Among many other beneficial meas- 
ures, she revised the courts of justice, abolished the 
custom of torture, and carried out a new plan of taxa- 
tion, by which, after eight years of war and the sur- 
render of four states, the revenues still exceeded those 
of any former reign by six millions of florins. She un- 
dertook to civilize the Gipsies, who abound more in 
Hungary and Bohemia than elsewhere, but neither re- 
wards nor punishments could induce that strange race 
to mingle with others and adopt a stationary and labo- 
rious life. The glory of her family and the good of 
her people, seemed to be the aaim'^.ting motives of 



MARIA THERESA. 201 



Maria Theresa, in all these reforms and enterprises. 
She sought advice or information from all quarters, 
yet would not be dictated to, in her plans. 

Her vigilance and activity were commendable, but 
were carried to an extreme injurious to her own health 
and comfort. She rose at five, breakfasted on a cup 
of milk-coffee, and then attended mass. " The floor of 
her room was so contrived, that it opened by a sliding 
parquet^ and mass was celebrated in the chapel be- 
neath : thus she assisted at the ceremony without be- 
ing seen, and with as little trouble and loss of time as 
possible. She then proceeded to business ; every Tues- 
day she received the ministers of the different apart 
ments ; other days were set apart for giving audience 
to foreigners and strangers, who, according to the eti- 
quette of the Imperial court, were always presented 
singly, and received in the private apartments. There 
were stated days on which the poorest and meanest of 
her subjects were admitted, almost indiscriminately ; 
and so entire was her confidence in their attachment 
and her own popularity, that they might whisper to 
her, or see her alone if they required it. At other 
times, she read memorials, or dictated letters and de- 
spatches, signed papers, &c. At noon, her dinner was 
brought in, consisting of a few dishes, served with sim- 
plicity ; after the death of her husband she usually 
dined alone, like Napoleon, to economize time. After 
dinner, she was engaged in public business until six ; 
after that hour, her daughters were admitted to join 
her in evening prayer : if they absented themselves, 

she sent to know if they were indisposed ; if not, they 

9# 



202 MARIA THERESA. 



were certain of meeting with a reprimand on the fol- 
lowing day. At half-past eight or nine she retired to 
rest. When she held a drawing-room or an evening 
circle, she remained till ten or eleven, and sometimes 
played at cards. Before the death of her husband, she 
was often present at the masked balls, or ridottas^ which 
were given at courj during the carnival ; afterward, 
these entertainments and the number of fetes, or gala- 
days, were gradually diminished in number. On the 
first day of the year, and on her birth-day, she held a 
public court, at which all the nobility, and civil and 
military officers, who did not obtain access at other 
times, crowded to kiss her hand. She continued this 
custom as long as she could support herself in a chair. 
Great part of the summer and autumn were spent at 
Schonbrunn, or at Lachsenburg. In the gardens of 
the former palace there was a little shaded alley, com- 
municating with her apartments. Here, in the sum- 
mer days, she was accustomed to walk up and down, 
or sit for hours together : a box was buckled round 
her waist, filled with papers and memorials, which she 
read carefully, noting with her pencil the necessary an- 
swers or observations to each. It was the fault, or 
rather the mistake of Maria Theresa to give up too 
much time to the petty details of business ; in her gov^ 
ernment, as in her religion, she sometimes mistook the 
form for the spirit, and her personal superintendence 
became more like the vigilance of an inspector-general, 
than the enlightened jurisdiction of a sovereign." Her 
nature, in short, was one of those endowed with an in- 
Dorn perpetual motion and uninterrupted inclii«5try 



MARIA THETIESA. 203 



What she lacked in genius, was made up by careful- 
ness and persistence. 

Francis does not appear to have participated much 
in his wife's enterprises. He might have felt a humble 
consciousness of his inferiority to her in governmental 
capacity, but, more likely, the long delay in his re- 
ceiving the imperial crown, and his taste for quiet pur- 
suits and pleasures, had confirmed him in habits averse 
to public business. The love, also, which he and Ma- 
ria Theresa had entertained for each other from infancy, 
had made it a second nature for each to yield to the 
other, without so much as thinking which used the 
greater authority or influence in their united decisions 
— without knowing whether, in domestic matters, one 
or both or neither ruled. With a mutually respectful 
and cordial affection, such a question never arises, and 
is impossible ; a oneness of choice is always realized, 
without dispute. A tender love is the harmonizer of 
opposite natures and wishes, the solvent of difficulties ; 
if carefully fed with the oil of kindness, and guarded 
against all the winds of passion, it is a clear flame that 
fuses the most stubborn and diverse characters into a 
flowing union that "runs smoothly," and is at length 
cast in one mould. The instance of Maria Theresa and 
her husband is remarkable. Never were there more 
or greater proofs of a happy companionship than theirs, 
notwithstanding lier superior position in affairs of state 
and his infidelity to marriage vows, which was well 
known to her. Their long and deep-rooted regard 
apparently led a spirited, intelligent emperor to sur- 
render all political power to his wife, while the virtu 



204 MARIA THERESA. 



ous, resolute empress calmly allowed her husband to 
indulge his licentious propensities as he pleased, pro; 
vided his purer devotion were still hers. There could 
be no more extreme and hazardous tests of their mu 
tual sympathy. It effected such a strange compromise 
of choice and exchange of privilege, as almost to dis- 
prove its own existence on the part of both these per 
sons, especially on the part of Francis. Indeed, this 
solution of the wonder would be inadmissible, were 
it not that those who wear crowns seem to regard the 
most iniquitous liberties as innocent in themselves. 

The emperor had some share in public acts, and 
might have taken the direction of affairs from one who 
exhibited undying constancy to him. He was asso- 
ciated with the skillful Kevenhuller, in leading several 
of the Austrian campaigns. But, for the most part, he 
kept himself in the background. At a grand lev^e, 
when the empress-queen was receiving a crowd that 
came to pay respect, he slipped away from her pres- 
ence to a remote corner of the room. Two ladies rose 
in reverence, as he approached ; but he said, " Do not 
mind me ; I shall stay here till the court is gone, and 
then amuse myself with looking at the crowd." One 
of the ladies replied, " As long as your imperial ma- 
jesty is present, the court will be here." " You mis- 
take," replied he ; "the empfess and my children are 
the court; I am here but as a simple individual." In 
the latter part of his life he had an intrigue with the 
Princess of Auersberg, and squandered a great amount 
of money and jewels on this fascinating woman ; but 
the empress treated the princess with careful politeness, 



I 



MARIA THERESA. 205 



and never manifested to any one her knowledge of the 
commonly reported affair of Francis. Much of his 
time was given to masks, balls, festivities, and the 
opera ; through his influence, Vienna became a city of 
great gayety and splendor. Much of his attention was 
shared by his family ; to his children he was kind and 
generous, and they regarded him with enthusiastic 
affection. He found time, also, amidst all his duties 
and recreations, to cultivate a love for the fine arts, for 
natural history, and chemistry in particular. This 
branch of science then included the wild belief in al- 
chemy. Francis spent no little time and money in 
the pursuit of the philosopher's stone, and in attempts 
to fuse many small diamonds into a large one, not 
knowing that this jewel is combustible ; and any per- 
sons, devoted to these schemes, were provided with 
materials at public expense. But the spendthrift dis- 
position of the emperor was also turned to good ac- 
count ; his charities were on as liberal a scale as his 
luxuries and scientific attempts. 

While her thoughtless and handsome husband was 
busy with his flirtation, music and alchemy, Maria 
Theresa was engaged in carrying on, or preparing for, 
wars of defence and conquest. After eight years of 
compulsory peace, subsequent to the treaty of Aix-la- 
Chapelle, which had terminated eight years of war, 
she took a step which resulted in " the seven years' 
war," wherein France, Kussia, Sweden, Denmark, and 
Spain were united with her against her old enemy, 
Frederic of Prussia, who was saved from annihilation 
only by the great aid of England, and his own great 



206 MARIA THERESA. 



genius. Before the campaigns of Napoleon, this war 
was the wonderful one of modern history, in view of 
its display of skill and courage, its dreadful waste of 
blood, and its surprising victories. Maria Theresa's 
long- cherished enmity to the Prussian king, was the 
cause of it. Though worshipped by her people, abun- 
dantly blessed in all the relations of life, and naturally 
of a humane mind, she could not forget the loss of Si- 
lesia, the guilt of Frederic as her first foe, and the bit- 
ter jests he had more recently uttered cencerning her- 
self and her husband's character. His insulting lan- 
guage, which came to her ears, kindled to a flame the 
suppressed fires of her former mortification, to which 
every thought of her lost province, everything that re- 
minded her of it, had added fresh fuel, for eight years. 
There was no way to gratify this revenge, except by 
an alliance with France, and thus an ungrateful rupture 
with England, her old and valuable friend. Three 
hundred years of implacable hatred between Austria 
and France were forgotten ; the faithless deception and 
fierce efforts of France towards herself, were over- 
looked ; the danger of alienating all her allies, by the 
junction of two great powers, was risked. There was 
no other way to crush Frederic, but by clasping hands 
with perfidious France. And there was no way to do 
this, except by stooping to flatter Madame de Pompa- 
dour, the influential, but low-born and shameless mis- 
tress of Louis XV. Kaunitz, the now confidential and 
able adviser of the empress, apologized for suggesting 
this expedient; but she — the daughter of a hundred 
kings — virtuous, devout and proud- "*^ once wrote to 



MARIA THERESA. 207 



Pompadour, calling her " Mj dear friend and cousin." 
The artifice succeeded. France was soon hand in glove 
with Austria. 

The emperor, as soon as the treaty was made known 
to him in the council at Yienna," struck the table with 
his hand, declared he would never consent to it, and 
walked awaj. His eldest daughter, Marianne, and 
his eldest son, Joseph, also protested with vehemence. 
But Maria Theresa soon won over her family to her 
schemes ; and when England, astonished at the incredi- 
ble news, remonstrated, she stained her pure name with 
a falsehood, declaring that the treaty had not yet been 
signed. Little did she foresee, when she thus abused 
the long-tried friendship of England, resorted to de- 
grading artfulness and let loose the hounds of a gen- 
eral, protracted and bloody war, — little did she foresee 
the retribution that followed, especially the deplorable 
end of her own fair daughter, Marie Antoinette, who, 
in consequence of this same alliance, afterwards be- 
came a queen of France. 

The leaders of the Austrian armies, were Marshal 
Daun, a Bohemian ; Marshal Loudon, a Scot ; and Mar- 
shal Lacy, of Irish descent. Francis was intrepid even 
to rashness; this fact, together with his moderate talents, 
and her fear of the confusion that might follow his death, 
may have induced the empress to dissuade him from tak- 
ing any command in the ensuing contests, in the course 
of which Silesia was regained and once more lost, and tne 
vicissitudes of success so great that at one time Yienna 
was nearly overwhelmed, at another the Prussian sov- 
ereign driven from his capital. One of the chief vie- 



208 MARIA THERESA. 



tories^ on ttie Austrian side, was that of Kolin, June 
18th, 1757, by which the empire was saved from alarm 
ing danger. In gratitude for this deliverance, and in 
celebration of this triumph, the soldiers were generous- 
ly rewarded, medals were struck, Te Deums chanted, 
and the " Order of Maria Theresa" founded, as a mark 
of honor to the officers who had distinguished them- 
selves. Nor was the empress less magnanimous to 
bravery when unaccompanied by success. At Torgau, 
the same Marshal Daun, conqueror at Kolin, was de- 
feated in a critical battle, after heroically sustaining it ; 
and the empress showed him unprecedented regard by 
going forth to meet him on his return to Vienna, and 
addressing him in words of kind encouragement. 
Though many thousands fell in many battles, to ap- 
pease her ambition or resentment, she was still a noble 
and sympathizing woman, whenever adversity appealed 
to her better feelings. And in this she was unlike the 
insensible Frederic, who refused to ransom or exchange 
one of his princely subjects, when taken prisoner, or 
even to notice his letters; Maria Theresa, however, 
liberated him, without ransom, when he tried to redeem 
himself. 

After seven years' war, Frederic, contending almost 
single-handed against the three greatest powers of the 
continent, and many of the smaller ones, was nearly 
exhausted and overthrown. Such was his despair, that 
he carried poison with him, determined to die rather 
than be taken prisoner. He who had despised all 
women, and abused his wife and sisters, was almost 
crushed at last by the retaliation of two women, the 



MARFA THERESA. 209 



bovereigJi of Austria, and Elizabeth, Empress of Russia. 
Against the latter, as against the former, he had spoken 
sarcastically, though too justly ; " she retorted with an 
army of fifty thousand men." The two empresses were 
his mightiest foes, and were just at the point of final 
triumph, when Peter the Third, an enthusiastic ad- 
mirer of Frederic, succeeded to the Russian sceptre, 
by the death of Elizabeth, and took the part of Prussia. 
This event put the contest on a more equal footing 
again. But all concerned were tired of so protracted 
bloodshed, and of melting even jewels and church- 
plate into money. An Austrian prisoner assured Fred- 
eric that his queen would consent to terms. The king 
seized a half-sheet of paper, wrote ten lines of proposed 
treaty, and despatched it to Vienna, requiring an im- 
mediate reply. Maria Theresa accepted it at once. By 
this treaty, all things were to be as at the commence- 
ment of the war. Five hundred thousand men had 
been slain, Bohemia and Saxony laid waste, Prussia 
left with hardly a man, and all Europe kept in seven 
years' alarm, in order that two or three crowned heads 
might settle their personal grievances. Nor were the 
devastations of the sword and torch confined to Europe. 
England and France carried their part of the quarrel 
wherever the possessions of each came into contact. 
France lost the most of her ground in America and the 
East and West Indies, together with the best part of 
her armies, commerce and treasure ; and all these dis- 
asters hastened the Reign of Terror, wherein Marie 
Antoinette lost her head. 
The treaty of general peace was signed in 1763. 
14 • 



210 MARIA THERESA. 



Two 3^ ears afterward, the imperial court journeyed to In- 
spruck, to attend the marriage of Maria Theresa's second 
son, the Archduke Leopold with the infanta of Spain. 
Leopold, succeeded to his father's duchy of Tuscany, 
and, being a man of strong mind and good heart, con- 
tributed greatly to the reform and prosperity of his 
state. While at Inspruck, his father, the Emperor 
Francis, died. Already ill, and with some premoni- 
tion of his danger, he took leave of his children who 
remained at Vienna ; Marie Antoinette, then ten years 
old, was his favorite child, and he kissed and pressed 
her to his heart a second time. At Inspruck, his wife 
was alarmed at his symptoms, and urged him to be 
bled. But he replied, in sad jest, " Do you wish to 
kill me with bleeding ?" He was again entreated on 
Sunday, August 18th, to try the remedy, and said, " I 
must go to the opera,, and I am engaged afterward to 
sup with Joseph," — though it is affirmed that he was 
really to sup with his paramour, the Princess of 
Auersburg. But, as he left the opera, he fell dead 
with apoplexy. Maria Theresa was inconsolable, and 
the more so, doubtless, on account of her conviction 
that he was unprepared to die. She wrote the next 
day, to her family, in these words : " Alas, my dear 
daughters, I am unable to comfort you ! Our calamity 
is at its height ; you have lost a most incomparable 
father, and I a consort — a friend — my heart's joy for 
forty-two years past! Having been brought up to- 
gether, our hearts and our sentiments were united in 
the same views. All the misfortunes I have suffered 
during the last twenty-five years were softened by his 



MARIA THERESA. 211 



support. I am suffering such deep affliction, that 
nothing but true piety and you, my dear children, can 
make me tolerate a life which, during its continuance, 
shall be spent in acts of devotion." 

She could not bear the scene of her affliction, and 
sailed immediately for her capital, accompanied only 
by her son, an officer, and a lady attendant. Francis 
was buried at Vienna, in a family-vault, constructed 
under the Capuchin church, by the order of Maria, 
when she was but twenty -six years of age. At every 
anniversary of her husband's death, during the fifteen 
years that she survived him, she visited his tomb, and 
engaged in devotions. Through all those years, also, 
she wore mourning, inhabited plainly-furnished rooms, 
draped with black cloth, and, shunning scenes of 
gayety, confined herself to state business and religious 
observances. At the next court occasion, after the 
emperor's death, she directed all the ladies to appear 
in mourning. This order was complied with, except 
by the Princess of Auersburg, who appeared in a rich 
dress and highly rouged. The empress drew back her 
hand in surprise and contempt, when the princess 
offered to kiss it. But, though the frivolous woman 
never appeared in the royal presence again, Maria 
Theresa treated her interests with the same scrupulous 
regard that she had shown when she insisted on the 
payment of two hundred thousand florins to the prin- 
cess, according to an order on the public treasury, 
written by Francis the day before his death. She did 
not take the course of conduct prompted by virtuous 
indignation, but, from first to last, she acted with a 



212 MARIA THERESA. 



lofty magnanimity. In this world of petty jealousies 
and small resentments, too much admiration cannot 
be rendered to a high-minded independence. Maria 
Theresa's retaliations were on a great scale — were 
either grandly national or nothing. 

It is wonderful how much she managed to accom- 
plish. She was the mainspring of every enterprise, 
and attended to everything personally ; she necessarily 
gave much time to the thousand forms and ceremonies 
of her station ; she never forgot her many devotional 
tasks ; and she was the mother of sixteen children, in 
the course of twenty years. These children were 
brought up to simple habits, benevolent acts, a profi- 
ciency in music and Italian, an empty knowledge of the 
lives of Romish saints, and an overweening family pride. 
The incongruous results of such an education were 
seen in their after lives; many great or good deeds 
were mingled with their bigotry and their excessive 
and sometimes fatal devotion to family interests. 

Nearly all her sons and daughters, who grew to ma- 
turity, occupied positions of importance. The eldest 
son, Joseph, succeeded to the Germin Empire, and 
displayed great talents, though timid and taciturn ir» 
childhood. A younger son, Charles, died at the age 
of sixteen ; he was bold and brilliant, and his parents 
treated him with partiality, mistakenly regretting that 
the government would not fall to him. Joseph first 
married the Princess of Parma, a dark-eyed Italian of 
remarkable beauty ; she was very melancholy and cold 
to all persons, from the hour of her marriage; it is 
supposed that her heart had been given away pre- 



MAEfA THERESA. 213 



viously, and this belief lias been embodied in a story. 
She died soon, and Joseph married the Princess of Bava- 
ria, who was as homely as her predecessor was charming, 
and was treated with cruel neglect by all her husband's 
family, except the Emperor Francis, at whose death 
she exclaimed, with tears, " Ah, miserable, I have lost 
my only supporter." Leopold, the next surviving son, 
has already been mentioned. Ferdinand, the third son, 
was gentle and beneficent, married the daughter of the 
Duke of Modena, and inherited that duchy. Maxi- 
miliam, the youngest son, was Elector of Cologne. 

The daughters were all gifted, and all beautiful, like 
their mother, excepting the eldest, Marianna, who was 
deformed. She and Elizabeth were never married, 
and lived at home in seclusion, engaged in study, 
prayer, or deeds of benevolence. Christiana was much 
like the empress, who was very partial to her; her 
talents were greater, and her determined attachment to 
her chosen lover, equal to her mother's, many years 
before ; it is said to have hastened the peace of Hu- 
bertsberg. With her husband, Prince Albert of Sax- 
ony, she governed Hungary, afterwards the Nether- 
lands, and exercised great influence with her sisters, 
the Queens of France and Naples. Amelia was sur- 
passingly bright in mind and person, and excelled in 
amateur dramatic performances ; she married the Duke 
of Parma, and occasioned some trouble by her frivol- 
ity. Joanna, af&anced to the King of Naples, died of 
the small-pox; the next sister, Josepha, who was to 
take her place, died of the same disease. The circum- 
stances were very affecting: she was fifteen, lovely and 



214 MARIA THERESA. 



tall, with a clear face and long light hair ; she was pub- 
licly betrothed and treated as a queen already; but she 
dreaded her destin3^ In this state of extreme sensi* 
tiveness, she was directed by her mother to visit her 
father's tomb and pay her last respect to his memory. 
With many tears she consented, but, while in the vault, 
was seized with chills and faintness, and the next day 
was attacked with the small-pox, from which she died, 
to the great grief of the empress, who too late lamented 
her imperious treatment. The next daughter, Caroline, 
equally intelligent and lovely, finally married the Nea- 
politan king, whose dulness and amiability easily 
brought him under the entire control of his cunning 
wife, and her more cunning and famous coadjutor. Lady 
Hamilton. Marie Antoinette, the youngest daughter, 
was the wife and fellow- victim of Louis XVI. of France. 
The many family afflictions of Maria Theresa, calmly 
borne during all her arduous reign, enhance her heroic 
merits. 

Her habits of devout meditation and worship, no 
less than her strong character, enabled her to do and 
suffer so much. Hers was a most exacting, unnatural 
and puerile round of religious ceremonies ; she spent 
the entire month of August in penance and prayer for 
her husband's departed soul ; she gave five hours every 
day to the same monastic occupations ; but the spirit 
of piety may live under any forms, however cum- 
brous ; and, if she acted according to her best knowl- 
edge, her zeal should provoke respect and admiration. 
Certainly, if faith is to be judged by its fruits, hers had 
much that was praiseworthy. She was eminently be* 



MAKIA THEEESA. 215 



neficent, and deeply affected by all forms of woe. 
Meeting some half-famished persons in Vienna, she 
said, " What have I done that Providence should af- 
flict my eyes with such a sight as this ?" Her charities 
" amounted to more than eighty thousand a year," says 
an English writer. Her virtue, however, at length 
took one shape that was more odious than injurious. 
PVom no love of gossip, apparently, but with the idea 
that her vigilant superintendence and reformatory 
power should be almost omniscient and omnipotent, 
in her kingdom, she exercised, through a multitude of 
spies, a despotic surveillance of the private affairs of 
families ; and any lady, of any rank, who overstepped 
a chaste decorum, was banished to the limits of the 
realm. 

Throughout her dominions, she instituted or im- 
proved -academies, schools, observatories, systems of 
prizes, regulations for the encouragement of agricul- 
ture; she founded a hospital for small-pox, and pro- 
moted inoculation, for the want of which she herself 
suffered great disfigurement of her beauty, which was 
finally obliterated by her obesity and by an accident 
which mangled her face. She suppressed the Inquisi- 
tion and the society of Jesuits, interdicted many of the 
useless saint's days, and opened the royal parks to com- 
mon use as a public promenade, now known as the 
Prater — a magnificent feature of Vienna. But her 
censorship of the press and prohibition of French and 
English literature, was, to a great extent, very bigoted 
and oppressive. A book was condemned, if, in it, "a 
doubt was thrown upon the sanctity of some hermit or 



216 MART A THERESA. 



monk of the middle ages, or if it attacked superstition, 
in the slightest degree." 

The partition of Poland, in 1772, is the greatest blot 
that rests on the reign of Maria Theresa. But her own 
share in it has many mitigating considerations. The 
dismemberment was first resolved upon by the Prussian 
and Kussian governments ; and Maria Theresa was per- 
suaded by her son Joseph, already clothed with powers 
equal to hers, and by her chief counsellor, Kaunitz, to 
join in the iniquitous measure, in order to check the 
ambition of her old rival, Frederic. Her consent shows 
how a spirit of policy may extinguish the liveliest im- 
pulses of the heart ; for she acted towards Poland as 
other governments, to her everlasting indignation, had 
designed to act towards her, in the beginning of her 
reign : her grandfather and his dominions had been 
saved from the Turks by the bravery of the Poles, a 
century before ; and the portraits of that ancestor and 
his Polish deliverer, were the only ones that graced the 
room she daily occupied. 

So inconsistent and ungrateful was that ambition 
which further persuaded her to consent to another war 
with Prussia, occasioned by a revival of the Austrian 
claim to Bohemia. Yet she remonstrated against this 
step with tears, sent five hundred ducats to those who 
suffered by the ravages of her army, and herself wrote 
a frank letter to Frederic that terminated the conflict. 
The two aged enemies now exchanged messages of 
kindness, and the question was settled by the interven- 
tion of Russia, at Maria Theresa's earnest solicitation 
She wept for joy at this, and said, " I am overpowered 



MAKIA THERESA. 217 



witli joy ! I do not love Frederic, but I must do him 
the justice to confess that he has acted nobly and hon- 
orably. I am inexpressibly happy to spare the effusion 
of so much blood !" 

These were among the last acts of her life. She had 
knelt in prayer that God would avert that war, while 
her armies, led by her son, were passing forth, before 
her windows, with music and flying banners. Now- 
she publicly returned thanks, in the church of the 
Capuchins, for the success of her prayers. It was a fit 
prelude for her approaching and serene, though painful 
death. She is described, at this period, "as an old 
lady, immensely corpulent, habited in the deepest 
weeds, with her gray hair slightly powdered, and turned 
back under a cap of black crape. Notwithstanding 
her many infirmities, her deportment was still digni- 
fied, her manner graceful as well as gracious, and her 
countenance benign. The disorder from which she 
suffered was a dropsy, accompanied by an induration 
of the lungs, which brought on fits of suffocation, and at 
length terminated her existence." Such, in hex last days, 
was the woman who, in the flush of beauty and vigor 
of youth, had roused the wild admiration of the Hunga- 
rians, and so played upon the strings of those noble hearts 
that the music of a thousand sabres rattling in their 
scabbards, rang through the royal halls of Presburg. 

The distresses of her sickness were intolerable, yet 
she endured them with fortitude and patience. Once 
she said, " God grant that these sufferings may soon 
terminate, for otherwise I know not if I can much 
longer endure them." She entreated her son not to 



"21^ MARIA THERESA. 



weep in her presence, lest sympathy for him would 
take away her firmness. To his care she affectionately 
bequeathed her children, as all of hers that did not al- 
ready of right belong to him, her successor. Until the 
evening before her death, she was busy signing papers, 
and giving him parting advice. When he exhorted 
her to take repose, she replied, " In a few hours T shall 
appear before the judgment-seat of God, and would 
you have me sleep?" Eemembering her plans of 
charity, her words were, " If I could wish for immor- 
tality on earth, it would only be for the power of re- 
lieving the distressed." Just before her last breath, 
some one whispered, " The empress sleeps." She open- 
ed her eyes and said, *' I do not sleep ; I wish to meet 
my death awake" — heroic and memorable words ! Her 
whole people, as well as family, were plunged into sor- 
row by her death, and, for many years, her subjects 
often spoke of their " mother," as they affectionately 
termed one who had tenderly cared for their comfort, 
up to the day of her death, Kov. 29th, 1780. She lived 
to the age of sixty-three years, six months, and reigned 
forty years. 

Her career has but one rival in splendor, in the his- 
tory of crowned women. Its glory is dimmed only by 
the bloodthirst and intolerance of her period, and of 
ler family, indeed, down to this hour. Kever was 
more accomplished by the life of any female, whether 
for good or evil. In a private sphere, she would have 
left an example worthy of imitation in all respects. 
As a queen in a freer and enlightened land, not a breath 
would have sallied the glorious mirror of her character. 



i 



t I 



JOSEPHINE. 




X-n^rsMed 6^ J C . But 



^: 



^^^^^ 



V. 

"A truer, nobler, trustier heart, 
More loving or more loyal, never beat 
"Within a human breast," — Byron. 

The island of Martinique claims the distinction ol 
being the birth-place of Josephine, who was born the 
24th day of June, 1763. Her father, M. de Tascher, 
wa3 a man of influence and moderate wealth, possess- 
ing a large plantation and an ample retinue of slaves. 
He was a^man of ambition and unyielding sternness, 
and to this, in a great measure, was owing the misfor- 
tunes which embittered Josephine's early life, and 
threw her into the whirl of events that bore her on to 
greatness and suffering. 

Her childhood was spent in lively sports and amuse- 
ments, attended by young negresses who were permit- 
ted to indulge her every whim, and accustomed to obey 
instantly the most childish requirements, till, by un- 
limited indulgence, her naturally sweet disposition was 
in danger of being spoiled. 

Fortunately, Madam de Tascher was wise enough to 
<jee this, and brought Josephine more within her own 



222 JOSEPHINJiJ. 



maternal influence, allowing her a larger share of the 
affection which had been almost exclusively bestowed 
upon the elder, more beautiful, and only sister — Maria. 
The latter, like her mother, was of sedentary habits 
md a mild, unimpassioned temperament ; thus they had 
more sympathies in common, while Josephine was all 
vivacity and enthusiasm. She was a favorite with her 
father, and from him came all the instruction she re- 
ceived, till, on reaching her twelfth year, she was 
placed under the superintendence of Maria's teacher, 
who gave her lessons in the form of amusements. 

Her sociability and excessive fondness for dancing, 
led Madam de Tascher often to give fetes, at which the 
young Creoles of the island were assembled ; but the 
sombre Maria rarely participated in these festivities, 
much preferring to pursue her studies, or to ramble 
alone. She was busily occupied in cultivating such 
talenis as she possessed, and acquiring those accom- 
plishments deemed necessary to a woman of the world, 
in anticipation of a future home in France, where an 
aunt, in influential circumstances, had offered to provide 
her with an establishment, and designed her hand for 
the son of the Marquis de Beauharnois. 

Josephine, on the contrary, looked upon the island 
of Martinique as her continued home. When she 
gazed over the ocean that separated her from the rest 
of the world, it created no longings to mingle in the 
dissipation and reckless folly that her mother described 
to her as pervading la belle France^ but the sight in- 
spired in her a strong love of grandeur and sublimity, 
and increased her already lively imagination. 



JOSEPHINE. 223 



But there was a spell that bound her heart to Mar- 
tinique, which gave her contentment in its quiet re- 
treats, or otherwise her active, restless spirit must have 
sought a wider world. 

Through all her childhood, Josephine had shared 
her amusements with William de K . . ., the son of 
h^nglish parents who had sought refuge in Martinique 
after the fall of the House of Stuart, whose cause they 
espoused, and therefore suffered proscription. The 
two children had grown up together in happy compan- 
ionship, and formed an attachment that was never erf- 
faced. When Josephine reached her twelfth year, she 
had made so little progress in her studies, though an 
apt scholar, that Madam de Tascher decided to send 
her to France and place her in a convent, till the com- 
pletion of her education. But this was a terrible stroke 
to the young lovers, to whom separation would have 
been the greatest grief. By the most earnest assurances 
from Josephine of her future application, she was permit- 
ted to remain on trial. During the following six months, 
she made such rapid progress as persuaded her mother to 
recall her threat of sending her from Martinique ; and 
she not only allowed her to continue her studies with 
William de K . . ., under the same master, but, through 
the interposition of his mother, Josephine's hand was 
promised him conditionally. Thus they happily and 
lovingly remained together, studying, or rambling for 
shells along the sea-shore, carving their united names 
upon the trees, or gathering the beautiful blossoms of 
the amaryllis gigantea, a plant which she so admired 
for its associations as well as its beauty, that she after- 



224 JOSEPHINE. 



wards caused it to be transplanted to tlie garden of 
Malmaison, where it still grows luxuriantly. 

Kot long after M. de K . . . was called to England 
and was accompanied by his son, with the avowed pur- 
pose of pursuing his studies at Oxford ; but, unknown 
to himself or Josephine, the real object of the voyage 
was to assert heirship to an estate which M. de K . . . 
was to inherit on condition his son should marry the 
niece of the testator. The months of silence that en- 
sued, were so full of anxiety on Josephine's part, that 
^er health was evidently suffering from it. No letter 
nor message came from the young Creole, who had seem- 
ingly forgotten her in the new interests of the great 
world, yet she would not believe the representations of 
her friends that lie had ceased to love her. 

To console and divert her, Madam de Tascher gath- 
ered young companions in their pleasant home, and 
endeavored to occupy her mind by an interest in the 
study of languages and accomplishing herself upon the 
harp. She possessed a sweet, plaintive voice, and that 
kind of talent which readily acquires anything placed 
within its reach, with little application. She chiefly 
enjoyed quiet walks with Mademoiselle de K . . ., when 
they would lounge under the shade of romantic cedars, 
talking for hours of William, or throw stones at tree- 
marks, to ascertain by the stroke if her lover was faith- 
less. But this friendship was 'of short duration, for 
Mademoiselle de K . . . deceived her ; Josephine's true, 
transparent nature had afiinity only with candor and 
simplicity, and she could no longer endure her artful 
friend. 



JOSKPHINE. 225 



While the Pagerie mansion was gay with the youna 
Creole girls, gathered to amuse Josephine, a new ex- 
citement, one day aroused them from a languid siesta 
and inspired them with all the vivacity which so es 
peciall}^ belongs to the French. The fortune-telling 
fame of an old Irish woman, or as some have it, a ne- 
gress, called Euphemia, who lived in a sequestered and 
wild retreat named the " Three Islets," reached their 
ready ear; curious to lift the veil of futurity, they one 
and all decided to consult the oracle. 

Josephine accompanied her companions more for 
their pleasure than her own ; not quite willing to be- 
lieve what might be predicted, but with a secret thought 
of William, she followed the gay party, who, with 
laughter and harmless sallies at each other's expense, 
hastened to the dark, rocky glen, where the fortune- 
teller's hut was half hidden among a wild growth uf 
large-leaved plants and tall trees. Their courage be- 
gan to fail, however, as they approached the dwelling ; 
but, after some whispering hesitation as to who should 
dare to enter first, they summoned boldness enough to 
make their errand known. The old woman sat upon 
a cane mat in the centre of the cabin, and perceiving 
the shrinking girls, called on them to come nearer. 
Each successively submitted her hand for inspection, 
and to all were predicted extraordinary adventures and 
misfortunes. Josephine presented hers last, though 
she would have gone away unenlightened but for the 
persuasions of her companions. The lines of her hand 
being attentively examined, she was told, " You will 
soon be married, but not to the one you love: the 
15 



226 JOSEPHINE. 



union will not he happy: your husband will perish 
tragically. You will then marry a man who will as- 
tonish the world, and you will become an eminent 
woman and possess a superior dignity." 

The young girls returned to Madam de Tascher, 
half frightened, half unbelieving at the strange desti- 
nies predicted; but Josephine made light of the whole 
affair, entirely unwilling to have faith in a prophecy 
which, if fulfilled, must separate her from William de 
K... 

Not long after, the sudden death of Maria, who was 
in the midst of preparations for a voyage to France, 
cast a deep gloom over the family, which had hitherto 
known only joy and gaiety. The mother could not be 
consoled at the loss of her favorite daughter and com* 
panion. Touched by her mother's grief, Josephine de- 
termined to imitate her sister so closely as in a manner 
to fill the sad vacancy, which, with her sensibility, she 
felt most poignantly herself At once the child became 
a woman. Her amusements, her reckless rambles, her 
gay companions, were all rejected, and she remained at 
her mother's side or employed her hours in the most 
studious application to pursuits hitherto neglected. 
Her efforts and rapid progress surprised and attracted 
Madam de Tascher, and henceforth the amiable Jose- 
phine felt herself fully repaid for her exertions, in receiv- 
ing the unlimited affection and approbation of both her 
parents. At this time, the arrival of a package from 
France and the proposals it contained, afflicted her with 
a new and serious anxiety. The wishes of her aunt to 
receive her in Maria's place, and also to bestow her 



JOSEPHINE. 227 



hand where her sister^s had been promised, were quick- 
ly made known to her by her father. 

"You promised me to William de K . . .," replied 
she in surprise at her father's tone of assent to the ar- 
rangement. But he assured her that was no barrier- 
as William was obliged to marry a joint-heir of the es- 
tate fallen to him, or forfeit the bequeathment, which 
his father would not permit. "Besides," said he, 
" William has forgotten you ; you should cease to 
think of one who has so neglected you." Knowing 
nothing of the affectionate and overflowing letters 
which her parents retained from her, she was persuad- 
ed to consent to what her father would allow no refu- 
sal of; and after many tears, regrets, and useless en- 
treaties, she separated from her family, her quiet home 
with all its happy associations, and left the wild and 
romantic island of Martinique for a home in a land 
where she was to reach a position and acquire a fame, 
exceeding the wildest dreams of ambition her father 
could have entertained for her. 

As the ship, which was to convey her to France, left 
port, a singular phenomenon attracted the attention of 
all on board, as well as those assembled on shore. A 
phosphoric flame, known to mariners as St. Elmo^s fire, 
attached itself to the mast-head of the vessel, throwing 
out jets of light and encircling the ship with crown- 
like rays. Those who had heard the prediction in re- 
spect to Josephine, looked upon it with superstitious 
awe; but she was too much overcome with grief to 
regard it in any lightj and remained unconsoled during 
the whole voyage. To a young giil scarcely fifteen, 



228 JOSEPHINE. 



it was a severe trial to be separated, perhaps forever, 
from her family, and more especially from the affec- 
tionate sympathy of an amiable, cultivated, judicious 
mother. 

She was kindly received at Marseilles by her aunt, 
Madame Renaudin, with whom she repaired directly to, 
Fontainebleau. During the ensuing month, Josephine 
could not overcome the depression of spirits, fast in- 
fringing upon her health, and not lessened by her 
knowledge of the presence of William de K . . . in 
Paris, his frequent attempts to see her, and the discov- 
ery of his unchanged affections. To see him would 
but add to their distress, since he was betrothed to an- 
other, and the negotiations for her own marriage were 
in progress ; while, on the other hand, the young Vis- 
count Beauharnois was extremely repugnant to the 
match. Though he had admired the picture of Maria, 
he was extremely disappointed in Josephine, and at 
the same time was entirely devoted to a Madame de 
V . . . ., who possessed his affections. 

Josephine, bewildered and ill, but still dutiful to the 
commands of her parents, permitted her aunt and the 
Marquis de Beauharnois to use their influence with the 
viscount ; but she entreated permission to retire to a 
convent, on the plea of her ill health. The Abbey de 
Panthemont was selected by Madame Renaudin. Jo- 
sephine remained there nearly a year, and, at the ex- 
piration of that time, became the wife of Alexandre de 
Beauharnois. 

He is described as "an amiable, accomplished man, 
of noble and dignified bearing, and a favorite at court, 



JOSEPHINE. 229 



where lie obtained the soubriquet of the ^teau danseur^^ 
from his graceful participation in the festivities of Yer- 
sailles." . He highly esteemed Josephine, but his un- 
abated attachment for Madame de Y . . . ., together 
with the scandal continually poured into the ears of his 
wife, gave rise to such jealousy on her part as to de- 
stroy their domestic peace. The birth of her son Eu- 
gene, for a time diverted her, but, through the ma- 
liciousness of her rival, Beauharnois in his turn became 
jealous of her early love; annoyed by her tears and 
reproaches, he left her, on plea of business, to remain 
•several months at Yersailles. Josephine then withdrew 
entirely from the gayety in which her new position had 
thrown her. Though her debut at court had been a 
flattering one, and the favors shown her by Marie An- 
toinette were sufficient to give eclat to her presence, 
yet she gladly escaped from the vortex of pleasure in 
which the giddy French were continually involved, 
and retired to a quiet retreat at Croissy, where she re- 
sumed her long-neglected studies, successfully culti- 
vating the talents that, now fully awakened, gave a 
more decided tone to her character. She was grieved 
at the neglect of her husband, but she was grcartly con- 
soled in her trials by the birth of Hortense, the more 
welcome since she was deprived of the society and care 
of her idolized son, whom his father had placed at a 
private boarding-house. 

Hearing from Madame Kenaudin of Beauharnois' 
intentions to obtain a divorce, she retired to the con- 
vent which had before received her, determined to re 
main till the suit was decided. Confident of her own 



230 JOSEPHINE. 



innocence, and sincerely attached to the man, who was 
strangely blinded to her faithful affection through the 
misrepresentations of spies upon her movements, and 
overwhelmed with grief at the turmoil in which her 
sensitive heart was continually plunged, she shut her- 
self within the gloomy walls of the Abbey de Panthe- 
mont, submissively enduring and performing the in- 
numerable penances imposed upon her by the abbess. 

Hortense was her companion in this grim, sombre 
prison-house, lessening the tediousness of the long mel- 
ancholy hours. Two weary years dragged away thus, 
serving at least to obliterate every trace of frivolity 
that might have remained from her light-hearted girl- 
hood, and giving that dignity and composure to her 
manner which are the imj^ress of long-continued grief! 
It also enabled her to cultivate, though unconsciously, 
a fortitude of character valuable in her after trials, and 
so chastened her spirit as to inspire her with ready 
sympathy in the afflictions of others — a trait that en- 
deared her to the French nation when she wielded the 
power of an empress, and one which she could not 
have possessed to so keen a degree but for her own 
early trials. 

As soon as the Parliament at Paris had decided the 
suit of divorce in her favor, she determined to return 
to Martinique ; but, unable to prevail upon Beauhar- 
nois to allow Eugene to accompany her, she was 
obliged to embark alone with Hortense. Two years 
of quiet home-life in her native island, somewhat re- 
stored the natural cheerfulness of her temper, yet the 
remembrance of her husband and son, widely separated 



JOSEPHINE. 231 



from her, often disturbed the otherwise complete rest 
under her father's roof 

Another interview with Euphemia the fortune-teller, 
confirmed the superstitious belief she entertained in the 
destiny that awaited her. It was with both fear and 
joy, therefore, that she again left Martinique for the 
scenes which henceforth tended towards the accom- 
plishment of her elevation. 

The news of Beauharnois' acknowledgment of his 
wife's innocence and his readiness to receive her again, 
reawakened all her affection and had induced her to 
seek the shores of France, and reunite the divided 
family. They met at Paris. Hortense, who already 
gave promise of much beauty, was presented to her 
father in the free, graceful dress of a young Creole. 
He was surprised to find himself possessed of so lovely 
a daughter, while Josephine rejoiced equally in meet- 
ing with Eugene, from whom she had long so been 
separated. Several months of peaceful reconciliatior: 
succeeded, and Josephine was at last happy. 

Beauharnois had at this time attained the rank of 
major of a regiment of infantry ; he was also a repre- 
sentative in the national assembly, and, in the follow- 
ing year, 1791, was appointed president of that body. 
Josephine listened with deep interest to the political 
discussions now carried on in her saloons, which were 
the resort of the most prominent members of the as- 
sembly ; but she could not conceal her anxiety as to 
the future of France, and the fate of those who, she 
foresaw, were to take the lead in the rapidly-approach- 
ing struggle. Beauharnois preserved a mild, firm 



JOSEPHINE. 



bearing throughout the storm that soon burst with 
frightful havoc upon the nation, remaining loyal to his 
king, whom he venerated and loved, while he saw and 
urged the necessity of the monarch's compliance with 
the demands of the people. '* At the flight of the king, 
he displayed a firmness and calmness that challenged 
even the admiration of his enemies ; he loudly de- 
claimed against the exegition of the monarch." 

In 1793, he was appointed general-in-chief of the 
army of the Rhine. He was accompanied during that 
short campaign by Eugene, then scarcely twelve years 
old, and who had already exhibited military capacity 
of a high order. In consequence of political difficulties 
and the withdrawal of the most efficient men from the 
army, General Beauharnois sent in his resignation, 
and, on his return to France, was ordered to retire 
twenty leagues from the frontiers. He remained in 
quiet seclusion during a short period, until he fell 
under suspicion, was arrested, brought to Paris, and, 
like the host who already crowded the prisons, awaited 
in chains a speedy death. 

Madame Beauharnois was filled with terror at the 
news of the long-dreaded catastrophe. She exerted all 
her influence and eloquence to save him, but only 
brought vengeance on her own head. She, too, was 
imprisoned in the gloomy walls of a monastery belong- 
ing to the Carmelite priests, the other prisons being 
already crowded. Hortense was kindly cared for by a 
friend of Josephine, and Eugene was adopted by a poor 
artisan, with whom he labored, employing his leisure 
hours in study and military exercises. Madame Beau- 



JOSEPHINE. 288 



harnois was not alone in her imprisonment. Her room 
and the adjoining ones were occupied by ladies of rank, 
who, like herself, suffered innocently and waited in 
hourly expectation of being led forth to execution. 
They, with many other prisoners, assembled daily in 
the court or corridors, to console each other, to weep to- 
gether, or to lament the daily loss of their numbers, as 
one after another was torn away to meet a horrible 
death. 

In the midst of all this terror and grief, Madame 
Beauharnois preserved a calm, fearless aspect, in part 
supported by her belief in the prediction of her strange 
future. To inspire her terrified companions with 
courage, she assured them it had been foretold she was 
to be Queen of France, and if the prophecy was to be 
fulfilled, they should surely escape death. Thus she 
consoled and amused her trembling companions, while, 
at every entrance of the harsh, unfeeling jailer, they 
were nearly paralyzed with fear lest their turn had 
come to be conducted to the guillotine. To their own 
perilous condition was added a distressing anxiety for 
the fate /)f relatives. They managed to obtain jour- 
nals in which were lists of the executed, but no one 
had courage to glance over those pages of crime, or 
could read with unfaltering voice the names of friends 
numbered among the victims of the bloody Kobes- 
uierre. 

This was a task that fell upon Josephine, and it was 
a sad one ; for the list often contained the names of 
fathers, brothers, or sons of the listeners, who received 
the sudden intelligence with shrieks or heart-rending 



234 JOSEPHINE. 



groans, in which the rest sympathized with burning 
tears, knowing that they in their turn must feel the 
fierce tyrant's stroke. One morning, as Josephine read 
the list, she came to the name of her own husband. A 
cry of agony announced, to the pale group about her, 
what her lips could not articulate, and she fell senseless 
to the floor. Surrounded by companions to whom her 
kindness and gentleness had endeared her, she received 
every attention in their power to bestow, yet was re- 
stored with great difficulty. Repeated fainting-fits suc- 
ceeded the shock, and the ensuing illness delayed her 
execution. A few days afterwards, a friend found 
means to allay the intense anxiety of the remaining pris- 
oners, by adroitly thrusting a slip of paper through the 
grating of the window ; it contained the cheering 
words — " Robesperrie and his accomplices are marked 
for accusation; — be quiet — you are saved !" What a 
relief to the long-continued fears of the exhausted 
prisoners ! And when, on the following day, the great 
iron doors were thrown back for their free egress, with 
what joy they left behind the grating locks, the barred 
windows, the cheerless cells, and breathed a pure, free 
air again ! Then came the thought of beloved and 
dear faces they were to see no more, the remembrance 
of the family circle broken, scattered, and bleeding 
under the iron tread of a mad tyranny. They could 
not seek even the fire-side, doubly dear for the sake of 
the lost. Without home or shelter, they could only 
depend upon the bounty of those who had escaped 
such an accumulation of calamities. 

With nothing left of all her estates, her relations 



JOSEPHINE. 235 



equally deprived of their wealth and unable to assist 
her, Josephine was nearly reduced to a state of indi- 
gence, and depended upon her own exertions and those 
of her young son Eugene, for support. To him she 
read and re-read the treasured letter Beauharnois had 
penned just before his execution. Full of touching 
affection, regret for the doubts he had ever entertained 
of his wife's love, anxiety for her and the fate of their 
children, and overflowing with tenderness towards 
them all, — this last gift, these words of remembrance, 
were dwelt upon with tears by mother and son, while 
they fired Eugene with the wrongs of France, and 
made him impatient for the arm and voice of man- 
hood. 

Straitened in their means, Josephine applied to Tal- 
lien, and succeeded, after a time, in obtaining a small 
indemnity from the public property, which enabled 
them to live comfortably with economy. She educated 
her childreu by the exercise of her own abundant 
talents. The only amusement in which she indulged 
was a daily visit to the saloons of her friend Madame 
Fontenoy, where were assembled those who, like her- 
self, suffered from the events of the Ee volution, and 
had not even their titles remaining. Thus Madame 
Beauharnois passed a long time in seclusion till, 
through Tallien's exertions, a compensation for her se- 
questered estates was given her, " by which means she 
perfected Eugene's education, he being placed under 
the discipline of General Hoche, with whom he ac- 
quired the military skill for which he was afterwards 
distinguished. 



236 JOSEPHINE. 



Napoleon Bonaparte was now the rising star of 
France. He was received in society as a distinguished 
guest, notwithstanding his lack of noble blood. He 
commanded notice by his unquestionable talent, energy 
and ambition, as well as by his exciting wit and his ec- 
centricities. He had heard much of Madame Beauhar- 
nois through a friend, entitled in her "Secret Me- 
moirs" Madame Chat . . . Een . . . , whose soirees he 
frequented. He was also interested in her as the 
mother of EiJgene, who attracted his particular com- 
mendation by the bold, manly freedom with which he 
had presented himself and demanded the privilege of 
wearing his father's sword. 

Josephine and Napoleon met one day, just after the 
daring Corsican's feats with the Parisian division of 
troops, newly placed under his command. The meet- 
ing was at the house of their mutual friend ; and of 
this occasion she says, " While sitting by a window, I 
was looking at some violets of which my friend took 
the greatest care, when suddenly the famous Bonaparte 
was announced. Why, I was unable to tell, but that 
name made me tremble ; a violent shudder seized me 
on seeing him approach. I dared, however, to catch 
the attention of the man who had achieved so easy a 
victory over the Parisians. The rest of the company 
looked at him in silence. I was the first to speak to him. 

" ' It seems to me, citizen general,' said T, ' that it is 
only with regret that you have spread consternation 
through the capital. Should ^you reflect a moment 
upon the frightful service you have performed, you 
would shudder at its consequences.* 



JOSEPHINE. 237 



" ' 'Tis quite possible, madame,' said lie. * The mili- 
tary are but automata — they know nothing but to obey. 
The most of my guns were charged only with powder. 
I only aimed to give the Parisians a small lesson — 'tis, 
besides, my seal that I have set upon France^ 

" The calm tone, the imperturbable sang froid with 
which Bonaparte recounted the massacre of so many 
of the unhappy citizens of Paris, roused my indigna- 
tion. ' These light skirmishes,' said he, ' are but the 
first coruscations of my glory.' 

" ' Ah,' said I, ' if you are to acquire glory at such 
a price, I would much rather count you among the 
victims.' " 

Madame Beauharnois conceived the greatest dislike 
for Napoleon at this interview, which was not lessened 
during succeeding visits. She considered him a vain 
ambitious boaster, nor was she at all attracted by his 
personal appearance. Pale, slender, and short, she 
donned him the title of " Little Bonaparte," and made 
sport of his eccentricities to his friends. Her dislike 
for him increased so much that she finally discontinued 
her visits to Madame Chat . . . Een . .'s, to avoid him : 
but, as she expresses it, " the more she sought to avoid 
him, the more he multiplied himself in her way." 

Barras, one of the Directors, strongly urged her to 
accept Napoleon, predicting his future greatness, and 
informing her of his intended appointment by the Di- 
rectory as general-in-chief of the army to Italy. It 
was sometime, however, before she could give her con- 
sent to the proposals, or become interested in the sin- 
gular man who professed the strongest attachment for 



238 JOSEPHINE. 



her. When she finally promised her hand, she con- 
cealed the fact from all her friends, dreading their re- 
proaches. Upon her marriage, which occurred March 
9th, 1796, two days before Bonaparte set out upon his 
campaign to Italy, all Paris was in commotion at the 
unexpected event, and more especially her friends, 
from whom she had kept the secrect. 

Josephine is described in this, her twenty eighth 
year, as "by no means beautiful,- but her manners and 
deportment were particularly graceful; there was a 
peculiar charm in her smile and sweetness in her 
tones: she also dressed with an infinite degree of 
taste." She remained in Paris, at Bonaparte's luxuri* 
ous hotel in Eue Chantereine, where she was constantly 
surrounded by the most distinguished persons of Paris, 
assembled to do homage to the interesting wife of the 
general who was creating such a lively sensation 
throughout France. 

During the three following months, nothing was 
talked of among the Parisians but the brilliant victo- 
ries of the young general, who was striking terror in 
all Europe by his skillful strokes and unheard-of suc- 
cess. He had already penetrated into the very heart 
of Italy. Couriers were daily despatched to Josephine, 
keeping her fully informed of all his movements. The 
victory of Milan achieved, the Austrians were con- 
quered, and the Italians paid homage to the daring 
commander; he won their admiration while he sub- 
dued them ; nothing was needed to complete his satis 
faction but the presence of his wife to share his honors. 
In his frequent letters he entreated her to come. Read- 



JOSEPHINE. 239 



ily obeying his slightest wish, she left Hortense in 
charge of Madame Campan, to complete her education, 
and proceeded by rapid stages to Italy — the land of 
sapphire skies, towering mountains, and hills luxuriant 
with fragrant vineyards, and rich in palaces and cathe- 
drals, abounding in magnificent cities and enlivened 
with a population in gay and picturesque costumes. 
These scenes enchanted Josephine, who was animated 
with a glowing appreciation of the beautiful and sub- 
lime. 

Napoleon gave her a cordial and enthusiastic recep- 
tion. The Milanese were full of curiosity and eagerness 
to behold the wife of the wonderful warrior ; to their 
excited imaginations, he seemed the god of war person- 
ified, or at least possessed of some wonderful talisman 
by which armies were made to vanish at his pleasure. 
All the distinguished and the ^lite of Milan paid court 
to Madame Bonaparte, who captivated them at once 
by her irresistible sweetness and affability. If they had 
honored Kapoleon before, their ardor and worship was 
redoubled at the additional charm with which the mu- 
sical and loved name of Josephine invested him. Balls, 
fetes and concerts succeeded one another in bewildering 
profusion and magnificence, and the princes of the Ital- 
ian states were outdone in the display and state of 
Madame Bonaparte's court. The expense occasioned 
by this outlay, together with her generous gifts, caused 
some reproof from Napoleon, but he was silenced by 
her adroit reasoning. " In some sort," said she, "your 
wife ought to eclipse the courts of the sovereigns who 
are at war with the French Eepublic." 



240 JOSEPHINE. 



Napoleon continued his conquests, forcing nis way 
even to the midst of Rome and humbling the pope in 
his own high and hitherto invulnerable place, while 
Josephine remained at Milan conquering the hearts of 
the people, and keeping them in complete submission 
by her prompt and efficient measures, munificent gifts, 
conciliating kindness and flowing sympathy. It was 
here in Italy that Napoleon learned the rare traits of 
his wife ; he plainly saw she was to be henceforth in- 
dispensable to his advancement, secarity and glory. 
Here she first acquired the strong influence over him 
that ceased only in her death. With the satisfaction 
of rendering his position safe by keeping him informed 
of the secret jealousies and intentions of the Directory 
in France; by a clear, unerring judgment, gaining a 
voice in his diplomatic measures as well as martial 
movements; by her address, securing an unbounded 
influence over the admiring Italians ; with nothing to 
fear and everything to hope, Josephine was seeing her 
happiest days. She was sipping from the golden cup 
of fame and splendor, but like all the rest who partake 
its enticing draughts, she found bitter dregs underneath 
the sparkle and foam. 

After the campaign signalized by Wurmser's decisive 
defeat. Napoleon returned in triumph to Milan, where 
Madame Bonaparte had remained, and celebrated there 
the anniversary of the Republic with the utmost pomp 
and costly luxury. The round of pleasure quickly 
wearied the hero, who delighted most in the sounds 
and excitement of the battle-field, to which he eagerly 
returned. The constant display and stately ceremony 



JOSEPHINE. 241 



that Josephine was obliged to keep up during his ab- 
sence, was fatiguing and distasteful to her, but, once 
freed from this restraint, she breathed with intense de- 
light the perfumed air of the enchanting country around 
Milan. 

Up^n one occasion, she visited with Napoleon the 
singular and beautiful islands in Lake Maggiore, from 
which rose luxurious villas, surrounded by terraced 
gardens, where the citron, myrtle and fragrant orange 
trees perpetually blossomed and hung heavy with 
tempting fruit. These lay in the midst of the lake, 
and clear, glassy waters rippled here and there before 
the swift prows of " winged boats," plying to and from 
the Switzer's shores. Beyond, towered the Alps ; the 
eye falling first upon vine-covered slopes, wandered 
farther over wooded heights, then above and beyond 
to where white and gray rocks, boldly outlined, shot 
up in snowy peaks, lost in a veil of blue mist that 
shaded into crimson when the rays of the evening sun 
had left the valley to linger in warmest colors upon the 
unclimbed heights. 

The beautiful city of Venice, too, called forth her 
enthusiastic encomiums. Its massive palaces, costly 
churches, and wondrous bridges everywhere spanning 
the streets of water through which only noiseless gon- 
dolas continually plied ; its delicious gardens decorated 
with innumerable statues, vases, fountains; the gay, 
musical people, in endless varieties of dress, every- 
where lending a lively aspect, altogether gave an air 
of storied romance that threw the Frenchwomen of 
Josephine's suite in ecstacies of delight. The Yene- 
16 



242 JOSEPHINE. 



tians greeted the wife of the victor with flattering hon- 
ors, while she, with her characteristic generosity, lav- 
ished gifts and kindnesses upon them that riveted their 
extravagant adoration. 

By her thoughtful intervention, the rigors and dev- 
astation of war were in a measure checked. Cities 
were spared pillage, the vanquished treated magnani- 
mously, and the helpless protected — acts which exalted 
and endeared her to the Italians far more than her gifts, 
and secured the devotion of her husband, half-jealous 
of her evident power. *' I conquer provinces, Jose- 
phine conquers hearts," was his playful comment. 

Suspicious of the Directory, and knowing their wish 
and intention to dispose, in some way, of a man, whose 
growing power and ambition they had reason to fear, 
Napoleon suddenly and promptly returned to Paris, 
leaving Josephine at Milan. She was not suffered to 
remain long. Even the most virtuously great do not 
escape malice and calumny ; knowing this, Josephine 
could hardly have expected to have been spared the 
groundless scandal which was cunningly whispered 
into the ears of the impetuous, exacting and jealous hero. 
Napoleon commanded her immediate return, which 
she obeyed without delay. He received her with un- 
kindness, and, for a time, their domestic harmony was 
interrupted. By the interposition of a friend a recon- 
ciliation was effected. 

The hotel in Rue Chantereine was now too humble 
for the famed and laurel-crowned victor. In order to 
maintain a household more in keeping with his posi- 
tion, Josephine purchased Malmaison, an elegant 



JOSEPHINE. 243 



country-seat in tlie environs of Paris. Napoleon's 
restless ambition would not allow him luxurious repose, 
neither did the timid Directory wish the presence of so 
dangerous a man. The French regarded him as their 
deliverer, and were already fascinated with the name 
around which clusters so much glory and so much odi- 
um. Fearful of the results, the Directory gladly ac- 
quiesced in the proposed expedition to Egypt, which 
they hoped might give some pretext in the end for as- 
persions and dishonor, if he did not fall in the contest. 
This he wisely foresaw, and left Josephine to guard his 
interests at home and use her unlimited influence to 
keep his star in the ascendency. 

Malmaison was her home during the year of the 
Syrian campaign. Without ostentation, she remained 
in this beautiful retreat, adorning it with every possible 
attraction. The gardens and green-houses were filled 
with the rarest flowers and exotics, of which she was 
passionately fond. Kich Etruscan vases and graceful 
statuary, chiselled by the best masters, ornamented the 
grounds and imparted an air of taste and expensive re- 
finement that attracted amateurs from every quarter. 
Josephine's income was large, but she greatly exceeded 
it, in gratifying the love of art, and in the lavish gifts 
she bestowed upon every applicant, from the founder 
of expensive but valuable institutions, down to the 
poor, thread -bare writing-master, who claimed the 
honor of first guiding Napoleon's pen. Her generosity 
never consulted the length of her purse. 

A constant correspondence was kept up between her- 
self and husband. He prized her letters, hastily tear 



244 JOSEPHINE. 



ing them open and reading them with the greatest 
avidity, even in the midst of battle. During the last 
months of his absence, however, he neglected to write 
with his usual punctuality and affection, since he had 
become violently jealous of his wife through the mis- 
representations of those who watched her with envy 
and malice. Eeports of his defeat, and even death, 
reached France, but while the truth of it was being 
discussed, he suddenly appeared on the shores of France, 
with his characteristic and startling rapidity of move- 
ment. 

Josephine was at a magnificent levee given by 
Gohier, the President of the Directory. When the 
news of Napoleon's arrival was announced, it was re- 
ceived with a thrill of surprise and joy by the guests 
who crowded the saloon, while Josephine was almost 
overcome at the suddenness of the event to which she 
had impatiently looked forward. Immediately resolv- 
ing to be among the first to meet him on his way to 
Paris, and thus remove his unj ust suspicions, she left 
the gay circle, and, accompanied by Hortense, set out 
with the utmost speed. Unfortunately they passed 
each other by different routes, which mistake Josephine 
sought to repair in returning to Paris by the fleetest 
posts, but too late to meet the arbitrary man, whose 
tyranny she began to feel. He would not receive her 
when she reached their city residence, since her ab- 
sence confirmed his suspicions, nor did he abate his 
resentment till, by the tearful entreaties of Hortense 
and Eugene, and the reproaches of her friends, who 
reminded him of all he might have lost but for her 



JOSEPHINE. 245 



faithful and untiring devotion to his interests in his ab- 
sence, his temper was finally appeased, and he again 
welcomed the wife who suffered the most poignant 
grief from this rude repulse of her tenderest affection. 

They retired to Malmaison, which at once became 
the scene of pleasure, of political debates and am- 
bitious schemes, — in fine, it was here where Bonaparte 
perfected his designs upon France. Upon his return, 
he found the government weakened by opposing fac- 
tions, and Italy, which he had so triumphantly wrested 
from the Austrians, retaken, with but little I'esistance 
from the irresolute Directory. Irritated by this, his 
determination was the more confirmed to be the master 
of his own destiny and the arbitrator of the French 
nation, if not of the whole of Europe. Through Jo- 
sephine's foresight and alertness in discovering the de- 
signs of all parties, he was enabled to foil the Direc- 
tory at the moment his real aims were discovered; 
striking the final blow the very day on which his ar- 
rest was to have been made. He had, with skillful ad- 
dress, secured the enthusiastic services of the military, 
and when he appeared before the Council of Five, their 
cries of " Outlaw him ! Down with the Dictator !" 
were hushed by the appearance of the soldiery, who 
rushed to his rescue and scattered the Representatives 
in utter confusion, at the bayonet's point. 

Napoleon was immediately proclaimed First Consul. 
This anticipated event had been looked to by Jose- 
phine with great interest and anxiety, not from am- 
bitious or selfish motives, but because she seriously 
judged it to be for the glory and good of France, 



246 J'OSEPHINE. 



whicli, since the downfall of royalty, had known noth- 
ing but turmoil, bloodshed and innumerable conspira- 
cies that threatened to enact again the horrible scenes 
of the Eevolution. 

The Consul took up his residence at the palace of Lux- 
embourg. This soon proving too small in its dimensions, 
he decided to occupy the palace of the Tuilleries ; this 
was better suited to his aspirations, as having been the 
seat of royalty ; yet, to blind the lovers of Eepublicanism 
and to secure the devotion of all, he styled it the " Gov- 
ernmental Palace," and had the pet word " Eepublic" 
emblazoned in gold letters upon its front. He took 
possession of it with great pomp, distinguishing the oc- 
casion by military display, fireworks and general re- 
joicings among the people. 

The first soiree given at the Tuilleries, was attended 
by all the distinguished and the beauty of Paris, as 
well as citizens of every class. The crowd was so 
great, that even the private apartments were thrown 
open to the guests. The First Consul entered to re- 
ceive the congratulations and homage of the citizens, 
with little ceremony and in plain uniform, distinguished 
only by the tri color sash, worn with good taste and 
with his usual policy. Curiosity and conjecture was at 
its height as to the style in which Josephine would 
appear as the wife of the hero of so many battles, the 
subduer of nations, and the guardian of France — a cu- 
riosity greatly disappointed, when she entered unan- 
nounced, leaning upon the arm of Talleyrand, then min 
ister of Foreign Affairs ; she was drest with the utmost 
simplicity in white, her hair negligently confined by a 



JOSEPHINE. 247 



plaiu comb, and with no ornament but an unostenta- 
tious necklace of pearls. The unassuming dress was 
the more noticeable from the marked contrast it af- 
forded to the splendidly attired ladies in showy bro- 
cades, flashing diamonds and waving plumes that had 
been selected with the most fastidious care to grace the 
occasion. The first expression of surprise gave way 
to a murmur of admiration, as Josephine gracefully 
passed through the apartments, saluting her guests with 
fascinating affability, and natural, becoming dignity. 

" She was at this time in her thirty-eighth year, but 
she retained those personal advantages which usually 
belong only to more y o u t hf ul years. Her stature was ex- 
actly that perfection which is neither too tall for female 
delicacy, nor so diminutive as to detract from dignity. 
Her person was faultlessly symmetrical, and the light- 
ness and elasticity of its action gave an aerial character 
to her graceful carriage. Her features were small and 
finely modelled, of a Grecian cast. The habitual ex- 
pression of her countenance was a placid sweetness. 
Her eyes were of a deep blue, clear and brilliant, 
usually lying half concealed under their long silky eye- 
lashes. The winning tenderness of her mild, subdued 
glance, had a power which could tranquillize Napoleon 
in his darkest moods. Her hair was ' glossy chestnut 
brown,' harmonizing delightfully with a clear com- 
plexion and neck of almost dazzling whiteness. Her 
voice constituted one of the most pleasing attractions 
and rendered her conversation the most captivating 
that can easily be conceived." 

The occurrences which followed Napoleon's seizure 



248 JOSEPHINE. 



of power, contributed to his fame and increased tlie en 
thusiasm and admiration of the French. He was ready 
at all times to give redress to those who entered com- 
plaints ; recalled men of letters and of science, who 
had been obliged to fly ; encouraged the arts, gave new 
impulse to manufactures, and employment to the in- 
dustrious poor. Through Josephine's influence he 
abolished the sanguinary laws that oppressed the 
numerous exiles, brought back the emigrants and re- 
stored their estates or indemnified their losses, till 
France became gay, happy, peaceful, and industrious, 
and forgot in this promising era, the terrors and suffer- 
ings of the past. 

The consul accompanied Josephine to Malmaison to 
remain every Saturday and Sabbath, and on these oc- 
casions he indulged in amusements, in which he was 
joined by Louis Bonaparte, Duroc, Josephine, Hor- 
tense, and several young ladies of the old nobility who 
had become impoverished orphans by the misfortunes 
of the Ke volution, and whom Josephine had adopted; 
superintending their education and caring for their 
welfare with motherly kindness. From these uncere- 
monious recreations, they returned to the state and 
pomp of the Tuilleries, often with visible reluctance. 

Napoleon's tyranny over his household and in little 
things, increased in proportion to his power. Espe- 
cially towards Josephine and her suite, he exercised a 
wayward and annoying surveillance, that would have 
been insupportable to any other than his devoted, 
patient wife. Her influence over him was widely 
known, and, in consequence, she was thronged with 



JOSEPHINE. 249 



applicants of every description. To some she made 
promises, to some she granted pensions, and for others 
she interceded with an eloquence that rarely failed. 
When Kapoleon exhibited the selfish, domineering 
spirit of crushing every obstacle that intercepted the 
rays of his own glory, wresting from the generals who 
had faithfully served him, dearly-won laurels to crown 
his own brow, Josephine unhesitatingly reproached 
him for want of gratitude, and charged him with aim- 
ing at kingly power. These frequent altercations 
opened her eyes to his real designs, and caused an oc- 
casional coldness between them. She trembled at the 
suggestion of his assuming a position, some day, that 
might plunge them in as frightful a vortex as that 
which engulphed the last reigning king, with his throne 
and sceptre. 

In May, 1800, Napoleon with a brilliant army, again 
set out for Italy. Josephine retired to Malmaison, 
where she remained during his absence, indulging in 
her predominant passion, the study of botany; she 
also made a collection of rare animals, many of which 
were sent to her from distant countries, in remem- 
brance of some kindness she had bestowed. So gen- 
eral was the admiration of her character, that orders 
were given b}^ neighboring sovereigns to allow these 
gifts to pass unmolested even during the time of 
war. 

Napoleon was absent but two months. With incred- 
ible speed his army had crossed the Alps, in defiance 
of danger and death, descended upon the beautiful 
plains of Italy, and with a few brilliant strokes, 

1* 



250 JOSEPHINE. 



scattered tlie astounded Aiistrians, who believed him 
quietly reposing upon his laurels at the Tuilleries. He 
returned in triumphal march, heavily laden with testi- 
monials of gratitude from the Italians and re-entered 
France, advancing towards the capital amidst the 
shouts of gathering crowds, roused to the highest pitch 
of enthusiasm. His arrival at the Tuilleries at mid- 
night, was first made known to Josephine by his noisy, 
rapid strides through her apartments, when he came to 
arouse her with the account of his triumphant success. 
These sudden interruptions of her rest were not un 
common, for, when at Malmaison, she was frequently 
awakened from deep sleep to accompany him in long 
walks through the botanical gardens and " little for 
est," or to listen to some new plans which had suddenly 
shot through his restless brain. 

Not long after his return from Italy, the marriage 
of Hortense de Beauharnois with Louis Bonaparte, 
took place with great pomp. This union was not 
prompted by affection, since Hortense preferred Gren- 
eral Duroc — an unaccountable attachment, as he was 
many years her senior, of few attainments, and lacked 
the qualities which usually attract the admiration and 
love of woman. Louis Bonaparte was equally in love 
with a lady whose name is not transmitted to us. "He 
was pale and slender, with a quiet, sombre air, not at 
all attractive. Yet he possessed many traits that won 
upon Josephine, and caused her to prefer him for Hor- 
tense rather than Duroc. One would suppose that the 
sufferings of her own early life would have prevented 
Josephine from influencing her daughter to a mariage 



JOSEPHINE. 251 

de convenanc&i but her extreme dislike to Duroc and 
disapproval of his principles was her best excuse. 
She hoped that a union with the Bonaparte family, 
would heal the difficulties and prevent the frequent 
jealousies and contentions arising between them. To 
these considerations, Hortense was sacrificed. She 
stood in the midst of a gay assemblage, a jewelled, 
flower-crowned bride, with a heart oppressed with an 
unendurable weight of sadness. As to her personal 
appearance, she "was not exactly beautiful; for the 
conformation of her mouth, and her teeth which rather 
projected, took away from the regularity of a counte- 
nance, otherwise very pleasing in all its sweetness and 
benignity of expression. Her eyes like her mother's 
were blue, her complexion clear, and her hair of a 
charming blonde. In stature she did not exceed the 
middle size; but her person was beautifully formed, 
and she inherited all her mother's grace of movement." 
At the close of this year the Consulship was bestow- 
ed upon Napoleon for life, but this additional evidence 
of confidence and admiration gave Josephine more 'anx- 
iety than gratification, for, with her keen foresight and 
knowledge of Napoleon's character, she perceived the 
final result, and knew full well that his ambitious strides 
would soon carry him beyond the shadow of Eepubli- 
canism that remained. His imitation of royalty in oc 
cupying a separate suite of apartments in their new 
residence in the splendid palace of St. Cloud, gave her 
still greater cause for anxiety ; it lent a seriousness to 
the vague hints of divorce from Napoleon, who longed 
to perpetuate. his power and name through descendants. 



252 JOSEPHINE. 



Josepbine, however, was not of an unhappy tempera- 
ment, and was willing to close her eyes to future ills. 
Her influence was still in the ascendant, and with this 
she consoled herself, though she sometimes failed in her 
generous attempts to rescue those who had fallen under 
the consul's displeasure. She was intensely interested 
in the fate of the Duke d'Enghien, whose life she 
pleaded for with unavailing tears and entreaties. 

The time arrived when Napoleon's crafty and un- 
scrupulous measures enabled him to walk with power- 
ful tread over the very bodies of his foiled enemies, to 
the throne which, from the first, had been the goal of 
his ambition. He seemed to throw a mysterious spell 
over the French people, managing them like a set of 
automaton toys, making them bow with blind ardor 
before the very sceptre that a short time before had 
been hurled from among them at such frightful cost. 
Napoleon and Josephine were crowned emperor and 
empress at the church of Notre-Dame, in the presence 
of an immense concourse of people. Napoleon appear- 
ed in a gorgeous state-dress, attended by his marshals 
and all the dignitaries of France, while Josephine was 
magnificently attired and surrounded by the ladies of 
her suite. An elegantly decorated platform had been 
erected at the end of the spacious church. Here, after 
an imposing performance of mass, Napoleon received 
the crown from the Pope, placed it upon his head him- 
self, then rested it a moment upon the brow of Jose- 
phine, who knelt before him in tearful agitation. The 
notes of the Te Deum rolled grandly through the spa- 
cious area, then died away in subdued tones, leaving a 



JOSEPHINE. 253 



breathless silence upon the vast multitude. The Tes- 
tament was then presented to the emperor, who pro- 
nounced the oath, with his ungloved hand resting upon 
the sacred book. The ceremonies finished, the impe- 
rial assemblage retired amidst deafening shouts of 
"FiVe V Empereur P^ 

Soon after the coronation, Josephine accompanied 
Napoleon to Italy to receive the " Iron Crown of An- 
cle ret Lombardy" that had been offered him. This 
second coronation took place in the magnificent cathe- 
dral of Milan. Bonaparte immediately appointed Eu- 
gene de Beauharnois Yiceroy of Italy, and after a trium- 
phant tour, returned in state to Paris. 

Josephine now saAv the predictions of her greatness ful- 
filled, but her happiness and peace decreased in propor- 
tion to the unprecedented rise of the man with whose 
destiny hers was linked. She seldom saw the emperor 
alone, he being almost always occupied in affairs of 
state, 01 travelling by post to all parts of the kingdom. 
She sometimes accompanied him, but the addresses to 
which she was obliged to reply, and the endless code 
of court ceremonials which Napoleon insisted upon 
being minutely observed, were so innumerable that 
despite her diligence in studying them, she could not 
retain a fourth part of them in her head — a great an- 
Qoyanao to her, notwithstanding she never for a mo- 
ment lost her self-possession. Her impromptu replies 
renderea appropriate by her quick sense of fitness, im- 
parted a sweetness and sincerity to whatever she said or 
did, and not only saved her from censure or ridicule, but 
increased the admiration and respect of those about her. 



264 ' JOSEPHINE. 



It is said, however, that on one occasion " when de- 
parting from Rheims, Josephine presented the mayo- 
ress with a medallion of malachite, set with diamonds, 
using the expression, 'It is the emblem of hope.' 
Some days after, on seeing this absurdity in one of the 
journals, she could not believe that she had used it, 
and despatched a courier instantly to Napoleon, fear- 
ing his displeasure above all things. This occasioned 
the famous order that no journalist should report any 
speech of the emperor or empress, unless the same pre- 
viously appeared in the ' Moniteur.' " 

It is also amusingly related that when about to visit 
one of the Rhenish cities, the ladies who wished to be 
presented being in doubt as to the ceremony used on the 
occasion, applied to one who had already been initia- 
ted. Among other instructions she gave the following 
" You make tliree courtesies ; one on entering the 
saloon, one in the middle, and a third a few paces far- 
ther on, en 'pirouette^'' (whirling on the point of the 
toes.) Immediately all the ladies of Cologne were 
practising from morning till night, " twirling away 
like so many spinning tops or dancing dervishes." 
Fortunately for themselves, as well as the dignity of 
the court, they learned from one of the empress' ladies 
of honor that a gentle inclination was all that was re- 
quired, and thus were relieved from the misfortane of 
a misstep, and the empress and her suite were spared 
what must have excited irrepressible laughter and seri- 
ously disturbed the stateliness and equanimity of their 
imperial majesties. 

During all these excursions, Josephine manifested 



JOSEPHINE. 255 



the utmost kindness and benevolence to every one who 
apphed to her with a tale of distress. Her sensitive 
nature never permitted her to turn a deaf ear to mis- 
fortune or suffering, noi refuse her generous sympathy 
to the poor. While partaking of a casual repast by th( 
way, she was sure to offer a portion of it to the passer- 
by however beggarly, ofteii adding bounteous alms. 
Blessings were invoked upon her head wherever she 
went, and with just reason, foi Josephine was a friend 
to the friendless, a mother to orphans, a benefactress 
to the unfortunate. 

For some time after the coronation^ the emperor 
and empress remained at St. Cloud. While there, 
Josephine usually rose at nine o'clock^ rfpent an hour 
in making a toilette, enjoyed a walk or some other 
recreation, and breakfasted at eleven o'clock, when she 
was occasionally joined by the emperor, though he 
never remained above ten minutes at table, considering 
it lost time. She afterwards received petitioners, to all 
of whom she gave ready assistance. Ee tiring to her 
ov/n apartments, the remainder of the morning was 
spent with the ladies of her suite, all of whom were 
engaged in embroidering, while one of their number 
read aloud from some entertaining and instructive 
author. Works of fiction were never permitted to be 
circulated in the palace, as Napoleon was strictly and 
severely opposed to that class of literature. He some- 
times suddenly appeared in their midst, talking gaily 
and freely with the ladies of honor, and occasionally 
joining in a game of cards, but his stay was always 
short. He was often present while the evening toilet 



256 JOSEPHINE. 



of the empress was in preparation, overturning her 
boxes in his impatience, tossing about the most costly 
jewels as if of no value, and frightening her attendants 
by his irritable criticisms. He did not scruple to de- 
stroy an elegant dress, if it happened not to strike his 
fancy, obliging her to assume another — a needless in- 
terference, inasmuch as she was always appareled with 
exquisite taste. 

He dined with her at six o'clock, in company with 
invited guests, who learned to appease their appetite 
before being seated at the lavishly supplied table, from 
which they were obliged to rise before the tempting 
viands had been scarcely tasted ; the emperor remained 
but a few moments and the empress and guests neces- 
sarily followed him. Thus the utmost amiability was 
essential to Josephine, to endure these petty tyrannies 
with an unruffled mien. 

An important and happy event called her to Munich 
at the close of the year. The marriage of Eugene 
with the Princess of Bavaria was magnificently cele- 
brated there ; it gave both the emperor and empress 
the utmost satisfaction, not only for politic reasons, but 
because their mutual attachment gave promise of do- 
mestic peace. 

All that Josephine had desired was now accomplished. 
Her fears and anxiety as to the emperor's idea of di- 
vorce, were forgotten after the birth of a son to Hor- 
tense, now Queen of Holland. As the young Napo- 
leon advanced to years of interesting childhood, he so 
won upon his uncle's affections that Bonaparte deter- 
mined to make him heir to his immense dominions. 



JOSEPHINE. 257 



Josephine's future peace depended upon his life. As 
though to mock the hopes centered in the young prince, 
Death marked him an early victim. He died in 1807, 
while Napoleon was engaged in the brilliant campaign 
of Austerlitz. Upon hearing the tidings, he repeated 
ly exclaimed, " To whom shall I leave all this ?" The 
event afflicted Josephine with a double grief. She not 
only mourned the loss of a favorite, but trembled under 
the stroke that threatened her own happiness. She 
knew perfectly well that the powerful conqueror would 
not hesitate to sacrifice her, if she impeded his limitless 
designs, though he loved her with all the devotion of 
which his selfish nature was capable. 

Nearly a year passed before Napoleon made known 
to her his unalterable decision, but that year was full 
of inexpressible torture to Josephine. A private pas- 
sage, terminated by a small door, connected their apart- 
ments. At this, the emperor was accustomed to knock 
when he desired an interview. These occasions, when 
the subject of divorce was discussed, became so pain- 
ful to Josephine that the usual summons caused violent 
palpitation of the heart, trembling and faintness. She 
could scarcely support herself, while hesitating at the 
door to gather strength and courage for interviews that 
inflicted almost unendurable anguish. 

The final decision was made known to her. May 30th 
by Napoleon himself, after ordering the attendants to 
withdraw. Of this she says, " I watched in the chang- 
ing expression of his countenance, that struggle which 
was in his soul. At length his features settled into a 
stern resolve. I saw that my hour was come. His 
17 



258 JOSEPHINE. 



whole frame trembled; lie approached and I felt a 
shuddering horror come over me. He took my hand, 
placed it upon his heart, gazed upon me for a moment, 
then pronounced these fearful words : ' Josephine ! 
my excellent Josephine ! thou knowest if I have loved 
thee ! To thee, to thee alone, do I owe the only mo- 
ments of happiness which I have enjoyed in this world. 
Josephine, my destiny overmasters my will. My dear- 
est affections must be silent before the interests of 
France.' ' Say no more,' I had still strength to reply, 
' I was prepared for this, but the blow is not the less 
mortal.' More I could not utter. I became unconscious 
of everything, and on returning to my senses, found I 
had been carried to my chamber." 

From this time to the 16th of December, she was 
obliged to appear at the f^tes and public rejoicings, in- 
cident to the anniversary of the coronation, with a 
smiling countenance and cheerful demeanor, while be- 
neath it all, her heart was breaking. Her decision was 
not formally announced to the public till the 16th of 
December, when the council of State were summoned 
to appear at the Tuilleries. Napoleon's family, who 
secretly exulted at the event, were also gathered in the 
grand saloon. A chair, in front of which stood a table 
with writing apparatus of gold, was placed in the centre 
of the apartment. At a little distance stood Eugene 
with compressed lips and his arms folded over a heart 
swelling with resentment Josephine entered with her 
usual grace, pale but calm, leaning on the arm of Hor- 
tense, who conducted her to the central chair, and sta- 
tioned herself behind it, weeping bitterly. The em- 



JOSEPHINE. 259 



press sat composedly, with her head leaning on her 
hand, the tears coursing silently down her deathly - 
pale cheek, listening to the reading of the Act that 
was to separate her forever from the man for whom she 
would have laid down her life. Napoleon in vain en- 
deavored to suppress the emotion that betrayed itself 
in the violent workings of his countenance ; it was the 
wrenching of a strong affection from a soul that was 
else all chaos arid darkness ; it was the obliteration of 
a guiding-star that had led him to the topmost pinnacle 
of greatness, and without whose steady radiance, he 
must blindly overstep his narrow foothold and plunge 
from the dizzy height. 

A solemn stillness rested upon the assemblage when 
the reading of the Act ceased. Even the Bonaparte 
family were touched with Josephine's uncomplaining 
sorrow. She pressed her handkerchief to her eyes for 
an instant, then rising, took the oath of acceptance in 
a tremulous voice, resumed her seat, and, taking the 
pen, signed the document. The dreaded ceremony 
finished, she immediately retired, accompanied by 
Hortense and Eugene, who fell senseless as he reached 
the ante-chamber. The silent witnessing of his moth- 
er's suffering was too much for him to endure ; for her 
sake and in compliance with her entreaties, he had re- 
strained his burning resentment. Josephine burst into 
an uncontrollable paroxysm of tears, when she reached 
her private apartments, sobbing and groaning with an 
anguish, heart-rending to behold. 

Carriages were in waiting to convey her to Malmai- 
son. While preparations were making for her depar- 



260 JOSEPHINE. 



ture, Napoleon came to bid her a final farewell. Aj? 
he approached, she threw herself in his arms, and cling- 
ing to him with a tenderness that conveyed, more than 
words, the intensity and faithfulness of a love which 
nothing could tear from her heart. Overcome by her 
emotions, she fainted and was placed upon a couch, 
over which Napoleon hung with unconcealed anxiety 
and pain, tenderly stroking her cold face and himself 
applying restoratives. Returning consciousness brought 
her more frantic grief, when she perceived the emperor 
was no longer near her, for he had hastily left the 
apartment, fearing another scene. She seized the hand 
of an of&cer who still remained, and in accents of wild 
sorrow, entreated him to tell the emperor not to forget 
her. No one could restrain tears of sympathy for the 
beloved empress, so unjustly thrust from the affections 
of an adored husband. 

She was accompanied to Malmaison by persons of 
distinction, who continued to pay court to her, know- 
ing they thus best secured the royal favor, though 
many followed her from pure love and sympathy. 
She still retained the title of empress, and received an 
ample revenue to support the expenses incident to her 
rank. Malmaison was elegantly furnished and embel- 
lished with many costly articles sent her by Napoleon's 
orders. She here held her court, which was frequented 
by the savans of Paris as well as the gay and beautifuL 
Thus Malmaison once more became the scene of f^tes, 
balls and splendid entertainments. These gayeties 
could not divert Josephine from her one great sorrow. 
Every object in that lovely retreat where their earliest 



JOSEPHINE. 261 



days of ha})pmess had been spent, reminded her of what 
she in vain tried to forget. Her tears flowed afresh at 
the sight of the haunts they had frequented together; 
the flowers, that had given her so much delight, now 
only recalled painful associations. The rooms which 
had been exclusively Napoleon's, she would permit no 
one but herself to enter, retaining every article pre 
cisely as he had left it. The maps he had studied, the 
books with leaves turned down, his apparel just where 
he had flung it in some impatient mood ; everything 
remained undisturbed and sacred to her own eyes al- 
ready inflamed and almost sightless with continual 
weeping. What agonizing remembrances of happines? 
she must have endured in this silent, deserted apart- 
ment ! What abandonment to grief, where every ob- 
ject recalled the loved face and voice of one lost to her 
forever, and where no curious eyes checked her tears I 

It was well for her health and repose that she finally 
determined to forsake Malmaison and retire to the 
chateau of Navarre, a palace that had lain nearly in 
I'uins, since the devastation of the Revolution, but 
which was charmingly situated in the midst of the for- 
est of Evreaux. It had originally been celebrated for 
its spacious park, elegant gardens, lakes, fountains, 
and all that could render it an envied possession. The 
occupation of restoring its original beauty, of giving 
employment to the poor peasantry in the neighborhood, 
as well as escaping the heartless attentions of courtiers 
and the wearisome gayeties of court, was a beneficial, 
wise change. 

Josephine was accompanied thither by her most in- 



262 JOSEPHINE. 



timate, valuable friends, and a few young ladies whose 
guardian she became. She was never forsaken how- 
ever by the world, who testified the sincerity of its ad- 
miration by visits to this out-of-the-way home of the 
loved empress. Her mornings were passed in com- 
pany with the ladies of her suite, engaged in some use- 
ful work, and listening at the same time to one who 
read aloud. The afternoons were occupied in rides, 
walks, or visits to the poor who were constant objects 
of charity. The evenings were passed in the saloons 
in lively conversation, occasional games at cards, or 
listening to the music of the harp and piano in adjoin- 
ing apartments, where the young people engaged in 
dances or noisy games, which, however much they dis- 
turbed the quiet of the saloons, Josephine would never 
allow to be checked, for she loved to see all around 
her cheerful and happy, even while her own heart was 
too sad for her face to brighten with a single smile. 

The news of the emperor's marriage with the beau- 
tiful Maria Louise of Austria, was a new pang to her 
already lacerated feelings. She could not conceal her 
grief on her first meeting with Napoleon, after the event 
that deprived her of every claim upon his thoughts 
and affections. He often visited her and evinced the 
lingering love and veneration he entertained for her 
admirable character, by the entire confidence with which 
he unfolded all his plans to her. A correspondence, 
sustained between them, was her greatest pleasure. 

The birth of a son at St. Cloud, was announced to 
Josephine, while attending a dinner given by the pre- 
fect at the city of Evreaux. With no feeling of jeal- 



JOSEPHINE. 263 



ousy or envy, this noble woman added her con- 
gratulations and sincerely rejoiced with all France, at 
the accession of an heir to the throne. The only re- 
gret she expressed was, that she had not first received 
the intelligence from Kapoleon himself. When at 
length a letter arrived, communicating the tidings, she 
retired to read it, and remained in seclusion an hour. 
When she returned to her guests, her face bore evident 
traces of tears. She longed to behold the young 
prince — a wish which Napoleon granted by himself 
placing the child in her arms, but which would have 
been refused by Maria Louise, who so disliked Jose- 
phine that she would ride miles out of her way, rather 
than pass the residence of her rival in the emperor's 
affections. 

Bonaparte continued to confide his most secret plans 
to Josephine. When he imparted to her his designs 
upon Eussia, she used her utmost persuasion to induce 
him to abandon the wild project, in which she dimly 
foresaw his ruin. During that frightful campaign their 
correspondence was continued without interruption. 
" His letters to her, were more frequent and more af- 
fectionate than ever, while hers, written by every op- 
portunity, were perused under all circumstances with 
a promptitude which clearly showed the pleasure or 
the consolation that was expected ; in fact it was ob- 
served that letters from Malmaison or Navarre were 
always torn, rather than broken open, and were in- 
stantly read, whatever else might be retarded." 

The news of his disasters filled Josephine with fear- 
ful apprehensions, more especially as the French had 



264 JOSEPHINE. 



lost the blind enthusiasm with which they formerlj 
worshipped their hero, and were as ready to heap an- 
athemas upon his name, as they had before been eager 
to find superlatives with which to praise him. He re- 
turned to France with the shattered remains of his 
brilliant army, unwilling to believe her people would 
dare to conspire against the bold conqueror who chal- 
lenged all the world to battle. Neither his self-confi- 
dence nor his giant grasp could retain the crown, lost 
in his vain reach ings after another. It was too late 
now to retrace his steps. In a short and painful inter- 
view with Josephine, he acknowledged that he might 
still have been emperor of France, had he regarded her 
faithful entreaties. This was the last time she ever be- 
held him. 

The revolution that soon succeeded, alarmed her for 
his fate. Could she have flown to him when deserted 
by Maria Louise, her grief would have been assuaged 
in imparting hope and consolation in his reverses, but 
she was obliged to wait in patient retirement, widely 
separated from him, the issue of events that threaten- 
ed his fireedom if not his life. Her own future was a 
secondary matter. She scarcely knew what to expect 
from the allied sovereigns. " They will respect her 
who was the wife of Napoleon," said she, and with 
truth, though the honor and deference paid her ¥'as 
not because of her rank, nor because her fame had 
been closely associated with the fearful, hated, yet 
strangety glorious name of Napoleon Bonaparte; — it 
was due alone to the world-wide admiration of her no- 
ble, generous, exalted character. 



.JOSEPHINE. 265 



A message from the allied sovereigns, expressed a 
desire to visit lier at Malmaison, with which she imme- 
diately complied, for the sake of her children, whose 
honors and titles had vanished with the emperor's 
downfall. On arriving at her beloved home, she was 
deeply affected to find a guard of honor had been 
stationed there to protect her property from the pillage 
and destruction involved in a revolution, like the dev- 
astation that marks the track of a whirlwind. 

Josephine was here visited by the Emperor Alexan- 
der, with whom she plead for Kapoleon. It was greatly 
owing to her influence and eloquence, and a regard 
for her devoted attachment for Napoleon, that severe 
measures were not taken to crush or effectually pinion 
his ambitious spirit. Josephine was comparatively 
happy when it was at last announced to her that he 
was to possess, in full sovereignty, the principality of 
the Island of Elba, an envied fate in contrast to the 
one she had feared. Upon his departure with the few 
who were still devoted to him, she wrote a most affec- 
tionate and touching letter, and would have followed 
him but for the delicacy of supplanting his rightful 
wife. 

Malmaison was again thronged with the great and gay, 
who came now, not with empty flattery, but to assure the 
empress of the most profound esteem. The Emperor 
Alexander on meeting her, expressed his gratification 
thus: "Madame, I burned with the desire to behold 
you. Since I entered France, I have never heard 
your name pronounced but with benedictions. In the 
cottage and in the palace, T have collected accounts of 



266 JOSEPHINE. 



your goodness, and I do myself a pleasure in thus 
presenting to your majesty the universal homage of 
which I am the bearer." 

She was also visited by the King of Prussia. Louis, 
the occupant of the throne of France, conferred flatter- 
ing distinctions upon Eugene, and would have made 
him marshal of France had his pride permitted him to 
accept the hcaior. Hortense was also received with 
marked favo?. 

These monarchs, besides the most distinguished per- 
sons in Europe, frequently visited and dined at Mal- 
maison, where Josephine gracefully did the honors. 
On the last occasion. May 19th, when a grand dinner 
was given to the allied sovereigns, she became too ill 
to remain with her guests. She left her duties with 
Hortense to perform, obliged at length to yield to a 
disease that for some time she had endeavored to keep 
at bay. A malignant form of quinzy had fastened 
upon her, and, despite the exertion of the most skillful 
physicians, it made rapid and alarming progress. She 
articulated with much difficulty. She expressed affec- 
tion for her children, who remained constantly at her 
bedside, by grateful and tender looks, often smiling 
upon them while enduring the severest pain, endeavor- 
ing to calm their agitation and lessen their anxiety. 
A few days, however, so changed the beloved counte- 
nance of their mother, that no hopes were entertained 
for her recovery. 

She, herself, quickly recognized the hand of death. 
In her last moments, her thoughts wandered far away 
to Elba, longing for the presence of one whom not 



JOSEPHINE. 267 



even the near approacli of eternity could drive from 
her heart. A portrait of N'apoleon hung near, which 
she motioned to be brought to her and placed where 
she could gaze upon it, as if to number him, who had 
forsaken her, among the weeping ones gathered about 
her. Hortense and Eugene knelt at the bedside, over- 
come with grief, and sobbing painfully while they re- 
ceived her last blessing. At this moment the Emperor 
Alexander, who visited her daily, entered and was 
gratefully recognized by Josephine. She summoned 
all her remaining strength, to say in a faint whisper, 
" I shall die regretted. I have always desired the 
happiness of France ; I did all in my power to con- 
tribute to it ; I can say with truth, that the first wife 
of Napoleon never caused a tear to flow." 

She died May 29th, 1814, mourned as she had said, 
not only by the French nation, but by all Europe. 
Princes testified their remembrance of her noble and 
eminent goodness, by following her remains to the 
simple, little church at Rouel. which was covered with 
black drapery on the occasion of her funeral. " No 
ornament or inscription decorated the walls, but the 
tears of the proudest sovereigns of Europe, mingled 
with those of the poor of France, to pronounce the 
funeral oration of the good Josephine." Her remains 
were afterwards placed in a beautiful tomb of white 
marble, upon which the empress is represented in a 
kneeling posture, as if praying for France. It gives 
no recital of her virtues, no enumeration of her titles ; 
the monument only bears the simple, touching inscrip- 
tion — " Eugene arid Hortense to Josephine.'^ 



268 JOSEPHINE. 



Though crowned an empress, she never lost the 
sweetness and simplicity of character that belonged 
to her lively girlhood, in the quiet at Martinique. 
Early disappointments and afflictions, so far from em- 
bittering her nature, served to chasten and fortify her 
spirit for the gentle endurance of sterner griefs. Great 
in prosperity, she was greater in adversity. She is an 
example of humane sympathy, of calm reason, of lofty 
magnanimity, thorough integrity and unfaltering devo- 
tion to the objects of her affection. She was one of the 
countless instances of womanly tenderness repeatedly 
sacrificed to worldly schemes of the base and crafty ; 
and she is an illustrious evidence of the higher policy 
of a frank and straight-forward rectitude. Hers was 
that simple wisdom of a true heart which transcends 
the most dazzling genius of man. And as one of 
earth's true souls, she will enlist the warm admiration 
of all who have an earnestness akin to hers, so long as 
the world endures. 



I 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 




J C But-tre 



&^....n.M-^'^ 



VI. 

dliiahtji nf (Btiglanii. 

" 0, she has an iron will, 
. An axe-like edge unturnable, our Head, 
The Friucess." — Tennyson. 

" Here vanity assumes her pert grimace." — Goldsmit£L 

Elizabeth of England is a heroine of history, not aa 
a crowned and vain woman, but as one wlio, in early life, 
captivated all hearts by her youthful graces and ac- 
quirements, sustained many trials with fortitude, and 
escaped repeated dangers by her precocious sagacity and 
self-command. To her own wisdom, more than to any 
other mortal means, she owed her preservation, her 
popularity and firm establishment on the throne of 
England. Her subsequent course presents little to be 
admired. Lord Bacon has been called the *' wisest 
brightest, meanest of mankind." Elizabeth, in whose 
reign Bacon flourished, may be called the " wisest, 
brightest and meanest" of women, if her reputation 
for extraordinary intellect is to be trusted as readily as 
the evidences of her odious character. 

That she was shrewd, learned and energetic, cannot 



272 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



be doubted ; but it is hard to decide how far any rulei 
should be credited with measures, in the suggesting or 
perfecting of which the wisest counsellors of a nation 
always participate. If the truth were fully known, 
many monarchs and presidents would lose the praise 
of glorious acts, and, to some degree, the blame of 
wrongs and follies into which they were entrapped. 
Elizabeth had the discernment to select able men as 
her advisers and agents, and the constancy to retain 
them in office during her long administration. She 
was fortunate in ascending the throne when the inven- 
tion of Printing, the discovery of America, and the 
Reformation, had just aroused human intellect to new 
life, and produced great men in every department of 
literature and enterprise. 

Bacon, Shakspeare, Spenser, Raleigh, Sydney and 
Drake, and other names of like lustre, made the Eliza- 
bethan age glorious, not the selfish woman from whom 
the period borrows its title. Her favorites, not her- 
self, were the patrons of genius. In her life-time Eng- 
land entered on its present career of national grandeur, 
and achieved the peaceful and magnificent triumphs 
of art and commerce ; but other motives actuated her 
than enlarged and generous ones. She established the 
Reformation and founded the English church ; but it 
was due to her resentment, rather than to any enlight- 
ened and free spirit. Like the heroine of a novel, she 
gave her period a name, and had the most prominent 
position in its scenes ; the subordinate characters were 
the real heroes. She was an eagle, as one who most 
visibly hovered over the sunrise of modern intelli- 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 273 



gence ; but in remorseless spirit, as in lean-necked ug 
liness, she was a vulture ; and in absurd vanity, as in 
the full-sailed finery of her ludicrous dress, she was a 
peacock. 

She was born, September 7th, 1533, at Greenwicli 
[)alace, a little below London, on the Thames — now the 
site of the Greenwich Hospital for disabled or super- 
annuated men of the British navy. The royal birth 
occurred in a room called the Chamber of Yirgins ; 
and, as further coincidences, it is noticed by a supersti- 
tious writer of the time, that she was born on the eve of 
the Virgin Mary's nativity, and died on the eve of her 
Annunciation. A solemn Te Deum celebrated her ad- 
vent. Her mother was Anne Boleyn, second wife of 
Henry VIII, and famous for her beauty and cruel 
death. King Henry — ''tbe bluff King Harry" — was, 
in some respects, the fit father of Elizabeth. He had 
six wives, four of whom were either divorced or be- 
headed, to make way for their successors. He was a 
man of corpulent person, brave, frank and susceptible 
of strong, transient attachments, but prodigal, capri- 
cious, rapacious, and overbearing in spirit. He once 
threatened a leading member of parliament with the 
loss of his head, if he did not secure the passage of a 
certain bill. His reign was a scene of bloodshed, and 
nearly all crimes are imputed to him. He divorced 
his first queen, Catharine of Aragon, mother of the one 
called Bloody Mary, to make room for Anne Boleyn ; 
and, when Elizabeth was in her third year, he brought 
Anne to the block, by an unsupported charge of se- 
crt^t amours, in order that he might marry Jane Sey- 
18 



274 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



mour, mother of Edward YI., and, like her predeces- 
sor, first a maid of honor in the royal household. 

The christening of Elizabeth, on the fourth day of 
her life, was very gorgeous. The lord mayor and civic 
authorities of London, together with a great array of 
nobility, were present at Greenwich, to assist at the 
ceremonial, which took place at the neighboring church 
of Grey Friars, whereof no stone is now left. The pro- 
cession marched from the palace, in the inverse order 
of rank, citizens and esquires proceeding first; after 
them went the aldermen, and then lords and ladies, car- 
rying gilt-covered basins, wax tapers, salt, and the 
jewelled chrisom — a cloth to be laid on the child's 
face ; and finally the babe in the arms of her great- 
grandmother, beneath a canopy upheld by noblemen. 
The infant was robed in purple velvet, with an ermined 
train born by earls and countesses. A crowd of bish- 
ops and abbots received the precious charge at the 
church-door, and the celebrated Cranmer acted as god- 
father. After the baptism, a king-at-arms loudly in- 
voked a blessing on " the high and mighty princess of 
England, Elizabeth." A flourish of trumpets followed, 
the child was confirmed, and the sponsors presented 
her with gifts of golden cups and bowls, rich with 
gems. Thus was the royal babe initiated into the 
church of Him who taught a gospel of lowliness and 
simplicity ; and thus was the symbol of purification ap- 
plied with all pomp of pride. 

Elizabeth's state governess was the duchess-dowa- 
ger of Norfolk ; her governess in ordinary was lady 
Margaret Bryan, who had sustained that office to the 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 275 



princess Mary also ; and a mansion and costly furni- 
ture, together with eleven attendants, were appointed 
for her infantile years. King Henry would not en- 
dure a child's presence at Greenwich ; therefore, when 
she was three months old, an order of council was is- 
sued, with all the solemn folly that attends royalty, tf 
this effect : " The king's highness hath appointed that 
the lady Princess Elizabeth shall be taken from hence 
towards Hatfield upon Wednesday next week ; that on 
Wednesday night she is to lie and repose at the house 
of the Earl of Eutland at Enfield, and the next day to 
be conveyed to Hatfield, and there to remain with such 
household as the king's highness hath established for 
the same." In a few weeks, parliament acknowledged 
her heiress-presumptive to the crown, on certain condi- 
tions, and disowned her half-sister Mary. Then she 
was removed to the palace of the bishop of Winchester, 
at Chelsea. At a proper age, and after a profound de- 
liberation of the great ministers of state on the subject, 
she was weaned ; the official letter authorizing this se- 
rious step, states that "the king's grace, well consider- 
ing the letter directed to you from my lady Brain and 
other my lady princess' officers, his grace, with the as- 
sent of the queen's grace, hath fully determined the 
weaning of my lady princess to be done with all dili- 
gence." The king built a palace at Chelsea, where, 
until recently, a nursery, bath-house, and aged mulber- 
ry-tree, were known as Elizabeth's. 

According to the custom of bargaining away royal 
hearts and hands even from the cradle, it was now 
time to provide the infant with a future husband. A 



276 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



negotiation was commenced with Francis I. of France, 
for her marriage with his third son, the Duke of An- 
goul^me, but the conditions proposed oj the English 
court were so exacting, that the affair was broken off 
and all further schemes respecting her were arrested bj 
the execution of her mother and the act of pariiamenl 
bj which she herself was declared illegitimate and in- 
competent ever to receive the crown. She was conse- 
quently so neglected by the court that not even the 
means for her comfortable support were furnished to 
her governess, who at last wrote a lengthy petition to 
*' my lord Privy Seal," in which she says that Eliza- 
beth ''hath neither gown nor kirtle nor petticoat, nor 
no manner of linen — nor forsmocks, nor kerchiefs, nor 
rails, nor body-stitchets, nor handkerchiefs, nor sleeves, 
nor mufflers, nor biggins." She adds, alluding to the 
child's slow teething, " I trust to God an' her teeth 
were well graft, to have her grace after another fashion 
than she is yet, so as I trust the king's grace shall have 
great comfort in her grace. For she is as toward a 
child and as gentle of conditions, as ever I knew any 
in my life." This governess was judicious and faith- 
ful, and her commendable course as well as the simple 
manner of life led by the young princess, doubtless 
contributed much to the strong qualities afterwards dis- 
played b}^ the latter. 

Her first appearance in scenes of court, was at the 
christening of her half-brother, Edward V.I. ; she was 
then four years old, and carried the chrisom at the 
ceremony, marching with infant gravity in the proces- 
sion, while the long train of her robe was borne bv 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 277 



Lady Uerbert, a sister of the woman who became the 
last wife of King Henr j. As a great favor to her, she 
was made a companion of the young heir; the two be- 
came much attached to each other; and, on his second 
birth-day, when she was six years old, she«gave him a 
cambric shirt worked by herself Her precocious in- 
telhgence and propriety of demeanor, won the good 
opinion of all visitors and associates — even that of her 
jealous sister Mary. Both Elizabeth and Edward were 
fond of study, so much so that " as soon as it was light 
they called for their books;" their first morning hours 
were devoted to the Scriptures and religious exercises ; 
after these came lessons in languages and science, and 
then, while her brother played in the open air, the 
princess resorted to her lute, viol, or needle-work. 

When her father was married to Anne of Cleves, his 
fourth wife, Elizabeth desired to see the new queen, 
and wrote her a letter, remarkable for its good sense 
and as being her first known attempt of the kind. 
Anne was delighted with her sprightly and fair step- 
daughter, returned her young affection, and, when her- 
self divorced, requested that she might sometimes see 
the child, declaring that " to have had that young prin- 
cess for her daughter would have been greater happi- 
ness to her than being queen." Her successor, the 
lovely Katherine Howard, fifth wife of Henry, and 
cousin of Anne Boleyn, was equally pleased with Eliz- 
abeth, placing her opposite at table and giving her a 
position nearest herself on great occasions; but it is 
noticeable that the flattering caresses of so beautiful a 
woman could not win away the child's preference for 



278 ELIZABEfH OF ENGLAND. 



Anne of Cleves, so early developed was the character- 
istic constancy of disposition which was ever one of 
the few mitigating traits of the relentless Maiden 
Queen. Katherine Howard, however, deserved this 
invidious treatment; she proved to be anything but 
virtuous ; and, after her decapitation, the princess lived 
for the most part with Mary, at Havering Bower. 

In her eleventh year, the king offered her to the son 
of Arran, a Scottish earl, in order to gain the earl 's in- 
fluence in favor of a contract of marriage between the 
infant Queen of Scots and young Edward of England. 
Arran did not improve the offer, nor, fortunately for 
Elizabeth, were any similar schemes successful ; instead 
of being sent to be educated in foreign courts, like 
Mary Stuart, in fulfilment of such contracts, she was 
happier in enjoying the care of her father's sixth 
queen, the worthy and cultivated Katherine Parr, who 
had always appreciated her mind and manners, and 
now gave her a room near her own in the palace of 
Whitehall. 

For a child of ten or twelve years old, she certainly 
had made wonderful advances in knowledge; with 
great ease, she had mastered the rudiments of all the 
sciences; she wrote and spoke French, Italian, Span- 
ish, and Flemish, and was familiar with history, to 
which she set apart three hours every day, as if with a 
secret design already to prepare herself for public life. 
Her penmanship was very perfect; there was a vol- 
ume in the Whitehall library, written by her in 
French, on vellum; and in the British Museum is a 
amaU devotional volume of extracts from various Ian- 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 279 



guages, selected by Katlierine Parr, and translated and 
penned by Elizabeth, when twelve years of age ; — the 
initials of the queen and of the Saviour were by her 
hand worked in blue and silver thread, on tbe cover. 
These ao^uirements and accomplishments, with hei 
graceful behavior, sparkling wit, and the kind of 
beauty that belongs to all childhood, gained her many 
admirers. Had her destiny been the private, domestic 
circle, she might have been generally beloved through 
life, and perhaps have left a name in the annals of in- 
tellect. But, as she grew older, her proud station 
changed her stability to wilfulness, her high spirit to 
violent temper, her ambition to vanity ; and her maiden 
life made the " vinous fermentation of youth turn to 
the acetous" vinegar of malign envy and jealousy. 

For a time before her father's death, Elizabeth lived 
at Hatfield House, in the town of that name ; and the 
hedges of her garden there are still cut in the form of 
arches, as when she sported among them ; there, too, 
her cradle is exhibited. From this place she was taken 
to Enfield, where, in her fourteenth year, the death of 
her father, Henry YIII., was announced to her and 
her brother Edward, who both wept bitterly at theii 
affliction. " Never," in the charming words of an old 
writer, " was sorrow more sweetly set forth, their faces 
seeming rather to beautify their sorrow than their sor- 
row to cloud the beauty of their faces." Edward was 
ten years old, and the splendor of his coronation could 
not divert his grief at losing the company of his sweet- 
est sister, as he called her. 

According to her father's will, and by an Act of 



280 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



Parliament rescinding a former one, Elizabeth was to 
succeed to the throne, if neither Edward nor Mary lefi 
heirs. Her income was the same as her sister's — over 
fifty thousand dollars a year, so that she was enabled 
to live in magnificence befitting the sister of the king. 
It was about this time that the lord high admiral, Sey- 
mour, made a bold attempt to engage for himself the 
affections and the hand of Elizabeth, of whom he had 
the charge, in connection with his wife, who had been 
the last wife of King Henry. He was uncle to Ed- 
ward, and was an immoral and unscrupulous man^ 
though accomplished and handsome. He had married 
the widow of Henry with an unbecoming haste, and 
before his marriage had made some advances to Eliza- 
beth which she firmly rejected. A year passed by ; 
he still continued his very familiar attentions to her; 
his wife, the queen-dowager, noticed it, and sent the 
young princess away; and, soon after, Seymour was 
in mourning for his wife, whom it was suspected he 
poisoned. 

Immediately, he renewed his addresses to Elizabeth ; 
he took care to find out the value of her estates ; and 
he gained over to his interests Mrs. Ashley, her gov- 
erness, and Parry, her treasurer. A girl of fifteen, it 
is not wonderful that she was pleased with a daring, 
agreeable man, who, the year before, had romped with 
her and caressed her. Now, though he was twenty 
years her senior, she gave him her first, ready, tender 
love ; having no competent adviser in all her princely 
household of one hundred and twenty servants, and 
yielding to the persuasions of Mrs. Ashley and Parry, 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 281 



she met her wily lover at various times and places, by 
stealth. Yet she seems to have acted with remarkable 
prudence at these imprudent meetings, as in all her 
communications with him. She assured him that she 
would marry him, if he gained the consent of the 
royal council, over which Seymour's brother, the Duke 
of Somerset, ruled with kingly power, as protector 
during Edward's minority. 

But rumors of the secret courtship were already 
afloat. The brothers Seymour and Somerset were both 
3xceedingly ambitious and jealous of each other ; both 
aimed at royal authority, and the former had got him- 
self appointed lord admiral in the absence of the latter, 
and had lately boasted of his concealed power. Sey- 
mour was soon arrested on the charge of high treason, 
and after the show of a trial, was beheaded in the 
Tower of London. Parry and Mrs. Ashley had given 
evidence against him, but had exculpated Elizabeth. 
She herself was very strictly examined, but neither 
artful falsehoods nor terror could induce her to impli- 
cate any one. At so early an age, she was a match for 
the subtle persons who were sent to sound the depths 
of her heart. 

The tragical event made a powerful impression on 
her, and, all things considered, it must have had an 
unfavorable effect on her character. The execution of 
her mother and her own first winning lover, the dis- 
grace heaped upon their memories and herself, the 
neglects shown her through all her youth, her friend- 
less condition and the appointment of a new and strict 
governess, must altogether have exasperated her strong 



282 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



and princely will and embittered her feelings. The 
child, the yonth, if not the after tyrannical woman, 
has many claims to admiring sympathy. 

The common reports concerning her, at this time, 
were of the most scandalous sort. That she gave some 
occasion for misrepresentation was probable at her pe- 
riod of life, and is rendered plausible by the fact that 
Mrs. Ashley is known to have deceived the servant of 
Sir Henry Parker, sent to inquire into the facts, and 
that she and Parry were promoted to high offices by 
Queen Elizabeth, during all her reign, as if she would 
keep them silent on some points of the affair. At all 
events, the young princess displayed singular tact and 
talent in the whole course of it, and was schooled in 
such trials for the profound craftiness of her career. 
When Seymour's fate was announced to her, she be- 
trayed no emotion to the spies who watched her fea- 
tures, and only said, " This day died a man, with much 
wit and very little judgment." 

Her effort henceforth was to recover that popularity 
which was the object of her life-long pursuit. She be- 
came very grave and studious, and devoted herself, 
among other things, to the theological questions which 
were then generally agitated. To the learned William 
Grindal succeeded the learned Eoger Ascham, as her 
tutor. He had before written to her governess in 
these curious words, after the style of the time : "Gen 
tie Mrs. Ashley, would God rny wit wist what words 
would express the thanks you have deserved of all true 
English hearts, for that noble imp (Elizabeth) by your 
labor and wisdom now flourishing in all goodly godli- 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 283 



Qess." Now, he undertook to perfect her in the clas- 
sics. As ti3 her personal decoration, at this time, he 
writes, in a Latin letter to a friend, that •' she greatly 
prefers a simple elegance, to show and splendor, so 
despising the outward adorning of plaiting of the hair 
and wearing of gold, that in the whole manner of her 
life she rather resembles Hippolyta than Phoedra." 
Little did the good man imagine that, at her death, her 
wardrobe would contain three thousand costly dresses 
and eighty wigs of various colors. 

Her household expenses were already on a grand 
scale, befitting the blood-royal ; large sums were paid 
to musicians, theatrical companies, and for her servant's 
velvet liveries, and for her stock of choice wines, prize 
oxen for her table, and walnut furniture for her palace. 
But she affected extreme simplicity of dress, knowing 
that her youthful charms were best unadorned, and de- 
siring to ingratiate herself with the triumphant Protes- 
tant party, who opposed the claims of her sister Mary, 
a Catholic. 

On the 6th of July, 1553, King Edward died of con- 
sumption, sixteen years of age, Elizabeth being twenty 
and Mary thirty-six. Somerset had met the fate of his 
brother, and had been superseded by Dudley, Duke of 
Northumberland, who had persecuted Mary on account 
of her faith, and, when Edward's health failed and 
Mary was likely to assume the sceptre, was alarmed at 
the ruin ready to fall on his head. He resolved both 
to save and further advance himself by a bold step. 

The Lady Jane Grey, sixteen years old, and of mar- 
vellous learning, beauty and loveliness of character, was, 



284 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



like Marj Queen of Scots, a grand-daugliter of a sister 
of Henry YIII., the father of Mary, Elizabeth and Ed- 
ward. By Henry's will, she was next heir to the crpwn 
after his own children. Dudley therefore effected a 
marriage between Jane Grey and a handsome, promis- 
ing son of his own ; then, appealing to the religious 
convictions of the dying Edward, procured his legac}- 
of the crown to her, and concealed his death for a while, 
in order to get the sisters into his power. In this he 
failed, but forthwith prevailed on Jane Grey, against 
her will, to be crowned. She acted the part of queen 
but nine days ; Dudley's forces did not rally in suffi- 
cient strength; the nation, apparently from a sturdj 
sense of honesty, flocked to the standard of Mary, who 
soon entered London in triumph. The duke, with 
many adherents of the quasi queen, suffered under the 
axe ; and. three months afterward, poor Lady Jane and 
her young husband met the same fate in that Tower of 
London which still stands, a mute and sullen witness 
to the heroic death of many noble victims. 

Elizabeth's conduct, during these exciting events, 
was marked by her rare caution and sagacity. When 
deceitfully summoned to Edward's bedside by Dudley, 
she remained at home, being warned by friends per- 
haps, and even feigned illness, as it is asserted, that she 
might not be mixed up with Dudley's scheme, while, 
on the other hand, Mary was nearly entrapped. Be- 
fore this sickness, she gave the conspirators a shrewd 
and brave excuse for not signing away her title to the 
throne, namely, that she had none during the life of 
her elder sister. Her defenceless situation and the 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 285 



r,eemmg success of Lady Jane's party, evinced her 
courage in this. And when Mary victoriously ad- 
vanced towards London, Ehzabeth forgot her illness, 
and hastened to meet and pay homage to her sister, 
with an armed retinue of two thousand horsemen, 
whose leaders were dressed in green, faced with velvet, 
satin and taffeta. Learning that Mary had already dis 
missed her useless army, she next day met her with an 
unarmed cavalcade of a thousand persons, many of 
whom were ladies of rank. They were kindly receiv- 
ed, and when the sisters entered the city, they rode side 
by side on horseback, Mary's small, faded form and re- 
served demeanor poorly contrasting with the fresh 
youthfulness, tall, erect person, graceful airs and care- 
fully shown, delicate hands of Elizabeth, who then as 
ever craved applause and made the most of her attrac- 
tions. 

Mary, though styled the Bloody, was an unostenta- 
tious, sincere woman of excellent intentions. Her mix- 
ture of Spanish and Tudor blood gave her much latent 
pride and resolution, and she was embittered by her 
mother's and her own wrongs. But her heaxt was sus- 
ceptible of the tenderest affection ; she was generous 
to her sister under trying circumstances, and would 
have been humane in her administration but for her 
mtolerant creed, the sanguinary zeal of her advisers, 
the dangers of her position and the spii'it of the age. 

Unfortunately, differences soon sprang up between 
her and Elizabeth, and were fomented by the friends 
and ambition of each, or by the enemies of both. The 
younger sister was the hope and boast of the Protes- 



286 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND; 



tant party, and, for the sake of their plaudits as well 
as in consequence of her own education, she refused 
the queen's summons to attend Eomish mass, and re- 
sisted all her persuasions and threats, until, finding 
that she was endangering her safety and prospects, she 
sought an interview with Mary, threw herself at her 
feet, and expressed a willingness to be convinced of 
her errors, if they were such. In various ways, she so 
pursued a double course that the queen for a while 
gave her the place of highest honor on all occasions. 
In the grand pageant of the coronation, Elizabeth wore 
a "French dress of white and silver tissue," and rode 
in *' a chariot drawn by six horses, trapped also with 
gold and silver, which followed immediately after the 
gold-canopied litter in which the sovereign was borne.'" 
But when parliament passed an act which so affirmed 
the legitimacy of Mary as unavoidably to imply the 
contrary concerning herself, she resented it by an effort 
to withdraw from court. At this juncture, the difficul- 
ties beset her which formed the third and greatest peril 
of her early career. Nothing but extraordinary care 
and good fortune saved her from the whirlpool of dan- 
gers into which she was now drawn. Her rash friends 
were her worst enemies. At the false instigation of 
her mortal foes, they formed a plot, known as Wyatt'a 
rebellion, by which they hoped to enthrone Elizabeth, 
stop the Catholic schemes of Mary, and prevent her 
proposed marriage with Philip of Spain. Courtenay, 
Earl of Devonshire — a prepossessing yet weak man, 
and kinsman of the sisters — had been rejected as suitor 
to Mary, and was now a leader in the plot, and resolved 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 287 



to gain Elizabeth. The King of France was busily 
seeking, by insincere offers of aid, to promote the con- 
spiracy, and inflame both parties in England against 
each other, in order that he might set his daughter-in- 
law, Mary of Scotland — another claimant — on the Eng- 
lish throne. The emperor Charles Y., of Spain, was a 
still more deadly enemy of Elizabeth, because her pre- 
tensions endangered the plans for his son Philip, and 
because her mother had supplanted Catherine of Arra 
gon, in the days of King Henry. 

Thus was the future Virgin Queen beset by various 
powerful foes, and by mistaken supporters who vainly 
tried every means to involve her in the plot. Eumor? 
of it reached Mary, who was persuaded to require Eliz 
abeth's acceptance of the Prince of Piedmont, that the 
mouths of the Protestants might thus be shut in regard 
to her own alliance with Philip. The undaunted gir] 
steadily resisted this, even in the face of not improba- 
ble death by the axe, for she was already accused and 
suspected, and her retirement from court, to avoid in- 
dignities and vexations, was construed against her loy- 
alty. Letters from the rebels and the French to her 
were intercepted, and the odium of these unsought 
tamperings fell on her. The King of France offered 
her unlimited assistance, or, if she preferred, engaged 
to give her a refuge in his dominions — a refuge which 
would have proved a virtual imprisonment for life. 

At last the whole plot was disclosed to the royal 
council. In four days after, Wyatt — a knight, in the 
south-eastern part of England — raised thr banner of 
revolt, and marched with four thousand m*. q towards 



288 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



London. He was suffered to enter the city, and, find- 
ing no expected aid, he was surrounded and yielded 
himself up in despair. The other leaders, in varioLis 
parts of the kingdom, failed to support his movement, 
and were one after another arrested, among them Lady 
Jane Grey's father, who, in common with her and sixty 
of the conspirators, was speedily executed. 

It was a critical time for Elizabeth. The streets of 
London were hideous with heads of victims, exposed 
to the populace, and the Tower flowed with blood. She 
was summoned to the court, to appear before avenging 
powers, and with the fate of her mother and many of 
her friends in vivid recollection. She delayed on the 
score of sickness, which, whether the result of agita- 
tion of mind or merely physical causes, was not feigned 
entirely, though doubtless she made the niost of it, in 
order to gain time. At length, she was brought to the 
city. As she entered it, her lofty spirit rose superior 
to her bodily weakness and the terrific scenes around 
her. Gibbets were to be seen everywhere, and that 
morning the Lady Jane's father had perished, follow- 
ing to the block his lately sacrificed and lovely daugh- 
ter. But Elizabeth ordered her litter to be uncovered, 
and gazed with scornful dignity on the crowd that 
pitied, but dared not rescue her. She was dressed in 
white, emblematic of her innocence, and a hundred 
gentlemen in velvet coats formed her guard of honor, 
followed by a hundred others in the royal livery of 
fine red cloth, faced with black velvet. Thus was she 
escorted to the palace of Whitehall, and there closely 
guarded. 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 289 



For three weeks her fate was discussed in the coun- 
cil, while she remained in torturing doubt of the result 
There was every cowardly temptation for the traitors 
to criminate her in order to shield themselves, or rec- 
ommend themselves to mercy. Wyatt did so, but, 
finding it of no avail to mitigate his sentence, confessed 
on the scaffold the falsity of his charges. The other 
prisoners for the most part acted with more honor than 
could have beeu anticipated. JSTo positive evidence 
could be found against her, and the queen, against the 
urgent advice of her chief statesmen, firmly opposed 
the immolation of her sister on insufficient proof 

But Queen Mary was to attend a meeting of parlia- 
ment at Oxford; she had to dispose of Elizabeth in 
some safe way, and so she ordered her to the Tower. 
This command was received with natural dismay. Eliza- 
beth wrote an admirable letter to the queen, pleading 
against her supposed fate in strong simple language, 
uttered with too much heartfelt anxiety, to admit of her 
usual pedantic and finical amplification. She took care 
to occup3^ so much time in writing it that the tide of 
the Thames ebbed, and the barge, that was to convey 
her, could not pass the London Bridge. The next 
tide was at midnight, and it was not thought safe to 
attempt her removal at an hour when her friends might 
take advantage of the darkness to rescue her. On the 
morrow she was put aboard the boat ; the tide not 
being fully up, she was nearly wrecked in the stream 
while passing the bridge ; she reached the Tower in a 
rain storm, angrilv dashed away an offered cloak, re- 
sisted the attempt to lead her through what was called 
19 



290 \ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



the " traitor's gate," and, when she landed, exclaimed, 
" Here lands as true a subject, being prisoner, as evei 
landed at these stairs. Before thee, God, I speak it, 
having no other friend but thee alone!" She seated 
herself on a stone, in the pelting rain, and when urged 
not to endanger her health thus, she replied, " Better 
sit here than in a worse place." She rebuked some of 
her attendants for weeping, and was conducted into 
her prison. 

The high-born captive remained two months in the 
Tower. She and her servants were subjected to the 
severest examination by the council, one member of 
her household being even put to torture to extract 
some evidence against her. It would appear that she 
had held some cautious conference with accomplices of 
the rebellion, perhaps that she might ascertain the de- 
signs of Jane Grey's party, who were engaged in the 
affair, professedly to favor Elizabeth. But Mary was 
too conscientious and faithful to the tender ties of blood, 
to permit her prisoner's murder without good proof of 
treasonable intent. Moreover, at one of the examina- 
tions Lord Arundel, one of her most influential and 
furious opposers, was suddenly convinced of the in- 
justice done her; he nobly and impulsively expressed 
his sympathy ; and Elizabeth, with her usual cunning ' 
and something of her subsequent coquetry, began to l 
flatter him in such a way that he warmly espoused her I 
cause, and henceforth began to entertain hopes that he 
might win her hand for himself or for his son. 

Still she suffered much rigorous usage. English pray- 
ers and Protestant forms were forbidden to her and 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 291 



her ladies, two of whom were taken away on account 
of their resistance to this tyranny. Her place of close 
confinement is said to have been directly beneath the 
alarm-bell of the castle, so that her keepers might ring 
it readily, to arouse the city in case of any attempt to 
deliver the princess. The handsome Courtenay, for 
whom it is still supposed she had some liking, was in- 
carcerated near her, probably to tempt them to some 
communication which might be used against them. 
But her conduct is represented by her fellow-prisoners 
as calm and brave; whether it was to win favor or 
not, they spoke of her ^' sweet words and sweeter 
deeds," in consoling them. 

By degrees her privileges were increased. She 
bribed the chamberlain to remit his of&cious inter- 
ference with the provisions of her table, by giving him 
a bountiful portion of them. Her health began to fail, 
and she was allowed to walk through a splendid suit 
of apartments, known as the " queen's lodgings," the 
Tower being sometimes used as a refuge for royalty, as 
well as a prison. In these walks she was accompanied 
by a guard, and the windows were blinded that she 
might not look out. But her need of air procured her 
the liberty of a small garden within the walls; while 
pacing there, the captives were not permitted to gaze 
at her from their windows, lest some mutual under- 
standing or plot might be contrived. Her constraint 
was relieved, however, by the winning acts of several 
children of the officers. These incidents are memora- 
bly beautiful. One infant girl brought her some little 
keys, while she was in the garden, and told her that 



292 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



" she need not stay there, but might unlock the gates/' 
Another child, a boy of four years, daily offered her 
flowers, and received trifling presents in return; this 
caused suspicion in the prying magnates of the place, 
who questioned the child, but could neither frighten 
nor coax him into any confession that he was employed 
to carry messages to and from the princess. He piti- 
fully said to her, through the key-hole of her door, 
" Mistress, I can bring you no more flowers now." She 
was delighted with these little angels of consolation, 
and ever after seem pleased with children, for their sake. 

Among the many distinguished persons under arrest 
in the Tower, was Lord Kobert Dudley, committed for 
aiding his father, Dudley Duke of Northumberland, 
in the plot previous to the last-mentioned one. He 
was born in the same hour with Elizabeth, had been a 
playfellow with her in her childhood, and was after- 
wards her chief favorite, and made by her the Earl of 
Leicester. He was on service abroad after leaving the 
Tower and until her accession to the throne, when he 
was immediately promoted and showered with favors. 
It is thought that he held a correspondence with her 
at the time of their imprisonment, by means of the boy 
who brought the flowers, inasmuch as they had no 
other opportunity of intercourse for a long time. Some 
hypothesis is apparently needed to explain her sudden 
partiahty to one who had long opposed her interests ; 
but their early companionship, his qualities, and her 
policy or susceptibility, may account for it alL 

The climax of Elizabeth's danger soon came. It 
was a narrow escape from violent death, and illustrates 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 293 



the truth everywhere suggested by the pages of history, 
namely, that the course of human events is daily 
changed, or nearly changed, by slight circumstances. 
The artful Gardiner, chief Minister of State to Mary, 
had been gained over to the Spanish interest, and had 
persistently sought the princess' death. The queen 
was taken ill ; alarmed, probably, at his own fate if 
Elizabeth mounted the throne, he sent a privy council 
order to the Tower for her instant execution. The 
lieutenant of the Tower observed that the queen's sig- 
nature was not appended to the warrant, and had the 
good sense to send a messenger to her, inquiring her 
will. Had he been more swayed by the influence of 
Gardiner, he might have thought the sovereign too ill 
to sign a document approved by her and legally drawn ; 
Elizabeth might have perished, leaving a sadl}^ roman- 
tic fame only second to Lady Jane Grey's ; and Mary, 
Queen of Scots, might have sat on the English throne, 
carried out the designs of the English Mary and further 
established Popery in a land where no strong Scottish 
relish for endless " secessions" would have hindered the 
still papistic tendencies of a nation too aristocratic to 
care for other than a formal state religion. 

The queen was aroused by this attempt on her sis- 
ter's life. She sent Sir Henry Bedingfeld, an honest 
and fearless man, with a hundred men of the royal 
guard, to take command of the Tower, until she could 
transfer the princess to a safer place, far from the in- 
trigues of court. She had already given up the idea 
of prosecuting her any further, and had begun to speak 
of her again by the endearing title of " sister." She 



294 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



had refused, too, a Spanish proposal to send her in 
some continental court — an event that would have \e(\ 
to Elizabeth's ruin. At length it was resolved to re- 
move her, in the custody of Bedingfeld, to Woodstock. 
a royal residence fifty miles west of London. 

Elizabeth, apprehending that any hour might seal 
her fate, had been suddenly frightened at the first com- 
ing of Bedingfeld, with his hundred men in blue uni- 
form. As they rode into the castle, she turned pale, 
and hastily asked her attendants whether Lady Jane's 
scaffold had been taken away. When she learned that 
she was to be conducted to Woodstock, her terror took 
a new form ; she inquired whether the knight " were 
a person who made conscience of murder." She knew 
too well that prisoners, who could not be legally execu- 
ted, were sometimes exposed on the highways to a con- 
certed attack. But her fears were allayed by the repu- 
tation of her staunch new keeper. She went by boat 
to Richmond, near London. There the queen was so- 
journing with her court, and with her she had an in- 
terview which resulted in nothing but a renewal of the 
former effort to induce Elizabeth to marry Philibert, 
Prince of Piedmont, and most intimate friend of Philip 
of Spain. As often before, she asserted her determi- 
nation to remain single, and, to intimidate her into the 
measure, her servants were all taken from her ! Thia 
deed again made her anxious for her life ; " this night 
[ think I must die," she said ; her servants wept, as 
they left her, as if they had looked upon her for the 
last time ; but Lord Tame, one of her guards, assured 
her that he would protect her. 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 295 



When she was about to cross the Thames the next 
morning, her servants came to look another final fare- 
well. " Go to them," she said to a gentleman, " and 
tell them from me ' tanquam avis' — ' like a sheep' to the 
slaughter, for so am I led." No one, except her keep- 
ers, was allowed to have the least communication with 
her. Noailles, the detestable French ambassador, who 
had all along labored to destroy her, sent to her a pres- 
ent of apples, on her way — a plan to cast upon her 
more of the odium of French friendship. The people 
of England, who were mostly Protestant and admired 
her, made sincerer demonstrations of sympathy. Wher- 
ever she passed, they crowded near, and greeted her 
with prayers, acclamations and tears, though rudely 
thrust back and denounced as rebels by the soldiers. 
In some of the villages, a joyful peal of bells an- 
nounced her arrival; but Bedingfeld, who was both 
her honest protector and suspicious master, silenced 
the bells and put the ringers in the stocks. The other 
guardian. Lord Tame, was bold enough to cheer her 
with a rich feast and invited company, while the party 
rested at his country-seat. He said, ' ' Let what would be- 
fall, her grace should be merry in his house" — so much 
chivalry and noble feeling existed even in those bloody 
days. At this entertainment, she was not permitted to 
see the conclusion of a game of chess, lest some covert 
plan of delay were intended. And, while continuing 
the journey, she was, for the same reason, forbidden to 
take shelter from a severe storm, in a house by the 
wayside. 

At the palace of Woodstock, she was uncomfortably 



296 ELIZABETH OF ENGLANi.. 



lodged in the gate house, and treated with much harsh- 
ness. On her window she wrote these words with a 
diamond : 

" Much suspected — of me 
Nothing proved can be, 
Quoth Elizabeth, prisoner." 

On a shutter, with a bit of charcoal, it is said that 
she inscribed these pathetic lines, composed by herself* 

" Oh, Fortune ! how thy restless, wavering state 
Hath fraught with cares my troubled wit, 
Witness this present prison, whither fate 

Could bear me, and the joys I quit. 
Thou caus'dst the guilty to be loosed 
From bands wherein are innocents enclosed, 
Causing the guiltless to be strait reserved, 
And freeing those that death had well deserved, 
But by her envy can be nothing wrought, 
So God send to my foes all they have wrought. 

Quoth Elizabeth, Prisoner." 

She composed " elegant Latin verses" to the same 
effect ; and she wrote the following amusing yet excel- 
lent thoughts, on the fly-leaf of a copy of Paul's Epis- 
tles : " August. — I walk many times into the pleasant 
fields of the Holy Scriptures, where I pluck up the 
goodlisome herbs of sentences by pruning, eat them by 
reading, chew them by musing, and lay them up at 
length in the high seat of memorie, by gathering them 
together, that so having tasted their sweetness I may 
less perceive the bitterness of this miserable life." One 
day, it is related, she saw through her window a milk- 
maid in the park, singing as she milked ; she exclami- 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 297 



ed, " That milkmaid's lot is better than mine, and her 
life is merrier." 

Sixty soldiers were on guard around her apartments, 
all day and night ; and well were they needed. The 
infamous Gardiner sent one Basset, with twentyfive 
ruffians in disguise, to assassinate her. But, so strict 
were the regulations of those who had her in custody, 
Basset could get no access to his intended victim. An 
incendiary, also, kindled a fire directly beneath her 
room, but it was discovered in time to extinguish it. 
The fears and hopes of wily politicians and the zeal of 
Catholic priests, were arrayed against her ; her right to 
live was denounced from their pulpits. As a matter 
of policy, she outwardly conformed to the Komish rites ; 
yet, when questioned as to her belief in transubstantia- 
tion — the changing of bread and wine into the actual 
flesh and blood of Christ, at the Catholic communion — 
she made a famous reply, in extempore rhymes, to 
which no person could object, of course: — 

" Christ was the word that spake it, 
He took the breads and brake it, 
And what his word did make it. 
That I believe, and take it " 

While she was thus inditing poetry at Woodstock. 
or suffering severe illness, or reading and meditating in 
resignation, weariness or bitterness, as she paced her 
room and the adjacent garden, a change of feeling was 
taking place in regard to her. After a year of marrie*! 
life. Queen Mary was disappointed in her hope of an 
heir, and therefore looked still more kindly to her sis- 



298 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



ter as her successor; and Marj^'s husband, Philip of 
Spain, fearing the claims of the Queen of Scots, hating 
France, desirous to gratify the English people and per- 
haps with an eye to Elizabeth's hand himself, as he in- 
deed sought it after the death of the queen, who was 
now in declining health, — with such motives he urged 
his wife to invite the captive princess to pass Christmas 
at court, in London. 

Arrived at Hampton palace, she was still kept in 
close ward, and repeated attempts were made to induce 
her to confess some kind of guilt, in order that she 
might not seem to have been imprisoned without just 
cause ; on this condition she was promised full liberty. 
But she heroically resisted this disgraceful proposal, 
saying, " I had as lief be in prison, with honesty, as to 
be abroad, suspected of her majesty ; that which I have 
said I will stand to." 

After a week's strict confinement, she was startled 
by a summons, at ten o'clock at night, to appear before 
the queen. This was at least the fifth time in her cap- 
tivity when immediate preparations seemed to be mak- 
ing for her death. She begged her attendants to 
" pray for her, for she could not tell whether she would 
ever see them again," and was conducted by the light 
of torches to the queen's apartment. Philip, ashamed 
to confront a woman at whose destruction he and his 
country had so long aimed, is said to have been con- 
cealed behind the tapestry of the room. A long con- 
versation followed, in English and Spanish, resulting 
in a fair understanding between the sisters. Elizabeth 
received a ring in pledge of amity, and soon after was 



ELIZABETH OF KNGLA.ND. 299 



honored as next in station to t!i>' ([ii-^cn, at the showy 
festivities of the holidays. She sat at the queen's table, 
and was served by her late enemy, Lord Paget. 

Her brave and amiable suitor, Philibert, Prince of 
I^iedmont, was present ; but she avoided his attentions, 
having perhaps too much preference for Courtenay or 
Dudley, and influenced doubtless by the wishes of her 
party as well as by her own ambition to wield an undi- 
vided sceptre. With Philibert, who afterwards married 
a French princess, Margaret of Valois, she would have 
passed a happier life ; but the event would have been 
a great disaster to England by hindering the free prin- 
ciples of the Reformation. 

Many other distinguished guests, from various courts 
of Europe, were gathered at this time to attend a grand 
tournament which was to have taken place the year 
before, in honor of Mary's marriage, but for some 
reason was delayed. Elizabeth sat beneath the royal 
canopy, to witness the jousting, in which two hundred 
lances were shivered, the knights of Spain and Flan- 
ders entering the lists in their national costumes. At 
the services in the royal chapel, she was drest in " robe 
of rich white satin, passamented all over with large 
pearls." Her appearance is described by the Venetian 
ambassador in this language : " Miladi Elizabeth is a 
lady of great elegance, both of body and mind, though 
her face may be called pleasing rather than beautiful 
She is tall and well made, her complexion fine, though 
rather sallow. Her eyes, but above all, her hands, 
which she takes care not to conceal, are of superior 
beauty. She is proud and dignified in manners." 



300 elizabp:th of England. 



Great respect was shown her by the greatest dignitai ics 
of the realm, at this time. King and cardinal, when 
they met her, sank on one knee and kissed her hand. 
She was very gracious to Philip, and afterwards boast- 
ed of him as one of her conquests. 

She returned to "Woodstock ; her servants were al • 
lowed to accompany her, and she lived in comparative 
freedom. Some difficulty indeed arose concerning an 
astrologer, John Dee, whom she entertained on account 
of the strange interest which a woman of her education 
took in his occult science. Persons in her household 
were accused of "practising by enchantment against 
the queen's Hfe." Elizabeth was brought back to 
Hampton palace, but Philip so befriended her that she 
was finally suffered to return to her own chosen home, 
Hatfield House, where she was molested no further than 
by having one spy under her roof This was Sir 
Thomas Pope, a learned and agreeable man, who was 
" recommended" by the queen as a person who would 
look after her comfort — a pleasant way of installing 
him as her guardian. " The fetters in which he held 
her were more like flowery wreaths thrown around her 
to attach her to a bower of royal pleasance, than aught 
which might remind her of stern restraints;" and she 
was well satisfied with the arrangement. 

Sir Thomas interested her in his plans concerning 
Trinity college, which he had just founded at Oxford. 
In return for her goodness, he assisted in the amuse- 
ments at Hatfield House. One of these scenes is thus 
described by a chronicler of the time : " At Shrovetide, 
Sir Thomas Pope made for the lady Elizabeth, all at 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 301 



his own cost, a grand and rich masking in the great 
hall at Hatfield, where the pageants were marvellously 
furnished. There were twelve minstrels antiquely dis- 
guised, with forty-six or more gentlemen or ladies, 
many knights, nobles and ladies of honor, apparelled 
in crimson satin, embroidered with wreaths of gold, 
and garnished with borders of hanging pearl. There 
was the device of a castle, of cloth of gold, set with 
pomegranates about the battlements, with shields of 
knights hanging therefrom, and six knights in rich 
harness tourneyed. At night, the cupboard in the hall 
was of twelve stages, mainly furnished with garnish 
of gold and silver vessels, and a banquet of seventy 
dishes, and after a void^ of spices and subtleties, with 
thirty spice plates, all at the charge of Sir Thomas 
Pope ; and the next day, the play of Holofernes. But 
the queen, percase, misliked these follies, and so these 
disguisings ceased." Another scene is recorded : " She 
was escorted from Hatfield to Enfield chase, by a reti- 
nue of twelve ladies, clothed in white satin, on am- 
bling palfreys, and twenty yeomen in green, all on 
horseback, that her grace might hunt the hart. At 
entering the chase or forest, she was met by fifty arch- 
ers in scarlet boots and yellow caps, armed with gilded 
bows ; one of whom presented her a silver-headed ar- 
row winged with peacock's feathers. Sir Thomas 
Pope had the devising of this show. At the close of 
the sport, her grace was gratified with the privilege 
of cutting the buck's throat." When the queen visited 
her, " she adorned her great state-chamber for her 
majesty's reception, with a sumptuous suit of tapestry 



802 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



representing the siege of Antioch ; after supper a play 
was performed by the choir-boys of St. Paul's ; when 
it was over, one of the children sang, and was accom- 
panied on the virginals by no meaner musician than 
the Princess Elizabeth herself" Such were the mer- 
ry-makings in the olden time. 

At Hatfield, her grace enjoyed again the services of 
Mrs. Ashley and Parry, who were so convenient to her 
in her first love affair. Roger Ascham, too, resumed 
his place as her instructor, though she was now twen- 
ty-three years old, and so versed in th-e classics that 
Ascham confesses he could teach her nothing more, 
but rather her " modest and maidenly looks taught 
him" — a modesty that her Italian master calls " a mar- 
vellous meek stomach." Her meekness must have 
undergone a sudden and astonishing change before she 
became queen. The language of these men is merely 
the ordinary flattery of those promoted to places near 
princes, or it shows a finished artfulness in the future 
mistress of all deception. 

At this time, the Archduke of Austria was expected 
at London, to propose for her hand. There was no 
end of the matches arranged for her, from her infancy 
until long after her coronation. The great Gustavus 
Vasa of Sweden offered his son, but the union was de- 
clined. The subject of Philibert's addresses was re- 
peatedly introduced and always with resulting ill-will ; 
at last " he was seen making love from his window to 
the fair Duchess of Lorraine," and this discovery by 
Elizabeth herself, as well as the final resolution of the 
queen, terminated the vexatious suit. The urgent re- 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 803 



aewal of it immediately after tlie death of Courtenaj, 
is thought to argue a private engagement between him 
and the princess. How far her heart was tried with 
disappointment, and how far this led to her maiden 
resolutions, can never be known. 

In various ways her peace was constantly disturbed 
and her temper injured. In 1556, two insurrections 
broke out, headed by adventurous aspirants for her 
hand and a share in her expected sovereignty. The 
first was that of Sir Henry Dudley ; two of her officers 
were implicated in it, and she narrowly escaped suffer 
ing by their treason. The next revolt, a few weeks 
after, was raised by an impostor who passed himself off 
for an exiled earl, and proclaimed Elizabeth queen and 
himself king as her husband. From another danger 
she escaped only through the honesty of the new 
French ambassador. Wearied out with court intrigues 
respecting her, she twice applied to him to secure her 
safe passage to France. At last he plainly told her 
that if she ever hoped to ascend the throne, she must 
never leave England. 

But the queen was prostrate with mortal sickness in 
November 1558, and Elizabeth's anxieties for herself 
were soon to cease. Mary bequeathed her crown to 
her, and secured some kind of promise that she would 
maintain the Catholic religion; in fact, she observed 
the ceremonies of that church for a month after her 
sister's death, when she found that the Protestants 
were certainly in the majority. Mary sent her the 
crown jewels, and Philip added a precious casket ; in 
gratitude for such favors Elizabeth always retained his 



>04 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



portrait in her bed-chamber. As the queen failed in 
strength, the courtiers, as usual at such times, forsook 
their late mistress and crowded around the expectant 
successor to the crown. Yet so cautious was Elizabeth 
that she would assume no airs of royalty, until she was 
t*,ertified of the queen's death by private means. She 
ingaged Sir Nicholas Throckmorton to procure her 
majesty's black enamelled ring which she always wore 
as a bridal one, so soon as she ceased to breathe, and 
ride with it to her at his utmost speed. This he com- 
memorates in verse : 

" She said (since nought exceedeth woman's fears, 
Who still dread some baits of subtlety,) 

' Sir Nicholas, know a ring my sister wears, 
Enamelled black, a pledge of loyalty, 

The which the King of Spain in spousals gave, — 

If aught fall out amiss, 'tis that I crave.' " 

When the news came, she knelt and repeated in Latin 
the sacred words: — "It is the Lord's doing, it is mar- 
vellous in our eyes." This was afterwards engraved 
on her gold plate, and another text — "I have chosen 
God for my helper" — was written, likewise in Latin, 
on her silver service. 

On the 17th day of November, 1558, Mary expired, 
and Elizabeth was proclaimed queen. Great trouble 
was anticipated in consequence of the distracted state 
of religious parties, and the late bloody persecutions by 
the papists. But it all passed off peaceably. The 
Catholic lord chancellor nobly secured the recognition 
of Elizabeth by parliament. The people, worn out 
with tyranny, and terrified by a pestilence that swept 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 306 



tbe kingdom and strangely attacked many high eccle- 
siastics, hailed the new sovereign with joy. The bells 
were pealed, bonfires lighted, and the poor were pub- 
licly feasted by the rich. Queen Elizabeth appointed 
Cecil her Secretary of State, and retained him so long 
as he lived ; and his course proved the true policy of 
her choice. 

In a few days, she took her journey to London, fol- 
lowed by a splendid procession of nobility and multi- 
tudes of the people, who had often before enthusiasti- 
cally crowded to see and hail her. To the people she 
ascribed her quiet succession to the sceptre. On her 
way she met a company of bishops, and offered her 
hand to be kissed by each, excepting Bonner, who had 
become notorious for his cruelty in persecuting non- 
conformists. As she approached the city she rode in 
a costly chariot, but entered the streets on horseback. 
Her dress was of purple velvet, with a scarf over her 
shoulders; and Lord Eobert Dudley, her henceforth 
chief pet, rode next to her. Before her were borne the 
sceptre and sword of state. The walls of the city, then 
existing, were hung with tapestry, and music every- 
where resounded, while the Tower guns were continu- 
ally discharged. At various points, children were in 
waiting to welcome her with songs or set speeches. 
Nothing escaped her eye; she responded to every 
thing, knowing well how far every attention goes in 
attaching the people to one in high station. It was 
always her rule to gain over all enemies, and lose no 
friend. Beaching the Tower, she went directly to the 

rooms where she had been imprisoned, fell on her 
20 



306 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



knees, and thanked God, comparing herself to Daniel 
escaped from the lion's den. A few days after, she 
removed her court to Somerset palace. 

Her first care was to ascertain, by shrewd experi- 
ments, how far she might restore the independent 
church and government of her father. After this, on 
the day preceding her coronation, she made a proces- 
sion through the city. " The lord mayor and hia 
city-companies," says a chronicler, "met her on the 
Thames with their barges decked with banners of their 
crafts and mysteries. His own company, the mercer's, 
had a bachelor's barge and an attendant foist, with 
artillery shooting off lustily as they went, with great and 
pleasant melody of instruments, which played in a 
sweet and heavenly manner." Landing at the Tower, 
she left it in a chariot covered with crimson velvet, 
and overshadowed with a canopy borne by knights. 
One who was in the procession, records that "the 
queen as she entered the city, was received by the 
people with prayers, welcomings, cries, and tender 
words, and all signs which argue an earnest love of 
subjects towards their sovereign ; and the queen, by 
holding up her hands and glad countenance to such as 
stood afar off, and most tender language to those that 
stood nigh her grace, showed herself no less thankful 
to receive the people's good- will than they to offer it.'' 
Frequently she stopped her chariot to receive gifts of 
flowers from poor women in the concourse. 

At the upper end of Grace-church-street, beneath a 
splendid arch, had been erected a stage, in three stories. 
On the lowest platform were effigies of the queen's 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 307 



grandparents — Elizabeth of York in the midst of a 
gigantic, artificial white rose; at her side was Henry 
VII., peeping from a mammoth red rose, and holding 
his consort by the hand. From these roses, a stem 
reached to the next higher stage where the queen's 
father was represented in the centre of a grand red and 
white rose, and holding Anne Boleyn by the hand. 
Another branch proceeded from this to the highest 
platform, where Elizabeth herself was counterfeited on 
a throne. Thus was her genealogy, embracing the 
houses of York and Lancaster, very ingeniously set 
forth ; and thus was Anne Boleyn at length honored. 
Many other devices, such as Father Time, the Beati- 
tudes, Deborah, etc., were to be seen. Through all 
this remarkable display, the maiden queen acted her 
part with consummate address, according to the taste 
of the period. In later times it would have been re- 
garded as ludicrously theatrical when she held up 
hands and eyes to heaven, while certain speeches and 
songs were recited to her. 

At her coronation, the next day, she was duly at- 
tired with crimson velvet, ermine, and buttons, cords 
and tassels of gold. The usual elaborate ceremonies 
were observed, much to the edification of all concerned, 
if we except the anointing with oil which her majesty 
so much disliked that she retired to change her dress, 
remarking to her maids that "the oil was grease and 
smelled ill." At the banquet in Westminster hall, 
which concluded the drama, the customary champion 
rode into the room, in complete armor, and offered to 
defend against all gainsayers the "most high and 



808 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



miglity princess, our dread sovereign, Lady Elizabeth, 
by the grace of God, Queen of England, E 'ranee, Ire- 
land, Defender of the true, ancient and catholic faith, 
most worthy empress from the Orcade Isles to the 
Mountains Pyrenee." 

Here ends the truly heroical period of Elizabeth's 
life. She was now twenty-five years of age, had 
bravely and discreetly held her course through a sea 
of early troubles, and was so firmly established on 
the throne that the occasional plots of malcontents 
could not seriously affect her safety. Her long career 
was one of eminent worldly wisdom, but a wisdom 
that was confined to her personal interests and did not, 
like that of Maria Theresa or Isabella of Spain, em- 
brace the national welfare. The unprecedented pros- 
perity of England during her reign, was due to the 
peace which she selfishly maintained, and to other 
causes than her conduct. Her deceitful and cruel 
course towards Mary, Queen of Scots, belongs properly 
to the history of the latter ; it was prompted by well- 
grounded fears, but carried to the pitch of despicable 
jealousy and unscrupulous malignity. This and the 
other leading events of Elizabeth's administration, un- 
like her youthfal life, are too well known to require 
a detailed recital. 

As a rare picture of " good Queen Bess," in her 
thirty -first year, we have the account of a conference 
with her enjoyed by Melville, a Scottish ambassador. 
" The morning after his arrival in London, he' was ad- 
mitted to an audience by Elizabeth, whom he found 
pacing an alley in her garden. The business upon 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 809 



which he came being arranged satisfactorily, Melville 
was favorably and familiarly treated by the English 
queen. He remained at her court nearly a fortnight, 
and conversed with her majesty every day, sometimes 
thrice on the same day. Sir James, who was a shrewd 
observer, had thus an opportunity of remarking the 
many weaknesses and vanities which characterized 
Elizabeth. In allusion to her extreme love of power, 
he ventured to say to her, when she informed him she 
never intended to marry, " Madam, you need not tell 
me that ; I know your stately stomach. You think if 
you were married you would be bat queen of Eng- 
land ; and now you are king and queen both ; you may 
not suffer a commander." Elizabeth was fortunately 
not offended at this freedom. She took Sir James, 
upon one occasion, into her bed-chamber and opened a 
little case in which were several miniature pictures. 
The pretence was to show him a likeness of Mary, but 
her real object was that he should observe in her pos- 
session a miniature of her favorite, the Ea^l of Leices- 
ter, upon which she had written with her owd hand, 
" My lord's picture." 

When Melville made this discovery, Elizabeth af- 
fected a little amiable confusion. " I held the candle," 
says Sir James, " and pressed to see my lord's picture • 
albeit she was loath to let me see it ; at length I by im- 
portunity obtained sight thereof, and asked the same to 
carry home to the queen ; which she refused, alleging 
that she had but that one of his." At another time 
Elizabeth talked with Sir James of the different cos- 
tumes of different countries. She told him she had 



SlO ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



dresses of many sorts ; and she appeared in a new one 
every day during his continuance at court. Sometimes 
she was dressed after the Enghsh, sometimes after the 
French, and sometimes after the Italian fashion. She 
asked Sir James which he thought became her best. 
He said the Italian, " whilk pleasit her weel ; for she 
delighted to show her golden-colored hair, wearing a 
kell and bonnet as they do in Italy. Her hair was red- 
der than yellow, and apparently of nature." EKzabeth 
herself seems to have been quite contented with its hue, 
for she very complacently asked Sir James whether she 
or Mary had the finer hair ? Sir James having replied 
as politely as possible, she proceeded to inquire which 
he considered the more beautiful? The ambassador 
quaintly answered that the beauty of either was not her 
worst fault. This evasion would not serve, though Mel- 
ville, for many sufficient reasons, was unwilling to say 
anything more definite. He told her that she was the 
fairest queen in England^ and Mary the fairest in Scot- 
land. Still this was not enough. Sir James ventured, 
therefore, one step further. " They were baith," he 
said, " the fairest ladies of their courts, and that the 
Queen of England was whiter, but our queen was very 
lusome." Elizabeth next asked which of them was of 
highest stature? Sir James told her the Queen of 
Scots. " Then she said the queen was over-heigh, and 
that herself was neither over-heigh nor over-laigh. 
Then she askit what kind of exercises she used. I 
said, that as I was dispatchit out of Scotland, the 
queen was but new come back from the Highland 
hunting ; and that when she had leisure frae the affairs 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 311 



of her country, she read upon guid books the histories 
of divers countries ; and sometimes would play upon 
the lute and virginals. She spearit gin she played 
weel ; I said raisonably for a queeny This account of 
Mary's accomplishments piqued Elizabeth's vanity, 
and determined her to give Melville some display of 
her own. Accordingly, next day one of the lords in 
waiting took him to a quiet gallery, where, as if by 
chance, he might hear the queen play upon the virgi- 
nals. After listening a little, Melville perceived well 
enough that he might take the liberty of entering the 
chamber whence the music came. Elizabeth coquet- 
tishly left off as soon as she saw him, and coming for- 
ward, tapped him with her hand and affected to feel 
ashamed of being caught, declaring that she never 
played before company, but only when alone, to keep 
off melancholy. Melville made her a flattering speech, 
protesting that the music he had heard was of so ex- 
quisite a kind, that it had irresistibly drawn him into 
the room. Elizabeth, who does not seem to have 
thought as people are usually supposed to do in polite 
society, that " comparisons are odious," could not rest 
satisfied without putting, as usual, the question whether 
Mary or she played best ? Melville gave the English 
q^ueen the palm. Being now in good-humor^ she re- 
solved that Sir James should have a specimen of her 
learning, which it was well known degenerated too 
much into pedantry. She praised his French, asking 
if he could also speak Italian, which she said she her- 
self spoke reasonably well. She spoke to him also in 
Dutch • but Sir James says it was not good. After- 



812 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



ward, she insisted upon his seeing her dance ; and 
when her performance was over, she put the old ques- 
tion whether she or Mary danced best. Melville an- 
swered, " The queen dancit not so high and disposedly 
as she did." Melville returned to Scotland, " convinc- 
ed in his judgment that in Elizabeth's conduct there 
was neither plain-dealing nor upright meaning, but 
great dissimulation, emulation, and fear that Mary's 
princely quialities should too soon chase her out, and 
displace her from the kingdom." Surely such exqui- 
site vanity as this description reveals, could hardly be- 
long to a mind of much breadth and power, whatever 
cunning it may have possessed. 

The great events of Elizabeth's reign were the estab- 
lishment of Protestantism, and the war with Spain, sig- 
nalized by the defeat of the Invincible Armada. The 
motives of her renunciation of the Pope's authority 
have been mentioned ; she displayed the most admira- 
ble prudence in effecting a peaceable revolution of the 
national religion ; and the beneficial consequences of it 
to the world, cannot be overestimated. England and 
Scotland were, for a long time, the sole champions of 
religious reform, among the nations; and nobly did 
they maintain their cause. Whatever were the faults 
and the springs of action, of those who governed these 
two countries during this most critical period of the 
church, a great debt of gratitude is forever due to their 
firmness and intrepidity. 

The ecclesiastical position of England was the cause 
of the Spanish, war. The great powers of the conti- 
nent, temporal and spiritual, were leagued to crush 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 813 



everywhere the interests of truth and freedom, much 
in the way they are combined at this day. But the 
English aid rendered to Holland and Belgium against 
Philip, and the piracies committed on Spanish com- 
merce by English vessels, were the occasions, if not the 
causes, of the war. The renowned Sir Francis Drake, 
the first circumnavigator of the world, had passed 
around Cape Horn, loaded his ships with gold and sil- 
ver, taken from the Spanish trading vessels, and find- 
ing his return intercepted, came home by way of India 
and the Cape of Good Hope. The queen took posses- 
sion of his plunder, on pretence that Philip might de- 
mand restitution ; she disowned the expedition ; but 
she welcomed the adventurer back, visited his ship, at- 
tended the festivities on board, and knighted the legal- 
ized buccaneer. 

When Philip, in 1587, was preparing his gigantic 
naval invasion of England, Drake, with a fleet of some 
thirty vessels, sailed for Spain, boldly forced his way 
into the harbor of Cadiz and destroyed more than a 
hundred ships of the proposed expedition. Continu- 
ing his search, he burned or scuttled all the vessels he 
could find along the Spanish coast. This aroused the 
indomitable Philip to still greater exertions, and by 
the next year he had prepared his armada of one hun- 
dred and thirty ships, of unprecedented size, and car- 
rying thirty thousand men, together with two thousand 
six hundred and thirty large pieces of brass cannon. 

Great was the terror of England at this vast arma- 
ment, and great were the preparations made to resist 
it. Every rank of t^e people, high and low, through 



VA4 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



out the kingdom, contributed its share of men, money 
and ships. For months it was all enthusiasm, fear and 
busy work. Thirty -four thousand foot and two thou- 
sand horse, with a considerable fleet, were in waiting 
on the coast, to meet the enemy, while twenty-two 
thousand foot and a thousand horse, under the com- 
mand of Leicester, were stationed near the mouth of 
the Thames to protect the capital. 

The queen was undaunted in courage and untiring 
in activity, through all this season of dreadful suspense. 
She was the animating soul of the whole defensire 
movement ; and so great was her excitement that she 
suddenly knighted a lady who exhibited great spirit in 
encouraging her warlike plans. Herself generalissimo 
of all the forces, she was determined to lead them in 
the contest, or seemed to be resolved so to do, and was 
with difficulty dissuaded from endangering her person. 
As it was, she reviewed the troops at Leicester's camp, 
mounted on a fine horse, and attended only by two 
earls, one of whom carried the sword of state, while a 
page followed bearing her helmet, with a white plume. 
A bright steel corslet covered her breast ; immensely 
distended robes, as in her portraits, encumbered her 
person, and she held a marshal's truncheon in her 
hand. She was received with deafening applause, and 
made a spirited speech, in which she said, *' I am come 
among you as you see at this time, not for recreation 
and disport, but being resolved, in the midst of the 
heat of battle, to live and die amongst you all — to lay 
down for my God, and for my kingdoms, and for my 
people, my honor and my blood even in the dust. I 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 316 



know I liave the body of a weak, feeble woman ; but I 
have the heart and stomach of a king — and of a king 
of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or 
Spain, or any prince of Europe dare to invade the 
borders of my realm ; to which, rather than any dis- 
honor should grow by me, I myself will take up arms — 
I myself will be your general, judge, and rewarder of 
every one of your virtues in the field." Eapturous 
shouts and professions of fidelity followed this appeal. 

A storm scattered the armada for a while at the out- 
set ; this was reported as its entire loss ; and Elizabeth 
ordered her larger vessels to be dismantled, so quickly 
did parsimony succeed her boastful self-denial. Her 
admiral ventured to retain all his force, on the strength 
of his private purse, and thus saved England. On the 
19th of July, 1588, the tall Spanish ships, with their 
lofty decks turreted like castles, were descried entering 
the Channel, and extending seven miles to the right 
and left, in the form of a half-moon. 

" Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea ; 
Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall be ; 
From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lyme to Milford Bay ; 
That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day ; 
For swift to east, and swift to west, the warning radiance spread • 
High on St. Michael's Mount it shone, — it shone on Beachy Head ; 
F^^r on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire, 
Cspe beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire." 

The result is well known. The light English ves- 
sels hovered about the unwieldy ships of the armada, 
crippling and sinking them ; at night many were set 
on fire ; all were thrown into confusion and escaped 



816 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



towards the Orkney isles, where a storm so over- 
whelmed them that not one half of the proud arma- 
ment returned to Spain. 

The first half of Elizabeth's forty -five years' reign, 
was much occupied with her flirtations. She had in- 
numerable lovers who longed to share her power; her 
position, next to that of the King of Spain, was the 
most splendid of any sovereign; and manj^ princes, 
both at home and abroad, burned for the prize of her 
hand. She seems to have been too politic to hazard 
her popularity among her subjects by wedding a for- 
eign and therefore Catholic suitor, and too ambitious 
to accept of any subject of her own. But she had 
vanity enough to dally with all who numbered them- 
selves among her admirers. And once or twice the 
advantages of married life betrayed her into actual 
preparations for the nuptial ceremony. She professed, 
however, a desire to remain single ; when the House 
of Commons ventured to suggest the desirability of an 
heir to the throne, she replied that she would be con- 
tent to have her tombstone declare that " here lies one 
who lived and died a maiden queen." 

Philip proposed to her, through his messenger, im- 
mediately on the death of his wife. Two years after- 
wards, she had the small-pox ; the kingdom was 
alarmed at the prospect of her death and the confusion 
that might follow concerning her successor ; and par- 
liament again recommended marriage to her, on her 
recovery. There seemed to be some prospect now of 
her union with Robert Dudley, whom she had made 
Earl of Leicester, and had chiefly favored. He was 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 317 



suspected to have murdered his wife to make room for 
such an event; and Elizabeth had thrown out a re- 
mark that appeared to justify such an expectation. In 
her frequent and magnificent excursions, he enjoyed 
her manifest partiality. Once she visited his seat, the 
castle of Kenilworth, which was a gift from her. 
"The earl," we are told, "made the most extensive 
and costly arrangements for the reception and enter- 
tainment of the queen and her retinue on this occasion. 
The moat of the castle had a floating island upon it, 
with a fictitious personage whom they called the Lady 
of the Lake, upon the island, who sung a song in praise 
of Elizabeth as she passed the bridge. There was also 
an artificial dolphin swimming upon the water, with a 
band of musicians within it. As the queen advanced 
across the park, men and women, in strange disguises, 
came out to meet her, and to offer her salutations and 
praises. One was dressed as a sibyl, another like an 
American savage, and a third, who was concealed, rep- 
resented an echo. This visit continued for nineteen 
days, and the stories of the splendid entertainments 
provided for the company, the plays, the bear-baitings, 
the fire-works, the huntings, the mock-fights, the feast 
ings and revelries — filled all Europe at the time, and 
have been celebrated by historians and story-tellers 
ever since." 

But Leicester's flatteries were all in vain ; in despair 
he married another ; the queen, as usual in such cir- 
cumstances, was enraged and sent him to prison, but 
afterwards released him. So unwilling is poor human 
nature to yield an inch of the territory it has acquired 



318 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



in other hearts, that many a person, though, like Eliz- 
abeth, a Minerva in wisdom and, unlike her, an angel 
of goodness, will yet indignantly regard the one as 
faithless and fickle who, doomed for an indefinite 
period to be fried on the coals of hopeless anxiety, at 
last turns to another and more heroic spirit to find 
sympathy. With the virgin queen it was a settled sys- 
tem to prevent all love-matches that seemed to promise 
happiness to those who meditated them, and also to 
separate and imprison for years or for life those who 
married without her knowledge or consent. Standing 
irresolute at the half-open door of matrimony, she 
would neither enter herself nor suffer others to go in 
thereat. The many outrageous instances of her envy 
and cruelty need not be repeated. 

A passage in the Life of Sir Walter Ealeigh, illus- 
trates the tyranny of Elizabeth in affairs of the hearty 
and also her extreme susceptibility to the gross flatte- 
ries which she constantly craved and received. She 
was mad with resentment at his marriage, and sent 
him to the Tower. He straightway affected to be over- 
come with wretchedness at his separation, not from his 
beautifal l)ride, but from the queen herself. As her 
majesty sailed by on the Thames, he counterfeited a 
crazy determination to leap from the window and swim 
out to the royal barge, being only prevented by his 
keeper, whose wig he tore off, and whose heart he pre- 
tended he would strike through with his dagger, in 
the struggle. He then wrote to Cecil, knowing that 
the letter would be shown to the queen ; of her he 
thus spoke: "How can I live alone in prison, while 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 819 



she is afar off — I, who was wont to behold her riding 
like Alexander, hunting like Diana, walking like 
Yenus — the gentle wind blowing her fair hair about 
her pure cheeks, like a nymph. Sometimes sitting in 
the shade like a goddess, sometimes playing on the lute 
like Orpheus. But once amiss, hath bereaved me of 
all. All those times are past ; the loves, the sighs, the 
sorrows, the desires, can they not weigh down one frail 
misfortune ?" Elizabeth was so affected by this tender 
description of herself that she released him not long 
after. 

Her suitors gradually fell off as she approached an 
unfruitful age, until in her forty-sixth year, Francis, 
Duke of Anjou and brother of the French king, was 
almost the only one that remained. He was not half 
her equal in years, and had never seen her. He plied 
his courtship through an artful proxy, and the ancient 
maiden so warmed towards him, that he made a pom- 
pous visit to the English court. The affair was fully 
arranged, and, at a banquet, the queen publicly put a 
ring on his finger, in token of the engagement. The 
event created a great sensation on the "fast-anchored 
isle" and throughout the Continent, where it was sig- 
nalized with bells and bonfires. But, as the marriage 
approached, Elizabeth wavered ; she summoned Francis 
to her presence ; and, when he had left her apartment, 
he dashed away the ring and cursed the caprice of 
woman. She accompanied him, with much parade, to 
the coast, and entreated him to return, but he never 
showed his face again that side of the Channel. 

Her last favorite was Robert Devereux, Earl of Es- 



320 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 



sex, by whicli name he is generally known. He was 
a son of Leicester's second wife, and was a fascinating, 
fiery, generous young man, just of age when Elizabeth, 
nearly sixty, transferred to him her partiality for Lei- 
cester, who had died soon after the defeat of the Ar- 
mada. Her regard for Essex appeared to be a mixture 
of motherly fondness and maidenly romance. She felt 
a torturing solicitude for his safety, and was frequently 
agonized by his unannounced departure on cruising ex- 
peditions against the Spaniards, in which he leapt for 
joy at every encounter, and plunged into the thickest 
fight. He gained a high place in general admiration, 
and, with more discretion, would have been the first 
man in the realm. But he overstepped the queen's pa- 
tience. Irritated by her refusal to grant a request of 
his, he committed the egregious offence of turning his 
back on her as he left her presence. She started up in 
a rage and boxed him on the ear, and bade him " Go 
and be hanged." He seized his sword-hilt in a threat- 
ening way, and declared that " He would not have 
taken that blow from King Henry, her father, nor 
would he endure it from any one." They were after- 
wards reconciled, quarrelled again, and again were rec- 
onciled ; but, when the queen withdrew the monopoly 
of wines from him, which was his chief support, he en- 
tered into treasonable plots, was condemned and was 
executed, maintaining a brave spirit to the last. The 
queen had formerly given him a ring, with the promise 
that it should be a guerdon of her favor, if he ever fell 
into extreme disgrace and danger. She delayed his 
death for a long time, hoping that he would avail him- 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 321 



self of the promise. He did, in fact, but the one to 
whom he entrusted the ring, withheld it from Eliza- 
beth. Subsequently this person, the Countess of Not- 
tingham, confessed, on a sick bed, her fault to the 
queen, who shook the dying woman, and fiercely told 
her that God might forgive her, but she never would. 

These events induced in her a melancholy that has- 
tened her death, which occurred in the seventieth year 
of her age, and the forty-fifth of her reign. She re- 
fused food and medicine, and lay prostrate on the floor 
at Eichrnond palace, whither she had removed to be 
near a chapel that communicated with the royal apart- 
ments. For ten days and nights she lay in the anguish 
of remorse and bitterness, declaring that life was a 
burthen, and groaning at every breath. When urged 
to appoint a successor, she said angrily, " I will have 
no rascal's son in my seat, buu one worthy to be a 
king" — meaning thereby no one low in station, but the 
King of Scotland, the son of her hated rival, the 
Queen of Scots. Ac length she sank into a profound 
sleep from which she never awoke. When she breathed 
no longer, the preconcerted sign of the fact — a sapphire 
ring, was dropped from her window into the hands of 
a messenger, who started, at full speed, to convey it to 
James of Scotland. 

She was buried, with magnificent ceremonies, in 
Westminster Abbey. A wax figure of her, exhibited 
on the occasion, excited great lamentation, and is still 
preserved in a secret room of the Abbey. It has her 
delicate features, broad forehead and high cheek-bones ; 
and is dressed in her robes of crimson satin, profusely 
21 



322 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND 



ornamented with pearls, rubies, emeralds, diamonds, 
fringe and ample ruffs, with a purple velvet mantle, er- 
mined and gold- laced ; on the head is a light-red friz- 
zled wig, and on the small feet are high-heeled shoes — 

fit emblem of her character. 

She was a learned, acute, brave and determined 
woman, but deceitful, jealous, vain, selfish and mali- 
cious. Her life was a long progress from all that is 
promising and romantic to all that is pitiful and detes- 
table ; and her last years were a notable comment on the 
emptiness of pomp and power. In her reign, the great 
stars of literature shone, and England, from a second- 
rate kingdom, began the splendid career by which, at 
this hour, she boasts an eighth of the habitable globe, 
forty colonies, and a seventh of the world's population, 
or one hundred and eighty million subjects. 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



N^^ 




C'.^^//J:2yy.-ee^t^'<^^^' 



vn. 

Hiarq nf Itntlanl 

Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt; 
Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled , 
Yet even that, which mischief meant most harm, 
Shall in the happy trial prove most glory. — ^Milton. 

The character of no woman, whose name figures m 
the past, has excited more discussion than that of Mary 
Queen of Scots. From her day to this, countless vol- 
umes have been published, in bitter accusation or de- 
fence of her, or with a professed attempt at impartiality. 
All the long-entailed disputes of royal families, the un- 
forgiving pride of three great nations, and the endless 
conflict of religious parties, have contributed to prolong 
the agitation of this question, whether she was guilty, 
or not, of the iniquities charged upon her. But the 
world has more generally taken a favorable view of 
her character, in proportion as prejudices have worn 
away, and the causes of controversy have been remov- 
ed. To exculpate her now, it is enough to know that 
there is no positive evidence against her, that her ene- 
mies had every unworthy motive to misrepresent the 
facts, and that her whole spirit, to the last hour of her 



826 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



unfortunate life, was evidently that of a pure and noble- 
hearted woman. 

Scotland, in common with Europe, was still emerg- 
ing from the barbarism of the Middle Ages, when 
Mary acted her part in the scene of human affairs. 
She was born in the palace of Linlithgow, on the 7th 
of December, 1542, a remarkable year inasmuch as it 
was precisely a half century after the discovery of 
America, and just a quarter of a century after the first 
act of Luther's Eeformation ; it was also very nearly 
one hundred years subsequent to the invention of the 
art of printing with separate types. These three events 
smote the dead calm of man's intellect into increasing 
commotion, and set forward the world in a rapid tide 
of progress. At the period of Mary's birth, Scotland 
was in the fiercest struggle of that Protestantism which 
developed itself more sternly there than elsewhere ; and 
it was likewise passing through the most sanguinary 
conflicts of the feudal barons and clans with each other, 
and with a centralizing royalty. In no other country 
were internal broils so severe and protracted. The 
advantage of mountain fastnesses, the small number of 
nobles, the lack of large towns, and the division of the 
nation into great kindreds or tribes, were a few of the 
causes of this state of things. Besides, the kingdom 
was a bone of contention between the English crown, 
which labored to unite the Scottish with its own, and 
the French, who adroitly played off the latter in their 
wars with the former. 

Into such a furious sea of changes was Mary thrown- 
nor is her nature the less beautiful for the contrast of 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 827 



BO fair a flower with the dark billows on which it was 
helplessly tost. Her father was James Y. of Scotland, 
and her mother was Mary of Lorraine, daughter to the 
Duke of Guise, of France ; both were strong and culti- 
vated in mind, and of energetic character. Commerce 
and agriculture had made little progress in this wild, 
northern country; the wealthy, in common with the 
poorest classes, were without education ; Edinboro' 
was not, as now, the " Athens of the North ;" and tra- 
ditionary songs and legends were almost the only liter- 
ature of the people. King James was himself a poet, 
and encouraged learning and art in various ways di- 
rectly, as well as indirectly by the ingress of foreigners, 
consequent on his alliance with France — then, as now, 
the centre of refinement. In personal beauty, valoi 
and accomplishments, he was worthy of such a daugh- 
ter as Mary. Tall and muscular in figure, fair- haired, 
of regular features, bright gray eyes, and sweet voice, 
his presence was both commanding and winning ; and 
his death was brave and graceful, like his life. Ee- 
pulsed by the English army, and suspecting treachery 
in his own officers, he was yet cheerful in his last hour ; 
before he expired, he smiled upon the assembled noble- 
men, and gave them his hand to kiss. Mary was only 
seven days old when her father died, and neither of 
them ever saw the other. 

The nation was immediately distracted with troubles 
connected with the choice of a regent, to govern dur- 
ing her infancy. James Hamilton, Earl of Arran, of 
royal blood, was finally chosen. With him, Henry 
Vni. of England, a Protestant, negotiated a marriage 



328 MABr OF SCOTLAND. 



between his son Edward and the infant Marj. The 
treaty was soon brokei . up by her mother and Cardinal 
Beaton, the leader of the Catholic party, who knew 
that, if fulfilled, it wo ild destroy the influence of their 
church, and of the la ouse of Guise, and tend to make 
Scotland an English province. The cardinal in this 
affair, made a tool ol the Earl of Lennox, who, disap 
pointed in his expei^ted reward, the regent's office, in 
stigated King Henrj to send an avenging army, which, 
however, after pluzidering Edinburgh, retired home 
The earl "was obli^^'ed, by his part in this movement 
to escape into Enf;land, where, in token of his services 
Lady Margaret I'ouglas, niece of the king, was given 
him in marriage To them was born Darnley, after 
wards so conspic aous as the husband of our heroine 
and the father c t James the First of England. Thus, 
the failure of t^e Earl of Lennox led to indirect sue 
cess, and gave lim the proud distinction of being the an 
cestorofthe fii it sovereign, and of many succeeding ones 
after the unio i of the crowns of Scotland and England 
Soon aftej these events, the English king and his 
enemies, Cai dinal Beaton of Scotland, and Francis I. 
of France, vere one after another numbered with the 
dead. But the rivalries of the three nations continued 
none the le^^s. The English regent pursued the same 
policy of forcing the Scotch to comply with arbitrary 
demands, and defeated them in the battle of Pinkie, 
slaying eight thousand of their men. The Scotch ap- 
plied for aid to Henry 11. of France, and bartered their 
young queen, Mary, to his infant son, the Dauphin 
Francis, agreeing to send her to the French court to be 



I 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 329 



educated. The same fleet that brought six thousand 
Frenchmen to assist her country in its wars, cariied 
her away from her native shores. She was now six 
years of age, and hitherto had been the unconscious 
object of national homage and contention. 

When nine months old, she had been crowned, in 
the presence of nobles and foreign ambassadors, at a 
place famous for its beauty and associations — Stirling 
Castle. The English ambassador beheld her disrobed, 
that he might satisfy his king, whose plans depended 
on her union with his son Edward ; the of&cer reported 
her to be '* as goodly a child as he ever saw." She re- 
mained another year, in the care of her nurse, Janet 
Sinclair, at her birth-place — the palace of Linlithgow, 
situated on the margin of a small lake, and now in 
ruins. Here she had the small-pox, which, however, 
left no marks to disfigure her beauty, in after years. 
For safer keeping she spent the next two years at 
Stirling castle ; and, then, for the same reason, was re- 
moved to Inchmahome, a small island in the Lake of 
Monteith — one of the gems that are hidden in the once 
inaccessible Highlands of Scotland. Linlithgow, Stir- 
ling, and Monteith all lie at about equal distances, in 
a north-west direction from Edinburgh. 

Four children of rank, each bearing the name of 
Mary, were her playmates and fellow-students, in this 
wild island-home ; and, afterwards, the same number, 
of the same name, were retained, when one after an- 
other of the four Maries ceased to be a companion of 
the queen. Attended by these, and the Lords Erskine 
and Livingston, and her three brothers, she sailed from 



330 MARY OF SCOTLAlSi). 



Dumbarton, on the west coast of the kingdom, in July, 
1548. After a stormy voyage of two weeks, the pre- 
cious child arrived safely in France, there to spend 
thirteen years of happiness as exquisite as the misery 
that followed it. Never was a life more signalized by 
transition from the height of honor and pleasure, to 
the depth of humiliation and woe. 

By order of the king, Mary's reception and journey 
to the palace of St. Germain, were royally magnifi- 
cent ; and the prisons of every town she passed, were 
thrown open, as if the liberation of the king's criminals 
were a favor, for which the people should be gratefal 
to the young queen, in honor of whom the act was 
done. Arrived at the palace, and duly complimented 
with festivities, she was soon sent, with the king's 
daughters, to a convent for education. Here she evin- 
ced great aptitude for learning, but, even at her tender 
age, manifested such a growing fondness for cloister 
life, that her royal friends and princely relatives, at the 
end of two years, took her away and introduced her to 
all the dazzling pomp of courtly life, fearing lest she 
might acquire an incurable love of religious solitude, 
take the nun's veil, and defeat their ambitious hopes. 

Such thus far, and during all her years, were the 
kind and amount of interest that centered in a playful, 
innocent child, no different from a multitude of others, 
except in the accident of birth. The eyes of Europe 
were fixed upon her, as if her sunny ringlets covered 
he wisdom of a Charlemagne, and in her dimpled arm 
ilept the strength of a Charles Martel. Grave coun- 
cillors made her the theme of deep study, kings were 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 381 



sleepless in their anxiety, nations were embattled and 
blood flowed freely, all for the sake of a little, help- 
less girl. Yet, in the walls of Stirling, on the island 
of Inchmahome, beneath the roof of the convent, and 
in the regal gardens of Fontainebleau, she prattled 
and romped and slept, as sweetly as if only a peasant's 
humble life awaited her. 

It was fortunate for Mary to pass her youth in 
France. The court and people were not then, as since, 
eminently licentious ; the king and his favorite were 
outwardly correct ; his sister, the Princess Margaret, 
exercised a highly moral influence ; and the queen, 
Catherine de Medicis, a woman of great talents, had 
not yet developed her unenviable character. Every- 
thing tended to the cultivation of religious and deli- 
cate feeling in the young mind entrusted to their care. 

ISTothing indeed would seem more ^mutually bene- 
ficial than the intercourse of the Scotch and French 
nations. The former, by nature, have a surplus of 
conscience, and the latter appear to have a native lack 
of that endowment; and, at the period in view, some- 
thing of the ignorance, religious severity and iron in- 
flexibilit}^ that characterized the one people, could be 
well exchanged for something of the refinement, elas 
ticity and joyous grace of the other. It was the 
era of fresh intellectual life in France. Its system of 
education had j ust been grandly enlarged ; all branches 
of science were gratuitousl}'' taught by professors who 
were supported by government; and many men of 
genius and celebrity adorned the various departments 
of authorship. 



332 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



The most noted of these were selected as the instruc- 
tors of Mary and her companions, in addition to the 
two teachers who had accompanied her from her na- 
tive land. She became familiar with Latin and Italian, 
and could write and speak the French with elegance, 
before she was ten years old ; and poetry, then and 
ever, had for her a peculiar charm. In rhetoric she 
was taught by Fauchet, in history by Pasquier, and in 
poetry by Ronsard, all of them names well known in 
the annals of literature. In the accomplishments of in- 
genuity she excelled, particularly in embroidery and 
the inventing of devices and mottoes, which were ver^ 
fashionable at that day. Her loving remembrance of 
her convent-home was testified to by the present of a 
richly-worked altar-cloth from her hands. Some of 
the devices which her fancy produced, have been pre- 
served. When -her first husband died, she had a seal 
made representing a branch of a liquorice tree, of 
which the root only is sweet ; and beneath the branch 
a motto in Latin, signifying, " The earth covers my 
sweet." On her trappings, she embroidered a French 
sentence, meaning, " My end is my beginning" — a 
thought that all persons, the obscure no less than the 
great, and the suffering as well as the fortunate, would 
do well to keep in mind. By her orders also, a medal 
was made, with the image of a wrecked ship, and the 
words in Latin, "Nothing unless erect" — teaching the 
value of uprightness. 

That physical development, without which mental 
activity is almost a curse, was not forgotten in the edu- 
cation of the Queen of Scots. Lively recreations and 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 

vigorous exercises gave her that flow of spirits which 
is the essence of health, and thus that health which is 
the life of life, rendering it something else than a liv- 
ing death. Particularly did the exercises of dancing 
and riding exalt her naturally fine figure and move- 
ments, to the height of graceful freedom. Her excel- 
lent performance of the stately minuet may be still re- 
corded to her honor, and all the more so in view of the 
indecent waltz, polka, and schottish of later times. The 
romantic but cruel amusement of stag-hunting fasci- 
nated her with the joy of a bounding chase through 
the forests ; and, although thrown from her horse on 
one occasion, and nearly trampled down, she mounted 
and gaily sped forward again. Thus she nourished the 
royal power and beauty of the human frame, prepared 
herself for healthy thought, and brave action in the du- 
ties of life. 

In 1550, our heroine's mother, the dowager Mary of 
Guise, came fi:om Scotland to see her child, on whom 
two years since their separation, and eight years of age, 
had shed bloom and wisdom. Overcome at the sight 
of her daughter's expanding loveliness, she wept tears 
of joy. She persuaded the king to secure her the re- 
gency of Scotland, and returned thither, destined never 
to look upon her beautiful and ill-fated child again. 
At this period, too, came from Mary's native land the 
accomplished James Melville to act as her page of 
honor; he was a few years older than herself. He 
subsequently acted often as her ambassador, and fig- 
ured much in the events of the time. 

Surrounded by instructors, the young quee" and the 



334 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



king's daughters spent several hours, every day, with 
Catherine de Medicis ; and so devoted was Mary to this 
woman's brilliant society, that it excited jealousy rather 
than affection. She would not believe the child's asser- 
tion that she loved to gain wisdom from her, and her 
distinguished visitors ; nor would she respond to the 
trustful love of her future daughter-in-law. Jealous, 
doubtless, of Mary's superiority over her own daugh- 
ters, she even endeavored, in common with those in 
France who envied the elevation of the house of Guise, 
and those in Scotland who deprecated the reign of 
French Catholic influence, to defeat the proposed mar- 
riage with her son Francis. Whether instigated by an 
interested party, or by his own mistaken zeal for his 
country, a Scotch archer, in the king's guards, at- 
tempted to poison the youthful queen. 

These circumstances only hastened a union which 
was at least a Providential solace of recollection to 
Mary during her after years of trouble. The machi- 
nations of even the powerful Montmorency and the 
family of Bourbon, could not swerve the king from his 
purpose to strengthen his power in Scotland as speedily 
as possible, nor sever the two hearts, that already clung 
to each other. Francis was slender in health, and dif- 
fident, yet kind and affectionate in disposition; and 
Mary, though strong and spirited, had grown up in his 
companionship, always regarding him as her husband 
elect, in a spirit of cheerful compliance with the ar- 
rangement made, and probably mingling compassion 
with her responsive tenderness. The marriage was 
solemnized on the 24th of April, 1658, at the churoh 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 335 



( f Notre Dame. The month previous, commissioners 
tad arrived from Scotland, who negotiated the impor- 
tant conditions of the union in view of every contin- 
gency, which provisions, however, it is affirmed, Henry 
II. was prepared to evade, so as to unite the Scotch 
and French crowns, at all events. 

The wedding party, on the bridal morning, were as- 
sembled at the palace of the archbishop, the bride being 
dressed in a jewelled white robe, with a long train borne 
by girls, after " the humor of the time." There is end- 
less evidence that her reputation for uncommon beauty, 
was something more than flattery. Her form was full 
and tall ; her hair a sunny brown, and falling in luxu- 
riant ringlets ; her face clear and softly outlined, with 
a Grecian nose, lovely lips, and chestnut eyes ; and her 
delicate hands, as they waved in gesture, or glided 
over the strings of a lute, when she sang sweetly, 
threw the court-poets into spasms of admiration. From 
the bishop's palace, the royal company marched through 
a temporary covered way, lined with gold embroidered 
purple velvet, into the stupendous church, the pope's 
Quncio preceding with a golden cross, the bridegroom 
following, then the king and the bride. Passing 
through the church, they appeared on a platform at 
the door, in sight of an immense throng, seated in an 
amphitheatre, built for the occasion. Here the ring 
was given and a benediction pronounced, when they 
returned to the choir of the cathedral, where high mass 
^■as performed. 

After a feast and ball at the bishop's house, the party 
adjourned to the Tournelles palace, to enjoy such 



336 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



amusements as beholding artificial horses, richly ca- 
parisoned and bearing children of rank, move by in- 
ternal machinery through the halls ; and superb barges 
pass, on in-door lakes, and rowed by a single youth 
who thus carried off from the crowd his lady-love. 
The celebration continued fifteen days, and was closed 
by a grand tournament. 

During all these spectacles, Mary was as much a 
wonder of loveliness to all who saw her, as she was 
not long before, when, bearing a torch in an evening 
procession and looking unearthly radiant in the wild 
light shed down on her features, she was asked, by a 
woman in the crowd, if she " were indeed an angel." 
In Scotland, the marriage was honored, among other 
ways, by bonfires, and by firing the famous gigantic 
gun called Mons Meg, which is still to be seen. The 
bride and groom retired into the country, after the 
ceremonies, to enjoy the quiet that was especially 
grateful to the shrinking nature of Francis. Here 
Mary showed herself as eminent in the affectionate du- 
ties of a wife, as she had been in the splendors of the 
court. 

But the freedom of rural life was not long the privi- 
lege of these two amiable beings. Cares and griefs 
were near at hand. The first interruption of their 
quietude, was the death of the king, Henry II. At a 
tournament, given in honor of his sister's and eldest 
daughter's marriages, he himself entered the lists in all 
the pride of his strength, courage and regal array ; 
but, by one of the accidents that sometimes happened 
in that warlike diversion, a lance pierced his helmet, 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 667 

inflicting a wound from which he died a few days 
after. Francis, ill at the time, sprang from his bed, 
assumed the sceptre, and was crowned at Eheims, Sep- 
tember, 1559. 

Mary was now queen of both France and Scotland, 
and, through the influence of her friends, unwisely pa- 
raded a title to the English crown, also. The young 
Edward YL, to whom she was once engaged, and his 
sister Mary, known as the Bloody, had successively 
worn that crown and died, leaving it to the famous 
Elizabeth, who was first cousin to the father of Mary, 
Queen of Scots. The title of the latter to this, a third 
throne, was urged on the ground of Elizabeth's illegiti- 
macy, which had been first decreed, and afterwards de- 
nied, by Acts of Parliament, the question being, whether 
the divorce of her mother, Anne Boleyn, rendered the 
daughter a rightful heir to royalty, or not. The death 
of Elizabeth would, without dispute, have given Mary 
a triple sceptre ; and she was right in refusing, as she 
did, most firmly and ably for one so young, to relin- 
quish such a rich reversion. As it was, her plate, ban- 
ners, seals, furniture, all bore the united arms of Scot- 
land, France and England ; and her chosen device was 
the crowns of the two first, with the words in Latin — 
"Another is delayed" or " awaits me." Provoking as 
was this to the high temper of England's maiden sov- 
ereign, it fitly signified our heroine's peerless position 
before the eyes of a continent.- She stood, in the glory 
of youth and beauty, at the head of two of its greatest 
kingdoms, and claimed headship over another. The 
then, as now, most splendid empires of Europe, were 
22 



838 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



heis, in possession or expectancy. But, even in the 
first ftill blaze of her fortune, she did not lose her sweet 
humility and magnanimity. In the coronation proces- 
sion, she yielded her own rightful precedence to her 
always ungracious, and now discrowned and frowning 
mother-in-law. 

Francis, notwithstanding his feeble constitution and 
his title of the Little, to distinguish him invidiously 
from Francis the Great, entered on his duties with 
much energy. But his health declined, and, after a 
reign of seventeen months, he died, expressing, to the 
last, his love for Mary. She had already, the same 
year, mourned the death of her mother, the regent of 
Scotland, Whose life was wearied out in vain attempts 
to crush the Eeformation in that land. And now she 
was an orphan and, suddenly, a widow and a stranger 
in the beloved country of her adoption, her education, 
her short reign. 

Catherine triumphantly resumed her power, as 
guardian of the new king, Francis' brother, and ban- 
ished Mary's uncles from their influential stations at 
court. The Queen of Scots retired to a private coun- 
try residence, and there relieved her sorrow for her 
lost husband, in tears or in sweet poetry, composed to 
his memory. Monarch still of her native mountains 
md valleys, and only eighteen years of age, her hand 
was sought by princes and kings ; but she would en- 
tertain none of their offers, until she had decided her 
course of life. This was too apparent to be doubted. 
Her brother, Lord James, on behalf of the Protestants, 
and John Lesly, in the interest of the Catholics, came 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 339 



fk'om Scotland, to secure her favor for their respective 
parties, and to hasten her return to the home of her in- 
fancy. To each of the delegates, she replied in a re- 
served and prudent manner — a characteristic that 
should have weight in judging of her subsequent all 
leged intimacy with Mq notorious Earl of Both well, 
who, it is noteworthy, at this period came to France, 
with other noblemen, to greet their sovereign. 

Previous to embarking, Mary, as the custom was, 
sent word to Elizabeth of England, asking permission 
to pass through her dominions. Elizabeth replied, 
through her ambassador, that she would give a pass 
only on condition that Mary would no more refuse to 
sign the rejected article of a former treaty, which was 
a relinquishment of all claim to the English crown. 
Mary's refusal of this repeated demand, as well as her 
reply to other messages, touching her religious position, 
are preserved at full length, and are beautiful exhibi- 
tions of gentleness and candor on the one hand, firm- 
ness, dignity and intelligence on the other. These an- 
swers, added to the personal charms and Catholic pred- 
ilections of the one who uttered them, so incensed 
the homely, bitter and ambitious spinster who wore the 
British diadem, that she began anew to excite the Scots 
against their sovereign and her own cousin, and sent 
out a fleet, ostensibly to capture pirates, but really to 
intercept and seize that sovereign and relative, on her 
voyage home. 

In August, 1561, she set sail from France, having 
lingered for months to wean her heart, if possible, from 
that sunny land, and to overcome her very natural 



340 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



dread of the countrj of her parents' past, and lier own 
anticipated, trials. The French court accompanied her 
to Calais, the port of departure ; Catherine forgetting 
her jealousies, took an affectionate leave of her sad 
daughter-in-law ; and a few noblemen, connections, and 
literary men, set sail with her who had been the light 
of the palace, the pride of blood, and the theme of 
song. Two historians, and a poet, Chatelard, after- 
wards a miserable actor in this narrative, were of the 
company. As Mary's ship weighed anchor, another, 
in an attempt to make the port, was wrecked before 
her weeping eyes, and declared by her to be an evil 
omen. To the last moment of twilight, she sat on 
deck, gazing in steadfast despair at the home of her 
childhood and the kingdom of her splendid nuptials ; 
tears fell unceasingly from her, and her lips constantly 
murmured — " Farewell, France ! farewell, my beloved 
country I" When the night hid the shore, she gave 
way to louder lamentation, exclaiming, — " The dark- 
ness now brooding over France is like that in my 
heart;" and then, refusing to enter the cabin, she slept 
on deck, awaiting the dawn's earliest light, when her 
attendants had promised to awake her. A heavy fog 
delayed the vessels, and, at morning, she saw again 
the dear, fading hills, and wept freshly, saying, " Fare- 
well, beloved France ! I shall never, never see you 
more." 

On the voyage, she composed a famous song, which 
IS desecrated by any attempt to translate it into Eng 
lish verse, and is literally this, — " Adieu, pleasant land 
of France I my country, the most dear, which nour- 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 841 



ished my infancy. Adieu, Fiance ! adieu, my happy 
days I The ship which sunders my friendships, has 
only a part of me ; one part remains with thee ; that is 
thine ; I trust it to thy affection ; and for this do thou 
remember the other!" The sweetness of the French 
words and rhymes, and, as in the " pour ma patrie" of 
the Marseilles Hymn, the very prepositions, to an Eng- 
lish ear, give the language a mournful effect. The 
young American poet, Ellsworth, exquisitely conveys 
the spirit of the scene, without reference to the words 
of the original song, in these lines : — 

** Wooed in the may-day of my prime, 

And won by love to warmer earth, 
How can I seek, in Scotia's clime, 

Again, alone, a sullen hearth. 
But France is now for other eyes. 
And unto me are other skies ; 

never shall a ship convey 

A sadder wanderer away 1 

Behind, the shore distinct and bright, 

Extends a farewell arm to me ; 
Before me is the drooping light, 

The sunset, and the misty sea • 
And thus, in gloom and doubt, decays. 
To me, the light of glorious days, 

When Love, to France, with Francis flew. 

Adieu, adieu ! ah me ! — adieu I" 

The ships, propelled by sails or oars, according as 
the wind blew or not, and built with high prows and 
sterns, like the ancient galleys — reached Scotland, 
August 20th, 1561. On the way a heavy mist alone 
prevented a capture by the English c:*uisers, who. as it 



342 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



was, found and seized one of the vessels, containing 
Mary's furniture. A dense fog, like that which shroud- 
ed the French coast, and likewise interpreted as an evil 
sign by the queen, misled her mariners, so that they 
were nearly wrecked on the rocks of the Scottish shore. 
The disheartened Mary declared that she had no wish 
to escape wreck, or the chains of English imprison- 
ment, so cheerless seemed her future residence in the 
stern land of her fathers. 

The voyage had been conducted with enough secrecy 
to surprise the Scots by the sudden arrival of their ad- 
mired queen. They were wholly unprepared to do fit- 
ting honor to the occasion ; but were delighted with 
the return of their renowned ruler, especially with the 
fact that she so trusted them as to appear with no arm- 
ed escort. Forthwith the population of Edinburgh ar- 
rayed themselves according to their trades, along the 
road to the port of Leith ; and horses, poor in breed 
and array, compared with the superb ones Mary had 
been accustomed to see, were brought to receive the 
royal party. Shouts of applause rent the air, bonfires 
and illuminations shone everywhere, and, after the 
new-comers had been established in Holyrood palace, 
all the musicians in the city made the whole night 
hideous with inharmonious sounds, among which a 
party of covenanters, too strict to play on profane in- 
struments and too loyal to be silent, mingled their loud 
hymns. Knox, the great yet violent Reformer, records 
that " so soon as ever her French fillocks, fiddlers, and 
others of that kind, got the house alone, there might 
be seen skipping not very comely for honest women. 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 848 



Her common talk was, in secret, that she saw nothing 
in Scotland but gravity, which was altogether repug- 
nant to her nature, for she was brought up in jojeu- 
sitye." 

The intolerance which the Keformers, in those times, 
had learned from the Papists themselves, was signally 
illustrated the next Sunday after Mary's arrival. She 
had announced her intention to be present at high-mass 
in the chapel of Holyrood House. This ceremony the 
Protestants had forbidden throughout the realm ; and 
now they assembled in great numbers, and would have 
rushed into the assembly to expel the priests, had not 
Lord James, himself a Protestant, stood at the door 
and quieted the tumult. On the next Sunday, Knox 
thundered from his pulpit against the idolatries of 
Rome ; but he himself had not become so enlightened 
as to inveigh also against the grand banquet, given on 
the same holy day, by the city to the queen, at Edin- 
burgh castle, on her way to which she was grieved as 
on many other occasions, by public exhibitions in ridi- 
cule of her religion. It speaks volumes in her praise, 
that she manifested, through all her life, a liberality 
and moderation, quite in contrast with the spirit of all 
religious parties, in that age. She conceded so far, in- 
deed, as to invite into her presence the great Reformer, 
who had not concealed his opposition to her; and 
though, in his mistaken conscientiousness, to use the 
most charitable word, he uttered disrespectful and in- 
delicate language in her ears, fehe was no less calm and 
forbearing, than shrewd and ready in her replies. This 
scene, as well as the mob at Holyrood chapel, has been 



344 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



wortliily painted by American artists, — Leutze ana 
Eothermel. 

The privy council soon formed, was made up of the 
great earls of both parties, and whose musical names, 
as handed down in their proud titles, are familiar to 
all readers of Scottish history and poetry. Lord James, 
who was now made Earl of Mar and afterwards Earl of 
Murray — a handsome, stern, sagacious man of thirty- 
one years, stood, highest in the government, and exert- 
ed the most influence over the queen on the one hand, 
and the new church on the other. He and others in 
power are accused of paying deference to the secret 
plottings of Elizabeth of England, who thus made 
trouble for Mary unceasingly, but could not turn that 
tide of popular admiration for her person, not her faith, 
which followed her everywhere. She journeyed, about 
this time, ^with her lords and ladies, to the palace 
of Linlithgow and Stirling castle, the scenes of her in- 
fancy ; and to other places, among them Falkland, 
where her father had died. At Stirling she had a nar- 
row escape from death, her bed having caught fire from 
a candle; and at Perth she fainted at the shocking 
means taken by the crowd to show that their enthusias- 
tic loyalty did not imply any complacency towards her 
belief The tour was made on horseback, there being 
but one wheeled vehicle in the realm — a chariot brought 
from England by Mary's grandmother, which would 
have been useless without better roads than were then 
anywhere to be found. 

On her return to the capital, the young queen, still 
in her nineteenth year, was further provoked by a city 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 346 



proclamation, classing the papist clergy with outcasts 
of society, and expelling them from the town, "under 
pain of carting through the town, burning on the cheek, 
and perpetual banishment." The French nobles and 
courtiers, who had accompanied Mary to Scotland, 
were quite disgusted by all these " savage" proceed- 
ings, as they deemed them, and, one after another, left 
the country. 

Many suitors now sent their envoys to propose a 
marriage with the royal widow ; among them were Don 
Carlos of Spain, Archduke Charles of Austria, the 
King of Sweden, the Duke of Ferrara, and the Prince 
of Conde. Two Scotsmen of rank added themselves 
to these, the Earl of Arran, the partly insane son of the 
regent of that name in Mary's infancy, and Sir John 
Gordon, a man of noble appearance and the second son 
of Earl Hantly, who was leader of the Komish party. 
There is no evidence that she favored the addresses of 
the latter ; the former she certainly disliked, and all 
the more on account of a report that he had conspired 
to seize the queen, and carry her to Dumbarton castle, 
whereby great alarm was excited at Holyrood. 

It was a turbulent period, and, no sooner had this 
fear been allayed, than a party of base noblemen, led 
by Bothwell, assaulted the house of a merchant, whose 
daughter was supposed to be intimate with Arran ; the 
offence was repeated, notwithstanding the queen's re- 
buke; a great mob was occasioned, which was dis- 
persed, and Bothwell disgraced by the court. 

A more serious disturbance followed on the heels of 
this. The Earl of Arran, through timidity or remorse, 



84() MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



disclosed a plot of himself, his father, together with 
Bothwell, Huntly and his son Lord Gordon, to shoot 
Lord James while hunting with the queen ; the motive 
was alleged to be a fear that the royal heirship of the 
Hamiltons (of which family was Arran) would be set 
aside, and a desire to give the Catholics greater influ- 
ence in the government. Whether this story of the 
half-crazy Arran were wholly trae or not, he and Both- 
well were arrested ; but inasmuch as so many of rank 
were implicated and so little proof could be found 
against them, the queen was contented to take posses- 
sion of Dumbarton, and hold Bothwell in prison ; from 
this he escaped and remained abroad two years. 

No man is either wholly an angel or a demon ; and 
this plausible attempt at his very life, may explain 
something of the young Lord James' subsequent wicked, 
merciless and successful scheme to extinguish Huntly — 
a scheme strangely prefaced by the sumptuous festivities 
and humanizing joys of his own marriage with a daugh- 
ter of the Earl of Marschall. This occurred in February 
1562 ; in August the iniquitous plan was executed. 

The Earl of Huntly was the most powerful baron 
in the north of Scotland ; he had been a devoted and 
honored friend of Mary's father and mother, and to the 
last breath evinced himself a high-minded and faithful 
subject to herself. But Lord James, who had already 
effected the downfall of the Hamiltons and others who 
stood in the way of his unscrupulous ambition, was 
determined to ruin the earl ; and the Protestants gene- 
rally, from less personal motives, had long wished such 
a result. Lord James was in reality king, and Mary 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 847 



his deceived instrument ; from her he had secured the 
Earldom of Mar, the benefits of which had hitherto ac- 
crued to Huntly; and now he privately obtained a 
grant of the revenues and title of the Earldom of Mur- 
ray, which were decreed for a term of years to the 
family of Huntly. The first step was sufficiently ex- 
asperatiijg to the old northern baron, who did not sus- 
pect that such a second step had been taken. But an 
affray, brought on by the question of this latter earl- 
dom, happened between two members of the family, in 
the streets of Edinburgh ; this gave occasion to James 
to persecute one of the actors in the affray — Sir John 
Gordon, and thus offend his father. Earl Huntly, still 
more deeply. 

He next prevailed on the queen to make a tour 
through her dominions, including the estates of the 
earl ; and there he sought both to alarm her with the 
falsely-reported treason of Huntly. and to so " beard 
the lion in his den," by slights and injuries, for which 
Mary should seem responsible, that he would be driven 
to rebellion. The earl and his heroic wife, in various 
ways proved their loyalty ; but he was at last forced to 
an unequal encounter with James' troops, and nobly 
refusing to fly, was taken and fell dead from his horse, 
so great was his indignant grief at the manifest over- 
throw of himself and his ancient house. 

The faithful, brave heart of the old man was broken, 
and he was no more. Yet James, now openly Earl of 
Murray, pursued his unrelenting ambition and ven- 
geance. He procured the death-warrant of the son, 
John Gordon, who was beheaded before the queen's 



348 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



ejes; she wept and fainted as the axe descended on 
her former admired suitor, against whom history writes 
no blame. The other son she would not condemn to 
death, though he would have fallen a victim had not 
a forged death-warrant, prepared by James, Earl of 
Murray, been detected in season ; he lived to recover 
the castles and estates of his father, which were now, 
by all this triumphant course of villainy, in the hands 
of Murray and his adherents. 

Mary is to be blamed only as a woman too honest to 
suspect so stupendous plots, and as one unfortunate in 
her period and position. Perhaps she failed to assert 
her better discernment and feelings. She had as much 
intelligence and tenderness, as she had of that manly 
courage which led her to scorn all supposed danger, 
and, on this same infernal expedition, to regret that 
" she was not a man, to know what life it was to lie all 
night in the fields, or to walk upon the causeway with 
a jack and knapsack, a Glasgow buckler and a broad- 
sword.*' But she was deluded by the seeming aus- 
tere integrity of her half-brother, this Lord James — 
Earl of Murray ; nor was it her only misfortune to 
blindly aid his aspiring designs ; she was thus also ex- 
posing herself to the machinations of Queen Elizabeth, 
with whom Murray maintained a most detestable and 
traitorous understanding. Evidently he would have 
stopped short of nothing between himself and his sister '3 
crown; and, possibly, he made his reckless course a 
matter of piety, for the same Papacy which he opposed, 
had taught him, as it has taught others in all times, 
the Satanic doctrine that the end sanctifies the means. 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 849 



Afi-ar these exciting scenes, two years of peace to 
Mary and her kingdom ensued. Her quiet was, how- 
ever, invaded by the presumption of a French poet of 
fortune and family, Chatelard, who was one of her 
numerous escort to Scotland, and who now went thither 
again, to urge the suit of his patron, the Duke Danville. 
He was pleasing, accomplished, and a grandnephew of 
Chevalier Bayard. The queen, being fond of poetry, 
and not averse to the customary glowing compliments 
of courtiers, received his laudatory effusions with favor, 
and even replied to them in verse. In this, she was 
no doubt culpable ; she could have gratified and en- 
couraged his poetic nature, and yet have kept him at 
a suitable' distance, until the danger or safety of his 
temperament was fully apparent. Her whole life was 
a training to discretion, while his vocation was to give 
free flow to feeling and impulse. He introduced him- 
self into her bed-chamber, was discovered and ejected, 
with a severe rebuke ; but, soon after, repeated the of- 
fence, when Mary called Murray to her assistance, and 
Chatelard was seized, tried and executed. On the 
scaffold he looked towards her window, and exclaimed, 
" Farewell^ loveliest and most cruel princess whom the 
world conwains." Nothing but a blind zeal or mere 
malignity can accuse the queen of more than impru 
dence in this sad affair. Chatelard merited his fate. 

During these two years of peace, Knox, also, con- 
tinued to annoy Mary by his irritating personalities in 
preachmg, his seditious opposition, and his bitter re- 
marks when admitted to her presence. For the most 
part ha may have acted from a mistaken sense of duty ; 



350 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



but lie too often exhibited tbe strange mixture of art^ 
fulness with conscientiousness, peculiar to his nation, 
to be set down as a blundering zealot. Much is to be 
pardoned to his times ; yet, in the queen herself, he 
had an example of calm charity, even in that day of 
persecution. Mary endeavored to conciliate him by 
gentle words ; nevertheless, after she had opened her 
first parliament with a befitting display of royalty, he 
and his brethren denounced in public the "superfluity 
of clothes and vanity" of their sovereign and her ladies ; 
and Knox boldly attacked her governmental acts, be- 
cause they were not in form, as well as substance, what 
he desired. Called to an interview with her, he threw 
her into excessive weeping by his blunt severity, until 
she could abide his presence no longer. 

She saw him but once again, and then he was on 
trial for treason, a few weeks subsequently to the au- 
dience granted him. Two rioters, out of many who 
had been disturbing the services at Holyrood chapel, 
were imprisoned, and Knox, to save them, wrote let- 
ters to all the leaders of his party, in order to assemble 
a crowd that would terrify the magistrates into an ac- 
quittal of the rioters. This was a treasonable infraction 
of an express law, recently passed. But the Keformer 
was pronounced innocent by the Protestant majority 
of the royal council. 

Such were the winds that frequently ruffled the se- 
renity of Mary's life, during the two years of lull that 
preceded her stormier days. She spent this time in 
journeying through the western and southern parts of 
Scotland, and making a second progress through the 



MARY OP SCOTLAND. 351 



wilder north. Her ordinary life was varied by tlie du- 
ties of her office, and every study and amusement that 
could adorn her gifts. Rising before light in the morn- 
ing, her first hours were given to her privy-council 
before whose august members she sat, needle- work in 
hand, giving and receiving advice. She was a great 
lover of history and the classics, in the reading of 
which, especially the works of Livy, she passed an 
hour or two, each day, after dinner. For the study of 
geography and astronomy, she had the advantage of 
the first globes ever introduced into Scotland. 

Gardens were her delight, and were attached to her 
six chief places of residence. Holyrood had two ; but, 
not satisfied with so limited exercise as these afforded, 
she often walked to Arthur's Seat, or along the Salis- 
bury crags, which overlook Edinburgh. The in-door 
confinement, varied only by short, slow walks abroad, 
which is the greatest curse of American women, never 
enfeebled Mary's strength, or paled her bright cheek ; 
in the fi:'esh air she practised with the cross-bow, or 
rode, hawked and hunted, or walked miles together, 
like her later countrywomen. At home, she danced, 
sang, played on the lute and virginal, or assisted in the 
masks that were customary. One of these is described ; 
at a feast, during the first course, a Cupid entered and 
sang Itahan verses, accompanied by a chorus ; during 
the second course, a young maiden sang Latin verses ; 
at the third, a person in the character of Father Time, 
appeared and offered his parting advice. The queen 
had always at hand a company of musidans, who sang, 
or played the viol, lute, and organ. To her chapeJ 



352 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



music, she added, strangely enough, a military band, 
with bagpipes and drums. 

Elizabeth of England had an endless wardrobe ; but 
Mary's, though rich, was not extravagant. We are 
told that " her common wearing gowns, as long as she 
continued in mourning, which was till the day of her 
second marriage, were either made of camlet or damis, 
or serge of Florence, bordered with black velvet. Her 
riding habits were mostly of serge of Florence, stiffened 
in the neck and body with buckram, and trimmed with 
lace and ribands. In the matter of shoes and stockings 
she seems to have been remarkably well supplied. She 
had thirty-six pair of velvet shoes, laced with gold, 
silver, and silk, and three pair woven of worsted of 
Guernsay. Silk stockings were then a rarity. The 
first pair worn in England were sent as a present from 
France to Elizabeth. Six pair of gloves of worsted of 
Guernsay, are also mentioned in the catalogue, still ex- 
isting, of Mary's wardrobe. She was fond of tapestry, 
and had the walls of her chambers hung with the rich- 
est specimens of it she could bring from France. She 
had not much plate, but she had a profusion of rare 
and valuable jewels. Her cloth of gold, her Turkey 
carpets, her beds and coverlids, her table-cloths, her 
crystal, her chairs and footstools, covered with velvet, 
and garnished with fringes, were all celebrated in the 
gossiping chronicles of the day." 

Indeed, Mary's reign was a new era of refinement 
and politeness in wild, rough Scotland. Her sweet 
manners and charming conversation and cultivated 
tastes soon elevated the tone of her court to that of 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. • 353 



any European capital. We know not how much the 
present culture and elegance of the land of Wilson and 
Macaulaj, are due to the influence of Mary. Nor, with 
all her expensive tastes, did sne forget the duties of 
charity. To all the poor she was a mother, herself 
directing t.he education of many poor children, and 
often personally watching the courts, where she main- 
tained a lawyer to defend those who could not pay an 
advocate. Two priests, also, were employed by her to 
distribute alms constantly to all the needy. 

In the year 1565, Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, 
went from England to Scotland, and, with his ad- 
vent, commenced the great troubles of the Queen of 
Scots. Elizabeth had already begun her course of pre- 
meditated mischief in the matter of Mary's marriage, 
having insultingly proposed her own polluted favorite, 
Dudley, whom she had made earl, as a husband for a 
pure-blooded, and pure-minded sovereign, and know- 
ing the offer would be rejected. Mary had declined 
many proposed alliances with the most powerful prin- 
ces of the continent, in a spirit of kind concession to 
England. She now turned her thoughts to her cousin 
Darnley, who, next to her, was heir presumptive to 
Elizabeth's crown, whenever it should be vacated by 
death ; and the English queen, guessing the intention, 
not only permitted Darnley to go, but recommended 
him to Mary's favor, in order that she might interfere 
afterwards and break off the match by a civil war in 
Scotland. In this she overshot her mark, as the event 
proved, though it would have been well for our hero- 
ine, if the attempt to foil her purpose, had succeeded. 
23 



354 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



Darnley was four years younger than Mary, who 
was now a little more than twenty -two. Though so 
young, he was mature in his appearance, being uncom- 
monly tall and well-proportioned. His features were 
regular, his movements graceful, his address winning, 
and his presence altogether full of fascination. In his 
childhood he had displayed a precocious mind, as a 
letter still preserved, and a written story of his, spoken 
of, may testify. His mother had always been ambi- 
tious to have this match take place. His father, the 
Earl of Lennox, as before mentioned, had been banish- 
ed from Scotland, and his estates confiscated. He was 
now reinstated in his forfeited honors, and his son 
Darnley, following him, reached Wemys castle, near 
Edinburgh, on the north shore of the Frith of Forth, 
where Mary was then sojourning. 

She had every reason of policy for accepting him ; 
she found him, as she remarked, " the lustiest and 
best-proportioned long man she had seen ;" he behaved 
well, on first acquaintance ; and he exhibited the ac- 
complishments, and professed the tastes, that might 
win her regard. Never was there a prospect of a more 
fitting and happy union. He could not conceal entirely 
his boyish opinions and rash arrogancy ; but these 
were naturally imputed to his youth. He courted the 
Reform party; the nobles generally welcomed with 
gladness any one who would supplant Murray in au- 
thority ; and Darnley's mother had taken care to send 
presents — " to the queen a ring with a fair diamont ; 
ane emerald to my Lord of Murray ; ane orloge or 
montre (watch) set with diamonts and rubies, to the 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 355 



Secretary Lethington ; a ring with a ruby to my 
brother Sir Kobert ; for she was still in good hope that 
her son, my Lord Darnley, should come better speed 
than the Earl of Leceister, anent the marriage with the 
queen." But more favorable to his suit than "dia- 
monts" were the measles and ague that opportunely 
attacked this "long man/' and demanded Mary's nurs- 
ing care, and excited in her that " pity which is akin 
to love." 

When her mind was fully made up, she first inti- 
mated it to Darnley, who, unlike the modern Prince 
Albert, had not awaited a queen's proposal, and of 
course was silenced until she offered herself Next, 
she sought the concurrence of her "good cousin" Eliz- 
abeth, who forthwith refused it in peremptory terms. 
Mary replied that she had only made known her inde- 
pendent intention, as an act of courtesy, and did not 
beg any consent. Elizabeth proceeded to excite the 
discontent of Marj^'s subjects, particularly Murray, and, 
having imprisoned Darnley's mother, commanded him- 
self and his father to return to England. Lennox made 
answer that the air of England did not agree with his 
health; and his son, more plainly, sent word that he 
considered himself subject to Mary's word alone. 

But the trouble which Elizabeth had been brewing, 
began to develop itself The leading nobles of the 
Scottish court openly opposed the marriage, and Mur- 
ray commenced in good earnest to set a rebellion on 
foot, with the purpose of seizing his sovereign's per- 
son, and himself assuming the government. She was, 
in company with her intended husband, to attend the 



356 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



baptism of a child of Lord Livingston. The conspiriug 
lords were to waylay her on the road she was to travel ; 
but she learned the plot in season to provide a power- 
ful escort, and to pass by the ambush so early that her 
enemies were unprepared to intercept her. 

Another attempt to provoke disturbance was made 
at Edinburgh, under the cloak of religion ; it was frus- 
trated, however, by the timely arrival and activity of 
the queen. Next, on the 17th of July, Murray and 
his accessories boldly proclaimed civil war, at Stirling 
castle, and sent to England for money. Mary's wis- 
dom, courage and diligence now shone forth in her 
measures to meet this rebellion ; her nature was one 
that difficulties brought out in its strength, instead of 
overpowering it. Her administration had been mild 
and acceptable ; the majority of the people were at- 
tached to her ; and many men of rank rallied around 
her in this emergency. But to anticipate any unfore- 
seen calamity and to take away the excuse for treason- 
able acts, she hastened to consummate her union with 
Darnley. 

The marriage was ,=olemnized on Sunday, July 29th, 
1565, in the Holyrood chapel, according to the Catho- 
lic ceremony, John SincUir, bishop of Brechin, officiat- 
ing. "It was generally remarked," says Bell, "that 
a handsomer couple had n^.ver been seen in Scotland. 
Mary was now twenty -three, and at the very height of 
her beauty, and Darnley, though only nineteen, was 
of a more manly person and app-^.a^^ance than his age 
could have indicated. The festivities were certainly 
not such as had attended the queen's /irst marriage, 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 357 



for the elegancies of life were not understood in Scot- 
land as in France ; and, besides, it was a time of trou- 
ble when armed men were obliged to stand round the 
altar. ISTevertheless, all due observances and rejoic- 
ings lent a dignity to the occasion. Marj, in a flowing 
robe of black, with a wide mourning hood, was led into 
the chapel by the Earls of Lennox and Athol, who, 
having conducted her to the altar, retired to bring in 
the bridegroom. The bishop having united them in 
the presence of a great attendance of lords and ladies, 
three rings were put on the queen's finger — the middle 
one a rich diamond. They then knelt together, and 
many prayers were said over them. At the conclusion, 
Darnley kissed his bride, and as he did not himself 
profess the Catholic faith, left her till she should hear 
mass. She was afterwards followed by most of the 
company to her own apartments, where she laid aside 
her sable garments, to intimate that henceforth, as the 
wife of another, she would forget the grief occasioned 
by the loss of her first husband. In observance of an 
old custom, as many of the lords as could approach 
near enough, were permitted to assist in unrobing her, 
by taking out a pin. She was then committed to her 
ladies, who, having attired her with becoming splendor, 
brought her to the ball-room, where there was great 
cheer and dancing till dinner-time. At dinner. Darn- 
ley appeared in his royal robes; and after a great 
flourish of trumpets, largess was proclaimed among the 
multitude who surrounded the palace. The Earls of 
Athol, Morton, and Crawford attended the queen as 
ftewer, carver, and cup-bearer; and the Earls of Egling- 



358 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



ton, Cassilis, and Glencairn performed the like offices 
for Darnlej. When dinner was over, the dancing was 
renewed till supper- time, soon after which the company 
retired for the night." 

Further messages were now exchanged between the 
neighboring queens, resulting only in further display 
of the envious hypocrisy of the one, and the straight- 
forward intelligence of the other. Mary's honeymoon 
was full of vexatious diplomacy and military prepara- 
tions. The Earls Both well and Sutherland were, of 
necessity, recalled from banishment ; and Lord Gordon 
recovered the titles and possessions wrested from his 
father by the grasping Murray. The queen appointed 
a new provost at Edinburgh, in place of the unreliable 
one ; and, summoning her subjects to arms, marched 
to Linlithgow, to Stirling and to Glasgow, her force ac- 
cumulating at every step. 

Murray, with an army of twelve hundred was at 
Paisle}^, five miles from Glasgow, but, fearing an en- 
counter, hastened to Edinburgh, there to find that his 
selfish motives were well-known, and hardly one per- 
son ready to assist him. Thither the royal army, nov/ 
numbering 5,000, returned in pursuit, and Murray hur- 
ried, at its approach, back to the vicinity of Glasgow, 
whither the queen again marched so immediately that 
Murray retired to the southern border, where, through 
the English Earl of Bedford, he received three thousand 
pounds and three hundred men from Elizabeth, who, 
with brazen deceit, had just assured Mary of her good- 
will. The latter put forth a proclamation in which the 
real designs of Murray were set forth in plain words • 



I 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 359 



18,000 soldiers soon gathered to her aid; the rebels 
fled from their approach and finally dispersed, leaving 
their leaders to take refuge in England. For a long 
time Elizabeth did not permit Murray to come into 
her presence, and at last made him and the Abbot of 
Kilwinning, on their knees and in the presence of the 
French and Spanish ambassadors, declare that she her- 
self had taken no part in the Scottish rebellion, — to 
such degradation were the traitors compelled, instead 
of reaping their expected reward. After this, they 
lived at Newcastle for some time, in want and neglect. 

In this campaign, the Queen of Scots, by common 
consent, exhibited great executive talent and admirable 
spirit. She " rode with her officers in a suit of light 
armor, carrying pistols at her saddle-bow." And Knox 
himself confesses that " her courage was manlike, and 
always increasing," 

The revolt, thus suppressed, was but the prelude of 
Mary's henceforth uninterrupted misfortunes, all of 
which flowed chiefly from her ill-starred marriage. 
Darnley soon manifested a nature too gross and defec- 
tive to bear his sudden elevation to power. He gave 
loose to intemperate and libidinous inclinations, and to 
his wilful temper ; his manner towards his wife was 
often cruelly rude ; his time was given to riotous com- 
panions; and the kingly title and equal power con- 
ferred on him by the generous love of the queen, to- 
gether with many other favors, only fed his childish 
appetite for more, until he determined to usurp the su- 
preme authority. 

The Earl of Morton, who affected allegiance to the 



360 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



queen, was ready to seize on the passions of her hus- 
band as instruments for the execution of his own pur- 
poses, which must be considered selfish ones for the 
most part, inasmuch as Mary's whole course, and all 
historical documents, evince no design in her to join 
the Continental league of princes, for the suppression 
of Protestantism by fire and sword. But she was re- 
solved at a parliament, soon to meet, to secure the final 
expatriation of that Murray who, in the face of her 
offers of pardon, had persisted in rebellion, and had 
long shown himself a faithless and ungrateful dissem- 
bler. This resolution stirred up the disaffected to im- 
mediate action. Morton and others at once conspired 
with Darnley and the absent Murray, in a way that 
seemed to favor the separate interests of all concerned. 
The king was to be clothed with a right over the queen ; 
Murray was to be restored, and the Reform party to 
have full sway. Thus was Darnley made a poor dupe, 
and bound, by written agreement, to go to any extreme, 
even, as the language of the compact evidently implied, 
to the wresting of liberty or life from his devoted wife 
and munificent queen. 

The first step in this treason, was the infamous mur- 
der of Rizzio, the confidential secretary and faithful 
adviser of Mary. There is some proof that this was 
perpetrated, not merely through jealousy of Rizzio's 
long influence with the queen, but more immediately 
in revenge of his disclosure of this same plot, which, 
it is afl&rmed, he had accidentally overheard as one that 
purposed her imprisonment until the rebels secured 
their objects. 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 361 



Kizzio was a native of Piedmont, and came to Scot* 
land in 1561, as an attach^ of the Savoyan embassy. 
He was retained by Mary on account of his musical 
talent, and, three years after, rose to be her French 
secretary. Advanced in years, and repulsive in fea- 
tures, he was accomplished in mind and manners, and 
in various ways serviceable to his mistress. She could 
trust no man, not even her husband ; and, though two 
of her four Maries yet remained unmarried with her, 
it is not wonderful that she admitted the trusty Kizzio 
to a familiar companionship which has given some 
color to the indubitably false insinuations of her ene- 
mies. Besides these, it was reported that the Italian 
was a paid agent of the Pope — a report that would 
make his assassination a popular scene in the drama of 
iniquity to be acted by the traitors. 

Saturday, the 9th of March, 15 66, was fixed upon for 
the deed of blood. Morton introduced into Holy rood 
palace five hundred armed men as a safeguard. Lord 
Kuthven, a fierce man, and encased in a coat of mail 
beneath his robe, led a chosen few to Darnley's room, 
directly beneath a small private room where Mary was 
at supper, in company with a brother, a countess, and 
the secretary. By a secret stairway that led to this 
room from the lower one, Darnley, at eight o'clock, 
entered and sat down at the supper-table, next to the 
queen. His not returning, after a certain interval, was 
the preconcerted sign that his accomplices could do 
their work. Accordingly, as many as could crowd into 
the small chamber, suddenly appeared, one after an- 
other, their savage leader clanking his armor as he sat 



862 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



down, without a word of salutation. Mary demanded 
an explanation. Eutliven declared that no evil was 
meant except to the villain near her, and fixed his 
ghastly eyes on the secretary, who was conspicuous in 
his dress of satin, velvet, damask, fur, and jewels. 
Mary heard the reply with calm courage, and called on 
Darnley to maintain her rights ; then, seeing him move 
not, she commanded the intruders to leave, saying that 
parliament should investigate any charges against Eiz- 
zio. Kuthven now assailed the latter with a storm of 
invective, until, frightened from his senses, he rushed 
into the recess of a window, behind the person of the 
queen, and cried repeatedly in Italian — " Justice I jus; 
tice I" In the confusion that followed, the table was 
overturned, all the lights but one extinguished, and 
swords and pistols flourished at random. At last, 
George Douglas grasped Darnley's dirk and, leaning 
over the queen, struck Eizzio, who was dragged out 
into the presence chamber, dispatched with fifty-six 
stabs, and afterwards thrown down the great stairway, 
with the king's weapon still in his side. 

Several noblemen, then in the palace, were to have 
been captured, but they managed to escape by ropes 
from the windows, and aroused the provost of the city. 
The alarm-bell was sounded ; hundreds of citizens ran 
to the palace, and called for the queen to show herself 
and convince them of her welfare. She was forcibly 
kept back, and Darnley dismissed the crowd. To her 
presence Kuthven returned, and there drank a glass of 
wine, and, to her rebuke for his conduct, replied in 
abusive words*. All night she was held captive, suffer- 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 363 



ing the while from illness brought on by terror and 
her condition as almost a mother. Next day, parlia- 
ment was prorogued in Darnley's name ; and, in the 
evening, Murray and the other exiled noblemen arrived 
at the palace. 

The affair had succeeded ; but how the queen should 
be disposed ol was a perplexing question. To set her 
at liberty or put her to death, were equally dangerous, 
and to imprison her almost as much so. Darn ley be- 
gan to entertain misgivings, and, at his entreat}^, the 
party agreed that Mary should be released, provided 
she would pardon all concerned. Alone with him, 
her strong mind and heart soon overpowered his feel- 
ings, and he consented to escape with her at midnight 
and fly to Dunbar castle, for their common safety 
against the lawless nobles who befriended in order to 
ruin him. There, her still loyal earls rallied around 
her, and, at her return with a suddenly collected army, 
they fled for their lives. She now found it advisable 
to pardon Murray and the leaders of the former rebel- 
lion, and to confine her indignation to the recent evil- 
doers. Her whole reign, it has been said, was a series 
of plottings and pardons. 

She became very melancholy, as well she might be, 
for various reasons. Her conjugal love had been be- 
trayed ; none of her associates were to be relied on ; 
and Elizabeth still pursued her malevolent schemes, 
one of which was the sending of a man to Mary's court, 
who passed himself off as a Eomish priest deputed by 
English Catholics, to offer her the crown of their 
country ; — he proved to be an emissary of Elizabeth 



364 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



herself, who had the face to demand his capture. Him 
I'eal character had already been discovered, and he waf 
arrested in a way his mistress dreamed not of 

In June of this year, 1566, the queen gave birth t< 
a son who afterwards became James First of England 
being the first sovereign who united the sceptres of 
that country and Scotland, In him were Mary's double 
title, and many hopes realized, though not until aftei 
her death, and, alas, after that tender infant over whom 
she now watched, when grown a young man, had re- 
pudiated in stinging words, his own mother in her sad 
captivity. The bii-th was a great matter of public re- 
joicing. The celebration continued long, the people, 
both of high and low degree, assembling in solemn 
thanksgiving. The infant had an earl for governor 
and his lady for governess ; and was kept at Stirling 
castle. 

Six months after, the child, remarkable for health 
and strength, was there baptized with extraordinary 
pomp. Ambassadors from all the chief courts of Eu- 
rope came to attend the ceremony; sixty thousand 
dollars were levied to defray the cost of their enter- 
tainment and of the occasion ; Queen Elizabeth sent a 
font of gold, worth five thousand dollars; and the bap- 
tism was duly performed after the Catholic ritual. The 
christened name was " Charles James, James Charles, 
Prince and Steward of Scotland, Duke of Eothesay, 
Earl of Carrick, Lord of the Isles, and Baron of Een- 
frew." Among many other provisions made for the 
royal babe, five ladies of rank were appointed " rock- 
ers" of his cradle ; and though he as yet could taste 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 365 



milk only, lie had " a master-cook, a foreman, and 
three other servitors, and one for his pantry, one for 
his wine, and two for his ale-cellar." As a specimen 
of the presents given by Mary in honor of the event, 
may be mentioned a chain of diamonds worth three 
thousand dollars, given to the Duke of Bedford, Eliza- 
beth's ambassador. 

The most exciting scenes in the life of Mary, had al- 
ready begun to rapidly unfold themselves. All that 
occurred so far, is but the first breath of the tempest. 
After the affair of Kizzio, Darnley found himself more 
than ever despised and slighted by the nobility ; nor 
had he the cunning or the care to hide his resentment 
from them. He shunned the society of almost every 
one, accompan3ang the queen only a part of the time 
on her journeys after her confinement, and, for the 
rc't, wandering restlessly from one place to another. 
T)r rough all these months, his wife maintained the 
sa:ne kind manner to him, and paid him, indeed, all 
the more attention as a rebuke to the contemptuous 
lords. And he had the nobleness to recognize this in 
a marked way, and by declaring always that he had no 
complaint to make against her. He formed, or pre- 
tenied, a plan to leave Scotland for the Continent; 
thiti may have been done to extort some concessions of 
power from her. When she was so sick with fever 
and convulsions, two months before the christening, 
that all hope of her recovery was given up, he was by 
her ?ide, having flown to her at the first news of her 
seric is illness. And when, immediately on her recov- 
ery, ihe proposal to divorce Darnley was made, at the 



366 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



instigation of Both well, by her council, she instantly 
rejected the idea, from personal choice as well as for 
reasons of state. 

This proposal was the first step in the bold and terri- 
ble part which Bothwell played. It led to scenes of 
horror than which history has few greater. That earl 
was now in his thirty-sixth year, and but nine months 
before had married Lady Jane Gordon, sister of the 
Earl of Huntly. The plan to effect a divorce between 
the queen and king, was the first sign of the purpose 
he had evidently formed to wear a crown himself as 
the husband of Mary. Never was a design more dar- 
ing in itself, or in its execution. He so addressed 
himself to the selfish interests of the barons, that he 
secured their active or tacit support to any extremity 
of procedure against Darnley, still keeping his own ul- 
terior purpose disguised. The king's death was re- 
solved upon, or assented to, by all the chiefs. 

At this crisis, Darnley was taken ill at Glasgow with 
the small pox. It has been asserted with much im- 
probability, that it was poison rather than disease. The 
queen, full of sympathy and alarm, went immediately 
to take care of him. She found him recovering, and 
returned with him, in a vehicle, to Edinburgh. From 
the nature of his infectious disease, or from his aversion 
to the presence of the lords, he was lodged in a house, 
adjoining the southern T^all of the city, and called 
Kirk-in-the- field. It had foar rooms, of which an up- 
per one was occupied Vy Darnley, and the one imme- 
diately beneath it by Mary, who spent much of her 
time, and often slept, there. She sat. for i»ours» by her 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 367 



husband's bed, and occasionally entertained him with 
the songs and instrumental music of her band. 

Little did the queen or Darnlej dream of the volcano 
preparing beneath their feet, during the ten days they 
passed together in that house. We may imagine him 
subdued by sickness to calm thought and gentle feel- 
ing, and her renewing the ardor of first love to her 
handsome and wayward lover, in commiseration for his 
calamities. And well may he be an object of pity to 
all men ; — he was but a boy of nineteen when wedded 
to a queen and raised to a kingly power that half mad- 
dened his naturally strong will. Now, he was aged 
twenty years only, and his heroic wife was but twenty- 
four. Men of age and wisdom had in every way en- 
deavored to estrange the hearts of these two fair young 
beings, and were now busily plotting the destruction 
of one, or of both. 

Bothwell lost no time. On Sunday night the 9th of 
February, 1567, the queen was to attend the marriage 
of two of her favorite servants, at Holyrood, and thus 
would not be at the Kirk-in-the-field. Duplicate keys 
of the house had been obtained ; eight men were en- 
listed to do the deed. As the best plan to avoid recog- 
nition and detection, powder had been brought ft-om 
Dunbar castle, two days before; with this, the house 
was to be blown up. This was of so grea,t quantity 
that the men went twice with horses to transport it. 
The queen and three earls were in Darnley's room, 
while it was carried into her room beneath ; and Both- 
well himself, after overseeing the inhuman work, joined 
the party in the sick man's chamber, so self-possessed 



MAEY OF SCOTLAND. 

and fearless was he. In the conversation there, it is 
said that Mary remarked " it was just about that time 
last year David Eizzio was killed" — a cbance-word that 
might well have made the bold earl visibly shiink. 

At eleven o'clock, she affectionately kissed her youth' 
ful husband, unconscious that she would never hear his 
voice again ; then left, with the others, to attend the 
wedding. As she entered Holyrood House, she de- 
tected the smell of gunpowder, in passing a servant of 
Both well, and asked what it meant. An evasive an- 
swer was given and she said no more. Bothwell 
joined 'the dancing and masking party, then went to 
his own house, and exchanged his silver-embroidereo 
doublet, of black satin, for a coarse dress and cloak. 
With his accomplices, he hurried to the scene of ac- 
tion, affixed a piece of lint to the powder, which lay in 
a heap on the floor, and, lighting the train, hastened to 
a garden close at hand, to await the catastrophe. For 
fifteen minutes, all was silent ; and Bothwell was with 
difficulty restrained from going to examine the lighted 
match. But his patience was needed no longer. Sud- 
denly the city echoed as with many thunders in one, 
and shook as with an earthquake. The doomed build- 
ing was shivered to pieces ; stones, ten feet in length 
and four in breadth, it is affirmed, " were found blown 
from the house a far way." 

Bothwell made all speed, through bye-streets, for his 
lodgings, and retired to bed. In half an hour the news 
came to him that the king was killed. He donned the 
same dress he had worn in the presence of the queen, 
a few hours before, and, assuming great anger, went 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 369 



with others to break the news to Mary, who was al- 
ready distressed to know certainly of the rumor that 
had reached her. At daybreak, the guilty lords went 
to the scene, where they found a crowd gathered. One 
servant was rescued aliv3 from the ruins ; three others 
were killed, one of whom, together with Darnley, was 
discovered at a great distance — both dead, but with 
hardly a wound. Thus perished Henry Stuart, who 
bore the titles of Lord Darnley, Duke of Albany, and 
King of Scotland, after a reign, if it may be called 
such, of eighteen months. Young, imprudent, wilful 
and vicious, yet fascinating and accomplished, his 
union with Mary and his shocking death have attached 
to his name a lasting interest 

The unhappy queen shut herself up and refused to 
see any one. Her account of the event, in a letter to 
her ambassador at Paris, is on record and is full of un- 
affected grief and horror. Believing that violence was 
intended to herself also, she removed to Edinburgh 
castle, for greater safetj^ Great rewards were offered 
for the detection of the murderers. Suspicions soon 
centred on Bothwell. At niglit, a placard was posted, 
charging the deed on him together with others, not 
excepting the queen as one who connived at the crime. 
The whole country was agitated with the mystery. 
Mary used every exertion to penetrate it, but she knew 
not whom to arrest, and was so worn out with trouble 
that she was prevailed on to journey for her health. 
According to the entreaty of Lennox, Darnley's father, 
she finally ordered a trial of Bothwell, in April. At 
this, Bothwell was acquitted, having taken care to 
24 



870 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



make it unsafe for Lennox to appear and support tha 
charge, even if he could have found evidence to sus- 
tain it. 

Bothwell's next achievement, was the procuring of 
a written bond, signed by nearly all the nobility of 
every party and creed, pledging their lives and goods, 
to aid his claims to Mary's hand. This was accom- 
plished at a supper, to which he invited them, on the 
20th of April. It must have required much prelimi- 
nary electioneering, and is proof of very bold and sub- 
tle finesse ; or perhaps the lords readily assented, in 
order the better to ruin Mary. The bond was secured 
for its effect on the queen at a future day, and for the 
present was kept from her knowledge. When ques- 
tioned as to the report of her intended marriage with 
the earl, she said "there was no such thing in her 
mind." And when Bothwell soon after hinted his de- 
sire to her, she discouraged it altogether. 

The time had come, therefore, for another high- 
handed act. The queen had been spending a few days 
at Stirling, and was to return on the 24th of April. 
Bothwell gathered a band of cavalry, numbering be- 
tween five hundred and a thousand men, as if to sup- 
press disturbances on the southern border, over which 
he ruled. But, changing his course, after proceeding 
a short distance, he intercepted Mary and her slender 
escort at Linlithgow, took the bride of her horse, and 
hastened to Dunbar castle. An abduction at all, under 
the circumstances, together with the unnecessary num- 
ber of troopers employed, and the spirit of Mary's 
whole life and testimony, are some of the evidences 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 371 



that this affair was not with her knowledge or consent, 
as has been maintained. Able writers have not only 
laboriously accused her of this, but have argued that 
she had already a criminal intimacy with Bothwell, 
and that too before the murder of her husband. All 
that we know of her, on undisputed record, and a great 
variety of circumstances that any reader of history may 
gather, utterly disprove the foul insinuations and as- 
saults of partisan, or blind, writers. 

At Dunbar castle, on the rocky sea-shore, Mary was 
held ten days, in a solitude to which none but Both- 
well was admitted, not even her own servants. She 
saw no signs of an attempt by her subjects to deliver 
her ; she found the nobles were pledged on the earl's 
side ; he both supplicated her love in tender appeals, 
and declared that he would compel her to marry him, 
against her will, if necessary ; Darnley, though only 
three months in his grave, had been one of the mur- 
derers of her faithful servant and secretary, and had 
before forfeited her love, so that she must have felt his 
death a relief, though a great shock to her sensibilities ; 
there was not a man of influence, except her captor, 
on whom she could rely ; her kingdom was full of 
trouble and violence ; Bothwell was a man of shrewd 
mind, unflinching courage, and great energy ; he had 
been acquitted at his trial, and had the written consent 
of all the peers, to his marriage with her ; he was that 
sort of fierce lover which her whole temperament 
would lead her to admire and yield to ; she was not a 
shrinking maiden ; and, above all, she was wholly in 
his power, with no prospect of escape. What wonder 



872 MAKY OF SCOTLAND. 



that she at last consented to be his bride, or that, hav- 
ing once consented and received his fond attentions, 
she afterwards, under less apparent necessity, adhered 
to her promise ? But there is reason to believe that he 
went to the most guilty extremities of compulsion, so 
that her course subsequently became one of mere neces- 
sity. Meantime he and his injured wife both sued 
for a divorce, which was hurriedly granted by the 
courts. 

Taken under guard to Edinburgh castle, which was 
in Both well's control, Mary was not permitted to ap- 
pear in public, until the bans of marriage bad been 
twice proclaimed. The ceremony took place in a very 
quiet way, and according to the Protestant form, to 
which the queen seems to have been reconciled only 
by a despairing state of mind, so unfaltering was hei 
steadfastness in her peculiar faith, through a whole 
life. A sermon was preached on the occasion ; and 
after it, at supper, Bothwell gave loose to his coarse 
hilarity, elated by his entire success. 

But his success so far, was no less complete than was 
the conscious ruin of the Queen of Scots. So hope- 
less was she, it is declared that she threatened to com- 
mit suicide. Though she was reinstated in Holyrood 
palace, she was continually guarded by " two hundred 
harquebuziers," in the pay of her ravisher. His con- 
duct to her was full of suspicion and rudeness; his 
*' 'Other wife," formally divorced, remained in his former 
residence, and, as it was believed, had an understand- 
ing with him ; and to these sources of Mary's misery. 
were added the now apparently confirmed and triura- 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 373 



pliant accusations of many of her subjects, and a loss 
of the respect of other nations and royal courts. 

Villainy ever overacts its part. Both well might 
have confirmed his triumph, by a prudent coui-se. But, 
in his proud exultation, he took no care to allay the 
already active envy of the nobles ; and he even boast- 
ed that if he could get Mary's child into his possession, 
the young prince would never have an opportunity to 
revenge the death of his father. Soon after, he pro- 
claimed his intention to go with the queen to quell 
some troubles on the border; and called on the chiefs 
to appear with their forces, under arms, for this pur- 
pose. It was at once suspected that he had designs on 
the young prince at Stirling castle. 

Accordingly, the " prince's lords," as they were 
thenceforth termed, gathered their retainers, as if in 
compliance with the call, but assembled at Stirling in 
great numbers, in open opposition to Bothwell. He, 
just then, learned that he could not rely on the keeper 
of the castle of Edinburgh, and fearing an attack 
from that quarter also, with the ready apprehension of 
an evil conscience, retired to Borthwick castle, seven 
miles south of the city. No sooner had he placed 
Mary there and collected all his force in defence, than 
he found himself surrounded by the swarming army 
of his adversaries. At night, he fled through their 
ranks^ in company with Mary, whose fortunes were 
aow thoroughly involved with his, and who thus es- 
caped in the disguise of male attire. Arrived at Dun- 
bar, he summoned all the queen's lieges in her name. 
to appear fo** her defence. An army of two thousand 



374 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



men, moved by a feeling of loyalty, answered the call 
and were led forth by himself and Mary. 

The opposing forces met at Carberry Hill ; but 
neither seem disposed to engage the other in battle 
The day was spent in negotiations, at one time foi 
peace, at another for a decision by single combat, Both- 
well having challenged any man of his own rank to 
meet him, and each party claiming that the other was 
in blame for the failure of this proposal. Finally the 
queen offered to place herself in the hands of her 
lords, and to pardon their seeming revolt, provided 
they would insure her free sovereignty. To frustrate 
her purpose, Bothwell, with characteristic desperation, 
attempted to shoot her messenger, and, not succeeding, 
retired angrily to Dunbar castle with a few followers. 

The moment Mary surrendered herself to the nobles, 
for the sake, as she said, of saving the waste of chris- 
tian blood and her people's lives, — was the turning 
point of his rash career. Not long after, .he found it 
advisable to escape into the north of Scotland, where 
he held estates as the Duke of Orkney. Pursued thith- 
er by his enemies, and nearly captured as he was flying 
from them in a boat, it is related that he remained 
awhile in the Orkney Isles, committing piracies on the 
seas, and was at last taken to Denmark, or else volun 
tarily went thither to enlist the Danish king in his 
wretched cause. However that may be, it is believed 
he spent years in a Danish dungeon, and, at last, died 
insane, from the mad chafing of his proud, restless 
spirit, and the gna wings of conscience. His life was 
strange and wild as a dream : he was an embodiment 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 375 



of the fiery passions of the age. In oui times, noble- 
men are giving scientific lectures to the people or sit- 
ting as chairmen of peace conventions and missionary 
societies. 

Mary's conduct at Carberry Hill can hardly be con- 
strued into any real love for Bothwell. Her army was 
so superior in numbers and position as to promise a 
sure victory. She would not have prevented a battle, 
or parted from him in such a manner, had she not de- 
sired to put herself out of his power. But her noble 
trust in her base noblemen, was destined to be betrayed. 
As she entered the city, she was preceded by a banner, 
whereon was painted the shocking picture of Darnley 
lying dead, and her child kneeling before it, with the 
words, " Judge and revenge my cause, Lord." The 
populace pressed around, and insulted her with the 
most shameful exclamations, while she rode on, her 
face bowed down in tears. To her surprise, the lords 
led her past Holyrood ; she called out to all her loyal 
subjects to interfere in her behalf; but she was taken 
to the provost's house. 

The next day, she so worked upon the variable sym- 
pathies of the crowd, that her oppressors escorted her 
to the palace. This was but a feint of submission, or 
rather a step to a greater outrage. At midnight, Euth» 
ven and Lindsay, the grim earls who were active in 
Rizzio's assassination, aroused her from sleep, disguised 
her in a coarse riding-dress, and, placing her on a horse, 
made all speed through the darkness until morning, 
when she found herself at Loch Leven castle, which 
was situated on a small island in the lake of that name. 



376 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



north of Edinburgh. This was a place of great seen- 
ritj, and the more so in this case, as it was the seat 
of Lady Douglas, the mother of Earl Murray, and 
closel}' connected with Lindsay and Morton, all of them, 
at heart, the foes of Mary. The full extent of the de- 
signs against her, was hidden from the unfortunate 
queen ; it was represented that extreme care for her 
safety, in view of the power of Both well, was the reason 
for such treatment. But she could not doubt that some 
evil was intended. Her keeper, the Lady of Loch 
Leven, as she was more generally known, behaved 
harshly to her charge, and even taunted her with a 
pretension to the crown itself She was kept, too, in 
close confinement ; her rooms, occupying a bastion 
that overhung the waters of the lake, are still shown 
to travellers, though dilapidated, like the rest of the 
castle. 

Thus far, the dominant party had not dared to pub- 
licly charge her with crime. Their declarations show 
that she was universally regarded as a helpless victim 
of the lord of Dunbar castle. Two great parties, how- 
ever, soon began to define themselves, one for the queen, 
and the other for the prince. Morton, t}ie leader of 
the latter, was at Edinburgh, with his supporters. 
Hamilton palace, near Glasgow, was the rendezvous of 
the (Queen's friends, among whom were Huntly, Argyle, 
Rothes, Livingstone, and Seaton, altogether represent 
ing a majority of the kingdom. The " prince's friends,*" 
as they termed themselves, began to publish many sys- 
tematic falsehoods, criminating Mary, and these have 
been rep(5ated and urged ever since. Their motives 



MAKY OF SCOTLAND. 877 



are plain. Thej hoped, by dethroning her, both to 
escape punishment for their misdeeds, and to rise into 
greater power. And the queen's friends, knowing this, 
proposed that they should liberate her, on condition 
she would forever pardon them. But they had gone 
too far, to consent to this. Elizabeth^ too, was busily 
instigating them against Mary ; and Murray, who had 
long been at Paris, cautiously watching events in Scot- 
land, lent them his encouragement. 

The 25th of July, 1567, was perhaps the saddest of 
all the sad days of this hapless queen. Sir Eobert 
Melville and Lord Lindsay came to make her abdicate 
her throne. Melville first saw her, and used his per- 
suasive talent, to the utmost, but without effect. The 
ravage Lindsay was next admitted ; he at once broke 
forth in fierce threats, vowing to the unprotected queen 
that, if she did not immediately sign the papers of ab- 
dication brought with them, he would sign them with 
her blood, and cast her into the lake beneath the window. 
Mary had known his sanguinary part in the Rizzio trage- 
dy ; she now saw him about to draw his dagger, as she 
supposed ; Melville adroitly whispered to her that acts 
done under compulsion would not be binding, if she 
ever should choose to disown them ; in an agony of 
tears and terror, she put her name to the documents, 
wherein she was made to say that she freely resigned 
her crown, being wearied with the labors of govern- 
ment. Thus did this woman, whose honorable ambi- 
tion was her ruling passion, suddenly find herself no 
more a sovereign. 

Four days afterward, her son James, then one year 



378 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



old, was crowned at Stirling. All commands were 
published in his name. Buchanan, one of Mary's bit- 
terest enemies, was made his tutor ; and from that time 
contempt for his own mother was carefully instilled 
into the child's mind. Murray soon returned to Scot- 
land. With characteristic circumspection, he did not 
at first commit himself to either party. The regency, 
during James' minority, was urged upon him. He 
went to Loch Leven, and, counterfeiting great sym- 
pathy for Mary, prevailed on her to approve of his 
assuming that ofl&ce, for her sake. At Edinburgh, he 
pretended much humility, and a regret that the choice 
had fallen upon him, but took the oaths of regent. 
He set himself energetically and carefully at work to 
suppress discontent, and to strengthen his power for a 
virtual reign, in James' name, that promised to endure 
many years. And, to make assurance doubly sure, 
love-letters were now forged and produced, purporting 
to be from Mary to Bothwell and implicating her in 
Darnley's murder. The summit of his ambition ap- 
peared to be attained. When Mary, a light-hearted 
girl of eighteen, in sunny France, received the respect- 
ful visits of her Scottish earls, little did she foresee how 
strangely the dark threads of the lives of two of them, 
were to be inwoven with the fair fibres of her own. 

For the first seven months of her imprisonment, the 
gloom of the poor queen was unalleviated by one ray 
of hope. In four short months, an unparalleled series 
of misfortunes, wrongs and insults had fallen upon her. 
The lady of Loch Leven, a former dismissed courtezan 
of her father, was bitter and malicious ; one of the 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 379 



tfhief servants of the castle was concerned in Rizzio's 
death, and declared he would gladly kill the queen. 
Her own servants were her only solace and protection ; 
these were faithful and tender ; yet, even with theii 
aid, she had no chance of escape. 

But in March, 1568, a new light shone into her 
prison. A son of the lady-keeper, Greorge Douglas, 
aged twenty-five, and a relative of the family, William 
Douglas, seventeen years old, had entertained a very 
romantic interest in the beautiful and luckless Mary. 
They now arranged a plan for her escape. She clothed 
herself in the garments of her laundress, concealing 
her face, and, bundle in hand, passed out of the castle, 
and took the boat in waiting. But the boatmen dis- 
covered her delicate hands, and, despite her commands 
as their queen, took her back to the castle. 

The resolute and chivalric George and William did 
not relinquish the idea of rescuing their lovely sover- 
eign. Five weeks after, another scheme was formed 
and this time successfully carried out. On the 2d of 
May, William abstracted the keys of the castle from 
the family supper-table, where they had been laid, 
locked the whole household in as he passed out, helped 
Mary out of the one window into a boat prepared 
for her, threw the keys into the lake, and, with the 
assistance of Mary herself at the oars, soon placed her 
exultingly in the hands of several of her trusty lords 
who were waiting with a guard to receive her. Quick- 
ly mounting and riding rapidly with little rest, they 
arrived with her at Hamilton palace, early in the fore- 
noon of the next day. 



380 MARY OF SCOTLANli. 



The whole land was aroused by the news of her 
escape. Multitudes of every grade gathered to her 
assistance, among them " nine earls, nine bishops, eigh- 
teen lords, and many barons and gentlemen." Six 
thousand soldiers were at her command before the 
week closed. She renounced her forced abdication, 
Melville himself appearing and testifying to the cir- 
cumstances. Murray's friends began to silently with- 
draw from him. He was at Glasgow, near the head- 
quarters of Mary. He saw the need of instant action, 
to arrest her intention to fortify herself in Dumbarton 
castle, which is situated on a lofty pyramid of rock, 
and was a place of impregnable strength. She was 
already on the way, with her troops. 

Murray called together some four thousand men, and 
met the queen's army at Langside, two miles south of 
Glasgow. Both armies endeavored to gain a command- 
ing hill. Murray, by the advice of a veteran, mounted 
his infantry behind the troopers' saddles, and reached 
the point first. A fierce battle ensued, for a long time 
doubtful, but at last decided by a reinforcement of 
Highlanders in favor of the regent. Mary watched 
the scene in unimaginable excitement, and, overwhelm- 
ed at the result, cried out that it were better for her 
not to have been born. There was no time for delay. 
With a few attendants, she put her excellent horseman- 
ship to full proof, and never paused until she was sixty 
miles away to the south, at the abbey of Dundrennan. 

She was advised to sail for France ; but was too 
proud to enter as a fugitive the land she had reigned 
over in splendor, as the queen of a triple sceptre. Nor 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 381 



would it do for her to apply for aid to a Catholic coun- 
try ; it would hazard her crown too much. She trust- 
ed that Elizabeth would at least give her refuge, and 
applied for it. Unable to wait for a reply, she made 
her way, by land and water, to the vicinity of ths castle 
of Carlisle, in England. Men of rank came to meet 
her, and conducted her, with great respect, to the castle. 
Elizabeth sent hypocritical messages of sympathy ; she 
privately exulted in the climax of her wishes, the ap- 
parent ruin of Mary ; she did not know how far it was 
prudent to take advantage of her power, and waited to 
consult with Murray. With the excuse that Mary was 
in danger from her Scottish enemies, the castle was re- 
paired, she at all times kept under guard, and her 
walks and rides finally prevented altogether. For the 
same ostensible reason, she was, not long after, re- 
moved farther south to Bolton castle, in the north of 
Yorkshire. 

Elizabeth's course was soon settled. She conferred 
with Murray, who had dispersed the renewed gather- 
ings of forces in Mary's cause, and busily entrenched 
himself in his ill-gotten authority. The plan was to 
bring the Queen of Scots to what amounted to a crimi- 
nal trial, and, by foul means, make her stand condemn- 
ed before the world. She was called on to appoint 
commissioners to meet those of Murray, and others 
named by Elizabeth, to settle all disputes between her 
and the regent. Against this she protested as a sove- 
reign, who could not be placed on a level with rebels 
to herself; but was ultimately persuaded to thus vindi- 
cate her honor. The English queen, from first to last, 



S82 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



acted with a cunning as fiendisli in its subtlety as in its 
malice. The commissioners met at York, on the 4th 
of October, 1568. Notwithstanding Murray's utmost 
efforts, the case seemed to be going against him. Eliz- 
abeth, to give her influence a more deadly certainty, 
removed the conference to Westminster; and received 
Murray to her presence, whereas she had cruelly and 
unjustly refused to see Mary, the royal defendant, as if 
her pretended purity could not come in contact with 
one on whom rested suspicions which Elizabeth her- 
self, after the mock-trial even, declared to Mary she did 
not believe. 

With her quick intelligence and decision, Mary in- 
structed her commissioners to withdraw from the coun- 
cil, and thus dissolve it, because it was so evidently 
unfair to adjourn it to a great distance from the ac- 
cused, and to admit the accuser to opportunities denied 
to herself Before this order reached her friends, Mur- 
ray had, as a last resort, brought forward the forged 
love-letters and sonnets, ascribed to Mary, and involv- 
ing her in the death of Darnley. The evidences for 
their spuriousness need not be recounted; the way 
they were used, and, at other times, neglected to be 
used, by the usurpers of the queen's power, is enough 
to brand them as false. The conference was broken 
up ; but Murray and his spinster dictator arranged a 
little scene, in which he was reprimanded, and in de- 
fence brought forward an elaborate written statement 
of charges and proofs, which England might employ in 
various ways, and a reply to which was denied recep- 
tion. Thus the whole infamous plot did not succeed ; 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 383 



but the great point was sufficiently gained, namely, to 
so overshadow the character of one of earth's noblest 
and purest heroines, that she could be held in lingering 
captivity. 

The retribution that followed the perfidious actors 
in this history, is remarkable. Murray did not long 
enjoy his success ; he was shot by Hamilton, in re- 
venge of maddening injuries done to the family of the 
latter, by the troops of the former ; and the tears Mary 
shed for him were witnesses to some good in his charac- 
ter, but more to the lofty magnanimity of her own. 
Lennox and Morton, who succeeded him, and other 
participators in the same events, after covering them- 
selves with crime or cruelty or treachery, one by one 
met a violent death. They that took the sword perish- 
ed by the sword. 

Mary was but twenty-five when she entered Eng- 
land. In the first full bloom of body and mind, she 
was doomed to a thraldom of eighteen years, that grad- 
ually destroyed her spirits and health, and ended in 
the bloody vengeance of the axe. This portion of her 
life was as much more heroic than the days of her ac- 
tive achievements, as the virtues of endurance and res- 
ignation are more noble than executive talent. She 
ceased to be the acknowledged Queen of Scotland, but 
she gained the kingdom of her own ambitious and 
afflicted heart, and she was purified, like gold tried in 
the fire, for the kingdom of heaven. She was taken 
from one castle to another, and committed to the charge 
of one lord after another, in order that she might nei- 
ther gain too much influence over her keepers, noi 



384 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



carry out a plan of escape ; her luxuries, comforts, at 
tendants and friends were continually diminished; 
through the relentless hatred of her oppressor; and 
her communication with friends at a distance, was in- 
tercepted, as far as possible. 

She employed herself in embroidery, reading and 
writing. Some of her poetical efforts are preserved, 
and are beautiful memorials of her genius, her grief, 
and her christian faith. And well did she need all re- 
sources to beguile her weary days, and make her forget 
awhile her discomfort. She had gradually ceased to 
be remembered, and her strong party at home was by 
degrees suppressed and thinned by death. Her haii 
turned prematurely gray with sorrow ; her strength 
from want of exercise, miserable fare, and bad accom 
modations, failed her ; a painful symptom of disease, 
in her left side, began also to grow upon her. 

She thus describes her residence at Tutbury, in 
1680 : — "■ This edifice, detached from the walls about 
twenty feet, is sunk so low that the rampart of earth 
behind the wall is level with the highest part of the 
building, so that here the sun can never penetrate, 
neither does any pure air ever visit this habitation, on 
which descend drizzling damps and eternal fogs, to such 
excess that not an article of furniture can be placed be- 
neath the roof but in four days it becomes covered with 
green mold. I leave you to judge in what manner such 
humidity must act upon the human frame ; and, to say 
everything in one word, the apartments are in general 
more like dungeons for the vilest criminals than suited 
to persons of a station far inferior to mine, inasmuch 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 385 



as I do not believe there is a lord or gentleman, or 
even jeoman in the kingdom, who would patiently en- 
dure the penance of living in so wretched a habita- 
tion. With regard to accommodation, I have for my 
own person but two miserable little chambers, so in- 
tensely cold during the night, that but for ramparts 
and intrenchments of tapestry and curtains, it would 
be impossible to prolong my existence ; and of those 
who have set up with me during my illness, not one 
has escaped malady. ***** For taking air and 
exercise I have but a quarter of an acre behind the 
stables." To aggravate her miseries a poor priest of 
her faith was hung before her window. These ac- 
counts are translated from her letters in French. She 
who was the glory of the Louvre and the ]>ride of 
Holy rood, was at last the neglected prisoner of a de- 
cayed hunting-lodge in the midst of an English forest. 
Many conspiracies were formed, and attempts made, 
to release her and restore her to her throne. The chief 
of these was by the Duke of Norfolk, an English no- 
ble, and the most powerful subject in Europe. He pro- 
posed secretly for Mary's hand, and was assured that, 
though on general grounds she was averse to another 
marriage, yet she would favor his project and his suit. 
For this he was, on discovery, imprisoned nine months 
in the Tower of London. When released, he set about 
his scheme with all the more determination. Spain 
and Kome were to aid his cause, the Duke of Alva to 
land with an army, the English Catholics to rise, and 
the government to be overturned. But a second dis- 
covery of his purpose, sent him to the block. He died 
25 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



like a hero. Mary disclaimed all knowledge of his 
treasonable designs towards Elizabeth, though she ad- 
mitted his efforts to release herself; and she was not, 
therefore, made to suffer on his account. 

Simple devotion to a lovely and suffering queen, and 
private ambitioD, were not the only causes of disquiet 
in England. From whatever motive trouble was made, 
it inevitably seized upon Mary's name as its rallying 
word. Hence an association of nobles was formed and 
sanctioned by Parliament, for the purpose of prosecuting 
to death any person for whom, as well as by whom, any 
movement against the government was set on foot. ISTever 
was there a more absurdly unjust course of procedure 
adopted. It became a law, and soon had occasion of 
execution against its real object, the Queen of Scots 
In 1586, a new conspiracy was headed by Anthony 
Babington, a young man of wealth in Derbyshire, who 
had heard much of Mary while he was at Paris. He 
was to be aided in the same manner as the Duke of 
Norfolk. Some letters passed between him and Mary, 
but there is no evidence of her initiation into the trea- 
sonable part of the plan. It was discovered. Four- 
teen of the leaders were executed, six of whom were 
pledged to assassinate the English Queen. Before the 
news had reached Mary, she was officially informed 
that she was to be held to trial as an accomplice. The 
nation was so greatly excited that Elizabeth saw that 
she might prudently go to any extremity against her 
admired prisoner. 

Mary denied the jurisdiction of another monarch 
over her ; but, as before, she was persuaded to submit 



MAKY OF SCOTLAND. 387 



to trial, lest her refusal would be a tacit acknowledge 
ment of guilt. The mockery of a court was held at 
Fotheringay castle, in its great hall, with much pomp. 
The " daughter of a hundred kings" appeared, worn 
out with confinement and grief, but still resolute, calm 
and discerning, before the greatest lawyers and poli- 
ticians of the realm, and so ably answered their argu- 
ments that, on the testimony of her enemies who de- 
scribe the scene, she confounded her prosecutors. The 
old artifice was again used ; the court was adjourned 
to a distance from her, at Westminster ; and there, of 
oourse, she was condemned. 

The shameless tyrant of England made a great show 
of reluctance to sign the death-warrant, and waited to 
see what effect the verdict would have abroad. The 
King of France interposed feebly. The King of Scot- 
land would have saved his mother, but was falsely 
counselled, and too timid, though now nineteen years 
of age. The warrant was signed ; and the man to 
whom it was given was subsequently imprisoned for 
life, on the hypocritical plea that he had received royal 
instructions not to have it executed. And the man 
who was the keeper of the doomed victim, was enjoin- 
ed by Elizabeth to secretly murder his prisoner, before 
the sentence could be carried into effect, but he de- 
clined the wickedness. His name is Sir Amias Paulet, 
Mary requested that her servants might witness her 
constancy in death, and that her body might be buried 
according to the rites of her church, or carried to 
France ; but no reply is known to have been made. 

On the afternoon of the 7th of February, 1687, the 



888 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



earls who were to carry out the sentence, reached 
Mary's prison, at Fotheringay. They respectfully dis- 
closed their business. She heard them calmly, as they 
read the death-warrant. She expressed a cheerful 
willingness to die, and made solemn oath, on the Bi- 
ble, that she was innocent of the charge for which she 
was to suffer. She inquired about her son and the 
condition of things abroad, concerning which she had 
been kept in ignorance. When she found that the 
execution was to take place at eight o'clock, the next 
morning, she manifested some emotion, but soon re- 
gained her serenity. From the first, however, her at- 
tendants, consisting of six waiting-maids, a physician, 
surgeon, apothecary, and four male servants, were ex- 
tremely agitated, and, when the lords retired, made 
great lamentations. She knelt with them and prayed. 
At supper, the last repast with her household, she 
ate lightly, conversed but little, looked smilingly, and 
drank the health of all around her, calling them by 
Kiame. Then she carefully disposed of all her money, 
furniture and jewels, forgetting none of her friends 
near her or at a distance. After this, she wrote letters 
and her will, which occupied two large sheets, and is a 
tine memento of her strong and lucid intellect and of 
her noble heart. At two o'clock in the morning she 
retired to her bed, and rose at daybreak, gathered her 
little company of adherents, and continued in prayer, 
until a knock at the door announced the fated hour. 
No priest was allowed her ; her attendants were for- 
bidden to see her die ; but, on further entreaty, four 
naales and two females of these, were permitted to ac- 



MARY OF SCOTLAND. 389 



company her. To Melvil, the chief of her train, she 
said, weeping: — "Tell my son that I thought of him 
m my last moments, and that I have never yielded, 
either in word or deed, to aught that might lead to his 
prejudice; desire him to preserve the memory of his 
unfortunate parent, and may he be a thousand times 
more happy and more prosperous than she has been." 
She perished in the room that had been the scene of 
her trial. A scaffold, carpeted with black, was at one 
end, and on it were two English earls and the execu- 
tioners. Thither she was led, Melvil bearing the train 
of her royal robe. She was dressed in state. " She 
wore a gown of black silk, bordered with crimson vel- 
vet, over which was a satin mantle; a long veil of 
white crape, stiffened with wire, and edged with rich 
lace, hung down almost to the ground ; round her neck 
was suspended an ivory crucifix." The ruins of her 
former stately and blooming self, she was still beauti- 
ful and dignified. The warrant of death was read 
aloud; she trembled not, nor changed her sublime 
tranquillity of countenance. The Dean of Peterboro' 
stepped forth from the two hundred spectators and sol- 
diers, and began to lecture her on points of doctrine. 
She turned from him, knelt, and prayed aloud for her 
enemies, and for the comfort of the Holy Spirit. Ei- 
sing, her veil and necklace were removed. The cross, 
she was about to give to Jane Kennedy, but the exe- 
cutioner snatched it away as a part of his customary 
spoils. Her eyes were bound with a gold-embroidered 
handkerchief, her head laid on the block, and from her 
lips breathed the words — "0 Lord, in thee have I 



390 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 



hoped, and into thy hands I commit my spirit/' Three 
awkward blows of the axe severed her neck; her head 
was held up to the gaze of the dumb crowd ; the exe- 
cutioner cried — " God save Elizabeth Queen of Eng- 
land!" The Earl of Kent responded, "Thus perish 
all her enemies." Her remains were left rolled up in 
" old green baize, taken from a billiard-table," after- 
wards buried with display in the Peterboro' cathedral, 
and finally, a quarter of a century after, placed in a 
splendid tomb at Westminster Abbey, by her son 
James, who removed every vestige of the scene of her 
trial and death, Fotheringay castle. 

Mary reached the age of forty-five years. Her ac- 
tive life was between the ages of sixteen and twenty- 
five. No queen ever possessed higher talents or vir- 
tues. Her faults were the noble ones of a warm, 
trustful heart and of ardent youth. She confided in 
the treacherous too often; she had not learned that 
there are always many persons utterly dead to every 
claim of reason, honor and generosity. Reigning in 
maturer years, she would have vindicated her com- 
manding intellect. As her enemies were often detesta- 
ble in the face of their truer belief, so was she tolerant, 
deeply religious and grandly upright, in spite of her 
superstitious creed. Her character was frank and 
beautifully proportionate. Never would mere bril- 
liancy of person and of mind, have excited such glow- 
ing friendships, such bitter envies, such lasting admi- 
ration and world-wide sympathy. 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA- 




D^e" Jjy -K. Kolrn-.TTX, 



// &; 



{0 



'U/J^/X, 



vni. 

Catlitrini! nf IB-Msia. 

"Why, I can smile, aud murder while I smile; 
And cry content to that which grieves my heart; 
And wet my cheek Avith artificial tears; 
And frame my face to aU occasions." — Shakspeaee. 

The long and conspicuous reign of Catherine II. was 
one of great tragical interest, and signalized by mem- 
orable events. Her mind was subtle and vigorous, 
but it is impossible to regard her character with any 
other feelings than those of disgust and pity. She 
presented herself to the world, under a mask of benev- 
olence, sincerity, wisdom, and piety, beneath which 
lurked detestable hypocrisy, licentiousness, vanity, 
and an ambition that aspired to great actions and re- 
forms, for the sake of renown, rather than the good of' 
1 Mankind. Anxious to out-figure her "great" prede- 
cessors in the eyes of posterity, she selected her histo 
rian, and charged him not to record the assistance of 
any one in the accomplishment of certain events, bu - 
to give the entire credit to her own wisdom and coii) • 
age. She would hav^e succeeding generations accepi 
ber as a model empresp ' — she who began her reig-^ 



894 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



witb the secret assassination of the three rightful heir? 
to the throne, and ended it, with the unjust and exe- 
crable division of Poland. 

In order to understand the steps, bj which she, a 
comparatively obscure princess, acquired the crown of 
the Eussias, it is necessary to refer to the reign of her 
immediate predecessor. 

Elizabeth, the youngest daughter of Peter the Great, 
was proclaimed empress in 1741, by means of a revolt 
which deposed her cousin Anne and the infant Prince 
Ivan, for whom she acted as regent. The unfortunate 
Evan was immured in the dungeon of Schlusselburgh, 
5nd his parents imprisoned in a fortress on the shores 
of the Arctic ocean. 

Although Elizabeth was an amiable, gentle, beauti- 
ful woman, possessed of winning manners, and a hu- 
manity that prompted her to take a vow — " Never to 
put a subject to death upon any provocation whatever," 
yet through the influence of favorites, and the intoxi- 
cation of unlimited power, her reign was marked by 
injustice, and atrocious cruelties, and she became timid, 
weak, intemperate, and notoriously licentious. She 
selected for her successor, Peter, the son of her eldest 
sister. In order to have him under her immediate su- 
perintendence, she caused him to be brought from 
Holstein, where his education was progressing under 
the enlightened Brumner. By some strange caprioe, 
she supplied him with a narrow-minded, illiterate tutor, 
and to prevent any revolution in his favor, kept him 
almost a prisoner, surrounded by spies and ignorant 
persons who engaged him in amusements and frivolous 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 395 



occTipations that assisted to suppress whatever talent 
and vigor, or energy of character, he possessed. 

Some estimable persons, and ladies of the court at 
Petersburg, remonstrated with the empress for her 
singular treatment of one who should be better fitted 
to occupy the throne, but she turned a deaf ear to their 
intercessions. One of her attendants ventured to sug- 
gest the evil that such an education was producing 
upon the character of the grand duke. " If your ma- 
jesty," said this courageous friend, " do not permit the 
prince to know anything of what is necessary for gov- 
erning the country, what do you think will become of 
him ? and what do you think will become of the em- 
pire?" Elizabeth, turning sternly to her attendant, 
said in a measured, threatening tone, "Joanna, knowest 
thou the road to Siberia .^" These words were sufficient 
to silence future remonstrances. 

In 1747, Elizabeth determined to select a spouse for 
Peter ; she was guided in her choice by the King of 
Prussia, who recommended a daughter of the Prmce 
of Anhalt-Zerbst. She was inclined to look favorably 
upon this alliance, from the fact that she had once sin- 
cerely loved an uncle of the princess, and after his 
death resolved never to marry. 

Princess Sophia Ag;usta Frederica was born at Stet- 
tin, May 2d, 1729. Her father was commander-in 
chief in the Prussian service, and governor of the town 
and fortress of Stettin. Her mother was a woman of 
distinguished beauty, prudence and good sense ; she 
took upon herself the education of Sophia, who receiv- 
ed the familiar nick- name of Fi^ke among her compan- 



396 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



ions. These were selected without reference to their 
rank, for her mother endeavored to cultivate the sim- 
plest manners, to suppress pride, a predominant charac- 
teristic of Sophia, and to insist upon her respectfully 
saluting ladies of distinction, who visited the house. 
Among her play-fellows she invariably took the prin- 
cipal part, often bringing into exercise an imperious, 
commanding temper. She was educated in the Luther- 
an religion, was early instructed from the best authors, 
and was disposed to study and reflection. Her seclu- 
sion was occasionally varied by excursions and visits 
10 Hamburgh and Berlin, in company with her mother : 
these visits fitted her for an after appearance at court. 

At the suggestion of the King of Prussia, the Prin- 
cess of Zerbst repaired to Petersburg with her daugh- 
ter, hoping by means of Sophia's attractions and the 
reminiscences of Elizabeth's affection for her brother, 
to secure an alliance with Peter. They were cordially 
received by the empress ; the grand duke was quickly 
an admirer of the young princess, who, now in her 
sixteenth year, added lively manners to an agreeable, 
if not handsome face. She as readily regarded him 
favorably, for at this time his countenance was fresh, 
good-humored and pleasing, and his person of good 
stature and finely formed. With such mutual good- 
will, therefore, but little time was required to make and 
accept proposals of marriage. As a necessary prelimi- 
nary, Sophia adopted the Greek religion, and received 
the name of Catherine Alexiena. Magnificent prepa- 
rations were made for the approaching nuptials, but in 
the midst of this fair sailing, the grand duke was at 



CATHEEINE OF RUSSIA. 397 



tacked with a violent fever, whicli soon divulged a 
malignant form of the small-pox. He recovered in a 
few weeks, but his face was for some time distorted and 
actually hideous with the marks of a disease which dis- 
figured him for life. 

Catherine, who had been carefully kept in distant 
apartments, was prepared by her mother for the change 
in the appearance of her royal lover, and warned not 
to betray the aversion she might feel on seeing him, 
lest the fine air-castles they had been building should 
be blown away at a breath. Catherine promised to 
conceal her emotions, and attired as becomingly as pos- 
sible, was conducted to the presence of the grand duke. 
She played her part well ; with consummate art she 
approached Peter in her usual lively and graceful way, 
threw her arms about his neck and kissed his cheek, 
apparently with devoted affection. She had no sooner 
gained her own, apartments, however, than she fell 
senseless, and remained unconscious for three hours. 
This extreme repugnance, which she had so success- 
fully dissembled, did not interfere for a moment with 
the ambitious designs that already outweighed every 
other consideration. 

The marriage was accordingly solemnized in 1747. 
Catherine retained an outward show of affection and 
respect, as long as she thought necessary, but she soon 
felt her decided superiority. Talented, accomplished, 
speaking several languages with facility, dignified and 
winning in her deportment, she easily and becomingly 
filled hor distinguished position, while Peter, who had 
good sense and i kind confiding heart, had been spoiled 



398 CATHEKINE OF RUSSIA. 



by a bas,e education, lacked polisli and intelligence, 
and blushed at his inferiority in the presence of his wife. 
He regarded her with pride, and admired the facility 
and fitness with which she acted the grand duchess. 

Determined to over-rule and deprive him of the ex- 
pected succession by placing the crown upon her own 
brow, she was easily induced to engage iu the conspira- 
cies formed against him by persons, who preferred to 
see the ambitious Catherine upon the throne. Every 
possible means were taken to blacken the character of 
the grand duke in the eyes of Elizabeth. Slanderous 
reports were daily conveyed to her by one of her ladies 
of honor, who was engaged in the intrigues of the 
court. On one occasion when she lamented the intem- 
perate habits of the prince, the empress shocked at this 
new charge, insisted she would not believe it, till 
proved. The artful attendant took the first opportuni- 
ty to dine with Peter, and, by secretly putting an opi- 
ate in his wine, succeeded in prevailing upon him to 
unconsciously drink to excess ; when he was sufiicient- 
ly intoxicated the deceitful woman hastened to call the 
empress. Bestucheff, the great chancellor, superintend- 
ed these manoeuvres by writing directions each day, 
on scraps of paper, indicating the course of conduct 
each interested person was to pursue. These he en- 
closed in a snufi'-box with a double bottom, and, under 
pretence of offering snuff, succeeded in conveying them 
to those for whom they were inU nded, without obser- 
vation. 

Soon after the marriage of Peter, the empress pre- 
sented him with the palace of Oranienbaum, at some 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 399 



distance from Petersburg; there he preferred to re- 
main, in freedom from his aunt's continual scrutiny 
and reproaches. For his amusement he formed a guard 
of Holstein soldiers, and instructed them for several 
hours, each day, in the Prussian exercises. He als( 
gathered about him those who had talent for music or 
the drama, besides a number of dissipated companions. 
Knowing his passiorl for imitating everything Prussian, 
they persuaded him to gamble, drink and engage in 
other vices, assuring him that every officer in Prussia 
did the same. 

In the meantime Catherine, wearied with the solitude 
of this country palace and entertaining no affection for 
her husband, received the admiration of Soltikoff, the 
prince's chamberlain, a man of polished address and 
attractive appearance. Elizabeth soon heard the con- 
sequent scandal, and made her displeasure evident, 
though not fitted to reprove the misconduct for which 
she was notorious herself By artful representations, 
Catherine was reinstated in her favor, but the empresb 
had frequent occasion to reprimand both of her bellige- 
rent wards, and seemed seriously to think of appoint 
ing Paul, the infant son of Catherine, her successor, 
with a regent to reign during his minority. Fearing 
this, Catherine assiduously applied herself to regaining 
the good-will of the empress, exalted herself in the 
eyes of the people by attending church daily with a 
devout air, during the illness of the empress, and as- 
sisted the intriguing party that favored her schemes by 
placing Peter in an odious light before the courtiers 
and the populace. 



400 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



At Elizabeth's death, which occurred earlj in 1762, 
in a fit of intoxication, she was made to repeat words 
of the attending priest that expressed affection for the 
grand duke and duchess and named them her succes- 
sors. As soon as the royal message reached Peter, 
which "commanded him to live long," — the Eussian 
form of announcing death, he passed in state through 
the streets of Petersburg, causing himself to be pro- 
claimed emperor, under the name of Peter III. Kot- 
withstanding the contempt which the conspirators had 
sought to bring upon him, he was enthusiastically re- 
ceived by the people. 

He began his reign with popular measures. One of 
his first acts was to recall a multitude of state prison- 
ers, exiled to Siberia by the tyrannical and suspicious 
temper of Elizabeth. He took no revenge upon his 
enemies, permitted the nobility to travel abroad at 
their pleasure, and allowed them to join the military 
service or not, as they chose. He also abolished the 
secret tribunal which had long been a terror to the 
Russians. Every one was in transports of delight with 
the new emperor, who had suddenly become a wise, 
dignified, temperate prince. His affection for Catherine 
returned, and he treated her with the utmost kindness 
and attention, forgetting her unfaithfulness and coldness. 
She however withheld the advice and guidance she 
was capable of giving, and which Peter looked for. 
Wearied with her repulsive coldness and imperious 
harshness, surrounded by a deceitful court, with not a 
single friend to whom he could turn with confidence, 
and bewildered with cares for which his education and 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 40i 



life had not prepared him, he returned to his vicious 
habits, unable with his blunt perceptions to detect, or 
even suspect, the conspiracies formed against him. In 
fact he was too much engaged in plots of his own to 
perceive that any others were in progress. Jealous and 
suspicious of his wife, he had thoughts of displaciDg 
her and her heir, and naming for his successor Prince 
Ivan, who, for more than twenty years, had been im- 
mured in a dungeon. Peter secretly visited the un- 
happy prince, and soon after had him brought privately 
to Petersburg and concealed in an obscure house. 

Catherine, whom Peter had dismissed to the palace 
of Peterhoff, occupied her leisure and retirement in in- 
stigating and perfecting plots against the emperor, 
while she appeared to take part in none of them. The 
Princess Dashkoff, then only eighteen, quick, witty, 
courageous, learned, and with remarkable talent for in- 
trigue, remained at court for the purpose of keeping 
Catherine informed of every circumstance that transpired. 
It was not only an attachment for the empress that in- 
duced her to such a course, but jealousy towards a sister 
who was the openly acknowledged favorite of the em- 
peror, and a base ambition to be the leader of a faction. 

The other principal personages were Count Panin, 
preceptor to the young prince, a man of obscure birth, 
and a character in which obstinacy and cunning were 
predominant; Gregory Orloff, Catherine's last lover, 
noted for courage and beauty, and his brother Alexey, 
both of them officers in the guards. Another, Cyril 
Razumoffsky, the hetman or commander of the Cos- 
lacks, having much influence at court and possessed of 
26 



402 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



immense wealth, besides being a favorite among the 
troops, was an important assistant. By the secrel 
machinations of all these haughty heads put togethei 
the conspiracy was ripe for execution. Peter III., wh* 
was nearly ready to put himself at the head of a wait 
ing army, destined to war against Denmark, was to b( 
seized on his arrival at Peterhofif, where he expected tc 
celebrate a festival previous to his departure for Den 
mark. He was now engaged in revels at his country 
palace of Oranienbaum. 

Catherine meanwhile lived in daily fear and unen 
durable anxiety lest her schemes should be discovered 
Even her dreams were haunted with guilty terrors^ 
she frequently paced the floor of her apartments, half 
the night, for sleep fled from her frightened eyelids. 

An unexpected occurrence hastened the execution 
of the conspirators' designs. Passick, a lieutenant in 
the guards, had gained the soldiers of his company. 
One of them, supposing nothing was done without the 
concurrence of the captain, innocently asked him on 
what day they were to take up arms against the empe- 
ror. The captain concealed his surprise, and cunning 
ly drew from the unsuspecting soldier the whole secret. 
Passick was immediately arrested and put under guard, 
but he managed to write hastily upon a slip of paper, 
''Proceed to execution this instant or we are undone !'' 
and gave it to a spy, who hurried with it to the Princesp 
Dashkofif. She quickly informed the conspirators, and, 
though late at night, she assumed man's apparel, and 
went out to meet them upon an unfrequented bridge, 
where their plans were quickly formed. 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 403 



The empress bad vacated the palace at Peterhoff, to 
leave the apartments free for the festival ; she occupied 
a summer-house in the garden of the palace, at the ex- 
tremity of which was a canal, connected with the JSTeva, 
that gave private access to the gardens, bj means of a 
small boat fastened there. Catherine was sleeping here 
at midnight, when she was suddenly aroused, and be- 
held a soldier standing at her bedside. "Your majesty 
has not a moment to lose ; get ready to follow me !" 
said he. Terrified and astonished, the empress arose, 
sailed her attendant Ivanovna, and dressed in haste. 
The soldier returned for them ; they followed him to a 
carriage that stood waiting, and found Alexey Orloff, 
impatient for their appearance. The empress and her 
maid were placed in the vehicle ; Alexey took the reins 
and set off at full speed for Petersburg, twenty miles 
distant. Suddenly the horses stopped and fell down, 
and no efforts of Alexey and his companion could urge 
them on. Their danger was every moment increasing • 
it was still night, and several miles were yet to be trav- 
ersed ; the empress was finally obliged to leave the 
carriage, and they resolved to pursue their way on foot. 
Impatient to reach bhe city, and filled with terror, they 
fled rather than walked along the road, not knowing 
what moment they might be pursued. They had not 
gone far before they met a light country cart. Alexey 
Orloff seized the poor peasant's horses, and the empress 
and her maid sprang into the rough vehicle ; leaving 
the owner standing aghast in the midst of the road, 
they sped away to the capital. 

Catherine, worn out with fatigue and excitement, ar 



404 CATHEKINE OF RUSSIA. 



rived at seven in the morning, but without taking rest, 
proceeded to the quarter of the soldiers. Seeing but few 
who issued from the barracks with clamorous greeting^ 
she hesitated a moment, trembling ; an instant's thought 
suggested a deception by which to gain the whole de- 
tachment. In a speech, she assured them that the 
Czar, her husband, had attempted to murder her and 
her son that very night ; that she had just escaped, and 
now threw herself on their protection. The incensed 
soldiers, believing what she said, swore to defend her ; 
the cry of " Long live the Empress Catherine !" went 
up with enthusiastic demonstrations ; the Orloffs se- 
cured a like reception from their regiments, and no one 
dared to stop the singular proceedings, except Yillebois, 
General of the Artillery, who attempted to remonstrate. 
Catherine turned round, and, in an imperious tone, de- 
manded what he intended to do. Confused and con- 
founded with her commanding manner, he could only 
stammer out, " To obey your majesty !" and immedi- 
ately delivered the arsenals and magazines of the city 
into her hands. It had required but two hours to ac- 
complish this feat, and, withoui bloodshed, Catherine 
saw herself surrounded by two tnousand warriors, be- 
sides the inhabitants of Petersburg, who imitated the 
movements of the soldiers. 

In the afternoon she repaired to the church of Kafan, 
where the Archbishop of Novogorod, in sacerdotal robes, 
accompanied by numerous priests, wearing long beards, 
was ready to receive her at the altar. He placed the 
crown upon her head, proclaimed her the sovereign of 
the Eussias, as Catherine II. and the grand duke Paul 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA 405 



Petrovitcli her successor. The shouts of the multitude 
who crowded the church were hushed by the chant of 
the Te Deum that solemnly swelled above the vast as- 
semblage. The ceremony concluded, the empress re- 
paired to the palace that had been occupied by Eliza- 
beth, and for several hours received the crowds who 
thronged the apartments to take the oath of allegiance. 
The chancellor Vorontzoff, father of the Princess Dash- 
koif, but a firm adherent to the emperor's cause, ven- 
tured to warn Catherine of the danger to which she 
exposed herself. She replied with insulting impudence 
and hypocritical innocence, "You see how it is ; I 
really cannot do otherwise ; I am only yielding to the 
ardent sensibility of the nation !" The chancellor was 
attended to his own house by a guard I At six in the 
evening, Catherine, crowned with oak -leaves and with a 
sword in her hand, mounted her horse, and, accompa- 
nied by Princess Dashkoff and the hetman Razumoff- 
sky, placed herself at the head of the troops at Peters- 
burg, and went out to meet those who were encamped 
at a distance, in order to secure their adherence before 
Peter should command their attendance upon himself. 
During all these rapid and singular movements, 
Peter III. in unsuspecting ignorance, set out for the 
expected festivities of Peterhoff, with the ladies and 
courtiers who had been revelling at his palace of Ora- 
nienbaum. While riding gaily along the road to Pe- 
terhoff, they were met by one of Catherine's attendants, 
who said the empress had escaped and was nowhere 
to be found. Peter, confounded and unbelieving, has- 
tened to the palace, searched the apartments, fled from 



406 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



one place to another in the greatest fright, questioned 
all whom he met, but was unable to solve the mystery. 
"While all about him were filled with gloomy forebo 
dings, a countryman rode rapidly up to the group^ 
made a profound inclination of the body, and, without 
uttering a word, drew from the bosom of his caftan a 
sealed note and presented it to the emperor. This re- 
vealed the occurrences at Petersburg, and his wife's 
duplicity. 

The terror of the emperor increased every moment, 
but the tears of the women about him and the advice 
of his young courtiers, availed him nothing. Munich, 
whom he had released from exile in Siberia, presented 
himself and suggested the only practicable course to 
pursue, telling him to put himself at the head of such 
troops as were left and march to Petersburg, where the 
sight of the emperor might effect a counter-revolution. 
But the news that Catherine, with her arm}^, was al- 
ready marching towards Peterhoff, so frightened the 
cowardly emperor that he accepted the last advice of 
Munich, threw himself into a yacht, precipitately fol- 
lowed by the weeping women and un? lanly courtiers, 
and went to Cronstadt, an important port in the gulf 
of Finland, which Munich knew would afford him am- 
ple means of defence, if the inhabitants and garrison 
still adhered to the emperor's cause. Catherine had 
been too quick for them. They no sooner arrived in 
port than the sentinels cried out, " Who comes there?" 
"The emperor," was the reply. "Long live the Em- 
press Catherine, * rang out from the soldiers, who 
threatened to sink the yacht if they did not put off in 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 407 



an instant. Munich entreated Peter to spring upon 
shore, and all might jet be his; but, like a terrified 
child, he ran into the cabin and hid himself among the 
terrified women. Nothing could be done but row the 
infatuated, imbecile prince back to Oranienbaum. 

Here he wrote a letter to the empress, promising 
submission and acknowledging his misconduct. She 
deigned him no answer, but with her army approached 
his palace. At first he ordered a horse, intending to 
fly to the frontiers of Poland, but, always irresolute, 
he changed his plan and directed his fortress to be dis- 
mantled and his Holstein guard to retire to a distance, 
that Catherine might be touched by his entire surrender. 
She caused him to be seized, however, and placed in 
close confinement, till he wrote and signed a declara- 
tion that he was not capable of reigning and that he 
voluntarily abdicated the throne. Even this did not 
serve to secure his liberty. The same night he was 
conducted by a strong guard to Eopscha, a small im- 
perial palace, about fourteen miles from Petersburg. 
In despair at his sad prospects of imprisonment, he 
sent a message to Catherine, entreating her to send an 
old negro buffoon who had often amused him, a fa- 
vorite dog, his violin, a Bible, and a few romances. 
She maintained a scornful silence. 

Catherine had been crowned empress ; she had pub- 
lished a manifesto, declaring her motives to have been 
a tender love for her people, and anxiety for the pres- 
ervation of the holy Greek religion; she had used 
every means to beguile and deceive the troops, who 
were necessarv to her success : but she still felt inse- 



408 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



cure. She was alarmed at the murmurings and resist 
ance of various distant towns and cities, which would 
have declared for Peter III. had he succeeded in pre- 
senting himself before them. A career of guilt once 
commenced leads to manifold crimes. Probably Cath- 
erine, in her first design of seizing the crown, had no 
thought of imbruing her hands in the blood of those 
who, as descendants of Peter the Great and rightful 
heirs to the throne, were revered in the eyes of the 
people. Harassed by constant fears of insurrection 
and unwilling to resign what she had so dexterously 
grasped, she listened to the whispered suggestions of 
the fiendish courtiers who had thus far assisted her 
and connived at, or at least did not prevent, the assas- 
sination of Peter III., in order to remove one so ob- 
noxious to her repose. 

This act was accomplished with such secrecy and 
deception, that the emperor's disappearance long re- 
mained a mystery, though no one hesitated to cast sus- 
picion on Catherine. The revolting details have since 
been revealed. Alexey Orloff, noted for his strength 
and brutality, undertook with two companions the ex- 
ecution of the deed. Seven days after the empress had 
been crowned, which occurred June 28th, 1762, Alexey 
repaired to the palace where Peter was confined, and, 
as he had often done before, dined with the emperor. 
Lieutenant Passek, who was present, assisted him in 
introducing poison into the wine poured out for Peter. 
The unsuspecting emperor drank freely and presently 
was seized with violent pain. Recognizing the design, 
he called for milk to allay his sufferings, and mingling 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 409 



bis cries of agony with reproaches. Thej agJiin pressed 
him to swallow more of the fatal beverage, but he re- 
sisted with all his strength. His valet, hearing the 
noise, rushed in. Peter threw himself in his arms, ex 
claiming faintly. " It was not enough to deprive me of 
the throne of Eussia ! — I must now be murdered !" 
The valet attempted to defend him, but Orloff with his 
giant strength easily thrust him from the room, and re- 
turned to his victim. The emperor fought with the 
strength of despair, but after a fierce and terrible strug- 
gle he was thrown to the floor and strangled with a 
napkin, snatched from the dinner- table. 

Alexey Orloff immediately mounted his horse and 
rode at full speed to Petersburg, to inform the em- 
press. On his arrival he found her just going to make 
her appearance at court. She maintained her compo- 
sure, ease, and usual gayety, dined in public, and in 
the evening again held a court. The following day 
while she was dining with the foreign ministers and a 
few courtiers, a messenger was ushered in with great 
ceremony and announced the tidings of the emperor's 
death. Catherine immediately arose from table, and, 
with her handkerchief at her eyes, hastened to shut 
herself in her own apartments, where she remained for 
several days, as if overwhelmed with sorrow. During 
that time, she caused a manifesto to be published, 
which, after mentioning his illness, declared that " in 
obedience to the divine command, by which we are en- 
joined to preserve the life of our neighbor, we ordered 
that Peter should be furnished with everything that 
might be judged necessarv to restore his health." It 



4:10 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



also expressed her great affliction, but, despite this fab- 
ric of falsehoods and Catherine's artful assumption of 
grief, no one was so stupid as to believe what she as- 
serted, though no one dared say a word upon the mat- 
ter, and that was all the empress wished. The remains 
of Peter were brought to the capital and buried with 
great pomp. 

Her next movement was to send Ivan back to prison, 
and at the same time she gave orders to put him to 
death, if any attempt was made to deliver him. There 
were many who sympathized with the unfortunate 
prince, fated to spend a life-time, from infancy to man- 
hood, in dungeons and fortresses where he was subject- 
ed to every manner of suffering. Ivan is described as 
having fine light hair, regular features, an extremely 
fair complexion, a figure of commanding height and 
fine proportions, and a voice sweet and touchingly 
mournful in its accents. A conspiracy was set on foot 
to rescue him and place him upon the throne, headed 
by an officer named Mirovitoh, who forced his way 
into the fortress of Schlusselburg where Ivan was con- 
fined, determined to deliver him. The guards imme- 
diately assassinated the defenceless prince and flung 
his body before Mirovitch, who immediately threw 
down his sword and surrendered. All who were en- 
gaged in this conspiracy were imprisoned, knouted, or 
sent to Siberia. 

Catherine, now relieved from those who could cause 
her the most uneasiness, turned her attention to meas- 
ures which would secure the applause of her subjects, 
and give her the fame she was ambitious to gain 



i 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 411 



abroad. She no longer needed the services of the 
Princess Dashkoff, who had become odious to her, 
notwithstanding her sacrifices of family and of herself 
in the cause of her friend. Catherine was not capable 
of friendship. She made tools of those whom she flat 
tered with her confidence. Princess Dashkoff, in the 
beginning of the revolution, had put on the uniform 
of the guards, and now asked, as a recompense for her 
services, the title of colonel of a regiment ; to this the 
empress scornfully replied that " the academy would 
suit her better than a military corps." The princess 
resented her ingratitude and spoke of it among her 
friends, with the bold independence natural to her ; but 
for such imprudence she was ordered to retire to Mos- 
cow. 

The archbishop of N'ovogorod, who had also materi- 
ally assisted in Catherine's designs, was disappoinited 
in his expected reward, and dismissed with a warning 
as to how he vented his rage. These and similar oc- 
currences caused discontent and irritation among the 
people, which took so serious a turn, that it was thought 
for a time Catherine would be hurled from the throne 
she had usurped ; bilt her courage and presence of 
mind never forsook her. She inflicted such terrible 
punishments upon the ringleaders, as effectually pre- 
vented any farther demonstrations of dissatisfaction. 

Among the first acts of her reign was the confirma- 
tion of the two principal edicts of her predecessor, 
which had given him such popularity at his accession ; 
but she took good care to appropriate all the credit to 
herself. With a policy that consulted the low state of 



412 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



the finances, she also ratified the treaties that had been 
made with Denmark and Prussia ; by thus securing 
peace, she was enabled to turn her attention to the im- 
provement and aggrandizement of Russia. She insti- 
tuted many wise and admirable regulations that secured 
the highest encomiums from other nations, though it 
is said she was undeserving her celebrity as a law-giver, 
since her famous code "consisted of a tissue of para- 
graphs taken principally from Montesquieu's ' Esprit 
des Loix,' and Beccaria's treatise on crime and punish- 
ment, and other well-known writers." She laid claim 
to her code, as having originated it herself, and com- 
placently received the adulations of all Europe. 

She certainly deserves credit, however, for her energy 
and skill in devising and prosecuting arrangements for 
the founding of colleges and hospitals on a grand scale, 
in the principal cities ; for the establishment of a found- 
ling and lying-in hospital, under the most benevolent 
and salutary regulations, and for the magnificent semi- 
naries she endowed at Petersburg, one for the educa- 
tion of five hundred young ladies, the other a military 
school for young men, both of which are still the pride 
of Petersburg. She also invited foreigners from every 
country, whether professional or scientific men, arti- 
sans, mechanics, or common laborers — an invitation 
which quickly populated the deserts of Russia with a 
nost who loudly murmured their discontent after they 
arrived, and regretted their foolishness in abandoning 
better homes. 

All this, and more, was accomplished in the first 
year and a half of Catherine's reign. She added to 



OATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 413 



her own reputation abroad for sagacity and wisdom, by 
assisting at all tlie deliberations of the councils, read 
the despatches from her ambassadors, dictated or wrote 
the answers, and attended to all the minutia of foreign 
affairs. She often had interviews with Munich, who 
suggested to her the plan of driving the Turks from 
Constantinople, and with Bestucheff, a man of pro- 
found policy, who had the experience of grand chan- 
cellor in Elizabeth's reign, and who kept Catherine in- 
formed of the politics and resources of the European 
courts. In her interviews with foreign ministers, she 
assured them of her independence and courage, told 
them the world must not judge of her yet, that she 
had scarcely begun her reign and would surprise 
Europe in time with her great exploits, and assured 
them she " should behave with the princes of other na- 
tions like a finished coquette." 

But in the midst of all her occupations, the empress 
did not forget her old favorites or neglect to find new 
ones. In this she imitated the profligate example of 
Elizabeth. Gregory Orloff, brother of Alexey, she 
seemed to entertain a sincere affection for, although he 
did not unite polished manners with beauty of person. 
He was ambitious and hoped the empress would give 
him her hand, and thus elevate him to the dignity of a 
sovereign. Catherine would only consent to a concealed 
marriage, but that was not sufficient for the haughty, 
but low-born Gregory. Fearful she would degrade her 
rank by marrying a man whom every one detested, her 
turbulent subjects concocted new conspiracies. While 
on a visit to Mossow, Catherine discovered one of these 



414 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



plots, and alarmed for her safety returned immediately^ 
to Petersburg, entering that city with a pompous and 
magnificent display, which she intended should awe 
the disaffected. 

She believed that the Princess Dashkoff influenced 
some of these intrigues, and determined to conceal the 
dislike she bore her, and invited her to court again. 
She wrote a flattering and deceitful letter, asking hei 
knowledge of the conspiracies, which was not calcu 
lated however to blind the quick-witted princess, who 
had too much occasion to know Catherine's artfulness, 
to trust her words. To the long and affectionate letter 
of the empress, the wounded friend replied with daring 
haughtiness, in a few words. " Madam," wrote she, 
" I have heard nothing ; but if I had heard anything, 
I should take good care how I spoke of it. What its 
it you require of me ? That I should expire on a scaf- 
fold ? I am ready to mount it !" Catherine was cha- 
grined at this display of spirit, but did not take revenge 
and left the princess in disgrace, to travel about Europe ; 
she everywhere attracted attention by her singular and 
bold manners. After her anger towards the empress 
had subsided, she returned to Kussia, and Catherine, 
thinking it best to conciliate one so cognizant of her 
crimes, appointed her president of the academy. Here 
she presided with the whims and temper of a virago, 
deprived the professors of fuel in winter, from avari- 
cious motives, and commanded them as she would have 
done a regiment of soldiers. Wrapped in rich furs, 
she seated herself in the midst of the shivering pro- 
fessors, dictating to them what they knew better than 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 415 



she, till they were tempted to abandon the country 
where the empress was content to have but the shell 
of science and literature, without the kernel. 

Kenown was Catherine's sole aim. For that she con 
tinued to endow colleges and academies of science and 
art, which often proceeded no further than the selection 
of a site, or, if they were built, rarely afforded anything' 
besides opportunities for grand and bombastic speeches 
from the empress. She encouraged the arts, inviting 
artists to her court, and paid most extravagant prices 
for pictures, though without the least taste to judge of 
their merits or defects. Her end was accomplished, 
however, so long as the recipients of her generous en- 
couragement sounded her fame. Many of the pictures 
decorated the walls of her palaces, being " fitted together 
without frames, so as to cover on each side the whole of 
the walls, without the smallest attention to disposition 
or general effect." When a place could not convenient- 
ly be filled, the pictures were cut to suit the vacancy ! 

Catherine prided herself upon the generosity of her 
gifts to those who visited her court, and to those who 
performed important services. She maintained a mag- 
nificence in her movements and decorations, that ex- 
ceeded all the courts of Europe, and added to the glory 
of her achievements by founding cities as well as col- 
leges, which those who visited her vainly looked for I 
Many of them were never to be found, for the very 
good reason that she was satisfied to designate a site, 
give a name, and see it swell the list of her boasted 
cities, though it after all existed only in her imagina- 
tion. Joseph II. once accompanied her to lay the 



416 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA, 



foundations of a new city. On his return he dryly re- 
marked, "The empress and I have this day achieved 
a great work ; she has laid the first stone of a great 
city, and I have laid the lastP'' He was just in his 
surmise. The city can nowhere be found except upon 
some of the maps of Russia. 

While thus engaged at home, she did not neglect to 
increase her power abroad. Poland, for many years, 
had gradually extended its possessions by the inter 
marriage of Polish princesses with the heirs of royal 
domains in Russia. Catherine, therefore, in a measure 
ruled the election of kings in that republic. Upon the 
death of Agustus III. she contrived, partly by the 
force of arms and partly by cunning policy, to secure 
the election of one of her old favorites. Count Ponia- 
sofsky, a man who is described as having but small ca- 
pacity to govern, rather weak than gentle, possessing 
a mind that was better calculated to shine in social 
intercourse than to sway men of cultivation. " Tall, 
well-made, of a figure at once commanding and agree- 
able," he could more skilfully play the lover than the 
courtier. He was rather forced upon than accepted 
by the Poles, who loudly murmured at the accession 
of one who was neither distinguished by birth nor any 
brilliant achievements. Soon after his election, difii- 
culties commenced in Poland, which, by causing innu- 
merable divisions of parties, weakened and exposed it 
to the rapacious robbery of Russia and Prussia. 

In 1563 a law had been passed ;vvhich granted equal 
rights to all religious persuasions, whether Greek, Lu 
theran, or Catholic. In 1768, however, the Catholics 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 417 



had obtained a decided superiority, and excluded from 
the diets all those who did not adopt their faith. This 
occasioned serious contention ; the various parties re- 
ceived the name of dissidents, and applied to Russia 
for assistance in claiming their rights. Catherine sent 
an army under the command of Prince Repuin, who 
immediately seized the principal persons in the diet, 
and exiled them to Siberia. The king himself, through 
the instigation of Orloff, was treated with great indig- 
nity. Prince Repuin commanded like a despot in 
Warsaw, and the Poles began to be amazed at the dan- 
gerous assistance they had sought, and beheld their 
country overrun with Russian soldiery, from whora 
they had no power to extricate themselves. They 
could only submit to the terms the empress chose to 
grant them. She already proposed the recovery of 
those parts of Poland which had been annexed from 
Russia ; but her plans were not yet fully formed ; she 
contented herself for a few years to use her domineer- 
ing influence over a nation that she was in honor bound 
to protect and not to oppress. 

In 1768 Turkey declared war against Russia in con- 
sequence of the oppi'ession of Poland. , The latter, suf- 
fering all the horrors of a war partly civil, partly reli- 
gious, and partly foreign, and its haughty, brave no- 
bles, unwilling to brook the outrages of Russia, ap- 
plied to Turkey for relief. Catherine, with undaunted 
courage, accepted the challenge, prepared an army and 
powerful fleets, and speedily sent them against her en- 
emies. While they gained victories along the Danube, 
the Pruth, and sailed triumphant on the Euxine, Cath- 
27 



418 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



erine was occupied at home in vast preparations to at- 
tack them even in the isles of Greece. Her dock-yards 
were filled with workmen who basil j constructed ship? 
of war ; her cities resounded with the clang of metal, 
moulded and shaped into death-dealing weapons, by 
the hands of skilful artisans ; her politicians were en- 
gaged in exciting debates as to the expedienc}^ of the 
undertaking : her foreign ministers and emissaries were 
directed to secure the non-interference of other nations, 
and permission to enter their ports. Her fleets were 
manned not only by the most experienced ofiicers of 
her own empire, but notable Englishmen, Danes, and 
Dutch, were enlisted in her service. Admiral SpiridofF. 
commanded the fleet, but he and all the armies were 
under the orders of Alexey Orloff, who had been ap- 
pointed general. 

While these fleets and armies were sweeping victo- 
riously through the Archipelago, and harassing the 
borders of the Turkish empire, Catherine, always in- 
dustrious in intrigues, kept up a secret correspondence 
with Frederic of Prussia, pertaining to Poland. They 
meditated the partition of that nation ; an interview, 
however, was necessary to perfect the design. Unwil- 
ling that other monarchs should discover their infamous 
intentions, and knowing their motives could not be 
concealed if an ostentatious visit was made by either 
party, they decided to resort to stratagem. Prince 
Henry, the brother of Frederic, received instructions 
to go to Russia with full powers to concert the desired 
measures with the empress. It was given out that he 
Intended making a visit to his sister, Queen of Sweden, 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 419 



and should return to Prussia by way of Denmark. 
While at Stockholm he received pressing invitations 
from Catherine to visit her at Petersburg, in which she 
expressed her anxiety to entertain so illustrious a 
prince. As if it had not all been managed beforehand, 
Henry expressed unexpected pleasure, and, with an 
apparent change of his plans, set out for Petersburg, 
accompanied by a brilliant suite. He was received 
with flattering attentions by the minister, Count Panin, 
and conducted in great state to the palace prepared for 
him. The first day of his arrival was passed with the 
most ceremonious etiquette, after which a series of en- 
tertainments were given that in magnificence outdid all 
the courts of Europe. 

One of these entertainments was given at the sum- 
mer-palace called Tzarskoselo. It was situated at a 
distance of twenty four versts, or sixteen miles, from 
Petersburg, in an open country, diversified with low, 
picturesque hills and forests. The road to it was light- 
ed by more than a thousand lamps, and every verst 
marked by a column of marble, jaspar, or granite. All 
along there were views of elegant country-seats and 
gardens, gothic palaces with their lofty towers and 
turrets, Chinese temples crested upon high artificial 
rocks, villages built in the same style, fanciful bridges, 
and every other device by which the route could be 
made attractive and enchanting. The palace itself was 
immense and dazzling ; within and without were pro- 
fuse gilded ornaments. Every portion of the interior 
was fitted up in the richest and costliest style. The 
extensive gardens were ornamented bv artificial lakes 



420 CATHEKINE OF RUSSIA. 



dotted with charming wooded islands, from one of 
which rose a Turkish mosque, from another an elegant 
structure for musical performances, while from others 
shot up tall columns or Egyptian pyramids. Minia 
ure towns and villages, a hermitage, superb baths, and 
picturesque ruins, completed this luxurious resort, that, 
springing up in the midst of the bleak deserts of Eus- 
sia, was the realization of a Titania's kingdom. 

To this magnificent and showy palace, the empress 
conducted Prince Henry in an immense sledge, fol- 
lowed by two thousand others containing a great num 
ber of ladies and the nobility, all in masks and fancv 
dresses. The amusements along the road consisted of 
some novel display at every verst. Fire-works i)» 
every possible variety and unimagined beauty, houses 
built to represent the style of different nations and en- 
livened with people dressed in corresponding costumes, 
shepherds and shepherdesses exhibiting national dan 
ces, and, at a little distance from the palace, an arti 
ficial volcano representing an eruption of Mount Vesu 
vius. The festivities at the palace were equally inge 
nious and startling. At table everything was arranged 
with such magician-like effect that when one wished 
to change his plate, he had but to tap the centre and 
it fell through the table and floor, and was immediately 
replaced by another that came up by the same means, 
replenished with whatever he desired. 

By such displays Catherine sought to amuse hei 
royal guest, and blind her subjects and the world at 
large, as to the secret purpose which all this show suc- 
cessfully masked. Henry looked on without appearing 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 421 



to be in the least diverted ; he maintained a sober and 
dignified bearing, looking on the frivolous and expen- 
sive sports as mere child's play, but covered his disdain 
under an air of abstracted indifference. His dress 
and appearance occasioned infinite amusement to the 
Russians. His hair was worn in a high toupee, and 
his apparel sometimes consisted of " a light blue frock 
with silver frogs, a red waistcoat and blue breeches." 

In his interviews with Catherine, their disguised in- 
tentions were cautiously discussed. They decided 
upon the dismemberment of Poland, and Henry went 
so far as to assign to Austria, Turkey, Prussia and 
Russia, the spoils which should fall to the share of 
each. Catherine promised to frighten Turkey and flat- 
ter England into acquiescence ; said she, " Do you take 
upon you to buy over Austria, that she may amuse 
France !" Thus did this unscrupulous monarch devise 
and carry out a robbery, with as hypocritical and in- 
nocent a face as had carried her through the connived 
assassination of her husband. The treaty, however, 
was not signed for some years. 

Soon after Henry's departure early in 1771, Count 
Alexey Orloff returned from his victories, laden with 
triumphant laurels which fixed upon him the eyes of 
all Russia. He received honors and titles from his 
sovereign, and, in the succeeding festivities, resigned 
his giant strength to the ease and repose of courtly 
luxury. His ferocity, cruelty, and coarseness of man- 
ner, were better fitted for the horrors of war than the 
refinement and etiquette of court ; his huge arm knew 
better how to strike the assassin's deadly blow, than tp 



422 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



shield the unfortunate ; his soul was in its most grate- 
ful element when ravelling in the consciousness of a 
victim's torment. 

At his request, Catherine provided him with ample 
means to prosecute his conquests in the Archipelago. 
He left Petersburg, loaded with assurances of the favor 
of the empress, and went to join the squadron prepared 
for him at Leghorn. While in Italy, he executed a 
commission from the empress requiring two pictures 
to be painted in representation of the burning of the 
Turkish fleet in the previous expedition. Orloff did 
not hesitate to have a score of ships in the harbor 
set on fire or blown up, in order that the painter might 
do justice to his subject. He had another commission 
from Catherine which he performed with equal vil- 
lainy. She had reason to fear the entire downfall of 
her throne as long as any descendants of Peter the Great 
existed : one remained upon whom her eye was fixed ; 
with her usual secrecy and false-heartedness she laid a 
snare for the fair and unsuspecting girl whose shadow 
was a hateful ghost in the pathway of the guilty empress. 

The empress Elizabeth, by a clandestine marriage 
with Kazumofi'sky, had three children ; the youngest a 
girl named princess Tarrakanoff and protected by the 
Polish Prince Radzivil. He conveyed her to Eome, 
where she had been educated and kept in seclusion 
under the care of a watchful governess. Alexey Orloff 
succeeded in ferreting out her concealment, and, by the 
most devoted attention and deceitful representations, 
won the affections of the princess and obtained her con- 
sent to a marriage. The ceremony was performed b\ 



CATHERINE OF KUSSIA. 423 



villains in tli(i disguise of priests. The innocent and 
confiding Tarrakanoff, believing him to be her veri- 
table husband, accompanied him to Pisa, where a 
sumptuous palace was prepared for her reception. He 
was constantly at her side, in order to prevent any om 
from instilling suspicion into her mind. She accepted 
his attentions as proof of his affection, and returned it 
with a fond tenderness that, with her youth and beauty, 
would have swerved any heart but his from its cruel 
purpose. Several days passed in festivities, when the 
princess asked to see the Eussian fleet that was soon 
to convey away the count. He was delighted to 
gratify her, and accordingly she was escorted to a boat 
prepared with magnificent awnings to receive her, and, 
accompanied by a suite of ladies and several Eussian 
officers, put off from the shore in the midst of enthu- 
siastic shouts and lively strains of music. Arrived at 
one of the principal ships, a splendid chair was lowered 
that she might without inconvenience be conveyed on 
board. Amused with the novelty, she stept gaily on 
deck, but was immediately seized and handcuffed ; tears 
and entreaties were unavailing ; in vain she supplicated 
at the feet of her betrayer; she was torn away and 
carried a prisoner down into the hold, and the follow- 
ing day conveyed to Eussia. Catherine gave secret 
orders to confine her in the fortress of Petersburg, and 
it was afterwards surmised that she was drowned in 
her dungeon by the rising of the waters of the river 
that rolled at the foot of the tower walls ; but her fate 
remained one of the whispered mysteries of the Eussian 
court. 



424 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



In 1771 an event occurred which took the Russians 
by surprise, and cast an odium upon Catherine's admin- 
istration that nothing could efface. The inhabitants 
of a province lying on the Yolga, north of Astracan, 
were driven to desperation by the cruelty and injustice 
of the governor placed over them. They were a peace- 
ful, hospitable people, originally from Chinese Tartary, 
and until within a few years had preserved their inde- 
pendence. Their religion and customs continued un- 
changed; they roamed about the steppes with their 
usual aversion to permanent dwellings, and also from 
the necessity of furnishing herbage for their hordes of 
cattle. Much oppression from the emissaries of the 
empress and an unheard-of indignity offered to a ven- 
erable old man, greatly beloved by his tribe, so in- 
censed them that they resolved to abandon the Rus- 
sian dominions and return to their ancient possessions 
at the foot of the mountains of Thibet. A report was 
also circulated among them that a revered Calmuck 
priest, who died three years before, had sent them a 
message in the name of their gods to take possession 
of their ancient territories. They obeyed, and in a well- 
ordered march went secretly and silently on their peril- 
ous journey, — an immense troop, with their wives, 
children and servants, hordes of cattle, goods of every 
description, tents, and household utensils. 

So noiseless had been their departure that no inti- 
mation of it whatever reached Petersburg, till they 
had gained two days' march. Catherine immediately 
sent troops to arrest the fugitives, but they searched in 
vain through the bleak deserts, till, suffering fn -n 



CATHERINE OY RUSSIA. 425 



tliirst and hunger in these unwatered, barren, and de- 
populated regions, they were obliged to abandon the 
unavailing pursuit. The Chinese emperor received 
and protected " his children," and when the exasper 
ated empress demanded him to deliver up her run- 
away subjects, he scornfully refused to comply and 
daringly commented on her tyranny. This Catherine 
never could forgive. She was used to conciliatory 
language from all the nations of Europe, and this bold 
defiance, and the dictatorial tone he used on several 
occasions, inspired her with a hatred that would not 
permit China to be favorably mentioned in her pres- 
ence. Upon her application for a renewal of the treaty 
regarding commerce between the two nations, he pro- 
vokingly replied to her envoys, ''Let your mistress 
learn to keep old treaties, and then it will be time 
enough to apply for new ones !" Catherine c aid only 
dissemble her mortification and anger ; she h A not the 
means to punish him for his audacitj^, whav^ver were 
her inclinations. The war with Turkey, her policy in 
regard to Poland, and the equipment of extensive fleets, 
had exhausted her treasury. Peace however was de- 
clared, in 1774, which ceded to Catherine several prov- 
inces, and gave her vessels the free navigation of the 
Black Sea and the Archipelago ; this opened an im- 
mense source of commerce and wealth to her empire 
Marshal Eomantzoff, her greatest general, received the 
glory of the triumphs on the borders of Turkey, and 
Alexey Orloff was showered with honors for his victo- 
ries in the Archipelago, though the credit given thf 



426 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



latter was entirely due to the skill of the English admi- 
rals, Elphinstone, Greig, and Dugdale. 

While all these events were progressing, Catherine 
was employed at home in improving and enriching her 
•ities and public works. Canals, connecting the several 
rivers in and near Petersburg, were embanked with 
granite ; sumptuous bridges were thrown across them ; 
magnificent palaces were built and public offices sprang 
up without number, while close beside them were 
squalid hovels with the most wretched occupants, and 
in front ran streets filled with mire and dirt. 

Catherine, in her palace, was the same intriguing, 
deceitful woman she had been in the beginning of her 
reign. Profligate, fitful and tyrannical, she changed 
her favorites as readily as her mask, lavishing the most 
costly gifts upon them at one moment, and the next 
moment sending them into exile. She seemed to re- 
tain an affection for Gregory Orloff; she created him 
a prince, but Count Panin, her minister and governor 
of the grand duke Paul Petrovitch, constantly employ- 
ed his influence against the complete ascendency of 
OrlofP. Count Panin occupied the most important 
posts in the empire, and continued to retain them until 
his death ; his prosperity was probably owing more to 
Catherine's reliance upon his integrity than any bril- 
liant talents she could have imagined him to possess. 
The admission of a new favorite, Potemkin, who gain- 
ed complete rule over Catherine, drove both Panin 
and Orloff' to despair. Count Panin absented himself 
from court, and, it is said, died from chagrin and grief 
at the loss of his influence. Gregory Orloff died in the 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 427 



r«tme year, 1783, at Moscow, in a state of frightful in- 
sanity. The loss of a young and beautiful wife, whom 
he regarded with the tenderest love, occasioned a mel- 
ancholy that was deeply aggravated by the loss of the 
empress' favor. His last daj^s were spent in the rav- 
ings of delirium ; he imagined that the ghost of Peter 
TIL was continually pursuing him with avenging 
darts. 

Thus Catherine was relieved from the presence of 
two men who had assisted in elevating her to the 
throne, and whose dangerous possession of her secrets 
gave them a fearful hold upon her that she was glad to 
shake off. Paul Petrovitch was Panin's most sincere 
mourner ; he really loved his preceptor, and with the 
greater strength because his affections were driven from 
every object upon which he would have centered them, 
by his tyrannical mother. She kept him under con- 
tinual surveillance, and concealed him from the public 
eye as completely as possible, fearful of the affection 
entertained for him by the people, and dreading a rev- 
olution which might place him upon his rightful throne. 
Although arrived at manhood, he was never allowed 
to enter the army, or even to visit a fleet ; his travels 
were limited, his movements closely watched and 
strictly reported, and Catherine always provided hita 
with an escort of her own choosing. She condescended 
to select him a wife, but took good care to find one 
who would be too simple to engage in intrigues. He 
was married to a daughter of the landgrave of Hesse- 
Darmstadt ; as was the custom, she adopted the Creek 
religion, aid received the name of Natalia Alexierna. 



428 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



The empress had reason afterwards to suspect her of 
engaging in political plots, and her death, which occur- 
red a year or two after she became grand duchess, cast 
another dark imputation upon Catherine. 

She was scarcely cold in her grave, before the em- 
press selected a new spouse for her son. A niece of 
the King of Prussia became the consort of the grand, 
duke, under the name of Maria Feodorovna, and with 
him ascended the throne twenty years afterwards. As 
the kings and princes of various nations had succes- 
sively visited the court of Petersburg, Catherine 
thought she could no longer deny a return of these 
distinctions, in permitting the grand duke and his bride 
to visit some of the courts of Europe. She confided 
them to the care of one of her sworn creatures, and 
had despatches daily brought her by a courier, giving 
d minute account of everything that transpired. While 
at Paris, the people were more struck with Paul's ex- 
cessive ugliness than anything else. One day at the 
Tuilleries, Louis XVI. asked him if he had any person 
in his suite who was particularly attached to Mm ? 
Paul replied with a significance which was understood 
by the xcourtiers, "If my mother thought that I had but 
a dog belonging to me that loved me, to-morrow it 
would be flung into the Seine with a stone around it? 
neck." He was just feeling the bitterness of having a 
friend exiled to Siberia for life, for the offence of 
writing to him an account of the transactions at Peters- 
burg during his absence. It was truly a magnanimous 
trait in Catherine that she permitted her son to exis^ 
at all I 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 429 



Orloff and Panin were entirely forgotten in the bril- 
liant reign of the favorite who had supplanted them. 
Potemkin was a most extraordinary man, and it was 
his caprices, his intense imagination that was forever 
devising some unheard-of scheme, and his audacity 
that secured the ascendency he obtained over Cathe- 
rine as her favorite, her confidant, and her minister. 
The most opposite qualities were united in him. At 
one moment he was generous, at another avaricious. 
Active yet indolent, timid and bold, condescending 
and haughty, politic and indiscreet, unread yet able tc 
astonish a scholar, an artist, artisan, or divine in con- 
versation, promising everything but rarely performing, 
always chasing after some gigantic plan which he 
spurned in disgust when attained — altogether he was a 
freak of nature, and embodied all the good and bad 
qualities of man without reason or conscience to guide 
him. At one moment he announced his intention of 
becoming King of Poland, and, at the next, threatened 
to turn monk ; one day he would call all the principal 
officers to his presence, and talk of war; the next, be- 
gin a series of magnificent entertainments without the 
least cause. He would throw all the cabinets of Eu- 
rope in a ferment by his purpose of partitioning some 
empire, and laugh at them at his leisure, while indo- 
lently reclining among a company of ladies. Distin 
guished officers attended him in the capacity of ser- 
vants, and he would not hesitate to despatch one of 
them more than a thousand miles for a certain kind of 
soup that could only be made at Petersburg. Think 
of au officer riding thirteen hundred miles at the speed 



430 <3ATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



of life and death, to bear a tureen of soup to his mas- 
ter I It was these imperious whims, his energetic will, 
and defiance of every obstruction to what he took it in 
his head to accomplish, that secured Catherine's favor. 
She trusted her armies to his generalship ; but her his- 
torian significantly suggests, " it is not to be inferred 
from thence that all went on well, but all went on and 
the empress desired nothing more." 

It was in compliance with his persuasions that Cathe- 
rine was induced to visit Crimea and the other provinces 
that had been ceded to Eussia in the treaty with the 
Turkish emperor. In the beginning of 1787, she left 
Petersburg in grand state, accompanied by all the ladies 
of her suite, her favorite aid~de-camp, MomonofF, the 
French and Austrian ambassadors, all enveloped in 
costly furs, and seated in spacious sledges, by which 
they were conveyed with lightning rapidity over the 
ice and snow. Immense fires, kindled along the roads, 
created artificial day ; at every post was an ample relay 
of fresh horses ; and when requiring repose they 
stopped at palaces, built for the occasion, which 
equalled those at Petersburg in splendor. Here the 
empress held entertainments and feasted her flatterers, 
while, without, poor peasants were assembled to gaze 
in silent wonder upon the magic structure, shivering 
and pinche'd in the icy air, the white frost covering 
their shaggy heads and unshaven beards. 

Joseph II. of Austria joined the stately cavalcade; 
at Kanieff, Stanislaus Agustus, King of Poland, and 
distinguished Polish nobles, swelled the royal train. 
Catherine had not met her old lover for twenty-three 



CATHEKTNE OF RUSSIA. 431 



years, and for once her imperturbable countenance be- 
trayed agitation. Poniatoffsky, however, retained his 
composure and did homage to the empress for the crown 
she had bestowed upon him, with as little emotion as 
if they had been strangers. This royal cortege sailed down 
the Dnieper in a fleet of fifty galleys. Potemkin had 
spared no expense and no device by which to astonish 
and impress the beholders with the state of the countries 
through which they passed. He dressed up shepherds 
and shepherdesses to attend choice flocks along the 
banks of the river ; palaces and whole villages were 
erected to give life to the scenery ; peasants were hand- 
somely attired ; troops were newly equipped ; Tartars 
were clothed and disciplined; wildernesses were con- 
verted into blooming gardens — everything, that human 
ingenuity could invent, had been gathered here to make 
the sterile deserts and the wide tracts that had been 
laid waste in the rapacious wars, assume the appearance 
of populous, thriving provinces. The people furnished 
with holiday dresses, and engaged with music and 
dancing, were made to appear gay, happy, and con- 
tented, while those very regions were desolate and 
groaning with famine and oppression. It was an apt 
illustration of her whole reign — a dazzling display 
which she flattered herself would blind posterity to her 
hideous defects — empty and heartless like everything 
that emanated from her or her minions. 

Six months were occupied in this unexampled tour, 
which resulted in nothing but a renewal of the war 
with the Turks. Hostilities commenced near the close 
of the same year, 1787, and were encouraged by Prince 



432 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



Potemkin, who, though he seemed to have every pos- 
sible desire granted, lacked one thing more to give him 
the happiness he was always in pursuit of, yet never 
found. He had never received the order of St. George; 
his could not be obtained till he commanded an army 
and gained a victory. Thousands of human beings 
were thrown into the scale with a riband and star. 
Potemkin must be gratified with the possession of the 
toy. 

An army of one hundred and fifty thousand men, un- 
der the command of the celebrated generals, Romantzoff, 
Repnin,and SuvarofP, commenced hostilities against the 
Ottoman empire and, during two years, passed from city 
to city, reducing them to ashes and inhumanly massa- 
cring the inhabitants, of whatever age or sex. The fierce 
Potemkin spared nothing. The lives of his troops were 
of no account. He simply gave orders from his sump- 
tuous tents, and if everything was not gained that he 
commanded, he was ready to press his iron heel upon 
the necks of his own soldiers. Catherine, equally in- 
sensible to the rapine, bloodshed and horrors of war, 
gave balls and tournaments at her capital, distributed 
costly gifts among the conquerors, and gave thanks in 
the churches for their bloody victories. 

In 1790, Potemkin sat with his armies before Ismail. 
Seven months passed, at the end of which the besieged 
still firmly and bravely held out. Potemkin, impatient 
at the long resistance, ordered it to be taken in three 
days. Suvaroff obeyed, and addressing his men with 
the brutal words — " My brothers, no quarter ! Provi- 
sions are dear!" he began the assault. The Russians 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 438 



were twice repulsed, which added to their ferocity 
when they afterwards succeeded in scaling the ram- 
parts and gained possession of the city. All the inhab- 
itants were slain, till blood ran in torrents through the 
streets. 

Suvaroff immediately wrote to the empress with only 
these words : " The haughty Ismail is at your feet." 
Potemkin hastened to Petersburg to gain a reward for 
victories he no more had gained than those for which 
Alexey Orloff had been etiriched. Catherine however 
rewarded him with the coveted riband and star, and 
bestowed upon him a magnificent palace and a coat 
laced with diamonds. All he desired was now attain- 
ed, but instead of the happiness he expected to attain 
he found himself the most miserable of men. Suvaroff 
and the accompanying generals proudly laid their lau- 
rels at the feet of the empress, who smiled upon them 
and bestowed estates and ghttering jewels on the he- 
roes, as if they were not all bathed in the blood of op- 
pressed victims. 

This war had cost the lives of more than six hundred 
thousand men, the destruction of many cities, and the 
exhaustion of the Kussian treasury, while nothing per- 
manent had been gained by either nation. A treaty 
was soon concluded, but Potemkin did not live to see 
it accomplished. In the midst of his pleasures and his 
vices, he was suddenly seized with dangerous illness, 
and with his usual waywardness, refused the advice of 
physicians and set out upon a journey. While travel- 
ling between Yassy and Nicnolaef, he was too ill to 
proceed, and, being taken out of his carriage, was laid 
28 



484 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



upon the grass under a tree, where he quickly expired. 
Not far from the spot rested the remains of the good 
Howard, " As if," sajs Dr. Clarke, " the hand of des- 
tiny had directed two persons, in whom were exempli- 
fied the extremes of virtue and vice, to one common 
spot, in order that the contrast might remain a lesson 
for mankind." 

In 1792, Catherine declared war against Poland, to 
which she assigned various petty pretexts, while in 
reality, it was the result of her own long meditated di- 
vision of that country. Her new favorites and minis- 
ters gladly acquiesced in a measure that promised them 
a large share in the rich spoils of the unhappy Poles. 
Frederic of Prussia, acting in concert with the empress, 
despatched an army to unite with the Eussian legions, 
and together they over-ran the plains of Poland. At 
Warsaw the diet had received the declaration of war 
with stern calmness, succeeded by a burst of enthusiasm 
excited by a patriotic determination to free themselves 
from the Eussian yoke, defend their homes, and save 
their nation from oblivion. An army was hastily sum- 
moned and placed under the command of Joseph 
Poniatofisky, a man ill-fitted for such a responsible post. 
Nothing but disasters accompanied his efforts: the 
Eussians were everywhere triumphant ; the defenders 
of Poland were dispersed, their estates confiscated, their 
families reduced to penury and servitude. 

While Poland thus lay bleeding and panting at the 
feet of the conquerors, Kosciusko, whose name is dear 
to the lovers of liberty, sprang up from the despairing 
hosts, girded on the warrior's armor, and, with the glo- 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 485 



rious resolve of rescuing his countrymen and his nation 
from the haughty victors, gathered about him the few 
bold spirits, who dared to offer themselves as a shield 
to Poland. Peasants, whom he caused to be freed from 
servitude, augmented his little army ; he was chosen 
their general. Inspired with the patriotic fire of the 
brave leader, the enthusiastic army swept all before 
them. Had their king and his partisans united with 
their efforts, Poland might still have had a place among 
nations ; but the dissensions that, since the accession 
of Stanislaus Agustus, had rendered united action im- 
possible, occasioned the final triumph of Kussia and 
Prussia. 

Catherine had sent fresh troops, and Frederic sta- 
tioned himself at the head of his own forces during 
the last engagement. The Poles were overpowered, 
the army cut to pieces, and the brave Kosciusko fell 
wounded and senseless in the thickest of the battle. 
He was carried a prisoner to Petersburg, confined in a 
dungeon till the death of Catherine, and then brought 
forth by Paul and loaded with honors. The emperor 
offered him employment in the Eussian service, which 
he declined. It is said that Paul presented him with 
his own sword, in admiration for the noble Pole, but 
Kosciusko replied, "I no longer need a sword, since I 
have no longer a country." His soul glowed with the 
'ove of liberty ; melancholy and oppressed at the sight 
:>f Poland in chains, he sought the shores of young 
America, and generously devoted his noble and exalted 
powers to her cause. He was too pure a jewel for a 
Russian setting. Leaving his revered name associated 



436 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



with the loved Washington and La Fayette in the 
struggle for American liberty, he repaired to Switzer- 
land, where he died in 1817. The Poles just awakened 
to his inestimable worth, conveyed his remains to his 
native land, and almost divine honors were paid to his 
memory. 

To return to the events of 1794. Catherine dis- 
placed Stanislaus Agustus, who had not been adroit 
enough to secure the confidence of either party ; she 
sent him to Grodno, condemned to live obscurely on a 
pension granted by her, and created Prince Eepnin 
governor of the provinces that fell to her share in the 
infamous division of Poland. 

The following year, the empress added another rich 
province to her empire. Courland, by her intricate 
and unscrupulous stratagems, was secured without 
having recourse to arms, and those who resisted her 
usurpations were immediately deprived of their estates 
and sent to Siberia. The remainder were frightened 
into submission. The death of Frederic of Prussia 
deprived her of an assistant in her plots, and gave her 
an enemy in his successor. She threatened him with 
war ; at the same time she turned her covetous eyes 
upon Persia, designing its sceptre for Alexander, one 
of her grandsons. For Constantine, another of Paul's 
sons, she intended to extend her conquests in Turkey, 
and seat him upon the Ottoman throne. Sweden she 
determined should fall to Alexandrina, her favorite, and 
beautiful grand-daughter. This princess is described 
as "just fifteen, tall, well formed, with noble and regu- 
lar features, a profusion of fine hair, and eyes that 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 437 



beamed with intelligence and sensibility. In person, 
mind, and manners, Alexandrina was one of the most 
lovely and accomplished princesses in Europe." 

Catherine set her heart upon making her queen of 
Sweden. To accomplish it, she succeeded in prevail- 
ing upon Gustavus Adolphus, the young King of 
Sweden, to visit her court. He repaired to Peters- 
burg, accompanied by the regent, his ministers, and a 
brilliant suite ; an arrival that occasioned a gorgeous 
display on the part of Catherine. Gustavus Adolphus 
was nearly eighteen, of elegant stature, agreeable face, 
free and graceful manners, that were calculated to cap- 
tivate a free heart. At their presentation, Gustavus 
and Alexandrina were equally won by the unexpected 
beauty and grace of the other ; the charms of the Kus- 
sian belle overcame his affection for the princess of 
Mecklenburgh, to whom he was affianced ; the engage- 
ment was easily broken off, and the fascinating king 
was soon the accepted suitor of the happy Alexandrina. 
Articles of marriage were drawn up ; the day for the 
betrothment appointed, and splendid preparations for 
its celebration occupied all the court. 

The day arrived, and Catherine, with her officers and 
attendants, occupied the presence-chamber in a style 
that equalled, if not outvied, Oriental magnificence ; 
the Swedish suite in splendid court-dresses, waited 
upon their king, and the brilliant circle was completed 
by the manly presence of the royal groom and the 
lovely bride, bewitchingly veiled in a mist of costly 
lace. The chancellor Markoff commenced reading the 
contract, when, to the surprise of the imperial family, 



488 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 



Gustavus interrupted him and observed that the laws 
of Sweden required that the princess should change 
her religion, without which agreement he could not 
sign the contract. The empress remonstrated, flattered, 
almost entreated, but the young king was immovable. 
Not willing to sacrifice her dignity to farther efforts, 
she coldly arose and with unaltered countenance, ma- 
jestically moved out of the apartment, followed by the 
pale bride and all her attendants. 

Nothing more was said upon the subject. The fol- 
lowing day the Swedish king and his suite quitted Pe- 
tersburg. Alexandrina, who was the keenest sufferer, 
had been led to her apartments, when she fainted away, 
and afterwards gave up to a melancholy, that was not 
diverted by her marriage with the Archduke of Austria. 
She fell into a decline, and died at the age of nineteen. 

The mortification and disappointment of Catherine, 
had as fatal and a more sudden effect, because of her 
struggle to suppress her answer and chagrin in the pres- 
ence of curious spectators. Her temper was too im- 
perious to endure graciously such a slight. Whether 
it was the occasion of her death or not, she was soon 
after seized with a fit of apoplexy, that terminated her 
life, the 9th of November, 1796. At the height of her 
guilty grandeur, in the midst of premeditated injustice, 
her hand raised with threatened violence against unof- 
fending nations, this wicked empress was summoned 
into eternity without a moment's warning. " A happy 
death I" said her subjects. " Happy," perhaps, because 
her soul had made its exit as completely veiled as she 
had struggled to keep it during her life. 



CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 489 



The grand duke was immediately proclaimed empe- 
ror under the title of Paul I. His first duty was to 
direct the imposing ceremonials of the empress' inter- 
ment. He directed the remains of his father Peter III. 
to be disinterred and brought to Petersburg from the 
church of the monastery of St. Alexander Nefsky, 
where they had quietly reposed for more than thirty 
years. His coffin was placed beside that of the em- 
press, and his crown, which the unfortunate monarch 
had never worn, was brought from Moscow and placed 
above him ; over both lay a kind of true-love-knot with 
the inscription, "Divided in life, united in death." 

Paul, probably from motives of revenge, ordered 
Alexey Orloff, who resided at Moscow, and Baratinsky, 
his assistant in the murder of the deceased emperor, to 
stand one on each side of the corpse of Peter as chief 
mourners. In the state-chamber of the palace, draped 
with sable hangings, lighted with tapers and filled with 
courtiers in gloomiest black, these two appointed 
mourners were obliged to station themselves beside 
their mouldered victim. Alexey Orloff was too strongly 
nerved to be overcome by this mode of vengeance ; 
but Baratinsky, more sensitive, sank under the doleful 
task, and it was only by repeatedly applying stimu- 
lants, that he could be made to keep his station during 
the three long hours of ceremonials. 

Count Orloff afi;erwards received permission to travel^ 
without ashing it, which is the Kussian form of dismiss- 
ing or disgracing a favorite, who returns to court at the 
peril of breathing the icy air of Siberia. 

Catherine II. reigned thirty -four years — ^years fiill 



440 CATHEEINE OF RUSSIA. 



of glory and shame to Eussia. Few of her works re- 
mained permanently, and much of the good she accom- 
plished was soon overturned under the short and cruel 
administration of Paul. She was neither loved nor hated 
by the Kussians. So accustomed are they to tyranny, that 
they submissively and meekly yield to whatever their 
sovereign chooses to enforce. Notwithstanding Cath- 
erine's severity and imperious airs, she was not a tyrant 
in her own palace, but free, easy, and gay. She is de- 
scribed as " preserving her grace and majesty to the last 
period of her life. She was of moderate stature, but 
well proportioned ; and as she carried her head very 
high, she appeared rather tall. She had an open brow, 
an aquiline nose, an agreeable mouth, and her chin, 
though long, was not mis-shapen. Her hair was au- 
burn, her eyebrows black and rather thick ; and her 
blue eyes had a gentleness which was often affected, 
but oftener still betrayed pride. Her physiognomy was 
not deficient in expression ; but that expression never 
discovered what was passing in the soul of Catherine, 
or rather it served her the better to disguise it." She 
wore the Kussian costume, that being the most be- 
coming to her ; green was the color most in vogue 
with the Russians, and she usually adopted it. Her 
hair, slightly powdered, flowed upon her shoulders and 
was surmounted by a small cap covered with diamonds, 
which gave a coquettish finish to her costume. 

With a different husband and a more enlightened 
people, it is hard to say what her fame and fate would 
have been. As it was, a brazen face and ready dagger 
were all that she ever needed, and for her use of these 



CATHERINE OP RUSSIA. 441 



alone is she to be credited, in seizing and maintaining 
her great power. She deserves praise for encouraging 
the literature of her own country, and for tolerating all 
religions ; in these respects she was nobly unlike many 
of her compeers. But her private life was disgraced 
by a licentiousness that she hardly attempted to con- 
ceal ; and she expended enough energy in empty and 
ludicrous affectations of enterprise, to have made her 
realm prosperous and glorious in reality instead of o<^ 
casional appearance. 



MARIE x\:^rTOrN"ETTE. 





r^^-^^^i^:^^:-^^c:::^^^5^^^%^^^^^^^^^ 



IX. 

J¥imt Mmtitt. 

" My hair is gray, but not with yeara, 
For it grew white 
In a single night, 
As men's have grown from sudden fears." — dtbon. 

The first French Revolution, like the superlative 
vices it both sprang from and gave birth to, was " a 
monster of frightful mien ; " but it cannot be said of it, 
as of vice, that 

" Seen too oft, familiar with its &ce, 
We first endure, then pity, then embrace" — 

the revolting theme, as one congenial to any sympa- 
thies of our nature. There is such a thing as human 
nature, and such a thing as French nature, said a great 
writer ; and nothing but a French temperament, that 
still delights in " blue-fire and bloody-bone" fiction, can 
often relish such a dish of horrors as the Reign of Ter- 
ror, — at least it must be a jaded Parisian sensualism 
that needs such an incentive to mental appetite. The 
craving for the horrible that, like the inclination to fix 
a fascinated gaze on the face of the dead, or to ap- 



446 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



proach and leap from a precipice, is a strange attribute 
of mind, finds this portion of earth's history too nau- 
seating to be many times perused. The ingredients 
collected by the Witches of Macbeth " for a charm of 
powerful trouble," of which the most palatable were 

" Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, 
Lizard's leg and owlet's wing," — 

are mere child's confectionery in the comparison. The 
tortures of the Hindoo and of the American savage, 
are tender mercies when contrasted with the " red fool- 
fury of the Seine." And besides the disgusting and 
stupefying nature of the details, they are too familiar 
to every one in this reading age, to make a repicturing 
of them pardonable. No subject has been so often re- 
hearsed ; and it is necessarily and sufficiently brought 
into view in the accounts of other heroines of the pe- 
riod, so that the events accompanying Marie Antoi- 
nette's agonies may be now dismissed with a glance. 
Into her cup, all the blackest drops of those dreadful 
years seem to have been pressed. So protracted, in- 
tense and every way sharpened were her sufferings, 
and so indescribable was the monster Eevolution that 
•slowly crushed her in its coils, that no language can 
represent the reality, except it be Pollok's unequalled 
painting of the Undying Worm — a passage of poetry 
well worth examining in this connection. 

" One I remarked 
Attentively ; but how shaU I describe 
"What nought resembles else my eye hath seen ? 
Of worm or serpent kind it something looked. 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 447 



But monstrous, with a thousand snaky heads, 

Eyed each with double orbs of glaring wrath ; 

And with as many tails, that twisted out 

In horrid revolution, tipped with stings ; 

And all its mouths, that wide and darkly gaped, 

And breathed most poisonous breath, had each a sting 

Forked, and long, and venomous, and sharp ; 

And, in its writhings infinite, it grasped 

Malignantly what seemed a heart, swollen vast, 

And quivering with torture most intense ; 

And still the hearty with anguish throbbing high 

Made effort to escape, but could not ; for 

Howe'er it turned, and oft it vainly turned, 

These complicated foldings held it fast. 

And still the monstrous beast with sting of head 

Or tail transpierced it, bleeding evermore." 

Such was Marie Antoinette's high-throbbing heart, 
and such was the mob of Paris, an unimaginable drag- 
on, headed by mad tribunals. 

No connected sketch of the life of this unfortunate 
queen is intended ; a few scenes in that life of wonder- 
ful vicissitudes will be given. The influences that sur- 
rounded her early years, may be gathered from the 
biography of Maria Theresa, her imperial mother, who 
gave birth to this daughter in the palace at Vienna, 
Nov. 2d, 1755. The day was also memorable for the 
great earthquake at Lisbon, which, like the terrible 
thunder-storm that followed Marie Antoinette's mar- 
riage, was regarded by her as an evil omen, and cer- 
tainly was a fit emblem of the earthquake and storm 
of political revolution which buried the splendors and 
joys of her reign in ruin, misery, and death. 

Fair-haired, beautiful, and joyous^ Marie grew up in 



448 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



the peace and freedom of her early home. She was 
surrounded by brothers and sisters of remarkable love- 
liness and promise, who were enough company for her 
in all the occupations or sports of childhood and youth. 
The imperial nursery was their kingdom, where they 
ruled even their governesses and preceptors, and were 
safe from all intrusion. Their handsome and gay 
father, the emperor Francis of Austria, visited them 
only to mingle in their gayeties, and receive their noisy, 
familiar caresses ; him they loved, and deeply mourned 
his death, as of one who was numbered in their happy 
band. He died when Marie, his favorite daughter, was 
ten years old ; and before he set out on the journey 
from which he never returned alive, he ordered his 
coachman to wait, until she was called, and he had 
again embraced her affectionately. 

The young princes and princesses regarded their 
masculine and heroic mother with little feeling except 
that of distant awe. She was too much occupied with 
her wars and affairs of state, to think much of her fam- 
ily. But once a week did she visit them, with much 
the same business spirit that she reviewed her troops 
or inspected her public asylums. In the same way 
that one glances at a morning paper, or that she in- 
quired the foreign news of her minister, she questioned 
her family physician, each morning, in regard to the 
health of her children ; and she only deigned to see 
them when a sickness was reported, or when she occa- 
sionally gathered them at her dinner-table, in order to 
impress some ambassador with the idea that she herself 
superintended their education. 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 4.49 



The teachers of Marie Antoinette were more solici- 
tous to win her favor, from interested motives, than to 
advance her in knowledge. As feigned proofs of her 
proficiency, they exhibited to the empress the exercises 
in composition which they had first written in pencil 
for Marie to trace afterwards in ink, or sketches of 
drawing which she had never touched with her own 
hand ; and they taught her Latin sentences which she 
did not understand, but calmly recited to visitors at 
court, on occasions of presentation, as if she were able 
to converse in that language. Metastasio, her Italian 
instructor, was alone faithful to his charge; he was so 
agreeable and assiduous that she could speak and write 
the soft, musical language of Dante and Tasso, with 
fluent elegance. She at length gained much facility in 
French conversation ; but, through all her life she was 
forced to lament her deficiency in every solid acquire- 
ment. 

After her engagement to the dauphin of France, two 
French actors, of superficial character, were employed 
to perfect her in elocution and singing ; and when 
these were dismissed as incompetent, the Ahh6 de 
Yermond was sent from Paris, to be her tutor. He 
seems to have accomplished little else than the encour- 
aging of her naturally unrestrained, frolicsome and ca- 
pricious disposition, and the instilling into her mind a 
lasting and fun -loving contempt of the ceremonious 
French court to which she was destined. After her 
arrival there, no effort of hers was sufficient to subdue 
her uncontrollable vivacity, the teachings of the Abbe, 
ajid the fashionable freedom of manners she had learned 
29 



460 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 



at Vienna; nor could she then find time or patience, 
notwithstanding her earnest attempts, to master the 
elements of history, philosophy, the English language, 
or even her native German, whereof she knew little^ 
the Italian being the court speech of the Austrian cap 
ital. But what was lost in preparation for after life, 
was gained in the careless and unchecked happiness 
of youth, which was almost the only unclouded sun- 
shine of a life that gradually darkened to the deepest 
horrors. Unconscious of their subsequent splendid or 
wretched fate, she and her brothers and sisters, pouted 
their " full Austrian lips" in mock vexation, or tossed 
their golden ringlets in mimic bravery, laughed, chat- 
tered, and romped at their will through the apartments 
that were their little realm, or sported among the trees, 
fountains and lakes of the gardens of Schoenbrun. 

Fifteen years of life bloomed in the cheek and spar- 
kled in the eyes of Marie when she bade a formal 
adieu to her dignified mother, and a sad farewell to 
her comrades and youthful scenes ; her grief was re- 
lieved only by anticipations of the magnificence that 
awaited her as bride to the heir apparent of the French 
throne. At the borders of her adopted land, an em- 
bassy awaited to receive her, and to conduct her to the 
bridegroom, who was to meet her at Corapi^gne. '' A 
superb pavilion," writes Madame Campan, ''had been 
prepared upon the frontiers near Kell : it consisted of 
a vast saloon, connected with two apartments, one of 
which was assigned to the lords and ladies of the court 
of Vienna, and the other to the suite of the dauphiness^ 
composed of tl e Countess de Noailles, her lady of hc>D 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 461 



or ; the Ducness de Cosse, her tire-woman ; four ladies 
of the bed-chamber ; the Count de Saulx Tavannes, 
first gentleman usher ; the Count de Tesse, first equer- 
ry ; the Bishop of Chajtres, chief almoner ; the officers 
of the body-guards and the pages. When the dauphi- 
ness had been entirely undressed, even to her body- 
linen and stockings, in order that she might retain 
nothing belonging to a foreign court (an etiquette al- 
ways observed on such an occasion), the doors were 
opened; the young princess came forward, looking 
round for the Countess de Noailles; then, rushing into 
her arms, she implored her, with tears in her eyes, and 
with a heartfelt sincerity, to direct her, to advise her, 
and to be in every respect her guide and support. It 
was impossible to refrain from admiring her aerial de- 
portment : — ^her smile was sufficient to win the heart ; 
and in this enchanting being, in whom the splendor of 
French gayety shone forth, — an indescribable but au- 
gust serenity — perhaps also the somewhat proud posi- 
tion of her head and shoulders, betrayed the daughter 
of the Caesars." 

Passing thus through the central pavilion to the 
smaller tent occupied by her new friends, she was ar- 
rayed in the costliest robes that France could command. 
With a dazzling escort of nobility and soldiery, with 
music and the ringing of village bells, with illumina- 
tions by night and processions of flower-strewing maid- 
ens by day, the bride was hastened to the presence of 
the royal court, which had come to Compi^gne to meet 
her, and to accompany her to Versailles. There the 
wedding took place, on the 16th of May, 1770. The 



462 MAKIE ANTOINETTE;. 



Utmost ingenuity of the most luxurious people in their 
most luxurious age, was exhausted in the pomp and 
pleasures of the occasion. 

The beauty and deportment of Marie Antoinette 
added greatly to the enthusiasm of the scene. An eye- 
witness declares that "the dauphiness, then fifteen 
years of age, beaming with freshness, appeared to all 
eyes more than beautiful. Her walk partook at once 
of the noble character of the princesses of her house, 
and of the graces of the French ; her eyes were mild — 
her smile lovely. Louis XY. t^the reigning monarch) 
was enchanted with the young dauphiness ; all his con- 
versation was about her graces, her vivacity, and the 
aptness of her repartees. She was yet more successful 
with the royal family, when they beheld her shorn of 
the splendor of the diamonds with which she had been 
adorned during the earliest days of her marriage 
When clothed in a light dress of taffety, she was com- 
pared to the Venus di Medicis, and the Atalanta of the 
Marly gardens. Poets sang her charms, painters at- 
tempted to copy her features. An ingenious idea of 
one of the latter, was rewarded by Louis XV. The 
painter's fancy led him to place the portrait of Marie 
Antoinette in the heart of a full-blown rose." 

She was not indeed regular in feature, but had 
enough loveliness to justify such superlative praise 
from her contemporaries. Her figure was tall and 
graceful ; her movements had the ease and majesty of 
her mother when she excited the Hungarians to arms ; 
her neck was proud and swan-like ; her hair a light 
auburn, soft a-nd lustrous ; her forehead high, with 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 453 



finely arched brows ; and these, with eyes of luminous 
blue, full-blown lips and good teeth, not to mention the 
brilliant expression which is the true charm of a coun- 
tenance, more than compensated for such defects as 
too prominent a nose and cheek-bones. Her lively wit 
and impulsiveness was her crowning attraction, though 
it occasioned her much trouble, through the misrepre- 
sentation of enemies and her unavoidable infringements 
of uncongenial etiquette. 

Her husband was her opposite in everything but 
kindness and sincerity. He was grandson to Louis XY., 
the voluptuous king who then held an oppressive 
sceptre. Plain in person, he was awkward, dif&dent, 
coldly unimpassioned in temperament, and devoted to 
retirement and books. Though afterwards a loving 
husband and tender father, he was, at first and for years, 
totally insensible to the glowing charms of his wife, 
never showing her a single mark of special affection, 
nor acting towards her in any respect as a husband 
She bore this treatment with outward composure but 
inward grief and indignation. It was this unaccount- 
able absence of love on his part, and her despair at the 
odium that would fall upon her if she never gave an 
heir to the crown, that led her, uneducated as she was,, 
to a frivolous life of amusement and extravagance^ 
which was greatly exaggerated by the scandalous reports 
of her foes. And it was all this, together with a national 
hatred towards Austria, fomented by factions of the no- 
bility, that led to the wreaking of popular vengeance on 
an innocent king and queen, for the wrongs of centuries. 

Eight years of nominally married life passed before 



454 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



Marie Antoinette became a mother and gave herself to 
serious cares. During this long period she was equally 
forced and disposed to banish her private misery by 
every expedient of recreation. Four years after hei 
marriage, her husband and herself had succeeded to the 
throne, he being twenty-four years of age and she 
twenty. When the news of the death of Louis XY. 
was brought to them, they were overwhelmed with the 
sudden responsibility that had fallen on them, and, 
kneeling, cried, " Grod, guide us, protect us ; we are 
too young to govern." But Marie, now a queen, had 
still no resource but in the dissipations of royalty. For 
her, the palace of St. Cloud was provided at an expense 
of a million dollars, and a yearly income of eighty 
thousand dollars was appropriated to her use. She had 
every temptation to live a butterfly life amidst all the 
sweets that were profusely offered to her taste; and, 
although she established several hospitals and made 
some provision for the poor, in the vicinity of the 
gorgeous palace and grounds at Versailles, yet she 
yielded to the enticements of fashionable folly, willing 
thus to drown her three-fold mortification at her igno- 
rance, the indifference of the king and the calumnies 
of her adversaries. Her mind was nativety vigorous 
and gifted, but was suffered to run to waste. 

Besides St. Cloud, a small palace called the little 
Trianon, within the bounds of Versailles, was given to 
her. It was of Boman architecture, exquisitely fitted 
up, and situated among sequestered gardens, in the 
adornment of which all the strange genius of the times 
had been displayed. Hither Marie often fled from the 



MATtlE ANTOINETTE. 455 



balls, operas, festivities and tedious punctilio of the 
court, to enjoy intervals of quiet and liberty. Arrayed 
in a loose white robe, and straw hat, and with a switch 
m her hand, she tripped lightly over the fresh green- 
sward, and among a little band of friends, acted the 
amateur farmer's wife, or dairy-maid ; the exterior of 
a thatched building was made to represent a barn, 
while the interior was a brilliant ball-room, for select 
private parties. 

The fashions at this period manifested the spirit of 
the land and the age, in which Marie's fortune was cast. 
At the commencement of her reign, the hair, fall of 
powder and pomatum, was erected to a height that al- 
most doubled the apparent stature of the ladies. Car- 
icatures were published, representing hair-dressers as 
ascending to these towers of hair by means of ladders. 
Hooped dresses were worn, distended like balloons. 
But the story of Paul and Virginia, in which the simple 
dress of the heroine is described, so captivated all 
hearts that a great revolution in dress was effected ; 
plain robes of white muslin and straw hats succeeded. 
Afterwards, as the Eevolution advanced, the Grecian 
and Koman costumes were exactly copied, in honor of 
the ancient republics. This, however, was after the 
queen's imprisonment, when she was reduced to the 
one dress which she happened to wear at the time of 
her capture. 

As an instance of the f6tes given by the queen, and 
the manner in which every deed of hers was misrepre- 
sented, may be quoted the description of a scene at the 
Petit Trianon, on the occasion of a visit from her broth- 



456 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



er, the Emperor Joseph of Austria. " The art with 
which the English garden was lighted, not illuminated, 
produced a charming effect : earthen lamps concealed 
by painted green boards, threw a light upon the beds 
of shrubs and flowers, and brought out their several 
tints in the most varied and pleasing manner. Several 
hundred burning fagots in the moat behind the tem- 
ple of Love, kept up a blaze of light, which rendered 
the spot the most brilliant in the garden. After all, 
the evening's entertainment was indebted to the good 
taste of the artists ; yet it was much talked of. The 
uninvited courtiers were dissatisfied ; and the people, 
who never forgive any fetes but those they share in, 
contributed greatly to the envious exaggerations which 
were circulated as to the cost of this little affair, which 
were so ludicrously absurd, as to state that the fagots 
burnt in the moat required the destruction of a whole 
forest. The queen, being informed of these reports, 
was determined to know exactly how much wood had 
been consumed ; and she found that fifteen hundred 
fagots had suf&ced to keep up the fire until four 
o'clock in the morning." But neither in this case nor 
in any other, did any contradiction of ill-natured storiea 
serve to disabuse the public mind. 

The king took no part in the diversions of his con- 
sort, and this gave color to the gross charges circulated 
against her. He was a man of good features, yet with 
a melancholy look ; his walk was a plodding one ; his 
hair and dress disorderly, however neatly arranged by 
his attendants, and his voice was harsh and shrill. 
Marie would gladly have nestled herself in his affectioa. 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 457 



had lie proffered it, notwithstanding his ungainly ap- 
pearance and stolid manners. He gave himself much 
to study, was versed in history and English literature, 
familiar with geography, and fond of drawing and col- 
oring maps. He had also an un aristocratic liking for 
mechanic arts, such as masonry and lock-making, and 
would employ himself with a locksmith in his private 
room, from which he would often come into the queen's 
presence, with his hands blackened with this work. 
But he was a man of upright and benevolent intentions 
and regular habits. Whether the queen were to attend 
a party or concert, or not, he always retired to sleep at 
precisely ten o'clock. In all church observances, he 
was very conscientious, as also in his endeavors to re- 
form abuses of government. And, after a few years, 
he gradually warmed towards his wife, so that he be- 
came at length an exemplary, tender husband and 
father. He was worthy of a better fate than that which 
awaited him. 

Such were the king and queen of France, on whom 
fell the iniquities of a long line of sovereigns. They 
became the parents of four children, two of whom died 
in infancy, leaving Maria Theresa and Louis Charles, 
two bright and beautiful children, the first of whom 
was eleven years old and the last eight, when the tem- 
pest of the Kevolution burst upon the royal family. 

This ©vent was chiefly due to ages of wrong, to the 
influence of the American Kevolution, and to the plot- 
ting factions of French nobles and statesmen, who in- 
flamed the populace, and brought destr^XJtion on them- 
selves as well as the'r good king. But there were 



458 MAKIE ANTOINETTE. 



many incidents ii the queen's life which, perverted by 
busy scandal, hastened the fearful denouement. The 
chief of these was the famous affair of the diamond 
necklace. 

Marie was fond of jewelry. Louis XY. had given 
her a necklace of pearls, each of which was as large as 
a filbert, and all remarkably alike ; and the crown-jew- 
els she used of course. She had also bracelets that 
cost forty thousand dollars. Bachmer, the crown-jewel- 
er, had gratified her with ear-rings, composed of pear- 
shaped diamonds, and worth seventy thousand dollars. 
He now determined to outdo himself; he travelled over 
Europe, bought up the rarest diamonds, and made a 
necklace in which he expended a fortune of three hun- 
dred and twenty thousand dollars. This he offered to 
the queen, but, to his astonishment, her taste had be- 
come more simple, and her sense of economy was too 
strong for the temptation. By no means could he in- 
duce her to purchase his chef-d'oeuvre^ in which all his 
hopes were at stake. 

Meanwhile the Countess Lamotte, a relative, yet ene- 
my of the royal family, and a dissolute woman, forged 
a promissory note, in the queen's name, for the amount 
of the necklace, and palmed off the deception on Car- 
dinal de Kohan, who thus procured the jewels for the 
iountess ; she disposed of them in some way, and be- 
gan to live in a stjde of great extravagance. The sov- 
ereigns believed the cardinal to be an accomplice in 
the fraud. He and the countess were tried ; he was 
acquitted, and, doubtless to show an indignity to her 
^oval blood, she was sentenced by the tribunal to be 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 459 



whipped, branded, and imprisoned for life ;-— after- 
wards she perished tragically in London. But it was 
industriously reported that the queen was privy to the 
whole plot against the jeweler, and the dark suspicion 
exaspeiated many against Marie Antoinette. 

Besides this, from her first entrance into France, in- 
numerable tales were spread to her prejudice. From 
the hour of her marriage, Madame du Barri, the trans- 
cendently fascinating courtezan of Louis XY., jealous 
of the influence of the fair young Austrian, did all in 
her power to injure her. The old, formal dowagers, 
in their hoop dresses and black caps, who waited on 
the dauphin ess, were shocked at her youthful impro- 
prieties, and became her implacable enemies, their spite 
being specially increased by the irrepressible smiles of 
Marie when, on state occasions, her friend — a roguish 
young marchioness — made sport of the solemn ladies 
by playing pranks behind their backs. The Austrian's 
girlish mirthfulness and non-conformity to the absurd 
etiquette of the court, was improved to the utmost by 
all lovers of form or haters of Austrian supremacy. 
After she assumed the crown, she abolished the custom 
of admitting the people to see the royal family dine, a 
moving crowd having always been permitted to enter 
the palace, and gaze at their sovereigns at table, from 
behind a railing, as if it were a show of feeding wild 
animals; — the denial of this privilege was a grudge 
against the queen. Her want of education likewise 
exposed her to the animadversions of the intellectual 
society of Paris, and this was heightened by b^** natu- 
ral choice of not the best-informed ladies for her favoj 



460 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



ites. Her villa of Little Trianon was falsely said tc 
have been named by her Little Vienna, while it was 
reported that she hated France and sighed for her na- 
tive land. She once brought home a peasant child, 
who had been run over by her carriage ; this child was 
actually declared to be an illegitimate son of her own, 
whom she had introduced into the palace by such an 
expedient. At another time, her royal chariot broke 
down on the way to the opera, obliging her to take a 
hackney-coach ; this was maliciously construed into an 
apology for some nightly assignation. So also, at a 
•levee, she expressed admiration for a heron's plume 
worn by the unprincipled Duke de Lauzun ; he gal- 
lantly presented it to her, and she, not to offend him, 
once appeared with it in public — enough to feed the 
greedy appetite of impure rumor for a long while. At 
the gardens of Marly, with a company of ladies and 
gentlemen, she took a ride at night to the hills, to see 
the sun rise; and this adventure was pronounced a 
covert plan of licentiousness. After an unusual fall 
of snow, she got up a sleigh-ride in the streets of Paris, 
;vith rich equipages, to the surprise of all the people, 
who accused her of a design to introduce Austrian cus- 
toms. In private theatricals she performed as an ac 
tress, and in private parties she gleefully engaged in 
such simple sports as blind-man's buff, to the general 
indignation of all sticklers for dignity. In short, there 
was no end of the stories set afloat by cunning persons, 
and every incident was converted into caricature, a de- 
famatory picture, or a song to be sung by the street- 
beggars. She was even insulted often to her face. 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 461 



when she imprudently assumed a mask and mingled 
with promenaders on the avenues. 

After a reign of nineteen years, the slowly gathering 
storm that long had darkened over the heads of Louis 
XYI. and Marie Antoinette, broke in the thundering 
tread, the lightning violence, and torrent rush of the 
mobs of 1789. Tattered, haggard, and drunken 
crowds, emerging from the dens of Pans, raged through 
the streets, armed with pikes, clubs, and every instru- 
ment that could be converted into a weapon of attack. 
The king insisted on gentle measures, and, when his 
troops were driven from the city, he collected his army 
around him at Yersailles. The capital was abandoned 
to the infuriated people, who levelled the Bastile to 
the ground, and sacked every house they chose to in- 
vade. It is in vain to follow the course of events, and 
attempt to give the scenes of the revolution in detail. 
The eye need be fastened now upon the queen alone, 
in all the awful trials through which she passed to the 
scaffold. A few brief paragraphs only are required to 
set forth her heroic portrait, on the dark and confused 
background of that reign of terror. 

From the first, the determination of her mother was 
kindled within her ; she vainly urged the king to take 
decided steps to force down the rebellion. When he 
was absent on his dangerous and fruitless visit to the 
National Assembly at Paris, she prepared to follow 
iiim to the last extremity. On his return, at a banquet 
of the military officers, she, together with him, excited 
fls wild enthusiasm as did her mother among the Hun- 
garians at Preslmrg, And when the monster mob 



462 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



rushed from the city, dragged iis mighty bulk along 
the road to Versailles, to coil its slimy and bristling 
convolutions around the palace itself and shake its 
thousands of hissing tongues in the very sanctuary of 
royalty, she, urged to fly with her children, would not 
desert her lord, but said, " Nothing shall induce me, in 
such an extremity, to be separated from my husband. 
I know that they seek my life. But I am the daugh- 
ter of Maria Theresa, and have not learned to fear 
death." 

It was the evening of a dismal, rainy day, when the 
delirious and countless multitude reached Versailles, to 
hold its hideous orgies all night in the gardens and 
cottages. Assured of protection by La Fayette, com- 
mander of the Guard, the queen, when it was nearly 
daylight the next day, endeavored to get an hour's re- 
pose. But she had hardly closed her eyes before the 
swarming ruffians broke into the palace, and thun- 
dered at the door of her chamber ; she had barely es- 
caped to the apartments of the king, when they shiv- 
ered the door of her own, and plunged their pikes and 
knives into her empty bed. 

The next day, her courage rose to sublimity. Be 
holding her trusty soldiers butchered in the courtyard 
of the palace, she undauntedly presented herself at tlie 
windows, while bullets were flyir g around her ; and 
she refused the protection of a friend who threw him- 
self before her ; she declared that the king could not 
afford to lose so faithful a subject as he. The crowd 
called for her to show herself ir the balcony ; she came 
forward with her -^.hildren, thinking to move tneir sym- 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 463 



path J ; they at once roared forth the cry — " Away with 
the children!" Without an instant's hesitation, or a 
change of color in her face, she sent away the children, 
and stood alone in the balcony, lifting her eyes to God, 
with clasped hands, and resigned to fall the next mo- 
ment as a ransom for her family. A dead silence 
struck the mad concourse; they were overwhelmed 
at her sublime self-sacrifice, and suddenly from every 
throat went up the shout, "Live the queen! — live the 
queen !" 

With a purposeless phrenzy, the poor, misguided, 
famished, and intoxicated mob, demanded that the king 
should return with them to the city. The queen would 
not be parted from him, and beyond all description was 
that ride of theirs to Paris, borne along as they were 
for seven hours by a flood of desperate creatures, who 
loaded them with abuse, endangered their lives by fre- 
quent shots, and shocked them by the bloody heads of 
the slaughtered guard, carried on pikes, and thrust be- 
fore the windows of their carriage. Thirty thousand 
madmen, armed with every possible weapon, sur- 
rounded the cortege, and women, crazed with poverty, 
crime, and rum, were seated on the cannon that were 
rolled along, and sang ribald songs in ridicule of the 
queen. The feelings of a mother were too strong in 
her for any dismay on her own account ; she held her 
boy on her knee, and tried to soothe his terrors. 

For two years the sovereigns were little more than 
prisoners in the palaces of the Tuilleries and St. Cloud, 
The National Guard surrounded them, day and night, 
ostensibly to protect, but really to hold them captive 



464 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



and constantly were they threatened with assassination. 
Marie Antoinette in vain entreated her husband to use 
active measures to assert his authority, or else to fly to 
the frontiers. He possessed a calm and indomitable 
courage in endurance, but had none for action, and he 
believed that repeated concessions to the demands of 
the people would at last satisfy them. And so she de- 
voted herself to the instruction of her children, or em- 
ployed herself with embroidery, maintaining a serene 
and cheerful fortitude during all those months of 
alarm. 

Many plans for their secret escape were formed by 
their friends. These plots were either divulged and 
the instigators beheaded, or, if nearly successful, were 
defeated by the inaction of Louis. At length the case 
became too desperate for even his passive nature. He 
and his wife were falsely accused of exciting the rally 
of the allied powers, who were now collecting an army 
that threatened to march upon Paris and suppress the 
revolution with fire and sword. The royal family 
were openly denounced in the National Assembly, as 
traitors to their country. 

The scheme of flight was matured, after long and 
anxious deliberation. The royal family retired a? 
usual, on the night of the 20th of June 1791, at eleven 
o'clock. No sooner were they in their rooms than 
they disguised themselves, and, departing by the rear 
doors of the palace and taking separate routes through 
the obscurest streets of Paris, they sought the rendez 
vous appointed for them to take the coaches prepared. 
The queen, leading her daughter and accompanied by 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 465 



one of her bodj-guard, arrived soon at the place agreed 
upon, but had to wait a long time in extreme anxiety 
for the king, who had lost his way. In silent and ago- 
nizing apprehension they met, entered their carriages, 
and were rapidly driven, with relays of horses, all that 
night and the next day, to Varennes, one hundred and 
eighty miles from Paris. Before reaching that town, 
they had been recognized and the news of their ap- 
proach sent in advance. The circumstances cannot be 
rehearsed ; a crowd collected ; the king declared him- 
self and appealed to the people, but vainly. They had 
arrived there in the evening; all night the queen re- 
mained in the mayor's house; it was the night of her 
intensest agony, and, in the morning, her hair, which 
before was a beautiful brown, was found to have 
turned white in consequence of her indescribable 
misery. 

The return to Paris, the next day and night after 
their arrest, was a repetition of the terrible journey to 
Versailles, only now it was eighteen times the distance, 
and their distress was heightened by utter exhaustion 
and hopelessness. Riotous crowds thronged the road, 
cursing and jeering the captives, or attempting to fall 
upon them like greedy wolves ; and old men, who 
ventured a look or gesture of respect towards their 
king, were massacred before his eyes, without mercy. 
Amidst suffocating multitudes, dust and heat, and 
fainting with thirst and terror at more daring menaces, 
they entered the city ; as the doors of the palace closed 
upon them, an universal cry of rage rent the air and 
was prolonged to their ears like reverberating thunder 
30 



i66 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



•Guards kept their eyes upon the queen every moment, 
day and night, to the outrage of her modesty and to 
the disgrace of humanity. The king for days was 
struck dumb with despair; and at last Marie cast her- 
self, with her children, before him, saying, " We may 
all perish, but let us at least perish like sovereigns, 
and not wait to be strangled unresistingly upon the 
very floor of our apartments." And Madame Eliza- 
beth, sister of the king, the other heroine of these 
scenes and a most saintly woman, assisted in cheering 
the unfortunate monarch. 

And bravely did he arouse himself and face the bru- 
tal mob that broke into the palace-prison the next year, 
to revenge themselves for his refusal to authorize a per- 
secution of the priests. They came with banners, one 
of which was a doll hung up by the neck and beneath 
it the words — "To the gibbet with the Austrian." 
They wrenched down the doors and rioted through the 
splendid apartments, destroying everything in their way, 
and pressed upon the king and queen, who were only 
saved by maintaining extraordinary composure, and 
uttering some popular expressions ; some sentiment of 
the sacredness of royal persons seemed to have remain- 
ed, and held back the frantic concourse like a magic 
spell. For hours the family were exposed to the rush 
and gaze of the populace, until the president of the As- 
sembly succeeded in dispersing them. 

Further attempts to poison or assassinate the queen 
were made, and many insults endured by her. It is in 
vain to enumerate them ; it is adding the same colors* 
to the terrific picture. The mob, in August, 1792, de- 



MAKIE ANTOINETTE. 467 



manded that the kiDg should be dethroned, and again 
attacked the Tuileries, at which they pointed their 
loaded cannon. An officer urged the family to take 
refuge in the National Assembly ; Marie resisted the 
proposal, and seizing the officer's pistols, placed them 
in the hands of Louis, and said, " Now, sire, is the time 
to show yourself, and if we must perish, let us perish 
with glory." But, subdued at the sight of her children, 
she consented to go. Fearful was their passage through 
the blood-thirsty crowd, while their friends were butch- 
ered, and long were the hours of suspense, as they sat 
in a box behind the seat of the president of the Assem- 
bly. But they never trembled nor quailed. The 
queen gazed steadfastly and indignantly, like the very 
statue of outraged majesty, at the excited assembly. 

The king was dethroned, and, with his family, was 
imprisoned in the monastery of the Feuillants. After- 
wards they were incarcerated in a gloomy fortress called 
the Temple. The reign of terror was at its height, and 
nothing but the strength of their dungeon saved them 
from the foaming desire of the city to add their royal 
blood to the streams of human gore that deluged the 
streets. Months passed ; their few comforts were grad- 
ually withdrawn ; one by one they were separated ; 
the king was executed : her son was taken from the 
queen, and so abused in his confinement that ho after 
wards became insane and died ; and on the 14th of 
Oct. 1 798, four months after her husband's death, Marie 
Antoinette fell a victim to the busy and dread guillo- 
tine. 

When they tore her son from her, she resisted the 



468 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



cruelty witli furious desperation. And wlien they took 
her from her daughter, she accidentally struck her own 
forehead against the door, and, to the question whether 
she was hurt, she said with the preternatural calmness 
of an utterly broken heart, — " Oh no ! nothing now can 
further hurt me." In the damp, dark, loathsome, un- 
der-ground dungeon of the Conciergerie — the place of 
the doomed — the daughter of Maria Thersea, the ad- 
mired and gay queen of St. Cloud and Versailles, 
awaited her fate. She had stood up before the vocife- 
rous and exulting spectators, at the tribunal, and heard 
ner sentence without the quivering of a nerve, and 
without stooping to offer a word of defence, though the 
most groundless charges were uttered against her ; and 
now she knelt in her cell, prayed, and then slept as 
tranquilly, as if she were reposing on the satin damask 
of her Petit Trianon, after a stroll among flowers and 
fountains. 

Two hours of slumber passed ; she was awakened, 
and dressed in the only fine garments that she had 
preserved amidst her soiled array. She wore a white 
loose robe, pure as her innocence, with a cap and black 
ribbon on her head. The day was cold and misty; at 
eleven o'clock her hands were bound, she was placed 
in a rough cart, and jolted along through the crowd 
that cried, " Down with the Austrian !" One glance 
at that scene of her pleasures and woes — the Tuileries, 
and she ascended the scaffold, knelt, and said, " Lord, 
enlighten and soften the hearts of my executioners. 
Adieu forever, my children ; I go to join your father." 
Her children, in their distant dungeons, heard not the 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 46iJ 



i^rords, but we may trust they were heard i«ri heaven. 
The glittering yet blood-stained blade fell ; rhe execu- 
tioner lifted her head by the prematurely white hair, 
and the air echoed to the cry, " Yive la Republique 1" 
En her grave, where now stands the church of the 
Madeleine, were buried thirty-eight years of as joyous 
youth, splendid pleasures, and awful tortures as ever 
fell to the lot of a mortal. Hers was a wild, beautiful 
and noble nature, gentle yet tameless, ensnared from 
first to last in an unparalleled series of events, and slowly 
tortured to life's close by miseries which a superhuman 
ingenuity could not have more terribly devised thar 
did her enemies. 



MADAME ROLAJ^D 




Lufii IJT- J^-RoTDiTLlTT: 



<^/A/ay^a^r/z.^ _^/^^^^ 



" The mind is its own place." — Milton 

Great events are the pedestals that bear aloft noble 
and beautiful characters, which might else lie low iii 
obscurity ; nay, they are the chisel strokes which give 
bold prominence to characters that might otherwise have 
been unskilfully shaped, or destined to grace only a 
hidden niche. The revolutions that have repeatedly 
convulsed France must necessarily have furnished nu- 
merous subjects for history. Though there are many 
whose career was longer and more brilliant, there are 
few, if any, who came forth from the lower ranks of 
life and secured, by their talent, such influence over 
intelligent minds as was gained by Madame Eoland. 
Gifted with a vivid imagination balanced by strong 
good sense, quick perceptions, and clear reasoning pow 
ers, and inspired by an ambition to emulate the old 
Roman heroines in the achievement of some great and 
virtuous deed, it is not surprising that she should have 
soared above the humble sphere in which her girlhood 
was placed, even had not her father's bitter denuncia- 



474 MADAME ROLAND. 



lions against the all-powerful aristocracy, or the spirit 
which pervaded the lower classes before the outburst 
of the revolution, given shape and direction to her as 
pirations. 

Jeanne Man on Koland was born in 1754, in an hum- 
ble home on the Quai des Orfevres, Paris. Her father, 
called Gratien Phlippon, was an engraver and daily 
superintended the thrifty shop with its busy workmen, 
which was the source of his limited fortune. By in- 
dustry, economy, and the assistance of a prudent wife, 
he had secured comfortable apartments above the shop, 
where they lived as happily as his restless, fretful dis- 
position would allow. At the time of Manon's birth 
he had grown discontented with his lot in life ; hatred 
burned in his heart towards the pampered nobility 
who rolled in wealth, while he and his fellow-laborers, 
were made to yield an unjust portion of their hard 
earnings to support the luxury of arrogant superiors. 

Madame Phlippon had no sympathy with the fever- 
ish discontent of her more ambitious husband. Of a 
cheerful, placid temperament, she was satisfied to re- 
main in the position in which God had placed her, and 
with the faith and fortitude of a Christian, performed 
in unquestioning readiness whatever she found for her 
hands to do. Thus to a virtuous, pious mother, and an 
infidel father was given a young spirit, ready for the 
moulding hand of good or evil. Had Manon been one 
of several children, she might have been left more to 
her mother's guidance and instruction, but the only 
surviving child of eight, lively and precocious, pretty 
and winning, her father took her into his arms and 



MADAME ROLAND. 475 



heart, made her the constant companion of his leisure 
hours, and as she grew older, carried or led her through 
the streets of Paris, listening with delight to her child- 
ish comments on the passers-by. Proud of the bright 
little Manon, he was maddened with resentment and 
envy at the sight of gilded coaches in which lolled 
richly-dressed ladies, and children muffled in expen- 
sive garments fastened with jewels, any one of which 
would have given a coveted education to the poor arti- 
san's daughter. Phlippon gave vent to his anger in 
vociferous words which Manon did not comprehend, 
though they left a vague idea of an injured father, and 
a dislike to dashing chariots and finely-dressed people, 
as the cause of his distress. The reflective mind of 
the little philosopher soon grasped and studied out the 
lessons her father gave. Before she reached the age 
when children are most occupied with pastimes, her 
head was full of the arrogance of royalty and nobility, 
and of schemes to fraternize and obtain equality among 
mankind. 

With no playmates, no pure air, green fields, forests 
and gay songsters, to impart the freedom and aban- 
donment of childhood ; with no diversion except daily 
walks in a crowded city with her father, who always 
took these occasions to teach her the wrongs of the op- 
pressed poor, and too young to be of assistance to her 
mother at home, her busy mind found occupation, de- 
light and rest from her father's nervous suggestions, in 
stealing away to her quiet little chamber and forgetting 
all the world in the perusal of her library, though this 
was so limited that she could number the books upon 



476 MADAME ROLAND. 



her lingers any day. Plutarch's Lives, was her es- 
pecial delight — a book she read and re-read with an 
avidity that stored nearly the whole of it in her memo- 
ry. Her soul was awake to all that was beautiful or 
sublime, whether manifested in the works of nature, 
art, or the deeds of mankind. These pursuits did not 
interfere with her usefulness in the household. She 
was cheerfully obedient to her mother's commands and 
uncomplainingly laid down a pet book when her as- 
sistance was required in domestic duties. Thus she 
became skilled in culinary arts, of which she said in 
her after life, " I can prepare my own dinner with as 
much address as Philopoemen cut wood," and con- 
gratulated herself that her judicious mother had pre- 
pared her for the vicissitudes that marked her maturer 
years. 

Madame Phlippon's high tone of piety, together with 
her gentle instructions, soon won Manon's confidence 
She readily perceived the superiority of a religion that 
cultivated peace, fortitude, and uprightness in its pos 
sessor, in strong contrast with the overbearing impa 
tience, and fretful repinings which her father's princi 
pies infused into his daily life. She chose the former, 
and for months religion was predominant in her pen 
sive meditations, till her active mind was wrought up 
to an unendurable state of excitement. The cloister 
presented itself to her ardent imagination as the only 
method of attaining the saintly purity to which she as- 
pired, and as a place of holiness and retirement most 
suitable for preparation for her first Christian commu- 
uion. One evening she threw herself in tears at her 



MADAME ROLAND. 477 



mot.ief's feet, beseeching her to send her to a convent, 
Madame Phlippon was deeply affected at the request. 
She did not hesitate to gratify a zeal, equally commend- 
ed by the father, who desired to give Manon such an 
education as she could only obtain in a convent. 

After some difficulty in making a choice of the nu- 
merous religious houses, the convent of the sisterhood 
of the Congregation in Paris, was decided upon, as be- 
ing conducted with less strictness and fewer of the ex- 
travagances of Catholic worship than most of the nun 
neries. Manon was accompanied thither by her good 
mother. The thought of the long parting from her 
beloved mother brought torrents of tears, and when 
the moment of separation arrived, the sensitive but 
courageous child was overcome with grief In the me- 
moirs that she penned while confined in prison, she 
says of this separation, " While pressing my deai 
mother in my arms at the moment of parting with her 
for the first time in my life, I thought my heart would 
have broken ; but I was acting in obedience to the 
voice of God, and passed the threshold of the cloister 
offering up to him with tears the great sacrifice I was 
capable of making. This was on the 7th of May, 1765, 
when I was eleven years and two months old. In the 
gloom of a prison, in the midst of those political com- 
motions which ravage my country, and sweep away all 
that is dear to me, how shall I recall to my mind, and 
how describe, that period of rapture and tranquillity? 
What lively colors can express the soft emotions of a 
young heart endued with tenderness and sensibility, 
greedy of happiness, beginning to be alive to the feel- 



478 Madame koland. 



ings of nature and perceiving the Deitj alone? The 
first night I spent at the convent was a night of agita- 
tion. I was no longer under the paternal roof, I was 
at a distance from that kind mother, who was doubtless 
thinking of me with affectionate emotion. A dim 
light suffused itself through the room in which I had 
been put to bed, with four children of my own age. 
I stole softly from my couch, and drew near the win- 
dow, the light of the moon enabling me to distinguish 
the garden, which it overlooked. The deepest silence 
prevailed, and I listened to it, if I may use the expres- 
sion, with a sort of respect. Lofty trees cast their gi- 
gantic shadows along the ground, and promised a se- 
cure asylum to peaceful meditation. I lifted up my 
eyes to the heavens ; they were unclouded and serene. 
I imagined I felt the presence of the Deity smiling on 
my sacrifice, and already offering . me a reward in the 
consolatory peace of a celestial abode. Tears of de- 
light flowed gently down my cheeks. I repeated my 
vows with holy ecstacy, and went to bed again to take 
the slumber of God's chosen children." 

Here, in the society of young girls of various ages, 
Man on remained for a year. Her womanly conduct 
and intellectual acquirements very soon gained her the 
favor and affection of the whole sisterhood and the as- 
sociation of the young ladies placed under their tuition. 
She never mingled in the sports of younger compan- 
ions, nor the recreations of older ones, much preferring 
to steal away by herself in some remote corner of the 
garden, with her books, or, pacing the avenues, to en 
joy in quiet rapture the sight of blooming flowers, 



MADATVIE KOLAND 479 



quivering leaves, or trailing branches of tlie shade-trees, 
and the fleecy clonds flitting over the blue space above 
her, narrowly bounded by the high convent walls. 
Every other moment was busily employed with her 
books. Romances, legends, lives of the saints, biog- 
raphy, travels, history, political philosophy, poetry — 
nothing escaped the grasp of her active mind. The 
nuns, to whose care she was committed, were proud of 
her progress. Her music and drawing masters were 
equally profuse in the praises of a pupil who never al- 
lowed an obstacle to check her rapid advance. Ca- 
ressed, loved, and commended without measure, she 
had good sense enough not to be spoiled. She was 
the especial favorite of an antiquated sister of seventy 
years, whose diminutive figure, preciseness of manner, 
and affectation of sanctity, which nevertheless concealed 
a warm heart, made an indelible impression on the lively 
imagination of her thoughtful pupil. She led her away 
to her own dimly-lighted cell, and there chatted for 
hours with the young listener, who received the old 
nun's lessons or tales with an avidity redoubled by the 
solitude of the cell. Her influence assisted to sharpen 
Manon's already too active emotions, and imparted 
such a degree of intensity to her religious fervor, that 
when the season for communion arrived, the child was 
60 overcome, that she could not support herself, and 
was carried to the altar by the nuns. 

Everything within the convent contributed to nou- 
rish and increase the unhealthy excitement of Manon's 
sensitive nature. The event of a young girl taking 
the white veil occurred some months after her entrance 



480 MADAME ROLAND. 



into the convent. The sight of the church and altar 
decorated with flowers, and enriched with silken drap- 
eries, the brilliant lights, the gayly dressed crowd that 
assembled to witness the ceremony, above all, the en 
tombed bride, with her white veil, rolling volumes of 
dark hair, the crown of roses, the pale, beautiful down- 
cast face, excited the sympathy of the affectionate 
Manon ; and when the bridal dress was exchanged for 
one of sombre hue, her head dismantled of its crown 
ing beauty, and her form extended with folded hands, 
beneath a black pall — the excited child, imagining her- 
self in the place of the victim, could no longer repress, 
her emotions, and burst into an uncontrollable parox 
ysm of tears. Such scenes, the daily sights and sounds 
of vesper bells, the hooded monks and shrouded nuns 
in the taper-lighted chapel, the gloomy burials at night 
by torchlight, were all fitted to oppress the child's 
spirit with awe, and fill her with yearnings for seclud- 
ed holiness and death, instead of healthy, active exer- 
tion in behalf of mankind. It was an excessive and 
mistaken religious zeal, which she threw off with its 
imposing and beguiling rites, for the other extreme 
of philosophy and infidelity, when arrived at woman- 
hood. 

There was but one among the inmates of the con- 
vent, who Manon singled out as her friend and confi- 
dant, — one for whom she always maintained an un- 
changed attachment. The usual quiet routine of con- 
vent life was broken one day by the arrival of two 
voung ladies — an event that excited the curiosity of 
the young girls, shut out from the world. "Who are 



MADAME ROLAND. 481 



they? What are they like ?" were questions that sped 
vinanswered from lip to lip of a group in the garden, 
bent upon a scrutiny of the two young ladies led thither 
by the superior. One was eighteen ; finely formed, of 
proud but easy carriage, with a face that had strong 
claims to beauty when not disfigured by an expression 
of discontent and fretfulness. She had previously 
completed her convent education, but was returned by 
her mother in order to put in check her ungovernable 
temper, and to accompany her younger, more amiable, 
and timid, sister. The latter, fourteen, with a modest 
air and sweet countenance bathed in tears, attracted the 
sympathy and love of the impressible Manon the mo- 
ment their eyes met. From the day of Sophia's arrival 
the two were inseparable. Sophia was henceforth the 
receptacle of all the dreams, the aspirations, and the 
philosophical musings of the mature child, wearied and 
overburdened with the pent-up thoughts and emotions 
daily crowding into her mind and heart. This was 
not a transient, school-girl friendship ; it was one sus- 
tained in an unfailing correspondence after their sep- 
aration. Madame Eoland owed as much of the facility 
and clearness of expression visible in her writings, to 
the frequent letters she early exchanged with her friend, 
as to the habitual practice of taking notes from the 
books she perused, and interlining them with her own 
thoughts and opinions. 

When the year of her stay at the convent had ex- 
pired, her mother placed her under the care of her 
grandmother Phlippon, a graceful, good-humored little 
woman of sixty-five years, still possessing agreeable 
31 



482 MADAME KOLAND. 



manners, and an occasional mirthfulness that made her 
a favorite with the young. But her prominent char- 
acteristic was the precision with which she enforced 
and observed decorum; the little courtesies and ele- 
gances of manner were of the highest importance in 
her judgment. Her unpretending pleasant home was 
on the banks of the Seine, commanding a lively view 
of the winding river, and a wide landscape beyond. 
This was a charming retreat, where Manon could in- 
dulge in her meditative, studious habits, to her heart's 
content. Every morning she attended mass with her 
great-aunt, Angelica, " a worthy maiden, asthmatic and 
devout, as virtuous as an angel and as simple as a 
child," and entirely devoted to her elder sister with 
whom she lived. A third sister, Madame Besnard, 
came frequently to visit them, always keeping up an 
air of ceremony and formality that greatly exceeded 
even Madame Phlippon. Manon was most frequently 
the theme of their conversation, Madame Besnard in- 
sisting with a shrug of the shoulders the child would 
be spoiled, while the good Angelica, meek, quiet, and 
pale, busy with her spectacles and knitting, assured the 
two precise old ladies that Manon had good sense 
enough to take care of herself — and continued to pet 
her as before. 

Madame Phlippon was so delighted and proud of 
her grand-daughter's accomplishments, that she was 
induced to display her talent and prettiness before a 
wealthy lady of whose children she had formerly been 
governess. Accordingly Manon was decked in holi- 
day dress, and the greatest preparation and care be- 



MADAME ROLAND. 483 



stowed upon her appearance. Arriving at the mansion, 
they were greeted by the servants with the greatest 
respect, and as they passed on, the maids, attracted by 
the long dark ringlets and blooming cheeks of the 
70ung visitor, ventured to compliment her. Manon'a 
pride rose at the familiarity, and without replying she 
followed her ceremonious grandmother to the elegant 
apartments of Madame Boismorel. The lady received 
them in a cold condescending tone of voice, without 
rising, and continued the embroidery upon which she 
was engaged. She addressed her dignified visitor with 
the flippant title of Mademoiselle, and openly remarked 
upon Manon's blooming face. The indignant girl's 
countenance was suffused with blushes, and her heart 
swelled with scorn and resentment that her venerated 
grandmother should be regarded with so little respect, 
and that she herself, conscious of superior worth, and 
aspiring to the nobleness of a Koman maiden, should be 
looked down upon by this arrogant lady, and treated 
as an equal by her servants. Manon was glad when 
the interview terminated, and retreated with her pulse 
throbbing and her face crimsoned with mortified pride 
and anger. Again under their own humble roof, she 
returned to her studies, her head teeming with specu- 
lations upon the inequality of rank, that awakened 
from their long sleep the prejudices of her childhood. 

At the expiration of a year Manon returned to the 
parental roof. Her music and dancing masters were 
recalled, and she resumed her studies with more assi- 
duity than ever. Every book within her reach was 
carefully perused. Locke, Pascal, Burlamaque, Mon- 



484: MADAME KOLANb. 



tesquieu, Yoltaire, were familiar authors. An occa- 
sional poem or a romance relieved her severer studies. 
The long winter evenings she spent beside her mother 
with her needlework, or read aloud, to which however 
she had a decided aversion, as it prevented the close 
inquiry and study she indulged when poring over the 
pages by herself. She had the use of a library belong- 
ing to the Abb^ le Jay, a warm-hearted old man with 
little else to recommend him, but with whom Gratien 
Phlippon and his family spent their Sabbath evenings. 
The Abbe's household was superintended by a distant 
relative. Mademoiselle d'Hannaches. She was a source 
of infinite amusement to the discerning Manon. Ad- 
vanced in years, yet preserving a youthful style of 
dress, tall, thin, and sallow, with a shrill voice forever 
recounting her pedigree, of which she was intolerably 
proud, possessing no talent but for a stingy economy 
and scolding, she was destined to become one of Ma- 
non's attaches, and as inseparable as her own shadow 
for a year and a half The Abbe le Jay terminating 
his own life, left his poor relative without a home. 
Madame Phlippon had compassion for her solitary con- 
dition, and offered her an asylum till the suit she had 
instituted for the recovery of an uncle's property was 
decided. During this time Manon was her secretary ; 
she wrote letters and petitions for her, and often accom- 
panied her when she went to intercede with influential 
persons. Mademoiselle d'Hannaches was extremely 
illiterate and ill-bred; she therefore depended upon 
Manon's ready tact on all occasions, but when they 
went together on these errands, the young philosopher 



MAUAME ROLAND. 485 



was tilled witli disgust and contempt, on seeing the ob- 
sequious attentions her whimsical, ignorant friend re- 
ceived, the moment the ready names of her long line 
of titled ancestry dropped from her nimble tongue, with 
as good effect as if they had been pearls falling from 
the lips of Beauty, while she, the one of true nobility, 
stood unnoticed and slighted, feeling her superiority, 
and revolving in her busy mind the absurd and unjust 
institutions of society. 

At fifteen Manon was graceful and pleasing; her 
face was attractive from its varying expression, frank, 
lively and tender, often lofty and serious ; the irregu- 
larity of her features was atoned for by her clear fresh 
complexion and the brilliancy of her hazel eyes. Mod- 
est and reserved, an inferior person would scarcely 
have suspected her strong talents, but when she came 
in contact with cultivated minds she was transformed 
from a timid blushing maiden to a brilliant, self-pos- 
sessed woman, with a soul that beamed through every 
feature, giving animation and indisputable beauty to a 
face that otherwise would have been plain. 

Thinking to amuse her, Madame Phlippon decided 
upon a trip to Versailles accompanied by Mademoiselle 
d'Hannaches and an uncle, an amiable young clergy- 
man, as an escort. They occupied apartments in the 
palace, which happened to be vacated by one of the 
dauphiness' women, and amused themselves with being 
spectators of the royal public and private dinners, and 
witnessing some of the splendors of palace-life. 

Mademoiselle d'Hannaches, by her forward airs and 
noisy thrusting of her pedigree in the face of every one 



486 MADAME KOLAND. 



who opposed her passage, drew attention upon the ht- • 
tie party, wherever they went, much to Manon's mor- 
tification. She looked thoughtfully upon the gaily- 
dressed crowds about her, despised the fawning cour- 
tiers, and gazed with indignation upon the grand f§tes, 
the brilliant equipages and the luxuriant apartments 
of the palace, contrasting them with the squalid homes 
and the pale emaciated crowds that went forth in daily 
labor, and from whom was wrenched half their scanty 
pittance to support this splendor. Neither could her 
high spirit brook the notice of menials and the slights 
of court sycophants, whom she felt to be immeasurably 
beneath her. Instead of being amused with the daily 
show, she wandered away to the gardens to forget her 
disgust in admiration of the flowers and the statues 
that graced them, yet even there, was tormented with 
thoughts of despotism and oppression, and sighed that 
she had not been born a Grecian maiden. Her mother, 
observing Manon's abstraction, asked how she enjoyed 
the visit? " I shall be glad when it is ended," was her 
characteristic reply, " else, in a few more days, I shall 
so detest all the persons I see that I shall not know 
what to do with my hatred." " Why what harm have 
these persons done you ?" said Madame Phlippon. 
" They make me feel injustice and look upon absur- 
dity," replied the young sage. She was happy to be 
buried again in the retirement of her own home. 

Sophia Cannet, her friend of the convent, having ar- 
rived at Paris with her brother, drew Manon more into 
society, and enabled her to meet people of rank, whose 
ignorance and supercilious airs, she often had occasion 



MADAME ROLAND. 487 



to despise, and also gave her friends among authors 
and people of distinguished talent. She had attained 
an age and attractiveness that could not escape atten- 
tion, and thenceforth Manon had numberless suitors, 
who, according to the customs of France, were first 
obliged to apply to her parents ; an embarrassing cere- 
mony that was most frequently performed by letter- 
writing. In consequence, suitors were often dismissed 
by her father, whom she had never seen. She was 
satisfied to judge of them by the tone of the application, 
and concurred in the dismission of one tradesman after 
another, often writing the replies herself, which were 
carefully copied and sent by her father. When a 
wealthy jeweller appeared, Phlippon was caught by 
the glitter of his occupation and his promising pros- 
pects of accumulating a large fortune. He urged upon 
Manon, the expediency of accepting this suitor, but she 
was dissatisfied with his attainments and assured her 
parents she could only be happy with one whom she 
could look upon as her equal or superior. This refu- 
sal occasioned the beginning of the estrangement be- 
tween herself and father, which was never reconciled. 

Upon the appearance of a young physician, her 
parents thought the aspiring Manon would jiot hesitate 
to accept one of a profession, that involved some de- 
gree of learning. Her mother, whose declining health 
made her anxious to see her daughter happily provided 
with a home, concerted with the young doctor, to win 
Manon's affections. A first interview was carefully ar- 
ranged. Madame P. conducted her daughter, as if un* 
premeditated, to the house of a friend, where the enam- 



488 MADAME ROLAND. 



ored suitor happened in by chance, of course. Tlie 
profuse compliments of the inexperienced physician 
and the sly hints and meaning smiles of the ladies who 
accompanied him, soon betrayed the whole plan to the 
penetrating Manon and caused her to look with infinite 
contempt upon the silly artifices of her admirer. She 
consented however to her mother's urgent entreaties to 
receive his visits and decide more leisurely, but a farther 
acquaintance betrayed his superficial acquirements, and 
the girl, whose intellect was to be won instead of her 
heart, gave him as decided a refusal as those who had 
gone before. In vain her father raged and stormed, 
and even the tender, sad pleadings of her invalid 
mother could not change her determination. " Do not 
reject a husband," said her mother, " who it is true 
does not possess the refinement you desire, but who 
will love you and with whom you can be happy." "As 
happy as you have been," exclaimed Manon in her ex- 
citement, referring to the utter disunion of spirit be- 
tween her father and mother. Madame Phlippon's 
face was pale with painful emotion, and she never urged 
the subject again. 

Not long after, Manon returned hastily from a visit, 
filled with presentiments of evil, and found her mother 
suddenly ill, and unable to speak. A priest was sum- 
moned to perform the last rites, and Manon sobbing 
violently stood by the death-bed holding a taper. Her 
mother smiled upon her and smoothed her cheek affec- 
tionately, till overcome with the intensity of her grief, 
she fell senseless to the floor, the light was extinguished 
and when she again recovered, her mother was no more 



MADAME ROLAND. 489 



The violence of her unchecked sorrow occasioned an 
ilhiess from which her recovery was long doubtful 
An excursion and soothing visit with her aunt Angelica 
somewhat restored her cheerfulness, but her home was 
no longer what it had been. Her father was rapidly 
pursuing a career of dissipation, to which his infidel 
principles gave loose reins. His business neglected, 
his little fortune rapidly vanishing, ensnared in the 
toils of one not endeared by sacred ties and whom he 
installed in the quiet household — all contributed to re- 
pel his daughter's affection. She endeavored to forget 
her grief and her melancholy in her retired chamber, 
where nearly all her time was passed, absorbed in books, 
and writing manuscripts which never met any eyes but 
her own. 

While thus solitary and desponding, a letter from her 
early friend Sophia, announced a visitor of whom she 
had often heard. Eoland de la Plati^re belonged to an 
opulent family of Amiens, and held the important of- 
fice of inspector of manufactures. During his leisure 
he had written several treatises on political economy 
that had gained him some celebrity in the world. He 
was fond of study, and was something of a philosopher. 
In his frequent visits to the house of M. Cannet, he 
had seen Manon's portrait, and often listened to Sophia's 
eulogies upon her accomplished friend, and had read 
her letters. His interest was excited in the enthusiastic 
and talented girl, and he entreated a letter of intro- 
duction, that he might be enabled to see her during 
his occasional trips to Paris. He accordingly presented 
himself at the first opportunity. Manon was prepared 



490 MADAME ROLAND. 



to judge of him bj the sketch justly drawn by Sophia. 
" You will receive this letter," wrote her friend, " by 
the hand of the philosopher of whom I have so often 
written you. M. Eoland is an enlightened man, of 
antique manners, without reproach, except for his pas- 
sion for the ancients, his contempt for the moderns, 
and his too high estimation of himself.*' 

Manon found herself in the presence of one who she 
describes as tall, slender, and well-formed, but negli- 
gent in his carriage, and with that stiffness which is 
often contracted by study ; yet his manners were sim- 
ple and easy, and without possessing the fashionable 
graces, he combined the politeness of a well-bred man 
with the gravity of a philosopher. He was thin, with 
a complexion much tanned. His broad, intellectual 
brow, covered with but few hairs, added to the imposing 
attractiveness of regular features. When listening, his 
countenance expressed deep thoughtfulness and often 
sadness, but once interested and animated in conversa- 
tion, his face was lighted with lively and winning 
smiles. His voice was masculine ; his language monot- 
onous and harsh, but the sentiments he expressed, so 
perfectly accorded with Manon's views that she felt 
herself attracted by a sympathy as new as it was de- 
lightful. Though his severe and practical mind admit- 
ted none of the beautiful dreams or the visionary world 
that added so much to Manon's happiness, there was 
yet that sameness of high ambition to be the benefactor 
of the human race, a conscious superiority over those 
whose rank gave them higher places, and a contempt 
for the frivolous pursuits of life, that perfectly harmon- 



MA1>AMA &01.LND. 491 



(zed thcii minJs, though the Leart of neither was 
touched. Manon regarded hira as a superior being — 
an oracle to whom she was willing to submit her judg- 
ment; while he, flattered by the succumbing of her 
brilliant mind to his, regarded her with placid and pa- 
ternal admiration. 

Upon M. Eoland's departure from Paris, he left with 
his new friend voluminous manuscripts containing a 
journal of recent travels in Germany, with sage reflec- 
tions that rendered them doubly interesting to Manon. 
In their perusal, she became initiated in his thoughts 
and feelings to a far greater extent than conversation 
could ever have afforded her. Eighteen months elapsed 
before they met again. In the meantime, Roland trav- 
elled through Italy, Switzerland, Sicily and Malta, 
writing copious notes and forwarding them at regular 
intervals to Manon, who studied them with an avidity 
and interest that prepared her to hail his return with 
joy and veneration nearly allied to worship. Yet there 
was not a spark of love glowing in her bosom — it was 
only her intellect that singled him out from the rest of 
the world. 

Several years passed in friendly correspondence, or 
interviews, during which they discussed political re- 
forms, philosophy and science, and various literary pro- 
jects, with a frankness, confidence and pleasure that, 
before they were aware of it, each became necessary to 
the other's happiness. M. Roland at length declared 
his attachment. Manon frankly acknowledged that 
she esteemed him more highly than any one she ever 
met, yet her circumstances were so humble, her father's 



492 MADAME ROLAND. 



errors would be a source of disgrace and mortificatioiL 
and the well-known pride of the Eoland family, who 
might feel dishonored by the alliance, were reasons for 
which her proud spirit shrank from a union otherwise 
unobjectionable. M. Roland would not yield to these 
representations and finally elicited her consent. From 
that moment the reliance, trust, and affection she had 
not known since her mother's death, again nestled in 
her heart and she was happy. M. Roland returned to 
Amiens and then addressed a letter to her father to ob- 
tain his consent to their marriage. M. Phlippon re- 
plied in an insulting tone and bluntly refused him. 
Manon surprised and grieved, immediately wrote to her 
revered friend and besought him to think no more of 
the affair, and not to expose himself to farther affronts 
by new solicitations. At the same time she assured 
her father she would marry no one else ; secured a 
small remnant of her mother's fortune and retired to 
the same convent where a year of her childhood had 



In a narrow little room, close under the roof where 
the snow lay piled up, or the rain pattered dismally ; 
without a companion, obliged to live with the strictest 
frugality, with no friendly voice to dispel the settled 
silence, — here Manon lived, enjoying a peaceful, quiet 
happiness, in the midst of literary labors, that no mere 
seeker of pleasure ever found in the delirious whirl of 
gayety, or in luxurious idleness. The comfortless sur- 
roundings of uncurtained windows, bare floor, dim 
light and scanty fire, could not depress her spirit, but 
rather lent new and stronger wings to an imagination 



MADAME ROLAND. 493 



that continually roamed to the ends of the earth or far 
back into bj-gone ages, and brought therefrom abun- 
dant lessons to revolve. Disciplined by the peculiar 
circumstances of her life and accastomed to live within 
herself, she was least alone when alone. 

She daily prepared her own frugal food ; never went 
out except on the occasion of a weekly visit to her 
father's house to mend his linen and to have a care for 
his interests, and received no visitors beside one of the 
sisters in the convent, who was limited to an hour in 
the evening. Who would have dreamed in passing 
the quiet convent that by the light shining dimly from 
the high window under the eaves, sat a solitary maiden 
unconsciously pruning her intellect for a bold, patriotic 
appeal that was to shake the throne of France ; un- 
knowingly preparing herself to sway the deliberations 
of statesmen, and destined to tread in stately and con- 
scious worth the halls of a palace ! She lost no time 
in useless repinings, but applied herself vigorously and 
diligently to the cultivation of such talents as Grod had 
committed to her, without questioning the future, dark 
and gloomy enough to her lonely eyes. It was unfor- 
tunate that she had no guide to lead her out of the 
mazes in which she had lost her way after rejecting 
the Catholic creed, as hollow and heartless, with the 
outward forms but not the essence of spirituality. 
Yet she dared reveal her doubts to no one, and still 
preserved outward conformity to her mother's belief 

Here M. Eoland again visited her, at the expiration 
of five or six months. He presented himself at the 
convent one day, and beheld Manon's pale face behind 



4:94 MADAME ROLAND. 



the grating, whicli, with the sweet sound of her voice, 
revived the affection that had nearly died out when he 
ceased to think of her as his intended bride. Touched 
by her lonely condition and her faithfulness to him, he 
urgently renewed his suit. Manon hesitated. She no 
longer cherished the romantic love with which she re- 
garded him at their last parting, and her pride and 
vanity were wounded, that he had endured a refusal he 
knew to be against her inclination, with such un-lover- 
like apathy. Farther consideration, however, suggest- 
ed the compliment his deliberate decision paid her, and 
the sacrifice of family considerations his renewed offer 
implied. Manon no longer deliberated ; she resolutely 
placed her hand in his, and though more intellect than 
heart went with it, M. Roland was satisfied and happy. 

Their marriage occurred in 1780. Manon, still' 
youthful at twenty -five, was at length wedded to an 
austere, self-confident, over-bearing man, twenty years 
her senior. The first year was spent in Paris, entirely 
occupied in the preparation of a work on the arts, in 
which Madame Roland untiringly assisted her husband. 
Her only recreation was attending a course of lectures 
on natural history and botany. She secluded herself 
from her friends, not from her own choice, but because 
her imperious husband demanded it ; he wished to ab- 
sorb her attention and affection entirely in himself. 

The succeeding four years were passed at Amiens, 
occupied as before in literary pursuits, to which 
Madame Roland lent her own pen with a brilliancy of 
style that gave an additional reputation to Roland's 
works. The birth of a daughter dis ided bei cax'cs and 



MADAME EOLAND. 495 



pursuits, but she liad become so indispensable to her 
husband, that for the sake of her grateful presence he 
was quite ready to submit to the mischievous play of 
little fingers among his books and papers. The sunny 
face of Eudora peeping out from her long flaxen ring- 
lets, now and then laughingly thrust between her fa- 
therms face and his endless manuscripts, did much towards 
softening his habitual sternness. Madame Eoland too, 
centred in this sweet child the affections that were but 
rudely and selfishly cherished by her exacting husband. 

It was in the course of this stay at Amiens, that M. 
Eoland applied for letters-patent of nobility, wishing to 
resume the title of his ancestry now that his wealth was 
sufficient to support such rank. His wife was not un- 
willing to bear the gracious title of Lady Eoland, in 
spite of her previous contempt of titled nobility and 
meditations upon the inequality of mankind. It was a 
temptation, neither of them would have rejected, had 
their application been successful. 

In 1785 M. Eoland removed to the city of Lyons. 
The family occupied a winter residence in town, but 
passed the summers upon a fine paternal estate a few 
miles from Lyons. La Plati^re was a rural retreat ly- 
ing in the valley of the Saone, at the foot of the moun- 
tains of Beaujolais. It was a wild, romantic region, in- 
tersected with deep gorges, and watered by impetuous 
torrents that leaped and foamed down the mountain- 
sides, then rushing noisily through the fertile valley, 
swelled the wide- rolling Saone to overflowing. Fruitful 
vineyards grew purple in the warm sheltered valley, 
and the smooth green meadows were dotted with flocks 



496 MADAME ROLAND. 



of white sheep guarded bj shepherds. In the midst 
of these meadows and vineyards stretched the La 
Plati^re farm, with its sleek cattle, its dove-cotes, fish- 
ponds, gardens and groups of willows with their long 
sweeping boughs and tall prim poplars shading the 
solid square stone house and its numberless outhouses. 
The mansion, spacious and airy, had nothing to recom- 
mend it in the way of ornamental architecture. A 
plain front, the roof projecting and nearly flat, regular 
windows, and a plain portico at the entrance, told more 
of unpretending comfort than taste or display. 

Madame Roland, accustomed only to a life among 
brick and mortar, regarded La Plati^re with enthusiastic 
admiration ; she could scarcely find words to express 
her joy on finding herself possessed of such a secluded, 
charming retreat as she had often pictured in her dreams. 
But every cup has its drop of gall. M. Roland's mother 
aud brother still occupied the estate ; one, proud, tyr- 
annical, and possessing the enviable characteristics of a 
shrew ; the other, gruff, coarse and surly, kept discord 
perpetually awake. The mother's turbulent spirit was 
soon hushed in the unregretted sleep of death; an 
event that decided the Roland family to occupy their 
estate throughout the year. 

Five years of undisturbed happiness succeeded. 
Madame Roland's time was divided between the sys- 
tematic regulation of domestic duties, the education of 
their only and idolized child Eudora, and the reception 
of much company, attracted by the scientific celebrity 
of M. Roland. Beside all these time-consuming de- 
mands, she secured two hours during the day to pass 



MADAME KOLAND. 497 



in lier husband's study, assisting him in his literary 
pursuits with her ready and popular pen, that gained 
him many an eulogium. Happy in lending her talents 
to secure his renown rather than her own, and capable 
of an entire devotion to his comfort and happiness, 
more from a sense of duty and veneration than the 
promptings of love, she passed those five years in an 
uninterrupted tranquillity that seemed a rest to her tried 
spirit, a preparation, a gathering of strength, for the 
tempestuous life that followed. 

In 1790, the low but fearful rumblings of the political 
storm that had long been gathering over France, boomed 
through the cities, along the valleys, echoed through 
the mountain hamlets, and sounded in the ears of those 
hidden in distant and obscure retreats. M. Roland and 
his wife, aroused at the welcome tones of the first mur- 
murings of liberty, hastened to Lyons where the con- 
test had arisen with powerful excitement. Madame 
Roland's saloons were thrown open, and the most promi- 
nent of the revolutionary party gathered there to discuss 
the principles to be adopted. Madame Roland engaged 
in their councils, guided their decisions by eloquent and 
burning words that fell from her lips with irresistible 
fascination; her ardor stimulated their zeal, her im- 
passioned appeals fired them with new and daring 
efforts to shake off the oppressive yoke of kingly aris 
tocracy. Thus conspicuously arrayed against the roy- 
alists, M. Roland's name was upon every lip, with praises 
on one side, and bitter denunciations on the other — a 
hostility that nerved his wife \fith a stronger enthusiasm 

32 



498 MADAME KOLAND. 



and absorbed all the powers of her indefatigable mind 
in the one idea and aim of universal freedom. 

Louis XYI., irresolute and yielding, attempted to 
conciliate the stormy populace and to avert the accumu- 
lating vengeance of years from his devoted head. Bui 
the iniquities of his predecessors and the surrounding 
nobility were destined to be visited on this monarch, 
too weak, too undiscerning, to arrest the furious pas- 
sions he blindly tampered with. To appease the multi- 
tude he convened the National Assembly. This body 
consisted of the nobility, the higher clergy and represen- 
tatives from all parts of the nation. M. Boland, the favor- 
ite and leading man of the revolutionary party in the city 
of Lyons, was elected their representative, by a large ma- 
jority. On the 20th of February 1791, he repaired to 
Paris with his wife, who a few years before sat a home- 
less obscure maiden in a desolate garret, but now bril- 
liant, wealthy, and influential, was the worshipped 
heroine of the republican party. She daily attended the 
sittings of the Assembly and listened with intense interest 
to the exciting debates. The refined and courtly bearing, 
the polished and cultivated language of the royalists, 
struck her favorably in contrast with the course ple- 
beian manners, and illiterate speech of the democrats, 
but though her tastes would have inclined her to the 
former, the latter involved her principles, and the con- 
trast only served to increase her ardent wish for the 
education and refinement of the lower classes. 

Before the close of the first sitting of the Assembly 
the nobility were vanquished, and the royal family 
were compelled to abandon their palaces at Versaillea 



MADAME EOLAND. 499 



and remain in Paris. The contest assumed a new 
phase, being sustained between the Girondists and Jaco- 
bins, one party intent upon the preservation of the 
throne, limited in its power by a free constitution, the 
other fiercely bent upon the overthrow of the altar, the 
throne, the distinctions of nobility, and every barrier 
that prevented the entire equality of all classes. M. 
Roland and his wife zealously supported the former. 
The leading and most intelligent of the Girondists as- 
sembled four evenings in the week, at the house of 
M. Roland, attracted by his integrity and calm deliber- 
ate wisdom, as well as by the more fascinating con- 
versational powers of his brilliant wife, to whose opin- 
ions they paid the most sincere and flattering deference. 
Among those who frequented her saloons, was a 
young lawyer of repulsive appearance, stupid and 
awkward, possessed of an obstinate temper, utterly 
devoid of sensitiveness, caring as little for applause as 
the hisses of contempt with which his long, dry 
speeches were invariably received in the Assembly. 
Madame Roland alone discovered genius in the sullen, 
moody young man. She saw the energy, the rock- 
like fixedness of purpose, the hatred of luxury and 
aristocracy, that would make him a favorite with the 
multitude, and feeling him to be a dangerous enemy, 
yet not a friend to be trusted, she welcomed him to 
her circle more from policy than choice. He listened 
entranced to the eloquent voice and clear reasoning of 
the intrepid Madame Roland and bowed in awe to her 
high-sonled principles, yet was ready to aim a deadly 
blow at them and at her who gave them utterance. 



500 MADAME ROLAND. 



when ambition or interest suggested. This was Botes 
pier re. 

Abbott says of his admiration of that accomphshed 
woman, "He studied Madame Eoland with even more 
of stoical apathy, than another man would study a 
book which he admires. The next day he would give 
utterance in the Assembly, not only to the sentiments 
but even to the very words and phrases which he had 
carefully garnered from the exuberant diction of his 
eloquent instructress. Occasionally, every eye would 
be riveted upon him, and every ear attentive, as he 
gave utterance to some lofty sentiment, in impassioned 
language, which had been heard before, in sweeter 
tones, from more persuasive lips." On one occasion, 
in the early part of his career, having laid himself un- 
der the displeasure of the multitude and exposed to 
accusation from the Assembly, Madame Eoland found 
him a place of security, and plead for him with an in- 
fluential member of the Assembly, till his defence was 
promised. Robespierre escaped to become the assassin 
of his benefactors. 

In September 1791, the Assembly was dissolved and 
M. Roland and his wife retired from Paris. The two 
or three months of seclusion that succeeded, rather in- 
spired them for new efforts, than made them forget the 
perils of France. A new Assembly convened in No- 
vember, and though the previous members could not 
be re-elected, M. and Madame Roland determined to 
return to Paris and share the danger and excitement 
daily increasing in the metropolis. The most influen- 
tial and learned men from all parts of the nation gath* 



MADAME ROLAND. 501 



ered there to watch the shaping of events that every 
moment assumed a more threatening aspect. Clubs 
were formed to discuss the momentous questions of 
the times, and every evening various private saloons 
were the scenes of exciting and intensely interesting 
debate. 

The position and influence of the Kolands is thus 
described. '*M. Roland was grave, taciturn, oracular. 
He had no brilliance of talent to excite envy. He dis- 
played no ostentation in dress, or equipage, or manners, 
to provoke the desire in others to humble him. His 
reputation for stoical virtue gave a wide sweep to his 
influence. His very silence invested him with a mys- 
terious wisdom. Consequently, no one feared him as 
a rival, and he was freely thrust forward as the unob- 
jectionable head of a party by all who hoped through 
him to promote their own interests. He was what we 
call in America an available candidate. Madame Ro- 
land, on the contrary, was animated and brilliant. 
Her genius was universally admired. Her bold sugges- 
tions, her shrewd counsel, her lively repartee, her ca- 
pability of cutting sarcasm, rarely exercised, her deep 
and impassioned benevolence, her unvarying cheerful- 
ness, the sincerity and enthusiasm of her philanthropy, 
and the unrivalled brilliance of her conversational pow- 
ers, made her the centre of a system around which the 
brightest intellects were revolving. Yerginaud, Petion^ 
Brissot, and others whose names were then compara- 
tively unknown, but whose fame has since resounded 
through the civilized world, loved to do her homage." 

With such elements of popularity, it is not surprising 



502 MADAME ROLAND. 



that they were elevated to a position in which the pris- 
oner king was obliged to place them to appease the 
stormy populace. Murders were nightly committed, 
the terrified nobles were hastily escaping with their 
families, confusion and death reigned everywhere. 
There was no expedient left the monarch, but to accede 
to the demands of the people, dismiss his ministry, and 
replace it by Republican candidates. M. Roland was 
immediately selected by the Girondists as Minister of 
the Interior, a post scarcely inferior to the crown itself, 
and especially elevated at this moment when only the 
shadow of authority remained with the king. 

M. Roland and his wife immediately occupied the 
palace which had been the recipient of Neckar but a 
short time before, and furnished by him with regal 
splendor. At last the scornful Manon was the mistress 
of one of those magnificent palaces, was elevated to an 
equality with kings and princes, and rolled through the 
thoroughfares of Paris in one of the very gilded coaches 
that had excited her childish contempt. Madame Ro- 
land however was in a position that rightly belonged 
to her, and which she filled with unaffected grace and 
dignity. She found full scope for her abundant talents, 
so assiduously cultivated in her youth, and opportu- 
nity for the magnanimous exercise of her forgiving and 
generous temper. 

On one occasion, after leaving her elegant dining- 
hall, where she had entertained the greatest men in 
France, she found in the saloon an old man, who, 
with profound respect, begged an interview with the 
Minister of the Interior. She discovered in him a 



MADAME ROLAND. 508 



haughty aristocrat, who many years before had humil- 
iated her proud spirit, by leaving her, on the occasion 
of a visit, to dine with the menials. She exulted in 
her own thoughts at the reversed position in which 
they now stood, but generously restrained any mani- 
festation of her triumph. 

From all the splendid apartments of the palace, 
Madame Koland selected a small, retired room, fur- 
nished as a library, and where she spent nearly all her 
time. Here gathered the influential members of the 
Assembly, discussing the momentous affairs of state, 
occasionally turning to consult her, while she sat at a 
little distance at a small work-table, occupied with her 
needle or pen. Here she wrote the proclamations, the 
state papers, and the letters which were presented to 
the King and Assembly in M. Eoland's name, securing 
to him the enthusiastic admiration alone due to her- 
self. 

The Jacobin party were every day increasing in 
strength, and ready to pour from the cellars and 
haunts of vice with which Paris was thronged, num 
berless advocates of their ferocious measures. The 
king had already been insulted in his palace by the 
mob. The royalists had fled to Coblentz, and were 
preparing to march with the Prussian army to reinstate 
the French monarch ; a movement which filled both 
the Girondists and Jacobins with alarm. Louis, irreso- 
lute and vacillating, took no decided measures. He 
endeavored to conciliate all parties, and thus gained 
the confidence and support of none. At this crisis, 
Madame Roland, in behalf of the Girondists and in 



504 MADAME ROLAND. 



the name of the minister, addressed a bold and elo- 
quent letter to the king, demanded him to proclaim 
war against the emigrants, and take instant measures 
to prevent their meditated attack, in union with the 
Prussians, upon Paris. By thus co-operating with the 
Girondists, his crown might be saved, though his power 
would be limited ; while, if he opposed them, his 
downfall and horrible anarchy must ensue. The letter, 
written with glowing and impassioned eloquence, was 
given by M. Poland to the king on the 11th of June, 
1792. Its proposed decree was too unpalatable to the 
monarch, the truth which it contained too plain for 
the royal ear. He commented upon it by peremptorily 
dismissing M. Roland from office. 

" Here am I dismissed from office," exclaimed the 
deposed minister to his wife on entering her library. 
"Present your letter to the Assembly, that the nation 
may see for what counsel you have been dismissed," 
replied the intrepid Madame Roland. The letter was 
presented. It received unbounded applause from the 
Assembly, and was ordered to be printed and scattered 
throughout every department in France. It was a fire 
brand thrown among combustibles. The rapturous ap- 
plause of millions followed the hero to the obscure re- 
treat which Madame Roland selected in a retired street 
of the metropolis. But here they were sought out aad 
their apartments thronged with the admiring adherents 
of both parties. 

The Girondists, now no longer willing to support the 
king, openly proposed the establishment of a republic. 
Danger hourly increased. The populace inp.eri«e4 at 



MADAME ROLAND. 605 



the removiti of M. Eoland, attacked the Tuileries, in- 
sulted the monarch and the royal family, and in every 
possible way vented their rage and hatred. Louis was 
obliged to consent to the reinstatement of the republi- 
can minister, and again M. Eoland and his wife occu- 
pied the magnificent palace from which they had sud- 
denly been expelled. 

The arrest and imprisonment of Louis XVI. soon 
after, caused M. Roland to send in his resignation to 
the Assembly, since the office he held was virtually 
annulled. He could now have escaped with his wife 
from the frightful scenes daily enacting in the streets 
of Paris, but her courageous spirit would not recoil 
from danger or death, so long as a hope remained of 
rescuing France from threatened anarchy. 

The rapid approach of the Prussian army terrified all 
parties. The Jacobins, having obtained the ascendency 
of power in Paris, and determined to save themselves 
from the vengeance of the advancing army, ordered 
every man in Paris capable of bearing arms, to prepare 
to advance to the frontiers and repulse the emigrant 
royalists and their allies. In order to ensure this de- 
'3ree, and to rid themselves of all who were secretly 
ready to fall upon them when encouraged by the neai 
approach of the army, tne gates of Paris were closed, 
and at night every house n the metropolis was entered 
by parties of Jacobins, its apartments and most secret 
recesses searched, victims dragged forth from every 
possible place of concealment and horribly murdered. 
Every one who gave the slightest suspicion of favoring 
the royalists were instantly put to death. The inno 



506 MADAM B ROLAND. 



cent and guilty perished together. Homes were del- 
aged with the blood of helpless and innocent victims. 
Fathers perished with their helpless children, beautiful 
women were dragged to the guillotine, the prisons were 
crowded with trembling victims, who were one after 
another beheaded in the court-jards, till the pavements 
ran with blood. Fiends, thirsting for the hearts' blood 
of both friend and foe, prowled through the streets, 
sheathing their daggers in human flesh at every step. 
This frightful massacre continued till every royalist 
had fallen. 

And now the phrensied Jacobins fixed their bloody 
fangs upon the Girondists. A fierce struggle for su- 
premacy in the Convention ensued. It was more than 
a political reaching after power — more than patriotic 
fervor that inspired the eloquent addresses at the trib- 
une — it was a struggle for life. One party or the 
other must lay their heads beneath the axe. The 
Jacobins attempted to strike a deadly blow at the Gi- 
rondists, by bringing an accusation against their inspi- 
ring genius — Madame Eoland. A spy was employed 
to ingratiate himself in her confidence and by pervert- 
ing her expressions, obtain her accusation and bring 
her to the scaffold. She quickly penetrated his designs 
and scornfully repulsed his friendship. He however 
charged her with carrying en a secret correspondence 
with exiled royalists, and she was summoned before 
the tribunal. 

A vast assemblage awaited the entrance of the wo- 
man whose fame had sounded thioughout Europe, and 
whose influence had so strongly wielded the Assembly. 



MADAME ROLAND. 607 



Every one was anxious and curious to behold the won- 
derful being who retaining a feminine seclusion, yet 
breathed through manly lips a thrilling patriotism 
worthy of a Koman orator. At the instant she ap- 
peared a respectful silence pervaded the assemblage. 
Old men and young, friend and enemy, even Robes- 
pierre and Marat, watched with undisguised admira- 
tion the majestic bearing, yet womanly loveliness and 
modesty, with which this noble woman advanced and 
stood before the bar. Her replies to the president 
were full of dignity and frankness, uttered in sweet 
3lear tones thac fell with a magical effect upon the 
listeners. Every answer exposed more clearly the 
villany and falsehood of her accuser, and when she 
tremulously began her own defence, gathering courage 
as she spoke, till the eloquence and fervor of her ex- 
alted spirit was showered in words of fire upon the 
Assembly, there was not an eye but was riveted upon 
her, not an ear but strove to catch every syllable that 
fell from her lips. They sat silent and entranced, and 
when her voice ceased, shouts of approval rose on 
avery side. She was acquitted both by friend and foe, 
and even the heartless bloodhound whose, life she had 
saved, and who was soon to drag her to the scaffold, 
could not withhold a smile of approval and admiration 
as she glided triumphantly from among them. 

Four or five months of turmoil, of hatred, of fright- 
ful anarchy, heightened the unbridled and murderous 
passions of the populace. The Jacobins governed the 
Assembly, the mob governed the Jacobins. The de 
liberations of the Convention were guided by the ihon 



508 MADAME ROLAND. 



sands of assassins who, with upheld daggers, crowded 
the lobbies, and surrounded the building in hoarse tu- 
mult. The death of Louis XYI. was demanded, and 
in the midst of an exciting scene every Girondist was 
obliged to ascend the tribune and pronounce " death^^ 
upon the king, or feel the cold steel sliding quickly 
into his own heart. This submission did not cool the 
unquenchable hatred of the mob. Conspiracies were 
repeatedly formed to assassinate the Girondists, at one 
moment almost beneath the gleaming weapons in the 
Convention, at another roused only in time to bar their 
doors against creeping demons, waiting the stroke of a 
certain hour to plunge the deadly knife in their 
bosoms. 

Madame Roland, exposed to the execrations of the 
populace because of her well-known position among 
the Girondists, was entreated to seek safety. Some de- 
voted friends brought her the dress of a peasant girl, 
urging her to assume the disguise and fly with her 
daughter, that her husband might follow her unencum- 
bered. But she spurned to save herself thus. Throw- 
ing the dress from her, she exclaimed, " I am ashamed 
to resort to any such expedient. I will neither dis- 
guise myself, nor make any attempt at secret escape. 
My enemies may find me always in my place. If I am 
assassinated, it shall be in my own home. I owe my 
country an example of firmness and I will give it." 

At M. Roland's resignation, they had again retired 
to an obscure dwelling in the Rue de la Harpe. Here 
in a solitary room they still received the agitated sup- 
porters of the Republic, in vain attempting to devise 



MADAME KOLAND. 509 



mrtisures to stem the overwhelming tide dehiging 
France, and gradually circling into a dizzy whirlpool 
that was finally to engulph both the assassin and the 
victim. Bach day the circles grew narrower and swifter, 
and the Girondists an able to escape from a vortex bear- 
ing them on to certain death, could only fortify them- 
selves to meet it heroically. 

On the morning of the 31st of May, 1793, a driving 
rolling mist darkened the streets of Paris. Crowds of 
demoniac men, howling women and reckless, blood- 
thirsty boys, blocked up the thoroughfares, adding 
their shouts and imprecations to the dismal tolling of 
bells, booming cannons, and the melancholy sound of 
the tocsin. The rush and the roar, rolled ominously 
through the convulsed city. " Ilia suprema dies," it is 
our last day^ exclaimed one of the illustrious Girondists, 
and he said it with truth. Madame Roland and her 
husband remained in their solitary room listening in 
sickening suspense to the sounds borne even to their 
distant retreat, not daring to venture into the streets, 
where their appearance would be the sure signal of 
death. Friends brought them tidings of events du- 
ring that dreadful day. The clouds, that had hung 
gloomily over the city since morning, gathered in an 
early twilight. M. Roland sat gloomy, unnerved and 
despairing, while his courageous wife, whom danger 
never intimidated, spoke cheerfully and hopefully even 
in these hours of terror ; but her words were suddenly 
checked by the sound of brutal voices and stumbling 
heavy footsteps ascending the dark stairway. In an- 
other moment six armed men noisily burst into the 



510 MADAME ROLAND. 



apartment, and advancing towards M. Roland, showed 
him a warrant for his arrest in the name of the Con- 
vention. " I do not recognize the authority of your 
warrant, and shall not voluntarily follow you," said 
he to the officer. The leader replied that he had 
no orders to exercise violence and should return his 
answer to the Council, leaving a guard to secure his 
person. 

Far from being overcome with womanly fears, at this 
near approach of their enemies, Madame Roland was 
strengthened with fresh heroism. She immediately sat 
down and rapidly penned a glowing letter to the Con- 
vention, ordered a coach, left a friend with her husband, 
and drove speedily to the Tuileries where the Assembly 
was engaged in riotous debate. A dense and murmur- 
ing crowd filled the gardens and the courts, rendering 
access almost impossible. Undaunted, she forced her 
way through, approached the sentinels who guarded 
the doors, and asked admission. It was refused. An 
instant's thought suggested a deception. Assuming the 
tone of the Jacobins, she assured them she had. impor- 
tant notes for the president that would admit of no de- 
lay in times when traitors threatened the restoration of 
a monarchy. The sentinel immediately permitted her 
to pass. Another sentinel was stationed at the door of 
an inner passage. " I wish to see one of the messen- 
gers of the House," said she. "■ Wait till one comes 
out," was the surly reply. Fifteen minutes passed that 
seemed hours to the impatient, anxious wife. At 
length she descried a messenger to whom she gave ihe 
letter, and it was immediately delivered to the presi- 



MADAME ROLAND. 61 1 



dent. A long hour passed, yet Madame Eoland still 
stood at the entrance, watching with painful interest 
every face that came from among the excited Assem- 
bly, hoping for tidings of her husband's release in reply 
to her appeal. But no message came, and at length 
unable longer to endure suspense, she sent for one of 
the principal Grirondists, and besought him to gain her 
admission to the bar that she might speak in defence of 
her husband and her friends. " The Convention has 
lost all power. Your words can do no good. Vio- 
lence, noise, and confusion fill the House," replied Ver 
ginaud. 

Madame Eoland abandoned the hope, and leaving 
her letter to speak the words she would eloquently 
have uttered, promised herself to return in two hours, 
and hastily sought her home again to assure herself 
of her husband's safety. Upon entering her apart- 
ments, M. Eoland and the guards were nowhere to be 
seen. Alarmed, she inquired and searched, till she 
found M. Eoland had escaped the vigilance of his 
keepers, and was concealed in the house of a friend. 
Finding him at last, and inspiring him with new cour- 
age as her own revived, she again parted from him and 
returned to the Tuileries, though the midnight bell 
had tolled. The streets were brilliantly illuminated, 
but silent and deserted ; the palace and the Assembly 
rooms were vacant ; a quiet and gloomy mystery rest- 
ed upon the place that a few hours before had been 
crowded with a mass of human beings swaying to and 
fro with the passions of demons grasping for new vic- 
tims. Foreboding some new and horrible calamity. 



512 MADAME ROLAND. 



she turned from the palace, blazing with lights, and 
U^aversed the streets till the shouts and uproar of the 
maddened voices of a countless multitude reached her 
ear. A nearer approach revealed the twenty-two Gir- 
ondists of the Assembly guarded and driven before 
the mob with threatened violence towards the dun- 
geons of the Conciergerie. Enough I Madame Eoland 
knew at a glance her own fate, and the doom of all she 
loved. 

A moment's delay at the Louvre to consult with a 
friend some means for her husband's escape, and she 
sped back to her own home, penned a hasty letter to 
M. Eoland, then sat quietly to scan the day's events 
and see the extent of her own danger. Bold, heroic, 
and energetic, she had preserved her cheerfulness and 
hope to this moment, but the' remembrance of her fugi- 
tive husband and a glance at her sleeping child resting 
innocently and securely upon her mother's pillow, 
brought with a sharp pang the thought of leaving the 
idolized Eudora an orphan. Her courage was gone ; 
she threw herself beside the sweet sleeper, threw back 
the bright ringlets that clustered round the child's rosy 
face, kissed it with clinging love and wept such tears as 
she had never shed before. Exhausted with grief and 
fatigue she fell into a deep slumber, with her child 
closely clasped in her arms. It was a mother's last 
dear embrace. Just as the dawn of a cheerless cloudy 
morning stole through the curtained windows, the rush 
and tramp of many feet, the clattering of steel weapons 
and clubs, and the hoarse bowlings of a debauched 
multitude aroused Madame Roland in time to meet at 



MADAME ROLAND. 518 



the door the rough leaders who immediately announced 
her arrest. No tears, not a word of supplication es- 
caped her lips. She calmly pressed a farewell kiss 
upon the lips of her child, committed her to a friend, 
spoke cheerfully to the weeping servants, and followed 
the officers with a heroic and defiant dignity that eli- 
cited their respect and protection. To secure her from 
the insults of the mob, one of the officers kindly pro- 
posed to close ihe windows of the carriage. " No," 
she replied ; " oppressed innocence should not assume 
the attitude of crime and shame. I do not fear the 
looks of honest men, and I brave those of my enemies." 
She calmly and pityingly gazed upon the passionate 
and distorted countenances of the crowd that pressed 
about the carriage with threatening words and ges- 
tures ; they fell back, awed at her fearless bearing, and 
let her pass unmolested. 

The iron doors, bolts and bars of the Abbay^ prison 
closed upon Madame Eoland. A bare, comfortless 
room, dimly lighted by a high, narrow, grated window 
through which the damp, chilly air crept, was given 
her in lieu of her own home. Nothing broke the 
cheerless aspect of this gloomy cell. A straw pallet 
lay in one corner close to the cold, mouldy walls, but 
without uttering a word of complaint the undaunted 
prisoner laid herself down upon the humble couch and 
fell into a deep, dreamless slumber. 

But a few days passed before the jailer and his kind- 
hearted wife were fascinated with the cheerful cordiality, 
the winning, gentle manners, and heroic endurance of 
the new prisoner. They willingly aided her in giving 
33 



514 MADAME ROLAND. 



the cell an air of taste and comfort. At first a little 
table appeared, and another day the jailer's wife came 
in smiling and full of mystery with something conceal- 
ed under her wide apron. Suddenly the table was 
decorated and brightened with a neat, white spread, 
and the good little woman hastened away pleased and 
proud with Madame Roland's rewarding expressions 
of surprise and pleasure. Then came books ; writing 
materials quickly followed, and lastly fresh, beautiful 
flowers bloomed in the grated window of her cell. 

Four months passed away and the beginning of the 
fifth, found Madame Roland cheerful and contented, 
strong and resolute as when she graced the elegant 
saloons of a palace-home. Satisfied and happy that 
her husband had escaped, at rest in regard to her 
child, safely asylumned with a friend, and hoping for 
the near approach of the nation's tranquillity and her 
consequent release, she lost not a moment in repinings 
or useless tears. Occupied with her books, or sketch- 
ing the scenery of La Plati^re and other places distinct 
and dear in remembrance, or writing her memoirs, she 
scarcely lived at all in the damp, dark cell. Her busy 
imagination was continually on the wing, and when 
recalled to her loneliness and imprisonment, by the 
entrance of the keeper with her coarse fare, she felt 
no gloom, shed no tears, but kindly greeted him and 
partook of the untempting food, spread upon a rusty 
stove to preserve the little table unsoiled, with as 
much liveliness and grace as if she presided at the 
splendid dining-table of the Minister of the Interior. 
She might have possessed herself of some luxuriea, 



MADAME ROLAND. 515 



but choosing rather to relieve her fellow-sufferers, she 
distributed her money among them to obtain necessary 
comforts. 

One day two commissioners entered her cell to ex- 
tort from her if possible, the secret of her husband's 
retreat, since all Paris and its environs had been dili- 
gently searched for the fugitive minister. She scorned 
to dissimulate and told them plainly she knew the 
place of his concealment, but nothing on earth could 
induce her to betray him ; she spurned them from her. 
From first to last Madame Eoland's defiant heroism 
cost her liberty and life. Her contemptuous treatment 
of these Jacobin inquisitors determined her fate. She 
was too illustrious, too eloquent, too fearless a woman 
to be suffered to live, but it was necessary to convict 
her on a new charge in order to bring her to the scaf- 
fold. 

The following day an officer entered and announced 
to Madame Eoland, that her liberty was restored. 
Scarcely believing her senses she emerged from her 
prison, joyfully breathed the free air again and ac- 
customed her eyes to the blinding light of day, scarcely 
less bewildering than the exultation of being free, of 
Clasping her child to her heart and claiming her own 
home. Ordering a carriage to drive quickly to the 
Rue de la Harpe, it was not long before she alighted at 
her own door, her face beaming with the expected 
happiness of hearing again the voice of Eudora. She 
eagerly bounded up the steps and opened the door ; 
her foot was upon the threshold — when two men dart- 
ed from places of concealment, seized and rudely tbrusi 



516 MADAME ROLAND. 



her back into the carriage with the assurance that the 
Assembly had issued a new warrant for her arrest. 
They bore her to the prison of St. Pdlagi^, and con- 
ducted her to a loathsome dungeon already crowded 
with the most abandoned women, and desperate vil- 
lains, whose repulsive aspect made her shudder and 
shrink from the vile contact. 

Her courage no longer supported her; the disap 
pointment had been too cruel ; she sat down amids^ 
the miserable wretches of the dungeon and wept and 
sobbed with uncontrollable sorrow. But here, as in the 
other prison, she gained the sympathy of her keepers, 
who soon ventured to remove her to a narrow cell by 
herself As before, her room gradually assumed an 
unexpected degree of comfort. Books, music, draw- 
ing, and writing were made available by the kindness 
of Madame Bouchaud, the wife of the jailer ; flowers, 
and vines twined among and hid the ugly iron bars 
across the high window, and a small table and comfort- 
able bed completed all her wants. Once more she 
gathered calmness and happiness from her employ- 
ments. She could utter with triumph what Marie 
Antoinette exclaimed in despair, ''What a resource, 
amid the calamities of life, is a highly-cultivated 
mind!" 

On the same day when the Girondists were executed, 
October 31st. 1798, Madame Eoland was led to the 
duDgeons of the Conciergerie. This frightful prison 
lay beneath the Palace of Justice. A wide flight of 
stone steps led down to the subterraneous passages that 
wound and twisted and intersected each other like 



MADAME ROLAND. 617 



caged serpents, and terminated in cells, cold, dark, and 
silent as the grave. The atmosphere was humid and 
noxious ; moisture oozed from the walls, and the damp 
slippery floors made the bewildered captive recoil from 
a footing that suggested a path among sliding lizards 
and creeping scorpions. Through these dark laby 
rinths, the heroic Girondists and the hapless queen bad 
passed forth to a repulsive, bloody death; ladies distin- 
guished for beauty and talent, young girls fair and in- 
nocent, noble men and their aged fathers, bowed and 
trembling under the snowy crown of years, had gone 
forth daily to appease the mad multitude thirsting for 
human blood. Still agonizing groans resounded 
through the gloomy corridors, or sometimes echoed 
to a wailing death-song from the breaking heart of 
some despairing prisoner. Rarely the voice of prayer 
went up from these cells except wrested from some 
frantic victim. Those were days of infidelity; God 
had withdrawn his presence from the atheistical na- 
tion. 

From one of those cells came a sweet voice that ut- 
tered eloquent and inspiring words in clear, ringing 
tones, thrilling every listener, and kindling a new he- 
roism from the ashes of despair. Those lips did not 
beguile fellow-captives to exhausting, enervating tears, 
but aroused all the patriotic fire, the exalted courage, 
and the stoicism of which they were capable; they 
caught the unshrinking lofty tone of the bold-spirited 
orator, and when she paced the narrow courts, gath- 
ered round her with a love and devotion they might 
have paid to an angel. Fascinating and graceful even 



518 MADAME ROLAND. 



in prison robes, stately and commanding, yet womanly 
and gentle, the sturdiest bowed before her, and the 
weakest leaned upon the strength her impassioned soul 
could impart. 

But one day she smilingly glided past them, attired 
in flowing white drapery, and her dark hair falling in 
wavy abundance to her girdled waist. She hastened 
cheerfully along the winding passages, passed through 
the massive entrances, and soon stood in the Hall of 
the Palace of Justice, before an excited and tumultuous 
throng. In vain her voice richly and eloquently rose 
above the confused murmurings boldly speaking her 
own defence — not in crouching supplication — not in 
fear of death — not in appeals to the humanity and sym- 
pathy of the Assembly, but in daring defiance of their 
imputing a single crime to her or to those illustrious 
men who had gone before her to the scaffold. She 
sealed her own doom while proudly asserting her inno- 
cence. She was condemned to die. Fully prepared 
for this sentence, she received it with unchanging coun- 
tenance, and returned to her cell as cheerfully as she 
had emerged from it, intimating her fate to the prison- 
ers, as she passed them, by silently drawing a finger 
across her white throat. 

That night an old harp that had long lain untouched 
in the solitary cell, resounded with slow, mournful 
tones, accompanied by a full, melodious voice, sadly 
sweeping a wild requiem through the long galleries 
that had been silent to every sound but human groans 
or shouts of exultation or despair. The shuddering 
captives recognized the farewell. 



MADAME ROLAND. 619 



The following morning — the gloomy openmg of a 
November day — a long line of carts, crowded with 
victims for the guillotine, issued from the yard of the 
Donciergerie. In the last was the white-robed heroine 
of the dungeons, still calm and self-possessed, still 
bearing up the drooping spirits of those who stood 
beside her. An old man with whitened locks, weak 
and trembling, leaned upon her sustaining arm. Her 
own face was brilliant and blooming, freshened and 
tinged with the cool morning air. The near approach 
of a sudden and horrible death was no intimidation to 
her heroic spirit. Nearer and nearer the rough ve- 
hicle approached the scaffold, as those in advance 
were emptied ; higher and more ghastly grew the 
heaps of the slain ; faster and fdller rolled the crimson 
tide. At last came the cart with the old man and the 
beautiful, fearless woman. She was still brave and un- 
daunted, he shrinking and pale with terror. " Go 
first," said she, " that you may not witness my death." 
But the brutal executioner commanded her to ascend 
first. " You will not refuse a woman's last request," 
she replied mildly, and with one of her winning smiles. 
The murder-inured man was won like every one else 
upon whom that fascinating smile fell. The old man 
with the whitened locks, bowed his head first beneath 
the axe — then came the noble woman with firm, unfal- 
tering step — she knelt — an instant of awful stillness 
was succeeded by the terrible sound of the sliding axe. 
and the beautiful head, enveloped in its dark veil of 
flowing ringlets, fell from the block. 



520 MADAME ROLAND. 



The noble, heroic, exalted spirit of Madame Koland 
had gone to the eternity she had so often and so darkly 
questioned. Her soul was in an instant ushered to the 
presence of an unacknowledged God, before whose tri- 
bunal human philosophy, and stoicism, and lofty endu 
ranee must vanish into nothingness. 



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