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THE 
 
 HEROINES 
 
 HISTORY 
 
 »f 
 
_ 
 
 THE 
 
 HEROINES OF HISTORY. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN S. JENKINS. 
 
 "Thou hast a charmed cup, O Fame I 
 A draught that mantles high, 
 And seems to lift this earthly frame 
 Above mortality." 
 
 Mrs. Hemaks. 
 
 AUBURN AND BUFFALO : 
 
 JOHN E. BEAKDSLEY. 
 
 ft 
 
y 
 
 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, 
 
 BY ALDEN, BEARDSLEY & CO. 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Northern 
 District of New York. 
 
MMuln% € jrfrtft. 
 
 TO 
 
 S. SHELDON NORTON, Esq. 
 
 Mr 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 intimacy which that friendship has 
 sweetened and hallowed. I find other motives to influ- 
 ence 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 Uvea 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 philosophic, of the pure and simple-minded, though , 
 almost too unworldly, bard of Rydal Mount? I have 
 not considered them as examples of female excellence, with- 
 out spot or blemish; nor have I represented them in 
 that light. They were famous women, and so lifted "above 
 
VI DEDICATORY EPISTLE. 
 
 mortality," — and as such I have endeavored to portray 
 them. 
 
 The title is suggestive of the character of the book. 
 It has not been my aim to give detailed biographies of 
 the several personages 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 noth 
 ing in them worthy of censure — I am then* servant, and 
 most truly, your friend. 
 
 The Author. 
 
 Auburn, N. Y., August, 1851. 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 • ••- 
 
 *• PAGB 
 
 CLEOPATBA ••••• 11 
 
 II. 
 ISABELLA OF OASTILE . 53 
 
 m. 
 
 iTOAN OF ABO 139 
 
 IV. 
 
 MARIA THEBESA . • • 183 
 
 V. 
 
 JOSEPHINE ••••• 221 
 
 VL 
 
 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND .......••••. 269 
 
 VIL 
 MAEY OF SCOTLAND ••••••••• 825 
 
 VIIL 
 
 OATHEBINE OF EUSSIA •••••• 393 
 
 IX. 
 
 MABIE ANTOINETTE •• 445 
 
 X. 
 
 MADAME ROLAND ••• 473 
 
Cbnptm 
 
 Por Cleopatra o Egypto foi vencido, 
 
 Mascarskhas. 
 
 Whatever might have 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. 
 
 Eome ; 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 around 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 numbered 
 — the proud galleys of Egypt's queen and her doating 
 lover pass in review before him — and he remembers? 
 only, that here 
 
 " was lost 
 A world for woman, lovely, harmless thing I" 
 
 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. 18 
 
 she presided, as it were, over the catastrophe which 
 she could not avert, to invest it with the attractions 
 of Eomance. The seeds of dissolution were not, in 
 fact, planted by her hand, — she but neglected to check 
 their growth. Under her auspices, the last days of 
 the monarchy were 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 Eoman 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 Eoman Senate ; his 
 predecessor, Alexander Ptolemy- III., having be- 
 queathed his kingdom to the Eomans, 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 Cassar 
 
14 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 and Pompey, and through their influence secured the 
 alliance of Kome. His people, indignant at his con- 
 duct, revolted from his authority arid drove him into 
 exile ; but they were compelled again to receive and 
 recognize him as their king, by the presence of a Eo- 
 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 Eoman 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 ap- 
 pearance. Her features were regular, and every limb 
 finely moulded, though yet lacking the round and vo- 
 
CLEOPATRA. 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, and 
 distinctly traced beneath it, were the delicate veins, 
 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 Venus 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 CLEOPATEA. 
 
 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 
 of ancient Chemia ; but she was well versed, too, in 
 the literature and science of Phoenicia and Chaldsea, 
 of Greece and Eome. Of both the Greek and the 
 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 Ehodian. 
 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 
 character. Her skill in music found none to equal it. 
 Her 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 by 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 Yalois, — 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 the 
 besetting sin of nations and individuals. She wa*s sel 
 fish : — why should she not have been selfish, with ene- 
 mies plotting and conspiring against her at her father's 
 co art, and seeking in every way to compass her de- 
 struction ? She was ambitious, — but when were the 
 sons or daughters of kinss and princes without am- 
 
18 CLEOPATEA. 
 
 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 
 honest 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 her of her 
 share in the sovereignty. Their plans, for the time, 
 were successful. 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 yield 
 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. 
 He was then at the zenith of his power, and brare 
 men trembled when his name was uttered. The mur- 
 der of his great enemy did not secure his friendship, 
 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, Caesar 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- 
 tween 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 Cassar 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. Cassar himself had not dared to venture out 
 
CLEOPATKA. 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 sustained 
 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, for 
 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 he reached the 
 presence of the illustrious Roman, and deposited the 
 fair burden at his feet. 
 
 Then he unloosed the package, and instead of Tyr- 
 an 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 Yenus 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, Caesar 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 Eoman 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. 23 
 
 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 regard. 
 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, Cassar 
 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. Bushing from the palace into the open 
 street, he tore the kingly diadem from off 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 him. 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 Cassar, seemed ominous of ill. 
 
24 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 His story excited the sympathy of the populace, and 
 placing himself at their head, he returned to the palace 
 for the purpose of attacking Cassar. 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 Roman 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 Roman 
 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 Cassar 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 disinclination 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 upon 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 by 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 his 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 
 
 2 
 
26 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 had but loved him, — 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 share the counsels and the bed of Csesar. 
 
 Having thus put down all opposition, and restored 
 peace and tranquillity to the kingdom, Csesar and Cleo- 
 patra made a royal progress through the valley of the 
 Nile, accompanied by his Eoman 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. 
 
 Reclining beneath silken awnings spangled with 
 stars and flowers, upon carpets that yielded to the 
 lightest 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 barbiton and pipe, and 
 fanned by the scented gales of " Araby the Blest." At 
 
CLEOPATRA. 27 
 
 the fall of even, *he tents 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, with 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, Csesar still lingered at the Alex- 
 andrean court. Cleopatra became the mother of a son, 
 named, after his father, Caesarion. 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 Eg} r ptian 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 Eome, 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 Csesar, 
 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 minprity of her brother, she administered the 
 government alone, with a skill and ability not unwor- 
 thy of 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 Csesar — by which she 
 held the sceptre ; but it was, also, the sole alternative 
 of absolute submission to the Eoman 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 Csesar to bring 
 Cleopatra to Eome, and there to marry her. For that 
 purpose, he had solicited a friend to propose a law to 
 the people, allowing a Eoman citizen to marry as many 
 wives as he thought fit. His friend acceded to the re- 
 
CLEOPATKA. 29 
 
 quest, but nothing had been done when he returned to 
 Eome. 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 lived, 
 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 Csesar — Csesar Emperor of Eome, — 
 what might have been the fate of both ! what the des- 
 tiny of " the Mobe of nations !" 
 
 Events now followed each other in rapid succession. 
 Cleopatra did not soon forget her love for Cassar. She 
 visited him at Eome, 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 Eoman 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 CLEOPATEA. 
 
 Alexandrea 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 
 
CLE0PAT1M. 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. 
 
 Rumors 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 Io Bacche ! To 
 Bacche ! 
 
 This w as 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, exhibiting 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 CLEOPATKA. 
 
 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 Eome 
 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 Antony: 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 
 
CLEOPATRA. 33 
 
 the show and splendor with which she intended to daz« 
 zle the eyes of all beholders, and to charm and capti- 
 vate the Eoman general. 
 But, more than all, he was the 
 
 " courteous Antony, 
 Whom ne'er the word of JVo -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 many 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 glorious pageant! — The richest carvings 
 
 2* 
 
34 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 adorned her barge, which 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-horn Venus, lay. 
 She lay and lean'd her cheek upon her hand, 
 
ff— — 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 35 
 
 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 more : 
 
 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 I" 
 
 This assumption of social superiority put an end at 
 once to all the dignity 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. 
 
86 CLEOPATKA. 
 
 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 
 looms 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 
 Tsenioticum. 
 
 Upon the ornamented seats and couches reclined the 
 guests, with chaplets of violets and roses, myrtle, ivy, 
 
CLEOPATRA. 37 
 
 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 CLEOPATEA. 
 
 health, of Cleopatra. The Eoman guards without the 
 tents, were also served with sumptuous fare, and in- 
 stead of posca, filled their rhytons 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- 
 tainment surpassing in elegance that which preceded 
 it. Antony was astonished at the wealth so lavishly 
 displayed by Cleopatra. She only sneered at what she 
 
CLEOPATRA. 39 
 
 called his parsimony. At a banquet given by her, lie 
 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 S} r ria demanded 
 his attention, in consequence of the warlike demonstra- 
 tions of Parthia, yet they were neglected. At Borne, 
 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 lie 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 Caesar, 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 prematurely 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 wa3 
 
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 beei 
 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 CLEOPATKA. 
 
 experienced diver in her service, to procure a salted 
 fish from the market, and when a favorable opportu- 
 nity 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 ! " 
 
 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 Eome, 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 
 Eome. 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 
 and co-triumvir. 
 
 Years passed by. The world had been divided be- 
 tween the triumvirs, and Antony had received for his 
 
CLEOPATRA. 43 
 
 portion the countries 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 borne 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 awaited 
 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 it 
 bitterly in the hour of her humiliation. She saved 
 Egypt from the Eoman'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 that 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 power, by ministering to his coarser passions 
 and desires. 
 
 Once more he prepared to lead his soldiers against 
 the Parthian. Cleopatra had promised to accompany 
 him to the Euphrates, and she had pictured to herself 
 bright scenes of future glory and conquest. But before 
 they set out upon the expedition, the ceremony of the 
 coronation of herself and children was performed. In 
 the palace 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 Antony 
 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 Cassarion, 
 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 Caasarion 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, 
 
46 CLEOPATKA. 
 
 for they were now inseparable. They proceeded as far 
 as the Araxes, but alarming news from Eome recalled 
 them. They then directed their course to Greece ; at 
 Ephesus, at Samos, and at Athens, spending weeks 
 and months in revelry and feasting, which, profitably 
 employed, would have made them masters of Eome, 
 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 be 
 humbled, — that Antony would be the world's great 
 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 
 Eome, 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 ski-ll displayed by An- 
 tony, Cleopatra determined to secure her own personal 
 
CLEOPATRA. 47 
 
 safety, and left the scene of the engagement with her 
 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 Caesar ; and so, 
 she resolved to provide for her own security, by se- 
 cretly dispatching friendly messages to the conqueror. 
 
 Upon the arrival of Octavius 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 Caesar. 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 returned, 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 jjrom- 
 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 queen." 
 
 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 Eoman 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 in 
 which she lived, this was her error ! 
 
 3 
 
ISABELLA OF CASTILE 
 
II. 
 
 Swlrtite nf (tortile- 
 
 " She had all the royal makings of a queen." — Shakspeare. 
 
 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 superiority 
 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 picturesque 
 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 of 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!" 
 
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, and 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 the 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 IV. 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 the 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, energy, 
 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 satellites that invari- 
 ably hasten to flutter about a new star and bask in its 
 rays, were soon overawed in her presence. The blame- 
 
 3* 
 
58 isabelia 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 to 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 whom 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." 
 
 Eepeated 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 when 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 OP CASTILE. 
 
 One of the prominent leaders of the 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 effigy of Henry IV. 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 ^3 
 throne ; but they had no sooner assembled than he dis- 
 banded them, and commenced negotiations with the 
 sunning marquis. A cessation of hostilities during six 
 months, was agreed upon, in order to make <eome ami- 
 sable arrangement ; but Henry's adherents were over- 
 whelmed with indignation that he should have forsaken 
 his 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 Villena devised a scheme which should conciliate 
 all parties and secure his own aggrandizement. 
 
 He proposed the marriage of his brother, Don Pedro 
 de Pacheco, 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, " Grod 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. 63 
 
 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 fo_ 
 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 de la 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 
 oss 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. Notwithstanding 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 #ie 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 suc- 
 cessor. 
 
ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 65 
 
 An interview took place between Henry and Isabella 
 at Toros de Gruisando, 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 IY. 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, the 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- 
 
QQ ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 
 
 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 upon 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 with 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 Valladolid, 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 
 Count of Trevino, 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 Yivero, 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 
 cheerful ; his forehead ample and approaching to bald- 
 ness. 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 
 best 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 anburn, 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 tho 
 King of France, proposing the Duke of Guienne, 
 Isabella's disappointed suitor, for his daughter's hand. 
 An 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 Gruienne. 
 
 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 presence 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 of that king- 
 dom. With this army he suddenly appeared before 
 
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 deliverer, 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 journey 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 OF CASTILE. 
 
 usually resided. An interview took place that resulted 
 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. 
 In 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 prince's, 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 joy 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. 73 
 
 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- 
 via, 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 !" 
 
 The royal standard was then unfurled, 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- 
 4 
 
74 ISABELLA OF 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 
 ler 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 
 Yillena, 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 entered by one 
 door he would go out at the other." 
 
 As soon as such preparations as could be rapidlv 
 
76 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 
 
 made, were completed, the army set out for the city ol 
 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 Villena 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 with 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 after 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 its 
 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 OP 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 tkc 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 
 
 4* 
 
82 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 
 
 under their direction, though, perverted to the uses of 
 astrology, magic, and the untiring search after the 
 elixir of life and the philosopher's stone. Literature 
 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, — now a pile of ruins whose history seems 
 but the magical 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 Vega 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- 
 
ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 83 
 
 garded by 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 news 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 
 
84 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, like 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 these 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 yery 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 the 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 OP 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 array, 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 Moorish 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, which, it 
 was found, lacked sufficient supplies of ordnance and 
 ammunition, in consequence of want of means, to incur 
 further expense. Not listening to the advice of more 
 experienced men, and burning with a desire for mili- 
 tary 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- 
 Dodings, dejectedly followed the royal standard, carried 
 
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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 funds 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 loyal to him, leaving 
 Boabdil to occupy the throne. 
 
 While the kingdom of Grenada 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 
 
 ed booty to their pursuers. Their retreat was further 
 , embarrassed by missiles showered upon them from the 
 heights above by the numerous peasantry and villa- 
 gers. 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 
 were 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 rocks. 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 for 
 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 gates of the city. Imagining themselves 
 
ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 93 
 
 already overpowered, a portion of the Moors fled, leav- 
 ing the brant 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, white steed, and wearing golden armor, and a 
 magnificent turban blazing with jewels. His royal 
 guard fell one after another around him. Unable to 
 sustain himself longer, or to hope for escape across the 
 river, he dismounted and concealed himself in a thicket. 
 A Castilian esoldier 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 with 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 womanly 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. He 
 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 AlhamaP 
 
 The high- spirited Sultana Ayxa, unwilling to in- 
 dulge a useless grief, made an effort 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 war, 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 brilliant 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 victory, 
 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 forth and back, as seen in dreams." 
 
 Impatient with the cold and reiterated refusals of an 
 5 
 
98 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 
 
 audience, Columbus succeeded in laying bis gigantic 
 plans before Talavera, the 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 had 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 captare of Loxa, Ferdinand requested Isa- 
 bella's presence in the army, to which she promptly 
 responded. With the Princess Isabslla, 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 
 letters 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 approached 
 each other, they bowed thrice, uncovering 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 universal 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, styled "the Mirror of Andalusian 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 Genoese 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 men 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. 101 
 
 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 of 
 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 Vega. 
 
 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 Harriet Bl 
 Zegri, renowned since the siege of Eonda, 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 we.re 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 OP 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 royal 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. Keduced 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 
 lefence 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 God 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 provided 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 
 in the dungeons of the Inquisition! And strange 
 infatuation that should lead her, immediately after the 
 release of Spanish prisoners, for whom her tears had 
 flowed, 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 fete, 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 VII. 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 army 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. 
 
 i The siege of Baza was determined upon r as^ \i 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 suffering 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 OE 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 
 
 )' : 
 
110 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 alcayde, 
 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 CASTILE. Ill 
 
 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 he 
 not decreed the fall of Grenada this good sword might 
 have saved it ; but his will be done !" 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 poverty 
 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, fetes and tournaments, 
 
112 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 
 
 •winch were gladly welcomed after the toils and hard- 
 ships of war. But the queen mingled in these rejoic- 
 ings with a heavy heart, dreading separation 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 Grenada. 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- 
 ian 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 sprung 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 seate 
 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 Yega, which became the strange scene of 
 
114 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 
 
 innumerable single-handed battles and daring exploit^ 
 that seem more the picturmgs 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 Spanish, army met with j, 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 wrapped 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, which had caught 
 in the hangings of the queen's tent, from a carelessly 
 placed taper, spread with rapidity, and were not ex- 
 tinguished till after the loss of a large 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 preservation, and in token 
 of her determination never to abandon 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 ISABELLA 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 
 scoffing 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 Yega 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 ¥6, 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 La 
 Eabida, 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 monarchs, 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 Grenada, 
 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 Yega 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 rocky barriers he 
 had 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 of El ultimo sosjriro 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 com- 
 memorated by processions and demonstrations of tri- 
 
120 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 
 
 umph, not only in Rome 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 Grenada, expired the 28th of August, 
 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, in 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 her 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 affixed 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 hava 
 witnessed all this torture, tears might have welled up 
 abundantly from the depths of her sensitive heart, but 
 
 6 
 
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 ! 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. It 
 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. 123 
 
 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 ! 
 
 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 fall 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 money 
 
ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 125 
 
 and rich 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 who 
 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 afflictions 
 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 
 Italian 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 o*f 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 
 the 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 
 
1 
 
 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 happily a 
 son, named Miguel, in honor of the saint's day on 
 
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, Castile, 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 
 6* 
 
130 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 
 Ocafia, 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 the 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, and 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 condition 
 of renouncing their faith. Isabella did not accept this 
 advice, yet imprisoned the leaders of the revolt. Many, 
 from fear, emigrated, and the panic led nearly all the 
 
132 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 
 
 remaining inhabitants to accept the Catholic belief. 
 All Christendom was astonished at this " miracle" — 
 the more wonderful from the well-known hatred its 
 subjects entertained for the religion they had assented 
 to. Ximenes was henceforth venerated as a saint, his 
 admirers asserting that he "had achieved greater tri 
 umphs 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 righf 
 might be recognized. Philip did not comply with tht 
 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 brilliant 
 f^tes and rejoicings throughout the nation. Arrived 
 at Toledo, where the court then was, Philip so betrayec 
 his aversion to business, and his dislike to the s'tateli 
 ness of Castilian ceremonies, as to alarm the sovereigni 
 concerning his capability to occupy the Spanish throne 
 Isabella was more deeply grieved in noting his opeu 
 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. 133 
 
 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 honor 
 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 ; 
 missing, 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 Indians — 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 for 
 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 her 
 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 in 
 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, "I 
 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 Duenas, 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 
 long-continued 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 CASTILE. 
 
 " To that unfathomed, boundless sea, 
 The silent grave I 
 
 Thither all earthly pomp and boast 
 Roll, to be swallowed up and lost 
 In one dark wave." 
 
 The people vied with, each other in extolling the tri- 
 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 then, as now, the simple but eloquent designa- 
 tion — " Isabella de la paz y bontad" — Isabella of peace 
 and goodness 1 
 
Seeu :: Iff. 
 
 "Monarch, of Yramest 
 --• -. _ - •- 
 
 . : -.: ": _*!_". ._•_--.._ 
 
 The maid ia come, die mission - n — _ .'inn 
 
 Q b :hc consecrated w 
 Crown, tiiee, an r ti i fa i l ong — ! ~zr~ " _ i 
 
 fir tllis _ _t.__J:1.7 _. r pffnawart : _ T 
 
 arts, of commerce :._-. i - / 
 
 is difficult to believe that so£ — asm nmg naixvsiy 
 nave elapsed, sir.': e n \ i r-r. Si Htttferewfet : k 
 all tfeafc sHowIsc^Et and 7 _ ; 
 
 very remote, "wiien tne moss t.~ .._ svmiiE 
 
 •when, it vae : see indeed fiat any man kiwews b 
 
 inacv nee . : _-_ ; j: in kn . «r fe ..> aadthfi 
 attribute an unforeseen md aria . in ;~ jm - 
 tnongn : fnlfest zsplanatian 
 
 proper and legjtfmafe eanse. 
 
 Avr. r- g - ,:.-i:. ataet . ijahtr 
 
 the r.im of t&eae maeic „_~r~ in 
 
 common— .1. . _t .:- _: ...: 
 
140 JOAN OF AEC. 
 
 treason to the state. They believed, 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. 
 Bach 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. They 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 with 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 YL, but before his young head 
 bore the weight of a double crown, he died, leaving 
 an infant son, Henry YL, 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 AEC. 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 YII. 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 5 
 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, u La Pucelle $ Or- 
 
144 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 leans 11 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 JNTeufchateau and Vaucouleurs, 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 Yosges 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 
 thefr 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 OF ARC. 145 
 
 distaff, 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- 
 ing them 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. Eeading 
 and writing were unsolved riddles to her, for these 
 were accomplishments known only 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 offices. 
 
 7 
 

 146 JOAN" OF ABC. 
 
 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 on the mountain side, a 
 not improbable occupation and a very common one in 
 the valley of the Meuse. Here upon the slopes, 
 
 " With gorse-flower glowing, as the &un illumed 
 Their golden glory," 
 
 she rested the livelong clay, 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 
 driven forth to suffer the horrors of famine, that their 
 
JOAN OF ARC. 147 
 
 cries might 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 sorites 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 misty 
 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 VII. 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 
 God,, as she denominated them. She obeyed the 
 
JOAN OF ARC. 149 
 
 voices, which directed her to attend church faithfully 
 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 
 upon 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 
 knightly 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 
 Eobert de Baudricourt, captain of Yaucouleurs, 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 Yaucouleurs, 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 which 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 tone, 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 Kheims 
 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 smrplv smiled upon him, 
 
JOAN OP AKG, 151 
 
 and conversed with so much honesty and unaffected 
 simplicity, that the cure* himself was bewildered. The 
 news 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 Yaueouleurs 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. Receiving his orders for her ad- 
 vance, she set out from Yaueouleurs, equipped in 
 man's attire, mounted upon a fiery black charger, the 
 gift of the admiring inhabitants, and armed with a 
 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 
 
~u 
 
 152 JOAN" OF ARC. 
 
 resolves, begged their forgiveness, and continued her 
 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 tranquillity, 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 arnica ■ 
 bly with this beautiful woman, who shared the affec 
 tions of the king and had a powerful influence ovei 
 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 ABC. 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. Uncer- 
 tain 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 wondej 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 upon it, and in her 
 
 7# 
 
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 frost of purest snow, 
 And hangs on Dian's temple," — 
 
JOAN OF AKC, 155 
 
 advanced with' composed air, and with as modest a 
 countenance 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 (rod 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 eertainly 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 puzzled for a decision, either 
 because of their superstition, or because they were 
 
156 JOAK 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 Bheims, 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 Eoman 
 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 his angels, a Dominican friar said, 
 " Joan, thou sayest 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. 7 ' 
 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, 
 " I 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, 
 urged 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- 
 
158 JOAtf OP 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- 
 tifully painted image of the Saviour. Thus equipped 
 and mounted upon her black charger, accompanied by 
 one of her own brothers, a page, a maitre d'hdtel, 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 Gascon nobles, the 
 fierce " fire-eaters" of the gallant Count Dunois, and 
 the cruel but brave Armagnacs — a band of ferocious 
 brigands, with captains at their head, who had long 
 been the terror of France. One of them, Gilles de 
 Eetz, was not only the robber hero of his own times, 
 but as th« original of fi B]ue Beard' ? has. besn immor- 
 
JOAN" OF ARC. 159 
 
 talized as the "bugbear" of nursery tales, through 
 every succeeding generation. "With such a promis- 
 cuous and fearful host, the brave girl unfurled her 
 sainted banner, and turned her face towards Orleans 
 It was spring-time ; the hills were blossoming with tho 
 yellow f u rz, 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 proffligacy, 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 lie 
 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 to lead, even on a 
 
160 JOAN OP 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 hardships, 
 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 th& 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-at- 
 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 Grlasdale, 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. Sh 
 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 
 
162 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 citj, to reconnoitre the English bastilles, followed by a 
 crowd who afterward repaired with her to the church 
 of Saint-Croix 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 expressions of 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 furious with 
 a fanaticism equal to their previous 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 in 
 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 
 helmets and polished shields, and coats of mail over 
 which were thrown elegantly embroidered surcoats of 
 silk or satin, whereon were curiously beaten the arms 
 
JOAN OF ABC. 163 
 
 of their house in gold. The men-at-arms, bristling 
 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 wounded 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 AEC. 
 
 drowned before her eyes. " 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 more. 
 
 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 of 
 Sargeau and Beaugency, before these places could be 
 relieved by the English. 
 
JOAN OF AEC. 165 
 
 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 
 God's name, advance boldly against them and assuredly 
 they shall be conquered." "But where shall we find 
 them ?" asked some. " Bide 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 Grarter. Talbot was unwilling again 
 
166 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 Eheims, 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 northward. King, courtiers, politicians, en- 
 thusiasts, fools and wise, were off together, either vol- 
 untarily or compulsorily. 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 Eheims, 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 them 
 they should be in Troyes in three days. " We would 
 willingly wait six," said the chancellor, "were we cer- 
 tain you spoke sooth." " Six ! you shall enter to-mor- 
 
JOAN OF ARC. 167 
 
 row," exclaimed the heroic girl, seizing her standard 
 and calling upon 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 
 Eheims 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. Eemy's, was brought with great ceremony by 
 priests who were met at the entrance of the cathedral 
 by the archbishop. He received it and, approaching 
 the king, who bowed reverently before it, anointed and 
 
168 JOAJST 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 Kheims 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, 
 unwilling to lose one upon whom his battles depended. 
 
JOAN OF ARC. ■ 169 
 
 would not consent to her departure till the English 
 were driven from France. As a mark of his gratitude 
 he ennobled her family, giving them the title of " du 
 Lys," 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. 
 Regardless 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 VI. 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 "VTI. 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 1430, 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- 
 
JOAN OF ABC. 171 
 
 mediately seized by a Picard archer and dragged from 
 her horse. She surrendered to the bastard of Yen- 
 dome, a distinguished knight, who conducted her to 
 the English 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 Prance, 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 AEC. 
 
 won by her 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 efforl? 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 conveyed 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 
 
 A**d 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 with 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 ARC. 
 
 Joan, weary and bewildered, was soon led before the 
 impatient assemblage, eager for their yictim. 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- 
 ing the man's dress she wore, but to this she would not 
 
JOAN OP ABC. 175 
 
 consent, It being her only protection, and the dress 
 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 TIL, 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 
 sineerest lover of the faith of the Church, and not wha 
 you call him," exclaimed she boldly. " Silence her," 
 cried out the bishop, who began 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 AEC. 
 
 " We pity yon, 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 be 
 placed in the hands of the church. 
 
 "What is to be done next ?" respectfully asked Cari 
 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 I" 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 
 wept 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, " Eouen, 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 her 
 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 
 
 8* 
 
178 JOAN - OF ARC. 
 
 else," she cried. She knelt upon the platform, in« 
 yoked 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 suffocated 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 slie 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 an 
 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 and 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 Eouen 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 remains in Dom-Eemy. ' ' 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 
 XVHE., 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-Eemy 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 Ave" 
 
IV. 
 
 "We will not from the helm, to sit and weep; 
 
 But keep our course, though the rough wind say, No. 
 
 Shak. 
 
 Atjsteia 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 Kussia. 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 THEEESA. 
 
 Of lustier leaves ; nor more content, 
 Or pleasure, lives in any crowd, 
 "When all is gay with 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- Yalperga- 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 Yienna, 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 hi 
 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 
 Khodolph, 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 sufficiently gentle and yielding, her 
 heart overflowing with tenderness; it was not until 
 she assumed the sceptre, and found herself threatened 
 on every side by hostile invasions, that the unrelent- 
 ing 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 
 
MAEIE THEEESA. 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 Eomanish 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 Eome. 
 
 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 frequently 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 Vienna, 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. 
 
MAEIA 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 resolution, were married 
 at Yienna 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 
 mission to one sovereign. 
 
MARIA THERESA. 191 
 
 It was the richest empire of Europe, but its treasury 
 was 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 
 Vienna, 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 stsrn 
 
192 MAE I A 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 and tongue, faithful to his 
 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. -193 
 
 by which they were bound, gave evasive answers, until 
 they marched their forces across the Rhine, 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 respective 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 place, 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- 
 ated robe covered her jewelled dress, and his scimiter 
 
 9 
 
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 
 became 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 Royal 
 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 
 omary for sovereigns to address the states. After an 
 .mpressive 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. 195 
 
 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 drew 
 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 !" 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." 
 
 " Fair 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 the war." 
 
 The coiqxPetat of the empress soon changed the 
 
196 MAEIA THEEESA. 
 
 whole face of affairs. Numerous 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 
 king. George II., was himself present at hazardous 
 
MARIA THERESA. 
 
 197 
 
 battles • the semi-civilized Croatians swam rivers, eacli 
 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 Ehine, 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. 
 After the victory of Dettingen, the empress-queen, re- 
 turning from a boating excursion, was cheered by the 
 Yiennese, 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 MARIA THERESA. 
 
 raises 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- 
 sand 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 j 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 YII. 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 husband 
 
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 I. !" A general ac- 
 clamation 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 she 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 MARIA 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 : structions 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 coffers, or a soldier under 
 her command. As it was, she gave up Silesia, Parma, 
 Placentia, and GruastiHa. 
 
 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 raee 
 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 animating 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 
 
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 court during the carnival ; afterward, 
 these entertainments and the number of f<§tes, 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- 
 born perpetual motion and uninterrupted industry. 
 
MARIA THEEESA. 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 her 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 levee, 
 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 empress and my children art 
 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, 
 
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 — at once wrote to 
 
MARIA THERESA. 207 
 
 Pompadour, calling her " My 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 away. 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 Erance. 
 
 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 trie 
 vicissitudes of success so great that at one time "Vienna 
 was nearly overwhelmed, at another the Prussian sov- 
 ereign driven from his capital. One of the chief vie- 
 
208 MARIA THERESA. 
 
 tories, on the 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. ISTor 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 
 
MARIA THERESA. 209 
 
 Sovereign of Austria, and Elizabeth, Empress of Eussia. 
 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 Eussian 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 Yienna, 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 th 
 East and "West Indies, together with the best part of 
 her armies, commerce and treasure ; and all these dis- 
 asters hastened the Eeign of Terror, wherein Marie 
 Antoinette lost her head. 
 
 The treaty of general peace was signed in 1763, 
 
210 MARIA THERESA. 
 
 Two years 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 Yienna, 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 Eomish 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 German Empire, and 
 displayed great talents, though timid and taciturn in 
 childhood. A younger son, Charles, died at the age 
 of sixteen ; he was bold and brilliant, and his parent? 
 treated him with partiality, mistakenly regretting that 
 the government would not fall to him. Joseph firs* 
 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- 
 
MARIA THERESA. 213 
 
 viously, and this belief has 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, affianced 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 THEKESA. 
 
 tall, with a clear face and long light hair ; she was pub- 
 licly betrothed and treated as a queen already ; but she 
 dreaded her destiny. 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 Prance. 
 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- 
 
MARIA THERESA. 215 
 
 neficent, and deeply affected by all forma 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. 
 From 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 MARIA 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 Eussia, at Maria Theresa's earnest solicitation. 
 She wept for joy at this, and said, " I am overpowered 
 
MARIA THERESA. 217 
 
 with, 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 IV 
 
 These were among the last acts of her life. She had 
 knelt in prayer that Grod 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 her 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 
 
 IB 
 
218 MAKIA 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 I 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, Nov. 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 
 ner family, indeed, down to this hour. Never 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 sullied the glorious mirror of her character. 
 
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 of 
 being the birth-place of Josephine, who was born the 
 24th day of June, 1763. Her father, M. de Tascher, 
 was 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 
 see this, and brought Josephine more within her own 
 
 / 
 
222 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 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 
 and 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 
 talents 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 
 English parents who had sought refuge in Martinique 
 after the fall of the House of Stuart, whose cause they 
 espoused, and therefore suffered proscription, f The 
 two children had grown up together in happy compan- 
 ionship, and formed an attachment that was never ef- 
 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 sis 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 the garden of 
 Malmaison, where it still grows luxuriantly. 
 
 Not 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 
 her health was evidently suffering from it. E~o letter 
 nor message came from the young Creole, who had seem- 
 ingly forgotten her in the nevr interests of the great 
 world, yet she would not believe the representations of 
 her friends that he 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 luunge nuclei- the shade of romantic cedars, 
 talking for hours of William, or threw 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 affinity only with candor and 
 simplicity, and she could no longer endure her artful 
 friend. 
 
JOSEPHINE. 225 
 
 While the Pagerie mansion was gay with the young 
 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 
 pecially 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 of 
 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 
 10* 
 
226 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 union will not be 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, jthe 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 light, and remained unconsoled during 
 the whole voyage. To a young girl 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 Eenaudin, 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 
 Y . . . ., 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 Eenaudin. 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 r accomplished man, 
 of noble and dignified bearing, and a favorite at court, 
 
 j 
 
JOSEPHINE. 229 
 
 where he obtained the soubriquet of the ■ beau danseur,' 
 from his graceful participation in the festivities of Ver- 
 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 Versailles. 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 greatly 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 Eenaudin 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 impress 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 reconciliation 
 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 
 
232 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 execution of the monarch." 
 
 In 1793, he was appointed general-in-chief of the 
 army of the Ehine. 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 hea<J. 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. 233 
 
 karnois 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 of 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 Eobes 
 pierre. 
 
 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. Eepeated 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 — " Eobesperrie and his accomplices are marked 
 for accusation; — be quiet — you are saved I" 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. Pull 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 children 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 Eevolution, 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 Eugene, 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 I, '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 he. ' 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. Bead- 
 
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 elite of Milan paid court 
 to Madame Bonaparte, who captivated them at once 
 by her irresistible sweetness and affability. If they had 
 honored Napoleon 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 his way 
 even to the midst of Eome 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, security 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 bis 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 Eepublic 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 
 
 thai Josephine was obliged to keep up during bis 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, 
 
 Upon 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 Vene- 
 
 11 
 
242 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 tians greeted the wife of tlie victor with flattering lion 
 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 
 nterrupted. By the interposition of a friend a recon* 
 eiliation was effected. 
 
 The hotel in Eue 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 the 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 nam 
 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. Eich 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 levde 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 unjust 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 resistance 
 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 Eepresentatives 
 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 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 which, 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 Revolution. 
 
 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 " Republic" 
 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 
 
 plain 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 youthful 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 ISTapoleon 
 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 the 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 Eevolution, 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 Napoleon 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 by 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, 
 11* 
 
250 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 scattered the astounded Austrians, 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 Gen- 
 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 manage 
 
JOSEPHINE. 251 
 
 tie convenance, 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. 
 
 Josephine, 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 Ndtre-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 
 a Yive VMnipereur!" 
 
 Soon after the coronation, Josephine accompanied 
 Napoleon to Italy to receive the " Iron Crown of An- 
 cient 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 "Viceroy of Italy, and after a trium- 
 phant tour, returned in state to Paris. 
 
 Josephine now saw 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, or 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- 
 noyance to her, notwithstanding she never for a mo- 
 ment lost her self-possession. Her impromptu replies 
 rendered 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. 
 
254: JOSEPHINE. 
 
 It is said, however, that on one occasion " when de- 
 parting from Eheims, 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 Ehenish 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 three 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 misfortune 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 
 applied to her /with a tale of distress. Her sensitive 
 nature never permitted her to turn a deaf ear to mis- 
 fortune or suffering, no* "refuse her generous sympathy 
 to the poor. "While partaking of a casual repast by the 
 way, she was sure to offer «* portion of it to the passer- 
 by however beggarly, often «vdding bounteous alms. 
 Blessings were invoked upoii tier head wherever she 
 went, and with just reason, for Josephine was a friend 
 to the friendless, a mother to oiynans, a benefactress 
 to the unfortunate. 
 
 For some time after the coronation, the emperor 
 and empress remained at St. Olotud. While there, 
 Josephine usually rose at nine o'clock, spent 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. Retiring to her 
 own 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 SOth 
 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 
 
258 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 whole frame trembled; he 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.' f 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 fetes 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 and 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. As 
 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. Eeturning 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 officer 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 fetes, 
 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 happiness 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 happiness? 
 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 ! 
 
 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 
 ruins, 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 Napoleon 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 
 
JOSEPHINE. 
 
 lost tlie blind enthusiasm with which they formerly 
 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 Teachings 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 freedom 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 was 
 not because of her rank, nor because her fame had 
 been closely associated with the fearful, hated," yet 
 strangely 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 her 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 Napoleon. 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, I have collected accounts of 
 
 12 
 
266 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 yonr 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 v?sited 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 honor, Hortense was also received with 
 marked favor. 
 
 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 approach of eternity could drive from 
 her heart. A portrait of Napoleon 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 Kouel. 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 and Hortense to Josephine." &S 
 
 
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. 
 
Cifythttjf if Cttgktii 
 
 " 0, she lias an iron wilL * 
 An axe-like edge unturnable, our Head, 
 The Princess." — Tennyson. 
 
 " Here vanity assumes her pert grimace." — Goldsmith. 
 
 Elizabeth of England is a heroine of history, not as 
 a crowned and vain woman, but as one who, 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 ruler 
 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 
 Eeformation, had just aroused human intellect to new 
 life, and produced great men in every department of 
 literature and enterprise. 
 
 Bacon, Shakspeare, Spenser, Ealeigh, 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 
 Eeformation 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 mtelli- 
 
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 Greenwich 
 palace, 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 "Virgins ; 
 and, as further coincidences, it is noticed by a supersti- 
 tious writer of the time, that she was born on the eve of 
 the Yirgin 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 YIII, and famous for her beauty and cruel 
 death. King Henry— " the 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- 
 cret amours, in order that he might marry Jane Sey- 
 
 12* 
 
274: ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 
 
 mour, mother of Edward VI., 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 Mar j 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, to 
 this effect : " The king's highness hath appointed that 
 the lady Princess Elizabeth shall be taken from hence 
 towards Hatfield upon Wednesday nest 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 
 gouleme, but the conditions proposed by the English 
 court were so exacting, that the affair was broken off: 
 and all further schemes respecting her were arrested by 
 the execution of her mother and the act of parliament 
 by 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 by the latter. 
 
 Her first appearance in scenes of court, was at the 
 christening of her half-brother, Edward VI. ; 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 Herbert, a sister of the woman who became the 
 last wife of King Henry. 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- 
 telligence 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 ELIZABETH 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 Erench, 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 
 small devotional volume of extracts from various Ian- 
 
ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 279 
 
 guages, selected by Katherine 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 the cover. 
 These acquirements 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 YIIL, was announced to her and 
 her brother Edward, who both wept bitterly at their 
 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 ENGLAKD. 
 
 Parliament rescinding a former one, Elizabeth was to 
 succeed to the throne, if neither Edward nor Mary left 
 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 
 exceedingly 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 youth, 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 Roger Ascham, as her 
 tutor. He had before written to her governess in 
 these curious words, after the style of the time : "Gen- 
 tle Mrs. Ashley, would God my 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 
 
 aess." Now, he undertook to perfect her in the clas- 
 sics. As to 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 Hippoljta 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 Mary Queen of Scots, a grand-daughter of a sister 
 of Henry TILL, the father of Mary, Elizabeth and Ed- 
 ward. By Henry's will, she was next heir to the crown 
 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 sturdy 
 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 sh« 
 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 
 
 seeming success of Lady Jane's party, evinced her 
 courage in this. And when Mary victorionsly ad- 
 vanced towards London, Elizabeth 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 heart 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 spirit 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- 
 
ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 
 
 taut 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's 
 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 V., 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. Rumors 
 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 girl 
 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 the banner of 
 revolt, and marched with four thousand men towards 
 
288 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAHD. 
 
 London. He was suffered to enter the city, and, find- 
 ing no expected aid, lie was surrounded and yielded 
 himself up in despair. The other leaders, in various 
 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 most of it, in 
 order to gam 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 been, anticipated. No 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 occupy 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, angrily dashed away an offered cloak, re- 
 sisted the attempt to lead her through what was called 
 
 13 
 
290 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 
 
 the "traitor's gate," and, when she landed, exclaimed, 
 " Here lands as true a subject, being prisoner, as ever 
 landed at these stairs. Before thee, O 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 
 md something of her subsequent coquetry, began to 
 flatter him in such a way that he warmly espoused her 
 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 officious 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 Eobert 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 
 partiality 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 sadly 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 OP ENGLAND. 
 
 had refused, too, a Spanish proposal to send her to 
 some continental court — an event that would have led 
 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 ! This 
 deed again made her anxious for her life ; " this night 
 I 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 OP 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 ovis' — ' like a sheep' to the 
 slaughter, for so am I led." Eo 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 ENGLAND. 
 
 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 exclaim 
 
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 twenty-five 
 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 Romish 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 bread 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 married 
 life, Queen Mary was disappointed in her hope of an 
 heir, and therefore looked still more kindly to her sis- 
 
 13* 
 
298 ELIZABETH OP ENGLAND. 
 
 ter as lier successor ; and Mary'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 ENGLAND. 299 
 
 honored as next in station to the queen, 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 
 Piedmont, was present 5 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 Eeformation. 
 
 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 Yenetian 
 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 ELIZABETH OP ENGLAND. 
 
 Great respect was shown her by the greatest dignitaries 
 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 life." 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, 
 
£02 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. Eoger Ascham, too, resumed 
 his place as her instructor, though she was now twen- 
 ty-three years old, and so versed in the 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. 303 
 
 ncwal of it immediately after the death, of Courtenay, 
 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 maidei 
 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 
 
804 
 
 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 
 certified of the queen's death by private means. She 
 engaged 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. 305 
 
 the 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 iL 
 attaching the people to one in high station. It was 
 always her rule to gain over all enemies, and lose no 
 friend. Eeaching the Tower, she went directly to the 
 rooms where she had been imprisoned, fell on her 
 
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 his 
 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 Eather 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 nest 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 
 
308 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 
 
 mighty princess, our dread sovereign, Lady Elizabeth, 
 by the grace of God, Queen of England, France, 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 youthful 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 but 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 Earl of Leices- 
 ter, upon which she had written with her own 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 anothei time 
 Elizabeth talked with Sir James of the different cos- 
 tumes of different countries. She told him she had 
 
310 ELIZABETH OP 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 English, 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." Elizabeth 
 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 queen.'''' 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 
 queen 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- 
 
312 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 qualities 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, 313 
 
 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 the people, high and low, through- 
 
 14 
 
314 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 defensive 
 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 
 nade 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. 315 
 
 know I have 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." Rapturous 
 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, 
 Cgpe 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 many 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 Eobert Dudley, whom she had made 
 Earl of Leicester, and had chiefly favored. He was 
 
 =J 
 
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 heart, 
 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 
 beautiful bride, 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. 319 
 
 she is afar off— I, who was wont to behold her riding 
 like Alexander, hunting like Diana, walking like 
 Venus — 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 Eobert Devereux, Earl of Es- 
 
320 ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND. 
 
 sex, by which name lie 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 " Gro 
 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 Glod 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 Eichmond 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, but 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 
 14* 
 
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 — 
 a 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. 
 
VII. 
 
 ffiarij nf Irntlatit 
 
 Vii'tue 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. — Melton. 
 
 The character of no woman, whose name figures in 
 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 
 
326 MAEY 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. 327 
 
 so fair a flower with the dark billows on which it was 
 helplessly tost. Her father was James V. 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, valor 
 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. Ke- 
 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 
 VIII. of England, a Protestant, negotiated a marriage 
 
328 MART OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 between his son Edward and the infant Mary. The 
 treaty was soon broken up by her mother and Cardinal 
 Beaton, the leader of the Catholic party, who knew 
 that, if fulfilled, it would destroy the influence of their 
 church, and of the h ouse of Guise, and tend to make 
 Scotland an English province. The cardinal in this 
 affair, made a tool of the Earl of Lennox, who, disap- 
 pointed in his expected reward, the regent's office, in- 
 stigated King Henry to send an avenging army, which, 
 however, after plundering Edinburgh, retired home. 
 The earl was obliged, by his part in this movement, 
 to escape into England, where, in token of his services, 
 Lady Margaret Douglas, niece of the king, was given 
 him in marriage, To them was born Darnley, after- 
 wards so conspicuous as the husband of our heroine, 
 and the father oi James the First of England. Thus, 
 the failure of tAe Earl of Lennox led to indirect suc- 
 cess, and gave kim the proud distinction of being the an- 
 cestor of the fii^t sovereign, and of many succeeding ones, 
 after the uniowi of the crowns of Scotland and England. 
 Soon aftei these events, the English king and his 
 enemies, Canlinal Beaton of Scotland, and Francis I. 
 of France, vrere one after another numbered with the 
 dead. But the rivalries of the three nations continued 
 none the legs. 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 II. 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 
 
MAKY OF SCOTLAND. 329 
 
 educated. The same fleet that brought six thousand 
 Frenchmen to assist her country in its wars, carried 
 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 officer 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 thi 
 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 SCOTLAND. 
 
 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 grateful 
 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 
 the wisdom of a Charlemagne, and in. her dimpled arm 
 slept the strength of a Charles Martel. Grave coun- 
 cillors made her the theme of deep study, kings were 
 
MARY OF SCOTLAND. 331 
 
 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. 
 
 Nothing 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- 
 flexibility 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 just been grandly enlarged ; all branches 
 of science were gratuitously taught by professors who 
 were supported by government; and many men of 
 genius and celeb ;s* r ■> fomed the various departments 
 of authc^hip, 
 
332 MAEY 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 Eonsard, 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 very 
 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 
 
MAEY OF SCOTLAND. 333 
 
 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 from 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 queen, and the 
 
334: MAEY OP 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, 1558, at the church 
 
MAEY OF SCOTLAND. 335 
 
 of Notre Dame. The month previous, commissioners 
 had 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 
 nuncio 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 
 nsls performed. 
 
 After a feast and ball at the bishop's house, the party 
 adjourned to the Tournelles palace, to enjoy such 
 
336 MARY OP 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, 
 
MAEY OF SCOTLAND. 337 
 
 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 Rheims, 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 VI. , 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 
 
 15 
 
338 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 heis, in possession or expectancy. But, even in the 
 first full 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 idng, 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 
 ind 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, cam? 
 
MARY OF SCOTLAND. S39 
 
 from 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 tha 
 should have weight in judging of her subsequent al 
 leged intimacy with the notorious Earl of Bothwell, 
 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 
 
840 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 dread of the country of her parents' past, and her 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 !" When the night hid the shore, she gave 
 way to louder lamentation, exclaiming, — u 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 ! O my country, the most dear, which nour- 
 
MAKY OF SCOTLAND. 341 
 
 ished my infancy. Adieu, France ! adieu, my happy 
 days! 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 ; 
 
 O never shall a ship convey 
 
 A sadder wanderer away ! 
 
 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 I 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 cruisers, 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 Eeformer, 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. 343 
 
 Ror 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 joyeu- 
 sitye." 
 
 The intolerance which the Eeformers, 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 
 Eome ; 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 Eeformer, 
 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, she 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 
 
1 
 
 344 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 worthily painted by American artists, — Leutze anc 
 Kothermel. 
 
 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. 345 
 
 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 Huntly, who was leader of the Eomish 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 Both well, 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, 
 
 15* 
 
346 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 disclosed a plot of himself, his father, together with 
 Bothwell, Huntly and his son Lord Grordon, 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 true 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, 347 
 
 his deceived instrument ; from her lie 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- 
 asperating 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 mora 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 STARY OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 eyes; 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's 
 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. 349 
 
 After 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 contains." 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 
 preaching, his seditious opposition, and his bitter re- 
 marks when admitted to her presence. For the most 
 part he may have acted from a mistaken sense of duty ; 
 
MARY OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 but he too often exhibited the 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 Eeformer 
 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 
 
MAEY OF SCOTLAND. 351 
 
 wilder north. Her ordinary life was varied by the du- 
 ties of her office, and every study and amusement that 
 could adorn her gifts. Eising before light in the morn- 
 ing, her first hours were given to her privy-council, 
 before whose august members she sat, needle- work iu 
 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 fresh 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 Italian 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 musicians, who sang, 
 or played the viol, lute, and organ. To her chapel 
 
352 MAKY 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 
 
MAEY OF SCOTLAND. 353 
 
 any European capital. We know not how much the 
 present culture and elegance of the land of "Wilson and 
 Macaulay, are due to the influence of Mary. Nor, with 
 all her expensive tastes, did sue forget the duties of 
 charity. To all the poor she was a mother, herself 
 directing the education of many poor children, and 
 often personally watching the courts, where she main- 
 tained a lawyer to defend those who conld not pay an 
 advocate. Twx> 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 recommendei 
 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. 
 
854 • 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 Gonceal entirely 
 his boyish opinions and rash arrogancy; but these 
 were naturally imputed to his youth. He courted the 
 Beform party; the nobles generally welcomed with 
 gladness any one who would supplant Murray in au- 
 thority ; and Damley'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 Eobert ; 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 Mary'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, 
 vi company with her intended husband, to attend the 
 
356 MAEY OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 baptism of a child of Lord Livingston. The conspiring 
 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 rolemnized on Sunday, July 29th, 
 1565, in the Holyrood chapel, according to the Catho- 
 lic ceremony, John Sinclair, bishop of Brechin, officiat- 
 ing. "It was generally remarked," says Bell, "that 
 a handsomer couple had never 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 appearance than his age 
 could have indicated. The festivities were certainly 
 not such as had attended the queen's first 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. Nevertheless, all due observances and rejoic- 
 ings lent a dignity to the occasion. Mary, 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 
 rcewer, carver, and cup-bearer; and the Earls of Egling- 
 
358 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 ton, Cassilis, and Glencairn performed the like offices 
 for Darnley. 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 Bothwell 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 
 Paisley, 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, now 
 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 * 
 
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, exbibited 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 Eeform 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 Eizzio, the confidential secretary and faithful 
 adviser of Mary. There is some proof that this was 
 perpetrated, not merely through jealousy of Eizzio's 
 long influence with the queen, but more immediately 
 in revenge of his disclosure of this same plot, which, 
 it is affirmed, he had accidentally overheard as one that 
 purposed her imprisonment until the rebels secured 
 their objects. 
 
MARY OF SCOTLAND. 361 
 
 Rizzio was a native of Piedmont, and came to Scot- 
 land in 1561, as an attache 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 Eizzio 
 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,1566, was fixed upon for 
 the deed of blood. Morton introduced into Holyrood 
 palace five hundred armed men as a safeguard. Lord 
 Euthven, 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, nest 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 
 
 16 
 
362 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 down, without a word of salutation. Mary demanded 
 an explanation. Euthyen 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. Euthven 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 ! jus- 
 tice 1" 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 Euthven 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- 
 
MART 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 of 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. Darnley be- 
 gan to entertain misgivings, and, at his entreaty, 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. His 
 real character had already been discovered, and he was* 
 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 oi 
 that country and Scotland. In him were Mary's double 
 title, and many hopes realized, though not until after 
 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 birth 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 OP SCOTLAND. 865 
 
 milk only, he 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 Rizzio, 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, accompanying the queen only a part of the time 
 on her journeys after her confinement, and, for the 
 rest, wandering restlessly from one place to another. 
 Through all these months, his wife maintained the 
 same 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- 
 tended, a plan to leave Scotland for the Continent; 
 this 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 side, having flown to her at the first news of her 
 serious illness. And when, immediately on her recov- 
 ery, the proposal to divorce Darnley was made, at the 
 
366 MAKY OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 instigation of Bothwell, 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 wall of the city, and called 
 Kirk-in-the-field. It had four rooms, of which an up- 
 per one was occupied by Darnley, and the one imme* 
 diately beneath it by Mary, who spent much of her 
 time, and often slept, there. She sat for tour* 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 Darnley 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 from 
 Dunbar castle, two days before; with this, the house 
 was to be blown up. This was of so great 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 
 
168 MARY 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 Rizzio was killed"' — a chance-word that 
 might well have made the bold earl visibly shrink. 
 
 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 
 Bothwell, 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-embroidered 
 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 alive from the ruins ; three others 
 were killed, one of whom, together with Barnley, 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 safety. Great rewards were offered 
 for the detection of the murderers. Suspicions soon 
 centred on Bothwell. At night, 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 
 
 16* 
 
370 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 make it unsafe for Lennox to appear and support the 
 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, 871 
 
 that tills 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, 
 en 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 
 
372 MARY 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 Bothwell's control, Mary was not permitted to ap- 
 pear in public, until the bans of marriage had 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; hia 
 " 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 trium- 
 
 =Sl 
 
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. Bothwell might 
 have confirmed his triumph, by a prudent course. 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 
 now 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 for 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 for 
 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 gnawings 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 our 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, O 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, Ruth* 
 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, 
 
876 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 north of Edinburgh. This was a place of great secu- 
 rity, and the more so in this case, as it was the seat 
 of Lady Douglas, the mother of Earl Murray, and 
 closely 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 Bothwell, 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, the 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 repeated and urged ever since. Their motives 
 
MARY OP SCOTLAND. • 377 
 
 are plain. They 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 
 savage 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 Eizzio 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 shej 1 
 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 office, 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 
 
 ^liief servants of the castle was concerned in Eizzio'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 their 
 aid, she had no chance of escape. 
 
 But in March, 1568, a new light shone into her 
 prison. A son of the lady-keeper, George 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 SCOTLAND. 
 
 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. Kor 
 
MARY OF SCOTLAND. 881 
 
 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 the 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, 
 
382 MARY OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 acted with, a cunning as fiendish 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 tfiraldom 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, nor 
 
384 &ARY OP 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 yeoman 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 mv 
 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 pride of 
 Holyrood, 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 Eome 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 
 
 11 
 
S86 MAEY 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 ambition, 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. Never 
 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 
 ©ver her ; but, as before, she was persuaded to submit 
 
MARY 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 
 course, 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, 1587, the 
 
388 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 
 name. 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 
 fine 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 
 males 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 
 in 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 7 
 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 MAKY 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 — " Grod 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. Eeigning 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. 
 
VIII. 
 
 CatJrwtK nf %uaia. 
 
 "Why, I can smile, and murder -while I smile; 
 And cry content to that which grieves my heart; 
 And wet my cheek with artificial tears; 
 And frame my face to all occasions." — Shakspeare. 
 
 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 
 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, but 
 to give the entire credit to her own wisdom and cour- 
 age. She would have succeeding generations accept 
 her as a model empress ! — she who began her reign 
 
 17* 
 
394 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 
 
 with 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, by 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 
 Ivan was immured in the dungeon of Schlusselburgh, 
 and 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 caprice, 
 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 EUSSIA. 395 
 
 occupations 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 
 ]}im ? and what do you think will become of the em- 
 pire?" Elizabeth, turning sternly to her attendant, 
 said in a measured, threatening tone, " Joanna, Tcnowest 
 thou ike road to Siberia V 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 Prince 
 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 Agusta 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 Fie"ke among her eompan- 
 
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 prm 
 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 
 to 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 - T 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 KUSSIA. 397 
 
 tacked with a violent fever, which 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 1 747. 
 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 her distinguished position, while Peter, who had 
 good sense and a kind confiding heart, had been spoiled 
 
398 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 
 
 by a base education, lacked polish and intelligence, 
 and blusbed at bis 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 in 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 sufficient- 
 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 snuff-box with a double bottom, and, under 
 pretence of offering snuff, succeeded in conveying them 
 to those for whom they were intended, without obser- 
 vation. 
 
 Soon after the marriage of Peter, the empress pre- 
 sented him with the palace of Oranienbaum, at some 
 
CATHEEINE OF BUSSIA. 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 passion 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 empress 
 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 early 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. Not- 
 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 
 Eussians. 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 
 
CATHEKINE OF EUSSIA. 401 
 
 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 displacing 
 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 
 Eazumoffsky, the hetman or commander of the Cos- 
 sacks, having much influence at court and possessed of 
 
402 CATHERINE OP RUSSIA. 
 
 immense wealth, besides being a favorite among the 
 troops, was an important assistant. By the secrei 
 machinations of all these haughty heads put together 
 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 be 
 seized on his arrival at Peterhoff, where he expected to 
 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 Princess 
 Dashkoff. 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 had 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 Neva, 
 that gave private access to the gardens, by 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, 
 called 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 the 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 couiltry 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 CATHERINE 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 OrlofTs 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, without bloodshed, Catherine 
 saw herself surrounded by two thousand 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 
 
CATHEKINE OF RUSSIA, 405 
 
 Petrovitch 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 Yorontzoff, father of the Princess Dash- 
 koff, 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 ! 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 Eazumoff- 
 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 army, 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 unmanly courtiers, 
 and went to Cronstadt, an important port in the gulf 
 of Finland, which Munich knew would afford him am 
 pie 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 
 
 Jul instant. Munich entreated Peter to spring upon 
 shore, and all might yet 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 necessary 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 
 
 his cries of agony with reproaches. They again 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 Russia ! — 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 necessary to restore his health." J> 
 
 18 
 
410 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 Mirovitch, 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 
 
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 Novogorod, who had also materi- 
 ally assisted in • Catherine's designs, was disappointed 
 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 ; but 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 CATHEKINE OF EUSSIA. 
 
 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 Eussia. 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 Eussia with a 
 host 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 
 
CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 413 
 
 her own reputation abroad for sagacity and wisdom, by- 
 assisting at all the 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 Moscow, 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 her 
 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 is 
 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 Eussia, 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. 
 
 Eenown 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 
 Gf her achievements by founding cities as well as col- 
 leges, which those who visited her vainly looked for ! 
 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 citj. On his return he dryly re- 
 marked, " The empress and I haye this day achieved 
 a great work ; she has laid the first stone of a great 
 city, and I have laid the last /" He was just in his 
 surmise. The city can nowhere be found except upon 
 some of the maps of Eussia. 
 
 "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 Eussia. 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 foreed 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, diffi- 
 culties commenced in Poland, which, by causing innu- 
 merable divisions of parties^ weakened and exposed it 
 to the rapacious robbery of Eussia and Prussia. 
 
 In 1563 a law had been passed which granted equal 
 rights to all religious persuasions, whether Greek, Lu 
 theran, or Catholic. In 1763, however, the Catholics 
 
 =J 
 
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 Eussia 
 for assistance in claiming their rights. Catherine sent 
 an army under the command of Prince Eepuin, 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 Eepuin 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 Eussian soldiery, from whom 
 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 
 Eussia ; 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 Eussia in con- 
 sequence of the oppression 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 Eussia, 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- 
 
«=n 
 
 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 rilled with workmen who busily constructed ships 
 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 expediency 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 officers 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 Eussia 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 by artificial lakes 
 
420 CATHERINE OF EUSSL&. 
 
 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 
 ture 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 fanej? 
 dresses. The amusements along the road consisted o/ 
 some novel display at every verst. Fire-works in 
 every possible variety andunimagined 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 Yesu 
 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 he? 
 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 
 
 J 
 
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 
 Eussians. 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 Eussia. 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 to 
 
 )' — 
 
422 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 
 
 shield the unfortunate ; his soul was in its most grate- 
 ful element when revelling 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 Kazumoffsky, had three children ; the youngest a 
 girl named princess Tarrakanoff and protected by the 
 Polish Prince Badzivil. 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 by 
 
CATHERINE OF BUSSIA. 423 
 
 villains in the 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 ont 
 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 an d 
 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 OE EtJSSIA. 
 
 In 1771 an event occurred which took the Russians 
 by surprise 3 and cast an odium upon Catherine's admin- 
 istration that nothing could efface* The inhabitants 
 of a province lying on the Volga, 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 from 
 
CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 425 
 
 thirst 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 could only 
 dissemble her mortification and anger ; she had not the 
 means to punish him for his audacity, whatever 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 the 
 
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 
 cities 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 
 Orloff. 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 
 
 same 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 days 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 him 
 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 Greek 
 religion, and received the name of Natalia Alexierna. 
 
428 CATHEEINE OF KUSSIA. 
 
 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 Peodorovna, 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 
 a 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 him ? 
 Paul replied with a significance which was understood 
 by the courtiers, "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 its 
 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 exist 
 at all! 
 
CATHEEINE OF EUSSIA. 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 an officer riding thirteen hundred miles at the speed 
 
 L 
 
430 CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 
 
 of life and death, to bear a tureen of soup to his mas- 
 ter ! 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 pinched 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 
 
CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 431 
 
 years, and for once her imperturbable countenance be- 
 trayed agitation. Poniatoffsky, however, retained bis 
 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, Eomantzoff, 
 Eepnin, and Suvaroff, 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 Eussians 
 
CATHERINE OF RUSSIA. 433 
 
 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 enriched. 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. SuvarofY 
 and the accompanying generals proudly laid their lau- 
 rels at the feet of the empress, who smiled upon them 
 and bestowed estates and glittering 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 suaucnly 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 Nicholaef, he was too ill to 
 proceed, and, being taken out of his carriage, was laid 
 
 19 
 
434 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," says 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 Russian 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 Russian yoke, defend their homes, and save 
 their nation from oblivion. An army was hastily sum- 
 moned and placed under the command of Joseph 
 Poniatoffsky, a man ill-fitted for such a responsible post. 
 Nothing but disasters accompanied his efforts: the 
 Russians 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- 
 
f p • = 
 
 CATHERINE OF EUSSIA. 435 
 
 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 Eussia 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 
 love of liberty ; melancholy and oppressed at the sight 
 Df 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 
 Eussian 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 Eus- 
 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, 
 
438 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 anger 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 !" 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. 439 
 
 The grand duke was immediately proclaimed empe- 
 ror under the title of Paul L 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 
 Alesey 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 afterwards received permission to travel, 
 without asking it, which is the Russian form of dismiss- 
 ing or disgracing a favorite, who returns to court at the 
 peril of breathing the icy air of Siberia. 
 
 Catherine IL reigned thirty-four years — years full 
 
440 CATHERINE 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 Eussians. 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 Eussian costume, that being the most be- 
 coming to her ; green was the color most in vogue 
 with the Eussians, and she usually adopted it. Hex 
 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 oc- 
 casional appearance. 
 
 19* 
 
IX. 
 
 " My hair is gray, but not with years, 
 %fft For-it grew.white 
 
 la a single night, 
 As men's have grown from sudden fears." — Byeos. 
 
 The first French Kevolution, 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 face, 
 "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 Eeign 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- 
 
4A6 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 bow sball I describe 
 Wbat nougbt resembles else my eye batb seen 3 
 Of worm or serpent kind it sometbing 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 yenomous, and sharp ; 
 
 And hi its writhings infinite, it grasped 
 
 Malignantly what seemed a heart, swollen vast, 
 
 And quivering with torture most intense ; 
 
 And still the heart, 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 Yienna, 
 JSTov. 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. 449 
 
 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 Abbe' 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 
 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", 
 and the fashionable. freedom of manners she had learned 
 
450 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 Compiegne. " 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 Yienna, and the other to the suite of the dauphiness, 
 composed of the Countess de Noailles, her lady of hon- 
 
MARIE ANTOINETTE. 451 
 
 or ; the Duchess 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 Chartres, 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 Compiegne to meet 
 her, and to accompany her to Versailles. There the 
 wedding took place, on the 16th of May, 1770. The 
 
452 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. (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 Yenus 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 XY. 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 and 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 XV., 
 the voluptuous king who then held an oppressive 
 sceptre. Plain in person, he was awkward, diffident, 
 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 her 
 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, "0 God, 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 natively 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 Eoman 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 
 
MARIE 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 
 in 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 Roman 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 fetes 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 sufficed 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 stories 
 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 affection, 
 
MARIE ANTOINETTE. 457 
 
 had he 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 unaristocratic 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 Eevolution burst upon the royal family. 
 
 This event was chiefly due to ages of wrong, to the 
 influence of the American Eevolution, and to the plot- 
 ting factions of French nobles and statesmen, who in- 
 flamed the populace, and brought destruction on them- 
 selves as well as their good king. But there were 
 
 20 
 
458 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 many incidents in 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 'ceuvre, 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 Eohan, who thus procured the jewels for the 
 iountess ; she disposed of them in some way, and be- 
 gan to live in a style 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 
 royal blood, she was sentenced by the tribunal to be 
 
MAKIE 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 
 exasperated 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 XV., 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 dauphiness, 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 her natu- 
 ral choice of not the best-informed ladies for her favor- 
 
460 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 ites. Her villa of Little Trianon was falsely said to 
 have been named by her Little Yienna, 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, 
 with 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, 
 
MAKIE 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 
 XVI. 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 Paris, 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 Versailles. 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 clown the rebellion. When he 
 was absent on his dangerous and fruitless visit to the 
 National Assembly at Paris, she prepared to follow 
 kirn to the last extremity. On his return, at a banquet 
 of the military officers, she, together with him, excited 
 as wild enthusiasm as did her mother among the Hun- 
 garians at Presburg. And when the monster mob 
 
462 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 rushed from the citj, dragged its 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 the 
 windows, while bullets were flying 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 in the balcony ; she came 
 forward with her children, thinking to move their sym- 
 
MARIE ANTOINETTE. 463 
 
 pathy ; 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 ! T ' 
 
 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 as 
 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 render 
 vous appointed for them to take the coaches prepared. 
 The queen, leading her daughter and accompanied by 
 
MARIE ANTOINETTE. 465 
 
 one of her body-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 Yarennes, 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. Eiotous 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. 
 
 20* 
 
466 MAEIE 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, Av 
 
MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 467 
 
 manded that the king 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 Feuillanis. 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 he after- 
 wards became insane and died ; and on the 14th of 
 Oct. 1793, 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 with, furious desperation. And when 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 
 her 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. 469 
 
 words, but we may trust they were heard in heaven. 
 The glittering yet blood-stained blade fell ; the execu- 
 tioner lifted her head by the prematurely white hair, 
 and the air echoed to the cry, " Yiye la Bepublique !" 
 In 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 than 
 did her enemies. 
 
X. 
 
 <: The mind is its own place." — Milton. 
 
 Gee at events are the pedestals that bear aloft noble 
 and beautiful characters, which might else lie low in 
 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 
 Eoman 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 Manon Eoland 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 gaidance 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 
 siother at home, her busy mind found occupation, de- 
 Sght and rest from her father's nervous suggestions, in 
 dealing 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 fingers 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- 
 ples infused into his daily life. She chose the former, 
 and for months religion was predominant in her pen- 
 sive meditations, till her active mind w*as 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- 
 nion. One evening she threw herself in tears at her 
 
MADAME ROLAND. 477 
 
 mother'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 ROLAND. 
 
 ings of nature and perceiving the Deity 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, 
 Manon 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, 
 
MADAME KOLAND. 479 
 
 quivering leaves, or trailing branches of the shade-trees, 
 and the fleecy clouds 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 
 so 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 EOLAND. 
 
 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, rollins; volumes of 
 
 7 JO 
 
 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 
 young 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 
 unanswered 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 Roland 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 
 
 21 
 
482 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 manners, and an occasional rnirthfulness 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 ItOLAtfD. 48 1 
 
 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 
 young visitor, ventured to compliment her. Manon's 
 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 Eoman 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 ROLAND. 
 
 tesquieu, "Voltaire, 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 Abbe le Jay, a warm-hearted old man with 
 little else to recommend him, but with whom Grratien 
 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 
 
MADAME KOLAND. 485 
 
 was filled with, 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 r 
 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 lit- 
 tle 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 fetes, 
 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 not 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 coarse. The 
 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. u 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 
 illness 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 Platiere 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 
 
 21* 
 
490 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 to judge of Mm by 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- 
 
MADAME ROLAND. 491 
 
 teed theii minds, though the heart of neither was 
 touched. Manon regarded him. 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, Eoland 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, daring 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. Eoland 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 EOLAND. 
 
 errors would be a source of disgrace and mortification, 
 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. Eoland 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. Eoland 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 
 passed. 
 
 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 by-gone ages, and brought therefrom abun- 
 dant lessons to revolve. Disciplined by the peculiar 
 circumstances of her life and accustomed 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 xiseless repinings, but applied herself vigorously and 
 diligently to the cultivation of such talents as God 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 
 
494 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 the grating, which, 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. Eoland 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 Eoland 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 Eoland lent her own pen with a brilliancy of 
 style that gave an additional reputation to Eoland's 
 works. The birth of a daughter divided hei cares and 
 
MADAME KOLAttD. 495 
 
 pursuits, but she had 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 Budora peeping out from her long flaxen ring- 
 lets, now and then laughingly thrust between her fa- 
 ther's face and his endless manuscripts, did much towards 
 softenin 2: his habitual sternness.* Madame Roland too, 
 
 O 7 
 
 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. 
 Roland 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 Roland, 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 femily occupied a winter residence in town, but 
 passed the summers upon a fine paternal estate a few 
 miles from Lyons. La Platiere 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 by shepherds. In the midst 
 of these meadows and vineyards stretched the La 
 Platiere 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 Eoland, accustomed only to a life among 
 brick and mortar, regarded La Platiere 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. Eoland's mother 
 and 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 Eoland family to occupy their 
 estate throughout the year. 
 
 Five years of undisturbed happiness succeeded. 
 Madame Eoland'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 bythe scientific celebrity 
 of M. Eoland. Beside all these time-consuming de- 
 mands, she secured two hours during the day to pass 
 
MADAME EOLAND. 497 
 
 in her 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. Eoland 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 kiagly 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 with a stronger enthusiasm 
 
498 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 and absorbed all the powers of her indefatigable mind 
 in the one idea and aim of universal freedom. 
 
 Louis XVI., irresolute, and yielding, attempted to 
 conciliate the stormy populace and to avert the accumu- 
 lating vengeance of years from his devoted head. But 
 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. Roland, 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 Versailles 
 
MADAME KOLAETD. 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. 
 Eoland 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. Eoland, 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 Eoland 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 Eoland and bowed in awe to her 
 high-souled principles, yet was ready to aim a deadly 
 blow at them and at her who gave them utterance. 
 
500 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 when ambition or interest suggested. This was Robes 
 pierre. 
 
 Abbott says of his admiration of that accomplished 
 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. Eobespierre escaped to become the assassin 
 of his benefactors. 
 
 In September 1791, the Assembly was dissolved and 
 M. Eoland 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 Eoland 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 Rolands is thus 
 described. "M. Eoland 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. Verginaud, 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 Eepublican candidates. M. Eoland 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. Eoland 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 Eo- 
 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 KOLAND. 503 
 
 WW jghty 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 Eoland 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 Poland, in behalf of the Girondists and in 
 
504 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 the name of the minister, addressed a bold aacl 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. Poland from office. 
 
 "Here am I dismissed from office," exclaimed the 
 deposed minister to his wife on entering her libraiy. 
 " Present your letter to the Assembly, that the nation 
 may see for what counsel you have been dismissed," 
 replied the intrepid Madame Poland. 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 Poland selected in a retired street 
 of the metropolis. But here they were sought out and 
 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. 
 Banger hourly increased. The populace incensed at 
 
 IL= 
 
MADAME ROLAND. 505 
 
 the removal 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 XYI. soon 
 after, caused M. Eoland 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- 
 cree, and to rid themselves of all who were secretly 
 ready to fall upon them when encouraged by the near 
 approach of the army, the gates of Paris were closed, 
 and at night every house in 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- 
 
 22 
 
MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 cent and. guilty perished together. Homes were del- 
 uged 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-yards, 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 Eolancl. 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 on 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 throughout Europe, and 
 whose influence had so strongly wielded the Assembly 
 
MADAME KOLAND. 507 
 
 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 Roman 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 
 clear tones that 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 
 every 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 thou- 
 
508 MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 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 Eoland, 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, "lam 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 Eue de la Harpe. Here 
 in a solitary room they still received the agitated sup- 
 porters of the Eepublic, in vain attempting to devise 
 
MADAME ROLAND. 509 
 
 measures to stem the overwhelming tide deluging 
 France, and gradually circling into a dizzy whirlpool 
 that was finally to engulph both the assassin and the 
 victim. Each day the circles grew narrower and swifter, 
 and the Girondists unable 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. Eoland 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 EOLAND. 
 
 apartment, and advancing towards M. Eoland, snowed 
 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 Eoland 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 the 
 letter, and it was immediately delivered to the presi- 
 
MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 511 
 
 dent. A long hour passed, yet Madame Roland 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 Girondists, 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 Yer- 
 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 ho*me again to assure herself 
 of her husband's safety. Upon entering her apart- 
 ments, M. Roland 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 
 crov/ded 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 
 traversed 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 Oonciergerie. Enough ! 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 howlings of a debauched 
 multitude aroused Madame Eoland in time to meet at 
 
MADAME ROLAND. 513 
 
 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 the 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 Abbaye* 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 
 22* 
 
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 Eoland'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 Eoland 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 Platiere 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 luxuries, 
 
MADAME EOLAND. 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 Jaeobin 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 
 Eue 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 thrust 
 
516 MADAME KOLAKD. 
 
 her back into the carriage with the assurance that the 
 Assembly had issued a new warrant for her airest. 
 They bore her to the prison of St. Pelagic*, 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 amidst 
 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 ; Sowers, 
 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 I" 
 
 On the same day when the Girondists were executed, 
 October 31st, 1793, Madame Eoland was led to the 
 dungeons 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 KOLAND. 517 
 
 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 had 
 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. Earely 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 KOLAND. 
 
 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 h'ad 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. 519 
 
 The following morning — the gloomy opening of a 
 November day — a long line of carts, crowded with 
 victims for the guillotine, issued from the yard of the 
 Conciergerie. 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 fuller 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 KOLAND. 
 
 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- 
 rance must vanish into nothingness. 
 
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