YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

Gift of

DR. HENRY WITTER BECKWITH

s; IE M 0 IRi A M n a ,

LIVES

ILLUSTRIOUS WOMEN
OF ALL AGES;

The Empress Josephine, Lady Jane Grey, Beatrice Cenci, Joan
of Arc, Ann Boleyn, Charlotte Corday, Semiramis, Zenobia,
BoADiCEA, Isabella of Castile, Berengaria, etc.

EDITED BY
MARY E. HEWITT.
^wAtlUzitii iaitl ftn«Is tttarsSeir ^orttslta on %tuL

* Either our history Bhall, with full mouth,
Speak froely of our nets ; or else our grave.
Like Tarkiah mute, shall have a tongueleas mouth.
Nor worahip'd with a waxen epitaph."— Shakkspbajib,

PHILADELPHIA :
G. a. EVANS, PUBLISHER,
N0.439 CHESTNUT STREET.
1860.

Entered acoording to the Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by
G. G. EVANS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern Diatriiit of
Pennsylvania.

]? ^ ^ £ A U S I

In the following pages, I have endeavored to present to
the reader, as far as the limits of a single volume would
permit, from a variety of sources, sketches of the lives of
women, rendered illustrious by their heroism and their
virtues. To carry out this intention, then, to the letter, I ought,
perhaps, to have omitted the sketch of Semiramis, who is
described by one of her historians, as "a monster, pos
sessed of every vice;" but she lived so far back in the
ages of the world, that this account of her appears, to us,
to be merely suppositious, and I have chosen to introduce
her here, as an example of the indomitable courage and
bravery, of purpose and action, sometimes displayed by
woman, when placed in a situation to call them forth.
That Semiramis lived in an idolatrous age, and was, like
those of the time in which she flourished,' a believer in the
pagan doctrine of fatalism, will account for her seemmgly
puerile abandonment of her ambitious career, and cowardlj
submission to what she believed to be the incontrovertible
decree of Destiny.
M. E. H.

€0IT1I^S.

FACE
Semiramis, ........ 9
Nictoris, ......--.19
Zenobia, ..-..-.--¦25
Boadicea, .---.----87
Berengeria, .--..-..-45
Laura, .-. ...«.- 77
Joan of Arc, - ...-.- 89
Isabella of Castile, ....... 101
Beatrice Cenci, ..--•-•- 155
Ann Boleyn, ..-.-.-- 177
Lady Jane Gray, ...--.. 203
Leonora d' Este, ..-..-• 215
Catherine Alexiewna, ..--•-- 227
Maria Theresa, ....•- - 263
Charlotte Corday, ...---- 817
Josephine, ... ...... 831

§ e 1^ I ^ah)is.

ii%

Semiramis, Queen of Assyria, is the first female sovereign
upon record who ever held undivided empire. All the accounts
which have come down to us concerning this celebrated queen,
are mixed up with so much exaggeration, absurdity, and mytho
logical fiction, that she may be considered partly a fabulous and
partly an historical personage. As beheld through the long
lapse of ages, and in the dim distance of primeval time, with
aU her gorgeous and Babylonish associations around her, Semi
ramis appears to our fancy rather as a colossal emblem of female
sovereignty, overshadowing the East, than as a real and distinct
individual ; yet, that such a woman did once exist is more than
probable, and her name has been repeated from age to age, till
it has become so illustrious, and her exploits and character so
frequently alluded to in history, in poetry, and in the arts, that
it is obviously necessary to be acquainted with the traditions re
specting her ; though quite unnecessary to give implicit credit
to the relation of events resting on such vague, remote, and
doubtful testfmony, that, if it be difficult to beheve, it is im
possible to confute them. The time at which Semiramis lived
is a matter of dispute ; and the authorities vary so extravagantly

10 semiramis.

that we are tempted to exclaim, with Bryant, " What credit can
possibly be given to the history of a person, the period of whose
existence cannot be ascertained within 1500 years ?" Yet, so
universal a celebrity must surely have had some foundation in
truth. According to Rollin, Semiramis flourished about 1950 years
before the Christian era, that is, about 400 years after the Flood,
and nearly about the time of Abraham. Other chronologists,
with far more probability, place her reign about 600 years later ;
thus making her nearly contemporary with Gideon, Judge of
Israel, and Theseus, King of Athens.
She was born at Ascalon, in Syria, and was the wife of Me
nones, one of the generals of Ninus, King of Assyria. At the
siege of Bactria, whither she accompanied her husband, she dis
tinguished herself by her prudence and courage, and through
her sagacity the city was at length taken, after a protracted
siege. She discovered a weak part in the fortifications, and led
some soldiers up a by-path by night, hy which means -the walls
were scaled, and the city entered. Ninus, struck with her wis
dom and her charms, entreated her husband to resign Semiramis
to him, oifering his daughter, the Princess Sosana, in exchange,
and threatening to put out the eyes of the husband if he refused.
Menones, seeing the king resolved on his purpose, and the lady
in all probability nothing loath, and unable to determine between
the alternatives presented to him — the loss of his eyes, or the
loss of his wife — hung himself in a fit of jealousy and despair,
and Ninus immediately afterward married his widow. Semiramij
became the mother of a son named Ninias, and t}ie king, dying
soon afterward, bequeathed to her the government of his empire
during the minority of his son. "We have another version of
this part of the story of Semiramis, which has afforded a fine

semiramis. 11

subject for poets and satirists. It is recorded that Ninus, in the
extravagance of his dotage, granted to his young and beautiful
queen the absolute sovereignty of his empire for a single day.
He seated her on his regal throne, placed his signet on her finger,
commanded the officers of state and courtiers to do her homage,
himself setting the first example, and her decrees during that
brief space of time were to be considered absolute and uTevo-
cable. Semiramis, with equal subtlety and audacity, instantly
took advantage of her delegated power, and ordered her husband
to be first imprisoned, and then strangled — a punishment which
his folly would almost have deserved from any other hand. She
declared herself his successor, and contrived to retain the su
preme power during the remainder of her life. She was twenty
years of age when she assumed the reins of empire, and resolved
to immortalize her name by magnificent monuments and mighty
enterprizes. She is said to have founded the city of Babylon,
or at least to have adorned it with such prodigious and splendid
works that they ranked among the wonders of the world. When
we read the accounts of the " Great Babylon," of its walls and
brazen gates, its temples, bridges, and hanging gardens, we should
be inclined to treat the whole as a magnificent fiction of poetry,
if the stupendous monuments of human art and labor stUl re
maining in India and Upper Egypt, did not render credible the
most extravagant of these descriptions, and prove on what a gi
gantic scale the ancients worked for immortality. We are also
told that among the edifices erected by her was a mausoleum to
the memory of the king, her husband, adjoining the great Tower
of Babel, and adorned with statues of massive gold. When
Semiramis had completed the adornment of her capital by the
most wonderful works of art, she undertook a progress through
her vast empire, and everywhere left behind her glorious me-

12 semiramis.

morials of her power and her benevolence. It seems to have
been an article of faith among all the writers of antiquity, that
Assyria had never been so great and so prosperous as under the
dominion of this extraordinary woman. She built enormous
aqueducts, connected the various cities by roads and causeways,
in the construction of which she leveled hUls and filled up val
leys ; and she was careful, like the imperial conqueror of modern
times, to inscribe her name and the praises of her own munifi
cence on all these monuments of her greatness. In one of these
inscriptions she gives her own genealogy, in a long list of celes
tial progenitors ; which shows that, like some other monarchs
of the antique time, she had the weakness to disown her ple
beian origin, and wished to lay claim to a divine and fictitious
parentage : — " My father was Jupiter Belus ;
My grandfather, Babylonian Saturn ;
My great-grandfather, Ethiopian Saturn ;
My great-grandfather'B father, Egyptian Saturn ;
And my great-grandfather's grandfather.
Phoenix Coilus Ogyges."
After reading this high-sounding catalogue of grandfathers and
great-grandfathers, it is amusing to recollect that Semiramis has
left posterity in some doubt whether she herself ever had a real
existence, and may not be, after all, as imaginary a personage
as any of her shadowy, heaven-sprung ancestors
There is another of the inscriptions of Semiramis, which is in
a much finer spirit : —
" Nature bestowed on me the form of a woman ; my actions have sur
passed those of the most valiant of men. I ruled the empire of Ninus,
which stretched eastward as f»r as tbe river Hyhanam, southward to

semiramis. 13

the land of incense and of myrrh, and northward to tbe country of the
Scythians and the Sogdians. Before me no Assyrian bad seen tbe great
sea. I beheld with my own eyes four seas, and tbeir shores acknow
ledged my power. I constrained tbe mighty rivers to flow according to
my will, and I led tbeir waters to fertilize lands that bad been before
barren and without inhabitants. I raised impregnable towers ; I con
structed paved roads in ways hitherto untrodden but by the beasts of
tbe forest ; and iu tbe midst of tbese mighty works I found time for
pleasure and for friendship."
We are told that Semiramis was extremely active and vigilant
in the administration of her afiairs. One morning, as she was
dressing, information was brought to her that a rebellion had
broken out in the city ; she immediately rushed forth, half-
attired, her hair floating in disorder, appeased the tumultuous
populace by her presence and her eloquence, and then returned
to finish her toilette.
Not satisfied with being the foundress of mighty cities, and
sovereign over the greatest empire of the earth, Semiramis was
ambitious of military renown. She subdued the Medes, the
Persians, the Libyans, and the Ethiopians, and afterward de
termined to invade India. She is the first monarch on record
who penetrated beyond the Indus, for the expedition of Bacchus
is evidently fabulous. The amount of her army appears to us
absolutely incredible. She is said to have assembled three mil
lions of foot-soldiers and five hundred thousand cavalry ; and as
the strength of the Indians consisted principally iu the number
of their elephants, she caused many thousand camels to be dis
guised and caparisoned like elephants of war, in hopes of de
ceiving and ten-ifying the enemy by this stratagem. Another
historian informs us that she constructed machines in the shape
of elephants, and that these machines were moved by some

14 semiramis.

mechanical contrivance, which was worked by a single man in
the interior of each. The Indian king or chief, whose name
was Stabrobates, hearing of the stupendous armament which
was moving against him, sent an ambassador to Semiramis., de
manding who and what she was ? and why, without any provo
cation, she was come to invade his dominions ? To these very
reasonable inquiries the Assyrian queen haughtily replied, " Go
to your king, and tell him I will myself inform him who I am,
and why I am come hither." Then, rushing onward at the
head of her swarming battalions, she passed the river Indus in
spite of all opposition, and advanced far into the country, the
people flying before her unresisting, and apparently vanquished.
But having thus insidiously led her on till she was surrounded
by hostile lands, and beyond the reach of assistance from her
own dominions, the Indian monarch suddenly attacked her,
overwhelmed her mock elephants by the power and weight of
his real ones, and completely routed her troops, who fled in all
directions. The queen herself was wounded, and only saved by
the swiftness of her Arabian steed, which bore her across the
Indus ; and she retm-ned to her kingdom with scarce a third of
her vast army. We are not informed whether the disasters of
this war cured Semiramis of her passion for military glory ; and
all the researches of antiquarians have not enabled us to dis
tinguish the vague and poetical from the true, or at least the
probable events in the remainder of her story. We have no
account of the state of manners and morals during her reign,
and of the progress of civilization we can only judge by the great
works imputed to her. Among the various accounts of her death
the following is the most probable : — An oracle had foretold
that Semiramis should reign until her son Ninias conspired
against her ; and after her return from her Indian expedition

Z E Rl © ffl, D A

semiramis. 15

she discovered that Ninias had been plotting her destruction.
She immediately called to mind the words of the oracle, and,
without attempting to resist his designs, abdicated the throne at
once, and retired from the world ; or, according to others, she
was put to death by her son, after a reign of forty-two years.
The Assyrians paid her divine honors under the form of a
pigeon.

^ i e f 0 ir 1 s

1 1: G f 0 :r I § .
Nictoris succeeded Semiramis after an interval of five genera
tions. Having observed the increasing power and restless spirit
of the Medes, and that Ninevah, with other cities, had fallen a
prey to their ambition, she proceeded to put her dominions in
the strongest posture of defence. She sunk a number of canals
above Babylon, which by their disposition rendered the Euphra
tes, which before flowed to the sea in an almost even hue, so com
plicated by its windings, that in its passage to Babylon, it arrives
three times at Ardericca, an Assyrian village ; and to this hour,
says Herodotus, they who wish to proceed from the sea up the
Euphrates to Babylon, are compelled to touch at Ardericca three
times on three diflFerent days. She raised banks also to restrain
the river on each side, that were wonderful for their enormous
height and substance. At a considerable distance above Baby
lon, turning aside a little from the stream, she ordered an im
mense lake to be dug, sinking it till they came to the water ; its
circumference was no less than four hundred and twenty fur
longs. The earth of this was applied to the embankments of
the river ; and the sides of the lake were strengthened or lined
with stones, brought thither for that purpose. Nictoris had in
view hy these works, first of all to break the violence of the cur
rent by the number of circumflexions, and also to render tha
navigation to Babylon as difficult as possible, with the farther
view of keeping the Medes in ignorance of her affairs, by gif'vag

20 NICTORIS.

them no commercial encouragement. Having rendered both of
these works strong and secure, she next undertook to connect
- both sides of the city, through which the river flowed, dividing
it into two parts, hy the means of a bridge ; and the immense
lake which she had before sunk became the farther means of
extending her fame. It was a matter of general inconvenience
to the citizens, in the days of former kings, that whoever desired
to pass from one side of the city to the other, were obliged to
cross the water in a boat ; but Nictoris changed the course of the
river by directing it into the canal prepared for its reception.
When this was fuU the natural bed of the river became dry, and
she then caused the embankments on each side, near those
smaller gates which led to the water, to be lined with br'ckb
hardened hy fire. She afterwards erected a bridge, nearly in the
centre of the city, of large stones, strongly compacted with iron
and lead, and over this the inhabitants passed in the day time
by a square platform, which was removed in the evening to pre
vent acts of mutual depredation. When the canal was tho
roughly filled with water, and the bridge completely finished and
adorned, the Euphrates was suffered to return to its original bed,
while the canal and the bridge were confessedly of the greatest
utility to the public.
Nictoris also caused her tomb to be erected over one of the
principal gates of the city, — in this instance deviating from the
customs of her country — the Assyrians, in their funeral rites,
imitating in all respects the Egyptians, — and placed upon it the
following inscription : —
" If any of the sovereigns, my successors, shall be in extreme
want of money, let him open my tomb and take as much as he
may think proper. If his necessity be not great, let him forbear ;
the experiment will perhaps be dangerous."

NICTORIS, 21

The tomb remained without injury till the time and reign of
Darius. He was equally offended at the gate being rendered
useless, from the general aversion to pass through the place over
which a dead body was laid, and that the invitation thus held
out to become affluent, should have been so long neglected.
Darius opened the tomb ; but instead of riches he only found a
corpse, with a label of this import — " If your avarice had not
been equally base and insatiable, you would not have intruded
on the repose of the dead."
Nictoris was succeeded by her son Labynatus, in whose reign
Babylon was taken by Cyrus, during a day of festivity, while
the citizens were engaged in dancing and merriment.

Z ci} 0 hi Si,

QUEEN OF PALMTRA
Of the government and manners of the Arabians before the
time of Mahomet, we have few and imperfect accounts ; but
from the remotest ages, they led the same unsettled and preda
tory life which they do at this day, dispersed in hordes, and
dwelling under tents. It was not to those wild and wandering
tribes that the superb Palmyra owed its rise and grandeur,
though situated in the midst of their deserts, where it is now
beheld in its melancholy beauty and ruined splendor, like an
enchanted island in the midst of an ocean of sands. The mer
chants who trafficked between India and Europe, by the only
route then known, first colonized this singular spot, which af
forded them a convenient resting-place ; and even in the days
of Solomon it was the emporium for the gems and gold, the
ivory, gums, spices, and silks of the far Eastern countries, which
thus found their way to the remotest parts of Europe. The
Palmyrenes were, therefore, a mixed race — their origin, and
many of their customs, were Egyptian ; their love of luxury and
their manners were derived from Persia ; their language, litera
ture, and architecture, were Greek.
Thus, like Venice and Genoa, in more modern times. Pal
myra owed its splendor to the opulence and public spirit of its
merchants"; but its chief fame and historical interest it owes to
the genius and heroism of a woman !
Septimia Zenobia, for such is her classical appellation, was

26 ZENOBIA.

the daughter of an Arab chief, Amrou, the son of Dharb, the
son of Hassan. Of her first husband we have no account ; she
was left a widow at a very early age, and married, secondly,
Odenathus, chief of several tribes of the Desert, near Palmyra,
and a prince of extraordinary valor, and boundless ambition.
Odenathus was the ally of the Romans in their wars against
Sapor, (or, more properly. Shah Poor), king of Persia. He
gained several splendid victories over that powerful monarch,
and twice pursued his armies even to the gates of Ctesiphon, (or
Ispahan), his capital. Odenathus was as fond of the chase as
of war ; and in all his military hunting expeditions he was ac
companied by his wife Zenobia, a circumstance which the Roman
historians record with astonishment and admiration, as contrary
to their manners, hut which was the general custom of the Arab
women of that time. Zenobia not only excelled her country
women in the qualities for which they were all remarkable — in
courage, prudence, and fortitude, in patience of fatigue, and
activity of mind and body — she also possessed a more enlarged
understanding ; her views were more enlightened, her habits
more intellectual. The successes of Odenathus were partly
attributed to her, and they were always considered as reigning
jointly. She was also eminently beautiful — with the oriental
eyes and complexion, teeth like pearls, and a voice of uncom
mon power and sweetness.
Odenathus obtained from the Romans the title of Augustus,
and General of the East ; he revenged the fate of Valerian, who
had been taken captive and put to death by Shah Poor. The
eastern king, with a luxurious barbarity truly oriental, is said to
have used the unfortunate emperor as his footstool to mount his
horse. But in the midst of his victories and conquests Odena^.
thus became the victim of a domestic conspiracy, at the head of

ZENOBIA. 27

which was his nephew Moeonius. He was assassinated at Emessa
during a hunting expedition, and with him his son by his first
marriage. Zenobia avenged the death of her husband on his
murderers ; and as her sons were yet in their infancy, she first
exercised the supreme power in their name ; but afterward,
apparently with the consent of the people, assumed the diadem
with the titles of " Augusta " and " Queen of the East."
The Romans and their effeminate emperor Gallienus refused to
acknowledge Zenobia's ^claim to the sovereignty of her husband's
dominions, and Heraclianus was sent with a large army to reduce
her to obedience ; but Zenobia took the field against him, en
gaged and totally defeated him in a pitched battle. Not satisfied
with this triumph over the haughty masters of the world, she
sent her general Zabdas to attack them in Egypt, which she
subdued and added to her territories, together with a part of
Armenia and Asia Minor. Thus, her dominions extended from
the Euphrates to the Mediterranean, and over all those vast and
fertile countries formerly governed by Ptolemy and Seleucus.
Jerusalem, Antioch, Damascus, and other cities famed in history,
were included in her empire ; but she fixed her residence at Pal
myra, and in an interval of peace she turned her attention to
the further adornment of her magnificent capital. It is related
by historians, that many of those stupendous fabrics of which
the mighty ruins are stUl existing, were either erected, or at least
restored and embellished by this extraordinary woman. But that
which we have most difficulty in reconciling with the manners
of her age and country, was Zenobia's passion for study, and her
taste for the Greek and Latin literature. She is said to have
drawn up an epitome of history for her own use ; the Greek
historians, poets, and, philosophers, were familiar to her; she
invited Longinus, one of the most elegant writers of antiquity,

28 ZENOBIA.

to her splendid court, and appointed him her secretary and
minister. For her he composed his famous " Treatise on the
Sublime," a work which is not only admirable for its intrinsic
excellence, but most valuable, as having preserved to our times
many beautiful fragments of ancient poets whose works are now
lost, particularly those of Sappho.
The classical studies of Zenobia seem to have inspired her with
some contempt for her Arab ancestry. She was fond of deriving
her origin from the Macedonian kings of Egypt, and of reckon
ing Cleopatra among her progenitors. In imitation of the famous
Egyptian queen, she affected great splendor in her style of liv
ing, and in her attire ; and drank her wine out of cups of gold,
richly carved and adorned with gems. It is, however, admitted
that in female dignity and discretion, as well as in beauty, she
far surpassed Cleopatra. She administered the government of
her empire with such admirable prudence and policy, and in
particular with such strict justice towards all classes of her sub
jects, that she was beloved by her own people, and respected
and feared by the neighboring nations. She paid great attention
to the education of her three sons, habited them in the Roman
purple, and brought them up in the Roman fashion. But this
predilection for the Greek and Roman manners appears to have
displeased and alienated the Arab tribes ; for it- is remarked that
after this time their fleet cavalry, inured to the deserts and un-
equaled as horsemen, no longer formed the strength of her
army. While Gallienus and Claudius governed the Roman empire,
Zenobia was allowed to pursue her conquests, rule her domin
ions, and enjoy her triumphs almost without opposition. But at
length the fierce and active Aurelian was raised to the purple ;
and he was indignant that a woman should thus brave with im-

zenobia. 29

punity the offended majesty of Rome. Having subdued all his
competitors in the West, he turned his arms against the Queen
of the East. Zenobia, undismayed by the terrors of the Roman
name, levied troops, placed herself at their head, and gave the
second command to Zabdas, a brave and hitherto successful gen
eral. The first great battle took place near Antioch ; Zenobia
was totally defeated after an obstinate conflict. But, not dis
heartened by this reverse, she retired upon Emessa, rallied her
armies, and once more defied the Roman emperor. Being again
defeated with great loss, and her army nearly dispersed, the
high-spirited queen withdrew to Palmyra, collected her friends
around her, strengthened her fortifications, and declared her
resolution to defend her capital and her freedom to the last
moment of her existence.
Zenobia was conscious of the great difficulties which would
attend the seige of a great city, well stored with provisions, and
naturally defended hy surrounding deserts ; these deserts were
infested by clouds of Arabs, who, appearing and disappearing
with the swiftness and suddenness of a whirlwind, continually
harrassed her enemies. Thus defended without, and supported
by a strong garrison within, Zenobia braved her antagonist from
the towers of Palmyra as boldly as she had defied him in the
field of battle. The expectation of succors from the East
added to her courage, and determined her to persevere to the
last. " Those," said Aurelian in one of his letters, " who speak
with contempt of the war I am waging against a woman are
ignorant both of the character and power of Zenobia, It is
impossible to enumerate her warlike preparations of stones, of
arrows,, and of every species of missile weapons and military
engines." Aurelian, in fact, became doubtful of the event of the seige.

30 ZENOBIA,

and he offered the queen the most honorable terms of capitula
tion if she would surrender to his arms. But Zenobia, who was
¦ aware that famine raged in the Roman camp, and daUy looked
for the expected relief, rejected his proposals in a famous Greek
epistle, written with equal arrogance and eloquence ; she defied
the utmost of his power ; and, alluding to the fate of Cleopatra,
expressed her resolution to die like her rather than yield to the
Roman arms. Aurelian was incensed by this haughty letter,
even more than by dangers and delays attending the siege. He
redoubled his efforts — he cut off the succors she expected — he
found means to subsist his troops even in the midst of the de
sert — every day added to the number and strength of his army —
every day increased the difficulties of Zenobia, and the despair
of the Palmyrenes. The city would not hold out much longer,
and the queen resolved to fly, not to insure her own safety, but
to bring relief to the capital. Such at least is the excuse made
for part of her conduct, which certainly requires apology.
Mounted on a fleet dromedary she contrived to elude the
vigilance of the besiegers, and took the road to the Euphrates ;
but she was pursued by a party of the Roman light cavalry,
overtaken, and brought as a captive into the presence of Aure
lian. He sternly demanded how she had dared to oppose the
power of Rome ! to which she replied, with a mixture of firm-
nesa and gentleness, " Because I disdained to acknowledge as
my masters such men as Aureolus and Gallienus. To Aurelian
I submit as my conqueror and my sovereign." Aurelian was
not displeased at the artful compliment implied in this answer ;
but he had not forgotten the insulting arrogance of her former
reply. While this conference was going forward in the tent of
the Roman emperor, the troops, who were enraged hy her long
and obstinate resistance, and all they had suffered during the

ZENOBIA.

siege, assembled in tumultuous bands calling out for vengeance,
and with loud and fierce cries demanding her instant death. The
unhappy queen, surrounded by the ferocious and insolent sol
diery, forgot all her former vaunts and intrepidity. Her feminine
terrors had perhaps been excusable if they had not rendered
her base ; but in her first panic she threw herself on the mercy
of the emperor, accused her ministers as the cause of her deter
mined resistance, and confessed that Longinus had written in
her name that eloquent letter of defiance which had so incensed
the emperor.
Longinus, with the rest of her immediate friends and counsel
ors, were instantly sacrificed to the fury of the soldiers ; and the
philosopher met death with all the fortitude -which became a wise
and great man, employing his last moments in endeavoring to
console Zenobia and reconcile her to her fate.
Palmyra surrendered to the conqueror, who seized upon the
treasures of the city, but spared the buildings and the lives of
the inhabitants. Leaving in the place a garrison of Romans, he
returned to Europe, carrying with him Zenobia and her family,
who were destined to grace his triumphs.
But scarcely had Aurelian reached thg Hellespont, when
tidings were brought to him that the inhabitants of Palmyra
had again revolted, and had put the Roman governor aind garri
son to the sword. Without a moment's deliberation the em
peror turned back, reached Palmyra by rapid marches, and took
a terrible vengeance on that miserable and devoted city. He
commanded the indiscriminate massacre of all the inhabitants,
men, women, and children ; — fired its magnificent edifices, and
leveled its walls to the ground. He afterwards repented of his
fury, and devoted a part of the captured treasures to reinstate
some of the glories he had destroyed ; but it was too late — he

32 ZENOBIA.

could not reanimate the dead, nor raise from its ruins the stu
pendous Temple of the Sun. Palmyra became desolate ; its
very existence was forgotten, until about a century ago, when
some English travelers discovered it by accident. Thus the
blind fury of one man extinguished life, happiness, industry, art,
and intelligence, through a vast extent of country, and severed
a link which had long connected the eastern and western con
tinents of the old world.
When Aurelian returned to Rome after the termination of this
war, he celebrated his triumph with extraordinary pomp. A
vast number of elephants, and tigers, and strange beasts from
the conquered countries ; sixteen hundred gladiators, an innum
erable train of captives, and a gorgeous display of treasures —
gold, silver, gems, plate, glittering raiment, and oriental luxuries
. and rarities, the rich plunder of Palmyra, were exhibited to the
populace. But every eye was fixed on the beautiful and majes
tic figure of the Syrian queen, who walked in the procession
before her own sumptuous chariot, attired in her diadem and
royal robes, blazing with jewels, her eyes fixed on the ground,
and her delicate form drooping under the weight of her golden
fetters, which were so heavy that two slaves were obliged to
assist in supporting them on either side ; while the Roman popu
lace, at that time the most brutal and degraded in the whole
world, gaped and stared upon her misery, and shouted in exulta
tion over her fall. Perhaps Zenobia may in that moment have
thought upon Cleopatra, whose example she had once proposed
to follow ; and, according to the pagan ideas of greatness and
fortitude, envied her destiny, and felt her own ignominy with all
the bitterness of a vain repentance.
The captivity of Zenobia took place in the year 273, and in
the fifth year of her reign. There are two accounts of her sub-

Z E N O B i A . 33

sequent fate, differing widely from each other. One author
asserts that she starved herself to death, refusing to survive her
own disgrace and the ruin of her country. But others inform
us that the Emperor Aurelian bestowed on her a superb villa at
Tivoli, where she resided in great honor, and that she was after
wards united to a Roman senator, with whom she lived many
years. Her d^-ughters married into Roman families, and it is
said that some of her desoendants remained so late a^ the fifth
century. The three sons of Zenobia are called in the Latin histories,
Timolaus, Herenuicanus, and Vaballathus. The youngest be
came king of paf-t of Anueniii ; but of the two eldest we
have no account,
3

0 a () I e 6 ^.

BO ABIGSi.,
QUEEN OF THE ICBNI.
The history of ancient Rome is written in characters of
blood, and over her whole wide-spread empire, from the Cale
donian hills to the confines of India, from Tomeo's rock to the
cataracts of the Nile, the blood of slaughtered hecatombs of
men, women, and children, has saddened the earth. Physical
strength was her standard of right, and by that standard she
measured her claims to every country of the globe, wherever
her cohorts could gain and maintain a footing.
Intellectual Greece bowed to her yoke — the islands of the
Meditfoanean paid her homage — Carthage fell before her
power — ^Iran acknowledged her authority — Egypt became her
tributary, and even the remote Island of Britain did not escape
the power of ambitious Ceasar, when Gaul lay prostrate at his
feet. The estuaries of Britain were filled with his war-galleys,
and the quiet of the happy island was broken by the clangor of
Roman arms. A peaceful people, unaccustomed to the busi
ness of war, and illy armed, the Britons made but feeble
resistance to their invaders, and soon another rich territory of
earth was added to the coUossal dominions of Rome. The
whole island became subject to Roman authority ; the country
was divided into states, and a Roman governor was appointed
over the whole. About the sixtieth year of our era, Seutonius
Paulinus, one of the greatest generals of the age, was appointed
governor of Britain, and allowed an army of about one hundred

38 BOADICEA.

thousand men to keep the natives in subjection. The infamous
Nero was at that time emperor of Rome, and Paulinus was a
fit instrument to execute the orders of his master, who cared not
how many people suffered, if his unbounded avarice and lust
were satisfied. To fill the coffers of the emperor, the Britons
were subjected to the most cruel taxation ; and those who but
recently were in the full enjoyment of peace and liberty, were
reduced to the most abject slavery.
But the inherent principles of freedom, actively alive in the
breast of the Briton, could not be destroyed, and when the
oppressions of their conquerors became too severe to be borne,
they raised the banner of revolt, around which every true
Briton rallied. The spirit of revolution, prompted by a love
of liberty, and keen resentment for wrongs inflicted, which had
been increasing in intensity for a long time, broke out into open
rebellion, at a time when Paulinus was absent upon the Island
of Mona, or Anglesey. A peculiar act of cruelty on the part
of the Romans, was the immediate cause of this general revolt ;
and to that act and its consequences we devote these pages.
Prasatugus, king of Iceni,* and a prince much beloved for
his mildness and equity, when on his death-bed, made an equal
division of his kingdom, one-half of which he bequeathed to the
Roman emperor, and the other to his family. The reason for
making this bequest to the emperor, was the vain hope, that it
would so far satisfy his rapacity, as to secure his protection for
his wife and children. But the moment that the death of
Prasatugus came to the ears of Paulinus, he sent an army suf
ficient to take forcible possession of the whole of the wealth and
the kingdom of the deceased prince. Against this unjust act,
• This State included that portion of England now known as the counties of
Korfolk, Suffolk, Cambridge and Huntingdon.

BOADICEA. 39

his, queen Boadicea, a woman of extraordinary spirit, warmly
remonstrated ; but her remonstrance was met with the most
brutal treatment from the minions of the governor. They even
went so far as to»scourge her publicly ; and not content with this
inhuman injury of her person, those brutal men ravished her
daughters in the presence of the queen.
This outrage aroused the Iceni to revenge, and every man
took a solemn oath to avenge this brutal wrong inflicted upon
their queen and family. The Trinobantes next raised the war-
cry, and in every part of the island where the injuries of the
queen of the Iceni became known, the indignant Britons
crowded around the standard of revolt, eager for the blood of
the Roman barbarians. ,
Carnelodunum (London) was the only town that remained
loyal ; but even there the Romans were not safe. Throughout
the whole island an indiscriminate massacre of men, women, and
children, took place ; and in one instance a legion of the
Roman army, attempting to stay the dreadful retribution of the
Iceni, were all slaughtered to a man. In London the revolters
made terrible havoc. The Romans in great numbers fled to their
principal temple for protection, but it was set on fire, and with
its living contents entirely consumed. That outrage upon the
queen of the Iceni, cost Rome eighty thousand of her citizens.
As soon as Paulinus heard of this revolt, he left Mona, and
hastened to the assistance of his people. This the Britons ex
pected ; and the armies of the several states were combined, and,
by unanimous consent, Boadicea was chosen commander-in-
chief The combined army of the Britons amounted to one
hundred thousand men, while Paulinus could muster only about
ten thousand. Alarmed at his comparatively weak condition,
and the numerical strength of the revolters, the Roman general

40 BOADICEA.

was perplexed to know what course to take. First he resolved
to shut himself up in London, and bide the issue of a siege ;
but when he found the triumphant enemy marching toward the
capital, he resolved to conquer them or die. The inhabitants
of London begged him to remain in their defence, but he
yielded to the solicitations of his soldiers, and the dictates of his
own judgment, and resolved to do battle with the enemy.
The Roman army marched out into the open country and
awaited the approach of the Britons. They chose for their
camp a narrow strip of land, with a dense forest in the rear,
while before them was spread out a spacious plain.
On this plain the host of Boadicea encamped, now numbering,
(including the women and children who had been invited by tho
soldier-queen to witness the contest and share in the spoils of
the undoubted victory,) two hundred and thirty thousand.
Boadicea, still stung with the wrongs she had suffered, was
eager to engage with Paulinus. With her daughters beside her,
in a war-chariot, she traversed the ranks of the Britons, in-
flamirlg their zeal for her cause, and animating them with
courage, by passionate addresses.
The description of her dress and appearance, on the morning
of the battle that ended so disastrously for the royal amazon
and her country, quoted from a Roman historian, is remarkably
picturesque : —
" After she had dismounted from her chariot, in which she
had been driving from rank to rank to encourage her troops,
attended by her daughters and her numerous army, she pro
ceeded to a throne of marshy turfs, appareled after the fashion
of the Romans, in a loose gown of changeable colors, nnder
which she wore a kirtle very thickly plaited, the tresses of her
yellow hair hanging to the skirts of her dress. About her neck

BOADICEA. 41

she wore a chain of gold, a.nd bore a light spear in her hand,
being tall, and of a comely, cheerful, and modest countenance ;
and so awhile she stood, pausing to survey her army, and being
regarded with reverential silence, she addressed to them an im
passioned and eloquent speech on the wrongs of her country."
" This is not the first time," cried she, " that Britons have
been victorious under their queen. I come not heye as one
descended from royal progenitors, to fight for empire or riches,
but as one of you — as a true Briton — to avenge the loss of
liberty, the wrongs done to my own person, and the base viola
tion of the cha,stity of my daughters. Roman lust has grown so
strong, that nothing escapes its pollution ; old and young are
alike liable to its outrages. The gods have already begun to
punish them according to their deserts. One legion that durst
hazard a battle, was cut in pieces, and others have fled like
cowards before us. Raise loud your war-shout, and their fears
will make them flee. Consider your numbers and your motives
for the war, and resolve to conquer or die. It is better to fall
honorably in defence of liberty, than to submit to Roman out
rage. Such, is my resolution ; but, ye men, if ye choose, live
and be slaves !"
When the brave queen had concluded her harangue, a loud
shout ran along the lines of the British army, and exclamations
of loyalty were heard on every side
But while these demonstrations denoted confidence of victory
on the part of the Britons, Paulinus was unawed, and by forci
ble appeals to his soldiers, he raised their hopes and courage to
the highest pitch. He pointed to the multitude of Britons, as
a handful of men and immense numbers of women and chil
dren ; he exerted them to believe the Britons to be cowards —
charged them to keep close together so as to advance in an

42 BOADICEA.

unbroken phalanx, and to fight sword in hand, after they had
thrown their darts.
Then, ordering a charge to be sounded, the Romans advanced
in a solid column, hurled their javehns with terrible effect, with
desperate power broke into the ranks of the Britons, and with
sword in hand spread death and desolation in their path. Such
an unexpected and fierce onslaught, struck terror to the island
ers, for they supposed the Romans would be awed by their
numbers ; and it was in vain that Boadicea encouraged them to
repel the attack. They fled in dismay in every direction. The
women and children were exposed to the fury of the Romans ;
neither age nor sex, nor even horses were spared ; and when
the sun set upon Britain that night, more than seventy thousand
of her children lay dead upon that battle-fleld. Boadicea and
her daughters narrowly escaped falling into the hands of the
conquerors ; but, stung with remorse and despair at her ac
cumulated misfortunes, she took poison, and died.
Such, in brief, is a romantic chapter of the early history of
Britain, and in it are shadowed forth many of the bolder fea
tures of the human character, — the tyranny of uncontrolled
power, ambition, avarice, cruelty, lust ; the generous heroism of
woman, the strength of innate principles of freedom, the mean
ness of cowardice, and the suicidal tendency of misfortune and
despair. And such are the leading features in almost every
chapter of the world's history, where states and empires have
changed masters. The record of the political progress of
nations, is a wonderful romance, where truth and fable are com
bined in presenting to generation after generation, an entertain
ing volume for amusement and instruction ; and, doubtless,
Byron was not wide of the mark, when he denominated all
history, " a splendid fiction,"

Jel^e^ci^K^ of ^^b^i^i-e.

THE QUEEN OF RICHARD I.
Berengaria, the beautiful daughter of Sancho the Wise, King
of Navarre, was first seen by Richard Cosur de Lion, at a grand
tournament given by her gallant brother, at Pampeluna, her
native city. Richard was then captivated by the beauty of
Berengaria, but his engagement to the fair and frail Alice of
France prevented him from offering her his hand.
Berengaria may be considered a Proven9al princess, by lan
guage and education, though she was Spanish by descent. Her
mighty sire, Sancho the Wise, had for his immediate ancestor
Sancho the Great, called the Emperor of all Spain. He in
herited the little kingdom of Navarre, and married Beatrice,
daughter to Alphonso, King of Gastille, by whom he had three
children, Berengaria, Blanche, and Sancho, surnamed the
Strong, a hero celebrated by the Provengal poets for his gallant
exploits against the Moors. He defeated the Miramolin, and
broke the chains that guarded the camp of the infidel with his
battle-axe, which chains were afterwards transferred to the
armorial bearings of Navarre.
An ardent friendship had subsisted from boyhood between'
Richard and Sancho the Strong, the gallant brother of Beren
garia. A similarity of pursuits strengthened the intimacy of
Richard with the royal family of Navarre. The father and
brother of Berengaria were celebrated for their skill and judg
ment in Proven5al poetry. Berengaria was herself a learned

46 BERENGARIA OF NAVARKE.
princess ; and Richard, who was not only a troubadour poet
but, as acting sovereign of Aquitaine, was the prince and judge
of all troubadours, became naturally drawn into close bonds of
amity with a family, whose tastes and pursuits were similar to
his own.
No one can marvel that the love of the ardent Richard should
be strengthened when he met the beautiful, the cultivated, and
virtuous Berengaria, in the famihar intercourse which sprang
from his friendship with her gallant brother ; but a long and
secret engagement, replete with " hope deferred," was the fate
of Richard the Lion-hearted and the fair flower of Navarre.
Our early historians first mention the attachment of Richard
and Berengaria about the year 1177. If we take that event
for a datum, even allowing the princess to have been very young
when she attracted the love of Richard, she must have been
twenty-sis at least before the death of his father placed him at
liberty to demand her hand. Richard had another motive for
his extreme desire for this alliance ; he consideijed that this be
loved mother. Queen Eleanora, was deeply indebted to King
Sancho, the father of Berengaria, because he had pleaded her
cause with Henry II., and obtained some amelioration of her
imprisonment. Soon after Richard ascended the English throne he sent his
mother. Queen Eleanora, to the court of her friend, Sancho the
Wise, to demand the Princess Berengaria in marriage, " for,"
says Vinisauf, "he had long loved the elegant girl." Sancho
the Wise not only received the proposition with joy, but in
trusted Berengaria to the care of Queen Eleanora. The royal
ladies traveled from the court of Navarre together, across Italy
to Naples, where they found the ships belonging to Eleanora
had arrived in the bay. But etiquette forbade Berengaria to

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 47
approach her lover till he was free from the claims of Alice ;
therefore she sojourned with Queen Eleanora at Brindisi, in the
spring of 1191, waiting the message from King Richard, an
nouncing that he was free to receive the hand of the Princess
of Navarre.
It was at Messina that the question of the engagement be
tween the Princess Alice and King of England was debate
with Philip Augustus, her brother ; and more than once, the
potentates assembled, for the crusade expected that the forces
of France and England would be called into action, to decide
tlie right of King Richard to give his hand to another lady than
the sister of the King of France.
The rhymes of Piers of Langtoft, recapitulate these events
with brevity and quaintness : —
" Then spate King Philip,
And in grief said,
' My sister Alice
Is now forsaken,
Since one of more riches
Of Navarre hast thou taken.'
When King Eiohard understood
¦\Vhat King Philip had sworn, ,
Before clergy he stood,
And proved on that morn.
That Alice to his father
A child had borne,
Which bis sire King Henry
Held for his own.
A maiden child it was.
And now dead it is.
' This was a great trespass.
And .Tgainst my own witte,
If I Alice take.' "

48 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE.
King Philip then contends that Richard held in hand hia
sister's dower, the good city of Gisors. Upon this, the
King of England brings the matter to a conclusion in these
words : —

' Now, said King Richard,
That menace may not be.
For thou shall have ward
Of Gisors thy cit^e,
And treasure ilk a deal.
Richard yielded him his right.
His treasure and his town,
Before witness at sight,
(Of clerk and elce baron,)
His sister he might marry.
Wherever God might like,
And, to make certainty,
Richard a quittance took."

The French contemporary chroniclers, who are exceedingly
indignant at the repudiation of their princess, attribute it solely
to Eleanora's influence. Bernard, the treasurer, says, " The
old queen could not endure that Richard should espouse Alice,
but demanded the sister of the King of Nayarre for a wife for
her son. At this the King of Navarre was right joyful, and she
traveled with Queen Eleanora to Messiua. When she arrived
Richard was absent, but Queen Joanna was there, preparing
herself to embark next day. The Queen of England could not
tarry, but said to Joanna — ' Fair daughter, take this damsel for
me to the king your brother, and tell him I command him to
espouse her speedily.' Joanna received her willingly, and
lileanora returned to France."

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 49

Piers of Langtoft resumes : —
" She be left Berengera,
At Richard's cottage,
Queen Joanne held her dear ;
They lived as doves in cage."
King Richard and King Tancred were absent on a pilgrimage
W. the shrine of St. Agatha at Catania, where Tancred must
hi.,e devoutly prayed for the riddance of his guest. Richard
be."* presented the Sicilian king with a famous sword, pretend
ing it was Caliburn, the brand of King Arthur, lately found at
Glaittonbury, during his father's antiquarian researches for the
tomb of that king.
Ri^JQard then embarked in his favorite galley, named by him.
Treno the-mere.* He had previously, in honor of his betroth-
ment, instituted an order of twenty-four knights, who pledged
themsn Ives in a fraternity with the king to scale the walls of
Acre ; and that they might be known in the storming of that
city, tLj king appointed them to wear a blue band of leather
on the left leg, from which they were called Knights of the
Blue Thong.
The season of Lent prevented the immediate marriage of
Richard and his betrothed ; and, as etiquette did not permit
the unwedded maiden, Berengaria, to embark in the Treno-the-
mere under the immediate protection of her lover, she sailed in
company with Queen Joanna, in one of the strongest ships,
under the care of a brave knight, called Stephen de Turnham.
After these arrangements Richard led the 'van of the fleet in
Trenc-the-mere, bearing a huge lantern at her poop, to rally
* Literally meaning, cut-the-iea.

50 BERENGARIA OP NAVARRE.
the fleet in the darkness of night. Thus, with a hundred and
fifty ships and fifty galleys, did Lion-hearted Richard and his
bride and sister, hoist sail for Palestine, where Philip Augustus
had abeady indolently commenced the siege of Acre.
" Syrian virgins wail and weep,
Ilnglish Richard ploughs the deep."
But we must turn a deaf ear to the bewitching metre of po
lished verse, and quote details taken by Piers of Langtoft from
the Provengal comrade of Richard and Berengaria's crusade
voyage : — " Till King Richard be forward,
Ee may have no rest,
Acres then is his tryste.
Upon Saracen fiends.
To venge Jesu Christ,
Hitherward he wends.
The king's sister Joanne,
And Lady Berengare,
Foremost sailed of ilk one ;
Next them his chancellor
Roger Mancel.
The chancellor so hight,
His tide fell not well ;
A tempest on bim light.
His ship was down borne.
Himself there to die ;
The king's seal was lost.
With other gallies tway.
Lady Joanna she
The Lord Jesu besought.
In Cyprus she might be
To haven quickly brought.

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 61
The maiden Berfengare,
She was sore afright.
That neither far nor near.
Her king rode in sight."
Queen Joanna was alarmed for herself; but the maiden Be
rengaria only thought of Richard's safety.
Bernard, the treasurer, does not allow that Joanna was quite
Bo much frightened. We translate his words : — " Queen Jo
anna's galley sheltered in the harbor of Limoussa, when Isaac,
the Lord of Cyprus, sent two boats, and demanded if the queen
would land. She declined the offer, saying, ' All she wanted
was to know whether the King of England had passed.' They
replied, ' They did not know.' At that juncture Isaac ap
proached with a great power, upon which the cavaliers, who
guarded the royal ladies, got the galley in order to be rowed
out of the harbor at the first indication of hostility. Meantime
Isaac, who saw Berengaria on board, demanded, ' What damsel
that was with them ?' They declared, ' She was the sister of
the King of Navarre, whom the King of England's mother had
brought for him to espouse.' Isaac seemed so angry at this
intelligence, that Stephen de Turnham gave signal to heave up
the anchor, and the queen's galley rowed with all speed into the
offing." When the gale had somewhat abated. King Richard, after
mustering his navy, found not only that the ship was missing,
wherein were drowned both the chancellor of England and the
great seal, but the galley that bore the precious freight of his
sister and his bride. He immediately sailed from a friendly
Cretan harbor in search of his lost ships. When arrived off
Cyprus, he entered the bay of Famagusta, and beheld the galley

52 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE.
that contained his princesses, laboring heavily and tossing in the
offing. He became infuriated with the thought that some wrong
had been offered to them, and leaped, armed as he was, into
the first boat that could be prepared. His anger increased on
learning that the queen's galley had put into the bay in the
storm, but had been driven inhospitably from shelter by the
threats of the Greek despot.*
At the time of Richard's landina;, Isaac and all his islanders
were busily employed in plundering the wreck qf the chancellor's
ship and two English transports, then stranded on the Cypriot
shore. As this self-styled emperor, though in behavior worse
than a pagan, professed to be a Christian, Richard, at his first
landing, sent him a civil message, suggesting the propriety of
leaving off plundering his wrecks. To this Isaac returned an
impertinent answer, saying, " that whatever goods the sea threw
on his island he should take, without asking any one."
" They shall be bought full dear, by Jesu, heaven's king !"
With this saying, Richard, battle-axe in hand, led his cru-
Faders so boldly to the rescue, that the mock emperor and his
Cypriots scampered into Limoussa, the capital of the island,
much faster than they had left it.
Freed from the presence of the inhospitable despot. King
Richard made signals for Joanna's galley to enter the harbor.
Berengaria,' half dead with fatigue and terror, was welcomed on
shore by the conquering king, "when," says the chronicler,
" there was joy and love enow."
As soon as Isaac Comnenus was safe behmd the walls of his
citadel, he sent a message to request a conference with King
Richard, who expected he had a httle lowered the despot's
^ * Despot was a title given to the petty Greek potentates.

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 53
pride ; but when they met, Isaac was so full of vaporing and
boasting, that he elicited from King Richard an aside in Eng
lish ; and as Coeur de Lion then uttered the only words in our
language he ever was known to speak, it is well they have been
recorded by chronicle : —
" Ha ! de debU !" exclaimed King Richard, " he speak like a
fole Breton."*
As Isaac and Richard could not come to any terms of pacifi
cation, the despot retreated to a strong-hold in a neighboring
mountain ; while Richard, after making a speech to the Lon
doners, (we hope in more choice English than the above), insti
gating them to the storm of the Cypriot capital with promise of
plunder, led them on to the attack, axe in hand. The London
ers easily captured Limoussa.
Directly the coast was clear of Isaac and his myrmidons ;
magnificent preparations were made at Limoussa for the nuptials
and coronation of King Richard and Berengaria. We are able
to describe the appearance made by these royal personages at
this high solemnity. King Richard's costume, we may suppose,
varied little from that in which he gave audience to the despot
Isaac, a day after the marriage took place.
" A satin tunic of rose-color was belted round his waist— his
mantle was of striped silver tissue, brocaded with silver half-
moons — his sword of fine Damascus steel, had a hilt of gold, and
a silver-scaled sheath — on his head he wore a scai-let bonnet,
brocaded in gold, with figures of animals. He bore a truncheon
in his hand. His Spanish steed was led before him, saddled,
• This sjieech implied no offence to the English, l)ut was meant as a reproach to
the Bretons, who are to this day proverbial in France for their willfulness. Besides,
Richard was bitter against the Bretons, who deprived him of the society of his
then acknowledged heir, Arthur, their duke.— (riiiisou/.)

54 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE.
and bitted with gold, and the saddle was inlaid with precious
stones. Two little golden lions were fixed on it, in the place
of a crupper. They were figured with their paws raised in act
to strike each other." In this attire, Vinisauf adds, Richard,
who had yellow curls, a bright complexion, and a figure like
Mars himself, appeared a perfect model of military and manly
grace. The effigy of Queen Berengaria at Espan certainly presents
her as a bride — a circumstance which is ascertained by the flow
ing tresses — royal matrons always wearing their hair covered, or
else closely braided.
Her hair is parted, a la vierge, on the brow ; a transparent
veil, open on each side, like the Spanish mantillas, hangs behind,
and covers the rich tresses at their length. The veil is confined
by a regal diadem of peculiar splendor, studded with several
bands of gems, and svLi-monnted'hj fl£v,rs-de-lis, to which so much
foliage is added as to give it the appearance of a double crown,
perhaps because she was crowned queen of Cyprus as well as
England. Our antiquarians affirm, that the peculiar character
of Berengaria's elegant hut singular style of beauty brings con
viction to every one who looks on her effigy that it is a care-
fi'lly finished portrait.
A.t his marriage King Richard proclaimed a, grand feast.
" To Limoussa the lady was led,
His feast the king did cry,
Berengere will be wed.
And sojourn thereby
The third day of tbe feast ;
Bishop Bernard of Bayone
Newed oft the geste
To the queen he gave tbe crown."

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 55
" And there, in the joyous month of May, 1191," says an
ancient writer, " in the flourishing and spacious isle of Cyprus,
celebrated as the very abode of the goddess of love, did King
Richard solemnly take to wife his beloved lady Berengaria. By
the consent of the Cypriots, wearied of Isaac's tyranny, and by
the advice of the allied crusaders, who came to assist at his
nuptials, Richard was crowned King of Cyprus, and his bride
Queen of England and Cyprus.
Soon after, the fair heiress of Cyprus, daughter to the despot
Isaac, came and threw herself at the feet of Richard, " Lord
King," she said, " have mercy on me ;" when the king courte
ously put forth his hand to lift her from the ground, and sent
her to his wife and his sister Joanna. As many historical scan
dals are afloat respecting the Cypriot princess, implying that
Richard, captivated by the distressed beauty, from that moment
forsook his queen, it is well to observe the words of an eye-wit
ness, who declares that Richard sent the lady directly to his
queen, from whom she never parted till after their return to
Europe. The surrender of the Cypriot princess was followed by the
capture of her father, whom the King of England bound in sil
ver chains richly guilt, and presented to Queen Berengaria as
her 'captive,*
After the conclusion of the nuptials and coronation of Beren
garia, her royal bridegroom once more hoisted his flag on his
good galley Trenc-the-mere, and set sail in beautiful summer
weather for Palestine. Berengaria and her sister-in-liiVv ,-gK;-j
* Isftac afterwards entered among the Templars, and in their or.O'* -->'l. r.'luhard
presented his island to Guy de Lusignau, his friend, as a comper.ari'jo'. Cj- the loss
of Jerusalem. This dethronement of Isaac, and the captivity of hii "id-^gbter, were
the origin of Richard's imprisonment in Germany, as we shall presently see.

56 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE.
sailed under the protection of Sir Stephen de Turnham, it being
safer than companionship with the warlike Richard. Then-
y,'illey made the port of Acre before the Trenc-the-mere.
" On their arrival at Acre, though," says Bernard le Treso-
rier, " it was very grievous to the king of France to know that
Richard was married to any other than his sister ; yet he re
ceived Berengaria with great courtesy, taking her in his arms,
and lifting her on shore himself from the boat to the beach."
Richard appeared before Acre on the long bright day of St.
Barnabas, when the whole allied army, elated by the naval vic
tory he had won by the way, marched to the beach to welcome
their champion. " The earth shook with footsteps of the Chrie-
tians, and the sound of their shouts."
When Acre was taken, Richard established his queen and
sister safely there. They remained at Acre with the Cypriot
princess, during the whole of the Syrian campaign, under the
care of Richard's Castellans, Bertrand de Verbun and Stephen
de Munchenis.
To the left of the mosque at Acre are the ruins of a palace,
called, to this day, King Richard's Palace.* This was doubtless
the abode of Berengaria
There is not a more pleasant spot in history than the tender
friendship of Berengaria and Joanna, who formed an attachment
amidst the perils and terrors of storm and siege, ending only
with their lives. How quaintly, yet expressively, is their gentle
'and feminine love for each other marked by the sweet simplicity
of the words, " They held each other dear,
And lived like doves iu cage !"
• Dr. Clarke's Travels. The tradition is that Richard built the Palace ; hut h«
had no time for any such work. This architecture is Saracenic, and was doubt
less a palacs of the resident emir of Acre.

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 57
noting, at the same time, the harem-like seclusion in which the
royal ladies dwelt, while sharing the crusade campaign.
It was from the citadel of Acre that Richard tore down the
banner of Leopold, archduke of Austria, who was the uncle of
the Cypriot lady. Her captivity was the real matter of dispute.
We have little space to dwell on Richard's deeds of romantic
valor in Palestine, on the capture of Ascalon, or the battle of
Jaffa, before which city was killed J^ichard's good steed, named
Fanuelle, whose feats in battle are nearly as much celebrated by
the troubadours as those of his master.*
After the death of Fanuelle, Richard was obliged to fight on
foot. The courteous Saladin, who saw him thus battling, was
shocked that so accomplished a cavalier should be dismounted,
and sent him as a present a magnificent Arab charger. Richard
had the precaution to order one of his knights to mount the
charger first. The headstrong beast no sooner found a stranger
on his back, than he took the bit between his teeth, and, refusing
all control, galloped back to his own quarters, carrying the Chris
tian knight into the m.idst of Saladin's camp. If King Richard
had ridden the wilful animal, he would in like manner have
been at the mercy of the Saracens ; and Saladin was so much
ashamed of the misbehavior of his present, that he could scarcely
look up while he apologized to the Christian knight ; for it ap
peared as if he had laid a trap for the liberty of King Richard.
He sent back the knight, mounted on a more manageable steed,
n which Richard rode to the end of the campaign.
King Ptichard, during his Syrian campaign, was once within
* By some called Favelle, probably l-'Iavel, meaning yellow-colored. Vinisauf
declares this peerless charjrer was taken among the spoils of (Cyprus, with another
named Lyard. Tlie cavaliers in ancient times named their steeds from their color,
as Bayard, bay-color , Lyard, gray ; Ferramil, black as iron ; Flavel, yellow; or very
light gorrei.

58 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE.
sight of Jerusalem, but never took it. While he was with his
queen, Berengaria, at Acre, an incident befell him, of which de
Joinville, the companion in arms of St. Louis, has thus pre
served the memory : —
" In those times, when Hugh, Duke of Burgundy, and King
Richard of England, were abiding at Acre, they received intelli
gence that they might take Jerusalem if they chose, for its gar
rison had gone to the assistance of Damascus. The Duke of
Burgundy and King Richard accordingly marched towards the
holy city, King Richard's battalions leading the way, while
Burgundy's force brought up the rear. But when King
Richard drew near to Jerusalem, intelligence was brought him
that the Duke of Burgundy had turned back with his division,
out of pure envy, that it might not be said that the King of
England had taken Jerusalem. As these tidings were dis
cussing, one of the King of England's knights cried out,
'"'She, she, only come hither, and I will show you Jeru
salem.' " But the king, throwing down his weapons, said, with tears
in his eyes, and hands uplifted to heaven —
" ' Ah ! Lord God, I pray thee that I may never see thy
holy city Jerusalem, since things thus happen, and since I can
not dehver it from the hands of thine enemies !' Richard
could do nothing mo],'e than return to his queen and sister at
Acre. " You must know that this King Richard performed such
deeds of prowess when he was in the Holy Land, that the
Saracens, on seeing their horses frightened at a shadow or a
bush, cried out to them, ' What ! dost think Melech-Ric is
there .'" This they were accustomed to say from the many times
he had vanquished them. In like manner, when the children of

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 59

Turks or Saracens cried, their mothers said to them, ' Hush,
hush ! or I will give you to King Richard ;' and from the terror
of these words the babes were instantly quiet."
The Provencal historian affirms, that the final truce between
Richard and Saladin was concluded in a fair flowery meadow
near Mount Tabor, where RicRard was so much charmed with
the gallant bearing of the Prince of Miscreants, as Saladin is
civilly termed in the crusading treaties, that he declared he
would rather be the friend of that brave and honest pagan, than
the ally of the crafty Philip or the brutal Leopold.
The autumn of 1192 had commenced, when King Richard
concluded his peace with Saladin, and prepared to return,
covered with fruitless glory, to his native dominions. A mys
terious estrangement had at this time taken place between him
and Berengaria ; yet the chroniclers do not mention that any
rival had supplanted the queen, but merely that accidents of
war had divided him from her company. As for the Cypriot
princess, if he were estranged from his queen, he must likewise
have been separated from the fair captive, since she always
remained with Berengaria.
The king bade farewell to his queen and sister, and saw them
embark the very evening of his own departure. The queens
were accompanied by the Cypriot princess, and sailed from
Acre, under the care of Stephen de Turnham, September the
29th. Richard meant to return by a different route across
Europe. He traveled in the disguise of a Templar, and em
barked in a ship belonging to the master of the Temple. This
vessel was wrecked off the coast of Istria, which forced Richard
to proceed homewards through the domains of his enemy, Leo
pold of Austria. But to his ignorance of geography is attri
buted his near approach to Leopold's capital. After several

60 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE.
narrow escapes, a page sent hy Richard to purchase provisions
at a village near Vienna, was recognized by an officer who had
made the late crusade with Leopold. The boy was seized, and,
after enduring cruel torments, he confessed where he had left
his master.
When Leopold received certa-in intelligence where Richard
harbored, the inn was searched, but not a soul found there who
bore 'any appearance of a king. "No," said the people,
" there is no one here, without he be the Templar in the
kitchen, now turning the fowls which are roasting for dinner."
The officers of Leopold'took the hint and went into the kitchen,
where in fact was seated a Templar very busy turning the spit.
The Austrian chevalier, who had served in the crusade, knew
him, and said quickly, " There he is — seize him !"
Coeur de Lion started from the spit, and did battle for his
liberty right valiantly, but was overborne by numbers.
The revengeful Leopold immediately imprisoned his gallant
enemy, and immured him so closely in a Styiian castle, called
Tenebreuse, that for months no one knew whether the lion-
hearted king was alive or dead. Richard, whose heroic name
was the theme of admiration in Europe, and the burden of every
song, seemed vanished from the face of the earth.
Better fortune attended the vessel that bore the fair freight
of the three royal ladies. Stephen de Turnham 's galley arrived
without accident at Naples, where Berengaria, Joanna, and the
Cypriot princess, landed safely, and, under the care of Sir
Stephen, journeyed to Rome.
The Proven9al traditions declare, that, here Berengaria first
took the alarm that some disaster had happened to her lord,
from seeing a belt of jewels offered for sale, which she knew had
been in his possession when she parted fro^ him. At Rome

BI.'HENG;RIA OF NAVARRE. 61

Bhe likewise heard some vague reports of his shipwreck, and of
the enmity of the emperor Henry VI.
Berengaria was detained at Rome with her royal companions,
by her fear of the emperor, for upwards of half a year. At
length the pope, moved by her distress and earnest entreaties,
sent them under the care of Messire Mellar, one of the car
dinals, to Pisa, whence they proceeded to Genoa, where they
took shipping to Marseilles. At Marseilles, Berengaria was fiiet
by her friend and kinsman, the King of Arragon, who showed
the royal ladies every mark of reverence, gave them safe con
duct through his Proven9al domains, and sent them on under
the escort of the Count de Sancto Egidio.
This Egidio is doubtless the gallant Raymond Count St.
GlUes, who, traveling from Rome with a strong escort, offered
his protection to the distressed queens ; and though his father,
the Count of Toulouse, had during Richard's crusade invaded
Guienne, and drawn on himself a severe chastisement from
Berengaria's faithful brother, Sancho the Strong ; yet the young
count so well acquitted himself of his charge, that he won the
affections of the fair widow, Queen Joanna, on the journey.
The attachment of these lovers healed the enmity that had long
subsisted between the house of Aquitaine and that of the Counts
of Toulouse, on account of the superior claims of Queen Elean
ora on that great fief When Eleanora found the love that sub
sisted between her youngest child and the heir of Toulouse, she
conciliated his father by giving up her rights to her daughter,
and Berengaria had the satisfaction of seeing her two friends
united after she arrived at Poitou.
Now Queen Berengaria is left safely in her own dominions, it
is time to return to her unfortunate lord, who seems to have
been destined by the malice of Leopold to a life-long incarcera-

63 BERENGARIA 0 1' NAVARRE.
tion. The royal prisoner almost despaired of liberty when he
wrote that pathetic passage in his well-known Provengal tenson,
saying, " Now know I for a certainty that there exists for me
neither friend nor parent, or for the lack of gold and silver I
should not so long remain a pri<(oner."
He scarcely did justice to his affectionate mother, who,
directly she learned his captivity, never ceased exerting herself
fbr his release.
Without giving any credence to the ballad story of King
Richard and the Lion's heart, which solely seems to have arisen
from a metaphorical epithet of the troubadour Peyrols,* and is
not even alluded to by the most imaginative of contemporary
chroniclers, it really appears that Richard was ill-treated dm-ing
his German captivity. Matthew Paris declares, he was thrown
into a dungeon, from whence no other man ever escaped with
life, and was loaded with irons ; yet his countenance was ever
serene, and his conversation pleasant and facetious, with the
crowds of armed guards by whom he was surrounded day and
night. It was a long time before Richard's friends could with any
certainty make out his locality. He was utterly lost for some
months. Blondel, a troubadour knight and poet, who had been'
shipwrecked with him on the coast of Istria, and who had
In the beautiful crusade sirvente extant by Peyrols, he calls the king liou.
hearted Richard. Peyrols was his fellow-soldier. — (Sismondi.)
The earliest chronicler who mentions the lion legend is Rastall, the brother-in-
law of Sir Thomas iVIore, who had no better means of knowing the truth than we
have. Here are his quaint sayings on the subject : — .
" It is said that a lyon was put to ICing Richard, being in prison, to have devoured
him, and when the lyon was gaping he put his arm in his mouth and pulled the lion
by the heart so hard that he slew the lyon, and therefore is called Cceur de Lyon ¦
while others say he is called Coear de Lyon, because of his boldness and hardy
Btomach."

BERENGARIA OP NAVARRE. 63

sought him through the cities of southern Germany, sang, be
neath the tower Tenebreuse in which he was confined, a tenson
which Richard and he had composed together. Scarcely had he
finished the first stanza, when Richard replied with the second.
Blondel directly went to Queen Eleanora, and gave her tidings
of the existence of her son, and she took measures for his
release. Her letters to the pope are written with a passionate
eloquence, highly illustrative of that tradition of the south which
names her among the poets of her country :—
" Mother of pity," she says, " look upon a mother of so
many afflictions ! or, if thy holy Son, the fountain of mercy,
afflicts my son for my transgression, oh, let me, who am the
cause, endure alone the punishment.
" Two sons alone remain for my succor, who but indeed sur
vive for my misery ; for King Richard exists in fetters, while
Prince John, brother to the captive, depopulates 'with the
sword, and wastes with fire. The Lord is against me, his
wrath fights against me ; therefore do my children fight against
each other !"
The queen-mother here alludes to the strife raised by Pi ince
John. He had obtained his brother's leave to abide in England
on condition that he submitted to the government established
there. Queen Eleanora had intended to fix her residence at
Rouen, as a central situation between her own dominions and
those of King Richard. But the confused state of affairs in
England summoned her thither, February 11, 1192. She
found John in open rebellion, for, stimulated by messages from
Philip Augustus, offering him all Richard's continental pro
vinces and the hand of Alice rejected by Richard, he aimed at
nothing less than the English crown. The arrival of his mother
curbed his turbulence ; she told him to touch his brother's

G4 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE.
rights under peril of her curse ; she forbade his disgraceful in
tention of allying himself with Alice ; and, to render such mis
chievous project impossible, she loft that princess in close
confinement at Rouen, instead of delivering her to Philip
Augustus, as King Richard had agreed ; so little truth is there
in the common assertion, that the worthless character of John
might be attributed to the encouragement his vices received
from his mother ; but it was the doting affection of Henry II.
for his youngest son that had this effect, as he was the child of
his old age and constantly near him, while the queen was kept
in confinement at a distance from her family.
When Queen Eleanora and the chief justiciary heard of the
detention of King Richard, they sent two abbots to confer with
him in Germany. They met hira with his guards on the road
to Worms, where a diet of the empire was soon to be held, and
were received by him with his usurd spirit and animation. He
inquired into the state of his friends, his subjects, and his
dominions, and particularly after the health of the King ©f
Scotland, on whose honor, he said, be entirely relied ; and cer
tainly he was not deceived in his judgment of the character of
that hero. On hearing of the base conduct of his brother John,
he was shocked and looked grave ; but presently recovering his
cheerfulness, he SEtid, with a smile, " My brother John was
never made for conquering kingdoms !"
Richard defended himself before the diet with eloquence and
pathos that drew tears from most of his hearers ; and the medi
ation of the princes of the empire induced the emperor to ac
cept as ransom one hundred thousand marks of silver.
Meantime the ransom was collected in England, Normandy,
and Aquitaine, to which Queen Eleanora largely contributed.
When the first installment was ready, this affectionate mother

BENENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 65
and the chief justiciary set out for Germany, a little before
Christmas. Queen Eleanora was accompanied by her grand
daughter, Eleanora, surnamed the Pearl of Brittany. This
young princess was promised, by the ransom-treaty, in marriage
to the heir of Leopold of Austria. The Cypriot princess was like-
ewise taken from th3 keeping of Queen Berengaria, on the de
mand of the emperor, and surrendered to her German relatives.
It was owing to the exertions of the gallant Guelphic princes,
his relations, that the actual liberation of Coeur de Lion was at
last effected. Henry the Lion, Duke of Saxony, and his sons
appeared before the diet, and pleaded the cause of the English
hero with the most passionate eloquence ; they pledged then-
credit for the payment of the remainder of his ransom, and ac
tually left William of Winchester, the youngest Guelphic prince,
in pawn with the emperor for the rest of the ransom.
After an absence of four years, three months, and nine days.
King Richard landed at Sandwich, in April, the Sunday after
St. George's day, in company with his royal mother, who had
the pleasure of surrendering to him his dominions, both insular
and continental, without diminution.
Eleanora's detention of the Princess Ahce in Normandy had
drawn on that country a fierce invasion from Philip Augustus,
the result of which would have been doubtful, if the tears of
Berengaria, then newly arrived in Aquitaine, had not prevailed
on her noble brother, Sancho the Strong, to traverse France
with two hundred choice knights. By the valor of this hero,
and his chivalric reinforcement, Normandy was delivered from
the King of France.
Berengaria, during the imprisonment of her royal husband,
lost her father, Sancho the Wise, King of Navarre, who died in
1194, after a glorious reign of forty-four years.

66 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE.

After a second coronation, Richard went in progress through
out England, with his royal mother, to sit in judgment on those
Castellans who had betrayed their fortresses to his brother John.
At all these councils Queen Eleanora assisted him, being treated
by her son with the utmost reverence, and sitting in state at his
right hand.
The magnanimous Coeur de Lion treated these rebels with
great lenity ; and when Prince John, on the arrival of the king
at Rouen, being introduced by Queen Eleanora, knelt at hia
brother's feet for pardon, he raised him with this remarkable
expression — " I forgive you, John, and I wish I could as easily
forget your offence as you will my pardon."
King Richard finished his progress by residing some months
in his Angevin territories. Although he was in the vicinity of
the loving and faithful Berengaria, he did not return to her so^
ciety. The reason of this estrangement was, that the king had
renewed his connection with a number of profligate and worth
less associates, the companions of his long bachelor-hood in his
father's lifetime. His conduct at this time infinitely scandalized
all his subjects, as he abandoned himself to drinking and great
infamy ; for which various virtuous churchmen reproved him
boldly, to their credit be it spoken.
"The spring of 1195, Richard wa$ hunting in one of his
Norman forests, when he was met by a hermit, who recognized
him, and preached him a very eloquent sermon on his irregular
life, finishing by prophesying, that unless he repented, his end
and punishment were close at hand. The king answered slight-
ing'yj and went his way ; but the Easter following he was seized
with a most severe illness, which threatened to be fatal, when
he remembered the saying of the hermit-prophet, and, greatly
alarmed, he begafli to repent of his sips."

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 67
Richard sent for all the monks within ten miles round, and
made public confession of his iniquities, vowing, that if Queen
Berengaria would forgive him, he would send for her, and never
forsake her again.
The final restoration of Berengaria to the affections of her
royal husband took place a few months after, when Richard pro
ceeded to Poictiers, where he was reconciled to his queen, and
kept Christmas and the new year of 1196 in that city, with
princely state and hospitality. It was a year of great scarcity
and famine, and the beneficent queen exerted her restored in
fluence over the heart of the king, by persuading him to give
all his superfluous money in bountiful alms to the poor ; and
through her goodness many were kept from perishing. From
that time Queen Berengaria and King Richard were never
parted. She found it best to accompany him in all his cam
paigns ; and we flnd her with him at the hour of his death.
Higden, in the Polychroniohon, gives this testimony to the
love that Berengaria bore to Richard : — " The king took home
to him his queen Berengaria, whose society he had for a long time
neglected, though she were a roj'al, eloquent, and beauteous
lady, and for his love had ventured with him through the world."
The same year the king, despairing of heu-s by his consort,
sent for young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, that the boymight
be educated at his court as future king of England. His mother,
Constance, out of enmity to Queen Eleanora, unwisely refused
this request, and she finished her folly by declaring for the king
of France, then waging a fierce war against Richard. This step
cost her hapless child his inhei'ltance, and finally his life. From
this time Richard acknowledged his brother John as his heir.
The remaining three years of Richard's life was spent in petty
provincial wars with the king of France. In one of his treaties,

It

68 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE.
the Princess Alice was at last surrendered to her brother, who
gave her, with (a tarnished reputation, and) the dowry of the
county of Ponthieu, in marriage to the Count of Aumerle, when
she had arrived at her thirty-fifth year.
After the reconciliation between Richard and Berengaria, the
royal revenues arising from the tin-mines in Cornwall and Devon,
valued at two thousand marks per annum, were confirmed to the
queen for her dower. Her continental dower was the city of
Bigorre in Aquitaine, and the whole county of Mans.
It was the lively imagination of Richard, heated by the splen
did fictions of Arabian romance, that hurried him to his end.
A report was brought to him that a peasant plowing in the fields
of Vidomar, Lord of Chaluz, in Aquitaine, had struck upon a
trap-door which concealed an enchanted treasure, and going
down into a cave discovered several golden statues with vases
full of diamonds, all of which had been secured in the castle of
Chaluz, for the private use of the Sieur de Vidomar. Richard,
when he heard this fine tale, sent to Vidomar, demanding, as
sovereign of the country, his share of the golden statues. The
poor Castellan declared that no such treasure had been found ;
nothing but a pot of Roman coins had been discovered, and those
he was welcome to have.
As Richard had set his mind on golden statues and vases of
diamonds, and had thriven so well when he demanded the golden
furniture from King Tancred, it was not probable he could lower
his ideas to the reality stated by the unfortunate Lord of Vido
mar. Accordingly he marched to besiege the Castle of Chaluz,
sending word to Vidomar either to. deliver the statues, or abide
the storming of the castle. To this siege Queen Berengaria
accompanied the king. Here Richard met his death, being
pierced from the walls by an arrow from an arbalista, or cross-

BERENGARIA OP NAVARRE. 6&
bow, aimed by the hand of Bertrand de Gordon. It was the
unskillfulness of the surgeon, who mangled the king's shoulder
in cutting out the arrow, joined to Richard's own willfulness in
neglecting the regimen of his physicians, that caused the morti
fication of a trifling wound, and occasioned the death of a hero,
who to many faults joined a redeeming generosity that showed
itself in his last moments. After enduring great agony from his
wound, as he drew near to death, the Castle of Chaluz was
taken. He caused Bertrand de Gordon to be brought before
him, and telling him he was dying, asked him whether he
had discharged the fatal arrow with the intention of slaying
him ?
" Yes, tyrant," replied Gordon ; " for to you I owe the deaths
of my father and my brother, and my first wish was to be re
venged on you."
Notwithstanding the boldness of this avowal, the dying king
commanded Gordon to be set at liberty, and it was not his fault
that his detestable mercenary general, the Fleming, Marcade,
caused him to be put to a cruel death.
Richard's death took place Ajn-il 6th, 1199; his queen un
questionably was with him when he died. She corroborated the
testimony that he left his dominions and two-thirds of his trea
sures to his brother John.
Richard appears to have borne some personal resemblance to
his great uncle, William Rufus. Like him, his hair and com
plexion were wfirm in color, and his eyes blue and fiercely spark
ling. Like Rufus, his strength was prodigious, but he had the
advantage of a tall majestic figure. There are some points of
resemblance in character between Rjphard and his collateral an
cestor, though Richard must be considered a more learned and
elegant prince, ard susceptible, withal, of more frequent im-

70 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE.
pulses of generosity and penitence. They both seem to have
excelled in the same species of wit and lively repartee.
At the time of King Richard's death, Matthew Paris declares
Queen Eleanora, his mother, was governing England, " where,"
adds that historian, " she was exceedingly respected and beloved. "
Before the body of Coeur de Lion was committed to the grave,
an additional load of anguish assailed the heart of his royal
widow, through the calamities that befell Joanna, her friend, and
Richard's favorite sister. The persecution on account of reli
gion that afterwards visited Joanna's gallant son, in the well-
known war against the Albigenses, had already attacked his
father incipiently. Owing to the secret agitations of the Catholic
clergy, the Barons of Toulouse were in arms against the gallant
Raymond'. Queen Joanna, though in a state little consistent
with such exertions, flew to arms for the relief of her adored
lord. We translate the following mournful passage from Guil-
laume de Puy-Laurens : — " Queen Joanna was a woman of great
courage, and was highly sensitive to the injuries of her husband.
She laid siege to the Castle of Ceasar ; but, owing to the treach-
sry of her attendants, her camp was fired — she escaped with
difficulty from the burning tents, much scorched and hurt. Un
subdued by this accident, she hastened to lay her wrongs before
her beloved brother. King Richard. She found he had just ex
pired as she arrived. The pains of premature child-birth seized
her as she heard the dire intelligence, and she sank under the
double affliction of mental and corporeal agony. With her last
breath she begged to be laid near her brother Richard." To
Berengaria the request, was made, and the cold remains of the
royal brother and sister, the dearest objects of the sorrowing
queen's affections, were laid, by her pious care, side by side in
the stately abbey of Fontevraud.

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 71
The death of Joanna was immediately succeeded by that of
Berengaria's only sister Blanche. This princess had been given
in marriage by Coeur de Lion to his nephew and friend, the trou
badour-prince, Thibaut of Champagne. The Princess Blanche
died the day after the bhth of a son, who afterwards wa% the
heir both of Sancho and Berengaria, and finally King of Navarre.
Thus, in the course of a few short weeks, was the Queen of Eng
land bereft of all that were near and dear to her ; the world had
become a desert to Berengaria before she left it for a life of con
ventual seclusion.
Queen Berengaria fixed her residence at Slans in the Orlean-
nois, where she held a great part of her foreign dower. Here
she founded the noble Abbey of L 'Espan.
Once Queen Berengaria left her widowed retirement, when
she met her brother-in-law, King John, and his fair young bride,
at Chinon, her husband's treasure city. Here she compounded
with the English monarch, for the dower she held in England,
for two thousand marks per annum, to Ipe paid half-yearly.
After being entertained with royal magnificence, and receivmg
every mark of respect from the English court, the royal widow
bade farewell to public splendor, and retired to conventual seclu
sion, and the practice of constant charity. But no spooner was
John fixed firmly on the English throne, than he began to neglect
the payment of the dower for which his sister-in-law had com
pounded ; and in 1206, there appears in the Foedera a passport
for the queen-dowager to come to England for the purpose of
conferring with King John ; but there exists no authority where
by we can prove that she arrived in England.
The records of 1209 present a most elaborate epistle from
Pope Innocent, setting forth the wrongs and wants of his dear
daughter in Christ, Berengaria, who, he says, had appealed to

72 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE.
him " with floods of tears streaming down her cheeks, and with
audil^le cries" — which, we trust, were flowers of rhetoric of the
pope's secretary. As Pope Innocent threatens John with an
interdict, it is pretty certain that the wrongs of Berengaria
formed a clause in the subsequent excommunication of the felon
king. In 1214, when the excommunication was taken off, there ex
ists a letter' from John to his dear sister, the illustrious Beren*
garia, praying that the pope's nuncio might arbitrate what was
due to her. The next year brings a piteous letter from King
John, praying that his dearly-beloved sister will excuse his delay
of payment, seeing the " greatness of his adversity by reason of
the wickedness of his magnates and barons," who had invited
Prince Louis of Prance to spoil her estates ; " but when," says
King John, " these clouds that have overcast our serenity shall
disperse, and our kingdom be full of joyful tranquillity, then the
pecuniary debt owed to our dear sister shall be paid joyfully and
thankfully." This precious epistle was penned July Sth, 1216, by John
but he died the succeeding October, and Berengaria's debt was
added to the vast sum of his other trespasses ; for " joyful tran-
quiUity" never came for him, nor of course her time of pay
ment. In the reign of Henry III., Berengaria had again to require
the pope's assistance for the payment of her annuity. Her
arrears at that time amounted to £4040 sterling ; but the
Templars became guarantees and agents for her payments ; and
from that time the pecuniary troubles of Berengaria cease to
form a feature in our national records.
The date of Berengaria's death has generally been fixed about
the year 1230, but that was only the year of the completion of

BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 73
her Abbey of Espan, and of her final retirement from the
world, as from that time she took up her abode within its walls,
and finished there her blameless life, at an advanced age, some
years afterwards.
Berengaria was interred in her own stately abbey. The fol
lowing most interesting particulars of her monument we tran
scribe from the noble work of the late Mr. Stothard, edited by
his accomplished widow, jMrs. Bray : —
" When Mr. Stothard visited the Abbey of L 'Espan, near
Mans, in search of the effigy of Berengaria, he found the church
converted into a barn, and the object of his inquiry in a muti
lated state, concealed under a quantity of wheat. It was in
excellent preservation, with the exception of the left arm. By
the effigy were lying the bones of the queen, the silent witnesses
of the sacrilegious demolition of the tomb. After some search,
a portion of the arm belonging to the statue was recovered."
Three men who had assisted in the work of destruction, stated,
" that the monument with the figure upon it stood in the centre
of the aisle, at the east end of the church ; that there was no
coffin within it, but a small square box, containing bones, pieces
of linen, some stuff embroidered with gold, and a slate, on which
was found an inscription." The slate was found in possession
of a canon of the church of St. Julien, at Mans ; upon it was
engraven an inscription, of which the following is a trans
lation : —
" The tomb of the most serene Berengaria, Queen of Eng
land, the noble founder of this monastery, was restored and re
moved to this more sacred place. In it were deposited the
bones which were found in the ancient sepulchre, on the 27th
May, in the year of our Lord 1672."
The sides of the tomb are ornamented with deep quatre-

74 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE.
foils. The effigy which was upon it is in high relief. It repre
sents the queen with her hair unconfined, but partly concealed
by the coverchief, over which is placed an elegant crown. Her
mantle is fastened by a narrow band crossing her breast ; a large
fermail, or brooch, richly set with stones, confines her tunic a
the neck. To an ornamental girdle, which encircles her waist,
is attached a smaM. aumoniere or purse. This greatly resembles
a modern reticule, with a chain and clasped top. The queen
holds in her hands a box, singular from the circumstance of its
having embossed on the cover a second representation of her
self, as lying on a bier, with waxen torches burning in candle
sticks on either side of her.
From early youth to her grave, Berengaria manifested
devoted love for Richard — uncomplaining when deserted by
him, forgiving when he returned, and faithful to his memory
unto death. The royal Berengaria, Queen of England, though
never in England, little deserves to be forgotten by any admirer
gf feminine and conjugal virtue.

J. n q M

a. K^ oj IK A\ .

Laura, rendered immortal by the love and lyre of Petrarch
was the daughter of Audibert de Noves, who was of the hautt
nohksse of Avignon. He died in the infancy of Laura, leaving
her a dowry of one thousand gold crowns, (about fifty thousand
dollars,) a magnificent portion for those times. She was married
at the age of eighteen to Hugh de Sade, a young noble only a
few years older than his bride, but not distinguished by any ad
vantages either of person or mind. The marriage contract is
dated in January, 1325, two years before her first meeting with
Petrarch ; and in it her mother, the Lady Ermessende, and her
brother, John de Noves, stipulate to pay the dower left by her
father ; and also to bestow on the bride two magnificent dresses
for state occasions — one of green, embroidered with violets, the
other of crimson, trimmed with feathers. In all the portraits
of Laura now extant, she is represented in one of these two
dresses, and they are frequently alluded to by Petrarch. He
tells us expressly that, when he first met her at matins in the
church of Saint Claire, she was habited in a robe of green spotted
with violets. Mention is also made of a coronal of silver with
which she wreathed her hair — of her necklaces and ornaments
of pearls. Diamonds are not once alluded to, because the art
of cutting them had not then been invented. From all which it
appears that Laura was opulent, and moved in the first class of
society. It was customary for women of rank in those times to

78 LAURA.
dress with extreme simplicity on ordinary pccasions, but with the
most gorgeous splendor when they appeared in public.
There are some beautiful descriptions of Laura surrounded by
her young female companions, divested of all her splendid ap
parel, in a simple white robe and a few flowers in her hair, but
still preeminent over all by her superior loveliness.
She was in person a fair. Madonna-like beauty, with soft dark
eyes, and a profusion of pale golden hajr parted on her brow,
and falling in rich curls over her neck. The general character
of her beauty must have been pensive, soft, unobtrusive, and
even somewhat languid. This softness and repose must have
been far removed from insipidity, for Petrarch dwells on the
rare and varying expression of her loveliness, the lightening of
her smile, and the tender magic of her voice, which was felt in
the inmost heart. He dwells on the celestial grace of her figure
and movements, and describes the beauty of her hand and the
loveliness of her mouth. She had a habit of veiling her eyes
with her hand, and her looks were generally bent on the earth.
In a portrait of Laura, in the Laurentinian library at Flo
rence, the eyes have this characteristic downcast look.
Laura was distinguished, then, by her rank and fortune, but
more by her loveliness, her sweetness, and the untainted purity
of her life and manners in the midst of a society noted for its
licentiousness. Now she is known as the subject of Petrarch's
verses, as the woman who inspired an immortal passion, and,
kindling into living fire the dormant sensibility of the poet, gave
origin to the most beautiful and refined, the most passionate and
yet the most delicate amatory poetry that exists in the world.
Petrarch was twenty-three years of age when he first felt the
power of a violent and inextihguishable passion. At six in tho
morning on tV.3 sixth of April, a. d. 1327, (he often fondly

LAURA. 79
records the exact year, day and hour,) on the occasion of the
festival of Easter, he visited the church of Saint Claire at Avi"--
non, and beheld, for the first time, Laura de Sade. She was
just twenty years of age, and in the bloom of beauty — a beauty
so touching and heavenly, so irradiated hy purity and smiling
innocence, and so adorned by gentleness and modesty, that tho
first sight stamped the image in the poet's heart, never there
after to be erased.
Petrarch beheld the loveliness and sweetness of the young
beauty, and was transfixed. He sought acquaintance with her ;
and while the manners of the times prevented his entering her
house, he enjoyed many opportunities of meeting her in society,
and of conversing with her. He would have declared his love,
but her reserve enforced silence. " She opened my breast and
took my heart into her hand, saying ' speak no word of this,' "
he writes. Yet the reverence inspired by her modesty and
dignity was not always sufficient to restrain her lover. Being
alone with her on one occasion, and she appearing more gracious
than usual, Petrarch tremblingly and fearfully confessed his pas
sion ; but she, with altered looks, replied, " I am not the person
you take me for !" Her displeasure froze the very heart of the
poet, so that he fled from her presence in grief and dismay.
No attentions on his part could make any impression on her
steady and virtuous mind. While love and youth drove him
on, she remained impregnable and flrm ; and when she found
that he still rushed wildly forward, she preferred forsaking to
following him to the precipice down which he would have hurried
her. Meanwhile, as he gazed on her angelic countenance, and
saw purity painted on it, his love grew spotless as herself Love
transforms the true lover into a resemblance of the object of hia
passion. In a town, which was the asylum of vice, calumny

80

never breathed a taint upon Laura's name ; her actions, her
words, the very expression of her countenance, and her slightest
gestures were replete with modest reserve combined with sweet
ness, and won the applause of all.
Francesco Petrarch was of Florentine extraction, and the son
of a notary, who, being held in great esteem by his fellow-
citizens, had filled several public offices.
When the Ghibelines were banished Florence, in 1302, Pe-
traccolo was included in the number of exiles ; his property was
confiscated, and he retired with his wife, Eletta Canigiani, whom
he had lately married, to the town of Arrezzo, in Tuscany.
And here on the night of the 20th of July, 1304, Petrarch first
saw the light. When the child was seven months old his mother
was permitted to return from banishment, and she established
herself at a country house belonging to her husband, near An-
cisa, a small town fifteen miles from Florence. The infant who,
at his birth, it was supposed would not survive, was exposed to
imminent peril during this journey. In fording a rapid stream,
the man who had charge of him carried him, wrapped in swad
dling clothes, at the end of a stick ; he fell from his horse, and
the babe slipped from the fastenings into the water, from which,
however, he was rescued, uninjured.
The youth of Petrarch was obscure in point of fortune, but
it was attended by all the happiness that springs from family
concord, and the excellent character of his parents. At the
age of fifteen he was sent to study in the University of Montpel
lier, then frequented by a vast concourse of students. His father
intended his son to pursue the study of the law, as the profession
best suited to insure his reputation and fortune ; but to this
pursuit Francesco was invincibly repugnant. He was soon after
sent to Bologna, where, as at Montpellier, he continued to dis-

LAURA. 81
play great taste for literature, much to his father's dissatisfac
tion. At Bologna, Petrarch made considerable progress in the
study of the law, moved thereto, doubtless, by the entreaties of
his excellent parent.
After three years spent at Bologna, Petrarch was recalled to
France by the death of his father. Soon after his mother died
also, and he and his brother were left entirely to their own
guidance, with very slender means, and those diminished by the
dishonesty of those whom his father named as trustees to their
fortune. Under these circumstances Petrarch entirely aban
doned the profession of the law, as it occurred to both him and
his brother that the clerical profession was their best resource in
a city where the priesthood reigned supreme. They resided at
Avignon, and became the favorites and companions of the eccle
siastical and lay nobles who formed the papal court. His talents
and accomplishments were of course the cause of this distinction ,
besides that his personal advantages were such as to prepossess
every one in his favor. He was so handsome as frequently to
attract observation when he passed along the streets. When,
to the utmost simplicity and singleness of mind, were added
splendid talents, the charm of poetry, so highly valued in the
country of the Troubadours, an affectionate and generous dispo
sition, vivacious and pleasing manners, an engaging and attrac
tive exterior, we cannot wonder that Petrarch was the darling
of his age, the associate of its greatest men, and the man whom
princes delighted to honor.
The passion of Petrarch for Laura was purified and exalted
at the same time. She filled him with noble aspirations, a-./d
divided him from the common herd. He felt that her influjnoe
made hira superior to vulgar ambition, and rendered hia wise,
G

82 LAURA.
true, and great She saved him in the dangerous period of
youth, and gave a worthy aim to all his endeavors. The man
ners of his age permitted one solace — a Platonic attachment
was the fashion of the day. The Troubadours had each a lady
to adore, to wait upon, and to celebrate- in song, without its
being supposed that she made him any return beyond a gracious
acceptance of his devoirs, and allowing him to make her the
heroine of his verses. Petrarch endeavored to merge the living
passion of his soul into this airy and unsubstantial devotion.
Laura permitted the homage ; she perceived his merit and was
proud of his admiration ; she felt the truth of his affection, and
indulged the wish of preserving it and her own honor at the
same time. Without her inflexibiUty, this had been a dangerous
experiment ; but she always kept her lover distant from her —
rewarding his reserve with smiles, and repressing by frowns all
the overflowings of his heart.
By her resolute severity, she incurred the danger of ceasing
to be the object of his attachment, and of losing the gift of an
immortal name, which he has conferred upon her. But Pe
trarch's constancy was proof against hopelessness and time.
He had too fervent an admiration of her quaUfications ever to
change ; he controlled the vivacity of his feelings, and they
became deeper rooted. " Untouched by my prayers," he says,
" unvanquished by my arguments, unmoved by my flattery, she
remained faithful to her sex's honor ; she resisted her own
young heart, and mine, and a thousand, thousand things, which
must have conquered any other. She remained unshaken. A
woman taught me the duty of a man ! to persuade me to keep
the path of virtue, her conduct was at once an example and a
reproach." But whether, in this long conflict, Laura preserved her heart

LAURA. 83

untouched, as well as her virtue immaculate ; whether she
shared the love she inspired, or whether she escaped from
the captivating assiduities and intoxicating homage of her
kver, " fancy free ;" whether coldness, or prudence, or pride,
or vu-tue, or the mere heartless love of admiration, or a mix
ture of all together, dictated her conduct, is at least as well
worth inquiry as the color of her eyes, or the form of her nose,
upon which we have pages of grave discussion. She might
have been coquette par itistinct, if not par calent ; she miglit
have felt, with feminine tacie, that, to preserve her influence
over Petrarch, it was necessary to preserve his respect. She
was evidently proud of her conquest — she had else been more
or less than woman ; and at every hazard, but that of self-
respect, she was resolved to retain him. If Petrarch absented
himself for a few days, he was generally better treated on his
return. If he avoided her, then her eye followed him with a
softer expression. When he looked pale from sickness of heart
and agitation of spirits, Laura would address him with a few
words of pitying tenderness. When he presumed on this be
nignity, he was again repulsed with frowns. He flew to solitude
— solitude ! Never let the proud and torn heart, wrung with
the sense of injury, and sick with unrequited passion, seek that
worst resource against pain, for there grief grows by contemplat
ing itself, and every feeling is sharpened by collision. Petrarch
sought to " mitigate the fever of his heart" amid the shades of
Vaucluse, a spot so gloomy, and so solitary, that his very ser
vants forsook him ; and Vaucluse, its fountains, its forests, and
its hangmg cliffs, reflected only the image of Laura.
He passed several years thus, cut off from society. His books
were his great resource ; he was never without one in his hand.
Often he remained iu silence from morning till night, wandering

84 LAURA.

among the hills when the sun was yet low, and taking refuge,
during the heat of the day, in his shady garden. At night, after
performing his clerical duties, (for he was canon of Lombes),
he rambled among the hills — often entering, at midnight, the
cavern, whose gloom, even during the day, struck his soul with
awe. "Fool that I was!" he exclaims in after-life, "not to
have remembered the first school-boy lesson — ^that sclitude is
the nurse of love !"
While living at Vaucluse, Petrarch, invited to Rome by the
Roman Senate, repaired thither tOsreceive the laurel crown of
poesy. The ceremony was performed in the Capitol with great
solemnity, in the presence of all the nobles and high-born ladies
of the city. Leaving Rome soon after his coronation, he re
paired to Parma, where Clement VI. rewarded him for sub
sequent political services by naming him prior of Migliarino in
the diocese of Pisa.
Petrarch returned to Avignon. The sight of Laura gave
fresh energy to a passion which had survived the lapse of fifteen
years. She was no longer the blooming girl who had first
charmed him. The cares of life had dimmed her beauty. She
was the mother of many children, and had been afflicted at
various times by illness. Her home was not happy. Her hus
band, without loving or appreciating her, was ill-tempered and
jealous. Petrarch acknowledged that if her personal charms
had been her ,sole attraction he had already ceased to love her.
But his passion was nourished by sympathy and esteem ; and,
above all, by that mysterious tyranny of love, which, while it
exists, the mind of man seems to have no power of resisting,
though in feebler minds it sometimes vanishes hke a dream.
Petrarch was also changed in personal appearance. His hair
was sprinkled with gray, and lines of care and sorrow trenched

LAURA. 85
his face. On both sides the tenderness of iffection began to
replace, in him the violence of passion, in her the coyness and
severity she had found necessary to check his pursuit. The
jealousy of her husband opposed obstacles to their seeing each
other. They met as they could in public walks and asssmblies.
Laura sang to him, and a soothing familiarity grew up between
them as her fears became allayed, and he looked forward to the
time when they might sit together and converse without dread.
At length he resolved" to leave Laura and Avignon forever,
and instead of plunging into solitude, to seek the wiser resource
of travel and society. Laura saw him depart with regret.
When he went to take leave of her, he found her surrounded by
a circle of her ladies. Her mien was dejected ; a cloud over
cast her face, whose expression seemed to say, " Who takes my
faithful friend from me ?" Petrarch was struck to the heart by
a sad presentiment — the emotion was mutual — they both
seemed to feel that they should never meet again.
Petrarch departed. The plague, which had been extending
its ravages over Asia, entered Europe. It spread far and wide ;
nearly one half the population of the world became its prey.
Petrarch saw thousands die around him, and he trembled for his
friends. He heard that it was at Avignon. A thousand sad
presentiments haunted his mind. At last the fatal truth
reached him, Laura was dead ! By a singular coincidence, she
died on the anniversary of the day when he first saw her. She
was taken ill on the third of April, and languished but three
days. As soon as the symptoms of the plague declared them
selves, she prepared to die. She made her will, which is dated
on the third of April, and received the sacraments of the church.
On the sixth she died, surrounded by her friends and the noble
ladies of Avignon, who braved the dangers of infection to attend

86 LAURA.
on one so lovely and so beloved. On the evening of the same
day on which she died, she was interred in the chapel of the
Cross which her husband had lately built in the church of the
Minor Friars at Avignon.
Her tomb was discovered and opened in 1533, in the pre
sence of Francis the First, whose celebrated stanzas on the occa
sion are well known.
Of the fame which, even in her lifetime, the love, and the
poetical adoration of Petrarch had thrown around his Laura,
curious instance is given which will characterize the manners of
the age. When Charles of Luxembourg (afterwards Emperor)
was at Avignon, a grand fete was given, in his honor, at which
all the noblesse were present. He desired that Petrarch's Laura
should be pointed out to him ; and when she was introduced, he
made a sign with his hand that the other ladies present should
fall back ; then going up to Laura, and for a moment contem
plating her with interest, he kissed her respectively on the fore
head and on the eyelids.
Petrarch survived her twenty-six y«ars, dying in 1374. He
was found^lifeless one morning in his study, his hand resting on
a book. ^

lo^K) of 9lii*C

THE MAID OF OE LEANS.
Although woman is so physically constituted as to render the
more tender and delicate offices of human duty her appropriate
sphere of action, yet this by no means justifies the illiberal but
common error that her mental abilities are only equal to her
corporeal energies. We might adduce numberless instances to
disprove this inference, for the history of the past is rife with the
records of the mental streno;th and moral courage of woman.
When the holy impulse of maternal or conjugal affection, the
noble sentiments of true patriotism, the angelic spirit of genuine
benevolence, or the awful presence of great danger or death
have awakened in its fullest strength the more masculine ener
gies of the female character, where can we look for more cool
deliberation, sagacious forethought, or firmness of purpose, than
such occasions have exhibited ? The pages of holy writ, the
annals of Greece and Rome, the book of Christian martyrs, the
records of our revolutionary struggles, all exhibit, in their bright
est hues, the moral excellences, and unsubdued strength of wo
man. But for undaunted courage, a connection with a series of
brilliant achievements, and an exhibition of almost superhuman
strength of character, under every circumstance, history furnishes
but rare parallels to her whose name stands at the head of this
article. Nor can history present a more damning stain upon
the himian character, than is pictured in the details of her
death.

90 JOANOFARC.

Jeanne.! O'' Joan d'' Arc, commonly called the Maid of Or
leans, was the daughter of a poor peasant of Domremy, a town
situated in the north-east part of France, upon the borders of
Loraine. The poverty of her parents rendered her earlier years
a scene of toil in menial services, and even the rudiments of edu
cation were denied her by the arbitrary power of circumstances.
Filled with that true piety which burns with so pure a fiame in
the hearts of many of the rural peasantry of the French pro
vinces, her mother was a fit tutor in schooling her child in that
knowledge which is so essential to the correct formation of
human character, and she taught her the mysteries of revealed
religion. Joan was always of a very imaginative temperament ; and,
when yet a mere child, she would often stray away from her
companions into the .forest shades, and there hold imaginary
intercourse with celestial visitants. The ruling passion of hei
life was religion, and upon that topic all her thoughts, and con
versation, and actions hinged.
Although circumscribed by poverty to a narrow and humble
sphere, yet, as she approached toward womanhood, her rare
personal charms and strongly-developed intellect won for her
the admiration and esteem of all. She left her father's house,
and engaged as a seamstress in the neighboring town of Neuf-
chateau, where she pursued her new avocation with industry for
five years. Her beauty attracted universal attention, and many
advantageous proposals of marriage were made, but by her
promptly refused. Her affections were too firmly set upon re
ligion to be disturbed by or divided with the things of earth,
and she sought no other intercourse than the presence of angels
and saints. Her monomania in that respect increased with her
years ; and with asseverations of truth, she frequently declared

JOANOFARC. 01

that she had held audible conversation with the angels Michael
and Gabriel, and saints Catherine, Margaret, &c.
She declared the delight she experienced while sitting in the
solitary forest and listening with rapt attention to the melodies
of heaven, and seemed truly astonished at the fact that none
but herself were permitted to enjoy those celestial concerts.
At the age of sixteen another passion, equally strong with
religion, claimed a share of her affections.
This sentiment was patriotism — pure, unadulterated love of
country, and a sincere desire for the promotion of her country's
welfare. Peculiar circumstances conspired to render this pas
sion strong to its fullest extent, and opened a wide field for its
perfect development. At this time, (1428,) England claimed
the Sovereignty of France, and by the power of the sword, and
the right of might, held possession of a greater part of the
kingdom. The Duke of Bedford, uncle to Henry VI., the
reigning monarch of England, resided in Paris, and acted as
regent for his nephew ; while Charles VII., the lawful emperor
of France, by birth — possession of the throne — and the almost
undivided love of the people, was a refugee in one of the frontier
towns. English troops were garrisoned in all the cities and con
siderable towns, and a powerful army was daily extending its
unlawful encroachments. Cruel retribution followed every re
sistance of the inhabitants, and fields and vineyards, towns and
hamlets, were destroyed by the invading foe.
These events made a strong impression upon the lardent im
agination of Joan, and she conceived the bold idea that she was
commissioned by heaven to be an instrument in effecting the
deliverance of her country. Conscious of what was the proper
sphere of woman, she felt that her sex was degrading to her
spirit, for it denied her the privilege of engaging in the martial

92 JOANOFARC.

pursuits necessaa-y to the fulfilling of her mission. But he/
enthusiasm broke down every barrier, and she engaged in every
manly exercise calculated to invigorate her frame and give her
that knowledge she so much needed in the enterprise in which
she was about to embark. She soon became an unrivaled
equestrian, and managed her horse with all the skill of the
bravest knight. These exercises gave an increased glow to her
beauty, and she became an object almost of adoration. The
superstition of the times invested her with divine attributes, and
the idea took possession of the minds of many of the lower class
that she was the Virgin Blary, sent at this inauspicious moment
to deliver France from a foreign yoke.
On the 24th of February, 1429, Joan first entered the royal
presence, and offered her services in restoring to the emperor
his crown, and to her country its liberty. Charles was at this
time at Chinon, a little distance from Orleans. The latter city
had warmly espoused his cause, and at the time in question was
strongly besieged by the English, led on by the traitor Duke of
Burgundy, who had been one of the most powerful vassals of the
French crown.
The emperor had heard of the extraordinary young maiden
now before him, but he had conceived her to be a tattered
menial, urged on by fanaticism that had displaced weak judg
ment from a weak head, and at first refused her an audience.
But, when assured that the applicant was no crazed mendicant,
he gave her permission to enter. The emperor was filled with
astonishment ; nay, some secret impulse awakened feelings of
awful reverence in his bosom, when the maiden, armed cap-a-pii,
stood upright before him, without paying even that obeisance
expected from every subject. She uncovered her head, and
her dark hair fell in profusion upon her mailed shoulders. The

JOANOFARC. 93

excitement of the moment gave increased animation to her
countenance, and she seemed to the astonished monarch as a
lovely angel, truly commissioned by Heaven for some mighty
deed. Joan first broke silence.
" I come," said she, " not in the strength of steel, but mailed
in the panoply of righteousness, to offer my services to my king
and country. I ask not the royal signet as a proof of my com
mission ; my credentials are from Heaven — my chief sovereign,
the Lord God Omnipotent. I have heard a voice of wail go up
from hill and valley. I have seen the rich vineyard trampled
down by mercenary warriors. I have beheld the frequent glare
at midnight of consuming villages and hamlets, and yet, amid all
this desolation, I have been obliged to sit and' sigh over the
weakness of my countrymen, and the uncurbed strength of the
foe. The darkness has deepened over my beloved land, but
light now streams upon it. The arm of a woman, in the hands
of God to effect a mighty deliverance ; will an earthly sovereign
refuse her permission to lead his armies .' At this moment the
walls of 'Orleans are giving way to the battle-axes of the enemy,
and Chinon will be next invested by English soldiers, and thus
the last hope of France will depart. Heaven has issued its
mandate ; be thine concurrent, and Joan d' Arc wfll on to the
rescue !"
Charles hesitated not a moment in granting the young enthu
siast the boon she asked, and preparations- were immediately
made to execute the enterprise. The monarch was a man of
much sagacity, and he employed every means to invest the
maiden, and everything appertaining to her, with a supernal
character, for he knew that the prevailing superstitions of the.
time would, in such a connection, give increased vigor to the
soldiery. Everything being in readiness, the maid mounted a

94 JOANOFARC.

white steed, and with a banner of the same hue, dashed forward
at the head of brave and enthusiastic troops for Orleans. She
charged upon the enemy with terrible force, and despite the
most desperate efforts of the foe, she succeeded in entering the
beleagured city. Fresh courage animated soldiers and citizens,.
and on the eighth of May, the English, who had encompassed
the city for more than six months, raised the siege, and retired
in terror and confusion. This was but a beginning of her
achievement. A few days after, she was victorious at the battle
of Patay, where two thousand five hundred Englishmen were
slain, and more than twelve hundred taken prisoners, among
whom was the generalissimo, the brave Talbot. This, with the
capture of Orleans, was a death-blow to English power in
France ; and town after town now opened its gates to the French
troops, led on by Joan d' Arc. Rheims at length surrqpdered,
and on the 17th of July, scarcely five months after this extra
ordinary young woman first grasped the sword, in her country's
cause, the dethroned monarch was solemnly consecrated and
crowned in the cathedral of this last conquered city.
Having executed the mission which she deemed Heaven to
have given her, Joan laid aside the panoply of war, again assumed
the costume of her sex, and, in the character of a meek and
humble woman, presented herself before the emperor, and
petitioned his leave for her to retire to the' quiet and obscurity
of her native village. But the monarch, truly grateful, entreated,
and even commanded her to remain in public life. Honors were
lavished upon her ; letters of nobility were granted to herself
and family ; a medal was struck, in commemoration of her
achievements, and the name of Joan d' Arc became familiar in
every place and cottage in Europe. At the earnest sohcitation
of -Charles, she again took command of his troops, and for more

JOANOFABC. 95

than a year her career was one of brilhant exploits, in contend
ing against the English, who yet lingered on the borders of
France with the vain hope of regaining the territory they had
lost. But how pure soever the spirit, however noble the soul, how
ever valorous and great, wise and good, an individual may be,
the invidious monster, jealousy, will ever be creating a progeny
of calumniators, or worse foes, to frustrate his designs and eclipse
his well-earned glory. Such was the case of the Maid of Or
leans. When all was commotion — when victory after victory,
in rapid succession, was working out the political redemption of
France, all were ready, from monarch to vassal, to bow the knee
of reverence to the instrument of good. But the tempest at
length subsided, and French generals felt themselves disgraced
in being-lied on to battle by a woman ; and even the French
monarch forgot the services of a brave conqueror in restoring to
him his crown, in the reflection that she was but a poor country
girl !
On the 24th of May, 1430, while valorously defending Com-
peigne from the attacks of the army of the Duke of Burgundy,
the treacherous governor shut her out from the very city she
was gallantly defending ; and after performing prodigies of valor,
comparatively alone, she iras overpowered by superior numbers,
and compelled to surrender to the enemy. She fell into the
hands of John of Luxemburg, and a short time afterward, she
was actually sold by him to the Duke of Bedford, for ten thou
sand livres ! She was then taken to Rouen, and there arraigned
before the ecclesiastical tribunal, charged with being a sorceress.
From the time of her capture till the moment in question, the
ungrateful monarch to whom she had given a crown and a king
dom, made not a single effort for her liberation, and the poor

96 JOANOFARC.

girl was left entirely to the mercy of a personal foe, and a foe
to her common country. \
At that age, when even suspicion was sufficient to convict
of heresy in religion, and with such powerful accusers as charged
her with sorcery, Joan had but little mercy to expect from a
tribunal of corrupt bigots. Every device was used to afford suf
ficient testimony to give the coloring of an excuse to their un
holy proceedings, and she was vexed with a thousand questions
irrelevant to the subject, with the hope of eliciting some answer
that might be construed into heresy. For nearly four months
she was daily brought out of prison, where she was kept on
bread and water, and obliged to pass the ordeal of severe ques
tioning — questioning, often the most absurd. On one occasion
she was asked, whether at the coronation of Charles, she had not
displayed a standard, consecrated by magical incantation }
She replied, " My trust was in the Almighty, whose image was
unpressed upon the banner, and having encountered the dangers
of the field, I was entitled to share the glory of Rheims. I
serve," continued she, with uplifted' hands, "I serve but one
master — acknowledge but one sovereign, and he is our com
mon Father. Ye have threatened me with excommuniciition —
ye have threatened me with stripes, and chained me in a dun
geon, and now ye threaten me with the fire and fagot. Ye
may burn this tabernacle, but the soul that dwelleth in it, ye
cannot harm ; and that God whose arm bears me up in this af
fliction, is also your Judge. My faith is in Christ the Lord, and
your threatenings fall upon my ear and heart like idle words.
Do with me as ye see fit — your reward will soon follow."
During all of her examinations, she betrayed no weakness ;
and when at length she was excommunicated and sentenced to
be burned at the stake, her strength failed her not On the

JOANOFARC. 97

12th of May, 1431, she was taken from the prison under an
escort of one hundred and twenty armed men. She was clad in
female apparel, and upon her head was placed a paper crown,
inscribed, " Apostate, heretic, idolatress." She was supported
by two Dominican friars, and as she passed through the
thronged streets, she exclaimed, " Oh, Rouen ! Rouen ! must
thou be my last abode !" She uttered blessings on the people
as she passed, and supplicated Heaven to have mercy upon her
accusers, judges, and executioners. Seated upon the scaffold
was the English cardinal of Winchester, the Bishop of Terou-
anne. Chancellor of France, Bishop of Beauvois, and the other
judges. To these the heavily-fettered maiden was delivered ,
and she ascended the scaffold with her face bathed in tears.
Her funeral sermon was then preached ! — yes, in view of hea
ven, a professed ambassador of the meek and merciful Jesus —
preached the funeral sermon of a living, weak, defenceless, inno
cent girl ! and she was then handed over to the secular officers
to be put to death. Before she descended to mount the fatal
pile, she knelt down and prayed Heaven to forgive all. Nor
was the ungrateful Charles forgotten in her last moments,
and she invoked the blessing of Heaven upon him and her
country. As she arose from her knees, one of the judges said, " take
her away !" and the executioner, trembling like an aspen,
advanced, received her from the guards, and led her to the
funeral pile. She asked for a crucifix, which being given her.
she kissed it, and pressed it to her bosom. The fagots were
lighted, and in a few moments she was surrounded with flames.
An awful silence pervaded the multitude, and no voice was
heard but that of the dying martyr, whose lips, until seared by
flames, uttered the name of Jesus, mingled with the groans

98 JOANOFARC,

which the violence of her anguish extorted from her. — By order
of the Bishop of Winchester, her ashes were Collected and
thrown into the river.
Thus died this extraordinary maiden at the age of nineteen
years, to whom, Hume justly observed, " the more liberal and
generous superstitions of the ancients would have erected
altars." This last tragedy in the drama of her wonderful
career, is an eternal stigma, not only on the two nations im
mediately concerned, but upon the age in which she lived ; and
the actors in the scene, however much they may be robed in
sacerdotal dignity and reverence, should receive the execrations
of the good in all ages, as fit brethren for the Neros and Cali-
gulas of ancient Rome. Twenty years afterward her mother
demanded and obtained a reversal of her sentence, and by the
Bishop of Paris her character was fully cleared from every im
putation of guilt of the crimes of which she was accused. At
Orleans, Rouen, and various parts of France, monuments were
erected to her honor; and by a hull of Pope Calixtus III., she
was declared a martyr to her religion, her country, and her
king.

]§^5eJl^ of C^sflie.

nSAEELLLiSi ©F ^/SX^TTQILE,

Should we seek through the pages of history for a sovereign,
such as the Supreme Spirit of Good might indeed own for his
vice-regent here on earth, where should we find one more
blameless and beautiful than that of Isabella .' Or, should we
point out a reign, distinguished by great events — events of such
magnitude as to involve in their consequences, not particular
kings and nations, but the whole universe, and future ages to the
end of time — where could we find a reign such as that of Isabella,
who added a new world to her hereditary kingdom .' Or, did we
wish to prove that no virtues, talents, graces, though dignifying
and adorning a double crown and treble sceptre ; nor the pos
session of a throne fixed in the hearts of her people ; nor a long
course of the most splendid prosperity, could exempt a great
queen from the burthen of sorrow, which is the lot of her sex
and of humanity ; where could we find an instance so forcible as
in the history of Isabella ?
This illustrious woman was the daughter of John the Second,
King of Castile and Leon, and born in 1450, fourjears before
the death of her father. King John, after a long, turbulent,
and unhappy reign, died at Medina-del-Campo, leaving by his
first wife, Maria of Arragon, a son, Don Henry, who succeeded
him ; and by his second wife, Isabella of Portugal, two children
in their infancy, Alphonso and Isabella.
Among the many princes who sought the hand of Isabella,

102 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
Don Ferdinand, son of the King of Arragon, was preferred by
the young princess, and their marriage was accordingly per
formed at Valladolia, privately — the king, her brother, Henry
the Fourth of Castile, who was a vicious prince, and whose acta
of misgovernment had abeady led to a general revolt, at the
head of which was the Archbishop of Toledo, and the chief
nobUity — being opposed to this alliance from motives of interest.
At the period of her marriage, (in 1469), Isabella had just
entered her twentieth year. In person she was well formed,
of middle size, with great dignity and gracefulness of deport
ment, and a mingled gravity and sweetness of demeanor. Hei
complexion was fair ; her hair auburn, inclining to red ; her eyes
were of a clear blue, with a benign expression, and there was
a singular modesty in her countenance, gracing, as it did, a
wonderful firmness of purpose and earnestness of spirit. She
exceeded her husband in beauty, in personal dignity, in acute
ness of genius, and grandeur of soul. She combined a mascu
line energy of purpose with the utmost tenderness of heart, and
a softness of temper and manner truly feminine. Her self-
command was not allied to coldness, nor her prudence to dis
simulation, and her generous and magnanimous spirit disdained
all indirect measures, and all the little crooked arts of policy.
While all her public thoughts and acts were princely and august,
her private habits were simple, frugal, and unostentatious.
Without being learned, she was fond of literature ; and being
possessed of a fine understanding, had cultivated many branches
of knowledge with success. She encouraged and patronized the
arts, and was the soul of every undertaking which tended to
promote the improvement and happiness of her subjects. Her
only fault — most pardonable in her sex, her situation, and the
age in which she lived — was, that her piety tended to bigotry,

ISABELLA OP CASTILE. 103
and placed her too much at the disposal of her priestly advisers.
This led her into some errors, sad tii think of, and fraught with
evil consequences to her people — they are a subject of regret —
they cannot be a subject of reproach to this glorious creature,
who, in an age of superstition and ignorance, was sometime!»
mistaken and misled, but never perverted.
Ferdinand, when he received the hand of Isabella, was a few
months younger than his bride. He was of the middle stature,
well proportioned, and hardy, from athletic exercise ; his car
riage was free, erect, and majestic ; he had an ample forehead,
and hair of a bright chestnut color ; his eyes were clear ; his
complexion rather florid, but scorched to a manly brown by the
toils of war ; his mouth was handsome and gracious in its ex
pression ; his voice sharp ; his speech quick and fluent. His
courage was cool and undaunted, not impetuous ; his tempei
close and unyielding, and his demeanor grave. His ambition
was boundless, but it was also selfish, grasping, and unchecked
by any scruple of principle, any impulse of generosity. He had
great vigor of mind and great promptitude of action, but he
never knew what it was to be impelled by a disinterested mo
tive ; and even his excessive bigotry, which afterwards obtained
for him and his successors the title of " Most Catholic," was still
made subservient to his selfish views and his insatiate thirst for
dominion. Yet, however repulsive his character may appear to
us who can contemplate at one glance the events of his long
reign, and see his subtle, perfidious policy dissected and laid
bare by the severe pen of history, he did not appear thus in the
eyes of Isabella when they met at Valladolid. He was in the
bloom of youth, handsome, brave, and accomplished ; the vices
of his character were yet undeveloped, his best qualities alone
apparent. Animated by the wish to please, and no doubt

104 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
pleased himself to find in the woman whom ambition had made
his bride, all the charms and excellencies that could engage his
attachment, we cannot wonder that Ferdinand at this time, ob
tained and long fixed the tenderness and respect of his wife,
whose disposition was in tlie highest degree confiding and affec
tionate. The furious civil war ihak had raged for two or three years
between King Henry and his young brother Alphonso, and his
partisans, previous to the marriage of Isabella, had been ter
minated by the death of the prince at the age of fifteen, and
the nobles opposed to Henry then resolved to place Isabella at
their head. Isabella rejected the offered crown, and Henry,
willing to purchase at any price, however humiliating, for a few
years longer, the empty title of King, concluded a treaty with
the chiefs, whereby ho acknowledged his reputed daughter,
Joanna, illegitimate, setting aside her claims entirely, and de
clared Isabella his heiress and successor.
When Henry found that this marriage had been ' solemnized
without his knowledge or consent, he was struck with rage and
terror ; he revoked the treaty he had made in Isabella's favor,
declared his daughter Joanna his only legal heir, and civil war
again distracted and desolated the kingdom for more than three
years. The death of Henry in 1474, finally opened a sure road
to peace ; and Ferdinand and Isabella were immediately, and
almost without opposition, proclaimed King and Queen of Castile.
The Archbishop of Toledo, who had been so instrumental in
placing Isabella on the throne, and the chief negotiator of her
marriage, believed himself now at the summit of power, and
expected everything, from the gratitude and weakness of the
young queen, but was surprised to find that Isabella was not of i
character to leave the government in the hands of another. Dia-

ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 105
appointed in his ambitious views, the Archbishop quitted the
court in a fit of jealousy and disgust, and threw himself into tho
party of Joanna, whose pretensions were supported by the young
Marquis of Gillena, and other nobles. Alphonso, King of Por
tugal, also espoused the cause of Joanna, and invaded Castile
with a powerful army, and Joanna was proclaimed Queen at
Placentia. The Portuguese were, however, defeated at Tore, by
Ferdinand, and Alphonso was obliged to retire to his own king
dom. The disaffected nobles submitted one after another to
the 'power of Isabella, and Castile breathed at last from the
horrors of civil war.
The poor Princess Joanna at last sought refuge in a convent,
where she took the veil at the age of twenty, and died a nun.
Thus Isabella remained without a competitor, and was ac
knowledged as Queen of Castile and Leon ; and three years
after the battle of Tore, the death of his father raised Ferdinand
to the throne of Arragon. The kingdoms of Castile and Arra
gon were thenceforward united indissolubly, though still inde
pendent of each other. There arose at first some contest
relative to the order of precedence. Castile and Leon had
hitherto been allowed the precedence over Arragon in all politi
cal transactions ; but Ferdinand now insisted that, as king and
husband, his titles should precede those of his wife.
It was. a very delicate point of conjugal and state etiquette,
and Isabella was placed in a difficult situation ; she conducted
herself, however, with that mixture of gentleness, prudence, and
magnanimity, which distinguished her character. She acknow
ledged, as a wife, the supremacy of Ferdinand, as her husband ;
in public and private she yielded to him all the obedience, honor,
and duty he could require, naming him on every occasion her
lord, her master, her sovereign ; but she would not concede one

106 ISABELLA or CASTILE.
lota of the dignity of her kingdom. She maintained that the
Queen of Castile should never yield the precedence to the King
of Arragon, and in the end she overruled all opposition. It was
decided that in all public acts promulgated in their joint names,
the titles of Castile and Leon should precede those of Arragon
and Sicily. Isabella managed this delicate affair with a firmness
which endeared her to her Castilian nobles, who were haughtily
jealous of the honor of their country ; yet she upheld her rights
with so much sweetness and feminine address as to gain rather
than lose in the affections of her husband ; while her influence
in his councils, and the respect of his ministers, were evidently
increased by the resolution she had shown in maintaining what
was considered a point of national honor.
In the same year that the kingdoms of Castile and Arragon
were united. Queen Isabella was at Toledo, and gave birth to
her second daughter, the Infanta Joanna, afterwards the mother
of Charles the Fifth.
The first great event of the reign of the two sovereigns was
the war of Granada. Hostility against the Moors seems to have
been the hereditary appanage of the Crown of Castile ; and it
was one of the principal articles in Isabella's marriage-treaty,
that Ferdinand should lead the armies of the queen against the
infidels as soon as the affairs of the kingdom allowed him to do
so. Isabella has always been represented as a principal adviser
and instigator of this sanguinary war, and, during its continuance,
the animating soul of all the daring enterprises and deeds cf
arms achieved by others ; and though the Spanish historians
have added this to the rest of her merits, yet, disguise it as we
wUl, there is something revolting to female nature in the idea
of a woman thus interested and engaged in carrying on a war,
not defensive, but offensive, and almost exterminating. We

ISABELLA OP CASTILE. 107

ought, therefore, in justice to Isabella, to look into the motives
by which she was impelled — to consider the situation of the two
countries at the time, the opinions and spirit of the age, and the
deep-seated religious prejudices on both sides, which gave a tinc
ture of fierce zeal to this great and terrible contest. It was
bigotry on one side opposed to fanaticism on the other. The
Spaniards fought for honor, dominion, and the interests of the
church. The Moors fought for their homes and hearths, their
faith, their country, their very existence as a nation.
Isabella, in undertaking this war, which had been in a measure
transmitted to her with her crown, was certainly swayed by mo
tives of which we can hardly estimate the full force, unless we
transport ourselves in fancy back to the very times in which she
lived. For seven hundred years the existence of a Moorish king
dom in the south of Spain had been Uke a thorn in the side of
Christendom. Isabella deemed it a reproach- that her frontiers
should be endangered — her power defied, by a people occupy
ing a slip of land between her kingdom and the sea ; and a
sense of religion, sincere though pitiably mistaken, made her
regard the conversion of the Moors as a necessary consequence
of their subjection, and a war against them, even to extremity,
as good and acceptable service to Heaven. On the other hand,
the policy of Ferdinand in conducting this war, though cloaked
under an appearance of religious zeal, was far more deep and
selfish. With him it was not only the desire of extending his
dominions and increasing his revenues, but, in accordance with
a deep-la.id plan, to aggrandize the crown at the expense of the
power of the nobility and the liberties of the people — a plan
which he pursued through his whole reigu with the most pro
found sagacity and the most unwearied perseverance. And he
well knew that a popular war, which should place an immense

108 ISABELLA OP CASTILE.
army at his disposal, and exhaust the resources and the ardent
spirit of the nobles in the general service, would be an effectual
step to the object he had in view.
The kingdom of Granada extended along the south of Spain
for about one hundred and eighty miles, and between the moun
tains and the sea its breadth was about seventy miles ; yet this
narrow space was filled with populous cities, enriched by agri
culture and commerce, defended by strong fortresses, and in
habited by a wealthy, warlike, industrious, and polished race
of people. Nearly in the centre of the kingdom stood the
royal city of Granada, on two lofty hills, the one crowned by the
glorious palace of the Alhamhra, within whose splendid courts
forty thousand persons might have been lodged and entertained ;
the other by the citadel of Alcazaha. The sides of these hiUs
and the valley between them were occupied by houses and
palaces to the number of seventy thousand, and Granada alone
could send forth from her gates twenty thousand fighting men.
Around this noble city stretched the Vega or Plain of Granada,
which resembled one vast and beautiful garden in the highest
state of cultivation ; there flourished the citron and the orange.
I O '
the pomegranate and the fig-tree — there the olive poured forth
its oil, and the vine its purple juice. On one side, a range of
snowy mountains seemed to fence it from its hostile neighbors ;
on the other, the blue Mediterranean washed its shores, and
poured into its harbors the treasures of Africa and the Levant.
Nor were the inhabitants of this terrestrial Eden unmindful or
unworthy of its glorious loveUness. They believed themselves
peculiai-ly favored by Heaven in being placed in a spot of earth
so enchanting, that they fancied the celestial Paradise must be
suspended immediately over it, and could alone exceed it in de
lights. Their patriotism had in it something romantic and

ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 109
tender, like the passion of a lover for his mistress. — They clung
to their beautiful country with a yearning affection ; they poured
their blood like water in its defence ; they celebrated its charms,
and lamented its desolation in those sweet and mournful ballads
which are still extant, and which can yet draw tears from their
Christian conquerors.
Long before the last invasion of Ferdinand and Isabella the
Moorish power had been on the decline. They had once pos
sessed nearly the whole of the peninsula, from the Strait of
Gibraltar to the Pyrenees, but had, by degrees, been driven
southward by the Christian powers, until they were circum
scribed within the boundaries of Granada. Even this they had
held for some time as tributary to their enemies, paying annu
ally two thousand pistoles of gold and sixteen hundred Christian
captives or Moorish slaves to the sovereigns of Castile.
During the weak government of Henry the Fourth, and the
civil wars which had distracted the kingdoms of Castile and
Arragon, this tribute had fallen into disuse ; it had not been
paid for several years. And while the Christian monarchs were
weakened by internal and mutual warfare, the Moors had been
increasing in wealth and power, and had even extended their
dominions by the addition of several tracts and towns lying on
their frontiers. Their king, Muley Aben Hassan, was a tyrant
in his family, and, at this time, distracted by domestic feuds ;
but he was a man of strong mind, with talents both for war and
government. He had been distinguished in his youth for per
sonal valor, and still retained in old age the fiery spirit and
haughty bearing of his earlier years. Such, in a few words, was
the state of the two nations when the war began.
The first step taken by Ferdinand and Isabella was, to send a
solemn embassy to the Moorish king, requiring tho payment of

110 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
the long arrears of tribute due to the monarchs of Castile.
Aben Hassan received the ambassador in the state-chamber of
the Alhamhra, and to the haughty requisition he replied as
haughtily, " Tell your sovereigns that the kings of Granada
who were used to pay tribute in money to the Castilian crown
are dead. Our mint at present coins nothing but blades of
cimeters and heads of lances." The ambassador, Don Juan de
Vera, probably longed to hurl back this proud defiance in the
teeth of the infidels ; but it was then no time to answer it in the
same spirit. The contest with Portugal was stiU pending ; the
claims of Isabella to her throne still undecided. It was not tiU
1481 that Ferdinand and Isabella, having signed a treaty with
the King of Portugal, were enabled to turn their whole attention
to the long-meditated, long-deferred war with Granada.
The Bloorish king, aware of their intentions, and of the vast
preparations making against him, was resolved to strike the first
blow. He attacked Zahara, a celebrated fortress, perched on
the summit of a mountain, and deemed so impregnable from its
situation, as well as the strength of its defences, that a woman
of severe and inaccessible chastity was proverbially called a
Zaharefia. In the dead of the night, Zahara was surprised by
the Moors, the garrison massacred, and the rest of the inhabit
ants driven into captivity and sold as slaves. Although this in
road had only anticipated the intentions of Ferdinand and
Isabella, and had given them a fair pretext for carrying the war
into Granada, they affected the strongest indignation, and at
their command all the chivalry of Castile flew to arms.
Among the nobles who first lifted their banners in this war,
and afterward became celebrated for their exploits, four were
especially distinguished : — Don Rodrigo Ponce de Leon, Marquis
of Cadiz ; Don Alonzo de x\guilar, (the elder brother of Gon-

ISABELLA OF C A. S T 1 L E . Ill
¦ — —  ..  .^  .
salvo de Cordova) ; the Count de Cabra ; and the Duke of
Medina Sidonia. All these were in fact feudal sovereigns.
They were often engaged in petty wars with each other ; and
there was not one of them who could not bring a small army of
his own retainers into the field. The Marquis of Cadiz had im
mense possessions in Andalusia, including even populous cities
and strong fortresses.- His near neighborhood to the l^loors, and
frequent and mutual inroads, had kept up a constant feeling of
hostility and hatred between them. This nobleman was the first
to ave^nge the capture of Zahara ; and his measures were taken
with equal celerity and secrecy. He assembled his friends and
followers, made a descent on the territories of the enemy, and
took by storm the strong town of Alhama, situated within a few
leagues of the Moorish capital.
When the news of the capture of Alhama was brought to
Granada, it filled the whole city with consternation. The old
men tore their garments, and scattered ashes on their heads ;
the women rent their hair and ran about weeping and wailing —
with their children in their arms, they forced their way into the
presence of the king, denouncing woe on his head, for having
thus brought down the horrors of war on their happy and
beautiful country. " Accursed be the day," they exclaimed,
" when the flame of war was kindled by thee in our land ! May
the holy Prophet bear witness before Allah, that we and our
children are innocent of this act ! Upon thy head, and upon
the heads of thy posterity to the end of the world, rest the sin
of the destruction of Zahara !"*
* The lament of the Moors on the loss of Alhama is perpetuated in the '.ittlo
Spanish ballad so happily and so faithfully translated by Lord Byron—
" The Moorish king rides up and down
Through Granada's royal town," &c.

113 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
Aben Hassan, unmoved by these feminine lamentations, as-.
scmhled his army in all haste, and flew to the relief of Alhama ;
he invested it with three thousand horse and fifty thousand foot,
and Alhama would assuredly have been retaken by this over
whelming force, but for the courage and magnanimity of a
woman. When news was brought to the Marchioness of Cadiz that her
valiant husband was thus hard beset within the fortress of Al
hama — so that he must needs yield or perish, unless succor
should be afforded hitn, and that speedily — she sent immedi
ately to the Duke of Medina Sidonia, the most powerful of the
neighboring chiefs, requiring of him, as a Christian knight and
a gentleman, to fly to the assistance of the marquis. Now, be
tween the family of the Duke and that of the Marquis of Cadiz,
there was an hereditary feud, which had lasted more than a
centul-y, and they were moreover personal enemies ; yet, in
that fine spirit of courtesy and generosity which mingled with
the ferocity and ignorance of those times, the aid demanded with
such magnanimous confidence by the high-hearted wife of De
Leon, was as nobly and as frankly granted by the Duke of
Medina Sidonia. Without a moment's hesitation he called to
gether his followers and his friends, and such was his power and
resources, that five thousand horse and fifty thousand foot as
sembled round his banner at Seville. With this numerous and
splendid army he hastened to the relief of Alhama ere it should
be overwhelmed by the enemy. In fact, the small but gallant
band which still held its walls against the fierce attacks of the
Moor, were now reduced to the last extremity, and must in a few
days have capitulated.
Ferdinand and Isabella were at Medina del Campo when
tidings successively arrived of the capture of Alhama, of the

ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 113

terrible situation of the Marquis of Cadiz, and the generous
expedition of Medina Sidonia. The king, when he heard of
this vast armament, and the glory to be^acquired by the relief
of Alhama, sent forward couriers to the duke with orders to
await his coming, that he might himself take the command of
the forces ; and then, with a few attendants, he spurred towards
the scene of action, leaving the queen to follow.
But the Duke of Medina Sidonia was not inclined to share
with another — not even with his sovereign — the gloty of an ex
pedition undertaken from such motives, and at his own care and
cost : moreover, every hour of delay was of the utmost conse
quence, and threatened the safety of the besieged ; instead,
therefore, of attending to the commands of the king, or await
ing his arrival, the army of Medina Sidonia pressed forward to
Alhama. On the approach of the Duke, Aben Hassan, who
had already lost a vast number of his troops through the gallant
defence of the besieged, saw that all farther efforts were in vain.
Gnashing his teeth, and tearing up his beard by the roots, with
choler and disappointment, he retired to his city of Granada.
Meantime the Marquis of Cadiz and his brave and generous
deliverer met and embraced before the walls of Alhama ; the
Duke of Medina Sidonia refused for himself and his followers
any share in the rich spoils of the city ; and from that time
forth, these noble cavaliers, laying aside their hereditary ani
mosity, became firm and faithful friends.
These were the feats which distinguished the opening of the
war ; they have been extracted at some length, as illustrating
the spirit and manners of the age, and the character of this
memorable contest. The other events of the war, except as far
as Isabella was personally concerned, must he passed over more
rapidly. She had followed the king from Medina del Campo,

114 ISABELLA OF CA3riLE.
and arrived at Cordova just as the council was deliberating what
Was to be done with the fortress of Alhama. Many were of
opinion that it was better to demolish it at once than to main
tain it with so much danger and cost in the midst of the enemy's
territory. " What !" exclaimed Isabella, indignant that so
much blood and valor should have been expended in vain ;
" what, then, shall we destroy the first fruits of our victories ?
shall we abandon the first place we have wrested from the
Moors .' Never let us suffer such an idea to occupy our minds
It would give new courage to the enemy, arguing fear or feeble
ness in our councils. You talk of the toU and expense of main
taining Alhama ; did we doubt, on undertaking this war, that it
was to be a war of infinite cost, labor, and bloodshed ? and shall
we shrink from the cost, the moment a victory is obtained, and
the question is merely to guard or abandon its glorious trophy .'
Let us hear no more of the destruction of Alhama ; let us main
tain its walls sacred, as a strong-hold granted us by Heaven in
the centre of this hostile land, and let our only consideration
be, how to extend our concjuest, and capture the surrounding
cities."* This spirited advice was applauded by alj^' The city
of Alhama was strongly garrisoned, and maintained thence
forward, in despite of the Moors.
From this time we find Isabella present at every succeeding
campaign, animating her husband and his generals by her courage
and undaunted perseverance ; providing for the support of the
armies by her forethought and economy ; comforting them under
their reverses by her sweet and gracious speeches, and pious
confidence in Heaven ; and by her active humanity and her
benevolent sympathy, extended to friend and foe, softening, as
far as possible, the horrors and miseries of war. Isabella was
* chronicle of the Conquest of Grenada, vol. i., p. 81.

ISABELLA OP CASriLE. 115
the first who instituted regular military surgeons to attend the
movements' of the army, and be at hand on the field of battle.
These surgeons were paid out of her own revenues ; and she
also provided six spacious tents, furnished with beds and all
things requisite, for the sick and wounded, which were called the
" Queen's Hospital."
Thus, to the compassionate heart of a woman, directed by
energy and judgment, the civilized world was first indebted for
an expedient which has since saved so many lives, and done so
much towards alleviating the most frightful evils of war.
It were long to teU of all the battles and encounters, the
skirmishes and the forays, the fierce mutual inroads for massacre
or plunder, which took place before the crescent was finally
plucked down, and the cross reared in its stead ; or, to describe
the valorous sieges and obstinate defences of the fortresses of
Ronda, Zalea, Moclin, and Baza ; nor how often the banks ^ of
the Xenil were stained with blood, while down its silver current
" Chiefs confused in mutual slaughter,
-, Moor and Christian, roll'd along !"
The Castilian sovereigns, great as were their power and re
sources, had to endure some signal reverses ; the most memora
ble of which was the disgraceful repulse of Ferdinand before the
walls of Loxa, in 1482, and the terrible defeat of the Christians
in the passes of the mountains of Malaga, which occurred in
1483. On that disastrous day, which is still remembered in the
gongs of Andalusia, three of the most celebrated commanders of
Castile, with the pride of her chivalry, were encountered by a
determined band of Moorish peasantry. All the brothers of the
Marquis of Cadiz perished at his side ; the Master of Santiago
fled ; the royal standard-bearer was taken prisoner ; and the

116 ISABELLA OP CASTILE.
Marquis of Cadiz, and his friend Don Alonzo de Aguilar, escaped
with difficulty, and wounded almost to death. In truth, the
Moors made a glorious stand for their national honor and inde
pendence ; and, had it not been for their own internal divisions
and distracted councils, which gave them over a prey to their
conquerors, their subjection . which cost such a lavish expendi
ture of blood, and toil, and treasure, had been more dearly pur
chased — perhaps the issue had been altogether different.
The feuds between the Zegris and the Abencerrages, and the
domestic cruelties of Aben Hassan, had rendered Granada a
scene of tumult and horror, and stained the halls of the Al
hamhra with blood. Boabdil, the eldest son of Aben Hassan,
(called by the Spanish historians, " el Rey Chiquito," or " el
Chico," the httle King), had rebelled against his father, or
rather had been forced into rebellion by the tyranny of the
latter. The old monarch was driven from the city of Granada,
and took up his residence at Malaga, while Boabdil reigned in
the Alhamhra. The character of Boabdil was the reverse of
that of his ferocious sire ; he was personally brave, generous,
magnificent, ,and humane ; but indolent, vacillating in temper,
and strongly and fatally influenced by an old tradition or pro
phecy, which foretold that he would be the last kin^^ of his race,
and that he was destined to witness the destruction of the
Moorish power in Spain. Roused, however, by the remonstrances
of his heroic mother, the Sultana Ayxa, Boabdil resolved to
signalize his reign by some daring exploit a.gainst the Christians.
He assembled a gallant army, and led them to invade the Cas
tilian territory In the plains of Lucena he was met by the
Count de Cabra, who, after a long-contested and sanguinary
battle, defeated and dispersed his troops. Boabdil himself,
I'tstinguished above the rest, not less by his daring valor than by

ISABELLA OF C.i STILE. 117
his golden armor and his turban that blazed with jewels, was
taken prisoner, and carried by the Count de Cabra to his castle
of Vaena.
The mother of Boabdil, the Sultana Ayxa, and his young and
beautiful wife Morayma, had daily watched from the loftiest
tower of the Alhamhra to see his banners returning in triumph
through the gate of Jllvira ; a few cavaliers, fugitives from the
battle of Lucena, and covered with dust and blood, came spur
ring across the Vega, with the news of his defeat and capture —
and who can speak the sorrow of the wife and the mother ?
Isabella herself, when the tidings of this great victory were
brought to her, wept in the midst of her exultation for the
fate of the Moorish prince. She sent him a message full of
courtesy and kindness ; and when the council met to consider
whether it would be advisable to deliver Boabdil into the hands
of his cruel father, who had offered large terms to get him into
his power, Isabella rejected such barbarous policy with horror.
By her advice and influence, Boabdil was liberated and restored
to his kingdom, on conditions which, considering all the circum
stances, might be accounted favorable : it was stipulated that he
should acknowledge himself the vassal of the Castilian crown ;
pay an annual tribute, and release from slavery four hundred
Christian captives, who had long languished in chains ; and that
he should leave his only son and the sons of several nobles pf his
family as hostages for his faith. Having subscribed to these
conditions, Boabdil was received by Ferdinand and Isabella at
Cordova, embraced as a friend, and restored to his kingdom,
with gifts and princely honors.
In liberating Boabdil, the politic Ferdinand was impelled by
motives far different from those which actuated his generous
queen. He wisely calculated that the release of the Moorish

118 ISABELLA OF CASTILS.
prince would prove far more advantageous than his detention,
by prolonging the civil discords of the kingdom of Granada, and
dividing its forces. The event showed he had not been mis
taken. No sooner was Boabdil restored to freedom than the
wrath of the fiery old king, Aben Hassan, again turned upon
his son, and the most furious contests raged between the two
parties. This was the miserable and distracted state of Granada, while
King Ferdinand continued to push his conquests, taking first
one city or castle, then another — ravaging the luxuriant Vega,
and carrying away the inhabitants into captivity ; whUe BoabdU,
bound by the treaty into which he had entered, wept to behold
his beautiful country desolated with fire and sword, and dared
not raise his arm to defend it. In the midst of these troubles,
old Aben Hassan, becoming blind and infirm, was deposed by
his brother Abdalla el Zagal, who proclaimed himself king ;
and, denouncing his nephew Boabdil as an ally of the Christians
and a traitor to his faith and country, he prepared to carry on
the war with vigor. The military skUl of El Zagal was equal
to his ferocity ; and the Christians found in him a determined
and formidable opponent.
The fortress of Ronda, in the Serrania, which had long been
considered impregnable from its strength and situation, was
taken from the Moors in 148.5, after a long and fierce resistance.
The isolated rock on which this strong-hold was perched, like the
aery of the vulture, was hoUowed into dungeons deep and dark,
in which were a vast number of Christian captives, who had been
taken in the Moorish forays. It is recorded that among them
were several young men of high r^nk, who had surrendered
themselves slaves in lieu of their parents, not being able to pay
the ransom demanded ; and many had pined for years in these

ISABELLAOF CASTILE. 119

receptacles of misery. Being released from their fetters, they
were all collected together, and sent to the queen at Cordova.
When Isabella beheld them she melted into tears. She ordered
them to be provided with clothes and money, and all other
necessaries, and conveyed to their respective homes ; while the
chains they had worn were solemnly suspended in the church of
St. John, at Toledo, in sign of thanksgiving to Heaven. This
was the spirit in which Isabella triumphed in success — an
instance of the gentle and magnanimous temper with which she
could sustain a reverse which occurred soon afterward.
A short time after the siege of Ronda, Isabella took up
her residence at Vaena, a strong castle on the frontiers of
Andalusia, belonging to the renowned and valiant Count de
Cabra, the same who had won the battle of Lucena and taken
Boabdil prisoner. The influence which Isabella exercised over
her warlike nobles was not merely that of a cjueen, but that of
a beautiful and virtuous woman, whose praise was honor, and
whose smiles were cheaply purchased by their blood. The
Count de Cabra, while he entertained his royal and adored mis
tress within his castle walls, burned to distinguish himself by
some doughty deed of arms, which should win him grace and
favor in her eyes. The Moor El Zagal was enftamped near
Moclin ; to capture another king, to bring him in chains to the
feet of his mistress — what a glorious exploit for a Christian
knight and a devoted cavaUer ! The ardent count beheld only
the hoped success — he overlooked the dangei-s of the under
taking. With a handful of followers, he attacked the fierce El
Zagal — was defeated — and himself and his retainers driven back
upon Vaena, with " rout and confusion following at their heels."
Isabella waited the issue of this expedition within the walls of
the castle. She was seated in the balcony of a lofty tower, over-

J20 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
looking the vale beneath, and at her side were her daughter
Isabella and her infant son Don Juan. Her chief minister and
counsellor, the venerable Cardinal Mendoza, stood near her.
They looked along the mountain-road which led towards Moclin,
and beheld couriers spuning their steeds through the defiles with
furious haste, and galloping into the town ; and in the same mo
ment the shrieks and wailings which rose from below informed
Isabella of the nature of their tidings ere they were summoned
to her presence. For a moment her tenderness of heart pre
vaUed over her courage and fortitude ; the loss of so many
devoted friends, the defeat of one of her braved knights, the
advantage and triumph gained by the enemy almost in her
presence, and the heart-rending lamentations of those who had
lost sons, brothers, lovers, husbands, in this disastrous battle,
almost overwhelmed her. But when some of the couriers pre
sent endeavored to comfort her by laying the blame on the rash
ness of De Cabra, and would have lessened him in her opinion,
she was roused to generous indignation : — " The enterprise," she
said, " was rash, but not more rash than that of Lucena, which
had been crowned with success, and which all had applauded as
the height of heroism. Had the Count de Cabra succeeded in
capturing the uncle, as he did the nephew, who would not have
praised him to the skies .'"
The successful enterprise of the Christians against Zalea con
cluded the eventful campaign of 1485. Isabella retired from
the seat of war to Alcada de Henares, where, m the month of
December,' she gave birth to her third daughter, the Infanta
Catherine of Arragon, afterward the wife of Henry the Eighth
of England.
The next year, 1486, was one of the most memorable during
the war. Early in the spring, Isabella and her husband repaired

Ii A BELLA OF CASriLE. 121
to Cordova, and a gallant and splendid array of the feudal chief
tains of Castile assembled round them. That ancient city, with
all the fair valley along the banks of the Guadalquiver, resounded
with warlike preparation ; the waving of banners, the glancing
of spears, the flashing of armor, the braying of trumpets, the
neighing of steeds, the gorgeous accoutrements of the knights
and their retainers, must have formed a moving scene of sur
passing interest and magnificence. There was the brave Mar
quis of Cadiz, justly styled the mirror of Andalusian chivalry.
When the women who were obliged to attend Queen Isabella to
the wars, and who possessed not her noble contempt of danger,
beheld the Marquis of Cadiz, they rejoiced, and felt secure under
the protection of one so renowned for his courtesy to their sex,
and of whom it was said, that no injured woman had ever ap
plied to him in vain for redress. There was the valiant Count
de Cabra, who had captured Boabdil, and the famous Don
Alonzo de Aguilar, renowned for his deeds of arms in history
and in song ; and there was his brother Gonsalvo de Cordova,
then captain of Isabella's guards. There was the young Duke
of Infantado, with his five hundred followers, all glittering in
silken vests and scarfs, and armor inlaid with silver and gold ;
and the Duke of Medina Sidonia, and the Duke of Medina Cell,
names at once so harmonious in their sound, and so chivalrous in
their associations, that they dwell upon the ear like the pro
longed note of a silver clarion. Besides these, were many
worthy cavaliers of England, France, and Germany, who were
induced partly by the fame of this holy expedition, (such it
was then deemed), partly by the wish to distinguish themselves
in the sight of a beautiful and gracious queen, to join the ban
ners of Isabella and Ferdinand, at Cordova. The most conspic
uous of these foreign auxiliaries was Lord Rivers of England, a

122 isabelljs or castile.
near relation of Elizabeth of York, and the son of that accom
plished Lord Rivers who was beheaded at Pomfret After the
battle of Bosworth-field, he joined the camp of the Catholie
sovereigns with three hundred retainers, and astonished the
Spaniards by the magnificence of his appointments, his courtesy,
his valor, and the ponderous strength and determined courage
of his men. There was also the accomplished French knight
Gaston de Leon of Toulouse, with a band of followers, all gallant
and gay, " all plumed like ostriches that wing the wind," and
ready alike for the dance or the melee — for lady's bower or bat
tle field — and many more.
The presence of Isabella and her court lent to this martial
pomp an added grace, dignity, and interest. She was sur
rounded by many ladies of noble birth and distinguished beauty,
the wives, or mothers, or sisters of the brave men who were
engaged in the war. The most remarkable were, the Infanta
Isabella, at this time about fourteen, and who, as she grew in
years, became the inseparable companion and bosom friend of
her mother ; the high-minded Marchioness of Cadiz, and the
Marchioness of Moya, both honored by the queen's intimacy, and
the latter eminent for her talents as well as her virtues. A
number of ecclesiastics of high rank and influence also attended
on Isabella. The grand cardinal, Gonzalez de Mendoza, was
always at her side, and was at this tim^ and during his life her
chief minister and adviser. He is described as " a man of a
clear understanding, eloquent, judicious, and of great quickness
and capacity in business, simple yet nice in his apparel, lofty
and venerable in his deportment." He was an elegant scholar,
but of course imbued with all the prejudices of his age and
calling ; and notwithstanding his clerical profession, he had a
noble band of warriors in his pay. There were also the pope's

ISABELLA OF CAStlLE. 123
nuncio, the Prior of Prado, the warlike Bishop of Jaen, and
many others.
Amid this assemblage of haughty nobles and fierce soldiers,
men who knew no arts but those of war, and courted no glory
which was not sown and reaped in blood — ainid all these high
born dames and proud and stately prelates — moved one in lowly
garb and peaceful guise, overlooked, unheeded, when not re
pulsed with scorn by the great, or abandoned to the derision of
the vulgar, yet bearing on his serene brow the stamp of great
ness — one before whose enduring and universal fame the tran
sient glory of thes,e fighting warriors faded away, like tapers in
the blaze of a noontide sun, and compared with whose sublime
achievements their loftiest deeds were mere 'infant play. This
was the man — "By Heaven design'd
To lift the veil that cover'd half mankind" —
Columbus ! — he fii;st appeared as a suiter in the court of Castile
in the spring of-the year 1486. In the midst of the hurry and
tumult of martial preparation, and all the vicissitudes and press
ing exigencies of a tremendous and expensive war, we can hardly
wonder if his magnificent but (as they then appeared) extrava
gant speculations should at first meet with little / attention or
encouragement. During the spring and autumn of this year he
remained at Cordova, but though warmly patronized by the Car
dinal Mendozo, he could not obtain an audience of the sove
reigns. Nor was Isabella to blame in this. It appears that while
Ferdinand proceeded to lay siege to Loxa, the queen was wholly
engrossed by the care of supplying the armies, the administration
of the revenues, and all the multiplied anxieties of foreign and

124 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
domestic government, which, in the absence of Ferdinand, de
volved solely upon her. She gave her attention unremittingly
to these complicated affairs, sparing neither time nor fatigue,
and conducted all things with consummate judgment, as well as
the most astonishing order and activity. It is not surprising
that, under such circumstances, Columbus, then an obscure indi
vidual, should have found it difficult to obtain an audience, or
that his splendid views, as yet unrealized, should have appeared,
amid the immediate cares and interests and dangers pressing
around her, somewhat remote and visionary, and fail to seize on
her instant attention.
In the meantime the war proceeded. Loxa was taken after
an obstinate defence, and a terrible slaughter of the miserable
inhabitants. Boabdil, " the Unlucky," was retaken at Loxa,
but released again, on renewing his oath of vassalage, to foment
the troubles of his wretched country.*
After the capture of Loxa, Ferdinand wrote to Isabella, re
questing her presence in his camp, that he might consult with
her on the treatment of Boabdil, and the administration of their
new dominions.
In ready obedience to her husband's wish, Isabella took her
departure from the city of Cordova on the 12th of June. She
was accompanied by her favorite daughter, the Princess Isabella,
and a numerous train of noble ladies and valiant cavaliers, with
' In one of the suburbs of Loxa, a poor weaver was at his work during the
hottest of the assault. His wife urged him to Jly. " Why should I fly ?" said the
Moor ; " lo be rescued for hunger and slavery 1 I tell you, wife, I will abide here ;
for belter is it to die quickly by the sleel than to perish piecemeal in chains and
dungeons." Having said this he coolly resumed his work, and was slain at hia
loom hy the furious assailants. — ^Vide Conquest of Granada. This reminds us of
Archimedes, only that the Moorish weaver was the greater philosopher of the two
end did not stick Lo his loom tlirougli mere absence of mind.

ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 125
courtiers, statesmen, and prelates of rank. On the frontiers of
Granada she was met by the Marquis of Cadiz, who, with a gal
lant company of knights ind retainers, had come to escort nei
through the lately-conquered territories to the camp, which was
now removed to Moclin, another formidable place of strength,
whi:h Ferdinand had invested with his whole army. On her
journey thither Isabella made a short stay at Loxa, where she
and the young Infanta visitea the sick and wounded soldiers,
distributing among them money and raiment, and medical aid,
according to their need. Thence Isabella proceeded through
the mountain-roads toward Moclin, still respectfully escorted
by the brave Marquis of Cadiz, who attended at her bridle-rein,
and was treated by her with all the distinction due to so valiant
and courteous a knight. When she approached the camp, the
young Duke del Infantado, with all his retainers, in their usual
gorgeous array, met her at the distance of several miles ; and
when they came in view of the tents, the king rode forth to re
ceive her, at the head of the grandees, and attended by all the
chivalry of his army, glittering in their coats of mail and em
broidered vests, with waving plumes, and standards and pennons
floating in the summer air. " The queen," says the Chronicle,
" was mounted on a chestnut mule, in a saddle-chair of state ;
the housings were of fine crimson cloth embroidered with gold ;
the reins and head-piece were of satin, curiously wrought with
needlework. The queen wore a skirt of velvet over petticoats
of brocade ; a scarlet mantle hung from her shoulders, and her
hat was of black velvet embroidered with gold." The dress of
the young Infanta was all of black, and a black mantUla, orna
mented in the Moorish fashion, hung on her shoulders. The
ladies of the court, all richly dressed, followed on forty mules.
The meeting between Ferdinand and Isabella on this occasion

126 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
was arranged with true Spanish gravity and etiquette. Laying
their conjugal character aside for the present, they approached
each other as sovere^ns — each alighting at some paces' dis
tance, made three profound reverences before they embraced.
The queen, it is remarked, took off her embroidered hat, and
remained with her head uncovered, except by a sUken net
which confined her hair. Ferdinand then kissed her respect
fully on the cheek, and, turning to his daughter, he took her in
his arms, gave her a father's blessing, and kissed her on the lips.
They then rermounted, and the splendid procession moved on
ward to the camp, the Earl of Rivers riding next to the king
and queen.
Isabella and her daughter were present during the whole of
the siege of Moclin, which was reduced with great difficulty, and
principally through the skill of the Lombard engineers. It
appears that in the use of all fire-arms the Spaniards greatly
excelled the Moors ; and in the sciences of fortification and
gunnery, which were still in their infancy, the Italians at this
time exceeded all Europe. Moclin fell before the Spanish
batteries, and the inhabitants capitulated ; and Isabella and her
husband entered the city in solemn state with their band of
warriors. They were preceded by the standard of the cross,
and a company of priests, with the choir of the royal chapel,
chanting the Te Deiim. As they moved thus in solemn proces
sion through the smoking and deserted streets of the fallen city,
they suddenly heard a number of voices, as if from under the
earth, responding to the chorus of priests, and singing aloud,
" Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord." There
was a pause of astonishment ; and it was discovered that these
were the voices of certain Christian captives who had been con
fined in the subterraneous dungeons of the fortress. Isabella,

ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 127
overcome with a variety of emotions, wept, and commanded that
these captives should be instantly brought before her ; she then
ordered them to be clothed and comforted, and conveyed in
safety to their several homes. '
The queen remained for some weeks at Moclin, healing, as
far as she was able, the calamities of war — introducing regular
government and good order into her new dominions — converting
mosques into churches and convents, and founding colleges for
the instruction and conversion of the Moors. It should not be
omitted, that with all her zeal for religion, Isabella uniformly
opposed herself to all measures of persecution or severity. The
oppression and cruelty afterward exercised towards the con
quered Moors did not originate with her ; but, on the contrary,
were most abhorrent to her benign temper and her natural
sense of justice. She was ever their advocate and protectress,
even while she lent all the energies of her mind to the prosecu
tion of the national and religious war she waged against them.
Hence, she was hardly more beloved and revered by her
Catholic than by her Moslem subjects.
Ferdinand, meantime, marched forward, and ravaged the
Vega, even to the very gates of Granada. He then returned
to join the queen at Moclin ; and, at the conclusion of this tri
umphant campaign, the two sovereigns retired to the city of
Cordova, leaving young Frederick de Toledo, (already distin
guished for his military talents, and afterward the Duke of Alva
of terrible memory,) to command upon the frontiers of their
new conquests.
From Cordova, Isabella removed to Salamanca, where the
plans and proposals of Columbus weje for the first time laid
before a council apptJinted to consider them. When we read
in history of the absurd reasoning, the narrow-minded objee-

128 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
tions, the superstitious scruples, which grave statesmen and
learned doctors opposed to the phUosophical arguments and
enthusiastic eloquence of Columbus, we cannot wonder tnat
IsabeUa herself should doubt and hesitate. Her venerable min
ister, the Cardinal Mendoza, favored Columbus, but her con
fessor, Ferdinand de Talavera, was decidedly inimical to all
plans of discovery, and by his private influence over the queen,
he was enabled to throw a thousand impediments in the way of
the great navigator, and defer his access to Isabella.
The winter passed away before the council at Salamanca came
to any decision. Early iu the spring of 1487, King Ferdinand
took the field with twenty thousand cavalry and fifty thousand
foot ; while Isabella remained at Cordova, to preside as usual
over the affairs of government, and make arrangements for con
veying to this vast army the necessary and regular supplies. It
was the design of Ferdinand to attack jMalaga, the principal sea
port of Granada, and the second city of the kingdom, and thus
cut off any succors that might be expected from the Mahometan
states of Africa. It was necessary to reduce several strong
places before the army could invest the city of Malaga, and
among others, Velez Malaga. Before this last-mentioned town,
the king exhibited a trait of personal valor which had nearly
proved fatal to him. The camp being endangered by a sudden
attack of the Moors, he rushed into the battle, armed only with
his lance ; his equery was slain at his side, and Ferdinand in
stantly transfixed with his spear the Moor who had killed his
attendant. He was thus left without a weapon, surrounded by
the enemy, and, had not the Marquis of Cadiz and others of
his nobles galloped to his rescue, he must have perished. On his
return to the camp in safety, he nwde a vow to the Virgin, never
agah' to enter the battle without his sword girded to his side.

ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 129
When Isabella was informed of this incident, she was greatly
agitated. The gallantry and danger of her husband appear to
have left a strong impression on her imagination, for long after
ward she granted to the inhabitants of Velez Malaga, as the
arms of their city, an escutcheon, reprjsenting the figure of the
icing on horseback, with the equery dead at his feet, and the
Moors flying before him.
In the beginning of May, Ferdinand undertook the memorable
siege of Malaga, which lasted more than three months. The
city was strongly fortified, and, contrary to the wishes of the
opulent and peaceful merchants, was most obstinately defended
by Hamet el Zegri, a valiant old Moor, who had the command
of the garrison. To him the horrible sufferings inflicted on the
inhabitants by a protracted siege appeared quite unworthy the
consideration of a soldier, whose duty it was to defend the for
tress intrusted to him. The difficulties, dangers, and delays
which attended this siege, so dispirited the Spaniards, that many
thought of abandoning it altogether. A report that such was
the intention of the sovereigns was circulated among the Chris
tians and the Moors, and gave fresh courage to the latter. To
disprove it in the sight of both nations. Queen Isabella, attended
by her daughter and the whole retinue of her court, arrived to
take up her residence in the camp.
Isabella was received by her army with shouts of exultation.
Immediately on her arrival, she gave a proof of the benignity
of her disposition, by entreating that the attacks on the city
might be discontinued, and offers of peace sent in her name to
the besieged. The firing accordingly ceased for that day, and
gladly would the inhabitants of Malaga have accepted her over
tures ; but the fierce Hamet el Zegri disdainfully rejected them,
9

130 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
and even threatened with death the first person who should pro
pose to capitulate.
The Marquis of Cadiz invited the queen and the infanta to a
banquet in his tent, which crowned with its floating banners and
sUken draperies the summit of a lofty hill, opposite to the citadel
of Malaga. While he was pointing out to Isabella the various
arrangements of the royal camp, which, fflled with warlike tumult
the valley at their feet — whUe he was explaining the operations
of the siege, the strong defences of the city, and the effects of
the tremendous ordnance — he suddenly beheld from one of the
enemy's towers his own family-banner hung out in scorn and
defiance ; it was the same which had been captured by the
Moors, in the terrible defeat among the mountains, in 1483.
Whatever the marquis might have felt at this insult offered to
him in the presence of his queen and the noblest ladies of her
court, he suppressed his indignation. While his kinsmen and
followers breathed deep vows of revenge, he alone maintained a
grave silence, and seemed unmindful of the insolent taunt ; but
within a few days afterward, the tower from which his banner
had been displayed in mockery, lay a heap of ruins.
WhUe Isabella remained in the camp before Malaga, her life,
which her virtues had rendered dear and valuable to her people,
had nearly been brought to a tragical close. A Moorish fanatic
named Agerbi, who had among his own people the reputation of
a santon, or holy prophet, undertook to deliver his country from
its enemies. He found means to introduce himself into the
Christian camp, where his wild and mysterious appearance ex
cited equal astonishment and curiosity ; he pretended to the gift
of prophecy, and required to be conducted to the king and queen,
to whom he promised to reveal the event of the siege and other
BCcrpjB of importance. By command of the Marquis of Cadiz,

ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 131
he was conducted to the royal tents. It happened, fortunately,
that the king was then asleep. The queen, though impatient and
curious to behold this extraordinary prophet, of whom her at
tendants had made such a wonderful report, yet, with her usual
delicacy toward her husband, refused to receive the Moor, or
listen to his communications, until the king should wake ; he
was, therefore, conducted into a tent in which the Marchioness
of Moya and Don Alvaro were playing at chess — a few at
tendants were standing round. From the dress and high bear
ing of these personages, and the magnificent decorations of the
pavilion, the Moorish santon believed himself in presence of the
king and queen ; and whUe they were gazing on him with wonder
and curiosity, he drew a cimeter from beneath his robe, struck
Don Alvaro to the earth, and turning on the marchioness, aimed
a blow ~at her head, which had been fatal, if the point of his
weapon had not caught in the hangings of the tent, and thus
arrested its force, so that it lighted harmless on the golden
ornaments in her hair. This passed like lightning. In the next
moment the assassin was flung to the earth by a friar and the
queen's treasurer, and instantly massacred by the guards, who
rushed in upon hearing the deadly struggle. The soldiers, in a
paroxysm of indignation, seized on his body, and threw it info'
the city from one of their mUitary engines. Don Alvaro re
covered from his wound, and an additional guard, composed of
twelve hundred cavaliers of rank, was stationed round the royal
tents. Isabella, though struck at first with consternation and
horror at this treacherous attempt on her life, was still anxious
to spare the miserable inhabitants of Malaga. By her advice,
terms of capitulation were again offered to the city, but in vain ;
Hamet el Zegri, encouraged by a certain Moorish necromancer
whom he entertained in his, household, and wljo fed him with

132 ISABELLA OP CASTILE.
false hopes and predictions, again rejected her overtures with
contempt. It appears, that among those who joined the court of Isabella
before Malaga, was Columbus, whose expenses on this occasion
were defrayed from the royal treasury.* But amid the clash
and din of arms, and the dangers and anxieties of the siege — •
the murderous sallies and fierce assaults, only relieved now and
then by solemn religious festivals, or by the princely banquets
given by the various commanders at their respective quarters —
there was no time to bestow on the considerations of plans for
the discovery of distant worlds ; the issue of a long and terrible
war hung upon the event of an hour, and the present crisis en
grossed the thoughts of all.
In the meantime the siege continued — famine raged within
the city, and the people, seized with despair, were no longer
restrained by the threats or the power of Hamet el Zegri. They
pursued him with curses and lamentations as he rode through
the streets — mothers threw down their starving infants before
his horses. " Better," they exclaimed, " that thou shouldst
trample them to death at once, than that we should behold them
perish by inches, and listen to their famished cries." Hamet,
unable to stem the tide of popular fury, withdrew into the
fortress of the citadel, called the Gibralfaro, and abandoned the
town and its inhabitants to their fate ; they immediately sur
rendered at discretion, and were forced to ransom themselves
from slavery on hard and cruel terms, which very few were able
to fidfiU. The fortress yielded soon afterward. Hamet el Zegri
was thrown into a dungeon, and the garrison sold into slavery.
Sixteen hundred Christian captives were found in the city of
Malaga ; they were sent to Queen Isabella, as the most accept-
• Vide Life and Voyages of Columbus.

ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 133
able trophy of her success ; and yet the same Isabella, who
received these poor people with compassionate tenderness — who
took off their fetters with her own hands, relieved their wants,
and restored them to their families and houses — the same
Isabella sent fifty beautiful Moorish girls as a present to the
Queen of Naples — thirty to the Queen of Portugal, and others
she reserved for herself and for the favorite ladies of her house
hold. In the following year (1488) Ferdinand led his army to
attack the Bloors on the eastern side of Granada. This campaign
was short, and by no means successful, owing to the military
prowess of El Zagal, who ruled in these provinces. Isabella
spent the ensuing winter at Saragossa and Valladolid, occupied
in the domestic affairs of her kingdom, and in the education of
her chUdren. Voltaire asserts,, that Isabella and her husband
" neither loved nor hated each other, and that they lived
together less as husband and wife than as allied and independent
sovereigns ;" but on closer examination of their history, this
does not appear to be true. Isabella's marriage had been a
union of inclination as well as of policy. In her youth she had
both loved and admired her husband. As his cold and selfish
character disclosed itself, she may possibly have felt her esteem
and affection decline ; and it is remarked by Voltaire himself,
that she deeply suffered as a woman and a wife, not only from
her husband's coldness, but from his frequent infidelities. Yet,
if they had private disagreements, they were never betrayed to
the prying eyesof the courtiers. In this respect she maintained
her own dignity and his with admirable self-command. She
found consolation for her domestic sorrows in the society of her
eldest daughter, the Infanta Isabella, and in the excellent
qualities of her son Don Juan Her second daughter, Joanna,

134 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
had been from her infancy subject to fits, which in the course of
years disordered her intellect. Her youngest daughter, Catherine
who has obtained a mournful celebrity in history as Catherine
of Arragon, was about this time demanded in marriage by
Henry VII. of England for his son Prince Arthur. This infant
marriage sealed a commercial and political treaty between the
two countries, which remained unbroken till the time of PhUip
II. and Queen Elizabeth.
The year 1489 was rendered memorable by the siege of
Baza, a fortress situated on the eastern confines of Granada.
On the reduction of this place depended the event of the war,
and the king invested it with an army of twenty-five thousand
men. While he was before the place, displaying his military
skill, and leading on his gallant chivalry, a far more difficult
task devolved on Queen Isabella ; she had to attend to the
affairs of government, and at the same time to provide all things
for supplying a large army, inclosed in the enemy's country,
and to which there was no access but over difficult mountain-
roads and dangerous passes. The incredible expenses and diffi
culties she met and overcame, and the expedients to which she
had recourse, give us the most extraordinary idea of her talents,
her activity, and her masculine energy of mind. The under
taking was in fact so hazardous, that those who usually con
tracted for the supply of the army now refused to do it on any
terms. Isabella was therefore left to her own resources. She
constructed roads through the rugged mountainous frontier for
the conveyance of the convoys — she hhed fourteen thou.sand
mules, which were incessantly employed in the transport of
grain and other necessaries. To supply the almost incredible
expense, she had not recourse to any oppressive measures of taxa
tion ; many prelates and convents opened to her their treasures

I
ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 135
she pledged her own plate ; and it is related that many wealthy
individuals readily lent her large sums of money on no other
security than her word — such was the character she bore among
ber subjects, such their confidence in her faith and truth.
" And thus,"- says the Chronicle, " through the wonderful ac
tivity, judgment and enterprise of this heroic and magnanimous
woman, a great best, encamped in the heart of a waiiike country,
accessible only over mountain-roads, was maintained in continual
abundance ;" and to her the ultimate success of the undertaking
may be attributed. After th." siege had lasted nearly seven
months at an immense cost of treasure and waste of life, Isabella
came with her daughter and all her retinue, and took up her
residence in the camp. When from the towers of Baza the
-Moors beheld the queen and all her splendid train emerging
from the defiles, and descending the mountain-roads in a long
and gorgeous array, they beat their breasts, and exclaimed,
" Now is the fate' of Baza decided !" yet such was the admira
tion and reverence which this extraordinary woman commanded
even among her enemies, that not a gun was fired, not a shaft
discharged, nor the slightest interruption offered to her progress.
On her arrival there was at once a cessation of all hostilities, as
if by mutual though tacit consent, and shortly after Baza sur
rendered on honorable terms. The chief of the Moorish garrison,
Prince Cidi Yahye, was so captivated by the winning grace and
courtesy with which Isabella received him, that he vowed never
more to draw his sword against her ; the queen accepted him
as her knight, and replied to his animated expressions of devo
tion with much sweetness, saying, " that now he was no longer
opposed to her, she considered the war of Granada as already
terminated." Baza surrendered in December, 1489, and was soon followed-

136 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
by the submission of the haughty Moor El Zagal, who, driven
from place to place, and unable any longer to contend against
the Christian forces, yielded up that part of the kingdom of
Granada which yet acknowledged him as sovereign, and did
homage to Ferdinand and Isabella as then vassal.
King BoabdU yet ruled in Granada, and the treaty of his
friendship between him and the Catholic king had been duly
observed as long as it suited the policy of Ferdinand ; but no
sooner had El Zagal surrendered than BoabdU was called upon
to yield up his capital, and receive in lieu of it the revenues of
certain Moorish towns. Boabdil might possibly have accepted
these terms, but the citizens of Granada and the warriors who
had assembled within it, rose up against him, and under the com
mand of Muza, a noble and valiant Moor, they returned a
haughty defiance to Ferdinand, declaring that they wotdd perish
beneath the walls of their glorious city, ere they would sui;ren-
der the seat of Moorish power into the hands of unbelievers.
Ferdinand and Isabella deferred for a time the completion of
their conquest, and retired after this campaign to the city of
Seville. • In the spring of 1490, the Infanta Isabella was united
to Don Alphonso, the Prince of Portugal ; and for some weeks
after the celebration of these nuptials, the court at Seville pre
sented a continual scene of splendor and revelry, banquets,
feasts, and tournaments. In the midst of these external re
joicings the heart of Isabella bled over her approaching sepai-a-
tion from her beloved daughter, and the young princess herself
wore a look of settled melancholy, which seemed prophetic of
the woes of her short-lived marriage.
It was just at this crisis that Columbus renewed his solicita
tions, and pressed fir a decided answer to his propositions. He
was referred as befoie to a council or board of inquhy, and the

ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 137
final report of this committee of " scientific men" is too edify
ing to be omitted here. It was their opinion, " 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 advanced."*
Notwithstanding this unfavorable report, and the ill offices of
Fernando de Talavera, the sovereigns did n&t wholly dismiss
Columbus, but still held out a hope that at a future period, and
after the conclusion of the war, they would probably renew the
treaty with him. But Columbus had been wearied and dis
gusted by his long attendance on the court, and he would no
longer listen to these evasive and indefinite promises. He quitted
Seville in deep disappointment and indignation, at the very time
that Ferdinand and Isabella were assembling the army destined
for the siege of Granada, little suspecting, that while they were
devoting all their energies and expending all their resources in
the conquest of a petty kingdom, they were blindly rejecting
the acquisition of a world.
On the 11th of AprU, 1491, King Ferdinand took the field
for this last campaign. His army consisted of forty thodsand in
fantry and ten thousand cavalry. He was accompanied by his
son, Don Juan, then a fine youth of sixteen, and by all the
chivalry of CastUe and Arragon, including the Marquis of
Cadiz, and the Marquis of VUlena — the Counts de Cabre, de
TendUla, Cifuentes, and Urefla, Don Alonzo de Aguilar, and
Gonsalvo de Cordova, aU names renowned in the annals of
Spain. IsabeUa with her family and retinue remained for a
time at Alcala la Real, a strong place on the frontiers ; but
they soon afterward quitted this fortress, and took up their
• Vide Life and Voyages of Columbun.

138 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
residence in the camp before Granada. The IMoors, excited by
the enthusiasm and example of Muza, their heroic commander,
defended their city with -courageous obstinacy, and the environs
of Granada were the scene of many romantic exploits and re
nowned deeds of arms. One or two of these adventures, in which
Isabella was personally interested, ought to find a place here.
It happened on a certain day, when the siege had already
lasted about two months, that a fierce Moorish chief, named El
Tarfe, made a sally from the walls, with a band of followers.
He galloped almost alone up to the Christian camp, leaped the
intrenchments, flung his lance into the midst of the royal tents,
and then turning his horse, sprung again over the barriers, and
galloped hack to the city with a speed which left his pursuers
far behind. When the tumult of surprise had ceased, the
lance of El Tarfe was found quivering in the earth, and affixed
to it a label, purporting that it was intended for the Queen
Isabella. Such an audacious insult offered to their adored and sovereign
lady, filled the whole Christian host with astonishment and in
dignation. A Castilian knight, named Perez de Pulgar, deeply
swore to retort this insolent bravado on the enemy. Accompa
nied by a few valiant friends, he forced his way through one of
the gates of Granada, galloped up to the principal mosque, and
there, throwing himself from his horse, he knelt down, and
solemnly took possession of it, in the name of the Blessed
Virgin. Then taking a tablet, on which were inscribed the
words Ave BIaria, he nailed it to the portal of the mosque
with his dagger, re-mounted his horse, and safely regained the
camp, slaying or overturning all his opponents.
On the day which succeeded this daring exploit. Queen
Isabella and her daughters expressed a wish to have a nearer

ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 139
view of the city, and of the glorious palace of the Alhamhra,
than they could obtain from the camp. The noble Marquis of
Cadiz immediately prepared to gratify this natural but perilous
curiosity ; assembling a brilliant and numerous escort, composed
of chosen warriors, he conducted Isabella and her retinue to a
rising ground nearer the city, whence they might view to advan
tage the towers and heights of the Alhamhra.
When the Moors beheld this splendid and warlike array ap
proaching their city, they sent forth a body of their bravest
youth, who challenged the Christians to the fight. But Isabella,
unwilling that her curiosity should cost the life of one human
being, absolutely forbade the combat ; and her knights obeyed,
but sorely against their will. All at once, the fierce and in
solent El Tarfe, armed at all points, was seen to advance ; he
slowly paraded close to the Christian ranks, dragging at his
horse's taU the inscription " Ave Maria," ^hioh Pulgar had
affixed to the mosque a few hours before. On beholding this
abominable sacrilege, all the zeal, the pride, the long-restrained
fury of the CastUians burst forth at once. Pulgar was not
present, but one of his intimat* friends, Garoilaso de la Vega,*
threw himself at the feet of the queen, and so earnestly en
treated her permission to avenge this insult, that his request
was granted ; he encountered and slew the Moor in single
combat, and the engagement immediately became general.
Isabella, at once shocked by the consequences of her curiosity,
and terrified by the sudden onset and din of arms, threw herself
on her knees with all her ladies, and prayed earnestly, while
" lance to lance, and horse to horse," the battle fiercely raged
around her. At length, victory decided for the Christians,
and the Moors were driven back with loss upon the city. The
? This Garoilaso de la Vega is said to have been the father of the great poet

140 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
Marquis of Cadiz then rode up to the queen, and whUe she yet
trembled with agitation, he, with grave courtesy, apologized for
the combat which had taken place, as if it had been a mere
breach of etiquette, and gallantly attributed the victory to her
presence. On the spot where this battle was fought Isabella
founded a convent, which still exists, and in its garden is a
laurel which, according to the tradition of the place, was
planted by her own hand.
Not long afterward Isabella was exposed to still greater dan
ger. One sultry night in the month of July, she had been
lying on her couch, reading by the light of a taper. About
midnight she arose and went into her oratory to perform her
devotions ; and one of her attendants, in removing the taper,
placed it too near the silken curtains which divided her magnifi
cent pavUion into various compartments ; the hangings, moved
by the evening breeze, caught fire, and were instantly in a blaze —
the conflagration spread from tent to tent, and in a few moments
the whole of this division of the camp was in flames.
The queen had scarcely time to extricate herself from the
burning draperies, and her first thought was for the safety of her
husband. She flew to his tent-. The king, upon the first alarm,
and uncertain of the nature of the danger, had leaped from his
bed, and was rushing forth half-dressed, with his sword in his hand.
The king being in safety, Isabella's next thought was for her
son ; but he had already been extricated by his attendant, and
carried to the tent of the Blarquis of Cubra. No lives were lost,
but the whole of the queen's wardrobe and an immense quantity
of arms and treasure were destroyed.
The Moors, who from their walls beheld this conflagration,
entertained some hopes that such a terrible disaster and the
approach of winter would induce the sovereigns to abandon tho

ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 141
siege. Their astonishment was great when they saw a noble
and regular city rise from the ruins of the camp. It owed its
existence to the piety and magnanimity of Isabella, who founded
it as a memorial of her gratitude to Heaven, and at the same
time to manifest the determination of herself and her husband
never to relinquish the siege while Granada remained standing.
The army wished to call this new city by the name of their
beloved queen ; but the piety of Isabella disclaimed this com
pliment, and she named it La Santa Fe.
It was during the erection of this city that Queen Isabella
once more dispatched a missive to Columbus, desiring his return
to the court, that she might have farther conference with him ;
and she sent him at the same time, with that benevolence which
characterized her, a sum of money to beai his expenses, and to
provide him with a mule for his journey, and habUiments fitted
to appear in the royal presence. He arrived at the city of Santa
Fe just as Granada, reduced to the last extremity by famine and
the loss of its bravest inhabitants, had surrendered on terms of
capitulation, and the standard of the Cross and the great banner
of Castile were seen floating together on the lofty watch-tower
of the Alhamhra. It was on the 6th of January, 1492, that
IsabeUa and Ferdinand made their triumphal entry into the
fallen city. The unfortunate BoabdU met them, and surrendered
the keys to King Ferdinand. He would have dismounted and
tendered the usual token of vassalage, by kissing the hands of
the king and queen, but they generously declined it ; and Isa
bella, with many kind and courteous words, delivered to BoabdU
his only son, who had hitherto been detained as a hostage. The
Moorish monarch, accompanied by all his family and suite, then
took his melancholy way towards the province which had been
assigned to him as his future residence. On reaching a hill

142 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
above Granada, (which has since been called by the Spaniards
El Ultimo Suspiro del Moro, " the last sigh of the Moor "),
BoabdU turned, and, casting a last look back on the beautiful
Vega, and the glorious city of his forefathers, he burst into tears.
" You do weU," said his high-spirited mother, Ayxa, " to weep
like a woman for what you knew not how to defend like a man !"
The reproof might have been just, but in such a moment the
cruel taunt iU became a mother's heart or lips. BoabdU after
ward retired to Africa, and resided in the territories of the King
of Fez. He survived the conquest of Granada thirty-four years,
and died at last on the field, valiantly fighting in defence of the
kingdom of Fez.
The war of Granada lasted ten years, and with the surrender
of the capital terminated the dominion of the Moors in Spain,
which, dating from the defeat of Roderick, the last of the Goths,
had endured seven hundred and seventy-eight years. When
the tumult of this great triumph had in some degree subsided,
Isabella had leisure to attend to Columbus, and the negotiation
with him was renewed. The terms, however, on which he
insisted with a lofty enthusiasm, appeared so exorbitant when
compared with his lowly condition and the vague nature of his
views, that his old adversary, Fernando de Talavera, now Arch
bishop of Granada, again interposed between him and the kind
intentions of the queen, and said so much that IsabeUa, after
some hesitation, declared his pretensions to be inadmissible.
Columbus, on the other hand, would not abate one iota of his
demands. In bitterness of spirit he saddled his mule, and
turned his back on Santa Fe. Scarcely had he departed when
two of his most enthusiastic friends, who were besides high in
the royal favor,* waited on the queen. They vindicated Colum-
? Luis de St. Angel and Alonzo de (^uintanilla.

ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 143
bus from the aspersions of Talavera ; they entreated, they remon
strated with all the zeal which their friendship for him and their
loyalty to the queen could inspire. The Marchioness of Moya
added to their arguments the most eloquent persuasions. Isa
bella listened. She had ever been friendly to this great and
glorious enterprise, and her enthusiasm was now kindled by that
of her friend. She still hesitated for one moment, recollecting
how completely the royal treasury was drained by the late war,
and that the king, her husband, was coldly averse to the measure.
At length she exclaimed, " It shall be so — I will undertake the
enterprise for my own kingdom of Castile, and will pledge my
jewels for the necessary sum!" "This," says the historian
of Columbus, " was the proudest moment in the life of Isabella.
It stamped her renown forever as the patroness of the discovery
of the New World."
A courier was immediately dispatched to recall Columbus,
who had already reached the bridge of Pinos, two or three
leagues from Granada. He hesitated at first, but when he was
informed that the messenger came from the queen herself, and
'bore her pledge and promise, confiding in her royal word, he
turned his mule at once, and retraced his steps to Santa Fe.
The compact between the two sovereigns and Columbus was
signed in AprU, 1492, Isabella undertaking all the expenses
except one-eighth, which was borne by the admiral ; and in the
following August Columbus set saU from Palos.
The history of his voyages and discoveries does not properly
enter into the personal history of Queen Isabella. It may be
remarked generally, that in all .her conduct toward Columbus,
and all her views and decrees in the government of the newly-
discovered world, we find the same beautiful consistency, the
same generous feeling, and the same rectitude of intention.

144 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
Next to that moment hi which Isabella declared herself the
sole patroness of Columbus, and undertook the voyage of dis
covery for her " own kingdom of CastUe," the most memorable
epoch of her,hfe was his return from the New World, when she
received him in state at Barcelona ; and, when laying at her
feet the productions of those unknown lands, he gave her a
detailed narrative of his wonderful voyage.
Isabella was particularly struck by his account of the inhabi
tants of these new-found regions ; she took a tender interest in
their welfare, and often reiterated her special commands to
Columbus that they should be treated with kindness, and con
verted or civilized only by the gentlest means. Of the variety
of circumstances which interposed between these poor people
and her benevolent intentions we can only judge by a detaUed
account of the events which followed, and the characters of those
intrusted with the management of the new discoveries. When
the most pious churchmen and enlightened statesmen of her
time could not determine whether it was or was not lawful, and,
according to the Christian religion, to enslave the Indians —
when Columbus himself pressed the measure as a political ne
cessity, and at once condemned to slavery those who offered the
slightest opposition to the Spanish invaders — Isabella settled the
matter according to the dictates of her own merciful heart and
upright mind. She ordered that all the Indians should be con
veyed back to their respective hwnes, and forbade absolutely all
harsh measures toward them on any pretence. Unable at such
a distance to measure all the difficulties with which Columbus
had to contend, her indignation fell on him ; and the cruelties
which his followers exercised, at least under the sanction of his
tiame, drew on him her deep displeasure.
WhUe under the immediate auspices of Isabella these grand

ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 145
discoveries were proceeding in the New World, Ferdinand was
engrossed by ambitious projects nearer home. Naples had been
invaded by Charles VIII. in 1494, and Gonsalvo de Cordova
had been sent to oppose him. Gonsalvo, " the Great Captain,"
by a series of brilliant military successes and political perfidies
of the deepest dye, in the end secured the kingdom of Naples for
his master, Ferdinand. The legitimate heir, and last descendant
of the family of Alphonso, " the Magnanimous," was brought a
prisoner to Spain, and died there after a captivity of fifty years.
Isabella, meantime, in the interior of her palace, was occupied
by interests and feelings nearer and dearer to her heart than
the conquest of kingdoms or the discovery of worlds ; and,
during the la?t few years of her life, she was gradually crushed
to the earth by a series of domestic calamities, which no human
wisdom could have averted, and for which no earthly prosperity
could afford consolation.
In 1496, her mother, the queen-dowager of Castile, died in
her arms. In 1497, just before Columbus saUed on his third
voyage, a double famUy arrangement had been made between
the houses of Spain and Austria, which bade fair to consohdate
the power of both. The Infanta Joanna was betrothed to the
Archduke Philip, son and heir of the Emperor Maximilian ; and
the same splendid and gallant fleet which bore her from the shores
of Spain brought back Margaret of Austria, the destined wife of
Prince Juan, the only son of Isabella and Ferdinand. In the
spring of 1497, Juan and Margaret, then both in the bloom of
youth, were united at Burgos, with all befitting pomp and revelry.
The queen's most beloved daughter, the Princess Isabella,
had lost her young husband, Alphonso of Portugal ; within four
months after his marriage he was killed by a fall from his horse,
and she retired to a convent, where, from an excess of grief or
10

146 ISABELLA OP CASTILE.
piety, she gave herself up to a course of religious abstinence and
austerities which undermined her constitution. Several years
after the death of Alphonso she was induced to bestow her hand
on his cousin and heir, Don Emanuel, who had just ascended the
throne of Portugal. While yet the customary festivities were
going forward upon the occasion of this royal marriage, the young
Prince Juan died of a fever, within five months after his mar
riage with Margaret, and her infant perished ere it saw the light.
Isabella, though struck to the heart by this cruel disappointment
of her best hopes and affections, found strength in her habitual
piety to bear the blow, and was beginning to recover from the
first bitterness of grief, when a stroke, even more lastingly and
deeply felt, bowed her almost to the grave with sorrow. Her
daughter, the Queen of Portugal, whom she appears to have
loved and trusted beyond every human being, died in chUdbirth
at Toledo, bequeathing to her mother's care a beautiful but
feeble infant, the heir to Castile, Arragon, and Granada, to
Portugal, Navarre, Naples. SicUy, and to all the opening glories
of the eastern and western worlds. As if crushed beneath the
burden of such magnificent destinies, the child pined away and
died. These successive losses followed so quick upon one an
other, that it seemed as if the hand of Heaven had doomed the
house of Ferdinand and Isabella to desolation.
The reader need hardly be reminded of the ignominious and
ungrateful treatment of Columbus, nor of the manner in which
he was sent home after his third voyage, loaded with fetters,
from the world he had discovered, to the- sovereigns he had en
riched and aggrandized by his discoveries. In justice to Isa
bella, it is fit to account for her share in this revolting transac
tion ; and it cannot be done better or more succinctly than in
the very words of the historian of Columbus : — '

ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 147
" The queen, having taken a maternal interest in the welfare
of the natives, had been repeatedly offended by what appeared
to her pertinacity on the part of Columbus, in continuing to
make slaves of those taken in warfare, in contradiction to her
known wishes. The same ships which brought home the com
panions of Roldan brought likewise a great number of slaves.
Some Columbus had been obliged to grant to these men by
articles of capitulation — others they had brought away clan
destinely ; among them were several daughters of caciques, who
had been seduced away from their famUies and their native
island by these profligates. The gifts and transfers of these
unhappy beings were all ascribed to the wiU of Columbus, and
represented to Isabella in their darkest colors. Her sensibUity
as a woman and her dignity as a queen were instantly in arms.
' What power,' she exclaimed, indignantly, ' has the admhal to
give away my vassals ?' She determined, by one decided and
peremptory act, to show her abhorrenee of these outrages upon
humanity ; she ordered all the Indians to be restored to their
country and friends. Nay, more, her measure was retro
spective. She commanded that those who had formerly been
sent home by the admiral should be sought out, and sent back
to Hispaniola. Unfortunately for Columbus, at this very junc
ture, in one of his letters he had advised the continuance of
Indian slavery for some time longer, as a measure important
for the welfare of the colony. This contributed to heighten
the indignation of Isabella, and induced her no longer to op
pose the sending out of a commission to investigate his conduct,
and, if necessary, to supersede his commission."
When Columbus had sailed on his first voyage of discovery,
Isabella had given a strong proof of her kindly feeling toward
him, by app minting his sons pages to Don Juan ; thus providing

148 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
for their education, and opening to them a path to the highest
offices in the court. Hence, perhaps, arose the friendship which
existed between Columbus and Donna Joanna de Torres, who had
been nurse or gouvernante of the young prince, and was high in
the confidence and favor of Isabella. Too proud, perhaps, to
address himself immediately to those who had injured him, Co
lumbus wrote to Donna Joanna a detailed account of the dis
graceful treatment he had met, and justified his own conduct.
The court was then at Granada, and Joanna de Torres in at
tendance on the queen. No sooner had she received the letter
than she carried it to her mistress, and read aloud this solemn
and affecting appeal against the injustice and ingratitude with
which his services had been recompensed. Isabella, who had
never contemplated such an extremity, was filled with mingled
astonishment, indignation, and sorrow. She immediately wrote
to Columbus, expressing her grief for all he had endured, apolo
gizing for the conduct of Bovadilla, and inviting him in affec
tionate terms to visit the court. He came accordingly, " not
as one in disgrace, but richly dressed, and with all the marks
of rank and distinction. Isabella received him in the .Alhambra,
and when he entered her apartment she was so overpowered
that she burst into tears, and could only extend her hand to
him. Columbus himself, who had borne up firmly against the
stern conflicts of the world, and had endured with a lofty scorn
the injuries and insults of ignoble men, when he beheld the
queen's emotion, could no longer suppress his own. He threw
himself at her feet, and for some time was unable to utter a
word, for the violence of his tears and sobbings."* ' There can
be no doubt that, had it depended on Isabella, Columbus would
never more have had reason to complain of injustice or ingrati-
? Vide Life and Voyages of Columbus.

ISABELLA or CASTILU 149
tude on the part of the sovereigns ; he had won her entire es
teem and her'impUcit confidence, and aU her intentions towards
him were sincerely kind and upright.* It was owing to the
interference of Ferdinand and his ministers that the vice-royalty
of the New World was taken from him and given to Ovando,
as a temporary measure ; but it was under Isabella's pecuUar
patronage and protection that he saUed on his fourth voyage of
discovery, in 1502.
Isabella did not live to see him return from this eventful and
disastrous voyage. A dark cloud had gathered over her latter
years, and domestic griefs and cares pressed heavUy upon her
affectionate heart. The Princess Joanna, now her heiress, had
married the Archduke Philip of Austria, who was remarkable
for his gay manners and captivating person — the marriage had
been one of mere policy on his part. But the poor princess,
who, unhappily for herself, united to a plain person and infirm
health, strong passions and great sensibility, had centered all
her affections in her husband, whom she regarded with a fond
and exclusive idolatry, whUe he returned her attachment with
the most negligent coolness. It does not appear that the im-
becUity of Joanna was natural, but rather the effect of accident
and disease, for occasionally she displayed glimpses of strong
sense, generous pride, and high feeling, which rendered the
derangement of her faculties more intensely painful and' affect
ing. Though Isabella had the satisfaction of seeing Joanna a
mother — though she pressed in her arms a grandson,| whose
splendid destinies, if she could have beheld them through the
long lapse of years, might in part have consoled her ; yet the
feeble health of this infant, and the sight of her daughter's
misery, embittered her days. At length, on the departure of
• 'S'ide Life and Voyages of Columbui f Afterward the Emperor Charles V.

150 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
Philip for the Low Countries, the unhappy Joanna gave way to
such transports of grief, that it ended in the complete bereave
ment of her senses. To this terrible blow was added another —
for, about the same time, the news arrived that Catherine of
Arragon had lost her young husband. Prince Arthur, after a
union of only five months. Isabella's maternal heart, wounded
in the early death or protracted sorrows of her chUdren, had no
hope, no consolation, but in her deep sense of religion. Ximenes
was at this time her confessor. In his strong and upright, but
somewhat harsh and severe mind, she found that support and
counsel which might aid her in grappling with the cares of
empire, but not the comfort which could soothe her affliction as
a mother. Ferdinand was so engrossed by the Italian wars and
in weaving subtle webs of policy either to ensnare his neighbors
or veil his own deep-laid plans, that he had little thought or
care for domestic sorrows. So Isabella pined away lonely in
her grandeur, till the deep melancholy of her mind seized on
her constitution, and threw her into a rapid decline. WhUe
on her death-bed, she received intelligence of Ovando's tyranni-
cal~government at Hispaniola, and of the barbarities which had
been exercised upon the unhappy Indians, her horror and
indignation hastened the effects of her disease. With her dying
breath, she exacted from Ferdindnd a solemn promise that he
would instantly recall Ovando, redress the grievances of the
poor Indians, and protect them from all future oppression.
Ferdinand gave the required promise, and how he kept it is
recorded in traces of blood and guUt in the history of the New
World. Soon after this conversation Isabella expired at Medina
del Campo, after a lingering illness of four months ; she died
on the 25tn of November, 1505, in the fifty-fourth year of her
Bge, havmg reigned thirty-one years. In her last wiU she

ISABELLA OP CASTILE. 151
expressed a wish to be buried in the Alhan^bra — " in a low
sepulchre, without any monument, unless the king, her lord,
should desire that his body after death should rest in any other
spot. In that case, she willed that her body should be removed,
and laid beside that of the king, wherever it might be de
posited ; in order," adds this affecting document of her piety, ten
derness, and humUity — " in order that the union we have enjoyed
whUe living, and which (through the mercy of God) we hope
our souls wUl experience in heaven, may be represented by
our bodies in the earth."
The character of Isabella as a woman and a queen, though
not free from the failings incidental to humanity, is certainly the
most splendid, and at the same time the most interesting and
blameless, which history has recorded. She had all the talents,
the strength of mind, and the royal pride of Queen Elizabeth,
without her harshness, her despotism, and her arrogance ; and
she possessed the personal grace, the gentleness, and feminine
accomplishments of Mary Stuart, without her weakness. Her
virtues were truly her own — her faults and errors were the
result of external circumstances, and belonged to the times and
the situation in which she was placed. What is most striking
and singular in the character of Isabella, is the union of exces
sive pride — Castilian pride — amounting at times to haughtiness,
and even wUlfulness, whenever her dignity as a queen was con
cerned, with extreme sensibUity and softness of deportment as
a woman. She adored her husband, and yet would never suffer
him to interfere with her authority as an independent sovereign ;
and she was as jealous of her prerogative as Elizabeth herself.
When the cortes of Arragon hesitated to acknowledge her
daughter Joanna the heiress to Arragon as well as to CaglUc,
Isabella exclaimed, with all the willfulness of a proud nfoman,

152 ISABELLA OF CASTILE.
" Another time it were a shorter way to assemble an army
instead of assembling the states !"
- Although exposed in early life to all the contagion of. a de
praved court, Isabella preserved a reputation unsullied, even by
the breath of calumny. The women who formed her court and
habitual society were generally estimable. The men, who owed
their rise to her particular favor and patronage, were all distin
guished either for worth or talent. The most Ulustrious were
Columbus and Ximenes, certainly the two greatest men of that
time, in point of original capacity, boldness of strength, and
integrity of purpose. Ferdinand hated and oppressed the former,
and hated and feared the latter. Both would have been distin
guished in any age or under any circumstances, but, next to
themselves, they owed their rise and their fame to Isabella. It
was in the reign of Isabella that the Spanish language and
literature began to assume a polished and regular form. The
two most celebrated poets of her time were the Marquis de
Santillana and Juan de Encina. She patronized the newly-in
vented art of printing, and the first printing-press set up in
Spain was established at Burgos under her auspices, and
printed books ; and foreign classical works were imported free
of duty. Through her zeal and patronage the University of
Salamanca rose to that eminence which it assumed among the
learned institutions of that period. She prepared the way for
that golden age of Spanish literature which immediately
succeeded. " Isabella de la paz y bontad :" — Isabella of peace and good
ness — ^was the simple, but beautiful designation bestowed upon
her by her people ; and the universal regret and enthusiastic
eulogies with which they have embalmed her memory have
been ratified by history and posterity.

Beatirlee Q ci\ cl

In an obscure part of Rome, near the Ghetto, or quarter cf
the Jews, stands a large gloomly pile, which, though partially
modernized, retains all the characteristics of a feudal palace .
Its foundations are seated upon the ruins of an ancient amphi
theatre, and its walls were ' probably raised, like most of the
palaces in the Christian capital, at the expense of some noble
monument of antiquity. A darkly tragic history, involving the
fate of one ot' the oldest Patrician families of Rome, and ending
in its extinction, is connected with this building. It is a tale of
suffering and of blood — one in which the most monstrous per
versity distorts the best and gentlest feelings of' human nature,
and converts a mild and lovely woman into a paj-ricide.
The record of such crimes, though it raises a thrill of breath
less horror, conveys at the same time a useful lesson. To
watch the effects of a continued career of vice, or to trace the
warping of an ardent but virtuous mind under the pressure of
accumulated and unheard-of injuries, is to study a most import
ant page in the book of mankind. Precept is powerful, no
doubt "; but when a terrific picture is placed before us, and the
fearful reality brought home to the senses, it leaves a much
more lasting impression.
Such is my object in relating the events which follow ; as
well as to show, that even the production of a positive good is
not only no justification for crime, but that such crime leads to

156 BEATRICE CENCI.
certain and irreparable evU. Here we have a daughter inflict
ing death upon an iniquitous father ; and while a deep and soul-
stirring interest is awakened by the sorrows and sufferings of
Beatrice Cenci, a horror of the crime she committed wUl ever
couple her name with infamy.
Count Nicole Cenci was the last living descendant of an
ancient and noble house. In early life he had entered the
ecclesiastical state, risen to the prelacy, and held, under the
Pontificate of Pius V., the office of Treasurer to the Apostoho
chamber. Being at length the sole survivor of his race, he
resolved, though somewhat advanced in years, to return to
secular life and marry — a practice not uncommon in the six
teenth century. At his death he left an only son, the inheritor
of his honors and immense wealth.
This son, the chUd of his old age and of his ambition, was
Francesco Cenci, the father of Beatrice. The curse of iniquity
seemed entailed upon him from his cradle. He was one of
those human monsters which, bad as man may be, are the ano
malies of the species ; woe and despair were the ministers to his
enjoyments, and the very atmosphere tainted with his breath
was pregnant with death or misfortune to aU who came within
its infiuence. Before he had reached his twentieth year, he
married a woman of great beauty and noble birth, who, aftei
bearing him seven children, and whUe stUl young, died a
violent and mysterious death. Very soon after, he married
Lucrezia Strozzi, by whom he had no family.
Count Francesco Cenci was a stranger to every redeeming
virtue of the human heart. His whole life was spent in
debauchery, and in the commission of crimes of the most un
speakable kind. He had several times incurred the penalty of
death, but had purchased his pardon from the papal govern-

BEATRICE CENCI. 157
ment at the ct.'St of a hundred thousand Roman crowns for each
offence. As he advanced in years, he conceived a most impla
cable hatred towards his children. To get rid of his three
eldest sons, he sent them to Spain, where he kept them without
even the common necessaries of life. They contrived, how
ever, to. return to Rome, and throw themselves at the feet of
the Pope, who compeUed their unnatural father to make them
an allowance suitable to their rank. Their eldest sister, cruelly
tortured at home, likewise succeeded, though with great diffi
culty, in making an appeal to the Pontiff, and was removed
from her father's roof. She died a few years after.
When these victims of Count Cenci's hatred were thus
placed beyond his reach, the vindictive old man became almost
frantic with passion. But his wife, his daughter Beatrice, his
son Bernardino, and a boy still younger, were yet in his power ;
and upon them he resolved to wreak his vengeance by the
infliction of tenfold wretchedness.
To prevent Beatrice from following her sister's example, he
shut her up in a remote and unfrequented room of his palace,
no longer the seat of princely magnificence and hospitality, but
a gloomy and appalHng solitude, the silence of which was never
disturbed, except by shouts of loose revelry, or shrieks of
despair. So long as Beatrice remained a chUd, her father treated her
with extreme cruelty. But years sped on; the ill-used chUd
grew up into a woman of surpassing loveliness, and the hand
raised to feirher to the earth, became gradually relaxed, and at
last fell powerless. The soul of the stern father had melted
before her matchless beauty, and his ferocious nature seemed
subdued. But it was only the deceitful calm that precedes the
tempest.

158 BEATRICE CENCI.
Just before this change took place, Beatrice's two brothers,
Cristoforo and Vocio, were found murdered in the neighborhood
of Rome. The crime was ascribed to banditti, but it was
generally beheved that a parent's hand had directed the assas
sin's dagger. Be that as it may, the wicked old Count refused
the money necessary to bury his sons, alleging that he would
wait until the other members of his hated family were cut off,
and then spend the whole of his fortune in giving them all a
magnificent funeral.
Count Cenci's unusual mUdness toward his daughter, seemed
at first to have its origin in a redeeming virtue which had im
perceptibly stolen into his heart. Beatrice received the marks
of his assumed kindness as a blessing of Providence ; they
called forth the kindliest emotions of her nature, and her heart
' overflowed with gratitude. But the real cause of the Count's
change of conduct was soon revealed. He had indeed been
moved by his daughter's beauty, though not by paternal affec
tion. The wretched man had dared to contemplate the most
unhallowed crime that ever blackened the annals of human
depravity ; and when this became manifest to Beatrice, she
shrank back in horror and affright, her features were convulsed
with agony, and the most appaUing thoughts shot through her
brain. Now began that mental struggle which ended in the
perversion of her nature, and led to the frightful catastrophe
that ensued. Beatrice Cenci, though the most gentle and affec
tionate of her sex, had nevertheless a firm and energetic soul.
With all the attributes of feminine loveliness, with endowments
that rendered her the ornament of society, she had a resolute
ness of purpose, and an energy of courage, which nothing could
shane. To this may be added a keen sense of injury. A
mind of such a stamp, goaded by years of the most revolting

BEATRICE CENCI. 159
cruelty, and recently outraged by a loathsome and unutterable
attempt, was the more likely, upon taking a wrong bias, to ad
vance recklessly on to crime. Beatrice was, besides, excited by
a powerful and all-absorbing idea. Strongly imbued with the
religious fanaticism of the age in which she lived, she imagined
that, if hei father persevered in his monstrous course, her soul
would be forever contaminated, and both parent and child ex
cluded from eternal salvation. Hence despair fixed its fangs
upon her heart, and smothered her better feelings. She at first
conteinplated the possibility of her father's death as the only
chance of averting the threatened evil ; and as her mind be
came familiarized with this idea, she gradually brought herself
to think that she was called upon, if not to anticipate the wUl
of Providence, at least to act as its instrument. It is probable
that her resolution was strengthened, by witnessing the crueltiea
daily inflicted upon her step-mother and her two youngest
brothers. Ever since Count Cenci's hatred of Beatrice had yielded to
a more atrocious sentiment, she had enjoyed greater freedom,
and the fame of her beauty soon spread through Rome. Numer
ous suitors offered themselves to her notice ; but she beheld them
all with indifference, except Monsignore Guerra, an intimate
friend of Giacomo, her eldest brother. This young man was
handsome, valiant, accomplished, and her equal in rank. He
had entered the church, and was then a prelate ; but he intended
o obtain a dispensation to marry, as Beatrice's grandfather had
done. He loved Beatrice with the most devoted affection, which
she as warmly returned. Count Cenci was jealous of all who
approached his daughter, and the lovers could only converse in
private when the Count was from home. For some months, he
had seldom left his palace, and the cause of this sedentary life

160 BEATRICE CENCI.
was but too apparent, not only to Beatrice, but -to the
Countess. Lucrezia was a kind step-mother. There is a bond in the
fellowship of suffering which begets affection, and Beatrice had
always found sympathy and consolation in her father's wife. Into
the bosom of the Countess she now poured the tale of her
despair, forcibly directed her attention to the abyss upon the
brink of which they all stood, a.nd ultimately succeeded in mak
ing her mother-in-law a convert to her views and purposes. For
the first time, perhaps, a wife and her step-daughter conspired
the death of a husband and father. Trembling for their safety,
and dreading the most fearful violence— led', moreover, by the
superstitious fanaticism with which, in those days of blindness,
Christianity was debased, to take a false view of futurity — two
feeble women dared to conceive a crime that would have appalled
the stoutest-hearted vUlain.
The lover of Beatrice was made the depository of this dread
ful secret, and his assistance solicited. Guerra loved his beautiful
mistress too ardently to question the propriety of anything she
resolved upon, and, as her blind slave, he readily assumed the
management of the plot. Having first communicated the matter
to Giacomo, and wrung from him a perhaps reluctant concur
rence, he next undertook to provide the murderers. These were
soon found. The vassals of Count Cenci abhorred him as an
insufferable tyrant ; among them were Marzlo and Olimpio, both
of whom burned with Italian vindictiveness and hatred of their
feudal lord. Marzio, besides, madly and hopelessly loved Bea
trice. He was sent for to the Cenci palace, where, after a few
gentle words from the syren, and the promise of a princely re
ward, he accepted the bloody mission ; and Olimpio was induced
to join him, from a desire of aven^ging some peisonal wrongs.

BEATRICE CENCI. 16]
The first plan fixed upon by the conspirators was one likely to
escape detection ; nevertheless, from some cause now unknown
it was abandoned. Count Cenci intended spending a year at
Rocca-di-Petrella, a castle situated among the Apulian Apen
nines. It belonged to his friend Marzio Colunna, who had placed
it at his disposal. A number of banditti, posted in the woods
near the castle, were to have attacked the Count on his way
thither, seized his person, and demanded so heavy a ransom
that he could not possibly have the sum with him. His sons
were to propose fetching the money, and, after remaining some
time absent, to return and declare that they had been unable to
raise so large an amount. The Count was then to be put to
death. The difficulties which arose to prevent the adoption of this
plan, certainly offering the best chances of escape from the con
sequences of the crime, are involved in obscurity ; but the hand
of Providence is here apparent. The murder was adjourned to
some more convenient opportunity, and Count Cenci set out with
his wife, his daughter, and his two youngest sons, for Rocca-di-
PetreUa. It raises feelings of horror and disgust, as we follow this family
party in their slow progress across the Pontine marshes, medi
tating against each other, as they journeyed on, crimes the most
revolting to human nature. They moved forward like a funeral
procession. On reaching Rocca-di-Petrella, the Count imme
diately began to carry his designs against Beatrice into exe
cution. Day after day, the most violent scenes took place, and they
but strengthened Beatrice in her desperate resolution. At
length she could hold out no longer ; and the rage of madness
took possession of her mind. One day — it was the 4th of
11

l6^ BEATRICE CENCI.
September, 1598 — after a most trying interview with her father,
she threw herself, in an agony of horror, into the arms of Lu
crezia, and exclaimed in a hoarse, broken voice, —
" We can delay no longer — he must die !"
An express was that instant dispatohei to Monsignore Guen-a ;
the murderers received immediate instructions, and on the even
ing of the Sth, reached Rooca-di-Petrella. Beatrice turned
pale on hearing the signal which announced their arrival.
" This is the Nativity of the Virgin," said she to the Coun
tess — " we must wait till to-morrow ; for why should we commit
a double crime .'"
Thus was a most heinous offence, no less than the murder of
a father and a husband, deferred, because the Church prohibited
all land of work on the day of the Virgin Mary's nativity
Such were the feelings of these two women ; and such, I may
safely aver, were the feelings of every desperate villain in Italy,
at that period. Even Francesco Cenci, whose atrocities have
found no parallel in ancient or modern times, built a chapel and
established masses for the repose of his soul. Religion was no
check — ^it was only a refuge or sanctuary against punishment ;
and it served but to convince the dying criminal who had
strictly observed its outward forms, of his certain passport to
heaven. On the following evening, Beatrice and Lucrezia administered
an opiate to Count Cenci of sufficient strength to prevent him
from defending his life. A short time after he had taken it, he
fell into a heavy sleep.
When all was sUont in the castle, the murderers were ad
mitted by Beatrice, who conducted them into a long gallery,
leading to the Count's bod-room. The women were soon left
to themselves ; and strong as was their determination, and deep

BEATRICE CENCI. 1G3
the sense of their wrongs, this moment must have been appalling
to both. They listened in breathless anxiety — not a sound was
audible. At length the door of the Count's room was opened,
and the murderers rushed out horror-stricken.
"Oh God!" said Marzio, in dreadful agitation, "I cannot
kill that old man. His peaceful sleep— his venerable white
locks — Oh ! I cannot do it !"
The cheeks of Beatrice became of an ashy paleness, and she
trembled with anger. Her eyes flashed with fury, as her color
returned, and the passions which shook her whole frame served
but to give additional lustre to her beauty.
" Coward !" she exclaimed with bitterness, seizing Marzio by
the arm ; " thy valor lies only in words. Base murderer ! thou
hast sold thy soul to the devil, and yet thou lackest energy to
fulfiU thy hellish contract. Return to that room, vile slave, and
do thy duty ; or, by the seven pains of our Lady — " and as
she said this, she drew a dagger from under the folds of her
dress — " thy dastardly soul shall go prematurely to its long ac
count." The men shrank beneath the scowl of this girl. Completely
abashed, they returned to their work of death, followed by
Beatrice and Lucrezia. The Count had not been disturbed
from his sleep. His head appeared above the coverlid ; it was
surrounded by flowing white hair, which, reflecting the moon
beams as they fell upon it through the large painted window,
formed a silvery halo round his brow. Marzio shuddered as he
approached the bed — the passage from sleep to eternity was
brief. The crime being consummated, Beatrice herself paid the
promised reward, and presented Marzio with a cloak richly
trimmed with gold lace. Th ; murderers immediately left the

164 BEATRICE CENCI.
eastle through a ruined postern long out of use, and partly
Walled up.
Beatrice and Lucrezia then returned to the murdered Count,
and drawing the weapon from the wound — for the old man had
been deprived of life by means of a long and sharply-pointed
piece of iron, driven into the brain through the corner of the
right eye — clothed the body in a dressing-gown, and dragging
it to the further end of the gallery, precipitated it from a win
dow then under repair, the balcony of which had been taken
down. Beneath stood a huge mulberry-tree with strong and
luxuriant branches, which so dreadfully mutilated the corpse in
its fall, that, when found in the morning, it presented every ap
pearance of accidental death. It is probable that no suspicion
would ever have been excited, had not Beatrice, with strict in
junctions to secrecy, given the blood-stained sheets and coverhd
to a woman of the village for the purpose of being washed.
Rocca-di-Petrella being situated in the Neapolitan territory,
the Court of Naples received the first intimation of the suspected
crime. An inquiry was immediately set on foot ; but, notwith
standing every search, the deposition of the woman who had
washed the bed-clothes was the only evidence that could be
obtained. Meantime, Giacomo had assumed the title of Count Cenci ;
and his step-mother and sister, accompanied by Bernardino —
for the youngest boy had died soon after the murder — had
quitted Rocca-di-Petiella, and taken up their abode at the
Cenci palace, there to enjoy the few peaceful mbnths which
Providence allowed to intervene betwixt the crime and its pun
ishment. Here they received the first inteUigence of the in
quiry instituted by the Neapolitan Government ; and they
trembled at the thought of being betrayed by their accomplices.

BEATRICECENCI. 165
Monsignore Guerra, equally interested in the concealment of
the crime, resolved to make sure of the discretion of Marzio and
Olimpio, and hired a bravo to dispatch them. OKmpio was ac
cordingly murdered near Turin ; but Marzio, being arrested at
Naples for a fresh crime, declared himself guUty of Count
Cenci's death, and had related every particular. This new
evidence being instantly forwarded to the papal government
by that of Naples, Beatrice and Lucrezia were put under arrest
in the Cenci palace, and Giacomo and Bernardino imprisoned
at Corte-Savella. Marzio was soon after brought to Rome and
confronted with the members of the Cenci family. But when
he beheld that Beatrice, whom he so fondly loved, standing be
fore him as a prisoner — her fate hanging upon the words he
should utter — he retracted his confession, and boldly declared
that his former statement at Naples was totally false. He was
put to the most cruel torture ; but he persisted in his denial,
and expired upon the rack.
The Cenci now seemed absolved from the accusation. But
the murderer of Olimpio 'being arrested, as Marzio had been,
for a different offence, voluntarily accused himself of this mur
der, which he had perpetrated, he said, in obedience to the
commands of Monsignore Guerra. As Olimpio had also made
some disclosures before he died, the confession of his assassin
was considered so conclusive, that the whole of the prisoners
were conveyed to the castle of St. Angelo. Guerra, seriously
alarmed at the declaration of the bravo, fled from Rome in dis
guise, and, after encountering many perils, succeeded in leaving
Italy. His flight was a confirmation of the evidence, and pro
ceeding against the Cenci family were immediately commenced.
Criminal process in those days, as in the two succeeding cen
turies, was the mere application of physical torture to extort an

166 BEATRICECENCI.

avowal of the crime imputed ; for the law had humanely pro
rided that no criminal could be convicted but upon his own
confession. The rack was, therefore, termed the question, and
was, in fact, the only form of interrogatory. Thus, if an ac
cused was innocent, and had the energy of soul to brave the
torture, he must bear it till he died ; but if nature was subdued
by pain, he accused himself falsely, and was put to death on
the scaffold. Such was the justice administered by men calling
themselves Christian prelates !
The question was applied to the Cenci. Lucrezia, Giacomo,
and Bernardino, unable to bear the agony, made a full confession ;
but Beatrice strenuously persisted in the denial of the murdei .
Her beautiful limbs were torn by the instruments of torture ;
but by her eloquence and address she coinpletely foiled the tri
bunal. The judges were greatly embarrassed — they dared not
pronounce judgment, and their president, Ulisse Moscatino, re
ported the state of the proceedings to the Pope, then Clement
VIII. The Pontiff, fearing that Moscatino had been touched by the
extreme beauty of Beatrice, appointed a new president, and the
question was again applied. The unhappy girl bore the most
intense agony without flinching ; nothing could be elicited from
her but a denial of the crime with which she was charged. At
length the judges ordered her hair to be cut off. This last in
dignity broke her spirit, and her resolution gave way. She now
declared that she was ready to confess, but only in the presence
of her family. Lucrezia and Giacomo were immediately intro
duced ; and when they saw her stretched upon tbe rack, pale
and exhausted, her delicate limbs mangled and bleeding, they
threw themselves beside her, and wept bitterly.
" Dear sister !" said Giacomo, " we committed the crime, and

BEATRICE CENCI. 167
have confessed it. There is now no further use in your allowing
yourself to be so cruelly tortured."
" It is not of sufferings such as these, that we ought to com
plain," Beatrice replied, in a faint voice. " I felt much greater
anguish on the day I first saw a foul stain cast upon our ancient
and honorable house. As you must die, would it not have been
better to have died under the most acute tortures, than to endure
the disgrace of a public execution !"
This idea threw her into strong convulsions. She soon, how
ever, recovered, and thus resumed — " God's wUl be done ! It
is your wish that I should confess — well ! be it so." Then turn
ing to the tribunal, " Read me," said she, " the confession of
my famUy, and I wUl add what is necessary."
She was now unbound, and the whole proceedings read to her.
She, however, signed the confession without adding a word.
The four prisoners were now conveyed to Corte-Savella, where
a room had been prepared for their reception. Here they were
allowed to dine together, and in the evening the two brothers
were removed to the prison of Tardinova.
The Pope condemned the Cenci to be dragged through the
streets of Rome by wUd horses. This was a cruel sentence-
more especially as it emanated from the head of the Catholic
Church, and was quite arbitrary. The prelates and Roman
nobUity were struck witu pity and indignation. A species of
sophistry which did much more honor to their humanity than to
their judgment, led them to urge in extenuation, nay, almost in
justification of the crime, the provocation received, and the series
of monstrous attrocities committed by the late Count Cenci.
They made the most energetic remonstrances to the Pope, who
much against his wUl, granted a respite of three days and a
hearing by couusel.

168 BEATRICE CENCI

The most celebrated advocates at Rome offered their services
on this occasion, and Nicolo di Angeli, the most eloquent among
them, pleaded the cause of the Cenci so powerfully, that Cle
ment was roused to anger.
" What !" he exclaimed indignantly, " shaU chUdren murder
their parent, and a Christian advocate attempt to justify such a
crime, before the Head of the Church .?"
The counsel were intimidated ; but Farinacci, another advo
cate, rose and addressing the Pope —
" Holy Father !" said he, with firmness, " we come not hither
to enliploy our talents in making so odious a crime appear a
virtue, but to defend the innocent, if it please your Holiness to
give us a hearing."
The Pope made no reply, but listened to Farinacci with great
patience, during four hours. He then dismissed the advocates,
and withdrew with Cardinal Marcello, to reconsider the case.
Doubtless, the parricide can find no extenuation of his crime ;
nevertheless the circumstances between Beatrice and her father
were so monstrous — the latter was such a fiend upon earth, and
each of the prisoners had been so cruelly tortured by him, that
the Pope determined to mitigate the severity of his sentence.
He was about to commute it into imprisonment for life, when
news reached Rome that the princess Costanza di Santa-Croce
hiid been murdered at Subiaco by her son, because she had re
fused to make a will in his favor. This event again roused
Clement's severity, and on the 10th of September, 1599, he
directed Blonsignore Taberna, governor of Rome, to resume
proceedings against the Cenci, and let the law take its course.
The whole family were to be publicly beheaded in three days
Farinacci again came forward i^nd pleaded the cause of Bernar
dino, whc) had not been an accomplice or even privy to the

BEATRICE CENCI. 169
crime, and succeeded in obtaining his pardon ; but on the horri
ble condition that he shoidd attend the execution of the others.
The day before the execution, at five o'clock in the afternoon,
the ministers of justice arrived at Corte-Savella, to read the
sentence of the law to the wife and daughter of the murdered
Count Cenci. Beatrice was in a sound sleep ; the judges sur
rounded her in sUence, and the solemn voice of the segretario
roused her from her last slumber in this world.
The idea of a public exposure upon the scaffold threw her into
an agony of grief ; but her mind soon recovered its tone, and
she calmly prepared for death.
She began by making her wUl, in which she directed that her
body should be buried in the church of San-Pietro in Montorio
She bequeathed three hundred Roman crowns to the congrega
tion of the Sante-Piaghe, and her own dower as a marriage
portion to fifty portionless girls.
There is a strange serenity in this contemplation of conjugal
life from the brink of the grave, especially by a young girl about
to expiate, on the scaffold, the mruder of her father. But the
history of Beatrice Cenci is stiU involved in mystery, and it is
¦ therefore difficult to trace the workings of her mind.
" Now," said she to Lucrezia, " let us prepare to meet death
with decency."
The fatal hour struck, and the nuns of the congregation of
the Sette-Dolori came to conduct the prisoners to the place of
death. They found Beatrice at prayers, but firm and reso
lute. Meanwhile, her two brothers, had left. Tardinova, escorted by
the congregation of Penitents. The celebrated picture of Piety,
presented by Michael Angelo for the sole use of dying criminals,
was borne before them. They were thus taken before a judge,

170 BEATRICE CENCI.

who, after reading Giacomo's sentence to him, turned to Bernar
dino, —
" Signer Cenci," he said, " our most Holy Father grants you
your life. Return thanks for his clemency. You are condemned
io proceed to the place, of execution, and witness the death of your
family .'"
The moment the judge had done speaking, the Penitents struck
up a hymn of thanksgiving, and withdrew the picture from be
fore Bernardino, who was now placed in a separate cart, and the
procession again moved forward. During the whole of the
route, Giacomo was tortured with red-hot pincers. He bore the
pain with marvelous fortitude — not a sigh escaped him.
They stopped at the gate of Corte-Savella to take Beatrice
and Lucrezia, who came forth covered with their veils. That
of Beatrice was of gray muslin, embroidered with silver. She
wore a purple petticoat, white shoes, and a very high dress of
gray silk, with wide sleeves, which she had made during the
night. Both held a crucifix in one hand and a white pocket
handkerchief in the other ; for though their arms were lightly
bound with cords, their hands were perfectly free. Beatrice
had just entered her twentieth year — never had she appeared
more lovely. There was, in her suffering countenance, an ex
pression of resignation and fortitude, a calmness of religious
hope, that drew tears from the spectators. She kept up hei
step-mother's courage, as they proceeded, and whenever they
passed a church or a Madonna, she prayed aloud with great
fervency. On reaching the Ponte St. Angelo, near which the scaffold
was erected, the prisoners were placed in a small temporary
chapel prepared for them, where they spent a short time in
prayer. Giacomo, though th; last executed, was the first to

BEATRICE CENCI. 171
ascend the scaffold, and Bernardino was placed by his side.
The unhappy youth fainted, and was firmly bound to a chair.
Beatrice and Lucrezia were then led forth from the chapel.
An immense concourse of people had assembled, and each
bosom throbbed with painful interest.
At this moment three guns were fired from the castle of
St. 'Angelo. It was a signal to inform the Pope that the prison
ers were ready for execution. On hearing it, Clement became
agitated, and wept ; then falling on his knees, he gave the
Cenci full absolution, which was communicated to them in his
name. The assembled spectators knelt, and prayed aloud ; and
thousands of hands were lifted up in deprecation of God's wrath
upon the blood-stained criminals about to appear before his
eternal throne.
Lucrezia was the first led forward for execution. The
minister of the law stripped her to the waist. The unfortunate
woman trembled excessively — not indeed from fear, but from
the gross violation of decency, in thus exposing her to the gaze
of the multitude.
" Great God !" she cried, " spare me this. Oh ! mercy,
mercy !"
The particulars of Lucrezia's execution are disgusting and
horrible ; for the sake of human nature, such atrocities should
be buried in eternal silence. When her head fell, it made three
bounds, as if appealing against such cruelty. The hoja, after hold
ing it up to the terrified spectators, covered it with a silk veU,
and placed it in the coffin with her body. He then reset the axe
for Beatrice, who was on her knees in fervent prayer. Having
prepared the instrument of death, he rudely seized her arm, with
hands besmeared with the blood of her step-mother. She in
stantly arose, and said, in a firm and strongly accentuated voice :

172 BEATRICE CENCI.
" 0 my divine Saviour, who didst die upon the cross for me
and for all mankind ; grant, I beseech thee, that one drop of
thy precious blood may insure my salvation, and that, guUty as
I am, thou wUt admit me into thy heavenly paradise."
Then presenting her arms for the loja to bind them, —
" Thou art about," she said, " to bind my body for its
punishment ; mayest thou lUiewise unbind my soul for its eter
nal salvation !"
She walked to the block with a firm step, and, as she knelt,
took every precaution that female delicacy could suggest ; then
calmly laying down her head, it was severed by a single stroke.
Bernardino was two years younger than his sister Beatrice,
whom he tenderly loved. When he saw her head roll upon the
scaffold, he again fainted. But cruelty is ever active ; and he
was recalled to life, that he might witness the death of his
brother. Giacomo was covered with a mourning cloak. Upon its re
moval, a cry of horror issued from the spectators, at the sight
of his mangled and bleeding body. He approached Ber
nardino —
" Dear brother," said he, " if, on the rack, I said anything
to criminate you, it was drawn from me by the intense agony I
endured ; and, although I have already contradicted it, I here
solemnly declare that you are entirely innocent, and that your
being brought hither to witness our execution, is a wanton and
atrocious piece of cruelty. Pardon me, my brother, and pray
for us all."
He then knelt upon the scaffold, ana began to pray. The
hoja placed a bandage over his eyes, and struck him a violent
blow across the right temple, with a bar of iron. He fell with
out a groan, and his body was divided into four parts.

HEAT RICE CENCI. 173
The congregation of Sante-Piaghe conveyed Bernardino back
to his prison, where, during four days, he remained in dreadful
convulsions ; and for a long time after both his reason and his
life were despaired of. The bodies of Beatrice and Lucrezia,
together with the severed quarters of Giacomo, were exposed
till the evening, at the foot of Saint Paul's statue, on the Ponte
St. Angelo. The congregations then took them away. The
body of Beatrice was received by venerable matrons, who, after
washing and perfuming it, clothed it in white, and surrounded it
with flowers, consecrated candles, and vases of incense. It was
ultimately placed in a magnificent coffin, conveyed to the
church of San Pietro in Montorio, by the light of more than five
hundred torches, and there buried, at the foot of the great
altar, under the celebrated transfiguration by Raphael.
Bernardino was the only survivor of this unhappy famUy, and
the last male heir of his race. He married a Bologuetti, and
left an only daughter, who changed the name of the Cenci
palace ; and from this marriage, the building came into the
possession of the Bologuetti family, to whom it still belongs.
The old Cenci palace is in the most gloomy and obscure
quarter of Rome. Its massive and sullen architecture, and its
neglected and deserted appearance, accord perfectly with the
tragical associations connected with it. One window, which is
fronted with an open-work balcony, may have belonged to the
very chamber of Beatrice ; and a dark and lofty archway, buUt
of immense stones, may have been that through which she went
out to the prison which she left only for the scaffold.
In the old Barberini palace is Guide's portrait of Beatrice,
taken, according to the family tradition, on the night before her
execution. Shelly's tragedy has made her sad story famUiar to
English readers, and his description of this picture leaves

174 BEATRICE CENCI.
nothing to be added ; though no words, nor even copies, can
give any idea cf her touching loveliness, her expression of
patient suffering, her quivering, half-parted lips, and tender
hazel eyes of a beauty unattained on any other canvas in the
world ; but her half-turned head, with its golden locks escaping
from the folds of its white drapery, haunts yuor memory, as if
you, too, like Guido, had caught a last glimpse of her as sho
mounted the scailDld.

& «) K) S 0 ) e Ij 1}

All BOXSII.
When the sister of Henry VIII., a young and blooming giil
of sixteen, arrived in France to wed Louis XII., a monarch old
enough to be her grandfather, she was attended by several
young ladies belonging to the noblest families of England.
Among them was Ann Boleyn, celebrated not only by her mis
fortunes and untimely end, but on account of her being the
immediate cause of the reformation, or establishment of the
Protestant religion in England. Hers is an eventful history.
Ann was the daughter of Sir Thomas Boleyn, a gentleman
allied to the noblest houses in the kingdom. His mother was
of the house of Ormond, and his grandfather, when mayor of
London, had married one of the daughters of Lord Hastings.
Lady Boleyn, Ann's mother, was a daughter of the Duke of
Norfolk. Sir Thomas Boleyn being a man of talent, had been
employed by the king in several diplomatic missions, which he
had successfully executed. When the Princess Mary left
England to wear, for three short months, the crown of Queen
Consort of France, Ann was very young ; she therefore finished
her education at the French Court, where her beauty and ac
complishments were highly valued. After the death of Louis
XII., his young widow having married Brandon, Duke of Suf
folk, and feturned to England, Ann entered the service of
Claude, wife of Francis I. On the death of this queen, she
had an appointment in the household of the Duchess of Alen-

178 ANN BOLEYN

5on, a very distinguished princess ; but she retained it only a
few months, and then returned to her native country.
The precise period of her arrival in England is not accurately
known ; but it was a fatal day for Catherine of Arragon, to
whom she was soon after appointed maid of honor. In this
situation she had frequent opportunities of conversing with the
king ; he was not proof against her fascinations, and became
deeply enamored of her. But Henry's was the love of the sen
sualist — its only aim was self-gratification — and wherever it fell,
it withered or destroyed.
Until Henry beheld Ann Boleyn, he had never expressed
any dissatisfaction at his marriage with Catherine. On a
sudden he conceived scruples with regard to this union. It
was monstrous — it was incestuous, he said ; and he could not
reconcUe it to his conscience to consider his brother's widow
any longer his wife. It is true, that Catherine had gone
through a ceremony at the altar, with Arthur, Prince of Wales,
Henry's elder brother ; but the prince had died soon after,
being then only seventeen years of age. And when political
reasons subsequently led to the marriage between Catherine and
Henry, the new Prince of Wales felt no scruples — nay, his
conscience slumbered twenty years before it was awakened to a
sense of the enormity which now afiiicted him.
But awakened at length it was ; d,nd it appeared to him
under the form of a young girl beaming with beauty, wit, and
loveliness. The conversation and manners of Ann Boleyn had a
peculiar charm, which threw all the other English ladies into
the shade. She had acquired it at the most polished and
elegant, but perhaps the most licentious, court in Europe ; and
when Henry, fascinated by her wit, gazed with rapture on her
fair form — when he listened with intense delight to her thought-

ANN BOLEYN. 179

less sallies, and madly loved (pi, little did she think that, whUe
her conduct was pure, this very thoughtlessness of speech would
one day be expiated by a public and disgraceful death.
Ann refused to become the king's mistress ; for she very
justly thought, that the more elevated dishonor is, the more
clearly it is perceived.
" My birth is noble enough," she said, " to entitle me to
become your wife. If it be true, as you assert, that your mar
riage with the queen is incestuous, let a divorce be publicly pro
nounced, and I am yours."
This sealed the fate of Catherine of Arragon. Henry imme
diately dhected Cardinal Wolsey, his prime minister and
favorite, to write to Rome, and obtain a brief from the Pope,
annulling his marriage. Knight, the king's secretary, was like
wise dispatched thither to hasten the conclusion of this business.
Clement VII. then filled the pontiiTs throne. Timid and
irresolute, he dreaded the anger of the Emperor Charles V.,
Catherine's nephew, who kept him almost a prisoner, and would
naturally avenge any insult offered to his aunt. Clement,
therefore, eluded giving a definitive answer. But being pressed
by the King of France, who was the more ready, from his
hatred of the emperor, to advocate Henry's cause on this occa
sion, the Pope at length consented to acknowledge that Julius
II. had no power to issue a bull authorizing Catherine's marriage
with her brother-in-law. This declaration was a serious attack
upon the infallibility of the popes ; but Clement's situation was
perilous, and the only chance he had of freeing himself from
the thraldom of Charles V. was by conoUiating the King's of
England and France. But, on the other hand, he was anxious
to bring about the re-establishment of his house at Florence,
which he thought the emperor alone could effect. Moreover^

ISO ANN BOLEYN.

Charles had a large army in Italy, constantly threatening Rome.
The pontiff had likewise some other grounds of alarm. It is
known that iUegitimate chUdren are excluded from the papal
throne, and Clement was the natural son of Julian de Medicis ;
for though, if we believe the authority of Leo X., a promise of
marriage had existed between his parents, it did not efface the
stain. Nor was this all : in defiance of the severe laws of
Julius II. against simony, Clement had been guUty of that
crime, and Cardinal Colonna had a note of hand in his posses
sion, subscribed by the Pope, and applied to facUitate his ac
cession to the chair of St. Peter. The emperor was aware of
both these facts ; and taking advantage of Clement's timidity of
character, constantly threatened to assemble a general councU
and have him deposed.
Thus was the pontiff urged to opposite acts by the rival
monarchs ; and his struggle between such contending interests
led to that long ambiguity of conduct and ultimate decision
which severed England from the Church of Rome.
Meanwhile, a secret marriage, it is said, had taken place
between Henry VIII. and Ann Boleyn ; and what seems to
confirm this, is the activity Ann displayed in pressing Cardinal
Wolsey, and Stephen Gardiner, his secretary, to bring the
divorce to a conclusion. The following is a letter which she
wrote to the cardinal, at a time when a contagious disease raged
in London, and she had retired to a country residence with the
king. It is a good specimen of her mind and character : —
" My Lord,
" In my most humblest wise that my heart can think, I
desire you to pardon me that I am so bold to trouble you with
my simple and rude writing, esteeming it to proceed from her

ANN BOLEYN. 181

that is much desirous tto know that your grace does well, as I
perceive by this bearer that you do. The which I pray God
long to continue, as I am most bound to pray ; for I do know
the great pains and troubles that you have taken for me both
day and night, is never like to be recompensed on my part, but
alonely in loving you next unto the king's grace, above all
creatures living. And I do not doubt but the daUy proofs of
my deeds shall manifestly declare and affirm my writing to be
true, and I do trust that you do think the same. My Lord, I
do assure you I do long to hear from you news of the legate ;
for I do hope and they come from you they shall be very good ;
and I am sure you desire it as much as I, and more, and it
were possible, as I know it is not ; and thus remaining in a
steadfast hope, I make an end of my letter, written with the
hand of her that is bound to be,
" Your humble servant, " Ann Boleyn."
Underneath the King had added :—
" The writer of this letter would not cease till she had caused
me likewise to set my hand ; desiring you, though it be short, to
take it in good part. I insure you there is neither of us but
that greatly desireth to see you, and much more joyous to hear
that you have escaped this plague so well, trusting the fury
thereof to be passed, specially with them that keepeth good
diet, as I trust you do. The not hearing of the legate's arrival
in France, causeth us somewhat to muse ; notwithstanding, we
trust, by your dUigence and vigUancy (with the assistance of
Almighty God) shortly to be eased out of that trouble. No
more to you at this time ; but that I pray God send you as good
health and prosperity as the writer would. By your
"Lcving Sovereign and Friend, IlEKKy K."

182 ANNBOLEYN.

\
Though the king had fled from the contagion with Ann
Boleyn, he had given no orders to enable Catherine to leave
London ; and she remained there exposed to the danger of the
plague. No doubt the possibility of her death had occurred to
Henry's mind, and the reckless attrocity of his character may
justify the inference, that he had left her in London for the
express purpose of exposing her to die of the disease, and thus
at once settling the divorce question.
Just as the Pope's brief for the divorce was about to be issued,
the sacking of Rome took place, and the Pontiff remained dur
ing a whole year imprisoned in the castle of St. Angelo. On
being set at liberty by the Emperor, he was afraid to pronounce
the dishonor of Charles's aunt, whose complaints resounded
throughout Europe. At length, to temporize with all parties,
and not lose sight of his own interest, he appointed Cardinal
Campeg|io, his legate in England, for the purpose of trying the
question, but gave him secret orders to proceed as slowly as poa-
slble. The new legate was old and afflicted with gout, severe
attacks of which were his ever-ready excuse for procrastination;
and it took him ten months to travel from Rome to London.
Ann Boleyn, on hearing that the legate was at last on his way
to England, again wrote. to Wolsey, expressing her gratitude in
strong terms.
" And as for the coming of the legate," she said, in this
letter, " I desire that much, and if it be God's pleasure, I pray
him to send this matter shortly to a good end, and then I trust,
my lord, to recompense part of your great pains. In the which
I must require you in the meantime to accept my good wUl, in
the stead of the power, the which must proceed partly from
you, as our Lord knoweth ; to whom I beseech to send you
long life, with continuance in honor."

ANN BOLEYN. 183

But Catherine was hy no means so grateful as Ann for the
pains that Wolsey took to constitute an arbitrary and iniquitous
tribunal, and she called him a heretic and abettor of adultery.
This the cardinal-minister little heeded, for he had the king
and the king's mistress on his side ; and the host of flatterers by
whom he was surrounded made him believe that his power was
too firmly established ever to be shaken.
Wolsey had greatly contributed to bring about Henry's con
nection with Ann Boleyn, because he thought that such a -pas
sion would absorb the king's time, and make him careless of
business, by which the minister would become master of the
kingdom. Queen Catherine, with her oratory, her rosary, and
her religious austerity, was not the queen that suited Wolsey's
views. She had nothing to attract the king from the cares and
business of his kingdom. Ann Boleyn, on the contrary, was a
creature formed of love ; she was always gay, happy,. and en
dearing when in Henry's company. The king, therefore, over
come by a fascination which he could not resist, bent his neck
to her yoke, and left the governance of his dominions in the
hands of his ambitious minister.
When once the flowery chain had encircled Henry, Wolsey
little cared whether it was sanctified or not by religion. In his
corrupt mind, he perhaps thought it might be more durable, if
it did not obtain the sanction of the Church. But he at length
-received the Pope's commission, and Campeggio arrived in Eng
land ; he, therefore, took his measures with the legate, and they
opened their tribunal. To keep up an appearance of propriety,
Ann immediately left London.
The two cardinals, having opened their court in London, cited
the king and queen to appear before them. Both obeyed ; and
when Henry's name was called, he rose and answered to it.

/'

184 ANN BOLEYN.

The queen was dressed in mourning ; her countenance was calm,
though it but UI disguised the anguish of her mind. When the
legate pronounced the words " Most high, most powerful, and
most Ulustrious Lady and Princess," Catherine, without looking
at him, or making any reply, rose and threw herself at the king's
feet, embracing his knees, and suffusing them with her tears
She urged, she entreated, she conjured him by all that is most
sacred to man, not to cast her off ; but she sought in vain to
soften a heart absorbed by love for another. She did not, how
ever, thus humble herself for her own sake ; she was supplicating
for her daughter, whom the decision of the legates might stamp
with illegitimacy and dishonor.
" Sir," said she, " what is this tribunal .? Have you convoked
it to try me ? And wherefore ? Have I committed any crime .'
No : I am innocent, and you alone have authority over me.
You are my only support, my sole protector. I am but a poor
weak woman, alone, defenceless, and ready to fall under the
attacks of my enemies. When I left my famUy and my coun
try, it was because I relied on English good filth ; and now, in
this foreign land, am I cut off from my friends and kindred, and
deserted by those who once basked in the sunshine of my favor.
I have, and desire to have, none but you for my support and
protection — you, and your honor. Henry, do you wish to de
stroy your daughter's fame .' Consider, she is your first-born !
And would you suffer her to be disgraced, when I, her mother,
am innocent, and you, her father, a powerful sovereign ':"
She then arose from her kneeling posture, and looking at the
court with dignity —
" Is this the tribunal," said she, " that would try a Queen of
England .' It consists of none but enoniios, and not a single
judge. They cannot pronounce an equitable judgment; I

ANN BOLEYN. , 1R5

therefore decline their jurisdiction, and must be excused from
heeding any further citations in this matter, until I hear from
Spain." Having made a profound obeisance to the king, she left the
court. After her departure, the king protested he had no cause
of complaint against her, and that remorse of conscience wag his
only reason for demanding a divorce.
The legates again cited the queen ; and as she refused to ap
pear, they declared her contumacious. There was a solemn
mockery in the whole of these iniquitous proceedings, that ren
dered them frightful. At length they were drawing to a close ;
for Ann Boleyn, who had returned to London, was urging Wol-,
sey forward with the full power of her charms, and the cardinal
was by no means insensible to her flatteries. But when Henry
was every moment expecting the judgment which would allow
him to have Ann crowned, Cardinal Campeggio announced that
the Pope had reserved to himself the ultimate examination of
the case, which he had evoked to Rome before his own tribunal.
Henry at first raved and blasphemed, denouncing vengeance
against the pontiff; but he soon became calmer, and set about
finding a means of overcoming this new obstacle, and hurling
his own thunders in defiance of those of the church. Ann wept
bitterly at finding herself as far from the throne as ever. But
how powerful were her tears ! Henry vowed he would avenge
each of them with an ocean of blood. Then it was that he
threw off his allegiance to the Church of Rome, and ultimately
united both Church and State under his sole governance.
Meanwhile, Ann's harassed mind thirsted for vengeance upon
some one, for the annihilation of her hopes. She saw not yet
the means of destroying the barrier which now stood betwixt
her and the throne ; and she had need of a victim. She found

1S6 ANN BOLEYN.

one in Cardinal Wolsey. It appeared to her unlikely that this
man, influential as he was in the college of cardinals — for his
hand had once touched the tiara — should require months and
years to do that which he might have finished in a single day.
Henry was not a man who required to be told, a second time,
not to love : Wolsey had been his favorite, and this was more
than sufficient to effect his ruin ; for the king's friendship, like
his love, proved a withering curse wherever it fell.
Wolsey gave an entertainment at York House, a palace which
the most magnificent monarchs of Europe and Asia might have
looked upon with envious admiration. There he sat, free from
care, and joyously wearing away life, quaffing the choicest
wines of Italy and France in cups of gold enchased with jewels
and precious enamels. Richly sculptured buffets were loaded
with dishes of massive gold, sparkling with precious gems. A
hundred servants wearing their master's arms emblazoned on
their liveries, circulated round the vast and fantastically sumptu
ous hall. Young girls, crowned with flowers, burned perfumes
and embalmed the air, whUst in an upper gallery a band of the
most skillful musicians of Italy and Germany produced a ravish
ing and voluptuous harmony.
Suddenly two men stood before the cardinal. Both were
powerful in the kingdom ; aud on their appearance, the upstart
minister was for a moment awed into respect. One was the
Duke of Suffolk, the king's brother-in-law — the other was the
Duke of Norfolk. They had come with orders from the king to
demand the great seal from AVolsey.
" I wiU not deliver it up on a mere verbal order," replied
the haughty priest.
Tho two noblemen withdrew, and returned on the following
day with a letter from the king, Wolsey then delivered the

ANN BOLEYN, 187

seal into their hands, and it was given to Sir Thomas More.
Soon after, York House, now Whitehall, together with all the
costly furniture it contained, was seized in the name of tho
king. The fallen cardinal was ordered to retire to Asher, a country-
seat he possessed near Hampton Court. He was pitied by
nobody ; for the manner in which he had borne his honors, and
the general meanness of his conduct, had rendered him ex
tremely unpopular. He wept like a chUd at his disgrace, and
the least appearance of a return to favor threw him into rap
tures. One day, Henry sent him a kind message, with a ring
in token of regard. The cardinal was on horseback when he
met the king's messenger ; he immediately alighted, and falling
on his knees in the mud, kissed the ring with tears iu his eyes.
This was hypocrisy of the meanest kind ; fbr it was impossible
he could have loved Henry VIII.
After the fall of Wolsey, a chance-remark make by Dr,
Thomas Cranmer, Fellow of Jesus College, Cambridge, gave
the king his cue as to the line of conduct he should adopt.
" Oh !" cried Henry in his gross joy, "that man has taken
the right sow by the ear."
It was deemed expedient to get opinions on the divorce
question from all the universities in Europe, and to lay these
opinions before the Pope. This was done ; but Clement, like
all timid men, thinking to conoUiate the nearest, and, as he
thought, the most dangerous of his enemies, remained inexo
rable, and a decision was given against Henry. The Reforma
tion immediately foUowed, and the new ecclesiastical authority
in England was more obedient to Henry's wishes.
The marriage of the king and Ann Boleyn was now formally
Bolemnizcd ; and the woman on whose account the whole of

188 ANN BOLEYN.

Europe had been embroUed for the last four years, ascended
that throne destined to be only a passage to a premature grave.
Sir Thomas Eliot had been sent to Rome with an answer
to a message from the Pope to Henry, and on his departure
Ann Boleyn had given him a number of valuable diamonds to be
employed in bribing those whose aid it was necessary to obtain.
But nothing could avert the definitive rupture ; and when EliOt
was about to return to England, Sixtus V., then only a monk,
shrugged up his shoulders, and lifting his eyes to Heaven,
exclaimed, " Great God ! is it not the same to thee, whether Catherine
of Arragon, or Ann Boleyn, be the wife of Henry VIII. r"
Ann I^oleyn was now at the summit of her wishes. She was
at length Queen of England, a title which had cost her too
great anxiety of mind for her not to appreciate it far beyond
its worth. But one thing embittered the joys it brought her —
this was the idea that the same title was still retained by the
unhappy Catherine. She, therefore, resolved to work her will
with Henry, and deprive her late rival of this last remnant of
the honors she had enjoyed, without reproach, during a period
of more than twenty years, and until Ann's beauty had estranged
the king's affection. Henry could not resist the tears and
entreaties of his new queen, whose influence over him was
strengthened by the birth of the Princess Elizabeth, and he
sent Lord Montjoy to apprize Catherine that she was in future
to bear no other title than that of Dowager Princess of Wales.
" I am still Queen of England," she replied with dignity ;
" and I cannot be deprived of that title except by death, or by
a sentence of my divorce from the king, pronounced by the
Pope." The thunders of the Church wore at length brought into play

ANN BOLEYN 189

against Henry. Paul III. had succeeded to the papal throne ;
and though, whilst cardinal, he had always favored Henry's
pretensions, perceiving now that a final breach had been effected
with the English Church, he declared that the King of England
had incurred the penalty of major excommunication. A bull
was, therefore, sent forth declaring Henry's throne forfeited, and
the issue of his marriage with Ann Boleyn incapable of succeed
ing to the crown of England. No person, under pain of ex
communication, was to acknowledge him king ; and the nobility
of England were enjoined, under the same penalty, to take up
arms against him as a rebel and traitor to the church and to
Christ. All the archbishops, bishops, and cm-ates of England,
were commanded to excommunicate him every holiday after the
Gospel at mass, and the Emperor Charles V. was exhorted, as
protector of the Church, to enforce these orders with his armies.
The King of France, as the most Christian king, was likewise
enjoined to break off all intercourse with Henry VIII. To
make the insult the more bitter, the Pope ordered all the
curates in the neighborhood of Calais to read the bull of excom
munication in their several churches, and proclaim it from the
piUpit. Henry felt but little concern at this noisy but powerless
attack. Having assembled a parliament, an act was passed in
vesting him with all the powers of the Pope in England. But
he had also an eye to the temporalities of the church ; and
upon the strength of the sphitual authority he had acquired, he
abolished the monasteries, and confiscated the ecclesiastical pos
sessions. To gratify his own avarice and reward his favorites at
no cost to himself, he robbed the clergy of the property be
stowed upon them, by pious founders, for their support and
that of the poor. Though three centuries have since elapsed,

190 ANN BOLEYN.

the effects of these measures- are still felt in England. The
overgrown revenues of some of the bishoprics, the enormous
wealth of the deans and chapters, the inadequate stipends of
the inferior clergy, the system of the poor's rates so inefficient
and yet so burthensome, the lay impropriations despoUing both
the clergy and the poor — nay, the very unpopularity of tithes,
which are principally claimed by pluralists and seculars, are aU
fruits, not of the reformation itself, but of the system of spoUia-
tion pursued by Henry VIII. the moment he had converted
the worship of Almighty God into a political engine.
Ann Boleyn has been accused of prompting the king to
these measures ; but I apprehend that the charge proceeds
solely from the blind vindictiveness of the Catholic party. Ann
was thoughtles.s, giddy, and fond of admiration ; but her mind
was as incapable of preconceiving as of pursuing a cold and pre
meditated system of vengeance. Iler anger was easily roused
when her vanity was wounded or her interests opposed, but it
evaporated as easily. It is true, that she felt a bitterness of
hostihty almost foreign to her nature towards Catherine ; but
that unhappy princess stood in her way and endangcu-ed the
inheritance of her daughter. This is certaiiUy the most un-
amiable part of Ann's character, and nothing can be said in its
justification. The dignity and propriety of Catherine's conduct, joined to
her misfortunes, called forth the pity of the whole Christian
world. Henry again ordered her, under the severest penalties,
to forego the title' of Queen ; and the persons in her service
were commanded to call her the Princess of Wales. Catherine
refused the services of those of her officers who obeyed this
mandate, and for a few days she was wholly without attendants.
So many persecutions, and a deep sense of the injuries she had

ANN BOLEYN. If)]

received, preyed upon her health, and she fell dangerously UI.
The king gave orders that the greatest care should be taken of
her, and everything done that could contribute to her comfort ;
as if, after he had stricken his victim to death, he would fain
heal the wound.
Ann was alarmed at this seeming return of the king's tender
ness for Catherine. The clamors raised by the Catholic party
also gave her strong apprehensions that the claims of hei
daughter would be disallowed. She therefore again exerted
her influence over Henry, and the Princess Ehzabeth was pro
claimed, by sound of trumpet, heir to the throne of England,
to the exclusion of her sister Mary.
Catherine died on the 6th of January, 1536, at Kimbolton,
in the county of ^Huntingdon, in the fiftieth year of her age.
Before she expired, she wrote a very affecting letter to the
king, in which she recommended her daughter to his fatherly
care. The last sentence of this letter is deserving of notice,
and could have been written only by a woman : —
" I make this vow, that mine eyes desire you above all things."
Henry's stern nature was overcome by these simple words,
written at the moment of death, when the illusions of the world
disappear before the awful view of eternity. He wept over this
letter, penned by a hand already cold and stiff — he wept at this
last address of his victim, at this last proof of fond affection
which he had so basely repaid.
Ann evinced the most indecent joy on receiving the news of
Catherine's death. When the messenger arrived, she was
washing her hands in a splendid vermeil basin, beside which
stood a ewer of the same metal. She immediately took both,
and thrusting them into his hands —
" Receive this present," said she, " for your good news."

192 ANN BOLEYN.

The same day her parents came to see her at Whitehall
She ran and embraced them in a delirium of joy.
"Rejoice!" she cried; "now is your daughter truly a
Queen." A fe* days after this event, Ann was delivered of a still-born
son, which the Catholic party attributed to the effect of the ex
communication. Henry's passion for her now began to subside,
and he soon loved her no more. Inconstancy was as much a
part of his nature as cruelty. The possession of Ann, pur
chased at such immense sacrifices, divested of the excitement
which, during six years, had kept it alive, had no longer any
charms for him. If the austerity of Catherine's temper had
estranged him from her, the excessive gayety of her successor
produced the same effect. Ann's lively sallies, to which Henry
had once listened as if spell-bound, now threw him into fits of
ill-humor of several hours' duration ; for his heart had so many
moving folds that its vulnerable side one day was impenetrable
the next. Courtiers are keen-sighted, and those about the king
soon perceived that he was absorbed by a new passion. Jane
Seymour had replaced Ann Boleyn in Henry's love, just as Ann
had replaced Catherine of Arragon. But to indulge in this new
passion, and elevate its object to the throne, it was necessary
to convict the queen of a crime ; and there was no want of
accusers the moment the tide of Ann's favor had begun to ebb.
The queen had many enemies beside the Catholic party.
Her extreme gayety and powers of ridicule, the mere effects of
exuberant spirits in a young and sprightly woman, had drawn
upon her much greater resentment than serious insult would
have done Thus, the moment the decline of Henry's affec
tion was perceived, accusations poured in, the least of which
was sufficient to insure Ann's disgrace and death.

ANN BOLEYN. 193

But to avoid giving umbrage to the nation, whose discontent
had already been manifested on other occasions, an offence of
more than usual enormity was requisite. Ann had a brother,
the Viscount of Rocheford, to whom she was tenderly attached.
The Viscountess of Rocheford, his wife, a woman of the most
profligate character, was the first to instill the poison of jealousy
into the king's ear, and to insinuate calumnies of the blackest
dye, which also implicated her husband. Henry Norris, groom
of the stole, Weston and Brereton, gentlemen of the privy
chamber, and Mark Smeton, a musician of the king's band,
were faithfully devoted to Ann, and had won her friendship and
confidence. They were also included in the plot, as accomplices
of her alleged profligacy. She had herself facilitated the plans
of her accusers by her general thoughtlessness and levity of
demeanor, as well as by some silly speeches.
Ann was more vain than proud ; and' her vanity was applied
principally to the charms of her person. To obtain admiration,
she spared neither her smiles nor her powers of pleasing. Her
education at the French court had tainted her with that spirit
of gallantry, more in conversation than in actions, which distin
guished the first years of the reign of Francis I. But her con
duct was strictly virtuous, and her soul pure and innocent. In
ferences were, however, drawn from things perfectly harmless in
themselves, but certainly unbecoming in a young female ; and
these, coupled with the infamous tales of her sister-in-law, had
roused all the malignant feelings of Henry's nature.
On the 1st of May, 1536, there was a tilting-match at Green
wich, and the queen had never appeared in better spirits.
Henry thought that she looked at Rocheford with something
more than brotherly affection. Norris, who had just been
tUting, having approached her, she greeted him with a smile,
13

194 ANN BOLEYN

and dropped her handkerchief Though this was probably ac
cidental, Henry attributed it to an improper feeling towards the
groom of the stole, and, uttering a dreadful oath, immediately
left Greenwich. When his departure was communicated to
Ann, she only laughed and said,
"He wiU return."
But he did not return, and a few hours after, those accused
of being her accomplices in adultery were arrested and sent to
the Tower, whUe she was confined to her room. She now saw
her impending fate.
" I am lost !" said she, in tears, to her mother and to Miss
Methley, one of her maids of honor ; " I am forever lost."
Next morning she was placed in a litter and conveyed to the
Tower, where she was closely imprisoned, and not allowed to
communicate with anybody, even in writing. Her uncle's wife.
Lady Boleyn, was appointed to sleep in the same room with her,
in order to extort admissions from her which might be turned
to her disadvantage. The lady hated the queen, and there
fore made no scruple to accept so odious a mission.
Henry was always in a hurry to consummate a crime when he
had once conceived it. He therefore lost not an instant in con
stituting a tribunal of peers for the trial of the brother and sis
ter. The Duke of Norfolk, forgetful of the ties of blood between
himself and Ann, and prompted by his ambition, became her
most dangerous enemy. He presided at this tribunal as Lord
High Steward, and twenty-five peers were appointed to sit with
him. They opened their court on the 15th of May, and the
queen having appeared before them, declared that she was inno
cent, and throwing herself upon her knees, appealed to God for
the truth of her statement. She confessed certain instances of
perhaps unbecoming levity, but the sum of her offences would

ANN BOLEYN. 195

not have tainted the reputation of a young girl. She defended
herself with admirable ability and address. But she was doomed
befoiehand, and she and her brother were condemned to die.
The sentence bore, that she should be beheaded or burnt, accord
ing to the king's good pleasure ; but Henry spared her the pUe.
Ann's benevolence of character had led her to confer obliga
tions on all around her ; but when the wheel of fortune turned,
not a voice was raised in her favor except that of Cranmer, who
remained faithful to her, but unhappily had no means of avert
ing her fate.
No one can doubt the queen's innocence ; and if her conduct,
during the few fleeting years of her greatness, was sometimes
marked with thoughtless imprudence, she met her death with
noble dignity and fortitude. There is often a strength of hero
ism in woman quite beyond the feeble and helpless condition of
her sex ; and this was displayed by Ann to an extent which will
always combine the highest admiration with the pity awakened
by her mirfortunes. A short time before her trial, she wrote
the king a letter, which, says a celebrated Enghsh historian,
" contains so much nature and even elegance, that it deserves
to be transmitted to posterity." I therefore give it a place here.
" Sir, — Your Grace's displeasure and my imprisonment are
things so strange unto me, as what to write or what to excuse, I
am altogether ignorant. Whereas you send unto me (willing
me to confess a truth and so obtain your favor) by such an one
whom you know to be mine ancient professed enemy, I no
sooner received this message by him, than I rightly conceived
your meaning ; and if, as you say, confessing a truth indeed may
procure my safety, I shall with all wUlingness and duty perform
your command.

196 ANN BOLEYN.

" But let not your Grace ever imagine that your poor wife wUl
ever be brought to acknowledge a fault where not so much as a
thought thereof proceeded. And to speak a truth, never prince
had wife more loyal in all duty and in all true affection, than
you have ever found in Ann Boleyn, with which name and place
I could wUlingly have contented myself, if God and your Grace's
pleasure had been so pleased. Neither did I at any time so far
forget myself in my exaltation or received queenship, but that I
always looked for such an alteration as I now find ; for the
ground of my preferment being on no surer foundation thau
your Grace's fancy, the least alteration, I knew, was fit and suf
ficient to draw that fancy to some other subject. You have
chosen me, from a low estate, to be your queen and companion,
far beyond my desert or desire. If then you found me worthy
of such honor, good your Grace let not any light fancy, or bad
counsel of mine enemies, withdraw your princely favor from me ;
neither lef'that stain, that unworthy stain of a disloyal heart
towards your good Grace, ever cast so foul a blot on your most
dutiful wife, and the infant-princess, your daughter. Try me,
good king,'but let me have a lawful trial, and let not my sworn
enemies sit as my accusers and judges ; yea, let me receive an
opeiL trial, for my truth shall fear no shame ; then shall you see,
either mine innocency declared, youy suspicion and conscience
satisfied, the ignominy and slander of the world stopped, or my
guilt openly declared : So that whatsoever God or you may
determine of me, your Grace may be freed from an open cen
sure ; and mine offence being so lawfully proved, your Grace
is at liberty, both. before God and man, not only to execute
worHhy punishment on me as an unlawful wife, but to follow
your affection, already settled on that party, for Whose sake I
am now as I am, whose name I could some good whde since have

ANN BOLEYN. 197

pointed unto — your Grace being not ignorant of my suspicion
therein. " But if you have already determined of me, and that not
only my death, but an infamous slander must bring you the en
joying of your desired happiness ; then I desire of God that ha
will pardon your great sin therein, and likewise mine enemies,
the instruments thereof; and that he will not call you to a strict
account for your unprincely and cruel usage of me, at his general
judgment-seat, where both you and myself must shortly appear,
and in whose judgment I doubt not (whatsoever the world may
think of me) mine innocence shall be openly known and suffi
ciently declared.
" My last and only request shall be, that myself may only
bear the burthen of your Grace's displeasure, and that it may
not touch the innocent souls of those poor gentlemen, who (as I
understand) are likewise in strait imprisonment for my sake.
If ever I have found favor in your sight, if ever the name of
Ann Boleyn hath been pleasing in your ears, then let me obtain
this request ; and I will so leave to trouble your Grace any
further, with mine earnest prayers to the Trinity to have your
Grace in his good keeping, and to direct you in all your actions.
From my doleful prison in the Tower this 6th of May.
" Your most loyal and ever faithful wife,
"Ann Boleyn."
This letter produced no other effect than to hasten the trial.
It is said that the decision of the peers was at first in favor ot
the queen and her brother, but that the Duke of Norfolk hav
ing compelled them to reconsider a verdict so contrary to the
king's expectations, both were condemned to death.
Ann with resignation prepared to meet her fate. The day

198 ANNBOLEYN.
before her execution, she forced the wife of the Lieutenant of
the Tower to sit in the chah of state, and bending her knee,
entreated this lady, in the name of God to go to the Princess
Mary and entreat forgiveness for all the affronts her Highness
had received from her, hoping they would not be punished in the
person of her daughter Elizabeth, to whom she trusted Mary
would prove a good sister.
Next morning she dressed herself with royal magnificence.
" I must be bravely attired," she said, " to appear as becomes
the queen of the feast."
She sent the king a last message before she died, not to
solicit any favor, but to thank him for the care he took of her
elevation. " TeU him," she said, " that he made me a marchioness,
then a queen, and is now about to make me a saint— rfor I die
innocent." When the Lieutenant of the Tower came to inform her that all
was ready, she received him not only with firmness, but with
gayety. " The executioner," she observed with a smile, " is skUlful,
and my neck is slender." And she measured her neck with her
hands. She walked to the scaffold with a firm step. Having ascended
it, she prayed devoutly for the king, praised him highly, and
termed him " a gentle and most merciful prince." But these
exaggerated praises can be attributed only to her fear that her
daughter Elizabeth might suffer, on her account, the same indig
nities that Catherine of Arragon, through her obstinacy, had
bmught upon the princess Mary. Ann Boleyn was beheaded
on the 29th of May, 1536, by the executioner of Calais, who
had been sent for as the most expert in Henry's dominions.

ANN BOLEYN. 199

Her body was carelessly placed into a common elm chest, and
buried in the Tower.
Henry's subsequent conduct is a complete justification of
Ann Boleyn. The very day after her execution, he married
Jane Seymour, who did not live long enough to be sacrificed to
a new attachment ; for she died, little more than two years after
her marriage, in giving birth to Edward VI.
The character of Ann Boleyn has been basely calumniated
by party historians, especially by Sanderus, or Sanders, "who,"
says Bishop Burnet, " did so impudently deliver falsehoods, that
from his own book many of them may be disproved." Though
never calculated to become a great queen, Ann Boleyn had
nevertheless many good and amiable qualities, which more than
compensate for the silly vanity and thoughtlessness of a young
a.nd beauti'^il woman, conscious of her personal attractions, and
continually beset by fiatterers. She was high-minded, benevolent
to a fault, and strictly virtuous ; and though her history is re
markable only from the influence it had upon the affairs of
Europe during several years, and from its having led to a re
formation of religion in England, yet the moment her young and
innocent life was doomed to be offered up a sacrifice to the brutal
passions of Henry VIII., she displayed the fortitude and eleva
tion of mind which preceded her death, and won a right to the
admiration of posterity, and to a high seat in that temple which
the celebrated women o f aU countries have raised to their own
fame.

J n ^ i] "I il i? e ^t ^^

SiBY d[AIS G^AY.
Ambition punished, seldom excites pity; but can a tribute of
commr^eration be refused to a beautiful woman, only seventeen
years of age, who laid her head upon the block to expiate the
ambition of another ? Such was the fate of Lady Jane Gray !
A crown had no attractions for her — she had no desire to reign !
It seemed as if this unfortunate and lovely young creature felt
her feet slip on the very steps of that throne which the Duke
of Northumberland forced her to ascend. A warning presenti
ment told her that a life of quiet seclusion was the only means
she had of escaping a violent death. She long resisted the
fatal counsel of her father-in-law ; but she was dragged on by
her evil destiny.
Lady Jane Gray, born in 1537, was the granddaughter of
Mary Tudor, sister of Henry VIII. This princess, being left a
widow by the death of her husband, Louis XII., King of France,
and having no chUdren by this marriage, returned to England
and married Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, whom she had long
loved, and who was Lady Jane's grandfather. The subject of
this memoir, when she was scarcely sixteen, married Lord
Guildford Dudley, fourth son of John Dudley, Duke of North
umberland. Lady Jane Gray was beyond measure lovely,;
her features were beautifully regular, and her large and mUd
eyes were the reflection of a pure and energetic soul, though
peaceful and unambitious. She had a strong passion for study,

204 LADY JANE GRAY.
especially that of abstruse science. Though young, she had ac
quired vast learning, and was deeply read in the ancients ; she
was very famihar with Greek and extremely partial to Plato.
Living at ,one of her country-seats, she divided her time be
tween her books and her husband, imtil political events of high
importance troubled her peaceful life and destroyed her hap
piness. Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, Protector of England,
exercised over that kingdom a despotic sway to which the nobles
would no longer submit. The latter, equally disgusted with
the pride of Thomas Lord Seymour, the Protector's brother,
applauded the Duke of Northumberland when he succeeded in
successively removing these two favorites from the king's per
son ; and Northumberland thought himself popular, when he
was only loved on account of his hatred towards the Seymours.
Edward VI., a weak and sickly chUd, who could ill bear the
weight of the crown that encircled his pallid brow, always be
stowed his favor upon those near his person, and Northumber
land succeeded Somerset. But the new favorite, fearing, and
with good reason, that he shoiUd not long retain this station, as
the king might die, and was indeed then dying, though only
sixteen years of age, employed, with considerable address, the
prejudices of religion to gain his ends. He described to Edward,
in hideous colors, the character of his sister, Mary, the Cathohc ;
and represented in an equally unfavorable Ught, Elizabeth,
daughter of that Ann Boleyn who was condemned and executed
for adultery. Could then the crown of England, he asked, be
placed upon a dishonored brow, or the welfare of the English
nation be intrusted to an intolerant fanatic ? Northumberland
was a man of abUity ; he shook the timid conscience of Edward,
who, fearing Maiy's violence, and prejudiced agamst Elizabeth,

LADY JANE GRAY. 205
changed the 'order of succession, and designated as his successor,
Jane Gray, the eldest daughter of Henry Gray.
At the period of Edward's death, there were four female
claimants to the crown of England. Two of them were daugh
ters of Henry VIII., — Mary the Catholic, born of a repudiated
wife — Elizabeth the Protestant, born of a wife beheaded as an
adulteress. The two others, descended from Henry VII.,
were Lady Jane Gray, and Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland —
the one a Protestant, like Elizabeth, and claiming by the last
wUl of Edward VI. ; the other a Catholic, like Mary, and
having not a very clear right, nor the means of enforcing it,
even if it were established.
Lady Jane Gray, in the innocence of her heart, was un
acquainted with her own claims, and was, besides, unambitious
to change her lot. But an ambitious father-in-law forced her
upon a throne, to reign only a few days, and then die by the
hand of the public executioner. In vain did the lovely young
creature entreat her father-in-law to allow her to retain her
freedom. The obstinate duke, always at the head of intrigues,
determined to gain his point with her whom he deemed a
chUd. " Shall it be for nothing," said he, " that I have caused
the daughters of two queens to be declared illegitimate in order
to place the crown upon the head of my daughter-in-law .' No,
indeed!" Northumberland, not trusting solely to the wUl of Edward
VI. to get Lady Jane Gray acknowledged queen after the
king's death, was anxious, before he made the attempt, to have
the two daughters of Elenry VIII. in his power. He, there
fore, a short time before Edward's death, prevaUed on the
councU to write to Mary and Elizabeth, requesting their presence
to afford. assistance and consolation to a dying brother. They

206 LADY JANE GRAY.

accordingly set out for London; but Edward having exphed
before their arrival, Northumberland concealed his death, in
order that the princesses might continue then- journey, and fall
into the snare he had laid for them. Mary had already reached
Hoddesdon, about seventeen mUes from London, when the Earl
of Arundel sent her an express to inform her of her brother's
death, and warn her of the projects of Northumberland. She
immediately retired in all haste, and reached Kenninghall in
Norfolk, whence she proceeded to Framlingham in Suffolk.
She wrote to all the principal nobUity and gentry in the king
dom, calling upon them to take up arms in defence of the
crown and its legitimate heir ; she also sent to the council to
announce that she was aware of her brother's death, and com
manded them to take the necessary steps for her being pro
claimed. Dissimulation being no longer of any use, Northum
berland boldly declared his plan, and, attended by several of
the great nobles of England, proceeded to Zion House, where
he did homage to Lady Jane Gray as Queen of England. It
was then only that this lovely and unfortunate young woman
was made acquainted with the intentions of her father-in-law.
She rejected the proffered crown, and urged the priority of
right possessed by the daughters of Henry VIII. For a long
time she persisted in her refusal ; and her resistance was at
length overcome, more by the persuasion of her husband. Lord
GuUdford Dudley, than by the entreaties of her father-in-law.
She was immediately conducted to the Tower of London, where
it was customary for the sovereigns of England to spend the
first days of their accession to the throne ; and she went thither
rather as a beautiful victim to be offered up in sacrifice, than as
the new sovereign of a great nation.
In vain she was proclaimed Queen of England ; not a sign

LADY JANE GRAY. 207
of rejoicing was heard, and the people maintained a sullen
silence. There was no feeling against Lady Jane Gray ; but
the unpopularity of the Dudleys was excessive, and it was easily
seen that, under the name of Jane, they would be the real
rulers of England. (This made the nation look toward Mary,
and the promises of religious toleration which she held out,
induced them to support bar cause.
Meanwhile Mary was obtaining the submission of the people
of Suffolk. All the inhabitants of this county professed the
reformed religion, and the moment she pledged herself that
they should freely exercise their faith, they attached themselves
to her cause. The most powerful of the nobility flocked to her
standard , and Sir Edward Hastings, who had received a com
mission from the council to levy troops in the county of Buck
ingham for Lady Jane Gray, brought these troops to Mary.
A fleet also which Northumberland had sent to cruise off the
coast of Suffolk, entered Yarmouth, and declared for the
daughter of Henry VIII. Soon after, the ministers of Jane's
goveritment, who considered themselves little better than North
umberland's prisoners, left the Tower in a body, and with
the Mayor and Aldermen of London proceeded to do homage
to her whom they deemed their legitimate sovereign.
Success attended Mary's arms, and she was universally ac
knowledged queen. At flrst she appeared mild and clement,
assuming an expression of benevolence, and talking only of par
don. But such a word from her was a cruel mockery. If
there was pardon, there must have been injury ; and it was
in Mary's nature never to forget an offence. This seemin.g
mildness was only the slumber of vengeance, which was soon
to awake and throw mourning and desolation over the land.
Northumberland was at first the only individual she seemed

208 LADY JANE GRAY.

desirous of sacrificing to her resentment. Lady Jane Gray and
her husband were imprisoned in the Tower, and the Queen of
England was proclaimed most just and merciful, because she
had taken only a single life.
In a very short time, however, cries of sedition were heard.
The people, alarmed at having a religion forced upon them
in which they had no. belief, showed symptoms of disaffection.
Mary gave no heed to the promises she had solemnly made
whilst struggling for her rights. She reinstated the Catholie
bishops, and brow-beat the inhabitants of Suffolk when they
urged her pledge to them.
Mary was alarmed at the cries of sedition uttered by the
people. Lady Jane and her husband were brought before an
iniquitous councU, who condemned them both to die ; and the
Mayor of London having begged that a public example might
be made, obtained that Lord Guildford Dudley should be exe
cuted in public. The unfortunate nobleman, on his sentence
being communicated to him, requested an interview with his
wife. She refused to see him, but wrote him a letter to the
following purport : —
" Do not let us meet, Guildford — we must see each other no
more untU we are united in a better world. We must forget
our joys so sweet, Guildford, our loves so tender and so happy.
You must now devote yourself to none but serious thoughts.
No more love, no more happiness here upon earth ! — we must
now think of nothing but death ! Remember, my GuUdford,
that the people are waiting for you, to see how a man can die.
Show no weakness as you approach the scaffold ; your fortitude
would be overcome, perhaps, were you to see me. You could
not quit your poor Jane without tears ; and tears and weak
ness must be left to us women. Adieu, my GuUdford, adieu!

LADY JANE GRAY. 209
Be a man — ^be firm at the last hour — let me be proud of
you." GuUdford died like a hero, and Jane was proud of him.
Ah ! it was not from weakness that this noble-minded creature
refused the crown ; she was happy with her books, her affection,
and her beloved husband, under her arbors of flowers. It was
the absence of happiness in a crown, not its weight that alarmed
her. She saw her husband leave the Tower and proceed to the
place of execution. She prayed a long time for him ; her own
turn then came, and she prepared for death. Mary, desirous
of increasing her sufferings, pretended to convert her, and
offered to pardon her if she would abjure the reformed religion.
But, with a sweet smile of sadness, she refused. For, at that
time, what was life to her .' — nothing but a vast solitude, through
which she would have to wander alone and deserted. She
preferred death !
For three days she was assailed by the importunities of
Catholic priests, who thought they had shaken her faith. Jane
made them no reply, but continued her prayers. Having
written a last letter of adieu* to her sister, the Countess of
Pembroke, she took off her mourning, dressed herself in white,
had her long and beautiful hair cut off by her female attendants,
and walked boldy to the place of execution. When, however,
she saw the sparkling of the steel axe, she tm-ned pale. She
knelt, prayed again, lifted up her eyes and looked at the
heavens ! — then placing her head upon tho block, she received
the stroke that conferred upon her a crown of which no human
passions could deprive her — the crown of martyrdom !
* This letter was written in Greek. A good translation of it into French tg to b«
found in Larrey's Historj' of England.
14

210 LAOY JANE GRAY.
 » 
This was the third tune in London, withm a period of twenty
years, that the blood of a queen had stained the scaffold. Tha
reign of Elizabeth was to present a fourth act of the same
tragedy. Catherine Graj^ Countess of Pembroke, was more to be pitied
than her sister Jane ; for, after all, what is death to one who
has lost everything that makes life valuable .' But Catherine,
separated from a world in which the man she loved stiU lived,
must often have prayed to God to give her the sleep of the
grave. Catherine Gray had married the Earl of Pembroke ; but their
union was so unhappy that both demanded a separation, and
their marriage was dissolved by a judicial act. She then be
came the wife of the Earl of Hertford, who set out for France.
leaving her pregnant. Catherine Gray being of the royal blood
of Tudor, her marriage without the consent of her sovereign
was imputed to her as a crime ; and on ascending the throne,
Mary, as happy in having to inflict punishment as another would
have been to show clemency, condemned her to imprisonment
for life. The Earl of Hertford, on his return from France, was
also sentenced to imprisonment, and the Archbishop of Canter
bury declared the marriage niUl and void. Nevertheless, the
Earl protested against the sentence of the Archbishop, as well
as against that of his other judges. He loved Catherine with
the tenderest affection ; and stiU looking upon her as his wife,
"bribed the keeper of the Tower, and obtained access to her
prison. Catherine became a mother a second time ; and Mary
persecuted the Earl of Hertford with all the vindictive hatred
of a queen whose authority is despised, and of a woman already
past the age of inspiring love, who cannot forgive young people
for then superiority in this respect. The Earl's accusation con-

LADY JANE GRAY. 211
sisted of three counts : — First, of having seduced a princess of
the royal blood ; secondly, of having violated a state prison ;
and thirdly, of having approached a woman from whom the law
had separated him. He was condemned to a fine of five thou
sand pounds sterling for each offence. He paid the fifteen
thousand pounds, and, after a long confinement, consented to
sign a voluntary act of separation from Catherine ; but not till
after a long struggle, and a resistance which bore ample testi
mony of the strength of his attachment.
The unfortunate Catherine Gray died in prison, in 1562,
after a long and painful captivity. Like her sister Jane, she
was learned and fond of study. Both were young and lovely,
and the fate of both showed that royal birth is no security against
misfortune Tears are shed in the palaces of kings as well as
the peasant-'? hovel ; and arms loaded with jewels often bear the
chains of captivity. Poison is sometimes drauk in a cup of gold,
and the crowned head severed by the executioner's axe !

JeoK)oir^ S'J^fe

J.SOIOSA »'S§f S.
Of all the heaven-bestowed privileges of the poet, the highest,
the dearest, the most enviable, is the power of immortalizing the
object of his love ; of dividing with her his wreath of glory, and
repaying the inspiration caught from her eyes with a crown of
everlasting fame. It is not enough, that in his imagination he
has deified her — that he has consecrated his faculties to her
honor — that he has burned his heart in incense upon the altar
of her perfections ; the divinity, thus decked out in richest and
loveliest hues, he places on high, and calls upon all ages and aU
nations to bow down before her, and all ages and all nations
obey ! worshiping the beauty thus enshrined in imperishable
verse, when others, not less fair, have gone down unsung, " to
dust and endless darkness." How many women, who would
otherwise have stolen through the shade of domestic life, then-
charms, virtues, and affections buried with them, have become
objects of eternal interest and admiration, because their memory
is linked with the brightest monuments of human genius.
Leonora D' Este, a princess of the proudest house in Europe,
might have wedded an emperor and have been forgotten. The
idea, true or false, that she it was who frenzied the brain and
broke the heart of Tasso, has glorified her to future ages — has
given her a fame something like that of the Greek of old, who
bequeathed his name to posterity by firing the grandest temple
in the universe.

216 LEONORA D'ESTE.
No poet, perhaps, ever owed so much to female influence aa
Tasso, or wrote so much under the intoxicating inspiration ef
love and beauty. The high tone of sentiment, the tenderness
and the delicacy which pervade aU his poems, which prevail even
in his most voluptuous descriptions, may be traced to the adora
tion he cherished for Leonora.
When Tasso was first introduced to Leonora, in her brother's
court at Ferrara, in 1565, she was in her thirtieth year — still
eminently lovely — in that soft, artless, unobtrusive style of
beauty, which is charming in itself, and in a princess irresisti
ble, from its contrast with the loftiness of her station and the
trappings of her rank. Her complexion was extremely fair ;
her features small and regular ; and the form of her head pe
culiarly graceful. Her eyes were blue, and her exquisitely
beautiful mouth, Tasso styles " a crimson shell" —
Purpurea conca, in cui si nutre
Candor di perle elette e pellegrine.
Ill health, and her early acquaintance with the sorrows of her
unfortunate mother,* had given to her countenance a languid
and pensive cast, and destroyed all the natural bloom of her
complexion ; but "Paleur'qui marque une arm tendre, a hien son
prix ;" so Tasso thought ; and this pallor which " vanquishes
the rose, and makes the dawn ashamed of her blushes," he has
frequently and beautifully celebrated.
When Tasso first visited Ferrara he was just one-and-twenty,
with aU the advantages which a fine countenance, a majestic
figure, noble birth, and exceeding talents could bestow. Ha
was already distinguished as the author of the Rinaldo, his
* Renee of France, the daughter of Louis Xll. She was closely imprisoned during
twelve years, on suspicion of favoring the early reformers.

LEONORA d'eSTE. 217

earliest poem, in which he had celebrated (as if prophetically)
the Princess D'Este — and chiefly Leonora. Tasso, from his
boyish years, had been a sworn servant of beauty. Refined,
even to fastidiousness, in his intercourse with women, he had
formed, in his own poetical mind, the most exalted idea of
what a female ought to be, and, unfortunately, she who first
realized all his dreams of perfection was a princess — " there
seated where he durst not soar."
Although Leonora was his senior by several years, disparity
of age is certainly no argument against the passion she inspired
For a young man, at his first entrance into life, to fall in love
ambitiously — with a woman, for instance, who is older than
himself, or with one who is, or ought to be, unattainable — is a
common occurrence. Leonora was not unworthy of her illus
trious conquest. She was of studious and retired habits — sel
dom joining in the amusements of her brother's Court, then the
gayest and most magnificent in Italy. Her mother, Renee of
France, had early instilled into her mind a love of literature,
and especially of poetry. She was passionately fond of music,
and sang admirably ; and, to a sweet-toned voice, added a gift,
which, unless thus accompanied, loses half its value and almost
all its charm. She spoke well ; and her eloquence was so per
suasive, that we are told she had power to move her brother
Alphonso, when none else could. Tasso says most poetically,
" E 1' aura del parlar oortese e saggio,
Fra le rose spirar, s'udia sovente ;"
— meaning — for to translate literally is scarcely possible — that
"eloquence played round her lips lUs;e the zephyr breathing
over roses."
With what emotions must a young and ardent poet have

218 LEONORA d'eSTE,

listened to his own praises from a beautiful mouth, thus sweetly
gifted ! He says, " My heart was touched through my ears ;
her gentle wisdom penetrated deeper than hei beauty could
reach." To be summoned daily into the presence of a princess thus
beautiful and amiable — to read aloud his verses to her, to hear
his own praises from her lips, to bask in her approving smUes,
to associate with her in her retirement, to behold her in aU
the graceful simplicity of her familiar life — was a dangerous
situation for Tasso, and surely not less so for Leonora herself
That she was aware of his admiration and perfectly understood
his sentiments, and that a mysterious intelligence existed be
tween them, consistent with the utmost reverence on his part,
and the most perfect delicacy and dignity on hers, is apparent
from the meaning and tendency of innumerable passages scat
tered through his minor poems — too significant to be mistaken.
Without multiplying quotations which would extend this sketch
from pages into volumes, it is sufficient that we may trace
through Tasso's verses the little incidents which varied this
romantic intercourse. The frequent indisposition of Leonora,
and her absence when she went to visit her brother, the Cardinal
d'Este, at Tivoli, form the subjects of several beautiful Httle
poems. He relates, in a beautiful little madrigal, that, standing
alone with her in a balcony, he chanced, perhaps in the eager
ness of conversation, to extend his arm on hers. He asks
pardon for the freedom, and she replies with sweetness, " You
offended not by placing your arm there, but by withdrawing it."
This little speech in a coquette would have been sans conse
quence. From such a woman as Leonora it spoke volumes, and
her lover felt it so. But Leonora knew, as weU as her lover,
that a princess " was no love-mate for a bard." She knew far

LEONORA D'ESTE. 219

better than her lover, until he too had been taught by wretched
experience, the haughty and implacable temper of her brother
Alphonso, who never was known to brook an injury ,or forgive
an offender. She must have remembered the twelve years'
imprisonment, and the narrow escape from death, of her un
fortunate mother, for a less cause. She was of a timid and
reserved nature, increased by the extreme delicacy of her con
stitution. Her hand had frequently been sought by princes
and nobles, whom she had uniformly rejected at the risk of dis
pleasing her brother, and the eyes of a jealous court were upon
her. Tasso, on the other hand, was imprudent, hot-headed,
fearless, ardently attached. For both their sakes, it was neces
sary for Leonora to be guarded and reserved, unless she would
have made herself the fable of all Italy. And in what glowing
verse has Tasso described aU the delicious pain of such a
situation ! now proud of his fetters — now execrating them in
despair. Then came a cloud, but whether of temper or jealousy, we
know not ; and Tasso, withdrawing himself from the object of
devotion, accompanied Lucrezia d'Este, then Duchess of Urbino,
to her villa of Castel Durante, where he remained for some
time, partaking in all the amusements of her gay court, without
once seeing Leonora. He then wrote to her, and the letter,
fortunately, has been preserved entire. Though guarded in ex
pression, it is throughout in the tone of a, lover piqued, and yet
conscious that he has himself offended ; and seeking, with a
sort of proud humility, the reconciliation on which his happi
ness depends.
In the meanwhile, there was a report that Leonora was about
to be united to a foreign prince. Her hand had been demanded
of her brother with the usual formalities, and the anguish and

220 LEONORA d'eSTE.
jealous pain which her lover suffered at this period, is finely
expressed in the Canzone,
" Amor tu vedi-, e non hai duolo o sdegno," ic.
and in the sonnet, " Io sparse, ed altri miete !" &c.
This dreaded marriage never took place ; and Tasso, relieved
from his fears and restored to the confidence of Leonora, was
again comparatively blessed.
About two years after the completion of the " Jerusalem
Delivered," whUe all Europe rung with the poet's fame, Tasso
fled from the court of Ferrara in a flt of distraction. His
frenzy was caused partly by religious horrors and scruples ;
partly by the petty but accumulated injuries which malignity
and tyranny had heaped upon him ; partly by a long-indulged
and hopeless passion. He fled, to hide'himself and his sorrows
in the arms of his sister Cornelia. The brother and sister had
not met since their childish years ; and Tasso, wild with misery,
forlorn and penniless, knew not what reception he was to meet
with. When arrived within a league of his birth-place, Sor
rento, near Naples, he changed clothes with a shepherd, and in
this disguise appeared before his sister, as one sent with tidings
of her brother's misfortunes. The recital, we may believe, was
not coldly given. Cornelia was so violently agitated by the elo
quence of the feigned messenger, that she fainted away, and
Tasso was obliged to hasten the denouement by discovering
himself In the same moment he was clasped in her affec
tionate arms, and bathed with her tears.
And how was it with her, whose life was a weary, a per-

LEONORA d'eSTE. 221
petual sacrifice to her exalted position ? Through her the
world had opened upon him with a diviner beauty ; she was the
source of the high imaginations, the glorious fancies, the heaven
ward aspirations, which raised him above the herd of vulgar
men ; yet, while for glory she gave a heart, it was forever
denied to her to make her lover happy. While, through love for
her he suffered ignominy, and wrong, and madness, was it not
hers, in silence and in secret, to mourn over the hopeless bitter
ness of that love, and of her own undying affection .' Was he
not her thought, her dream, her supplication ?
Tasso resided for three years with his sister, the object of
her unwearied and tender attention. And now, recalled, it is
said, by the letters of Leonora, the poet returned to Ferrara.
Still, hate pursued him — and he was taken, and imprisoned as a
lunatic at St. Anne's. They show travelers the cell in which
he was confined. Over the entrance-gallery leading to it, is
written up in large letters, " Ingresso alia Prigione di Tor
quato Tasso,'''' as if to blazon, in the eye of the stranger, what
is at once the renown and disgrace of that fallen city. The
cell itself is small, dark, and low. The abhorred grate is a
semicircular window, strongly cross-barred with iron, which
looks into a court-yard, so built up that the noon-day sun
scarcely reaches it.
A cruel, a most unjust imputation rests on the memory of
Leonora. She is accused of cold-heartedness in suffering Tasso
to remain so long imprisoned, without interceding in his favor,
or even vouchsafing a reply to his affecting supplications for
release, and for her mediation in his behalf It was from this
cell that Tasso addressed that affecting Canzone to Leonora,
and her sister Lucrezia, which begins, " Figlie di Renata" — ¦
" Daughters of Renee !" Thus, in the very commencement,

222 LEONORA D'ESTE.
by this tender and delicate apostrophe, bespeaking their com
passion, by awakening the remembrance of their mother, like
him so long a wretched prisoner.
Although there exists, we suppose, no written proof that Leo
nora pleaded the cause of Tasso, or sought to mitigate his suf
ferings ; neither is there any proof of the contrary. If then,
we do not find her publicly appearing as his benefactress, and
using her influence over her brother in his behalf, is it not a pre
sumption that she was impHcated in his punishment .' We know
httle, or rather nothing of the private intrigues of Alphonso's
palace ; we have no " memories secretes " of that day — no dia
ries kept by prying courtiers, to enhghten us on what passed in
the recesses of the royal apartmejnts. No woman ever loses all
interest in a lover, even though she have ceased to regard him
as such, unless he has destroyed that interest through unkind
ness, or brutality towards herself; and Leonora, who appears
on every other occasion so blameless, so tender-hearted, so
beneficent, would have been incapable of selfishness, or cruelty,
or even of indifference, to a lover like Tasso. What comfort
or kindness she could have granted, must, under the circum
stances, have been bestowed with infinite precaution ; and, from
gratitude and discretion, carefully concealed. We know that
after the first year of his confinement, Tasso was removed to a
less gloomy prison ; and we know that Leonora died a few weeks
afterwards; but what share she might have had in procuring
this mitigation of his suffering, we do not know, nor how far
the fate of Tasso might have affected her so as to hasten her
own death.
After the removal of Tasso to this larger cell, he made a col
lection of his smaUer poems lately written, and dedicated them
to the two Princesses. But Leonora was no longer in a state io

LEONORA D'ESTE. 223
be charmed by the verses, or flattered or touched by the admir
ing devotion of her lover— her poet — her faithful servant : she
was dying. A slow and cureless disease preyed on her delicate
frame, and she expired in the second year of Tasso's imprison
ment. When the news of her danger was brought to him, he
requested his friend Pignarola to kiss hpr hand in his name, and
to ask her whether there was anything which, in his sad state,
he could do for her ease or pleasure ? We do not know how
this tender message was received or answered ; but it was too
late. Leonora died in February, 1581, after lingering from the
November previous.
Thus perished, of a premature decay, the woman who had
been for seventeen years the idol of a poet's imagination— the
worship of a poet's heart ; she who was not unworthy of being
enshrined in the rich tracery-work of sweet thoughts and bright
fancies she had herself suggested. The love of Tasso for the
Princess Leonora might have appeared, in his own time, some
thing like the " desire of the moth for the star ;" but what is it
now 7 — what was it then in the eyes of her whom he adored ?
How far was it permitted, encouraged, and repaid in secret }
This we cannot know ; and perhaps had we lived in the time —
in the very Court, and looked daily into her own soft eyes, prac
ticed to conceal — we had been no wiser
When Leonora died, all the poets of Ferrara pressed forward
with the usual tribute of elegy and eulogium ; but the voice of
Tasso was not heard among the rest. He alone flung no garland
on the bier of her whose living brow he had wreathed with the
brightest flowers of song. This is adduced by Serassi as a proof
that he had never loved her. Ginguine himself can only account
for it, by the presumption that he was piqued by that coldness
and neglect, which, we have seen, was merely suppositious.

224 LEONORA

Strange reasoning ! as if Tasso, whUe his heart bled over his loss,
in his solitary cell, could have deigned to join this crowd of
courtly m<jumcrB ! — as if, under such circumstances, in such a
moment, the greatness of his grief could have burst forth in
any terms that must not have exposed him to fresh rigors, and
the fame, at least the discretion of her he had loved, to sus
picion. No : nothing remained to him but sUence — and he WM
silent.

6^ff|eHif)e ^\eihbi}-4.

la

' J

EMPRESS OF BUSSIA
On the morning of the 20th of August, 1702, the Russian can
non began to batter in breach of the old ramparts of Marienburg.
Shermetoff commanded the besieging army. He had been sent
by Peter the Great to avenge the humiliations inflicted upon the
Russians, during the preceding year, at Narva, and in Poland-;
and about a month before the period at which this narrative
commences, he had defeated the Swedish army under the com
mand of Slippenbach. Marienburg surrendered at discretion
in a few hours, and the Russians, exasperated at the store-houses
and magazines having been set on fire, put the Swedish garrison
to the sword, and made the inhabitants prisoners — a lot much
worse in those days than death ; for it was a condition of
slavery. Among the captives, all of whom were casting a linger
ing look at the homes from which they were now driven, was a
Lutheran minister, attended by three young girls. One of
these was strikingly handsome. She had just been discovered
by the Russian soldiers concealed in an oven, in which her fright
had led her to seek refuge. The family was brought before
General Bauer, Sheremetoff's lieutenant, who was surprised at
the beauty of the eldest girl.
" Thy name .'" said he, in a harsh voice to the minister,
" Gluck."
" Thy religion .'"
"Lutheran."

228 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA.

" Why did thy daughter hide herself ? Thmkest thou that
we refuse our protection to the weak and innocent .?''
" The young giri of whom you speak," the trembling minis
ter replied, " is not a member of my family. I love her as my
child ; but she is a stranger to my blood."
"Oh! oh I" muttered the general, with an expressive look.
" Who is she then .'"
" The daughter of poor peasants, who dwelt in the neighbor
hood of Derpt, in Livonia. I took charge of her when her
mother died, and have taught her the little I know. Her name
is Martha Alfendey."
" 'Tis well ! You may retire. As for you," said the gene
ral, addressing the young girl, "remain here."
Instead of obeying this command, she clung to the arm of her
protector. " General," said the minister, " Martha was married this
morning ; the ceremony had just been performed when the firing
began." Bauer laughed, and repeated his order. Resistance was im
possible. The pastor withdrew, and the poor girl remained
with her future master ; for she was now a slave, and the slave
too of a man who in a few years was to become her subject.
This young female, as the reader may have already anticipated,
was Catherine — a name she afterwards assumed, together with
that of Alexiewna, when she embraced the tenets of the Greek
Church. In tho present narrative, I shall give her no other.
Catherine was eminently beautiful; and there was an extreme
fascination in her look and smile. After a short period of ser
vice, Bauer thought he might advance his own interests by
making a present of his fair slave to Sheremetoff. He accordingly
dressed her after the Russian fashion, and presented her to the

CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 229
marshal, with whom she remained some time. But Menzicoff,
then all powerful with the Czar, having seen her by chance,
offered to purchase her ; and Sheremetoff, whether from indiffer
ence, or because he was desirous of making a merit of his com
pliance, sent her as a free offering to the prince. Thus, in less
than two years, Catherine became the property of three dift'erent
masters. Menzicoff, one day, had to entertain the Czar. Peter loved
to give such marks of his royal favor ; that cost him nothing,
and, in a country like Russia, were highly prized. Seated at a
table ioaded with a profusion of gold plate, sparkling crystal,
and the finest linen of Holland and Saxony, trimmed v/ith Brus
sels lace, the Czar was in that joyous mood to which he some
times yielded when the thorns of his diadem tore his brow or
the weight of his sceptre tired his arm. He wore on that day a
coat of very coarse cloth, cut after his own fashion ; for he affected
a simplicity of attire very much out of keeping with the oriental
magnificence he was fond of displaying. His mirth was always
boisterous ; and in the midst of a loud peal of laughter he sud
denly stopped, replaced upon the table the chased goblet he
held in his hand, and followed with his eyes a young, beautiful
and elegantly-dressed female, who had just poured wine into his
cup, smiling with respectful modesty as she performed the office.
Peter thought he never beheld so fascinating a creature.
" Who is that woman .'" said he to the favorite.
" My slave, dread lord," replied the trembling prince.
" Thy slave !" cried Peter, in a voice of thunder ; then in a
mild tone, almost in a whisper, he added, " I will purchase thy
slave. What is her price .'"
" I shall consider myself most fortunate," Blenzicoff replied,
" if your majesty will vouchsafe to accept her."

230 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA.

The same day, Catherine was taken to a house in a remote
part of BIoscow. Menzicoff was in hopes that the Czar would
take but Httle notice of his new acquisition, and that his slave
would ultimately be sent back to him ; but the fair captive had
caught a glimpse of her future greatness, and soon brought into
play that energy of genius which ultimately placed the imperial
crown upon her head. The powers of her mind and her ex
traordinary talents became known throughout Russia, long
before she appeared as the savior, not only of the empire, but
of the honor of Peter's throne. At first the Czar visited her
only occasionally ; soon, however, not a day passed without his
seeing her ; and ultimately he took his ministers to her house,
and transacted all the business of the state in her presence,
frequently consulting her and taking her advice upon the most
knotty difficulties. Her cheerfulness, her mildness of temper,
and especially her energy of mind, so congenial with his own,
filled up the void left in his heart by former disappointments.
His first wife, Eudocia Lapoukin, had proved faithless, and he
had repudiated her. He afterwards wished to wed the beautiful
Anne Moens, who refused the proffered honor, because she stUl
considered him the husband of another. In his intercourse
with Catherine, he therefore yielded to a deep and overwhelm
ing passion, which seemed likely to compensate for former suf
ferings. It was not long before he contracted a secret marriage
with his lovely slave, and in the enjoyment of her affection his
heart recovered its tone, and he was happy.
In this almost unknown retreat, Catherine bore him two
daughters — Anna, born in 1708, and Elizabeth, born in 1709.
From this time the power of the fair captive of IMarienburg was
acknowledged throughout the empire, and she found herself
strong enough to show Russia that she was indeed its sovereign.

CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 231
She was aware that the Czarowitz Alexis, Peter's son by Eudocia,
hated her ; yet she never attempted to widen the breach be
tween him and the Czar. She also knew that Eudocia was
intriguing against her, but she never thought of revenge ; for
she had a soul worthy of her high destiny — a soul truly great,
and standing out in such prominent relief as to. throw many of
her errors into the shade.
Her power over the Czar was greatly strengthened by her
having become necpssary to his existence. From his infancy,
Peter had been subject to convulsions, which often endangered
his life ; this complaint was attributed to the effects of poison
administered by an ambitious sister. During these attacks, his
sufferings were intense ; and before and after they came on, he -
was seized with mental uneasiness and throbbing of the heart,
which threw him into a state of the most gloomy despondency.
Catherine found means, by her attentions, to assuage his suf
ferings ; she had also magic words at command to soothe his
mind. Whenever, therefore, he found one of his attacks coming
on, he sought the society of the sorceress, whose voice and look
charmed away his pain ; and he ever found her kind and affec
tionate, ready to minister to his comfort, and pour balm upon
his anguish.
Hitherto Catherine had appeared to Peter only as a fond
and fascinating woman ; but the time was near at hand when
he found that she had a soul of the most dauntless heroism.
The battle of Pultawa had been fought, and Charles XII.
defeated, abandoned, and almost unattended, was in rapid flight
toward Turkey. The Swedish monarch had left Saxony at
the head of forty-five thousand men, and was afterwards joined
by the Livonian army under Lewenhaupt, amounting to sixteen
thousand more. But the Russians were superior in numbers.

232 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA.
The slaughter on this memorable day was dreadful. The
Swedes seemed panic-struck ; they lost nine thousand killed, and
sixteen thousand prisoners. Lewenhaupt, with fourteen thousand
men, laid down his arms to ten thousand Russians.
Peter followed up his victory ; but, like a great and generous
monarch, wrote to Charles XII., entreating him not to go to
Turkey in search of assistance from the enemies of Christianity,
but to trust him, and he would prove a good brother. This
letter, it is said, concluding with an offer of peace, was dictated
by Catherine. But it was dispatched too late — Charles had
already crossed the Dnieper.
The Czar soon seized upon the advantages which this success
of his arms placed at his disposal. He concluded a treaty with
Prussia, laid siege to Riga, restored the kingdom of Poland to
the Elector of Saxony, and ratified the treaty with Denmark.
Having at length completed his measure for the further
humUiation of Sweden, he returned to Moscow, to make pre
parations for the triumphal entry of his army into that capital.
The year 1710 was opened with this solemnity. It was
truly a noble sight, and calculated to give the Russian people
an exalted idea of their strength as a nation. The greatest
magnificence was displayed in the ceremony. Seven splendid
triumphal arches were erected for the vanquished to pass under ;
and as an act of presence, and to prove the defeat not only of a
rival monarch but of a whole nation, the Swedish artillery and
standards, and the litter of the fugitive king, appeared in the
procession. The Swedish ministers and troops who had been
made prisoners, advanced on foot, followed by the most favored
troops of Peter's army, on horseback, the generals each accord
ing to his rank, and the Czar in his place as major-general.
A deputation from the different bodies of the state was stationed

CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 233
at each triumphal arch, and at the last came a troop of young
noblemen, the sons of the principal boyards, clad in Romai
dresses, who presented crowns of laurel to the emperor.
At this period war was extending its miseries throughou\
Europe. Denmark was preparing to invade Sweden ; whilst
Franco, Holland, Italy, Portugal, Germany, and England, had
drawn the sword to contend for the inheritance of Charles II.
of Spain. The whole of the North was in arms against Charl'es
XII. Nothing now remained, but a war with Turkey, to involve
every province in Europe in strife and bloodshed ; and this
soon occurred.
Peter's glory was at its zenith when Achmet III. commenced
hostilities against him. Charles flattered himself that the Sultan
had decided upon this course to avenge the defeat of the
Swedes ; but Achmet was actuated solely by his own in
terest. The Czar lost no time in taking his measures. Having dis
patched Appraxin to Asoph to take the command of the fleet and
land forces, he constituted a senate of regency, made an appeal
to the loyalty of the young nobles of Russia, and sent forward
the four regiments of his guards. When all was ready, he issued
a proclamation, calling upon the Russian nation to acknowledge
a new Czarian. This was no other than Catherine, the orphan,
brought up by the Lutheran minister, and the captive of Marien
burg. He now declared his marriage, and designated her as
his consort. She set out with the Czar on his expedition against
the Turks ; and, being constantly near his person, redoubled
her soothing attentions on the march, during which Peter had
several severe returns of his complaint. He was soon in the
presence of Baltagi-JIohammed, having advanced by the fron
tiers of Poland, and crossed the Dnieper in order to disengage

234 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA.
Sheremetoff. On reaching the river he entreated Catherine
not to follow him to the opposite bank.
" Our two destinies form but one Hfe," she replied. " Where
you are, there must I be also."
Ever-pleasing, good-humored, and affable, she became the
delight and pride of the soldiers. She seldom used her car
riage, but was generally on horseback by Peter's side ; and she
endured the same privations as the lowest officer in the army.
Though frequently overcome with fatigue, her attentions and
kindness to the sick officers and men were unremitting. She
sent them assistance, paid them visits, and then returned to the
Czar, dissipating by her smiles the clouds that gathered on his
brow as his danger became greater and more imminent. In
this way they reached the banks of the Pruth.
The situation of the Russian army at length became so
critical as to call forth all the resources of Peter's skiH and
energy. His communications with General Renne were cut off,
and his provisions exhausted. Prodigious swarms of locusts
alighted and destroyed aU traces of vegetation ; and water was
so scarce that none could be obtained, except by drawing it
from the river under a heavy fire from the Turkish artiUery.
Peter, in despair at finding himself in a situation even worse
perhaps than that to which he had reduced Charles XII. at
Pultawa, determined upon a retreat. But Baltagi-Mohammed
having come up with him, Peter's regiment of the Preobasin-
ski guards sustained the attack of the whole Turkish army,
which lasted for several hours. Night came on, and the
Russians, overcome with fatigue, were unable to continue their
retreat. Two Swedish generals were employed in the grand vizier's
army— Count Poniatowski, father of him who was afterward?

CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 235
king of Poland, and the Count of Sparre. The former advised
that Peter's supplies should be cut off, and the Russian army be
thus compelled to surrender or die of starvation ; the latter
urged an immediate attack upon the Czar's discouraged troops,
who might easily be cut to pieces.
On the following day, the Russians were surrounded on all
sides. The hostile armies were engaged several hours, during
which eight thousand Russians withstood the attack of a hundred
and fifty thousand Turks, kUling seven thousand of them, and
ultimately forcing them back. The armies then intrenched
themselves for the night. The Russians suffered dreadfully for
want of water ; the men who were sent to fetch it, fell dead
upon the banks of the river under the grape-shot of the Turkish
artillery. Meantime, Peter was striding with hurried steps
within the space which his soldiers had intrenched with all the
wagons they could muster. Discouragement was but too
evident upon every brow, and the Czar clearly perceived that
the noble army of which he was so proud, and upon which his
fortunes now depended, had no other prospect than starvation or
slavery. He returned to his tent in an agony of grief difficult to
describe, and gave orders that no one should be allowed to
enter. His reason was all but gone ; for he was at this moment
under one of those attacks to which he was subject whenever
his mind was greatly excited. Seated at a table upon which he
had laid his sword, he seemed overcome by the weight of his
misfortunes. On a sudden he started — he had heard his name
called ; a gentle hand pressed his — Catherine stood by his
side. " I had given orders that nobody should enter," said Peter
angrily ; " why have you presumed to disobey them ?"

236 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA.
" Such orders cannot surely extend to me," replied Catherint
with mildness. " Can you deprive the woman, who ever since
the opening of the campaign has shared all your dangers, of the
right to talk to you about your army, composed of your subjects,
of which she is one .'"
The words uttered with solemnity, and in that sotte voce
which woman alone can assume, made a strong impression upon
the Czar. He threw his arms round Catherine, and placing his
head upon her bosom, moaned piteously.
" Why, Catherine, hast thou come hither to see me die .' — for
to die I am resolved ; I wUl never submit to be dragged along
in triumph by those unbelievers."
" Thou hast no right to die, Peter," said Catherine, in the
same mild and solemn tone, though her heart throbbed vio
lently — and she had great difficulty to restrain her tears ; " thy
life is not thine own. Wouldst thou, moreover, leave the road
to SIoscow open, so that Mahommed may proceed thither and
take thy daughters to grace his master's harem .?"
" Great God !" exclaimed the Czar, starting back.
" Or wouldst thou let him go to Petersburg, thy well-beloved
city, and himself execute that which he requires of thee V
" No !" said Peter, seizing his sword ; " he shall not go
thither — I am stiU alive to prevent it."
" Thou art beside thyself, Peter," Catherine continued ;
" thou knowest not what thou dost. I am but a woman — a
simple ignorant woman ; but I love thee, not only because thou
hast raised me from the lowly state of a peasant and a slave to
the dignity of thy consort, but for thine own glory. I also love
the Russian people, and am resolved to save you both. Hear
me !"
Subjugated by Catherine's manner and the greatness of soul

CATHERINS ALEXIEWNA. 237
which beamed from her countenance, the Czar gazed upon her
in astonishment. Already calmed by her words of mingled
tenderness and energy, he placed her by his side and prepared to
listen to her. She immediately began, and with great precision
and clearness developed the plan she had formed ever since the
critical situation of the army had led her to suppose that every
ordinary resource would fail. Peter assented to all she pro
posed, and Catherine lost not an instant in carrying her project
into execution. She collected together the few jewels she had
brought with her on an expedition free from all unnecessary
splendor of attire, and selected an officer, upon whose talents
and presence of mind she could depend, to carry them as a
present to the grand-vizier ; she likewise added, for the Kiaja,
all the ready money she could collect. These preparations
being made, she sent for Sheremetoff, and made him write a
letter to Baltagi-Mohammed. Norberg, chaplain to Charles
XII., has stated, in his history of that monarch, that the letter
was written by the Czar himself, and couched in the most abject
terms. This is untrue ; it was written by Sheremetoff, in his
own name, and not only with becoming dignity, but each ex
pression was so measured as to prevent the grand-vizier from
forming a suspicion of the extreme state to which the Russian
army was reduced. Sheremetoff wrote under the dictation of
Catherine, herself unable to write, but whose instinctive genius
— the real fountain of science — rendered her as superior in
counsel, as she was in energy of mind.
For some hours Mohammed made no reply, and the Turkish
artillery continued to scatter its missiles along the banks of the
river. As the sun sank towards the horizon, the anxiety in the
Russian camp became intense. Catherine, ever active, was
almost at the same time soothing and encouraging Peter and

238 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA.

scattering her magic words of heroism among the officers and
men of his army. She seemed every where at once, and all
were animated by her presence. She pointed out to the troops
their sovereign, as he passed along, sorrowing at their sorrow,
and unhappy at their misfortunes ; she urged them to assuage
his grief, by showing him that their courage remamed unshaken.
Her wordi were electrical : the ministers and generals soon sur
rounded Peter, and, in the name of the- whole army, demanded
to cross the Pruth immediately. Ten of the oldest generals
held a council of war, at which Catherine presided, and the fol
lowing resolution, proposed by her, was signed and presented to
the Czar : —
" Should the enemy refuse the conditions proposed by Mar
shal Sheremetoff, and dare to call upon us to lay down our
arms, it is the unanimous opinion of the army, its generals, and
the imperial ministers of state, that we should cut our way
through them."
In consequence of this resolution, the baggage was surrounded
by an intrenohment, and the Russians had already advanced
within a hundred yards of the Turkish army, when the grand-
vizier published a suspension of arms. Vice-Chancellor Schaf-
firoff was immediately dispatched to the Turkish camp, nego
tiations were begun, and the honor of the Russian arms remained
without a blemish. A treaty of peace was soon after concluded
at Falksen, a village on the banks of the Pruth. A disagree
ment about a clause of the treaty led to an answer from Peter
which may efface many blood-stained lines in his history.
Prince Cantemir, a subject of the Ottoman Porte, was under
the protection of Russia, and Mohammed insisted upon his being
given up. In reply to Schaffiroff, Peter wrote as follows : —
" I would rather give up to the Turks all the country as fai

(CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 239
as Zurzka, because I should have hopes of being able to recover
it ; but the loss of my faith would be irretrievable. We sove
reigns have nothing we can properly call our own, except our
honor, and were I to forfeit that, I should cease to be a king.''
Cantemir was therefore not given up.
Just as the treaty was ready for signature, Charles XII.
arrived at the Turkish camp, and vented bitter reproaches on
idohammed, who treated him with the most cutting indifference.
" If I had taken the Czar prisoner," said the viceroy of Stam-
boul, with a smile of bitter irony, " who would there be to govern
in his stead .'' It is not right that every sovereign should quit
his dominions."
Charles, forgetful of the dignity not only of the monarch but
of the man, tore the vizier's robe with his spurs, which Moham
med, in his superiority over the royal adventurer, feigned not to
perceive. He left it to Providence to inflict its will upon .
Charles's brilliant and tumultuous life, and to complete that les
son of adversity which had begun at Pultawa, where the Swedish
king was vanquished by Menzicoff, originally a pastry-cook's
boy, and continued on the banks of the Pruth, where Baltagi-
Mohammed, once a slave and a hewer of wood, decided on the
fate of three empires.
Subsequently, the revenge of the man of the seraglio was
more characteristic. He withdrew the pension which the Porte
allowed its royal guest, and gave him orders, couched in the
form of advice, to quit the Turkish empire. This led to the
well-known affair at Bender.
Charles XII. has accused the grand-vizier of incapacity. This
is an error grafted on the prejudice of hatred ; for Mahommed
was a man of high talents, and to every reflecting mind the
sound policy of his conduct on this occasion is evident. All the

240 CATHERINE VLEXIEWNA.
writers of the Swedish party accuse him of having received a
bribe to betray his trust. This is equally absurd. The jewels
sent him by Catherine were a mere compliance with an eastern
custom, which requires that a present should always precede the
demand of an audience, and were not of sufficient value to tempt
him to become a traitor, even were he so disposed. The charge
is as devoid of foundation as that, in 1805, General Mack
received a large sum for his surrender at Ulm. A minister of
state or an eminent general has the eyes of the whole world fixed
upon him, and if he descend to such an act of baseness, they are
sure to be discovered. When, therefore, no positive evidence
is adduced, such imputations ought to be disregarded. In the
present case, the charge is impossible ; for Peter had no means
of raising a sum adequate to tempt the cupidity of the grand-
vizier. Peace being concluded, the Czar retired by Jassy, and pre
pared for the execution of the treaty. Peter's life was now less
agitated, but his complaint returned so frequently, and with such
aggravated symptoms, that he began to think his life was draw
ing to a close. Then it was that the Czarina seemed to him as
a consoling angel. A secret melancholy preyed upon his mind,
occasioned by the check his ambition had received, and made
dreadful ravages upon his health ; he, therefore, set out for
Carlsbad, accompanied by Catherine, who now never quitted him.
On his return, the marriage, took place between the Czarowitz
Alexis and the Princess of Wolfenbuttel. The nuptial cere
mony was performed at Torgau, on the 9th of January, 1712.
Catherine has been accused of exciting Peter's hatred towards
his son — an odious imputation, which nothing appears to justify.
The Prince 7\.loxis Petrowitz had always been an object of dis-
Hke to his father, and this feeling was greatly aggravated by the

CATHiiRINE ALEXIEWNA. 241
prince's own conduct. The time of these scenes has long been
past, and we may now dispassionately weigh the conduct of
both father and son. But it is cruelly unjust to impute these
dissensions to the Czarina, without a single fact to substantiate
the charge. Catherine was not at Torgau when the prince's
marriage took place, but at Thorn, in Polish Prussia. An ex
cuse had been made to prevent her from being present at the
ceremony, but it was in no wise connected with her feelings as a
step-mother. Though Czarina of Russia, she had, nevertheless,
at that period not been formally acknowledged, and had only
the title of Highness which rendered her rank too equivocal for
her name to appear in the marriage contract, or for the rigidity
of German etiquette to assign her a place in the ceremony suita
ble to the wife of the Czar. On the conclusion of the marriage
Peter sent the young couple to Wolfenbuttel, and proceeded to
Thorn to fetch Catherine, whom he conducted to Petersburg
with the dispatch and simplicity that always characterized his
mode of traveling.
Some weeks after, and without Catherine having manifested
the slightest wish on the subject, Peter again formally de
clared his marriage, and on the I9th of February, 1712, she was
regularly proclaimed Czarina. Though in consequence of the
disasters of the late war, the ceremony en this occasion was less
magnificent than it would otherwise have been ; it bore,gieverthe-
less, a character of splendor which no other monarch than Peter
could have imparted to it, especially at that period. This was
the phUosophy displayed by the chief of a great empire, who at
the very time he had obtained a princely aUiance for the heir
to his throne — for that Czarowitz whose birth "was the only ad
vantage he possessed — placed as his own consort upon that
throne an obscure female, a slave captured during the sacking
16

242 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA.
of a town, but in whom he had found a noble mind and a gene
rous heart. There is in his action a real respect for high genius
— there is, moreover, a grateful sense of kind and useful ser
vices which does the greatest honor to the human heart.
Catherine again became pregnant, and in 1713 gave birth to
another daughter. She had hoped for a son, as Peter made no
secret of his wish to have one ; and the disappointment affected
her so much that she became seriously ill. At length a fresh
pregnancy was announced, on which occasion Peter instituted
the order of St. Catherine, and celebrated the event by a tri
umphal entry.
Of all the sights which Peter could give his subjects, this was
the most pleasing to them. On the present occasion, the officers
of the Swedish navy, whom the Czar had made prisoners, with
Rear-admiral Erenschild at their head, were made to pass under
a triumphal arch which Peter had himself designed, and do
homage to a half-savage, named Romodanowski, upon whom the
Czar, in one of his jovial fits, had had conferred the mock-title
of Czar of Moscow, treating him in public as if he were really
master of that city, and ordering almost all his decrees to be
followed. This man, the most rude and brutal of Russians,
was Peter's court-fool, kept in imitation of the practice in the
middle ages. Romodanowski had always a frightful bear by
his side, which he had made his favorite, as he was himself the
favorite of his imperial master.
The Czarina was at length delivered of a son. But the Czar's
pleasure at this event was embittered by the Czarowitz Alexis
having also a son ; and this rekindled in his bosom those stormy
passions often so dreadful, even to the objects of his fondest af
fection. Catherine's confinement interrupted for a time her excursions

CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 243
with the Czar through his dominions, sometimes upon the lakes,
and sometimes at sea, even during violent storms ; but they were
resumed on her recovery. Peter had visited every part of Eu
rope, like a man anxious to acquire knowledge, and to study
the manners of different nations. He now resolved to make a
second tour, and study the manners of courts. Catherine ac
companied him to Copenhagen, Prussia, and several of the Ger
man principalities. At length Peter saw Amsterdam once more,
and visited the cottage at Sardam, in which he had long resided
as a simple shipwright. He, however, reached the Dutch capital
alone, the Czarina having remained at Schwerin, unwell, and far
advanced in pregnancy. Some hours after he had left her, she
was informed that, during his residence at Sardam, he had pas
sionately loved a young girl of that place. In alarm at this
information, she immediately left Schwerin to follow him, not
withstanding the intense cold — it being then the month of
January. On reaching Vesel, the pains of labor came on un
expectedly, and she was delivered of a male child, which died
soon after. In less than twenty-four hours after, she resumed
her journey, and on the tenth day arrived at Amsterdam. Peter
at first received her with anger ; but moved by this proof of
her affection, in which she had risked her life to follow him, he
soon forgave her. They visited together the cottage at Sardam,
which had been converted into an elegant and commodious little
dwelling ; thence they proceeded to the house of a rich ship
builder named Kalf, where they dined. Kalf was the first for
eigner who had traded with Petersburg, and had thereby won
the Czar's gratitude. Catherine took great notice of this family,
because she knew that Peter was pleased at the attentions she
bestowed upon foreigners of talent in general, and especiaUy
upon Kalf, to whom he considered himself so greatly indebted.

244 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA.
The Czar remained three months in Holland, where he was
letained by matters of great moment. The European con
spiracy of Goetz and Alberoni, in favor of the Stuarts, had
already extended its ramifications far and wide, and Peter
deemed it necessary to go to Paris in order to see more clearly
into the plot. But a too rigorous etiquette would have been
required for the Czarina, at the French court ; and, being ap
prehensive of the trifling and sarcastic wit of the French cour
tiers, he was unwUling to expose his consort to that which the
Livonian peasant and the slave of Menzicoff might have been
forced to endure. Catherine, therefore, remained in Holland
during his absence. On his return, he listened very attentively
to her remarks on the plan of Goetz and Alberoni, and it was
by her advice that he kept in such perfect measure with all the
conspirators, leaving them to place their batteries, and reserving
to himself the power of either using or rendering them nugatory,
as it might suit his purpose
Catherine, at this period, was only thirty-three years of age,
and as beautiful as on the day when Peter first beheld her. The
strong feeling then inspired by the young and artless gW, had
ripened into a sentiment of deep affection identic with his ex
istence ; it had become a passion which, in a man like Peter
the Great, was necessarily exclusive and suspicious. In him,
jealousy was like a raging fiend — its effects were appalling.
But I must not anticipate. He continued to travel with Cathe
rine by his side, happy at seeing her share his fatigues, not only
without repining, but with tlio same smUe upon her lips, the
same sparkle in her eye. Yet the life they both led was as
simple and as fuU of privations as that of Charles XII. or the
King of Prussia. The train of a German bishop was more
magnificent than that of the sovereigns of Russia. During this

CATHERINE ILEXIEWNA, 245
journey to Holland, Catherine, to avoid a short separation from
the Czar, made an excursion with him which lasted ten days,
during which she had not a single female attendant. It was by
such attentions that she secured her power over Peter's heart.
The Czar had originally intended to prolong his journey, and
proceed .to Vienna, whither he had been invited by the Emperor
of Austria, his son's brother-in-law. But important news from
Russia induced him to alter his intention, and return in all haste
to Petersburg, where the noble qualities of a great monarch
were soon to disappear, and leave in their room nothing but the
ferocity of a savage and blood-thirsty Scythian.
His son, he said, was conspiring against him. But the un
happy prince was a mere tool in the hands of the monks, and
of the old disaffected boyards who had resisted Peter's measures
for the civilization of his country.
Eudocia Theodorowna Lapaukin, Peter's first wife, had been
educated in the prejudices and superstitions of her age and
country. Unable to comprehend the great designs of the Czar,
she had always endeavored to impede them. Her son had been
allowed constantly to visit her in her retirement, and had im
bibed from her the same feelings against his father's innova
tions. He considered them sacrUegious and abominable, and
was led to suppose that his opinions were shared by the whole
nation. Thus was the bitterest animosity excited between the
Czar and his son, and attended with those lament.able effects
which always ensue when the bonds of nature are burst asunder
by hatred. This feeling, when it exists between a parent and
his child, ought to have a separate name.
The Czar's marriage with Catherine had completed the dis
affection of the prince, who considered himself a victim destined
to be sacrified in order to leave the throne free for the chUdrcn

246 {;atherine alexiewna.
of this new marriage. Haunted by these feelings, and by a
dread of his. father's ultimate projects with regard to himself.
he sought refuge in debauchery of the lowest and most debasing
kind, to which indeed he had always been addicted. His life
was now most brutal and degrading. His marriage, far from
reclaiming him, had rather increased his evil propensities. His
wife died from ill-usage, aggravated by the want of even the
common necessaries, four years after their union, leaving him
an only son.
It was at this period that Peter began to be alarmed at the
future prospects of Russia. If the nation, scarcely emancipated
from its savage state, fell under the rule of his son, he foresaw
the annihilation of all his plans of improvement, and that his
successor would become the slave of those old boyards with long
beards, who could not elevate their minds above the rude, and
barbarous customs of their ancestors. This induced him, before
he set out for Germany, to write to the Czarowitz, offering him
his choice of a change of conduct or a cloister.
The Czar was in Denmark when he heard that his son had
clandestinely left Russia, and he immediately returned to Mos
cow. Alexis, betrayed by his mistress, was arrested at Naples,
and conducted back to Moscow. On appearing before his irri
tated parent, he trembled for his Hfe, and tendered a voluntary
renunciation of his claims to the throne.
It has been urged by some writers that the infiuence of a
step-mother was but too apparent in the bitterness of Peter's
feelings toward the Czarowitz. Catherine had a son just born ;
she had also two daughters, and it was but reasonable that she
should entertain fears on their account, if Alexis succeeded to
the throne. And was it natural, they ask, that a father should
offer his first-born as a sacrifice to fears that mis-bt never ha

CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 247
realized .' — that he should use the blood of his child as a cement
to join the stones of his political edifice .'
But Peter had real grounds of apprehension for the safety of
the establishments he had created, and was justified in supposing
that the plans he might leave to be executed by his successor,
would never be carried into execution. He had spent his life
in emancipating his country from the lowest state of moral degra
dation, and he anticipated the glory to which his empire would
rise after his death. He, therefore, discarded the feelings of the
father to assume those of the stern legislator ; and perhaps he
felt less difficulty in doing so from the brutalized condition of his
son, whom he had never beheld with affection.
On the 14th of February, 1718, the great bell of JIoscow
vibrated its hollow death-knell through the city. The privy
councillors and boyards were assembled in the Kremlin ; the
archimandrites, the bishops, and the monks of St. Basil, in the
cathedral. A vast multitude circulated, in silent consternation,
through the city, and it went from mouth to mouth that the
Czarowitz was about to be condemned on the accusation of his
father. Alexis still clung to life, and, in the hope that he might yet
be allowed to live, tendered a second renunciation of his claims
to the throne, expressly in favor of Catherine's children. When
he had signed it, he thought himself safe. How little did he
know his stern father ! He was conducted to the cathedral, there
again to hear the act of his exheredation read ; and when he
had drained the cup of anguish prepared for him, it was filled
ao-ain and again. But the debased heart of the wretched man
would not break ; he was unable to feel the full weight of
infamy heaped upon him.
On his return, sentence of death was passed upon him, and

248 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA,
he fell into dreadful convulsions, which terminated in apoplexy.
Before he received the sacrament, he requested to see his father.
Peter went to his bed-side — unmoved at the groans of the son
whom his words had stricken with death. For a time the symp
toms became milder, but they soon after returned with greater
violence, and in the evening the prince expired.
Catherine attended the funeral ; perhaps she did so in com
pliance with the Czar's wish ; but it has been imputed to her as
a sort of savage triumph over the remains of him who was now
unable ever to come forward and say to her son, " Give me hack
my crown."
Those anxious to divest her of all blame in this tragical event,
pretend that she had entreated the Czar to shut up the prince
in a monastery. But this defence is more injurious than useful ;
as it shows that, at all events; she advised shutting out from the
world him whom God had placed upon the steps of the throne
before her son. On the other hand it is said, that Catherine,
if she interfered at all, should have used her exertions, even to
the braving of Peter's wrath, to prevent the condemnation of
Alexis, for whose Hfe she was more accountable than his own
mother ; and that she, whose influence over the Czar was un
bounded, who could at all times awaken the kindliest emotions
of his nature, must have succeeded, had she seriously made the
attempt, in obtaining the prince's pardon.
But this is mere hypothetical reasoning. Nobody either
knew, or could know, what passed in private between the Czar
and his consort, and it is but just to give Catherine the benefit
of her conduct throughout her whole previous life, no one act
of which can justify such an imputation.
I have, however, seen a manuscript, in which it is 'positively
asserted, that Catherine was by no means guiltless of the death

CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 249
of Alexis ; and in support of this statement, it is urged, that hei
power over the Czar was so great as to eradicate the hatred he
had so long entertained toward Charles XII. Certain it is,
that Peter followed her advice in most of his great political
measures ; and it was much more through her exertions, than
those of Messrs. Goetz and Alberoni, that the famous treaty
was concluded to restore the Stuarts to the throne of England.
But is this alone sufficient to stamp her memory with so foul a
stain ? — and was not the case of the Czarowitz one calculated to
call forth, with a violence which no influence could repress, all
the savage ferocity of Peter's character ?
Scarcely was the treaty concluded against the reigning family
in England, ere a chance-ball from a culverin killed Charles
XII. in Frederiokshall. This event was soon succeeded by other
disasters — the Spanish fleet was burned ; the conspiracy of Cel-
lamarre was discovered in France ; Goetz was beheaded at
Stockholm, and Alberoni banished from Italy. And of this
_ formidable league the Czar alone remained — having committed
himself with none of the conspirators, and yet being master of
the whole. It was Catherine who had communicated with Goetz
in Holland, because, though the Czar wished to avoid speaking
to him, he was nevertheless anxious to treat. She it was who
managed the whole business, and in truth she displayed won
derful address and diplomatic taotj Soon after the failure of
the conspiracy, she again rendered the Czar a service almost as
s'gnal as that on the banks of the Pruth. On the death of
Charles XII., the negotiations with Sweden were again broken
off. Though the congress of Aland was not dissolved, the Eng
lish and Swedish fleets had united, and hostihties were again
threatened. The new Queen of Sweden, however, being de-
BU-ouB of peace, had the Czarina privately spoken to ; and

250 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA.

Catherine communicated this to Peter, who, acting upon her
advice, consented to the holding of a congress at Neustadt, in
Finland, where peace was concluded on the 10th of September,
1721. The exertions of Catherine contributed much more to
bring about this event, than the united talents of the statesmen
composing the congress.
Peter was overjoyed at this peace. He was now able to em
ploy his numerous armies in cutting roads and canals through
Russia, and in such other works as formed part of his plans for
the improvement of his country. The triumphal entries which
I have before mentioned, were nothing in comparison to the
rejoicings which took place on this occasion. The prisons were
thrown open, and all criminals pardoned, except those guilty of
high treason, to whom the Czar could not consistently extend
his clemency, after having condemned his son to death for the
same crime.
Russia now conferred upon Peter the titles of Father of hia
Country, Great, and Emperor. The Chancellor Goloffkin, at,
the head of the senate and synod, and speaking in the name of
all the bodies of the state, saluted him by these titles, in the
great cathedral. On the same day, the ambassadors of France,
Germany, England, Denmark, and Sweden, complimented him
by the same titles. He was now acknowledged Emperor through
out Europe ; and strong among the strong, the prosperity of his
dominions doubled his power.
" It is my wish," said he one day, to the Archbishop of No-
vogorod, " to acknowledge by a striking public ceremony all
the services which Catherine has rendered me. It is she who
has maintained me in the place I now occupy. She is not
only my tutelary angel, but that of the Russian empire. She
shall be anointed and crowned Empress ; and as you are primate

CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA, 251
of Russia, you shall perform the ceremony of her consecra
tion." The archbishop bowed. He had long been anxious that Peter
should revive the patriarchate, and this opportunity seemed
to him too good to be lost. He, therefore, observed to the
emperor, that such a ceremony would derive additional splendor
from being performed by the patriarch of Russia.
" Sir," replied Peter, with a frown, " had I required a
patriarch in my dominions, I should long since have appointed
Jotoff,* who would make a very good one. Catherine shaU be
crowned, and well crowned too — but without a patriarch."
The archbishop attempted to reply ; but Peter having lifted
a stick which he always carried, the prelate was silent.
On the 18th of May, 1724, the ceremony of Catherine's
coronation took place in the cathedral at Moscow. The de
claration made by the emperor on this occasion, after stating
that several Christian princes, and among others Justinian, Leo
the phUosopher, and St. Heraclius, had crowned their wives in
the same manner, contained the following words : —
" And being further desirous of acknowledging the eminent
services she has rendered us, especially in our war with Turkey,
when our army, reduced to twenty-two thousand men, had to
contend with more than two hundred thousand, we crown and
proclaim her Empress of Russia."
Pet3r, always simple in his dress, was pleased to see Catherine
follow his example ; but no man knew better how to use pomp
and pageantry when the occasion required it. At this cere
mony, Catherine appeared resplendent with gold and jewels,
and her retinue was worthy of a great sovereign. One thing
in it ivas remarkable— the emperor walked before her on foot,
• Jotoff was a half.-n'itted old man, a sort of hulToon,

252 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA.
as captain of a company of new body-guards, which he had
formed under the title of Knights of the Empress. When the
procession reached the church, he stationed himself by her side,
and remained there during the whole ceremony. He himself
placed the crown upon her head. She then attempted to em
brace his knees ; but he raised her before her knee had touched
the ground, and embraced her tenderly. On their return, he
ordered that the crown and sceptre should be borne before her.
Catherine had reason to be proud of such a triumph of genius
over the prejudices of society ; but she was not long to enjoy
it, for a cruel reverse awaited her, and that reverse was brought
on by her own folly.
Catherine owed everything to the emperor, and the benefits
he had conferred upon her, claimed a strength of gratitude
never to be shaken. But an offence which she received, and
the conviction that the emperor had become indifferent to her,
made her for a moment lose sight of this feeling, and led to the
deplorable events which I have stUl to relate.
One day, whilst the empress was at her toilet, a vice-admiral,
named Villebois, a Frenchman in the service of Russia, arrived
with a message from the emperor. Villebois was a man of low
origin ; he had left his country to avoid the gaUows, and the
grossness of his habits was such as qualified him to be one of
Peter's pot-companions. He was completely intoxicated when
he entered the empress's apartment. This Catherine did not
at first perceive ; but she made the discovery by receiving from
Villebois one of the grossest insults that can be offered to a
woman. She demanded vengeance of the emperor for this
affront ; but Peter laughed at it, and merely condemned the
offender to six months' labor at the galleys.
The seeming indifference which dictated this sentence, cut

CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 253
her to the soul. She imagined she had lost Peter's affection,
for it was the only way in which she could account for his not
punishing more severely the man who had offended her. On
other occasions he would inflict death for an indiscreet word,
and here, he had treated with ridicule a gross outrage offered to
his wife — to that Catherine whom he had once so fondly loved.
This unfortunate idea having once taken possession of her mind,
daily gained strength.
Ever since her coronation, she had an establishment separate
from that of the emperor. Her lady of the bed-chamber,
Madame de Balk, was that same beautiful Anna Moens to
whom Peter had formerly been attached, and who had refused
to become Czarina. She had first married the Prussian minister
Kayserlingen, and after his death, Lieutenant-General Balk.
Peter had placed her in her present station, and had also
appointed her brother, Moens de la Croix, chamberlain to the
empress. Moens was young, handsome, and highly accom
plished. The admiration he at first felt for Catherine soon
ripened into a warmer feeling, and, unhappUy, he had but too
frequent opportunities of seeing her in private. On the other
hand, the mind of the empress was UI at ease, and needed con
solation. This led to a most imprudent intimacy, which, if
not connected with guUt in Catherine, was, to say the least of
it, extremely improper.
By the care of Madame de Balk it remained for a long time
unperceived. But at length, Jagouchinsky, a contemptible ruf
fian, then a favorite of Peter's, and one of the companions of
his orgies, had a suspicion of it, and determined to watch the
empress and her chamberlain. Having at length satisfied him
self that his conjectures were not unfounded, he boldly declared
to Petsr that Catherine was faithless to his bed. On receiving

254 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA.
this intimation, the emperor roared like a raging lion. His
first idea was to put her and her supposed paramour to death,
and thgn stab the informer to the heart, as being acquainted
with his shame. But, on reflection, he resolved to do nothing
till he had obtained fuU evidence of the crime. He, therefore,
feigned to quit Petersburg, but only rethed to his winter
palace, whence he sent a confidential page to the empress that
he should be absent two days.
At midnight he entered a secret gallery of Catherine's palace,
of which he alone kept the key. Here he passed Madame de
Balk unperceived, and entered a room where a page, who either
did not know him or pretended not to know him, attempted to
stop his progress. Peter knocked him down, and entering the
next apartment found the empress in conversation with Moens.
Having approached them, he made an attempt to speak, but
the violence of his emotion choked his utterance. Casting at
the chamberlain, and at his sister, who had just entered the
room, one of those withering glances which speak but too
plainly, he turned towards Catherine, and struck her so violently
with his cane that the blood gushed from her neck and shoulder.
Then rushing out of the room, he ran like a mad-man to the
house of Prince Repnin, and burst violently into his bed-room.
The Prince roused from his sleep, and seeing the emperor
standing by his bed-side frantic with rage, gave himself up for lost.
" Get up," said Peter, in a hoarse voice, " and fear nothing.
Don't tremble, man — thou hast nothing to fear."
Repnin rose and heard the emperor's tale. Meantime
Peter was walking up and down the room, breaking everything
within his reach.
" At day-break," said he, when he had finished his tale, " I
will have this ungrateful wanton beheaded."

CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 255
" No, sir," replied Repnin with firmness, " you wUl give no
such orders. You will take this matter into further considera
tion ; first, because you have been injured, and secondly, be
cause you are the absolute master of your subjects. But why,
sir, should the circumstance be divulged ? — it can answer no
good purpose. You have revenged yourself upon the Strelitz ;
you have considered it your duty to condemn your own son to
death ; and if you now behead the empress, your fame will be
forever tarnished. Let not each phasis of your reign be marked
by blood. Let Moens die ; — but the empress ! — would you at
the very moment you have placed the imperial crown upon her
head, sever that head ? No, sir ! the crown you gave her ought
to be her safeguard."
Peter made no reply— he was fearfully agitated. For a con
siderable time he kept his eyes sternly fixed upon Repnin, then
left him without uttering another word. Moens and his sister
were immediately arrested, and imprisoned in a room of the
winter-palace. Their food was taken to them by Peter him
self, who allowed no other person to see them.
At length he interrogated Moens in the presence of General
Uschakoff. Having fixed his eyes upon the chamberlain with a
disdainful look, he told him that he was accused, as was also his
sister, of having received presents, and thereby endangered the
reputation of the empress.
Moens returned Peter's scowl, and replied : —
" Your victim is before you, sir. State as my confession
anything you please, and I will admit all."
The emperor smUed with convulsive bitterness. Proceedings
were immediately begun against the brother and sister. Moens
was condemned to be beheaded — Madame de Balk to receive
eleven blows with the knout. This lady had two sons, one a

256 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA.
page, the other a chamberlain ; both were degraded from their
rank, and sent to the Persian army to serve as common
soldiers. Catherine threw herself at the emperor's feet to obtain the
pardon of Madame de Balk, reminding Peter how dearly he had
once loved Anna Bloens. The emperor brutally pushed her
back, and in his fury broke with a blow of his fist a large and
beautiful Venitian looking-glass.
" There," said he, " it requires only a blow of my hand to
reduce this glass to its original dust."
Catherine looked at him with the most profound anguish, and
replied, in a melting accent, —
" It is true that you have destroyed one of the greatest orna
ments of your palace, but do you think that your palace will be
improved by it .?"
This remark rendered the emperor more calm, but he refused
to grant ,the pardon. The only thing Catherine could obtain
was, that the number of blows should be reduced to five. These
Peter inflicted with his own hand.
Moens died with great firmness. He had in his possession a
mhiiature portrait of the empress set in a small diamond brace
let. It was not perceived when he was arrested, and he had
preserved it tUl the last moment, concealed under his garter,
whence he contrived to take it unperceived, and deliver it to
the Lutheran minister who attended him and who exhorted
him to return it to the empress.
Peter stationed himself at one of the windows of the senate-
house, to behold the execution. When all was over, he as
cended the scaffold, and seizing the head of Moens by the hair,
lifted it up with the ferocious delight of a savage exultin"- in
successful revenge. Some hours after he entered the apart-

CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 257

ment of the empress. He found her pale and care-worn, but
her eyes were tearless, though her heart was bursting.
" Come and take a drive," said he, seizing her by the hand
and dragging her towards an open carriage. When she had
entered it, he drove her himself to the foot of the pole to which
the head of her late chamberlain was nailed.
" Such is the end of traitors !" he exclaimed — fixing the most
scrutinizing gaze upon Catherine's eyes, expecting to see them
full of tears. But the empress was sufficiently mistress of her
emotions to appear indifferent to this sight of horror. Peter
conducted her back to the palace, and had scarcely left her
when she fell fainting upon the floor.
From that time until the emperor's last illness, they never
met except in public. It is said that Peter burnt a will he had
made, appointing Catherine his successor ; but there is not the
slightest proof that such a will ever existed. It is also said that
he stated his determination of having her head shaved and con
fining her in a convent, immediately after the marriage of Eliza
beth, her second daughter.
Catherine had a strong party at, the Russian court, and was
extremely popular throughout the empire. The army was
wholly devoted to her ; both officers and men had seen her
among them sharing their dangers and privations, and she was
their idol. A measure of such extreme harshness would, per
haps, have endangered Peter's own power, and exposed him to
great personal danger. Menzicoff, an able and clear-sighted
statesman, in whom the empress had great confidence, was at
the head of her party, and ready to support her in any measures
she might take for her personal safety. But the violent agita
tion to which Peter had been lately a prey, and the shock he
had received from supposing Catherine faithless to his bed,

258 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA.
brought on one of those attacks which had often before placed
his life in jeopardy. This time, the symptoms appeared so ag
gravated, that the physicians lost all hope. The convulsions
succeeded each other with frightful rapidity, and the life of
Peter the Great was soon beyond the power of human art. On
receiving intimation of his illness, Catherine immediately has
tened to his bed-side, which she no longer quitted. She sat up
with him three successive nights, without taking any rest during
the day, and on the 28th of January, 1725, he expired in her
arms. Peter had been unable to speak from the moment his com
plaint took a fatal turn. He, however, made several attempts
to write, but unsuccessfully ; and the following words alone
could be made out : —
" Let everything be dehvered to  "
MeanwhUe, Menzicoff had taken his measures to secure the
throne for Catherine, whose son had died in 1719. He seized
upon the treasury and the citadel, and the moment Peter's
death was announced, he proclaimed the Empress under the
name of Catherine I. He encountered but Httle opposition,
and the great majority of the nation haUed her accession to the
throne as a blessing.
The beginning of her reign was glorious, for she religiously
foUowed the intentions of Peter. He had instituted the Order
of St. Alexander Newski, and she conferred it ; he had also
formed the project of founding an academy, and she founded it.
She suppressed the rebelHon of the Cossacks, and there is no
doubt that, if she had lived, her reign would have been re
markable. But a short time after her accession to the throne,
she feU into a state of languor, arising from a serious derange
ment of her health. The complaint was aggravated by an im.

CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA, 2bSl
moderate use of Tokay wine, in which her physicians could not
prevent her from indulging ; and she died on the 27th of May,
1727, aged thirty-eight years.
Catherine was one of the most extraordinary women the world
has produced. She would have distinguished herself in any
station. Her soul was great and noble ; her intellect quick
and capacious. Her total want of education only serves to
throw a stronger light upon her strength of mind and powerful
genius. Doubtless there are some passages in her life, which
might, with advantage, be expunged from her history ; but
much has been imputed to her, of which she was guiltless. She
has been taxed with hastening Peter's death, by giving him
poison. This Voltaire has triumphantly refuted, The impu
tation was raised by a party who had espoused the interests of
the Czarowitz, and were hostUe to the improvements introduced
by Peter, More than a century had elapsed since these events
took place, and the hatred and prejudices which attended them
have gradually melted away. Any but a dispassionate examina
tion of this heinous charge is now impossible, and it must lead
to a complete acquittal of Catherine.

lij j^ i* i a I [| e i^ e 3 '4

EMPRESS OF GERMANY, AND Q0EEN OF HUKGART,
Maria Theresa, of Austria — born on the 13th of May
1717 — was the daughter of Charles the Sixth, Eniperor of
Germany, and Elizabeth Christina, of Brunswick, a lovely and
amiable woman, who possessed and deserved her husband's
entire confidence and affection.
Maria Theresa had beauty, spirit, and understanding. To
her sister, Marianna, she was tenderly attached. The two arch
duchesses were brought up under the superintendence of their
mother, and received an education in no respect different from
that of other young ladies of rank of the same age and country.
In those accomplishments to which her time was chiefly devoted,
Maria Theresa made rapid progress. She inherited from her
father a taste for music, which was highly cultivated, and re
mained to the end of her life one of her principal pleasures.
She danced and moved with exquisite grace. Metastasio, who
taught her Italian, and also presided over her musical studies,
speaks of his pupil with delight and admiration, and in his
letters he often alludes to her talen.t, her docility, and the sweet
ness of her manners. Of her progress in graver acquirements
we do not hear. Much of her time was given to the strict ob
servance of the forms of the Roman Catholic faith ; and though
she could not derive from the bigoted old women and ecclesias
tics around her any very enlarged and enlightened ideas of
religion, her piety was at least sincere. She omitted no oppor-

264 MARIA THERESA,

tunities of obtaining information relative to the history and
geography of her country ; and she appears to have been early
possessed with a most magnificent idea of the power and
grandeur of her family, and of the lofty rank to which she was
destined. This early impression of her own vast importance
was only counterhalanood by her feelings and habits of devotion,
and by tho natural sweetness and benignity of her disposition.
Such was Maria Theresa at the age of sixteen or seventeen.
She had been destined from her infancy to marry the young
Duke of Lorraine, who was brought up in the court of Vienna,
as her intended husband. It is very, very seldom that these
political state-marriages terminate happily, or harmonize with
the wishes and feelings of those principally concerned ; but in
the present case " the course of true love" was blended with
that of policy. Francis Stephen of Lorraine was the son of
Leopold, Duke of Lorraae, surnamed the Good and Benevolent.
.His grandmother, Leonora of Austria, was the eldest sister of
Charles VI., and he was consequently the cousin of his intended
bride. Francis was not possessed of shining talents, but he had
a good understanding and an excellent heart ; he was, besides,
eminently handsome, indisputably brave, and accomplished in
aU the courtly exercises that became a prince and a gentleman.
In other respects his education had been strangely neglected ;
he could scarcely read or write. From childhood the two
cousins had been fondly attached, and their attachment was
perhaps increased, at least on the side of Maria Theresa, by
those political obstacles which long deferred their union, and
even threatened at one time a lasting separation. Towards the
end of his reign the affairs of Charles VI., through his imbe
cility and misgovernment, fell into the most "deplorable, the
most inextricable confusion. Overwhelmed by his enemies.

MARIA THERESA. 265
unaided by his friends and alhes, he absolutely entertained the
idea of entering into a treaty with Spain, and offering his daugh
ter Maria Theresa, in marriage to Prince Charles, the heir of
that monarchy.
But Maria Theresa was not of a temper to submit quietly to
an arrangement of which she was to be made the victim ; she
remonstrated, she wept, she threw herself for support and assist
ance into her mother's arms. The empress, who idolized her
daughter and regarded the Duke of Lorraine as her son, in
cessantly pleaded against this sacrifice of her daughter's happi
ness. The English minister at Vienna* gives the following
lively description of the state of affairs at this time, and of the
feelings and deportment of the young archduchess : — " She is,"
says Mr. Robinson, " a princess of the highest spirit ; her
father's losses are her own. She reasons already ; she enters
into affairs ; she admires his virtues, but condemns his misman
agement ; and is of a temper so formed for rule and ambition,
as to look upon him as little more than her administrator.
Notwithstanding this lofty humor, she sighs and pines 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 in
dividual government and the very individual husband which she
thinks herself born to, than of her forgiving the authors of her
losing either."
Charles VI., distracted and perplexed by the difficulties of
his situation, by the passionate grief of his daughter, by the re
monstrances of his wife and the rest of his family, and without
sphit, or ablHties, or confidence in himself or others, became a
pitiable object. During the day, and whUe transacting business
• Mr. Robinson, afterward the first Lord Grantham of his family.

266 MARIA THIRESA.
with his ministers, he maintained his accustomed dignity and
formality ; but in the dead of the night, in the retirement of his
own chamber, and when alone with the empress, he gave way
to such paroxysms of affliotion, that not his health only, but his
life was endangered, and his reason began to give way. A
peace with France had become necessary on any terms, and
almost at any sacrifice ; and a secret negotiation was com
menced with Cardinal Pleury, then at the head of the French
government, under (or, more properly speaking, over) Louis the
Fifteenth. By one of the principal articles of this treaty, the
Duchy of Lorraine was to be given up to France, and annexed
to that kingdom ; and the Duke of Lorraine was to receive, in
lieu of his hereditary possessions, the whole of Tuscany. The
last Grand Duke of Tuscany of the family of the Medici, the
feeble and degenerate Cosmo III., was still alive, but in a state
of absolute dotage, and the claims of his heiress, Anna de'
Medici, were to be set aside. Neither the inhabitants of Lor
raine nor the people of Tuscany were consulted in this arbitrary
exchange. A few diplomatic notes between Charles's secretary
Bartenstein and the crafty old cardinal, settled the matter. It
was in vain that the government of Tuscany remonstrated, and
in vain that Francis of Lorraine overwhelmed the Austrian
ministers with reproaches, and resisted, as far as he was able,
this impudent transfer of his own people and dominions to a
foreign power. Bartenstein had the insolence to say to him,
" Monseigneur, point de cession, point d'archiduchesse."
Putting love out of the question, Francis could not determine
to stake his Httle inheritance against the brilliant succession
which awaited him with Blaria Theresa. The alternative, how
ever, threw him into suijh agony and distress of mind, that even
his health was seriously affected. But peace was necessary to

:aria -¦heresa. 267

the interests, and even to the preservation of the empire,
Lorraine was given up, and the reversion of the grand-
duchy of Tuscany settled upon Francis.* The preliminaries
of this treaty being signed in 1735, the emperor was re
lieved from impending ruin, and his daughter from all her
apprehensions of the Prince of Spain ; and, ho further obsta
cles intervening, the nuptials of Maria Theresa and Francis
of Lorraine were celebrated at Vienna in February, 1736.
By the marriage contract the Pragmatic Sanction was again
signed and ratified,- and the Duke of Lorraine solemnly bound
himself never to assert any personal right to the Austrian
dominions. The two great families of Hapsburgh and Lor
raine, descended from a common ancestor, were by this mar
riage re-united in the same stock.
Prince Eugene, who had commanded the imperial armies for
nearly forty years, died a few days after the marriage of Maria
Theresa, at the age of seventy-three. His death was one of the
greatest misfortunes that could have occurred at this period,-
both to the emperor and the nation.
A young princess, beautiful and amiable, the heiress of one
of the greatest monarchies in Europe, married at the age of
eighteen to the man whom she had long and deeply loved, and
who returned her affection, and soon the happy mother of two
fair infants, presents to the imagination as pretty a picture of
splendor and felicity as ever was exhibited in romance or fairy
tale ; but when we turn over the pages of history, or look into
real Hfe, everywhere we behold the hand of a just Providence
equalizing the destiny of mortals.
During the four years which elapsed between Maria Theresa's
• Tuscany has ever since remained in the family of Lorraine ; the present
Grand-duke Leopold II. is the great-grandson of Francis

268 MARIA THERESA

marriage and her accession to the throne, her life was
embittered by anxieties arising out of her political position.
Her husband was appointed generaHssimo of the imperial armies
against the Turks, in a war which both, himself and IMaria
Theresa disapproved. He left her in the first year of their
marriage, to take the command of the army, and more than once
too rashly exposed his life. Francis had more bravery than
mUitary skUl. He was baffled and hampered in his designs by
the weak jealousy of the emperor and the cabals of the
ministers and generals. All the disasters of two unfortunate
campaigns were imputed to him, and he returned to Vienna
disgusted, irritated, sick at heart, and suffering from illness.
The court looked coldly on him ; he was unpopular with the
nation and with the soldiery ; but his wife received him with
open arms, and, with a true woman's tenderness, " loved him
for the dangers he had passed." She nursed him into health,
she consoled him, she took part in all his wrongs and feelings,
and was content to share with him the frowns of her father and
the popular dislike. They were soon afterward sent into a kind
of honorable exile into Tuscany, under pretence of going to
take possession of their new dominions, and in their absence it
was publicly reported that the emperor intended to give his
second daughter to the Elector of Bavaria, to change the order
of succession in her favor, and disinherit Maria Theresa. The
archduchess and her husband were more annoyed than alarmed
by these reports, but their sojourn at Florence was a period of
constant and cruel anxiety.
Maria Theresa had no sympathies with her Italian sub
jects ; she had no poetical or patriotic associations to render
the " fair white walls of Florence" and its olive and vine-
covered hills interesting or dear to her ; she disliked the

MARIA THERESA. 269
heat of the climate ; she wished herself at Vienna, whence
every post brought some fresh instance of her father's mis
government, some new tidings of defeat or disgrace. She
mourned over the degradation of her house, and saw her mag
nificent and far-descended heritage crumbling away from her.
The imbecile emperor, without confidence in his generals, his
ministers, his family, or himself, exclaimed, in an agony, " Is
then the fortune of my empire departed with Eugene .'"
and he lamented hourly the absence of Maria Theresa, in
whose strength of mind he had ever found support when his
pride and jealousy allowed him to seek it. The archduchess
and her husband returned to Vienna in 1739, and soon after
ward the disastrous war with the Turks was terminated by a
precipitate and dishonorable treaty, by which Belgrade was
ceded to the Ottoman Porte. .The situation of the court of
Vienna at this period is thus described by the English minister,
Robinson : — " 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
determined to destroy, no less by domestic divisions than by the
more public calamities of repeated defeats, defencelessness,
poverty, plague, and famine."
Such was the deplorable state in which Charles bequeathed
to hia youthful heiress the dominions which had fallen to him
prosperous, powerful, and victorious, only thirty years before.
'The agitation of his mind fevered and disordered his frame,
and one night after eating most voraciously of a favorite
dish,* he was .seized with nn indigestion, of which he expired
October 20th, 17-iO, Maria Theresa, who was then near her
confinement, was not allowed to enter her father's chamber.
*¦ Mii.'ihronms stewed in oil.

270 MARIA THERESA
We are told that the grief she felt on hearing of his dissolu
tion endangered her life for a few hours, but that the following
day she was sufficiently recovered to give audience to the
ministers. Maria Theresa was in her twenty-fourth year when she
became in her own right Queen of Hungary and Bohemit',
Archduchess of Austria, Sovereign of the Netherlands, and
Duchess of MUan, of Parma, and Placentia ; in right of her
husband she was also Grand-duchess of Tuscany, Naples and
SioUy had indeed been wrested from her father, but she pre
tended to the right of those crowns, and long entertained the
hope and design of recovering them. She reigned over some
of the finest and fairest provinces of Europe ; over many na
tions speaking many different languages, governed by different
laws, divided by mutual antipathies, and held together by no
common link except that of acknowledging the same sovereign.
That sovereign was now a young inexperienced woman, who
had solemnly sworn to preserve inviolate and indivisible the vast
and heterogeneous empire transmitted to her feeble hand, as if
it had depended on her wUl to do so. Within the first few
months of her reign the Pragmatic Sanction, so frequently
guarantied was trampled under foot. France deferred, and at
longth decHned to acknowledge her title. The Elector of Ba
varia, supported by France, laid claim to Austria, Hungary,
and Bohemia. The King of Spain also laid claim to the Aus
trian succession, and prepared to seize on the Italian states ;
the king of Sardinia claimed MUan ; the King of Prussia, not
satisfied with merely advancing pretensions, pounced like a,
falcon on his prey, —
Spiegato il crudo sanguinoso artiglio, —

MARIA THERESA. 271
and seized upon the whole duchy of Silesia, which he laid waste
and occupied with his armies.*
Like the hind of the forest when the hunters are abroad,
who hears on every side the fierce baying of the hounds, and
stands and gazes round with dilated eye and head erect, not
knowing on which side the fury of the chase is to burst upon
her — so stood the lovely majesty of Austria, defenceless, and
trembling for her very existence, but not weak, nor irresolute,
nor despairing.
Maria Theresa was by no means an^ extraordinary woman.
In talents and strength of character she was inferior to Cathe
rine of Russia and Elizabeth of England, but in moral qualities
far superior to either ; and it may be questioned whether the
brUliant genius of the former, or the worldly wisdom and saga
city of the latter, could have done more to sustain a sinking
throne, than the popular and feminine virtues, the magnanimous
spirit, and unbending fortitude of IMaria Theresa. She had
something of the infiexible pride and hereditary obstinacy of her
family ; her understanding, naturally good, had been early
tinged with bigotry and narrowed by ilHberal prejudices ; but
in her early youth these quaHties only showed on the fairer side,
and served but to impart something fixed and serious to the vi
vacity of her disposition and the yielding tenderness of her heart.
She had all the self-will and all the sensibility of her sex ; she
was full of kindly impulses and good intentions ; she was not
naturally ambitious, though circumstances afterward developed
that passion in a strong degree ; she could be roused to temper,
* The French government had secretly matured a plan of partition, by which the
inheritance of Maria Theresa was to have been divided among the diflerent claim
ants in the following manner :— Bohemia and Upper Austria were assigned to the
Elector of Bavaria ; Moravia and Upper Silesia to the Elector of Saxony ; Lower
Bilesia to the K ing of Prussia ; and Lomhardy to the King of Spain.

272 MARIA THERESA.
but this was seldom, and never so far as to forget the dignity
and propriety of her sex. It should be mentioned, (for in the
situation in which she was placed is was by no means an unim
portant advantage,) that at this period of her life few women
could have excelled Blaria Theresa in personal attractions.
Her figure was tall, and formed with perfect elegance ; her de
portment at once graceful and majestic ; her features were
regular ; her eyes were gray, and full of lustre and expression ;
she had the full Austrian lips, but her mouth and smile were
beautiful ; her complexion was transparent ; she had a profusion
of fine hair ; and, to complete her charms, the tone of her
voice was peculiarly soft and sweet. Her strict religious princi
ples, or her early and excessive love for her husband, or the
pride of her royal station, or perhaps all these combined, had
preserved her character from coquetry. She was not uncon
scious of her powers of captivation, but she used them, not as
a woman, but as a queen — not to win lovers, but to gain over
refractory subjects. The " fascinating manner" which the his
torian records, and for which she was so nmch admired, became
later in life rather too courtly and too artificial ; but at four-
and-twenty it was the result of kind feeling, natural grace, and
youthful gayety.
The perUs which surrounded Maria Theresa at her accession
were such as would have appalled the strongest mind. She was
not only encompassed by enemies without, but threatened with
commotions within. She was without an army, without a trea
sury, and, in point of fact, without a ministry — for never was
such a set of imbecile men collected together to direct the
government of a kindom, as those who composed the conference
or state-council of Vienna, during this period. They agreed
but in one thing — in jealousy of the duke of Lorraine, whom

MARIA THERESA. 273
they considered as a foreigner, and who was content perforce to
remain a mere cipher.
Maria Theresa began her reign by committing a mistake, very
excusable at her age. Her father's confidential minister, Bar
tenstein, continued to direct the Government, though he had
neither talents nor resources to meet the fearful exigencies in
which they were placed, ^he young queen had sufficient sense
to penetrate the characters of Sinzendorf and Staremberg ; she
had been disgusted by their attempts to take advantage of her
sex and age, and to assume the whole power to themselves.
She wished for instruction, but she was of a temper to resist any
thing Hke dictation. Bartenstein discovered her foible ; and by
his affected submission to her judgment, and admiration of her
abilities, he concUiated her good opinion. His knowledge of the
forms of business, which extricated her out of many little em
barrassments, she mistook for political sagacity — his presumption
for genius ; his volubUity, his readiness with his pen, aU con
spired to dazzle the understanding and win the confidence of an
inexperienced woman. It is generally allowed that he was a
weak and superficial man ; but he possessed two good qualities
— he was sincerely attached to the interests of the house of Aus
tria, and, as a minister, incorruptible.
In her husband IMaria Theresa found ever a faithful friend,
and comfort and sympathy, when she most needed them ; but
hardly advice, support, or aid. Francis was the soul of honor
and affection, but he was Uliterate, fond of pleasure, and imused
to business. Much as his wife loved him, she either loved power
more, or was conscious of his inability to yield it. Had he been
an artful or ambitious man, Francis might easUy have obtained
over the mind of jMaria Theresa that unbounded influence which
a man of sense can always exercise over an affectionate woman ;
18

274 MARIA THERESA.
but, humbled by her superiority of rank, and awed by her supe
riority of mind, he never made the slightest attempt to guide or
control her, and was satisfied to hold aU he possessed from her
love or from her power.
The first war in which Maria Theresa was enga.ged was began
m self-defence — never was the sword drawn in a fairer quarrel
or a juster cause. Her great adversary was Frederick II. of
Prussia, aided by France and Bavaria. On the side of tho
young queen were England and Holland. Nothing could exceed
the enthusiasm which her helpless situation had excited among
the Enghsh of all ranks : The queen of Hungary was a favorite
toast — her head a favorite sign. The parliament voted large
subsidies to support her, and the ladies of England, with the
old Duchess of Marlborough at their head, subscribed a sum of
iS100,000, which they offered to her acceptance. Maria The
resa, who had been so munificently aided by the king and par
liament, either did not think it consistent with her dignity to
accept of private gifts, or from some other reason, decHned the
proffered contribution.
The war of the Austrian succession lasted nearly eight years.
The battles and the sieges, the victories and defeats, the treaties
made and broken, the strange events and vicissitudes which
marked its course, may be found duly chronicled and minutely
detailed in histories of France, England, or Germany. It is
more to our present purpose to trace the influence which the
character of Maria Theresa exercised over passing events, and
their reaction on the fate, feelings, and character of the woman.
Her situation in the commencement of the war appeared
desperate. Frederick occupied Silesia, and in the first great
battle in which the Austrians and Prussians were engaged, (the
battle of Molwitz), the former were entirely defeated. Still the

MARIA THERESA. 275
queen refused to yield up Silesia, at which price she might have
purchased the friendship of her dangerous enemy. Indignant
at his unprovoked and treacherous aggression, she disdainfully
refused to negotiate while he had a regiment in Silesia, and re
jected all attempts to mediate between them. The birth of her
first son, the archduke Joseph, in the midst of these distresses,
confirmed her resolution. Maternal tenderness now united with
her family pride and her royal spirit ; and to alienate voluntarily
any part of his inheritance appeared not only humiliation, but
a crime. She addressed herself to all the powers which had
guarantied the Pragmatic Sanction, and were therefore bound
to support her. And first to France : To use her own words —
" I wrote," said she, " to Cardinal Fleury ; pressed by hard
necessity, I descended from my royal dignity, and wrote to him
in terms which would have softened stones !" But the old car
dinal was absolute flint. From age and long habit, he had
become a kind of political machine, actuated by no other princi
ple than the interests of his government ; he deceived the queen
with delusive promises and diplomatic delays till aU was ready ;
then the French armies poured across the Rhine, and joined
the Elector of Bavaria. They advanced in concert within a
few leagues of Vienna. The elector was declared Duke of
Austria ; and, having overrun Bohemia, he invested the city of
Prague. The young queen, stiU weak from her recent confinement,
and threatened in her capital, looked round her in vain for aid
and counsel. Her aUies had not yet sent her the promised
assistance ; her most sanguine friends drooped in despair ; her
ministers looked upon each other in blank dismay. At this
crisis the spirit of a feeling and high-minded woman saved her
self, her capital, and her kingdom. Maria Theresa took alone

276 • MARIA THERESA.
the resolution of throwing herself into the arms of her Hunga
rian subjects.
Who has not read of the scene which ensued, which has so
often been related, so often described .' and yet we all feel that
we cannot hear of it too often. When we first meet it on the
page of history, we are taken by surprise, as though it had no
business there ; it has the glory and the freshness of old ro
mance. Poetry never invented anything half so striking, or
that so completely fills the imagination.
The Hungarians had been oppressed, enslaved, insulted, by
Maria Theresa's predecessors. In the beginning of her reign,
she had abandoned the usurpations of her ancestors, and had
voluntarUy taken the oath to preserve all their privileges entire.
This was partly from policy, but it was also partly from her own
just and kind nature. The hearts of the Hungarians were
already half-won when she arrived at Presburg, in June, 1741.
She was crowned Queen of Hungary on the 13th, with the pecu
liar national ceremonies. The iron crown of St. Stephen was
placed on her head, the tattered but sacred robe thrown over
her own rich habit, which was incrusted with gems, his scimitar
girded to her side. Thus attired, and mounted upon a superb
charger, she rode up the Royal Mount,* and according to the
antique custom, drew her sabre, and defied the four quarters of
the world, " in a manner that showed she had no occasion for
that weapon to conquer all who saw her.""}" The crown of St.
Stephen, which had never before been placed on so small or so
lovely a head, had been lined with cushions to make it fit. It
was also very heavy, and its weight, added to the heat of the
weather, incommoded her ; when she sat down to dinner in the
^ A rising ground near Fresbusg, so called from being consecrated to this ceze*
uony. t Mr. Robinson's Dispatches.

MARIA THERESA. 277

great hall of the castle, she expressed a wish to lay it aside.
On lifting the diadem from her brow, her hair, loosened from
confinement, fell down in luxuriant ringlets over her neck and
shoulders ; the glow which the heat and emotion had diffused
over her complexion added to her natural beauty, and the as
sembled nobles, struck with admiration, could scarce forbear
from shouting their applause.
The effect which her youthful grace and loveliness produced
on this occasion had not yet subsided when she called together
the Diet, or Senate of Hungary, in order to lay before them
the situation of her affairs. She entered the hall of the castle,
habited in the Hungarian costume, but still in deep mourning
for her father ; she traversed the apartment with a slow and
majestic step, and ascended the throne, where she stood for a few
minutes silent. The chancellor of the state first explained the
situation to which she was reduced, and then the queen, coming
forward, addressed the assembly in Latin, a language which
she spoke fluently, and which is still in common use among the
Hungarians. " The disastrous state of our affairs," said she, " has moved
us to lay before our dear and faithful states of Hungary the
recent invasion of Austria, the danger now impending over this
kingdom, and propose to them the consideration of a remedy.
The very existence of the kingdom of Hungary, of our own
person, of our children, of our crown, are now at stake, and,
forsaken by all, we place our - sole hope in the fidelity, arms,
and long-tried valor of the Hungarians !"
She pronounced these simple words in a firm but melancholy
tone. Her beauty, her magnanimity, and her distress, roused
the Hungarian chiefs to the wildest enthusiasm ; they drew
their sabres half out cf the scabbard, then flung them back to

278 MARIA THERESA.

the hilt with a martial sound, which re-echoed through the lofty
haU, and exclaimed with one accord, "Our swords and our
blood for your majesty — we wiU die for our king, Maria
Theresa!" Overcome by sudden emotion, she burst into a
flood of tears. At this sight, the nobles became almost frantic
with enthusiasm. " We wept too," said a nobleman, who assisted
on this occasion, (Count KoUer) ; "but they were tears of ad-
mu-ation, pity, and fury." They retired from her presence,
to vote supplies of men and money, which far exceeded aU her
expectations. Two or three days after this extraordinary scene, the deputies
again assembled, to receive the oath of Francis of Lorrame,
who had been appointed co-regent of Hungary. Francis, having
taken the requhed oath, waved his arm over his head and
exclaimed with enthusiasm, " My blood and life for the queen
and kingdom !" It was on this occasion that Maria Theresa
took up her infant son in her arms and presented him to the
deputies, and again they burst into the acclamation, " We wiU
die for Maria Theresa and her chUdren !"*
The devoted loyalty of her Hungarian subjects changed the
aspect of her affairs. Tribes of wUd warriors from the Turkish
frontiers — Croats, Pandours, and Solavonians — never before seen
in the wars of civilized Europe, crowded round her standard,
and by their strange appearance and savage mode of warfare
struck terror into the disciplined soldiers of Germany. Vienna
was placed in a state of defence ; and Frederick, fallen from his
" pitch of pride," began to show some desire for an accommo-
* September 21st, 1741. The Archduke Joseph was then about six months old.
It was not when .Maria Theresa made her speech to the Diet on the 13th, that
she held up her son in her arms ; for it appears that he was not brought to
Presburg till the JiOth. Voltaire, whose occount is generally read and cofied,
ifl true in the m%in, hut more eloquent than accurate.

MARIA THERES.1, 279
dation. At length a truce was effected by the mediation of
England ; and the queen consented, with deep reluctance and
an aching heart, to give up a part of Silesia, as a sop to this
royal Cerberus. Hard necessity compelled her to this concession ;
for while she was defending herself against the Prussians on one
side, the French and Bavarians were about to overwhelm her
on the other. The Elector of Bavaria had seized on Bohemia,
and was crowned King of Prague ; and under the auspices and
influence of France, he was soon afterward elected Emperor of
Germany, and crowned at Frankfort by the title of Charles VII.
It had been the favorite object of Maria Theresa to place
the imperial crown on the head of her husband. The election
of Charles was, therefore, a deep mortification to her, and deeply
she avenged it. Her armies, under the command of the Duke
of Lorraine and General KevenhuUer, entered Bavaria, wasted
the hereditary dominions of the new emperor with fire and
sword, and on the very day on which he was proclaimed at
Frankfort, his capital, Munich, surrendered to the Austrians,
and the Duke of Lorraine entered the city in triumph. Such
were the strange vicissitudes of war !
Within a few months afterward the French were everywhere
beaten ; they were obliged to evacuate Prague, and accom
plished with great difficulty their retreat to Egra. So much
was the queen's mind imbittered against them, that their escape
at this time absolutely threw her into an agony. She had,
however, sufficient self-command to conceal her indignation and
disappointment from the public, and celebrated the surrender
of Prague by a magnificent fete at Vienna. Among other
entertainments there was a chariot-race, in imitation of iho
Greeks — in which, to exhibit the triumph of her sex, l;id>s
alone were permitted to contend, and the queen herself and, her

280 -MARIA THERESA.
sister entered the Hsts. It must have been a beautifid and
gaUant sight. Soon afterward Maria Theresa proceeded to
Prague, where she was crowned Queen of Bohemia, May 12,
1743. In Italy she was also victorious. Her principal opponent
in that quarter was the high-spirited Elizabeth Farnese, the
Queen of Spain.* This imperious woman, who thought she
could manage a war as she managed her husband, commanded
her general, on pain of instant dismissal, to fight the Austrians
within three days ; he did so, and was defeated.
At the close of this eventful year, Maria Theresa had the
pleasure of uniting her sister Marianna to Prince Charles of
Lorraine, her husband's brother. They had been long attached
to each other, and the archduchess was beautiful and amiable ;
but a union which promised so much happiness was mournfully
terminated by the death of Marianna, within a few months
after her marriage.
The effect produced on the mind of Maria Theresa, by these
sudden vicissitudes of fortune and extraordinary successes, was
not altogether favorable. She had met dangers with fortitude —
she had endured reverses with magnanimity ; but she could
not triumph with moderation. Sentiments of hatred, of ven
geance,, of ambition, had been awakened in her heart by the
wrongs of her enemies and her own successes. She indulged
a personal animosity against the Prussians and the French,
which almost shut her heart, good and beneficent as Heaven
had formed it, against humanity and the love of peace. She
not only rejected with contempt all pacific overtures, and re
fused to acknowledge the new emperor, but she meditated vast
• Third wife of Philip V. Her story is very prettily told by Madame de Genhs
10 " La. Princesse des Ursins."

MARIA THERESA. 281
schemes of conquest and retaliation. She not only resolved
on recovering Silesia, and appropriating Bavaria, but she formed
plans for crushing her great enemy, Frederick of Prussia, and
partitioning his dominions, as he had conspired to ravage and
dismember hers.
This excess of elation was severely chastised. In 1744 she
lost Bavaria. Frederick suspected and anticipated her designs
against him ; with his usual celerity he marched into Bohemia,
besieged and captured Prague, and made even Vienna tremble.
Maria Theresa had one trait of real greatness of mind — she was
always greatest in adversity. She again had recourse to her
brave Hungarians, and repairing to Presburg. she employed
with such effect her powers of captivation, that she made every
man who approached her a hero for her sake. The old pala
tine of Hungary, Count Palffy, unfurled the blood-red standard
of the kingdom, and called on the magnates to summon their
vassals and defend their queen ; 44,000 crowded round the
national banner, and 30,000 more were ready to take the field.
Maria Theresa, who knew as well as Mary Stuart herself, the
power of a woman's smile, or word, or gift, bestowed apropos,
sent to Count Palffy on this occasion her own charger, royally
caparisoned, a sabre enriched with diamonds, and a ring, with
these few words in her own hand-writing : — -
" Father Palffy, I send you this horse, worthy of being
mounted by none but the most zealous of my faithful subjects ;
receive at the same time this sword to defend me against my
enemies, and this ring as a mark of my affection for you.
"Maria Theresa."
The enthusiasm which her charms and her address excited in
Hungary, from the proudest palatine to the meanest peasant.

282 MARIA THERESA.
again saved her. In the following year Bohemia and Bavaria
were recovered ; and the unfortunate emperor, Charles the
Seventh, driven from all his possessions, after playing for a
while a miserable pageant of royalty in the hands of the French,
died almost broken-hearted. With his last breath he exhorted
his successor to make peace with Austria, and reject the impe
rial dignity which had been so fatal to his family. The new
elector, Maximilian Joseph, obeyed these last commands, and
no other competitor appearing, Maria Theresa was enabled to
fulfill the ambition of her heart, by placing the imperial diadem
on her husband's head. Francis was proclaimed Emperor of
Germany at Frankfort ; and the queen, who witnessed from a
balcony the ceremony of election, was the first who exclaimed
" Vive I'emperor !" From this time Maria Theresa, uniting in
herself the titles of Empress of Germany and Queen of Hun
gary and Bohemia, is styled in history, the empress-queen. This
accession of dignity was the only compensation for a year of
disasters and losses in Italy and the Netherlands. StUl she
would not submit, nor bend her high spirit to an accommodation
with Frederick on the terms he offered ; and stUl she rejected aU
mediation. At length the native generosity of her disposition
prevailed. The Elector of Saxony,* who had been for some
time her most faithful and efficient ally, was about to become a
sacrifice through his devotion to her cause, and only peace could
save him and his people. For his sake the queen stooped to
what she never would have submitted to for any advantage to
herself, and on Christmas-day, 1745, she signed the peace of
Dresden, hy which she finally ceded SUesia to Frederick, who, on
this condition, withdrew his troops from Saxony, and acknow
ledged Francis as Emperor. ? Augustus III.

mari'a thereSa 383
The war with Louis XV. still continued with various changes
of fortune. In 1746 she lost nearly the whole of the Nether
lands. The French were commanded by Marshal Saxe, the
Austrians by Charles of Lorraine. The former was fiushcd
with high spirits and repeated victories. The unfortunate Prince
Charles was half-distracted by the loss of his wife — the Arch
duchess Marianna had died in her first confinement ; and her
husband, paralyzed by grief, could neither act himself, nor give
the necessary orders to his army.
By this time (1747) all the sovereigns of Europe began to
be wearied and exhausted by this sanguinary and burthensome
war ; all, except Maria Theresa, whose pride, wounded by the
forced cession of SUesia and the reduction of her territories in
the Netherlands and in Italy, could not endure to leave off a
loser in this terrible game of life. It is rather painful to see
how the turmoUs and vicissitudes of the last few years, the
habits of government and diplomacy, had acted on a disposition
naturally so generous and so just. In her conference with the
English minister she fairly got into a passion, exclaiming, with
the utmost indignation and disdain, " that rather than agree to
the terms of peace, she would lose her head " — raising her voice
as she spoke, and suiting the gesture to the words. With the
same warmth she had formerly declared, that before she would
give up SUesia she would sell her shift ! In both cases she was
obliged to yield. When the plenipotentiaries of the various
powers of Europe met at Aix-la-ChapeUe in 1748, her ministers,
acting by her instructions, threw every possible difficulty in the
way of the pacification ; and when at length she was obliged, to
accede, by the threat of her allies to sign without her, she did so
with obvious, with acknowledged reluctance, and never afterward
fort^ave England for havmg extorted her consent to this measure.

284 MARIA THERESA.
The peace of Aix-la-ChapeUe, which was one of the great
events of the last century, was signed by the empress-queen on
the 23d of October, 1748. " Thus," says the historian of
Maria Theresa, " terminated a bloody and extensive war, which
at the commencement threatened the very existence of the
house of Austria ; but the magnanimity of Maria Theresa, the.
zeal of her subjects, and the support of Great Britain triumphed
over her numerous enemies, and secured an honorable peace.
She retained possession of all her vast inheritance except SUesia,
Parma, Placentia, and Guastalla. She recovered the imperial
dignity, which had been nearly wrested from the house of Aus
tria, and obtained the guarantee of the Pragmatic Sanction from
the principal powers of Europe. She was, however, so dissatis
fied, that her chagrin broke out on many occasions, and on none
more than when Mr. Keith requested an audience to offer hia
congratulations on the return of peace. Maria Theresa ordered
her minister to observe that compliments of condolence would
be more proper than compliments of congratulation, and in
sinuated that the British minister would oblige the empress by
sparing a conversation which would be highly disagreeable to
her, and no less unpleasing to him.*
Maria Theresa had made peace with reluctance. She was
convinced — that is, she felt — that it could not be of long con
tinuance ; but for the present she submitted. She directed her
attention to the internal government of her dominions, and she
resolved to place them in such a condition that she need not
fear war whenever it was her interest to renew it.
She began by intrusting her mUitary arrangements to the
superintendence of Marshal Daun, one of the greatest generals
of that time. She concerted with him a new and better system
' History of the House of Austria, vol. ii., p. 358

MARIA THERESA. 285
of discipline ; and was the first who instituted a military academy
at Vienna. She maintained a standing army of one hundred
and eight thousand men ; she visited her camps and garrisons,
and animated her troops by her presence, her gracious speeches,
and her bounties. Her enemy, Frederick, tells us how well she
understood and practiced the art of enhancing the value of
those distinctions which, however trifling, are rendered im
portant by the manner of bestowing them. He acknowledges
that " the Austrian army acquired, under the auspices of IMaria
Theresa, such a degree of perfection as it had never attained
under any of her predecessors, and that a woman accomplished
designs worthy of a great man."
But Maria Theresa accomplished other designs far more
worthy of herself and of her sex. She made some admirable
regulations in the civil government of her kingdom ; she cor
rected many abuses which had hitherto existed in the adminis
tration of justice ; she abolished forever the use of torture
throughout her dominions. The collection of the revenues was
simplifled ; the great number of tax-gatherers, which she justly
considered as an engine of public oppression, was diminished.
Her father had left her without a single florin in the treasury.
In 1750, after eight years of war and the loss of several states,
her revenues exceeded those of her predecessors by six millions,
One of her benevolent projects failed, but not through any fault
of her own. She conceived the idea of civilizing the numerous
tribes of gipsies in Hungary and Bohemia ; but, after perse
vering for years, she was forced to abandon, the design. Neither
bribes nor punishment, neither mildness nor severity could sub
due the wild spirit of freedom in these tameless, lawless outcasts
of society, or bring them within the pale pf civilization.
AU the new laws and regulations, the changes and improve-

286 MARIA THERESA.
ments which took place, emanated from Maria Theresa herself;
and they were all more or less wisely and benevolently planned,
and beneficial in their effect. We trace in Maria Theresa's
public conduct two principles — a regard for the honor of her
house, that is, her royal and family pride, and a love for her
people ; but, from the prejudices in which she had been edu
cated, it frequently happened that the latter consideration was
sacrificed to the former. What she designed and performed for
the good of her subjects was done quietly and effectually ; and
what she wanted in genius was supplied by perseverance and
good sense. Though peremptory in temper, jealous of her
authority, and resisting the slightest attempt to lead or control
her, Maria Theresa had no overweening confidence in her own
abilities. She was at first almost painfully sensible of the de
ficiencies of her education and of her own inexperience. She
eagerly sought advice and information, and gladly and gratefully
accepted it from all persons ; and on every occasion she listened
patiently to long and contradictory explanations. She read
memorials and counter memorials, voluminous, immeasurable,
perplexing. She was not satisfied with knowing or comprehend
ing everything ; she was, perhaps, a little too anxious to do
everything, see everything, manage everything herself. WhUe
in possession of health and strength she always rose at five in
the morning, and often devoted ten or twelve hours together to
the dispatch of business ; and, with all this close application to
affairs, she found time to enter into society, to mingle in the
amusements of her court, and to be the mother of sixteen
children. In her plans and wishes for the public good Maria Theresa
had the sympathy, if not the co-operation, of her husband ; but
she derived Httle or no aid from the ministry, or, as it was

MARIA THERESA. 2S7
termed, the conference, which was at this time (after the con.
elusion of the first war,) more inefficient than even at the period
of her accession. She had gradually become sensible of the in
capacity and presumption of Bartenstein ; and, as he declined
in favor and confidence, Count (afterward Prince) Kaunitz rose
in her estimation. Kaunitz was ten years older than the em
press. He had spent nearly his whole Hfe in political affairs,
rising from one grade to another, through all the subaltern
offices of the state. He had been her minister at Aix-la-
ChapeUe in 1748 ; in 1753 he was appointed chancellor of
state — in other words, prime minister — and from this time ruled
the councils of the empress-queen to the day of her death, a
period of nearly thirty years. Frederick of Prussia describes
Kaunitz as " un homme frivole dans ses gouts, profond dans
les affaires." From the descriptions of those who knew him
personally, he appears to have been a man of very extraordinary
talents, without any elevation of character ; a finical eccentric
coxcomb in his manners ; a bold, subtle, able statesman ; in
ordinately vain, and, as his power increased, insolent and over
bearing ; yet indefatigable in business, and incorruptible in his
fidelity to the interests of his sovereign.
Eight years of almost profound peace had now elapsed, and
Maria Theresa was neither sensible of the value of the blessing,
nor reconciled to the terms on which she had purchased it.
While Frederick existed — Frederick, who had injured, braved,
and humbled her — she was ready to exclaim, like Constance,
" War ! war ! — no peace ! Peace is to me a war !" In vain was
she happy in hor famUy, and literally adored by her subjects ;
she was not happy in herself. In her secret soul she nourished
an implacable resentment against the King of Prussia ; in the
privacy of her cabinet she revolved the means of his destruc-

288 MARIA THERESA.
tion. The loss of SUesia was still nearest her heart, and she
never could think of it but with shame and anguish. Mingling
the imagination and sensibUity of a woman with the wounded
pride of a sovereign, she never could hear the word " Silesia "
without a blush — never turned her eyes on the map, where it
was delineated as part of her territories, without visible emotion,
and never beheld a native of that district without bursting into
tears. She might have said of Silesia, as Blary of England said
of Calais, that it would be found after death engraven on her
heart. There were other circumstances which added to the
bitterness of her resentment : Frederick, who, if not the most
detestable, was certainly the most disagreeable monarch ever
recorded in history, had indulged in coarse and cruel sarcasms
against the empress and her husband ; they were repeated to
her ; they were such as equally insulted her delicacy as a woman
and her feelings as a wife ; and they sank deeper into her femi
nine mind than more real and more serious injuries. All Maria
Theresa's passions, whether of love, grief, or resentment, par
took of the hereditary obstinacy of her disposition. She could
not bandy wit with her enemy — it was not in her nature ; but
hatred filled her heart, and projects of vengeance occupied all
her thoughts. She looked round her for the means to realize
them ; there was no way but by an alliance with France — with
France, the hereditary enemy of her family and her country ! —
with France, separated from Austria by three centuries of mu
tual injuries and almost constant hostility. The smaller states
of Europe had long regarded their own safety as depending, in
a great measure, on the mutual enmity and jealousy of these
two great central powers ; a gulf seemed forever to divide them ;
but, instigated by the spirit of vengeance, Maria Theresa de
termined to leap that gulf.

MARIA TrtERESA. 289
Her plan was considered, matured, and executed in the
profoundest secresy ; even her husband was kept in perfect
ignorance of her designs. She was not of a temper to fear his
opposition, but her strong affection for him made her shrink
from his disapprobation. Prince Kaunitz was her only coadju
tor ; he alone was intrusted with this most delicate and intricate
negotiation, which lasted nearly two years. It was fotind neces
sary to concUiate Madame de Pompadour, the mistress of Louis
XV., who was at that time all-powerful. Kaunitz, in suggest
ing the expediency of this condescension, thought it necessary
to make some apology. The empress merely answered, " Have
I not flattered Farinelli .'"* and, taking up her pen, without
further hesitation,, this descendant of a hundred kings and
emperors — the pious, chaste, and proud Maria Theresa — ad
dressed tlie low-born profligate favorite as " ma chere amie,"
and " ma cousine." The step was sufficiently degrading, but
it answered its purpose. The Pompadour was won to the
Austrian interest ; and through her mfluence this extraordinary
alliance was finally arranged, in opposition to the policy of both
courts, and the real interests and inveterate prejudices of both
nations. When this treaty was first divulged in the council of Vienna,
the Emperor Francis was so utterly shocked and confounded,
that, striking the table with his hand, he vowed he would
never consent to it, and left the room. Maria Theresa was
prepared for this burst of indignation ; she affected, with that
duplicity in which she had lately become an adept, to attribute
the whole scheme to her minister, and to be as much astonished
as Francis himself. But she represAted the necessity of hear-
* She had sent compliments and presents to the singer Farinelli, when he was a
favorite in the Spanish court. ^
19

290 MARIA THERESA.
ing and considering the whole of this new plan of policy before
they decided against it. With a mixture of artifice, reason and
tenderness, she gradually soothed the facile mind of her hus
band, and converted him to her own opinion, or at least con
vinced him that it was in vain to oppose it. When the report
of a coalition between Austria and France was spread through
Europe, it was regarded as something poi'tentous. In England
it was deemed incredible, ol-, as it was termed in parliament, un
natural and monstrous. The British minister at Vienna
exclaimed, with astonishment, " Will you, the empress and
archduchess, so far humble yourself as to throw yourself into
the arms of France .'" " Not into the arms," she replied, with
some haste and confusion, " but on the side of France. I
have," she continued, " hitherto signed nothing with France,
though I know not what may happen ; but whatever does hap
pen, I promise, on my _ word of honor, not to sign anything
contrary to the interests of your royal master, for whom I have
a most sincere friendship and regard."
The immediate result of the alliance with France was " the
seven years' war," in which Austria, France, Russia, Sweden,
and Denmark, and afterward Spain, were confederated against
the King of Prussia, who was assisted by Great Britai.n and
Hanover, and only preserved from destruction by the enormous
subsidies of England, and by his own consummate genius and
intrepidity. Until eclipsed by the great military events of the present
century, this war stood unequaled for the skill, the bravery
and the wonderful resources displayed on both sides — for the
surprising vicissitudes of ^'ictory and defeat — for the number
of great battles fought within so short a period — for the in
stances of individual heroism, and the tremendous waste of hu-

MARIA THERESA. 291
man life. In the former war our sympathies were all on the
side of Maria Theresa. In the seven years' contest, we cannot
refuse our admiration to the unshaken fortitude and perseverance
with which Frederick defended himself against his enemies.
He led his armies in person. The generals of Maria Theresa
were Marshal Daun, Marshal Loudon, and Marshal Lacy — the
first a Bohemian, the second of Scottish, and the third of Irish
extraction. The empress, influenced equally by her tenderness
and her prudence, would never allow her husband to take the
field. Francis was personally brave, even to excess, but he had
not the talents of a great commander, and his wife would neithei
risk his safety nor hazard the fate of her dominions by intrust
ing her armies to his guidance.
In this war Maria Theresa recovered, and again lost SUesia ;
at one time she was nearly overwhelmed and on the point ot
being driven from her capitol ; again the tide of war rolled
back, and her troops drove Frederick from Berlin.
When Marshal Daun gained the victory of Kolin, (June 18,
1757), by which the Austrian dominions were preserved from
the most imminent danger, the empress-queen instituted the
order of Maria Theresa, with which she decorated her victorious
general and his principal officers. She loaded Daun with honors,
and distributed rewards and gratuities to all the soldiers who
had been present ; medals were struck — Te Deums were sung ;
in short, she triumphed gratefully and gloriously. When a few
years afterward, the same Marshal Daun lost a decisive bat
tle,* after bravely contesting it, Maria Theresa received him
with greater honors than after his former success; she even
went out from her capital to meet him on his return, an honor
never before conferred on any subject, and b}' the most flatter-
• The battle of Torgau,

292 MARIA THERESA.
ing expressions of kindness and confidence, she raised his spirits
and reconcUed him with himself; and this was in reality a more
glorious triumph. The Roman senators, when they voted
thanks to Fabius after his defeat, " because he had not despaired
of the fate of Rome," displayed not more magnanimity than
did this generous woman, acting merely from the impulse of her
own feminine nature.
When Frederick of Prussia captured any of the Austrian of
ficers, he treated them with coldness, rigor and sometimes
insult ; Maria Theresa never retaliated. When the Prince de
Bevern was taken prisoner in Silesia, Frederick, like a mere
heartless despot as he was, declined either to ransom or ex
change him. He did not even deign to answer the prince's let
ters. The prince applied to Maria Theresa for permission to
ransom himself, and she gave him his liberty at once, without
ransom and without condition. These are things which never
should be forgotten in estimating the character of Maria The
resa. Heaven had been so bountiful to her in mind and heart,
that the possession of power could never entirely corrupt either ;
StiU and ever she was the benevolent and high-souled woman.
Next to France, her chief ally in this war, was the Empress
Elizabeth of Russia, whose motives of enmity against Frederick
were, like those of Maria Theresa, of a personal nature.
Frederick had indulged in some severe jests, at the expense of
that weak and vicious woman. She retorted -with an army of
50,000 men. It appears a just retribution that this man, who
disdained or derided aU female society, who neglected and ill-
treated his wife, and tyrannized over his sisters,* should have
been nearly destroyed through the influence of the sex he
• For one instance of his detestable tyranny, see the story of the poor Princess
Amelia, in Thiebault.

MARIA THERESA. 293
despised. Of all his enemies, the two empresses were the most
powerful, dangerous, and implacable. In seven terrible and
sanguinary campaigns did Frederick make head against the con
federated powers ; but the struggle was too unequal. In 1762,
Maria Theresa appeared everywhere triumphant ; all her most
sanguine hopes were on the point of being realized, and another
campaign must have seen her detested adversary ruined, or at
her feet. Such was the despondency of Frederick at this time,
that he carried poison about him, firmly resolved that he would
not be led a captive to Vienna. He was saved by one of those
unforeseen events, by which Providence so often confounds and
defeats all the calculations of men. The Empress Elizabeth
died, and was succeeded by Peter the Third, who entertained
tlie most extravagant admiration for Frederick. Russia, from
being a formidable enemy, became suddenly an ally. The
face of things changed at once. The rival powers were again
balanced, and the decision of this terrible game of ambition
appeared as far off as ever.
But all parties were by this time wearied and exhausted ; all
wished for jieace, and none would stoop to ask it. At length,
one of IMaria Theresa's officers, who had been wounded and
taken prisoner,*" ventured to hint to Frederick that his imperial
mistress was not unwiUing to come to terms. This conversation
took place at the castle of Hubertsberg. The king, snatching
up half a sheet of paper, wrote down in few words the conditions
on which he was willing to make peace. The whole was con
tained in about ten lines. He sent this off to Vienna by a
courier, demanding a definitive answer within twelve days.
The Austrian ministers were absolutely out of breath at the
idea ; they wished to temporize — to delay. But Maria Theresa,
? Thiebault, Vingt Ans de Sl-jour a Berlin.

294 MARIA THERESA.
with the promptitude of her character, decided at once ; she
accepted the terms, and the peace of Hubertsberg was con
cluded in 1763. By this treaty, all places and prisoners were
given up. Not a foot of territory was gained or lost by either
party. Silesia continued in possession of Prussia ; the political
affairs of Germany remained in precisely the same state a.
before the war ; but Saxony and Bohemia had been desolated,
Prussia almost depopulated, and more than 500,000 men had
fallen in battle.
France, to whom the Austrian alliance seems destined to be
ever fatal, lost in this war the flower of her armies, half the
coined money of the kingdom, almost all her possessions in
America and in the East and West .Indies — her marine, her
commerce, and her credit ;* and those disorders were fomented,
those disasters precipitated, which at length produced the re
volution, and brought the danghter of Maria Theresa to the
scaffold. Immediately after the peace of Hubertsberg, the Archduke
Joseph was elected King of the Romans, which insured him
the imperial title after the death of his father.
At the conclusion of the seven years' war, Maria Theresa was
in the forty-eighth year of her age. During the twenty-four
years of her public life, the eyes of aU Europe had been flxed
upon her in hope, in fear, in admiration. She had contrived to
avert from her own states the worst of those evils she had
brought on others. Her subjects beheld her with a love and
reverence Httle short of idolatry. In the midst of her weak
nesses, she had displayed many virtues ; and if she had com
mitted great errors, she had also performed great and good
actions. But, besides being an empress and a queen. Maria
* Vide Sircle de Louis XV

MARIA THERESA. 296
Theresa was also a wife and a motligr ; and while sne was guid
ing the reins of a mighty government, we are tempted to ask,
where was her husband ? and where her children ?
Maria Theresa's attachment to her husband had been foT>d
and passionate in her youth, and it was not only constant to
death, but survived even in the grave. Francis was her inferior
in abilities. His influence was not felt, like hers, to the ex
tremity of the empire ; but no man could be more generally
beloved in his court and family. His chUdren idolized him, and
he was to them a fond and indulgent father. His temper was
gay, volatile, and unambitious ; his manners and person cap
tivating. Although his education had been neglected, he had
traveled much, had seen much, and, being naturally quick,
social, ard intelligent, he had gained some information on
most subjects. In Italy he had imbibed a taste for the fine
arts ; he cultivated natural history, and particularly chemistry.
While his wife was making peace and war, and ruling the
destinies of nations, he amused himself among his retorts and
crucibles, in buying pictures, or in superintending a ballet or
an opera.
Francis expended immense sums in the study of alchymy ;*
he also believed that it was possible, by fusion, to convert
several small diamonds into a large one, for it was not then
? We find that, during the reign of Maria Theresa, the pursuit of the philo.
Boplier's stone was not only the fashion at Vienna, but was encouraged by tha
government. A belief in the doctrines of magic and in familiar spirits was also
general, even among persons of rank. Princes, ministers, and distinguished miii
tary c<imTiianders were not exempt from this puerile superstition.
"Professor Jaquin," says Wraxall, writing from Vienna, "is empowered by tha
empress to receive proposals from such as are inclined to enter on the attempt
to make gold, — in other words, to find tiie philosopher's stone. They are ii^ma-
diately provided by him with a room, cliarcoal, utensils, crucibles, and every
requisite, at her imperial majesty's expense."

296 MARIA THERESA.
known that the diamond avas a combustible substance. His
attempts in tnis way cost him large suras. He was fond of
amassing money, apparently not so much from avarice as from
an idea that wealth would give him a kind of power independent
of his consort. Many instances arc related of his humanity and
beneficence, and his private charities are said to have been
immense. During the life of Francis, Vienna was a gay and magnificent
capital. There was a fine opera, for which Gluck and Hasse
composed the music, and Noverre superintended the baUets.
He was fond of masks, baUs, and fetes; and long dter the
empress had ceased to take a pleasure in these amusements,
she entered into them for her husband's sake. A'J accounts
agree that they lived together in the most cordial anion ; that
Maria Theresa was an example of every wife-like vii.tue — except
submission ; and Francis a model of every conjugal virtue —
except fidelity. Such exceptions might have bucn supposed
fatal to all domestic peace, but this imperial couple seem to
present a singular proof to the contrary.
Francis submitted without a struggle to the ascendency of
his wife ; he even affected to make a display of his own insignifi
cance, as compared with her grandeur and pow;er Many in
stances are related of the extreme simplicity of his manners.
Being once at the levee, when the empress-queen was giving
audience to her subjects, he retired from the circle, and seated
himself in a distant corner of the apartment, near two ladies of
the court. On their attempting to rise, he said, " Do not mind
me ; I shaU stay here till the court is gone, and then amuse my
self with looking at the crowd." One of the ladies (the Countess
Harrach) replied, " As long as your imperial majesty is present,
the court wiU be here" "You mistake," replied Francis;

MARIA THERESA. 297
•' the empress and my children are the court — I am here but as
a simple individual."*
In the summer of 1765, the imperial court left Vienna for
Inspruok, in order to be present at the marriage of the
Archduke Leopold with the Infanta of Spain. The emperor
had previously complained of indisposition, and seemed over
come by those melancholy presentiments which are often the
result of a deranged system, and only remembered when they
happen to be realized. He was particularly fond of his youngest
daughter, Marie Antoinette, and, after taking leave of his
children, he ordered her to be brought to him once more. He
took her in his arms, kissed, and pressed her to his heart,
saying, with emotion, " J'avais besoin d'embrasser encore cette
enfant!" WhUe at Inspruck he was much indisposed, and
Maria Theresa, who watched him with solicitude, appeared miser
able and anxious ; she requested that he would be bled. He
replied, with a petulance very unusual to him, " Madame, voulez
vous que je meurs dans la saignfie ?" The heavy air of the
valleys seemed to oppress him even to suffocation, and he was
often heard to exclaim, " Ah ! si je pouvais seulement sortir de
ces montagnes du Tyrol!" On Sunday, August 18th, the
empress and his sister again entreated him to be bled. He
replied, " I must go to the opera, and I am engaged afterward
to sup with Joseph, and cannot disappoint him ; but I will be
bled to-morrow." The same evening, on leaving the theatre,
he fell down in an apoplectic fit, and expired in the arms of
liis son.
A scene of horror and confusion immediately ensued. While
her family and attendants surrounded the empress, and the
officers of the palace were running different ways in consterna'
? Coxe's IMemoirs.

298 MARIA THERESA.
tion, the body of Francis lay abandoned on a little wretched
pallet in one of the ante-rooms, the blood oozing from the orifices
in his temples, and not even a valet near to watch over him !
The anguish of Jdaria Theresa was heightened by her re
ligious feelings ; and the idea that her husband had been taken
away in the midst of his pleasures; and before he had time to
make his peace with God, seemed to press fearfully upon her
mind. It was found necessary to remove her instantly. She
was placed in a barge, hastily fitted up, and, accompanied only
by her son, her master of horse, and a single lady in waiting,
she proceeded down the river to Vienna.
Previous to her departure, a courier was dispatched to the
three archduchesses, who had been left behind in the capital,
bearing a letter which the empress had dictated to her daughters
on the day after her husband's death. It was 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 together, our hearts and
our sentiments were united in the same views. All the mis
fortunes I have suffered during the last twenty-five years were
softened by his support. I am suffering such deep affliction,
that nothing but true piety and you, my dear children, can
make me tolerate a Hfe which, during its continuance, shall be
spent in acts of devotion. Pray for our good and worthy
master.* I give you my blessing, and will ever be your good
pother, Maria Theresa."
The remains of Francis the First were carried to Vienna,
* The Eniperor Joseph.

I
MARIA THERESA. 299
and, after lying in state, were deposited in the family-vault
under the church of the Capuchins. When Maria Theresa was
only six-and-twenty, and in the full bloom of youth and health,
she had constructed in this vault a monument for herself and
her husband. Hither, during the remainder of her life, she
repaired on the ISth of every month, and poured forth her
devotions at his tomb. Her grief had the same fixed character
with all her other feelings. She wore mourning to the day of
her death. She never afterward inhabited the state apartments
in which she had formerly lived with her husband, but removed
to a suite of rooms, plainly and even poorly furnished, and
hung with black cloth. There was no affectation in this excess
of sorrow. Her conduct was uniform during sixteen years.
Though she held her court and attended to the affairs of the
government as usual, she was never known to enter into amuse
ments, or to relax from the mournful austerity of her widowed
state, except on public occasions, when her presence was
absolutely necessary.
Maria Theresa was the mother of sixteen children. The un-
hapjpy Marie Antoinette, wife of the dauphin, afterward Louis
XVI., was her youngest daughter. She was united to the dau
phin in 1770, and thus was sealed an alliance between Austria
and France — the great object of her wishes, which Maria Theresa
had been engaged for years in accomplishing — for, in placing a
daughter upon the throne of France, she believed that she was
securing a predominant influence in the French cabinet, and
that she was rendering, by this grand scheme of poHoy, the
ancient and hereditary rival of her empire, subservient to the
future aggrandizement of her house.
Maria Theresa lived in the interior of her palace with great
simplicity. In the morning an old man, who could hardly be

300 MARIA THERESA.
entitled a chamberlain, but merely what is called on the conti
nent a frottiur, entered her sleepina-room, about five or six
o'clock in the morning, opened the shutters, lighted the stove,
and arranged the apartment. She breakfasted on a cup of
milk-coffee ; then dressed and heard mass. She then pro
ceeded to business. Every Tuesday she received the ministers
of the different departments ; other days were set apart for
giving audience to foreigners and strangers, who, according to the
etiquette 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 ad
mitted 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 dispatches,
signed papers, &c. At noon, her dinner was brought in, con
sisting of a few dishes, served with simplicity ; she usually
dined alone, Hke Napoleon, and for the same reason — to econo
mize time. After dinner she was engaged in public business
till six ; after that hour her daughters were admitted to join in
her evening prayer. If they absented themselves, she sent to
know if they were indisposed ; if not, they were certain of
meeting with a maternal reprimand on the following day. At
half past eight or nine, she retired to rest. When she hel'd 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 baUs, or n-
dottos, which were given at court during the carnival ; after
ward, these entertainments and the number of fetes, or gala-
days, were gradually diminished in number. During the last
years of her life, when she became very infirm, the nobUity and

MARIA THERESA. 301

foreign ministers generally assembled at the houses of Prince
Kaunitz and Prince CoUerado.
On the first day of the year, and on her birth-day, Maria The
resa held a pu'blic court, at which all the nobUity, and civil and
military officers who did not obtain access at other times,
crowded to kiss hor 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 Schon-
brunn, or at Lachsenburg. In the gardens of the former
palace there was a little shaded alley, communicating with her
apartments. Here, in the summer 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 answers or
observations to each.
It was the fault or rather the mistake of Maria Theresa to
give up too much of her time to the petty details of business ;
in her government as in her religion she sometimes mistook
the form for the spirit, and her personal superintendence be
came at length more like the vigilance of an inspector-general,
than the enlightened jurisdiction of a sovereign. She could
not, however, be accused of selfishness or vanity in this respect,
for her indefatigable attention to business was without parade,
and to these duties she sacrificed her pleasures, her repose, and
often her health.
Much of her time was employed in devotion ; the eighteenth
day of every month was consecrated to the memory of her hus
band ;* and the whole month of August was usually spent in
retirement, in penance and in celebrating masses and reqviiems
for the repose of his soul. Those who are " too proud to wor-
» Francis died on the 18th of August.

302 MARIA THERESA.
ship, and too wise to feel," may smile at this — but others, even
those who do not believe in the efficacy of requiems and masses,
will respect the source from which her sorrow flowed, and the
power whence it sought for comfort.
After the death of her husband she admitted her son, the
emperor Joseph, to the co-regency or joint-government of aU
her hereditary dominions, without prejudice to her own supreme
jurisdiction. They had one court, and their names were united
in all the edicts ; but what were the exact limits of their re
spective prerogatives none could tell. The mother and son
occasionally differed in opinion ; he sometimes influenced her
against her better judgment and principles ; but during her life
she held in some constraint the restless, ambitious, and despotic
spirit of the young emperor. The good terms on which they
lived together, her tenderness for him, and his dutiful reverence
toward her, place the maternal character of Maria Theresa in a
very respectable point of view. Prince Kaunitz had the chief
direction of foreign affairs, and although the 'empress placed
unbounded confidence in his integrity and abilities, and indulged
him in aU his peculiarities and absurdities, he was a minister,
and not a favorite.
She founded or enlarged in different parts of her extensive
dominions several academies for the improvement of the arts
and sciences ; instituted numerous seminaries for the education
of all ranks of people ; reformed the public schools, and ordered
prizes to be distributed among the students who made the great
est progress in learning, or were distinguished for propriety of
behavior or purity of morals. She established prizes for those
who excelled in different branches of manufacture, in geometry,
mining, smelting metals, and even spinning. She particularly
turned her attention to the promotion of agriculture, which in a

MARIA THERESA. 303
medal struck by her order, was entitled the " Art which nour
ishes all other arts," and founded a society of agriculture at
Milan, with bounties to the peasants who obtained the best ¦
crops. She confined the rights of the chase, often so pcruijious
to the husbandman, within narrow limits, and issued a decree,
enjoining all the nobles who kept wild game to maintain their
fences in good repair, permitting the peasants '.o destroy the
wUd-boars which ravished the fields. She also abolished the
scandalous power usurped by the landholders of limiting the
season for mowing the grass within the forescj and their pre
cincts, and mitigated the feudal servitude of (he peasants in
Bohemia. Among her beneficial regulations must not be omitted the
introduction of inoculation, and the establishment of a small-pox
hospital. On the recovery of her chUdren from a disorder so
f-Aital to her own family, Maria Theresa gave an entertainment
which displayed the benevolence of her character. Sixty-five
children, who had been previously inoculated at the hospital,
were regaled with a dinner in the gallery of the palace at
Schonbrunn, in the midst of a numerous oouit ; and Maria
Theresa herself, assisted by her offspring, waited on this de-
Hohtful group, and gave to each of them a piece of money.
The parents of the chUdren were treated in another apartment ;
the whole party was adm.itted to the performance of a German
play, and this charming entertainment was concluded with a
dance, which was protracted till midnight.
Perhaps the greatest effort made by the empress-queen, and
which refiects the highest honor on her memory, was the re
formation of various abuses in tiie church, and the regulations
which she introduced into the monasteries.
She took away the pernicious right which the convents and

304 MARIA THERESA.
churches enjoyed of affording an asylum to all criminals with
out distinction ; she suppressed the Inquisition, which, though
curbed by the civU power, stsll subsisted at MUan. She sup
pressed the society of Jesuits, although her own confessor wa.s
a member of that order, but did not imitate the unjust and cruel
measures adopted in Spain and Portugal, and softened the rigor
of their lot by every alleviation which circumstances would
permit. To these particulars may be added, that Maria Theresa was
the first sovereign who threw open the royal domain of the
Prater to the use of the public. This was one of the most
popular acts of her reign. She prevaUed on Pope Clement
XIV., (Ganganelli), to erase from the calendar many of the
saints' days and holydays, which had became so numerous as to
affect materially the transactions of business and commerce, as
well as the morals of the people. It is curious that this should
have proved one of the most unpopular of all her edicts, and
was enforced with the utmost difficulty. Great as was the
bigotry of Slaria Theresa, that of her loving subjects appears
to have far exceeded hers. She also paid particular attention -
to the purity of her coinage, considering it as part of the good
faith of a sovereign.
It must, however, be confessed that all her regulations were
not equally praiseworthy and beneficial. For instance, the
censorship of the press was rigorous and illiberal, and the pro
hibition of foreign works, particularly of French and English
literature, amounted to a kind of proscription. AYe are assured
that " the far gre^r number of those books which constitute
the libraries of persons distinguished for taste and lefinement,
not merely in France or England, but even at Rome or
Florence, were rigorously condemned, and their entry was

MARIA THERESA. 305

attended with no less difficulty than danger." That not only
works of an immoral and a rebellious tendency, but " a sen
tence reflecting on the Catholic religion ; a doubt thrown upon
the sanctity of some hermit or monk of the middle ages ; any
publication wherein superstition was attacked or censured, how
ever slightly, was immediately noticed by the police, and
prohibited under the severest penalties."
The impediments thus thrown in the way of knowledge and
the diffusion of literature, in a great degree neutralized the
effect of her munificence in other instances. It must be allowed
that, though the rise of the modern German literature, which
now holds so high a rank in Europe, dates from the reign of
Maria Theresa, it owes nothing to her patronage. Not that,
like Frederick II., she held it in open contempt, but that her
mind was otherwise engaged. Lessing, Klopstock, Kant, and
Winkelman, all lived in her time, but none of them were born
her subjects, and they derived no encouragement from her
notice and patronage. i
But the great stain upon the character and reign of Maria
Theresa — an event which we cannot approach without pain and
reluctance — was the infamous dismemberment of Poland in
1772. The detailed history of this transaction occupies vol
umes ; but the manner in which Maria Theresa became im
plicated, her personal share in the disgrace attached to it, and
all that can be adduced in palHation of her conduct, may be re
lated in very few words.
The empress-queen had once declareS that, though she might
make peace with Frederick, no consideration should ever induce
her to enter into an alliahce in which he was a party. To pre
vent the increase of his power, and to guard against his en
croaching ambition, his open hostility, or his secret enmity, had
20

306 MARIA THERESA.
long been the ruling principle of the cabinet of Vienna. Under
the influence of her son, and of the Russian government, and
actuated by motives of interest and expediency, Maria Theresa
departed from this line of policy, to which she had adhered for
thirty years.
The first idea of dismembering and partitioning Poland un
doubtedly originated with the court of Prussia.
The negotiations and arrangements for this purpose were car
ried on with the profoundest secrecy, and each of the powers
concerned was so conscious of the infamy attached to it, and so
anxious to cast the largest share of blame upon another, that no
event of modern history is involved in more obscurity or more
perplexed by contradictory statements and relations. It is really
past the power of a plain understanding to attempt to disentangle
this dark web of atrocious policy. From the discovery of some
of the original documents within the last few years, a shade of
guilt has been removed from the memory of Maria Theresa ;
for it appears that the treaty which originated with Frederick
was settled between Prince Henry of Prussia and Catherine the
Second, in 1769 ; and that it was then agreed that, if Austria
refused to accede to the measure, Russia and Prussia should
sign a separate treaty — league against her, seize upon Poland,
and carry the war to her frontiers. Maria Theresa professed
to feel great scruples, both religious and political, in participating
either in the disgrace or advantages of this transaction, but she
was overruled by her son and Kaunitz, and she preferred a share
of the booty to a terrible and precarious war. That armies
should take the field on a mere point of honor, and potentates
" greatly find quarrel in a straw," is nothing new ; but a war
undertaken upon a point of honesty, a scruple of conscience —
or from a generous sense of the right opposed to the wrong—

MARIA THERESA. SC

this, certainly, would have been unprecedented in history ; and
Maria Theresa did not set the example. When once she had
acceded to this scandalous treaty, she was determined, with her
characteristic prudence, to derive as much advantage from it as
possible, and her demands were so unconscionable, and the share
she claimed was so exorbitant, that the negotiation had nearly
been broken off by her confederates. At length, a dread of
premature exposure, and a fear of the consequent failure, in
duced her to lower her pretensions, and the treaty for the first
partition of Poland was signed at Petersburg on the 3d of
August, 1772.
The situation of Poland at this time, divided between a Hcen-
tious nobility and an enslaved peasantry, torn by faction, de
solated by plague and famine, abandoned to every excess of
violence, anarchy, and profligacy ; the cool audacity of the im
perial swindlers, who first deceived and degraded, then robbed
and trampled upon that unhappy country ; the atrocious means
by which an atrocious purpose was long prepared, and at length
accomplished ; the mixture of duplicity, and cruelty, and bri
bery ; the utter demoralization of the agents and their victims,
of the corrupters and the corrupted^altogether presents a pic
ture which, when contemplated in all its detaUs, fills the mind
with loathing and horror. By the treaty of partition, to which
a committee of Polish delegates, and the king at their head,
were obliged to set their seal, Russia appropriated all the north
eastern part of Poland — Frederick obtained all the district which
stretches along the Baltic, called Western Prussia — Maria The
resa seized on a large territory to the south of Poland, including
Red Russia, GaUicia, and Lodomeria. The city and palatinate
of Cracow and the celebrated salt-mines of VUltzka were in
cluded in her division.

808 MARIA THERESA.
In reference to Maria Theresa's share in the spoliation of
Poland, I cannot forbear to mention one circumstance, and wUl
leave it without a comment. She was particularly indignant
against the early aggression of Frederick, as not only unjust and
treacherous, but ungrateful, since it was owing to the inter
ference of her father, Charles the Sixth, that Frederick had
not lost his life either in a dungeon or on a scaffold at the time
that he was arrested with his friend Katt.* In the room which
Maria Theresa habituaUy occupied, and in which she transacted
business, hung two pictures, and only two ; one was the portrait
of John Sobieski, King of Poland, whose heroism had saved
Vienna when besieged by the Turks in 1683 — the other re
presented her grandfather, Leopold, who owed the preserva
tion of his country, his capital, his crown, his very existence,
to the intervention of the Poles on that memorable occasion.
After the partition of Poland, Maria Theresa appeared at
the height of her grandeur, power, and influence, as a sovereign.
She had greatly extended her territories ; she had an army on
foot of two hundred thousand men ; her finances were brought
into such excellent order that, notwithstanding her immense
expenses, she was able to lay by in her treasury not less than
two hundred thousand crowns a year. She lived on terms of
harmony with her ambitious, enterprising, and accomplished
son and successor, which secured her domestic peace and her
political strength ; while her subjects blessed her mild sway,
and bestowed on her the title of " mother of her people."
The rest of the reign of Maria Theresa is not distinguished
by any event of importance tUl the year 1778, when she waa
* vide Life of Frederick the Great. Katt, as it is well known, was beheaded in
his sight ; and Frederick had very nearly suflered the fate of Don Carlos — that of
being assassinated by his crack.l rained father.

MARIA THERESA. 309
again nearly plunged into a war with her old adversary, Freder
ick of Prussia.
The occasion was this, — the Elector of Bavaria died without
leaving any son to succeed to his dominions, and his death was
regarded by the court of Vienna as a favorable opportunity to
revive certain equivocal claims on the part of the Bavarian
territories. No sooner did the intelligence of the elector's
indisposition arrive at Vienna than the armies .were held in readi
ness to march. Kaunitz, spreading a map before the empress
and her son, pointed out those portions to which he conceived
that the claims of Austria might extend ; and Joseph, with all
the impetuosity of his character, enforced the views and argu
ments of the minister. Maria Theresa hesitated — she was now
old and infirm, and averse to all idea of tumult and war.
She recoiled from a design of which she perceived at once the
injustice as well as the imprudence ; and when at last she
yielded to the persuasions of her son, she exclaimed, with
much emotion, " In God's name, only take what we have a
right to demand ! I foresee that it wUl end in war. My wish is
to end my days in peace."
No sooner was a reluctant consent wrung from her than the
Austrians entered Bavaria, and took forcible possession of the
greatest part of the electorate.
The King of Prussia was not inclined to be a quiet spectator
of this scheme of aggrandizement on the part of Austria, and
immediately prepared to interfere and dispute her claims to th^
Bavarian succession. Though now seventy years of age, time
had but littie impaired either the vigor of his mind or the ac
tivity of his frame ; still, with him " the deed o'ertook the pur
pose," and his armies were assembled and had entered Bohemia
before the court of Vienna was apprised of his movements.

310 MARIA THERESA.
To Frederick was opposed the young Emperor Joseph, at the
head of a more numerous force than had ever before taken the
field under the banners of Austria, supported by the veteran
generals, Loudon and Lacy, and burning for the opportunity,
which his mother's prudence had hitherto denied him, to dis
tinguish himself by some military exploit, and encounter the
enemy of his family on the field of battle.
But how different were all the views and feelings of the aged
empress ! how changed from what they had been twenty years
before ! She regarded the approaching war with a species of
horror ; her heart stUl beat warm to all her natural affections ;
but hatred, revenge, ambition — sentiments which had rather
been awakened there by circumstances than native to her dispo
sition — were dead within her. When the troops from different
parts of her vast empire assembled at Vienna, and marched
with all their military ensigns past the windows of her palace,
she ordered her shutters to be closed. Her eyes were con
stantly suffused with tears, her knees continually bent in prayer.
Half-conscious of the injustice of her cause, she scarcely dared
to ask a blessing on her armies ; she only hoped by supplication
to avert the immediate wrath of Heaven.
All the preparations for the campaign being completed, the em
peror and his brother Maximilian set off for the camp at Olmutz
in April, 1778. When they waited on the empress to take
their leave and receive her parting benediction, she held them
long in her arms, weeping bitterly ; and when the emperor at
length tore himself from her embraces, she nearly fainted away.
During the next few months she remained in the interior of
her palace, melancholy and anxious, but not passive and inactive.
She was revolving the means of terminating a war which she
detested. Her evident reluctance seems to have paralyzed her

MARIA THERESA. 311
generals ; for the whole of this campaign, which had opened with
such tremendous preparations, passed without any great battie or
any striking incident except the capture of Habelschwert, which
as it opened a passage into Silesia, was likely to be followed by
important consequences. When Colonel Palavicini arrived at
Vienna with the tidings of this event, and laid the standards
taken from the enemy at th,e feet of the empress, she received
him with complacency ; but when he informed her that the
town and inhabitants of Habelschwert had suffered much from
the fury of the troops, she opened her bureau, and taking out a
bag containing five hundred ducats, " I desire," said she,
•' that this sum may be distributed in my name among the un
fortunate sufferers whose houses or effects have been plundered
by my soldiery ; it will be of some little use and consolation to
them under their misfortunes."
She still retained something of the firmness and decision
of her former years ; age, which had subdued her haughty
spirit, had not enfeebled her powers ; and in this emergency
she took the only measures left to avert the miseries of a ter
rible and unjust war. Unknown to her son, and even without
the knowledge of Kaunitz, she acted for herself and for her
people, with a degree of independence, resolution, and good
feeling, which awakens our best sympathies, and fills us with
admiration both for the sovereign and the woman. She dis
patched a confidential officer with a letter addressed to the
King of Prussia, in which she avowed her regret that in their
old age Frederick and herself " should be about to tear the
gray hairs from each other's head."* " I perceive," said she,
" with extreme sensibility, the breaking out of a new war. My
age and my earnest desire for maintaining peace are well
* Fler own words.

3 12 M A R 1 A T H E :< E S A .
known ; and I cannot give a more convincing proof than by the
present proposal. My maternal heart is justly alarmed for tho
safety of my two sons and my son-in-law, who are in the army.
I have taken this step without the knowledge of my son the
emperor, and I entreat, whatever may be the event, that you
will not divulge.it. I am anxious to re-commence and ter
minate the negotiation hitherto conducted by the emperor, and
broken off to my extreme regret. This letter wUl be de
livered to you by Baron Thugut, who is intrusted with full
powers. Ardently hoping that it may fulfill my wishes con
formably to my dignity, I entreat you to join your efforts with
mine to re-establish between us harmony and good intelli
gence, for the benefit of mankind and the interest of our
respective famihes."*
This letter enclosed proposals of peace on moderate terms.
The king's answer is really honorable to himself as well as to
the empress-queen : —
" Baron Thugut has delivered to me your imperial majesty's
letter, and no one is or shall be acquainted with his arrival. It
was worthy of your majesty's character to give these proofs of
magnanimity and moderation in a litigious cause, after having so
heroically maintained the inheritance of your ancestors. The
tender attachment which you display for your son the emperor
and the princess of your blood, deserves the applause of every
feeling mind, and augments, if possible, the high consideration
which I entertain for your sacred person. I have added some
articles to the propositions of Baron Thugut, most of which have
been allowed, and others will, I hope, meet with little difficulty.
He will immediately depart for Vienna, and will be able to
return in five or six days, during which time I will act with such
* Coxo's Memoirs of the House of Austria, vol. ii. p. KU.

MARIA THERESA. 313
caution that your imperial majesty may have no cause of appre
hension for the safety of any part of your family, and particu
larly of the emperor, whom I love and esteem, although our
opinions differ in regard to the affairs of Germany."
It is pleasing to see these two sovereigns, after thirty-eight
years of systematic hostility, mutual wrongs, and personal aver
sion, addressing each other in terms so conciliatory, and which,
as the event showed, were at this time sincere.
The accommodation was not immediately arranged. Freder
ick demurred on some points, and the Emperor Joseph, when
made acquainted with the negotiation, was indignant at the con
cessions which his mother had made, and which he deemed
humiliating — as if it could he humiliating to undo wrong, to
revoke injustice, to avert crime, and heal animosities. But
Maria Theresa was not discouraged, nor turned from her
generous purpose. She was determined that the last hours
of her reign should not, if possible, be stained by bloodshed
or disturbed by tumult. She implored the mediation of the
Empress of Russia. She knew that ,the reigning foible of the
imperial Catherine, like that of the plebeian Pompadour, was
vanity— intense, all-absorbing vanity — and might bo soothed
and flattered by the same means. She addressed to her,
therefore, an eloquent letter, in which praise, and deference,
and argument were so well mingled, and so artfully calculated
to win that vain-glorious but accomplished woman, that she
receded from her first design of supporting the King of Prussia,
and consented to interfere as mediatrix. After a long negotia^
tion and many difficulties, which Maria Theresa met and over
came with firmness and talent worthy of her brightest days,
the peace was signed at Teschen, in Saxony, on the 13th of
May, the birth-day of the empress-queen.

314 MARIA THERESA.
The treaty of Teschen was the last political event of Maria
Theresa's reign in which she was actively and personally con
cerned. Her health had been for some time declining, and
for several months previous to her death she was unable to move
from her chair without assistance ; yet, notwithstanding her
many infirmities, her deportment was still dignified, her manner
graceful as well as gracious, and her countenance benign.
She had long accustomed herself to look death steadily in
the face, and when the hour of trial came, her resignation, her
fortitude, and her humble trust in Heaven never failed her.
She preserved to the last her self-possession and her strength
of mind, and betrayed none of those superstitious terrors which
might have been expected and pardoned in Maria Theresa.
Until the evening preceding her death, she was enga,ged in
signing papers, and in giving her last advice and directions to
her successor ; and when, perceiving her exhausted state, her
son entreated her to take some repose, she replied steadily, — ¦
" In a few hours I shall appear before the judgment-seat of
God, and would you have me sleep .'"'
Maria Theresa expired on the 29th of November, 1780, in
her sixty-fourth year ; and it is, in truth, most worthy of remark,
that the regrets of her family and her people did not end with
the pageant of her funeral, nor were obliterated by the new
interests, new hopes, new splendors of a new reign. Years
after her death she was still remembered with tenderness and
respect, and her subjects dated events from the time of their
" mother," the empress. The Hungarians, who regarded them
selves as her own especial people, still distinguish their country
from Austria and Bohemia, by calling it the " territory of the
queen."

6l|aHof^fe ColrS^jj,.

Had Charlotte Corday lived in the days of the Greek or Roman
republics, the action which has given celebrity to her name
would have elevated her memory to the highest rank of civic
virtue. The Christian moralist judges of such deeds by a dif
ferent standard. The meek spirit of the Saviour's religion raises
its voice against murder of every denomination, leaving to Di
vine Providence the infliction of its will upon men like Marat,
whom, for wise and inscrutable purposes, it sends, from time to
time, as scourges upon earth. In the present instance, Char
lotte Corday anticipated the course of nature but a few weeks,
perhaps only a few days ; for Marat, when she killed him, was
already stricken with mortal disease. Fully admitting, as I
sincerely do, the Christian precept in its most comprehensive
sense, I am bound to say, nevertheless, that Charlotte Corday's
error arose from the noblest and most exalted feelings of the
human heart ; that she deliberately sacrificed her life to the
purest love of her country, unsullied by private feelings of any
kind ; and that, having expiated her error by a public execution,
the motive by which she was actuated, and the lofty heroism she
displayed, entitle her to the admiration of posterity.
Marie Adelaide Charlotte, daughter of Jean Frangois Corday
d'Armans, and Charlotte Godier, his wife, was born in 1768, at
-St. Saturnin, near Seez, in Normandy. Her famUy belonged
to the Norman nobUity, of which it was not one of the least

318 CHARLOTTE CORDAY.
ancient, and she was descended, on the female side, from the
great Corneille. She was educated at the Abbey of the Holy
Trinity, at Caen, and from her earliest youth evinced superior
intellectual endowments.
From a peculiar bent of mind very uncommon in females,
especially at that period, Charlotte Corday devoted herself to
the study of politics and the theory of government. Strongly
tinotureTi with the philosophy of the last century, and deeply
read in ancient history, she had formed notions of pure repub
licanism which she hoped to see realized in her own country.
A friend at first to the revolution, she exulted in the opening
dawn of freedom ; but when she saw this dawn overcast by the
want of energy of the Girondins, the mean and unprincipled
conduct of the Feuillans, and the sanguinary ferocity of the
Mountain party, she thought only of the means of averting
the calamities which threatened again to enslave the French
people. On the overthrow of the Girondins, and their expulsion from
the Convention, Charlotte Corday was residing at Caen, with
her relation, Madame de Broteville. She had always been an
enthusiastic admirer of the federal principles of this party, so
eloquently developed in their writings, and had looked up to
them as the saviors of France. She was, therefore, not pre
pared for the weakness, and even pusUlanimity, which they
afterwards displayed.
The Girondist representatives sought refuge in the depart
ment of Calvados, where they called upon every patriot to take
up arms in defence of freedom. On their approach to Caen,
Charlotte Corday, at the head of the young girls of that city,
bearing crowns and fiowers, went out to meet them. The civic
crown was presented to Lanjuinais and Charlotte herself placed

CHARLOTTE CORDAT. 319
it upon his head — a circumstance which must constitute not the
least interesting recollection of Lanjuinais' life.
Marat was, at this period, the ostensible chief of the Moun
tain party, and the mjst sanguinary of its members. He was a
monster of hideous deformity, both in mind and person ; his lank
and distorted features, covered with leprosy, and his vulgar and
ferocious leer, were a true index of the passions which worked
in his odious mind. A series of unparalleled atrocities had
raised him to the highest power with his party ; and though he
professed to be merely passive in the revolutionary government,
his word was law with the Convention, and his fiat irrevocable.
In everything relating to the acquisition of wealth, he was in
corruptible, and even gloried in his poverty. But the immense
influence he had acquired, turned his brain, and he gave full
range to the evil propensities of his nature, now unchecked by
any authority. He had formed principles of political faith in
which, perhaps, he sincerely beheved, but which were founded
upon his inherent love of blood, and his hatred of every human
being who evinced talents or virtue above his fellow-men. The
guillotine was not only the altar of the distorted thing he wor
shiped under the name of Liberty, but it was also the instrument
of his pleasures— for his highest gratification was the writhings
of the victim who fell under its axe. Even Robespierre at
tempted to check this unquenchable thirst for human blood, but
in vain— opposition only excited Marat to greater atrocities.
-(With rage depicted in his livid features, and with the howl of
demoniac, he would loudly declare that rivers of blood could
alone purify the land, and must therefore flow. In his paper
entitled, " L'Ami du Peuplc," he denounced aU those whom he
had doomed to death, and the guiUotine spared none whom he
designated.

320 CHARLOTTE CORDAT.
Charlotte Corday, having read his assertion in this journal,
(that three hundred thousand heads were requisite to consolidate
the liberties of the French people,) could not contain her feel
ings. Her cheeks flushed with indignation, —
" What !" she exclaimed, " is there not in the whole country
a man bold enough to kill this monster .'"
Meanwhile, an insurrection against the ruling faction was in
progress, and the exUed deputies had estabhshed a central as
sembly at Caen, to direct its operations. Charlotte Corday,
accompanied by her father, regularly attended the sittings of
this assembly, where her striking beauty rendered her the more
remarkable, because from the retired life she led, she was pre
viously unknown to any of the members.
Though the eloquence of the Girondins was here powerfully
displayed, their actions but little corresponded with it. A libe
rating army had been formed in the department, and placed
under the command of General Felix Wimpfen. But neither
this general nor the deputies took any measures worthy of the
cause ; their proceedings were spiritless and emasculate, and
excited, without checking, the faction in power. Marat de
nounced the Girondins in his paper, a'nd demanded their death
as necessary for the safety of the republic.
Charlotte Corday was deeply afflicted at the nerveless
measures of the expelled deputies, and imagining that, if she
could succeed in destroying Marat, the fall of his party must
necessarily ensue, she determined to offer up her own life for
the good of her country. She accordingly, called on Barbaroux,
one of the Girondist leaders, with whom she was not personally
acquainted, and requested a letter of introduction to M.
Duperret, a deputy, favorable to the Girondins, and then at
Paris. Having also requested Barbaroux to keep her secret,

CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 321
she wrote to her father, stating, that she had resolved to emi
grate to England, and had set out privately for that country,
where alone she could live in safety.
She arrived at Paris at the beginning of July, 1793, and im
mediately called upon M. Duperret. But she found this deputy
as devoid of energy as of talent, and therefore only made use of
him to assist her in transacting some private business.
A day or two after her arrival, an incident occurred, which
is worthy of a place here.
Being at the Tuileries, she seated herself upon a bench in
the garden. A ^little boy, attracted no doubt by the smUe with
which she greeted him, enlisted her as a companion of his gam
bols. Encouraged by her caresses, he thrust his hand into her
half-open pocket and drew forth a small pistol.
" What toy is this .?" said he.
"It is a toy," Charlotte repHed, " which may prove very
useful in these times."
So saying, she quickly concealed the weapon, and looking
round to see whether she was observed, immediately left the
garden. On the 11th of July, Chariotte Corday attended the sittmg
of the Convention, with a determination to shoot Marat in the
midst of the assembly. But he was too UI to leave his house ;
and she had to listen to a long tirade against the Girondins,
made by Cambon, in a report on the state of the country.
On the 12th, at nine o'clock in the evening, she caUed on
M. Prud'homme, a historian of considerable talent and strict
veracity, with whose writings on the revolution she had been
much struck.
" No one properly understands the state of France," said
she, with the accent of true patriotism ; " your writings alone
21

322 CHARLOTTE CORDAY.
have made an impression upon me, and that is the reason why I
have called upon you. Freedom, as you understand it, is for
all conditions and opinions. You feel, in a word, that you have
a country. All the other writers on the events of the day are
partial, and full of empty declamation — they are wholly guided
by factions, or, what is worse, by coteries."
M. Prud'homme says, that, in this interview, Charlotte Cor
day appeared to him a woman of most elevated mind and
striking talent.
The day after this visit, she went to the Palais Royal and
bought a sharp-pointed carving-knife, with a black sheath. On
her return to the hotel in which she lodged — Hotel de la
Providence, Rue des Augustins — she made her preparations for
the deed she intended to commit next day. Having put up her
papers in order, she placed a certificate of her baptism in a red
pocket-book, in order to take it with her, and thus establish her
identity. This she did because she had resolved to make no
attempt to escape, and was therefore certain she should leave
Marat's house for the conciergerie, preparatory to her appearing
before the revolutionary tribuiial.
Next morning, the Mth, taking with her the knife she had
purchased, and her red pocket-book, she proceeded to Marat's
residence, at No. 18, Rue de I'Ecole de Medicine. The re
presentative was ill, and could not be seen, and Charlotte's
entreaties for admittance on the most urgent business were
unavaUing. She therefore withdrew, and wrote the following
note, which she herself delivered to Marat's servant : —
" Citizen Representative,
" I am just arrived from Caen. Yom- well-known patriot
ism leads me to presume that you wUl be glad to be made ao-

CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 323
quainted with what is passing in that part of the republic. I
wUl call on you again in the course of the day ; have the good
ness to give orders that I may be admitted, and grant me a few
minutes' conversation. I have important secrets to reveal to
^ ¦ " Charlotte Corday."
At seven o'clock in the evening she returned, and reached
Marat's ante-chamber ; but the woman who waited upon him
refused to admit her to the monster's presence. Marat, how
ever, who was in a bath in the next room, hearing the voice of
a young girl, and little thinking she had come to deprive him
of life, ordered that she should be shown in. Charlotte seated
herself by the side of the bath. The conversation ran upon
the disturbances in the department of Calvados, and Charlotte,
fixing her eyes upon Marat's countenance as if to scrutinize his
most secret thoughts, pronounced the names of several of the
Girondist deputies.
" They shall soon be arrested," he cried with a howl of
rage, " and executed the same day."
He had scarcely uttered these words, when Charlotte's knife
was buried in his bosom.
" Help !" he cried, " help ! I am murdered." He died im
mediately. Charlotte might have escaped, but she had no such intention.
She had undertaken, what she conceived, a meritorious action,
and was resolved to stay and ascertain whether her aim had been
sure. In a short time, the screams of Marat's servant brought
a crowd of people into the room. Some of them beat and Ul-
used her, but, the Blembers of the Section having arrived, she
placed herself under their protection. They were all struck
with her extraordinary beauty, as weU as with the calm and lofty

S24

CHARLOTTE CORDAY,

heroism that beamed from her countenance. Accustomed as
they were to the shedding of human blood, they could not be
hold unmoved this beautiful girl, who had not yet reached her
twenty-fifth year, standing before them with unblenching eye,
but with modest dignity, awaiting their fiat of death, for a deed
which she imagined would save her country from destruction.
At length Danton arrived, and treated her with the most de
basing indignity, to which she only opposed sUent contempt.
She was then dragged into the street, placed in a coach, and
Drouet was directed to conduct her to the conciergerie. On her
way thither, she was attacked by the infuriated multitude.
Here, for the first time, she evinced symptoms of alarm. The
possibility of being torn to pieces in the streets, and her muti
lated limbs dragged through the kennel and made sport of by
the ferocious rabble, had never before occurred to her imagina
tion. The thought now struck her with dismay, and roused all
her feelings of female delicacy. The firmness of Drouet, how
ever, saved her, and she thanked him warmly.
" Not that I feared to die," she said ; " but it was repugnant
to my woman's nature to be torn to pieces before everybody."
WhUst she was at the conciergerie, a great many persons
obtained leave to see her ; and all felt the most enthusiastic
admiration on beholding a young creature of surpassing loveH-
ness, with endowments that did honor to her sex, and a loftiness
of heroism to which few of the stronger sex have attained, who
had deliberately executed that which no man in the country had
resolution to attempt, though the whole nation wished it, and
calmly given up her life for the public weal.
Charlotte's examination before the revolutionary tribunal is
remarkable for the dignified simplicity of her answers. I shall
only mention one which deserves to be handed down- to posterity :

chareotte corday 325

" Accused," said the president, "how happened it that thou
couldst reach the heart at the very first blow ? Hadst thou
been practicing beforehand .?"
' Charlotte cast an indescribable look at the questioner.
" Indignation had roused my heart," she replied, " and it
showed me the way to his."
When the seutence of death was passed on her, and all her
property declared forfeited to the state, she turned to her coun
sel, M. Chauveau Lagarde, —
" I cannot, sir, sufficiently thank you," she said, " for the
noble and delicate manner in which you have defended me ;
and I wUl at once give you a proof of my gratitude. I have
now nothing in the world, and I bequeath to you the few debts
I have contracted in my prison. Pray, discharge them for me."
When the executioner came to make preparations for her
execution, she entreated hira not to cut off her hair.
" It shall not be in your way," she said ; and taking her
stay lace she tied her thick and beautiful hair on the top of her
head, so as not to impede the stroke of the axe.
In her last moments, she refused the assistance of a priest ;
and upon this is founded a charge of her being an infidel. But
there is nothing to justify so foul a blot upon her memory.
Charlotte Corday had opened her mind, erroneously perhaps, to
freedom of thought in religion as well as in politics. Deeply
read in the philosophic writings of the day, she had formed
her own notions of faith. She certainly rejected the com
munion of the Roman Church ; and it may be asked, whether
th-i conduct of the hierarchy of France before the revolution
was calculated to convince her that she was in error ? But,
because she refused the aid of man as a mediator between her
and God, is, it just to infer that she rejected her Creator ." Cer-

(26 charlotte corday.
tainly not. A mind like hers was incapable of existing without
religion ; and the very action she committed may justify the
inference that she anticipated the contemplation, from other
than earthly realms, of the happiness of her rescued country.
As the cart in which she was seated proceeded towards the
place of execution, a crowd of wretches in the street, ever
ready to insult the unfortunate, and glut their eyes with the
sight of blood, called out,^
" To the guillotine with her !"
" I am on my way thither," she mildly replied, ttu-ning
towards them.
She was a striking figure as she sat in the cart. The ex
traordinary beauty of her features, and the mildness of her look,
strangely contrasted with the murderer's red garment which
she wore. She smiled at the spectators whenever she perceived
marks of sympathy rather than of curiosity, and this smile gave
a truly Raphaelic expression to her countenance. Adam Lux,
a deputy of Mayence, having met the cart, shortly after it left
the conciergerie, gazed with wonder at this beautiful apparition
— for he had never before seen Charlotte — and a passion, as
singular as it was deep, immediately took possession of his
mind. "Oh!" cried he, "this woman is surely greater than
Brutus!" Anxious once more to behold her, he ran at full speed towards
the Palais Royal, which he reached before the cart arrived
in front of it. Another look which he cast upon Charlotte
Corday, completely wnsettled his reason. The woi-ld to hiui
had suddenly beoouic a void, and he resolved to quit it. Rush
ing like a mad-man to his own house, he wrote a letter to
the revolutionary trilunal, iu which ho repeated the words he

charlotte corday. 327
had already uttered at the sight of Charlotte Corday, and con-
eluded by asking to be condemned to death, in order that he
might join her in a better world. His request was granted,
and he was executed soon after. Before he died, he begged
the executioner to bind him with the very cords that had before
encircled the delicate limbs of Charlotte upon the same scaffold,
and his head fell as he was pronouncing her name.
Charlotte Corday, wholly absorbed by the solemnity of her
last moments, had not perceived the effect she had produced
upon Adam Lux, and died in ignorance of it. Having reached
the foot of the guillotine, she ascended the platform with a firm
step, but with the greatest modesty of demeanor. " Her coun
tenance," says an eye-witness, " evinced only the calmness of a
soul at peace with itself"
The executioner having removed the handkerchief which
covered her shoulders and bosom, her face and neck became
suffused with a deep blush. Death had no terrors for her, but
her innate feelings of modesty were deeply wounded at being
thus exposed to public gaze. Her being fastened to the fatal
plank seemed a relief to her, and she eagerly rushed to death as
a. refuge against this violation of female delicacy.
When her head fell, the executioner took it up and bestowed
a buffet upon one of the cheeks. The eyes, which were already
closed, again opened, and cast a look of indignation upon the
brute, as if consciousness had survived the separation of the
head from the body. This fact, extraordinary as it may seem,
has been averred by thousands of eye-witnesses ; it has been
accounted for in various ways, and no one has ever questioned
its truth.
Before Charlotte Corday was taken to execution, .she wrote a
latter to her father entreating his pardon for having, without his

328 charlotte corday.
permission, disposed of the life she owed him. Here the
lofty-minded heroine again became the meek and submissive
daughter — as, upon the scaffold, the energetic and daring woman
was nothing but a modest and gentle girl.
The Mountain party, furious at the loss of their leader, at
tempted to vituperate the memory of Charlotte Corda,y, by
attributing to her motives much less pure and praisewcrthy than
those which really led to the commission of the deed for which
she suffered They asserted that she was actuated by revenge
for the death of a man named Belzunce, who was her lover,
and had been executed at Caen upon the denunciation of Marat.
But Charlotte Corday was totally unacquainted with Belzunce
— she had never even seen him. IMore than that, she was never
known to have an attachment of the heart Her thoughts and
feelings were wholly engrossed by the state of her country, and
her mind had no leisure for the contemplation of connubial hap
piness. Her life was, therefore, offered up in the purest spirit
of patriotism, unmixed with any worldly passion.
M. Prud'homme relates, that, on the very day of Marat's
death, M. Plot, a teacher of the Italian language, called upon him.
This gentleman had just left Marat, with whom he had been
conversing on the state of the country. The representative,
in reply to some observation made by IM. Piot, had uttered
these remarkable words : —
" They who govern are a pack of fools. France must have
a chief ; but to reach this point, blood must be shed, not drop
ly drop, but in torrents.'"
"Marat," added M. Piot to M. Prud'homme, "was in his
b;ith, and very ill. This man cannot live a month longer."
AVhen 51. Piot w,is iiifuriued that Marat had been luurdorcd,
an hour after he had made this comuiuuicatlun to 51. Prud'-

charlotte corday. 329
homme, he was stricken with a sort of palsy, and would probably
have died of fright, had not M .Prud'homme promised not to
divulge this singular coincidence.
To the eternal disgrace of the French nation, no monument
has been raised to the memory of Charlotte Corday, nor is it
even known where her remains were deposited ; and yet, in the
noble motive of her conduct, and the immense and generous
sacrifice she made of herself, when in the enjoyment of every
thing that could make life valuable, she has an eternal claim
upon the gratitude of her country.

0 g e j) (] i i] e

¦¦¦¦¦¦I

¦

BHH

HI^^HI

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^v

i£%

«S

HIh

^^^¦1

M

^™

^pV

^^^^^^Killi* in

Hl

^^ JjH

|Hp^' ^^B

^^^^^Hl''^' ' ^M

H^pi

r^Hk Jj^^^^l

HHBir .^^^^^^B

Bg^

"Nl*l^MB

i ^HM

'l~"fe^i 7 ' ^ ^F^^B

¦

L^jfl

MKr- . ^H

"^^^i^^.;*!" '^ , ^ ^1

^1

Ib^'^f^

.^L-

-'^^^^^^^^^P^^i < y^^i

^^^^1

^^Bf ^BA^^i/

^^^^^Hi^

'' '^^^bl ' 'T^

^H

pr i^^H

^^HL^

"^ ^"^M^B^^k'^ w^^

^^H

Ir W^^wM

^^^^^^H^h

' r^f*-!5|_y .a^ ^m/j

^B^

¥ ^4^'"^^ ^^l^^l

^^^^^^^^^K

mt^r" jsT ;tf*«. y^^ JL

¦p^

g fM^I

^^^^^^^^K^

^Br '"f^^v^mf^'^ "^ ^ JBn

Bws

-^'t„ ^o^^^^l

^^^^^^^^^BRv '

r J^^"' ^

1!

r -^41

^^^K^ '^v^

^^^^^B^

1

-^1

iiy^^Hjp^. ^';,

Hj

I^^^H

^^^^^^^^^^^^^w^^^^^l

^B^^^^^^Ktt^-'\'S

«l

¦^^^^^H

^l^^^^^^^^^^l

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^B- V.r^

^^H

ii^^^^^^^^^^l

^^^^^^^^^^^H^^^^^^^H

BB^Hfc^

y[

1^1

¦P^^H

^^^m|

n

i^l

B^m|

Hk^Ml

H

hHI

HhhHI

¦i^

• JI'®© E F Bd a ra E .

¦m

EMPRESS 01" THE FRENCH.
Josephine Rose Tascher de la Pagerie was born at Mar
tinique on the 24th of June, 1763. At a very early age she
came to Paris, where she married the Viscount Beauharnais,
a man of talent and superior personal endowments, but not a
courtier, as some writers have asserted, for he was never even
presented at court. Beauharnais was a man of limited fortune,
and his wife's dower more than doubled his income. In 1787,
Madame Beauharnais returned to Martiniqu "i to nurse her aged
mother, whose health was in a declining state ; but the dis
turbances which soon after took place in that colony, drove her
back to France. During her absence, the revolution had broken
out, and on her return she found her husband entirely devoted
to those principles upon which the regeneration of the French
people was to be founded. The well-known opinions of the
Viscount Beauharnais gave his wife considerable influence with
the rulers of blood, who stretched their reeking sceptre over
the whole nation ; and she had frequent opportunities, which
she never lost, of saving persons doomed by their sanguinary
decrees. Among others, JMademoiselle de Bethisy was con
demned, by the revolutionary tribunal, to be beheaded ; but
Madame Beauharnais, by her irresi.stible interces.sion, succeeded
in obtaining the life and freedom of this interesting lady. The
revolution, however, devouring, like Saturn, its own children,
spared none of even its warmest supporters, the moment they

332 JOSEPHINE.

came in collision with the governing party, then composed of
ignorant and blood-thirsty enthusiasts. The slightest hesita
tion in executing any of their decrees, however absurd or im
practicable, was considered a crime deserving of death. Beau
harnais had been appointed general-in-chief of the army of the
North. Having failed to attend to some foolish order of the
Convention, he was cited to appear at its bar and give an
account of his conduct. No one appeared before this formidable
assemby, but to take, immediately after, the road to the guiUo
tine ; and such was the case with the republican general Beau
harnais. He was tried, and condemned ; and, on the 23d of
July, 1794, he was publicly beheaded at the Place de la
Revolution. Meantime, his wife had been thrown into prison,
where she remained until Robespierre's death, expecting each
day to be led out to execution. Having at length recovered
her freedom, she joined her children, Eugene and Hortcnse,
who had been taken care of during their mother's captivity
by some true and devoted, though humble friends. After the
establishment of the Directory, Madame Tallian became all-
powerful with the Director, Barras, to whom she introduced
Madame Beauharnais.
Bonaparte at length became passionately attached to Madame
Beauharnais, and married her on the 17th of February, 1796.
She accompanied him to Italy, where by her powers of pleasing
she charmed his toils, and by her affectionate attentions soothed
his disappointments when rendered too bitter by the irapedi-
meiils which the jealousy of the Directory threw in the way
of his victories.
Bonaparte loved Josephine with great tenderness ; and this
attachment can be expressed in no words but his own. In his
letters, published by Queen Ilortense, it may be seen how

JOSEPHINE. 333

ardently his soul of fire had fixed itself to hers, and mixed up
her Hfe with his own. These letters form a striking record.
A woman so beloved, and by such a man, could have been
no ordinary person.
When Napoleon became sovereign of France, after having
proved its hero, he resolved that his crown should also grace
the brows of Josephine.
With his own hand he placed the smaU crown upon her head,
just above the diamond band which encircled her forehead. It
was evident that he felt intense happiness in thus honoring the
woman he loved, and making her share his greatness.
It was truly marvelous to see Josephine at the Tuilleries, on
grand reception days, as she walked through the GaUerie de
Diane and the Salle' des Marechaux. Where did this sur
prising woman acquire her royal bearing .' She never appeared
at one of these splendid galas of the empire without exciting
a sentiment of admhation, and of affection too— for her
smUe was sweet and benevolent, and her words mild and
captivating, at the same time that her appearance was
majestic and imposing.
She had some very gratifying moments during her greatness,
if she afterwards encountered sorrow. The marriage of her
son Eugene to the Princess of Ba-varia, and that of her niece to
the Prince of Baden, were events of which she might weU be
proud. Napoleon seemed to study how he could please her—
be seemed happy but in her happiness.
He generally yielded to her entreaties— for the manner in
which she made a request was irresistible. Her voice was
naturaUy harmonious like that of most Creoles, and there was
a pecuHar charm in every word she uttered. I once witnessed,
at Malmaison, an instance of her power over the emperor A

334 JOSEPHINE.

soldier of the guard, guilty of some breach of discipline, had
been condemned to a very severe punishment. Marshal Bes-
sieres was anxious to obtain the man's pardon ; but as Napoleon
had already given his decision, there was no hope unless the
empress undertook the affair. She calmly listened to the
Marshal, and, having received all the information necessary,
said, with her musical voice and bewitching smUe, —
" I wUl try if I can obtain the poor man's pardon."
When the emperor returned to the drawing-room, we aU
looked to see the expression his countenance would assume
when she mentioned the matter to him. At first he frowned,
but, as the empress went on, his brow relaxed ; he then smiled,
looked at her with his sparkling eyes, and said, kissing her fore
head, — ,
" Well, let it be so for this once ; but, Josephine, mind you
do not acquire a habit of making such applications."
He then put his arm round her waist, and again tenderly
kissed her. Now, what spell had she employed to produce such
an effect ? Merely a few words, and a look, and a smUe ; but
each was irresistible.
Then came days of anguish and regret. She had given no
heir to Napoleon's throne, and all hope of such an- event was
now past. This wrung her heart ; for it was a check to Na
poleon's ambition of family greatness, and a disappointment to
the French nation. The female members of Napoleon's famUy
disliked the empress — they were perhaps jealous of her influ
ence — and the present opportunity was not lost to impress upon
the emperor the necessity of a divorce. At length he said to
Josephine, —
" We must separate ; I must have an heir to my empire."
With a bleeding heart, she meekly consented to the sacrifice.

JOSEPHINE. 335

The particulars of the divorce are too well known to be re
peated here.
After this act of self-immolation, Josephine withdrew to
Malmaison, where she lived in elegant retirement — unwilling to
afflict the emperor with the news of her grief, and wearing a
smile of seeming content which but ill veiled the sorrows of her
heart. Yet she was far from being calm ; and in the privacy
of friendship, the workings of her affectionate nature would
sometimes burst forth. But she v/as resigned ; and what more
could be required from a broken heart ?
On the birth of the King of Rome, when Providence at
length granted the emperor an heir to his thrones, Josephine
experienced a moment of satisfaction which made her amends
for many days of bitterness. All her thoughts and hopes were
centered in Napoleon and his glory, and the consummation of
his wishes was to her a source of pure and unutterable satis
faction, " My sacrifice will at least have been useful to him and
to France," she said with tearful eyes. But they were
tears of joy. Yet this joy was not unalloyed ; and the
feeling which accompanied it, was the more bitter because it
could not be shown. It was, however, betrayed by these simple
and affecting words uttered in the most thrilling tone : —
" Alas ! why am I not his mother ?"
When the disasters of the Russian campaign took place, she
was certainly much more afflicted than the woman who filled
her place at the TuUleries. When in private with any who
were intimate with her, she wept bitterly.
The emperor's abdication, and exUe to Elba, cut her to the
soul. " Why did I leave him .'" she said, on hearing that he had

33t) JOSEPHINE.

set out alone for Elba ; " why did I consent to this separation .'
Had I not done so, I should now be by his side, to console him
in his misfortunes."
Josephine died at Malmaison, on the 29th of Blay, 1814,
after a few days iUness. Her two children were with her during
her last moments.
Her body was buried in the church of Ruel. Every person
of any note, then at Paris attended her funeral. She was uni
versally regretted by foreigners as well as by Frenchmen ; and
she obtained, as she deserved, a tribute to her memory, not only
from the nation, whose empress she had once been, but from
the whole of Europe, whose proudest sovereigns had once been
at her feet.

THB BHS.

BOOKS
Published by G. G. Evans,
4-39 Chestnut St., Philadelphia.

T. S. ARTHUR'S WORKS.
Tbe following Books are by T. S. AnmuB, tho well-known author, of whom
it has been said, "that dyiog, he has not written a word he would wish to
erase." They are worthy of a place in every household.
ARTHUR'S SKETCHES OF LIFE AND CHARACTER
An octavo volume of over 400 pages, beautifully Illustrated, and
bound in the best English musHn, gilt. Price $2.00,
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF REAL LIFE,
With an Autobiography and Portrait of the Author, Over 500
pages, octavo, with fine tinted Engravings. Price $2.00.
TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM, and what I saw there.
This powerfully-written work, one of the best by its popular
AUTHOR, has met with an immense sale. It is a large 1 2mo.,
illustrated with a beautiful Mezzotint Engraving, by Sartain;
printed on fine white paper, and bound in the best Enghsh
mushn, gUt back. Price, $1,00.
GOLDEN GRAINS FROM LIFE'S HARVEST-FIELD.
Bound in gilt back and sides, cloth, with a beautiful Mezzotint
engraving, l2mo. Price $1.00.
WHAT CAN WOMAN DO.
izmo., with Mezzotint engraving. Price $1,00.
" Our purpose is to show, in a series of Life Pictures, what woman can d«|
%t well for good as for evil,"
ANGEL OF THE HOUSEHOLD, and oth©i tales.
Cbth, liiao., with Mezzotint engraving. Price fi.oo.

list of books published by G, C. EVANS.

ARTHUR'S HOME LIBRARY.
[The following four volumes contain nearly 500 pages each, and are illos-
trated with fine Mezzotint engravings. Bound in the best manner, and
sold separately or in sets. They have been introduced into the Dislriot,
Sabbath School, aud other Libraries, and are considered one of the best
series of the Author.]
THREE ERAS IN WOMAN'S LIFE.
Containing Maiden, Wife and Mother. Cloth, 12 mo., with Mez-
J zotint engraving. Price, $1.00.
" This, by many, is considered Mr, Arthur's best work,"
TALES OF MARRIED LIFE.
Containing Lovers and Husbands, Sweethearts and Wives, and
Married and Single. Cloth, 1 2mo,, with Mezzotint engraving.
Price $1,00,
"In this volume may be found some valuable hints for wires and has-
bands, as well as for the young."
TALES OF REAL LIFE,
Containing Bell Martin, Pride and Principle, Mary Ellis, Family
Pride and Alice Melville. Cloth, izmo,, with Mezzotint
engraving. Price $1,00.
" This, volume gives the experience of real life by many who found not
their ideal."
THE MARTYR WIFE.
Containing Madehne, the Heiress, The Martyr Wife and Ruined
Gamester, Cloth, izmo., with Mezzotint engraving. $1.00.
"Contains several sketches of thrilling interest."
THE ANGEL AND THE DEMON.
A Book of Startling Interest. A handsome izmo volume, $i.oo.
" In this exciting s'iory, Mr. Arthur has taken hold of the reader's attention
with a more than usually vigorous grasp, and keeps him absorbed to the end
of the volunj e."
THE WAY TO PROSPER,
And other tales. Cloth, izmo., with engraving. Price $1,09.
TRUE RICHES; or WEALTH WITHOUT WINGS,
And other Tales. Cloth, izmo., with Mezzotint engraving.
Prif.e, $1.00.

LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY C, G, EVANS. 3
THE YOUNG LADY AT HOME.
A Series of Home Stories for American Women, izmo. $l.oo.
TRIALS AND CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER.
V/jth 14 Spirited Illustrations, izmo., cloth. Price $i.oo.
The rang© of subjects in this book embrace the grave and instructive, as
Wei. as the agreeable and amusing. No Lady reader familiar with the trials
and perplexities incident to Housekeeping, can fail to recognize many of her
own experiences, for every picture here presented has been drawn from life.
THE WITHERED HEART.
With fine Mezzotint Frontispiece, izmo.. Cloth, Price $i.oo.
This work has gone through several editions in England, although pub
lished but a short time, and has had the most fiattering notices from the
English Press.
STEPS TOWARD HEAVEN.
A Series of Lay Sermons for Converts in the Great Awakening.
izmo,, cloth. Price $i.oo.
THE HAND BUT NOT THE HEART;
Or, Life Trials OF Jessie LoRiNG. i2mo., cloth. Price, $i.oo.
THE GOOD TIME COMING.
Large izmo., with fine Mezzotint Frontispiece. Price, 5l,oo.
LEAVES FROM THE BOOK OF HUMAN LIFE.
Large l2mo. With 30 illustrations and steel plate. Price $1.00.
" It includes some of the best humorous sketches of the author."
HEART HISTORIES AND LIFE PICTURES.
izmo Cloth. Price $1.00.
"In the preparation of this volume, we have endeavored to show, that
whatever tends to awaken our sympathies towards others, is an indiv-idunl
benefit as well as a common good."
SPARING TO SPEND ; or, the Loftons and Pinkertons
izmo., cloth. Price $1.00.
The purpose of this volume is to exhibit the evils that flow from Hio to*
common lack of prudence.

4 LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY C, P. EVANS.
HOME SCENES.
Izmo. Cloth. Price $i,oo.
This Book is designed to aid in the work of overcoming what is evil ai><i
ielfish, that home lights may dispel home shadows.
THE OLD MAN'S BRIDE,
izino. Cloth. Price $1,00,
This is a powerfully written Book, showing the folly of unequal marriages-

BIOGRAPHIES.
LIFE AND EXPLORATIONS OF DR. E. K. KANE,
And Other Distinguished American Explorers, Including Ledyard,
Wilkes, Perry, &c. Containing narratives of their researches
and adventures in remote and interesting portions of the Globe.
By Samuel M, Smucker, LL,D, With a fine Mezzotint Por
trait of Dr, Kane, in his Arctic Costume. Price $1,00,
THE LIFE AND TIMES OF ALEXANDER HAMILTON.
By S. M. Smucker, LL.D. Large izmo., with Portrait, Over
400 pages. Price $1.25.
THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THOMAS JEFFERSON.
By S. M, Smucker, LL.D., author of " Life and Reign of Nicho
las I., Emperor of Russia," &c., &c. Large izmo. of 400 pages.
Cloth, With fine Steel Portrait. Price $1.25.
THE LIFE AND REIGN OF NICHOLAS I,,
Emperor of Russia, With descriptions of Russian Society and
Government, and a full and complete History of the War in
the East, Also, Sketches of Schamyl, the Circassian, and other
Distinguished Characters, By S. M. Smucker, LL.D. BeaudfuUy
lUustrated. Over 400 pages, large izmo. Price $i.z5.
THE PUBLIC AND PRIVATE LIFE OF DANIEL
WEBSTER.
By Gen. S. P. Lyman, izmo,, cloth. Price $1.00.

LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY G, G. EVANS.

THE MASTER SPIRIT OF THE ACE.
THE PUBLIC AND PRIVATE HISTORY OF NAPOLEON
THE THIRD.
With Biographical Notices of his most Distinguished Ministers,
Generals and Favorites. By- S. M. Smucker, LL.D. This in
teresting and valuable work is embellished with splendid steel
plates, done by Sartain in his best style, including the Emperor,
the Empress, Queen Hortense, and the Countess Castiglione.
400 pages, izmo. Price $I,Z5.
MEMOIRS OF ROBERT HOUDIN,
The celebrated French Conjuror, Translated from the French.
With a copious Index, By Dr. R. Shelton Mackenzie. This
book is full of interesting and entertaining anecdotes of the great
Wizard, and gives descriptions of the manner of performing
many of his most curious tricks and transformations, i zmo,,
cloth. Price Si.oo,
LIFE AND ADVENTURES pF DAVID CROCKETT,
Written by himself, with Notes and Additions. Splendidly illus
trated with engravings, from original designs. By George G.
White, izmo., cloth. Price $1.00.
LIFE AND TIMES OF DANIEL BOONE.
Including an account of the Early Settlements of Kentucky, By
Cecil B. Hartley. With splendid illustrations, from original
drawings by George G. White, izmo., cloth. Price $1.00,
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF LEWIS WETZEL.
Together with Biographical Sketches of Simon Kenton, Benjamin
Logan, Samuel Brady, Isaac Shelby, and other distinguished
Warriors and Hunters of the West. By Cecil B. Hartley.
With splendid illastrations, from original drawings by George
G. White, izmo., cloth. Price $1.00.
LIFE AND TIMES OF GENERAL FRANCIS MARION.
The Hero of the American Revolution ; giving full accounts of
his many perilous adventures and hair-breadth escapes amonget
the British and Tories in the Southern States, during the struggle
fbr hberty. By W, Gilmore Simms. izmo., cloth. $1.00,

O LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY O, O. EVANS.
LIFE OF GENERAL SAMUEL HOUSTON,
The Hunter, Patriot, and Statesman of Texas. With nine illus
trations, izmo., cloth. Price $ I. CO.
LIVES OF GENERAL HENRY LEE AND GENERAL
THOMAS SUMPTER,
Comprising a History of the War in the Southern Department of
the United States, Illustrated, izmo, cloth, $i,oo.
DARING & HEROIC DEEDS OF AMERICAN WOMEN.
Comprising Thrilling Examples of Courage, Fortitude, Devoted-
ness, and Self-Sacrifice, among the Pioneer Mothers of the
Western Country, By John Frost, LL.D. Price $i.oo.
LIVES OF FEMALE MORMONS.
A Narrative of facts Stranger than Fiction. By Metta Victoria
Fuller, izmo., cloth. Price $i.oo. ,
LIVES OF ILLUSTRIOUS WOMEN OF ALL AGES.
Containing the Empress Josephine, Lady Jane Gray, Beatrict
Cenci, Joan of Arc, Anne Boleyn, Charlotte Corday, Zenobia,
&c., &c. Embellished with Fine Steel Portraits, izmo., cloth.
Price $1.00.
THE LIVES AND EXPLOITS OF THE MOST NOTED
BUCCANEERS & PIRATES OF ALL COUNTRIES.
Handsomely Ulustrated. i voL Cloth. Price $i.oo.
HIGHWAYMEN, ROBBERS AND BANDITTI OF ALL
COUNTRIES,
With Colored and other Engravings, Handsomely bound in one
volume, izmo., cloth. Price $i,oo.
HEROES AND PATRIOTS OF THE SOUTH;
Comprising Lives of General Francis Marion, General William
Moultrie, General Andrew Pickens, and Governor John
Rutledge. By Cecil B. Hartley. Illustrated, i zmo,, cloth.
Price $1.00.

LIST OP BOOKS PUBLISHED BY G. G. EVANS.

THE PRINCE

HOUSE OF DAVID;
OR,
THREE YEARS IN THE HOLY CITY.
BEING
A SERIES OF THE LETTERS OF ADINA, A JEWESS OF ALEXANDRIA, SUPPOSED
TO BE SOJOURNING IN JERUSALEM IN THE DAYS OF HEROD,
ADDRESSED TO HER FATHER, A WEALTHY JEW IN EGYPT,
AND RELATING, AS IF BY AN EYE-WITNESS,
ALL THE SCENES and WONDERFUL INCIDENTS
IN THE
rjFE OF JESUS OF NAZARETH,
FROM HIS
Baptism in Jordan to his Crucifixion on Calvary.
KEW EDITION, CAREFULLY REVISED AND CORRECTED BY THE AUTHOR,
REV. J. H, INGRAHAM, LL.D.
JJ«rtor 0/ Chrt%t Church, and 0/ St. Thtmas' Hall, Holly Sprinis, MUi.
WITH FIVE SPLENDID ILLUSTRATIONS.
One T,arge izmo. volume, Cloth, S'i.z5.

THE SAME WORK IN GERMAN. One volume izmo.,
cloth. Price $i.oo

LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY C. G. EVANS.

THE PILLAR OF FIRE;

OR,

ISRAEL IN BONDAGE

BEING AN ACCOUNT OF THE

WONDERFUL SCENES IN THE LIFE OF THE SON
OF PHARAOH'S DAUGHTER, (MOSES.)

TOGETHER WITH

PICTURESQUE SKETCHES OF THE HEBREWS UNDER
THEIR TASK-MASTERS.

BY REV. J. H. INGRAHAM, LL.D.,
jtuthor of thf ** Prince of the House of David,"

PRICE, §i.z5.

"The Pillar of Fire," is a large izmo. volume of 600 pages.
Illustrated, and contains an account of the wonderful scenes in
the hfe of the Son of Pharaoh's Daughter, (Moses,) from his youth
to the ascent of Sinai : comprising as by an eye-witness, his
Miracles before Pharaoh, Passage of the Red Sea, and the reception
cf the Law on Mount Sinai, kc, Sec.

LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY O. G, EVAW9.

RECORDS OF THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR.
Containing the Mihtary and Financial Correspondence of distin
guished officers; names of the officers and privates of regiments,
companies and corps, with the dates of their commissions and
enlistments. General orders of Washington, Lee, and Green ;
with a list of distinguished prisoners of war ; the time of their
capture, exchange, etc, ; to which is added the half-pay acts of
the Continental Congress ; the Revolutionary pension laws ; and
a list of the officers of the Continental army who acquired tha
right to half-pay, commutation, and lands, &c. By T. W. Saf-
FELL, Large izmo,, $1,25.
THE ROMANCE OF THE REVOLUTION.
Being a history of the personal adventures, romantic incidents and
exploits incidental to the War of Independence — with tinted
illustrations. Large izmo,, $I.Z5,
THE QUEEN'S FATE,
A tale of the days of Herod, izmo., cloth, with Steel Illustra
tions, $1,00.
¦' A recital of events, of an awe-arousing period, in a familiar and interest
ing manner." "LIVING AND LOVING."
A collection of Sketches. By Miss Virginia F, Townsend, —
Large I zmo,, with fine steel portrait of the author. Bound in
cluth. Price fl,oo.
AVe mijrht say many things in favor of this delightful publication, but we
deora it unnecessnry. Husbands should buy it for their wives: lovers should
buy it for their sweet-hearts : friends should buy it for their friends. — Godey's
Lady's Book, WHILE IT WAS MORNING,
By Virginia F. Townsend, author of " Living and Loving,"
izmo., cloth. Price $1.00.
THE ANGEL VISITOR ; or. Voices of the Heart.
rzmo., cloth, with Mezzotint Engraving. Price $i.oo.
" The mission of this volume is to aid in doing good to those in affliotion.*

10 list of BOOKS published BY C. G. EVANS.
THE SPIRIT LAND.
I zmo., cloth, with Mezzotint Engraving. Price $l,oo,
'* These pages are submitted to the public with the counsel of the wisest
and best of all ages, that amid the wiley arts of the Adversary, we should cling
to the word of God, the Bible, as the only safe and infallible guide of Faith
and Practice." THE MORNING STAR ; or. Symbols of Christ.
By Re\ Wm. M, Thayer, author of " Hints for the Household,"
" Pastor's Holiday Gift," &c,, &c, l zmo,, cloth. Price $1,00
" Tho symbolical parts of Scriptures are invested with peculiar attractions.
A familiar acquaintance with them can scarcely fail to increase respect and
love for the Bible."
SWEET HOME ; or. Friendship's Golden Altar.
By Frances C. Percival. Mezzotint Frontispiece, i zmo,, cloth,
gilt back and centre. Price $i.oo.
" The object of this book is to awaken the Memories of Home — to remind
as of the old Scenes and old Times."
THE DESERTED FAMILY ;
Or, the Wanderings of an Outcast. By Paul Creyton. i zmo.,
cloth. Price $i.oo,
" An interesting stnry, which might exert a good influence in softening th©
heart, warming the affections, and elevating the soul."
¦ ANNA CLAYTON; or, the Mother's Trial
A Tale of Real Life, izmo., cloth. Price $1.00.
" The principal characters in this tale are drawn from real life — imagina
tion cannot picture deeper shades of sadness, higher or more exquisite joys,
thau Truth has woven for us, in the Mother's Trial."
" FASHIONABLE DISSIPATION."
By Metta V. Fuller. Mezzotint Frontispiece, I zmo,, bound in
cloth. Price $1.00,

LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY G. O. EVANS. 1 1
"to THB PURE ALL THINGS ARE PURE."
WOMAN AND HER DISEASES.
From the Cradle to the Grave ; adapted exclusively to her instruc-
cion in the Physiology of her system, and all the Diseases of her
Critical Periods. By Edward H. Dixon, M.D, izmo. Price
$i,oo.
DR, LIVINGSTONE'S TR.AVELS AND RESEARCHES
OF SIXTEEN YEARS IN THE WILDS OF SOUTH
AFRICA.
One volume, i zmo., cloth, fine edition, printed upon superior
paper, with numerous illustrations. Price fi.zj. Cheap edi
tion, price $1.00.
This is a work of thrilling adventures and hair-breadth escapes among
savage beasts, and more savage men. Dr. Livingstone was alone, and unaid
ed by any white man, traveling only with African attendants, among different
tribes and nations, all strange to him, and many of them hostile, and alto
gether forming the most astonishing book of travels the world has ever
seen. All acknowledge it is the most readable book published.
ANDERSSON'S EXPLORATIONS AND DISCOVERIES.
Giving accounts of many Pe^'ous Adventures, and Thrilling Inci
dents, during Four Years' Wanderings in the Wilds of South
Western Africa. By C. J. Andersson, LL.D., F.R.S. With
an Introductory Letter, by J. C. Fremont. One volume, izmo.,
cloth. With Numerous Illustrations, representing Sporting
Adventures, Subjects of Natural^ History, Devices for Destroy
ing Wild Animals, etc. Price $i.z5,
INDIA AND THE INDIAN MUTINY.
Comprising a Complete History of Hindoostan, from the earliest
times to the present day, with full particulars of the Recent
Mutiny in India, Illustrated with numerous engravings. By
Henrv Frederick Malcom. This work has been gotten up
with great care, and may be relied on as Complete and Accu
rate ; making one of the most Thrillingly Interesting books pub
lished. It contains illustrations of all the great Battles and
Sieges, making a large izmo., volume of about 450 pages.

12 LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY G. O. EVANS.

SEVEN YEARS IN THE WILDS OF SIBERIA,
A Narrative of Seven Years' Explorations and Adventures in
Oriental and Western Siberia, Mongolia, the Kir his Steppes,
Chinese Tartary, and Part of Central Asia. By Thomas
William Atkinson. With numerous Illustrations, izmo., clcth,
price $i.z5.
SIX YEARS IN NORTHERN AND CENTRAL AFRICA.
Travels and Discoveries in North and Central Africa, being a
Journal of an Expedition undertaken undei the auspices of
H. B. M.'s Government, in the years 1849-1855. By Henry
Earth, Ph. D., D.C.L., Fellow of the Royal Geographical and
Asiatic Societies, &c., &c. izmo., cloth, price $I.Z5.
I
THREE VISITS TO MADAGASCAR
During the years 1853, 1854, 1856, including a journey to the
Capital ; with notices of the Natural History of the Country
and of the present Civilization of the People, by the Rev, Wm,
Ellis, F,H.S., author of " Polynesian Researches." Illustrated
by engravings from photographs, &c. izmo., cloth. $i.z5.
CAPT, COOK'S VOYAGES ROUND THE WORLD,
One volume, izmo., cloth. Price $1.00,
BOOK OF ANECDOTES AND BUDGET OF FUN.
Containing a collection of over One Thousand Laughable Sayings,
Rich Jokes, etc. izmo., cloth, extra gilt back, $1.00.
"Nothing is so well calculated to preserve the healthful action of the
human system as a good hearty laugh."
BOOK OF PLAYS FOR HOME AMUSEMENT.
Being a collection of Original, Altered and well-selected Tragedies,
Comedies, Dramas, Farces, Burlesques, Charades, Comic Lec
tures, etc. Carefully arranged and specially adapted for Private
Representation, with full directions for Performance, By Silas
S. Steele, Dramatist. One volume, 1 zmo., cloth. Price|i.oo.

list of books PUBLISHED BY C, C, EVANS.

>3

A HISTORY OF ITALY,
AND THE WAR OF 1859,
Giving the causes of the War, with Biographical Sketches of Sov-
. eieigns. Statesmen and Mihtary Commanders ; Descriptions and
Statistics of the Country ; with finely engraved Portraits of Louis
Napoleon, Emperor of France Frances Joseph, Emperor of
Austria ; Victor Emanuel, King of Sardinia, and Garribaldi, the
Champion of ItaUan Freedom, Together with the official ac
counts of the Battles of Montebello, Palestro, Magenta, Maleg-
nano, Solferino, etc., etc., and Maps of Italy, Austria, and all
the adjacent Countries, by
MADAME JULIE DE MARGUERITTES.
With an introduction by Dr, R, Shelton Mackenzie, one volume,
izmo,, cloth, price $1.25.
From the New York Courier and Enquirer,
" This is an ahle, interesting and lively account of the War and the circum
stances connected with it. The author's residence in Europe has given her
facilities for preparing the volume which add much to its value.
** Not only does she give a description of Italy in general, but of each Sov
ereignty, and State, showing the Extent, Resources, Power and Political sit
uation of each. Throughout the volume are found Anecdotes, Recollections,
and even Ondits, which contribute to its interest."
THE BOOK OF POPULAR SONGS.
Being a compendium of the best Sentimental, Comic, Negro, Nation
al, Patriotic, Mihtary, Naval, Social, Convivial, and Pathetic
Ballads and Melodies, as sung by the most celebrated Opera
Singers, Negro Minstrelsy and Comic Vocahsts of the day.
One volume, izmo., cloth. Price $1,00.
THE AMERICAN PRACTICAL COOKERY BOOK;
Or, Housekeeping made easy, pleasant, and econmical in all its
departments. To which are added directions for setting out
Tables, and giving Entertainments. Directions for Jointing,
Trussing, and Carving, and many hundred new Receipts in
Cookery and Housekeeping. With 50 engravings, izmo.,
cloth. Price $1,00.

14 LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY C, C. EVANS.
A BUDGET OF
HUMOROUS POETRY,
COMPRISING
Specimens of the best and most Humorous Productions of the
popular American and Foreign Poetical Writers o{ the day.
By the author of the " Book of Anecdotes and Budget of
Fun," One volume, izmo,, cloth. Price $i.oo.
From the Philadelphia North American,
"This collection includes specimens of the Humorous "Writings of Engliah
and American authors, and the preference Is given to contemporaries. Tho
compiler has aimed to produce a volume in which every piece should provoko
*a good hearty laugh.' In one thing he has certainly shown a wisdom which.
might be imitated by compilers of more pretension. Hp does not claim that hia
work represents the ' entire humor9us literature of tue language/ taut a col
lection of poetical effusions, replete with wit and humor,"

THE
The World in a Pocket Book.
BY
WILLIAM H. CRUMP.
NEW AND REVISED EDITION, BROUGHT DOWN TO
i860.
This work is a Compendium of Useful Knowledge and General
Reference, dedicated to the Manufacturers, Farmers, Merchants,
and Mechanics of the United States — to all, in short, with whom
time is money — and whose business avocations render the acqui
sition of extensive and diversified information desirable, by the
shortest possible road. This volume, it is hoped, will be found
worthy of a place in every household — in every family. It
may indeed be termed a hbrary in itself. Large izmo., I1.Z5.

LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY G. C, EVANS. 1 5
THE
LADIES' HAND BOOK
OF
FANCY AND ORNAMENTAL
NEEDLE-WORK,
COMPRISING
FULL DIRECTIONS WITH PATTERNS
FOR WORKING IN
Embroidery, Applique, Braiding, Crochet, Knitting, Netting,
Tatting,- Quilting, Tambour and Gobelin Tapestry,
Broderie Anglaise, Guipure Work, Canvass Work,
Worsted Work, Lace Work, Bead Work,
Stitching, Patch Work, Frivolite,
etc., etc., etc. I
ILLUSTRATED WITH 262 ENGRAVED PATTERNS,
TAKEN FROM ORIGINAL DESIGNS,
BY MISS FLORENCE HARTLEY.

ONE VOLUME, QUARTO CLOTH, Price $1.25.

1 6 LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY C, G. EVANS.

LECTURES FOR THE PEOPLE:
BY THE
Rev. H. S to well BROWN,
Of the Myrtle Street Baptist Chapel^ Liverpoal., England.
First Series, published under a special arrangement with the author.
With a Biographical introduction by Dr. R. Shelton Mackenzie.
With a splendidly engraved Steel Portrait. One vol., 414 pages.
i2mo,, cloth. Price $1.00.
Mr, Brown's lectures fill an important place, for which we have no other
book. The style is clear, the spirit is kind, the reasoning careful, and the
argument conclusive. We are persuaded that this book will render more
good than any ,book of sermons or lectures that have been published in this
19th century.— XiverpooZ Mercury.
THE HOIVIE BOOK OF HEALTH AND MEDICINE;
Or, The Laws and IVIeans of Physical Culture, adapted to
practical use. Embracing a treatise on Dyspepsia, Digestion,
Breathing, Ventilation, Laws of the Slcin, Consumption, how
prevented ; Clothing, Food, Exercise, Rest, &c. By W. A.
Alcott, M, D, With ^l illustrations. Large i2mo. Price,
$1.25. LIFE OF THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE,
First Wife of Napoleon I. Illustrated with Steel Portraits. "By
J. T, Laurens, author of "Heroes and Patriots of the South."
izmo. cloth. Price, $i.oo,
LIVES OF THE HEROES OF THE AMERICAN
REVOLUTION.
Comprising the Lives of Washington and his Generals, The
Declaration of Independence. The Constitution of the United
States. The Inaugural, First Annual. and Farewell Addresses
of Washington, With Portraits, izmo., cloth. Price $i.oo.
COLUMBA; a Tale of Corsica,
By Prosper Merimee, As a picture of Corsican hfe and manners,
Columba is unequalled. In one handsome volume. Price $i.oo

3 9002 00572 4571