the Dauphin. Her good sense, which was one of the causes of her
wonderful success, made her wish to press on to Rheims; besides her
voices had told her that she would only have one year in which to do her
work, and she was eager to get on. But the Dauphin hesitated and
listened to other advice. “Noble Dauphin,” Jeanne pleaded, “hold not
such long and wordy councils, but come at once to Rheims and be worthily
crowned.” She could not persuade him to make haste, and the next month
she spent in taking other places from the English. A young noble saw her
at that time and wrote to his mother: “To see her and hear her speak,
she seems a thing wholly divine.”
At last her persistence was rewarded, and the Dauphin agreed to march to
Rheims. The towns on their way yielded to him, or rather to Jeanne; it
was she who ever filled her friends with courage and her foes with fear.
Rheims opened its gates to them, and preparations were at once made for
the coronation. When Charles was crowned in the great cathedral, the
Maid stood next him with her standard in her hand, and when all was over
she knelt, embracing his knees and weeping for joy, saying, “Gentle
King, now is accomplished the will of God, who decreed that I should
raise the siege of Orleans and bring you to this city of Rheims to
receive your solemn sacring, thereby showing that you are the true king,
and that France should be yours.” In less than three months she had
accomplished what she had set out from her village to do.
[Illustration: JEANNE IS WOUNDED BY THE ARROW.]
Jeanne had hoped that the day after the coronation, the king would set
out for Paris, which was in the hands of his enemies. But again there
were delays; Charles consented to make a truce of fifteen days with his
enemies. Jeanne’s good sense showed her what a mistake this was. Weary
of the struggle, she longed that it might be God’s pleasure for her to
lay down her arms and return to keep her father and mother’s sheep. But
she would not leave her task. It was nearly six weeks before she was
allowed to go against Paris, and she was so badly supported, that in
spite of her great courage the attack failed. Once she stood all day in
the ditch under the wall in the heat of the fire calling on the enemy to
yield, till she was shot in the leg. Then when her men carried her under
cover, though she could not move for her wound, she kept on crying out
to them to charge, and telling them that the place was theirs if they
would. But it was of no avail. Three days after the king decided to
retreat and go back to the Loire. During most of the following winter
there was little fighting, but in the spring once more Jeanne began to
advance on Paris. It was then, one day in Easter week, that her voices
told her that she would be captured before Midsummer day, adding that
she must take all things well for God would help her. So they warned her
every day, but never told her the hour of her captivity. Yet with this
terrible fate before her, she rode on; she knew no turning back. A few
weeks afterwards she was at Compiegne and led her men out against the
enemy. They were surprised by an unexpected attack as they rode. Thrice
Jeanne charged, and drove back the enemy, but more and more soldiers
came up; most of Jeanne’s men fled, only a few faithful ones stayed with
her. The enemy surrounded them and Jeanne was forced from her horse, and
carried off. Great was the joy of the English and their French friend,
the Duke of Burgundy, when they heard that Jeanne was a prisoner. She
was in the hands of a French noble of the English party, and was treated
as a prisoner of war, but her enemies planned to sell her to the
English, who had always said they would burn her if they could get her.
Meanwhile she was kept in the castle of Beaurevoir, and kindly treated
by the ladies of the castle. They wished her to lay aside her man’s
dress, but she refused, saying that she had not yet had leave from God.
She did not feel that her mission was ended. She was much distressed by
the stories that she heard of the sufferings of the people of Compiegne,
the town which she was trying to relieve when she was taken prisoner.
She longed to go and help them. She knew, too, that she was to be sold
to the English and she dreaded falling into their hands. So one night
she tried to escape by leaping from the tower, a height of sixty feet.
She was found lying insensible in the ditch, but with no bones broken.
She said afterwards that her voices had bidden her not to leap and had
told her that Compiegne would be saved. Now the voices comforted her,
bidding her beg God’s pardon for having leaped.
[Illustration: THE CORONATION OF CHARLES VII.]
Jeanne soon recovered from her injuries, and Compiegne was indeed
relieved, but the Maid was sold to the English after she had been some
four months a prisoner. She was carried to several different places, and
at last to Rouen, where she was imprisoned in the castle with rough,
rude men to guard her. No woman was allowed to come near her; she was
kept in chains, and night and day had to endure the company of the
soldiers. It was because she still hoped that some way of escape might
be shown her, that she would not give her promise not to try to escape.
Had she done so, she might have been more kindly treated; but her great
courage made her ready to bear anything, rather than give up the chance
of going back to her task.
Jeanne was to be tried by the Church, because the plan of the English
was to treat her as a witch inspired by devils. A French bishop,
belonging to the English party, was the chief of her judges, and with
him sat forty-three learned lawyers and clergy to judge the peasant girl
of eighteen, before whom the English army had shrunk in terror. The Maid
had already been nine months a prisoner when she was brought to trial.
She appeared dressed in a black suit like a page, strong in her
confidence in the guidance of God, and trusting in her voices to tell
her what to answer. The judges could not make her swear to answer
truthfully all their questions. She swore to speak the truth on certain
subjects, but on others, chiefly on her private communications to the
king, she said she would say nothing. First, for six long days she was
questioned in the public court, the ignorant peasant girl alone amongst
her enemies. She never faltered, her answers came quick and ready,
though often her judges wearied her by going again and again over the
same points. When they asked if she often heard her voices, she said
that there was no day when she did not hear them, and she had great need
of them. She described once how the voice had awakened her, and she had
risen and sat on her bed with folded hands to listen and to give thanks
for its coming. Always she showed that all that she had done had been
done at the bidding of God. “I would rather have been torn in pieces by
four horses than have come into France without God’s command,” she said.
She stated confidently her belief that her king would gain the kingdom
of France, adding that it was this revelation that comforted her every
day. She never complained, and said that since it had pleased God to
allow it, she believed that it was best that she should have been taken.
She said that her voices encouraged her to bear her martyrdom patiently,
for she would at last come to the heavenly kingdom. When she was asked
what she meant by speaking of her martyrdom, she answered that she meant
the pains she suffered in prison, and that she thought it probable she
would have pains still greater to bear.
For six days she was publicly examined in court, and later, on nine
other days, she was secretly examined in prison. During all this time,
in spite of her constant entreaties, she was not allowed to hear Mass.
On her way to the court she passed in front of a little chapel and she
used to kneel to pray at the entrance till even this was forbidden. When
at last her examination was finished, a long statement was drawn up in
which Jeanne was declared to be a witch and a heretic and accused of
many evil deeds. These accusations were sent to many learned men for
their opinion, and all declared that Jeanne’s voices were either
inventions or the work of the devil, and that she was a liar. Meanwhile
her judges visited her in prison and exhorted her to submit and own that
she had been deceived. It was nearly two months since the beginning of
her trial. Long sermons were preached at her; she was confused by many
questions, difficult for an ignorant girl to answer, and told that it
was her duty to submit to the Church. Again and again she answered
simply, “I submit to God my Creator.” She was ill and worn out with
suffering and anxiety. But as she lay upon her bed in prison, she still
answered bravely through her weariness, “Come what may, I will do or say
no other thing.” For a week she lay in her chains, the rude soldiers
always with her. Then again others visited her urging her to confess,
but she said, “If I saw the fire lit, if I were in the flames, I would
say no other thing.”
To the last she had hoped that deliverance would come somehow, but now
it seemed to her that she was altogether deserted. On the 24th of May
she was taken out to the stake in the market-place at Rouen, amongst a
shouting crowd of hostile people. There a statement of the accusations
against her was read out, and she said that she was willing to do as the
Church ordered, and that since the doctors of the Church had decided
that her visions and voices were not to be believed in, she would not
defend them. She was bidden to sign a paper to this effect, and told
that if she did so her life would be spared. We do not know what the
paper was that at last Jeanne in her fear and weariness, consented to
sign with her mark, and we do not know whether she understood what she
signed. But a few days afterwards she said, “My voices have told me
since that I greatly sinned in that deed, in confessing that I had done
ill. What I said, I said in fear of fire.”
Jeanne was now handed over to the Church to spend her life in prison.
She cried, “Here, some of you church folk, take me to your prisons, and
out of the hands of the English.” But her judge sent her back to the
same horrible prison with the English soldiers. A woman’s dress was
brought her and she was bidden to wear it. For three days she lay in
prison with her legs in irons and chained to a wooden beam. We do not
know exactly what happened, but on the third day, it was announced that
Jeanne was again wearing the man’s dress which she had sworn to her
judges that she would not wear again. News was at once taken to the
judges that she had relapsed, and they hurried to ask her the reason.
She pleaded that it was more convenient to wear men’s dress among men,
and said, “I would rather die than remain in irons. If you will release
me, and let me go to Mass and lie in gentle prison, I will be good and
do what the Church desires.” But there was no pity for her. It was
decided that she must be given up by the Church to the English to be
burnt. It is said that Jeanne cried piteously and tore her hair when she
was told her fate. If so, she soon regained her courage. Her last desire
was granted her; she was allowed to receive the sacrament. Then she was
led out to the market-place, weeping as she went, so that she so moved
the hearts of those who were with her and they also wept. She had to
wait in the sight of a great crowd whilst a sermon was preached at her.
When it was over, she humbly asked forgiveness of all and said that she
forgave the evil that had been done her. Some who watched were moved to
tears, but others were impatient to get away to dinner; so the bailiff
said “Away with her.” Then Jeanne was led to the scaffold piled with
faggots. She climbed it bravely, but asked for a cross to hold as she
burnt. There was none for her, till an English soldier broke his staff
and made a little cross and gave it her. She kissed it and cried to her
Saviour for help. To the last she affirmed that she was sure that her
voices had come from God and had not deceived her. As she was being
chained to the stake, she said, “Ah, Rouen, I fear greatly that thou
mayst have to suffer for my death.” Then as the smoke rose round her,
she cried upon the Saints who had befriended her, and with a last strong
cry “Jesus,” her head sank and she was free from her pain.
[Illustration: THE BURNING OF JEANNE.]
The story of Jeanne, the Maid of France, seems too wonderful to be true;
but all that we know about her is taken from the words of those who knew
and saw her, and from her own words at her trial, recorded not by her
friends but by her enemies. It is by her own words that we know her
best, and they show us her pure nature, her marvellous courage, her
perfect devotion to the task given to her. We cannot explain what her
voices were, but we know that she believed she heard them, and that
somehow this simple peasant maid was taught how to save her king. She
accomplished her task. It was she who gave the French courage in their
hour of despair, and in the end the English were driven out of the land
and Charles VII. became king of the whole of France.
IV
MARGARET BEAUFORT
IT was in the beginning of the troubled times of the Wars of the Roses
that Margaret Beaufort was born. Her father, the Duke of Somerset, was
one of the great nobles on the Lancastrian side. He was the grandson of
John of Gaunt, son of Edward III., and Duke of Lancaster, who had
married a rich and noble heiress. Margaret was born in 1441 in her
mother’s manor of Bletsoe in Bedfordshire. Only three years after her
birth her father died, and the little girl, his only child, was left
heiress to vast estates and riches. She passed the early years of her
life at Bletsoe with her mother. Great care seems to have been given to
Margaret’s education. It was not common in those days for girls even to
be taught to write, but Margaret was bred in studious habits. She knew
French perfectly, and also some Latin, but in later life regretted that
she had not been able to gain a fuller knowledge of that language. She
was very clever with her needle and is known to have executed beautiful
embroidery. Above all she was well taught in religion and trained in
habits of piety. But the condition of a great heiress was far from
agreeable in those days. It was the custom to give her to some great
noble as his ward, and he then had the right to arrange for her marriage
as he liked. When Margaret was nine years old, the king gave her as ward
to the Duke of Suffolk, one of the most powerful men of the time, and he
had her brought to court, and wished to marry her to his son. But the
king, Henry VI., wanted her to marry his half-brother, Edmund Tudor,
Earl of Richmond. Margaret was puzzled by these different proposals, and
asked the advice of an old lady whom she dearly loved. The old lady bade
her ask St. Nicholas, a saint who was thought to care specially for
young girls, to help her in this difficult matter. Margaret prayed often
to St. Nicholas, and one night, whether she was awake or asleep she did
not know, St. Nicholas in the dress of a bishop appeared before her and
told her to take Edmund Tudor as her husband. This dream seems to have
decided the choice of her mother, and as shortly afterwards the Duke of
Suffolk fell into disgrace, it came about that Margaret was allowed to
marry Edmund Tudor, when she was not quite fifteen years old. After her
marriage she went with her husband to live at his castle of Pembroke in
Wales, his native country. Only a year afterwards he died, and a few
weeks after his death her son Henry was born. At the age of sixteen,
only a child herself, she was left a widow, with a child to take care
of.
[Illustration:
_Photo: Emery Walker._
MARGARET, COUNTESS OF RICHMOND.
]
The baby was small and weakly and to it Margaret gave all her care. It
was an anxious time for the members of the Lancastrian family. Their
rivals the Yorkists were beginning to rise into power, and the little
Henry, both on account of his great possessions and because through his
descent from John of Gaunt he was so nearly related to King Henry VI.,
was not likely to find them friendly to him and his mother. Margaret was
glad to stay in quiet seclusion at Pembroke Castle under the protection
of Jasper Tudor, her husband’s brother, now owner of the castle.
Even had he wished, Henry VI. could not have befriended her. He was
powerless, sometimes in the hands of those who called themselves his
friends, sometimes flying before his enemies, whilst the country was
distracted with the struggles of the Yorkists and the Lancastrians.
Margaret thought it best to seek a protector for herself and her son by
marrying Lord Henry Stafford. When Henry VI. was in power she and her
son were able to visit the court, but at other times she was only safe
in her castle in Wales. At last Edward of York became king as Edward IV.
and Henry VI. was cast as a prisoner into the Tower. Edward IV. seized
the lands belonging to the little Henry, and his mother feared lest even
his life might not be safe, so she was willing that he should escape to
France under the care of his uncle Jasper.
Henry was then fourteen. Margaret had watched anxiously over his
delicate childhood, moving him about to different places in Wales for
the good of his health. He was an intelligent boy, and once when his
uncle Jasper had taken him to court to see Henry VI., the king is
reported to have said, when he looked at him, “Surely this is he to whom
both we and our adversaries shall hereafter give place.” His tutor said
that he had never seen a boy of so much quickness in learning. But now
the poor boy had to leave his mother and his country. The wind drove him
and Jasper to land on the coast of Brittany, and when the Duke of
Brittany heard of their arrival, he ordered them to be brought to his
castle at Vannes. There he kept Henry as a sort of prisoner, but refused
to give him up to Edward IV., and though not allowed to leave Vannes, he
was at least safe.
[Illustration:
EDWARD IV.
From an original painting belonging to the Society of Antiquaries.
]
For fourteen years Henry was obliged to remain in Brittany, separated
from his mother. The Yorkist king, Edward IV., was on the throne, and
Margaret, separated from her son, lived as quietly as possible on her
estates in the country, anxious to save what she could of her money and
her lands for Henry. She seems to have stayed in different parts of the
country. Wherever she lived, she devoted herself to the care of the poor
and the good of the Church. Staying at one of her houses in Devonshire,
she found that the priest’s house was at some distance from the church
so that he had some way to walk to and fro. She therefore presented to
the church for ever her own manor-house, with the land around it, for
the priest’s use, as it was close to the church. She lived chiefly at
Collyweston in Northamptonshire, where she built herself a fine house.
She was deeply religious, and during these long years she spent much of
her time in prayer. She used to get up at five o’clock and spend the
hours till ten, which was in those days the hour for dinner, in
meditation and prayer. The rest of the day she spent partly in
ministering to the wants of the poor and sick, partly in study. Books in
those days, just before the introduction of printing, were scarce and
precious. Margaret busied herself with translating into English some
books of devotion from the French. Amongst other things she was the
first to translate into English part of that famous book, “The
Imitation,” by Thomas à Kempis, which has helped and comforted so many
people. We know little of her second husband, and do not know how much
he was with her. He died after they had been married twenty-two years,
and in his will he spoke of Margaret with warm love and trust. Shortly
after his death, Margaret married for a third time, Lord Stanley,
himself a widower with a large family, and one of the most powerful
nobles at the court of Edward IV. In those days great people married
more from policy than from love. Margaret probably felt that, now that
it seemed as if the power of the Yorkists was established, it would be
well for her to gain the protection of a powerful noble at court, who
might in time help to make it possible for her son to return to England.
She now left her quiet life and came to live in a great house in London
belonging to her husband. Very shortly afterwards everything was changed
by the unexpected death of Edward IV. When his brother, the Duke of
Gloucester, made himself king as Richard III., and caused his little
nephews to be murdered in the Tower, there was such discontent in
England that it seemed to the friends of the house of Lancaster a good
opportunity to destroy the Yorkist power.
[Illustration:
RICHARD III.
From an original painting belonging to the Society of Antiquaries.
]
Margaret’s son Henry, as the descendant of John of Gaunt, was the chief
representative of the house of Lancaster. A plan was made to make him
king and marry him to Elizabeth, the beautiful young daughter of Edward
IV. The Duke of Buckingham, one of the chief nobles of the time and till
now a friend and supporter of Richard III., was one of the chief movers
in this plot. Margaret was travelling one day on the road between
Bridgnorth and Worcester, on her way to visit a special shrine at
Worcester, when she chanced to meet the Duke of Buckingham, journeying
from Tewkesbury. He told her of the proposed plot, and she was naturally
eager to help in anything which might bring back her son to her.
Reginald Bray, a discreet man, who was in Margaret’s service and helped
in looking after her estates, was employed in communicating with Henry.
The young prince found many friends, and a fleet was got together to
bring him to England. But after he had started, a mighty storm arose,
scattered his ships, and drove him back to the coast of France with such
fury that he narrowly escaped with his life. For the moment all seemed
lost. Richard III.’s suspicions were thoroughly aroused. He knew that
Margaret had been communicating with her son, and he was very angry with
her. But he did not dare to anger her powerful husband, Lord Stanley, by
treating her too severely. He bade Stanley keep her safely in some
secret place at home, without any servant or company, so that she might
have no means of communicating with her son. Stanley himself was really
in Henry’s favour, and Richard beginning to suspect him seized his
eldest son and kept him as a hostage for his father.
[Illustration:
HENRY VII.
From an original picture in the National Portrait Gallery.
]
Somehow communications with Henry still went on, and in 1485 he landed
in Wales, and all men flocked to join him. Stanley, who pretended to
keep true to Richard to the last, deserted him just before the battle of
Bosworth, where Richard was utterly defeated and killed. His crown was
found hanging in a bush by Reginald Bray and brought to Stanley, who
placed it on the head of Henry crying, “Long live King Henry VII.” It
seems likely that Henry first met his mother at Leicester after the
battle. She had parted from him fifteen years before, when he was a boy
of fourteen, she met him again as King of England. The right that Henry
had to the throne came to him through his mother. She might have claimed
to be queen herself, but she never thought of doing this, nor did she
try to take any part in public affairs. Of course all her lands were
restored to her, and she was called at court “the full noble Princess
Margaret, Countess of Richmond, Mother of our Sovereign Lord the King.”
She now for the most part lived at her manor of Woking in Surrey, coming
to court only on important occasions. Henry married Elizabeth, the tall
golden-haired daughter of Edward IV., a few months after he became king,
and Margaret seems to have been with her on all important occasions.
Perhaps she may have domineered over her a little too much, for the
Spanish envoy reported to his court that Elizabeth “was a very noble
woman and much beloved, but that she was kept in subjection by her
mother-in-law, the Countess of Richmond.” At any rate, Margaret was by
her side on all great occasions. Together they watched from behind a
lattice the coronation of Henry in Westminster Abbey, and the banquet
afterwards in Westminster Hall. Together they went in state in a barge
to Greenwich to see a water fête arranged by the Lord Mayor in honour of
the king’s coronation, where, among other shows, they watched a dragon
which was carried along in a barge and spouted fire into the Thames.
[Illustration:
ELIZABETH OF YORK, QUEEN OF HENRY VII.
From an original picture in the National Portrait Gallery.
]