completely above all reproach of levity and immorality; and this merit,
which is equally due to the poet and his Laura, is still more remarkable
when we consider that the models which he followed were by no means
entitled to the same praise. The verses of the troubadours and the
trouveres were very licentious. The court of Avignon, at which Laura
lived--the Babylon of the West, as the poet himself often terms it--was
filled with the most shameful corruption; and even the popes, more
especially Clement V. and Clement VI., had afforded examples of great
depravity. Indeed, Petrarch himself, in his intercourse with other
ladies, was by no means so reserved. For Laura he had conceived a sort
of religious and enthusiastic passion, such as mystics imagine they feel
towards the Deity, and such as Plato supposes to be the bond of union
between elevated minds. The poets who have succeeded Petrarch have
amused themselves with giving representations of a similar passion, of
which, in fact, they had little or no experience.
"How jeering crowds have mocked my love-lorn woes;
But folly's fruits are penitence and shame,
With this just maxim, I've too dearly bought--
That man's applause is but a transient dream."
THE COUNTESS OF RICHMOND.
[1495.]
TYTLER.
Henry VII. is supposed to have been influenced by the advice of his
mother, the Countess of Richmond, to whose opinions he was accustomed to
listen with deference, and whose amiable qualities were likely to make
an impression on her grandchildren. She was, in truth, a remarkable
woman; and her dutiful and affectionate biographer, Bishop Fisher, who
was also her chaplain, has fortunately left us a fine portrait of her
character. Her piety and humility were great, though slightly tinged
with asceticism. She rose at five in the morning, and from that hour
till dinner, which in those primitive days was at ten, spent her time in
prayer and meditation. In her house she kept constantly twelve poor
persons, whom she provided with food and clothing; and, although the
mother of a king, such was her active benevolence that she was often
seen dressing the wounds of the lowest mendicants, and relieving them by
her skill in medicine. She also evinced her respect for learning, both
by her own works, and by munificent endowments for its encouragement.
She was a mother to the students of both universities, and a patroness
to all the learned men of England. Two public lectures in divinity were
instituted by her, one at Oxford, and another at Cambridge; but those
generous efforts were surpassed by her last and noblest foundations, the
colleges of Christ and St John in the latter university. It was right
that such a benefactress to knowledge should be embalmed in an epitaph
by Erasmus.
There can be little doubt that the advice and instructions of this
exemplary woman must have had a considerable influence in directing the
education of the royal progeny, and we may perhaps trace to the
influence of her example that early love of letters which was shown by
young Henry. Erasmus, who was then in England, has left us so pleasant a
picture of the royal school-room at this time, that I need make no
apology for introducing it. "Thomas More," says he, "who had paid me a
visit when I was Montjoy's guest, took me, for the sake of recreating
the mind, a walk to the next country-seat. It was there the king's
children were educated, with the exception of Arthur, who had then
attained majority. On entering the hall the whole of the family
assembled, and we found ourselves surrounded not only by the royal
household, but by the servants of Montjoy also. In the middle of the
circle stood Henry, at that time only nine years old, but bearing an
expression of royalty, a look of high birth, and, at the same time, full
of openness and courtesy; on the right stood the princess Margaret, a
girl of eleven years, afterwards married to James IV. of Scotland; on
the left was Mary, a child of four years of age, engaged in play; while
Edmund, an infant in arms, completed the group. More, with Arnold, our
companion, after paying his compliments to little Henry, presented a
piece of his own writing. I forget what it was. As for me, I was not
anticipating such a meeting; and, having nothing of the kind with me, I
could only promise that I would shortly show my respect for the prince
by some similar present."
ELIZABETH WOODVILLE.
[1490.]
HUME.
Jacqueline of Luxembourg, Duchess of Bedford, had, after her husband's
death, so far sacrificed her ambition to love, that she espoused in
second marriage Sir Richard Woodville, a private gentleman, to whom she
bore several children, and among the rest Elizabeth, who was remarkable
for the grace and beauty of her person, as well as for other amiable
accomplishments. This young lady had married Sir John Gray of Grobie, by
whom she had children; and her husband being slain in the second battle
of St Alban's, fighting on the side of Lancaster, and his estate being
for that reason confiscated, his widow retired to live with her father
at his seat of Grafton, in Northamptonshire. The king [Edward IV.] came
to the house after a hunting-party in order to pay a visit to the
Duchess of Bedford; and as the occasion seemed favourable for obtaining
some grace from this gallant monarch, the young widow flung herself at
his feet, and with many tears entreated him to take pity on her
impoverished and distressed children.
The sight of so much beauty in affliction strongly affected the amorous
Edward. Love stole insensibly into his heart under the guise of
compassion, and her sorrow so becoming a virtuous matron, made his
esteem and regard quickly correspond to his affection. He raised her
from the ground with assurances of favour. He found his passion increase
every moment by the conversation of the amiable object, and he was soon
reduced in his turn to the posture and style of a supplicant at the feet
of Elizabeth. But the lady, either averse to dishonourable love from a
sense of duty, or perceiving that the impression which she had made was
so deep as to give her hopes of obtaining the highest elevation, refused
to gratify his passion; and all the endearments, caresses, and
importunities of the young and amiable Edward, proved fruitless against
her rigid and inflexible virtue.
His passion, irritated by opposition, and increased by his veneration
for such honourable sentiments, carried him at last beyond all bounds of
reason, and he offered to share his throne as well as his heart with the
woman whose beauty of person and dignity of character seemed so well to
entitle her to both. The marriage was privately celebrated at Grafton.
The secret was carefully kept for some time. No one suspected that so
libertine a prince could sacrifice so much to a romantic passion; and
there were in particular strong reasons which at that time rendered this
step to the highest degree dangerous and imprudent.
JOAN OF ARC.
[BORN 1412. DIED 1431.]
DE QUINCEY.
What is to be thought of _her_? What is to be thought of the poor
shepherd girl from the hills and forests of Lorraine, that, like the
Hebrew shepherd boy from the hills and forests of Judea, rose suddenly
out of the quiet, out of the safety, out of the religious inspiration,
rooted in deep pastoral solitudes, to a station in the van of armies,
and to the more perilous station at the right-hand of kings? Daughter of
Domremy, when the gratitude of thy king shall awaken, thou wilt be
sleeping the sleep of the dead. Call her, king of France, but she will
not hear thee. Cite her by thy apparitors to come and receive a robe of
honour, but she will be found _en contumace_. When the thunders of
universal France, as even yet may happen, shall proclaim the grandeur of
the poor shepherd girl that gave up all for her country, thy ear, young
shepherd girl, will have been deaf for five centuries. To suffer and to
do, that was thy portion in this life; that was thy destiny; and not for
a moment was it hidden from thyself. Life, thou saidst, is short; and
the sleep which is in the grave is long! This pure creature--pure from
every suspicion of even a visionary self-interest, even as she was pure
in senses more obvious--never once did this holy child, as regarded
herself, relax from the belief in the darkness that was travelling to
meet her.
Joanna, as we in England should call her, but, according to her own
statement, Jeanne (or, as M. Michelet asserts, Jean) D'Arc, was born at
Domremy, a village on the marshes of Lorraine and Champagne, and
dependent upon the town of Vancouleurs. The situation, locally, of
Joanna was full of profound suggestions to a heart that listened for the
stealthy steps of change and fear that too surely were in motion. But,
if the place were grand, the time, the burden of the time, was far more
so. The air overhead, in its upper chambers, was hurtling with the
obscure sound; was dark with sullen fermenting of storms that had been
gathering for a hundred and thirty years. The battle of Agincourt, in
Joanna's childhood, had re-opened the wounds of France. The famines, the
extraordinary diseases, the insurrections of the peasantry up and down
Europe--these were chords struck from the mysterious harp of the time;
but these were transitory chords. By her own internal schisms, the
church was rehearsing, as in still earlier forms she had already
rehearsed, those vast rents in her foundations which no man should ever
heal. It was not wonderful that in such a haunted solitude, with such a
haunted heart, Joanna should see angelic visions, and hear angelic
voices. These voices whispered to her for ever the duty, self-imposed,
of delivering France. Five years she listened to these monitory voices
with internal struggles. At length she could resist no longer. Doubt
gave way, and she left her home for ever, in order to present herself at
the dauphin's court.
It is not requisite for the honour of Joan, nor is there, in this place,
room to pursue her brief career of action. That, though wonderful, forms
the earthly part of her story; the spiritual part is the saintly
passion of her imprisonment, trial, and execution. The noble girl had
achieved, as by a rapture of motion, the capital end of clearing out a
free space around her sovereign, giving him the power to move his arms
with effect; and, secondly, the inappreciable end of winning for that
sovereign what seemed to all France the heavenly ratification of his
rights, by crowning him with the ancient solemnities.
But she, the child that at nineteen had wrought wonders so great for
France, was she not elated? Did she not lose, as men so often have lost,
all sobriety of mind, when standing on the pinnacle of success so giddy?
Let her enemies declare. During the progress of her movement, and in the
centre of ferocious struggles, she had manifested the temper of her
feelings, by the pity which she had everywhere expressed for the
suffering enemy. She forwarded to the English leaders a touching
invitation to unite with the French, as brothers, in a common crusade
against infidels, thus opening the road for a soldierly retreat. She
interposed to protect the captive or the wounded; she mourned over the
excesses of her countrymen; she threw herself off her horse to kneel by
the dying English soldier, and to comfort him with such ministrations,
physical or spiritual, as his situation allowed. She sheltered the
English that invoked her aid in her own quarters. She wept as she
beheld, stretched on the field of battle, so many brave enemies that had
died without confession. And, as regarded herself, her elation expressed
itself thus:--On the day when she had finished her work, she wept; for
she knew that, when her triumphal task was done, her end must be
approaching.
Next came her trial. Never from the foundations of the earth was there
such a trial as this, if it were laid open in all its beauty of
defence, and all its hellishness of attack. Oh, child of France,
shepherdess, peasant girl! trodden under foot by all around thee, how I
honour thy flashing intellect, quick as God's lightning, and true as
God's lightning to its mark, that ran before France and laggard Europe
by many a century, confounding the malice of the ensnarer, and making
dumb the oracles of falsehood! Woman, sister, there are some things
which you do not execute as well as your brother, man; no, nor ever
will; but I acknowledge you can do one thing as well as the best of us
men--a greater thing than even Milton is known to have done, or Michael
Angelo--you can die grandly, and as goddesses would die, were goddesses
mortal. The executioner had been directed to apply his torch from below.
He did so. The fiery smoke rose upwards in billowing volumes. A
Dominican monk was then standing almost at her side. Wrapped up in his
sublime office, he saw not the danger, but still persisted in his
prayers. Even then, when the last enemy was racing up the fiery stairs
to seize her, even at that moment did this noblest of girls think only
for him, the one friend that would not forsake her, and not for herself;
bidding him, with her last breath, to care for his own preservation, but
to leave _her_ to God.
JANE SHORE.
[1460.]
HUME.
This lady was born of reputable parents in London, was well educated,
and married to a substantial citizen; but, unhappily, views of interest
more than the maid's inclinations had been consulted in the match, and
her mind, though framed for virtue, had proved unable to resist the
allurements of Edward [the Fifth], who solicited her favours. But while
seduced from her duty by this gay and amorous monarch, she still made
herself respectable by her other virtues; and the ascendant which her
charms and vivacity long maintained over him, was all employed in acts
of beneficence and humanity. She was still forward to oppose calumny, to
protect the oppressed, to relieve the indigent; and her good offices,
the genuine dictates of her heart, never waited the solicitations of
presents or the hopes of reciprocal services.
But she lived not only to feel the bitterness of shame imposed on her by
this tyrant, but to experience in old age and poverty the ingratitude of
those courtiers who had long solicited her friendship, and been
protected by her credit. No one among the great multitudes whom she had
obliged had the humanity to bring her consolation or relief; she
languished out her life in solitude and indigence; and, amidst a court
inured to the most atrocious crimes, the frailties of this woman
justified all violations of friendship towards her, and all neglect of
former obligations.
[Such is the picture of Jane Shore. Her misfortunes were partly due to
the cruelty of the protector Gloster. The same author says:] The
protector asked the council what punishment those deserved that had
plotted against his life, who was so nearly related to the king, and was
entrusted with the administration of government. Hastings replied, that
they merited the punishment of traitors. These traitors, cried the
protector, are the sorceress, my brother's wife, and Jane Shore, his
mistress, with others, their associates. See to what a condition they
have reduced me by their incantations and witchcraft; upon which he laid
bare his arm all shrivelled and decayed. But the councillors, who knew
that this infirmity had attended him from his birth, looked on each
other with amazement; and, above all, Lord Hastings, who, as he had
since Edward's death engaged in an intrigue with Jane Shore, was
naturally anxious concerning the issue of these extraordinary
proceedings. Certainly, my Lord, said he, if they be guilty of their
crimes they deserve the severest punishment. And do you reply to me,
exclaimed the protector, with your if's and your and's? You are the
chief abettor of that witch Shore. You are yourself a traitor, and I
swear by St Paul that I will not die before your head be brought me. He
struck the table with his hand. Armed men rushed in. The councillors
were thrown into the utmost confusion. Hastings was seized, was hurried
away, and hastily beheaded on a timber-log which lay in the court of the
Tower. Two hours after a proclamation, well penned and fairly written,
was read to the citizens of London, enumerating his offences and
apologising to them, from the suddenness of the discovery, for the
sudden execution of that nobleman, who was very popular among them. But
the saying of a merchant was much talked of on the occasion, who
remarked that the proclamation was certainly drawn from the spirit of
prophecy. And the protector, in order to carry on the farce of his
accusation, ordered the goods of Jane Shore to be seized, and he
summoned her to answer before the council for sorcery and witchcraft.
But as no proofs that could be received even in that ignorant age were
produced against her, he directed her to be tried in the spiritual court
for her adulteries and lewdness, and she did penance in a white sheet at
St Paul's before the whole people.
CATHARINE OF ARRAGON.
[BORN 1483. DIED 1536.]
TYTLER.
Was first married to Henry VIII.'s elder brother, Arthur, who died
before he concluded his sixteenth year. Henry VII., divided between his
policy and his conscience, first contracted her to his son Henry; and
afterwards, when the latter reached his fourteenth year, becoming
alarmed, insisted on his formally renouncing the engagement. Yet,
strange as it may appear, this renunciation was not communicated to her
father, nor to the princess, for whose marriage with Henry a papal
dispensation had been procured. Meanwhile, Henry's heart became touched
by the amiable qualities of Catharine, who showed no disinclination to
the match; and on the 3d of June, about six weeks after his father's
death, the marriage took place, which was afterwards the cause of such
important changes. It was followed by the ceremony of the coronation,
performed at an excessive cost, and with great magnificence. The age was
one of feudal splendour; and the pageant, as it has been abridged by an
amiable modern historian, presents us with a lively and peculiar picture
of the times.
On the day preceding the solemnity, the king and queen went from the
Tower to Westminster, through the tapestried streets, lined with the
city companies in their best display. Beneath a robe of crimson velvet,
furred with ermine, the king wore a coat of raised gold, with a tabard
shining with rubies, emeralds, great pearls, and diamonds. Nine children
of honour, on great coursers, and dressed in blue velvet, powdered with
_fleur-de-lis_ in gold, represented the nine kingdoms which he governed
or claimed,--England, France, Gascony, Guienne, Normandy, Anjou,
Cornwall, Wales, and Ireland. Following her richly-dressed retinue, the
queen was seen seated on a magnificent litter or chariot, borne by two
milk-white palfreys. Her person was clothed in embroidered satin, with
her hair hanging down her back at great length, beautiful and goodly to
behold, and on her head a coronal, set with many rich and orient stones.
After the procession and coronation had terminated, the jousts and
tournaments succeeded, and were peculiarly magnificent. The king and
queen were stationed on a rich edifice made within the palace of
Westminster, where, from a fountain and its cascades, at many places
red, white, and claret wine poured out of the mouths of various animals.
The trumpets sounded to the field; and the young gallants and noblemen,
gorgeously apparelled, entered it, taking up their ground, checking
their horses, and throwing them on their haunches; and they afterwards
tourneyed together.
Time passed. It was now five years since Henry had separated himself
from the society of his queen, and solicited a divorce; and for three
years he had lived in such familiar intercourse with Anne Boleyn, that
no doubt could be entertained regarding the nature of the connection
between them. The situation of the Marchioness of Pembroke at length
confirmed this in the most unequivocal manner; and the king, becoming
alarmed for the legitimacy of his expected offspring, determined to make
her his wife. The marriage was performed, the parties separated as
quietly as they had assembled; and Viscount Rochfort was despatched to
communicate the event to the king of France, and request him to send a
confidential minister to England.
The divorce from Catharine was accomplished for the king by the
ingenuity of his councillors. Intimation was now sent to Catharine that
she must in future be contented with the style of dowager Princess of
Wales; all persons were prohibited from giving her the title of queen,
and her income was reduced to the sum settled upon her by Prince Arthur,
her first husband. The ungrateful intelligence was conveyed to her
personally by the Duke of Suffolk; and, considering the general mildness
of her deportment, was received with unwonted indignation. She declared
that she was, and ever would remain, the queen; and that before she
would renounce that title, she would be hewn in pieces. As to her
removal to any other residence, where she was to have a new household,
and commence a new life as princess dowager, she peremptorily refused to
give her consent. "They might bind her with ropes, but willingly she
would never go."
ANNE BOLEYN.
[BORN 1507. DIED 1536.]
TYTLER.
Mistress Anne Boleyn was the daughter of Sir Thomas Boleyn. She returned
from France in 1527, under circumstances which were favourable not only
to the acquisition of all elegant accomplishments, but to the
strengthening of her understanding, and the improvement of her mind. As
early as 1515, she had been sent over to that kingdom to be attendant on
the Princess Mary, the wife of Louis XII. On the death of this monarch,
and the return of his widow to England, Anne entered the household of
Queen Claude, in whose palace she remained till she was seventeen. At
this time Margaret, Duchess of Alencon, the sister of Francis, became
deeply attached to her, and on the demise of the queen she was taken
into her family. Here she probably remained till the marriage of that
princess with the King of Navarre in 1527, an event which, as it took
her protectress from Paris, seems to have occasioned her recall to
England, where she immediately became one of the maids of honour to
Catharine.
It has been the fashion of many writers of the Roman Church to represent
Anne Boleyn as having led a singularly profligate life in her early
youth, but there appears no ground for so slanderous an attack. That the
education of a youthful and beautiful female in one of the most
corrupted courts of Europe should produce austere or reserved manners
was not to be suspected, but no evidence deserving of a moment's credit
has been adduced to prove the slightest impurity of life; the tales
against her being evidently the after-coinage of those misguided zealots
who, by destroying her reputation, imagined they were performing a
service to religion.
When she first appeared in court she was a lovely young woman in her
twentieth year. She is described as possessing a rare and admirable
beauty, clear and fresh, with a noble presence and most perfect shape.
Her personal graces were enhanced by a cheerfulness and sweetness of
temper which never forsook her, and her education had secured to her all
those female accomplishments which were fitted to dazzle and delight a
court. She danced with uncommon grace, sung sweetly, and, by the
remarkable vivacity and wit of her conversation, retained the admiration
of those who had at first been only attracted by her beauty. On her
arrival at court, Anne was welcomed by the homage and adulation which
her youth, her loveliness, and accomplishments inspired; and there seems
some ground for believing that Henry became enamoured of her almost
immediately. But he concealed, it is even said he struggled with, his
incipient passion.