welcome, the Thirteen presented him with two demi-cuves of wine, one red
the other "clairet," and, moreover, with twenty-five quarters of oats for
his horses. The question of housing so distinguished a guest presented
some difficulties. On the advice of Michel Chaverson, the _maitre echevin_
for the year, the Thirteen committed Richard to the care of Vigneulles,
the writer of the Memoirs, then already a citizen of note and substance.
For the first three nights he put Richard up at "la Court St Mairtin,"
which was presumably near the Church of St Martin still existing. The
Duke of Lorraine's Guard were quartered in what was then the leading
hotel, "a l'Ange," which has now disappeared. Nothing suitable offering
for a longer residence, Vigneulles prevailed upon his fellow-citizen,
Chevalier Claude Baudoche, one of the foremost men in the place, and
"Seigneur of Moulins"--the prettily situated village or almost suburb
which you pass on your way to the battle-fields of 1870--to lend him for
an indefinite period his magnificent mansion called "Paisse Temps,"
situated on the bank of one arm of the Moselle. The site may still easily
be traced. It adjoined the Abbey of St Vincent, of which the church still
stands--a beautiful church inside, though insignificant without. Its
architectural lines are perfect, and there is some fine stained glass from
the famous works of Champigneulles, of Metz, which were in 1875 removed to
Bar-le-Duc. The Baudoches were at that time a wealthy and highly
influential family in Metz. To-day, such is the instability of things
terrestrial, the city knows them no more. About fifty years ago, their
last remaining representative was a small watchmaker plying his trade in
an insignificant shop in the Rue Fournirue. Of the suitableness of the
house secured there could be no question; for in it Pierre Baudoche,
Claude's father, had entertained several crowned heads, including the
Emperor Maximilian. Here Richard found a lordly home, which he maintained
in a lordly style, receiving in turn all the leading personages of Metz
and dispensing a princely hospitality.
On New Year's Day, 1515, precisely at midnight, Louis XII. died, not
twelve weeks after his marriage with Mary, who--rather uncomfortable under
the attentions paid her by Francis, French historians say--very soon left
the Court, to marry the new Duke of Suffolk. The "gros garcon" could not
keep quiet long. With an army including no less than 26,000 _lansquenets_
he marched into Italy, to claim his succession to the Milanais, and won
the battle of Marignano. In this campaign Richard appears to have found no
employment, though his old corps, the _lansquenets_, covered themselves
with glory. The treaty with England, forbidding his employment in France,
was still too recent for him to be allowed to lend the aid of his sword.
Truth to tell, Henry gained mighty little by Richard's ostensible
inaction. Being at Metz, plotting and scheming, he made the king far more
uncomfortable than he could possibly have done had he been fighting at
Marignano. He was reported to be planning all sorts of enterprises.
Evidently he was much feared at home. Wolsey complains that malcontents
and men out of work threaten that they will join De la Pole and take part
in the impending invasion. On Henry's side it is all treachery and
scheming. Richard is to be waylaid, to be murdered, and so on. Lord
Worcester writes that he "knows of a gentleman who will take that matter
in hand." He is to be seized "when he goes into the field either to course
the hares or to see his horses" (_i.e._, to take exercise). The Emperor,
on the other hand, had grown so careless in the observance of his treaty
with England, that the Messins had plucked up courage formally to present
Richard with the freedom of their city. And a "paper of intelligence" to
the English Court describes him as "in his glory."
In 1516 "Blanche Rose" could remain quiet no longer. He must see Francis,
and ask for military employment. So on the 22d February, without telling
any one a word, we find him mounting horse, taking with him only his cook
and a page, and trotting off to Paris, covering a hundred miles in
twenty-four hours. But there was no employment for him yet. He returned on
the 3rd of April. On Christmas Eve he repeats his ride, again secretly,
accompanied by the Duke of Guelders, who had come to Metz in disguise. He
returned, as he had come, in strict privacy, on the 17th February. After
his return Claude Baudoche found that he could no longer spare "Paisse
Temps," and politely turned out his guest. But he placed another house at
his disposal, which may still be seen, at the crossing of the Rue de
l'Esplanade and the Rue des Prisons Militaires (I give the French names,
having forgotten the German). In the old chronicles the house, previously
occupied by Jean or Jehan de Vy, is described as "_apres le grant maison
de coste de St Esprit_." Just opposite it is the Church of St Martin, a
rather interesting building, exhibiting a curious medley of architectural
styles. A rather remarkable feature in the church is a row of curious
sculptures. "Blanche Rose's" house, dwindled terribly in size, and shorn
of its ancient splendour, though still exhibiting some small remnants of
former grandeur, such as zigzag mouldings and Gothic labels, directly
faces this church on one side, and on the other side a public building,
which is, if I recollect right, the military prison, and in front of which
a Prussian sentry paces solemnly up and down.
At this house it was that Richard conceived the curious idea of treating
his fellow-burgesses to what must have infallibly endeared him to English
neighbours--namely, the spectacle of a horse-race. Such a thing as that
was, it appears, previously quite unknown in Metz. And accordingly it
occasioned not a little stir. Richard and "_aultres seigneurs_," we read,
were much given to exciting pastimes, including gambling and betting. And
Richard, being the owner of a horse of which--like other owners of
horses--he had an exceedingly high opinion, was rash enough one day to
offer a bet against any one who might maintain that within ten "_lues_"
round there was another horse running equally well. Nicolle Dex (whose
name was pronounced Desh) readily took the bet, offering, to run his own
horse against Richard's. All the particulars of the arrangements for the
race are minutely recorded by Vigneulles. The two men were to ride their
own horses. The course was to be from the Orme at Aubigny (a village five
miles from Metz) to the gate of the Abbey of St. Clement (which abbey was
destroyed in 1552, when the Duc de Guise held Metz against Charles V.).
The bet was for eighty "_escus d'or au solleil_," which was to be paid
beforehand to a stakeholder. The race came off on the appointed day,
Saturday the 2nd of May--the day on which "_l'awaine et le bacon_" were,
by regulation of the authorities, first sold. That would enable the
competitors to get easily out of the gate of St. Thibault--which was
conveniently near Richard's house, but which had to be opened on purpose.
The Chevalier Dex, with an amount of cunning of which Vigneulles does not
altogether approve, had for some days before subjected both himself and
his horse to preparatory treatment--"_dieu scet comment_." "_Comme il me
fut dit et certifie_," that treatment consisted in his drinking nothing
but white wine--which is the more sour of the two, and therefore is
supposed rather strongly to contract the human frame--and giving his horse
no hay whatever. Moreover, he had his horse shod with very light steel
shoes. And himself he made as light as possible, riding "_tout en
pourpoint, avec un petit bonnet en sa teste_," without shoes and without a
saddle, having merely a light saddle-cloth laid over the horse's back.
"Blanche Rose," however, rode in a saddle, and booted and spurred as for
ordinary exercise. When the signal was given, Vigneulles says, the
horsemen started with such terrible impetuosity that the bystanders
thought the earth was going to open under them. "Blanche Rose" kept the
lead most part of the way. But when the two reached St. Laidre--a
_leproserie_ near Montigny (the name of which still survives in a hamlet
situated between Montigny and Aubigny) famed for its asparagus and
fruit--Dex's artifices began to tell. Richard's horse was found to puff
and to pant, and could not keep pace with its rival. Nicolle outstripped
him. And though Richard spurred his horse till "_le cler sanc en sailloit
de tout couste_," it availed him nothing. Nicolle, having husbanded his
horse's powers, came in first at the post. Richard was terribly annoyed,
but he "_ne dedaignait de risquer un peu de honte contre beaucoup de
plaisir_," like a good many other people. Very naturally, however, he
would have his revenge. So the next St. Clement's Day saw the two horses
running against one another once more; but it seems that their masters did
not this time act as their own jockeys. Ill luck would have it that
"Blanche Rose's" jockey, one of his pages, was thrown whilst riding, by
which mishap his master lost his bet a second time. After that he did not
tempt fortune again on the turf.
A month after the first race, Richard made a second attempt to obtain a
command under Francis. Accompanied by several "_de nos jonnes seigneurs_,"
he proceeded to Milan and other places in Italy. "_Dieu les conduie_,"
piously ejaculates Vigneulles. They arrived, as it turned out, a day after
the fair. Peace had been concluded, and the _seigneurs_ returned to Metz
without having had occasion to draw their swords.
In this year, Henry, through one of his emissaries, tempted Richard with a
proposal that he should endeavour to make his peace with the king, and
write him a letter in that sense. The king, explained Alamire, the
emissary in question, "had the character of being most clement." "So I
have heard," replied Richard, scenting the mischief; "and how well I
should stand with my present protector, the King of France, if King Henry
were to show him my letter!"
In the following year Richard once more rode to Paris, seeking employment.
This time he was rewarded with a secret mission, on which he was sent into
Normandy. It was about this time that Giustiniani learnt from the legate,
Campeggio, that Francis favoured "Blanche Rose" more than ever, and Henry
and his ministers again began to feel acutely uncomfortable. They had
heard, so the State Papers show, that Francis and Richard were plotting
mischief: Francis was favouring the Duke of Albany and trying to stir up
disturbances in Scotland. There was a scheme on foot, Sir Richard
Jernegan reports, according to which the Duke of Albany was to sail from
Brittany to Scotland, "there to make business against the king," while
"Blanche Rose" was to invade England from Denmark, abetted by the king of
that country, and accompanied by that king's uncle, the Duke of Ulske; and
Monsieur de Bourbon and the Duke of Vendome were at the same time to
besiege Tournay, which, in the peace of 1514, England had managed to
retain. We cannot be altogether surprised, knowing in what systematic
manner the Henrys persecuted the De la Poles, to learn that a man was said
to have been taken in Champagne, paid by Henry to kill Richard. Indeed the
thought of getting rid of Richard by assassination appears to have been
habitually uppermost in Henry's mind.
However, the threatened invasion did not take place yet. Francis had other
work to turn his thoughts to. On the 12th of January, 1519, Emperor
Maximilian of Germany died, and the question arose, who was to be the next
Emperor. Charles, the youthful King of Spain, was a candidate, and Francis
of France resolved to enter the lists against him. He considered himself
to have a fair chance. He seems to have counted even on Henry's support;
but Henry, it turned out, cherished ill-founded hopes of being himself
elected, and fought in a half-hearted way for his own hand. Francis,
however, spared no pains in his canvass. He bribed and coaxed and promised
all round, and indeed only very narrowly missed the election. At the last
moment the Elector of Saxony left him in the lurch, just as, nearly three
centuries after, that Elector's successor failed Napoleon at Leipzig,
going over to the other side. But for that defection Francis would of a
surety have been elected Emperor. One of the promises which Francis had
rashly made, was this: "_Si je suis elu, trois ans apres l'election, je
jure que je serai a Constantinople ou je serai mort_." At the very last
stage of the proceedings he despatched Richard de la Pole as a
confidential envoy to Prague, where the Electoral College was sitting, to
further his candidature. In the National Library at Paris a manuscript
letter is still preserved containing the king's instructions. However,
Richard arrived too late.
In the same year--1519--"Blanche Rose" found himself compelled to change
his quarters a second time. Claude Baudoche "_vouloit r'avoir ses
maisons_." The dean and chapter of Metz signalised their goodwill towards
the guest of their city by making over to him for life, at a nominal rent
of 10 _sols messins_ per annum, their old mansion, called "la Haulte
Pierre," occupying the commanding site on which now stands the Palais de
Justice. In all probability, the handsome esplanade now leading up to that
building did not at that time exist, nor yet perhaps the splendid terrace
facing the Moselle and St. Quentin. But at all times the situation must
have been unique. The reason why the house was let so cheap was, that it
was then in an utterly dilapidated condition, and the tenant undertook
thoroughly to repair it. He did better, as the chapter remembered to his
credit after his death. At a heavy cost--he spent 2000 gold florins upon
it in one year--he rebuilt it from top to bottom in magnificent style.
That mansion does not now survive. It was pulled down in 1776 to make
room for the present structure, more useful though less showy, in which
are housed the provincial law-courts.
While still in "la Rue de la Grande Maison"--the Rue de
l'Esplanade--Richard de la Pole got entangled in a little love intrigue,
which caused a tremendous commotion in the town, and led him into serious
trouble. Metz was rather famed in those days for its goldsmiths. The Rue
Fournirue--still interesting--was full of them. One of these artisans,
named Nicolas Sebille, had a young wife, whom Vigneulles describes as
"_une des belles jonnes femmes, qui fut point en la cite de Metz, haulte,
droite et elancee et blanche comme la neige_." To this beautiful young
woman's heart Richard successfully laid siege. She came to see him at his
house, which was conveniently near. The conquest does not appear to have
cost him much persuasion. Evidently Madame Sebille was as hotly smitten
with him as he was with her. To be able to carry on his little amour with
the greater freedom, he gave the unsuspecting husband an order for some
very costly and elaborate goldsmith's work, necessitating one or two
journeys to Paris, the expense of which Richard was quite content to pay.
While the husband was away "_celle belle Sebille_" went "_aulcunes fois
bancqueter et faire la bonne chiere en l'ostel du dit duc_," so much so
that the city began to talk. The duke, for the safety of his lady-love,
employed a certain hosier named Mangenat to escort her and watch the
streets. Mangenat was in one sense admirably fitted for this office--for
he was a stalwart bully, who soon became the terror of all the
neighbourhood. Like the German and French police in these days, he
suspected a spy or an enemy in every person he met, and struck and mauled
a good many harmless creatures. That caused additional scandal; and as
there was no police to maintain peace and order, the neighbours, after
complaining a good deal, took the law into their own hand, and one fine
night, early in September, turned out in force to lynch Mangenat. Richard
had by that time removed to "Haulte Pierre," and there was therefore a
considerable distance to cover between his house and the Rue Fournirue.
The neighbours were firmly resolved to turn Mangenat into a "_corps sans
ame_." Mangenat, however, managed to elude them. The neighbours then laid
their plaint before the Thirteen. Madame Sebille, fearing her husband's
wrath, resolutely packed up her clothes and jewels and other belongings,
and with them also her husband's money, and transferred herself with these
possessions to the "Haulte Pierre." This made matters still worse,
especially when Nicolas returned home and set a-clamouring for his money
and his wife. Watching for "Blanche Rose," he caught him one day in the
Rue Fournirue, and very nearly did for him. On Sunday, the 16th of
September, he demonstratively took up his position, fully armed with sword
and hallebarde, at the cathedral door, intending to knock Richard's life
out of him in the sacred place. Richard was warned, and wisely kept out of
the way. However, as Nicolas tried to raise a popular tumult, on the
ground that an outraged plebeian could obtain no legal redress from the
patrician court--"_l'aristocratie_," says M. des Robert, "_fut tout
puissante_"--the Thirteen could ignore the case no longer. With some
difficulty they persuaded "the duke" to let Madame Sebille go. He agreed
to this only on the distinct understanding that Nicolas "_ne lui_ [that
is, his wife] _ne reprochait en rien sa conduite, ni ne la baittroit, ni
ne lui diroit parole qui l'en puist desplaire, si non que leur debast ou
huttin vint pour aultre chose_." This undertaking having been given--by
the Thirteen--Madame Sebille was brought before the court under protection
of a strong armed escort, consisting of notable chevaliers. Of course
Nicolas would in no wise agree to the terms proposed. And so the
Thirteen--it is interesting to learn how these cases were dealt with in
those early days--kept his wife in their own charge, lodging her very
fitly in the council-room of the "Seven of War," and supplying her with
good food and drink at the expense of the town. Thereupon Nicolas, as he
could not obtain redress as a citizen of Metz, migrated to Thionville,
became a burgess of that town and then--as he was entitled to do in those
days--levied war in person on the man who had wronged him. He bribed "_Des
Allemans_" to waylay and kidnap or kill Richard, just as the two English
Henrys had done. Richard, being a little bit frightened, sought refuge in
the chateau of Ennery, belonging to Signor Nicolle de Heu. (This fact was
promptly reported to Henry.) Here, Vigneulles says, Richard meant to
"_passer melancolie et passer son dueil_." However, Sebille's "_Allemans_"
found him out, and one day very nearly captured him. So "Blanche Rose"
thought it prudent to seek safer quarters. He found them at Toul. Nicolas
does not appear to have followed him so far, nor to have troubled himself
much further about his faithless wife. This put the Thirteen in a fix.
They had the lady on their hands, and were sorely puzzled what to do with
her. Nicolas would not have her on any account, and could not at
Thionville be made to take her; and restore her to Richard they in
propriety could not. After much deliberation, having detained her a full
fortnight at public expense, they cut the knot to their own satisfaction
by handing Madame Sebille over to her brother, one Gaudin, a butcher, who
was to take care of her. Gaudin gave her in charge to an old woman selling
wax candles. Madame Sebille was under strict injunction not to leave the
city. But who could expect her to observe that command? Anyhow, one fire
morning, pretending that she had a pilgrimage to perform to "St. Trottin,"
she made her way outside the city gates disguised as a _vendangeresse_,
with a basket by her side and a sickle in her hand. Outside the walls she
was met by friends who at once put her into a page's clothes, in which, of
course, she marched as straight as she could to Toul, and joined "Blanche
Rose," to her swain's delight as well as her own. Richard had once more
"_ne dedaigne de risquer un peu de honte contre beaucoup de plaisir_." He
and his lady-love were now outside the jurisdiction of the Thirteen, and
might therefore consider themselves safe. But upon the abettors of the
lady's flight the magistrates visited their share in the offence with all
the greater rigour. Notwithstanding Richard's earnest interposition, they
heavily fined and banished them. Thus ends the story of Richard's amour;
for what became of Madame Sebille afterwards, neither history nor
tradition records. She was not allowed to enjoy the company of her knight
long; for stirring events were in train, which required his presence
elsewhere.
In 1521 a powerful alliance of European States was formed against Francis
I., designed to humble the victor of Marignano. It comprised the Emperor,
the Pope, the King of England, Florence, Venice, and Genoa. In 1522
England invaded Picardy and Flanders. That put an end to the treaty
engagements of 1514, and made Richard's services allowable as well as
needful to the French king. Indeed "Blanche Rose" did not wait to be
summoned. The State papers and other official publications of that period
relate how busy he was plotting against England and Scotland. King Francis
took a delight in parading his partiality for the Duke of Albany and the
"Duke of Suffolk." He rode in public with one of them on one side and one
on the other. He slapped Richard on the back and said in the hearing of
the Court: "My Lord of Suffolk, I will set you in England with 40,000 men
within few days." He proposed a marriage for Richard with the daughter of
the Duke of Holstein, and planned sundry invasions of England which,
happily, did not come off. But Richard joined the French army under Guise
and Vendome, and fought against his countrymen in Picardy. There he raised
a corps of 2,000 men on his own authority, and led this welcome
reinforcement to Francis at St. Jean de Moustiers. In 1524 he accompanied
Albany into Scotland, without, however, doing much hurt. But he greatly
frightened Henry's officers. We find Fitzwilliam writing to Wolsey, urging
him, in face of "his wretched traitor" being in the field, to "hasten over
some men to give courage to the Flemings."