Francis I, his government and his times, commence the era of
modern France, and bring clearly to view the causes of her
greatnesses and her weaknesses.--GUIZOT.[b]
CRITICAL SURVEY OF FRANCIS I AND HIS PERIOD
[Sidenote: [1515-1559 A.D.]]
The accession of Francis I to the crown of France, January 1st, 1515,
on the death of Louis XII, may be considered as signalising the passage
from the Middle Ages to modern times and from ancient barbarism to
civilisation. The transformations of great masses of men amongst whom
new ideas and new passions are seen to germinate, are never sudden;
centuries have prepared them in silence, and an attentive eye may
have discerned, in the preceding age, the authors of the age which is
about to open; but their action on the people has an element of the
unexpected, because the men whose minds have been formed in principles
and sentiments scarcely avowed by themselves, and scarcely understood by
their contemporaries, all at once perceive that they form the majority,
that they are understood, that they will be followed; and they burst as
it were upon the country which had not noticed them. Thus simultaneously
with the reign of the young monarch there began a decided taste for arts
and letters which signalised itself by the most glorious monuments; a
new zest for the pleasures of society, for wit, and for gallantry which
corrupted morals while it perhaps gave more elegance to manners; an
esteem for learning, a zeal for study which reflected a special glory on
the French magistracy in whom dignity of character soon joined itself to
knowledge; and finally an independence of opinions which, while admitting
men to judge what they had adored, led some to new systems of philosophy
and others to the reform of religion. France, hitherto poor in writers,
began to turn her attention to herself, to study herself; her follies
and vices, like her virtues and learning, left their traces; and there
came into being the double series of courtly and philosophic writers,
of the friends of disorder and those of wisdom--a series which was not
afterwards interrupted until the fall of the throne of Louis XVI.
[Illustration: FRANCIS I]
The new sovereign, Francis d’Angoulême, duke of Valois, who gave the
signal for this revolution, was not however of sufficient force to
produce it. He was a son of Charles d’Angoulême, cousin german of Louis
XII, and as he had been born at Cognac on the 12th of September, 1494,
he was only twenty years and a few months old. His education had been
begun by Marshal de Gié, whom Louis XII had replaced in 1506 by Arthur
Gouffier, sire de Boisy; this last had been through all the Italian
campaigns, and he had acquired in that country a taste for arts and
polite literature which was scarcely ever to be met with amongst other
men of noble rank. He perceived that a certain glory might be attached to
the study of letters, he even accustomed his pupil to show some deference
to men of learning and to seek their conversation; but if Boisy himself
took pleasure in reading, it was in vain that he endeavoured to inspire
the prince he was training with the desire to read any books other than
the romances of chivalry. It was from them that Francis I derived his
sole instruction; he modelled himself on the heroes of the Round Table
and of the palace of Charlemagne, not on those of history; he desired
to shine as an Amadis rather than as a sovereign; and the height of his
figure, the beauty of his face, his skill in arms and in all physical
exercises, his bravery which he had already had occasion to exhibit, and
finally his love of pleasure which his young comrades esteemed in him
more than his moral qualities, marked him out for the admiration of those
who, like himself, knew the world only through the medium of romances.
“He was as fair a prince,” said Bayard’s _Loyal Serviteur_,[c] “as ever
was in the world; never had there been a king in France who so rejoiced
the noblesse.”[d]
A BRILLIANT CAMPAIGN IN ITALY
[Sidenote: [1515-1516 A.D.]]
After the coronation, which was celebrated at Rheims with great pomp,
and the festivities of the royal entrance in Paris, the preparations
for the expedition into Italy begun by Louis XII were resumed without
delay. France possessed nothing beyond the Alps since the fort at the
Lantern or Fanal at Genoa had capitulated. Everyone expected to see
the French retake the Milanese; but Francis I anticipated the general
expectation--he wished that conquest to mark the first year of his reign.
Two things were necessary: to hinder a coalition of the great powers, and
to find allies. The coalition had been dissolved in the year previous;
in order that it should not be formed again two treaties were signed,
with England and with the Netherlands. Henry VIII, always displeased with
the way in which the other kings had abandoned him, consented to renew
the alliance he had sworn with Louis XII in 1514. The young prince of
Castile, Charles of Austria, freed from guardianship, took the direct
government of the Netherlands, and prepared to cross into Spain; he was
the first to try to regain the friendship of France, in order to secure
the Belgian frontier. It was agreed that he should be affianced to Madame
Renée, the second daughter of Louis XII, who had a large dowry, and that
he might defer for five years the homage he owed to the crown in his
character of count of Flanders. On the part of Francis I, the concessions
were important but remote and eventual: the advantage was immediate.
France, safe-guarded in the north on its most vulnerable frontier, and
having nothing to fear from England nor the Netherlands, might proceed
boldly.
France had wished to gain the court of Rome. Leo X had never ceased
seeking reconciliation with France. His brother, Giuliano de’ Medici, had
married a sister of Louise of Savoy in 1514. Several ambassadors were
sent to him, among others the celebrated humanist, Guillaume Budé. But
the pope desired peace in Italy and the grandeur of his family. A new
French campaign would derange his plans, and for some months he had done
everything possible to dissuade the French from such an enterprise. He
refused to bind himself in any way, even that of simple neutrality.
There still remained Ferdinand the Catholic, Maximilian, and the
Swiss. The king of Aragon was old and in failing health. His death was
shortly expected, and he was known to be little in favour of taking the
management of a new league. It was he who, by his withdrawal, had caused
the failure of that of 1513. Meanwhile, fearing to lose the alliance
of the Swiss, and wishing to hinder the return of the French into the
peninsula, he refused to prorogue the truce of the preceding year, and
signed a defensive alliance with Maximilian and the thirteen cantons.
The emperor always had need of Spanish troops to continue his war against
Venice; he objected all the more to the troubling of the empire by
France by her levies of lansquenets. But his hostility was as harmless
as his friendship was useless. As for the Swiss, finding them rejecting
all offers and manifesting unqualified unreasonableness, the plan to
conciliate them was abandoned. The alliance with the Venetians was always
assured. Francis I renewed the treaty signed at Blois by Louis XII with
the republic.
After these diplomatic precautions it was necessary to renew and
strengthen the army. The gendarmerie was increased from 2,500 lances
to 4,000. A national infantry was added to it, also more numerous than
that of preceding years, 6,000 Basques and Dauphinois, 10,000 French
adventurers, Picardians, Gascons or Bretons, and 3,000 pioneers or
engineers. Part of these troops were formed by Pedro Navarro, prisoner of
the French since the battle of Ravenna. The celebrated Spanish captain,
not having obtained from Ferdinand the Catholic the payment of his
ransom, consented to enter into the service of Francis I. The foreign
infantry was composed of 26,000 lansquenets under the command of the duke
of Gelderland. The artillery, more important than ever, comprised 72
large cannon, and 500 mounted pieces.[f]
Thus equipped, Francis crossed the Alps and entered upon that campaign
which culminated in the brilliant victory over the Swiss army at
Marignano, a full description of which has been given in our history of
Italy.[67][a]
It is related that, after the battle, Francis wished to be knighted and
that he chose Bayard to give him the blow with the sword; a thing never
before seen, as it was supposed that kings had no need of being knighted,
as they were knights by birth.[f]
The victory of Francis resulted in his regaining possession of the whole
of the Milanese, with the addition of Parma and Piacenza. He also signed
two treaties, on November 7th, 1515, at Geneva, and November 29th, 1516,
at Friburg, which established a perpetual alliance between himself and
the Swiss.
_The Concordat_
In the course of an interview between himself and Leo X at Bologna,
Francis took the important step of abolishing the Pragmatic Sanction and
signed the Concordat, which gave the king the right of nomination to
bishoprics and other ecclesiastical privileges. “Then it was that Francis
I and his chancellor loudly proclaimed the maxims of absolute power;
in the church, the Pragmatic Sanction was abolished; and in the state,
Francis I during thirty-two years did not once convoke the states-general
and laboured only to set up the sovereign right of his own will.”[h]
The first article of the Concordat, destined to replace the Pragmatic
Sanction, transferred to the king the right to appoint the bishops,
abbots, and priors, the pope reserving for himself the veto, in cases
where the elect did not fulfil canonical conditions; by the second
article, the pope renounced the rights of reversion and expectative,
the reversion of livings during the life of the incumbents; but he
did not renounce in any way the annats, the most exorbitant of papal
exactions, and the silence of the Concordat on this subject implied their
re-establishment. The rights of collators of livings were subsequently
recognised and limited, and it was decreed that collators could accord
only to graduates “_ès universités_” the livings which became vacant
during the months of January, April, July, October. Every collator,
having from ten to fifty livings at his disposal, was obliged to resign
one to the discretion of the pope--or two if he had more than fifty.
It was ordained that ecclesiastical trials should be judged in the
realm, either by ordinary judges or by commissioners of the pope in
reserved cases. The Concordat kept a significant silence on the rights
and periodicity of the councils. A tithe on the clergy was accorded
to the king, in recognition of the re-establishment of annats, but on
condition that the pope and the Medici should receive their part. The
abolition of the Pragmatic was then proclaimed in the Lateran Council, a
servile assembly which did nothing but register the wishes of the pope,
which abjured the principles of the councils of Constance and Bâle, and
dissolved itself obscurely shortly afterwards, without the perception by
Europe, so to speak, of its closing.
[Sidenote: [1516-1520 A.D.]]
The Concordat was an act of boldness on the part of royalty; which ceded
only on a question of money (and reduced that concession when it came
to practice). It was an immense stride in the direction of despotism:
after the political order it seized upon the religious order; after
having usurped the right of the Estates in the fixation of taxes, it
usurped the right of the church in the election of its chiefs. In fact
during the whole extent of the Middle Ages, the temporal power frequently
troubled the liberty of elections, sometimes by force, more often by
recommendations equivalent to commands. The ecclesiastical bodies were
rarely in full enjoyment of their liberty, and the ancient participation
of the people, and even of the lower clergy, at the election of the
bishops had been reduced to a purposeless acclamation. But in the end
the law remained, the best kings having recognised it, the Pragmatic had
revivified it, and after the great reaction directed by the councils
of the fifteenth century against the papacy, the chapters and convents
proceeded more freely at elections than at any period of the preceding
centuries. It was this state of things which Francis I and Leo X
violently overturned in their division of what did not belong to them by
a bizarre exchange where, as Mézeray says, the pope, the spiritual head,
took the temporal power unto himself, giving the spiritual power to a
temporal prince.[k]
This displacement of the Pragmatic Sanction by the Concordat is justly
regarded as one of the most momentous events in French history. The
effect of the new order of things upon the immorality of the upper clergy
can hardly be overestimated. The Concordat remained in force until the
Revolution, and much of French scepticism and philosophical criticism may
be ascribed to its influence.
STRIFE BETWEEN FRANCIS I AND CHARLES V
The reign of Francis I thus opened brilliantly. That first victory was to
have no complete parallel during a long reign; but it served to establish
the reputation of Francis as a warrior, and to cast a glamour about his
name that no subsequent defeats could quite obscure. We are now to see
the victor of Marignano enter upon a struggle with that crafty monarch
Charles I of Spain,[68] who, when the emperor Maximilian died, was
elected to succeed him, and who came to the imperial throne as Charles
V. The life-long rivalry with this most powerful monarch of the century
furnishes the keynote to the reign of Francis I. Francis had himself
been an eager candidate for the imperial crown.[a] His mortification was
great when his rival was chosen by the electors. He dreamed of nothing
but revenge, and fancied that an alliance with Henry VIII of England
would help him to gain his object. A meeting was consequently arranged
between the two kings, and took place on June 7th, 1520. So gorgeous were
the garments of the kings and the trappings of their horses, that their
courtiers in trying to rival them “bore thither,” the contemporary writer
Du Bellay[g] graphically tells us, “their mills, their forests, and their
meadows, on their backs.”
_Meeting of Henry VIII and Francis I on the Field of the Cloth of Gold_
[Sidenote: [1520 A.D.]]
Nothing equalled in splendour this meeting between the two kings and
the two courts in the camp so well named “The Cloth of Gold.” It was a
struggle upon both sides for pre-eminence in magnificence. It would seem
as if they sought more to dazzle than to please, and etiquette, being
prejudicial to cordiality, was set aside.
Both arrived on the same day, June 1st, 1520, the one at Calais, the
other at Ardres. Henry VIII and Francis I exchanged visits through the
most important personages of their courts and councils. Six days passed
in the necessary negotiations for their meeting. All was at last arranged
with a care so distrustful and minute as to suggest a mutual fear of
treason. It was arranged that, leaving the castle of Guines, whither he
expected to go on June 5th, Henry VIII should advance towards Francis I,
who, on his side, would leave the castle of Ardres, and advance towards
Henry VIII.
On Wednesday, June 7th, the kings of France and of England, mounted upon
great chargers, clothed the one in cloth of gold, the other in cloth
of silver, covered with pearls, diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, their
heads covered by velvet caps resplendent with precious stones, from
which floated magnificent white plumes, set out at the same time and at
the same pace. Their constables preceded them, bare sword in hand, and
the lords of their court, most gorgeously apparelled, followed in their
train. Each of them was followed by a bodyguard of four hundred archers
or men-at-arms. Thus escorted they descended the two hills which led into
the pleasant plain of the Valdoré, where a pavilion had been erected to
receive them. Their appearance was more that of two knights marching to
battle than two princes going to a diplomatic interview.
The escort halted at a certain point, from whence they kept watch, so
that the English archers should not approach too closely to the king of
France, nor the men-at-arms of the French army to the king of England. At
a short distance from each other, Henry and Francis spurred their horses,
reining them in with all the grace of the experienced cavalier, when they
found themselves side by side. Saluting one another in kingly fashion
they then dismounted and entered the pavilion arm in arm. Cardinal
Wolsey and Admiral Bonnivet, who, since the death of his brother the
grand-master, Arthur de Boisy, had been the favourite of Francis I and
managed his affairs, preceded them.
Francis I showed great cordiality to Henry VIII, and, giving utterance to
the thought always present with him, proffered him his assistance in the
hope of gaining his. “Dear brother and cousin,” said he, “I have taken
much trouble to see you. You understand, I hope, that I am ready to help
you with the kingdoms and lordships which are under my authority.” Henry
VIII, evading any pledge, relieved himself from the obligation of helping
Francis I, by not accepting the assistance offered. He contented himself
with assurances of his friendship, which he still made conditional. “I
have not in view your kingdoms or your lordships,” answered Henry VIII,
“but loyalty and the instant execution of promises contained in the
treaty drawn up between us. If you keep these, my eyes have never beheld
a prince who could win more the affection of my heart.”
They then examined the treaty which had been drawn up that evening,
and by which, conforming to the agreement of the 4th of October, 1518,
the dauphin of France was to marry the only daughter of the king of
England, and Francis I was to pay an annual sum of 100,000 francs, which
is equivalent to more than 2,000,000 francs of modern money, until the
celebration of the wedding, which was yet far distant. Whilst reading the
introduction to the treaty, in which, according to diplomatic etiquette,
the title of king of France was added to that of king of England and of
Ireland, Henry VIII said with tact: “I will omit it. In your presence
it is not correct.” But if he omitted it in reading, he left it in the
treaty, and a little later was ambitious to make it real by invading
France and wishing to reign there. After some discussion, following the
custom of that time the sovereigns took wine together, and admired the
nobles of their courts, whom they presented to one another and who were
embraced, those of France by the king of England, those of England by the
king of France. As the meetings, so the fêtes were regulated and carried
through in a very ceremonious manner, with precautions that excluded
intimacy, and requirements which betrayed jealousy. When Francis I went
to dine with Queen Catherine at Guines, Henry VIII came to dine with
Queen Claude at Ardres. The two kings held hostages for one another, and
behaved in many ways as if they were in the presence of enemies. This
suspicious attitude, these timid steps, were as little suited to the
political views as to the trusting character of Francis I.
[Illustration: THE DAUPHIN FRANCIS, SON OF FRANCIS I]
Wishing one day to break down this ceremonious and distrustful barrier,
he arose earlier in the morning than was customary, and taking with him
two gentlemen and a page, and wrapped merely in a Spanish cape, he left
Ardres to go and surprise the king of England in Guines. Two hundred
archers and the governors were upon the drawbridge when he arrived.
At the sight of the king of France, come at such a time, so meagrely
attended, putting himself thus in their hands, they were aghast. Francis
I crossed their ranks with a frank and laughing countenance, and, as if
he wished to take the fortress by storm, summoned them gaily to surrender
to him. The king of England still slept. Francis I went straight to his
room, knocked at the door, awoke Henry VIII, who, on seeing him, was even
more astounded than his archers had been, and said frankly, with as much
cordiality as tact: “My brother, you have done me the best turn that one
man ever did to another, and showed me what confidence I ought to have
in you. From this moment I am your prisoner, and pledge you my faith.”
He took at the same time a beautiful collar from his neck and begged the
king of France to wear it that day for love of his prisoner. Francis
I went still further in his demonstrations. He had a bracelet double
the value of the collar. Putting this upon Henry’s arm he asked him to
wear it for love of him, and he added that he wished for that day to be
valet to his prisoner. The king of France as a matter of fact handed the
king of England’s shirt to him. The next day Henry VIII, imitating the
confidence of Francis I, went to Ardres slightly attended, and there took
place a fresh exchange of presents and courtesies between them.
This attempt to rival each other in friendship was followed by a rivalry
of skill in the tournaments and games that the two kings held at their
courts. Spacious lists, which ended in strong enclosures for the guards
of each prince and which adjoined elegant stands erected for the queens
and the ladies-in-waiting, had been prepared in a high and uncovered
place. There for eight days were held jousts in which the most skilful
men-at-arms of France and England took part on foot and on horseback,
with lance and sword. The two kings who directed them displayed therein
without contention, the one his brilliant dexterity, the other his
athletic strength. Francis I, who excelled in horsemanship, broke his
lances with an accomplished skill. Henry VIII, whose impetuosity could
not be resisted, struck his antagonist’s helmet so violently that he
unseated him, and prevented him from fulfilling his other engagements.
King Henry, who was one of the best bowmen in the kingdom, made himself
remarkable by the strength with which he drew the string and the
swiftness with which he struck his mark; he would also have liked to show
his superiority in wrestling with Francis I. The English wrestlers had
defeated the French wrestlers because through negligence the latter had
not brought with them the Bretons, who are unsurpassed in this sort of
game. In the evening Henry VIII, hoping to complete the victory of his
men by an easy triumph, came close to Francis I and said to him roughly,
“Brother, I want to wrestle with you.” At the same time he grasped him
with his powerful hands and tried to throw him; but Francis I, who was
a well-trained wrestler and more lithe, twisted his leg around his
assailant, so that the latter lost his balance and rolled on the ground.
Henry arose, crimson with confusion and anger, and wished to begin again.
Only the fact that dinner was ready and that the queens intervened
prevented this dangerous test, which was more likely to make bad friends
of the two kings by wounding their vanity, than the recent intimacies
of their long interview were likely to cement their friendship. After
twenty-five days passed together in the midst of festivals and pleasures,
Francis I and Henry VIII separated, apparently in cordial friendship.
_Francis I and Charles V at War_
[Sidenote: [1520-1522 A.D.]]
Francis I was not certain of the armed co-operation of Henry VIII, but he
believed he had secured his interested and, from thenceforward, faithful
friendship. He had bought it by a large annual payment which was simply
a subsidy in disguise. He flattered himself that if the king of England
failed to declare himself on his side in the war about to begin, at all
events he would not espouse the cause of the emperor, his enemy.[h]
But this interview was nothing more than play-acting, as Francis soon
realised when he learned that Henry on his way back to England had paid
a visit to Charles V, who was close friends with Wolsey. Furious at
this duplicity and at learning that Henry VIII had agreed to arbitrate
on Charles’ behalf in all quarrels between him and France, Francis
cast about for a pretext for war, and soon found occasions in the Low
Countries, Navarre, and Italy. In April, 1521, he despatched Marshal de
Lautrec to defend the Milanese against the Spaniards.[a]
[Illustration: A FRENCH BARON, EARLY SIXTEENTH CENTURY]
The government of the conquered province had been such as to render the
French yoke odious to the Milanese. The cause lay in the intrigues and
corruption of the court. As soon as the government has grown despotic,
we are instantly compelled to look for the causes of events in the
scandalous chronicle of harlotry. It has been related that Anne, queen of
Louis XII, had assembled around her the daughters of the French nobility;
and a court was thus gradually formed, no longer composed solely of
warriors and statesmen, but of the gay and idle also of both sexes. This
sudden freedom had an ill effect upon public morals. The principles and
habits of courtiers were not prepared for the increased temptation. The
grossness of the age did not yet admit of that true and pure enjoyment
of female society which modern cultivation allows. Francis, when he was
suddenly released from Amboise, and found himself possessed of all power,
and endowed with all attraction, in the midst of an assemblage of beauty,
gave a loose rein to his passions. His wife, Claude, daughter of the late
king, never had the command of his affections; and the court of Francis
soon arrived at that state of dissoluteness which we find recorded in the
pages of Brantôme, and from which we shrink in incredulity and disgust.
Françoise de Foix was one of those highborn maidens whom Anne of Brittany
had reared near her person. That queen had given her in marriage to the
count de Châteaubriant, who retained her at his remote château, far from
the fascinations of a court. Francis, however, insisted on the presence
of the beauty. The countess de Châteaubriant was summoned to the capital,
and soon became the avowed and chosen mistress of her sovereign. Her
brother Lautrec was made governor of Milan.[i] In spite of Lautrec’s
efforts Milan fell into the enemy’s hands, and on April 27th, 1522, he
lost a battle which robbed Francis of all his power in Lombardy. This was
the battle of Bicocca, in which Prospero Colonna, occupying an entrenched
position, repulsed the French and inflicted upon them a decisive
defeat.[a]
_Defection of the Duke de Bourbon_
The rage of Francis against his unsuccessful general was extreme. He
refused to see him. The duchess d’Angoulême exasperated the king’s
animosity by her censures; while Madame de Châteaubriant dared not
intercede for her brother. At length the constable procured Lautrec
admission to the king, who covered him with reproaches. “It is not I who
am to blame,” said Lautrec; “the gendarmerie have served eighteen months
without pay; and the wilfulness of the Swiss, both in fighting against my
wish and then abandoning me, was owing to my inability to pay them.”
“And the 400,000 crowns?” said the king. “Were never received,” was
the answer. Francis summoned his treasurer, Semblançay, and asked him
sternly how it came that the promised sum had not yet reached Lautrec.
The treasurer replied that the duchess d’Angoulême had made him pay it to
her. The king then rushed to the apartments of his mother. “It is to your
avarice then, madam, that I owe the loss of the Milanese?” The duchess
could not deny the receipt of the sum, but she alleged having received
it on her private account. The excuse did not satisfy the monarch, and
Semblançay kept his station. The vengeance of the queen-mother henceforth
unremittingly followed the unfortunate treasurer. Heads of accusation can
never be wanting against a man intrusted with the finances of a kingdom;
and five years after, Semblançay, an honest and irreproachable minister,
fell a victim to the intrigues and iniquity of the monarch’s mother, and
died as a malefactor on the common gibbet.
Whilst Francis met with these reverses, which were the natural
consequences of the blunders and recklessness of his administration,
the emperor Charles was carefully securing every friend, and improving
every advantage. The new pope, Adrian, was his creature: Wolsey’s
resentment, on being disappointed of the tiara, was soothed for a time;
and Henry VIII was induced not only to break with France, but to send
thither an army under the duke of Suffolk, which, however, achieved
nothing remarkable. The Venetian Republic, also, the last of the Italian
powers that inclined to France, was estranged from his friendship, and
joined the alliance against him. Not content with making every foreign
potentate his foe, the French monarch had at the same time the imprudence
to alienate the most powerful of his subjects. Trivulzio, we have seen,
expired beneath his neglect. Charles, duke de Bourbon, and constable
of the kingdom, was now driven by injustice to league with the enemies
of his country. The last duke de Bourbon had left a daughter, Suzanne.
The title, and a certain portion of the heritage, went by law to the
male heir; but as a considerable part would be inherited by Suzanne,
the paternal care of Louis XII arranged a marriage between Charles, the
existing duke, and Suzanne de Bourbon, thus preserving unbroken the
heritage and title of that illustrious family. The duke was of a handsome
person, and on the death of his duchess, Suzanne, without issue, the
duchess d’Angoulême made advances to fill her place. This she was the
more forward in doing, as, being descended in the female line from a
previous duke de Bourbon, she considered herself to have claims on that
part of the property which might descend to a female. The constable,
however, was blind to her advances, backed by this tacit menace. And the
slighted duchess instantly put forward her claim to the Bourbonnais as
appertaining by right to her.
Bourbon had previously received affronts from the king, who disliked his
cold temper and reserved demeanour. The duke was grave and dignified,
fond of war and business, and averse to join in the follies of a court.
It appears, too, that Francis amused himself at the duke’s expense; and
the latter bore raillery with so little good humour as to be called the
“prince of small endurance.” Whatever was the cause, they certainly
disliked each other; and Francis manifested this feeling first by
recalling Bourbon from the government of Milan, and afterwards by giving
the command of the vanguard in one of the northern campaigns to the duke
of Alençon, although that post of honour was the constable’s right.
[Illustration: CONSTABLE DE BOURBON]
[Sidenote: [1522-1524 A.D.]]
Bearing all this in mind, when his hitherto unquestioned right to the
Bourbonnais was called in question, the duke instantly apprehended that
a league to destroy him had been planned by the king and his mother.
Duprat, the chancellor, was but a creature of the latter; and to hope for
justice in the event of trial was absurd. Bourbon was, therefore, driven
to look abroad for a refuge or for vengeance. The emperor’s emissary
was at hand, proffering him that prince’s sister in marriage, and many
advantages, if he would join the emperor’s party, and raise a civil
war in France against its monarch. Bourbon hesitated long, but finally
acceded to the proposals of Charles. Francis in the meantime had been
roused from the lap of pleasure by the league of all Europe against him.
He was at Lyons, on the way to Italy at the head of an army, when Bourbon
was about to take the fatal step. Francis tried to soothe him: he showed
his confidence by appointing him lieutenant-general of the kingdom;
and assured him that whatever might be the result of this unfortunate
process, he would not see him despoiled. The object of Francis seems to
have been the gratification of his mother, and the driving of Bourbon
to a marriage with her. This failed, however, like every act of the
monarch’s policy. The constable determined to join the emperor. But
Francis was now near, accompanied with forces; and as circumstances had
awakened his suspicions, he called on the constable to accompany him to
Italy. Bourbon feigned sickness, and took to his couch, as a pretext for
delay; till at length, seeing that it would be dangerous to trifle any
longer with the impatient Francis, the constable dispersed his suite and
fled, followed by a single attendant, into the dominions of the emperor.
Francis gained by this desertion, as he confiscated the wide domains
of Bourbon. Charles acquired what he least wanted--a general, and an
unfortunate claimant.
_A Disastrous Campaign in Italy: The Battle of Pavia_
Bonnivet, the personal enemy of Bourbon, was now intrusted with the
command of the French army. He marched without opposition into the
Milanese, and might have taken the capital had he pushed on to its gates.
Having by irresolution lost it, he retreated to winter quarters behind
the Ticino. The operations of the English in Picardy, of the imperials
in Champagne, and of the Spaniards near the Pyrenees, were equally
insignificant. The spring of 1524 brought on an action, if the attack
of one point can be called such, which proved decisive for the time.
Bonnivet advanced rashly beyond the Ticino. The imperials, commanded by
four able generals, Lannoy, Pescara, Bourbon, and Sforza, succeeded in
almost cutting off his retreat. They at the same time refused Bonnivet’s
offer to engage. They hoped to weaken him by famine. The Swiss first
murmured against the distress occasioned by want of precaution. They
deserted across the river; and Bonnivet, thus abandoned, was obliged
to make a precipitate and perilous retreat. A bridge was hastily flung
across the Sesia, near Romagnano; and Bonnivet, with his best knights and
gendarmerie, undertook to defend the passage of the rest of the army.
The imperials, led on by Bourbon, made a furious attack. Bonnivet was
wounded, and he gave his place to Bayard, who, never intrusted with a
high command, was always chosen for that of a forlorn hope. The brave
Vandenesse was soon killed; and Bayard himself received a gunshot wound.
The gallant chevalier, feeling his wound mortal, caused himself to be
placed in a sitting posture beneath a tree, his face to the enemy, and
his sword fixed in guise of a cross before him. The constable De Bourbon,
who led the imperials, soon came up to the dying Bayard, and expressed
his compassion. “Weep not for me,” said the chevalier, “but for thyself.
I die in performing my duty; thou art betraying thine.”
[Sidenote: [1524-1525 A.D.]]
Francis, in the meantime, alarmed by the invasion, had assembled an army.
He burned to employ it, and avenge the late affront. He marched upon
Milan, whose population was spiritless and broken by the plague, and took
it without resistance. It was then mooted whether Lodi or Pavia should
be besieged. The latter, imprudently, as it is said, was preferred. The
siege of Pavia was formed about the middle of October. Antonio de Leyva,
an experienced officer, supported by veteran troops, commanded in the
town. By the month of January, 1525, the French had made no progress; and
the impatient Francis despatched a considerable portion of his army for
the invasion of Naples, hearing that the country was drained of troops.
This was a gross blunder, which Pescara observing, he forbore to send any
force to oppose the expedition. He knew that the fate of Italy would be
decided before Pavia.[i]
During the night of the 23rd of February the emperor’s generals harassed
the royal camp by a lively cannonade and a series of feigned attacks,
while the main body of their troops was approaching in silence the
walls of the park. Masons undermined and tore down a considerable
portion of the wall, and through the breach thus effected the imperial
advance-guard, under the young marquis del Guasto, cousin to Pescara,
closely followed by the remaining troops, rushed into the park. In the
light of the breaking day the French saw the imperial columns defile
rapidly by the king’s quarters and set out in the direction of Pavia.
The hostile troops were obliged to cross a wide clearing that was raked
by the shot of the artillery posted along the king’s entrenchments, and
so terrible was the fire opened out upon them by the veteran Galiot de
Genouillac that, says Martin du Bellay,[j] “one after the other great
breaches were made in the enemy’s battalions, and there was nothing to be
seen but flying arms and heads.” Their ranks thinned by this frightful
cannonade, the imperials began running in single file towards a valley,
where they hoped to be out of range of the royal batteries.
When Francis I saw this movement he believed the enemy to be in full
flight and his own victory assured; it had, moreover, been reported to
him that the division under Alençon and Chabot had routed a Spanish
battalion in the park and captured several cannon. Rallying his
gendarmerie, he rushed forth from the camp in pursuit of the flying
enemy, thus masking his own batteries and reducing them to silence at the
very moment when they might have been the most destructive; the remainder
of the army followed the king.
Bourbon and Pescara, transported with joy, hastily formed their line of
battle, while Del Guasto rushed up with his advance-guard, reinforced
by Antonio de Leyva, and the flower of the garrison of Pavia, which
the guard left in charge of the camp had been unable to hold back. The
division of the duke of Alençon formed the left wing of the French army
and was separated by a large body of Swiss troops from the king, who
commanded the centre; between the king and the right wing commanded by
La Palisse were placed four or five thousand lansquenets, the remnant
of the old bands of Gelderland and Westphalia who were used to fighting
under French banners against the house of Austria, and to being placed
under the ban of the empire by Charles V. The shock of the meeting
between these two armies, inconsiderable as to numbers but composed of
the bravest fighting-men in Europe, was terrific. Fallen upon by the
lansquenets of Charles de Bourbon and left without assistance by the
Swiss, the king’s lansquenets were overwhelmed by force of numbers and
crushed between two battalions of the enemy. Nearly all these brave men
perished, as did also their two chiefs, the duke of Suffolk (the White
Rose) and Francis de Lorraine, brother of the duke de Lorraine and of
Count Claude de Guise. Bourbon and his victorious infantry next turned
against the French right wing which was engaged in a hot contest with
a Spanish-Italian cavalry corps. The right wing, after many great but
useless exploits, shared the fate that befell the French lansquenets, and
it was on this field that the veteran Chabannes de la Palisse ended his
glorious career. His horse having been killed under him, he was about to
surrender his sword to the Neapolitan captain Castaldo, when a Spaniard,
envious of Castaldo’s good fortune, killed the illustrious prisoner by a
shot from his arquebuse.
No less furiously did the combat rage in the centre where the king,
at the head of his gendarmerie, overpowered an Italian squadron under
the command of the marquis de Saint Angelo, a descendant of the great
Scanderbeg; it is said that the king slew this nobleman, as well
as several other knights, with his own hand. The squadron of the
Franc-Comtois suffered overthrow in its turn; the Spanish cavalry would
have had a similar fate had not Pescara devised a manœuvre which was as
successful as it was terrible in its effects. This was to mingle with
his horsemen fifteen hundred or two thousand Basque musketeers whose
agility enabled them to slip into the ranks of the French to choose
their victims, and who by their deadly fire checked the advance of the
gendarmerie and threw all the squadrons into confusion. The richest coats
of mail, the most gallantly plumed helmets were the marks selected in
preference by these sharpshooters, and one after the other the famous
leaders who had raised French arms to glory during the last thirty
years were seen to fall--Louis de la Trémouille, Louis d’Ars, teacher
and friend of Bayard, the grand equerry San Severino, the bastard of
Savoy, and the marshal De Foix-Lescun, all were killed or mortally
wounded. The king and those immediately about him continued to fight
desperately, a furious charge having brought Pescara to the earth and
put to flight Lannoy. Victory might still have been on the side of the
French had Alençon and the Swiss done their full duty; but the duke, on
learning of the confusion into which the right wing had been thrown, fled
precipitately, carrying with him almost all the gendarmerie and the left
wing, while the Swiss, left uncovered by the desertion of Alençon and
menaced on their left flank by the imperial cavalry, turned their backs
in their turn, instead of repulsing the enemy’s attack and flying to the
succour of the king, and set out in confusion on the road to Milan. This
battle should have served as a terrible lesson to the kings of France,
who were in the habit of buying the services of mercenaries at a high
price rather than place arms in the hands of their own subjects.
All the stress and burden of the battle now fell upon the king and the
valiant body of nobles who pressed about him; Bourbon, Castaldo, Del
Guasto, De Leyva, and the viceroy Lannoy had successively joined Pescara,
and there remained to the French gendarmerie but to sell their lives as
dearly as possible. Diesbach, the Swiss general, and Admiral Bonnivet
decided not to survive--the one, the ignominious retreat which was to
tarnish the fame of the league, and the other the sad “misadventure” for
which he himself had been mainly responsible. They both flung themselves
upon the pikes of Bourbon’s lansquenets and at once found death.
Bonnivet, the favourite of Madame d’Angoulême as well as of the king,
had taken the most active part in the persecution of the constable, and
Bourbon was now seeking him all over the field of battle. When he finally
perceived his enemy’s mutilated corpse, “Unhappy man!” he exclaimed with
sadness, “you are the cause of France’s ruin and my own!”
The French gendarmerie at last succumbed to the superior numbers of
the enemy; they were broken, dispersed, and cut to pieces. Francis I,
wounded in the leg and in the face, defended himself bravely for some
time longer, but his horse, on being dealt a fatal blow, fell and bore
him to the earth, where he would have been despatched by the soldiers
who struggled to reach him had not Pompérant, the companion of the
constable’s flight, recognised the king and rushed to his rescue.
Pompérant proposed to the king to pledge his faith to Bourbon, but
Francis indignantly refused; then Pompérant sent for Lannoy, viceroy of
Naples, who bent his knee to receive the bloody sword of the king, and
proffered his in exchange.
Eight thousand French and auxiliaries had met death; and all the
leaders--the king of Navarre (Henry d’Albret), the count of Saint-Pol,
Fleuranges, Montmorency, Brion--who were not stretched upon the
battle-field, shared the captivity of Francis I. The king begged his
captors not to take him back to Pavia where he would be a “spectacle and
a laughing-stock to those upon whom he had formerly inflicted fear, evil,
and fatigue.” He was conducted to the tent of the marquis del Guasto,
where his wounds were properly attended to. In the evening Charles de
Bourbon presented himself with every mark of respect before the monarch
upon whom he had taken so cruel a vengeance. Both, according to the
accounts most worthy of credence, displayed great self-control and
admirably concealed feelings, of triumph on the one hand, of grief and
humiliation on the other; the king’s only departure from this reserve
was in the reception he gave Pescara, which was warm compared to his
attitude towards Bourbon. Francis I had at least one consolation in his
misfortune, the one that would most appeal to a nature such as his: the
imperial soldiers had been so struck by his prowess in the field that
they divided his effects as relics among themselves, and evinced so
strongly their desire to see him that the viceroy of Naples experienced
some alarm. The German mercenaries, without taking into account the
immense booty they had gained, demanded more imperatively than before
the battle their arrears of pay, and Lannoy feared that they would seek
to seize the king as surety, perhaps even go over to the royal side.
He averted this danger by sending Francis I to Pizzighettone under
the guard of a Spanish captain of whose fidelity he was sure, and by
extorting heavy contributions from the pope and the smaller Italian
states, in order that the soldiery might be induced to wait in patience.
[Sidenote: [1525-1526 A.D.]]
It was in the imperial camp near Pavia, on the eve of departure for
Pizzighettone that Francis I wrote to his mother the celebrated letter
that tradition has greatly altered by giving it this laconic form:
“Madame, all is lost save honour.” The true text is as follows: “Madame,
To let you know the full extent of my misfortune I have but to say, of
all things there remain to me only honour and my life; and that this news
may be of a little comfort to you in your adversity I have prayed them to
let me write you this letter, which prayer they have readily accorded; I
also beg of you to allow yourself to come to no harm but to make use of
your accustomed prudence, for I have hope that in the end God will not
abandon me. I recommend to you my children and your grandchildren, and
pray you to let pass the bearer of this to Spain and back, for it is his
mission to see the emperor to inform him of the treatment I receive.”[k]
_Francis Captive in Spain: The Treaty of Madrid_
Although Francis had hoped to overcome his conqueror, he did not fear to
humiliate himself before him. This rôle of captive and suppliant was so
new to him that he rather overdid it and rather bore in mind his present
fortunes, which might change, than his kingly dignity which he should
never lose. Thus, in three letters written by him to Charles, three times
he affected to call himself his slave.
“Having no other comfort in my misfortune than the hope of your goodness,
by which, if it please you, use me, the fruits of your own victory, with
all fairness. I have firm hope that your virtue will not constrain me to
do anything dishonouring, and I beg you to let your heart decide what you
will do with me. Wherefore may it please you to have the kindly pity to
assure the safety which is due the king of France as prisoner, then will
you render me friendly and not despairing, you will make an acquisition
instead of a useless prisoner, and have a king forever your slave. So
I end my humble petitions which have no other end to expect but that
you will style me, instead of a prisoner, your good brother and friend
Francis.”
But when Francis heard the rigorous conditions, when he saw he had in
vain humiliated himself before his enemy, death appeared less horrible
than captivity for him, and ruin and shame for France. “Tell your
master,” he cried, “that I would rather die than submit to his terms.
My kingdom is still intact, and for my deliverance I neither can nor
will harm it. If the emperor desires treaties, let him speak another
language.” The opportunity was propitious for Lannoy, and he well knew
how to use it. “Your majesty,” said he, “had made a better bargain with
the emperor by treating directly with him. Go yourself to Spain and put
yourself in the hands of my master. He will be touched by this proof of
confidence and will certainly not abuse the rights victory has given
him.” Francis allowed himself to be taken in the trap, and judging his
enemy by himself the chivalrous monarch resolved to put himself at the
discretion of Charles V. He had sent from Marseilles six of his galleys
to aid in the transport of troops which were to serve him as escort, and
forbade his admirals to alarm the imperial crews during the crossing. He
embarked at Genoa May 7th, 1526, and Lannoy was clever enough to persuade
Bourbon and Pescara that he was conducting his prisoner to Naples.
Charles V was unaware of Lannoy’s project; it was a pleasant surprise,
then, to learn that the king of France, whom he had thought in Italy,
was on Spanish soil. He immediately had him transferred to his castle
at Madrid, leaving it himself for fear of meeting him. Francis, always
liable to be deceived, had counted on prompt deliverance. While waiting,
he had imagined himself treated by his conquerors as a guest and not
as a prisoner. But seeing he had been tricked by Lannoy, guessing the
astuteness of Charles behind that of his minister, he immediately fell
ill of grief. Soon his life was in danger. The people of Madrid, moved
with sympathy for this knightly king, more fitted than Charles V to
reign over Spain, hastened in crowds to the churches to ask God to cure
him. Charles, who calculated everything, even his pity, realised that
if he allowed his prisoner to die he would lose a possible ransom. He
then decided to pay him a visit, and, lavish of fine words, succeeded in
raising Francis’ courage. But his object gained and the sick man saved,
Charles forgot all his promises, refused to see his prisoner again, and
reinsisted on the hard terms of release.[l]
France in the meantime, though stunned and disordered by the first news
of the disaster of Pavia, was recovering its composure and force. The
duchess of Angoulême was regent; the count de Vendôme, cousin of the
constable De Bourbon, did not take advantage of his being first prince
of the blood to embroil the kingdom. The parliament, indeed, displeased
with the imperious character of the king, and angered on account of the
Concordat and other causes, gave the regent some trouble. But new allies
flocked to France in her distress. The Italian states were all ready to
combine against the emperor, whose power they now dreaded. Henry VIII of
England instantly flung his support into the scale of the discomfited
Francis, and concluded a treaty with the regent, stipulating that the
kingdom should on no account be dismembered. Large numbers of the people
of Alsace had taken advantage of the opportunity to rise and invade
France, excited by that religious zeal which scorns restraint. The count
of Guise mustered some forces, fell upon them in time, and cut them to
pieces. It was for this service that Francis afterwards created the
county of Guise into a duchy-peerage--an honour heretofore granted solely
to princes of the blood. The parliament made great opposition to this
novelty; but the king was resolute in his friendship, and Guise became
one of the high noblesse of France, a duke and peer.
Negotiations for the liberation of the king proceeded, with little
prospect of success, at Madrid. Bourbon had betaken himself thither;
his presence and his claims were no small source of difficulties. The
emperor had promised him his sister Leonora, queen-dowager of Portugal,
in marriage; but as Francis, to disappoint Bourbon, offered to marry
this princess himself, the constable was obliged to forego the honour.
The marquis Pescara dying at this time, the emperor offered the command
of his Italian armies to Bourbon, who was urged to accept of it, and was
thus got rid of. Still the terms offered to Francis were so harsh that he
could not accede to them. His sister, the duchess of Alençon, had come
to tend him in his illness and captivity. She was now about to return;
and Francis put into her hand his absolute resignation of the kingdom,
that he might be considered as dead, and no further efforts be made for
his liberation. This alarmed the emperor, who became willing to relax in
some degree. Still his demands were so exorbitant and unreasonable that
Francis at length consented to extricate himself by a breach of faith,
and to swear to a treaty the stipulations of which he was determined not
to perform.
With these opposite views--grasping severity, that over-reached itself,
on the one side, and premeditated bad faith, the almost compulsory
resource of Francis, on the other--the Treaty of Madrid was concluded.
By it the king agreed to give up Burgundy, to renounce all right to
Milan and Naples, as well as to Flanders and Artois. He was to be set
at liberty, and to espouse Leonora of Portugal, the emperor’s sister.
He was, moreover, to abandon his allies, the king of Navarre, the dukes
of Gelderland, of Würtemberg, and the count de la Mark; and he was to
re-establish Bourbon in all his property and privileges. Moreover, the
two sons of Francis were to remain as hostages for the performance of
these conditions, the king himself promising to return into captivity if
they were not fulfilled. On the 14th of January, 1526, the treaty was
signed; Francis taking the precaution to protest secretly, in presence of
his chancellor, against the validity of such exactions. Charles himself
could not but mistrust the sincerity of Francis, and he even retained him
prisoner a month after the signature. The king’s health again declined
in consequence; and at length Charles, in a hurried and irresolute way,
gave orders for his final liberation. He was led to the river Bidassoa,
which separates the countries: his sons, who appeared on the opposite
bank, were exchanged for him, and Francis, mounting a horse of extreme
swiftness, galloped without drawing rein to St. Jean de Luz, and thence
to Bayonne.
_Further Dissensions and the “Ladies’ Peace”_
Thus freed from captivity, on terms which, if fulfilled, must ruin
his kingdom, and if unfulfilled must stain his honour, Francis, it
might have been expected, would be instantly occupied in the duty of
defending himself and retrieving his affairs. His first act on arriving
at Bordeaux, however, was to become enamoured of Mademoiselle d’Heilly,
better known as the duchess d’Étampes, who superseded the countess of
Châteaubriant in his affections, and held thenceforward the greatest
influence over the monarch.
The liberation of Francis was the signal for a general league against
the emperor. The Italian powers were ever disposed to unite against the
strongest. Sforza had already rebelled against Charles, and had been
driven from Milan by Pescara. All of them--the pope, the Venetians, the
Florentines--now formed an alliance with the king, on condition that
Sforza should remain in possession of Milan. A treaty to this effect
was signed at Cognac, but was kept secret for some time. The states of
Burgundy had assembled, to protest against the transfer of their province
to the emperor. The king, they said, had no right nor power to make such
a stipulation without their consent. When Lannoy, on the part of Charles,
demanded the cession of Burgundy, Francis referred him to the answer of
the states. The emperor, on learning this evasion of the treaty, called
on Francis, as a man of honour, to redeem his word and return into
captivity.
This was a trying moment for Francis, who piqued himself on possessing
all the chivalric virtues. He could not openly deride the credulity of
Charles, as Louis the XI or Ferdinand the Catholic would have done. He
was perplexed, distressed, and could only allege the necessity of the
case; a plea which by no means satisfied his nice notions of honour. He
therefore resolved on taking the advice of his subjects. Despotic as he
was, he felt in this case at least the necessity of having the nation
to participate his responsibility. To call together the states-general
of the kingdom was obviously the natural step in such a case. But no;
Francis dreaded the very name of that assembly, in which the vulgar
_tiers état_, or people, had a voice. The legists and judges of the
parliament had for some time taken upon them to represent the nation,
in demurring to taxes and to edicts. Francis, and his minister Duprat,
though not wholly contented with the parliament, yet deemed that
preferable to an assembly of bourgeois. It was resolved therefore between
them that the voice of the nation should now be taken, not in the good
old states-general, but in what has since been called an assembly of
notables--one of the most unfortunate inventions or innovations that
despotic craft could have imagined.
[Sidenote: [1526-1527 A.D.]]
This assembly of notables, or, as some historians will call it, this bed
of justice, was held in December, 1526. It consisted of prelates, nobles,
courtiers, gentlemen, the parliament of Paris, and the presidents of the
provincial parliaments; the only admixture of democracy being the provost
of merchants and the four sheriffs of the city of Paris. Before those
Francis made a long discourse; entering at large into the affairs of the
kingdom, its finances and resources. He recounted the misfortunes of his
captivity, and declared his readiness to return to it, if his people
thought that either their interest or his honour so demanded. The reply
of each class, for all answered separately, was that he was absolved
from an unjust and compulsory oath, against which he had previously
protested, and the fulfilment of which the privileges and welfare of
his people alike forbade. They at the same time accorded to him the
liberty of raising two millions for the ransom of his sons, assuming in
this particular all the rights of the states-general. Thus satisfied,
Francis published the general league against the emperor, denominated
“holy,” because the pope was at its head. Not only the Italian states,
but the Swiss and the king of England acceded to it; so that the reverses
of Francis, if they had stripped him of territories, rendered him much
stronger in alliances than his rival.
The emperor, on his side, promised to Bourbon the investiture of the
Milanese, if he succeeded in expelling Sforza. This the constable
accomplished, subsisting his mercenary troops on the unfortunate
inhabitants of Milan--for of money Charles had as notorious a lack as his
grandsire Maximilian. Milan taken, pillaged, and wasted, how was Bourbon
to support his army--that army by which he lived? For since his exile
the prince had inhabited camps, and was averse to any more orderly way
of life. He loved his soldiers, rapacious and licentious as they were;
and was beloved by them, as a valiant and successful leader inclined
to tolerate the license of the freebooter. Since his treason, Bourbon
had met everywhere with insults and ingratitude from the French, the
Spaniards, the emperor, and his brother generals. This situation made him
misanthropic, and his character degenerated into that of the reckless and
ferocious corsair. To obtain plunder for his army of lansquenets, in lieu
of pay, became indispensable; and he accordingly led them south, menacing
all the great cities of the peninsula, and uncertain which he should
attack. Florence and Rome had both declared against the emperor; Bourbon
fixed upon the imperial city as the more glorious prey, and accordingly
marched thither his mercenary army. Pope Clement was terrified at his
approach, and used all his country’s artifices to avert the danger. It
approached nevertheless, and Clement shut himself up in the castle of St.
Angelo.
The army of Bourbon attacked Rome in the morning of the 5th of May, 1527.
Bourbon himself applied the first scaling-ladder, and was in the act of
mounting it, when the first shot from the walls struck him and put an end
to his disastrous career. His army passed over his body to the assault,
and Rome was carried by storm. The pillage was general, so merciless
were the soldiery. Not all the ravages of Hun and Goth surpassed those of
the army of the first prince in Christendom. The cruelty of the German
soldiers was unequalled: they indulged in the most horrid extravagance
of debauch and impiety. For two months they remained masters of the
city; and the pontiff himself was finally obliged to surrender himself a
prisoner.
[Sidenote: [1527-1528 A.D.]]
This new triumph of the emperor, over the head of the church too, roused
the zeal of Henry VIII. He already meditated a divorce from Catherine,
Charles’ aunt; and it therefore became his policy to befriend and protect
the pope, whose assistance he would chiefly require, against the emperor.
Wolsey was therefore despatched to France; the treaty between the crowns
was renewed; and a joint army was raised, to march into Italy under the
command of Lautrec. That general now compensated for his former ill
success. He made himself master of Genoa by the aid of Andrea Doria;
and took Pavia by assault, abandoning it to pillage, in revenge for the
defeat which the French had suffered under its walls. The conquest of
Milan would have been easy; but as that city was now to belong to Sforza,
the French general turned from it towards Rome, in order to procure the
liberation of the pope. His approach effected this: the emperor became
less harsh in his terms, and Clement soon found himself free at Orvieto.
It was about this time, towards the commencement of 1528, that challenges
and defiances passed between Charles and Francis. The former, in his
reply to the French envoy, reproached the restored king with an infamous
breach of faith; and hinted that he was ready to support his charge as
a true knight, sword in hand. Francis, indignant, sent a reply that the
emperor “lied in his throat”; and demanded a rendezvous, or _champ clos_,
for the duel; but notwithstanding the choler of both parties, it never
took place. It is singular that in this affair of the single combat the
cold and politic Charles seems to have been most in earnest, whilst the
obstacles and delays were raised by the headlong and chivalric Francis.
Lautrec in the meantime advanced to the conquest of Naples. He marched
to the eastern coast, and soon reduced the provinces bordering on the
Adriatic. The command of Bourbon’s army had devolved on Philibert, the
last prince of Orange of the house of Châlons, another French chief of
talents and influence, whom the petulance of Francis had alienated from
him and driven into exile. With some difficulty this prince withdrew his
army from the spoils of Rome to the defence of Naples. He was not strong
enough to face Lautrec in the field: the prince of Orange, therefore,
and Moncada, the new viceroy, shut themselves up in Naples, where they
were soon besieged by Lautrec. Andrea Doria, a faithful partisan of
France, held the sea with his Genoese galleys, and blockaded the port.
It was proposed to reduce the town by famine. After some time Moncada,
fitting out all the galleys in port, made an attack on the Genoese, then
commanded by Filippino Doria, Andrea’s nephew. The attempt failed: the
Spaniards were beaten, Moncada slain, and most of the captains taken;
amongst others, the marquis del Guasto, and two brothers Colonna. Naples
thus became in prospect an easy prey to Lautrec. Its fall might have
brought the final submission of the kingdom; but the same blunder which
Francis persevered in committing throughout his whole reign lost him this
advantage, among so many others.
Such was the fatal habit of the French king to disgust and alienate his
best and most attached friends. Doria, for example, like Trivulzio, was
an Italian who united with a love of his own country a firm attachment
to the French. His exertions had but just torn Genoa from the emperor
to give it to Francis: he was now doing the very same by Naples, when
it pleased the French court to insult and disoblige him. The prisoners
he had won in action were taken from him, and no allowance was made for
their ransom. These insults to himself Doria might have passed over; of
wrongs offered to his country he was more sensible. The French undertook
to fortify Savona, and to raise it into a rival of Genoa. They removed
thither the trade in salt, one of the most lucrative sources of the
Genoese commerce. Doria expostulated; and another admiral, Barbescenas,
was sent to supersede him and bring him prisoner to France. When the
admiral arrived, Doria received him, saying, “I know what brings you
hither: the French vessels I deliver to you; the Genoese remain under
my command. Do the rest of your errand if you dare!” The consequence of
this blindness and ingratitude on the part of Francis was soon seen;
Genoa declared herself free, and allied herself with the emperor. The
blockade of Naples by sea was raised; and the influx of fresh troops
and provisions enabled the city to defy its besiegers. These, encamped
under a midsummer sun, ill supplied, and harassed, were soon attacked by
pestilence. Lautrec their general died of it. The marquis of Saluzzo,
who succeeded him, raised the siege and retired to Aversa, where he soon
after surrendered to the prince of Orange; and thus another unsuccessful
Italian expedition was added to the long list of French disasters.
[Sidenote: [1528-1529 A.D.]]
Another army led by the count of Saint-Pol into the north of Italy met
with as little success. Francis felt that he could not re-establish his
fortunes: he sickened of the love of glory that had hitherto animated
him, and showed himself willing to treat for peace on any terms, provided
the cession of Burgundy was not insisted on. Charles by this time saw
that the nation would never consent to such a sacrifice: he therefore
waived this part of the Treaty of Madrid. The negotiations on both sides
were carried on by the duchess d’Angoulême and Margaret of Austria. The
king gave up all his claims to possessions in Italy, Milan, Naples, and
even Asti, and abandoned all his allies in that country; he renounced
all right of sovereignty over Flanders or Artois; he ceded Tournay and
Arras; two millions were to be paid as ransom for the young princes; the
lands of the house of Bourbon were to be restored to the heirs of that
family (a stipulation, by the by, never performed); and, finally, the
treaty was to be sealed by the marriage of Francis with Leonora, the
emperor’s sister. This Peace of Cambray, called also the “Ladies’ Peace,”
was concluded in August, 1529: it was as glorious for Charles as it was
disgraceful to France and her monarch. The emperor remained supreme
master of Italy; the pope submitted, and obtained the re-establishment of
the Medici in Florence, with hereditary power; the Venetians, who said
that Cambray was destined to be their purgatory, were shorn of their
conquests. Charles forgave Sforza, and left him the duchy of Milan. Henry
VIII reaped nothing save the emperor’s enmity by his interference: the
English monarch showed himself generous to Francis, by remitting to him,
at this moment, a large debt. Thus was Europe pacified for the time.[i]
INTERNAL AFFAIRS
[Sidenote: [1525-1547 A.D.]]
The melancholy Peace of Cambray will not be of long duration; the wars
of Italy are not wholly finished; Francis I has not sincerely renounced
“his heritage” beyond the mountains, the theatre of his former glory;
he will continue to meditate and more than once to attempt, with some
partial success, to shake his rival’s dominion over Italy. But neither
great expeditions nor great events in the heart of the peninsula will
again be seen under his reign. The essential interest of the history
of France is no longer there: it returns to the interior; it is in the
moral, intellectual, and social condition of that nation--thrown back
upon itself after having failed in conquest, and confronted at home and
abroad by the problem, growing daily more formidable, of a religious
revolution or reaction which will compromise its destiny for centuries.
The question is no longer whether France will snatch Italy from the
political domination of Spain united with the empire, but whether France
will find, in the elements which the Renaissance has brought her, the
strength and light necessary to maintain or redeem her political and
religious independence between those two genii of the north and south,
Teutonic Protestantism and Hispano-Roman Papism[69] which, coming into
collision, are about to make an attempt to drag everyone into their whirl.
We will not here enter on the religious history, whose crisis does not
appear in all its intensity till some years after the Treaty of Cambray.
We will first take a glance at the economical situation of France, at
the industrial arts and particularly at the fine arts, at letters and
science, at that Renaissance movement which continued to develop under
the patronage of Francis I. The taste for a civilisation elegant and
learned, picturesque and varied, was the sole affection to which Francis
always remained faithful. He had a more genuine right to the title of
“father of letters” (_père des lettres_) than to that of “knightly
king” (_roi chevalier_). Even his own mistakes and the misfortunes of
the allies he had abandoned were made to contribute to the progress of
the arts among the French, a progress whose advance in a good direction
remains, indeed, questionable. The fall of Florence, the persecutions
of the partisans of France at Naples and in Lombardy, sent a multitude
of emigrants, the flower of the Italian population, streaming across
the Alps; and France, as she was so often obliged to do, at least
opened an asylum to the friends she had not managed to protect. The
king endeavoured to palliate the wrong he had done Italy by favours to
Italians, and the exiles experienced some consolation in finding on the
banks of the Seine and the Loire the tastes, fashions, habits of thought,
and almost the language of their own country.
Many refugees were pensioned or invested with distinguished posts in
the army and in diplomacy. The Florentine Strozzi and the Neapolitan
Caraccioli, prince of Melfi, became marshals of France. Italy not
only sent France artists and politicians, but merchants and skilful
manufacturers, who brought into her cities their industry and the
remains of their fortunes which had escaped the hands of the tyrants.
The pre-eminence of the manufactures of Lyons dates from the fall
of Florence: Louis XI had made Lyons a great commercial city and an
international entrepôt by instituting three annual fairs which caused the
decline of those of Geneva, and had endeavoured by the aid of Italian
workmen to develop the manufacture of silk goods, simultaneously at Lyons
and Tours: still Lyons, where various manufactures had rapidly developed,
did not begin to rival Tours in silks until about 1525; the Florentine
refugees soon gave her the superiority; two Genoese are also mentioned
amongst the chief founders of the manufactures of Lyons.
A bank was instituted at Lyons. An import duty of two gold crowns per
piece on velvet or silk goods protected the French silk manufactures
against foreign competition; as to the cloths and woollen goods of Spain
and Perpignan, they were absolutely prohibited in favour of the cloths of
Languedoc. In the north the manufacture of the cloths of Darnétal near
Rouen was very considerable; the edict of May, 1542, which regulated the
manufacture at Darnétal, qualities it as almost inestimable. An edict of
the 18th of July, 1540, had decreed that foreign stuffs in gold, silver,
and silk should enter France by Susa if they came from Italy, by Narbonne
or Bayonne if they came from Spain: they were to be taken straight to
Lyons and, there only, unpacked and exposed for sale. This privilege
must have enormously increased the prosperity of Lyons. Yet in 1543 one
of those sumptuary edicts which the rigid spirit of the parliament from
time to time wrung from the kings forbade the wearing of gold and silver
stuffs. French merchandises were subjected to a uniform export duty of
one sou per livre. In 1540 a royal ordinance attempted to establish a
uniform measure as already planned by Louis XI: an ell of three feet,
seven inches, eight lines was prescribed for use throughout the kingdom.
But commercial relations were not yet sufficiently active for the
advantage of such an improvement to be generally felt; local practice
protested and prevailed: the edict was revoked in 1543.
The French navy was making remarkable progress: Dieppe had raised its
head since the expulsion of the English and had resumed its ancient
preponderance amongst the French ports on the ocean; Norman and Breton
navigators gleaned, so to speak, on the tracks of the Spaniards and
Portuguese and tried to take up the threads of their old commercial
relations with Africa, and to open new ones with both Indies. Such
expeditions were full of peril, for the haughty rulers of the western
and eastern seas treated as pirates those competitors who ventured into
their domains. Captain Denis of Honfleur had touched at Brazil as early
as 1504, before the Portuguese, who discovered it in 1500, had founded
any settlement there; the French navigators continued to traffic with
the savage tribes who sold them those precious woods from which Brazil
has derived its name, and who “gave a better welcome to the French than
to the Portuguese and other European peoples.” In 1529 two ships from
Dieppe, under the command of Jean Parmentier, made a voyage to Madagascar
and Sumatra. During this time attempts which had more lasting results
were directed to the north of America, towards the countries whither
the Spaniards had not turned their steps. In 1506 Denis of Honfleur had
visited the island of Newfoundland which was then taken for a portion of
the continent; in 1508 Aubert, a native of Dieppe, followed him there
with a vessel fitted out by Jean Ango, the father of the illustrious
shipowner of the same name; the Bretons for their part discovered and
named the island of Cape Breton, and the annual codfishery was founded
on those coasts. The French government at last decided to second private
enterprise, and to claim its share of the New World. In 1524, by order
of Francis I, the Florentine Verazzano undertook a voyage of discovery,
reconnoitred all the coasts from Cape Breton and Acadia to Florida, and
took possession of them in the name of Francis I. Ten years afterwards,
in 1534, the Breton Jacques Cartier of St. Malo, commissioned by the
king at the suggestion of Admiral Chabot de Brion, satisfied himself
that Newfoundland was an island, penetrated into the vast gulf which
that great island bars, and reconnoitred the mouth of the St. Lawrence:
the year following he ascended this immense river as far as the spot
where Quebec was afterwards built, and discovered Canada. The name of
New France (_Nouvelle-France_) was imposed on the whole northern part of
America.
In 1540 Roberval, a Picard _gentilhomme_, was appointed viceroy of
Canada by Francis I, and set out with a squadron of five ships which
Cartier commanded under his orders; the colony was installed at Cape
Breton. The severity of the climate, so different from the magnificent
regions conquered by the Spaniards, the insufficiency of supplies, the
improvidence and negligence of the royal government were the cause
of the failure at the close of a few years of this first attempt at
colonisation, which was not renewed till the reign of Henry IV; but the
sailors of Normandy, Brittany, and La Rochelle continued the codfishery
and the fur trade with the peoples of Canada. A wealthy shipowner of
Dieppe, Jean Ango, whom the documents of the time describe as “merchant
of Rouen and viscount de Dieppe,” made himself one of the glories of the
French nation by his great enterprises, by his taste for the arts, and
the energy with which he sustained the honour of the French flag against
the rulers of the seas, particularly the Portuguese. His beautiful
manor of Warengeville, farm-house rather than château, still charms the
traveller amongst the green woodlands of the Dieppe coast. This family of
Ango was probably the same whence came the architect Roger Ango who built
the Palais de Justice at Rouen.
_The French Renaissance_
Whilst industry and navigation were thus progressing, the arts surrounded
Francis I with a splendour which Charles V and Henry VIII in vain
attempted to rival: for example, the king and all the nobles contended
with one another in erecting buildings, and there sprang from the earth
all those Renaissance châteaux which arose on French soil to take the
place of the feudal fortresses, and which like them have unfortunately
in great part disappeared. There was Madrid, the elegant retreat of the
Bois de Boulogne, so called because Francis loved to recall the weariness
of the prison in the midst of pleasures and liberty; there was La Meute
(by corruption La Muette), and St. Germain, and Villers-Cotterets and
Chantilly and Follembrai and Nantouillet, the splendid residence of
Duprat. The national architecture, threatened by the growing invasion
of the Italian taste, seemed to concentrate all its forces to protest
against it by a last creation of brilliant originality (1526). He who has
not seen Chambord does not suspect all the fantastic poetry that was to
be found in the French art of the sixteenth century. There is something
indescribable in this palace of the fairies, rising suddenly before the
eyes of the traveller from the depths of the gloomy woods of La Sologne
with its forests of turrets, spires, aërial campaniles, the beautiful
tints of their pearl gray stones, chequered with black mosaics standing
out on the sombre slates of the great roofs. This impression could only
be surpassed by the spectacle which delights us on the terraces of the
keep at the foot of the charming cupola which terminates the grand
staircase, the centre and pivot of this vast and varied whole and which
stands up radiant above the terraces like a flower one hundred feet
high. Everywhere between the _lacs d’amours_ and crowned F’s, mysterious
salamanders, vomiting flames, climb on the pediments, curl round the
medallions, or hang from the cornices and panels of the vaults, like the
dragons which watch over the enchanted castles of old legend, waiting the
return of the master who will come no more.[k]