but he was thwarted in his policy by the thoughtless and
passionate acts of his brother, the Duke of Gloucester. The
latter had become smitten with Jacqueline of Hainault, the
daughter and heiress of the Count of Hainault, and married, in
the first instance, to the second Dauphin, John, poisoned at
Compiègne. Still young at the death of that prince, she had
married the Duke of Brabant; but she soon conceived a horror of
her husband, who had, she said, the taste for favourites of low
degree, and abandoning him after three years of union, she had
taken refuge in England, where King Henry IV. had received her
with great honours. He had, however, opposed the project of
marriage of his brother, and upon his death-bed had recommended
him to renounce them. The Pope, Martin V., had refused to break
off the marriage of Jacqueline of Hainault with the Duke of
Brabant; but she pleaded the degree of relationship; and
addressed herself to the Anti-Pope, Benedict XIII., who had
refused to submit to the decision of the Council of Constance to
terminate the schism. Too happy to perform the act of a pontiff,
Benedict pronounced the nullity of the marriage, and the Duke of
Gloucester espoused Jacqueline of Hainault. The remonstrances of
the Duke of Burgundy became more ardent; he had, from the first
moment, defended the rights of his cousin, the Duke of Brabant,
proposing to refer the case to the arbitration of the Duke of
Bedford. "I am content," said he, "that we should take as judge
my very dear and beloved cousin, and also your brother the
regent, Duke of Bedford, for he is such a prince, that I know
that to you and to me, and to all others, he would be an upright
judge."
{45}
The Duke of Gloucester had listened to no remonstrance, and the
dangerous disaffection of the Duke Philip was secretly becoming
graver, when, shortly after the battle of Verneuil, Gloucester
and Jacqueline landed at Calais with a body of English soldiers,
notwithstanding the entreaties of their uncle Beaufort in
England, and those of the Duke of Bedford in France; they
traversed the dominions of the Duke of Burgundy, and attacked the
Duke of Brabant in Hainault; they had already taken possession of
Mons when the Duke of Burgundy, in a state of fury, wrote to
Gloucester, challenging him to single combat. At the same time he
sent considerable assistance to the Duke of Brabant, accepting
for that favour the service of his former enemies. Saintrailles
was among the number of the knights who proceeded to fight
against the English in the Low Countries.
The bonds which united the House of Burgundy to England were
beginning to relax, and the Pope was already working secretly in
concert with the Duke of Savoy, to negotiate an agreement with
Charles VII. The Duke of Gloucester had returned to England;
fearing the influence of his uncle Beaufort, he had left
Jacqueline entrusted to defend her inheritance. Scarcely had he
departed, when the majority of the towns opened their gates to
the Duke of Burgundy; and Jacqueline, at first tightly held
within Mons, then led a captive to Ghent, escaped with great
difficulty to take refuge in Holland.
{46}
So much imprudence on the part of his nephew had irritated the
Bishop of Winchester so far as to bring about an open quarrel.
The Duke of Bedford was compelled to repair to England towards
the end of the year 1425 to prevent bloodshed between the two
parties. He had some trouble in effecting a reconciliation,
sincere on the part of the Duke of Gloucester, whose character
was as frank as it was impetuous; doubtful in that of the priest,
more implacable than the warrior; the Bishop of Winchester
resigned the seals, and finding himself elevated by Martin V. to
the dignity of a Cardinalship, he quitted England with the Duke
of Bedford. The latter had been recalled to France by the
defection of the Duke of Brittany, who had recently declared
himself in favour of King Charles VII. at the instigation of his
brother, the Count of Richemont, already for some time rallied,
and whom the king had made Constable. Scarcely had Bedford set
foot upon French soil, when he sent an army into Brittany; the
country was devastated, the Duke of Brittany was shut up within
Rennes and so closely pressed, that he found himself compelled to
sever his alliance with the King of France; he swore for the
second time to the treaty of Troyes, and did homage to the little
king Henry VI.
The Pope, Martin V., had solemnly declared the nullity of the
marriage of Jacqueline de Hainault with the Duke of Gloucester,
and the latter had consoled himself by espousing Eleanor Cobham,
formerly a lady of the household of his wife. The Countess
Jacqueline still held out bravely in Holland; the Duke of Brabant
had recently died; his brother, who had succeeded him, had no
claim upon Jacqueline or upon her dominions; she would have been
free if the enemy whom she had raised up had not been too
powerful and too greedy to stop on such a fine road; from town to
town, from territory to territory, the Duke of Burgundy
prosecuted his conquest, and Jacqueline, abandoned by nearly all
her vassals, a victim on sea and on land, at length consented, in
the summer of 1428, to recognize the Duke Philip as her heir, and
to entrust to him immediately the government of her dominions.
{47}
The duke, satisfied with the English, who had not hindered him in
this last act of his ambition, promised troops for the great
expedition which was being prepared against the country beyond
the Loire, almost entirely rallied to King Charles VII.
The war had languished since the battle of Verneuil; the King of
France was poor, indolent, and delivered up to favourites. The
Sire de Giac and the Sire de Beaulieu had given place to the Sire
de la Trémoille, more adventurous and more dangerous than the two
others; he counteracted beside the king the influence of the
Constable de Richemont and of the true friends of France. The
Duke of Bedford for a long time paralyzed by the quarrels of the
Duke of Gloucester, had recently received reinforcements from
England, under the order of the Earl of Salisbury. The latter
resolved to undertake the siege of Orleans. On the 12th of
October, 1428, he appeared before the city, commencing his siege
preparations according to the most learned rules of the time, but
not considering that he had given time for the place to furnish
itself with men and victuals, to repair its fortifications, and
to place itself in a state of defence; the best knights of the
King of France had shut themselves up in Orleans.
{48}
The assaults failed, the citizens of Orleans valiantly supporting
the garrison. The Bastard of Orleans, Count of Dunois, had
brought reinforcements, Salisbury dreamt of metamorphosing the
siege into a blockade, when, contemplating the city from the
Tournelles fort, which he had taken at the outset, he was struck
in the face by a stone shot from a falconet, which rebounded
against the embrasure of the window and killed his esquire beside
him. The general was dying; it was found necessary to carry him
to Fertê-sur-Meung, where he died at the end of a few days, to
the great joy of the population of Orleans. The Earl Suffolk
arrived to take the command, and the siege continued. The English
army, badly installed beneath its huts of tree branches, suffered
from the cold, and often from hunger; the country which
surrounded them was hostile and devastated; the Duke of Bedford
resolved, in the month of February, to send provisions to him
from Paris. It was during Lent and the convoy which Sir John
Falstaff was entrusted to lead, consisted especially of herrings,
when, on the 12th of February he was attacked by the French near
the village of Rouvray, between Graville and Orleans. As usual,
the Scotch and the French quarrelled among themselves; the
former, wishing to fight on foot, the latter to remain on
horseback; they were within bowshot, and the English archers were
beginning to shoot; the rout was not long delayed, and Sir John
Falstaff arrived triumphantly at the camp with the herrings which
gave their name to his victory.
This defeat threw discouragement into Orleans; hunger began to
make itself felt; the citizens spoke of surrendering their city,
not to the English but the Duke of Burgundy; the latter came to
Paris to consult about it with the regent. "No," said Bedford,
"it is just that those who have had the trouble should have the
honour."
{49}
Philip did not remonstrate; disquieting rumours were beginning to
circulate among the Burgundians: it was said that the Duke of
Bedford had declared that the Duke of Burgundy would finally
proceed to England to drink more beer than would quench his
thirst. The duke quitted the court, dissatisfied and gloomy. The
King of France was at Chinon; his affairs appeared desperate;
many noblemen had abandoned him, and he would have willingly
retired to the South, abandoning to their fate Orleans and the
banks of the Loire, but for the efforts of his wife, Mary of
Anjou, and the anger of Dunois. La Trémoille had caused the
Constable to be sent away.
Deliverance was approaching by the weakest instrument which it
has ever pleased God to employ for the accomplishment of His
designs. A young girl was growing up in the village of Domrémy,
upon the borders of Lorraine and Burgundy; she was named Joan of
Arc, she was eighteen years of age, she was good and pious. For a
long while already--from the age of thirteen years--she had begun
to have visions, to hear voices, Saint Michael, Saint Catherine,
and Saint Margaret commanding her to go to France, to the
assistance of the king: as she grew up the voices became more
urgent. People began to speak in the village of the strange
exaltation of Joan. The Sire de Baudricourt, in command at
Vaucouleurs, wished to see her; but he sent her back ridiculing
her. Urged however, by others, he resolved to cause her to be
taken to the king. "I must go to the king before Mid-Lent," said
Joan, "even should I have to wear my legs to the knees to reach
him, for nobody in the world, neither king nor duke, nor daughter
of the King of Scotland can deliver the kingdom of France; I
should prefer to remain and spin beside my poor mother, for it is
not my work, but I must go, because Messire wills it." "Who is
Messire?" it was asked. "It is God," said Joan, and the noblemen
who were leading her forward were struck with admiration on
seeing her pass the night kneeling in the churches, and fasting
on bread and water.
{50}
When she arrived at Chinon, the king refused for several days to
see her, saying that she was a mad woman; but the rumour of her
journey had already spread. Dunois and the besieged in Orleans
had caused inquiry to be made as to who this young girl was who
was to deliver them; Joan was admitted into the great hall full
of noblemen richly dressed; none of them detached himself from
the groups; she went straight towards Charles VII. and knelt
before him. "I am not the king, Joan," he said, and he indicated
one of his courtiers to her. "By my God, gentle prince," she
said, "it is you, and no other. Most noble lord Dauphin, the King
of Heaven sends a message to you through me, to be consecrated
and crowned in the city of Rheims, and you shall be His
Lieutenant in the kingdom of France." Charles was won over; he
drew Joan into a corner, and asked a thousand questions of her.
Confidence began to spread in the army; the soldiers asked that
Joan should be placed at their head, to go and deliver Orleans.
The doctors and the bishops caused her to undergo interrogations;
after having said that she was mad, they feared that she might be
a sorceress, but neither examinations nor interrogations shook
her simplicity and resolution. "The sign which I am to give is to
cause the siege of Orleans to be raised," she said. "But if God
wishes to deliver France, He has no need of armed men," insisted
the doctors. "Ah!" she replied, "the soldiers will fight, and God
will give them the victory."
[Image]
Joan of Arc recognizes the French King.
{51}
At least it was resolved to attempt the venture, and Joan, with
the state of a chieftain departed from Blois at the head of a
considerable convoy, led by the best captains of the French army.
She wished to attack Orleans from the right bank, saying that her
voices had commanded her to do it; but the soldiers were of a
contrary opinion; they deceived Joan, and were arriving by the
left bank; Dunois came in a little boat to meet the convoy. "Are
you the Bastard of Orleans?" she said to him. "Yes, and very
pleased at your arrival." "You gave advice that we should come by
the Sologne," she said, "and not by the Beauce, across the
dominion of the English: the advice of Messire was not yours. I
bring you the best succour that ever knight or city received; it
is the succour of the King of Heaven." And everybody was
surprised on hearing her speak so well. The convoy entered
Orleans without striking a blow; the soldiers returned therefrom,
but Joan wished to remain in the city. The besieged crowded round
her, already reassured and encouraged by her presence. Anxiety
prevailed in the English camp; the leaders declared that Joan was
mad; the soldiers feared that she might be a sorceress. She had
written to the Earl of Suffolk and to Talbot, inviting them to
retire. As they would not listen to her, and loaded her with
insults, she was greatly enraged, and demanded that they should
be attacked immediately. A second convoy had entered the city;
Joan was sleeping; suddenly she awoke. "Ah! Lord," she said, "the
blood of our people is flowing; why was I not summoned sooner? My
arms! My horse!" and she ran towards the fortress of Saint Loup.
{52}
She had not been deceived; a few soldiers had attempted a sally
against the fortress occupied by the English; they were beginning
to waver when Joan arrived; many soldiers had followed her; the
English were repulsed, and the fortress recaptured. Joan had
fought like at knight, and every one had admired her; but she was
sad; many men had died without confessing. "I have compassion for
their souls," she said. Terror spread among the English. "She
performs miracles," it was said at Orleans. "She is a sorceress,"
said the archers of the enemy, but they began to fear her.
From fortress to fortress, from rampart to rampart all that the
English had gained was by degrees taken from them; the Tournelles
fortress had recently been taken; the citizens of Orleans were
rejoicing; the Earl of Suffolk and his lieutenants had resolved
to retire. However, they did not wish to escape ignominiously.
The camp had been fired, and, arrayed in battle order, the
English appeared to await the attack. It was on the 8th of May,
1429. "Do not assail them first," said Joan; "for the love and
honour of the holy Sabbath, let them be allowed to depart if they
wish to go: if they should attack you, defend yourselves boldly
and you shall be masters." The English did not make an attack,
but retreated without a struggle; Joan could not prevent the
soldiers from throwing themselves upon the rear of the English
army and gaining a large quantity of booty. Plunder, like
disorder of all kinds, agitated and saddened her: she asked
pardon of God in all the churches for all the evil which she had
not been able to prevent.
{53}
Great satisfaction prevailed at the court of King Charles, who
ordered rejoicings in honour of Joan; but she took no pleasure in
the amusements; she wished the king to go and cause himself to be
consecrated at Rheims. "I am strongly urged to conduct you
thither," she said; "I shall last but one year or scarcely more;
I must therefore employ it well." And as she was questioned about
the voices, "I offered up a prayer," she said; "I complained that
you would not believe what I say, thereupon the voice came and
said, 'Go! go! my child, I will help you; go!' and it made me
very joyful; I wish it might last forever." On the 11th of June
the French army was before Jargeau, where the Earl of Suffolk had
shut himself up. At the head of the attacking party was the Duke
of Alençon, recently withdrawn from captivity. "Forward, gentle
duke, to the assault!" cried Joan, and as he delayed, "Ah! gentle
duke, are you afraid?" said she; "you well know that I have
promised to your wife to return you safe." A large stone
overthrew Joan; for a moment she was thought dead, but
immediately afterward, she arose. "Come! come! at the English!"
she cried; "Messire has condemned them; they are ours." Jargeau
was carried by storm; the Earl of Suffolk and his brother, John
de la Pole, were made prisoners; several fortresses fell into the
power of the French; the English had retreated towards the
Beauce, under the orders of Talbot.
The Constable had recently rejoined the army; it was resolved to
follow the enemy. "Ah! my God!" said Joan, "we must fight them,
were they even suspended to the clouds, we should have them, for
God has sent us to punish them. The gentle Dauphin will to-day
gain the greatest victory which he has yet had; my Counsel has
told me that they are ours."
{54}
The English had halted in the open field in the environs of
Patay; Sir John Falstaff and many others were inclined not to
fight. The soldiers were discouraged by their recent checks, they
said, and the spells of Joan took away all their courage; but
Talbot was ashamed of having retreated so far; he began to make
his arrangements for the fight; and the archers were driving in
their stakes, when the advanced guard of the French army came and
attacked them with that inconsiderate ardour, so sadly rewarded
at Crecy and at Poictiers; but this time the English were in
disorder; the soldiers who had remained on horseback fled; the
rout was complete, and Sir John Falstaff gallopped to Paris,
where the Duke of Bedford, in a great rage, wished to send him
the Garter. Lord Talbot and a large number of knights were made
prisoners. "Well, Messire Talbot," said the Duke of Alençon, "you
did not expect this, this morning?" "It is the fortune of war,"
replied the Englishman, without emotion. Joan no longer spoke of
anything but the visit to Rheims.
The councillors of King Charles still hesitated; the Sire de la
Trémoille feared lest he might be supplanted beside his master;
he contrived once more to remove the Constable; at length the
persistence of Joan prevailed, and the king started with his
little army; Auxerre, summoned to surrender, promised to open its
gates if Troyes and Rheims would do likewise. The Burgundian
garrison of Troyes resisted, and the French had no provisions.
Murmurs began to be uttered against Joan; she urged the king to
make the assault. "You will enter into Troyes within two days, by
love or by force, and the trecherous Burgundians will be
completely dismayed." "Whoever should be certain of obtaining
possession of it in six days, could well wait Joan," said the
chancellor, Archbishop of Rheims.
{55}
"Yes," she persisted, "you shall have it to-morrow." On the
morrow the entry into Troyes was made; Friar Richard, a famous
preacher, came to meet Joan, and besprinkled her with holy water,
to assure himself that she was not a sorceress; Joan smiled. On
the 15th of July, 1429, Rheims opened its gates, and on the 17th
the king was at length crowned in the cathedral. Joan stood
beside him, holding her white standard, with these two words:
"Jesus, Maria." When the king had received the sacrament, she
threw herself at his feet, in tears. "Gentle king," she said,
"now is fulfilled the good pleasure of God, who willed it that
you should come to Rheims to receive your worthy consecration, to
show that you were king, and he to whom the kingdom should
belong." And, from that day, she spoke no longer but of returning
to her village. "I have accomplished that which Messire has
commanded me," she repeated, "which was to raise the siege of
Orleans and to cause the gentle king to be crowned; I wish he
could cause me to be taken back to my father and mother, who
would be so pleased to see me again. I would mind their sheep and
cattle, as I was wont to do."
Meanwhile, the Duke of Bedford was collecting reinforcements; the
dissensions which continued in the English council between the
Duke of Gloucester and Cardinal de Beaufort impeded the
consignments of men and money; the regent had even been compelled
to weaken his garrisons in Normandy, to assemble an army in the
neighbourhood of Paris, when his uncle, the Cardinal, sent him a
corps of two or three thousand men, whom he had raised with the
object of making war in Bohemia, against the partisans of John
Huss, that were excommunicated in a body by the Pope.
{56}
The cardinal had already furnished heavy sums for sustaining the
war in France, and this fresh succour enabled the Duke of Bedford
to make an expedition into Normandy, with the intention of
stifling the insurrections which had attracted the Constable. The
noblemen favourable to the French were restrained and the
Constable was repulsed; but meanwhile Charles VII., led by Joan
of Arc, whom he retained beside him, made an attempt upon Paris.
Soissons, Senlis, Beauvais, had opened their gates to him, but
the soldiers marched unwillingly towards the capital; the
captains did not agree; the assault was lightly made, and Joan
was wounded. The troops were furious. "You told us that we should
be in Paris this evening," they said to Joan. "And so should we
have been there, if you had fought well," she replied. The king,
discouraged, retired to Bourges, to spend the winter.
While the King of France was going away from his good city of
Paris, the Duke of Burgundy arrived there, still hesitating
between the two parties, notwithstanding the efforts of his
sister, the Duchess of Bedford, to renew his old intimacy with
the English regent. By degrees the influence of national feeling
began to reawaken in the soul of the Duke Philip, as his thirst
for vengeance was appeased; the French promised him every
conceivable reparation for the assassination of John Sans Peur,
and it was necessary, in order to retain him in the camp of the
English, for the Duke of Bedford to offer him the command of the
allied forces, thus abdicating in his favour. The regent retired
to Normandy, where he preserved the most complete authority.
{57}
Joan was waging war upon the banks of the Loire; she had taken
the castle of Pierre-le-Montoir, but she had been repulsed before
La Charité. When the king at length took the field in the spring
of 1430, Joan was entrusted to deliver Compiègne, besieged by the
Duke Philip in person, and she contrived to enter into the town.
The fatal moment however was approaching.
On the 25th of May the garrison of Compiègne made a sally. Joan
led the troops, and she had attacked an important position
occupied by the Burgundians, when a crushing force made her
retreat. She covered and directed the retreat: at the moment when
she was about to re-enter the town, the drawbridge was withdrawn,
and, whether by mistake or treason, Joan found herself almost
alone outside the walls. She had rallied a few soldiers around
her, and endeavoured to gain the country; but she had been
recognized and was surrounded and thrown from her horse. She was
still upon the ground when she surrendered to the Bastard of
Vendôme, who conducted her to the quarters of John of Luxembourg.
The rejoicing was great in the English and Burgundian camp, the
Duke of Bedford caused a Te Deum to be sung; but the French did
not concern themselves about the heroine who had delivered them:
her task was accomplished; she had restored courage to the
soldiers and hope to the captains; her enthusiasm had drawn along
the most distrustful. Now she was a prisoner. Her enemies were
negotiating among themselves to possess her; but those whom she
had saved by the help of God did not raise a sword to defend her,
nor a farthing to ransom her.
{58}
The Duke of Burgundy had returned to his dominion of Flanders,
agitated by several insurrections when the Bishop of Beauvais,
Peter Cauchon, at the instigation of the English, claimed Joan
from John of Luxembourg. "The sorceress had been captured in his
diocese," he said, "and should be tried by the Church." The count
resisted for a long time, but they finally gave him ten thousand
livres, and he sold Joan. She was led in the first place to
Arras, then to Crotoy; at length she was taken to Rouen, where
the little king, Henry VI., had recently arrived. The French arms
continued to make fresh progress; every day the English lost some
towns; the Duke Philip, lieutenant-general of the kingdom, who
had recently become master of Brabant by the death of the young
duke, maintained the English alliance by such slight bonds, that
one check more might suddenly break them; the anger and shame of
the English willingly attributed all their misfortunes to Joan;
when she appeared they were at the height of success; since then
every thing had failed them. Perhaps her death might bring a
return of good fortune. The most enlightened among the English
captains looked upon her as a sorceress. "She is an agent of
Satan," the Duke of Bedford had written to the Council of
England. Hatred always finds cowards to serve her; Peter Cauchon
had been driven from Beauvais by his flock, as English, when
[the] town had surrendered to Charles VII., he had been proposed
to the Pope by the Duke of Bedford for the archbishopric of
Rouen; his vengeance and ambition impelled him to ruin Joan. The
English, however, had not sufficient confidence in him to place
her in his hands. Joan was kept in the large tower of the castle,
in the custody of the Earl of Warwick.
{59}
The noblest hearts, the firmest minds of the middle ages appeared
to lose all generosity and all justice when they found themselves
confronted with an unhappy wretch, accused of sorcery. The brave
Warwick concealed himself to hear what the prisoner said to the
treacherous confessor who had been brought. She was conducted
before the Council of Inquisition, presided over by the Bishop of
Beauvais. Neither violence nor ill-will succeeded in agitating
her: nothing disconcerted this poor country girl, who knew
nothing but her prayers. "Are you in the grace of God?" she was
asked suddenly. "It is a great thing," she replied, "to answer
such a question." "Yes," said one of the inquisitors, "and the
accused is not obliged to answer." "You would do better to hold
your tongue," exclaimed the Bishop angrily. "If I am not,"
replied Joan, "may God receive me into it; and if I am, may God
preserve me in it." "What virtue do you attribute to your
banner?" asked the bishop. "None at all; I said, 'Enter boldly
among the English,' and I entered myself." "Why, then, did you
hold it beside the altar at Rheims?" "It had had all the
trouble," said Joan, smiling, "it was quite right that it should
witness the honour."
In vain was she interrogated upon her visions; she always replied
that St. Catherine and St. Margaret visited her and encouraged
her in her prison; it was by their advice that she refused to
discard man's attire, which had been made a crime against her.
She was urged to submit herself to the Church, but she did not
understand what was asked of her, and seeing before her priests
hostile to her cause and to her king, she implored that there
might be among the judges some men of her party.
{60}
The sentence was pronounced: the Church rejected Joan as an
impure member, and delivered her up to secular justice. The
justice was the vengeance of the English. The unhappy prisoner
was conducted to the public square, where two scaffolds were
erected; Joan was placed upon one of these, the preacher who was
to expound the sentence to the people was upon the other, the
multitude were crowded together below.
As long as the Doctor of the Sorbonne dwelt upon her misdeeds and
the deceptions by which she had deluded the poor people of
France, Joan listened in silence; but when he exclaimed,
"Charles, who proclaimest thyself her king and governor, thou
hast adhered like a heretic as thou art to the words and acts of
a woman defamed and without honour," the loyal heart of Joan was
unable to contain its emotion. "Speak of me," she exclaimed, "but
not of the king; he is a good Christian, and I dare say and swear
under pain of death that he is the noblest among the Christians
who love their faith and their Church." "Silence her," cried the
Bishop of Beauvais.
They wished to make her sign her abjuration. "What is
abjuration?" she said. "It is that your judges have judged well."
She refused. "What I have done, I have done well to do," she
repeated. At length she yielded. "I submit to the Universal
Church," she said, "and since the clergy say that my visions are
not credible I will no longer maintain them." "Sign or you will
perish by the fire," said the preacher. She made a cross at the
foot of the paper which was presented to her, and was taken back
into her prison. Her submission pledged her to resume woman's
clothing.
{61}
The English murmured, not understanding anything of the manœuvres
of the bishop. "All goes ill, because Joan escapes," said the
Earl of Warwick. The priests smiled. Two days after her
abjuration, Joan, on awaking, found only in her chamber a man's
dress: she resisted for a long time. "You know that I have
promised not to wear it," she said; she was obliged to rise
however. The jailors went and informed the Bishop. "She is
taken!" said the Earl of Warwick. "You have fallen back into your
illusions," said Cauchon to the prisoner; "you have heard your
voices." "Yes," said Joan resolutely, "and they have told me that
it was a great pity to have signed your abjuration in order to
save my life. I only signed through fear of the fire. Give me a
comfortable prison, and I will do what the Church may wish."
The stake awaited her. "Farewell," cried Cauchon to the Earl of
Warwick, on going out of the prison. The poor child tore out her
hair when she learnt the sentence passed upon her. "I had seven
times rather that they should behead me," she repeated. She was
being conducted to execution, when she perceived the Bishop of
Beauvais. "Bishop, I die through you," she said. Eight hundred
Englishmen accompanied the cart. She prayed aloud with so much
fervour that the French wept on hearing her; several of the
judges who had taken part in the prosecution, had not the
strength to follow her to execution. The public square had been
reached. "Ah! Rouen! Rouen!" she said, "is it here that I am to
die?" The preacher had reproached her with her relapse; she
listened to him with calmness, redoubling her prayers. The Bishop
of Noyon descended from the scaffold, being unable to bear this
spectacle; the Bishop of Winchester was weeping; she was
embracing the parish cross which had been brought to her.
{62}
The executioner seized her. Above the stake were written the
words: "Heretic, relapser, apostate, idolater." Joan's new
confessor, a good monk who did not betray her, had mounted upon
the stake with her; he was still there when the fire was lighted.
"Descend quickly," said Joan, "but stay near enough for me to see
the cross. Ah! Rouen! Rouen! I greatly fear that you may suffer
for my death." The flame enveloped her: she was still heard
praying; at length a last cry, "Jesus!" and all was ended, The
English themselves were touched. "It is a fine end," said the
soldiers; "we are very happy to have seen her, for she was a good
woman." "She has died a martyr, and for her true Lord," said the
French. The executioner went and confessed on the same evening,
fearing never to obtain the forgiveness of God. Cardinal Beaufort
caused the ashes of the stake to be cast into the Seine fearing
that they might be made into relics; and the King of England
addressed to all the princes of Christendom, a letter recounting
the proceedings, and how the victim herself had acknowledged that
evil and lying spirits had deluded her. The process of
rehabilitation, afterwards made at the court of Rome, at the
request of Charles VII., the only token of remembrance which he
gave of the unhappy Joan, established in its real light the
historical truth; but justice had already been done by public
opinion, "She was a marvellous girl, valiant in war," it was said
in Flanders as well as in Burgundy and in France; "the English
have wickedly caused her death, and through revenge." Peter
Cauchon was never Archbishop of Rouen; he became Bishop of
Lisieux, where he was interred in the wall of St. James's church,
as though he did not feel himself worthy to repose in the sacred
place.
{63}
In burning Joan the English had hoped to regain their former good
fortune; but it was not so. Every day a fresh town opened its
gates to the French. Indolent as Charles VII. still was, national
instinct now fought for him. The Duke of Bedford wished to
satisfy the taste of the Parisians for festivals while giving
religious sanction to the rights of his nephew upon France; and
on the 17th of December, 1431, the little King Henry VI., nine
years of age, was solemnly crowned at Notre Dame. The ceremony
was magnificent: wine and milk flowed in the streets; but the
French noblemen were few, the Duke of Burgundy had not arrived,
and Cardinal Beaufort himself placed the crown upon the head of
Henry VI.: it was the English coronation of an English Prince.
The sovereign started shortly afterwards for England, leaving
with all those who had approached him a sad impression of languor
and melancholy.
The war languished meanwhile: the English were in need of men and
money, and the quarrels of the favourites with the great French
noblemen continued around King Charles VII.; but the Duke of
Burgundy detached himself more and more from England. The Duchess
of Bedford died without children in the month of November, 1432,
and six months after her death the Duke married Jacquette of
Luxembourg, daughter of the Count of Saint Pol. The Duke of
Burgundy considered himself offended by the shortness of the
mourning, and by the union contracted without his authority with
one of his vassals. He was seeking a pretext for a quarrel; his
treaty with King Charles was almost concluded; the blood which
had inundated France for fourteen years, sufficed, it was
thought, to satisfy the shade of the Duke John.
{64}
The counsellors of the king urged the duke towards peace; but he
made much of his scruples anent the oaths which bound him to the
English. Appeal was made to Pope Eugenius IV., and through his
efforts a great congress assembled at Arras, in 1435. The Duke of
Burgundy had summoned all his nobility; King Charles had sent
twenty-nine noblemen, at the head of whom walked the Constable.
Cardinal Beaufort, with twenty-six barons, half English and half
French, represented the interests of England. The Duke Philip
displayed, for receiving such great company, all his wonted
magnificence; festivals succeeded festivals, and jousts followed
tournaments; but matters were meanwhile being negotiated and so
manifestly manœuvered to the advantage of the French, that
Cardinal Beaufort shortly retired in disgust, denying the
authority of the congress. Affairs proceeded more rapidly after
his departure; the Duke Philip caused his forgiveness and his
alliance to be dearly purchased; but at length the treaty was
concluded, and on the 26th of September 1435, the Duke of
Burgundy, relieved of his oaths to the English, promised to live
in peace and friendship with the King of France. All the noblemen
swore likewise; when it came to the turn of the Sire de Lannoy,
he cried, "I have already five times sworn with this hand to keep
the peace during the war which has just ended, and my five oaths
have been violated. With the grace of God, I will keep this one."
{65}
The Duke of Bedford had not lived long enough to see the
conclusion of a treaty which virtually took from England the
conquests of King Henry V.; he had died at Rouen, on the 14th of
September, exhausted by the struggle which he had sustained for
thirteen years, with a courage, firmness and prudence worthy of
the confidence which had been manifested towards him by his dying
brother. Three days after the signing of the peace, an unnatural
mother, abandoned by all her children--Queen Isabel of Bavaria,
was dying alone in Paris, in solitude and misery, the just
punishment of her crimes; the Duke of Burgundy had publicly
declared war against the English, and in the month of April,
1436, at his instigation, the feeble English garrison which was
stationed in Paris was overcome by the people, and found itself
compelled to open the gates to the Marshal of Isle-Adam: the
capital once more became French, the English were driven back
into Normandy, where their authority remained complete. The Duke
of York, for a moment regent of France, had been replaced by the
Earl of Warwick, who established the seat of his government at
Rouen where he died. Two towns yet remained to the English near
Paris, Meaux and Pontoise; these were taken by the troops of King
Charles VII. For a moment, in 1436, the Duke of Burgundy even
threatened Calais with a considerable army; but before the
arrival of the Duke of Gloucester, who had challenged him to
combat, and claimed to take possession of the dominions of his
wife, Jacqueline, who had recently died, the Duke Philip
retreated precipitately into his dominions, impelled by his
troops, who were disbanding. In 1444, through the efforts of
Isabel of Portugal, wife of the Duke of Burgundy, added to the
representations of the Duke of Orleans, recently snatched from
the captivity which he had suffered since the battle of
Agincourt, a truce of two years was concluded between the two
nations; the horrors of the Hundred Years' War were at length
reaching their end.
{66}
While the English were losing ground by degrees in France,
England impoverished by the necessities of the war, underwent the
commotion of a continual struggle between the two chiefs of the
government, the Duke of Gloucester and Cardinal Beaufort. Queen
Catherine, the mother of the king, had retained no influence, and
three years after the death of Henry V. she had married a plain
Welsh gentleman, Owen Tudor, by whom she had had three sons, whom
she confided to the young King Henry VI. when she died in 1437,
The Duchess of Bedford followed her example, by wedding Sir
Richard Woodville of Wydeville; but these misalliances had proved
grave dangers to the ambitious men, elevated to a rank for which
they had not been born; Owen Tudor and Woodville were thrown into
prison, and the wife of the Duke of Gloucester, Eleanor Cobham,
accused of sorcery, was condemned to do public penance and to be
imprisoned for the remainder of her days. The young King Henry
had assumed no authority over his kingdom. He was twenty-two
years of age; he was tall and handsome, but languid, apathetic,
timid, solely occupied by his books and his devotions. He might
have become a holy monk, but he was destitute of the qualities
necessary to a king in difficult and hard times. A wife was
sought for him who might supply the defects of his character, and
the choice of his advisers fell upon Margaret of Anjou, cousin of
the Queen of France, and daughter of René of Anjou, King of
Sicily and Jerusalem, Duke of Maine, Anjou, and Bar; but a king
without kingdom, a duke without duchy, a chevalier and a poet,
without other fortune than his harp and his sword.
{67}
His daughter was purchased of him by restoring to him his two
provinces of Anjou and Maine, which the French arms had not yet
been able to break through. The English now held but Normandy and
a few towns in Guienne. The marriage of the king concluded by the
Earl of Suffolk and Cardinal Beaufort, against the advice of the
Duke of Gloucester, had not been successful in England. There,
there were regrets for the loss of the two provinces which
formerly formed part of the dominions of the Angevin kings, and
over which England had always thought she had rights. Queen
Margaret, besides, with her beauty, her wit, and her energy,
brought into her new country ideas of government which were
little favourable to English independence. She had confidence in
the worthy Suffolk, who had become a Marquis and soon afterwards
a Duke; she shared his power, and treated with haughtiness those
who approached her. She manifested, in particular, little liking
for the Duke of Gloucester, whom she considered as her enemy. In
the month of February, 1447, the Parliament was convoked at Bury
St. Edmund's; the partisans of Suffolk were assembled in the
neighborhood, when the Duke of Gloucester arrived on the morrow
of the opening of the session. Being immediately arrested and
accused of the crime of high treason, he was found dead in his
bed on the 28th of February, as had been formerly at Calais
another Duke of Gloucester. A few of his servants were executed
after his death, under pretext of a plot to release the Duchess
Eleanor. Suffolk took possession of the property of the duke,
whom the public voice accused him of having murdered.
{68}
Cardinal Beaufort had recently died in his palace of Walvesey (on
the 11th of April), leaving immense riches consecrated to the
foundation of charitable institutions which still exist. Suffolk
remained the sole master of the government. King Henry VI. was
occupied in the creation of Eton College, and in the erection of
King's College, at Cambridge, where the marvelous beauty of the
chapel remains as a monument of the exquisite taste of the poor
king, so little suited to the affairs of this world. Meanwhile
the truce with France, several times renewed, had been violently
broken by King Charles VII., under pretext of an infraction which
well suited his wishes. France was rising again, and England was
profoundly weakened by her internal dissensions. The troops
assembled in Maine, then entered Normandy; the Duke of Somerset,
who commanded there had few soldiers and no money. Dunois marched
against Rouen, and notwithstanding the desperate resistance of
Talbot, who was consigned as a hostage into the hands of the
French, the citizens delivered up the city. Sir Thomas Kyriel,
despatched with a reinforcement to the Duke of Somerset was
defeated on the 13th of April, 1450, near Formigny, by the
Constable and the Count of Clermont. Bajxux, Avranches, Caen
succumbed in succession; Cherbourg was taken by storm, and by the
12th of August the English had lost the whole of Normandy. In the
following year the towns which yet remained to them in Guienne
surrendered without striking a blow. Calais alone was now all of
the soil of France that remained to Henry VI. Charles VII., drawn
from his elegant indolence, proposed negotiations. "My sword
shall never return to its scabbard, until I have retaken all that
I have lost!" cried poor king Henry VI., who had never drawn a
sword in his life: but France no longer feared him.
{69}
Internal difficulties sufficed to absorb the efforts of the
faithful servants of the King of England. The Parliament had at
length risen against the Duke of Suffolk; he had been conducted
to the tower, protesting his innocence. The accusations produced
against him were confused, ill-founded, and frivolous; the graver
subjects of distrust had scarcely been touched upon. The duke
threw himself upon his knees before the king, refused to shield
himself with his privilege by demanding the judgment of his
peers, and consigned himself to the justice of his master, who
wished to save him. He was simply banished from England for five
years: the Parliament accepted this compromise, not without a
protest on the part of the lords in favour of the rights of their
order.
The anger of the population of London was not so easy to disarm
as the vengeance of the Parliament. Suffolk had difficulty in
retiring safe and sound to his estate; he had gathered around him
friends and partisans, swearing before them that he was innocent,
when he embarked for the Continent on the 1st of May, 1430. He
was sailing about on the morrow between Dover and Calais, when a
large war-ship, the _Nicholas-de-la-Tour_, hailed his little
vessel. The duke was summoned on board the ship. "You are here,
traitor," said the captain, as he placed his foot upon the deck,
and Suffolk was immediately placed under arrest. Two days
elapsed; the duke had asked for a confessor; a little bark came
up with the _Nicholas_; she bore an executioner with an axe.
Suffolk was led upon deck and beheaded.
{70}
None inquired whence had come the warrant; but the importance of
the ships entrusted to arrest the banished man at sea, caused a
supposition that the greatest personages of the kingdom had not
remained strangers to the execution. The people were satisfied,
their vengeance was consummated. New events now absorbed all
minds.
Numerous insurrections had during a short time past broken out in
different parts of England. An adventurer, Jack Cade, an Irishman
by origin, who had for a long while served in the English armies
in France, placed himself at the head of the insurgents. He had
assumed the name of Mortimer, and represented himself a relative
of the Duke of York, who then commanded in Ireland. Thirty
thousand men soon found themselves assembled around Cade, nearly
all from the county of Kent. It was said that the queen wished to
avenge herself for the death of her favourite, whose decapitated
body had been brought by the waves to the coast of Dover. Cade
brought his forces to Blackheath, as Wat Tyler had formerly done,
and the "complaints of the commons of Kent," were dispatched to
the king at London. Amongst the number of the demands of the
insurgents, they begged Henry VI. to recall to his side his blood
relatives, the Dukes of York, Exeter, Buckingham, and Norfolk, in
order to punish the traitors who had caused the death of the Duke
of Gloucester, the holy father in God, Cardinal Beaufort, and
lost the dominions of Maine, Anjou, and Normandy. The reply of
the court was the dispatch of an army against the rebels; but the
first detachment was defeated: the soldiers murmured, saying that
they did not like to fight against their countrymen, who claimed
the liberties of the nation.
{71}
Concessions were attempted: but the forces of Cade swelled every
day, and on the 3rd of July he entered London. Lord Say, one of
the most unpopular ministers, was dragged from the tower, where
he had been sent by the court in the hope of satisfying the
insurgents; and, notwithstanding his protestations, he was
executed after a mock trial. Some houses were pillaged, and on
the morrow, when the rebels wished to re-enter into London, after
having been encamped at Blackheath, the citizens defended the
bridge. Cade was compelled to retreat. He was amused by vain
concessions and the promise of an amnesty but was soon afterwards
pursued and killed; and his head was planted upon London Bridge.
The insurrection was stifled; but the name of the Duke of York
had been put forward; it circulated from mouth to mouth, and many
people began to ask whether the rights to the throne which he
held through Anne Mortimer, his mother, did not supersede those
of King Henry VI. Prince Richard, son of the Earl of Cambridge,
had succeeded to the title of Duke of York, at the death of his
paternal uncle; the successes which he had obtained in his
government of Ireland had increased his popularity.
Suddenly, towards the end of August, 1451, the Duke of York
appeared at the court without giving a reason for having quitted
Ireland, and after a short visit to the king, retired to his
castle at Fotheringay. Henry VI. endeavoured to place in
opposition to him the Duke of Somerset, the head of the younger
branch of the House of Lancaster; but the duke was under
suspicion, as a favourite of the queen, and too much ill feeling
existed against him for the loss of Normandy for it to be
possible to counterbalance the influence of the Duke of York.
{72}
In the Parliament, which opened in November, the proposal was
made in the House of Commons to declare the Duke of York heir to
the throne, as the king had no children. The author of the
proposal was sent to the Tower, and projects menacing to the
liberty of the Duke of York began to circulate. He retired into
Shropshire, where he assembled together some troops, while
protesting his fidelity towards the king. Whilst an army was
marching against him, he advanced upon London; the gates of that
city were closed to him, and it was at Dartford, that he met the
king. After some peaceful negotiations, York repaired alone to
the royal tent, but was immediately arrested there. The Duke of
Somerset wished for a summary trial and execution; but the king
athwart the mists of his intellect had a horror of blood, so he
sent the Duke of York to the Tower. He was soon released upon the
rumour of the approach of his son, the Earl of March, at the head
of an army. He promised to be faithful to the king, and he was
left free to return to his castle at Wigmore. The Duke of
Somerset remained at the head of the government.
A movement in favour of the English had manifested itself in
Guienne. The brave Talbot was despatched thither, notwithstanding
his eighty years, at the head of a small army of picked men.
Bordeaux surrendered easily, and the red cross of England
reappeared in the greater number of the southern towns, when King
Charles VII. entered with his troops into the province. He had
assembled together considerable forces, and was laying siege to
Castillon, when Talbot resolved to relieve the town; he made the
attack on the 30th of July, 1453, and was about to carry the
position, when the Count of Ponthieu fell upon him with
reinforcements; the English retreated, and Talbot was slain.
{73}
The French army presented itself before Bordeaux; the garrison
held out bravely during two months; hunger compelled it to
capitulate, and on the 10th of October, the English soldiers,
accompanied by a great number of citizens of the place, embarked
for England. Guienne was henceforth French; and the last fragment
of the inheritance of Eleanor of Aquitaine had slipped from her
descendants.
The mental derangement of King Henry VI. continued to increase,
and the Parliament had recalled the Duke of York to the council.
A son had been born to Queen Margaret; she had from that
circumstance, assumed more pride and a more fixed determination
to govern at her pleasure. Meanwhile the Commons had obtained the
impeachment of the Duke of Somerset, who had been sent to the
Tower. The Parliament of 1454 was opened by the Duke of York as
the lieutenant of the king. For some time past, efforts had in
vain been made to ascertain the real state of King Henry; twelve
peers, who contrived to be admitted to him on the occasion of the
death of the chancellor, found him incapable of understanding a
word or of replying to their questions. Upon their report, the
Parliament nominated Richard of York Protector and defender of
the throne of England, upon condition of resigning his dignity in
favour of the Prince of Wales, as soon as the latter should
attain his majority. York protested his loyalty, and furnished
proof of it in the following year, when the king, having
recovered his reason, reclaimed the royal power.
{74}
The first use which he made of his recovered authority was to
release the Duke of Somerset. The poor monarch endeavoured to
reconcile the two rival Houses; but the Duke of York shortly
afterwards affected to believe himself in danger, and again
raised some troops. The king with Somerset marched against him; a
battle began in the very streets of St. Alban's. The archers of
the Duke of York were good marksmen: the Duke of Somerset, the
Earl of Northumberland, Lord Clifford, fell beneath their arrows;
and the king himself was wounded. York, seeking him after the
victory, found him in bed, in the house of a tanner, and both
repaired together to the church, the victor treating the
vanquished king with respect. The Duke did not immediately take
advantage of his success, but contented himself with appearing
before the Parliament as the lieutenant of the king. The Commons,
however, claimed for him the title of Protector, and imposed
their will upon the Lords. With the moderation which had always
characterized his political conduct, York contented himself with
consigning to trustworthy hands some important offices,
entrusting the custody of Calais to his brother-in-law and
faithful friend, the Earl of Warwick; but he did not wreak
revenge upon his enemies, and resigned the power to the king
without objection at the beginning of 1456, when the monarch,
again cured, wished to take back the authority. Soon, however,
Queen Margaret everywhere replaced the friends of York by her
favourites; the duke then retired to his estates, and the great
men of his party did likewise, for the relatives of the noblemen
slain at St. Alban's spoke aloud of vengeance.
{75}
Hopes were still entertained of arriving at some arrangement. In
his moments of reason, the king was gentle, charitable, and
humane; he endeavoured to re-establish peace around him. York and
Warwick had again protested their fidelity towards him. Henry
placed himself as arbitrator between the two parties, and decreed
certain fines and reparations towards the families of the
victims. The victors of St. Alban's accepted these conditions;
the king, the queen, the Duke of York, and all the Yorkist and
Lancastrian noblemen solemnly repaired to St. Paul's Cathedral;
the Duke of York offered his hand to the queen. The Earl of
Warwick however had remained at Calais.
Fresh quarrels soon brought about fresh insurrections. The two
parties reciprocally felt too great a distrust ever to live in
peace. In the month of September, 1459, the Earl of Salisbury,
brother of Warwick, united his forces to those of the Duke of
York, and, after a bloody combat in the environs of Drayton, in
Shropshire, where the Lancastrians were defeated, the Earl of
Warwick repaired to England with some troops which he had
carefully gathered at Calais; but scarcely did his soldiers find
themselves in front of the royal standard, when a loyal instinct
carried them off into the ranks of the army of Henry VI. The
strength of the Duke of York no longer allowed him to keep the
field, and on the 20th of November the Parliament convoked by the
queen at Coventry accused of high treason the whole families of
the Duke of York and the Earl of Salisbury. Warwick retired to
Calais, taking with him his brother. When the governor sent by
Queen Margaret to supplant him appeared before the town, he was
repulsed, and the troops that he had brought went over to
Warwick.
{76}
At the end of June, 1460, the earl reappeared in England; the
eldest son of the Duke of York marched at his side. The battle of
Northampton placed the poor king in the hands of his enemies, and
the queen was compelled to fly with her son into Scotland. A mass
of great Lancastrian noblemen had remained upon the field of
battle. In opposition to the great warriors of the preceding
centuries, Warwick, the real chief of the Yorkist party, had a
maxim to spare the common people, but strike his enemies
ruthlessly, taking for his victims the men of distinction. Thanks
to this practice, imitated by his adversaries, all the great
families of England found themselves decimated during the Wars of
the Roses.
A new Parliament had been convoked at Westminster. The throne was
empty in the House of Lords, when the Duke of York entered
therein. He advanced at first resolutely, placed his hand upon
the cloth of gold which covered the royal seat, then fell back
without mounting it. He was resolved, however, to establish his
rights. The Archbishop of Canterbury inquired of him whether he
did not intend to pay a visit to the king, who was in the palace
adjoining. "I know no one in this kingdom who should not pay me a
visit first," replied the duke; and he established himself in the
royal apartment, while Henry occupied that of the queen.
The peers had not responded to this indirect appeal, and on the
16th of October York despatched a message to them, formally
laying claim to the crown. The Lords replied that they could not
give an opinion without the advice and consent of the king.
{77}
Now that he was separated from the queen, who had become more and
more unpopular, public feeling began to be agitated in favour of
Henry, who was regarded as a saint. But the Duke of York required
an answer. When the peers repaired to the captive king, he
reminded them that he had received, when quite a child, a crown
which had been borne with honour by his father and his
grandfather; that it had reposed for forty years upon his brow,
and that those even who now wished to snatch it from him, had on
several occasions sworn fidelity to him. To these substantial
reasons were added attacks against the hereditary rights of the
Duke of York, imprudent and puerile conduct which so greatly
embarrassed the peers that they called to their aid the judges,
then the sergeants of the House, who knew not how to give their
advice. On the 23rd the Lords presented their objections,
frivolous for the most part, with the exception of the oaths
taken by all the peers to the House of Lancaster. A compromise
was arrived at in the matter; Warwick and York used moderation,
and the crown was assured to King Henry during his lifetime.
After him it was to return to Richard, duke of York, and his
descendants, to the exclusion of the son of Margaret of Anjou.
The negotiators of this curious treaty had reckoned without the
queen. She had quitted Scotland, and was endeavouring to assemble
all her partisans and defend the rights of her son. Already the
hills and valleys bristled with lances. The Lancastrians were
under the sons of the noblemen killed at St. Albans: the Duke of
Somerset, the Earl of Northumberland and Lord Clifford were
there, thirsting for revenge, notwithstanding all the treaties of
pacification.
{78}
The Duke of York commanded his troops in person; he was as bold
upon the field of battle as he was hesitating and prudent in the
council. On the 30th of December, 1460, he attacked the enemy at
Wakefield, in Yorkshire, with inferior forces, and was completely
defeated. He remained himself among the dead, and his friend, the
Earl of Salisbury, who was made prisoner in the flight, was
beheaded the same day at Pontefract. The little Earl of Rutland,
second son of the duke, was flying with his tutor, when he was
arrested upon Wakefield Bridge by Lord Clifford. The child
speechless with terror, threw himself upon his knees. "It is the
son of the Duke of York," cried the priest who accompanied him.
"Thy father killed mine," said the fierce baron, "I will kill
thee therefore, thee and thine." And plunging his dagger into the
bosom of the young prince, he despatched the chaplain to carry to
his mother the fearful news. England was not yet accustomed to
these scenes of slaughter, and a long cry of horror arose in the
country when the news of the death of Rutland was known, and when
above the gates of York was seen the disfigured head of the duke,
surmounted by a crown of paper. Margaret and her partisans had
become intoxicated with the cup of revenge, without thinking of
the terrible reprisals which awaited them. Already the young Earl
of March, the eldest son of the Duke of York, had gained, on the
1st of February at Mortimer's Cross, near Wigmore, a bloody
victory, where perished a great number of royalists. All the
prisoners of mark, amongst whom was Owen Tudor, father-in-law of
King Henry VI., were beheaded after the battle, as though to
appease the shades of the Yorkists who had fallen at Wakefield.
[Image]
Assassination Of The Earl Of Rutland.
{79}
This success counterbalanced the effect of a victory gained on
the 17th of February, over Warwick, by Queen Margaret, between
St. Alban's and Barnet. The Earl was compelled to retreat so
fast, that King Henry, forgotten in the tumult, found himself
alone in his tent with his chamberlain, when his wife came to
take possession of him before causing her prisoners to be
executed. Five days later a proclamation of King Henry announced
to his people that he had subscribed under constraint to the
recent arrangements for the succession to the throne, and that he
retracted them without reserve, declaring Edward, formerly Earl
of March, a traitor, "it being the duty of every subject of the
king to hasten against him."
The Earl of March was about to hurl back on his enemies the title
of traitor and to put a price upon their heads. He had joined the
Earl of Warwick, and their united forces exceeded those of the
queen. London was favourable to the change of dynasty, and the
cruelties practised in the country by the troops that the queen
had brought from the frontiers of Scotland, rallied the peasants
around the Yorkists. Their forces went on increasing, and when,
on the 25th of February, they approached St. Alban's, where Queen
Margaret was with her army, she found herself compelled to
retreat before them. Edward, Earl of March, had none of the
scruples and hesitation of his father; he was resolved to seize
immediately upon the throne. Traversing St. Alban's as a
conqueror and king, he advanced immediately towards London, and
entered there triumphantly, to the great joy of the people, "who
came every day from all the country surrounding," says the
chronicler, "to see this handsome and magnificent prince, the
flower of chivalry, he in whom they hoped for their joy and
tranquility."
{80}
A grand review was held in St. John's Field, and a great
multitude of citizens thronged to witness the warlike spectacle.
Suddenly Lord Falconberg and the Bishop of Exeter addressed the
people: "You know of the incapacity of King Henry," they said,
"the injustice of the usurpation which has placed his family upon
the throne, and to what extent you have been misgoverned and
oppressed. Will you have this king to reign over you still?" "No,
no," cried the mob. The bishop continued, depicting the valour,
the talent, the activity of the Earl of March. "Will you have
King Edward to reign over you, and serve, love, and honour him?"
"Yes!" replied the people; "long live King Edward." On the
morrow, the 2nd of March, a great council of the Lords declared
that Henry of Lancaster had failed in his engagements, by uniting
himself to the forces of the queen, and by retracting his oath
regarding the succession to the throne. By this conduct, he had
lost his rights to the crown, which belonged henceforth to the
Duke of York, whose pretensions had been recognized as
legitimate. The consent of the Commons was dispensed with. On the
4th of March, Edward, followed by a royal retinue, repaired to
Westminster, and immediately taking possession of that throne
which his father had formerly touched with a hesitating hand, he
himself explained to the assembly the rights of his house. Having
been several times interrupted by plaudits, he repaired to
church, where he repeated his discourse. A few hours later the
heralds proclaimed King Edward IV. in all the public places of
London, and the people joyfully responded "Long live King
Edward."
{81}