interesting, rather than a becoming condition, is as follows: she had a
dream that she should not survive her confinement, and told her husband,
if he wished to possess a picture of her no time must be lost. It is
possible that her fears may have hastened the event, for the story goes
that the foreboding was fulfilled at the appointed time, but we have
only family tradition as our authority.
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No. 43.
CATHARINE HOWARD, THE HONOURABLE
LADY THYNNE.
BY MYTENS.
DIED 1650.
_Full length. White gown, richly embroidered in coloured flowers. Blue
and gold band on left arm._
SHE was the daughter of Charles Viscount Howard of Bindon, and second
wife to Sir Thomas Thynne of Longleat, by whom she had (beside two sons
who died unmarried) Sir Henry Frederick Thynne of Kempsford.
Lady Thynne was buried in Henry VII.’s Chapel, Westminster Abbey, near
the steps of the Duke of Richmond’s monument.
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No. 44.
LADY ISABELLA THYNNE.
BY DOBSON.
_Full length. White gown. Coloured scarf. Ringlets.
Holding a handkerchief._
THE daughter of Henry Rich, Earl of Holland, by the heiress of Sir
William Cope of Kensington. There is a most tragical story connected
with this lady’s youth. King James I., with the shameful injustice that
characterised him, had wrested the estates and revenues of the noble
family of Butler from their rightful owner, the Earl of Ormonde, and
bestowed them on a favourite of his own, Preston by name, who was,
moreover, created Baron Dingwall, and eventually Earl of Desmond.
Lord Dingwall married Lady Elizabeth Butler, whose brother, Lord
Ormonde, had been despoiled in his favour. Their only child Elizabeth
became the Earl of Holland’s ward, and was brought up chiefly under his
roof; she was a beautiful and engaging girl, when her cousin, Lord
Thurles, (Lord Ormonde’s son,) fell in love with her. It was a most
suitable match, and so thought Lord Holland and his wife, and, indeed,
the whole household. The cousins pledged their troth, Lord Thurles’s
visits were encouraged, and all went well for a time, but so great a
prize as Lady Elizabeth Preston was sure to be coveted. The Duke of
Buckingham desired her hand for his nephew, and induced the King to
forbid the marriage with young Lord Thurles.
Elizabeth’s affections were irrevocably fixed, and she had many friends
and confidants; her guardian durst not assist her openly, having
received the King’s commands on the subject; but there was one who was
in a position to do so, and that was his daughter Isabella, Elizabeth’s
chosen friend, and sister, (in all but blood,) a beautiful sharp-witted
girl of her own age, who admitted Lord Thurles every day, at all hours,
in a clandestine manner, (as was necessary,) nor did her parents object,
or interfere with her proceedings, but allowed her to make a feint of
receiving Lord Thurles’s addresses, and implicit trust was placed by all
parties in Isabella’s rectitude.
Alas! for the compact which we must believe was begun in good faith:
Lord Thurles was young, handsome, agreeable, captivating in fact, and
the _rôle_ of confidante is proverbially dangerous. In an evil moment he
forgot his loyalty to his betrothed, and Isabella forgot her friend,
herself, her duty, and all but her infatuation for the man, who was
playing a double part by the two girls.
Surely no romance can outdo this real history in sensational incident.
Lord Desmond was drowned about the same time his wife died, leaving as
her last injunction that Elizabeth should marry no one but her cousin,
and by that means restore him the property, the acquisition of which had
weighed heavily on poor Lady Desmond’s mind. Buckingham was
assassinated, the King died, and Charles I., on his accession, gave the
royal consent to the union of the cousins. ‘And so,’ says the biographer
of the great Duke of Ormonde (who, by the way, makes very light of this
episode with his bride’s friend), ‘the marriage was joyously
consummated, and every one content.’ We are not informed how the
unfortunate Lady Isabella fared on the occasion, but the _dénouement_
remains to be told. Several years afterwards, when Ormonde was in Paris,
he went to the Academy there to visit a handsome and intelligent youth,
whom he had sent thither for his education, whereupon he sat down and
wrote a long description of the boy to Lady Isabella (then the wife of
Sir James Thynne), being a subject in which they had a common interest.
As ill-luck would have it, he at the same time indited a letter to his
wife, and misdirected the covers; while Lady Ormonde was occupied in
making the discovery that she had been cruelly betrayed, and deceived by
the two people she loved best, and trusted most, in the world, Isabella
came in, and found her reading the fatal letter.
An agitating scene ensued, Isabella humbled herself before the woman she
had so grievously injured, and sought by every means of fascination
which she possessed to soften her just resentment.
Tears, sobs, caresses, remorse. Elizabeth, generous and high-minded,
almost beyond belief, raised the suppliant who was kneeling at her feet,
with the promise not only of pardon, but of unchanging friendship; a
promise nobly kept, as we shall see later. Still more marvellous is the
fact, (for we can scarcely doubt the evidence,) that Lady Ormonde not
only never upbraided her husband, but maintained a profound silence on
the subject. As to Lady Isabella’s marriage to Sir James Thynne, we have
been unable to ascertain the date, or any circumstances attending it.
But it would appear she lived apart from her husband for some time
before the legal separation, which took place (according to Longleat
documents) in 1653. She led a most independent life during the time the
Court was at Oxford: we are told a great deal about Lady Isabella
Thynne, who lodged at Balliol College; strange stories of her doings; of
‘how she and Mistress Fanshawe went to morning chapel dressed as
angels,’ _i.e._ in scanty drapery; of ‘how our grove is converted into a
Daphne, for the ladies and their gallants; how Lady Isabella used to
make her entry there, in a jaunty manner, with a lute before her,
dressed in a fantastical costume;’ also how she and her friend Fanshawe
paid a visit for a frolic to a great Don, and behaved in so extravagant
a manner, that the learned man rebuked the two ladies sharply.
Lady Isabella seems to have carried her eccentricities a little too far,
according to some contemporary evidence: ‘They say there is a lady
banisht from Court lately—the Lady Thinne. It is a bad sign when such
stars fall.’ Again: ‘It was reported that Her Majesty should strike the
good Lady Thynne; methinks it should not be true. Yet they say Her
Majesty gave her a box on the ear, which Lady Thynne gave Mr. Gorman to
keep.’
In 1647 the paper entitled _Parliament of Ladies_ for that year said,
‘The rattle-headed ladies having assembled at Kate’s in the Covent
Garden, and choosing a speaker, at last resolved on Lady Isabella
Thynne.’ But we have dwelt perhaps too long on the vagaries of one whom
we are assured ‘was most beautiful, most accomplished, most humble, most
charitable.’ The destinies of the two women who had been early friends,
but whose characters were so opposed, seem to have been strangely
entangled. Lady Isabella was fated to cross Lady Ormonde’s path once
more; the occurrence is a curious one, and is related in the life of
Lord Broghill (afterwards better known as the Earl of Orrery), who was
at the time in high favour with Cromwell, and had pleaded Lady Ormonde’s
cause to some purpose, with the autocrat, being deeply attached to that
most noble lady and her husband. He had just returned from Ireland,
where he had distinguished himself, when he was summoned to the
Protector’s presence.
‘If you are still interested in my Lord Ormonde’s safety,’ said Oliver,
‘you had better advise him to leave London. We know all about him, where
he is, what he is doing, and he had best absent himself.’ The hint was
given and taken, and Lord Ormonde left England in haste. A short time
elapsed, when one day Lady Ormonde was much distressed by receiving a
domiciliary visit from one of Cromwell’s functionaries, who ransacked
the house, and carried away every paper he could find.
She immediately sent for her faithful friend, and besought him to
intercede once more in her behalf.
Broghill lost no time, but hastened off to Whitehall, where he found the
great man in a towering passion.
‘You have undertaken, indeed, for the quietness of a fine person,’ he
said. ‘I have allowed my Lady Ormonde £2000 a year, out of her husband’s
estates, because they were sufferers in Ireland. But I find she is a
wicked woman, and I promise you she shall pay for it.’ It was some time
before Lord Broghill could gain a hearing, but when he was permitted to
speak, he asked what proof could be adduced of Lady Ormonde’s treachery,
upon which Cromwell threw him a letter, that certainly left no doubt of
the writer’s Royalist tendencies and disaffection to the existing
Government.
‘This had been found,’ he said, ‘in searching the escritoire at Ormonde
House.’ Lord Broghill could not help laughing. ‘But this,’ he said, ‘is
not the writing of my Lady Ormonde.’
‘Indeed,’ exclaimed Cromwell angrily, ‘and pray who wrote these lines?’
Bent on saving Lady Ormonde’s credit, Lord Broghill not only told him
the letter was from Lady Isabella Thynne, (between whom and Lord Ormonde
there had been undoubted love-passages,) but he produced some other
letters of the same lady, to identify the handwriting, and further
proceeded to relate several anecdotes of a most lively nature,
respecting her, which turned all Cromwell’s anger into mirth, and he
laughed immoderately.
Broghill’s judicious conduct had gained Lady Ormonde’s cause. But some
time afterwards she went to reside at Caen, her husband being on the
Continent, and Lady Isabella having got herself into hot water once
more, recalled and claimed her friend’s promise. Nor did she do so in
vain: Lady Ormonde welcomed her to her house, where Isabella remained
two years, during which time Lord Ormonde was a frequent visitor. We do
not give the dates, as they are not clearly set down by our authorities;
but to the best of our belief she was in England in 1653. Lord Clarendon
tells us ‘that Hyde’s heart ached for poor Lady Isabella Thynne.’
No less a poet than Waller wrote verses to her, on her playing the lute,
on her exquisite cutting of trees in paper, etc.
In 1665 one Flecknoe’s Muse was also inspired by her charms.
Of her death we know nothing; but there was a story current that both
she and her sister, the Lady Diana, had warnings of their approaching
dissolution by meeting their own ‘fetches,’ the latter lady in
Kensington Gardens.
--------------
No. 45.
MARY COVENTRY, THE HONOURABLE LADY THYNNE.
BY SIR PETER LELY.
_Full length. White gown. Blue scarf over her shoulders.
Pearl ornaments. Ringlets._
SHE was the daughter of Lord Keeper Coventry, and the wife of Sir Henry
Frederick Thynne, by whom she had three sons and two daughters,—Thomas,
who succeeded his father, James, who died unmarried, and Henry
Frederick; Mary, wife of Sir Richard How, Wishford, county Wilts; and
Catherine, wife of Sir John Lowther, afterwards Viscount Lonsdale.
--------------
No. 46.
SIR WALTER COVERT.
BY MYTENS.
_Full length. Black dress and sword belt. Lace collar and cuffs._
THE Coverts were an ancient and knightly race, supposed to be of Norman
origin; settled in Sussex about the middle of the twelfth century. A
marriage with an heiress of the Norman family of the D’Aiguillon brought
them good estates, Broadbridge and Sullington in the same county, and at
the latter place they remained for several generations; in the church
there is the tomb of a mailed knight—_temp._ Henry III.—supposed to be
that of Sir William de Covert. They formed alliances with some of the
oldest families in Sussex, and were reckoned the richest untitled gentry
in that part of the country, where they were held in good repute.
In the reigns of Henry _VIII._, Elizabeth, and James, there is so much
confusion in the printed pedigrees and county histories respecting the
Coverts that we are unable to mention names and circumstances relating
to Sir Walter, with any degree of certainty. In a Sussex archæological
journal, we find that in 1587 a survey of the county was made by Thomas
Parker and Sir Walter Covert (two deputy-lieutenants) in order to
ascertain how far the shores were prepared for defence. Sir Walter was
twice married. By his first wife, Anne Covert, he had a son, the first
and only Baronet. It is difficult to decide if he obtained the estate of
Slaughane by this marriage, or by inheritance, but he is reputed to have
been the builder of the noble mansion there. His second wife was Jane
Shurley. Sir Walter died before the year 1632.
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No. 47.
JANE SHURLEY, LADY COVERT.
BY CORNELIUS JANSEN.
_Full length. White dress. Red under-skirt. Red and white ribbons.
In a garden._
DAUGHTER of Sir John Shurley of Ifield, county Sussex, who died in 1631.
She married Sir Walter Covert as his second wife, and after his death
became the second wife of Denzil Lord Holles. The dates which are given
of this lady’s birth, marriage, and death are so different, according to
different authorities, that we think it best not to adopt any.
--------------
No. 48.
GASPARD DE CHÂTILLON, SIRE DE COLIGNY,
GRAND AMIRAL DE FRANCE.
BORN 1517, MURDERED 1572.
_Black dress. Black hat._
HE was the son of Jean de Châtillon, Sire de Coligny, and was born at
the ancestral estate of Châtillon-sur-Loing. His mother was Louise de
Montmorency; his father dying when he was quite a child, the
guardianship devolved on Gaspard’s maternal uncle, the celebrated
Connetâble de Montmorency. The boy was educated in the Roman Catholic
religion, and he showed much talent and intelligence, but rather drew
back from distinguishing himself, lest his family should insist on his
entering the Church, a step to which he was much averse.
He showed, on the contrary, an early predilection for a military career,
and the King (Henry II.), whose favour he had gained, appointed him,
while still young, to a high post in the army. Coligny, when at Court,
had formed a close intimacy with François Duc de Guise, and joining the
army together, they were for some time inseparable brothers-in-arms. In
De Coligny’s first campaign he was twice severely wounded, and also made
prisoner of war; he served in Flanders, in Italy, in Picardy, etc. etc.
His courage and endurance were proverbial, and when intrusted with
diplomatic negotiations he showed great ability. In 1552-3 he was
appointed Lord High Admiral of France, and about two years afterwards
he, with the royal consent, vacated his military command in favour of
his well-loved brother and brave comrade, François de Coligny (better
known as D’Andelot), and returned to his home and family at Châtillon,
where he gave himself up for some time to theological studies, more
particularly to the investigation of the doctrines of the Reformed
Church. This was done at the earnest request of his brother, who had
become a Huguenot. His conversion was owing to the perusal of several
religious books on the subject, procured for him while a prisoner of war
at Milan. The Admiral was not slow in following D’Andelot’s example, and
he became an ardent proselyte, although the fear lest the step should
prove disadvantageous to his family prevented him from making an open
profession at first. But Gaspard de Coligny was not a man for
half-measures, and ere long he stood forth as a staunch champion of the
Huguenot party, only second in importance to the Prince de Condé. He
spent large sums of money in establishing reformed colonies in Florida
and Brazil (neither of which were long-lived), and he memorialised the
King to allow the Huguenots freedom of worship, and to grant them
exemption from many persecutions. An edict was passed which seemed
favourable to this oppressed people, but it was not of long duration.
The murder of a Huguenot by one of the Guise faction again lit the
flame, and the war was resumed. At the first call to arms, Coligny
hastened to join the Prince de Condé, then Generalissimo of the Huguenot
army, and the two friends took the field together, against the Duke of
Guise.
For some time fortune smiled first on one, and then on the other side of
the opponents, until the battle of Dreux, where the Duke of Guise was
victorious and marched off in triumph to Orleans. But his days were
numbered. At the moment of giving orders for storming the town, a shot
fired by Poltrot de Mery, a Huguenot enthusiast, struck him down in his
tent, mortally wounded. There were not found wanting some who dared
accuse the noble Coligny of being the instigator of this deed; but few
of either party gave credence to so foul a calumny, although the Guise
faction made it a plea for hunting their enemy even to the death.
Another religious truce, and Coligny once more disbanded his soldiers,
and returned to his beloved Châtillon. Another outbreak, when the
Huguenots, confirmed in the opinion that the Queen-Mother, Catherine of
Medicis, was their deadly enemy, formed a project to possess themselves
of the person of the young King, which failed. In the meantime the wily
Catherine ‘babbled of peace,’ and strove by every means in her power to
allure Condé and Coligny to Paris—an invitation they wisely refused. The
Huguenots had acquired a valuable ally in the person of Jeanne d’Albret,
Queen of Navarre, sole daughter and heir of the late King, and widow of
Antoine de Bourbon, Duc de Vendôme. This Princess, called when a child
‘La Mignonne des Rois,’ from the tender love which her father and her
uncle (Francis I.) both bore her, was remarkable for her courage, her
judgment, and her devotion to the tenets of the Reformed Church. She had
arrived from the Pyrenees with a large escort and a considerable sum,
(realised by the sale of her jewels,) to join the Huguenot camp, and
swell its treasure. She was accompanied by her son Henry, Prince de
Béarn, (afterwards Henry IV.,) about fourteen years of age, who pleaded
earnestly, though vainly, to be allowed then and there to flesh his
maiden sword. A terrible blow awaited the Huguenots in the death of
their leader, the great Condé, who was slain at the battle of Jarnac, in
1655. Jeanne d’Albret did all in her power to raise their drooping
spirits, and entering the camp in person, with her son on one side, and
the young Prince de Condé on the other,—‘My friends,’ she said, ‘here
are two new chiefs with whom God has provided you, two orphans I intrust
to your care.’
Coligny, indeed, acted the part of a second father to the young Prince
de Béarn, who studied the art of war under this great master, and did
him early honour, for at a time when Coligny was invalided, the young
warrior took the command of the army and greatly distinguished himself.
Time passed on; the Queen, Catherine, having matured a terrible plan for
the ruin of the Huguenots, set about bringing it to bear. She negotiated
a marriage between Henry, then heir to the throne of Navarre, and the
Princess Margaret, sister to the King of France. The hitherto prudent
Jeanne d’Albret fell into the snare, and repaired to Paris with her
betrothed son, in order to consummate a union that promised so many
advantages for all parties concerned. Her example was followed by
Coligny, whose reception at Court was as flattering as the wily Italian
thought prudent. The young King, well tutored, assured the Admiral by
his mother it was the happiest day of his life, and offered him as a
bait a high command in Flanders. The Huguenots flocked to the capital in
numbers, and there were only a comparative few, who still harboured any
suspicion. To the friendly warnings he received, Coligny replied, ‘I am
resigned, it shall all be as God pleases.’
One of his own household, after striving in vain to persuade his master
to seek safety at Châtillon, or at least to be allowed, himself, to
leave Paris, was asked what he feared. ‘Ils vous font trop de caresses,’
was the wise reply.
The preparations for the marriage were not concluded ere the sudden
death of his beloved mother overwhelmed the _fiancé_ with deep sorrow.
But he was allowed no time to indulge his natural grief, for the
nuptials were hastened.
There were rumours of poison, but the matter was hushed; the next
incident that was calculated to alarm the Huguenots was the attempted
assassination of the Admiral. A miscreant, supposed to be a creature of
the Duchess of Nemours, (widow of the Duke of Guise, who died at
Orleans,) fired a shot from an arquebuse, as Coligny was passing a
window, and wounded him in the right hand and left arm.
But the time had not yet arrived. The King hastened to the Admiral’s
house, Rue de Béthisy, now Rue des Fossés, to inquire, to sympathise,
and to condole, promising that the assassin should be brought to
justice. Whether De Coligny’s eyes were opened at last or not, it was
now too late.
On the night of the Feast of St. Bartholomew, the Duke of Guise, at the
head of a body of men, forced the door of Coligny’s house, and killed
the guard, while a Bohemian, by name Behme, rushed up to the Admiral’s
bedchamber. Awaked by the noise, the man who had braved danger in almost
every form, opened the door, and stood face to face with the intruder.
Being asked if he were the Sire de Coligny, he replied in the
affirmative, and then added, ‘Jeune homme, respectez mes cheveux
blancs.’ The miscreant’s only answer was by a sword-thrust on the head,
then seizing his victim by the heels, he dragged him to the window, and
flung him headlong into the court below, at the feet of the Duke of
Guise. This brutal man kicked his expiring enemy several times, and then
delivered him up to the mob, who tore him to pieces. The body was
gibbeted at Montfaucon, and the King went to look at it, saying, with
the Emperor Vitellius, ‘that a dead enemy is not a horrible sight, and
does not smell bad.’ The Admiral’s faithful servants carried off the
corpse at great personal risk, and buried it at Châtillon, but it was
afterwards transported to Maupertuis, whose proprietor caused a grand
monument to be erected. Thus died this brave and noble man, after a life
full of vicissitude, leaving behind him a name dear to all lovers of
human greatness and goodness, whatever their creed or nation.
As a general he was not reckoned successful, yet so energetic and
skilful at ‘reparation,’ that De Coligny was considered more dangerous
after defeat ‘than his enemies after victory.’
Although a staunch disciplinarian, he was much beloved by his soldiery
on account of his benevolence and consideration. He spoke and wrote
well, and was the author of several works, some of which are still
extant.
Gaspard de Coligny was twice married—first to Charlotte de Laval,
daughter of Guy, fifteenth of that name, Comte de Laval, by Antoinette
de Daillon, by whom he had several sons and daughters. The circumstances
attending his second marriage are of so remarkable and romantic a nature
that we cannot pass them over in silence. Jacqueline de Montbel was the
daughter and sole heir of a noble and wealthy Savoyard, the Comte
d’Entremonts, and widow of Claude de Bastarnai, Comte de Bonchage. She
was moreover a zealous Huguenot, and the reputation of Coligny, as the
champion of that persecuted party, and the fame of his valour and piety,
had so inflamed the fancy of the beautiful Savoyarde, that even before
they had ever met, she conceived an unconquerable passion for the
far-famed hero. The Duke of Savoy was very much averse to the marriage,
probably wishing to retain the lady and her wealth within the precincts
of his own dominions. He therefore caused her to be watched, but woman’s
wit eluded his vigilance; the Comtesse Jacqueline escaped to La
Rochelle, and bestowed her hand on the man she had chosen from the world
beside. The Duke of Savoy, enraged at her disobedience, seized on the
lady’s estates.
About the same time Louise, Coligny’s daughter by his first wife, was
united to M. de Téligny, ‘un simple gentilhomme, de la compagnie de
l’Amiral de Châtillon.’ He was much beloved by his father-in-law, whose
fate he shared, being also murdered on the day of St. Bartholomew;
Louise survived, to become the wife of William of Nassau, Prince of
Orange.