kingdom well, but he was ill-calculated to take the fancy of the
beautiful young Princess, still less to drive out the image of a former
lover. He was misshapen, and far advanced in years, but he treated
Eleanor with great consideration. He did not survive his marriage above
two years, leaving his widow with two children. It may easily be
conjectured that the hand of Eleanor, gifted as she was with a large
dower and great personal charms, was eagerly sought by many illustrious
personages, but her brother appeared to favour the suit of the
Connétable de Bourbon.
The wars which intervened, however, changed these projects after Francis
I. had been taken prisoner by Charles V. at the battle of Pavia, the
peace of Cambray was concluded between them, called frequently ‘La Paix
des Dames,’ because negotiated by Margaret of Austria, the Emperor’s
aunt, and Louise of Savoy, the King of France’s mother, who had been
Regent during her son’s absence and captivity. One stipulation was the
union of the fair young widow with Francis I., and the nuptials were
celebrated with great pomp. Eleanor, indeed, presided at Court as Queen
in all the ceremonies, but neither her mental nor personal charms made
much impression on the heart of the King, who was at that moment
entirely subjugated by his mistress, the Duchesse d’Étampes. This
beautiful, but bad and inordinately ambitious woman, who was designated
as ‘La plus belle des sçavantes, et la plus sçavantes des belles,’ had
been one of the Queen-Mother’s maids of honour. The King married her to
an old courtier, and created her Duchesse d’Étampes. She was of an
intriguing spirit, fostered discord, and interfered in political
measures, always working counter to the Queen, who strove to keep peace,
especially between her brother and husband.
The Duchess also hated the Dauphin, (afterwards Henry II.,) and between
her and the famous Diane de Poictiers (already firmly established in the
favour of the Prince) the spirit of rivalry raged fiercely.
When Henry II. succeeded to the throne the all-powerful Diane exiled the
Duchesse d’Étampes, whose downfall was complete. Amid all the pomp of
the Court, Queen Eleanor had reason to regret her quiet life at Lisbon,
where she was at least admired and respected. When Francis died, his
widow went to reside, first in the Netherlands, and then in Spain. She
died at Talavera, and was buried in the Escurial.
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No. 96.
ELEANOR OF AUSTRIA.
BORN 1498, DIED 1558.
_Black and white dress and head-dress, both richly ornamented with
pearls and diamonds._
SISTER to Charles V., Emperor of Germany. Married first the King of
Portugal, and secondly the King of France.
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No. 97.
MAXIMILIAN EMPEROR OF GERMANY.
BY ALBERT DÜRER.
BORN 1459, DIED 1519.
_Head. Furred dress and cap. Collar and badge of Golden Fleece. Gold
diapered background._
THE son of Frederick III., Emperor of Germany, by Eleanor of Portugal.
In his childhood he was nicknamed ‘The Dumb,’ from the difficulty he had
in articulating; although in after years he was remarkable for the sweet
tone of his voice. A romantic story is told in connection with him and
the beautiful Princess he afterwards married.
Charles the Bold, the last Duke of Burgundy, had been much struck with
the young Archduke (in an interview with the Emperor) when Maximilian
was only fourteen, and made so vivid a description of his appearance and
promising qualities as to interest the fancy of his fair daughter and
influence her future choice. On the death of her father, Mary, (then
Duchess of Burgundy,) finding herself involved in a war with France, and
a series of difficulties with her Flemish subjects, felt the importance
of securing a strong firm spirit, to protect and counsel her.
Amid the crowd of suitors of all nations who competed for the hand of
the richest heiress in Europe, the fairest Princess in Christendom, she
selected the young Archduke Maximilian.
He began his married life by a war with Louis XI. of France, but it was
not of long duration. His good and beautiful wife survived her marriage
but two years, dying from the effects of a fall from her horse while
engaged in her favourite pastime of hawking; she left a son and a
daughter.
On her death the States of Flanders, regarding the Archduke with great
distrust and jealousy as a foreigner, rose in revolt, and even disputed
with him the guardianship of his own children. Maximilian’s life,
indeed, was one of continual warfare, but though a brave, he was not
considered on the whole a very successful General. He at one time formed
an alliance with France against England, and at another with England
against France: now friendly with, now opposed to, the Swiss, the
Venetians, and others. On succeeding to the Imperial throne, he married,
as his second wife, Bianca Maria, sister of Galeazzo Sforza, Duke of
Milan, who brought him a large dower.
This match was most distasteful to the proud Germans, who refused to
recognise the ‘Bastard’ as Empress, and threatened that, in the event of
her having children, they should not be recognised as Princes of the
blood-royal. But (perhaps fortunately for herself) Bianca was childless.
This union with an Italian led Maximilian into further warfare. He
formed an alliance with the Pope, with his brother-in-law the Duke of
Milan, and several States of Italy, to arrest the progress of the King
of France, then marching on Naples, but this undertaking was not
successful in the end. His energetic and ambitious spirit involved
Maximilian, not only in constant wars, but caused him to take part in
all the struggles of the day, religious and political. He was a man of
remarkable vigour, learning, and skill in all martial exercises, but
renowned for his extravagance, which brought him into so many straits
that he gained the nickname of ‘Sans Argent,’ and was often without the
means of defraying the pay of his soldiers. He helped to form the
celebrated League of Cambray, and presided at the Diet of Worms, etc.
etc. He admired the manly and independent spirit of Luther, and showed
himself no ways averse to the reform of Church abuses, although he did
not survive the movement long enough to take a decided part on either
side.
His health was now fast declining, and strange fancies took possession
of his mind. Being dissatisfied with the construction of a palace he had
ordered at Innsprück, he said, ‘I will build myself another house,’ and
sending for a carpenter, told him to make a coffin with all speed. For
four years this ghastly reminder accompanied him in all his marches and
wanderings. Maximilian died at Wels, in Upper Austria, it is said his
death was accelerated by eating too freely of melon! Finding his end
approaching, he prepared for it, with much calmness; making his will,
giving the most eccentric orders concerning his interment, and joining
with fervour in the prayers for the dying which were being offered up in
his presence. His body was at a later period transferred to Innsprück,
where the Emperor Ferdinand I. erected a magnificent tomb to his memory.
It is of white marble, representing in high relief the principal events
of his most eventful life, while on either side of the mausoleum, noble
statues in bronze of illustrious sovereigns, knights, and dames of all
ages and nations, form a body-guard round Maximilian’s last
resting-place.
He had only two children, Philip, afterwards Emperor of Germany and King
of Castille, in right of his wife, ‘Mad Joan,’ as she was called, (the
only child of Ferdinand and Isabella,) by whom he had Charles V., and
Ferdinand, who both succeeded to the Imperial throne. Maximilian’s only
daughter, Margaret, was sent on the death of her mother to France, to be
educated with the children of Louis XI., who designed the little heiress
as bride for the Dauphin Charles. The betrothal took place with great
pomp and ceremony when Margaret had attained the advanced age of three
years. But in 1491, Charles, who had then succeeded his father as King
of France, resolving on an alliance with Anne, heiress of Brittany, sent
his little child-wife back to her father, an indignity which Maximilian
resolved to wipe out in French blood.
Margaret afterwards married John Infant of Spain, and secondly Philibert
Duke of Savoy, and she eventually became Governess of the Netherlands.
Albert Dürer was much esteemed not only by the Emperor Maximilian, but
by his successors Charles and Ferdinand.
[Illustration]
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[Illustration]
_LARGE UPPER CORRIDOR_.
[Illustration]
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LARGE UPPER CORRIDOR.
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No. 98.
THOMAS WENTWORTH, EARL OF STRAFFORD.
AFTER VANDYCK.
BORN 1594, EXECUTED 1641.
_In armour. Holding a baton._
THE eldest son of Sir William Wentworth, of Wentworth Wodehouse, county
York, by Anne Atkinson, of Stowel, county Gloucester. Educated at home,
and afterwards at Cambridge, where he gained an excellent reputation for
conduct and study. His father dying when Thomas was twenty-one, he found
himself at that early age the Master of Wentworth, of large estates and
property, the husband ‘of a fair wife,’ (the daughter of Francis Earl of
Cumberland,) and the guardian of a flock of young relatives, yet he
found time not only for the diligent pursuit of study, but for the
relaxations of ‘hunting, hawking, and fishing;’ in fact, for all the
varied business and pleasures of a country life.
But he was not long allowed to remain in the privacy of Wentworth, being
elected member for York, and Custos Rotulorum. This was in the place of
Lord Savile, who had been compelled to resign for misconduct. But Sir
Thomas had not held the office long before the Duke of Buckingham
requested him to retire, that Savile might be reinstated, a proposition
which so nettled his high spirit that he couched an indignant refusal in
terms that made a lifelong enemy of the haughty favourite.
Sir Thomas was for some time a silent member in the House of Commons,
although warmly espousing the Liberal side in politics, and making a
vigorous stand against the encroachments of the Court party, a course he
pursued after the accession of Charles I. The hatred of Buckingham was
not likely to be appeased by such conduct, and through his
instrumentality Wentworth had the office of High Sheriff thrust upon him
in order to disqualify him from voting, and soon afterwards he was
summarily dismissed from the post of Custos Rotulorum. He received the
Royal despatch while sitting on the bench of magistrates, and reading it
aloud with pardonable indignation, observed, ‘It might easily be
believed by what means I could retain my post, but that would cost too
dear. Yet I know of no fault in myself, or virtue in my successor, that
would justify such a step.’
In the ensuing year he stoutly refused to contribute to a loan levied
without the consent of Parliament, and was summoned before the Council,
where, while animadverting on the conduct of the ‘Court vermin,’
Wentworth took the opportunity of expressing his devoted loyalty to the
person of Charles I., and his desire to serve His Majesty in any manner
compatible with his own sense of patriotism. Nevertheless he was
sentenced to be imprisoned in the Marshalsea, an act of injustice which
did not prejudice him in favour of his persistent enemy the Duke of
Buckingham and his party.
On his release Wentworth became a vigorous leader of the opposition,
‘and took the field,’ as it was said, ‘with the Pyms and the Prynnes’
against the King’s Government, supporting with all the eloquence of
which he was master, the memorable Petition of Rights to which the King
was compelled to give a tardy, but full consent. Then Sir Thomas
Wentworth adopted that sudden line of conduct, which has been so
differently judged, so differently described, by different historians.
He declared his conviction that the nation might now be well content
with the concessions made by the Crown, bade adieu ‘to the Pyms, the
Prynnes,’ and their policy, walked over to the other side of the House,
went through the form of a reconciliation with the Duke of Buckingham,
and proffered his services, head, heart, and sword, to the Royal cause.
The opposition (above all the ‘Puritan party’) was worked to a pitch of
fury, and heaped opprobrium on his name,—‘an apostate, a traitor, a
time-server;’ while the Royalists upheld the conduct of a man who chose
the moment of impending danger to rally round the unsteady throne and
the unpopular Sovereign.
Charles naturally received him with open arms, and the honours which
were heaped upon him increased the ire of his enemies. His former ally,
Pym, meeting him one day at Greenwich, uttered these ominous words: ‘You
are going to leave us, but I will never leave you while you have a head
upon your shoulders,’ a promise too cruelly redeemed. The murder of the
Duke of Buckingham removed every obstacle to the advancement of Sir
Thomas Wentworth; he was raised to the Peerage by the titles of Baron
and Viscount Wentworth, and being appointed to the arduous post of Lord
Deputy, and Commander-in-chief in Ireland, he sailed for that
‘distracted country’ with a code he had drawn up for his own government
in his pocket, from which he never swerved.
Lord Wentworth’s administration of Irish affairs, his transient
popularity, his reforms in all matters, civil, military, and religious,
his quarrels with the Irish nobles, punctilio in matters of form and
etiquette, his hurried voyages to and from England, are all subjects of
deep interest, but too lengthy to be discussed here. It would have been
well for him if he had taken the advice of his life-long friend and
correspondent, Archbishop Laud, and ‘curbed his impetuosity, and avoided
prosecutions, and the like.’
The correspondence between these two remarkable men, (whose friendship,
in the spirit of their joint motto and watchword, was ‘Thorough’,)
although treating, for the most part, of grave and important subjects,
was interspersed (more especially on the Prelate’s part) with playful
raillery and constant allusions to the sports of the field, in which
they both delighted. The Lord Deputy had gained great odium in
consequence of a severe sentence passed by him, in a court-martial, upon
an Irish Peer, as failing in his duty as an officer, and the cry was so
great against him that Wentworth judged it best to go and tell his own
tale to the King of England.
On his return to his government a harder task than ever awaited him.
Finding that the disaffection of the Scotch to the Crown had produced a
baneful influence on the sister country, he set himself to work to
counteract that influence, and his prompt and vigorous measures made him
(already too well provided with enemies) an object of detestation to the
greater part of the Scottish nation. In 1639 he again crossed to
England, where he received the long-coveted Earldom of Strafford, was
nominated Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, taken into the King’s full
confidence, and became for a time virtually Prime Minister. War with
Scotland, Parliaments summoned in England and Ireland, and subsidies
demanded,—these were some of Strafford’s proposed measures. From his own
privy purse he contributed (as an example) £20,000 towards defraying the
expenses of the coming campaign.
To make use of a homely proverb, ‘The grass was never allowed to grow
under’ Strafford’s feet. He crossed to Ireland, called a Parliament,
obtained large subsidies, summoned a council of war, raised a large body
of men to serve under his command in Scotland. Then he took a painful
farewell of his beloved children,—‘those dear young whelps, God bless
them! for the old dog there is less matter,’ and all this in the space
of one fortnight.
Borne down as he was by continued ill-health and increasing bodily
infirmities, Lord Strafford was so anxious to return to England that he
insisted on crossing in a storm which daunted the sailors, and he had
nearly died at Chester; yet, in spite of all expostulations, he resolved
to proceed to London, and caused himself on his arrival to be carried
into the Council-chamber in a litter, to all appearance in an expiring
condition.
But too much remained for him to do, and the spirit was victorious over
the body. On the dissolution of Parliament, Strafford accepted a
military command, (against the Scots,) under the ostensible command of
the Earl of Northumberland, who, however, was either too sick, or
feigned to be so, to prove efficient, and the real duties fell to
Strafford’s share. He came up with the King at York, and found the army
in a sad plight—‘hope and spirit fled, and the Royal cause in the dust.’
Unable to walk, scarcely able to sit upright on his saddle, his energy
was indomitable. He rallied the troops, upbraided the sluggishness of
the leaders, and set a brilliant example to the whole army. But the King
stayed his hand, and thwarted the vigorous tactics of his General, the
command was in fact taken from him, although Charles was eager in his
praises, and gave Strafford the Garter at York. He, moreover, insisted
that they should travel together to London—two victims hastening to
their doom.
Strafford was averse to the plan, foreseeing the danger which menaced
him at the opening of Parliament, and his presentiment was realised, for
a few days after the commencement of the session Pym began his
long-meditated attack.
The bloodhounds were on the track, the hunt was up!
Lord Strafford was in the House of Lords, when Pym appeared at the bar
to impeach him of high treason. He was allowed but a short time to say a
few words, and was compelled to listen to the charge on his knees, then
given into custody, and lodged in the Tower.
We deeply regret the limited space which forbids us to do more than
glance at the circumstances of Strafford’s trial and defence, though in
truth it is a well-known tale.
A Scotchman, and an enemy, gives a most graphic description of the noble
scene which Westminster Hall presented on the occasion, crowded to the
roof—the King, the Queen, the whole Court and nobility of England,
ladies of the highest rank, whose tears flowed copiously, and who were
unanimous in their verdict in favour of the illustrious prisoner.
It was well said by the elder D’Israeli, ‘that Strafford’s eloquence was
so great as to perpetuate the sympathy which it received in the hour of
his agony.’ He had, indeed, need of eloquence. Every obstacle was thrown
in his way, especially in the matter of summoning witnesses in his
favour, while his personal enemies were invited from all parts of
England, Scotland, and Ireland. His confidence was betrayed, his words
perverted; the proceedings were unlawful and unprecedented; but the
Solicitor-General overruled such arguments by declaring that for ‘wolves
and wild beasts of prey’ no law could be given, and that the prisoner
ought to be knocked on the head.
Whereupon with difficulty a bill of attainder was provided, and some
members who gave negative votes had their names posted up in the city as
‘Straffordians.’ The two Houses had passages of arms on the subject; but
the vultures were hovering round, and would not be disappointed of their
prey. Thus Thomas Earl of Strafford was declared guilty of high treason.
We will not dwell on the sad passage in Charles’s sad life. He had
pledged his royal word, ‘You shall not suffer in honour, in fortune, or
in life.’ Feeble attempts at intercession with the dreaded power of the
Parliament, hesitation and delay, and then he signed the death-warrant
of his devoted friend, weeping as he did so—yet he signed, laying up for
himself hours of deep remorse, during the few years that he survived.
The generous captive indeed wrote to his master to absolve him from his
promise, but when he learned that he must prepare for death, he raised
his eyes to heaven, exclaiming, ‘Put not your trust in princes, or in
any child of men.’
During the short interval between the sentence and the execution, the
prisoner, ‘resigned and at home with his own fate, experienced in full
all that inward strength which had grown up with the unconscious
religion of a noble life.’[1]
Footnote 1:
Mozley.
He busied himself with his religious duties, with the settlement of his
worldly affairs, and in writing wise, tender, and pathetic letters to
his relatives, particularly to his eldest son. He petitioned to be
allowed an interview with his well-loved friend and fellow-prisoner,
Archbishop Laud, but was cruelly refused, and only permitted to send him
a message, asking his prayers, and entreating that he would wave him a
blessing as he passed to execution.
Accordingly on the 12th of May 1641, Strafford, on his way to the
scaffold, raised his eyes to the window of the cell where Laud was
confined, and perceived the Prelate’s aged and trembling hands extended
through the bars, in token of a solemn farewell.
So overcome was Laud by grief and emotion, that he fell backwards on the
floor of his dungeon in a swoon.
The avenues to the Tower were lined with thousands of eager spectators,
and the lieutenant hurried his prisoner into the carriage lest he should
be torn in pieces. Strafford smiled, and said ‘it mattered little to him
whether he died by the hands of the executioner or by those of the
people.’ He had ‘faced death too often to fear it in any shape.’
The mob glared on him as he passed, but offered him no indignity, for he
marched, says a spectator, ‘like a general at the head of his army,
bowing with lofty courtesy to the gazing crowd.’ His friend Archbishop
Usher and his brother Sir George Wentworth were already on the platform
when he came, as he said, ‘to pay his last debt to sin, which was
death.’ He submitted to the judgment with a contented mind. He affirmed
that his whole aim through life had been the joint and individual
prosperity of the King, and the people, although it had been his
misfortune to be misconstrued: ‘righteous judgment,’ he said, ‘shall be
hereafter.’
He stoutly denied the charges of upholding despotism and Popery, asked
forgiveness of all men whom he had offended, and prayed that ‘we may all
live to meet eternally in heaven, where all tears shall be wiped from
our eyes, and sad thoughts from our hearts.’ Then he prayed for some
time, concluding with the Lord’s Prayer; bade farewell to those near
him, and embracing his brother, delivered the most pathetic messages to
different members of his family, to his sister, his wife, with
admonitions to his eldest son ‘to fear God, be a good subject to the
King, and faithful to the Church of England,’ etc. etc.; forbidding him
to harbour any feelings of revenge. ‘Give my blessings also to my
daughters, Anne, (‘the sweet little Mistress Nan, his loved companion,
the image of her dead mother,’) to Arabella, named after the dear saint,
to the little infant who cannot speak for itself—God speak for it. One
stroke,’ he said, ‘will make my wife husbandless, my children
fatherless, my servants masterless, and separate me from my dear brother
and all my friends. But let God be to you, and to them, all in all.’
About to take off his doublet, he thanked God he could do so as
cheerfully as ever he did when going to bed. And then he looked round
and forgave the executioner and all the world. It was indeed an imposing
scene: Strafford apparently restored on that momentous day to all the
energy of health and vigour; his tall and symmetrical figure, his
regular features, with a complexion ‘pallid, but manly, black, like
polished armour that had received many a hack and bruise in the battle
of life.’