misfortune, and privation, was the daughter of Count Serini, or Zrini,
Ban of Croatia. He had involved himself in the struggles of the day, and
was in arms against Leopold, the Emperor of Austria, in defence of
Hungarian privileges. His associates in the undertaking numbered most of
the noble names in Hungary, Count Nadasti, a high officer of State,
Frangipani, a young nobleman of great promise, Trauttenbach, Governor of
Styria, and others. Zrini’s daughter Helena (or as she is called in a
contemporaneous novelette, purporting to be an account of her early
adventures, ‘Aurora Venetia’) was of exceeding beauty, and had many
suitors; but the fair one was reckoned cold and coy, and she showed no
preference until the Count Emeric Tekeli entered the lists. So decided
was her predilection in his favour, that she persuaded her father to
give his consent to their betrothal, but Zrini had at heart to gain over
Prince Francis Ragotski (whose father had been a staunch upholder of
Hungarian liberty) to the same cause, and he in consequence broke his
daughter’s engagement to the penniless Count, and gave her hand to the
rich Prince.
Francis’s father had died at Waradin from the effects of a wound
received in a battle against the Turks. On the point of gaining the
victory, his helmet falling off, a heavy sabre-cut brought him almost
lifeless to the ground. His men, panic struck, bore their disabled
general from the field, and left the day to the Turks.
On the death of Ragotski, his widow, who was in the stronghold of
Mongatz with her son, guarding the family treasures, thought it
advisable to enter into a treaty with the Emperor. She accordingly
delivered up to him certain fiefs, which had long been coveted by the
Turks, on condition that Austria would garrison them against the Ottoman
troops. But she was a courageous and resolute woman, and when Leopold
sought to encroach on some other of her son’s possessions, she withstood
him stoutly. Indeed so zealously did she watch over the family treasures
in her fortress, that on a subsequent occasion, when Prince Francis (her
son) appeared before the walls with the intention of assisting some of
the patriots (whose finances were greatly reduced) from the family
coffers, the Châtelaine ordered the guns to be pointed against her own
son. But she managed matters between him and the Emperor so well, that
he was pardoned his share in the rising, while several of his colleagues
were degraded, their estates confiscated, their right hands struck off,
and some of them finally executed for high treason.
But to return to Prince Ragotski, the husband of Helena: He did not long
survive his marriage. He left two sons, of whom the eldest (his
namesake) took great part in the affairs of Hungary on arriving at man’s
estate.
Count Tekeli no sooner heard that the woman to whom he had been deeply
attached was free, than he turned his eyes in the direction of the
beautiful widow. The old Princess Ragotski, a rigid Roman Catholic, set
herself to oppose the union, and sent troops to harass Tekeli, and it
was not till after the old lady’s death that the marriage was brought
about, as was supposed, by the intervention of young Zrini, Helena’s
brother, who had been taken prisoner. The nuptials were celebrated with
the greatest pomp and magnificence.
Helena was eminently fitted to be a soldier’s wife. She not only gloried
in her husband’s feats of arms, but she constantly instigated him to
fresh enterprises, panting for revenge (as she was) on the destroyers of
her father and kinsmen.
Tekeli was reputed to be an indifferent stepfather, neglecting his
wards’ comfort and well-being, but we must remember that he had many
detractors. His wife, at all events, loved him dearly, exulted in his
valour and successes, mourned for him in misfortune, and nobly did she
defend the citadel of Mongatz for upwards of two years against the
imperial troops, and that at a time when her husband was absent.
Once when, straitened for want both of food and ammunition, the garrison
showed an inclination to capitulate, Helena rallied the soldiers in
person, cheered them with the hope that Tekeli would shortly come to
their rescue; and such was the influence of her courage and beauty that
the men enthusiastically renewed their vows of fidelity. The elements
too ranged themselves on her side, for the constant rains had made the
ground so soft as to render the Austrian General’s outworks useless,
while they replenished the cisterns of the besieged, just as the enemy
thought to cut off their supply from the river.
Over and over again did the Austrian commanders try to bring Helena to
terms; threats, reports of her husband’s imprisonment, advice that she
should submit, were all in vain. The intrepid Châtelaine made proud
replies to all these messages; she said it was not much to the Emperor’s
credit to make war upon women and children; that as guardian of Prince
Ragotski’s sons, she was bound to defend their possessions and
interests; but at length, seeing all hope was over, and the only
alternative was starvation for herself, her children, and her faithful
defenders, she consented to capitulate, after having held out, off and
on, for two years, and more than once obliged the enemy to raise the
siege.
The Emperor wrote her a letter (doubtless the one lying on the table
beside her) in which he offers her honourable terms, but she would not
be dictated to, even in her hour of distress, and she added many
stipulations of her own, before she abandoned the fortress, which she
had so long and so valiantly held. Amongst other conditions, she was to
take with her whatsoever she wished of property, furniture, etc., and an
amnesty was to be proclaimed for her garrison and people. The fortress
of Mongatz was to be given up to the Emperor, who was to undertake the
guardianship and education of the young Ragotskis.
Two days after the treaty was concluded, Countess Tekeli and her two
boys proceeded on their road to Vienna, where, on their arrival, Leopold
broke almost all the conditions. He took her children from her, forbade
her to write to her husband, treated the defenders of Mongatz with
severity, and at last consigned the heroine to a compulsory retreat, in
the Convent of the Ursuline Nuns. The education which Leopold bestowed
on the young Princes did not (at all events in the case of the eldest)
bring forth the fruits of submission he anticipated, as Francis in after
years distinguished himself as an upholder of Hungarian liberty.
Helena’s freedom was granted her at length, in exchange for an Austrian
General, and she immediately joined her husband, living a chequered life
of alternate luxury and poverty in the East.
His latter days were full of privation, which she shared without a
murmur, and closed a career of heroism, misfortune, and fidelity, by
dying two years before Tekeli, in 1703.
There is a strange tale which is told by La Mottraye, but we recommend
that it should he taken _cum grano_.
The writer had a profound admiration for the fair exile, when he visited
the Count Tekeli at Constantinople, and tells us that Helena had
relinquished almost all the money and jewels which Prince Ragotski had
bequeathed her, to her second husband, with the exception of four
thousand ducats; but this sum, and a few remaining jewels, she had
locked in a little strong-box, and deposited in the custody of the
reverend fathers, the Jesuits at Galata.
A devoted Roman Catholic, she had designed the treasure to defray the
expenses of a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, should her life be prolonged, or
to be expended in masses for her soul, in the event of her death,
keeping the key in her own hands, and—so said the good fathers, her
spiritual advisers—all this, without the knowledge of her husband. Her
reason may be well imagined, for he, being a Lutheran, ‘and fearing no
pains between death and paradise, and having so much occasion for money
in temporal affairs, would have dissuaded her from being at so much
expense for spirituals.’
Only one of her servants knew her secret. Him she sent from time to
time, to fetch a priest of the order, to celebrate mass, hear her
confession, and administer communion to the exiled lady.
When her life was despaired of, the servant in question told the Count’s
secretary of the treasure with the Jesuits. The secretary immediately
told his master, and they held a council together, the result of which
was, that they should send the servant, who would not be suspected, with
a message purporting to be from the Countess, to the effect that they
should send her the box, she wishing to make some additions thereto, and
that in three or four days one of the priests should go to her for it.
Bribed by the promise of a large reward, the servant is said to have
undertaken the business, but the secretary judged it more prudent to
follow, and watch the messenger.
By the time he returned with the treasure, the Countess had breathed her
last, and when the father-confessor arrived two days after, he found the
lady buried already; and instead of the box he had intrusted to the
servant, another was presented to him, containing Countess Tekeli’s
heart, which she had bequeathed to the holy fathers in her last moments,
and to which they gave distinguished funeral rites.
The secretary offered the priest a hundred ducats, which he refused,
demanding the whole contents of the casket, for masses to be said for
the soul of the departed. The Count refused, observing that, though his
wife might have required the money to travel to the earthly Jerusalem,
she could not possibly need it to go to the heavenly Jerusalem. The
secretary—we still quote La Mottraye—who was also a Protestant, laughed
irreverently in his sleeve at the disappointment of the holy men.
There are duplicate pictures of the Count and Countess in the possession
of a lady in London. The curious manner in which the Countess conceals
her hand with a handkerchief led to the conjecture that the beautiful
insurgent might have suffered the penalty of amputation, so frequent at
that time, as in the case of her father, and his friends; but the lady
who owns the companion picture to Lord Bath’s gave me another version of
the story.
She had some time ago an old German master who was a Hungarian, and much
interested in the portrait of his fair compatriot. His tradition was,
that the picture was painted to commemorate the valiant manner in which
the Countess behaved, when, writing a letter in her tent, a stray
cannonball shattered her right hand.
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No. 126.
COUNT EMERIC TEKELI OR TÖCKOLI.
BORN 1658, DIED 1705.
_Three-quarters length. Richly-embroidered costume. Leopard’s skin.
Holding an axe. Crescent in cap. Troops crossing a bridge in the
background._
THE Hungarian subjects of Leopold I., the Emperor of Austria, disgusted
with his violation of the promises of civil and religious liberty which
he had made them on being proclaimed King of Hungary, and which he
ignored on ascending the Imperial throne, revolted in large numbers.
Many of the highest in the land headed the malcontents; and, as we
mention in the notice of the Countess Tekeli, her father Count Zrini,
Counts Frangipani, Nadasti, and Trauttenbach, suffered death in defence
of the privileges of their native land, in 1670-71.
Count Stephen Tekeli, the friend and comrade of these chiefs, a Lutheran
of vast possessions, and obnoxious to the Emperor on all these counts,
was besieged in his own castle by Leopold’s orders, and died before it
surrendered.
His son Emeric, the subject of this notice, then a youth, made his
escape in the disguise of a girl, with some friends during the night,
and sought refuge at the Court of Poland. Finding the King of that
country unable to assist him, he repaired to Transylvania, the Waiwode
of which country, Prince Abaffi, his father’s greatest friend, welcomed
the young Emeric, made him Prime Minister, and despatched him with the
troops, which he was sending to the relief of the Hungarian malcontents.
Very shortly afterwards the Count was promoted to the grade of
Generalissimo, with the title of Prince and Protector of the Kingdom.
Emeric Tekeli was at that moment in the full vigour of youth and beauty,
for which he was very remarkable. His presence was majestic, and his
undoubted courage and ardent patriotism gave him great influence.
Innumerable volunteers flocked to his standard, bearing the sacred
device, ‘_Pro aris et focis_,’—the persecuted Lutherans, the mourners
whose relatives had been cut off by the bloody hand of the executioner,
panting for revenge. The discontented of all classes fixed their hopes
on the hero, who had risen so suddenly to eminence. Tekeli published a
manifesto promising to defend the liberties of Hungary; his army
increased daily; and at the head of these irregular troops, he held his
own for three years against the Imperial army.
In the life of the Countess Tekeli will be found the account of his
marriage. He had been affianced to her before her union with Prince
Ragotski, whose suit her father preferred to that of the handsome but
then penniless Count.
After Ragotski’s death Tekeli marched on Mongatz, where his former love
resided with her two children, and her mother-in-law, who was most
averse to the union with Tekeli. There is a romantic story told of how
on one occasion the lover contrived to penetrate into the fortress in
the disguise of a pedlar, and being ushered into the presence of
Princess Helena, he drew from his bosom the miniature she had given him
of herself some years before. But it is difficult to sift fact from
fiction in the loves of these remarkable people, and to fix the dates of
their adventures. The marriage did not take place till after the death
of the Princess-Dowager, and ‘war’s alarms’ soon called Tekeli from the
side of his beautiful wife. She was not one indeed to damp his military
ardour, or to detain him from the field. He marched into Moldavia, and
continued his campaign, resisting and distrusting the frequent overtures
made him by Leopold’s ministers. But at length he deemed it politic to
call in foreign aid, and applying to the Sultan, Mahomet IV., he
obtained from him, with the title of Prince, an auxiliary of Ottoman
troops, under the Grand Vizier Caram Mustapha.
The campaign of 1683 was marked by the most revolting cruelty; and,
terrible to say, the Christian commander seemed to vie with his Pagan
allies in acts of violence and rapacity. He was a strange mixture of the
fine gentleman and the barbarian, affecting great luxury and
magnificence in his dress, military appointments, arms, accoutrements,
and the arrangement of his tent.
There is a story extant respecting the head-dress he wears in his
portrait. On his arrival at Buda, he was conducted with much ceremony to
the Pasha, who received him with honour, and taking off Count Tekeli’s
cap placed it on his own head. Count Tekeli’s cap was replaced by
another after the Turkish fashion, by some called a diadem, richly
studded with precious stones, and ornamented with heron’s feathers.
Tekeli was present at the famous siege of Vienna, and at Pressburg,
where the cruelties practised will not bear description. The town was
rescued from his hands by the Prince of Baden; but Tekeli and Mustapha
now fell out, and branded each other with recriminations, so that the
Hungarian, who was no better indeed than a tributary of the Porte,
thought it politic to go to Constantinople in person to make his own
defence against Mustapha’s accusations. He did so, but not long after
his arrival he was seized at the table of the Seraskier, loaded with
chains, and imprisoned by order of the Sultan, on some frivolous
pretext. This conduct so disgusted the Count’s Hungarian friends, that
they broke their alliance with the Turk, and submitted to Austria under
promise of an armistice. Then the Sultan relented, set Tekeli free, and
gave him large sums of money. He also nominated him Waiwode of
Transylvania.
Surely no one man ever had so many empty titles bestowed on him as
Emeric Tekeli. He made war in Slavonia and Servia against the Prince of
Baden and Count Piccolomini, but much after the fashion of a guerilla.
In 1696 he was with the Sultan in the defence of, and the battle of
Orlach, where the Turks were defeated.
Tekeli then retired to some mineral baths in Anatolia to recruit his
shattered health and strength, when he was informed that the Sultan had
declared a renewal of hostilities, and proclaimed him King of Hungary!
Into that country the Ottoman troops had already penetrated, and the
poor titular Sovereign was dragged off to join them, in spite of his
failing health. He advised the Sultan to avoid an encounter with the
Imperial troops, and rather to march on Transylvania, which was
undefended; but his counsels were unheeded, and the Turks were
completely routed in an engagement with Prince Eugene.
A story was told on this occasion to the disparagement of the Count,
namely, that he remained in the Ottoman camp after the flight of the
army, and possessed himself of all the available treasures his friends
had left, before the reconstruction of a bridge enabled the enemy to
come in for their share.
It was reckoned a shabby trick, but all is fair, we are told, in love
and war, and if the Turks had not fled so soon, they might have carried
off their own property. The peace of Carlowitz put an end to a terrible
war, terminated the campaign, and concluded Count Tekeli’s military and
political career. By this treaty, in which the Count’s name was not even
mentioned, Turkey ceded most of the disputed territories to Austria,
completely ignoring the man whom she had invested with so many titles
appertaining to these provinces.
Once more Tekeli proceeded to Constantinople, in spite of all this
treatment, to renew his offers of service to the Sultan, on the breaking
out of a fresh war. But on arriving near the city he was met by a high
officer, who desired him not to enter. It appears that our English
Ambassador, Lord Paget, had had an interview with the Sultan, to warn
him against harbouring Tekeli. He was therefore ordered off, to a kind
of sumptuous banishment, at a delightful country house at Nicomedia,
whither a few Hungarians and Transylvanians followed the man who had
been their Sovereign in name. His faithful wife joined him the moment
she regained her liberty; and here Count de la Mottraye visited him,
spending eight days, as he says,—‘where I was nobly entertained, till I
was tired, with pheasants and wild-fowl, which were found there in
prodigious plenty.’
Towards the end of 1703 the Count and Countess removed to another
country house called The Field of Flowers, and here died the brave,
noble, and devoted, Helena Princess Ragotski, Countess Tekeli.
For the strange story of the hundred ducats, we refer the reader to the
notice of her life. Be that true or false, there is no doubt Tekeli was
treated with ingratitude, neglect, and caprice; his revenues stopped,
and he himself obliged to gain a scanty subsistence by carrying on the
trade of a vintner: the Prince, the Prime Minister, the Generalissimo,
the Waiwode, the King of Hungary! Monsieur de la Mottraye visited him a
second time at The Field of Flowers, and alluding to the affair of the
ducats, he says: ‘The Jesuits made many visits to the Count in the hope
of converting him to their creed, but he remained a steadfast Lutheran.’
Other writers testify to his having embraced the Roman Catholic faith;
but this is the testimony of one who saw him in his latter days, and
thus describes him:—
‘He was sitting in an elbow-chair, according to his usual custom, with a
carpet over his knees, much afflicted with the gout. His beard had grown
greyer, and new troubles, especially the death of his Countess, seemed
to grieve him much. He complained that France had promised him large
sums of money for expenses in the war, and had not sent him two-thirds,
and since his misfortunes had not sent him ten ducats. I observed that
it had to pass through too many hands on its way to Turkey.’
The same writer tells us ‘Count Tekeli had the most taking countenance,
and one of the finest tongues, also that he spoke good Latin fluently,’
but that is an accomplishment shared by most of his countrymen. His
personal beauty was acknowledged even by his enemies, who gave him the
sobriquet of Absalom.
Poor Tekeli was (as La Mottraye observes) as ill treated by the gout as
by fortune. He survived his faithful wife only two years, and was
interred in the Greek cemetery at Constantinople. Emeric Tekeli, from
his wild adventures, his romantic history, and all his curious
vicissitudes, became a marked man, the observed of all observers, and
there are very curious books extant, with squibs, some in Italian, some
in German, as also caricatures of a rude kind of pleasantry,
representing him in prison beating against the bars, and bewailing his
sad fate.
‘So lohnt der Turk denen die ihm trauen,
Man sollt’ die Trauerspiel recht anschauen,’ etc. etc.
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No. 127.
ELIZABETH SEYMOUR, AFTERWARDS COUNTESS
OF AILESBURY.
_As a girl. White dress. Scarf and pearls. Holds a wand._
SHE was the daughter of Henry Lord Beauchamp, by Mary Capel. She married
Thomas Earl of Ailesbury, to whom, on the death of her brother William,
third Duke of Somerset, she brought large estates in Wilts (Savernake
being one of them) and other counties.
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No. 128.
JOHN LOWTHER, VISCOUNT LONSDALE.
BORN 1655, DIED 1700.
_Buff coat. White sleeves. Cuirass. Red mantle. Long wig._
HE succeeded his grandfather, as Baronet, in 1675; sat in Parliament for
Westmoreland in 1678-9, and when the House dissolved was re-elected, at
the next meeting. It is a matter of history, how often Parliament was
prorogued and dissolved in those troublous times; suffice it to say that
Sir John distinguished himself by his zeal for the Protestant cause, and
his opposition to the Duke of York’s succession; yet when that event
took place he again served in Parliament, as likewise in that called the
Convention, which settled the Crown on the heads of the Prince and
Princess of Orange.
In fact, in every session, until called to the Upper House, he was
strong in favour of King William III., and gained over the counties of
Westmoreland and Cumberland to his cause, for which services he was made
Vice-Chamberlain, Privy Councillor, Lord-Lieutenant of the county, and
in 1696 he was created Baron Lowther and Viscount Lonsdale, county
Westmoreland.
He was twice one of the Lords Justices for the government of the kingdom
during His Majesty’s absence in Holland, and in 1700 he died, and was
buried in the church at Lowther. He married the youngest daughter of Sir
Henry Frederick Thynne of Longleat.
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No. 129.
CHARLES THE FIRST, KING OF GREAT BRITAIN.
_Black coat, slashed sleeves. Ruff. Ribbon and George._
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No. 130.
CATHERINE VISCOUNTESS LONSDALE.
BY MICHAEL WRIGHT.
DIED 1712.
_Drab dress. Blue mantle. Seated. Her hand resting on the back of a
dog._
CATHERINE was the youngest daughter of Sir Henry Frederick Thynne, by
the daughter of Keeper Coventry, and therefore sister to Thomas Lord
Weymouth. She married John Viscount Lonsdale, by whom she had three sons
and five daughters. She was buried at Lowther, by the side of her
husband.
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No. 131.
WILLIAM SEYMOUR, THIRD DUKE OF SOMERSET.
BORN 1651, DIED 1671.
_Drab dress. Red mantle. White wand in his hand.
Painted when a boy._
HE was the son of Henry Earl of Beauchamp, by Mary, eldest daughter of
Lord Capel. He succeeded his grandfather in 1660, but did not long
survive him. He was buried at Great Bedwyn, county Wilts, when the
honours devolved on his uncle, Lord John Seymour.
[Illustration]
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[Illustration]
_BEDROOM B_.
[Illustration]
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BEDROOM B.
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No. 132.
HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES.
BY ZUCCHERO.
BORN 1594, DIED 1612.
_Garter on the leg. Mantle, Collar, and George of the Order. Red velvet
surcoat. White satin trunk hose, braided with gold. White shoes and
rosettes. Jewelled sword-belt and glove. Hat on table._