Citation
Boy princes

Material Information

Title:
Boy princes the story of their lives
Creator:
Edgar, John G ( John George ), 1834-1864
Harral, Horace ( Illustrator )
Gall & Inglis ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
London ;
Edinburgh
Publisher:
Gall & Inglis
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
378 p., [8] leaves of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 18 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Princes -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Princesses -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Kings and rulers -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Statesmen -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Juvenile literature -- France ( lcsh )
Biographies -- 1875 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1875
Genre:
Biographies ( rbgenr )
non-fiction ( marcgt )
collective biography ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
Scotland -- Edinburgh
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Frontispiece printed in colors; Illustrations engraved by H. Harral.
Funding:
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
Statement of Responsibility:
by J.G. Edgar ; eight full page illustrations.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026546168 ( ALEPH )
ALG0585 ( NOTIS )
71280287 ( OCLC )

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BOY-PRINCES. |



Ghe Story of their Xibes,

BY

J.G. EDGAR,

AUTHOR OF “THE BOY CRUSADERS,” “NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY,’ SIO,

8 full page Ellustrations.



4 GALL & INGLIS.
: | Pondow: Edinburgh:

30 PATERNOSTER ROW. 6 GEORGE STREET,





PREFACE.

Tux fate of those born to great inheritances, and cut off in
early youth, seldom fails to excite a deep and melancholy
interest. The memory of Princes, especially, who have been
snatched away ere attaining the honours and possessions that
awaited them, has in many cases been cherished with mingled
admiration and regret. Nor can we wonder at this being the
case, seeing that several of them have exhibited such mar-
vellous precocity as to justify the remark, that when an
existence is destined to be short, nature hastens to develop
it; Just as some regions, with but two months of summer,
take advantage of the brief sunshine to cover themselves, as
if by enchantment, with flowers, and fruits, and harvest.

While many royal boys doomed to fill an untimely grave
have, by their remarkable promise, excited the highest hopes
of nations which they had the prospect of governing, some-
times the princes succeeding in their default have nob been
characterised by wisdom or virtue. Under such circumstances,
imagination delights to invest with all noble and graceful
qualities those who have never been tried, and therefore not
found wanting; and besides, it frequently appears as if the
destiny of a great nation had been suspended on the fate of
a prince blossoming but to die. What colour and complexion
the Reformation in England might have taken, had Arthur
Tudor lived to reign instead of the eighth Henry—and how
it would have fared with our constitutional liberties had
Henry Stuart survived his father, and ascended the throne
instead of the first Charles—are questions which no man can |
venture to solve, And yet few will refuse to acknowledge
an impression that, in both these instances, England sustained
a loss, the effects of which are experienced even by our own
generation. Such a feeling is natural, and uniformly have
mankind bewailed each youthful Marcellus.

Without deeming it necessary to expatiate on such questions
and sentiments, my object in the following pages has been to



iv PREFACE.

produce a series of historical biographies adapted to the taste
of juvenile readers, and not unworthy of their perusal. With
this view I have written the lives of more than twenty
princes—from the grandsons of William the Conqueror to
the son of the first Napoleon—who all perished in the spring
of their existence ; and convinced of the advantage of im-
planting in the heart of youth a love of historical knowledge,
and a proper admiration of the heroes who illustrated past
ages, and prepared order and freedom for our own, I have so
framed my sketches as to direct the attention of readers to
many of those great personages who, unlike the Boy-Princes,
lived long enough to influence the fortunes of Europe.
Another object. I have kept in view. While tracing the
brief career of so many scions of royalty, and presenting what
is recorded of their character and actions, I have endeavoured
to connect each with the period at which he lived. To ac-
complish this, indeed, no ingenuity was required. The
career of each forms part of history. Arthur of Britanny’
figured in that struggle for continental empire which the
earlier Plantagenets carried on against Philip Augustus ;
Fdward of Lancaster accompanied his mother, Margaret of
Anjou, through the sanguinary scenes of the War of the
Roses ; Edward the Sixth reigned at the era of the Reforma-
tion in England; the sons of Katherine de Medici were
sovereigns of France during the religious wars and the Mas-
sacre of St Bartholmew; the memory of Louis the Seven-
teenth, “a lily broken by the storm,” is inseparably associated
with the French Revolution ; and the name of the second
Napoleon, who was born King of Rome and died an Austrian
Colonel, recalls the dissolution of that empire which existed
for a few years as a monument of his father’s genius and
lory.
. Having made these introductory remarks, I venture to ex-
press a hope that this book will be received with favour by
the boys of England, and that a perusal of it will, in some
degree at least, increase the interest of that portion of the
rising generation in the history of modern Europe.

J.G. E.



CONTENTS.

PAGE
WIniiaM tHe ATHELING, PRinck or ENGLAND ... ane 1
Wittiam or NORMANDY, SURNAMED CLITO ... wae aw 44
Eustace or Bounoenz, Son or Kine SrepHen... w= -B2
AxrvtHur of BRITANNY ge ae ron wae a. = 46
Davin Sruart, Duke or Rorusay ... Ae doe a. =©661
Lovis DE VaLois, DAUPHIN OF FRANCE... tas .. = 73
Epwarp or LANCASTER, Prince or WALES ae azz 199
Epwarb tHe Firty anp THE Dukz oF YORK eae «. 183
Arruur Tupor, PRINCE OF WALES ... a ves .. 147
Epwarpd PLANTAGENET, Hart or WARWICK oe .. 158
Gaston DE Forx, Duxz or Nemours ae ran ww. 174
Kine EDWARD THE SIXTH. eae .. 184
Francis tHe Second, Kine or France ©... ay .. 210
Dow Cantos, Son or Purtte rue Seconp arr .. 220
CHARLES THE Ninru, Kina or FRaNcE .. es w. 241
Henry Sruart, Princz or WALES sue oe -.. 256
Hewry or OatLanps, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER oe .. 289
Wittam, Duke or GLovcEsTER —.. ch ae% .. 312
Louis tae SEVENTEENTH on ded ee ... 817

NAPOLEON THE SECOND ese. OS See ae sad + 862



LIST OF ENGRAVINGS.

PAGE

EscaPr or WILLIAM Criro or NoRMANDY wee « 19

ARTHUR OF BRITANNY AND HIS UNCLE Jonn wee (OT
Epwarp or Lancaster anD HIS Mortner iw Hexnam

FOREST... . _ we i we .. 119

Gaston DE Forx at RAvENwA on te tee .. 181
CHaRLes tHe Ninta Assisting at THE Massacre or

St BarrHoLoMEw wes ses a wee we 252

HeEypy OF OATLANDS’ LAST INTERVIEW WITH HIS FATHER 297

Prince CHARLES-LOUIS AND THE REGIMENT DU DAUPHIN 829



BOY-PRINCES.

WILLIAM ATHELING,
PRINCE OF ENGLAND.

One day in August, 1100—when the Norman Con-
quest of England had been fully accomplished, and
when William, second son of the Conqueror, had for
twelve years domineered over a vanquished people — a
gay troop of horsemen cantered down from the emi-
nence crowned with the castle of Malwood, and entered
the New Forest to enjoy the pleasures of the chase,
At the head of this hunting-party was a short, thick,
corpulent man, with red hair, a square forehead, and a
countenance indicating some degree of brute courage.
As he rode along, swearing and stammering in Norman
French, every peasant recognised the second of our
Norman kings and cursed. him, in bitter derision, as “the
Keeper of the Forests” and “the Wild-beast Herd.”

The hunters, as was the custom of the period, dis-
: B



2 BOY-PRINCES.

persed through the forest to pursue their sport; and
when evening came William Rufus was unattended
save by one of his favourites, Walter Tyrrel, a knight
ot France. As the sun was sinking m the west, and
the King and the Knight had concealed themselves in
a thicket to wateh the game, a large stag suddenly
bounded up between them. Rufus quickly took aim;
but his arrow falling harmless on the grass, he shouted
with a fearful oath, “Shoot, Walter, shoot!” The
knight, raising his cross-bow, obeyed; and his shaft,
glancing aside and leaving the stag unharmed, pierced
the lefé breast of his master. Instantly Rufus fell
senseless on the ground, and Tyrrel, in alarm, rushed
forward. Finding that life was extinct, he mounted his
horse, galloped to the sea-coast, and lost no time in
_ setting foot on the soil of France.

Among those who had attended William Rufus to
the New Forest was his younger brother, known in
history as Henry Beauclere. This prince, who had
then seen thirty-two summers, was tall and stately,
with dark locks, a large, keen eye, and an aspect
decidedly pleasing. Beauclere was so reserved that
people fancied he had little wit; but, in truth, his mind
was filled with such projects of ambition as he dared
hardly have talked of even to the winds. Separated,
on this occasion, from the other hunters, and happen-
ing to break his cross-bow, he entered the hut of a
forester; and there an old weird-woman hailed him ay
king While he was exhibiting real or feigned surprise



WILLIAM ATHELING, 3

at her words, the rumour of Rufus’s death, spreading
through the forest, reached his ears.

Far from manifesting any excessive grief at the
fate which had befallen his rude brother, Beauclere,
perceiving that an opportunity such as he must often,
in poverty, have panted for, had arrived, sprang upon
his steed, spurred to Winchester, and demanded the
keys of the King’s treasury. While those who had
charge of the royal money-chests were hesitating, the
treasurer of Rufus—one of the hunting-party—rode up
in breathless haste. “You and I,” said the Treasurer,
“ought to remember your elder brother, Robert Duke
of Normandy. He has received our oath of fealty ;
and, though absent, he has the best right to the
crown.”

Beauclere being in no mood for argument like this,
high words passed; swords flashed; and there ensued
a fray in which he was victorious. He took possession
of the royal treasure, caused himself soon after to be
crowned at Westminster, and won the favour of the
natives by promising to share his throne with a
daughter of the Anglo-Saxon kings,

The heart of the destined bride was much more
English than her blood. A Scottish princess, reared
by a spinster aunt in the Abbey of Romsey, had im-
bibed, with the air she breathed, those ideas and pre-
judices cherished by the natives of the island. Her
blood, though not pure Anglo-Saxon, was royal
enough to satisfy the most exacting genealogist.



4 BOY-PRINCES,

Her father, Malcolm Canmore, was King of Scots;
her mother was a sister of Edgar Atheling, the heir of
the Anglo-Saxon kings, but set aside by the unscrupu-
lous family of Godwin; and her grandmother was the
daughter of a German Emperor, whom a son of Edmund
Ironside had wedded when an exile in Hungary. This
damsel, known by the name of Edith, was learned,
accomplished, and so captivating that several Normans
had sought her in marriage. Among her suitors it
appears that Beauclere had, in the days of his adversity,
been the most successful; yet, when he proposed to
make her queen, the royal maiden was with difficulty
prevailed on to consent. Then a more serious obstacle
was presented. Many argued that Edith had been
reared in a convent, that she had worn the veil, and
that an earthly husband could not receive the hand of
one who had been dedicated to Heaven. -The matter
must certainly have looked awkward. But a man of
Beauclere’s intellect, with the Confessor’s crown on his
head and the Conqueror’s sceptre in his hand, was not
likely to forego the fair prize on which he had set his
heart. A great assembly was convoked at Rochester,
and. it soon appeared that Edith had never taken
monastic vows, though she had sometimes worn the
veil, by way of protection, in days when the Norman
adventurers, flushed with recent success, paid little
respect to female honour. The evidence proved satis.
factory, and a few days later the Anglo-Saxon princess,
on being united to the Norman king, abandoned her



WILLIAM ATHELING, 5

name of Edith for that of Maude, as being more
agreeable to Norman ears.

At Winchester, which had been the capital of the
Anglo-Saxon Empire, and which in Beauclere’s reign
reached its highest point of splendour, Queen Mande,
in 1102, became mother of an heir to the crown. The
boy was baptized by the name of William, after his
grandsire, the conqueror of Hastings. But what was
doubtless much more pleasing to his mother, he was
surnamed “The Atheling,” in allusion to his Anglo-
Saxon descent, and regarded with hopes, never to be
realised, by those who, for their conquerors, tilled the
_ground, and hewed the wood, and drew the water.
The oppressed islanders naturally indulged in antici-
pation of a bright future; but as young Atheling
grew up such delusions were dissipated. The boy’s
position was favourable to the development of any
good qualities which nature might have implanted in his
heart or mind. Beauclere, who, like his grim sire, was
in the habit of saying that a king without learning re-
sembled a crowned ass, was not guilty of neglect in
educating his heir. Maude, who had ever been dis-
tinguished by Christian devotion, proved the most
tender and loving of mothers. But whatever William
Atheling profited by the intellectual superiority of
Beauclere, it appears too clear that he had no sym-
pathies with the Anglo-Saxon Queen. He mherited
none of her piety; and ill did he repay her maternal
care. Among the Norman barons he constantly heard



6 BOY-PRINCES.

the race from which his mother derived descent spoken
of with scorn; nay, more—the courtiers even affected
to regard the King’s marriage as a mésalliance. In
Henry’s presence, indeed, they preserved a decorous
silence on the subject; but, whenever nis back was
turned, they amused themselves by nicknaming the
royal pair Leofric and Godiva.

William Atheling very soon gave mdications of a
resolution to share the antipathies of the foreign
scigneurs among whom he had been educated. This
son of the Saxon Maude was also grandson of William
the Norman, and had about him a good deal of the
tanner of Falaise. He became rather more of a Nor-
man than the Normans themselves had been in their
most lawless days, and expressed himself in language
which Hugh le Loup or Ivo Taillebois would have been
almost ashamed to use. “When I come to reign over
the miserable English,” he was heard openly to say,
“T will make them draw the plough like oxen.” So
far as men could judge from appearances, there was
every probability of this precocious tyrant having an
opportunity of executing his threat; and the people,
forgetting in their despair that the Prince was young,
and might attain to wisdom with years, retaliated with
bitterness, and accused him of every evil propensity.

While such was the feeling of the English people
towards the prmce whose mother had the blood of
Alfred in her veins, and while the States of Nor-
mandy were swearing fealty to William Atheling in his



WILLIAM ATITELING. 7

fourteenth year, Beauclere became nervously anxious to
have the boy recognised as heir to the crown of Eng-
land. With the idea of thus securing the succession,
he called together the chief men of the realm; and on
the 20th of March, 1116, they assembled at Salisbury.
The Prince having been invested with the symbols of
knighthood, the grand ceremony was enacted with the
wonted forms. The barons placed young Atheling’s
hand in theirs, and did homage to him as the King’s
heir; the Archbishop of Canterbury, with other pre-
lates and abbots, swore that if the Prince should
outlive his royal sire, they would, without fail, put
him in possession of the kingdom’s crown; and the
heart of Arlette’s grandson, doubtless, beat high at
this feudal spectacle, so grateful to his vanity as a
father, and to his pride as a king; for though gifted
with that quality called worldly wisdom, and wise in
his generation, he was in the habit of forgetting that
however man may propose, it is God who disposes.
While pursuing his ambitious career, Beauclerc, with
whom no tie was so binding that he would not break
it for his selfish purposes, invaded Normandy, forcibly
deprived his brother of the dukedom, and brought him
to England. About 1118, when Queen Maude died,
Duke Robert had for years been in the dungeons of
Cardiff Castle; but the unhappy captive had a son
alive and at large. On behalf of William Clito—for so
the son of Robert was named—confederacy after con-
federacy was formed on the Continent; and of these



8 BOY-PRINCES.

the Count of Anjou was one of the most formidable
members. To allure Anjou to his side, and thus
break up the confederacy, was Beauclere’s game. With
this idea, when war broke out in 1119, he took young
Atheling to the Continent, and proposed a union
between that Prince and the Count’s second daughter,
a girl who had scarcely reached her twelfth year.

Anjou, albeit not without sparks of honour in his
breast, appears to have been far from proof against
temptation; and, being flesh and blood, the prospect of
a throne for one of his daughters was more than he
had strength of mind to resist, In any case he played
the traitor; and the confederacy having been dissolved,
the King of France was under the necessity of ac-
knowledging the English Prince as Duke of Nor-
mandy, and receiving the royal youth’s homage in that
capacity.

Elate with triumph, and ambitious that a long line
of descendants should flourish as kings, Henry Beau-
clere celebrated the marriage of his heir; William
Atheling being then in his eighteenth, Matilda of
Anjou, the bride, in her twelfth, year. Lisieux was
the scene of this wedding. A splendid affair, of course,
it was; and the youthful pair remained on the Con-
tinent, passing twelye months merrily at feasts and
pageants. About the end of that time, Beauclere,
impatient to visit in triumph the land of which he was
an unworthy native, gave the word of command: for
a return to England



WILLIAM ATHELING, — a

Barfleur was selected as the place of embarkation;
and on a December afternoon—it was a Friday—the
royal party were preparing to go on board, when a
seafaring man approached the King. “QO King,”
said he, presenting a golden mark, “my father, Ste-
phen, served your father all his lite upon the sea; and
it was he who commanded the ship which carried thy
father to the conquest. I entreat you to grant me,
in fief, the same office. Here I have ‘the White
Ship,’ fitly provided with rowers.”

Beauclere eyed Fitzstephen with favour, replied
that he had already chosen a vessel for himself, but
graciously intrusted the son of his hopes to the
seaman’s care.. He, however, took the youthful bride
under his own protection; and, little dreaming what
the night was to bring forth, sailed with his daughter-
in-law at sunset. When on the open sea the crew of
the King’s ship heard a ery of distress; but not suspect-
ing the cause, sailed onward, and next morning reached
the English coast.

When Beauclere set sail, the Prince, his retinue,
and his brother and sister, who, though illegitimate,
rejoiced in sounding titles, went on board “the White
Ship.” It was a gay company that surrounded Eng-
land’s heir, consisting of ladies in the pride of youth
and beauty, and lordlings of haughty air, gorged with
the wealth, and fattened on the spoils, of the banished
Anglo-Saxons. Little thought they that in the midst
of life they were so near death! But such was the case.



10 BOY-PRINCES,

The sailors asked for wine. The Prince ordered them
three hogsheads; and the ship soon became the scene
of such riot and dissipation, that several striplings, after
surveying the deck with anxious glances, deemed it
prudent to go ashore. Nothing daunted by this cir-
cumstance, those who remained continued their merri-
ment with unabated ardour.

At length, when the evening had far advanced,
when the sailors were drunk, and the skipper flus-
tered, the anchor was hauled up. The mariners, ex-.
cited by the wine they had quaffed, vowed to overtake
the King’s vessel. Fitzstephen held the helm; fifty
rowers put forth their utmost strength; the wind blew
gently; every sail was set; and beneath the pale light
of the moon “the White Ship” rode swiftly along the
coast. Suddenly a fearful shock filled every heart with
terror and apprehension, and a piercing cry was raised
by the passengers. The ship had struck violently on
one of a cluster of rocks known as the Ras de Catte.
One of her sides was driven in; the salt water was
pouring through the rent; and the hold was filling fast.

It was an awful moment; but the skipper’s presence
of mind did not desert him. He lowered a boat; he
placed the young Atheling and several of his attendants
therein; and he told them to row for their lives. The
shore was so near that they could hardly have failed
to reach the land in safety; but, at that moment, an
agonising shriek reached their ears. Prince William
looked round. It was his half-sister Mary; ‘and tho



WILLIAM ATHELING. 11

boy declaring, with a generosity which had never
hitherto appeared to form part of his character, that he
would not leave her in such peril, his companions
put back; but ere the trembling girl could be rescued,
numbers, animated by the instinct of self-preservation,
sprang confusedly on board. The boat being upset,
was engulfed in the blue waters; and at the same
moment “the White Ship” went down, and all on
board were at the mercy of the waves.

About three hundred human beings, eighteen of
whom were ladies allied to kings and princes, had that
evening sailed from Barfleur. Only a poor lad escaped
to carry the doleful tale to the haunts of living men.
A butcher of Rouen, Berauld by name, and a boy of
gentle birth, Gilbert de l’Aigle, clung desperately to
the mainmast as it floated heavily along. Fitzstephen,
the skipper, after sinking, rose to the surface, and
perceiving the survivors, breathlessly inquired, “'The
King’s son—what has become of him?” “He has not
appeared, nor have any of his company,’ was the
mournfulreply. “Woeisme!” exclaimed Fitzstephen.
And he deliberately plunged beneath the waves.

The night was long, and the weather was cold, and
weary grew the two survivors. L/Aigle, the gentle
youth, lost his strength, yielded to the elements,
breathed a prayer, let go the mast, and sank into a-
watery grave. But Berauld, the butcher, was more
hardy and tenacious. Clad in his jacket of sheepskin,
he energetically maintained his grasp till daybreak,



12 BOY-PRINCES,

when he was picked up by some fishermen, taken into
their boat, and thus saved from the fate which had
befallen so many of the rich and the noble,

Berauld related the details of the woeful catastrophe,
and the tidings speedily reached England. But no one
would take heart to tell the sad news to the King;
and Beauclere cherished the hope that the son whom he
regarded with pride as the heir of his dominions, his
policy, and his renown, had put into some distant port
of England. Fora time the courtiers allowed him to
remain in ignorance of his bereavement. When three
days had passed, however, they sent a page—a little
boy—who, falling on his knees, told, with sobs and
tears, that “the White Ship” had sunk, and that all
on board had perished in the deep. Beauclerc, who
loved his son perhaps more than all the world, swooned
in amaze, and sank on the floor. From that day, it is
said, no smile was seen to light up his countenance..

The whole affair must, indeed, have been melan-
choly to those who were capable of regarding the past
with sagacity, and contemplating the future with pre-
science. At Winchester, in that stately sepulchre
where her maternal ancestors and their Danish foes
reposed in peace together, the “Good Queen Maude”
found a resting-place ; and her memory was enshrined
in the heart of the nation over which her regal pro-
genitors had reigned. But far otherwise was it with
her graceless son.

While no grave among Anglo-Saxon kings and



WILLIAM ATHELING 18

heroes, martyrs and saints, received the body of
William Atheling, those who had shed tears of joy
at his birth disdained to bewail his untimely end.
Indeed, his epitaph was written with bitterness of soul
by the annalists of the race of which he had spoken
with scorn so unbecoming—that race which for six
centuries had given kings and nobles to Britain. The
Anglo-Saxons, not forgetful how this youth had, in the
days of his pride, threatened to yoke Englishmen to
the plough like oxen, pretended to recognise something
supernatural in a shipwreck when the weather was fine,
and the waters at rest, and did not hesitate to ascribe
the Prince’s death to the vengeance of Heaven. “The
proud one said, ‘I shall reign !’” exultingly exclaims a
_ contemporary; “but God said, ‘It shall not be, im-
pious one! it shall not be.’ And the brow of the
wicked, instead of wearing a diadem of gold, has been
dashed against the rocks of the sea.”



14

WILLIAM OF NORMANDY,

SURNAMED CLITO.

Amone the Norman warriors, who, with their swords,
won lordships in Southern Italy, few maintained greater
feudal state than the Count of Conversano. His castle,
situated among olive-groves near the Adriatic, was a
magnificent abode, and furnished with all the means
and appliances that rendered feudal life tolerable and
pleasant. Moreover, the Count was blessed with a
daughter named Sybil, who was regarded as the fairest
nymph in Christendom.

At this castle of Conversano, about the time when
William Rufus was killed in the New Forest, a wander-
ing knight arrived as a guest, and proved to be Robert
Curthose, Duke of Normandy. This prince, who was
the eldest son of William the Conqueror, having just
taken part in the siege of Jerusalem, and performed
prodigies of valour at its capture, was welcomed with
enthusiasm. Duke Robert was charmed with his host
the Count, and everything about him—with his min-
strels and jongleurs, his swift hounds, mettled. hawks,
and high-spirited horses; and he was charmed above



WILIIAM CLITO. 15

all with the Count’s daughter, Sybil, The crusading
hero was on the verge of fifty, and the Italian lady still
in her teens; but his rank as a Duke and his fame as
a champion of the Cross were fascinations not to be
resisted; so Curthose led the fair Sybil to the altar,
and carried her in triumph to Rouen.

Proud of his bride, gratified with his reception in
» Normandy, and utterly reckless as to time and money,
the Duke, instead of prosecuting his claims on the
crown which his younger brother had just seized, ex-
pended the whole of his wife’s fortune in pageants and
festivals, and appeared most happy while showing her
in public, and marking the admiration she excited.

But Curthose’s domestic felicity was of short dura-
tion. Sybil, in 1102, breathed her last, leaving an
infant son, born at Rouen, named William, surnamed
Clito, or the Royal Heir, destined to endure strange
vicissitudes, and doomed to be carried off by death at a
time when he seemed on the point of subduing fortune.

When Clito was still a babe in the cradle, his
father, allured by promises of support from the Nor-
man barons, invaded England. A. sanguinary conflict
seemed inevitable; but the craft of Beauclere prevailed,
and, after the brothers had indulged in a fraternal
embrace, Curthose, ever ready to sacrifice the future to
the present, was bribed to return to his ducal court.
Easy and imprudent, Robert allowed his substance to
be devoured by crowds of minstrels, favourites, and
women much fairer than honest. Matters soon reached



16 BOY-PRINCES,

a crisis, and everything went wrong in Normandy. The
Duke’s poverty was such that he had frequently to lie
in bed all day for want of clothes befitting his rank;
and, with no «me to hold the reins of government, the
country becatne the scene of such disorder, that the
chief men invited interference.

Henry Beauclere was the last man from whom
Curthose, after renouncing his pretensions to the
English crown, had cause to expect harsh treatment.
Quite the reverse. When Henry, a prince without
land and without money, seized Mont St. Michel in
Normandy, he was there besieged by his brothers, and
pressed so hard for want of water, that he sent mes-
sengers to request the free enjoyment of that which
belongs to all men. Robert generously ordered his
soldiers to allow those of Henry to supply themselves,
and Rufus, who hardly knew what compassion was,
swore and stammered. “You show great skill in
warfare,” said the Red King; “you, who supply your
enemy with drink; you have now only to furnish him
with meat too.” “How should I leave a brother to
die of thirst?” asked Curthose mildly; “what other
brother have we, if we should lose him?” But when
Henry became King of England, and wanted to be
Duke of Normandy, all this vanished from his me-
mory.- “Thou art a lord in title,” said he, “but not
in reality; for they scorn who should obey thee.
Cede to me thy duchy.”

Curthose declined to comply with this request, and



WILLIAM OLITO. 7

Beauclere without scruple landed in Normandy witi
a formidable force. He encountered his brother’s army
before the walls of Tenchebray, and a severe conflict
took place. Curthose resisted his fate with chivalrous
valour; but at length he was conquered, taken prisoner,
conducted to England, and committed to the Castle of
Cardiff,

When first brought to England, Curthose was
allowed some slight freedom, and permitted to walk
about the woods and fields on the banks of the Severn.
One day, however, while musing over his hard fate,
the old spirit of adventure took possession of him; and
no wonder. The Severn flowed onwards; the salmon
leaped in its silver tide; the heron perched on its
grassy margin; -the eagle scared over the Castle of
Cardiff; the very beings whom the conquest had made
serfs on their own glebe appeared happy in comparison
with the son and heir of the Conqueror. His plight
was more than fiesh and blood could bear; so he seized
a horse, and rode off at a pace which seemed to defy
pursuit.

But Curthose found that this was one of those occa-
sions on which the race is not te the swift. His steed
floundered in a morass; and the fugitive, being secured,
was subjected to a more rigorous durance. Indeed, it
is asserted that Beauclere, in the plenitude of his power,
caused his brother to be deprived of sight, by holding
a burning hot brass basin before the miserable captive’s
eyes.



18 BOY-PRINCES.

When the catastrophe of Curthose was accomplished,
his son, William Clito, was at Falaise; and at that town
the boy fell into the hands of his victorious umele.
Clito was then only five years old, harmless as a
dove, and the very picture of innocence. Nevertheless,
Beauclere foresaw that, as years passed on, the son of
the Conqueror’s heir would be used as an instrument
to eurb his ambition; and the desire to remove. such a
being from his path must have been strong within a
man who was, in all respects, the reverse of scrupulous,
But the blue-eyed child, when brought into his pre-
sence, wept piteously, and sobbed as if his heart would
break; and Henry shrank from rudely parting the soul
and body ofa being so defenceless. After a struggle,
Beauclere’s good angel saved him from adding infanti-
cide to that long list of enormities which made the
Anglo-Saxons regard him as the most wicked of men,
and gave rise to the memorable expression, “ Royalty
is Crime.” Feeling, doubtless, as if the eyes of his
Maker, his neighbour, and posterity, were upon him at
the moment, the King of England ordered his little
nephew to be removed, and gave him into the charge
of Helie de St. Saen, a Norman baron whose fidelity he
believed could be relied on, and whose character for
probity was such as to preclude suspicion of foul play
in the event of the young Prince coming to an untimely
end,

Helie de St. Saen, rough and ready of hand as he
was, had a tender heart under his chain armour; and







































































"
SE Ws
SSS in



The servants escaped with Clito secretly from the castle, and carried
him in safety to their master.—p, 19,



WILLIAM CLITO. 19

he was naturally attached to the boy, having married
an illegitimate daughter of the ill-fated prisoner of
Cardiff He treated “the royal heir” with great kind-
ness, educated him with the utmost care, and manifested
towards him much affection. Beauclere, aware of all
this, grew alarmed ; and, repenting of his lenity, resolved
to get the boy into his own hands without delay, and
subject him to perpetual imprisonment. With this
object, he commissioned Robert de Beauchamp to make
the seizure, and furnished that Norman baron with a
body of horse for the purpose.

Thus it happened that, one Sunday, when Clito was
eight years old, and St. Saen was absent from his
castle, the people, coming out of church, perceived a
band of armed men lurking in the neighbourhood. Not
relishing such a circumstance during their lord’s ab-
sence, they hurried to the castle, and gave the alarm.
The servants, guessing the truth, hastened to Clito’s
chamber, found him asleep, awoke him, escaped with
him secretly from the castle, and carried him in safety
to their master,

Helie St. Saen, in the hour of peril, proved true to
the unfortunate son of Robert, and bore, without com-
plaint, the loss of house and lands, which was the result
of his generosity. Clinging, with more than parental
devotion, to the little Prince, he carried him, for pro-
tection, to the Count of Anjou; and, ere three years
passed, Clito, under his auspices, had visited the courts,
and become acquainted with the sovereigns, of France,



20 BOY-PRINCES,

Aquitaine, Burgundy, and Britanny. The beauty and
innocence of the little Prince won him many friends
among the powerful, while his hapless position and vast
claims rendered him an object of general interest.

The noble heart is ever with the unfortunate; and
Louis le Gros, the King, who fostered the infant
civilisation of France, and figured as the first knight
of his age, was as generous as he was politic and
brave. He wished Clito well, and had a deep
interest in his success. His relations, however, with
the King of England were somewhat peculiar, and
slightly embarrassing. In other days, when Louis
was an heir-apparent and Henry a younger son, the
latter paid a visit to the French court at Constance.
During a game at chess a fierce quarrel occurred.
Louis lost money, cast some chessmen in Henry’s face,
and reproached him with his father’s base birth. Henry
furiously threw the chess-board at Louis, and felled him
to the floor. Subsequently Louis, having to fly from

France to escape the persecution of his step-mother,
took refuge in England, and formed with Henry a close
intimacy. .

Circumstances, however, occurred to change this
sentiment of Louis. As years passed on the unscrupulous
seizure of Normandy by a man who was King of Eng-
land inspired him with apprehension, and policy de-
manded that his feelings as a friend should be sacrificed
to his interests as a prince. He therefore pledged hin-
self to espouse Clito’s cause when he should be of age,



WILLIAM CLITO. 21

to invest him with the Duchy of Normandy, and to aid
him to the utmost of his power, The Count of Anjou
also promised his support; and, as a pledge of sin-
cerity, he consented to give Sybil, his eldest daughter,
in marriage to the expatriated Prince.

While matters were in this position, and Clito
was yet in his twelfth year, but giving promise of
strength and wisdom, events hurried his patrons into
war; and the Karl of Flanders, having become the
right hand and guiding spirit of their league, Beau-
elere sustained a series of harassing attacks all along
the frontier of Normandy. He lost fortress after for-
tress, and town after town. Disaster preyed upon
his spirits; he suspected that plots were formed
against his life; and he dared not lay himself down
to rest without a sword and buckler by his side.
Rumour stuffed men’s ears with stories of terrible
visions that had appeared to- Henry in his sleep one
night when on his voyage to Normandy, and so
frightened him that he thrice sprang from his bed
and grasped his weapon.

The prospects of Clito were daily brightening, when
suddenly Beauelere put forth all the powers of his
intellect, and accomplished by policy what his arms,
however energetically directed, could hardly have done.
Ee knew human nature sufficiently well to be aware
that such a man as Anjou might be bribed to prove
false to his allies: he resolved to buy off the Count,
and he succeeded, Anjou agreed to repudiate the con-



22 BOY-PRINOCES.

tract between his daughter and Clito, on the ground.
of consanguinity, to abandon the princely boy’s cause,
and to leave his confederates to shift for themselves.
The estates forfeited by Helie St. Saen were to be
given to Anjou in reward for his treachery to the allies,
whom he left helpless. The confederacy, which had
been so formidable, was soon broken up; and King
Louis was under the necessity of sacrificing the interests
of his youthful protégé.

Clito found refuge at the court of his steady friend,
the Earl of Flanders, and became an object of no slight
interest to the people of Normandy. Indeed, his influ-
‘ence increased so rapidly, that Beauclere, feeling the
danger of allowing so popular a pretender to be at
large, used every artifice to entrap him. Immediate
possession of three English earldoms was the enticing
bait finally thrown out to lure him to destruction, But
Clito declined to barter his birthright for grants that
would, in all probability, be withdrawn on fraudulent
pretences; and, ere long, events seemed to vindicate
the wisdom of his refusal.

These events arose from the unfortunate fact that
Beauclere had not a particle of honour in his bosom,
and made promises only to break them. No sooner was
the confederacy dissolved than he violated almost every
engagement he had made on the Continent. He broke
faith with the barons of Normandy; he repudiated his
treaty with the Count of Anjou, and he secretly incited
the subjects cf France to rebel against his and their



WILLIAM CLITO. 23

liege lord. This wholesale treachery soon produced
fruit in the shape of a new league, including the mal-
contents Normans, as well as the King of France, the
Count of Anjou, and the Earl of Flanders. Clito’s
name again served as a rallying-point to his uncle’s
enemies; and he now mounted a war-steed, took the
field,.and was henceforth by turns the pride and sport
of his allies—sometimes their hero, sometimes their
victim.

Beauclere had just sustained two great losses. His
good queen, who had bound the Anglo-Saxons to the
throne, had gone the way of all flesh; and so had his
minister, the Karl of Mellent, who, by profound know-
ledge of continental affairs, had won the reputation of
being the wisest statesman in Europe. Notwithstanding
these calamities, the King of England faced the con-
federacy with his wonted energy. Aceompanied this time
by William Atheling, he appeared or the Continent, and
carried matters with so high a hand, that King Louis
was fain to beg a suspension of hostilities. The tide of
forttme then turned. Beauclere, losing ground, was
exposed to the most serious reverses, and the star of
young Clito was rising, when the Earl of Flanders, the
heart and soul of the confederacy, was cut off by a
wound at the siege of Hu.

Finding himself relieved from so formidable a foe
as Flanders had proved himself, Beauclere again began
to practise his diplomatic wiles, and a second time won
over Anjou by a large bribe, and a solemn promise that



24 BOY-PRINCES.

his second daughter should be espoused by the heir of

England. Clite and his royal ally, though thus left in

the lurch, maintained the very unequal contest, till it

was terminated by a skirmish, which took place one day

in August, 1119, and which chroniclers have described
as the Battle of Brenville.

The King of France and four hundred of his
knights—such is the aceount——were riding near
the town of Noyon, when the tramp of war-steeds
and the ring of mail intimated the approach of the
foe; and suddenly a gallant little army under Beau-
clere and his son appeared in view. The chargers
neighed; the trumpets sounded an onset; and each
knight, couching his lance, sprang forward like an
arrow from a bow. Clito, who led the French van,
bore himself with hereditary courage. Closely at-
tended by the stout Count of Evreux, he broke
the hostile ranks, penetrated te the standard of Eng-
land, and was face to face with his father’s cruel jailer.
Evreux, raising his weapon, aimed two blows at Beau-
clere’s head; but the royal warrior’s steel cap protected
its wearer; and the Anglo-Norman knights, closing in,
bore back the brave assailants.

Nor was Beauclere exposed to further peril; for
the charge which Clito had gallantly led not being
properly supported, the French scon had the worst of
the fray. Three of their knights lay dead on tho
ground; a hundred more were prisoners; the royal
standard was in the hands of the enemy; Louis, un-



WILLIAM CLITO. 25

horsed, was escaping on foot; and Clito, having had
his palfrey killed under him in the encounter, was fhin
to follow the King’s example. While wandering about,
Louis and his youthful ally lost themselves in a wood,
and were in some danger of falling into the hands of the
enemy. But a countryman, finding them in this pre-
dicament, conducted them in safety to Audely, where
they rallied the remains of their little army, and defied
the King of England to another trial of strength.

’ But such a method of closing the controversy was
by no means in accordance with the views of Beau-
clere. Having full confidence in his diplomatic powers,
he chose rather to trust to subtle courtesies and crafty
negotiations. He hospitably entertained the captive
knights, set them free on the payment of ransoms
befitting their rank, sent Louis a war-horse magni-
ficently caparisoned, and caused his son to despatch
to Clito a splendid palfrey and many chivalrous com-
pliments. The French monarch, finding how hopeless
ib was to cope with such an adversary, appealed for
redress to Rome.

At Rheims the Pope forthwith convoked a Council,
and thither he came to preside in person. Louis acted
towards his protégé with loyal chivalry. He presented
Clito to the Council as the son of a deeply-injured
prince; he complained of the gross injustice done to
Curthose; and he demanded the aid of the Church in
regaining for that brave champion of the Cross the
Duchy of Normandy, which was his by hereditary





26 BOY-PRINCES,

right. The Pope, without taking one side or the other,
mediated between the rival monarchs, and decided that
the King of England should remain in possession of
Normandy, on condition of his son doing homage for it

“to France. All efforts to obtain some settlement in
favour of Clito proved futile. He had nothing left but
the personal friendship of Louis, and that nobility of
soul which teaches the brave spirit never to hold
counsel with despair.

However, this princely youth, in spite of unpro-
pitious fortune and false friends—in spite of having to
eat the bread and climb the stairs of another, continued
io grow day by day in favour and popularity. He,
unlike Curthose, was so prudent in pecuniary matters
that people called him a miser; but he was loved and
admired by all who knew him, and especially the
Normans, who regarded him with pride as the darling
of their nation. His immediate prospects were not
cheering, it was true, but hope could still gild the
future; and, now that the son of Beauclere was no
more, the probability of William Clito yet wearing the
coronal of Normandy and the crown of England was
not out of the question, A great confederacy of con-
tinental princes was already forming with the object of
vindicating his rights, when a transaction, most
characteristic of Beauclere, precipitated the inevitable
crisis.

After the young Atheling perished in “the White
Ship,” the Count of Anjou demanded back his



WILLIAM CLITO. 27

daughter, with the portion which had accompanied her
hand; and Beauclere unhesi‘atingly surrendered the
fair young Matilda, but meanly insisted on retaining
her dower. The Count swore and stormed after the
most approved. fashion of the day, placed his daughter
asanun in the Couvent of Fontrevaud, and vowed a
speedy revenge onthe royal knave. Renewing his alliance
with the King of France, Anjou affianced his daughter
Sybil to Clito, and, as a pledge of his good faith, which
the boy had cause to doubt, put him in possession of
the Earldom of Mons. ‘Their league soon assumed
formidable proportions; the Earls of Mellent and
Mowbray raised the standard of insurrection; and a
host of Norman barons vowed to stand or fall by the
gallant son of the true heir of the Conqueror.

But Beauclere, though a knave, was no fool; he
well understood how to play for kingdoms and crowns
—it had been the game of his life. Despairing, after a
second marriage with Adeliza of Louvaine, of leaving
a son to succeed him, he resolved on a bold stroke of
policy. He had a daughter, known as the Empress
Maude, who happened to be a widow, and though at
that time no woman could properly rule England, he
made the barons swear allegiance to her as the heir of
his throne. Moreover, he offered this widowed Empress
in marriage to Geoffrey Plantagenet, son of the Count
of Anjou, in order irrevocably to detach that powerful
house from Clito’s cause. The Count again deserted
the youth without seruple, a third time formed a close



28 BOY-PRINCES.

alliance with the man against whom he had vowed
vengeance, and a second time breaking a matrimonial
contract, dismissed the gallant Prince from his court.
Young Clito had still a friend left, for the King of
France did not desert him in the day of adversity. To
the French court he went, sad and sorrowful, with
traces of grief visible on his countenance. Pity,
sympathy, and that romantic honour natural to a man
who aspired to be the first knight of his age, prompted
the struggling sovereign to stand firmly by his protégé.
Louis betrothed to Clito the sister of his queen, a
daughter of the House of Savoy, and with her agreed
to give the country bordering on Normandy. After
this Clito went to Gisors, and laid claim to Normandy;
but Beauclerc had quite cowed the Normans, and they



were afraid to lend countenance to Duke Rebert’s heir.



Ere long, however, his fortunes began to flourish.
The Earl of Flanders having been slain by con-
spirators at the foot of the altar, the King of France, as
liege lord, entered the country to punish the assassins.
In this expedition Clito accompanied his royal brother-
in-law, and Louis conferred upon him the vacant earl-
dom. As heir of Matilda of Flanders, the Conqueror’s
queen, Clito’s hereditary claim was unexceptionable;
and the Flemish people offered no opposition to their
new Earl. The King of France, having seen his nominee
fairly installed, took his departure, under the impression
that his young relative was secure, and in a favourable
position for prosecuting his designs on Normandy. But



WILLIAM CLITO. 23

scarcely was the King’s back turned when the Flemings
formed a conspiracy, and sent for aid to the English
monarch, whose ruling passion now was to accomplish
his nephew’s ruin.

Clito was at Ypres when the conspiracy was formed,
and the Flemings resolved to attack by night the fort
where he say. It happened, however, that the hand-
some prince had inspired a young lady of the town of
Ypres with a romantic attachment; and she, on be-
coming aware of what was intended, rushed to his
presence, and with tears revealed the plot. Upon
becoming aware .of his peril, Clito hastily left Ypres
with his friends, and, taking the damsel with him,
caused her to be escorted to William, Duke of Aqui-
taine, with a request that she should be provided with
a suitable husband. After this he prepared for action.

The Flemings said in their haste, “This is a mere
tyro in war.” They forgot, in their conceit and self
sufficiency, the battles, fortunes, and sieges Clito had
passed, and deluded themselves with the anticipation
of an easy victory. He soon convinced them how
deeply they were mistaken, and scattered their ill-
directed host. In their obstinate despair they implored
Thierry, Landgrave of Alsace, to place himself at their
head. ‘Thierry aceepted the pressing invitation, ad-
vanced a claim to the earldom, as descendant cf some
ancient chief of the country, and took the field, after
having received from Beauclerc aid in money and

promises of men.



3a BOY-PRINCES.

The garrisons of Lisle, Ghent, and other places,
treacherously surrendered, and the aspect of affairs
was most menacing. But, in the midst of danger and
difficulty, the spirit and courage of Clito sustained his
heart and nerved his arm. His whole career had been
a struggle against misfortune, and adversity had taught
him ‘skill and wisdom. He encountered Thierry and
the turbulent Flemings under the walls of Alost,
inflicted a signal defeat on his enemies, and raised the
drooping spirits of his adherents. Fortune now scemed
to yield to Clito’s energy and valour; but there wag
drawing nigh a foe less easily baffled than Beauclerc, or
Thierry of Alsace.

One summer night—so chroniclers assert—poor,
old, blind Curthose, who for well-nigh twenty years
had known no mate but misery, while sleeping in his
dungeon at Cardiff, dreamed that his son was mortally
wounded with a lance in the arm, and next morning
exclaimed mournfully to his keeper, “Alas! I fear
my son is dead.” It goon appeared that this dream
had come through that gate of horn ot which poets
have sung. While engaged in a sharp skirmish with
the garrison of Alost, Clito, catching at the lance of an
antagonist, was slightly cut under the ball of his right
thumb. The wound, which at first appeared a mere
seratch, ere long, from neglect or improper treatment,
produced mortification, Aware that his last hour was
approaching, Clito wrote to his uncle, imploring pardon
fox those Normans who had followed his fortunes.



WILLIAM OLITO. 31

Having discharged this duty, the gallant Prince expired
on the 27th of July, 1128.

Robert Curthose survived for years the young hero
who had struggled so bravely to avenge his wrongs;
but at last he found his condition intolerable. One
day a messenger from Beauclere having brought the
poor captive a scarlet robe, Curthose asked if it had
ever been worn, The messenger then told him that
the King had tried it on, that he had found the capouch
too small, and that he had said, “Carry this garment
to my brother; his head is less than mine.” “ Ah!”
exclaimed Curthose, the cup of bitterness overflowing,
“methinks I have protracted a miserable life too long,
since my brother sends me his old clothes to wear ;”
and from that hour he refused either to be fed or com-
forted. Providence, in merey, soon relieved the aged
captive from his misery. The wounded spirit winged
its flight; the broken heart ceased to beat; the sight-
less eyes closed in death; and the weary limbs rested
for ever.

Meanwhile Chto had been buried in the Abbey of
Bertin, at St. Omers; and a magnificent tomb was
erected to mark the spot where reposed the Conqueror’s
heir,



EUSTACE OF BOULOGNE,

‘SON .OF KING STEPHEN.

Wuen the deck of “the White Ship” became the scene
of dissipation, and when Death was hovering about io
catch his. prey, several of the passengers consulted their
safety by returning on shore. Among these a gallant
youth of fifteen or so, standing on the quay at Barfleur,
gave his knights and squires to understand that he
relished not the look of matters; that the ship was
crowded with people who were too headstrong to care
what they did; and intimated, with a wise shake of the
head, that he would rather not tempt the sea in such
company. This boy, distinguished by a handsome per-
son, an affable countenance, and a popular address, was
xnown to the bystanders as Henry Beauclere’s favourite
nephew. He was Stephen, son of that daughter of the
Conqueror who had been given in marriage to the
Count of Blois.

Whether the peril which Stephen eseaped on this
occasion gave him an idea that he was reserved by
Providence for something great does not appear. But
he had. been born te aspive; so, when the waves of the



EUSTACE OF BOULOGNE. 33

sea rolled over the body of Atheling, and Clito was
-puried‘in the Abbey of Bertin, he naturally began to,
imagine himself the Conqueror’s heir, and to dream of
chances and probabilities that might raise him to royal
rank. Circumstances favoured Stephen’s aspirations;
and when Beauclere breathed his last in Normandy, his
nephew, hurrying to England, had. little difficulty in
excluding the absent daughter of the dead king, and
ascending the vacant throne.

“About the time when this brave Prince grasped
with facility the crown he was to experience difficulty
in retaining, Matilda of Boulogne, his faithful spouse,
made him the father.of a boy, te whom was given the
name of Eustace. This son of Stephen and Matilda is
stated to have been a child of rare promise; and he
was, of course, regarded with such fond hopes as gene-
rally animate royal parents when contemplating their
ofispring. They lost no time in seeking to advance his
fortune. While still in infancy Eustace was taken to
the Continent; and Queen Matilda having resigned to
her son the Earldom of Boulogne, induced the King of
France to invest him—child as he was—with the Duchy
of Normandy. Notwithstanding the tender years of
Eustace, the next step was to find a bride worthy, as
years rolled on, of figuring as Countess of Boulogne,
~ Duchess of Normandy, and Queen of England.

Matilda of Boulogne was animated by those feelings
natural to a young and high-spirited mother, and
ambitious that her progeny should succeed to the

D



34 BOY-PRINCES,

Enelish throne. She was therefore most anxious not
only to propitiate the friendship of foreign courts, but
to profit by the near alliance of royal houses. With
such views, she carried Hustace, in his fourth year, to
the French court, that she might negotiate, on behalf of
the little Prince, a marriage with one of the youthful
sisters of King Louis. But the throne of Stephen was
by no means strong enough to make his alliance
desirable, and it is hardly to be doubted that the
French monarch would look shyly on the wife of his
brother-king when she came on such an errand.

But Matilda of Boulogne was rich, gifted, and
energetic; Louis of France was poor, soft, and sluggish.
She, not to be batfled in her object, offered, it would
seem, to come down with something handsome; he, not
to be further troubled, acceded to her wish on that
condition. Matilda accordingly paid an immense sum,
that her son might have a bride from the House of
Capet; and in 1140, matters having been arranged,
Prince Eustace was, with much splendour and ceremony,
contracted to Constance, a sister of the reigning King
of France, and daughter of him who had befriended
Clito. This alliance it was thought would greatly
strengthen the throne to which the boy-bridegroom was
heir. But before the Prince and his mother had time
to return to England King Stephen was in chains, and
all caps in the air for a stately and majestic lady, who
has been before mentioned as the Empress Mande.

Maude, who was Beauclere’s only legitimate daugh-



EUSTACE OF BOULOGNE. 35

ter, had, when in childhood, been demanded in marriage
by the Emperor of Germany, son of that Henry who,
with varying success, carried on “the War of Investi-
ture” against Hildebrand, when the latter, as Gregory
the Seventh, set himself to “pull down the pride of
kings.” This imperial wooer was no stripling cherub;
but, doubtless, the German Cesar, though old, thought
himself a prize; and, when more than fifty, he received
as his bride a girl who had scarcely seen twelve sum-
mers. A few years passed over; the Emperor, carried
off by a pestilential disease, was buried with befitting
pomp at Spires; and Maude was brought back to
England, to be acknowledged as heir to the crown.
She had left England for the Continent in her fifth
year; she returned home from Germany in’ her fifth
lustre, tall, stately, and beautiful—indeed, one of the
most captivating widows who had appeared since the
days of Dido, but not quite prepared, like Dido, to die
on a funeral pile rather than submit to the infliction of
a second husband.

While Maude was manifesting some degree of
kindness for her cousin Stephen, Geoffrey of Anjou
appeared at her father’s court at Rouen. He was
young, learned, handsome, and, from wearing a sprig
of flowering broom in his hat instead of a feather, bore
the surname of Plantagenet. Beauclere conceived a
great liking for his accomplished neighbour, and ere
long gave him the hand of the widowed Empress. The
marriage, which took place in 1127, and which was not



3G BOY-PRINCES.

much to Maude’s taste, proved unhappy. The wedded
pair had many domestic quarrels; and when Beauclere
died, the peers and prelates, having no fancy for pet-
ticoat government, declared that, as the hand of Maude
had been bestowed upon Geoftrey without their consent,
the oath of fealty which they had sworn to her was
clearly rendered void.

For several years Maude refrained from urging
her claim to the English crown; but at length, in the
autumn of 1139, she landed on the coast of Sussex,
accompanied by her illegitimate brother, the Harl of
Gloucester, and a retinue of one hundred and forty
knights. Gloucester marched without delay to Bristol,
in the “neighbourhood of which the adherents of his
sister mustered strong; and Maude herself repaired to
rest from the fatigues of her voyage within the walls of
the strong Castle of Arundel. This feudal pile, the
ruins of which, towering over the aristocratic residence
of its modern proprietor, recall to the memory grand
names long passed away, and grand old families long



since extinct, had been settled by Beauclere on his
second wife, Adeliza of Louvaine; and after his death
it had gone, with the hand of the royal widow, to
William de Albini. By Adeliza, her step-mother—a
woman about her own age—Maude was hospitably
entertained; but she had scarcely time to form a pro-
ject ere the Castle of Arundel was surrounded by
Stephen and his fighting-men. The appearance of
armed. foemen, no doubt, inspired the hien-born ladies



EUSTACE OF BOULOGNE, 37

with dread. But they had known the warrior-king of
old; they had learned how tender was his regard for
their sex; and they perfectly comprehended how to
deal with such an antagonist,
With all the faults of that age
they were—it was an age of chivalry, when to appear

and multitudinous



in arms against a lady was deemed disgraceful to a
true knight. Almost while Stephen was before
Arundel the Moors of Granada were, in this respect,
showing a great example to the warriors of Christen-
dom. The Empress-Queen of Spain, besieged in the
Castle of Azeca, reproached the Moslem warriors with
their want of courtesy in warring against a woman.
The Moors, men who were in the habit of sighing
away their souls in moonlight serenades under the
balconies of Zegri or Abencerrage ladies, admitted
the justice of this rebuke; and when the Empress-
Queen displayed herself on the battlements they made
their obeisance, and instantly raised the siege.

The war, which after desolating England for years
terminated in the peaceful accession of the House of
Plantagenet, commenced with an incident somewhat
similar. The fair spouse of Albini, inspired by the
Empress with a courage not her own, upbraided Stephen
for appearing in martial array before a castle held by a
lady, hinted that his conduct indicated a contempt of
chivalry which ill became a belted knight, and assured
him that Maude was entertained in the character of a
near relation, and quite ready to take her departure.



38 BOY-PRINCES,

As a true son of chivalry, Stephen had now no choice;
so he admitted that Adeliza was in the right, withdrew
from before the Castle of Arundel, and refrained from
attempting to prevent the Empress joining her brother
at Bristol.

But now men in mail gathered to the banners of
their chiefs; and the war, which was to prove most
disastrous to the country, began in earnest. Maude
set up her standard, and from north and west the
barons flocked around it. Her cause became so
fashionable that Stephen was abandoned even by his
own brother, the Bishop of Winchester; but though
deserted, his characteristic courage glowed more fiercely
than ever. “They have set me ona throne, and now
they abandon me,” exclaimed the martial monarch ;
“but, by the birth of God, they never shall call mea
deposed king !”

Two years of civil war followed, and never was
England a prey to greater miseries than when Eustace
of Boulogne was married in France. All governnient
was at an end; frightful atrocities were committed ;
travellers were plundered without seruple; and within
their strong castles the Norman nobles tortured and
murdered their weak neighbours with impunity.
Everything was anarchy, when a fierce battle, fought
at Lincoln, decided the campaign in favour of the
Empress. Stephen, after fighting with heroic bravery,
consented, when his sword was broken, to yield to the
Earl of Gloucester; and the royal Lastard, laving sent



EUSTACE OF BOULOGNE, 39

his prisoner to the Castle of Bristol, ordered him to
be loaded with chains.

The fortunes of the Empress now appeared most
flourishing, and she repaired forthwith to be crowned
in London. But Maude’s imperious temper got the
better of her discretion, and ere the coronation robes
could be prepared she dissipated the popularity which
her personal appearance could hardly have failed to
create. When courtesy and generosity were so essential, |
her hauteur and selfishness disgusted everybody. The
citizens of London petitioned her to restore the laws of
Edward the Confessor ; Matilda of Boulogne, with tears
in her eyes, implored her husband’s liberty, promising
that he would be content with a private station; and
the Bishop of Winchester demanded that Prince Eustace
should be recognised as Earl of Boulogne. These
suits the Empress, elate with pride and prosperity,
not only rejected, but with language so insolent, that
citizens, queen, and bishop expressed deep disgust, and
prepared for a new struggle.

Prince Eustace, it appears, had returned from
Normandy, and was safe among the men of Kent,
when he became aware that forces must be gathered
with all speed; and in the name of the royal boy,
Matilda of Boulogne and William de Ypres, her hus-
band’s favourite knight, summoned the men of Kent
and Surrey to the standard of the captive King. A
new scene was soon opened up.

One summer day—it was nigh the feast of



40 BOY-PRINCES.

John the Baptist—while the Empress was at dinner,
a body of horse suddenly appeared on the south
side of the Thames, and displayed the banner of
King Stephen. The effect seemed magical. London
was forthwith in commotion; the alarm was sounded;
the church belis were rung; and to aid the Prince
in setting his father free, armed men came forth from
every house as bees rush from their hives. The
Empress, taken by surprise, sprang from table,
mounted a swift horse, and galloped hastily towards
Oxford, and then to Winchester. So sudden was
her flight from London, which she was not destined
ever to see again, that she had not even time to
take with her a change of raiment.

Much has been said about the martial prowess
and knightly achievements of Eustace at this period.
Nevertheless, it is a fact that, when Maude was driven
from London, he could hardly have been more than
cight years of age. The presence of the son of Stephen
might, and doubtless did, lend mettle to the army
destined to restore his father; but that he could have
taken none other than a very slight share in its exploits,
appears beyond all question. However, he was at
Winchester during that long siege which resulted in
the flight of the Empress, in the capture of Gloucester
while covering his sister’s retreat, and in the exchange
of the incarcerated King for his illegitimate kinsman.

When Stephen at length forced the daughter of
Beauclere to betake herself to the Continent, and leave



EUSTACE OF BOULOGNE. AL

him master of England, he began to manifest much
solicitude for the future of Eustace. At Christmas,
1147, the martial monarch and his spouse kept the
festival with unusual splendour at Lincoln, and drew
around them the peers and prelates of the land. The
object of the royal pair was to have the boy crowned,
that he might reign conjointly with his father; but
their wish was not destined to be gratified. Though
many of the barons did homage to Eustace as Stephen’s
heir, the proposal to recognise him as king was one to
which they would not listen, The refusal of his barons
to crown his heir indicated to Stephen by how pre-
carious a tenure he held the kingdom. In truth, there

was in the field a rival whose claims, growing stronger



year by year, were ultimately to prove irresistible by Ste-
phen, and fatal to the son whose cradle had been cheered
by the smile of fortune. Even at this early period the
birth of that rival, his education, his intellect, and his
fortunes, all rendered him an object of interest to the
people of England.

At the time. when King Stephen lay fettered in
the Castle of Bristol there might have been seen within
the walls of the ancient city, watching the weather-
beaten mariners who navigated the ships that carried
on the trade with. Ireland, or practising the martial
exercises of the age, or telling some youthful comrade
how sunny was his home beyond the seas, a stout,
ruddy lad, who had hardly passed his tenth year.
This youth, then studying under a learned man named



42 BOY-PRINCES.

Matthew, was the eldest son of the Empress Maude.
He was known among the Normans as Fitz-Empress.
He was known among the Anglo-Saxons as grandson
of “the Good Queen Maude.” He has since been
known in English history as Henry the Second, the
lover of Fair Rosamond, the husband of Eleanor of
Aquitaine, the sire of a most rebellious family, and
progenitor of those English kings renowned above all
others in Christendom for strength in battle and
wisdom in council. ;

We need not relate with minuteness how the
young Plantagenet grew to manhood; how he was
invested with the symbols of knighthood by his great
uncle David, King of Scots; how, having acquired
Aquitaine by marriage, and Normandy with Anjou
by inheritance, he became one of the most potent
princes in Europe. Suffice it to say that, having
landed on the shores of England in 1152, and been
joined by many of the barons, he marched towards
Wallingford, to fight for the crown which had eluded
his mother’s grasp.

By this time Eustace was a warrior of some dis«
tinction. In 1149 he had been knighted by Stephen,
and sent in command of a force to ravage the lands of
barons devoted to Henry. This was the first exploit
of Eustace’s manhood, and the reputation he had won
during his incursions was such as to arouse Henry’s
jealousy.

Eustace was at Wallingford when young Henry



EUSTACE OF BOULOGNE, 43

marched thither, and he bravely maintained his ground
till his father’s arrival ; and as Stephen was still popular,
and his partisans were numerous, he lost no time in
marching along the left bank of the Thames to his
son’s relief, The river ran between the two armies
regarding each other with hostile intent; and there
was every prospect of its waters being crimsoned with
blood, when several of the nobles, among whom was
William de Albini, seeing that the choice lay between
anew civil war and a compromise, interposed, and sug-
gested a treaty. Accordingly, the King and his young
rival held a conference across a narrow part of the
Thames; and it was arranged that Stephen should
enjoy the crown during his life, but that Henry should
be recognised as his heir. .

This was a death-blow to the hopes of Prince
Eustace; and had Matilda of Boulopne—a woman
whom misfortune could not depress—been alive, it is
doubtful whether she would have agreed to terms which
excluded her posterity from the throne. But Matilda
had for some time been lying at rest within the Abbey
of Feversham, and Eustace had no one capable of giving
him counsel. He, who had lately been courted as heir
to the kingdom’s crown, was, doubtless, amazed at
finding himself of such small account, and everybody
willing to worship the rising sun. A sage might,
under the circumstances, have administered to him the
consolations of philosophy, or a priest the consolations
of religion; but a man of the world would, in all



44 BOY-PRINCES,

probability, have pointed out that Eustace had, some-
how or other, forfeited his popularity, and that his
character was a good deal the worse for the wear.

Such, indeed, appears to have been the case. “Then
went Eustace, the king’s son, te France,” says the
Saxon Chronicle, “and took to wife the sister of the
King of France. He thought to obtain Normandy
thereby; but he sped little, and by good rights, for he
was an evil man. Wherever he was, he did more evil
than good; he robbed the lands, and levied heavy
' guilds upon them. He brought his wife to Eng-
land... . Good woman she was; but she had little
bliss with him, and Christ willed not that he should
reign.”

However that may have been-—-and doubtless the
chronicler writes with some degree of prejudice—no
sooner did Eustace perceive that his interests were
sacrificed than he took counsel with the desperate, and
gave way to the most dangerous excitement. Inspired
alternately with vague hope and frenzied despair, he
gathered a band of fighting-men in Cambridgeshire, and,
ravaging the country as he went, marched towards
Bury St. Edmund's.

When the Prince reached the abbey he was re-
ceived with all due honour by the monks, who bent
their hooded heads, and placed before him such good
cheer as their house afforded. “It is not meat but
money I want,” exclaimed Eustace, and fiercely de-
manded a subsidy. “We are men of peace,” said the



EUSTACE OF BOULOGNE. 45

monks, taking courage to refuse, “and cannot con-
scientiously give the means of creating civil war, with
all its devastation and bloodshed.” The Prince flew
into a violent passion, led his adherents to the fields,
and wreaked his fury on the crops belonging to the
abbey.

« Having thus taken revenge on the monks, Eustace
sat down to dinner; and, as the story is told, was
choked by the first morsel he attempted to swallow.
The truth appears to be that the unfortunate Prince
was already under the influence of a brain fever. But,
however that may have been, Eustace of Boulogne died
on the 10th of August, 1153, at the age of eighteen,
and he was laid by his mother’s side in the Abbey of
#eversham,



46

ARTHUR OF BRITANNY.

In the autumn of 1186 a grand tournament was held
at the Court of Paris, then presided over by Philip
Augustus. While taking part in the mélée one of
the King’s guests was unhorsed, and trampled to death
by the hoofs of the other combatants’ steeds. The
Imight who thus died ranked as a Prince of England
and a Peer of France; he was Geoffrey Plantagenet,
son of our second Henry, and husband of Constance,
the youthful Duchess of Britanny.

Some months later than the sad event which made
her a widow—-on Easter-day, the 29th of March, 1187
—while residing at Nantes, Constance, who had already
an infant daughter, gave birth to a son. This boy was
heir to the province which she had brought to the
House of Plantagenet ; and the inhabitants of Britanny,
a wild and imaginative race, were enthusiastic with
delight at their little Prince’s birth. Cherishing a
superstitious veneration for the memory of King Arthur,
they, in defiance of the wishes of the powerful Henry,
insisted on the infant receiving the name of that
British hero of romance. In deference to their ardent



ARTHUR OF BRITANNY. 47

desire the Prince was called Arthur; and the Bretons
regaled their fancies with dreams of a period when he
should restore their national independence, and rule
over them free from the interference of England or
France.

Alas for such anticipations! Hardly had the lad
been cradled—hardly had the Bretons smiled with
complacency at his promising appearance—when Philip
Augustus, King of France, assumed the right to govern
the province in his name. To this, of course, Henry
Plantagenet objected; and the two kings met to
arrange matters at Gisors, under an old elm-tree,
which grew so exactly on the frontier, that each of
_ the sovereigns could, while conversing, shelter himself
from the sun or rain under its peaceful shadow, and
yet stand safe on the territory which acknowledged
his sway. The conference, like most others between
those famous masters of kingcraft, came to nothing ;
and Henry, being soon after laid at rest in the Abbey
of Fontrevaud, the tomb of the early Plantagenets, his
son Richard, the famous Caur de Lion, became sove-
reign of England and Duke of Normandy.

When this had taken place, and Arthur, our little
hero, was two years of age, his warlike uncle, faring
forth to signalise his prowess in the crusades, affianced
the Prince to an infant daughter of the Norman King
of the Two Sicilies. Richard, whose reckless and adven-
turous disposition placed-his life in perpetual jeopardy,
described Arthur as “his most dear nephew and



48 BOY-PRINCHS.

heir,” and even negotiated a treaty with the King
of Scots to support the boy’s rights in case of necessity.
But Constance of Britanny, a vain woman, who was
serious in nothing but her amours and intrigues, in-
dulged her caprice to such an extent, playing off the
boy between Richard and his rival Philip, that the
lion-hearted Crusader expressed his indignation at
the distrust she manifested, and allowed the claims
of Arthur, as his heir, to be set aside in favour of
his brother, John Lackland.

When Richard, wounded by the poisoned arrow
of Bertrand de Gordon, expired in the Castle of
Chalus, John, by the production of a will which he
affirmed Coeur de Lion had executed in his favour,
contrived to have the golden coronal of the Duchy
of Normandy placed on his head at Rouen. He then
erossed the Channel to secure his interests in England ;
and there his coronation was accomplished without the
semblance of opposition. Nor is it wonderful that’
such should have been the case; for John had been
born and educated in the country, while Arthur was
utterly unknown to the bulk of the people, and the
English as yet made no account of that divine authority
supposed to adhere to the blood of kings. Their
monarchy was, in name at least, elective; and Lack-
land so managed matters that, while defying the
doctrine of primogeniture, he eluded the responsibility
of an elected sovereign. As for poor Arthur, his
name does not even appear to have been mentioned,



ARTHUR OF BRITANNY. 4g

So far all went smoothly. But the people ot Anjou
auc Britanny, who took a different view of the law of
hereditary succession, which was then in a most un-
settled state, proclaimed Arthur as their rightful sove-
reign; and Constance, carrying her handsome boy
to Paris, placed him under the protection of the court
of France, and tendered the oath of fealty for the
provinces claimed by her on his behalf.

Philip Augustus, a cool, patient, and persevering
prince, had, like most real heroes, one project around
which all his ideas clustered. While paving the streets
and improving the architecture of his capital; while
enclosing the park at Vincennes, and building the palace
of the Louvre; while providing a bazaar for merchants,
and securing the privileges of the University; while
persecuting Jews or heretics, and resisting the inter-
dicts of the Pope; his cherished aspiration was, by
dissolving the continental empire of the Plantagenets,
to convert France into the great feudal monarchy
of Europe. He knew full well, however, that patience
was the condition of success, and acted accordingly.

While King Henry lived the movements of Philip
Augustus had been made with extreme caution, and
without any clear advantages. While coping with the
impetuous Richard he had slightly advanced his
scheme by a series of petty victories. But with a
rival like King John—a boaster, a coxcomb, a tyrant—
he felt that his calm intellect and sagacity must render

him a conqueror His policy had hitherto been to
£



50 BOY-PRINCES,

set the Plantagenets at strife with each other, and
avail himself of their discord. He had arrayed son
against father, and brother against brother, and wife
against husband. He regarded Arthur as a fitting
instrument to be used in advancing his cherished
schemes; and he received the fatherless boy with an
affectation of paternal kindness. Moreover, he promised
every aid in his power to make good such claims as
the ill-fated Prince could advance to the kindgom of
England and the duchy of Normandy.

While Arthur, encouraged by Philip, was indulging
in boyish dreams, and men were mustering to vindicate
his claims, the position of John in England was be-
coming critical. He appears, indeed, to have been
menaced from all quarters. ‘he populace, not without
reason, regarded him as the most odious of tyrants;
the Anglo-Norman nobles, pretending to sympathise
with the people among whom they had been born,
openly expressed their contempt; and, to make matters
worse, William the Lion, King of Scots, threatened to
lay waste the northern counties with fire and sword.

Notwithstanding the menacing aspect of affairs,
John crossed over to Normandy to repel aggression,
and drew so many great lords around him, that Philip,
without fighting, demanded a truce of six weeks, On
its expiration he proposed a treaty of peace, by which
all the French possessions of the English crown—save
Normandy—should be given to Arthur, and part of
Normandy landed over to Philip. These demands



ARTHUR OF BRITANNY. 51

were thought far too high, and the war was com-
- menced. with the utmost animosity.

And now John’s mercenary soldiers fell with savage
ferocity on Britanny, and committed fearful havoc.
The corn-fields were laid waste; the houses burned;
and the inhabitants slain or sold as slaves. A small
army of Bretons, under William de la Roche, Arthur’s
guardian, stood bravely out; and Philip coming to
their rescue took several fortified castles. But the
French king, though appearing among the Bretons
in the character of a friend, destroyed the cap-
tured strongholds as unscrupulously as the in-
vaders; and De la Roche, having sufficient penetra-
_ tion to see through the royal politician’s designs, in
a fit of indignation withdrew Arthur and Constance
from the French court.

Being himself a man of generous sentiments, and
having confidence in those influences arising from
kindred blood, De la Roche was on the point of carry-
ing the mother and the son to the Norman court, and
appealing to John for justice and protection. Some
say he actually conducted them to Rouen, and
effected a reconciliation. But suspicions and vague
rumours that John intended putting his nephew to
death caused Constance to withdraw privately the same
night, and place herself and her son beyond his reach
at Philip’s court. The return of Arthur and Constance
to Paris gave Philip a plausible pretext for carrying on
the war and advancing. his ambitious schemes. But



52 BOY-PRINCES.

John having strengthened himself by an alliance with
his nephew, Otho, Emperor of Germany, and with the
Earl of Flanders, showed a front so formidable, that the
French monarch employed a wily cardinal to negotiate
a peace. The rival kings came to terms, and by the
treaty, concluded in the spring of 1200, Philip agreed
to restore all that he had taken from the crown of
England since the death of Richard, and also bounu
himself to give no further aid to Arthur of Britanny.

After this, John seemed for a brief period to be in
full possession of prosperity. But he was one of those
whose evil passions are ever unexpectedly hurrying
them into new peril. Ere long he took an imprudent
and disgraceful step, before which his prosperity
vanished like the morning dew.

While making a progress through that continental
empire which his father had extended from the Channel
to the Pyrenees, John was fascinated with the beauty
of Isabel of Angouléme, a lady who, while in her
teens, had been betrothed, if not married, to the Count
dela Marche. Notwithstanding this contract the King,
as if infatuated, insisted on her parents breaking off the
match; and it does not appear that they offered any
serious objection, But, whatever might have been their
sentiments, the fair Isabel, dazzled with the combined
lustre of a crown and a coronal, jilted the poor Count
without any reluctance; and John, after obtaining a
divorce from his own wife, bore off the faithless beauty
in triumph to England.



ARTHUR OF BRITANNY. 53

And now De la Marche, who had patiently bided
his time, swore to be avenged, raised his standard, and
instigated the whole of Poictou to rebellion. Jobn had
scarcely reached England with his bride when news of
this outbreak arrived, and roused him from luxurious
indolence. Having sent the Earl of Pembroke in all
haste to Normandy, John crossed the sea, and journeyed
to the court of France, where he was received by Philip
with a great display of friendship, and entertained with
the utmost hospitality. Nothing could have exceeded
. the affection and esteem Philip expressed for his royal
guest. A master of dissimulation, he was merely playing
his game. All this time he was in league with the
insurgent barons; and while professing an ardent desire
for close concord with his brother-king, he was medi-
tating a decisive war. The King of England, who
could frighten none but cowards, marched into Aqui-
taine without striking a blow. The King of France
smiled internally at his departed guest’s credulity,
and prepared to drive him with ignominy from the
Continent.

When, by the treaty of 1200, all his interests were
unscrupulously sacrificed, Arthur, though conscious
that he was a mere tool in the hands of -his royal
patron, was so apprehensive of the intentions of John,
that he was fain to repress his juvenile indignation, and
remain as a dependent at the French court. While
there he received intelligence of his mother’s death.
Constance drew. her last breath at Nantes, in Augusi



54 BOY-PRINOES.

1201; and Arthur, going from Paris to Rennes, received
the oaths of fealty, and took possession of his duchy.
But when Philip resolved on pushing matters to
extremity, the orphan Plantagenet, who had now
reached his fifteenth year, was recalled to the French
court, received with marks of high distinction, and
once more taken under Philip’s protection. “You know
your rights, and would like to be a king,” said the
royal politician, “Most assuredly,” exclaimed Arthur,
renewed hope lighting up his handsome features. “ Here,
then,” said Philip, “I will give you two hundred
knights. . March at their head, and take possession of
your inheritance, while I make an incursion into
Normandy.” 7
After knighting his young protégé, Philip ordered
the militia of Berry and Burgundy to take part in the
expedition. Having done this, he endeavoured to prove
his sincerity by betrothing his youngest daughter to
the Prince, whom he was sending forth to something
like certain destruction. Arthur, buoyed up with hope,
and glowing with youthful enthusiasm, buckled on his
armour, bade adieu to his royal host, grasped his sword,
mounted his charger, and raised his standard. The
very novelty of his position was naturally fascinating to
the imagination of an unfledged warrior; and he rode
forth to make good his title, not knowing that it was
for his life. The Bretons sent him five hundred knights
and four hundred foot soldiers; while Touraine and
Poictou furnished a hundred and ten men-at-arms; and



ARTHUR OF BRITANNY, 55

at the head ot this force, which was utterly Inadequate,
he entered upon his enterprise.

With his little army Arthur broke into Poictou,
and there he was joined by Hugh de la Marche.
When passing Mirabeau, Arthur learned that his
grandmother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, was residing there
with a weak garrison and frail fortifications. The
royal dame had always hated her grandson, and refused
to acknowledge his title. “If you can get her into
your power,” argued Count Hugh, “ John will come to
terms. To do so, we have only to take this town.
Let us lay siege to it forthwith.”

Glowing with a juvenile passion for martial renown,
and totally inexperienced in military affairs, Arthur
consented, and Mirabeau was attacked. At first the
adventure was so successful that the outworks were
taken by storm, and the town yielded. But Eleanor,
though she had seen some fourscore summers, retained
her spirit and energy. She threw herself into the
citadel, sent to inform John of her peril, and while
waiting for his aid made a vigorous defence, and kept
her assailants at bay.

While the adherents of Arthur were confident of
success, and while the Prince himself was indulging
in aspirations never to be realised, an army suddenly
appeared before the town. Under the impression that
this was a body of roving Brabintins, Arthur and his
friends sallied forth to fight them in the open ground.
With feelings of horror, and a prescience of evil, the



56 . BOY-PRINCES.

young Prmce’s soldiers discovered that they were in
front of the army of King John, who, having received
intelligence of his mother’s peril, had come to her
rescue with a celerity of which so indolent a man had
naturally been deemed incapable.

On perceiving their error, Arthur's associates rushed
back to the town, and were followed so closely that
fliers and pursuers, mingled in strife, entered the gates.
Betwixt the town and the citadel a fierce conflict took
place. . When it was over, John was a victor, and
Arthur a captive. Two hundred of his knights were
taken, placed in carts drawn by oxen, and conveyed to
the dungeons of Normandy and England.

Arthur himself, falling into the hands -of the tyrant,
was carried to Falaise, whither John followed. He
begged the boy, in gentle terms, to put faith in him
as a kind uncle. “First give me mine inheritance,”
replied Arthur; “give me the kingdom of England.” .
The usurper, highly enraged, ordered him to be removed
to Rouen, to be placed in the castle, and to be vigilantly
guarded.

Soon after Arthur's s removal to the capital of Nor-
mandy some of the king’s councillors, having repre-
sented how seditious the Bretons were, and how many
insurrections they projected in the name of their
incarcerated Prince, suggested that he should be
severely dealt with. Some wretches were commissioned
to put out Arthur’s eyes, and mutilate him in a manner
revolting to humanity. They found the boy loaded



ARTHUR OF BRITANNY, 57

with chains, and wasting with grief, shame, and appre-
hension; and they were deeply moved with his tears
and entreaties. The scene was heart-rending ; and. it
appears that they could not have executed their horrible
mission, even if Hubert de Burgh, the warden of the
castle, had not interposed his authority, and refused to
allow the instructions to be complied with, unless in
presence of the King. However, in order to dispirit
the captive Prince’s adherents, he caused bells to be
tolled all over Normandy to apprise the inhabitants
that Arthur of Britanny was no more.

On learning that his orders had not been executed,
John became furious with disappointment, and requested. -
William de Bray, one of his household, to murder
Arthur, “Tam a gentleman, and not an executioner,” .
answered De Bray, with becoming scorn. Finding that
others shrank from the atrocity, John’s evil genius got
the better of him, and he resolved upon perpetrating
the deed of darkness with his own hand.

Having formed this determination, the tyrant, in
the spring of 1203, repaired to Rouen, and on the 3rd
of April prepared for the eruel deed. To suppress
scruples, and silence the murmurs of conscience, he ate
ravenously and drank copiously. He then steeled him-
self against repentance, and descended to the dungeon.
The boy, terror-struck, gazed on his uncle with anxious
amaze, and melted into tears. The near prospect of
being launched into eternity appalled his spirit. He
threw himself on his knees and begged for mercy.



58 BOY-PRINCES.

“Oh, mine uncle,” he exclaimed, “ spare your brother’s
son; spare your nephew; spare your race!” John made
no reply, but imbrued his hands in his young kins-
man’s blood; and, having fastened heavy stones to the
bleeding corpse, caused it to be thrown into the Seine.
The whole affair was managed with such secrecy that
the fate of the unhappy Prince might long have
remained in obscurity but for a simple occurrence.

A fisherman of Rouen, plying his nets in the river,
was surprised to drag ashore the body of a boy of
sixteen. Whether or not he had his suspicions, he took
the corpse to the monks of Bec, who, recognising it as
that of Arthur of Britanny, had it interred in the
Priory of Notre Dame de Pré, which belonged to their
wealthy religious house. The corpse was buried with
the utmost secrecy; for, in the eyes of the blood-stained
tyrant, even this act of reverence towards his nephew
would have appeared a crime to be punished.

Among those who fell into the power of King
John at this period was Eleanor, the orphan sister
of Arthur, variously known as “La Brette,” “The
Damsel,” “The Pearl,” and “The Fair Maid of
Britanny.” In other days she had been contracted by
Cour de Lion to the son of Leopold, the perfidious
Duke of Austria; and, in the year 1194, she had
actually been sent into Germany. Before reaching her
destination Eleanor was freed from her contract by
Leopold’s death, and she was soon after betrothed to a
French prince. But no royal palace was this fait















He threw himself on his knees and begged for mercy.
he exclaimed, “spare your brother's son.”—p. 58.

“Oh, mine uncle,”





ARTHUR OF BRITANNY. 59

daughter of the House of Plantagenet to grace. She
was sent by John to the Castle of Bristol, between
which and a monastery she passed forty years, musing
in sorrow and sadness over the misfortunes of her
family.

Tt was early in April when Arthur was assassinated,
and ere the month of May arrived a rumour of the atro-
cious outrage was bruited about. The perpetrator was
regarded with the utmost indignation, and in Britanny
nothing was heard but the ery for vengeance. The
exasperated inhabitants, rallying round Alice, a half-
sister of the murdered Prince, allowed her father, Guy
de Tours, to assume the title of Duke of Britanny, and
deputed him to demand justice at the hands of Philip
Augustus. That politic monarch seized so favourable
an opportunity to crush a rival king at one blow, and
sent him a formal summons to appear before the Court
of the Twelve Peers of France, and, as a vassal of the
crown, answer for his crime. John sent an ambassa-
dor to say he would obey, if granted a safe-conduct.
“ Ay, let him come in peace and security,” said Philip.
“And so return, my lord?” asked the ambassador,
“Yes, if the judgment of his peers so allow.” The
ambassador then requested a safe-conduct for his king
to come and go. “No, by all the saints of France;
not unless he is judged innocent of the crime!” ex-
claimed Philip, with more passion than he was in the
habit of manifesting. John, failing to appear, was tried
and condemned; and Philip, eagerly taking up arms,



60 BOY-PRINCES,

executed the judgment of the feudal court by depriving
him of all the territory that his father Henry had
acquired in France, and expelling him with ignominy
from continental Europe.

Nor did the cruel usurper’s misfortunes terminate
here. The shade of his murdered victim followed him
across the Channel, and constantly pursued his steps.
A strange fatality urged him on to the accomplishment
of his ruin. He was always threatening the powerful,
but never dared to strike any but the helpless. The
feelings of hatred and revenge that had eaten into his
heart prompted him to the most vicious and tyrannical
sourses. At length, after being forced by the barons of
England to sign the Great Charter, and compelled, by
the threats of the Pope, to resign the English crown
to the legate, he died in agony, in bitterness, and in
despair, at the Abbey of Swinehead.



6L

DAVID STUART,
DUKE OF ROTHSAY,

A yours in his teens, with features generally recog-
nised as handsome, and a form not tall but seemly and
elegant, arrayed in rich garments, worn with that
slovenly negligence not seldom distinguishing those
pursuing a career of dissipation — such is the picture,
by a mighty master, of that Scottish prince of the
House of Stuart who, after his ill-starred marriage had
involved two kingdoms in war, was starved to death by
an unscrupulous uncle and a fierce father-in-law in the

prison-vaults of Falkland.
_ Froissart states that, towards the close of the four-
teenth century, hardly any kingdom of Europe was so
wretched as that to which Rothsay was born heir.
The wars with England had impoverished Scotland to
such a degree, that when the Admiral of France
arrived with an army to assist the inhabitants against
their richer and more powerful neighbours, the knights
and gentlemen, accustomed from boyhood to fine

houses, splendid chambers, and soft beds, no sooner
' perceived the state of matters than they laughed in his



62 BOY-PRINCES.

face, and said, “We have never known till now what
was meant by poverty and hard living.” They could
not even get so much as iron to shoe their horses, or
leather to make saddles and bridles.

The moral state of the court was, it appears, on a
par with the material condition of the country ; when,
in the year 1379, Annabella Drummond, wife of John,
Earl of Carrick, the King’s eldest son, gave birth to an
heir to the crown of that kingdom which the strong
hand of Robert Bruce had wrested from the weak
grasp of the second Edward. The Prince received the
baptismal name of David, acquired a tincture of learn~
ing, and as he grew up exhibited some of the quali-
ties that lend grace to the station which he had the
prospect of occupying.

When Prince David was in his twelfth year his
grandsire, Robert Stuart, King of Scots, departed this
life. The Earl of Carrick, before investing himself
with the royal robes, remembering that his Christian
name had been borne by one of those hapless speci-_
mens of humanity, the Baliols, thought it would be
unlucky to call himself King John, determined to throw
the ill-omened name aside, and ascended the throne
with the title of Robert the Third. Before reigning
long, the weak, superstitious king found to his cost
that fortune is not to be frightened with a name, and
that calling himself Robert did not make him quite
equal to the hero of Bannockburn.

When Prince David’s father thus undertook the



DAVID STUART. 63

perilous post of Scottish king the royal youth began
to figure as Earl of Carrick, and soon after found him-
self on the Borders, helping to negotiate a treaty with
John of Gaunt. Whether or not “ time-honoured Lan-
caster” affected too much superiority over the Cale-
donian plenipotentiaries on this occasion, it is needless
to inquire. It appears to have, somehow or other,
occurred to the Scots, that since they had a king of
their own—such as he was—they might as well have
dukes to keep him in countenance. ‘Their creation
would cost little or nothing.

Accordingly, a solemn council was assembled at
- Scone, an ancient regal residence in the neighbourhood
of Perth; and there Robert the Third, having meta-
morphosed his fair young son from Earl of Carrick into
Duke of Rothsay, metamorphosed his dark, designing
brother, from Earl of Fife into Duke of Albany. After
this ceremony the Queen ordered a grand tournament
to be held at Edinburgh; and Rothsay, rejoicing in his
new title, figured as the leader of those sons of chivalry
who came thither to display their knightly prowess.

Unfortunately for the heir of Scotland, he, ere
long, began to display other tastes than such as could
be gratified at solemn councils or grand tournaments,
Rothsay was gay, wild, and irregular in his habits;
and the life he led deeply grieved his royal sire. King
Robert being strict, religious, and scrupulously de-
corous, was, ot course, quite shocked; and Albany,
who had no love whatever for his nephew, did all he



64 BOY-PRINCES,

could to poison the King’s mind, ead to foment and
perpetuate the domestic quarrels caused by the Prince’s
indiscretions.

While Rothsay was giving scandal to all grave
persons, the poor King, marvelling that a son of his
could so behave, thought of taking counsel with his
spouse; and Queen Annabella, who had been famed
for her beauty, and still retained her sense, spirit, and
generosity, suggested that the best way to deal with
their son was to find him a fitting bride. Albany,
who had availed himself of his brother’s weakness to
seize the reins of government, on being consulted, con-
curred with the Queen, and recommended that Rothsay
should wed the daughter of whatever magnate was
willing to pay the largest sum of money to have a royal
son-in-law. Accordingly, the ill-starred Rothsay was
set up to be disposed of to the highest bidder, and the
result of the scheme was one of the most fatal “ breach-
of-promise cases” on record,

There were then north of the Tweed two great
families, rivals in feudal power and baronial grandeur,
the house of Dunbar and the house of Douglas. Both
had high pretensions of different kinds; but Albany
first put his nephew under offer to the chief of the
Dunbars; and the latter, George, tenth Earl of March,
to secure a prospective throne for his daughter, con-
sented to give her a large dowry, and negotiated a
match. The feelings of Rothsay had probably been
little consulted in the transaction; but if the Scote-



DAVID STUART. 65

Saxon damsel’s face was as fair as her blood was red,
the royal youth could hardly have been averse to receive
her as his bride. In any case he bound himself to the
contract by hand and seal, and part of her dowry was
paid forthwith.

So far matters were pleasant enough; but the news
~ of the matrimonial project was to Earl Douglas as the
sight of scarlet to a wounded bull, and he swore that it
should come to nought. Going, therefore, to Albany,
he insisted strongly on Rothsay espousing a daughter
of his own, tendered a larger sum of money than his
feudal rival had agreed to pay, and finally succeeded in
accomplishing his object. The consequence was that
Margery Douglas became Duchess of Rothsay in the
church of Bothwell; and Elizabeth Dunbar, instead of
donning the white veil of a bride to conceal her blushes,
took the veil of a nun to hide her shame and vexation.

Scotland soon learned that she was to pay dear for
this breach of faith on the part of her rulers—this
repudiation of the daughter of an illustrious house,
whose chiefs the firs; Edward had addressed as the
noblest of men and the dearest of friends. On the
celebration of Rothsay’s marriage the Earl of March
demanded back that portion of the dowry he had paid;
but, receiving no satisfactory answer, and considering
that insult was thus added to injury, he vowed revenge,
and placed himself under the BiG CUO: of his kinsman,
the King of England.

St happened that Henry of Bolingbroke, son of Johx

F



66 BOY-PRINCES.

of Gaunt, had recently obtained the English throne
by deposing his cousin Richard, and had thereby in-
curred the enmity of the French king, whose daughter
Richard had wedded. Albany, to curry favour with
the court of Paris, had described Henry as a traitor ;
and the son of Gaunt, who could not digest the affront,
gladly accepted the Scoto-Saxon Harl’s allegiance, and,
going to Newcastle, concluded with him an alliance
offensive and defensive. Having settled that matter,
the King of England, in the autumn of 1400, led an
army northward, and crossing the frontier entered
Scotland near Kelso. ;

Before leaving the banks of the Tyne, Henry sent
to the Scots, requesting their presence at Edinburgh,
that they might do him homage. The Scots received
the King’s message, and did meet him at Edinburgh ;
but it was to bid him defiance.

At this crisis Rothsay was not found wanting. In-
deed, he seems, with all his faults, to have displayed a
courage not unworthy of a youthful prince with the
blood of Bruce in his veins. Leaving the company of his
bride, he held “the Maiden Castle” against the enemies
of his country, and sent a herald to say that, in order
to prevent the shedding of Christian blood, he was
willing to stake all disputes on a combat between one,
two, or three Scottish nobles, against as many of those
marching in front of the English array. Bolingbroke
parried this sally of juvenile vivacity by one of those
pieces of wit which never failed him. “He was sur-



DAVID STUART. 67

prised,” he said, “that Rothsay, who expresse so much
aversion to shedding Christian blood, should propose a
combat of nobles, whose blood was surely Christian.”

While the King of England was before Edinburgh
a herald came from Albany, pledging his honour that,
if the English would remain for the space of six days,
‘he would come and give them battle. Henry rewarded
the herald, expressed the satisfaction he would have in
waiting for the Duke, and. stayed, not only for six days,
but six weeks. However, the Scots not appearing, the
winter coming on, provisions growing scarce, and
disease prevailing in the camp, he thought it prudent
to abandon the siege, and, alarmed at the commotion
raised by Owen Glendower, returned to England

Henry had accomplished so little during this ex-
pedition that his retreat was almost a humiliation—the
successful resistance of the Scots almost a triumph.
But Earl Douglas, who had the direction of Scottish
military affairs, instead of letting well alone, indulged
his savage nature by sending forth foraging parties
to waste the English borders; and Hepburn of Hailes,
ancestor of the infamous Bothwell, at the head of
the flower of the youth of Lothian, penetrated far
into England. While returning through “the rich
' Merse” with much booty, Hepburn was suddenly set
upon by the Earl of March. A sharp conflict ensued;
and when it was over Hepburn lay dead on the ground,
with the flower of the youth of Lothian stretched
around him,



68 BOY-PRINCES.

Eager to avenge this disaster, Douglas assembled
an army, crossed the frontier, and ravaged the country
as far as Newcastle. After taking much spoil the
grim Earl turned back, and encamped on Homeldon,
an eminence near Wooler. While Douglas was in
this position the injured Earl of March, in company
with the Earl of Northumberland and his son Harry
Percy, surnamed “ Hotspur,” came on a September day
to give him battle.

When the armies were face to face, Hotspur, with
characteristic vehemence, was about to charge up the
hill at all hazards; but March, catching the fiery lord’s
rein, restrained his ardour, and advised him to make
the English archers let fly their cloth-yard shafts. The
policy of this course soon appeared. At the first flight
the Scottish forces were thrown into confusion, and
Douglas furiously led them down the hill. Though the
armour worn by the Scottish Earl and his comrades had
been three years in making, the English arrows proved
irresistible. Many of the Scots fell while descending the
hill; and Douglas, after losing an eye, was taken with
many nobles, knights, and squires. Two brave Scottish
knights, bearing the names of Gordon and Swinton,
forgetting an old feud, rallied the broken forces, and
renewed the battle; but they were slain, and their men
were scattered. The rout of the Scots was now com-
plete. Chased over hill and vale to the Tweed, many,
not knowing the fords, rushed in at random, and
perished in the broad, deep waters, The bright beam



DAVID STUART. 69

of victory shone on the red cross of St. George; and
Elizabeth Dunbar was avenged.

Ere that revenge had been accomplished Rothsay
had gone to his account. At the time of his marriage
with the daughter of Douglas -he had arrived at what
are deemed years of discretion; but the levity of his
conduct still gave great offence, and Albany began to
form a criminal scheme for possessing himself of the
crown. Douglas also becoming an enemy of the Prince,
on whom he had forced his daughter, conspired with
Albany for effecting Rothsay’s ruin, and finally formed
as diabolical a conspiracy as history tells of.

Among those companions of the Prince enjoying his -
confidence and sharing his dissipation was a man named
Ramorgny, who had at one time been Ambassador at
Paris, and learned to talk of assassination without horror.
One day Ramorgny, while conversing with Rothsay,
recommended that his uncle should be put to death.
The Prince, shrinking instinctively from such a pro-
posal, repelled the suggestion with so much indignation
that Ramorgny, apprehensive of his revealing the matter
to Albany, resolved to be beforehand with him. Re-
pairing without delay to the Duke, he stated that
Rothsay was conspiring against his life.

Albany had wanted nothing but a pretext for dealing
with his nephew, and he was rejoiced to have one
sufficiently specious. to impose on the poor, wretched,
imbecile, unwarlike King. He repaired to the palace ;
represented the matter in the very worst light; and



70 BOY-PRINCES.

succeeded in persuading the unhappy father of the
absolute necessity of confining his son, not only to
prevent his murderous purpose being executed, but to
work, if possible, a reformation in his life. The stupid
old man, a mere royal cipher, granted a warrant, and
measures were taken to insure the Prince's arrest.

From the King, Albany went to the Prince, told
him that his life was in danger, and advised him to seek
safety in the Castle of St. Andrew’s. Rothsay took
the advice, mounted his horse, and set out with a
slender train. But while on the way he was suddenly
set upon by Ramorgny and others employed by Albany,
and dragged from his charger. The rain beginning to
fall heavily, they covered him with one of the russet
cloaks then worn by the peasantry, and in this way
conducted him to the Castle of Falkland, then a gloomy
fortress belonging to Albany. On arrival he was
thrown into a dungeon, and committed to the custody
of Selkirk and Wright, two ruffians, who received
orders to let him starve to death, and who had no
scruples about fulfilling their instructions.

The captive was now in despair; but a ray of hope
ere long found its way into his gloomy prison, and
inspired his breast with vague anticipations. His
lamentations reached the ear of his jailer’s daughter,
and pierced her heart. The woman, moved with pity,
resolved at all hazards to save the Prince from dying of
hunger. From time to time she brought him cakes
concealed in her veil, and slid them through the bars



DAVID STUART. 71

of the prison. She was, however, detected in her
charitable enterprise, and put to death for her humanity.
Rothsay was then left without food; and the pangs of
hunger became so intolerable that he devoured part of
his own flesh. At length, “mad with famine and
despair,” he expired about Easter, 1402,

Winton thus depicts Rothsay, though, perhaps, in
more flattering colours than he appeared to the people
who saw him day by day :— .

“ Our lord the king’s eldest son,
Sweet and virtuous, young and fair,
And his nearest lawful heir ;
Honest, able, and awenand,

Our lord, our prinee, is all pleasant,
Connand into literature,
A seemly person in stature.”

The poor King was, for a time, kept in ignorance of
his son’s cruel fate; and an inquiry into the circum
stance before his councillors resulted in a verdict of
death by Divine Providence. But when his suspicions
were at last aroused he became most anxious for the
safety of his surviving son, who afterwards reigned in
Scotland as the first James. The Earl of Orkney was
therefore intrusted with the duty of conveying the
young prince to France, and set sail, Their vessel,
however, was captured by an English privateer, and
taken to London. King Henry saw the value of the
prize, and resolved to keep the future peet-king as a
state prisoner. In vain did Orkney represent that the



72 BOY-PRINCES.

mission to France was pacific; in vain did he declare
that its object was simply the boy’s education. Henry
replied jestingly that “he knew the French language —
indifferently well, and that the King of Scots could not
have sent his son to a better master.”

Meanwhile the remains of Rothsay had been carried
from the prison-vaults of Falkland, and laid, with
funeral pomp, in the church of Lindores. In that age
of superstition and credulity men could imagine and.
believe almost anything. It is not, therefore, surprising
that strange apparitions were reported to haunt the
last. resting-place of the murdered Prince, and that
miracles were believed to be wrought at his tomb.

’



a

LOUIS DE VALOIS,
DAUPHIN OF FRANCE,

Ox an August morning in the year 1394 a noble
army was traversing the forest of Mans. At its head
rode a man of twenty-seven or thereabouts, who wore
_a jacket of black velvet and a crimson hood, on which
glittered a chaplet of pearls. His eye wandered wildly
and feverishly; his cheek was pale and wan; and his
features were haggard, like those of a person on whose
mind was preying some secret sorrow. It was Charles
the Sixth, King of France; and his grief was caused
by the knowledge that the beautiful queen who had
presented him with the chaplet that adorned his hood
was not, by any means, the most faithful of wives.

King Charles was on his way to arrest an assassin
of high rank, who had taken refuge with the Duke of
Britanny, when suddenly from among the trees sprang
a man in a garment of white russet, with bare head
and naked feet, who, seizing the King’s bridle, ex-
claimed with wild gestures, “Oh, King, go no further ;
for you are betrayed !”

The guards, perceiving that the man was insane,



74 BOY-PRINCES,

removed him by force; and the King, pursuing his
journey, emerged from the forest about noon, and
entered upon a plain. At that time the sun was shining
with such excessive brightness as to affect both men
and horses; and one of the pages who bore the royal
lance falling asleep, let the weapon strike on the steel
casque that was carried by another. The King, who
was still brooding over the madman’s mysterious
warning, alarmed at the sharp ring, started, shuddered,
drew his sword, and exclaimed, “I am*betrayed!” He
then turned round, spurred his horse to a gallop, fell
upon his attendants with fury, and finally yielding to
numbers, was conveyed back to Mans. To acute
observers the cause was clear enough. The King of
France was a maniac. ,

When the unhappy man, removed to the Castle of
Creil, had recovered his reason, the Queen and a
youthful Prince appeared at that place. The Queen
was Isabel of Bavaria, a woman of great beauty, but
of equivocal reputation; the infant Prince was Louis
de Valois, who, as heir to that crown which Hugh
Capet had torn from the feeble Carlovingians, enjoyed
the title of Dauphin and the Dukedom of Aquitaine.
Yet few young serfs who laboured in the sunny fields
of France had reason to envy that child, with his royal
name, his princely title, and his extensive territory ;
for hardly could any influences have been less auspicious
than those which presided over his boyhood, and con-
signed him to an untimely grave.



LOUIS DE VALOIS. 15

The King, the Queen, and the Dauphin returned
to Paris, and occupied the Hotel de St. Paul, long a
royal residence; but the King’s malady returned, and
his condition was pitiable. The Queen, a votary of
pleasure, totally neglecting her husband, formed a
close intimacy with his profligate brother, the Duke of
Orleans; and the poor demented monarch, whom from
the first she had despised for his puerility, becoming a
prey to intolerable misery, was incapable of being
soothed or calmed save by one person, his sister-in-law,
Valentine, Duchess of Orleans.

Valentine, one of the Visconti of Milan, whom the
ambition of her family had, at the cost of a million of
francs as her dowry, made a royal duchess, possessed
numerous personal graces, and manifested a gentle and
amiable disposition. As a native of Italy, however,
she was suspected of witchcraft and poisoning; and it
was said that when her father, the Duke of Milan,
took leave of her in Paris after her marriage, he re-
marked. significantly, “I never wish to see you again
but as Queen of France.”. Acting on the paternal
hint—such was the popular suspicion—she not only
caused the King’s lunacy, but occupied herself with
the project of destroying the young Dauphin and the
other royal children, who stood between her posterity .
and the throne of France. 7
_ The sudden death of one of Valentine’s own sons
strangely gave colour to these reports. Rumour asserted
that one day when the Dauphin was amusing himself



76 BOY-PRINCES,

with his little cousin of Orleans in the apartments ot
the Duchess, a Parisian boy was sent with a beautiful
apple as a present to the heir of France. A nurse in
the service of the Duchess, passing through the palace
garden with an infant prince of the house of Orleans
in her arms, happening to meet the boy, requested that
the apple might be given to her little charge; but the
boy having been ordered to present it to “My Lord
the Dauphin,” and no one else, persisted in refusing.
The nurse, however, took the apple by force, and the
little Orleans prince having gratified his appetite,
sickened and died.

The apple, it was concluded, had been intended to
poison the Dauphin; and suspicion immediately fell on
the Italian Duchess. Those in charge of the Dauphin
hurried him away, and declared that he should never
more enter her apartments ; and the.credulous Parisians,
in the ardour of their exasperation, threatened that if
the Italian sorceress were not removed they would for-
cibly drag her from the palace and drown her in the
Seine. This menace was effectual; and the Duke of
Orleans, fearful of suspicion falling on himself, sent his
Italian spouse to pine for many long months in one of
his castles.

Meanwhile the court of France was nothing the
better for the absence of Valentine. The King was
sometimes overrun with vermin, and most scantily
supplied with the necessaries of life; and as for the
Dauphin and royal children, their plight was so



LOUIS DE VALOIS, U7

wretched that their governess was under the necessity
of complaining to the King, during one of his occa-
sional gleams of reason, that she had not the means of
obtaining for them proper food ‘and clothing. The
unfortunate monarch, who was naturally affable and
benevolent, sighed deeply, and, taking a gold cup that
stood beside him, requested her to procure with the
value of it whatever they required.

While the Duke of Orleans, profiting by his alliance
with the Queen, was exercising the functions of regent
and daily increasing in influence, a rival to his preten-
sions arose in the person of John the Fearless, Duke
of Burgundy. This potentate insisted upon the heir
of France espousing his eldest daughter; and the Duke
was too powerful to be refused any favour he demanded.
The Dauphin was in early boyhood, and Margaret of
Burgundy was quite as juvenile; but to the youth of
persons in such circumstances no exception was taken
in that age; so the matrimonial contract was formally
signed, and Burgundy, having had his own way, de-
parted to defend the frontier against an attack threatened
by the English,

No sooner was the back of John the Fearless turned
than Orleans, bent at all hazards on dissolving this
match and furnishing his nephew with another bride, .
made arrangements for carrying off the Dauphin to
Chartres, and set out for that place with the Queen.
The Dauphin followed in a litter, under the charge of
‘his maternal uncle, Louis of Bavaria; but he had



78 BOY-PRINCES,

scarcely reached Corbeil when Burgundy came up
with eight hundred horsemen.

The Duke, after professions of respect, asked the
Dauphin to return to Paris. “You will be better there
than in any other part of the kingdom,” said the Duke ;
“and besides, I am desirous of conversing with you on
many matters that concern you.” The Dauphin was
willing, but Louis of Bavaria interposed. “My lord
Duke,” he said, “suffer my nephew, the Dauphin, to
follow his mother.” Burgundy frowned, muitered
* No,” and shook his head. “He has the consent of
his father for so doing,” urged the Bavarian. ' Heedless
of this protest, Burgundy ordered the Dauphin’s litter
to be turned, conveyed him towards Paris, and lodged
him in the Louvre. From that day the royal boy was
for some time a mere instrument in the hands of the
contending factions.

The strife between the rival Dukes commenced
forthwith. Orleans and the Queen retraced their steps
to Melun, and summoned thither their adherents from
all quarters, and with banners displayed advanced upon
the capital. Hearing of their approach, Burgundy,
who, while aspiring to the character of a De Montfort
or a Warwick, only realised the part of a Longbeard
or a Cade, gathered the Parisian populace to his
standard, and made vigorous preparations for defence.

After some delay the rivals consented to submit
their differences to the princes of the blood; and the
quarrel having been adjusted, Orleans came to Paris,



LOUIS DE VALOIS. 79

and appeared in public with Burgundy, as if they had
been the most attached friends. Moreover, they
swore several times, on the holy Scriptures and the
blessed cross, to live in concord and amity. The
Dauphin, who had been the involuntary cause of so
much discord and disorder, was placed under the
guardianship of his great-uncle, the old Duke of Berry.

While affairs were in this posture, and the King
had temporary possession of his faculties, and the court
was dancing and fiddling as of yore, Orleans had
the indiscretion to boast that the Duchess of Burgundy
had smiled on him, and the imprudence to place her
picture among those of his mistresses. Burgundy
vowed a stern revenge; and one winter night, while
Orleans, who had been supping with the Queen, was
riding towards the Hotel de St. Paul, he found himself
attacked by armed men. “Iam the Duke of Orleans,”
he exclaimed, imagining there was some mistake. “Tt
is you we want,” the assassins replied, and one of them
with a battle-axe cut off their victim’s bridle-hand.
A few more strokes brought him to the pavement, and
a blow from a club dashed out his brains. In a few
days Burgundy, who himself was fated to fall by the
hands of assassins twelve years later, confessed to the
murder, gloried in the deed, and consulted his safety.
by flying into Flanders. :

A cry for vengeance arose; but Burgundy de-
fended the crime on the ground that Orleans was
a tyrant, and that it was the duty of good citizens to



80 BOY-PRINCES.

put tyrants to death. The widowed Duchess of
Orleans, however, appeared in Paris with her eldest
son, to get a day fixed for hearing the case; and
when the time arrived, the King, being seized with
his old malady, the Dauphin was called upon ito sit
in judgment as his father’s representative.

The royal boy, who had been living in retire-
ment at Melun with his mother, thus became, for
the time, a most important personage. Preceded by
the Queen’s car, and attended by a train of princes,
prelates, and nobles, he entered Paris, mounted on
a white horse, and appeared in the great hall
of the palace arrayed in royal robes, and ac-
companied by. the Chancellor, the Queen, and the
princes of the blood. The widowed Valentine, at-
tended by her son, entered the hall; and after her
advocate had delivered a long oration, the Dauphin
assured her that she should have speedy justice.
The Duchess, whose affection for her husband had
outlived his harsh treatment, remained for a time
in Paris; but the promise of justice was never ful-
filled. Despairing, she retired to Blois, and began
to sink. When on her deathbed she exhorted her
children to pursue their father’s murderer. It is
worthy of mention that her husband’s son, the celebrated
“Bastard of Orleans,” being present, answered her’
appeal most warmly. The dying woman was touched.
“Alas!” she exclaimed, “they robbed me; he ought
to have been my son.”



LOUIS DE VALOIS. 81

At this time the Dauphin was placed under Burgundy,
that he might be instructed in the art of war and the
science of government; and the turbulent Duke, with
the sanction of the Queen, who was alternately false to
both parties, took wp his residence in Paris, where, for
a while, he ruled with despotic sway. The Orleans
party, however, was not quite powerless, for the young
Duke espoused a daughter of the Count of Armagnac;
and that nobleman becoming the head of a league
against Burgundy, took up arms.

The insurgents, emboldened by promises of support
from England, hardly concealed their intention to
depose the King, and exclude his heir from the suc-
cession. But the King, placed at the head of an army,
with the Dauphin and Burgundy as lieutenants, took
the Castle of Fontenay, and laid siege to Bourges,
Before that wealthy and populous city, held by the
Dukes of Berry and Bourbon, Burgundy pushed matters
to extremity ; and the Dauphin, seeing with regret the
destruction of so fine a place, ordered tle cannoneering
to be stopped. Burgundy expressed his surprise at this
forbearance; but the Dauphin was firm, and declared,
in a tone which he had not hitherto assumed, that he
was resolved to put an end to the war. His efforts
were not in vain, and he returned in triumph to Paris. -

It was now that the Dauphin began to exhibit a
somewhat haughty and imperious temper. His associates
advised him to take the reins of government into his

own hands; and he followed their counsel. Seeing that
F



82 BOY-PRINCES.

the Kings of France were considered of age at fourtecn,
there appeared nothing ridiculous in a prince in his
teens assuming the regency. The worst was that
Burgundy, who for a time had felt his influence
evaporating, became his son-in-law’s foe; and disagree-
able were the consequences.

The Dauphin, in the exercise of his authority, re-
called to office an unpopular minister, named Sir Peter
des Essars, and thus rousing the democracy of the capital,
became an object of suspicion with those to him he had
formerly been an idol. A report was spread that on
May-day he intended to hold a tilting-match in the
forest of Vincennes; that Essars was to attend him
with six hundred helmets; that Orleans was gathering
an army; and that the Duke and the Dauphin would
march to overawe Burgundy and the discontented
spirits of the capital.

On hearing this rumour the Parisians, resolving to
be beforehand, seized upon Essars, and committed him
to the dungeons of the Louvre. Assuming white hoods as
their party badge, and electing Jean de Troyes, a surgeon,
-and Jean Caboche, a butcher, as leaders, they marched
to the hétel of the Dauphin, forcibly made their way to
his apartments, addressed him in threatening language,
and demanded the surrender of all traitors. “There
are no traitors here,”. replied the Dauphin, his ire
kindling. “If you are willing to give them up, good
and well,” said the democratic leaders; “otherwise we
must seize them before vour face, and punish them as



LOUIS DE VALOIS. 83

they deserve.” “Such matters do not belong to you,”
cried the Dauphin furiously; and at this crisis Bur-
gundy suddenly presented his sinister face. At the
same time the mob rushed in and seized the obnoxious
ministers. “Duke,” said the Dauphin, in a voice
tremulous with suppressed rage, “this insurrection is
your work, and those of your household are its leaders ;
but know that you will repent it one day.” “My
lord,” said Burgundy, “you will comprehend better
when your passion cools.”

The ringleaders forthwith carried the Dauphin to
the Hotel de St. Paul, compelled him to reside there
with his father, and, lest he should escape from the city,
guarded the gates with vigilance. “He is young and
impatient of contradiction,” said they; “this is all for
his good.” Moreover, they forced him, in an assembly of
twenty thousand persons, to read aloud a paper, in
which sixty of his friends were denounced as traitors ;
and they finally demanded the surrender of Louis of
Bavaria.

The Bavarian was on the point of making his
fortune by leading a noble widow to the altar, when
a multitude of people marched in front of the Hétel de
St. Paul. Burgundy, who began to tremble at the
storm he had raised, entreated them to withdraw; but
they presented him with a rell of names, among whom
was that of the Bavarian bridegroom, and said, “We
will not go home till these people are delivered up to
us.” The demagogic Duke, finding that he could no



84 BOY-PRINCES.

longer control their passions, repaired to the Queen;
and she, in extreme perplexity, sent for the Dauphin.
“Go to the people,” said she; “ask them to wait for
eight days, and then I will either deliver up my brother
or suffer them to arrest him.” The Dauphin, on re-
ceiving this mandate, retired to his chamber and shed
bitter tears.“ Don’t weep,” said Burgundy, entering,
“but come with me.”

The Dauphin dried his tears and accompanied his
father-in-law, and Burgundy briefly informed the
populace of the Queen’s request; but, instead of
acceding, they threatened to go to the royal lady’s apart-
ments, and take the proscribed persons by force. There
being nothing else for it, the Bavarian descended to the
street; and the others, among whom were several ladies,
followed his example. Many of them were executed
without trial. Essars was tried and beheaded in the
market-place, and Jean de Troyes took up his residence
at the palace, where the Dauphin was his prisoner.

The Prince, however, watched for a reaction in
public opinion, and as the autumn passed on he became
aware that the time for retaliation had arrived. One
September day Jean de Troyes sallied forth, with all
the bustle and importance which his brief authority
had caused him to assume, and the Dauphin seized the
occasion, set the surviving captives at liberty, and
ordered the bells of all the churches to be rung. The
tables were completely turned. Troyes, Caboche, and
' their confederates fled to Flanders. Burgundy stole



LOUIS DE VALOIS, 85

away to his own dominions, and his departure was the
signal for general rejoicing. The burghers of Paris,
dofting their white hoods, assumed the white scarf—the
device of Orleans—and for days and nights the utmost
joy was exhibited at the triumph of the Dauphin over
dukeism and democracy.

The heir of Orleans now became the great man;
and the Dauphin found, to his mortification, that he
had only changed masters, and was mewed in the
Louvre more like a prisoner than a prince. Matters
reached a crisis. The Queen, at the instigation of the
ruling faction, caused four of his knights and several of
his servants to be arrested; and the young man was so
indignant at this insult that he secretly despatched a
message to Burgundy to hasten to Paris. John the
Fearless was soon at St. Denis with a formidable host.

Ere the news of Burgundy’s approach was carried
to Paris the Dauphin had been reconciled to the faction
in power. He was dining with a canon in the cloisters
of Notre Dame, when thither, in anxious haste, went
Orleans with eleven thousand men-at-arms. The
Dauphin mounted his horse, rode to the Town House,
caused a trumpet to be sounded, thanked the assembled
multitude for their loyalty, denied that any invitation
had been sent to the Burgundian, proceeded to the
Louvre, and held a conference. Burgundy, finding his
enemies so well prepared, was fain, after advancing to
the walls in battle array with displayed banners, to
beat a retreat. The Dauphin, resolving to crush him,



86 BOY-PRINCES.

joined the King at Senlis, took Compiégne and Soissons,
and then expressed his desire for a reconciliation.
When reminded of the offences Burgundy had com-
mitted he frankly replied, “Nevertheless, I would
put an end to this war, for otherwise I perceive the
King and kingdom will go to perdition.” By his
influence a treaty of peace was concluded, and the
articles were solemnly sworn to by the belligerents.

On returning to Paris the King and Dauphin met
with a reception flattering in the extreme. A countless
array of princes, nobles, prelates, knights, and esquires
formed the royal train. The provost, the sheriffs, the
members of the Parliament, the members. of the Uni-
versity, and the citizens in their uniforms of green, met
the procession. In a fit of loyal enthusiasm they lighted
bonfires in the streets, feasted, caroused, and shouted,
“Long live the King!” “Long live the Queen!” and
“Tong live the Dauphin!” All this was, perhaps,
pleasant enough to those concerned; but to the
thoughtful it must have appeared mere folly. Never
had greater misfortunes impended over France than
when the Parisians were thus cheering about the worst
royal family in Europe. Ere the winter passed the
King was again a helpless lunatic at the Hotel de St.
Paul, and affairs were in worse confusion than ever.

The Dauphin, since the day when he was brought
from Corbeil by Burgundy, had, with brief intervals of
power, been nothing more than half the pity, half the
sport of the contentious nobles. He now, in the fever



LOUIS DE VALOIS. 87

of youth, resolved to be so no longer, and determined
on a coup d'état. With this view he invited the
princes of the blood to hold a family conference with
his mother at Melun in April, 1415; and, while they
were exercising their wits to deceive each other, he
mounted his steed, and, with a few trusty comrades,
rode to Paris.

Encountering little or no opposition, the Dauphin
ordered the drawbridge to be raised and the gates
closed. He then entered the houses of three persons,
with whom his mother had deposited sums of money,
and, seizing upon the treasure, carried it to the Louvre.
Thither he summoned the citizens and public function-
aries; and having made the Chancellor lay before them
the history of the government since his father’s corona-
tion, he pointed out how the finances had been
squandered while the nation was plundered, and
declared that, as Dauphin and heir of France, he could
no longer tolerate such an administration of affairs.
After stating his resolution to assume the functions of
government in his father’s name, he promised to provide
against such abuses. The Dauphin then informed the
princes of the blood that they must retire to their
estates, attend to their own affairs,and absent them-
selves from Paris till commanded thither by the King
or himself.

The royal youth, who was installed in the Louvre
as master of the capital, with the sympathies of the
populace, had unfortunately yielded to that immorality



88 BOY-PRINCES.

which had long disgraced the court of Isabel of
Bavaria. While his friends were auguring for him a
prosperous future, the Dauphin developed, with alarming
rapidity, the worst faults of the race of Valois. He
practised illegal methods to raise money; lavished the
public funds on dissolute companions; shut up his wife,
Margaret of Burgundy, a young and beautiful woman,
in the Chateau of St. Germain; and indulged in an
amour with some damsel who was a servant at the
palace.

While the Dauphin was thus destroying public
confidence, ambassadors waited on him from the Duke
of Burgundy. The ambassadors had been sent to
request, among other things, that the Dauphin should,
without delay, take his wife to reside at the Louvre;
and the youth, enraged at their proposal, gave them
an unfavourable reception. “Prince,” said an envoy,
significantly, “know that, in case of our lord’s request
not being granted, and an invasion by the English
taking place, neither he nor his vassals will bear arms
in defence of the kingdom.” The threat was not
without effect; for the new peril impending over
France was no secret to the youth who, in his teens,
presided over her destinies.

Six years before the day when King Charles became
the victim of insanity in the forest of Mans, and while
Richard the Second occupied the English throne, Henry
of Bolingbroke, son of John of Gaunt, was presented
by his spouse, a daughter of the Anglo-Norman



LOUIS DE VALOIS. be

Bohuns, with an heir to the Lancastrian branch of the
Plantagenets. The child, who received the baptismal
name of Henry, appeared so sickly that he was removed
from the Castle of Monmouth, in which he had first
seen the light, and sent to be nursed at the village of
Courtfield by a peasant woman, whose monument is
still to be seen in a little church in the vicinity.
Gradually, from a sickly infant, the Lancastrian prince
became a chubby boy, with an eye bright with in-
telligence, and a countenance beaming with frankness.

When his father, returning from an irksome exile,
usurped the throne, Henry of Monmouth was created
Prince of Wales; and as years passed on his popularity
caused so much alarm to his jealous sire, that, though
giving signal proofs of his courage and capacity in
campaigns against the Percies at Shrewsbury, and
Owen Glendower on the Marches of Wales, he was
systematically excluded from civil and military employ-
menis. Restrained from exercising his faculties in
those spheres for which he was fitted by nature, Henry
was led into the company of men notorious for affrays
in the street and robberies on the highway; and he
became so negligent of decorum, that his father felt
uneasiness in having such an heir to that crown which
he had gained by unscrupulous means, and guarded
with surpassing vigilance.

The nation, however, was disposed to look in-
dulgently on the indiscretions of a prince born and
bred on English ground, and augured favourably



90 BOY-PRINCES.

from a circumstance which unexpectedly occurred.
A riotous comrade of young Henry being summoned for
felony before the Court of King’s Bench, the Prince of
Wales appeared to afford countenance to the culprit, and,
on sentence being passed, forgot himself so far as to strike
the Chief Justice. The judge instantly vindicated the
majesty of the law by ordering the heir to the crown to
be arrested ; and “ Prince Hal,” yielding with readiness,
was conducted to prison.

But whatever impression this submission produced
on the multitude, the wise and prudent predicted the
worst of such a “madcap prince.” The wise and
prudent were, for once, mistaken. When this hero of
hostesses and familiar of tapsters ascended the throne
as Henry the Fifth, he frustrated their prophecies
and. dispelled their delusions. He chose his councillors
from among the gravest and sagest men in the realm;
he treated with peculiar favour the fearless judge who
had sent him to the King’s Bench; he secured the
esteem of his subjects by his wise and just measures ;
and he understood the people far too well to lose.their
favour. To a person of Henry’s high spirit and
martial genius, whose youth had been divided between
the evanescent pleasures of dissipation and the unsatis-
factory excitement of civil war, a field of action was
necessary in which to establish his reputation, and he
determined to invade France.

England had now a ‘power very different fe the
unhappy country to which King John had been driven



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him, take him; at your hands I will require him.—»p, 140.


BOY-PRINCES. |



Ghe Story of their Xibes,

BY

J.G. EDGAR,

AUTHOR OF “THE BOY CRUSADERS,” “NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY,’ SIO,

8 full page Ellustrations.



4 GALL & INGLIS.
: | Pondow: Edinburgh:

30 PATERNOSTER ROW. 6 GEORGE STREET,


PREFACE.

Tux fate of those born to great inheritances, and cut off in
early youth, seldom fails to excite a deep and melancholy
interest. The memory of Princes, especially, who have been
snatched away ere attaining the honours and possessions that
awaited them, has in many cases been cherished with mingled
admiration and regret. Nor can we wonder at this being the
case, seeing that several of them have exhibited such mar-
vellous precocity as to justify the remark, that when an
existence is destined to be short, nature hastens to develop
it; Just as some regions, with but two months of summer,
take advantage of the brief sunshine to cover themselves, as
if by enchantment, with flowers, and fruits, and harvest.

While many royal boys doomed to fill an untimely grave
have, by their remarkable promise, excited the highest hopes
of nations which they had the prospect of governing, some-
times the princes succeeding in their default have nob been
characterised by wisdom or virtue. Under such circumstances,
imagination delights to invest with all noble and graceful
qualities those who have never been tried, and therefore not
found wanting; and besides, it frequently appears as if the
destiny of a great nation had been suspended on the fate of
a prince blossoming but to die. What colour and complexion
the Reformation in England might have taken, had Arthur
Tudor lived to reign instead of the eighth Henry—and how
it would have fared with our constitutional liberties had
Henry Stuart survived his father, and ascended the throne
instead of the first Charles—are questions which no man can |
venture to solve, And yet few will refuse to acknowledge
an impression that, in both these instances, England sustained
a loss, the effects of which are experienced even by our own
generation. Such a feeling is natural, and uniformly have
mankind bewailed each youthful Marcellus.

Without deeming it necessary to expatiate on such questions
and sentiments, my object in the following pages has been to
iv PREFACE.

produce a series of historical biographies adapted to the taste
of juvenile readers, and not unworthy of their perusal. With
this view I have written the lives of more than twenty
princes—from the grandsons of William the Conqueror to
the son of the first Napoleon—who all perished in the spring
of their existence ; and convinced of the advantage of im-
planting in the heart of youth a love of historical knowledge,
and a proper admiration of the heroes who illustrated past
ages, and prepared order and freedom for our own, I have so
framed my sketches as to direct the attention of readers to
many of those great personages who, unlike the Boy-Princes,
lived long enough to influence the fortunes of Europe.
Another object. I have kept in view. While tracing the
brief career of so many scions of royalty, and presenting what
is recorded of their character and actions, I have endeavoured
to connect each with the period at which he lived. To ac-
complish this, indeed, no ingenuity was required. The
career of each forms part of history. Arthur of Britanny’
figured in that struggle for continental empire which the
earlier Plantagenets carried on against Philip Augustus ;
Fdward of Lancaster accompanied his mother, Margaret of
Anjou, through the sanguinary scenes of the War of the
Roses ; Edward the Sixth reigned at the era of the Reforma-
tion in England; the sons of Katherine de Medici were
sovereigns of France during the religious wars and the Mas-
sacre of St Bartholmew; the memory of Louis the Seven-
teenth, “a lily broken by the storm,” is inseparably associated
with the French Revolution ; and the name of the second
Napoleon, who was born King of Rome and died an Austrian
Colonel, recalls the dissolution of that empire which existed
for a few years as a monument of his father’s genius and
lory.
. Having made these introductory remarks, I venture to ex-
press a hope that this book will be received with favour by
the boys of England, and that a perusal of it will, in some
degree at least, increase the interest of that portion of the
rising generation in the history of modern Europe.

J.G. E.
CONTENTS.

PAGE
WIniiaM tHe ATHELING, PRinck or ENGLAND ... ane 1
Wittiam or NORMANDY, SURNAMED CLITO ... wae aw 44
Eustace or Bounoenz, Son or Kine SrepHen... w= -B2
AxrvtHur of BRITANNY ge ae ron wae a. = 46
Davin Sruart, Duke or Rorusay ... Ae doe a. =©661
Lovis DE VaLois, DAUPHIN OF FRANCE... tas .. = 73
Epwarp or LANCASTER, Prince or WALES ae azz 199
Epwarb tHe Firty anp THE Dukz oF YORK eae «. 183
Arruur Tupor, PRINCE OF WALES ... a ves .. 147
Epwarpd PLANTAGENET, Hart or WARWICK oe .. 158
Gaston DE Forx, Duxz or Nemours ae ran ww. 174
Kine EDWARD THE SIXTH. eae .. 184
Francis tHe Second, Kine or France ©... ay .. 210
Dow Cantos, Son or Purtte rue Seconp arr .. 220
CHARLES THE Ninru, Kina or FRaNcE .. es w. 241
Henry Sruart, Princz or WALES sue oe -.. 256
Hewry or OatLanps, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER oe .. 289
Wittam, Duke or GLovcEsTER —.. ch ae% .. 312
Louis tae SEVENTEENTH on ded ee ... 817

NAPOLEON THE SECOND ese. OS See ae sad + 862
LIST OF ENGRAVINGS.

PAGE

EscaPr or WILLIAM Criro or NoRMANDY wee « 19

ARTHUR OF BRITANNY AND HIS UNCLE Jonn wee (OT
Epwarp or Lancaster anD HIS Mortner iw Hexnam

FOREST... . _ we i we .. 119

Gaston DE Forx at RAvENwA on te tee .. 181
CHaRLes tHe Ninta Assisting at THE Massacre or

St BarrHoLoMEw wes ses a wee we 252

HeEypy OF OATLANDS’ LAST INTERVIEW WITH HIS FATHER 297

Prince CHARLES-LOUIS AND THE REGIMENT DU DAUPHIN 829
BOY-PRINCES.

WILLIAM ATHELING,
PRINCE OF ENGLAND.

One day in August, 1100—when the Norman Con-
quest of England had been fully accomplished, and
when William, second son of the Conqueror, had for
twelve years domineered over a vanquished people — a
gay troop of horsemen cantered down from the emi-
nence crowned with the castle of Malwood, and entered
the New Forest to enjoy the pleasures of the chase,
At the head of this hunting-party was a short, thick,
corpulent man, with red hair, a square forehead, and a
countenance indicating some degree of brute courage.
As he rode along, swearing and stammering in Norman
French, every peasant recognised the second of our
Norman kings and cursed. him, in bitter derision, as “the
Keeper of the Forests” and “the Wild-beast Herd.”

The hunters, as was the custom of the period, dis-
: B
2 BOY-PRINCES.

persed through the forest to pursue their sport; and
when evening came William Rufus was unattended
save by one of his favourites, Walter Tyrrel, a knight
ot France. As the sun was sinking m the west, and
the King and the Knight had concealed themselves in
a thicket to wateh the game, a large stag suddenly
bounded up between them. Rufus quickly took aim;
but his arrow falling harmless on the grass, he shouted
with a fearful oath, “Shoot, Walter, shoot!” The
knight, raising his cross-bow, obeyed; and his shaft,
glancing aside and leaving the stag unharmed, pierced
the lefé breast of his master. Instantly Rufus fell
senseless on the ground, and Tyrrel, in alarm, rushed
forward. Finding that life was extinct, he mounted his
horse, galloped to the sea-coast, and lost no time in
_ setting foot on the soil of France.

Among those who had attended William Rufus to
the New Forest was his younger brother, known in
history as Henry Beauclere. This prince, who had
then seen thirty-two summers, was tall and stately,
with dark locks, a large, keen eye, and an aspect
decidedly pleasing. Beauclere was so reserved that
people fancied he had little wit; but, in truth, his mind
was filled with such projects of ambition as he dared
hardly have talked of even to the winds. Separated,
on this occasion, from the other hunters, and happen-
ing to break his cross-bow, he entered the hut of a
forester; and there an old weird-woman hailed him ay
king While he was exhibiting real or feigned surprise
WILLIAM ATHELING, 3

at her words, the rumour of Rufus’s death, spreading
through the forest, reached his ears.

Far from manifesting any excessive grief at the
fate which had befallen his rude brother, Beauclere,
perceiving that an opportunity such as he must often,
in poverty, have panted for, had arrived, sprang upon
his steed, spurred to Winchester, and demanded the
keys of the King’s treasury. While those who had
charge of the royal money-chests were hesitating, the
treasurer of Rufus—one of the hunting-party—rode up
in breathless haste. “You and I,” said the Treasurer,
“ought to remember your elder brother, Robert Duke
of Normandy. He has received our oath of fealty ;
and, though absent, he has the best right to the
crown.”

Beauclere being in no mood for argument like this,
high words passed; swords flashed; and there ensued
a fray in which he was victorious. He took possession
of the royal treasure, caused himself soon after to be
crowned at Westminster, and won the favour of the
natives by promising to share his throne with a
daughter of the Anglo-Saxon kings,

The heart of the destined bride was much more
English than her blood. A Scottish princess, reared
by a spinster aunt in the Abbey of Romsey, had im-
bibed, with the air she breathed, those ideas and pre-
judices cherished by the natives of the island. Her
blood, though not pure Anglo-Saxon, was royal
enough to satisfy the most exacting genealogist.
4 BOY-PRINCES,

Her father, Malcolm Canmore, was King of Scots;
her mother was a sister of Edgar Atheling, the heir of
the Anglo-Saxon kings, but set aside by the unscrupu-
lous family of Godwin; and her grandmother was the
daughter of a German Emperor, whom a son of Edmund
Ironside had wedded when an exile in Hungary. This
damsel, known by the name of Edith, was learned,
accomplished, and so captivating that several Normans
had sought her in marriage. Among her suitors it
appears that Beauclere had, in the days of his adversity,
been the most successful; yet, when he proposed to
make her queen, the royal maiden was with difficulty
prevailed on to consent. Then a more serious obstacle
was presented. Many argued that Edith had been
reared in a convent, that she had worn the veil, and
that an earthly husband could not receive the hand of
one who had been dedicated to Heaven. -The matter
must certainly have looked awkward. But a man of
Beauclere’s intellect, with the Confessor’s crown on his
head and the Conqueror’s sceptre in his hand, was not
likely to forego the fair prize on which he had set his
heart. A great assembly was convoked at Rochester,
and. it soon appeared that Edith had never taken
monastic vows, though she had sometimes worn the
veil, by way of protection, in days when the Norman
adventurers, flushed with recent success, paid little
respect to female honour. The evidence proved satis.
factory, and a few days later the Anglo-Saxon princess,
on being united to the Norman king, abandoned her
WILLIAM ATHELING, 5

name of Edith for that of Maude, as being more
agreeable to Norman ears.

At Winchester, which had been the capital of the
Anglo-Saxon Empire, and which in Beauclere’s reign
reached its highest point of splendour, Queen Mande,
in 1102, became mother of an heir to the crown. The
boy was baptized by the name of William, after his
grandsire, the conqueror of Hastings. But what was
doubtless much more pleasing to his mother, he was
surnamed “The Atheling,” in allusion to his Anglo-
Saxon descent, and regarded with hopes, never to be
realised, by those who, for their conquerors, tilled the
_ground, and hewed the wood, and drew the water.
The oppressed islanders naturally indulged in antici-
pation of a bright future; but as young Atheling
grew up such delusions were dissipated. The boy’s
position was favourable to the development of any
good qualities which nature might have implanted in his
heart or mind. Beauclere, who, like his grim sire, was
in the habit of saying that a king without learning re-
sembled a crowned ass, was not guilty of neglect in
educating his heir. Maude, who had ever been dis-
tinguished by Christian devotion, proved the most
tender and loving of mothers. But whatever William
Atheling profited by the intellectual superiority of
Beauclere, it appears too clear that he had no sym-
pathies with the Anglo-Saxon Queen. He mherited
none of her piety; and ill did he repay her maternal
care. Among the Norman barons he constantly heard
6 BOY-PRINCES.

the race from which his mother derived descent spoken
of with scorn; nay, more—the courtiers even affected
to regard the King’s marriage as a mésalliance. In
Henry’s presence, indeed, they preserved a decorous
silence on the subject; but, whenever nis back was
turned, they amused themselves by nicknaming the
royal pair Leofric and Godiva.

William Atheling very soon gave mdications of a
resolution to share the antipathies of the foreign
scigneurs among whom he had been educated. This
son of the Saxon Maude was also grandson of William
the Norman, and had about him a good deal of the
tanner of Falaise. He became rather more of a Nor-
man than the Normans themselves had been in their
most lawless days, and expressed himself in language
which Hugh le Loup or Ivo Taillebois would have been
almost ashamed to use. “When I come to reign over
the miserable English,” he was heard openly to say,
“T will make them draw the plough like oxen.” So
far as men could judge from appearances, there was
every probability of this precocious tyrant having an
opportunity of executing his threat; and the people,
forgetting in their despair that the Prince was young,
and might attain to wisdom with years, retaliated with
bitterness, and accused him of every evil propensity.

While such was the feeling of the English people
towards the prmce whose mother had the blood of
Alfred in her veins, and while the States of Nor-
mandy were swearing fealty to William Atheling in his
WILLIAM ATITELING. 7

fourteenth year, Beauclere became nervously anxious to
have the boy recognised as heir to the crown of Eng-
land. With the idea of thus securing the succession,
he called together the chief men of the realm; and on
the 20th of March, 1116, they assembled at Salisbury.
The Prince having been invested with the symbols of
knighthood, the grand ceremony was enacted with the
wonted forms. The barons placed young Atheling’s
hand in theirs, and did homage to him as the King’s
heir; the Archbishop of Canterbury, with other pre-
lates and abbots, swore that if the Prince should
outlive his royal sire, they would, without fail, put
him in possession of the kingdom’s crown; and the
heart of Arlette’s grandson, doubtless, beat high at
this feudal spectacle, so grateful to his vanity as a
father, and to his pride as a king; for though gifted
with that quality called worldly wisdom, and wise in
his generation, he was in the habit of forgetting that
however man may propose, it is God who disposes.
While pursuing his ambitious career, Beauclerc, with
whom no tie was so binding that he would not break
it for his selfish purposes, invaded Normandy, forcibly
deprived his brother of the dukedom, and brought him
to England. About 1118, when Queen Maude died,
Duke Robert had for years been in the dungeons of
Cardiff Castle; but the unhappy captive had a son
alive and at large. On behalf of William Clito—for so
the son of Robert was named—confederacy after con-
federacy was formed on the Continent; and of these
8 BOY-PRINCES.

the Count of Anjou was one of the most formidable
members. To allure Anjou to his side, and thus
break up the confederacy, was Beauclere’s game. With
this idea, when war broke out in 1119, he took young
Atheling to the Continent, and proposed a union
between that Prince and the Count’s second daughter,
a girl who had scarcely reached her twelfth year.

Anjou, albeit not without sparks of honour in his
breast, appears to have been far from proof against
temptation; and, being flesh and blood, the prospect of
a throne for one of his daughters was more than he
had strength of mind to resist, In any case he played
the traitor; and the confederacy having been dissolved,
the King of France was under the necessity of ac-
knowledging the English Prince as Duke of Nor-
mandy, and receiving the royal youth’s homage in that
capacity.

Elate with triumph, and ambitious that a long line
of descendants should flourish as kings, Henry Beau-
clere celebrated the marriage of his heir; William
Atheling being then in his eighteenth, Matilda of
Anjou, the bride, in her twelfth, year. Lisieux was
the scene of this wedding. A splendid affair, of course,
it was; and the youthful pair remained on the Con-
tinent, passing twelye months merrily at feasts and
pageants. About the end of that time, Beauclere,
impatient to visit in triumph the land of which he was
an unworthy native, gave the word of command: for
a return to England
WILLIAM ATHELING, — a

Barfleur was selected as the place of embarkation;
and on a December afternoon—it was a Friday—the
royal party were preparing to go on board, when a
seafaring man approached the King. “QO King,”
said he, presenting a golden mark, “my father, Ste-
phen, served your father all his lite upon the sea; and
it was he who commanded the ship which carried thy
father to the conquest. I entreat you to grant me,
in fief, the same office. Here I have ‘the White
Ship,’ fitly provided with rowers.”

Beauclere eyed Fitzstephen with favour, replied
that he had already chosen a vessel for himself, but
graciously intrusted the son of his hopes to the
seaman’s care.. He, however, took the youthful bride
under his own protection; and, little dreaming what
the night was to bring forth, sailed with his daughter-
in-law at sunset. When on the open sea the crew of
the King’s ship heard a ery of distress; but not suspect-
ing the cause, sailed onward, and next morning reached
the English coast.

When Beauclere set sail, the Prince, his retinue,
and his brother and sister, who, though illegitimate,
rejoiced in sounding titles, went on board “the White
Ship.” It was a gay company that surrounded Eng-
land’s heir, consisting of ladies in the pride of youth
and beauty, and lordlings of haughty air, gorged with
the wealth, and fattened on the spoils, of the banished
Anglo-Saxons. Little thought they that in the midst
of life they were so near death! But such was the case.
10 BOY-PRINCES,

The sailors asked for wine. The Prince ordered them
three hogsheads; and the ship soon became the scene
of such riot and dissipation, that several striplings, after
surveying the deck with anxious glances, deemed it
prudent to go ashore. Nothing daunted by this cir-
cumstance, those who remained continued their merri-
ment with unabated ardour.

At length, when the evening had far advanced,
when the sailors were drunk, and the skipper flus-
tered, the anchor was hauled up. The mariners, ex-.
cited by the wine they had quaffed, vowed to overtake
the King’s vessel. Fitzstephen held the helm; fifty
rowers put forth their utmost strength; the wind blew
gently; every sail was set; and beneath the pale light
of the moon “the White Ship” rode swiftly along the
coast. Suddenly a fearful shock filled every heart with
terror and apprehension, and a piercing cry was raised
by the passengers. The ship had struck violently on
one of a cluster of rocks known as the Ras de Catte.
One of her sides was driven in; the salt water was
pouring through the rent; and the hold was filling fast.

It was an awful moment; but the skipper’s presence
of mind did not desert him. He lowered a boat; he
placed the young Atheling and several of his attendants
therein; and he told them to row for their lives. The
shore was so near that they could hardly have failed
to reach the land in safety; but, at that moment, an
agonising shriek reached their ears. Prince William
looked round. It was his half-sister Mary; ‘and tho
WILLIAM ATHELING. 11

boy declaring, with a generosity which had never
hitherto appeared to form part of his character, that he
would not leave her in such peril, his companions
put back; but ere the trembling girl could be rescued,
numbers, animated by the instinct of self-preservation,
sprang confusedly on board. The boat being upset,
was engulfed in the blue waters; and at the same
moment “the White Ship” went down, and all on
board were at the mercy of the waves.

About three hundred human beings, eighteen of
whom were ladies allied to kings and princes, had that
evening sailed from Barfleur. Only a poor lad escaped
to carry the doleful tale to the haunts of living men.
A butcher of Rouen, Berauld by name, and a boy of
gentle birth, Gilbert de l’Aigle, clung desperately to
the mainmast as it floated heavily along. Fitzstephen,
the skipper, after sinking, rose to the surface, and
perceiving the survivors, breathlessly inquired, “'The
King’s son—what has become of him?” “He has not
appeared, nor have any of his company,’ was the
mournfulreply. “Woeisme!” exclaimed Fitzstephen.
And he deliberately plunged beneath the waves.

The night was long, and the weather was cold, and
weary grew the two survivors. L/Aigle, the gentle
youth, lost his strength, yielded to the elements,
breathed a prayer, let go the mast, and sank into a-
watery grave. But Berauld, the butcher, was more
hardy and tenacious. Clad in his jacket of sheepskin,
he energetically maintained his grasp till daybreak,
12 BOY-PRINCES,

when he was picked up by some fishermen, taken into
their boat, and thus saved from the fate which had
befallen so many of the rich and the noble,

Berauld related the details of the woeful catastrophe,
and the tidings speedily reached England. But no one
would take heart to tell the sad news to the King;
and Beauclere cherished the hope that the son whom he
regarded with pride as the heir of his dominions, his
policy, and his renown, had put into some distant port
of England. Fora time the courtiers allowed him to
remain in ignorance of his bereavement. When three
days had passed, however, they sent a page—a little
boy—who, falling on his knees, told, with sobs and
tears, that “the White Ship” had sunk, and that all
on board had perished in the deep. Beauclerc, who
loved his son perhaps more than all the world, swooned
in amaze, and sank on the floor. From that day, it is
said, no smile was seen to light up his countenance..

The whole affair must, indeed, have been melan-
choly to those who were capable of regarding the past
with sagacity, and contemplating the future with pre-
science. At Winchester, in that stately sepulchre
where her maternal ancestors and their Danish foes
reposed in peace together, the “Good Queen Maude”
found a resting-place ; and her memory was enshrined
in the heart of the nation over which her regal pro-
genitors had reigned. But far otherwise was it with
her graceless son.

While no grave among Anglo-Saxon kings and
WILLIAM ATHELING 18

heroes, martyrs and saints, received the body of
William Atheling, those who had shed tears of joy
at his birth disdained to bewail his untimely end.
Indeed, his epitaph was written with bitterness of soul
by the annalists of the race of which he had spoken
with scorn so unbecoming—that race which for six
centuries had given kings and nobles to Britain. The
Anglo-Saxons, not forgetful how this youth had, in the
days of his pride, threatened to yoke Englishmen to
the plough like oxen, pretended to recognise something
supernatural in a shipwreck when the weather was fine,
and the waters at rest, and did not hesitate to ascribe
the Prince’s death to the vengeance of Heaven. “The
proud one said, ‘I shall reign !’” exultingly exclaims a
_ contemporary; “but God said, ‘It shall not be, im-
pious one! it shall not be.’ And the brow of the
wicked, instead of wearing a diadem of gold, has been
dashed against the rocks of the sea.”
14

WILLIAM OF NORMANDY,

SURNAMED CLITO.

Amone the Norman warriors, who, with their swords,
won lordships in Southern Italy, few maintained greater
feudal state than the Count of Conversano. His castle,
situated among olive-groves near the Adriatic, was a
magnificent abode, and furnished with all the means
and appliances that rendered feudal life tolerable and
pleasant. Moreover, the Count was blessed with a
daughter named Sybil, who was regarded as the fairest
nymph in Christendom.

At this castle of Conversano, about the time when
William Rufus was killed in the New Forest, a wander-
ing knight arrived as a guest, and proved to be Robert
Curthose, Duke of Normandy. This prince, who was
the eldest son of William the Conqueror, having just
taken part in the siege of Jerusalem, and performed
prodigies of valour at its capture, was welcomed with
enthusiasm. Duke Robert was charmed with his host
the Count, and everything about him—with his min-
strels and jongleurs, his swift hounds, mettled. hawks,
and high-spirited horses; and he was charmed above
WILIIAM CLITO. 15

all with the Count’s daughter, Sybil, The crusading
hero was on the verge of fifty, and the Italian lady still
in her teens; but his rank as a Duke and his fame as
a champion of the Cross were fascinations not to be
resisted; so Curthose led the fair Sybil to the altar,
and carried her in triumph to Rouen.

Proud of his bride, gratified with his reception in
» Normandy, and utterly reckless as to time and money,
the Duke, instead of prosecuting his claims on the
crown which his younger brother had just seized, ex-
pended the whole of his wife’s fortune in pageants and
festivals, and appeared most happy while showing her
in public, and marking the admiration she excited.

But Curthose’s domestic felicity was of short dura-
tion. Sybil, in 1102, breathed her last, leaving an
infant son, born at Rouen, named William, surnamed
Clito, or the Royal Heir, destined to endure strange
vicissitudes, and doomed to be carried off by death at a
time when he seemed on the point of subduing fortune.

When Clito was still a babe in the cradle, his
father, allured by promises of support from the Nor-
man barons, invaded England. A. sanguinary conflict
seemed inevitable; but the craft of Beauclere prevailed,
and, after the brothers had indulged in a fraternal
embrace, Curthose, ever ready to sacrifice the future to
the present, was bribed to return to his ducal court.
Easy and imprudent, Robert allowed his substance to
be devoured by crowds of minstrels, favourites, and
women much fairer than honest. Matters soon reached
16 BOY-PRINCES,

a crisis, and everything went wrong in Normandy. The
Duke’s poverty was such that he had frequently to lie
in bed all day for want of clothes befitting his rank;
and, with no «me to hold the reins of government, the
country becatne the scene of such disorder, that the
chief men invited interference.

Henry Beauclere was the last man from whom
Curthose, after renouncing his pretensions to the
English crown, had cause to expect harsh treatment.
Quite the reverse. When Henry, a prince without
land and without money, seized Mont St. Michel in
Normandy, he was there besieged by his brothers, and
pressed so hard for want of water, that he sent mes-
sengers to request the free enjoyment of that which
belongs to all men. Robert generously ordered his
soldiers to allow those of Henry to supply themselves,
and Rufus, who hardly knew what compassion was,
swore and stammered. “You show great skill in
warfare,” said the Red King; “you, who supply your
enemy with drink; you have now only to furnish him
with meat too.” “How should I leave a brother to
die of thirst?” asked Curthose mildly; “what other
brother have we, if we should lose him?” But when
Henry became King of England, and wanted to be
Duke of Normandy, all this vanished from his me-
mory.- “Thou art a lord in title,” said he, “but not
in reality; for they scorn who should obey thee.
Cede to me thy duchy.”

Curthose declined to comply with this request, and
WILLIAM OLITO. 7

Beauclere without scruple landed in Normandy witi
a formidable force. He encountered his brother’s army
before the walls of Tenchebray, and a severe conflict
took place. Curthose resisted his fate with chivalrous
valour; but at length he was conquered, taken prisoner,
conducted to England, and committed to the Castle of
Cardiff,

When first brought to England, Curthose was
allowed some slight freedom, and permitted to walk
about the woods and fields on the banks of the Severn.
One day, however, while musing over his hard fate,
the old spirit of adventure took possession of him; and
no wonder. The Severn flowed onwards; the salmon
leaped in its silver tide; the heron perched on its
grassy margin; -the eagle scared over the Castle of
Cardiff; the very beings whom the conquest had made
serfs on their own glebe appeared happy in comparison
with the son and heir of the Conqueror. His plight
was more than fiesh and blood could bear; so he seized
a horse, and rode off at a pace which seemed to defy
pursuit.

But Curthose found that this was one of those occa-
sions on which the race is not te the swift. His steed
floundered in a morass; and the fugitive, being secured,
was subjected to a more rigorous durance. Indeed, it
is asserted that Beauclere, in the plenitude of his power,
caused his brother to be deprived of sight, by holding
a burning hot brass basin before the miserable captive’s
eyes.
18 BOY-PRINCES.

When the catastrophe of Curthose was accomplished,
his son, William Clito, was at Falaise; and at that town
the boy fell into the hands of his victorious umele.
Clito was then only five years old, harmless as a
dove, and the very picture of innocence. Nevertheless,
Beauclere foresaw that, as years passed on, the son of
the Conqueror’s heir would be used as an instrument
to eurb his ambition; and the desire to remove. such a
being from his path must have been strong within a
man who was, in all respects, the reverse of scrupulous,
But the blue-eyed child, when brought into his pre-
sence, wept piteously, and sobbed as if his heart would
break; and Henry shrank from rudely parting the soul
and body ofa being so defenceless. After a struggle,
Beauclere’s good angel saved him from adding infanti-
cide to that long list of enormities which made the
Anglo-Saxons regard him as the most wicked of men,
and gave rise to the memorable expression, “ Royalty
is Crime.” Feeling, doubtless, as if the eyes of his
Maker, his neighbour, and posterity, were upon him at
the moment, the King of England ordered his little
nephew to be removed, and gave him into the charge
of Helie de St. Saen, a Norman baron whose fidelity he
believed could be relied on, and whose character for
probity was such as to preclude suspicion of foul play
in the event of the young Prince coming to an untimely
end,

Helie de St. Saen, rough and ready of hand as he
was, had a tender heart under his chain armour; and




































































"
SE Ws
SSS in



The servants escaped with Clito secretly from the castle, and carried
him in safety to their master.—p, 19,
WILLIAM CLITO. 19

he was naturally attached to the boy, having married
an illegitimate daughter of the ill-fated prisoner of
Cardiff He treated “the royal heir” with great kind-
ness, educated him with the utmost care, and manifested
towards him much affection. Beauclere, aware of all
this, grew alarmed ; and, repenting of his lenity, resolved
to get the boy into his own hands without delay, and
subject him to perpetual imprisonment. With this
object, he commissioned Robert de Beauchamp to make
the seizure, and furnished that Norman baron with a
body of horse for the purpose.

Thus it happened that, one Sunday, when Clito was
eight years old, and St. Saen was absent from his
castle, the people, coming out of church, perceived a
band of armed men lurking in the neighbourhood. Not
relishing such a circumstance during their lord’s ab-
sence, they hurried to the castle, and gave the alarm.
The servants, guessing the truth, hastened to Clito’s
chamber, found him asleep, awoke him, escaped with
him secretly from the castle, and carried him in safety
to their master,

Helie St. Saen, in the hour of peril, proved true to
the unfortunate son of Robert, and bore, without com-
plaint, the loss of house and lands, which was the result
of his generosity. Clinging, with more than parental
devotion, to the little Prince, he carried him, for pro-
tection, to the Count of Anjou; and, ere three years
passed, Clito, under his auspices, had visited the courts,
and become acquainted with the sovereigns, of France,
20 BOY-PRINCES,

Aquitaine, Burgundy, and Britanny. The beauty and
innocence of the little Prince won him many friends
among the powerful, while his hapless position and vast
claims rendered him an object of general interest.

The noble heart is ever with the unfortunate; and
Louis le Gros, the King, who fostered the infant
civilisation of France, and figured as the first knight
of his age, was as generous as he was politic and
brave. He wished Clito well, and had a deep
interest in his success. His relations, however, with
the King of England were somewhat peculiar, and
slightly embarrassing. In other days, when Louis
was an heir-apparent and Henry a younger son, the
latter paid a visit to the French court at Constance.
During a game at chess a fierce quarrel occurred.
Louis lost money, cast some chessmen in Henry’s face,
and reproached him with his father’s base birth. Henry
furiously threw the chess-board at Louis, and felled him
to the floor. Subsequently Louis, having to fly from

France to escape the persecution of his step-mother,
took refuge in England, and formed with Henry a close
intimacy. .

Circumstances, however, occurred to change this
sentiment of Louis. As years passed on the unscrupulous
seizure of Normandy by a man who was King of Eng-
land inspired him with apprehension, and policy de-
manded that his feelings as a friend should be sacrificed
to his interests as a prince. He therefore pledged hin-
self to espouse Clito’s cause when he should be of age,
WILLIAM CLITO. 21

to invest him with the Duchy of Normandy, and to aid
him to the utmost of his power, The Count of Anjou
also promised his support; and, as a pledge of sin-
cerity, he consented to give Sybil, his eldest daughter,
in marriage to the expatriated Prince.

While matters were in this position, and Clito
was yet in his twelfth year, but giving promise of
strength and wisdom, events hurried his patrons into
war; and the Karl of Flanders, having become the
right hand and guiding spirit of their league, Beau-
elere sustained a series of harassing attacks all along
the frontier of Normandy. He lost fortress after for-
tress, and town after town. Disaster preyed upon
his spirits; he suspected that plots were formed
against his life; and he dared not lay himself down
to rest without a sword and buckler by his side.
Rumour stuffed men’s ears with stories of terrible
visions that had appeared to- Henry in his sleep one
night when on his voyage to Normandy, and so
frightened him that he thrice sprang from his bed
and grasped his weapon.

The prospects of Clito were daily brightening, when
suddenly Beauelere put forth all the powers of his
intellect, and accomplished by policy what his arms,
however energetically directed, could hardly have done.
Ee knew human nature sufficiently well to be aware
that such a man as Anjou might be bribed to prove
false to his allies: he resolved to buy off the Count,
and he succeeded, Anjou agreed to repudiate the con-
22 BOY-PRINOCES.

tract between his daughter and Clito, on the ground.
of consanguinity, to abandon the princely boy’s cause,
and to leave his confederates to shift for themselves.
The estates forfeited by Helie St. Saen were to be
given to Anjou in reward for his treachery to the allies,
whom he left helpless. The confederacy, which had
been so formidable, was soon broken up; and King
Louis was under the necessity of sacrificing the interests
of his youthful protégé.

Clito found refuge at the court of his steady friend,
the Earl of Flanders, and became an object of no slight
interest to the people of Normandy. Indeed, his influ-
‘ence increased so rapidly, that Beauclere, feeling the
danger of allowing so popular a pretender to be at
large, used every artifice to entrap him. Immediate
possession of three English earldoms was the enticing
bait finally thrown out to lure him to destruction, But
Clito declined to barter his birthright for grants that
would, in all probability, be withdrawn on fraudulent
pretences; and, ere long, events seemed to vindicate
the wisdom of his refusal.

These events arose from the unfortunate fact that
Beauclere had not a particle of honour in his bosom,
and made promises only to break them. No sooner was
the confederacy dissolved than he violated almost every
engagement he had made on the Continent. He broke
faith with the barons of Normandy; he repudiated his
treaty with the Count of Anjou, and he secretly incited
the subjects cf France to rebel against his and their
WILLIAM CLITO. 23

liege lord. This wholesale treachery soon produced
fruit in the shape of a new league, including the mal-
contents Normans, as well as the King of France, the
Count of Anjou, and the Earl of Flanders. Clito’s
name again served as a rallying-point to his uncle’s
enemies; and he now mounted a war-steed, took the
field,.and was henceforth by turns the pride and sport
of his allies—sometimes their hero, sometimes their
victim.

Beauclere had just sustained two great losses. His
good queen, who had bound the Anglo-Saxons to the
throne, had gone the way of all flesh; and so had his
minister, the Karl of Mellent, who, by profound know-
ledge of continental affairs, had won the reputation of
being the wisest statesman in Europe. Notwithstanding
these calamities, the King of England faced the con-
federacy with his wonted energy. Aceompanied this time
by William Atheling, he appeared or the Continent, and
carried matters with so high a hand, that King Louis
was fain to beg a suspension of hostilities. The tide of
forttme then turned. Beauclere, losing ground, was
exposed to the most serious reverses, and the star of
young Clito was rising, when the Earl of Flanders, the
heart and soul of the confederacy, was cut off by a
wound at the siege of Hu.

Finding himself relieved from so formidable a foe
as Flanders had proved himself, Beauclere again began
to practise his diplomatic wiles, and a second time won
over Anjou by a large bribe, and a solemn promise that
24 BOY-PRINCES.

his second daughter should be espoused by the heir of

England. Clite and his royal ally, though thus left in

the lurch, maintained the very unequal contest, till it

was terminated by a skirmish, which took place one day

in August, 1119, and which chroniclers have described
as the Battle of Brenville.

The King of France and four hundred of his
knights—such is the aceount——were riding near
the town of Noyon, when the tramp of war-steeds
and the ring of mail intimated the approach of the
foe; and suddenly a gallant little army under Beau-
clere and his son appeared in view. The chargers
neighed; the trumpets sounded an onset; and each
knight, couching his lance, sprang forward like an
arrow from a bow. Clito, who led the French van,
bore himself with hereditary courage. Closely at-
tended by the stout Count of Evreux, he broke
the hostile ranks, penetrated te the standard of Eng-
land, and was face to face with his father’s cruel jailer.
Evreux, raising his weapon, aimed two blows at Beau-
clere’s head; but the royal warrior’s steel cap protected
its wearer; and the Anglo-Norman knights, closing in,
bore back the brave assailants.

Nor was Beauclere exposed to further peril; for
the charge which Clito had gallantly led not being
properly supported, the French scon had the worst of
the fray. Three of their knights lay dead on tho
ground; a hundred more were prisoners; the royal
standard was in the hands of the enemy; Louis, un-
WILLIAM CLITO. 25

horsed, was escaping on foot; and Clito, having had
his palfrey killed under him in the encounter, was fhin
to follow the King’s example. While wandering about,
Louis and his youthful ally lost themselves in a wood,
and were in some danger of falling into the hands of the
enemy. But a countryman, finding them in this pre-
dicament, conducted them in safety to Audely, where
they rallied the remains of their little army, and defied
the King of England to another trial of strength.

’ But such a method of closing the controversy was
by no means in accordance with the views of Beau-
clere. Having full confidence in his diplomatic powers,
he chose rather to trust to subtle courtesies and crafty
negotiations. He hospitably entertained the captive
knights, set them free on the payment of ransoms
befitting their rank, sent Louis a war-horse magni-
ficently caparisoned, and caused his son to despatch
to Clito a splendid palfrey and many chivalrous com-
pliments. The French monarch, finding how hopeless
ib was to cope with such an adversary, appealed for
redress to Rome.

At Rheims the Pope forthwith convoked a Council,
and thither he came to preside in person. Louis acted
towards his protégé with loyal chivalry. He presented
Clito to the Council as the son of a deeply-injured
prince; he complained of the gross injustice done to
Curthose; and he demanded the aid of the Church in
regaining for that brave champion of the Cross the
Duchy of Normandy, which was his by hereditary


26 BOY-PRINCES,

right. The Pope, without taking one side or the other,
mediated between the rival monarchs, and decided that
the King of England should remain in possession of
Normandy, on condition of his son doing homage for it

“to France. All efforts to obtain some settlement in
favour of Clito proved futile. He had nothing left but
the personal friendship of Louis, and that nobility of
soul which teaches the brave spirit never to hold
counsel with despair.

However, this princely youth, in spite of unpro-
pitious fortune and false friends—in spite of having to
eat the bread and climb the stairs of another, continued
io grow day by day in favour and popularity. He,
unlike Curthose, was so prudent in pecuniary matters
that people called him a miser; but he was loved and
admired by all who knew him, and especially the
Normans, who regarded him with pride as the darling
of their nation. His immediate prospects were not
cheering, it was true, but hope could still gild the
future; and, now that the son of Beauclere was no
more, the probability of William Clito yet wearing the
coronal of Normandy and the crown of England was
not out of the question, A great confederacy of con-
tinental princes was already forming with the object of
vindicating his rights, when a transaction, most
characteristic of Beauclere, precipitated the inevitable
crisis.

After the young Atheling perished in “the White
Ship,” the Count of Anjou demanded back his
WILLIAM CLITO. 27

daughter, with the portion which had accompanied her
hand; and Beauclere unhesi‘atingly surrendered the
fair young Matilda, but meanly insisted on retaining
her dower. The Count swore and stormed after the
most approved. fashion of the day, placed his daughter
asanun in the Couvent of Fontrevaud, and vowed a
speedy revenge onthe royal knave. Renewing his alliance
with the King of France, Anjou affianced his daughter
Sybil to Clito, and, as a pledge of his good faith, which
the boy had cause to doubt, put him in possession of
the Earldom of Mons. ‘Their league soon assumed
formidable proportions; the Earls of Mellent and
Mowbray raised the standard of insurrection; and a
host of Norman barons vowed to stand or fall by the
gallant son of the true heir of the Conqueror.

But Beauclere, though a knave, was no fool; he
well understood how to play for kingdoms and crowns
—it had been the game of his life. Despairing, after a
second marriage with Adeliza of Louvaine, of leaving
a son to succeed him, he resolved on a bold stroke of
policy. He had a daughter, known as the Empress
Maude, who happened to be a widow, and though at
that time no woman could properly rule England, he
made the barons swear allegiance to her as the heir of
his throne. Moreover, he offered this widowed Empress
in marriage to Geoffrey Plantagenet, son of the Count
of Anjou, in order irrevocably to detach that powerful
house from Clito’s cause. The Count again deserted
the youth without seruple, a third time formed a close
28 BOY-PRINCES.

alliance with the man against whom he had vowed
vengeance, and a second time breaking a matrimonial
contract, dismissed the gallant Prince from his court.
Young Clito had still a friend left, for the King of
France did not desert him in the day of adversity. To
the French court he went, sad and sorrowful, with
traces of grief visible on his countenance. Pity,
sympathy, and that romantic honour natural to a man
who aspired to be the first knight of his age, prompted
the struggling sovereign to stand firmly by his protégé.
Louis betrothed to Clito the sister of his queen, a
daughter of the House of Savoy, and with her agreed
to give the country bordering on Normandy. After
this Clito went to Gisors, and laid claim to Normandy;
but Beauclerc had quite cowed the Normans, and they



were afraid to lend countenance to Duke Rebert’s heir.



Ere long, however, his fortunes began to flourish.
The Earl of Flanders having been slain by con-
spirators at the foot of the altar, the King of France, as
liege lord, entered the country to punish the assassins.
In this expedition Clito accompanied his royal brother-
in-law, and Louis conferred upon him the vacant earl-
dom. As heir of Matilda of Flanders, the Conqueror’s
queen, Clito’s hereditary claim was unexceptionable;
and the Flemish people offered no opposition to their
new Earl. The King of France, having seen his nominee
fairly installed, took his departure, under the impression
that his young relative was secure, and in a favourable
position for prosecuting his designs on Normandy. But
WILLIAM CLITO. 23

scarcely was the King’s back turned when the Flemings
formed a conspiracy, and sent for aid to the English
monarch, whose ruling passion now was to accomplish
his nephew’s ruin.

Clito was at Ypres when the conspiracy was formed,
and the Flemings resolved to attack by night the fort
where he say. It happened, however, that the hand-
some prince had inspired a young lady of the town of
Ypres with a romantic attachment; and she, on be-
coming aware of what was intended, rushed to his
presence, and with tears revealed the plot. Upon
becoming aware .of his peril, Clito hastily left Ypres
with his friends, and, taking the damsel with him,
caused her to be escorted to William, Duke of Aqui-
taine, with a request that she should be provided with
a suitable husband. After this he prepared for action.

The Flemings said in their haste, “This is a mere
tyro in war.” They forgot, in their conceit and self
sufficiency, the battles, fortunes, and sieges Clito had
passed, and deluded themselves with the anticipation
of an easy victory. He soon convinced them how
deeply they were mistaken, and scattered their ill-
directed host. In their obstinate despair they implored
Thierry, Landgrave of Alsace, to place himself at their
head. ‘Thierry aceepted the pressing invitation, ad-
vanced a claim to the earldom, as descendant cf some
ancient chief of the country, and took the field, after
having received from Beauclerc aid in money and

promises of men.
3a BOY-PRINCES.

The garrisons of Lisle, Ghent, and other places,
treacherously surrendered, and the aspect of affairs
was most menacing. But, in the midst of danger and
difficulty, the spirit and courage of Clito sustained his
heart and nerved his arm. His whole career had been
a struggle against misfortune, and adversity had taught
him ‘skill and wisdom. He encountered Thierry and
the turbulent Flemings under the walls of Alost,
inflicted a signal defeat on his enemies, and raised the
drooping spirits of his adherents. Fortune now scemed
to yield to Clito’s energy and valour; but there wag
drawing nigh a foe less easily baffled than Beauclerc, or
Thierry of Alsace.

One summer night—so chroniclers assert—poor,
old, blind Curthose, who for well-nigh twenty years
had known no mate but misery, while sleeping in his
dungeon at Cardiff, dreamed that his son was mortally
wounded with a lance in the arm, and next morning
exclaimed mournfully to his keeper, “Alas! I fear
my son is dead.” It goon appeared that this dream
had come through that gate of horn ot which poets
have sung. While engaged in a sharp skirmish with
the garrison of Alost, Clito, catching at the lance of an
antagonist, was slightly cut under the ball of his right
thumb. The wound, which at first appeared a mere
seratch, ere long, from neglect or improper treatment,
produced mortification, Aware that his last hour was
approaching, Clito wrote to his uncle, imploring pardon
fox those Normans who had followed his fortunes.
WILLIAM OLITO. 31

Having discharged this duty, the gallant Prince expired
on the 27th of July, 1128.

Robert Curthose survived for years the young hero
who had struggled so bravely to avenge his wrongs;
but at last he found his condition intolerable. One
day a messenger from Beauclere having brought the
poor captive a scarlet robe, Curthose asked if it had
ever been worn, The messenger then told him that
the King had tried it on, that he had found the capouch
too small, and that he had said, “Carry this garment
to my brother; his head is less than mine.” “ Ah!”
exclaimed Curthose, the cup of bitterness overflowing,
“methinks I have protracted a miserable life too long,
since my brother sends me his old clothes to wear ;”
and from that hour he refused either to be fed or com-
forted. Providence, in merey, soon relieved the aged
captive from his misery. The wounded spirit winged
its flight; the broken heart ceased to beat; the sight-
less eyes closed in death; and the weary limbs rested
for ever.

Meanwhile Chto had been buried in the Abbey of
Bertin, at St. Omers; and a magnificent tomb was
erected to mark the spot where reposed the Conqueror’s
heir,
EUSTACE OF BOULOGNE,

‘SON .OF KING STEPHEN.

Wuen the deck of “the White Ship” became the scene
of dissipation, and when Death was hovering about io
catch his. prey, several of the passengers consulted their
safety by returning on shore. Among these a gallant
youth of fifteen or so, standing on the quay at Barfleur,
gave his knights and squires to understand that he
relished not the look of matters; that the ship was
crowded with people who were too headstrong to care
what they did; and intimated, with a wise shake of the
head, that he would rather not tempt the sea in such
company. This boy, distinguished by a handsome per-
son, an affable countenance, and a popular address, was
xnown to the bystanders as Henry Beauclere’s favourite
nephew. He was Stephen, son of that daughter of the
Conqueror who had been given in marriage to the
Count of Blois.

Whether the peril which Stephen eseaped on this
occasion gave him an idea that he was reserved by
Providence for something great does not appear. But
he had. been born te aspive; so, when the waves of the
EUSTACE OF BOULOGNE. 33

sea rolled over the body of Atheling, and Clito was
-puried‘in the Abbey of Bertin, he naturally began to,
imagine himself the Conqueror’s heir, and to dream of
chances and probabilities that might raise him to royal
rank. Circumstances favoured Stephen’s aspirations;
and when Beauclere breathed his last in Normandy, his
nephew, hurrying to England, had. little difficulty in
excluding the absent daughter of the dead king, and
ascending the vacant throne.

“About the time when this brave Prince grasped
with facility the crown he was to experience difficulty
in retaining, Matilda of Boulogne, his faithful spouse,
made him the father.of a boy, te whom was given the
name of Eustace. This son of Stephen and Matilda is
stated to have been a child of rare promise; and he
was, of course, regarded with such fond hopes as gene-
rally animate royal parents when contemplating their
ofispring. They lost no time in seeking to advance his
fortune. While still in infancy Eustace was taken to
the Continent; and Queen Matilda having resigned to
her son the Earldom of Boulogne, induced the King of
France to invest him—child as he was—with the Duchy
of Normandy. Notwithstanding the tender years of
Eustace, the next step was to find a bride worthy, as
years rolled on, of figuring as Countess of Boulogne,
~ Duchess of Normandy, and Queen of England.

Matilda of Boulogne was animated by those feelings
natural to a young and high-spirited mother, and
ambitious that her progeny should succeed to the

D
34 BOY-PRINCES,

Enelish throne. She was therefore most anxious not
only to propitiate the friendship of foreign courts, but
to profit by the near alliance of royal houses. With
such views, she carried Hustace, in his fourth year, to
the French court, that she might negotiate, on behalf of
the little Prince, a marriage with one of the youthful
sisters of King Louis. But the throne of Stephen was
by no means strong enough to make his alliance
desirable, and it is hardly to be doubted that the
French monarch would look shyly on the wife of his
brother-king when she came on such an errand.

But Matilda of Boulogne was rich, gifted, and
energetic; Louis of France was poor, soft, and sluggish.
She, not to be batfled in her object, offered, it would
seem, to come down with something handsome; he, not
to be further troubled, acceded to her wish on that
condition. Matilda accordingly paid an immense sum,
that her son might have a bride from the House of
Capet; and in 1140, matters having been arranged,
Prince Eustace was, with much splendour and ceremony,
contracted to Constance, a sister of the reigning King
of France, and daughter of him who had befriended
Clito. This alliance it was thought would greatly
strengthen the throne to which the boy-bridegroom was
heir. But before the Prince and his mother had time
to return to England King Stephen was in chains, and
all caps in the air for a stately and majestic lady, who
has been before mentioned as the Empress Mande.

Maude, who was Beauclere’s only legitimate daugh-
EUSTACE OF BOULOGNE. 35

ter, had, when in childhood, been demanded in marriage
by the Emperor of Germany, son of that Henry who,
with varying success, carried on “the War of Investi-
ture” against Hildebrand, when the latter, as Gregory
the Seventh, set himself to “pull down the pride of
kings.” This imperial wooer was no stripling cherub;
but, doubtless, the German Cesar, though old, thought
himself a prize; and, when more than fifty, he received
as his bride a girl who had scarcely seen twelve sum-
mers. A few years passed over; the Emperor, carried
off by a pestilential disease, was buried with befitting
pomp at Spires; and Maude was brought back to
England, to be acknowledged as heir to the crown.
She had left England for the Continent in her fifth
year; she returned home from Germany in’ her fifth
lustre, tall, stately, and beautiful—indeed, one of the
most captivating widows who had appeared since the
days of Dido, but not quite prepared, like Dido, to die
on a funeral pile rather than submit to the infliction of
a second husband.

While Maude was manifesting some degree of
kindness for her cousin Stephen, Geoffrey of Anjou
appeared at her father’s court at Rouen. He was
young, learned, handsome, and, from wearing a sprig
of flowering broom in his hat instead of a feather, bore
the surname of Plantagenet. Beauclere conceived a
great liking for his accomplished neighbour, and ere
long gave him the hand of the widowed Empress. The
marriage, which took place in 1127, and which was not
3G BOY-PRINCES.

much to Maude’s taste, proved unhappy. The wedded
pair had many domestic quarrels; and when Beauclere
died, the peers and prelates, having no fancy for pet-
ticoat government, declared that, as the hand of Maude
had been bestowed upon Geoftrey without their consent,
the oath of fealty which they had sworn to her was
clearly rendered void.

For several years Maude refrained from urging
her claim to the English crown; but at length, in the
autumn of 1139, she landed on the coast of Sussex,
accompanied by her illegitimate brother, the Harl of
Gloucester, and a retinue of one hundred and forty
knights. Gloucester marched without delay to Bristol,
in the “neighbourhood of which the adherents of his
sister mustered strong; and Maude herself repaired to
rest from the fatigues of her voyage within the walls of
the strong Castle of Arundel. This feudal pile, the
ruins of which, towering over the aristocratic residence
of its modern proprietor, recall to the memory grand
names long passed away, and grand old families long



since extinct, had been settled by Beauclere on his
second wife, Adeliza of Louvaine; and after his death
it had gone, with the hand of the royal widow, to
William de Albini. By Adeliza, her step-mother—a
woman about her own age—Maude was hospitably
entertained; but she had scarcely time to form a pro-
ject ere the Castle of Arundel was surrounded by
Stephen and his fighting-men. The appearance of
armed. foemen, no doubt, inspired the hien-born ladies
EUSTACE OF BOULOGNE, 37

with dread. But they had known the warrior-king of
old; they had learned how tender was his regard for
their sex; and they perfectly comprehended how to
deal with such an antagonist,
With all the faults of that age
they were—it was an age of chivalry, when to appear

and multitudinous



in arms against a lady was deemed disgraceful to a
true knight. Almost while Stephen was before
Arundel the Moors of Granada were, in this respect,
showing a great example to the warriors of Christen-
dom. The Empress-Queen of Spain, besieged in the
Castle of Azeca, reproached the Moslem warriors with
their want of courtesy in warring against a woman.
The Moors, men who were in the habit of sighing
away their souls in moonlight serenades under the
balconies of Zegri or Abencerrage ladies, admitted
the justice of this rebuke; and when the Empress-
Queen displayed herself on the battlements they made
their obeisance, and instantly raised the siege.

The war, which after desolating England for years
terminated in the peaceful accession of the House of
Plantagenet, commenced with an incident somewhat
similar. The fair spouse of Albini, inspired by the
Empress with a courage not her own, upbraided Stephen
for appearing in martial array before a castle held by a
lady, hinted that his conduct indicated a contempt of
chivalry which ill became a belted knight, and assured
him that Maude was entertained in the character of a
near relation, and quite ready to take her departure.
38 BOY-PRINCES,

As a true son of chivalry, Stephen had now no choice;
so he admitted that Adeliza was in the right, withdrew
from before the Castle of Arundel, and refrained from
attempting to prevent the Empress joining her brother
at Bristol.

But now men in mail gathered to the banners of
their chiefs; and the war, which was to prove most
disastrous to the country, began in earnest. Maude
set up her standard, and from north and west the
barons flocked around it. Her cause became so
fashionable that Stephen was abandoned even by his
own brother, the Bishop of Winchester; but though
deserted, his characteristic courage glowed more fiercely
than ever. “They have set me ona throne, and now
they abandon me,” exclaimed the martial monarch ;
“but, by the birth of God, they never shall call mea
deposed king !”

Two years of civil war followed, and never was
England a prey to greater miseries than when Eustace
of Boulogne was married in France. All governnient
was at an end; frightful atrocities were committed ;
travellers were plundered without seruple; and within
their strong castles the Norman nobles tortured and
murdered their weak neighbours with impunity.
Everything was anarchy, when a fierce battle, fought
at Lincoln, decided the campaign in favour of the
Empress. Stephen, after fighting with heroic bravery,
consented, when his sword was broken, to yield to the
Earl of Gloucester; and the royal Lastard, laving sent
EUSTACE OF BOULOGNE, 39

his prisoner to the Castle of Bristol, ordered him to
be loaded with chains.

The fortunes of the Empress now appeared most
flourishing, and she repaired forthwith to be crowned
in London. But Maude’s imperious temper got the
better of her discretion, and ere the coronation robes
could be prepared she dissipated the popularity which
her personal appearance could hardly have failed to
create. When courtesy and generosity were so essential, |
her hauteur and selfishness disgusted everybody. The
citizens of London petitioned her to restore the laws of
Edward the Confessor ; Matilda of Boulogne, with tears
in her eyes, implored her husband’s liberty, promising
that he would be content with a private station; and
the Bishop of Winchester demanded that Prince Eustace
should be recognised as Earl of Boulogne. These
suits the Empress, elate with pride and prosperity,
not only rejected, but with language so insolent, that
citizens, queen, and bishop expressed deep disgust, and
prepared for a new struggle.

Prince Eustace, it appears, had returned from
Normandy, and was safe among the men of Kent,
when he became aware that forces must be gathered
with all speed; and in the name of the royal boy,
Matilda of Boulogne and William de Ypres, her hus-
band’s favourite knight, summoned the men of Kent
and Surrey to the standard of the captive King. A
new scene was soon opened up.

One summer day—it was nigh the feast of
40 BOY-PRINCES.

John the Baptist—while the Empress was at dinner,
a body of horse suddenly appeared on the south
side of the Thames, and displayed the banner of
King Stephen. The effect seemed magical. London
was forthwith in commotion; the alarm was sounded;
the church belis were rung; and to aid the Prince
in setting his father free, armed men came forth from
every house as bees rush from their hives. The
Empress, taken by surprise, sprang from table,
mounted a swift horse, and galloped hastily towards
Oxford, and then to Winchester. So sudden was
her flight from London, which she was not destined
ever to see again, that she had not even time to
take with her a change of raiment.

Much has been said about the martial prowess
and knightly achievements of Eustace at this period.
Nevertheless, it is a fact that, when Maude was driven
from London, he could hardly have been more than
cight years of age. The presence of the son of Stephen
might, and doubtless did, lend mettle to the army
destined to restore his father; but that he could have
taken none other than a very slight share in its exploits,
appears beyond all question. However, he was at
Winchester during that long siege which resulted in
the flight of the Empress, in the capture of Gloucester
while covering his sister’s retreat, and in the exchange
of the incarcerated King for his illegitimate kinsman.

When Stephen at length forced the daughter of
Beauclere to betake herself to the Continent, and leave
EUSTACE OF BOULOGNE. AL

him master of England, he began to manifest much
solicitude for the future of Eustace. At Christmas,
1147, the martial monarch and his spouse kept the
festival with unusual splendour at Lincoln, and drew
around them the peers and prelates of the land. The
object of the royal pair was to have the boy crowned,
that he might reign conjointly with his father; but
their wish was not destined to be gratified. Though
many of the barons did homage to Eustace as Stephen’s
heir, the proposal to recognise him as king was one to
which they would not listen, The refusal of his barons
to crown his heir indicated to Stephen by how pre-
carious a tenure he held the kingdom. In truth, there

was in the field a rival whose claims, growing stronger



year by year, were ultimately to prove irresistible by Ste-
phen, and fatal to the son whose cradle had been cheered
by the smile of fortune. Even at this early period the
birth of that rival, his education, his intellect, and his
fortunes, all rendered him an object of interest to the
people of England.

At the time. when King Stephen lay fettered in
the Castle of Bristol there might have been seen within
the walls of the ancient city, watching the weather-
beaten mariners who navigated the ships that carried
on the trade with. Ireland, or practising the martial
exercises of the age, or telling some youthful comrade
how sunny was his home beyond the seas, a stout,
ruddy lad, who had hardly passed his tenth year.
This youth, then studying under a learned man named
42 BOY-PRINCES.

Matthew, was the eldest son of the Empress Maude.
He was known among the Normans as Fitz-Empress.
He was known among the Anglo-Saxons as grandson
of “the Good Queen Maude.” He has since been
known in English history as Henry the Second, the
lover of Fair Rosamond, the husband of Eleanor of
Aquitaine, the sire of a most rebellious family, and
progenitor of those English kings renowned above all
others in Christendom for strength in battle and
wisdom in council. ;

We need not relate with minuteness how the
young Plantagenet grew to manhood; how he was
invested with the symbols of knighthood by his great
uncle David, King of Scots; how, having acquired
Aquitaine by marriage, and Normandy with Anjou
by inheritance, he became one of the most potent
princes in Europe. Suffice it to say that, having
landed on the shores of England in 1152, and been
joined by many of the barons, he marched towards
Wallingford, to fight for the crown which had eluded
his mother’s grasp.

By this time Eustace was a warrior of some dis«
tinction. In 1149 he had been knighted by Stephen,
and sent in command of a force to ravage the lands of
barons devoted to Henry. This was the first exploit
of Eustace’s manhood, and the reputation he had won
during his incursions was such as to arouse Henry’s
jealousy.

Eustace was at Wallingford when young Henry
EUSTACE OF BOULOGNE, 43

marched thither, and he bravely maintained his ground
till his father’s arrival ; and as Stephen was still popular,
and his partisans were numerous, he lost no time in
marching along the left bank of the Thames to his
son’s relief, The river ran between the two armies
regarding each other with hostile intent; and there
was every prospect of its waters being crimsoned with
blood, when several of the nobles, among whom was
William de Albini, seeing that the choice lay between
anew civil war and a compromise, interposed, and sug-
gested a treaty. Accordingly, the King and his young
rival held a conference across a narrow part of the
Thames; and it was arranged that Stephen should
enjoy the crown during his life, but that Henry should
be recognised as his heir. .

This was a death-blow to the hopes of Prince
Eustace; and had Matilda of Boulopne—a woman
whom misfortune could not depress—been alive, it is
doubtful whether she would have agreed to terms which
excluded her posterity from the throne. But Matilda
had for some time been lying at rest within the Abbey
of Feversham, and Eustace had no one capable of giving
him counsel. He, who had lately been courted as heir
to the kingdom’s crown, was, doubtless, amazed at
finding himself of such small account, and everybody
willing to worship the rising sun. A sage might,
under the circumstances, have administered to him the
consolations of philosophy, or a priest the consolations
of religion; but a man of the world would, in all
44 BOY-PRINCES,

probability, have pointed out that Eustace had, some-
how or other, forfeited his popularity, and that his
character was a good deal the worse for the wear.

Such, indeed, appears to have been the case. “Then
went Eustace, the king’s son, te France,” says the
Saxon Chronicle, “and took to wife the sister of the
King of France. He thought to obtain Normandy
thereby; but he sped little, and by good rights, for he
was an evil man. Wherever he was, he did more evil
than good; he robbed the lands, and levied heavy
' guilds upon them. He brought his wife to Eng-
land... . Good woman she was; but she had little
bliss with him, and Christ willed not that he should
reign.”

However that may have been-—-and doubtless the
chronicler writes with some degree of prejudice—no
sooner did Eustace perceive that his interests were
sacrificed than he took counsel with the desperate, and
gave way to the most dangerous excitement. Inspired
alternately with vague hope and frenzied despair, he
gathered a band of fighting-men in Cambridgeshire, and,
ravaging the country as he went, marched towards
Bury St. Edmund's.

When the Prince reached the abbey he was re-
ceived with all due honour by the monks, who bent
their hooded heads, and placed before him such good
cheer as their house afforded. “It is not meat but
money I want,” exclaimed Eustace, and fiercely de-
manded a subsidy. “We are men of peace,” said the
EUSTACE OF BOULOGNE. 45

monks, taking courage to refuse, “and cannot con-
scientiously give the means of creating civil war, with
all its devastation and bloodshed.” The Prince flew
into a violent passion, led his adherents to the fields,
and wreaked his fury on the crops belonging to the
abbey.

« Having thus taken revenge on the monks, Eustace
sat down to dinner; and, as the story is told, was
choked by the first morsel he attempted to swallow.
The truth appears to be that the unfortunate Prince
was already under the influence of a brain fever. But,
however that may have been, Eustace of Boulogne died
on the 10th of August, 1153, at the age of eighteen,
and he was laid by his mother’s side in the Abbey of
#eversham,
46

ARTHUR OF BRITANNY.

In the autumn of 1186 a grand tournament was held
at the Court of Paris, then presided over by Philip
Augustus. While taking part in the mélée one of
the King’s guests was unhorsed, and trampled to death
by the hoofs of the other combatants’ steeds. The
Imight who thus died ranked as a Prince of England
and a Peer of France; he was Geoffrey Plantagenet,
son of our second Henry, and husband of Constance,
the youthful Duchess of Britanny.

Some months later than the sad event which made
her a widow—-on Easter-day, the 29th of March, 1187
—while residing at Nantes, Constance, who had already
an infant daughter, gave birth to a son. This boy was
heir to the province which she had brought to the
House of Plantagenet ; and the inhabitants of Britanny,
a wild and imaginative race, were enthusiastic with
delight at their little Prince’s birth. Cherishing a
superstitious veneration for the memory of King Arthur,
they, in defiance of the wishes of the powerful Henry,
insisted on the infant receiving the name of that
British hero of romance. In deference to their ardent
ARTHUR OF BRITANNY. 47

desire the Prince was called Arthur; and the Bretons
regaled their fancies with dreams of a period when he
should restore their national independence, and rule
over them free from the interference of England or
France.

Alas for such anticipations! Hardly had the lad
been cradled—hardly had the Bretons smiled with
complacency at his promising appearance—when Philip
Augustus, King of France, assumed the right to govern
the province in his name. To this, of course, Henry
Plantagenet objected; and the two kings met to
arrange matters at Gisors, under an old elm-tree,
which grew so exactly on the frontier, that each of
_ the sovereigns could, while conversing, shelter himself
from the sun or rain under its peaceful shadow, and
yet stand safe on the territory which acknowledged
his sway. The conference, like most others between
those famous masters of kingcraft, came to nothing ;
and Henry, being soon after laid at rest in the Abbey
of Fontrevaud, the tomb of the early Plantagenets, his
son Richard, the famous Caur de Lion, became sove-
reign of England and Duke of Normandy.

When this had taken place, and Arthur, our little
hero, was two years of age, his warlike uncle, faring
forth to signalise his prowess in the crusades, affianced
the Prince to an infant daughter of the Norman King
of the Two Sicilies. Richard, whose reckless and adven-
turous disposition placed-his life in perpetual jeopardy,
described Arthur as “his most dear nephew and
48 BOY-PRINCHS.

heir,” and even negotiated a treaty with the King
of Scots to support the boy’s rights in case of necessity.
But Constance of Britanny, a vain woman, who was
serious in nothing but her amours and intrigues, in-
dulged her caprice to such an extent, playing off the
boy between Richard and his rival Philip, that the
lion-hearted Crusader expressed his indignation at
the distrust she manifested, and allowed the claims
of Arthur, as his heir, to be set aside in favour of
his brother, John Lackland.

When Richard, wounded by the poisoned arrow
of Bertrand de Gordon, expired in the Castle of
Chalus, John, by the production of a will which he
affirmed Coeur de Lion had executed in his favour,
contrived to have the golden coronal of the Duchy
of Normandy placed on his head at Rouen. He then
erossed the Channel to secure his interests in England ;
and there his coronation was accomplished without the
semblance of opposition. Nor is it wonderful that’
such should have been the case; for John had been
born and educated in the country, while Arthur was
utterly unknown to the bulk of the people, and the
English as yet made no account of that divine authority
supposed to adhere to the blood of kings. Their
monarchy was, in name at least, elective; and Lack-
land so managed matters that, while defying the
doctrine of primogeniture, he eluded the responsibility
of an elected sovereign. As for poor Arthur, his
name does not even appear to have been mentioned,
ARTHUR OF BRITANNY. 4g

So far all went smoothly. But the people ot Anjou
auc Britanny, who took a different view of the law of
hereditary succession, which was then in a most un-
settled state, proclaimed Arthur as their rightful sove-
reign; and Constance, carrying her handsome boy
to Paris, placed him under the protection of the court
of France, and tendered the oath of fealty for the
provinces claimed by her on his behalf.

Philip Augustus, a cool, patient, and persevering
prince, had, like most real heroes, one project around
which all his ideas clustered. While paving the streets
and improving the architecture of his capital; while
enclosing the park at Vincennes, and building the palace
of the Louvre; while providing a bazaar for merchants,
and securing the privileges of the University; while
persecuting Jews or heretics, and resisting the inter-
dicts of the Pope; his cherished aspiration was, by
dissolving the continental empire of the Plantagenets,
to convert France into the great feudal monarchy
of Europe. He knew full well, however, that patience
was the condition of success, and acted accordingly.

While King Henry lived the movements of Philip
Augustus had been made with extreme caution, and
without any clear advantages. While coping with the
impetuous Richard he had slightly advanced his
scheme by a series of petty victories. But with a
rival like King John—a boaster, a coxcomb, a tyrant—
he felt that his calm intellect and sagacity must render

him a conqueror His policy had hitherto been to
£
50 BOY-PRINCES,

set the Plantagenets at strife with each other, and
avail himself of their discord. He had arrayed son
against father, and brother against brother, and wife
against husband. He regarded Arthur as a fitting
instrument to be used in advancing his cherished
schemes; and he received the fatherless boy with an
affectation of paternal kindness. Moreover, he promised
every aid in his power to make good such claims as
the ill-fated Prince could advance to the kindgom of
England and the duchy of Normandy.

While Arthur, encouraged by Philip, was indulging
in boyish dreams, and men were mustering to vindicate
his claims, the position of John in England was be-
coming critical. He appears, indeed, to have been
menaced from all quarters. ‘he populace, not without
reason, regarded him as the most odious of tyrants;
the Anglo-Norman nobles, pretending to sympathise
with the people among whom they had been born,
openly expressed their contempt; and, to make matters
worse, William the Lion, King of Scots, threatened to
lay waste the northern counties with fire and sword.

Notwithstanding the menacing aspect of affairs,
John crossed over to Normandy to repel aggression,
and drew so many great lords around him, that Philip,
without fighting, demanded a truce of six weeks, On
its expiration he proposed a treaty of peace, by which
all the French possessions of the English crown—save
Normandy—should be given to Arthur, and part of
Normandy landed over to Philip. These demands
ARTHUR OF BRITANNY. 51

were thought far too high, and the war was com-
- menced. with the utmost animosity.

And now John’s mercenary soldiers fell with savage
ferocity on Britanny, and committed fearful havoc.
The corn-fields were laid waste; the houses burned;
and the inhabitants slain or sold as slaves. A small
army of Bretons, under William de la Roche, Arthur’s
guardian, stood bravely out; and Philip coming to
their rescue took several fortified castles. But the
French king, though appearing among the Bretons
in the character of a friend, destroyed the cap-
tured strongholds as unscrupulously as the in-
vaders; and De la Roche, having sufficient penetra-
_ tion to see through the royal politician’s designs, in
a fit of indignation withdrew Arthur and Constance
from the French court.

Being himself a man of generous sentiments, and
having confidence in those influences arising from
kindred blood, De la Roche was on the point of carry-
ing the mother and the son to the Norman court, and
appealing to John for justice and protection. Some
say he actually conducted them to Rouen, and
effected a reconciliation. But suspicions and vague
rumours that John intended putting his nephew to
death caused Constance to withdraw privately the same
night, and place herself and her son beyond his reach
at Philip’s court. The return of Arthur and Constance
to Paris gave Philip a plausible pretext for carrying on
the war and advancing. his ambitious schemes. But
52 BOY-PRINCES.

John having strengthened himself by an alliance with
his nephew, Otho, Emperor of Germany, and with the
Earl of Flanders, showed a front so formidable, that the
French monarch employed a wily cardinal to negotiate
a peace. The rival kings came to terms, and by the
treaty, concluded in the spring of 1200, Philip agreed
to restore all that he had taken from the crown of
England since the death of Richard, and also bounu
himself to give no further aid to Arthur of Britanny.

After this, John seemed for a brief period to be in
full possession of prosperity. But he was one of those
whose evil passions are ever unexpectedly hurrying
them into new peril. Ere long he took an imprudent
and disgraceful step, before which his prosperity
vanished like the morning dew.

While making a progress through that continental
empire which his father had extended from the Channel
to the Pyrenees, John was fascinated with the beauty
of Isabel of Angouléme, a lady who, while in her
teens, had been betrothed, if not married, to the Count
dela Marche. Notwithstanding this contract the King,
as if infatuated, insisted on her parents breaking off the
match; and it does not appear that they offered any
serious objection, But, whatever might have been their
sentiments, the fair Isabel, dazzled with the combined
lustre of a crown and a coronal, jilted the poor Count
without any reluctance; and John, after obtaining a
divorce from his own wife, bore off the faithless beauty
in triumph to England.
ARTHUR OF BRITANNY. 53

And now De la Marche, who had patiently bided
his time, swore to be avenged, raised his standard, and
instigated the whole of Poictou to rebellion. Jobn had
scarcely reached England with his bride when news of
this outbreak arrived, and roused him from luxurious
indolence. Having sent the Earl of Pembroke in all
haste to Normandy, John crossed the sea, and journeyed
to the court of France, where he was received by Philip
with a great display of friendship, and entertained with
the utmost hospitality. Nothing could have exceeded
. the affection and esteem Philip expressed for his royal
guest. A master of dissimulation, he was merely playing
his game. All this time he was in league with the
insurgent barons; and while professing an ardent desire
for close concord with his brother-king, he was medi-
tating a decisive war. The King of England, who
could frighten none but cowards, marched into Aqui-
taine without striking a blow. The King of France
smiled internally at his departed guest’s credulity,
and prepared to drive him with ignominy from the
Continent.

When, by the treaty of 1200, all his interests were
unscrupulously sacrificed, Arthur, though conscious
that he was a mere tool in the hands of -his royal
patron, was so apprehensive of the intentions of John,
that he was fain to repress his juvenile indignation, and
remain as a dependent at the French court. While
there he received intelligence of his mother’s death.
Constance drew. her last breath at Nantes, in Augusi
54 BOY-PRINOES.

1201; and Arthur, going from Paris to Rennes, received
the oaths of fealty, and took possession of his duchy.
But when Philip resolved on pushing matters to
extremity, the orphan Plantagenet, who had now
reached his fifteenth year, was recalled to the French
court, received with marks of high distinction, and
once more taken under Philip’s protection. “You know
your rights, and would like to be a king,” said the
royal politician, “Most assuredly,” exclaimed Arthur,
renewed hope lighting up his handsome features. “ Here,
then,” said Philip, “I will give you two hundred
knights. . March at their head, and take possession of
your inheritance, while I make an incursion into
Normandy.” 7
After knighting his young protégé, Philip ordered
the militia of Berry and Burgundy to take part in the
expedition. Having done this, he endeavoured to prove
his sincerity by betrothing his youngest daughter to
the Prince, whom he was sending forth to something
like certain destruction. Arthur, buoyed up with hope,
and glowing with youthful enthusiasm, buckled on his
armour, bade adieu to his royal host, grasped his sword,
mounted his charger, and raised his standard. The
very novelty of his position was naturally fascinating to
the imagination of an unfledged warrior; and he rode
forth to make good his title, not knowing that it was
for his life. The Bretons sent him five hundred knights
and four hundred foot soldiers; while Touraine and
Poictou furnished a hundred and ten men-at-arms; and
ARTHUR OF BRITANNY, 55

at the head ot this force, which was utterly Inadequate,
he entered upon his enterprise.

With his little army Arthur broke into Poictou,
and there he was joined by Hugh de la Marche.
When passing Mirabeau, Arthur learned that his
grandmother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, was residing there
with a weak garrison and frail fortifications. The
royal dame had always hated her grandson, and refused
to acknowledge his title. “If you can get her into
your power,” argued Count Hugh, “ John will come to
terms. To do so, we have only to take this town.
Let us lay siege to it forthwith.”

Glowing with a juvenile passion for martial renown,
and totally inexperienced in military affairs, Arthur
consented, and Mirabeau was attacked. At first the
adventure was so successful that the outworks were
taken by storm, and the town yielded. But Eleanor,
though she had seen some fourscore summers, retained
her spirit and energy. She threw herself into the
citadel, sent to inform John of her peril, and while
waiting for his aid made a vigorous defence, and kept
her assailants at bay.

While the adherents of Arthur were confident of
success, and while the Prince himself was indulging
in aspirations never to be realised, an army suddenly
appeared before the town. Under the impression that
this was a body of roving Brabintins, Arthur and his
friends sallied forth to fight them in the open ground.
With feelings of horror, and a prescience of evil, the
56 . BOY-PRINCES.

young Prmce’s soldiers discovered that they were in
front of the army of King John, who, having received
intelligence of his mother’s peril, had come to her
rescue with a celerity of which so indolent a man had
naturally been deemed incapable.

On perceiving their error, Arthur's associates rushed
back to the town, and were followed so closely that
fliers and pursuers, mingled in strife, entered the gates.
Betwixt the town and the citadel a fierce conflict took
place. . When it was over, John was a victor, and
Arthur a captive. Two hundred of his knights were
taken, placed in carts drawn by oxen, and conveyed to
the dungeons of Normandy and England.

Arthur himself, falling into the hands -of the tyrant,
was carried to Falaise, whither John followed. He
begged the boy, in gentle terms, to put faith in him
as a kind uncle. “First give me mine inheritance,”
replied Arthur; “give me the kingdom of England.” .
The usurper, highly enraged, ordered him to be removed
to Rouen, to be placed in the castle, and to be vigilantly
guarded.

Soon after Arthur's s removal to the capital of Nor-
mandy some of the king’s councillors, having repre-
sented how seditious the Bretons were, and how many
insurrections they projected in the name of their
incarcerated Prince, suggested that he should be
severely dealt with. Some wretches were commissioned
to put out Arthur’s eyes, and mutilate him in a manner
revolting to humanity. They found the boy loaded
ARTHUR OF BRITANNY, 57

with chains, and wasting with grief, shame, and appre-
hension; and they were deeply moved with his tears
and entreaties. The scene was heart-rending ; and. it
appears that they could not have executed their horrible
mission, even if Hubert de Burgh, the warden of the
castle, had not interposed his authority, and refused to
allow the instructions to be complied with, unless in
presence of the King. However, in order to dispirit
the captive Prince’s adherents, he caused bells to be
tolled all over Normandy to apprise the inhabitants
that Arthur of Britanny was no more.

On learning that his orders had not been executed,
John became furious with disappointment, and requested. -
William de Bray, one of his household, to murder
Arthur, “Tam a gentleman, and not an executioner,” .
answered De Bray, with becoming scorn. Finding that
others shrank from the atrocity, John’s evil genius got
the better of him, and he resolved upon perpetrating
the deed of darkness with his own hand.

Having formed this determination, the tyrant, in
the spring of 1203, repaired to Rouen, and on the 3rd
of April prepared for the eruel deed. To suppress
scruples, and silence the murmurs of conscience, he ate
ravenously and drank copiously. He then steeled him-
self against repentance, and descended to the dungeon.
The boy, terror-struck, gazed on his uncle with anxious
amaze, and melted into tears. The near prospect of
being launched into eternity appalled his spirit. He
threw himself on his knees and begged for mercy.
58 BOY-PRINCES.

“Oh, mine uncle,” he exclaimed, “ spare your brother’s
son; spare your nephew; spare your race!” John made
no reply, but imbrued his hands in his young kins-
man’s blood; and, having fastened heavy stones to the
bleeding corpse, caused it to be thrown into the Seine.
The whole affair was managed with such secrecy that
the fate of the unhappy Prince might long have
remained in obscurity but for a simple occurrence.

A fisherman of Rouen, plying his nets in the river,
was surprised to drag ashore the body of a boy of
sixteen. Whether or not he had his suspicions, he took
the corpse to the monks of Bec, who, recognising it as
that of Arthur of Britanny, had it interred in the
Priory of Notre Dame de Pré, which belonged to their
wealthy religious house. The corpse was buried with
the utmost secrecy; for, in the eyes of the blood-stained
tyrant, even this act of reverence towards his nephew
would have appeared a crime to be punished.

Among those who fell into the power of King
John at this period was Eleanor, the orphan sister
of Arthur, variously known as “La Brette,” “The
Damsel,” “The Pearl,” and “The Fair Maid of
Britanny.” In other days she had been contracted by
Cour de Lion to the son of Leopold, the perfidious
Duke of Austria; and, in the year 1194, she had
actually been sent into Germany. Before reaching her
destination Eleanor was freed from her contract by
Leopold’s death, and she was soon after betrothed to a
French prince. But no royal palace was this fait












He threw himself on his knees and begged for mercy.
he exclaimed, “spare your brother's son.”—p. 58.

“Oh, mine uncle,”


ARTHUR OF BRITANNY. 59

daughter of the House of Plantagenet to grace. She
was sent by John to the Castle of Bristol, between
which and a monastery she passed forty years, musing
in sorrow and sadness over the misfortunes of her
family.

Tt was early in April when Arthur was assassinated,
and ere the month of May arrived a rumour of the atro-
cious outrage was bruited about. The perpetrator was
regarded with the utmost indignation, and in Britanny
nothing was heard but the ery for vengeance. The
exasperated inhabitants, rallying round Alice, a half-
sister of the murdered Prince, allowed her father, Guy
de Tours, to assume the title of Duke of Britanny, and
deputed him to demand justice at the hands of Philip
Augustus. That politic monarch seized so favourable
an opportunity to crush a rival king at one blow, and
sent him a formal summons to appear before the Court
of the Twelve Peers of France, and, as a vassal of the
crown, answer for his crime. John sent an ambassa-
dor to say he would obey, if granted a safe-conduct.
“ Ay, let him come in peace and security,” said Philip.
“And so return, my lord?” asked the ambassador,
“Yes, if the judgment of his peers so allow.” The
ambassador then requested a safe-conduct for his king
to come and go. “No, by all the saints of France;
not unless he is judged innocent of the crime!” ex-
claimed Philip, with more passion than he was in the
habit of manifesting. John, failing to appear, was tried
and condemned; and Philip, eagerly taking up arms,
60 BOY-PRINCES,

executed the judgment of the feudal court by depriving
him of all the territory that his father Henry had
acquired in France, and expelling him with ignominy
from continental Europe.

Nor did the cruel usurper’s misfortunes terminate
here. The shade of his murdered victim followed him
across the Channel, and constantly pursued his steps.
A strange fatality urged him on to the accomplishment
of his ruin. He was always threatening the powerful,
but never dared to strike any but the helpless. The
feelings of hatred and revenge that had eaten into his
heart prompted him to the most vicious and tyrannical
sourses. At length, after being forced by the barons of
England to sign the Great Charter, and compelled, by
the threats of the Pope, to resign the English crown
to the legate, he died in agony, in bitterness, and in
despair, at the Abbey of Swinehead.
6L

DAVID STUART,
DUKE OF ROTHSAY,

A yours in his teens, with features generally recog-
nised as handsome, and a form not tall but seemly and
elegant, arrayed in rich garments, worn with that
slovenly negligence not seldom distinguishing those
pursuing a career of dissipation — such is the picture,
by a mighty master, of that Scottish prince of the
House of Stuart who, after his ill-starred marriage had
involved two kingdoms in war, was starved to death by
an unscrupulous uncle and a fierce father-in-law in the

prison-vaults of Falkland.
_ Froissart states that, towards the close of the four-
teenth century, hardly any kingdom of Europe was so
wretched as that to which Rothsay was born heir.
The wars with England had impoverished Scotland to
such a degree, that when the Admiral of France
arrived with an army to assist the inhabitants against
their richer and more powerful neighbours, the knights
and gentlemen, accustomed from boyhood to fine

houses, splendid chambers, and soft beds, no sooner
' perceived the state of matters than they laughed in his
62 BOY-PRINCES.

face, and said, “We have never known till now what
was meant by poverty and hard living.” They could
not even get so much as iron to shoe their horses, or
leather to make saddles and bridles.

The moral state of the court was, it appears, on a
par with the material condition of the country ; when,
in the year 1379, Annabella Drummond, wife of John,
Earl of Carrick, the King’s eldest son, gave birth to an
heir to the crown of that kingdom which the strong
hand of Robert Bruce had wrested from the weak
grasp of the second Edward. The Prince received the
baptismal name of David, acquired a tincture of learn~
ing, and as he grew up exhibited some of the quali-
ties that lend grace to the station which he had the
prospect of occupying.

When Prince David was in his twelfth year his
grandsire, Robert Stuart, King of Scots, departed this
life. The Earl of Carrick, before investing himself
with the royal robes, remembering that his Christian
name had been borne by one of those hapless speci-_
mens of humanity, the Baliols, thought it would be
unlucky to call himself King John, determined to throw
the ill-omened name aside, and ascended the throne
with the title of Robert the Third. Before reigning
long, the weak, superstitious king found to his cost
that fortune is not to be frightened with a name, and
that calling himself Robert did not make him quite
equal to the hero of Bannockburn.

When Prince David’s father thus undertook the
DAVID STUART. 63

perilous post of Scottish king the royal youth began
to figure as Earl of Carrick, and soon after found him-
self on the Borders, helping to negotiate a treaty with
John of Gaunt. Whether or not “ time-honoured Lan-
caster” affected too much superiority over the Cale-
donian plenipotentiaries on this occasion, it is needless
to inquire. It appears to have, somehow or other,
occurred to the Scots, that since they had a king of
their own—such as he was—they might as well have
dukes to keep him in countenance. ‘Their creation
would cost little or nothing.

Accordingly, a solemn council was assembled at
- Scone, an ancient regal residence in the neighbourhood
of Perth; and there Robert the Third, having meta-
morphosed his fair young son from Earl of Carrick into
Duke of Rothsay, metamorphosed his dark, designing
brother, from Earl of Fife into Duke of Albany. After
this ceremony the Queen ordered a grand tournament
to be held at Edinburgh; and Rothsay, rejoicing in his
new title, figured as the leader of those sons of chivalry
who came thither to display their knightly prowess.

Unfortunately for the heir of Scotland, he, ere
long, began to display other tastes than such as could
be gratified at solemn councils or grand tournaments,
Rothsay was gay, wild, and irregular in his habits;
and the life he led deeply grieved his royal sire. King
Robert being strict, religious, and scrupulously de-
corous, was, ot course, quite shocked; and Albany,
who had no love whatever for his nephew, did all he
64 BOY-PRINCES,

could to poison the King’s mind, ead to foment and
perpetuate the domestic quarrels caused by the Prince’s
indiscretions.

While Rothsay was giving scandal to all grave
persons, the poor King, marvelling that a son of his
could so behave, thought of taking counsel with his
spouse; and Queen Annabella, who had been famed
for her beauty, and still retained her sense, spirit, and
generosity, suggested that the best way to deal with
their son was to find him a fitting bride. Albany,
who had availed himself of his brother’s weakness to
seize the reins of government, on being consulted, con-
curred with the Queen, and recommended that Rothsay
should wed the daughter of whatever magnate was
willing to pay the largest sum of money to have a royal
son-in-law. Accordingly, the ill-starred Rothsay was
set up to be disposed of to the highest bidder, and the
result of the scheme was one of the most fatal “ breach-
of-promise cases” on record,

There were then north of the Tweed two great
families, rivals in feudal power and baronial grandeur,
the house of Dunbar and the house of Douglas. Both
had high pretensions of different kinds; but Albany
first put his nephew under offer to the chief of the
Dunbars; and the latter, George, tenth Earl of March,
to secure a prospective throne for his daughter, con-
sented to give her a large dowry, and negotiated a
match. The feelings of Rothsay had probably been
little consulted in the transaction; but if the Scote-
DAVID STUART. 65

Saxon damsel’s face was as fair as her blood was red,
the royal youth could hardly have been averse to receive
her as his bride. In any case he bound himself to the
contract by hand and seal, and part of her dowry was
paid forthwith.

So far matters were pleasant enough; but the news
~ of the matrimonial project was to Earl Douglas as the
sight of scarlet to a wounded bull, and he swore that it
should come to nought. Going, therefore, to Albany,
he insisted strongly on Rothsay espousing a daughter
of his own, tendered a larger sum of money than his
feudal rival had agreed to pay, and finally succeeded in
accomplishing his object. The consequence was that
Margery Douglas became Duchess of Rothsay in the
church of Bothwell; and Elizabeth Dunbar, instead of
donning the white veil of a bride to conceal her blushes,
took the veil of a nun to hide her shame and vexation.

Scotland soon learned that she was to pay dear for
this breach of faith on the part of her rulers—this
repudiation of the daughter of an illustrious house,
whose chiefs the firs; Edward had addressed as the
noblest of men and the dearest of friends. On the
celebration of Rothsay’s marriage the Earl of March
demanded back that portion of the dowry he had paid;
but, receiving no satisfactory answer, and considering
that insult was thus added to injury, he vowed revenge,
and placed himself under the BiG CUO: of his kinsman,
the King of England.

St happened that Henry of Bolingbroke, son of Johx

F
66 BOY-PRINCES.

of Gaunt, had recently obtained the English throne
by deposing his cousin Richard, and had thereby in-
curred the enmity of the French king, whose daughter
Richard had wedded. Albany, to curry favour with
the court of Paris, had described Henry as a traitor ;
and the son of Gaunt, who could not digest the affront,
gladly accepted the Scoto-Saxon Harl’s allegiance, and,
going to Newcastle, concluded with him an alliance
offensive and defensive. Having settled that matter,
the King of England, in the autumn of 1400, led an
army northward, and crossing the frontier entered
Scotland near Kelso. ;

Before leaving the banks of the Tyne, Henry sent
to the Scots, requesting their presence at Edinburgh,
that they might do him homage. The Scots received
the King’s message, and did meet him at Edinburgh ;
but it was to bid him defiance.

At this crisis Rothsay was not found wanting. In-
deed, he seems, with all his faults, to have displayed a
courage not unworthy of a youthful prince with the
blood of Bruce in his veins. Leaving the company of his
bride, he held “the Maiden Castle” against the enemies
of his country, and sent a herald to say that, in order
to prevent the shedding of Christian blood, he was
willing to stake all disputes on a combat between one,
two, or three Scottish nobles, against as many of those
marching in front of the English array. Bolingbroke
parried this sally of juvenile vivacity by one of those
pieces of wit which never failed him. “He was sur-
DAVID STUART. 67

prised,” he said, “that Rothsay, who expresse so much
aversion to shedding Christian blood, should propose a
combat of nobles, whose blood was surely Christian.”

While the King of England was before Edinburgh
a herald came from Albany, pledging his honour that,
if the English would remain for the space of six days,
‘he would come and give them battle. Henry rewarded
the herald, expressed the satisfaction he would have in
waiting for the Duke, and. stayed, not only for six days,
but six weeks. However, the Scots not appearing, the
winter coming on, provisions growing scarce, and
disease prevailing in the camp, he thought it prudent
to abandon the siege, and, alarmed at the commotion
raised by Owen Glendower, returned to England

Henry had accomplished so little during this ex-
pedition that his retreat was almost a humiliation—the
successful resistance of the Scots almost a triumph.
But Earl Douglas, who had the direction of Scottish
military affairs, instead of letting well alone, indulged
his savage nature by sending forth foraging parties
to waste the English borders; and Hepburn of Hailes,
ancestor of the infamous Bothwell, at the head of
the flower of the youth of Lothian, penetrated far
into England. While returning through “the rich
' Merse” with much booty, Hepburn was suddenly set
upon by the Earl of March. A sharp conflict ensued;
and when it was over Hepburn lay dead on the ground,
with the flower of the youth of Lothian stretched
around him,
68 BOY-PRINCES.

Eager to avenge this disaster, Douglas assembled
an army, crossed the frontier, and ravaged the country
as far as Newcastle. After taking much spoil the
grim Earl turned back, and encamped on Homeldon,
an eminence near Wooler. While Douglas was in
this position the injured Earl of March, in company
with the Earl of Northumberland and his son Harry
Percy, surnamed “ Hotspur,” came on a September day
to give him battle.

When the armies were face to face, Hotspur, with
characteristic vehemence, was about to charge up the
hill at all hazards; but March, catching the fiery lord’s
rein, restrained his ardour, and advised him to make
the English archers let fly their cloth-yard shafts. The
policy of this course soon appeared. At the first flight
the Scottish forces were thrown into confusion, and
Douglas furiously led them down the hill. Though the
armour worn by the Scottish Earl and his comrades had
been three years in making, the English arrows proved
irresistible. Many of the Scots fell while descending the
hill; and Douglas, after losing an eye, was taken with
many nobles, knights, and squires. Two brave Scottish
knights, bearing the names of Gordon and Swinton,
forgetting an old feud, rallied the broken forces, and
renewed the battle; but they were slain, and their men
were scattered. The rout of the Scots was now com-
plete. Chased over hill and vale to the Tweed, many,
not knowing the fords, rushed in at random, and
perished in the broad, deep waters, The bright beam
DAVID STUART. 69

of victory shone on the red cross of St. George; and
Elizabeth Dunbar was avenged.

Ere that revenge had been accomplished Rothsay
had gone to his account. At the time of his marriage
with the daughter of Douglas -he had arrived at what
are deemed years of discretion; but the levity of his
conduct still gave great offence, and Albany began to
form a criminal scheme for possessing himself of the
crown. Douglas also becoming an enemy of the Prince,
on whom he had forced his daughter, conspired with
Albany for effecting Rothsay’s ruin, and finally formed
as diabolical a conspiracy as history tells of.

Among those companions of the Prince enjoying his -
confidence and sharing his dissipation was a man named
Ramorgny, who had at one time been Ambassador at
Paris, and learned to talk of assassination without horror.
One day Ramorgny, while conversing with Rothsay,
recommended that his uncle should be put to death.
The Prince, shrinking instinctively from such a pro-
posal, repelled the suggestion with so much indignation
that Ramorgny, apprehensive of his revealing the matter
to Albany, resolved to be beforehand with him. Re-
pairing without delay to the Duke, he stated that
Rothsay was conspiring against his life.

Albany had wanted nothing but a pretext for dealing
with his nephew, and he was rejoiced to have one
sufficiently specious. to impose on the poor, wretched,
imbecile, unwarlike King. He repaired to the palace ;
represented the matter in the very worst light; and
70 BOY-PRINCES.

succeeded in persuading the unhappy father of the
absolute necessity of confining his son, not only to
prevent his murderous purpose being executed, but to
work, if possible, a reformation in his life. The stupid
old man, a mere royal cipher, granted a warrant, and
measures were taken to insure the Prince's arrest.

From the King, Albany went to the Prince, told
him that his life was in danger, and advised him to seek
safety in the Castle of St. Andrew’s. Rothsay took
the advice, mounted his horse, and set out with a
slender train. But while on the way he was suddenly
set upon by Ramorgny and others employed by Albany,
and dragged from his charger. The rain beginning to
fall heavily, they covered him with one of the russet
cloaks then worn by the peasantry, and in this way
conducted him to the Castle of Falkland, then a gloomy
fortress belonging to Albany. On arrival he was
thrown into a dungeon, and committed to the custody
of Selkirk and Wright, two ruffians, who received
orders to let him starve to death, and who had no
scruples about fulfilling their instructions.

The captive was now in despair; but a ray of hope
ere long found its way into his gloomy prison, and
inspired his breast with vague anticipations. His
lamentations reached the ear of his jailer’s daughter,
and pierced her heart. The woman, moved with pity,
resolved at all hazards to save the Prince from dying of
hunger. From time to time she brought him cakes
concealed in her veil, and slid them through the bars
DAVID STUART. 71

of the prison. She was, however, detected in her
charitable enterprise, and put to death for her humanity.
Rothsay was then left without food; and the pangs of
hunger became so intolerable that he devoured part of
his own flesh. At length, “mad with famine and
despair,” he expired about Easter, 1402,

Winton thus depicts Rothsay, though, perhaps, in
more flattering colours than he appeared to the people
who saw him day by day :— .

“ Our lord the king’s eldest son,
Sweet and virtuous, young and fair,
And his nearest lawful heir ;
Honest, able, and awenand,

Our lord, our prinee, is all pleasant,
Connand into literature,
A seemly person in stature.”

The poor King was, for a time, kept in ignorance of
his son’s cruel fate; and an inquiry into the circum
stance before his councillors resulted in a verdict of
death by Divine Providence. But when his suspicions
were at last aroused he became most anxious for the
safety of his surviving son, who afterwards reigned in
Scotland as the first James. The Earl of Orkney was
therefore intrusted with the duty of conveying the
young prince to France, and set sail, Their vessel,
however, was captured by an English privateer, and
taken to London. King Henry saw the value of the
prize, and resolved to keep the future peet-king as a
state prisoner. In vain did Orkney represent that the
72 BOY-PRINCES.

mission to France was pacific; in vain did he declare
that its object was simply the boy’s education. Henry
replied jestingly that “he knew the French language —
indifferently well, and that the King of Scots could not
have sent his son to a better master.”

Meanwhile the remains of Rothsay had been carried
from the prison-vaults of Falkland, and laid, with
funeral pomp, in the church of Lindores. In that age
of superstition and credulity men could imagine and.
believe almost anything. It is not, therefore, surprising
that strange apparitions were reported to haunt the
last. resting-place of the murdered Prince, and that
miracles were believed to be wrought at his tomb.

’
a

LOUIS DE VALOIS,
DAUPHIN OF FRANCE,

Ox an August morning in the year 1394 a noble
army was traversing the forest of Mans. At its head
rode a man of twenty-seven or thereabouts, who wore
_a jacket of black velvet and a crimson hood, on which
glittered a chaplet of pearls. His eye wandered wildly
and feverishly; his cheek was pale and wan; and his
features were haggard, like those of a person on whose
mind was preying some secret sorrow. It was Charles
the Sixth, King of France; and his grief was caused
by the knowledge that the beautiful queen who had
presented him with the chaplet that adorned his hood
was not, by any means, the most faithful of wives.

King Charles was on his way to arrest an assassin
of high rank, who had taken refuge with the Duke of
Britanny, when suddenly from among the trees sprang
a man in a garment of white russet, with bare head
and naked feet, who, seizing the King’s bridle, ex-
claimed with wild gestures, “Oh, King, go no further ;
for you are betrayed !”

The guards, perceiving that the man was insane,
74 BOY-PRINCES,

removed him by force; and the King, pursuing his
journey, emerged from the forest about noon, and
entered upon a plain. At that time the sun was shining
with such excessive brightness as to affect both men
and horses; and one of the pages who bore the royal
lance falling asleep, let the weapon strike on the steel
casque that was carried by another. The King, who
was still brooding over the madman’s mysterious
warning, alarmed at the sharp ring, started, shuddered,
drew his sword, and exclaimed, “I am*betrayed!” He
then turned round, spurred his horse to a gallop, fell
upon his attendants with fury, and finally yielding to
numbers, was conveyed back to Mans. To acute
observers the cause was clear enough. The King of
France was a maniac. ,

When the unhappy man, removed to the Castle of
Creil, had recovered his reason, the Queen and a
youthful Prince appeared at that place. The Queen
was Isabel of Bavaria, a woman of great beauty, but
of equivocal reputation; the infant Prince was Louis
de Valois, who, as heir to that crown which Hugh
Capet had torn from the feeble Carlovingians, enjoyed
the title of Dauphin and the Dukedom of Aquitaine.
Yet few young serfs who laboured in the sunny fields
of France had reason to envy that child, with his royal
name, his princely title, and his extensive territory ;
for hardly could any influences have been less auspicious
than those which presided over his boyhood, and con-
signed him to an untimely grave.
LOUIS DE VALOIS. 15

The King, the Queen, and the Dauphin returned
to Paris, and occupied the Hotel de St. Paul, long a
royal residence; but the King’s malady returned, and
his condition was pitiable. The Queen, a votary of
pleasure, totally neglecting her husband, formed a
close intimacy with his profligate brother, the Duke of
Orleans; and the poor demented monarch, whom from
the first she had despised for his puerility, becoming a
prey to intolerable misery, was incapable of being
soothed or calmed save by one person, his sister-in-law,
Valentine, Duchess of Orleans.

Valentine, one of the Visconti of Milan, whom the
ambition of her family had, at the cost of a million of
francs as her dowry, made a royal duchess, possessed
numerous personal graces, and manifested a gentle and
amiable disposition. As a native of Italy, however,
she was suspected of witchcraft and poisoning; and it
was said that when her father, the Duke of Milan,
took leave of her in Paris after her marriage, he re-
marked. significantly, “I never wish to see you again
but as Queen of France.”. Acting on the paternal
hint—such was the popular suspicion—she not only
caused the King’s lunacy, but occupied herself with
the project of destroying the young Dauphin and the
other royal children, who stood between her posterity .
and the throne of France. 7
_ The sudden death of one of Valentine’s own sons
strangely gave colour to these reports. Rumour asserted
that one day when the Dauphin was amusing himself
76 BOY-PRINCES,

with his little cousin of Orleans in the apartments ot
the Duchess, a Parisian boy was sent with a beautiful
apple as a present to the heir of France. A nurse in
the service of the Duchess, passing through the palace
garden with an infant prince of the house of Orleans
in her arms, happening to meet the boy, requested that
the apple might be given to her little charge; but the
boy having been ordered to present it to “My Lord
the Dauphin,” and no one else, persisted in refusing.
The nurse, however, took the apple by force, and the
little Orleans prince having gratified his appetite,
sickened and died.

The apple, it was concluded, had been intended to
poison the Dauphin; and suspicion immediately fell on
the Italian Duchess. Those in charge of the Dauphin
hurried him away, and declared that he should never
more enter her apartments ; and the.credulous Parisians,
in the ardour of their exasperation, threatened that if
the Italian sorceress were not removed they would for-
cibly drag her from the palace and drown her in the
Seine. This menace was effectual; and the Duke of
Orleans, fearful of suspicion falling on himself, sent his
Italian spouse to pine for many long months in one of
his castles.

Meanwhile the court of France was nothing the
better for the absence of Valentine. The King was
sometimes overrun with vermin, and most scantily
supplied with the necessaries of life; and as for the
Dauphin and royal children, their plight was so
LOUIS DE VALOIS, U7

wretched that their governess was under the necessity
of complaining to the King, during one of his occa-
sional gleams of reason, that she had not the means of
obtaining for them proper food ‘and clothing. The
unfortunate monarch, who was naturally affable and
benevolent, sighed deeply, and, taking a gold cup that
stood beside him, requested her to procure with the
value of it whatever they required.

While the Duke of Orleans, profiting by his alliance
with the Queen, was exercising the functions of regent
and daily increasing in influence, a rival to his preten-
sions arose in the person of John the Fearless, Duke
of Burgundy. This potentate insisted upon the heir
of France espousing his eldest daughter; and the Duke
was too powerful to be refused any favour he demanded.
The Dauphin was in early boyhood, and Margaret of
Burgundy was quite as juvenile; but to the youth of
persons in such circumstances no exception was taken
in that age; so the matrimonial contract was formally
signed, and Burgundy, having had his own way, de-
parted to defend the frontier against an attack threatened
by the English,

No sooner was the back of John the Fearless turned
than Orleans, bent at all hazards on dissolving this
match and furnishing his nephew with another bride, .
made arrangements for carrying off the Dauphin to
Chartres, and set out for that place with the Queen.
The Dauphin followed in a litter, under the charge of
‘his maternal uncle, Louis of Bavaria; but he had
78 BOY-PRINCES,

scarcely reached Corbeil when Burgundy came up
with eight hundred horsemen.

The Duke, after professions of respect, asked the
Dauphin to return to Paris. “You will be better there
than in any other part of the kingdom,” said the Duke ;
“and besides, I am desirous of conversing with you on
many matters that concern you.” The Dauphin was
willing, but Louis of Bavaria interposed. “My lord
Duke,” he said, “suffer my nephew, the Dauphin, to
follow his mother.” Burgundy frowned, muitered
* No,” and shook his head. “He has the consent of
his father for so doing,” urged the Bavarian. ' Heedless
of this protest, Burgundy ordered the Dauphin’s litter
to be turned, conveyed him towards Paris, and lodged
him in the Louvre. From that day the royal boy was
for some time a mere instrument in the hands of the
contending factions.

The strife between the rival Dukes commenced
forthwith. Orleans and the Queen retraced their steps
to Melun, and summoned thither their adherents from
all quarters, and with banners displayed advanced upon
the capital. Hearing of their approach, Burgundy,
who, while aspiring to the character of a De Montfort
or a Warwick, only realised the part of a Longbeard
or a Cade, gathered the Parisian populace to his
standard, and made vigorous preparations for defence.

After some delay the rivals consented to submit
their differences to the princes of the blood; and the
quarrel having been adjusted, Orleans came to Paris,
LOUIS DE VALOIS. 79

and appeared in public with Burgundy, as if they had
been the most attached friends. Moreover, they
swore several times, on the holy Scriptures and the
blessed cross, to live in concord and amity. The
Dauphin, who had been the involuntary cause of so
much discord and disorder, was placed under the
guardianship of his great-uncle, the old Duke of Berry.

While affairs were in this posture, and the King
had temporary possession of his faculties, and the court
was dancing and fiddling as of yore, Orleans had
the indiscretion to boast that the Duchess of Burgundy
had smiled on him, and the imprudence to place her
picture among those of his mistresses. Burgundy
vowed a stern revenge; and one winter night, while
Orleans, who had been supping with the Queen, was
riding towards the Hotel de St. Paul, he found himself
attacked by armed men. “Iam the Duke of Orleans,”
he exclaimed, imagining there was some mistake. “Tt
is you we want,” the assassins replied, and one of them
with a battle-axe cut off their victim’s bridle-hand.
A few more strokes brought him to the pavement, and
a blow from a club dashed out his brains. In a few
days Burgundy, who himself was fated to fall by the
hands of assassins twelve years later, confessed to the
murder, gloried in the deed, and consulted his safety.
by flying into Flanders. :

A cry for vengeance arose; but Burgundy de-
fended the crime on the ground that Orleans was
a tyrant, and that it was the duty of good citizens to
80 BOY-PRINCES.

put tyrants to death. The widowed Duchess of
Orleans, however, appeared in Paris with her eldest
son, to get a day fixed for hearing the case; and
when the time arrived, the King, being seized with
his old malady, the Dauphin was called upon ito sit
in judgment as his father’s representative.

The royal boy, who had been living in retire-
ment at Melun with his mother, thus became, for
the time, a most important personage. Preceded by
the Queen’s car, and attended by a train of princes,
prelates, and nobles, he entered Paris, mounted on
a white horse, and appeared in the great hall
of the palace arrayed in royal robes, and ac-
companied by. the Chancellor, the Queen, and the
princes of the blood. The widowed Valentine, at-
tended by her son, entered the hall; and after her
advocate had delivered a long oration, the Dauphin
assured her that she should have speedy justice.
The Duchess, whose affection for her husband had
outlived his harsh treatment, remained for a time
in Paris; but the promise of justice was never ful-
filled. Despairing, she retired to Blois, and began
to sink. When on her deathbed she exhorted her
children to pursue their father’s murderer. It is
worthy of mention that her husband’s son, the celebrated
“Bastard of Orleans,” being present, answered her’
appeal most warmly. The dying woman was touched.
“Alas!” she exclaimed, “they robbed me; he ought
to have been my son.”
LOUIS DE VALOIS. 81

At this time the Dauphin was placed under Burgundy,
that he might be instructed in the art of war and the
science of government; and the turbulent Duke, with
the sanction of the Queen, who was alternately false to
both parties, took wp his residence in Paris, where, for
a while, he ruled with despotic sway. The Orleans
party, however, was not quite powerless, for the young
Duke espoused a daughter of the Count of Armagnac;
and that nobleman becoming the head of a league
against Burgundy, took up arms.

The insurgents, emboldened by promises of support
from England, hardly concealed their intention to
depose the King, and exclude his heir from the suc-
cession. But the King, placed at the head of an army,
with the Dauphin and Burgundy as lieutenants, took
the Castle of Fontenay, and laid siege to Bourges,
Before that wealthy and populous city, held by the
Dukes of Berry and Bourbon, Burgundy pushed matters
to extremity ; and the Dauphin, seeing with regret the
destruction of so fine a place, ordered tle cannoneering
to be stopped. Burgundy expressed his surprise at this
forbearance; but the Dauphin was firm, and declared,
in a tone which he had not hitherto assumed, that he
was resolved to put an end to the war. His efforts
were not in vain, and he returned in triumph to Paris. -

It was now that the Dauphin began to exhibit a
somewhat haughty and imperious temper. His associates
advised him to take the reins of government into his

own hands; and he followed their counsel. Seeing that
F
82 BOY-PRINCES.

the Kings of France were considered of age at fourtecn,
there appeared nothing ridiculous in a prince in his
teens assuming the regency. The worst was that
Burgundy, who for a time had felt his influence
evaporating, became his son-in-law’s foe; and disagree-
able were the consequences.

The Dauphin, in the exercise of his authority, re-
called to office an unpopular minister, named Sir Peter
des Essars, and thus rousing the democracy of the capital,
became an object of suspicion with those to him he had
formerly been an idol. A report was spread that on
May-day he intended to hold a tilting-match in the
forest of Vincennes; that Essars was to attend him
with six hundred helmets; that Orleans was gathering
an army; and that the Duke and the Dauphin would
march to overawe Burgundy and the discontented
spirits of the capital.

On hearing this rumour the Parisians, resolving to
be beforehand, seized upon Essars, and committed him
to the dungeons of the Louvre. Assuming white hoods as
their party badge, and electing Jean de Troyes, a surgeon,
-and Jean Caboche, a butcher, as leaders, they marched
to the hétel of the Dauphin, forcibly made their way to
his apartments, addressed him in threatening language,
and demanded the surrender of all traitors. “There
are no traitors here,”. replied the Dauphin, his ire
kindling. “If you are willing to give them up, good
and well,” said the democratic leaders; “otherwise we
must seize them before vour face, and punish them as
LOUIS DE VALOIS. 83

they deserve.” “Such matters do not belong to you,”
cried the Dauphin furiously; and at this crisis Bur-
gundy suddenly presented his sinister face. At the
same time the mob rushed in and seized the obnoxious
ministers. “Duke,” said the Dauphin, in a voice
tremulous with suppressed rage, “this insurrection is
your work, and those of your household are its leaders ;
but know that you will repent it one day.” “My
lord,” said Burgundy, “you will comprehend better
when your passion cools.”

The ringleaders forthwith carried the Dauphin to
the Hotel de St. Paul, compelled him to reside there
with his father, and, lest he should escape from the city,
guarded the gates with vigilance. “He is young and
impatient of contradiction,” said they; “this is all for
his good.” Moreover, they forced him, in an assembly of
twenty thousand persons, to read aloud a paper, in
which sixty of his friends were denounced as traitors ;
and they finally demanded the surrender of Louis of
Bavaria.

The Bavarian was on the point of making his
fortune by leading a noble widow to the altar, when
a multitude of people marched in front of the Hétel de
St. Paul. Burgundy, who began to tremble at the
storm he had raised, entreated them to withdraw; but
they presented him with a rell of names, among whom
was that of the Bavarian bridegroom, and said, “We
will not go home till these people are delivered up to
us.” The demagogic Duke, finding that he could no
84 BOY-PRINCES.

longer control their passions, repaired to the Queen;
and she, in extreme perplexity, sent for the Dauphin.
“Go to the people,” said she; “ask them to wait for
eight days, and then I will either deliver up my brother
or suffer them to arrest him.” The Dauphin, on re-
ceiving this mandate, retired to his chamber and shed
bitter tears.“ Don’t weep,” said Burgundy, entering,
“but come with me.”

The Dauphin dried his tears and accompanied his
father-in-law, and Burgundy briefly informed the
populace of the Queen’s request; but, instead of
acceding, they threatened to go to the royal lady’s apart-
ments, and take the proscribed persons by force. There
being nothing else for it, the Bavarian descended to the
street; and the others, among whom were several ladies,
followed his example. Many of them were executed
without trial. Essars was tried and beheaded in the
market-place, and Jean de Troyes took up his residence
at the palace, where the Dauphin was his prisoner.

The Prince, however, watched for a reaction in
public opinion, and as the autumn passed on he became
aware that the time for retaliation had arrived. One
September day Jean de Troyes sallied forth, with all
the bustle and importance which his brief authority
had caused him to assume, and the Dauphin seized the
occasion, set the surviving captives at liberty, and
ordered the bells of all the churches to be rung. The
tables were completely turned. Troyes, Caboche, and
' their confederates fled to Flanders. Burgundy stole
LOUIS DE VALOIS, 85

away to his own dominions, and his departure was the
signal for general rejoicing. The burghers of Paris,
dofting their white hoods, assumed the white scarf—the
device of Orleans—and for days and nights the utmost
joy was exhibited at the triumph of the Dauphin over
dukeism and democracy.

The heir of Orleans now became the great man;
and the Dauphin found, to his mortification, that he
had only changed masters, and was mewed in the
Louvre more like a prisoner than a prince. Matters
reached a crisis. The Queen, at the instigation of the
ruling faction, caused four of his knights and several of
his servants to be arrested; and the young man was so
indignant at this insult that he secretly despatched a
message to Burgundy to hasten to Paris. John the
Fearless was soon at St. Denis with a formidable host.

Ere the news of Burgundy’s approach was carried
to Paris the Dauphin had been reconciled to the faction
in power. He was dining with a canon in the cloisters
of Notre Dame, when thither, in anxious haste, went
Orleans with eleven thousand men-at-arms. The
Dauphin mounted his horse, rode to the Town House,
caused a trumpet to be sounded, thanked the assembled
multitude for their loyalty, denied that any invitation
had been sent to the Burgundian, proceeded to the
Louvre, and held a conference. Burgundy, finding his
enemies so well prepared, was fain, after advancing to
the walls in battle array with displayed banners, to
beat a retreat. The Dauphin, resolving to crush him,
86 BOY-PRINCES.

joined the King at Senlis, took Compiégne and Soissons,
and then expressed his desire for a reconciliation.
When reminded of the offences Burgundy had com-
mitted he frankly replied, “Nevertheless, I would
put an end to this war, for otherwise I perceive the
King and kingdom will go to perdition.” By his
influence a treaty of peace was concluded, and the
articles were solemnly sworn to by the belligerents.

On returning to Paris the King and Dauphin met
with a reception flattering in the extreme. A countless
array of princes, nobles, prelates, knights, and esquires
formed the royal train. The provost, the sheriffs, the
members of the Parliament, the members. of the Uni-
versity, and the citizens in their uniforms of green, met
the procession. In a fit of loyal enthusiasm they lighted
bonfires in the streets, feasted, caroused, and shouted,
“Long live the King!” “Long live the Queen!” and
“Tong live the Dauphin!” All this was, perhaps,
pleasant enough to those concerned; but to the
thoughtful it must have appeared mere folly. Never
had greater misfortunes impended over France than
when the Parisians were thus cheering about the worst
royal family in Europe. Ere the winter passed the
King was again a helpless lunatic at the Hotel de St.
Paul, and affairs were in worse confusion than ever.

The Dauphin, since the day when he was brought
from Corbeil by Burgundy, had, with brief intervals of
power, been nothing more than half the pity, half the
sport of the contentious nobles. He now, in the fever
LOUIS DE VALOIS. 87

of youth, resolved to be so no longer, and determined
on a coup d'état. With this view he invited the
princes of the blood to hold a family conference with
his mother at Melun in April, 1415; and, while they
were exercising their wits to deceive each other, he
mounted his steed, and, with a few trusty comrades,
rode to Paris.

Encountering little or no opposition, the Dauphin
ordered the drawbridge to be raised and the gates
closed. He then entered the houses of three persons,
with whom his mother had deposited sums of money,
and, seizing upon the treasure, carried it to the Louvre.
Thither he summoned the citizens and public function-
aries; and having made the Chancellor lay before them
the history of the government since his father’s corona-
tion, he pointed out how the finances had been
squandered while the nation was plundered, and
declared that, as Dauphin and heir of France, he could
no longer tolerate such an administration of affairs.
After stating his resolution to assume the functions of
government in his father’s name, he promised to provide
against such abuses. The Dauphin then informed the
princes of the blood that they must retire to their
estates, attend to their own affairs,and absent them-
selves from Paris till commanded thither by the King
or himself.

The royal youth, who was installed in the Louvre
as master of the capital, with the sympathies of the
populace, had unfortunately yielded to that immorality
88 BOY-PRINCES.

which had long disgraced the court of Isabel of
Bavaria. While his friends were auguring for him a
prosperous future, the Dauphin developed, with alarming
rapidity, the worst faults of the race of Valois. He
practised illegal methods to raise money; lavished the
public funds on dissolute companions; shut up his wife,
Margaret of Burgundy, a young and beautiful woman,
in the Chateau of St. Germain; and indulged in an
amour with some damsel who was a servant at the
palace.

While the Dauphin was thus destroying public
confidence, ambassadors waited on him from the Duke
of Burgundy. The ambassadors had been sent to
request, among other things, that the Dauphin should,
without delay, take his wife to reside at the Louvre;
and the youth, enraged at their proposal, gave them
an unfavourable reception. “Prince,” said an envoy,
significantly, “know that, in case of our lord’s request
not being granted, and an invasion by the English
taking place, neither he nor his vassals will bear arms
in defence of the kingdom.” The threat was not
without effect; for the new peril impending over
France was no secret to the youth who, in his teens,
presided over her destinies.

Six years before the day when King Charles became
the victim of insanity in the forest of Mans, and while
Richard the Second occupied the English throne, Henry
of Bolingbroke, son of John of Gaunt, was presented
by his spouse, a daughter of the Anglo-Norman
LOUIS DE VALOIS. be

Bohuns, with an heir to the Lancastrian branch of the
Plantagenets. The child, who received the baptismal
name of Henry, appeared so sickly that he was removed
from the Castle of Monmouth, in which he had first
seen the light, and sent to be nursed at the village of
Courtfield by a peasant woman, whose monument is
still to be seen in a little church in the vicinity.
Gradually, from a sickly infant, the Lancastrian prince
became a chubby boy, with an eye bright with in-
telligence, and a countenance beaming with frankness.

When his father, returning from an irksome exile,
usurped the throne, Henry of Monmouth was created
Prince of Wales; and as years passed on his popularity
caused so much alarm to his jealous sire, that, though
giving signal proofs of his courage and capacity in
campaigns against the Percies at Shrewsbury, and
Owen Glendower on the Marches of Wales, he was
systematically excluded from civil and military employ-
menis. Restrained from exercising his faculties in
those spheres for which he was fitted by nature, Henry
was led into the company of men notorious for affrays
in the street and robberies on the highway; and he
became so negligent of decorum, that his father felt
uneasiness in having such an heir to that crown which
he had gained by unscrupulous means, and guarded
with surpassing vigilance.

The nation, however, was disposed to look in-
dulgently on the indiscretions of a prince born and
bred on English ground, and augured favourably
90 BOY-PRINCES.

from a circumstance which unexpectedly occurred.
A riotous comrade of young Henry being summoned for
felony before the Court of King’s Bench, the Prince of
Wales appeared to afford countenance to the culprit, and,
on sentence being passed, forgot himself so far as to strike
the Chief Justice. The judge instantly vindicated the
majesty of the law by ordering the heir to the crown to
be arrested ; and “ Prince Hal,” yielding with readiness,
was conducted to prison.

But whatever impression this submission produced
on the multitude, the wise and prudent predicted the
worst of such a “madcap prince.” The wise and
prudent were, for once, mistaken. When this hero of
hostesses and familiar of tapsters ascended the throne
as Henry the Fifth, he frustrated their prophecies
and. dispelled their delusions. He chose his councillors
from among the gravest and sagest men in the realm;
he treated with peculiar favour the fearless judge who
had sent him to the King’s Bench; he secured the
esteem of his subjects by his wise and just measures ;
and he understood the people far too well to lose.their
favour. To a person of Henry’s high spirit and
martial genius, whose youth had been divided between
the evanescent pleasures of dissipation and the unsatis-
factory excitement of civil war, a field of action was
necessary in which to establish his reputation, and he
determined to invade France.

England had now a ‘power very different fe the
unhappy country to which King John had been driven


LOUIS DE VALOIS. 91

by Philip Augustus. Great kings had presided over
her destinies, and made her mighty in Europe. The
first Edward had destroyed the baronial oligarchy,

~ given law to the land, prepared freedom to the people,

and. formed hostile races into one great nation. For
the nation, formed by the first Edward, the third
Edward and his heroic son had won glory in those
wars which made them, for a time, masters of France.

While Englishmen still believed themselves born for
victory, it happened that the French princes had indis-
eveetly vapoured about a war, threatened an invasion,
and sent a force to Wales. The English nation had
long been, according to chroniclers, more anxious for
war than peace; and when the conquest of France was
the question of the day, the consciences of kings,
priests, and people were particularly accommodating.
Henry expressed his resolution to revive the claims of
his great grandsire to the French crown; and he per-
suaded both himself and his subjects of the justice of
his pretensions. ;

Ambassadors soon appeared in Paris, demanding
possession of Normandy, Anjou, and the other pro-
vinces. But the Dauphin laughed at this demand ; and,
in allusion to Henry’s former habits, sent him a present
of a gilded tun of tennis balls and a carpet. Henry,
with frank humour, intimated that he would retwm the
compliment with such balls as would break the strongest
gates of Paris.

After much fruitless negotiation the English King
92 BOY-PRINCES.

anchored with an armament at the mouth of the Seine,
and landing without interruption, laid siege to Harfleur.
This place he took in spite of a vigorous resistance ;
but death had so thinned his ranks that a council of
war recommended an immediate embarkation. “No,”
exclaimed Henry, “we must yet see, by God’s help, a
little more of this land of France;” and he prepared
for a perilous march through hostile provinces to his
strong city of Calais.
The Dauphin, decidedly too youthful to rule at such
a crisis, startled at the fall of Harfieur and its occupation
by an English garrison, induced the King to nominate
him Captain-general, and to convoke a grand council
of war at Rouen. There it was determined to fight,
and instructions were sent to the Constable of France
to concentrate his forces and give batile to the King of
England. The Dauphin expressed a strong desire to
join the army; but the King objected, and the young
Captain-general remained at Rouen to await the issue.
When October set in, the King of England, with a
force of not more than nine thousand men, began his
perilous march, and repeatedly attempted in vain to
cross the river Somme, the banks of which were care-
fully fortified. On the morning of the 19th he dis-
covered a place which the people of St. Quentin had
neglected; and the English, fording the stream with
their baggage, took the Calais road, along which the
Constable was then retreating. On the 20th, heralds
arrived to intimate. that the French would give the
LOUIS DE VALOIS, 93

King battle. “God’s will be done,” said Henry. “I
do not seek them; but fear of them shall not make me
move out of my way, nor go either faster or slower
than I intended. If they attempt to stop me it will be
at their peril.”

On the 24th, after crossing the deep and rapid
Ternois, the Duke of York, who led the van, perceived
the enemy approaching, and sent Henry intelligence of
the fact. David Gam, a Welsh captain, having been
ordered forward to view their situation, reported that
“there were enough to be killed, enough to be taken
prisoners, and enough: to run away.” The King ex-
pressed himself much pleased with this description, and,
expecting an attack, formed his men into battle order.
But, as the French showed no inclination to come on,
he marched forward, and encamped at a large village,
which was only a few bowshots from the enemy’s out-
posts. The royal standard of France was set up on the
Calais road, where it was bounded by a wood on either
side. Around were planted the emblazoned banners of
princes, barons, and knights. Between a mighty host
confident of victory, and the English ranks, which
seemed so scanty in comparison, was a narrow plain,
bounded by thick hedges and deep rills. Henry, as he
called a halt, and thought of the morrow, ran his eye:
over that ground with mingled emotions. It was the
field of Agincourt !

When the moon rose officers were despatched to
view the enemy’s position ; and provisions having been
94 BOY-PRINCES.

procured, the half-famished soldiers were refreshed.
Though the rain fell in torrents, the camp resounded
with martial music; and, though suffering from cold
and fatigue, the English strove to keep up their spirits.
Victory was, perhaps, rather sighed for than expected.
Some made their wills and confessed their sins. Many —
felt uncertain of what the morrow would bring forth.
But all knew that they must conquer or die.

When the morning dawned chilly and gloomily
Henry ordered mass to be performed, and then ranged
his men in battle array, placing his trusty archers in
front. He then vaulted upon a grey charger, and rode
along the lines. His look was frank, fearless, serene,
and noble; and his blue eye sparkled with courage and
heroism. His tall thin form was encased in mail, over
which he wore a surcoat, whereon the arms of England
and France were magnificently embroidered; and his
bright steel helmet was surmounted with a golden
crown sparkling with gems, among which was a ruby
that had in other days been presented by the King of
Castille to the Black Prince. He addressed the dif-
ferent divisions in high and inspiriting language. He
recalled the glories of Cressy, where, standing on a
windmill, the third Edward saw a magnificent French
army give way before his scanty ranks; and of Poictiers,
from which a French monarch had been led captive by
the youthful Prince of Wales, and held at ransom in
London. “But,” exclaimed Henry, with enthusiasm,
“England will never, never be asked to pay a
LOUIS DE VALOIS, 95

ransom for me; for on this field I will either conquer
or die.”

While passing along the ranks the.King heard an

officer express a wish that some of the knights and
bowmen, now in England, were present. “Nay,” said
the King, turning familiarly on his saddle, “I would
not have a single man more. If God grant us a
victory, the fewer we are the greater our honour; and
if we are vanquished, the smaller will be our country’s
loss.”

Perceiving at noon that the French were not
inclined to attack, he gave the word, “Banners, ad-
vance!” and at the same time Sir Thomas Erpingham,
an old knight in command of the archers, throwing his
truncheon into the air, cried, “Now strike!” With
loud cheers the archers moved onward, and broke the
front ranks of the French knights; while Henry, leading
up his men-at-arms, made a splendid charge. His life
was more than once exposed to the utmost danger.
His brother, the Duke of Clarence, was wounded and
overthrown. Henry covered him with his body, and
with desperate energy drove back the foremost foemen.
Eighteen knights, who had bound themselves by an oath
to take the King of England, dead or alive, charged
furiously forward; and one of them aimed a blow at the
King with a battle-axe, under which he staggered; but
his soldiers rushed impetuously to the rescue, and felled
the assailants to the ground. The Duke of Alencon,
undismayed at their fate, fought his way to the roya
96 BOY-PRINCES.

standard, struck down the Duke of York, and knocked
off part of Henry’s golden crown. But the English
closing upon him, he cried out to the King, “I sur-
render to you. Iam the Duke of Alengon.” Henry
stretched out his hand, but it was too late to save his
foe; and the Duke’s fall terminated the battle. The
French fied from the field in dismay.

Next morning the English struck their tents; and
at Calais Henry embarked with his decimated army
and a host of prisoners, among whom was the Duke of
Orleans. The people of England accorded the con-
queror a most enthusiastic welcome. At Dover they
rushed into the sea, lifted him on their shoulders, and
’ carried him ashore. At every place he passed through
his reception was equally fervent. At Blackheath he
was met by a vast crowd, who conducted him in
triumph to London. Wine flowed in every street; the
hquses were decorated for the occasion ; and the populace
greeted their victor-king with the loudest and heartiest
applause. The “madcap Prince” was the conqueror
of Agincourt! “Prince Hal” was “Harry the Fifth,
too famous to live long!”

Far different, as may_well be imagined, was the
scene on the other side of the Channel. When news
of the disastrous defeat was carried to Rouen, the King,
the Dauphin, and the Princes were seized with grief,
dismay, and consternation. Intelligence that Burgundy,
taking advantage of the national distress, was about to
march upon Paris, caused them to hurry thither; and

Z
=

LOUIS DE VALOIS.

the Queen, whose vicious and perverse disposition hau
been a main cause of the public disasters, was so alarmed
that, though dangerously ill at Melun, she or lered

herself and the neglected Dauphiness to be conveyed in
a litter to Paris.

The Dauphin on arriving, sad at heart, in the
capital, found the inhabitants in a state of high excite-
ment. They demanded an audience, expressed distrust
of their rulers, declared that the feuds of the princes
had caused all the public calamities, and indicated the
grievances under which the nation suffered. The
Dauphin listened with the utmost patience, and pro-
mised, on the word of a king’s son, that all evil-doers,
no matter what their rank or lineage, should be punished
without fear, favour, or affection; that justice should
ve administered with impartiality, and that order should
be maintained with vigour.

The royal stripling had no opportunity of redeeming
his word. Before emerging from his teens he had, in
a manner, exhausted life; and, while brooding over the
recent disaster, he began to lose that hope without
which life is a burden. His hereditary weakness of
nerves, remorse for his folly and vices, made him paint
the future in the very gloomiest colours. With a father
subject to helpless lunacy, a mother with an unenviable
reputation, a nobility deficient in patriotism, a burgher
elass complaining of intolerable grievances, a peasantry
brutalised by continuous oppression, and a country

numiliated by a terrible defeat, where could the
G
98 BOY PRINCES.

unfortunate Prince turn for consolation? ‘The retro-
spect of his career was the reverse of satisfactory—the
prospect was particularly uninviting. The heir of
France yielded to his melancholy forebodings, gave
way to a fever which preyed upon him, and lay down
to die in the Hétel de Bourbon.

On the 18th of December, 1415, the Dauphin
yielded to the great destroyer. Some attributed his un-
timely decease to poison ; but that account is much more
probable which asserts that he died of the defeat at
Agincourt, and of regret that he had not fought and
fallen there like a valiant prince. But however that
may have been, his death caused many tears; for, with
all his faults, he was still beloved. The people bewailed —
their loss; the monk sand clergy came and prayed over
his corpse; and he was laid at rest, with obseauics
befitting his rank, in the vaults of St. Denis.
a9

EDWARD OF LANCASTER,

PRINCE OF WALES.

At the Palace of Westminster, on the 14th of October,
1453, Margaret of Anjou, queen of the Sixth Henry,
became mother of an heir to the English crown.

This event was productive of consequences that
can hardly be regarded as otherwise than calamitous.
Important changes were occurring all over Europe.
The head of the last Greek Emperor was going the
round of the cities of Asia Minor, as evidence that
Constantinople had been taken by the Turks; the
Hapsburg princes were making the imperial throne of
Germany an heirloom in their family; the King of
Castille was, by his debaucheries, precipitating that
revolution which gave Spain to Ferdinand and Isabella;
the Valois monarchs were destroying the liberties
and developing the resources of France; and, as it
happened, the birth of this Lancastrian Prince proved
the signal for the War of the Roses, that dire struggle
which substituted the despotism of the Tudors for the
free monarchy of the Plantagenets.

King Henry, though the son of the Conqueror of
100 BOY-PRINCES.

Agincourt, was more of a monk than a monarch, and
fitter to wear a cowl than acrown. But his Queen, a
daughter of René of Provence, titular sovereign of
Sicily and. Jerusalem, was far different. René was
poor, and Margaret was portionless; but Nature, as if
to make amends for Fortune, had richly endowed
her with beauty and intellect. Nothing can be more
erroneous than the idea which associates stern features
and a harsh visage with this heroine. Margaret of
Anjou was, in truth, a singularly graceful princess, of
the blood royal of France, with a fair complexion, soft
delicate features, bright expressive eyes, and. light hair
of the hue of gold, flowing over exquisite shoulders
of the whiteness of ivory. But though gifted with
such charms as please the eye and fascinate the heart,
this young Queen was far too proud and arrogant to
make herself popular. She was, besides, a kinswoman of
the French King; she was not unreasonably regarded
as the cause of a somewhat humiliating peace; and
she was emphatically described by Englishmen of
patriotic sentiments as “the Foreign Woman.” Ere
long the crown, which her beauty, her accomplish-
ments, and her high spirit had won, became a crown
of thorns.

Few personages in England had the power of making
themselves more formidable than the Duke of York.
His name was Richard Plantagenet. He inherited,
through his mother, the blood of the second son of
Edward the Third, and had. therefore, a claim to the
EDWARD OF LANCASTER, 10L

throne, which many deemed preferable to that of the
lineage of John of Gaunt. But as the House of
Lancaster was firmly established, as the King was
popular with a nation for whom his sire had won
imperishable glory, as the Queen continued eight years
a wife without being a mother, and as York’s paternal
descent from the fifth son of the Conqueror of Halidon
and Cressy made him first prince of the blood and heir
presumptive to the crown, he was fain to repress his
ambitious longings, to proceed with the utmost caution,
and to trust to the chapter of accidents or the course of
events.

An incident, recorded by chroniclers and immor-
talised by Shakspeare, raised the elements of dis-
turbance, and gave form and colour to the rival factions.
A violent dispute on a legal point occurred one day
vetween York’s nephew, Richard Neville, Earl of
Warwick, and Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, in
the Temple Gardens. The barons present, though
ready enough to take a side, declined to enter into such
“nice sharp quillets of the law.” Warwick thereupon
plucked a white rose, and Somerset a red rose; each
asked his friends to do the like; and thus originated
the badges of the hostile parties who were soon to
involve the country in civil war.

And yet the circumstances of the country were such
that no hand would have been raised against the King,
if the Queen and the Queen’s favourites had not out-
raged law and decency. As it happened the govern-
102 BOY-PRINCES.

ment caused the utmost discontent; and, at the opening
of 1452, York repairing to his castle of Ludlow, armed
with the avowed object of driving Somerset from
power. But having, after an interview with the King
at Dartmouth, been induced to disband. his forces, the
Duke was subjected for a time to a durance which
only served to increase the discontent of the nation.
Hardly had this princely pretender regained his liberty
when a strange gloom settled over the court, and
darkened the visages of those noblemen who adhered
to the reigning house. Mysterious rumours were
bruited about; and at last out came the terrible truth
that the King was afflicted with a total eclipse of
reason.

While such was the state of matters, and while the
events of the direst civil conflict that ever raged on
English ground were casting their shadows before, the
birth of an heir to the throne was, of course, suggestive
of considerations very different to the rival factions.
The Lancastrians, under the impression that the aspira-
tions of their adversaries were for ever dissipated, smiled
with complacent triumph ; while the Yorkists, enraged
at their hopes being frustrated, muttered that their
chief must no longer refrain from striking a blow for
that real authority which he claimed as his by heredi-
tary right.

Meantime the Prince, born on St. Edward’s day,
was baptized by the name of Edward, which had been
dear to the people of England from the Anglo-Saxon
EDWARD OF LANCASTER. 103

period, and rendered illustrious by the two greatest kings
of the Plantagenet race. Notwithstanding his father’s
hapless plight, fortune seemed to smile on the royal
infant. The Yorkists, ndeed, expressed opinions about
his birth which were injurious to Margaret’s reputation
"as a woman, and her honour as a queen; but in March,
1454, when Parliament was assembled to consider how
the government was to be carried on during the King’s
malady, all went smocthly. The royal child was
created Prince of Wales and Earl of Chester; a
splendid provision was made for his maintenance; his
privileges as legitimate heir to the crown were un-
questioned ; and the protectorship of the realm, during
his minority, was tacitly accepted by the Duke of York.

Nine months passed over, and the Prince of Wales
had reached his second year, when King Henry sud-
denly regained possession of his faculties. Awaking as
from a dream, he was, doubtless, somewhat surprised to
find himself the father of a beautiful boy. However,
he manifested a proper degree of paternal pride, and
embraced his hopeful heir with affection.

So far as affairs of state were concerned, the King’s
unexpected recovery threw everything into confusion.
Prompted by his haughty spouse, he expressed a
resolution to resume the royal authority; and York:
was under the necessity of resigning the protectorship.
The Duke, however, had found the taste of power too
sweet easily to forego it. He retired in discontent to
Ludlow, and there commenced raising an army to
104 BOY-PRINCES.

conquer the crown which he deemed his birthright.
A fierce strugele was now inevitable; and the warriors
of both parties girded on their armour, and summoned
their fighting men to take part in the conflict.

Within the four seas there was no feudal house to
compare, for patrician power or popular influence, with
that of Neville. The Nevilles, as descendants of
Corpatrick, could boast that their ancestors had, before
the Conquest, figured conspicuously in the scenes of
English history; and they drew strength at once from
an illustrious Saxon origin and distinguished Norman
alliances. Their chiefs, the Earls of Westmoreland,
had, before this period, fought with distinction in
the wars of Scotland and of France; and they maintained
baronial rank at Raby till they risked’ and lost all in
the rebellion of the great northern earls against
Elizabeth. It is unnecessary to enumerate the branches
that came from a tree so goodly. Suffice it to say that
a younger son of the Earl of Westmoreland took to
wife the heiress of the Montagues, acquired with her
hand the Earldom of Salisbury, and won high renown
for his strength in battle and wisdom in council.

Richard Neville, the eldest son of Salisbury, was
still more famous. than his sire. Having espoused the
heiress of the Beauchamps, he obtained their Earldom
of Warwick, together with their vast possessions. His
hospitality was unbounded; his praise was on every
tongue; he was the idol of the soldiery; and being at
once the bravest knight in Christendom, and Lord High
‘

EDWARD OF LANCASTER. 105

Admiral of England, he was familiarly. spoken of by
turns as “the Stout Earl” and “the Great Captain of
the Sea.” Never, perhaps, had England seen so
formidable a subject since the great Edward shattered
De Montfort’s oligarchy on the field of Evesham. The
Duke of York, doubtless, counted on the House of
Neville;. for he had married “the Rose of Raby,” a
daughter of this illustrious line. Nevertheless, when
the wars of the Roses broke out, the chiefs took
different sides. Westmoreland adhered to the King.
Salisbury and Warwick cast in their lot with the Duke,
marshalled their merry men, and raised their standard
to make head against the royal power.

That matters must be worse before they could be
better now became evident. It was an important
part of an English King’s functions to command the
army, and his duty to exhibit an example of personal
courage. In that great quality the Plantagenets had
seldom been deficient; and Henry’s immediate pre-
decessors had not shrunk from scenes of war and
carnage. His grandsire, after deposing Richard, and
proving his courage by an expedition against Scotland,
had in three campaigns bravely faced Owen Glendower
‘and his wild Welshmen. His sire had chased the
imaginative Celt into obscurity, and afterwards ridden
into the very thick of the fight at Agincourt. Even
the sixth Henry forgot, for a while, his saintly theories,
buckled on the mail of a warrior, and led the royal
army towards Ludlow.
106 . BOY-PRINCES.

Meanwhile the Prince of Wales was carried by
his mother to the Palace of Greenwich, and while
there the Queen received intelligence that the em-
battled hosts had encountered at St. Alban’s; that
much blood had been shed; that the royal force
had been dispersed in confusion; and that her meek
husband was a captive in the hands of the enemy. The
contending parties, however, were not yet disposed to
drive matters to extremity; and when York was a
second time constituted Protector of the realm, he
intrusted Henry, again suffering from insanity, to
the Queen’s care. Margaret retired with her husband
and son to Hertford, and there, sad but not desperate,
devoted herself to the restoration of the King and
the education of the Prince of Wales.

The Queen, it is true, was not quite absorbed in
her domestic duties. Necessity made her submit to
York’s supremacy, but her heart was bent on a renewal
of the struggle for that power which she loved so well;
and no sconer did Henry once more regain possession of
his reason than she presented him to Parliament, and
demanded back his authority as King. Her wish was
gratified, all parties pretending to be reconciled; and
the King, the Queen, and the Duke walked in pro-
cession to St. Paul’s, to convince the citizens that they
were the best of friends.

But a few months dissipated the illusion which
the scene at Si. Paul’s created. One day, while the
Karl of Warwick was leaving the court, one of his
EDWARD OF LANCASTER, 107

attendants was struck by a man attached to the royal
household. An affray ensued; a cry arose that it was
a plot of “the Foreign Woman” to murder “ the Stout
Earl;” the Yorkists, after mustering at Ludlow, sought
refuge in exile; and the Queen, left in undisputed
possession of power, held an illegal Parliament at
Coventry, and caused their estates to be confiscated.

Ere this, during the summer of 1459, the Prince
of Wales, in order to enlist the national sympathies in
his cause and career, was carried on a progress through
his Earldom of Chester and other northern counties,
and everywhere received with enthusiasm by the
populace. Twelve months later, when the Farl of
Warwick had landed on the shores of England, the heir
of Lancaster, though still too young to take the slightest
part in the war, witnessed the battle of Northampton
from an elevated situation; saw three hundred of his
father’s best knights bite the dust; and then fled, with
his mother, into North Wales. Having reached the
Principality, they took refuge in Harleck Castle, which
had been built by the Conqueror of Evesham on the
site of an ancient fortress, and which was held for King
Henry by a sturdy Welsh captain.

While at Harleck Castle the Queen received in-
telligence which made her start as if she had been -
stung by an adder. Her foes were settling matters as
they liked. Henry, again a captive, was to continue
king for life; but such a king as Lothaire was when
Hugh Capet was put in possession of France, without
108 BOY-PRINCES.

being allowed to assume the diadem; while York was ~
to hold the reins of government, and ascend the throne
after his prisoner’s death. As for the boy-Prince of
‘Wales, his existence was not even taken into account.

Margaret’s spirit rose high. The exclusion of the
Prince was too much for the feelings of maternal ten-
derness that found a place even in her proud bosom,
Any concession that deprived the son, who was her
consolation and her hope, of his birthright, was more
bitter far than the loss of her crown. The perils sur-
rounding the throne which she had lately shared, and
which the boy had been born to inherit, enhanced its
value in her excited imagination; and she resolved upon
adopting such an energetic course of action as would
redeem the prize she so highly valued:

A summons to appear at court, and bring her son
thither, found its way to Margaret’s retreat; but, in-
stead of obeying, she started for Scotland, where the
third James then reigned, under the auspices of his
mother, Mary of Gueldres. The exiles met with a
hospitable reception. The Queen formed with Mary,
who, like herself, was of the blood royal of France, a
close friendship; and the Prince of Wales was con-
tracted in marriage to a sister of the boy-King of Scots.
Ere long, encouraged by promises of aid, Margaret re-
paired to the north of England, where barons, whose
ancestors had fought at Hastings, acted as conservators
of the Great Charter, and for centuries maintained
feudal rank among clans that thought it no harm to
EDWARD OF LANCASTER, 109

“shift for their living,” were devoted to the Red Rose.
Her youth—for she had hardly yet seen thirty summers—
her matchless beauty, her poetic eloquence, inspired the
lords of the North with enthusiasm for the fair boy of
seven whom she led by the hand; and the hope of
spoil brought around her a number of moss-troopers,
with those long lances which were seldom levelled in
vain. Having allured to the royal standard some
eighteen thousand men, the Queen and the Prince of
Wales appeared before the gates of York, and then, in
battle array, marched forward to Wakefield Green.

Tt was December, 1460; and York, who had come
southward with five thousand men, was at Sandal Castle
when informed by scouts of the near approach of his
foe. The Earl of Salisbury strongly advised York to
refrain from hazarding a battle; but the Duke, declaring
that he would not be daunted, sallied forth boldly, and
made a terrific onslaught. The warriors on both sides
charged with the fury of lions. The Yorkists, being
better disciplined, were for a while hopeful of victory;
but, at a critical moment, the Queen gave the signal for
a body of Borderers.to charge the enemy in the rear.
The northern prickers levelled their long lances, spurred
their steeds, shouted their war-cry, and swept before
them the chivalry of York as the wind scatters straw.
The victory was complete; the bold Duke’s life-blood
stained the slippery field ; and his head was, in mockery,
encircled with a paper crown. The old Harl of Salisbury,

taken during the nocturnal vursuit, was executed af
110 BOY-PRINCES,

Pontefract, and his head was placed over the gates of
York as a warning to the Queen’s enemies.

An incident still more melancholy must be related.
ft happened that the Earl of Rutland, York’s second
son, had that day been, in an evil hour, brought by his
tutor to witness the battle. Rutland was a boy of
twelve, artless and innocent, like others of his age.
Seeing that the fortune of the field went against his
father, the young Earl with his tutor fled from the
scene of carnage and confusion. While hurrying, in
fear and trembling, across the bridge, they were caught by
the Lord Clifford, who had lost a father in the wars, and
vowed to execute a terrible revenge. Rutland, terror-
stricken, fell on his knees, and begged piteously for
mercy; but Clifford, deaf to prayers and entreaties,
savagely plunged a dagger into the boy’s heart, and, as
the soul and body parted, swore, by God’s blood, that
he would so serve all the kin of York who fell into his
hands. “TI spare you,” added he, addressing the tutor,
who was a priest, “that you may go and tell the
Duchess of York what your eyes have seen.”

Hven the Queen, on this occasion, showed no mercy.
Adversity had made her too violent to be controlled,
too headstrong to be resisted. The attacks upon her
honour, which took the shape of doubting the paternity
of the Prince of Wales, rendered her both eruel and
vindictive; and, as if delighting to shed blood, she
wreaked her vengeance on the vanquished with a fury
which raised a cry of horror throughout the land.
EDWAKD OF LANCASTER. ii)

Nevertheless the men of the North, to whom had been
promised the spoil south of the Trent, were devoted to
her cause; and the sight of a beautiful woman enduring
with fortitude the hardships of war at such a season
excited their chivalrous sympathies, and strengthened
their loyal feelings. Advancing towards St. Alban’s in
February, she fell on the army of Warwick at Bernard’s
Heath, and compelled him to beat a precipitate retreat.
The captive king, left behind, joined the Queen and the
Prince of Wales in Lord Clifford’s tent, and informed
them that he was no longer a prisoner. All seemed most
hopeful; and the Prince of Wales, who had now reached
the age of eight, took knighthood from the hand of his
royal sire.

But Fortune and the foe were still unsubdued; for
Edward of York, the son and heir of the slain Duke,
was at the head of an army formidable in numbers,
and flushed with recent victory over the Tudors at
Mortimer’s Cross. Joined by Warwick and the sur-
vivors of Bernard’s Heath, he marched into London,
and having been received by the citizens with joy, he
rode in triumph to Westminster, seated himself on the
throne, and was proclaimed king amid shouts of “ Long
live Edward the Fourth!” The Queen, somewhat
dismayed, carried the King and the young Prince north-
ward to the city of York, and commenced recruiting
her army on the banks of the Humber and the Trent.
Warwick, who well understood the danger of delay at
such a crisis, induced the new King to follow; and on
112 , BOY-PRINCES.

Palm Sunday, 1461, the North and the South met i
hostile array on Towton Field, to decide the fate of:

tb

the English crown.

The snow was falling fast, and drifting over the
country; and the King, with the Queen, the Prince of
Wales, and Lord De Roos, remained at York to await the
issue of the conflict. The battle of Towton, one of the
bloodiest ever fought on English ground, had raged
doubtfully from nine to three, when the Dukes of
Exeter and Somerset spurred into York, announced
that all was lost, and recommended a speedy flight. It
was a moment of intolerable anguish; but it was
necessary to fly, and that quickly. The prospect,
indeed, was the reverse of inviting. The season was
severe; the days were cold; the nights were long and
stormy; the hills were covered with snow; the road
lay through a rugged country, where, for two centuries
after the Norman Conquest, ne king of England had
dared to show his face unless escorted by troops of
cavalry. But Margaret’s courage did not fail her.
Better to die of cold or hunger than to fall into the
hands of the Yorkist foe—of Edward, whose brother
had been butchered by Clifford; or of Warwick, whose
father’s head was still over the gates of York. The
Queen and her friends therefore mounted in haste, set
their faces northward, reached Newcastle in safety, and
pursued their journey till they crossed the Tweed and
entered the gates of Berwick.

Berwick was the last remnant of the conquests
EDWARD OF LANCASTER, 113

achieved by the Edwards in Scotland, and had been
held, with few itermissions, by the English since the
day when the Conqueror of Evesham spurred his
charger Bayard over its walls into the midst of a
hostile garrison, reduced its great Red Hall to a mass
of blackened ruins, and planted the banners of St.
Edward and St. George on the ramparts of its mag-
nificent castle. Nevertheless, Henry, to attach the
Scots to his fortune, bribed them with this town; and
the surrender of a stronghold so important to their
defence reconciled them to the peril of again aiding the
enemies of Edward of York.

The royal fugitives then found a welcome to the
Scottish court, and two expeditions were fitted out
against their foes; but both resulted in failure, and
the exiles were reduced to the utmost distress. On one
occasion the Queen, being at mass, was so poor that
she had not even “a black penny ” to offer on the altar,
and with difficulty persuaded a Scottish bowman to
lend her a farthing for that purpose. On another
geeasion she and her husband and son had to live for
five days on a herring, and not more bread than should
have served only a third of the time.

Hopeless as any enterprise now appeared, Margaret
was urged by female resentment and a haughty and
restless spirit to desperate adventures. Leaving Henry
in Scotland, where his absence would infinitely have
been preferred to his presence, she embarked with her
son for France, to solicit aid from Louis the Crafty,

1
114 BOY-PRINOES.

whose peculiarities of mind, dress, and manner Sir
Walter Scott has pictured so admirably in the pages of
“ Quentin Durward.” When, in the spring of 1462,
Margaret landed on the coast of Britanny, the Duko of
that province, touched with compassion, supplied her
with a sum of money; but when she carried the Prince
of Wales to the French court, Louis declared that
he was too poor and perplexed to interfere in their
affairs.

At length, when the Queen was almost in despair,
an unfortunate idea was presented.’ The only city of
which the English retained possession on the Continent
was Calais, which had been taken by the third Edward.
The Commons of England, while recalling with pride
the old glories of Cressy, of Poictiers, of Agincourt,
and of Verneuil, deemed themselves privileged to boast
that, so long as Calais was theirs, they carried at their
girdle the keys of France and Flanders. This place
the Queen consented to pawn; and Louis, catching at
the proposal, and perceiving the advantages it pro-
mised, agreed to furnish the distressed Queen with
twenty thousand crowns and an army of two thousand
men.

Having placed this force under the command of Sir
Peter Brezé, a French captain of renown, whom her
beauty had inspired with a chivalrous devotion, Mar-
garet sailed for the north of England in the autumn of
1463, and effected a ianding near Bamburgh. Con-
trary to her expectations, the inhabitants of the prs-
EDWARD OF LANCASTER, «bs

vince where her influence was strongest did not take up
arms, and the ill-fated Queen sought security in the
Castle of Alnwick. While in that stronghold of the loyal
Percies Margaret was dismayed with the intelligence
that her former foe, the Harl of Warwick, was approach-
ing; and, after taking counsel with Brezé, she retired
to the ships. Scarcely had they put out to sea when a
violent storm arising scattered the little fleet, and
wrecked on the rocky coast of Northumberland the
vessels bearing some money and stores. The Queen,
clinging with maternal solicitude to her son, was placed
on board a fishing-boat; and, in spite of wind and
weather, they were fortunate enough to reach the port
of Berwick in safety.

The aspect of matters was now dismal, The govern-
ment of Scotland had played false, repudiated the
marriage contract, and concluded a treaty with Edward
of York. Margaret had nothing left on which to rely
but the energy that is hope in action, the fascination
exercised by beauty and eloquence, and the courage
which never blanches in the presence of peril. She did
not quite despair, for she was now on the wild Borders,
and was resolved to secure the aid of men whose
delight was in the clash of arms and the din of battle.
By cultivating the friendship of some Scottish chiefs,
and holding out to the foraying clans the prospect of
booty, she felt assured of soon bringing around her a
numerous army ; and thousands of fighting men came
from summits crowned with frowning castles and cas-
J16 BOY-PRINCES.

tellated houses—where martial barons rejoiced in
armorial bearings indicative of their love of predatory
adventure, where bards tuned the harp to celebrate the
exploits of heroes who could ride defiantly past the
warden and baffle the keenest-scented bloodhounds,
where the blazing bale ever and anon roused the clans
to oppose the incursions of hostile marauders, where the
villagers were perpetually awakened at dead of night
by fierce forayers from the sister kingdom, where the
russet bloodhound was frequently heard baying through .
the long green broom, and where towers were dlis-
mantled, haystacks burned, and cattle stolen, The
property of these men was in their swords; their armour
was rusty, their steeds were lean and bony; but with
hearts far from insensible to the smiles and tears of
beauty, they were willing to obey the behests of the
discrowned Queen, to insure her revenge, and to en-
deavour to restore her to that throne which they could
not help believing her well qualified to grace. Joined
by the meek Henry, and encompassed by thousands of
spears, Margaret, in the spring of 1464, raised her
standard, crossed the Tweed, and advanced south-
ward.

The Dukes of Exeter and Somerset, the Lords De
Boos and Hungerford, Sir Ralph Percy, and Sir Ralph
Grey took up arms, but the campaign opened in-
auspiciously ; for Lord Montagu, a brother of Warwick,
was then warden of the East Marches, and he met the
crisis with a vigilance worthy of his high office, and a
EDWARD OF LANCASTER. Li7

courage worthy of his great name. At Hedgley Moor
he fell upon a party of the Queen’s forces led by Percy,
and put them to the rout. The high-spirited Northum-
brian, disdaining to fly, fought valiantly, and fell,
exclaiming with his dying breath, “I have saved the
bird in my bosom ;” meaning that he had kept his oath
to Henry. A block of stone, known as Percy’s Cross,
with the armorial bearings of his family rudely sculp-
tured. on its sides, was erected where he expired.

Montagu, after his easy victory at Hedgley Moor,
paused. before striking the decisive blow; but at length,
learning that Margaret’s main army was encamped near
Hexham, in Livel’s Plain by the river Dowel, he bore
down upon their camp. The men of the North met the
unexpected charge with stern resolution; but against
such a captain as Montagu their valour was vain. The
conflict was sharp, bloody, and decisive. The Lancas-
trians were put to the sword and slaughtered. Somer-
set and Hungerford, with many others of less note,
were taken and executed. Sir Ralph Grey, when
afterwards found in the Castle of Bamburgh, shared
their fate, but not till he had been condemned to
degradation from the order of knighthood, his coat
being rent, and his gilded spurs hacked from his heels.
Poor King Henry, though mounted on a swift steed,
escaped the pursuers with so much difficulty, that he
left his helmet and equipage in the hands of the victors.
The disaster was complete and irreparable.

The Prince of Wales was by the Queen’s side,
118 BOY-PRINCES,

when their broken squadrons flying northward, and
the war-cry of Montagu shouted in accents of victory,
admonished the mother and the son that another battle
had. been fought, and another army scattered in dismay,
to gratify her ambition and vindicate his claims. They
had not time, however, to indulge in pensive reflections.
Their situation was perilous in the extreme. Cries of
victory and shouts of scorn sounded in their ears.
In whatever direction they looked the prospect was
appalling. In a land where the one had lately been
courted as Queen, and the other caressed as heir to
the erown, which, on his grandsire’s head, had dazzled
all Europe, not a town, not a castle, now remained
to afford them an asylum; nor was.any road open
by which they could hope to escape. Perplexed in
the extreme, they fled into Hexham Forest, trusting
that, even if doomed to perish of hunger, its recesses
would conceal them from pursuers at whose hands
they had no reason to expect mercy.

While tremulously threading the uneven path,
Margaret and her son were suddenly set upon by a
band of robbers. Without respect for the Queen’s
rank or sex, the bandits menaced her with instant
death, and rudely despoiled her of such rings and
jewels as she wore. Alarmed, as she well might be,
Margaret seized a favourable opportunity, and escaped
into the thicket while they were greedily wrangling about
the partition of the plunder. The shades of even-
ing were closing over the forest. when the homeless


Te
SHAS
Ny REA ~









Taking her gon by the hand, she advanced to this man, ‘‘ Here, my friend,
I commit to your care the safety of your king's son.”—p. 119.,
EDWARD OF LANCASTER, 118

wanderers, fatigued with their adventures, faint from
lack of food, and dispirited with misfortune, sat down
in affliction and despair to bewail their hard lot. While
the Queen was in this hapless position, and her proud
heart was wrung with bitter agony, she suddenly
perceived another outlaw approaching. Conscious
that escape’ was this time impossible, Margaret be-
thought herself of appealing to the man’s finer feelings.
She rose, and looked every inch a Queen. Taking
her son by the hand, she advanced to this man of the
forest, and presenting the young Prince, said, with
her most majestic manner and irresistible voice,
“Here, my friend, I commit to your care the safety
of your king’s son.” The outlaw’s humanity was
touched, his generosity excited. He fell on his knee,
and, charmed with the confidence reposed in him, pro-
mised to do everything in his power to protect the
unfortunate fugitives. He led the way to his dwelling
on the outskirts of the forest, made his wife tend them
with care and kindness, and afterwards conducting
them to the coast,. procured a vessel, and saw them
embarked for Flanders.

At Bruges the royal exiles landed in safety, and
met with a reception befitting their rank. The Prince
of Wales took up his residence ‘in that city, while the
Queen journeyed to Lille. Hence she set out for
Bethune, to hold a conference with the Duke of Bur-
gundy. to escort her to St. Pol. At the latter place the Duke
120 BOY-PRINCES,

entertained her with chivalrous respect, and advised
her to wait events with patience.

After rejoining her son at Bruges, Margaret visited
the Count of Charolois, the heir of Burgundy, and was
so magnificently treated by him, that the young Prince
could not help remarking, “These honours are not due
from you to us; neither in your father’s dominions
should precedence be given to persons so destitute as
we are.” “Unfortunate though you be,” answered the
Count, “you are the son of the King of England, while
J am only the son of a ducal sovereign; and that is not
so high a rank.”

Leaving Bruges with her son, Margaret was escorted
to Barr with all the honour due to her royal rank, and
there met and welcomed by her father. King René
gave his daughter an old castle in the province of
Verdun, and thither, to be educated in the accomplish-
ments in fashion at the period, went the juvenile Prince
of Wales; nor, though in almost hopeless adversity,
was he without a preceptor worthy of instructing an
heir of England in weightier matters.

Biographers relate that about the year 1442, when
it was still the fashion for the young nobility and
gentry of the realm to be instructed in the originals
and elements of the laws, there was called to the bar at
Lincoln’s Inn an Englishman named John Fortescue.
He sprang from an ancient Norman family; he had
studied at Exeter College, Oxford ; and he was destined
to bequeath to his country treatises of no ordinary
EDWARD OF LANCASTER, 21

value, ‘Fortescue’s talent, his profound learning, and
his legal accomplishments soon made him conspicuous
asa man of note; and becoming Chief Justice of the
King’s Bench, he fulfilled his judicial functions with
distinguished ability. When the civil war broke out
he adhered faithfully to the House of Lancaster, though
neither to pick the thanks nor flatter the vanity of its
members. He was not, indeed, of the stuff out of which
minions and slaves are formed. He was an ardent
lover of English liberty: he had no belief in “ the right
divine of kings to govern wrong;” he held that Par-
liament had full power, in cases of emergency, to
change the succession; and he was convinced that the
deposition of Richard the Second had been a just punish-
ment for the misgovernment of which that monarch
had been guilty. Though advanced in years, he
exchanged the gown for a coat of mail, to bear a lance
on the bloody field of Towton; he followed the royal
family into Scotland; he was in action during the
Northumbrian campaign; he now took up his residence
at Verdun, to devote himself to the education of the
Prince; and he endeavoured so to form the mind of
the royal boy as to qualify him to enact in after-life
the part of a patriot king. He compiled, for the edifica-
tion of his promising pupil, the “De Laudibus Legum
Anglis,” a work explanatory of the laws and constitu-
tion of England, and suggestive of the improvements
that might, with advantage, be introduced; and as the
Prince, while engaged in studies so grave, neglected
122 BOY-PRINCES,

neither warlike exercises nor social accomplishments—
for he was fond of lance, and brand, and knightly song
he grew, while living in obscurity, no inadequate



representative of those Plantagenets whose achievements
in peace and war had rendered their name the pride of
England and the terror of her foes. Let us for a few
moments leave our hero safe in his retreat, and refer
with brevity to the circumstances which produced the
sudden and startling revolution that opened up to him
the prospect of a throne, and conducted him to an
untimely grave,

The victory won by Montagu at Hexham had so -
established Edward’s power that he found himself in a
condition to inflict the most signal chastisement on



any one venturesome enough to dispute his authority.
Henry, for a while, by shifting from place to place,
contrived to escape his pursuers. At length, one day
while he was seated at dinner at Waddington Hall, he
was seized by the Yorkists, led to London, conducted
into the capital, and committed to the Tower. While
Henry endured his captivity with Christian resignation,
a boyish passion for Elizabeth Woodville, the widow of a
Lancastrian knight, hurried the Yorkist King into a
marriage which gave dire offence to the haughty barons.
“No king of ours since the Conquest,” it was said, “has
dared to marry his own subject.”

This was but the beginning of the end. The new
Queen had a multitude of kinsmen, and for each of
them a peerage and an estate had to be provided; and
EDWARD OF LANCASTER. 128

at length the nation was discusted with the avarice
manifested by one of the Queen’s brothers, who, on
emerging from his teens, took to wife the Duchess of
Norfolk, a wealthy dame, who had attained the ripe
age of eighty-two. The King’s court swarmed with
new men; the ancient barons openly expressed their
contempt for the Queen’s kindred; and the demagogues
of the North exhorted their followers to rise and
trample down the upstart aristocracy, who were de-
pressing the nobles, and oppressing the people of the
country. No one appears to have been more indignant
than the Earl of Warwick, whose ill-feeling was ere
long converted into bitter hatred; and at length, in
1470, breaking finally with the King whom he had set
up, “the Stout Earl”. sought safety in exile, landed
with his family and his brother-in-law, the Earl of
Oxford, at Dieppe, communicated with Louis of France,
and journeyed across the country to Amboise.

When affairs took this turn the Prince of Wales,
with his mother, whose experience ‘enabled her to
foresee the coming struggle, lost no time in leaving
Verdun, and repairing to the court of Tours. Imagine
a boy of seventeen, with a chivalrous bearing, a graceful
manner, a handsome form, and a countenance of almost
feminine beauty lighted up with a blue eye, sparkling
with Plantagenet valour; array such a youth in the
dress worn at the period, the high‘ cap, the feather,
the short purple jacket trimmed with ermine; place
on his breast the badge of St. George and a
124. BOY PRINCES.

single ostrich plume—his cognisance as Prince of
Wales—and you have before your mind’s eye the
grandson of the Conqueror of Agincourt, as he ap-
peared on the crisis of his fate to the faithful adherents
of the Red Rose, Having lost everything else, they
had sought the French court to place their swords at
his disposal.

But it was not merely banished lords like John de
Vere, Earl of Oxford, and Jasper Tudor, Harl of
Pembroke, and Henry Holland, Duke of Exeter, and
Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, who looked upon
the pupil of Fortescue with interest and anticipation.
Combining as he did the beauty inherited from his
mother, and the regal honours claimed as his father’s
"heir, with all the graces of youth and rank, royalty and
chivalry, he was generally regarded as one likely, at
no distant date, to be a desirable friend and a for
midable foe. .

Warwick had not been blessed with a son to inherit
his great feudal power and large territorial possessions—
his house in London, where six oxen were consumed
every morning at breakfast—his numerous castles, where
thirty thousand retainers where daily fed—his favour.
with the people, who, now that he was exiled to a
foreign strand, were complaining that England without
“the Stout Earl” was like a world without a sun.
Warwick, however, had two daughters. One of these
was already the wife of King Edward’s brother, George,
Duke of Clarence; the other was residing with her


ZDWARD OF LANCASTER. 125

mother at Angers. It is said that on some festive
occasion the Lady Anne Neville had been seen at Paris
by the Prince of Wales. The sight called into action
his noblest aspirations and tenderest sympathies, Her
soft English beauty, her artless patrician grace, arrested
his eye, touched his heart, and lingered in his memory.
He was, in fact, inspired with one of those romantic
attachments which colour the dreams and excite the
ambition of youth. The dread that his haughty mother
would sooner see him on a dying bed than the son-in-
law of her ancient foe was perhaps not overwhelming ;
for though the Queen and the Earl were separated by
a wide gulf, in which ran the blood of friends and
kinsmen, they had one feeling in common—an intense
antipathy to Edward of York. It soon appeared that
the case was not quite desperate. Warwick indicated
through Louis his desire for a reconciliation; Margaret
was prompted by the ambition of a queen and the
tenderness of a mother to recover, by compromise, that
throne which she had been unable to conquer by arms.
A conference was at length arranged.

It was in the chateau of Amboise that Warwick,
with baronial pride on his brow and revenge gnawing
at his heart, in the month of June, 1470, was brought
face to face with those whose ruin he had wrought.
Poets, novelists, and historians have exerted their art
to depict the scene. There, much the worse in temper
and person for the wear and tear of anxious days and
sleepless nights, was the haughty Queen, from the
ZY BOY-PRINCES,.

brow of whose husband he had plucked the proudest
crown in Christendom. There, beggared, threadbare,
and poverty-stricken, appeared those Lancastrian nobles
whose homage he had seen in other days paid to her
at Westminster, when she sat on the throne wearing
the royal crown and the mantle of purple bound with
gems and gold. There, in the plainest of garbs, was
Louis, with all his craft in operation, and a keen eye
to his own interest. And there was the fair, young,
attractive Prince of Wales, vainly imagining that man’s
valour and woman’s wit could conquer fortune,
Warwick, though devoid of all personal ambition to
oceupy a throne, was anxious to see his daughter a
queen. He therefore expressed his readiness to restore
the line of Lancaster if Margaret would consent to the
union of the Prince of Wales with Anne Neville, whose
birth and lineage were such as to put her on a level
with any king in Europe. Margaret hesitated; she
felt the sharpness of the sacrifice, and took several days
to consider the proposal, She showed Louis a letter
received from England, offering the hand of the eldest
daughter of Hdward of York to her son; asked if that
were not a more profitable party; and if it were
necessary to forgive, whether it were not more queenly
to treat with Edward than a twofold rebel. Louis
became cool; indeed, he would have thought little of
throwing over her cause. He assured the Karl that he
would aid him to the utmost to reconquer England for
any one he chose, and that he loved him better than he
EDWARD OF LANCASTER. 127

did either Margaret or her son. Az last all difficulties
were got. over by Margaret coming te terms and con-
senting to the. match.

At Angers, in July, the marriage was celebrated ;
and Warwick, with the Earl of Oxford and the Lan-
castrian lords, set sail to conquer a throne for his
youthful son-in-law. The Prince of Wales, who re-
mained on the Continent to await tidings of victory,
repaired to the French capital in the autumn, with his
fair bride, his mother, the Countess of Warwick, and
the noble dames and damsels who formed the court
of the exiled Queen. They were received with the most
distinguished honours. The greatest lords of France
escorted them to Paris. The Archbishop, the Parlia-
ment, the University, came forth to bid them welcome,
The inhabitants, dressed in their best, crowded towards
the gate of St. James to witness their entrance. Through
streets hung with tapestry, and squares in which tents
were pitched, they proceeded to the palace, where
apartments had been handsomely prepared for their
reception. News had already arrived that Warwick
had been completely successful, that Edward of York
had fled to the court of Burgundy, that Henry of

Lancaster had been restored to liberty, and that nothing -

was wanting to complete the triumph but the presence
of the Prince of Wales.

The royal exiles were now naturally eager to join
the great Harl, and prepared to cruss to England. The
elements, however, were adverse. ‘Thrice they put to
128 BOY-PRINCES,

sea, and thrice were they driven back by contrary
winds. At length, when winter had passed and spring
arrived, and the winds were still, and the sea calm, they
landed at Weymouth, and repaired to the Abbey of
Cearne to rest from the fatigues of their voyage. There,
while keeping the festival of Haster, many an illusion
was dissipated and many a hope dispelled by the
intelligence that Edward of York, having found
Burgundy’s hospitality hard to bear, and returned to
England, had met the embattled host of Warwick at
Barnet; that Clarence, little relishing being pushed, as
it were, from the steps of a throne, had played the
traitor, and deserted his great father-in-law; that “the
Stout Earl,” “the setter-up and puller-down of kings,”
had perished on the lost field; that the Lord Montagu
had shared Warwick's fate; and that King Henry was
once more in the hands of his enemies.

Accustomed as she had been to the ecaprices of
fortune, Margaret’s courage gave way at this fatal
blow. She looked bewildered, raised her hands to
heaven, closed her eyes, and swooned. On her re-
covery it was decided that the whole party should
make for the Sanctuary of Beaulieu; and thither they
hastened. While they were bewailing their sad fate
there arrived at Beaulieu several lords and gentlemen of
mark, among whom were the Duke of Somerset, and John
Courtenay, Ear] of Devon, whose pedigree dated from
the age of Charlemagne, whose ancestors had for two
ecnturies ranked among the nobles of England, whose
EDWARD OF LANCASTER, 425

father bad died while on his way to mediate be-
tween the Red Rose and the White, and whose
brothers had sealed with their blood their fidelity to
the House of Lancaster. A council was held. It
was clear that one of two courses must be taken:
they must either return to their ships or brave for.
tune and their foes on another field. Margaret, it
might be with the presentiment of a tragic catastrophe
was in favour of returning to France. To this Somerset
expressed his decided opposition. The Queen then
proposed that her son should be sent to France, to
remain there in safety till a victory had been won.
Somerset and the other lords declared that the heir
of Lancaster ought to lead his adherents to battle;
and the Prince himself was ready rather to die on a field
of fame than live to expire in exile and obscurity. The
matter was soon setiled; the Lancastrians made for
Exeter; an army was rapidly mustered in the west
of England; and the Prince of Wales led his forces
towards the Marches of Wales, trusting to join the Earl
of Pembroke, who was raising troops in the Principality.

Everything went wrong. On reaching the city
of Gloucester, and trusting there to pass the river
Severn, the governor distinctly refused them admit-
tance; and, as it was known that King Edward,
with his brothers, was close at hand, the Lancastrians
passed on to Tewkesbury, and encamped on the left
bank of the Severn, hard by the spot where thas river
forms a junction with the Avon,

EK
130 BOY-PRINCES,

The town of Tewkesbury, with its old Norman
abbey and quiet streets, is little changed in outward
appearance since that period. Immediately south of
the town, and at a short distance from the ancient
abbey, is a mead, which in summer, when the sky
is blue and cloudless, and the sun paints the land-
scape in brilliant hues, blooms with wild flowers,
and smiles in the merry light of day. That piece
of ground is known as “the Bloody Meadow,” be-
cause, when the Houses of York and Lancaster fought
their twelfth battle for the crown, its surface was
dyed with some of the best blood of England.

Tt was the 4th of May, 1471, when the Lancastrian
chiefs set their ranks in order; and the boy-Prince of
Wales rode along their lines, while Queen Margaret
encouraged the adherents of the Red Rose to do their
duty. against the approaching foe. Onward, with a
prescience of victory—for men who had just destroyed
the Neville barons could fear little from a woman and a
boy— came the warriors of Barnet, their van led by
Richard, Duke of Gloucester, already dreaming of the
throne. At the first charge the Yorkists were gallantly
repulsed; but Gloucester, by a dexterous feint, drew
Somerset from his entrenchments, and the latter, making
a sally, spent the energy of his men in one furious charge.

This was not the worst of the Duke’s blunders.
Perceiving that he had not been properly supported,
Somerset rode back to Lord Wenlock, who had remained
in the trenches, accused him of treachery, and killed him
EDWARD OF LANCASTER. 131

with a battle-axe. By this time all was confusion.
Devon fell in front of his array; Gloucester, with his
boar’s-head. crest, appeared within the Lancastrian lines;
Edward and Clarence followed in triumph ; the conflict
became a rout; and the shepherds, looking down from
the Cotswold Hills, shuddered as they witnessed the
slaughter in the vale.

The Prince of Wales had hitherto maintained nis
position and fought with courage; but when the day
was irretrievably lost, and Somerset fled to take refuge
in the church, the Prince, in despair, made for the town.
On his way the young hero was stopped by Sir Richard
Orofts, who persuaded him to surrender, and go into
the presence of the King. There is still standing a house
where, according to tradition, the savage Edward rested.
after his victory ; and on an oaken floor are pointed out
marks of blood long since shed. There, it is said, the
youthful Prince appeared before his victor. What
brought you here?” asked the Yorkist King. “To
recover my father’s crown and my own rights,” boldly
answered the heir of Lancaster.

The noble presence, high spirit, and remarkable
promise of the boy were arguments for his speedy
destruction; for never could the cause of the Red |
Rose die while such a Prince breathed the breath of
life. So Edward savagely struck the face of the un-
armed captive with a gauntlet; Clarence and Gloucester
rushed upon him with their swords; and the King’s
servants completed the murder.
182 BOY-PRINCES,

And now all was over; and evident it seemed that
fortume had for ever deserted the Red Rose. King
Hdward, having embrued his hands in innocent blood,
went to the Abbey of Tewkesbury to return thanks
for his victory; and Somerset, with others of the
vanquished found in the Abbey Church, was executed ;
and Queen Margaret, discovered lurking in a religious
house hard by, was carried captive to London, and
there detained till the treaty of Amiens; and King
Henry, a meek prisoner, died in the Tower, despatched,
it was suspected, by the dagger of Gloucester.

Meanwhile, in a grave within the Abbey Church of
Tewkesbury, had been laid the gory corpse of Edward,
Prince of Wales. No ceremony befitting his royal rank
was observed on the occasion; and even now only a
small slab indicates the spot where, far from the tomb of
the fifth Henry illumined by rays of glory, repose the
ashes of his grandson, by turns the hope, the hero, and
the victim of the Lancastrian cause,
jen
SW)
Os

EDWARD THE FIFTH AND THE
DUKE OF YORK.

OnE day, during the period occupied by the wars of
York and Lancaster, London was in commotion. The
partisans of the White Rose manifested symptoms of
doubt, dread, and in some cases despair, and the ad-
herents of the Red Rose were elated with sudden hope
and anticipation; for Edward of York had fled to
Burgundy, and the Earl of Warwick was marching
towards the capital to restore Henry of Lancaster to
the throne of his fathers.

At this perilous crisis Elizabeth Woodville, the
fair queen of the fugitive monarch, fled secretly, with
three infant daughters, from the Tower to the Sanc-
tuary of Westminster; and there, on the 4th of
November, 1470, forsaken by her friends, and exposed
to penury, became mother of an heir to the pretensions
of the House of York. The boy was named Edward ;
but no martial barons or high-born dames of England
were present at the baptism of the infant Plantagenet.
“Like a poor man’s child was he christened,” says the
old chronicler, “his godfather being the Abbot and
134 BOY=PRINCES.

Prior of Westminster.” The sun of York seemed to
have set; but ere the little prince was six months old
London “saw another sight,” when his martial sire,
returning with victory sitting on his helm, conducted
his wife and son from the Sanctuary to the Palace, ere
going forth to exercise his somewhat savage valour
against the great baron who had made and unmade him.

When the battle of Barnet had destroyed the
power of the Nevilles, and the battle of Tewkesbury
left the surviving adherents of the Red Rose without
a Lancastrian prince to rally round, King Edward
felt his throne firm, and believed his crown secure. A
great council of prelates and lay lords was held; and
the royal boy was created Prince of Wales, invested
with the Earldom of Chester, and recognised as Duke
of Cornwall.

Having thus been invested with the honours and
dignities usually conferred on an heir-apparent to the
crown, Prince Edward, as time passed on and he
grew into boyhood, was placed under the counsel and
direction of his maternal uncle, Anthony Woodville,
Earl Rivers, and sent to reside at the Castle of Lud-
low, where it was hoped the presence of a Prince of
Wales would keep the inhabitants of the Marches in
awe.

The rules laid down for the government of young
Edward at Ludlow are worthy of notice. Early in
the morning he rose and attended matins, then he
was conducted to breakfast, and afterwards occupied
EDWARD THE FIFTH AND THE DUKE OF york. 135

with such “ virtuous learning” as his tender age allowed.
At ten o’clock he dined, except on fast-days, when
the midday meal was postponed for an hour. The
afternoon was employed on education, or in recreations
to prevent idleness, and at four he supped. No
swearing or ribaldry was permitted in his presence;
and when he sat at table he was entertained with —
the reading of such stories as were likely to inspire
him with the admiration of the good, the beautiful,
and the heroic. While the royal boy was at Ludlow
his father died, in April, 1483, and the son of Elizabeth
Woodville was proclaimed King of England.

The English court was at this time divided be-
tween the kinsmen of the Queen and such of the
old nobility as had,.throughout the wars of the Roses,
contrived to save their heads and estates. Immediately
on the decease of the victor of Barnet, a contention
arose about the custody of the young King’s person
and the government of the country; and the Queen,
jealous of the designs of the adverse faction, having
written to Earl Rivers to raise a large force, and
conduct the King to be crowned in London, pro-
ceeded to muster an army against the advice of the
council,

But while this was going on, and while Rivers
also was gathering an army of two thousand men on
the Welsh Marches, that the King might enter the
metropolis with so strong a guard as to repress any-
thing resembling opposition to his authority, a subile
136 / BOY-PRINCES.

brain was revolving schemes for the destruction of
the contending factions, and preparing to put his
projects into execution.

The Duke of Gloucester has, as Richard the Third,
been represented by dramatists as the most odious and
deformed of the human race, and by chroniclers as
“making the truth of history exceed the fiction of
poetry, being a greater harpy than those that were
feigned.” When his name is mentioned the faney
conjures up a man of short stature, with a crooked back,
a hook shoulder, a withered arm, splay feet, a dis-
agreeable face, goggle eyes, and a swarthy complexion,
and a mind as much deformed as his body. That
Richard really was such a monster as he has been
depicted is most improbable;. but there can be little
doubt that he was ambitious to a most criminal degree,
and that his ambition led him to perpetrate enormities
unjustifiable save by those maxims of Italian policy
associated with the name of Machiavelli. We last saw
him at Tewkesbury, participating in the murder of the
heir of Lancaster; and he had since, nevertheless, married
the youthful widow of that gallant prince. One son,
doomed to fill an untimely grave—the only being, per-
haps, whom he really regarded with natural affection—
was the result of their union.

Richard, by his superior intellect and extensive
knowledge, had exercised much influence over the
fourth Edward; and that monarch, when his life of
luxury, indolence, and intemperance was drawing to a
EDWARD THE FIFTH AND THE DUKE OF YORE. 137

close, did not scruple to commit the keeping of his
widow and children to a brother who had always pro-
fessed attachment. Richard, who was then on the
northern frontier, immediately wrote to the Queen
requesting that the army gathering around the young
King might be dismissed, lest its existence should create
suspicion among her adversaries; and the royal widow,
who was at once calculating and imprudent, despatched
a message to her brother to dismiss the troops.

The boy-King set out from Ludlow with a retinue
formed of his domestics, and on the 22nd of April had
reached Stony Stratford, when made aware that Richard
and the Duke of Buckingham were at Northampton, ten
miles distant. Earl Rivers and his nephew, Richard
Grey, young Edward’s “ brother of the half-blood,”
rode back to pay their respects to the two Dukes; and
next morning all four arrived at Stony Stratford, just as
the King was taking horse. They all appeared most
friendly, and Gloucester and Buckingham bent their
knee to the youthful sovereign. But soon a quarrel arose,
and Gloucester, who knew that he must either crush
the Woodvilles or be crushed by them, having caused
Rivers and Grey to be arrested, explained to the King
that they and his other half-brother, the Marquis of
. Dorset, were neither more nor less than rank traitors.
“What my brother, the Marquis, hath done,” remarked,
the King, “I cannot say; but for my uncle and brother
here I dare answer for their being innocent of unlawful
practices.” “ Oh,” said Buckingham, “it has been
138 BOY-PRINCES.

their cunning to keep their treachery from your Grace’s
knowledge.”

After this explanation the Duke of Gloucester dis-
missed. all the King’s domestics, and placed his own
creatures about Edward’s person. The tears of the
poor young King revealed the mortification he felt, and
the vague presentiments that possessed him.

The King being now within his grasp, like a bird
in the net of the fowler, Gloucester pushed on towards
London, giving out as he went that the Woodvilles
were conspiring against the throne and the ancient
nobility of the realm. On the 4th of May, on ap-
proaching the metropolis, they were met at Hornsey
Wood. by the mayor, the sheriffs, the aldermen, and a
crowd of citizens. Young Edward entered the city,
attended as became a king. Gloucester rode bare-
headed before his nephew. A great many lords
followed, and, amid loud acclamations from the popu-
lace, the King was conducted to the Bishop’s palace.

Meanwhile the Queen, hearing of these proceed-
ings, and apprehensive of Gloucester’s intentions, was
seized with dread. Besides the young King she had
a son, Richard, about ten years of age, who had been
born at Shrewsbury, created Duke of York, and con-
tracted in infaney to the only daughter of Mowbray,
Duke of Norfolk and Earl-marshal of England. With
this boy and her five daughters Elizabeth Woodville
repaired to the Sanctuary of Westminster, where for-
merly, at a period not less dark and gloomy, she had
EDWARD THE FIFTH AND THE DUKE OF YORK. 139

found refuge and safety. Indeed, the superstitious
believed that the place had been specially hallowed
and sanctified by St. Peter in person; and hitherto no
king, however wanting in devotion, had dared to in-
fringe upon the privilege of its inmates. But Edward,
after his victory at Tewkesbury, had in this respect
shown a bad example, and the sin was now to be
visited upon his helpless children.

The King, on learning that his mother was in
alarm, with tears in his eyes expressed his grief; but
Gloucester, who had been declared Protector by the
Privy Council, only protested his fidelity, and mar-
velled that his royal nephew should be so melancholy.
Gloucester, however, was not contented with the pro-
tectorate of the realm and the custody of the King’s
person. To realise the aspirations which the too
ambitious Duke cherished, it was necessary also to with-
draw the Duke of York from the Queen’s keeping;
and as the paternal uncle of the princes—as a man,
moreover, of valour, and wisdom, and learning—
Richard argued that he was the natural guardian of
-the childhood of the princes. He resolved. forthwith
to turn the King’s melancholy to account in promoting
his projects, and with this view sent the Archbishop
of York to Elizabeth Woodville to say that the
company of his brother was essential to her eldest
son’s happiness.

The prelate going to the Sanctuary found the
Queen, who had the character of being easily wrought
140 BOY-PRINCES.

on, and delivered the Protector’s message. He found
her mildly but earnestly opposed to delivering up the
little Duke of York. He then told her plainly that, if
she did not consent, he feared some sharper course
would speedily be taken. At this warning the Queen’s
heart was saddened, and, after 2 pause, she took the
boy by the hand. “My Lord Archbishop,” she said,
“here he is. For my own part I never will deliver him
freely ; but if you must needs have him, take him,
and at your hands I will require him.”

Elizabeth then shed many tears, and, clasping the
little Duke in her arms, said, “Dear child, let me kiss
you once more before we part; for God only knows
whether we shall ever see each other more.” The poor
" boy wept bitterly, and the mother and the son parted,
never to meet again.

Meanwhile in the Star Chamber, hard by, the Pro-
tector and other lords were assembled, and thither the
royal boy was led by the Archbishop. The Protector,
rising as they entered, embraced his nephew with every
demonstration of affection, and with that artful dis-
simulation for which he was distinguished, exclaimed,
“Welcome with all my heart! Next to my sovereign
lord, your brother, nevaig gives me so. ue content-
ment as your presence.”

A few days after this scene had been enacted the
Protector said it was proper that the King and the
Duke of York should be in a place of security till the
distempers of the commonwealth were healed; and a
EDWARD THE FIFTH AND THE DUKE OF yorRK, 141

Great Council, summoned to discuss the matter, re-
solved, on the motion of the Duke of Buckingham, tc
send the Princes to the Tower. Accordingly they were
escorted with much pomp through London to the
great fortress of the metropolis, and it was inti@ited
that they were to remain within its walls till arrange-
ments had been made for the King’s coronation.

But, though great preparations were made for placing
the crown on young Edward’s head, no such ceremony
ever took place. Indeed, Gloucester, already standing
on the steps of the throne, was only desirous of setting
the crown on his own head, and he played without
scruple the game of ambition. Lord Hastings, true to
the sons of his departed patron, was found to be in the :
way; and, on a charge of conspiracy against the
Protector, he was beheaded onthe green before the
Chapel in the Tower. Earl Rivers and the other
relatives of the widowed Queen might, it was thought,
prove troublesome, and they were executed at Pomfret.
Tt was then revealed that the late King had in early
youth married Lady Eleanor Butler, and that in con-
sequence his sons by Elizabeth Woodville were ille-
gitimate. No pains were spared to propagate the
belief that Edward the Fifth was incapable of
reigning.

In impressing the illegitimacy of Elizabeth Wood-
ville’s children on popular conviction one of the chief
agents was Dr. Shaw, an Augustin friar of high
reputation and great popularity. Mounting the pulpit
142 BOY-PRINCES.

at St. Paul’s Cross one Sunday, Shaw, who was a
brother of the Lord Mayor and an adherent of the
Protector, preached from the text, “The multiplying
brood of the ungodly shall not thrive, nor take deep
rooting from bastard slips;” and proceeded boldly to
prove that the Princes in the Tower were illegitimate.
He revived the old scandal about the fourth Edward
being the son of an archer, and hinted that there was no
likeness between the late King and the Duke of York.
* But,” exclaimed the preacher, alluding to the Pro-
tector, “behold this excellent Prince, the express
image of his noble father, the genuine descendant of
the House of York, bearing no less in the virtues, of
his mind than in the features of his.countenance the
character of the gallant Richard, once your hero and
your favourite. He alone is entitled to your allegiance;
he alone can deliver you from all intruders, and restore
the lost glory and honour of the nation.”

According to chroniclers a mistake that occurred
rendered this scene ridiculous. It had been previously
arranged that as the preacher pronounced this panegyric
the Protector should present himself to the eyes of the
crowd, and receive, by acclamation, their consent to his
becoming King. Unluckily there had been some error
in calculating time; and Richard made his appearance
after Shaw’s exclamation was over. The preacher was,
therefore, under the necessity of repeating his rhetorical
- figure; but the words spoken a second time, and out of
place, lest the-air of inspiration; and people, instead of
EDWARD THE FIFTH AND THE DUKE OF yorK. 143

erying,. * Gop save King Richard!” stared in astonish-
ment, and maintained a profound silence.

But the birth of the young King and his brother
having now been branded, the Duke of Buckingham
repaired to Guildhall ; and summoning thither the Lord
Mayor and chief citizens, told them that, as the free
people of England could not be ruled by a bastard,
Richard, Duke of Gloucester, Protector of the realm,
was the rightful heir to the crown. The citizens—so,
at least, it is related—remained for a time silent and
sullen; but just when the scheme seemed hopeless
several of the Duke’s servants, standing at the lower
end of the hall, tossed their caps into the air, and
shouted loudly, “King Richard! long live King
Richard!” “A goodly ery,” said Buckingham; and
after some persuasion he induced the Mayor and chief
citizens to accompany him next morning to Baynard’s
Castle, and petition the Protector, who kept his state
there, to accept of the royal dignity. Richard affected
great surprise, pretended to hesitate; but he had in
reality made up his mind, and at length he said, “Since
I perceive that the whole realm is resolved not to allow
my dear nephews—they being but children—to reign,
and that the right of succession belongs to me, I am
content to condescend to your importunity, and accept
of the royal government of the kingdom.” To this
speech the yielding citizens replied with loud shouts of
“Tong live King Richard, our Sovereign Lord!” and
oa the 6th of July, the Protector having been crowned
144 BOY-PRINCES.

TET

at Westminster, the reion of Edward the Fifth, who
had been a king but in name, was at an end.

From that day Edward and his brother were no
more seen, and their fate remained a matter of the
utmost uncertainty. It was generally believed, however,
that when Richard made a progress to the county of
Gloucester, he took measures to, assure the crown for
himself and his son, by this time created Prince of
Wales. He resolved upon sweeping his nephews for
ever from his path; and with this object he sent a
trusty messenger, named Green, to Sir Robert Brack-
enbury, Lieutenant of the Tower, with instructions to
make away with the Princes. But Brackenbury,
though elevated by Richard to the office he held, made
his patron comprehend that murdering innocents was
too much for his conscience. “By St. Paul! whom,
then, may we trust?” exclainied the King when the
answer was brought.

Richard was determined, however, that the deed
should be done; and, while musing over the matter,
chance threw in his way Sir James Tyrrel. This man
was turbulent in spirit, and so eager for preferment,
that to advance his fortune he would not stick at any
piece of villany. Richard, finding Tyrrel even more
ready to execute than he was to order the murderous
deed, gave him letters to Brackenbury, commanding
that he should be intrusted with the keys of the Tower,
and with the custody of the two Princes for the space
of twenty-four hours, Matters having been thus
EDWARD THE FIFTH AND THE DUKE OF YORK 145

arranged, Tyrrel hied him to London, and enlisted in
his service two ruffians; one of them named Miley
Forest, the other a sturdy groom, James Dighton.

It was a summer's night—so runs the story—and
the two Princes lay in an upper chamber, in that part
of the gloomy stronghold still pointed out as “the
Bloody Tower.” Their only attendant was William
Slaughter, whom the old chronicles call “Black Will,”
and emphatically describe as “a bloody knave.” But
as they slept the sleep of childhood, their very innocence
seemed a safeguard.

Suddenly Forest and Dighton stole into the room.
The sight which presented itself—these two boys, de-
prived by death of a brave father, and torn by force
from a disconsolate mother—would have melted any
other than the hardest hearts; but the instruments
employed by Tyrrel were, it would appear, too thorough
villains to shrink from any crime; and they did their
work with a stern brutality seldom surpassed. They
wrapped the slumbering children firmly in the coverlet ;
placed the pillows and feather bed over their mouths till
they were stifled; and when they saw, first by their —
struggles, and then by the long stillness of the victims,
that they had given up their innocent souls to God, the
murderers laid the bodies on the bed. Then they
called Tyrrel, who had remained outside the door, to

_ see with his own eyes that the horrid commission had
been faithfully executed.

Tyrrel eaused the bodies of the murdered Princes

L
246 BOY-PRINCES.

to be buried beneath the stair, but the exact place
was long unknown. At length, when two centuries
had passed over, when the Plantagenets had yielded
to the Tudors, and the Tudors had given place to the
Stuarts, bones, supposed to be those of the murdered
sons of the fourth Edward, were discovered deposited
in an urn, and removed to the Abbey of Westminster,

A Latin inscription on the monument of the Princes
gives a particular account of their sad catastrophe, and
in English runs thus :—“ Here lie the relics of Edward
the Fifth, King of England, and Richard, Duke of York,
who, being confined in the Tower, and there stifled with
pillows, were privately and meanly buried by order
of their perfidious uncle, Richard the. usurper. Their
bones, long inquired after and wished for, after laying
191 years in the rubbish of the stairs (¢.¢., those lately
leading to the Chapel of the White Tower), were,
on the 17th ot July, 1674, by undoubted proofs,
discovered, being buried deep in that place. Charles
the Second, pitying their unhappy fate, ordered these
unfortunate Princes to be laid among the relies of
their predecessors, in the year 1678, and the thirtieth
of his reign.”

The well-known ballad of “The Babes in the
Wood” is supposed to be a rhythmical tradition of
the murder of the Princes in the Tower.
147

ARTHUR TUDOR,

PRINCE OF WALES.

Many centuries before the Plantagenet kings presided
over the destinies of England, a Welsh prince—Cad-
wallader by name—is said to have predicted that, at
some future period, his offspring should reign over the
realm. A most improbable event this long seemed ;
but at length, in the fifteenth century, the eccentric
love of a Queen-dowager for a handsome soldier ele-
vated to royal rank an obscure Welsh sept, who
claimed Cadwallader as an ancestor.

Remarkable, indeed, were the circumstances that
translated the Tudors from a Welsh brewery to Windsor
Castle. We need not relate how, at a period subsequent
to Agincourt, the fifth Henry fought his way to Paris—
how he espoused a daughter of France—and how he
expired in the midst of his triumphs. Suffice it to say
that he left the beautiful Katherine de Valois to mourn
his untimely fate, and that the heart of the royal
widow—though she was little more than twenty—
might have long lingered about the tomb of the hero-
king, had not accident thrown Owen Tudor in her
148 ‘BOY-PRINCES.

way. Owen, who is said to have been the son of a
brewer at Beaumaris, Jooked a handsome man, and
boasted of being “a gentleman of Wales.” Even a
yeoman of Kent, or a pricker of Northumberland,
would have sneered at a person of that rank. But
Katherine became so enamoured that she sacrificed
ambition to love; and a man who had fought as a
private soldier on the field of Agincourt linked his
fate with the daughter of a French, and the widow of
an English, king.

Henry the Sixth never acknowledged Owen as
Katherine’s husband, nor does it appear that the
Church ever celebrated their union. When their sons
grew up, however, the monk-monarch créated one Earl
of Richmond, the other Earl of Pembroke. The
former took to wife Margaret Beaufort, a descendant
of John of Gaunt, and was blessed with a son, named
Henry, who, after passing years as an exile in Britanny,
landed in England, was victorious at Bosworth against
Richard, espoused the eldest daughter of Edward, and
ascended the throne as Henry the Seventh.

On the 20th of September, 1486—rather more than
a year after Lord Stanley had at Bosworth placed the
crown of England on Henry Tudor’s head—his queen,
Elizabeth Plantagenet, gave birth toa son. She was
then residing under the care of her mother at Win-
chester; for Henry, indulging as he did in the harmless
delusion of being descended from the old princes of
Wales, was all anxiety that his heir should be born in
ARTILUR TUDOR, 149

hat palace which King Arthur was supposed to haye
founded. Four days after he saw the light, the roya
infant was baptized in the cathedral. Elizabeth Wood-
ville appeared at the font as godmother; the Earls of
Derby and Oxford took part in the ceremony as god-
fathers; and Henry, whose mind was deeply imbued
with the traditions of Wales and Britanny, thought
proper to name.his son Arthur, in honour of the
legendary hero.

Young Arthur was, according to all accounts, “a fair
prince ”—healthy and lively, but not likely to turn out
quite such a prodigy as flatterers predicted. Servility
has seldom carried men to greater excesses than on the
occasion of his birth. The event was celebrated m
Latin and English, poets and chroniclers vied with
each other in adulation, and the hermit or Guy’s Cliff
went the length of prognosticating that this great-
grandson of Owen Tudor would, as time passed on, win
fame far surpassing that of the mystic hero who
instituted the Round Table. While it was still the
fashion to give expression to such nonsense, rumours
began to ereep about which gave-time-servers uneasiness,
which caused Henry sore trouble, and which made it
politic to convey the infant Arthur and the Queen, for
security, to the strong Castle of Kenilworth. The
throne to which Arthur was supposed to be the
rightful heir tottered; there was a prospect that the
crown which Henry wore would be plucked from his
brow by one who had still less right to it than himself,
150 BOY-PRINCES,

When Henry had succeeded in putting down the
insurrection raised by Lambert Simnel in the name
of the young Earl of Warwick, and in converting a
mock prince into a real turnspit, he lost no time in
investing the son of his hopes with those symbols of
rank befitting the heir of England. On the Ist of
October, 1489, Arthur was created Prince of Wales
and Earl of Chester; soon after this he was elected
a Companion of the Bath; on the 8th of May, 1491,
when the feast of St. George was kept at Windsor,
he was installed as a Knight of the Order of the
Garter; and in the autumn of 1492, when the King
undertook an expedition against France, he was ap-
pointed Guardian of the Realm. But ‘his tenure of
this office was speedily terminated in a way that could
hardly have been very satisfactory to the noble order
into which he had been admitied—that illustrious
fraternity whose heraldic. banners, waving in St.
George’s Hall, recall to memory those heroes who
made England terrible on the Continent. In fact,
Henry, who had fleeced the English people of money to
carry on an unnecessary war, accepted a large bribe
from the French King to conclude a humiliating peace,
and returned to guard against a peril which beset
his throne. A new Pretender was in the field—that
mysterious Leing who figures in the annals of England
as Perkin Warbeck.

Having, afier much difficulty, disposed of Perkin,
whoia many believed to be the second son of the fourth
sRTHUR TUDOR. 151

Edward, and persuaded the servile peers of England
to murder the young Earl of Warwick under judicial
‘forms, Henry began in earnest to advance the fortunes
of those children of whom a picture by Mabuse, the
precursor of Holbein, is preserved at Hampton Court.
An interesting family must the little Tudors have been,
with their bright complexions and glittering hair.

Margaret, a young beauty not yet in her teens, had
from infancy been destined to share the Scottish throne,
and regarded as “the dove that was to bring to the
island kingdom the blessings of permanent peace.”
She was still dancing, and singing, and playing the lute,
without any prophetic glimpses of the troubles that
awaited her, or the scandal which she was to raise on
the other side of the Tweed.

Henry, Duke of York, born at Greenwich in 1491,
was two years younger than the Princess, and had
already appeared prominently in public at a tournament
held in her honour, when he rode through London with
a magnificent retinue to witness the feats of arms. It
was not, however, for chivalrous scenes that he was
intended. His avaricious sire, with an eye to the rich
revenues of the see of Canterbury, designed him for an
ecclesiastic, and intrusted his education to Skelton the
poet. Henry, under Skelton’s auspices, was taught to
hate the Sectch; and learning, in some other way, that
the Tudors were not quite the thing, he thought it
politic to pride himself on being a Plantagenet. The
resemblance, real or imaginary, between Henrv and his
152 BOY-PRINCES.

maternal grandsire afterwards encouraged the royal
savage in this laughable conceit.

Edward Tudor, Earl of Somerset, was a yellow-
haired boy, who was not destined to add to the glory
oe shame of his line. He died in his fifth year at
Bishop Hatfield, in Hertfordshire.

Mary Tudor, who, after being contracted to the
Emperor Charles, and married to Louis of France,
became the wife of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk,
was a sportive child, two years old. She was listening
eagerly while her sister played the lute, or watching her
as she practised some of those quick, lively dances in
fashion at that period.

A distance, greater than could have been the result
of the mere difference of age, separated these royal
children from the Prince of Wales, Arthur was, we
are told, “forward and able of body,” studious, and
learned beyond the custom of princes; so industrious
that he had read numerous Latin and other authors; and
so handsome in person and amiable in temper that his
popularity was great.

Henry had been long ambitious of borrowing lustre
for the new dynasty by obtaining a bride for his son
from some of the reigning houses of Europe; and he
had for years looked wistfully towards the royal family
which sprang from the alliance between Castille and
Arragon. Katherine, the fourth daughter of Ferdinand
and. Isebella, born and reared in the midst of that
strugeie with the Moors of Granada which restored to
ARTHUR TUDOR. 153

the Spanish crown the fairest portion of the Peninsula,
was not much older than the Prince of Wales; and for
years Henry had been striving to negotiate a marriage.
But Ferdinand, cunning as a fox, would not consent
to an alliance till assured that the Earl of Warwick was
no more, and then everything was arranged. Katherine
was to have two thousand crowns as her portion; and
Axthur went through the ceremony of being solemnly
affianced, the Spanish Ambassador acting as proxy for
the Infanta, who thereupon assumed the title of Princess
of Wales. Considerable delay, however, occurred before
Katherine embarked; and when she did set sail for
England it was with difficulty that the ship reached
the shores where so much misery awaited her.

At length, on the 2nd of October, 1501, Katherine
of Arragon landed at Portsmouth; and on the news
being conveyed to London, Henry, having ordered
fitting preparations to be made for her reception, went
with speed to welcome the bride. Arthur appears to
have been in Wales at that time; but his presence was
quickly requested, and he arrived in time to meet the
Princess before her train entered the capital. Much
excitement, of course, prevailed, and music played on
every side, as she was escorted into London and con-
veyed to the Bishop’s palace.

The appearance of this Spanish Princess must have
been somewhat disappointing to those who had an old-
fashioned notion that a Queen of England should be
sue most beautifal woman of her time. Katherine was
154 BOY-PRINCES.

not, like her mother Isabella, a true daughter of old
Castille, with chestnut hair, a fair face, and a mild blue
eye, beaming with sensibility and intelligence. While.
passing her childhood in the Moorish capital, Katherine
had grown up with something of Eastern aspect and
solemnity. Her large dark eyes, her long black hair,
her brunette complexion, and her reserved manner
were rather calculated to suggest visions of the Alham-
bra, with its vega, its gardens, and its orange groves,
than of the mountains of Gallicia, from which her
ancestors had rushed down to do battle with the Moor,
or the ancient city of Burgos, in which they had esta~
blished their throne under the protection of St. James.

But, such as Katherine was, Henry felt proud to
look upon her as the bride of his son; and the old
church of St. Paul, wherein was the alabaster tomb of
John of Gaunt and Blanche of Lancaster, his first wife,
was fitted up for the solemnisation of the marriage. On
the 14th of November—it was a Sunday, and the Feast
of St. Erthenwald—the ceremony was performed in -
presence of the King and Queen, and many nobles of
England ; and. when it was over, the youthful pair, both
arrayed in white, moved up the choir of the church,
ad heard mass sung by the Archbishop of Canterbury
and nineteen mitred prelates. After this solemn service,
the bride, wearing a coronal, was led away by Henry,
Duke of York, the Princess Cicely, sister of the Queen,
supporting her train, and a hundred ladies following in
vich attire,
ARTHUR TUDOR. 155

All the religious ceremonies having been observed,
festivities and jousting followed. A sumptuous banquet
was given at the Bishop’s palace. Next day Arthur and
his bride, attended by the Court, and by the Lord
Mayor and municipal functionaries, in gay barges, went
by water to Baynard’s Castle, and a splendid tourna-
ment was held, the Duke of Buckingham figuring as
chief among the challengers, the Marquis of Dorset as
chief among the defenders. No expense was spared to
render this wedding memorable.

Even Henry opened his purse with liberality; and
some of the nobles, to please him, spent so much on
fine clothes and otherwise, that they were reduced to
ruin; which was just what he wished. Even astrology
was put in requisition, and fortunes were told in the
masques; while fanciful pieces, representing the descent
of the bridegroom from King Arthur, were not omitted ;
nor that of the bride from a daughter of John of
Gaunt.

When the festivities were at an end, the Prince of
Wales was sent by his father to Ludlow, where an ex-
tensive and magnificent castle stood on on eminence
at the confluence of the Corve and the Teme. It was
thought a prince’s residence on the Marches of Wales
would be a check on the unruly inhabitants; and
Arthur was accompanied by counsellors of experience.
All seemed most promising. The Prince of Wales was
particularly popular in England; he was highly es-
teemed among foreignezs: and astrologers had vied in
156 BOY-PRINCES.

predicting, for him and his bride, a splendid future and
a numerous progeny. “But it should seem,” as Lord
Bacon remarks, “it is not good to fetch fortunes
from the stars.” Arthur and Katherine had hardly
kept their splendid court five months within the walls
of Ludlow, when, on the 2nd of April, 1502, he went
the way of all flesh. He is said to have died of con-
sumption.

When the Prince of Wales breathed his last, Sir
Richard Pole, his chamberlain, sent the intelligence to
Greenwich, where the King was residing ; and prepara-
tions were. made for a funeral befitting the rank of the
deceased. The Earl of Surrey was intrusted to enact
the part of chief mourner, and no form or ceremony was
omitted which could render the obsequies impressive.
The body, after being embalmed and placed in a coffin,
lay in state under a table covered with cloth of gold,
having over it a rich cross, furnished with candlesticks
and huge tapers, till St. George’s Day, when it was
removed into the parish church.

On Mark’s Day the corpse was conveyed from
Ludlow to Bewdley, and, next morning, to Worcester,
where a tomb was prepared in the cathedral. On
arriving at Worcester, the procession moved with much
pomp and solemnity up the choir of the cathedrai to
a temporary monument, splendidly ornamented and
blazing with five hundred lights, around which were
displayed numerous banners of kings and. princes.
Masses having been said, and the trophies having been
ARTHUR TUDOR. 157

offered up, the corpse was borne to its last resting-place
near the high altar. The grave then closed over the
remains of Arthur Tudor, and all the bright hopes
with which he had been regarded by those who felt
bis amiability and appreciated his intelligence,
158

EDWARD PLANTAGENET,

EARL OF WARWICK,

Ow the day before Richard the Third had the crown
of St. Edward placed upon his brow in the Abbey of
Westminster, the usurper, according to- an ancient
custom, partially revived in our own time, rode in
state from the Tower, attended by eighty-five knights
and nobles. Among these was a fair boy, recognised
by the multitude as Earl of Warwick, and regarded
with interest as grandson of “The Stout Earl,”
whose praise had, a few years earlier, been on every
tongue ; whose prowess had been sung through every
street; and whose mansion had been hospitably open
to all comers.

When England was on the eve of that revolution
which exiled the fourth Edward for a time to the
territories of Burgundy, his brother George, Duke of
Clarence, was inspired with an ardent love for a
daughter of the great Warwick. Though the court
was adverse to the match, Clarence, defying the
opposition of the King and the Woodvilles, espoused
Isabel Neville at Calais: and after her great father
EDWARD PLANTAGANET, 159

had fallen at Barnet, he was created Earl of Warwick.
According to Dugdale, Clarence’s son, Edward Plan-
tagenet drew his first breath at the Castle of Warwick
on the 2ist of February, 1474, though some writers
tell that his birth took place at sea when “the King-
maker” escaped with his family to France.

The misfortunes of this Prince began soon after
his birth, While he was a child, his mother Isabel
Neville died, under such circumstances that a female
attendant was tried and executed on the charge of
having poisoned her. Ere the dust had time to
gather upon Isabel’s coffin, Clarence endeavoured to
supply her place with Mary of Burgundy, daughter
and heiress of Charles the Rash, who had fallen in
battle with the Swiss. King Edward refused to hear
of an alliance that might have enabled Clarence “ to
employ the power of Burgundy to win the crown,” and
jealous dissensions arose between the brothers. The
consequences are well known. Clarence was accused
of treason, tried, condemned, committed to the Tower,
and never seen again; and the popular belief was,
that his brother had caused him to be drowned in
a butt of malmsey.

When Edward Plantagenet thus became an orphan,
and succeeded to the title of Warwick, he was litile
more than three years of age. Freedom he cannot be
said to have ever afterwards tasted. Kept in custody
at the Castle of York by the fourth Edward, and given
as a ward to the Marauis of Dorset. Elizabeth Wood.
160 BOY PRINCES.

ville’s son, he was treated with cruelty and neglect.
However, he enjoyed one ray of hope when Richard
ascended the throne. When the usurper made his
celebrated progress to York, and knighted his son, the
Prince of Wales, he conferred the same distinction on
his little nephew; and when the Prince of Wales was
no more, Warwick found himself recognised as heir to
throne, and, as such, took his seat at the royal table.
But after Richard’s queen, the Anne Neville of other
days, had gone where the weary are at rest, Warwick’s
position changed for the worse. Soon after his aunt’s
death the earl was sent as a state prisoner to Sheriff
Hutton, in Yorkshire, and while in that manor-house
had as companion his fair cousin Elizabeth, eldest
daughter of Edward. After Richard’s fall they were
removed to London; Elizabeth to share the throne won
for Henry Tudor on the field of Bosworth ; Warwick
to be shut up in the Tower, and subjected to closer
restraint than he had yet experienced. Every change
that took place made the condition of this poor Prince
more deplorable. Well may the chronicler remark that
“he was born to perpetual calamity.”

Almost ere the only Plantagenet known to have
escaped the destruction of his race had been immured
in the Tower, people became discontented with their
Welsh sovereign. Henry, in fact, offended them by his
suspicions, when, after Bosworth, he entered London in
triumph. ‘Instead of riding on horseback, like an Eng-
lish king, he came in a clumsy carriage, so carefully
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EDWARD PLANTAGENET, 161

shut ap that nobody could sce him. The citizens
deemed this a bad omen, and they were still more
displeased when he instituted a band of tall men to
protect his person; - whereas English kings never
deemed it necessary to have a single guard. People
began to grumble, to call to memory that the old royal
race was not wholly extinct, and to speak with tender
sympathy of the Earl of Warwick.

But where was the Harl? That was a question
which few could answer; indeed his removal from
Sheriff Hutton had been effected with such secresy,
and his existence was involved in such mystery, that
many believed he had been privately put to death.
Suddenly, however, the young Plantagenet became an
object of immense interest with the public; for the
rumour ran that he had escaped from the Tower and
landed in Dublin under the care of a priest; that he
had, as heir of York, been well received by the Ear.
of Kildare; that his beauty had quite captivated the
inhabitants; that the story of his wrongs had enlisted
the sympathy of foreign courts ; that the Duchess of
Burgundy had sent two thousand men to support his
claims ; that he had been crowned in Dublin as Edward
the Sixth; and that, after the ceremony, he had been
carried on the shoulders of a tall Irish chieftain from
the cathedral to the castle, while the multitude hailed
him as King. Henry, on recovering from his surprise
at all this, took the best means of proving this riva:
to be a more thorough impostor than himself.
162 BOY-PRINCER,

On Sunday, Warwick was brought from the Tower,
and conducted through the principal streets of the
metropolis to St. Paul’s Church. An interest of no
ordinary kind was shown in the spectacle. Many
nobles and gentlemen accompanied the youth, con-
versing with him by the way; the citizens who
thronged the streets eyed him with glances of recogni-
tion; and the populace assembled at St. Paul’s exhibited
keen curiosity as he entered the sacred edifice to hear
mass.

The boy who created so much excitement was by
many considered the rightful heir to the crown of Eng-
land. But he was not, so far as personal qualifications -
went, a formidable pretender. Chroniclers tell that he
had neither the experience nor the knowledge to wrestle
for a sceptre. Utterly uneducated, piteously ignorant,
and unaccustomed to the ways of the world, it seemed
a mockery of human greatness that such a being should
be the heir at once of barons who set up and pulled
down kings, and of kings before whose might famous
barons stooped their crested helms as low as death.

When Warwick was paraded through London, many
of the noblemen, who favoured his pretensions, were
encouraged to converse with him and convince them-
selves that the candidate for the crown was an impostor.
Still the plot thickened; an invasion from Ireland was
anticipated ; and the strange conspiracy became much
more formidable from the accession of a young nobie-
man of great wit, high courage, and extensive influence
EDWARD PLANTAGENET, 163

named John de la Pole, earl of Lincoln, whom, as a
sister’s son, Richard the Third had recognised as his
heir, and whom, as a Plantagenet by the mother’s side,
Englishmen were not indisposed. to follow.

Henry now practised his cunning with considerable
success. The cloud passed from his brow; he laid aside
his reserve; and he strove to be popular. To secure
an army, he made a royal progress through several
counties, undertook a pilgrimage to Walsingham, and
paid a visit to the Queen and Prince Arthur at Kenil-
worth Castle. While he was resting behind the strong
walls of that fortress, the invaders landed at Furness,

Henry took the field, and advanced to give them
battle. The Earl of Oxford, however, led the royal
van, while the King kept safely in the rear; for this
descendant of Cadwallader had no particular fanoy for
encountering foemen in the ranks of war. Lincoln, a
man to whom “ danger’s self was lure alone,” was little
disposed to shrink from a conflict; and at the village of
Stoke, near Newark, the two armies met in hostile
array. For three hours the conflict was fiercely main-
tained; and the German mercenaries, under Martin
Swart, fought with valour. But the Irish, only half
clad, gave way; the foreigners, with their leader,
perished almost to a man; and Lincoln and his friends
fell with their fect to the foe. The boy, who had
figured for a brief period as Edward the Sixth, and led
to the field so many nobles, knights, gentlemen, and
soldiers, was taken prisoner, and sent to turn a spit
164 BOY-PRINOES.

in the royal kitchen. He was the son of a joiner
or baker at Oxford, and his name: was Lambert
Simnel!

Meanwhile the heir of the old English kings had
not profited by the interest he excited among the
people. No sooner, indeed, had Henry’s purpose, by
the exhibition of his captive been served, than the
young Earl was taken back to the Tower. And why?
“ For no other offence,” says Dugdale, “ than being the
only male Plantagenet at that time living, and con-
sequently the most rightful heir to the crown.” Be
that as ib may, he was never again to leave the great
fortress of the metropolis till he was a headless corpse.
It was true that he had grown up so ignorant of the
outer world that he hardly knew a hen from a goose
or a cow from a horse, and that he was too simple even
to know that his fate was perhaps harder than that of
any man in Europe. Still his very existence rebuked
the audacity of the upstart King, and influenced
the policy of continental courts towards the house of
Tudor.

Several plots were formed to set Warwick free and
proclaim him king ; but these, though supported in one
instance by the young monarch of France, came to
nought. Repeated failures, however, though they dis-
pirited Warwick’s adherents, did not render Henry’s
throne quite easy. “Being of a new lineage and
surname,” says Fuller, “he knew full well how this
nation hankered after the name of Plantagenet, which,
EDWARD PLANTAGEND?, 165

as it did outsyllable Tudor in the mouths, so did it
outvie it in the hearts of the English.” No doubt the
erowned knave was eager for some pretext, however
pitiable, to get such a rival out of the way of himself
and his posterity ; but, at the same time, he was so well
aware of the odium he must ineur by putting such a
captive to death, that the Harl might have passed his
days in perpetual imprisonment but for the suggestions
of Ferdinand, the congenial ally of the royal Tudor.

It happened that Henry had scarcely been king for
twelve months, when a whisper went about that the
younger of the Princes — supposed to have been
smothered in the Tower—was alive; and one day, a
stripling with a handsome person, landing at Cork,
asserted that he was the Duke of York; that; when
Brackenbury went to Bosworth, he had escaped from
the Tower; and that, after being a vagrant for seven
long years, he had come to claim his own. The
citizens of Cork and many of the Norman Nobles
of Ireland, led astray by their impulsive natures, were
quite ready to espouse the handsome boy’s cause.
But Kildare, whom one mistake had made discreet,
shrunk from the ridicule of countenancing another
counterfeit prince: and the lad having thus met
with the cold shoulder in Ireland, accepted a pressing
invitation to the Court of France.

At Paris, the handsome adventurer was received with
the honours paid to royal personages; but the treaty
between the kings of England and France rendering his
166 BOY-PRINCES.

residence at the Court of the Valois out of the question,
he repaired to Flanders, and sought protection under
the wing of the Duchess of Burgundy. The widow of
Charles the Rash submitted the statements of the boy to
a close scrutiny, declared herself perfectly satisfied with
the result, embraced him as her dear nephew, observed
that he was the very image of her departed brother;
called him “the White Rose of England,” and appointed
him a guard of halberdiers: Ere long, Sir Robert
Clifford, having gone from the English malecontents to
ascertain the truth of this story, came back with the
intelligence that he had seen and conversed with the
boy, and entertained no doubt as to his being the son
of Edward. In the summer of 1495 the adventurer,
resolving to put his fortune to the test, landed at
Deal, expecting the country to rise in his behalf;
but the people, having been informed by Henry
that the youth was one Perkin Warbeck, son of
a Flemish Jew, rushed to arms, and, after a sharp
skirmish, chased the invaders back to their ships.

After returning to Flanders, the adventurer, whom
we may now call Perkin Warbeck, found that fate
was against his remaining longer at the Court of the
Duchess. But, making his way to Scotland, he met
with a reception which cheered his soul. The Scottish
monarch, whose name will long live in history and song
as the hero of Flodden, and who aspired, amid the stern
realities of life, to enact the part of a knight of romance,
far from expressing any doubt as to the handsome youth
EDWARD PLANTAGENE'S, 167

being Duke of York, espoused his cause with zeal,
addressed him as cousin, entertained him with tourna-
ments, and gave him in marriage his own kinswoman,
the Lady Katherine Gordon, one of the most beautiful
women of her generation. With the aid of some gentle-
men of the North—Nevilles, Lovells, and Herons—the
voyal Scot undertook to seat Perkin on the English
throne.
The enterprise was entered upon with an_earnest-
ness commensurate with its importance. To defray the
xpenses King James not only coined his plate, but
converted into money the chain of gold which he was
in the habit of wearing as a penitential belt. The
Duchess of Burgundy sent some picked warriors with
a supply of arms; and “the White Rose of England”
found himself at the head of a considerable body of
soldiers. Early in the winter of 1496 he crossed the
weed under the auspices of the king of Scots, and
issued a proclamation, setting forth his claim to the
English crown, and promising a reward for the head
of Henry Tudor. The expedition, however, came te
nought. The men of the North would not support a
prince who appeared encompassed with mercenaries,
and under the patronage of a Scottish king; and the
soldiers of James, converting the expedition into a pre-
datory foray, ravaged Northumberland, and so mal
treated the inhabitants, that Perkin, professing tho
tenderness of a sovereign for his natural subjects, in-
terceded with the King of Seots to stop the iapine,
168 BOY-PRINCES.

2

“J would rather,” said he, “want a throne than gain

it by the sufferings of Englishmen.” “Would you,

12?

indeed!” quoth the royal Scot, tauntingly; “methinks
you are too solicitous about what is none of your own,
and it would be acting the part of too good a steward
for the enemy to save the country for his use.”

King James, in fact, began, or pretended, to suspect
that his protégé was a mock prince, and soon after con-
cluded a peace with Henry. But before doing so he
frankly advised Perkin to consult his safety by going
elsewhere, and furnished a vessel for that purpose.
Escorted to the coast by a body of horse, and accom-
panied by the beautiful Lady Katherine, who nobly
shared the fortunes of her husband at this crisis,
Perkin sailed once more for Ireland. Finding, how-
ever, that his presence caused no excitement in the
Green Isle, he resolved upon trying his fortunes in
Cornwall.

Such an adventure was not altogether unreasonable.
The Cornishmen, irritated by Henry’s taxation, had
lately been up in arms, had been put down with the
strong hand, and had been panting for vengeance, when
Perkin, with a few scores of followers, landed and
summoned them to his standard. Having assumed the
title of Richard the Fourth, and left his wife at the
Sanctuary of Mount St. Michael, he found himself
heading thousands of insurgents, and commenced the
civil war by laying siege to Exeter. The wild Cornish-
men carried on the assault with courage; but the
EDWARD PLANTAGENET. 169

citizens, reinforced by the neighbouring nobility and
gentry, made a brave defence, and the insurgents re-
cognised the prudence of moving on to Taunton.

On reaching Taunton, Perkin found himself in
presence of an army under the auspices of the King,
who, as was his wont, kept safely in the rear, The day
was far advanced, but a conflict appeared inevitable on
the morrow; and, as the Cornishmen were far from
shrinking from the encounter, Perkin, with a counten-
ance still cheerful, formed them in battle order. But
when the royal army had encamped for the night, and
the shades of evening fell over the vale of Taunton,
Perkin, instead of preparing to prove himself a real
Plantagenet, mounted a fleet steed, and fled, under
cover of night, towards the Sanctuary of Beaulieu, in
the New Forest.

Perkin reached the place of refuge in safety. Ere
long, however, he found that the Sanctuary was sur-
rounded with armed horsemen, and that the only hope
for him was to accept the King’s pardon. Carried to
London in the royal train, the youth lived, for a time,
about the court—a captive, indeed, but treated with in-
dulgence. Finding this kind of existence irksome to his
adventurous spirit, he endeavoured to escape; but being
pursued, and forced to seek refuge in a religious house
at Richmond, he was given up by the Prior, on con-
dition of his life being spared. Perkin was now taken
to Westminster, put in the stocks, and forced to read a
confession that he was really the son of a Flemish Jew.
170 BOY-PRINCES.

After thus completing his humiliation, he was sent to
the Tower.

While Perkin was a prisoner in the Tower, and
negociations were going on for the marriage of Arthur
Prince of Wales, and Katherine of Arragon, a rumour
crept abroad that Warwick had escaped; and this,
according to Sandford, “ caused a great tumult among
the Commons, who were glad to hear that a branch of the
Plantagenets was to be restored to the imperial diadem.”
The Commons, however, were miserably disappointed ;
for the whole affair turned out a farce, of which Henry
was suspected to be the author, and in which the prin-
cipal actor was an Augustine friar. The friar having
found a handsome lad, named Ralph Wilford, in Sussex,
taught him to personate the captive Prince, brought
him into Kent, and told a piteous tale, beginning
with his birth and ending with his escape from the
‘Lower. Both were arrested ere long. Ralph, who
proved to be a cordwainer’s son, was put to death; but
the friar was allowed to escape in such a way, that the
plot was ridiculed as “a king’s device.” Ferdinand,
alive to what was passing, and convinced that while
a Plantagenet existed there was no security for the
Tudor dynasty, expressed unwillingness to send his
daughter to England.

When this affhir of Wilford’s took place, Perkin
Warbeck had been several months in the Tower, and
the companion of Warwick’s captivity. Whether Perkin
was placed there as a bait to entrap the young Earl,
EDWARD PLANTAGENET, 17i

as many have asserted, does not clearly appear. But
however that may have been, there is no doubt that he
wound himself round the royal boy, as ivy does round
the oak it is destined to destroy, and that their intimacy
was by Henry turned to account with a vengeance.
About midsummer it was reported that the fascina-
tion of Perkin’s manner had not only won him the
' friendship of Warwick, but such an influence over his
keepers, that the latter had undertaken to murder the
Governor of the Tower, to convey the captives to some
place of safety, where Perkin might be proclaimed, and
where the Earl might muster his retainers under the
banner of Clarence. When this plot was discovered,
or pretended to he discovered, the adventurer and the
Earl were placed in separate cells, and preparations were
made for their trials. Perkin was accordingly arraigned
at Westminster Hall, convicted, and executed at Tyburn.
Perkin’s execution took place on the 28rd of
November, 1499; and, in a few days, the people who
believed the youth they saw die at Tyburn to be the
Duke of York, witnessed a spectacle still more lace-
rating to their feelings. The opportunity of murdering
the heir of our ancient sovereigns was much too tempt-
ing for Henry to resist. The Earl was brought to the
bar of the House of Lords, and accused of conspiring
to raise sedition and destroy the King. The greatest
of those peers of England who had escaped the civil
wars exhibited towards a Welsh usurper such servility
as Ruger Bigod and Humphrey Bohun would have
72 BOY-PRINCES.

Fae

scorned to show to the mightiest of England’s monarchs;
and the Earl of Oxford, acting as Lord Steward, took
in the trial a part which has left a blot upon the
escutcheon of the De Veres. A promise of pardon,
never intended to be kept, induced the simple youth to
plead guilty. The judgment of the peers was pro-
nounced by Oxford, and on the 28th of November,
1499, the ill-fated Prince was executed on Tower
Hill. ‘

While Henry was congratulating himself on the
state craft which had at once eut the life’s-thread of
a dangerous rival, and smoothed the way for the
marriage of his son and the Infanta Katherine, a burst
of indignation from the people of England roused him
to a sense of the iniquity of which he had been guilty.
The wily Tudor thereupon endeavoured to shift the
odium from himself to the cunning Ferdinand, and
even showed letters, in which that dear friend and
ally demanded the Earl’s death. “But here,” remarks
Lord Bacon, “as the King did, in some part, remove
the envy from himself, so he did not observe that he did
withal bring a kind of malediction and infausting upon
the marriage, as an ill prognostic, which in event so far
proved true, as both Prince Arthur enjoyed a very
small time after the marriage, and the Lady Katherine
herself (a sad and religious woman) long after, when
King Henry the Highth’s resolution of a divorce from
her was first made known to her, used some words,
6That she had not offended ; but it was a judgment of
EDWARD PLANTAGENET, 173

God, for her former marriage was made in blood,
meaning that of the Earl of Warwick.”

Two paces of earth in the Chapel of St. Edward at
Westminster, where around the Confessor’s shrine lie the
dust of the heroes of Agincourt and of Cressy, and of

that still greater King known as the English Justinian,



were not spared to the last prince who bore that
illustrious surname. Henry did not, however, deny
honourable interment to the heir of those kings whose
place he so unworthily occupied; nor did he select a
place of sepulture unassociated with noble memories,
Within the priory of Bisham, in Berkshire, founded
during the fourteenth century by those Earls of Salis-
bury whose names are connected with the brightest era
of English chivalry, had been laid generation after gene-
ration of Montagues; and thither had been carried from
the field of Barnet the bodies of “ the Kingmaker” and
his brother. In that Priory, hard by the Thames, the
son of Clarence, freed by the headsman’s axe from a
cruel captivity, was laid amid the dust of kinsmen and
ancestors. No. regal honours, we can well imagine,
_were paid to his corpse; no hearse blazed with hundreds
of lights; no princely banners were hung around his
tomb. But his death called forth the pity of men and
the lamentation of women. The nation, which his
progenitors had made prosperous and free, bewailed his
fate; and fear of the tyrant on the English throne
could not prevent the English people shedding tears
over the grave of the last male heir of the people’s kings,
GASTON DE Fo:xX,
DUKE OF NEMOURS.

When the English had been derived of all their cons
tinental conquests except Calais, and when great feudal
potentates, like the Dukes of Burgundy and Britanny,
no longer existed to threaten the French monarchy, the
kings of the House of Valois turned their eyes cove
tously towards the fair fields and rich cities of Italy.
Louis the Crafty was, indeed, too sagacious to un-
dertake any expedition promising no more substantial
reward than martial glory; but his weak son Charles
almost ere attaining to legal age began to delight
his soul with dreams of forcion conquest. At one time
this boy thought of wresting Constantinople from the
Turks ; but, on second thoughts, he decided on trying
his prowess in the Italian provinces. The expedition
of Charles to Italy proved fruitless, and he returned to
France “a sadder and a wiser man.” But his successor,
Louis the Twelth, a king of some capacity, having
claims on Milan as heir of Valentine, Duchess of
Orleans, who has been mentioned as suspected of
witcheraft, resolved upon pursuing the game which his
GASTON DE TFOIX, 175

predecessor had played with so little success. Accord-
ingly he commenced those wars which, continued by
Francis the First, proved so disastrous alike to the
French invaders and the Italian States,

Some years before Louis crossed the Alps, his sister,
Mary of Orleans, had been married to the Count of
Narbonne, son of one of those Counts de Foix who
derived their male descent from the Kings of Arragon.
The fair princess, in 1489, became a mother; and her
boy received the name of Gaston, which had been borne
by his ancestors, whose love of the chase, prowess
in war, and splendid housekeeping, Froissart has
celebrated.

hroniclers tell that King Louis and Anne of Bri-
tanny, his queen, having no son, loved Gaston as their
own child; and the princely boy, with whom love of war
and skill in arms were hereditary, became a chevalier
almost while in his second lustre, and a warrior of
renown ere well out of his teens. We never think of
him as a boy, but as a gallant stripling standing by
his war-steed and panting for the fight; his tall hand-
some form in plate armour, his hair parted over an
open forehead, and falling backwards in graceful curls,
and a slight moustache covering his proud lip. This
is the figure, as commemorated by marble statues, of
that Gaston de Foix who never knew what fear was,
who was long the hero of many popular songs, and
who is celebrated in history as “the Thunderboli of
Ttaly.”
136 BOY-PRINCES,

We are told of the great Turenne, that when little
more than ten years of age, he ‘was one day found
asleep beside a gun, which he embraced with every
appearance of real affection. On being awakened from
his repose, the embryo warrior declared that he meant
to have passed the night in that position, in order to
convince people that he was capable of enduring the
hardships of war. Something like this spirit, we can
well suppose, animated the boyhood of the great De
Foix; and if we are correct in supposing his juvenile
aspirations to have been warlike, they were soon grati-
fied by his being allowed to take part in the Italian
wars.

While Louis the Twelfth was engaged in a hopeless
struggle in Italy, instead of proving at home his claim
to the proud title of “ Father of his people,” he formed
with Pope Julius the League of Cambray, the object of
which was to humble the pride of the Republie of
Venice. The “Queen of the Adriatic” was in the
uémost danger, The Venetians, abandoning their
possessions on the Continent, took refuge in the city,
while the French destroyed the Republic’s army in the
battle of Agnadello. The conquest was achieved as
far as the Adda, when Julius changed his polities, and
formed a new league with the Venetians and the King
of Spain, the object of which was to expel the French
from Italy,—“to drive the barbarians beyond the
Alps.”

Julius was not an ordinary Italian priest. He had
GASTON DE FOIX. LG
so strong a will and so ruthless a hand, that he has
been described as “‘a sovereign who would have done
honour to any throne in Christendom excepting that of
St. Peter.” But King Louis was undaunted, He as-
sembled and consulted his prelates at Tours; and when
their answers confirmed his resolution for war, he had
a medal struck, with this legend, “ Perdam Babytonis
nomen,” and prepared to execute his threat.

When war broke out between France and Rome,
De Foix, who had already been created Duke of
Nemours, was, though a mere boy, appointed Viceroy
of Italy, and intrusted with the command of his royal
unele’s army, which had previously been under the
Duke de Longueville. The policy, as well as the
valour, of the young General, soon became conspicuous.
He first induced the Swiss, whom Julius had brought
into Milan, to return across the Alps; and having thus
secured the States of Milan, he proceeded to the relief
of Bologna, to which the army of the allies had laid
siege. In spite of the frost and snow, he made his
way from Finale, and arriving at Bologna one night,
before the allies were aware, entered the city in triumph
at the head of sixteen hundred men.

While at Bologna, De Foix received intelligence
that his success had been, to some extent, counter-
balanced by the fact of the Venetians having taken
Brescia and Bergama. He marched straightway to
retrieve these disasters, and on arrival at Brescia found
that the French still held the citadel. He lost no time

N
178 BOY-PRINOES.

in reinforcing them, under cover of the night, with

three thousand men, and then summoned the town to

surrender. The inhabitants, though promised the

King’s pardon, declined to yield, and made preparations

to resist an assault, They hid their money in secret

places, concealed as much property as they could, con-

veyed their women and children for safety to the

monasteries, and declared that they were ready to
defend themselves to the last extremity.

On.a moraing in February, 1512, De Foix led on
his troops to the assault; and at the same time the
French, who held the citadel, made a sally in great
force, and. met the Venetian soldiers in the great square
of the beleaguered city, Fearful was the carnage; and
when two thousand of the Venetians were slain, one of
their commanders, in despair, placed himself at the head
of two hundred horsemen, and, in hope of effecting his
escape, made for the gate of S. Nazaro. Quick as
thought De Foix availed himself of the circumstance,
and entered the city, with one arm bare and his sword
yn his wrist, and shouting, “France!” The word was
xchoed by his followers, and the whole French army
having entered, a dreadful scene was the result. The
Venetians, terror-struck, attempted to escape by the
gates; but numbers were slain, and the city was given
up to plunder. Eight thousand persons are said to
have perished, and for a whole week the soldiets con-
tinued their violence and rapine. Even the monasteries
were not secure. The boy-general exerted his authority
GASTON DE FOIX. 179

to protect the honour of the women; and being. até
length under the necessity of using the strongest
measures against those who had violated the sanctuaries,
gave a peremptory order for retiring to the camp.

One circumstance in the sack of Brescia is worthy
of mention. The celebrated Chevalier Bayard, with
characteristic magnanimity, refused to receive from the
daughters of his hostess a sum of two thousand pistoles,
which their mother had collected to save her house from
plunder.

The energy of Gaston de Foix astonished all Italy.
In little more than a fortnight he had raised the siege
of Bologna, recovered Brescia, and become terrible to
the enemies of France. But the man who at that time
wore the triple crown was not one to be easily beaten;
and King Louis, seeing that some still more signal
victory must be won, d‘rected his nephew to bring the
allies to a definitive engagement. De Foix was both
ready and willing, and the soldiers had learned to love
him so well that they would have gone anywhere to
please him, even without pay. He immediately
marched towards Ravenna, and, on arriving before the
town, commenced the attack. THis artillery effected a_
breach in the walls, and, his soldiers rushing forward,
an engagement took place on the ramparts; but,
notwithstanding their utmost efforts, the French had to
retire.

And now came the battle which is associated with
the name of “the Hero Boy.” While De Foix was
180 BOY-PRINCES.

gallantly rallying his soldiers for a second attack, he
received intelligence that the allied army had ap-
proached and raised entrenchments within three miles
of Ravenna. Delay, under such circumstances, was
not to be thought of by one who glowed with youthful
chivalry, and Gaston, to force the foes of France to
an open conflict, resolved upon storming their entrench-
ments.

On the 11th of April—it was Easter-day—Gaston
presented himself to the allies, and offered them battle.
Perceiving, after this, that they did not leave their
camp, the boy-warrior formed his lines to commence the
assault. For some time the artillery only was brought
into play; but after the two armies had cannonaded
each other with varying success for two hours, the allies
rushed from their camp, and met the hostile ranks in
the shock of battle. Swords clashed; lances were
splintered; for a time the fortune of the day was
doubtful; and the French ery of “ Victory ! Nemours !”
was met by the allies with that of “Julius! Victory !”
But wherever the conflict was keenest, there was Gas-
ton fighting with heroic courage to inspirit his men ;
and, after a sanguinary struggle, the French, with the
gallant bravery of their nation, drove the enemy from
the field.

When the conflict was over, twenty of the greatest
lords of Italy lay dead on the ground, and the victory
was complete. But though fortune had thus smiled on
the arms of Gaston, he was not destined to Icave the




The impetuous spirit of Gaston was not to be repressed, and shouting,
“He that loves me, follow me!” he charged forward at the head of a thou-
sand horse.—p. 161,
GASTON DE FOIX. 18]

field alive. In the hour of triumph, he perceived a
body of Spanish infantry—men trained to war by
Gonsalvo, “the Great Captain”—retreating in un-
broken order, and insisted on going to disperse them,
Some of the French lords and captains, who had better
opportunities than he of knowing how valuable dis-
erection was in a case like this, advised the young
conqueror to be content, for that day, with the laurels
he had won; but the impetuous spirit of Gaston was
not to be repressed, and shouting, “ He that loves me,
follow me!” he charged forward at the head of a
thousand horse.

And never, during his brilliant and marvellous
eareer, had Gaston borne himself more like a Paladin
than in this his last hour. The first to attack the
retreating Spaniards, he performed such feats of arms,
and inspired such terror, that he cleared a space all
around his war-steed. This, however, was but for a
few moments: for the Spaniards, perceiving how inferior
in number were their pursuers, recovered their courage,
surrounded the young warrior, killed his horse, and
assailed him with their pikes. Overborne by numbers,
a glorious death only remained to the conqueror of
Italy; and he fell in his battle-harness pierced with
twenty wounds. :

When the pursuit was over, the body ot the slain
warrior was raised from the ground, and soon after
conveyed in mournful triumph towards Milan, preceded
182 - BOY-PRINCES.

by all the prisoners and banners taken at Ravenna, and
attended by the French knights and nobles in deep
mourning. The war-steeds of Gaston, led by his pages,
formed part of the procession. Before the body were
carried his helmet and sword as Viceroy of Italy; and
around it appeared two hundred of the choicest ences
im the army, and an escort of cavalry.

At Milan a magnificent funeral awaited the boy-
general. The clergy and the principal inhabitants of
the city came forth to meet the procession; and, after
entering the cathedral, and performing a solemn service
for the departed soul, they interred the corpse with all
due honours. The remains of De Foix were not long
allowed to rest in that consecrated edifice. On the
expulsion of the French from Milan, the Cardinal of
Sion ordered the body to be exhumed, as that of a
person excommunicated, and caused it to be privately
buried in the monastery of St. Martha. But, when
King Francis recovered Milan in 1515, the victor of
Ravenna was not forgotten. A magnificent tomb was -
erected, composed of his figure as large as life, and ten
pieces of sculpture in marble, representing his various
battles. This monument remained till the beginning
of the eighteenth century, when it was demolished, and
the ornament carried away.

A pillar, in commemoration of the battle of
Ravenna, two miles from the city, was destined to
endure longer, and to be thus celebrated by Byron :—
YASTON DE FOIX, 183

“J canter by the spot each afternoon,
Where perish’d in his fame the hero-boy,
Who lived too long for men, but died too scoz
For human vanity,—the young De Foix;
A broken pillar, not uncouthly hewn,
But which neglect is hastening to destroy,
Records Ravenna’s carnage on its face,
While weeds and ordure rankle round the base.”

“His memory,” says Mr. Roscoe, speaking of De
Foix, in the “Life of Leo the Tenth,” “has seldom
been adverted to, even by the Italians themselves,
without the highest admiration and applause. The
benignant philosopher, in the recesses of his closet,
may, perhaps, lament that such extraordinary talents
were exerted, not for the benefit, but the destruction,
of mankind; . . . but it would be invidious in a
modern historian to attempt to tear the laurels which
have now bloomed for nearly three centuries round his
tomb,”
184

KING EDWARD THE SIXTH.

Few historical personages have been represented by
contemporaries as more amiable and intelligent than
the sixth Edward. Knox records with enthusiasm the
royal boy’s godliness and virtue; Cardan youches for
his precocious wit and remarkable learning; and. Hay-
ward tells how handsome was his person, how pleasant
was his aspect, and how lively and bright was his eye.
Whether the last of the Tudor Kings, had he reached
mature manhood, would have fulfilled the promise of
his youth, may be doubted; but hardly any will deny
that he was a wonderful boy.

When the eighth Henry was defying the wrath of
Papal Rome, and constituting himself head of the
Church of England—hanging such of his subjects .as
adhered to the Pope, and burning those who denied
his own supremacy—suppressing monasteries at his
pleasure, and granting the church lands to his
minions—on the 12th of October, 1587, Queen Jane
Seymour made him father of a prince, and twelve days
later left him a widower. The bluff King, though
he could already boast of two daughters—Mary by


KING EDWARD THE SIXTH, 183

Katherine of Arragon, whom he had divorced, and
Elizabeth by Anne Boleyn, whom he had beheaded—
was much more joyful at the birth of an heir than dis-
consolate at the death of a wife, who could be replaced ;
and manifested the pride he felt in his Plantagenct
descent by naming his son Edward.

The Prince, born at Hampton Court, and sent,
after his baptism, to be nursed at Havering Bower,
was, when not more than a year old, considered re-
markable for the beauty of his face, the earnestness of
his gaze, and the sweetness of his disposition; and he
was so eager to make trial of his pedestrian powers,
that the royal nurses were under the necessity of sub-
jecting him to some degree of restraint. “I never,”
writes Chancellor Audley, “saw so goodly a child of
his age—so merry, so pleasant, so good and loving a
countenance, and so earnest an eye, as it were a sage
judgment towards every person that repaireth to his
grace. And, as it seemeth to me, thanks be to our
Lord ! his grace increaseth well in the air that he is in.
And albeit a little his grace’s flesh decayeth, yet he
shooteth out in length, and waxeth firm and stiff, and
can steadfastly stand, and would advance himself to
move and go, if they would suffer him; but, as me
seemeth, they do yet best, considering his grace is yet
tender, that he should not strain himself, as his own
courage would serve him, till he come above a year of
age,”

Even in childhood Hdward gave such indications of
186 BOY-PRINCES,

generous and religious sentiments as inspired people
with hope as to his future career, When about five
years old, he was presented by his godfather, Cranmer,
Archbishop of - Canterbury, with a complete table-
service, beautifully worked, of polished silver, the
dishes, plates, and spoons being in miniature. “You
see what has been sent to your highness,” said an
attendant; “but you must not let any one touch them
but yourself, lest thay should be spoiled.” “Ah, that
will never do!” exclaimed Edward; “I would rather
have no playthings than be obliged to keep them all to
myself.” About twelve months later, when diverting
himself with children of his own age, he was anxious to
get at something beyond his reach. One of his juvenile
comrades placed on the ground a Bible for him to stand
upon. But the Prince at once expressed his displeasure
at the desecration, and with becoming reverence restored
the sacred volume to its place.

On attaining his sixth year, Edward, who had pre-
viously been under the care of women, became the
pupil of Dr. Cox, Mr. Cheke, and Sir Anthony Cook,
who taught him languages, philosophy, and the liberal
sciences; and he had, besides, masters for modern
tongues and various other branches of education. With
such advantages, Henry’s heir made rapid progress in
his studies, and was ere long talked of as a prodig
“He was so forward in his learning,” says Burnet,
“that before he was eight years old he wrote Latin
letters to his father, who was a prince of that stern
KING EDWARD THE SIXTH, 187

severity, that one can hardly think that those about
his son durst cheat him by making letters for him,”
The boy was, moreover, instructed in the Holy Serip-
tures; and all those intrusted with his education being
Protestants, he grew up zealously attached to the prin-
ciples of the Reformation.

When, in January, 1547, his savage sire expired,
Edward was residing at Hertford. From that place he
was forthwith removed to Enfield, and there, with his
sister Elizabeth—afterwards the great Queen—informed
that Henry was no more. The royal boy at first
appeared saddened by the intelligence ; but all signs of
grief passed away when he was escorted into London,
and conducted with pomp and ceremony to the Tower.
There he was received by many of the nobility, and
proclaimed king, being then in his tenth year.

Henry, before breathing his last, had intrusted the
government, during his son’s minority, to sixteen
persons on whom he believed he could rely, and these,
forming themselves into a Council of Regency, pro-
ceeded to nominate one of their number as Protector
of the realm and guardian of the king. Their choice
fell upon Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, whom
near relationship to the young king indicated as a
fitting person, but whom Nature had not gifted with
the qualities requisite for a post so arduous.

Seymour’s father was a Wiltshire knight, who,
having held some office about the court of the Tudors,
dedicated Edward, the eldest of his six sons, to the
188 BOY-PRINCES,

same service. Seymour, who had an accommodating
temper, a turn for war, and some skill in tournaments,
won the favour of King Henry, and was made an
esquire of the royal body. Being of a somewhat timid
nature, however, and not the kind of man to risk his
neck in the scramble for power, he had probably no
idea of rising higher. But Henry’s marriage to his
sister, who had figured as maid of, honour to Anne
Boleyn, gave him a place among the nobility of
England; and, soon after his sister became queen,
Seymour obtained the earldom of Hertford. When
the new reign opened, he exercised his power as
Protector to advance himself to the dukedom of
Somerset.

Matters having been thus arranged, and the boy-
king having been crowned at Westminster, the Pro-
tector undertook a sanguinary war. The idea of
extending their sovereignty over Scotland had long
haunted the minds of the kings of England; and none
of them had in this respect been more ambitious than
the haughty Henry. Circumstances were not unfavour-
able; for James, king of Scots—the fifth of the name—
after the rout of his army under Oliver Sinclair at
Solway Moss, had refused to be comforted, taken to
bed, and died of grief, repeating, as if in trance, the
melancholy strain, “Fie, fled Oliver! Is Oliver taken ?
All is lost!”

When James lay on his deathbed, he was informed
of the birth of a daughter, afterwards, as Mary,


KING EDWARD THE SIXTH. 189

Queen of Scots, celebrated for her beauty, her indis-
cretions, and her misfortunes. .Far from testifying any
paternal joy on the occasion, he exclaimed in woful
accents, “ Alas for this poor kingdom! It came with a
lass, and it will go with a lass. Henry will either
weaken it by arms or win it by marriage.”

The imperious Tudor lost no time in attempting to
fulfil his nephew’s prediction. What the most illustrious
of his predecessors had sought to achieve by policy
and valour, he endeavoured to accomplish by craft and
coercion, Bent on uniting the two crowns by the
marriage of the Prince of Wales, then five years old,
with the infant Queen of Scots, he set free the noble-
men taken at Solway Moss, feasted them at Enfield, and
introduced them to Edward, that they might tell their
countrymen how beautiful and hopeful a boy the young
Tudor was. Having endeavoured to prevail upon the
Karl of Arran, Regent of Scotland, to send the Queen
to England, and offered to make the son of that noble-
man, who was chief of the Hamiltons, husband of the
Princess Elizabeth and King beyond the Forth, Henry
vied with the Court of France in corrupting Scottish
magnates, and succeeded in negotiating a treaty of
marriage. But when the Scots manifested a decided
inclination to retain his gold without keeping their
promises, he sent army after army to lay waste the
country and coerce the inhabitants. Nevertheless he
failed in getting possession of their young Queen, and
the defeat of the English at Ancrum Moor revived the
190 BOY-PRINCES.

spirits of his enemis. Aenother invasion followed, but
with consequences so little favourable to his projects,
that six months before his death he was fain to include
the Scots in a treaty with France. On his deathbed,
however, Henry enjoined the Lords of the Council to
leave untried no means of bringing about the con-
templated union.

When Somerset assumed the reins of power, as
Protector of the realm and representative of the boy-
king of England, he lost no time in complying with the
behest of his departed brother-in-law. He first wrote
to the Scottish nobles, urging them to fulfil the matri-
monial treaty; but, receiving no satisfactory answer, he
levied an army, marched northward, and in the autumn
of 1547 entered Scotland at the head of twenty
thousand men,

While the Protector was several hundreds of miles
from the young monarch of England, an attempt to
undermine his power was made by his own brother,
Thomas, Lord Seymour of Sudley. This nobleman,
who was Lord High Admiral, and ambitious to a
criminal degree, had, with a view of advancing his
fortunes, espoused Katherine Parr, the last of those
numerous ladies who enjoyed the perilous distinction
of sharing the throne of Henry. Availing himself,
during Somerset’s absence, of the influence exercised by
Katherine over her stepson, the Admiral did all he
could to poison the King’s mind—pointed out the
poverty in which the court was kept, supplied the royal
KING EDWARD THE SIXTH. - 191

household with money from his own purse, represented
the expedition into Scotland as a perilous piece of folly,
and predicted, with a sneer, that the Protector would
not pass the Pease without losing a great number of
men.

Whatever effect these representations of the Admiral
might have had on the King’s mind, events soon proved
that, as regarded the expedition, he had been no. true
prophet. News was brought to London that the Pro-
tector, after passing the Pease without loss, and taking
several strongholds, had encountered the Scots at Pinkey _
Cleuch, and dispersed them with enormous slaughter.
After winning this battle, which was more disastrous to
the northern foe than any that had been fought since
Flodden, the Protector moved homeward, to receive his
reward from the people in the form of applause, and
from the King in the shape of a new grant of land.

-Having thus attended to his own interest “the
Good Duke”—as the multitude styled him—applicd
himself diligently to complete the Reformation. With
this view he ordered all images and other visible objects
of worship to be removed from churches, and sent
commissioners into the various provinces to see that
his injunctions met with attention. At the same time
he attempted to curry favour with the people, by
issuing a proclamation against the inclosure of common
lands. He thus produced the most fearful confusion;
for the Catholics, resenting this fresh attack on their
forms of religion, rose in several places; while in others
192 BOY-PRINCES.

the people, seized with a levelling spirit, and incited by
the Protector’s order against inclosures, assembled in
force, chose captains, demolished fences, broke into
parks, killed deer, and conducted themselves in a
manner utterly at variance with the rights of property,
till put down with the strong hand.

While Somerset’s policy proved fatal to order in
England, the “rough mode of wooing” which he had
pursued on behalf of his nephew did not much tend to
strengthen the English interests north of the Tweed.
Pinkey proved a barren triumph; and an assembly of
Scottish nobles, at Stirling, adopted the suggestion of
the Queen Mother—Mary of Guise—to ask aid from
France, to offer her daughter in marriage to the Dau-
phin, and to send the infant Queen, without delay, to
be educated at the Court of Paris.

A proposal to that effect was made to Henry the
Second, and eagerly caught up by the French monarch ;
and he made arrangements for defending the country,
which thus consented to become a province of France.
It was in vain that Somerset pointed out to the Scottish
people the impolicy of the course pursued by their
rulers; in vain did he send northward another army, to
inspire them with dread of King Hdward’s ‘power.
The Queen Mother was determined to have her own
way: and a French fleet touching at Dumbarton, Mary
Stuart embarked with her attendants, reached the
harbour of Brest, and having been conducted to St.
Germain, she was without delay contracted to the


KING. EDWARD THE SIXTH. 193

Dauphin—a sickly child, slightly her junior. This
betrothal—a clear and distinct defiance of the English
power—was the first of those misfortunes which, as
years passed on, led to her mournful execution in the
hall of Fotheringay.

Having proved himself deficient in capacity to
govern England and preside over her destinies, the
Protector found the ground at Court giving way
beneath his feet. On discovering that, during his ex-
pedition to Scotland, the Admiral had been tampering
with the King, Somerset, instead of dealing harshly
with so near a relative, endeavoured, by favour and
flattery, to make Seymour refrain from state intrigues.
But nothing could keep the Lord Admiral from that
ambitious course which he had marked out for himself;
and at length, by aspiring to the hand of the Princess
Elizabeth, he brought matters to a crisis. Somerset
hesitated no longer; and the Admiral, after being sent
to the Tower, was proceeded against by Bill of Attain-
der, and led to execution on Tower Hill, where he
suffered death in sullen silence. _

The Protector had scarcely signed, with reluctant
hand, the warrant for his brother’s execution, when an
adversary, far more stern and much less scrupulous,
commenced a struggle for supreme power. And though
the name and parentage of this new aspirant were not
such as could endear him to the English nation, he did
not despair of exercising important influence.

One day, in the fifteenth century, a carpenter, born
194 BOY-PRINCES.

in the town of Dudley—so ran the popular storv—~
while travelling about the country in search of work,
was employed by the monks of Lewes, retained in their
service, and named John of Dudley. This carpenter
had a son Edmund, who showed so much talent, that
the abbot caused him to be educated, and appointed
solicitor for managing the law-suits of the abbey. Not
content with this position, the carpenter’s son pushed
his way into the service of the seventh Henry, and,
along with Empson, ministered so successfully to that
king’s avarice, that he was rewarded with the heiress of
Viscount Lisle. On the accession of Henry the Eighth,
Dudley was, with Empson, put to death; but his son
soon found favour at Court. When a handsome youth
of twenty, he was introduced to the King, became a
favourite, passed as a descendant of the old lords of
Dudley, rose by degrees to high office, figured in the
last will of Henry as one of the executors, and obtained
from Somerset the earldom of Warwick.

Warwick had much ambition, considerable talent,
and an amount of confidence in his own resources
which the result did not justify. When, therefore,
the Lords of the Council, to whom litile share in the
government had been allowed, expressed their resolution
to deprive Somerset of power, and assembled in
London to insist upon some change taking place in the
government, Warwick placed himself at their head.
The state of affairs soon became serious ; and the young
KAumg, wno was then at Hampton Court with the
KING EDWARD THE SIXTIb 195

- Protector, sent to demand the cause of the Lords
meeting together in martial array. But the noble
malecontents, instead of returning any satisfactory
answer, summoned the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of
the city to Warwick’s house, and issued to the nobility
and gentry, in all parts of the country, a manifesto
stating their views and requesting aid.

Finding his authority defied, Somerset, in some
alarm, resolved upon removing the King from Hampton
Court, repaired to Windsor, with an escort of five
hundred horsemen, and thought of bidding his enemies
a brave defiance. But he soon changed his mind, and
intimated to the assembled lords, that in case of no
hurt being intended to the King’s person, they would
find him disposed to agree to any reasonable proposals.
Without condescending to notice this message, the
malecontents published a proclamation, charging the
Protector with sundry grave crimes; and Somerset,
finding his heart begin to fail, wrote to remind Warwick

- that they were old friends.

Warwick received the Protector’s message coldly.
Indeed, having resolved to make the Protector’s dead
body the stepping-stone to a splendid eminence, he was
not to be moved from his stern purpose by any
reminiscences; and ere long, the Duke, in despair,
consented that the King should invite the malecontents
to Windsor. Thither they went; and after exhibit-
ing charges of treason and misdemeanours against
the Protector, ordered him to be conducted to the
196 BOY PRINCES,

Tower, at the same time causing the King to be con-
veyed back to Hampton Court. This bloodless revolu-
tion placed the supreme authority in the hands of
Warwick; and the ambitious Earl laid before Parlia- -
ment a bill of pains and penalties against his incar-
cerated rival. Somerset, however, escaped for the time
with a heavy fine, and after his liberation accepted office
as a lord of the bedchamber.

While the struggle for the custody of the young
King’s person and the possession of power was thus
carried on, Edward was growing up in the fear of his
Maker, and increasing in favour with his people. Even
in that age, convulsed with foreign war, civil strife, and
political intrigue, his character continued pure and
bright; and his contempt for ancient superstitions
endeared him to those who held the Protestant faith.
One story will show how far, on this point, he was
inclined to go. :

In the year 1551, the Festival of St. George was
kept by the Court of England at Greenwich, in that
palace which had been built by Humphry, duke of
Gloucester, and magnificently enlarged by Henry the
Seventh. After a sermon had been preached before
.the King, the Earl of Warwick, the Duke of Somerset,
the Knights of the Order, and many of the nobility,
Edward came into his presence-chamber. ‘“ My Lords,”
said the royal boy to those about him, “I pray ye what
saint is this George, that we have so honoured him?”
The knights and nobles, many of whom had, doubtless,
KING EDWARD TI SIXTI. 197

charged in the name of the saint at the Battle of the
Spurs, at Flodden, or at Pinkey, without inquiring
minutely into his history, were somewhat startled at
such a question; but the Marquis of Winchester an-
swered :—“To be plain with your Majesty, I never did
read in history of St. George, but only in Legenda
Aurea, where it is set down that St. George out with
his sword and ran the dragon through with his spear.”
“And I pray you, my Lord, what did he do with his
sword the while?” asked the King. “That I cannot
tell your Majesty,” answered Winchester; and the
King laughed so heartily, that he could not for some
time speak. “It is no wonder,” said a chronicler of
the Reformation, “that a prince, whose genius was the
wonder of the age, should find out and divert himself
with the fooleries of Popery, and make a jest of St.
George.”

But whatever objections the King might entertain
to Popish saints, it would seem that he had no insuper-
able aversion to the idea of a Catholic bride. The
Queen of Scots was now the idol of the French Court;
and, in all probability, the report of her beauty—her
_ hazel eye, chestnut hair, dazzling white complexion,
elegant figure, and lively, graceful manners, which won
all hearts—had reached the court of England, and
fascinated the imagination of the boy-king. At all
events it appears that, as late as May 1551, when
Edward sent the Marquis of Northampton to invest the
French King with the Order of the Garter, the am
L198 BOY-PRINCES,

bassador made a last attempt, in presence of Mary of
Guise, to obtain for his master the hand of her daughter.

The French monarch naturally declined to surrender
such a prize as the Queen of Scots, but agreed instead
to give the young King of England one of those fair
children of whom Katherine de Medici had made him
father. Edward accepted the offer, and a contract was
accordingly made, Henry agreeing to send his daughter
Elizabeth to England before she was twelve, with a
portion of two hundred thousand crowns.

The compliment paid by Edward to the French
monarch was soon reciprocated by Henry, who sent the
Marshal St. André to present the King of England with
the Order of St. Michael, and to settle the treaty of
marriage. As the sweating-sickness was then raging
in London, the Marshal avoided the capital, and went
to Richmond with some four hundred gentlemen. An
extract from the journal which King Edward kept with
so much care, will give an idea of the reception and
entertainment of the French Ambassador.

July 14.—“He came to me at Hampton Court at
nine of the clock, being met by the Duke of Somerset
at the wall-end, and so conveyed first to me; where,
after his master’s recommendations and letters, he went
to his chamber on the queen’s side, all hanged with
cloth of arras, and so was the hall and my lodging.
He dined with me also. After dinner, being brought
into an inner chamber, he told me he was come not
only for delivery of the order, bat also for to declare
KING EDWARD THE SIXTH. 199

the great friendship the King his master bore me, which
he desired I would think to be such to me as a father
beareth to a son, or brother to brother. . . . I
answered that I thanked him for his love, and also his
order, and I would show love on all points. . . .
So after he was conveyed to Richmond.” Again, 17.
“He came to present the order of Monsieur Michael,
where, after, with all ceremonies accustomed, he had
put on the garments, he and Monsieur Gye, likewise of
the order, came, one at my right hand, the other at my
left, to the chapel, where, after the communion cele-
brated, each of them kissed my cheek. After that they
dined with me, and talked after dinner, and saw some ©
pastime, and so went home again. . . . 19. Mon-
sieur le Mareschal supped with me: after supper saw a
dozen courses. . . . 20. The next morning he
came to me to mine arraying, and saw my bedchamber,
and went a-hunting with hounds, and saw me shoot,
and saw all my guards shoot together. He dined with
me, heard me play on the lute, ride: came with me to
my study; supped with me, and so departed to Rich-
mond. . . . 26. Monsieur le Mareschal dined with
me; after dinner saw the strength of the English
archers. After he had done so, at his departure, I gave
him a diamond from my finger, worth by estimation
£150, both for pains and also for my memory. Then
he took his leave. . . , 28. Monsieur le Mareschal
came to dinner in Hyde Park, where there was a fair
house made for him, and he saw the coursing there,
200 BOY-PRINCES,

30. He came to the Harl of Warwick’s; lay there one
night, and was well received. . August 3.
Monsieur le Mareschal departed to Boulogne, and had
certain of my ships to conduct him thither.”

A. few months after the Marshal’s departure, the
King of England had to entertain a guest of still
higher rank. Mary of Guise, the Queen-Mother of
Scotland, being driven, while on her voyage from
France, ashore at Portsmouth, sent te the king, craving
leave to pass through England to her daughter’s
dominions. Edward, who was then at the Palace of
Westminster, with becoming courtesy, invited the royal
lady to London, and, coming on the 2nd-of November,
she took up her residence at the Bishop’s Palace.

Two days after the arrival of Mary of Guise in
London, she was feasted with royal state at West-
minster. Conveyed thither by the ladies of Edward’s
-eourt, she was heartily welcomed by the young king,
and entertained at a. sumptuous banquet. Edward,
growing warm on the occasion, made an earnest appeal
to the royal dowager to change her resolution, and give
him her daughter's hand. Of course the appeal was
vain; and, on the 6th of November, the Dowager
commenced her journey, with a splendid escort, and
had the charges of her whole retinue paid till she
arrived safely in - Scotland. The young monarch
exerted himself to the utmost to please, and to convince
her what a wonderfully fine prince she had rejected as
3 son-in-law. Perhaps he succeeded; for, on arriving
KING EDWARD THE SIXTH, 201

in Scotland, the Queen-Mother could not refrain from
testifying that “she found more wisdom and solid
judgment in young King Edward than she would have
looked for in any three princes that were then in
Europe.”

Hre the visit of Mary of Guise, Warwick had begun
te develope those ambitious projects which led him to the
block. In the beginning of Cctober he caused himself
to be created Duke of Northumberland; and five days
later he ordered his old foe, Somerset, to be arrested on
the charge of treason, and committed to the Tower. On
the lst of December, Somerset, on being brought to
trial, protested his innocence, but was found guilty of
conspiring against: Northumberland’s life, and executed
on Tower Hill, He was so popular that an immense
multitude assembled, in the hope of his receiving a
pardon ; and when their hopes proved to be unfounded,
they dipped their handkerchiefs in his blood to pre-
serve them as memorials of “the Good Duke.” The
King, though he took the trouble of his unele to heart,
had celebrated Christmas with the usual festivities and
merriment. Repairing to Greenwich, he there kept
open house, and diverted himself with the shows and
sports of the season. re another Christmas arrived it
became pretty evident that Edward the Sixth was to fil]
an untimely grave,

The King’s constitution, eatdeaily. delicate, received a
shock in the spring of 1552, when he was attacked,
first by measles and then by small-pox. While still
202 BOY-PRINCES.

suffering from the illness caused by the united influence
of these diseases he executed a grand scheme of
charity, originating in a sermon preached by Bishop
Ridley. On the site of Gray Friar’s Monastery he
founded Christ’s Hospital, as a refuge for fatherless
children, and endowed the institution with land for its
support. The hospital was opened in November, 1552;
and the blue dress worn by three hundred and forty
boys, to whom it gave shelter, led to its being called
“The Blue-Coat School.”

Scarcely had Edward raised this monument of
munificence when, in the spring of 1553, a cough of
excessive violence began rapidly to shatter his frame.
No medicine had any effect in removing the malady ;
and so feeble had the poor Prince become when Parlia-
ment met in March, that the two houses were under the
necessity of assembling at Whitehall, from the King’s
inability to go as far as Westminster. Northumber-
land, who during the King’s illness was all attention
and assiduity, and who foresaw the inevitable result,
conceived the bold project of bringing the crown into
his own family, and wth this view cast his eyes on the
amiable, beautiful, and accomplished Lady Jane Grey.

The mournful part which this il]-fated woman was
destined. to play renders it necessary for us to devote a
few lines to the origin of her claims and the particulars
of her career. A knight, named Brandon, who carried
the banner of Henry Tudor to the field of Bosworth,
and received his death wound from Richard Plantagenet,
KING EDWARD THE SIXTH. 203

left a son who became companion of Henry the Eighth,
and lover of Henry’s sister Mary. That fair Tudor
Princess, known as “the Pearl of England,” was, while
she was in the bloom of youth, given to Louis of France,
aman forty years her senior. But a few months after
their marriage Louis died; and his juvenile widow
hastened to bestow herself on Brandon, who enjoyed the
title of Duke of Suffolk. From this union sprang
Frances Brandon, the wife of Henry Grey, Marquis of
Dorset, and mother of three daughters, the eldest of
whom was the fair being doomed to fall a victim to
Northumberland’s “ ill-weaved ambition.”

Lady Jane Grey was born in 1537, at Broadgate,
her father’s seat in Leicestershire, and instructed by
two chaplains in the Latin, Greek, Italian, and Oriental
languages, with so much care that she became one of
the most learned of her sex. Roger Ascham, tutor to
Queen Elizabeth, gives us a glimpse of Lady Jane's
devotion to classical literature. “TI came to Broadgate,” .
he writes, “to take leave of that noble lady, Jane
Grey. Her parents, the Duke and Duchess, with all the
household, gentlemen and gentlewomen, were hunting
in the park. JI found her in her chamber, reading
‘Phedon Platonis’ in Greek, and that with as much
delight as some gentlemen would read a merry tale in
Boceace. After salutation, with some other talk, I
asked her why she should lose so much pastime in the
park? Smiling, she answered me, ‘I wis all their sport
in the park is but a shadow to that pleasure that I find in
204 BOY-PRINCES.

Plato. Alas! good folk, they never felt what true
pleasure meant.’ ”

Brought up a zealous Protestant, and taken fro-
quently to Court, Lady Jane impressed the young King
as a being with “ thoughts, feelings, tastes, harmonious
to his own.” He corresponded with her in Greek,
addressed to her Italian verses, and altogether displayed
so much esteem for his gentle cousin that Lord Seymour
of Sudley at one time flattered Dorset with the prospect
of a royal son-in-law. The scheme of uniting Edward
and his fair cousin came to nought; and, after the
Admiral’s execution, Dorset, advanced by Northumber-
land to the dukedom of Suffolk, fell under the influence
of the ambitious Dictator.

Northumberland on his part was possessed with the
idea that, in the event of Edward’s death, Lady Jane
might, with little difficulty, be elevated to the throne.
True it was that Edward’s two sisters were alive, and,
moreover, that the descendants of Margaret Tudor had
a better claim than those of the Duchess of Suffolk.
' But both the daughters of Henry had been declared
illegitimate; and the Queen of Scots—the heiress of
Margaret Tudor—would have little chance of success in
any attempt to assert her right. Under these cireum-
stances Northumberland deemed Lady Jane’s prospects
so- good, that he proposed to unite her to his son,
Guildford Dudley; and Suffolk having consented, the
nuptials were, about the beginning of May, cclebrated
with magnificence at Durham House.
5

So

KING EDWARD THE SIXTH, 0

b

The King, at the time of this ceremony, appeared
somewhat better in health, evinced his satisfaction at the
marriage, and contributed bountifully to the expense;
but a few days later he grew weak, and when June
arrived the probability of his living many weeks became
extremely slender. Northumberland now saw that the
time was at hand for consummating his project; and he
proceeded in his ambitious course without fear or scruple.

Having long ere this acquired an enormous influence
over the mind of Edward, Northumberland found little
difficulty in persuading the dying boy that the accession
of so rigid a Papist as Mary would be perilous to the
interests of religion; and that he had the power,
claimed by his father, of leaving the crown to whom he
pleased. The King was so convinced that he sketched
with his own hand a draft of a new entail, and sent
a fair copy of the document to the judges and law-
officers of the crown. These functionaries went to
Greenwich, where the King was; and when ushered
into his royal presence, and requested to draw up the
instrument in legal form, declared that doing so would
subject them to the penalties of treason. On learning
the response of the legal oracles, Northumberland rushed
from another room into the King’s chamber, furiously
called them traitors, and offered to fight any of them in
his shirt. Next day they were again sent for, brow-
beaten into compliance, induced to engross the instru-
ment, and to attach to it the great seal.

Edward did not long survive this transaction. He
206 _ _BOY-PRINCES.

sank so rapidly that the physicians declared they
cherished no hope of his recovery. He was then
intrusted to the care of an old woman, who undertook
to effect a cure; but her medicines only made him
worse. His speech and breathing became more difficult,
his pulse failed, his limbs swelled, and his cheek changed
colour. The physicians were then recalled, but in vain
and nothing remained for the young King but to die
the death of a Christian. On the evening of the 6th of
July, 1453, his attendants overheard him thus pray :—

“O Lord God, deliver me out of this miserable and
wretched life. Thou knowest how happy it were for
me to be with thee; yet for thy chosen’s sake, if it be
thy will, send me life and health, that I may truly serve ©
thee. O Lord! save thy chosen people of England, and
defend this realm from papistry, and maintain thy true
religion, that I and my people may praise thy holy
name. For thy Son Jesus Christ’s sake.”

The King then turned his face to the light. “I
thought,” he said to those by his bedside, “that you
had not been so nigh.” “Yes,” said Dr. Cox, his
old tutor, “we heard you speak to yourself” “I was
praying to God,” said the King; and then exclaimed;
“Oh! I am faint. Lord have mercy on me, and
reccive my spirit.” A moment more, and Edward the
Sixth had ceased to breathe.

When the news of the King’s death was bruited
about, such sorrow was shown by the people as had
hardly ever been expressed for the death of any
KING EDWARD TIE SIXTH. 207
sovereign before; and the rumour ran that he had been
poisoned. It was said that on New-year’s day a nose-
gay of sweet flowers had been presented to him as a
rarity ; and that an apothecary employed to poison the
nosegay had since drowned himself from remorse.
Popular suspicion fell on Northumberland; and from
the hour of the King’s death, the mock patrician
appears to have lost heart, and shrunk with puerile
apprehension from the peril he had defied. He did,
indeed, four days after the sad event, venture to have
Lady Jane proclaimed ; and he summoned up courage
to march out of London with an army, and test the
temper of the country. But, discouraged at his re-
ception, hearing that his confederates were deserting
a hopeless cause, and aware that Mary’s friends were up
in arms, the titled craven went to the Market Cross at
Cambridge, called a herald, proclaimed the eldest
daughter of Henry, and was the first man there to
throw up his cap and ery “ God save her!”

When the Earl of Arundel arrived to arrest Northum-
berland, the Duke yielded like a child; but no expres-
sions of grief or contrition could avert his doom. He
was conveyed to London, tried by his peers, condemned
to death, and executed on Tower Hill. After such an
example to conspirators, Lady Jane Grey and her
husband might, for the sake of humanity, have been
spared; but Queen Mary inherited a Tudor’s thirst
for blood, and in the course of the succeeding year

the unfortunate pair were sent to the block.
208 BOY-PRINCES,

Meanwhile the corpse of King Edward, after lying
“in state at Greenwich, was buried on the 9th of August,

near the tomb of his grandsire in Westminster Abbey.
The Marquis of Winchester acted as chief mourner on
the occasion, and Queen Mary—ardent Catholic as
she was—showed. a becoming respect for the memory.
of her Protestant brother. Over his grave she. raised
a monument, stately in form and of elegant workman-
ship, adorned with curious sculpture representing the
passion and resurrection of the Redeemer, with two
angels kneeling on the top. Unfortunately, when
well-nigh a century had passéd over, and civil war
was raging throughout the land, and Puritanic zeal
was leading men into serious excesses, this monument
to the Protestant King was demolished as a relic of
Romish superstition.

But though no work of art in marble remains over
the grave of Edward, with an inscription to inform
posterity of his virtues, the excellence and promise of
the royal boy are not unrecorded. “ He was,” says
Knox, who figured as one of the royal chaplains, “ the
most goodly and most virtuous King that had been
known to have reigned in England or elsewhere for
many years.” “This child,” says the famous Cardan, who
frequently conversed with Edward, “was so bred, had
such parts, was of such expectation, that he looked like
a miracle of a man; and in him was such an attempt
of Nature, that not only England, but the world,

“had reason to lament his being so early snatched away.”
KING EDWARD THE SIXTH, 209

Edward belonged to a line of monarchs who were
' selfish and despotic by nature. Whether if he had
lived he would have avoided their fatal errors, and
fulfilled the promise of his childhood, it would be
vain to speculate. Providence spared him a trial so
severe, But though the son of Henry died in the
April of existence, the blossoms of his youth were
worth more than the fruits of many a more advanced
life; and posterity can say with truth, in the words
of the poet,—

“Jove knows what man thou might’st have made; but, ah!
Thou diedst a most rare boy”
210

FRANCIS THE SECOND,

KING OF FRANCE.

Ow the 24th of January, 1544, Katherine de Medici,
wife of Henry the Second, King of France, gave
birth to a son, who was named Francis, after his grand-
sire, celebrated at once as “victor of Marignano” and
“the restorer of letters.”

The existence of this boy-King was brief, and from
circumstances he was a mere cipher in the hands of
ambitious men. Ere putting away childish things he
began to reign; and ere learning to think and speak
like a man he ceased to live. Yet the memory
of Francis is not without interest. This French’
monarch, whom portraits represent, when in his seven-
teenth year, as a tall attenuated boy, with a pale face,
dark eyes, and arched eyebrows, wearing a black velvet
doublet, a velvet cape, and earrings of pearl, was the
first of the three husbands of Mary Stuart; and, as
such, his name has floated down the tide of years with
that of the fair Queen of Scots. We therefore devote
a few pages to a rapid sketch of the career of
FRANCIS THE SECOND. 21.

Francis, from his imauspicious birth to his untimely
death.

At the time when Christendom was agitated with
the religious strife that heralded the Reformation,
Francis the First felt undecided what part he should
take in the controversy. Finding, however, that the
friendship of Rome was necessary to the success of his
projects on Italy, and unwilling, therefore, to offend the
Holy See, the King of France sought an interview with
the Pope. At Marseilles the gay and chivalrous but
faulty monarch met Clement the Seventh, and, by way of
pledging fidelity to the Church of Rome, contracted his
second son, Henry, to the Pontiff’s niece, Katherine de
Medici. Ere the marriage had been long celebrated,
the sudden death of Henry’s elder brother elevated the
wedded pair to the rank of Dauphin and Dauphiness of
France.

For several years Henry and Katherine were not
granted an heir, and when at length the Dauphiness
became a mother, the old King, then approaching the
age of threescore, was so rejoiced at the birth of a
grandson, that he offered on the occasion to grant
Katherine any boon sheasked. But the birth of a son
did not delight the Italian Princess quite so much as
the birth of a grandson did her father-in-law. She
was mortified, it seems, to find the child small and
delicate; and astrologers whom she consulted as to his
future dismayed her by auguring that the little Prince’s
career would not be brilliant. As the royal infant grew
212 BOY-PRINCES.

to boyhood, this unfavourable response of the sooth«
saying oracles becoming known to him, had the effect
af preying on his spirits and saddening his heart.

When, in 1547, Francis the First died, and the
husband of Katherine de Medici ascended the French
throne with the title of Henry the Second, young
Francis became Dauphin. About the same time the
Scottish nobles, writhing under the defeat at Pinkey
Cleuch, eager to have revenge on the English, and not
less eager to take gold from the French, met at Stir-
ling, and resolved not only to crave aid from their
“ ancient allies,” but to offer the hand of their little
Queen to the Dauphin. These circumstances led to
the betrothal of Francis de Valois to Mary Stuart,
who was about a year the senior of her destined
husband, and worthy of an alliance more likely to
conduce to happiness.

The French King, not less anxious to possess the
crown of Bruce than the Scots were to place it within
his grasp, forthwith sent ships to land troops for their
aid. The Queen was therefore brought from the Isle
of Inchmahone to Dumbarton, and the fleet touching
there before returning to France, she embarked with
her “four Marys,” young Scottish damsels of the highest
rank, who had been educated with her in a convent.

After reaching the coast of France and landing
at Brest, Mary was conducted with much ceremony to
St. Germain, where the Dauphin and the King’s other
children then were; and no doubt the poor, puny,
FRANCIS THE SECOND. 213

stammering boy thought his prospective bride all that
could be wished. Educated in her company, the
Dauphin soon learned to regard his fair fiancée with
sincere affection; and Mary, still artless and pure in
heart, returned the affection of the sickly youth as if
he had been as handsome and brilliant a prince as
young Edward Tudor, whose alliance her guardians
had rejected.

As time passed on Henry resolved on celebrating
his son’s marriage, and selected a period when France
was triumphant over her ancient foe; when the sixth
Edward slept at Westminster, in that fair chapel which
his grandfather had. erected ; when Mary Tudor, seated
on the English throne, was outraging humanity; and
when Calais, the last remnant of the Plantagenet con-
quests, was recovered by the Duke of Guise. In the
spring of 1558 the Dauphin of France and the heiress
of the Stuarts were solemnly betrothed at the Louvre,
and a day was appointed for solemnising the royal
marriage with all due form and ceremony.

The 24th of April was the date, and the cathedral
of Notre Dame was the scene, of this wedding. The
Parisians, ready to be amused with any spectacle,
rushed excitedly to catch a glimpse of the procession ;
and the princes, prelates, and barons of France and
Scotland were present to witness the ceremony. The
boy-bridegroom, attended by his youthful brothers,
proceeded to the cathedral; and the bride, now a fair
girl of sixteen, with bright chestnut hair, a graceful
214 BOY-PRINCRES.

figure inclining tg be tall, dressed in white, and wearing
a crown, with a regal mantle, and a train richly
embroidered supported by damsels of high rank, ex~
cited no slight degree of admiration.

When the princes and prelates, and high dames
and damsels assembled at Notre Dame, the Cardinal
Lorraine performed the ceremony, and commissioners
from her native land presented Mary with her symbols
of royalty. The young Queen saluted her husband—
a poor, miserable, stammering boy—as Francis, King
of Scotland. That country was at length nominally,
as well as virtually, a province of France. The Scots
present must have blushed at such a scene. Was this
the consummation of the policy of Bruce, for which the
Plantagenets had been defied, the Umfravilles banished,
the house of Dunbar overthrown, and three centuries
of want and poverty unshrinkingly borne? |

When the splendid festivities in honour of the mar-
riage of the Dauphin and his Scottish bride were at an
end, Francis and Mary retired to a rustic residence
near Soissons. But France and Spain were then at
war; and the Prince, after devoting three months to
the honeymoon, was fain to leave the company of his
young spouse and serve under the Duke of Guise.
The Dauphin remained for several months in the
French camp; but not being fitted by nature for
fatigue and hardships, he soon began to suffer from an
ague, for which physicians devised remedies in vain.

While the heir of France found himself gradually
oe

FRANCIS THE SECOND. yA

sinking under the influence of disease, a brilliant pros-
pect was raised to dazzle the eyes of his spouse. The
Queen of England expired at St. James’s; her sister
Elizabeth succeeded; and that politic princess, after
some necessary delay, restored the Protestant religion,
in which she had been bred. For this step she was
denounced by continental rulers as a heretic; and
Henry, fancying he saw a new road to the aggrandise-
ment of his family, persuaded Mary to assume the arms
and claim the throne of England, as legitimate heiress
of Henry the Seventh, To make good this extravagant
claim he came to terms with Philip of Spain, and be-
trothed his eldest daughter, Elizabeth, to that King,
who was a widower.

The celebration of the alliance with Spain in July,
1559, was the occasion of a grand tilting match at the
Palace of Tournelles in Paris; and Henry, who had the
reputation of being a gallant and accomplished knight,
entered the lists to prove that he could hold his own
against younger champions. While endeavouring to
make good his boast, the French King insisted on trying
his skill against Count Montgomery, a Scottish noble-
man of the house of Eglintoun, who was Captain of
the Guard. The day was oppressively hot; and the
King having raised his visor to get air, Montgomery
accidentally wounded him with a broken lance. The
weapon, it was.found, had entered the eye and pene-
trated to the brain in such a way as to inflict a mortal
wound, and eleven days after the accident Henry
216 BOY-PRINCES.

expired at the Louvre. Montgomery, apprehensive of
being punished for killing a king, even by accident, fled
from France. Afterwards returning to figure as a chief
of the Huguenots, and being taken prisoner, the Count
was put to death by Katherine de Medici.

Meanwhile the Dauphin was, on his father’s death,
proclaimed King, with the title of Francis the Second,
taken under the protection of the Princes of Guise, and
crowned under their auspices at Rheims. The Duke
of Guise and his brother, the Cardinal Lorraine, as
maternal uncles of Queen Mary, meditated a monopoly
of power. But the old nobility of France rebelled
against the notion of their country falling under the
dominion of two Italians, one of whom was a bully and
the other a coward; and the Constable Montmorency,
to prevent such degradation, formed an alliznce with
Anthony Bourbon, King of Navarre, and his brother,
the Prince of Condé, who were descended from Robert
de Clermont, a son of St. Louis. The confederacy thus
formed was speedily dissolved; but the malecontent
nobles found support from a body then becoming
formidable.

The Huguenots of France at that time numbered two
millions. They had not, however, leaders of sufficient
consideration to inspire confidence. The alliance of
malecontent nobles was therefore most desirable, and
the Huguenots received with pride into their ranks
the Prince of Condé and the three brothers Chatillon,
the eldest of whom was the illustrious Coligni; and
FRANCIS THE SECOND. 217

a conspiracy was formed with the object of carrying
off the King, withdrawing him from the influence of
the Guises, arresting the Duke and the Cardinal, and
bringing them to trial for high treason, At first
success appeared probable. A gentleman of ability,
named La Renaudie, was selected as head of the
enterprise, and conducted it with so much talent
that many bands of armed men were set in motion
without being in the secret of the conspirators. Every-
thing promised success; but in spite of all precautions
the secret oozed out.

The King, who, since his father’s death, had exhi-
bited more energy than had hitherto characterised
him, was at Blois when the Huguenots were arming;
and the Princes of Guise, alarmed by vague suspicions,
resolved on removing the court to Amboise. The
King was not quite content to be thus treated as
a child. His pallid countenance flushed with rage;
and he took courage to tell the Duke and the Cardinal
that they were the persons whose actions caused all
the discontent among his subjects. But the wily
Italians talked the boy over, and carried him to the
Chateau of Amboise. The conspirators, undismayed at
this movement, persevered in their daring project, and
the result was fearful. A sanguinary struggle taking
place at Amboise, the Huguenots had the worst of the en-
counter ; the soldiers of Guise sabred without mercy the
multitude who were unconsciously conspirators ; and the
waters of the Loire ran red with the blood of the slain,
218 BOY-PRINCES.

When the conspiracy of Amboise was discovered
Condé and Coligni became objects of suspicion ; and an
assembly having been.convened at Orleans, Condé was
summoned to that place to answer for his conduct. As
the King was going thither to open the assembly, he
met with a mishap which was considered of evil omen.
While Francis was riding along in company with the
Queen his horse stumbled, and, enfeebled by ill health,
he could not maintain his seat. Thrown suddenly
to the ground, the young monarch received a severe
shock, and had scarcely settled at Orleans when he
was taken ill. After some days the symptoms became
alarming ; but recovering slightly, the unhappy boy
ordered that preparations should be made for removing
from Orleans.

It was about the close of the year, and the weather
was probably such that exposure, in the case of an
invalid, could hardly fail to produce fatal consequences.
But the King, restless with fever and irritable from
sickness, was in no mood to brook opposition to his
will, and his attendants forthwith prepared for a
journey. But from the city associated with the name
of Joan of Arc, Francis the Second was not destined to
depart alive. Ere setting out from Orleans he deemed
it a matter of propriety to hear mass, and, while the
servants were packing up his furniture, he went to
church for that purpose. While occupied with his
devotions he was attacked with a violent pain behind the
ear, and instantly carried back to the palace, laid on a
FRANCIS THE SECOND. 219

mattress, and tended with gentle care by his youthful
Queen. But a fearful relapse had taken place, and
remedies were tried in vain. Ere long all was over.
On the 5th of December, 1560, the unfortunate King
died of abscess in the head, and his remains were con-
veyed to St. Denis, and laid in the royal cemetery
among the bones of his ancestor3.
220

DON CARLOS,
SON OF PHILIP THE SECOND’ OF SPAIN.

WHETHER the portrait of Richard the Third, as drawn
by Shakspeare, very closely resembles the last of our
Plantagenet kings, is a question still to be decided;
but that Don Carlos, as delineated by dramatists, is
totally unlike the heir of Philip of Spain, appears
-beyond all reasonable doubt. A youth with a large
head, a swarthy countenance, an expression half fierce,
half foolish, a rickety frame, a deformed figure, one
shoulder too high, one leg too long, enervated by de-
bauchery, but still capable of consuming sixteen pounds
of fruit at a sitting—such was the Hapsburg Prince
who has, with poetic license, been depicted as a fine
hero of romance. And yet this boy was coveted by
potentates and queens as a son-in-law; for he was heir
to an empire which the Hapsburgs, by politic marriages,
and their subjects, like Cortes and Pizarro, by fortunate
adventures, had rendered the richest and most magni-
ficent in the world—an empire on which the sun never
set.

When that Duke of Burgundy known as Charles
DON CARLOS. 221

the Rash fell at Nanci, before the serried phalanx of
Switzerland, the hand of his daughter Mary and the
sovereignty of the Netherlands fell to the lot of the
Emperor Maximilian. While holding her court at
Bruges, and riding forth one day to enjoy the noble
sport of hawking, Mary of Burgundy, in leaping a
fence, was thrown violently against a tree. She died -
from the effects of the accident; but one son, Philip,
the issue of her marriage to the Emperor, espoused
Jane, the eldest daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella,
and, in right of that princess, figured as King of
Castille. . The sudden death of Philip, when in the
pride of manly beauty, so affected his widow that she
became the victim of hopeless insanity, and passed the
remainder of her life in a lonely tower, where she
diverted herself with chasing cats. Before becoming
insane, however, the daughter of Ferdinand had given
birth to a prince, who afterwards, as Charles the
Fifth, Emperor of Germany and King of Spain, carried
on with the first Francis that struggle which, for many
long years, kept Europe in agitation, The son of this
great Emperor was Philip the Second, who sent to our
shores “the Invincible Armada.”

While Philip was still Prince of Spain he wedded
a daughter of the King of Portugal; and that princess,
on the 8th of July, 1545, became mother of an heir
to Spain and the Indies, The royal lady survived this
event only a few days; and Philip, taking little interest
in Carlos, as his son was named, left him almost entirely
222 BOY-PRINCES.

to the care of the Princess Joanna. Unfortunately, the
health of the boy was delicate, and his frame feeble,
and his aunt indulged every humour to a dangerous
degree. Carlos early manifested an impatience of
temper and an arrogance of disposition. As he ad-
vanced in boyhood he was intrusted for education to a
. tutor of learning and piety; but the Prince treated his
studies with the indifference of a spoiled child. He
showed, however, sparks of a military spirit, liked to see
soldiers, and listened with delight to stories about war.

Carlos was twelve years old when Charles the
Fifth, weary of grandeur and satiated with empire,
sought seclusion in the convent of St. Just. On his
way thither the Emperor halted for a while at Valla-
dolid, had an interview with his grandson, related the
events of his career, and “fought his battles o’er
again” for the boy’s amusement. On hearing how
his grandsire had nearly been captured at Innspruck;
how he had fled from his foes; and how he had escaped
over the Alps in a litter, Carlos exclaimed, “I never
would have fled.” In vain did the aged warrior
expatiate on the necessity there was for doing so—his
grandson only repeated the words, “I never would have
fled.” Charles, pleased with such a mark of spirit,
betook himself to the company of monks, with the
conviction that the boy inherited his genius, as well
as his blood and his name. He seemed delighted with
the idea that his own youth was thus renewed in his
grandson,


DON CARLOS. 223

From childhood Carlos was inclined to acts of
eruelty. He one day received a snake as a present.
The reptile, following the bent of its nature, bit some-
body in his presence; and the Prince, following the bent
of his, retaliated by biting off its head. When, on
occasions, Carlos returned from the chase, he was in
the habit of torturing the hares and other animals he
caught, expressing pleasure while witnessing their
agony, and carrying his cruelty so far as to roast them
alive.

Alarmed at such proceedings, the tutor of Carlos
endeavoured to mitigate the Prince’s ferocity by reading
him daily from “ Cicero De Officiis,” and not without
some prospect of success; for, with all his faults, the
character of this boy had a bright side. He was truth-
ful, regular in his religious devotions, generous to his
dependents, regarded with attachment by those who
saw most of him and knew him best, and open-handed
to the needy. “Who,” he was in the habit of saying,
“will give to the poor if princes do not ?”

About the time when Carlos was-in his sixteenth
year there occurred events which exercised a baneful
influence on his character and career. At that period
the Queen of England, so notorious as “the Bloody
Mary,” succeeded her brother Edward; and Philip, who
bad for years been a widower, became a candidate for
her hand, The royal maiden, betrothed thirty years
earlier to Philip’s father, had now little time to lose,
and a contract of marriage was soon concluded. One


224 BOY-PRINCES.

clause stipulating that any son with whom Mary might
be blessed should inherit the Netherlands, Carlos
indignantly swore by St. James that in such ‘an event
he would challenge the interloper to mortal combat;
but no son appeared to cheer Mary’s heart, and Philip
soon grew tired of a spouse who in every respect was
unattractive. ;

Jt happened, however, that Philip used his influence
to draw England into a quarrel with France. This re-
sulted in the loss of Calais; but the victories of St.
Quentin and Gravelines turned the fortune of the war
in favour of Spain, and the King of France was fain
to negotiate, at Cambresis, a treaty of peace, by which
he renounced his Italian claims, and contracted to give
Carlos the hand of his daughter Elizabeth, who had in
other days been the destined bride of Edward of Eng-
land. Ere this treaty could be signed a single event
occurred to change the fortune of individuals and the
fate of nations.

When the very brief reign of Lady Jane Grey
terminated, and Mary Tudor was invested with the
symbols of sovereignty at Westminster, the crown was
carried by her sister Elizabeth. “It is very heavy,”
whispered Elizabeth to the ambassador of France. “Be
patient,” said the Frenchman; “it will scem lighter
when on your own head.” No prophetic power was
necessary to be aware of the probability of the daughter
of Anne Boleyn outliving the daughter of Katherine of
Axragon. When five years had passed, Mary, sorrowing
DON CARLOS. 225

over the neglect of Philip and the loss of Calais,
breathed her last, and Elizabeth ascended that throne
from which she was to exercise so much influence over
the policy of Europe.

No sooner did Philip receive mtelligence of the
accession of his sister-in-law than he sent to propose
himself as her husband. This suit, which set the laws
of his church at defiance, proved unsuccessful; and
Philip resolved, since he could not marry the sister of
his dead wife, to marry the betrothed of his living son.
Since he could not wed Elizabeth of England he would
wed Elizabeth of France. He therefore persuaded the
French Court to substitute his vame in the matrimonial
treaty for that of Carlos, and it was while celebrating
this alliance at Paris with a tilting match that King
Henry was killed by the broken lance of Count
Montgomery.

Freed from the paternal control, Elizabeth de
Valois, who possessed. in high perfection the grace and
fascination of the daughters of Katherine de Medici,
showed a decided disinclination te become the wife of
aman chiefly remarkable for his furious appetite and
melancholy temper. At length she consented to make
the sacrifice, on condition of being permitted to remain
in France till her brother’s coronation. This ceremony
over, Elizabeth set out for her new home, and having
been accompanied to Poictiers by her mother and
sister-in-law, she was in the year 1560 conducted with
much state to Castille, and united to King. Philip,

@
226 BOY-PRINCES.

who, albeit still a young man, had been twice a
widower.

The marriage of Philip and Elizabeth was cele-
brated with great splendour; and soon after, Carlos,
as if to console him for the loss of a bride so beautiful, .
was formally recognised as heir of Spain. There was a
grand procession on the occasion, in which the ill-
starred boy took a conspicuous part. Mounted on a
snow-white steed, royally arrayed, and decked with
jewels of surpassing brilliancy, Carlos was the hero of
the day; but a close and keen observer might have
seen on that countenance the sickly, sallow complexion,
the troubled aspect, and the wandering eye, indications
of hereditary malady and incipient insanity.

Soon after this imposing ceremony had taken place
it was deemed advisable to remove Don Carlos for
change of air to Alcala, the seat of a celebrated uni-
versity founded by the Cardinal Ximenes—that con-
summate statesman who governed Spain with so much
vigour during the minority of Charles the Fifth. At
that seminary the Prince had two companions of about
his own age, but with far different fortunes. These were
his illegitimate uncle, Don John of Austria, who after-
wards won the battle of Lepanto against the Turks,
and Alexander Farnese, who at eleven had shed tears
when refused leave to serve asa volunteer at St.
QQuentin, and who, after figuring as duellist and gladi-
ator, was, as Duke of Parma, to put forth all his intellect
aud enthusiasm as one of the greatest captains of his age
DON CARLOS. 227

While pursuing his studies at Alcala a piece of
indiscreet rudeness on the part of Carlos led to an
accident, from the effects of which he suffered to his
dying hour. One day, in the month of May, while the
Prince was standing at the top of a narrow flight of
stone stairs, a damsel passed, and, with an hereditary
disregard of decency, he attempted to lay hold of her
with rude familiarity. The damsel, not relishing this
species of gallantry, shook him off; and Carlos, losing
his footing, rolled down the stone staircase, and lay
prostrate at the bottom. The consequences were most
serious. When taken up he was senseless, and the
case appeared most alarming. He was soon seized with
fever; he lost his eyesight; he became delirious; and
his head began to swell. A painful operation was
performed; and he gradually recovered to such an
extent as to appear in the Spanish capital. But it
would seem that his brain had been injured by the fall,
and the effect of the accident never passed away.
From that time he cannot be said to have acted like a
person in full possession of his faculties.

Nevertheless, when the health of Carlos had been
in some measure restored, Philip, for some reason or
other, wished to provide him with a spouse, and sent an
ambassador to demand the hand of Jean d’Albret, the
wise and courageous Queen of Navarre. Jean, widow
of Anthony Bourbon, and mother of Henry of Navarre,
was in her thirty-fifth year, and, doubtless, had no
wish to link her fate with a half-mad boy. At all
228 BOY-PRINCES,

events, the mission ended in nothing. Others, however,
were less fastidious, and there was no difficulty in
finding a bride for the heir of Spain. Katherine de
Medici, the Queen-dowager of France, pressed upon
Carlos the hand of Margaret de Valois, her youngest
and fairest daughter. His kinsman, the Emperor of .
Germany, was all eagerness to give him a Hapsburg
princess, who afterwards figured as Philip’s fourth
spouse. Even Mary Queen of Scots was talked of as
an eligible match.

About the time when these matrimonial prospects
opened upon Carlos, he expressed a strong desire to take
part in public affairs. But Philip, keeping his son at a
distance, and treating him with reserve, gave all his
confidence to the ‘Duke of Alva, Ruy Gomez de Sylva,
and the President Spinosa—to all of whom Carlos
entertained a thorough dislike. Finding himself thus
precluded from a share in the government, the Prince
surrounded himself with a band’ of dissolute young
nobles, showed a contemptuous indifference for ap-
pearances, and signalised his love of mischief in the
most public manner. The exploits recorded of him are
of such a character as to throw those of our own
“Prince Hal” utterly into the shade. Historians
relate that Carlos and his companions broke loose from
all social restraint, paraded Madrid in a disorderly
fashion, attacked men with drawn swords, and stationing
themselves at the corners of streets, insulted women in
the most shameful manner, not even scrupling to


DON CARLOS. 229

indulge m ribald language in presence ot ladies of
rank. Philip was not in a position to call his son to
aecount for such irregularities. Far from being
a model of morality, the Most Catholic King was
guilty of scandalous impropriety in private life. His
libertinism, unredeemed by any glow of romance, was
utterly gross; and he delighted in nothing more highly
than to sally forth at night in disguise, and gratify his
tastes in haunts where the faces of the decorous were
never seen.

But Carlos, while pursuing his career of dissipation,
attempted no kind of disguise. He set everything like
decency at defiance, and soon found his purse empty,
for dissipation generally involves its votaries in pe-
euniary difficulties ; and from this fate princes enjoy no
exemption. Carlos was in the habit of giving to the
female companions of his frivolous pleasures all the
money he was allowed; and when he had none he
gave them his chains, and medals, and even his clothes. -
Of course he ere long found himself at his wit’s end
for money, and an anecdote is related which proves
that this kind of life had rendered him destitute of any
fine feelings of honour.

Having no relish for poverty, Carlos no sooner
found himself inconvenienced by the want of money
than he repaired to a usurer in Madrid named Grimaldo.
The usurer, delighted at the sight of such a visitor, and
indulging in visions of profit, received the Prince with
the utmost respect, and Carlos intimated that he was
230 BOY-PRINCES,

hard pressed for money, and wanted to borrow fifteen
hundred ducats. Grimaldo, shocked no doubt at the
bare idea that an heir of Spain and the Indies should be
exposed to any vulgar annoyances on such a score when
there was plenty of gold in Madrid, not only consented
to furnish the sum required, but declared, with some-
thing of Moorish solemnity, that all he had was at the
Prince’s disposal. “Indeed!” said Carlos, catching
instinctively at this idea as a bloodhound gets on the
track of a fugitive; “then, instead of fifteen hundred,
Pll take a hundred thousand ducats.” Grimaldo gasped
for breath, stated that he would be ruined, and protested

_that he had merely spoken by way of compliment.
“ Compliment!” exclaimed Carlos, smiling with the
precocity of a rake in his teens; “I will teach you to
bandy compliments with princes.” Grimaldo grew
seriously alarmed, and Carlos confirmed his appre-
hensions by adding, “You will give me a hundred
thousand dueats in twenty-four hours, or you and your
family will rue this day.”

About the time when Carlos menaced Grimaldo
with vengeance it was the fashion at Madrid to wear
boots of an enormous size, and the Prince indulged
an eccentric taste by having his so constructed as to
accommodate a brace of pistols. Philip observing,
without relishing, this peculiarity, gave orders that
his son’s boots should be made in the ordinary way,
and the Prince’s bootmaker had no hesitation in
obeying a mandate of the most powerful king in
DON CARLOS. 231

Christendom. But the unfortunate man, when he
sent the boots home, found what it was to have to
do with a “madcap Prince.” Carlos, after inflicting
a sound beating on the offender, cut up the boots,
and causing the pieces of leather to be fried, forced
the bootmaker to eat the mess in his presence. The
man at ‘first made wry faces, but squeamishness was
of no avail; and not till he had swallowed a quantity
of the unsavoury dish was Carlos satisfied. The boot-
maker was then allowed to escape this unwelcome
hospitality of the Prince.

While manifesting so much Hapsbure contempt
for those who lived by lending money and making
boots, Carlos was guilty of violently assaulting men
who boasted of intellect, gentility, and religion. He
struck his pious and learned tutor; he attempted
to throw a chamberlain out of the window because
his bell was not answered on the instant; and he
collared a cardinal in the street, and menaced the
high ecclesiastic with a poniard which he carried in
his girdle, for having detained an actor whom he
had engaged to perform at a certain hour. No
indiscretion was so absurd that Carlos did not relish
the idea of having it associated with his name.

While the heir of Philip was indulging in mischief
and debauchery, the revolution in the Netherlands
became the great subject of interest in Spain. Charles
the Fifth having been born at Ghent, had, as a native
of the country, some sympathy with the inhabitants,
232 BOY-PRINCES,

and, as a statesman, too much policy to drive matters
to extremity. He had, therefore, been in the habit of
residing a good deal in the Netherlands, surrounding
himself with the native nobility, and availing himself
of their services in the wars of Spain, Germany, and
Italy. Philip, not having the wit to follow his sire’s
example, left the nobles of the provinces to murmur
that they had no longer a court. Caring for nobody
but Spaniards, Philip, having disgusted the nobility by
his indifference, exasperated the merchants by illegal
imposts, and roused the old spirit of the free cities by
violating the privileges of the burghers. The results
were such as might have been expected; and, to make
matters worse, the Inquisition was established.

At length, when the discontent reached a certain
point, William of Orange, surnamed “the Taciturn,”
who had been originally a Lutheran, who had afterwards
embraced the ancient faith to please the Emperor
Charles, and who now embraced the Calvinistie doc-
trines to advance his interest, formed a confederacy
with the Counts of Horn and Egmont, with the object
of freeing the country. The Duchess of Parma—
illegitimate daughter of the Emperor Charles, and
mother of Alexander Farnese—who governed the
Netherlands as Philip’s viceroy, yielded to the storm,
and declared that the Inquisition was abolished. Still
she evinced a preference for those who held the ancient
faith; and the citizens of Antwerp, a place crowded
with English and German Protestants, sctting her
DON CARLOS. ‘ 233

authority at defiance, stormed churches, demolished
statues, destroyed pictures, threw down images, and
expelled monks and nuns from religious houses. The
Duchess, while exerting herself with effect, tempered
severity with clemency. But Philip, resolving that no
quarter should be given to the insurgents, recalled the
Duchess, and noiminated in her place the Duke of Alva,
whose military talents were of a high order.

When this outbreak occurred in the Netherlands,
the chiefs of the insurrection are said to have addressed
themselves to Carlos, and invited the Prince to head
the movement against his father’s tyranny. Whether
cr not anything of the kind ever took place may be
doubted, and that Carlos did not enjoy the confidence
of the insurgent leaders is pretty clear. William of
Orange, indeed, mentions him in one letter, but notin
such terms as to warrant the belief that he was of the
slightest consequence in the great revolution. ‘The
Prince of Spain,” he writes, “has lately eaten sixteen
pounds of fruit, including four pounds of grapes, ata
sitting, and become unwell in consequence. ‘* But
Carlos was uncomfortable at home; particularly anxious
to be away from his father, whom he resembled in
nothing but a ravenous appetite; and anxious either to
be sent to govern the Netherlands, or to see Philip go
thither in person. His chief ambition was to rid
Madrid either of father or son, and the appointment
of Alva was not, therefore, to his liking.

Far from dissembling his dislike to the new Viceroy,
234 BOY-PRINCES.

Carlos exhibited his hostility in the most conclusive
way; and when Alva, before leaving Madrid, came to
pay his respects, Carlos received the noble duke with
undisguised displeasure. “You are not to go to Flanders;
I will go there myself,” he said, with a startling degree
of excitement. Alva explained that the mission was far
too perilous for one destined to wear the proudest
crown in continental Europe. But, instead of pacifying
Carlos, this only kindled his wrath, and grasping his
dagger, he exclaimed fiercely, “‘ You shall not go; if
you do I’ kill you.” A scuffle ensued; the combatants
grappled and rolled on the floor; and they were still
struggling fiercely, when the entrance of a chamberlain
caused Carlos to extricate himself and retire in sullen
silence.

Between the King of Spain and his heir there had
never existed much good feeling. Philip had neglected
his son in childhood, and the son no sooner reached
boyhood than he conceived a perfect hatred to his
father. They were totally unlike. Philip, though only
half Spanish in blood, was wholly so in character—
haughty, resolved, solemn, and superstitious; while
Carlos exhibited none of the qualities which centuries
of intercourse with the Moors during peace and war
had imparted to the descendants of those Visigoths who
had followed the banner of Adolph across the Pyrenees.
The fray of Carlos with Alva soon got wind, and
increased the ill feeling so much, that the Prince,
irritated at his father’s harshness, resolved upon flying
DON CARLOS. 235

to England or the Netherlands. While negotiating
a loan with this intention, there occurred a circumstance
which led to that catastrophe which has invested the
name and memory of Carlos with much mystery, and
furnished so fertile a theme for dramatists. That
Carlos was mad is the most charitable conclusion at
which one can arrive.

It was about the season of Christmas, and Carlos,
having for some time enjoyed no repose by day, or
sleep by night (so runs the story), said he wanted
to kill a man with whom he had a quarrel. After
stating this in confidence to his uncle, Don John, he
communicated the intention to his confessor, and was
mortified when the holy man declined to grant abso-
lution. Carlos thereupon applied to another con-
fessor, who, alarmed at the Prince’s excitement, was
equally unaccommodating. Having, perhaps, some
vague notion that in the multitude of counsellors there
is wisdom, Carlos assembled sixteen monks, and sub-
mitted the ease to their consideration. One of them
asked who was this enemy for whose blood the Prince
thirsted, and Carlos replied that his own father was the
intended victim. The holy fathers wrung their hands,
and the conclave broke up in amazement.

Before the battle of St. Quentin, Philip had re-
gistered a vow, in case of victory, to erect in honour of
St. Laurence, a church, a monastery, and a palace, In
fulfilment of this vow, he was busily oceupied in super-
intending the building of the Escurial, when a mes-
236 BOY-PRINCES,

senger, despatched by the eonfessors, informed him of
his son’s desperate intentions. Philip, who had no wish to
go before his time out of a world of which he governed
a splendid portion, immediately took precautions to
avert a fate so disagreeable, and having consulted the
Holy Office of the Inquisition, he resolved to arrest
his son. .

Carlos, wishing to be alone at night, had caused
pulleys to be so constructed, that, without getting out
of bed, he could open his door and call an attendant.
He also slept with two loaded pistols and two drawn
swords under his pillow, and had arquebuses in a ward-
robe close at hand. On the evening of the 18th of
January, 1568, Carlos, after giving orders for eight
horses to carry him from Madrid, had retired to rest,
when Philip arrived in the capital, and with a safe

escort proceeded to his son’s apartments. It was mid-
night; and the Duke of Feria, closely followed by the
guard, entered first, stole noiselessly towards the bed,
and dexterously possessed himself of the slumberer’s
weapons. Aroused by a shake of the arm, and spring-
ing out of bed, Carlos attempted to resist; but he was
forced to yield to numbers; and Philip, seeing that all
danger was over, ventured forward. “ What does your
Majesty want with me?” asked his son. “You will
soon learn,” was the father’s stern reply.

Having Carlos in his power, Philip went to work
with quiet determination, secured the windows, removed
such pieces of furniture as a youth might usé with
VON CARLOS. 237

desperate intent. He then committed his captive son to
attendants, whom he charged to watch well. The
prospect of being confined, and cut off from the society
of his boon companions, appeared so awful as to make
Carlos threaten that if they did not kill him at once he
would commit suicide. “No,” said Philip, “you will
do no such thing; that would be the act of a madman.”
Having been clad in a mourning dress, and provided
with a truckle-bed to sleep in, the Prince was left to
sadness and. solitude.

News of the imprisonment of Carlos spread over
Madrid; and when it was understood that Philip had
obtained from the secret Inquisition a decree which
condemned his son to perpetual imprisonment, the
plight of. the unhappy Prince moved much compassion,
Foreign ambassadors, as well as Spanish nobles, inter-
ceded in his behalf; the old Queen of Portugal begged
that she might be allowed to come and tend her grand-
son; and both Philip’s Queen and his sister Joanna
expressed sympathy with the wretched captive, and
requested leave to visit him. But all intercession
proved vain. The tyrant was inexorable. Even when
Don John, to testify his distress, appeared at court in
mourning, Philip, with a cold, heartless rebuke, ordered
the future conqueror of Lepanto to change his dress

Courtiers soon perceived that the misfortune of Carlos






238 BOY-PRINCES,

was as little remembered as if he had been dead for ten
years, .

The true cause of Philip’s treatment of his son
was a mystery in his day, and continues so in ours.
Some said that Carlos was imprisoned. for heresy, some
that it was because he was insane, and others that,
having never reconciled himself to the loss of his
betrothed, he had complained of-being robbed by his
father of such a bride. Philip is understood to have
written to the Pope to explain his conduct; and docu-
ments containing secret reasons for the arrest are,
therefore, supposed to exist in the Vatican.

Doomed to perpetual imprisonment, Carlos left no
means untried to escape from a fate which seemed
worse than death. He tried to choke himself with a
diamond, but was baffled in his intention. He threw
himself into the fire, but the guards rescued him, with
his garments in a blaze. He dashed his head against
the wall, filled his truckle-bed with ice, and finally,
seeing that he could not make away with himself by force,
yielded sullenly to fate, and became indifferent to every-
thing—even his spiritual welfare. Day by day he grew
thinner, feebler, and more feverish. He gulped down
large draughts of water, threw quantities on the floor,
and then naked, and with bare feet, paced up and down
the wet pavement. At one time he fasted for ten days,
and, on again tasting food, he devoured it with the
eagerness of a famished wolf.

Carlos looked to death as his only hope; and no
DON CARLOS, 239

sooner was the wretched Prince aware of the grim de-
liverer’s approach than he sent for a confessor, and
prepared for another world. He endeavoured to die
at peace with all men, and not only forgave his father,
but those ministers by whose advice he had been
arrested. He strangely expressed a conviction that
he should live till the vigil of St. James, the patron
saint of Spain, whose aid, mounted on a white steed,
and bearing the banner of the blessed Cross, the Cas-
tilians had often relied on, when lurking in the moun-
tains of Gallicia, and contemplating with indignation
the Moorish Crescent glittering on edifices within
which their ancestors had worshipped the Christian's
God. When informed that the vigil of St. James was
not yet till four days Carlos remarked, “And so long
will my misery continue.” Philip, understanding that
the last scene was nigh, came when his son was asleep,
and gave the expiring Prince his benediction.

Four days passed, and Carlos continued to sink.
At length, about midnight, on the 24th of July, 1568,
he was told that it was the vigil of St. James, and his
countenance instantly gleamed with an expression of joy.
As if inspired by some great idea, he feebly raised his
arm; but in another moment his hand fell on his heart,
his head sank heavily on his pillow, and he remained
motionless.

For months after Carlos had expired his death was
concealed, and it was not till the news arrived of one
of Alva’s victories that it was made known. The con-
240 BOY-PRINCES.

temporaries of Philip appear to have been by no means
satisfied with his account of the melancholy affair, and
other versions became public. Suspicions of foul play
were not only entertained, but expressed ; and it was
said* that, poison having been administered to the
Prince in his broth, he had expired a few hours
afterwards,

Before departing this life, Carlos expressed a wish
that he should be shrouded in the robe of a Franciscan,
and interred in the Convent of St. Domingo. The
directions given by the unhappy Prince were followed,
and many masses said for the soul that had departed
under circumstances so mysterious. After some years
the body was removed, and laid in that cemetery

_which Philip had formed for the royal family of Spain,
beneath the pavement of the church of the Escurial.
94)

CHARLES THE NINTH,

KING OF FRANCE,

At the hunting palace of St. Germain, which had been
built by Francis the First, Charles de Valois, son of
Henry, King of France, and Katherine de Medici, drew
his first breath. He was the second son of his mother ;
and he was born in the year 1550.

The name of Charles, when it occurs on the page
of history, is invested with an unenviable notoriety.
Ii was during his reign as King of France, and under
his auspices, that the Catholics of Paris perpetrated
the massacre of St. Bartholomew, the most fearful
outrage of the laws of God and man ever committed
under colour of religion.

While his brother Francis occupied the throne, and
his mother was consulting astrologers and magicians at
the Louvre and endeavouring to ascertain the fortunes
of her descendants in enchanted mirrors, Charles was
known as Duke of Orleans; and when Francis breathed
his last, Charles was, at the age of eleven, proclaimed King
of France. He gave small promise of being stronger

in frame or intellect than his predecessor, and his’ reign
R
242 BOY-PRINCES.

opened under auspices so gloomy as to daunt the spirit
of the boldest, .

Katherine de Medici had never manifested any
degree of joy at the birth of her eldest son, and at
his death she exhibited no excess of grief. Indeed,
her satisfaction was tco apparent; and many credited a
rumour, then current, that she had bribed a barber to
put poison into the royal boy’s ear. But, however that
may have been, the change of sovereigns threw power
into her hands; and, assumizg the Regency of the king-
dom, she acknowledged the King of Navarre as Licu-
tenant-General of France, liberated the Prince of Condé,
and recalled the Constable Montmorency to court.
The Duke of Guise still retained a kind of influence
most dangerous to the crown. But Katherine, at once
the wiliest and wickedest woman of her time, by
wavering between the two parties, attempted to balance
me against the other, now leaning for support on the
Bourbons and the Huguenots, now on the Guises and
the Catholics.

The hatred which Frenchmen of the old faith felt
towards those of the new was much too profound to be
eradicated. An effort was, however, made to save the
country from civil war; and over an assembly then
held the Chancellor L’Hépital, a man of wisdom and
virtue, presided. “ Inquire,” said he, addressing those
present, “whether it may not be possible to be a good
subject without being a Catholic, and if it be not
practicable for men having different faiths to live in
CHARLES THE NINTH. J 243

peace one with another. Do not wear yourselves out
in seeking to decide which of the two religions is
the best; we are here, not to settle the faith, but to
regulate the state.” The result of the great and good
Chancellor’s efforts was the “Edict of January,”
which granted the Huguenots permission to worship
outside the walls of fortified cities, and legal pro-
tection against interruption while exercising the
privilege.

Guise was far from content with this compromise.
In fact, he now talked of being descended from
Charlemagne, and intimated plainly that he aspired
to the crown which his imperial ancestor had worn.
With such ideas. he set out from Joinville to Paris,
and, on the way, fell on a congregation of Huguenots,
put them to the sword, and entered the capital as a
conqueror, amid the cheers of the deluded populace.
The court was then at Fontainebleau; and Katherine
de Medici, alarmed for the safety of herself and the
young King, invoked the aid of the Huguenots, and
wrote to Condé, “Save the mother. and the child.”
But Katherine’s’ appeal was vain. Ere the great
Huguenot Prince could hasten to her relief he was
anticipated. Guise carried off Charles to Paris; and
the Constable Montmorency, who thought himself
bound to be a devout Catholic, because his ancestor
had been the first Frank converted to Christianity,
advanced with fiery zeal into the suburbs, and without
mercy massacred the defenceless Huguenots.
24% BOY-PRINCES.

The. religious wars now began in earnest; and
bands of armed men desolated the fair cities and fertile
provinces of France. The strife, in which no quarter
was given, soon carried off those rival leaders. who
expected that the struggle would minister to their
ambition. The King of Navarre fell at the siege of
Rouen; at Orleans the Duke of Guise was assassin-
ated; on the plains of St. Denis the Constable Mont-
morency, who had been famous during four kings’
reigns, fell in his seventy-fifth year, fighting with the
zeal and energy of youth; and the brave Prince of
Condé was treacherously shot at Jarnac, one of those
fields, —

“‘ Where the horsemen of Valois triumphantly trod
On the bosoms that bled for their rights and their God.”

Meanwhile Charles, on reaching his fifteenth year,
was declared of age; and negotiations were entered
into with a view of uniting him to a suitable spouse.
After many preliminaries, Elizabeth, daughter of the
Emperor Maximilian, an Austrian princess, whose
gentleness and virtue made her worthy of a better lot,
was found to share his throne, and conducted to France.
At Meziéres the young King and his mother met the
royal bride; and, on being conducted to Paris, she
entered the city in a carriage drawn by white horses,
saluted with military music and the discharge of
artillery.

Though the King was of legal age, he was not
CHARLES THE NINTH. 245

intrusted with the reins of government; and, indeed,
France was in no condition to be ruled by a boy
who had been trained in kings’ palaces, and clothed in
purple and fine linen; and who, like most princes near
the throne, had been brought up in leading-strings,
reared effeminately, and educated in court etiquette,
without becoming familiar with the people to be
governed,

While Charles played the part of King of France,
therefore, Katherine de Medici retained all power, and
entered upon the darkest stage of her terrible career.
While making an excursion with the King and his
court in the eastern and southern provinces, she had
been visited at Bayonne by the Duke of Alva. A
conversation occurred as to annihilating the Huguenots,
and the Duke, while stating his views, exclaimed, “Ten
thousand frogs are not worth one salmon’s head.”
From this time Katherine, with Philip of Spain, pro-
jected the total destruction of the Protestants of
France; and, when an occasion presented itself, she
resolved on accomplishing her purpose. Brought up in
lialy, and distinguished by powers of deep dissimu-
lation, Katherine resolved to prove what an adept she
was in the policy popularly associated with the names
of Borgia and Macchiavelli.

During the year 1570, Catholics and Huguenots,
alike weary with the contest about religion, agreed to
a treaty at St. Germain; and the people of France
cherished the delusion that they had reached the end
246 BOY-PRINCES.

of their troubles. Katherine, as if anxious to wipe out
the memory of past feuds, showed the utmost favour
to the Huguenots. Jean d’Albret, the widowed Queen
of Navarre, and the Huguenot chiefs, were invited to
court; and Charles was all politeness to Coligni. “We
have you now,” said the young King graciously to
the Admiral; “and you shall not quit us at your
pleasure.” Te 8 oo

Among the Huguenots who then came to the
French court there was one who suspected a snare,
and warned his friends of their peril. He was a young
man of seventeen, with an eagle eye, a curved nose,
short black hair, a slight moustache, and a sneering
smile, which indicated some calm contempt for those
by whom he was surrounded. This handsome stripling,
who moved about—publicly honoured by the court as a
friend, secretly doomed by the court as a foe—was
Henry of Navarre, destined, as time rolled on, to effect
the salvation of France, and give her inhabitants
thirteen years of good government.

Henry, born at Pau in 1553, was, in right of his
mother, Jean d’Albret, heir of Béarn and the titular
sovereignty of Navarre; as heir of his father, Anthony
Bourbon, he was next in succession, after the princes
of Valois, to the crown of St. Louis. But it is
improbable that either his royal birth or his natural
genius would have raised Henry to the grand position
he afterwards occupied, had his early life not inured
him to fatigue, and accustomed him to adversity.
CHARLES THE NINTH. 247

Henry d’Albret, the old King of Navarre, wishing
to train his grandson to hardy. habits, determined to
rear him without that delicacy practised towards chil-
dren of high rank. No sooner, therefore, did the hero
come into existence, than he was delivered into the
hands of a strong, healthy peasant-woman, who had
been selected as a fitting nurse. Before handing over
his grandson, however, the King, in deference to an
ancient custom of the province, rubbed the infant’s lips
with a clove of garlic, and then presented him with
wine in a golden cup. Far from uttering a cry, the
boy looked satisfied, smelt the wine, and even swallowed
a few drops which the old King put on his tongue.
This ceremony over, the nurse carried him to her
‘cottage.

Among the rocks and mountains of Béarn, Henry
was reared like the child of the labourer or the
. shepherd. His grandsire would not have him richly
dressed, or pampered,.or flattered. All these things,
he said, inspired the hearts of children with vanity,
inclining them to pride rather than generosity, and to
trivial pleasures rather than manly exploits. In the
garb worn by the young peasants of the province was
the Prince clothed; like them did he clamber about
the rocks, without a hat, and without shoes; and like
them he went: with a keen appetite at meal-time to
devour brown bread, and cheese, and garlic. The
tenement, under the roof of which Henry was nursed,
existed as late as 1820, and has been described as “a
248 BOY-PRINCES.

poor cottage, standing in a garden of half an acre,
surrounded by a mud wall.” —

When Henry was in his fourth year his mother,
Jean d’Albret, and her gay and luxurious husband,
were summoned to meet the King of France, who had
taken offence at some of their proceedings. With them
they carried the little Prince, trusting, perhaps, that his
innocent and merry smile would make an impression
on the heart of one who was a father. The event so
proved. The King, captivated, asked how the boy
would like to be his son-in-law. Henry, with un-
tutored grace, replied, “Very well.” He was taken at
his word, and contracted to Margaret de Valois.

When twelve years passed, and Anthony Bourbon
was no more, and the religious wars were desolating
France, and the Prince of Condé had fallen, and the
cause of the Huguenots seemed at its worst, Jean
@Albret, a woman of piety and courage, appeared in
the camp at Cognac to rally their hopes. Taking her
son in one hand, and the orphan son¥of Condé in
another, Jean presented herself to the soldiers, leading
the Princes, both of whom were sixteen. “I bring
you,” she said, “my son; and I intrust to you the
son of him whom we mourn. God grant that the one
and the other may prove worthy of their ancestors 1”

When the Queen of Navarre had thus spoken -her
son Henry advanced, and said, “I swear to defend our
common religion, and to persevere in our common eausa
till death or victory shall have restureu to us ali tne
CUARLES THE NINTH. 249

freedom for which we fight.” The youthful Prince was
immediately proclaimed General-in-chief; and his
grace, frankness, and simple conversation enchanted
everybody. Under the inspiration of Coligni, he
greatly distinguished himself at the battle of Roche-
Abeille; and when the treaty of St. Germain produced
a peace, he went from fields of carnage to that court
where love and intrigue formed the serious business
of life, and was received as the destined husband of
Margaret de Valois.

The bride was the youngest and loveliest of those
daughters whom Katherine de Medici bore to the son
of Francis. With her delicately fair complexion, blue
eyes, superb hair, faultless form, and graceful movements,
she was regarded as by far the most brilliant beauty in
that court, where her mother had collected so many .
attractive women. But, however fair and gifted,
Margaret de Valois was by no means a paragon of
virtue. A shadow had already crossed her path, and
pursued her into ways of wickedness, Pledged in
childhood to Henry of Navarre, offered in girlhood to
Don Carlos and to Sebastian of Portugal, the Princess
had in an evil hour given her young heart to the Duke
of Guise, and thereby exposed him to the resentment
of her brothers. King Charles vowed that Guise
should expiate the offence with his life; and the Duke,
to avert such a doom, married another woman in the
utmost haste. It was under such circumstances that
the daughter of Katherine de Medici consented to
250 BOY-PRINCES.

become the wife of the heir of the Bourbons; and
that—Jean d’Albret having meanwhile died of poison,
as was suspected—Margaret de Valois was wedded
to Henry of Navarre, at the portal of the ancient
Cathedral of Notre Dame. Margaret, after this ill-
omened marriage, grew reckless of her reputation,
and, united to a man for whom she had no affection,
she sought consolation in transient amours.

The King of Navarre was indeed a personage who
might well have consoled a beautiful and ambitious
woman for the loss of a Duke of Guise, grand and
stately as the latter was. But, in all probability,
the royal beauty saw merely a Béarnese peasant in
the young warrior to whom she gave her hand at
Notre Dame. She did not perceive that he had the
poet’s heart, the hero’s soul, the soldier’s genius, and
the statesman’s intellect. She did not dream that
he would be known to posterity as the bravest captain,
the greatest prince, and the frankest gentleman of
his age.

’ The bridal ceremony was performed with extra-
ordinary magnificence; and four days later a suborned
ruffian wounded Coligni as he was riding home.
Charles, who was playing tennis when the news
reached him, exclaimed, “Am I, then, doomed for
ever to witness new troubles?” Throwing his racket
furiously down, the King went to the Admiral’s house,
loaded him with caresses, and expressed the utmost

indignation. This was mere dissimulation; for already
CHARLES THE NINTH, 251

that diabolical massacre, never to be mentioned without
a shudder, had been resolved on. Katherine had con-
vinced her son that the time for striking a decisive blow
had arrived ; and, after remaining for a while irresolute,
Charles, in a fit of gloomy anger, exclaimed, “ Perish,
then, the Huguenots! but on this condition, that not
one of them shall be left to reproach me with the deed!”

The appointed time—the morning of the 24th of
August — drew nigh; and, as the hour approached,
the young King became so agitated that the per-
spiration ran down his face, and he trembled like
aleafin the wind. Fearing that her son would relent,
Katherine forced from him an order to commence the
slaughter, and lost no time in having it put into
execution.

It was the feast of St. Bartholomew; and at break
of day a dismal tolling from the church of St. Germain
YAuxerrois was the signal for the work of murder. .
The Catholics, known to each other by white crosses in
their hats, and scarfs on their arms, sallied forth to
imbrue their hands in blood. The young Duke of
Guise led a band of ruffians to the house of Coligni,
and waited in the street till his followers had dealt with
the aged victim. The gates were opened at a summons
in the King’s name, and the murderers, ascending to
the Admiral’s chamber, found him at prayer. “ Art
thou Coligni?” asked a German, named Besme, who
served Guise. “Yes, I am he,” replied the Admiral;
and the German approached with.a drawn sword,
252 BOY-PRINCES,

“Young man,” said the Admiral, “you ought to
respect my grey hairs; but do as you think fit: my life
can be shortened only by a little” The German
replied by striking Ooligni with the sword, and
other assassins aided in despatching him with their
daggers.

By this time death was raging throughout Paris;
and when morning dawned, the King, laying aside alj
scruples, called for his fowling-piece, and fired from a
window at the flying Huguenots. ‘A window on the
first floor of the Louvre, with a baleony overlooking the
river, is still pointed out as that from which Charles
aided in the assassination of his own subjects.

Gaining courage from the excitement, Charles
summoned to his presence Henry of Navarre, and his
cousin the Prince of Condé, whose lives had been in
a fearful danger. “ Death or the mass!” cried Charles, in
threatening tone, and with the look of a maniac. Henry,
young as he was, had hitherto borne himself with the
wariness of age, and on this occasion his equanimity
did not desert him. Bending to the storm, which he
could not control, but perhaps dreaming of an Ivry,
he muttered a feigned abjuration, and was with Condé
committed to prison.

For three long days the massacre of St. Bartholo-
mew lasted ; and when the slaughter was over, Charles,
with a brilliant cortége, repaired to feast his eyes at
Montfaucon. Seeing on one of the-gibbets the half-
consumed remains of Coligni, the young monarch is




























































When morning dawned, the king called for his fowliug-piece, and fired
from a window at the fiying Hugucnots.—p. 252,
CHARLES THE NINTH. 253

said to have enjoyed the spectacle, and to have repeated
the frightful saying of Vitellius, “The body of a slain
enemy has ever a pleasant savour.” Nor was this the
worst. The King, the Queen, and the courtiers,
accepted as gifts, from the hands of assassins, the jewels
that had belonged to their victims ; and the court ladies,
with the Queen’s maids of honour, not only went to
Montfaucon to gaze on the mangled remains of noble-
men whom they had known, but examined the corpses
with indecent curiosity.

Having repaired to the Parliament, and justified the
massacre of St. Bartholomew, Charles flattered himself
that, every rebel being slain, he should henceforth live
in peace. However, he was ere long disturbed by an
attempt to deliver the two Bourbon princes, called the
enterprise of the jowrs gras, because undertaken during
the carnival. The plot failed, and its authors, La Méle
and Coconnas, lost their lives. When these gentlemen
were executed, Margaret de Valois and the Duchess of
Nevers, whose lovers they had been, caused the bloody
heads to be brought, and abandoned themselves to the
wildest transports at the spectacle. The Prince of
Condé succeeded in making his escape, but Henry of
Navarre was watched more closely than ever.

Soon after the massacre of St. Bartholomew—of
which L’Hopital said, “Perish the memory of that
accursed day !”—the Duke of Anjou, the King’s younger
brother, was elected to the throne of Poland. The
young Prince, who had won popularity as the victor of
264 ; BOY-PRINCES.

Jarnac, was in no haste to leave Paris and its delights
for rude dominions. which he had not coveted. But
Charles, jealous of the favour the next heir to the
crown enjoyed with the Queen-mother and the
Parisians, insisted on his departure. When Anjou
went Katherine took leave of him with the words,
“Go, my son, to your kingdom—your stay there will
be brief; ” and these significant words caused suspicion
in other days.

The prediction of Katherine was fulfilled. While
accompanying his brother to the frontier, Charles was
seized with violent pains in the heart, and soon became
aware that his days were numbered. Ever since taking
part in the massacre of his subjects the King had been
a prey to fits of melancholy, and frightful dreams had
disturbed his rest. He believed himself surrounded
by spectres, heard fearful sounds, saw rivers of

blood, and felt as if the weight of tons lay on his
heart. When the summer of 1574 arrived his end
drew nigh. . :

While suffering the last agonies Charles was at-
tended by his old nurse, whom, though a Huguenot, he
had protected during the massacre. On one occasion,
while watching by his uneasy, couch, this woman fell
asleep. The sighs and groans of the dying King
awoke her, and she opened the curtains of his bed.
“Ah, what blood! what murders!” exclaimed the
royal penitent, with tears in his eyes. “O God, have
mercy upon me, for I have followed evil counsel!”
CUARLES THE NINTH. 255
e

When dying, the young King of France repulsed his
mother with horror, and fell into convulsions when she
attempted to approach. On the 30th of May Charles
was freed from his earthly miseries. His brother,
returning from Poland, ascended the throne; and, as
Henry the Third, he was the last and about too worst
‘monarch of the line of Valois.
256

HENRY STUART,

PRINCE OF WALES,

Never, perhaps, did Prince in his teens cherish
loftier aspirations, or excite brighter hopes, than that
son of James Stuart and Anne of Denmark who
perished in the morning of his life. Henry’s weak
sire grew alarmed at the popularity which he enjoyed
among the people of England. “How will this
end?” asked James, with a startled look. ‘I wonder
if my son will bury me alive!”

The Prince, whose boyhood was so promising,
appeared in no respects unworthy of his destiny.
His form was above the middle size, strong, erect, and
well proportioned—the shoulders broad, the waist
small. He had a countenance at once amiable and
majestic, a capacious forehead, a piercing grave eye,
auburn hair, and a slight moustache. For his friends
he had a gracious smile, which was the nearest
approach to familiarity in which he indulged; for his
enemies a stern frown, which he was at no pains to
disguise. Poets complimented Henry Stuart on his
resemblance to the conqueror of Agincourt; and
« HENRY STUART, QhT

people not given to flattery expatiated with satis-
faction on the high and heroic character which the
young Prince of Wales exhibited in the midst of a
scandalous and debased court. The greatest prince
and soldier in Europe held the boy in high admiration.
* Cultivate that young plant,” wrote the King of
France to an ambassador, “since it promises fruits
so much more favourable than the stock from which
it is raised.”

The Prince, indeed, had been ushered into existence
under the auspices of the least heroic of mortals.
Even the Scots had never been ruled by a sovereign
so utterly contemptible as the son of that fair Queen
who perished on the scaffold at Fotheringay. James
had goggle eyes, rolling, yet vacant, a tongue too
large for his mouth, and legs too weak to bear the
weight of his body. He was ill dressed, disgustingly
dirty, and utterly deficient in personal dignity. It
seemed as if fortune had made this man a monarch for
no other purpose than to mock the pretensions which
he cherished so fondly, and talked of so foolishly. At
one time, the Princess who shardd the throne of
James appeared worthy of a better husband than
the pedantic palaverer on whom her hand had been
bestowed at Upsalo. Indeed, Anne of Denmark, if
we may trust the portraits taken at that period, was an
attractive girl, with fine hair, dark eyes, a face decidedly
pretty, and a delicate complexion, when she left her

northern home to share the poverty of Holyrood.
8
258 SOY-PRINCES,

It was within the walls of the historic castle
‘of Stirling that the Queen of James, on the 19th
of February, 1594, presented her husband with an heir
to the royal house of Stuart; and soon after, the
baptism of the infant Prince was celebrated with
magnificent ceremonies. Queen Elizabeth, who was
godmother, sent the Earl of Sussex to represent her,
with a splendid present, in the shape of a cupboard
of plate, valued at three thousand pounds; and most
of the other states of Europe were careful to have
ambassadors present on the occasion, with valuable
gifts.

The baptism took place in the Castle Chapel, which
is now converted into an armoury. The Bishop ot
Aberdeen officiated, and the greatest lords of Scotland
took part in the ceremony. Lennox, as nearest in
blood to the royal family, carried the infant, under
@ canopy supported by gentlemen, and presented him
to the English ambassador. The basin was carried
by Seton; the laver by Temple; the towel by Living-
ston; and the ducal coronet of Rothsay by the first of
the great family of Home who held the rank of earl.
The boys of Edinburgh were formed into a guard in
attendance, and their presence gave variety to the
scene,

Having been baptized as Henry Frederick, the
heir of Scotland was left under the protection of the
Earl of Mar, hereditary constable of Stirling Castle ;
and while in the hands of that nobleman’s mother,
HENRY STUART. 259

gave indications of being no ordinary boy. From
the hour of his birth it was observed that the Prince
wept much less than other infants ; and when he gained
sufficient strength to move about, and met with those
accidents which generally befall children, the pain
consequent upon them was borne with a patience which
amounted to heroism. Having one day fallen, and
bruised his hands so severely that the blood came,
the little Prince rose, and smiled through tears
to conceal his suffering ; and another day, when he
cut his finger, and an attendant, compassionating the
mishap, offered to suck out the blood, he merely
laughed, and remarked jocularly, “ Then, if my father,
md myself, and the rest of our kindred should fail,
which God forbid, you might claim the crown, as
aaving in you the blood royal !”

When Henry reached the age of six, King James
wrote for his instruction the “Basilicon Doron 3” and
the Prince, being taken out of the custody of women,
vas surrounded with attendants of his own sex. It
vas then that David Murray was nominated the
sentleman of his bedchamber, and that Adam Newton,
. Scot of great learning, was appointed to the office
vhich George Buchanan had held during the boyhood
f the King. Newton, though a strict disciplinarian,
md one who spared not the red, encouraged that spirit
£ humour for which the Prince was remarkable; and
tories are told of the pupil exercising his talent with a
reedom which touched the preceptor’s irritability.
260 BOY-PRINCES.

On one occasion, while playing at shuffle-board, the
Prince changed pieces somewhat too frequently; and
Newton, observing this, took one in his hand, saying
that he could play well enough without changing.
When Newton had thrown the piece, but not so
well as he expected, Henry smiled, and exclaimed,
“Well thrown, sir.” “Pshaw!” said Newton, biting
his lip with vexation; “I will not strive any longer
with a prince at shuffle-board.” “And yet,” quietly
remarked Henry, “you gownsmen should be the best
at such exercises, not being fit for those that are more
stirring.” “However,” retorted Newton sharply, “I
am fit to whip boys.” “You need not,” said the Prince,
“boast of that which a carter or a ploughman could
do much better.” “And yet,” rejoined Newton, “I
can do more—I can govern foolish children.” “He
had needs be a wise man himself who can do that,”
-remarked the Prince, in a low tone, to those standing
near; but, out of deference to his tutor, he refrained
from indulging farther in the conflict of words.

On another occasion, when Henry was in the
learned man’s company, amusing himself with ‘the
Scottish game of golf, and on the point of striking
the ball, one of his companions exclaimed, “Beware,
sir, or you will strike Mr. Newton.” “If I had done
so,” said the Prince, looking round, “I had but paid
my debts.” ,

Almost from childhood Prince Henry exhibited
energy and courage to an extraordinary degree. When
WENRY STUART. 261

not more than seven, he disagreed with a boy rather
his senior. This boy lacking, it would seem, the
instinct which prevented Falstaff turning on the true
prince, assailed the heir of Scotland without respect
for his royal rank, But Henry could take care of
himself. Far from exhibiting any of his father’s
timidity, he clenched his fists, defended himself cour-
ageously, and beat his antagonist as soundly as the
hero of Flodden or the King of the Commons could
have wished their juvenile descendant to do. Soon
after that achievement, the Prince proved his possession
of that equestrian skill in which his sire was so deficient.
Becoming ambitious of mounting a horse which had the
reputation of being very high-mettled, he ordered it to
be gotready. The servants deeming the exploit danger-
ous, expressed much alarm, and refused any assistance.
Henry laughed at their fears, saddled the horse, and
led it to the side of a bank. While the spectators were
trembling for his neck, the royal boy sprang into the
saddle, and urged the steed to full gallop. After having
put the animal through its paces, and ridden gently
back, he turned to the attendants, and asked, as he
dismounted, “How long shall I continue to be a child
in your opinion ?”

While Henry was in the North, pursuing his studies,
an event which occurred in the South changed his
position, and brightened his prospects. At Richmond,
before daybreak, on Thursday the 24th of March, 1603,
Queen Elizabeth breathed her last, and Sir Rebert
262 BOY-PRINCES, -

Carey, having received from his sister, Lady Scrope, a
sign that all was over, mounted his steed, spurred
rapidly northward, and on Saturday night, riding into
the courtyard of Holyrood, demanded to speak with the
King of Scots. When Carey knocked at the gate the
hour was so late that James had gone to bed; but the
tidings which the bruised and travel-stained knight
brought were of a kind to secure admission for their
bearer at any time, and he was conducted to the royal
presence. After Carey had mentioned Queen Hlizabeth’s
death, and hailed James as her successor, the King
inquired if he had any letters. “No,” said Carey ;
“but I have a token from'a fair lady.” The knight
then produced a sapphire ring, and James said, “That
is enough.”

Soon after Carey’s arrival at Holyrood, messengers
from the English council requested the King to repair
to his new dominions; and James, not sorry to escape
from a country where he had endured fearful poverty,
lost. no time in setting out with a retinue of five
hundred horsemen. He was pleased with his progress,
being, to use his own words, received with joy, and
going as in a hunting-party. The Queen and her
children he left to follow at a more convenient season.

While Prince Henry was still “mewed” in Stirling
Castle, the Earl of Mar, going to London, left him to
the tender mercies of the old Countess, whose temper
was the reverse of celestial. The boy beginning under
these circumstances to pine and sigh for the society
HENRY STUART. 263

of his parents, wrote a letter to the Queen bewailing
his hard fate. An extraordinary ferment was the
consequence. The Queen, who had submitted with the
utmost impatience to separation from her son, gathered
a somewhat formidable band, marched to the castle
of Stirling, demanded possession of the Prince, and
threatened to take him by force. But the old dowager
refused to surrender her charge, and the whole scheme
failing, Anne of Denmark wrote to her husband in no
measured terms.

King James for a time remained deaf to his Danish
spouse’s entreaties. At length, yielding to her im-
portunities, he ordered that Prince Henry should be
delivered to his mother; and the Queen having thus
accomplished her object, prepared to remove with him
and her daughter Elizabeth from the grim precincts of
Holyrood, to the fairer and sunnier palaces, which her
husband could now call his own. A sickly little Prince, -
who afterwards reigned as Charles the First, was left
in Scotland. .

About the beginning of June, 1603, Prince Henry
and his mother commenced their progress southward.
On the way grand entertainments were given in their
honour. At Althorpe their welcome took the form of
a masque written by Ben Jonson, and an address to the
Prince, presented by a deputation of boys. Having
been met at Euston by King James, the royal party,
about the close of June, came in sight of the green
glades of Windsor, and took possession of that regal
264 BOY-PRINCES.

castle, for centuries the home of the Plantagenets,
and now a monument of their grandeur in peace and
glory in war. “

No time was lost in admitting young Henry to that
chivalrous fraternity which England’s ancient kings
had instituted. The Feast of St. George, which had
been postponed till his arrival, was celebrated on the
2nd of July; and at a solemn ‘chapter the princely
boy was invested with the Order of the Garter. After
the ceremony, Henry was presented in his knightly
robes to the Queen; and Anne of Denmark had the
gratification of hearing her son praised by the nobles
of England for his quick wit, his princely bearing, and
the reverence with which he made his obeisance at
the altar. Hardly had the Feast of St. George been
celebrated with all honour, when a fever broke out
in the neighbourhood of Windsor, and for fear of the
Prince falling a victim, he was sent, with his sister,
to the palace of Oatlands. At Michaelmas the heir
of England took up his residence at Hampton Court
for a year.

The period had now arrived when the young hero
was to. cherish aspirations after martial glory, and to
please his fancy with the dream of linking the name of
a ninth Henry with continental conquests. From early
boyhood he had expressed a love of military exploits,
not unnatural to one whose ancestors had so often
ridden to the hattle-field, and fallen gloriously with
their feet to the foe. When asked in childhood what
HENRY STUART. 265

music he liked best, he replied, “That of a war- .
trumpet ;” and when watching a deer-hunt at Stirling,
and asked what he thought of such sport, he said that
“He should like another kind of hunting better—
namely, pursuing thieves and outlaws in company with
brave men, mounted on good horses.” As time passed.
on his passion for military affairs grew stronger, and on
removing to England he was in the habit, after devoting
two hours of the day to his books, of applying himself
heartily during the remainder to his pike, his bar, and
his cross-bow.

James having no excessive admiration for this kind
of exercise, took his son to task for spending so much
time with his weapons of war, and gravely remarked
that, if not more diligent at his books, Henry - would
not be so fit to govern as his younger brother Charles.
The Prince answered nothing when thus admonished ;
but on the King’s observation being repeated by his’
tutor, he said frankly, “Oh, then I will make my brother
Archbishop of Canterbury.” .

While Henry was thus passing his time at Oatlands
and Hampton Court, Anne of Denmark exhibited con-
siderable anxiety to have him residing at her court.
The royal lady had, it appears, lost any respect she ever
entertained for her pedantic husband, and spoke frankly
of his frailties. “It is time,” she said, “that I should
have the Prince under my charge, for the King drinks
so much, and conducts himself so ill in every respect,
that I anticipate an early and evil result.” She,
266 , BOY-PRINCES.

“moreover, gave people to understand that the men
of the house of Lennox had generally, about their
fortieth year, died or become imbecile from excessive
drinking.

The Queen did not speak thus without reason.
James daily became more weak and contemptible,
spending most of his time with dogs and the bottle;
while considering himself a master of kingeraft, and
disgusting everybody by the arrogance of his preten-
sions. But meanwhile the Queen was proving herself
far from faultless, Gay and extravagant, she spent
much time and money on masques, balls, and costly
entertainments. This system of dissipation, of course,
led to poverty; and she was not indisposed to replenish
her purse by taking bribes.

When Anne of Denmark found that the King of
France considered it unnecessary to humour this
weakness, she avowéd her hostility to that monarch,
and declared in favour of Spain. The Queen even
endeavoured to inspire the Prince with her sentiments
in favour of Spain, and: excited his imagination with
the prospect of emulating the martial achievements of.
the fifth Henry on the soil of France. It would appear
that her influence was not in this respect exercised
without some slight effect. When the French am-
bassador, on the point of departing from London, went
to take leave of Henry, he found the boy exercising
himself with the pike. The ambassador inquired with
courtesy, whether he had any commands for France.
HENRY STUART. 267

“Yes,” answered the Prince, with emphasis, “tell your
King how you left me occupied.” .

About the year 1606 Prince Henry was provided
with a palace worthy of such a Prince. On the west
side of Richmond Green—which, with its hundred
elm-trees, was in ancient days the scene of jousts and
tournaments—there may still be observed a rude-
looking gateway. of stone. Over the arch of this
gateway the armorial bearings of the Tudors may be
traced, and within appears a building consisting of
several apartments, and a turret of red brick, with stone
dressings and battlements. These are the remains of
that palace which was built by the seventh Henry, and
which was assigned to the Prince, who, as the de-
scendant of his eldest daughter, had a prospect of
wearing the crown won at Bosworth.

At this royal residence, which had a park a little
north from the Green, situated in the loveliest of Eng-
lish villages, washed by the Thames, and commanding
a magnificent prospect, Henry established his house-
hold; and in dealing with the five hundred persons
of whom it consisted, displayed qualities which added
much to his popularity. While scrupulously kind to
his dependents, all of whom he knew by name, and
ready to defend them against their enemies, he took care
that. their conduct should be such as to entitle them to
his protection, His household was like a monarchy in
miniature, and regulated with so much skill, that a blow
was never struck and an oath seldom heard.
268 BOY-PRINCES.

When thus provided with an establishment of his
owh, economy was a virtue which Henry did not con-
sider himself above practising. He was not averse to
plenty and magnificence ; but, anxious to be above the
necessity of treating his tenants rigidly, he insisted on
his domestics exercising frugality, and took care that
his orders were complied with. He instructed them to
write down the several heads of his yearly expenditure
—such as the cost of keeping up his house and his
stables—the money spent on his apparel and wardrobe
—the rewards he bestowed on the deserving—and
everything that was paid out of his coffers. He saw
that this was attended to, compared the accounts with
his annual revenue, and so arranged his expenditure as
to make his revenues meet every demand, while saving
annually some thousands of pounds, as a reserve for
contingent and occasional exigencies.

Henry, moreover, set an example of economy in his
own person, and, except on state occasions, was re-
markable for his plain dress. Having at one time ap-
peared very often in a suit of Welsh frieze, and being
told that it was too mean for a person of his rank,
Henry exclaimed, “That he was Prince of Wales; that
he was not ashamed of his country’s cloth ; and that he
wished it would last for ever.”

One characteristic of the heir of England was a
thorough love of justice. Even when he was very
young, and ere his sire crossed the Tweed to unite rival
crowns on his learned forehead, the Prince’s tendency
HENRY STUART. 269

in this respect had been remarked. He distinguished
those among his pages and gentlemen whose merit was
greatest; and, when little more than five years of age,
ne showed that he would bestow his favour only on
such as were deserving. When a son of the Earl of
Mar had a quarrel with one of Henry’s pages, and
proved to be in the wrong, the Prince reproved -the
noble culprit sharply, and added, with significance, “I
love you because you are my lord’s son, and my own
cousin ; but, if you do not behave better, I will love
such a one better than you.”

As Henry grew up, this spirit was manifested in
various ways. When removing from one place to
another, or accompanying the King in royal progresses,
he would not allow any provisions or carriages to be
iaken for his use without full contentment being given
to the parties; and when he went to hunt or hawk
before the close of harvest, so careful was he to prevent
farmers being annoyed by his train, that he would set
the example of riding a furlong out of his way rather
than pass through a field of corn.

Henry did not give himself up to the chase with the
eagerness of King James; but he often went a-hunting,
though rather for the pleasure of riding, than any that
the chase itself afforded. One day, when he was thus
engaged with a gay party, a stag, exhausted, hard
pressed, and making its last effort, cleared a boundary
fence, and rushed along the road. A butcher and his
dog happened. to be passing along at that moment, and
270 BOY-PRINCES.

the dog springing forward, seized the stag and wor-
ried it to death, When the Prince rode up, some
of his comrades endeavoured to set him against the
butcher. “But,” said Henry, “if his dog killed the
stag, how could the man help it?” “Depend upon
it,” said one of the sportsmen, “if the King’s hunting
had been so interrupted, he would have sworn ter-
ribly.” “Away!” said the Prince, in a conclusive
tone; “all the pleasure in the world is not worth an
oath.”

One of the great qualities which distinguished
Henry was his sincerity. Sir Charles Cornwallis, who
was treasurer of the Prince’s household, gives a striking
instance of his patron’s strictness on this point. On
one occasion Cornwallis wrote on some matter of busi-
ness to a nobleman, between whom and the Prince no
friendship existed, and placed the letter before the
royal youth for signature. Observing that the letter
concluded with some words which were complimentary,
Henry requested Cornwallis to strike them out. “My
hand,” said the high-spirited Prince, “shall never
affirm what my heart does not feel.”

As a man of taste, Henry was careful to patronise
art and its cultivators. Thomas Ford, composer of
some of our sweetest madrigals, was one of his musi-
cians ; Inigo Jones was his architect; and he had a real
and genuine appreciation for works of art, of which he
had many brought from foreign countries. He com-
menced that collection of pictures which, continued by
HENRY STUART. 271

Charles, afterwards furnished masterpieces to the first
galleries of Europe.

Naval affairs and shipbuilding occupied much of
Henry’s attention. When he was only ten years old, a
small vessel was built for his amusement and instruc-
tion in the business of shipping and sailing. He also
gave the strictest application to his own improvement in
military exercises, and studied the whole theory of war.
He practised tilting, charging on horseback with pistols,
and caused new pieces of ordnance to be made, with
which he learned to shoot level at a mark. In military
exercises he became second to no prince in Europe;
and he was in the habit of walking long distances, to
fit him for marches when required. He had great
pleasure in conversing with men of skill and experience
in war, as well of his own country as foreigners, about
every part of their profession, and entertained in his
house a Dutch engineer, recommended to him by Count:
Maurice. He collected in his court young gentlemen
of the highest courage, and he cultivated acquaintance
with the most celebrated officers of Upper and Lower
Germany.

But it was for action, and a field in which to dis-
tinguish himself, that Henry panted. Debarred from
real war, he sought excitement in the tiltyard ; he was
an enthusiastic lover of military spectacles, and de-
lighted to break spears, to run at the ring, and fight at
the barriers. A suit of armour, made for him in boy-
hood, is still to be seen in the Tower of London.
272 BOY-PRINCES,

When about fifteen years of age, Henry, resolving
upon a grand display of chivalry, held a tournament at
Whitehall, and invited all the knights of England to
exhibit their prowess. On the appointed day this
passage of arms took place in the tiltyard, in the
presence of the King and Queen, the foreign ambas-
sadors, and all the peers and ladies of the court. The
Prince, with six young noblemen, maintained the
barriers; and against them no fewer than fifty-six
champions—earls, barons, -knights, and squires-—tried
their skill in arms. Every challenger fought with eight
defendants—two combats at two different weapons—
push of pike and single sword. Henry himself gave
and received thirty-two pushes of pike, and about three
hundred and sixty strokes of swords. Moreover,
though young, he performed his part with such grace
as to excite the admiration of all spectators.

The people, proud that the heir of England bore
himself so gallantly, proposed to him as models the
Black Prince and the fifth Henry; and his admirers
rejoiced in the thought of seeing a hero of Poictiers
and a hero of Agincourt “rolled into one.” It is
worthy of remark, however, that while the English
people were thus dreaming of foreign conquest, the
French King was brooding over his grand project
of European pacification, on a broad and permanent
foundation.

The House of Valois had ecased to misgovern
France, and the sceptre of that kingdom had been
HENRY STUART. 2738

grasped by Henry of Navarre, a Prince who, albeit not
without frailties, proved himself a great and popular
ruler. Having, though intended as a victim, escaped,
as if by miracle, the massacre of St. Bartholomew, and
after the death of Charles eluded the vigilance of
Katherine de Medici, he tore himself from-the volup-
tuous snares with which that Italian woman had sur-
rounded him, succeeded in escaping to the Huguenots,
and ere long appeared at the head of armies. As King
of Navarre, during the reign of the last Valois, he:
seattered the courtiers of France, under Joyeuse, at
Coutras. As King of France after. the line of Valois
was at an end, he triumphed over the League at Ivry.
But his white plume waved in vain, and his victories
were followed by no adequate results; for Henry was 4
Huguenot, while the French would allow no Huguenot
to reign over them; and the Catholics were aided by
Philip of Spain, who, in disregard of the Salic law, .
claimed the crown for his daughter Isabella.

Events at length convinced Henry that he must
choose between his faith, and the opportunity of saving
France from dismemberment. He made his choice.
At the foot of the altar at St. Denis he promised to
live and die in the bosom of the Church of Rome; and
whatever may be thought of the morality of the
sacrifice, there is no doubt as to the benefits he con-
ferred on his country. He found France on the verge
of bankruptcy ; he gave her prosperity. He found her

position low in Europe: he made her influential. He
.
274 BOY-PRINCES,

found her without liberty of conscience; he gave her the
Edict of Nantes, He found her menaced by the armies of
Philip ; and he forced the Spanish King to acknowledge,
by the treaty of Vervins, that genius had prevailed over
the power of an empire on which the sun never set.
Henry of Navarre, in all his struggles, received
valuable aid from Hlizabeth Tudor; and, to the last,
maintained a close alliance with the Protestant Queen.
On the accession of James, the famous Duke of Sully
came to London on an embassy of congratulation, and
went back to his friend and master with the con~
temptuous opinion, that the new King of England was
the “wisest fool in Christendom.” James, while on his
progress southward, somewhat indiscreetly censured
Henry’s turn for gallantry; and Henry soon after
ridiculed James as “the son of a fiddler,” in allusion
to Queen Mary’s intimacy with the Italian Rizzio.
Henry afterwards declared James’s levity to be such
that he was not to be depended on, and altogether
entertained a mean opinion of his royal contemporary.
But, while feeling a contempt for the King of
England, Henry of Navarre entertained a high regard
for the Prince of Wales. After having been seated on
the throne, and separated from Margaret de Valois,
who set all decency at defiance, and united to Mary de
Medici, the French monarch in due time became father
of a Dauphin. Towards this boy, who afterwards
figured as Louis the Thirteenth, the Prince of Wales
wanifested his good-will by the present of some dogs.
Or

HENRY STUART. 27

The compliment was appreciated; and the King of
France, when despatching an ambassador to England,
in 1606, instructed him to treat the Prince of Wales
with particular respect. The ambassador, on reaching
England, wrote to his royal master in high praise of
the Prince, and stated as an opinion that the latter
would highly value the present of a suit of armour.
The suggestion was attended to, and the armour sent.

The respect which Henry King of France and
Henry Prince of Wales entertained for each other grew
stronger with time; and it is believed that the Prince
was acquainted with the secret design of the King, when,
for the last time, he made great warlike preparations.
Some even assert that he was engaged in the project
which they wereintended toaccomplish; but however that
may have been, when news that the French King had
-been stabbed in the streets of Paris was brought to
England, the Prince was deeply grieved at the loss of a
friend, with whose great name he had the prospect of
associating his career,

But neither princes nor other men give themselves
up tomourning, A few weeks after the assassination
of the hero of Ivry, Henry Stuart was invested at West-
minster with the dignity of Prince of Wales. On the 31st
of May, 1610, he left Richmond with a gay company, and
came down the Thames in his barge. At Chelsea he
was met by the Lord Mayor and Corporation, attended,
in accordance with the fashion of the period, by mas-
quers, in the likeness of Neptune riding on a dolphin,
276 . BOY-PRINCES,

and of a sea-goddess mounted on a whale, who addressed
to him complimentary speeches. Some days later he
was installed as Prince of Wales, and the King pre-
sented him to the Houses of Parliament. A masque was
afterwards performed, in which the royal youth was
represented as awakening the dying genius of chivalry.

When Henry was created Prince of Wales, St.
James's Palace was granted to him as a residence; and
though he had no political influence, and nothing to
give away; his court was more crowded than that of the
King. Englishmen, growing annoyed at the favour
shown by James to the Scots, gathered around his son,
and Henry’s popularity daily increased. Even the
Puritans, pleased with his religious life, took heart,
pointed to him as the man who was to redress their
wrongs, and sang,—

%* Henry the Eighth pulled down the abbeys and cells,
Henry the Ninth shall pull down bishops and bells.”

They even saluted him as one prefigured in the
Apocalypse for Rome’s destruction.

The Prince of Wales had no turn for that gallantry
which was the besetting sin of so many of the Stuarts.
Indeed, when he gave banquets to the dames and
damsels of the court and the city, his household
observed, not perhaps without surprise, that he never
revealed, by word or look, the slightest preference for
any of his fair guests. From this rule of conduct,
which must be aseribed to a stern sense of duty, Henry
HENRY STUART. 277

in one instance departed; and as wholesome lessons
may be learned from reflecting on the solitary folly of
one so wise and good, we may refer with brevity to the
circumstances, which have left a spot on a character
otherwise stainless.

Among the young noblemen placed about the
Prince, to share his studies and diversions, was Robert
Devereux, Earl of Essex, son of him who, in the reign
of Elizabeth, had died on the scaffold bewailed by the
people. This boy was, in 1606, married to Frances
Howard, daughter of a man who figured as Earl of
Suffolk, The bride being at that time only thirteen,
was left at court till she came to years of discretion,
and under the care of her mother, a beautiful woman,
but suspected of having bartered virtue for gold.
Under the auspices of such a parent, the Countess,
during girlhood, made rapid progress in the knowledge
of vice, and became utterly corrupt in heart.

Nature, however, had endowed the Countess of
Essex with so much wit, grace, and beauty, that she
was irresistibly fascinating; and when the Earl, who
meanwhile had acquired at the university and on the
Continent those accomplishments essential to the head
of the house of Devereux, met the woman who had
sworn to love, honour, and obey him, he found her the
most enchanting among the ladies who graced the court
of King James. The Earl, though perhaps at first a
little vain of the prize that had fallen to his lot, soon
rued the day on which he had led Frances Howard to
278 BOY-PRINCES.

the altar. Far from displaying anything like affection,
she treated him with coldness; and when he made
approaches to familiarity, she abused him fiercely as a
“beast and coward.”

The relatives of the scornful beauty, who were
worldly and pretentious men, far from disapproving
of her conduct, seem to have caleulated how her
fascinations and talent could be turned to account in
advancing their political fortunes. With this view,
one of her noble kinsmen—unless he is belied by
chroniclers—recommended the dazzling Countess to try
the effect of her powers on the Prince of Wales; and
she, relishing the idea of conquering a pure heart, took
the hint and went to work.

The Countess of Essex was still in her teens; but
though young, she was versed in the science of coquetry,
and knew too well how to arrest the eye and inthrall
the heart of a victim. The contest being quite un-
equal, the result was such as might have been antici-
pated. The beauty of the lady’s person, and the
nobility of her blood, were spells too potent to be
resisted ; and for once Henry’s heart and fancy got the
better of his intellect and prudence. A preference
which the aristocratic coquette showed for an unworthy
rival, soon awoke the Prince from his dangerous dream.

Among those who exercised influence at the court
of James was a Scotchman named Robert Carr. This
unprincipled adventurer having found his way to
London, and met with an accident at some tournament,
HENRY STUART. 279

attracted the King’s notice. Though of slender ability,
Carr was promoted to high office ; and, notwithstanding
his obscure origin, he was created Viscount Rochester
and Harl of Somerset. Towards this man, who was a
worthless scoundrel, the Prince was known to feel so
thorough a dislike, that Sir James Elphinstone offered
to challenge the obnoxious minion and kill him. But
Henry reproved his friend for this proposal, saying, that
if it were necessary to kill Carr, he could do that
himself. Perpetual bickerings, however, took place;
and one day, while playing at tennis, the Prince went
the length of threatening to strike his father’s Scottish
favourite with the racket in his hand.

Meanwhile, in spite of the Prince’s enmity, Carr
continued to flourish, and the Countess of Hssex,
attracted by his rising fortunes,.began to exercise her
witchery to win his affections, and became indifferent
to the Prince’s admiration. Finding how matters stood,
Henry aweke from his delusion, and, indignant at
having been fooled, hastened to give his fair allurer the
cold shoulder. While the courtiers were still unaware
of the Prince’s change of sentiment, one of them
happened to pick up a glove which the Countess had
dropped. The courtier, fancying he had found a way
to the favour of the heir-apparent, brought the glove
to him as a great prize. This led to the discovery that
he was no longer her captive, for Henry turned away
with indifference, saying, “I will have no glove that is
stretched by another.”
280 BOY-PRINCES,

At the time when the Prince of Wales allowed his
eye to rest with too much tenderness and admiration
on a woman whose face and form fascinated every
heholder, the King was sending all over Europe to find
him a suitable bride. James, who had a fancy for
high alliances, was anxious that his heir should marry
a daughter of France or Spain; while Henry, as the
hero of the Puritans, did not relish the prospect of
having a Catholic spouse. For years James carried on
with Spain a negotiation, with the view of securing
the hand of the Infanta for his heir; and when it grew
languid, he listened to an overture from Mary de
Medici, the Queen-Regent of France, who was anxious
to unite her second daughter, Madame Christine, to the
heir of England. About the same time the Duke of
Florence offered his daughter, with millions ef crowns
for her dower; and ere James had quite made up his
mind to resist the temptation, an ambassador arrived to
press on his acceptance a Princess of Savoy.

The Prince was perplexed in the extreme. While
anxious to evince the utmost possible respect for his
father’s wishes, he was pained with the knowledge that
a, Catholic alliance would inevitably cost him the favour
of the Puritans. In his perplexity he implored the
King, that if he must marry a Catholic princess, it
might be the youngest, that some ‘hopes might be en-
tertained of her conversion, and that any liberty she
might have about her religion should be in the most
private manner.
HENRY STUART. 281

While the King was hesitating which of the Catholic
princesses he should select as his daughter-in-law, and
the Puritans were convincing themselves that their hero
would never wed @ woman who held the ancient faith,
the Prince’s health gave way with alarming rapidity.
Henry had grown so tall and thin, that the greatest
care was necessary; but he was in the fever of youth,
and manifested about his health that reckless indiffer-
ence which so frequently leads to fatal consequences.
While living at Richmond, he was too much in the
habit of swimming in. the Thames, and walking by its
margin when the moon was shining, and when the dew
was on the grass. Moreover, he at times exerted him-
self with a violence that would have broken down the
strongest constitution. One August day, for instance,
he rode post-haste to Lincolnshire to meet the King at
Belvoir Castle, and returned with equal speed to Wood-
stock, which had just been assigned to him as a
residence, to prepare a banquet, of which the court had
promised to partake. Such excessive exercise proving
too much for a boy who had outgrown his strength, he,
became pale and thin, and was at length attacked with
severe headaches and fainting fits.

While Henry, at Richmond, was passing the autumn
of 1612 in this weak state of health, the Count Palatine
of the Rhine arrived in England to receive a royal
bride in the person of the Princess Elizabeth. The
match was highly in favour with the people, and the
Prince. who had always evinced a sincere affection for
282 BOY-PRINCES,

his sister, was anxious to be present at the welcome of
the bridegroom. When, therefore, the Palatine arrived,
Henry, under the impression that such a malady as his
could be overcome by energy and vigour, rode to
London to receive his destined brother-in-law at Whitc-
hall. Jt was rashly done.

No sooner did the Prince of Wales mix, for the last
time, with a king and courtiers, to whom he in all
respects formed so bright and striking a contrast, and
on whose life his had been a satire, than it was observed
that disease had somewhat changed his nature. He
was so irritable as to surprise those who had formerly
admired his calm demeanour ; and he exhibited an utter
want of that curiosity or love of knowledge by which
he had, in other days, been characterised. His end
was at hand.

While the weather was cold, and Henry in a delicate
state of body, he was indiscreet enough to play a match
at tennis in his shirt. This took place on the 24th of
October, and in the evening he complained of weariness
in the limbs and pains in the head. Next day, on
awaking, he felt faint and drowsy; but the morning
being that of Sunday, he insisted on rising and going
twice to church. After his devotions, Henry dined
with the King at Whitehall, and ate as was his wont.
3ut his pale and wan cheek, his hollow and ghastly
eyes, indicated that he was suffering from some dis-
order; and he soon grew so much exhausted that he
was under the necessity of taking leave and returning
HENRY STUART. 283

to his palace at St. James’s. He was, in fact, giving
way to a violent fever; and as the doctors could not
agree as to treatment, the want of medical aid aggra-
vated the disease and added to its malignity.

As days passed over, the Prince derived some re-
lief from a discharge of blood at the nose; and this cir-
cumstance gave the physicians a notion what they ought
to do. The patient was accordingly bled to some
slight extent, and he felt easier in consequence. But,
strangely enough, the operation was not repeated, and
delirium and convulsions next appeared. Sometimes
Henry’s mind wandered, and he called for his sword
and armour, saying that he must be gone. His pre-
carious condition was not then known to the public;
but as he lay on his sick bed, a lunar rainbow appeared
over the palace, and the superstitious declared that this
was a sure sign that a prince or a hero was about to
die.

Matters went on in this way till Thursday, the 5th
of November, and then all hope of Henry’s recovery
vanished. The people of the metropolis, while cele-
brating the anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot, learned
that their favourite was sick even unto death; and
surrounding St. James’s Palace, they bewailed his im-
pending fate with groans. On the same day the King
was informed that his son could not recover, and left
for Theobalds, being, as he said, “unwilling and unable
to stay so near the gates of sorrow.” After this the
Archbishop of Canterburv appeared at the Palace, in-
284 BOY-PRINCES.

formed the Prince of his danger, and administered
those religious consolations which sustain the heart ot
frail man when his soul is going to judgment.

That November day crept on, and the Prince grew
restless. Several times he cried out “David;” and
Sir David Murray, gentleman of the bedchamber, stood
by his uneasy couch. “Ah,” said the Prince, “I have
something to say, but I cannot utter it.” At last,
after many efforts, he made Murray comprehend that
some letters in a certain cabinet should be destroyed ;
and after the faithful Scot had promised that this wish
should be complied with, the Prince calmly awaited
that pale spectre who visits with impartiality the
cottages of the poor and the court of kings.

The long night passed; and when the morning of
Friday the 6th of November dawned, the Prince had
a fainting fit, which continued so long that the at-
tendants thought he had ceased to live. A rumour
that Henry was dead soon crept abroad; and the
populace broke forth into loud lamentations, which
reached the bed where he lay in agony. His last hours
are said to have been embittered by the recollection of
having listened to overtures of marriage with Roman
Catholics. He even declared his belief that God had
visited him with this malady as a punishment.

The Queen was a fond mother, though a foolish
woman, and she could not give way to despair about
her son while the slightest probability of saving his
life remained. In her solicitude, she applied to that
TENRY STUART, 285

courtier, warrior, orator, man of science, and man of
letters, celebrated in history and romance as Sir Walter
Raleigh.

About 1581, this adventurous scion of an ancient
family of Devon, after having seen military service in
France, in the Low Countries, and against the Celts
of Ireland, happened to arrive in London. While
Raleigh was in search of preferment, a strange accident
is said to have thrown fortune in his way. Happening
to be near Queen Elizabeth one day when she was wall-
ing,.and perceiving that she hesitated to cross a muddy
spot, he took off his velvet cloak, and stepping forward,
spread it over the place. Subsequently to this, he is
said to have written on a pain of glass in a summer-
house, at one of the royal palaces, with a diamond,
“Fain would I climb, but that fear I to fall;” and to
have afterwards found written beneath it, in the Queen’s
hand, “Tf thy heart fail thee, do not climb at all.” He
did climb, however, and the name of Walter Raleigh
became known to fame. He undertook a voyage to the
New World, was admiral of that English fleet which
sacked Cadiz, and, next to Drake, the greatest scourge
of Spain.

Raleigh maintained his position till the close of the
great Queen’s reign; but on the accession of James,
finding himself out of favour, and losing patience, he
conspired to place Lady Arabella Stuart on the throne,
and after being tried, received sentence of death.
Reprieved and committed to the Tower, the warrior
286 BOY-PRINCES.

and courtier, taking to science and letters, won a new
kind of celebrity, and inspired the Prince of Wales
with a high admiration of his powers. “No king but
my father,” said Henry, “would keep such a bird in
such a cage.”

Raleigh had already rendered the Prince an ac-
ceptable service, by writing two pamphlets against the
proposal to match him with a Princess of Savoy. On
receiving the Queen’s message, he immediately prepared
a nostrum, which he declared would cure any malady,
~ unless it had been caused by poison; and this was
administered. But it had no effect; and when Friday
drew to a close, and the shades of evening settled over
London, every one became convinced that the suffering
Prince was beyond the reach of human relief. At
eight o’clock all was over, and Henry Stuart slept the
sleep that knows no breaking.

The death of the Prince of Wales was loudly and
deeply mourned by the people, to whom his name had
been as a spell; and even while the court was cele-
brating, with all imaginable gaiety, the marriage of the
Princess Elizabeth, afterwards the unfortunate Queen
of Bohemia, there prevailed dark rumours that he had
been poisoned by the King’s Scottish favourite. When
years had passed over, and when the Countess of
Essex, divorced from the husband of her youth, was the
wife of Somerset, and when the noble pair were tried
for the murder of Overbury, Sir Edward Coke said, in
allusion to this popular suspicion, “God knows what
HENRY STUART. 285

went with the good Prince Henry; but I have heard
something.” ° Even Prince Charles expressed an opinion
that his brother had been poisoned by Somerset.

About a month after the death of Henry, his corpse
was conveyed to Westminster for interment. The
funeral chariot was drawn by eight black horses,
decked with plumes and escutcheons, and attended
by two thousand persons in sable robes— Prince
Charles appearing in the character of chief mourner.
At the Abbey, the arrival of the procession was an-
nounced by solemn music, and the Primate preached
ai impressive funeral sermon. The earls and barons
then offered up the banners they carried; the officers
of the Prince’s household broke their white staves
over the coffin, and the numerous mourners took their
departure. .

Two months before this solemn ceremony, the re-
mains of Mary Queen of Scots had been removed from
the Cathedral of Peterborough, and interred in the
south aisle of the chapel erected by the victor of Bos-
worth. Henry was laid by the side of his grand-
mother. No monument was raised to his memory; but
fireside traditions preserved his name, annalists re-
corded his virtues, and the nation regretted his death,
Courtly writers did, indeed, flatter Charles by saying
that there was left another Prince, so accomplished,
that the loss of the departed hero would never be felt.
But when a few decades had passed by, when English-
men were shedding the blood of friends and kinsmen
288 BOY-PRINCES,

on field and scaffold, and when a King suffered the
death of a traitor, men could hardly help reflecting
how different might have been the state of matters
under one combining the piety of the sixth Edward,
and the far-seeing policy of Elizabeth, with Hampden’s
pure patriotism, and Cromwell’s enthusiastic energy.
The reader may smile at the idea of a Stuart figuring
as the man of his ase—as a heroic leader in war, and
a wise ruler in peace; but Henry could hardly have
been less, if he had fulfilled a moiety of the hopes that
were buried in his untimely grave.
280

HENRY OF OATLANDS,

DUEE OF GLOUCESTER.

At Oatlands, an ancient palace in Surrey, on the 20th
of July, 1640, Henrietta Maria, Queen of England,
already mother of Charles, Prince of Wales, and James,
Duke of York, gave birth to her third son Henry.
Some writers have represented St. James’s as the place
of this Prince’s birth ; but he was called Henry of Oat-
lands from the first week of his existence, and it appears
that he first saw the light in that “large and beautiful
house of the Queen’s, upon the river of Thames, where,
upon the plaistered wall in the stone gallery, respecting
the gardens, were very curiously pourtrayed that royal
edifice, with Pontefract Castle, Havering, Eltham,
Nonsuch, and some other palaces assigned to her
Majesty.” But however that may have been, Henry of
Oatlands was born under an unlucky star, and his life
was of short continuance, and full of trouble.

It appears that in 1612, almost ere the heart of the
gallant Prince of Wales was cold—three days, it is said,

after life had departed from his agonised frame—Robert
U
290 BOY-FRINCES.

Carr, Earl of Somerset, the Scottish favourite of King
James, and the suspected poisoner of the Prince, sent
instructions to Paris that negotiations which had been
commenced for the hand of Madame Christine should
be proceeded with — only substituting the name of
Charles for that of Henry. But the French Court was
not very eager for the alliance, and notwithstanding a
costly and pompous embassy, the project came to
nothing. Madame Christine probably had a will of her
own, and preferred being wife of the Duke of Savoy
to uniting her fate with a Prince then unknown, save ar
a sickly and retiring boy.

Soon after this French, match was broken off, Somer-
set, then on the verge of ruin, was supplanted in the
King’s favour by a handsome young man named George
Villiers, destined to acquire an unenviable celebrity in
the illustrious annals of England. The birth of this
adventurer was mean, and his intellect contemptible ;
but having learned to dance gracefully, and procured a
suit of French clothes to set off his person to advantage,
he attracted the eye of the King. Having profited by
this piece of good fortune, Villiers, though he could
not boast of a patrician ancestor or a patriotic achieve-
ment, ere long found himself elevated to the Dukedom
of Buckingham, and exercising enormous influence in
atfairs of state.

While doing with the weak King just as he pleased,
and doing his utmost to win the confidence of Charles,
then Prince of Wales, Buckingham in 1623 persuaded
HENRY OF OATLANDS. 29)

the heir-apparent to undertake an expediton in disguise
to Madrid, and pay his addresses to the Infanta, sister
of Anne of Austria, Queen of Louis of France. The
Prince and Buckingham accomplished their journey
in safety; and though the folly and presumption of
the Duke caused considerable disgust, matters went
smoothly. The Prince, on taking leave of the Infanta,
presented her with a diamond anchor, as the emblem
of his constancy ; and the Spanish Court had reason to
believe that nothing but the Pope’s dispensation was
wanting to complete the marriage. It appears, how-
ever, that Buckingham, having already. resolved that
the alliance should never take place, threw such
obstacles in the way, that the King of Spain indig-
nantly ordered hig sister to give up studying the
English language, and the Infanta having shed some
natural tears, the affair was at.an end.

Almost before the Spanish match was broken off,
a new matrimonial treaty had been projected. The
Prince and Buckingham, while on their journey to
Madrid, passed through Paris, and had a glimpse of
the royal family of France. The Prince on that occa-
sion wrote to his father that he had visited the Court
without being known, and seen the young Queen, and
little Monsieur, and nineteen fair dancing-ladies, prac-
tising a masque. Among these was a princess destined
to become his wife; and it has been supposed that the
fascination of the dark-eyed Henrietta Maria, the sister
of King Louis, was not quite lost upon the Prince, then
292 BOY-PRINCES,

bent on a Quixotic expedition. At all events, over-
tures were formally made, a match was agreed upon,
and the daughter of Henry of Navarre was brought: to
England as Queen. Fifteen years passed over; Charles
. the First quarrelled with his Parliaments; Bucking-
ham fell by the dagger of Felton; John Hampden
refused to pay ship-money; Cliver Cromwell com-
menced in the House of Commons that public career
which conducted him to more than regal power; the
Scots, after subscribing their solemn League and
Covenant, mustered under Alexander Leslie to vindi-
cate their national rights; and the clouds that had long
darkened the political horizon were about to burst, when
Henry of Oatlands drew his first breath.

The prescient had already become aware that a
fierce struggle could not much longer be avoided; and
exactly a month after his third son was cradled, Charles
was under the necessity of leaving London, to meet, in
hostile array, the inhabitants of that country of which
he was a native. At Newburn the King had the
mortification of seeing his troops fly before the Scottish
Covenanters; and, after holding the Great Council of
Peers at York, he recognised the necessity of summon-
ing a Parliament. Before Henry of Oatlands was six
months old the Long Parliament met, proceeded to
business in a fierce mood, abolished everything that
could be called an abuse, impeached Thomas Wentworth,
Earl of Strafford, and William Laud, Archbishop of
Canterbury, and, having sent one to the block forth-
HENRY OF OATLANDS. 293

with, placed the other to a prison till it was more
convenient to deal with him.

Fortune now smiled for a short period on the King.
When the Long Parliament had done its work so
thoroughly, differences arose among the members, and
many felt satisfied with the reforms that had been
achieved. Public opinion was rapidly inclining to the
King’s side, and the royal family were even becoming
popular with the nation, when, in January, 1642,
Charles ventured upon the rashest of all his actions—the
impolitic attempt to arrest the Five Members.

Never did monarch take a more unfortunate step.
it was the prelude to civil war. The Five Members
sought refuge among the citizens of London, who were
devoted to their cause; the popiilace uttered menacing
cries before the gates of Whitehall, and everybody saw
that matters had reached a crisis. The King, escaping
in dread and dismay from the palace, found his way to
York; and no appeal remained save to the God of
battles.

The royal cause was by no means hopeless. Charles
was not, indeed, an Englishman, and he had no here-
ditary claim on the hearts of his subjects. But he wore
the crown and occupied the throne of those who had
made England great; and many men of ancient blood
and historic name deemed it their duty to fight for the
crown, even if it hung upon a bush. The joyous,
hearty Cavaliers, readily left their ancient halls and old
manor-houses, and hastened with loyal eagerness to
294. BOY-PRINCES.

strike for Church and King. Among these figured
influential noblemen, worthy in all respects of leading
Englishme> to battle, and ready to dare all in the
King’s cause. ;

The royal standard was set up at Nottingham, and
civil war began. Robert Bertie, Harl of Lindsey, com-
manded the royal troops; and that Earl of Essex, who
in boyhood had been one of.the companions of Prince
Henry, and whose Countess had disgraced the great
name of Devereux, was placed at the head of the Par-
liamentary army. For a time the King and Parliament
stood facing each other, as if irresolute to strike. At
length, in October, blood was shed at Edgehill. During
the first year the Royalists had the advantage. Vic-
torious at Edgehill, Charles took Barnsbury, and en-
tered Oxford in triumph; and the fall of the illustrious
John Hampden at Chalgrove, while heading a charge
against Rupert’s fiery cavalry, deprived the Parliament
of their ablest leader,

But ere long fortune changed sides. The King,
influenced by his nephew, Prince Rupert, odious to the
nation as a foreigner, gradually lost ground; and in
1645, after being defeated by Cromwell at Naseby,
found his situation so desperate, that he delivered him-
self up to his countrymen. The Scots, for a sum of
money, surrendered Charles to Parliamentary Commis-
sioners, and the ill-fated man was imprisoned in
Carisbrooke Castle.

When matters reached this stage, Henry of Oat-
WENRY OF OATLANDS. 295

lands, who was called by courtesy Duke of Gloucester,
because the King intended to give the royal boy that
title, was committed to the care of the Earl of
Northumberland, and lodged in St. James’s Palace,
along with the Duke of York and the Princess
Elizabeth.

As for the other members of the royal family,
they were no longer in England. At the opening of
the war, Henrietta Maria sailed for Holland with her
eldest daughter, who had married the Prince of Orange.
The Queen returned with reinforcements from the
Continent. But when affairs became gloomy, she was
induced to repair to France, and parted with her
husband, never to meet again. About the same time
the Prince of Wales left the shores of England. In
the spring of 1645, the King, who was then at Oxford,
resolved to send his son into the West, in order, as he
said, “to unboy him, by putting him into some action,
and acquaintance with business out of his own sight.”
Accordingly the father and the son parted, and the
Prince found his way to Jersey.

Gloucester, however, remained with the Duke of
York and the Princess Elizabeth; and the King,
after being seized by Cornet Joyce, and placed in the
power of the Parliamentary army, requested that he
might have an interview with his family. Some ob-
jections were at first raised, for the House of Commons
apprehended that the army might take possession of the
children. But General Fairfax gave his word that they
296 BOY-PRINOES.

should be returned to St. James’s, and at length the
matter was arranged. At the beautiful little village
of Caversham, near Reading, the meeting took place;
and so affecting was the interview between Charles and
his young, helpless children, that Cromwell, who was
present, shed tears of compassion.

About this time the Duke of York contrived to
escape from England. After supper one evening, while
Gloucester and the Princess Elizabeth were pursuing
their childish sports, James suddenly, without cloak or
coat, slipped down stairs, opened the door of the
gardens, escaped into St. James’s Park, found his way
through Spring Gardens, got into a hackney coach,
eluded the vigilance of his keepers, and, disguised as a
woman, found means of reaching the Continent in
safety. Thus it happened, that when Charles, after
having been condemned to die, was allowed an inter-
view with his family, Gloucester and the Princess
Elizabeth only remained in England.

Tt was the 29th of July, 1649, and the scaffold on
which Charles was to be beheaded was erecting in the
street. before the windows of Whitehall, when the
royal children were brought from Sion House to St.
James’s to take their farewell of the King, and receive
his blessing. The Princess, who, from her years, was
most sensible of her father’s condition, appeared sorrow-
ful, and shed many bitter tears; and the little Duke,
seeing his sister weep, manifested the utmost grief.
The King raised lis children from their knees, and












time on’ earth, Charles

out to part from his children for the last

gave them all his:j

ewels.—p. 297. .

Being ab
HENRY OF OATLANDS. 297

kissed them with paternal tenderness. . He first gave
his blessing to the Princess, and charged her to tell the
Duke of York that he must regard Charles no longer
as an elder brother, but be obedient to him as a
sovereign, and that they should love one another, and
forgive their father’s enemies. After this the King
said to her, “Sweetheart, youll forget this.” “No,”
answered the Princess, weeping, “I will never forget it
while I live,”

The King then turned to Gloucester, and took the
little boy on his knee. “My son,” said Charles,
holding the Prince firmly, “they are going to cut off
thy father’s head.” Upon this the child looked very
steadfastly at him. “Mark, dear, what I say; they
will cut off my head, and perhaps make thee a king!
But mark what I say; thou must not be aking as long
as thy brother Charles and James are alive. They will
cut off thy brothers’ heads when they can catch them;
and thy head, too, they will cut off at last. Therefore,
I charge thee, do not be made a king by them.” The
Duke replied, “I will be torn in pieces first !” and an
answer so resolute, from one of Gloucester’s tender
years, filled the King’s eyes with tears of joy.

And now came a not less affecting scene. Being
about to part from his children for the last time on
earth, Charles gave them all his jewels, except his
George. He then spoke some tender words, and re-
ceived such answers from both that he again shed tears.
Having prayed God to bless them, and expressed a deep
298 BOY-PRINCES,

and fatherly affection, he turned and went to the
window. The spectacle was indeed sorrowful. The
Princess cried so bitterly as to wring the hardest
hearts; and as the door was opened the King turned
round hastily, kissed his children once more, blessed
them, and parted from them for ever.

Further particulars of this memorable interview
were furnished by the Princess in a document from
her own hand, which is too interesting to be omitted.

“What the King said to me, Jan. 29th, 1648,
being the last time I had the happiness to see him. He
told me he was glad I was.come; and although he had
not time to say much, yet somewhat he had to say to
me, which he could not to another, or leave in writing,
because he feared their cruelty was such that they
would not have permitted him to write to me. He
wished me not to grieve and torment myself for him,
‘or that it would be a glorious death that he should
die, it being for the laws and liberties of this land, and
for maintaining the true Protestant religion. He bid
me read Bishop Andrewes’s Sermons, Hooker’s Ecclesi-
astical Polity, and Bishop Laud’s Book against Fisher,
which would ground me against Popery. He told me
he had forgiven all his enemies, and hoped God would
forgive them also, and commanded us and all the rest
of my brothers and sisters to forgive them. He bid
me tell my mother that his thoughts never strayed from
her, and that his love should be the same to the last.
Withal he commanded me and my brother to be
HENRY OF OATLANDS, 299

obedient to her, and bid me send his blessing to the
rest of my brothers and sisters, with commendation to
all his friends. So, after he had given me his blessing,
I took my leave.

“Further, he commanded us all to forgive those
people, but never to trust them, for they had been most
false to him and to those that gave them power, and he
feared also to their own souls; and desired me not to
grieve for him, for he should die a martyr, and that he
doubted not but the Lord would settle his throne upon
his son, and that we should be all happier than we
could have expected to have been if he had lived;
with many other things, which at present I cannot

rer ° .
bemDer “ (Signed) Enizaberu.”

The street before Whitehall was the place fixed
upon for the King’s execution; and when the
appointed morning came, Charles rose and dressed
himself with unusual éare. “Death,” said he, “is not
terrible to me, for I am prepared.” After having
prayed an hour with Bishop Juxon, the King was
conducted from St. James’s Palace towards Whitehall ;
and while passing through the Park, where several
companies of infantry were drawn up with drums
beating and colours flying, his eye was arrested by an
object which must have forcibly recalled to his memory
the scenes of other days. It was a tree which had been
planted near Spring Gardens by his brother, the good
Prince Henry, and planted at a time when nothing
500 BOY-PRINCES.

was less probable than that the Prince, who scemeu
destined to figure as the greatest king of Europe,
should die ere reaching legal years, and that the sickly
younger brother would face the wrath of a nation
exasperated by nearly two centuries of despotism.

When Charles reached Whitehall, he found the
scaffold so surrounded with soldiers that he could not
expect to be heard by the people. Addressing himself,
therefore, to the few persons who were near, he protested
his innocence in regard to the civil wars, and observed
that he had not taken arms till the Parliament mustered
forces. He declared that he had no other object in his
operations than te preserve that royal authority which
his predecessors had transmitted to him. But he did
not throw the blame upon Parliament, for he was
inclined to think that evil instruments had interposed,
and raised jealousies with regard to his intentions.
Though innocent towards his people, he acknowledged
the equity of his execution in the eyes of his Maker,
and observed, that an unjust sentence he had suffered
to take effect upon Strafford was punished by an unjust
sentence upon himself. He forgave all his enemies,
even the chief instruments of his death, but exhorted
them and the whole nation to return to the ways of
peace, by yielding obedience to his son and heir, their
awful sovereign.

When the King was preparing himself for the
block, Bishop Juxon said to him, “There is, Sir, but
one stage more, which, though turbulent and trouble-
HENRY OF OATLANDS. Sul

some, is yet avery short one. Consider, it will soon
carry you a great way; it will carry you from earth to
heaven ; and there you shall find, to your joy, the
prize to which you hasten—a crown of glory.” “T go,”
replied the King, “from a corruptible to an incorruptible
crown, and where there can be no disturbance.” “Yes,”
said Juxon, “you are exchanging a temporal for an
eternal crown.” After this the King took off his cloak,
gave his George to the Bishop, and having spoken the
single word “remember,” laid his head on the block,
and stretched out his hands. One of the executioners
at a blow severed the head from the body; another,
wearing a mask, held up the head, and cried aloud,
“This is the head of a traitor,” and a dismal groan
followed the deed.

After the execution of the King, Gloucester
and the youthful Princess were intrusted to the care .
of Lady Carlisle, who received a grant for their main-
tenance, and instructions to deprive them of all distinc-
tion. Henceforth Gloucester was simply styled “Master
Henry.” We next find them under the auspices of
the Countess of Leicester at Penshurst, in Kent, and
entertained at that baronial hall with great respect.
But circumstances soon led to harsh treatment; and
it was rumoured that Cromwell proposed apprenticing
the little Duke to a cobbler, and the Frincess to a
button-maker. No such scheme, however, was carried
into effect, and Gloucester was sent to the Castle of
. Carisbrooke as a state prisoner.
302 BOY-PRINCES.

The Princess, who was then the sole companion
of her brother’s captivity, did not long survive the
event that had made her fatherless. The tragic fate
of the King filled her heart with melancholy, and she
sickened with grief, which there was no allaying. She
refused medical relief; and at length, in the autumn of
1650, expired, her cheeks during her last moments
resting on a Bible which Charles had given her before
he went to execution.

When the Princess was dead, and the Queen with
her two eldest sons were safe in Paris, the custody
of the young Duke of Gloucester became a matter
of comparative indifference to the rulers of England.
The only crime of which they could with reason accuse
the boy, was being the son of a king. Cromwell,
grudging the expense of his living, and unwilling,
it is said, either to maintain him like or unlike the
son of his father, allowed the lad to sail for Holland,
promising at the same time a pension, on condition
that he did not go near his relatives. In February,
1652, when in his thirteenth year, Gloucester was
set at liberty, and conducted by two of his servants
to the Continent.

When Gloucester recovered his freedom, Henrietta
Maria was in Paris. About the autumn of 1644, the
Queen, having been escorted by her husband to Abing-
don, had embarked for her native land, reached France,
of which her nephew was then King, and taken up het
residence in the Louvre. Once settled-in Paris, the
HENRY OF OATLANDS. 303

Queen urgently recommended her eldest son to come to
the French capital, being ambitious of marrying him to
Mademoiselle de Montpensier, the richest heiress in
Christendom, The Prince of Wales, however, was no
accomplished suitor, and the wealthy beauty thought
an exiled Prince of seventeen less attractive than a
royal widower of fifty, in undisputed possession of his
dominions.

Soon after his rejection the Prince of Wales
repaired to Holland; and on receiving the news of his
father’s execution, he planned, in concert with the
gallant Montrose, a descent on Scotland. The result is
well known. The great Marquis, defeated on the river
Kyle, was hanged on a gallows at Edinburgh; the
Scots who supported the second Charles were defeated
by Cromwell at Dunbar; and the King, after sustaining
a complete defeat at Worcester, made a hair-breadth
escape to the Continent.

When Gloucester reached Paris, Charles, who was
on the point of setting out for Cologne, received him
with every demonstration of affection, welcomed him as
one risen from the dead, and had him elected into the
Order of the Garter. The Queen, not less delighted
to embrace a son whom she had not expected to see
more, requested that Gloucester might be left at Paris
under her care. Charles, knowing his mother’s attach-
ment to the doctrines of the Romish Church, at first
hesitated, from religious scruples; but he yielded on
the Queen’s promising to bring Gloucester up in the.
3804 BOY-PRINCES,

Protestant faith, The Duke accordingly remained,
and became the hero of extraordinary scenes.

After Charles had taken his departure from Paris,
Gloucester was in the habit of going every day from
the Riding Academy to the Chapel of an English
gentleman, who held the post of ambassador for the
exiled King. The Queen, notwithstanding her promise,
felt anxious above all things to separate the boy from
his Protestant communion, and resolved to put an end
to his attendance at the English chapel. With this
view, about four months after Charles had left, she
pretended that Gloucester was growing much too inti-
mate with some young French gallants, whom he met
at the Riding Academy ; and under pretence of keeping
her son out of temptation’s way, Henrietta Maria pro-
posed to have’ him educated at the Jesuits’ College.
Obstacles, however, arose; and finding that the Prince
was determined on resistance, she sent him to Pon-
toise, under the charge of her Jesuit confessor.

Once at Pontoise, the confessor had no hesitation
in revealing that the boy was to be educated with
a view to his one day figuring as a cardinal; and
Gloucester, on hearing this, so earnestly pleaded his
Anglican creed, and so vehemently appealed to his
mother’s promise, that it was deemed expedient to send
him back to the French capital. f

On arriving in Paris, Gloucester had another
interview with Henvietta Maria, and the scene was
somewhat stormy. The Queen insisted on showing -
HENRY OF OATLANDS. 305

him what she called “the right road to heaven,” and
the Prince feelingly reminded her of the last interview
he had with his father. At length the Queen lost
temper, and tried threats. “You must prepare to go
to the Jesuits,” she said, “ or I will renounce you.”
When such language was held by a widowed
mother to her fatherless son, the boy might have been
bullied into submission. Fortunately for his popularity
in England, Gloucester had the sagacity to appeal to
his brother, who was then entertained by the Frinces of
Germany at Cologne. Charles immediately wrote a
letter, sternly forbidding that his brother and subject
should be brought up as a Jesuit; and he soon after
sent the Marquis of Ormond, one of the greatest and
best of Cavaliers, to wait upon the persecuted boy, and
if necessary, to remove him to Cologne.
Notwithstanding the presence of Ormond in Paris,
Gloucester was in some danger. The Queen was re-
solved not to be baffled without a struggle; and a great
effort was made to convince the refractory boy of the
impolicy of the course he was pursuing, and the im-
probability of the Stuarts being restored, unless they
became Catholics. Both Anne of Austria and Cardinal
Mazarin tried their powers of persuasion. Finding that
not even the prospect of being treated as “a child of
France” could bend Gloucester’s resolution, and that
he was unmoved by the persuasions of queens and cardi-
nals, Henrietta Maria took him aside, and tried the
effect of maternal blandishments. Gloucester yielded
xX
306 BOY-PRINCES,

so far a8 to grant another hearing to the Queen's con-
* fessor ; and having done so, he declared calmly that he
would continue a Protestant. “ Then,” said the con-
fessor, with abruptness, “it is her Majesty’s pleasure
that you see her face no more.” The Duke, deeply
agitated, begged that he might have a final interview
with his mother, in order that he might receive her
blessing and bid her farewell. The confessor stated
that he was empowered to refuse any such request, and
left the poor boy in a state of bewilderment.

The announcement made Gloucester’s. heart sad,
but his resolution to hold fast the Protestant faith was
unsubdued. He went that evening to hear prayers at
the English chapel, with his brother the Duke of York,
who still held the Reformed doctrines; and when he
returned to the Palais Royal, where Henrietta Maria
resided with her daughter, afterwards Duchess of
Orleans, he found his chamber in disorder, and his horses
turned out of the stable. His predicament was far
from pleasant. The Prince was so poor, that he did not
know where to turn for a meal, and few of the English
exiles were in a position to assist him. However, Lord
Hatton received the boy into his house, and Ormond.
made arrangements for removal to Cologne.

Money was necessary for the journey; and Ormond,
to defray the expenses was compelled to make the last
sacrifice to which a Cavalier could bring himself with-
out dishonour. He pawned his Garter and Parliament
jewel; and about the beginning of 1655 the Marquis
HENRY OF OATLANDS. 307

and the Prince set out from Paris. After staying some
time at the Hague, Gloucester, who meanwhile had
been attacked by a dangerous fever, was accompanied
by the Princess of Orange to Cologne. When the
Duke was about sixteen, he left his retirement to make
a campaign with the Spanish army, and fought with
a courage worthy of his rank. In 1659 the exiled
Eine conferred on his brother, by patent, the dignities
of Duke of Gloucester and Earl of Cambridge. At
the Hague, his investiture as a Knight of the Garter
had previously been performed in the presence of his
sister and aunt—the Princess of Orange and the un-
fortunate Queen of Bohemia.

Meanwhile, events of great importance were occur-
ring in England. Oliver Cromwell, while in full pos-
session of power, expired on the 3rd of September,
1658, and was succeeded, as Protector of England, by
his eldest son, Richard. The position of the new ruler
was difficult in the extreme. While the Republican
party detested Richard, as the representative of a
despotic government, the army—the soldiers of Naseby
and Worcester—who had regarded Oliver with a vene-~
vation approaching to idolatry, felt no respect for one
who had never seen war, and who, in their eyes, ap-
peared a young coxcomb. The result was, that after a
brief attempt at governing, Richard beat a retreat from
his hazardous elevation, and retired into obscurity.

On Richard’s resignation, the officers of the army,
calling themselves a provisional government, assumed
308 BCY-PRINCES.

the direction of affairs. Much confusion was the
consequence; and the nation grew so alarmed, that
Cavaliers and Roundheads, forgetting for a season their
mutual antipathy, formed an alliance, and resolved
upon recalling the banished Stuarts.

The enormous power of the army, however, ren-
dered matters critical, and the anxiety felt throughout
the country was intense. At length, General Monk, a
soldier of fortune, to whom Cromwell had. entrusted
the command of the forces north of the Tweed, marched
into England and declared for a free Parliament.
When matters reached this stage, the result was hardly
doubtful, for at home and abroad there was but one
idea. The revolutionary party in England was ex-
hausted ; the whole country was in a state of anarchy
and incipient lawlessness, from which the people were
ready to hail the advent of the exiled princes as natural
deliverers. Holland and Spain were devotedly attached
to the Stuarts, and France was sure to side with that
party which looked the most promising. ;

When the new Parliament met in April, 1660,
letters from Charles, among which was one to the
Commons, known as the “Declaration of Breda,”
offering pardon for the past, and freedom of conscience
for the future, were read; and both Houses voted that
by the fundamental laws of the realm the Government
is, and ought to be, King, Lords and Commons. In
May Charles was proclaimed, and Commissioners set
out to wait upon him in Holland.
HENRY OF OATLANDS, 3809

The King removed from Breda to the Hague; and
thither also repaired the Dukes of York and Gloucester.
On the 23rd of May, attended by his brothers, by the
Queen of Bohemia, by the Princess of Orange, and her
little son, afterwards William the Third, the King
embarked in the “ Royal Charles.” After a sumptuous
repast the royal ladies took their leave, and York
having gone on board the “London,” and Gloucester
on board the “ Swiftsure,” the fleet sailed for England.
On the 25th of May, Charles, landing at Dover, was
received by Monk and a number of cavaliers, who all
expected to be handsomely rewarded for their sufferings
in the royal cause; and having walked from the beach
to the town, with a canopy borne over his head, the
King, accompanied by his brothers, entered. a state-coach
and proceeded to Canterbury. At that city Charles —
invested Monk with the Order of the Garter; and
Gloucester showed his respect for the General by
assisting at the ceremony. On the 29th of May, which
was his birthday, the King entered London, and met
with an enthusiastic reception. The Members of both
Houses of Parliament, the bishops, and the municipal
functionaries, accompanied him into the metropolis.
The streets were railed in; the balconies were hung
with tapestry ; and the populace strewed flowers in his
path, and manifested the utmost joy at his restoration.
Everybody appeared mad with loyalty.

Of the three sons of the first Charles who returned
to England after an irksome expatriation, Gloucester
310 BOY-PRINCES,

was the most virtuous and the most popular. “He
bad,” says Fuller, “a great appetite for learning and a
quick digestion, able to take as much as his tutors could
teach him. He fluently could speak many, and under-
stood more, tongues. He was able to express himself in
matters of importance presently, properly, solidly, and
to the admiration of such as trebled his age. Judicious
his curiosity to inquire into navigation, and other
mathematical mysteries. His courtesy set a lustre on
all, and commanded men’s affections to him.”

On the day following the King’s arrival in London,
Gloucester took his seat in the House of Lords, and
he was nominated a member of the King’s first Privy
Council. But he did not survive long to enjoy the
good fortune that had restored him to the country of
his birth.

Gloucester might not unreasonably have exclaimed
with the Spanish King, “Would that I had been born
a peasant!” He knew little of royal state but its
perils and misfortunes. He was ushered into existence
just as the Great Rebellion was beginning, and he was
laid in his grave a few months after the Restoration
had been accomplished. Fuller, in his characteristic
way, remarks, that Henry of Oatlands “may be said
to have been all in the night of affliction: rising
by his birth a little before the setting of his father’s,
and setting, by his death, a little after the rising of his
prother’s peaceable reign.”

In September, 1660, the royal Duke was seized
HENRY OF GATLANDS. 311

with small-pox, and on the 13th of that month he
expired at Whitehall. His body, after being embalmed,
was removed to Somerset House, placed in a barge,
and conveyed up the Thames to Westminster. There
he was interred with much solemnity in the sepulchre
of Mary, Queen of Scots. Ere the year closed the
vault was again opened, and the Princess of Orange,
who had come on a visit to her royal relatives, was
laid beside the brother whom she had loved so well.
“Tt seems,” remarks Fuller, “that Providence, to
prevent excess, thought fit to temper the general mirth
of England with some mourning.”
ala

WILLIAM, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER,

SON OF QUEEN ANNE.

Amone the historical portraits at Hampton Court,
there is one by Sir Godfrey Kneller of the son of
Queen Anne. The courtly artist has painted the
Prince as a delicate but good-looking little boy, as
he was perhaps expected to do. For the painter,
however, Gloucester was a bad subject, with a sickly
countenance, and a head as large as any grown-up
person, The years of this boy were few, and his child-
hood gave little promise. Still, as heir-presumptive to
the English crown, and as a namesake and favourite
nephew of William of Orange, a short sketch of his
life will not be out of place in this volume.

About the time when the reign of the second
Charles was drawing to a close, his niece, the Princess
Anne, then in her nineteenth year, was given in mar-
riage to George, second son of the King of Denmark.
The royal lady had no great reason to be proud of the
husband whom fortune had sent her. - Indeed, far from
being a brilliant specimen of royalty, Prince George.
was remarkable for nothing but his intense stupidity.
WILLIAM, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER. 313

This quality reached in him to such perfection as to
defy the ingenuity of the most experienced of men.
“T have tried him sober, and I have tried him drunk,
said Charles the Second; “but drunk or sober, there is
nothing in him.” When time had passed on, and the
second James had played and lost the game of tyranny,
and William of Orange landed at Torbay, Prince
George attended his father-in-law to Andover. He
had already engaged to desert the deluded king, and
his stupidity saved him from the hazard of being dis-
covered. As defection after defection was announced,
he exclaimed, “ stl possible?” At length the Danish
Prince fled, and the news was brought to James.
“What!” asked the King, “is Hst-il possible gone too ?
Well, after all, a good trooper would have been a
greater loss!” Soon after, the knowledge that Anne
had made her escape reached the fallen man, and affected
sim deeply. “God help me!” exclaimed James; “my
awn children have forsaken me.” .

23

Unfortunate as a wife, Anne was still more 80 as a
nother. Of the thirteen children she bore to Prince
George, all died in childhood. The little Duke of
Gloucester alone left the slightest memorial of his
»xistence,

Ji was at the Palace of Hampton Court, that, on the
24th of July, 1689, the year after the Revolution, which
dlaced William and Mary on the throne, the Princess of
Denmark bevame the mother of this boy. His birth did
something to dissipate the dread of a Popish successor
314 BOY-PRINCES,.

to the crown; and his appearance was therefore hailed
with satisfaction by a large party in the country.
Three days after, his baptism took place at Hampton
Court, with much pomp and great rejoicing. The
ceremony was performed by the Bishop of London.
William of Orange was one of the godfathers; the
Earl of Dorset, as proxy for the King of Denmark, was
the other; and the Marchioness of Halifax had the
distinction of being godmother. The King bestowed
his own name on the little godson, who was _heir-
presumptive to the throne, and took occasion to inform
the assembled guests that the infant Prince was to bear
the title of Duke of Gloucester

The little Prince soon showed signs of delicate
health, and Anne, in the hope of improving it, went to
reside at Craven Hill, the seat of the old lord of that
name. After this she took Campden House, in the
neighbourhood of the metropolis, and brought thither
the sickly boy, who, as the sole survivor of a numerous
family, was the object of her tender solicitude.

Notwithstanding his feeble constitution, the Duke
of Gloucester early showed high spirit. One day, when
six years old, he was informed that King William was
coming to pay a visit to his mother. The little Prince
immediately shouldered his miniature musket, and
sallied forth to meet the royal visitor. “I am learning
my drill,” said the boy, presenting arms, “that I may
help you to beat the French.” The grave Dutchman
smiled, and promised his little nephew the Garter.
WILLIAM, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER. 3b

After the death of Queen Mary, William of Orange
grew wonderfully fond of Gloucester, and treated. him
with much distinction. About the beginning of 1696
the prince was elected a Knight Companion of the
Garter, and on the 24th of July, being the anniversary
of his birth, he was installed with great magnificence,

When nine years of age, William of Gloucester was
taken out of the hands of his governess. At the same
time the Great Duke of Marlborough was nominated
his governor, the Bishop of Salisbury was appointed
his tutor, and he began to figure in public.. About this
period, also, Gloucester began to take pleasure in hunt-
ing and in martial exercises, and learned the terms
of fortification.

That he might early be imbued with military ideas,
and brought prominently forward on state occasions,
the Prince had a regiment of boys, of which he was
colonel, and rode at the head of them on his pony,
carrying a sword, and wearing a uniform of red and
blue. The juvenile soldiers had pipes, trumpets, and
drums; they stood as sentinels at the Prince’s door, and
they had reviews in Kensington Gardens. Sometimes
the hero of the Boyne condescended to honour these
military displays with his presence. Every article
likely to amuse the little Duke appears to have been
procured for him. Two guns, manutactured for his
diversion (one of them partially destroyed by fire), are
still among the curiosities preserved in the Tower of
London.
316 BOY-PRINCESe

But while no human power could have kept that
sickly child alive, the means adopted to save him were
such as could hardly fail to produce fatal consequences.
He was severely treated to force him into health, com-
pelled to take medicine, and flogged because he did not
swallow it readily.

When Gloucester reached the age of eleven, his

birthday was kept at the castle of Windsor with solemn
' magnificence. It was summer, and the poor boy over-
heated himself. Towards evening he complained of
being fatigued, and it soon appeared that he was under
the influence of afever. His constitution was too weak
to withstand the attack, and on the 30th of July, 1700,
he ceased to breathe. His body was brought from
Windsor, and conveyed with much pomp to West-
minster Abbey. At his funeral, the Duke of Norfolk,
supported by Ormond and Northumberland, appeared
as chief mourner. The Dean and choir of Westminster,
with wax lights in their hands, received the procession
at the Abbey. The Dean performed the funeral
service; Garter King-at-arms proclaimed the titles of
the departed Prince; and after the staff-officers had
broken their white wands, the remains of the royal boy
were committed to the tomb,
SLT

LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH.

On the night of the 27th of March, 1785, the capital of
France presented a scene of extraordinary excitement.
The city was illuminated; the bells rung merrily; the
guns of the Bastille and the guns of the Invalides were
fired ; and, as peal after peal broke from these fortresses,
the Parisians, by loud acclamations, manifested ‘their
joy at an important event that had just occurred. The
fact was, that Marie Antoinetie, the fair Queen of Louis
the Sixteenth, had just presented her husband with a
son, at the Palace of Versailles; the court had gone
to the chapel, where a Te Dewm was sung; and the
infant Prince, having been baptized by Cardinal Rohan
as Charles Louis, was created Duke of Normandy, and
invested with the insignia of the Order of the Holy
Ghost.

Ere long, a melancholy circumstance opened up to
the royal boy prospects peculiarly brilliant. His elder
brother, the Dauphin, a youth of rare promise, was, in
1789, carried to an untimely grave. The litile Duke
of Normandy thereupon became heir-apparent to the
trown of France, and a most important personage in
public estimation.
318 BOY-PRINCES,

Prince Charles Louis, at the period when he became
Dauphin, was in his fourth year, and possessed of almost
angelic beauty. He had delicate features, a sweet ex-
pression, large blue eyes with long chestnut lashes, an
open forehead, with eyebrows nobly arched, well-formed
limbs, and a figure inclining to be tall. Moreover, he
had the reputation of being a vivacious and intelligent
child, and by his royal parents was thought quite a
prodigy.

The Queen, naturally enough, devoted much time
to the training and education of a boy so promising.
She did everything in her power to cultivate his taste,
and had the gratification of finding that he was not
ungrateful. It was her habit, after superintending his
lessons, to encourage his love of music by composing
simple airs, singing them for his amusement, and ac-
companying herself on the harp. One evening, while
she was thus occupied at St. Cloud, the Dauphin,
deeply impressed, sat in his little arm-chair, silent and
motionless, near the instrument. “There is Charles
asleep!” laughingly remarked Madame Elizabeth, the
young and ill-fated sister of King Louis. “Ah! my
dear aunt,” exclaimed the boy, raising his head, “how
do you imagine any one could sleep while mamma was
singing ?”

In the park at Versailles, for the Dauphin’s
amusement, there was a little garden, which he took
great delight in digging and raking. very morning,
turing the summer season, he gathered for his mother
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH, 319

the sweetest roses and most brilliant carnations this
plot of ground produced; and the Queen, on awaking,
always found before her a charming bouquet. The
Prince, concealed behind a curtain, saw her smile with
tenderness at his present, and then came forth to
receive the maternal kiss, which was his regular reward.
One day, when the heat of the sun was excessive, the
Dauphin was digging with so much determination
about a jessamine, that the perspiration rolled from his
brow. “Tet me call the gardener,’ observed his
governor; “this is too hard work for your royal
highness.” “No, let me do it,” said the Dauphin,
eagerly. “Mamma likes flowers so much better when
she knows that I have attended to them.” On one of
the Queen’s birthdays, the King requested the Dauphin
to present her with a bouquet and a compliment of his
own making. “ Ah,” said the boy, “TI have a beautiful
evergreen in my garden; I will present it to her, and
say, ‘My dear mamma, may you resemble this.’ ”

The anecdotes which were related about the Duke
of Burgundy, who had died in early boyhood from the
effects of a fall, inspired the Dauphin with a high ad-
miration of that Prince’s character, and with a strong
desire to be able to read his life. He eagerly inquired
after the Duke’s portrait, and after kissing several times
the miniature brought to him, gazed on it with astonish-
ment, “ How,” he asked with seriousness, “ did my little
uncle manage to be so clever and so good?”

Going one day, in the costume of a knight of tha
320 BOY-PRINCES,

olden time, to pay his respects to the Queen, the
Dauphin was asked under what name he would like to
be announced ;—“ Under that of the Chevalier Bayard,’
he replied. “And why do you prefer Bayard?” was
the inquiry.. “ Because,” said the Dauphin, with
enthusiasm, “I wish to be like him—un chevalier sans
peur eb sans reproche.”

The fame of the Dauphin’s cleverness soon travelled
beyond the precincts of the court; and, in the hope of
seeing him, many people went from Paris to walk in
che park at St. Cloud. A dame, celebrated as an in-
structress of young ladies, going among others, was
introduced to the interior of the palace. When about
to be presented to the Dauphin, she asked the same
favour for her three pupils, and it was granted. After
these little ladies had the honour, of kissing the
Dauphin’s hand, he himself advanced to their governess,
and said, with admirable discernment of what was due
to her age and superior endowments, “But you,
madam ; I beg you will kiss my cheek.”

Between the birth of Charles Louis and the time of
his becoming heir to the crown, many events, pregnant
with most important results, had occurred; and the
Dauphin, even before completing his first lustre, began
to figure in the terrible scenes of that revolution, of
which he was to be an innocent victim. On the causes
and the consequences of that great event, which removed
the ancient landmarks of continental Europe, it is un-
necessary to expatiate. Suffice it to refer to some of
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH. 32}

those circumstances that exercised a direct influence on
our hero’s career.

With the exception of the thirteen years during
which Henry of Navarre occupied the French throne,
it would be difficult to name any period between the
death of Louis the Twelfth, known as “the Father of
his People,” and the accession of Louis the Sixteenth,
who had every wish to be so, when the nation was not
scandalously oppressed. The King, destined to atone
for the sins and errors of his predecessors, was deficient
in decision of purpose, knowledge of mankind, and
experience in affairs of state. The Queen, a princess of
the House of Hapsburg, though fascinating in appear-
ance and energetic in character, was not gifted with
any excess of prudence; and affairs were gradually
assuming a threatening aspect, when, towards the close
of that year in which the Dauphin drew his first breath,
a matter came to light which had much influence in
urging on the French monarchy to its woful catas-
trophe.

The Cardinal Rohan, Grand Almoner of France,
was devoured with the desire of taking in the political
affairs of his country such a part as that which had
been played on the same stage by Richelieu and
Mazarin. Unfortunately for such aspirations the
Cardinal had in other days, when ambassador at
Vienna, given offence to the fair daughter of Maria
Theresa ; and the displeasure of the Austrian Princess,
when Queen of France, being utterly destructive to his

£
"322 BOY-PRINOES.

projects, he was ready, with a view of regaining her
favour, to attempt anything within the limits of possi- -
bility.

While such was Cardinal Rohan’s predicament, acci-
dent threw in his way the wife of a gentleman of the
King’s household, who called herself the Countess de
Lamothe-Valois. This woman inherited by an illegiti-
mate descent the blood of the Valois kings ; and she
had the beauty, the ambition, and the artifice of that
royal race. Having pushed her way by intrigue from
the cottage hearth at which she had been cradled to
the steps of that throne on which her ancestors had sat,
she discerned at a glance the Cardinal’s weak point,
and resolved to turn it to account in advancing her own
fortunes. At once pretending to Rohan that she had
great interest with the Queen, she ere long convinced
him that he was in a fair way of basking in the smiles
of royalty.

Some years before the time when Cardinal Rohan
became acquainted with the Countess Lamothe, Boehmer,
the court jeweller, had, from diamonds of enormous
value, purchased in various parts of Europe, constructed
a magnificent necklace, which he intended for the
Queen. Being poor, Marie Antoinette repeatedly
declined to buy this superb piece of jewellery, and
Boehmer, equally unsuccessful with other royal ladies,
was in despair. One day, however, the Cardinal, entered
the jeweller’s shop, and exhibited a note just handed
him by the Countess Lamothe, authorising the purchase
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH. 323

of the necklace, enclosing the first instalment of the
amount at which the ornament was valued, and bearing
the magic signature, “Marie Antoinette de France.”
Beehmer, delighted to find a purchaser, settled the
terms of payment, and, placing the diamond necklace
in a casket, handed it to the Cardinal.

So far all went smoothly. But when some time had
passed over, and another instalment became due, and
the Queen remained silent about the payment, Boehmer,
worthy man, grew somewhat uneasy, and resolved to
relieve his anxiety by mentioning the matter to a lady
of the court. This lady hastened to Trianon, found
the Queen trying on some theatrical costume, and
repeated Beehmer’s story. Marie Antoinette, after
listening, declared that she knew nothing of the trans-
action, that it was a base conspiracy against her honour,
and that the parties concerned must be brought to
trial.

Accordingly, two days later—it was August, 1785—
Cardinal Rohan, while leaving the chapel of Versailles,
was summoned to the royal cabinet, and ordered to
clear up the mystery. Taken by surprise, the Cardinal
stated that on getting possession of the necklace he
learned that the Queen would receive it at Versailles;
that, after some preliminaries, he had attended the
Countess Lamothe thither at midnight; that a valet
in the court livery was announced, and that to this
official his fair friend delivered the precious casket.
The Cardinal, moreover, expressed his belief that, on a
B24 BOY-PRINCES.

subsequent occasion, the Queen had granted him a
nocturnal interview in a dark grove at Versailles, and
stated that she had on that occasion presented him with
her portrait and a rose, at once as tokens of her grati-
tude for his services, and pledges of the honours which
her favour was to secure him.

On leaving the royal cabinet, after furnishing this
account of the transaction, Cardinal Rohan was arrested.
Experienced in intrigues, however, he retained his pre-
sence of mind, and, while waiting for the guards to
conduct him to prison, he found time to write a few
lines, and hand the slip of paper to his footman. This
man, a Hungarian by birth, rode to his master’s resi-
dence in Paris at so rapid a pace that his horse fell
down dead; and he reached the hotel in time to
warn a secretary to burn the. Cardinal’s privaic
papers before search could be made. When the trial
of the persons implicated in this affair of the diamond
necklace came on, the interest excited was prodigious.
The Queen’s reputation was roughly handled, and all
her imprudences were recalled to memory. Men told
each other how, in the guise of a shepherdess, she had
made a nocturnal expedition to Paris—how she had
gone in stage-coaches to the theatre when her husband
was sleeping soundly in bed—and how scenes had been
enacted at Trianon which set decency at defiance. At
the end of six months the trial was brought to a close,
and the mystery solved. The letters, it appeared, were
forgeries; the man to whom the casket was delivered
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH. 325

was no court valet, but a fellow-lodger of the Countess
Lamothe; and the person with whom the Cardinal held
an interview in the dark grove at Versailles turned out
a woman picked from the streets of Paris, because her
appearance strikingly resembled that of the Queen.
Notwithstanding these explanations the populace held
that Marie Antoinette was no stranger to the transac-
tion, and the exposure was most damaging to the
monarchy. “Attend to that wretched business of the
necklace,” Talleyrand, then a young ecclesiastic, wrote
to a friend; “I should not feel surprised if it over-
turned the throne.”

The aspect of afthirs ere long became menacing.
The harvest of 1788 was deficient ; the people felé the
want of bread; the cry was, “Down with the aristo-
erats!” and in May, 1789, the States-General, after an
interval of seventy-five years, assembled at Versailles,
and earnestly commenced the work of revolution.
Events rolled on: a month after the death of the first
Dauphin the Bastille was taken by an armed mob; and
the princes of the blood, with the chief nobles, having
sought safety in exile, the democracy of the capital had
the government in their hands.

The King was still at Versailles; but the populace
of Paris had for some time been anxious that he should
reside among them. With the States-General at their
feet they had an opportunity of realising their wish,
and a féte given to some dragoons and the regiments of
Flanders, in the theatre at Versailles, precipitated the
326 BOY-PRINCES.

event. On that occasion, when the soldiers were —
quaffing champagne, and the band playing loyal airs,
the King and the Queen, leading the Dauphin, entered
the theatre of the palace. Their appearance was hailed
with enthusiasm. The soldiers, clapping their hands,
shouted, “God save the King, the Queen, and the
Dauphin!” sneered scornfully at liberty, and cried,
“Down with the tricoloured cockade!” At the same
time white Bourbon cockades were distributed, and
some revolutionary emblems were trodden under foot.

Never was manifestation of loyalty more ill-timed.
The report of this extravagant scene at Versailles
caused a fearful ferment in Paris, and one Sunday the
whole city was in commotion. The Parisians were
unanimous in their hostility to the court; and even the
“Dames de la Halle,” or market-women, who had
hitherto been loyal to the throne, and proud of the
privilege of sending deputations to the King on the
birth of a Dauphin, deserted the royal cause, and
abused the Queen in language which Billingsgate could
not rival.

A disturbance was inevitable, and at length a
signal was given for an attack on Versailles. A girl
traversed the streets of Paris beating a drum, and
shouting, “Bread! bread!” A crowd of women
gathered round her, and the cry was, “To Versailles!”
A motley assemblage soon filled the streets, but was
kept in check for seven hours by M. Lafayette, who had
formerly fought in-the American War of Independence
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH. 327

by the side of George Washington, and who now
figured as commander of the burgess-militia, enrolled
under the name of the National Guard. On the Sth of
October the mob reached Versailles. Lafayette, how-
ever, restored tranquillity, and the mischief was stayed
for the day; but at dead of night some stragolers
found the gratings of the palace open, and, after
arousing their companions, entered. Resistance was
vain, The guards on duty, however, struggled heroically,
and several feil at their posts, exclaiming, “Save the
Queen!” But the Parisians made their. way to her
apartment, and, finding that she had escaped, wreaked
their fury on her bed.

The King, having found Marie Antoinette and her
children unharmed, accompanied Lafayette to a baleony,
and consented to go to. Paris. The mob, however, de-
manded to see the Queen; and she appeared with the
Dauphin and his sister, Madame Royal, a fair-haired
girl of twelve. But the mob shouted, “No children!”
and she, pushing them back, stood with her eyes raised
to heayen, expecting immediate death. Her hour,
however, was not yet come; and the multitude, over-
awed by her splendid courage and majestic bearing,
involuntarily expressed their admiration.

After a hurried consultation with Lafayette the
King once more appeared. “ My friends,” said Louis,
“TI will accompany you to Paris, with my wife and
children. To the love of my subjects I will confide all
that is most precious,” This point having been seitled,
328 BOY-PRINCES.

the King and his family were placed in a earriage, at
the side of which Lafayette rode on a white charger.
The mob acted as escort.’ “We shall no longer want
bread,” bawled the fish-women, “for we have got the
baker, and the baker’s wife, and the baker’s boy.”

From the moment the King placed himself in the
carriage to leave Versailles he was simply a prisoner in
the hands of the Parisian populace, and no generosity
for the fallen representatives of royalty glowed in the
breasts of a democracy degraded by centuries of op-
pression. The progress towards Paris was disgraced
by perpetual outrages and insults to the fallen; and it
was not till after occupying six hours by the way, that
the King, with the mob as escort, reached Paris in the
evening, and found himself lodged in the Tuileries,
which had long been uninhabited, “Everything is
very ugly here, mamma,” observed the Dauphin, as they
entered the dismal apartments of the chateau, and re-
marked its faded tapestry and dilapidated furniture.
“My dear,” said the Queen, “Louis the Fourteenth
lived here, and we must not be more fastidious than he
was.”

The presence of the King restored some de-
sree of tranquillity to Paris, and the storm was stayed
for a while. During this lull, a project of forming
the boys of Paris into a company under the name
of Régiment du Dawphin was conceived and proposed
to the King. The citizens having defrayed the cost,
two hundyed boys were enroiled, and dressed in the




















































‘Will you be the colonel of our regiinent?” asked one of the juvenile
Soldiers, “‘ Yes,” replied the Dauphin.— p. 829.
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH, 329

yniform of the French Guards in miniature, including
white gaiters and three-cornered hats. Going to wait
upon the Dauphin they found him in the garden of the
Tuileries, surrounded by several young noblemen.
“ Will you be the colonel of our regiment?” asked one
of the juvenile soldiers. “Yes,” replied the Dauphin ;
“for though I like my garden grenadiers very much,
T would rather be at the head of living grenadiers.”
From that day the regiment frequently mancuvred in
his presence; there was much emulation which should
display most skill in the exercises; and these boy-
soldiers, gradually increasing in number, took part in
all ceremonies at which he appeared.

The King and his family were still supposed to be
free. In the spring of 1791, however, the illusion was
dissipated. When Holy Week approached, Touis,
alleging the necessity for change of air, prepared to

keep the festival at St. Cloud; and the populace,
suspecting that an escape was meditated, assembled and
prevented his departure. Lafayette, indeed, offered to
employ force to enable the King to proceed ; but Louis,
rather than have his subjects slaughtered, decided upon
giving up the journey. The Dauphin is said to have
been much disappointed at this expedition being pre-
vented. He was soon to experience more intolerable
woes, for the court was now face to face with a
revolution,

There was still some hope, however, of saving the
monarchy to which the Dauphin was heir, for one
330 : BOY-PRINCES.

Frenchman existed who might have controlled the
elements of disturbance, and stemmed the torrent of
democracy. This was Mirabeau, whose family, which
was of Etruscan origin, had settled on the rocky shores
of Provence as early as the twelfth century, and held
high rank amongst the noblest houses of France.
Mirabeau himself was the eldest of eleven children of a
Marquis who viewed his heir with unnatural detesta-
tion, and described him as “an ill-born child, ugly as
the son of Satan.” As a boy, however, this “ ill-
born child” had exhibited generous qualities, and one
story is worth relating. At a rustic féte given by his
father to the peasantry prizes were awarded to the
best runners. Mirabeau took part in the pedestrian
contest, and had the good luck to win a hat. Turning
to another boy, whom he observed to be bareheaded,
the young patrician presented that which he wore,
saying at the same time, “There, take you that; I
haven't got two heads.”

Mirabeau was early placed in the army, and won
distinction in Corsica. But his youth was disgraced by
scandals too degrading to be narrated; and his ad-
ventures, his ill-fated marriage,. his expatriations, his
vagrant amours, his imprisonments, his humiliations,
ruined the young noble’s prospects. He lost reputa-
tion, and with it all sense of shame, and, having the
power of the pen, he sometimes prostituted his faculties
to disreputable purposes. At times his misfortunes
caused him to revolt against the whole world; and he
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH, 331

became a strange compound of strength and weakness,
of pride and meanness. An aristocrat by birth, he
originally believed that a powerful aristocracy was the
only body strong enough to prevent a monarchy
becoming an oriential despotism. But, when his dis-
orderly life deprived him of all consideration in the
eyes of his own class, he excited in his favour the
most remarkable popular enthusiasm, humbled to the
dust the nobility of his native province, and, as the
representative of the commons, took his seat in the
States-General,

When first Mirabeau addressed the Assembly the
irregularities that had brought disrepute upon his name
caused a murmur; but he soon won celebrity, and
acquired influence. He boldly urged the doctrine of
popular supremacy, and exercised his power in the
cause of democracy; but when affairs reached a, crisis,
he paused, became desirous at once of maintaining the
throne, and retaining the useful reforms of the revolution,
and produced among the deputies a reaction in favour
of royalty. The court were glad to. avail themselves of
such an ally, and the Queen consented to grant Mira-
beau an interview in the park of St. Cloud, where the
court had obtained permission to reside. After a short
vonversation they parted, he saying with enthusiasm,
“Madame, the monarchy is saved.” After this scene
he procured the rejection of a violent decree proposed
against the emigrant princes and nobles. But this was
his latest achievement. A. victim to his excesses, he
302 BOY-PRINCES.

closed his stormy career on the 2nd of April, 1791,
and was buried at the Panthéon.

After Mirabeau’s death, the King, perplexed in the
extreme, resolved on attempting an escape, and com-
municated with the Marquis de Bouillé, who, though a
royalist, had been entrusted by the Assembly with the
command of the army on the frontier. A project was
speedily devised, by which Louis should go to Mont-
medy, a fortress under Bouillé; and it was pro-
posed that, to diminish the peril of flight, the Queen
should set out first, carrying the Dauphin with her.
But Marie Antoinette said, “No; if they wish to save
us, it must be altogether.” To those who were con-
cerned her word was law, and preparations for flight
were secretly made.

Count Fersen, a young Swedish nobleman, whom
Marie Antoinette had inspired with a chivalrous devo-
tion to her service came to Paris, and arranged the
mode of escape. Understanding that Madame Korff, a
Bussion lady with two children, was on the eve of
leaving the French capital, the Count procured a duplic-
ate of her passport, and settled the whole project of
escape. Madame Tourzel, the royal governess, under-
took to personate the Russian lady, while the Dauphin
and his sister, Madame Royal, were to travel as her
two daughters, the Queen as governess, Madame Eliza-
beth as an attendant, and the King as valet.

The night of the 20th of June, 1791, was then fixed
tor the attempt; and the royal family having supped
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH. 333

together, retired to rest at the usual hour. About
cleven o'clock, when everything was quiet in the
Tuileries, the Dauphin was roused from his repose, and
dressed. as a little girl, The poor child was so heavy
with sleep, that he could not comprehend what was
passing, and, when Madame Royal asked what he
thought they were going to do, he replied, with eyes
half-opened, “I think we are going to play a comedy,
for we are all disguised.”

The Dauphin and his sister were then led to the
apartment of the Queen, who took her children by the
hand. The door was with much difficulty opened; and
some delay occurring, one of the ladies, to keep the
little Prince quiet, sat down on the top of the stairs,
and supported his head on her knees. Marie Antoi-
nette then led her children to a coach that had been .
prepared, made them and their governess enter, and to
elude the vigilance of the guards ordered that it should
be driven round the district, and then wait for her at
the Petit Carrousel. The Dauphin, covered with ‘a
shawl, lay at the bottom, and began to comprehend
their situation so clearly, that though Madame Elizabeth
in getting in trod upon him, he had the prudence not to
utter a word. Their position was still full of peril;
but within an hour the King, and afterwards the Queen,
who had almost been discovered, appeared, and they
departed from the Tuileries, On reaching the barriers
hey changed carriages, and Count Fersen, who had
driven them, hastened hack, lest his absence should
excite suspicion.
oo4 BOY-PRINCES.

All now seemed promising, By break of day the
royal fugitives reached Bondy; and from that place
they went travelling onwards, eating their meals in the
carriages, and talking with hope long unfelt. On stop-
ping to change horses at St. Menehould, however, the
King was recognised by a postmaster named Drouet;
and this man, having communicated with the municipal
authorities, decided upon following the royal carriage,
and having its occupants arrested.

About midnight, on the 22nd of June, the King,
all unconscious of this unfortunate occurrence, was
driving through the town of Varennes, when suddenly
the ery of “Halt!” was heard, and a number of armed
men surrounding the carriage, seized the postilions.
The tocsin then sounded; all Varennes was in motion;
and the hapless fugitives were conducted to the pro-
cureur’s house, There the Dauphin and his sister were
so weary that they fell asleep. “Ah, Charles,”
whispered the Princess, when they were awakened,
“you were mistaken; this is no comedy.” “It is long,”
replied the Dauphin gravely, “since I perceived that.”

Every hope of escape was at an end; a carriage was
provided, and the King and his family were placed
therein, to be conducted back to Paris as prisoners.
The Queen, having lifted the Dauphin in her arms,
carried him to the coach; and when they all got in,
Barnave, a deputy, who had been sent from Paris to
bring back the fugitives, took the Prince on his knee.
“ Are you not sorry to return?” he asked in a tone of
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH, 335

sindness. “Oh,” replied the boy, “I’m glad to be
anywhere with papa and mamma.”

At seven o'clock on the evening of the 25th of
June the King entered Paris. On reaching the
Tuileries, an officer of the National Guard stepped
forward to take possession of the Dauphin; but the
King at once objected, and M. Hue, the King’s valet,
taking hold of the young Prince, carried him to his
apartment, While he was being put to bed, two officers
installed themselves in the chamber, and arrested the
governess. “Tell me what all this is about,” said the
Dauphin to them; “we had no sooner got to Varennes
than they sent us back again. How was that?”

The poor boy was long too excited to sleep. length he fell into a feverish slumber, but appeared
little refreshed on awaking next morning. “I have
had such a fearful dream,” said he, “in which I was
surrounded by wolves, tigers, and other wild beasts,
seeking to devour me.”

The flight to Varennes caused some intermission in
the lessons which the Dauphin received from the Abbé
Davaux; and the Abbé, when resuming his duties,
began his lesson in grammar by saying, “I recollect
that your Royal Highness’s last lesson was upon the
three degrees of comparison—the positive, the com-
parative, and the superlative; but no doubt you have
forgotten it.” “You are quite mistaken,” replied the
Prince, “and I will prove it to you. The positive is
when I say, My abbé is a good abbé ; the comparative
336 BOY-PRINCES.

when I say, My abbé is better than another abbé; the
superlative,” continued he, looking at the Queen, “is
when I say, Mamma is the best and tenderest of
mammas.”

Some clever and beautiful sayings are recorded of
the Dauphin at this period. One day, when he was in
the gardens of the Tuileries, he saw a flight of swallows,
and, following them with his eyes while walking along,
he struck his foot against the root of a tree, and fell
upon his two hands. Rising quickly, he anticipated
the remonstrance of his governor by saying, with a
laugh, “I am like the astrologer in the fable, who was
so intent on reading the stars that he did not look
before him, and fell into a well.” Another day, when
he was on the point of dashing through some rose-
trees, Hue hastened to hold him back. “Monsieur,”
he exclaimed, “one of these might wound your face, or
even destroy your eyesight.” The Dauphin turned
round and answered with decision, “Thorny paths lead
to glory.”

When Charles Louis had completed his seventh
year, the age at which it was customary to place the heir
to the crown under the charge of a governor, the King
nominated a gentleman; but affairs took such a turn
that he was never installed.

After the King’s flight to Varennes the Parisians
grew more infuriated against the Queen ; and, at length,
on the 20th of June, 1792, they, forming themselves
into mobs, marched on the Tuileries, and entered the
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH. 337

palace clamouring for the Austrian’s head. With yells,
oaths, imprecations, they made their way to the King,
forced him to put on the red cap, the symbol of liberty,
and then pushed on to the council chamber, where the
Queen and her children stood in the deep embrasure of
a window, with the massive council table interposing as
a barrier between their lives and the weapons of the
infuriated populace. No personal injury, however, was
attempted. One woman placed a red cap on the head
of the Queen, and another of the mob said, “If you
love the nation place the bonnet rouge on the head of
your son.” Marie Antoinette, taking the red cap in
her hand, placed it on the Dauphin’s head ; and the boy
smiled in anxious amaze. But an officer of the National
Guard, perceiving that tiie heavy woollen covering was
a load too heavy to be supported by so young a neck,
caused it to be removed. The crowd, having heaped
humiliations upon the royal family; dispersed, and tran-
quillity was for a brief season restored.

The storm, however, as the result proved, had by
no means blown over. The King was warned that an
attack would be made, and was strongly urged to
escape while there was yet time. “No,” said Louis,
“it is as well to die here as suffer the fate of James the
Second ;” and he calmly abided the unequal contest.
The inevitable hour arrived; and on the evening of the
9th of August, the royal family, informed of their
danger, repaired to the council chamber, where the
ministers and court had assembled to pass the night.

Z
338 BOY-PRINCES.

The Dauphin was taken to bed, “Mamma,” said he, -
“why do you weep? I would rather not leave you
this evening, every one is so sad.” “Be easy, my
child,” said the King, “I shall be near you;” and the
boy went. ,

A few hours passed away, and avout midnight the
sound of the tocsin, the firing of cannon, and the beat-
ing of drums, admonished the watchers that the dread
hour was approaching. At dawn the danger dre
nearer, and the Dauphin was aroused, dressed, and
taken, with his sister under the Queen’s protection,
Seeing that a catastrophe was impending, but not com-
prehending its cause, the bey expressed his perplexity,
“ Why,” he asked, “should they harm my father ?—he
is so good.”

The crisis was now such as would have taxed the
genius and energy of Henry of Navarre. Louis the
Sixteenth was incapable of dealing with such a state of
affairs. However, the King knew that he had still
stout hearts and strong hands devoted to his cause, and,
entreated to make an effort to avert his fate, he took
with him his wife and children, paraded the palace, and
endeavoured. to inspire his defenders with enthusiasm.
These uttered loud applause, raised the Dauphin in
their arms, and vowed to stand by the royal family to
the last drop of their blood. But the shouts of a few
loyal gentlemen were powerless to save a monarch
against the voice of the nation, and scarcely was this
exciting scene over when an enormous crowd filled the
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH. 339

square, shouting, “ Deposition or death!” A municipal
officer opened the door of the council chamber, to which
the King and Queen had returned. “ You hear what
the people ery,” said he, significantly; and the Pro-
cureur-general, who followed, added, “ Resistance is
impossible. There is no prospect of safety but in the
middle of the Assembly, and. there is not a moment to
lose.” The Queen prepared to go. “I will not
expose my children to the knife,” she said, pressing
them to her heart.

Having resolved to place themselves under the pro-
tection of the Assembly the King gave his arm to
Madame Elizabeth, the Queen led Madame Royal,
while a grenadier carried the Dauphin in his arms. As
they passed through the dense crowd “ Death to the
tyrant!” was shouted from all directions. Tears rolled
down the Dauphin’s cheeks. “Fear not, they will not
harm you,” said his bearer. ‘Not me, perhaps, but
my father,” said the boy. With this the grenadier
raised the Dauphin above the crowd, and, exerting his
strong elbows, forced a passage into the Assembly, and
deposited his burden in safety. Left to himself, the
boy was hastening to his mother. “Take him to the
King!” cried a voice; “he belongs to the nation, and
the Austrian is unworthy of our confidence.” An
officer stepped forward to obey; but the boy’s re-
sistance, and some expressions of sympathy from the
gallery, caused him to desist.

Meanwhile, outside the Assembly the work of car:
340 BOY-PRINCES.

nage and devastation was going forward. The spoils
of the Tuileries were brought into the Assembly ; men
of ferocious aspect ever and anon rushed in, offering to
take the King’s life; and, in the midst of all this, the
deposition of Louis the Sixteenth was pronounced.
** By the flaring light of the candles placed upon their
table,” says Lamartine, “the members could see the
young Dauphin, sleeping on the bosom of the Queen,
while they were passing the decrees which deprived
him of empire, liberty, and life.” As the terrible day
drew to a close, the King and his family were conducted
to apartments hastily prepared for their reception in the
upper floor of the old monastery of the Feuillants, and
served with supper.

When his elder brother was taken from the evil to
come, Charles Louis, along with the title of Dauphin,
and a prospective crown, inherited what he could better
appreciate, a very pretty little dog named Moufilet.
One story is worth relating, as showing the peculiar
affection with which Moufflet was regarded by its owner.
The Dauphin having, on some occasion, been idle and
inattentive at his lessons, the Queen thought proper to
take from him this canine favourite, and shut it up in
a dark closet. This was go sad a privation to poor
Moufflet, that after whining, growling, and scratching
at the door, he began to bark loudly. The Dauphin,
unable to bear this, ran to the Queen’s apartment.
“Mamma,” said he, “ Moufilet is very unhappy; yet it
is not he that has been naughtys so if you will let him
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH, 34)

out I will go into his place, and stay as long as you
please.” His proposal was accepted; Moufflet was set
at liberty, and the real culprit committed to the dark
closet.

Moufilet had been the Dauphin’s faithful companion
at Versailles and the Tuileries, but when the royal
family were leaving the latter palace the dog had been
left behind. While at supper, in the cloister-like room
of the monastery of the Feuillants, the Dauphin re-
membered his favourite, and asked after it with eager-
ness. No information could be obtained, and Moufilet
was sought for in vain. The Prince was assured it
would return some day, but expressed his belief that it
had been trodden under foot by the mob. Indeed,
he manifested his grief in such a way, that Madame
Elizabeth gently chid him. “ Console yourself, my —
dear child ; for there are sorrows more cruel than the
loss of a dog,” said she, and “continue to love God,
that He may preserve you from them.”

The Princess might well speak despondingly of
earthly affairs, and appeal for protection to the God of
her ancestors, for on every side was the royal family
beset with danger, and on all hands men were heard
clamouring for the King’s head. Through all that
night tumult and massacre prevailed in Paris; and on
the following day the Dauphin, hearing the drums
begin to beat, threw himself into the Queen’s arms, and
muttered in accents of despair, “Oh, mamma, is yes~
terday not finished ?”
342 BOY-PRINCES.

The Assembly now looked around for some edifice
which might at once serve for the residence and the
prison of the royal family. There was in the north-east
of Paris an antique pile, so surrounded with buildings
as to be invisible from the adjoining streets. The place
was called the Temple, and derived its name from those
military knights who had settled there about the
twelfth century. Among the shapeless mass of build-
ings arose a high, square tower, flanked with turrets ;
' and this was the place appointed by the Commune as
the prison of the royal family. Hue, the King’s valet,
was, at the request of Louis, appointed one of their
attendants; and, on the evening of the 13th of August,
the royal captives were conveyed to the Temple. The
poor Dauphin’s clothes had all been lost in the sack of
the Tuileries; and his wardrobe was in so pitiable a
condition, that Lady Sunderland, wife of the English
ambassador, sent some of the clothes belonging to her
son of the same age.

The King, the Queen, Madame Elizabeth, and
Madame Royal, made the best of their altered circum-
stances; and such was the precocious perception of the
Dauphin that he never offended their feelings by
seeming to regret or pine for the scenes of happier
days. The King’s greatest consolation was the edu-
cation of his son, to whom he regularly gave lessons in
French, Latin, history, and geography. At mid-day
they were permitted to walk in the gardens under sur-
veillance; and then the Dauphin had the privilege of
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH, 043

playing at quoits, foot-ball, and other games. They
were, indeed, harshly treated. The King was under the
necessity of surrendering his sword, and when they
descended and passed the wicket the door-keepers
insulted the Princesses by puffing tobacco in their faces,
The National Guards impeded their way, hailing every
puff with coarse laughter, and indulging in the rudest
_ jests. Even the gardeners took part in trampling on
the fallen. One man threatened to strike off the
Queen’s head with a tool he held in his hand; and
every wall was covered with insults to “the Austrian
she-wolf and her cubs.” Scarcely one spark of
generosity glowed in the heart of that degraded
democracy.

On the 26th of August it was notified that Clery,
the person who had been accustomed to wait on the
Prince, would be allowed to return to his duty, and on
that day he was introduced into the Temple. An inci-
dent less agreeable soon followed. At the massacre of
the 2nd of September Hue was arrested and removed
from the Temple. After being a fortnight in the
dungeons of the commune Hue was restored to liberty,
but without being allowed to return to the Temple.

Events of national importance now followed each
other in rapid succession. On the afternoon of the
21st of September a trumpet sounded in front of the
tower, and an officer, within hearing of the captives,
read a proclamation to the effect that the Convention
had formally abolished reyalty and proclaimed a re-
344 BOY-PRINCES,

public. About a week later commissioners came, and
after reading a decree, ordering the separation of the
King from his family, conducted him to the great tower.
At the same time a demagogic mason, who was in the
habit of sauntering about the Temple, and thought the
Dauphin treated him with too little respect, said, “Dost
thou not know that liberty has made us free, and that
we are all equals?” Equal, if you please,” answered
the Dauphin; “but it is not in this place you will
_ persuade me that liberty has made us free.”

During a severe illness, which at this time overtook
the King, the Dauphin was attacked by a hooping-
cough and an alarming fever. The Queen tended him
by day, and caught the infection, and the malady soon
extended to the Princesses. Hardly was the Dauphin
restored to health when Clery fell ill, and the boy,
scarcely leaving the attendant’s sick-bed, manifested the
kindest and tenderest feelings.

One evening, when Clery was somewhat recovered,
and had put the Dauphin to bed, he retired to make
way for the Queen and Princesses, who came to wish
the youthful captive good night. Madame Elizabeth,
prevented by the vigilance of the officers from address-
ing Clery, put into her nephew’s hand a little box of
lozenges, which she charged him to give to the faithful
valet. When Clery returned somewhat later, thinking
the Prince asleep, the boy called him in a low tone of
voice. Clery, fearing he was indisposed, asked what
had happened. “My aunt gave me this box for you,”
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH. 345

said the Dauphin, “and I would not go to sleep till I
had given it you. I am glad you are come, for my
eyes have shut several times.” Clery’s eyes filled with
tears; and the Dauphin, perceiving his emotion, em-
braced him, and in a minute or two was fast asleep.

The King was still permitted to associate and take
his meals with his family ; but he felt that he was in
the power of those who knew no mercy, and that his
days were numbered. Seeing a mason making a hole
to admit some large bolts at the door of his ante-
chamber, Louis, taking the hammer and chisel, began to
handle them with that mechanical skill for which he was
celebrated. “When you leave this place,” remarked the
mason, “You will be able to say that you worked at
your own prison.” “ Ah!” exclaimed the King with a
sigh, “but when and how shall I leave it?” The -
Dauphin, who had been amusing himself with the tools,
was so affected with the words, that he threw himsel
into the King’s arms and wept bitterly. How and
when the ill-fated Bourbon was to leave the Temple,
soon appeared.

It happened, that on the morning of the 11th of
December, after the King had, according to custom, '
breakfasted with his family, the Dauphin pressed him to
play a game at nine-pins. The boy, as it happened,
never could get beyond sixteen. “I lose every time I
have this number,” exclaimed he in a tone of annoy-
ance. The King was moved, for he knew that the
number was considered most unlucky; and, having
346 BOY-PRINCES.

finished the game, he went somewhat sadly to give his
gon the daily lessons. While the lessons were pro-
ceeding, municipal officers came to seek the Dauphin,
and take him to his mother. “What is the reason of
this removal?” demanded the King. “ We are exe-
cuting the orders of the Commune,” was the conclusive
reply ; and the father and son having embraced, the
Dauphin was taken to the Queen.

Soon after this scene intelligence reached the
prisoners in the Temple that the King had been taken
to the National Assembly, and the Queen indulged in
no delusions as to the fate that awaited him. When
informed that her husband had been brought back to
the Temple, Marie Antoinette demanded to see him;
but she was denied this satisfaction. In a few days,
however, she was informed that Louis was to be tried
at the bar of the National Convention. The news was
more than his daughter, Madame Royal, could bear,
and she was prostrated with illness.

The discussions on the King’s trial had commenced
on the 13th of November, and the principal charges .
against him arose out of papers found in an iron chest
at the Tuileries, which revealed the intrigues of the
Court against the Revolution, and the arrangements
with Mirabeau and Bouillé. Other documents, found
in the offices of the Civil List, were used to show that
Louis had encouraged the movements in his favour
throughout Europe. As King, however, the Constitution
had declared him inviolable s and moreover, he, being
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH. 347

deposed, could not, but in defiance of law, be con.
demned for acts anterior to his deposition. A majority
of the Assembly, nevertheless, insisted ; and Louis ap-
peared. before the members without challenging their
jurisdiction, Although well-nigh crushed by adversity,
he bore himself with a courage not unworthy of his
name. His answers were touching, precise, and
generally triumphant. But the judges being blind
with passion, the King was declared guilty; and an
appeal to the people having been refused, he was
condemned to die.

Before being led to execution, Louis entreated that
his family might be allowed to depart in peace from
France. This was refused; but the King was, by a
decree, permitted to see those who were so dear to him.
It was the evening of the 20th of January, 1793—the |
last which he was to spend on earth. Followed by
Madame Royal and Madame Elizabeth, and leading her
son by the hand, Marie Antoinette presented herself
in the King’s apartment. Upon their entrance the
Dauphin placed himself between his father’s knees, and
a mournful silence reigned for some minutes. After
conversing for an hour, the King made them promise
never to think of avenging his death; and, raising the
Dauphin on his knee, made him hold up his little hand
to heaven, and swear to obey the injunction. When
this interview, which was heartrending in the extreme,
came to an end, the King, promising to see his family
next morning, bade them adieu; and they, with sobs
348 BOY-PRINCES.

and groans, and piercing crics, returned to their
chambers.

Louis that night slept calmly; and when he awoke,
the Abbé Edgeworth, a priest whose ministrations he had
requested during his last hours, was present to administer
the consolations of religion. The King, having heard
mass and taken the sacrament, alluded to a final inter-
view with the Queen. Being exhorted by the Abbé not
to put her to a trial under which she must sink, he said,
“You are right, sir, it would kill her.” However, he
intrusted to Clery a seal for the Dauphin, a ring for
the Queen, a favourite dog for his daughter, and a
little packet, in which was inclosed the hair of every
member of his family. “I charge you,” said he, in
broken accents, “to convey to them my last farewell.’
Shortly after the dawn of day, the roll of drums
was heard in the Tower, and the Commandant of the
National Guard having arrived, the King went forth to
execution. The morning was gloomy, for the night
had been cold and rainy, and the city was wrapped in
fog. The Abbé Edgeworth attended Louis to the seaf-
fold. The King ascended with a firm step, and received
the priest’s benediction. He then allowed his hands to be
tied; and, turning to the multitude, said, “I die innocent.

7?

I forgive my foes; and for you, oh wretched people !



But at this point his voice was drowned by the beating
of drums, and the executioners seized him. “Son of St.
Louis, ascend to heaven!” said the Abbé; and in an in-
stant the King, in his thirty-ninth vear, ecased to live.
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH. 3849

While the King was being led to execution the
misery of the royal captives in the Temple was extreme.
The Queen’s heart was wrung with agony; and the
Dauphin, rushing to the guards, clasped their hands,
clung to their knees, and cried in piteous accents, “ Let
me pass, gentlemen; let me pass.” “Where to?” asked
they. “To speak to the people, that they may not
kill my father.” As hours passed, and the clock struck
ten, a discharge of guns, and a loud shout from without,
proclaimed that all was over. “The monsters!” ex-
claimed Madame Elizabeth, “they are satisfied now ;”
and Madame Royal uttered a piercing shriek. The
Queen, bending her head upon her bosom, looked the
picture of despair; and the Dauphin, taking his
mother’s hand, bathed it with his tears, and tried to
console her.

All that day, while salvos of artillery proclaimed to
the suburbs of Paris that royalty had pevished,. and
bands of armed men traversed the city, announcing the
tyrant’s death, the prisoners of the Temple remained in
anguish and dismay. When, next morning, Marie An-
toinette embraced the Dauphin, she said, “My son, we
must turn our thoughts to Heaven ;” and. when, for the
first time, her children were clad in mourning, the
royal widow said, “My poor children! with you it is
only for a short time, but with me it is for ever.”

Misfortune had now ennobled the royal cause, and
* many were the chivalrous spirits that burned to set the
captives free, The judicial murder of Louis caused
350 BOY-PRINCES,

kings and loyalists, lovers of justice, and lovers of
order to coalesce. The Count of Provence, who had
assumed the title of Regent, acknowledged his captive
nephew as Louis the Seventeenth of France; though—
having no palace, no throne, no crown—the heir of St.
Louis and Henry of Navarre was never recognised as
King, save in the tents of the emigrant nobility, and
beneath the thatched roofs of the peasantry of La
Vendée. A project of escape was, indeed, formed, by
which the captives were to have been conveyed to
England; but this was frustrated, long ere matured, by
Tison, a morose old man, formerly a clerk at. the
Barriers, who, having been placed in the Temple as a
spy, and far from indifferent to what was passing,
apprised the Council that a conspiracy was on foot.

Matters had reached this point when a slight inci-
dent led to the rumour that Marie Antoinette treated
her boy as a king, and paid him each morning formal .
homage. The truth was, that when Charles Louis took
his place at table, it was necessary to give the child a
chair much higher than the others, and furnished with
a cushion. Finding this one day oceupied by a muni-
cipal, and aware that the man’s temper was coarse, the
Gueen seated the little King on a chair of ordinary
height. Tison entering, and perceiving that thus
seated the boy could not reach his plate, requested the
municipal to move; but the latter gruffly refused. “T
never,” he growled, “ saw either chair or table given
to prisoners before.”
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH. 351

Tt had long been proposed to separate the young
King from his family, that he might lose all thoughts of
his rank ; and in the spring of 1793, when the story of
the high chair was in every mouth, and when there
were so many plots and rumours of plots, the Committee
of Public Safety decreed that “the son of Capet” be
taken from his mother, and committed to the charge of
a tutor. Accordingly, late one night—it was the 3rd
of July—when the boy was calmly sleeping in his bed,
and Madame Royal was reading to the Queen, and
Madame Elizabeth was mending clothes, the tread of
feet sounded on the staircase, and six municipals, turning
the bolts of the door, entered the room. “We are
come,” said they, “to acquaint you that the son of |
Capet is to be separated from his mother and family.”
The Queen grew pale, rose to her feet, and slightly -
tottered from the suddenness of the shock. “ Take my .
child from me?” she exclaimed. “No, no! it is
impossible. I can never resign myself to such a sepa-
ration. In Heaven’s name lay not this terrible trial
upon me.” “What need of so much disturbance ?”
asked the municipals. “We are not going to kill the
child. Give him up with a good grace, or we must
use means to take him.”

As the municipals approached the bed to execute
this threat the young King awoke, and, apprehensive of
their intentions, clung to his mother. “Mamma,” he
eried, “do not leave me.” The Queen, encircling his
slender form, clung to the bed-post. “ Let us not fight
362 BOY-PRINCES.

with women,” muttered a municipal, “but call up the
guard.” Seeing that resistance was vain, the ladies
yielded, and dressed the boy. “ My child,” said the
Queen at parting, as with an effort she laid her hand
on his shoulder, “we are about to part. Remember
your duty. Never forget the good God who tries your
faith, nor your mother who loves you. Be good,
patient, and straightforward, and your father will bless
you from heaven.” She then kissed his forehead and
surrendered him. “Don’t trouble yourself any more |
about him,” said the municipals, as, after some heart-
less remarks, they were leaving the room. “The
nation, always great and generous, will provide for his
education.” How the nation proved its greatness and
generosity we shall by and by learn.

Among the people who, in one or other capacity,
frequented the Temple, was a cobbler named Simon.
This man, who was a protégé of Marat, notorious during
the Revolution as the avowed apostle of murder, had
been distinguished by a peculiar insolence towards Louis
the Sixteenth, and was deemed a fitting instrument to
brutalise his heir. Simon was one of the commissioners
of the Commune, and had all the jailers and turnkeys of
the Temple under his orders. He always spoke of the
royal captives. with bitter hatred, and once said, “If the
executioner does n’t behead this accursed. family I will.”

On being delivered into the hands of this ferocious
cobbler, Charles Louis was seized with terror, and re-
mained long crying in a corner of the room. Next morn-
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH. 353

ing when Simon’s helpmate arrived, one of the duties
assigned to the young King was to clean this woman’s
shoes. As yet, however, the boy would not submit to
his fate. For two days he could not be made to eat
anything but a morsel of bread; but at the end of
that time he dried his tears, and seemed to resign him-
self, but would not speak. Simon presented him with
a Jew’s harp, saying, “Your she-wolf of a mother plays
on the piano, doesn’t she? Well, you must accompany
her. What a row that will make!” The boy,
stung to the quick with the mockery, pushed the
Jew’s harp away, and Simon beat him, “You are
stronger than I am, but you have no right to beat me,”
said the Prince. “I will do just what I please,” an-
swered Simon.

And the democratic cobbler kept his word. Every —
suecess of the emigrant princes and their Austrian
allies brought the Prince fresh blows and insults.
“Wolf-cub!” said Simon, “you are half ‘an Austrian,
and therefore deserve to be half-murdered.”

The boy’s spirit was speedily crushed; he cleaned
the shoes of Simon’s wife, and did whatever he was
told. One thing, for long, he would not do—he
would not wear the red cap. At last, his hair having
been cut off, he yielded, and the cap was put on. The
Queen more than once had a glimpse of him in her
walks, and the sight must have dispelled all delusions
from her mind. The object of the demagogues who
then ruled France was too clear. Simon was. not to

As
354° BOY-PRINCES.

kill or poison the Prince; he was to degrade and get
rid of him as the “ young wolf” of the throne.

While Simon was. brutalising the young King,
Marie Antoinette was removed from the Temple.
After being immured for more than two months in the
Conciergerie of the Palace of Justice, the Queen was
tried and beheaded on the same day. Six months later,
Madame Elizabeth, at the age of twenty-nine, suffered
on the scaffold with forty companions, who all kissed
her hand before giving their necks to the executioner.

After the Queen and Madame Elizabeth had left
‘the Temple, Madame Royal remained utterly ignorant
of their fate. The Princess, whom nature had endowed
with much beauty—waving tresses of fair hair, delicate
features, and a face of majestic beauty—was left in
solitude and in rags. Her spirit, however, sustained her
in the midst of doubt and dread, and she occupied her-
self with engraving on the window-sill of her prison—

“Oh, my father! watch over me from heaven;

Oh, my God! pardon the murderers of my father!’
While without consolation, save so much of heaven’s
light as found its way through the bars of her prison
windows, Madame Royal was allowed occasionally to
visit her brother. His appearance and convergacion
lacerated her feelings and doubled all her sorrows.

Simon, in fact, had executed his task with wonder-
ful fidelity. The royal boy had been taught obscene
songs, and scandalously forced to sign against his
mother a deposition, the horrid nature of which he
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH. 355d

did not comprehend. He was kept in a dungeon
swept only once a-month, and served at certain hours
with a morsel of dried meat in an earthen porringer.
' At night Simon slept on a truckle-bed near the Prince,
and without scruple used to call the child up at all
hours. “Here I am, citizen,” the boy would say, as
he came shivering with cold. “Come and let me
touch you,” Simon would exclaim ; and when the cap-
tive heir of kings approached, his brutal cobbler would
kick the boy with all his might, stretch him on the
ground, and cry out savagely, “Now go to bed, you
young wolf!”

Matters, aftcr coming to the worst with this most
hapless of kings, naturally began to improve. In the
summer of 1794 Simon resigned, or was deprived of his
office; and when Robespierre’s career of crime was
terminated, the Convention, having heard that the
Prince was in a dangerous state of health, sent a
deputation to ascertain his condition. The Commis-
sioners, on presenting themselves at the Temple, were
shown into a little dungeon, with hardly any furniture
but an earthen stove, which communicated with the
next room, in which there was a bed. At a small
square table, dressed in a sailor’s jacket of slate-coloured
cloth, sat a bareheaded boy of ten, amusing himself
with paper cards, some of which were bent into the
shape of boxes, while others were piled into the form
of castles. His body was deformed by confinement,
harsh usage, want of exercise, and wallowing in his
356 BoL-PRINCES,

horrible dungeon. His bust was short, his chest con-
iracted, his arms long and slender, his shoulders high
and narrow, his legs small and weak. ‘The head alone,
beautiful in all its details, with white skin, and long
curling flaxen hair, indicated the solitary captive as the
son of Marie Antoinette.

The Commissioners approached the orphan boy, and
begged him to talk to the doctor. He did not answer,
however, and the movements of his visitors seemed to
make no impression. “I have the honour, sir,” said
one of the Commissioners, “to ask you if you wish for
a dog, a horse, some birds, or one or two companions of
your own age?” “Would you,” asked another, “like
to go down to the gardens, or up on the towers?” He
did not reply, but regarded the questioners with a look
of astonishment. They were told that since the day
when he became aware that the Commissioners of the
Commune had obtained from his ignorance infamous
depositions against his mother, he had resolved never to
speak again, for fear that he should be taken advantage
of. They asked him to rise, which he did; but he
walked with difficulty, and after a few steps sunk into
his chair, and rested his elbows on the table.

The Commissioners, moved with compassion, gave
instructions that the captive King should be more
humanely treated, and sent a man, named Gonin,
to take care of him. Gonin, whose heart was
good, passed hours in the boy’s company — acted
towards him with the kindness of a father—allowed
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH, 357

him a light in the evening—took him into a saloon
on the first floor, and encouraged him to walk in
the garden that he might recover the use of his
legs,

When the winter passed, a new keeper, named
Lasne, made his appearance, and devoted himself with
earnestness to improve the royal invalid’s condition.
It was, however, now too late to save him, The
tortured limbs, the dull complexion, the sunk eye, the
melancholy smile, the wasting and colourless cheeks
told too clearly that the boy was dying as rapidly as
his enemies could wish, and in May, 1795, Gonin and
Lasne deemed it their duty to inform the government
that “little Capet was unwell.” No notice being taken
of the information, they next intimated that he was
“dangerously ill—that it was feared he would not live.”
This message had some effect ; and, after a delay of three
days, M. Desault, a physician, was appointed to attend
and visit the prisoner.

Desault, a medical man of eminence, appeared at the
Temple, examined “little Capet,” and on leaving the
patient, said he was attacked by the same scrofulous
disease that had carried off his elder brother. He added,
however, with emphasis, that the disease of which the
captive was dying was exhaustion, and recommended
an immediate removal to the country. To this proposal
the Committee paid no attention, and Charles Louis
became worse. Would it not be well to make the
child walk in the garden?” asked Gonin, one day.
358 BOY-PRINCES.

* How can you,” said Desault, “when every movement
gives him pain ?”

Desault could do little under the circumstances, for
change of air he declared to be the only remedy, and
it appeared that a removal of his patient to rural
regions was considered out of the question. His last
visit took place on the 30th of May. “The child will
die—won’t he?” said a commissary on the occasion.
“T fear so,” said Desault; and then added, significantly,
“but there may be many persons in the world who hope
so.” It is remarkable that next day Desault was a
corpse,

After the death of M. Desault other medical men
were, for form’s sake, sent to the expiring Prince; but
their efforts proved futile; in fact, the condition of the
patient was now hopeless. He had enormous tumours
on his knees and wrists, and so tender had his feet
become that it was with difficulty he was dragged to
the tower. When the keepers carried him thither, as
at last they were obliged to do, he amused himself with
watching the sparrows that came to drink from a Kittle
basin which, in the course of centuries, the rain had
hollowed out in the battlement.

When the captive King’s end drew nigh, he was, by
order of the physicians, removed to a more comfortable
room, and a nurse was recommended. She never
appeared, however; and Hue, who, hearing of the boy’s
critical state, implored the Committee to allow him to
wait upon the son of his beheaded master, was foiled in
LOUIS THE SEVENTEENTH. 359

his merciful design. The invalid, nevertheless, grew
somewhat better. “Well, you are not suffering so
much now,” said Gonin, one day. “Not so much,”
said the boy, as a tear rolled down his cheek. “ What
is the matter?” asked Gonin, kindly. “Always alone,”
said the invalid. “My dear mother remains in the
other tower.”

At length, when the morning of the 9th of June
arrived, the physicians visited their patient at eleven
o’clock, and found the symptoms most alarming. On
their leaving, Gonin sat down by the bedside of the
dying Prince ‘How unhappy I am to see you
suffering so much,” he remarked. “Take comfort,” said
the boy, casting an agonising glance on the keeper, “I
shall not always suffer so.” Gonin leant forward, and
the boy taking his hand, kissed it gratefully, and then
remained mute and motionless, with his eyes raised to
heaven. “I hope you are not in pain just now,” said
Gonin. “Ah, yes,” he replied, “I am still in pain;
but not so much: the music is so beautiful.” There
being no music, Gonin asked, “From what direction do
you hear it?” “From above; listen—listen—do you
not hear it?” After a few minutes’ rapt attention, he
exclaimed with enthusiasm, “From all the voices I have
distinguished that of my mother.” For a few moments
he appeared to suffer no more; but the bright gleam left



his countenance, he crossed his arms, and his eye
wandered confusedly to the window. Gonin inquired
what interested him. He locked, but made no reply
860 BOY-PRINCES,

About this time Lasne appeared to relieve Gonin,
and took his place by the bedside. “Do you think my
sister would hear the music?” asked the dying Prince

-with interest. Tasne’s heart was too full to answer,
and the boy once more glanced anxiously at the
window. “I have something to-tell you,’ said he,
with a joyous exclamation. Lasne bent towards him,
and took his hand. The captive. rested himself on his
keeper’s shoulder, as if about to speak. No words
came, however, and Lasne placed his hand on the boy’s
heart. It had ceased to beat. The spirit of Louis the
Seventeenth had passed away without a struggle; and
about mid-day, on the 9th of June, 1795, news of the
young Prince’s death was spread over the French
capital. At the same time the doors of the Temple
were thrown open, that any one who wished might see
that “the son of Capet” lived no longer.

The fate of the youthful Princess was less melan-
choly. She was not, indeed, permitted to see her
brother during his illness, nor after his death. When
that event occurred, however, and public sympathy was
loudly expressed on her behalf, the Convention, doubt-
less deeming there was nothing to apprehend from a
Bourbon of her sex, consented to an exchange for some
prisoners in Austria. She had been kept in ignorance
of the fate of her family ; and when informed of the
truth, and the whole truth, she wrung her hands, and
exclaimed, “It is finished!” It might be that the
despair was less intolerable than the suspense had been.
LOUIS TYE SEVENTEENTH, 861

Having been conducted at midnight to the outskirts
of the Boulevards, the daughter of Louis the Sixteenth
was received by her former under-governess, and taken
to Vienna. The Emperor proposed to unite her in
marriage to his brother; but, in compliance with her
father’s last will, she gave her hand to her cousin, the
eldest son of Charles the Tenth; and, as Duchess of
Angouléme, she subsequently figured so heroically
during that eventful crisis known as the Hundred
Days, and during the monarchy of the Restoration,
that Buonaparte characterised her “as the only man of
her race.”

Meanwhile Louis the Seventeenth, who had entered
the Temple full of health, and life, and grace, to leave
"it a wasted and deformed corpse, was buried with.
decent solemnity. His emaciated remains were laid in
the churchyard of the parish of St. Margaret, in the
Faubourg St. Antoine, in a small grassy enclosure
adjoining the church; but no kind of monument was
raised to mark the place of sepulture; and search has
since been instituted in vain for the grave in which
was laid the heir of thirty-three kings of France.
a2

NAPOLEON THE SECOND

Own that day when the Parisian populace found their
way into the Palace of Versailles, and when Louis the
Sixteenth and his family, escorted by a mob into the
French capital, were passing along the quay bordering
the garden of the Tuileries, a bystander exclaimed, with
‘a contemptuous gesture, “ What! Has the King no
cannon to sweep away this scum?” The bold speaker,
a stripling, with a keen eye and a classical profile, was
utterly unlike the Frenchmen by whom he was sur-
rounded, He was a Corsican by birth, and his name
was Napoleon Buonaparte.

When twenty years had passed over, and Napoleon
was at the height of his marvellous destinies, with the
fron crown of the Lombard kings on his head, the
sceptre of Charlemagne in his hand, the laurels of
Marengo, Austerlitz, Jena, and Friedland on his brow,
the Pope a captive in his power, and the princes and
emperors of the Continent crouching at his feet, he
was inspired with the ambition of allying himself by
marriage with the ancicnt dynasties of Europe. With
this object he divorced Josephine, the wife of his youth,


WAPOLEON THE SECOND. 363

and espoused Maria Louisa, daughter of the Emperor of
Austria.

‘The Imperial bride was a girl in her teens, with fair
hair, dreamy blue eyes, a light, graceful figure, a timid,
reserved, and awkward manner, ahd a taste for music,
poetry, and painting, that had been carefully cultivated.
Sacrificed by her father to considerations of state policy,
Maria Louisa could hardly love the victorious soldier, of
whose sword and cannon she appeared at the Tuileries
as a captive; but she rendered him the obedience due
from a wife. Her young heart, however, never crossed
the Rhine; and, even if it had, she was not gifted with
those theatrical qualities necessary to please the fickle
people among whom her stars had cast her.

Soon after the nuptials of the conqueror of Europe
and this daughter of the German Cesars had been
celebrated with rejoicings at Paris, it was announced
that an heir to the Imperial throne of France might be
expected ; and on the night of the 20th of March, 1811,
the Parisians learned that the great event was at hand.
Intimation had been given that twenty guns should
announce the birth of a princess, a hundred and one
guns the birth of a prince. After the twentieth there
was therefore a pause, and a period of breathless
expectation. But when another gun proclaimed that
Napoleon had been blessed with a son, to crown his
prosperity, the thronging citizens exhibited a wild kind
of excitement, and answered the sound of cannon with
deafening cheers. It was remarked that the Parisians
364 BOY-PRINCES.

in their delight grasped each other’s hands, and that
people conducted themselves as if a son had been born
to each. The infant Prince at his birth received the
title of King of Rome.

The baptism of Napoleon’s heir took place on the
9th of June, and nothing was omitted that could render
the ceremony worthy of the new dynasty. The Aus-
trian Emperor accepted the office of godfather, and
sent the Duke of Wurzburg to represent him at the
baptism; Jeréme Buonaparte left his kingdom of
Westphalia to take part in the ceremony, and Joseph
availed himself of so favourable an opportunity to
place the frontier between him and the Spanish war.
Notre Dame was the scene of the ceremony; every-
thing was done with Imperial magnificence ; and the
infant Prince received the baptismal names of Napoleon
Francis Joseph Charles. The occasion was celebrated
with splendid fétes; and only one circumstance cast
gloom over the affair, and presaged, as it were, the
_coming catastrophe. At St. Cloud, which Napoleon
had made his summer residence, a terrific storm ex-
tinguished the illuminations; and torrents of rain
drenching the people assembled in the park, caused
them, to retreat to the shelter of the palace amid the
roll of thunder and the glare of lightning.

From the hour of his son’s birth Napoleon began
to dream about the boy’s future. His ambition was to
seat the King of Rome on the throne of the Cesars,
and restore the city of the seven hills to its ancient
NAPOLEON THE SECOND. 3865

grandeur. The vetcran grenadiers shared his wish,
and were in the habit of assembling beneath the fretted
window of the palace to catch a glimpse of the Im-
perial child. Their aspirations were never to be
gratified. These brave grenadiers were to perish,
almost to a man, amid the snows of Russia or in the
waters of Beresina; and the youthful Prince, instead
of being crowned in Rome, was to die a Colonel in the
service of the house of Hapsburg.

While Napoleon’s empire was on the eve of its
catastrophe the King of Rome grew and waxed strong.
Madame de Montesquieu, whom he called “Mamma
Quiou,” was his governess; and though the boy was
habitually docile, she now and then had her temper
tried by the fits of fury to which he was liable. One
day he was rolling on the floor and screaming with all,
his might. Madame began to draw down the blinds
and close the shutters. ‘What are you doing ?” asked
the Imperial imp. “TI am afraid of your being heard,”
she answered. “And why?” demanded the King of
Rome. “Because,” replied Madame, “I don’t suppose
the French people would ever have you for their ruler
if they knew you gave way to such bursts of passion.” .
“And do you think they could hear me?” inquired the
boy, becoming quiet. “Certainly,” said Madame.
“Then I am sorry,” exclaimed he; “forgive me,
Mamma Quiou, and in future I will be so good.”

Another day the King of Rome was standing at a
window of the Tuileries and watching the passers-by,
3866 BOY-PRINCES,

when he observed a woman in deep mourning leading
her little son by the hand. While passing the window
the lad held a paper towards the Prince. “Why is
that boy dressed in black?” asked the King of Rome.
“No doubt,” answered Madame Montesquieu, “ because
his father is dead.” The King,. on hearing this, re-
quested that the boy and his mother should be brought
to him; and having learned that she was widow of an
officer who had been killed in one of the Emperor's
campaigns, young Napoleon took on himself to present
their petition to his sire. Accordingly he carried it
with him next day. “* Papa,” lisped the child, “this is
the petition of a little boy dressed all in black, His
father died in, your service, and he asks a pension for his
poor mamma.” The Emperor was amused. “ Come,”
said he, “you are beginning to grant pensions early.
But so much the better.” In the course of that day
the matter was settled to the widow’s satisfaction.

The time soon arrived when the King of Rome
could no longer exercise such influence in France. The
illusions which Napoleon took pleasure in creating had
so imposed upon his intellect, that he began to believe
himself “the favoured of the gods,” and capable of ac-
complishing any conquest to which he applied his energy.
He hardly deemed it worthy of consideration that each
step he made towards glory cost thousands of lives, till
that dreadful calamity, the Russian campaign of 1812,
brought him to his senses. The disasters he encountercd
on that occasion were but “the beginning of the end.”
NAPOLEON THE SECOND. 367

The kings and nations of Europe soon after rose to
vindicate their independence ; and at length, in January,
1814, the inhabitants of Paris learned that foreign
troops were treading the soil of France.

The fact was most disagreeable to a people whose
vanity had been fed by so many victories; but Napo-
leon was, or pretended to be, still confident in his star.
Before leaving the capital to take command of the
French army, which he had so often led to victory,
the Emperor convoked the National Guards at the
Tuileries; and nine hundred of them, without knowing
why they had been summoned, assembled in a saloon of
the palace.

A theatrical scene awaited the burgess-militia.
Napoleon entered; the fair young Empress followed ;
and after her appeared Madame de Montesquieu, carry-
ing the King of Rome. * Gentlemen,” said Napoleon,
addressing the officers, “France is invaded. I go to
place myself at the head of the army; and, with God’s
help and their valour, to drive the enemy beyond the
frontier. But,” he added, “if the foe should approach
the capital, I confide to the National Guard those who
are dearest to me in the world—my wife and child.”
Napoleon then took his heir from the Empress, embraced
the child tenderly, and with tears placed him in the
arms of the officers nearest. The spectacle was pro-
foundly affecting, and those present expressed their
sympathy with applause and tears.

After having appointed the Empress Regent of
868 BOY-PRINCES,

France, and his brother, Joseph, Chief of a Council
of State, Napoleon went forth, with the idea of reas-
suring his despairing people and saving his dissolving
empire. His efforts were futile. Ere March closed, the
Russians had penetrated to Vincennes; and the rever-
berations of their cannon were carrying dismay to the
hearts of the Parisians. The Regency was naturally
perplexed; and, a council having been held, it was
determined that preparations should be made for the
flight of the Imperial family.

The young Empress for a time hesitated; but,
seeing that matters became desperate, she resolved on
leaving the Tuileries. The King of Rome, however,
showed the utmost reluctance to depart. As if in-
spired with a prescience of the fate in store for him,
the child struggled against exile, refused to be taken
from the palace, and seized the balustrade of the grand
staircase with his little hands. When the Emperor is
absent,” he screamed aloud, “Iam master here; and
I will not go.” Madame Montesquieu, finding that it
was necessary to overcome resistance by force, sum-
moned an equerry, who lifted up the King of Rome,
bore him to the carriage, and placed him therein,
The Empress took her seat; and the Imperial cortége,
moving onward, defiled along the quays. The Parisians
raised no eries of lamentation. Fatigued with the
struggle of well-nigh a quarter of a century, they
scarcely raised their voices to bid farewell to the Im-
perial dynasty,
NAPOLEON TIE SECOND. 869

The Empress and the King of Rome took the road
to Rambouillet, and after passing a night in that
chateau, proceeded to Chartres. Thence they went te
Vendéme, where Maria Louisa received from Napoleon
information of the occupation of Paris by the Allies,
At Blois, the Empress, with her son, halted eight days ;
and there, besides being agitated by contending hopes
and. fears, she was perplexed by the desperate counsels
of Napoleon’s brothers. Under these circumstances she
sent messengers to her father, who was at Dijon.

Meanwhile, the brothers of her husband urged the
unfortunate Princess to leave Blois without delay, and
seek safety in provinces remote from the scene of war;
but the Empress declined to follow their advice, and
intimated that she intended to await the course of
events. Finding that an attempt at compulsion failed.
the ex-kings changed their tone, and abandoned them-
selves to fate. A few hours later a Russian commissary
arrived at Blois, to take charge of the Empress and her
child in the name of the Allied Sovereigns. The
Empress yielded without a murmur; the Imperial Court
was dissolved; and those of whom it had been com-
posed hastened to Paris to make their peace with the
Bourbons. Under the protection of a Russian escort,
the Empress and the King of Rome were conveyed to
Rambouillet ; and thither, to visit his daughter, came
the Emperor of Austria, accompanied by Metternich,
his famous minister. At the news of her father’s
arrival, Maria Louisa ran to meet him; and the moment

BR
B70 BOY-PRINCES,

he descended from the carriage she snatched her son
from Madame de Montesquieu, and rushing forward,
placed the young Prince in his arms. The Emperor of
Austria, deeply affected, pressed the innocent boy to
his heart. The Czar Alexander and the King of
Prussia subsequently paid their respects to the de-
throned Empress, and embraced, with every semblance
of affection, the son of him whom they had just hunted
down as the enemy of Europe. Soon after this, the
Empress and her son took the road to Vienna. Napo-
leon, having already agreed to the treaty of Fontaine-
bleau, was on his way to Elba.

On the 2nd of May, 1814, the King of Rome, under
the auspices of his mother, crossed the Rhine, leaving
behind for ever that land where, a few years earlier,
his birth had been hailed with so much enthusiasm.
On first arriving at Vienna Maria Louisa and her son
were taken to the Imperial palace. But when the Count
of Provence, brother of Louis the Sixteenth, had re-
turned from England, and ascended the throne of France,
and when the Congress of Vienna met, to decide the fate
of European nations, propriety rendered it necessary
that she should be absent from the fétes given in her
father’s capital to celebrate her husband’s fall and her
loss of an Imperial throne. Such being the case, she
sought seclusion at Schoenbrun, and in a retired wing
of that magnificent palace shared. with Madame de Mon-
tesquieu the education of her son. But while the Con-
gress was sitting at Vienna, and Maria Louisa was
NAPOLEON THE SECOND. Sik

indulging in pensive meditations at Schoenbrun, a
‘courier from Leghorn brought intelligence that made
Europe grow pale.

Elba, as might have been foreseen, proved rather too
small a.place for the ambition of a man who had
conquered kings and republics, and who had aspired
to universal dominion. France, moreover, soon tired
of the restored Bourbons, who were perpetually alluding
to the virtues of Louis the Ninth, and the white plume
of Henry of Navarre, while pursuing a policy that
would have shocked the saint and disgusted the hero.
Napoleon was informed of all that passed; and de-
pending on those soldiers, between whom and himself
victories and defeats had created indissoluble bonds, he
landed on the soil of France, and electrified the army
with his presence. ‘So irresistible was the fascination,
that Marshal Ney, after promising Louis the Eighteenth
to bring the great Corsican to Paris, conquered and in
chains, deserted to his standard. Napoleon, however,
could hardly help feeling that there was more of
temerity than genius in his adventure. He knew that
on the army he could depend; but between the army
and the nation confidence no longer existed. Having
tried the game of despotism, and found himself un-
successful, Napoleon now did his best to win over
the democracy, and talked of becoming, for their
benefit, the Charlemagne of liberal ideas.

When parodying his first Empire, during “the
Hundred Days,” Napoleon did_not forget his wife and
372 SOY-PRINCES,

his son. He not only formed a household for Maria
Louisa, but even pretended that he had secret relations
with her father, and that she and the King of Rome
were expected at the Tuileries. He sent his minister
of foreign affairs to the Austrian ambassador, with a
letter to Maria Louisa, which never reached her.
Indeed, the Emperor Fraiicis grew so alarmed at
rumours of schemes for carrying off Maria Louisa and
the King of Rome, that the utmost vigilance was
exercised, and an agent of Napoleon’s, though protected
by the friendship of Talleyrand, was removed from
Vienna, lest he should open secret communications, At
Paris it was asserted that the carriage of Maria Louisa
had been stopped by the police when she was attempting
to escape, with her son, to Paris. But this story was a
mere fabrication. All this time, the Empress appears
to have been the reverse of eager to share the throne
upheld by the bayonets of the Imperial Guard.
Napoleon, meanwhile, was all anxiety for the pre-
sence of his son, that, in the event of fortune proving
adverse, he might abdicate in the boy’s favour, and
thus preserve the Empire for his posterity. “After
France,” he exclaimed, “my son is dearest to me in all
the world.” When at Waterloo he was sitting on his
white Persian steed, face to face with his destiny—
when he was flying towards Paris, with the cannon of
Bliicher thundering in his rear—when, on reaching the
capital, he was, under cover of the night, stealing into
the Elysée, his army annihilated, his popularity ex-
NAPOLEON THE SECOND, 373

hausted, and his iron régime at an end, this child—
the captive of Austria—was uppermost in the multitude
of his thoughts. On the 22nd of June, 1815, the
vanquished Emperor wrote, “My political life is ter-
minated. I proclaim my son under the title of Napoleon
the Second, Emperor of the French.” The Chambers.
accepted this act of abdication, but were careful not to
pronounce positively in favour of the heir of a fallen
man,

Even after Napoleon had been exiled to St. Helena,
this proclamation of his son as Exiperor caused the
Allied Sovereigns some anxiety, and apprehensive that
the boy might be taught to cherish ambitious views,
they requested that the young Prince should be sepa-
rated from his mother. The Austrian Emperor at once
complied with the request of his allies; and Maria -
Louisa, on whom the states of Parma and Placentia
had been conferred by the treaty of Fontainebleau,
set out for her possessions with the title of Grand
Duchess.

When about to take leave of his mother, young
Napoleon accompanied her to the Imperial palace of
Vienna, and—so runs the story—was for the first time
announced as the Duke of Reichstadt. “Who is this
new Duke?” inquired the boy. “It is yourself, my
lord,” was the answer; “this is the title which the
Emperor Francis has just conferred on you.” “And
why? Is it not better to be called King of Rome? I
prefer being the King of Rome,” protested the child.
874 BOY-PRINCES,

The Emperor of Austria thereupon advanced, took his
grandson. by the hand, and silenced his complaints.
Ere long the Prince became reconciled to his new
title.

Young as Napoleon the Second was at this time,
a story is preserved which proves that he possessed
remarkable courage. Somewhere about 1816 a lion
was sent to the palace of Schoenbrun, as a present to
the Emperor of Austria. The lion being very young,
was nursed by two goats; and when the Emperor, with
his daughters and his grandson, went one day to look
at this cub, one of the goats approached the Arch-
duchess in a menacing manner. Observing this, the
young Napoleon ran towards the goat, and boldly
seized the animal by the horns, “You may now ap-
proach, aunt!” said the Prince, “TI will hold her back.
The Austrian Emperor, much pleased with the spirit
shown by his grandson, said, “That is well, my boy.
You choose the right way, where there is danger.”

On the 22nd of July, 1818, the heir of Napoleon
was formally created Duke of Reichstadt. As such he
took rank after the Archdukes and Archduchesses of
the Austrian family; and he was deliberately educated.
as a Hapsburg prince. At first he evinced a strong
repugnance to the German language, and overcame his
dislike with difficulty. He had a particular admiration
for Cesar’s “Commentaries ;” he early manifested a
taste for military affairs; and he was educated to that
profession, which ennobles its votaries, whether princes
NAPOLEON THE SECOND. 375

or peasants. The example of Prince Eugéne was set
before him, and he was taught to consider that general
as a model of military greatness.

But another warrior than Prince Eugéne was
present to the youthful fancy of Napoleon’s heir.
Having some recollections of what had happened in his
childhood, the imagination of the ex-King of Rome.
conjured up strange visions of the battles and sieges
where had been won his father’s fame and glory. His
tutors, perplexed by the curiosity the Prince displayed
about the circumstances of his father’s career, and the
cause of his catastrophe, applied to the Emperor of
Austria and his ministers. The instructions were, to
allay the fever of the boy’s soul by making him
acquainted with the truth, and the whole truth. This
process had the desired effect; and from his fifteenth
year young Napoleon was permitted to read any book
which treated of France. He perused the history of
her revolution, her republic, and her empire; and from
that time he became much more thoughtful, and was
much more ‘reserved than previously on the subject of
his fortunes.

When intelligence of the banished Emperor’s death
at St. Helena, on the 5th of May, 1821, was conveyed
to Vienna, the young Napoleon was profoundly affected.
And well, indeed, might he be so! To the prisoner of
St. Helena this son had been everything—his pride and
his hope—the only being whom he really loved—the
only being for whom he could shed a tear. After that
B16 BOY-PRINCES.

event, every year on the. 5th of May, Napoleon the
Second accompanied his uncle, the Archduke Charles,
to a church, where mass was performed for the soul
of the departed hero.

Destined from childhood for military pursuits,
young Napoleon was, at an early age, appointed a
lieutenant-colonel, and he assumed the command of a
battalion of Hungarian infantry. From a werk en-
titled “ Austria as it Is,” we get an idea of what the
heir of the house of Buonaparte was about that stage
of his brief career,

“The young Napoleon,” says the writer, “is an
interesting youth, beautifully formed, with the counte-
nance and finely-cut lips of his father, and the blue
eyes of his mother. He has not that marked, plain,
and familiar ease of the Austrian princes, who seem
to be everywhere at home. But his demeanour is
more dignified, and noble in the extreme. He has an
Arabian steed, which he rides with a nobleness which
gives the promise of as good horsemanship as that
for which his father was celebrated. His escadron
almost adore him; and he commands with decision
and a military eye, which prognosticate a future
general.”

Pushed in infancy from the steps of a throne, from
which his father had ruled almost sixty millions of
people, young Napoleon was not without encourage-
ment to indulge in ambitious aspirations; but he was
in a position which rendered it almost impossitte to put
NAPOLEON THE SECOND. 377

his fortune to the test without the certainty of failure.
Tn 1826, when the Bourbons had disgusted the nation
by the erection of Jesuit colleges, a grant of forty
millions to the emigrants, and an attempt to restore the
law of primogeniture, a young Frenchman obtained an
audience of Napoleon, presented him with a tricoloured
cockade, and described France as eager for. his return.
At this the Prince became excited, pressed the emblem
to his heart, and exclaimed with much emotion, “ Tell
the French how I have been moved by the sight of
this cockade, and assure them how strongly I desire to
prove myself worthy of being the son of Napoleon.”
But when the enthusiasm of the moment had evaporated,
he added, in accents of despondency, “ But what would
they have me to do? ‘They can’t imagine that I have
my father’s head.”

After this scene, Frenchmen who resided at Vienna
were denied access to young Napoleon; but his claims
were not forgotten ; and while the throne which Louis
Philippe had won was still unsteady, a numerous party
had their eyes fixed on the eaglet at Vienna.

But the son of the conqueror of Austerlitz was not
destined to revisit France, far less to reign at the Tuil-
leries. The Prince was naturally of a feeble constitution,
and having, when sixteen, outgrown his strength, he
never attained to anything like robust health. At length
he became the victim of pulmonary consumption, and
from the autumn of 1831 began to decline with alarming
rapidity.
378 BOY-PRINCES.

- About the close of 1831, Napoleon’s state of health
caused such alarm that he was removed from Vienna to
Schoenbrunn ; but during the spring of 1832 he became
so feeble, that he could only enjoy the fresh air in a
garden-chair drawn through the pleasure-grounds. Hre
summer his condition was such as to preclude hope.

When Napoleon the Second lay on his dying bed,
Maria Louisa arrived at Schoenbrunn from Parma to
watch over her son. With the Archduckess Sophia, the
mourning mother shared the duty of tending the ex-
piring Prince; and under their gentle care he lingered
fora month. On the 22nd of July, 1832, however, his
last moments approached. According to the custom of
the Hapsburgs, he received the sacrament with his
mother, and other members of the Imperial family, all
dressed in white, as for a bridal day.

When this ceremony was over, he uttered a few words.
“Yes. . without glory . . for France. . Oh, my
father !” and, with this broken exclamation, the spirit
of the second Napoleon winged its flight. Amidst his
weeping relatives he breathed his last, with such calm-
ness that there was a smile on his face even after death.
His obsequies were celebrated with becoming pomp.
The corpse, after being. conveyed to Vienna, lay in stat:
for two days in the palace, and was then consigned to
its resting-place in the Convent of the Capuchins, beside
the bones of the princes of the House of Hapsburg.

THE END.

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