No captive knight, whom chains confine,Can tell his fate and not repine;Yet with a song he cheers the gloomThat hangs around his living tomb.Shame to his friends!—the king remainsTwo years unransomed and in chains.Now let them know, my brave barons,My English, Normans, and Gascons,Not one liege-man so poor have I,That I would not his freedom buy.I'll not reproach their noble line,Though chains and dungeon still are mine.The dead,—nor friends nor kin have they!Nor friends nor kin my ransom pay!My wrongs afflict me—yet far moreFor faithless friends my heart is sore.Oh, what a blot upon their name,If I should perish thus in shame!Nor is it strange I suffer painWhen sacred oaths are thus made vain,And when the king with bloody handsSpreads war and pillage through my lands.One only solace now remains—I soon shall burst these servile chains.Ye troubadours and friends of mine,Brave Chail and noble Pensauvine,Go tell my rivals, in your song,This heart hath never done them wrong.He infamy—not glory—gains,Who strikes a monarch in his chains!Written by Richard I. while prisoner in Germany.(FromSpofford'sLibrary of HistoricCharacter and Famous Events.)
No captive knight, whom chains confine,Can tell his fate and not repine;Yet with a song he cheers the gloomThat hangs around his living tomb.Shame to his friends!—the king remainsTwo years unransomed and in chains.
Now let them know, my brave barons,My English, Normans, and Gascons,Not one liege-man so poor have I,That I would not his freedom buy.I'll not reproach their noble line,Though chains and dungeon still are mine.
The dead,—nor friends nor kin have they!Nor friends nor kin my ransom pay!My wrongs afflict me—yet far moreFor faithless friends my heart is sore.Oh, what a blot upon their name,If I should perish thus in shame!
Nor is it strange I suffer painWhen sacred oaths are thus made vain,And when the king with bloody handsSpreads war and pillage through my lands.One only solace now remains—I soon shall burst these servile chains.
Ye troubadours and friends of mine,Brave Chail and noble Pensauvine,Go tell my rivals, in your song,This heart hath never done them wrong.He infamy—not glory—gains,Who strikes a monarch in his chains!
Written by Richard I. while prisoner in Germany.
(FromSpofford'sLibrary of HistoricCharacter and Famous Events.)
Slowly The Last Crusader eyedThe towers, the mount, the stream, the plain,And thought of those whose blood had dyedThe earth with crimson streams in vain!He thought of that sublime array,The hosts, that over land and deepThe hermit marshall'd on their way,To see those towers, and halt to weep!Resign'd the loved, familiar lands,O'er burning wastes the cross to bear,And rescue from the Paynim's handsNo empire save a sepulchre!And vain the hope, and vain the loss,And vain the famine and the strife;In vain the faith that bore the cross,The valour prodigal of life.And vain was Richard's lion-soul,And guileless Godfrey's patient mind—Like waves on shore, they reach'd the goal,To die, and leave no trace behind!"O God!" The Last Crusader cried,"And art Thou careless of Thine own?For us Thy Son in Salem died,And Salem is the scoffer's throne!"And shall we leave, from age to age,To godless hands the holy tomb?Against Thy saints the heathen rage—Launch forth Thy lightnings, and consume!"Swift as he spoke, before his sightA form flashed, white-robed, from above;All Heaven was in those looks of light,But Heaven, whose native air is love."Alas!" the solemn vision said,"ThyGod is of the shield and spear—To bless the quick and raise the dead,The Saviour-God descended here!"Ah! know'st thou not the very nameOf Salem bids thy carnage cease—A symbol in itself to claimGod's people to a house of peace!"Ask not the Father to rewardThe hearts that seek, through blood, the Son;O warrior! never by the swordThe Saviour's Holy Land is won."Edward Bulwer Lytton
Slowly The Last Crusader eyedThe towers, the mount, the stream, the plain,And thought of those whose blood had dyedThe earth with crimson streams in vain!
He thought of that sublime array,The hosts, that over land and deepThe hermit marshall'd on their way,To see those towers, and halt to weep!
Resign'd the loved, familiar lands,O'er burning wastes the cross to bear,And rescue from the Paynim's handsNo empire save a sepulchre!
And vain the hope, and vain the loss,And vain the famine and the strife;In vain the faith that bore the cross,The valour prodigal of life.
And vain was Richard's lion-soul,And guileless Godfrey's patient mind—Like waves on shore, they reach'd the goal,To die, and leave no trace behind!
"O God!" The Last Crusader cried,"And art Thou careless of Thine own?For us Thy Son in Salem died,And Salem is the scoffer's throne!
"And shall we leave, from age to age,To godless hands the holy tomb?Against Thy saints the heathen rage—Launch forth Thy lightnings, and consume!"
Swift as he spoke, before his sightA form flashed, white-robed, from above;All Heaven was in those looks of light,But Heaven, whose native air is love.
"Alas!" the solemn vision said,"ThyGod is of the shield and spear—To bless the quick and raise the dead,The Saviour-God descended here!
"Ah! know'st thou not the very nameOf Salem bids thy carnage cease—A symbol in itself to claimGod's people to a house of peace!
"Ask not the Father to rewardThe hearts that seek, through blood, the Son;O warrior! never by the swordThe Saviour's Holy Land is won."
Edward Bulwer Lytton
Deep is the bliss of the belted knight,When he kisses at dawn the silken glove,And goes, in his glittering armour dight,To shiver a lance for his ladye-love!Lightly he couches the beaming spear;His mistress sits with her maidens by,Watching the speed of his swift careerWith a whispered prayer, and a murmured sigh.Winthrop Mackworth Praed
Deep is the bliss of the belted knight,When he kisses at dawn the silken glove,And goes, in his glittering armour dight,To shiver a lance for his ladye-love!
Lightly he couches the beaming spear;His mistress sits with her maidens by,Watching the speed of his swift careerWith a whispered prayer, and a murmured sigh.
Winthrop Mackworth Praed
"The Adopted Son of Dame Courtesy"and"Le Chevalier sans Peur et sans Reproche."
"Bayard was perhaps the only hero of the middle ages who deserved the unmingled praise and admiration bestowed upon him. Simple, modest, a sterling friend and tender lover, pious, humane, and magnanimous, he held together in rare symmetrical union the whole circle of the virtues."
In the reign of Louis XI. there was born in southern France a little dark-eyed boy who was destined to be known in all subsequent ages and in all climes as "the knight without fear and without reproach." Pierre Bayard de Terrail was his real name, but in song and story and history we know him as "The Chevalier Bayard."
Bayard was of gentle birth, and had the good fortune to be descended from a long line of valiant gentlemen who ever held king and country dearer than self, and honor a thing to die for. He also had a good and pious mother. If to his knightly forefathers he owed his fearlessness, it is an everlasting monument to his mother's influence that he lived without reproach.
He first saw the light in the beautiful Château Bayard, in Dauphiny. Here he spent his boyhood much as other little boys of his time spent theirs, and soon developed into a sturdy youth.
When Bayard attained his fourteenth year, his father, then nearing death, called his children around him, and asked each what profession he wished to choose. The eldest boy spoke first, and said that he preferred to remain on his father's estates, leading the life of a quiet country gentleman. But the young Pierre was more ambitious. When it came his turn to speak, he told his father that there was nothing he so much desired as to become a soldier and a knight, and to win glory and honor to the name already made illustrious by his noble ancestors.
His father was much pleased with Pierre's choice, and answered,—
"My son, thou art already very like thy noble grandfather, and I am rejoiced that thou shouldst choose to follow in his footsteps. I shall try immediately to place thee as page in the house of some prince, where thou canst be in training for knighthood."
The father lost no time in fulfilling his promise. The very next day he sent for his brother-in-law, the Bishop of Grenoble, to ask his advice about Pierre.
The good bishop came, attended by many nobleknights, and a great banquet was prepared in his honor.
Now, in days of chivalry, a boy's dress and manners were considered of no slight importance. Indeed, most of his early training was especially designed to give him ease and grace in the company of great ladies and gentlemen. As may be easily imagined, the little Pierre's education had not been neglected. He did not fail to array himself in a manner befitting the occasion; and at the banquet he served his father's guests with so much modesty and grace that he drew forth praise from all the company.
The gratified father then told them of Pierre's ambition to become a knight, and asked their advice about his education.
Each gave his friendly counsel, and then the Bishop of Grenoble said,—
"Brother, the good Duke of Savoy, who hath ever been friendly to our house, will be at Chambéry to-morrow; and if it please thee, I will ride thither with my nephew and present him as page to his Grace. I will also take pleasure in equipping the lad properly, so be at no expense."
Amid the applause of the company, Aymond Terrail presented his son to the good bishop, and said with tears in his eyes,—
"I give him into thy hands, and pray God that wherever thou place him, he may do thee honor."
The bishop, true to his promise, provided his nephew with an outfit, and gave him a well-caparisoned horse. Then they made ready to go to Chambéry to meet the Duke of Savoy.
It was with no little interest that the bishop and his friends watched the young page mount his new steed, for it was a mettlesome one, and used only to a man's weight. When Pierre bounded into the saddle, the horse reared and plunged; but the boy kept his seat, and soon, with the aid of bit and spur, had the animal under complete control. The guests praised him greatly, and his father asked him if he felt no fear.
"I hope," answered the young Pierre, "by God's help, to manage my horse among the enemies of the prince I am going to serve."
Then he bade farewell to father and mother and to home and childhood, and went forth to enter upon a chivalric career.
Arrived at Chambéry, the bishop and his company were graciously received by the Duke of Savoy. The duke maintained a brilliant court, and was always the faithful ally of France. Heinvited the uncle and nephew to dine with him, and again Pierre's graceful manners commended him to the notice of his elders. The duke was gracious enough to notice him especially, and asked who the boy was.
"Sir," said the bishop, "it is my nephew, Pierre de Terrail, whom I have brought to present to thee if thou shouldst like to have his services."
"I accept him at once," answered the duke. "I should indeed be hard to please if I declined such a gift."
So it was that Pierre became attached to the household of Savoy. He remained in the duke's service for some time, and easily surpassed his fellow pages in all the knightly exercises in which they were being trained. Yet with all his prowess he was so modest and so manly that he excited no envy among his companions, and the duke and duchess came to love him as if he were their own son.
Pierre's chivalric traits won to him the hearts of his fellows and his patrons; but it was perhaps his personal beauty and his charm of manner that went furthest toward winning him yet another love—a love that he valued more than all others. There was in the train of the goodduchess a little maid of honor, whose heart soon went out to the handsome youth. At service in the same palace, the two saw much of each other, and soon Pierre had no eyes for any maid but this one.
The little coquette did not fail to make Pierre quite miserable by repelling his attentions for a time, when she saw that she had won him; but at length, one day, while not in waiting on her mistress, she was captured by the little page, and made to listen to the story of his love.
"I am going to make myself a great knight some day," he declared with the pride and faith of youth, "and then I am coming back for thee, and we shall be married."
"Alas," cried the damsel, now quite as earnest as he, "thou art of an illustrious house, and canst marry some great lady who can advance thee in the world. I am but a poor maid, and if I accept thy love, I destroy thy hopes."
"What care I for that?" cried the impatient lover. "The question is, dost thouloveme."
"Yes," she whispered.
"Then I shall not give thee up," he declared, "and I shall tell the duchess all about it."
The maid was more worldly wise than he,however, and insisted that for the time they should be only friends. Shortly after this a change took place in Pierre's affairs,—a change which was to separate him for years from the maid he loved.
The young page had been with the house of Savoy only six months when it pleased the duke to pay a visit to King Charles VIII. of France. The king had moved his court to Lyons—a beautiful city in southeastern France—and was holding high revel there. When Charles heard of the approach of his friend and ally, the Duke of Savoy, he sent the Count of Ligny with a number of attendants to meet him. These met the duke at a place about two leagues from Lyons, and welcomed him heartily in the name of the King of France.
Now Pierre was in close attendance on his master, and the Count of Ligny at once noticed him and remarked to the duke on his good horsemanship.
The duke, much pleased, explained who the boy was, and then called out to him,—
"Spur, Bayard, spur!"
Without waiting for explanations, Bayard obeyed his master, returning from his run with his horse completely under control. Afterwards,Pierre's fine horsemanship won for him the nickname "Piquet"—a spur.
The count was surprised and charmed, and told the duke that the King of France would be glad to have the boy in his service.
Through the influence of Ligny, the youth was brought to the notice of King Charles; and the king was so charmed with his manners and his horsemanship that he at once persuaded the Duke of Savoy to permit the boy to be transferred to the royal service.
The good duke granted the king's request, for he knew it would be a great advancement for the lad; and Pierre was placed under the Count of Ligny for training.
Though Pierre loved the Duke of Savoy, he was very glad of this change in his own fortunes; for he had all the romantic devotion to king and country that chivalry was wont to implant in the hearts of men, and he was first, last, and always a true Frenchman.
The next several years of Pierre's life were spent in service as page to Ligny; after which the count made him a man-at-arms in his own company and a gentleman of his household. This meant that the page, Pierre, had become a knight, and was thenceforth to be known as "the Chevalier Bayard."
Bayard's first exploit as a knight was to challenge and meet in tournament the invincible Lord of Vaudray. The young chevalier was then only seventeen years of age, and was weak and delicate in appearance, while his opponent was reckoned one of the most powerful knights of the time.
When the combatants entered the lists, it was easy to be seen that the yellow-haired, black-eyed knight of seventeen was the one on whom every lady's glance was bent. Men watched him too, but not on account of his good looks; they had laughed at him scornfully when he presumed to strike in challenge the shield of the celebrated Vaudray, and they now looked to see him ignobly defeated.
To the astonishment of all, however, Bayard won the day. The men said that he was too bold for one so young; but "the ladies praised him enthusiastically," and the king exclaimed to Ligny,—
"By my faith, cousin, he hath given us to-day a foretaste of what he will be as a man!"
The next several years of the young knight's life were spent in training for the stern services of war. He failed in nothing that he conceived it his duty to perform, and he neglected nothingthat he felt would tend to his own development, for he bore always in his heart the admonition of the king he so reverenced: "Piquet, my friend, may God develop in thee that fearless manhood which thy noble youth so graciously promises."
At this time Italy was not under one government, but was separated into six great divisions—the Duchy of Milan, the Kingdom of Naples, the Kingdom of Piedmont, the Republics of Venice and Florence, and the Papal States. There were also several petty states which were always more or less dependent on some one of the greater powers. Unfortunately for themselves, there was little sympathy or unity among the Italian States; and the nations around were constantly stirring up strife between them, or invading the peninsula for the sake of conquest. So it was that for a long time Italy was the field on which the contests of Europe were waged.
It was during this period—when the French, the Spanish, the Germans, and the Italian States were variously pitted against one another, and variously allied—that Bayard made his name forever an emblem of chivalry. In those days "king" stood for "country" in the mind of the loyal knight; and in following his king onwhatever fantastic campaign, Bayard believed that he was only performing his sacred duty to his beloved France.
He served successively under three sovereigns—Charles VIII., Louis XII., and Francis I.,—and distinguished himself in Italy, Spain, and France, holding his own against Italian, Spaniard, German, and Briton alike.
"I hope one day to be worthy the name of soldier," was the chevalier's modest, yet truly exalted, ambition; and he proved unquestionably his right to the title in his very first campaign. Bayard's first service was with Charles VIII., when that king invaded Italy and conquered the Kingdom of Naples.
The young chevalier, though then only eighteen years of age, and slender and boyish in appearance, soon became the admiration of even old and experienced warriors. Wherever there was hottest fighting—wherever there was greatest danger—there was this black-eyed, fair-haired youth. And there was hardly an engagement with the enemy which was not signalized by some brilliant feat of the young knight's.
After conquering the Kingdom of Naples and leaving there the larger part of the French armyto maintain his sovereignty, King Charles returned to France at the head of only a small force. But his exodus from Italy was not so easy as his invasion into that country had been. The Pope, the Doge of Venice, the Duke of Milan, and other Italian princes, had formed a league against the ambitious Charles, and had gathered a large army in northern Italy to cut off his return to France.
As King Charles advanced to within a few miles of Fornovo, the allies unexpectedly descended on him with a force six times as great as his own, and a bloody battle ensued. The plan of the allies was to destroy the French army and take King Charles prisoner. So anxious were they to make the king their captive that they offered a prize of a hundred thousand ducats to the man who would bring him, dead or alive, to their camp.
But the annihilation of the French army and the capture of King Charles were not such light tasks as the allies had expected. The little band met their all but overwhelming onset with a stubborn resistance that was wonderful to behold. By charge and counter-charge the field was contested, and victory still hung in the balance when suddenly out of the French ranks rode a fair-haired boy knight, calling on his company to follow him. Instantly his men caught the infection of his wild daring, and in the face of almost certain death they swept to the charge with the dashing Bayard.
"A greyhound for attack, and a wild boar in defence," Bayard fell upon the enemies of his king with such splendid courage that none whom he met could withstand his prowess.
Two horses were killed under him, but he mounted a third, and, dashing alone into the thickest of the fight, captured an ensign from fifty men-at-arms.
Thanks to the valor of such knights as Bayard, the French gained a signal victory, laying low in the dust full as many men as King Charles had led to Fornovo.
After several more encounters with the allies, in which Bayard won added laurels, the king led his much-diminished army back to France.
Shortly after this campaign Charles VIII. died, and was succeeded on the throne by Louis XII.
The new king busied himself with the internal affairs of state; and Bayard, whose business was that of a soldier merely, was for awhile left free to do as he chose. He accordingly occupied the time in visiting friends in Savoy. The good Dukeof Savoy was now dead; but the duchess received the chevalier at her court with her oldtime friendliness.
Here for a second time Bayard met the love of his boyhood. But alas for him! she had become the wife of the Lord of Fluxas.
When the two met, the lady received Bayard with every sign of friendship. She praised him greatly for the noble part he had borne in the king's service—for all France had heard of the chevalier's great deeds in Italy—and then they talked over their youthful love-affair.
In the course of his stay, the Lady Fluxas asked Bayard to give a tournament, for she very much wished to see him engage in some of the knightly exercises in which he had become distinguished.
The chevalier was delighted to comply with her request, and promised that the tournament should be arranged to take place in a very short while; then, kissing the hand of his fair sponsor, he asked for one of her sleeves. When the lady gave him the favor he treasured it carefully, intending that it should be the victor's prize in the coming joust.
The tournament was held in good time, some fifteen gallant gentlemen taking part and acquitting themselves much to the satisfaction of the lady for whose amusement the entertainment had been devised.
When the trial at arms was ended, the duchess bade the Lord of Fluxas invite the combatants and the judges and a number of ladies to sup with her. According to her wishes, the judges reserved their decision until the guests were gathered about the table that evening.
As every one expected, the prize was awarded to Bayard. The chevalier blushed and declined to take it, saying further that the lady who had provided the sleeve should be the one to bestow it.
As the giver of the tournament, Bayard was, in a sense, the host of those who accepted the challenge; and it was very like his extreme courteousness to decline to carry off the prize from them, however much he may have wished in his heart to possess this particular lady's favor.
Lady Fluxas, thus called upon to make the decision, paused a moment, then said she would keep the sleeve herself "for the sake of the victor." She then gave a beautiful ruby pendant to the Lord of Mondragon, who, next to Bayard, had been the most successful in the combat.
However much the chevalier's heart may haveinclined him to linger near the home of the lady he still loved, his stern sense of duty soon summoned him away. News had come to King Louis that the people of Milan, who owed fealty to the French king, had revolted, and made Ludovic Sforza their duke.
On hearing this, the king at once despatched the Count of Ligny with a large force to besiege the disloyal city. Bayard, as a member of Ligny's company, went of course with his commander.
The French had been encamped before Milan for some time, when one day Bayard learned from a spy that three hundred horse of the Milanese were at the little town of Binasco; and, always on the lookout for a skirmish with the enemy, he persuaded about fifty of his companions to join him in a descent upon that town. They set off early the next morning, but the Milanese learned of the intended surprise, and were ready for them.
With the cry, "France! France!" the chevalier and his companions flung themselves upon the whole three hundred; but the Milanese were no cowards, and for one hour they withstood even the firebrand impetuosity of Bayard himself. They were not many who could stand solong before Bayard. At length the knight, impatient at this stubborn resistance, cried out to his fellows—
"What, my comrades! shall we let these few keep us fighting all day? Courage! Let us multiply our strokes and give wings to their feet!"
At the sound of his deep voice the French rushed to the attack again, and with such enthusiasm that the enemy wavered—fell back—then fled, pell-mell, toward Milan. The victors followed in hot pursuit, with the peerless knight far in the lead.
The fugitives reached Milan scarcely ahead of their pursuers, and thundered in through the gate. One of the leaders of the French, seeing the danger into which he and his companions were rushing, cried out just in time,—
"Turn, men-at-arms, turn!"
The order was obeyed by all except Bayard, who had ears for nothing but his own battle-cry, and eyes only for the enemy. Right into the heart of the city, nay, up to the very steps of the duke's palace, he chased the flying Milanese; then he suddenly found himself surrounded by an angry populace, who, when they saw the white crosses of France upon him, cried,—
"Seize him! Seize him!"
He was soon disarmed and taken prisoner by the commander he had just pursued from Binasco. When Cazache—for such was the Milanese captain's name—got his enemy thus in his power, he did not, as might be supposed, wreak any petty vengeance on the head of the chevalier. He treated Bayard as a soldier and a gentleman, and by so doing evinced a chivalrous spirit close akin to the chevalier's own.
Ludovic, Duke of Milan, hearing the uproar before the palace, asked the cause thereof, and was soon told that the Milanese at Binasco had been defeated, and that a young chevalier had pursued Cazache and his company to the very palace door.
"By my sword, but I'd like to see this daring Frenchman!" roared the duke. "Captain, fetch the prisoner hither."
Cazache obeyed in fear and trembling for his captive. The captain—a generous-hearted fellow—had conceived a deep admiration for Bayard, and he feared for the chevalier's head; for Duke Ludovic was of a most uncertain temperament.
When, however, he ushered the knight before the duke, Cazache realized that his fears weregroundless. Instead of flying into a fury, as he too often did, Ludovic surveyed the handsome figure of the captive and said, not unkindly,
"My brave young gentleman, come hither and tell me what brought thee to Milan."
Bayard was used to surprises, and answered frankly—
"I came in the footsteps of some of thy men for a little adventure. I did not know that I was alone, for I thought my comrades were close behind me. They are wiser in the ways of war than I, or they too would have been captured. In the mean time, I thank God that I have fallen into such good hands; and I do assure thee that if anything could make captivity pleasant to me, it would be such treatment as I have received from this good captain."
The duke smiled kindly, and then asked him the number in the French army.
"Sir," replied the knight, truthfully, "there are not more than fourteen or fifteen hundred men-at-arms, and from sixteen to eighteen thousand foot-soldiers; but they are all picked men, and are resolved to win back the Duchy of Milan to the king, their master. As for thee, sir, let me warn thee that thou wilt be safer in Germany than in this city."
Instead of being incensed by Bayard's frankness, Ludovic answered him in the same friendly strain, and assured him that there was nothing he so much desired as an encounter between his own and the king's troops. Bayard replied that such an event would be a great pleasure to himself also, provided he were not in prison.
"Do not let that trouble thee," replied the duke, "for I intend to set thee free. If there is anything else thou desirest of me, thou hast only to ask it."
This unexpected kindness on the part of Ludovic took the knight completely by surprise. Up to that time he had stood before his enemy proud and erect; but when Ludovic announced his generous intention toward him, the young knight sank on his knee to thank him.
"Sir," said he, "the greatest favor thou canst grant me is to restore my arms and my horse, and allow me a guide to the French garrison." He paused a moment and then added earnestly, "Believe me, sir, I shall always be ready to serve thee, if I can do so in honor to my king and to my country." And after again thanking the duke for his generosity, the young knight rode away with the promised guide.
When Bayard arrived at the French camp, theCount of Ligny was astonished and overjoyed to see him, for all had heard of Bayard's solitary descent on Milan and his consequent capture.
"What, Piquet!" exclaimed the count, "thou out of prison! How didst thou pay thy ransom? I was about to send a herald to pay it, and bring thee back."
"Sir," replied the knight, "I thank thee most sincerely, but Ludovic Sforza hath spared thee the trouble, and in doing so, he hath proved himself a rival in courtesy and generosity even to thyself—he hath made me a present of my freedom, and provided me with a guide hither."
Milan afterwards fell into the hands of the king, but Bayard was not able to return the great kindness Ludovic had shown to him.
After conquering Milan, King Louis turned his attention to the Kingdom of Naples, which had, during the last days of Charles VIII., thrown off the yoke of France and raised a Spanish prince to the throne.
Bayard counted it great good fortune to be allowed to go on the expedition sent by the king into Naples; and there he performed such wonderful feats of arms that the Spanish allies of the Neapolitans declared him to be a devil instead of a man. It was, indeed, through nofault of Bayard's that the French ultimately lost Naples.
The fame of Bayard's exploits spread. The Pope, a bitter enemy to the King of France, sent for the chevalier, and tried to persuade him to renounce the service of King Louis for that of the States of the Church. In order to make his proposition exceedingly tempting, the Pontiff offered to load the knight with riches and honors, and make him Captain-General of the Church. To all this Bayard gave the simple, earnest answer,—
"I have but one master in heaven,—God,—and one upon earth,—the King of France."
Once, while the good Duke of Nemours commanded the French army in Italy, he and several of his officers had occasion to spend a few days in the little town of Carpi. While there, they were hospitably entertained by the Count of Carpi, who provided many amusements for them. For their diversion, the count one day caused an astrologer—a little withered black man—to appear at court, and read the future for the distinguished guests.
The astrologer came, and astonished all by the accuracy with which he related past events in their lives. Then he told them that on the nextGood Friday or Easter Day the French and Spanish armies would come together in a battle which would be one of the bloodiest ever fought. He said that the victory would remain with the French, but that it would be bought with the best blood of France. And he said to Bayard, privately,
"Your prince"—meaning the Duke of Nemours—"seems very dear to you; be near him on the day of battle. I see that he is threatened with a sad fate."
Bayard had little faith in the seer's powers, and laughed when it came his turn to question the mystic; however, it was amusement for the company.
"My master," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "shall I ever be a man of consequence? And shall I become rich?"
The astrologer looked at him sharply and answered,
"Thou wilt be richer in noble qualities than ever French gentleman was before thee, but thou wilt have few of fortune's goods. Thou wilt serve yet another king of France, who will love and esteem thee much; but the envy of those about him will prevent his bestowing on thee the wealth and honors thou wilt so richly deserve."
"But," asked Bayard, "shall I escape from this bloody battle thou hast predicted?"
"Yes," answered the seer; "but twelve years hence thou wilt die in battle of an arquebuse-shot,—in no other way, for thy soldiers do so adore thee that they would die to the last man to save thee."
It chanced that in the fortunes of war the French once captured and held for a long time the beautiful Italian town of Brescia. This city was in time recaptured by the Venetians, to whom it had first belonged, and again possessed by the French,—albeit, at the cost of many valuable lives.
At this retaking of Brescia by the French, Bayard again distinguished himself. The first skirmish before the town was won by the chevalier, who was so eager to attack that he went into battle in his night-clothes.
When the time came for a general assault, the question arose as to whom should put himself in front, at the mercy of the enemy's arquebuses.
"I will," responded Bayard to the Duke of Nemours's question; "and I promise thee that the company I command will do good service to the king, our master."
This was no idle boast, for Bayard's companywas composed of picked men, the greater number of whom had been commanders themselves, but who preferred the honor of serving under the noted chevalier to leading companies of their own.
So it was arranged that the chevalier and his company should open battle by storming the first fort that protected Brescia. A better selection could not have been made, for the very name of Bayard had become a terror to the enemies of France.
When the Venetian commander saw who was leading the assault, he cried out to encourage his men,—
"Hold fast, comrades! If thisBayardbut be defeated, all the rest will be easy."
But Bayard was not defeated. The splendid charge of his company was met with a blinding storm of shot from the Venetian guns, but not a man gave back. Right up to the cannon they charged, shouting in the face of the fire—"France! France!"—but the cry was changed to "Bayard!Bayard!" as the chevalier leaped the ramparts, crying,
"Follow me!"
And they did follow.
Only for an instant Bayard's tall form wasseen in the thick of his enemies, his black eyes blazing with the fire of battle. The next moment he fell, face downward, in the struggling mass, with a Venetian pike thrust through his thigh.
When word was carried to the Duke of Nemours that Bayard had fallen, he exclaimed,—
"Let us go, my friends and comrades, and avenge the death of the most accomplished knight that ever lived." And they swept forward with the brave duke, completing the victory that Bayard had so well begun. The Venetian loss in this battle exceeded twenty thousand, while the French loss was less than fifty men.
When the French occupied the town, they gave themselves over to all kinds of excesses, perpetrating atrocious cruelties on defenceless women and children, and pillaging convents and churches for their riches.
The soldiers in those days were, in the main, rough and brutal men; but there were always among them many knightly gentlemen, who never failed to use their utmost power to protect the defenceless. Such a gentleman was Bayard, and he was never known to allow cruelties where it was in his power to prevent them.But—alas for the wretched city—the knight without reproach was now helpless!
Having been mortally wounded, as all supposed, the chevalier was carried by two of his men to a large mansion within the town, that he might receive needed attention.
The Brescian citizen who owned the house had fled upon the entry of the French, leaving his wife and two beautiful daughters alone and unprotected.
Now when Bayard's men brought their wounded captain to the house, the lady herself opened the gate, and assisted the men in making the knight comfortable. Bayard's first order to the two soldiers was that they station themselves at the gate, and, on pain of death, admit no one save his own men.
"I am sure," he said, "that when they know I am lodged here, they will not force a passage."
When he had despatched his soldiers, the lady fell upon her knees at Bayard's feet and said—
"Noble lord, this house and all that it contains is thine by the laws of war; but I beseech thee, by the Holy Mother, to preserve the safety of myself and my daughters."
"Madam," answered the almost fainting chevalier, "I may not recover from the wound I havereceived, but as long as I live neither thou nor thy daughters shall sustain more injury than myself. I assure thee that no one shall enter the house contrary to thy wish; and for myself, I promise thee all respect and friendship. But fetch me help, I pray thee, and that quickly!"
The lady was much relieved by the knight's assuring words, and went herself, attended by one of his soldiers, and fetched a surgeon to him. When the Duke of Nemours learned where Bayard had been carried, and that he still lived, he sent his own surgeon to attend him.
As soon as Bayard was sufficiently recovered to give the orders, he caused the husband of his hostess to be sought out and conducted back in safety to his home and family.
For six weeks the knight lay ill, and during that time he was the recipient of many kindnesses from the members of the household. The ladies were especially attentive, and spent many hours by his bedside, ministering to his needs or amusing him. These days of convalescence were pleasant indeed to the great-hearted man who had known so little of the comforts of home and the tender ministrations of women. But he grew impatient of his captivity when heheard that there was probability of a fight between the French and a large army of Spanish then in northern Italy.
"Meseems that I am well," he said to his surgeon; "and I assure thee that biding here will harm me more than mend me, for I do most grievously fret."
The surgeon knew him too well to doubt his word, so he taught Bayard's valet how to dress the wound, which was now almost healed, and the knight made ready to rejoin his company.
Now when the lady and her husband heard of Bayard's approaching departure they were much concerned lest the knight should demand at least ten thousand ducats as a ransom for their property. The two discussed their dilemma earnestly, and decided that the lady should go to Bayard with twenty-five hundred ducats and beg him to be satisfied with this sum. Accordingly, she took the gold and sought the knight's presence.
"My lord," she said, "myself and family shall always thank God that it pleased Him, in the midst of the horrors of war, to lead such a noble knight to our house for our protection. We shall ever remember that it is to thee we owe our all. Since thou camest among us, wehave received naught but kindness at thy hands. We are thy prisoners; the house, with its contents, is thine by right of conquest, but thou hast ever been so graciously generous that I have come to beseech thee to have pity on us and be content with this little gift that I have the honor to offer thee."
She opened her coffer and showed its contents to Bayard, who smiled as he asked,—
"How much is it, madam?"
The lady, not knowing how little he valued riches and fearing he thought the gift too small, said hastily—
"My lord, there are only twenty-five hundred ducats; but we will strive to make up the sum that thou desirest, if thou wilt mention it."
"Thou didst not understand me, lady," replied the knight. "Thou hast already paid me many times over, in kindnesses such as money cannot purchase. Keep thy gold; and remember that I am forever thy debtor, thy champion, and thy friend."
The lady, much pleased and astonished at this unexpected reply, begged him again to accept her gift.
"I shall be, indeed, a most unhappy woman," she declared, "if thou refuse it."
Bayard was too gallant to withstand a woman's pleadings, so he said—
"Since thou desirest it so much, lady, I yield." Then he requested her to send her daughters in.
The lady went to call the two damsels; and while she was gone, Bayard divided the money into three lots,—two of one thousand ducats each and one of five hundred.
In a little while the young girls came, and threw themselves on their knees before the knight; but he at once made them rise and be seated near him. Then they too strove to express their gratitude to him, and promised to pray to God for him so long as they should live.
Bayard was much affected, and thanked them in turn for their kindly ministrations. Then he said to them gently—
"Dear demoiselles, you know that fighting men are not ordinarily laden with jewels and pretty things to present to ladies, but I have here a sum of money which your lady mother hath just compelled me to accept. I give thee each a thousand ducats to form part of thy marriage portion."
The damsels would fain have declined his generous offer, but he would not hear nay; andhe said to their mother, who had once more entered—
"Madam, these five hundred ducats I leave to thee to distribute amongst the convents that have suffered most from the pillage. And I must now make ready to depart."
Again they fell on their knees, this time pressing his hands and weeping as if their hearts would break; and the mother exclaimed through her tears—
"Too generous knight, God alone can reward thee!"
Then, amid tears and farewells, he departed.
On leaving these good ladies, the knight took his way to the French camp, where he was received with as much joy as if he were a reinforcement of ten thousand men.
Now at that time the French were masters of the Duchy of Milan, in northern Italy, and the presence of the Spanish army in that part of the country was adjudged by Louis to be a constant menace to his interests there. The king was in France, but his nephew, the Duke of Nemours, commanded the French army in Italy.
Scarcely had Bayard arrived in camp, when Nemours determined to give battle to the Spanish. All was soon astir in the French camps, inpreparation; and Bayard and the duke were in high spirits.
Nemours admired the chevalier extravagantly. He was too truly great to be envious of Bayard's fame, and nothing delighted him more than to hear the knight's praises.
"My Lord Bayard," he said, shortly after the chevalier's arrival, "I am told that the Spanish fear thee more than they fear any other man on earth, and that they are constantly asking if thou art in camp. I wish thou wouldst go out and show thyself to them."
"By thy leave," answered the knight, laughing, "I will pay them a little visit to-morrow."
On the next morning, which was Good Friday, Bayard paid the "little visit" he promised. He had a way of calling on his enemies very scantily attended, and this time he took with him a mere handful of men.
The two armies were encamped within a few miles of each other before the city of Ravenna, which the Spaniards had undertaken to defend against King Louis's forces.
It is needless to say that the Spanish were not expecting Bayard's visit. They were in readiness, however, for another skirmishing party of French had descended upon them only an hourbefore. It seems that these earlier visitors were being badly worsted when the fearless knight appeared on the scene. In an instant the tide of victory turned. Bayard rallied the flying French and reversed the pursuit, chasing the Spaniards back to their garrison. Nor did he stop at that. Mindful of the visit he had promised to make the enemy, he dashed into the midst of their camp, knocked down tents and pavilions, laid men flat to right and to left, and made good his escape before the Spanish had time to realize what was happening to them.
When the laughing chevalier got back from his adventure, the Duke of Nemours exclaimed in admiration—
"Thou art the man, Lord Bayard, for skirmishes. No one knows so well as thou dost either how to begin or how to end them. Thou art our master in the art of war."
Two days later, on Easter Sunday, the French and Spanish met in the terrible battle of Ravenna,—one of the most cruel and bloody engagements in all history. The field remained to the French,—sixteen thousand out of an army of twenty thousand Spanish being slain or captured; but the victory was too dearly bought, for the "best blood of France" was the price paid for it.
Probably the knight Bayard forgot the gloomy predictions of the astrologer of Carpi. He did not keep near the duke that day, but went dashing about wherever his venturesome spirit led, performing almost incredible feats of arms. But, alas! he came back from his last brilliant charge to find the gallant Nemours dead on the field. The noble duke had been fairly cut to pieces by the many strokes received in his last brave stand against the enemy.
In the year 1513, Henry VIII., King of England, and Maximilian I. of Germany, invaded northern France and captured several towns. In the beginning of this campaign occurred what is known as the "Battle of Spurs;" and this engagement is of special interest on account of Bayard's part in it.
The English were investing the town of Terouana, in which there was almost a famine.
A French force under the Lord of Chabannes had been sent to the relief of the city, but it was found to be much too small to hurl against the outnumbering allies in open battle. Still was it imperative to revictual the suffering town, so Chabannes decided on a difficult stratagem.
A body of cavalry—under Bayard and others—was to feign an attack on the besieging English, and then retreat rapidly, to draw the enemy in pursuit, in order that other troops might take advantage of the confusion, and provision the invested town.
This plan was put in execution; but the English and their German allies played their unconscious part in their adversaries' program so well that they not only pursued the decoy cavalry, but fell upon other companies of French, throwing them into utter confusion.
As may be imagined, the seemingly ignoble flight of his cavalry was galling to a spirit like Bayard's. To "the knight without fear" it was almost impossible to refrain from fighting when an enemy was within striking distance; and now, as had often been the case, his warlike instinct got the better of his sense of obedience.
He was under orders not to fight, but to retreat at full speed when the enemy should give chase. The latter command he obeyed; the former might as well have been given to the storm. He would fly with his company awhile,—till his fiery spirit could no longer be curbed,—then he would wheel about and charge the pursuing English with such impetuous courage that numbers would be compelled to fall back for an instant before his matchless prowess.
At length the chevalier and his company reached a bridge which spanned a swift torrent. He could not resist the temptation of making a stand against the enemy, though he had a mere handful of men about him, so he whirled his horse about and faced the foe. It mattered little how great were the odds against him, for the spirit of battle possessed him. He gave one glance at the remnant that rallied to him, then said to a messenger quickly,—
"Go tell my Lord of Chabannes that I will hold this bridge and whip them if he will but send me reinforcements."
The reinforcements did not come; but Bayard and his little company held the bridge with sword and lance till they saw a large division of German troops fording the stream in their rear. Seeing that they were thus surrounded, and by overwhelming numbers, Bayard said to his men cheerily—
"Let us give ourselves up, comrades; further resistance were but a bootless sacrifice." Not the least noteworthy of Bayard's many fine qualities were his rare good sense and his cheerfulness under misfortune. If he won, he enjoyed his victory; if he lost, he accepted defeat like a philosopher.
His men now followed his advice, each surrendering to the nearest enemy.
Now it chanced, in the confusion, that Bayard saw an exhausted German throw himself down under a near-by tree and unbuckle his sword. In an instant the chevalier sprang to him, snatched up the sword, and presented its point to the officer's throat.
"Surrender or die!" he demanded of the astonished man-at-arms.
Not caring to give up his life, the officer surrendered himself captive to the chevalier, saying,
"As I am without weapon, I render myself to thee. But tell me, pray, to whom I have surrendered."
"To Captain Bayard," replied the chevalier, enjoying the joke, "and I am in turn thy prisoner, by the result of this battle."
So saying, Bayard unbuckled his own sword and handed it to the fellow with mock gravity.
The officer was mystified; but Bayard soon made him see the philosophy, if not the fun, of the situation, and the two marched off together to the English camp—each captive to the other—each bearing the other's surrendered sword.
Here the chevalier remained for some days as prisoner to the man he had captured. But he soon tired of this restraint, and one morning said to his captor with suspicious gravity—
"My worthy friend, I am beginning to tire of doing nothing. Thou wilt oblige me much if thou wilt have me escorted to the camp of my king."
The other was astounded.
"What? eh?" he exclaimed. "But thou sayest nothing of thy ransom!"
"Nor thou of thine," answered the knight, with a grave face. "Art thou not my prisoner and bound to obey me? I have thy word of surrender, and thou shalt keep it. If not, I shall challenge thee."
His captor hardly knew how to take this sally, or what answer to make to it. However, he did know that the last thing in the world he desired was a duel with the invincible Bayard, so he said—
"Sir Captain, let us report our case to higher authority. I will abide by whatever decision is made."
So, according to agreement, the case was reported to the King of England and the Emperor Maximilian, who were in camp together. Bayard,who had a witty mind and a ready tongue, laid the matter before their Majesties very drolly; and the judgment rendered by them goes to show that even great princes can appreciate humorous situations. They agreed that as Bayard and his captor-captive were prisoner each to the other, they were "quits;" and that Bayard should have the liberty of returning to his commander without ransom. King Henry, however, stipulated that the knight should remainen parolein Flanders for six weeks. Bayard cheerfully consented to the terms, and being "le chevalier sans reproche," kept his promise to the letter.
After this interview, the King of England secretly offered to take Bayard into his own service, promising to load the knight with riches and honors if he would desert the cause of France and cast his fortunes with the English.
Bayard answered the King of England as he had before answered the Pope of Rome,—
"I have but one master in heaven—God, and one upon earth—the King of France."
On the first of January, 1514, Louis XII. died. He was succeeded by Francis I., who was then only twenty years of age.
Francis, like his predecessors, was haunted by the idea of his Italian rights, but was never ableto maintain them for any great length of time. One of his first acts of sovereignty was to raise a large army and invade Italy to recover the Duchy of Milan, which had again been wrested from France.
Bayard was with the king on this expedition. Indeed, he preceded Francis into Italy, and by a brilliant stratagem took prisoner Lord Prospero Colonna, Lieutenant-General of the Pope. Prospero it was who had boasted that sooner or later he would take Bayard like a bird in a trap.
Soon afterwards, King Francis crossed the mountains with a great army, and marched upon Milan, at that time defended by a large body of Swiss. The two armies met in a hard-fought battle, and the French were victorious, driving the Swiss entirely out of the duchy.
In this battle, as in many others, Bayard's splendid courage won the day. No other knight could equal him in arms, and none other could so rouse the spirit of the French soldiers; but his greatest service to France that day was the lesson in chivalry he taught her boyish king.
Fired by the noble example of the chevalier, young Francis bore himself in battle like a king indeed, and made old soldiers wonder at his fortitude and courage.
When the battle was over, the gallant young king was the first to ascribe the honor of the victory to Bayard, and the nobles and captains agreed with him heartily.
Anxious to show conspicuous honor to the knight, King Francis then astonished the assembled company—and none more than the chevalier himself—by a most strange request.
"Bayard, my friend," he exclaimed in loving familiarity, "I wish to be knighted by thy hand this day; for thou hast fought on foot and on horseback, in many battles against many nations, and better than all others. Thou art indeed the most worthy knight of all."
Never before had monarch honored a subject with such a request.
The modest chevalier sought to decline this embarrassingly great distinction, saying that such honor belonged only to princes of the blood, but the enthusiastic Francis would not take refusal.
"Nay," he exclaimed, "quote me neither laws nor canons, chevalier; but do my will and command, if thou wouldst still be numbered amongst my loyal servants and subjects."
"Since my king commands, I can but obey," answered the knight, simply.
Then the King of mighty France knelt at the feet of the unassuming chevalier,—a picture to the world forever of how that manhood which is without fear and without reproach is above the majesty of kings.
"Sire," said the chevalier—his great heart too full for many words—"may this be as efficacious as if done by Roland or Oliver, Godfrey or Baldwin, his brother. God grant that in battle thou mayest never flee!"
He laid the flat of his sword on the king's strong shoulder; and when he removed the blade, he kissed it reverently, saying—
"Glorious sword, that to-day hath knighted the greatest of kings, I will henceforth employ thee only against the enemies of Christ's name. And thou shalt be kept as a sacred relic and honored above all others."[2]
Bayard's next service to King Francis was the defeating of an invading army of Germans,—forty thousand strong.
In recognition of this and other great services, the king did all that his jealous nobles could not prevent to show honor to the valiantchevalier. He made Bayard a knight of the king's own order, and gave him command of a hundred picked men-at-arms,—a privilege which belonged only to princes of the blood.
The people of France went wild with enthusiasm over their hero, giving gorgeousfêtesin his honor wherever he went; and the French parliament actually sent a deputation of its members to congratulate him upon the services he had rendered the king and the whole people.
Yet these were but empty honors compared to what the noble chevalier deserved. As the astrologer had predicted, Bayard never received the riches and great appointments he so conspicuously merited.
His last undertaking was another expedition into the troublesome Duchy of Milan. During this campaign the Lord of Bonivet, Admiral of France, was in command of the French, and Bayard and many other gallant captains were under him.
The task before them was to subdue Milan, which had, with the aid of Charles V., Emperor of Germany and King of Spain, again thrown off its allegiance to France.
The French encamped before Milan in the little town of Biagras; but it soon developedthat they were no match for the powerful army of allied Milanese, Germans, Spaniards, and Venetians. Moreover, their forces were being daily depleted by sickness and desertion. Added to these misfortunes were bad faith and bad generalship on the part of the commander, Bonivet.
Matters in the French camp went from bad to worse, while on the other hand the ranks of the emperor were being continually reinforced.
An attack from the powerful and well-equipped enemy was now daily expected, so the admiral determined that there was nothing to do but retire from his position at Biagras. In the retreat, however, he took the post of danger with Bayard in the rear-guard, between the retiring French and their allied foes.
As Bonivet had feared, the French had no sooner moved out of Biagras than the hitherto passive enemy woke to action and gave pursuit.
It had been rumored in the emperor's army that the wonderful Bayard was in the rear-guard of the French, and this report held the pursuers at a respectful distance for some time.
On the morning of the second day, however, the allies determined to force an engagement;and, supported by heavy artillery, made a furious charge upon the retiring French.
If the allied foes had expected to rout the retreating forces, they must have been sadly disappointed, for the French instantly faced about and met their onset with stubborn valor. The odds were overwhelmingly against the sons of France; but Bayard was among them, and where he was, was always desperate courage.
In the very first of the engagement the Lord of Bonivet was wounded and had to be carried from the field, thus leaving Bayard in command. As he was being borne away, Bonivet said to the chevalier—
"I pray and conjure thee, for the honor and glory of France, to defend the artillery and flags to-day. Thou alone canst save them!"
Bayard had had too much experience not to see that it was then impossible to retrieve what the admiral had lost, but he answered simply—
"Too late! But my life is my country's, and while I live, the flags and the artillery shall not fall into the enemy's hands." That promise was not broken.
Calm and collected in that supreme hour, the peerless knight put forth his all for his beloved France. All that unexampled generalship andcourage and fidelity could accomplish in the face of overwhelming odds, he performed that day.
Not content with merely repelling the attacks of the enemy, he charged their advancing columns again and again, and with such fierce onslaughts that each time they were compelled to give back. He had promised for the honor and glory of his country to defend the flags and the artillery that day; and while he lived not a flag was lowered nor a gun lost. But alas for France that day!
Just as the fighting was hottest, and when it seemed that the outnumbered Frenchmustbreak, Bayard once more dashed forward against the foe, as if by sheer force of courage, to wrest victory from inexorable Fate. For one mad, glorious moment he and his company swept irresistibly against the victors; the next, he was struck by a stone from an arquebuse and mortally wounded.
With the cry "Jesus!" he reeled in his saddle. He would have fallen to the ground had not some of his men rushed forward and helped him to dismount. In their anxiety for him, his soldiers would fain have borne him off the field; but Bayard, though dying, was Bayard still, and he said to them—
"It is all over; but I do not wish in my lasthour to turn my back to the foe for the first time in my life. Place me beneath yonder tree with my face toward the enemy."
Still did they beg that they might be allowed to bear him beyond danger of capture—for the French had broken before the enemy when Bayard fell. But the knight feebly answered them—
"Let me devote the short space that remains to me to thinking of my sins. I pray you all to leave me for fear that you should be taken. My Lord d'Alegre, commend me to the king, my master, and say to him that my only regret in dying is my inability to render him further service."
As he ceased speaking, a body of Spaniards, under the Marquis of Pescara, arrived where he lay. The gallant Pescara knelt beside his wounded enemy, and with tears in his eyes exclaimed—
"Would to God, Lord Bayard, that I might have taken thee prisoner unhurt! Thou shalt know how much I have always esteemed thy prowess and thy virtues; for since I have held arms, I have never known thy equal!"
The marquis then caused his own tent to be brought and placed for the use of the wounded knight. Then he himself helped to lay Bayardin bed. He smoothed the dying man's pillow, and kissed the hands that had fought so valiantly against him. Pescara then placed a guard around the tent and went himself and fetched a priest to console the dying chevalier.