"She wrought all needle-works that women exerciseWith pin, frame, or stool; all pictures artificial;Curious knots, or trailes, what fancy could devise;Beasts, birds, or flowers, even as things natural;Three manner of hands could she write them fair all;To speak of algorism or accounts in every fashion,Of women, few like (I think) in all this nation."Dame Cunning her gave a gift right excellent,The goodly practice of her science musical,In diverse tongues to sing and play with instrument,Both viol, and lute, and also virginall,Not only upon one, but excellent in all;For all other virtues belonging to nature,God her appointed a very perfect creeture."Latin, and Spanish, and also ItalianShe spake, writ, and read with perfect utterance;And for the English she the garland wanIn Dame Prudence' school by grace's purveyance,Which clothed her with virtues from naked ignoranceReading the Scriptures to judge light from dark,Directing her faith to Christ, the only marke."
"She wrought all needle-works that women exerciseWith pin, frame, or stool; all pictures artificial;Curious knots, or trailes, what fancy could devise;Beasts, birds, or flowers, even as things natural;Three manner of hands could she write them fair all;To speak of algorism or accounts in every fashion,Of women, few like (I think) in all this nation.
"She wrought all needle-works that women exercise
With pin, frame, or stool; all pictures artificial;
Curious knots, or trailes, what fancy could devise;
Beasts, birds, or flowers, even as things natural;
Three manner of hands could she write them fair all;
To speak of algorism or accounts in every fashion,
Of women, few like (I think) in all this nation.
"Dame Cunning her gave a gift right excellent,The goodly practice of her science musical,In diverse tongues to sing and play with instrument,Both viol, and lute, and also virginall,Not only upon one, but excellent in all;For all other virtues belonging to nature,God her appointed a very perfect creeture.
"Dame Cunning her gave a gift right excellent,
The goodly practice of her science musical,
In diverse tongues to sing and play with instrument,
Both viol, and lute, and also virginall,
Not only upon one, but excellent in all;
For all other virtues belonging to nature,
God her appointed a very perfect creeture.
"Latin, and Spanish, and also ItalianShe spake, writ, and read with perfect utterance;And for the English she the garland wanIn Dame Prudence' school by grace's purveyance,Which clothed her with virtues from naked ignoranceReading the Scriptures to judge light from dark,Directing her faith to Christ, the only marke."
"Latin, and Spanish, and also Italian
She spake, writ, and read with perfect utterance;
And for the English she the garland wan
In Dame Prudence' school by grace's purveyance,
Which clothed her with virtues from naked ignorance
Reading the Scriptures to judge light from dark,
Directing her faith to Christ, the only marke."
[1500.]HALLAM.
SHE was a lady of the Paduan territory, living near the small river Anaso, from which she adopted the poetical name of Anasilla. This stream bathes the foot of certain lofty hills, from which a distinguished family, the counts of Collalto, took their appellation. The representative of this house, himself a poet as well as soldier—and, if we believe his fond admirer, endowed with every virtue except constancy—was loved by Gaspara with enthusiastic passion. Unhappily she learned, only by sad experience, the want of generosity too common to man; and sacrificing, not the honour, but the pride of her sex, by submissive affection, and finally by querulous importunity, she estranged a heart never so susceptible as her own. Her sonnets, which seem arranged nearly in order, begin with the delirium of sanguine love. They are extravagant effusions of admiration, mingled with joy and hope; but soon the sense of Collalto's coldness glides in and overpowers her bliss. After three years of expectation of seeing his promise fulfilled, and when he had already caused alarm by his indifference, she was compelled to endure the pangs of absence, by his entering the service of France. This does not seem to have been of long continuance; but his letters were infrequent, and her complaints, always vented in a sonnet,become more fretful. He returns, and Anasilla exults with tenderness, but still timid in the midst of her joy.
But jealousy, not groundless, soon intruded, and we find her doubly miserable. Collalto became more harsh, avowed his indifference, forbade her to importune him with her complaints, and in a few months espoused another woman. It is said by the historian of Italian literature, that the broken heart of Gaspara sunk very soon under these accumulated sorrows into the grave; and such, no doubt, is what my readers expect, and, at least the gentler of them, wish to find. But inexorable truth, to whom I am the sworn vassal, compels me to say that the poems of the lady herself contain unequivocal proofs that she avenged herself better on Collalto by falling in love again. We find the acknowledgment of another incipient passion, which speedily comes to maturity; and while declaring that her present flame is much stronger than the last, she dismisses her faithless lover with the handsome compliment, that it was her destiny always to fix her affections on a noble object. The name of her second choice does not appear in her poems, nor has any one hitherto, it would seem, made the very easy discovery of his existence. It is true that she died young, but not of love.
The style of Gaspara Stampa is clear, simple, graceful. The Italian critics find something to censure in the versification. In purity of taste I should incline to set her above Bernardino Rota, though she has less vigour of imagination. Corniano has applied to her the well-known lines of Horace upon Sappho. But the fires of guilt and shame that glow along the strings of the Æolian lyre ill resemble the pure sorrows of the tender Anasilla. Her passion for Collalto, ardent and undisguised,was ever virtuous; the sense of gentle birth, though so inferior to his as perhaps to make a proud man fear disparagement, sustained her against dishonourable submission. But, not less in elevation of genius than in dignity of character, she is very inferior to Vittoria Colonna, or even to Veronica Gambara, a poetess who, without equalling Vittoria, had much of her nobleness and purity. We pity the Gasparas. We should worship, if we could find them the Vittorias.
[BORN 1529. DIED 1546.]HUME.
ANNE Askew, a young woman of merit as well as beauty, who had great connections with the chief ladies at court, and with the queen herself, was accused of dogmatising on that delicate article [the presence of the body of Christ in the sacrament]; and Henry (the Eight), in place of showing indulgence to the weakness of her sex and age, was but the more provoked that a woman should dare to oppose his theological sentiments. She was prevailed upon by Bonner's menaces to make a seeming recantation; but she qualified it with some reserves which did not satisfy that zealous prelate. She was thrown into prison; and she, therefore, employed herself in composing prayers and discourses, by which she fortified her resolution to endure the utmost extremity, rather than relinquish her religious principles. She even wrote to the king, and told him that, as to the Lord's Supper, she believed as much as Christ Himself had said of it, and as much of His divine doctrine as the Catholic Church had required. But, while she could not be brought to acknowledge an assent to the king's explications, this declaration availed her nothing, and was rather regarded as a fresh insult.
The chancellor Wriothesley, who had succeeded Audley, and who was muchattached to the Catholic party, was sent to examine her, with regard to her patrons at court, and the great ladies who were in correspondence with her; but she maintained a laudable fidelity to her friends, and would confess nothing. She was put to the torture in the most barbarous manner, and continued still resolute in preserving secrecy. Some authors [Fox, Speed, Baker] add a most extraordinary circumstance: That the chancellor, who stood by, ordered the lieutenant of the Tower to stretch the rack still further, but that officer refused compliance. The chancellor menaced him, but met with a new refusal. Upon which, that magistrate, who was otherwise a person of merit, but intoxicated with religious zeal, put his own hand to the rack, and drew it so violently, that he almost tore her body asunder. Her constancy still surpassed the barbarity of her persecutors, and they found all their efforts to be baffled. She was then condemned to be burned alive; and, being so dislocated by the rack that she could not stand, she was carried to the stake in a chair.
Together with her were conducted Nicholas Belenian, a priest; John Lassels, of the king's household; and John Adams, a tailor, who had been condemned for the same crime to the same punishment. They were all tied to the stake; and, in that dreadful situation, the chancellor sent to inform them that their pardon was ready drawn and signed, and should instantly be given them, if they would merit it by a recantation. They only regarded this offer as a new ornament to their crown of martyrdom; and they saw with tranquillity the executioner kindle the flames which consumed them. Wriothesley did not consider that this public and noted situation interested their honour the more to maintain a steady perseverance.
[While Anne Askew was in Newgate, she made what she called a ballad, which began thus:—
"Like as the armed knightAppointed to the field,With this world will I fight.And Faith shall be my shield."
"Like as the armed knight
Appointed to the field,
With this world will I fight.
And Faith shall be my shield."
And having recounted her bitter conflicts, and firm trust in God, the only comfort she had in her affliction, she concludes with these charitable and truly Christian lines—
"Yet, Lord, I Thee desire,For that they do to me;Let them not taste the hireOf their iniquity."
"Yet, Lord, I Thee desire,
For that they do to me;
Let them not taste the hire
Of their iniquity."
The whole ballad is published by Bale.]
[BORN 1533. DIED 1603.]HUME—MACAULAY.
THERE are few great persons in history who have been more exposed to the calumny of enemies and the adulation of friends than Queen Elizabeth, and yet there scarcely is any whose reputation has been more certainly determined by the unanimous consent of posterity. The unusual length of her administration, and the strong features of her character, were able to overcome all prejudices; and, obliging her detractors to abate much of their invectives, and her admirers somewhat of their panegyrics, have at last, in spite of political factions, and, what is more, of religious animosities, produced a uniform judgment in regard to her conduct.
Her vigour, her constancy, her magnanimity, her penetration, vigilance, and address, are allowed to merit the highest praises, and appear not to have been surpassed by any person that ever filled a throne. A conduct less rigorous, less imperious, more sincere, more indulgent to her people, would have been requisite to form a perfect character. By the force of her mind she controlled all her more active and stronger qualities, and prevented them from running into excess. Her heroism was exempt from temerity, her frugality from avarice, her friendship from partiality, her enterprise from turbulency and a vain ambition: sheguarded not herself with equal care or equal success from lesser infirmities—the rivalship of beauty, the desire of admiration, the jealousy of love, and the sallies of anger.
Her singular talents for government were founded equally on her temper and on her capacity. Endowed with a great command over herself, she soon obtained an uncontrolled ascendant over her people; and while she merited all their esteem by her real virtues, she also engaged their affection by her pretended ones. Few sovereigns of England succeeded to the throne in more difficult circumstances, and none ever conducted the government with such uniform success and felicity. Though unacquainted with the practice of toleration, the true secret for managing religious factions, she preserved her people, by her superior prudence, from those confusions in which religious controversy had involved all the neighbouring nations; and though her enemies were the most powerful princes of Europe,—the most active, the most enterprising, the least scrupulous,—she was able, by her vigour, to make deep impressions on their states. Her own greatness remained, meanwhile, untouched and unimpaired.
The wise ministers and brave warriors who flourished under her reign, share the praise of her success; but instead of lessening the applause due to her, they make a great addition to it. They owed, all of them, their advancement to her choice; they were supported by her constancy; and, with all their abilities, they were never able to acquire any undue ascendant over her. In her family, in her court, in her kingdom, she remained equally mistress: the force of the tender passions was great over her, but the force of her mind was still superior; and the combat which the victory visibly cost her, serves only to display the firmness of her resolution and the loftiness of her ambitious sentiments.
The fame of this princess, though it has surmounted the prejudices both of faction and of bigotry, yet lies still exposed to another prejudice, which is more durable, because more natural, and which, according to the different views in which we survey her, is capable either of exalting beyond measure, or diminishing the lustre of her character. This prejudice is founded on the consideration of her sex. When we contemplate her as a woman, we are apt to be struck with the highest admiration of her great qualities and extensive capacity; but we are also apt to require some more softness of disposition, some greater lenity of temper, some of those amiable weaknesses by which her sex is distinguished. But the true method of estimating her merit is to lay aside all these considerations, and to consider her merely as a rational being placed in authority, and entrusted with the government of mankind. We may find it difficult to reconcile our fancy to her as a wife or a mistress; but her qualities as a sovereign, though with some considerable exceptions, are the object of undisputed applause and approbation.
(MACAULAY.)
Of all the sovereigns who exercised a power which was seemingly absolute, but which, in fact, depended for support on the love and confidence of their subjects, Elizabeth was by far the most illustrious. It has often been alleged as an excuse for the misgovernment of her successors, that they only followed her example; that precedents mightbe found in the transactions of her reign for persecuting the Puritans; for levying money without the sanction of the House of Commons, for confining men without bringing them to trial, for interfering with the liberty of Parliamentary debate. All this may be true. But it is no good plea for her successors, and for this plain reason, that they were her successors. She governed one generation—they governed another. It was not by looking at the particular measures which Elizabeth had adopted, but by looking at the great general principles of her government, that those who followed her were likely to learn the art of managing untractable subjects. If, instead of searching the records of her reign for precedents which might seem to vindicate the mutilation of Prynne and the imprisonment of Eliot, the Stuarts had attempted to discover the fundamental rules which guided her conduct in all her dealings with her people, they would have perceived that their policy was then most unlike to hers, when, to a superficial observer, it would have seemed most to resemble hers. Firm, haughty, sometimes unjust and cruel in her proceedings towards individuals, or towards small parties, she avoided with care, or retracted with speed, every measure which seemed likely to alienate the great mass of the people. She gained more honour and more love by the manner in which she repaired her errors than she would have gained by never committing errors.
If such a man as Charles I. had been in her place when the whole nation was crying out against the monopolies, he would have refused all redress. He would have dissolved the Parliament and imprisoned the most popular members. He would have called another Parliament. He would have given some vague and delusive promises of relief in return forsubsidies. When entreated to fulfil his promises, he would have again dissolved the Parliament, and again imprisoned his leading opponents. The country would have become more agitated than before. The next House of Commons would have been more unmanageable than that which preceded it. The tyrant would have agreed to all that the nation demanded. He would have solemnly ratified an act abolishing monopolies for ever. He would have received a large supply in return for this concession, and, within half a year, new patents, more oppressive than those which had been cancelled, would have been issued by scores. Such was the policy which brought the heir of a long line of kings, in early youth the darling of his country, to a prison and a scaffold.
Elizabeth, before the House of Commons could address her, took out of their mouths the words they were about to utter in the name of the nation. Her promises went beyond their desires, and their performance followed close upon her promises. She did not treat the nation as an adverse party, as a party who had an interest opposed to hers, as a party to which she was to grant as few advantages as possible. Her benefits were given, not sold, and when once given, they were never withdrawn. She gave them, too, with a frankness, an effusion of heart, a princely dignity, a motherly tenderness, which enhanced their value. They were received by the sturdy country gentlemen, who had come up to Westminster full of resentment, with tears of joy, and shouts of God save the Queen.
[BORN 1537. DIED 1554.]HUME.
THE grand-daughter of Mary Tudor, sister of Henry VIII., and of Charles Branden, Duke of Suffolk, and daughter of Henry Grey, Marquis of Dorset, was a lady of an amiable person, an engaging disposition, and accomplished parts; and being of an equal age with the late king [Edward VI.], she had received all her education with him, and seemed to possess greater facility in acquiring every part of manly and polite literature. She had attained a similar knowledge of the Roman and Greek languages, besides modern tongues; had passed most of her time in an application to learning, and expressed a great indifference for other occupations and amusements usual with her sex and station. Roger Ascham, tutor to the Lady Elizabeth, having one day paid her a visit, found her employed in reading Plato, while the rest of the party were engaged hunting in the park; and on his admiring the singularity of her choice, she told him that she received more pleasure from that author than the others could reap from all their sport and gaiety.
Her heart, full of this passion for literature and the elegant arts, and of tenderness towards her husband [Lord Guildford], who was deserving of her affections, had never opened itself to the flattering allurementsof ambition, and the intelligence of her elevation to the throne was nowise agreeable to her. She even refused to accept of the present; pleaded the preferable title of the two princesses; expressed her dread of the consequences attending an enterprise so dangerous, not to say criminal; and desired to remain in the private station in which she was born. Overcome at length by the entreaties rather than the reasons of her father and father-in-law, and above all of her husband, she submitted to their will, and was prevailed on to relinquish her own judgment.
It was then usual for the kings of England, after their accession, to pass their first days in the Tower, and Northumberland thither conveyed the new sovereign. All the councillors were obliged to attend her to that fortress, and by this means became in reality prisoners in the hands of Northumberland, whose will they were necessitated to obey. Orders were given by the council to proclaim Jane throughout the kingdom, but their orders were executed only in London and the neighbourhood. No applause ensued. The people heard the proclamation with silence and concern; some even expressed their scorn and contempt; and one Pot, a vintner's apprentice, was severely punished for this offence. The Protestant teachers themselves, who were employed to convince the people of Jane's title, found their eloquence fruitless; and Ridley, Bishop of London, preached a sermon to that purpose, which wrought no effect upon his audience.
After the defeat of Northumberland's and another rebellion, warning was given the Lady Jane to prepare for death—a doom which she had long expected, and which the innocence of her life, as well as the misfortunes to which she had been exposed, rendered nowise unwelcome toher. The queen's zeal, under colour of tender mercy to the prisoner's soul, induced her to send divines, who harassed her with perpetual disputations; and even a reprieve for three days was granted, in hopes that she should be persuaded during that time to pay, by a timely conversion, some regard to her eternal welfare. The Lady Jane had presence of mind in those melancholy circumstances not only to defend her religion by all the topics then in use, but also to write a letter to her sister in the Greek language, in which, besides sending her a copy of the Scriptures in that tongue, she exhorted her to maintain in every feature a like steady perseverance.
It had been intended to execute the Lady Jane and Lord Guildford together on the same scaffold at Tower Hill; but the council, dreading the compassion of the people for their youth, beauty, innocence, and noble birth, changed their orders, and gave directions that she should be beheaded within the verge of the Tower. She saw her husband led to execution, and, having given him from the window some token of remembrance, she waited with tranquillity till her own appointed hour should bring her to a like fate. She even saw his headless body carried back in a cart, and found herself more confirmed by the reports which she heard of the constancy of his end, than shaken by so tender and melancholy a spectacle. Sir John Gage, constable of the Tower, when he led her to execution, desired her to bestow on him some small present which he might keep as a perpetual memorial of her. She gave him her table-book, on which she had just written three sentences on seeing her husband's dead body—one in Greek, another in Latin, a third in English. On the scaffold she made a speech to the bystanders, in which themildness of her disposition led her to take the blame wholly on herself, without uttering one complaint against the severity with which she had been treated; that she justly deserved this punishment for being made the instrument, though the unwilling instrument, of the ambition of others; and that the story of her life, she hoped, might at least be useful, by proving that innocence excuses not great misdeeds, if they tend anywise to the destruction of the commonwealth. After uttering these words, she caused herself to be disrobed by her women, and, with a steady serene countenance, submitted herself to the executioner.
[1600.]HILARION DE COSTE.
CAMILLAS Molza, Knight of the Order of St James in Spain, who was son of the great Frances Maria Molza of Modena, orator and excellent poet, having remarked from her early years the bounty and excellence of her spirit, sent her with her brothers to learn the principles of grammar. John Politian, a native of Modena, very learned in all the sciences, very virtuous, and of holy life, became her master. She apprehended also the humane letters, learned to write well, and to compose correctly, under the care of Lazarus Labadini, a celebrated grammarian of the time, reducing his instruction to practice in elegant compositions in prose and verse. She became well versed in the rhetoric of Aristotle under Camillus Corcapini. The mathematician Antonio Guarini taught her the knowledge of the sphere. She became intimately acquainted with poetry under the famous philosopher Patricio, with logic and general philosophy under P. Latoni, and also attained to an entire and perfect knowledge of the Greek tongue. Rabi Abraham taught her the principles of the Hebrew language, as her uncle had taught her before; the consequence of all which was that, with her inclination to study so well observed by these great men, she made such notable progress, that it became easy for herto solve the most subtle questions in theology.
Nor did she stop here. John Maria Barbier, a man of great knowledge and judgment, introduced her to the refinements of the Tuscan language, in which she not only composed many elegant verses, but also many letters and other works, much esteemed by the most accomplished and learned men of Italy. With her more peculiar inventions, she mixed up a quantity of translations of Greek and Latin works, in which she expressed so happily and properly the thoughts of the authors, that she reduced the reader to doubt whether she had not a better knowledge of these languages than of her own. She afterwards applied herself to music, to entertain her and divert her from more serious studies, and soon surpassed all the dames who had been in use to sing with great applause, and to ravish the ears with admiration. She acquired the conduct of her voice by the true rules of books of the best authors, of whom many had the ambition to show her something rare; and, while playing on instruments, she could join her voice with such address and science as could not be equalled. And so much did she excel in this, that Alfonso, the second Duke of Ferrara, a judicious prince, and who had an extreme passion for all fair and good things, was ravished with admiration, having found more of the marvellous in this dame than he had looked for. A little afterwards she instituted the celebrated concert of dames, who did her so much honour, that they always called her into their company, that, by her presence, she might perfect the choir she had formed.
[Having lost her husband, says Bayle, this admirable woman, though left without children and still young, wished to remain unmarried; while her grief was so remarkable, that she might have been compared toArtemisia. She was by the senate and Roman people honoured with the title of Incomparable, and invested by patent with the right of a Roman citizen,—a privilege extended to the whole house of Molza.]
Queen MaryFrom a Painting at St. James's. 1580.
From a Painting at St. James's. 1580.
[BORN 1542. DIED 1587.]ROBERTSON.
TO all the charms of beauty and the utmost elegance of external form, Mary added those accomplishments which render their impression irresistible. Polite, affable, insinuating, sprightly, and capable of speaking and writing with equal ease and dignity. Sudden, however, and violent in all her attachments, because her heart was warm and unsuspicious. Impatient of contradiction, because she had been accustomed from her infancy to be treated as a queen. No stranger, on some occasions, to dissimulation, which in that perfidious court where she received her education was reckoned among the necessary arts of government. Not insensible to flattery, or unconscious of that pleasure with which almost every woman beholds the influence of her own beauty. Formed with the qualities which we love, not with the talents that we admire, she was an agreeable woman rather than an illustrious queen. The vivacity of her spirit, not sufficiently tempered with sound judgment, and the warmth of her heart, which was not at all times under the restraint of discretion, betrayed her both into errors and into crimes. To say that she was always unfortunate will not account for that long and almost uninterrupted succession of calamities which befell her; wemust likewise add, that she was often imprudent. Her passion for Darnley was rash, youthful, and excessive; and though the sudden transition to the opposite extreme was the natural effect of her ill-requited love, and of his ingratitude, insolence, and brutality, yet neither these nor Bothwell's artful address and important services can justify her attachments to that nobleman. Even the manners of the age, licentious as they were, are no apology for this unhappy passion; nor can they induce us to look on that tragical and infamous scene which followed upon it with less abhorrence.
Humanity will draw a veil over this part of her character which it cannot approve, and may perhaps prompt some to impute her actions to her situation more than to her dispositions; and to lament the unhappiness of the former, rather than accuse the perverseness of the latter. Mary's sufferings exceed, both in degree and duration, those tragical distresses which fancy has feigned to excite sorrow and commiseration; and while we survey them, we are apt altogether to forget her frailties: we think of her faults with less indignation, and approve of our tears, as if they were shed for a person who had attained much nearer to pure virtue.
With regard to the queen's person, a circumstance not to be omitted in writing the history of a female reign, all contemporary authors agree in ascribing to Mary the utmost beauty of countenance and elegance of shape of which the human form is capable. Her hair was black, although, according to the fashion of that age, she frequently wore borrowed locks, and of different colours. Her eyes were a dark grey, her complexion was exquisitely fine, and her hands and arms remarkably delicate, both as to shape and colour. Her stature was of an height that rose to the majestic. She danced, walked, and rode with equal grace.Her taste for music was just; and she both sung and played upon the lute with uncommon skill. Towards the end of her life, long confinement, and the coldness of the houses in which she had been imprisoned, brought on a rheumatism which often deprived her of the use of her limbs. No man, says Brantome, ever beheld her person without admiration and love, or will read her history without sorrow.
[1576.]DAVENPORT ADAMS.
THE most famous of the beauties of France, and whose renown is inseparably associated with the glory of the most popular of the French monarchs, was born at the Château de Cœuvres, near Soissons, in the year 1576. Her father was a gallant soldier, who had deserved well of his country, Antoine D'Estrees, Marquis de Cœuvres. At an early age Gabrielle gave promise of a remarkable beauty, when time should have developed the fair proportions, rounded the slender figure, and lent expression to the radiant face. Though her mother was notorious for the looseness of her life, the daughter showed a high sense of purity, and her reserve was the despair of all the young nobles in her neighbourhood. She reached the age of seventeen without knowing what it was to love, and her heart was as innocent as her loveliness was without blemish.
Shortly after the accession of Henri Quatre to his precarious throne, he despatched on a mission to Monsieur D'Estrees the first gentleman of his chamber, the handsome and accomplished Duke de Bellegarde. This brilliant courtier gazed with wonder on the beauty so long concealed in the obscurity of a feudal castle. Her tresses glowed with burnished gold; her blue eyes sparkled with a dazzling fire, her complexion wasradiantly fair, her nose well shaped and aquiline, her mouth was well fitted with pearly teeth, and her lips resembled the all-compelling bow of the god of love. A stately throat, a gently swelling bust, a rounded arm and slender hand—these completed the charms which a fascinating address and natural elegance of movement rendered still more irresistible.
Bellegarde saw and loved; nor was his evident devotion unpleasing to Mademoiselle D'Estrees, who had never before encountered a cavalier so handsome, so gallant, and so chivalrous. The course of true love seemed with this fortunate twain to run most smoothly; for though Gabrielle had been betrothed from her childhood to Andre de Brancas Sieur de Villars, brother of the Marquis de Villars, who had married her elder sister Juliette, the Marquis de Cœuvres could not resist his daughter's entreaties, and consented to affiance her to the Duke de Bellegarde. He was not, indeed, insensible to the advantages of an alliance with a noble so powerful and wealthy, and who stood so high in the favour of King Henry. The lovers exchanged rings in his presence; the duke presented his lady-love with his portrait, and then returned to his duties at court, where his engagement to an unknown beauty excited great astonishment.
At this time Henri Quatre was holding his court at Mantes, and relieving the sterner toils of empire by sharing in the banquet and the song. The dames and demoiselles of Mantes were often the themes of the merry talk of the jocund monarch and his courtiers, and much surprise was expressed at the indifference with which the Duke de Bellegarde conducted himself among them. They could not conceive that a country maiden could be any worthy rival of the dazzlingdames de la cour. The duke replied thatnot one of them could hope to equalla dame des ses pensees, the beautiful Gabrielle D'Estrees. Henry laughed at the lover's infatuation. Bellegarde, piqued at his incredulity, invited him to accompany him to the Château de Cœuvres. The king promised; and thus, as Mademoiselle de Guise sagely observes, "the hopeful lover became the artificer of his own misfortunes," for it was due to that ill-omened visit that he perilled his happiness, and lost the favour of the king.
As the château was at no great distance from Senlis, where Henry afterwards was, he and the courtiers rode hastily forward. Henry was received with the welcome due to so brave a king; and the beautiful Gabrielle did homage to him by kissing his hand, and proffered the winecup for his refreshment. Her loveliness burst upon the astonished monarch, as the glories of the new world broke on the dazzled eyes of Columbus. Fresh, and pure, and unsophisticated, it took captive the royal heart, and the memories of all former loves paled before the fervency of this new passion. When he retired to Senlis, he summoned thither the Marquis de Cœuvres and his daughter, under pretext that the marquis might take his oaths as a member of the royal council. The summons was most unacceptable to Gabrielle, who complained bitterly that Henry's attentions sullied her maiden fame, while she grieved at the popular rumour that her lover Bellegarde had been ensnared by the charms of Mademoiselle de Guise. On her arrival at Senlis, she offered Bellegarde to consent to a private marriage as the only means of evading the "evil designs" of his majesty; but the duke was not chivalrous enough to dare the royal wrath. The king persisted in demandingBellegarde's submission. He visited the beauty in the hope of soothing her disappointment and moderating her anger; but she wept continually, and, flinging herself on her knees, implored him to restore to her her affianced husband. When she found him immovable, she rose and abruptly left the apartment, and during the night quitted Senlis, and returned to her father's castle.
Meanwhile, engaged in war, Henry joined his principal officers at La Fêre. It was at this epoch that he resolved on the most romantic and adventurous passage of his romantic and adventurous life. He set out from La Fêre early in the dim, misty morning of the 18th November, accompanied by twelve cavaliers. At a village about nine miles from Cœuvres he quitted his attendants, and prosecuted his journey on foot, in the disguise of a peasant. To complete the transformation he carried a sack of straw on his head. It was difficult for even the invincible Gabrielle to resist so surprising a proof of her royal lover's devotion. She did not allow herself, however, to succumb too quickly. The reception was cold and ungracious. Mademoiselle professed to be disgusted with the coarse, rude garb assumed by the royal adventurer; but a brief conversation having followed, a visible relenting on the part of the flattered beauty so cheered the enamoured Henry, that, on taking leave, he said to Madame Villars, "I have now a good heart that nothing will go wrong with me, but all things prosper. I am going to pursue the enemy, and in a day or twoma bellewill hear what gallant exploits I have accomplished for love of her."
The king's visit to the château was not attended by any disastrous consequences. He returned to La Fêre in safety, and his devotion to the lady became well known all over France; but her father was determinedto save her honour by a method not unusual in those days. He chose a husband for his daughter, and intimated that no option would be allowed her. This was Monsieur de Liancourt, who was many years her senior, and a widower, with nine children,—wealthy, ignorant, weak in mind, and disagreeable in person. In vain Gabrielle appealed to the king against a marriage which was little better than "a living death." Henry was well pleased with an event which he foresaw would vanquish the beauty's last lingering reluctance. He said "he would cause her to be carried away within one hour of the celebration of her espousals." Her marriage took place at Cœuvres in January 1591, and she made her preparations to escape immediately from the bridegroom she loathed to the gallant Henry. The following day a royal order exiled Monsieur de Liancourt. Thenceforth Gabrielle reigned supreme in the heart of Henri Quatre.
[1589.]BISHOP RAINBOW.
THIS lady was daughter of George Clifford, Earl of Cumberland, and born in 1589. She was first married to the Earl of Dorset, and secondly to the Earl of Pembroke. She had a clear soul shining through a vivid body; her body was durable and healthful, her soul sprightful, of great understanding and judgment, faithful memory, and ready wit. She had early gained knowledge as of the best things; so an ability to discourse in all commendable arts and sciences, as well as in those things which belong to persons of her birth and sex to know. For she could discourse with virtuosos, travellers, scholars, merchants, divines, statesmen, and with good housewives, in any kind; in so much that a prime and elegant wit, Dr Donne, well seen in all human learning, and afterwards devoted to the study of divinity, is reported to have said of this lady in her younger years, "that she knew well how to discourse of all things, from predestination to slea-silk." Although she knew wool and flax, fine linen and silk, things appertaining to the spindle and distaff, yet "she could open her mouth with wisdom," knowledge of the best and highest things. If she had sought fame rather than wisdom, possibly she might have been ranked among those wits and learned of that sex of whomPythagoras, or Plutarch, or any of the ancients, have made such honourable mention.
Authors of several kinds of learning, some of controversies very abstruse, were not unknown to her. She much commended one book, William Barclay's dispute with Bellarmine, both, as she knew, of the Popish persuasion; but the former less papal, and, she said, had well stated a main point, and opposed that learned cardinal for giving too much power even in temporals to the pope over kings and secular princes, which she seemed to think the main thing aimed at by the followers of that court; to pretend to claim only to govern directly in spirituals, but to intend chiefly, though indirectly, to hook in temporals, and in them to gain power, dominion, and tribute; money and rule being gods to which the Roman courtiers and their partisans chiefly sacrifice.
As she had been a most critical searcher into her own life, so she had been a diligent inquirer into the lives, fortunes, and characters of many of her ancestors for many years. Some of them she has left particularly described, and the exact annals of diverse passages, which were most remarkable in her own life ever since it was wholly at her own disposal, that is, since the death of her last lord and husband, Philip, Earl of Pembroke, which was for the space of twenty-six or twenty-seven years.
From this her great diligence, as her posterity may find in reading those abstracts of occurrences in her own life, being added to her heroic fathers' and pious mothers' lives, dictated by herself, so they may reap greater fruits of her diligence in finding the honours, descents, pedigrees, estates, and the titles and claims of their progenitors to them, comprised historically and methodically in threevolumes of the larger size, and each of them three or four times fairly written over; which, although they were said to have been collected and digested in some parts by one or more learned heads, yet were they wholly directed by herself, and attested in the most parts by her own hand.
[1600.]BALLARD.
REMARKABLE for her caligraphy, the chief thing I have to mention concerning her. All that see her writing are astonished at it, upon the account of its exactness, its fineness, and variety; and many are of opinion that nothing can be more exquisite. Gazius, Ascham, Davies, Gething, Lyte, and many others, have been celebrated for their extraordinary talents this way; but this lady has excelled them all, what she has done being almost incredible. One of the many delicate pieces she wrote was in the custody of Mr Samuel Kello, her great-grandson, in 1711. Others are remaining at the Castle of Edinburgh. Mr Hearne saw one in the hands of Philip Harcourt, Esq., entitled, "Historiæ Memorabiles Genesis, per Estheram Inglis, Edinburgi. Anno 1600."
In the archives of Christ's Church, in Oxford, are the Psalms of David, written in French with her own hand, and presented to Queen Elizabeth by Mrs Inglis herself; and were by that princess given to this library. In the archives in Bodley's Library are two more of her manuscripts, preserved with great care. One of them is entitled "Les Six Vingts et Six Quartains de Guy de Faur Sieur de Pybrae, escrits Esther Inglis, pour sin dernier adieu ce 21 jour de June 1617." In the second leaf this in capital letters: "To the Right Worshipfull my very singular friende,Joseph Hall, Doctor of Divinity and Dean of Worchester, Esther Inglis wisheth all increase of true happiness, Junii 21, 1616." In third leaf, her head, painted on a card, and pasted upon the leaf.
The title of the other book is "Les Proverbes de Solomon, escrites in diverses sortes des Lettres, par Esther Anglois, Francoise. A Lislebourge en Escosse, 1599." This delicate performance gains the admiration of all who see it; every chapter is wrote in a different hand, as is the dedication, and some other things at the beginning of the book, which makes near forty several sorts of hands. The beginnings and endings of the chapters are adorned with most beautiful head and tail pieces, and the margins are elegantly decorated with the pen, in imitation, I suppose, of the elegant old manuscripts. The book is dedicated to the Earl of Essex, Queen Elizabeth's great favourite. At the beginning are his arms, neatly drawn, with all its quarterings, in number fifty-six. In the fifth leaf is her own picture, done with the pen, in the habit of that time. In her right hand a pen, the left resting upon a book opened, in one of the leaves of which is written, "Del eternal le bien. De moi le mal, ou rien." On the table before her there is likewise a music-book lying open, which perhaps intimates that she had some skill in that art. Under the picture is an epigram in Latin, written by Andrew Melvin, and, in the next page, another composed by the same author in Latin, of which the following is a translation:—