Odd Bits of History Part 2

Charles VIII. detecting in him even then that brilliant capacity which made him in after-life one of the foremost generals of his day, intrusted to him the command of 6000 _lansquenets_, at whose head he mastered the difficult but valuable art of maintaining discipline among a most unruly, but at the same time most serviceable host, and qualified himself for that peculiar kind of warfare in which he subsequently gathered splendid laurels. By this early favour Charles linked to his Court an officer who, as Gaillard says, became one of "_cette pleiade de grands Capitaines qui ill.u.s.trerent les regnes de Louis XII. et Francois I., et porterent si haut l'honneur de nos armes--Bayard, la Palisse, la Tremouille, duc de Gueldres, Robert de la Marck_ [better known as Fleurange, "Le Jeune Aventureux"], _et la famille de Rohan_." Of all these famous captains--and, moreover, of Francis of Angouleme himself--Richard was a comrade-in-arms and familiar friend. And n.o.body seemed to be able to manage the wild and "_indociles_" mercenaries, who were ready to place themselves at the service of any sovereign who would pay them, like himself. Dreaded foes--and to the people scarcely less dreaded allies--were those "bandes noires" of Northern Germany, who, like the modern Prussians, bore on their banner the colours of black and white.

Before Pampeluna--of gloomy memory--they mutinied even against Bayard, "striking"--according to the most approved notions of nineteenth-century trades-unionism--at the most critical juncture for the concession of double pay. Bayard and Suffolk between them, however, soon reduced them to obedience. Brantome relates that it was said of the _lansquenets_ that after St. Peter had refused them entrance into heaven, their troubled souls could not even obtain admission into h.e.l.l. The very devils were afraid of this wild company. With these rough warriors did Richard fight his battles, and fought them so well, that there was not one of the three French kings whom he served, who did not feel moved to reward his services with a substantial pension, in addition to his open thanks. Ever foremost in battle, Richard's company "receveyd," as John Stile reports to Henry VIII., "most hurte and los of men then any other of that party." And on that fateful day which cost Richard his life, and Francis I. "_tout fors l'honneur_," the king declared that, if all his troops had but done their duty like Richard's _lansquenets_, the victory would have been his.

Francis was especially beholden to these rough soldiers, because, by winning for him the battle of Marignano, when his crown was still young and unsettled upon his head, they raised him to high prestige, and completely altered his position in Europe. "_Ce gros garcon gatera tout_,"

Louis XII. had said--leaving 1800 livres of debts for the "_gros garcon_"

to pay. The prediction proved wrong.

When Richard de la Pole took service under Charles VIII., his father was recently dead "of grief," and his family were under a cloud, owing to Lincoln's rising in 1487. The "affable" king was much pleased with his captain, and after the siege of Boulogne a.s.signed to him a pension of 7000 _ecus_. At the conclusion of the treaty of Etaples, Henry VII. began his shabby course of persecution against Richard, from which he and his son never desisted while Richard was alive, demanding from Charles the surrender of his foe. Charles, however, flatly refused the demand. King Charles's pension, it is sadly to be feared, lapsed with his life in 1498; for in 1505, and thereabouts, we find Richard in absolute dest.i.tution--left, indeed, in p.a.w.n by his brother Edmund for that brother's debts with the citizens of Aix-la-Chapelle. (Sir Henry Ellis, with a little too much knowledge of German geography, places Richard at "Aken on the Elbe." It is, however, perfectly clear that the place of his detention was Aachen--that is, what we generally call Aix-la-Chapelle, but for which both Edmund and Richard adopted various fancy spellings, as, indeed, they did for most of their words, from the simple article upward.)

As Richard's fate is so closely bound up with Edmund's, it may be convenient to review at one rapid glance the fortunes of that poor n.o.bleman after his flight in 1501. He first repaired to Imst, in the Tyrol, to seek help from the Emperor Maximilian. The Emperor Maximilian gave him ample encouragement, drew up an agreement, kept his confidential agent as representative at his own Court, and sent him with letters of recommendation to Aix-la-Chapelle, where, hoping to obtain further succour, Edmund managed to outrun the constable, and was fain to leave his brother as pledge. In spring 1502 it was proposed that Edmund, to make good his claim, should land in England from Denmark. In that same year, however, Henry talked over the Emperor, and concluded a treaty with him, by which Maximilian bound himself not to allow any English rebels to reside in his dominions, "even though they be of the rank of dukes." That was, there can be no doubt, specially aimed at Edmund and Richard. Edmund now despaired of help in the quarter appealed to, and transferred his attentions to the Court of the Count Palatine. In 1504 he entered Guelders, with a view to proceeding to Frisia and obtaining pecuniary a.s.sistance--so he writes to his p.a.w.ned brother at Aachen--from Duke George of Saxony. The Duke of Guelders, greedy to secure--as Archduke Philip, his cousin, writes to Henry--the reward which he is likely to receive from Henry, plays the traitor and enters into an intrigue with Philip of Burgundy--it is always the same Philip--who eventually "interns" Edmund at Namur.

Poor Richard was in sore straits all the time. "Here I ly," he writes to his brother in very curious English, "in gret peyne and pouerte for your Grace, and no manner of comffort I have of your Grace.... Sir, be my trothe ye dele ffery hardly with me." "Sir," he writes again another time, "I beseche your Grace, send me some what to help me with all." He reports that--while Edmund was at Namur--the indignant "bourgoys of Aix" have sent a deputation to Philip to see what redress they could obtain. And coming back empty-handed they had denounced Edmund to Richard as "_le pluis false homme que oncques fuyt de sa parole_," and threatened to expose him at all the courts of Europe. At the same time Richard is made uncomfortable by the fact that he knows that Henry has offered the burgesses of Aix bribes--as much as 5000 crowns in gold--if they will deliver him "three lieuwes out of the town of Aix"--"and he will pay them," he significantly adds.

From Namur, Edmund, with a mixture of rather too ingenuous prudence and folly, as a last shift, offers a reconciliation to Henry, but fixes his own terms exorbitantly high. This offer, as has been already related, sealed his doom. He died by the executioner in 1513.

His death left Richard the more or less recognised "White Rose" claimant to the throne of England. (What became of his two elder brothers, Humphrey and Edward--both of whom took orders, and one of whom was Archdeacon of Richmond--we are not told.) Somehow or other he had managed to get away from Aix in 1506. For in that year we find the Emperor reporting to Henry that he had seized the French "orators," who had proceeded to Hungary by way of Venice. He had looked out, as desired, for Richard, but had not been able to find him among the company. In April, 1507, however, Richard writes, dating his letter "Budae," to the Bishop of Liege--one of the De la Marcks with whom at Metz he was to become intimate--in Latin, which is very much better than his English, though that is not saying much.

King Henry having, in 1509, given proofs of his peculiar goodwill towards the De la Poles, by excepting them in distinct terms from a general pardon, we cannot be surprised to learn that Richard--"Blanche Rose" they called him in France--had grown busy scheming against his sovereign. Louis XII. was then at war with Henry, and it served Louis's purpose to turn to account the "_instrument de trouble que le roi dans l'occa.s.sion pouvait faire agir en Angleterre--une etincelle qui pouvait y rallumer les anciennes incendies_." In 1512 we have John Stile reporting to Henry, that "your sayd rebel was mayde a Capytan of the Almaynys that went you to Navar, where many of the Almaynys now of late be slayne." "The Almaynys"

were Richard's _lansquenets_, who indeed suffered great "hurte and los" in that ill-starred campaign. Richard fought there side by side with Bayard, and half starved with him on bread made of millet; and though their defeat meant disaster to the King of Navarre, the army were not altogether sorry to be called back to Artois, invaded by the English. Richard's command of the "French fleet for a rising in England," recorded by Peter Martyr, was probably only of brief duration. For we find him again at the head of his 6000 _lansquenets_ at Therouenne, besieged by the English, and taking part in the inglorious "battle of the Spurs"--so named because the French, taken by surprise while riding, not their war-horses, but their "hackneys," trusted more to their spurs than to their swords. That day of Guinegate helped to bring peace to England and France--and to send Richard to Metz. The Duc de Longueville, taken prisoner on that day, turned his captivity to account for negotiating a treaty of peace--one condition of which was that the Princess Mary, Henry VIII.'s sister, should be married to the all but dying Louis XII.--as the clerics of the Basoche said, "_Une hacquenee pour le porter bientost et plus doucement en enfer ou en paradis_." Another condition was, that Richard should be given up. To this Louis would not agree, but answered in almost the same terms which his cousin had used, "_Qu'il aimait mieux perdre tout ce qu'il possedait que de le conserver en violant l'hospitalite_." Some people say that this was mere bounce. But it had its effect.

A compromise was arranged, in pursuance of which Richard was banished to Metz. That was rather a cool proceeding on the part of the two monarchs, considering that Metz was then a city of the Empire, in no sort of dependence upon either Henry or Louis. The thirteen Jurats of Metz were accordingly a little taken aback when they received Louis's letter to "_mes bons amis_," begging that his _protege_ might be "_bien recu et bien advenu_"--as well they might, in view of the treaty concluded between England and their master, the Emperor, in 1502, with special reference to this self-styled "duke." However, they got over the difficulty by granting Richard a _laissezpa.s.ser_ for eight days, to be indefinitely renewed, while that should prove practicable. So De la Pole went to Metz, England and France got their peace for a time, and Mary--"_bien polie, mignoinne, gente et belle_" as she was--married Louis, "_fort gouteux vies et caducque_," as a brief prelude to her clandestine marriage with the new Duke of Suffolk, Brandon.

On the 2d of September, 1514, one Sat.u.r.day, we read in Vigneulles, "Blanche Rose" entered Metz, escorted by sixty "_chevaliers_," several French "_gentilhommes_," and a guard of honour furnished by the Duke of Lorraine, Rene II. That was making his entry in good style; and such style, on the whole, he managed to maintain whilst in Metz. It is true that at times he was very short of money, and paid his servants, dressed "in grey and blue," their wages most irregularly; and that even his chaplain could wring his "wages" from him only "a crown at a time." But that was because, what with keeping open house, and entertaining the _honoratiores_ of Metz, betting, gambling, and making love to other men's wives, "the Duke" spent his money faster than he got it. King Louis had allowed him a pension of 6000 _ecus_ per annum. King Francis made very much of him, and from time to time "augmented his stipend." The Messins, always inclined to hospitality, took delight in honouring their guest, whose chivalrous manners and easy amiability made him popular. And they never ceased to look upon him as "_le vray heritier d'Angleterre qui devoit mieulx estre roy que celui qui l'estoit_."

Metz was then in a semi-independent state, which, in the present day, it is interesting to study. Its nationality was German, its language was a curious sort of early French. Its sympathies were French, too. Its seigneurs served in the French army; and at the famous "sacres" of French kings, representatives of the leading families of Metz--the Serrieres, the Gournays, the De Heus, the Baudoches, &c.--attended, and considered it an honour to be dubbed knights. To complete the mixture of nationalities, the city was surrounded by Lorraine, then an independent dukedom. The government of the city was in principle the same as that of other great German free towns--Stra.s.sburg, Bale, Cologne, Mayence, &c. There was nothing at all similar in France. It was divided into six (originally only five) "paraiges." Its head was a _maitre echevin_, at that time appointed afresh every year. It was administered by a council of thirteen Jurats, representing, for the most part, the patrician families. From the judgment of the Thirteen there was no appeal. The larger Council consisted of the Thirteen, with the addition of an indefinite number of "prudhommes" or "wardours"; and for purposes of taxation and similar business, the whole ma.s.s of citizens were called together. There were, moreover, standing committees of seven each, appointed to deal severally with matters of war, gates and walls, the collection of taxes, the treasury, and paving. There were also three mayors under the _maitre echevin_ and a number of "amans"

or amanuenses, answering to modern notaries. The whole city was a thoroughly self-contained little republic.

Among these people Richard de la Pole had come to take up his abode. As a welcome, the Thirteen presented him with two demi-cuves of wine, one red the other "clairet," and, moreover, with twenty-five quarters of oats for his horses. The question of housing so distinguished a guest presented some difficulties. On the advice of Michel Chaverson, the _maitre echevin_ for the year, the Thirteen committed Richard to the care of Vigneulles, the writer of the Memoirs, then already a citizen of note and substance.

For the first three nights he put Richard up at "la Court St Mairtin,"

which was presumably near the Church of St Martin still existing. The Duke of Lorraine's Guard were quartered in what was then the leading hotel, "a l'Ange," which has now disappeared. Nothing suitable offering for a longer residence, Vigneulles prevailed upon his fellow-citizen, Chevalier Claude Baudoche, one of the foremost men in the place, and "Seigneur of Moulins"--the prettily situated village or almost suburb which you pa.s.s on your way to the battle-fields of 1870--to lend him for an indefinite period his magnificent mansion called "Paisse Temps,"

situated on the bank of one arm of the Moselle. The site may still easily be traced. It adjoined the Abbey of St Vincent, of which the church still stands--a beautiful church inside, though insignificant without. Its architectural lines are perfect, and there is some fine stained gla.s.s from the famous works of Champigneulles, of Metz, which were in 1875 removed to Bar-le-Duc. The Baudoches were at that time a wealthy and highly influential family in Metz. To-day, such is the instability of things terrestrial, the city knows them no more. About fifty years ago, their last remaining representative was a small watchmaker plying his trade in an insignificant shop in the Rue Fournirue. Of the suitableness of the house secured there could be no question; for in it Pierre Baudoche, Claude's father, had entertained several crowned heads, including the Emperor Maximilian. Here Richard found a lordly home, which he maintained in a lordly style, receiving in turn all the leading personages of Metz and dispensing a princely hospitality.

On New Year's Day, 1515, precisely at midnight, Louis XII. died, not twelve weeks after his marriage with Mary, who--rather uncomfortable under the attentions paid her by Francis, French historians say--very soon left the Court, to marry the new Duke of Suffolk. The "gros garcon" could not keep quiet long. With an army including no less than 26,000 _lansquenets_ he marched into Italy, to claim his succession to the Milanais, and won the battle of Marignano. In this campaign Richard appears to have found no employment, though his old corps, the _lansquenets_, covered themselves with glory. The treaty with England, forbidding his employment in France, was still too recent for him to be allowed to lend the aid of his sword.

Truth to tell, Henry gained mighty little by Richard's ostensible inaction. Being at Metz, plotting and scheming, he made the king far more uncomfortable than he could possibly have done had he been fighting at Marignano. He was reported to be planning all sorts of enterprises.

Evidently he was much feared at home. Wolsey complains that malcontents and men out of work threaten that they will join De la Pole and take part in the impending invasion. On Henry's side it is all treachery and scheming. Richard is to be waylaid, to be murdered, and so on. Lord Worcester writes that he "knows of a gentleman who will take that matter in hand." He is to be seized "when he goes into the field either to course the hares or to see his horses" (_i.e._, to take exercise). The Emperor, on the other hand, had grown so careless in the observance of his treaty with England, that the Messins had plucked up courage formally to present Richard with the freedom of their city. And a "paper of intelligence" to the English Court describes him as "in his glory."

In 1516 "Blanche Rose" could remain quiet no longer. He must see Francis, and ask for military employment. So on the 22d February, without telling any one a word, we find him mounting horse, taking with him only his cook and a page, and trotting off to Paris, covering a hundred miles in twenty-four hours. But there was no employment for him yet. He returned on the 3rd of April. On Christmas Eve he repeats his ride, again secretly, accompanied by the Duke of Guelders, who had come to Metz in disguise. He returned, as he had come, in strict privacy, on the 17th February. After his return Claude Baudoche found that he could no longer spare "Paisse Temps," and politely turned out his guest. But he placed another house at his disposal, which may still be seen, at the crossing of the Rue de l'Esplanade and the Rue des Prisons Militaires (I give the French names, having forgotten the German). In the old chronicles the house, previously occupied by Jean or Jehan de Vy, is described as "_apres le grant maison de coste de St Esprit_." Just opposite it is the Church of St Martin, a rather interesting building, exhibiting a curious medley of architectural styles. A rather remarkable feature in the church is a row of curious sculptures. "Blanche Rose's" house, dwindled terribly in size, and shorn of its ancient splendour, though still exhibiting some small remnants of former grandeur, such as zigzag mouldings and Gothic labels, directly faces this church on one side, and on the other side a public building, which is, if I recollect right, the military prison, and in front of which a Prussian sentry paces solemnly up and down.

At this house it was that Richard conceived the curious idea of treating his fellow-burgesses to what must have infallibly endeared him to English neighbours--namely, the spectacle of a horse-race. Such a thing as that was, it appears, previously quite unknown in Metz. And accordingly it occasioned not a little stir. Richard and "_aultres seigneurs_," we read, were much given to exciting pastimes, including gambling and betting. And Richard, being the owner of a horse of which--like other owners of horses--he had an exceedingly high opinion, was rash enough one day to offer a bet against any one who might maintain that within ten "_lues_"

round there was another horse running equally well. Nicolle Dex (whose name was p.r.o.nounced Desh) readily took the bet, offering, to run his own horse against Richard's. All the particulars of the arrangements for the race are minutely recorded by Vigneulles. The two men were to ride their own horses. The course was to be from the Orme at Aubigny (a village five miles from Metz) to the gate of the Abbey of St. Clement (which abbey was destroyed in 1552, when the Duc de Guise held Metz against Charles V.).

The bet was for eighty "_escus d'or au solleil_," which was to be paid beforehand to a stakeholder. The race came off on the appointed day, Sat.u.r.day the 2nd of May--the day on which "_l'awaine et le bacon_" were, by regulation of the authorities, first sold. That would enable the compet.i.tors to get easily out of the gate of St. Thibault--which was conveniently near Richard's house, but which had to be opened on purpose.

The Chevalier Dex, with an amount of cunning of which Vigneulles does not altogether approve, had for some days before subjected both himself and his horse to preparatory treatment--"_dieu scet comment_." "_Comme il me fut dit et certifie_," that treatment consisted in his drinking nothing but white wine--which is the more sour of the two, and therefore is supposed rather strongly to contract the human frame--and giving his horse no hay whatever. Moreover, he had his horse shod with very light steel shoes. And himself he made as light as possible, riding "_tout en pourpoint, avec un pet.i.t bonnet en sa teste_," without shoes and without a saddle, having merely a light saddle-cloth laid over the horse's back.

"Blanche Rose," however, rode in a saddle, and booted and spurred as for ordinary exercise. When the signal was given, Vigneulles says, the hors.e.m.e.n started with such terrible impetuosity that the bystanders thought the earth was going to open under them. "Blanche Rose" kept the lead most part of the way. But when the two reached St. Laidre--a _leproserie_ near Montigny (the name of which still survives in a hamlet situated between Montigny and Aubigny) famed for its asparagus and fruit--Dex's artifices began to tell. Richard's horse was found to puff and to pant, and could not keep pace with its rival. Nicolle outstripped him. And though Richard spurred his horse till "_le cler sanc en sailloit de tout couste_," it availed him nothing. Nicolle, having husbanded his horse's powers, came in first at the post. Richard was terribly annoyed, but he "_ne dedaignait de risquer un peu de honte contre beaucoup de plaisir_," like a good many other people. Very naturally, however, he would have his revenge. So the next St. Clement's Day saw the two horses running against one another once more; but it seems that their masters did not this time act as their own jockeys. Ill luck would have it that "Blanche Rose's" jockey, one of his pages, was thrown whilst riding, by which mishap his master lost his bet a second time. After that he did not tempt fortune again on the turf.

A month after the first race, Richard made a second attempt to obtain a command under Francis. Accompanied by several "_de nos jonnes seigneurs_,"

he proceeded to Milan and other places in Italy. "_Dieu les conduie_,"

piously e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es Vigneulles. They arrived, as it turned out, a day after the fair. Peace had been concluded, and the _seigneurs_ returned to Metz without having had occasion to draw their swords.

In this year, Henry, through one of his emissaries, tempted Richard with a proposal that he should endeavour to make his peace with the king, and write him a letter in that sense. The king, explained Alamire, the emissary in question, "had the character of being most clement." "So I have heard," replied Richard, scenting the mischief; "and how well I should stand with my present protector, the King of France, if King Henry were to show him my letter!"

In the following year Richard once more rode to Paris, seeking employment.

This time he was rewarded with a secret mission, on which he was sent into Normandy. It was about this time that Giustiniani learnt from the legate, Campeggio, that Francis favoured "Blanche Rose" more than ever, and Henry and his ministers again began to feel acutely uncomfortable. They had heard, so the State Papers show, that Francis and Richard were plotting mischief: Francis was favouring the Duke of Albany and trying to stir up disturbances in Scotland. There was a scheme on foot, Sir Richard Jernegan reports, according to which the Duke of Albany was to sail from Brittany to Scotland, "there to make business against the king," while "Blanche Rose" was to invade England from Denmark, abetted by the king of that country, and accompanied by that king's uncle, the Duke of Ulske; and Monsieur de Bourbon and the Duke of Vendome were at the same time to besiege Tournay, which, in the peace of 1514, England had managed to retain. We cannot be altogether surprised, knowing in what systematic manner the Henrys persecuted the De la Poles, to learn that a man was said to have been taken in Champagne, paid by Henry to kill Richard. Indeed the thought of getting rid of Richard by a.s.sa.s.sination appears to have been habitually uppermost in Henry's mind.

However, the threatened invasion did not take place yet. Francis had other work to turn his thoughts to. On the 12th of January, 1519, Emperor Maximilian of Germany died, and the question arose, who was to be the next Emperor. Charles, the youthful King of Spain, was a candidate, and Francis of France resolved to enter the lists against him. He considered himself to have a fair chance. He seems to have counted even on Henry's support; but Henry, it turned out, cherished ill-founded hopes of being himself elected, and fought in a half-hearted way for his own hand. Francis, however, spared no pains in his canva.s.s. He bribed and coaxed and promised all round, and indeed only very narrowly missed the election. At the last moment the Elector of Saxony left him in the lurch, just as, nearly three centuries after, that Elector's successor failed Napoleon at Leipzig, going over to the other side. But for that defection Francis would of a surety have been elected Emperor. One of the promises which Francis had rashly made, was this: "_Si je suis elu, trois ans apres l'election, je jure que je serai a Constantinople ou je serai mort_." At the very last stage of the proceedings he despatched Richard de la Pole as a confidential envoy to Prague, where the Electoral College was sitting, to further his candidature. In the National Library at Paris a ma.n.u.script letter is still preserved containing the king's instructions. However, Richard arrived too late.

In the same year--1519--"Blanche Rose" found himself compelled to change his quarters a second time. Claude Baudoche "_vouloit r'avoir ses maisons_." The dean and chapter of Metz signalised their goodwill towards the guest of their city by making over to him for life, at a nominal rent of 10 _sols messins_ per annum, their old mansion, called "la Haulte Pierre," occupying the commanding site on which now stands the Palais de Justice. In all probability, the handsome esplanade now leading up to that building did not at that time exist, nor yet perhaps the splendid terrace facing the Moselle and St. Quentin. But at all times the situation must have been unique. The reason why the house was let so cheap was, that it was then in an utterly dilapidated condition, and the tenant undertook thoroughly to repair it. He did better, as the chapter remembered to his credit after his death. At a heavy cost--he spent 2000 gold florins upon it in one year--he rebuilt it from top to bottom in magnificent style.

That mansion does not now survive. It was pulled down in 1776 to make room for the present structure, more useful though less showy, in which are housed the provincial law-courts.

While still in "la Rue de la Grande Maison"--the Rue de l'Esplanade--Richard de la Pole got entangled in a little love intrigue, which caused a tremendous commotion in the town, and led him into serious trouble. Metz was rather famed in those days for its goldsmiths. The Rue Fournirue--still interesting--was full of them. One of these artisans, named Nicolas Sebille, had a young wife, whom Vigneulles describes as "_une des belles jonnes femmes, qui fut point en la cite de Metz, haulte, droite et elancee et blanche comme la neige_." To this beautiful young woman's heart Richard successfully laid siege. She came to see him at his house, which was conveniently near. The conquest does not appear to have cost him much persuasion. Evidently Madame Sebille was as hotly smitten with him as he was with her. To be able to carry on his little amour with the greater freedom, he gave the unsuspecting husband an order for some very costly and elaborate goldsmith's work, necessitating one or two journeys to Paris, the expense of which Richard was quite content to pay.

While the husband was away "_celle belle Sebille_" went "_aulcunes fois bancqueter et faire la bonne chiere en l'ostel du dit duc_," so much so that the city began to talk. The duke, for the safety of his lady-love, employed a certain hosier named Mangenat to escort her and watch the streets. Mangenat was in one sense admirably fitted for this office--for he was a stalwart bully, who soon became the terror of all the neighbourhood. Like the German and French police in these days, he suspected a spy or an enemy in every person he met, and struck and mauled a good many harmless creatures. That caused additional scandal; and as there was no police to maintain peace and order, the neighbours, after complaining a good deal, took the law into their own hand, and one fine night, early in September, turned out in force to lynch Mangenat. Richard had by that time removed to "Haulte Pierre," and there was therefore a considerable distance to cover between his house and the Rue Fournirue.

The neighbours were firmly resolved to turn Mangenat into a "_corps sans ame_." Mangenat, however, managed to elude them. The neighbours then laid their plaint before the Thirteen. Madame Sebille, fearing her husband's wrath, resolutely packed up her clothes and jewels and other belongings, and with them also her husband's money, and transferred herself with these possessions to the "Haulte Pierre." This made matters still worse, especially when Nicolas returned home and set a-clamouring for his money and his wife. Watching for "Blanche Rose," he caught him one day in the Rue Fournirue, and very nearly did for him. On Sunday, the 16th of September, he demonstratively took up his position, fully armed with sword and hallebarde, at the cathedral door, intending to knock Richard's life out of him in the sacred place. Richard was warned, and wisely kept out of the way. However, as Nicolas tried to raise a popular tumult, on the ground that an outraged plebeian could obtain no legal redress from the patrician court--"_l'aristocratie_," says M. des Robert, "_fut tout puissante_"--the Thirteen could ignore the case no longer. With some difficulty they persuaded "the duke" to let Madame Sebille go. He agreed to this only on the distinct understanding that Nicolas "_ne lui_ [that is, his wife] _ne reprochait en rien sa conduite, ni ne la baittroit, ni ne lui diroit parole qui l'en puist desplaire, si non que leur debast ou huttin vint pour aultre chose_." This undertaking having been given--by the Thirteen--Madame Sebille was brought before the court under protection of a strong armed escort, consisting of notable chevaliers. Of course Nicolas would in no wise agree to the terms proposed. And so the Thirteen--it is interesting to learn how these cases were dealt with in those early days--kept his wife in their own charge, lodging her very fitly in the council-room of the "Seven of War," and supplying her with good food and drink at the expense of the town. Thereupon Nicolas, as he could not obtain redress as a citizen of Metz, migrated to Thionville, became a burgess of that town and then--as he was ent.i.tled to do in those days--levied war in person on the man who had wronged him. He bribed "_Des Allemans_" to waylay and kidnap or kill Richard, just as the two English Henrys had done. Richard, being a little bit frightened, sought refuge in the chateau of Ennery, belonging to Signor Nicolle de Heu. (This fact was promptly reported to Henry.) Here, Vigneulles says, Richard meant to "_pa.s.ser melancolie et pa.s.ser son dueil_." However, Sebille's "_Allemans_"

found him out, and one day very nearly captured him. So "Blanche Rose"

thought it prudent to seek safer quarters. He found them at Toul. Nicolas does not appear to have followed him so far, nor to have troubled himself much further about his faithless wife. This put the Thirteen in a fix.

They had the lady on their hands, and were sorely puzzled what to do with her. Nicolas would not have her on any account, and could not at Thionville be made to take her; and restore her to Richard they in propriety could not. After much deliberation, having detained her a full fortnight at public expense, they cut the knot to their own satisfaction by handing Madame Sebille over to her brother, one Gaudin, a butcher, who was to take care of her. Gaudin gave her in charge to an old woman selling wax candles. Madame Sebille was under strict injunction not to leave the city. But who could expect her to observe that command? Anyhow, one fire morning, pretending that she had a pilgrimage to perform to "St. Trottin,"

she made her way outside the city gates disguised as a _vendangeresse_, with a basket by her side and a sickle in her hand. Outside the walls she was met by friends who at once put her into a page's clothes, in which, of course, she marched as straight as she could to Toul, and joined "Blanche Rose," to her swain's delight as well as her own. Richard had once more "_ne dedaigne de risquer un peu de honte contre beaucoup de plaisir_." He and his lady-love were now outside the jurisdiction of the Thirteen, and might therefore consider themselves safe. But upon the abettors of the lady's flight the magistrates visited their share in the offence with all the greater rigour. Notwithstanding Richard's earnest interposition, they heavily fined and banished them. Thus ends the story of Richard's amour; for what became of Madame Sebille afterwards, neither history nor tradition records. She was not allowed to enjoy the company of her knight long; for stirring events were in train, which required his presence elsewhere.

In 1521 a powerful alliance of European States was formed against Francis I., designed to humble the victor of Marignano. It comprised the Emperor, the Pope, the King of England, Florence, Venice, and Genoa. In 1522 England invaded Picardy and Flanders. That put an end to the treaty engagements of 1514, and made Richard's services allowable as well as needful to the French king. Indeed "Blanche Rose" did not wait to be summoned. The State papers and other official publications of that period relate how busy he was plotting against England and Scotland. King Francis took a delight in parading his partiality for the Duke of Albany and the "Duke of Suffolk." He rode in public with one of them on one side and one on the other. He slapped Richard on the back and said in the hearing of the Court: "My Lord of Suffolk, I will set you in England with 40,000 men within few days." He proposed a marriage for Richard with the daughter of the Duke of Holstein, and planned sundry invasions of England which, happily, did not come off. But Richard joined the French army under Guise and Vendome, and fought against his countrymen in Picardy. There he raised a corps of 2,000 men on his own authority, and led this welcome reinforcement to Francis at St. Jean de Moustiers. In 1524 he accompanied Albany into Scotland, without, however, doing much hurt. But he greatly frightened Henry's officers. We find Fitzwilliam writing to Wolsey, urging him, in face of "his wretched traitor" being in the field, to "hasten over some men to give courage to the Flemings."

Then came the campaign which led to the catastrophe of Pavia. Richard joined the French army at Ma.r.s.eilles, and was, in company with Francis of Lorraine, placed at the head of his old corps the German _lansquenets_, who were delighted to fight under so practised and trusted a leader. They were 6,000 at the beginning of the campaign, pitted against a larger number of their own brethren under Frundsberg, in the Emperor's service.

On St. Matthias Day, in 1525, the battle of Pavia was fought, which lost Francis his liberty. Francis, as usual, showed no want of dash, but a lamentable lack of prudence. Mistaking the enemy's retreat, under the fire of his guns, for a settled defeat, he sent his infantry after them, placing the bulk of his army between the foe and his own artillery. The allies were not slow to turn this false move to account. Charging back upon their foes, they overwhelmed them with superior numbers. That lost the French the day. Richard's _lansquenets_ did their best to retrieve the error. Having knelt down, as their manner was, and thrown dust behind them, they rushed, singing their familiar war-songs, into the fray with an impetus which promised to break the hostile ranks. "Had but the Switzers fought like the _lansquenets_," Francis said after the battle, "the day would have been ours." But the odds were too many against them. They were met by their own fellow-_lansquenets_--each side being furious with the other. The German men were wroth at seeing their comrades on the other side, fighting against their own country--the French at seeing their brother-soldiers desert so faithful an employer as Francis. So no quarter was given on either side. And the French _lansquenets_--they had lost one-fourth of their number before the charge began--being wedged in between a superior force of Germans closing in on either side, were simply crushed as between two millstones. The list of killed was long--and brilliant. Among the slain were the two captains of the _lansquenets_, Francis of Lorraine and Richard de la Pole. The latter had--as a painting preserved in the Ashmolean Museum indicates--died protecting Francis with his sword. He was found buried under "_un monceau_" of dead enemies against whom he had fought. There was loud rejoicing in the camp of the allies. It was given out that "three kings" had been taken or killed--Francis, the unfortunate King of Navarre, and, "to make up the trinity of kings," says a despatch addressed to Wolsey, "La Rose Blanche, whom they call the King of Scots." Appended to the curious despatch which Frundsberg forwarded to the Emperor, giving a report of the battle--the oldest record extant--is a drawing, showing three crowned knights, fancy portraits of the "kings."

One is prepared to find Henry VIII. ordering a triumph, and congratulating himself upon his happy riddance from a rival who had been more of a thorn in his side than the present generation is probably aware. But it does seem small to read, in the State Papers, of one of Henry's tools begging from Wolsey the king's authority for seizing "some goods of no great amount" that Richard had left at Metz.

The French were far more chivalrous in their treatment of the dead warrior. We read in Camden that "for his singular valour" his very enemy, the Duke of Bourbon, "honoured his remains with splendid obsequies, and attended in person as one of the chief mourners." Francis expressed his attachment to the fallen, and his indebtedness to him for brilliant services. "_La France_," says Gaillard, "_perdit en lui un allie utile, qui la servit efficacement et sans rien exiger d'elle_." Considering that he was an English subject, that may sound questionable praise. But though he may have shown too great willingness to avail himself of the excuse, it should be borne in mind that it was England's kings who first drove him into treason.

The chapter of Metz, grateful for Richard's liberality, pa.s.sed the following "resolution"--as we should say--founding a ma.s.s for the repose of their benefactor's soul: "Aprilis anno Domini 1525 in conflictu apud Paviensem civitatem quo tunc Franciscus Gallorum rex per exercitum Romanorum imperatoris captus et Hispaniam captivus ductus ext.i.tuit, habito, obiit quondam ill.u.s.ter Richardus dux de Suffolk qui domum nostram dictam a la Haute Pierre sibi ante per nos ad vitam locatam obtinens valde somptuose restauravit, unde statuimus nunc anniversarium quotannum Ecclesia nostra pro salute animae suae perpetuo celebrari."

That ma.s.s ought, of course, to be read still. However, deans and chapters have as little respect for "pious founders"--though these be their own predecessors--as British Parliaments in democratic days. Consequently, the ecclesiastical function has long since been discontinued.

Apart from Richard's death, Henry did not find himself much of a gainer by the victory of Pavia. He had contributed nothing directly to the battle, and Charles V. accordingly would concede him none of the spoils. On the contrary, grasping monarch that he was, under cover of a marriage-portion to be given to Henry's daughter, he asked for a subsidy of 600,000 ducats.

We need not be surprised to find Henry shortly after concluding a treaty with France, which secured him two millions of crowns.

One more notice we have of Richard de la Pole, the last of his race.

Describing Pavia, as he found it in 1594, Fynes Moryson says: "Neere that (the castle) is the Church of St. Austine; there I did reade this inscription, written in Latin upon another sepulchre:--The French King Francis I. being taken by Caesar's army neere Pavia, the 24th of February, in the yeere 1525, among other lords, these were slaine: Francis Duke of Lorayne, Richard de la Pole, Englishman and Duke of Suffolk, banished by his tyrant King Henry VIII. At last Charles Parker of Morley, kinseman of the said Richard, banished out of England for the Catholike faith by Queene Elizabeth, and made Bishop here by the bounty of Philip, King of Spain, did out of his small means erect this monument to him."

This is the last memorial of a life which created not a little stir in its day, and might under more favourable circ.u.mstances have been made signally serviceable to Richard's own country. Even that last memorial has probably now disappeared. But still "White Rose" may fairly claim a place at any rate in the lighter records of English history.

III.--THE EARLY ANCESTORS OF OUR QUEEN.[5]

Thanks to Cook, thanks to our all-reporting newspaper-press, and thanks, not least, to our truly Athenian craving continually for "some new thing,"

Ammergau has become almost a household word among us. Everybody has heard of its "Pa.s.sion Play." Every tenth year sees Britons rushing in shoals to the picturesque banks of the Ammer, to witness there, while it may be witnessed, the last surviving specimen of that popular religious drama which in bygone times helped the Church so materially, and over so wide an area, to impress her truths upon men's minds. But I question, if among all those thousands of sight-seeing Britons, who gather as interested spectators, there are many who realize in what very close relation that same little valley stands to the early fortunes of the ancient House whose Head now occupies our Throne. How many, indeed, among us can be said to know very much at all about that family? And yet the history of that race ought to be of some interest to us. In these latter days it has become intertwined with the history of our own nation. It is marked by striking contrasts of ups and downs, at one time leading the Guelphs on a rapid triumphal progress up to the very steps of the Imperial Throne, then again dropping them down to the obscure level of paltry insignificance. It tells of a race endowed with a strong individuality--manly, chivalrous, generous; but generally also headstrong and reckless. It is interwoven with pathetic legend. Its early beginnings are lost in the dim haze of a prehistoric age. Its latter end has not yet come. There is no dynasty now surviving equally ancient--there is but one which can join in the boast which up to a few decades ago the Guelphs could make:--that on the throne on which it was planted centuries ago it has retained its hold to the present generation. That other dynasty is the family, Slav by descent, of the Obotrite Grand Dukes of Mecklenburg--the same race whom our Alfred the Great speaks of as "Apdrede." The present grand dukes are the direct descendants of that terrible Prince Niklot, of the twelfth century, whom among German princes only the Guelph, Henry the Lion, was found strong enough to subdue. But before Bodrician Niklot had mounted his barbarian throne, Henry the Generous had already been installed as chief over Luneburg--the princ.i.p.ality over which his family continued to rule down to 1866, when the cruel Fortune of War decided against its last Guelph chief.

In the adjoining Duchy of Brunswick, over which, as forming part of ancient Saxony, the Guelphs were set as heads in 1127, the family continued to hold sway till 1884, when Death removed the last scion of their older line, in the person of the late Duke of Brunswick. The Guelph pedigree, however, goes very much farther back than the time of Henry.

Long even before Guelph Odoacer, at the head of his Teuton hordes, dethroned that caricature of an Emperor, Romulus Augustulus, there were Guelph "Agilolfings" leading to battle, as trusted chiefs, their own Scyrian tribes. What the later history of the family might have been, if to its const.i.tutional valour and generosity had been joined the less showy, but far more useful, qualities of prudence and judgment, we may now, by the light of past events, readily conjecture. The Guelphs were in Henry's day by far the strongest dynasty in Germany--at a period when for the Imperial throne above all things a strong dynasty was needed. Had Germany elected Henry the Generous as Emperor, as everybody expected that she would, the Guelphs might still be wearing the crown of Charlemagne, and Germany might have a different tale to tell, both of her past experiences and of her present position. For it deserves to be noticed that all the troubles which came upon the Empire, by minute subdivision of its territory, and by the setting up of "opposition emperors," sprang directly and demonstrably from contests provoked with the Guelphs. It was Henry IV.'s resistance to Welf IV. that led to the multiplication of va.s.sal crowns, which subsequently became a curse to Germany. It was the Powers pledged to the support of the Guelphs--most notably the Popes and our Coeur-de-Lion--who put forward those troublesome "opposition emperors," the forerunners and direct cause of the ruinous Interregnum--"die kaiserlose, die schreckliche Zeit"--and by such means of the political prostration of the country enduring through centuries.

But our interest, in England, lies more with the Guelphs than with Germany. One cannot help sympathizing with a race which, being evidently designed for greatness, advanced towards it with giant strides, only to find the prize at which it ambitiously grasped s.n.a.t.c.hed from its hand in the very moment of seeming attainment.

Of the very early history of the Guelphs we have fairly definite, but only very fragmentary, information. They were leaders of the Scyri, we learn--a Teuton race of the Semnone family, mentioned by Pliny, by Zosimus, and by Jornandes--who poured over Germany, in the days of Valentinian, along with hosts of other German tribes, and who, having been all but exterminated by the Goths, united with some other septs of the same family, the Rugii, the Heruli, the Turcilingi, to form a composite nation which, for convenience, adopted the common name of Bajuvarii. Bavarians accordingly the Guelphs originally were, as the historian Thega.n.u.s is careful to point out--not Swabians, as German historians have often named them; Bavarians, as seems to be evidenced, among other things, by the dark features and black hair which for a long time distinguished them--more especially from their opponents of a full century, the fair-haired and light-complexioned Hohenstaufens. Of the confederate Bajuvarii, the Agilolfings or Guelphs still continued chiefs. Under a Guelph, Eticho--whom Priscus Rhetor praises as a man of exceptional capacity and high character--we find the nation attaching themselves as auxiliaries to the host of Attila, and rendering the Hunnish king signal service. Eticho was by no means a mere rough warrior. He fully appreciated Roman culture and civilization--which led the eunuch, Chrysaphas, to propose to him the murder of his chief. The honest Guelph rejected such suggestion with scorn. From the midst of the Bajuvarii went forth the Guelph Odoacer on his march to Rome. The Bajuvarii were then settled on the banks of the Danube--roughly speaking in what is now Austria, _plus_ Bavaria and the Tyrol. Hence we find the earliest known seats of the Guelphs in the Bavarian Highlands. Ammergau was theirs, and Hohenschw.a.n.gau was one of their earliest castles, founded, indeed, by a Guelph. When, after a revolt of the Rugii--which was successfully suppressed by Odoacer--some of the allied tribes dispersed, to seek new homes in the tempting districts on the banks of the Ens and around the lake of Constance--both at the time sorely devastated and depopulated by the Goths--the Guelphs, without giving up their old seats, accompanied their men. And thus it came about that the earliest castle which we hear of as having been built by the Guelphs is supposed to have stood in Thurgau, of which country the Guelphs subsequently became Counts.